[King's Landing]

The salt-strewn air whipped through Morgana Baratheon's dark curls as she stood at the prow of the ship, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Behind her, the vast fleet carrying the survivors of the Battle of Winterfell sailed towards King's Landing, their sails billowing like clouds of smoke against the vibrant canvas of the sky. The Northern soldiers, wildlings, Dornish soldiers, Velaryon soldiers, Baratheon loyalists, Daenerys and her advisors, the Unsullied, and Dothraki were aboard, all united in their determination to face whatever lay ahead. Drogon and Rhaegal flew overhead. As the wind rustled through her cloak, Morgana could feel the weight of the world upon her shoulders, the burden of leadership and destiny bearing down upon her with each passing wave.

Her gaze shifted to the figure standing beside her, her husband, Robb Stark. He was a strong and capable leader, but even he could not deny the grim reality of their situation. The Night King and his army of the dead were drawing ever closer, their relentless march toward the living realm an unstoppable tide. Morgana knew that they would have to make a stand soon, and they would have to do it with whatever forces they could muster.

Her thoughts drifted to her mother, Cersei Lannister. Morgana had tried to convince her to send more troops to aid them, but Cersei had refused. Instead, she had resorted to the usual manipulations, trying to guilt Morgana into returning to King's Landing with her children Cersei's grandchildren. Morgana had refused, knowing that her place was at Robb's side, protecting their people. She couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness and anger at the same time. Her mother was her mother, after all.

The thought of her mother brought with it a sense of determination. Morgana had learned long ago that Cersei was not one to be underestimated. She would need to approach her carefully, subtly. And so, as the ship sailed closer to King's Landing, Morgana began to formulate a plan. She would need to convince her mother that the survival of their family, of the realm, depended on their working together. She would need to make Cersei see that the Night King was the greatest threat they had ever faced, and that only by uniting their forces could they hope to stand against him.

As they drew nearer, Morgana steeled herself for the confrontation ahead. She knew that her mother would not easily relent, but she also knew that she had to try. For the sake of her children, for the sake of the living, she had to try.

The fleet docked at the Golden Gate, and Morgana, Robb, and their small escort made their way through the bustling city to the Red Keep. The streets were crowded with people, a sea of humanity that seemed to buzz with life despite the ever-present tension. Morgana could feel eyes upon her as they passed, whispers trailing in their wake. She knew that many had heard of her mother's refusal to aid them, and many more had heard of her defiance. It was a dangerous game she was playing, but she refused to back down.

As they approached the gates of the Red Keep, Morgana took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. She had rehearsed her speech a dozen times over in her mind, honing it until it was as sharp and precise as a sword's edge. She would need to be at her best if she hoped to sway her mother's opinion.

Cersei Lannister, the incumbent queen of the Seven Kingdoms, stood on the battlements. She was flanked by her loyal guards, the Queensguard. They hoped to gain her support in their fight against the Night King, but they were met with skepticism and hostility.

"You've brought this threat to our doorstep," Cersei spat at Jon and Daenerys. "You've intentionally brought the Night King here to claim the Iron Throne for yourselves."

"We didn't choose to bring the Night King here," Jon replied, his voice firm but measured. "He's been threatening the entire realm for years. We're here to stop him, not to claim the throne."

"I don't believe you," Cersei sneered. "You're just like your father, or is it uncle, always playing the hero. But I know the truth. You're here to take the throne for yourselves."

"If the Night King succeeds in his mission of wiping out humanity, nothing we did will matter," Jon told her. "Not our titles, not our lands, not the battles we've fought. None of it."

"That is easy for you to say," Cersei scoffed. "The son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Your parents started the greatest war in the last fifty years. It seems only fitting that their son should follow in their footsteps."

Morgana watched her mother's reaction carefully. She knew Cersei well enough to know that she was not entirely convinced. There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and Morgana seized upon it.

"Mother, you must understand," she began, stepping forward. "The Night King has risen. He is real, and he is coming. He will not be stopped by our petty squabbles over power and land. He will destroy everything we hold dear. Our children, our people, our way of life. We must put aside our differences and fight together, or we will all perish."

Cersei's eyes narrowed, but Morgana pressed on. "You have always been a clever woman, Mother. You know the truth of what I say. The Night King is no ordinary threat. He has survived for thousands of years, and he has never been defeated. He has raised an army of the dead that marches across the land, slaughtering everything in their path. We cannot hope to stand against them without unity. We must unite our forces, and we must lead them together. For the sake of our children, for the sake of the living, we must fight side by side."

The queen's expression softened slightly, and Morgana took it as a sign of hope. "Mother, please," she begged. "Do not let the petty rivalries of the past stand in the way of our survival. We must put aside our differences and focus on what truly matters. The fate of the world hangs in the balance."

Cersei looked out over the sea of people below them, her features softening further. She knew her daughter spoke the truth, and despite her better judgment, she found herself unable to deny the gravity of the situation. "Very well," she said finally, her voice steady. "You have my support. We shall fight alongside you against the Night King and his army."

Morgana let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"You will agree to an armistice," Cersei spat to Jon and Daenerys, her voice dripping with venom. "If you want my help against the dead, you will swear to lay down your arms and stop your rebellion."

"We understand the desperation of your position," Jon replied, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. "But we cannot simply abandon our people to you. They have suffered too much already."

"And they will suffer more if you continue to fight us," Cersei countered. "I will not allow my city to be sacked, my people slaughtered. You leave me no choice."

Morgana glanced at her mother, then at Jon and Daenerys. She knew that Cersei was not bluffing. The queen would not hesitate to destroy everything they had built if it meant saving herself. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say.

"Mother, I understand your concerns," she began carefully. "But you must trust us. We have faced worse odds before. If we can survive the Long Night, we can survive anything. And we will protect your people as if they were our own. Please, reconsider your offer. We can find another way."

Cersei's eyes hardened, but Morgana could see the conflict within her. She knew that her mother was not as cold-hearted as she often pretended to be. There was still a spark of hope in those green eyes, and Morgana was determined to fan it into a flame.

"Mother," she said softly, "you have ruled with an iron fist for so long. But the world is changing. You cannot cling to the past any longer. The old ways of doing things will not work in this new world. We must find a way to work together, to find common ground. If we do not, we will all perish." She took a deep breath, steeling herself against her mother's glare. "You are a clever woman, Mother. A strong woman. You have survived wars and betrayals and heartache. But this time, you must see the bigger picture. This time, you must put aside your pride and your fear and trust us. Trust that we can make a difference."

Cersei's expression was unreadable, but Morgana could see the conflict raging within her. She knew that her mother was not immune to her pleas, that there was still a spark of hope in those green eyes. "Please, Mother," she whispered. "Let us find another way. Together."

For a long moment, there was silence. The crowd around them stirred restlessly, sensing the tension between the women. Finally, Cersei let out a sigh. "Very well," she said, her voice steady. "I will agree to an alliance, on one condition. You will swear to me, here and now, that you will not seek retribution against me or my family for any actions we have taken in the past."

Morgana knew what her mother was asking for was impossible. She had murdered Morgana's father and crown her vicious bastard son in his place.

The same son who ordered the death of Lord Eddard Stark, her husband's father.

Her grandfather, Tywin Lannister, whom had orchestrated the failed Red Wedding, in an attempt to murder her husband and goodmother.

The same Tywin Lannister who was now a corpse, killed by the son he spent his entire life mistreating.

Or her mother blowing up the Great Sept, killing nobles, innocents, and religious figures, not to mention civilians.

To many, the Lannister name only brought pain.

But Morgana knew that Cersei was not just any Lannister. She was her mother. The woman who had given her life, who had raised her, who had taught her everything she knew. And despite all the terrible things Cersei had done, Morgana could not bring herself to hate her. Not completely.

She looked into her mother's eyes and saw the fear and the desperation that drove her. She saw the pain of losing her children and her father, the anguish of watching her world crumble around her.

"I cannot make that promise, Mother," she said softly, her voice steady. "Not now, not ever. The things you have done... they cannot be forgotten or forgiven so easily. But I can promise you this: I will never seek revenge. I will never harm you or our family. I will do everything in my power to protect you, to help you find peace. I will be your daughter, not your enemy."

Cersei's eyes widened in surprise, but she said nothing. Morgana could see the conflict raging within her, the struggle between her love for her daughter and her fear of the world. After a long moment, the queen nodded slowly.

"Very well," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Then it is done. We are allies, you and I. But know this, my dear, dear daughter. If any of your people betray my trust, if they ever harm me or mine, I will have their head on a spike. Do you understand?"

Morgana nodded solemnly. "I understand, Mother. And I will make certain that they know your words as well."

With that, Cersei turned and began her way back to the Red Keep.

[King's Landing - Streets]

In King's Landing, Jon and Daenerys made their way through the winding streets, their eyes scanning the crowds for any sign of danger. They had been allowed into the capital, but they knew that they were being watched, and that any misstep could mean their lives.

Their mission was simple: to convince Lord Petyr Baelish, the cunning and calculating Master of Coin, to grant them the Knights of the Vale for their fight against the Night King. But they knew it would not be an easy task. Littlefinger was a master of manipulation, always keeping his cards close to his chest.

As they approached the sept where Littlefinger was waiting for them, they could feel the eyes of the city upon them. The people of King's Landing whispered and pointed, their gazes filled with a mixture of awe and suspicion. Jon and Daenerys knew that they were outsiders, and that their presence in the city was a threat to the delicate balance of power that Littlefinger had worked so hard to maintain.

"I don't like this, Daenerys," Jon said, his voice low and urgent. "We need the Knights of the Vale if we're going to have any chance of defeating the dead, but I don't trust Littlefinger. He's been awfully quiet since we arrived."

Daenerys nodded, her dragon scales glinting in the sunlight. "I know, but we need him. We can't defeat the dead without his army."

As they walked, they were approached by a figure in a hooded cloak. "My lords," the figure said, bowing low. "I have a message for you from Lord Baelish."

Jon and Daenerys exchanged a wary look, but they knew they had to hear what Littlefinger had to say. "What is it?" Jon asked.

"He will meet with you in his favourite brothel, at midnight," the figure said, and vanished into the crowd before they could ask any questions.

"This feels like a trap," Daenerys said, her voice tight with tension.

"I know," Jon agreed. "But we have no choice. We have to take the risk."

As they approached the seat of Littlefinger's power, they could feel the weight of his watchful gaze upon them. The doors to the brothel were guarded by a pair of burly men-at-arms, who eyed them warily.

"What business do you have with Lord Baelish?" one of them growled.

"We seek an audience with him," Jon replied, his hand still on the hilt of his sword. "We have come to ask for his support in our fight against the Night King."

The guards looked at each other, then back at Jon and Daenerys. "Very well," one of them said. "We will let Lord Baelish know of your arrival. But be warned, he is a busy man and does not suffer fools gladly."

As Jon and Daenerys entered the grand brothel in King's Landing, they were greeted by the sound of laughter and the scent of perfume. The proprietor, a stout man with a bushy beard, bowed low before them.

"Welcome, my lord and lady," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "I trust you have come to enjoy the finest pleasures that our establishment has to offer?"

Jon and Daenerys exchanged a look, their eyes filled with amusement. They had no intention of indulging in the brothel's "pleasures." They had more pressing matters to attend to.

"We are here to see Littlefinger," Jon said, his voice firm. "We have business with him."

The proprietor's smile faltered for a moment before he recovered. "Ah, yes. Lord Baelish is expecting you. This way, please."

He led them through a maze of corridors and doors, until they reached a luxurious suite at the back of the brothel. The door was guarded by two burly men-at-arms, who eyed Jon and Daenerys warily.

"You may enter," one of them growled, as the proprietor bowed and scurried away.

They were led into a dimly lit room, where Littlefinger sat on a throne-like chair, surrounded by his loyal followers. He looked up as they entered, his eyes narrowing as he took in their weapons and armor.

"Ah, the King in the North and the Mother of Dragons," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I had heard you were in the city. What brings you to King's Landing?"

"We have come to ask for your support in our fight against the Night King," Jon said, his voice firm. "With the Knights of the Vale, we can defeat him and save the realm."

Littlefinger leaned forward, his eyes glinting with interest. "And what, precisely, is it that you offer in return for my support?"

"The North will be free to govern itself, as it sees fit," Daenerys said, her voice cold. "And we will ensure that the Vale is protected from any threats that may arise."

Littlefinger leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he considered their request. He was a master of manipulation, and he knew that the Starks and the Targaryens were not his only rivals for power in the realm. Varys, the master of whispers, had his own agenda, and Littlefinger knew that the eunuch would stop at nothing to see his own chosen ruler on the Iron Throne.

Littlefinger sat with his fingers steepled together. "I will consider your offer," he said. "But I must warn you, I am not one to be trifled with. If you betray me, you will suffer the consequences."

Jon and Daenerys exchanged a look, knowing that they had to tread carefully. They had no doubt that Littlefinger would try to turn the situation to his advantage, but they were determined to convince him to support their cause.

"We understand," Jon said, his voice firm. "And we will do everything in our power to ensure that our alliance is a strong and fruitful one."

Littlefinger nodded, his eyes still narrowed. "Very well. I will give you my answer soon. But for now, I must bid you farewell. I have urgent business to attend to."

"I will need some time to consider your offer," he said finally, his voice smooth as silk. "But I must warn you that there are those who would not be pleased to see me supporting your cause. The game of thrones is a dangerous one, and those who play it must be prepared to lose."

As the night wore on, the three of them sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Littlefinger's words hung heavy in the air, a reminder that even in the midst of war and death, the game of power and politics continued to play out. But Jon and Daenerys knew that they had to risk everything to save the realm, and they were willing to do whatever it took to achieve their goal.

"Lord Baelish, we understand that your loyalty lied with the Lannisters, but we are fighting a greater threat than any of us have ever faced," Jon said, his voice low and even. "The Night King's army is at our doorstep, and we need your help to stop them."

Littlefinger leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he considered their request. "I am always willing to help those in need, but I cannot simply give away the Knights of the Vale without some guarantee of my own safety and interests," he said, his voice smooth as silk.

Jon knew that he had to tread carefully, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of anger and betrayal when he thought about the role Littlefinger had played in Jon Arryn's death. He took a deep breath and let his words come out slowly, his voice laced with a hint of threat.

"I understand, Lord Baelish. But I have to wonder, how do you plan to keep your own interests safe when the Night King comes to King's Landing? The Starks and the Targaryens may not be the only powerful houses in the realm, but we will not be easy prey for the dead. And I have to wonder, how much of your wealth and influence was gained at the cost of my family's suffering?"

Littlefinger's eyes narrowed, but Jon could see the faintest glimmer of fear in them. He had struck a nerve, and he knew it. "I...ahem...I have always been a patron of the arts, a benefactor to those in need. My interests are not just financial, but also...personal."

"We know that you had a hand in the death of Jon Arryn," Jon said, his voice steady. "We know that you manipulated the situation to your advantage, and that you have been working to gain control of the Vale. If you were to reveal this information to the Knights of the Vale, they might be more willing to listen to our proposal."

Littlefinger leaned back in his chair, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Ah, I see," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "You think you can use my guilt to manipulate me into helping you. How...cunning. Must be the Targaryen in you."

Jon and Daenerys exchanged a tense glance, unsure of how Littlefinger would react. But they knew that they had no choice. They needed his help, and they were willing to do whatever it took to get it.

"We are willing to do whatever it takes to defeat the Night King," Daenerys said, her voice firm. "If revealing your involvement in Jon Arryn's death will convince the Knights of the Vale to join our cause, then so be it."

Littlefinger leaned forward, his eyes glinting with excitement. "I like the way you think," he said, his voice dripping with sinister intent. "I will do what I can to help you. But, I did warn your uncle not to trust anyone but his own in this city. Unfortunate for us all, he refused to heed my words. Nonetheless, I will grant you the Knights of the Vale, but only if you agree to a...small favour in return."

Jon's grip on his cup tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. "What kind of favour?"

Littlefinger smiled, a sly and cunning look on his face. "Only a small one, I assure you. I simply want you to...persuade your sister to come to a meeting with me. I have a proposal that I think she will find...interesting."

Jon's eyes narrowed, but he knew that he had no choice. He nodded his head, and Littlefinger smiled, satisfied with himself. "Excellent. I will have the Knights of the Vale ready for you within the week. But I must warn you, Lord Snow...do not make the same mistake as your uncle."

Jon's grip on his cup tightened, but he kept his face impassive. He knew that he had just made a dangerous deal, but he was willing to do whatever it took to stop the Night King and save the realm.

As they left the brothel, Jon and Daenerys knew that they had a long and difficult road ahead of them. But, it would all be worth it once they succeeded, and they had to. There was no other option.

Succeed or die.