The Prince of Thorns

🌹To the North🌹

The map room of Dragonstone smelled of salt, parchment, and war. Cold sea air drifted in through the high slits in the stone, rustling banners and cloaks. Around the long obsidian table where Aegon once planned his conquest, the chosen gathered: commanders, counselors, and those destined to shape the realm's fate.

Daenerys stood at the head of the table, the firelight catching the silver threads of her hair. Beside her, Alester, her most trusted general, traced the lines of Westeros with a steady hand. His presence steadied the room like a stone wall against the storm.

Her gaze shifted sharply. "What of the Reach? Are their armies ready? Their strength could turn the tide."

Alester's face darkened. "The Reach is torn, Your Grace. Too many lords cling to Cersei's banner still—openly or with hesitation. I must keep the loyal forces close, hold Horn Hill and other key castles to prevent them from fracturing."

He paused, eyes meeting hers. "There's more. Winterfell itself cannot feed a large army. The North has stores, but they're meant for its own people. I can bring three thousand men, and that's pushing the limits of what can be fed."

Daenerys's jaw tightened, weighing the truth. She looked toward Jon, who nodded solemnly.

"There's not enough food to support many more," Jon said quietly. "It'll be pushing it with just the Unsullied. We don't have time to haul enough supplies, let alone sustain one hundred thousand men marching north."

Davos gave a brief, grim nod in agreement. "Starving men are a liability. We'd be lucky to feed what we have."

Daenerys met Alester's eyes again, reading the resolve there. "Then we do what we must with what we have. We cannot wait for all to gather; the threat grows with every day."

Alester's voice was steady, unwavering. "We will make every man count. The Reach will come when it's ready. The North will stand with us. And together, we will hold the realm."

She drew a deep breath and ran her hand over the carved map of Westeros, the lands she had sworn to save.

"We ride together. We sail to White Harbor. Then march as one toward Winterfell."

Jon and Alester exchanged a brief glance, each knowing the road ahead was long and fraught, but their resolve was shared.

Jon and Alester walked through the dim, war-worn map room, the tension of the day's meeting hanging heavy between them. Theon trailed behind, hesitant but determined. When Jon slowed, Alester glanced back and then nodded toward a quieter corner. Theon caught up, voice low.

"Jon."

Jon turned, brows drawn.

"Can I speak with you?"

Jon gave a curt nod, motioning to the side. Alester stood nearby, watching intently.

Theon took a breath. "What you did in King's Landing—what you said—you could've lied to Cersei about bending the knee to Daenerys. You risked everything telling an enemy the truth."

Jon's eyes were steady but weary. "We went there to make peace. If we're to fight together, honesty's the only way."

Alester's gaze sharpened as he cut in, voice cold. "And yet, Theon, you've spent years betraying that very truth. You betrayed your blood, your honor."

Theon flinched under Alester's stare but held his ground. "I always wanted to do the right thing. But it felt like I had to choose—Stark or Greyjoy."

Jon's expression softened. "Our father was more of a father to you than yours ever was."