Chapter Six
Queens and Fire
Word of her reached Dragonstone faster than she expected.
Dragons traveled quicker than rumor.
When Daenerys Targaryen arrived at Winterfell, the sky darkened with wings. Shadows roamed the battlements before the queen herself appeared, wings folded, smoke curling faintly from nostrils. Even the snow seemed to hesitate, as if anticipating what the dragons might bring.
The courtyard filled with Unsullied in perfect formation, their armor gleaming coldly in winter light. Northern lords shifted uneasily, hands brushing the hilts of swords, bristling at the foreign precision that had marched straight into their home.
Elara stood beside Jon, outwardly calm. Her boots sank lightly into snow, breath pluming faintly in the air. Inside, though, her inventory trembled faintly, edges shimmering — as if aware that something ancient, immense, and fiery had entered range.
Daenerys dismounted with regal precision, silver hair catching the winter sun, cascading like liquid light. Her violet eyes scanned the courtyard, assessing, weighing, measuring. Then her gaze landed on Elara.
"I hear," the queen said, her voice cool and deliberate, "you can make crops grow in snow."
Elara inclined her head, meeting that gaze steadily.
"I hear you command dragons," she replied, voice calm, unshaken.
A flicker of amusement passed across Daenerys' face — thin, sharp, dangerous.
"You will show me," she said. Not a request. A command dressed as curiosity.
That afternoon, beneath watchful eyes, Elara knelt in the courtyard once more. Snow drifted lazily around her. Northern lords and southern soldiers alike stood silent, the air taut with expectation, each assessing the other.
She pressed her hand into the frozen earth, and released warmth.
Green spread outward like ink across parchment. Tiny shoots pushed through the snow, then grew in deliberate rhythm — wheat rippling beneath falling snowflakes, fragile and defiant.
Gasps rose from the gathered crowd. Some awe, some fear. One dragon shifted above, wings stretching with a faint beat, eyes reflecting the verdant glow below.
Daenerys stepped closer, her violet gaze unreadable, calculating.
"You would be useful," she said. The words hovered between admiration and ownership.
Elara met her gaze steadily, refusing the weight of implied claim.
"I prefer to be helpful," she said.
A pause lingered, sharp as ice. Queens did not like independence. Not here, not anywhere she had ever known.
Jon stepped subtly closer — not guarding, not claiming, simply present. A silent tether of assurance. The gesture did not go unnoticed. Nor did the way Elara did not step away.
Something fragile, something political, shifted in that courtyard under dragon wings and falling snow. All three of them felt it — a subtle recalibration of power and intent.
That night, Jon found her alone along the battlements. Snow drifted in pale curtains around them. Ghost padded silently at their feet.
"You defied her," he said quietly, voice carrying a hint of warning.
"I declined ownership," she replied.
He exhaled slowly. "She's not used to that."
"Neither am I," she said, meeting his eyes.
"If she demands you go south?" he asked, voice low.
Elara looked out across the endless white beyond the walls. Her inventory pulsed faintly at the corner of her vision. The Return Scepter hummed softly — a reminder that escape, safety, a world without bloodshed, waited at her fingertips.
She turned back to him. "I won't go anywhere I'm commanded," she said, tone firm.
The wind caught his dark curls, tugging them into sharp angles. "And if I asked?"
Her heart stuttered.
"That would be different."
He stepped closer, winter wind pressing against them both.
"Why?"
Because you don't see me as a tool. You don't see me as a weapon. You see choice.
"Because you'd give me one," she answered softly.
For the first time, he smiled fully. Warmth and mischief threading through his usual restraint. It changed his whole face.
And somewhere deep inside her, beneath caution and control, beneath the weight of power and survival, something irreversible began to grow.
Something more than magic. More than wheat in snow.
Something like trust.
Something like belonging.