STRANGER ━ Jon Snow

FIFTY SEVEN

Tyrion looked off at the waves sliding onto the wet sand. He smelled the fresh salt from them. "I do believe you, actually."

"You didn't before. Grumkins and Snarks, you called them. Do you remember?"

Maia couldn't stop herself from releasing a giggle. Tyrion nodded his head with a smile.

"You said it was all nonsense," Jon added.

"It was nonsense. Everybody knew it." Tyrion walked closer to the duo. "But then Mormont saw them, and you saw them, and I trust the eyes of an honest man more than I trust what everybody knows."

Maia bit her lip. "Then what to you suppose we do, Lord Tyrion?"

The dwarf shrugged.

"Great," Maia nodded, "excellent response."

Jon met Tyrion's gaze as Maia lifted her hand to brush a few stray hairs away from his face. Her fingers lingered on his scar. "How do I convince people who don't know me that an enemy they don't believe in is coming to kill them all?"

"Good question," Tyrion replied.

"I know it's a good question. I'm looking for an answer."

"People's minds aren't made for problems that large." Tyrion justified. "White Walkers ... the Night King ... army of the dead ... It's almost a relief to confront a comfortable, familiar monster like my sister."

Maia shook her head. "We cannot stay idle like this. It's a distraction. Coming here was a bad idea on my part."

Jon patted her shoulder gently. "I need to prepare my people for what's coming. I can't help them from here. We'd all like to leave."

Tyrion glanced at Jon and rolled his eyes. "It seems unlikely that you became King in the North by giving up that easily."

"Everyone told me to learn from my father's mistakes," Jon sighed. "Don't go South. Don't answer a summons from the Mad King's daughter, a foreign invader. And here I am, a Northern fool."

"You're not a fool," Maia replied, nudging his side. "You just had hope."

Tyrion shook his head. "Children are not their fathers. Luckily, for all of us. And sometimes there's more foreign invaders than Northern fools than meets the eye. Daenerys could've sailed for Westeros long ago, but she didn't. Instead, she stayed where she was and saved many people from horrible things. Some of whom are on this island with us, right now. While you're both our guests here, you might consider asking them of what they think of the Mad King's daughter."

Maia whistled lowly. Jon's glare then went to her as she muttered, "You have to admit, he has a point."

Jon's brow furrowed in her direction.

"She protects people from monsters," Tyrion continued. "Just as you do. That's why she came here, and she's not about to head North to fight any enemy she's never seen on the word of people she doesn't know after a single meeting. That's not a reasonable thing to ask."

Maia pointed her finger at Tyrion. "Now, I understand why you're the clever one. That was fairly convincing."

Jon shook his head, sending Tyrion another glare before taking Maia's hand and leading them away. Maia tried to swat his hold away, but then Tyrion said, "So do you have anything reasonable to ask?"

Jon turned quickly, as did Maia. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"Maybe you, Jon Snow, are a Northern fool. I'm asking if there's something I can do to help."

Jon and Maia's eyes met. They both knew exactly what to ask for, it was just a matter of the dragon queen agreeing.

•••

Freya Greyjoy took a long gulp of the ale in her mug. She drank the whole glass, and Thoros of Myr watched her with curious eyes. The rest of the Brotherhood Without Banners sat around the inn they found in "horse-fuck nowhere," as said by the Hound. Sandor sat across from her, resting his hands in front of his face and watching the crowd.

"You don't have to be so tentative," Freya smirked towards him. "We're around the public. No evil can find us."

"That's what they all say," Sandor muttered in his usual grumpy voice.

Thoros nudged the Hound, lifting his mug of ale. "Cheer up, Clegane. You're with friends. We probably won't have a good night like this for a long time. Enjoy it."

"We all have death warrants on our backs," Sandor whispered harshly. "Do any of you understand that? There's also a Great fucking Evil coming for us all. How can you be so fucking calm?"

Freya rolled her eyes and tapped her mug with Thoros'.

"Besides, Greyjoy," the Hound continued, "the last time you thought you were safe in public, your fucking husband got murdered when you went to take a piss."

Freya's fist slammed down on the old, wooden table. She stood up, towering over Sandor sitting on the bench. A few eyes wandered over to her, but Freya lifted her head to glare down at the Hound. "Do not speak of that night in that tone, Clegane," she spat. "Neither I, nor my husband, could protect ourselves from our fate. And you know that. So shut it."

Sandor looked away, rolling his eyes. "You'll be lucky if there's no Freys here," he muttered as she set her mug out for more ale.

A server came out, filling Freya's mug to the brim. But she stayed for longer at the table, watching them with a confused glance. Thoros lofted a brow. "Can we help you?" He asked.

"Did you mention something about House Frey?" The female server asked, her thick Northern accent prevalent.

Freya slowly lifted up her hood to hide some of her features. She took a sip of the ale, asking, "What about House Frey?"

"House Frey is gone."

Freya's eyes immediately snapped up. She looked at Thoros dead in the eyes, wanting to know more. Thoros turned to the server. "And how do you know this?"

"Just about everyone knows it, m'lord." She laughed softly. "Walder Frey was killed months ago, along with all his sons. Days later, the entire Frey army was butchered, leaving only the wives. They have no pure male heirs. House Frey is dead."

Freya closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself just a second of sweet bliss at the thought of her husband's murderer's demise. It was satisfying, truly, to know that they were all gone, after she and the Brotherhood had also killed many of their army. She didn't have to fight anymore. She didn't have to worry. They were gone. Robb Stark, her husband, was avenged. Freya felt a tear escape her eye. She took a sip of her ale, a toast to Robb.

"Things become even stranger," the server continued. "Ned Stark's bastard has taken Winterfell back from the Boltons after winning a battle against them. He was proclaimed King in the North for his victory."

Freya immediately spit out her ale, causing it to stain Thoros' shirt. She quickly turned to the woman by their table, holding her pitcher. She didn't care if the server saw her true features, if she even knew who she was. (Freya couldn't deny her constant stress over the Freys and Lannister caused her eyes to droop and wrinkles set in.) "Jon Snow is the King in the North?!" She exclaimed.

The server looked back and forth. "Yes, m'lady. The lords titled him." She then cocked her head to the side. "Has anyone told you that you look like ... oh, who is it? The Greyjoy girl, Robb Stark's widow."

Freya absolutely couldn't believe the news. The last time she saw Jon Snow ... oh, she didn't know how long. She believed it was right before he left for the Wall. It had been years since she'd seen him last. How did he – Jon Snow – go from a righteous bastard from the Night's Watch to King in the North? It was blasphemous.

"She's gotten it a few times," Sandor replied, taking Freya's glass and gulping it down.

The server nodded. "She's long gone now, I think. Died alongside Robb Stark in the Red Wedding," she sighed. "They say she was the Queen Who Lost the North, and so she did."