Chapter Text
Daenerys POV:
Daenerys was in her private quarters in the Great Pyramid, enjoying a cup of wine as she listened to her Hand speak.
“If we sail for Westeros today, you could no doubt take the Iron Throne with ease. The Unsullied, the Dothraki, and your dragons are all quite formidable. And now you have Dorne, the Reach, and the Iron Islands all on your side. We really couldn’t ask to find ourselves in a better position.” Tyrion stated, looking to her with a content look on his face.
But one can always have more allies, can’t they? she thought.
“Not everyone in Westeros is sworn to me. I ended things with Daario for a reason, did I not?” Daenerys said, lazily taking a sip of wine.
“I didn’t realize you wished to marry so soon, Your Grace.” came Tyrion’s response, sounding a bit surprised at her words.
“It is not about what I wish or do not wish, it is what must be done. Marriage is the best way to make alliances. The Stormlands, the Vale, the North, and the Riverlands all remain in question. I would like to win at least one of them to my side before we leave Meereen. Is there any particular lord you recommend?” she said, wanting to know what her options, if any, were.
Her Hand sighed, and then began to list them out for her.
“House Tully rules the Riverlands, but their lord is already married, and has an heir of his own. The Stormlands, well, they’re in disarray. They have no ruling lord, and I doubt they will come to a decision on that matter anytime soon. That leaves you with the North and the Vale.”
She nodded. “Go on.”
“House Arryn serves as Warden of the East. Lord Robin Arryn is the head of his house, a bit young, eight years younger than you if I remember correctly. But, um … I believe you would do well to avoid marrying him.” Tyrion said, and his voice was laced with discomfort as he looked off into a corner of the room.
“What’s wrong with him?” Daenerys asked, her eyebrows knitting together.
“Well. For one, when I met him as a boy of six he was still being fed at his mother’s breast. He was a petulant child, whiny and spoiled. Sickly, as well.”
Still being held at his mother’s breast at six? No, that will not do. Not in the slightest.
It was her turn to sigh, and she did.
“That leaves the North then.”
“Whatever is left of it. They’ve been ravaged by war, and House Stark no longer holds Winterfell. They were usurped by House Bolton, and now Ramsay Bolton holds the North. The rumors are that he is …” Tyrion trailed, looking away from her.
“That he is what?” she asked.
“Well, that he’s a madman. That he rather enjoys both watching and making people suffer. I’m not entirely sure that’s the kind of man you wish to marry.”
A psychopathic usurper? Between him and Lord Arryn, is that the best the Seven Kingdoms has to offer?
“It pains me to say this, but I believe out of the two, Robin Arryn is the best option.”
A swish of fabric, and then she saw Varys entering the room, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe.
“Not quite.” he said, in his usual cryptic tone.
Daenerys raised a brow.
“There is another option, my queen, should you be inclined to hear it.”
“Go on.” she commanded, crossing a leg over the other as she waited to hear what he had to say.
“The winds have brought whispers that Jon Snow has been named King in the North.”
“Jon Snow? Ned Stark’s bastard?” Tyrion said, face full of shock as he nearly dropped his cup of wine.
“You know him?” she questioned, caught off guard by the fact.
“We traveled to the Wall together. He was to join the Night’s Watch, and he did. It’s supposed to be a life long position.” Tyrion murmured, taking another sip of wine.
“So, he is an oath breaker then? That certainly says much about him, doesn't it?” Daenerys said, and now she rolled her eyes, annoyed and frustrated because this seemed to be yet another disappointing match.
Then Varys was speaking once more.
“If he did stray from his vows, the Northern lords clearly do not mind. Perhaps he redeemed himself on the battlefield. He did take back Winterfell from House Bolton, my queen.”
An oath breaker and a warrior. Rather like Jaime Lannister.
That did not sit well with her. Things were not looking good for Jon Snow.
“And what else has he done?” she asked, hoping that perhaps there was something that could redeem his rather lackluster introduction.
“Apparently, he has allied the Northern houses with the wildlings.”
At seeing her confusion, Varys added, “They are a people who live past the Wall, Your Grace. Very similar to your Dothraki in both custom and culture. They are seen as savages by most of Westeros.”
She perked up in her seat at that.
“And these wildlings, they follow Jon Snow?”
“They fought by his side during the battle to retake Winterfell.” Varys stated.
The same way my Dothraki fight for me.
Perhaps things were looking better for him now.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked, the question directed at Tyrion.
Her Hand shrugged, and then took yet another sip of wine before he answered her.
“I rather liked him when we met. A bit sullen, very melancholic, but a good man. I trusted him, and he would make a rather valuable ally if he does indeed rule the North. My family executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. He has even more of a reason to hate my sister than you do.”
He paused then.
“However …”
“However?” she prompted, wanting to hear whatever reservations Tyrion held.
“Well, he is a bastard. I’m not sure that marrying him would boost your popularity amongst the lords and ladies of Westeros.”
Daenerys let out a sigh of relief, and then she was quickly responding to Tyrion’s words.
“And was it his fault his father decided to stray from his marriage vows? I think not. Besides, if I am going to break the wheel, perhaps this is a good place to start.”
Truthfully, it didn’t bother her that the King in the North held no proper last name. It was a man’s character that mattered, and though she did not know him, Jon appeared to be well liked by her Hand, at the very least.
“Write to this … Jon Snow. Tell him his rightful queen offers him a chance to stand by her side when justice comes for Cersei Lannister. He can even behead her himself if he so wishes.”
She saw Tyrion wince at that, but she ignored it. If her Hand truly wanted her to sit on the Iron Throne, then he would stand by her decision when the time came for Cersei to answer for her crimes.
And so a raven was sent, offering terms that she thought were more than agreeable: they would pledge themselves to one another in a marriage alliance to unite the North and the South. He would be named King Consort, and have a place of honor on her council, and they would decide together who would be named their Warden of the North once they married. In return, the North would join her in the fight against Cersei, and be reabsorbed into the Seven Kingdoms.
She had thought the raven they had sent had lost its way when Tyrion came running into her quarters one day.
“We’ve received a reply from the King in the North.” he stated, an opened scroll in his hand.
“He certainly took long enough. Well, what does he say?” she asked, leaning against a wall as she looked out onto the city.
“He wishes to know if there is a possibility of having a period of time in which the two of you can get to know one another before you marry. A short betrothal, a moon or so, and should either of you find the other disagreeable then the entire arrangement can be called off.”
Oh.
Well, it wasn’t a bad idea. They would be strangers if they ever met, and even if he had Tyrion’s approval, Jon Snow did not have hers. At least, not yet.
She glanced at where Tyrion stood, waiting for her response.
“Hmm. It shall take a moon to sail from Meereen to Dragonstone? Then he shall have one moon to come to know me once he arrives. We set sail once we receive his reply, whatever it may be.”
- - -
His reply came much faster than the last one had. In fact, it felt as if they had just sent the raven off when back it came, a small scroll attached to its leg.
This time, she gave the order to have no one but herself read it first.
Breaking the seal, she looked over the parchment, a few lines of ink and a stamp in the shape of a direwolf all that laid written in front of her.
To Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Targaryen
I accept your terms. I will begin the journey to Dragonstone at the end of the current turn of the moon. You can expect myself and a small contingent of men loyal to me.
I look forward to meeting you.
Your betrothed,
Jon Snow, King in the North
There were no flowery words, no romantic sentiments. Only short sentences that held no hidden meanings.
Well, at least he had said he looked forward to meeting her. A statement that was polite enough, though it left her wondering if Jon Snow was a man that was as cold as the kingdom he ruled.
She summoned Tyrion to her.
After reading the scroll, he looked up to her and said, “This is a good thing, is it not?”
Daenerys glanced down, and then back up to see her dragons flying across the sky.
“We shall see.”
- - -
The day had finally come.
The day she was to sail for Westeros, to her home.
She was about to step aboard the flagship of the fleet, the vessel that would take them to Dragonstone, to the ancient seat of House Targaryen.
To the island where she would be meeting her betrothed for the first time.
“Tyrion?”
“Yes, my queen?”
She paused, and then she asked the question she had been wondering since she had received the King in the North’s response a few days ago.
“Jon Snow. What does he look like?”
Her Hand let a small smile spread across his face.
“Ah. Like a typical Northerner. Dark hair and gray eyes.” came his reply, and when she gave him a stare that meant she wanted more details, his smile grew bigger and he let out a laugh.
“All I can say is, I don’t believe you’ll be disappointed, Your Grace.”
Daenerys let out a huff of breath, and then her feet hit the deck of the ship and she looked up at the sky, her dragons flying above her, screeching and roaring as they announced their departure.
It was time, then, to begin what she was born to do.
With fire and blood, I will take what is mine. And should Jon Snow know what is good for him, he will be by my side when I claim the Iron Throne.