Jon could almost convince himself that they weren't in any real danger at all, that it was but only a game, they were playing at war. Like an enormous exercise at strategy. Once the Dothraki, the knights of the Vale and the Unsullied left, and the Lions marched off shortly after, it was much easier to believe that.

Daenerys ordered Grey Worm in front of everyone to uphold the peace in what they now called the southern camp. Apart from Davos, Jon and Howland Reed, no one believed that she meant it. Jon could tell. Something was in the air, he could feel it crawling on his skin, itching away at his mind, and he couldn't figure what it was. Sam he couldn't blame, his friend didn't forgive the Dragon Queen for torching his despicable father and, from what Jon could tell, brainwashed brother into ash. Sansa and Arya he couldn't blame either, when they weren't upholding northern interests, they simply despised the queen for her marriage plans for Jon. That was something Jon couldn't even think of.

He did try to imagine once, how it would work. He would be ordered to marry someone – hopefully a comely young woman, but who knows, names mattered more than looks he presumed, and he couldn't name a single woman his age who had the right name. Sam had a sister, whatever her name, and Jon recalled a Martell too, daughter of another Martell who lives in Essos or something. He was certain that his bride would not be from the North, and that she would be from a major house. That left only that Martell girl if she actually existed. He'd be arranged to marry her, and then he would have to lay with her. The only woman he ever laid with was Ygritte. He couldn't imagine doing the things he did to Ygritte, to a girl he felt nothing for. It seemed disgusting. But then again, Lord Eddard didn't know Lady Catelyn, in truth she was to marry his older brother. And they seemed to have grown to love each other, so perhaps Jon would grow to love whomever he is wed to. Or, they would hate each other, and it would be like the seventh of hells. Either way, he would have to sire children, sons preferably. Not just one, anything can happen to a single son, he would need at least two of them. And considering the odds of 50/50, he would probably have more children, he would have daughters. Meaning, he would grow old and his face would grow weary by the time he fulfilled his duties. His life would be almost over. It wasn't too appealing, even though he never planned to do anything with his life. But knowing that it was all planned out this way wasn't appealing at all. He reasoned that it wasn't his choice, and he wondered if he would do the same. Reluctantly at first, he did think about what it would be like if he was still the rightful heir. If he was to sit on the Iron Throne, as his father would've sat on it had he not been slain at the Trident by Robert Baratheon. It was an interesting concept, one that first seemed alien but the more he thought about it, the more intriguing it became. Not because he wanted it, but because it seemed so normal compared to his current prospects. Even though he had to admit, his current prospects didn't differ much from the prospects he would've had, was he proclaimed king once more. He would still have to marry for an alliance, and he considered himself intelligent enough to see that his choice would have to come from the south. It seemed that all paths lead to that Martell girl, even though was it his choice, it didn't seem half as much a burden than it felt now that it was demanded of him.

He did wonder if, was he king, he could choose from the North. He would choose Sansa. He didn't ponder on why Sansa, it seemed an obvious choice. She had the name, she was beautiful none could deny that, and she knew a thing or two about ruling. Some viewed her as an incredibly smart woman – Jon didn't. Jon saw her as someone who was willing to learn from her misfortunes, to better herself, resulting in her capability to rule. And Sansa loved him, or at least at some point she did, because Jon wasn't so sure now. He still wore her favour, but the times when they could talk freely were long gone. They were distant, they almost never spoke privately anymore.

He watched as the men erected some palisades on a patch of land. They were slowly progressing through the marshlands, leaving groups of men behind, wolves and northmen, archers of the freefolk, and always a couple crannogmen with them. They were to lead their groups south and safely out of the marshlands, they had orders not to fight, and the others had orders to protect the crannogmen. It may have seemed unfair, but after the first two groups the men seemed to accept it easier – that was because the terrain grew treacherous enough for them to realise that protecting the crannogmen was their only way to survive this.

Jon wondered about the crannogmen for the first time since they began their preparations, and that was only this morning, after Daenerys so successfully barricaded the kingsroad yesterday afternoon. They all seemed so frail to him, similarly to Reed himself. They were short men, and somewhat bony too, had long faces and short hair and beard. They all had beards like Reed, short beards. That amused Jon, because he remembered Winterfell before they all left it. Lord Eddard used to tie his hair behind his head, and wore it shoulder length. Apart from Ser Rodrik who had a thing for his unusual beard arrangement, tying it under his chin, most men took to mimic Lord Eddard. The realisation was almost ironic, men mimicked their lord. Jon also wore his hair tied behind his back, though for him it seemed functional, it was either this or to cut it and he couldn't imagine cutting it, but it was way too unruly to just let it loose, and long enough to tie it now that there was no Lady Catelyn ordering him to have it cut.

The crannogmen were swift and agile folk, they moved not dissimilarly to lizards when they run into the shade from sunlight, and finally, they began to carry tridents on their backs. That was the first real curiosity to Jon. Tridents looked more like tool to plough the fields to him. He couldn't wait to see what these small men could do with their tridents. It seemed like a different world, as if they weren't in the North anymore. Jon wished Bran and Robb could see this. It was a magical land hidden where only crannogmen could find their way around. The vegetation grew denser as they progressed, and they kept having to pull men out of mud that seemed to want to swallow anyone who took a misstep into it. Reed showed him, throwing a piece of stone that seemed too heavy for him to even lift in Jon's eyes. The stone sat atop the surface, only sinking slightly into the dense mud from the impact. It waited for a few moments but then it began to sink, and Jon's eyes grew wide. It was as if the mud slowly opened under it, a crater grew, and it sank into it, until its top wasn't visible anymore and then the crater closed above it. Jon wondered how many skeletons sat n the mud, and even more so, if the Night King's magic could lift them out and awaken them. He mentioned that to Reed, and Reed merely nodded saying they may fight corpses covered in mud soon enough, for there were many, strangers mainly but even crannog folk who weren't careful.

It didn't take long for the first man to fall victim of the mud. He tried to get out and it seemed the more he moved the quicker he sank. A few crannogmen rushed to help, shouting to be still. When the man listened, the mud slowed in its swallowing of him. Then they handed in a thick branch, and the man held onto it. They began to slowly pull him, still ordering him to be still, don't try to help. Wolves helped, and slowly the man was dragged out of the mud. Reed told Jon never to wander alone, always have a few with him – in case one of them takes the wrong step. It seemed to Jon that they all began to appreciate Reed's folk more and more by each hour.

Reed also sent men forth to greywater Watch. Jon asked why, and Reed merely said, preparations and hunt. Hunt for what? Food. Reed said he had plans, and Jon didn't enquire further. The sky was beginning to turn into shades of violet when they reached a long patch of land, and Reed ordered the men to make camp. There was only about a thousand of them now, the rest were already dispersed. A few dinghies awaited on the water, men wearing wests with black lizards on them standing by each. Reed ushered them into the dinghies, and Jon couldn't control his grinning, watching as all of them settled in the small boats, the irony of it all not escaping him as he watched the groups of three forming, clearly based on preference wherever possible – He sat with Davos and Sam, Edd sat with Edric and Jaime Lannister, Glover sat with Cerwyn and the Hound – a perfect pairing in Jon's eyes, he laughed aloud as he saw the Hound jump onboard that boat. Sansa and Arya shared a boat with Brienne. Daenerys had Jorah and Missandei for company. Reed was in a separate dinghy, with Theon and his own men, leading the way. It seemed impossible to Jon to cross the river, the branches of willows entangled with the vegetation and reached out forming archways that seemed way too low, and he could see seaweed in the river. The crannogmen sat at the back of the boats and used wooden sticks instead of oars, the sticks were thick, carved, and it seemed to Jon they were long, very long as well. They must've reached the bottom of the river, for there seemed to be no other way to direct the boats. And the men seemed to be masters of this art of guiding the small boats exactly through each opening among the branches of willows.

He couldn't ignore the scenery, it was a marvel. He saw birds, beavers, and frogs, countless of frogs. Fish were frequently crossing under the boat in groups. It seemed to Jon that this was the most magical land he will ever see, that nature truly ruled here untouched and undisturbed, and he couldn't imagine how Reed could've ever considered wanting to leave this place. All he could hear was birdsong, all he could see was greenery, the thickness of which hid the sky above them, and when it found an opening the intense tones of amber and violet shone through like gems.

He didn't think it could get any better. He found that his mind was set at ease by the sounds of nature, the sound of silence only disturbed by the water as the boats slowly passed by, by birds and frogs singing. Some of the frogs mimicked the colours of the sky, Jon never saw anything like them. He wanted to reach out to touch one but the crannogman hissed behind him, so he pulled back his hand. The man only shook his head to indicate that it was better not to. He reminded himself to ask Reed why.

The men in Reed's boat ahead began to pull nets into the boat, with fish in them as they progressed, and Jon couldn't help but feel as if the war was years away, as if it was peacetime watching the scene. He reminded himself that he will have to come back here in peacetime. Perhaps Daenerys will allow a visit, for Jon felt that if he could, he would never want to leave this place, he had to return one day.

The boat ahead took a sharp turn at a stone protruding from the water, and then another, and another. As his boat followed he realised how treacherous the water was here. The man behind him holding the stick seemed to put all his strength into directing the boat now, and he could see sharp stones in the water, surrounding the narrow path they took. This place was impregnable to anyone who didn't know how to reach it, Jon understood now why Reed said so.

Suddenly as they passed the third stone, the water stilled, the path widened. They slowly proceeded around a patch of land covered in willows that must've been centuries old, and as they turned Jon saw it for the first time. Greywater Watch. The patch of land with the willows was where it stood, the land must've been the one that was in fact floating. Greywater Watch seemed small, and yet it seemed enormous. It was built of wood, old wood greyed in sun and by water, the keep itself seemingly consisting of small tower like structures neatly built next to each other, sharing walls. There were ramparts on the top, and tiny windows. Jon smiled to see curtains in some. Women lived here too, albeit they were not here now. This was a home, Reed's home. Jon looked behind him and noted that he wasn't the only one in awe. All their faces mirrored his own, jaws dropped, eyes wide at the wonder that was Greywater Watch.

The men sent ahead waited at the small pier at the front, first taking the fishing nets, then one helping Reed. The boat moved away, and Jon's took its place, and Jon found he indeed needed help to get out of the boat. He walked off the small pier and watched the rest of them arriving, laughed as Arya fell back at a sudden wave, staring at him angrily. Cerwyn also fell back on his backside but there was no wave that time, and all of them laughed. Jon wondered how carefree this all was, how all their faces showed nothing but content.

"This place is magical," Daenerys stepped next to him, and he nodded with a smile.

"If you all would please follow," an old man – with a considerably longer beard than the rest of them, Jon noted to himself – asked behind them, and they all turned. Jon took in the sight. Small palisade with a wooden gate, open wide. A courtyard beyond it, and doors, many doors into wooden halls and buildings, and corridors between those, and past the corridors he could see more doors.

"My lord has asked that baths be drawn for you and we did what we could to prepare your chambers," the men said as they began to follow.

"We'll have chambers?" Arya asked stunned.

"Yes, Lady Stark, albeit we don't have as grand a chamber as we would wish to house you in," the men smiled. "Greywater Watch is rather small and not used to house so illustrious a company, but I honestly hope you will all feel at home and enjoy your time here after your troubles."

"How come you are here," Lord Cerwyn spoke, "Didn't you have to evacuate?"

"A few of us stayed," the man said, glancing at Jon, "I wish good luck to any dead men trying to impregnate Greywater Watch. We stayed because if the dead reach us, we intend to teach them how the living fight crannog style."

"Says a man older than my grandfather," Cerwyn said and Jon shot an angry look, but the man just laughed.

"My lord, I am possibly half as old as you think me to be," he said, "we don't age well I would say, perhaps the life on the water is the cause of it. I would not underestimate myself to be an old and weary man, with a trident in my hand I can be a fighter as good as any of your swordsmen."

"I've no doubt," Jon smiled.

"This door here," The man said pointing at the large red door, "This is where you are to come once you are finished with your baths, to have supper. There is no great hall here, this is the lord's solar as you would call it."

"Will we eat frogs," Missandei whispered in shock and the man laughed.

"Aye, my lady," he said, "And you will like it! But in case you would not, there'll be other delicacies as well."

"What is that?" Sansa asked.

"Squirrel." All the men burst out in laughter, Jon included. Squirrel, the delicious alternative to frogs. They truly were in Crannogland.

"There'll be quail's eggs as well, we didn't catch the quails though."

"Do not worry," Jon said, "Whatever warm food we get we'll be fine. I for one look forward to eat a frog's leg."

They were led right on the corridor, the man merely opened doors into those little towers, ushering them in. They had the option to share in pairs, and Daenerys opted to share her chamber with Missandei, and Sansa with Arya, to Jon's surprise. The Hound of course didn't share. Edric didn't either, and Edd nodded to Sam. Jon wanted to ask Davos but the old man shook his head, so he didn't. Ser Jorah asked Davos instead, and Jon wasn't surprised that Cerwyn and Glover each took a lodging to themselves. The next chamber the man ushered Jaime Lannister in when Theon wanted to enter.

"Lord Greyjoy," the man said, "there's something for you in the next one."

Jon couldn't help but admire Reed for that. Theon had a room with a tapestry above the bed. It depicted a scene Jon could not have recognised, but Theon's eyes grew wild with awe when he saw it.

"That is Nagga," he pointed at it, "a sea dragon. This is the Grey King, he defeated Nagga. It's legendary among the Ironborn."

Theon turned and thanked the old man, who closed the door.

"You never shared your name," Jon said.

"No, your grace," the man smiled, "It's just Quagg. My mother gave me a southern name that I dispensed with a very long time ago. I am just called Quagg."

"That was kind of you, and Howland, to show Theon that tapestry," Jon nodded with a smile. "And I am not a king."

"Oh, but you are, to us," Quagg said, "I've sat with my lord many times in the woods, as we discussed you. We knew of you for a long time, here. You are at home here, Jon Targaryen."

"It does feel homely," Jon whispered, the name he was called not escaping him.

"Has my Lord ever told you that he wanted to take you here?"

Jon shook his head with wide eyes as the man opened the door in front of him. "Aye, my lord Howland wanted to snatch you away from Winterfell. You were a little boy, and the Lord Eddard refused to tell you who you were. We agreed that we would raise you. But honour got the better of us. It was a crazy plan. I wish we did it, but lord Howland didn't want to bad blood with lord Ned."

"How many men stayed behind, Quagg?"

"I ask for your forgiveness for disobeying your command," Quagg said instead, but Jon shook his head. He didn't mind. "We stayed behind because we would be useless in the mainland. We aren't swordsmen. We are fighters of our own, our tridents and our nets and our bronze daggers and our arrows do more than that army of yours, here, we can fight. Take us out onto the field and we are dead men. Lord Howland wasn't happy about it, mind you, but we convinced him. For the better I say, for you are here, your fancy folk are here. You have need of us here, now."

"You poison your arrows, I heard," Jon said.

"Aye, we do," Quagg grinned, "though I doubt it would prove useful against the dead."

"No, but there are others than the dead, Quagg," Jon said firmly, "When we leave, you must begin poisoning your arrows. I doubt the dead will ever reach Greywater Watch, but the same cannot be said for the living. Whomever comes from the south, you must bleed them dry."

"And so we shall," Quagg declared, "Lord Howland said the same, mind you. When he left us he said, whomever comes without him or you is an enemy and must not cross the Neck."

With that, Quagg bowed to Jon deeply and closed the door.

The chamber was small, really small, albeit much larger than for example Theon's with his single bed and little table and chair and tub. Jon's lodging had a large bed, looking rather inviting in furs and linen with cushy pillows, and above the pillows hung a tapestry. It depicted two dragons in the sky. Jon chuckled at the reference, certainly Reed's doing, again. Another tapestry, much larger hung above the bench opposite the bed, and it depicted pine trees. Northern woodland. In the middle stood a lonely weirwood. Someone must be really good at making tapestries here, Jon thought. He had his own hearth, while most of the towers he saw had but a small chimney, and he had a pair of large chairs by the hearth. They reminded him of the nights spent with Sansa sitting by the fire. He had a window, noting to himself smiling that it was the one he saw from the boat, delicate lace curtain hanging to the floor in front of it, and heavy curtains on its side. There were a few oars, a shield on the wall. Above the hearth he noticed two metal claws. He took Blackfyre from his belt and placed it on them – they were perfect fit. This was meant to be his room Jon realised. As if Reed knew that one day Jon will arrive here.

The bath was hot, soothing. Some kind of leaves were thrown into the water, and it seemed slightly greenish to Jon, surely from the leaves. It also smelled somewhat foreign, but as he sat into it, it soothed every bit of him. The leaves must've been the cause of that but when he finally convinced himself to leave the tub, he felt as if he slept for weeks, rested, energised. His mind was more alert.

He took the clothing laid out, soft linen long shirt and breeches and long fur west, and to his surprise, what seemed to be furry soft leather boots, and left for the room with the red door.

xxxxx

Daenerys still chuckled at her unusual garment when he left her room. Missandei dozed off in a chair, and Daenerys wanted to explore this magical place. This was the home of Lord Howland Reed. What a unique place, she thought, as if magic lingered in the air everywhere. So simple, like the garments she wore, knitted thighs and furry leather boots and linen skirt and long fur west. As she stepped out onto the corridor, cold breeze hit her but to her surprise, no shiver came. The corridor was closed off from the outside, as she looked up she could see thatched roof above. Firepits were hanging off it, metal orbs with fire in them, casting a gentle and unruly light along the path. She adored this place. From the soft linens on her body to the soft glow of the fire orbs, the smell of wood and salty water mixed with the herbs that coloured her bathwater and their spicy smell clung to her skin, she adored everything. She envied Lord Reed, noting to herself with a smile, to have a place like this to call home.

She gently opened the red door, and to her surprise there was only Reed himself. He wore a garment not unlike her own.

"Good, you found the linens," Reed noted looking up from the fire, "I was hoping such things need no explanation. Your garments will be washed for tomorrow."

"It is very kind," Daenerys said, "and very comfortable. Is this how your people dress?"

"In the keep, mainly," Reed said, "Comfort is high on our list of priorities. We live very simply, your grace. We hunt, and we do our fishing and the like, and work on the keep, and other than that there isn't much to do but sit by the fire."

"I have a beautiful tapestry in my room," Daenerys said, "I believe it depicts Aegon with Balerion the Dread."

"My wife's work," Reed said softly, "That and the linens and furs you wear. We have trunks upon trunks of tapestries and embroideries and linens. She used to make them without counting. She would read a book and think of a scene and make a tapestry of it that took her six turns of the moon, and then she would find another to do. That's all she's done when not raising my children."

"I hope to meet her one day, lord Reed," Daenerys said softly, "seeing that tapestry meant a lot to me. It's the first sign of my ancestors that I've seen on Westeros, apart from Dragonstone. I would want to thank her for making tapestries of dragons."

"My wife has passed, your grace," Reed said softly, his voice void of any pain, but full of acceptance. "A few years past, a fever took her not long after Jojen and Meera left to find Bran Stark."

"To find Bran Stark," Daenerys repeated, "You mean, the boy in the wheelchair? Were they your children? Forgive me if I ask too much, my lord…"

"There is nothing to forgive," Reed smiled, "In truth I am glad for some time alone with you. I was just thinking of you when you came."

He stood and poured a goblet of wine that he handed to her, and gestured toward the chair next to him by the table.

"Do you know what a greenseeer is, your grace?"

"Is that like warging," Daenerys asked, "I know you can enter ravens' minds, so you are a warg."

"A greenseeer is different. Those are dreams, much harder to interpret than what a bird sees. Bran Stark was a greenseeer. My son Jojen, he was a greenseeer unlike any other. He could tell the future. He told me of Bran Stark escaping Winterfell, he and Meera went to get him. Jojen must've seen something on the way for they never returned. I only learned of their journey when I saw Meera upon my arrival at Winterfell and years have passed in between."

"Their journey," Daenerys asked, "I heard they were beyond the wall."

"Yes, they were looking for Bloodraven. The previous Three Eyed Raven, and, one could also call him your blood, Brynden Rivers he was called once, bastard of Aegon IV. They found him in a cave in the Lands of Always Winter. Meera told me that is where Jojen died. The dead got to him."

"I am so sorry," Daenerys took his hand in her own, "I know what it's like to lose a child, I am sorry."

"I know you know," Reed smiled, "Rhaego, that was the name you gave to your son, is that right?"

"Has Jon told you?"

"No, your grace," Reed leaned close on the chair, "I have my abilities. But I admit, I was merely listening, I was up on a tree nearby."

Daenerys laughed, "It is such an interesting concept, warging. I suppose none has privacy from you."

"I didn't intend to invade your privacy, your grace," Reed said kindly, "I am merely protecting Jon."

"Does he need protection?" Daenerys was surprised, as much as she felt appreciation toward Reed, and strangely enough, she felt nothing about his overhearing of her conversation with Jon.

"In my eyes, yes," Reed's smile was soft, loving as he spoke of Jon, "You may not see it that way, but Jon is little older than my son was, not even two namedays between them, for one reason. And Jon for long have been at the center of life here. If it depended on me, he would've grown up here knowing who he was, preparing for who he must become."

"The prince that was promised," Daenerys asked suspiciously, "or the king of the seven kingdoms?"

"Both," Reed sighed, "We are a strange group of people your grace. For long all I knew about you was that you survived. I saw you once, in Pentos. You lived in a merchant's home with your brother, tall and lean, silver hair to his shoulders. Wild eyes. One look and I knew his coin landed on the downside."

Daenerys chuckled, "Once again you mention Essos. What does a Crannogman do in Essos?"

"Travel," Red grinned, "See what the world has become. Knowledge is power, your grace. I wanted to know things, find out the information I needed to one day help Jon. I wish I found out more. I wish I've met you then, but I've never ventured as far as Meereen. And you probably would've never received me."

"I would have," she said softly, "I would have because you are from Westeros. You want Jon on the Iron Throne."

"I did, I won't deny it, your grace. He is the rightful heir. I know it's what you worked for all your life, and from that perspective, this is unfair, to throw at you just when your goal is within your reach. But he is the heir, he is the son of your elder brother. None of us can change that, not even Jon no matter how he tries to. I am not saying this to convince you of anything."

Dany took a deep breath, "You could not convince me to give up on it," she said, "I am sorry."

"It is good then that I would not try to," Reed smiled, "We are merely two people having an honest conversation. I value the opportunity to have that."

"If we are speaking honestly," Dany looked straight into his eyes, "Tell me where I am failing. I am trying to prove myself and I am failing. Apart from what I see, that I don't have advisors like Jon does, people who know the common folk and their values, tell me where else I am failing."

"You are not failing," Reed took her small hand in his for reassurance as he spoke, "You are doing the right things. Perhaps threatening the North in your anger so publicly wasn't right, but none of us can always do the right thing. The problem is not you, your grace. Remember when I told you that your goal won't bring you happiness? It's not your fault, not at all."

"Then who is responsible?"

"Fate," Reed whispered, "The Old Gods and the New Gods and the Lord of Light and the Drowned God, whichever God you wish to put in charge. Your fate is against you. A Targaryen princess born on Dragonstone and taken straight to Essos, you are a foreigner. Like you say you don't know the land, the people and the customs. You have three dragons and tens of thousands of troops, and you come for the Iron Throne. To conquer. You could be anyone, in such circumstances. You could be your brother Viserys, or you could be any other made-up lord from Essos craving the rich lands of Westeros, it doesn't matter who you are."

"I don't understand," Dany said lowly, "My father was the king of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Aye, the worst king it ever had, that's not going to do you any good. What I am saying is, think of the Westerosi who allied themselves with you, has any of them ever chose you and gave you their armies and support only for you?"

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No. The Greyjoys came because they lost their home to their uncle and needed my help to reclaim it. The Sands came because I was to fight Cersei Lannister and they wanted to be part of it. The Queen of Thorns came to my side for the same. Even Lord Varys and Tyrion came because they had to leave Westeros. Ser Jorah was an exiled knight and tasked to spy on me, albeit he turned his back to that a long time ago. Only Ser Barristan came to serve me for me."

"Did he?"

"He said so."

"Ser Barristan was of the kingsguard, he fought on the Trident besides Rhaegar Targaryen. When the battle was lost, and Robert Baratheon was proclaimed king, he was given a choice – to join Rhaegar in death or swear his oath to Robert. The kingsguard is for life, much like the Nightswatch, and Ser Barristan was dismissed from the Kingsguard after serving Robert for twenty years, despite how close he must've been to your brother, Jon's father. He had little else to do, your grace. He wanted revenge, like anyone else."

"You don't want revenge," she whispered.

"No, but I don't serve you," Reed squeezed her hand, "I don't even serve Jon, at least he never made that official. I suppose I do serve Jon, but my allegiance is with House Stark."

"Why?"

"Because ages ago a Stark defeated the last Marsh King and wed his daughter, in short," Reed smiled. "Because we are of the north."

"Jon is not," she countered.

"He is the son of Lyanna Stark," Reed explained, "He may have been born in Dorne, but he was raised in the North. And people chose to follow him for him, not because of their own revenge."

"I thought they all hated the Boltons," she pointed out.

"Aye, we all did, but not many he asked have joined him against them. They only named him king after he defeated the Boltons. The White Wolf, that's what Lord Glover named him."

"Lord Glover who often and publicly goes against him."

"He has the habit of that," Reed grinned, "And Cerwyn too."

"Whinging Cerwyn," Daenerys laughed, "He's really a coward, isn't he?"

"Yes, and both of them are still more accepted than you could ever be," Reed said softly, "It is not your fault. Your past is not your fault. But it is the reason why you'll never be accepted for yourself. You may gain the Iron Throne, you can do it if you want to, but you'll never be accepted. The south is the same that way, perhaps not as headstrong as the North though the Roynar are not dissimilar to us in that regard, except they have more thirst for power. Have you ever thought of what comes after you won the Iron Throne?"

"I will rule," she declared, "I always planned that I will rule, but I never thought of how. Jon says it's bad omen to plan ahead before battle."

"If I may indulge you in what I think will happen?"

She nodded. "The Riverlands will likely be reclaimed by Edmure Tully, Sansa's uncle, if he hasn't done so already. He's a stupid man and a coward, but he has honour. The Vale is ruled by a sickly, half-mad boy, who lost his best chance at becoming decent with Bronze Royce gone. The Reach will see infighting, the Tyrells are gone and so are the Tarlys save Samwell who's sworn to the Nights Watch and may not be accepted for the kind of man he is. Storms End has no ruler, you can legitimise Gendry the blacksmith as Robert Baratheon's heir but be aware that you legitimise a claimant, for Robert won the throne by conquest. The only land you control will be the Westerlands, with Tyrion but he also won't be accepted by his bannermen, not after fighting against his own kin, having already slain his own father who was rather legendary. The North will close its borders hoping you don't turn the dragons against them, and if you do, they won't bend the knee this time, not with Sansa as their Queen."

"You won't have allies, you will be alone. I am certain that Quentin Martell will return to Dorne and claim it. I am just as certain that he will offer you a marriage alliance, for himself, for his daughter to Jon. That would make his grandchildren kings of the Seven Kingdoms, and you will be bound by Dorne for you'll find that you cannot rule without them. It won't be you ruling, and it won't be Jon either. You'll lose more and more men interfering in those infights, trying to support the claimant who promises support to you. You'll find that their promises are fickle. It won't be what you intended, I am sure of it."

"Varys and Tyrion never speak to me of such things," she said lowly, resentfully. "Tyrion asked me once about who will rule after me, that was all. I refused to discuss it."

"It isn't a pretty happy ending, that is for sure," Reed said, "Perhaps I am wrong, but from our current situation, this is the outcome I see."

"What will you do?"

"I will do what I have always done, your grace," Read leaned back in his chair, his hand still holding hers, "I will return to my simple life, and I will pay my taxes to Winterfell, and not bother much with the rest. Whomever comes to claim Greywater Watch will bleed at our hands. We've only been defeated once, by a Stark. Not even Aegon conquered the marshes, not that he had need to after Torrhen Stark kneeling."

"I was hoping you would come to Kings Landing," she whispered, "Jon would need you. I would need you."

He smiled a forgiving smile. "If I may speak truly, your grace, I would never. Not while you sit on the Throne and Jon is but a prisoner to the circumstances of his birth there. You would use him."

"I know what I said, I was angry," she tried to explain, "I would never force him, you must know that."

"I know that," he smiled assuringly, "I didn't know at first, but I realised that. But Jon would feel obliged, he already does. He gave you his word, and he lives by his word."

She leaned back in her chair, taking it in. "If Jon ruled, it would be the same though. None of this would be different."

"No, none of it would be different," Reed nodded in agreement, "It would be all the same, he would be obliged to take the Martell girl as his wife. He would be stuck in the South with the northern border closed by Sansa, and both would suffer greatly for it, but the North would be independent. I would say that he should honour the Targaryen way and take you, but that is not possible, not if he means to further House Targaryen. It's quite ironic, really. The blood of your ancestors will have to be diluted to keep your house alive."

"Aegon married his own sisters," Dany said firmly, "Two sisters."

"Aye, and I presume more Targaryens did the same, having multiple wives. Rhaegar had two wives. But Jon grew up in the North, I am not that sure he could adjust his way of thinking that much."

The door opened, and Ser Davos stepped in. Daenerys had to chuckle at his sight, wearing the same garment as Reed. It seemed that all of them were supposed to discard their dirty clothing and dress crannog style.

"I am sorry if I interrupted," Davos hesitated, "I can come back later."

"No, please Ser Davos, stay," Daenerys said kindly, "I mean it. I feel that for the first time in a long time I am receiving honest advice, although it is rather hard to hear. Your wisdom is needed, if you are willing."

"What do you need advice about, your grace," Davos asked, taking the chair opposite Reed. Dany turned, letting go of Reeds hand, noting to herself that she's been seated at the head of the table.

"Ever since I met you, you never failed to address me properly, Ser Davos," she said, "Neither of you ever failed at that."

"You are a Queen," Reed explained, "You are Queen of Meereen. It is quite likely that you'll be Queen of the southern kingdoms, so it seems proper. And it is a matter of courtesy. And respect."

Daenerys smiled thankfully, her eyes sad. She felt determined. She hoped she'll be able to handle whatever she'll hear, what all she's heard so far, but she was determined. It felt like her eyes were being opened, by the most unexpected of people. She felt betrayed, and yet she felt the need to hear it all now. There was no going back. She didn't think any of this could change her mind, but information is power. It is better to know it, she resolved in herself.

"Ser Davos answer me truly, in your opinion", she began, "Who would make a better ruler, Jon Snow or me?"

[to be continued…]