Chapter 26

It was easy to assume things would go as planned. Aegor had learned this the hard way, making the same mistake over and over since arriving in this world.

Whether it was his initial encounter with the White Walkers, where he underestimated their numbers and nearly lost his life or his attempt to interfere with a critical plot point only to fail and land himself in trouble, the root cause was the same: misplaced confidence in his assumptions. He had believed that Jaime and Cersei wouldn't dare meet in the First Keep while he was in the old inner courtyard. He had assumed Bran would stop climbing before reaching the danger zone. Both assumptions had been proven disastrously wrong, culminating in a tragedy that seemed unavoidable.

After spending most of the night racking his brain, Aegor was no closer to a solution. He had failed to devise a plan to escape the growing danger or to resolve the predicament he found himself in. Exhausted both mentally and physically, he eventually forced himself to close his eyes and, without realizing it, drifted into a restless sleep.

--

Sleep, as always, brought some clarity. When the first rays of morning light filtered through the small lattice window of his room, Aegor opened his eyes. For a full minute, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind blank. Then, suddenly, a bold idea struck him.

If there was no way to stay out of the plot, why not dive into it?

--

The previous night, Aegor had spent hours agonizing over two conflicting goals: saving Bran from the assassination attempt or distancing himself from the event altogether if it happened. Neither effort had yielded a solution. And the reason was simple: Aegor had unknowingly imposed a severe limitation on himself, he was trying to avoid personal involvement at all costs.

Who had ordered the assassin armed with a Valyrian steel dagger to kill Bran? The original author had left this question deliberately vague, and even the screen adaptation provided no clear answer. Before Aegor's arrival in this world, fans had debated endlessly in online forums, pointing fingers at various suspects. Some believed it was Cersei, seeking to silence a potential witness. Others thought Joffrey acted out of spite after being humiliated by Tyrion. Some even argued it was Littlefinger, sowing chaos to serve his ambitions. Each theory had its own supporting evidence, leaving no definitive answer.

How could Aegor hope to prevent an assassination when he didn't even know who the assassin was, who sent them, or when they would strike?

Stopping the assassination quietly seemed nearly impossible. And as for distancing himself afterward? That was equally futile. Everyone knew he had been training in the old inner courtyard, and it was common knowledge that he had been the first to discover Bran's fall. Whether or not he was directly responsible, Aegor was undeniably connected to the incident.

With so many obstacles in his path, trying to tiptoe around the issue and hope it resolved itself was wishful thinking.

In that case, why not face it head-on?

--

Though Aegor preferred to avoid trouble, he wasn't one to back down once trouble found him. If he couldn't clear his name or stop the assassination alone, then he would abandon his self-imposed restrictions and force a resolution.

What if he took the simplest, most direct approach? What if he told the Stark family that Bran's life was in danger?

Initially, Aegor considered leaving an anonymous note, but the risk of being implicated remained. If the assassination occurred, suspicion would still fall on him. The safest course of action was to position himself as an innocent messenger, someone who brought the warning to the Starks.

He would deliver the news personally.

--

Choosing the right person to inform was critical. Aegor first thought of Jon Snow, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Jon, though well-meaning, was too young and lacked the authority to act decisively. That left only one Stark family member whom Aegor knew personally and had access to: Benjen Stark, his superior and the Chief Ranger of the Night's Watch.

As for who to accuse, Aegor settled on Joffrey. Among the potential suspects, the prince's name was the most plausible and least likely to backfire on him. Joffrey had been suspected by Tyrion in the original story, and his Baratheon name made him a natural lightning rod for the Stark family's wrath.

Eddard Stark would never act recklessly against the son of his oldest friend, King Robert. Even if he were furious, his response would be calculated. And if Eddard focused on Joffrey, Tyrion would be left out of the fray, allowing Aegor to leave the Wall without additional complications.

If some mysterious force was indeed steering the events of this world to follow their original course, Aegor was ready to challenge it. This time, he would intervene directly and see how far fate or whatever force governed this world would go to resist him.

--

Bran's fall had delayed the king's plans to return to King's Landing. Robert had intended to take Eddard south to serve as Hand of the King, but with Bran's life hanging by a thread, he chose to remain in Winterfell to support his friend.

Aegor waited patiently, biding his time for a full day before seeking out Benjen Stark.

When Aegor finally entered his superior's chamber, Benjen looked tired and preoccupied. The delay in reinforcements for the Wall and the accident involving his nephew had clearly taken their toll.

"Is something wrong?" Benjen asked, his voice weary.

"Sir, there's something I don't know if I should tell you..."

"If you've stepped through that door, you've already decided. Speak quickly."

"This matter involves someone important," Aegor said cautiously. "I'll need your assurance that my safety will be guaranteed."

Benjen frowned, eyeing Aegor with suspicion. After a moment, he nodded impatiently. "I'll ensure your safety. Now speak."

"It's about your nephew, Bran," Aegor began, carefully choosing his words. "On the day of his fall, I was practicing archery not far from the First Keep. Ser Jaime and I were competing. I didn't think much of it at the time, but this morning, I overheard something concerning."

"Go on."

"I overheard Prince Joffrey speaking with an armored knight I didn't recognize," Aegor continued, feigning unease. "The knight said Bran would never walk again and that it might be kinder to end his suffering."

Benjen's frown deepened. While the sentiment was harsh, it wasn't unheard of in this world, where the lives of the disabled were often filled with hardship. Still, voicing such an idea aloud was a grave insult to the Stark family.

"The prince agreed," Aegor added, his tone grave. "But it didn't end there. Joffrey then said he planned to show Bran 'mercy.' His exact words were, 'Learn from the people of Braavos and grant the Stark boy deliverance.'"

Benjen stiffened. "And?"

"The prince then displayed a dagger," Aegor said. "I didn't see it clearly, but I heard him describe it. He said it was Valyrian steel, with a dragonbone handle, and that it was 'worthy of a Stark.'"

Benjen's expression turned grim. "And after that?"

"They walked away, so I couldn't hear the rest," Aegor said, lowering his voice. "But I'm certain I heard the prince instruct the knight to hire a sellsword to do the deed."

After a long silence, Benjen stared hard at Aegor. "Do you understand the weight of what you're saying?"

"Yes, sir."

"To accuse the future king of treason without proof is to risk your life for nothing."

"I know, sir. That's why I came to you first. Even if it's just a precaution, posting an extra guard outside Bran's room would do no harm."

Benjen was silent, deep in thought. After a moment, he said, "Go back to your quarters. And remember, tell no one else about this. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Aegor replied, bowing and leaving the room.

Chapter 27

Aegor quietly returned to his room under the cover of darkness, his heart unable to settle.

This was a colossal gamble, a desperate attempt to rectify his blunder in trying to prevent Bran from falling and to mitigate the troubles he might face when leaving the Wall in the future. It felt like one lie was being patched with another, and while it might hold for now, the risks down the line were no less terrifying than facing the White Walkers. If the truth came to light, as a lowly soldier who had dared to slander a prince, he would undoubtedly face the executioner's blade.

Just as Littlefinger had falsely implicated Tyrion by claiming the dagger used to attack Bran was his, Aegor was now betting that the Starks would react with level-headedness rather than unleashing a storm of fury upon discovering the situation. However, unlike Petyr Baelish, who thrived in chaos to secure power, Aegor's lies were born of necessity. He needed to stabilize the situation long enough to slip away from the Wall, survive, and slowly find a way to shed his Night's Watch identity.

His deep familiarity with the story and its characters gave him confidence, a sense that the odds were in his favor. But no matter how sure he felt, the fact remained that he was risking his life. Now that he had done all he could, whether he lived or died depended entirely on the decisions of those in power.

If he could choose his fate, he would never again want to gamble with his life just to secure his survival.

--

Bran remained unconscious, just as in the original events. His family grieved deeply, but for the other residents of Winterfell, especially the hundreds of guests from King's Landing—life had to carry on. Aegor waited for a quiet moment, then returned the scarecrow and other training equipment from the old inner courtyard to the storage room. In the days that followed, he kept to his quarters, preparing for the day of departure.

Four days later, a servant brought word from Benjen Stark: they would set out the next morning, departing alongside the king and the newly appointed Hand of the King, returning to the Wall.

The morning came with a light dusting of snow in the air. Reluctantly, Aegor left his small room in the guest house. The warmth and soft bed had made it feel like a haven compared to the freezing misery of the Wall. After a quick breakfast, he made his way to the parade ground to wait.

The king was likely still in bed, and neither the Lord of Winterfell nor the First Ranger had arrived. For now, it was only the younger generation and lower-ranking attendants gathering early to prepare for the departure.

It had been five days since Bran's fall, and no one had summoned Aegor for questioning or to confront anyone. This absence of scrutiny was a relief. What reassured him even more was that his intervention had worked: the guards posted at Bran's door had been doubled, both day and night. His daring gamble had paid off—at least partially. Now, as long as the assassin failed to strike again, and Tyrion managed to persuade the Night's Watch leaders to let him leave the Wall as a "supply collector," he might finally have his way out.

He could only hope everything went as planned.

The king's entourage began to gather, followed shortly by Jon Snow. The boy greeted Aegor warmly. Jon had made up his mind to join the Night's Watch and follow his Uncle Benjen to the Wall. To him, Aegor was now both a comrade and a senior, a future brother in black. Even though he knew Aegor was desperate to leave the Night's Watch, Jon instinctively wanted to befriend him.

"Morning," Aegor greeted the boy with a nod. "When I was your age, getting up before dawn was impossible."

Jon grinned. "Starting today, Uncle Benjen is my superior. Ser Rodrik told me I need to make a good impression."

"Well, from someone who's been around a while, I'll tell you this: in a few years, you'll realize that sometimes performing well is more important than actually doing well."

Jon tilted his head in confusion. "Performing well? Isn't that the same as doing well?"

"Sometimes it is. But more often than not, there's a big difference."

The two chatted idly as they strolled through the yard, eventually finding themselves at the blacksmith's shop on the south end of the parade ground. Jon stopped to collect a slender, finely crafted rapier he had commissioned—a gift for Arya.

"A small sword like that? Is it for a girl?" Aegor asked, though he already knew the answer.

Jon carefully inspected the blade, wiping it clean. "Yes, but don't tell anyone. And I won't tell anyone about your... chat with the Imp."

"Deal," Aegor replied with a faint smile, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Hey, boy!" a cheerful voice called out from behind. Jaime Lannister approached, his smile as dazzling as ever. Unlike others who seemed weighed down by Bran's fall, Jaime looked positively delighted to be leaving Winterfell, a place he clearly found stifling.

"You're heading to the Wall today?"

"Yes, Ser Jaime..."

"Then do me a favor and pass my regards to the Night's Watch. It's good to know there are men like you guarding the realm, keeping the wildlings, White Walkers, and other monsters at bay. Thank you for your service." He extended his hand toward Jon, who hesitated before shaking it.

Jaime then turned to Aegor and offered his hand. "And you, White Walker Slayer, make sure to kill as many of those icy bastards as you can. Don't let them through the Wall."

"At your service," Aegor replied stiffly, shaking Jaime's hand. The knight's grip tightened painfully, forcing Aegor to match his strength just to avoid wincing.

"Safe travels," Jaime said casually, releasing his grip and striding off without a backward glance.

Jon frowned as he watched Jaime leave. "What did he mean by that?"

"What else could it mean?" Aegor shrugged, though he understood perfectly well. Jaime's little show of strength had been a subtle warning to keep his mouth shut. Still, with everything else on his mind, Aegor couldn't be bothered to care about the Kingslayer's theatrics. "Southern nobles like him have too much time on their hands and end up acting a bit... eccentric."

Jon nodded thoughtfully before turning to collect the small sword from the blacksmith. "I need to go say goodbye to my brothers and sisters. See you later."

"Go on."

As Jon walked off, Aegor watched him go. The boy had spent his entire life in Winterfell, so leaving wasn't easy for him. Aegor, by contrast, had no family or friends in this city or anywhere else, for that matter. He wandered aimlessly for a while before being flagged down by Tyrion, who had arrived late.

Sitting on the railing at the edge of the parade ground, the two chatted about Aegor's homeland while watching the royal caravan prepare to depart.

Though the sun remained hidden behind clouds, the morning grew steadily brighter. Around nine o'clock, the two most important figures, King Robert and Lord Eddard Stark finally appeared. Their departure was swift and resolute, with heartfelt goodbyes exchanged before they mounted their horses and rode out of Winterfell through the Hunter's Gate.

At the first fork in the road, the king's party turned south, heading toward King's Landing. Meanwhile, Aegor, Benjen, Jon, Tyrion, and his guards turned north, bound for the Wall.

Thus ended Aegor's eventful two weeks in Winterfell, a time filled with danger, indulgence, and unexpected twists. Ahead lay the Wall, still looming as an unyielding fortress, and beyond it, the growing army of the dead, waiting in silence.

Chapter 28

Unlike the journey south to Winterfell over a month ago, where he experienced warmer temperatures and livelier roads bustling with travelers, Aegor now faced the grueling realities of returning north. With each passing day, the air grew colder, the roads narrower, and human settlements fewer and farther between. Three days after leaving Winterfell, farmland and villages vanished entirely, replaced by the desolation of the lands beyond the jurisdiction of the Northern lords. The trees of the Wolfswood grew denser, their dark branches creating an eerie, shadowed canopy, and the King's Road became little more than a forest trail.

The mountains loomed to the west, while the road curved northeast. The chill in the air became sharper, biting through their tightly wrapped sheepskin cloaks. At night, the temperature dropped below freezing, and whenever the northern wind swept through, it felt like a blade cutting through to their skin. To make matters worse, the mournful howls of wolves echoed from deep within the forest. Jon's direwolf, Ghost, would prick up his ears at the sound but never howled back.

A week into their journey, the group reached a wooden manor at the edge of the Wolfswood, where they encountered Yoren, a recruiter for the Night's Watch.

The so-called "Ravens" were Night's Watch officers tasked with traveling the realm to recruit criminals, exiles, and the desperate for the Wall. To the wildlings, who feared and hated the Night's Watch, they were nicknamed "crows." Yoren looked every inch the part, with his rough features hidden beneath a thick, unkempt beard that could terrify a child at first glance. He was no kindly emissary, his hardened demeanor and fierce expression made it clear he was a man to be reckoned with. Yoren had brought with him two ragged boys from the Fingers.

"Rapists," Yoren grunted in explanation, nodding to the two recruits. Even though he was an officer, there was no trace of politeness in his tone. The North had its own brutal form of justice, where crimes were met with mutilation or death: hands cut off for theft, tongues removed for slander, and heads taken for treason. For these boys, the choice had likely been between becoming eunuchs or taking the black. It was no surprise they had chosen the Wall.

With their addition, the group now consisted of nine people and a wolf.

Jon Snow, who had grown quieter and more withdrawn since their departure, kept stealing glances at Yoren and his two sullen recruits. The boy's expression grew more conflicted with each passing day. Aegor could see that Jon was struggling with the reality of the Night's Watch. Up until now, Jon had only known his Uncle Benjen and Aegor, two men who, to him, seemed honorable and capable. The sight of Yoren and the new recruits had clearly shattered whatever idealized image Jon had of the brotherhood.

Aegor understood what the boy was going through. Jon had chosen—or, more accurately, been forced by his illegitimate status to walk a difficult path. The truth of what it meant to be a member of the Night's Watch was now sinking in, and Aegor couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the boy's disillusionment.

--

Tyrion, as always, was of little help when it came to setting up or breaking camp. His short stature and limp made physical labor difficult, and he wasn't one to push himself unnecessarily. Instead, the dwarf would wrap himself in his furs, find a quiet corner, and bury himself in a book, a wineskin always within reach, while the others pitched tents, tended to the horses, and built fires.

That evening, after the camp had been set up, Aegor found Tyrion seated at the edge of the camp, reading as usual.

"What are you reading this time?"

"A book about dragons," Tyrion replied, lifting it briefly to show the cover. "I borrowed it from Winterfell's library with Lord Stark's permission. I'll return it after I've finished. Today, I'm reading about the Battle of the Field of Fire."

"What's that?"

"It was one of the battles during Aegon's Conquest," Tyrion explained, lowering the book to rest on his knees. "King Loren Lannister of the Rock and King Mern Gardener of the Reach joined forces to resist the Targaryen invasion. Their combined armies included 600 lords, 5,000 knights, and over 50,000 infantry and mercenaries. The Targaryen forces, on the other hand, were barely one-fifth of that size, and most of them were former enemies who had recently bent the knee, so loyalty was questionable."

Tyrion paused, glancing at Aegor. Knowing that the man struggled with reading the local language, he continued, summarizing the events. "The two armies met on a fertile plain by the river. The coalition forces charged, and the Targaryen troops scattered in retreat. For a moment, it seemed like the conquest was at an end… but then Aegon and his sisters entered the fray with their dragons."

Aegor nodded knowingly. "Let me guess: the dragons turned the tide instantly. Everyone in Westeros knows that story."

"Indeed," Tyrion agreed. "But this was the only time in history that all three dragons—Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion were unleashed on a single battlefield. More soldiers died to dragonfire that day than in all the other battles of the Conquest combined. After the devastation of the Field of Fire and the Burning of Harrenhal, the remaining kings realized that resistance was futile. The Starks of the North and the Arryns of the Vale surrendered without a fight, and the Seven Kingdoms were soon united—or, well, six kingdoms were."

"A battle like that doesn't leave much room for military strategy, does it? The dragons made it a slaughter."

"Of course," Tyrion said with a shrug. "I'm not reading it for tactical insights. It's simply fascinating. Did you know that the Gardener line was completely extinguished that day? The Tyrells only rose to power because they surrendered early. As for my ancestors, thank the gods they were wise enough to kneel when they did. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, recounting this history."

Aegor realized then that one of the defeated armies in that battle had been led by the Lannisters. No wonder Tyrion seemed so interested in the story, it was personal.

Before Aegor could respond, Jon approached. His face was still sullen, and he seemed eager for distraction. "Reading again?" he asked, clearly directing the question at Tyrion.

"Is there something wrong with reading?" Aegor asked before Tyrion could reply. "Jon, how old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"And you're taller and stronger than many boys who are twenty. Do you know why that is?"

"Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children," Jon replied, his tone defensive.

Aegor snorted. "And you believed that nonsense? Tell me, who's older—you or Robb?"

"We're the same age," Jon admitted, though his expression soured. "I don't know my exact birthday, but Robb is probably a little older."

"You're the same age, yet Robb's taller than you. So much for that theory about bastards." Aegor smirked. "The truth is, Jon, you're taller and stronger than most boys your age because you eat better than almost anyone else in the North. Farmer's children don't get proper nutrition during their most critical years. They'll never grow to your height, but you've had meat, fish, and vegetables at nearly every meal and don't forget those fancy Winterfell-grown greens."

Jon bristled. "My father makes sure no one in the North goes hungry!"

"There's a difference between eating enough and eating well. You've been fed like a noble, Jon, and that's why you're strong. The same logic applies to reading. Every book you read becomes part of who you are just like every meal you eat becomes part of your body."

Jon frowned, considering this. "I suppose that makes sense… but why does that matter?"

"Because knowledge, like food, makes you stronger," Aegor replied. "The body, the mind, and the people you surround yourself with—that's everything you have. So why not feed your mind as well as your body?"

Jon blinked, seemingly unsure how to respond, while Tyrion gave Aegor a sly grin. "Aegor," he said, "you're full of surprises. One minute you're a soldier, the next a philosopher."

Aegor smiled back. "Why can't I be both?"

Jon was still young, and while Aegor's words had made an impression, the boy clearly wasn't ready to embrace such a mindset fully. "Dinner should be ready by now," Jon said, glancing toward the campfire.

"Let's go," Aegor agreed. "We've still got some wine from King's Landing left, let's hope there's enough meat to go with it."

Back at the camp, the mood was lively. The group had built shelters against an old wall, the horses were fed, and Yoren sat on a rock, skinning a fresh kill. The rich aroma of soup filled the air. Tyrion limped over to Maurice, who was stirring the pot, tasted the soup, and handed the ladle back.

"More pepper," the dwarf muttered.

Aegor sat down at the makeshift dining area, ready to enjoy his meal. But before he could take a bite, a sudden whistling sound cut through the air. Arrows struck the ground and even pierced the cooking pot.

"Enemy attack!" Yoren roared, dropping the animal he'd been skinning and drawing his sword.

Chapter 29

Aegor was stunned, completely and utterly stunned. It was even more shocking than when he had seen Bran fall from the tower in the novel or the series. This event wasn't supposed to happen. He racked his brain trying to recall if Benjen had encountered any such attack while returning to the Wall from Winterfell.

Was it deliberate? Did Jaime and Cersei send someone to assassinate him? Or had the Starks discovered the truth about him and dispatched men to capture him?

No, it didn't make sense.

Aegor only froze for a second before his instincts as a soldier kicked in. With a sharp clang, he drew his steel sword and moved to guard Tyrion before his two Lannister guards could even react. This short Lannister was his best ticket out of the Wall. He shouted, "My lord, hide quickly!"

"Benjen, get out here! I'll cover you!" yelled a recruit, who was struck by an arrow in the shoulder and collapsed, screaming in pain.

Yoren shoved a skinning knife into the hands of another terrified recruit and bellowed, "If you don't want to die, stick with me!"

The flap of the tent flew open, and Benjen Stark emerged, weapon in hand. Shadows charged out of the surrounding darkness with fierce cries. Arrows and rocks flew sporadically through the air. Benjen quickly assessed the attackers and barked, "It's wildlings! To the horses—no, it's too late! Everyone fall back to the stone wall and prepare to fight!"

Tyrion's two guards instinctively obeyed Benjen's command, abandoning any thought of waiting for orders from their panicked lord. The group of nine huddled against the old stone wall beside the tent. They formed a defensive circle, with a wounded recruit and Tyrion protected in the center. Faces grim and tense, they prepared to meet the wildlings head-on.

"Aren't the wildlings supposed to stay north of the Wall?" Tyrion crouched behind Aegor and Jon Snow, cowering with no trace of noble dignity.

Aegor, after identifying the enemy, felt a wave of relief. Jon, however, was practically buzzing with excitement at the chance to prove himself. The two Lannister guards, despite their full armor, appeared less than competent. Only one of them seemed to have any real combat experience.

"No one told me the North was this dangerous!" Tyrion complained.

"Small bands of wildlings sometimes cross the Wall," Aegor replied, "but they rarely venture this deep into the Wolfswood—"

"Do you have anything I can use as a weapon?" Tyrion interrupted, his voice rising. "I don't even have a knife to defend myself!"

"No time for that!" Jon hissed. "They're coming!"

There were no banners or war cries, no drums or horns. The wildlings charged at them with crude weapons—sticks, stone-tipped spears, and dull axes. Aegor didn't see a single proper blade among them.

One of Tyrion's guards let loose an arrow, striking a shadowy figure and sending him stumbling back with a scream. But despite their ragged appearance and poor armaments, the wildlings' boldness in attacking such a small, well-armed group baffled Aegor.

Before he could dwell on it, the attackers were upon them. The wildlings were as bedraggled as they seemed, emaciated figures clad in scraps of mismatched leather and ill-fitting armor. Most had no helmets, and their weapons were laughable.

The Night's Watch braced for a bloody battle. But within moments, Aegor realized something was off. The wildlings weren't pressing their attack. They stopped two meters short, yelling and brandishing their weapons as if trying to intimidate rather than kill.

Some wildlings, women among them, darted past the skirmish and began looting the camp. A woman even snatched up the half-skinned squirrel Yoren had been preparing.

Jon surged forward, eager to prove himself. His strikes landed on a wildling's wooden shield, leaving only shallow cuts. Benjen quickly called him back, unwilling to risk his nephew in the chaotic melee.

The wildlings weren't fighting to kill. They were here for supplies.

As the two sides clashed, it became apparent that the wildlings' true objective lay elsewhere. Yoren was the first to notice. He shouted, "They're after the horses!"

Benjen whirled around and spotted wildlings cutting the ropes tethering the horses. His face darkened with fury. Horses were more precious than gold to the Night's Watch. "Stop them!" he roared.

Aegor and Yoren responded immediately, charging forward with Benjen to scatter the disorganized wildlings. Jon and one of the Lannister guards, a man named Jack, followed closely behind. The tide of the skirmish shifted. Benjen felled one wildling in a single swing, and the rest broke and fled, scattering like frightened animals.

Some threw down their weapons as they vanished into the darkness. Aegor had seen this scene before. Wildlings often fled this way when pursued by rangers. Only those foolish enough to resist met steel and death.

"Don't pursue!" Benjen's voice rang out. "Secure the horses!"

Three Night's Watchmen charged toward the horses. The wildlings had already cut many of the ropes, and several horses were being driven or ridden away. The sight enraged Aegor. These horses were donations from Northern lords, and as members of the Night's Watch, they might one day rely on them to survive beyond the Wall.

As the men approached, the nearest horse thief shouted a warning to his companions before fleeing into the woods. The rest followed, abandoning the remaining horses in their haste.

Back at the camp, chaos reigned. The iron pot of broth had been shot through, spilling its contents into the dirt. Loaves of bread were gone, the dead squirrel had been stolen, and even an iron spoon was missing. Small, insignificant items had been taken, leaving the camp in disarray.

"Why did they take my book?" Tyrion raged, his voice shrill with indignation. "A book! Do wildlings even know how to read? I borrowed that from the Winterfell library!"

"They probably don't know what a book is," Aegor replied dryly. "It's square, so they grabbed it. Odds are they'll use it for kindling or to wipe their asses."

Yoren, his face stormy, growled, "Eight horses are gone."

"Which means we still have fourteen," Benjen said, though his tone was grim. With only three men armed and trained to fight, chasing the wildlings into the woods would be too dangerous. There could be an ambush waiting. After a moment of deliberation, he sighed and shook his head. "No, we won't chase them."

The attack ended as abruptly as it began.

For Aegor, this was his fourth encounter with wildlings since joining the Night's Watch. But it was the first time he had been on the defensive. Like the previous encounters, the Night's Watch suffered no fatalities.

The disparity in skill and discipline between trained soldiers and desperate peasants was as vast as the gap between wolves and sheep. Theoretically, the wildlings could have overwhelmed them with numbers, but fear and disorganization made them easy to rout.

The final toll was three wildlings dead and no losses among the Night's Watch, save for a recruit wounded by a crude arrow. The injury was shallow, thanks to the poor quality of the arrowhead.

For Jon, Tyrion, and the Lannister guards, it was a triumphant victory. For Aegor, it was a reminder of how precarious survival was in the North. But for Benjen, it was a humiliation. Nearly one-tenth of Castle Black's horses had been stolen by wildlings, a loss far greater than any material goods.

Yet the attack signaled something far more troubling. The wildlings were fleeing south, and the situation beyond the Wall was worsening. A patrol would need to be sent soon to uncover the truth.

Chapter 30

Benjen gave a firm order to gather the remaining horses closer to the tent. He then took Aegor and Yoren to set up traps and alarm mechanisms among the surrounding trees to guard against another ambush. After organizing a rotation for night sentry duty, he allowed everyone to move about freely before focusing on preparing dinner again.

"What did I just witness? One moment you're quoting philosophers, and the next you're a proper warrior," Tyrion said, drinking what little broth was left in the pot. Though he tried to keep his tone light, his voice still carried the lingering shock of the attack. Protected by Aegor during the skirmish, the dwarf now regarded the Night's Watchman with a mix of gratitude and confusion. "I never believed that the Night's Watch were the most elite force in the Seven Kingdoms, but now... now I'm beginning to wonder if you really did kill a White Walker."

In any fight against wildlings, even a ragtag group of soldiers could seem like elite warriors, Aegor thought to himself with a wry smile. But he knew better than to diminish the prestige of the Night's Watch in front of an outsider. "Well, thank you for the compliment, but I wasn't lying to you."

"Call me Tyrion," the dwarf said, leaning back slightly. "I owe you a debt for your help today. I'll do my best to honor our agreement."

"Thank you, Tyrion... cough," Aegor replied, his voice stiff. After spending so much time adapting to the formalities and rigid hierarchy of Westeros, being addressed so informally caught him off guard.

The incident had begun and ended in mere moments. Aegor had no idea how Tyrion perceived his actions during the attack, but he was keenly aware that he hadn't done anything particularly remarkable.

The truly brave and capable wildlings had already gathered under Mance Rayder's banner, preparing for the harsh winter atop the Frostfangs and devising ways to confront the White Walkers. The wildlings who had attacked them were nothing more than stragglers, weak even by wildling standards. Any trained soldier could have won that fight, provided they weren't struck down by the initial volley of arrows.

Forming a defensive line and charging to drive the wildlings off was simply following Benjen's orders and executing them with precision. Any other ranger could have done the same.

The only unique thing Aegor had done was shield Tyrion during the chaos and that had been entirely deliberate. After all, Tyrion was his key to escaping the Wall. But even without his intervention, the wildlings' crude and scattered attacks wouldn't have posed any real danger to the dwarf. Perhaps it was this small, subconscious act of protection that left such an impression on Tyrion.

Still, Aegor saw no reason to clarify the situation. Tyrion was likely experiencing his first real battle and had let his imagination inflate the bravery and skill of those who protected him. Since this misunderstanding worked in Aegor's favor, there was no harm in leaving it uncorrected.

"Why were the wildlings here?" Jon asked, his voice tinged with both excitement and unease. He had killed an enemy for the first time in his life, and the mix of guilt and adrenaline still colored his face a deep red. He seemed unable to calm himself. "Back at Winterfell, we rarely heard of wildlings coming this far south."

"It's true that it hasn't happened often," Aegor replied seriously. "Crossing the Wall is incredibly dangerous. If they just wanted to survive, they could've made do with the resources in the Wolfswood. But these wildlings... they're not just looking for food. They're trying to get further south to find a place to wait out the winter and escape the White Walkers.

"But without proper transportation or supplies, they have no chance of avoiding the patrols of the northern lords, let alone making it as far as the Neck. That's why they're desperate enough to attack us. Even if they fail, they'll likely target the nearest villages next."

"White Walkers," muttered one of Tyrion's guards, shivering visibly. "Aren't those just old stories? Monsters from legend? You don't mean to say they're real?"

On any normal day, no one would take talk of White Walkers seriously. But fresh off the tension of the skirmish, and surrounded by the eerie, shifting shadows of the forest, the guard's nerves were clearly frayed. The cold wind rustled the trees, adding to the sense of unease.

"Don't worry," Jon said with sudden enthusiasm. "This guy killed one before." There was a hint of pride in his voice, as if knowing Aegor personally lent him some kind of reflected glory. "If one of those ghostly things shows up... Aegor, you still have that obsidian dagger, right?"

"Of course," Aegor replied, patting his bag with a grin. "Don't worry. Even if the White Walkers could get past the Wall, which they can't, I'd just take them down one by one."

Although he sounded confident, Aegor wasn't nearly as calm as he appeared. He couldn't shake the thought of what was happening north of the Wall at this very moment. The lands beyond the Wall had likely become a frozen wasteland of death, with scattered wildlings either fleeing south or joining the army of the dead.

The thought unsettled him deeply. Even though he had resolved to leave the Wall and avoid a direct confrontation with the White Walkers, he couldn't escape the reality that he was still part of this world. If the Wall were breached and the Seven Kingdoms fell under attack, what would a time traveler with no allies or powerful backing do? Escape to another continent? Even that would be an uncertain and perilous journey.

Dinner, which had been interrupted by the wildling attack, was eventually finished without further incident. No one felt tired enough to sleep, so the group lingered for a while, chatting quietly. Eventually, Benjen emerged from his tent, his face stern as he addressed the group.

"Stop talking and get some rest. Up until now, we've been able to camp in relatively secure areas. But the terrain ahead is flat and barren, offering no protection. If we continue at our current pace, we'll need three more days of travel and two nights in the open. That's far too dangerous." He paused, letting his words sink in. "After careful consideration, I've decided to start a forced march at dawn. We won't camp at night. We'll push the horses to their limits and try to reach Castle Black within a day and a half."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Aegor, however, couldn't help but notice how the plot seemed to be subtly shifting. This wildling attack wasn't part of the original timeline, and he couldn't help but wonder if his presence, the metaphorical butterfly had caused the ripple. Perhaps his actions had altered the group's route, or perhaps the wildlings who should have been killed by the White Walker he had slain had attacked them instead.

Either way, things were different now. One unexpected attack could lead to another. While the wildlings themselves weren't particularly threatening, their arrows and stones could still kill.

"All right, then," Aegor said, standing up. "You all head inside and get some rest. Jack and I will take the first watch. Leave your things here—we'll clean up."

The others quickly obeyed, and soon the camp was quiet. As Tyrion passed by, he patted Aegor on the shoulder. "Well then, be careful, the both of you."

The first half of the night passed uneventfully. When it was Jon and Morce's turn to take over the watch, Aegor and Jack finally got some rest.

At sunrise, the group rose early, packed up their tents and supplies, and saddled the horses for the forced march north.

The weather had worsened. The temperature had dropped below freezing, and snow now blanketed the ground. For Aegor, accustomed to grueling ranger missions and his harrowing Ten Days of Escape, the forced march was nothing unusual. But the rest of the group wasn't as hardened.

After traveling over a hundred leagues in a little more than a day, Tyrion and his two guards looked utterly miserable. By the time they passed through the gates of Castle Black, they could barely dismount their horses. Their legs trembled beneath them, and they stumbled like newborn calves, as though they'd forgotten how to walk.

...

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