Jon V

It was getting so cold that many of the men no longer wished to train in the yard. Snow was falling and this time come to stay. As for Ser Jon, he found he liked the cold, and Ghost with him.

All the castle was in a jolly mood, for Queen Sansa was with child at last. There was some comment on the fact that her belly remained flat a year after the royal wedding, but Jon knew the truth. His sister and the king waited to lie together until her eighteenth nameday, and two turns of the moon later, Grand Maester Rodrik reported the happy news. Mayhaps the prince's theories about the health of waiting had some sense about them.

Sansa was in a particularly generous mood these days. Last night, there was some talk at table over which castle Jon was to have and which noble lady would be his bride. Joffrey suggested a white wolf on black for his sigil, but had no notion which house words would suit. Jon would have to think over the matter. Already, some of the ladies at court proved unusually friendly, seeking after the queen's favor, no doubt.

He thought Lady Stark residing in the Tower of the Hand would trouble him, but she said nothing to Jon, not even a rude glance. They might even arrange for Rickon to be his squire in a year or two. The boy was wild, reminding him very much of Arya at the same age, always underfoot. As for Arya herself, his beloved little sister had grown into quite the beauty herself. Half the young men at court were in love with her, though she preferred leather and iron over velvet and samite.

They had few enough visitors these days, for travel had become difficult, and few birds as well. No feasts had been held since the wedding. They weren't riding much against the reavers either, who had mostly been seen off with heavy losses. Hardly had they had word of longships of late. Mostly, the men stayed inside and drank. There were singers and dancing, though. Her Grace was quite insistent that Jon learn how to dance. She and the king danced every night, it seemed.

"Ser Jon, where is the king?" asked Lord Brenn Brine politely. Jon had been heading to his chambers. Lord Brine was no true lord, but a commoner from Saltpans, who made his fortune in the common trade of that town. With open pans, he produced salt that they shipped up and down the Trident in barges and river galleys. As Master of Whisperers, calling him a lord was but a courtesy.

Come to think of it, Brine seemed uncommon serious. "With the queen, most like," Jon answered. At times, they even went to bed together during the day. On such days, Jon's time was his own.

The man flushed in embarrassment. "I suppose this will have to wait until they're done."

Brine was handsome enough, though short for a man, with thinning hair the color of straw. He was companion to the king in planning the rebuilding of the southern part of King's Landing, which still carried scars of the Ironborn onslaught, and of the improved Kingsroad, which would be built through all Seven Kingdoms after the Valyrian fashion, come spring. Of prices and figures, Brine knew more than most, to Joffrey's delight. They'd save much coin on labor and materials in the next round of building, or so he said.

"What is it?" Jon asked, though even as the words tumbled out, he realized his folly. Grave matters were for the king alone.

"News from Storm's End," Brine answered to his surprise.

Jon's heart stopped for half a moment. "Has something happened to Lord Tyrion? His Grace will be most wroth."

"No, no, nothing like that. Would you do me a kindness and find the Lord Commander? Those of you who ride with the king to war ought to have my news together."

This, Jon did speedily. With Ser Jaime following close behind, they three made their way to their royal apartments.

"We'll be out in a minute," Joffrey said in answer to their knock. Ser Loras Tyrell had the door. He seemed quite used to the goings on, Jon thought.

"Yes?" his sister answered the door in her dressing gown, looking flushed. Lady stood at the foot of their bed, ever watchful.

Brine looked flushed himself. "Your Grace, I have grave news."

The easy smile faded from Joffrey's face in an instant. He brushed back his sweat-dampened hair, and Joff was the king again. "Tell me."

The Master of Whisperers took a deep breath to steady himself. "Daenerys Targaryen has landed at the Weeping Town with a mighty host of foreign swords, including two dragons. She has wed your Uncle Renly and raised her standard above Storm's End. Diverse houses have sent ravens, begging for help. All tell a similar tale."

The king listened with a grave expression upon his face. "Figures something like this would come at the worst possible time." He looked at the books stacked high on his writing desk, lost in thought. "Send ravens of our own, requesting parley. Likewise, inform the other lords of the danger. The Crownlands and Riverlands houses closest to us should prepare to call their banners. I doubt anyone further afield would be able to reach us in time, not in this weather."

***

The road to Bronzegate was not easy. Already, the Blackwater Rush had frozen, though not all the way to the bottom. Six inches of snow sat on the ground, and the grey skies warned of more to come.

King Joffrey rode to the parley with a tail of two hundred knights, half again as many mounted archers, Sansa, Arya, and all their wolves save Rickon's Shaggy. They selected their mounts for size and hardiness for the present conditions, not necessarily the best war horses. Lord Brine reported the Dragon Queen's troops were still disembarking at the Weeping Town and massing at Storm's End. Bronzegate was about halfway between the king's castle and hers, and chosen for that reason.

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Ere they approached the castle, there was a cry of fear and dismay as a great shape swooped overhead. Their archers dismounted quickly and bent their bows, preparing to loose.

"So dragons are real," the king said in wonder. Jon had doubted Lord Brine as well, but this so far proved him right. The dragon did not swoop down and attack, at least, only circle lazily overhead. Mayhaps the last Targaryen would respect a peace banner.

A herald conducted them to the spot where the meeting was to take place. Daenerys Targaryen was a beautiful woman, ice to Sansa's fire, and attended by her chief councilers, which included the king's enemies Renly Baratheon and Victarian Greyjoy. Jon dearly wished to draw steel, and from the twitch of fingers he could tell many a king's man felt likewise. She whispered loudly to a large man with a Northern look.

"Why do the lords of the Stormlands not rise for me? Why do they bar their gates? Is my lord husband not their overlord?"

Jon could not make out the big, hairy man's reply, and soon they all fell silent anyhow.

Joffrey, bold as ever, was the first to greet the enemy. "Good morning! My name is Joffrey Baratheon, and this is my wife, Sansa." Jon's sister did a pretty little pirouette on her palfrey and offered a disarming smile.

He did not state his title, Jon realized.

Their foe smiled back politely. "Daenerys Targaryen, and this is my husband, Renly. I believe he is your uncle, no?"

"He is," Joffrey confirmed, his face kept carefully neutral. "I would like to welcome you to the Seven Kingdoms. As you can see, winter is here. It's been going on for three, almost four years, growing colder all the time."

The mounts of the Targaryen followers shivered. Jon could not tell if it was the cold, the wolves, or both. As a caution, the king had instructed them to stay well back, lest their inclusion be mistaken for hostility.

"I had no notion it got so cold in the sunset kingdoms," Daenerys said. "My Dothraki tell me they've never seen the like."

Never? This was nothing! Did they not have winter across the Narrow Sea?

"I can imagine," Joffrey said diplomatically. He waved his hand, indicating the snow around them. "As you can see, this is not a good time for a war. The people must manage their stores with care, for none know how long this winter will last. A battle between you and me would only cause them suffering. Is there any way I could persuade you to turn away from this course? I understand you had a kingdom in Essos."

She shook her head. "I have come too far. Though it grieves me to see my people suffer, I must have what's mine."

Her people? HER PEOPLE? Jon wanted to laugh. Her followers were foreign mercenaries and Ironborn, the chief enemies of the people.

Joffrey sighed quietly, his breath frosting in the air. "Are there no terms you might accept? Mayhaps my son could wed your daughter, or your son and my daughter. We are both recently wed, and my wife is with child. There is no need for bloodshed. I tell you again, this is the worst possible time."

The big hairy man whispered something to the Dragon Queen. "Ser Jorah says you have hostages, and that is why my lords will not rally. Is that not so?"

The king frowned. "That's so. Uncle Renly rebelled a few years ago. I was more than merciful. They murdered my father, you know."

"And HE murdered my father!" Daenerys pointed to Ser Jaime accusingly. "Am I not entitled to vengeance? Yield up the Iron Throne, which is mine by rights, and you might have mercy of me, elsewise it is war."

"The mad king tried to burn down the city!" Joffrey retorted in anger.

"He was NOT MAD!" Daenerys screamed. "It was a lie of the usurper!"

To that, the king laughed, harsh and sharp. "You really don't know, do you?"

The king was about to give this silver queen a history lesson when the green dragon above swooped down. Jon drew steel, as did Ser Jaime and a dozen others.

No fire came. The dragon ignored Joffrey entirely, instead seeking...him.

Ser Jon felt a little prickle at the edge of his awareness, almost like how it was with Ghost. The dragon extended its long, thin neck, but Jon was not afraid. As if pulled by some puppeteer, his hand extended and brushed the beast's snout.

Connection.

"Rhaegal! Strare! Strare!" Daenerys screamed in Valyrian, but the dragon would not heed her.

When Jon pulled his hand back, he knew that the king's hopes for peace were properly dashed. He and Daenerys shared no more friendly words.

They left the parley in peace, but warily. Once they reached the safety of the Kingswood, the king asked him a question. "Jon, why is the dragon following you?"

Jon looked behind him. The green dragon, Rhaegal, had landed lightly to their rear. Their eyes met, and he knew it was like Ghost. They were together now.