#err...pre-jonerys

[reddoorandthelemontree]

A Northman

A little ficlet as I wait for Ep 3.  Dany asks about Jon.

“Your Grace.”   The voice was so low she nearly didn’t catch it.  Theon Greyjoy stood half in shadow, his eyes fixed on the floor.  

Dany stopped, surprised.  Young Greyjoy rarely spoke, was even less willing to put himself forward, but kept to his sister like a shadow.  Dany had half-expected him to have followed Yara out; the Ironborn ships were set to sail this morning for Dorne, in the hopes that, if all went well, they would have returned by the time the King in the North arrived.  But he had lingered in the war room after everyone else had left, though there was a moment of hesitation before he took a step towards her and bowed.

“My lord,” Dany said gently.  She couldn’t allow herself much gentleness, not now, not for a long time, but it seemed wrong to be anything else with this pale young man, who looked as if one wrong breath would shatter him.  She barely knew Theon Greyjoy, but, looking at him, she remembered her life as it was before Slaver’s Bay, before the khalasar and her children.  When there had only been Viserys, and the fear.

“Your Grace.  I would like to…advise…to suggest…you should put out bread and salt, Your Grace.  Wine, too, if you have it.”

“I always provide my guests with food and drink,” Dany began, but Theon shook his head fiercely, though he still would not look up.

“No, no that.  Not just that,” he stumbled.  “Bread and salt.  First thing.  It’s important.  Wine and cheese is you being gracious, but bread and salt is guest right.”  For a moment, his pale blue eyes flickered up to hers.  “They have that in Essos?”

“After a fashion.”  She’d spent half her life as someone’s guest, or another; but Essos was not Westeros, and the rights of hospitality were often only held so long as it suited.  “I gather it’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not.  It’s important,” Theon said again, and this time his voice did not shake.  “Once they eat of your bread and salt, no harm can come to them under your roof, and they’ll do no harm to you.  It’s a promise.  In the North, though, it’s more than that, it’s...Jon…the King in the North…he’ll know what it means.”

Daenerys took in this thin, pale shadow of a boy.  “Lord Tyrion tells me that you spent your youth at Winterfell.”

There was a small silence.  Theon swallowed before answering.  “That was another life, Your Grace.”

“But you knew this King in the North.  You grew up with him.”

Another silence.  “Yes, Your Grace.”  Greyjoy’s gaze went to the etching towards the north of the great wooden table.  To Winterfell.  “I grew up with him.”

“What sort of man is he?”

For the first time since she had met him, a small smile flickered across Theon’s face.  It vanished as quickly as it appeared, like sun behind a raincloud.  “A Northman.”

Dany had to turn away at the sudden, terrifying sense of depth.  It was as if she was swimming, trying to cross an ocean, and had only just kicked out to realize she had no idea how deep the waters went.  A Northman.  That meant something, she could see that it did, but she didn’t know what.  I don’t know this kingdom.  I came here to rule, but I don’t know these people at all.  She couldn’t ask, she couldn’t turn back, she couldn’t let him see.

Greyjoy went on hurriedly, as if her silence worried him as much as it did her.  “He’s stubborn.  Jon.  And…honest.  He keeps his word.”

She was able now to turn back with a smile, forced though it felt.  “Are there still men that do that?”

“Jon does.  He’s not one for fancy words...not many words at all.  He would watch, and think...you could see him thinking.  But he doesn’t lie.  Didn’t,” Theon corrected himself.  “When I knew him.  He’s…a Stark.”  The last was so quiet it was almost lost.

There was the quick sharp stamp of a gait Dany had learned to recognize early on.  Yara strode into the war room, cutting straight for her brother.  “Tide’s turning.  We should leave now if we don’t want to wait til evening.”  She gave a quick nod to Dany, and then smiled.  “I imagine you have better things to do than see us off, Daenerys.  Try not to weep too hard,” Yara added, offering her hand.  “We’ll be back soon enough.”

Dany clasped the young woman’s arm.  “Safely.”

“Not too safely, I hope,” Yara replied with a mischievous twinkle.  “A girl’s got to have some fun.”

Dany turned to Theon.  She nearly offered her hand, but he didn’t like to be touched.  “Bread and salt.  I promise.”

She saw the pink flush as young Greyjoy glanced towards his sister, but he bowed.  “Your Grace.”

Dany watched them go, then sent down to the kitchens.

[reddoorandthelemontree]

A Letter

Jonerys Season 7 Ficlet — just a little thing I wrote while waiting for Ep 2. 

The raven came that morning.  Only one.  They had sent dozens out, and Dany watched them fly with her heart beating so quickly it felt as if a pair of wings hand been trapped in her chest.  And only one had flown back home.

“He calls himself the King in the North.”  Tyrion lifted a sardonic eyebrow.  “Another one.”

“Jon Snow.”  They had spoken of him, as they planned and plotted on the seas to Westeros, but never very much and not for very long.  And only ever as the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

“Yes, Your Grace.”  The Lord Varys’ voice was sweet as honeyed wine, but Dany remembered another cup of wine, one he would’ve had her drink.  “The bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark.  It was another Stark, another King in the North, that saw wisdom when your great ancestor first brought his armies and his dragons across the sea, and bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror.  History, perhaps, would give us something to hope.”

“And you would have us forget a more recent history?” Daenerys’ voice was cold.  She heard it, and hated that the others might hear it, too.  It was a struggle to continue, lighter - “His father fought with Robert Baratheon.”

“And my brother killed your father.”  Tyrion’s voice was not without sympathy, but the truth was there, and in the look he gave her.

Dany let out a small breath; her chest felt bound with wire.  “True.”

“Nor are we in a position to turn down friends.  There are seven kingdoms; you hold one keep.  The North would not be an insignificant ally.”

And that was true as well.  “What does he want?”

Tyrion handed her the letter.  The long strip of parchment curled over her fingers.   “To meet with you.  More than that…”  He looked to Varys, who held up his hands, as innocent as a child.  “The bird was sent from White Harbor.  If the winds are with him, he will be here soon.”

Dany ran her thumb along the letter, over the signet.  The parchment had been marked with the seal of a white wolf, hackles raised and teeth bared.  She remembered the tales Willem Darry had told her as a child, of big bad wolves and the little girls who got lost in the woods.  They’ll huff, and they’ll puff, and they’ll eat you all up, princess! he would exclaim theatrically as she giggled in terror and delight.  But she was not a little girl any longer.  She was a dragon, and dragons feared no wolf.  Nor any man, neither. “When this King in the North arrives, Lord Tyrion, you will greet him personally.  I shall be interested to hear what he has to say.”