Chapter 502

Lying flat in the cold snow, even Rhaegal couldn’t understand why he had suddenly performed such an unprecedented act of submission. Ever since receiving the gift of the Red God, Aegor no longer needed gloves, earmuffs, or other items to keep warm. As a result, when his bare hand touched the scales on Rhaegal’s face, the “true dragon’s aura” transmitted directly through the bioelectricity on his skin. The effect was dozens, if not hundreds, of times stronger than the usual radiated presence.

The sudden surge in overwhelming pressure made the green dragon instinctively believe it had angered its superior. Before it could even react, its muscles responded on their own, and its massive body collapsed fully into the snow.

Aegor was stunned. A mere touch from him had such a profound effect on a dragon?

He no longer dared to think of R’hllor as stingy. The seemingly unremarkable scale gifted to him had consistently brought incredible surprises. He was certain that even Daenerys Targaryen, with her true dragon bloodline, had never elicited such fear and submission from any of her three dragons. This wasn’t the behavior of a magical creature paired with a dragonrider—it was more akin to a dog chastised by its master.

Melisandre, too, was taken aback as she reevaluated the man beside her. Even with her unwavering belief in Aegor as the chosen of the Lord of Light, she hadn’t expected him to subdue such a formidable beast so easily. From the accounts she’d heard of Daenerys, even the "Mother" herself hadn’t tamed her dragons with this level of ease.

“It fears you,” the Red Woman declared, boldly reaching out to touch the dragon’s head again. With Aegor’s dominance now established, Rhaegal didn’t even growl in response. “I’d wager you could ride it without any trouble.”

“I agree, but... should I?” Aegor’s response was phrased as a question, but his mind was already made up.

Daenerys might be ten years younger than him, but she was no naive child. She was a ruler, and he was her subject. Letting his guard down because of her favor would only lead to a tragic end. Aegor constantly reminded himself of the dangers of serving a monarch: presuming upon her goodwill to the extent of riding her dragon without permission would be like marrying someone’s daughter without first meeting the father. If Daenerys was pleased by their shared connection and accepted Rhaegal as his mount, that would be ideal. But if she didn’t? If it stirred her suspicions or awakened the madness in her Targaryen bloodline, it could ruin everything he had worked to build—or worse.

Beyond the political implications, there was a more immediate concern: Aegor didn’t know how to ride a dragon.

From Rhaegal’s submissive posture, climbing onto its back wouldn’t be a problem. But then what? How would he command it to take off, to turn, or to fly to a specific location? How could he ensure it wouldn’t throw him off during a dive or a roll? This wasn’t How to Train Your Dragon. In the real world, every small oversight could lead to disaster. R’hllor wouldn’t suddenly wake from his slumber to catch his plummeting chosen one. Even Daenerys, who had raised Drogon herself and mastered dragonriding, had strapped herself in with a harness.

Ride or don’t ride—that was the question. Fortunately, the decision was taken out of his hands. While Aegor was still deliberating, a small group of riders approached from the direction of Last Hearth. If only his own men were present, he might have risked indulging in the thrill of riding a dragon. But in front of Unsullied witnesses, his caution would never allow such a reckless move.

“Alright, you big child, stop lying in the snow. Go back,” Aegor said, patting Rhaegal’s massive head with the tone one might use for a pet. But to the green dragon, his broad hand was barely a tickle, and his words were meaningless. Rhaegal blinked, confused, and made no move to leave.

“Valyrian might work better,” Melisandre suggested. She then demonstrated in Daenerys’s native tongue: “It’s alright. Go.”

Aegor mimicked her words in Valyrian, removing his hand from Rhaegal’s head. The dragon slowly lifted its head, hesitated for a moment as it studied Aegor, and then, after seeing him wave a dismissive hand, finally understood. Shaking off the mud and melted snow clinging to its scales, it spread its wings and took to the sky with a powerful gust of wind.

On the ground, the spot where Rhaegal had lain was now a steaming, elongated pool of water, rapidly cooling and freezing in the frigid air. Meanwhile, the group of riders had closed the remaining distance and was now just a few steps away.

To no one’s surprise, the newcomers were not all Unsullied. About half of them were officers assigned to guard the Queen, led by Warner Buckwell, a trusted subordinate known for his ruthlessness and efficiency.

“Lord Aegor!” Warner called, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the massive green dragon lying in the snow moments earlier. He dismounted and approached the commander, clearly noticing that Aegor looked even more imposing than the last time they’d met. “The Queen’s dragon suddenly left its roost without warning. We were ordered to investigate. What just happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Aegor replied vaguely, shaking his head. “Perhaps it has something to do with the Lord of Light choosing me as his champion. I was on my way to explain this to the Queen in person. Forget about the dragon. Let’s proceed to the castle.”

The Unsullied officer accompanying Warner nodded silently. Though he understood enough Common Tongue to follow the conversation, he wasn’t fluent enough to interject. With the dragon now flying back toward Last Hearth, he simply acknowledged Aegor’s authority and refrained from further questions.

Aegor summoned Casey, who had been holding their horses in stunned silence, and ordered the remaining soldiers to regroup and follow. He intended to continue as planned and meet Daenerys at Last Hearth. But just as his men began organizing themselves, a voice called out.

“My lord, wait!”

Aegor halted and turned to see Lyon approaching, holding a large raven. The man pushed through the ranks, presenting a message. “While you were... dealing with the dragon, we received urgent news from ahead. Scouts report seeing a group of riders on the Kingsroad. Most likely Northern patrols. Our movements may already have been detected.”

Aegor’s heart sank.

He had never expected to reach Winterfell undetected. It was only natural for Robb Stark to patrol the north after losing Last Hearth to Daenerys. But he hadn’t anticipated the patrols being bold enough to extend their watch so close to the castle.

The situation was worse than expected, but it wasn’t catastrophic. Even if word reached Winterfell, it would take time for the North to recall its forces. Aegor still had the advantage of speed and secrecy. If his army could reach Winterfell within four days—perhaps even three and a half—the first phase of the campaign could still succeed.

“Warner,” Aegor said decisively, “the situation has changed. I must return to the main force immediately. I cannot afford to meet the Queen in person. How soon can her black dragon fly again?”

“Its wings have nearly healed—likely within a day or two,” Warner replied, frowning. “But my lord, you’re already here. Surely half a day won’t make or break the campaign?”

“My decision is final,” Aegor interrupted. Warner was competent but still bound by medieval thinking. Aegor’s grasp of strategy demanded urgency. “Apologize to the Queen on my behalf. Tell her I will await her arrival at Winterfell.”

Without further explanation, Aegor turned his horse and prepared to leave. Time was running out. The North knew they were coming, and the race against the clock had begun.