Chapter 118Notes:Did the discord have to remind me to post...yes. Also, somehow I'm barely into Act II of Baldur's Gate...having a grand time though. 10/10 would recommend this game.
Chapter TextArya sat on the arm of the chair Jon had just taken. She wasn't letting him out of arm's length. He was her brother, and she needed him close. The why didn't matter, what mattered was that she did and no one was stopping her. "Why do you look like you need to take a shit?"
"Lovely as always." Sansa tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair. She looked at Jon. "I suppose it'd too much to hope you alone came to the realization about your lineage?"
Daisy spoke up from where she was snuggling Joramun on the rug by the fire, legs crossed beneath herself. "Well he rode a dragon in front of Highgarden in the middle of the day. So…"
Sansa gave a long sigh. "Well, it was worth hoping for."
"Wait, you rode a dragon. You're a dragon rider!" Arya had kinda missed that bit, what with Jon's general misery and the realization their father apparently had lied. "You're taking me flying."
Jon actually smiled slightly. "Aye, I'll take you flying."
She preened, that was amazing. Arya raised a brow, looking at her sister. "Why do you look miserable?"
"Because this changes things." Sansa bit out, clearly irritated they weren't taking whatever her worry was seriously.
Arya gripped Jon's wrist. "It changes nothing. He's our brother. You agreed with that."
"The weight of my affection is not changed, that does not mean it does not change a great deal of the realities ahead of us." Sansa snapped, her frustration plain to hear.
Jon's eyes settled on their sister. "What do you mean?"
"It means you have a claim to the Iron Throne, Jon," Sansa said it as near a death sentence.
The room fell silent. Because fuck. Fuck.
"I don't want it," Jon uttered, exhausted as he clearly understood that wouldn't matter a great deal.
Sansa looked pityingly at him. "Which may have mattered more, but it cannot be ignored if you hold enough blood of Old Valaryia to ride a dragon."
"I'm a bastard. Daenerys is trueborn. The Targaryen claim is her's." Jon argued.
Arya's hand squeezed Jon's wrist. Because he wasn't stupid. They all knew the chaos of a legitimized bastard with a claim to the throne. Their history was full of it. Jon had nearly been named King of the North over both Sansa and Rickon, which spoke of how real the danger would be to the Targaryen camp.
"And you were raised in Westeros, your father and mother were beloved by the people during their lives, and you are a man." Sansa was unflinching. "So we must neutralize your threat to Daenerys if we mean for this alliance to go forward."
Rickon frowned. "Why wouldn't it?"
"Because if there was a moment to kill Daenerys, steal her power and armies, it would be now," Sansa said as if that wasn't insane.
Jon was on his feet, outrage pouring off of him. "We have committed ourselves to this alliance!"
"She's not serious," Arya said dryly. She knew enough about her sister to know she'd loath every moment of taking control of the South.
His head turned to face her, clearly expecting Arya to explain.
Ayra sighed, the world was strange. She spoke 'Sansa' now. "She's saying she would fight a war for you, fuck honor, and what is wise if it is what you want." Her eyes narrowed. "Also, to ensure we are in agreement on our purpose."
"Why would you think I would want that?" Jon's face cracked slightly as he looked at Sansa.
Sansa sighed. "I don't, but it needed to be said."
Rickon's voice was very quiet. "You're terrifying sometimes."
"Thank you." Sansa's voice was dry.
Arya yanked Jon back into his seat. "Idiot." She groaned. "So, how do we get Jon to abdicate properly then?"
"The good options that won't lead to another war within a generation? He marries Daenerys binding their two claims or he becomes a eunuch." Sansa sighed. "The North won't be pleased, but the Vale no longer goes to Daenerys, so there's that."
Jon's mouth pulled. "So we continue as we are save for a change in terms."
"You are a more valuable bridegroom," Sansa answered.
Arya snorted. "Look at that, you're a commodity."
Bran spoke. "There's a third option."
Arya's eyes narrowed as she looked at her sister's face which had just gone blank. "Sansa?"
"That's not an option." Her attention not leaving Bran, but her voice had a tension to it that Arya did not like.
He didn't flinch from their sister's reaction, however. "You could keep Jon in the North, as a Stark."
"I-" Sansa cut herself off, head half shaking. "War would still be a risk. This alliance would be near impossible to make stand."
Bran was unflinching. "You insisted on being honest."
"What is he talking about?" Jon asked slowly.
Daisy reached out from where she was sitting, her hand curling around Sansa's ankle. Her face was faintly confused but mostly concerned.
Arya's eyes narrowed as she saw the almost flinch at the contact her sister made. That was… "Sansa, explain."
"Fine." Sansa straightened in her seat. "If you don't bind your claim to Daenerys or remove it entirely, you must marry outside of Targaryen reach. A marriage that politically makes you untouchable without full war while also indicating your utter lack of concern with the iron throne, outside the bounds of the southern game."
"Who?"
Sansa was tight, and controlled in a way she wasn't when it was just family. Ever. "You marry me, Jon. If you are King Consort to the North, you remain in the North. The balance of power would be uneasy, but it could be made stable. Giving up a claim on one throne for another is…not unreasonable."
"Unreasonable?! He's our brother!" Arya spluttered.
"Cousin." Sansa pointed out, though she looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Jon didn't flinch at the word 'cousin', instead, he was mostly looking horrified.
Sansa's voice was sharp. "It's not possible, so there is no need to discuss it. Besides, I hardly see how it's shocking as an option."
"You don't get how it's shocking you'd consider marrying Jon?" Arya may speak 'Sansa', but her sister still was the weirdest person she was related to…and Bran was their brother.
Sansa's hands moved with her words in plain frustration. "How is it shocking?"
"He's our brother!" Arya could have strangled her sister. "He's the Targaryen, not you."
Jon made a sound.
She whacked him without looking at him. "Jon's got the right idea. We're Starks, not sister fuckers."
"Cousin." Sansa glared. "And that's hardly the point. It'd ensure I remain a Stark, prevent a faction forming around whatever House I'll be forced to marry," her tone lowered, "it would keep him safe, and I would not fear Jon raping me. So forgive me if you find it so distasteful that I trust our brother and would use my body to protect him if necessary. All of which is beside the point as it cannot happen, so I hardly see the point in this argument."
It was silent save for the crackling of the fire.
Rickon piped up from his spot, voice hesitant and full of caution, chin tipped submissively ever so slightly. "Why can't it happen?" He flinched slightly as all of them looked at him. "It's just…you keep saying why it'd work. But then you say it can't happen? So…why?"
Actually, he had a point. Arya's head snapped back around to Sansa. She took in the expression on her sister's face. It was…her cheeks were flushed, looking horribly uncomfortable and stubborn in the tilt of her chin. "Why does it matter?"
"You're fine with fucking our brother if that's not what makes you think it impossible, what could possibly make you flinch?" She ignored whatever Jon was doing. Her gaze was unflinching as she held her sister's gaze.
Their staring contest was interrupted by Bran. "You planned to break that oath in time." He had the faintest air of confusion.
"Oath?" Jon uttered.
Sansa's jaw tightened. "I can't marry Jon." She seemed to teeter on the edge of something, and then she continued. "Because I'm already married."
"Oh." Jon stood up. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Arya looked back and forth between the quiet understanding on Jon's face and the barely not crying of Sansa. "Wait, what? Already married? Who-" Her eyes caught how Daisy distinctly looked like she was trying to sink through the floor. Had been looking like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole for a while now actually.
"I know it was stupid and selfish but-" The air caught in Sansa's throat, she was clearly holding back sobs through sheer stubbornness.
Jon was across and to her in three strides and half-hauled her out of her seat so he could hug her. "No, none of that. I'm sorry you didn't think you could tell us."
Sansa allowed herself to be raised. She was still for a horrible moment and then softened hugging back Jon as fiercely as ever.
It was…well. Arya's head tilted to the side. When the fuck had Sansa had time for that? But she was planning on marrying Loras? "Loras knows then." She groaned, letting her head fall back. Gods her siblings were ridiculous. Was she the normal one? She'd never have assumed that but Bran was a tree, Rickon had to be reminded not to bite people, Jon rode a dragon now, and apparently, Sansa had married her lover in secret at some point. For fucks sake. Sansa never got to call her dramatic again.
////
Jon hugged his sister tightly before pulling back. "How long?"
"The day after Rickon's name-day." Sansa was clearly trying to put herself back together. "It was-"
"You love each other." Jon wondered how many Starks would lose all sense for love? Of the six of them that was Robb, him, and now Sansa. He begged fate that his sister's choice did not perish in her arms as his and Robb's had. However, the idea of something killing Daisy was rather ridiculous.
Arya griped from where she was still seated on the arm of a chair. "You couldn't have mentioned this in the weeks since then? I'm your bloody spymaster."
"It was not exactly planned." Sansa's cheeks were flushed.
Jon noticed the wafting uncertainty from Daisy. He held out his hand. "You wed my sister without planning it out?"
Daisy might not be pale like the rest of them, but even her skin gave way to the heat in her face as she accepted the hand and allowed him to pull her onto her feet. "Sorry?" There was the faintest waver to her voice.
A thing Sansa clearly picked up on, her hand catching Daisy's the second Jon dropped it.
"I can't believe Loras knew before me," Arya grumbled. "Fucking Loras."
Jon frowned. "Wait, Loras knows?"
"Obviously." Arya scoffed, crossing her arms.
"He was the witness." Sansa looked at Daisy and raised their entwined hands, pressing a kiss to the back of Daisy's hand with clear affection
Rickon hopped over, hugging both Sansa and Daisy, a grin on his face. "Does this mean you're a Stark now?"
"Sansa would be a Jonson." Jon chuckled as he fondly watched his baby brother beaming at Daisy.
Her flush deepened, Daisy's fingers mussing Rickon's hair. "No, you're right. I wouldn't take the Stark name from your sister."
"Wait, you let Sansa cloak you?" Arya's feet hit the ground, her tone delighted. "The Lords are going to have kittens when they find out."
Sansa took a step toward Arya. "They can't find out." Her voice was insistent. "It'd be chaos when we cannot afford it. Please. No one can know outside of this room."
"But you are wed?" Jon frowned looking between the two of them.
Daisy sighed. "Jon, it's a mess. They think I'm a god, and maybe I am one? I don't know and don't care. But people do stupid crap just because I smile at them. What do you think the Tyrells would do if they knew? What do you think any of them would do?"
He grimaced, he didn't know what they would do, but they'd do something that couldn't be ignored. Jon closed his eyes. Daisy inspired reverence and made it so very difficult for that to be expressed. If they knew…they'd focus that reverence on Sansa who would be unable to avoid it. So little loyalty in the South was secure. "Fine, I don't like it though."
"Jon." Sansa's voice had the faintest tinge of pleading in it.
Jon nodded. "I won't say anything, you know I wouldn't." He paused as he watched the tension fade from his sister. But, he ran through what Bran and Sansa had said earlier. Turning he looked at his brother. "What do you mean intends to break her oaths?"
"Sansa intends to wed again," Bran spoke his voice sending a shiver down Jon's spine with its wrongness.
Jon and Arya both made noises of protest. But neither of them got the chance to express how much that was wrong and terrible.
Instead, Sansa spun on Bran, and oh, she was angry. "Because there is a difference! Perhaps not one you understand but there is one. When the day comes I'll do what I must, because there is no other choice that does not harm our family. But I am not some feckless, honorless retch and it may mean nothing to you Bran, but for all that I know how foolish and reckless I've been, I would not change it. Not any of it. What you are asking I will not do. I won't do it."
There was a ringing silence.
Arya cleared her throat. "While my opinion on your whole tragic…what-have-you has not changed. I believe we are agreed we're not cutting Jon's balls off either?"
He flinched but was glad of her presence. They would be speaking about whatever lunacy Sansa had convinced herself into later. "I already meant to marry Daenerys. Our need for this alliance has not changed."
"And Jon likes her." Daisy pointed out helpfully from where she had curled ever so slightly between Sansa and Bran, one hand clearly on Sansa's waist, a distinct lack of personal space between them.
Sansa's eyes had closed as she leaned into Daisy's touch.
Jon…it dawned on him he had never seen them like this. He'd seen them as friends, and he had heard Daisy explain what his sister meant to her. But it was palatably real in this room. He'd never seen Sansa like this with anyone, even in girlhood when she'd trusted and laughed easily. The intimacy of it spoke far more than any words could. He couldn't help the faint smile at them. But he didn't draw attention to it, they all saw. Well except for Bran.
"I'm sure he does." Arya flicked his ear, yanking him out of his thoughts. "So, we're not giving up the Vale any longer then?"
Sansa breathed in and then opened her eyes meeting their eyes. "No, we are not giving up one inch of land any longer."
Jon pressed a kiss to Rickon's hairline, careful not to wake him from his sleep. The boy'd fallen asleep some hours ago. Carrying him to his room had filled Jon with an unspeakable longing to remain. He carefully ensured the furs and blankets were properly tucked up and over Rickon. Jon lingered, reminding himself of every curve, freckle, and bit of his baby brother's face. He finally pulled away. Looking at the door he saw Arya waiting for him, a knowing look on her face. Her face that had horrors untold painted in the depth of her gaze.
He walked past her, halting once in the hall. Jon turned at the sound of her closing Rickon's door. He turned relief at seeing her face. His eyes glanced at the sword hilt on her belt. "You kept Needle?"
"It's a good blade." Her familiar impish grin curled her lips. But her eyes were hard. "Do you really wish to marry this Dragon Queen? If you don't want to we won't allow it to happen."
Jon reached out, his hand resting on her shoulder. "I'm sure. Thank you though, for the offer."
"If you change your mind, killing people is easy." Arya was all wicked slyness. But he knew her enough to know she was worried about something.
He squeezed her shoulder. "I won't." Jon tapped her chin with his knuckles before dropping his hand back down. "Sansa's letters and Daisy explained enough. I know you've done dark things. I'm just glad you're home."
"Theon was right, you're such a girl." But there was gratitude in her face and a faint crack in her voice that said she'd needed to hear his words.
Jon chuckled. "Aye, he wasn't wrong all of the time."
"Just most." Arya leaned against the wall. "Talk sense into Daisy?"
He huffed. "She wouldn't be a Stark if that worked."
"Daisy or Sansa?" Arya raised a brow, clearly amused.
Jon smiled softly. "Both." He slung his arm around his sister's shoulders, pulling them back to the room where no doubt Sansa was still writing out instructions for Marlon and the rest of the diplomatic party. "Promise me you'll at least tell me before you are wed?"
"I don't know, if Redfort keeps making eyes at me I might just steal a Wildling and be done with it." She was hopefully joking. The disgust at the name Redfort was very real.
He was mostly sure Sansa wouldn't let Arya just murder a Vale knight. "I could fight him for you?"
"I can handle my own fights, thanks." Arya leaned into him though. "Did you ever think we'd end up the two most eligible ones in the family?"
Jon snorted outright. "No, never would have dreamt it." He looked fondly at his sister. "Well, I could see it for you. Everyone always said you looked like Lyanna, and she was-" His words died in his throat. Lyanna was his mother.
Arya nudged him. "A great beauty." She gave him a playful look. "You always were pretty, see where you got it now, brother." She pulled away slipping through the door and into Sansa's solar.
Shaking his head he followed, but his heart was warm. They didn't have to keep calling him 'brother', but they were. And mayhap…mayhap someday it would not hurt like a knife to the heart to think on whose blood he carried.
Chapter 119Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextDaenerys paused at the entrance from her sleeping chambers to her dressing room. "I wasn't aware I'd summoned you?"
"Never been good at doing as I'm told." Daisy was wearing the same clothing she'd worn the day before. She was leaning against the wall by the large windows of the room.
She didn't bother looking at the servants who clearly didn't have a clue at what to do trapped between the two of them. "I presume you've come for a reason?"
"The North intends to move forward with an alliance, however, one that does not involve the conceding of territory." Daisy pulled a letter out from the inner lining of her gambeson.
Dany walked forward, taking the letter from Daisy's hand. She was keenly aware, though she did not acknowledge them of the others in the room. No word of this was private. She could guess it was exactly why Daisy had chosen here and now. "Just a letter, no advice to go with it?"
"Do you want my advice?" Daisy raised a brow in challenge.
"No."
Daenerys stared at the great green and gold fields of Highgarden as they ran endlessly out from the fortress. It was beautiful, truly. She could feel the tension of her advisors and powerful members of her developing court behind her. They'd been silent since the report from Willas had been given. Three of Varys' little birds had been caught in the night. Their tongues long since cut out of their mouths. Proof of his treason had not been conveniently found, but mutilated children were enough that Daenerys would not suffer him to live.
She had watched and listened for weeks now. Everyone had opinions and goals. It grated to do so little. To sit and wait. Westeros was foreign in a way that was galling. But she'd leashed herself long enough. She was a dragon. "Lord Tyrion." She turned to face the room. "You will take my terms to Lord Varys. He will speak the truth to you, or he will do so to her Holiness."
"Your Grace, it may take some time for his tongue to loosen." Tyrion cautioned.
She flicked her eyes to him. "You misunderstand me, he speaks with you today and faces his fate before Drogon tonight, or we all will find out just how poorly her Holiness takes a threat towards a Stark. These are my terms, he may do with them as he wills. But I will not suffer a man who has mutilated children nor committed treason against me to see another day past this one."
"In the meantime," Daenerys turned her attention to Olyvar Martell, "I believe there are duties I would have my new Master of Whispers carry out."
Olyvar straightened, hands folding behind his back. "Anything your Grace." It was nearly impossible to tell he'd not known she intended to give him any position up until this moment.
"You will approach the Northern delegation for their new terms." Dany looked to Jorah. "Fetch Robert Baratheon's bastard and bring him here as well as Ser Davos. I would speak to both of them."
"Your Grace." Jorah bowed his head and then exited the room to see to his duty without delay.
She let her gaze turn on Lord Willas. "Then it would seem I need my Master of Laws to act outside that role and continue preparing my armies for war. This peace will end by moon's turn. At which time I will go North because this alliance will happen."
"Your Grace, the terms of the alliance are sure to change. Drastically so now that his Highness is known to be of two royal Houses and rides a dragon." Tyrion cautioned.
Daenerys knew the contents of the letter she'd received. She had heard so many people give her so much advice she could near forget who had told her what. Not that she had, but it was unending all the same. Unending in a way she found insipid. "The Vale was always going to be loyal to the Starks. To pretend that loyalty would ever falter has been folly. The Dead are coming, if we delay this alliance our forces will never make it to the North in time to prevent all of mankind from perishing. Make this alliance happen, and do it quickly."
"Your Grace." Tyrion dipped his head. "Do you understand what you are accepting the loss of?"
Willas cleared his throat. "For gods' sake, Lord Hand. We make our offer and we take what we can and let our Queen decide when it's more settled. But Jon Stark is Rhaegar's only living son and a dragon rider as well now. The North would be fools to give him to us for less than a King's ransom."
"I don't disagree with you, my Lord," Tyrion replied. "But I would think our Queen would wish to be aware she may be losing half a kingdom for this alliance."
Daenerys wasn't going to listen to this debate go in circles once more. "My father lost half the realm, and I will not put it to the torch to reforge it as it was."
"A wise decision, your Grace." Tyrion cleared his throat. "Certainly a necessary one as I assume we would all prefer to not be ripped apart by the Dead. I do wonder what you are willing to sacrifice for this marriage? And what you would like to still gain?"
Olyvar spoke as he set his cup of wine down. "Lumber, favorable trade of course. I should think we could even ensure some measure of agreed support in any conflict with third parties beyond Cersei if we word it correctly. The Starks are loyal, Sansa Stark will be invested in her cousin's success as your consort. And I doubt she would hold any love for the slavers in Essos who will likely give you trouble throughout your reign."
"Then I'm sure you will see to it that my interests are served." Daenerys was not going to go over every tiny detail when she had 'wise' men to argue it out for her, and other 'wise' men to ensure it truly was in her interest. "While I am in the North, you, my council will be responsible for securing my claim here in the south."
Willas gave a nod. "Your Grace, my brother Ser Garlan will command and lead the men of the Reach that will accompany you North. He, as well as my cousins of House Redwyne, will be there to support you. In the south, Prince Martell, Lord Lannister and I could lead your forces so long as you appoint certain members of your Dothraki to positions of leadership."
////
Crann dropped onto the bench by Podrick in the great hall. "I cannot' feel my arms." His sweat had soaked his shirt and left him chilled but…the heat from the forges made it near a relief to be cold.
"You look terrible." Podrick pushed a mug of ale towards him.
He grimaced. "I don't remember sleeping." How long had he been in the workshop? He'd lost track of days a while ago.
Podrick shoved a bowl of stew in front of him. "What have you been hammerin' at?"
"The casing. Have to forge the pieces together. If the angles are wrong we have to start from the beginning." Crann was awed as their work began to look more and more like a round doorframe. Huge, metal, and utterly confusing. But a door all the same.
"Best eat then, Queen wants you when you're fed." Crann grimaced, his stomach swooping. Oh, he didn't want to report to the Queen. That…that was not news he wished to bear.
Crann turned his hat in his hands as he stood before the Queen in her private solar. His eyes refused to leave the ground before her desk. "Your Grace."
"I presume your work continues well then?" The Queen's voice was kind as if good news for his and Fitz's project was not an endlessly approaching time of departure for her lover.
He twisted the felt fabric of his hat. "Aye, your Grace. Very well."
"Good, do you have an estimate of when the project will be complete?" How she didn't sound upset, he didn't know.
Crann bit at his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. "A week…maybe two."
"Ah."
He dared to flick his eyes to her and flinched at the expression already hidden from her face. Would that their project was not nearly done.
////
Gendry refused to shuffle as he stood before the Targaryen Queen. "Your Grace." He gave the best bow he could before straightening.
The Queen stared at him and Ser Davos as they stood there between her Dothraki guards. "I shall be blunt, do you care about your people, Gendry?"
"Your Grace?" His brow furrowed.
Her eyes were piercing as they looked at him. "You are aware of what this war is doing to the common people, are you not."
Gendry's mouth tightened. "Aye, you're Grace." He could still taste the stench of rotting corpses and stones held with morter and blood. The stench of dirty pens full of shit, piss, and still living dead.
"Prince Jon has offered you a place in Winterfell's forges from what I understand." Her purple eyes were riveting as she stared at him. "A good future, a secure one. You would be as safe as any of us in the days to come, and will no doubt do well with the favor of the Starks. Your skills would be of value, you may not even be required to take up arms against the Dead. There is no shame in that future."
Davos spoke up. "Forgive me your Grace, but what are you getting at? He'll be out of your way in the North."
"He would, and I hold no animosity towards him if he chooses that. However, if you want to end this war, to protect your people, I can offer that to you." And her eyes cut away from Davos back to him.
Gendry felt his spine straightening how it really shouldn't in the presence of those more powerful than him. "I'm just a blacksmith, your Grace."
"But you are also the son of Robert Baratheon. The only living son of any close relation of that House left living. If you wish for a good life, a happy one, go North. But if you wish to save lives and make your life mean something beyond yourself, I would legitimize you and name you Lord of Storm's End and Protector of the Stormlands." Her voice was not sharp in its command like 'Arry's had been, nor cold like so many Lords in the smithy had been. There was a fire, a belief there that made him listen.
He felt like his stomach had dropped out from under him. "I wouldn't know how to be a Lord." Gendry swallowed. "Your Grace."
"And I was never taught to be a Queen, Ser Davos there was never taught to be a Lord either. Yet he's spoken at length in defense of you. There would be duties required of you, you would need to learn. But you have the choice. A good life of your own, or a hard one for the good of your people."
And Gendry…he remembered the purpose he'd felt with the Brotherhood before they'd sold him. The chance to do something about the injustices all around him. The deaths and horror people like him suffered as Lords marched their armies across their lands. That the Lannisters would have him dead for a father he hadn't even known was his. The insults spat at him, the hits if he dared look at anyone straight on. How his shoulders hunched naturally, and since he'd begun to try and stand straight he'd ended up in more than one fight. The Red Witch and Stannis who had meant to serve him up as a blood sacrifice. "I'll do it, Your Grace."
"Well, then you will speak with Lord Willas Tyrell of the particulars. I will not give you the name Baratheon, but I will name you to the Baratheon lands, holdings, and titles from before the rebellion." She stood from her seat and it was…he towered over her and yet it did not feel that way. "Your great-grandmother was a Targaryen, only the last in a long line of marriages between our two Houses. The founder of your line was the legitimized brother of the founder of the dynasty I am heir to. I believe that makes us something like family. I am asking a great deal from you, do not think I will do so without support or aid."
And…his mouth felt dry as he realized this otherworldly Queen was claiming him as kin, distantly, but kin all the same. "I…thank you, your Grace?"
"You shouldn't thank me, this will be more burden than gift. I hope you prove worthy of it." And something about how she looked at him made him wish to live up to her expectations. She gave him the faintest nod. "Then you two are dismissed for now, my Lords."
"Ow!" Gendry snapped his head around to where Davos had just slapped him upside the head as soon as the door had closed. "Wha' was that for?"
The man stared at him utterly unimpressed. "For agreeing to be a damned Lord without thinking about it for two minutes you great lug."
Gendry's shoulders tightened. "If I can make what I do matter…how can I turn that down?"
"By using some common sense. Half the men here will want to kill you or get control of you and the Stormlands won't bow to ya easy." Davos sighed as he looked at him. "I'll help you."
He bit at the inside of his lip. "Did she mean it, that we're kin?"
Davos shook his head as he clapped Gendry's shoulder. "Aye, she meant it. Come on then, if you're to be a Lord we'd better tell Prince Jon and get you some help before we leave you with the Tyrells."
Gendry let Davos half drag him towards the Northern rooms. "Wha's wrong with the Tyrells?"
"They're going to eat you alive," Davos replied with resigned misery.
////
Tyrion stared in the flickering torchlight at Lord Varys. The man was sitting on the ground in the Tyrell dungeon. He had thought this man his friend. "You know, you have always surprised me, but I was not expecting this."
"Foolish on your part, trusting me that is." Varys seemed resigned. "They sent you here all alone to ask my confession then?"
Tyrion wondered how much of their friendship had been lies, likely all of it. "The Queen offers you terms."
"My secrets are mine, and mine alone. I'm afraid I'll be taking them to the grave with me." He smiled. "I'm sure you understand."
With a sigh, he pulled over the stool from the wall before climbing upon it and sitting. "I understand completely, but we're going to need to have a very productive conversation, or else things will go very poorly for you."
"What will they do? Rip me to pieces before burning me alive? I've made my peace with my end. Have you made peace with yours?" Varys's voice was galling in how he sounded no different than he sounded trading gossip in the gardens.
Tyrion shook his head. "Oh no, our Queen has worse for you. Answer my questions and you will be burned alive by dragon fire. Not the worst way to go, I hear it will be quick. However, if this conversation is not productive, you are to be handed over to Quake, to do with as she pleases."
Varys's eyes were dark as the light flickered on his face from the torch. Dark and silent. Finally, he spoke. "I see, there is no third option I suppose?"
"I'm afraid not." Tyrion wondered if he'd missed it because he'd wanted to think they were friends or if he'd missed it because Varys was talented. He hated he knew the answer to that. "Why do it? What could possibly be worth all this death? It can't be the good of the realm."
Varys stayed mild. "Oh but it is, just not this realm. Westeros isn't all there is to the world you know."
"So her Holiness was right, you serve a master in Essos, someone not too far. Pentos perhaps?"
He made a slow 'ah'. "She really is remarkable, this god. I might even admire her if things were different. So few seem to understand the brilliance of what she's done. I should have known she'd find me out in the end."
"Apparently she's had you found out since a few days on Dragonstone," Tyrion remarked casually. "Wasn't sure who your master was though. Had some fascinating ideas about it."
"I see, I suppose you wish for me to confirm or deny those theories." Varys hummed. "Some free advice, you should flee this place, run as far as you can, because when Daenerys Targaryen flies North to fight the darkness there you won't last long I'm afraid."
Tyrion turned the ring on his finger. "Is that right?"
"You are a clever man, would be cleverer still if you applied yourself, but like so many of your countrymen, you believe yourself above the common rabble. As arrogant as your father, and not enough paranoia to guard your flanks. But I do like you, and for that, I will remind you of the truth you have forgotten. You are a dwarf and a kinslayer. The West will never be yours, they will never take your yoke. As a dwarf alone you may have managed it, but not with your father's blood on your hands."
Tyrion felt the pang at that. "Everyone has a price."
"Not enough for that I'm afraid, not for men like us." Varys looked away from him. "I have dedicated my life to my work, and I have lived my days surrounded by fools. Do you know why that creature or god or whatever she is is so dangerous?"
Tyrion didn't press on the questions he truly held. "I assume you're about to enlighten me."
"She doesn't care about any of it." He waved vaguely. "Not gold, power, lust, adoration, blood, none of it. She's dangerous the same way Ned Stark was dangerous. She does what she does because she believes that it is right, and unlike poor Ned, she knows how the game is played. Which is to say nothing of the fact she's not shackled by ideas like honor. Shockingly simple, radical for its simplicity really"
He frowned slightly. "Even now you try and turn me against the only path available towards peace? Against humanity's interest."
"Well, you can hardly blame me for trying. And like all poor advice, it's entirely true." Varys leaned his head back against the stone wall of his cell. "What do you believe she'll do to me?"
Tyrion wondered at the hate he felt, the cold hard kernel of hate. "Nothing you don't deserve."
"Deserve?" Varys laughed, it was a humorless sound. "Who are you to tell me what I deserve, Tyrion Lannister?"
He spread his hands. "Well, I'm the only one here. And I've had a lot of practice at it. Judging people that is."
Varys let a sigh. "Shall we get on with it then? You asking and I not answering will get terribly dull after a while."
Tyrion stared at the man he'd thought his ally and friend. A kindred spirit if one would. Someone looked down on similarly for what he lacked physically, a black sheep more clever than all the rest. He'd errored, and he disliked it immensely. "Very well then, your choice." He hopped off of the stool and turned toward the darkest corner of the dungeon where the light didn't touch. "He's all yours then I believe, Holiness."
The blackness vanished leaving just a rather shadowy corner, and a certain goddess standing there, one shoulder leaning against the wall. "So controlling light, stupid useful apparently."
"Here to force it out of me, Holiness?" But there was a pallor to his cheeks that said he was not as unaffected as he wished to appear.
Quake pushed off the wall walking over. "No, that never really works." She pulled open the bared doors like they shouldn't have been locked. She sat down in front of him, her legs folding underneath her. "There's no torture so horrible and painful it makes people talk. I should know, just pisses you off. And if you are someone who can be broken, well, you'll say anything to make the pain stop. Makes it kinda pointless if you don't know what's the truth and what's lies."
"I wonder who managed to torture you, Holiness." He replied though Varys was looking at her dead on from where he was seated on the ground, just an arms length from the god. A thing he hadn't done before Tyrion realized as he watched.
She waved a hand, "I think we're past Holiness. We both know I'm not holy at all."
"So if you're not here to torture me, why are you here?" Varys was looking at her with that spark in them that said he was interested.
Quake sighed. "Well, Dany kinda threatened you with me and if I wasn't here it'd make her look kinda weak."
"A conundrum there. I suppose it won't do for me to merely act traumatized before I get eaten by her dragon?" Varys offered, they all knew the answer.
She huffed with faint dark amusement. "I might have gone with that if you hadn't tried to kill Jon. That was a mistake. And let's be real, you've done monstrous things."
"So have you. A lake of blood was it not? And I doubt you earned that title Destroyer of Worlds through peace."
Quake looked at him consideringly. "I was sacrificed to prevent the end of the world. Tyrion tells me you know what it's like to be tied down and your flesh cut open against your will. I never wanted it, but I survived, I burned with the power I didn't want, two men died, and they named me Destroyer of Worlds for the world I was sacrificed to save. And here we are."
"Here we are." Varys finished for her.
She leaned back, her hands touching the stone floor behind her. "Wasn't the first time I was the price. Calling me an abomination isn't completely wrong you know." Quake was searching him for something. "Of course, I was born an inhuman, I suppose you'd call it a demi-god. A descendant of humans horrifically experimented on and changed by the gods to make them weapons. I doubt the first humans consented to have kids just so the gods could turn their children into slave soldiers for their wars. So rape as well as horrifying work to create us."
Tyrion swallowed as he stood there in the flickering torchlight watching, he could see the sickly pallor of Varys.
"Then of course I was dying so they put the blood of the gods in my veins. It healed me, didn't even make me sick since I was compatible with it. But in humans? In humans, it drove everyone they tried to heal with it mad. Carving, constantly carving, sometimes in their own flesh. It's how we knew I wasn't human actually, I didn't lose my mind. And then of course the temple and terrigenous, and suddenly I had powers. Then of course Hive did something to my blood so he could use it to exercise his own powers. He called what it turned humans into 'Drones'. Mindless drones forced to obey his will. Of course then the serum at the end of the world. So many things in my blood over the years."
Tyrion cleared his throat. "Fascinating as this is, Holiness, but why is your blood important?"
"Because I'm not going to torture you, I don't enjoy hurting people. But people have died trying to get their hands on the blood of gods. So I wonder, what would it do to you?" Her voice hung in the still air of the dungeon.
Varys's hands were shaking as he folded them into his sleeves to hide the tremble. "And you say you don't enjoy causing pain."
"I don't normally. I could list out the crimes they think you've committed, the ones I know you've committed, but that'd be beside the point. You tried to kill my friend. You tried to cause a war between a friend and the woman I love. And you're not totally wrong; I'm not gonna lie, a part of me is going to enjoy this." She pulled out a tiny cup, actually, it was a gilded egg cup. As she did so she slid a thin knife out of one sleeve.
Tyrion watched in a muted, nauseous horror as the goddess sliced her palm open before fisting her hand and bleeding into the small cup. His throat felt dry as he realized this was really going to happen.
Varys spoke, his voice soft. "I presume there is no other way?"
"You've dedicated your life to a cause. All of it, decades gone for it. There's nothing I could offer, or anyone could do to you that would make you talk, we both know that. It'd be an insult to both of us to try anyway. Or am I wrong?" She wrapped a piece of cloth around her hand, staunching the bleeding, and set the small cup before him.
And Varys sat there, his gaze never leaving the goddess's eyes. Finally, he leaned forward and lifted the small thing. "Well, to the end of my work then." With that he drank it, his face twisting in some disgust, but he swallowed nonetheless, leaving his lips tinged faintly red from the blood. "Unpleasant flavor I'm afraid."
"I think anyone who thinks blood tastes good has a few screws loose," Quake replied, but her eyes were hard as she watched him.
Tyrion would have asked something, but he held his tongue as Varys slumped forward with a sound like he'd been hit in the gut.
Varys's arms tightened around his own waist as he looked up at the goddess with wide, panicked eyes. And then his skin began to melt. It was like hot tallow as it began to bubble and run, his mouth opening in a scream as his eyes were hidden by great slides of skin coming to form something…something else. And beneath that molten, melting skin were flickers of gold. His hands hit the ground as he came to his hands and knees, screaming as his fingers bubbled. Then all of him was bubbling.
It was terrible, inhuman, the sound he was making was unlike any sound Tyrion had heard before. More wail than cry. All of his skin bubbled, flickering with a molten gold color as if he was burning from the inside out. That sharp, horrible wail cut off as his open and gaping mouth was sealed as the flesh melted into itself. Even in its melting it followed no laws of nature, it was forming him into something…something new. The bubbles grew, places where the gold looked nearly to rip him apart. And then he exploded, the pieces of him were like wet tallow as they slid down the walls where they'd hit. Not a bone in sight. Merely melted sludge. Melted sludge splattering the stones, the walls, the ceiling, the bars.
It was utterly silent before the goddess rose to her feet. A neat circle around where she'd sat where none of the…melted flesh had touched. As she herself was untouched by it. She walked out of the cell and paused at his side. "He wasn't wrong, you know. When Daenerys leaves for the North they will tear you apart."
Tyrion swallowed, giving a stiff nod of his head. He realized absently, that he hadn't been touched by the…remains of what had been Varys either. "Holiness." He managed to acknowledge.
She patted his shoulder. "Oh, and Tyrion, whoever he was working for he had personal stakes in their cause, and not from Pentos. He's a good liar, but he gave away more than he thought." And then she began only to leave before pausing. "Be sure to mention what just happened to Varys. I think that will work to deter anyone from trying to use my blood."
"Yes, Holiness." He croaked.
"Good, see to it that the remains are burned. All of it." And with that, she left him there in the dark and the horror, alone.
Notes:So saw a lot of discussion in the comments the last few chapters and figured it was easier/better to just address it in a note instead of replying to all of you guys in the comments and just repeating myself over and over. But on the topic of Jon's parentage, it's less interesting for the narrative for Rhaegar/Lyanna married and had a rando Septon sign an annulment to be part of the political discussion. Like setting aside the legality and consent and semantics of Lyanna/Rhaegar; lost prince/true heir to the throne Jon tends not to be particularly interesting to me, and in this fic would just kill the pacing in general.
It means more, and is more emotionally interesting for the Starks as a whole to deal with the more negative interpretation; at least here. Which is admittedly a choice. For Jon knowing he was wanted, that he was never a shame or anything negative, but a loved and wanted and important baby all along, that it really was completely unjust how he was raised can be really meaningful. But that's a very internal, Jon-centric emotional wound to be addressed. Outside of him specifically it's…less interesting and as he's not the main character that is a pacing problem. I find more value in his siblings/cousins seeing the worst possible version of what his parentage could be and still accepting him. Still see him as their brother. That who his parents are, what his legality, what his legacy, he is still one of them. And I find that far more interesting and emotionally compelling. Also it's a narrative/emotional value that doesn't go away if the whole secret marriage thing comes out later.
To focus on Jon's parentage is to focus on his legitimacy and spend endless time navel-gazing about consent, legality, line of succession, validity of claims, and that stuff can be interesting…but I find it less interesting than the repetition of the Blackfire history, in the definition of Jon by his actions and his own wants and decisions over expectations/legacy he doesn't care about. That he really could be everything Cat and society feared or thought he might be. But he doesn't become that because of who he is as a person. That he was never that person they feared, even if he could have been.
So, Bran and Sam Tarly are the only people with access to the information about Jon's parentage, and unless at a later point, it becomes more interesting, it doesn't matter. For Bran it'd have to be a thing he thought mattered to say. And for Sam, he'd have to finally reach Winterfell.
Chapter 120Notes:Flu season is the worst
Chapter TextSansa rode down the road to the Free Folk encampment, her sister to her side, four of the royal guard, as well as Lord Glover, Lord Umber, Lord Mallister, and some dozen men at arms. Frankly, the direwolves were more intimidating, Ghost and Nymeria had slipped among their horses as they left the gates of Winterfell.
"This would go better if you'd killed one of them," Arya said softly from where she was mounted beside her.
She rather wished she had killed the more objectionable of Arya's suitors, alas no one had been dumb enough to try in the last few days. Truly, unfortunate that. "Opportunities for cold-blooded murder are rare as Queen."
"Only because you're picky," Arya grumbled.
Sansa rolled her eyes but didn't give a reply. There wasn't really a point. They both knew breaking guest rite could not happen. As such, available bodies, even ones who very much deserved to be killed, could not simply be murdered. At least not by her, personally. Instead, she watched as they rode into the main Wildling encampment. Of course, a few hundred had been moved into Winter Town and Winterfell itself, but those were mostly the families with young children and those from clans extinct save for one or two families.
It'd have been too useful if the general Wildling forces could be slid into lives alongside their Northern brethren. Alas, those clans that were still intact to some degree had insisted on staying outside the walls of Sansa's direct influence. It had helped prevent the Northerns and Wildlings from getting into as many fights as they could have. There was that small comfort. Sansa was unsure if their choice to be apart had been helpful or harmful. Likely both.
As they rode further along she began to see people in thick furs slipping away as they spied her, though some stood and simply watched. Sansa knew in her bones they'd been there longer than she'd been aware. Meeting the Wildlings in their place of strength was important. Of course, if they harmed a hair on her head they'd be slaughtered to the last living man, after all, they were on her lands, surrounded by her armies. Certain doom rarely prevented stupidity, however.
Sansa kept her seat on her horse without a change in her posture. As they came around the edge of the hillock on the winding path the sight of tents stretched out. She felt awe at the sight of the mammoths bedded down on the opposing hill, a giant sitting amongst them. She was unsure, but she believed it to be a young giant. She'd sent the grown giants to aid in the preparations for war to the north.
A familiar head of curls in a black-furred form came jogging toward them. Torulas had bright eyes and a grin as he headed straight for Arya. "Ah, our Stark Princess is back."
"Torulas." Arya's tone had a faint hint of exasperation.
The boy or that was unkind, the young man grinned excitedly as he settled into a lope at the pace of their horses beside Arya. "Stab anyone this morning? Saw red in the sunrise."
"Not yet." Arya tossed a knife at him, the hilt nearly clobbered him as he barely caught it in time.
Torulas yelped, but then quickly checked the dragonglass blade. "What'd I do to earn this?"
She just raised a brow at him like he was an absolute moron. A thing that just made his cheery grin grow truly delighted. Arya scoffed. "You're obnoxious, but you did win."
Sansa watched the byplay in fascinated silence. She'd known her sister had been spending time among the Wildlings, even knew she considered the man loping along with them a sort of friend. Still, it was fascinating to see.
"We have a new batch of fermented Mammoth milk if you're up to it." Torulas's expression was challenging.
Arya's mouth twitched in a way that said she absolutely did not want to drink that but was far too stubborn to not do it anyway. "Same terms as last time."
"I'll have bunches of fancy weapons then, Princess." Torulas had a faint hop in his steps, as they moved through the Wildling encampment.
Standing ahead was Tormund, his red hair made him stand out. He was practically glowing as he spotted Brienne. Sansa had to bite back a laugh at that. It was rewarding to watch her sister and loyal knight seen as women of value for who they were. A younger her might have been appalled, but Sansa as she was now found it rather sweet.
"Queen Stark! You came! Some'a these fuckers didn't think you would." Tormund greeted with a grin on his face.
Sansa pulled her steed up, ignoring the discontent on her party's faces. They would live. "And miss your charming personality? Never." She dismounted from her horse, passing the reins to one of the men at arms. "Now, I believe we have the allotting of land to see to,Lord Giantsbane." She ensured her tone held enough humor for it to be clear he was not truly a Lord in any of their eyes. That was important. The Wildlings would never bend the knee, not truly, and she would not humiliate them by requiring it.
There were whispers as they watched her, she could see the darkening of several features, but Tormund still seemed in good cheer as he spoke. "Let's see this land we are to be given."
"Land that has been earned, not given I think." Sansa corrected as she followed the giant red-maned man, her party in her shadow. She felt comfort as Ghost brushed against her, his silent presence meant more than she could say. Not that she didn't trust her guard, or even her sister to see to her safety. But rather that it felt like a piece of her brother/cousin.
Tormund's teeth flashed as he opened the flap of the tent for her. "You and your words."
"They are my weapon of choice." She acknowledged as she entered the tent, her eyes clocking the Wildlings there, certainly clan leaders. Sansa kept her chin raised and walked to what was clearly the head of the room. Not that there was a table, but from the placement of fur-covered chairs, some chests, and the general arrangement of the tent it was clear where authority was expected. Ghost curled around her as she came to a halt. "Shall we get this settled then?"
Tormund crossed his arms. "Alright, we were promised land, let's see the land."
Sansa flicked her wrist to Mallister.
He stepped forward and unrolled the map. It was a detailed image of the former Bolton lands. As she had yet to meet a Wildling who could read the common tongue, she had had the region to be given to them colored with the dye from a red berry. "This is the land of the Red Kings. The land is well-suited for livestock, hunting, and farming. There are also several mountains that produce iron ore. As agreed half those lands are now yours, I have marked out the natural borders as they are."
"And we're to trust your word on that?" A dark-haired man asked, his voice thick with suspicion.
Sansa raised a brow. "I should think if I made a habit of lies I would have few men willing to bend the knee. You are also welcome to send what scouts or initial settlers there as you will to confirm I speak the truth. And for this exchange of land, there is a weirwood tree twenty feet outside this tent."
"What rules ya expecting us to follow for this land?" Tormund asked, and he was serious as he looked at her.
Sansa stood steady. "You will follow the old ways on your land. Beyond that should you leave this territory you will be expected to follow the laws of the North. My laws. You will pay a tribute of one-tenth of your yields. Any man, woman, or child of you, who chooses to live in other territories under my authority will follow the laws of that land. But, any one of you will be free to live where they will within my kingdom. If I call upon my banners you and yours will be obliged the same as any other region is."
"As your people will follow only the leader that you would choose, I will not interfere in this. In whatever method or manner you decide you will choose a representative who will speak on your people's behalves. That representative will be due all the rights and privileges of any of my Lords. A voice in my halls, the ability to make trade and business as they will, and so forth."
It was clear they looked near mutinous at her terms, which was exhausting. Frankly getting her Lords to agree to these terms had been a miracle. "In exchange, these lands will be yours and your children's. You will be under my protection, be it from the Dead or the other Lords of the North. Of course, there is also the trade, lands, and resources this will make available for you. You will be permitted the food stores to survive this winter at the same rate and debt as all the North is. On your lands so long as the old ways are followed you may follow your own laws and customs as you see fit. You will not be required to bend the knee to the King or Queen of the Winter Kingdom. However, your leader will be required to swear to uphold this agreement before the old gods upon being named."
"You'd make us bend in all but name." A scarred woman stated, her eyes narrowed.
Sansa knew her face was cold as she looked at the men and women before her. "If I meant for that we would be discussing bread laws, the creation of a noble ruling house for your people, and more detailed taxation."
One of the Wildlings in black furs spoke up. "It's a good deal." He looked at her. "And when this war with the Others is done, will we be prevented from returning to our ancestral lands?"
"You will not." Sansa was grateful one of them had a head on his shoulders. "You would also be free to travel east, south, or west as you so wished. However, I would be inclined to trade agreements and relations with any clans who return to the far north. The Wall was not meant to separate men, and leaving our two people so removed has clearly done more harm than good in these long centuries."
The scarred woman's thin mouth pressed together. "You call this a good deal? These are chains disguised as payment. We are not whores."
"Don't be a fool." A woman with wrinkled and weathered skin, though clearly wiry and muscled beneath her furs spoke. She wore a mask of white bark. "If you chaff under these rules the true north is ours to return to."
It was clear the woman's words held weight.
"Without these terms, we die," Tormund spoke, his voice rough but serious.
A man with stringy black hair looked to the older man. "What say you Oldfather?"
The man known as Oldfather spoke. "I say how are we to find wives?"
"On your land as is your custom. On the land outside of that as is our custom." Sansa knew her eyes were sharp as she stared the man down. "I will not tolerate the raiding of your neighbors."
"Our children will be weak with no new blood." Oldfather crossed his arms. "It is our way. You would change even this?"
Sansa laid one hand on Ghost's ruff. "I believe you misunderstand your position here, Oldfather. You are here because my brother brought you south of the Wall. You still draw breath because I permit it. You are on my lands, eating my food, surrounded by my vasals and armies. I could have every man, woman, and child of you put to the torch with a word. So you may steal and rape on the land and in the territory I give you. But you will not do so outside of that land. Any man who does not abide by this I will have rendered not men at all. Any raiders caught on land, not their own engaging in that practice I will have their heads mounted on pikes and their bodies fed to the animals."
The woman with the white mask laughed a high and weedy sound. "And would you do that yourself, girl?"
"I am Stark of Winterfell, blood of the first men, and chosen Queen of the North and the Trident. I am not a warrior, but I will take any head I need with my own hands if need be." Sansa knew her guards and sisters were on alert. The next threat was predictable.
The man with stringy black hair spoke. "And what if we kill you and take what land we want?"
"You and yours won't draw breath by nightfall if you harm a hair on my head." Sansa knew her teeth were showing slightly. "And you'd be stupider than a rock to think you can survive the coming Dead without my protection and aid. Or did you come all this way just to die by our swords instead of the Dead's?"
The woman with the white mask pulled out a sheathed knife and tossed it to Tormund. "You were right." Her eyes so pale blue they were nearly white turned to her. "Red Wolf indeed, your teeth will be bloody by the end of this."
"They already are." Sansa could feel the dissatisfaction of her men. But her orders had been clear. They were to keep their mouths shut.
The woman chuckled. "I'm Morna, me and mine will take your deal, bloody wolf."
"Bah, fine. I'm not bending my fucking knee or calling anyone Queen." Oldfather grunted.
Tormund gave her a faint nod. "Let's get this blood oath done with then."
"'Fore that, what happens when you die?" An admittedly handsome, though unkempt, man in hunting leathers and furs spoke.
Sansa wondered if letting Greatjon smack some skulls into each other would be useful? Likely not, but it was a nice thought. "Your appointed leader and my heir will renew these oaths within two turns of the moon. And so forth for every following generation."
"And if one of your heirs is a cunt?" The man challenged.
Sansa knew her own Lords weren't aware of this, and it was going to be a massive headache, but it needed to be done. "Then I am working with my small council to establish a method of removing unfit rulers and installing a different member of Stark blood on the throne. I've suffered fool Kings and mad ones more than any of you. A process your appointed leader will have a voice in the creation of."
"Fine." He tipped his head.
And the last holdouts began to give their assent.
Sansa felt the thrum of victory. Not that they'd had any choice but to agree. But they had still done it. These strange clans and tribes were more valuable than they knew. She fully intended to encourage their integration. A thing that would take years, likely generations. But she would see all her people living in peace. One step at a time.
////
Dany sipped at her cup of wine. "Why are we still arguing this? I've made my decision."
"Your Grace, legitimizing this Gendry is a risk. And he is hardly capable of being more than a puppet to whoever gets their claws into him first. Ser Davos is hardly politically minded enough to protect the boy."
She gestured to the golden rose decor around them. "And who do you believe will get their claws into him before the Tyrells?"
"The Tyrells are gaining a great deal of power, further empowering them is a risk, your Grace." Tyrion cautioned. "There are other ways of securing the Stormlands. There are many powerful Houses that could be given Lordship of the kingdom in exchange for bending the knee. Even Houses that supported your father in the Rebellion. Rewarding their loyalty could gain you a more secure realm than propping up a Baratheon bastard."
Dany wondered at that, oh she certainly was doing what he was saying, but the Tyrells were going to hemorrhage gold, food, and lives for it. "And which one of these Houses of enough power to hold those lands has even sent a representative to me since my arrival in Westeros?"
"None of the great ones yet." Tyrion gave a tip of his head. "It's not a bad idea your Grace, I merely worry you give the Tyrells too much influence and not enough to the heartland of what was always Targaryen support. The Crownlands and the Stormlands have long been some of your House's closest allies and you will have fewer positions and titles to award those who bend the knee to you. Lord Paramount of the Stormlands is a very valuable gift, it could buy you support from a House that gives you swords and aid now, not later."
"I have been given support, and I will honor that support I have been given. Dorne, The Reach, the Iron Islands, my Dothraki and Unsullied, You, those who have sworn to me will reap those rewards. But I will not wait and dither to see which Lord first pledges himself or must be bribed into it. Besides, Gendry holds Targaryen blood, I will honor those ancient ties." She stared at her hand. "Should the witch have spoken true, and I am barren, someone with royal lineage must be my heir."
"Your Grace, you are young, it is far too soon to lose hope on that count." He stepped forward and hesitated but then laid his hand over hers.
Dany allowed the gesture from her Hand. "I am the last true Targaryen, but I have two men with the blood of the dragon in their veins."
"I suppose in that regard Jon's parentage is quite fortunate." Tyrion sighed, stepping back and climbing into the chair facing her. "We should be ready to formalize an alliance and see the two of you married to solidify it by the end of the month, two if negotiations turn…difficult."
She looked out the window to one side. "This has taken too long already."
"With my former wife all the way to the North it's working far faster than we could have hoped for, your Grace. And this time benefits you, it gives your armies time to muster, supply lines to be prepared, and for dragonglass to be mined and shipped North. War takes time, unfortunately, as do alliances." Tyrion made a gesture with his hand. You have secured your holdings in the Reach, Dorne, and some feelers from the Crownlands. The Westerlands will not hold once your armies march and your Unsullied already hold their heart."
Dany wished she trusted her Hand as she once had. But she found that she did not. Especially when his advice was to sit and wait. Advice that she clearly had been ill-advised to take before. When she left North, she would be leaving more men in charge than just Tyrion. She was relieved at Jorah stepping into the room with a respectful dip of his head.
"Your Grace." He approached her with the constant steadiness so indicative of his person. "Yara Greyjoy wishes to speak with you?"
She was relieved at the reprieve from justifying her choice with Gendry, or yet another round of discussing Jon, The Vale, and the Dead. "Bring her in then."
////
Joran bowed as he approached where her Holiness was reading a book in her chambers. He ignored the Tyrell servants, in this they did not matter, and he was not so deluded as to think requesting a full private meeting with a god, even a god whom he was sworn to personally and had spent time in private with before, was a wise idea. "Holiness."
"Joran, do you want some tea?" She gestured to the extravagantly gold-coated set on the table beside her.
He smiled and took the offered seat. "I do, thank you."
Daisy set her book aside and poured the second cup of tea. She looked up sharing an amused expression as they both certainly noticed the jolt that'd caused in the servant who'd been folding linen into one of the fine chests. She didn't comment on it as she set the teapot down. "Ready to ask whatever's been bothering you since rescuing our resident Pirate Queen?"
Joran shouldn't be surprised she'd read him that well, but he was nonetheless. "Aye, I do not wish…" He stared at his hands before daring to look up and meet her eyes. "I do not wish to return to the North, exactly. I know the Dead are coming, I would not run from that. But I would help people. There is so much here that is like the Boltons. I can help them."
"You can." Daisy considered his words, a thing he had neither earned nor deserved but filled him with reverence all the same. "Do you know where you want to help?"
Joran picked up the cup of tea she'd poured him just for something to do with his hands. "I don't know." It shamed him not to know but to so desperately want to anyway.
"Have you considered the Riverlands?" Daisy leaned back grabbing a map off one of the shelves before setting it on the table. "Hogg and the Order at Winterfell sent some Order members to the Twins to help with keeping peace there. But the Twins are in the north of the Riverlands, and not where most of the devastation during the war fell."
Joran looked at the map. "You want me to go to Riverrun, Holiness?"
"Yeah, the area there is some of the worst hit. Even with the Riverlords restoring order, there's no noble House controlling the old Tully lands, and Sansa can't send her own forces to do so while they're forced to hold the North." Daisy tapped the castle. "Snow is setting in, already, it won't be long before it's felt here in the Reach, but the first of it is already in the Riverlands."
He licked at his lips as he considered what he knew. "Who is holding Riverrun?"
"A man of House Vance a few heads down the line of succession," Daisy replied easily. "He's married to a Bracken girl."
He frowned, that had to be a concession to the Brakens considering how much favor her Grace had been showing the Blackwoods. Whichever Vance it was wouldn't be given the castle, but he may be named Stewart. A good, important position to reward both Houses Vance and Bracken. But neither of those Houses would be able or willing to fully provide for the Tully lands, not for something as small as the position of Stewart. Not when so many other titles were available. "Lord Vance will not be able to protect the small folk, not properly."
"But a few well-trained men to ensure the most vulnerable are brought within Riverrun's walls? To seek out bandits and whatever else may need doing?" She asked, but it was more leading him to the answer she'd already found for him.
Joran looked up at her. He could do that. It was a small thing really. A dangerous thing all the same. "I would do it, if you would permit it, Holiness."
"It'll be work, a lot of it ugly." Daisy pointed out, though it was clear she didn't think it would make him hesitate at all.
He couldn't help the faint smile. "But it's what you would do if you were mortal, isn't it?" The endless well of admiration, of reverence, warmed his chest.
She shrugged, her eyes fond. "Yeah, yeah it is." Daisy raised a brow. "We probably should talk about ethical recruiting based on need. Because there's people, no matter how much they might want to join you, who really shouldn't be on some missions."
"Of course, Holiness." He straightened at the prospect of a lesson. But he thought he knew the point of this one, he knew what Daisy had weeded out from the Order whenever she ran drills. The people she examined slightly longer than others. Some men should not be given power over others, and others should not be given the task of caring for others even if they would not cause harm deliberately.