Aegor had hoped the snow would stop after they set off, but it was still snowing at dusk on the day the expedition began, and continued into the next day as well. He had thought this would negatively impact his strategic plan of a thousand-mile raid on Winterfell, but fortunately, that was not the case. The snowfall, somewhere between light and medium, was almost as good as a clear sky for the Gift army, over ninety percent of whom came from the Mountain Clans and Beyond the Wall tribes. The sudden southward campaign thus completed its first phase smoothly amidst the fine snow. The several thousand who were originally supposed to go north Beyond the Wall instead marched against the wind for two days, arriving at the junction of the Kingsroad and the frozen White Knife even faster than when they had pursued the fleeing wights south. Once again, they stood at the fork leading to Last Hearth and Winterfell.
They had left the Gift and crossed into the North. Although the southern road here had also been roughly repaired and widened, the frequency and thoroughness of snow clearing were far inferior to the roads within the Gift. The pace of the march toward Winterfell would inevitably slow by one or two tenths. They would arrive at the political center of the North in four or five days, completing the first objective of the South Expedition campaign: surrounding Winterfell.
Ordering the main force to continue south along the Kingsroad at speed, Aegor took dozens of his closest guards and turned east onto another road, taking time from his busy schedule to make a detour to Last Hearth, where the Queen was currently located.
A small, lightly armed group, with horses for everyone, naturally traveled faster than the main army burdened with supplies and marching on foot. Aegor's plan was to visit the Queen without delaying the Gift forces' lightning march toward Winterfell. He would spend half a day telling her that he had changed his plan and decided to help her contend for the throne first, briefly explain his new battle plan, then immediately depart to catch up with the main force, ensuring he rejoined them before nightfall so as not to affect leading the march the next day.
Thus, a small detachment of fully armed, black-clad men, following the tracks left by the wights' attack on Last Hearth last month, advanced quickly but orderly toward the only castle in the North that had fallen to the undead.
The few miles passed quickly, and soon, the hazy outline of a castle appeared on the misty eastern horizon.
But it was not only the castle that came into view. Accompanied by a thunderous roar from the sky in their direction of advance, a massive dark green shadow suddenly appeared from behind the swirling snow and mist and swooped down toward them, passing just a few meters above their heads, nearly grazing their scalps, before flapping its wings behind them and soaring back into the air.
A dragon.
The sudden dragon's intimidation caught everyone off guard, and they broke out in cold sweat. Although this group had almost all participated in the Battle of Long Lake and had enough experience to restrain their emotions, their horses did not share human courage or self-control. Amidst a flurry of neighs and cries, the mounts immediately panicked, breaking formation. Several riders were nearly thrown off.
"Don't panic," shouted the Red Priestess, tightening her reins. At the critical moment, she made a magical gesture, using her magic to calm the terrified horses. "It won't attack us."
Melisandre did not know of the Lord of Light's bestowal, nor that Aegor now carried a True Dragon's might even greater than Daenerys. But for no particular reason, she firmly believed that a dragon, a creature of fire, would never harm the chosen of the Lord of Light.
And indeed, that was the case.
With the witch's help, Aegor, who was leading the group, managed to regain control of the horse that had nearly thrown him. Without showing panic, he ordered everyone to reform their ranks and continue the march, though he frowned and looked skyward.
He had ordered that the Queen's dragon be well fed at all costs, and reports had said the two dragons had stayed quietly in the castle, sleeping, not flying about, causing panic, or harming anyone. Unless the soldier left at the Queen's side dared to lie to him, what was Rhaegal doing, suddenly swooping down to intimidate him?
It was not just Aegor on the ground who was confused. Rhaegal, flying in the sky, was even more bewildered.
A minute earlier, he had been sleeping soundly in his dragonpit, sheltered from the wind and snow, when he suddenly sensed an unusually powerful, no, an intimidating presence aimed directly at him from afar. Unlike the terrifying aura of some unknown force beyond the Wall, this presence inspired not just fear, but reverence and awe from deep within. It was a kind of soul-level suppression, so overwhelming that he did not even dare to flee. He could only obediently crawl out of the pit, take to the air, and come to pay his respects.
Rhaegal had imagined he would find an old dragon, as large as a mountain, its wings spanning the sky, perhaps even one of his ancestors. But after flying to the location and searching for some time, he did not see any trace of such a creature. Sensing more carefully, he realized the source of the aura was actually below him, on the ground.
In the worldview of dragons, flying above a powerful being was a great insult. So he quickly swooped down, but still saw only a group of dozens of humans riding horses through the snow. Not understanding what was going on, and unwilling to crash into the snow, he climbed again, circling seven or eight more times before finally confirming the source of the oppressive aura that made him both revere and fear was among the small figures on the ground.
With a brain not suited to deep thought, Rhaegal could not figure out the reason. But the instinctive fear deep in his bloodline stopped him from simply turning back to sleep or attempting an attack to test the aura. After circling for a while without understanding, he finally made a decision. He would land and take a closer look.
With a rush of wings and swirling snow, the dark green shadow that had been circling above them descended again, cutting into the path of the black-clad group and finally landing in the thick snow beside the road ahead.
Everyone was forced to halt.
"My Lord, what do we do now?" Casey asked, dumbfounded. The dragon had been circling overhead, and Aegor had ordered them to ignore it and continue forward. They had obeyed. But now it had landed in their path. Even if their mental resolve was strong, they could not pass through the body of a dragon, could they?
"It is here for you, Lord Commander," Melisandre also reined in her horse, turning to gaze at him.
Aegor nodded without speaking. He was no fool. He had already guessed it when the dragon first circled above them. And even earlier, on the day he received the Lord of Light's blessing, he had been sure that something might happen the next time he encountered a dragon. But in all the imagined scenarios, Daenerys was present. In reality, it was not that he encountered a dragon, but that a dragon had flown over to seek him out.
A dragon that already had a master had taken the initiative to land before him and block the road. As a subject, what was he supposed to do?
"You stay here. Casey, Melisandre, come with me."
The young attendant, now a young man, had not grown much braver. When called out, he hunched his shoulders and reluctantly urged his horse forward. The three of them left the formation and slowly approached the massive creature lying ahead in the snow.
Rhaegal swept aside the snow beside him with his tail and limbs, clearing a space to make himself more comfortable, then ceased moving. He raised his long neck like a swan, exhaling hot white mist, and silently watched the three approach on horseback. When they were still seven or eight meters away, no matter how they spurred or whipped, the horses refused to move another step. Aegor had to dismount along with his two companions. Casey held the reins of all three horses to prevent them from bolting, while Aegor and the Red Priestess continued on foot.
The giant creature had every reason to loathe the North. The snow around him quickly melted under his body heat, creating slush and puddles beneath his feet and tail, which mixed with the thawing frozen soil into mud. The thought of stepping in such filth was enough to disgust anyone. No wonder he had flown for so long before finally choosing to land.
The dragon's heat, which would have once burned a man, now felt just right, warm to the touch. Aegor looked up, never breaking eye contact with the beast. Cautious but not fearful, he walked into the shadow of Rhaegal, stopping only when he reached a distance close enough to touch. He placed his hands on his hips and waited to see what the beast intended.
One looked nearly straight up, the other nearly straight down. After a few seconds of this gaze, Rhaegal finally confirmed that the aura came from the small human before him. He withdrew slightly, lowered his head, and brought his massive, swan-like neck closer to Aegor. His huge eyes, slitted pupils fixed on the man's face, seemed to ask why such a small creature, one he could swallow in a single bite, carried an aura that made his heart tremble.
Dragons did not have expressive faces, and Aegor could not read his thoughts from his eyes. Just as he was hesitating how to respond, Melisandre, bold and skilled, and standing so close to a dragon for the first time, could not help but reach out cautiously and touch Rhaegal's nose.
"Hiss." The bronze eyes of the dragon turned toward the daring priestess. With a snort, Rhaegal opened his mouth, showing black teeth, and made a biting motion at her.
He had long learned from Daenerys that humans were not to be eaten. The opening and closing of his jaws was just to scare the woman in red. But Aegor did not know this. Hearing the cry of the woman who had once shared his bed, and seeing the only Red Priestess beside him in danger, unsure if Melisandre's magic could protect her, he subconsciously reached out and pressed his hand to Rhaegal's head.
In his palm, the heat that could once have burned him now felt just right. And what happened next was something none of them expected. Rhaegal, who had been baring his teeth at Melisandre a moment before, froze the instant Aegor's hand touched him, as if crushed by an immense weight. The next moment, he withdrew his threatening posture, stepped back, lowered his shoulders and neck, and displayed a body language that any species, any culture could recognize at a glance. He prostrated himself.
Not just his jaw, but his front claws, wings, and hind legs, all touched the ground.
To describe it more precisely, it was a six-limbed prostration.
(To be continued.)