A/N: Longclaw: Hello everyone. Happy Thanksgiving to our American readers!
Well... last chapter had a huge reception for our story. Lots of good comments but also a lot of worried comments, critical comments, and outright trolls - some things were said and while I regret some of my conduct there, if you read some of the trolling comments most could be excused for responding with some irritation. The trolls won't get any attention from us anymore. However, for the respectful comments that were worried about the last chapter, let me explain a bit.
It was always intended for Jon and Dany to have an enemies to lovers tagline. We made both a bit darker than in canon, but neither are intended to be complete saints or psychopathic monsters. They are the protagonists in this story, but it doesn't mean they have to be saints. We're going for somewhere in the middle in action but still being heroes.
I get that a believable romance is gonna be tough between our two heroes right now. However, we didn't decide to write this story just for complete fluff. We love the challenge and we plan to make it believable. We both appreciate everyone who commented respectfully and hope we can count on all y'all to stick around while we continue :)
BRuh4: Hey, y'all... so last chapter sort of started a fire of sorts. We don't really wanna comment too much more on it, but it's worth mentioning. We engaged with some readers in the comments a lot, and it got pretty nasty. That shouldn't have happened. But here's what it all boils down to. There's a difference between you being angry about something that happened and shitting on it. And having legitimate concerns and criticism, noting those in your review. A lot of times I feel like y'all see something that happens, and immediately you think "Jon wouldn't do that" or "Dany would never think that". To that I say, think about Jon and Dany as we've presented them. Not like you imagine them in your brain or through your eyes. Because those are the versions being given to you in this story. Not picture-perfect princess or the incorruptible king, those people aren't here.
Furthermore and lastly, if you really felt spurned by chapter 19, and you really don't think we can pull this off. Fine, please don't continue to read and fill our comments with your dissatisfaction. Just because it's never happened before doesn't it won't ever happen. We're not assholes, and we were a bit out of line a few times. But imagine being excited to share something for five months, only for the people you desired to show it to shit on it. Geez.
Hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 20: Bend the Knee
All the men from the losing side were forcefully jostled until they gathered before the hill. The Dragon Queen still sat atop it, gazing down upon the droves of surrendered men. Jon looked up at her and scowled, he knew this wasn't good. A few moments later, her dragon reared up and screeched, trembling the ground and rattling bones. Many of Jon's cohorts fell to the ground in fear, but he stood tall.
He was a direwolf of House Stark. He cowered for no one.
The Targaryen soldiers were tense - apart from the Dothraki and sellswords looting the corpses of the dead - weapons at the ready. Staring at the captured Westerosi as if an exotic troop of mummers, which Jon felt his men would look at these foreigners if the shoe was on the other foot. "It was nice knowing ya," he heard Smalljon whisper next to him.
"They won't kill us," Jon replied, all but certain.
Eying the various soldiers of the Dragon Queen's army, he grimaced. "The cockless freaks, probably not, but those horse savages and sellswords? They'll rob us and then rape our corpses."
Jon shook his head. "They follow her." His eyes landed on the Dragon Queen. "All depends on her." He hoped she wasn't like her father, though that might have been a false hope.
Murmurs of fear and wonder rippled through the prisoners as Daenerys Targaryen descended from the back of the dragon, and walked to the edge of the hill. Able to get a fully better look upon her, he noticed that she truly was as beautiful as he had heard, if not more so. Flowing silver hair, lithe figure underneath her battledress, purple eyes still piercingly breathtaking from the great distance. Visenya Targaryen reborn. Though her countenance wasn't full of admiration, just a heavy fierce gaze burning down at him.
So… just like Visenya Targaryen.
Surrounding her were the advisors she brought with the army. Grey Worm, Tyrion, and her bloodriders. One of them was missing. "Where is Korro?" she asked in their tongue. To the prisoners, it only made her seem more foreign.
Rokharro shrugged. "Went through the breach. Didn't come out."
Nodding, Daenerys turned to Tyrion, who stood next to her. "A large haul of prisoners," she whispered, eyeing Wun Wun. "So giants are real, I doubted I would see that." Pockmarked with arrows and broken off spearpoints, but still standing like a colossus among the other prisoners. Half the Dothraki archers aimed their bows at him. "What would I do with them?"
"You could take them to Dragonstone, but that would be dangerous and eat up supplies. There are still two enemy armies to defeat, and we lost many men today." She gritted her teeth. The Wrath of the North had very nearly annihilated much of her army with his aggressive counterattack. "I say let them go."
"So they can fight me again?"
Tyrion shook his head. "Northerners obey their oaths, and the death of the Boltons only shows the consequences of breaking them. You defeated them, so mercy on your part would behold them to you. Let them bend the knee and keep some of their lords as hostage - they'll keep themselves out of the fight."
Her advisor spoke sense, a first of actually decent advice since they landed in Westeros. She didn't wish to be known as the Queen of the Ashes. Clearing her throat, she looked at all the men. "I know what you have heard," she called out to them in a loud tone. "What songs your leaders have sung about me. Stannis Baratheon… I've no doubt he spouted on long about how I've come to burn your homes and rape your lands with my foreign army. But I'm just here to retake what is mine. Cersei Lannister, Stannis Baratheon, they are who stand in my way. This battle is over, you've lost. I am not my father, and will not repeat his unjust crimes against any of my subjects. Join me in ending the tyrannical rule of men who would have killed you outright." She cleared her throat. "Bend the knee. Or refuse… and die."
A few dropped to their knees then, instantly. Jon didn't blame them. The rest knelt after the black dragon bellowed at them again. Well, except for Jon, Devan, Wun Wun, the Blackfish, Edmure, Tormund, and Smalljon, they all stood straight.
The next moment, Tyrion Lannister walked up to stand next to Daenerys. Squinting, clearly, he was noticing someone among the crowd.
He half-laughed, "Jon Snow? That's Jon Snow."
Daenerys frowned, turning the Lannister, "What? He wasn't supposed to be here." They'd come with the intention of eliminating a section of Stannis' forces. They thought it was mostly Riverlanders, only when the fighting began did they realize there were Northern forces here. Dany had been assured that Jon Stark was with his King, Stannis Baratheon.
"Well, I see him right there," Tyrion replied, his voice sounded like he wasn't sure himself. Jon didn't show any reaction as two Dothraki came over to bring him closer. They pulled him out in front of the crowd. Being closer, Tyrion confirmed his suspicion, "He's a bit older. But for sure, that's him."
"He was most definitely here," said a rather arrogant voice. The bearded sellsword, whom Jon had heard called 'Daario' walked up to just beneath the Dragon Queen and bowed. "My Queen." From his belt he unsheathed Longclaw. Jon fought his blood boiling as Daario Naharis presented the Valyrian Steel blade to Daenerys. "I present to you the Valyrian Steel sword of the Wrath of the North as a token of your victory this day." It rankled Jon to no end to see the blade that had seen him through years of struggle and war, but he hung his head - nothing to be done.
Daenerys cocked her head to the side, staring at him as she leaned down and took the blade from Daario. It felt… strange in her hand. Light and easy to wield, but as if not supposed to be hers. "This is a beautiful blade, Jon Snow. I shall see that it is returned to you when you bend the knee to your rightful Queen." She sheathed it, waiting for his answer.
Glowering, Jon wrestled himself free of the Dothraki and said, "Stark. My name is Stark." The Bloodriders would've hacked him down if Dany hadn't stopped them by holding up her hand. Moments later, she descended the hill to get closer, Tyrion and Daario followed. The Dothraki took hold of him again seconds later.
Bloodriders, Daario, and the stone-faced Unsullied commander who couldn't seem to keep a death glare off Tormund - not that the Wildling didn't reciprocate - forming a protective cordon around her, Dany got up close to the Stark, looking him up and down. "So, this is the man I've heard so much about. Bringing the wildings and giants south of the Wall. Killing the Boltons and Freys, defeating Jaime Lannister and his army… I thought you'd be taller."
Jon smirked, "If I'm honest, I didn't know what to expect out of you. I'd heard so many different things."
"And what do you think?"
"You are exactly what they said you were." Underneath, of course, he couldn't see. But the visage of the woman before him seemed to be the vicious conquerer he'd heard so much about.
"A shame," Daenerys sighed, clasping her hands. "I would've truly liked your assistance on how to best dispatch Stannis." She turned to Drogon, who began stomping down the hill.
Tyrion made his voice known, "Your Grace, Jon Snow would make an excellent prisoner."
Hating how he would have to swallow his pride, Jon thought of his men. Thought of Sansa, of Arya and Rickon. Knowing he would burn in all Seven Hells if he let his own arrogance get Winterfell razed to the ground by a dragon. "If I allow myself to be your prisoner," he spoke to Daenerys. "Will you spare my men?"
The Dragon Queen regarded him anew. "You care about your men. I respect that." Jon Snow and she had much in common - yet fate brought them together as enemies. "If they bend the knee." She watched him hang his head, but nod. "You'll need to bend the knee as well."
"Not gonna happen." No hesitation.
Tyrion saw his Queen's eyes narrow dangerously. "Don't act rashly, your Grace. Perhaps we can get something out of him, given how much he knows about Stannis."
Jon spat onto the ground, "I won't tell you a fucking thing."
Daario got up close, "I'll make sure someone takes good care of your sword, bastard."
In response, Jon head-butted Daario as hard as he could, forcing the sellsword to collapse. Causing a scuffle between Jon and the Bloodriders, who began punching him in the face and gut. Once Daario got to his feet again, blood dripping over his nose, he gave Jon a kick. Wun Wun snarled, prompting Drogon to roar as well.
"Enough!" Daenerys shouted in Dothraki, her people stopped immediately. "Pick him up." The Dothraki did as they were told, bringing the beaten and bruised Stark to his feet. "It seems you do not understand the situation you are in. You've lost. You are in no position to make demands." Her tone was a fit of restrained anger, but almost… scolding.
"My Queen, I highly advise keeping Jon Snow alive," Tyrion repeated himself. "The North would be more inclined to behave for the duration of the war if we keep their Warden as a hostage." It was clear he didn't wish to see Jon die, but it actually thinking him a valuable prisoner or from more personal reasons - they had a decent liking to each other during their travels to the wall so long ago. "Show these men that you are not your father, spare Jon Snow."
"Stark," Jon said, gritting his teeth, still trying to break free.
Daario laughed. "Legitimized by the Stag Usurper, no doubt. He has no authority."
Keeping her eyes on Jon, Daenerys said, "And what use would he serve after I take back the Iron Throne? Do you really expect this man to ever bend the knee?"
"You shouldn't," Jon laughed a bit, his chest aching from where the sellsword kicked it. "Because I won't."
"Will you please shut up?" Tyrion told Jon. "I'm trying to save your life."
Jon allowed himself a genuine smile. "Dwarves and bastards, right?" A tiny bit of camaraderie with Tyrion, both starting at the same level more or less. Both making something of themselves, only choosing different sides. "You have your code, and I have mine. I swore my allegiance to Stannis Baratheon just as my father did, and fuck anyone who would ask me to break my oath." He narrowed his eyes at Daenerys.
"Seems to me he cares little for his own life," Daario scoffed, pinching his somewhat now cock-eyed nose. "Burn him and be done with it, his death will be a heavy blow to Stannis." Jon decided if he ever escaped, he would kill this man first. The arrogance enraged him.
"If you kill him now the North will never come to heel," Tyrion pointed out. "Targaryens have burned enough Starks."
"But that's all you do, all you ever will, burn. Dragons don't plant trees. Isn't that the saying?" Jon said, he watched the surprise wash over the Queen. "It was me that shot that bolt at your dragon." He smirked darkly as her violet eyes widened ever so slightly. Something in him made him shift course and only wound the dragon - be it instinct, nerves, or his dreams - only now he regretted it. Seeing the Dragon Queen before him, the woman that murdered many of his men and nonchalantly discussed his servitude… the rage threatened to overcome him. "I missed but I wish I hadn't, maybe some of my men would still be alive."
Drogon neared then, looming over them. So close Daenerys reached out to stroke his jaw. Jon's eyes stuck to the dragon, the hot breath fluttering in his face. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he'd see a dragon. He just wished it was under better circumstances.
"Are you scared, Jon Snow?" Daenerys asked, her voice low.
A mere snort. "What's there to be scared of? It's just a fire-breathing dragon." The truth was it terrified him, not that he'd let her know it. "If you're gonna use him on me hurry up and fucking do it, I ain't got all day," Jon said, scowling.
Flashing a smile, her indigo eyes twinkling with a dangerous amusement, Daenerys leaned closer to the dragon. "Drogon," she whispered like a mother to her child. "Urnēptre nyke skoros ao pendagon hen bisa vala?"
Growling loud enough to nearly render some temporarily deaf, Drogon's neck surged forward. Jaw right in Jon's face. Maw opening to screech at the bound northerner. Spittle shooting out, air superheated around him. Bracing his feet, gritting his teeth, Jon willed himself to stand his ground. Not conceding an inch to this - rather effective - intimidation tactic...
Only suddenly, the roar ceased. Eyes opening, Jon found the dragon merely staring at him. Amber eyes filled with mere curiosity. Something was different about this man. Yes, he had fired, but the dragon could sense his feelings, his emotions. Pick up that no, he didn't truly want him to die - that Jon Stark had consciously shifted his aim. For what reason Drogon did not know, but knew that this man was not to be harmed. Drogon sniffed him once, leaned forward to nudge Jon in the chest, then sniffed again. Letting out a grunt - as much as a massive dragon could grunt - Drogon turned and ambled several wingstrides away. Bored.
Jon thanked the Gods he hadn't pissed himself but was mollified rather well by the look of dumbfounded surprise on the Dragon Queen's face.
How… why did Drogon do that? Her mercurial, easily angered son would have likely toyed with Jon. Made him piss himself from the foul mood Drogon was in, but the Warden of the North actually calmed Drogon down. A white wolf, alone and wounded in the snow, the images flooded her mind again. There was more to this man than met the eye, not just because of her dreams.
"If you're waiting for me to shake in my boots, you're gonna keep waiting, because it won't happen. Be your father and burn me, or don't be your father and let me live. At this point… I really don't care."
A bit affronted, but the surprise morphing into interest. Dany replied, "You are some man, Jon Snow."
"Stark."
"Yes, Stark, what have you," Dany sighed, waving her hand in the air. Then she said, simply, "Bind him, he's coming with us."
There was disagreement from Daario by the way his jaw dropped. "But your Grace…"
"Enough, Captain Naharis. He's now my hostage. Anyone who so much as touches him against my orders will be killed." Chastised, the sellsword quieted down. From the look on his face, Grey Worm also disagreed but chose not to antagonize his Queen by speaking up.
By the noise Jon made it sounded like he'd rather be burned as the Dothraki drug him off to the side. "You made the right decision," Tyrion said, still next to Daenerys. "Your Grace."
"You better hope so." Her eyes narrowed. "Remember the promise I gave Varys." Tyrion gulped, remembering it all too well.
"What about these?" Daario said, pointing his blade at the others still standing. The Blackfish, Edmure, Devan, Smalljon, and Tormund still stood high.
The White Wolf rolled his eyes. "Devan, kneel!" The squire trembled but obeyed his Lord's orders. Jon was relieved - Davos didn't deserve to lose another son. "Smalljon?"
Narrowing his eyes at his liege lord, the Lord of Last Hearth sighed and fell to his knee. Little Ned didn't deserve to be saddled with running the keep at his young age.
With a mere look, Wun Wun smacked his fist against his chest - a sign of defiance. "Stark," he grunted, but bent the knee. Daenerys allowed it, pride in herself surging within her chest. A mighty giant bending for her… if anything was a more apt symbolism of her life, she had yet to find it.
"Tormund," Jon called out next to his friend. "Bend your damned knee, don't be a fool."
"You know how I don't like kneeling, King Crow," Tormund huffed.
"Don't die for nothing! Don't throw your life away, live to fight another day."
Tormund hung his head, running his fingers through his hair and beard. When he raised his head, he locked eyes with Jon. He shook his head rapidly, but moments later he dropped to one knee, groaning and cursing up a storm under his breath. Just leaving Edmure and the Blackfish still upright and defiant. Brynden turned to his nephew and said, "Sit the fuck down, boy."
"What? No, I'm with you."
The Blackfish sent his fist into Edmure's cheek, sending him spiraling to the ground. "There, I did it for ya, now stay down."
"Ah… Lord Tully," Daenerys said. "You won't be bending the knee?"
"Not to you, not ever," the Blackfish scowled. "Your father burned my niece's intended alive, and one mad Targaryen monarch was enough for me. No, I intend on dying with my dignity intact."
"So be it," Dany shrugged slightly as the Dothraki stomped over to drag Brynden away from the others, leaving him out all by himself off to the side. "Brynden of House Tully. For the crime of treason against the Realm, I, Daenerys Targaryen, Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, sentence you to die."
"Brynden, what are you doing?" Jon raised his voice. "Don't be a fucking idiot, save yourself."
For once, the Blackfish coughed up a smile. "You were the best of us, Stark. It was my pleasure fighting by your side," the smile never wavered, Brynden Tully, looking like a new man. "Fight like hell and see if you can make something out of all this shit. Someone has to, I always figured it'd be you." Then he turned back to Edmure, "And you, stay alive, if you can. Someone has to carry the goddamn name."
Daenerys waited until he was finished. The Blackfish stared at her with his stern expression, then up at Drogon, who rose over him. Long before the fire lanced out from the dragon's mouth, Brynden the Blackfish started to yell as loud as he could, making sure all heard his voice.
But it was the Dragon Queen's that Drogon heard. "Dracarys." With that, Brynden was reduced to mere ash, gone in less than a second.
Sick to his stomach, eyes closed to see a man he respected greatly be burned alive - one whom he had fought and bled on the battlefield with - he turned away. Opening them to find the
Dragon Queen directly in his sights. A person he had never thought he could hate more than all the others who had wronged his family, but the current moment proved him wrong.
And from the look she shot him, Daenerys Targaryen seemed to feel indifferent about it. Not enjoyment, nor pain, but just like it was something that needed to be done.
In a way, that was worse than hate.
"Open the bloody gate!"
Four horsemen galloped through the gateway of Maidenpool at high speeds, only to skid to a halt. The leader leapt off his mount just as Lord William Mooton scrambled down the steps of his keep. "What in Seven Hells is the meaning of this?" he demanded, the folds of fat jostling under his loose doublet. Clearly a Lord who preferred the softer aspects of castle life, given he wasn't in the field with his men or his Tully Liege.
Howland didn't have time to deal with some pompous, soft highborn. "Howland Reed of Greywater Watch! I need a raven!"
"A northern swamp Lord?" At least Lord Mooton kept up to date on his knowledge. "Unless that Northern bastard comes here…"
The Lord of Maidenpool was cut off by Howland grabbing him by the lapel of his doublet, slamming him against the stone of the castle's walls. Guards began to level their spears only for the three Crannogmen's swords to emerge from their scabbards, leveled at the Rivermen to protect their lord. "Listen here you fat pig," Howland seethed. "The Dragon Queen just set upon the Northern Army… my men… with a Dothraki horde and her dragon!"
"You're…" Lord Mooton wheezed… "Crushing my windpipe…"
"Either I'll get a raven right now or I fucking kill you and get your heir to give it to me!" Grey eyes narrowed dangerously, the small, unassuming Crannogmen turning into the roaring lion-lizard on his sigil. "Or perhaps I should let the other two dragons I didn't see burn you alive!" William Mooton's eyes widened in pure fear. The stories of Aegon's Conquest were quite personal to the Mootons of Maidenpool, given they had been the first targeted by Aegon the Conqueror. "Now where are the ravens?"
A fleshy hand pointed towards a tall tower in the northeastern corner… overlooking the mouth of the Trident. Releasing him, Howland was already bounding to the tower's staircase by the time Lord William collapsed to the ground, sputtering and coughing.
"It's been so long."
"I'd like to say home hasn't changed," Sansa said, sighing a bit. "But it has. At least for me, it'll never be the same."
Arya hadn't yet been entirely apprised of all that happened to Sansa over the years. She'd heard whispers, of course, but no one had specifically told her what had happened. "Why not?" she asked her sister.
Eyes narrowing - not necessarily at her sister - the elder Stark fought the memories that threatened to bubble up. "You don't know everything, Arya."
"Why don't you tell me?" Arya replied genuinely.
Sansa's eyes fluttered shut. "It's too hard."
"Too hard?"
"You just don't understand."
Silent for a moment, Arya gently leaned over to place a hand on Sansa's shoulder. Silently comforting her in a way she never really had before. "If you're ready to talk, I'll be here. I've had a hard time too, so perhaps we can share." A soft sigh followed, Sansa smiling softly at her.
A knock at the door silenced the talk between the sisters, a servant girl floated through the doorway once allowed entry. She carried a raven scroll between her fingers. Sansa looked at her and sighed, "Who's it from?"
"Howland Reed, by the sigil," the handmaiden replied.
"Reed? Why would he be sending a raven to us?" Arya frowned. "Not Jon?"
The older sister looked at her sibling, ideas bouncing around in her head. Realization coming across her brain, she grabbed the parchment and unfurled it as quick as she could. Eyes fluttering down the inked lines, the words looked to be scratched across in a hurry.
Arya sat forward, worried, "What's it say?" When Sansa didn't reply, just letting the paper fall from her hand to the floor; Arya snatched it up to read it for herself.
Sansa brought her hand up to her mouth, closed her eyes, and just slowly shook her head. No words dared to flow from her mouth.
After reading the contents, Arya nearly ripped the parchment to shreds. "Can't be."
"It is," Sansa nodded. "Howland wouldn't lie."
"He can't have been beaten," Arya shook her head.
"He was." She balled her hands into fists… "Damn you, Jon… you promised…" Tears pricked her lids. "You fucking promised." Sansa began to sob softly, imagining her brother's body a charred husk in some field in the Crownlands.
"He hasn't died, just captured. We'll get him back… I'll do something."
"What will you do?" Sansa snapped, pushing her tears back. "We don't know what's happened. He could be dead."
"Don't talk like that!" Arya frowned. "He's not."
"Daenerys Targaryen attacked him, likely with dragons. Do really think she left anyone standing?"
Arya opened her mouth to retort, but then shut it just as fast. "I'll kill her."
"You won't. You can't," Sansa argued.
"Someone has to do something!"
"We have to go home, Arya. We have no other choice. All of our men were with Jon, we can't fight her. Stannis has rode off to Highgarden. He can't help us."
"We're on our own then, fine. I like it better that way," Arya huffed, crossing her arms.
"We have to be smart. You running off to chase Daenerys Targaryen isn't smart. We need you… I need you."
"Sansa-"
"We must go home, Arya," Sansa insisted. "There is no other option. We'll be safe there."
"For how long? How long until Daenerys Targaryen flies in with her dragons? We'll be slaughtered."
"I don't know, I wish I did."
"We can't just leave him out there," Arya said, not backing down.
Sansa pursed her lips, "If Jon made it through the battle. She'll likely have taken him prisoner. I imagine he'll be taken back to Dragonstone. Once he's there I suspect we'll get a raven, Daenerys will want us to swear fealty."
"What happens after that?"
"We can begin negotiations to get Jon back."
"A raven has come from Ser Barristan, your Grace." Daenerys looked up from the map. "Lady Olenna has reached Highgarden and they are preparing to march once the Dornish arrive. Their Lords are waiting in Sunspear for Lady Ellaria."
She nodded. "Good. Our forces will wait in Duskendale until the remainder of the Dothraki make port in Dragonstone." Their casualties were far too high to continue an assault, the Wrath of the North inflicting double the dead and wounded that they did on his men. Ten thousand, and that didn't count on the chaos and gutted units - even though it happened to her, Daenerys was quite impressed. "Once set, we'll sweep over everything in our path."
At that moment, the bloodriders stepped aside as Daario Naharis entered the tent. While most of the army was exhausted from the brutal fighting of the last day, he seemed almost manic. Boredom sated from the bloodlust and grinning like an idiot - Jon Stark's Valyrian steel sword clipped to his belt. "My Queen," Daario bowed, his eyes twinkling with something Tyrion knew quite well. If he's any more obvious then he'd be humping her leg. The blue-black splotch centered on his nose worked to undermine the arrogant expression, however. "Do you mind, Lord Tyrion. I need to confer with her Grace alone."
"There will be no need," Daenerys stated flatly. "I am very busy with matters of pressing importance and I need Lord Tyrion to decipher them. Noticing his put-off expression, grin faltering, Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "Do you have something to tell me, Captain Naharis?"
He cleared his throat, resolving to try again when she was in Dragonstone - stress could as easily kill an amorous mood as fighting caused one, and Daenerys Targaryen was not one to simply overpower. "The enemy column is heading northwest, back to Harrenhal. I've left my best scouts to shadow them and report back if they attempt to betray their agreement and rejoin with the Usurper."
That was good news indeed. "You made sure they kept their food stocks?" While the enemy wagon train was fair game, her first order after letting the Northmen, Free Folk, and Rivermen go was to let them keep their horses, pack oxen, and food. They had surrendered and bent the knee - as her new subjects, letting them starve wasn't an option.
One that Daario strenuously disagreed with. "You should have let my men kill them all. Or at least their lords. Cut off the head of the snake and let the rest rot."
"Killing prisoners violates every convention of war," Tyrion scowled. "Do you want her to lose every Westerosi house? Or just the ones that bested you in battle… or knocked you down while bound and gagged?" The scowl turned into a smirk.
Daario glared at him. "War is war, Imp. You either fight hard or die." Patting the Valyrian steel sword, he smirked. "And I don't intend to die."
"Anything can happen if you're not careful," Daenerys said, in a warning tone. "And I will not let my subjects die. They bent the knee, so let them go home in peace, are we clear?" A tense silence, but the sellsword nodded. "Is our prisoner ready for travel?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Daario answered. "I checked in on him myself."
"Is he… properly secured?" Tyrion asked. "He must not get loose." An image of Jon storming through their camp slashing through hundreds of troops flashed through his mind. The Imp still don't know how he had convinced the queen to spare him… he wasn't about to push his luck.
The sellsword scoffed. "As I said, I checked on him myself."
"You have his sword," Dany pointed out, eyeing the blade.
"Aye," he said, freeing Longclaw from its scabbard. "Valyrian Steel, Your Grace, I know it will serve me well."
"Perhaps not."
Daario blinked. "Your Grace?"
"Perhaps you shouldn't carry such a blade," Daenerys said, tilting her head. "A swordsman as fine as you doesn't need such a weapon to carry out his duties. You already have a blade, do not?"
"But—"
Ironically, his arrogance had only grown since she tossed him out of her bed. "Leave the blade here, you don't deserve it." A little humbling would serve him well. "You didn't win it from him. You took it. A proud blade like that deserves someone who actually earned the right to wield it." Remembering how it felt in her hand, even Daenerys didn't feel right with it.
Silence so thick it could be cut with a knife, eventually, Daario did the smart thing and handed the blade to Daenerys. "My Queen." He bowed graciously, waiting for her nod to turn and leave the tent.
Tyrion kept quiet for as long as he could. "Well… you certainly put him in his place."
"He needed it. Will be a far better follower if he knows I won't let him get away with anything." Dany placed the sword on the table, marveling it. "I can't afford to second guess myself, Tyrion. If I look back, I am lost, but I can't help but think…"
"You did the right thing, your Grace." The more Tyrion thought about it, the more he knew it was the only option. "Stannis would never have kneeled, and he would have done the same to you had he had dragons." A sigh left his lips. "I only wish that it didn't involve such loss of life."
Daenerys ran a hand along the fine, smoky blade. Eyes fogging over in regret. "So do I." She wanted to be the great conqueror, the restorer of House Targaryen, but still… She was Mhysa, the Breaker of Chains. How would Westeros know that if she… "Your father didn't treat prisoners well, did he?"
Scoffing, Tyrion glanced up at her. "Good gods no. Tortured them to no end if they could give him information… and tortured them even if they didn't. You, on the other hand, allowed your Volantian healers to travel with the northerners as far as Harrenhal. A gracious gesture."
"Not enough for them to love me, I'm afraid." The people of the North, the Riverlands, and even the lands north of the Wall were her subjects too, and she would break the wheel for them. "Jon Stark is key to getting through to them." He certainly got through to Drogon. The black dragon seemed to forget he had even been injured, let alone by Jon Stark's hand. "What do you know of him, Tyrion?"
"I spent some time with him, a very long time ago," Tyrion said, stroking his goatee. "But he is a very different man now. Less of a bastard and a whole lot more man, he's a Stark now. That's given him a new lease on life it seems, he's bold."
Hanging her head, had Missandei, Barristan, or Ser Jorah been there they would have noticed the great Mother of Dragons bore a similar expression to that of when Drogon burned the little girl alive. "I wish he had I would have met under different circumstances. Perhaps then we could be allies."
"Perhaps you still can be. Aegon the Conqueror made loyal subjects of those he conquered."
"A dragonrider, a Targaryen, we are gifted with great power but also a great curse. None can see my dragons for how I see them, not even you, my Lord." Daenerys sighed. "Who could love a dragon?"
In the Queen, Tyrion saw both a mighty dragonrider and a kind soul. She will never go mad. Ruthless, lonely yes, but never mad. It was up to him and the others of her circle to keep her grounded, especially since there was no other Targaryen left. "Your people love you," was what he finally said.
Such was true, but not the whole story. "I freed them from chains, but here… I have no love here. I am merely the Mother of Monsters, the Mad King's daughter, someone to be hated. I don't have love here, only fear… and how can I break the wheel using fear alone?"
What could one say to that? "Give it time, your Grace. Aegon eventually found the love of the people in spite of Maidenpool. In spite of the Field of Fire."
The Field of Fire… A deep, soulful sigh. Without Jorah, without Missandei or Barristan, Tyrion was the only person she felt any kinship with. Any friendship with - the man had endured a quite similar darkness. "All I could see while I flew… while I attacked the Northern Army… I could only think of was all the hardships my House has endured."
"Stannis was but a boy of ten and seven at the time, defending Storm's End against Mace Tyrell. While he was on his brother's small council, I don't think he had any specific role in your family's harm." Gods knew how anti-Targaryen Stannis was now, though.
She hunched over the map table, the weight of the world on her shoulders. Too much for a girl of a mere twenty and two in Tyrion's opinion. "Yunkai was bloodless… Meereen was bloodless. Both ended up bathed in blood because I chose to break the wheel. I don't regret fighting for the freedom of the slaves, Lord Tyrion, but with all the blood that has been spilled already… by me… I can't imagine the ocean of blood that will follow my capture of the Iron Throne."
Tyrion did not know what to say. What could he say?
"Go check on Jon Stark," she finally broke the silence. "Make sure he knows that I won't harm him and that I truly let his men go. I fear that Daario has done the opposite." If Tyrion - or Barristan as well - as the angel perched on her shoulder, Daario was the demon perched on the other side. "He is our hostage but is also the Warden of the North. I want his fealty, Tyrion, and you know him better than anyone else."
He bowed. "At once, your Grace."
It didn't take him long to find where the Stark was being held. The six Unsullied standing guard by the smallest tent in the camp was a dead-give-away. The smaller man strolled up to the men, "The Queen sent me. Could you give me a minute?" The guards all looked at each other for a few moments before shifting away off to the side.
Tyrion entered to find Jon tied to a lonesome post in the middle of the space. He sat down with his head hung over, fresh bruises coating his face and body. Though he looked up when the dwarf came in. He mustered a smirk, "Come to finish the job?"
"Hardly," Tyrion scoffed. "I couldn't kill you right now even if I wanted to. The Queen sent me to check on you."
Jon chuckled, "Did she now?"
"She did. We heard Daario came in earlier. I thought you might need some cheering up."
The Stark's face darkened, "I'm going to kill that man."
"I believe you." Unable to help the smirk beneath his bushy beard and mustache, Tyrion grabbed a stool resting on the side of the tent and took a seat. "He really is an acquired taste… though for the life of me I don't know anyone that acquired it." His eyebrows perked up, glad to have someone - even a tied up prisoner - he could gossip to. I miss Bronn. Barristan and Varys were always too serious. "There's this old Valyrian sauce made from fermented fish that the Volantines still enjoy. Tastes like rancid vinegar to me… that's Daario Naharis."
"The Queen keeps him around," Jon said, devolving into coughs. Blood splattered from his split lip. "Let him keep my sword… I'll be getting it back, by the way."
Tyrion clicked his tongue. "He was strutting around the camp with that blade… Lord Mormont's, if I recall correctly? Must have trusted you a lot to give it to you." Tired and in pain, Jon nevertheless narrowed his eyes at the Imp. Jeor Mormont a sore spot for him. "Doesn't matter… anyway, the Queen wouldn't let him have the sword."
This legitimately surprised Jon. "Why?"
"Said that he didn't earn the sword, just stole it." Pushing himself off the stool, Tyrion approached Jon. Reasonably certain the Warden of the North wouldn't attack him. "She'll give it back to you if you bend the knee. Hells, I think even a simple oath of fealty would suffice."
"You know I can't."
The Imp scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Why even ask me? You know I won't."
"It's a very reasonable thing to ask," Tyrion said, shaking his head. Then he looked around the dirty tent, "It'd certainly get you out of here and back to your home. That'd be enough for me."
"Not for me," Jon scowled. "I've already sworn myself to Stannis. I'd rather die than betray him."
There was a momentary silence, seconds ticking past almost like hours. "You might get your wish, Jon Stark."
A laugh, followed by a groan of pain. Apparently his bruised ribs hadn't healed from where Daario and the Dothraki had kicked him. "I won't. That I know for sure."
"I wouldn't be so confident if I were you."
Had Jon been unbound, he would have crossed his arms to match the wry grin. Matched with the fresh black eye and split lip, he bore the roguish charm that served Tyrion's old friend Ser Bronn so well. "That's where you're wrong, Imp. See, I may be a northern fool, but I did pick things up along the way. Where I go, the North and the Free Folk follow - Sansa may hold their loyalty in my stead, but if anything happens to me then all bets are off." He coughed again, blood dribbling down his chin. Tyrion took pity and brought a rag to wipe off the red liquid. "Thanks… Your Queen can't ever kill me, lest she wants the First Dornish War to look like a bum fight in a brothel."
"I hardly think Daenerys is scared of some wildlings and a beaten Northern army," Tyrion laughed. "You only saw a small might of all her power. What you experienced was just a section of her army, with just one dragon. You do know she's got two more?"
"She's no Queen if she is scared," Jon remarked, shaking his head. "But she'll have to roast my lands to ash if I end up dead. Then she'll just be what she swore she isn't... My people will never bow to her."
"'The north remembers.' Isn't that how the saying goes?"
"We never forget, Lord Tyrion."
"Well, perhaps she can't kill you. But you are a prisoner of war, and I suspect you will be treated as such. Perhaps the cold dark cells of Dragonstone will change your mind." The hard look on his face softened. "I'll see to it that you aren't mistreated, and I think I'll have an ally with that in Ser Barristan."
Jon raised his blood-matted brow. "Barristan the Bold?"
"Aye. Her Grace's Hand. An honorable man, unlike… some I happen to be allied with."
"And some I happen to be allied with as well." He had no illusions about some in Stannis' high command. Eying the tired, lost Imp over, Jon felt some of his defiance leave him. "You've come high up in the world, Tyrion."
Allowing himself a tiny smile, Tyrion hauled himself back onto the stool. "As have you, Jon Snow."
"Stark."
The smile widened. "Stark." A moment's silence. "Master of War to the Stag King."
"Chief Advisor to the Dragon Queen… what does that entail, anyway?"
Tyrion shrugged. "A Jack of all trades, really. Give advice, manage diplomacy… basically whatever the Queen wishes of me."
"I think I'd go mad without knowing what my responsibilities were. As Lord of Winterfell, I had my men. As Master of War, I had Stannis' war strategy. As Daenerys Targaryen's prisoner…" Jon knotted his brows. "I guess it's my job now to resist her. I'm no murderer, but I won't be a pushover either, Tyrion. Don't think you will break me."
The Imp hung his head, nodding. "I never expected you too, nor does the Queen. Probably why she spared your life, respecting you as someone different than the cunts she's faced in her life." Pushing himself off the stool, Tyrion locked eyes with Jon. "I swore to her because I had no choice at first, but eventually… she's the Queen I chose, Jon. The Queen her entire army chose, not because of birth or force or fear."
Jon blinked. "Why did you choose her?"
Tyrion smiled. "You'll find out eventually, Jon Stark." He turned to leave, hobbling out to the tent flap. "I'll send over someone with a proper meal and a cloth bath. Can't have the Warden of the North hungry and covered in blood."
"Tyrion," Jon called after the dwarf, when the Lannister turned back he said, "What will become of my House if I don't bend the knee?"
Tyrion pursed his lips and shrugged, "Daenerys will want the North to come into the fold eventually. She'll likely do anything to make that come to pass. What happens now is your hands… Stark."
With that, Jon was left alone.
A/N: BRuh4: I do legitimately think this is one of our best chapters. I really love the first section where Jon and Daenerys truly get to size each other up. It was so much fun writing that part. This is some of my best personal work honestly. We're really proud of this story and I hope y'all will stick around for the long haul. 'Cause it's gonna be quite the ride, make sure to buckle your seatbelt.
Longclaw: We weren't gonna have Daario keep Longclaw. Even his allies think he doesn't deserve it.
Jon is tough and confident, and fundamentally that's what draws Dany to him. Even though he's an adversary to her at best for him, there is something about him that mandates respect. Nevertheless, he has champions and enemies within Dany's council, and both lists will only grow.
He's not going to be given to the torturers and yet he's not going to have an easy time of it. They want Stannis' plans... but in the end they want Jon to bend the knee and thus gain the full support of the North and True North. Daenerys is a firm believer in the carrot and stick solution, with emphasis on the carrot. The North and True North are part of their realms.
I couldn't help but have Wun Wun survive, lol.
Translation:
Urnēptre nyke skoros ao pendagon hen bisa vala - Will you tell me what you think of this man
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