Jon couldn't watch Dany swoop and dive on Drogon's back any longer, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away for long. His stomach plummeted watching the dragon fold his wings and fall, only opening them again when it seemed a collision was inevitable. Jon's heart returned its steady beat when she went back to circling above. It made the horses nervous, but it put him at ease to feel the shadows' cool passage across their route. It also calmed him to have a heartbeat in his chest again; no one had ever told him how silent death was. He supposed no one knew, except maybe the ironborn, though they only died for a few moments in service to the Drowned God. He had never asked Theon.
He'd watched Dany fly for three days as they traveled to Moat Cailin, marching the Unsullied to meet the Dothraki. She rode Drogon to prevent him from burning a village in search of a meal, leading him to herds of elk and sheep instead. It made Jon anxious, knowing she needed to range with him, but he'd heard about the Meerenese shepherd. Dany still had nightmares about the child; he'd held her too many times after she woke in terror thinking Drogon had killed another.
They were nearly to the decrepit pinch point of Moat Cailin. His father had never put forth much effort to repair it, but he would have hoped for peace after Robert had his crown. Jon held no such illusions. Even if they survived, a war would have to be fought for the throne eventually. Dany may rule well afterward as well, but the world had changed since Robert's Rebellion. They were not summer children anymore. He resolved to arrange for its repair after the Great War was won. Cersei would not march North again. He'd have to find a bannerman willing to take the holdfast, however, and that was no small task. It had its fair share of ghost stories. Seven more nights and they'd be back at Winterfell. He couldn't seem to call it home in his mind anymore. It didn't have Rickon's laughter in the yard, Bran climbing the walls, Arya running away from her sewing lessons, or the sound of wolf howls. There was only Ghost now, and he was silent.
Grey Worm called a halt at the top of a rise overlooking the King's Road. The man moved his commanders swiftly through the encampment procedure as Tyrion rode up next to Jon, surveying the activities in silence. Dany had recruited some southron men—Westerland and Reach soldiers who knelt after the battle outside King's Landing, who were being forced into Unsullied organization methods with some difficulty. Grey Worm's toughest commanders had taken on the task of training them to be soldiers, not boys in armor.
"I don't know why I agreed to ten days on horseback," the little man said after a moment, shifting in his custom saddle. "Terrible way to travel."
"Perhaps you could request a ride on Drogon to Winterfell. I'm sure Sansa would welcome you warmly," Jon said, and then added with a smirk, "brother."
"Oh, I long to see my dear, sweet wife," Tyrion said, the joke striking his green eyes though his voice remained flat. "But despite my childhood wish to see a dragon, I don't believe I would survive a ride."
"I nearly did not," Jorah added, riding up. "I'll not ride him willingly again, I think."
Davos surveyed the ruin down the road, and then looked to Jon. "Shall we send a greeting party?"
"Soon," Jon agreed, though he felt odd giving orders to older, wiser men, or to Dany's men. "I'll admit, the Dothraki make me nervous. I'd rather not face them without Daenerys."
"Many people share your feelings," Jorah said with a nod, "but they are an interesting people. Daenerys has changed them forever, I think."
"It wouldn't surprise me. She has that effect," Jon said. Ser Jorah also knew the pull of the woman, from what Jon could tell. He looked at Dany like a starving man would a feast he was forbidden to attend. He didn't envy the man's lifetime of hunger and hoped he'd never feel that pain. He didn't think it likely—Dany's eyes spoke what she felt more than her words conveyed, and Jon didn't intend to lose her. The woman who occupied his every waking thought and most of his sleeping ones landed her dragon on the next hilltop. Her horse was tied behind Jon's, a gorgeous silver creature who'd been with Dany since her first marriage. 'My silver,' Dany called her. Jon kicked his own horse into a trot and rode to the queen, who was watching her children circling above.
"They're beautiful," he said when he dismounted next to her.
"You're one of the few to think so," she said, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her full lips. He wanted to kiss her then, pull her into his arms and kiss away the joke. He resisted.
"Most people only see the fire and claws, I'd think," Jon said. He wished they could get a single private moment away from the thousand eyes of the army. It had been two cold nights without a room to hide away in from the world. Instead of feeling her heartbeat against his, as he wished, he reached out and clumsily tucked a stray curl behind her ear, where it had escaped from one of her many braids. She colored slightly and ducked her gaze. Jon enjoyed making her blush; she rarely showed that emotion, though the rest were written across her face, plain as day.
"I wish…" she started, then shook her head.
"Anything, my queen," Jon said before he could stop himself. Did she know how much he wished to bring her joy, how much he ached to give her everything, just to see that light in her eyes? It frightened him that he felt that way. What is honor compared to a woman's love, Maester Aemon's voice whispered in the back of his mind. He'd never made it to Dany; she'd lost more family than she'd even known she'd still had.
"I wish I had someone to ride beside me, on Rhaegal," she said, not looking at him. "They won't let many people near them."
"Perhaps one day you will; dragons live a long time." Jon realized what he'd said a moment too late.
"Most dragons," she corrected, not meeting his gaze.
"I'm sorry," Jon said, meaning for the death, not the quick words. She just smiled weakly and brushed his hand with hers.
"The Dothraki were only a mile south. A Westerosi party rides with them," she said after she'd swallowed the emotions.
"Were they bearing the Lannister banners?"
"No."
Jon nodded slowly. "They're most likely a few days behind the Dothraki," he said, more to reassure himself they were coming than to discuss strategy. "We could leave a rear guard to let them through."
"I'll have Grey Worm choose some men," she said, the composure fully back in her shoulders. "Shall we?"
She jumped on her silver like she was born to it, and Jon followed suit. "As you wish, my queen."
"This is not what I would wish," she said. Jon knew she did not mean the horses.
"Nor I."
"Where would we be if the rebellion had not happened?" she asked as they walked the horses back to the growing encampment.
"You would be married to Viserys, I expect," Jon said. "And you would have learned to stitch pretty dresses, how to curtesy like a princess, and you would have your family."
"I would not have my dragons," she added. "Where would you be?"
"I would not have been born. My father met my mother during the war. He brought me to Winterfell after the war was over."
"Perhaps you'll meet her yet," Dany said after a moment's silence. "Someone must know who she is."
"Perhaps," Jon said, though he doubted it. His father had too much honor to speak her name, lest it shame her, though not enough to resist her in the first place. The next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother. I promise. The words itched the back of his mind. His father had not resisted a woman, but neither had he. Twice now, he'd taken women to bed without marrying them. He'd not father a bastard. But would Dany accept a third marriage? He shook off the line of thought.
They rode in comfortable silence towards the holdfast, and their companions. Soon enough, they could see the Dothraki from atop the crumbling ramparts, and Grey Worm ordered the gates open. Jon noted the Reed's banner flying in the middle of the column, the black lizard-lion on grey-green.
"The Reeds have come as well," he said, and Tyrion turned his gaze to look.
"Why now? They did not follow your brother south."
"No, he would have had them defend the Neck, to prevent your armies from marching north. We need everyone North now… Sansa must have sent a raven to them."
"Crannogmen are not blonde," Tyrion mused after another moment. Dany was down below, greeting her people from horseback, so she did not see, and Jon was glad of it. He did not know how she would have reacted, had she seen.
"No, they are not," Jon said, watching the man that he meant closely. "But Lannisters are."
"He's alone," Tyrion said, staring the man down until it became absolutely apparent who he was. Jaime Lannister shifted uncomfortably on his horse, watching the dragons.
"That does not bode well," Varys interjected in that whispery voice. Jon ignored him. He was a man who lived on lies, though he had made an astute judgment. Jon looked to Tyrion, who nodded once. They were in agreement then. Jon took the stairs down to Dany two at a time. He mounted his horse—Jorah had mentioned that the horselords did not respect a man who walked—and sidled up to her.
"Jaime Lannister rides with the Reeds," he murmured, just loud enough for her circle to hear. She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye, one that said she'd heard him, but no more. She held her chin high as her bloodriders and kos organized their people, and Jon noticed each looked to her as they passed, watching their khaleesi in interest. He tried counting the bells in some men's hair but lost track easily. The whole party sang a song of victory with every movement.
When Howland Reed's party first entered the gate, Jon sized up the stranger. He'd been a close friend of his father's once, but he had never come to Winterfell after the rebellion. Jon knew crannogmen were small, but this one, in particular, seemed diminutive, especially compared to Ser Jaime riding close behind him. The man stuck out like a sore thumb among to the swamp-lord's bannermen, though he would have been highly recognizable within the Dothraki as well. Jon noted that he saw not one single lion on the man's clothing—a first, he realized, since he'd met the man at Winterfell. In fact, he looked as though he was going to join the Watch, he was wearing so much black.
"Your Grace," Howland Reed said with a twinkle of laughter in the words, bowing low over the horse's neck to Daenerys. "Welcome to Westeros, and the North."
"Lord Reed," Dany said, nodding once in acknowledgment. Jon wondered if the Children of the Forest had resembled this man with laughing emerald eyes.
"My Lord Snow, it is good to see you returned from the South, as I knew you would. Might I introduce my daughter Meera? She has just returned from accompanying young Brandon on his journey."
"My lord, my lady," Jon said stiffly. He looked to the girl, a stick of a child riding at her father's right hand, her curled hair wild in the breeze that caressed them all, and a frog spear and net held at the ready. "Thank you for keeping my brother safe. Was he well, when you saw him last?"
"He was alive, my lord, that was all I could hope for," Meera said, her voice thick with anger and some other emotion. Jon wondered what had caused her to be angry: his question, or Bran.
"It is enough," he said simply, and then turned his eyes on Ser Jaime, who was watching the exchange with feigned boredom.
"We expected a much larger party to accompany you, Ser," Dany said quietly, looking at the blonde man.
"As did I," he responded coolly, his eyes moving quickly between his brother and the queen, calculating.
"Perhaps he could tell you the story over a fire and a warm cup of ale," Howland said, the joke living in his entire being. This was the man who rode at his father's side during the rebellion? Jon had expected someone more substantial, more serious. The green eyes never settled on anyone for too long, and Jon thought the man was clever—he was alert and planning, despite the casual manner. "I think you might like to hear it, Your Grace."
"Very well," Dany said, though she had to squeeze the words through clenched teeth. When she dismissed them, she looked at Jon, her worry hiding in the corners of her eyes, so that her people would not see as they continued to stream through. He tried to reassure her from a distance, but he found it was difficult when his own mind was in a turmoil. Would they be attacked from all sides when the Long Night came? He wanted to reach for his queen, reassure her through touch since his own face was a knot of worry, but it would not do, not when he knew nothing of Dothraki custom, of how her bloodriders would react, now that they were reunited with their khaleesi. Instead, he just stayed, his horse stamping the mud beneath its hooves, as Dany greeted the multitude of horsehair-clad people streaming through the gate.
Jorah, Tyrion, Davos, and Varys rode with them back into camp, the silence hanging over them like a cloud of blackflies, buzzing with tension. Grey Worm organized a rear guard to hold the holdfast and set orders for the men to work in shifts improving the small castle so it was habitable. Jon admired the swift decisiveness of the eunuch, though they had not spoken more than a few words during their acquaintance. He resolved to get to know the man better and to thank him when Missandei showed him his tent. His had been set up less than a stone's throw from Dany's, a surprise considering it had not been set that close yet on their journey. Missandei smiled conspiratorially and said, "Her Grace values your council, Lord Snow."
"Thank you, Missandei," he said, sizing up the woman. "Her Grace values you as well."
"I have been with her since she freed her first slave, my lord." When Jon did not respond, unsure of what to say, she added, "It was me she saved first, my lord."
"She made a wise choice," Jon said.
"She is very often wise. I think you temper her," the woman said, and then left him to his tent. He sat on the sleeping roll, exhaustion creeping up on him, and must have dozed, for it was near dark when a Davos' voice called him out of sleep.
"Lord Snow? Her Grace sends for you. She wants you there to meet with the Reeds and Ser Jaime."
"Give me but a moment, Davos," Jon said groggily, and then reached for the dagger at his hip. Davos was a friend, but his friends had killed him once before. Assured that he was armed, he stood and went to the tent flap. Just Davos, stalwart against the cold, stood sentinel outside the cloth structure. He would have trusted the man with his life—it was most others he did not.
"I'll be happy to have a bed again," Jon said, exhaustion from traveling holding him hostage. Davos raised an eyebrow but said nothing, a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth. Jon couldn't resist either and felt the joke pulling a small smile to the surface. He held in the laughter of disbelief, though, as he could hear the voice from through Dany's tent door. The Unsullied guardsmen opened the flap for the two of them, nodding his greeting. Jon returned the gesture then ducked through into the sweltering heat inside the structure.
"…Saw you last at the Tourney at Harrenhal," Lord Reed was saying, his voice a whispery breath, "just after you took your Kingsguard vows."
"A shame I had to leave so soon after taking them," Ser Jaime said, a slight tinge of bitterness coloring the words, though Jon could tell it was not just that he'd left that made the man speak icily.
"A shame you took them at all," Dany said cooly. Jon wished to take the seat by her hand, to calm that fire that threatened in the face of her father's murderer, but Tyrion occupied it, stoking the flames unknowingly. Did no one else see the flames climbing in her?
"Contrary to popular opinion, Your Grace, I have never broken a vow," the blond man said. Jon noted he'd covered his golden hand since he'd last seen him in the Dragon Pit.
"Really?" she said, the anger palpable. "Aside from the obvious, Kingslayer, where is the army you vowed to bring North?"
"My sister made that vow. I vowed to come north. Here I am, though she nearly had my head for it."
"Cersei would never—" Tyrion started.
"Would she not? If she thought I was betraying her?" the knight spat and Jon heard the anguish there. Had the man had any honor, Jon would have felt sorry for him. Tyrion fell silent in the face of his brother's rage.
"She's not coming at all?" Jon asked, though he knew, and had half-expected it. Jaime turned to see him where he stood at the entrance, Davos in his shadow.
"She has decided to take her chances with the victor of your Great War."
"It is your war, too, ser," Jon said, and then moved to the brazier further into the room. His legs ached from the riding, and he felt the urge to stand, to feel the ground beneath his feet, though the ground was buried beneath the Dothraki rugs layered over one another, a comfortable yet constricting presence. "It is everyone's war."
"Were we in any other position, I'd send you back to your sister, let her have your head," Dany said, the calm creeping back into her features and her voice. Jon wondered if it were on account of him.
"No death by fire, as you gave Randall Tarly and his son?"
Jon stiffened and watched the color drain from Tyrion's face. Dany was a statue. She did not deny it. He'd known Drogon had been instrumental in the victory outside King's Landing, but she hadn't mentioned the Tarlys. She wouldn't have, he reasoned, as they'd hardly been on speaking terms at that time. He'd not have shared it if their roles had been switched. But I'd not have burned them, a small voice whispered. He did not silence it. He did not abide burning a man, could not, not after what Melisandre had done in the name of war. Not after Shireen. He'd hardly known the child and yet he knew he'd not wish that fate on anyone, even the man who'd tortured Sam as a boy.
"They knew their fates. They could have bent the knee," Dany said, her voice even, though to Jon's ears, there was a hint of anxiety hidden in the words.
"Tarly was a proud man. He would not have bent. But Dickon, too?" Jaime spat, disgusted.
"He offered his life as well, the idiot," Tyrion said, staring into his goblet with a frown as if there were a bug swimming in the blood red depths.
"He was barely a man," Jaime argued.
"And yet he chose, ser," Dany said. Jaime shook his head and looked to Jon.
"You sided with this woman? With all your honor?"
"I did," Jon said, and though nothing would have changed—he still would have knelt—he wished he'd known, wished she'd told him herself, told him sooner so that he did not have to swallow the lump in his throat to continue. "She is the honorable choice, ser. More than that, she is the right choice."
"Fire and blood is the right choice? Her brother— her father—"
"They are not her," Jon said.
"She has burned men. Your grandfather burned. I was there; do you understand what that means to me? I see her father come again."
"Her father burned men with wildfire as a habit, hunting ghosts of rebellion. Daenerys is at war, and dragonfire will kill a man in moments, where wildfire burns slowly. I'm not saying that I approve of burning a man. I don't, but I approve of the woman. I do not approve of blowing up a sept, nor killing men at dinner." Jon wanted to say that stabbing a madman in the back was something he did not approve of either, but Jaime's words haunted him. I have never broken a vow.
"The sept was an accident," the knight said stiffly, though Jon could see he didn't believe it, nor could he deny it.
"Don't fool yourself, brother, you are better than that," Tyrion said with no humor. "If she was willing to take your head, even for a moment, do you think she'd be willing to murder hundreds in one blow? Especially her enemies?"
Jaime did not speak, and Daenerys spoke for him. "At the very least, I have not done that, ser."
Davos interrupted. "I think none of us should be speaking of morals if you'd pardon me, Your Grace. We have all done things we are not proud of, as have our families. Now is the time for allies, not more enemies."
Jon saw the flicker of a smile on Dany's face, but it was replaced by words. "I must know my allies, Ser Davos, especially those who have been traitors to my family before."
Jaime's mouth twisted into a pained sneer as he retorted. "It was your father, or millions of people, your grace," the man said with emphasis. "Your father's life, or the lives of the innocents in the capital? Which would you have chosen? If a madman was threatening to set fire to thousands of barrels of wildfire buried beneath the city, telling his pyromancer to 'burn them all,' what would you have done? I took my knights vows and they told me to protect the innocents, the women. But I had to stand by and listen to your mother be raped and beaten by her husband and brother, I had to watch Jon Snow's grandfather thrash in flames, and his uncle strangle himself. I had to listen to the ravings of a man who saw rebellion in the eyes of children every day of my life. And when he wanted to burn down the city, I saved the city. Judge me as you will, but my first vow seemed more important then, as it seems now. I have never broken a vow."
Dany's face paled considerably as she took in this information. The charges laid at her father's door had never been laid out so full and open as the golden man had done for her just then, and Jon saw how much it hurt her. She did not speak, and she didn't have to because Tyrion did for her.
"Why did you never tell anyone? You let them judge you—"
"They judged me before I even explained—starting with Ned Stark," Jaime said with a glance at Jon. Jon knew; his father's friends had told the story often enough, of the impudent young Lannister perched on the throne with the mad king at the base, blood pooled about him, and a satisfied air. Of course he would have been satisfied if he'd done as he'd said. Burn them all. "Forgive me if I did not correct them. We'd won the war, what did it matter then?"
True, Jon thought. What did it matter after that? It hadn't. Not until now.
Hi everyone! Thanks for being patient with me. The delay has a reason though—I won NaNoWriMo with an original! To make up for it (and to ride the wave of momentum), I've written three new chapters for you. If you see any errors or mistakes, please shoot me a message!