WARNING; for mentions of canon typical violence and past rape.

That is a dragon.

Jon is having trouble thinking beyond this fact. Understandable, given that he's looking at a dragon. A large, living, breathing dragon. One close enough that it would take but a few steps for him to touch it. Which would result in the loss of his hand, arm really, those are very large teeth. This is assuming the dragon doesn't decide to reduce him to ash instead.

Doesn't stop him from wanting to touch it. Touch those stunning black scales and blood red spines. Feel with his own hands the heat it radiates, strong enough to be felt even with the distance between them. The urge is so great he has to clench his fists to keep himself from getting killed by giving in to the desire to touch this living wonder.

The living wonder is looking at him with intelligence. Those fire filled eyes are aware in a way he's only known those of direwolves to be.

The dragon's nostrils flare as it inhales deeply, and Jon swears it's scenting him in particular. More than that, he swears he understands the expression it's wearing, despite that there should be nothing recognizable about its reptilian face.

The dragon is looking at him with curiosity.

"Who are you?"

The question drags his eyes away from the story made flesh, to settle on the woman seated astride its back. He knows who she is, the dragon leaves no doubt as to her identity.

Daenerys Targaryen. The Mad King's daughter.

In some ways, she's every part the Targaryen. Hair so fair as to be the color of sunlight, fine and delicate features. An arrogant tilt to her chin, a cool and remote expression as she looks down on him.

In other ways, she looks nothing like he expected. Her eyes are the color of storm clouds, intense in a way that's at odds with the distant expression. Her hair is woven through with gold and precious jewels, forming complex braids. Her throat and chest are covered in even more gold, a fortune in jewelry draped around her neck.

The display of wealth isn't unexpected. The amount of it, yes, but not the display itself.

Her being naked is. The Mad King's daughter wears no clothing aside from a brightly colored coat, and the coat hangs wide open. Aside from the jewelry, her body is bare for all to see.

Her body is littered with scars. A patchwork of jagged cuts cover most of her left side, while her right is dominated by a deep gash that crosses over her breast. Jon knows enough of scars to be able to see that these were gained in battle.

He knows how close to death some would have brought her.

"Well?"

The demand, impatient in a way the previous one wasn't, makes him return his gaze to storm grey eyes.

"Jon Snow."

Hearing his own voice snaps him out of his stupor. He clears his throat and amends his answer to something more polite. Being rude to someone in possession of a dragon is just asking to be burned to a crisp.

"My name is Jon Snow."

"King Jon Snow."

The dazed correction makes him glance at Davos, standing besides him. Davos is staring at the dragon with equal awe and terror, but then his expression clears. Davos shakes his head in an attempt to get rid of his dragon induced shock and turns his gaze towards him.

"King Snow? No, that doesn't sound right. King Jon?"

Davos trails off, his gaze drawn back to the dragon. Jon can't blame him for that, his own eyes drawn back to the dragon as well. The dragon is still looking at him with what he swears is curiosity.

Daenerys Targaryen has raised a single dark brow. Conveying both the faint she amusement she feels at his admittedly awful introduction, as well as how unimpressed she is by it. Which, given that she was the one who made a dragon land among them without warning, is rather harsh of her. No one can be expected to remain composed when confronted by a dragon, but even less so when confronted by one without warning.

She turns to look at Dragonstone Castle and her amusement makes way for another distant expression. It appears the little interest she held in them has faded completely.

"I am Daenerys Stormborn. Harm me or mine, rape anyone, enslave anyone, and I will destroy you."

Before Jon can even think of how to react to the threat delivered in a chilling matter of fact manner, the dragon leaps into the air and flies to the castle. They're joined by the two dragons who'd been circling overhead, a childhood dream come to life. The sight scatters his thoughts all over again. Black streaked with blood red, white with bright gold, green with rich bronze. Three living jewels dancing through the air with breathtaking grace.

He's seeing dragons.

"Well. That was interesting."

Davos' gross understatement makes a flicker of humor join his befuddlement.

"That's one way to put it."

The black dragon briefly touches down in front of the castle before leaping back into the air with mesmerising grace. This time without a rider.

"What do you suppose she's doing here?"

Jon hasn't the faintest idea. Last he heard, Daenerys Targaryen was sailing the shores of Essos and burning down every slaver ship she could find.

What brought the Pirate Queen to Westeros?

"Doesn't matter what she's here for," he decides, though he fails to tear his eyes away from the wonder of living dragons. "We're here for the dragonglass."

Whatever the Pirate Queen is here for, it matters not compared to the threat of the Night King. Even if she does have three dragons.

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but if she decides to use those dragons against us, I'd say the reason she's here becomes a matter of great importance indeed."

"You heard her. She won't harm us if we don't harm her."

At least, Jon hopes not. They have no hope of victory against dragons.

"Not quite what I got out of that," Davos says, more to himself than anyone else. When Jon finally manages to tear his eyes away from the wonder in the sky, he sees that Davos is still staring at the dragons with fear and awe, though the feelings are no longer as strong as before. Looking behind him, Jon sees that the rest of the men are staring at the dragons in similar ways. With frequent glances to him for guidance as well.

One of them, Tammer, is glancing at the sea. When Jon follows his line of sight, he understands why. Two dozen ships of various sizes, all with telling blood red sails, are fast approaching. Apparently the Pirate Queen didn't come to Westeros with her dragons alone. Jon is blaming the ridiculous assumption that she did on the shock of seeing dragons.

"Gather your weapons and armor," he orders, snapping the men out of their stupor. And himself as well.

They can't go back to work. Not until they have a better understanding of what's happening.

"Do not attack unless I give the order." He'd like to avoid being turned to ash after all.

His command inspires a flurry of activity, men scrambling to put on armor. Jon, still armored and with Longclaw at his side, starts making his way to the shore. He's dirty and without his cloak, but his appearance will have to make do. It's not like he was given advance warning over this meeting.

The men who'd been on watch, and thus, who were still armed, follow him.

Davos follows as well.

"You aren't fool enough to meet potential enemies unarmed," Jon says in a low voice when Davos falls in stride.

"Given those dragons, I figure we're all fucked anyway if the Pirate Queen turns out to be an enemy," Davos returns in an equal soft voice. A truth Jon cannot argue with. He truly hopes Daenerys Targaryen wasn't lying when she claimed she wouldn't harm them unless they harm her first.

By the time the ships drop anchor and rowing boats near the shore, the rest of the men have joined them. None draw their swords, though most do keep ready to do so. Tension is high.

It makes it even more important to keep from reaching for Longclaw himself.

He doesn't know what to expect from the infamous Dragon Pirates. The stories paint them as bloodthirsty cutthroats, yet they also speak of slaves being liberated and given new life. They speak of hope and freedom. Of a living goddess come to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

They speak of savages worshipping dragons as their gods, of blood magic and gruesome rituals. They speak of them as though they are wildlings. Jon had been surprised at how many stories about the free folk were false.

He'd been even more surprised to discover how many were true.

Even without knowing what to expect, Jon is completely caught off guard by the party coming ashore. Or rather, by one person among them.

"Tyrion Lannister?" What is Tryion Lannister doing with the Mad King's daughter?

"Jon Snow," Tyrion returns, equally surprised. "I didn't expect to find the bastard of Winterfell in Dragonstone."

"I didn't expect to find the dwarf of Casterly Rock in the Pirate's Queen's retinue."

A retinue composed of men and women both. The party consists of dozens of people, more than he and his men can take on even if they did have a dragon proof escape route. A fair number of people present are women, all armed as the men are.

Some have drawn their weapons. They make no move to use them, though.

The weapons are as varied as everything else about these people. Armor, clothes, finery, age, hair and skin. There's nothing uniform about them, their appearance ranging from people who seem as savage as the stories make them out to be, to a knight that wouldn't be out of place at court. The only thing the outfits have in common are dragon themed decorations. And a dragon themed color scheme. While there are other colors present, black, green and white dominate.

Scars are prominent as well. All outfits cover far more skin than the little Daenerys Targaryen wears, but old wounds are frequent. Both small and great. One man is missing most of his hand, and there's a woman with a leather patch covering her eye.

Tyrion looks no different from the others. His garbs are exotic and allow for easy movement. There's no Lannister red or gold, though. Aside from one braid, bound together with gold and hanging over his ear. Jon would have missed the braid were it not for the gold, for Tyrion carries a great many of them. The others are bound with dyed ribbons, though. As for the rest of his outfit, Tyrion wears white decorated with green.

Tyrion wears two daggers long enough to work as short swords for him. The message that carries is emphasised by the nasty scar covering half his face.

Jon would have never imagined a Lannister to look like this.

"I keep being surprised by it myself," Tyrion says with his signature smile, equal parts mocking and self-depreciating. It's easily recognized even with the beard adding years to his face. Jon saw this smile often when they traveled to the Wall together. The scar marring half of Tyrion's face gives it an edge that had been lacking before, though.

"So what brings the bastard of Winterfell to Dragonstone?" Tyrion asks.

"Jon Snow is King in the North."

The correction from Davos, polite but unyielding, causes a surge of discomfort as always. He's a Snow. He isn't supposed to be a noble, never mind a king.

Jon resists the urge to say so out loud and he hides his discomfort as well. Whether or not he likes it, the fact remains that the North chose him to be their king. He doesn't have time to dispute that and have them argue over who should rule instead.

Not when the Great War is coming.

"You will address him by his proper title," Davos continues.

"It's fine, Davos," he says, unable to help himself. He'll not deny the position thrust upon him, but neither will he demand others pay homage to it. Not from people who aren't from the North.

Some of the pirates speak to one another in a language unknown to him. Multiple languages, judging from what he's hearing. He's fairly certain one of the languages is Valyrian.

Both of Tyrion's brows have gone up with surprise, and he looks him over with a disbelief Jon wholeheartedly agrees with.

"I see interesting things have been happening while I've been gone."

"You could say that." Terrible is another word for it. One he finds far more suitable.

He'd been so close to saving Rickon.

"Forgive me, but am I correct in assuming you're Ned Stark's bastard son?" an older man asks, his hair white as snow and his armor more fit for a lord than a pirate. There's a black dragon emblazoned on his armor.

The man has a single braid, gold binding white hair together. It makes Jon look over the others again, realising this braid is another thing shared among their appearance. Many have far more braids than just the one, but even those who don't all wear the same golden plait.

"I am," Jon confirms and gives Davos a warning look when he moves to correct the man's address of him. Being asked if he's a bastard isn't an insult. It's merely asking for the truth. His younger self would have disagreed with that, but Jon is no longer that boy.

The man looks him over as Tyrion did, though unlike Tyrion, his assessment is without disbelief. Instead the man seems to be searching for something.

Whatever he's searching for, he finds it, for he nods with approval.

"You have your father's bearing."

The way he says it makes it clear this is meant to be a compliment. More importantly, it makes clear this man knew his father.

"You say that as though you knew him," Jon says, wanting to know who this man is.

"I did," the man confirms. "My name is Barristan Selmy."

Jon feels his eyes widen with shock and hears his men shift behind him, murmurs rising. Jon can't blame them for losing discipline in the face of the revelation of who this man is. All know of Barristan the Bold.

"Your father was one of the most honorable men I've had the fortune of knowing," Barristan the Bold says. "His death was a tragedy that shouldn't have happened."

"No, it shouldn't have," Jon returns in a cutting voice, his surprise making way for cold anger. His father always spoke highly of Barristan Selmy.

Barristan Selmy stood by and did nothing as his father was murdered.

Barristan Selmy bows his head, showing a regret he has no right to. But Jon isn't here to make enemies, and so he swallows the words that wish to break free.

This is made easy to accomplish by a sudden dramatic roar, making him reach for Longclaw with an instinct he curses himself for even as his eyes snap towards the castle. He's just in time to see the black dragon lift off, great wings effortlessly carrying it through the sky. The other two join it as it approaches them. Once again, Jon finds he cannot tear his eyes away from the stories made flesh.

Once again, Daenerys Targaryen is seated on the black dragon, her hair a bright contrast to the dark jewel beneath her.

The dragon lands on the beach, near enough for the sand disturbed by its beating wings to hit him in the face. Daenerys Targaryen nimbly leaps off the dragon's back. The dragon launches itself back into the air with a grace all the more breathtaking from nearby. Jon swears the dragon looks at him with curiosity as it passes overhead. The other two, circling the sky above, seem curious as well. Though unlike the black dragon, they're too far away to tell who it's aimed at. Part of him is convinced the curiosity is aimed at him, but he chides himself for that thought as soon as it appears. If these were people, it would be normal for them to be curious about a foreign king. These are dragons, though. What do dragons care for mortal crowns?

His gaze is drawn to Daenerys Targaryen as she strides towards them. She moves as though nothing in the world can stand in her way. No longer hidden by her dragon, Jon can now see the two short swords strapped to her side, the hilts revealing them to be Valyrian steel. Jon has no doubt she knows how to use them. Even ignoring her scars and the strength contained within defined muscles, she moves with the tread of someone experienced in the art of battle.

He's now capable of seeing the armored boots she wears as well, thick enough to lessen the impact of most blades. They're tipped with golden plates, ensuring any kick she delivers will land with significant force.

The boots are the only armor she wears. Aside from her hands, perhaps. They're adorned with gold as well, each finger containing at least one ring. Those rings are thick enough to break nose or jaw should she hit well. Part of him files all of these facts away, but Jon will admit to being distracted by the sheer amount of skin Daenerys Targaryen has on display. Blue and yellow fabric is wrapped around her hips in what he supposes is meant to be a skirt, though he's never seen one such as this. It's asymmetrical, one side a semblance of a proper length and the other barely covering her thigh. Not that the side that should be decent is any better. The fabric is blown away by the wind, revealing as much skin as is shown by her other leg. The wind also blows her coat wide open, leaving her breasts bare all to see. Jon is trying not to stare, he really is, but Daenerys Targaryen is a beautiful woman and most of her body is on full display. Her scars only make it even harder to look away, his eyes wandering over their stories without his consent.

Across her stomach, there's a thick and jagged line. She was cut open. In a way that should have killed her.

The scars on his chest ache.

Daenerys Targaryen doesn't seem to mind his staring, still striding forward with what Jon cannot decide is arrogance or confidence. She doesn't seem to be aware of her state of undress in any way.

"My lady," Barristan the Bold greets as she nears, and when Jon manages to tear his eyes away from parts he really shouldn't be looking at, he sees Barristan Selmy look at her with deference and respect. The knight's eyes are firmly locked onto storm grey, never straying down. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Daenerys Targaryen looks at the castle with disappointment, seemingly unaware that the movement has put her chest on even more prominent display. Jon has seen men and women alike display themselves on purpose while pretending it's a coincidence, but that isn't how she holds herself. Her lack of awareness seems genuine.

"Not yet," she replies, before she looks at him and raises a remarkably expressive brow. It shows both her surprise at his presence here, as well as a curiosity that had been lacking before. "I see you've not fled in terror, King in the North."

"So you've met," Tyrion says in a voice that cannot decide between amusement or exasperation, though Jon doesn't know what expression Tyrion is wearing. Now that storm grey eyes are looking at him, he finds it impossible to avert his own. His only saving grace is that he's now capable of focusing on the Pirate Queen's face instead of lower parts of her. "A warning would've been nice," Tyrion finishes in the same tone.

"I warned them what will happen should they cross me," the Mad King's daughter returns without looking away from him, just as matter of fact as when she threatened to destroy them.

"Ah, well, that makes everything all right then."

Tyrion's voice is resigned. This time Jon manages to tear his eyes away from Daenerys Targaryen. He finds that the look Tyrion is giving her is fond. Given that this is Tyrion Lannister, Jon had no doubt the show of fondness is as deliberate as his tone of voice. He also doesn't doubt the authenticity of that fondness. Tyrion wields the truth like a weapon.

"What will you do next, Captain?" an unknown voice asks, drawing his gaze to the woman who spoke. Two daggers hang from her belt, and she's dressed in sturdy clothes that allows for easy movement. The black fabric is dominated by a large image of a white dragonside, and aside from that shared braid, her hair is a wild mess of curls.

Her hands are clasped together. Not poised to draw her blades. Her posture is composed. The woman is calm.

She's worried as well.

"Are you slavers or rapists?"

The question draws his full attention back to the Mad King's daughter.

"No," he replies, insulted by the very notion. What kind of people does she think they are?

"Will you harm me or mine?"

"Not unless you harm us first."

His answer causes some of the pirates to laugh and talk to one another in a mixture of languages, but Jon is far more focused on the slow smile Daenerys Targaryen gains. There's something wild to that smile, something sharp and feral. Something that reminds him of her dragons.

The Pirate Queen releases him from the intensity of her gaze and looks at her people.

"In that case, we party!"

Wild cheering makes him reach for Longclaw on instinct, his eyes snapping to the source of the noise. The sight that greets him is people cheering like the savages the stories claim them to be, some jumping with joy, and in two cases, waving around their weapons with abandon. Most don't have this reaction, though. Instead they're divided between more subdued pleasure, or no reaction at all.

Daenerys Targaryen strides forward, her people following her as she makes her way to the rowing boats. Barristan the Bold inclines his head in farewell. Tyrion gives him a wry smile and a shrug that says what can you do before he follows as well.

As fast as they appeared, the Dragon Pirates and their Queen are gone.

Jon is unsure of what just happened.

"I think that went well."

Davos' cheerful declaration makes a soft snort escape, involuntary humor rising at the absurdity of it all.

"I suppose it did," he agrees, his eyes drawn once more to the wonder of living dragons dancing through the sky. No blood was spilled, none were burnt to a crisp, and the Mad King's daughter seems to hold no interest in changing this state of affairs. A rousing success on all accounts, really.

"So what's next, Your Grace?"

"We return to mining the dragonglass," Jon replies. There's nothing else they can do. Aside from leave. Which they'll need to do. Soon.

They can afford to stay one more day.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Davos asks in the particular way that means he thinks his king is being an idiot. Davos' pointed look at the dragons makes clear what makes him think so this time. Hypocritical, given that Davos came to the meeting unarmed exactly because he believed they stand no chance against dragons. Even ignoring that.

"She seems to hold no interest in us, and she won't turn hostile unless provoked. We go back to mining the dragonglass."

Now that the Mad King's daughter has arrived, Jon can no longer count on remaining undetected by Cersei. They'll need to leave at dawn. Which means they need to gather as much dragonglass as they can before then.

With a last look at Daenerys Targaryen, her hair making her easy to spot even with the distance the boats are rapidly gaining, Jon turns around and goes back to work. He'll not deny to being curious as to why the Pirate Queen is here, but as long as she doesn't interfere in his business, he'll not interfere in hers.

Yet despite the fact that being distracted is the last thing he can afford right now, he cannot stop himself from looking at the dragons dancing through the sky.

He wonders how Sansa will react when he tells her he saw the Pirate Queen and her Dragons.