"Your Majesty, could you lend me some grain?" Jon asked awkwardly.
"I don't have any grain to give you." Dany shook her head and sighed. "If we were in Slaver's Bay, I could easily send you several thousand tons of rice. But the Wall is remote—there's nowhere nearby to buy food even if I wanted to."
Jon's eyes wavered, his tone uncertain. "Ser Jello Dayne brought eighty ships."
"Lord Commander, are you out of your mind? That's the food supply for the Free Folk and the Night's Watch to survive the winter!" Pylos stared in disbelief.
"It's just a temporary loan. Once we retake Winterfell, I'll return it," Jon said, bowing his head.
The red-nosed old maester flushed with anger. "Duke Stark, are you trying to deceive the White Walkers? The North doesn't even have enough grain for the summer—how will you repay it?"
Jon's pale face turned red with shame.
After a long silence, he gritted his teeth. "Your Majesty, then lend me some money. I'll go to Braavos to buy grain and have it shipped to Eastwatch. You can lend me the food now, and I'll replenish it later with what I buy from Braavos."
That was, admittedly, a workable idea—quite feasible, in fact.
"At least a million gold dragons would be needed, and I don't have that much cash on hand. You'd better go directly to the Iron Bank for a loan," Dany said after a moment of thought.
"The Iron Bank…" Jon muttered, deep in thought.
"Even if you secure a loan, you'd still need the Night's Watch's consent to use the Wall's supplies. I've said before—the grain was prepared for the Watch and the Free Folk. From the moment it arrived at Eastwatch, it became the property of the Night's Watch."
"If the Queen were to guarantee it, there'd be no problem, but…"
Blacksmith Donal glanced at Jon, sighed inwardly, and shook his head. "Duke Stark, do you understand? If the Night's Watch lends its supplies to help you attack the Warden of the North appointed by the Iron Throne, how do you think the other lords will view it? Moreover, there's no guarantee you'll succeed.
Roose Bolton and Lord Walder Frey have allied—their combined forces exceed twenty thousand men. If you fall in battle, the Night's Watch on the Wall will starve to death."
Jon turned to look at Dany.
She shrugged helplessly. "It's easy to say I'll guarantee it, but tell me—how would I keep that promise? At most, I can let you take weapons. I'll promise to provide the Night's Watch with enough dragonglass blades."
"When a new Lord Commander is chosen, you should discuss it with him," Donal suggested.
Jon had no choice. He knew this was his only option for now.
Dany didn't linger long at the Wall. After witnessing Jon's resurrection that morning and sharing lunch, she mounted her dragon and departed with her attendants.
However, she didn't immediately return to Astapor. Instead, she planned to head south toward Oldtown, stopping along the way to check on the situation at Horn Hill.
Before she left, the Old Bear approached Jon and requested permission to bring the Great Raven to Slaver's Bay to care for it there.
Since the Old Bear was his father, Jon hesitated only briefly before agreeing. He even returned "Longclaw"—the Valyrian steel sword of House Mormont—that Lord Commander Mormont had once given him.
"Commander Mormont gave me Longclaw hoping I'd wield it as a brother of the Night's Watch against the White Walkers. But now, I no longer have the right to carry it."
"Thump, thump, thump." The Old Bear lifted his chin proudly and patted his chest, the sound echoing as it struck his white-glazed Valyrian steel armor.
"Forged entirely from Valyrian steel—and this sword as well."
He tapped the greatsword at his waist.
"Heaven's Mercy! The Queen named the armor and weapons of her seven White Knights after the stars of the Seven Gods.
This sword corresponds to the Star of the Mother—it's called 'Heaven's Mercy,' and the armor is the 'Merciful Starplate.'"
Jorah glanced at the Great Raven beside him, his face full of pride and exhilaration.
It was a triumphant return in shining armor—and to be glorified in front of his father made the feeling twice as sweet.
"Caw, caw, caw!" The Great Raven croaked happily. "Jorah, you… good. I… relieved. Stay… at the Wall."
Uh… It seemed the Old Bear's redemption was going so well that the Great Raven no longer wished to leave with his son.
Before his death, Lord Mormont had left a message for Sam to deliver to Jorah: I forgive you. Come back and don the black once more.
Clearly, though, being a White Knight was far more glorious than serving in the Night's Watch.
When Dany returned to the courtyard and prepared to mount her dragon, she was surprised to see Horn Hill's ugly little girl chatting with Drogon.
"I'm almost twelve years old. How old are you?"
"I'm not yet four, but I am a Dragon God."
Drogon's deep, rumbling voice sounded like an old bull's.
He wasn't speaking in Valyrian, but in Westerosi Common.
In fact, he spoke Westerosi far more fluently than Valyrian, since aside from Dany, everyone around him spoke only the Common Tongue.
"Wow, a Dragon God?" Shireen exclaimed in surprise, then asked curiously, "What's a Dragon God?"
"A Dragon God is one of the Seven Gods. Or the Red God…" Drogon mumbled uncertainly, stumbling over his words.
"Drogon, what are you doing?" Dany asked curiously through their bond.
"What?" Drogon blinked.
"Why are you being so friendly with that little girl?" Dany asked.
"Shireen…" Drogon fell silent for a moment before replying, "She's a bit like you."
Dany's face darkened.
"Am I… ugly?"
"Ugly? Is Shireen ugly? I don't know! I just think… I don't know." Drogon looked confused.
Daenerys frowned, deep in thought.
Drogon never lied. That meant she and Shireen must share some kind of similarity.
Something unrelated to appearance.
Bloodline? But Shireen had almost no trace of Targaryen features.
Daenerys was puzzled as well.
In truth, she had fallen into a blind spot in her thinking. Drogon might have hatched from her care, but his first spiritual bond had been with the original Daenerys Targaryen.
A year before Drogon was born, he had connected with Daenerys in her dreams. Back then, Daenerys had been lonely and self-pitying—quite similar to how Shireen was now.
Of course, bloodline also played a role.
If Daenerys were to test Shireen's blood, she would be surprised to discover that its purity was far higher than Stannis's.
"Ah, Your Grace." When Shireen saw Daenerys, she panicked and bowed, unsure of what etiquette or title to use.
In theory, her father was a king, and her mother a queen.
"Dragon Queen, my name is Shireen—Shireen Baratheon. I greet you!" At last, she lifted her skirt and curtsied with the grace of a junior paying respects to an elder.
Daenerys nodded slightly. She and Stannis were cousins, so she really was Shireen's elder.
And a greeting between elder and younger avoided any question of royal legitimacy, sparing much awkwardness—such as the fact that Shireen's mother was standing at the tower gate watching them, unable to approach, since she was still the queen.
The girl was quick-witted and perceptive.
Daenerys silently praised her, feeling a warmer impression toward this "ugly" girl.
"You're not afraid of dragons?"
Shireen lifted her head, revealing the half of her face covered in gray scales. Calm and composed, she met Daenerys's gaze. "I was scared at first, but when I looked into his eyes, the fear went away."
Daenerys's opinion of her rose even higher.
"How did you think of talking to him?"
"I've heard so many stories about Drogon and knew he could speak. I just wanted to say a few words to him," Shireen replied.
On a sudden impulse, Daenerys asked, "Would you like to ride a dragon?"
"Ah? M-me? Can I?" Shireen's eyes widened, and she pointed at her nose in disbelief.
"Go ahead. Try." Daenerys said.
Shireen turned to ask Drogon first, then nervously climbed onto his back.
"Woooah!" The dragon roared into the sky, Shireen's hair whipping wildly as she screamed in awe.
Seeing her daughter soaring through the air on a dragon, Stannis's wife finally dropped her composure, hurrying to Daenerys's side, panic-stricken. "How did Shireen become a dragonrider?"
"Because I allowed it," Daenerys replied coolly.
"The dragon has three heads… could Shireen be one of them?" The broad-eared queen asked in excitement.
"What do you think?" Daenerys was speechless.
The prophecy of "three heads of the dragon" was the destiny of House Targaryen. What was a Baratheon doing trying to join in?
The queen's large ears twitched as she declared firmly, "Shireen has the blood of the true dragon."
"The problem is, she's now a 'Flaming Stag.' Are you people planning to surrender to me?"
"You saw the miracle this morning," the queen said, lifting her chin so high that the black hairs in her nostrils were visible. "The great Lord of Light's divine power is unmatched. He can even resurrect the dead. His prophecy will surely be fulfilled. My husband is the true king—the savior."
Daenerys gave her a pitying look. The queen's chest was embroidered with the sigil of a flaming red heart, marking her as a devoted follower of the Lord of Light. Daenerys gently reminded her, "Didn't you hear? Everyone's calling Jon Stark the savior. Even if there truly is a prophesied hero, your husband is only the forerunner—the one fated to die first."
Stannis's wife froze, her eyes widening as she turned toward Jon in horror. Her hairy face turned deathly pale.
It was because of her pleasant encounter with Shireen that Daenerys decided to check on Stannis's situation.
The direwolf Ghost had been circling around Stannis's forces, and from Jon, Daenerys had learned roughly where he was. She eventually found him in the Wolfswood.
It was miserable.
The northern wind howled. Goose-feather snow blanketed the sky. The ground was waist-deep in snow, and the world was a blur of gray. Each breath froze in the air, and even the soul seemed ready to turn to ice.
Daenerys estimated the temperature to be below minus twenty degrees.
Yet all of Stannis's "Flaming Hearts" came from the warm South.
Summer-born soldiers through and through— worse off than Napoleon's march on Moscow.
At least Napoleon had half of Europe as his supply line. Stannis had nothing but his men—no provisions, no aid.
Had Euron not opened Moat Cailin, Stannis might still have had a chance to sneak into Winterfell with Jon's help, for Robb had taken the northern elite with him, leaving only two or three thousand divided defenders.
But Roose Bolton's return brought back hardened veterans and restored stability across the North.
Stannis was now trapped in the Wolfswood, unable to advance or retreat.
From Deepwood Motte to Winterfell stretched a forest five hundred kilometers wide, known in the North as "the Wolfswood."
There was nowhere to retreat to, and advancing meant facing over ten thousand northern soldiers, well-prepared and waiting.
If not for the black smoke rising from his camp, Daenerys might not have found it at all—buried beneath the snow, the entire camp was nothing but a sea of white.
"Ahhh! Monster! Look, up there—what is that monster?!"
Stannis's force numbered four thousand: one thousand "Flaming Heart" cavalry from the South and three thousand mountain clansmen from the western highlands.
The clansmen were cutting ice on the frozen lake to fish when they noticed the sky darken. Looking up, they saw Drogon streaking past overhead.
None of them had ever seen a dragon before. Terrified, they tumbled over themselves, screaming.
"Dragon! Don't be afraid, it's a dragon!"
"The black dragon is coming!"
That was Stannis's knights shouting.
In an instant, the camp came alive. One by one, clansmen and knights crawled out from snow-covered chimneys—
like moles emerging from their burrows at nightfall.
"The Dragon Queen?" Asha squinted at the sky, dragging her heavy chains.
(End of chapter)
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