Posts by the crow

i gotta go to sleep pals

g'night

sleep well

don't let the bed bugs bite and all that good stuff

crow out ~

(c)trexgirl

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Lyah watched Dragonstone loom up in the distance from her place at the bow of the ship, arms folded and her teeth worrying her lower lip. It was wreathed in a low hanging fog that seemed to dissipate as they got closer, bringing more of the castle itself into sight. It was magnificent, ro say the least. It perched on the crags and rocks like one of its namesakes, towers and peaks silhouetted against the sky. Raising one hand to shield her eyes, she tilted her face upwards, trying for a moment to conjure up an image of what the Targaryen's home might have looked like in all its glory, banners unfurled and flapping in the breeze, the shrieks of dragons overhead. Her heart leapt in her chest and she leaned forward on her toes slightly, tasting salty air as the wind buffeted sea spray up into her face. She had always been fascinated by beasts and creatures, not least among them dragons and direwolves (how dearly she loved Ghost - her heart gave a small pang at the thought of him), and she longed to catch a glimpse of one of Daenerys's dragons herself, if the rumors about the last Targaryen were true, of course.

She had come along on this escapade as Jon's friend, a trusted confidant and companion, but there was certainly no lack of her own curiosity in her actions. And, if she was being quite honest with herself, she had come along simply because Jon asked. Even if he hadn't sought her sharp mind or diplomatic tongue, she would have come had he just wanted a friend. She had known the young wolf for as long as she could remember, his childish face always a staple in the memories of her early years. How many times had she followed him around, sticks in hand, on some misadventure? Is this really any different? her mouth quirked in a small half smile and she chided herself, turning away from the bow of the boat to join Jon and the rest of the group they would be traveling with. Of course it's different, her own voice snapped at her, and she felt a flush creep up her neck at her childish thoughts. There were lives at stake here, not last among them her own. There was the world at stake. She wouldn't make the mistake of thinking any less of their task again.

Drawing up beside Freya, the young wildling woman Lyah was beginning to like more and more each day, she followed Jon and Davos into the boat, dipping one hand in the water as they settled themselves and a few crewmen began rowing. She could see the forms of figures on the beach a ways off, all of them somber and perfectly still, looking like little stones from a distance. "Let's be careful not to get on her temper too quickly," she mused, edges of her mouth downturned as she looked skywards once more. "If she does have dragons, I'd like to avoid being tonight's dinner." The sound of her heartbeat was lost as they drew closer to the shore, swallowed up by the cascade of waves on the rocks.

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

"Your Grace," Tyrion called softly, bowing as he stepped into the throne room. Daenerys, seated on the throne and looking at something off in the distance, or perhaps only thinking, looked up at him. "The King in the North has arrived."

---

Jon Snow had gotten taller. That was the first thing Tyrion Lannister noticed, watching the young Stark bastard climb out of the boat and cross the sand towards them. The second thing he noticed was that he looked weathered, older beyond simply the touch of years. It was good to see him, and Tyrion hoped they could come to some sort of mutual agreement. He liked the boy, he really did, and he would hate to see him and his companions come to a horrible end at his Queen's hands. If it came to it, he only wished he might be able to persuade her not to kill the man.

He did a quick inventory of the other individuals with Jon as they neared. A man walked a few paces behind him, to his right, presumably his Hand, if Jon would consider him as such. An adviser, Tyrion noted, lingering for a moment on the older man's face before passing to the other two party members. There was a woman, dark haired and lean, cold grey eyes watching him with as much curiosity as apprehension. She glanced at Jon, a flicker of unease flitting across her delicate features, and he arched an eyebrow. Not one of the Stark children, though she and Jon were not entirely dissimilar in look, not unless she was another bastard. A lover perhaps? Or simply a friend? Another adviser?

The next character was even more curious, with fiery curls and an air about her that even from a distance felt charged with static electricity. Not one to be trifled with, that much was evident. Tyrion found himself staring at her for what might have been a trifle longer than necessary, eyebrows drawing together. She didn't look like anyone he had seen before, as if there was something different about her features that distinguished her, though in reality she might have looked like a hundred other women. There was just something about her, the way she carried herself, the way her eyes shifted. He was intrigued.

"The Bastard of Winterfell," he greeted as Jon drew up in front of him, stopping. "And his companions." There was a moment of silence, and Tyrion gave a small smile It's good to see you again, it seemed to say. "Care to introduce us?"

「 — DAENERYS TARGARYEN — 」

[gonna hold out on a post with dany til they enter the throne room!]

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Upon being introduced, Lyah inclined her head, gaze passing from the armed soldiers who accompanied Danerys's men to the dwarf who had greeted them. His name was still unknown, but he seemed like he meant well enough, and he and Jon apparently knew each other. She made a mental note to ask Jon about the man later, curious as to their past interactions with each other. "A pleasure..." she greeted, trailing off. The man laughed, offering her a kind smile. "Forgive me. Tyrion Lannister. At your service." He legged a small bow and Lyah found that she trusted the man, despite barely knowing him. She only hoped that the head on his shoulder was logical and he wouldn't allow them to meet the same fat Jon's grandfather had so many years ago. The thought was bitter in the back of her mouth.

As the Queen's assistant - Missandei - asked them to hand over their weapons, the feeling rose like bile, and she shot a sharp glance at Jon, shuffling on the balls of her feet, waiting for a derivative. As he looked over the small group and consented, she let out a hissed breath between her teeth, but nonetheless unstrapped the dagger (unbaptized and yet unused) from her waist, passing it and its belt over to a rather grim looking fellow with jet black hair and dark brows, chiseled features set in a mask of impasse. Although she had not yet had cause to use the dagger, and had not so much as wielded a sword since she was much younger, she felt suddenly exposed without the reassuring weight of it at her side, and drew up near Jon as the group began to walk. The path up to Dragonstone was narrow, and so they fell in side by side as the rest of them dispersed, Davos and Missandei chatting casually and Tyrion curiously striking up a conversation with Freya - something Lyah was deeply intrigued by. The only Lannisters she ever met had been foul minded and pretentious, and she found the air that the disgraced-turned-honored man gave off to be a comfort, though she remained on edge nevertheless. "Are you comfortable with all this?" She asked softly, voice pitched low as she glanced over at Jon. "You don't have a bad feeling about any of it, I mean?"

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

As the woman - Lyah Forrester - addressed him, Tyrion smiled, realizing he had not introduced himself. "Forgive me. Tyrion Lannister. At your service." He offered a slight bow, inclining his head to Ser Davos as well, stepping forward to shake his hand. "Ah yes, a worthy knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater. I hope not to do so again." His voice was genuine, with no hint of a threat, and he stepped back, turning to the dark-skinned woman at his side. "Missandei is the Queen's most trusted adviser." She stepped forward with a kind smile and inclined her head. "Welcome to Dragonstone. Our Queen knows this is a long journey and she appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons..."

Tyrion watched silently as the Northmen shuffled, each obviously and justifiably apprehensive about being without arms in a strange land with a woman who by all intents and purposes might mean to kill them. Silently, he begged them to comply, and found himself relieved when Jon consented, though not without looks of trepidation from his traveling companions. "A simple precaution," he assured, watching the Dothraki approach the company to take their weapons, the tension in the air not amiss. "I do hope you understand." Their attention was not on him, however, as the Dothraki bent to pick up the small boat they had rowed in on, carrying it away. "Please," Missandei said from beside him. "This way." She turned, and after a moment Tyrion followed, allowing Jon & co. to fall in behind them. Ser Davos, always curious, fell in stride beside Missandei, striking up a casual conversation (or at least attempting to) and Tyrion fell back a few paces, allowing them to talk for a moment before Davos stepped back and he drew up beside Missandei, leading the way up the ramps towards Dragonstone itself.

The walk from the beach was long and the silence deafening, and so Tyrion turned his attention to their visitors, curious about the wildling woman. "One of the Free Folk, you said?" He asked, looking between her and Jon. "I suppose you have come with testimony of life beyond the wall? I do believe our Queen will be quite intrigued to hear about. The... Wights, as they call them, you've seen them?" He made no move to hide the doubt in his voice, but the question was friendly enough.

「 — DAENERYS TARGARYEN — 」

[gonna hold out on a post with dany til they enter the throne room!]

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Lyah pursed her lips as she listened to Jon's words, nodding a bit. He was right, she knew as much, but it didn't remove the small bubble of fear building beneath her breastbone. "No, I don't think he would either," she replied, glancing towards Tyrion. He wouldn't purposely get them killed, that much she was almost sure of. "Still, what if this Targaryen is just like the last?" She met his eyes, her own betraying the concern and fear that was burning in her chest. "If she's mad, what then? It's not like she'll just let us-" her words were cut off by an ungodly screech from above and behind them. It split the air and rattled inside her skull like dice in a cup, and instinctively Lyah dropped to the ground alongside Jon, heart hammering in her throat and her entire body tensed and ready to run. A strong wind buffeted her shoulders, pressing her further into the stone path, and when she finally could lift her head, her eyes blew wide. Dragons. Actual dragons. Three of them. She felt her mouth drop slightly and made an effort to close it, swallowing hard as she watched the beasts - more terrifying and yet more beautiful than she could have ever imagined - arc and soar overhead, calling to one another and beating the sky into submission with their great leathery wings. Still stunned, she clambered back to her feet, clutching the stone wall even and still staring after them, awestruck.

She glanced at Tyrion as he spoke, her heart still not yet returned to its normal rhythm, and swallowed dryly, sharing a glance with Davos before turning to follow Jon and their escort. She momentarily fell into step with Freya, and leaned in, eyes still trained on the dragons, now moved to fly around the growing shape of the castle. "Have you ever seen anything like it?" She asked softly, mystified. The closest she had ever come to seeing a beast of such epic proportions had been Ghost, who she had impressively seen grow from the size of an average puppy to easily the size of a small horse, his blood red eyes level with hers and his shoulders so high she had to stand on her toes to properly pet him. The feeling of seeing the dragons for the first time was not entirely dissimilar to the feeling of standing before ghost, but had the profound effect of making her feel incredibly small and incredibly unimportant.

As they entered Dragonstone, she couldn't help but glance around her, taking in the impressive construction. It was if the entire castle had been hewn out of the very rock it stood on, as much a part of the landscape as the gigantic boulders and slabs of stone jutting out of the sea when they arrived. As they stood waiting for their summons, she contented herself to some more investigation, eyeing the two guards with their dark helmets and impossible composure, peering up at the high, arching ceilings and lazy gold light drifting in from unseen windows. As dark and sinister as it was, the majesty of Dragonstone was not lost on her. When Tyrion came to summon them, she followed willingly, glancing around them as they made their way into the throne room.

The first thing she noticed was the throne Daenerys was seated upon, and then the woman herself. It seemed to be as much alive as her dragons had been, dark ebony peaks jutting out of the ground. She wondered briefly if it was any comfortable at all. The next thing she noticed was this Dragon Queen they had come to meet. Her hair was silver, a shade she had never seen before, and she sat unmoving, staring at each of them in turn. Beside them, Missandei spoke, and Lyah turned her head to look at her for only a moment before turning her gaze back to the young woman seated across from them. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn," Missandei was saying, sounding far away, "of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburned, the Breaker of Chains." One of Lyah's brows arched up, and she would have smiled were it not for the tension in the room. How was it possible for someone to have so many titles? And how did Missandei remember them all?

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

Tyrion was almost surprised by the conviction in the Wildling woman's voice, and he would be lying if he said that the truth betrayed by her wide, honest eyes did not scare him. He knew little of these Wights save that they were those things wet nurses conjure up to terrify and excite small children, an old myth long since devoured by the dust of time. He could imagine them only distantly, like he could imagine the snarks and goblins he had years ago joked about. Only, staring at his own reflection in the eyes of this odd woman, he felt a cold shudder run through him. "Yes," he said slowly, frowning. "I should hope I never meet one face to face. I imagine they make poor conversation." He quirked a small smile, attempting a joke, but it fell flat and the frown returned, a crease between his brows forming.

Just as he was opening his mouth to ask another question about Freya's life beyond the wall, he heard the cry of the dragons and felt them approach long before their shadows rippled across the rocks and the hurricane from their wings whipped at their clothes. He watched them go with a small smile of affection, feeling a keen sense of some odd connection to them, and turned to look at the mystified group of northerners with no small amount of amusement evident in his eyes and on his face. Out of courtesy, he offered Freya his hand, giving her a smile that he shared with the rest of her companions. "I'd say you get used to them," he said with a small laugh, "but you never really do." As the group slowly rose to their feet again, most of them staring up at the dragons, he set on his way, dusting his hands off on his pants. "Come. Their mother is waiting for you."

He led them the rest of the way up to the castle and admitted them into a pair of great doors guarded by two unsullied, who didn't so much as glance at them as they passed. As the doors closed behind them, he turned, hands folded behind his back. "If you would all wait here for a moment, I will go and tell Her Grace you have arrived. I am sure she will be quite interested in all that you have to say. If you'll excuse me." He turned on his heel and strode down a large corridor connecting the foyer area where they all stood to the throne room beyond. As he rounded the corner, Daenerys turned to look at him, one dark brow arched, and he bowed. "Your Grace. The King in the North and his companions wait just outside. Shall I bid them come in?" With a look of curiosity, Daenerys leaned forward, elbows leaning on her crossed legs. "Yes, do," she said, voice ringing off the walls. "I'm curious to hear what this bastard king has to say."

With another bow, Tyrion turned from the throne room, his footsteps echoing off the stone halls as he returned to the corridor where Jon waited. They all looked up at him as he rounded the corner and he inclined his head. "The Queen says she will see you now. Follow me." And then he was off again, listening to the footsteps of the rest of the group follow him after a moment. The guards at the door to the throne room swung them open and in they went, Tyrion crossing the room to take his place next to Daenerys as the group pooled into the room.

「 — DAENERYS TARGARYEN — 」

There were more of them than she would have expected traveling with Jon Snow. There was a man who hovered close to his right side, whom she assumed to be his Hand - or akin to it - and two women, one of whom looked as if she barely belonged among soldiers and Kings, though she wondered perhaps if she were a diplomatic adviser, and one who was unlike anyone Daenerys had seen in quite some time. Her hair was wild and red and shone even in the dim light of the throne room, and she carried herself with an air of confidence that was impressive, given the circumstances. She looked as if she was well seasoned in the world, and Daenerys wondered briefly what her role might be among this rag tag group of misfits who called themselves a government.

It was Jon Snow, of all of them, who caught her immediate attention. He looked frightened, this King in the North, and she had to fight the urge to smile. Good, she thought. Let him be. If he feared her, it meant he understood the capability of her powers, and if he understood, he would pose no issue to her campaign for the Iron Throne. He might, perhaps, in time even join her cause and pledge himself to the Targaryens once more, lest he face the wrath of her and her dragons, as his predecessors had before him. As Missandei finished introducing her, she tilted her head and looked to the man accompanying Jon, assuming he would be making their own series of small introductions, or, perhaps Jon himself would.

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

As Davos introduced her, Lyah inclined her head, making a brief leg of a bow in respect to the Dragon Queen, who she could only hope would be different than her father. As she straightened again, she watched Daenerys carefully, the feeling of unease that she had carried since they had seen the distant shape of Dragonstone on the horizon only intensifying. It was clear from her words and the way she held herself that the Mother of Dragons was not to be tempered with. She was a powerful woman, and she understood that. For a brief moment, Lyah almost envied her. To be a woman in what was very much a man's game was no easy feat, and to rise to power like Daenerys had, come literally from ash and ruin and now sitting in the halls of her forefathers with three massive, impressive, dragons guarding her every move... Lyah took a deep breath and willed Jon not to cross her.

It was public knowledge that Torrhen Stark had sworn fealty to House Targaryen, but Lyah thought it briefly ridiculous that Daenerys hinged her argument upon a single clause: perpetuity. Surely she couldn't take that to mean forever despite the events of history? When swearing fealty, it was assumed that so long as both houses retained good standing with one another, the oath would hold, but following the descent into madness of Aegon Targaryen, there was no way Torrhen Stark could or would stand by him. No one did. Torrhen's oath came with its own clause: perpetuity insofar as perpetuity was possible, which did not include the murder of thousands of innocents and the burning alive of those who opposed Aegon's views. If Daenerys wished not to be held with the same regard her father had been, then she could not in good faith hold Jon to some invisible, undefined standard set by his own predecessor generations ago? Her blood sang hot in her veins and she curled her fists, the loyalty in her wanting to step forward and say something, but the diplomat in her bidding her to hold her tongue and wait for the right time. Her eyes bore into the back of Jon's head as she wished him choose his words carefully, and her heart climbed into her throat as Daenerys continued talking.

I assume you're here to bend the knee? Lyah swallowed bile in the back of her throat and discreetly wiped her hands on her cloak, tilting her chin up ever so slightly. She had been around Starks her entire life, and had been a friend of Jon since the two were children. While Stark by name he might not have been, he was Stark by blood, and she had never seen a Stark give in at the mere command of someone who thought they held all the chips in their hands. She knew Jon well enough to know by now that Stark in him aside, he was a man of his word and a man of honor, neither of which he took likely, and he would not bend the knee and swear fealty to a monarch come from overseas who he knew little about save that she had the capacity to destroy them and perhaps the motivation to do so. He had seen far too many men die for the sake of a King, or Queen for that matter, long to sit upon the Iron Throne, and she would bet her life he would not kneel like Daenerys asked. Not now, at least, and maybe not ever. The Dragon Queen would need to earn his trust first and foremost and prove to him that she was worthy of the support of not only him and his own facilities, but by association the North and its vassals. His bannermen already thought him fool enough for coming to council with the Mad King's daughter, and would surely break their own oaths if they saw fit, which they would if he bent the knee. And let alone Jon, Freya would never bend the knee. She had not sworn fealty to Jon, and would not, without having first ensured herself of his ambitions. If Jon did bend, and she did not, would she burn the Free Woman simply out of spite? And then what? Freya was one of their most valuable allies to date. She and she alone had an intimate knowledge of life beyond the wall and a firsthand account of the Night King and his undead army. They needed her as much as they needed their King, perhaps even more.

Don't bend, she willed him, wide eyes turned to him once more. Don't kneel. Let her burn us if she will, and she'll have the wolves to face, but do not bend your knee. She prayed he could hear her, though knew he could not, and swallowed hard, sharing a discreet glance with Davos, whose nervous, seasoned eyes betrayed the same fear she felt bubbling up in her.

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

Tyrion trusted Daenerys Targaryen, he really did. He wouldn't have come this far and stood by her this long if he didn't see the good she was capable of, the strong morals and good character he knew she harbored behind a cold exterior that was little more than a carefully crafted facade, a necessity if she were to clamber her way up the ladder behind and despite her male counterparts. Daenerys played a tough act, yes, but she was not her father, and Tyrion had seen her capacity for good. She would not have risked everything for the lives of slaves had her sole purpose been to sit upon the Iron Throne. She would have done that moons ago, and it would have been simple enough. She could have marched her Unsullied right through the gates and had her dragons raze the city, to say nothing of the Dothraki horde she had at her dispense, who she very well could have loosed to rape and pillage as they saw fit. No. If Daenerys Targaryen had sought the Iron Throne and that alone, she would have had it long ago.

And therein lied the difference between this Dragon Queen and the others he had the misfortune of serving, had seen turn men into monsters and burn the very bridges they stood upon. His sister Cersei had been one of them, a member of that collective group of ruthless power mongers, willing to do whatever it took and sacrifice whatever was necessary to ensure her own ascension to power, including the lives of her three children and the destruction of a once proud house now reduced to little more than the shell of a name and the ghost of glory. In all of her desperate attempts to become Queen after the death of Robert, whether through the ear of ignorant Joffrey or gentle Tommen, Cersei Lannister had allowed history to repeat itself, branding House Lannister as no better than foul, incestuous, murderous pigs like the Realm had for so long regarded those noble dragon lords who had once captivated and terrified the people, and somehow inspired love. How almost laughable, he thought, that he should live to see his sister named the Mad Queen and watch his house crumble, he himself being one of the now only remaining members. Cersei Lannister was a Queen who fought for the sake of power. Daenerys Targaryen was a Queen who fought for the sake of peace. Of that Tyrion was certain.

He listened to Daenerys's words with a mounting sense of dread looming in the back of his mind. He felt for Jon Snow, and he would hate to see the man and his friends come to an ill met fate, or to leave without the precious dragon glass he was so insistent they needed. He wished them all well, but from the look of things, they would not follow suit like his Queen had hoped. He doubted Jon would be so quick to kneel - he had, after all, seen him at Winterfell and at Castle Black, and he was not a man to submit to easily - and he knew Daenerys would not be quick to forget his insolence. Without looking away from Jon, pleading with him to do as she might ask and not dig his own grave, he answered softly upon being addressed. "Forever." But as soon as Daenerys made her request for Jon to bend evident, he could see the conflict on the man's features, and Tyrion's heart beat faster in his chest. Just do as she asks, he thought, feeling helpless, just bend the knee.

「 — DAENERYS TARGARYEN — 」

Danerys watched with well masked amusement as Jon's adviser - Davos - stepped forward to make introductions. The room fell silent for a moment following the man's words, everyone distinctly aware of the only titles the young man bore: Bastard, and now King. One dark brow arched up and she sat back in her throne, eyeing the company with curiosity. She saw Tyrion dip his head out of the corner of her eye and folded her hands, watching this boy king. "Thank you for traveling so far, My Lord. I hope the seas weren't too rough." Jon replied pleasantly enough, and then Ser Davos stepped forward ever so slightly, looking both anxious as well as angered as he clarified that Jon was King in the North, not a simple lord. Both eyebrows went up in amusement and she turned her gaze to the older man.

"Forgive me, Ser Davos. I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn I read the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen. In exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen, Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity." Her words hung unanswered in the air for a moment, hanging like stones before Davos apologized, replying that he had not been there. Daenerys almost smiled at the funny old fellow, who was clearly not accustomed to tradition and the court of nobility. She could forgive him his ignorance, but it would not change the fact that she needed this King's support to take back King's Landing, and needed him to understand that while King he may be, it was she who was destined to sit on the Iron Throne, and she would not so easily be undermined, particularly by a group of scraggly travelers from the North.

"No," she smiled, inclining her head, "of course not. But still - an oath is an oath. And perpetuity means..." She looked to Tyrion. "What does perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?" Her Hand did not look away from Jon and his company as he answered, "Forever." Dany nodded ever so slightly, lip half curled up. "Forever. So I assume, My Lord, you're here to bend the knee?" Her words left no room for brokerage, and she regarded the Northerners with a cool air of disregard, though in the pit of her stomach her emotions writhed like snakes. She was not a supporter of the concept of murdering those who would not support her out of cold blood - they had done her no wrong, these strange folks with their strange accents - but she was not opposed to making her plight clear, and ensuring that she got what she was after. While she did not particularly feel like killing them, she very easily could. In fact, she could do it with just a twitch of her finger - her Unsullied would not bat an eye - and the blood of the King in the North and that of his council (if such a word could be applied to them, even liberally), would christen the floors, like it had in King's Landing so many years ago. But she was not her father's daughter in madness and blood lust, and so she stayed her hand, content to give this man a choice and bend the knee. Would he elect not to... well, she would deal with that impasse if and when it came to it.

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Lyah wanted to breathe a sigh of relief when Jon refused to bend the knee, but settled instead for closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. He was a smart man, she had known that, and he had proved it. He had, without so much as looking at her, mirrored Lyah's own thoughts on the matter, and she felt a small well of pride in her chest at the realization that she had been perhaps more fitted for this diplomacy than she had initially thought. She had little knowledge of courts and their proceedings, of Kings outside the North and their strange ways. She knew little except loyalty and duty, and had gladly obliged when Jon has asked her to come along, her surprise at being considered an adviser evident. Moments like this, where she seemed to understand and be able to navigate terse political conversations were well met, and she set her shoulders with a bit more confidence than she had when they walked in the door. Daenerys might have dragons, but they had their own array of weaponry to bring to the table, not least among them intelligence.

As Daenerys continued speaking, Lyah let her hands rest at her side, leather gloved hands flexing against her legs. The Queen was not wrong - House Stark and House Targaryen had been allies, and powerful ones, to boot, but the time of that alliance had come and gone. By the gods, the Targaryens were thought to have all been dead, burned or driven into the grave years ago. Surely fealty does not stretch to encompass such... complications? As Daenerys asked not to be judged by the sins of her father, Lyah almost wanted to laugh. How could she with one breath acknowledge that the actions of her ancestors were not her responsibility, and then with the next breath all but command Jon to bend the knee because his own distant ancestor had once done so? If there was one thing Lyah could never stomach, it was hypocrites and liars. She hoped Daenerys fell into only one of those categories, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking out, turning her eyes to Jon once more. He had done well enough on his own thus far. She had faith he could talk them away from this ledge, though she wondered briefly if they would be able to stay away from it.

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

Tyrion closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a long, slow breath. As smart as he was, Jon Snow was stubborn, and had the capacity for what he could only call stupidity. He had seen the dragons, the Unsullied, the Dothraki. He knew the threat Daenerys posed should he not comply with her wishes, and still, here he stood, his tongue as sharp in his mouth as the sword he fought with. It was admirable, the courage he had to talk back to this woman who commanded all of these forces, and almost laughable. Was it so very hard just to bend the knee? Granted, Jon knew little about the Targaryen Queen and her plight, but surely he knew enough? He had known Tyrion many years ago, and had trusted the man. Could he not trust him now? Did he not know he would not serve someone cruel and unjust, like he had refused to serve his sister and her children? He had to know. And surely he had heard word of Meereen and Qarth and Slaver's Bay. He knew Daenerys was not a monster, and yet he tempted her. For the life of him, Tyrion could not understand why.

Bend the knee, he found himself thinking again. I promise it's not as hard as you think it is. But soon enough, Jon was speaking again, arguing for himself, and it became increasingly apparent that kneeling was not in his cards.

「 — DAENERYS TARGARYEN — 」

"Oh?" Daenerys, while not surprised, was genuinely disappointed by Jon's reluctance to bend the knee. She had taken a liking to him, as little as she had actually known him, and the thought of becoming his enemy did not sit well with her. She knew little of the Starks save what she had been advised, but she had been told time and time again they were loyal beasts, and frightfully brave. Their sigil was not a direwolf because they did whatever they were told. With a sigh, she leaned back in her throne, frowning ever so slightly. "Well that is unfortunate. I had hoped this would not be difficult for us, Jon Snow." Had he really come all this way to break faith with House Targaryen? Granted, they were not exactly a powerful house at present, but they had been, and they would be again. Of that much Dany was certain. As he spoke, she closed her eyes for a moment, mulling over her words. Her father. Of course. In the end, didn't it always come back to the Mad King? When she had been Khaleesi, had it not always come back to Drogo? What was she if not someone to compare to a man. "My father," she began, fixing him with a hard, but not aggressive look, "was an evil man. On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father."

A moment of silence stretched long and tenuous between them and Daenerys swallowed, her mind suddenly racing for ways she might bring this King back into her good graces and perhaps strike up a deal with him. As much faith as she had that she could crush the Starks if need be, their bannermen would not go down without a fight, and Daenerys had not come to Westeros to fight two wars. She had come for Cersei Lannister and King's Landing. "Our two houses were allies for centuries, and those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms has ever known - centuries of peace and prosperity with a Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving warden of the North. I am the last Targaryen, Jon Snow... Honor the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name you Warden of the North. Together, we will save the country from those who would destroy it." Silence.

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Lyah was glad to see Jon attempt to steer the conversation away from the touchy matter of bending the knee, and offered a small nod of approval when he glanced back at her. It was really little more than an almost imperceptible tilt of her head, but she trusted he understood. They had come to make allies with the Dragon Queen, not make a new enemy. The North was still in shreds after the betrayal of House Bolton, and she knew that great Houses like the Karstarks and the Whitehills still regarded the Starks as fools. They had to worry enough about their own bannermen on top of the threat of death from beyond the Wall, and could not afford to make an enemy of Daenerys Targaryen, who could have razed Winterfell and the entire North to the ground in a mere moment. It was clear, however, that Jon's words struck a spot of tension within Daenerys, and Lyah pursed her lips, listening to the mocking tone with which the Queen addressed them. She did not take them seriously at all, seeing them as little better than fools, like so many others had. Lyah herself had not seen the terrors the uncharted land beyond the Wall held, but she trusted Jon well enough to believe the small, restrained tales he had told her. He always seemed like he was holding something back, and her gut twisted to think what. In time, she had grown to come to think of Freya as a friend as well, grateful for the companionship of a strong young woman, unafraid to speak her mind and uniquely intelligent in matters of the world. Her stories had been even more gruesome and terrifying than Jon's, and one thing was becoming increasingly clear: if the Free Folk burned their dead to keep them from becoming Wights, then Daenerys and her dragons might prove to be invaluable assets.

But still, I need your help? Lyah cleared her throat a bit and stepped forward, not sharing a glance with any of her companions. She held the Queen's gaze, shoulders set, and clenched one fist behind her back. "Not to defeat Cersei," she clarified, the sound of her voice high and clear of the hewn stone. "You have the army and the capability to storm King's Landing tomorrow, and there's nothing the Kinsguard of the entirety of the Lannister army would be able to do to stop you. You have three dragons, the entire Dothraki horde and their horses, and the Unsullied. They have no allegiances to anyone but you, they know nothing of this world except what they have seen of it following you." She shook her head a little. "If you wanted to take King's Landing - really wanted it, despite the cost - you would have already done it. Stannis Baratheon's army almost took it and they didn't even have dragons. It would be child's play for you. So why do you wait?" Her words dropped like stones in the silence, and she held Daenerys's gaze for a long, silent moment before Jon interjected.

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

Tyrion wanted to stride across the room and kick Jon Snow. The man, as smart as he was, seemed to only be talking himself into a deeper and deeper hole. His firsts curled by his sides and he fiddled with the bottom of his shirt as he exchanged glances with Daenerys, becoming increasingly frustrated with the King in the North as well. It was clear he had come with his own agenda, and Tyrion only wished he would be less elusive and more respectful about it. They didn't have time for games, and they certainly did not have time to stand here and argue all day while the war with Cersei had already begun. It was unlike the Jon Tyrion had known to beat around the bush and talk in circles like this, and she shuffled his feet impatiently, looking at the rag tag group of northern travelers. He thought back briefly to what the Wildling woman - Freya - had been telling him about on the ramparts. If all this talk of snarks and grumpkins was what Jon Snow had in mind, well... Daenerys was a patient Queen, but even she could be worn thin, and he would hate to see her lose her temper in front of what could potentially be their most powerful allies.

When Lyah spoke, he looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. She was catching on quickly, it seemed, and he wondered if the rest of the party was making similar conclusions as to why Daenerys had not already destroyed the Lannisters and their army. It would not have been hard at all. As she had pointed out, Stannis Baratheon had almost done it himself, and likely would have succeeded had it not been for Tyrion's intervention and the conveniently revealed secret Wildfire. He had seen enough fire and smoke that night. He longed to see as little of it as possible from here on out. He had always been opposed to the more violent, ruthless methods Daenerys sometimes favored, advocating instead for a more diplomatic approach, and he shuddered to think what might come of a war with no laws. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the mention of the Battle of the Blackwater, and he tilted his chin up, meeting Lyah's gaze briefly. "Almost," he said, "Stannis Baratheon almost took King's landing. But he didn't." Ser Davos gave him a narrow look, which Tyrion met and held.

「 — DAENERYS TARGARYEN — 」

Confusion flickered momentarily across Daenerys's features and she tilted her head, regarding Jon with a look of what could almost have been called pity. Did he really think she needed his help? Her, Daenerys Targaryen who had risen from the ashes and liberated thousands, who had crushed the cities in Slaver's Bay and destroyed Meereen? Who had seen the Dothraki horde cross the great salt sea for the first time? Had the power of the Unsullied at her back? She couldn't help but smile a little, exchanging a long, slow glance with Tyrion before looking back to Jon. "Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?" He did. "And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me?" Jon's jest went unanswered and she stared at him incredulously, unmoving. "But still, I need your help?"

When Lyah spoke up, she turned to fix the same dead gaze on the woman, curious as to her diplomatic standing and relationship to House Stark. She had been quiet most of the discussion, and now spoke up, glancing first at Davos and then at Jon. Daenerys let her speak, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and then looked to Jon once more as he began to speak. Lyah was right - they could storm King's Landing. They could do it easily. But Daenerys wanted to rule a nation, not its ashes. She longed for the iron throne to rule, not preside over crypts and mass graves. If she wanted a massacre, she would have had it long ago. And even had she elected not to burn the capitol to the ground, she would not send her armies marching through the gates, strangers from a strange land come to occupy the only home the people of Westeros had ever known. If she did that, she was no better than a tyrant. She wanted the people to follow her willingly, and they were more likely to do that if an army of their own citizens supported her, hence why she was banking on Tyrion's connection with the Dornish army and their military prowess. But go on, she thought, folding her hands in her lap, lecture me. She cocked one eyebrow, daring Jon to share his thoughts.

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

When she had finished speaking, Lyah inclined her head ever so slightly and took a small step back, giving Jon her attention as he stepped forward and attempted to reason with Daenerys. While he spoke, she focused on a small spot on the floor, a long, clean crack in the stone, and her fingers rubbed the worn leather of the vest she wore as she thought. She nodded her head slightly at his assessment of Daenery's motives, glancing up at the Queen to gauge her reaction as well. She seemed bristly, sitting ramrod straight on her throne of rock and stone, but the look in her eyes was not one of malice, only frustration. Lyah felt a momentary pang of sympathy for her; she must have dealt with men belittling her all her life, and almost certainly saw this as an instance of the same.

She knew how wild and far fetched their argument sounded, how Daenerys would have no legitimate reason to believe them, just like none of the northern lords or King Robert himself had believed the drunken babbling of those who had seen Daenerys and her dragons. The dragons had - supposedly - died centuries ago, and so had the Wights. Yet here now both of them were as real as the stone beneath her boots, and both capable of unimaginable destruction. Lyah felt Jon's gaze and held it for a moment, nodding her head in encouragement ever so slightly, and then turned to look at Freya as she stepped forward, enraptured by the conviction and pain in her friend's voice, her mind suddenly conjuring up images of the horrors she must have seen north of the wall. A glance at Daenerys showed the same stony skepticism, but Tyrion's brow was furrowed in thought and Lyah briefly remembered seeing him and Freya speak as they approached Dragonstone. She wondered how much the Free Woman had told him, and how much he had believed. When Freya finished speaking and the silence smothered the room, Lyah eventually drew a breath and interjected. "Your Grace, if I may," Daenerys turned to look at her and she gestured to the door they had come in. "We saw your dragons outside - dragons that the whole world thought had been killed years ago. When Westeros heard whispers of the Targaryen girl who had survived, heard whispers of her dragons, no one had believed them. Everyone thought they were mad, those who dared speak of it. And now, there is not one but three dragons, in all their glory, come to Westeros. Is it so hard then to believe that the whispers about other beasts are true? Even Direwolves were thought to have gone extinct years ago, or moved so far north of the Wall as to never be seen again, and the Stark children possessed five. Five. Between your dragons, their wolves, and Freya's testimony, is it not clear that what men have thought is wrong?"

She listened raptly to the rest of Danerys's reasoning, and could not fault her her logic. She herself did not disagree with her. It made sense of the new Queen to be hesitant to divide her forces, especially with her limited knowledge of Westeros and its terrain, as well as its people. She was surrounded by enemies, and if she was going to defeat Cersei, she would need every man she could muster. As Daenerys turned to address Jon, Lyah made eye contact with him over the Targaryen woman's shoulder, frowning ever so slightly. But before anyone had the chance to respond, there came the echo of footsteps from the hall and the doors to the throne room creaked open, admitting a portly, bald man in grey robes. He passed by the northerners without so much as a sideways glance spared in their direction and stopped next to Daenerys, leaning in to whisper into her ear. Lyah could not hear what he had to say, but it did not seem to have a good affect in the queen, and she was surprised at her sudden dismissal of the conversation. Something had happened, but what? She was sure it would not be long before they found out.

She watched silently as Daenerys and Tyrion disappeared behind the throne, and then as Tyrion emerged a moment later, addressing them. She said nothing, sharing a covert glance with her companions, and watched as the Hand left as well, leaving them alone with a few Dothraki and the Unsullied guards at the door. One of them stepped forward, a clean shaven young man whose age Lyah could not have speculated. "If you will follow me," he said, and turned, leading them from the throne room. Two of the Dothraki men fell in step behind them and she drew closer to Jon and Frey as they passed into the hallway, headed down a series of winding, seemingly endless halls to their chambers for the evening. "Well, I suppose that went better than expected. We are, for one, not a pile of ashes to be swept off the floor." Her words bounced drolly off the walls and she cleared her throat. "What do you suppose happened?" She asked, pitching her voice low.

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

The Hand to the Queen stood quietly as first Jon pleaded with Daenerys to understand, and then Freya stepped forward with her testimony. His eyes locked immediately on her face and he found himself leaning forward ever so slightly, caught on her words. She had mentioned only briefly her time north of the wall when they had walked up from the beach, and had never had the chance to finish her train of thought. Now, he was enraptured by the pain in her eyes and the honesty in her voice, and a very small part of him was afraid.

Jon Snow was no fool, and he was no liar, Tyrion knew that much. He also knew that, by association, Jon's friends were no fools nor liars either. And so he glanced back at Daenerys as the Free Woman spoke, eyebrows furrowed, wondering if perhaps they might take this mad news from the north a bit more seriously than they had originally considered. He ran a hand over his beard as Freya finished speaking, frowning. His mind raced with a million unasked questions and he stared at the Wilding girl as she finished speaking and Lyah started up again, but could not look away from her. He had never met one of the Free Folk, was unfamiliar with their talk and their customs and their way of life, but he had been around many a men who had seen great horrors, and they had all shared the same tone of voice as this woman. He thought briefly that when the time came he might go looking for her and ask her some of the things he wondered, but for now he remained quiet, turning his attention back to Daenerys as Lyah finished speaking.

The dwarf said nothing as Daenerys descended and continued her address, painting in clear, bold strokes her logic and solidifying her position on the situation. He nodded his head in agreement, approving of the diplomatic, and wise, decision she had made, and found a small well of pride in him at the thought. She was becoming quite the good negotiator, and proving herself a competent queen. He wondered if Jon Snow and his people recognized that. As Varys fluttered into the room, Tyrion straightened up a bit, unable to see Daenerys's face from his position on the stairs, but able to tell by the sudden tension in her shoulders that something had gone amiss. His heart threw itself against his sternum and he shared a brief, charged glance with Varys, who shook his head ever so slightly before disappearing back into the shadows he had come from. As Daenerys dismissed the northerners and turned, he saw the look on her face and blanched, closing his eyes for a moment and offering a brief prayer to whatever gods existed. As Daenerys assigned one of her men to see to their safe lodging and have baths drawn up for them and food provided, Tyrion drew up next to her as she brushed past him, headed for the door at the back of the throne room that led to their small council room. "Daenerys?" He glanced up at her and she held up a hand, shaking her head. Her words sat like stones at his feet and he watched as she closed the door gently behind her, knowing she would sit and stare at their strategy table for a small infinity before no doubt disappearing to take a fly with her children. He stood before the closed door for a moment before retreating back to the throne room.

"You are our guests," he said, clearing his throat as Jon and the others turned to look at him. "The Unsullied will show you to your chambers for the evening, and when food is ready someone will call upon you. Do feel free to converse amongst yourself and walk the halls, but I would advise against leaving the castle. The dragons have been known to be terribly unpredictable around outsiders." He offered a small smile and bowed his head. "Should you need me, ask after me and someone will show you to my quarters." He gave a slight bow and then turned and walked out himself, his footsteps sounding loud on the stone floor.

「 — DAENERYS TARGARYEN — 」

The Wildling woman was not lying, Daenerys could see that. She had spent far too much time around liars and prided herself on her ability to pick them out. There was not a trace of deception on Freya's fierce, delicate features, and she frowned, suddenly troubled. "I can tell you are no liar... Freya, did you say your name was?" She licked her lips and sighed, glancing between the travelers. "But I still do not understand how I am simply to take your word above logic and dispatch my army, which, mind you, I need to defeat Cersei - my enemy to the south - to take care of what might well be a threat of no validity? Forgive me if I am wrong, Jon Snow, but you were a Brother of the Night's Watch, no? And even Lord Commander for a time? The Night's Watch built the Wall centuries ago, and for centuries it has held against anything that has come south seeking to destroy Westeros. Why should this time be any different, if these White Walkers, as you call them, really are what you claim they are?" She fell quiet when Lyah stepped forward to speak, regarding the woman with the same mild curiosity she had Freya. When she was done, Daenerys rose, descending the stairs to step closer to her northern guests.

"I would not think to make liars of you all, of that I assure you. I don't see what you would stand to gain by coming here and telling me of this... concern of yours were it not legitimate, and Tyrion seems to trust you, Jon Snow." She drew up a few feet from them, hands folded in front of her. "And so I will not dismiss you for the fools I initially thought you to be, but I cannot promise even a single soldier to fight this unseen enemy without proof. A story is well and good, and I could tell you many, but it does not mean you would believe them all, even if you knew me not to be a liar." Her voice was gentle, with not a hint of its earlier malice, but still firm. "So forgive me, but I do not think I can help you without more legitimate proof of what you say. I am already fighting one war, I can not afford to enter another, not on a whim, and not without knowing that the need is dire. The wall will hold. Help me defeat Cersei and I promise you, you will have all the resources you need to go north on your mission." Her gaze passed over each of them, finally stopping on Jon's face. "Do you understand?"

As Varys fluttered in, Daenerys stopped, the room growing silent as he glided over to stand beside her, voice pitched low and impossible to hear. She frowned, leaning in to hear him better, and her throat went dry, the small of her back suddenly prickly with sweat. Their help from the Dornish army would not be coming, it would seem, thanks to some Greyjoy lowlife playing at King. She dismissed Varys with a wave of her hand and folded them in front of her. "Excuse me, but there are matters requiring my attention. I will see to it that baths are drawn up for you and food made available in the dining hall. Should you be in need of anything, speak to one of my Unsullied, or let Tyrion know. We will do our best to accomodate you, and we will talk more about your predicament when the time is suit." She turned, ghosting back up the stairs towards the throne and feeling incredibly sick. When Tyrion fell into step beside her, saying her name softly, she shook her head and held up her hand, talking quietly as they approached the map room. "Not now. The Dornish ships we were counting on will not be coming. Some Greyjoy usurper has found it fit to take our boats and now, if Varys is correct, which he always is, fuck his way into your sister's good graces so that he might sit on the Iron Throne. I need to think, clear my head a little. Make sure our guests from the north are well taken care of, will you?" She didn't wait for his confirmation before closing the door and sitting down in her chair at the head of the table, staring out at all of the little models that represented the various armies of Westeros. With a snarl, she leaned forward and plucked the Dornish sun from the sea, casting it to the floor with a clatter.

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Lyah, glad her small attempt at a joke had at least had some sort of positive effect, cracked a small smile as well and blew out a breath, glad to be out of the throne room. It’s high vaulted ceilings and soft lighting had done nothing to make it feel like less of a cave and a shudder rippled down her spine as they walked. She peered over at her friends as the Unsullied guard led them to their respective rooms, nodding along in agreement with them and wondering if they too were feeling mounting senses of panic. Even though Daenerys had been... kind to them, if such a term could be applied to their cordial interaction, Tyrion’s words rang in her ears and she shuddered, thinking of teeth like swords and claws like spears. They weren’t prisoners of the Dragon Queen, no, but were they really much better than it?

She found herself frowning again, thinking what it could have possibly been that the strange little man who had come in had whispered to Daenerys to cause her such a change of attitude so quickly. Whatever it was, Lyah didn’t like the looks of it. It certainly didn’t seem like it would help their cause any. In fact, Lyah wondered if it only might serve to increase tensions, making their already almost impossible mission even harder. She was pulled out of her thoughts again by Freya’s voice as they drew up in front of what would be their rooms. She looked over at her friend and nodded a bit, offering her a smile. “Alright. Be careful.” She watched her disappear around a corner with one of the Unsullied and sighed, turning to Jon when he spoke.

She nodded, glancing up and down the hall at a few lone guards stationed here and there, and ducked into Jon’s room, touching his arm briefly in reassurance as she passed. The room was sparsely furnished, which she supposed should have been expected in a castle that had seen no inhabitants for generations. Most of the furniture bore the same rough, stony look that the throne had, as if it had been carved of the mountain itself. The room was spacious, if not huge, and the ceilings were tall enough that Lyah didn’t feel trapped, which was a relief. She crossed the floor to a small set of doors leading out to a stony outcropping she supposed was supposed to be a balcony and opened one, pausing for a moment to take a few deep breaths of the cool sea air. When she was done, she shut it again and sat down on a bench in front of a low table, looking over at Jon.

“Are you alright?” She asked, eyebrows furrowed. “I know that must have been difficult. It seems this Dragon Queen, while not mad, isn’t one to listen to others very well.” She folded her hands, looking around the room again, and pursed her lips for a moment. “Are we her prisoners, Jon? She said we’re not and I know we have freedom to travel the halls, but the way she spoke, and that threat about the dragons...” she met his eyes for a moment, afraid of what she might see there. “I know I’m supposed to be the one with the answers regarding this stuff, but I don’t know what to make of her.” She picked absently at a piece of skin hanging by one nail and shook her head a little. “Do you think she’ll listen to us at all about the White Walkers? Even Freya? And if she doesn’t, is there even anything we can do?” She sounded almost a little defeated. “Should we just go home?”

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

Tyrion was genuinely surprised to hear a knock on his door, but didn’t have time to finish wondering who it was when Freya announced her presence. With a small exclamation of surprise and curiosity, he rose from the desk he had been sitting behind and crossed the floor. “Yes, a moment!” He called, quickly clearing some scrolls and papers detailing what he thought might have been sensitive information from the table. When he had shoved them into a chest and locked them safely away, he crossed the floor and opened the door, offering the Free Woman a smile. “Lady Freya. I trust everything is all right? Is there an issue with the rooms provided?”

When she confirmed that everything was fine and that she had come to speak with him, he arched an eyebrow and stepped back, opening the door to his room wider. “Well, do come in then. I’m curious to hear more about your life beyond the wall. You hadn’t the chance to finish telling me on the way up to Dragonstone, but you certainly piqued my curiosity.” He pulled a chair from the table out of her out of kindness and moved to pour them two glasses of wine. “Do you drink?” But he was already pouring and returned with two glasses, placing one on the table in front of her before sitting down across from her.

“I take it you’ve come to tell me more about these White Walkers?” he asked after a moment, swirling his wine in his glass before taking a sip. He observed Freya over the rim for a moment with amusement and curiosity. She was attractive in a unique, powerful way that reminded him of a predator, and had an air about her that the scholar in him was drawn to. She had seen far more than he had, and had far more knowledge as a result. “I would love to hear your stories, my lady, but I must warn you that while I am the Queen’s Hand, I do not control it. In the end, she decides what happens, when, and where. I want to believe you all, I really do, but I do not know if I can convince Daenerys to do the same.”

He took another sip of wine and then after a long moment set his glass down, folding his hands and leaning them on the table. “Would you tell me about the north? I’ve never been beyond the wall and have only heard rumors.” He tilted his head a little, regarding her with curiosity, and ran a hand along his beard. “The White Walkers you claim to have seen, what exactly are they? The dead, yes, but what exactly? What makes them so dangerous?” He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “I have heard some say they suffer from a lack of wit and senses, and even others say that their senses are heightened. What say you? You have my undivided attention.” And she did.

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Lyah was reassured, at least a bit, to hear that Jon didn’t think they were prisoners here at Dragonstone. Where she was surprisingly skilled in diplomacy, Jon had always been better at perception and understanding motives. If he felt they weren’t prisoners, she at least felt she could relax a little. He was too familiar with military proceedings to misidentify their situation. His small smile made her offer her own back, shoulders sagging slightly in relief, and she nodded, agreeing that Daenerys likely still wanted something from them. Just what that was exactly she was unsure of, and the thought unsettled her a bit. If she did choose to take them prisoner, there was nothing logically stopping her from using them to draw all of the loyal northern houses under her command. Those who took their oaths to the house of Jon’s father might be willing to follow her for the sake of his life, but then again... she grimaced a bit. If Daenerys did try to take them hostage for leverage over the northern houses, a good many of them would likely tell the King in the North (in no delicate terms) to fuck himself and would do nothing to stop Daenerys burning them alive for insurrection. Her hands went clammy at the thought and she wiped them absently on her pants. She didn’t want to die at Dragonstone, away from the old familiar walls of Winterfell and the cool mountain air and the haunting beauty of the werewoods. She didn’t want to die, period, and least of all by fire.

She had come to Winterfell as a girl, sent by her parents to serve House Stark as best she may, and Winterfell had quickly become a home to her, it’s people her family. She had grown up beside Sansa, whom she regarded with that strange sisterly love that still allowed her to be angry with the woman’s attempts to undermine Jon, had been there to offer what little comfort she could after Bran’s accident; she had seen Arya grow up into a spitfire young lady - had even helped Jon decide on an appropriate sword for her - and she had loved Robb as an older brother and Rickon as the sweet summer child he had been. Her heart gave a pang at the thought of all of them, and she glanced up at Jon as he spoke, watching him. One of the scones on the wall had been lit and the fire gleamed off his dark curls, etching his face in light and shadow. Would she die here, in a strange place with the one person she regarded as her closest friend? She thought briefly of Sansa, of the anger she had held towards her upon their departure from Winterfell, and wished suddenly she had the ability to go back and make amends. She could feel the knot of fear in her stomach grow cold with dread and made a visible effort to tramp it down, folding her arms across her chest and focus on on Jon again. They were alright, he said, at least for now. Things would be okay. She took a deep breath.

“Even if Freya convinces Tyrion about the Wights,” she said thoughtfully after a moment, “we’ve no idea how legitimately Daenerys values his opinion. It certainly seemed like he was crucial to her - did you see how many times she glanced his way? - but she still might not even believe him.” She tapped her fingers against her arm and sighed, eyebrows furrowed. “She said she couldn’t support us and offer her help unless we could prove to her that the threat from the north was legitimate...” she trailed off, unsure herself what she was even trying to say, and stood up, pacing back and forth across the smooth stone floor. There was a worn track across the room, as if someone had spent many nights just the same, thinking and walking, and she slipped into the track of time worn footsteps easily, lips pursed. “Is there a way to show her? Maybe you could arrange with some of the Brothers of the Night’s Watch and take Daenerys north, show her the threat? Or, if she won’t come - which she likely won’t - do you think it’s possible to bring a Wight south, over the wall?” The plan sounded like madness, even to her, but it at least held the possibility of working, which is more than could be said of their “predicament” right now.

The sinking feeling in her belly only intensified when Lyah heard Jon say they would have to face the Wight with what men they had. They had precious few, and what forced they did would do them no good if the Wights slaughtered them. That would only help the army of the dead grow. “If we’re going to fight them, we have to do it on our terms,” she said, stopping her movement to stand in front of the doors leading out to the stone balcony again. “We know that those who die north of the Wall come back as Wights, but they don’t south of the wall. Did the Night’s Watch burn their dead? All of them?” She waited a moment for his reply and then continued. “The men who died when we fought for Winterfell, we burned some of them because we had no choice, but those who we didn’t stayed dead. If the men of the Night’s Watch bury some of their dead and they don’t come back, then we can assume whatever forces allow the Night Kong’s army to grow don’t work once you cross the wall, even if you’re as close as Castle Black. Now, assuming the wall holds and they can’t get through it, we could supply the Night’s Watch with weapons and men. They could fight the army as it approached, but they would need fire. We know dragonglass can kill them, and so can Valyrian Steel, you’ve killed one of them with Longclaw yourself, but we don’t have enough of either of those resources to arm a defense. If Daenerys allows us to mine the dragonglass here, we might be able to outfit the Watch with arrows and weapons, but never enough. We would need oil. And, worst case scenario the Wights can get through the wall, they come south and we meet them every step of the way with what traps we can muster. We can’t hope to take on their horde hand to hand, but if we can destroy some of their number before they get too far south, it might buy us enough time for Daenerys to join the fight, maybe even Cersei, if the Iron Throne is so precious to her. She wants to rule - they both do - and there’s no one to rule if the entirety of Westeros is dead.” When she had finished she took a long, deep breath, frowning. “Our best chance is this dragonglass, and I think the only way we’re going to get it is by showing Daenerys one of the Wight.” She met Jon’s gaze, hoping for his input.

She hated to see Jon question himself, and his doubt made her furrow her brow a bit more, pushing a few curls that had come loose of her plait out of her face. “You did the right thing,” she reassured him immediately, voice steady. Jon constantly questioned his own authority and decisions, and she hoped he could see that if he doubted himself, it would give his countrymen reason to as well. “I would have advised you not to kneel. Like you said, we don’t know this Dragon Queen. She doesn’t seem like it yet, but she might be no better than her father, or Cersei Lannister for that matter. The northern lords have had enough of southern monarchs, they won’t want another, not until they’re sure she’s their best chance. And, to be honest with you, many of the northern lords think you a fool for even coming here, if i might be so bold. Those who support you might not say it, but until they’ve seen the army of the dead they can’t hope to understand your motives, why this alliance is so important. If you bent the knee, you would just push those in open disagreement into rebellion, and leave those willing to tolerate our actions sitting on the fence. We’ll never even hope to stand a chance against the Wights if we have a rebellion on our hands. We can’t fight every war, not at once.” She rubbed a hand thoughtfully across her lip and sighed, folding her arms again. “If we have to go back to Winterfell without this alliance then we have to at least begin to arm the Night’s Watch. They’re our first defense. Perhaps we can talk to Tyrion. He might still be able to supply us with wildfire. We could use that against the horde when they first come. We have to take small steps.” She moved past him to where a decanter or wine sat on a small table and poured herself a glass, filling one for him as well. When she passed it to him, she reached out to nudge his shoulder gently, offering him a smile. “You did good today, Jon. Your father would be proud. You’re a good King in the North.”

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

As Freya spoke, Tyrion set down his glass and watched her, frowning. Dead, but not dead. Made of ice, and strong. At her comment about having stabbed one of them and see another get it’s leg chopped off, his eyebrows shot up and he grimaced, shaking his head. He leaned forward and took another long drink of wine, watching her over the rim before swallowing and setting it down. “Do you know what it is that brings them back? What controls them or... anything?” He trailed off lamely, picking at a thread in the tapestry on the table. “If they don’t feel pain, how do you stop them?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer, dreading that it would be ‘you don’t,’ but he had a suspicion Jon and his men had not come all this way and gone through all the trouble to anger their own bannermen and possibly anger Daenerys were it not for need of something. They had mentioned dragonglass, so that must be the reason.

“If they’re not intelligent, what - or who - do they fight for?” He twirled the stem of his wine glass between his fingers with a sigh, scowling. “They have no wits then, no reason, yet why do they come south? Surely such...beasts would continue to roam the north, mindless and violent, like wild animals? How is it then that they are capable of attack? What drives them? They would not come south en masse unless they had reason, but what reason would mindless monsters have to battle?” He sounded genuinely confused, and pushed a hand through his hair as he thought.

As Freya talked about Hardhome, he felt a pang of sympathy for her. He knew what it was like to lose a home, and he could see from the pain on her face that it had been a hard ordeal for her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly when she had finished. “That is not a fate I would like to meet.” He finished his wine and slowly got up to pour more, the room hauntingly quiet for a long moment as each individual battled with their thoughts. Tyrion believed Freya, for one reason or other, like he had believed Jon Snow, though he knew Daenerys was not necessarily of the same mindset. He wanted to help these northerners as best he could, but he had no idea how to do so. As far as Daenerys was concerned, they very well could be playing this game only for the sake of dragonglass to forge weapons with. Perhaps it was stronger, had some vaguely magical attributes like Valyrian steel. According to the Queen, this could all very well be a very carefully organized scheme. “You’ll have to forgive me,” Tyrion said, returning to sit across from Freya, “but the Queen is a skeptic, and I cannot argue for you without evidence of my own as well. Is there proof, anything, that might be used if not to convince her to join you then to at least accept the situation as a legitimate threat? If she will not pledge men it would do well to at least ensure she treats this war against the dead seriously. She will not do that unless she is certain it is the only option, the best option. And she will not know it is without seeing validation with her own eyes.” He pursed his lips, tapping his fingers on the table. “I know this is a tall request, but there is nothing you might do to supply evidence for your cause? Nothing Jon has?” His tone was strained, wanting to be able to help this woman and her people, as well as Jon and his. “I want to help you, Freya. I really do.”

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Lyah nodded a bit at Jon's words, agreeing that he should send word to Castle Black as soon as possible. They would need men as well as oil and weapons, and the more notice they could give them to prepare the better. After a moment, she turned to Jon, holding up a finger. "Hold on, go back. You said the first wight you ever saw was brought into Castle Black? So they can cross the wall then, the magic in it doesn't stop them?" This was half good, half bad - quite bad. If the dead could cross the wall and live, so to speak, there was nothing stopping their army if the dead broke through the gate. "If that's the case, we might be able to bring a wight south of the wall, but it doesn't bode well for us. What happens if they break through the gate? The wall will hold, yes, but that's just wood and metal. If they break through that they can just pour into Castle Black." She sighed and sat down heavily, hands lying limp in her lap. There were so many variables, and far too much to keep track of. She let out a huff and grit her teeth. She shook her head a little, waving a hand. "Nevermind that now. We need to get a wight over the wall. We'll need to send a party north then - far north - at least past the first few Wildling villages. The Free Folk might know more about where the Night King's army is, but it won't be as easy as strolling into the forest and grabbing one." She thought for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. "I hate to say it Jon, but if we can't find a wight..." She met his eyes briefly, wondering if he was following her train of thought. "I'm sure between here and the Wall there's a prisoner in line for execution - we could take them north, just far enough beyond the wall for... whatever it is to work, and execute them there, no?" The idea made her stomach turn, but it was a possibility, and the thought was more pleasant than sending a band of people into the unknown and inhospitable northern wastelands on a hunt for the dead.

She flashed a small smile back at him when he took the wine and moved to sit down again, crossing her legs and bouncing one foot impatiently. Now, all the thoughts of how they might defeat the wights and what they might do to prove their existence to Daenerys were racing around in her head. She lowered her head to her hand and pinched the bridge of her nose, hard, hoping to drive them out for a moment of quiet. Best not to get ahead of themselves. If Freya was able to talk to Tyrion and at least convince him, then they stood a chance of maybe winning over Daenerys and getting her help. If not, they could address going north if it absolutely came down to it. But the more they worried and tried to form a plan, the more everything seemed to run through their fingers like sand. She nodded a bit and leaned her elbows on her crossed knee, wine glass dangling in her hands as she swirled its contents around. "Hopefully Freya has some success with Lord Tyrion," she said, glancing towards the door. "If she doesn't, I don't know what our next course of action will be. Could you talk to Tyrion, do you think? About sending a raven to Castle Black?" If they didn't allow Jon to send a message north, they would have to wait until they were back to Winterfell, which was some unforeseen amount of time in the future, and there might not be enough time then.

At Jon's declaration that he would spearhead the searching party going north of the wall, Lyah made a noise in the back of her throat, fixing him with a hot look. She was not surprised, but a quick flush of anger went through her. "Do you really think that's the best idea?" She asked, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "You're King in the North. Right now, you're the only one the northern lords owe their allegiance to. You're the last man in the Stark bloodline, the last one with a claim to position of Warden in the North. If you go and get yourself killed tramping around in the snow looking for dead men, do you think the Starks will survive? The northern lords won't accept Sansa as Warden, they never would. They'll overthrow her before you're cold in the ground, Jon. Even if Tormund and Freya and the rest of the Free Folk help you, do you not think you're more needed here, on this side of the world? This one we might still have a chance to save?" She looked at him with wide eyes, half of her not wanting to admit that aside from the obvious reasons she had listed, the thought of not having Jon around was more than a little terrifying. He had become such a constant presence in her life that she took him for granted, but now he was one of the only people from her childhood who was still alive, save Sansa. The thought of not being able to turn to him for help or advice or even the comfort of his friendship made her feel sick. "And you'd risk Tormund and Freya as well? Doesn't this sound a little like a mad goose chase to you?"

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

Tyrion leaned back in his chair, wine forgotten, and tapped his fingers together, thinking. "That's why Jon's so adamant about Daenerys's alliance," he said, the final pieces of the puzzle all now making sense. "He had mentioned dragonglass however briefly when he had written months ago, but we didn't understand why he might want it. Daenerys thought perhaps to outfit his own men." And it was becoming more and more clear as well exactly why it was Daenerys - in particular her dragons - who would be needed if they were to stop the dead army. "Even if Daenerys allows you to mine the dragonglass, and assuming there's time enough to make weapons of it and distribute them, would it still be enough to stop them? If they don't feel pain, it makes them that much harder to kill, and if every person who dies north of the Wall comes back unless they're burned, then their forces have to outnumber us by at least two to one. That's why the dragons are so important, isn't it?" He sounded almost mystified, and turned to watch the candle on the desk sputter as it touched wax, the flame burning low. "Fire." He trailed off, lost in thought for a moment, and then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. "If Daenerys will not join your cause, and if you're very serious about this, I might still be able to help you. There's a substance called wildfire - ask Ser Davos about it, we used it to defeat Stannis Baratheon's army at the Battle of the Blackwater. It will burn anything it touches when set on fire, like oil, but worse. It's highly explosive stuff made up by some of the best alchemists. There was a whole store of it beneath King's Landing. We'll never be able to get it from Cersei - she'll think we mean to use it against her - but we might very well be able to find out how it's made, and I may be able to convince my brother Jaime to help us, or even talk to my sister and convince her to meet with Daenerys and Jon."

His relationship with Jaime was in good standings, all things considered, and he was confident that he might be able to discreetly call upon him and Bronn for help, though he was unsure how much even they might be able to do without Cersei sniffing them out and putting an end to it. At the very least, he could contact Jaime, explain to him as best he could what he knew so far, but he would need to convince Daenerys first. If Jaime spoke to Cersei and she did agree to meet Daenerys, they would need to be sure that she would stand by the King in the North and vouch for what he had to say. It seemed like all of their plans were hinging on their ability to prove to Daenerys the danger of the wights without sending her over the Wall to see them for herself. Quite the predicament indeed.

When Freya spoke again, tentatively voicing his own thoughts, Tyrion nodded, brow furrowed. "She'll never go beyond the wall, not now. It would be a waste of her time, especially with my sister posing such a threat from the south. But, if you were able to get one of the wight and bring them south to show her, she would not deny you court, and that would certainly convince her. You'll have to prove that dragonglass can kill them as well, and she'll feel obligated to let you and Jon mine the mountain. She has never wanted a massacre, Daenerys, and she won't be likely to ignore such proof, especially if she knows that it will only lead to countless lives being lost to the dead army." This sounded like their best plan so far, though how exactly it would be executed he had no idea. "if you speak to Jon and Lyah and they agree, I will do the best I can to help send an outfit north of the wall. There are a few men under Daenerys's influence who might even willingly go with you," he said, thinking briefly of Ser Jorah, "and I have heard whispers from others that they fear the White Walkers. I could speak to Varys, find out what he knows as well." He looked at Freya and nodded a bit, feeling much more confident in their powers. "This sounds like one of the better plans we've had so far. Speak to your friends, and if they agree, I will arrange a meeting with Daenerys and her small council on the morrow."

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Lyah had a feeling Jon wouldn't want to execute a man for the sake of bringing him back to prove a point, and nodded at his reasoning. He was right about the Night King as well. Even if he did consent to killing someone, they had no idea if they needed wights nearby to raise him from the dead again, or if a White Walker had to be close. So that left the only option as going over the wall and hunting one of the monsters down. That would be hard enough, then there was the matter of restraining it and bringing it back south of the wall, assuming it could survive crossing over. There was so much they didn't know, like Jon had said, and Lyah sighed, shaking her head a little. Every enemy they had fought so far they had been able to analyze, to predict and examine and form their own battle strategies based on what they knew about the other forces. Now, it was if they had been handed a wooden sword and been told to slay a dragon. They were flying blind, and winter was nearly upon them. Even now the days grew shorter and the nights longer, the winds colder and the snows heavier. They couldn't keep going on like this for very long. They would need to have a plan before winter was fully upon them.

Lyah wanted to think that Daenerys would surely let them send a raven, but the thought that she might not unsettled her. Perhaps Tyrion would help them if Daenerys would not, but that was all dependent on how well his meeting with Freya had gone. "I'm sure it'll be alright," Lyah said softly, trying to convince herself as much as Jon. "Like you said - we're not prisoners. There's no reason for her not to let us send a raven north, especially to Castle Black. They owe allegiance to no man but the well being of the realm. She would be more likely to deny us sending a raven home, afraid we might perhaps try to strike up a fight."

Lyah knew almost from the minute he had proposed the idea that Jon would be leading the expedition north of the wall, but it didn't mean she agreed with it. He was a man of honor, and a good king, like she had said herself. He wouldn't send his men north without a strong leader, and he would see it as his duty to protect them, to be there for them. He didn't see himself as better than any man, that much was clear. Despite his title, he had fought in little more than leather and mail at the Battle of the Bastards, which was more than could be said of most kings, save the Stark Wardens in the North and those ancient noble lords before the Mad King. He never used his title as an excuse to stay safe, and she both admired and resented the fact. Bravery could only go so far in the face of danger. She had to admit he was right, though. Out of everyone save Tormund and Freya, Jon did know the ways of the wight best, and the Free Folk would follow him. He had been one of them once, for a time, and Tormund was in a position of enough power to rally more forces behind Jon if need be. "You're right," Lyah sighed, frowning. "I know you're right, but it doesn't mean I have to be happy about it." She took a long, slow sip of wine. Tormund and Freya would both go as well, Lyah knew that. They were noble people in their own sort, fierce as wolves and cunning as crows. And they loved their homeland. They would do anything to see it rid of the dead, to see peace once again. Lyah couldn't blame them. "They'll both go, you know they will," she said, "if not only because they want to stop the wights then because they'll want to help however they can. They trust you; they're not going to let you go off north of the Wall without them. Especially Tormund. He won't let you have all the fun." Her mouth quirked up in a brief, incredulous smile and she sighed, leaning to set her glass down on a small table.

"I want to stop this Night King as much as you do, Jon. I know we're running out of options. I'm just afraid," she admitted, looking over at him. "If you don't come back, we'll have even more problems on our hands than we do right now. Winterfell will fall to the Karstarks almost indefinitely, and who knows what will happen to Sansa. Perhaps they'll take her prisoner like Ramsay did. Perhaps she'll get lucky and they'll just kill her. And if that happens, there will be no one worrying about the enemy in the north. The Karstarks will busy themselves by fattening up and whoring their way into an early grave. And even if Daenerys is willing to fight the dead, she can't do it without support from the north, which you provide. She'll have to worry about fighting the Karstarks and their bannermen as well as Cersei, and with the threat of the Night King looming." She sighed heavily and sat back, running a hand across her face. "I know I can't stop you going north of the Wall, and I know you have enough on your plate to worry about, but just think for a moment what will happen if you die out there. I know you, Jon. There's no place for heroes out there. You're going to have to be careful." And then there was the fact that he knew as well as she did that if he died north of the Wall there was a good chance they would be seeing his face again, as one of those beasts they were so worried about destroying. The thought made her shiver and she drew her cloak tighter around herself. She also wondered what she would be doing while this escapade into the wilderness occurred. She wouldn't sit here and twiddle her thumbs, that was certain. "And what about me, when you go north of the Wall? I won't just stay here and sit on my hands. What if I said I wanted to come with you?" She arched an eyebrow at him, almost challenging. Maybe he would be able to understand a bit better why she was also nervous for the sake of losing him. "You can't very well expect me to stand idly by while you go off and play the hero again."

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

"I'll send a letter to Jaime tonight regardless. Even if Jon and Lyah are not keen on the idea of dealing with my siblings, the wildfire would be useful for Daenerys if the wights came south of the Wall." Tyrion had the distinct feeling that Jon would not want to feel like he owed the Lannisters anything, but it was undeniable that the wildfire would certainly help. And, in the case that they were able to acquire some and the wights ended up not being able to get past the wall, they could use it to fight Cersei's army, particularly the Greyjoy scum who had decided to try and make himself king. The dragons could destroy a fleet easily, but Tyrion hated putting them at risk of cannon fire. If they needed to, they could pour wildfire in the water and take down at least some of the Lannister-Greyjoy fleet that way.

He offered a kind smile to Freya when she thanked him, standing up to see her out the door. "There's no need to thank me, and certainly not yet. We don't even know if this foolish plan is going to work, but I do hope it does." He walked her to the door, opening it for her and allowing her to step out. "Goodnight to you as well, my lady. Let me know how things go with Jon, and I'll do what I can with Daenerys and my insufferable sister in the meantime." He peered down the hallway, seeing one of the Unsullied guards, and looked up at her. "You're free to roam the castle, like Daenerys said, but I can have you escorted back to your room if you feel like you don't remember the way?"

When he had bid her goodnight and Freya had gone, Tyrion turned back into his room and bolted the door, moving to his desk and pulling out a quill and parchment immediately. He used a small penknife he kept on his desk to sharpen the quill and touched it into the ink, scrawling a short letter to his brother.

Jaime, we need to speak. The Stark bastard who has found himself King in the North has brought word to us about a new enemy in the north, one who poses a threat to me and mine as well as you and our beloved sister. I do hope you don't dismiss this letter. I have always cared for you, brother. I mean no insolence in this message, and impress upon you the utmost urgency and a speedy response.

You may return my raven with your answer and we can arrange to meet, just the two of us.

He went to sign the letter and then, almost as an afterthought, scrawled:

I do hope this letter finds you well, and despite our disagreements I hope Cersei is alright. I do know how much you care for her, and I mean no disrespect. I wish you ever happiness, Jaime.

Your most affectionate brother - Tyrion.

He rolled the letter and sealed it with a glob of wax, pressing his lion headed ring into it before heading down the hall to the great stone cavern where the ravens made their roosting. Varys had been appointed as keeper of the birds for their lack of a Maester, and Tyrion offered him a smile as he fetched down one of the swifter birds, securing the note to its ankle before setting it loose for King's Landing.

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

A flush of anger went through Lyah as Jon initially started talking, assuming immediately that this was some grand attempt to protect her, to play the hero card like he always did. Jon had never shown her anything but respect and understanding, despite the fact that she was a woman, but she briefly thought he might be now, and bristled, ready to argue. Why should he be able to go and defend their home but not her? Before het temper could flare much more, though, he shared his proposal and she bit her tongue, eyebrows going up as she looked at him. He wanted her to go back to Winterfell, to help Sansa keep a hold of things. The northern lords would have a difficult time accepting that, but it could be done. She could potentially keep the north from falling apart, though it would be no easy task. At Jon's pleading, she sighed, something in her chest tightening. "I'll try," she said softly, watching him curiously. "I can't say how well it'll go, but I will try. I promise." She paused, and then leaned forward. "But only if you promise not to be a complete fool north of the wall. You're a hero type, Jon Snow. You can't afford to be right now. You have to think like a King. Could you try to do that, try to come back in one piece - alive - for me?" The weight of the silence was oppressive for a moment, and she held Jon's gaze, almost grateful when there came a knock on the door. She tensed for a moment as well, glancing at the door, but relaxed when she heard Freya's voice on the other side.

When she came in and shut the door behind her, Lyah looked up at her expectantly, feeling even more relieved - and almost a touch happy - to hear that Tyrion trusted them, and believed their story, even if Daenerys did not. When Freya said that she and Tyrion had discussed bringing a wight south of the wall, Lyah actually laughed, sharing a glance with Jon as she got up to refill her glass. "Jon and I had just decided that ourselves," she said - pausing with an extra glass in hand, looking at Freya, "-would you like a glass?- anyway, Jon had the same thought. He wants to take a party north of the wall to try and capture one of the wights and bring it south." She leaned against the edge of the table and looked to Freya, wanting the woman's opinion now that she knew Jon's stance in everything. "Do you think its possible to catch one of them? I don't even know how we might restrain it to bring it south, but I don't see why it couldn't work. Is there any way to find them though? What if you all end up just wandering for months out there? It would be useless."

She still didn't like the idea of them going, but she was gradually coming to terms with it. And they still had time to discuss some of the details. Not much, granted, but some. "You'll have to send for Tormund, and surely you mean to take some of the men as well? Some of our better fighters?" She paused, thinking about something for a moment, then looked between Freya and Jon, eyebrows furrowed. "What if one of Daenerys's men is willing to come with us? Surely there's someone she trusts - that way, if you're not able to bring a wight, if you can't catch it and transport it safely back, or if it dies when it crosses the wall, they could attest to what's happening out there? Maybe we could propose that to Tyrion?" That would be double assurance, she thought. At least if they couldn't physically prove it to Daenerys she would be willing to take one of her own's word for it, rather than believing a stranger or agreeing with Tyrion, who himself had never seen one of the dead.

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

//i'm gonna hold out with a post for tyrion right now until they come back to talk to him! :)

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Jon's smile reassured Lyah a bit, and it comforted her to know that he appreciated what she was doing for him, but the worry still gnawed quietly at the back of her mind. When he promised to be careful, she nodded, lips pursed. His voice was serious, and there wasn't a trace of humor on his strong northern features. She was grateful for it, and knew Jon was a man of his words. The thought that he wouldn't be out there foolishly risking his life was a great comfort.

She couldn't fault Freya's logic and her assessment of the position of the dead army. The thought was both a comfort and something that made her stomach roll. If they really were closer to the wall, it would mean Jon, Freya, and the rest of their little hunting party wouldn't have to travel quite so far north, which meant they would run into less danger, which was better for them all. But then again, if the wights had already come far enough south to be within reasonable travel distance from the Wall, it meant the brothers at Castle Black would have even less time to prepare, especially if they weren't able to get a raven out until the morning. She wondered if they might be able to send one tonight with Tyrion's help, so as to give the Night's Watch as much time as possible to strengthen their defenses and gather more weapons and possibly more men. "You should probably also send a raven to Eastwatch," she said, looking to Jon. "That way Tormund can prepare. He might be able to get in touch with some of the other Free Folk, so as to have a group ready by the time you arrive, that way you won't be wasting time waiting to go over the wall."

She perked up a bit again at the mention that Tyrion knew of someone - or someones - who might be willing to travel with him. "Did he say who?" She asked, curiosity clawing at her. "Either way, that's good news. We can hope to at least sway Daenerys a bit more if she hears from one of her own about the dangers north of the wall."

She stood up again, stepping away from the table and setting her glass down as they decided that there was really nothing else that needed to be discussed. Perhaps they could meet with Lord Tyrion tonight, now if he was not too caught up in his own work. They hadn't been fetched for supper yet, and so she assumed that the Hand would be waiting as well. She was eager to get in touch with them, to get this entire ordeal over and know once and for all if they would have Daenerys's help in this mad situation. "Perhaps we best fetch him here then," she offered, making her way towards the door. "I imagine it would be quite odd for all of us to travel to his quarters. He might see it better fit to meet over dinner." She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, hailing one of the Unsullied. She briefly explained that they had some things they wished to discuss with Lord Tyrion and wondered if he might give them the honor of his company. The man, at least a head taller than Lyah and thin as a whip, though clearly muscled and fit beneath his dark armor, nodded and disappeared, bidding them wait for his return.

When he came back several minutes later and asked for them to meet Lord Tyrion in the dining hall, she shared a glance with Freya and Jon, wondering if it would be alright to meet somewhere so public to discuss such sensitive matters, but there wasn't much they could do about it. She thanked the guard, looking back at her companions again. When they confirmed they had nothing else they really had to speak about and had fetched Davos from his room, the guard led them down a few halls to a small dining room. Small might not have exactly been the word for it, as Lyah quickly estimated it could have at least sat a hundred, but it was not a great hall for feasting and festivities. It would have been similar to the small dining hall they had at Winterfell then, where the King could meet more intimately with is soldiers and advisers, or host smaller guests from throughout the kingdom. Lord Tyrion was waiting when they arrived, engaged with giving instructions to one of the guards, and turned to look up at them with a smile as they came in, bidding them to sit down. Lyah was relieved to see him dismiss the guards and relaxed a bit, taking a seat opposite the table from him as he began to speak.

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

When a second knock sounded at the door not nearly an hour later, according to the hour clock burning on his desk, Tyrion got up and opened the door with surprise, peering up at the Unsullied who had called upon him. "My Lord," the man said, bowing briefly. "The northmen request your presence; they say they have many things to discuss with you." Tyrion's brows both went up in surprise and he nodded, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind him.

"That was quicker than I expected," he mused, looking up at the man. "Fetch them to the small dining hall. I shall meet them there." The guard nodded and set off down the hall, boots echoing, and Tyrion set off in the opposite direction. The small dining hall, while really not all that small, was intended for more intimate meetings between the King and his guests - or the Queen and hers. It could easily sit a hundred and was typically where the Lord and his family might sup and spend time together. It had been cleared since they arrived at Dragonstone, and was where Daenerys often took her dinner with him, Missandei, Grey Worm, and Varys. Occasionally, Ser Jorah joined them. Tonight, they had all taken their supper separately, what with Daenerys and the dragons off for the evening and each of them needing to attend to the sensitive issues of war, and so it was empty when Tyrion arrived, save the Unsullied at the doors and a handful of the Dothraki women who had been Daenerys's handmaids when she was just a Khaleesi, and now insisted on following and serving her as best they might. They had set the table and were beginning to bring out food when Tyrion arrived, though they cleared a few of the many dishes out when he informed them he would be taking dinner only with the guests from the north. "Take most of the food to the great hall for the men," he said, smiling at them in kind. He moved to speak to one of the guards by the door, telling him that the men - Dothraki and Unsullied alike - could take their supper in the great hall, and was consumed in conversation (characteristically one-sided: the Unsullied muttered a few words in response and little more) when Jon and his small council entered.

"Ah, I'm surprised to hear back from you all so quickly," he said with a smile, looking to Freya. "I trust Freya has informed you of our discussion?" He gestured for them all to sit and took a seat himself, reaching to pour himself a drink. He turned, thinking it better they be left to dine and discuss in peace, and looked to the guards by the door and the women waiting off to the side of the room. "You may all be dismissed to take your supper as well. We will manage well enough on our own." They bowed, and when they had gone from the room Tyrion leaned forward, looking between his guests. "So, what do we do?"

「 — LYAH FORRESTER — 」

Lyah sat quietly for a bit, leaned back in her chair and letting Jon and Freya for the most part do the work to get Tyrion up to speed. She watched the Hand's face as they discussed, trying to glean any insight she might be able to about his own thoughts and opinions regarding their little escapade. He seemed surprised that they had all come to the same conclusion, but supposed it must have been a good thing, and she couldn't help but agree. Surely if they all had the same idea then it was the right thing to do. Lyah, like Tyrion, was not a firm believer in coincidence, and couldn't help but crack a small smile at his joke. He was a funny man, Lord Tyrion, and she was grateful for his ability to make light of a difficult situation. Seeming him lean forward to take his supper, she did the same. She didn't really feel like eating, what with the weight of everything looming over them, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't hungry after the day's events, so she was happy the man seemed at least content to actually have dinner with them, not strictly discuss business matters. It also made her feel a bit more comfortable, and trust Tyrion more. To eat with someone was an act of trust, the old tradition of breaking bread a sign of friendship, and she relaxed a bit as she looked to Jon, turning a roll over in her hands as she listened to him speak.

She perked up at the mention of wildfire, nodding and glancing at Davos, who had a sour look on his face but confirmed that the wildfire had been more destructive than anything he'd ever seen in his life. She glanced at Jon, curious as to his knowledge of the substance and his position on communicating with Cersei Lannister and her twin brother, even if Tyrion did trust Jaime. She knew they would be able to use the wildfire, certainly, and it would be perfect for the traps they had been speaking of setting earlier, but what price would Cersei demand for such valuable stuff, if she would give it to them at all? Until she saw the wight herself - if Jon and the others succeeded - she would certainly be convinced that Daenerys would be using the stuff for herself, perhaps even planning to attack King's Landing with it. She made a mental note to ask Jon and Freya about it later, and Ser Davos as well, as he was the only one with firsthand experience with it. If they couldn't convince Cersei to give them some directly, they might at least be able to convince her to send some to the Night's Watch. That would be invaluable, and potentially turn the odds in their favor, depending on how much of it might be available and how long it burned. She had several ideas in mind already though. If the Brothers could manage to chop down more of the trees in the haunted forest, they could make a barricade of sorts between the wall and the forest, at least in front of Castle Black. If the ground were not so frozen, they might have even been able to dig a pit, but that was surely not possible. If they were to lay down plenty of fuel for a fire though, and if they were able to hide caches of wildfire among the brush, they could create a wall that they could set alight if the Night King's army got too close. Depending on how long it burned, they could keep them away from Castle Black's gates certainly long enough to be able to send word south and get help from Daenerys, and even potentially Cersei.

When Tyrion mentioned Ser Jorah, she nodded as well. She had heard of Ser Jorah when she was younger. He was an esteemed night, and she was surprised to hear that he was here at Dragonstone, now serving the monarch he had once been ordered to kill. Tyrion seemed to think highly of him, despite his past, and so she was curious about meeting him, particularly to see if he would actually go north of the Wall. As for the others, as long as they could fight and hold their own she supposed it didn't matter who went. But Tyrion was right, they would need a way to keep the wight contained while they brought it south. "We haven't yet thought of exactly how to contain one once it's been caught. Freya doesn't think they'll have to go too far in order to catch one. If they can get one alone, capturing it will be the easy part. It will be getting it back that's hard. And if they run into even a small group of them, let alone a horde, they're going to need to be able to fight." She glanced between Jon and Freya and then looked back to Tyrion. "Word has it you're a very intelligent man, My Lord, in construction and invention as much as math and diplomacy. You designed a saddle for Bran after he... fell, perhaps you might be able to design such a way of keeping the wight contained while they transport it?"

「 — TYRION LANNISTER — 」

Tyrion turned his attention to Jon as he spoke, a look of surprise crossing his features. He knew that Jon would likely be discussing the situation with his advisers, but had never suspected that they might come to an agreement so quickly, let alone reach the same conclusions. The thought made him laugh a bit. "Did you now?" Still chuckling, he leaned forward to take some food and put it on his plate, though no one else had yet reached to serve themselves. A lack of appetite, he supposed, or maybe just a desire to be polite. "Well, we can't all be fools - or at least it's statistically unlikely, I am quite good at math - so it would seem that bringing one of these... wights down from beyond the Wall really is the best option." He sat back in his chair and turned his gaze to Jon as he informed him a bit more about their plan. He was surprised, and a bit curious to note that Davos seemed to be unaware of their plan to bring one of the dead down for Daenerys to see, but that both Freya and Lyah seemed up to speed with things. Jon had mentioned speaking with Lyah, and Tyrion wondered briefly if he trusted her more than Davos, despite the position Davos had seemed to hold in the throne room earlier.

When Jon finished, asking if they might be able to send a raven, he nodded, swallowing a bite of food and washing it down with a sip of wine before speaking. "I don't see why not," he said, setting his glass down. "I've sent a raven south to contact my brother, Jaime. From what Freya was telling me about these wights, they're susceptible to fire. We used wildfire at the Battle of the Blackwater," he nodded in Davos's direction, "which Ser Davos can attest to. It's highly flammable stuff, will burn anything it touches when set on fire. It's what I used to sink Stannis Baratheon's fleet. There had been a cache of the stuff beneath King's Landing - the Sept of Balor, to be exact, though I'm not sure if it still remains." He looked between the four of them, folding his hands and leaning them on the table. "I don't trust my sister, and I take it none of you do either, but I do trust my brother Jaime. I told him I wished to speak with him. I will do my best to convince him of this threat beyond the Wall, and if you succeed in capturing a wight we just might be able to prove it to him as well. If he is able to in turn convince my sister of the threat, we might call a temporary truce and they might even give us some of the wildfire. They'll expect something back, of course, but we could certainly use it to our advantage."

He paused a moment, sitting back in his chair to think. "If my brother Jaime refuses to meet with me and I am unable to get him to speak with Cersei, then we will at least still be able to convince Daenerys, if your mission succeeds. We can speak to her in the morning about your departure. I'm sure she would be most willing to give you more supplies and weapons." At Freya's question, he looked over at her. "Ah, yes. Jorah Mormont. You might know the name, he was originally a spy for Robert Baratheon, sent to kill Daenerys, but she won him over and-" he held out his hands in front of him, "-the rest, as they say, is history. He's one of her most loyal men now, and a trusted friend as well, I daresay. He would go willingly with you, I'm sure, and I am sure you could make good use of his sword. As for any others, there are a few young men among our ranks who might volunteer to go. She won't make anyone go unwillingly, you must understand." He was sure they already knew as much, but met each of their gazes for a moment to confirm it. "Tonight, we'll have our supper and I'll take you to the rookery, Jon, so you might send your letters to the Brothers of the Night's Watch and to your friends at Eastwatch. I'll speak with Daenerys upon her return and in the morning we can present her with our plan. Have you any idea how you might go about catching one of the wights, let alone restraining it to be able to safely transport it south of the wall? And have you any idea when you'll set out?" He looked to Lyah as she spoke, dipping his head in thanks to her compliment and then nodding. "Yes, I'm sure with enough time and information I might be able to at least help think of something, though I cannot promise how fast we might be able to construct something you might be able to transport with you. I'm quite afraid if you're able to catch one you might have to bring it back with chains, at least to the Wall, where we might establish a more permanent method of movement."