A/N: Your follows, favorites, and positive reviews are fuel for my motivation.
Onion Knight
Davos was rightly pissed. His king was a brave man, an honorable man, aye. And recently, a very powerful man, to be sure. But even more recently, Davos had been given a reminder that his king was in many ways still a lad, and thought himself some kind of hero.
Bloody idiot. They'd captured the Targaryen queen and her big bellowing beast all right, but not with their nice, carefully laid out plan. The plan had gone to shite the second the big beastie started dancing through the sky like some winged' braavosi duelist.
Then Jon ran out there flapping his arms like he was gonna fly up into the sky too. Davos thought he was gonna die right there seeing the big dragon fly right towards them. It was sight to behold, to be sure. He supposed it wouldn't be the worst way to die, unless he wasn't lucky enough be get ashed in an instant. Go the same way his son did, bit of poetry in that.
Then King Jon Snow threw up that great dome of his, and Davos watched in awe as the fire splashed harmlessly against it, all the hues of white and orange and red and blue. Beautiful. He didn't even feel warm. Though he muttered to himself now that his old bones could've done with some heat. Blasted cold in the North, even more so now that his King was running around flinging magic ice all about. Speaking of which... he glanced to his side to make sure the two White Walkers were well away from their group of men.
The entire excursion that had left Winterfell to fight a dragon was recovering from their surprising victory in the dilapidated great hall of the Twins. The castle was still empty and until the King decided who would occupy it, it was manned by the wights. Davos had heard the surviving Freys- mostly women and babes, had already fled south-west into the Riverlands and Lannister-held holdfasts. He reminded himself to council the King to be merciful when the time came to deal with the remaining Freys. It was always a terrible thing to slaughter the innocent because of who their fathers and brothers were.
It was a concern for a later time, they had more current matters to deal with. Davos decided he very much disliked his prisoners. He didn't trust this Targaryen queen, not at all. She had woken soon after they gathered all the men into the castle, and her eyes had been constantly scanning everything in sight since, lingering on the Walkers. Little slip of a beauty that she was, he didn't like how she sat there staring imperiously at the rest of them, despite her hands having been bound in steel shackles.
When she had woken, she hadn't allowed them to bandage her wounds until Davos confirmed that her dragon was safe and mostly unharmed, only kept captive. Since then, this Queen Daenerys had kept quiet, and Davos was perfectly content to let that trend continue. It was the King who would speak to her, after all. As for his other prisoner, it was the blasted' bloody dragon.
The King will deal with it, when he wakes. Whenever that is.
Davos saw Jon kneel down right after the dragon broke through his frozen barrier, and saw him fall over into the grass as well. Worry had gripped him instantly. Two dead kings in as many years was a very bad record, especially considering how much he believed in both men he had served. The worry lessened when he saw that Jon still breathed, and after one of his archers who had some medical training claimed that the King was only suffering a bout of severe exhaustion. They put him up in one of the Lord's rooms that still had a halfway decent looking bed, with one of the men watching him at all times while the rest of them twiddled their thumbs in the hall guarding a single tiny girl.
She rides a flying fire-breathing beast four times the size of your boat. He reminded himself.
He would wait. And hope the King would wake soon, so he can sort out this mess and they can all head back to Winterfell for a hot meal. And some ale.
Winged Wolf
Bran's eyes snapped open. He removed his palm from the smooth white bark of the weirwood, and felt himself slowly settling back into himself. Returning all of his power back into the body of Brandon Stark, the thin crippled boy in the Godswood of Winterfell felt much like trying to pour ta great deal of water into too small a cup.
He didn't yet fully understand how the weirwood anchored him so much better when he flew for a long period of time, but he was grateful for it's effect. The Three-Eyed Raven before him was practically half-tree himself. Bran would've liked to learn more from Leaf and the other Children, but after the death of the old greenseer in the cave she bade him return south and carry out his new duty while the archaic little Children of the Forest melted back into the woodlands of the True North.
Someday, when the world had some modicum of calm again, he would ask Jon to take him north and try to reestablish connection with any surviving Children.
A thought reserved for the future. For now, war was still tearing Westeros apart, two Queens vying for control of a nation. Jon defeated and subverted the power of the Night King in a single brilliant stroke, but there was no defeating the approach of winter. It would be the longest and coldest one in a thousand years. And his sister desired for them to join the southern conflict to avenge their murdered family.
Bran cautioned her against rash actions, the North was dangerously splintered as it was. The Red Wedding shattered their united army and with the only a bastard and a cripple as the remaining Stark sons, their hold over the other lords was tenuous. Only staunch northern loyalty, the kind that had bound First Men together since the Dawn Age, and Jon's immense power bade the Northern Lords bend the knee and raise him as a King in the North.
But fear of their liege's power was a double-sided blade- it kept the kingdom in line in the short-term, but no true northmen would suffer for long under one they saw as a despot. The people were wary of their ancient enemies come over the Wall to help with labor and war. The wights simply unsettled any living creatures that encountered them. Jon had been wise to keep the Others far from the public eye.
And yet the truth was they all knew they needed the Army of the Dead to maintain order in the weakened North, to be the platform on which they recovered from the War of Five Kings, and to bolster them through the harshness of this coming winter.
If their armies surged south hell-bent on revenge, the North would lose its much needed crutch and the consequences could be dire. Bran wheeled himself back towards the keep. He needed to talk to Sansa, communicate with her his worries about the realm and about Jon.
And he could sense that their last sibling had finally come home.
King of Winter
He leaped into the fray, Longclaw a whirling arc of deadly steel. He cut through the crowds of screaming wights with increased fervor, and they fell before him like so much chaff before the scythe. Ghost was at his back, tearing open the reanimated corpses and tossing them away. These were not the true enemy, he reminded himself. I must take down their masters.
"Into the breach! Go! Charge now!" He turned and bellowed out, voice hoarse from the fighting and screaming he'd been doing all day now.
The dead men had been throwing themselves at Eastwatch for three days now, scaling the Wall constantly with intermittent assaults from the south in the direction of the Bay of Seals. What did it matter how many wights washed away into the ocean. There would always be more.
He had known what they had to do on the first day, and it took two to convince the men it was their only hope.
"Are you fucking mad, crow." Tormund had growled at him.
"What is our other option? Sit here and starve and be slowly ground away? The dead do not stop. They will keep coming with more and more while each day there will be less of us."
"We can flee." a voice piped up. He didn't even bother trying to find the fool.
"Aye, we can flee. Where? It doesn't matter where we go- the Army of the Dead will follow. We can face them here and now or we can face them after they've swallowed all our homes and increase ten times in numbers." His voice rang out with conviction, and he saw grim nods all around him.
And now they were here, doing the one thing he knew the Night King would never expect from cowardly Men, taking the fight to them and attempting to push them back from the Wall to buy more time.
The men fought fiercely, opening a gap in the seething wall of flesh before them, and through it he spotted the tell-tale shade of white and nearly inhumanly thin figure. He snarled and charged forth, the point of Longclaw leveled at the Other, Ghost joining him, the great direwolf leaping towards their enemy-
Jon roared out a warcry and opened his eyes to see.. a frightened man in northern armor emblazoned with a Mormont emblem.
"Y-your Grace, I'll go fetch Ser Davos right-away, he told us to inform him soon as ye woke." the man scurried out of the room with great haste, closing the door behind him.
Jon sat up in the bed he had been lying down in, and felt the adrenaline leave his system to be replaced by the great crash of fatigue. He held a hand up to his head, and winced at the throbbing pain he felt there. A dream. A memory from the past. He stretched out mental feelers, reaffirmed that the swirling, freezing font of his power was still intact-
A spike of pain. Jon groaned and curled back into himself on the bed. It felt like an ice pick had been dug into his skull.
Too much power. Channeled more force than necessary. Great exertion has weakened you.
The cold, whispered voices clamored for space in Jon's head. He banished the presences with a no small amount of effort. The Others were growing harder to control. Was it because Jon was so tired? Or some other hidden reason? Either way, it was immensely worrying.
Davos suddenly burst into the room. "Your Grace, how are you feeling? I was told that you had only exhausted yourself, but do you feel well?"
Jon was suddenly reminded of a mother hen, or Old Nan back when they called Arya 'Underfoot' for good reason. Unbidden, a laugh bubbled out from between his lips, and he felt the pain recede into the back of his mind, more easily ignored. The merriment only served to put a glower on his adviser's face.
"Ser Davos, no need for such worry. I'm not a yearling boy, I know the consequences of my actions." said Jon, in an attempt to placate the older man.
"Aye, I'll agree you know yourself, but do try to keep in mind the cost to others as well. It would be disastrous for a great many people should you ever fall, Your Grace." Davos growled in his thick slums accent.
Then he sighed, and Jon sensed the subject dropped. "The prisoner is awake. She roused not two hours ago, and got through this whole messy affair with just a couple bruises, and a nasty scrape. Nothing broken. Quite lucky, I would say."
"Quite lucky indeed. And the dragon?"
"Hrmph. Less trouble than I'd thought, more than I'd hoped for. Somehow, those Giants are still holding it down outside the castle. I've no idea what material that massive woven rope they're using is made of, but whatever it is must be blessed by the Seven to restrain such a beast." Davos replied, with no small amount of ruefulness.
"You've done well, Davos. Is there a receiving room connected to these chambers?" asked Jon.
"Aye, Your Grace, an audience chamber right outside."
"Good, I will talk to Queen Daenerys there." Jon levered himself out of the bed, but when he put his weight back on his legs, his knees gave way. He warded Davos off with one arm while propping himself back up with his other.
Slowly, he walked over to the humble receiving room, sitting himself down in the large oaken Lord's chair. He let out an audible sound of relief, and then stiffened his back and hardened his features.
I cannot let any weakness show, thought Jon. This would be his first meeting with another monarch, and this Targaryen queen had a fearsome reputation besides.
"Send her in."
Dragon Queen
He was smaller than she had expected.
Daenerys wasn't too sure what to predict of the King of Winter, commander of monsters. So she had braced herself for any kind of horrific visage. Daenerys knew he had the form of a man but perhaps with the skin and features beastly and twisted, that of a monster so terrible that even dead men bowed before it.
Instead, when she entered the small chamber she had been greeted by the sight of a pale and slight young man. She took note of his black curls and slim build, and let out a breath of anticipation she hadn't known she'd been holding. This Jon Snow was still a man, and she knew how to deal with men. Then, her eyes settled on the bright blue orbs of his own, and Daenerys rescinded her earlier relief. Perhaps this one was not wholly of the world of man after all.
A frown split the impassive face of the one seated before her.
"Why is she shackled?" He spoke with the same thick northern brogue his men did.
Ser Davos stepped forwards to answer. "Your Grace, the men and I felt it best if we restrain her."
"Davos, remove her manacles." he gestured towards her bound wrists. Daenerys took note of the weariness in his voice, and unsteady movement of his arm. Ser Davos hesitated but a moment before taking a small steel key from his belt and deftly unlocking her manacles. They feel free from her wrists and clattered onto the stone floor. "Leave us to speak." finished the King.
"Jon, it would not be safe!" Davos exclaimed.
"We have placed Queen Daenerys into forced negotiations, bereft of her advisers. My honor demands I do the same. Besides, there shall be no weapons in this room, once you leave to tend to the men." The King met the old man with an even gaze, before glancing point-fully at the dagger strapped to Davos' belt. He acquiesced with a short bow.
Once Ser Davos had exited, King Snow refocused his eerie blue eyes onto her. Daenerys inadvertently shivered. "Please, take a seat your… highness." She took the proffered seat across from him, and cocked her head.
"I find it strange that I have both underestimated and overestimated you." she spoke, gathering herself briefly before facing right at him, purple eyes unflinchingly clashing with blue.
I am Queen, I will not be cowed, thought Daenerys.
"Do tell, why do you say such things?" there was only a slight twinge of emotion in his words, the barest shift of expression on his long face.
"I was a fool to think I could bring you down, even whilst on dragonback. My Hand, Tyrion, oft tells me that I am overconfident in the power of my children; you have shown me the truth of his words." this time, she caught his reaction- a brief glimmer of surprise.
"Tyrion, as in Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf? He serves as your Hand?"
"And as a trusted adviser, yes. Are you familiar with him?"
"We've met, many years ago. Even traveled together, briefly." Jon Snow's azure eyes lost some of their sharpness in his reminiscence. After a pregnant pause, they snapped back to her. "A tale for another time, as you were not done speaking of your 'overestimation' of me."
"Quite. Despite your great power, which I do not fully understand, and your command of your men, I can see you are still very young and new to your position, unsure in the use of authority." she said.
"And you are so wise beyond your years or so talented a ruler? Are we not of similar age, after all?" he shot back, heated. It would seem this frozen Winter King had at least a little fire in him.
"I have been Khaleesi of the greatest Khalasar since three-and-ten, and after then my lands and titles have only grown. I can assure you that my aptitude to lead has been well-tested." she had drawn herself up speak, poured all her conviction, all her belief in Daenerys Targaryen into her words, and she saw that despite his position as her captor Jon Snow gave a nod of assent to her statement.
"I brought you here to talk, not to trade boasts and veiled insults." he said, voice level with calm.
"I had assumed as much, seeing as you haven't executed me or my dragon. Very well, lets talk." either her voice or her face betrayed some sign of continued churlishness, because his reply was an apologetic sigh.
"I do not fault you for attacking the wights. In fact, I sympathize with you. A short while ago, I would've joined you to destroy them, they are monsters. I also ask your forgiveness for having to capture you in such a manner, but I could not have you harming my men."
"Your men." she drew out the second word, the question unspoken.
"My people, and my servants." he replied.
"Your servants." Daenerys repeated. "Is that what you call those creatures?" She'd not yet forgotten those frozen missiles they had hurled at Drogon. She doubted she'd ever forget the sight of those strange, inhuman forms standing silently below them in the great hall. Those frozen blue eyes.
The same eyes that stared at her now.
"Yes, the Others and the wights alike follow my command. You must believe that I am on the side of the living, that I would not send them to massacre the innocent. That I wrested control of them from a being that would."
Daenerys suddenly stood up, glaring down at the man seated before her. "You ask me to place such trust in you, a stranger. And yet, how did you know I was coming north?" No-one had known until the day she departed on Drogon, and nothing was faster than a dragon.
"My brother Bran, he is a greenseer. He sees… visions of the past and the present." King Jon explained when he saw her look of puzzlement. "Bran warned me of your arrival, and told me this meeting was necessary. We hope to organize an official summit between our respective councils, discuss peace and make our motivations be known." A pause. He seemed hesitant to say his next words.
"He also told me that if I didn't stop you, youd've burned all my wights to ash."
"Your brother is correct. I had intended to." She may still do, those creatures represented a grave threat.
"I cannot allow you to do that. I still have great need of my forces." said the King.
"To defend the innocent?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"Aye, and to guard the North and punish the enemy in the south." he spoke these words with the force of winter, the full weight of a sovereign behind them.
Daenerys suddenly smiled as the realization hit her. The lack of troops and defenses along the Kingsroad here. 'The enemy in the south'. Cersei. And the Mad Queen was unaware of the looming threat in the North.
She resumed her seat facing King Jon Snow.
"Perhaps we do have much to talk about."
A/N: I know this chapter was pretty slow, but I promise more action soon! (And more White Walkers). Thanks for reading!