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Chapter 400
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 12:45:20 +0000 UTC“So?” Daenerys straightened in her chair, staring intently at Aegor as he entered the room empty-handed for the third time. Her sense of unease had finally reached its limit. Though her words were measured, her hand had already stealthily gripped a dining fork from the table and hidden it beneath the surface. “Where is the book?”
…
Arya’s failed assassination attempt had, ironically, helped Aegor accomplish something he had previously considered but decided against—delivering a “warning shot” to the daughter of the Mad King.
In Westeros, intelligence had a shelf life. Even the “Spider,” Varys, wasn’t omniscient. Daenerys had no idea that one of her greatest obstacles to conquering the Seven Kingdoms—Robb Stark’s younger sister—was in the same castle as her. Aegor’s frenzied search for the sword-wielding Arya had left him rushing in and out of the tower, each time empty-handed and without explanation, his expression harried and steps hurried. It was enough to stir suspicion in anyone.
When the sounds of a girl screaming, crying, and arguing reached her ears from outside, Daenerys grew deeply alarmed. Had Aegor, the supposedly principled Lord Commander, betrayed his own integrity? Was Arya Stark, or perhaps even Daenerys herself, the next target?
Had she not known for certain that Missandei wasn’t with her, she might have already assumed that Aegor had just murdered her handmaiden and that she herself was next.
Even though the conversation outside had confirmed there was no chaos or bloodshed, and even though Aegor’s hushed words to Arya were too muffled to hear,
The sheer number of abnormalities still left Daenerys feeling like she had walked into a trap.
She was now on high alert.
She never should have come.
Her desire for the ancient 'Sovereign' had driven her decision. Instead of dispatching ships and scribes to retrieve the text, something intangible had urged her to see it for herself. The Red Priestess’s urgings and her warning of the impending war only reinforced the temptation. Against her better judgment, Daenerys had chosen to ride north on Drogon, leaving the tense siege of King’s Landing behind to venture to this unfamiliar and undefended corner of her kingdom.
It was a mistake.
Though Daenerys had some respect for Aegor’s principles and composure, his strange behavior now threw everything into doubt. If his intentions were hostile, even her dragons might not save her in time.
But Daenerys was no ordinary woman. She was Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, the rightful queen of Westeros. Though she gripped her fork tightly beneath the table, her face betrayed nothing. If Aegor dared to move against her, she swore she would make him regret it, even if it cost her life.
She began calling to Drogon with her soul. The bond between a dragon and its rider was unique—while not as immediate as a horn’s call, it had proven reliable time and time again. Within the hour, her children would come.
…
The tower’s hearth crackled warmly, the once-chilly room now a far more inviting setting for a delicate conversation. Aegor, oblivious to Daenerys’s wariness, maintained a respectful distance, standing across the table. Despite the subtle pull he felt toward her—a mix of admiration and something more primal—he held himself in check. Discipline, after all, was the mark of a great man.
“The book is extraordinary, Your Grace,” he began, the ghost of a polite smile on his face. “But before I retrieve it, may I ask a question? You’ve crossed the Narrow Sea, endured countless trials, and come to Westeros seeking what you believe is yours. Is your goal merely to claim the Iron Throne and secure the submission of the Seven Kingdoms?”
“What does my purpose have to do with the Night’s Watch?” Daenerys’s voice hardened, her wariness deepening. “Do you mean to judge me?”
“It’s relevant,” Aegor replied plainly. Hearing the tension in her tone, he decided against prolonging the prelude. “If your answer is yes, then neither the book nor the advice I was prepared to offer you will matter. With men like Petyr Baelish and Varys at your side, you already possess all the tools you need to win the Iron Throne. Marry Aegon and claim the throne as queen consort. Or, if you’re determined to rule alone, rally the Reach and Dorne to your cause. With your dragons and reputation, victory is well within your grasp.”
“This is none of your concern,” Daenerys snapped. “I came here for the book. Whether I read it or not, whether I use its knowledge or not, is my business alone. Where is it?”
Aegor sighed inwardly. She was sharp. Steering this conversation away from her demands wouldn’t be as easy as it was with Arya.
“I must confess something to you, Your Grace.” Aegor hesitated, then pressed forward. “When we met on Dragonstone, I wasn’t entirely truthful. The book I promised you doesn’t exist—not in the way you expect. It isn’t a physical text. It exists only in my memory.”
“Oh?” Daenerys raised a brow, her lips curving into a dangerous smile. The expression radiated both allure and threat. “Deceiving a monarch is no small crime. Was your lie meant to lure me here?”
“In part,” Aegor admitted, spreading his hands apologetically. “But I had no choice. If I’d told you the truth, you might have detained me, forcing me to transcribe the book before letting me leave. The Gift and the Wall cannot afford my absence.”
Admitting his lie was the most dangerous step in this conversation.
Aegor had initially tried to sidestep the issue, but Daenerys had forced his hand.
If he failed to explain himself properly, she might storm out in fury, refusing to listen to another word.
If she got up to leave, what then?
Would he stop her? Or let her go?
Aegor held his breath.
"There was one more reason."
If he was already going this far, he might as well lay everything on the table.
"I could not determine, from just one meeting, whether the queen before me—"
He met her gaze squarely, without hesitation.
"—was truly the same woman I had read about in the rumors."
His gamble hung in the air like a drawn sword. If she stormed out now, furious at the deception, his plans would collapse. He waited, his breath tight.
Daenerys despised deception.
Her face immediately contorted with barely concealed anger, yet, in the end, she didn’t react as Aegor had feared—she didn’t suddenly rise from her seat and storm toward the door.
She had been unsettled by the strange commotion earlier—
And now, she was just as wary of Aegor suddenly dropping his mask and turning violent.
Beneath the table, her fingers gripped the fork tightly, mentally counting seconds, stalling for time—silently waiting for Drogon to sense her distress and come to her aid.
How could she recklessly stand up under such circumstances?
“Which version of me have you heard?” Daenerys asked suddenly, her tone sharp and mocking. “The tyrant who feeds dragons with live men? The sorceress who bathes in virgin blood? Or the horse-lord’s whore?”
“None of those,” Aegor replied calmly. “A rational mind can sift through the noise and find the truth. What I see is a woman determined to seize her destiny, to correct the world’s injustices, and to reshape it into something better—a visionary.”
…
