Chapter 46: Dragon Among Wolves—

  Catelyn Stark stood iorchlit tent, her heart pounding and her posture tense like cold steel despite the yers of fur at her shoulders. A hushed ring of Northern lords surrounded her, faces lined with anger. In the ter of them all stood Robb Stark, King in the North, jaw tight as he gred at his mother over the long table.

  “How could you?” His voice shook, full of fury. “You set Jaime Lannister free—without my sel, without any of my men around to stop you. Mother… do you realize what you’ve done?”

  Catelyn’s stomach ed. She’d imagihis frontation but not the raw bitterness in her son’s eyes. “I did it for Sansa,” she said, f a calm she didn’t feel. “And for Arya too. The Lannisters hold them hostage—”

  “And the Kingsyer was our bargaining chip for that! You had nht!” Robb smmed a fist oable, rattling the metal cups. Several lords shifted uneasily, their fury more than clear. “It’s not just about Sansa or Arya now—it’s the war, the realm itself. You threw away gest advantage, our only hostage who truly mattered.”

  “I had no choice.” The words felt weak even in her own ears. “I am their mother, Robb. I—”

  A tall, grim Northern lord—Lord Roose Bolton—cut her off coldly. “A mother’s love is fine, but an oath is sacred. There are men in this camp who’d hang you for treason, Lady Catelyn, if you weren’t the mother of our King.”

  “She risked our entire cause,” another lord spat, knuckles white where he clutched the table edge. Murmurs of agreement rippled.

  Catelyn’s cheeks burned. But she stood firm, gaze locked on her son. “I did what I believed was right. Hate me if you must, but—”

  A sudden thunderous fpping cut through the heated stillness. The tent walls rippled as if caught in a gust. Soldiers outside began shouting, their voices taut with arm. The entire assembly froze. Robb’s gaze flicked to the tent fp, his rage temporarily dispced by fusion.

  “What in the name of the gods—?” Lord Umber growled, already turning to unbar the terance. Even Catelyn was startled. What could cause such a strong wind?

  Robb drew himself up. “Everyone, with me,” he ordered, stepping forward. Catelyn followed close behind, ign the sidelong looks that still bristled with nation.

  They emerged into the twilight of the camp, the sky a smoky purple. Men raced betwees, some brandishing spears or crossbows, while others simply stumbled in awe. Above them, wings glinted golden iorchlight. Everyone froze on their feet.

  A dragon—a golden dragon—hovered overhead, rge wings fpping slowly.

  Its roar was a thunderous boom that rattled every shield and quied every heart.

  Cately her stomach turn cold. Had she gone mad? Was she seeing things? But everyone around her also stared i the sky. She’d heard stories of Targaryen dragons from her great-grandfather’s time, but to see one like this—alive, wings beating the air—seemed a nightmare made real. Around her, voices tumbled into panid she felt her own forehead go cold.

  “F-form ranks!” a deep-voiced warrior shouted. “Archers, to the ready!”

  “No!” Robb’s shout cut through the din. His eyes narrowed on the creature, and his voice thundered with and. Cat’s head so her son. What was he saying? “Hold your fire—look there!” He poi the dragon’s babsp;

  The silhouette of a girl’s cloak fpped in the beast’s slipstream. Catelyn’s heart seized as reition dawned. It was… “Oh, the Seven, it’s Sansa!”

  The massive dragon lowered itself, stirring wind across tents and scattering embers from campfires. Soldiers scrambled back, aiming shaky pikes and trembling bows. Then, in a great rush of air, the beast nded, cws digging into the earth. It folded its wings with a deep, rumbling snort.

  Two figures slid down from the dragon’s fnk. Everyoared at the stupidity that they saw. But Cat’s motherly eyes only focused on one figure, who took off her robes to reveal red hair. The first was indeed Sansa, hair disheveled and cloak half undone. Cately out a broken gasp, tears springing to her eyes. She rushed forward without thinking, arms flung wide.

  “Sansa!”

  Her daughter stumbled into her embrace, sobbing breathlessly as she called, “Mother?! Oh, Mother, it’s you!” Catelyn cradled Sansa’s cheeks, relief and shock tangling in her chest. She drew baly to look Sansa over, her eyes brimming with both joy and pain.

  Meanwhile, the sed figure—tall, armor-cd, hair silver as moonlight—stood a half-step behind Sansa, watg. Catelyn hadn’t calmed down, but she shot him a gnce, feeling her eyes tremble.

  He looked unily like the portraits ar Targaryen, the fallen prince of old. Cat had met the man before, but it’d been almost two decades since. She couldn’t be sure if it was the real deal.

  The Northern men leveled a row of bdes and spears toward him, f a circle of steel. Catelyn kissed Sansa’s forehead, then turo him agai still pounding. “W-who is that man—?”

  She asked, and instead of responding, Sansa broke from her arms, steppiween the circle of ons and the silver-haired stranger. “Wait!” she cried, voice shaking as she raised her arms. Her gaze darted anxiously to Robb, who stood near with his sword half-raised. “Robb, tell them to lower their ons. Please, he saved me! I’d be dead—worse than dead—if it wasn’t for him. He’s not our enemy!”

  The men exged dark gnces, uain. Robb’s eyes flickered to Sansa, theargaryen look-alike, fury and caution warring on his features. “Sansa, step aside,” he anded, voice taut. “You don’t know what you’re proteg. If he is truly what our eyes tell us he is… some ghost… some twisted magical shadow, he ’t be trusted!”

  “I haven't beeched,” she tered, tears on her cheeks. “Trust me, brother. He’s here to— he wants to discuss terms. Political terms. Please, just hear him out. Let him speak.”

  Silence cmped down on the camp. Dozens of Northern soldiers watched, knuckles white on spearshafts, as Sansa stood quivering in front of the Targaryen, refusing to move. Catelyn trembled, torween maternal instincts and dread of the hat was Targaryen.

  Robb finally lowered his sword, though not by much. His gre never left the stranger. “No one move, and don’t attack him unless he does first,” he anded, voice ringing with authority. “We’ll see what this… ghost ar wants.”

  A hush fell over the camp, broken only by the restless stir of the dragon behind them, its breath a low hiss in the chill night.

  ****

  I sat ient’s quiet shadows, cuffs biting into my wrists, as I ehe amusing situation. They dared point ons at me when a dragon stood behind me. What fools. I’d have killed half of them just to set an example if I wasn’t here for politics.

  The makeshift table before me stood mostly empty, save for a flickering oil mp. Now and then, I heard the soft otion of footfalls and hushed voices outside—this Northern camp was restless around me, mistrust bleeding through every vas seam.

  I waited, w when the Northern Lords would be doh their meeting wheent fp rustled, and Sansa slipped inside, clutg a small tray of food. Two guards stepped in on her heels, eyes darting warily between her and me. She paused and faced them, lifting her with surprising resolve.

  “Please, stay outside,” she said quietly. “If he meant me harm, he’d have done so earlier. And if he decides to hurt me now, trust me, I doubt the two of you could stop him.” Her voice caught as she added, “Don’t make me look more pathetic before him, please.”

  The guards hesitated as they exged silent ghen bowed their heads iant pliahey stepped back out, letting the tent fp close. Sansa turned, eyes falling on mine.

  She approached, pg the tray of stew and bread oable. We said nothing for a beat. She eyed the s cirg my wrists, the my gaze. “You… you have food now,” she murmured. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  A small smile tugged at my lips. “I appreciate it,” I said, her as she shifted. I thought she might sit across from me for a moment, but with a sudden decision, she dragged the chair around aled beside me instead. Her eyes lingered on my bound hands.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, voice wavering. “I never imagihey’d treat you like this—not after yht me home. on bao less.”

  I let out a soft ugh. “I’ve been thinking the same, actually. It’s amusing, isn’t it? But if you think about it, it’s hardly surprising. I arrived unannounced in their camp with a golden dragon, wearing Rhaegar’s armor. It’d be madness not to me.”

  “Well…”

  I tilted my head, giving her a curious look. “I’m more surprised they let you in here alone,” I raised my bound hands, putting a finger under her and raising it. “What if I end up dev you instead of the food?”

  She blushed, eyes flickering away and hands fiddling with the er of the tray. “I… I insisted. They… Robb is smart enough to know you won’t harm me after bringing me here, I suppose.”

  I ughed, pulling my hands back, while my gaze slid to the tent’s entrance. “By the way, what’s Viserion up to? I hope they didn’t try anything stupid with her?”

  Sansa let out a quiet ugh. “They tried. Viserion wouldn’t budge. She’s right outside, apparently snoozing… or pretending, because she hisses at anyone who es too close. Two men got their arms burnt already.”

  “She never misses a ce to intimidate fools,” I said, “Besides, she’s probably anxious for me. That’s cute. I’m starting to get fond of her, you see.”

  Sansa mahe fai smile. “I don’t think you’re helpless, even if cuffs. Viserion speak, she’ll definitely rush in if you call her. And well… I’m here. I won’t let them harm you.”

  I gave her a sly look. “Are you worried for me, my dy? You’ve grown fond already? And we have barely spent two nights together….”

  A blush kissed her cheeks, and she turned her face aside. “W-what?! Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m still a proper dy!” She mumbled, but the er of her mouth curved just a little. “Anyway, you should eat. You haveen anything since we nded.”

  She poi the bowl of steaused, uain, as she noticed my wrists. I lifted them, rattling the link. “I’d love to, but my range of motion is somewhat… limited.” I offered an apologetic shrug.

  Her cheeks colored deeper. With a determined nod, she scooted closer, pig up a spoonful of stew. Carefully, she lifted it to my lips. Our eyes locked, ae her obvious embarrassment, she didn’t falter.

  I sipped the warm broth, feeling an odd sense of closeness in her gesture. “Thank you,” I said gently after swallowing the first bite.

  She nodded, givihe sed spoonful. This time, azes g just a moment longer, and I swore she was swallowing more than just nerves. “You’re wele,” she whispered, her voice as light as the steam drifting from the bowl.

  We’d gotten maybe halfway through the meal wheent fp flew open. Robb Stark strode in, Catelyn just behind him, followed by a knot of Northern lords. They froze at the sight. Sansa perched beside me, spoon in hand, almost feeding me like a doting nursemaid. Cately out a trembling sigh, and Robb’s eyes fshed with somethiween fury and mortification.

  “Stop this,” Robb growled. “This is embarrassing.”

  A slow gri onto my face. “Why’s it embarrassing to feed the King of the realm, Lord Stark?” I asked. The room fell silent at that, tension crag in the dim mplight.

  One of the Northern lords—Roose Bolton, of all people—spoke up, voice cold. “You call yourself king while wearing the armor of a dead man? Enough with the pretending. Let’s hear your true name and cim.”

  I rose from the chair, s rattling. Sansa flinched, but I stood calmly. “I don’t like the disrespe your tone, Lord Bolton,” I said. “My name…” with a flex of my wrists, the cuffs snapped and tumbled to the ground, and I was free. “Is Viserys Targaryen. Third of my name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

  A chorus of scraping steel echoed as men dreons. Sansa scrambled to staween them and me, her stance half-shielding my figure.

  I gave a half-smile, trying not to sound too pompous. “It’s awkward to recite my own titles, but… my father, King Aerys II, named me heir after Rhaegar’s death, however short-lived that might have been. So please, be careful at whom you point your sword.”

  Silence seized the tent. They stared, stunned.

  I tinued calmly, “I’ve e back to Westeros to recim the throhat’s mine by right, and yes—I do have a golden dragon to help. I didn’t wear this armor to mock my brother; it’s simply a homage. Rhaegar Targaryen was a fine ruler, even if his character was questionable. People assumed I was his ghost, but that’s on them, not me.”

  No one spoke. Robb’s hand lowered an in his sword, though caution still shaped his posture. Catelyn’s eyes flicked from Sansa’s smiling form to me, worry etched in every line of her face. Around us, the Northern lords stood tense, jaws ched, as if brag for battle.

  Whatever es , I noted, will reshape the realm. Before a Dragon Rider Targaryen, their so-called King in the North might just be a mere pie the board.

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