I'm sorry for the delay - usually, I try to post a new chapter once a month, but September was crazy busy with work and other things. And to top it all off, I had contact with a person who tested positive for Corona and am currently in quarantine. I don't have any symptoms yet, but the situation is stressful enough to keep me from getting into the right headspace for writing. Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter - I promise to try and update regularly again after all this is over! Take care of yourselves and please leave a review. :)
Eyes narrowed against the dazzling sunlight, Ser Davos peered inquisitively at Jon and Charleen as they made their way down from the castle towards the beach to oversee the beginning of the mining operations.
"What do you think of her?"
Jon exhaled heavily. "Well," he said, "she didn't go to storm King's Landing. She doesn't want to kill thousands of innocent people, which means, at the very least, she's better than Cersei."
They walked on in silence for a few moments. The causeway turned sharply, following the ridge of the cliff, and as the next bend came into view, they saw a figure standing at the parapet overlooking the bay.
"Speaking of innocents," Ser Davos said, pointing, "Missandei of Naath."
Missandei turned at the sound of her name, smiling and bowing her head as she saw who was approaching.
"Ser Davos, Lady Charleen. Lord Snow."
"King Snow, isn't it?" Ser Davos corrected her testily. "No, that doesn't sound right. King Jon?"
He glanced at Jon as he spoke, but Jon brushed him off with a shake of the head.
"It doesn't matter."
"Forgive me," said Missandei, "may I ask a question?"
"Of course."
"Your name is Jon Snow," she recited, her eyebrows furrowing, "but your father's name was Ned Stark…?"
"Aye, I'm a bastard," Jon explained, and when Missandei did not look any less puzzled, he added, "my mother and father weren't married."
"Is the custom different in Naath?" Charleen inquired.
"We don't have marriage in Naath," Missandei declared, "so the concept of a bastard doesn't exist."
"That sounds… liberating," Ser Davos put forth with a sideways glance at Jon.
"Why did you leave your homeland?" Jon asked Missandei.
"I was stolen away by slavers," she replied matter-of-factly.
"I'm sorry."
"If I may," interjected Ser Davos, "how did a slave girl come to advise Daenerys Targaryen?"
At this, a smile flickered across Missandei's face.
"She bought me from my master and set me free."
"That was good of her," Ser Davos acknowledged, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Of course, you're serving her now, aren't you?"
"I serve my queen because I want to serve my queen," Missandei told him emphatically. "Because I believe in her."
"And if you wanted to sail home to Naath tomorrow…?" Charleen probed.
"Then she would give me a ship, and wish me good fortune."
"You believe that?" Jon said sceptically.
"I know it. All of us who came with her from Essos, we believe in her. She's not our queen because she's the daughter of some king we never knew. She's the queen we chose."
Before any of them could say another word, the tolling of a bell suddenly rang out over the cliff, and Missandei quickly turned her head towards the bay. Following her gaze, Charleen saw that a ship was approaching the island. Its sails were black, but the sigil emblazoned upon them was not the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
Beside her, Jon drew a sharp breath.
"Is that a Greyjoy ship?"
As they hurried down the causeway and onto the beach, they saw that a boat was being rowed ashore, cresting the waves of the surf. Having reached the shallows, the crew jumped out to pull the boat up onto the shore, and Charleen recognized the man at the prow.
It was Theon Greyjoy.
Immediately, Charleen and Jon quickened their pace, leaving Ser Davos and Missandei behind them as they strode towards Theon and his crew. Theon was bent over with the effort of pulling the boat, his head turned over his shoulder as he shouted instructions at his men. It was only when the boat was safely ashore that he straightened – and froze as he saw who was waiting for him on the beach.
Jon and Charleen had also stopped, and for a moment, Charleen simply stared at Theon.
He looked much better than the last time she had seen him at Winterfell. His hair was shorter and tidier, his face fuller and healthier-looking, and his eyes had lost their haunted, frantic expression.
"Jon?" he said, a mixture of surprise and apprehension in his voice, "Charleen? I didn't know you were here."
He took a tentative step forward, his eyes moving uncertainly between them.
"Sansa –" he continued, hesitating, "– I'm so sorry. We escaped from Winterfell together. She got hurt jumping from the wall. We had to cross a river to throw off Ramsay's hounds. It was freezing cold. I held her in my arms to keep her warm, but it wasn't enough. We fell asleep, and she didn't wake up."
Theon's voice faltered. From the corner of her eye, Charleen saw Jon slowly advancing towards him, but before the two men could come within arm's reach of each other, she forestalled them. Rushing forward, she closed the distance and put her arms around Theon in a tight embrace.
When she drew back, she saw that Theon was looking over her shoulder at Jon, on whose face hatred and anger were slowly giving way to a profound sadness.
"We heard that your fleet was attacked," Jon said with difficulty. "We thought you were dead."
"I should be," Theon replied flatly. "My sister's been captured. I came to ask the queen to help me get her back."
"The queen is gone."
"Where did she go?"
Jon exhaled heavily.
"The Lannisters took the Reach. She's taken her dragon to turn their victory into defeat. "
GoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoT
The following morning, a sharp, gusty wind was sweeping the island, driving heavy banks of clouds across the sky and flattening the grass atop the cliff where Jon and Charleen had ventured to watch the progress of the mining operations on the beach below.
Standing on the rocky precipice, Jon put his arms around Charleen, his hands resting low on her stomach where the first hint of a swelling was curving against his palms. He bent forward to kiss her, and Charleen tilted her head back, smiling tenderly as she received his caress.
Almost immediately, however, they started up again as a faint screeching carried towards them across the bay. To the south, a familiar shape was silhouetted against the sky, approaching the island with slow beatings of its wings.
The dragon soared overhead, descending towards the cliff, and they turned, awestruck, to follow it with their gaze. The very ground seemed to shake as it landed, ploughing the dirt with its claws, its neck lowered so that they could just make out the silver-haired rider perched upon its back.
From the corner of her eye, Charleen saw Jon moving to stand in front of her as the dragon advanced towards them, snarling menacingly. All of a sudden, it leapt forward, opening its jaws in an ear-splitting roar. Charleen stood frozen, staring at the double rows of razor-sharp teeth that lined the dragon's maw as its hot breath swept her face.
The dragon reared up as if to strike, but then lowered its head slowly, its nostrils flaring as it scented the two strangers on the cliff. It crawled forward, extending its neck until its muzzle was within an arm's length of Jon's face, and Charleen watched, transfixed, as Jon pulled off his glove and extended his hand.
The dragon crept towards him, baring its teeth in a low growl, but then, Jon's hand made contact with the side of its muzzle, just beneath its nostril. All at once, the growling stopped, and the dragon nudged forward into Jon's touch with a soft grunting sound. Charleen saw its eye closing and opening again lazily as Jon rubbed his hand back and forth over the reddish-black scales.
Releasing a shaky breath, she took a step forward, and, after a moment, the dragon turned its head towards her. With trembling fingers, Charleen removed her own glove and held out her hand as Jon had done, but the dragon ignored her gesture. Slowly, it lowered its head towards her belly, scenting her with a low whuff of breath, and then, very gently, nudged against her with its muzzle.
Hardly daring to breathe, Charleen once again stretched out her hand. The dragon's skin was rough and cool beneath her fingers, shifting slightly as the nostrils dilated at her touch.
It was only when the dragon drew back that Charleen realized she was shaking, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. The dragon twisted its head around, trilling softly at Daenerys as she dismounted from its back. As she stepped down onto the grass and came towards them, it turned away and took to the air with a powerful stroke of its wings, shrieking as if to greet the two others, who were circling in the sky above the cliff.
"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Daenerys said, gazing up at her dragons.
Jon gave a shaky chuckle. "That wasn't the word I was thinking of –" he said, hesitating a little as Daenerys turned to glare at him, "but yes, they are. Gorgeous beasts."
"They're not beasts to me," Daenerys pointed out, "no matter how big they get, how terrifying to everyone else. They are my children."
She turned her head up to the sky again to watch her dragons in flight, and Jon exchanged a glance with Charleen.
"You weren't gone long," he said to Daenerys.
"No."
"And?"
Daenerys lowered her gaze for a moment, and then looked straight at Jon.
"I have fewer enemies today than I did yesterday," she said. When Jon did not respond, she added, "you're not sure how you feel about that."
"No, I'm not."
Jon turned and slowly started back in the direction of the castle, motioning for Charleen to follow him. However, Daenerys did not desist.
"How many men did your army kill taking Winterfell back from the Boltons?" she challenged him.
"Thousands."
"We both want to help people," Daenerys pressed. "We can only help them from a position of strength." She looked at Jon, but it was Charleen who spoke.
"That's not why you're waging this war, though, is it?" she pointed out. "You're claiming the Iron Throne as your birthright."
A giddy recklessness had come over her in the aftermath of her encounter with the dragon, coursing through her with every heartbeat and loosening her tongue.
"Crushing an oppressor like Cersei Lannister is a noble goal," she continued, "but what if you had come to Westeros to find the Seven Kingdoms at peace, prospering under the just rule of a good king or queen?"
Daenerys stopped in her tracks, but before she could reply, her attention was caught by a group of Dothraki warriors coming towards them from the castle. As they approached, the man in front said something to Daenerys in Dothraki and then stepped aside, revealing a stranger among the group who was clearly Westerosi. He had sandy-coloured hair that was thinning at the top, and the lower half of his lined, weather-beaten face was covered in greying stubble.
Daenerys gave an answer in Dothraki, her tone suddenly very soft. The stranger approached, knelt before her, and lowered his head.
"Your Grace."
"Jon Snow, Lady Charleen, this is Ser Jorah Mormont," Daenerys explained, "an old friend."
Ser Jorah rose, and Charleen suddenly noticed the resemblance he bore to Lyanna Mormont, the Lady of Bear Island – they had the same angular jaw, the same dark, wide-set eyes.
"I served with your father," Jon remarked to Ser Jorah. "He was a great man."
"You look strong," Daenerys told him, with the same quiet tenderness in her voice. "You found a cure?"
"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't," Ser Jorah replied. "I return to your service, my queen, if you'll have me."
"It would be my honour."
And with that, Daenerys stepped forward and embraced him, and the old knight smiled.