Chapter 36
"What?" Jon asked, unable to keep up with Aegor's train of thought.
"We, the Night's Watch, exist to combat the wildlings and the threat of the White Walkers. Now think about it: what's better—endlessly maintaining a defensive stance, or eliminating the threat at its root?"
Jon's eyes widened as the meaning behind Aegor's words became clear.
"Imagine," Aegor continued, "if someone could lead the Night's Watch to completely wipe out both the wildlings and the White Walkers, eliminating every threat north of the Wall. Would this Wall, or even the Night's Watch itself, still need to exist? Think about it, Jon: after the Watch's mission is complete, every brother would finally be able to declare, 'My watch has ended.' This tradition of service lasting until death has gone on for thousands of years. Why hasn't anyone stood up to end the threat once and for all? Why hasn't anyone proudly proclaimed, 'Our watch ends here'?" Aegor fixed Jon with a steady gaze. "Imagine disbanding the Night's Watch, returning to a world of warmth and light, and being celebrated as a greater hero than Azor Ahai. Wouldn't that be something?"
"This... how could that be possible?" Jon asked, his eyes wide, his voice almost trembling. "How could anyone achieve that?"
"White Walkers are humanity's enemy," Aegor said flatly. "There's no reason to show them mercy. Kill every last one of them. If possible, push further into the Land of Always Winter, find their nests, or the source of their power, and destroy them completely. End it at the root." Aegor gestured sharply, mimicking a killing strike. "As for the wildlings, Tyrion's right. They're just people living north of the Wall, yearning for freedom. I admire their spirit, but true freedom doesn't exist. Use whatever means are necessary to make them understand that and bring them to heel."
The room grew quieter. Jon wasn't the only one captivated; even Tyrion, standing beside them, didn't interrupt. The dwarf watched Aegor closely, fascinated by the boldness of his words. For all his sarcasm and cynicism, Tyrion found himself respecting this adventurer from across the sea.
Aegor pressed on. "The Night's Watch doesn't produce anything. It exists solely to maintain the Wall, a massive, nearly useless structure in peaceful times. Thousands of men in black are fed, clothed, and armed at a staggering cost. Now imagine: if the White Walkers were destroyed and the wildlings subdued, hundreds of men would no longer be tied to the Wall. Tens of thousands—maybe even hundreds of thousands—of wildlings could become productive members of the North. Think of how that would transform the North's standing among the Seven Kingdoms."
Jon stiffened. Growing up as a Stark, he had always been aware of the North's tenuous position—a vast, cold land with sparse resources, struggling to hold its place among wealthier, more populous kingdoms. If what Aegor described could come true... his father might finally regard him with pride. Even Lady Stark's disdain might soften.
"But none of this can be achieved as just a soldier," Aegor said suddenly, his voice cutting through Jon's daydreams. His sharp tone snapped Jon back to reality. "You'll need to climb to a position of real influence within the Watch. The position of Lord Commander is ideal. And the Watch uses an election system, Jon. If you act like a sulking child or gloat over beating a few untrained recruits, you'll never gain allies or the respect of your brothers. Without that, you'll never rise to power, let alone accomplish anything meaningful."
"I… I never wanted to be Lord Commander," Jon stammered.
"Really?" Aegor's tone softened. "A soldier who doesn't aspire to command isn't a good soldier. From a personal standpoint, you're the son of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. You shouldn't settle for mediocrity. And from a moral perspective, only by wielding power can you make the world a better place. Power, Jon, belongs in the hands of those with the vision and ability to use it wisely. This isn't ambition for ambition's sake. It's about responsibility."
Jon fell silent. Aegor's words rang in his ears, reverberating with a clarity that left him speechless. Tyrion, for his part, smirked faintly, as though remembering something, but said nothing.
"If you've already decided to leave the Watch before taking the oath, even if it means being mocked as a bastard and a coward, then we'll leave together in two days," Aegor said, his voice steady. "If you've decided to remain a soldier for the rest of your life, forget everything I've just said. But if you're still unsure, lie in bed tonight and think about it."
--
"You're quite the dreamer," Tyrion remarked, grinning as they exited the armory. "The boy's eyes were practically shining back there. A greater hero than Azor Ahai, eh? You have quite the talent for painting grand pictures."
"I hope he succeeds," Aegor replied. "Imagine it. I'd be slogging away in King's Landing, scraping together supplies for the Watch, expecting a dull, thankless life. Then one day—poof!" Aegor made a dramatic gesture, mimicking an explosion. "The Night's Watch completes its mission and disbands, and I'm free. Wouldn't that be a miracle? A fantasy, perhaps, but isn't it worth dreaming?"
"Hahaha," Tyrion chuckled. He appreciated the humor. Aegor's unorthodox way of thinking was refreshing, even entertaining. In a world full of sycophants or enemies, Tyrion found himself genuinely enjoying this man's company. "You know, sometimes I wonder: was I also fooled by your silver tongue? Did you trick me into helping you leave the Wall?"
"If I said yes, would you kill me?"
"Of course not. I'd bring you before my father and have you convince him why he should name a dwarf his heir. See if your silver tongue could win me Casterly Rock."
"That might be tricky," Aegor said thoughtfully. "But from what I know of Westerosi laws and customs, you are the rightful heir to Casterly Rock."
"Forget it," Tyrion said, his tone suddenly bitter. "He'd give it to my sister before he'd give it to me."
"If he won't give it to you, why not take it yourself?"
"This isn't a crown we're talking about. It's not 'winner takes all.'" Tyrion's smile turned wry. "Be careful with that kind of talk, Aegor. It might get you killed."
"Fair enough," Aegor replied, steering the conversation away from treason. "So, tell me about your meeting with the Lord Commander. Aside from Benjen Stark giving you a hard time, did anything else cause trouble?"
"Trouble?" Tyrion wrapped his cloak tighter against the cold. "I'm the queen's brother. No one dares give me much trouble—except your friend, Benjen. He's not overly fond of Lannisters, but he didn't object to my plans outright. The Lord Commander was thrilled at the idea of receiving supplies, though he frowned when I mentioned my conditions."
"What conditions?"
"Nothing too demanding. Maester Aemon was reasonable enough to agree after some persuasion. As for Benjen… well, let's just say he doesn't trust me, but he couldn't refuse the offer outright. In the end, we came to a 'friendly' agreement. Everyone has a price, Aegor. Be thankful yours wasn't too high."
Aegor feigned a look of sorrow. "Should I be grateful that I'm worthless?"
"Quite the sweet dilemma, isn't it?" Tyrion's smirk returned. "You know my brother's most infamous nickname, don't you?"
"Everyone does. The Kingslayer."
"You answered quickly, and rightly so," Tyrion said, his tone growing somber. "After the Rebellion, Eddard Stark insisted that Jaime take the black. Back then, the Baratheons, Starks, Tullys, and Arryns had formed an unbreakable alliance. The Targaryens were dead, the Tyrells defeated, and the Martells despised us after my father's men butchered Princess Elia. If Robert had agreed to send Jaime to the Wall, what would my family have done?"
"Your family couldn't have stood against the other great houses, especially after their victory in the Rebellion. Even Tywin Lannister would have been forced to comply."
"Exactly. Thankfully, Robert refused. If he'd agreed, I doubt all the gold in Casterly Rock would've been enough to ransom my brother. Sometimes, being too valuable isn't a blessing." Tyrion gave Aegor a sharp look. "So, enjoy being worthless while you can. Because after what I'm about to tell you, you may not feel that way anymore."
Chapter 37
Aegor raised an eyebrow. "Bad news? I can't think of anything right now that would make me unhappy."
"It's not bad news," the dwarf replied with a sly grin. "I managed to convince the Night's Watch leadership to let you head back to King's Landing with me as a so-called 'supply collector.' But—well, in the process, I may have bragged about you a little. Maester Aemon has decided to give you a chance to show off your abilities. So, aside from the task I mentioned earlier, you've been saddled with a few extra responsibilities."
No matter how many responsibilities there were, they were preferable to patrolling beyond the Wall, especially when those patrols were aimed at tracking down White Walkers. Aegor wasn't particularly moved but was curious nonetheless. "Such as?"
"Yoren will also be heading south in a few days," Tyrion said, picking up his pace to fend off the cold. "He'll be tasked with recruiting fresh blood in King's Landing for the Wall. I've decided to go along with him. As for you—Commander Mormont wants Yoren to bring the first group of recruits back to the Wall, then turn right around and head south for a second group. In the meantime, you'll also be recruiting for the Night's Watch."
The "Wandering Crows," who officially acted as recruiters for the Night's Watch, had a reputation for being little more than scavengers. Men like Yoren rarely sought out volunteers. Instead, they roamed from one noble's dungeon to the next, asking for permission to pluck prisoners for the Wall. At best, they might trawl the slums to see if any starving souls were desperate enough to enlist.
Before Aegor had been dragged into this world, he had been an engineer. His work relied on technical skills and qualifications, not networking or charm. He had no experience hosting social events or wining and dining clients. Recruiting soldiers? Hardly a skill he'd developed.
But apparently, the way he'd handled himself during the desertion incident had left an impression. The leadership, used to dealing with criminals and vagabonds, seemed to think his competence extended to everything.
Still, how hard could it be? Even if he bungled the job, could he really do worse than Yoren? Aegor sighed. "What else?"
"Dragonstone has agreed to let the Night's Watch mine obsidian on the island. They'll provide access and basic support, but the rest is up to us," Tyrion continued. "And guess what? Commander Mormont has decided you're in charge of this operation as well."
"Dragonstone and King's Landing are separated only by Blackwater Bay," Aegor muttered, inhaling sharply. "So not only do I have to collect food, supplies, and men for the Watch, but I'm also responsible for managing a mining operation? Do they think I have three heads and six arms? How much manpower and funding am I being given?"
"Ah, about that…" Tyrion smirked. "The Night's Watch is strapped for resources. There's no funding available. As for manpower, Mormont plans to request workers from northern families, but you'll need to organize the mining effort and—well—front the costs for tools and equipment. The Watch will 'try' to reimburse you later. On the bright side, the Night's Watch fleet is at your disposal."
Aegor didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Eastwatch did indeed have a "fleet," but its size was laughable. Two thin rowing vessels, the Storm Crow and the Claw, were tasked with patrolling Seal Bay for smugglers selling weapons to wildlings. A larger transport ship, the Blackbird, occasionally sailed to the Free Cities for trade. Altogether, the fleet's crew and port staff numbered fewer than two hundred.
So "at his disposal" essentially meant he'd be using the ships to haul obsidian back to the Wall.
The mining itself wasn't the problem; he could always consult a mine owner for advice. But how in the world was he supposed to advance the funds? He was as broke as they came. And until the North provided workers, he might as well grab a pickaxe and start digging himself. Without tools or funds, he'd have to rely on Tyrion to bear the financial burden yet again.
Just moments ago, Aegor had felt a flicker of gratitude for the leadership's willingness to let him leave the Wall. Now, he was drowning in the avalanche of responsibilities they'd dumped on him. Freedom, it seemed, came with a steep price.
"Since I'm involved, I'll help you figure something out," Tyrion offered.
"Tyrion…" Aegor hesitated, a touch of guilt creeping into his voice. "I'm sorry to keep costing you money."
"Cost me money? You think I'll just hand over the funds?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with mockery. "If I front the costs, your commander will undoubtedly refuse to pay me back. Do you think a Lannister would stoop to chasing after such petty debts?"
Aegor blinked in confusion.
"Here's what I'll do," Tyrion said with a wicked grin. "I'll introduce you to some blacksmiths and wealthy merchants in the mining business. They'll provide tools, supplies, and advice—on credit. Then they can deal directly with Mormont to collect payment. Let's see if your commander dares tarnish the reputation of the Night's Watch over a few coins."
Aegor's eyes lit up. It was a clever move, shifting the financial risk away from himself and Tyrion. "I see your point. Thank you for the help."
"Don't thank me just yet. There's one final task," Tyrion added, his expression taking on a sadistic glee as Aegor's shoulders sagged. "You need to improve the reputation of the Night's Watch among the nobles and common folk south of the Neck. Congratulations! You're now the Night's Watch's envoy, recruiter, mining overseer, and public relations officer. Rather than thanking me, you might want to start brainstorming how to pull all of this off."
Under Tyrion's amused gaze, Aegor pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths of icy air to steady himself. The urge to abandon all of this and remain a simple ranger at Castle Black was almost overwhelming.
It was clear the Night's Watch leadership wasn't about to let him leave without piling on as many obstacles as possible. The idea that he could simply pay a ransom, walk away from his vows, and live a peaceful life was laughable.
Each of these tasks—obvious tests of his resolve—was designed to give the officers back at the Wall leverage over him. Should he fail any one of them, they'd have the perfect excuse to recall him.
A year ago, he had done everything he could to get the attention of the higher-ups. Now that he finally had it, he was finding it more trouble than it was worth. The irony was not lost on him.
Was it even possible to juggle all these responsibilities?
Not on his own. These tasks were far beyond the capabilities of a single person. While knowing the characters and events of this world gave him some advantages, it wasn't a magical solution. Without external support, he wouldn't get far. And right now, his only reliable ally was Tyrion.
The question was: how long could he keep leaning on the Lannister without feeling like a parasite?
Chapter 38
Aegor had to admit that Tyrion was right. He really couldn't bring himself to feel happy right now. The excitement he had felt upon learning that he would be leaving the Wall had all but faded. The weight of the many tasks that lay ahead dulled his mood. There was no room left for laughter, teasing, or even the occasional sharp remark. As he and Tyrion walked back to their quarters, they discussed the schedule for his departure and a few other details. Even his footsteps felt heavier than usual.
Aegor's attention was drawn to a tall, rough-looking member of the Night's Watch heading toward him, carrying a large sack slung over his shoulder.
"Oser, what's in the bag?" Aegor asked.
"Supplies. Lord Benjen has decided to head north tomorrow morning to search for Waymar Royce, the wildlings, and any other strange happenings—assuming they're even real." Oser, an experienced ranger, stopped and adjusted the weight of the sack, eyeing Aegor up and down with a faint smirk, as though seeing him properly for the first time. "Huh. The so-called White Walker slayer, reduced to running errands for supplies. Ready to head off to King's Landing to live the good life?"
"You wouldn't believe how many assignments I've been saddled with," Aegor replied with a wry smile. Among the black brothers, let alone outsiders like Tyrion, there were still many who didn't believe in the existence of White Walkers. They dismissed it as nonsense, thinking that the Lord Commander and Benjen Stark were mad to take the words of a few deserters seriously. But now that Benjen had made his plans clear, there was no need to keep secrets. "Of course, compared to your mission—wandering the wilderness looking for White Walkers—it does sound like an easy job. Speaking of which, how are the special weapons coming along?"
"Valyrian steel," Oser said flatly. "There's only one Valyrian steel weapon in the entire Castle Black, and that's the Commander's sword. Benjen refused his offer to lend it to him. We've managed to gather some obsidian—dragonglass. We made three spearheads and a dozen arrows. If what you've said about the numbers is true, that should suffice."
"I can only swear that I've seen five White Walkers with my own eyes, but there's no way there are only five in existence. They're like lords or princes. They roam in small groups, harvesting wildling lives and stealing babies to strengthen their army of the dead. When the Haunted Forest is devoid of life, and they've amassed enough strength to assault the Wall, they'll rally together."
Aegor put aside his thoughts about his assignments and turned serious. His duties as a ranger—or rather, his role as a jack-of-all-trades—dictated that he should do his job well. Whatever his personal conflicts, he didn't want his comrades to march into danger unprepared. Self-interest aside, a devastating defeat for the Night's Watch would mean a heavier burden on everyone, including himself. Supplies would dwindle, and more would be demanded of the remaining brothers.
In short, their survival was tied to his own.
"There's something else you need to remember. White Walkers aren't mindless beasts; they're intelligent beings. Killing one of them will have alerted the others. Even with obsidian weapons, you'll need to stay vigilant."
Oser yawned, clearly unimpressed. "Tell that to Benjen. I'm just a soldier. I follow orders. The rest isn't my concern."
"I've already told him," Aegor said, trying to keep his tone measured. "But this is the kind of thing where the more people know, the better. One more thing, if anyone dies on the road or you come across a corpse, you must burn it. Fire works on the wights, but it won't kill a White Walker."
"Got it. Burn the corpses, use dragonglass, and pray to whatever gods will listen. Anything else?" Oser grumbled. "I'm not good with details. Now, if you'll excuse me…" The ranger waved him off irritably and marched away without looking back, the sack bouncing on his shoulder.
--
"I'm used to your bluntness," Tyrion said with a smirk as he watched Oser disappear down the corridor. "I never thought I'd see you being so… long-winded. You almost made me believe in these White Walkers of yours."
Aegor forced a small smile. There was no point in trying to convince Tyrion. The man was a skeptic by nature, and Aegor didn't have the energy for an argument.
No matter how he justified his actions, the truth remained: he was abandoning his post and leaving the Wall behind. He was using his knowledge—his "insider information"—to escape danger.
Benjen Stark, on the other hand, was about to lead seven rangers into the unknown, searching for evidence of an ancient enemy that most believed to be a myth. Each of them was a seasoned fighter, yet without Valyrian steel, they would face an enemy with superior strength, deadly weapons, and the element of surprise. Even armed with dragonglass, they were walking into a death trap.
By rights, Aegor should have been among them. His absence would increase the risks for the others, even if only by a fraction. If Will, one of the rangers replacing him, died during the mission, it would be hard to ignore the guilt of having shifted that burden onto someone else.
But guilt alone wasn't enough to change his mind. He wasn't a hero, nor was he foolish enough to throw himself into a doomed expedition.
"What's wrong?" Tyrion asked, noticing his companion's heavy expression.
"Nothing," Aegor replied lightly, forcing himself to sound indifferent. "I guess I'm just too honest for my own good."
Honest? Hardly. It felt more like cowardice. Yet saying anything more would feel like cursing his comrades to their deaths. He'd learned his lesson from Bran's fall: some things were beyond his power to change. Until he had the status and authority to make a difference, words meant little. "I suppose I'm just feeling a bit sentimental. Leaving the Wall is harder than I expected."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Sentimental? If I recall correctly, you didn't come here by choice."
"No, but it wasn't the Night's Watch who brought me here," Aegor said with a shake of his head. "Since I've been here, I've had the same treatment as everyone else. Food, shelter, even a bit of coin. It's not much, but it's fair. A nobleman I'd never met condemned me to this place, but the Night's Watch… they didn't treat me unfairly. Do you understand what I mean?"
"I think so. You don't hate them."
"Exactly."
Aegor fell silent, watching the black brothers busy themselves with preparations for the next day's patrol. His irritation over the daunting assignments faded. Compared to the rangers heading north, his burdens seemed trivial. Not only was he avoiding this dangerous expedition, but his journey to King's Landing would also keep him far from Mormont's inevitable decision to launch a larger search-and-rescue mission if Benjen's party failed to return.
For all his complaints, Aegor realized he was lucky. A few extra responsibilities were a small price to pay for survival.
He'd once told Jon that hardships were a test, a way for the gods to prepare those they deemed capable. Now, he found himself in need of the same advice. If he didn't push himself, how would he know what he was capable of?
Before crossing over into this world, Aegor had been cushioned by the privileges of modern life. He had never truly struggled. Here, equality in misery meant there was no easy path, but it also meant that every achievement would be earned.
The days of coasting were over. From now on, his success—or failure—would depend entirely on his own decisions. As a recruiter, a resource manager, and an emissary, he would rise to the challenge. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Chapter 39
"Aegor, why didn't you go?" Will grabbed him by the arm, his eyes wide with panic. "Are the men going out on patrol this time going to die? Is that what's going to happen?"
It was just before dawn, and most of the Night's Watch were still deep in sleep. Only Aegor had risen early, wanting to see off the rangers who were about to head beyond the Wall in search of the White Walkers. He was supposed to be among them.
Faced with Will's panicked questioning, which was dangerously close to the truth, Aegor was left speechless. He could only grip his companion's hand tightly and say, "Don't let your imagination run wild. I was just assigned to another task."
"No! It must be like this! It has to be!" Ever since Aegor's warning had saved Will's life, the poacher had developed a near-superstitious trust in him. Now, learning that Aegor would not be joining the patrol, and seeing the unease in his expression, an ominous premonition swept through Will's mind. Fear overwhelmed him, and he shouted out, "Lord Benjen! This patrol—no one's coming back! The White Walkers are waiting for us in the Haunted Forest! We can't leave the Wall!"
"What nonsense is this?" Benjen's voice cut sharply through the early morning air. He stood just a few paces away, already saddling his horse. His piercing gaze bore down on Will as he secured his pack of provisions to the saddle. "Do you have any idea what kind of pressure the Lord Commander endured to convince the realm that you three deserters were telling the truth? Enough of this. Get your things and mount your horse. We're leaving now."
Aegor knew he'd made a mistake, allowing his unease to show, and he quickly recovered. Plastering on a calm, confident expression, he pulled Will aside. Stuffing an obsidian dagger into the poacher's trembling hands, he said in a firm tone, "Keep this safe. Be careful. You'll come back." It was a lie, but one meant to comfort.
--
Aegor woke with a start.
Since his terrifying encounter with the White Walkers—their pursuit, the harrowing battle, and the moment he managed to kill one—he had come to understand these ancient enemies of mankind in a way few others did. Perhaps because of that, the nightmares that had once plagued him had vanished entirely.
Instead, his dreams were now haunted by a different scene: Benjen, Will, and the other elite rangers mounting their horses and disappearing into the darkness of the Wall's tunnel, heading north on what was likely a doomed mission. The memory of Will's nervous, desperate expression before being scolded into silence by Benjen lingered in Aegor's mind, clear as day.
Benjen had gone north to confirm the existence of the White Walkers. Will, however, was being forced to confront his nightmares again—the horror of creatures he had already barely survived. Aegor imagined the fear must weigh even more heavily on him than it did on the others.
Where were they now? Had they found any sign of the White Walkers? Were they… still alive?
The warmth of the room, heated by the hot spring water flowing beneath Winterfell, should have been comforting. But Aegor sat motionless in the soft bedding, feeling as if a heavy weight pinned him down.
This was one of the guest rooms in Winterfell. A few days after Benjen's patrol had set out, Aegor had joined Tyrion and his party in leaving the Wall. During their journey south, they had been attacked by wildlings. In response, Commander Mormont had "generously" assigned ten rangers to escort the group, ensuring the safety of the queen's brother and a vital source of future support for the Night's Watch. They had arrived in Winterfell the previous evening, where accommodations had been arranged for them.
The room Aegor now occupied was far more spacious and comfortable than the one he had been given on his first visit. But this wasn't home, and the unfamiliar surroundings did little to ease his thoughts. Finally, after lying in bed in a daze for what felt like an eternity, he got up, dressed, and stepped out into the cold morning air.
The chill hit him immediately. Outside, the world felt quiet, almost dreamlike. The parade ground was nearly empty, save for a few Winterfell guards going through their drills. The departure of the king and his entourage had taken Lord Stark, his two daughters, and more than a quarter of Winterfell's guards and servants. The castle had not been this empty since the last war.
As a result, the butler who greeted Aegor, Tyrion, Yoren, and their small escort had been able to easily arrange a private room for each of them.
But they would only enjoy these accommodations for a single day. Tomorrow, they would continue their journey south. In the south, the words "Night's Watch" carried no respect—only disdain.
Before leaving, however, Aegor had something important to confirm.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, stopping a passing servant. "There's something I'd like to ask you—"
"I'm not a lady, sir," the maid replied respectfully, cutting him off. "Just tell me what you need to know."
Aegor gave her a small smile. "It's nothing serious. I just wanted to ask—when Lord Bran fell, I was the one who found him first. How is he now?"
"He's awake," the maid said, though her tone turned somber. "But he's not doing well. His head… it seems like something's wrong. He can't remember a lot of things."
"Hmm..." Aegor frowned. It was still in line with the original events. "And while I was gone? Did anything unusual happen?"
"Unusual? Plenty of things. What are you asking about specifically?" The maid tilted her head thoughtfully. "The most notable thing was probably the fire in the library tower. Such a shame—so many books lost."
The fire. Aegor's heart skipped a beat, and his voice came out sharper than he intended. "And Lady Stark? Is she all right?"
The maid gave him a puzzled look. What did the Lady of Winterfell have to do with a black-clad member of the Night's Watch? If she didn't know her mistress better, she might have suspected some sort of secret relationship. "She's fine. She doesn't read much, so the fire didn't affect her. She spent all her time crying and staying by young Master Bran's side. Now that the boy's awake, she's doing much better."
"She's still in Winterfell, then?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?" The maid's frown deepened.
Aegor studied her face and found no sign of deceit or hesitation. The confirmation came more easily than he'd expected, and the weight on his chest lifted. For a moment, he didn't know how to respond. His small intervention, his risk in deviating from the original events had worked. There was no "higher power" forcing events back on track. The timeline had shifted. He no longer had to worry about Catelyn Tully intercepting Tyrion on the road.
"Thank you. That's all I needed."
"You're welcome. Breakfast is ready, by the way. You can head to the hall to eat," the maid said, still baffled by his odd questions and changing expressions. She gave him a polite nod before hurrying away.
One of Aegor's two major concerns had been resolved. Now, all that remained was figuring out how to tackle the tasks ahead. Though he still hadn't come up with a solid plan, he had a rough idea of how to approach things in the short term. Feeling lighter than before, he went to wash up and have breakfast.
On his way back to his room, a guard approached him.
"Brother of the Night's Watch," the man called.
"What is it?"
"The Lord of Winterfell is receiving guests in the hall. Please follow me."
Chapter 40
The contrast to the king's feast held in this room not long ago was striking. Now, with many of the long tables and benches removed, the hall that had once felt crowded and narrow seemed spacious. When Aegor entered, led by the guards, he found that most of the attendees were already present.
A row of guards stood stationed by the walls. Robb Stark sat in the high seat that once belonged to his father. To his right and left were Maester Luwin and Lady Catelyn, respectively. Robb, seated in the center, exuded the air of a young lord, his youthful face beginning to show traces of the authority he would one day wield.
Aegor's earlier questions to the maid before breakfast had been unnecessary; Lady Stark was right here, sitting in front of him. Compared to the last time he had seen her, she seemed to have aged twenty years. Her haggard face bore a resemblance to her older appearance in the television adaptation of this world. She looked only slightly younger than Maester Luwin seated beside her. Yet, despite her weariness, this was undeniably the real Catelyn Stark.
Aegor noted the implications of her presence. Catelyn hadn't gone to King's Landing, hadn't encountered Littlefinger, and hadn't been deceived about the dagger. This meant he didn't have to worry about helping Tyrion avoid conflicts with her on the way south.
In the middle of the hall stood the other Night's Watchmen who had arrived earlier, along with Tyrion and his entourage. Aegor quietly joined Yoren and the black-clad brothers, blending into their ranks. Once he was in place, Robb spoke.
"Welcome. I was occupied with duties last night and wasn't able to greet you personally. I hope I haven't failed in extending proper hospitality," Robb said, his tone formal yet slightly awkward. It was clear he was speaking as a host for the first time in his young life. His words lacked polish, as though they had been hastily memorized, but his effort was evident.
Aegor's attention was drawn to Robb's demeanor. The boy had not unsheathed his sword, nor did he address Tyrion with hostility. It was a subtle but significant departure from the original course of events. Aegor knew this change was tied to his own actions, and the realization made him feel more entangled in the unfolding plot.
"You're too kind," Tyrion said with a sigh. "So, when will your brother arrive?"
At that moment, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. A large figure entered—Hodor, carrying Bran Stark.
"Oh, the boy survived after all," Tyrion remarked, turning to look at Bran. Cradled in Hodor's arms, the young Stark still managed to tower over the dwarf. "I must say, you Starks have remarkable luck."
"Northerners must be tough to survive," Robb responded evenly. Though his tone held no hostility, it was far less brash than in the original events. "Hodor, bring my brother here."
"Hodor," the giant replied cheerfully, trotting forward. He gently set Bran down near the high seat where the rulers of House Stark traditionally sat. The boy gripped the chair's arms as he settled into the seat, his useless legs dangling in the air. The chair's grandeur made him look smaller than he was.
"Lord Tyrion, you wanted to see my brother. He's here now," Robb said.
"Bran, I hear you were quite skilled at climbing," Tyrion began, studying the boy intently. "Tell me, how did you fall that day?"
Aegor felt his heart race. If Bran mentioned Jaime Lannister, or worse, if he implicated the "noisy" Night's Watchman who had been on the tower that day, it would lead to trouble.
But Bran's response was a relief. "I don't know. There's no way I could have fallen."
"The boy remembers nothing of the fall or the events leading up to it," Maester Luwin added softly.
"How peculiar," Tyrion remarked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"My lord, Bran is still weak and needs his rest," Lady Stark interjected. Her voice was soft, almost fragile, as though she barely had the energy to maintain politeness. "If there's nothing urgent, please allow him to return to his chambers."
"I have a gift for him," Tyrion said, nodding toward her before turning back to Bran. "How would you like to ride, boy?"
Maester Luwin sighed. "My lord, the boy's legs are no longer functional. He cannot ride a horse."
"Rubbish," Tyrion said bluntly. "With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride."
"I'm not a cripple!" Bran's voice was sharp, defensive.
"Then I'm not a dwarf," Tyrion replied with a smirk. "I'm sure my father would be thrilled to hear that."
Catelyn and Robb looked displeased, but Theon Greyjoy chuckled. Maester Luwin, ever patient, asked, "What sort of horse and saddle are you referring to, my lord?"
"A clever horse," Tyrion explained. "The boy can't guide his mount with his legs, so the horse must respond to reins and voice commands. I suggest an untrained yearling. That way, you don't have to retrain a seasoned horse." He pulled a rolled parchment from his belt. "Give this to your saddler. He'll know what to do."
Maester Luwin took the parchment with curiosity, unrolling it to examine the detailed drawings and notes. "I see. You've laid it out very clearly. Yes… this could work. I should have thought of this myself."
--
Aegor stood among the Night's Watchmen, silently observing this familiar yet altered scene. He prayed that the interaction would end quickly. His only wish was for everything to proceed smoothly until they could depart southward, uninterrupted.
"Can I really ride a horse?" Bran asked, his voice filled with hesitant hope.
"Of course," Tyrion assured him. "And I promise you, boy, when you're on a horse, you're as tall as anyone else."
"Thank you for your kindness, my lord," Lady Stark said, forcing a polite smile as she looked at her son's happiness. "If you'll stay for lunch or dinner, we would be honored to host you."
"You're too kind, Lady Stark," Tyrion replied, bowing slightly. "But I've had my fill of Northern hospitality. I'd prefer the atmosphere of an inn in Winter Town over the formality of the castle." He turned to the Night's Watchmen. "Aegor, Yoren, we'll head south at dawn tomorrow. You'll find me on the road."
With that, Tyrion exited the hall, his guards following close behind.
The remaining members of the Night's Watch, along with the dozen rangers who had escorted Tyrion back, lingered briefly. Despite the reduced numbers, their presence kept the hall from feeling too empty. Robb addressed them with some hesitation.
"Brothers of the Night's Watch, you are always welcome in Winterfell. If you need anything, let the servants know, and we will do our best to assist you. I also hope to have the honor of dining with you tonight."
Though his words were formal and slightly awkward, the Night's Watchmen didn't seem to mind. After thanking him for his hospitality, they departed, led out by a ranger.
As Aegor followed the group, a guard stopped him. "Aegor?"
"Yes?"
"The young lord wishes to speak with you. Please follow me."
Aegor froze. What could Robb Stark possibly want? Had he somehow been caught in his lies about Bran's fall or Joffrey's plot to kill the boy?
He felt a pang of guilt. Though he hadn't acted with malice, he knew there would be no reasoning with the Starks if they discovered the truth. Either revelation could derail everything he had worked for.
Feeling uneasy and powerless, Aegor followed the guard into a small room in the northern wing of the hall. Inside were a table, two chairs, and Robb Stark, waiting for him.
...
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