Daenerys read the letter once more and then reread it again with the air of quiet contemplation surrounding her. When she finished, she handed it over to her Hand, who too examined the print with scrutiny.

"An… unexpected thing, to be certain." Tyrion Lannister mumbled, skimming the letter a second time. He then read it a third time, just to be sure, before passing it towards Varys. "But not bad. I'd rather have a neutral boy than a worrisome man as King in the North."

"Rickon is smarter than you'd think." Jon told the room, looking both proud and apprehensive. "He's young, aye. But he was born with a strong mind for ruling and there's steel enough in his spine. Cares more about making it out alive than he does a crown."

How thoughtful of you, dearest brother o' mine.

"He sounds like he'll be quite a man." Daenerys hummed, eying my brother. Cousin. Whatever. "But he's still a boy. What word is there of the Unsullied?"

"The ravens have yet to arrive," Varys admitted apologetically, folding my words into the sleeve of his robe. "Meaning we cannot be certain. But Greyworm is routine. Two ravens sent a week, never deviating from his task. By my estimate it will be arriving later in the day or early tomorrow should rainfall be heavy."

"Good," Daenerys said, taking another bite of her breakfast. A small dribble of oil dripped from her lip down to her chin.

"And what will happen to our king, your grace?" Ser Davos asked.

She swallowed her food and patted the stain on her face away with a rag of cloth before turning her gaze onto the onion knight. "It depends on the way the war goes. I know he has not asked me anything unreasonable, and I am willing to recognize the sins committed against his family by my own, but I aim to sit the Iron Throne as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The North among them."

"You would war with the North then?" Jon asked, grimacing. "Even after a request of neutrality?"

"Neutrality is only acceptable when both of our people are not being threatened by Cersei Lannister. It means nothing when we are all in danger." Daenerys countered.

Jon frowned a harsh thing, actually glaring at her. "Aye, we are all in danger. Not by Rickon or Cersei though, or even you, but by the dead. They're real, your grace. I've seen 'em."

Eying him with pity, Daenerys continued to speak. "Regardless of your… more fantastical beliefs, I would do as your brother asked of me, only in a different order. I would take the rest of the kingdoms, begin talks of restitution with him, defeat Cersei and then sit the throne. Once I sit my throne I will head north and see if these dead men are real for myself."

I know I was meant to be a bystander in this. A raven quietly keeping the peace. But I could not help but snort at that, hacking out a sound that certainly gathered their attention. Eyes swiveled onto me, curious and apprehensive, but Ser Davos grimaced in understanding.

"Will–Not–Work." I croaked, chirping out a snigger of a laugh.

Daenerys looked me over with annoyance. "King Rickon trained his pet well, improper though its words are."

I glided towards her, situation myself atop the rim of a pitcher, allowing us to face one another at an eye level. "Not–A–Pet. More–Than–That–Dae–Ner–Ys–Tar–Ga–Ry–En."

She did not necessarily startle at the use of her name, but her gaze, which had already been piercing, with but a twitch of her cheeks turned sharper than Valyrian steel. "What are you, then?"

"Your grace, this is but a trick." Varys said. "A mummer's farce. Please do not be led by such foolishness-"

"Qui–Et–Eu–Nuch." I drawled, his mouth closing with a surprised click. "A–King–Speaks–To–A–Queen."

"Gods," Jon wheezed, understanding blooming in his dark grey eyes, wide and uncharacteristic as they were in this moment. "Rickon? You're a warg?"

"Aye." I trilled, flapping onto his shoulder. I rubbed my neck against his ear in affection and he rolled his finger over my neck in a baffled sort of return. Had I the ability, I would have purred. That felt good.

"I suppose grumpkins and snarks weren't the only things found in the North." Tyrion sounded, almost reverently.

"White–Wal–Kers–There–Too." I told him, somehow relaying smugness. Weiss really was a good animal companion, if based only on the tones and inflections her vocal chords could put out. I got lucky with her.

"An honest to goodness skinchanger then," Tyrion said, curiosity clear in his scarred face. "I read about them as a boy, there were a few books in the library of Casterly Rock that noted the magics believed to have existed in the world. They were written with the intention to disprove those magics as folktale and myth, to declare magic not only dead but never existing at all. That was the only reason my father allowed them to stay; he believed little in magic. And yet here you are, a living, breathing proof of yet more magic in the known world. How interesting."

"Ma–Gic–Is–Ev–Ry–Where–Ty–Ri–On–La–Nni–Ster." I crowed at him. "In–The–Trees. In–The–Wind. On–This–Eye–Land. Dra–Gons–Were–Not–The–First–Cree–Churs–Of–Ma–Gic. Won't–Be–The–Last. Ma–Gic–Runs–Through–The–Blood–Of–The–First–Men. My–Blood."

"How do we know this is King Rickon then?" Varys asked. "The blood of the First Men runs in all of the denizens of the North. Could this not be a ploy?"

"Nay, that's the king." Ser Davos grunted. "He caught that bird himself after we took Winterfell back from the Boltons. Knew he was trying to do something with it, hadn't thought that he'd been making to do magic though."

"Why will my plan not work?" Daenerys asked, boring down on me with that heavy gaze, casually accepting the statements of magic and blood right. It made sense though, considering Daenerys too had her own dealings with magic and blood right. More than I did, to be certain.

"Cer–Sei–On–Ly–Threat–To–You. Not–Me. She–Will–Ig–Nore–The–North–To–Fight–You. She–Is–Al–Read–Ie–Read–Ie–To–Kill–Dra–Gons."

Daenerys hissed at that. "How?"

"Scor–Pi–Ons." I simply said, dipping my beak into her glass of water. Grimacing, she pushed away from the glass.

Tyrion cursed abruptly. "Scorpions! Gods! How did I forget about such an obvious thing?"

Missandei spoke up then, her voice a cautious thing. "I presume you do not speak of the poisonous bug then?"

"If only," Tyrion moaned, sounding honestly like he wished that to be the case. "Scorpions were an artillery device used by the nobility of Westeros for centuries, a giant crossbow that can shoot into the clouds as fast as a man can shoot a target with a normal arrow. It's rare that they could be of use though, very circumstantial and difficult to use as they were, and so very few noble houses had any that were operational. When Aegon the Conqueror tried to take Dorne, he sent his sister-wife Rhaenys to do the work, just as he had Visenya take the Vale. Well, she didn't come back. A lucky scorpion bolt from the castle of Hellholt hit Meraxes right through the skull, killing the dragon and her rider with the fall. It was only then that he strayed his eyes away from Dorne."

"Cer–Sei–Is–Mass–Pro–Do–Sing–Them." I explained. "If–You–Wait–For–The–Rest–Of–Wes–Ter–Os–She–Will–Have–En–Ough–To–Be–A–Threat. She–Needs–To–Be–Beat–En–Now–Lest–You–Lose–A–Child–To–Am–Bi–Shun. Ag–Ain."

A myriad of emotions played out over Daenerys' face. Confusion, regret, shame, anger, defiance, and then, when all of that had passed, reluctant understanding. "How do you know this?"

"I–Saw–Them–Be–Ing–Made. They–Are–Sur–Round–Ding–The–Walls–Of–King's–Land–Ing."

"Then what do you suggest?" Daenerys asked, frustration clear in her face.

I shrugged my wings. "Not–An–Al–Eye. Not–My–Place."

"Why would you tell us this then, if you are not an ally?" Varys asked, suspicious.

"Cer–Sei–Wants–Us–Dead. Dae–Ner–Ys–Wants–Us–To–Kneel. We–Want–Nei–Ther–But–One–Is–Worse–Than–The–Oth–Er. Just–Be–Cause–Cer–Sei–Can't–Reach–North–Does–Not–Mean–I–Don't–Know–She's–A–Threat."

"I can't fault that logic, at the very least." Tyrion sighed. "But, answer me this. Hypothetically, were you to have been one of our allies, what would you do to settle this problem of ours?"

I twisted my neck, nearing an unnatural angle, and bore my beady eyes into his own. "Face–Less–Man. A–Ssass–In–Ate."

He actually laughed at that, if nervously. "Not very honorable, wouldn't you think?"

"Hon–Or–Do–Not–Mat–Ter–Right–Now. House–Stark–Has–One–Now–In–Emp–Loy. She–Killed–Off–The–Freys. We–Are–Read–Ie–To–Use–Her–To–Sur–Vive."

"Rickon please tell me that's a joke." Jon pleaded. "An assassin in our home? What would father think? What of your mother?"

"They–Would–Be–Happ–Ie." I groused. "Since–They–Birthed–Her."

Just as Daenerys did just a moment ago, his face too underwent a myriad of change. It settled quickly though as he figured out what I meant. "Arya?"

"And–Bran." I said. "Both–Back. Ny–Meer–Ie–A–Is–Back–Too. Ghost–And–Her–Mate–Ed. Go–Ing–To–Have–More–Dire–Wolves."

"Gods!" Jon barked, laughing and surprised and happy. When was the last time he'd shown such a face, I wondered? "It's everything we could have hoped for. Truly."

"It–Is–Not–Per–Fect. But–Noth–Ing–Is. I–Would–Have–Her–Kill–Cer–Sei."

"Assassins have tried to kill me since the day I was born," Daenerys said sternly. "From as far back as I can recall, I have feared for knives in my belly. All have failed, but many nearly succeeded in their goals. The hired hands of Robert Baratheon and the masters of Slavers Bay and likely others I know not the names of. Much as I detest Cersei Lannister, I would not take the throne in such a manner."

"Then–Take–It–Soon. I–Have–No–Time–Line–But–Ar–I–A–Wants–Cer–Seis–Head. King–Or–No–I–Could–Not–Stop–Her."

This was true. Indeed, should Arya want to kill Cersei and should she make away from Winterfell to do so, I likely would not become aware until it was already too late. Even with the intervention of Bran and his theoretical eyes all around the world, I had a feeling that Arya would not be found until she wanted to be.

As if were, I also knew that while Arya wanted Cersei dead, she also wanted Petyr Baelish dead. And he was a closer target. An easier target. One that, after the correct amount of evidence was gathered, would stabilize my rule and the alliance of the North with the Vale all the better.

Cersei could wait.

But Daenerys didn't need to know that.

Indeed, by the way her lips pursed and her brow knit, her eyes smoldering with contempt, I knew that I had done what I came here to do. Stir the melting pot, shift the dynamic.

"Then I will act now." She announced, standing. "Missandei, gather my riding leathers and bring me my Dothraki leaders. Varys send word to the Unsullied that they are to march east towards King's Landing. Tyrion, alert Olenna of my adjustment of plans."

"Your grace, please, we have a plan, it's the right plan!" The dwarf beseeched. "If we commit to it, the people will rally to us in time."

Daenerys scoffed. "We do not have the time you hoped for. Why would I wait around doing nothing when she is preparing for my dragons right this moment? No, should I take the throne after an assassination from the North is settled, then could it really be my throne? What would my vassals think? My people? No, come the next fortnight King's Landing will be mine and mine alone."

She turned her gaze onto me, harsh and unyielding. "And when I do, I expect you to sail south."