Hodor! Bran?
Seeing the familiar scene before them and Hodor's massive frame, Drogon quickly recognized them.
Drogon hadn't expected to encounter them here. The North was vast, and the odds of such a meeting were vanishingly small.
When Drogon saw them, they first noticed the blazing campfire, then the hulking man beside it, holding a massive piece of venison in his claws.
The scene froze. Even the somewhat simple-minded Hodor halted in his tracks, his eyes fixed on Drogon and the meat. Bran, lying on the wooden board, felt Hodor stop and saw the strange expressions on the faces of the wildling woman and Jojen. He struggled to sit up and turn to look forward.
His striking blue eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of the prominent campfire and Drogon beside it.
They had been traveling north, avoiding populated areas, fearing discovery by those with malicious intent or worse, being reported to Theon, who was searching for them. They never imagined they would run into Drogon just over the next hill.
*Whine!* The two direwolves immediately let out uneasy growls at the sight of Drogon.
"What is that?" asked Rickon, the youngest, as he soothed the restless Shaggydog.
"That's a dragon, a real dragon!" Osha, the wildling woman, gazed at Drogon with shining eyes.
"A dragon?" Rickon's jaw dropped, his eyes widening instantly.
"Didn't dragons disappear over a hundred years ago? How can it be here now?" Bran asked, leaning over the wooden plank in curiosity.
"Remember the fiery red comet from a while back? That was a sign of a dragon's birth," Osha said excitedly. She had suspected back then that the comet couldn't have appeared for any ordinary reason.
Jojen and his sister remained silent, watching Drogon, who paused, then resumed his hearty eating of the roasted meat.
"Is he roasting his own meat?" Rickon asked, glancing around in confusion.
"Dragons are incredibly intelligent creatures. Roasting meat is nothing to them," Osha replied. Not only did she worship dragons, but she seemed to know a great deal about them.
"What's he sprinkling on it?" Rickon asked, startled again as he watched Drogon fly over the meat and sprinkle something down.
This time, even Osha didn't know how to answer. A dragon that could roast meat was already remarkable, but one that added seasoning during the process? She couldn't even imagine such a thing.
*Gulp...* Rickon couldn't help but swallow hard. Then, two more gulping sounds came from somewhere nearby.
Throughout their journey, they had relied on Osha, the wildling woman, to steal food or hunt game.
Fearing discovery, they only roasted their meals casually, often eating them raw. Several times, they even suffered from diarrhea. Never had they experienced such a leisurely barbecue as Drogon's, complete with seasonings.
After finishing the last piece of roasted meat, Drogon extinguished the campfire. Instead of continuing to eat, he spread his wings and flew to Bran and the others.
Looking at Bran—a young man with long, auburn hair and a delicate face, lying weakly on a wooden plank—Drogon found it hard to imagine him as the future Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.
Seeing Bran reminded Drogon of the visions he had witnessed in the House of the Undying. Upon reflection, he realized that only Bran, as the co-ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, would have the power to mobilize such vast numbers of ballistae and Valyrian steel nets.
He clearly remembered that the nets were so strong that even molten gold and forged iron dragonflame struggled to melt them. Though these were merely prophecies, their meaning seemed unmistakable.
Despite his suspicions, Drogon remained perplexed. As the world's last dragon, and with Jon—the last true Targaryen—by his side, Bran should have been nurturing Drogon properly. So why would he ever want to kill him?
Considering how much Bran would change in the future, he was far from the naive boy he was now. He embraced his long-lost brother Jon and sister Arya with calm, calmly recounted to his sister Sansa the horrors of his rape by Littlefinger, and even found the composure to praise Sansa's white wedding gown on the night she married Littlefinger.
To Drogon, Bran seemed increasingly less human. *Would it be good or bad to have such a person rule the Seven Kingdoms?*
Drogon recalled the visions of the Dance of the Blood Dragons, the transformation of Viserion into an Ice Dragon, Rhaegal's blood staining the sea, and his own bitter death by a volley of arrows.
He remembered the Red Priestess cursing the False King, the Immortals draining life force, and Bran's cold detachment.
These events gradually coalesced in his mind: the apocalyptic fall of the Valyrian Freehold, the inherent madness of House Targaryen, the near-extinction of Dragonkind during the Dance of the Blood Dragons, the deaths of Viserion and Rhaegal, Jon's betrayal of the Dragon Queen, his own tragic end, and the final extinction of Dragonkind. A terrifying conspiracy slowly emerged in Drogon's heart...
In the earlier series, the Red Priestess had used leeches to curse the False King, resulting in the deaths of three pretenders. Onion Knight Davos had doubted the connection, but Stannis had remained convinced.
No one could prove whether the deaths of the three False Kings were the result of the Lord of Light manipulating human subconsciousness.
Could the ultimate demise of House Targaryen and the extinction of Dragonkind have been the result of the gods manipulating events through their invisible hands?
The Old Gods, New Gods, Lord of Light, Immortals—all have covertly and openly used their followers to spread their doctrines, expand their influence, and absorb faith.
Among these divine powers, the Lord of Light, championed by the Red Priestess, and the Old Gods, represented by the Green Prophet, stand as the most formidable.
The Red Priestess's support for Stannis led to his defeat and death. She then turned to the Dragon Queen. Had the Red Priestess survived and the Dragon Queen lived, the Seven Kingdoms would likely have eventually become followers of the Lord of Light.
Bran now sits on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms. Drogon believes that soon Weirwood trees will spread not only through the North but across all of Westeros, making the Old Gods' influence ubiquitous.
The gods themselves never truly manifested, relying instead on their followers to expand their reach. Great Dragons, however, were like bugs in the system. During the Targaryen era, many commoners revered these creatures, even kneeling before them or the Targaryen family crest.
Could the dragons' existence have hindered the growth of the gods' followers, leading to Dragonkind's gradual extinction? Could the Targaryen family, the very source of dragon hatching, have slowly dwindled in numbers until they finally died out?
The more Drogon thought about it, the more alarmed he became, and the more certain he grew of his suspicions. Looking at Bran, he couldn't help but want to strangle this future Green Prophet within the Wall, cutting off the Green Prophet's legacy forever.
"Do you want to kill me?" A sudden voice rang in his ear, startling Drogon from his deep contemplation.
At Bran's words, Jojen and Rickon immediately grew wary, their direwolves' growls deepening. Even Osha, the wildling woman, turned to stare at Drogon in surprise, wondering why a little dragon who could roast meat would want to kill Bran.
*Truly the future Green Prophet,* Drogon thought, impressed by the boy's sharp perception. *Now that I've calmed down, I can see it.*
He had already abandoned the idea of killing Bran. For one thing, the current Bran knew nothing, and killing him would be unfair. Besides, times had changed!
He was no longer the same Drogon, and the Dragon Queen would no longer be the same Dragon Queen.
Feeling lighter in spirit, Drogon glanced at the two direwolves baring their teeth at him. Still young, they were already a head taller than the largest dogs.
With a flap of his wings, he swooped down toward one of the direwolves, his speed catching everyone off guard.
"Summer!" Bran only had time to shout before Drogon had already brushed past Summer and soared into the sky, heading south.
"So soft!" Drogon rubbed his small black claws together, surprised by how soft the direwolf's fur was, despite his imposing size.
"Don't worry, he just touched Summer's head," Osha, the wildling woman, reassured Bran, noticing his anxious gaze at Summer.
Only then did Bran fully relax, though his body was already drenched in cold sweat, as if he had just walked through hell.
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(End of Chapter)