The great throne room rattled with cold Southern air. Born and raised in King's Landing you'd been south but not this far south. The dragon Queen sat on the empty space where the Iron Throne was supposed to be, rocks carved shaped upwards.

The queen's violet eyes flicked between the two of you. "Tell me." Said Danerys, clad in black as dark as dragonglass. "Tell me why the King in the North and Robert Baratheon's only legitimate child are standing here, asking for my help."

"The dead are coming," Jon said simply.

A murmur swept through the gathered lords and advisers.

Daenerys remained unmoved.

"The dead?" she repeated.

"Not wildlings. Not raiders." Jon stepped forward. "An army. Hundreds of thousands strong. Led by the Night King. There's only one thing that can kill them, and it sits on this rock."