32-The Unwanted Envoy

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter and A Song of Ice and Fire universes. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling and George R.R. Martin, respectively. I make no claim to ownership.

Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Void Uzumaki and Ashestodust. I also want to thank my beta reader, nicknm, for helping me bounce ideas around.

If you're feeling generous and want to support me, you can find me on P*T*E*N under the same name for up to three early access chapters(a week before discord).

*

Asha Greyjoy, somewhere north of the Redwyne Straits

Despite his death, the sight of her mad uncle's flagship still gave her chills. But the Hightower banner on its sails was a queer sight.

"These Greenlanders just don't give up," she heard the voice of Qarl behind her. She ignored it, took out the myrish far eye from her pouch, and looked at their pursuers again.

Asha knew that Euron Greyjoy had died in a brutal attempt to take Oldtown, but she did not know that he had lost a big part of the iron fleet, which was now chasing her and her men. She cursed her decision to leave half of her ships in Blackwater Bay.

Now, they were heavily outnumbered, and while the Hightowers weren't as good sailors as the Ironborn, their ships were the same as theirs. Silence was the fastest ship she knew, and none could escape it.

It seemed that whatever Euron did before his death made the new Lord Hightower hold a tremendous grudge because they were being chased for a second day now, and the distance between her ships and the pursuers was slowly but surely shrinking.

Every Ironborn was worth two Greenlanders on the sea, but she still didn't fancy their odds.

"Where's my brother?" She turned to Qarl.

"The… prince is Inside his cabin, counting the flies on the ceiling again," her first mate answered with a barely suppressed snort.

Whatever little respect Theon had was lost after his follies in the North, and she couldn't blame Qarl for his attitude. When Theon returned to her, he was a broken shell of the man he was before. His black hair had gone white and brittle, half of his teeth were missing, and his skin had turned pasty. He had lost three fingers, could no longer use a bow or hold a sword, and had lost three stone in weight. Her brother would refuse to speak, oft stare at walls, and jump at the slightest sound. Asha would throw him in a whorehouse to lift his spirits, but he had lost his cock too. She had no idea how to help and suspected that Theon himself didn't want to be helped. His sleep was uneasy, and his screams could be heard at every corner of the Black Wind. Her crew would have thrown him over the board long ago if it was not for her. And she didn't blame them, Asha would have also done it had Theon not been her brother.

If her fleet stayed on the course, they would get caught in a few hours. She rubbed her head tiredly. She looked to the west, where thick, stormy clouds were blotting out the horizon.

"Signal to all the captains to turn west," she ordered. The Ironborn were not afraid of a measly storm.

She strode towards the helm and steered the wheel left.

As her fleet was quickly approaching the storm, the waves became higher and higher. Lightning flashed nearby, followed by a deafening thunderclap. In the distance behind them, the Hightowers had stopped the chase.

"Furl the sails!" Asha yelled out, and her men scrambled to follow her orders.

The wind was so vicious it could tear off meat from the bone. A giant wave crashed heavily into the Black Wind, flooding the deck with seawater and rocking the ship wildly. Asha barely managed to hold onto the helm. Her crew were scurrying around all over the place.

The storm was far more fierce than she expected. But they were ironborn and thrived at sea; no mere storm could stop them.

At that moment, something hard hit her on the head and almost knocked her out. She scowled in pain and carefully combed her wet hair with her left hand, only to find a bloodied piece of ice.

Hail began to pelt her ship's deck, and Asha covered her head with her arms while rushing to the safety of the cabin. In mere seconds, her forearms were wrecked with bruises by the falling ice. Terrifying sounds of tearing were heard among the rumbling thunder. She allowed herself to look up-her sails were safe and furled. But it seemed this was not the case for the ship next to Black Wind. At that moment, another strong wave crashed into the ship, and she was knocked off her feet. The back of her head met the deck, and she lost consciousness.

Meanwhile, Baelor Hightower had decided to turn his fleet around. It was not worth chasing the reavers into a storm like this.

*

Wyman Manderly

"I will do my duty. What are my options, grandfather?" Wylla asked with a sigh as she looked at her food with disinterest.

His poor granddaughter's chances to marry the king had all but evaporated when Shireen Baratheon mounted the purple dragon. It was a pity, but there was always the possibility of a Stark marriage in the next generation.

"From the North, the new Lord Dustin is still rather young and unwed. So are Larence Hornwood, Torrhen Flint, and Harrion Karstark," he recounted and took a generous bite of the pork pie before washing it down with some wine. "Or you can become a lady in waiting to Queen Shireen."

His granddaughter's grimace was all the reply he needed. Of course, there were quite some northern lords or heirs looking for a spouse, but minor Houses or clans were simply below the station of his granddaughter. There was also one Rodrick Mazin, the new heir to the Rills. But once Wyman found out the man was bedding a different woman every night, he refused to entertain the notion. His Wylla was a good girl and deserved only the best.

"Isn't Torrhen just a boy of three and ten?"

"And that boy will grow into a man within two to three years. Torrhen is the King's squire, and his Grace oft trains him personally, which means that he will have his ear and favour in the future. And he's the firstborn of the chieftain of the Mountain Flints," he retorted and ate one of the boiled eggs on the platter in front of him.

There were many more possible matches in the South, but with the North independent again, he'd rather make alliances here in the North. Not to mention the raging war between the Lannisters and Targaryens, which would most probably end with a few Houses being brought low. Trying to find a consort for Wynafryd was already turning out to be a royal pain in the arse. Eddara Tallahrt, Lyra Mormont, and Jorelle Mormont were all heads of their houses and needed a future consort too. After the last four years of bloody war, the number of unwed highborn ladies was greater than that of highborn sons.

"Larence Hornwood, then. He's my age, and I will, at least, be rather close to White Harbour, and I can visit my sister often," she said quietly.

"I will write to Lord Hornwood and start negotiations," Wyman said as he reached for the lamprey.

Wylla could sulk now, but it was one of the duties of a Highborn-Lord or Lady to marry for an alliance. Especially for a Lady. Traditionally, second and third sons might choose to join the Night's Watch, the Citadel, or even the Faith, which were all considered honourable as they would remove themselves from the line of succession. But for a highborn woman to join the Silent Sisters or become a Septa was only considered a true option after a disgrace.

The door opened, and his page burst into the room, tripped and fell face down. Wyman watched with concern as the boy immediately stood up hastily, seemingly unaffected by the fall.

"Lord Manderly," Alyn gasped for breath, "Ser Brynden has called for you outside urgently!"

"And what does the Blackfish need me outside for?" He grumbled with some unhappiness and looked at his unfinished meal.

"A b-big dragon landed in the courtyard!" The boy looked like he was about to panic.

"Did you not see His Grace's dragons before? They land there every day!" Wyman looked at the boy with incomprehension.

"This one is not the King's!"

This statement chilled his blood, and he abruptly stood up and hurried outside as fast as his legs could carry him, leaving his granddaughter behind.

"Has the Blackfish sent for His Grace?"

"I don't know," his page replied timidly after rubbing his elbows.

The cold air made him pause for a short moment as soon as he went outside. In his haste, he had forgotten his cloak inside. He entertained the thought of sending Alyn to fetch it for a moment but quickly discarded it-the cold barely stung through his layers of fat.

In the snowy courtyard, scores of guards were cautiously surrounding a giant dragon from afar. More and more guards were quickly flooding the open space. The scene stopped Wyman dead in his steps, and he couldn't help but gulp at the sight. Its pitch-black scales and blood-red horns, and crest looked intimidating. The dragon's eyes were vicious red, and stared at him like two smouldering pits from the seven hells. But the biggest problem was that despite the slimmer and more elongated frame, the dragon was enormous and more than twice bigger than the King's dragon, Winter.

On its saddle sat a rather small, young woman with classical pale silver-gold Targaryen hair, accompanied by a greying man in armour.

As the man was slowly dismounting, Wyman managed to find his wits and quickly walk to the Blackfish, who was watching the black dragon cautiously.

"Where is the King?" The Hand asked quietly.

"He has gone flying with the Queen..." was Brynden's tense reply. "By the fucking Seven, if my eyes are not deceiving me, this is Ser Barristan Selmy!"

Wyman did a double take, and the face of the old man indeed looked familiar. The famed knight had turned grey, and a long white beard hid much of his face. Ser Barristan no longer wore white armour and cloak but a simple plate with a three-headed dragon of House Targaryen on the surcoat. A sword still adorned his hip, but the man had a cane in his arm and slowly approached with a limp on his right foot. Seeing the small parlay flag in the old knight's arms brought a small measure of relief in Wyman's heart.

"Lord Manderly," Ser Barristan respectfully nodded at him, then turned to the Blackfish. "Ser Brynden. Queen Daenerys Targaryen and I come here as envoys of King Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. We are here to negotiate the return of the North under the King's Peace."

The Blackfish's face blackened at the mention of King's Peace. It was not a surprise when the realm went to war. It usually fought most of it in the Riverlands, heavily devastating it. Wyman, however, gulped inwardly. The threat was clear. They called themselves envoys, but their presence here alone was a threat. They landed in the middle of Winterfell's courtyard as if they owned the place! The sheer arrogance of this move left him speechless. And not once did they mention his liege, Jon Stark. Were they trying to undermine his King?!

He glanced at what could only be the mad king's daughter. She was looking around with boredom.

"You will have to wait for his Grace to arrive for any negotiations," he spoke evenly, trying to hide his rising panic. Things did not bode well if Daenerys Targaryen's dragons were this size.

"Are you not Jon Snow's Hand, my lord?" the old knight asked while motioning towards the bronze pin on his chest.

Wyman was just about to reply when a reverberating roar was heard in the distance. He did not need to turn back to know- the King was back.

The black dragon in the middle of the courtyard reared up, making all the men-at-arms in the courtyard back away cautiously. Beads of sweat began to gather on the Hand's brow. What if the dragons decided to fight here, in the courtyard? Could Jon Stark even win with three smaller dragons? Aemond Targaryen dominated the Dance almost single-handedly, purely by the virtue of riding the largest dragon.

Purple and dark blue glinted in the sun, and as the two dragons were already landing at the opposite end of the courtyard, the black beast flapped his wings and let out a deafening roar. From the direction of the godswood, the crimson one quickly flew over and joined his siblings. The difference was now clear – all three of Jon Stark's dragons looked like small children dwarfed by their opponents. Stormstrider and Bloodfyre were standing, or more accurately said, hiding behind Winter's larger form. The King's dragon was looking placid and even leisurely sat down in the snow, uncaring of Daenerys Targaryen's larger dragon.

Barristan Selmy was staring at the sight with confusion, awe, and trepidation.

That's right, House Targaryen were not the only ones with flying, fire-breathing weapons of destruction now!

Wyman could see the King's expression in the distance. His face looked as if carved from ice, and nothing could be gleaned from it. Jon Stark dismounted and said something to the Queen. She carefully got off the purple dragon and immediately moved to his left. Wyman and the Blackfish quickly went towards the King, who was now staring at Aerys' daughter. Daenerys had just managed to get her black dragon to calm down and was dismounting. She confidently began walking to them and stopped halfway.

"Ser Tully, get all the guards to move away. They serve little purpose here right now," Jon Stark ordered sharply.

"At once, Your Grace!" The Blackfish ran off and began to herd the men-at-arms away quickly.

"Lord Hand, who is that limping old man with the cane and the parlay flag?" the king asked as they approached Daenerys.

"Ser Barristan Selmy. They are here as envoys of Aegon to return the North under the Dragon's Peace," Wyman explained and barely surpassed a shiver. Did it just get colder?

The King stopped less than ten yards away from Daenerys and carefully measured her with his impassive gaze. It was a queer sight, the Valyrian woman was nearly two heads shorter than the king, but there was a stubborn yet curious look in her purple eyes.

There was an audible silence where nobody said a thing, and Wyman didn't dare speak up. It was only broken by the sound of Barristan Selmy trudging closer through the snow.

"How?" Her voice was sharp yet melodic. Did she not know her courtesies?

"How what?" Jon Stark raised his eyebrow.

"How do you have dragons, Ser?" Daenerys asked impatiently.

"I am no knight, my Lady and my name is Jon Stark. How did you hatch yours?" The king countered, and her expression became impassive as her eyes glanced towards the bronze crown atop his brow.

"They hatched on my husband's funeral pyre," Daenerys spoke slowly and raised an eyebrow in expectation.

"And mine hatched on my funeral pyre," the king replied simply. Wait, was that crazy rumour about resurrection true?!

"Is this some sort of jest? Do you take me for a fool? You are very much alive and breathing!"

"You're free to believe what you want," was the serene answer.

"Do you expect me to believe such an outlandish tale?! All the dragon eggs in Westeros belong to the Targaryens! What a poor excuse for stealing from my House!" Daenerys now looked angry. In the distance behind her, the black dragon roared in displeasure.

Ser Barristan Selmy finally arrived, stood next to the Mad King's daughter, stabbed the small parley flag he was carrying into the ground, and wearily placed a hand on her shoulder.

"A dragon is not a thing to be owned. They chose me - all three climbed on me as soon as they hatched. They're free to come and go as they please, and in fact, the purple one bonded with my wife, Queen Shireen Stark." Selmy gasped at that moment and finally looked at the Northern Queen with surprise. Before, many had dismissed Stannis' daughter as unimportant, but that would never be the case again. Daenerys scowled but nodded in grudging acceptance. "Why are you even here? House Targaryen rarely cared for the North and House Stark before."

"Acknowledge King Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of his Name, the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm as your liege, lay down your sword at his feet and swear fealty to him. In return, His Grace will confirm your possession of Winterfell, and you will become Lord Paramount of the North, and all previous crimes of the North will be pardoned." The old knight spoke up after a short silence.

Jon Stark's eyes went cold and Wyman gulped. The giant direwolf was now next to the Queen, towering over the southerners and silently baring his fangs at them. When did Ghost get here?! Both Daenerys and Selmy had taken a step back. The direwolf's white fur could barely be discerned from the surrounding snow. No wonder nobody could see the silent wolf outside, despite his size.

"Our knees do not bend so easily. The North has little time for southern rulers anymore. They have all turned out to be a disappointment. And who would trust the word of a Targaryen?" Daenerys' face had become impassive, and she looked unimpressed. "My grandfather, Rickard Stark, swore to be loyal to your father in return for protection and justice and received neither. Aerys Targaryen ordered Jon Arryn to break guest right to kill Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon in his halls when they committed no crimes and broke no laws. Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped a fourteen-year-old Lyanna Stark, and only her bones were returned to Winterfell in the end. You, Daenerys Targaryen, deceived the slave masters of Astapor into stealing away thousands of slave soldiers. Your campaign in Slaver's Bay left only ruin, plague, and famine in its wake. Here's my offer instead. Go back south and never step foot in the North again, and we shall do the same."

Daenerys's jaw tightened, and her hands clenched into fists by her side.

"Bold words for a natural-born son who swore an oath, broke it when he deserted his post in the Night's Watch and then usurped his sister's birthright. Your father was an honourable man and would be ashamed to see what has become of you," Selmy said sharply with thinly veiled scorn.

The King's face darkened, and the Lord of White Harbour acutely felt the chill of the crisp northern air. His opinion of the old knight fell a few notches. Once a dragon's man, always a dragon's man.

"His Grace was released from his vows by his kingly brother, Robb Stark, who also legitimised him and named him heir over princess Sansa Stark who was married against her will to the Lannister Imp!" Wyman defended.

"House Lannister is on its last leg, they cower in Casterly Rock, and their defeat is inevitable. It is only a matter of time until all the Great Houses south of the Neck have paid homage to House Targaryen. Why not put the bad history between our Houses in the past, where it belongs? With a single word, you can rejoin the Seven Kingdoms under its rightful rulers!" Daenerys implored.

"The House of the Dragon only ruled Westeros because it conquered it. None could match the Targaryens and their three dragons during the Conquest, so they had to burn or bend their knees. Now that is no longer the case," Jon Stark motioned towards his three dragons with his right hand.

"Do you not see Drogon behind me, Lord Snow? He towers with ease over all of your dragons. You would stand no chance in battle, yet you persist in this… folly," Daenerys said, astonished.

"To me, it seems that the only difference between you and a common brigand is that the brigand lacks a dragon. I would never bend my knee to brigands, nor will I bend it to you or your husband. But you are right, might makes right," Jon Stark uttered, and Daenerys' face reddened.

"Yet with a single word from me, your dragons will become Drogon's next meal, and Winterfell will burn. Do you not care for your people?!" Behind her, the black dragon reared up again and roared angrily, and Wyman paled. The king, however, looked utterly unaffected.

"The men of the North are not afraid of fighting or dying. Every winter is a fight for survival, and many die in it. And Winter is coming. First, you come into my Keep without invitation. Then you claim to be here as envoys, yet you dare threaten me and mine in my own home under supposed parlay? You try to attack, and you will be a head shorter before you can blink," the King's voice was dangerously quiet, yet the words felt heavy in the cold northern air.

"I might be old and crippled, but my sword arm is still strong enough to deal with the likes of you, boy," Selmy warned as his hand moved to the hilt of his blade.

"My brother and I were raised with tales of your great deeds, Ser Barristan. But I see reality is oft far more disappointing than song and tale. Instead of a knight of great renown and virtue, all I see is an old lapdog who scrapes to serve whoever throws him a bone. Targaryen. Baratheon. Lannister. Targaryen." The old knight tensed at the words. Selmy might have been a dangerous foe once, but Wyman was willing to wager all his money on the King and his deadly bronze sword. The king then turned to Daenerys. "How many must keep dying for the bloodthirsty Targaryens and their vainglorious dreams of grandeur? Hundreds of thousands? Millions?" For a short moment, the king looked… weary? But Wyman blinked and realised that Jon Stark's purple eyes were now glaring with savage resolve. The Lord of White Harbour had no idea how they would win against three larger dragons, but at this moment, against all reason, he did not doubt that his King would find a way to win and slaughter all of his enemies.

"So be it. I wish you good fortune in the wars to come," Daenerys spat out, turned and headed back to her dragon, followed by Ser Selmy.

For a short moment, Wyman thought they would all be roasted when Daenerys and the old knight mounted the monstrosity. His heart was beating like a drum within his chest. He could only breathe a sigh of relief once he saw the black behemoth flying southwards. His heart was beating like a drum within his chest.

As soon as Aerys' daughter was out of sight, Winter took to the skies and headed north, while Stormstrider and Bloodfyre flew towards the godswood.

"What shall we do now, Your Grace?" Wyman asked wearily.

"To the council chambers," the King ordered and linked his elbow with Shireen. "Call the others too."

The following minutes were blurry, and Wyman felt completely surreal. Was he dreaming, making the last few minutes a product of his addled nightmares? He tiredly pinched himself, vividly feeling the pain-it seemed that whatever happened was not a dream. The Hand somehow managed to send Alyn to fetch Edwyle and Galbart. In a quarter hour, they finally arrived at the meeting chambers.

The king was sitting at the head of the table, and the Queen was on his left, worry marring her otherwise clear blue eyes.

"It seems that Daenerys and Aegon have united their claims and wed. Aegon has defeated the Lannisters on the field, and the Targaryens have now taken control of almost the whole south. Now she came here trying to make us bend the knee under threats of fire and blood," Jon Stark spoke grimly as soon as everyone sat around the table.

"Can we truly afford to wage war with the south when winter is almost here, and we already have to defend the Wall, Your Grace?" Wyman tensely asked.

"No, we cannot," Jon Stark's voice was foreboding, and the air grew tense in the room. "But…we don't have to. As long as Daenerys and Aegon die, their dragons would be no threat, and if their armies do not disperse, they will meet their end at the Neck just like hundreds of Andal Warlords in the ages past."

"But they are going to be well protected. Both by men and dragons, and assassinating them would be nigh impossible! Especially with the size advantage of the Targaryen dragons," Galbart was perturbed. There was a hint of fear in his brown eyes.

"You raise a good point, Lord Glover, but it does not matter. We cannot truly risk open war when the enemy has larger dragons. Currently, Moat Cailin is mostly wood, and we could easily lose it to dragonfire. Our new enemy cannot be allowed to consolidate their forces in the south."

"Where are we even going to find a catspaw willing to undertake such a task and succeed?" Wyman asked slowly.

"Ours is the Old Way, Lord Manderly. There is no need for a catspaw. In a moon's turn or so, I will go south and deal with the Targaryens myself," the king's voice hardened at the end.

For a moment, Wyman thought he had heard wrong, or mayhaps the king was just jesting, but the serious expression on the face of his liege said otherwise. Everyone else in the room wore grim expressions on their faces. The Queen looked ready to cry, but Jon Stark soothingly covered her hand with his.

"How, Your Grace? Daenerys' dragons are far larger, and you're one of the best warriors in the realm, but surely even you cannot defeat thousands of men?" The Lord of White Harbour hesitantly voiced what was probably on the minds of everyone else in the chamber. "And we cannot afford to lose you!"

If Jon Stark died, the North would be in disarray. Unless the Queen was pregnant, the logical heir would be Princess Sansa, but even then, Shireen Stark was a dragon rider. Neither boded well for the stability of the North with war looming ahead, and they would probably be forced to bend the knee to House Targaryen or die fighting. Not to mention the threat which loomed ominously from beyond the Wall.

"I do not intend to die any time soon, and I have a few tricks up my sleeve," Jon Stark uttered, and Wyman blinked with amazement - a playful dancing purple flame appeared in the king's bare hand. It was small, yet so hot that Wyman could feel the blistering heat on his face all the way from his seat. Any protests he had died in his throat. "I need some time to prepare before going south. A moon is more than enough. House Targaryen has slighted House Stark for the last time. As distasteful as it might be, this seems like the perfect opportunity to attempt to mend our relationship with House Lannister. We now have a common enemy, Cersei's daughter, and a reason to make peace."

Audible silence set in the room while everyone was digesting the king's words and the sight of the purple flame held by the unburnt hand in front of them. Wyman had known Jon Stark for a short while, but after carefully observing him, he had realised that his liege was always prepared for everything and always spoke seriously. If it claimed that he could deal with the Targaryens on his own, it simply meant he had a way to do so.

He glanced at the Queen, and while she was gazing into the fire with interest, Shireen Stark did not look too surprised. Mayhaps the king had something to do with the removal of her greyscale? Wyman would not be too surprised if that was the case. He already knew that the king was a mighty skinchanger. This dancing purple flame might be tiny, but it was only a simple illustration that there was far more than met the eye to Jon Stark. Regardless, the Lord of White Harbour would support the Starks fully.

"Few who go to war think they would die, Your Grace," Glover cautioned. "If the Queen is not…with child, it might be prudent to declare an heir, just in case."

Shireen Stark's blue eyes flashed with worry.

The king sighed and spoke heavily. "Should I not return from the south and Shireen is not pregnant, my eldest sister Sansa will be my heir, and House Stark will bend the knee to the Targaryens. And while I'm absent, my Queen shall rule in my stead, and Lord Manderly shall aid her. And not a single word about any of this outside."