Velys Mouton understood what Rayder's icy words truly meant. The dragon rider had not spared his family out of mercy, but because they could still be useful. He had been given one chance—an opportunity to atone for their defiance, to serve loyally, and to live.
Velys nodded quickly, hiding the bitterness that churned inside him. "We will do everything in our power to manage Nymph Town for you, my lord."
Rayder studied him for a moment, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, mocking sneer. The Mudun family's submission was hollow. Their loyalty would never be wholehearted, but it didn't matter. On the surface, their obedience was enough. From this moment on, Nymph Town was his—a new piece on the board of Westeros, one he would wield with ruthless calculation.
But Rayder knew that seizing a city was only the beginning. To rule, he needed more than fire and terror. He needed men who were bound to him, men who owed him everything and feared betraying him.
Forging Loyalty Through the Landless
Using the wealth stripped from the Mudun family, Rayder began recruiting bands of landless knights. They were not highborn nor honored in the courts of lords, but they were fighters—hard, desperate men with no ties to noble houses. Most importantly, they lacked family and fortune, which meant their survival depended entirely on him.
To these wandering swords, Rayder offered purpose, coin, and protection beneath the shadow of his dragons. In return, they swore oaths of loyalty. Soon, Nymph Town's defenses were no longer merely in the hands of Mouton retainers but filled with these hardened warriors whose allegiance was only to Rayder.
He did not expect them to win great battles, but they would serve when the time came to enforce his will, and that was enough.
To strengthen his hold further, Rayder selected fifteen of the strongest, most disciplined men and forged them into an elite unit directly under his command. These warriors underwent relentless training. They became his personal guard, a hand-picked brotherhood bound by fear, loyalty, and the glory of serving the dragon rider. Fierce in combat and unquestioning in obedience, they were to be his sword in the dark—a force to strike when others hesitated.
Rayder was not blind to the value of the Mudun family, however. Managing a city required more than strength of arms. It demanded merchants, scribes, stewards, and political connections, all of which the Moutons possessed. So he left Viserys Mouton in nominal control, showering him with supplies to rebuild the city while ensuring his leash was short.
Food, particularly meat, was stripped from Nymph Town's markets to fill Rayder's storage. He made sure the city knew that everything, down to their daily meals, depended upon his will. At the same time, he set spies in place to watch Viserys's every move.
Before departing, Rayder gave his final warning. His voice carried the cold weight of death:
"Do not harbor thoughts of betrayal. Nymph Town is mine now. If you defy me, I will return—and when I do, I will not leave a single stone standing."
Viserys Mouton bowed low, his words smooth and deferential, but his heart burned with resentment. He loathed the thought of serving a man who cared nothing for rules or reason, who ruled only through fear and fire. Yet he hid his anger behind a mask of humility.
Once Rayder departed northward on his dragon, Viserys gathered his most trusted men in secret.
"This cannot stand," he muttered. "We will not remain forever under his shadow. We must find a way to break free."
He decided his only hope lay in King Jaehaerys. If the king could be made to see Rayder as a threat rather than a tool, then perhaps royal authority could drive the dragon rider from Nymph Town.
Viserys began quietly drafting letters, framing Rayder's actions as reckless cruelty. He sent ravens not only to King Jaehaerys but also to Prince Viserys, hoping to stir discontent in the royal court.
Whispers in King's Landing
The news from Nymph Town soon reached the Red Keep. Prince Viserys was the first to read the letter, and his face twisted with indignation.
"This Rayder grows bolder by the day," he muttered. "He slaughters noblemen, seizes towns, and fills them with his mercenaries. Does he think himself king already?"
He immediately began pressing the issue in private conversations, suggesting to courtiers that Rayder's unchecked rise endangered the stability of the realm. Yet Prince Viserys also knew that King Jaehaerys did not take kindly to being guided or pressured. The old king valued his own judgment above all else. To move him, the suggestion would have to appear to come from his own mind.
King Jaehaerys's reaction to the news was characteristically cold. He listened to the reports with little outward emotion. Earl Mouton's reckless defiance had been his own undoing, and the king had little patience for lords who disobeyed orders.
"Send a letter of condolence," Jaehaerys instructed at last, his voice weary. "But nothing more. If a lord disregards my word, then his death is his own doing."
Prince Viserys frowned but obeyed, preparing the letter even as unease stirred in his heart. The king's decision to treat the death so perfunctorily would raise questions among the lords. Yet Viserys dared not argue too forcefully. For now, he would wait, watch, and bide his time.
Still, both king and prince felt a measure of relief that they had not pressed Rayder further. The dragon rider had proven more ruthless than either had anticipated.
The Journey North
Rayder, meanwhile, had no patience for the intrigues of King's Landing. With Nymph Town firmly under his heel, he turned his gaze northward. He had not forgotten the promises made to him by Erlad Stark. The time had come for those words to bear fruit.
Soaring on dragonback, he traveled across the skies until the vast stronghold of Winterfell rose before him.
From above, Rayder beheld its sprawling majesty. The castle was a kingdom unto itself, with towering walls, sprawling keeps, the ancient godswood, the glass gardens, the crypts where the Kings of Winter lay, and the tall watchtowers and bell towers that ringed the fortress. The scale dwarfed any ordinary castle he had seen.
His dragon descended slowly, massive wings stirring up fierce gusts of wind that sent townsfolk scattering in alarm. The beast's shadow fell over Winterfell, blotting out the sun. Shouts of fear and awe echoed across the outer market.
The common folk cried out, some falling to their knees, others running for cover. To them, it was as if a god of fire had descended from the heavens.
But within the castle, the soldiers of House Stark did not falter. Trained and disciplined, they rushed to their posts, spears and shields raised. Horns blew across the walls, summoning every man to readiness.
The Lord of Winterfell Responds
Erlad Stark, Warden of the North and head of his house, received the news swiftly. Standing by the window of his solar, he saw the dragon's silhouette blotting the sky. His heart stirred with both anticipation and dread.
Rayder had a reputation. He was no loyal bannerman, no careful vassal. He was a storm given human form, reveling in chaos, wielding fire without restraint.
Yet Erlad showed no fear. He understood that fear was death to a lord. Instead, he ordered calmly: "Open the great hall. Prepare a feast worthy of a king. We will greet this guest with honor, as befits the traditions of the North."
Despite his composed words, unease gnawed at him. He remembered the reports from Nymph Town—the fire, the death, the ruin. Rayder was dangerous beyond measure.
Still, Erlad knew the North could not show weakness. Along with his brother Benjen and the household guard, he made his way to the outer castle walls to await the dragon rider's arrival.
The sound of wings thundered above them, and the beast's shadow fell across the gate. The air grew hot, filled with the scent of fire and ozone.
As Rayder descended, Erlad straightened his shoulders, meeting the storm head-on.
For though fear whispered in every heart, the honor of House Stark demanded nothing less.
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