Catelyn felt cornered. Ordering an arrow to be fired at Viserys would undoubtedly invite retaliation. If he remained unharmed, there might still be a chance for negotiation. But if Viserys were injured—or worse, killed—there would be no escape from Tyrosh's remaining dragons. In three, five, or even ten years, Daenerys would surely lead her dragons north, raining fire over every inch of the land, just as the Targaryens once did to Dorne.
Attempting to greet Viserys with a smile and pleasantries seemed equally reckless. Her husband and daughters were still hostages in King's Landing. The only logical path was to meet with Viserys and relay their conversation back to the capital.
The sight of dragons circling in the sky had already drawn the attention of the Northern lords. Karhold, Castle Cerwyn, Deepwood Motte, The Dreadfort, White Harbor, Bear Island... All the powerful houses of the North hurried toward the commotion.
Viserys descended from the sky, landing atop a high hill. Coincidentally, there was a large green stone pedestal at the summit, a perfect seat for him. The yellow dragon settled behind the stone, looming like a massive backdrop. In time, Northerners would name this place "Golden Dragon's Hill."
Viserys dismounted and took his place on the stone, which the people later called "The Emperor's Stone Bench."
The nobleman closest to Viserys was Roose Bolton. For days, Roose had been wondering how to make contact with the Dragonlord, and now the opportunity had literally fallen from the sky. But he couldn't approach Viserys directly and address him as "Your Grace." That would reveal too much.
After a brief moment of calculation, Roose had his guards position themselves at the base of the hill. From this vantage, he could claim he was either 'surrounding' Viserys or 'protecting' him, depending on how things unfolded. The key was to remain ambiguous, never showing his true intentions. In this way, Roose knew he would never be in the wrong.
Even though the Yellow Dragon had landed, the other two continued to circle ominously overhead. Roose chuckled darkly to himself. Even if Viserys were to die here, Daenerys would undoubtedly seek vengeance. But who in their right mind wants to die needlessly?
Viserys had chosen this location deliberately, testing the loyalty and intentions of the Northern lords. If they dared get too close, he would simply leave.
When Viserys spotted the Red Flayed Man banner of House Bolton, he knew immediately who had come to greet him.
"Is that Ser Bolton?" Viserys spoke first, his voice calm but commanding.
Roose Bolton noticed that the other Northern lords were still a few minutes away, slowly making their way up the hill. When he laid eyes on Viserys, he couldn't help but be struck by the prince's regal bearing. The silver hair, tied back with a ruby-studded browband, shimmered in the light. Viserys wore fitted leather armor under a black cloak emblazoned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
"Lord Bolton of the Dreadfort greets Your Grace, Viserys," Bolton said, bowing slightly. His gesture was subtle, less formal than usual, as he knew Catelyn and the others were nearing.
Internally, Bolton was wrestling with himself. After a brief pause, he asked carefully, "May I ask what brings Your Grace to the North?"
Viserys surveyed him, taking in the infamous man who had once betrayed Robb Stark. Bolton's pale skin, a result of his leeching habit, made him look almost ghostly. Despite being in his forties, his face was unnervingly smooth, free of the wrinkles that often marked men his age.
Not one to waste words, Viserys replied bluntly, "I've come to see if the lords of the North still intend to renew their allegiance to House Targaryen."
Of course he wanted to! Bolton thought. He could hardly contain his eagerness. If he could secure Viserys's favor now, House Bolton might avoid the worst of the conflict and survive whatever chaos followed. He almost wanted to kneel on the spot, ready to pledge his loyalty and protect his House from the storm that was brewing.
But then he hesitated, glancing back at the approaching lords. Now isn't the right time, he thought. Declaring his loyalty here, in front of the other Northern lords, could put him at risk. He wondered if Viserys's protection would be enough to shield him from Stark retaliation. After all, Ned Stark was still in King's Landing.
Viserys, ever perceptive, could see the hesitation in Bolton's eyes. He understood the man's cautious nature and decided not to push too hard.
"Ser Bolton, there is no need to declare your loyalty now. When my army arrives in Westeros, you can make your choice then."
Bolton's eyes lit up with relief. He quickly bowed again, his voice more earnest this time. "Yes, Your Grace."
As Catelyn and the others reached the hilltop, Bolton moved swiftly to greet them, masking his earlier exchange with Viserys. "Lady Catelyn," he said, bowing slightly once more.
Catelyn gave a soft nod in response, her gaze fixed on Viserys, who remained seated on the stone pedestal with his dragon looming behind him. Robb and Theon followed her, along with the other Northern lords, who barely glanced at the ground as they ascended, their eyes drawn to the prince and the massive dragon above him.
"My, what a dragon!" Greatjon Umber exclaimed, though it was clear he'd never seen one before. Rickard and the other Northern lords remained silent, their expressions grim. None of them knew what fate awaited them.
Rumors had circulated about this bold Targaryen. According to Catelyn, Viserys had marched straight into Robert's feast and provoked him openly. His words had shamed even Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, to the point where the old knight tried to take his own life.
Soon, the lords of the North gathered before Viserys. A distance of about ten meters separated the two sides.
Theon and Robb both observed Viserys carefully, though Theon was especially captivated. The prince's silver hair and dark robes gave him an almost divine aura, especially with the massive yellow dragon looming behind him. For a moment, Theon felt an urge to kneel.
Catelyn, too, was momentarily taken aback by Viserys's appearance. But her mind quickly turned to more pressing matters—how should she address him? Call him "Your Grace"? That would signal a rebellion against House Baratheon. Call him "Ser"? Would Viserys accept that, or take offense?
Even Catelyn, who was well-versed in the finest etiquette, found herself at a loss for words.
Sensing the tension, Robb glanced back at the Northern lords, then stepped forward with a measured calm. "Your Imperial Majesty," he began, "I am Robb, son of Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. And this is my mother."
Catelyn suddenly remembered—Robert was king, but Viserys called himself Emperor. Perhaps using that title could work? It seemed like a safer choice.
Catelyn followed her son's lead and offered a bow to Viserys, though not as deferential as one might bow to a king. The other Northern lords did the same. They had been awed by the dragon when they first saw it, but now, up close, it wasn't quite as overwhelming as they had imagined. Still, they couldn't forget that Viserys had recently burned Robert's fleet to ashes.
Viserys regarded them all with a calm, confident gaze. His eyes settled on Catelyn. "Lady Catelyn," he said smoothly, "I remember you from the banquet. You are much younger than I had expected."
The compliment caught Catelyn off guard, and the others seemed equally perplexed by his unexpected flattery. But Viserys's next words made her heart sink.
"We could have gone to Winterfell together to heal Bran," he continued, his tone shifting, "but unfortunately, Ned refused my offer of kindness. Now, I cannot say what the future holds between House Targaryen and House Stark."