Chapter 61Notes:Yo! So weighted blankets are legit, my wife got one and everytime she's not using it I've been stealing it like the gremlin I am.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextFitz hesitated as he saw who'd just entered his workshop. He frowned and sorta ducked his head? Not bowing to anyone though "Er…hello?"
"I need to speak with you." Sansa Stark's voice was imperious. Giant of a guard looming behind her shoulder.
He wiped his hands on a rag. "Sure, what'ya want?"
"Brienne shut the door." Sansa waited for the door to be shut to speak. "What do you know of recovering people's souls once they've been…removed from their bodies?"
Fitz set the rag aside, his full attention suddenly on the conversation. "Is it contagious?"
"No, one person and no one around him has been affected in months." Sansa replied sharply.
He dropped his hands on his hips. Right…well that was less frightening than it could be. "I'm going to need m-more than that."
"My brother Bran, his greenseeing has left him empty. I don't fully understand it myself." Sansa's chin tipped upwards. "I will explain what I can if you wish."
Fitz flinched. "Oh..should have guessed that. Rickon was venting about it last night." He ran a hand through his hair. "This is magic right?"
"Yes." She replied.
Crossing his arms he let his weight fall against the table behind him. "Look, in my world, I could…could do something. MRIs, CAT scans, isolation, any number of tests to try and understand what was happening. Even then with magic." He hissed in disgust. "But even then breaking things like that…it can be done. Sometimes. But it's human connection that d-does it."
Something passed across her face. "Thank you."
"It's dangerous." Fitz bit his lip but…fuck it. "Has Daisy told you anything about Hive?"
Sansa's face was guarded then. "Some."
"There was no reasoning with the people u-under his sway. We tried, we tried so hard, once he had Daisy…we all thought if we could just get through to her she'd be ours again. But Mack and I almost died. She shattered every bone in Mack's chest, locked away, and betrayed Lincoln, she nearly choked me to death, Andrew did d-die to free her. And he could because that was his purpose." He shrugged. "She almost brought our entire base down on top of our heads. She didn't want to be b-brought back. And she couldn't have come back even if we had gotten through to her."
Her eyes had a similar intelligent gleam as her brother's. "That was an ancient god."
"That time." His arms unfolded. "Look, at war, the best soldier is o-one who doesn't have a choice. Who is loyal because they can be nothing else. The b-best prisoner is one who doesn't even know they are one. The b-best spy doesn't know they are one. I've seen a half d-dozen, maybe more ways of enslaving a person's mind. If you want to add parasitical inhabiting of a body, then more. Sometimes you can get the person back. Sometimes you can't. Time away from what's causing it can help. Separation can weaken the hold but… it's not good."
Sansa didn't flinch away from his words. "Would you be willing to look?"
"I don't think you understand. I tried to kill my w-wife." He waved a hand. "I tortured Daisy to a bloody pulp. I killed our friend, I murdered Agnes. And that's the crimes that m-mattered. Do the children count? The hundreds of innocents, the ones I cut into with my bare hands? And I-I have to live with that. With that t-thing in my head, that'll never go away now. Even if I can help…it changes a person. If Daisy and Jemma were smart they'd have left me to die as that m-monster."
Crann made a choking noise from where he'd been pretending to not exist.
There was a long, almost ringing silence. Finally, Sansa spoke. "I know the risks, but he is my brother."
Fitz's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, yeah I'll see if there's anything I can do."
"Thank you." Sansa paused looking at him, and even he could see how cold her expression was. "If you were wise you would say nothing about having ever harmed Daisy. I may be required by oath, law, and obligation to ensure you are safe; but without her here that will matter a great deal less if that becomes widely known."
His mouth was vaguely dry but he nodded. "Well, good thing I don't talk to anyone then."
"Indeed." She agreed and then turned. Her knight opened the door and followed her as she left.
Fitz blew out a breath. Well…mind control, or whatever the emptiness Rickon had been talking about was exhausting. He looked down at his hand, the tremble nearly gone.
////
Jon bent over the bulwarks and puked his guts out. His hands gripped onto the wood, lest he fall into the waves. His stomach rebelled viciously.
"Give it a few days. You'll feel better." Davos advised with a faint chuckle.
Daisy made a laughing sound. "I'm starting to think you just have a sensitive stomach."
"Sod off." He spat the lingering bile out of his mouth and into the waves below. The swell of the ship left him shaky and miserable.
Daisy laughed outright at that. "Water?" She whacked his shoulder with a waterskin.
He groaned but grabbed the waterskin. Pouring water into his mouth he washed it about before spitting. "I don't belong on a boat."
"It's a ship, your Highness." Davos corrected, the smug bastard.
Jon straightened, glaring at the unrepentantly un-nauseous Daisy. "How are you so unaffected?" Which was a fair question. Half the Northern party were green at the gills. And the ones who weren't were mostly Manderly men.
"I don't really get motion sick." Daisy shrugged. "Which is a good thing cause living on a plane, real bad if you get motion sick."
Marlon Manderly, who'd been quietly pretending he wasn't laughing at the misfortune of half the men spoke up. "If I may your Holiness, what is a plane?"
"A metal bird in the sky. Or I guess it's like a carriage that flies? You don't really have anything like it here." Daisy frowned, glancing at the ship. "I guess it's more like a ship than a carriage."
Jon quietly added in his own head this must be the flying vessel that had magics allowing it to vanish from human perception that Daisy had spoken of before.
"Well, I can't match something as incredible as your plane. But this is a fine ship, and she'll keep us safe." Marlon practically radiated pride over the ship.
Davos hummed. "Aye, it's a fine ship."
"Newest vessel straight from Essos." Marlon bragged, an excited gleam in his eye. "Bought and paid for in Braavos at the Queen's command. A fleet like this and we can match anyone on land or sea."
Daisy patted Jon's back. "I'm sure." She looked at Jon. "And if you're done puking, your sister sent like…so much reading material for you."
Marlon somehow managed to perk up despite having a face that looked like it'd been carved from a particularly rough rock. "I'm happy to offer my services in preparation for our negotiations. My uncle, Lord Manderly, has left much of negotiating trade to myself and his son. It's not the same of course, but I would gladly assist all the same, your Highness."
Jon…wondered if wallowing with his seasickness was an option?
Jon took a long drink from his mug of ale, getting food in his belly had helped with the general misery of being at sea. "Why is it so terrible to just plainly say what we mean? We need dragonglass and ideally, dragonfire if any of us are to survive. All the rest…it doesn't matter."
"Your Highness…" Marlon trailed off at the distinct sound of Daisy clearing her throat.
She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her folded hands. "Who is the greatest threat to the Dragon Queen and her claim to Westeros?"
Jon wanted to say Cersei, but he knew it wasn't true. Two of the kingdoms already followed his sister, and he knew as well as anyone the Riverlands would pledge to her as well given half a chance. Actually, about a quarter of them already had or were indicating they wished to. If travel took less time it'd likely be half. "Sansa."
"Exactly. What you are asking is for humanity to halt fighting itself and instead go kill the threat that faces you all. But that is not all you're asking even if you don't mean it. You're asking a woman to give up her position of strength, weaken her army, use up a great deal of wealth and supplies, and march to her rival's aid. And to do all of that on the basis of your word that the ice zombie shit is real." Daisy raised an eyebrow. "I'm like half convinced I'm gonna have to prevent you from being strangled by the Dragon Queen."
Which was utter shit! He wanted to yell till he was blue in the face that none of the rest mattered! Who cared whose fucking corpse was on the Iron Throne? It wasn't like his sister even wanted the damned thing. "The Dead are coming, and they don't care what colors any of us are wearing, or what ruler controls what land. They'll kill us all."
Daisy rolled her eyes. "I didn't say you couldn't succeed."
Everyone around the table stilled and looked at her in disbelief. Jon actually choked slightly. "You don't think it's a fool's errand?"
"If I could negotiate a cease fire between Hydra and SHIELD, I'm sure you can manage with the Dragon Queen…well unless she's insane. But if she's like dangerously insane fuck respecting the fact this isn't my world, I'll end the issue."
Jon swallowed his throat suddenly dry. "You mean that?"
"Yes, you just have to be smart about it. Like you've got an existential threat of zombies. That's a tough sell. So start with dragonglass and prove your word is to be trusted. Alliances take time or immediate death coming for you right that second. And since the dead are still on the other side of the Wall you're going to have to go with time."
Davos spoke. "Well said, though I had thought you agreed with her Grace?"
"Sansa is paranoid as hell. Because everyone is constantly trying to use or kill or do something to her. She assumes the worst." Daisy shrugged. "I like to assume the best. 'Sides, my general existence is a pretty solid argument that magical ice zombies are a possibility. So at least you probably won't get laughed at."
Jon sighed, and pulled over the…it was frankly a book more than a series of letters that his sister had sent. "I still need to learn all of this don't I?"
"Yup. Cause paranoid doesn't mean wrong." Daisy looked amused as she leaned back. She suddenly looked thoughtful. "You know…I think I'm going to teach you poker."
Jon had a terrible feeling. "What is poker?"
"A card game based on the ability to lie." Daisy raised a brow in challenge. "You're going to be absolutely terrible. But if we can whip you into enough shape you can fake your way through the politics long enough to get shit done."
He groaned…but then well…they were going to be on this boat for a month…not even Sansa's bloody novel of political strategies would last more than a week. He was looking forward to the dragons, maybe they'd eat him and he wouldn't have to worry about this?
////
Sansa's shoulders and spine felt like iron as she watched Fitz enter the room. She did not like the man, had not since Daisy had first explained the scarring on her neck. More time had not improved her opinion of him. However, he was the closest to an option she had for her brother. Her eyes flicked to Bran, she wasn't sure what she hoped to see on his face…more than nothing. Bran's face didn't move. Though his eyes moved from the fire to where Fitz had entered. Which was…less than nothing. He wasn't deaf or catatonic, merely empty.
Fitz scratched at the back of his head. "Right…so um…want me to just talk to him?"
"Doctor Leopold Fitz." Bran's voice was bland.
Sansa blinked, she'd forgotten that was Fitz's first name.
"Ah..you've heard of me then?" Fitz cocked his head to the side looking at Bran as he stepped into the room. It was like suddenly he wasn't aware Sansa was even there.
Bran's face remained unchanging. "No, I've seen you. Not much, but enough."
"Seen me?" Fitz's focus was bright and real in a way that made the hairs on the back of Sansa's neck stand on end. It was like he was looking at a puzzle.
Bran didn't so much as twitch, not a flicker of emotion. "I see a lot."
"Huh." Fitz grabbed a chair and pulled it across from Bran by the fire. "What have you seen?"
Bran's face didn't change, and yet…it felt like it had. "I am not indebted to you." He paused for a long moment. "I cannot return you to your home."
"That's not why I'm here." Fitz frowned faintly.
Bran just looked at him like he was seeing straight through the man. "It is." He looked away. "I require more practice." And then his eyes went white as he warged out of his body.
Sansa let out a long, silent breath. Well, that had given her something to think on. However, it had shown perhaps an invisible tone of emotion. Even if it was dismissive. "Thank you for the effort."
"I've met an inhuman like him before." Fitz turned towards her. "Daisy can…help. She helped Robin, but Robin was never normal again."
She ruthlessly crushed down the faint hope that wanted to grow there. "I hope so. I'm sorry for taking you from your work."
Sansa looked up from her latest letter to her uncle in Riverrun, her last two unanswered. She knew from both Littlefinger and experience the likely reason for it. But a letter cost very little to write. She smiled as she saw it was Rickon entering her public solar. It wasn't even a thought to set her quill aside, stand, stride across the room and drag her baby brother into her arms. Squeezing him desperately tightly.
Rickon just hugged her back just as bruisingly tight.
"We'll get him back." She promised into his curls. "I promise, we'll get him back."
////
Daisy stared at the tuning fork, her senses focused on it. The words of poor Marlon trying to explain the political niceties of negotiation to Jon faded in the background. He really was hopeless, Jon wasn't dumb but he had grown up idealizing rigid honor and for all that his childhood hadn't been idyllic, it had been protected and secure. He'd have made an excellent mark if she was operating for their enemies. Which…she'd lost her focus on the stupid piece of metal.
She groaned but closed her eyes. Silently begging the sound to not be atrocious she gently agitated the vibrations inside the delicate thing. And, it was funny, concentrating on it like this she could feel more than hear the sound. Well shit, soundwaves were waves she could affect then. She was careful as she started nudging gently at the sounds.
////
Davos was a man who had seen a lot. He was quite frankly a consummate acceptor of the splendor and darkness of the world without much fuss. His Lord decides to follow a witch? Well for all his grumbling he'd gone mostly along with it…mostly. Shadow Demon's birth? Well, he'd needed a strong drink and would likely have nightmares for the rest of his life, but he'd survived.
In fact, if he'd bothered with more self-introspection, he'd have been proud of how he'd dealt with facing the fact tales of monsters and magic were real and terrifying. But he was a simple man. He'd found it best to trudge through life and do what needed to be done. So he'd found the strange Northern god rather easy to mostly ignore. Or well, deal with in a non-terrified manner.
However, once the strange piece of metal in her hand began to sing he felt a shiver down his spine. When the sound began whining in a manner no sound naturally should make, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He wasn't alone in that, based on the distinctly uncomfortable expressions on the other men's faces. When the very light around the god started to warp, Davos looked at Jon.
Jon winced but cleared his throat. "Daisy?"
The light instantly returned to normal, the horrible ringing ceasing, as her eyes snapped open, a politely curious look on her face as if nothing abnormal had been happening at all. "What's up?"
"Uh…the light was getting strange there?" Jon's voice was faintly tight.
She looked confused for a second. "The light?"
"It was all wavey and the colors were wrong?" Jon asked carefully.
The woman, or god, or monster, or whatever it was she truly was laughed. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to do anything to the light, didn't know I could do that actually." She leaned back. "Are you guys ok?"
Davos made a strange noise in the back of his throat. "Didn't know you could do that?"
"I control vibrations of the stuff that makes up everything? Sound or light are like waves of vibration. It makes sense I can affect them, I just haven't tried before." Daisy unfolded, she tended to sit in the strangest ways.
Jon, bless his curly head, somehow accepted that. "Ah, well that's something. Is it harmful?"
"No…or well not yet, you're good." Daisy slid to her feet and stepped over. "So, what part of the negotiations are you going over?"
Jon sighed. "The history of the Rebellion and the reign of King Aerys."
"Ah, shitty stuff." Daisy dropped onto the bench beside Jon. "But uh…even I know about that, like you had three books on it."
Jon easily shifted to accommodate Daisy beside him. "Aye, I do. But it would seem my sister insists I'm reminded of it."
"You weren't alive then your Highness." Lord Greengood cut in. "They were dark days, and your Lord Father did you no favors not speaking of it." The man was stiff with genuine emotion. "What they did to your aunt was a disgrace. She was a bright and wild girl. And your uncle Brandon was a strong, proper young Lord. We all thought he'd be a good Lord someday. He went to demand justice and he was killed for it! He and your grandfather were killed while your aunt was being stashed away from any aid or hope of rescue! The Targaryens are mad bastards."
Davos spoke before an argument could get going. "He's not wrong, the stories of what Aerys did to people were…dark. He was excited by the scent of burning flesh."
"Sounds like Stannis." Marlon muttered.
He glared at the man. "Stannis was a better man than Aerys could have dreamed of!"
"The morality of burning men alive for magic isn't what we're speaking of." Lord Greengood snapped. "Understanding the crimes committed by the Targaryens is important. We're about to treat with one of the fuckers, not Stannis Baratheon."
Davos forced himself to settle. Even after everything he…was full of bitterness over Stannis. It did not mean he wished to hear the man disparaged after he'd sacrificed everything for what was right. To fight the war they were still fighting. A King who'd lost his crown and throne to fight for the living. He nearly flinched as he realized the god was looking at him.
It was going to be a long month at sea.
Notes:The new trailer for House of the Dragon...I'm so excited its not fair. Look at the Dragon saddle though!
Chapter 62Notes:And here we briefly meet cannon before gleefully moving away from it. But for a couple of chapters you'll notice stuff straight from the show. That doesn't last long. We are going wildly off course and quickly so.
Chapter TextTyrion Lannister, Hand to Daenerys Targaryen, squinted at the boat rowing to shore from the Northern vessel that had moored just off the coast. "Fuck."
"Is there a problem, my Lord?" Missandei asked, her voice perfectly calm.
He sighed. "That lovely head of dark hair on the boat is Jon Snow. And if Jon Snow is here, Sansa Stark almost certainly is not."
"They are still our guests, are they not?" She replied perfectly pleasantly.
Tyrion looked up at her. "Your ability to ignore the dangerous happenings around you with hospitality will forever amaze me. True talent." He looked back at the boat. There was an unfortunate lack of red hair of any description. "Our Queen will not be happy."
"Were you expecting this Northern Queen to truly come?" Missandei seemed genuinely curious.
He sighed. "No, but I had hope when she sent a ship at all." His smile tightened as the rowboat came ashore. Several of the oarsmen, who were clearly also Stark men at arms, jumped over the gunwales and dragged the wooden vessel further ashore. The rest of the men, and one woman interestingly, disembarked onto the wet sand. The crash of waves about their ankles.
Jon Snow was a man grown now. His face was scarred, and his garb was that of a man of war. The detailing showed real craftsmanship however. He looked terribly alike to his Lord Father as he strode forward. The lone woman of the company was wearing masculine appearing clothing though well tailored for her, as well as three men not in the uniform of the men at arms, falling in behind his steps. The distinct armor of the Vale one of the men was wearing was notable, and concerning for the future of their conquest of Westeros.
As Jon came to a halt before him, the two of them were silent for a long second. Oh, how times had changed. Tyrion had genuinely liked Jon last he'd seen him. So he greeted him. "The Bastard of Winterfell."
Jon's lips twitched, as the majority of his party glared, his voice strong. "The Dwarf of Casterly Rock."
There was faintly fond silence then, before they stepped towards each other and clasping hands, smiles on their faces.
"I believe we last saw each other on top of the wall." Tyrion relaxed at the mood of the other man. There was still hope then. Besides, it was good to see him once more.
Jon huffed. "You were pissing off the edge if I remember right." He gave a pointed look towards Tyrion's face. "You picked up some scars along the road."
Tyrion nodded. "It's been a long road. But we're both still here." It was the important bit. He looked to the small group of nobility that'd been able to cram onto the small rowboat that'd ferried them from their vessel to shore. He could tell by her position to Jon's right the woman was the highest ranking likely, which was strange based on her features? Perhaps Jon had married? He held out his hand. "I'm Tyrion Lannister."
"Daisy Johnson." An easy smile was on her face as she accepted his hand, laying hers in it and allowing him to brush a brief kiss upon her knuckles, not a flicker of distaste or judgment over his stature. Up close, while her deep blue clothing was plain, it was of high quality. She gestured to the rest of the small party. "This is Ser Davos Seaworthy, Ser Marlon Manderly, and Ser Ashter Moore. The rest of our party is on the ship still."
Tyrion gave her a respectful nod, at the least, she deserved that for the respect. He turned his attention to Davos, he knew that name, and the implication of a Vale knight and a knight of the Stormlands as part of the Northern contingent was concerning. "Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay." He kept a friendly tone.
"Unluckily for me." Davos' voice was thick with his Flea Bottom accent.
Tyrion's smile remained, even as his concern was increasing. He politely waved to Missandei. "Missandei is the Queen's most trusted advisor."
"Welcome to Dragonstone." Missandei's voice was delightfully perfect. "Our Queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you would not mind handing over your weapons."
Jon's lips twitched slightly as he looked to his men, his eyes lingering on the amused woman Daisy, before turning back. "Of course." The lack of concern as the Northern party began to unbuckle their swordbelts was…yet another decision that left Tyrion uneasy.
The Dothraki guards moved forward, accepting the weapons being turned over. There was shockingly little upset or grumbling over it. However, there were some looks as the Dothraki picked up the rowboat and carried it away.
Blessed Missandei spoke before any disquiet or unhappiness could fester. "Please, this way."
Tyrion fell into step beside Jon and the foreign woman Daisy as they began to walk up the beach and towards the towering fortress above. Davos had trotted forward to speak with Missandei.
Tyrion spoke as they walked. "I hope you're used to stairs from your time at the Wall, for Dragonstone is made of them."
"I reckon I'll manage. Good to be off the boat after so long." Jon chuckled as he matched his strides to Tyrion's. "So, Hand to the Dragon Queen?"
He felt a familiar thrum of pride at the title. "It's been an eventful few years." His eyes flicked meaningfully to the silver pin of a wolf's paw over a sword. "But then you're Hand to a Queen as well now, unless my eyes deceive me?"
"Aye." Jon genuinely smiled, a light in his eye that Tyrion had not seen in the man's face before. "And a Stark as well."
"Legitimized?" Tyrion knew what that must mean to the man. "Good for you." Even if it took away at least one option for earning loyalty or favor from Jon.
It was far easier to breathe once up the initial steps from the beach to the stone cliff tops above. The flat walkway to the entrance to the great fortress certainly was superior to stairs. He restarted the conversation. "And Sansa, alive and well then?"
"She is." Jon had a satisfied pride to him at that.
He nodded, that was good. A miracle, but good. "Does she miss me terribly?"
Jon looked at him, clearly, the joke had not landed.
"A sham marriage and unconsummated." Tyrion had no desire to be thought the kind of man who'd rape his child bride.
Jon had distinct undercurrents to his thoughts as he replied. "I didn't ask-"
"Well, it was. It wasn't. Anyways, she's much smarter than she lets on. Although if she's been crowned Queen in the North, I imagine she is letting on." Tyrion could scarcely imagine the scared girl he'd been married to ruling over the stubborn bastards of the North. Especially if Rickon Stark still lived as had been reported.
Daisy spoke, joining the conversation. "Seriously, the constant surprise at how ruthlessly smart she is confuses me."
"Does it?" Tyrion looked at the woman. Her features were of YiTi. "Forgive me, but I did not know YiTi had dealings with the North?"
She raised a brow, the ease of her position not changing. "It does, I have rarely met a person as aggressively competent as her 'Grace.'" Her smile showed a flash of teeth. "And I'm from far further away than YiTI. But can't let Jon here sail off into danger without protection."
"Indeed, I'm surprised your sister allowed you to come." He returned the conversation to Jon. However, he felt the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. She was either his guard or possibly his lover…perhaps both. But his instincts said to keep an eye on her.
Jon reached out squeezing the woman's forearm lightly before replying. "Aye, my sister thinks I'm a fool for coming here. As do most of the bannermen."
"Of course they do. If I was your sister I would have commanded against it. General rule of thumb, Stark men don't fare well when they travel south." Tyrion was hopeful this would not end badly for Jon. At least this time murder was not intended.
Jon nodded. "True. But I am choosing to be optimistic."
Tyrion didn't get a chance to reply to that insanity as the ground shook from a great roar as the giant red dragon, Drogon dove, flying just above their heads. Gods be good the dragons still inspired awe and terror. He looked at the Northerners who'd thrown themselves to the ground. All save Daisy who was looking after the dragon, a delighted smile on her face.
He ignored his growing unease, surely it was nothing, and turned to Jon, offering out his hand and helping him to his feet. "I'd say you get used to them, but you never really do."
Jon looked at the sky. "No, I imagine you would not."
"Come. Their mother is waiting for you." Tyrion gestured forward on the path to the looming fortress of the Targaryens of old.
Tyrion looked up at the throne carved into the stone of the great hall of Dragonstone. The seat Aegon Targaryen had ruled from before conquering the continent. The great hall was cold, yet to be fully repaired to royal glory, walls empty of tapestries. But there was a grandeur to it all, a solemn authority.
He was standing upon the first landing of the stairs leading up to the dais the throne was upon. Dothraki guards were arrayed before the throne. Missandei was higher up and closer to Daenarys as her translator. He was pleased with the Unsullied along the walls, it'd been the correct choice to ensure they were there. If the North was showing off their almost certain alliance with the Vale, they required a reminder of the forces behind Daenerys.
The great doors to the hall opened, and the Northern party approached across the stone floors of the throne room towards them. Jon was in the lead, again the strange woman Daisy was immediately to his right. But the noble men of his entourage were behind him, as well as several of his men at arms. They certainly looked the part of an arriving royal emissary. If slightly dour as these times of war required. Likely would have been grander appearing if their whole company had been allowed to disembark the ship.
Missandei's voice echoed out across the hall, full of her absolute loyalty and belief in their Queen. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains."
There was a ringing silence. The man introduced as Marlon Manderly stepped forward to the immediate left of Jon. His green and merman encrusted form were as neatly put together as Northerners seemed to get. His voice was gruff but clear. "On behalf of the Queen of the North and the Riverlands, His Highness, Jon Stark, Hand of the Queen, General of the Northern Army, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Defender of the Living, The White Wolf."
Tyrion had to hide a wince, the North was prepared, and they had not come in a forgiving mood. He'd assumed even under one banner once more they'd be too shattered from the horrors of the long summer to take this stance. He'd fucked up. Hopefully, things remained cordial enough that he could intervene to correct things after this.
Daenerys spoke from her throne, voice fortunately courteous. "Thank you for traveling so far, My Lords. I hope the seas weren't too rough."
"The winds were kind, your Grace," Jon replied with his thick northern accent.
Davos Seaworthy cleared his throat. "Apologies. I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know. But Jon Stark is a Prince of the North. He's not a lord."
Fuck.
"Forgive me-" Daenerys flicked her eyes to Tyrion clearly awaiting an introduction for the man who'd just interjected himself.
Tyrion forced cheer into his voice. "Your Grace, this is Ser Davos Seaworth."
"Forgive me, Ser Davos. I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn the last King in the North was Torren Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen in exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen. Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. But do I have my facts wrong?" Her voice was clear and cutting.
"I wasn't there, your Grace." Davos tipped his head to her, however, he didn't tip it deeply nor retreat in any way.
Daenerys leaned ever so slightly into the back of her throne. "No, of course not. But still, an oath is an oath. In perpetuity means…what does it mean, Lord Tyrion?"
"Forever." Tyrion wished he could stop this whole thing. He silently begged the North to be agreeable for once in their stubborn lives…there wasn't much hope of that. At least for their survival instincts to kick…if they had such things.
Daenerys nodded faintly. "Forever. Meaning the North has no Princes. So I assume, My Lord, that you are here to bend the knee on behalf of your sister and your kingdom."
"I am not." Jon didn't falter as he stood strong and unshaken before the Queen's regard. Man really was far too noble for his own good.
Daenerys twitched, her expression turning cold. "Oh. Well, that is unfortunate. You've traveled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?"
"Break faith?" Jon breathed in, his shoulders squaring. Something like dread pooled in Tyrion's belly. "Your brother kidnapped and raped my aunt. Your father burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive. He demanded my father come and be burned alive. House Targaryen broke faith with House Stark."
Daenerys seemed to force herself to back down. "My father was an evil man. On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father." Her tone changed, picking up. "Our two houses were allies for centuries. Those were the best centuries the kingdom's have ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity with the Targaryens sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. I am the last Targaryen, Jon Stark. Honor the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name your sister Wardeness of the North. Together we will save this country from those who would destroy it."
"You're right." Jon agreed, but his stance said this wasn't capitulation. "You're not guilty of your father and brother's crimes. And we are not beholden to our ancestor's vows."
Daenerys' eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. "Then why are you here?"
"Because we need your help, and you need mine." Jon replied, every one of the men behind him looked like they wished to pinch the bridges of their noses or whack him upside the head. It was a ripple of exasperation. The woman Daisy simply looked amused, if actually approving. Added evidence she was likely his lover. Odd a Stark would flaunt such a thing, but years on the Wall would change anyone.
Daenerys' mouth pulled up in a smirk as she looked to Tyrion before returning her attention to their guests. "Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?"
"I did." He didn't flinch under the implied threat.
Daenerys did not look impressed. "And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me?"
"They're hard to miss." Jon responded wryly. Honestly, the man had found a sense of humor on that giant frozen block of ice apparently.
Daenerys seemed to be hiding her confusion at the stupidity of staring in the face of certain loss and death while looking as if nothing was wrong. "But still, I need your help?"
Davos spoke up again, clearly, he'd risen high in the regard and position within the Northern court. An odd happenstance, one of far too many for Tyrion to be comfortable. "Not to defeat Cersei. You could storm King's Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, we almost took it and we didn't even have dragons."
"Almost." Tyrion checked him.
Jon spoke then, not a drop of fear or sign of being intimidated to him. "But you haven't stormed King's Landing. Why not?" He paused. "The only reason I can see is you don't want to kill thousands of innocent people. It's the fastest way to win the war, but you won't do it. Which means at the very least you're better than Cersei."
"Still, that doesn't explain why I need your help." Some of the tension had faded from Daenery's shoulders.
Jon's chin tipped up faintly. "Because right now you, me, Cersei, and everyone else are just children playing at a game, screaming that the rules aren't fair."
"You told me you liked this man." Daenerys looked to Tyrion, oh she was not pleased by how different this was going than had been expected. It would seem Varys's reports of the North had been horribly incomplete.
Tyrion kept his forced confident cheer. "I do."
"In the time since he's met me he's refused to call me Queen, he's refused to bow, and now he's calling me a child." There was a great deal of underlying anger in her tone.
"I believe he's calling all of us children. Figure of speech." Tyrion shot a look at Jon silently demanding the man pull his foot out of his mouth. He didn't have high hopes.
Jon persevered without any concern for manners. "Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter is over if we don't defeat the enemy to the north."
"As far as I can see, you are the enemy to the north." Which…wonderful, at this rate they'd be at open war by the end of this.
Jon gave a slight shake of his head. "I am not your enemy. The dead are the enemy."
The entire throne room went utterly silent.
Daenerys actually paused in sheer incredulous disbelief. "The dead?" It couldn't have sounded more condescending if she'd tried. She looked to Tyrion once more. "Is that another figure of speech?"
"The Army of the Dead is on the march." Jon cut in before Tyrion could form words about the insanity happening.
Tyrion couldn't help the faint gaping he tried to hide as he spoke. "The Army of the Dead?"
"You don't know me well, My Lord, but do you think I am a liar or a madman?" Jon challenged.
And damn it all to hell. "No. I don't think you're either of those things."
"The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Night King is real. I've seen them. My men have seen them. Do you think the Free Folk would submit to the Northern Throne for anything less? That the Northern Lords would accept the Free Folk amongst them for anything less? As we speak the North is preparing to fight for the Living. All of the Living. But if they get past The Wall and we're still squabbling amongst ourselves," He stepped forward, his voice passionate, only to halt as the Dothraki moved to intercept him, "we're finished."
In the wake of his words, which so clearly he believed to the bottom of his honorable Northern soul, the room was silent. Daenerys finally spoke, choosing her words carefully. "I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it."
She rose to her feet and began a slow, inexorable approach toward Jon. "We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib? Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don't remember all of their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled." Her voice snapped like a whip in the echoing cavernous room. "Do you know what kept me standing through all those years of exile? Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea."
She came to a halt before him. "They did so for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will."
"You'll be ruling over a graveyard if we don't defeat the Dead." Jon didn't flinch in the face of her authority. Of her power.
Tyrion scrambled to intervene. Only for the words to freeze on his lips as the hall was filled with the sound of a solitary person slowly clapping their hands in a mockery of applause.
Daisy Johnson, the woman who didn't quite fit, stepped forward. "Bravo, really. Like you both are having two completely different conversations there." Her eyes snapped to Daenerys. "Particularly liked the implied 'fuck the gods' bit. I totes agree. But I think we can all agree we don't want to kill each other?" Her gaze turned to Jon. "And honestly, did you actually listen to nothing your sister said? I mean you started so strong."
Daenerys looked at the woman like she'd quite like to crush her beneath one of her dragons. If she was a lesser woman she'd have developed an eye twitch at the blatant disrespect. Disrespect being shown to both Jon and Daenerys equally, horrifyingly enough. Her voice was cold. "And you are?"
Ser Marlon replied before the woman could introduce herself. "This is her Holiness, Daisy Johnson, Sky, Inhuman, Child of Monsters, of Blood and Madness, Warrior Daughter of the First Elder of the Afterlife, Knight of the Order of the Shield, God of Ruin. Quake, The Destroyer of Worlds."
It should have been laughable.
"Excuse me, god?" Daenerys managed to get out.
It wasn't laughable.
The very light seemed to warp around the woman, being? The air turned cold, a near physical weight to it. A horrible ringing sound that felt like a knife cutting through the brain pierced through them all. The bones in his body ached with pressure.
And then, as quick as the change had occurred, it was gone. Like a passing wind, and it was just the woman standing there. Her appearance was unchanged. Not a hair out of place; not a heavy breath, nor drop of sweat. It was as if the show of power had meant nothing. As if the frost still clinging to the stones around them was of no note to her.
She rolled her eyes. "To be fair, the whole distinction of whether I'm a god, a demon, or whatever is more theological than factual." She shrugged, her voice dangerous then. "But yeah, definitely not human."
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Chapter 63Notes:I'm sorry I didn't get to all your comments from the last chapter yet! I'm getting there! But I've read them all and am very touched!
Chapter TextFitz startled awake with a sharp cry. His chest heaved as he stared into the dark of his room, sweat sticking his nightshirt to his sweaty skin. His heart felt like a bird trapped in his chest. He swallowed and then lunged for his chamberpot and heaved, the contents of his stomach and bile spilling out.
His hands shook violently, his eyes burning from tears that would not come. The memories of the Framework haunted him. He dreamed of raising a gun on Jemma, the burning hate and violence he'd intended for her. Wiping spit and stomach acid from his mouth with the back of his hand, he feared he'd continue to heave. His mind could so easily imagine the feel of the heat of Daisy's blood on them from the torture he'd inflicted on her in the Framework. The feel of her cheek against the back of his hand.
He wanted to tell himself it was the Framework, it wasn't who he was. But Daisy's words echoed in his ears. What his alternate self had done. That he'd threatened Jemma with a gun to force her compliance, that he'd cut a chip from Daisy's neck. His hands were covered in the blood of his friend inside his mind and out. A weapon raised against his Jemma, inside his mind and out.
He retched into the pot once more. The images wouldn't leave his mind, they were imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.
////
Daenerys stared at the woman who'd just been proclaimed a god. The words felt stuck in her throat. She'd have laughed, but even she knew that that brief show of power, or force, or whatever that had been, was real. This entire audience had shifted and turned horribly away from what she'd expected. What she'd been told to expect. "You're serious?" She couldn't help but ask. It was so bafflingly unreal. Who claimed to be a god?
The woman smiled. "Yup. So, about not killing each other then?"
Daenerys was prevented from replying by the opening of the great doors and Varys entering. His face said he had news. She didn't even wait for him to tell her what it was about. This meeting needed to come to an end. She was lost and did not like the feeling. "It seems we are to be interrupted." She waved several of her Dothraki forward. "Please, you must be tired. We can continue this in the morning."
"Of course," Jon spoke calmly. "Till tomorrow then, your Grace."
The Northern party easily allowed themselves to be led from the room. The god, woman, whatever she was winked as she vanished out the doors.
Daenerys felt a tremble in her fingertips as the doors closed on their 'guests'. As soon as they were alone she turned on Varys. "What happened?"
"Our Ironborn and Dornish allies were attacked en route to Dorne." Varys said, his soft voice not endearing him to her.
She resisted the desire to bare her teeth. Everything was spinning out of control. "And?"
"Two or three ships escaped. The rest were sunk or captured. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes are dead or captured. The Greyjoys are dead or captured." He was at least prompt in reporting the critical information.
"All of them?" Her fleet had been massive. "How is that possible?"
Varys folded his hands inside his voluminous sleeves. "It would seem Cersei Lannister has formed an alliance with Euron Greyjoy, the troublesome uncle Yara and Theon wished to see taken care of."
Tyrion spoke as he visibly winced. "If the presence of Ser Ashter Moore is indicative, the Vale has allied itself with the North as well."
"That is grave news indeed. The Riverlands and the North, while broken, are still a significant threat. Especially if they have the support of The Vale." Varys agreed. "My little birds sing of an army from the Vale at the Twins."
Daenerys' fury felt like hot fire in her veins. "We've lost half our allies, Westeros is united against us, and there's a hostile 'god' in Dragonstone. Is that right?" Her anger practically made her voice vibrate from the effort of keeping it even and unraised.
Varys blinked. "A god, your Grace?"
"It would seem the North has a god among their party." Tyrion explained, a paleness to his features. "I believe we need wine for this conversation."
And Daenerys felt a near unstoppable fury at that. "You will not drink a drop of wine until this discussion is over." She narrowed her eyes at him, causing him to nearly flinch back.
"Right, bad idea. I can admit that." Tyrion raised his hands in surrender.
She looked at her advisors. "How is this possible?"
Varys hesitantly licked at his lips. "My little birds had whispered tales from the North, however, I believed them too outlandish to be true."
"I see. So you ignored their warnings. Told me lies I would want to believe instead and have caused my invasion to begin with defeat and the loss of our allies from two entire kingdoms? Do I have that right?" Her voice was sharpened by fury. "I believe I told you what would happen if you ever betrayed me."
Varys bowed his head. "I apologize for my mistake. I will not make it again, your Grace."
Her attention stayed on her two advisors. "Since you've failed to do your jobs you will rectify that. What is the worst possible case for what I face in Westeros?"
"The worst case is not necessarily the reality of what we face." Tyrion uselessly dithered.
If Daenerys was a different woman she'd have slapped him across the face at that. She was not here to be comforted with lies and promises that meant nothing. Were nothing. "Let me be clear, that was not a request. Answer the question, or I will have you dragged from this room and confined to your quarters until I've decided what your continuing role will be. So answer me. Now."
"Very well." Tyrion deferred, though there was a pallor to his face. "The worst that we could be facing is a nearly entirely hostile Westeros. From Cersei, that would mean she has solidified an alliance with the Iron Islands and come to an agreement with the Iron Bank, allowing her to purchase a third army for her cause. That she's then taken a massive risk and sent the entire Lannister forces to High Garden to attack while they are unprepared, thus cutting off our supply lines almost entirely. That, and a temporary truce with the North that their conflict will wait until our forces are driven from Westeros entirely." He shook his hand. "Cersei would never treat with Sansa Stark for such a thing, and my former wife would almost certainly choose death over cooperating with Cersei."
Daenerys tipped her chin up. "And why are you so certain no agreement exists between this Northern Queen and Cersei?"
"Because my 'dear' sister and her monster of a son spent the better part of three and a half years torturing Sansa. Even if my former wife could bring herself to forgive or at least look past being stripped and beaten before the court, the very real threats of my nephew or father raping a child into her when I would not, the constant demeaning and disdainful words and deeds of my family towards her, her girlhood friend and lady in waiting being sold to a whore house, the slaughter of her beloved pet direwolf, being forced to kiss my nephew's naked sword, being left in the middle of a riot and nearly being raped to death had the Hound not independently gone back for her, my father's conspiring with the Bolton's and Freys to have her brother, mother and pregnant good sister murdered, and a thousand personal hurts besides that. Even then, she will never forgive being forced to watch her father's head cut off. And then to be brought every day to the gates of the Red Keep and being forced to look at the mounted heads of her father and household until they had rotted to nothing but skulls."
Tyrion cleared his throat in the stricken silence that followed. "Of course, my nephew also attempted to have her brother's head served to her at our wedding feast. So there's that horror as well."
"I see. Speaking of your former wife; what is the worst threat she could pose to us?" Daenerys asked as she repressed her repulsion at his words.
Tyrion sighed. "The North is a strange place, your Grace. A very stubborn place." His mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile before it faded. "If the kingdoms of origin of Ser Davos and Ser Moore are indicative of alliances it could be…very bad."
"But highly unlikely." Varys tittered.
Daenerys had long ago mastered the method of appearing to look down her nose at men of her same or greater height. A shame she didn't need that skill for these two fools. "I said the worst, not likely."
Tyrion cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Cersei will never be a beloved leader. Her greatest strengths are fear and wealth. Sansa however…she's more complicated and possibly a great deal more dangerous."
He walked into a beam of light coming through the high windows into the throne room. "My former wife is from the oldest and most respected lineage in Westeros. She is by rights second or third in line to the Riverlands, and it's not an entirely outlandish possibility that the Vale would take her as their Lady or Queen as well. The Starks have ruled the North for eight thousand years. But Sansa Stark has the right name, is strikingly beautiful, and much smarter than she lets on. I'm afraid I don't have a measure of her true intelligence."
"A fair estimate." Varys nodded. "Before his death, her father was beloved across the kingdoms as well."
Tyrion kept speaking. "If we are truly fucked, she has the Riverlands and the North sworn to her, the Vale in the process of doing so as well as the Stormlands. The Vale is the worst of it as they have the only intact army left in Westeros. An agreement with the Iron Bank to fund more soldiers to replenish the Northern armies as well would be devastating. Even with dragons, if the North refuses to bend the knee, conquering it in winter will be impossible. If Sansa is as smart as I believe she might be, and has entrenched herself as deeply as possible, the North will be to you what Dorne was to your ancestors. The work of centuries to conquer."
"The snow will protect them from dragonfire?" Daenerys' eyes narrowed. Dragonfire could melt stone itself.
Varys' voice was soft then. "Your Grace, with our fleet lost, we would be forced to invade through the whole of the Riverlands with our supply lines vulnerable to the Vale sweeping in, and then through the Neck. The Neck is a hundred miles of inhospitable frozen swamp. The people there use poisons and will sink away into the land and harass and pick off our flanks and any stragglers. The dragons would allow us to fight our way through Moat Cailin. But after that? By then the snow would have truly begun to fall. Winter in the North is no mild season. Snow drifts a hundred feet deep, a night that never ends. Any soldier that ventured too close to the edge of an encampment would vanish, and never be seen again."
"More ambush tactics?" But Daenerys didn't need to be told this was the type of war her Dothraki or Unsullied would never be the masters of.
Varys shook his head. "No, your Grace. Food is scarce in the North." He paused meaningfully. "A great number of their tales and whispers include the consuming of human flesh. An army of foreign soldiers would be a…tempting offer to those destitute from the wars of this long summer."
Her eyes widened in horror. Only then…how dare they not tell her this before. "And I was told the Northern party was here to bend the knee. Why?"
"Because they came." Tyrion's mouth pulled to the side. "If they were willing to risk answering your summons, it should have meant they were so close to the brink of utter brokenness they had no other option. The presence of this god…changes things."
Varys spoke. "Are you sure this is a god? Not merely some powerful witch or abomination from Old Valaryia?"
"We can only hope." Tyrion certainly wanted to drink.
Daenerys' jaw tightened. "Send a raven to High Garden. They are to prepare for a siege. And find out how close the worst possibilities are to what is. If you ever give me pretty assumptions about my enemies again, you can find another Queen to serve. It would seem there are several to choose from."
////
Tila Miller could breathe easily for the first time in years. She was in Winterfell, under the protection of a god, if only tangentially. She'd only met the god briefly, long enough for brown eyes that saw more than perhaps she wanted them to to flick to her, and then she'd been given a room and that had been that. The work around the workshop, and what she helped do in the god's tower was good honest work. And she was content. Not what she'd dreamed of as a girl, but she was safe, her son was safe, and the child in her womb would never know its father. So it was more than enough.
She knew to be silent, to avoid notice. All women learned the art of being unobtrusive. So sweeping out the god touched Fitz's workshop while he, his apprentice, and the prince were doing whatever it was that they did was easy enough. This morning it was quieter than usual. Crann was snoring softly on one of the tables. Prince Rickon was attending court with his sister, her Grace. Thus it was only Fitz, ink streaks across one cheek, muttering quietly as he paged through the endless papers he was always filling.
Tila knew better than to disturb a man who was obsessively focused on something. So she was efficient and quiet as she worked. If she finished early today maybe she could take her Thomas to one of the Order members to have a story read to him? It'd be a good day. Might give her boy a chance at joining the Order when he was grown. It'd be a good future.
"Your husband, why didn't you leave him s-sooner?" Fitz's voice yanked her from her reverie.
She startled, head snapping towards the god touched man. He seemed...stiller than he often was. "Excuse me?"
"It's just…you and your son's bruises. Your husband's hurt y-you before. But you didn't leave." Fitz's head cocked to the side. "Why not?"
Tila…didn't want to speak of it exactly. Some of her wanted desperately to get it out, but most of her wanted it to stay hidden, away from anyone else. "Why do you want to know? It's not important is it?"
He huffed, his face rueful. "You remind me of my mum." His blue eyes were lacking the…coldness they sometimes had. "Only she never left. My f-father left us."
She slowed her movements, straightening as the broom came to rest beside her. "Is she still alive?"
"I think so?" Fitz shifted, looking uncomfortable. "It stopped being…safe. Cost of trying to keep up with gods and m-monsters. Sometimes they k-kill everything you love. Best keep it away from them if…they can't fight back." He seemed to shake himself. "So, why leave?"
Tila let out a long breath. "Because rumor said Queen Stark would help, and he hurt Thomas badly. I couldn't let him keep hurting him."
"Sansa's been here in Winterfell for a y-year. You could have come then?" He was looking at her like she held a piece of..something.
She frowned…her eyes lowering to the ground. "I… it's not just leaving a man. It's leaving…everything else." Tila closed her eyes. She forced a smile onto her face. "But we're safe here, it'll be a good life. That's all that matters now."
Fitz looked away from her. "Rude of me to ask. Sorry." His brow furrowed, fingers twitching faintly as he stared down at his notes. "It's just…sometimes I think I might be more like my father t-than I know."
Tila was..cautious, but in this strange quiet, with this horribly painful and personal conversation, she dared. "Have you ever raised a hand in anger against your wife?"
"Not in anger." His tongue darted out. "Never anger."
She paused, looking at his face. "But you have harmed her?"
"I threatened to shoot h-her if she tried to stop me h-hurting our friend." He looked at her then. "What kind of m-man does that? I'd d-die for her! I'd thought I'd die for our friend, but I… I shouldn't know what my best friend's s-screams sound like. What h-hurting her feels like. My wife shouldn't b-believe I'd shoot her." His face was near stricken. "Sometimes I think I'm the m-monster."
Tila swallowed looking at him. "Are you sorry you hurt them? Or that you're the kind of man who can?" And she could see the cracked madness in his face then. He flinched back like he'd been struck. She gave a faint curtsy. And then she left, broom in hand. She'd finish the workshop later. Right now she needed to hug her son. Leaving had been the right choice.
////
Daisy closed her eyes enjoying the crunch of a fresh apple. She got it, the whole 'the south has better food' thing. "Ok, not that Winterfell's food is bad, but I've missed fresh fruit."
"How are you so cheerful?" Jon's face was morose as he looked up at her.
She raised a brow. "Because we're not trapped on a tiny boat with nothing to do but win the shirts off of men's backs at poker."
"You gave the shirts back." But the thundercloud of doom over his head seemed to lessen.
She folded her legs underneath her. "I try not to be the worst."
Jon looked at her for a quiet moment. "Sansa was right."
"She tends to be." Daisy frowned. "I'm not sure she is in this case. Maybe."
He blinked. "How could she not be? They expected us to grovel and bend the knee…for what? I don't know her. None of us do."
"Oh, today was some bullshit." Daisy wasn't even from here and she'd recognized it was rude as all hell how they'd been received. The rowboat and their entire diplomatic party not being allowed on shore had been blatantly terrible enough. But two advisors, guards, and the Queen? Only that? However, she'd also listened.
Jon shook his head. "How am I to convince them the Dead are real? We need their help."
"We need their dragonglass. The dragons would be nice, but we'll figure it out without them." Daisy wondered when she'd become the voice of reason and calm? Christ, she was turning into Coulson… "Look, there are three good options for what just happened. One, they think the North is weak and thought they could use you as a political hostage or strong-arm you into submitting. Two, she's somehow worse at politics than you. Three, someone is actively sabotaging things. Maybe not actual treason, but ulterior motives definitely." She shrugged. "Probably a bit of a mix of it. Now we just figure it out and you use the rudeness to shame them into giving us the dragonglass."
He actually smiled faintly. "Well, that's not so terrible."
"And if it's option one and a little bit of actual insanity, I just flex the fact I can turn this whole place to dust and get the dragonglass." She shrugged. "We got this."
Jon lowered his fork. "I am grateful you're on our side."
"Your side is the living. I was always going to end up on your side." Daisy tossed the grape on her plate at him. It bounced off his face and onto the table. "Even if Jemma comes portaling in to rescue Fitz and me tomorrow, it wouldn't matter. I'm not going to leave until this is done."
He held her eyes, and she knew he saw what she saw. A kindred spirit, or whatever. A person with the same ethos. Protect humanity.
"Aye, and I can't thank you enough for that." It was horribly emotionally real and genuine.
She snagged the grape off the table, wasting fresh produce should be a crime. "You don't need to. Actually, please don't. It's not really important. Which, we're going to have to keep Marlon from convincing everyone to declare war immediately."
Jon groaned. "We'd need a change of our fortunes here before the end of the day tomorrow."
"You can get them to give enough dragonglass to stuff one boat full. That's nothing." She waved off.
He looked suspicious. "You don't intend to help?"
"I do, just not with actual negotiations unless it gets real bad. I'm going to find out for you what unholy mix of shit caused today." Daisy was positive something was afoot. Because a woman in this world did not get the titles or earn the emotional weight needed for that speech she'd given, and the loyalty of armies by being as colossally stupid as the entire morning had been. The Dragon Queen had been expecting a very different reality. Which meant there was either some glaring incompetence happening or a snake in the grass.
Jon looked even warrier. "Should I be worried?"
"No, assume Daenerys knows nothing about Westeros from now on. And I taste your food before you eat it." Daisy would survive poison, her inability to really get drunk proved that. A dose fatal to a human might give her a nose bleed. She'd get better.
Jon spluttered. "We've been given guest rite!"
"So was Robb." Daisy said gently, she reached out laying her hand over his on the table as he flinched at that. "And until I've ruled out the possibility that there's someone actively trying to sabotage this, it's better to be safe than sorry."
Jon's face shuttered into resolve. "Very well, I hope you're wrong."
"So do I, surviving poison doesn't mean it won't suck for a few minutes." Daisy really didn't feel like experiencing being poisoned. That would suck. But, finally, a use for her skills as an agent that wasn't just being a glorified PE teacher, or threatening Baelish! She paused. "What I don't get is why we didn't get to meet the dragons. I want to meet the dragons, Jon."