Daenerys wanted to throw something, break something. Burn something. That thought made her stop in her tracks and take a deep breath, heavy with frustration.
I can't think that way. Won't think that way!, she told herself. I am not my father!

The pressures of being at war were wearing on her nerves. More specifically, it was learning that two of her allies, the Greyjoys and the Dornish Sands, were just attacked on the open waters on their way to Dorne. Much of her fleet, destroyed. Allies dead, or captured. This was not working out as planned!

Neither was Jon Snow.

She took another deep breath, banishing him from her mind for the moment, and settled for throwing on her warmer cape and heading at a brisk pace, out towards the exit out of the castle, into the open air, dismissing her Queen's guard as she did.
She needed to vent her annoyance, and clear her head. And she was a Queen. It wouldn't do to have witnesses to her letting loose of her composure.

When she reached a distance far enough away from the castle walls, with no-one in sight, she gave voice to her mood with a disgruntled cry, and kicked at a clump of dirt beneath her feet, watching it tumble away from her and shatter against a boulder on the edge of the cliff. Broken. Like my alliances.

Her anger vented enough for now, she suddenly felt sad. Sad for Yara Greyjoy, the flinty woman whom she'd grown to respect. Sad for her brother Theon, whos' quiet demeanor, she had come to learn, hid the damage from months of torture, and a broken spirit only starting to recover.
Sad for the imperious Ellaria and her argumentative daughters. Sad for war itself.

She looked up at the heavens, blinking back the unexpected moisture in her eyes, and sent a silent prayer out for them to find peace in whatever world they were in now. I hope for their sake, it's better than this one.

Grief; that is what much of her frustration concealed, she realized then. It was easier to be angry.
She hated losing people loyal to her; people under her protection; people who's help she needed in the making of a better world; whom she hoped to help find greater fulfillment in their own lives through their allegiance with her. I'd failed them.

A tear escaped the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away impatiently, squaring her shoulders. There was no time for that. She needed a new plan, needed to turn her focus on leading those loyal to her, those she still had, towards a better fate then those she'd lost.
They cannot, will not, die for pledging their loyalty to me.

Maybe it's for the best Jon Snow did not?!
Jon Snow. Her mind came back to him with a jolt, and with that, she found her mood and expression changing, her mouth wryly curving up on one side.
He had left a conundrum of impressions upon her in that short, interrupted audience upon his arrival.
Stubborn, yet amicable. Stoic, yet passionate. Managing to refute and refuse both her's and Tyrion's persuasions and demands to pledge his loyalties to her cause, without discourtesy or pretense.
And then, speaking sense and nonsense, all at once. She didn't know what to make of him.

Setting the fantastical claims about an undead army aside, she contemplated what she knew of this man.

Tyrion had briefed her well, in preparation for his arrival. She had requested that, wanting to be well-informed and ready. But the brooding, unworldly yet quietly perceptive lad her Hand had described, seemed contradictory even before she'd sat eyes upon him.

She was assured he was an honorable, trustworthy man, yet he had also forsaken his vows to the Night's Watch on his path to being crowned King. That didn't add up, she'd pointed out to Tyrion then. The vows were for life. If he was as honorable as he was rumored to be, he wouldn't be where he was today. Perhaps his pride and ambition had gotten the better of him, she'd speculated; perhaps he saw fit to realign his loyalties back towards his kin and keep, regardless of what vows he broke.

That had already raised her suspicions. Now, she just didn't know what to think.
The man she'd met an hour ago, seemed humble enough, and rather courteous. It was also clear by Ser Devos' mentions that he was well-liked and well-respected by his kinsmen.
He didn't strike her as the kind of man to take his word or responsibilities lightly. If anything, he gave off the exact opposite impression. It just didn't make sense.

And on top of it all, he had not shrunk from her. She'd had the home-court advantage, and more information on him than he could have on her, and she'd used both to her full advantage. A parochial and unrefined young man should have been more cowed by her exotic guards and cultured manners. But, though he did seem duly aware of it all, he had still found the gull to question her, to refuse her to her face, even; just barely avoiding seeming rude while he did.
It was irritating. It was also thrilling. Here was no easy conquest, no simpering lording groveling at her feet. Here was a man, who was demanding to be treated as equal, yet treating her with the utmost respect as he did so. Contrary indeed. She had not met many such.

Men were often willing to make fools of themselves for her. Willing to follow her quickly and with deference. Willing to let her hold all the power. Between that, and the nearly-blind devotion she inspired in her newely-freed people, and the fierce pride her Dothraki Khaleesar exuded at serving her, she had gotten used to being worshiped, or at least uncontested by all but her enemies (and, at times, Tyrion, and Varys, she'd had to admit). She'd grown accustomed to it, was irked and frustrated to be denied what she had come to think of as her due. But... it was also...intriguing, somehow.

Perhaps Daario was right; she was a conqueror, and the fire in her burned that much hotter when it encountered a challenge. She would get this King in the North to bend the knee to her, she'd decided with renewed vigour. She would take what is hers. And the North, was hers!

For the time-being, she had to focus back on updating her strategy in the war she was waging to win back the Iron-Throne. Jon Snow's time will come after.
Let him ponder his situation, as her "guest", while she does so, she smirked. Let him pace and brood. We'll see what comes of it, and who'd be left standing last.

She set her mind back on her battle plans with intensified focus, ignoring the quiet voice in the back of her mind which seemed to whisper doubtfully, of what exactly it was she now wanted to conquer about the North most... the Kingdom... or the stubborn, intractable, and rather handsome King...