章 2389: 24
24.
Mercy
Winterfell
The night was already upon them when Sansa encountered Littlefinger in the balconies looking out the main courtyard. On her way, she exchanged a subtle glance at Lady Brienne, who was there training her squire and young apprentice, Podrick Payne. Her sworn sword and protector did not bother to hide her concern. She didn't trust Littlefinger and had her reasons.
Sansa approached him as he slowly turned around to meet her,
"I remember the winters in The Riverlands when I was young," he started saying, drawing on a smile, "The stark-naked trees, stripped of their leaves, withered and slouch. Hardly a sight for the sore eye. But there was beauty in it. A flower that bloomed unique and resilient, amidst that dreadful landscape...your mother Caitlyn."
The comparison sent a shiver of discomfort down her spine.
Sansa was very much aware of Petyr's obsessive fixation on both, herself and her mother, and his comment did not hit its intent but rather made her feel further revolved.
"I'm no flower growing in the death of winter, Lord Baelish," Sansa replied sternly.
Accustomed to receiving her dismissals, he pursued, with another edge, "Have we news of our envoy in the South?"
"They're heading back home," replied Sansa.
"Rather a short visit. What is my Lady's interpretation of this early return?"
"Was it meant to be longer? The North needs its King in the North. The Dragon Queen set her eyes on us. She is a conqueror and will fight us no matter what deal Jon was trying to strike up with her."
"I also don't think King Jon's proceeding was appropriate. The Dragon Queen won't easily render her copious resources unless the North recognizes her as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
"I trust Jon," Sansa countered, categorically, "Is her, who I don't trust."
No matter what was said about Daenerys Targaryen, good and bad, Sansa had a keen sense of foreboding. If there was one thing she learned from her experiences, it was that people with power did not hesitate of using it for their own gain.
Baelish's eyes slid to something behind her. Sansa looked above her shoulder a found Lady Brienne standing near them, her face hardened with distrust.
"Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private," Petyr suggested, walking around and past her, "I'll wait for you in the library, my Lady."
Sansa sighed, closing her eyes and relieving some of the tension she had accrued. Her exchanges with Baelish always had that effect on her, as if she were continually dodging his manipulations.
It didn't help that Lady Brienne was always stepping on the hem of her dress afterward.
"Littlefinger should not be trusted, my Lady," she warned as if Sansa wasn't firsthand aware of this.
"Lady Brienne..." Sansa wearily pleaded, closing her eyes on her, "You trusted Jaime Lannister."
Brienne shifted uncomfortably.
"He proved to be worthy of that trust."
She wouldn't even try to object to that. Sansa just wanted to prove to others she could fight this battle and win.
"Our experiences are very different, Lady Brienne."
After Ramsey, Sansa had learned that she couldn't rely on somebody to save her. Bad things were bound to happen sometimes, and the only way to cope with the damage was to learn from it.
She skipped past Lady Brienne, but her voice stopped her.
"Lady Sansa," she called, and her voice dipped to a halt, "What about Cersei and Jaime? Do you have news regarding them?"
Had Brienne been someone else's she would have scoffed and continued walking away. Sansa was certain, almost just guided by the logical course of things, that those two were already dead.
"Last thing I was informed, they were to be tried and executed in these days." And Sansa would not be there to see it with her own eyes, she lamented. "I'm sorry, Lady Brienne. I know how much you appreciated that man."
It was all the sympathy Sansa could muster. For all that she cared, the Lannisters could be swallowed alive by the Dragon Queen's dragons. All of them except Tyrion perhaps, who she esteemed still a bit in spite of the circumstances that have created a wide chasm between them.
That and his alliance with the Dragon Queen.
She entered the library and immediately felt that twist in her guts at the sight of Littlefinger. He was casually skimming through the old pages of a book.
"They say that the Dragon Queen is uniquely beautiful," he commented.
"It'd be surprising if she wasn't, considering she's unique herself," Sansa added, unimpressed.
"Rumors fly that she is to marry the new Lord of Highgarden, Lord Desmond Redwyne, soon to be Lord Paramount of Highgarden. His inherited gold will be beneficial to her cause. Especially considering that Cersei contracted a substantial debt with the Iron Bank, last thing I knew." His eyes flitted upwards at her. "Sooner than later the affairs of the South will settle and her undivided attention will turn to the North. And what then?"
"We fight the dead," Sansa replied, very surely, clasping her hands on her back and observing him seriously.
Littlefinger laughed softly.
I'm not that scary, jittery little girl you've met. Don't try to play games at me, she thought.
"The North will face the demands of a fierce conqueror," he insisted.
"We will resist."
Baelish cocked his head. "As they resisted the Bolton's rule in their turn? who acted with the Lannisters' favor," he reminded her, smiling sardonically.
"Are you trying to engage me in an argument, Lord Baelish? Sansa was sharp and straightforward.
"There is something you have yet to learn little Sansa. It is in the face of our greatest adversaries that we show our resourcefulness."
"And what would those resources be?"
"A handsome young man around her same age, king of a vast kingdom, who also is in need of a queen, by the way, proposing an alliance."
"An alliance through marriage between Jon and the Dragon Queen?"
Littlefinger stood still with his hands folded on his front.
"It is so far the most logical course of action, my Lady."
Sansa stayed silent, and seemed to mull it over.
"The Northern Lords would not be content. They'd reject that alliance."
"And what's a bunch of angry lords against the unmatched strength of three dragons? Power is power but wisdom is a better counselor than stubbornness. My Lady is from the North but her upbringing is broader and her instincts much sharper. In the event that Jon still has the chance to take the course most beneficial to his cause, I am sure you will find the best way to accommodate the circumstances to your advantage. That's what I've taught you."
"And is that what you advised my father in his turn? My Lord?" she questioned sharply. Her gaze cutting cold.
Sansa was used to him lying to her face. Now she wanted to test how far she could stretch Lord Baelish's boundaries and use them against him.
"Your father was an honest man, and naive sadly. I warned him not to trust anyone in King's Landing. Ultimately, confronting Cersei doomed him, and it doomed all of you." His breathing grew audible as he stood closer to her, which made her skin crawl. "Look into my eyes, Sansa," he asked in a soft, low voice. Sansa obliged. "Your father told Cersei to her face that he knew her children were bastards born of incest and threatened her. Cersei was bound to act pull her claws out."
And who helped Cersei get the help she needed to seize the Iron Throne? Who truly betrayed her father but the one in whom he placed his trust in?
Sansa felt a glow beneath her skin that she rejected nonetheless, putting on her cold mask and continuing to pretend.
Courtesy is a Lady's armor.
"If the Dragon Queen were to accept an alliance by marriage to Jon, what would she gain?" she asked instead, clearing her throat. "We are still recovering from the damage of the War and the occupation of the Boltons, not to mention that we still have an unbeatable threat looming over us."
Baelish's mouth quirked upward.
"You don't trust your brother to have enough charisma to engage her into an alliance?"
"Jon is not like that. He would never seduce a woman for political reasons."
"Jon is still just a man, my dear Sansa. A young and impressionable man."
Perhaps it was true. Sansa did not know that side of Jon, neither did she enquire about it. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe he would see the need for desperate and unhonourable measures in face of adversity.
Or perhaps the Dragon Queen and her unique and irreplicable beauty had already had their effect on him, and he would err as Robb did — falling for the wrong woman and forgetting his true family.
"I just want you to see beyond, my Lady. Beyond these cold, damp walls," Baelish implied and his eyes glowed with a wicked spark. "If Jon were to be King consort, you'd assume sole control of Winterfell and your word would acquire extremely worth to him, and therefore to the Dragon Queen."
Sansa glared at him with a cold stare. I imagined me sitting on the Iron Throne and you by my side, she recalled his words.
"My word or your word?"
Littlefinger stepped away, cutting her with a haughty and dangerous look.
When he left the library, Sansa closed her eyes and prayed to the Gods for strength.
***
King's Landing
Tyrion felt sick when he heard the bells tolling.
In another time they would have heralded something good, like the birth of a prince or a princess. But in war times they always meant death.
The doors to his cell opened and Daenerys entered through it, wearing the distant, cold countenance of the almighty monarch that often made the sweet girl beneath seemed inaccessible.
At the first tentative step she took, Tyrion realized that something very bad had happened.
"Are you well?" Tyrion asked her with real concern.
She lifted her chin, dodging his gaze.
"Come with me," she said — ordered him.
No words were spoken, no explanation provided, only a command that was reinforced by the impassive faces of the Unsullied.
His wrists remained shackled all the way to his uncertain destination as a very figurative statement that he was still a prisoner. Passing the Throne Room, Tyrion got more or less an idea of where they were heading.
They entered Maegor's Holdfast, into the Queen's ballroom. At the gate, they stopped, and the Unsullied removed his handcuffs. Daenerys did not turn to look at him and silently let Tyrion enter to discover what awaited him.
***
Like still and silent shadows, Daenerys, Jon, and Arya watched the dreary scene play out from a safe distance: Cersei Lannister was just a cold body sprawled out on the marble, wrapped in the colors of her House while her two remaining relatives wept her demise.
As a platitude of emotions welled up and emerge from within them, no one uttered a single word. They'd quietly agreed it was not a moment of gratification nor the vindication they expected.
It felt lukewarm for Arya, like a dish that she'd been waiting too long and had lost its flavor. She still refused to acknowledge Jon's reasons and maintained a distance from him to avoid unleashing her anger on him.
When they realized that there was no point in standing as spectators, they marched back the way they came, leaving the Queen's ballroom, and the Lannisters behind.
***
Dany climbed the dais steps to the Iron Throne with Ser Jorah's help, still feeling twinges of pain here and there.
She cleared her throat and looked at Jon and Arya still there.
"What you did," she addressed them, "What you both did for Missandei...No amount of words could convey how grateful I am. And, in light of my recent unpleasant behavior toward you, I'd like to offer you an apology."
"To do what's right shall not come with a promise of reward," Jon said very bluntly.
A moment of silence.
Daenerys clasped hands tightly.
"I especially thank you, Lady Arya," she said.
Arya bowed her head slightly and offered no further response. She seemed rather jittery like she didn't want to be there anymore.
"Now, your Grace," Daenerys made a pause, her voice echoing through the empty hall. "I would like a word with you. Alone."
Ser Jorah and her Unsullied complied and exited the Throne Room.
Arya quirked a quizzical eyebrow at Jon then she withdrew.
Before Daenerys could continue, Jon took two steps forward.
"How are you feeling?" he asked her.
She drew in a sharp breath.
"I've seen better days," she answered, not wanting to dwell any further on the episode they experienced only moments ago, "I regret my behavior—"
Jon clasped his hands behind his back, "There is nothing to apologize for."
"You took an interest in my safety, my Unsullied told me so."
"Anyone would. I like to think you would."
She raised a sole eyebrow in interest. "You think I would act disinterestedly to save your life, putting my own life at risk?"
"Daenerys," again, he referred to her by her name, a concession she never granted. "I saw with my own eyes when you stretched out your arm to save Cersei."
"Had I known Missandei was already safe—"
"Then for Missandei's sake, you still risked your life. And what happened there—"
Daenerys couldn't bear it.
"Let us speak no more of it," she declared. "There's something else I need to discuss with you."
She breathed in and started, "Authority requires strength. And strength seldom is kind. To be a ruler demands that we make difficult choices. Tell me, Jon, what do you consider to be our most valuable asset as rulers?"
"Strength is important," he agreed, "But I've seen strength in kindness and wisdom whereas weakness in those who pose as mighty warriors. Your kin, Maester Aemon Targaryen, taught me about the kind of strength that was a thousand times mightier than any weapon."
Dany's features softened with sadness.
"You told me you've met him, before. I didn't know he was alive until you told me so."
"He already passed away, your Grace. I'm sorry."
"I supposed that, as well." She sighed. "Was he your mentor?"
Jon nodded. "And Lord Commander Mormont besides. Your advisor's father."
"And so was Eddard Stark."
Jon frowned and looked at her confusedly.
"He was my father," he said.
Suddenly it was as if Daenerys regained consciousness of where she stood. This was not the Jon she had known, the one with whom she had shared confidences and trusted with her soul. It was like a bolt of lightning shot right at her.
She cleared her throat. "I'll issue an order soon, for preparations for the war against the Army of the Dead to start." A glimmer of hope flashed across Jon's features. "I will allow you to mine the Dragonglass and forge weapons from it. Any resources or men you need, I will provide for you. And in the meantime, the matter of the North secession will be settled until the end of the war against the Night King. That is a vow I take."
She paused and cut him a sharp stare, "My War Council proposes to prepare a defense at the Neck—"
"—Daenerys..." he started to protest.
"—There will be options for your people," she said bluntly. "Ships that will bring them south to find shelter and escape the Dead in the case is too late to stop them."
"Daenerys," Jon cut her off, eyes frowning with turmoil, "Do you think I'm here, standing before you, determined to defend the North just on a whim? It will be too late by the time they reach the Neck. By then their numbers will massively outnumber yours!"
Exasperatedly, he explained,
"What I'm asking of you isn't easy. I know. I know that ever since I've come to King's Landing, all I've done is commit blunder after blunder. And in the midst of all that...I've only wanted to show you that I'm just a man who wants to defend what means the most to him. Pride be damned!"
"I know, Jon," she asserted, though not harsh, forcefully, "I know how much your family and your home mean to you. In another life, maybe, that would have drawn me in and inspired me to want to make this fight mine, but it isn't. I have to protect the people who trust me and have chosen to do so, freely."
Jon backed away.
"My soldiers. My advisors. My dragons," continued Daenerys, "They are not my strength because they give me power. They are my strength because they are the only thing I have, in a world that has taken everything from me. The Throne...means nothing if I can't protect and serve those I love. Its importance lies in the fact that it allows me to fight for a better world. To make amends for the mistakes made by those before me and those I've made myself. My resolution is my strength. If that in your eyes is tyranny—"
"I don't believe you a tyrant," he countered quickly.
"Don't you?"
Her insistence on the matter upset him.
"You just...overly afraid to be vulnerable, it seems."
"I am not a helpless lady, Jon Snow," she replied, resuming her harsh stance, "I am a Queen and a war commander. And if you are unwilling to acknowledge me as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, then have the decency to treat me as your equal."
After a long minute of silence, they both calmed their excited tempers.
"Hard as it is for you to believe so, I do care about the North. Even though I know they'll never acknowledge nor appreciate my help."
"How can you be sure of that?" he asked, puzzled at the conviction of that statement.
Daenerys opened up her mouth to answer but she simply didn't know what she could say.
"We both should be resting," she suggested, instead.
Jon gave her a concerning look.
"What about Captain Waters?"
Sighing, Dany replied, "We will be discussing this matter in another opportunity, King Jon. Your ships are at your disposal to sail whenever you and your crew wish. I wish you good fortune. Sincerely."
***
Daenerys did not know how long she sat alone by Missandei's bedside, listening to her now steady breath.
"Your Grace, at the risk of sounding insistent, you should be laid to rest to help heal your wounds," said the recently appointed Grand Maester.
"Khaleesi, the Maester is right. You haven't rested in over a whole day," Jorah softly pressed on.
"This one won't leave her side," added Torgo Nudho, hard as a statue stationed on the other side.
Daenerys kissed Missandei's brow and retreated from her chamber escorted by Ser Jorah.
"Jorah, I need to ask you a favor," Dany prompted halfway through, her eyes filled with tears, "And please I need you not to question my decision as it is absolute and without return."
***
Dany shakes her head hysterically.
"That's not true, it can't be, no!"
Daenerys wishes she could break that enchantment and return to the grey and miserable life she leads in the world where mistakes were made and consequences were paid. The world she now understands cannot be saved or spared.
"You did it on purpose!" she points at Brandon. "You brought me here for this reason!"
Rhaella stunned, looks between Dany and Bran.
"I am only a vessel, Daenerys. This magic...sometimes it's unscrupulous."
"I don't believe you, you Stark scum like your brothers and sisters!"
"Stark?" Rhaella cuts in. "Are you...Brandon Stark?"
Daenerys closes her eyes and lets the tears fall freely.
"Oh, gods. Now I understand," Rhaella says. "So it was true after all..."
Daenerys and Bran stared at her.
Rhaella rubs her wrist absently, trying to look sympathetic.
"There is one reason and one reason only why Aerys and I...it was long ago, a witch foretold it."
Daenerys rushes to take her in her arms.
"Run away, forget the things you've heard. I promise you everything will be—"
"Daenerys—" Bran warns her again.
"Be quiet!"
"Daenerys, you don't understand..."
"I understand perfectly well!" She turns sharply back to his form. "Nothing is worth what this sacrifice entails. Nothing!"
"What sacrifice are you talking about?" Rhaella turns her face away from him, grabbing her chin. "Daenerys, look me in the eyes and tell me what sacrifice this is."
Daenerys can only sob softly.
And that's enough for Rhaella to understand what it means.
A sad smile creeps across Rhaella's face as she pulls Dany closer to her and caresses one of her tear-sodden cheeks.
"It's okay, my darling, it's okay," she tries to calm her down.
"No!" Daenerys refuses, "It's not okay! If I had known I was coming here for this purpose, I would never have agreed!"
"But you're here, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way," Rhaella gently but forcefully tells her. "Daenerys, my life, do you know how many times I have dreamt of you?"
Daenerys could have asked her the same question.
"I don't know what brought you here, I may never know, but I am glad to know that in a better world, you are safe and you are happy."
Daenerys collapses in her mother's arms.
"Daenerys, it's time to go," Brandon tells her.
Rhaella lifts Dany's chin, the sweetest look in her eyes.
"This is my decision, Dany."
***
Rhaella stares at the place where only moments ago her daughter stood. Immeasurable grief threatened to seize her, but through it all, she was experiencing the joy of knowing that her Daenerys, her Dany, existed and was not just a wish of her heart.
Behind her, she senses a presence, when she turns around she finds a little boy watching curiously at the same spot.
"Aurane?"
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