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@the-true-queen-in-the-north
No amount of preparation from Missandei could have given her would have kept the sheer surprise from flickering across her features when the Wildling leader entered the tent. There had been rumors around Essos, of a great clan of Wildings, but until this moment, Daenerys had never laid eyes upon one. In a way, he reminded her of Drogo. He was tall, dark-haired, and broad shouldered with a touch of wildness about him.
Her Unsullied guards watched him suspiciously as he entered the tent, but made no motion against the man. Drogon nudged her hand and she lifted it to pet him, though he did not seem concerned by their guest at all. Odd. If Drogon found no hint of threat, than she need not be concerned. If Grey Worm was correct, he lead 50,000 Wildling mercenaries and had a fleet of ships. Ships that could take her armies to Westeros. All this with only one, small condition, of course.
“Greetings, Rollo Lothbrok,” Daenerys offered, rising from the small bench she sat upon. Her light, white dress swirling about her ankles as she stepped down and, with a small gesture of her hand, dismissed her guards. “Your arrival is timely. Tomorrow the slave Masters are sending their champion to meet mine. Tell me, if I accept your condition, what do you gain from this alliance?”