Chapter 172 — If You Want It, Just Say So
Two days later, Drogon arrived at Riverrun with Rhaegal. By then, Robb Stark had already assembled the Northern army.
Watching the two figures circling overhead—one large, one small—Robb immediately recognized that the smaller one was Drogon in his juvenile form.
Although he felt a flicker of disappointment that it wasn't Drogon himself who would assist in the siege, any dragon capable of flight and fire would be an overwhelming advantage in taking The Twins.
"So that's a dragon… it's huge!" Arya exclaimed, craning her neck from the battlements.
"I heard from Robb that the black one becomes three or four times larger than the green one," Sansa added.
"Three or four times?" Arya's eyes widened. She glanced around at Riverrun. "Then wouldn't it be as big as the castle?"
Sansa followed her gaze, comparing in her mind. If Robb's words were true… Drogon might indeed rival the castle in size.
But that sounded almost absurd.
"Drogon! Can you get bigger and show me?"
Before Sansa could stop her, Arya suddenly shouted toward the sky, startling her sister, who hurriedly tried to cover her mouth.
Up above, Drogon had been preparing to lead Rhaegal and the Northern host toward the Twins when he heard his name called.
He glanced down—and immediately spotted the sisters on the wall.
Judging from the tone, he didn't need to guess.
Only Arya would say something like that.
Leaving Rhaegal circling in place, Drogon folded his wings and dove.
The moment he descended toward the battlements, Robb and Catelyn Stark felt their hearts leap into their throats. They rushed toward the wall in alarm.
Even in his smaller form, Drogon was no ordinary creature. If Arya had somehow offended him… there would be no fixing it.
Standing before the two sisters, Drogon regarded them for a moment.
Familiar.
Yet strangely distant.
Their fates had already begun to change because of him.
Between the two, he found himself liking Arya more—the straightforward, sharp-edged girl.
Sansa… had once been naive, sheltered. Only after her family's downfall had she hardened, grown calculating, eventually becoming a ruler in her own right.
But that was a future that would never come to pass now.
At least—not in the same way.
As for Arya, her shout had been impulsive. She hadn't truly expected Drogon to understand—let alone respond.
Yet here he was.
Hovering right in front of her.
For the first time, she fell silent.
Drogon noticed her hesitation and, feeling mischievous, decided to indulge her request.
He rose slightly into the air—
And transformed.
"Ah—!"
A colossal shadow swallowed the sky in an instant.
Darkness fell over the battlements.
Heat followed—searing, oppressive.
It wasn't just Sansa and Arya.
Nearly all of Riverrun was engulfed beneath Drogon's immense form.
The sisters could only glimpse slivers of distant light through the shifting gaps of his wings as they beat the air.
Robb and Catelyn, rushing toward them, froze for a split second at the sight—
Then forced themselves onward.
Arya let out a sharp cry.
When she opened her eyes, all she could see were enormous, crimson-glowing scales along Drogon's forelimb.
She couldn't even take in his full form.
He was simply—
Too vast.
She could only retreat along the wall, step by step, craning her neck upward. The farther she moved back, the more overwhelming the sight became—along with the sheer pressure radiating from Drogon's immense presence.
When her eyes finally met his towering, majestic head, a chill ran through her soul. For a fleeting moment, she even felt the urge to kneel.
Swallowing hard, Arya forced herself to steady her nerves and took in his full form.
Every inch of his colossal body looked as though it had been perfectly crafted—each line precise, each scale deliberate. He was both fearsome and beautiful, a creature of overwhelming presence and eerie perfection.
To Arya, there was only one word that fit—
Perfect.
She couldn't find a single flaw.
"Gulp…"
She swallowed again, moistening her dry throat, parched by the heat radiating from his body. Then, gathering her courage, she asked hesitantly:
"C-can I… touch you?"
Drogon gave a small nod.
Taking a few cautious steps forward, Arya rose onto her toes and reached out, placing her hand against his hind leg.
The moment she made contact, a wave of heat surged through her palm. She nearly pulled her hand back instinctively—but after a moment, she realized the warmth was still within what she could bear.
Feeling the solid muscle beneath his scales and the smooth texture of his skin, Arya found herself reluctant to pull away.
Her fingers brushed over the sharp ridges along his leg, then settled on a glossy black scale. Curious, she tried to pry it loose.
It didn't budge.
She tried harder—just a little—
Still nothing.
Drogon: …
So she didn't just want to touch him.
She wanted a souvenir.
With a slight flick of his wings, Drogon pulled away and rose into the air.
Startled, Arya thought she had offended him. Just as she was about to apologize, she saw him land near the side of a tower.
Then—
He leaned his body against the stone corner and rubbed.
Once. Twice. Three times—
A single scale loosened and fell free.
Since his transformation, Drogon had gained an almost instinctive awareness of his body. He knew exactly which scales were ready to shed. Otherwise, no amount of force would have dislodged one so easily.
Realizing what he had done, Arya's eyes lit up.
He hadn't been angry at all.
He was giving it to her.
She ran forward and picked up the scale—it was larger than her palm, still warm to the touch.
"Thank you, Drogon!" she said sincerely.
Drogon inclined his head slightly, then took to the sky again, flying back toward Rhaegal.
Beside her, Sansa Stark watched with quiet envy.
It wasn't the scale she envied—
It was the way Drogon had treated Arya.
He had answered her call.
Shown her his true form.
And even gifted her something of his own accord.
After a moment, Sansa spoke softly, "Arya… did you feel it too? The way he looked at us… it felt like he already knew us."
Arya, still absorbed in admiring the dark gleam of the scale, paused to think.
"…Yeah," she admitted.
But she couldn't quite explain what made it feel that way.
Still—
If it weren't for that strange sense of familiarity, why would a dragon indulge her so easily?
Looking up at Drogon soaring high above, Arya felt a sudden urge—
To ride him.
To take to the skies.
But the thought faded just as quickly.
Even if Drogon allowed it…
He belonged to Daenerys Targaryen.
And if she took such liberties without permission, who knew what consequences might follow—for her, or for her family?
So in the end—
Arya said nothing.