Before entering, they were offered bread and salt again, and ushered into the tent.
There, only four people were waiting for them. Queen Daenerys sat in the center, with Prince Quentyn at her right, and Jon Connington at her left, with Lord Velaryon beside the Stormlander. Not a Valeman to be seen.
...
Not a word was spoken as everyone took their seats once again, and it was Jon who finally broke the heavy silence, with a question he wished to ask ever since he had entered the tent.
"Is my brother well?"
Queen Daenerys looked up at him with fire in her eyes, but a gaze at Prince Quentyn made her reconsider the words that came out of her mouth.
"He is well, thank the gods," Lord Connington instead replied. "His Grace is in good health, but, I am afraid, not well enough to mount a horse. He will not be present here today."
"Please wish him my best wishes for his recovery, then." Jon nodded, breathing a huge sigh of relief.
"Let us get to the terms, if you would, Your Grace," Prince Quentyn immediately cut in, his voice not calm and collected, but impatient and brash, something surprising considering the prince's demeanour during his own meeting with Jon.
"Of course." Queen Daenerys sighed. "We shall start with my offer to the North, if you would, Lord Regent. In exchange for bending the knee, the Starks will be granted the status of a Princely House, with the right to style themselves as anything but 'King' or 'Emperor', as well as special tariffs and a tax exemption for the next winter."
Jon raised an eyebrow. The winter that would come was going to be the longest in history. A tax exemption would be…incredibly generous.
Lord Karstark had also taken note of this, though his expression remained unconvinced.
"The North will be entitled to a share of the gold taken from the Westerlands as war reparations, it will also be granted a seat on the Small Council if it wishes, as well as the promise of an upcoming royal match, if it wishes it as well," Queen Daenerys continued.
"Finally, the New Gift will be given back to the North, and House Targaryen will promise Cersei Lannister's head and any other compensation House Stark may deem necessary from the capital once it is in our hands, as well as a pick of the Iron Islands should they wish so."
"As for the Riverlands," Lord Velaryon continued, "The terms are roughly the same as the ones discussed previously. House Targaryen will recognize Riverrun's claim over Hornvale, the Golden Tooth and Deep Den, but not Silverhill, who is promised to the Crownlands.
House Targaryen will also grant any of the Iron Islands that Lord Tully would deem sufficient compensation, as well as major financial compensation for the burning of your fields and houses, and will recognize the Riverlands as a Kingdom, and not a simple paramountcy. Furthermore, Lord Edmure Tully will be offered the handship."
Queen Daenerys turned to the Old Griffin, who sighed deeply and took off his chain.
"Effective immediately," Lord Velaryon added.
"And what are your conditions for these terms?" Jon asked. "I suppose you are not offering all of these out of the goodness of your heart."
Prince Quentyn took the floor. "You will bend the knee, of course. But you will also join our combined effort on the capital, as proof of this new loyalty. We will face the Tyrells and Lannisters together, and, following this show of force, Their Graces have agreed to lend a substantial force to cross the Neck to face the Others, provided that they are real."
"What's more," Queen Daenerys interjected, "Prince Daeron is to relinquish the Stark name and take his place into House Targaryen."
And that's where it would hurt the most. Jon felt a sting in his heart, and wanted to close his eyes and rage at it all.
"He will be granted the keep of Summerhall and all its lands around it, as dowry for his wedding to Princess Arianne of Dorne." Queen Daenerys eyed Prince Quentyn with a deep, dark, glare.
"As such, Summerhall will fold back into the Crownlands. Prince Daeron will be named heir until a child is born of mine and Aegon's union, and any legitimate children he may have will be pushed ahead of him in the succession. As for his dragon, it is his, but any eggs she may give must be handed back to the Crown."
Jon bit his lip, waiting for the end of it.
"Did I forget anything?" the Queen asked around her.
"I believe that is everything, Your Grace." Prince Quentyn smiled back in his chair.
"Then, you may discuss the terms. These ones are our final terms, and if you do not accept them…" Lord Velaryon left the sentence hanging.
Jon leaned back in his chair and sighed.
Thinking on it, the terms presented were not bad…and generous. But why such a turn now? Why such a change in position? Did Prince Quentyn manage to force her hand to this point? Is their position weakened?
He leaned in towards Lord Karstark to hear his thoughts. "I will follow any action you take, Lord Regent."
That did not help.
Turning to Lord Edmure, he too offered no more solace. "I would be ready to accept this offer, but I would also be ready to decline it if you feel these terms are unreasonable for you."
Jon thought deeply for a moment. He thought of what would come after. Of his life with Arianne, and of the life of the people of the North. Of the Others who were coming, and of his brother Robb.
"Forgive me brother, I must do what I am beholden to. The shield that guards the realm of men will break if I do not do this," he whispered to himself.
Then, straightening up, he nodded.
"Aye, these terms are agreeable to us."
Lord Edmure smiled, and reached for the golden chain, putting it around his neck.
"Then, give your allegiance now, and in perpetuity." Queen Daenerys rose up.
Jon sighed, and thought of Rickon, of Arya and Sansa, Of Robb and Bran, of Luwin and Beth and Jeyne and his father. Of Ygritte, Val, Mance and all the others. Slowly, he bent the knee, Lord Edmure alongside him.
"In the name of…" Jon tried to think of a title befitting a ruler of the North, before something came to him. The Old Tongue word for 'king'. His last insult towards the Southerners. "Jarl Rickon Stark of Winterfell, I pledge the North to their graces Daenerys Targaryen and Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name."
He managed to blabber out a few more words, before almost collapsing besides Lord Edmure. It was done. An oath, binding houses Stark and Targaryen, in perpetuity…well, that last part, he'd doubt that.
Like Arianne said, the North had gotten a taste of freedom once more, and would hardly let it go.
In ten, a hundred or a thousand years…
Lord Karstark, for his side, had chosen to stand tall. He nodded at Jon, who answered in kind.
Jon then settled in a chair, took some ink and a quill and began to write.
"Send a raven to my brother Rickon, informing him of the terms. Tell him that I accept full responsibility for the terms placed upon the North, and that I resign my position of Lord Regent of the North." Jon eyed up the tall Lord of Karhold.
"It will be done…erm, my Prince?" Lord Karstark adventured himself.
"Aye, I suppose," Jon acknowledged. "One more thing. If I am to resign, I would like to recommend a successor to my brother."
"Of course, who did you have in mind?" Lord Karstark asked.
"The only person close enough to my brother and the North to correctly rule it, Lord Karstark." Jon sighed, handing him the scroll of paper. "Please recommend Jarl Rickon to appoint Lady Catelyn Stark as Lady Regent of the North."
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