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Chapter 694
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 19:31:32 +0000 UTCThe green dragon had never carried a rider before. When it crouched down, it had intended only to display submission, not to invite Aegor onto its back. Unsurprisingly, then, Rhaegal lowered itself, but unlike its elder brother, it did not instinctively settle into the proper position for a rider to mount with ease.
…
Daenerys raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Even her—the dragon’s so-called mother—had never been met with such obedience from Drogon when attempting to mount him.
Aegor began his ascent.
The gathered soldiers erupted into a frenzy, their whispers and exclamations filling the air. Even Daenerys, despite her usual composure, had to exert effort to suppress her shock. She knew little of the Freehold before the Doom, but she did know this—never, in the history of Westeros, had an adult dragon been tamed so easily.
How much was a dragon worth?
Under the watchful eyes of man and beast alike, Aegor strode confidently along Rhaegal’s broad, solid neck, coming to a stop near the base of its wings.
Unlike Aegor, Daenerys had never before seen Rhaegal adopt such a docile and submissive posture. The stance, though undignified in appearance, was nearly identical to how Drogon positioned himself when allowing her to mount. The only real difference? Drogon never laid his tail flat against the ground when lowering himself.
Nearby, the black dragon exhaled heavily through its nostrils, while the drinking and feasting soldiers turned their attention to the commotion. Within moments, a thin crowd of onlookers formed at the edges of the dragon pen, drawn in by the unprecedented sight.
At this point, the discussion was no longer just about the dragon’s value—whether it equaled the strength of a regiment, a division, or an entire army. No, what mattered more was what this moment represented. The significance lay not in the permission itself, but in what it implied—Daenerys had, in her heart, placed Aegor above her "dragon-sons."
Aegor was no longer a reckless youth. He held no particular yearning for dragonriding, no grand fantasies of soaring through the skies. But even setting aside the prestige and power it conferred, a dragon was still an unmatched tool of war—both as a means of swift travel and as an unparalleled force of destruction.
And thanks to R'hllor’s blessing, Aegor harbored no doubts about his ability to ride. His only hesitation had been whether Daenerys would permit him to lay claim to what was, in every sense, her property.
A fully grown dragon’s hide was rough and leathery, as hard as the tires of a carriage, covered in overlapping scales and ridges—some textured like hardened toadskin, others rising like great bony protrusions. Yet for all its fearsome appearance, this very texture made climbing easy, provided one wasn’t afraid of the scorching heat radiating from its body.
Two dragons in battle could match—or even surpass—six thousand elite soldiers. And with the right tactics, timing, and deployment? That number could skyrocket beyond measure.
During today’s battle, the Reachmen had only dared to push their scorpion bolts forward because neither the Queen nor her dragons had appeared. That single decision had set off a cascading chain of consequences. With the anti-dragon artillery turned against ground troops, Aegor had been forced to deploy additional forces from his reserves to counter the threat. Meanwhile, he had to redirect half of his cannons to suppress them, which left the other two fronts underpowered. These decisions, while necessary, had nearly cost him the battle.
If he had just one dragon—even if it never attacked, even if it simply hovered above the battlefield—everything would have changed. The Reachmen’s anti-air forces wouldn’t have dared to switch to ground combat. The scorpions and their crews, numbering in the hundreds, would have been locked into place, rendering them useless.
With that, the Western Army’s assault would have proceeded exactly as planned—an uncontested, step-by-step march to victory.
"Don’t move recklessly. Find a stable position before sitting down!"
Daenerys’ voice carried up from below, cutting through the murmurs of awe and speculation. It was not an unnecessary warning—Aegor’s movements had been so swift, her words had nearly come too late.
The dragon’s back was as rough as sun-scorched rock. The moment he climbed atop, Aegor instinctively lowered his center of gravity, attempting to crouch near the base of Rhaegal’s neck—the natural balancing point.
But before he could settle in, something hard struck him between the legs, making him wince in pain. He glanced down—and immediately understood Daenerys’ warning.
Running along the spine, from the base of the neck down, was a row of thick, jagged spines.
Well then. How the hell am I supposed to sit on this?
A chorus of gasps spread through the camp.
The more simple-minded soldiers were merely awestruck at the sight of their commander mounting a dragon.
But the more politically astute among them understood the true significance—this was no mere spectacle.
Aegor was not just gaining a dragon.
This act cemented his status within the Targaryen dynasty.
It was not just a victory for him—it was a guarantee of prosperity for those who followed him.
"Enough! Rhaegal has accepted you, but it is night. You won’t be flying yet—come down!" Daenerys’ voice rang out again, firm yet patient. "Simply climbing aboard is not enough. A saddle and harness are necessary. Tomorrow, I will have the Red Priests perform the same bonding ritual I underwent in the Shadow Lands. Once your mind is connected to Rhaegal’s, you’ll bypass years of training and become a true dragonrider."
Aegor had not expected this.
He had thought Daenerys would hesitate, or at least demand more time before allowing him to attempt such a feat.
Instead, here she was—offering to teach him.
She wasn’t just letting him borrow a dragon.
She was giving him one.
This wasn’t a reward.
This was a coronation.
If Aegor were a different man, he might have hesitated.
But he had already resolved himself.
He had fought, bled, and risked everything in service to the Queen. And now, she was offering him the most valuable prize imaginable.
There was no reason to refuse.
Aegor exhaled, brushing a hand over the dragon’s heated scales as he prepared to dismount.
"Since Her Majesty commands, I shall obey."
Just as he turned to descend, a commotion broke out near the western gate of the camp.
Two soldiers rushed forward, panting from exertion. At first, the gathered men thought they were just eager onlookers trying to catch sight of the spectacle.
But when the two knelt before Aegor and Daenerys, their voices rang out, clear and urgent.
"Your Majesty! Lord Hand! A delegation from Highgarden has arrived—they seek to negotiate terms!"
Aegor cast a glance at Daenerys.
The Queen’s gaze was unreadable.
Victory had come swiftly. Too swiftly.
And now, the lords of the Reach were finally bowing their heads.
With a wry smile, Aegor slid down from Rhaegal’s back.
"Shall we go see what they have to offer, Your Majesty?"
