Tyrion Lannister, Hand to Daenerys Targaryen, squinted at the boat rowing to shore from the Northern vessel that had moored just off the coast. "Fuck."
"Is there a problem, my Lord?" Missandei asked, her voice perfectly calm.
He sighed. "That lovely head of dark hair on the boat is Jon Snow. And if Jon Snow is here, Sansa Stark almost certainly is not."
"They are still our guests, are they not?" She replied perfectly pleasantly.
Tyrion looked up at her. "Your ability to ignore the dangerous happenings around you with hospitality will forever amaze me. True talent." He looked back at the boat. There was an unfortunate lack of red hair of any description. "Our Queen will not be happy."
"Were you expecting this Northern Queen to truly come?" Missandei seemed genuinely curious.
He sighed. "No, but I had hope when she sent a ship at all." His smile tightened as the rowboat came ashore. Several of the oarsmen, who were clearly also Stark men at arms, jumped over the gunwales and dragged the wooden vessel further ashore. The rest of the men, and one woman interestingly, disembarked onto the wet sand. The crash of waves about their ankles.
Jon Snow was a man grown now. His face was scarred, and his garb was that of a man of war. The detailing showed real craftsmanship however. He looked terribly alike to his Lord Father as he strode forward. The lone woman of the company was wearing masculine appearing clothing though well tailored for her, as well as three men not in the uniform of the men at arms, falling in behind his steps. The distinct armor of the Vale one of the men was wearing was notable, and concerning for the future of their conquest of Westeros.
As Jon came to a halt before him, the two of them were silent for a long second. Oh, how times had changed. Tyrion had genuinely liked Jon last he'd seen him. So he greeted him. "The Bastard of Winterfell."
Jon's lips twitched, as the majority of his party glared, his voice strong. "The Dwarf of Casterly Rock."
There was faintly fond silence then, before they stepped towards each other and clasping hands, smiles on their faces.
"I believe we last saw each other on top of the wall." Tyrion relaxed at the mood of the other man. There was still hope then. Besides, it was good to see him once more.
Jon huffed. "You were pissing off the edge if I remember right." He gave a pointed look towards Tyrion's face. "You picked up some scars along the road."
Tyrion nodded. "It's been a long road. But we're both still here." It was the important bit. He looked to the small group of nobility that'd been able to cram onto the small rowboat that'd ferried them from their vessel to shore. He could tell by her position to Jon's right the woman was the highest ranking likely, which was strange based on her features? Perhaps Jon had married? He held out his hand. "I'm Tyrion Lannister."
"Daisy Johnson." An easy smile was on her face as she accepted his hand, laying hers in it and allowing him to brush a brief kiss upon her knuckles, not a flicker of distaste or judgment over his stature. Up close, while her deep blue clothing was plain, it was of high quality. She gestured to the rest of the small party. "This is Ser Davos Seaworthy, Ser Marlon Manderly, and Ser Ashter Moore. The rest of our party is on the ship still."
Tyrion gave her a respectful nod, at the least, she deserved that for the respect. He turned his attention to Davos, he knew that name, and the implication of a Vale knight and a knight of the Stormlands as part of the Northern contingent was concerning. "Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay." He kept a friendly tone.
"Unluckily for me." Davos' voice was thick with his Flea Bottom accent.
Tyrion's smile remained, even as his concern was increasing. He politely waved to Missandei. "Missandei is the Queen's most trusted advisor."
"Welcome to Dragonstone." Missandei's voice was delightfully perfect. "Our Queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you would not mind handing over your weapons."
Jon's lips twitched slightly as he looked to his men, his eyes lingering on the amused woman Daisy, before turning back. "Of course." The lack of concern as the Northern party began to unbuckle their swordbelts was…yet another decision that left Tyrion uneasy.
The Dothraki guards moved forward, accepting the weapons being turned over. There was shockingly little upset or grumbling over it. However, there were some looks as the Dothraki picked up the rowboat and carried it away.
Blessed Missandei spoke before any disquiet or unhappiness could fester. "Please, this way."
Tyrion fell into step beside Jon and the foreign woman Daisy as they began to walk up the beach and towards the towering fortress above. Davos had trotted forward to speak with Missandei.
Tyrion spoke as they walked. "I hope you're used to stairs from your time at the Wall, for Dragonstone is made of them."
"I reckon I'll manage. Good to be off the boat after so long." Jon chuckled as he matched his strides to Tyrion's. "So, Hand to the Dragon Queen?"
He felt a familiar thrum of pride at the title. "It's been an eventful few years." His eyes flicked meaningfully to the silver pin of a wolf's paw over a sword. "But then you're Hand to a Queen as well now, unless my eyes deceive me?"
"Aye." Jon genuinely smiled, a light in his eye that Tyrion had not seen in the man's face before. "And a Stark as well."
"Legitimized?" Tyrion knew what that must mean to the man. "Good for you." Even if it took away at least one option for earning loyalty or favor from Jon.
It was far easier to breathe once up the initial steps from the beach to the stone cliff tops above. The flat walkway to the entrance to the great fortress certainly was superior to stairs. He restarted the conversation. "And Sansa, alive and well then?"
"She is." Jon had a satisfied pride to him at that.
He nodded, that was good. A miracle, but good. "Does she miss me terribly?"
Jon looked at him, clearly, the joke had not landed.
"A sham marriage and unconsummated." Tyrion had no desire to be thought the kind of man who'd rape his child bride.
Jon had distinct undercurrents to his thoughts as he replied. "I didn't ask-"
"Well, it was. It wasn't. Anyways, she's much smarter than she lets on. Although if she's been crowned Queen in the North, I imagine she is letting on." Tyrion could scarcely imagine the scared girl he'd been married to ruling over the stubborn bastards of the North. Especially if Rickon Stark still lived as had been reported.
Daisy spoke, joining the conversation. "Seriously, the constant surprise at how ruthlessly smart she is confuses me."
"Does it?" Tyrion looked at the woman. Her features were of YiTi. "Forgive me, but I did not know YiTi had dealings with the North?"
She raised a brow, the ease of her position not changing. "It does, I have rarely met a person as aggressively competent as her 'Grace.'" Her smile showed a flash of teeth. "And I'm from far further away than YiTI. But can't let Jon here sail off into danger without protection."
"Indeed, I'm surprised your sister allowed you to come." He returned the conversation to Jon. However, he felt the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. She was either his guard or possibly his lover…perhaps both. But his instincts said to keep an eye on her.
Jon reached out squeezing the woman's forearm lightly before replying. "Aye, my sister thinks I'm a fool for coming here. As do most of the bannermen."
"Of course they do. If I was your sister I would have commanded against it. General rule of thumb, Stark men don't fare well when they travel south." Tyrion was hopeful this would not end badly for Jon. At least this time murder was not intended.
Jon nodded. "True. But I am choosing to be optimistic."
Tyrion didn't get a chance to reply to that insanity as the ground shook from a great roar as the giant red dragon, Drogon dove, flying just above their heads. Gods be good the dragons still inspired awe and terror. He looked at the Northerners who'd thrown themselves to the ground. All save Daisy who was looking after the dragon, a delighted smile on her face.
He ignored his growing unease, surely it was nothing, and turned to Jon, offering out his hand and helping him to his feet. "I'd say you get used to them, but you never really do."
Jon looked at the sky. "No, I imagine you would not."
"Come. Their mother is waiting for you." Tyrion gestured forward on the path to the looming fortress of the Targaryens of old.
Tyrion looked up at the throne carved into the stone of the great hall of Dragonstone. The seat Aegon Targaryen had ruled from before conquering the continent. The great hall was cold, yet to be fully repaired to royal glory, walls empty of tapestries. But there was a grandeur to it all, a solemn authority.
He was standing upon the first landing of the stairs leading up to the dais the throne was upon. Dothraki guards were arrayed before the throne. Missandei was higher up and closer to Daenarys as her translator. He was pleased with the Unsullied along the walls, it'd been the correct choice to ensure they were there. If the North was showing off their almost certain alliance with the Vale, they required a reminder of the forces behind Daenerys.
The great doors to the hall opened, and the Northern party approached across the stone floors of the throne room towards them. Jon was in the lead, again the strange woman Daisy was immediately to his right. But the noble men of his entourage were behind him, as well as several of his men at arms. They certainly looked the part of an arriving royal emissary. If slightly dour as these times of war required. Likely would have been grander appearing if their whole company had been allowed to disembark the ship.
Missandei's voice echoed out across the hall, full of her absolute loyalty and belief in their Queen. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains."
There was a ringing silence. The man introduced as Marlon Manderly stepped forward to the immediate left of Jon. His green and merman encrusted form were as neatly put together as Northerners seemed to get. His voice was gruff but clear. "On behalf of the Queen of the North and the Riverlands, His Highness, Jon Stark, Hand of the Queen, General of the Northern Army, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Defender of the Living, The White Wolf."
Tyrion had to hide a wince, the North was prepared, and they had not come in a forgiving mood. He'd assumed even under one banner once more they'd be too shattered from the horrors of the long summer to take this stance. He'd fucked up. Hopefully, things remained cordial enough that he could intervene to correct things after this.
Daenerys spoke from her throne, voice fortunately courteous. "Thank you for traveling so far, My Lords. I hope the seas weren't too rough."
"The winds were kind, your Grace," Jon replied with his thick northern accent.
Davos Seaworthy cleared his throat. "Apologies. I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know. But Jon Stark is a Prince of the North. He's not a lord."
Fuck.
"Forgive me-" Daenerys flicked her eyes to Tyrion clearly awaiting an introduction for the man who'd just interjected himself.
Tyrion forced cheer into his voice. "Your Grace, this is Ser Davos Seaworth."
"Forgive me, Ser Davos. I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn the last King in the North was Torren Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen in exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen. Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. But do I have my facts wrong?" Her voice was clear and cutting.
"I wasn't there, your Grace." Davos tipped his head to her, however, he didn't tip it deeply nor retreat in any way.
Daenerys leaned ever so slightly into the back of her throne. "No, of course not. But still, an oath is an oath. In perpetuity means…what does it mean, Lord Tyrion?"
"Forever." Tyrion wished he could stop this whole thing. He silently begged the North to be agreeable for once in their stubborn lives…there wasn't much hope of that. At least for their survival instincts to kick…if they had such things.
Daenerys nodded faintly. "Forever. Meaning the North has no Princes. So I assume, My Lord, that you are here to bend the knee on behalf of your sister and your kingdom."
"I am not." Jon didn't falter as he stood strong and unshaken before the Queen's regard. Man really was far too noble for his own good.
Daenerys twitched, her expression turning cold. "Oh. Well, that is unfortunate. You've traveled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?"
"Break faith?" Jon breathed in, his shoulders squaring. Something like dread pooled in Tyrion's belly. "Your brother kidnapped and raped my aunt. Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive. He demanded my father come and be burned alive. House Targaryen broke faith with House Stark."
Daenerys seemed to force herself to back down. "My father was an evil man. On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father." Her tone changed, picking up. "Our two houses were allies for centuries. Those were the best centuries the kingdom's have ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity with the Targaryens sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. I am the last Targaryen, Jon Stark. Honor the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name your sister Wardeness of the North. Together we will save this country from those who would destroy it."
"You're right." Jon agreed, but his stance said this wasn't capitulation. "You're not guilty of your father and brother's crimes. And we are not beholden to our ancestor's vows."
Daenerys' eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. "Then why are you here?"
"Because we need your help, and you need mine." Jon replied, every one of the men behind him looked like they wished to pinch the bridges of their noses or whack him upside the head. It was a ripple of exasperation. The woman Daisy simply looked amused, if actually approving. Added evidence she was likely his lover. Odd a Stark would flaunt such a thing, but years on the Wall would change anyone.
Daenerys' mouth pulled up in a smirk as she looked to Tyrion before returning her attention to their guests. "Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?"
"I did." He didn't flinch under the implied threat.
Daenerys did not look impressed. "And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me?"
"They're hard to miss." Jon responded wryly. Honestly, the man had found a sense of humor on that giant frozen block of ice apparently.
Daenerys seemed to be hiding her confusion at the stupidity of staring in the face of certain loss and death while looking as if nothing was wrong. "But still, I need your help?"
Davos spoke up again, clearly, he'd risen high in the regard and position within the Northern court. An odd happenstance, one of far too many for Tyrion to be comfortable. "Not to defeat Cersei. You could storm King's Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, we almost took it and we didn't even have dragons."
"Almost." Tyrion checked him.
Jon spoke then, not a drop of fear or sign of being intimidated to him. "But you haven't stormed King's Landing. Why not?" He paused. "The only reason I can see is you don't want to kill thousands of innocent people. It's the fastest way to win the war, but you won't do it. Which means at the very least you're better than Cersei."
"Still, that doesn't explain why I need your help." Some of the tension had faded from Daenery's shoulders.
Jon's chin tipped up faintly. "Because right now you, me, Cersei, and everyone else are just children playing at a game, screaming that the rules aren't fair."
"You told me you liked this man." Daenerys looked to Tyrion, oh she was not pleased by how different this was going than had been expected. It would seem Varys's reports of the North had been horribly incomplete.
Tyrion kept his forced confident cheer. "I do."
"In the time since he's met me he's refused to call me Queen, he's refused to bow, and now he's calling me a child." There was a great deal of underlying anger in her tone.
"I believe he's calling all of us children. Figure of speech." Tyrion shot a look at Jon silently demanding the man pull his foot out of his mouth. He didn't have high hopes.
Jon persevered without any concern for manners. "Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter is over if we don't defeat the enemy to the north."
"As far as I can see, you are the enemy to the north." Which…wonderful, at this rate they'd be at open war by the end of this.
Jon gave a slight shake of his head. "I am not your enemy. The dead are the enemy."
The entire throne room went utterly silent.
Daenerys actually paused in sheer incredulous disbelief. "The dead?" It couldn't have sounded more condescending if she'd tried. She looked to Tyrion once more. "Is that another figure of speech?"
"The Army of the Dead is on the march." Jon cut in before Tyrion could form words about the insanity happening.
Tyrion couldn't help the faint gaping he tried to hide as he spoke. "The Army of the Dead?"
"You don't know me well, My Lord, but do you think I am a liar or a madman?" Jon challenged.
And damn it all to hell. "No. I don't think you're either of those things."
"The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Night King is real. I've seen them. My men have seen them. Do you think the Free Folk would submit to the Northern Throne for anything less? That the Northern Lords would accept the Free Folk amongst them for anything less? As we speak the North is preparing to fight for the Living. All of the Living. But if they get past The Wall and we're still squabbling amongst ourselves," He stepped forward, his voice passionate, only to halt as the Dothraki moved to intercept him, "we're finished."
In the wake of his words, which so clearly he believed to the bottom of his honorable Northern soul, the room was silent. Daenerys finally spoke, choosing her words carefully. "I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it."
She rose to her feet and began a slow, inexorable approach toward Jon. "We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib? Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don't remember all of their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled." Her voice snapped like a whip in the echoing cavernous room. "Do you know what kept me standing through all those years of exile? Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea."
She came to a halt before him. "They did so for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will."
"You'll be ruling over a graveyard if we don't defeat the Dead." Jon didn't flinch in the face of her authority. Of her power.
Tyrion scrambled to intervene. Only for the words to freeze on his lips as the hall was filled with the sound of a solitary person slowly clapping their hands in a mockery of applause.
Daisy Johnson, the woman who didn't quite fit, stepped forward. "Bravo, really. Like you both are having two completely different conversations there." Her eyes snapped to Daenerys. "Particularly liked the implied 'fuck the gods' bit. I totes agree. But I think we can all agree we don't want to kill each other?" Her gaze turned to Jon. "And honestly, did you actually listen to nothing your sister said? I mean you started so strong."
Daenerys looked at the woman like she'd quite like to crush her beneath one of her dragons. If she was a lesser woman she'd have developed an eye twitch at the blatant disrespect. Disrespect being shown to both Jon and Daenerys equally, horrifyingly enough. Her voice was cold. "And you are?"
Ser Marlon replied before the woman could introduce herself. "This is her Holiness, Daisy Johnson, Sky, Inhuman, Child of Monsters, of Blood and Madness, Warrior Daughter of the First Elder of the Afterlife, Knight of the Order of the Shield, God of Ruin. Quake, The Destroyer of Worlds."
It should have been laughable.
"Excuse me, god?" Daenerys managed to get out.
It wasn't laughable.
The very light seemed to warp around the woman, being? The air turned cold, a near physical weight to it. A horrible ringing sound that felt like a knife cutting through the brain pierced through them all. The bones in his body ached with pressure.
And then, as quick as the change had occurred, it was gone. Like a passing wind, and it was just the woman standing there. Her appearance was unchanged. Not a hair out of place; not a heavy breath, nor drop of sweat. It was as if the show of power had meant nothing. As if the frost still clinging to the stones around them was of no note to her.
She rolled her eyes. "To be fair, the whole distinction of whether I'm a god, a demon, or whatever is more theological than factual." She shrugged, her voice dangerous then. "But yeah, definitely not human."
What. The. Actual. Fuck.