Queen in the North

Jon

He watched from the top of the stairs, dragons circling the castle. The initial terror of seeing the beasts had worn off and now he found himself wondering what the story was the held the pasts of the three beasts. He slowly descended the stairs, moving towards their mother. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached her. Her family had murdered his uncle and grandfather using wildfire. He couldn't even imagine what she could do to him with her dragons if he offended her. 

"Amazing thing to see." His eyes following the shrinking figures in the distance. 

The queen seemed to stiffen at the sound of her voice. "I named them for my brothers, Visaerys and Rheagar. They're both gone now." She turned towards him. "You lost two brothers as well?"

Rickon's face flashes in his mind. For a minute, Jon had hope. His arm had been outstretched and ready to scoop his little brother up and on to his courser. Rickon's eyes had mirrored that hope until Ramsay's arrow went through his neck. Then Rickon's hope faded to terror. Time had seemed to stop as Rickon died. The look in his eyes still haunted Jon, he had looked at him like they were children again. His eyes held the same look that they would in Winterfell when he had a nightmare or Theon would scare him. He had looked at Jon as if he could save him, he looked at his big brother and expected him to protect him. Rickon had died, all the same, leaving Jon with the guilt of knowing that he had been seconds away from saving him. 

His eyes shifted downwards, and he gave her a stiff nod. She continued, "People thought that dragons were gone, but here they are. Perhaps we should all be examining what we think we know."

His eyes shot up. For a second he allowed himself to believe that she trusted his word, that she could overlook the lunacy that had poured out of his mouth upon their first encounter. Then he remembered his conversation with Tyrion. "Have you been taking to Tyrion?"

"He is my hand."

"He enjoys talking." Jon could remember his first impression of the dwarf from a time that felt like it was another life. He had simply seen him as a man who liked the sound of his own voice. 

"We all enjoy what we are good at."

A grimace crossed Jon's face. He had many talents, few of which brought him any joy. Sword fighting was paired with death, leading was paired with killing or watching those you cared for die. It seemed to him that his one true gift was that of death. "I don't."

She seemed to study him for a minute, trying to read him, but he made sure that his face offered her no answers. "You do know that I will not let Cersei stay on the Iron Throne?"

"I never expected that you would."

"And I haven't changed my mind as to which kingdoms belong to that throne."

"Neither have I." His heart was dropping with every single word that they uttered. For a moment he thought that maybe they were coming to an agreement, but then they returned to a topic that he knew neither of them would compromise. 

"I will allow you to mine the dragon glass and forge weapons from it."

His eyes widened, maybe he wasn't a fool for traveling south after all.

"Any resources or men you need, I will provide for you." She finally met his eye.  

"Thank you." He said softly. "So, you believe me then, about the Night King and army of the dead?"

"You better get to work, Jon Snow." 

He bit his tongue before another word left his mouth, not wanting to undo all of the progress that he had just made with the dragon queen. He turned and ascended the stone stairs, to the palace carved out to rock. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

Doing a little jump to that night at dinner.

During his meals, excluding feasts that the dragon queen had put on twice now for appearance's sake, he found Olenna Tyrell sitting by his side. Truth be told, he liked the woman. She reminded him of Sansa. He knew that Sansa had spent some time with the Tyrells in Kingslanding. Perhaps she had learned some of her southern games from them.

"You know, when I first saw you, I almost fought that I had seen the ghost of Eddard Stark. Now, I can see the difference between you. You have his coloring and his build, but not his face. Who is your mother?"

Most kings would be offended by her brash words, but Jon wasn't. Margaery almost looked like she wanted to clap a hand over her grandmother's mouth. She was very different from her grandmother but considering that not even two moons prior, she had watched most of her family burn in the Sept of Balor, her quietness was expected. However, she was beginning to come back to life. He knew her pain all too well. He knew how it felt like to know that your family perished and you couldn't do a thing. He has seen it with his father, Robb, and Rickon. "No, my Lady." 

"For the last time, call me Olenna. It is a shame. Although I can tell you who I think she was. I have seen a more love-struck man than your father was at the Tourney of Harrenhal when he danced with Lady Ashara Dayne. You don't really look like her or Arthur though." Olenna seemed to shrug off that theory. This wasn't the first time that his parentage wormed its way into their conversations. Every time they talked, Olenna seemed to prevent a new theory and test the waters with it, like he would be able to confirm or deny it. Part of him suspected that she might know more than she let on. 

"Forgive my grandmother. She seems to forget that she is speaking with a king." Margaery stared daggers into Olenna who ignored it. 

"I don't care if is a king or a jester, when your as old as I, you speak your mind. Darling, I would have spoken this to Joffery, if the whelped hadn't croaked before I had the chance to." Olenna retorted. She struck Jon as a powerful friend, but a deadly enemy.