Chapter 555

Outside Winterfell, tension simmered as Bolton soldiers and the Gifted Lands troops stood ready, forming a flanking position against Robb Stark’s Northern forces, camped a few miles away. The air was heavy with the promise of violence.

But within the castle walls, the atmosphere was far more chaotic and fraught with peril.

Following the poisoning incident, the Unsullied, ever disciplined, immediately secured the scene. They retrieved the bodies of the Hand of the Queen and the Master of Whisperers, while the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, still clinging to life, was carried back to his camp by his personal guards. The Gifted Lands soldiers quickly sealed Winterfell’s gates, detaining everyone in the kitchens or anyone who might have come into contact with food, wine, or even raw ingredients. Meanwhile, the Queen’s Guard began tallying the Stark family members and the visiting Iron Bank envoys, isolating all potential suspects and conducting thorough searches of their quarters and belongings.

As investigations into the scene and the hunt for the culprit unfolded in an orderly manner, another troubling development began to surface: the Gifted Lands troops, usually known for their discipline, were showing signs of unrest.

The majority of these soldiers were former wildlings, unruly by nature. Despite the brutal culling by the White Walkers and the strict training they underwent under the Night’s Watch, they remained difficult to control. Under normal circumstances, their loyalty to Aegor’s charisma and authority kept them in check. But with the Lord Commander’s sudden incapacitation, cracks in the fragile order began to show. Within half a day of Aegor’s absence, the walls of Winterfell buzzed with rumors. Each soldier claimed to have heard something, thought something, or said something. As the gossip spiraled out of control, it was only a matter of time before someone decided to act on it.

Sensing the volatility of the situation, Daenerys acted decisively. She ordered the Unsullied to assist the Night’s Watch officers in maintaining order and commanded her two dragons to take to the skies, circling ominously above the castle. The dual show of force was barely enough to contain the unrest.

Among Daenerys’s entourage were not only elite soldiers but also key officials and specialists—maids, cooks, and healers—brought along to handle unforeseen crises. In situations where blades and spears were useless, these non-combat personnel became invaluable.

The royal chef took over the kitchen, preparing safe meals for Daenerys and her Unsullied guards, while the healers, though arriving too late to save the poisoned victims, took the lead in investigating the toxins.
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As night fell, Winterfell grew quieter under the imposed curfew. In a guestroom on the second floor, surrounded by Unsullied guards, Daenerys sat stiffly, her expression grim as she listened to the lead investigator’s report.

“After careful testing, we have determined that the poison originated in the wine shared by the three lords,” the healer said, gesturing to the pile of evidence on the table. “The wine jug and all three cups tested positive for the substance.”

Pausing to ensure he had the Queen’s attention, the healer continued. “I also examined and performed autopsies on the bodies of the Hand and the Master of Whisperers. There were no signs of external trauma or violence. Their cause of death was undoubtedly poisoning.” Unable to bring the disemboweled corpses into the Queen’s room, he described the findings verbally. “The poison caused significant changes in their blood, evident from the discoloration of their skin. Further analysis confirmed that the poison works by rapidly degrading the blood’s ability to sustain life, killing silently and painlessly. Victims often die before they even realize something is wrong—which is why the guards outside the room didn’t detect the incident in time to intervene.”

Daenerys nodded coldly. “Do you know the name or origin of the poison?”

The healer hesitated, shaking his head. “There are several possible candidates, but none match perfectly. My expertise is limited, and I would recommend sending the poisoned wine to the Citadel for further analysis.”

“Then preserve the evidence. We will address this later.” Daenerys dismissed the topic; the name of the poison wasn’t her immediate concern. “What about the other matter?”

“Oh!” The healer snapped back to attention. “We found traces of the poison in the Lord Commander’s vomit. As for why he managed to survive and expel the wine…” He hesitated, then speculated, “Perhaps his stronger physique, honed through years of training, allowed him to resist the poison longer. Seeing the others succumb, he likely realized what had happened and acted decisively to induce vomiting. A smart move, but not enough. Even after purging most of the poison, residual traces would remain in his stomach lining. Immediate gastric cleansing would have been necessary to fully neutralize the toxin. Unfortunately… his guards refused to let me treat him, placing their trust in the Red Priestess instead.”

The healer sighed regretfully but stopped short of outright criticism. Given the circumstances, the Night’s Watch soldiers’ caution was understandable—everyone in the castle was a suspect, and they would only entrust their commander’s care to someone they deemed loyal.

Moreover, while the healer was skilled in treating wounds and crafting poisons, he lacked expertise in antidotes. Beyond inducing vomiting or performing gastric lavage, he couldn’t have done much more than the Red Priestess.

After all, high-ranking priests of the Lord of Light could perform genuine miracles.

“That’s enough. You may go.” Daenerys waved him off, her expression unchanging as she dismissed the healer.

The moment the door closed, her composure crumbled. She sank into her chair, the façade of strength she had maintained slipping away.

Without losing a single soldier, her forces had suffered an unprecedented blow. This was one of the most shocking, infuriating, and disorienting moments of Daenerys’s life—second only to the death of Khal Drogo.

But unlike Drogo’s death, where she had a clear target for vengeance, this time she had no idea where to begin. Her thoughts were a tangled web, impossible to untangle.

“Your Grace, are you alright?” Missandei approached, her voice soft with concern.

“I’m fine—” Daenerys started to say but stopped herself, shaking her head. “—no, I’m not.” In front of her loyal handmaid, who was more like a sister, she didn’t need to pretend. “I don’t know what to do, Missandei. I’m completely lost.”

Missandei moved behind her and began to massage her temples gently, as she often did to comfort her. “Your Grace, I don’t know anything about poison or antidotes, nor can I guess who the culprit might be. But I do know one thing: you need to leave Winterfell as soon as possible.”

“Why?” Daenerys asked, confused.

“Drogon and Rhaegal are the only reason the castle hasn’t descended into chaos. Their presence overhead keeps everyone in line, but they can’t stay airborne forever. When they land, their deterrent effect will weaken. For now, we’ve made it through the day. But if the Lord Commander doesn’t reappear by morning, or worse, if news of his death spreads, those wildling troops will riot. And while the Unsullied can hold their own, using your elite forces to fight against wildlings is a waste. There’s no benefit to such a meaningless exchange.”

Missandei hesitated, then added cautiously, “Moreover, if the Lord Commander really was poisoned and survived, why did his guards refuse your assistance? It’s possible… that he orchestrated this entire incident to remove suspicion from himself. If so, your life is in even greater danger. A Gifted Lands army under his command would be far more dangerous than any rioting wildlings.”

Daenerys fell silent, not because Missandei’s words shocked her, but because they echoed her own deepest fears. If Aegor had died alongside Varys and Petyr, she would have mourned the loss but moved forward with a clear goal: vengeance. But his survival—while seemingly a blessing—introduced a gnawing doubt. The only thing worse than losing a trusted ally was suspecting them of betrayal.

Taking a deep breath, Daenerys nodded, her resolve hardening. “You’re right. Prepare the guards. We’re leaving Winterfell tonight.”