Chapter 9 – Jon
Before anyone could say anything else, a Dothraki man entered holding a scroll of parchment, which he instantly handed to Daenerys with a guttural "Khaleesi," before leaving again. Everyone's eyes narrowed in curiosity as the queen turned it over.
"This has the sigil of Winterfell on it," she said after a second or two. She held it out for Jon with a smile. "It must be for you." Jon's interest peaked as he took the rolled up message from home. Indeed, it was the direwolf of House Stark that was stamped into the grey wax.
"Sansa," Jon said, smiling slightly as he picked apart the seal. In his peripheral vision, he could see that Arya's eyebrows had risen so high she had lines across her forehead. Without a second thought, he unrolled the new message and bent his head to read.
"…Jon?" It was Arya who hesitantly broke the silence a few seconds later. Jon barely heard her, his eyes swimming with tears.
"Maybe everyone needs to leave," Daenerys suggested firmly. There were protests, particularly from Tyrion and Jorah, but a chilling glare from both the queen and Arya later, they left without another word. Unbeknownst to Jon, Arya had been about to leave too, but stopped as Daenerys had silently indicated for her to stay.
"What's wrong?" Daenerys asked gently, as Arya began to pace around the chamber.
Jon looked up then, just enough for the two of them to see the watery smile plastered across his face. "Bran's alive!"
Arya gave a happy gasp and rushed beside him to read the letter. Jon mussed up her hair and let out a sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh.
"There are three Starks left!" Jon exclaimed as he embraced his little half-sister.
Arya glared at him. "Four."
"I'm not a –"
"Shut up." Arya threw her arms around him and when the hug ended, she was tearful too.
"I thought, so many times, that I would never see any of you again," she said breathily. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. And soon our whole pack will be together again!" She agilely inched around him in a single movement and read the carefully-written letter from home again. She frowned. "It gets worse, though," she said expressionlessly. "The army of the dead are marching towards Eastwatch…"
Jon looked up as Daenerys gasped.
"I was trying to focus on the positives for a minute, little sister," Jon said croakily, before going back to his usual, desperately brooding expression. "But yes, the inevitable is true."
"They wouldn't be able to get past the Wall though, would they?" Arya mused, tracing her finger against the parchment. "I wonder how Bran knows that…"
"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," Jon said, beginning to compose himself. "We'll have to reply soon; Sansa will be just as happy to find out you're alive."
Arya shrugged non-committedly.
"Sansa's changed," Jon told her seriously. "She's not the same little girl you used to argue all the time with when we were growing up at Winterfell. She's been through a lot, as have we all. You would hardly know her for the same person, now, just as the same goes for you." Arya looked away and nodded.
"Can… I write the reply?" she asked awkwardly after a minute. "My writing's not very good. Septa Mordane used to crack my knuckles 'cause I couldn't write as well as Sansa. But I know my letters, and I'd like to try. For her."
"Of course," Jon said. It was the easiest question he had had to answer, perhaps since the last time he saw her. He handed her Sansa's letter. "I'll check it for you, if you like, before we send the raven. All the resources are in my room, and you probably know your way around here as well as I do, now." He smiled. "You don't have to go and write it now, though."
"No, I don't," Arya agreed, but she had a determined glint in her eye. "But I will." She stepped back a little and managed another very stiff curtsey to the two of them. "If you hear any howls of anguish, don't fear. It'll be me, blotting my parchment." She stepped towards the door, but then looked back one more time. "I do need to speak to you, privately, at some point, Jon." She left, and Jon was surprised that he couldn't even hear her footsteps as she walked away.
"Perhaps you should go with her?" Daenerys suggested. "She's your sister…"
"Arya's always been independent," Jon replied. In truth, he didn't really know what was keeping him there. "She'll be alright for a few minutes." He clasped and unclasped his hands. "My little brother is alive!"
"I am happy for you," Daenerys said to him warmly, a genuine smile gracing her beautiful face. She took a few steps towards him and frowned. "You don't look so happy."
Jon brooded, staring at the floor. "Pleasant news in an unpleasant circumstance. Yes, Bran is alive and safe back at Winterfell. But the army of the dead is marching towards Eastwatch. Who knows how safe Winterfell will be in the weeks and months to come? Who knows how safe the North will be? Or even Westeros? The Wall hasn't been properly manned in years, and barely anyone south of the Neck even believes the army of the dead exists!"
Daenerys stepped forward again and took his hand, tracing lines on Jon's palm with her thumb in a comforting gesture. "I know," she said softly. "But the Wall itself has kept them out for thousands of years, hasn't it?"
Jon felt the same heart-wrenching anxiety and dread fill him that had done so when he had seen hundreds of wights raised at Hardhome. It was entirely consuming and Jon felt his breathing begin to constrict. "It's not enough," he told Daenerys. "The Wall is not enough, all the dragonglass is not enough!" His words sounded angry, but really he just felt a desperate need for help. "I need to go home."
Daenerys withdrew her hand and frowned at him. "You said you don't have enough men."
"I'll fight with the men I have," Jon retorted. He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'll join us…?"
"Perhaps I will," Daenerys said lightly after a pause. Jon looked at her in surprise, having expected her to continue the argument. "Well, it's true I don't need to worry about Cersei taking back half the country the moment I march north. I will need to take the throne first, of course, so that I have the authority to send all the forces of Westeros to the Wall. Have you sent some shipments of the dragonglass to Winterfell?"
"Aye," Jon replied. "And Arya's friend Gendry has been put to work beginning to make some of the weapons from it here. He's not bad, actually."
Daenerys didn't seem to be listening to him. "I am conflicted," she said truthfully, stepping closer to him again. "I told you I would help you if you bent the knee. You haven't. And I don't want to be seen as a ruler who goes back on her word…" Jon just managed to not raise his eyebrows as he looked away from her. Surely not…?
"But," she continued, "I also realise that if this army of the dead, and the Night King do defeat you and your forces, there will be no kingdoms for me to rule at all. Everyone will likely die. And then everything I have done over the years will have been for nothing..." She broke off then, and suddenly looked self-conscious. "I don't want to seem selfish," Daenerys said. "I also want to help people. I don't want to hurt the North; I want to save it." She stepped forward again, and was now impossibly close, just inches away from touching him. "Do you see my problem?" Jon took a pace back in order to keep the balance. They were having a serious conversation after all.
"Aye," Jon said again. "And I trust that you can see mine."
There was a kind of hopeful silence again, just like the second ever conversation they had had on the steps, overlooking the sea and the dragons flying around their new home. Daenerys was regarding him very carefully, and Jon began to feel uncomfortable under her stare, especially as they still stood so close.
"When I take the Iron Throne, the first thing I will do is send all available forces north to help you fight," she said. There was no softness to her gaze or tone now, only hard determination. "I will leave orders that the rest of the dragonglass should be mined, and I myself will ride to Winterfell with my dragons, Dothraki and the Unsullied when they come back to me."
Jon looked back at her. "Thank you," he said slowly, quietly, and in surprise.
"And in return," Daenerys continued coolly. "When we defeat the Night King and his army, we will talk again about the Iron Throne and which kingdoms belong to it."
"Of course," Jon said courteously. "The likelihood of me surviving the Long Night is pretty low. If I die, you can have the North. All I ask is that you name Sansa or Bran Warden of the North and treat them kindly."
"I will." Both of them clasped hands again, in agreement. After a few seconds, Jon made to release her hand, but Daenerys gripped his harder.
"Perhaps we should not be so morbid, though," she said, adopting the same easy tone as she had earlier. "We will have strong forces. You yourself are a good swordsman, as is your sister."
Jon laughed. "Yes. Arya was surprising this morning. My father always said to let girls win, and I had every intention of doing so, but I never expected such a challenge as I did."
"It was interesting to watch," Daenerys countered. "You must be excited to see your brother again."
"Aye," Jon said, not really sure how to feel. Excited? Apprehensive? Dread, with the knowledge bran had brought? "And nervous. Sansa and Arya have changed so much over the years, and Bran must have seen other things most people wouldn't believe. He'll have changed too."
"Sometimes change is good," the queen replied. "Maybe he'll know something you don't about the Long Night, as you call it. But even if he has changed, you'll take it in your stride. You're as close as ever with Arya, aren't you?"
"Yes," Jon agreed.
"You're a good brother," Daenerys sighed. Jon peered at her closely. "Viserys was never like that. He used to be good to me, when I was very young. But then the pressure of being the last dragon and the anxiety of being constantly hunted by the Usurper changed him, warped his mind. He was weak, and selfish – and very cruel. He wouldn't have cared if an army of undead monsters descended on Westeros, only that he could rule over whatever was left come spring."
"I'm sorry," Jon said gently, giving her hand a squeeze. He couldn't imagine what that would be like. Catelyn Stark had been the only person to treat him badly at Winterfell.
"Don't be," Daenerys replied. "He was an abuser, he sold me off to the Dothraki – true. But had he not, he may still be alive, and I would not be the person I am today. Back in Westeros and just days away from sailing to the Red Keep." Jon reflected on the meeting he had attended before Arya had turned up. All that had been spoken about was plans for Daenerys' coronation and speculation about the loyalty of Cersei's subjects.
"You could leave for Winterfell the same time I leave for Kings Landing," Daenerys suggested. "Then my forces could ride north and meet you…" she broke off and studied the map table in front of her for a second. "…at White Harbour, or around that area."
"That sounds good." Jon said, gently picking up a wolf piece and placing it to the left of White Harbour on the table. Daenerys picked up at dragon in response, and placed it next to the wolf.
"I leave in four days," she added, casually. She smiled softly at him again. "And then the real game begins." She turned around and made to leave. "Now, go and spend some time with Arya."
A/N: Thank you for reading! Once again I feel like this is one of my weaker chapters, but I have solid plans for the next one so please stick around! The next chapter will be in Dany's POV and will be a bit more Jonerys-ish than this one.
Don't forget to review – I love hearing from all of you. Over the week, this story has hit 30k views which is absolutely crazy so thank you all so much!
Until next Friday! x
