Chapter 501

Aegor had hoped the snow would stop after they set out, but by nightfall on the first day of the campaign, it was still falling. The next day, too, brought no reprieve. He had worried this would hinder his strategic plan to strike Winterfell in a lightning assault, but fortunately, reality proved less dire. The snowfall—somewhere between "light" and "moderate"—hardly made a difference to an army drawn mostly from the mountain clans and Free Folk of the Gift. And so, with flurries dusting their path, the unexpected southern march pressed forward without incident.

Thousands of men who had originally planned to ride north Beyond the Wall instead pushed southward for two days, advancing faster than they had even when pursuing the White Walkers in their retreat. By the time they reached the fork where the Kingsroad met the frozen Last River, they stood once again at the crossroads—one path leading east to Last Hearth, the other stretching south toward Winterfell.

They had left the Gift behind and crossed into the North. While the roads here had been repaired and widened somewhat, the effort to keep them clear of snow was far inferior to what they had seen further north. Their march toward Winterfell would inevitably slow by a fraction—perhaps a day or two—but within four to five days, they would arrive at the heart of the North and complete the first phase of the campaign: encircling Winterfell.

Ordering the main force to continue its push down the Kingsroad, Aegor broke off with a few dozen of his most trusted guards, taking the eastern fork toward Last Hearth. It was a small detour, a brief divergence from his larger objective—one he could afford. His plan was simple: visit the Queen, inform her of his "change of plans," and explain his "new" strategy. Once that was done, he would ride hard to rejoin the army before nightfall, ensuring he remained in command when the march resumed at dawn.

And so, a small band of black-clad warriors rode swiftly through the tracks left by the wights in their failed assault on Last Hearth a month prior, pressing on toward the only Northern castle to have fallen to the dead.

The journey was short. Within moments, the gray silhouette of Last Hearth emerged from the misty eastern horizon.

But it was not the only thing to come into view.

A sudden, thunderous roar split the sky, and in less than half a minute, a massive shadow streaked out of the swirling snow. The creature dove from above, slicing through the air so low that it nearly grazed their heads before surging upward again, its great wings propelling it back into the sky.

A dragon.

The sudden descent sent a wave of terror through the column. Though these men had fought in the Battle of the Long Lake and were hardened warriors, the same could not be said for their horses. The mounts screamed in panic, thrashing wildly, their formation collapsing into near chaos.

"Steady!" called the Red Woman, reining in her horse and raising a hand to cast a calming spell. A warm pulse of magic rippled outward, soothing the terrified animals. "It will not attack us!"

Melisandre did not know of R'hllor’s latest gift, nor did she realize that Aegor now carried a presence even greater than Daenerys’s own draconic aura. But she needed no reason to believe—she knew, with certainty, that a creature of fire would never harm the chosen of the Lord of Light.

And she was right.

With the horses subdued, Aegor regained control of his mount, issuing firm orders for the men to reform and continue forward. Yet his brow furrowed as he gazed into the sky.

He had ordered the Queen’s dragons to be fed at all costs. Reports had confirmed that they remained within the castle, sleeping. They had neither taken to the air nor caused any disturbances.

Unless the soldiers left behind to watch over the Queen had dared to lie to him, why was this green dragon suddenly acting so strangely?
----


But Aegor was not the only one confused—above them, Rhaegal was equally perplexed.

Just minutes ago, he had been nestled comfortably in his roost, shielding himself from the wind and snow, when he sensed it. A force—an unnatural, oppressive presence—drawing closer with each breath.

It was not the same suffocating malice that emanated from beyond the Wall, the terrifying aura that had lurked there for months. This was different.

This was something he feared, yes—but more than that, it was something he revered.

It was a command embedded in his very soul, a presence so overwhelming that he had not even thought to flee.

Instinct had pulled him from his slumber and sent him soaring into the sky, seeking the source of this power. He had expected to find an ancient dragon, perhaps one of his ancestors—a behemoth so vast that its wings could blot out the sun. But as he circled above, he saw nothing.

Perplexed, he cast his senses downward.

The presence was on the ground.

The revelation struck him like a blow. To fly above a superior being was an insult. Instinctively, Rhaegal folded his wings and dove.

But when he reached the snow-covered plain, there was no great beast. Only a column of men trudging through the snow.

Even more confused, he pulled up sharply, wheeled about, and began circling once more. Yet no matter how many times he scanned the ground, the answer did not change.

The presence—undeniable, inescapable—came from one of them.
----


Rhaegal’s descent sent another ripple of panic through the group.

"What now, my lord?" Ser Casey asked, dumbfounded. They had ignored the dragon before, but now it had landed directly in their path. Continuing forward was not an option.

"It seeks you, Commander," Melisandre murmured, her gaze fixed on Aegor.

Aegor nodded. He was no fool. The moment the dragon had begun circling, he had known.

He had suspected this might happen from the moment R’hllor had marked him. He had assumed he would feel this presence in Daenerys’s company, that her dragons might react differently to him in her presence.

But the reality was far more profound.

It was not he who had sought out the dragon.

The dragon had come to him.

A dragon with a rider had flown to him, unbidden, and now sat before him, blocking his path.

And he had no idea what to do.

"Stay here. Casey, Melisandre, with me."

Casey hesitated, visibly reluctant, but obeyed. The three of them broke away from the column and slowly approached the waiting beast.

Rhaegal, meanwhile, had cleared the snow around him with his tail, creating a space where he could rest more comfortably. His body radiated heat, melting the frost beneath him into a muddy, slushy mire. Aegor wrinkled his nose at the mess—no wonder the dragon had taken so long to land.

Unlike in the past, however, the dragon’s heat no longer felt overwhelming. Aegor approached without hesitation, stepping into the creature’s shadow. He maintained eye contact, wary but unyielding, waiting to see what it would do.

For a moment, dragon and man simply stared at one another.

Then, at last, Rhaegal moved.

The great beast lowered his head.

It was an act of submission—one so universal that it needed no translation.

Not just a bow.

A full prostration.
----


Aegor exhaled slowly, uncertain of what to feel.

He had expected resistance, defiance—perhaps even hostility. Instead, he had been met with absolute, unquestioning surrender.

Rhaegal, Daenerys Targaryen’s dragon, knelt before him.

And in that moment, Aegor understood.

Whatever R’hllor had done to him, whatever power now ran through his veins—

It was greater than blood. Greater than fire.

It was a force the dragons themselves could not resist.

And that changed everything.