Chapter 2

While Euron enjoyed the queen's company in her bed, Yara Greyjoy sat alone and despondent tied up to a pole beneath deck on her uncle's ship, the Silence, as she had been doing for several months now. Suddenly, she heard loud grunts and thuds. The door to her room was opened. She looked down and saw one of her uncle's men dead with a hatchet in his eye. When she looked up, she saw her younger brother, Theon Greyjoy. He took the hatchet from the dead soldier's eye and used it to cut his sister free. He helped her stand up.

The last time they saw each other, Euron held her at knifepoint and threatened to kill her if Theon tried to rescue her. He jumped overboard and joined what little remained of her crew to urge Daenerys Targaryen to rescue her. Yara leaned back and butted him with her head, sending Theon to the ground for him abandoning her yet again. Still, he was her brother and he had finally come to rescue her, so she offered her hand and pulled him up. Together, they escaped with their crew and got back on their own Greyjoy ships.

"Euron can't defend the Iron Islands, not if he was in King's Landing with all his men and his ships," Yara told her brother. "We can take our home back."

"Daenerys went north," Theon told his sister.

"Daenerys will need somewhere to retreat to if she can't hold the north. Somewhere the dead can't go," Yara reminded Theon. Theon once again felt conflicted by where his loyalties lay. Yara was, as far as he was concerned, the rightful queen of the Iron Islands. But he rallied behind Yara's support for Daenerys as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And Jon was with Daenerys in the North, his other home, where he had spent most of his life and bonded with the Stark children. And then he betrayed them. But he paid the price for it tenfold with his torture under the ruthless Ramsey Bolton. Once he saved Sansa from Ramsey and reunited with his sister, he was set to right the wrongs of his past.

"My queen, I go where you command," he told his sister. Normally, since he was the only son of Balon Greyjoy left, the salt throne would be his. But with his history, his inability to father children, and his family squabbling for it, he was perfectly comfortable serving under his big sister.

But Yara could see that he truly did not want to return to the Iron Islands with her. "You want to go to Winterfell to fight for the Starks." Theon could not deny it. "Go. What is dead may never die." Those were the words of their Greyjoy house.

"What is dead may never die," Theon repeated. Yara grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hug, knowing this may very well be the last time she saw her brother.

"They kill the bastards anyway," she said.

Back at Winterfell, Alys Karstark was bringing her men, horses, and wagons from her house to Winterfell.

"Welcome back my lady," Yohn Royce greeted her. "If you'd follow me," he led her inside the castle.

"The Karstarks," Tyrion remarked. He, Varys, and Davos Seaworth were watching them from a few feet away. "One of the better sigils. Beats an onion, anyway," he joked at Davos, whose nickname was the Onion Knight for his smuggling of onions to Dragonstone during the previous winter.

"Can't argue with that," Davos agreed. "Not so long ago the Starks and the Karstarks were slaughtering each other on the battlefield. Jon Snow brought peace to the houses."

"And our queen is grateful," Tyrion added.

"Her gratitude is lovely, but that's not my point," Davos continued. "The Northmen are loyal to Jon Snow, not to her. They don't know her. The Free Folk don't know her. I've been up here a while and I'm telling you, they're stubborn as goats. You want their loyalty, you have to earn it."

Tyrion stood behind his friends for a few moments to consider everything Davos had just told him. He knew he was right. He hoped that Daenerys joining their cause and sacrificing one of her dragons for it could be enough for the Northmen to temporarily forget the horrors her father had imposed on them so many years ago. But then again, maybe they needed more persuasion. He followed Varys and Davos up the stairs on top of the wall. "I sense that you're leading to a proposal," Tyrion asked.

"A proposal is what I'm proposing," Davos answered. "On the off chance that we survive the Night King, what if the Seven Kingdoms, for once in their shit history, were ruled by a just woman and an honorable man?" They stood watching Jon and Daenerys talking by the tents.

"They do make a handsome couple," Tyrion admitted. He knew that they had been intimate already on their boat ride here. He knew that their love for each other would complicate the plans he had.

"You overestimate our influence. Jon and Daenerys don't want to listen to lonely old men," Varys argued.

"I'm not that old," Tyrion quipped. "I'm not as old as him," he said, motioning to Davos. Davos snorted in response "Our queen respect the wisdom of age," he said.

"Of course she does," Varys said. "Respect is how the young keep us at a distance so we don't remind them of an unpleasant truth."

"What is that?" Tyrion asked.

"Nothing lasts," Varys answered grimly.

Jon and Daenerys walked together amongst the incoming wagons and the tents set up outside of Winterfell, where men were building trebuchets. "Your sister doesn't like me," she said.

"She doesn't know you," Jon said, trying to comfort her. "If it makes you feel any better, she didn't like me when we were growing up. She's been through a lot. It would be a miracle if she did like anyone at all."

"She doesn't need to be my friend. But I am her queen," Daenerys stated. The two were interrupted by three Dothraki men riding up to Daenerys. Jon heard her ask them something in Dothraki. One of them answered her in Dothraki before the three of them slowly rode off.

"What's the matter?" Jon asked Daenerys.

"It's the dragons. They've eaten 18 goats and 11 sheep already. We should go check on them." Jon and Daenerys found Drogon and Rhaegal resting by a large pile of charred bones in a field by a small river far from Winterfell.

"What's wrong with them?" Jon asked.

Daenerys reached up and stroked Drogon's snout. "They don't like the North," she said. Jon noticed Rhaegal looking intently at him. The way Rhaegal was looking at him, it was almost like he knew him, like he could see into his soul. Daenerys climbed on top of Drogon. "Go on," she gently urged.

She had to be kidding. He had never ridden a dragon before. He knew how dangerous they were. He was practically a stranger to this dragon. "I don't know how to ride a dragon," he told her firmly.

"Nobody does, until they ride a dragon," Daenerys encouraged.

"What if he doesn't want me to?" Jon asked.

"Then I've enjoyed your company, Jon Snow." Rhaegal leaned down and allowed Jon to climb up on his back. It was rather rough, scaly, and spiky.

"What do I hold onto?" Jon asked.

"Whatever you can," Daenerys answered.

Jon grabbed onto a couple of Rhaegal's spines. Immediately, Rhaegal began to ascend, as Jon struggled to hold on. Daenerys smiled at the man she loved riding one of her dragons before she followed them. Rhaegal leaned toward one side and then the other, flying over the soldiers marching into Winterfell and in front of Davos, Tyrion, and Varys, who had been discussing them moments earlier. Daenerys flew in front of him above the evergreen woods. She looked back at him. Rhaegal called out to his mother and brother before they dove closer to the forest, knocking some snow off of the pine trees.

Jon saw Daenerys and Drogon dive into a trench. Jon looked for her. Once he saw her, Rhaegal sharply dove deeper into the trench. Rhaegal and Drogon swerved around each edge of the trench and navigated their way through and above it. Jon decided to steer Rhaegal to his left. Daenerys curiously watched him and steered Drogon toward him. She found Rhaegal lying in the snow. Daenerys gently landed Drogon next to him.

"You've completely ruined horses for me," Jon said as they walked away from the dragons. Daenerys giggled. Her eyes lit up as Jon had taken her to a beautiful waterfall.

"We could stay a thousand years. No one would find us." Daenerys said as she turned towards Jon. Jon smiled. His former love, Ygritte, who was now dead, had once said something similar to him when they made love for the first time inside a cave equipped with a waterfall.

"We'd be pretty old," he said. The two of them walked closer to each other. "It's cold up here for a southern girl," Jon smugly said.

"So keep your queen warm," Daenerys huskily demanded. Jon pulled her closer and kissed her. She put her arm around him. Their kiss was interrupted by the dragons growling, watching them. Were they threatened by Jon's presence and his closeness to their mother? Would they hurt him just for kissing her? Could they know how intimate they had been already? Daenerys smiled. "Don't be afraid," she said. She pulled him back to continue their kiss. Jon opened his eyes to see Drogon snorting at him.

Back at Winterfell, dragonglass weapons were being forged. Molds had been made for arrows, axes, and daggers. Someone called out Gendry's name. He walked over and picked up an axe made of dragonglass. He had forged many types of armor in his day, but the only weapon he could handle was a battle-axe, much like his late father, Robert Baratheon, who slew Rhaegar Targaryen at the Battle of the Trident with the very same weapon.

"It isn't easy making a blade that big with dragonglass," Gendry bragged. He handed his axe to the Hound.

"You're saying you're good at it?" the Hound asked.

"I'm just saying it's a tricky material to-"

"You know who makes weapons for the wildlings?" the Hound interrupted. "Proposing cocksuckers," he answered. "Which one are you?"

"Leave him be," A voice said from behind them. They both turned around and were surprised to see Arya Stark glaring at them. The last time the Hound saw her, she had taken his money and left him for dead after a vicious battle with Brienne of Tarth. The last time Gendry saw her, he was being taken away by the Red Woman. Arya was no longer the plucky little tomboy they once knew. Now, she was a taller, deadly, more developed young woman.

"I heard you were here. You left me to die," the Hound said.

"First I robbed you," Arya reminded him. The Hound had once done the same to a farmer and his daughter who had taken them in. Both were dead now, and the Hound buried them. He got up and walked closer to Arya. His glare matched her own.

"You're a cold little bitch, aren't you? Guess that's why you're still alive." The Hound walked off. That was as much as an "I'm glad you're not dead" that she was ever going to get from the Hound.

"That was a nice axe you made for him," Arya complimented Gendry. "We've gotten better."

"Thanks, so have you," Gendry returned the compliment. "I mean you look good," Gendry said nervously. She was so beautiful. When she was younger, he thought she had a crush of it but he didn't think anything would come of it. Until right now, that is.

"Thanks. So do you," Arya said back.

"It's not a bad place to grow up if it wasn't so cold," Gendry sad as he walked back to making more weapons.

"Stay close to that forge then," Arya ordered.

"Is that a command from Lady Stark?" Gendry jokingly asked. He knew how much she hated being called a lady.

"Don't call me that," she ordered again.

"As you wish, milady," Gendry joked. As much as she hated being called a lady, there was something about they way he said it, the way it rolled off of his tongue that Arya liked. She couldn't help but smile and blush. Why was she doing that? She had looked down upon girls who acted that way in front of boys, especially her sister, her whole life. Why was she doing this now in front of him? But she returned to her serious state.

"Here's my wish," she said as she handed him a scroll with a drawing on it. The drawing was of a long stick with a removable dragonglass dagger at each end. It was very similar to the sticks she used while she was training with the Faceless Men of Bravos. "Can you make it?" she asked.

"What do you need something like this for?" Gendry asked back.

"Can you make it or not?" Arya repeated.

"You already have a sword," Gendry reminded her. "What's that?" he asked as he noticed the dagger Bran had given her on her belt. Arya pulled it out and handed it to him.

"It's Valyrian steel," he said in awe. It was a rare material to possess, let alone work with. "I always knew you were just another rich girl." He handed the dagger back to Arya and she put it back in its sheath on her belt.

"You don't know any other rich girls," Arya reminded him. She turned and walked away. He watched as she left the room. Arya spun around to get one last look at him as she left.

Upstairs, Sansa was reading a note she had just received from a raven when she heard a knock at the door. "Come in," she ordered. It was Jon Snow. Sansa sighed in disappointment. "Lord Glover wishes us good fortune, but he's staying in Deepwood Motte with his men," she read out loud.

Jon threw down his glove in anger. He knew they needed everyone to fight the army of the dead. To know that Lord Glover and his men weren't coming was just as much a militaristic setback as it was a personal disappointment. "House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years," he repeated Lord Glover's vow to Sansa, who rolled her eyes. "Isn't that what he said?"

"'I will stand behind Jon Snow,' he said. The King in the North," Sansa coldly told Jon, reminding him of the title and control he had so easily given away to a stranger. She angrily paced the room. Jon knew that now he would have to explain his decision to his sister in private.

"I told you we needed allies," he tried to explain.

"You didn't tell me you were going to abandon your crown."

"I never wanted a crown. All I wanted was to protect the North. I brought two armies home with me, two dragons-"

"And a Targaryen queen," Sansa pointed out.

"Do you think we can beat the army of the dead without her? I've fought them, Sansa, twice. You want to worry about who hold what title, I'm telling you, it doesn't matter. Without her, we don't stand a chance." Jon sighed. After a brief pause he asked, "Do you have any faith in me at all?"

"You know I do," Sansa answered.

"She'll be a good queen. For all of us. She's not her father," Jon assured Sansa.

Sansa sighed. "No, she's much prettier." Jon smiled and looked down. Sansa noticed it just as she noticed the way he looked at her or the way he talked to her when they didn't think anybody else was around. She knew that now was the time to ask the most important question, the one that had been in her brain since Littlefinger had suggested it to her.

"Did you bend the knee to save the North or because you love her?" she asked. Jon looked up at her with surprise. He didn't even answer her. He didn't need to. Sansa already knew that answer to her question.

Elsewhere, Daenerys and Jorah paced the library at Winterfell, clearly looking for someone. Once Jorah turned his head towards him, Daenerys cleared her throat. Samwell Tarly looked up from the desk he was sitting and writing at. "Oh," he said, once he realized who it was. He stumbled as he stood up.

"So you're the man?" Daenerys asked.

"Umm, which man am I, your grace?" Samwell asked, unsure of what was happening.

"The one who saved Ser Jorah when no one else could," she answered.

"They could, they just wouldn't," Ser Jorah clarified. Samwell smiled, confirming everything.

"I'll have to make some changed in the Citadel once I take the throne. A great service merits a great reward," Daenerys said.

"Oh, it's my honor to serve you, your grace," a smiling Samwell said.

"Well there must be something I could give you," Daenerys offered.

Samwell thought for a moment. "If it's not too much trouble, I could use a pardon," he answered.

"For what crime," Daenerys asked. How could someone who risked his own life to save a sickly friend of hers do something so horrible that he would need a pardon?

"Um, I borrowed a few books from the Citadel," Samwell answered. Daenerys and Jorah looked at each other and tried to hold back giggles. "And also a sword," Samwell continued.

"From the Citadel?" Daenerys asked. Why would the greatest library in Westeros hold a sword?

"From my family. It's been in House Tarly for generations. It would have been mine anyway eventually. But my father had…other ideas," Samwell explained.

"Not Randyll Tarly?" Daenerys asked. She seemed shocked.

"You know him?" Samwell asked. Jorah looked at him and then Daenerys. He knew she would now have to explain what she did to his father and brother.

"I offered to let him retain his lands and titles if he bent the knee. He refused," Daenerys explained. Jorah looked at Sam with pity. Sam looked down. His chin quivered and his breath was shaky as he tried to make sense of the fact that his father was dead.

Trying to find some relief in this, Sam said, "At least I'll be allowed home again, now that my brother's the lord."

"Your brother stood with your father," Daenerys told him. Now Sam could barely hold back tears. True, his father and brother were horrible to him. His brother teased him for being weak and his father thought him so less of a man that he threatened to kill him and make it look like an accident if he did not go to the Night's Watch and renounce all his titles. But still, they were his family. His father probably got what was coming to him, but Dickon? He was so young and he was less cruel than their father.

"Um, thank you for telling me, your grace." Sam struggled to maintain his composure in front of Daenerys. "May I…"

"Go ahead," Daenerys encouraged. Samwell Tarly hurriedly exited the library. He rushed down the stairs and into the street. He almost didn't see a wagon hurrying in front of him. He jumped back in the nick of time. After the wagon passed, Samwell saw Bran in his wheelchair on the other side. He ran up to him. Bran looked up at him.

"She told you, didn't she?" Bran asked.

"You knew?" Samwell asked, enraged. "Of course you knew. You're the bloody three-eyed raven now. What are you even doing out here this late at night?"

"I'm waiting for an old friend," Bran answered.

"What? Look, we have to tell Jon the truth. Right now," Sam said urgently.

"You have to tell him," Bran said.

"What? Why me? You said we were going to tell him together. You're his brother!"

"I'm not," Bran reminded Sam.

"Cousin. You know what I mean. He's known you since you were born."

"He trusts you more than anyone. You're his best friend," Bran told him.

"Who just found out that Daenerys killed his father and brother. If I tell him, he might think I'm making it up to get back at her. I mean honestly, which one of us do you think he'll believe?"

Bran remained silent for a few moments. "My friend won't be here until tomorrow anyway. We tell Jon together tomorrow night, just as we had originally planned." Samwell nodded and walked off to grieve for his father and brother in peace.

The next morning, more people continued to come to Winterfell to help prepare for the upcoming war against the dead. One man in particular rode a back horse and wore a black sack over his head. He said nothing to no one as he passed through the town and entered the gates of Winterfell. Clearly, he wanted to arrive at Winterfell without anyone knowing who he was. Once he arrived in the courtyard, he dismounted his black horse and removed the sack from his head.

Jaime Lannister looked around. He saw wooden structures mounted with dragonglass and trebuchets being built. He saw many people walk past him but one person stood out to him. The one who had been waiting for him since last night. The one he perhaps dreaded the most to see. The boy he had pushed out of a tower and crippled many years ago. Bran maintained his cold stare as Jaime's face filled with shock and regret for his many past crimes. Crimes against the people he was now fighting for. Crimes he would have to own up to now.