Lying prone in the ice-cold snow, even Rhaegal could not understand why he had suddenly performed such an unprecedented gesture. Ever since receiving the Lord of Light’s gift, Aegor no longer needed scattered warming items like gloves or earmuffs. With his hand exposed, the result was this: the moment his palm touched Rhaegal’s facial scales, the might of the True Dragon was directly transmitted through the biological current on his skin, instantly releasing an effect dozens or even hundreds of times stronger than what could be projected through the air.

The sudden surge in deterrent power made Rhaegal instinctively believe that his earlier behavior had angered a superior. His body reacted on pure instinct, taking over his muscles. Before he could realize what was happening, his massive form had already collapsed into the snowdrift.

A single touch had such an astonishing effect on the dragon.

Aegor no longer dared to complain about R’hllor’s stinginess. The small piece of scale the god had given him looked inconspicuous, but it repeatedly brought unexpected surprises. He remembered very clearly that even toward Daenerys Targaryen, the one who truly carried Dragonblood, the one who had hatched, raised, and tamed them, none of the three dragons had ever shown such complete fear and submission. How could this be a dragon paired with a Dragonrider? It looked more like a puppy scolded by its master.

Melisandre also turned to study the man beside her again with surprise. Even though she was certain Aegor was the chosen of the Lord of Light, she had never imagined he could subdue such a massive creature so easily and completely. Based on what she had learned from Moqorro and other priests, even the Dragon Queen, their so-called “mother,” had not tamed them so effortlessly.

“He fears you,” the Red Priestess concluded, boldly reaching out to touch the dragon’s head again. With Aegor’s suppression in place, Rhaegal did not even twitch. “I suppose there would be absolutely no problem if you wanted to ride him.”

“Agreed, but… should I?”

Though he phrased it as a question, Aegor was not truly seeking advice. He already had his answer. Daenerys was ten years younger than him, but she was no naive child. She was the monarch. He was the subject. If he relaxed his guard and grew complacent just because he had won a bit of favor, he would eventually meet a miserable end. Aegor always remembered the old truth that serving a monarch was like walking with a tiger. To ride her dragon without even so much as informing her, just because of a moment’s success, was as inappropriate as marrying someone’s daughter without first asking the father. If the Queen was pleased to discover a kindred spirit and accepted that Rhaegal was now his mount, it would be a fortunate outcome. But what if she did not? Once suspicion took root and the madness hidden in her Dragonblood was triggered, it would not only ruin the progress he had made but might even bring about his destruction.

Aside from political considerations, there was also a more practical problem in front of him. Aegor did not know how to ride a dragon.

Looking at Rhaegal’s submissive posture, lying quietly on the ground, there was clearly no issue with climbing onto his back and sitting there. But then what? How did one give the order to take off? How to direct him to turn? To choose a direction? To circle and return? To prevent being thrown off during acceleration, braking, or rolling?

This was not a cheerful animated tale like “How to Train Your Dragon.” This was reality, filled with countless practical challenges. If he made even one mistake in judgment, R’hllor would not awaken from his slumber and fly in to catch his falling spokesman. Even Daenerys, who had raised Drogon herself and had learned dragon-riding firsthand, still added a safety harness in the end.

To ride or not to ride, that was the question. Fortunately, he did not have to ponder it for long. As he thought, a small party of mounted men had already arrived from the direction of Last Hearth. If only his own followers had been present, he might have indulged in the thrill of dragon riding. But in front of the Unsullied, cautious as he was, he would absolutely never do something that might be criticized.

“Alright, good boy. Stop lying in the snow. Go back.”

Aegor patted Rhaegal’s massive head and spoke loudly in the tone one would use with a large pet. But his broad palm merely scratched an itch for the dragon, and the words he spoke were completely meaningless to it. Rhaegal blinked a few times in confusion and did not move.

“Valyrian might be more effective,” Melisandre suggested. She then spoke in Daenerys’s native tongue, “It’s alright. Go.”

Aegor repeated her words, mimicking her pronunciation, and at the same time removed his hand from Rhaegal’s head. The dragon slowly lifted his head and stared at Aegor for a long moment. Only when he saw Aegor wave his hand in a dismissive gesture did he seem to understand. Shaking off the remaining dampness as the snow on his body turned to steam, Rhaegal spread his wings and soared into the air with a powerful sweep.

On the ground, where the dragon had just been lying, a long, narrow, steaming puddle remained. In the freezing air, it was rapidly cooling and starting to freeze. At the same time, the cavalry team that had been on the horizon was now only a stone’s throw away.

What was unexpected yet reasonable was that the approaching riders were not entirely Unsullied. Half were officers assigned by Aegor himself to protect the Queen. Their leader was the trusted Lord Commander, Jarman Buckwell, whom Aegor valued for his ruthlessness and exceptional execution.

“Lord Aegor.” Like the others, Jarman had naturally seen Rhaegal lying in the snow just moments before. Now, eyes wide, he studied the Lord Commander he had not seen for half a month and immediately noticed a striking difference from the last time. “The Queen’s dragon suddenly left its pit and took off without reason. We were ordered to investigate. What… what just happened?”

“I am not entirely sure either. It might be related to the Lord of Light choosing me as his spokesman,” Aegor replied vaguely, shaking his head and showing no intention of explaining further. “I came specifically to inform the Queen of this. Forget the dragon for now. Come, take me into the city to see Her Grace.”

The Unsullied officer with them was one of the few who could somewhat understand the Westerosi tongue. He could not speak fluently but grasped enough to follow orders. Seeing that Rhaegal had flown back toward Last Hearth and that Aegor was headed into the city, he nodded politely and did not ask further questions.

Aegor turned and called to the stunned Casey, who was still holding three horses nearby, then signaled the rest of the soldiers in the distance to form up and follow. He planned to bypass the muddy patch Rhaegal had left behind and proceed into the city as planned. But just as the men gathered around him, a voice called out from behind.

“My Lord, please wait a moment.”

Aegor reined in his horse and looked toward the speaker. Leon, holding a large crow, squeezed past the others and approached him.

“Just now, when you were… dealing with the dragon, an urgent message arrived from the front.” He held out a note to Aegor. “The scouts have spotted cavalry in the direction of the main force’s advance. Likely Northern patrols watching the Kingsroad. Our movements may have been discovered.”

There were, of course, no ravens in the world clever enough to locate a target in the wilderness while on the move. But the large bird perched on Leon’s arm was different. It was a crow controlled by a warg, or more accurately, a beast spirit currently inhabiting its body. Rather than calling it an ‘it,’ one could say ‘he.’ Aegor kept such rare individuals under strict control, using them to ensure that his reconnaissance and communication outpaced any other army in the Seven Kingdoms. And now, they had proven their worth.

“That fast?”

Aegor’s heart sank.

The Gift army was moving on foot. He was not naive enough to believe Robb Stark was sitting idle at home, unaware. He never expected to reach Winterfell’s gates undetected. Given that Last Hearth had been taken by Daenerys, it made perfect sense for the Starks to patrol the northern approach. But what he had not anticipated was that Robb had apparently learned from past mistakes and expanded his patrol range, reaching even this close to Last Hearth.

The enemy’s higher vigilance was bad news, but not enough to ruin the campaign. With the advantage of marching speed and strict pre-battle control of information, the first stage objective was still within reach. It would take at least half a day for those patrols to return to Winterfell. After that, the North would need more time to summon their lords and gather troops. With two days already behind him, Aegor had likely earned a full week’s advantage.

Whether the first strategic objective could be completed now depended entirely on how he used that time. He had to reach Winterfell before the North could concentrate its forces.

Originally, the journey to Winterfell would take four or five days. Under current circumstances, four days might not be enough. He would have to compress it to three and a half days. Perhaps even three.

The delay caused by Rhaegal had already cost him dozens of minutes. Entering the city now to explain to Daenerys why her dragon had bowed to him would consume more precious time. With his army already discovered and every moment growing more urgent, what had seemed like a harmless visit to the Queen now appeared dangerously inappropriate.

“Jarman,” Aegor made a swift decision. “The situation has changed. I need to return to the army immediately and can no longer explain this to the Queen in person. Tell me, how soon will the Queen’s black dragon be able to fly again?”

“His wings are nearly fully grown. Probably within the next two days,” Jarman replied, clearly confused. “You are already here. Would it take so much time to go in and speak with Her Grace? A war will not be lost over half a day.”

“My decision is made. Say no more.” Though Jarman was a trusted subordinate, he was still a man of this world and still bound by medieval thought. Aegor did not expect him to understand this increasingly frantic race against time. “Apologize to Her Grace on my behalf. And tell her this.”

He paused, then said clearly, “I await her royal presence at Winterfell.”

(To be continued.)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep