The Island Dragonstone was expansive; it was a craggy, dark island in Blackwater Bay lying under the shadow of a still-active though as of yet non-fatal volcano. Jeyne and her escort had visited multiple townships en route from the northern port. Despite the dreary skies, the smell of sulfur in the air that produced a common, dry cough among the people, occasional hiss of nearby geysers and roaring of dragons in the distance, the mood of the populace was consistently upbeat. It was a stark contrast to the constant tension that had arisen in her own homelands. They spoke to the people in pubs, on farmlands, at fishing quays and at inns. There were a few naysayers but most welcomed the return of Targaryen. And she could see why. In his return, he had already returned prostitution to the island as well as religious freedom, a great relief to those who practiced the Faith of the Seven before King Stannis' desecration of all save for his red god. He had become a boon to the island's economic standing by providing safer and quicker trade routes to and from the island for the Free Cities and elsewhere. She could see that he was well-loved. Some of the people even shared different shades of his purple eyes and fair hair. She was informed later that much of the people in fact had Targaryen descent. Generations of Valyrian had birthed there.

On one of their excursions, she stopped at one of the mines. There was much and more dragonglass. The island was practically rich with it. She was told it came straight from the volcano Dragonmont and was the very foundation of the island itself. Her guardsmen were overexcited at the prospect of this but she calmed them. They would have to be patient. It would be undue to pillage the stuff from the miners without the king's leave. Considering the fervor for him, they wouldn't make it off the island.

The castle Dragonstone was an awesome sight; High arranges of towers and a castle wrought in the shape of dragons. There were many statues among its structures; of said dragons, wyverns, basilisks, giant hounds, griffins and many other legendary, dark creatures of the like. A long bridge of stone extended the island to the fortress with several pillars embedded deep into the sea below. The waves washed so high that she wondered if one could be washed away in an especially strong storm. It was an intimidating sight. Likely more intimidating to lay siege to.

Their horses reared up and neighed when a duo of dragons rose in flight and flapped away in the distance. Jeyne shifted her weight and patted her horse, clicking her tongue at him to calm him down. Her own heart had jumped at the sight of them and she didn't know how she would react if they were to come towards her instead of veer away.

"You're on foot from here on anyways, my lady" one of their sentry escort said. "We'll board these at the stable."

The Captain at the gate came to them from his post with two guards in tow. He wore an open hauberk over his armor yet no weapon. Each of his flanking guardsmen carried long axes and daggers while others nearby carried crossbows. Separated from them yet on standby were two Dothraki warriors in bear skins sharing a laugh over skins of wine.

"Who seeks audience in the court of Dragonstone?" he asked them.

"I am Jeyne Stark of Winterfell" she introduced herself with a nod. She turned to her companions. "This is Lord Davos Seaworth of the Rainwood, Val of the Free Folk, my guardsman Venyon Tice, Asha Greyjoy, and Toregg the Tall. All are sworn to House Stark. We have come to seek audience with King Daeron."

The captain's pale eyes widened. Jeyne worried that he would react to the fact that she openly introduced Val as one of the Free Folk though she would balk at any other introduction.

"Winterfell? Stark, you say? We have been waiting for you. Of course. You must come at once, my lady."

They were led across the bridge and the waves did indeed lick halfway up the pillars on that relatively calm evening. The sentries at the central keep, Stone Drum, raised the portcullis at the captain's word. Jeyne peered up and saw the long banners of Targaryen, a three-headed red dragon on a black backdrop, fluttering in the wind. Curiously, the banners of Blackfyre, a three-headed black dragon on a red backdrop, were fluttering right beside it. Blackfyre? Why would he keep Blackfyre banners on his castle? They may share blood but they're enemies if I recall.

Constrasting the damp, cold air of Dragonstone's land, the keep was warm and bright. Jeyne's party was met by a dusky teenage girl in a windy, cloth-of-gold robe and silk slippers. She wore her dark, bunched hair in a golden bangle for a tie. She was flanked by several warriors of Dothraki, adorned themselves. She was well-protected by them as well as the Unsullied lining the halls all the way to the Great Hall.

"This one is blessed to be named Missandei and honored to greet you, our friends of Winterfell." She gave a modest bow at them. "I am the king's herald and humble servant."

"This one?" Jeyne could hear Asha mutter behind her. "What's this about, now?"

Asha let out a low grunt when Val elbowed her in the side.

"We are pleased to make your acquaintance, Missandei." Jeyne answered. She introduced herself and her party to her as well.

Missandei gave a small smile. "My apologies, but we were expecting Lady Sansa Stark at court. Is she perhaps trailing you by any chance? Has she sent you as an envoy?"

"The Queen is not coming. She has sent me in her stead. I am her Hand so it is just the same."

Missandei's smile faded somewhat. "The … Queen?"

Jeyne nodded. "Yes."

Missandei paused. "Very well, our friends of Winterfell. Come." She and the escort began to lead them.

Jeyne moved to follow but Asha grabbed by her the elbow.

"This was a mistake" she told her. "We should just gather all the dragonglass we can and make for the port. There must be someone we can buy from. Rainwood was a smuggler."

"Perhaps" Davos answered. "This may have been folly."

"It's too late for that" Jeyne told her. "We're here now."

"Is this what Ironborn are made of?" Val taunted, referring to Asha. "Toregg, are you sure you want this one?"

"Quiet, you" Asha said to her. "I'm not keen on being a dragon's meal. Are you?"

"Enough" Jeyne told her. "We must appear a united front."

"She's right" Davos added. "We have kept them waiting enough."

Missandei had indeed been waiting patiently on them but they quickly followed after her. Jeyne had never stepped inside the Red Keep but she imagined it didn't compare to this hall that was over thirty feet high and so many yards long. All along its walls were chiseled depictions of ancient battles on dragonmount and others of strictly artistic value. There were statues of dragons all along the walls and more banners of Targaryen and occasionally Blackfyre. When they came to the wide open room of the courtroom, guarded by three pairs of Unsullied, Dothraki and Andal guardsmen in helm and armor, Missandei came to a halt.

"I must ask that you relinquish all weapons before approaching the king" Missandei said to them. "They will be returned to you at a later time."

"Absurd." Asha said. "We come to you with peace and you treat us like assassins."

Jeyne turned on her. "Enough, Asha. You know you'd do the same."

Jeyne pulled out her dragonglass dagger, steel dagger, a dirk from an ankle hilt as well as a short sword from the swordbelt under her coat. The others turned over their weapons as well to the Dothraki and soldiers that gathered around them. Asha reluctantly handed over her daggers, carving knife and a short ax. Missandei then escorted them inside.

The grand court had many pyres of fire lighting its hall as well as high chandeliers of glass candles suspended in the air to light the otherwise dark stone in radiance. There were over a hundred in attendance but the massive hall more than accommodated their numbers. There were adorned ladies and noblemen from the various crownlands areas as well as from across the narrow sea. There were singers with harps and lutes in hands. There were Dothraki men and women; Summer Islanders in their rainbow-colored robes and ebon skin; crones dressed in sparkling dresses of emerald green. Some smallfolk and miners from the Dragonstone lands waited in a crowd for their turn to glimpse their king. Like any court, it seemed the closer one looked to the throne the easier it was to tell who was of the king's true inner circle and who was not.

Close at hand were three Dothraki warriors whom looked more fearsome than most of the rest. One of them was much taller, broader and decidedly more handsome than the other two with an oiled braid so long he tied it over one shoulder and had the trappings of many bells that rung with the slightest movement. There was a silver-haired Valyrian with all the flourish of a pirate lord; he wore a feathered hat, silver-spurred boots, frills on the shirt under his cloth-of-gold vest and was adorned with many medallions and trinkets. He wore a close-cropped silver beard though he otherwise had the look of a young man. There was an old, helmless knight in shiny silver armor at the foot of the throne with long, silver hair that ran to his lower back and a beard half as long. Tall and resplendent, Jeyne thought he would make an ideal knight if he were only half his age. Near him was a handsome woman in a sashed green dress and sleeves with fair, greying hair that tied in a single braid that ran to her mid-back. There was a young, voluptuous woman of similar skin tone to Missandei with multiple knots in her dark, black hair. There was an Unsullied in full bronze armor with a spear in hand and a hilted broadsword at his side. He wore a half-helm with three vertical spikes running along its center. There was a tall, broad man with long, black hair with streaks of silver throughout. He wore plated, chainmail armor with a surcoat and cloak that bore the golden kraken of House Greyjoy. He wore a long ax slung on his back as well. His left arm was uncovered from the wrist down in a black coat of something like coal only it smoked whenever he moved it and constantly cracked only to seemingly reform itself.

"That's my uncle, Victarion" Asha whispered to Jeyne. "He went against me in the Kingsmoot. What is he doing here? And what happened to him?"

Beside her uncle Victarion was a red priest dressed in red and black robes with designs of flames on them. His skin was darker than the Summer Islanders and there were flame tattoos of red and orange on his face; he had long white hair and a beard that resembled the mane of white lion. Then there was a plump man in a sashed purple robe. He had a bald head that very much resembled an egg, a powdered face and blushed cheeks. King Daeron's court was a bizzare and assorted one to say the least.

His throne was not a traditional but she supposed neither was the Iron Thone itself. His throne was high and stony in the shape of a dragon's claw, seated on a rough, massive slab of obsidian itself. The man also on the slab, at the king's side was somebody she recognized. The miniature man was Tyrion Lannister and he wore a dark tunic and matching pants with cloak. He was scarred in the face and missing half his nose but she recognized him otherwise. He seemed to be wearing a King's Hand badge on his lapel that was similar to her own.

The king himself was seated on the throne. He was as described; tall, lean but broad in the arms, shoulders and back like a warrior, had long braided hair of Valyrian silver-gold hair and light, purple eyes that seemed to shimmer brightly in the lit room. He wore a black surcoat and matching pants with a red cape and sash woven diagonally over his front baring his coat of arms. He wore a crown of Valyrian steel that bore the likenesses of three dragon heads on the front and carried embedded rubies on the band all the way around. It fit snuggly around the top of his scalp at the tip of his forehead.

His current audience was with lords swearing their allegiance before him. It was a renewal of old ties.

"My lords of Velaryon and Celtigar" Tyrion spoke to them. His voice boomed and echoed off the walls of the hall like a theater. He was just as loud as Jeyne remembered. "You say you have come to swear your allegiance before King Daeron. Are you prepared to fight a war in his name and to support his rightful claim to the Iron Throne and dominion over the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men?"

Jeyne didn't appreciate the 'First Men' part. There were two groups of men kneeled before the King and his court. Some of them wore capes of white with crimson crabs strewn across them; the others wore sea green capes with silver seahorses displayed across them. She knew the Celtigars to be the crabs and the Velaryons seahorses but she hadn't kept up with who had lordship over either anymore and she didn't have the vantage point to see who they were.

"Yes, my lord" came a weathered voice of an elderly-sounding man from one of the Celtigars. "I pledge the swords, banners and ships of Claw Isle to King Daeron's glorious cause. I have waited long for you, your grace. We are both of old Valyrian blood. I will serve you loyally until my death!"

"My lord" said a boyish voice from among the Velaryons. "There is Targaryen blood in every Velaryon. Just as there is Velaryon blood in every Targaryen. Your grace, we are one and the same. We are ever faithful to you. All that you ask of us is yours."

Daeron and Tyrion exchanged a look. The pirate lord Valyrian at their feet turned and kneeled towards the throne.

"Your Grace. My king. May I have your leave to speak against these fairweather fools?"

The men at arms of both houses began to curse at the pirate lord. Somebody called him a bastard.

"Quiet, my lords!" called down Tyrion. "Lord Waters, speak your piece."

"Yes, my lord Tyrion, I thank you" Lord Waters went on and dipped his head. He removed his feathered hat, revealing a head of shining, wavy, silver-gold hair. He turned and addressed the court at large. "My lords and ladies, may I remind you that I supported King Daeron years ago when his grace was in dire straits in Mereen? I have been at King Daeron's side offering sound counsel and ships. I championed his cause when most believed him deceased. Velaryon and Celtigar were avid supporters of the Usurper Stannis Baratheon and would still be so today if the pretender hadn't suffered a crushing defeat at Winterfell!"

This caused uproar in the court until Tyrion called order in the room. The three-spiked Unsullied began smashing the blunt end of his spear on the stone floor, causing it to ring out and silence the arguing.

Celtigar spoke out. "Your grace. Your Lord Waters is the bastard uncle to Monterys Velaryon. It's plain that he means to gain off of Velaryon's fall! He was Cersei Lannister's paramour!"

"Complete and utter lies!" shouted Lord Waters. "I am the only one of you truly loyal to King Daeron! All you have are words! I've proven it!"

"My Lords!" Tyrion shouted over them. "This is not a trial! You have nothing to defend!"

"Indeed" Daeron said, low but firm. He placed his hands on his throne and pushed himself to his feet. All went silent in the room. "Celtigar, Velaryon. You may all rise."

Slowly, they all did so. They were tense but in awe.

"You have sworn your loyalty to me." He addressed them. "And for that I am grateful. Words do mean much but actions are worth so much more. We are indeed of one blood. So I am prepared to offer the king's peace under certain terms. Come speak to me before the night's done and we will discuss it in private. Peace be unto to you, my lords Celtigar and Velaryon."

Lord Waters took his place again near the slab and the Velaryon and Celtigar parties moved towards the walls of the room after addressing the king in parting.

Daeron looked out towards the back where Missandei stood with Jeyne's party.

"Little one, Missandei" he called out with a radiant smile. "Who have you brought before me now?"

Missandei turned back to Jeyne. "Come with me now and kneel before the throne."

She brought them through the thicket on their way to the throne. Some of the royal guard called for people to make way for the herald.

When they came before the throne and the throne's inner circle they all went to one knee.

Missandei called out, "Before the Throne of the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Andals, the Rhoynar and The First Men, The Stormborn, The Breaker of Chains, the Father of Dragons, The Unburnt, and The Prince That Was Promised I present Lady Jeyne Stark of Winterfell and her companions: Lord Davos Seaworth of the Rainwood, Lady Val of the Free Folk, Lady Asha Greyjoy, Ser Venyon Tice and Ser Toregg the Tall!"

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room; Jeyne could hear some coughs amongst the rabble. With an exhaled breath, Daeron turned back and returned to his throne. Jeyne almost raised her head to look but knew that would have likely raised his scorn.

Seated, he called out, "You may rise."

The group did so. He looked them over for a moment or two more, notably Jeyne.

"You are not Sansa Stark" he noted.

"No, your Grace, I am not" she agreed.

"So, who are you supposed to be?" he asked.

"If I may, your Grace" Tyrion broke in. "I made her acquaintance on the Wall. I know her. She's Jeyne Snow. Lord Eddard Stark's natural-born daughter."

Daeron looked to Jeyne. "Natural-born? Why do you call yourself Stark?"

"Your Grace, I was legitimized."

"By whom? The False Queen Lannister?"

"No, your Grace." She swallowed. "By Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North."

There was a lot of murmuring in the court at that and even Tyrion closed his eyes and reclined his head. Jeyne saw anger flash across Daeron's eyes before he craned his neck and flexed his hands, calming himself.

"More pretenders" he said. "Miss Snow, what is the meaning of this? You have come far from the North. I understand that must have been a tiring journey. However, I expected to treat with Lady Sansa and I am sent you instead. More than that, you tell me that you have crowned yourselves in the North. If I might digress, Miss Snow. I must tell you; I am an avid reader. History is a favorite topic of mine. See, I remember a tale that took place during the Conquest of my ancestor Aegon the First. There was a King in the North. King Torrhen Stark, yes? He rebelled. At first. He had an army of thirty thousand men at his back. Aegon the Conqueror met him with an army of forty-five thousand and three dragons. Torrhen Stark bent the knee to House Targaryen. Do you deny it?"

"I do not, your Grace."

"So, by rights, the North is mine."

"If your Grace will forgive me, you lost those rights when your House was defeated in Robert's Rebellion."

There was more murmuring in the court.

Daeron was undeterred. "A conquest on false pretenses, miss Snow. Unlawful. Open rebellion. Treason."

"Again, your grace. Is it any different from Aegon the Conqueror burning armies and castles to make his own crown?"

Daeron was seemingly stunned to silence and leaned back in his seat while Tyrion bent in to whisper in his ear.

Victorian unfurled his long ax and spoke to Jeyne. "You wench! You are speaking to the Prince Who Was Promised! Your Grace! Give me your leave and I will strike off her head!"

"Settle yourself, Victarion!" Tyrion called down. "You are not the king's justice."

"You're right!" Victarion said with a snicker. "Better to see her burn!"

"You couldn't do either, nuncle!" Asha jeered at him. "That hand looks ripe to fall off!"

"I'll use it to rip out your whore tongue!" he shot back.

"A follower again, uncle?" she laughed. "You never did have the stuff to be king!"

"You bitch!"

Daeron smacked the edge of his seat with the flat of his palm. "Enough of this. Miss Snow, why did you come? To throw this all in my face? To provoke me? What if I were to ride for the North right now and take my lands by force? What would you say then?"

"Your Grace, I did not come to make enemies. I come to you as Hand of the Queen, as good as the Queen herself. I've come to make peace. I plead with you. The Others. The White Walkers have returned from the Land of Always Winter. They are at The Wall."

Tyrion addressed her then. "Jeyne, do you truly expect us to believe that? The Others? That tale was told to me to keep me from prowling the kitchens at night when I was a child."

"And what would you know of it, little man?" Val was the one who spoke to him then. "You've never even stepped a foot beyond the Wall. What would you know what dwells there?"

"And who are you?"

"Val of the Free Folk."

"Free Folk? Don't you mean wildlings?"

"Call us what you will."

Tyrion turned to Jeyne then. "Jeyne, what have you done?"

"Many things, my lord. Some things I am not proud of. One of the things I was proud of was letting them through the Wall."

"That was you?" somebody murmured aloud.

"Yes, it was me!" she proclaimed.

"Here we go" muttered Asha.

"Yes, I allowed the Free Folk through the Wall!" Jeyne went on. "It was my command! I arranged it! I carried it out! Because they are not the true enemy! True darkness is coming! Your Grace, I have encountered and survived them before! They are beyond mortal men! And they mean to kill us all. Everybody they kill become wights who kill and make more wights. The cycle will never end until they have us all. They will start with the North and then they will march south until all is dead and theirs. You cannot kill them with conventional weapons. They have weaknesses. The dragonglass can kill them. We need your dragonglass."

"I think we've heard enough, Miss Snow" Daeron said. "I think its best that you return North before you anger me."

"Jeyne Stark!" she shouted, having enough of that name and on the verge of tears to prove it. "My name is Jeyne Stark … your Grace!"

Daeron waved it off, seemingly done with the whole thing. "As you wish."

However, the whole time they had been conversing, the red priest had been whispering in Victarion's ear. In turn, the two of them climbed the steps of the slab and began speaking in hushed tones to their king.

Jeyne and the others were left to stand there.

"What is happening?" asked Val.

"I don't know" answered Davos. "But I don't like it much. That man is a red priest. Like Melisandre."

They moved away and Daeron spoke to the group again.

"You have troubled my court and displeased me. Still, I mean to resolve this issue with my Northern borders amicably. You will do me the honor of resting in the Keep for the time being. Missandei and Jhiqui will find suitable chambers for you. We will speak again in the near future. Missandei, I am dismissing court."

Missandei cried out. "All Kneel for the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, The Stormborn, The Breaker of Chains, The Father of Dragons, The Unburnt and The Prince That Was Promised!"

Jeyne was stunned but managed to recover and kneel with all of the others. Daeron rose from his throne and stepped down from that and then the steps of the slab until he was on the stone floor like all the others.

"All rise!" she called out again.

He walked to the procession with his cape trailing behind him but stopped near Jeyne. It was then that she realized how handsome and youthful he was despite his size and allure. She realized that she had to be older than him.

"Am I your prisoner, your Grace?" she asked with a dip of her head.

"Not as of yet" he said to her with a smile. "We will speak again, Miss Snow. You'd do well to have something better to say to me next time."

He left them while his inner circle from around his throne followed him through the crowd, save for Tyrion whom stood on the slab.

Victarion cut his eyes and drew a line across his throat in Asha's direction as he passed.

Asha's crept closer to Jeyne and whispered, "What did you just do?"

"Nothing too bad, I hope."

Missandei and the voluptuous, dusky girl named Jhiqui approached the group.

"Jeyne Snow, if you'll come with this one" Missandei said, "I'll show you to your rooms."

"Jeyne!" Tyrion called down to her, drawing her attention. "Come find me at the kitchens in the Great Hall when you've been lodged. We should speak as well."