Chapter Text
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Daenerys
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“Cersei would never help us,” Sansa sternly claimed. There was a low simmer of hatred in her voice that she could not control enough to let it not slip through. “Never. She would rather us all die in the process and show up at her door at the side of the Night King.”
Daenerys dropped her eyes from her auburn haired friend and inhaled the sharp chill that surrounded them both. “I know,” she said, sounding slightly defeated by the reality they faced. She picked up her tone. “We don’t need them.”
Sansa was masking her feelings with a solid expression. She had her face pointed towards the courtyard that was bustling with activity from new guests and new materials brought in to be stored as they waited and formulated a plan. Nearly every Lord had answered the request for them to come to Winterfell and the last had arrived that morning.
“Well, if the dead army plows through our forces, I guess the only consolation is that the next stop is King’s Landing. Cersei can’t stop them if we fail.” She shifted slightly towards Daenerys. “And we will be one of the dead.”
One of them…
It made Daenerys shiver. She didn’t want the image to come to her, but it did – the image of herself with blue eyes and dead cold skin, flesh rotting off of her fingers as she held whatever weapon had been close to her upon resurrection.
It was chilling, but not the first time she had thought it. It was becoming more of a persistent idea that plagued her mind now that they had settled in more at the castle. They were no longer moving, which meant they were waiting.
They were the prey in an open field trying to figure out a way to escape.
Daenerys sighed and looked away from her counterpart there on the walkway. If they failed, all of Westeros would fall to the Night King. And what would become of the rest of their world?
Sansa’s jaw tightened. “Littlefinger…he’ll come here soon from the Vale. I know he will. He might even be lurking nearby already.” She moved to lean up against the post, folding her hands together, away from the view of others. “Be careful of him.”
“From what you’ve said, it sounds like he belongs in a cell.”
Sansa did not deny it. “He’s more use to us otherwise, for a time, at least. He has to think that we are on the same side. That he is advising us the best he can. That he wants to serve us and be of aid in any way he can. It's all a trick. All he wants is to serve himself and his own interests. But I know how to play along with his game now.”
“Do you think he is in love with you?”
Sansa scoffed. “I think that he believes so.” Sansa turned back the way she was moments ago, facing the crowds below. “And what I also think is that he is incapable of love. Or anything remotely close to it.”
Before Dany could respond that she was still not sure they should be letting Lord Baelish to his bidding in their territory or otherwise, Sansa spoke again, interrupting the thought.
“It’s time,” announced Sansa, looking somewhat hopeful.
—
The Great Hall was entirely full. Rows of long tables had been added for the Lords of the North and those closest to them could be seated to hear what needed to be said—an extension of what had gone out in all the initial letters the ravens flew with. And in that packed room, Dany could not help but feel as though they were all staring at her. For obvious reasons, she stuck out among them—and not by just a little.
She didn’t belong.
She was no Northerner.
She was the white cat that had been tossed into a pile with midnight black ones. Easily spotted, and easily determined that she was not of the same. Still, she kept her head up and met eyes with all those who came into the hall and took their seat. If there would be one fault, it would be to be mistaken for being weak or timid.
Jon, who was to her left, was seated in the middle of the head table that faced the rest, and there was Sansa to his other side.
The letter that had gone out with the ravens did not only briefly explain what threat was coming their way, but also a key piece of information that the Lords needed to know before they arrived.
Jon had married a Targaryen. Not just Daenerys Targaryen, but a woman who had three dragons—she had insisted they mention that.
The stone cold faces of the Northerners were hard to read for any sign of emotions from the most likely shocking news of the union, but, no one had said anything to their faces, so at least there was some respect that could be upheld.
The side eyes were another issue, but that could be handled.
There was a lot of chatter in the hall, all filtering up towards the ceiling in an echo, all until Jon stood up from his spot. Everything fell completely silent in a moment, all faces turning forward, ready to give Jon the silence to say what they had already been discussing amongst themselves.
“Lords, I have invited you all here to Winterfell and I thank you for coming with your supplies. In the letters sent to you, I explained what we face, but not enough to make you understand the great threat.”
Several leaned in, hesitant anticipation kicking in.
“The Army of the Dead marches this way. They have tens of thousands of men who used to be breathing just as us, turned into undead monsters that we once heard stories of when we were children.”
“And you’ve seen them with your own eyes?” a voice came from the crowd.
“I have,” Jon confirmed. “I have seen them and I have fought them. They aren’t easy to kill, but it can be done.”
Jon drew a sharp breath, and she saw his eyes flash to Tormund and Karsi in the corner, trying to not attract too much attention to themselves from the start.
“The North has always been strong. We have been proud people. And now I must ask of you a task that I know will not be easy, but necessary for survival. We, along with the Free Folk, must all come together to fight the dead.”
There was an immediate screeching of chairs against the stone flooring, several in the crowd throwing themselves upward into a standing position, anger ruling their stature. A handful of men all spoke at once, shouting over each other from different places in the hall.
“Wildlings!”
“Never!”
Lord Glover stood up abruptly from his seat, neck protruding in anger. “Us fight with them? They’ve killed our own!”
“And we have killed theirs,” Jon quickly countered, raising his voice to match. “But now it’s time to forgive the past and think about our future. There is no future for any of us unless we do this together. Only together do we remotely stand a chance at survival. What is out there cares nothing of alliances, of Houses, surnames, of territory. Nothing. They have one goal and one goal only. To take everything in their path. If we do not fight, we’ll all die.”
There was murmurs that filled the room after a pause. Jon’s words had hit them all like they had taken a slap. It sounded uneasy, stemming from fear of the unknown and anxiety of that what ifs—what if Jon was saying was entirely true.
And it was.
Without warning, the subject was broached. “You married a Targaryen.”
Jon was humbly silent for a moment, then nodded. “Aye, I did. I married Daenerys. She has been by my side since she arrived at Castle Black. You can all trust that she has our best interest at heart. She, too, has fought the dead and made it out alive to tell the tale.”
More silence followed.
Daenerys leaned forward, resting her elbows onto the table before her, joining her hands. She wasn’t sure if it was her place to talk, but she had to say something—to stand up for herself, but to also ease concerns so they could all focus on what was necessary. “Targaryen and Starks once were allies ever since Aegon the Conqueror began the conquest of Westeros hundreds of years ago. And here we are today, a battle yet to come, and the Targaryen and Starks are allies again once more.” Daenerys sweetly smirked. “I have three dragons, dragons which will be fully grown one day. They grow larger with every passing moon. Those dragons are to protect me, my family, and those who are sworn to us.”
It was the first time many of them had heard her speak, an accent from the southernmost part of Westeros less than before from her time away.
A few mouths dropped open, eyes staring at her.
“Aegon came with three dragons and took Westeros, making it seven kingdoms. You stand before us and say you have three dragons as well…” Lord Glover suspiciously trailed off. “These dragons…” he poled the room, glancing over his shoulder left and right. “Some say they were born from nothing but stone.”
So the rumors had spread. She exchanged a brief, but comforting glance with Jon, who was telling her to keep going from the look in his eyes.
“They were,” she confirmed. “My dragons were born from the flames.” She tapped her fingernails against her palm.
“I saw myself,” Karsi interjected, the room turning to her. “As did several of your beloved Night’s Watch brothers.”
“Aye,” Tormund charismatically smiled. He pointed the axe he was holding into in her direction to point. “She is the Mother of Dragons, birthed from the flames.”
Dany continued, “One day they will be fully grown, blocking out the sun as they fly the lands of Westeros. I’d like for them to not be flying over a graveyard. What Jon says is all true, every part of it. We must work together, even if you don’t trust me for what my father committed when I was not even born to the world yet.”
“We need all of your assistance,” Sansa chimed in with a steady, yet firm tone. “You came here because Jon took back Winterfell from the Boltons, as is his right. Daenerys is a Targaryen, yes, but she has been supportive for the entirety that I have known her. She was kind to me and made me feel safe at Castle Black after Ramsey held me here. She never knew me and had no reason to take me in. She is part of our family now. She is my brother’s wife and a sister to me.” she leaned back in her seat, pleased. “That should be the end of the discussion or any thoughts you might have regarding her loyalty to us and the North.”
There was a calm that Sansa had brushed over the Lords with her words. Shoulders seemed to wiggle out of their previous tenseness, faces becoming more neutral. A couple even raised their cups in the air before taking a swig.
It was enough to make the conversation stem elsewhere.
“Let’s say this is true. Let’s say we beat the dead. Then, what?”
It was Lord Manderly who had posed the question, and Jon was prepared for it.
“We continue what Robb started and died for. The North is ours and ours alone. Robb was a true Stark, and I understand that I am not. I am a Snow and I will always be a Snow. I can’t ask you to follow me when this is over, but I am asking that you help me now and allow me to lead.”
As silence resumed, Dany could hear the flicker of the wick burning down on the candles closet to her on the table.
Lady Mormont quickly rose to her feet, and as little as she was, she was able to outshine everyone around her. She met her strong willed eyes with Jon for a solidary moment, until she addressed those around her. “He’s a bastard, yes. But Jon Snow belongs to the Stark family. He is one of them. He is Stark blood. He is the North just as we are. He had fought to bring the Boltons down from their cruel reign that none of us wanted to accept. He has shown kindness to those who are considered outsiders, strangers to most of us. Yet, they are here to fight for us as one. He brought with him Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, who has sworn herself to Jon and Stark family. And the North. That’s more than can be said for some you.”
“Aye!” there was unanimous cry from the room, targeted a few Lords who shifted, uneasy at being called out for their actions.
Lady Mormont’s eyes sparkled proudly when she concluded to the group, looking at Jon as she said. “Who better to lead us into the darkest nights than them? Ice and Fire, together.”
“Aye!” there was even a bigger agreement, fists pounding against the sturdy tables, some splashes of ale dripping down to the floors.
Looking around the room, Lord Manderly rose dramatically and addressed everyone. “We once bowed to the dragons to avoid battle and slaughter. Today, I say we fight alongside them! The North will have never been stronger.”
Cheers trickled through the crowded hall.
“No one will dare march on our land again!”
“The North remembers!”
Lord Glover raised his sword in a dramatic display. "I pledge my sword to Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen.” He dug it into the floor, kneeling down. “The King and Queen in the North!"
"The King and Queen in the North!"
"The King and Queen in the North!"
"The King and Queen in the North!"
They chanted over and over, swords of all the Lords thrust into the air. The turn of feelings towards them was astounding.
Daenerys rose from her seat, feeling a firm weight that was keeping her in that place.
Queen.
Queen of the North.
What her ancestors would have thought of the display. She, Daenerys Targaryen, the disgraced daughter of the Mad King, had been accepted by the North. Not only accepted, but she was crowned by them as their Queen.
—
Jon
—
It was a moment alone, all other filed out of the Great Hall, celebrating while they could, before they needed to focus on battle plans and gathering resources. He stood there looking out at the emptiness. The quiet. He remembered all the feasts that Winterfell hosted as he was sequestered to the side. The bastard.
The King.
He couldn’t quite comprehend it all. Recalling the events of earlier that day boggled his mind. Sansa said it was a good thing, that he should be happy with the outcome—it was more than they could have asked for. The Gods graced them with a gift.
As he clutched the wood post of the chair in front of him, he took the time to close his eyes and take it all in.
A door screeched against the flooring as it opened, bringing him back from wherever he had gone off to. Daenerys floated across to him in a burgundy satin, lace arms and a high neck, belted satin waist, material flared out at the edges.
She certainly looked like a Queen.
His Queen, his lover, his partner, his wife. She ruled his heart, that was true.
“My Queen,” he announced, greeting her.
She stopped dead in her tracks. “I certainly never dared to imagine hearing something like that before.”
He approached and ran a finger into the loop of curl. “You look the part for up here. The Snow Queen.”
“Snow’s Queen,” she corrected, turning to bump his shoulder.
At his side, she took his hand, and together they stood at the height of power in the North. Together they were the King and Queen of the North.