A Dragon Kissed by Sun

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The Northern army marched steadily southward, a sea of grey and white banners fluttering in the cool breeze. At the head of the column rode Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, his face set in its customary stern expression. Beside him, his eldest son Robb sat astride his horse, eyes alert and attentive, absorbing every word and gesture from his father.

As they kept marching south, the silhouette of the Twins came into view, its twin castles standing sentinel over the vital crossing. The army began to slow, and Lord Stark called his bannermen to gather for a council.

"My lords," Ned began, his voice carrying easily over the assembled nobles, "we approach the Twins. Our passage here is critical to reaching Riverrun in time to aid my nephew."

Lady Dacey Mormont, clad in mail and leather, spoke up first. "Lord Stark, we all know old Walder Frey. He's like as not to demand a toll for our crossing, army or no."

Ned nodded, acknowledging her point. "True enough, Lady Mormont. However, Lord Edmure Tully has already sent word to Lord Frey, ordering him to grant us free passage."

A booming laugh cut through the air, and all eyes turned to the massive form of Jon Umber, the Greatjon. "Begging your pardon, Lord Stark, but have you met the old weasel? Walder Frey's more like to piss on Hoster's order than obey it. He's an old cunt, and he'll want his due, make no mistake."

Robb let out a snort of laughter at the Greatjon's colorful language, earning a sharp look from his father.

"Mind your tongue, Lord Umber," Ned admonished, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "We're not here to trade insults."

"Aye, my lord," the Greatjon replied, not looking the least bit chastised. "But my point stands. Frey won't let us cross without getting something in return. Mark my words."

Lord Rickard Karstark stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should simply offer gold and be done with it. Every moment we delay is a moment the Lannisters gain."

"Gold?" scoffed Roose Bolton, his quiet voice somehow carrying over the murmurs of agreement. "Lord Frey has gold aplenty. No, he'll want something more... personal."

Lady Maege Mormont, Dacey's mother, rolled her eyes. "Out with it, Bolton. What are you suggesting?"

"A marriage alliance, perhaps," Roose replied, his pale eyes glinting. "The old man has more children and grandchildren than he knows what to do with. He'd jump at the chance to marry one off to a noble house."

The suggestion sent a ripple of unease through the gathered lords. Robb shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, suddenly very aware that he was unwed.

"Now hold on a moment," Galbart Glover interjected. "We're an army on the march, not a band of suitors. We can't start promising marriages left and right."

"Aye," agreed the Greatjon. "I say we take the bloody bridge by force. We've got the men, and it'd save us the trouble of dealing with Frey's schemes."

This suggestion was met with a chorus of approving shouts from some of the more hot-headed lords, but Ned raised his hand for silence.

"We will not attack Lord Frey," he said firmly. "He may be difficult, but he is still a bannerman to House Tully, and therefore our ally in this conflict."

"But father," Robb spoke up, drawing all eyes to him. "What if Lord Bolton is right? What if Walder Frey does demand a marriage alliance? We can't afford to be delayed here."

Ned regarded his son thoughtfully. "You're right that we can't afford delays, Robb. But we also can't afford to make enemies of potential allies. We'll treat with Lord Frey fairly, but firmly."

"Oh aye," the Greatjon chuckled. "I'm sure that'll work a treat. 'Now see here, Lord Frey,'" he mimicked in a high, mocking voice, "'you'll let us cross your bridge right now, or we'll... we'll ask you very nicely again!'"

This send a wave of laughter through the assembled lords, and even Ned's lips twitched in a suppressed smile.

"If you're so eager to negotiate, Lord Umber," Ned replied dryly, "perhaps you'd like to marry one of Lord Frey's daughters yourself?"

The Greatjon's face went pale, and he sputtered, "Now, now, let's not be hasty, my lord. I'm sure you'll handle the negotiations just fine."

Robb couldn't resist adding, "Come now, Lord Umber. I hear some of the Frey girls are quite comely. You might even find one tall enough to look you in the eye without a stepladder."

This elicited another round of laughter, and the Greatjon's face reddened. "Watch it, lad," he growled, but there was no real heat in his words. "Or I might just decide you're the one who needs a Frey bride."

"Now that's an idea," Theon Greyjoy, who had been quiet until now, piped up with a mischievous grin. "What do you say, Stark? Ready to take a weasel for a wife?"

Robb's face flushed, and he opened his mouth to retort, but his father cut him off.

"Enough," Ned said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We're not here to decide who will marry who. We have a war to win, and a crossing to negotiate."

"My lord," Roose Bolton spoke again, his soft voice somehow cutting through the din. "Perhaps we should consider sending an envoy ahead. Someone to... test the waters, as it were."

Ned nodded slowly. "A sound suggestion, Lord Bolton. But who should we send?"

"I'll go," Robb volunteered immediately, sitting up straighter in his saddle. "I am your heir, father. It would show Lord Frey that we take this negotiation seriously."

A murmur of approval ran through the lords, but Ned looked uncertain. "It's a risky move, Robb. Walder Frey is not to be underestimated."

"All the more reason to send me," Robb argued. "I need to learn how to handle men like Frey if I'm to lead the North one day."

The Greatjon let out a barking laugh. "The lad's got balls, I'll give him that. Let him go, Ned. Worst comes to worst, we can always storm the castle and get him back."

"That's not funny, Lord Umber," Catelyn Stark, who had been silently observing until now, spoke up sharply. "We're talking about my son's safety."

"Peace, Cat," Ned said softly, placing a hand on his wife's arm. He turned back to Robb, studying him intently. "Are you certain about this, son? Walder Frey is a dangerous man to treat with."

Robb met his father's gaze steadily. "I am, father. Let me do this. I won't let you down."

After a long moment, Ned nodded. "Very well. But you won't go alone. Theon and the Greatjon will accompany you."

"Me?" the Greatjon exclaimed, looking surprised. "Why in the seven hells would you want me there?"

"Because," Ned replied with a hint of a smile, "if Walder Frey thinks he has to deal with you for the rest of the negotiation, he might be more inclined to reach an agreement quickly with Robb."

This sent another wave of laughter through the group, and even the Greatjon had to chuckle. "Aye, fair enough. I'll go and scare the old weasel for you, lad."

As the council broke up and preparations began for the envoy's departure, Robb found himself both excited and nervous. He approached his father, who was deep in conversation with Roose Bolton.

"Father," he said, interrupting as politely as he could. "I just wanted to thank you for trusting me with this."

Ned turned to his son, his eyes softening. "You're becoming a man, Robb. It's time you started taking on more responsibility. But remember, this isn't a game. The fate of our army, and possibly the war, could rest on these negotiations."

"I understand," Robb nodded solemnly. "I won't let you down."

As Robb turned to leave, Ned called after him, "And Robb? Try not to actually agree to marry anyone without consulting me first."

Robb grinned over his shoulder. "No promises, father. You know how charming those Frey girls are supposed to be."

As Robb walked away to prepare for his mission, the assembled lords watched him go. The Greatjon leaned over to Ned, speaking in what he probably thought was a whisper but was more like a muted roar.

"He's a good lad, Ned. You've raised him well."

Ned nodded, a mix of pride and concern in his eyes. "Aye, he is. Let's hope it's enough to get us across that damned bridge."

The council of Northern lords had reconvened after a brief recess, the air thick with tension and unspoken concerns. The Smalljon, never one to mince words, broke the silence with his booming voice.

"Lord Stark," he began, his brow furrowed. I can't help but wonder if we're not already too late. Your nephew, Jaehaerys Targaryen, is likely already fighting the Lannister. Are we marching into the aftermath of a battle rather than to his aid?"

Ned Stark's grey eyes met the Smalljon's, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "Your concern is noted, Lord Umber, but I assure you, we're not too late. You seem to have forgotten one crucial detail about my nephew."

The Smalljon's bushy eyebrows rose in question.

"Jaehaerys has a dragon," Ned stated simply.

The effect of those words was immediate and profound. A hush fell over the assembled lords, their faces a mixture of awe and fear. Even those who had known this fact found themselves struck anew by the implications.

Lord Karstark was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat nervously. "A dragon, aye. That's... that's something to consider. But Lord Stark, if I may..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Might it not be dangerous to support Jaehaerys? We all remember what the Mad King did with wildfire. A dragon in the hands of a Targaryen... well, history has a way of repeating itself."

Before Ned could respond, Dacey Mormont leaped to her feet, her eyes flashing with indignation. "How dare you compare Jaehaerys to the Mad King!" she exclaimed. "I know him personally, and I can assure you all, he is nothing like that Mad Fuck."

The young warrior woman's passion was evident as she continued, "Prince Jaehaerys has proven himself. He's sent supplies to the Wall, for old gods' sake! He cares about the realm, about the people. He's not some mad tyrant waiting to happen!"

Lord Bolton's soft voice sliced through the tension like a cold knife. "Lady Mormont's passion is admirable, but perhaps misplaced. Let us not forget, even Aerys Targaryen was once considered a good king. Madness, it seems, can lie dormant for years before revealing itself."

Ned raised a hand, silencing the murmurs that had begun to ripple through the gathering. "I appreciate your concerns, my lords and ladies. But I must agree with Lady Mormont. I know my nephew, not just as a king or a Targaryen, but as a person. He stayed in Winterfell for three months. Jaehaerys has the potential to be the finest king Westeros has ever known."

The Smalljon snorted. "Begging your pardon, Lord Stark, but that's a mighty tall claim. What makes you so sure?"

Ned's eyes took on a distant look, as if seeing something the others couldn't. "Because I've seen him lead, Lord Umber. I've seen him put the needs of others before his own, time and time again."

Lady Maege Mormont nodded approvingly. "Aye, and let's not forget how he's handled that dragon of his. Have we heard tales of burned villages or roasted smallfolk? No. The lad's got power, true enough, but he knows how to use it responsibly."

Lord Glover, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "That may be so, but a dragon is no small matter. It changes everything. The balance of power in Westeros-"

"Is already changed," Dacey interrupted, earning a sharp look from her mother for the outburst. "Whether we support Jaehaerys or not, the dragon exists. Wouldn't it be better to have such power as an ally rather than an enemy?"

A thoughtful silence fell over the group, broken by the Greatjon's chuckle. "Well said, my Lady. Though I'll admit, the thought of facing that beast in battle makes my balls shrink to the size of raisins."

This elicited a round of laughter, easing some of the tension in the air.

Lord Bolton, however, remained unsmiling. "Power corrupts, Lord Stark. Even the most well-intentioned rulers can fall prey to its seduction. How can we be sure your nephew won't succumb?"

Ned met Bolton's pale eyes unflinchingly. "Because Jaehaerys understands something that many rulers forget, Lord Bolton. He knows that true power lies not in fear or force, but in the trust and loyalty of those you lead."

"Pretty words," Lord Karstark muttered, "but words won't stop a dragon if it decides to turn on us."

Dacey Mormont rolled her eyes. "For old gods' sake, Karstark, the dragon's not some mindless beast. It's bonded to Jaehaerys. It's as much a reflection of him as our own sigils are of us. Would you assume I'm going to maul you just because there's a bear on my banner?"

This earned a few chuckles, but Lord Karstark remained unconvinced. "It's not the same and you know it, girl. A banner can't burn cities to the ground."

"No," Ned agreed, "but a man can order cities burned, with or without a dragon. The difference is in the character of the ruler, not the weapons at his disposal."

The Smalljon scratched his beard thoughtfully. "You make a fair point, Lord Stark. But tell me true – does it not worry you, even a little, to see your nephew astride a dragon? To know he wields that kind of power?"

Ned was silent for a moment, considering. "Aye, it does," he admitted finally. "But not for the reasons you might think. I worry because I know the burden such power places on him. I've seen the weight of it in his eyes."

"What do you mean, Lord Stark?"

"Power isn't just a gift, Robb. It's a responsibility. Every decision Jaehaerys makes, every action he takes, will have far-reaching consequences. He knows this, and he feels the weight of it keenly."

Lady Mormont nodded sagely. "That's the mark of a true leader. One who understands the gravity of their position."

"But understanding isn't enough," Lord Bolton countered softly. "Good intentions pave the road to hell, as they say."

"Then it's a good thing Jaehaerys has more than just good intentions," Dacey shot back. "He has a good heart, a strong mind, and now he has us. The North remembers, and we'll stand by him."

The Smalljon let out a booming laugh. "Well said, lass! If the lad's half as good as you and Lord Stark say, then by the old gods and the new, he'll have my axe!"

A chorus of agreement rose from many of the assembled lords, but Lord Karstark still looked troubled. "And what of the South, Lord Stark? Even if we support Jaehaerys, will the other kingdoms fall in line behind a Targaryen? After everything that's happened?"

Ned's expression turned grim. "That, Lord Karstark, is the true challenge we face. The wounds of Robert's Rebellion run deep, and there are many who would see Jaehaerys as a threat rather than a savior."

"All the more reason to stand with him," Dacey argued. "To show the realm that he has the support of the North, that he's not just another Targaryen conqueror."

Lord Glover nodded slowly. "The lady has a point. Our support could sway other houses, show them that Jaehaerys is a king worth following."

"Or it could paint targets on all our backs," Lord Bolton murmured. "We must tread carefully."

Maege Mormont spoke up, her voice gruff but not unkind. "That's all well and good, Lord Stark, but how can you be sure? How do we know this dragon won't turn him into another Maegor the Cruel?"

Ned turned to face her, a sad smile on his face. "Because, Lady Mormont, Jaehaerys has something Maegor never did - he has Lyanna's heart."

A respectful silence fell at the mention of Ned's late sister. Even those who had never met her knew of Lyanna Stark's fierce spirit and kind heart.

After a moment, Galbart Glover cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose if the lad's got Stark blood in him, that's something. But still, a dragon... it's a fearsome thing to consider."

"Fearsome, aye," The Smalljon agreed, "but imagine the look on those Lannister cunts' faces when they see it swooping down on them!" He let out a booming laugh that seemed to break the tension.

Robb Stark

The small party of Northerners approached the structure of the Twins, the twin castles looming over them like giant sentinels. Robb Stark rode at the head of the group, his direwolf Grey Wind padding silently beside his horse. Theon Greyjoy, his father's ward and Robb's closest friend, nudged his mount closer and GreatJon.

"So," Theon began, a mischievous glint in his eye, "what do you think the odds are that the old cunt keeps his gates shut tight?"

Robb shot him a reproachful look. "Watch your tongue, Theon. We're here to negotiate."

Theon chuckled. "Ah, come on, Stark. You can't tell me you're not thinking it too. Walder Frey's reputation precedes him."

"Aye, it does," Robb admitted with a sigh. "But we need his bridge, so we'll treat with him respectfully."

"And if he refuses?" Theon pressed, leaning in closer. "We could always take the castle. Give us a proper taste of battle before we face the Lannisters."

Robb couldn't suppress a shudder at the thought. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. We're here to make allies, not enemies."

Despite his brave words, Robb felt a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. He glanced back at Grey Wind, drawing comfort from the direwolf's presence. The massive beast met his gaze, yellow eyes gleaming with intelligence, and Robb felt a surge of confidence.

As they neared the gates, a small convoy bearing the twin towers of House Frey rode out to meet them. Their leader, a sour-faced man with a wispy mustache, reined in his horse before Robb.

"What business does the North have at the Twins?" he demanded, his voice as unwelcoming as his expression.

Robb sat up straighter in his saddle, channeling all the lordly authority he could muster. "I am Robb Stark, son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. We march to support my cousin, Jaehaerys Targaryen, against Houses Lannister and Baratheon. We request passage across your bridge."

The man's eyebrows rose slightly at the mention of Jaehaerys, but his expression remained impassive. After a moment, he gave a curt nod. "Follow me. You'll need to speak with Lord Walder himself to come to any agreement."

Robb bit back a curse. He'd hoped to avoid a direct confrontation with the notoriously difficult Lord of the Crossing. "Very well," he said, keeping his voice even. "Lead on."

As they followed the Frey convoy towards the castle, Theon leaned in close. "Looks like you'll get to match wits with the old weasel after all," he whispered, grinning. "Try not to lose your temper when he insults your honor, your father's honor, and probably your horse's honor too."

"Not helping, Theon," Robb muttered through gritted teeth.

They passed through the gates, the portcullis grinding ominously behind them. Robb couldn't shake the feeling that they were riding into a trap, but he steeled himself. This was his first real test as his father's heir, and he was determined not to fail.

The courtyard was a hive of activity, filled with Frey men-at-arms and servants who paused in their tasks to stare at the newcomers. Robb noticed more than a few eyes widening at the sight of Grey Wind, who padded silently beside his horse, yellow eyes scanning the crowd.

They were led to the great hall, a drafty, cheerless room dominated by a high table on a dais. Seated there, hunched in a great chair like a vulture on its perch, was Walder Frey himself. His rheumy eyes fixed on Robb as he entered, a mirthless smile spreading across his wrinkled face.

"So," Lord Walder's reedy voice carried easily across the hall, "a baby wolf comes to beg passage, does he? And what makes you think I'll grant it, boy?"

Robb stepped forward, willing his voice to remain steady. "Lord Frey, we come seeking alliance, not charity. My father—"

"Your father," Walder interrupted, "is not here. It's you I'm dealing with, boy. So tell me, what do you offer in exchange for my bridge?"

Theon, standing just behind Robb, muttered under his breath, "Told you he'd be a right bastard about it."

Ignoring his friend, Robb pressed on. "We offer the friendship of the North, Lord Frey. And the gratitude of the future King of the Seven Kingdoms."

This elicited a cackle from Walder. "Friendship? Gratitude? I can't spend those, boy. No, no, I'll need something more... tangible."

Robb felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew where this was going, but he had to ask. "What did you have in mind, my lord?"

Walder's eyes glittered with malicious glee. "Well now, let me think. I have quite a few unmarried daughters and granddaughters. Fine girls, all of them. And you're unwed, aren't you, Baby Wolf?"

Theon couldn't contain himself. He let out a snort of laughter, quickly disguising it as a cough when Robb shot him a glare.

"I... I am unwed, yes," Robb admitted, his mind racing. He couldn't commit to a marriage without consulting his father, but he couldn't afford to offend Walder Frey either.

"Excellent!" Walder clapped his hands together. "Then it's settled. You'll marry one of my girls, and in exchange, I'll let your army cross. What do you say to that, eh?"

Robb felt like he was drowning. He glanced around the hall, taking in the sea of Frey faces watching him expectantly. His eyes fell on Grey Wind, who had remained silent but alert throughout the exchange. The direwolf met his gaze, and Robb felt a sudden surge of calm wash over him.

He turned back to Walder, his voice steady. "Lord Frey, I'm honored by your offer. But as my father's heir, I cannot make such a commitment without his counsel. Perhaps we could discuss other arrangements?"

Walder's face darkened. "Other arrangements? What other arrangements could possibly be worth as much as a marriage to the heir of Winterfell?"

Robb thought quickly. "What if... what if I were to foster one of your sons at Winterfell? He would be raised alongside my siblings, trained in arms and governance. It would be a great honor, and a chance to strengthen the bonds between our houses."

There was a moment of tense silence as Walder considered this. Then, to Robb's surprise, the old man let out a wheezing laugh. "Well, well! The pup has teeth after all. I like that, boy. You don't just roll over and show your belly."

Robb allowed himself a small smile. "I was raised to be a lord, my lord. That means knowing when to compromise, but also when to stand firm."

Walder nodded. "True enough. Very well, we'll discuss this fostering idea of yours. But don't think you're getting off that easy. I'll want more than just one boy in Winterfell for the use of my bridge."

"Of course, Lord Frey," Robb agreed, relief flooding through him. "Shall we discuss the details?"

As they began to negotiate in earnest, Theon leaned in close to Robb. "Well played, Stark," he whispered. "For a moment there, I thought you'd be leaving here with a Frey bride in tow."

Robb suppressed a grin. "The day's not over yet, Greyjoy. Don't count your chickens."

As the negotiations stretched on, Lord Walder Frey leaned forward in his chair, his rheumy eyes glittering with cunning. "Now, boy," he said, his voice a reedy rasp, "let's get to the heart of the matter. You want my bridge, and I want something in return. Something of real value."

Robb felt a sense of foreboding. "What did you have in mind, Lord Frey?"

Walder's thin lips stretched into a smile that was more predatory than friendly. "It's simple, really. You'll marry one of my daughters. That's the price for crossing my bridge."

The hall fell silent. Robb could feel the weight of all eyes upon him, waiting for his response. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "Lord Frey, that's... a significant request. I'm honored, truly, but I cannot make such a decision without consulting my father first."

Walder's eyes narrowed. "Can't make decisions on your own, boy? And here I thought you were leading an army."

"Miserly old weasel," he muttered under his breath. "Thinking he is a big deal, when all he is, is an old fart that refuses to be carried by the wind." He spat on the ground. "Look at his men – they're just like him, all piss and vinegar until someone bigger comes along. Then they fold faster than a Lyseni whore's sheets."

Unfortunately, his voice carried in the quiet hall. Walder's head snapped towards him, eyes blazing. "What was that, Greyjoy? You have something to say?"

Theon, realizing his mistake too late, tried to backpedal. "Nothing, my lord. I was just—"

"Just running your mouth, like all Greyjoys," Walder interrupted. "Tell me, boy, how did that work out for your father? Starting a rebellion against all of Westeros? Fool's errand, that was. And here you are, a hostage playing at being a lord."

Theon's face flushed red with anger. He took a step forward, hand moving towards his sword. "You dare—"

"Theon!" Robb's sharp voice cut through the tension. He placed a restraining hand on his friend's arm, then turned back to Walder. "Lord Frey, I apologize for my companion's words. They were spoken in haste and do not reflect the respect we have for House Frey."

Walder snorted, clearly not believing a word of it, but seemed content to let the matter drop.

Robb continued, "As I said, I cannot make a decision on marriage without consulting my father. We will return to our camp and discuss your proposal. You have my word that we will return soon with an answer."

For a moment, it seemed Walder might refuse, but then he waved a gnarled hand dismissively. "Fine, fine. Run back to your papa, boy. But don't keep me waiting too long. I'm not getting any younger, you know."

Robb bowed stiffly. "Thank you for your understanding, Lord Frey. We'll take our leave now."

As they left the hall, Theon was still seething. "That decrepit old—"

"Not now, Theon," Robb hissed. "Wait until we're out of the castle."

They mounted their horses in tense silence, Grey Wind padding alongside them. As soon as they were clear of the Twins, Theon exploded.

"Can you believe that withered old cunt? Trying to marry you off like that, and then insulting my family?"

Robb sighed. "I can believe it, actually. It's exactly the sort of thing my father warned me about. And you didn't help matters with your comments."

Theon had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Sorry about that. He just... he got under my skin."

"I know," Robb said. "But we can't afford to make enemies right now. We need that bridge."

They rode in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. As they approached the Northern camp, Robb could see his father waiting, surrounded by the other lords. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation to come.

They dismounted, and Ned stepped forward. "Well?" he asked, his face grave.

Robb met his father's eyes. "We have a problem, Father. Lord Frey has named his price for the crossing."

"And what price is that?" Ned asked, though from his expression, Robb suspected he already knew.

"He wants me to marry one of his daughters," Robb said, his voice flat.

A murmur ran through the assembled lords. Robb saw a mix of emotions cross his father's face - concern, resignation, and a flicker of something that might have been pride.

"I see," Ned said finally. "And what did you tell him?"

"That I needed to consult with you before making such a decision," Robb replied.

Ned nodded slowly. "You did well, son. This is not a decision to be made lightly." He turned to the other lords. "We have much to discuss. Let's retire to my tent."

As they walked, Robb felt a mix of relief and apprehension. He'd managed to navigate his first major negotiation without disaster.

Grey Wind padded silently beside him, a comforting presence. Robb scratched behind the direwolf's ears, drawing strength from his companion. 

Later

The Northern lords gathered in a tense circle, their voices rising as they debated the best course of action. The Greatjon, his face flushed with anger, slammed his fist on the makeshift war table.

"I say we take the bloody castle by force!" he roared. "We've got the men, and those Frey weasels won't stand a chance against Northern steel!"

A chorus of agreement rose from several lords, their blood up at the thought of battle. Lord Umber's enthusiasm was infectious, and even some of the more cautious lords were nodding along.

Lord Bolton, however, remained cool and composed. His pale eyes glittered as he spoke. "There may be a simpler solution, my lords. Old Walder has lived far too long already. A quick blade across his throat, and his heir might prove more... amenable to our cause."

A hush fell over the group as they considered Bolton's words. Some looked uncomfortable, others intrigued.

"After all," Bolton continued, a ghost of a smile on his thin lips, "the new Lord Frey would understand the consequences of refusing us, especially with his father's blood still fresh on the floor."

Before Ned could interject and shut down these dangerous suggestions, the Greatjon's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. "What the fuck is that?" he bellowed, pointing at the sky.

As one, the assembled lords turned to look. What they saw made their blood run cold.

A massive shape was descending from the clouds, its wingspan blotting out the sun. As it drew closer, its form became clear - a dragon, black as night and larger than any creature they had ever seen.

Panic spread through the camp like wildfire. Men ran for their weapons, horses reared and whinnied in terror, and even some of the hardened lords took involuntary steps back.

But Ned Stark stood his ground. He strode forward. "Hold!" he commanded, his voice carrying over the chaos. "Stand your ground, all of you!"

Inspired by their lord's courage, the Northerners began to gather themselves. Robb was the first to join his father, followed closely by Lady Dacey Mormont, her hand gripping her mace tightly. The Greatjon, never one to be outdone in bravery, lumbered up beside them, with Lord Bolton gliding silently into place. A few other lords joined them, forming a small welcoming party for whatever - or whoever - was about to land.

The dragon touched down with earth-shaking force, its massive talons gouging furrows in the soil. Up close, it was even more terrifying. Its eyes alone were the size of three men put together, gleaming with intelligence that sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest warriors.

But it wasn't the dragon that held Ned's attention. It was its rider - a young woman with hair like spun silver, her beauty as breathtaking as her mount was terrifying.

Her violet eyes scanned the assembled lords before fixing on Ned.

"Which among you is Lord Eddard Stark?" she asked, her voice clear and commanding.

Ned stepped forward, maintaining a respectful distance from the dragon. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. And you are...?"

The girl lifted her chin, every inch a queen despite her youth. "I am Daenerys Targaryen, betrothed to Jaehaerys Targaryen and future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. This," she gestured to the massive beast behind her, "is Bloodfyre."

A ripple of murmurs ran through the gathered lords. Robb leaned in close to his father. "Jaehaerys's betrothed? I thought he was to marry Princess Arianne."

Ned shook his head slightly, silencing his son. There would be time for questions later.

Daenerys's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the camp. "I was expecting to find you at Riverrun, Lord Stark. Why has your army not yet crossed the Trident?"

The Greatjon, never one for diplomacy, burst out, "We would be there already if that old cunt Walder Frey wasn't holding us up at the Twins!"

"Greatjon!" Ned's sharp rebuke came too late.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused. "Walder Frey? The Lord of the Crossing?" She turned to regard the Twins, visible in the distance. "That minor lord is not allowing you to use his bridge." she added as she dismounted her dragon but still stayed close to him.

Lord Bolton stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Your Grace, if I may. Lord Frey is demanding... concessions for allowing our army to cross. We were just discussing how to proceed."

"I see," Daenerys said, her voice cooling. "And what sort of 'concessions' is he demanding?"

Robb, gathering his courage, spoke up. "He wishes me to marry one of his daughters, Your Grace."

Daenerys's eyes flashed with anger. "He dares to make such demands when the rightful king calls for aid?" She turned to Bloodfyre, who had been watching the proceedings with eerie stillness. "Perhaps it's time Lord Frey was reminded of his duty to the crown."

The dragon rumbled deep in its chest as if in agreement.

Ned quickly intervened. "Your Grace, while we appreciate your offer of assistance, perhaps a less... drastic approach might be warranted. We had hoped to pass through the Twins without bloodshed."

Daenerys considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, Lord Stark. We shall try diplomacy first. But know this - if Walder Frey does not see reason, I will not hesitate to use Bloodfyre to open the way for our forces."

The assembled lords exchanged glances, a mixture of awe and fear on their faces. The arrival of Daenerys and her dragon had changed everything.

Ned pressed on. "Your Grace, if I may ask... where is Jaehaerys? We expected him to be leading the Targaryen forces."

A shadow passed over Daenerys's face. "My betrothed is... indisposed at the moment. He sent me in his stead to ensure the Northern forces reach Riverrun with all haste. The Lannisters are on the move, and we cannot afford any delays."

The Greatjon frowned. "Indisposed? What does that mean? Is he injured? Ill?"

Daenerys's expression hardened. "That is not your concern, Lord...?"

"Umber," the Greatjon supplied, drawing himself up to his full, impressive height.

"Lord Umber," Daenerys continued, "What matters now is uniting our forces and facing our common enemy. Now," she turned back to Ned, "shall we pay a visit to Lord Frey? I'm quite interested to hear what he has to say for himself."

Ned nodded, his mind racing. The arrival of Daenerys and her dragon had completely upended their plans, but it also presented an opportunity. With a dragon at their backs, Walder Frey would be far more likely to see reason.

"Of course, Your Grace," he said. "If you'll allow us a moment to prepare, we can ride for the Twins immediately."

Daenerys nodded her assent, and Ned turned to his lords. "Robb, you'll come with us. Lord Bolton, Greatjon, Lady Mormont - you as well. The rest of you, prepare the army to move. One way or another, we'll be crossing that bridge soon."

As the lords dispersed to carry out their orders, Robb approached his father. "Father, do you think this wise? We know nothing about this girl or her intentions."

Ned sighed, watching as Daenerys stroked Bloodfyre's scales, whispering to the great beast. "We know she's a Targaryen with a dragon, son. For now, that's enough. We'll sort out the rest once we're across the Trident, and Jaehaerys trusts her, and send her to aid us, if he trusts her then we can as well."

The small party mounted their horses, preparing to ride for the Twins. As they set out, Bloodfyre spread his enormous wings, launching himself into the sky with a gust of wind that nearly unseated several riders.

Daenerys, riding at the head of the group alongside Ned, looked up at her dragon with a fierce smile. "Let's see how brave Walder Frey feels now," she said, her voice carrying a hint of challenge.

The small party made their way toward the Twins, with Daenerys riding confidently beside Lord Stark. Above them, Bloodfyre's massive shadow passed intermittently over the ground, causing even the hardened Northern soldiers to glance upward nervously.

A group of Frey men approached on horseback, their expressions a mixture of suspicion and barely concealed fear. Their leader kept darting glances at the dragon circling overhead.

"Lord Stark," the man called out, his voice wavering slightly. "Have you... have you reached a decision regarding Lord Frey's terms?"

Before Ned could respond, Daenerys's horse stepped forward, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. "The terms have changed," she announced, her voice carrying the authority of old Valyria. "Lord Stark will pay a reasonable fee for the use of your bridge. His army will cross, and that will be the end of it."

The Frey spokesman's face reddened. "That's not acceptable! Lord Frey was very clear about his conditions. The marriage alliance—"

A deafening roar cut through the air, causing horses to rear and men to stumble backward. Bloodfyre had swooped lower, his massive form casting the group in shadow. The Frey men's faces went pale as milk.

Daenerys didn't flinch. If anything, her smile widened slightly. "You were saying?"

The spokesman tried to gather his courage. "My lord has made his demands clear—"

Bloodfyre opened his maw and released a stream of wildfire-green flames into the sky, the heat so intense it could be felt even from the ground. The display sent the Frey horses into a panic, several riders struggling to maintain control.

"Let me be perfectly clear," Daenerys said, her voice sharp as Valyrian steel. "Your lord has already broken his oaths by refusing to follow Lord Tully's orders to open the gates without condition. You stand in violation of your feudal obligations."

Her eyes were predatory as she spoke. "So here are your new options. Either you accept Lord Stark's generous payment for the crossing of his army, or..." She paused, looking up at her dragon with something approaching affection. "Or I mount Bloodfyre and turn the Twins into a second Harrenhal. I'm sure you know the story of what dragon fire did to those towers?"

The Frey spokesman swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "But... but Lord Frey..."

"Lord Frey," Daenerys cut in, "can either accept these terms or explain to whatever gods he believes in why he chose to have his house extinguished rather than honor his oaths."

Ned stepped forward, his face grave. "Your lord's pride need not cost the lives of his people. We offer fair compensation for the crossing - fifty gold dragons. That's more than generous for the use of a bridge."

The Frey men huddled together, speaking in urgent whispers. Above them, Bloodfyre circled closer, his wings creating gusts of wind that whipped at their cloaks.

Finally, the spokesman turned back, his face ashen. "We... we accept your terms, Lord Stark."

Daenerys's smile was triumphant. "A wise choice."

Ned produced a pouch and counted out fifty gold dragons, handing them to the trembling spokesman. "Your cooperation is appreciated," he said diplomatically.

"How soon can the army begin crossing?" Daenerys asked, though it sounded more like a demand than a question.

"We'll... we'll open the gates immediately," the spokesman stammered. "The army can begin crossing within the hour."

"Excellent," Daenerys said. She turned to Ned. "Shall we proceed, Lord Stark?"

As they rode toward the Twins, the Greatjon leaned close to Lady Mormont. "Seven hells, the girl's got more balls than half the lords in the North."

"And all the Freys combined," Dacey replied with a smirk.

Lord Bolton observed the proceedings with his usual calculating gaze. "It seems the Targaryens haven't lost their gift for persuasion."

Ned remained silent, but his mind was racing. The girl was formidable, there was no denying that. But there was something in her easy resort to threats of violence that troubled him.

One of the Northern soldiers whispered to his companion, "Did you see the color of those flames? Green as wildfire!"

"Aye," his friend replied. "And here I thought the stories about dragons were exaggerated."

Daenerys overheard them and smiled. "Bloodfyre's flames are unique among dragons. His fire is Wildfire."

The soldiers quickly looked away, embarrassed at being caught gossiping.

As they approached the gates, a steward came running out, nearly tripping over his own feet. "My lords, my... your grace. Lord Frey requests your presence in the great hall to discuss—"

"Lord Frey's presence is not required," Daenerys interrupted. "The terms have been agreed upon. Unless..." She looked up at Bloodfyre meaningfully.

"No! No, that won't be necessary," the steward said quickly. "I'll inform Lord Frey that the arrangement has been made."

"Very good," Daenerys said. She turned to Ned. "Lord Stark, shall we begin moving your army across?"

Ned nodded. "I'll send riders to bring the vanguard forward." He turned to Robb. "Son, ride back and get the men moving. We've lost enough time already."

As Robb rode off, Daenerys watched the Twins with satisfaction. "You know, Lord Stark, sometimes the old ways are best. The dragons made sure that all of Westeros kept their oaths. Perhaps it's time to return to that tradition."

"Force alone does not make for lasting peace, Your Grace," Ned replied carefully.

Daenerys turned to him, her violet eyes intense. "No, but it does ensure that oathbreakers think twice before betraying their vows." She smiled. "Besides, I didn't actually burn anything. Sometimes the threat of force is enough."

"This time," Ned acknowledged.

Above them, Bloodfyre let out another roar, as if punctuating their conversation. The dragon's shadow fell across the Twins, and Ned could imagine old Walder Frey in his hall, fuming at being outmaneuvered by a young girl with a dragon.

As they watched the Northern army begin its crossing, the Greatjon let out a booming laugh. "Seven hells, that was something! Did you see their faces when the dragon roared? I thought that Frey bastard was going to shit himself!"

Dacey Mormont grinned. "It was rather elegant, Your Grace. No bloodshed, yet you managed to make them soil their breeches all the same."

"Sometimes the best victories are won without drawing a sword," Daenerys replied, her eyes twinkling. "Though I must admit, watching them squirm was rather satisfying."

"Aye," the Greatjon agreed. "Better than my plan to smash down their gates, I'll grant you that. Though less fun, perhaps."

"I wouldn't say that, Lord Umber," Daenerys said with a mischievous smile. "There's a certain... entertainment value in diplomatic intimidation."

From a distance, Theon Greyjoy watched Daenerys with undisguised hunger in his eyes. He nudged Robb as they organized the troops. "Now there's a proper queen," he said, smirking. "I bet I could charm my way into her bed. Show her what she's missing with your cousin."

Robb looked at his friend as if he'd gone mad. "Are you actually stupid or just pretending? That's my cousin's betrothed you're talking about. The same cousin who rides a dragon and would probably feed you to it if you so much as looked at her wrong."

"You worry too much," Theon scoffed. "Women love a confident man—"

"And dragons love a crispy meal," Robb cut him off. "Let it go, Theon. Unless you fancy becoming dragon food."

Meanwhile, Dacey had moved closer to Daenerys, her expression more serious. "Your Grace, if I may ask... where is Jaehaerys? Is he well?" she asked with a hushed tone, not wanting others to hear.

Daenerys's expression softened slightly. She knew of Dacey's past with Jaehaerys - he had told her about their brief romance a year ago. "You care for him still," she observed, not unkindly.

Dacey straightened. "He was... is a friend, Your Grace. I still care for him."

"He spoke well of you," Daenerys said. "And to answer your question - he's quite well. He and Rhaenix are leading our main force against Robert Baratheon's army." Her lips curved into a predatory smile. "By now, I imagine the Usurper and his men are nothing but ash and bones."

Ned's jaw tightened slightly at her words, but he remained silent. Despite their history, he still considered Robert a friend, but that didn't mean he would not help his nephew, even if it meant that he would fight his best friend.

"Rhaenix?" the Greatjon asked. "Another dragon? How many of the bloody things are there?"

"Just the two, for now," Daenerys replied, not wanting to mention anything about Viserys's dragon since she was still young. "Though Bloodfyre is the larger of them. Rhaenix is faster, but she lacks his raw power."

"And you're certain Jaehaerys is safe?" Dacey pressed, unable to hide her concern entirely.

Daenerys's expression softened again. "He's as safe as any of us can be in war. But yes, I believe he's fine. Rhaenix would die before letting harm come to him." She paused, then added, "He was sorry, you know. About how things ended."

Dacey nodded stiffly. "It was for the best. He had his duty, and I had mine."

"Still," Daenerys said, "he valued your friendship. He hopes it can continue."

"Of course, Your Grace," Dacey replied formally.

The Greatjon changed the subject. "So, when do we get to see these dragons in action together? Must be quite a sight, two dragons in battle."

"Soon enough," Daenerys promised. "Though I hope you have a strong stomach, Lord Umber. Dragon warfare isn't for the faint of heart."

"Bah!" the Greatjon scoffed. "I've seen plenty of blood in my time."

"Not like this," Daenerys said quietly. "Not like this."

Ned finally spoke up. "Let us pray it doesn't come to that. Perhaps the Lannisters will see reason when faced with dragons."

Daenerys laughed. "Lord Stark, from what I've heard of Tywin Lannister, he'd rather burn than bend the knee. But we shall see."

As they continued their discussion, Bloodfyre suddenly lifted his head and let out a low rumble. Daenerys looked to the sky, her expression brightening.

"What is it?" Ned asked.

"A message," she replied cryptically. "It seems our journey to Riverrun will be even more interesting than anticipated."

The others exchanged glances, but Daenerys offered no further explanation. She simply smiled, a knowing look in her violet eyes, as she watched the Northern army stream across the bridge that her dragon had helped secure.

Storm's End

The evening sun cast long shadows through the windows of Storm's End's great hall as Renly Baratheon lounged in his ornate chair, swirling wine in a golden goblet. Beside him, Ser Loras Tyrell stood in his gleaming armor, his brown curls falling perfectly around his face.

"Your father must see reason in this, Loras," Renly said, taking a measured sip. "The Reach's strength combined with the Stormlands would be unstoppable. We support Robert against this... dragon boy, and then—" He smiled wickedly. "Then we deal with the Lannisters."

Loras shifted uncomfortably. "My father has concerns about legitimacy. Robert does have three children—"

Renly's laugh cut through the air like a knife. "Children? Is that what we're calling Cersei's golden-haired abominations now?" He set down his wine and leaned forward. "Let me tell you something about those 'children,' my dear Loras. They're not Robert's. Never were."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you ever wondered why all three of them are golden-haired? Why none of them show even a hint of the Baratheon look?" Renly's eyes glittered with dark amusement. "They're bastards, all three of them. Born of incest between our dear Queen Cersei and her uncle and Cersei's cousin. That's what the letter said, and after reading a book about my House. I saw the truth myself."

Loras's eyes widened. "That's... that's monstrous."

"That's Lannisters for you," Renly shrugged. "They've been lying to the realm for years. Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen – none of them have any claim to the throne. Which means—"

"You would be next in line," Loras finished, understanding dawning on his face. "After Stannis."

"Stannis," Renly scoffed. "My dear brother who's so busy burning people on Dragonstone he can't be bothered to see what's happening in the realm. No, the kingdom needs someone who understands people, who can build alliances, who can make the smallfolk love them."

"Someone like you," Loras said softly.

"Someone exactly like me." Renly stood, his rich green cloak flowing around him. "Your father needs to understand what's at stake here. The Lannisters have committed treason of the highest order. Once Robert deals with this Targaryen threat—"

"House Tyrell will stand with you," Loras declared. "I'll make sure of it. My father, my sister—"

"Ah yes, the lovely Margaery," Renly smiled. "I'm sure she'd make a wonderful—"

The heavy doors of the great hall swung open with a resonant creak, cutting off Renly's words. A knight in crimson armor strode in, his boots echoing against the stone floor.

Renly's expression hardened. "Who dares interrupt a private conversation?"

The knight bowed slightly. "My apologies, Lord Renly, but I bring urgent news that couldn't wait."

"Well? Out with it then."

"A man has arrived at the gates. Ser Harry Strickland of the Golden Company."

Renly and Loras exchanged shocked glances.

"The Golden Company?" Renly repeated. "What business does a sellsword company have at Storm's End?"

"Ser Strickland says he wishes to discuss a potential alliance. He claims to have an offer that would greatly interest you, my lord."

Loras's hand instinctively went to his sword hilt. "The Golden Company has never broken a contract."

"Until now, perhaps," Renly mused, stroking his clean-shaven chin. "How interesting. The greatest sellsword company in the world, seeking me out specifically." A slow smile spread across his face. "Tell me, ser, did our visitor mention why he's not supporting the dragon boy? The Golden Company was founded by Blackfyres, after all."

"He said he would discuss that only with you, my lord."

Renly laughed. "Of course he did. Very well." He turned to Loras. "It seems our evening just got more interesting, my friend."

"Should I summon the guards?" Loras asked quietly.

"No need. If they wanted to attack, they wouldn't have announced themselves." Renly straightened his cloak. "Besides, I'm rather curious to hear what could make the Golden Company break with tradition." He nodded to the knight. "Tell Ser Strickland I'll receive him. But first—" He picked up his wine goblet and finished it. "I think we'll need more wine for this conversation."

The knight bowed and turned to leave, his armor catching the last rays of sunlight streaming through the windows.

"My lord," Loras said softly after the knight had gone, "if the Golden Company truly wishes to ally with you..."

"Then the game becomes far more interesting," Renly finished, his eyes sparkling with ambition. "Much more interesting indeed."

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