[49] The Dragon’s Rescue

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It was morning now, and I was sitting on the edge of the bed with my sword on my lap as I polished it with a clean piece of cloth. A throaty rumble of Viserion gnawing on her breakfast—some poor sheep or what remained of it—brought me out of my focus as I looked up. A morning breeze rustled the camp’s tents, carrying the savory-sour smell of churned mutton through the air.

I locked the sword on my waist and walked out, stepping into the commotion that was a war camp. People stared at Viserion eating, their eyes full of awe, and I enjoyed it. I approached her, noticing what she was eating. It didn’t look particularly appetizing, but my dragon enjoyed the raw, bloody feast nonetheless. Well, I say it’s not particularly appetizing, but… Somehow, I also felt hungry looking at it.

This was not a good sign. Was I losing my rationality? Shaking my head, I patted her golden scales, feeling the tension in her body as she tore off another hunk of flesh. She probably wasn’t hungry, she’d feasted yesterday, but she clearly didn’t mind eating more. I didn’t mind; a well-fed dragon was safer for everyone involved.

Yawning, I glanced around, observing the camp, the people, and the burning scent of meat. My eyes fell on a small entourage that had gathered in the clearing just beyond Viserion.

Robb Stark stood at the forefront, with his mother and sister not far behind. The older woman’s stance was prim and guarded. A few of the important northern lords flanked them, recognizable from the night’s extended meeting—some with bandaged arms, others with stern, soldierly faces. A cluster of men in thick cloaks lingered at the edge, curious but respectful.

“You’re up early, Your Grace,” Robb said, stepping closer. His hair was tousled in the morning sun, and though he tried for a neutral expression, he looked curious. “We’ve prepared a feast for you. Well, as much as we can prepare in a war camp.”

I shrugged lightly. “That won’t be necessary. I plan to leave soon. Well, as soon as she’s done,” I replied, nodding toward Viserion’s current meal. “She’ll be full enough to fly without complaining.”

Behind Robb, I spotted Sansa and Lady Catelyn. Sansa’s gaze was downcast, her lips pressed in a wistful line. I guessed she was sad to see me depart; no surprises there, considering the closeness we’d developed in such a short time. But her mother’s expression was as formidable as ever—doubtful, protective, and appraising.

Nearby lords looked on with polite interest or mild curiosity as Robb cleared his throat, sighing. “A pity. But I’m sure the soldiers will enjoy the food.”

I laughed, “That they will. And just call me by name. It doesn't matter even if people are around, Robb. Fellow Kings should have that much liberty. Plus, we’re friends, right?”

He smiled. “Of course. You saved my sister, so we certainly are. I appreciate everything you’ve done, Viserys. Last night’s talk ended on a good note, and your promises made us look forward to the coming months. My lords are grateful, and we’ll be waiting for when you call.” His voice lowered. “Once you ride out, I trust you’ll send word when the time is ripe? I’ll lead my army into King’s Landing then.”

I offered him a firm nod, smiling. “Count on it. I’ll send a raven when the right moment comes. By then, Viserion should also be large enough to cast a real shadow of fear over King’s Landing. So don’t be late to the game, otherwise I’ll enjoy it all by myself.”

He chuckled genuinely. “I look forward to that.” Then his gaze flicked to Viserion. The dragon had, by now, devoured the better part of the sheep. Gore stained the grass and her jaws. Still, the sight didn’t seem to unnerve Robb as much as it might have a day earlier.

I’d say this was a pretty good visit. We made decent strides in bridging old animosities. The Starks and Targaryens were historically enemies, yet here we stood—almost real allies. Mutual respect was a pleasant change from Doran Martell’s doubt to Olenna Tyrell’s desire to take advantage of me.

By this time, Viserion let out a quiet huff, flapping her wings in a lazy stretch. Satisfied, apparently. I took that as my cue to mount. With one swift motion, I approached her side and laid a hand against the scaled curve of her neck. She grumbled softly but didn’t protest as I hoisted myself onto her back.

The northern lords stiffened, shifting uneasily at the prospect of me taking flight right before them. Perhaps instinctually, they feared what I could do on top of dragon's back, away from their attacks, and a weapon of mass destruction under my command.

“Alright then,” I said, patting Viserion. “We’ll see–” Before I could finish my goodbyes, Sansa stepped forward, desperation on her face that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“Viserys!” she called, her voice almost cracking. Then she caught herself, remembering protocol. “A-ah, I mean, Your Grace… please, before you go, I— I have one last favor to ask.” She stammered, making the lords exchange looks.

Her tone made me pause. Even from my vantage on Viserion’s back, I could see the guilt and fear shining in her eyes. Robb scowled, and Lady Catelyn let out a sigh. Whatever Sansa was about to say clearly wasn’t new to the rest of her family.

“Speak up,” I told her. “If there’s something important, I’d rather not leave with regrets.”

Sansa swallowed, her voice trembling. “Well… Last night, after I finally felt relief being free, I found out some terrible news that my mother was hiding to spare me more sorrow. It’s about my younger brothers, Bran and Rickon. Theon Greyjoy… the imbecile that House Stark raised, has taken Winterfell. My brothers are in his custody.” Her lips quivered. “Please, help us. Save my brothers. Save Winterfell from that traitor!”

The gathered men fell silent, and even the soldiers nearby watched the scene. I detected a note of dismay on Robb’s face. He quickly recovered, turning to Sansa with a placating gesture. “We’ve already sent men to handle it, Sansa. Lord Bolton dispatched his bastard son to reclaim Winterfell. Just give it some time. Viserys is a guest—an ally, yes—but we can’t impose on him like this.”

“But it’s the Ironborn,” Lady Catelyn cut in sharply, fists clenched. This time, she was on her daughter’s side. “I told you Robb, but you didn’t listen. Theon grew up with you and then betrayed you. Imagine what those who grew up in the Iron Islands are like. Who’s to say they’ll spare hostages?! We can’t risk delaying. If those filthy men hurt Bran or Rickon, then…. I don’t know.”

Robb exhaled, clearly torn. I hummed momentarily and lightly tapped my fingers on Viserion’s scales. “Your mother is right, Robb. The Ironborn are infamous for cruelty. And we’re allies now, friends, even. Seeing you… especially Sansa… lose her precious brothers would pain me as well.” I said and watched Sansa’s eyes widen in surprise. “And it’s not as if I’m in a hurry to return to King’s Landing. So, I can head north and teach the Ironborn men a lesson.”

Sansa brightened, hope lighting her face. “Then—then I’m coming with you!”

“No, you’re not,” Catelyn barked, whirling on her daughter with a glare that would’ve withered lesser souls. “I won’t allow such madness. You’re to stay here, with me, and with your brother who’ll keep you safe.”

Robb placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “...Mother, please. Sansa has endured so much. And honestly, perhaps she’s more safe with Viserys. He’s on top of a dragon, as you can see. Plus, a Stark needs to go with him to Winterfell. The people of the North would tremble in fear otherwise if they saw a dragon riding Targaryen circle their sky. With Sansa there, they’ll see the alliance is real. Besides, we can’t spare the time or resources to ferry Sansa back here if—”

Catelyn’s expression colored with anger, but Robb pressed on. “Don’t give me that look, mother. Let’s not pretend any of us here forgot what you did. You still haven’t received a verdict for releasing Jaime Lannister. If not, I’d have requested Viserys to take you back to Winterfell, as well. So just stay quiet, and trust that Sansa will be safe with Viserys.”

She opened her mouth, clearly wishing to object further, but words failed her. Her eyes flicked from Sansa’s pleading expression to me, perched on Viserion, and she let out a frustrated breath. “Fine,” she said at last, voice cold. “But if any harm befalls my daughter—”

“It won’t,” I assured her, my tone calm and confident. “I delivered her safely. How can I let her be harmed when you’re trusting her with me willingly? Fear not, she’ll come to no harm under my watch.”

Robb stepped closer, offering me a respectful nod. “Thank you. friend. Keep her safe, and I trust you’ll do whatever you must to free our brothers. Theon… Theon was once my friend, but that friendship is dead now. He chose his path.”

“Understood,” I murmured. “We’ll leave at once.”

Sansa wasted no time. She ran forward, hands delicately resting on Viserion’s golden flank, searching for a foothold. The dragon let out a soft grunt—whether annoyance or mere acknowledgment, I couldn’t be sure—but didn’t flinch as Sansa clambered up in front of me. The watchers stared, breath held, as she settled onto the dragon’s back.

They watched as a Stark climbed onto dragon back.

I offered one last glance at the Starks. Robb raised a hand in silent thanks. Catelyn stood taut, arms folded, eyes brimming with worry. The northern lords surrounding them exchanged awed whispers.

Then Viserion spread her wings, stirring gusts of dust and hay in the clearing. Sansa gave a final wave, her hair tumbling in the breeze.

And then we lifted off. Viserion launched herself into the bright morning sky, hoisting us clear of the camp, the men below shrinking to antlike shapes. A swirl of cold air rushed against my cheeks, and Sansa let out a soft gasp, I tightened my verdict around her waist, making her relax. Over the roar of the wind, I heard the distant cheers, the murmurs, and the faint clang of steel as the world fell away beneath us.

We soared northward, the horizon wide open. My mind raced, plans for subduing Theon Greyjoy, and perhaps his father, for winning over the North, for everything that might follow if my rescue mission succeeded.

“Hang on,” I whispered to Sansa’s ears. “The real ride begins now.” Each time Viserion flapped her wings, I felt one step deeper into the game of thrones.

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