dabra: Harry knows his place and he knows how strategic the Vale is. Also...what makes you think Tyene was telling the truth? There is a lot more to it than what it seems. Neither party told the entire truth of what happened.

Velithelos: I have two Dance/Dance-inspired stories ready. One post-Dance and one "modern" Dance. Both are however on hold until I can get enough motivation to properly outline and start writing them. I've already had several drops in motivation, so I'm focusing my efforts on finishing this one before anything else.

MrKlortho: Not everything has to end badly.

Halfblood: Quentyn and Tyene's relations are what I call terrible, so he might not care so much for Tyene as just for the act. That is, if Tyene has been telling the truth, once again.

sasuhi: Pool of names? What is that? The child's name has already been decided, anyways.


Daeron

Winter tore through another low hanging cloud, revealing the frenzied activity underneath.

Here, almost at the mouth of the Mander, dozens of tents lined the ground, like anthills sprawling out in the countryside.

On the one side, the city of Tumbleton, on the east side of the Mander, and their orange, red and yellow tents, and on the other, on the side of the bountiful fields along the wide river, were the blue and grey tents of Jon's men.

As he got lower to loom over Tumbleton's walls, Jon heard a screech despite the deafening winds blowing into his ear.

He looked above, and saw a cream-colored dragon flying just overhead, soon accompanied by two other, larger, dragons.

Despite having known Winter for just about two years now, seeing other dragons flying in the skies above Westeros was quite a sight to behold. And if they were all smaller than his own, their appearance was no less frightening.

And, to the footmen, it mattered not whether it was a large or small dragon that melted their skin, they carried death all the same.

The three dragons soon outpaced Winter, flying along the Mander, and hovering over the assigned spot, an open area along the Mander, on the east bank, near a small ford.

It seems I am not the only one wishing to make a grand entrance.

Jon nudged Winter downwards, hovering down to land on the grassy field below, whilst two of the three other dragons did the same, with a slight delay.

As Winter hit the ground, Jon undid the straps of his saddle, and slowly moved off the blue-colored beast, giving it a pat as she took to the skies once more, to the admiration of the people gathered around.

Once his entrance was over, the two other dragons before him made their landing, much more gracefully than his own. The larger, black-scaled one was about two-thirds the size of Winter and despite the dragon's ferocious appearance, a delicate woman just jumped off of it, not even bothering with a saddle. As for the green-bronze one, it was only half Winter's size, but much more agile. It almost made no sound as it landed on the riverbank, and its rider, a man, jumped off.

The two dragons then took to the skies, and disappeared behind the Mander.

Hand in hand, the two Targaryens stepped forwards, and Jon had time to get a better look at them.

The woman was the epitome of beauty. Small, slender, pale skin, violet eyes and long, silver-gold hair. She contrasted immensely with the man next to her, a tall and lean-built man, but with equally silver hair, pale skin and violet eyes.

Jon stepped forwards, not letting himself be deterred by their show.

"Welcome to Tumbleton, nephew," the woman he recognized as Daenerys Targaryen spoke with the confidence of someone twice her age, "you were not what we expected."

"Your Graces." Jon bowed his head. "I am sorry to disappoint."

The man Jon now recognized as Aegon Targaryen, seemingly returned from the dead, coughed lightly.

"What our aunt means, is that she did not expect your looks," Aegon fumbled, "but I will not shy away from it. I am glad to be reunited with my brother."

"Brother?" Jon raised an eyebrow. "By blood, aye, mayhaps. But my brothers are dead or in the North. You are no brother of mine."

"I told you that he would be like this." Daenerys sighed to him.

Aegon waved her off as he stepped forward. "I also wished it had been we both were children when we were taken away. I, to Essos, and you, to the North. You are right, we might not have been as close as brothers would have, but we are so by blood."

Jon looked at him up and down with suspicion.

"By blood," Jon agreed. "But that is where it ends.I am a Stark. Stark blood runs through my veins. Stark blood made me king, regent, and gave me the trust of my people. It was Starks that gave me shelter, food and education. It was Starks that gave me a home and a family. I am no dragon, make no mistake. Eddard Stark was my father, and no one else will change that."

He could see Aegon wince slightly, but the tall man still tried to step forwards. This time, Jon took a step back.

"I…our families may not have had the best relations, but I am sure…"

"That's putting it mildly, Your Grace."

"Amends will be made; I assure you of that, Daeron." Daenerys stepped forward with a smile. "You do not wish to embrace your dragon blood; I can see that. But what blood gave you your dragon? Surely, Stark blood had no bearing in that feat."

Jon cocked his head slightly.

"Mayhaps blood didn't play a role. Mayhaps Winter just liked the sound of my voice. And call me Lord Regent, if you may," Jon launched back.

Aegon made to reply but a gruff voice yelled out first."Are you lot going to compare the size of your dragons all day or we can finally start talking?"

Jon turned around to see Edmure Tully, visibly unimpressed, arms crossed. He let out a soft chuckle.

"Lord Tully is right. We have traded pleasantries, but the aim of this meeting is not a kind family reunion, but rather avoid that we kill each other in a few hours," Jon said. "So, then, follow me if you'd like, Your Graces."

Jon did not even turn back as he sped forwards, to a specially arranged large tent, guarded by half a hundred men of both sides.

Inside, many seats were arranged, mostly facing each other. Jon, Edmure, and Harry the Arse would have the most prominent seats, with Arianne also getting a spot, next to him.

Jon took a bite out of the bread and salt presented, and continued walking around.

He had no idea who would sit in front of him, but he would bet on the two Targaryens, Prince Quentyn of Dorne, and Lord Jon Connington, the Old Griffin, of whom he caught a brief glimpse earlier.

Three lords of each kingdom would also participate. For the North, Jon had selected Lords Karstark, Ryswell, and Manderly, whilst the only one he recognized with Edmure and Harry was old Lord Royce. Similarly, as announced, there would be three lords for Dorne and the Crownlands, which made up the bulk of the Targaryen army.

He looked around the room for a brief moment, trying to see if he could recognize any of them, and made a frown when she saw Arianne in the arms of another man. As he got closer to her, to see what went on, or if she was just with Daemon, he realized that the man walked with a cane, and had the same olive complexion as Arianne did.

Jon's stance relaxed slightly, but immediately tensed once he saw she had been crying. Her eyes were watered and she was firmly crested into the man's shoulder.

It was then that Jon got a better look at him. He was about the same height as he, with short, dark hair, and dry lips. Along the right side of his face lay a scar that avoided his right eye, but went from cheek to forehead, though it was faint now. All in all, the man was slightly intimidating, if not pretty.

Jon coughed, startling the two.

"Sorry, Prince Quentyn, I assume?" Jon bowed slightly.

"Ah, yes, Prince Daeron, is it?" the prince replied back with a similar bow. "I must admit, I did not expect to find you…so far south."

"Lord Regent Jon Stark, if you will." Jon winced slightly. "And fate takes us to improbable places."

"Apologies, Lord Regent," the prince leaned slightly on his cane.

"No matter, Prince Quentyn." Jon smiled slightly. "Are you well?"

"A slight case of being stabbed by a Reacher lance, but I should be able to walk normally in a moon or so." The Prince sighed, his brown eyes staring into him. "Although I am just happy to be alive."

"My uncle…" Arianne wiped the tears from her eyes, "is dead."

"What?" Jon approached her, offering a hand, to Prince Quentyn's shock.

"In battle. He fell…" Arianne sobbed slightly, "I'm sorry, Jon, I need to rest."

"Easy, love," Jon helped her to a chair, where she quickly slumped down. "Just, breathe for a few moments, and do not hesitate to run off if you need to, I shall not think less of you."

"I'll be fine." Arianne's hand grabbed his own for a moment, before softly releasing it.

Jon bent down to kiss her forehead, whispering words of encouragement in her ear, making her smile slightly.

He almost had completely forgotten Prince Quentyn's presence at his side, and shifted awkwardly when rising back up.

"I am guessing you are to be my good-brother, as well?" Prince Quentyn quickly said, without a hint of hesitation. "You're pretty, but please, I'm no dragon, let's not try to bring back traditions."

It took him a few moments to realize the jape, but Jon had trouble laughing.

"I would wed your sister, yes." Jon nodded. "She bears my child."

Prince Quentyn seemed struck, but the surprise soon faded and made way for an intriguing smile.

"And pray tell, where do you wish to take her, to the North?" he asked.

"No, the climate would not do her favors. I thought to have mine own keep in the Westerlands, once it is carved to our liking," Jon replied with a shrug.

Prince Quentyn thought for a few moments, leaning heavily on his cane.

"I fear it may be more complicated than this." He shook his head. "I am sorry to disappoint, of course. But that's why we are here. To talk."

"With all due respect, Prince Quentyn, I do not need your permission to wed Arianne." Jon frowned.

"I am not talking about the wedding, but I will need my sister back, and they…" Prince Quentyn pointed to the two Targaryens, who were slowly taking their seat, "will want their little brother or nephew back too."

"I am no dragon, make sure you remember that." Jon scowled.

"You may think so, but that is not what they or the realm thinks, no matter how hard you deny it." Prince Quentyn looked him in the eyes, determined. "Claims are what matters."

"Careful with your words, Prince Quentyn." Jon looked back at him with just as much determination. "You wish for your sister back, but you hold mine."

"At least I haven't put a babe in yours," Prince Quentyn angrily replied.

Jon felt his fist clench, but kept himself from overreacting. He couldn't do so. Not here, not now. Not with the stakes being so high.

"I am willing to discuss handing Princess Sansa over to you…"

"Princess?" Jon asked, shocked. "Has she wed your own brother, or yourself, then? Did you force her like…like…"

"Nothing of the sort," Prince Quentyn quickly said with a raise of his hand. "Her brother, Rickon, is King in the North, is he not? Then by all accounts, Sansa's title is 'Princess', it is a common courtesy."

Jon felt uneasy. He had gone through a whole range of emotions in just a few moments. All he could do was mumble an apology, and quickly scurry off, not even bothering to talk and humiliate himself even further.

He'd let Edmure do the talking, he was much better with it. And as long as Harrold Arryn didn't insult any of them by accident, they had a chance of getting a few concessions out of this.

So, he took his seat next to Arianne, whilst Edmure sat next to him, with Harrold Arryn at his right side.

Aegon Targaryen took a seat opposite Jon, with Queen Daenerys facing Edmure, Prince Quentyn facing his sister, and Harrold facing Jon Connington.

The Old Griffin was much more imposing than the blonde boy, that was for sure. His red hair reminded him a little of Robb, though Connington's stature was more akin to someone like Mance Rayder.

"Very well, let us begin," Lord Edmure began by tapping his fist on the table. "Here are our terms…"

"I am sorry, there must be a misunderstanding," Daenerys immediately interrupted, smiling all the while. "Lord Tully, this is a meeting to discuss you peacefully rejoining the fold, and bending the knee to us."

"Well, then, I am sorry if it came out this way." Edmure frowned. "But my people will not bend the knee to the Mad King's daughter, or to Rhaegar's son, whichever son it may be."

Jon shared an awkward glance with the Lord of Riverrun.

Daenerys made to speak, but it was Aegon who managed to get a word in first."Lord Tully." He brought his hands together, also glancing at Jon and Harry as he spoke. "Lord Stark. Lord Arryn. Our families did not have the best of relations, that is true, but we are willing to let it all go behind us."

"Easy to say when your family burned my grandfather alive, and strangled my uncle," Jon swiftly cut in. "Of course it is easier for you to put the past behind. The North remembers, Your Grace."

"What happened to your kin was a terrible crime," Daenerys leaned forward, "and it is something that we can only apologize for. We agree that my…father…had no right to dispense justice as he did, and we are willing to discuss compensation to House Stark, within reason."

Lord Connington then spoke up, in a booming voice, "Our terms are simple. You all bend the knee, tonight. Swear fealty to King Aegon, Sixth of His Name, and Queen Daenerys, First of Her Name. You will keep all your lands, paramountcies and titles. House Targaryen will recognize House Tully's claim on the Golden Tooth, no more. As for House Stark, as compensation for King Aerys the Mad's decisions, you will receive financial compensation in the form of lower tariffs-"

"I am sorry, is this a jest?" Jon interrupted, angered by the audacity of the man. "You come to us, and offer these terms? To settle decades of strife and humiliation with a few pieces of gold? To insult us with your terms whilst we have bled for years on end? This must be a farce, Ser."

"We have more men than you, Tully," Aegon warned, his face now much sullener. "We have three dragons, ready to pounce on you."

"And we have a dragon of our own!" Rickard Karstark, down the table, made himself heard. "He's larger than your three little dragons, and Northmen do not fear your little insects! We will crush you like we have the Ironborn, the Lannisters and the Tyrells!"

There were a few hearty cheers at that, and Jon felt himself losing control. Nerves and tempers were flaring, this was time to defuse the situation.

But before he even could, Prince Quentyn's voice was heard through the halls.

"Well, you certainly came here expecting to deliver your own terms, then, speak. What are they?"

Jon took a deep breath, and proudly announced. "The recognition of the Kingdom of the North as a kingdom independent of the Iron Throne."

There were many scoffs in the room, and a large grumble began to rise on the other side of the table.

"The recognition of Silverhill, Deep Den, Ashemark and Hornvale as part of the Kingdom of the Trident, the new Eighth Kingdom of the Iron Throne. Two spots on the Small Council, and a quarter of the gold in Casterly Rock as war reparations."

Connington spat out his wine, whilst both Targaryens were silent, struck in complete shock. Prince Quentyn, for his part, had his head in between his hands, only the back of his head rising from the table.

Swiftly, the Prince of Dorne's head darted up, though.

"You cannot be serious!" he blubbered out. "This is completely unreasonable!"

"As unreasonable as your demands?" Jon asked.

"Yes!" Prince Quentyn vigorously shook his head. "This is complete madness! We have more troops than you, more dragons, and we hold the wealthiest kingdoms in our grasp, your position is weaker, especially with what's coming!"

Jon froze. He knew too. And as much as he wanted to scream it out loud, he knew that this was not a good idea. If he knew, it also meant that he knew the North was not in as favorable a position as it claimed to be.

"Here is another offer," Aegon proposed. "We offer free trade for Northern ships, we recognize Tully overlordship of the Golden Tooth and…let's say Hornvale, as well as a betrothal for both houses Tully and Arryn in the future. In response, though, we will demand that Prince Daeron – or Lord Regent Stark, whatever he wishes to be called – take residence on Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?" Jon didn't even register the fact that this offer was not much better than the first, "What would I do on that desolate rock?"

"We would have you close, nephew." Daenerys frowned. "That is not something we would concede on. Your claim, fickle as it is, is too much to ignore. Whatever the settlement here, you must take up residence at Dragonstone, or mayhaps Harrenhal, if we decide to incorporate it in the Crownlands."

"A gloomy castle and a cursed one, what a wonderful choice!" Jon scoffed.

"Not to mention trading away my lands." Edmure Tully frowned. "You trade away lands you do not have, Your Grace, be mindful of this."

"Be that as it may, Lord Regent Stark will have to live close to the capital." Jon Connington rose in his chair. "The presence of a potential pretender cannot be ignored and…"

"And I'd be your hostage?" Jon scoffed. "The answer is no. I shall not be forced to live in one of your ruined fortresses. Not for all the gold in Casterly Rock!"

"Then we are at a standstill." Prince Quentyn sighed. "But mayhaps we could discuss the status of the North in another way? By making them a Princely House?"

Jon's eyes lit up slightly at that.

That was something he could still try to sell to the Northmen. A status similar to Dorne…could very well work. However, the mood in his camp was foul. Karstark was clearly unimpressed, whilst both Ryswell and Manderly just frowned.

"No." Daenerys immediately shook her head. "Their privileges will be limited in time. We will not have a second Dorne in the kingdoms."

"Your Grace, with all due respect, you do not need the North," Jon tried one last sally. "We have not interfered in the kingdom's affairs except for the Dance almost two hundred years ago. We are not the richest kingdom. We do not follow the Seven. We do not care for Southern politics. You barely notice we are there. So why not let us break off? After all, your father broke the feudal contract binding houses Stark and Targaryen."

"The North is as much a part of the Seven Kingdoms as the Stormlands, the Reach, or those godforsaken Iron Islands," Connington boomed. "There will be no breaking off of any kind."

"Then, there will be no peace," Lord Karstark's voice answered Connington's tone. "We have stood free for thousands of years, it will not change today. You are not the only ones with a dragon!"

A few hearty cheers came from the other Northmen.

"If we do not stand together, there will be no issue…" Jon muttered under his breath.

"My lords, I think that now that we have a clear idea of each position, we might want to take a short break?" Edmure proposed.

There were nods of agreement around the table.

"Then let us take an hour and then reconvene, hopefully with better proposals." Edmure finished his cup of wine, and left, Jon quickly following.

Once they were outside, in another, smaller tent, he immediately turned to Jon with a large frown.

"This is going nowhere," he declared. "and we need them…"

"We do." Jon nodded. "You know what is coming. If the kingdoms do not stand together, we are lost."

Edmure made a face.

"If we do bend to their demands, our lords will have our heads, Others or not." The Lord of Riverrun clearly was as lost as Jon. "We could try to negotiate a truce, long enough for them to wipe out the remnants of the Tyrells and Lannisters, but…"

"But it wouldn't last long enough for us to still be at peace when the Others eventually strike, which could as well be tomorrow." Jon gulped. "What do you have in mind?"

"There is one more solution, but you will not like it." Edmure turned to him with a frown.

"What is it?" Jon asked, intrigued.

"I have received a message from Ser Kevan Lannister." Edmure said in a carefully neutral tone. "He offers to bend the knee to you, as King Daeron the Third, so that we may kick out the foreign invaders from our lands. Ser Kevan thinks he can hand us the capital on a golden platter, so to speak, and would give us recompense for our losses, be they blood or material, with gold from Casterly Rock."

Jon froze for a moment, but then just laughed."Breaking bread with the Lannisters? The Northmen will have my head."

"And it would undermine my own projects with the Westerlander lands and castles," Edmure acquiesced. "But it would mean that we could form a front against the Targaryens."

"They are still kin, Lord Tully." Jon narrowed his eyes. "Kin that I have never shared anything with, but kin all the same. I cannot become a kinslayer."

"Better to be a kinslayer while saving your people than staying true to one's honor and letting your people burn."

Jon bit his lip. Edmure was right, but this was an impossible choice.

"Prince Quentyn knows about the Others," Jon suddenly spoke up. "If we are to gain something out of this, it must be through him."

"How so?" Edmure asked.

"He said 'to face what is coming', in the meeting, did you notice?"

"Aye, I did, but that could just be the winter ahead."

"He also sent large shipments of dragonglass to the Wall, over four or five years ago, when even I was not aware of the threat."

Edmure rested against the small pillar, stroking his auburn beard.

"If we inform them of the presence of the Others, we would lose all the edge we have." Edmure sighed. "If they do not call us madmen."

"The undead, at Riverrun, do you have more of them?" he asked.

"They travelled to the Stoney Sept, aye," Edmure replied, a spark in his eyes.

"It would do well to bring them here, or the capital, for that matter. If we strike a deal with the Targaryens, then it would be easy to convince them to join our cause, especially if both Princess Arianne and Prince Quentyn vouch for us," Jon surmised, his voice suddenly regaining in hope.

"I can arrange for them to be brought down," Edmure pointed out, "but what do we do about the terms?"

"If we are frank, Lord Edmure, we know that you would never be able to keep your independence," Jon said, gruffly.

Edmure nodded sullenly.

"Then, scale back your demands on the Westerlands, but ask for only one spot on the council."

"And what would that be?"

"Hand of the King."

Edmure froze for a moment, seeming to contemplate his options. Jon could see that something was still bothering him.

"And you, Stark, what would you wish?" he finally said.

"Independence for the North, I suppose. Failing that…well, a Dornish situation would be acceptable to me."

"The Northmen won't like that.""The Targaryens won't either. Unfortunately, neither will have much of a choice, I feel. Should I choose, I could fight another war, but the Others are coming, and I need these dragons and these armies."

"And if they do not agree?" Edmure asked.

"They'll have to. If not, then…well we both know what happens if they do not. That's why we came here with our armies, no? We will have no choice but to fight, for our honor, and hope that Winter is enough to dissuade them."

"Aye." Edmure's face closed, "And you, personally, what do you want?"

"Peace, and then a holdfast and lands for me and Arianne."

Jon's answer was swift, without a moment of hesitation.

"I think we have discussed Deep Den, did we not?"

Jon replied with a simple nod.

"I see no opposition to either. How do you think Arryn will take it?" Edmure asked in turn.

Jon drew a deep breath.

"Arryn, foolish as he is, hasn't been very interested in anything, even less so since the incident at the Stony Sept. As a matter of fact, he isn't even with us at this moment. I think he'll accept financial compensation and a promise of a royal match later on."

"Let us hope so," Edmure agreed. "So, then, we are in agreement? Handship, the recognition of the Riverlands' borders being pushed to the Western marches and financial gain for me, Independence and financial gain for you, and a marriage and some financial gain for Arryn? I could agree to these terms."

"Well, then, let us present them once more."

Jon and Edmure left the tent, quickly joined by members of their own guards, then their own lords, all huddling around to ask questions about the next steps.

Both he and Edmure tried to be reassuring. There were going to be terms presented, much more reasonable than before, and everyone will go their own way.

A short drink followed, and everyone regained their place across the table.

After another brief introduction, it was Prince Quentyn who took the floor, with a statement that silenced everyone.

"My lords and ladies, I think it is time we broached the subject of the Others."

Silence loomed over the table, as Jon and Edmure looked at each other in shock.

"I am sorry, the Others?" Connington almost laughed. "Prince Quentyn, have you drunk too much."

"The Others are real, and these men in front of us can confirm it." Prince Quentyn frowned, gesturing towards Jon and the Northmen. "Am I wrong, Lord Regent?"

Fuck, why did he have to put them on the spot like so! But then again, it was well played, they were desperate…

"The Others are real," Jon finally answered. "I have seen one with mine own eyes. My companion, Samwell Tarly, has slain one. They are real, and they bring the dead back to life."

"Apologies," Aegon interrupted. "But this seems like a bad jest to me. The Others are tales to tell children. Myths and legends."

"Just like dragons?" Prince Quentyn asked.

"Dragons have flown in the Westerosi skies just a hundred years ago. The Long Night occurred almost six thousand years ago, if it did at all," Aegon countered. "Why now?"

"I do not know," Jon replied simply. "This is why we have brought the wildlings south, and brokered a truth. This is why, if we do not fight them together, then we will all perish. I have seen them, and believe me, it is a horrid sight, a charge of dead men. The dead do not rest, sleep, eat, drink or tire. They cannot be reasoned with and they do not place any value on their lives."

"In conclusion," Edmure coughed, "they exist. I swear, on my honor."

"And mine." Lord Karstark nodded.

"And mine too." Lord Ryswell, Ser Wendel and Lord Royce all agreed.

"Aye, mine as well." Harrold Arryn conceded.

"And mine."

The feminine voice that essentially shattered the room was that of Princess Arianne.

"Princess?" One of the Dornish lords, completely dazed, questioned. "Are you sure?"

"I saw a dead man brought to life with mine own eyes, and I assure you, Lord Jordayne, it was no mummery," she shook her head. "And I swear, on my life and on Nymeria's grave in the Sandship, my lord, that everything these men say is true. The Others are coming."

This seemed to have completely shattered the Dornish delegation, all three lords and ladies turning to Prince Quentyn, whispering incomprehensible words.

"And of course, you have proof of this?" A lord with silver hair, close to the Targaryens, asked.

"I hold a dozen dead men at the Stony Sept. They can be brought in cages to the capital in a matter of days," Edmure Tully replied with confidence.

"Mummery and foolishness." Connington spat.

"Is it?" Jon asked. "Every lord present with us has seen them. Would you say that they have all spat on their honor while lying to you? I am Eddard Stark's son, and I believe that an oath is sacred. The oath I make to you right now, is that the Others are real, and that I swear on the Old Gods and the New."

"Some of your people also believe in it." Lord Karstark smiled, pointing to the Dornish.

"We would like to see those dead men, the sooner the better." Lord Jordayne nodded back.

"I did not know Lord Eddard Stark." Another voice rose up, in the Targaryen camp, but on the opposite of Lord Jordayne. It was a bearded man, next to a small girl, probably no older than Arya, who was covered in what looked like Greyscale. Probably Lady Shireen Baratheon, though Jon did not know who the bearded man was.

"However, King Stannis spoke many times that he was an honorable man. Too honorable, in fact, some would have said." He nodded. "Now, you may not be Lord Eddard Stark's son, but you do have his looks, and you were raised by him. The same lords who fought for him in the Rebellion now fight for you. Based on that…aye, I would believe it too, Your Graces. But I also agree with Lord Jordayne, we must see with our own eyes."

"I am sorry, my lords, I do not see the issue." Daenerys Targaryen smiled. "If what you say is true, then bend the knee right now, and save your people. We will march North, and I will pledge to use my dragons to lay waste to these Others. I have found that fire does stop men, whether dead or alive."

"Bend the knee, aye, but not at any cost, Your Grace," Edmure Tully spoke again. "The Others are coming, but this does not mean that we will grovel at your feet and beg for your help."

"May I propose a solution, Your Graces?" Harrold Arryn stood up, speaking for only the second time during this meeting.

"Please, Lord Arryn." Aegon Targaryen extended a hand, encouraging him to speak freely.

"I have heard much about the Riverlands and North, but not much about the Vale. I am afraid that we have only come quite late, and I am sorry for it." The new Lord of the Eyrie spoke, with confidence in his voice.

"You have made your terms known, indeed." Connington gruffly nodded. "They are reasonable enough."

Terms? Wait, when did he propose terms? During the recess, surely, but why discuss them then?

"A royal marriage, and a spot on the Council or the Kingsguard for a Valeman." Aegon Targaryen nodded. "As well as no ill will between our houses for your part in the Rebellion and our confirmation as your title of Lord of the Eyrie and Lord Protector of the Vale. You said you would think about it."

Harrold Arryn nodded.

"Aye. I can say that I agree with Lords Tully and Stark. The Others are coming, I have seen the dead men, we need every able-bodied man we can get, and we need your dragons too." Harrold Arryn smiled. "And as such, I would pledge myself, my sword and my men to your cause, right here, right now."

"WHAT?" Edmure Tully rose from his seat, ready to assault the boy.

"I have said my piece. If the Others are coming, might as well just go with who has the most dragons, no? And if your own allies believe a Dornish bastard over you, who are your real friends?" Harrold's gaze shifted away from Edmure to land straight on Jon.

"I'll burn you…" Jon muttered under his breath, his fists shaking.

"As I said, Your Graces." Harrold Arryn bowed, "I pledge myself and the Vale to your cause."

"Your terms are accepted, Lord Arryn." Aegon nodded back at him, inviting him over to their side of the table. "You are welcomed back into the fold, and we look forward to deepening the ties between House Arryn and House Targaryen in the future, as we have done many years in the past."

"Thank you for your generosity, Your Grace, and…" Harrold turned to Edmure with a grin, "thank you Lord Tully for your hospitality, but we've already started packing our tents. We won't bother you for much longer."

"Lord Royce, you cannot stand for this!" Jon protested.

"I am sorry, Lord Regent, but I pledged myself to Lord Arryn in the Eyrie. He is my liege lord, and I must somewhat agree with Lord Arryn. We must stand together if we wish to defeat the threat of the Others. I beg you to do the same. Save your people, like Torrhen Stark did so many years ago."

Yohn Royce's voice stung like a wasp. A slap to the face of everything Jon worked for. He had made Harrold Arryn, and Lord Royce, and how were they repaying him? By betraying him? Turning their backs on their alliance like so?

His fists were clenched, and he felt like crying, but nothing felt worse than what was just about to come.

"My lords, our conditions have not changed from our initial proposal," Daenerys said with a wide smile. "Accept our terms. Bend the knee, and keep your lands and titles. Though, I suggest you forget your dreams of an independent kingdom."

Jon stood there, his teeth and fists clenched, when he finally broke.

"Fuck you."

Dead silence over the room.

"What?" Daenerys stood there, in shock.

"Fuck you, aunt." Jon spat out. "Ever since your father burnt my uncle and grandfather alive, we owe nothing to you. The North will stand as an independent kingdom, or it will not stand at all. And if you have something to say about that, you can come talk to my dragon."

Aegon's eyes went wide, whilst Daenerys had a hard time keeping her composure.

"We will see you on the field, then." Edmure Tully rose up and shook his head, his fists clenched too. "I am sorry it has come to this, but I will not accept another humiliation either."

"Nor will I," Jon whispered to himself.

Jon looked at Prince Quentyn, visibly panicked, but there was no more discussion. The two Targaryens had left, and so had Edmure. Soon enough, the tent emptied, until it was only him and the two Martells.

"Jon." Prince Quentyn rose from his seat, his eyes wandering. "We need to stop this madness. You cannot mean to fight this battle."

Jon turned to Arianne, holding her hand as she stood up, then looking at her belly, and finally back at Prince Quentyn, who was shadowed by a woman of equal height, leaning on one of the pillars in the tent.

His rage subsided somewhat, and the bloodlust he'd garnered had slowly faded back, allowing him to finally get some coherent thoughts, which thankfully no longer involved doing something terrible to that Arryn cunt.

"Aye, we do." Jon agreed, finally looking into his interlocutor's brown eyes. "But I fear there is no stopping it now."

"Then follow me, we need to talk. About the Others, our sisters, and stopping this madness."