The Dragon Queen had arrived.

Jon gathered them on the ramparts some weeks later, a raven arrived from Dragonstone claiming to be from Tyrion Lannister. With them came Ser Davos, now a constant at Jon's side what with Lyarra needing to step aside for hours at a time. He was a good man, one whose opinion Lyarra trusted was true and come from a place of reason.

As Jon finished summarizing the letter, Sansa questioned, "You think it's really Tyrion? It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap."

Jon nodded grimly. "Read the last bit."

Lyarra peered over his shoulder, "'All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes.' That doesn't sound very kind."

"It's something he said to me the first night we met," said Jon pensively, peering off the railing to watch the young boys shoot at targets, Rickon and Ned among them. He glanced at Sansa, "You know him better than any of us. What do you think?"

She hesitated. "Tyrion's not like the other Lannisters. He was always kind to me, but it's too great a risk. 'The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together, we can end her tyranny.'"

Ser Davos asked for the parchment, reading it for himself. "Sounds like a charmer. Of course, the casual mention of a Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied, and three dragons– a bit less charming." He faltered, as if this reminded him of something.

"What?" asked Jon.

"Fire kills wights, you told me," he said. "What breathes fire?"

Sansa blinked. "You're not suggesting Jon meet with her?"

"No, too dangerous," said Ser Davos. "But if the Army of the Dead makes it past the Wall, do we have enough men to fight them?"

Lyarra drummed her fingers against the wooden rail. "Speaking as a Northerner, it would be a poor choice for you to abandon your seat and run off to Dragonstone due to an invitation from the Mad King's daughter. This could go poorly. And yet, you both have something the other needs."

"Lyarra, it's too dangerous," insisted Sansa.

"That it is," she agreed. "And yet, aren't both of these wars dangerous, too? I, for one, wish to see the Night King vanquished before Minisa's reached her second name day. At this rate, I'm unsure it'll happen. Queen Daenerys needs your support– it sounds as though she's trying to gather the support of the other kingdoms for a larger scale battle instead of simply storming King's Landing on her own– which she would be very capable of doing. Perhaps it is a sign that she wishes to be more than just a conqueror. She might want your input. Likewise, we could use the numbers she holds as well as three dragons. Unfortunately, I get the sense we won't have that without some sacrifice."

She took the parchment from Ser Davos. "This letter does not necessarily state an alliance, it implies submission. She's been in Essos for very long; I do not believe she understands what being an independent Kingdom means to us. That sort of understanding can only come from a true conversation, perhaps even from being here. If we're patient with her and meet her demands, she may yet be patient with us and meet ours."

"The fight against the Night King is for all of the people in our country, allies or not," said Sansa. "Her fight is for herself."

"And so it will continue to be unless we convince her otherwise," argued Lyarra. "How can she give us freedom if we don't try to understand her? She's our age, she's suffered things, too. We can appeal to her if we make that attempt. It may not be easy, given the power she holds– we, too, would want everyone to bend the knee to us if we had three dragons and thought we could make our lands better by removing Cersei from the throne. Her ideals are different and we can attempt negotiations. I say... I will go to her."

"Lyarra," said Jon sharply.

"She would like you to go, of course," she mused aloud, "but you can't very well abandon the North. Let me go. You and Sansa, you take care of my children and of Rickon. I'll take some of our men and negotiate in Dragonstone. If all goes well, we have her support and she has ours. If it does not..." She gulped, "We don't lose our King."

"It's too dangerous!" said Sansa, perhaps more harshly than she meant to. "We were told she crucified masters in Slaver's Bay, she burned alive anyone who did not bend the knee. The North must remain independent– we cannot bend the knee."

"It need not be permanent!" said Lyarra. "We can bend the knee for now, get her help, then convince her to let us be free at a later time. There are more pressing matters than independence at the moment. We will still practically govern ourselves– it would be only in name that things are different. If we do not survive this, what does it matter if we were or weren't our own Kingdom?"

"I need a moment to think of this," said Jon, shaking his head. "Excuse me." He passed between the sisters, their eyes remaining locked. It was Ser Davos who guided Sansa away, perhaps thinking she was most likely to say something she didn't mean if she thought she could win an argument.

(Lyarra understood her points. She knew what it meant to the North. Yet, what could they do against three dragons if they refused to bend the knee? Similarly, what would they do without them if the Night King came to Winterfell?

It was almost comical to her that her siblings were so worried, as if she hadn't proven herself capable of poisoning an entire household and bringing them back their castle. All she needed was her bag of seeds and if need be, could poison everyone on Dragonstone if things proved more dangerous up close.

She thought of all the ways she could appeal to Daenerys, should a conversation be able to occur. How did people make friendships in the past? Marriages. Daenerys might want a King to produce her own heirs. Lyarra could arrange a good match. She could pose that one of the heirs of Winterfell would marry Daenerys's children, in time. If Jon wanted to be King at all, she would think it fitting to offer Jon as Daenerys's husband while Sansa became Queen in the North.

Would her father have been proud of her for being willing to negotiate? Willing to hear Daenerys out? Or would he be disappointed?)

Jon took more time to think of it than the sisters expected. It wasn't until three days later that he summoned the Northerners still lingering near the castle to a meeting, insisting there were important matters to discuss. Lyarra and Sansa sat at their usual places at the table, though Sansa seemed less inclined to glance in Lyarra's direction. She didn't hold it against her, knowing how much more it usually mattered to Sansa that she was right. Still, Lyarra had not backed down in her opinion.

The King held up a roll of parchment. "This message was sent to me by Samwell Tarly. He was my brother at the Night's Watch, a man I trust as much as anyone in this world. He's discovered proof that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragonglass."

Lyarra shifted in her seat curiously. Jon offered the scroll to the nearest man, Lord Glover, so he might see the proof. Then, her brother raised the other slip of parchment, "I received this a few days ago from Dragonstone. It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister. He is now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen. She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. She has a powerful army at her back and, if this message is to be believed, three dragons."

The Northerners clamored anxiously, all disliking the names 'Lannister' and 'Targaryen' about as much as they feared the mention of dragons. Jon continued, "Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys." He turned to face his sisters. "And I'm going to accept."

The men cried out in outrage. Jon shouted, "We need this dragonglass, my lords! We know that dragonglass can destroy both White Walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons. But more importantly, we need allies! The Night King's army grows larger by the day. We can't defeat them on our own. We don't have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragonfire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us."

"Send me instead!" burst out Lyarra. "I'll go in your stead. I can negotiate with her."

"I believe that, sister," said Jon. "Which is why you will ride with me and Ser Davos to White Harbor tomorrow, then sail to Dragonstone."

"Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?" exclaimed Sansa. "The Mad King invited him to King's Landing and roasted him alive."

Jon nodded grimly. "I know that."

Sansa added, "She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those seven kingdoms. This isn't an invitation, it's a trap."

"We know nothing else about her," said Lyarra. "We cannot immediately assume she is just like her father– the man did not even raise her. It could be worse to deny her and not at least give it a try. Jon trusts Tyrion's word. He claimed him to be a good man."

Lord Royce stood, "Your Grace, my lady, with respect, I must agree with Lady Sansa. I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen cannot be trusted. Nor can a Lannister."

The men agreed heartily. "And what if they can be and we simply haven't given them the opportunity to show it since a few of their family members did awful things?" said Lyarra. "Daenerys is my age, Lord Royce, and let me remind you what I did to secure us this castle. Could it be that we are judging too harshly, before we've given her any opportunity to defend herself? We may judge her for ourselves only when she has proven not to deserve the benefit of the doubt. If Jon believes we should go–"

This time, Lord Glover interrupted, "We called your brother king, my lady. And then he rode south and lost his kingdom."

"Winter is here, Your Grace," added Lyanna Mormont. "We need the King in the North in the North." The men pounded on the tables in agreement. "If you're to send someone, your sister has claimed willingness to go. You should not."

"You all crowned me your king," said Jon. "I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it because my sisters believed it to be the right choice. Because the North is my home. It's part of me, and I will never stop fighting for it. No matter the odds. But the odds are against us. None of you have seen the Army of the Dead, none of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies, powerful allies. I know it's a risk. But I have to take it."

"Then send Lyarra as an emissary!" cried Sansa. "Don't go yourself! If she is convinced she can negotiate, then she does not need you there."

"Daenerys is a Queen," said Jon. "Only a king can convince her to help us. I must go as well."

"You're abandoning your people!" accused Sansa. "You're abandoning your home!"

"I'm leaving both in good hands," said Jon pointedly.

"Whose?"

"Yours." Sansa was still, completely taken aback. "You're my sister," he continued, "you will be the eldest Stark left in Winterfell. Until I return, the North is yours." Quietly, Sansa nodded her head.

Lyarra took only a short while to fill a trunk with clothes and her bag of seeds, spending as much time as she could with Minisa, Rickon, and Ned. She made her boys promise to care for Minisa whenever Walda, Anni, and Sansa couldn't. Ned swore to keep his little sister safe, and she didn't doubt it for a second.

She'd entrusted Brienne with keeping Sansa safe. Even Hother Umber promised he wouldn't let anyone touch a single hair on her head– especially not Lord Baelish. As worried as Lyarra was with how upset the Northerners became with Jon's decision to have both of them head to Dragonstone, she was confident her sister would assuage her fears.

They'd be back soon. Or so she hoped.

She'd never been away from Minisa for more than a few hours. Suddenly, she was going to be away for quite awhile. She didn't fear it, but she wondered if her little girl would understand. If she'd known that Lyarra needed to be there, given she was the only one who was giving Daenerys Targaryen the slightest optimistic thought.

(As gentle as Jon could sometimes be, she worried he was too set in his ways to make negotiations run as smoothly as they needed them to.)

It was a month later when they arrived on the sandy shore of Dragonstone. Lyarra would probably have been overtaken by seasickness if she hadn't had her tiny garden in the ship, keeping herself and the men from wanting to fling themselves overboard from illness.

Their tiny boat landed on the southern coast of Dragonstone, cliffs surrounding them and only a small beach open for landing, with Unsullied and Dothraki guards waiting. Ser Davos helped her out as Jon led the way to the small man with the guards, Tyrion Lannister as she remembered him. Beside him was an Essosi woman with dark curly hair, her sad eyes tracing curiously over Lyarra as if she hadn't expected her to be there.

"The bastard of Winterfell," greeted Tyrion.

"The dwarf of Casterly Rock," replied Jon in kind.

Tyrion smirked, shaking Jon's hand. "I believe we last saw each other atop the Wall."

"You were pissing off the edge if I remember right. Picked up some scars along the road."

"It's been a long road, but we're both still here," said Tyrion amiably.

Jon beckoned to Lyarra. "Surely you remember my sister, Lord Tyrion."

"Of course," said Tyrion, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "Lady Lyarra, of Houses Stark, Umber, and Bolton... some call you Princess of the North, others Queen, others merely Hand. I've heard interesting things about the Winter Wolf, particularly where poison is concerned. Some believe I know all about that."

"I believe I have you beat there, Lord Tyrion," said Lyarra kindly. She introduced Ser Davos, "This is the real Hand of the King in the North, Ser Davos Seaworth."

"Ah, the Onion Knight," said Tyrion, shaking his hand. "We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay."

Ser Davos acknowledged, "Unluckily for me."

Tyrion introduced the curly-haired woman, "Missandei is the queen's most trusted advisor."

The woman smiled, face lighting up, "Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows it is a long journey. She appreciates the efforts you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons."

Jon looked around uncertainly. Lyarra beckoned for them to offer everything they had, the men handing their swords to the Dothraki and Unsullied that approached them. Missandei escorted them forward, through the end of the beach toward a path leading up between the cliffs.

"Where are you from?" asked Ser Davos. "I can't place the accent."

"I was born on the Island of Naath," said Missandei calmly.

Lyarra hadn't heard much of Naath, but Ser Davos stated, "Ah, I hear it's beautiful down there. Palm trees and butterflies. Haven't been, myself." She smiled, moving onward. Ser Davos lingered back to mutter to Jon and Lyarra, "This place has changed."

"Everyone's been perfectly kind," murmured Lyarra back. "Let's keep happy faces and open minds. No one is getting what they want if this does not remain civil."

She walked ahead of Jon, right behind Missandei as they approached the bridge between Dragonstone and Stone Drum. The castle above looked magnificent. She heard Tyrion inquiring, "And Sansa? I hear she's alive and well."

"She is," confirmed Jon.

"Does she miss me terribly?" He seemed to wonder if the Starks understood that he'd meant it jokingly, as neither replied with more than a strange glance. "A sham marriage. And unconsummated."

"I didn't ask," said Jon candidly.

"Well, it was. Wasn't. Anyway... she's much smarter than she lets on."

Jon smiled slightly, "She's starting to let on."

"Good. At some point, I want to hear how a Night's Watch recruit became King in the North and how the young daughter of Ned Stark went from hiding a pregnancy to destroying House Bolton."

"Only if you tell us how you got to be here," said Lyarra. "Hand to the Dragon Queen."

"A long and bloody tale," said Tyrion. "To be honest, I was drunk for most of it."

Jon must have wished he'd been drunk for most of his. "My bannermen think I'm a fool for coming here."

"You didn't have to come," pointed out Lyarra. "I think I would have handled this fine on my own."

"He needed to come as much as you needed to accompany him," said Tyrion. "Of course your bannermen will think it foolish. If I was your Hand, I would have advised against both arrivals. General rule of thumb– Starks don't fare well when they travel south."

Jon tilted his head. "True. But I'm not a Stark."

"Yes, you are," insisted Lyarra. "You're as–"

Jon pulled her down as a screech sounded overhead. A dark shadow overtook them, a rush of wind passing just above the ends of the bridge. Lyarra scrambled out when the shadow passed, staring up in awe at the dragon that soared up to the castle, much larger than she'd imagined. It flew up to join two slightly smaller dragons that circled the tallest tower. Missandei and the other guards hadn't so much as flinched. Tyrion, perhaps, because he would have been too small to be hit anyway.

Tyrion helped Lyarra up before assisting Jon. "I'd say you get used to them... but you never really do. Come, their mother is waiting for you."

Lyarra remained as close as possible to Jon as they reached the castle, passing through two wide stone hallways before they reached the immensely tall doors, wood carved so they seemed to resemble a dragon's scaly hide. The thin windows reached to the high ceiling, providing just enough light to see the pale-haired queen sitting on her wooden throne, judging them carefully as they approached.

Missandei announced, "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains."

Ser Davos and Lyarra shared a quick look, Jon's title not quite so long. Lyarra cleared her throat, "Your Grace, I present to you Jon Snow of House Stark, once the bastard of Winterfell, then Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and now King in the North and the White Wolf. Eldest living son of Lord Eddard Stark, he is a loyal protector who united the North with the wildlings and defends our lands from threats beyond-the-Wall."

Daenerys smiled at this, perhaps finding Lyarra amusing, perhaps wondering who exactly she was. "And I am his sister, Lyarra of House Stark," she finished. "Thank you for welcoming us to Dragonstone."

"On the contrary, thank you for traveling so far, my lord and lady," greeted Daenerys. "I hope the seas weren't too rough."

"The winds were kind, Your Grace," said Jon cordially.

"Apologies," said Ser Davos, confused, "I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know, but Jon Snow is King in the North, Your Grace. He's not a lord."

Daenerys began to ask more, then seemed to realize she had no idea who he was, "Forgive me–?"

"Your Grace," interrupted Tyrion, "this is Ser Davos Seaworth."

"Forgive me, Ser Davos," she continued, "I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn I read the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestor, Aegon Targaryen. In exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen, Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. Or do I have my facts wrong? An oath is an oath. And perpetuity means– what does perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?"

"Forever," he stated.

She nodded. "Forever. So I assume, my lord, you're here to bend the knee."

Lyarra imagined that if Sansa had been here, she would have wanted to grab Daenerys by the hair and fling her off the cliffs of Dragonstone. Her sister surely would have ripped the Dragon Queen a new one, regardless of the three dragons outside. Lyarra motioned for Jon and Ser Davos not to speak, believing Daenerys to simply be confused rather than attempting to be snobby and patronizing. There was much she might not understand of what had changed in Westeros.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," said Lyarra calmly. "I believe that this merits further discussion if only to explain why this title has been given."

Daenerys raised a brow. "Go on."

"I completely understand the oath Torrhen Stark swore. Yes, indeed, he swore to King Aegon and to House Targaryen given they were the highest power of the land, possessing dragons and the Iron Throne. However, that changed when you and I were born. The Baratheons won by right of conquest, removing the throne from Targaryen power. I very much admire your aim to take it back from the tyrant Cersei Lannister. Though, I believe that means the oath was broken by the first conquest after Aegon. We mean no disrespect, we only mean that when we re-established the title of King in the North, it was in response to us removing ourselves from the Lannister incursion– their seizure of the throne. We chose not to answer to those who had not only slaughtered the Targaryens but who had done harm to my family and the North. And, though it may be cruel to mention, there are other histories that cannot be ignored, namely the actions of the Mad King and Crown Prince towards our family that caused the North to support the Baratheon conquest. We do not mean disrespect, as I'm sure you do not, either."

Daenerys drummed her fingers against the armrest of the throne, her expression hard to read. Was she insulted? Intrigued? Wishing to feed Lyarra to her dragons?

"The time will come, I imagine, for us to discuss this in more detail," said Lyarra. "We came here not simply to bend the knee, rather, to speak of the fate of these lands as a whole, as allies. Perhaps this action can be brought into the conversation once we've spoken of a few pressing matters."

Whatever the Queen was thinking, Lyarra did not dare breathe until she'd finally said, "My father... was an evil man," she acknowledged. "On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father. Our two houses were allies for centuries, and those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms have ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity with a Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North."

"Of course, and we would like nothing more than for that peace to be renewed," said Lyarra, again flicking her finger at Jon not to respond. "The matter of titles, I believe, is not the most important thing to accomplish that. We both aim for an alliance and I imagine that would be fruitful for both our causes. I've heard of the great things you did in Essos, Your Grace. I've seen it with my own eyes, arriving here and seeing Dothraki and Unsullied in a place no one ever imagined they'd be. I wish to know your story and I hope you will indulge us in hearing ours, so that we may all understand why we sit in the roles we do and how we might use these roles to reach a common goal."

Daenerys's fist clenched the slightest bit, perhaps from annoyance at Lyarra. "I wonder," she said, sounding genuinely intrigued, "will you speak for your brother, this King in the North the entire meeting?"

Lyarra smiled. "Only until it is time for said brother to tell you the reasons why us stubborn Northerners thought him fitting to be our King. For now, I wish for us to agree to a conversation regarding our best interests. We are here because we need each other's help."

Daenerys questioned, "Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived? And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me? Why do you believe I need your help?"

"Not to defeat Cersei," said Ser Davos. "You could storm King's Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, we almost took it and we didn't even have dragons."

"Almost," noted Tyrion.

"But you haven't stormed King's Landing," Jon spoke up. "Why not? The only reason I can see is you don't want to kill thousands of innocent people. It's the fastest way to win the war, but you won't do it, which means at the very least, you're better than Cersei."

Daenerys seemed interested in this. "Still, that doesn't explain why I need your help."

"Because right now," said Jon, "you and I and Cersei and everyone else, we're children playing at a game, screaming that the rules aren't fair. Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter's over if we don't defeat the enemy to the north. The dead are that enemy. The Army of the Dead is on the march."

Tyrion furrowed his brows. "The Army of the Dead?"

Jon nodded. "The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Night King is real. I've seen them. If they get past the Wall, and we're squabbling amongst ourselves... we're finished. You'll be ruling over a graveyard if we don't defeat the Night King."

"The war against my sister has already begun," said Tyrion. "You can't expect us to halt hostilities and join you in fighting whatever you saw beyond-the-Wall."

"You don't believe him," assumed Ser Davos. "I understand that, it sounds like nonsense. But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen back to our shores, it has also made Jon Snow King in the North. You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros? He is the first to make allies of wildlings and Northmen. He was named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He was named King in the North. Not because of his birthright. He has no birthright, he's a damn bastard. All those hard sons of bitches chose him as their leader because they believe in him. All those things you don't believe in, he faced those things. He fought those things for the good of his people. He risked his life for his people. He took a knife in the heart for his people. He gave his own–"

Jon looked at him, signaling him to stop. Tyrion and Daenerys shared a look as Ser Davos concluded, "If we don't put aside our enmities and band together, we will die. And then it doesn't matter whose skeleton sits on the Iron Throne."

A man strode in behind them, just as Lyarra was worrying that this was going to make Daenerys forget everything she said and insist that Jon bend the knee if that was the case. He whispered to Daenerys, "Your Grace, please dismiss your guests. I have grave news."

Daenerys tried to maintain her composure. "You must forgive my manners. You'll all be tired after your long journey. We'll have baths drawn for you and supper sent to your rooms."

"Thank you, Your Grace," said Lyarra, curtsying and motioning for Jon and Ser Davos to follow the Dothraki guard out. She motioned for them to stay quiet.

When they reached their rooms, all in line down a spacious hall, she beckoned them into Jon's chambers. "That was a disaster," said Jon venomously. "She's stubborn. She kept glaring at me as if I've done something to offend her."

"She doesn't know any better!" argued Lyarra. "Look at her, she may have been born here but she's been absent while we've lived the aftermath of the war and witnessed the change of one monarch to another. I will speak to her as soon as she is available. If we continue responding to one another in clipped tones during meetings like that, we won't get anything done. You brought me along because you knew I could negotiate, Jon. Let me negotiate. You stay quiet until I'm sure it's time for you two to speak, King and Queen, alone."

"Negotiate," murmured Jon, shaking his head. "I should have let you come alone. You softened her in seconds and I made her built her walls back up the moment I opened my mouth. Why aren't you Queen, again?"

Lyarra smiled thinly. "I'm a manipulator, Jon. I would see myself as no better than Cersei. It could never have been me. But I believe it can and should be you who rules until this is over. I will make her see that. What our families did to each other... soon, that will be behind us. I will make it happen. All you need to do is trust me."

"I do trust you, Lyarra," said Jon. "With my life."

"Good. Then we're already making progress."