The introductions were tedious, but necessary. Thank the gods for Tyrion, else Daemon might have changed his mind about the entire thing and gone off scouting on his own out of sheer boredom. But the smallest Lannister was diplomat enough to smooth over his king's rough edges, as well as make an uneasy peace between the three current monarchs.

Although the look shared between the Targaryen "Queen" and the Storm King bespoke anything of good intent once the army of the dead was vanquished. But, as his Hand pointed out, "Once it's all over, the Night King might just walk over our corpses and continue on his way." Leaving them all fodder for his unholy army, which was a gruesome thought, that.

But Daemon did have to take grim satisfaction at the confusion of the Queen's own Dothraki, seeing this "Storm King" ride into Winterfell on a Khal's stallion, wearing Dothraki braids and leathers, with his own personal Dothraki bodyguards at his back. Warmed his black heart, it did. Even more so when he turned to address his Essos friends in their own tongue; the look on the Targaryen's face clearly stated she hadn't been expecting that.

"You speak Dothraki," she said to him, boldly stepping up while the others conversed.

Daemon glanced over his shoulder, then turned to Danerys with a simple nod. "I do."

"How?"

His eyes narrowed at the abruptness of her question, and his first reaction was to ignore her imperious demand completely, but thankfully a smidgen of good grace overruled his gut instinct and he answered, though offhandedly, as if it was of no import at all, "The same way that you did. Being immersed in their culture for several years and having little choice."