Chapter 577

By the banks of the Green Fork, beside a simple windbreak tent set up near a forest of swords, spears, and banners, Aegor stood with his hands behind his back, gazing calmly at the looming walls of the Twin Rivers Castle in the near distance. The stronghold, rising high in the open plains, stood as an imposing sentinel over the frozen river crossing.

The queen had flown south on dragonback, and Bolton had already led three thousand men down the Kingsroad. For the first time, Aegor now held sole command over the remaining seven thousand Gifted Lands and Northern troops, finally free to act without the constant burden of arranging Daenerys’ every meal, movement, and accommodation—or the exhausting task of carefully managing her pride.

Like Robb Stark in the original timeline, Aegor had come to the Green Fork seeking a shortcut into the Riverlands to hasten his march toward Riverrun. And just as Robb had before him, he now found himself blocked at the crossings of House Frey—the family infamous for charging tolls and being "fashionably late" in all things.

Though, strictly speaking, he was not forced to negotiate. The harsh Northern winter had frozen the Green Fork solid, turning its once-raging currents into an unyielding sheet of ice. If all he wanted was to cross, he could simply bypass the Twins entirely and continue on his way.

But that wasn’t Aegor’s style. Nor did it align with the grand strategy he had set in motion.

In this campaign, as part of laying the foundation for Daenerys’ new order and breaking the wheel of history, Aegor had already decided that at least a third of the noble houses within the proposed "Royal Domain" would be purged—some destroyed outright, others exiled or stripped of their lands. This would both strengthen Daenerys' central authority and carve out enough spoils for the loyal military elites who had followed him so far.

The question, then, was which nobles should be eradicated or driven out?

Even at his most arrogant, Aegor would not simply pick names from a roster and execute them at will. No, his method was far more deliberate: he would force every lord to take a clear stand—no ambiguity, no fence-sitting.

Those who supported Daenerys must publicly declare their allegiance, provide grain and arms, or send troops to fight under her banner. Those who refused, hesitated, or attempted to feign neutrality would be marked as obstacles to be removed.

And the Twins, a fortress grown rich from tolls, commanded by a lord infamous for his indecision, was the perfect testing ground.

After today, House Frey would either set an example as the first noble house to openly swear allegiance to the queen—or they would serve as a warning, erased from history altogether.
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Hurried footsteps approached. Myrcella came running, a steaming kettle in hand, panting slightly as she reached a small wooden table near the tent. She poured a cup of hot water and carefully held it out to him.

Aegor wasn’t thirsty, but since he had asked for water, he had no choice but to drink. He took the cup and nodded his thanks.

Yes, the little princess had ultimately passed the test.

Under the guise of converting to R’hllor, she had joined the Gifted Lands army and left Winterfell alongside the Red Priestess. Officially, she was an "acolyte under Melisandre's tutelage." In practice, however, Myrcella clearly preferred playing the role of Aegor’s assistant.

Wherever the army camped, she was never far behind. If she wasn’t shadowing Aegor, eagerly awaiting orders, she was busy ingratiating herself with his guards and officers—familiarizing herself with their names, habits, and personalities. She was like a restless little top, constantly spinning, desperately seeking something to do.

It was as if she feared that without a role, she would become useless—and be cast aside.

Aegor understood her anxiety. It softened him. Whenever possible, he assigned her small, simple tasks to keep her occupied and offer her a sense of purpose. But Myrcella was sharp and efficient—too much so. No matter what he assigned her, she completed it in record time, only to come running back, eager for more.

It was both amusing and exhausting.

As Aegor took a sip from his cup, Myrcella followed his gaze toward the distant Twin Rivers Castle, a hint of concern in her voice.

"Lord Aegor, Robb’s been in there for a long time now. Do you think… could they be holding him hostage?"

Aegor chuckled, shaking his head.

"Marquis Frey is too shrewd for such a foolish move. He knows perfectly well who commands this army. Taking a Stark hostage would be useless to him—it would only give me justification to storm the castle by force. Robb is his most favored son-in-law, and after all these years, a little extra catching up is only natural."

"What terms did you offer Lord Frey? You seem so certain he'll agree."

"The first condition is simple: he retains everything—his lands, his castle, his toll rights. No changes to his existing wealth or privileges."

That much was not worth keeping secret. Aegor handed the empty cup back to Myrcella before continuing.

"And the second condition… he will no longer be subordinate to House Tully."

"No longer under House Tully?" Myrcella furrowed her brow. "You mean… to make House Frey the new rulers of the Riverlands?"

Now she was genuinely intrigued.

"That would require immense merit to convince the other lords… Has Her Grace really approved this?"

"Of course," Aegor replied with an easy smile. "Do you think I’d offer it otherwise?"

The world is changing, little princess.

Aegor resisted the urge to gloat, keeping the full truth to himself.

The promise he had offered to Lord Frey was, at its core, nothing more than a clever manipulation of language.

Neither Roose Bolton nor Myrcella—clever as they were—could even imagine that Daenerys’ ambitions extended beyond reclaiming the Iron Throne. That she intended to expand the Royal Domain, abolishing the feudal hierarchy altogether.

Frey would indeed no longer serve under House Tully. But Aegor had deliberately omitted the full truth: under Daenerys' "Royal Domain" plan—an idea she not only accepted but enthusiastically embraced—House Frey, like all Riverlords, would become direct vassals of the Crown. They would be stripped of their noble autonomy, their land absorbed into the new Targaryen heartlands.

The truth would only be revealed after Daenerys had crushed all resistance and consolidated her power. Until then, even an "innocent" girl like Myrcella could not be allowed to glimpse the full picture.
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"What if Lord Frey still refuses?" Myrcella asked hesitantly. "I don’t see any siege weapons being prepared…"

"We wait until midday," Aegor replied matter-of-factly. "If Robb hasn’t returned by then—or worse, brings back bad news—I’ll order the artillery to blow open the castle gates. Then, the army will eat lunch."

His voice remained utterly calm, as if discussing the weather.

"Once the meal is finished, if that old fool still refuses to surrender…" Aegor trailed off, before choosing a softer phrasing.

"Then the Freys… will no longer be collecting tolls at this river crossing."
----


Aegor had no moral qualms about purging the Westerosi nobility. But he had deliberately avoided making the Riverlands his primary target.

For two reasons.

First, the Wolf-Fish Alliance had stood for years. Slaughtering Riverlords while Northern troops were in the army would create unrest in his own ranks.

Second, the Riverlands were weak—divided, disorganized, and lacking a martial culture. Even their ruling house, the Tullys, had produced few truly competent leaders. They were a non-threat. If and when Daenerys’ "Royal Domain" plan was enacted, they would be the least likely to rebel.

There was no need to dirty his hands here and risk alarming the Stormlands and Dorne prematurely.

Sometimes, being a coward—or at least pretending to be one—was a viable survival strategy.
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"Did you bring pen and paper?" Aegor asked, seeing Myrcella’s nervous energy. "I want you to draft a proclamation."

"Of course!" Myrcella brightened instantly, pulling out a writing board and a charcoal pen from her satchel.

Aegor smirked. "Good. Take this down—"To all recipients, in the name of the Night’s Watch and House Stark, we solemnly declare—Daenerys Targaryen is the only rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms…"