Chapter 41

At the signal from the new Lord of Winterfell, the guard turned and left, shutting the door behind him. The room was now silent, leaving Aegor alone with Robb Stark. This one-on-one situation eased some of Aegor's nerves, if there had been any hostility or accusations, this wouldn't be the way to handle it.

Robb gestured for Aegor to sit down. "Friend, were you the one who discovered my brother falling from the tower that day?"

The word friend was enough to make Aegor exhale in relief. The Starks were not known for subtlety when it came to their feelings about others; they wore their likes and dislikes openly. Aegor nodded and replied, "I'm ashamed to admit it, my lord. I could have stopped young Bran from attempting such a dangerous climb, but I failed."

"As his brother, I know Bran's stubbornness better than anyone," Robb said, sighing like someone much older than his years. "When he sets his mind on something, no one can talk him down. It's partly our fault, we've spoiled him too much."

Robb's tone carried the weight of responsibility, and Aegor silently agreed. Bran had been spoiled. From what Aegor had learned in conversations with the guards, the Stark family had tried various ways to dissuade Bran from climbing, but none of them worked. Eventually, even Eddard Stark had resigned himself to the boy's reckless habit, allowing it to continue.

Bran's fall was undeniably influenced by Jaime Lannister's actions—and to a degree, Aegor's own interference—but from a modern perspective, wasn't there some accountability on the part of his parents? Poor education, lack of proper supervision, didn't it all add up? To put it bluntly, if you never fall, that's your luck, but if you do, then you've brought it on yourself. And for a child who can't grasp the consequences, isn't a firm hand sometimes necessary?

Aegor's own childhood had been full of such lessons. He'd been beaten for sneaking off to swim in the river alone, for stealing money to buy snacks, and for skipping school to visit the arcade. As an adult, he felt gratitude rather than resentment toward his parents. As long as discipline was measured and accompanied by an explanation, it wasn't something to be feared.

Such idle thoughts ran through Aegor's mind, but he kept his expression neutral. As a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, he had no right to lecture the heir of Winterfell. So, he simply waited for Robb to continue.

"Let's not dwell on what's already happened," Robb said finally. "Thanks to your warning, my brother escaped danger a second time."

"My warning?" Aegor's expression turned serious. "The assassin… he acted?"

"Not long after you left Winterfell, one night, the library tower caught fire. Most of the castle was busy fighting the blaze, but the guards my father had stationed inside and outside Bran's room didn't abandon their posts."

"And the assassin still made a move under those conditions?"

"No," Robb said, shaking his head. "He approached, saw the guards at the door, and turned back. The guards suspected it was a trick and didn't pursue him immediately. But Winterfell is a small place, and everyone here knows one another. It didn't take long to track him down."

Aegor felt a strange mix of emotions. The assassin had been caught. Despite all the time he had spent trying to alter the course of events—only to be thwarted at nearly every turn—it was ultimately a whispered warning to Benjen that had achieved the desired result. The threat to Tyrion, and by extension himself, had been neutralized.

All his effort had been outdone by a single lie. Was this irony, or just the absurd nature of reality?

"Was he interrogated?" Aegor asked cautiously.

"He resisted capture and was killed," Robb said grimly. "We couldn't risk taking him alive. Once we knew who sent him, his fate was sealed."

"That's… understandable," Aegor said, nodding. A small wave of relief washed over him. If the assassin had been caught alive and his confession hadn't implicated Joffrey, it would have caused more problems than it solved.

"Uncle Benjen says you're a clever man," Robb continued, his tone more solemn. "So I trust you understand that this assassin had to disappear, and this matter must remain a secret. Most people in Winterfell know nothing of what happened. Out of respect for your role in uncovering this threat, I've decided to share the truth with you, but I expect you to keep it to yourself."

"Understood," Aegor replied immediately.

In this world, there was no such thing as "equal justice under the law." Even if the assassin had been sent by Joffrey, the Stark family had little recourse. Short of open war, any accusations against the crown prince would only result in denials and excuses. At most, Robert Baratheon might scold his son.

If this had been a time of peace, the Starks could have sought retribution. Given Eddard's long friendship with Robert, they might have even had the upper hand. But with Eddard preparing to leave for King's Landing and the family reeling from revelations about the Lannisters' involvement in Jon Arryn's death, the Starks couldn't afford to alienate their Baratheon allies.

The Stark family could only swallow the matter in silence.

"Here, take this." Robb pulled a leather pouch from behind the table and handed it to Aegor.

Aegor accepted the bag, its weight and the metallic sound within making its contents easy to guess. His brow furrowed as unease flickered across his face. "What is this?"

"What we found in the assassin's hiding place. It should be the payment he received from his employer," Robb replied, his expression dark with anger. "My brother's life was worth only this pitiful amount of coin."

"This might have just been the deposit," Aegor murmured. "The rest would've been paid after the deed was done. But why give it to me?"

"You're heading to King's Landing on behalf of the Night's Watch. That journey won't be cheap," Robb said plainly. "I added a gold dragon to the assassin's bounty for my brother, and I hope you can use it."

Holding the heavy pouch, Aegor hesitated. His first instinct was to refuse it outright, just as he had turned down red envelopes in the past before he'd found himself in this world. But this wasn't the modern world he had once known. The customs and expectations here were different—this was a gift from a great noble, and he couldn't afford to reject it.

Moreover, he truly needed the money. Aegor hadn't left the Wall willingly, nor had Commander Mormont provided any funding for his trip south. After all, he was a ranger, a man expected to fight on the front lines, not wander the South on "missions." Being penniless and reliant on Tyrion to pay for his meals and lodging had been a bitter and humiliating experience.

"Thank you, my lord," Aegor said, bowing his head slightly in gratitude.

"Keep it," Robb said firmly. "And thank you again for what you did for my brother. Just remember what we talked about—this must remain a secret. That's all. See you at dinner."

--

"The North respects the Night's Watch."

Aegor had heard those words countless times from his fellow brothers, but he hadn't truly understood their meaning until his second visit to Winterfell, after Robert Baratheon and his entourage had left.

The new, young Lord of Winterfell—Robb Stark—actually chose to dine at the same table as the twelve Night's Watchmen who were visiting.

From Yoren, Aegor learned that Robb's actions weren't meant to set a precedent, nor were they driven by gratitude for Aegor's role in saving Bran. Rather, this practice followed a tradition established by Eddard Stark himself.

Before leaving for King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King, Eddard had made it a point to personally greet every Night's Watchman who came to Winterfell, without exception. If they were deserters or oathbreakers, he would dispense justice with his sword and the guillotine himself. But if they were brothers of the Watch carrying out their duties, he ensured they were given warm meals and good wine, dining with them at the same table. He would listen to their reports about the Wall directly, treating the Watch's concerns with the respect they deserved.

--

Strictly speaking, Aegor and Benjen's previous visit to Winterfell had been overshadowed by the king's arrival. It had been an unusual situation, and the Watch's brothers had been given little notice or priority.

But such courtesy and respect for the Night's Watch could only be found in the North. Once they left Winterfell, things would change.

The ten rangers who had escorted them remained at Winterfell for just one day before heading back north to the Wall. Meanwhile, Aegor, Yoren, and Tyrion, along with his party, began their journey south. This time, they traveled at a leisurely pace, though Aegor knew all too well that life would be very different once they crossed into the southern regions.

Chapter 42

For over a decade, Eddard Stark's unwavering respect for the Night's Watch had set an example in the North. This tradition had fostered a culture of friendship and honor toward the men in black, but as Aegor and Yoren continued their journey south, it became clear how isolated this sentiment was.

The farther south they traveled, the warmer the weather became, but the colder the reception from the people they encountered. By the time they passed Moat Cailin and approached the Neck, the attitudes of the villagers, settlers, and minor lords they met had become indifferent, almost perfunctory. After crossing into the riverlands, Aegor noticed that people paid no attention at all to the black clothes of the Night's Watch. As they moved even farther south, that indifference turned to disdain. The respect and warmth they had experienced in the North seemed like a distant memory.

Yet neither Aegor nor Yoren was particularly bothered by the shift in attitude. Both men were seasoned adults. Yoren, having traveled far and wide in service of the Watch, was used to the varying levels of respect—or lack thereof—shown to the black brothers across the Seven Kingdoms. Aegor, meanwhile, had braced himself for this reality long before setting out. If wearing the black cloak brought universal respect, the Watch wouldn't need to scour the realm for recruits to fill its ranks.

For Aegor, the journey south only reinforced his long-term goal: to find a way to shed the black cloak entirely. The cold stares and dismissive attitudes served as a constant reminder of his current status and of the motivation he needed to change it. However, one thing did trouble him: the task of improving the image of the Night's Watch seemed more daunting than ever.

--

No road stretches endlessly, and after nearly a month of traveling with Tyrion, their destination finally came into view. The journey had been filled with good food, leisurely sightseeing, and ample time for Aegor to reflect. Now, as the towering walls of King's Landing appeared in the distance, all his lingering worries melted away.

Aegor had been confident since leaving Winterfell that Catelyn's absence from the road meant their journey would remain uninterrupted. Still, it wasn't until they actually reached King's Landing without incident that he allowed himself to fully relax. The twists and turns surrounding the Winterfell incident were finally behind him.

This successful deviation from the original story held greater significance for Aegor than it might for others. It proved to him that the major events of this world—the plot of A Song of Ice and Fire—could be changed. With enough willpower and decisive action, anything was possible.

King's Landing, the largest city in Westeros and the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, loomed ahead. Overlooking Blackwater Bay, it was the seat of the Iron Throne and the Red Keep, the landing site of Aegon the Conqueror, and the center of the continent's politics, economy, and culture.

Now, a world traveler had arrived, one determined to alter the course of the future.

--

All the anxiety Aegor had carried during the journey evaporated, replaced by a bubbling excitement that threatened to overwhelm him. If not for his self-control, he might have galloped ahead on the King's Road like a man possessed.

A few miles outside the city walls, clusters of huts and tents began to line the roadside, marking the outskirts of civilization. With these came an unmistakable stench carried on the wind.

"Ah, the smell of King's Landing," Tyrion remarked, his tone light and amused as he rode alongside Aegor. "I've missed it. After months of fresh air in the North, it's almost comforting to return to this."

Aegor had heard tales of the city's infamous stench long before finding himself in this world, but nothing could have prepared him for it. The smell reached them even at this distance, and he couldn't help but wonder how much worse it would be within the city walls. By comparison, the icy air of the Wall—though harsh—was refreshingly clean.

"How can the capital of the Seven Kingdoms smell this foul?" Aegor asked, wrinkling his nose. "Don't they clean the sewers or take care of the garbage?"

"Oh, we have sewers, and garbage is cleared," Tyrion said, smirking. "But there's never enough manpower to keep up. First, we ensure the nobles' quarters are clean, then the wealthier districts. As for the poorer areas, well, they're left to fend for themselves. There are nearly 500,000 people crammed within the city walls. Imagine how much waste they produce every day."

Aegor frowned. "If manpower is the issue, why not hire more workers? There are so many poor souls outside the city who would gladly work for a meal and a few copper coins."

Tyrion chuckled. "A simple solution, but who do you suggest pays for it? Our dear king is already drowning in debt to the Iron Bank and to my father. There's no money for such noble endeavors."

Aegor sighed. "How can he stand the stench of his own capital?"

"The Red Keep sits atop Aegon's High Hill," Tyrion explained with a dry laugh. "The wind carries away the worst of the smell. The nobles up there don't have to worry about such things."

"Of course," Aegor muttered, shaking his head in resignation. He had no clever retort. Even with his knowledge of modern systems, he couldn't fix a city whose rulers saw no need to improve. Besides, his own list of priorities was already overwhelming. The smell of King's Landing was the least of his concerns.

As they continued along the road, the gates of the city grew closer. The northwest entrance, the Gate of the Gods, was teeming with life. A chaotic crowd of people, animals, and carts jostled for space. Among them were knights and free riders, bards strumming harps or beating drums, and merchants with carts piled high with goods—hops, corn, barrels of honey. Craftsmen, farmers, and prostitutes mingled in the throng, creating a scene as vibrant as it was disorderly.

Dozens of gold-cloaked City Watch guards struggled to maintain order amidst the surge of bodies. The gate was loud, congested, and overwhelming, but it was undeniably alive.

"The Hand's tourney," Yoren sneered. Born and raised in the North, he understood Lord Eddard Stark's temperament better than most people in Westeros. "The Hand must hate this tourney."

"The tourney itself isn't a bad idea. Events like these bring some prosperity to the kingdom," Tyrion remarked, his voice low but laced with sarcasm. "The nobles use it to show off and chase glory, the common folk get to join in the festivities and forget their hardships for a while, and the merchants make a tidy profit. The problem lies with our good king. He holds these tourneys far too often. There's one for festivals, one for the prince's naming day, one for the new Hand taking office, and another just because he's in a good mood. No registration fees, no entry fees—participants and spectators are all thrilled, but the organizers are buried in debt. And, of course, he borrows the money in the name of the Iron Throne instead of his own. Tsk tsk. I don't know whether to call him clever or..."

Tyrion trailed off with a smirk, leaving the thought unfinished.

The group discussed the recently concluded tourney as they rode through the bustling streets of King's Landing, drawing closer to the city's center.

The stench, much stronger now than it had been outside the walls, was unavoidable. Yet the human mind was remarkably adaptable, and within a few minutes, they began to tolerate it. It wasn't that their noses stopped working; their brains simply chose to ignore the foul odors and focus on other things.

--

"My backside has endured enough punishment these past two months. Let's find a place to settle down first and then think about what comes next," Tyrion said, changing the subject. "I know a decent inn, halfway up the slope of Rhaenys' Hill. The elevation makes the air fresher than most parts of King's Landing. You'll appreciate it."

"Don't you live in the Red Keep?" Aegor asked, surprised. Tyrion was the Queen's younger brother, after all. Even if his relationship with Cersei wasn't particularly warm, he should still have the privilege of staying in the royal castle—or at the very least, in the noble district below it.

"The Red Keep is too far from my favorite brothel," the dwarf replied with a mischievous grin. "And I can't stomach being surrounded by schemers, fools, and the ambitious every waking moment."

"My lord, you've already spent a great deal of coin on this journey. Let us handle the matter of accommodations ourselves," Yoren interjected. He was unaware of the private discussions and deals Tyrion had made with the higher-ups of the Night's Watch. As far as Yoren was concerned, Aegor had been sent to King's Landing purely to gather supplies. Relying so heavily on Tyrion's generosity made him uneasy.

"Seven gods, have mercy on a poor, wretched dwarf like me!" Tyrion exclaimed in mock outrage, shaking his head in exaggerated exasperation. "Do you expect me to ride halfway across the city whenever I feel like chatting with my two favorite brothers of the Night's Watch? Don't argue. Come with me."

Chapter 43

Since Tyrion had insisted, the two Night's Watchmen stopped arguing and followed the Lannister party along the main roads of King's Landing. They passed through Shoemaker Square and the Central Square before veering left and continuing up the gentle incline of Nun Street. Slowly, they climbed toward the top of Rhaenys' Hill, the smallest of the three hills encircled by the city walls.

As they ascended, the scenery changed noticeably. The streets became wider and cleaner. The people they passed were better dressed, moving with an air of leisure and refinement. Shops selling luxury goods—trinkets, jewelry, and finely tailored clothing—began to appear on either side of the road.

Aegor quickly realized this was one of the wealthier districts of King's Landing. If he were to stay here for any length of time, it would undoubtedly be an expense far beyond his means. At last, the group stopped outside an inn called the Albatross.

After dismounting, Aegor looked around and noticed that their position on the hill offered a clear advantage. They were higher than most parts of the city, far above the crowded and filthy streets below. The elevation greatly reduced the stench of the city while still allowing for convenient travel and activity. It was a prime location.

"Four rooms, please," Tyrion called out as he entered the inn. "One for myself and my two friends in black, and one for my servants. Make sure they're connected."

The innkeeper clearly recognized Tyrion and greeted him with enthusiasm. Servants quickly appeared to take their horses and luggage while the innkeeper personally led the group to the second floor.

The interior of the inn was well-decorated, far better than even the main hall of Winterfell. It was evident that this was an establishment catering to wealthier clientele.

Before parting ways to enter their rooms, Tyrion turned to the two Night's Watchmen with some parting advice. "You're representatives of the Night's Watch here, so you'll need to dress the part. There are shops on Sister Street nearby that sell both ready-made and custom clothing. I suggest you take the time to buy something appropriate."

He paused, then added with a grin, "Oh, and if you head out, turn right. When you can see the hole in the top of the dragon's lair clearly, take a left. That'll take you to Silk Street. Half the brothels in King's Landing are there. Mention my name, and even if you're short on coin, you'll find yourselves well taken care of. If you're too shy to go on your own, let me know, I'd be happy to take you another day. But for now, I need to rest my poor, tortured backside. Sleeping on my stomach might be my only option tonight. See you later."

--

To be honest, Aegor was tempted. He was a normal, healthy man with his own needs, and it had been over a year and a half since he'd come to this world. During that time, he hadn't so much as touched a woman. The idea of visiting a brothel in King's Landing, where the women were far more refined than the part-time village girls near Castle Black, was an appealing thought.

But the moment passed quickly. He owed Tyrion far too many favors already, and he carried the weight of significant responsibilities. The idea of using someone else's money for something so indulgent made him uncomfortable.

Instead, Aegor entered his modest room, set his belongings aside, and left briefly to request pen and paper from the innkeeper. Returning to the small table by the window, he sat down to reflect.

King's Landing was undoubtedly a dangerous place, but as long as he avoided becoming entangled in the political machinations of the capital, he believed he could keep himself safe for the time being. Still, his long-term survival depended on careful planning—if he wanted to avoid being recalled to the Wall, he needed a strategy.

--

Staring out at the bustling streets below, Aegor allowed himself a few moments to adjust his thoughts before beginning to write. He listed his tasks on the paper in front of him:

Collecting Supplies

Recruiting Personnel

Mining Dragonglass

Improving the Image of the Night's Watch

When he had first received these tasks, Aegor had been overwhelmed, unsure of where to even begin. But during the long journey south, with plenty of time to think and discuss matters with Tyrion, he had begun to form a clearer picture. Now, he felt confident enough to put his plans into writing before the chaos of the coming days blurred his focus.

The first thing he and Tyrion had agreed on was that "improving the image of the Night's Watch" was practically meaningless. In a world where communication was so limited, the opinions of the South about the Watch mattered little. Could the Watch even afford to send people to conduct surveys or gauge public perception? Hardly.

The reality was that this task was more about appearances. Whether or not Aegor actually succeeded in "improving the image" of the Watch, it would be difficult for anyone to measure his progress. In truth, its only real purpose was to serve as a safety net—an excuse he could use if he succeeded in completing the other tasks but still faced the risk of being recalled to the Wall.

With that in mind, Aegor crossed out the fourth task with his pen.

--

That left three tasks, all of which had to be approached seriously.

But what defined "completion" for these tasks? Aegor saw room for flexibility. For instance, when Yoren next came south from the Wall, Aegor couldn't afford to tell him he hadn't recruited anyone. Similarly, he couldn't let months pass without sending supplies north or allow the Night's Watch's ships to arrive at Dragonstone only to find that the mining of dragonglass hadn't even begun.

Any of those failures would result in his immediate recall, with no room for negotiation.

However, as long as he could show some progress—provide a few recruits, deliver a modest amount of supplies, or even a small cache of dragonglass—there would be room for maneuvering. The specifics of how much was "enough" remained deliberately vague, giving him opportunities to manage expectations while buying himself more time.

It couldn't be too little—not for long, at least. If he couldn't deliver anything substantial, who would let him live freely outside the Wall? The Night's Watch might tolerate an underperformer for a while, but sooner or later, he'd be recalled and sent right back to the cold and danger of the Wall.

But giving too much was equally dangerous. People's appetites grew with what they were offered, and the same went for organizations. If Aegor recruited too many men, the Night's Watch would expand and with that expansion would come an even greater need for supplies. Winter was approaching, and the lords of the North would inevitably be forced to cut back their contributions to the Wall. Supplies would dwindle, and the gap between what the Watch needed and what they could get would only widen.

If Aegor created the impression that he could fulfill the Watch's every need—providing endless supplies, recruits, and resources, he'd be setting himself up for disaster.

The truth was that the productivity of this world was limited. Outside of air, water, and land, there were no abundant resources to draw upon. Even if Aegor somehow convinced the wealthiest nobles in King's Landing to pour all their wealth into supporting the Night's Watch, it still wouldn't be enough to fill the void.

The ideal strategy, then, was to keep his contributions at a level that left the Watch's leadership "not very satisfied, but not dissatisfied enough to turn against him or recall him." By keeping expectations low, he'd ensure that when the Wall inevitably demanded more men and supplies, they'd be starting from a lower baseline. This would give him more room to maneuver in the future.

Finding that balance—where the safety line was—was something Aegor would have to figure out for himself.

--

With that in mind, he finalized his approach and outlined his itinerary. First, he would handle the matter of Tyrion's "funding"—or more accurately, his "ransom"—and ensure it was sent to the Wall as a gesture of good faith. Afterward, he'd travel to Dragonstone to conduct the initial survey and groundwork for obsidian mining. Only after those two matters were settled would he return to King's Landing to focus on recruitment and gathering supplies.

--

Once his itinerary was set, Aegor hesitated for a moment. Then, at the bottom of the page, he added two lines in English, a language no one in this world could understand:

Take off the black clothes.

Find a way home.

--

Trying to complete the tasks assigned by Mormont was only a means to an end a way to buy time. And the purpose of buying time was clear: finding a way to escape the Night's Watch. He had once hoped that Tyrion might be able to help him achieve that goal, but it had quickly become apparent that even leaving the Wall legally required overcoming enormous obstacles. Removing the mark of his identity as a sworn brother of the Watch, though? That was an entirely different challenge, and one no one else could solve for him.

Not only that, but Aegor never let himself forget that he didn't belong in this world. If it was possible, he wanted to find out why he had ended up here and more importantly, if there was a way to return to his original world.

Chapter 44

Before his journey to this world, Aegor had followed a simple principle at work: do your job well, but nothing beyond what's required. He avoided taking on tasks outside his responsibilities or allowing anything to cut into his personal time, including overtime. The reason was straightforward—his financial security, broad horizons, and wide social circle gave him access to opportunities far beyond the office.

For him, work was simply a way to avoid idleness and a sedentary life. His earnings from gaming and stock trading dwarfed his salary, so why bother with office politics or pretending to be a diligent worker just to win a boss's favor?

But now, things were different. The Night's Watch didn't pay him, but they held power over his life and death. If he displeased them, they could easily recall him to the Wall, assign him to patrols beyond the Wall, or even brand him a deserter. Survival would be the least of his concerns in such scenarios, he'd be lucky to escape with his skin intact.

Under the weight of this invisible but ever-present threat, Aegor decided to begin working immediately, despite his physical and mental exhaustion.

Tyrion had announced his intent to rest, and Aegor resolved to take advantage of the time. Tyrion might be a noble and a benefactor, but there was something Aegor needed something Tyrion couldn't provide. That meant visiting the only northerner in the royal court: Eddard Stark.

--

"Knock, knock." Aegor rapped on the door to the next room.

Yoren opened it, wearing only shorts after taking advantage of the inn's bathhouse to wash off the sweat and grime of their journey. The heat of King's Landing had left him flushed. "What is it?"

"I'm heading to see the Hand of the King. Do you want to come with me?"

"Now? You don't want to rest first?"

Yoren had traveled south with funds meant for the Night's Watch, but all their food and lodging expenses had been covered by Tyrion Lannister along the way. His purse was still untouched, and he wasn't in any rush to leave King's Landing.

"A Stark is the Hand of the King. There won't be a better opportunity for the Night's Watch to get things done," Aegor said firmly. "I have too much work ahead of me to waste time. If you don't want to join me, I'll wait a few days before going alone. Lord Eddard values the Watch, but it's best not to trouble him unnecessarily."

Yoren sighed and scratched his beard. "Fine, fine. Give me a moment to get dressed."

--

The temperature difference between King's Landing and the Wall was staggering, nearly sixty degrees. The Wall was a place of frostbite and biting winds; here, the heat was oppressive, clinging to their skin like a second layer. For Yoren, "getting dressed" meant little more than throwing on a coarse black coat and pulling on a pair of outer pants, yet even this was enough to make both men sweat as they left the inn.

They retrieved their still-saddled horses from the stable and set off toward the Red Keep.

The route was simple enough to follow without needing directions. Aegon's High Hill, where the royal fortress stood, dominated the southeastern corner of King's Landing. The hill's height dwarfed the surrounding terrain, including Visenya's Hill and Rhaenys' Hill. From almost anywhere in the city, the Red Keep's towering walls and spires could be seen rising above the landscape, like the seat of a god surveying its domain.

Aegor couldn't help but admire Aegon the Conqueror's choice of location. The Red Keep truly looked like the residence of a ruler.

After riding for a while, Aegor slowed his pace.

"What's wrong?" Yoren asked.

"We should tidy up before meeting the Hand," Aegor said, glancing at Yoren's appearance.

Yoren shook his head, his tone that of a veteran schooling a junior. "Believe me, lad, the Hand of the King won't give us more men or supplies just because we've cleaned ourselves up."

Eddard Stark might not care about the appearance of the Night's Watchmen requesting his help, but the people and nobles of King's Landing certainly would. Aegor wasn't particularly concerned with his task of "improving the image of the Night's Watch," but even so, the idea of appearing in public with a scruffy and disheveled companion was something he couldn't stomach.

Aegor understood how critical first impressions could be, and the lasting impact they might have on improving the overall image of the Night's Watch. But trying to explain such concepts to someone as rough and pragmatic as Yoren would be an exercise in futility. Instead, he chose a more direct and effective approach.

"You've got that huge beard and are wearing a greasy coat. Don't you feel hot?"

"Well… I've been living like this for years. I'm used to it," Yoren replied gruffly.

"Don't worry about it—I'll cover the costs."

--

The bag Robb had given Aegor contained a gold dragon and ninety silver stags.

Aegor now had the equivalent of over 3000 dollars, a significant fortune in a world of low productivity. Of course, he couldn't spend recklessly, but if used wisely, it would be enough to sustain him for well over ten months.

Still, as a Night's Watchman with no steady income, Aegor wasn't about to waste money in the wealthy district of King's Landing. Instead, he deliberately ventured into a more modest part of the city to find the shops he needed.

Their first stop was a barbershop. Aegor instructed the barber to cut both his and Yoren's hair short, shave their beards, and wash their hair, leaving them looking refreshed and presentable.

The transformation cost him a silver stag, with a few copper pennies given as change. Afterward, Aegor led Yoren to a nearby clothing shop.

"Two light and breathable black robes," Aegor said to the shopkeeper. "Pure black is preferred, but if you don't have that, make sure there are no bright patterns or decorations."

"Pure black?" The shopkeeper's face took on a solemn expression. "I'm sorry, has someone in your family passed away?"

"No one's died. We're Night's Watchmen," Aegor replied curtly.

"Night's Watch?" The shopkeeper's eyes widened slightly. "Ah, no offense meant, it's just my first time serving a customer from the Wall. It's a bit unusual." Realizing that his reaction might lose him business, the man quickly plastered on a polite smile. "Please wait a moment. I'll see what I can find."

Aegor remained patient.

In Westerosi custom, pure black clothing was typically reserved for mourning. It was rare for a general clothing store to carry black garments, and Aegor couldn't fault the shopkeeper for the delay. He also couldn't help but feel the weight of his uniform. One of his long-term goals was to leave the Night's Watch, and no one in this world hated wearing black as much as he did. But for now, he had no choice.

He was about to meet Eddard Stark, a man known for his stern northern values. The best way to handle someone like him was to project the image of a loyal and dedicated Night's Watchman.

After an extended search, the shopkeeper finally produced two nearly pure black robes from a dusty corner of his inventory. At Aegor's request, the man sewed over some visible white stripes to make the robes completely black. Each robe cost two silver stags. Additionally, Aegor ordered several more plain black garments for future use.

At Castle Black, he had been forced to wear the same clothes for months on end due to the limited conditions. But now that he was in King's Landing, he refused to endure such discomfort again.

With their new clothes on, Aegor and Yoren mounted their horses once more. As they rode through the streets, Aegor couldn't help but glance at Yoren, who now looked clean and almost unrecognizable.

"Improving the image of the Night's Watch," Aegor muttered to himself with a wry smile. The task he had mentally dismissed as meaningless had somehow become the first thing he had acted on.

--

When they reached the entrance of the Red Keep, Aegor and Yoren explained their purpose to the gold-cloaked guards at the gate. After a brief wait for confirmation, they were permitted to enter and were guided toward the Tower of the Hand.

Closer to the tower, they encountered guards from Winterfell, familiar faces who recognized the black cloaks of the Night's Watch. Respectful of their purpose, the northern guards offered no resistance and quickly granted them entry.

Moments later, Aegor and Yoren stood before Eddard Stark, the new Hand of the King. It had been two months since they had last met at Winterfell.

Chapter 45

"Good afternoon, brothers of the Night's Watch. How can I help you?"

Eddard Stark, now Hand of the King, remained as courteous as ever. Aegor had come to understand that this politeness wasn't a façade. Knowing this gave him confidence as he prepared to present his request.

"My lord," Aegor began steadily, "a hundred thousand wildlings are gathering north of the Wall, and the smaller groups that have crossed it are already causing trouble in the North. By order of Lord Commander Mormont, we've come to King's Landing to seek aid from the Iron Throne."

Yoren coughed lightly and interjected. "I'm here to recruit men for the Wall, my lord. Normally, I'd wait for the king to hold court, explain our needs, and see if the dungeons have any scum they'd like to be rid of. But this lad insisted we come directly to you, so here we are."

Yoren's casual use of "Aegor" seemed to jog something in Eddard's memory. His gaze shifted to Aegor, and recognition dawned in his eyes. The young ranger's distinctive features made it impossible to forget their first meeting.

"You were right to come to me," Eddard said, his tone carrying layers of meaning. "If you waited for an audience with the king, you might still be waiting when winter arrives." He paused, studying Aegor. "So, Aegor… why are you here?"

The double meaning in the Hand's question was not lost on Aegor. Eddard no longer bore any ill will toward him, but the events surrounding Bran's fall and Joffrey's subsequent assassination attempt were clearly still fresh in the lord's mind. Aegor knew that any mention of those events could cause chaos—for the Starks, for the Night's Watch, and for himself.

"I've been tasked with collecting supplies and equipment, recruiting new men, and organizing the mining of dragonglass on Dragonstone, my lord," Aegor replied calmly, his tone steady. "These tasks require someone who can read, calculate, and make plans. That's why I was sent here."

--

Eddard Stark was a man of rules and honor, someone who valued tradition and legal authority. He would never tolerate something as underhanded as "paying a ransom to let a member of the Night's Watch leave the Wall." Aegor knew this well. The leaders of the Watch—Jeor Mormont, Maester Aemon, and Benjen Stark—would never have told Eddard about the deal with Tyrion Lannister.

This was Aegor's greatest advantage. Only Mormont, Aemon, Benjen, and Tyrion knew the full truth of why he had come to King's Landing. Even the stewards and craftsmen at the Wall believed Tyrion's funding was merely financial aid for the Night's Watch. As far as everyone else in Westeros was concerned, Aegor was an official representative of the Watch, sent south to secure critical resources.

While this identity might not win him respect among the nobles of King's Landing, it ensured he wouldn't be ignored. The Night's Watch, though diminished, remained an independent force protected by the Iron Throne. Legally, it stood on the same level as the great lords of Westeros.

--

"Collecting supplies, recruiting men, and mining dragonglass on Dragonstone?" Eddard repeated, his voice thoughtful. For a moment, a faint smile softened his stern features. "You have quite the burden on your shoulders. How many men has Jeor Mormont sent to assist you?"

"The Night's Watch is short of manpower, my lord," Aegor explained. "It's just the two of us for now, and Yoren will soon return to the Wall with any new recruits he finds. After that, I'll be alone in King's Landing. But Lord Commander Mormont has given me the authority to act at my own discretion and decide how best to complete my tasks."

As he spoke, Aegor placed a parchment on the table—a certificate signed and sealed by Jeor Mormont himself. He silently thanked Tyrion for insisting on this document. Without it, convincing anyone of his legitimacy would have been far more difficult.

Eddard unfolded the parchment but didn't read it in detail. A quick glance at Mormont's signature and the seal of the Night's Watch was enough to satisfy him. No member of the Watch would dare forge such a document and risk being branded a deserter. Aegor's words rang true.

"Very well," Eddard said, setting the parchment aside. "How can I help you?"

--

Aegor noted the Hand's expression carefully and allowed himself a small, private smile. Even if Eddard had scrutinized the parchment word for word, he wouldn't have found any flaws. The document was genuine, and every word Aegor had spoken was technically true.

The key lay in his interpretation of Mormont's instructions. When the Old Bear had told him to "act at his own discretion," it was meant as a warning: the Night's Watch would provide no support, and Aegor would have to rely on himself and Tyrion to accomplish their goals.

But Aegor had deliberately twisted those words, framing them to mean he had full authority to represent the Night's Watch in King's Landing. By exploiting this ambiguity, he had successfully drawn Eddard Stark the steadfast Warden of the North and Hand of the King into his plans.

With Mormont's certificate in hand and another endorsement from Eddard, Aegor would have all the legitimacy he needed to operate in King's Landing. This was the beginning of his bold plan.

"I understand the kingdom is facing financial difficulties, so I don't expect the treasury to provide direct assistance," Aegor began carefully. "However, after some investigation, I've learned that more than ten years of peace have allowed King Robert's… 'plan to share wealth with the people' to develop rather well." He paused, then added with subtle tact, "Since the treasury is tight, I've decided to think creatively. I plan to raise funds from the public."

Eddard raised an eyebrow, suppressing the urge to smirk. Share wealth with the people? If Robert heard that description of his reckless spending, would he laugh or feel ashamed?

"But such a task isn't something I can handle alone," Aegor continued. "I need one or two people who can read and count to help me organize everything. Yoren..."

"I can't read or count," Yoren interrupted bluntly, shrugging.

Eddard nodded slowly, masking his amusement at the honesty of the old Night's Watch recruiter. The request wasn't unreasonable, and Aegor's calm demeanor made it hard to doubt his sincerity. "I understand. I'll assign two guards who meet your requirements to assist you."

"Thank you, my lord," Aegor replied, his face shifting into an expression of gratitude. "There's another matter. I may remain in King's Landing for some time to handle supplies and recruitment. I need a space to serve as an office—not too large, but preferably on a street where it will be easy for people to find. That way, I can start recruiting new members for the Watch efficiently."

An office? Like setting up a storefront to recruit men for the Watch, as if opening a shop? Eddard couldn't help but feel skeptical. The Wall's defenders were in dire straits, but this approach seemed almost absurd. Still, the Hand of the King could hardly refuse such a simple request.

"I'll speak with the City Watch and see if they know of any unused properties owned by the Iron Throne," he replied.

"Thank you again, my lord," Aegor said with a bow of his head. Then he hesitated, his tone becoming more cautious as he continued, "There's one last thing."

--

Eddard frowned slightly but remained silent, signaling for Aegor to speak.

"Commander Mormont instructed me to oversee recruitment and the mining of obsidian. Both tasks require funding, but I can't carry large sums of money with me. To address this, I've decided to buy materials and hire workers on credit, with the promise that the debts will be repaid by the Night's Watch once the work is complete. However, I've run into an obstacle."

"Buying on credit?" Eddard shook his head and gave a wry smile. "Mormont must truly be desperate. First the Iron Throne, now even the Night's Watch is borrowing money." The thought of Robert's mounting debts had already left him bitter. Now it seemed the Wall was facing a similar crisis. "What's the obstacle?"

"The merchants and nobles in the South don't recognize the authority of the Night's Watch," Aegor explained. "They might think I'm a charlatan, taking their goods and coin with no intention of paying. To reassure them, I'd like to ask for your help. A certificate, issued in your name, confirming that I'm indeed a Night's Watchman and that I've come to collect supplies and recruits on behalf of the Watch."

Eddard leaned back in his chair, his expression pensive. His fist rested under his chin as he considered the request.

--

As Hand of the King, Eddard Stark was naturally cautious. While Aegor's proposal seemed simple on the surface, issuing an official certificate in his name carried weight. It was no small favor. Yet, unlike Aegor who had seen his share of scams in his previous life, Eddard lacked the instinct to spot potential risks in such situations. He didn't immediately grasp how much power such a certificate could wield in the wrong hands.

After a few moments of silence, Eddard reached for a blank parchment from the pile of documents on his table. Picking up a quill and dipping it in ink, he glanced up at Aegor.

"This is the first time I've issued a certificate like this," he admitted. "Tell me, how should it be written?"

...

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