"I thought my brother Bran was dead."
Jon's voice sounded hollow as he stared down at the letter in his hands, his expression turned to stone. On the other side of the table in the council chamber, Daenerys exchanged a glance with her advisors.
"I'm happy for you," she said, impatiently tapping the painted tabletop with her own, tightly furled copy of the letter.
Slowly, Jon raised his head to look at her.
"You don't look happy," Daenerys pointed out.
Instead of an answer, Jon held the letter out to Charleen, who was standing beside him. The handwriting on the parchment was unmistakeable, jagged and slightly uneven, an endless source of grief to Septa Mordane in what felt like another life.
Jon –, our brother Bran has returned from beyond the Wall, possessed of magical abilities. He can see across vast distances, though he remains bodily at Winterfell. He warns all the rulers of Westeros that the Army of the Dead is marching on the Wall, near Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Arya.
Charleen looked up from the letter to glance at Jon, and for a moment, their eyes met.
"Bran saw the Night King and his army marching towards Eastwatch," Jon addressed the table at large. "If they make it past the Wall…"
"The Wall has kept them out for thousands of years, presumably," Varys tried to argue, but Jon cut across him.
"I need to go home."
From the corner of her eyes, Charleen saw Ser Davos, who was standing on Jon's other side, straightening up, his hands clasped behind his back.
"You said you don't have enough men," Daenerys said to Jon.
"We'll fight with the men we have," Jon declared with a gesture of resignation. "Unless you'll join us?"
"And give the country to Cersei?" Daenerys snapped. "As soon as I march away, she marches in."
To Charleen's surprise, it was Tyrion who answered.
"Perhaps not," he said, raising his eyes to meet Daenerys' astonished glance. "Cersei thinks the army of the dead is nothing but a story, made up by wet nurses to frighten children. What if we prove her wrong?"
"I don't think she'll come see the dead at my invitation," Jon scoffed in disbelief.
"So bring the dead to her," Tyrion urged. He rose from his chair and took a few steps towards Jon, but Daenerys interrupted him.
"I thought that's what we were trying to avoid."
"We don't have to bring the whole army," Tyrion said without taking his eyes off Jon's face. "Only one soldier."
At these words, Charleen looked up at Jon uncertainly.
"Is that possible?"
He met her gaze for a second, hesitating, and then replied quietly, "the first wight I ever saw was brought into Castle Black from beyond the Wall."
"Bring one of these things down to King's Landing," Tyrion pressed, "and show Cersei the truth."
Instead of an answer, Jon merely stared at him, and it was Varys who broke the silence.
"Anything you bring back will be useless unless Cersei grants us an audience and is somehow convinced not to murder us the moment we set foot in the capital."
"The only person she listens to is Jaime," Tyrion said. "He might listen to me."
He turned to look at Daenerys, and she started up out of her thoughts with an impatient gesture.
"And how would you get into King's Landing?"
At this, Jon and Charleen both turned to look at Ser Davos, who hesitated for a second and then gave a curt nod at their unspoken suggestion.
"I can smuggle you in," he said to Tyrion. "But if the Gold Cloaks recognize you, I'm warning you, I'm not a fighter."
"Well," Daenerys cut in irritably, "it'll all be for nothing if we don't have one of those dead men. How do you propose to find one?"
For a moment, nobody spoke. Then, Ser Jorah Mormont, who had been silent all the while, answered calmly, "with the queen's permission, I'll go north and take one." Catching Daenerys' look, he added quietly, "You asked me to find a cure so I could serve you. Allow me to serve you."
Daenerys did not answer. Her eyes remained fixed on Ser Jorah, and for the first time since she had met her, Charleen thought that she looked afraid.
"The free folk will help us," Jon finally offered, breaking the silence. "They know the real north better than anyone."
"They won't follow Ser Jorah," Davos cautioned.
"They won't have to."
Jon's tone was firm, and he kept his eyes fixed on Daenerys as he spoke, ignoring Charleen's astonished look.
"You can't lead a raid beyond the Wall," Ser Davos admonished him. "You're not in the Night's Watch anymore; you're King in the North."
"I'm the only one here who's fought them," Jon insisted. "I'm the only one here who knows them."
For a moment, Daenerys seemed at a loss for words.
"I haven't given you permission to leave!" she blurted out, clearly struggling to reassert her authority, but Jon defied her.
"With respect, Your Grace, I don't need your permission. I am a king."
Daenerys stared at him in surprise and annoyance, but she did not speak, and Jon continued. "I came here with my wife," he said, "knowing that you could have your men behead us, or your dragons burn us alive. I put my trust in you, a stranger, because I knew it was the best chance for my people, for all our people. And now I'm asking you to trust in a stranger, because it's our best chance."
With bated breath, Charleen watched as Daenerys exchanged a look with Tyrion, and then turned her eyes back to Jon.
"I'm not going to trust you. I'm going to accompany you."
GoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoT
Heavy clouds hung in the sky on the day of their departure from Dragonstone, suffusing the island with a gloomy half-light. The sea, troubled with a strong northerly wind, was coloured a dull, turbid grey. Occasionally, the squalls drove icy drops of rain across the beach and into the faces of the men who were working there, loading the last of the dragonglass from the cave into boats to be ferried to Jon's ship.
On the beach near the entrance to the cave stood Charleen, watching the small fleet of boats as she waited to be taken aboard in her turn. Shivering a little, she drew her cloak close around her and turned her face away from the wind and the rain. As she did so, she saw Ser Davos approaching from the other end of the beach, accompanied by a man whom she did not recognize.
Ser Davos had returned from King's Landing with Tyrion Lannister a few days previously, and Charleen had not seen much of him amidst the preparations for their journey north. She had learned, however, that Tyrion had managed to meet with his brother, and that the Kingslayer had agreed to bring the terms of Daenerys' offer to Queen Cersei. For all that, there had never been any mention of a newcomer to Dragonstone, and Charleen scrutinized the stranger walking beside Ser Davos warily. The two men appeared to be engaged in an animated conversation, but when they drew near, the stranger hung back a little, leaving Ser Davos to speak to Charleen.
"My lady," he greeted her. "Where's the king?"
To Charleen's surprise, he made no move to introduce his companion. Glancing over Ser Davos' shoulder, Charleen saw that the other man was no older than herself, with close-cropped dark hair and pleasant features that seemed vaguely familiar, as though she might have encountered him before. However, she did not say anything but merely indicated the cave behind her in response to Ser Davos' question, and the two men followed her as she led the way towards the entrance.
Inside the cavern, innumerable pieces of dragonglass were lying on the ground in gleaming, shimmering heaps. Jon was standing near the wall, refuelling one of the braziers by whose light the men were busily shovelling the dragonglass into crates and carrying them out to the beach. He looked up when Charleen approached, and gave her a brief smile before turning to the two others.
"Begging your pardon, Your Grace," Ser Davos began, indicating his companion, "this is Clovis –"
"My name's Gendry, Your Graces," the other cut across him. "I'm Robert Baratheon's son. Bastard son."
He took a step forward into the light of the brazier, and Charleen realized why his features looked familiar. They were indeed those of the king who had come to Winterfell six years ago, only younger and finer, lacking the bloat that had resulted from King Robert's excessive love of good food and wine.
Ser Davos quickly looked from Gendry to Jon, his expression disgruntled.
"He was meant to keep that to himself."
"Our fathers trusted each other," Gendry said to Jon. "Why shouldn't we?"
Jon looked at him intently for a moment, and exchanged a glance with Charleen before he spoke.
"I saw your father once, at Winterfell."
"I met yours, in my shop."
"You're a lot leaner," Jon remarked, smiling slightly as his eyes flickered over Gendry's figure.
"And you're a lot shorter."
His brazen confidence took Charleen by surprise, but the good-natured smile with which he delivered what might otherwise have been an insult precluded any unfavourable judgement of his words. She glanced at Jon, who was fixing Gendry with a stern look, but then, as if in agreement with her thoughts, the corners of his mouth began to twitch, and he chuckled.
"We grew up on stories about them."
"All I ever heard is that they fought together, and won." Gendry's smile faded as he spoke, to be replaced with a look of staunch determination. "Ser Davos told me where you're going, Your Grace, and why. Let me come with you."
"Don't be a fool," Davos protested. "You're not a soldier."
"No, but I am a fighter," Gendry insisted, his gaze fixed on Jon. "If what you say is true about what's up there, I can't wait out this war. And you won't have much use for a smith with a sword like that." With a jerk of his head, he indicated Jon's weapon, which Daenerys had had returned to him only a few days previously, after their debate in the council chamber.
Jon remained silent for a moment, his gaze moving over Gendry's figure.
"Do you know how to use one?"
Gendry shook his head.
"I prefer a hammer," he said, with a meaningful look at Ser Davos, and the old knight nodded grudgingly.
"He can handle himself."
When they emerged from the cave a few moments later, the rainy squalls had turned into a steady drizzle, shrouding the beach in a fine grey mist. As they approached the water's edge, Charleen saw that Daenerys had arrived, accompanied by an escort of Dothraki warriors. Instead of her customary black, Daenerys was dressed in a coat of white fur that hugged her upper body tightly and widened into an open skirt below her waist. In the sky above, her three dragons were circling, silhouetted dimly against the leaden sky.
Realizing, no doubt, that the moment was not right to introduce the son of King Robert Baratheon, Ser Davos beckoned Gendry away towards one of the boats, while Jon and Charleen went to meet Daenerys.
"Your Grace."
Daenerys acknowledged their greeting with a nod, and then turned to look out over the bay with a faraway expression in her eyes.
"Are you sure you want to come?" Jon asked, following her gaze.
"I am the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Daenerys reminded him. "It's time I became acquainted with my realm."
She took a step forward into the surf, where a group of men were pulling an empty boat ashore. One of them drew near, and Charleen saw that it was Ser Jorah Mormont. He held out his hand to Daenerys, who took it with a smile, allowing him to help her through the shallow water and into the boat. Her Dothraki escort followed her, and once all of them were aboard, the men pushed the boat back into the water with a long, drawn-out cry of "heave!".
Charleen heard Jon blowing out a deep breath.
"All right," he said heavily, laying his hand on her waist to guide her towards the other boat, where Ser Davos and Gendry were waiting. But just as she was about to climb aboard, she caught sight of a lone figure approaching from the other end of the beach. Squinting to see through the haze of rain, she recognised that it was Theon Greyjoy.
He came towards them slowly, his movements stiff and hesitant. When Jon and Charleen went to meet him, he stopped, lowering his head to stare at the sand beneath his feet.
"I heard you were leaving today," he mumbled. "I came to wish you good fortune."
"Theon."
Charleen took a step forward and grasped both his hands in hers.
"Theon, Bran is back home at Winterfell. Alive, and safe. And so is Arya."
Slowly, Theon raised his head to look at her, his eyes wide. Holding his gaze, Charleen squeezed his fingers tightly as though to physically impress the meaning of her words upon him. Then, she let go and stepped back, turning away with difficulty.
Jon gave a brief nod at Theon and put his arm around Charleen's shoulders to guide her back to the boat, where Ser Davos was waiting to help her over the gunwale. Lowering herself down on one of the wooden seats, Charleen drew her cloak close around her against the wind and the rain. The boat pushed off from the shore, and she did not look back.