Chapter 430

The first harrowing night of the great battle had ended. Yet for most of Westeros, far removed from the fires and distant from the sounds of horns and explosions north of the Wall, it was just another ordinary winter morning. Thick clouds obscured the sunrise, and the eastern horizon merely brightened faintly over time. Without the crowing of roosters, many might not have realized a new day had begun.

Winterfell, silent for hours during the night, slowly came to life. Maester Luwin dressed and washed as he always did before breakfast, and as part of his morning routine, he checked the rookery. To his surprise, several new ravens had arrived: one from White Harbor, two from Icebay, and two more from Castle Black and Crown Town.

The ravens had not been there when he checked before bed the previous night; they must have arrived during the late hours or early dawn. A message from White Harbor was no surprise, given its status as the North’s only city. But for the Gift to send four ravens in one night? That was rare. Fully awake now, Luwin hurriedly removed the letters from the birds’ legs, placed the ravens in their cages with some meat, and immediately opened the messages from the Gift.

A quick glance was all it took for the elderly maester's face to pale. Clutching the letters, he rushed to the keep without a moment’s hesitation.

Moments later, Robb Stark, who had only just finished breakfast, stormed out of the great hall, sounding the castle’s bells to summon every bannerman. Winterfell, still half-asleep, suddenly sprang to life as though jolted by a lightning bolt.

The gates were flung open, and bannermen and guards scrambled into their armor, mounted their horses, and poured out of the castle. Meanwhile, the rookery released raven after raven, each flying out to every corner of the North.

The ancient enemy had returned. And in the far northern reaches of the Seven Kingdoms, where the North’s first naval base stood ready to challenge the Ironborn, there lay an even more personal stake: the Stark matron and Robb’s youngest sister were still at the Wall, aiding the Night’s Watch and comforting the Free Folk.

Publicly, politically, and personally, the North could not stand idle. Robb’s orders were simple and direct: rally the armies and march north to aid the Night’s Watch.
----


That same afternoon, as the North began assembling its forces under House Stark’s banner, Rosby Castle, just north of King’s Landing and now flying the Targaryen dragon banner, was steeped in cold tension. Two of Daenerys’s most trusted advisors waited impatiently in the dimly lit hall.

Daenerys had flown south from the Gift the previous day, returning to Rosby in the early morning after an overnight flight. Exhausted, she had eaten a light meal and retired to her chambers to rest. Upon learning of her arrival, Varys had immediately sent a raven to Jon Connington, urging him to bring "the prince" to meet the queen. By midday, Aegon Targaryen had arrived at Rosby, escorted by a contingent of cavalry. However, the queen had yet to emerge from her chambers, and Varys and Littlefinger, each with their own schemes, found themselves awkwardly waiting outside her door.

(How can the queen sleep at a time like this?)

(Youth truly knows no bounds.)

Both men silently cursed as time dragged on. From dark to light and back to dark again, the queen had been in her chambers for nearly ten hours. Finally, a lazy voice broke the silence.

"Missandei?"

"I’m here, Your Grace!"

The young handmaiden leapt from her chair by the fireplace and scurried into the queen’s chambers. Another half-hour passed before Daenerys emerged, freshly dressed and radiant with renewed energy.

"Your Grace!" The two advisors greeted her in unison, closing in on her immediately. Varys spoke first, his voice rising above Petyr Baelish’s attempts to interject.

"Your nephew, Aegon Targaryen, has arrived with Lord Jon Connington. They’ve been waiting in the drawing room for hours."

Littlefinger, visibly annoyed at being outmaneuvered, quickly added, "The reports from the Unsullied and the Free Folk are also ready. The Reach armies and the Golden Company are camped south of the Blackwater, while the Dornish forces are marching north. Your Grace, if I may—"

"I’m starving," Daenerys interrupted, stifling a yawn. She turned to Missandei. "Fetch me something from the kitchen. Anything light will do; I’ll have dinner later. And this Aegon... He arrived today? How did he know I’d returned?"

Varys hesitated before replying, "Lord Connington expressed interest in meeting you some time ago, and once I learned of your return, I sent word immediately. With the Reach and the Golden Company nearby, it seemed prudent to arrange a meeting sooner rather than later. Forgive me for taking the liberty. Shall I bring them to you now, or shall we let them wait a while longer?"
----


Daenerys frowned. As queen, she could not act like a petulant child and openly express her reluctance. Yet deep down, she felt an inexplicable discomfort about this "nephew."

Whether Aegon’s claim to Targaryen lineage was true or false remained in doubt, with arguments on both sides. Even setting that aside, the revelation of his existence felt... wrong. She should have been elated to discover a living relative after years of believing herself the last Targaryen. Instead, she was bitter.

Where had Aegon been when she and Viserys had grown up under the shadow of Robert Baratheon’s assassins? She and her brother had borne the brunt of the dangers, while Aegon lived in safety, shielded from hardship.

She had hatched the dragons, endured countless trials, and fought for every victory. Yet now, at the cusp of reclaiming Westeros, a nephew—who had experienced none of her struggles but held a stronger claim to the throne—had appeared with an army of mercenaries, ready to share the spoils.

Daenerys could not deny the logic of an alliance through marriage. It was the fastest, most assured path to victory. Together, they would secure King’s Landing and cement their hold over the Seven Kingdoms.

But what of the future? Aegon would become king, supported by his own faction. When the time came to enact her vision of a freer, fairer world, would her husband-king stand with her or against her? As queen consort, her dreams could be easily dismissed.

No, she realized. She had to be queen in her own right. She had to carve her own path, no matter how difficult.
----


Despite her clarity of purpose, she could not avoid the meeting. Like a child forced into an unwanted betrothal, Daenerys resolved to go through the motions with minimal engagement.

"This time, I’ll let it go," she told Varys, her tone carrying a hint of displeasure. "But in the future, consult me or my Hand before arranging such meetings."

Varys nodded, and Littlefinger suppressed a scowl as Daenerys continued. "I’ll meet Aegon now. After dinner, I want reports on everything I’ve missed. Schedule meetings with the Reach and Dornish emissaries for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll fly Drogon over the siege lines to remind every soldier who they’re fighting for."

The two advisors exchanged glances, both knowing better than to challenge her orders.

As they escorted Daenerys toward the drawing room, a soldier burst into the hall.

"Your Grace! The ravens Maester Makiro took to the Wall have all returned, bearing identical messages. They mention White Walkers and the dead... I don’t understand the contents, but I thought it might be some kind of code you’d recognize."

"What?" Daenerys stopped abruptly, her weariness replaced by urgency. "Show me."

Taking the note, she read it quickly. Her expression hardened. Without a word, she turned and strode toward the courtyard.

"Your Grace, where are you going?"

"Something urgent has come up. I must return to the Wall immediately."

"But you just arrived!" Varys protested, his voice rising in disbelief. "You haven’t even had time to meet Aegon!"

Littlefinger, equally baffled, added, "Even if the situation at the Wall is dire, you won’t reach it until tomorrow. If the Night’s Watch can’t hold, your arrival won’t change the outcome. And if they can, a few hours won’t make a difference. Rest tonight and leave in the morning!"
----


Their protests fell on deaf ears. By the time they reached the courtyard, Drogon had already descended, his massive shadow casting a dark silhouette.

"I made a promise," Daenerys said as she climbed onto Drogon’s back, her voice firm. "A promise I intend to keep. Inform Aegon that he can wait for my return or return to his camp. Under no circumstances is King’s Landing to be attacked before I come back."

"Your Grace!" Missandei called out, breathless and clutching a small food box. "Your snacks—aren’t you going to eat them?"

"Hand them over," Daenerys said, reaching for the box. "Drogon flies steadily. I’ll eat on the way."

With that, the Queen of Dragons took to the skies, leaving her advisors stunned and scrambling to adjust their plans.