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When the flames die, Daenerys sees a girl in the ashes. Jorah, sword raised, steps toward her.
“What’s your name?”
“Sa-Sansa.”
“Some say red hair means kissed by fire.” Jorah says, thoughtfully.
“It is known.” Irri adds.
“Kissed by fire.” Daenerys muses. “And, immune to fire. Fit for a dragon, it would seem.”
“What is your house, child.” Ser Barristen asks gently.
“Stark.” Sansa’s voice grows stronger “I am the Queen in the North.”
“Queen?”
“My brother Robb succeeded from the Seven Kingdoms. You can kill me, but I will not bend my knee. I have seen my family slain for honour and I will die the same way.”
Jorah moves forward again, hand on his blade.
“Stop.” Daenerys cries. “I will not have young blood spilled for the crimes of their families. I am not like the usurper.”
“But, my queen…” Jorah starts.
“A wise decision.” Ser Barristen praises. “The weak kill the fragile to assert their claim. The strong show mercy to earn respect. House Stark, though loyal to the usurper, has always been a house of honour.”
“Dear one.” Daenerys extends a hand to Sansa. “I will not hurt you. If you are the Queen of the North and I am the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I would rather see our causes wedded against the true enemies who question my claim to the Iron Throne or yours to the North.”
“On one condition.” Sansa replies, suddenly brave.
“Which is?”
“We make the Lannisters pay.”
“Gladly.”