SONG: We Want War by These New Puritans
Jon
"Jon?" Robb called out to his passing by brother, or more factually correct - his cousin. The man stopped in his step as he was called, turning to Robb in response. "Can we talk?"
"I was just looking for you, actually," Jon admitted, looking around for the rest of his family, "you, Sansa and Arya. I need to speak with you all, privately."
"I know, Jon," Robb admitted cryptically, his tone capturing the Targaryen heir off guard, who looked at him quizzically. "I know."
Jon read the expression on his face uneasily, shoulders slumping in defeat. He had hoped to be the one to tell Robb first.
"The single time Fianna Bua hasn't been able to keep a secret," he chuckled drily, awkwardly avoiding Robb's eyes. Their relationship had been strained as of late, and Jon guessed that a revelation such as this would only sever their bond completely. The only thing keeping Robb and Jon communicating at all was Robb being under the belief that they were brothers.
To say that Jon was surprised when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder was an understatement, eyes snapping to it and then following up to meet its owner. Robb wasn't looking at him with contempt or disgust, if anything, his stance was nothing but comforting and supportive. The very last thing Jon could have expected.
"This doesn't change anything," Robb cleared his throat, giving Jon's shoulder a light squeeze, "we were raised as brothers, and that's how I still see you now."
Jon stiffened at the wave of emotion that had came over him, sniffing lightly and staring straight forward. Ever since Sam had told him the truth, he had felt the weight of the world's worries on his shoulders - how Daenerys would react, how disastrous it would be if word got out. And although he'd never admit it outright, he deeply feared that Robb and his other siblings would shun him for not being Ned Stark's son.
"I just don't know what to do," Jon sighed, shaking his head and wishing that Bran had never found out about his true lineage. Being a bastard never seemed like more of a gift until now. "Daenerys is broken by the news, even begged me not to tell any of you. She's terrified I'll threaten her claim to the throne."
"I wasn't actually going to mention her," Robb tried to hold back a smirk of amusement, "didn't want to make it awkward by saying 'I know you're fucking your aunt'."
"Sometimes you're a pain in the arse, you know that Robb?" Jon breathed a laugh, his first genuine smile he gave that week.
"As for your aunt," he coughed, stopping to chuckle again before adopting a more serious demeanour, "I don't think you should worry. Our family can be trusted with this secret. I almost wish it was me. You could have used this to force her into giving us the North, you know that?"
"Blackmail?" Jon asked in disapproval, sneering at the word. "That's not very honourable for Ned Stark's son."
"Don't get me wrong, we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her," Robb candidly admitted. "We owe her one hell of a favour. But there's a difference between a favour and a whole kingdom, Jon."
"Kingdoms and titles don't mean much to me as long as I'm alive," Jon shrugged, grimacing at Robb's philosophy.
"Why do you think I usurped you, you useless bastard?" Robb laughed, clapping a hand on Jon's back and eliciting a bark from him as well. Together, they headed towards the Godswood, to tell the rest of their siblings the gossip of the day. Jon could only hope their reaction was as light-hearted as Robb's.
❄️
Fianna
The Queen in the North, along with the King and the Stark sisters, had been summoned to Daenerys' council meeting. For what reason - she was unaware. Perhaps the Targaryen queen wanted to negotiate the North's independence.
Upon entering alongside Robb, Daenerys gave them a nod in greeting, a kind smile gracing her lips although she was visibly tired. A massive map of Westeros had been spread out on the table before them, curiously enough. With their arrival, the meeting could finally begin.
Robb gravitated to stand next to Arya and Sansa - and wherever Robb went, Fianna followed naturally.
"What are our numbers?" Daenerys prompted, looking towards Grey Worm and Jon for an answer. With a sullen sigh, the Unsullied commander gathered a number of pawns representing his fleet into his hand and stepped back.
"Half are gone," he revealed, stepping back so the surviving Dothraki leader could swipe away a vast number of his own.
"And the Golden Company has arrived in King's Landing," Varys added a number of new objects aside the King's Landing mark, causing Daenerys to visibly wince, "courtesy of the Greyjoy fleet. I dare say we may be outnumbered, even with two full grown dragons."
"When the people find out what we have done for them-" Missandei began, only to be cut off by Daenerys.
"Cersei will make sure they don't believe it," she admitted pessimistically. "We will have to rip her hard. We will rip her out root and stem."
The council room fell silent for a moment, everyone looking between each other to see who would be the next to comment. Robb and Fianna were simply wondering why their presence had been called upon at all, until Daenerys' eye turned to them. She hesitated for a moment, making Robb suspicious of her motives, before eventually revealing them.
"Perhaps the evenness of our armies and theirs wouldn't be a question if we had the support of the North," she started, somewhat sheepish. Robb closed his eyes to refrain from rolling them, hands tightly pressing against the back of the chair in front of him. Fianna's own eyes narrowed at the Targaryen - surely she didn't think they'd bend the knee if she asked nicely?
"Not a chance," Robb shut her down immediately. "I appreciate what you have done for us, it is a great debt I owe to you. But no debt is worth sacrificing my country, we are, until the end of days, a free and independent kingdom."
"I'm not asking you to bend the knee," Daenerys quirked a brow, not at all phased by his minor rant. "I'm offering you a proposition."
Tyrion and Varys immediately met eyes, the young Queen hadn't disclosed of this proposed offer to them for their viewpoints, or even hinted towards it.
"A proposition?" Fianna echoed, tilting her head slightly. Sansa's eyes darted back and forth between the blonde and her good-brother, shoulders tense from distrust.
"Fight for me," Daenerys started, chest puffing out with confidence, "help me take back King's Landing and I will allow the North to remain free."
The room fell so silent a pin drop could have been heard, but the only one who looked towards Daenerys with a non-horrified expression was her niece. If anything, Fianna was fighting back a smirk.
"You're saying you'd give us the North? No strings attached? No wars or invasions?" Robb questioned, trying to reaffirm it. He, more than anyone, was suspicious. Daenerys had sailed the seas to become the Queen of Seven Kingdoms, surely she wouldn't just give the largest one away?
"You warned me against sending the Dothraki into the field first," she looked down, fighting the embarrassment creeping up from the piercing gazes fixated on her. "You warned me against sending a group North of the wall to prove to Cersei the White Walkers exist. You also told me that Cersei would never have rode North for us. Every time you both were right, where my own council had failed me.
"I don't have love in Westeros. The natives fear me - see me as a tyrant and a conqueror who means to burn them to the ground. They say before the Red Wedding you were the strongest contender in the War of the Five Kings, Robb Stark. And as I said, they call you 'the Undefeated' for a reason, Fianna. I could burn down King's Landing and force them to bend the knee to me at any moment, but if my father's legacy taught me anything, it's that fear will only inhibit the realm so much before a saviour rises. If I want to free Westeros, they have to want me to. And as it stands, I'd rather be the Queen of Six Kingdoms than the Queen of none. You both have garnered the love of the people, won every battle you've partaken in on your strategies alone and have managed to stay alive despite never being at peace. You said that you owed me a favour, let that favour be lending me your minds, your counsel and your swords for a single battle."
"Daenerys-" Tyrion began, preparing to ask her for a moment alone to carefully reconsider her offer, but the Queen simply shut him down with a harsh glare. She had poured all of her trust into Varys and Tyrion as the council members with the most knowledge on Westeros, but they were failing her thus far.
Fianna swallowed thickly, mind racing with thought. She'd have sooner expected Dany to burn her alive than actually bend to their revolution. For a moment, she expected foul play. But one look at the desperation in her bright blue eyes told Fianna that Daenerys wasn't tricking them. She cast a glance over to Robb, unsure of how he would feel of the situation. He, more than anyone in the room - Sansa included, didn't like nor trust Daenerys. She could see the physical symptoms appearing on him because of the war of debate raging in his mind.
"You'd be sending Northmen to their death, Northmen that are tired and wounded from battle as it is," Sansa piped up, still in enough disbelief of the offer to outright refuse on the grounds of absurdity.
"It's a risk, I'm aware," Daenerys agreed, raising her eyebrows, "but think of the benefits. In a war against my armies and yours, who do you truly believe would win? You'd be saving so many more by accepting. Not to mention, I am offering you the revenge you have seeked for almost eight years on a silver platter."
At this, Robb's head shot up, eyes blazing. He hadn't expected this meeting to bring such stress - that the fate of the North would rest in his hands.
"Revenge?" He pressed, jawline becoming more prominent as he tensed up.
"The Lannisters were responsible for the death of your mother and father," she spoke clearly, Tyrion recognising this as the stance and voice she used for speeches, "for the imprisonment of your sister, for the butchering of hundreds at the Red Wedding, for putting the Boltons in charge, for placing your wife, yourself and your unborn children at risk. With the army you have now, you will never be able to deliver the blow that cuts the Lion's head off. But if you fortify my army with yours? She doesn't stand a chance."
As Robb settled down into the chair next to Fianna with a huff, he felt a warm hand slide over to grip onto his own underneath the table, squeezing it with reassurance. The King finally met Fianna's gaze, which was entirely calm and undisturbed. He expected her to look somewhat perturbed, given that she had never been so quiet in a council meeting before now, but perhaps she was merely allowing him to come to the decision she already had.
Giving Fianna's hand a squeeze of his own, he stood up straight, rounding around the table to greet Daenerys head on. Grey Worm tensed at their close contact, but forced himself to simmer down when Robb simply lifted his hand up to Daenerys.
A wide grin overtook her face, eyes darting back to Fianna to confirm the decision was mutual, before her own hand lifted to clutch onto his forearm - a traditional symbol of a bond being forged.
"Well, Daenerys Targaryen," Robb began, dropping his hand with a widening smirk developing, "let's get this son of a bitch."
"Finally!" Fianna proclaimed, shooting out of her chair with her attention now fixated on the map before her. It was as if she was waiting for Robb to hurry up and agree to the treaty so she could get started, her mind swimming with strategies and tactics they could use to penetrate the almost impenetrable fortress.
Fianna had considered sieges a personal talent of her own by now - whether it be defending against them or committing them. But King's Landing was a full city, not a mere Lord's castle. She wouldn't be able to distract the archers or guards on the wall this time, or douse the grapple hooks with wolfsbane. Every single avenue and route would have to be planned out.
Tyrion, although cautious of the alliance, had to admit Daenerys had cleverly managed to silence the Northern rebellion and gain a powerful ally - even if it was at her own expense. He often worried her hunger for power would overcome her, but perhaps she had just proven him wholly incorrect.
"I propose the Northern army and the bulk of our own travel down the King's road, while a smaller fleet and the dragons sail by the sea to reach Dragonstone," Tyrion offered, sliding the pawns representing each party in the direction with which he wanted.
"Are you mental?" She sneered incredulously, batting his hand away from the map. "You mean to take a small fleet and the dragons over the sea, where Euron Greyjoy has just reinforced his army and holds precedence over? For what reason exactly?"
"Well, Dragonstone is a strong fort to fall back to-" he stammered, eyes widening as he watched her drag his repositioned pawns all into the one area.
"She's not here to be Queen of Dragonstone, she's here to take King's Landing," Fianna scoffed, shaking her head with disapproval. "We will all travel by the King's Road. The journey with a vanguard this size could take two weeks, but it's the safer route."
Daenerys couldn't help but smile again as Fianna ranted, knowing that she had made the right decision. Her Hand was experienced in all things political - but a battle was Fianna's territory.
"And what of our men?" Sansa prompted stubbornly, albeit, Fianna understood completely. Her questions weren't out of place - even Daenerys' dragons and armies needed to heal from their sores before getting back into it.
"The longer I wait, the stronger my enemies become," Daenerys huffed impatiently, placing Sansa's reluctance down to her dislike of the Targaryen ruler.
"And the faster we leave, the weaker we are," Robb cut in, returning along the table to Fianna's side. Jon had been mute for the entire meeting, never offering his input once - even when the offer was on the table for an independent North. Sparing a glance towards him, Robb grimaced at the sight of Jon's expression. He looked entirely like a fish out of water, even worse - he looked excluded.
It had to have been a harsh blow to receive for Daenerys to offer Robb the North after demanding Jon bend the knee, it made him look a fool for it. Feeling guilty for his exclusion, Robb decided to directly include him.
"What do you think, Jon? Wait or go?" Robb pressed, twitching his lips to show that he meant well. In truth, Jon didn't much know if his opinion mattered any more. Daenerys had let the North go, presumedly to Robb, he wasn't the Lord of Winterfell any more. He wasn't much of anything, except the King's brother.
But Daenerys seemed to want his input as well, so perhaps he wasn't free from this political game just yet.
"Any of the severely wounded will likely never be ready in the time frame we need," he guessed, stepping toward the table instead of loitering back. "Broken bones and stab wounds can take a month to heal, and with the two weeks of travelling, I say we give it a month before moving."
All eyes turned to Daenerys, who was effectively the commander at that moment. She hesitated, glancing back and forth between the eyes of her advisors - both old and new.
"A month it is, then," she conceded.
"While we're North, Cersei will be preparing for a siege," Tyrion announced, settling into a free chair next to Robb. "She's seen the dragons by now, it's safe to assume she probably has more than one of those weapons that nearly took down Drogon when you wiped out Jaime's fleet."
"So Rhaegal and Drogon will burn down the walls, tear down their defences," Daenerys proposed, somewhat naively. To this day, she still considered her dragons somewhat invincible, but they simply couldn't afford to lose another. Viserion was too much of a loss, if another dragon were to die - especially one with Daenerys mounted on top, the results could be disastrous.
"I would advise you to be cautious of setting King's Landing alight," Varys cut in, lips curled in as his gaze swept over the map. "The Mad King left pockets of Wildfire throughout the city, there's no telling where they all are."
"Wildfire?" Fianna repeated, eyebrows furrowing in thought. Wolfsbane was her speciality, but she didn't mind branching out. "Is there anywhere you're sure there's wildfire to be found?"
"There's a brothel in Flea Bottom, I believe it's known as 'The Red Keep's Red Keep', it's the only place outside of the actual Red Keep where I know for certain wildfire lies underneath it."
Catching onto Fianna's thoughts, Tyrion raised his eyebrows, a glint of excitement in his eye.
"The gates of the city are being kept open to allow everyone inside for 'safety', although I'd imagine it's a ploy by Cersei to ensure Daenerys won't burn a path straight through to her," he mused, fingers slipping up to cup his bearded chin. He looked entirely pensive, they all did. The greatest minds in Westeros were gathered in one room.
"How about we exchange battering rams and grappling hooks for a few well placed infiltrators?" Fianna suggested, her smirk widening into a full fledged smile. Robb found a smile of his own in watching her - Fianna in her own element was truly a marvellous sight to see. Cillian Bua would have been proud.
"Infiltrators that can reach the wildfire and take down their defence themselves," she continued, leaning back in her chair, satisfied with the plan brewing within her racing mind.
"I'll go," Robb presented himself, all eyes dragging towards him.
"Not a chance, Robb," Fianna shook her head, words arising from both a place of practicality and concern. "The town guard will be on look out for anyone trying to infiltrate. Anyone who very obviously looks like a warrior will be investigated."
"If not us, then who?" Jon solicited, gaze flicking over to Daenerys to gauge her reaction. Although he was surprised to see she was entirely pleased with the proceedings, a far cry from the woman begging in his arms the night before.
"When I became Queen in the North I didn't only offer the opportunity for women to join my army for sheer strength in numbers," Fianna's fingers fiddled with a Stark pawn, tracing her fingernail over the grooves in the wolf's head. "Contrary to popular belief, there is a place for women in the army that extends beyond cleaning wounds and serving to the needs of men. We fly under watchful eyes, we don cloaks and rags and slip past the most careful of commanders. The women in the Bua force are trained well, I suggest we assemble an infantry of twenty and no more."
"Count myself amongst those twenty," Arya brought forth, "I know a thing or two about disguising oneself. And besides, I've got a name on the top of my list that needs crossing off."
Sansa, Robb and Jon moved to object, but the fierceness in her gaze silenced their rebuttals. Arya had just killed the most untouchable evil in their world, she was more than capable of slipping into a city. Her final comment also proved to solidify the notion that she hadn't simply pledged to fight for Daenerys. This wasn't for the North, or for the Targaryen Queen. This was for Cersei Lannister.
"Twenty might be a small group but there is still great need for a leader to ensure nothing goes wrong," Fianna nodded towards Arya, a secretive smile between them. "I'll lead the infiltrators and take down their defence lines, so the rest of the armies can advance into King's Landing."
"Fianna-" Robb cut in, eyes incredulously wide with concern, but a quick slip of her hand into his quietened his protests. He didn't like it, but what difference was there in Fianna leading the infiltrators than him leading the Northern army? A great risk was posed to them both. And he had long since learned in their many years together, that to force Fianna Bua into doing, or not doing, something was a futile effort.
The meeting soon disbanded after, parties separating in every which way to achieve the rest and recuperation necessary before what would hopefully be the final battle. A final battle in what felt like a lifetime of war.
Arya stood in the corner while everyone dispersed, prompting Fianna to approach the Stark girl with a coy smile. They had their differences over Robb's short-lived rebellion, but the two had been through too much together to let their bond be affected by a game of thrones.
"You and I, side by side again," Fianna nodded proudly, knowing that the job would get done if Arya Stark was involved.
"It's been too long," she replied with amusement. Robb's wooden chair slid against the stone ground as he clambered out of it, lips twisting with the dry humour he was now perpetually associated with as he called out to the two girls.
"Try not to kiss my sister this time," he winked at his wife, receiving an eye roll from both in response.
❄️
"Get dressed again," were the first words Robb spoke to Fianna, after rather abruptly bursting into their chambers whilst her handmaidens were removing the laces of her dress from the day. "We're going out."
"Robb!" Fianna called out in protest, never one to shy away when her body was exposed - especially in front of her husband, but she rather had a problem with the manner in which he demanded her. Her maids looked toward her expectantly, reluctantly beginning to retie her corset after a nod of confirmation. "It's late in the day, what could you possibly have in mind?"
"The twins are fast asleep and carefully guarded, and you and I are going to a tavern in Wintertown," Robb announced, a mischievous smirk visible on his lips. Fianna scoffed at the suggestion before wincing at a particularly strong pull on her laces. Now fully redressed, her handmaiden, Rosaline, began to rework the intricate braid that had fallen throughout the day.
It had been a week since they decided to march on King's Landing, and although the next month was kept aside for rest and recuperation, the King and Queen in the North rarely got a chance to sit down as of late. Too much time was spent on the rebuilding of Winterfell that by the time they laid down to rest at night, their bodies fell asleep within seconds.
"What would bring us to a bloody tavern?" She raised an eyebrow haughtily, curious of her husband's intentions.
"It's Jon's nameday, and I need a bloody break from duty," he muttered as he crossed the room towards the fireplace, warming his hands over the flames. "He wanted a small affair, no big celebration. So only you, Arya, Sansa, Rickon, Samwell and myself are heading down."
Tormund would have been included in that list, she suspected. But the wildlings had up and left soon after the Long Night, feeling out of place in the stone walls surrounding Winterfell. Fianna noted there were a few exclusions from that list, most notably Daenerys and Bran. The Queen suspected Bran had little affection for celebrations such as these, but she was rather surprised by Daenerys - who had confided in Fianna all week long about her romantic struggles with Jon. Fianna, never having had many female friends outside of the Stark family, was a little uneducated about the boundaries of 'girl talk'. Although she quickly learned that answering 'just move on, there's bound to be another non-incestuous prosper you can pursue,' was most definitely not the right thing to say.
Daenerys would have jumped at the opportunity to celebrate Jon's nameday, which led her to the conclusion she simply hadn't been invited.
"I don't know that the world is ready for a drunken Fianna Stark again," she mused, tugging on her winter cloak after Rosaline tapped her shoulder to signal she was finished with her braid.
"I'm certainly not," Robb shook his head, allowing her to step out of the room before him in a mannerly fashion, then following after. "You're a beautiful woman, but not when you're vomiting into a chamber pot first thing in the morning."
"I'm fairly certain there's a vow we took about loving your partner in sickness as well as health," she narrowed her eyes at him as they trailed towards the small party gathered in the courtyard.
"Well, I'm fairly certain that when we wed I didn't imagine I'd ever have to see you with bile in your hair," he shrugged teasingly, placing his hand on her lower-back after she gave him the lightest of shoves in protest.
"I've never been to a tavern," Rickon naively called out to them after they descended the stairs, receiving incredulous looks from all except Fianna.
"What do you say, brother?" Robb nodded towards Jon, eying Rickon with a playful glint in his eye, "I think it's high time our youngest experiences his first drink."
❄️
Despite paying the barkeep a handsome amount throughout the night to keep the drinks flowing and to keep judgements away from their table, the Stark family still received stares from their servers and the other patrons. Fianna couldn't blame them, it wasn't every day that almost all the Stark family, including the King and Queen, decided to shack up in a lowly tavern. But Jon was too modest for bountiful celebrations, he wanted to spend the night with those that mattered most.
Sansa had been the most dignified thus far, only on her second cup of ale as she drank slowly. She imagined she would be the ones fetching their guard to escort them back later, and decided someone ought to know how to get home. Arya was holding her drink well, the least tipsy of them all aside from Sansa. The others were a rather different story.
"And he says to me," Fianna blabbered, the cup in her hand sloshing around as she made wild hand gestures to accompany her story, "Tywin Lannister that is, he says 'Buas are known for their strategies and their handsomeness,' so I says to him- that's me, I said this, 'if you brought me here to kiss my arse I'll gladly expose it for you to do so!"
Their table erupted into bellows of laughter, with Robb laughing the hardest. For all his teasing earlier that night, he was most definitely the most intoxicated of them all by this point. Even Sansa chuckled at the comment, or more so Fianna's overly dramatic facial expressions while doing so.
"It's true!" Arya added in, pointing her flagon towards Fianna, "I was there as his cupbearer! I heard it!"
"Someone ought to write a book on your adventures," Jon shook his head with amusement, taking another sip of his drink. It was a lot stronger than the barrels they had back at Winterfell, which probably explained his sudden lack of co-ordination.
"That's my woman, right there!" Robb boasted proudly, banging his cup down onto the table several times. "'Marry a Frey', they wanted me to! Not in this lifetime!"
"I don't feel so good," Rickon mumbled against the wood of the table, having rested his forehead down on it moments before. As it was his first time drinking, or at least drinking more than a sip of wine with his dinner, his stomach wasn't handling it as well as his hardened brothers.
"We've broken the poor boy, Robb," Jon laughed, smacking his hand against the younger lad's back. Sansa worriedly felt her hand against his cheek, noting how warm he felt to the touch.
"Perhaps we should take him back," she suggested, knowing that she was the only one able to carry him at this moment in time - and she most certainly wasn't going to.
"Nonsense," Robb shook his head adamantly. "On the last nameday Jon celebrated before he took the black, Theon and I took him to this very same place and got him so drunk he saw the light of the Heavens."
"Father never struck me in his life," Jon replied, laughter emerging in a snort through his nose, "but I never saw him actually consider it until I vomited all over Maester Luwin's robes."
"On his robes?" Fianna scoffed drunkenly, some liquid spilling over the rim of her cup onto her hand and the table beneath. "That's nothing. One time Tiernan vomited on me."
Sansa forced a strained smile while the others broke down into raucous laughter. In truth, she'd rather never hear the name Tiernan Bua be spoke again, to save her from the pain that followed. But she was also aware that a man as great as himself deserved to be talked about.
"A toast!" Robb announced suddenly, his words slurred over as he lifted his cup high into the air in Jon's general direction, who looked sheepishly down with the sudden attention onto him. "To my beautiful bastard brother! A shite King, but still owner of the best hair this side of Westeros!"
Jon couldn't help but laugh at Robb's jest, knowing it was good-humoured and not intending to insult. His cheeks burned as the table cheered loudly for him, their cups raised as high as their voices. It captured the attention of the rest of the tavern attendants, but for once, Jon allowed himself to be like his siblings and not care at all what others thought.
❄️
Me, undoing D+D's mistakes in an attempt to give fans the character development they DESERVE:
P.S. I'm sure there'll always be ONE person who will say that Daenerys offering up the North is out of character. But it couldn't be be any more outlandish than Daenerys burning tens of thousands of innocent people alive ☺️