"What are you doing here?" Eilu asked through clenched teeth.
He was in terrible shape.
The thick fur cloak and the heavy, ornate steel armor that should have made him look majestic only emphasized how gaunt and frail he had become.
He had always been lean, but after marching thousands of miles through snow and frost, it seemed as though the cold had stripped the flesh from his bones, leaving only a tall, skeletal frame.
Daenerys could almost see the outline of his skull beneath the thin layer of skin.
Still, while his face had changed, his expression and habits had not.
His features remained stiff, his jaw locked tight as if he might grind his own teeth to dust.
Eilu's living conditions were even worse.
A low tent patched together from animal hides—barely ten square meters inside. A bundle of straw, a single blanket, a small table, and a brazier. The place was cold, damp, and reeked of rot and urine.
Fortunately, Daenerys had no intention of stepping inside.
She stood outside in the snow, at the entrance to his tent. When she glanced around, she noticed many curious faces peeking out to watch.
"I was just passing through," she said lightly. "My White Knight wanted to see one of his kin—the Mormonts."
Then she added, "Jon Snow is dead. Did you know that?"
Eilu's pupils contracted in disbelief. "Dead?"
"He tried to renounce his Night's Watch vows and rally the Free Folk to help you. The Night's Watch cleansed its ranks and took his head," Daenerys replied.
Eilu's thin, ashen face tightened into a scowl, and the grinding of his teeth filled the air.
"I offered time and again to restore his Stark name, to recognize him as the Warden of the North. But he refused me outright." He exhaled sharply. "And now, when Winterfell is about to fall, he—what on earth was he thinking?"
Eilu truly had wanted to form an alliance with Jon; his goal had never changed—the Iron Throne.
He had no desire to make himself King in the North.
He understood perfectly well that in the North, no name carried more weight than 'Stark.'
Daenerys smiled slyly. "Well, death was only the beginning. Your Lord of Light brought him back to life. Everyone's calling him the 'Prince That Was Promised' now."
Eilu's expression shifted drastically, doubt and apprehension flickering in his eyes.
"Ser Farlen," Daenerys said, "take them to see Lord Mormont."
Gawdy Farlen, the so-called Giant-Slayer, was an old acquaintance of Daenerys. Once, beyond the Wall, he had led men to attack her refugee camps for the Free Folk—and later caused trouble at Castle Black by harassing her captive Giant King.
"You've seen who you came to see. Best you leave now," Eilu muttered darkly.
With that, he turned and retreated into his tent, pulling the flap shut tightly. He had no intention of inviting the Dragon Queen inside, nor of extending any gesture of hospitality.
Ah, Daenerys mused as she left, I wonder how the two 'Chosen Ones' will get along in the days to come.
Escorted by five knights, Daenerys cheerfully followed the "Giant-Slayer" away from Eilu's camp.
"Your Grace—Queen Daenerys—"
Before the Giant-Slayer could announce their arrival at a small canvas tent, a tall woman with chin-length black hair stepped out to meet them.
She wore a warrior's leather armor and a fur cloak, but her hands were bound in chains.
Clearly, she knew how to fight, yet she was not one of Eilu's knights.
Before she could get close, Ser Jorah Mormont's fellow White Knight, Ser Gallis, blocked her path.
Daenerys took a moment to study the woman.
She had a wild, rugged beauty—rough skin, a tall and lean figure, and long, powerful legs that rivaled Daenerys's own in grace and strength.
"You are—?" Daenerys began to ask.
But before she could finish, a short, stout woman burst out of the tent like an angry bear, shouting "Jorah!" as she charged forward.
She was big-handed, broad-shouldered, and built solid as a boulder.
Daenerys recognized her immediately—Alysane Mormont, Jorah's cousin.
People called her "the She-Bear."
Her personality matched her looks—fierce and unrestrained. Only twenty years old, yet already mother to a nine-year-old daughter, and no one knew who the father was.
"Alysane!" Jorah was equally emotional as he stepped forward to meet her.
The cousins embraced, both crying out in excitement, roaring like two bears who had just found a honey-laden hive.
"Jorah, where have you been?"
Alysane rubbed her reddened eyes and looked at him curiously. "And what's with that fancy armor? You look like you've made your fortune. Has your wife come back yet?"
Jorah glanced around awkwardly, puffed out his chest to show off the White Knight's sigil emblazoned on his armor, and said proudly, "I am a White Knight—Her Grace Daenerys's White Knight."
A White Knight doesn't need a wife!
"Daenerys… Her Grace? Which queen is that?" the stocky woman asked, puzzled.
Bear Island was far too remote. They had maesters and ravens, but the North's information hub had always been Winterfell—and Winterfell was now in Bolton hands.
The Mormonts were enemies of the Boltons, and aside from the Citadel's ravens, they'd had almost no contact with the outside world for months.
"Oh, she's the daughter of Mad King Aerys," said the long-legged woman, glancing at Daenerys with a hint of flattery. "The true Dragon Queen who hatched dragons from stone."
"Oh! The Dragon Queen!" exclaimed Alysane in surprise.
Mother Bear Alysane reluctantly bowed to Dany, then pulled the Great Bear aside to whisper to him.
The short-haired, long-legged woman broke free from Garth's grip and stepped up to Dany. "Your Grace, I am Asha Greyjoy, daughter of Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands—and the rightful heir to the Seastone Chair."
"Hello, Asha. What brings you to me?" Dany asked directly.
Asha could tell Dany wasn't very interested in her identity or her story, so she got straight to the point. "Your Grace, my uncle Euron sees you as his mortal enemy. He also stole the Seastone Chair from me. I believe we have grounds for an alliance."
Dany pointed at the shackles on Asha's wrists and said with amusement, "I think you should regain your freedom first before worrying about the Seastone Chair."
"That's easy. I can buy my freedom with ransom money. If Your Grace agrees to my alliance proposal, you could lend me two hundred gold dragons to start."
Perhaps out of habit, Asha even threw Dany a flirtatious wink as she spoke.
What the hell.
Expressionless, Dany replied, "Euron may see me as his mortal enemy, but I see him as no more than an insect. I don't object to forming alliances, but I fail to see what benefit you can offer me."
The Dragon Queen remained impassive, offering no response, yet the long-legged woman showed not the slightest embarrassment.
"Your Grace, the benefits are great indeed!"
Her confident smile added a certain charm to her otherwise plain face as she said firmly, "I don't think Euron, who now controls the Ironborn, is an insect.
Otherwise, how do you explain the North, the Westerlands, and the Reach all being ravaged by his Ironborn?And Euron possesses a weapon capable of killing dragons—I've witnessed it myself. It's terrifying.
But if you accept my allegiance, you will remove one of your great enemies and gain an ally of equal strength.
All it would cost you is a few hundred gold dragons—and a little reputation."
"I thought you were going to ask me to ride a dragon and burn Euron's fleet," Dany said wryly.
"Seven save us, no! Euron has the Dragon Horn—it can control your dragons," Asha said nervously.
"He told you that?" Dany asked, suppressing a laugh.
"Why wouldn't he? He announced it before everyone at the Kingsmoot," Asha said, puzzled.
"Let's hope he keeps believing that," Dany said with a cold smile. "So, how exactly do you plan to use my name?"
A flash of shrewdness passed through Asha's eyes as she confidently said, "I'll announce to all the noble houses of the Iron Islands that I've sworn allegiance to you—and that you recognize me as the only rightful heir to the Seastone Chair.
You have several dragons, giving you a great advantage and the best chance to unite the Seven Kingdoms. Any intelligent man would see where the balance of power lies.
If even half of them rally to my banner, I can overthrow Euron's unlawful rule on my own."
It was indeed a bargain—but still…
"I swore an oath not to interfere in the political struggles of the Seven Kingdoms until the Long Night ends. As long as the Iron Islands support the Wall, I will not act against Euron, no matter how loudly he shouts about slaying dragons," Dany said.
"The Long Night…" Asha repeated, doubtful and conflicted.
"How about this," Dany said after a moment's thought, giving the long-legged woman a rather sly idea. "You can secretly recruit under my name. Tell them—I accept your allegiance, but because of my oath, I cannot publicly acknowledge it."
"So… do you acknowledge it or not?" Asha asked, dumbfounded.
"If anyone asks, of course I'll deny it. I can't break my oath. But that doesn't stop you from using my name to win followers, does it?People make up lies and still manage to recruit support—you're already one step ahead of them." Dany said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The shrewd, capable Asha was left speechless.
"Bear Island recognizes no king but the King in the North. Our king's name is Stark. I pledged to Stannis only because he sought vengeance for the Starks," Mother Bear declared loudly.
That ended Dany's conversation abruptly—but over on the other side, Jorah grew increasingly agitated.
The Great Bear's eyes reddened as he shouted, "I sent you back to Bear Island not to stop you from avenging the Starks, but to stop you from dying needlessly!
You have only three thousand exhausted men left, with no food or supplies.
Roose Bolton has ten thousand seasoned soldiers, all fully armed, defending behind the high walls of Winterfell.
This war—anyone who fights it but Her Grace will lose.
Return to Bear Island for now. Wait for Jon Snow—you probably don't know this yet, but Eddard's bastard has left the Night's Watch and taken back the Stark name. Robb named him his heir.
Your mother, Maege, isn't dead either. She carries Robb's letter of succession and is now a guest at Greywater Watch.
You can wait. When Jon raises his banner, his influence will far surpass Stannis's.
When the northern lords rally to his cause, Bear Island can join them then.
That way, even if you lose, at least you'll die for a cause worth dying for—not like now, when you can't even survive the first assault."
"Hey, boy from Bear Island, what's that supposed to mean? We clansmen are made of iron and bone! Ten flayed men couldn't stand against one of us true warriors!"
Before Mother Bear could even process what her cousin had revealed, an old warrior came stomping over, shouting.
His long, greasy, tangled hair covered most of his weathered face. His gray beard was streaked with white, and he wore a filthy wool cloak—just like a wildling from beyond the Wall.
But on the worn leather breastplate over his chest was stamped a blue barrel sigil.
Dany glanced at the strange sigil and asked, "Are your mountain clans part of the northern nobility? I don't recall seeing your banner in the heraldry of Westeros."
"Ha! Aside from the Starks, you southerners never bother learning about us clansfolk! For the record, I'm Hugo Wull—an earl, technically—but everyone calls me 'Big Barrel.'"
As he spoke, Big Barrel gave Dany, dressed in her blue gown and white armor, a long appraising look before frowning. "So pretty and dressed all fancy—are you truly a Targaryen? You don't seem half as reliable as that stag king!"
Dany's face darkened slightly.
"Hey, old man, try speaking properly!"
The fat eunuch shoved Big Barrel with his belly.
They were evenly matched; both took a step back.
"Fat pig, where are you from? Was that supposed to be Common Tongue?" Big Barrel shot back.
Indeed, Belwas's Westerosi was so heavily accented that anyone could tell he was a foreigner.
In truth, Dany's Dothraki guards were far more hot-tempered—but none of them could understand the mountain clansman's thick northern accent.
(End of Chapter)
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