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Chapter 456
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 16:47:52 +0000 UTCAfter some discussion, Daenerys accepted Aegor’s comprehensive suggestions. She drafted concise orders to remotely reorganize and redeploy her southern forces while also summoning her closest retainers and guards to join her at the Wall via sea. Leaving a draft for Aegor to copy and distribute, the queen, still anxious about her “child,” ended the meeting early to check on the progress of moving Drogon into the castle.
Thanks to years of media portrayals and theme park impressions, many modern people picture “castles” as grand, stone-built fortresses like Winterfell or the Red Keep—majestic structures with towering walls, imposing keeps, and numerous defensive towers. But in truth, most castles in Westeros, especially in the North, were far more modest. Aside from Winterfell, the Stark seat that needed to maintain its status as the North’s centerpiece, many other Northern castles were little more than fortified estates. These were often surrounded by a single defensive wall enclosing a courtyard where servants and retainers lived, with a central keep serving as the lord’s residence.
Last Hearth was a quintessential example of such a practical, no-frills design. Situated in the extreme north, its remote and barren location, combined with the poverty of the Umbers’ lands, meant it was rarely attacked. Even the occasional, starving band of wildlings that wandered south after crossing Night’s Watch territory lacked the strength to threaten it. As such, its owners had never seen the need to expand or fortify it extensively. It was a purely functional structure: larger and sturdier than a wooden palisade but far from a grand fortress. Its small Godswood, barely more than a patch of trees, even showed signs of having been used to grow vegetables beneath the weirwood’s branches.
The castle’s simple, utilitarian design and the damage from recent battles with the dead made it highly “customizable” for Aegor’s purposes. With tools, manpower, and little concern for preservation, the soldiers quickly dismantled the west gate, tearing down its frame, panels, and even the overhead beam to create a wide breach in the wall.
The breach was ready, but moving the dragon sled into the castle presented new challenges. The sled was a crude contraption—a series of sleds lashed together—far from a solid, coherent structure. It couldn’t cross the frozen moat’s narrow drawbridge. After some fruitless brainstorming among the Night’s Watch and Gift soldiers, the impatient queen took matters into her own hands. Daenerys approached Drogon, soothing and encouraging him until the injured dragon shakily rose to his feet and wobbled the remaining two hundred yards into the castle through the breached gate, collapsing onto the raised, insulated ground prepared for him.
With Drogon in place, the construction of his temporary lair could finally begin. Given the constraints of time and resources, building a proper “dragon pit” was impossible. Instead, a simple solution was chosen: a large, semi-enclosed tent would be erected over the dragon to shield him from wind and snow. This makeshift shelter would suffice until Drogon recovered. Once he was well enough, the tent could be dismantled—or he could simply tear through it himself.
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As the sun dipped below the horizon and the temperature plummeted, torches and oil lamps were lit throughout the castle. The grounds buzzed with activity as workers drove stakes, tied ropes, and awkwardly stitched together sailcloth for the tent.
Aegor tried to persuade Daenerys to return indoors and leave the construction to the soldiers, but she was too invested in the project. Knowing that Drogon would have to remain in the tent for at least the next ten days, she became deeply involved in overseeing its construction. With an air of regal authority, she moved gracefully yet purposefully among the workers, issuing precise instructions. Unaware of the distraction her presence caused among the men, she demanded the tent be tall enough to allow Drogon to lift his head and stretch comfortably, and that the frame be reinforced to withstand snowstorms without collapsing onto the dragon. In her exacting and meticulous oversight, she resembled the most demanding of patrons.
Seeing that her involvement seemed to ease her grief and anxiety, Aegor stopped trying to dissuade her. Instead, he and his guards quietly followed at a respectful distance, ensuring her safety while letting her exercise her authority as queen. All the while, Aegor reflected on the day’s events and his own shortcomings.
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The crisis sparked by Rhaegal’s flight over the castle appeared, on the surface, to be a result of the queen’s impulsiveness. But Aegor recognized that the deeper fault lay with himself.
In the aftermath of the Battle of Long Lake, he had not yet shaken off the euphoria and adrenaline of victory. It wasn’t that he had grown arrogant, but rather that he seemed to have lost his sharpness. He could still ruthlessly outwit and crush his enemies, but when it came to dealing with ambiguous allies or potential adversaries—those who were neither entirely friend nor foe—he found himself fumbling.
Why had his clarity of thought dulled? Reflecting on this question, Aegor was startled to realize the answer. While he had logically prepared for the possibility of conflict with the North, he had failed to plan for the specifics of how to handle such a conflict. Before the Long Lake battle, this was understandable—his focus had been on defeating the dead. But now, days after victory, this oversight was inexcusable.
Whether out of sentimentality or complacency, he had unconsciously avoided treating the North as a true enemy. His long-standing respect for the Starks and his instinctive affection for the North as allies had clouded his judgment. This unspoken bias had influenced his thinking, leading to today’s missteps. If not for the dragons’ deterrence, the situation could have spiraled into disaster.
Thankfully, it wasn’t too late to correct course. Recognizing his mistake, Aegor resolved to draft a new set of plans—ones that treated the North as an unrelenting enemy, incompatible with his goals. From this new perspective, he would meticulously revise every detail of his strategy.
As his thoughts grew more serious, his focus shifted entirely. Daenerys’s slender, commanding figure faded from his mind as he began mentally simulating his new approach. And the more he thought, the more he realized just how much more complex this struggle would be compared to the war against the dead.
