The dragon glided and circled above, while the Unsullied, clad in black clothes, black armor, and black robes, marched into the city with disciplined steps. With the Queen’s arrival, the long and difficult standoff within and outside Winterfell finally came to an end.

The past week had not been easy for anyone.

The Stark family, who had become prisoners overnight before the overwhelming advantage of the Powder, had suffered enough. As for the Northern reinforcements that Robb had summoned to Seven City, they were the first to arrive after the castle changed hands. Nearly five thousand vassal troops, bearing various banners and armed with spears and swords, approached the city in a dense formation. They expected a major battle with the rebels, but what they saw instead was the red dragon banner fluttering atop the city walls, and Lady Catelyn Tully, Eddard’s widow, walking out of the gates alone.

The aging Lady Stark trudged through the snow toward the Northern reinforcements, and what she delivered was explosive news: House Stark had decided to pledge allegiance and fealty to Daenerys Targaryen. She requested the noble houses to disband and lead their armies back home, awaiting further instructions.

A woman is naturally weak, and this must have been a compromise Catelyn made under threats from traitors… After questioning townsfolk who had witnessed the battle and learning the general course by which Aegor seized Winterfell overnight, the assembled nobles, shaken by the strange tactics and powerful combat strength of the Gift Army, dared not launch an assault. Instead, like the besiegers before them, they set up camp around Winter Town and laid siege, waiting for more houses to arrive. Once they had sufficient strength, they planned to storm the castle and rescue Robb, his siblings, or at least one of his daughters.

Do your best and leave the rest to fate. If even one Stark could be rescued, the bloodline would survive. If all failed, they could always go to the Wall and snatch Bran out.

They did not wait long. The Bolton host, arriving from the North, was next to reach the city. Under the grim flayed man banner, two thousand well-equipped spearmen and shieldmen stood ready. Though their numbers were less than half the combined forces already present, their armor and morale were far superior. The arrival of this fresh and disciplined force immediately tipped the balance in favor of the besiegers, which should have brought relief.

Until Lady Barbrey of Barrowton, widow of Lord Willem Dustin, recalled Catelyn’s warning and demanded that Roose Bolton present proof that he had killed the Mad King’s daughter and her dragon.

Daenerys bore the unmistakable Targaryen appearance that set her apart from common folk, and her remaining two dragons were the only such creatures alive in the world. Whether Roose Bolton produced the head of a silver-haired woman or a scale or claw from a dragon, it would have sufficed to prove he had fought them and emerged victorious. Yet this request, which was hardly unreasonable, was precisely what Bolton could not fulfill. In fact, after realizing he could no longer keep up the ruse, he formed ranks and openly displayed the freshly sewn red dragon banner.

And so, a meeting that should have united the North instantly turned into a tense standoff, with blades nearly drawn.

…

The two armies faced each other in the wind and snow, while Aegor, safe inside the castle walls, was not faring much better.

Though he had unexpectedly managed to suppress Arya’s surging murderous intent through a confused scuffle and a few lashes, rebuilding trust with the ruling family of the North after such a betrayal was far more complicated than the simple “one strike, one reconciliation” logic found in erotic tales. When Bolton arrived and requested to enter the castle as an ally, Aegor naturally refused on the grounds that the keep was already full. This decision, while ensuring the safety of himself and the Starks, undeniably contradicted factional interests. After all, Roose Bolton had already sworn loyalty to the Queen in person and was now a de facto ally.

What if the growing number of Northern forces clashed with Bolton’s host? Should the Gift Army intervene, or stay back and let them fight?

What if the Boltons suffered losses and later complained to the Queen? Would he, who had refused to admit his own ally into the city, be forced to take the blame?

He already had enough on his mind, but what made things worse was human nature. Strangers might become friends after a fight, but old friends could turn to enemies over the smallest slight. Aegor now stood on the edge of that second path. He had successfully implemented his grand plan by leveraging his good relationship with House Stark, but the price he paid was steep: enduring their hatred and resentment, which burned hotter than any enemy’s.

In this position, Aegor’s efforts to protect the Starks gained him nothing. To the Queen and her advisors, he looked soft-hearted and shortsighted. To House Stark, he was a two-faced liar, claiming to protect them while selling them out. He bore pressure and risked his life, but received no gratitude in return. His talks with the Starks, especially Robb after he awoke, had been uncomfortable these past few days. There was no yelling, no insults. They remained polite and courteous, but behind the surface lay a cold barrier of mistrust, distance, and hostility. Even when Aegor showed them Bolton’s written request to enter the city or took Robb to see the Bolton host flying the red dragon banner, it was not enough to win them over.

Aegor had no doubt. If he lowered his guard for even a moment, the Starks would seize the opportunity to slip out or stab him in the back, then try to resist Daenerys with Bolton’s help. And since he had set this in motion himself, he had no right to complain, no one to confide in. All he could do was press forward, step by step, with iron will on a not-so-noble path, refusing to stop until he stood victorious and wrote history with his own hands.

The Queen’s arrival was the first breath of relief he had taken in days.

—

Out of concern for Aegor, who had barely recovered from his injuries, Daenerys had chosen not to ride her dragon during the journey South. The Northern forces, who were divided and unable to act thanks to Aegor’s “sorcery,” broke camp and scattered the moment Drogon and Rhaegal appeared overhead. Once the skies were clear, Daenerys, robed in white, arrived on horseback at the gates of Winterfell, leading her mobile court into the castle now bearing her banner. She crossed the drawbridge and front yard, finally entering the inner courtyard behind the gate where the crowd had assembled.

In the open space across from the guardroom, the Unsullied had already taken up key positions. They watched the “Winterfell guards” with wary eyes as the Northerners huddled and whispered in small groups. Aegor and the high command of the Gift Army stood with the entire Stark family in the center, lined up to receive the Queen’s procession.

Missandei stepped forward and, with practiced ease, recited the Queen’s long list of titles. Arya glared bitterly at Daenerys, whose beauty could make any woman feel plain. Robb Stark, still recovering from his injuries, immediately spotted Roose Bolton standing behind the dragon queen like a loyal servant. The Lord of the Dreadfort returned Aegor’s gaze with icy indifference, the break between them already clear. Aegor, in turn, studied the faces of Varys and Littlefinger carefully, watching every subtle reaction.

Everyone had their own thoughts. The scene fell silent and awkward, until Robb Stark, jaw clenched, limped forward through the snow. Like his ancestor, Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt, he knelt again before a Targaryen riding dragons.

“To the true and only Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I pledge the loyalty of Winterfell and House Stark.” Robb, a young lord not trained for such ceremonies, bowed his head and spoke slowly, unwillingly, but with solemnity. “The swords, axes, and spears of the North answer your call. So long as Your Grace treats your subjects with justice and fairness, we shall follow you always.”

His oath dissolved into the cold Northern air. No answer came at once. Daenerys stepped forward, head high, and looked down at the kneeling Warden of the North. Satisfaction and hesitation warred in her heart, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and the Lord of the Dreadfort, the two new allies she had acquired in the North, had both arrived in Winterfell ahead of her. In her initial expectations, she had imagined three possible scenarios upon her arrival. Either Aegor would have already persuaded the Starks to pledge fealty. Or he and Roose Bolton would have taken Winterfell by force and captured the Starks. Or the assault would have failed, and the Starks still held the castle.

The first would have been ideal. House Stark had long ruled north of the Neck. Their loyalty would mean claiming the North in full. It would be a massive leap forward in her goal to unite the Seven Kingdoms. At the very least, she would save time and resources before launching her campaign on King’s Landing.

For the second scenario, she had prepared a plan. Strip the Starks of their lands and titles, exile them from Westeros, and raise Roose Bolton, her first Northern supporter, as Warden of the North. Supporting such a despised figure would keep the region locked in infighting for years to come, maintaining balance and peace.

For the third and worst outcome, her plan was simple. Ride in from the sky, torch Winterfell, and end House Stark completely. That would even spare her the trouble of taking prisoners. Killing enemies in battle was always easier than executing captives. There would be no accusations of cruelty.

She had imagined all these possibilities, yet still failed to predict the reality: something between the first and second.

Anyone with eyes could see that the main gate had been forced open not long ago. Though the signs of battle inside had been well concealed, wounded townsfolk and guards made it clear that Winterfell had fallen. Yet its former lords had not been imprisoned. They stood, dressed and dignified, as free as ever.

This pledge of loyalty had not come freely. It had been beaten out of them by the Night’s Watch.

Surrender was surrender. It mattered little whether it came willingly or by force. Otherwise, Aegon the Conqueror would never have unified Westeros, no matter how long he lived. Daenerys had accepted reluctant submissions before. But the Stark family had been key players in the rebellion that toppled her father and brother. Tolerating lukewarm loyalty from lesser houses was one thing. Forgiving traitors required not only reason but immense restraint.

The cold wind howled. Seconds passed. Robb’s knee, pressed into the frozen ground, was soaked from melting snow. His wounded body began to tremble as he maintained the painful posture. The silence became uncomfortable, until Aegor, sensing something was off, coughed softly and spoke.

“Your Grace, the weather is harsh. You should make your decision quickly, then enter and discuss the next steps.”

That familiar voice pulled Daenerys out of her inner thoughts. She suddenly realized: this wasn’t just her decision alone. Whether it was capturing Winterfell without harming the Starks, or breaking the tension just now, Aegor clearly hoped she would accept their submission.

And was she really willing to damage her relationship with her most powerful and loyal follower over old grudges before the conquest had even begun?

The answer was clear.

“Lord Stark,” the Queen finally replied. Though her words addressed Robb, her eyes remained on Aegor. Even if she had no other choice, she wanted him to know that her decision was made for his sake. If this gesture could make him serve more loyally in the future, then her forced forbearance today would not be wasted. “In the name of the Old Gods and the New, I swear this. So long as you serve faithfully, I shall reward you with justice.”

(To be continued.)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep