A/N: Longclaw: Happy New Year to everyone. Thanks to all the kind words from the last chapter.
The evolving relationship between Jon and Dany will continue here. They still mistrust each other, but progress can be made. slow and steady.
BRuh4: Hello all, we're happy to bring you another addition to our story. I hope all of you had a pleasant holiday. Now, to 2020 and onward.
This chapter is rather exceptional in my opinion. I hope after reading it you feel the same way.
The ball is rolling, folks.
Hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 23: Grumpkins and Snarks
The journey home to Winterfell had been nothing less than horrid for the Stark girls. Travelling without any real notion of the condition of their dear brother. Supposedly there's going to be a shipment of grain sent to White Harbor from the Dragon Queen. "A peace offering", the scroll had said. Though for all Sansa knew, that could just be a diversion. Instead a ship full of Dothraki screamers or armored Unsullied would come out and slaughter her people.
It was hard to put that notion out of her mind. Even as they strolled through the gates of Winterfell. All the sorrowful eyes of her people didn't help either. Each day after that was more of the same.
There wasn't much to do other than wait. Correspondence with the Dragon Queen had began. All there was to do was send a raven and wait for the response. The most recent letters that she sent mentioned the possibility of sending Maester Aemon. Sansa was nervous for the response.
Further regarding Aemon, apparently the old man had already departed Castle Black. Supposedly he relished the idea of meeting Daenerys. So much that he left even before the Dragon Queen had agreed to it. Aemon knew in his soul it would come to pass, or so it seemed. The current Lord Commander Thorne allowed him to leave for reasons unknown to Sansa. Though her advisors mentioned Thorne's long lost allegiance to the Targaryens may have had something to do with it. Or perhaps the Night's Watch just needed a new Maester anyway, and Aemon deserved to die with his real family. The vows binding him to Castle Black seemed to matter little given the man had truly served the majority of his life.
A squadron of Night's Watch brothers were escorting him down South to Winterfell. They received word of their departure about a month ago. Sansa surmised they'd arrive sooner rather than later.
Her thoughts were confirmed when one of her bannermen came to her about seeing a caravan on the horizon. The best guess would be that its Aemon.
Therefore the front gates swung wide, and the Starks gathered in the courtyard to await the visitors. And eventually, after much waiting, the caravan rolled through. Seemed as if the Night's Watch got their hands on two carriages for Maester Aemon. Old ones at that, one of the back wheels squeaking loudly. Sansa wondered how it'd made it all this way. Looked to possibly fall apart at any second.
A pair of Brothers of the Night's Watch rode in front. They hopped down from their horses and went over to the carriages. Sansa looked to Rickon and Arya before stepping forward. Her feet carried her mind a bit blank. Though her brain began working in overdrive when one of the doors for carriage opened up. Three faces peered out. Two completely foreign to her, though one was clearly Aemon. The other was a dark haired girl wearing thick furs.
But there was another. A face she hoped might smile at her. Instead an empty expression greeted her. She was stunned. His name fluttered through her lips in a tone lower than a whisper. "Bran."
Apparently, the view wasn't closed off to her younger siblings. Rickon surged past Sansa in a blur screaming his brother's name. Arya came to stand next to Sansa, head turned cockeyed. "Is that really him? He looks so different."
"It's him." Sansa simply replied.
"He's changed."
"Haven't we all?"
Three people spilled out of the second carriage, a portly gentleman, a girl, and young boy. They looked pleasant enough.
The two girls moved forward as the two Night's Watchmen readied a sled of sorts. Then getting Bran out to sit him on it. Sansa gathered this was his only real means of transportation. The air filled with Rickon's shrill voice and his tears. He pelted Bran with questions about where he's been and what's happened to him since they last saw each other. So glad to see his older brother he hugged Bran around the neck. But it wasn't the same.
The youngest boy's tone lowered when Bran finally began to respond. Sansa and Arya weren't even close enough to hear what he said. Whatever it was, it made Rickon quiet down, hanging his head a bit. By then, Aemon and girl had vacated the carriage. The other three people loomed near. The two Night's Watch brothers conversed with the two carriage drivers, likely about the journey back to Castle Black.
Bran craned his neck to see Sansa and Arya get close. "Sansa, Arya, hello."
Unable to contain herself, Sansa finally had embrace Bran. It was strange. Bran barely reciprocated, only resting a lone hand on her back. His face was cold. Of course being in the North, most people's skin ends up being cold to the touch, especially outside. But this was different. Sansa's cheek felt like it brushed against a block of ice. She pulled back so Arya could have a turn.
All was silent in the courtyard. All onlookers had stopped what they were doing to watch. Hundreds of eyes rested on the arrival of the long lost Stark. If they only knew who actually just came through their gates. It wasn't who they thought it was. Bran Stark was really, truly gone - had been for some time. Something else paraded around in his skin. Rickon searched for his brother in that moment, only coming up with nothing. His eyes told him it was Bran, yet the person he saw wasn't who he expected.
Noticing her brother's discomfort, Sansa wrapped her arm around Rickon. Who gladly accepted the warm embrace. Arya leaned down to hug Bran as Sansa turned to her other visitors.
The man wrapped tightly in maester's robes was stooped and wrinkled. Eyes clouded over with blindness, yet a vibrant purple even so - Targaryen colors. There was no doubt as to who this was. "You must be Maester Aemon," she said to the old man as brightly she could.
Aemon leaned on the portly gentleman for support, he reached out his hand to Sansa. She hesitantly took it. He smiled and replied, "Ah… Yes, you must be Sansa Stark. I've heard much about you."
"You have?"
"Well of course, young Jon spoke often about his family - oh how he loved you all." Sansa couldn't help but avert her gaze to the snowy ground. Wasn't the first time she'd feel guilty over how she treated Jon and it wouldn't be the last. "I'm glad to finally meet you."
"Sounds like something Jon would do," Arya said, coming over. "Who are you?" Her eyes glanced to the man and girl next to Aemon.
"Hello," the man said. "My name is Samwell Tarly. I'm a friend of your brother's. We served together at Castle Black for many years." Then he motioned over the girl and boy he came with. "This is Gilly, my…"
"Wife," Gilly answered for herself, smiling. She gripped the boy by his shoulders, "This is our son, Little Sam."
"And you?" Arya inclined her chin towards the dark-haired girl.
"I'm Meera Reed," the girl said. "I travelled with… Bran."
"Howland Reed's daughter."
Meera's eyes widened. "You know of my father?"
"He is journeying north," Bran said suddenly, cryptically - voice flat. "Escaped the battle at Duskendale, joining the main army as it marches to Moat Cailin."
Confused, Sansa merely nodded, "Ah… Well, this is quite the surprise. We didn't know that Bran was with you. Or that Aemon would be accompanied by a small family."
"You see, my lady," Sam began. "I cared for Maester Aemon for many years at Castle Black. I thought it would be more prudent if I travelled with. I apologize for not making that clear. If we are intruding-"
"It's fine," Sansa waved it off. "I assumed Maester Aemon would need caring for. It's not a problem."
"But how did you come upon Bran?" Arya asked, glancing back to her brother.
"Just so happened he came through the around the time we were preparing to depart," Sam said.
"Yes," Bran added, voice just as emotionless as before. "It was time for my return."
Neither Sansa nor Arya were able to truly respond to that - best to shift the conversation.
"So," Sansa sighed a bit, interlocking her fingers across her stomach. "Maester Aemon, you fully understand why you are here?"
"I do," the old man replied, widening his eyes a bit even though he's clearly blind. "You wish for me to travel to Dragonstone. To treat with the last of my family, Daenerys Targaryen. You wish for young Jon to be returned to you."
"Correct," Sansa replied. "You are to be our emissary. You are willing to do so?"
"I am," Aemon answered quickly. "There's nothing I'd want more."
"ARRRGH!" Grabbing a stone off the ground, Bronn of the Blackwater drew back and chucked it in the direction of the cacophonous noises. "Would you horselord savages shut the fuck up?!" As if by actions not entirely coincidental, the chanting and drumming abruptly ceased, a still silence hanging ominously over the late afternoon scattered scrubland of the southern crownlands… Only for it to pick up again. Seemingly louder. "FUCK YOU!"
"Too bad, I thought you had them for a moment," came the silky, not at all sarcastic voice of his commander.
"Shut it, sister-fucker," Bronn spat. Walking back to his horse. Mounting it quickly before covering his ears with his hands in another as yet futile attempt to keep his mind from scrambling. "I can normally handle anything, but the Dragon Queen's cunts have been at it for fucking hours."
A whistle left the tight lips of Ser Flement Brax of Hornvale. "I wouldn't mind tastin' that Dragon Queen cunt," he smirked lewdly, licking his lips. "Anyone who fucks up that Stark bastard who slighted my wife's family's honor deserves what I do best.
"Why do you care?" Lyle Crakehall grumbled. "You've sired enough bastards to give Fat Robert a run for his money."
Before Ser Flement could swing a fist at the Lord of Crakehall… a fight he would lose, the commander of the Lannister army interjected. "Both of you shut it!." Vibrant green eyes narrowed at the cloud of dust in the distance, representing the enemy trotting their horses back and forth. "Why haven't they attacked?" he wondered out loud.
"Calling in reinforcements from Duskendale. We should attack now!" urged Addam Marbrand.
For Jaime Lannister - probably Lord of Casterly Rock, though he wasn't sure of the succession issues with uncle Kevan's death and Tyrion's treason… not that he really gave a fuck - the urge to recklessly barrel into the enemy was one that was ripped away from him along with his hand. With the coastal houses of Velaryon, Celtigar, Staunton, Rykker, Sunglass, and Brune defecting almost immediately to the Dragon Queen, the remaining Lords sworn to Cersei were vital to hold. And to hold them meant not annihilating his best troops as Jon Snow had done just north of here.
"Yes," he ended up replying. "They are undoubtedly calling up reinforcements, but why this?"
Lyle snorted. "They're trying to get in our heads. Demoralize us." Such it was for the force that had marched out of King's Landing the moment Dothraki patrols began to raid around Rosby and Stokeworth. Driving them back with powerful heavy cavalry charges, at the current position at Old Stone Bridge a host of Unsullied spearmen and Rykker men-at-arms forced them to halt, leading to the current standoff. Boogeyman for so long, the Dothraki took advantage of the natural fear Westerosi hearts held for them. First they beat a great number of hollow drums, adding to it their bestial war cries that brought terror to countless Essosi cities and slave armies - the troops of the Westerlands were just as unsettled by the loud and cacophonous noise as Bronn. "Our men won't stand for this much longer. Make your decision now, my Lord."
"If we withdraw, we'll have relieved Rosby and Stokeworth and achieved our objectives."
"And lose our chance to crush a portion of their army before it is reinforced."
Leo Lefford and Marbrand both had excellent points, but the bellow of Dothraki horns took the decision out of Jaime's hands. "That's the signal for an attack. To your commands, men!" Clicking his tongue and jabbing his heels into the horse's side, Jaime trotted off as the signallers brought their bugles to their lips.
Old Stone Bridge was actually a series of structures along a tributary river flowing into Blackwater Bay. A large, timbered building served as the inn, with several stables both for the weary travellers and as waystations for dispatch riders, all along a fork in the road next to an old stone bridge - hence the name. The river was shallow enough to be forded by horse, but otherwise all traffic was bottled up into the bridge, making it key infrastructure for any army operating in the region. The Lannisters knew that and so did the defected Crownlands lords that threw their lot in with Daenerys. As of now, a five hundred strong cohort of Unsullied controlled it, with seven thousand Dothraki pouring across the river to assault the Westermen under the command of the Queen's bloodrider Khovarro.
Lord Lefford and Lord Marbrand established their infantry in the classic Westerlands shield line. Double stacked with the five-foot high metal-lined shields, spears tipped with castle-forged steel bristling out like porcupine shields. Though originally planning to shatter the Westermen with the same charge as against the Northern army, Kovarro didn't have the numbers to break through the shield wall. Thus, he sent his horse archers forward, the Dothraki loosing arrow after arrow from horseback and withdrawing each time Jaime retaliated with his own archers and skirmishers. Shields and armor did their part, but the Dothraki arrows sliced through whatever the protection didn't expose, slowly wearing the Lannisters down.
Three times Jaime called a general advance to engage a melee action, and three times the Dothraki drew back. Horse archers able to retreat safely and loosing arrows while twisting and facing the rear - a skill only the most skilled horsemen on the earth could perform. The afternoon was cool but dry, throats growing parched as the Westermen began to sweat under their heavy armor and thick gambesons and trousers. All the while the knights chafed behind the infantry. They engaged whatever screamers launched themselves at the lines, but otherwise they could only stand by while their comrades were slowly slaughtered.
Enraged, bloodied and close to the breaking point, Lyle Crakehall sent his men into a massive charge. One initially screened by the shield walls of the infantry but eventually breaking out into a disorganized melee of hot-blooded knights and plate armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Exactly what Kovarro expected… but he had underestimated the power of a Westerosi heavy cavalry charge. The men in iron slammed through line after line of the unarmored horse archers and screamers, breaking for the Unsullied line.
Per their legend, the Unsullied held firm. Taking whatever hits came to them and gradually withdrawing across the bridge once the mass of Westerlands cavalry began to overwhelm them. Kovarro, seeing the tide starting to turn due to the unexpected charge, sliced off the lower third of his long braid and ordered a withdrawal across the river to Duskendale. It wasn't a defeat for his orders were simply to protect the Crownlands beachhead, but a badge of shame nonetheless. As it stood, in spite of the bloody fighting and enraged slaughter on both sides, each army was able to disengage in good order. Knights tired, infantry unable to ford the river.
Bouncing in his saddle, Jaime arrived to see a detachment of men-at-arms executing the Dothraki stragglers. Poking at the prone form of bare chested and leather-clad bodies for a groan or squirm, then stabbing them through the middle with their blades. "You men! Get back into formation!" he yelled, twirling Widow's Wail in his left wrist for effect.
The man in charge trotted forward… his face was covered in dirt and dried blood, but Lord Lyles' bushy mustache was easily visible. "The cunts are withdrawing, Ser Jaime. They'll be back, I think, so we're denying them their manpower."
Sheathing his blade, Jaime removed his helm while letting the cool winter's air calm his racing heart. "Well, think the road to Duskendale is open?" He leaned forward on his saddle, feeling every year of his decades of life in his aching bones.
"You kidding? They'll have five thousand eunuchs and a dragon waiting for us. An ambush was set up to bait us, we just managed to get lucky assaulting into the bait. Best get out while the going is good."
Shifting his gaze to the bodies around him, there were just as many in Westerlands gold and red as there were he olive drabs and black leather of the Dragon Queen's foreign levies. Of the three combatants, Stannis had just gained the Reach while Daenerys had taken two gut punches and still could marshal overwhelming force. Cersei had the least room for error. "'Aight." Jaime turned to his herald. "Sound the withdrawal. We're headed back to Rosby!" The order was soon blared out, multiplied by the various signallers until the entire army heard it.
"We retreating?" was the first words out of Bronn's mouth as the command teams met underneath the shade of the Old Stone Bridge inn. Low sunlight glinted off the diamond-shaped window panes. Glass? Rare outside of the cities. One of the curiosities of the world.
"Aye, we're withdrawing. This is a victory."
Bronn snorted. "With victories like this, I hate to see what defeats look like."
"What else would you call protecting Rosby and Stokeworth from those barbarians?" Jaime shot back. He was sick of the former sellsword's negative attitude.
Wineskin in hand, Bronn allowed himself a gulp of the sour liquid. "To generals like you and fighters like me - men that can gauge men and material - the calculus is different from someone like your sister… or lover." Even as Jaime's sword hand clenched, Bronn new he had a pass. Someone needed to tell the Lion of Lannister the brutal truth sometimes, and he had saved his ass enough times to have earned to right to speak freely. "You really think she'll see this as a victory? Think about it." With that, Bronn spurred his horse off.
"Get over there you fucks!" barked a man of House Westerling, sword in hand as he directed a group of impressed smallfolk from Flea Bottom or the wharves. Working as army noncombatants in exchange for increased rations for them and their families. Cersei was already using them to swell the City Watch to record levels of manpower. "Careful with that. One spark and they'll be shoveling what's left of us into the fuckin' wind!" Barrells of wildfire made it underneath the stone bridge, pyromancers ready to set it off as soon as the last infantry formation was across.
"Deny the bitch even the smallest stalk of wheat!" Such were Cersei's orders. "Burn it all!"
Burn them all…
Jaime shook his head violently. That night had been over two decades before, but it still haunted his every moment - awake and asleep. The cackling laughter, the screams… How his violet eyes flashed with a crazed light. Almost a bright green like the wildfire he so loved…
At times, Jaime could see the same glint in Cersei's eyes. When they were dining, going over strategy, making love… sometimes the madness overcame her before it withdrew. Cersei brushing it off with a laugh and the same sultry smirk that had captivated him for decades.
Fuck everyone who isn't us. We're the only ones who matter, the only ones in this world…
Sometimes, he didn't even remember why he said that. How that combined with the same man that had killed the Mad King in order to save all of King's Landing and its inhabitants from a fiery death. That had betrayed his sacred oath as a Kingsguard. Aerys was nothing to him compared to what he had with Cersei, a bond that went beyond mere oaths. Beyond love and beyond blood.
And here, watching the wildfire put into position… thousands of men, women, and children burned alive, would you have done it? Would you have kept your oath then?
What would Brienne say at this point? What would his past self have said, once sitting in the blood of his King. Now sitting as the woman he so loved unleashed the wildfire stockpiled by the Mad King…
"Ser Jaime," it was the Westerling bannerman. "We're clearing out, come on."
Reaching for his wineskin… finding him empty, Jaime just tossed it into the dust as he spurred his horse westward. He made his bed, Cersei the last family he had.
The path of Ser Jaime Lannister had been set a long time before.
"You don't have to be here, you're Grace," Ser Barristan Selmy offered, noticing the dark circles under the Queen's eyes. With all the various chaos cropping up - stalemate in the Crownlands, the death of the Queen of Thorns - she was barely sleeping. Spending all of her time at the Painted Table… the Hand of the Queen was worried seeing Jon Stark again would only worsen her stress. "This can be handled outside of your presence."
Her violet eyes found him, narrowed in skepticism. "Last time I did that, my former lover nearly killed Lord Stark." The interrogation room was one used by the Lords of Dragonstone and Targaryen Kings of the past. An elevated room looked down on the dark chamber, tiny peepholes giving the rulers an unobstructed view of whatever occurred. Perfect for the Queen. "I trust Missandei and Tyrion… to an extent, but I'm not taking any chances this time."
Barristan couldn't help but grin softly. Exactly like her mother, a hidden steel. If only Rhaella had a dragon to ride…
The translator and Imp were already seated across from the empty chair, both waiting patiently as the door opened. Two stone-faced Unsullied guards sworn only to obey commands from Daenerys or Missandei brought the prisoner in. Unlike before he had no hood, but both his hands and feet were shackled. Daenerys' breath hitched at the bruises still covering his face, faded and slightly healed but still glaring. He looked angry, very angry. A cold rage at… practically everything. Was this what all of Westeros truly thought of her? Coming here, hoping to break the wheel, only for someone considered the most honorable in the Seven Kingdoms to despise her so thoroughly. He's still your enemy, sworn to the family that murdered yours. That wrapped her like a blanket… yet one growing more threadbare by the day.
As for the old knight, all thoughts went out the window the moment he saw Jon Stark. He's more northern than any of Lord Stark's children… More than Lord Stark himself from what he remembered… but there was something he couldn't shake. Something familiar that didn't match what he remembered of Ned Stark. The brooding… the anger… Barristan had seen it before, but not in a person that could be remotely connected to the North.
His musings were broken as Tyrion broke the silence. "Lord Stark, I hope things have been going well for you."
"Just peachy," Jon shot back, crossing his arms. "The meals have improved in quality, so I should thank someone for that."
"You're getting the same as what we're getting, Lord Stark," Missandei remarked, smiling. Hoping to get him to open up. "As the Warden of the North, you should be treated commiserate of your standing."
Chuckling, he glanced around. "Then you're gonna let me go back to Winterfell?"
Tyrion shook his head. "You know that can't happen, Jon."
"Then I'm not saying anything about Stannis, or his plans. He is my King and I am loyal to my oaths… especially when it regards the Ma… Dragon Queen." Daenerys shouldn't have been surprised of his initial instinct to think of her as her father… that didn't mean that it didn't strike a nerve. "You're barking at the wrong tree."
"So you know how he burned Lady Olenna Tyrell alive?" Someone as honorable as Jon Stark, they wouldn't take such actions kindly. "Sacrificed her to the Lord of Light… Melisandre's idea if the reports are to be believed." Varys paid the trust in him in full.
Closing his eyes, Jon remembered Mance's screams as the fires licked at his feet. How he gazed with Jon in relief when the arrow pierced his heart. He had defied Stannis then, yet joined him knowing the penchant for burning. "I can't pass judgment for what my King might have done in front of his enemies. Unlike Cersei Lannister, I have honor."
Missandei held up her hands. "Alright, Lord Stark, we won't ask about any actual secrets. Her Grace… she knows what her father did to your family. Part of breaking the wheel means that such atrocities will never again be sanctioned by the crown." The translator leaned forward, hands pressed together. Told by Daenerys of what she was allowed to tell him. "Stories she was told about the Starks painted them as vile traitors, but if you are to be the Warden of the North under her Grace when she wins, she would like to know you as she did her other vassals."
"A vassal?" Jon shifted in his chair, jangling his chains. "Does this look like how one would treat a vassal?" He held up a palm, sighing. "I know, just a precaution. If that stone-faced Unsullied that Tormund had a hard-on for was captured, I'd chain him too… so what would you like to know? My life story? How the poor bastard son of Ned Stark had to be plopped at the wall cause no one could bother to love a motherless boy?"
"He's bitter… not that I blame him," Barristan observed.
Placing her hand on the cold stone, memories of her own childhood coming to the forefront. "An unwanted bastard, a Princess in exile…" We're not much different, he and I.
"Just start with why you sided with Stannis. Abandoning your Night's Watch vows… I thought those were for life?"
Jon crossed his arms. "Winterfell was occupied by the scum that murdered my brother. My sister was being raped and tortured by a sick bastard… literally a sick bastard. I was the last Stark that could do something about it… Stannis just provided the means."
"I know you, Jon Stark," Tyrion responded. "You're too much like your father. It would take more than personal reasons to betray your oath. Lord Commander Hoare let his line die rather than renounce his vows… what additional reason made you do what Black Harren's brother did not?"
Pursing his lips, Jon nodded. "Aye. Even if my entire family had died… even if my family wasn't threatened at all, I would still support Stannis," Jon confessed, looking around the room - as if knowing that Daenerys was watching him. "He has earned my fealty, for he is the only one who knows of the threat we all face."
There it was. The same words he had said to her during their one on one talk. Daenerys leaned in, head almost touching the walls as she listened intently.
Missandei was equally as intrigued and curious. "What is this threat, Lord Stark?"
Deciding to go for broke, Jon was sick of pretending that the damned chair of swords was actually the fight that mattered. "The White Walkers. The Long Night."
Both the translator and the Queen blinked simultaneously. "The what?"
It was Tyrion that made the first groan. "Oh gods, Jon, not this again." He shook his head. "I vouch for your honor, for your intelligence, and then you spout off these mad legends. Grumpkins and Snarks are not threatening us."
"They are, dwarf," Jon shot back, banging his fist on the table and causing Dany to flinch, not expecting the noise. "They gather north of the Wall, their army of corpses steadily marching south. When they come south, we are all one step away from becoming nothing but meat in his army."
Stilling Tyrion's next biting comment, Missandei met Jon's eyes. "Please, Lord Stark, tell me what these White Walkers are?"
And so he did. Sitting there, face a brooding mask and eyes sunken - staring the thousand yards of a grizzled veteran exposed to horror no other could have ever seen - he told them everything. From the moment he had first faced one in the Lord Commander's chambers to the Battle of Hardhome, of how Stannis saw the threat and committed himself to bringing the Dawn.
At the end, Barristan stepped back, sighing the heavy breath of a man too long upon this world. "Well… of all the things I did expect, that wasn't one of them."
Daenerys crossed her arms. "He seriously expects us to believe this?"
"I'm not sure, your Grace," Barristan stated, old eyes peering at the young Lord as Missandei and Tyrion continued to question him. "Ned Stark was always an honorable man that hated to lie, and Jon Stark is clearly his father's son."
"Then he's delusional then?" Ice monsters? Corpses rising from beyond the grave? The Queen had birthed dragons in the flames from eggs long since ossified but there were places she couldn't suspend disbelief for… could she? As the Lord of Winterfell continued to speak, expression clouding with frustration and determination, Daenerys found a dull sparkle in his grey eyes. An expression she had seen in many a slave - blinking as they couldn't comprehend the fact that they were now free. One of a deep resignation, of giving up on ever being able to escape the horrors they had lived.
But those freedmen had long since been beaten down. Jon Stark… the gaze was wild. Untamed as the vast wilderness of the north. Zealous in his effort to convince her and her advisors of the threat he claimed was lurking north of the Wall. "They are generally weak from rot and decay, but normal steel or wood can't kill them lest you smash them up."
"And tell me what does kill these grumpkins and snarks?" Tyrion asked, tone tinged with sarcasm. Chuckling along with the Dothraki guards that knew the Common Tongue.
Jon was not amused. "They can only be killed with fire. Dragonglass works best, while even a touch of Valyrian Steel anywhere on their bodies would take them down."
Ser Barristan eyed Dany quizzically. "Dragonglass… I remember your brother speaking to me about massive caves of dragonglass that lie in caves underneath Dragonstone."
"Perhaps that could be a bartering item with the North… if they actually believe this story," Dany mused in response.
"Winter is coming…" She turned back to Barristan with a raised eyebrow. "The words of House Stark. I always thought it referred to winter itself, but…" He pursed his lips. "House Stark's founder was the one that built the Wall, Bran the Builder."
The history lesson wasn't misunderstood by Daenerys, eyes shifting back to the form of Jon Stark. The latest in that long and august line of Northern Kings and Lords, preaching the legends of his family as if he had seen them personally. His passion, his… fire… so unlike the image of the frigid northern sociopath that Viserys had long told her of. That Ser Jorah had partially confirmed with his stoic ways even in the thick of the fight. Lord Stark's fury was shocking… and thrilling… Sending a shiver through Dany - not one of fear.
"We do have fire-breathing dragons," Tyrion replied. "If you bend the knee then they could burn these… wights as you call them."
Missandei leaned forward, clasping her hands together earnestly. "Same as with the… White Walkers?"
"No… the White Walkers can only be killed by dragonglass or Valyrian Steel."
The Imp raised a brow. "And why is that, Lord Stark?"
"I didn't make the damned things!" Jon hissed, fire rising to new heights.
Hands reaching out, Missandei eased Jon down. "Alright, Lord Stark. Alright. Calm down. Now, what is the status of the defenses of the Night's Watch…"
"Look!" yelled Jon. Seated and not attempting to move but yelling all the same. "I've been patient with you. I've answered your questions and told you the truth, now get the damn Dragon Queen here or else I'm done speaking!"
Beside her, Khovarro chuckled. "A horse must have kicked him in the head when a babe, Khaleesi. Addled his mind." Dany said nothing, only watching him closer.
"I understand, Lord Stark, but…"
He laughed darkly, humor not reaching his eyes. "Understand? None of you can bother to understand the chaos and death that would happen if the Dead breach the wall!"
A snort from Tyrion. "I've seen the Wall. Pissed from the top of it in fact. That thing has stood for thousands of years. If the grumpkins and snarks even exist then that monstrosity would easily keep them out…"
"Shut up!" The roar from Jon's lips even made Daenerys jump from her spyhole. It was not the snarl of the wolf… it sounded almost like a dragon. "None of you get it, do you? None of you fucking fools truly understand what we're facing."
"Calm down, Jon…"
"You're not listening!" His chains rattled, tightening against their holds. Unsullied tensing behind him. "They have no logistics, no conscience… they don't feel remorse or love or fear! Only bloodlust!" His eyes blazed. "Only an urge to obey the Night King's desire to kill every single living fucking thing!" He erupted out of his chair, chair and table nearly flipping over.
Both Missandei and Tyrion flinched. "Dovaogēdy!"
The Unsullied grabbed him by the shoulders, shoving Jon back in the chair - all mindful not to hurt him, though his squirming and screaming didn't help. "You don't know what the fuck you're dealing with! Fighting over the Iron Throne…! She'll be ruling over a graveyard if we don't stop the fucking Dead!" Suddenly, Missandei smacked her palm on the table. More noisy than anything, it and the dark look on the translator's face caused his ire to fall. Quiet brooding returning, although the anger remained.
"Are you done, Lord Stark?" Missandei said coldly. Tyrion looked surprised at her sudden steel, as was Dany. Good for you, Missandei. "Don't do that again."
Jon's eyes met hers - the fire wasn't a blazing inferno, but the embers still sizzled and glowed. "Forgive me, my Lady, and forgive her Grace if she is watching." His gaze still dark, hollow. A man that had seen horrors that none of those looking him over could even comprehend - even after all they had endured, Daenerys felt a cold suddenly overtake her as that gaze finally found the hollow in which she watched him from. "But His lids fluttered closed, hard. As if trying to suppress a painful memory. "When you've seen an entire Free Folk encampment fall to tens of thousands dead, only for those tens of thousands to rise as if they were only sleeping to stare at you with eyes the color of blue ice… you'd find the most powerful person in Westeros caring more about a single man's rage than the greatest threat to all of humanity, then I can't help you."
"We don't think anything about you, Lord Stark… at least I don't." Missandei looked over to Tyrion, silently chastising him over the grumpkin and snarks comment. "A potential alliance requires trust to go both ways…"
He shook his head. "I'm not talking. I've already said too much, and if none of you believe me then there is no fucking point now, is there?" Silence. "Take me to my cell."
Instructing the Unsullied to comply with Jon's request, Missandei and Tyrion filed out of the room to find Dany and Barristan - the Hand of the King folded his arms while the Queen simply hung her head on the wall. Eyes closed, mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts. "So what do you two think?" Barristan asked. "I saw the whole thing, but you saw him up close." Part of Ser Barristan thought he knew more about Jon Stark than any of them, but he dismissed it. Simply impossible.
Tyrion sighed. "Well, if I didn't know him from before… I'd say he was as mad as the Mad King… or my sister… or Stannis." It was almost ironic, and completely tragic. All our rulers for decades have either been madmen or drunks. But not Daenerys… not on his watch. "But Jon Stark, even as a bastard, always had a level head. More like Eddard Stark than Eddard's Stark's trueborn children. I'm inclined to think this story is absolute nonsense… but… I don't know…"
That didn't help. "Lady Missandei?"
"This is not something I'd ever thought I'd have to deal with." Dealing with the masters was a preparation for dealing with recalcitrant Westerosi noblemen, not ice monsters. "His story is fantastical, but he is sincere. I don't think he was lying about any of it."
"So what you're saying is that you believe that he believes that there's an army of dead men being led by frozen demons north of the Wall?" the Queen suddenly said, not turning her head to face them. "And that this is also what Stannis believes?"
"It makes sense as to why Stannis has fallen into the Red Witch's influence, burning Lady Olenna and all the others…" The pieces were suddenly fitting in for Tyrion. "The followers of R'hllor believe that there is a promised…"
Daenerys turned, cutting him off. "Yes, I know. Priestess Kinvara said that I am that Promised Prince… or Princess, whatever."
"And the Red Woman says that it is Stannis. Brienne of Tarth told me as much when we talked of Renly's demise while she was in King's Landing - it makes him extra dangerous, your Grace. He's not Robert fighting for the throne, he's a religious fanatic fighting for godhead." A point she had not considered, but now would have to adapt all her plans. "Lord Stark asked me to set up a parlay with Stannis… that will be a useless endeavor."
"Still, it would be in your best interests to at least attempt it." Barristan steered the conversation back to Jon… and the North. "With Stannis it will hurt our efforts to try and make peace with him, but I think we can make more likely peace with the North with this new information. Inform them of the Dragonglass deposits in the island caves. If they supply the miners, it shouldn't be hard to let them ship it to White Harbor. Costs us nothing. When their raven comes I'll include the offer… if your Grace agrees?"
Looking back at the interrogation chamber for the briefest moment, Daenerys nodded. "Send the offer, but don't make it official just yet. I wish to speak to whomever they send before I grant the North any more favors." She walked to the door.
"Your Grace…" Missandei called after her, but she was already gone. "Gods… what a mess."
"Still seems a bit far-fetched, doesn't it?" Tyrion mused.
"We serve a woman who walked into a fire and emerged with three dragons." Barristan the Bold didn't hold back, still thinking about Jon. How he looked, how he brooded… his very attitude and personality. So damn familiar. "If that is possible, who knows what else is?" The dwarf didn't have a response for that.
Ignoring any effort from her council to speak to her - to discuss the various revelations, or insanities, handed them by their captive - Daenerys pushed her way out of the castle. Scrambling the myriad of black stone steps towards the grassy plain that provided the dash of color to the otherwise drab and imposing volcanic island. Galloping past on a patrol, several Dothraki screamers noticed their silver-haired Khaleesi alone and fell into a respectful yet close step behind her. Arakhs at the ready just in case of a threat. In the back of her mind, Daenerys appreciated their loyalty and diligence, but at the moment she simply wanted to be alone.
Well… partly alone.
Drogon and Rhaegal were perched on the cliffside that they had made their lair almost the day the Targaryen forces secured Dragonstone from the few guards Stannis Baratheon had left. Elongated necks stretched out on the grass, gentle breathing going in and out while they slept. Various carcasses of sea creatures were strewn about - the largest of ones they preferred feeding on left on the sandy beaches below them. For once, Daenerys observed with not a little amusement, they actually were keen on cleaning up after themselves.
Was it only yesterday that they were but hatchlings, all able to climb atop her while nuzzling her skin? Now, Drogon was as wide as the central keep of Dragonstone castle itself, his brothers not far behind. Oh my darlings…
Sensing their mother's presence, Drogon yawned wide while Rhaegal merely snorted, curling his head around to get more sleep. "Rhaegal, my sweet," Dany remarked, calling out to him as one would a puppy. "Don't you want to greet muna?" Normally the dragons would try to crowd each other out to receive affection from the diminutive Targaryen Queen. But the emerald dragon merely raised his head in the direction of the Keep. Amber eyes blinking, head cocking as if he was looking… searching for something… only for him to hoot once and return to his curled up slumber.
Dany reached her hand out to touch Drogon's offered snout, stroking the scales as she thought about Rhaegal. How this behavior was quite common of him since she returned from the mainland. In any case, he was eating plenty and flying, so she wouldn't worry. "Where's your other brother?" The question answered itself when Viserion passed overhead. The cream dragon roaring as it shot across the length of the island before banking out to sea." Daenerys laughed merrily. "Shall we join him?" Drogon's eyes twinkled, dragon bobbing his head before lowering his wings. Begging for her to mount him.
Soaring through the sky, winds whipping through her hair, Daenerys felt exactly at home for the only time in her life upon the earth. Hands gripping onto the heated spines and scales of her majestic mount, she gazed at the green speck of Dragonstone, of the glistening blue waters of Blackwater Bay and the distant white cliffs and sandy beaches of her homeland and birthright. Up here she knew who she was. Knew where she belonged without a worry in the world. Dropping her queenly mask and whooping into the void. A carefree life, soaring among the clouds… yet also a lonely one. The Last Targaryen.
Such a chink in her armor brought forth all of her problems. A mental command leveling out Drogon so she could hug his scales. Let the serenity of the midpoint between man and gods clear her mind.
"She'll be ruling over a graveyard if we don't stop the fucking Dead…"
Words of a madman… words of a mummer at best, so fantastical and insane that no one in their right mind would conjure such a thing. Men rising from the dead, controlled by ice monsters? Daenerys had no time for such nonsense. Much of her hoped that the North would just bend the knee so that she could wash her hands of Jon Stark. Never even have to think of him again.
But this was no madman… Jon Stark had avenged his family, destroyed two great houses at the helm of Stannis Baratheon's army, nearly crushed her horde and her dragon, and withstood all the pain and humiliation heaped on him since he arrived at Dragonstone. And he was still here, stubborn and unyielding. A strong man, a man of conviction and inner certainty. Why would he make up such a fantastical story? To fool her? To seek a better negotiating position…
Because it's true?
The shudder coursing through Dany had nothing to do with the freezing cold winds blowing across Drogon's back. He can't be right. He just can't be.
But what if he is?
If true, then she was faced with a person so alien to her. A man that fought not for power or gold or the pleasures of the flesh. But for family, honor… survival for more than just himself. Closing her eyes, the panic and sheer terror in Jon Stark's voice still ringing in her ears, Dany saw much of herself. The same selflessness and drive. One that drove her to continue with the stubborn northerner in spite of the most glaring futility that one could imagine.
"He is the ally you need… but the enemy you have."
Even soaring high above the clouds atop Drogon's back, not a care in the world that could have bothered a dragon, Daenerys Targaryen couldn't escape that somehow, some way, her fate had come inexorably linked with the enigmatic Lord of Winterfell.
A/N: BRuh4: Lots went on in this one, and I'm sure there will be a discussion in the comments as always. Bran is here. We're not the biggest fans of him but he is an integral character so to speak. We'd been talking about his arrival for some time now. This felt like a good place for it. Though not quite the homecoming anybody expected or wanted, that's for sure. You'll notice our portrayal of Bran to most likely be true to that of the show. That's the only thing concerning Bran that will be the same. No goddamn Bran the Broken here, folks. That aside, it is the Three-Eyed Raven to be 100% honest. Bran is gone. Even though we will refer to him as Bran.
Longclaw: The Jaime battle scene is somewhat based off Carrhae and Hattin, though with a different result. The Crownlands are in a stalemate, but the fight continues.
The issue with the White Walkers would be treated with skepticism, but Jon has enough of a reputation that he wouldn't be dismissed out of hand.
Rhaegal must know, and Barristan has an idea ;)
Drop a comment, and be sure to check out our other stories :D
Tell your friends.