The Queen of Flames (Sequel to 'The Demon of Winterfell') (On Hold)

Chapter Four: Matter at Hand

Still in the Riverlands, Thoros of Myr woke to the sound of digging outside the cabin. He picked up a lantern, making his way outside to investigate.

He saw Sandor, digging a deep hole in the not yet frozen dirt. Beside him lay two long shapes, wrapped in blankets. The skeletons. "What the hell are you doing, Clegane?" he asked.

Sandor shoved his shovel into the dirt, picking up the smaller bundle. "Burying the dead," he replied stiffly.

He lay the girl's skeleton gently down in the hole. "You knew these people," Thoros remarked.

"Not really."

He picked up the father next, laying him beside his daughter. Thoros watched as he started to bury the pair, but it wasn't long before he picked up the second shovel, joining him.

They finished the work quickly, and the living pair was quiet for a long time. Sandor broke the silence. "We ask the Father to judge us with mercy. We ask the mother to..." he sighed, shaking his head. "Fuck it, I don't remember the rest."

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, looking down at the crude grave. "I'm sorry you're dead," he stated. "You deserved better. Both of you."

Sandor threw his shovel aside, stepping past Thoros and returning to the cabin. Thoros looked back at him, not speaking.

At Winterfell, Emmelyne Stark was vomiting into a chamber pot. Her stomach was churning madly, and her throat burned which each heave. She had run from supper, the smell of meat making her feel sick to her very stomach. Jon had attempted to follow her, but was put off by Markus, who had physically pushed him back into his seat. She lied about having felt sick for a few days until the smell became too much for her to bear, and she was forced to leave. As she had not eaten, all that came up from her was burning, stinging bile. This was sign enough, and she knew it. She was with child, and that was something she accepted. When she finally finished, she moved to her bed. R'hllor whimpered, resting his head on her lap. "Did you have fun with Rickon today, R'hllor?" she whispered to him.

The direwolf had taken to playing with Rickon in the yard, something they both enjoyed a great deal. Ghost would sometimes join in the fun, and they'd chase Rickon until the boy was screaming with joy. When the chasing was done, both wolves would tackle and lick him. He may have been twelve, but he still acted like the playful six-year-old Emmelyne had left behind when she went to King's Landing.

She lay back on her bed, sighing softly. The churning in her stomach came to a stop, and she let out a slow breath of relief. It wasn't long before weariness overwhelmed her, and quickly enough, she was falling asleep.

The next morning, Jon held another meeting. Emmelyne sat in her usual spot beside Davos, and she didn't look at Markus, who was staring at her intently. "This message was sent to me by Samwell Tarly," Jon said. "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."

Murmurs struck up among the men. Daenerys Targaryen had landed on Dragonstone, and many of them were unsure of her. It was only twenty-four years ago that the Mad King was finally killed, and many of them remembered him. They weren't keen on trusting his daughter.

Jon raised another scroll up. "I received this a few days ago from Dragonstone," he said. "It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister."

The murmuring grew even louder. Emmelyne remembered Tyrion. He'd been kind to her and Sansa, very kind. He'd cared about them both. Jon continued, trying to ignore the protests. "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."

It was no longer quiet conversation that overwhelmed the men. But still, Jon kept speaking. "Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys. And I'm going to accept."

"Accept?!" someone cried.

Many of them were protesting, but Emmelyne offered Jon a smile. She agreed with the plan. Daenerys would be better than Cersei. She wanted to meet this Daenerys, and possibly her three dragons.

Jon finally seemed angered by the protests. "We need this dragonglass, my lords!" he cried. "We know that dragonglass can destroy both white walkers and their army. We need to mine 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. Ser Davos, Lady Emmelyne, and I will ride to White Harbor tomorrow, then sail for Dragonstone."

Emmelyne had not known of her involvement in the trip to Dragonstone, but she found herself excited. It would be a welcome change from Winterfell, and she'd see what Daenerys had done with the castle after Stannis's death.

Sansa suddenly ruined her excitement, however. "Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?" she demanded. The Mad King invited him to King's Landing and roasted him alive."

"I know that," Jon replied.

"She is here to reclaim the throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those Seven Kingdoms. This isn't an invitation; it's a trap."

"It could be, but I don't believe Tyrion would do that. You and Emmelyne know him. He's a good man."

A lord of the Vale rose. "Your Grace," he said, "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."

"Yeah!" the men cheered.

Glover rose next. "Aye," he said. "We called your brother king. And then he rode south and lost his kingdom."

Lyanna was the next to stand. "Winter is here, Your Grace," she told Jon. "We need the King in the North in the North."

"Aye!"

Jon looked around slowly, nodding. "You all crowned me your king. I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it because the North is my home. It's part of me, and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter 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."

Sansa stood, staring him down. "Then send an emissary. Don't go yourself," she argued.

"Daenerys is a queen. Only a king can convince her to help us. It has to be me," he explained.

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

"I'm leaving both in good hands."

"Whose?"

"Yours."

Sansa froze. Her expression shifted to surprise and confusion. She looked at Littlefinger, who was grinning. "You are my sister," Jon said. "You may not be the only Stark in Winterfell, but Rickon is too young, and Emmelyne would not be able to handle matters, you know that. You're the best option. Until I return, the North is yours."

Brienne smiled hesitantly, looking at the floor. Jon nodded at Sansa encouragingly. She nodded back, accepting her duty.