Chapter 451

Seeing the wary anger on Lord Karstark’s face, Aegor felt his stomach drop.

Everyone has their own plans. While he was strategizing over a game of thrones involving the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne, others naturally had schemes of their own, fitting their station and ambitions. Unfortunately, his lack of familiarity with Northern history and the unspoken rules between its lords had backfired—his efforts to persuade Rickard Karstark had been misinterpreted. Instead of seeing reason, Rickard thought Aegor coveted Last Hearth to expand his foothold in the Gift.

Aegor sighed bitterly. Heaven help him, why would he want a cold, desolate castle like Last Hearth when his sights were set on the Iron Throne in the south? Yet, explaining the truth to Rickard wasn’t an option.

The bold may fear the reckless, but the reckless fear nothing. Aegor had been able to reveal his allegiance to Robb Stark after the Battle of Long Lake because the Young Wolf owed his life to a dragon, the truth couldn’t be hidden, and Robb, worn from battle and grief, was unwilling to start more conflict. Most importantly, Robb had ties—family and a child—that made him cautious.

Rickard Karstark, though? This was a man who had defied Robb’s command and slaughtered Lannister prisoners in cold blood. He had died defiant, never wavering even when his head was on the block. Reckless, stubborn, and fearless—trying to reason with him would be like shouting at a storm.

Convincing Rickard to hand over Last Hearth peacefully wasn’t impossible, but the risk of confessing his alliance with the Dragon Queen while surrounded by Karstark soldiers far outweighed any potential gain. Rickard had no debt to Daenerys’s dragons and wouldn’t hesitate to imprison or execute Aegor if he found out. If that happened, neither the army outside the castle nor the queen herself could save him in time.

Aegor adhered to a simple principle: if the risks outweighed the rewards, discard the plan.

“You misunderstand me, Lord Karstark,” Aegor finally sighed, abandoning further negotiation. Pushing too hard would only backfire. “In that case, my forces will make do with the winter town outside the castle. Once our wounded recover, we will return to the Gift. However, the Night’s Watch will soon embark on an expedition beyond the Wall, requiring large quantities of dragonglass and saltpeter. I ask that you order your people in Karhold to cooperate with procurement efforts.”

“That can be arranged,” Rickard snorted, calming somewhat now that Aegor wasn’t pressing for the castle. “But let me give you some advice, Commander. Don’t let your accomplishments go to your head and start getting greedy. Do your duty as Lord Commander, and the North will treat you fairly.”

Aegor feigned agreement, offered a few more platitudes, and excused himself, heading toward the door. The occupation of Last Hearth had been an unanticipated necessity—there weren’t enough wounded to justify taking the castle. The winter town had plenty of houses, but none large enough to accommodate a dragon. With Rhaegal injured and struggling to recover, returning to the Gift wasn’t an option. More importantly, Daenerys Targaryen would never tolerate her child being treated so poorly.

She had flown north with her dragons, honoring her promise to him and, in doing so, saved the North. The price had been steep—one dragon dead, two gravely wounded. If the North refused to provide a sanctuary for her dying dragon after the war, Daenerys would undoubtedly see it as betrayal.

The queen’s admiration for Aegor, fueled by his grand vision, had softened her demeanor toward him. But she wasn’t a saint. Daenerys’s patience and trust extended only so far as things went smoothly. If Rickard’s refusal led to her dragon’s suffering, her wrath would be inevitable. She might intimidate the Karstarks into submission—or she might burn Last Hearth to ash, ending any hope of Night’s Watch cooperation with the North.

Every scenario spelled disaster for Aegor’s carefully laid plans. Conquering the Seven Kingdoms couldn’t be achieved with the same precision as holding off the White Walkers. Humans, unlike the undead, were unpredictable and far more dangerous.

As these thoughts weighed on him, Aegor reached the door, ready to return to the camp and reassess his strategy. But before he could leave, the doors burst open. A gruff, bearded man stormed inside, his face grim, and ignored Aegor as he hurried toward Rickard.

“Father, a dragon is circling above the castle! It flew in from the south!”

Aegor froze. Wasn’t the queen supposed to keep her dragons at bay until he left the castle? Now one was hovering overhead, ruining everything. Swearing under his breath, Aegor quickened his steps, hoping to slip away before Rickard could react.

“Stop right there!” Rickard bellowed. “Guards, seize the Lord Commander!”

His thunderous voice echoed through the hall as guards drew their swords, blocking Aegor’s path. Outside, Aegor’s own men noticed the commotion and unsheathed their weapons in confusion, creating a tense standoff between the two sides.

If Aegor had the swordsmanship of Jaime Lannister or Oberyn Martell, he might have fought his way out. But without a premeditated escape plan, cutting his way through the castle and making it back to his camp was a gamble he couldn’t win. Even if he escaped, this debacle would make taking Last Hearth nearly impossible.

Cursing Daenerys under his breath, Aegor weighed his options. Inspiration struck just as Rickard and his son approached. He removed his hand from his sword.

“Stand down!” Aegor ordered his men, then turned calmly to face Rickard.

“It seems we’ve had a misunderstanding,” he said, his tone steady despite the tension crackling in the air.