Chapter 572

Perhaps intimidated by the dozen corpses hanging at the gates, or perhaps simply unwilling to provoke trouble, the Northern lords cooperated surprisingly well. They stationed their armies outside Winterfell and entered the castle with only a few attendants to swear fealty to the queen in person. The ceremony itself was unremarkable, proceeding smoothly without incident. By the time the last noble knelt before Daenerys and presented their sword, the sky had grown dark, and the gathered lords moved en masse into the hastily prepared hall for the next event: the queen's banquet.

As long as you earned her trust and made her believe you genuinely had her best interests at heart, Daenerys could suppress her temper and seriously consider the advice given to her, often making what she believed to be the correct decisions.

...

This trait, along with the goodwill Daenerys had earned by journeying across the world to participate in the battle against the Others, likely played a major role in her reception. The influence of Robb Stark, the Warden of the North, likely also contributed significantly.

The rushed nature of the banquet’s preparation soon became evident. There were no minstrels, jugglers, or jesters to liven the atmosphere, and even the dishes served lacked variety and finesse. However, Winterfell’s generous stockpile of winter provisions ensured there was plenty of food and drink to go around. The northern lords, who had endured days of tense waiting in the freezing cold, seemed more than content with the abundance, and their laughter filled the hall without a single word of complaint.

Not all corners of the hall, however, were filled with such merriment. Perhaps to show their disdain for Aegor as a "turncoat" and traitor, none of the Northern nobles approached him to converse or toast, leaving the second-row table where he sat conspicuously quiet. His solitary drinking cast a lonely, desolate shadow amid the lively crowd.

As Aegor calmly sipped his hot soup and enjoyed his roast meat, a figure descended from the high table and approached him. With a loud "thud," the person half-threw, half-placed a plate onto the table before him.

The hearth's flames roared warmly, and the torches on the walls let off faint wisps of smoke. At the head of the hall, Robb Stark was reporting on his mission to Seagard, lamenting the costs of bribing minor lords and subtly hinting that he hoped the queen might reimburse part of the expense. Meanwhile, the Northern lords, naturally hearty and self-sufficient, seemed entirely unbothered by the lack of entertainment. They drank, laughed, and bantered among themselves with gusto. More than a dozen nobles, twice as many attendants, and several officers from the gifted lands' armies, as well as some Free Folk chiefs, were thoroughly enjoying the feast.

Occasionally, someone would leave their seat, approach Daenerys at the head of the hall, and toast her and Robb Stark under the watchful eyes of the Unsullied guards. After receiving a gracious and poised response from the queen, they would return to their seats, satisfied. The warmth of the crowd’s energy and cheer made the hall feel almost cozy, a sight that mildly surprised Aegor.

...

Not that he felt discouraged or disheartened. If anything, Aegor secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, relieved to be spared the chatter of sycophants. After all, he was officially "recovering from a serious illness," hardly in a position to drink heavily or gorge himself on meat. Clear-headed and pragmatic, he knew better than to outshine Daenerys at every turn.

Had Varys or Petyr Baelish been alive, things would never have gone so smoothly. Any dissent, backed by seemingly plausible arguments, would have thrown Daenerys into turmoil, complicating simple matters and leading to endless delays.

But now, after a successful purge of dissenting voices, the toxic atmosphere of her previous court was gone. This was a victory Aegor could savor privately, one he couldn't—and wouldn't—share with others.

Throughout history, many had fallen prey to the desire for recognition, flaunting their power like peacocks only to meet untimely ends. Aegor knew better. Laying low, quietly reaping the rewards of his efforts, and avoiding unnecessary attention was his chosen path.

The dish delivered to him, a rack of lamb seasoned with fragrant spices, was a subtle gesture of goodwill. In Westerosi dining culture, the more expensive or lavish the dish served, the greater the respect shown. What surprised Aegor, however, was that it was Arya Stark, not a servant, who had brought it to him.

Though impulsive and temperamental, Daenerys possessed many traits of a great ruler—one of which was her willingness to listen to advice.

One word: refreshing.

"Arya," Aegor greeted with a smile. That she approached him so openly in such a public setting was entirely unexpected. Scooting over, he patted the bench beside him. "Come, sit. Let's talk."

Though Daenerys had left in frustration earlier, her final decision reflected complete acceptance of Aegor's suggestions—not just one, but all of them. She had agreed to deprioritize the poisoning investigation, immediately summon the Northern lords, commence preparations for the southern campaign, and even temporarily spare the Karstarks and other dissenters for later reckoning.

This was a promising sign, suggesting the Northern lords weren’t as inflexible as anticipated. Their resistance to supporting "the Mad King's daughter" wasn’t as strong as he had feared.

If Aegor ever grew arrogant enough to resent people focusing on Daenerys rather than himself, it would either mean his ambitions had soared too high or his doom was near.

Looking up, he realized it was indeed Arya Stark standing before him.

Her willingness to step forward in such a setting was a virtue, though one that others could easily exploit to manipulate and influence her.

"Not dead yet, are you? Tough bastard!"

Who dared to be so brazen? Aegor’s eyes glinted sharply. He could tolerate being ignored, even welcomed the obscurity. But open provocation? That was another matter entirely.

For now, though, he preferred to keep a low profile and enjoy the fruits of his risk-taking. After all, he wasn’t some green child fresh out of the citadel, desperate for validation or praise. Years of trials and tribulations had forged him into someone focused, composed, and resilient. Boasting about achievements or seeking approval was far beneath him.

Daenerys had granted him the authority to guide her decisions, a victory he cherished. However, overstepping by dominating her choices or undermining her sense of authority could jeopardize everything. True power lay in guiding her subtly, steering the course only at critical junctures while letting her bask in the illusion of control.

For now, he simply watched and waited, his mind already focused on the next step.