She had not wanted to come South, to risk enduring more abuses at the whim of another Southron ruler. Since Joffrey had proved himself a monster, she had only ever wanted to go home and remain within the walls of Winterfell. But Jon speaks truth as if everyone surrounding him does the same. He is transparent and unaccustomed to the life at court, and Sansa has been told that the dragon queen is even more beautiful than Cersei.

She arrives at Dragonstone with only her sworn shield and Brienne's squire, Podrick, despite Jon's protestations. She is greeted by Missandei, the queen's most trusted advisor, and her former husband. A smile lightens her grim expression at the sight of him. Tyrion was always kind to her. She feels safer with him here.

"What can one sword do against the Mother of Dragons?" Sansa asks when Missandei bids them to relinquish their weapons.

"Quite right," her first husband laughs.

The dragons fly overhead, and Sansa cannot help the look of wonder and astonishment that crosses her face. They are majestic. And terrible.

"How have you fared in the years since I've seen you, my good wife?"

"As I was married after, I believe you are now set free from your vows, my lord, though I admit I have not been quite as happy in my second marriage as I was when we were wed. I am quite happy to set eyes on you again." She looks away from the blush reddening his cheeks.

"And I you, though I am surprised Lord Snow did not come himself."

"Winter is here, and his attentions are better kept North. I hope you do not find me lacking as an emissary."

"Of course not. You are most welcome at Dragonstone and, I beg you to believe, quite safe. Queen Daenerys values loyalty. If you bend the knee, you will be afforded her protection."

Sansa gives a noncommittal sound.

Tyrion and Missandei lead them into a great barren hall made of stone. Across the room, rigidly sat on her throne is a slight girl of no more than nine and ten, Sansa guesses. Her advisors walk to stand to either side of it.

"You stand before 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," Missandei introduces.

Breaker of Chains, Sansa thinks, and yet you mean to use those dragons to enslave us all.

"I present to you Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark, the Winter Rose, Winterfell's Reclaimer, Princess of the North, Lady and Blood of Winterfell."

"Thank you for traveling so far, my lady. I hope the seas weren't too rough."

"Not at all, Your Grace," Sansa answers. "I have heard of your trials and accomplishments and commend you for returning to your home."

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. "Thank you, Lady Stark. With that commendation, I must assume you are here to bend the knee like your forefathers before you."

"I understand the assumption as Your Grace may not be aware of the strife between our families beginning with the kidnapping and rape of my dear Aunt Lyanna Stark by your brother, Prince Rhaegar, and the murders of our liege lord, Rickard, and his son, Brandon Stark, by your father, King Aerys." She brings her hands together in front of her.

"Lady Stark, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes committed against your family. I am not my brother or my father. I have outlawed raping and reaving in the Iron Islands, and I have no intention of repaying loyalty with death. I ask you not to judge me by the sins of my family."

"That is kind. Many women will be spared torment," Sansa nods.

Queen Daenerys leans back on her throne, her back straightening at the acknowledgment of her benevolence. "Torrhen Stark, the last King in the North, swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. I am the last Targaryen. Honor his vow. Bend the knee."

"Will you apologize for your family's crimes in one breath and negate the consequences to them in the next? I mean no disrespect, Your Grace, but you ask House Stark to honor an allegiance to your House that no longer bears weight. We must agree to leave past allegiances and crimes alike behind."

The corners of her mouth lift in a facsimile of a smile. "If you have only come to break faith with House Targaryen, why are you here?" she demands.

Lord Tyrion's gaze darts to Sansa anxiously. Those who anger the dragon queen do not survive long.

"To become allies, of course." She gives the queen a genuine smile, a smile called up from her times with Margaery surrounded by scents of the sea and good humor. "Apart from the North, the kingdoms of Westeros will be yours. I hope that you are open to discussing a trade agreement that will come into effect when you take your throne."

"We do not know each other, Lady Stark. Allow me to begin remedying that." The queen stands, walking towards Sansa with slow steps, her hands stiff at her sides. "I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don't remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I've been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years of exile? Faith. Not in any alliances or gods, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen.

"The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born.," she continues. "The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea, any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will rule. All of them. By declaring himself King in the North, your bastard brother is in open rebellion. Can you tell me what happens to those who rebel against the crown?"

Will you obey now, or do you need another lesson? Sansa is reminded of forcefully. The last time she was brought before a monarch to answer for her brother's perceived crimes, she would have knelt and begged for mercy. But there is no mercy in this world, no knights or heroes. She lifts her chin.

In the pause she takes to temper her tone, Lord Tyrion speaks first.

"I believe Lady Stark is quite tired from her journey, my queen," he says, drawing the queen's attention. Sansa's eyes remain on the threat before her. "If it pleases you, we could continue the discussion over supper after she rests."

"It pleases me to have an answer to my question." Lord Tyrion retreats. "Lady Stark?"

Sansa clears her throat delicately. "I do not discount your might, and you have my admiration and sympathies for the trials you have overcome as I have said, Your Grace. To answer your question, I must ask one of my own. At one point, there were five kings in Westeros: Kings Joffrey, Renly and Stannis Baratheon, King Robb Stark and King Balon Greyjoy. Now, there are three monarchs. Which crown would you find House Stark in rebellion against?"

"You said this woman was smart." Queen Daenerys accuses Lord Tyrion.

"One of the most intelligent ladies I have encountered," he affirms.

"In the time she's been here, she has admitted that I will take the throne, still refused to bend the knee, and now she means to mock me."

"Lady Sansa," Lord Tyrion starts, capturing her gaze. "I once promised that I would never hurt you." The queen watches curiously. "Though our marriage was in name only, I took that vow very seriously. I still do. Queen Daenerys can be trusted. She will avenge your father. Your brother will be Warden of the North, and you will be as safe there as you were when you were a child."

"The North will never be safe under a Southron ruler," she says, her unyielding tone at contrast with the softness of her expression. "She has already threatened the king's heir."

Queen Daenerys contradicts, "I threatened your brother who has no right to call himself king."

"Were your family ties so weak that you don't know any threat to my brother is a threat against me?" She lets rage color her voice, stepping closer, her chin raising another notch. "The Northern lords and ladies chose to follow Jon and name him their king. You need no rights to what is freely given."

The woman stares at her stonily as if none of Sansa's sound words can move her.

Frustrated, Sansa steps closer. "I imagine you think diplomacy is beneath you. You have armies and dragons. What can stand against you?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me," she drawls.

"After the Lannisters named my father a traitor, my brother, Robb, was made king and led his armies against them. He won every battle. The people revered him as I am sure yours do you. With dragons and more men than can be counted with the eye, they must think you an insurmountable wall of force. The people called Robb the Young Wolf. They said that he could not be killed. Then, he was. The Boltons and the Freys cut my mother's throat to the bone, murdered his pregnant wife and took his head. Why?

"He had enough might to rule the North and overthrow the Lannisters," she adds. She ignores the false glaze of boredom in the queen's eyes and continues in a bemused tone. "I have the scars to prove it. Yet, fierce as he was in battle, he never was good at diplomacy. He ostracized his bannermen, and," her pitch falls like a blade, " they betrayed him."

"She speaks true. My father orchestrated the attack, but Stark's own bannermen executed it."

The queen is no longer feigning disinterest. Her eyes lock on Sansa's with rapt attention. When Sansa speaks again in a lower tone, the queen's head leans forward slightly.

"'What do you want that you do not already have?' When you sit the Iron Throne, surrounded by subjects who bent the knee only to save their lives and the lives of their people, I do not wonder what your answer will be. I know. You will want to be safe without your dragons or guards close at hand. You will want for true allegiance. Lords who hate you will swear fealty to you to save their lives, but I will not lie to you. I knew that an alliance with the North would not be sufficient to satisfy you. I knew that one sworn shield and her squire could not protect me should you decide to execute me as an example. I answered your summons anyway," she pauses to give the queen time to decide on the reasons Sansa might have. "The North remembers. We have greater fears than death. My bannermen will not follow someone they do not trust. Will you work to earn it?"

There is nothing in the queen's expression that belies the answer she will give. Queen Daenerys closes the distance between them, looking at her intently. Sansa forces herself to appear as calm as the first snow. She will die here rather than live the rest of her days in fear of the dragon queen's wrath.

"The men will follow your brother, and he follows you," the queen surmises.

Sansa gives no answer. There is none that helps her cause. To rebut it is to deem herself useless. To acknowledge it undermines him.

"And how do I earn your trust, Lady Stark?"

"With patience, Your Grace. With time, King Jon may find that you are worthy to lead the North. If you are not amenable, I must return to my brother with the news that you have refused an alliance with House Stark and our allies, House Arryn and House Tully."

Instead of flushing with anger at the threat, the queen's face becomes alight with the first true smile she gives Sansa. "I will not wait forever."

"No, I would not expect you to. I only ask that you give a House that has been betrayed and nearly ruined time to know you as the queen Lord Tyrion believes you to be." She lowers her head deferentially.

"In the meantime, you will stay here to get to know me." She quirks an eyebrow, waiting for Sansa's nod of agreement. She turns to Missandei. "Please show our guests to their rooms."

With that, she walks away, and Sansa watches her go.

The tension does not leave her shoulders until she is within her chambers with the door barred. It is only then that she lets the relief she feels make her limbs tremble and her knees weak. She sits on the edge of the bed, hands clutching its sides, exhaling slowly. Her head aches as if she has been sewing intricate designs for hours.

How quickly she turned to threats, Sansa thinks, rubbing her temples.

Despite her willingness to kill, Sansa cannot deny that the queen does impress her. Not many monarchs would have allowed a stranger to convince them to wait for true loyalty. She is different. Cersei would have made an example of Sansa, not seemed genuinely pleased to be threatened. But it is not enough. In the morn, she will offer fleece and wool for the queen's armies in exchange for dragonglass. She will bide her time, offering glimpses of trust, until Jon has enough to win the war against the dead. She cannot afford to do otherwise.