12

12.

The Queen's Great Council Pt.1

304 ac.

King's Landing. 

"Are you there, Your Grace?"

Dany blinked and focused her eyes, finding Lord Desmond in front of her. His honey eyes were looking at her curiously. Apparently, he was talking to her while her mind roved away to somewhere that was becoming more and more stranger to her.

"Pardon me, my Lord, I'm just exhausted," she excused herself. It was not far from the truth. 

Dany agreed to din with the newcomers. A decision that she began to regret at the moment the lords and ladies started with their pleasantries. 

"Of course, Your Grace. It is only natural that you will be in such a state after dealing with that Northern wretch," he said, and the way he uttered it displeased Daenerys more than she would admit. "Speaking of, has your Grace already decided what to do with him?"

She sipped her wine before responding, "With Jon Snow? Nothing with him, since the last times a Stark was hurt at King's Landing unprecedented wars broke out."

"Jon Snow is not a Stark, however," he said, following Daenerys who was pacing the room with a leisurely step.

"Worse. He is the King in the North," she replied, raising an eyebrow at him.

"If you start addressing him like that, he'll think he is."

She stopped at a halt and turned to see him. She smiled tightly. 

"My Lord, how do you think I shall proceed?"

If she had learned anything about Lord Desmond in this short time, it was how much he wanted to be heard. Daenerys could see in his eyes the look of a hungry man who saw an opportunity and was willing to take it.

"Remind him who he really is," he replied enthusiastically, "a bastard whose circumstances have favored him. A diligent but misguided war commander. It won't be long before his will is bent."

Daenerys stared at him and wondered who Lord Desmond was in her previous life. If he held such a harsh opinion of Jon, it was not far-fetched to think that he would eventually hold them on her too. And that led her to wonder how safe she could be around him. 

***

Of all the places he thought he would end up in, a private wing of Red Keep was the last of them. But there he was nonetheless the deeds of his sisters. Or because of them. 

"I'd considered you rather a man with wits. What were you thinking about when displaying such boldness in the presence of her majesty? That you will win her heart by defying her? Were you trying to impress her?" 

Tyrion broke into the chamber with an ignited anger. The Northern guards accompanying him and stationed at the entrance started and so did the Unsullied who were keeping a watch over them. Jon raised a hand to halt them.

"I know there is bad blood between our families, but that doesn't mean you have to confront me. We both know of the history between Cersei and my sisters," Jon stopped him. 

"She is with child. Cersei is with child and Arya almost got her killed."

Jon took a few steps forward.

"So was Robb's queen when your father ordered their deaths."

Tyrion laughed bitterly. 

"It wouldn't have been honorable Lord Eddard's way," Tyrion retorted, intent to trigger a reaction from him. 

"Well, I'm not him," Jon stated, "As you are not Tywin Lannister, certainly."

"What do you mean by that?" Tyrion asked him, almost groaning, as the other man dressed in a robe shifted and settled behind him. Lord Varys was his name if he recalled it well. 

Jon bit back the words and just looked at him. Then Tyrion nodded, understanding.

"I have a warning for you, Your Grace. I may have been inclined to speak on your behalf before when we were counting our allies with the fingers of one hand. But we are not in the same position anymore," he said, stepping back a few steps and stretching out his arms, "I won't let you inveigle Daenerys into a fruitless association when our current position allows us a far better deal."

The goodwill he had received that morning had vanished. Tyrion glared at Jon one last time and then walked out of there. 

Jon pricked his closed eyes and flopped on one of the chairs. Lord Varys was still in the room. 

He looked up at him, "I thought Tyrion would be less concerned about Cersei's sake. He seemed to have little regard for her in those days," he commented, trying to find a better elaboration in the words of his personal friend. 

"You know the saying," this answered, "Blood is thicker than water, and it is not Cersei who concerns him but his niece or nephew. Lord Tyrion never recovered from the loss of his beloved niece and nephews...well not Joffrey. Few other than Cersei miss him. He's only trying to protect that child," he spoke in his thin voice. "But he's not wrong in his assertions. Daenerys is our best asset and you know, Your Grace, that in any case the North will not be granted independence. No kingdom will recognize such secession." 

Jon clenched his jaw. 

"Who are you?" he spat. 

"Only a man of humble roots who looks out for the interests of his people," he answered, and though he professed such, Jon didn't feel it sincere at all. "I am also someone who knew your father personally and I see that, despite what you said earlier, there are traits of him in you."

Both Jon and his guards looked at him intently. He didn't know whether to feel defensive or to press on to learn more of what he knew about the man he thought his father. 

"Lord Stark was a good man, whose honor was faultless until his last breath; for that, he lost his head. Your father was an honorable man but a very bad politician in a position where one cannot pretend to be just a good man. Back then I advised him to put aside his qualms to protect himself and his daughters. He didn't listen to me. Now I hope you do."

Lord Varys stepped closer to speak in a lower but equally clear tone.

"What Queen Daenerys needs now is to unite Westeros. What the North needs is a benevolent and resourceful sovereign to help her survive the winter and rebuild after years of tragedy. The War has not only ravaged the North; your brother's war was mostly fought on southern lands, and these bled by the sword of the Northerners as well. Now, my King, it is time to rule."

***

A crackling fire was the only sound between the two of them for a long while as Arya drank from the bowl of pottage Gendry served her. 

"I'm not Hot Pie, but at least it's not bowl o' brown," he said, jokingly.

Arya nodded and hummed, "I remember those. This is better."

Gendry smiled at her and she looked down at his hands. They were stained with soot and wrapped in bandages.

He noticed her gaze on them and cleared his throat.

"It's easier than cleaning them," he explained.

Actually, Arya wondered if he was hurt. From what little she had seen, he was still a blacksmith.

"I thought she will kill you," she said, remembering that last time they saw each other and how the red witch caged him away like an animal, taking another part of her away from her.

"I thought you would be dead," he replied amusingly, "But no, she didn't kill me. She almost did, though."

"What did she want with you?"

He saw that her hands had gone limp holding the empty bowl, and he took it away to pour her some more.

"A witch thing, I suppose. Never mind. A good man helped me escape and I came back home."

Home. Her heart beat longingly thinking of those times they talked about going home. In the end they both made it. She to Winterfell and he to King's Landing. She remembered when she invited him to become her family, now that they were all alone.

Arya didn't like what she was feeling.

This longing…

"And you? What about you?" he asked her.

She gave a long sigh.

"The Hound…he took me." And seeing his head shot up, she quickly clarified, "He took me to exchange me for a ransom with my brother and my mother." Pain crossed her features at the memory. "We arrived too late."

Gendry nodded, having heard the stories.

"The important thing is that you're fine," Gendry said, visibly relieved, clasping his hands above his knees.

Arya wanted to tell him that she was far from fine but she just nodded and thought the same thing.

How relieved and even happy she felt at that moment.

The door of his house cracked open and she instinctively jumped, reaching for Needle.

A young woman came through, unbothered by Arya's presence.

She smiled at her.

"Arya, take it easy, this is Hale," Gendry told her.

"Arya? This is the Lady Arya?" she asked in a cheerful voice.

Gendry jumped in front of her.

"Yes, yes, it's her. Com' her'," he cut her off before she could reveal more, lifting the heavy bags she carried with what appeared to be vegetables from her shoulders. "Did they really give ya' all this?" Gendry asked her.

"Of course! I told ya'!" she answered, with eyes bright with contentment. "With this, the children will know what true stew taste like. And I've heard that the Dothraki horsemen put together a fair of exotic trays along the coast. We should go."

Arya suddenly felt like an intruder, assuming this was his wife and there were even children around somewhere.

Gendry had found his own family, she thought and felt caught off guard by the sentiment that overwhelm her.

Gendry turned around looked at her, "I'm sorry. This is Hale, my friend. Hale, this is Arya, my other friend."

Friend?

The woman took off the hood and let free her honey hair. Though shabby, she was beautiful in a way that made Arya feel too conscious of her own rough aspect for the first time in a long time. She felt again that girl who watched from all her wilderness and disheveled being a neat and unattainable Sansa.

"It seems that the arrival of the Dragon Queen brought all kinds of surprises. Nice to meet you, m'lady," she approached with an outstretched hand, but then retired it and intended to bow.

"No, don't do that," Arya snapped. "I'm not a Lady," she stated, looking between her and a amused Gendry.

"Oh, she said it! She said exactly what you said she would say if she were here," Hale pointed out excitedly.

"I told you," Gendry replied.

"What did you tell her about me?" Arya asked defensively.

Shaking off the rush of shame, Arya let it go and instead asked, "The Dragon Queen? Did you say something about the Dragon Queen?"

Then Hale explained that the bag of vegetables was provided by the Dragon Queen's people, who in recent days have been distributing food and medicine in Flea Bottom. She seemed sincerely content with all of it as if she were a child talking about her hero.

"Actually, I was expecting to find ya' here, with your friend," she said at one point, emphasizing the last word, looking between her and Gendry.

Arya frowned.

"What are you talking about?" she questioned her.

"Your name is on everyone's mouth, Lady Arya Stark. Sister of King Jon Snow."

Arya's hands clenched into fists as her heart skipped a few beats.

***

Despite the pleasant beddings and the spacious and soft featherbed, sleep eluded Jon all night. 

There was a recurring dream of his in which he used to fall off a cliff, after being chased and hunted down by a pack of hungry wolves. A dream that had haunted him since he was but a little child, imagining that those wolves were the spirits of his forebears tormenting Jon for the sin that had sired him.

And following him to a cliff, he would fall into the void so gracelessly, just before waking up with a racing and heavy heart, asking himself why?

Why was there so much grief in his heart?

At first, he couldn't figure it out. It was easier to think that it was just the way things are sometimes when something terrible happens and you can't do much but stand still and watch the damage be done.

The first time he experienced grief, Jon was thinking of his mother. Or the made memory of her mother. Not exactly the person she had really been — the person who he now knew she was—, but the ghostly, unreachable image of her he had made up in his imagination as a motherless child.

How great was his sorrow then, finding solace in the fabrications of his mind. 

The truth was that Jon was just a child, and like any other child, he just wanted a mother. Lord Stark's refusal to bring up any mention of her only increased that need to know who she was, what she was like, and while his siblings had a loving and caring mother in Lady Catelyn, Jon received from her only long, cold stares that charged a young Jon with the guilt of having been living proof of the sin that stained their marriage. 

There was not enough love in his father's wife's heart to extend to him, and therefore he had been excluded from any grace.

From afar, Jon longed for his mother to be to him what Lady Catelyn was to her children, and he would've wanted to never have resented his siblings for it but he couldn't help it — his heart couldn't help it. Lady Catelyn's refusal to accept him and the ostracism to which his bastardy forced him into had carved a hole in his heart, that was still difficult to fill

He sighed, kicking off the beddings and throwing his legs off the bed, sitting up. The balcony doors were open, the fresh bay air rushing in. It was still a stifling environment for him, but at least the city stench was imperceptible from there. 

Dressed only in his breeches, he walked outside to the banister and stood there looking up at the dark sky bathed in stars and the bright moon shining light upon them. All of it sparked a memory in his mind, that of a silver, almost white hair just as startling to the sight. He sighed again but this time it was out of confusion and pent-up energy. His knuckles ached from the pressure exerted in restraining the urge to clench and unclenched his hand. In all the time he had been in that throne room in her presence, it never crossed his mind what he now remembered. 

She was his true father's sister. 

She was his aunt. 

Blood of his blood.

If there was something he should have felt that was indicative of that relation calling out, Jon didn't sense it. Around her, there was a great silence and tension-filled air. And yet, it was impossible not to be more than a man around her. His appreciation of her beauty was pointless to deny. He couldn't escape it. He couldn't escape her. She was such a force of nature that he almost felt embarrassed to be that affected by her. 

She was his aunt. 

Daenerys was to him what Lord Stark was in truth.

Her restrained countenance flashed across his mind, her eyes filled with an emotion that didn't match her cold poise. He wanted to reach out and search for the explanation but it would be like putting his head in the dragon's mouth.

No time for that, Jon thought, chiding himself as his thoughts drifted to the words of Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers. As much as it could all be one of his tricks to lure Jon into a trap — he was well aware of that — it could also be the most reasonable thing to do under the circumstances. Lord Varys did not know the depth of his words, he did not know what Jon did. In another world, in an alternate reality, it might even be the best option to join Daenerys in a single alliance that would unite Westeros as one again. In this one, it was even objectionable to bring Daenerys into a union where she did not know the truth of who they were to each other. It was unfair. 

But neither was he sure enough that by telling her the truth, she would so mildly accept that he had no intention of acting on it or challenging her in any way. 

They needed her more than she needed them. She knew that and would not easily stray from that mindset, just because he tells her that they share blood, because his brother — cousin —, told him so. 

Inevitably, he wondered what Lord Stark would do at the face of this conundrum. Having first in mind the North's and his family sakes was the easier answer.

But then...Lord Stark was dead, his daughters were left to fend for themselves, and the North rose up in arms, raging war in his name.

Jon sighed one last time and returned to his chamber.

***

On the break of dawn, Daenerys found herself in her office with the balcony doors wide open to let in the cool draft and the sound of moving waters. That day her Great Council would start its deliberation, the first of many she supposed and at some point, the matter of the Army of the Dead would be brought in. She would have to face Jon Snow again, and endure his presence throughout all the time he'd take to convince the good Lords that this was the war of all. If just by saying a few words she could spare him the time so that he could return as soon as possible to his frozen wasteland, she would do so, but Daenerys knew she had to act wisely. 

She didn't want control to slip from her grasp again, and from what she could see, Jon continued to behave like an outside agent who undermined her plans, as if fate was hell-bent on putting him in her way. She wondered again if he didn't already know the truth of his identity. She knew the way to find out: if Daenerys pushed hard enough to get a reaction, a reaction she would stir by threatening the North, then she would have her answer.

But still, all of it affected her more than she had expected.

Careful, she chided herself. These paths had already been traveled and instead of teaching her a lesson, it has left her sore and brittle. 

Shivers ran down her spine at the memory of his gaze on her, too still, too long and longing. The dust of their affair still lingered in her memory as it did the end of it and the moments drenched in despair and desolation that piled up until it came to it. 

She had wanted as she had wanted anything in this world before and has paid a blood price for the crumbs of his deceitful affection. 

She sighed heavily as she bent over, head down to her knees. If only the dagger in her heart had been enough to end that suffering instead of prolonging it.

The doors to her office swung open and she flinched a bit before seeing Jorah walking through it. 

He smiled and so did she.

His eyes dropped to the maps that lay on top of her desk and the notations she had made on them.

"Yi Ti? Its princes are said to live in houses of solid gold, and—"

"—to eat sweetmeats with pearls and jade powdered over it," she finished for him, smiling. "The reality of it is much less splendid."

"And you know it?"

The smile faded from Daenerys' face as she realized what she was implying. In this life, she had not yet visited the old empire.

Jorah brushed it off.

"Today is an important day for you," he said, coming to sit across from her after dragging a chair. 

"It will be quite the affair, I can say that," Dany replied. "Can I ask you a question and wait for an honest answer from you?" His silence and serious eyes were confirmation enough for her. "What should I think of Jon Snow?"

Jorah looked confused.

"I cannot dictate the course of your thoughts, Khaleesi."

"You can help me get my bearings and that's what I need right now," she almost begged.

"Well," he said, shaking his hands thoughtfully, "I didn't like Eddard Stark. I don't think he liked me neither. And I don't know anything about this man to pass judgment on him based only on my prejudices and what little I've seen of him. It is true that he has a wrong behavior towards you but that is the way Northerners are, Khaleesi. I can't blame him for that."

"Regardless of his behavior, what about his character? Is him someone trustworthy?"

She needed to hear in his words what she thought she knew, otherwise she would understand that she had fallen into deception.

There was no one but Jorah and maybe Missandei that Daenerys could trust to know the answer to it.

After a pause, Jorah finally nodded.

"Yes, Khaleesi. I think we can trust him."

***

Applause and cheers broke as Daenerys entered the Dragonpit, taking her by surprise. She allowed the commonfolk in to witness the meeting, and though her hands clenched into fist relaxed and for a moment, she was stilled in her place, overwhelmed with an indescribable feeling. 

These were people she had killed in the life before this. People that have feared her so terribly, rightfully so. 

Dany's gaze lowered to find Ser Jorah and Missandei behind her smiling proudly at her. This maybe was a dream and perhaps she was really dead, she thought.

She turned and continued her march to the dais where the great Lords and Ladies were waiting for her.

***

He was used to and even comfortable in this place in the shadows, watching everything from a distance. It was impossible to know what was said except by the rumors that came and went from the mouths of the commonfolk that his guards captured in pieces to communicate to him.

"Your grace," asked one of his young knights, a lad named Foyel, "Do you think the North can burn?"

Though a deadly warrior whose worth has been proven on the battlefield during the Battle of the Bastards, Foyel was still on his green years.

"If it does at least we won't end up among the ranks of the army of the dead," Jon replied.

The soldier nodded, his expression lost in dilemma.

Jon wondered if the North was willing to burn before surrendering its independence. As far as he knew, his people were stubborn people. But even a will of steel melted in the fire.

Rather, he wondered if Daenerys would actually burn them alive to get it.

"Are you fighting with your thoughts again, brother?"

Jon almost jumped from the shock of hearing Arya behind him. Even Foyel got into a defensive position in front of him.

Arya did nothing but look at the young soldier askance as she walked forward. 

"How did you get in here?" Jon asked her, still started.

She pointed to the obvious access to the loggia. 

"They just let me in," she said, pointing out the Unsullied standing at some distance away from them. "Are you her prisoner?"

"Her guest. Where were you?"

"Paying a visit to an old friend."

"Who?"

"Gendry is his name. And he is somebody I knew back when I was a child wandering the roads," she explained. 

Jon was dumbfounded at her apparent calm.

"You attacked Cersei," he reproached her.

"I did," she did not deny.

"Why?"

"You know why."

"You marred our mission, Arya!" he finally exploded, surprising his guards and Arya herself though she quickly concealed it. "All our efforts were jeopardized by your whim!" 

"Is it a whim to want justice for our family?" she asked.

Jon blinked in disbelief.

"You don't understand," she continued, "I saw it, Jon. I had to see it, when those men defiled our brother's body, attaching his body to his direwolf head."

He winced but did not relent on his reproaches. 

"And I am sorry for it. But killing Cersei won't bring Robb or your mother, or father, or Rickon back," he said.

"Not, but justice will bring us peace," she retorted.

"Us? Who is us, Arya? Did you really think of me when you acted on your own terms?"

At this, Arya remained silent.

The gazes of the guards had turned hostile towards her, she noticed.

"What do you think Daenerys thought when we arrived in her city without a warning and causing a breach in her guard?" he asked her.

"Have you decided to bend the knee to her?" 

"Arya, please!" he shouted, "You sound...You sound like Sansa."

"The wight..." 

"Do you think that'd be enough?" he cut her off.

"If it isn't, they will have to understand it. Somehow they will. I can persuade them," she hurried over and try to grab Jon by his arm but he pulled away from her.

His face was flushed with fury.

Jon had never seen her with those eyes.

"Do you know what the problem is that neither you nor Sansa can dimension? That we won't even survive this winter without alliances! And alliances cannot be formed without good faith." His expression softened a bit but his eyes were still hard as steel. "You two went through horrible things. I know. I always keep it in mind. But that doesn't justify the things that both of you have been doing against me. It's not fair. Not when I'm the one who always has your well-being and that of the North in my priorities."

Arya took a deep breath and looked at the ground, feeling heavy with the regret of seeing him so openly affected. 

"I am fed up with you two. If you or Sansa decide to continue playing this sick little game and undermine my authority, then I don't have to consider your endorsement in my decision-making. The North chose me as King. Not her. Not you. Not Bran. And I think now I understand why."

She felt alien to this Jon but didn't have the strength of the nerve to oppose him.

Jon walked a few steps back and looked at her with hard resolution.

"Ser Foyel, remove Lady Arya's from her weapons," he ordered. 

"What? Not! You can't do that!" she protested. 

But Jon rapidly spoke above her protests with a thunderous voice, "I can and I will," he said, "I am your brother but I am your King first. And until we go back to the North, I want you to keep your distance with any matter that doesn't concern you. Otherwise, I will order that you be imprisoned and taken back to the North for openly rebelling against your King."

***

Dany sat upright in her seat, hands resting on the armchairs. 

"Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms," she started, "It is an honor for me to be here today with the most important members of the noble Houses of Westeros. As you may already know, my arrival on the continent and with King's Landing on my hold, opens a new stage in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. A period of transitions, where we will leave behind the years of bloody confrontation and wretched deception established mainly by the House Lannister regime and started by the now extinguished House Baratheon."

She couldn't contain the hint of disdain in her words. A taste that she had not been able to savor before.

Daenerys' eyes surveyed their faces, those already known and those yet to be known. Lady Olenna seemed alerted and vigilant as always while his nephew was oddly calm in comparison. She wondered what the Queen of Thorns might be up to.

"I've come a long way here; one full of obstacles that hardly any of you have ever traversed before. And I have learned from my mistakes and blunders. Those of you who are here today, of their own volition, will be asked a single question that matters at the end of the day, and that question is: which side of history are you going to stay on; on the one of the old days with the old ways or that of the new beginning and the new world."

She paused and looked at them all pointedly.

"Those who choose the former will have the liberty to walk out of this city, unharmed, to go back home and wait there for the imminent arrival of the change that will reach you all. And those others who decide to accompany me in this endeavor, you can rest assured, you have taken the right choice."

Quickly her eyes found Tyrion and Varys, who looked at each other, wordlessly sharing something that she still did not know, but what she would be watching and searching for.

She leaned back and asked, "Shall we begin?"