FIRE AND ICE - ROBB STARK X TARGARYEN OC

Preparing For Departure

Dragonstone wore the evening like armor.

Days had passed.

Waves hurled themselves against black volcanic rock. Wind prowled the battlements.

Torches burned with a restless hiss as if they remembered older wars.
Inside the Painted Table chamber, the realm lay carved in wood beneath flickering light.

Rhaenya stood at its head.
The dragons circled somewhere beyond the cliffs, their distant roars rolling across the sea like a storm thinking about landfall.
Around the table gathered her war-forged constellation.

“Well,” Tyrion began carefully, fingers steepled over the Westerlands carved into the table. “My sister has agreed to send her armies north.”

Jon’s jaw tightened. “She swore it?”
“She swore,” Tyrion replied.

Daenerys’ violet gaze sharpened. “You believe her?”

Tyrion exhaled. “I believe she understands fear. She saw the wight. She saw the dragon. She knows this war will reach her doorstep eventually.”

Jon leaned forward slightly, hands braced on the table over the North.
“She will wait,” he said. “She’ll let us bleed first.”
Robb gave a low grunt of agreement. “Lions conserve their strength.”

Missandei’s voice slipped through the tension like silk over steel. “Then we must move before doubt can fester. Speed is its own weapon.”

Rhaenya traced a finger along the carved coastline from Dragonstone to White Harbor.
“Whether Cersei marches or not,” she said evenly, “the dead will.”

The chamber quieted further.
Daenerys studied her niece. “You mean to fly.”
“I do.”

Robb’s eyes flicked to her at once. “You’ll tire yourself.”
Her gaze softened for a heartbeat. Only a heartbeat.

“I will not remain behind while others fight my war.”
Arthur Dayne shifted subtly, the faint scrape of Dawn’s scabbard whispering against stone. “Her Grace will not ride alone.”

“That is not in question,” Rhaenya said gently.

Jon straightened. “The Unsullied sail to White Harbor. The Northern banners gather at Winterfell. If we move quickly, we unite before the first great push south.”

Tyrion nodded. “Dragons fly. Armies crawl. Coordination will be… delicate.”
Daenerys moved closer to the Painted Table, silver hair cascading over her shoulder.

“Drogon, Viserion, Lysion, Aeson, Aragorn and Rhaegal will fly with Ancalagon,” she said. “Seven dragons above the North will steady hearts.”
Outside, as if summoned by his name’s absence, Ancalagon roared. The windows trembled.

Robb allowed himself a thin smile. “It will do more than steady them.”

Jorah’s brow furrowed. “The cold affects them.”
“It does,” Jon admitted. “But fear affects men more.”
Missandei looked to Rhaenya. “And you, my queen? The journey will be harsh.”
Every eye turned.

Rhaenya’s hand drifted unconsciously to her abdomen, subtle but not unnoticed. She was now four months pregnant and the bump on her was visible.

Arthur’s posture sharpened almost imperceptibly.

“I will be careful,” she said. “But I will be present.”
Robb stepped closer beside her, voice low but firm. “Winterfell is strong. Its walls are thick. Its crypts deeper still.”

Daenerys’ gaze flickered between them, understanding unspoken currents.

“We travel in stages,” Tyrion said briskly, reclaiming strategy before emotion could claim the room. “The fleet to White Harbor. The Dothraki ride inland from there. Northern forces consolidate at Winterfell. Dragons scout ahead.”