wtfbengt
patreon
Chapter 312
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 12:16:22 +0000 UTCAegor stared at the blazing pyre, his thoughts drifting.
The fact that Cotter Pyke had remained at Castle Black surprised him. On the bright side, it meant the shipments of grain from across the sea were less likely to meet with “accidents” at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. On the other hand, it also meant Aegor might have to honor his previous promise to create a deputy commander position for Denys Mallister, consulting him on any changes to the Night’s Watch laws moving forward.
Had Denys written to Cotter Pyke, convincing him to stay?
The suspicion flashed through Aegor’s mind, and he quickly realized it was likely true. But even if it was, who could he blame but himself? He had underestimated the old fox, leaving him an opening to exploit.
That night, Denys had come to him to negotiate—unexpectedly bold and prepared. Aegor had been caught off guard. It was the kind of situation where “improvisation” was bound to lose against “calculated planning.”
But he wasn’t about to dwell on it or retaliate against Denys for his maneuvering. Compared to what Aegor had done with the wealth of the Watch and his alliances with the Starks to stabilize the Gift, Denys’ petty schemes were hardly worth mentioning. Besides, the privileges Aegor had “lost” in the gamble had no written proof or legal basis. Whether he chose to follow through or not was entirely up to their verbal agreement—a deal as binding as one’s trust in another.
And trust? That could always be a calculated gamble.
If Denys served diligently at the Shadow Tower, guarding the Wall’s western flank without incident, Aegor was happy to play the “gentleman.” But should the situation change… well, the choice between discarding a bridge after crossing it or putting down an old mule lay entirely in his hands. Why worry?
That was the benefit of being Lord Commander. His authority might not have grown explosively overnight, but his command now extended over the entire Gift, an area as vast as the Crownlands. As long as he avoided provoking outrage or infringing on the North’s interests, no one would dare interfere with his actions.
Still, the Shadow Tower wasn’t what troubled him most. It was Eastwatch and its commander, Cotter Pyke—especially since Pyke now had Yohn Royce, the former Lord of Runestone, by his side.
Aegor had learned the hard way that grievances were easier to make than to resolve. If stories and tropes had taught him anything, it was this: an enemy left alive would inevitably plot revenge, striking at the worst possible moment.
You couldn’t guard against treachery forever. And Aegor had too many plans in motion to waste his time watching Yohn Royce. He needed to find a solution to this problem—and fast.
----
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the sword at his waist began to tremble.
At first, Aegor thought someone had accidentally bumped the scabbard as they passed, but a glance around the solemn, silent crowd proved otherwise. No one was moving. Yet the sword’s vibrations grew stronger, a faint hum joining the rhythmic pulses, as if the hilt contained some sort of... toy.
Instinctively, Aegor placed his hand on the hilt, feeling the quivering steel. Then, curious, he drew the blade slightly to investigate.
Shhhk.
The imagined sound of a dramatic unsheathing did not match reality. Aside from a faint metallic scrape, the blade made no noise.
But what happened next nearly blinded him.
The moment the sword left its scabbard, even by an inch, it erupted with a blinding radiance. Aegor’s first thought was that someone had thrown a flashbang or lit a high-powered spotlight directly in front of him. He instinctively turned his head, shielding his eyes from the searing light. The steel in his hand had become a miniature sun, far outshining the funeral pyre’s flames.
The gathered men flinched, raising their hands or turning away. The light wasn’t just piercing; it pulsed, shifting through colors in rhythmic waves. The courtyard of Castle Black, and even the nearby Wall of ice, gleamed as though lit by massive floodlights.
When his vision returned enough to think, Aegor shoved the blade back into its scabbard. The light vanished instantly, leaving the world in sudden darkness, like nightfall descending in an instant.
It took several seconds for the onlookers to recover their sight. Then came the murmurs.
“What just happened?”
“Was that magic?”
“Is it the sword? What kind of weapon can shine like that?”
The chatter grew louder. Some brothers edged closer, curiosity burning in their eyes. Had it been anyone else, they might’ve reached for the sword to see for themselves.
----
“You hide it away, yet it is your glory, Lord Commander,” Melisandre’s voice rang out, effortlessly cutting through the noise. She stepped forward, her red robes flowing like molten fire, her eyes alight with fervor. “The Lord of Light has seen the plight of his people and sent us the hero of prophecy. He has gifted you the power of flame—that sword is Lightbringer! And you, Lord Commander, are Azor Ahai reborn! You shall wield this sword, lead us to victory over the great enemy, and guide us from death and despair to a future of light!”
Her words sent shockwaves through the crowd. Even among the skeptical brothers, none openly dismissed Melisandre, her prior miracles too vivid in their memory. The declaration ignited a storm of speculation.
“Lightbringer? That’s the sword?”
“Where did he get it?”
“Can you even fight with something that bright? Wouldn’t it blind you?”
“Maybe it’ll just melt the White Walkers on sight!”
“If it does, I’ll gladly carry it into battle myself!”
The name of Lightbringer carried weight—a weapon of legend tied to the prophesied hero, Azor Ahai. The whispers grew louder, and a few brothers who had embraced the faith of R’hllor stared at Aegor with something bordering on worship.
----
Aegor’s face darkened.
No one knew better than him what the sword truly was. It wasn’t Valyrian steel, nor the work of a master smith. It didn’t even have a name. It was a simple, unremarkable steel blade, purchased in bulk from a weapons merchant in King’s Landing. How could it possibly be Lightbringer?
His frustration turned to anger as he glared at Melisandre. The sudden flash had left an afterimage in his vision, a dark spot obscuring the center of his sight, so he could only focus on the hem of her robe.
“Lady Melisandre,” he said icily, cutting through her theatrics. “We can discuss this ‘story’ later. For now, I have words for my brothers. If you have no intention of taking the black, I ask that you step aside.”
The dismissal was blunt, a clear rebuke. Melisandre’s expression flickered with confusion and dissatisfaction, but she quickly masked it, offering a shallow bow. “As you wish, Lord Commander.”
Without further protest, she turned and left, her figure cutting a striking silhouette as she strode from the courtyard.
----
Aegor’s anger wasn’t just at the interruption or the blinding flash. It was at her audacity to act without consulting him. While Melisandre was a valuable ally, her reckless display had disrupted his plans. Today was supposed to mark the start of his tenure as Lord Commander: a speech to assert his authority, reminders of unity, and the announcement of new directives.
Instead, she had thrust a legend upon him, challenging his control.
Aegor preferred to build his influence step by step, on solid ground. He didn’t want power that could be taken away as easily as it was granted. And Melisandre, whether intentionally or not, had begun to push boundaries.
This needed to end. It was time to make her understand: the Wall and the Gift belonged to him now. Whatever she wanted to do, she would clear it with him first.
As the brothers murmured and speculated, Aegor allowed the silence to stretch. Then, with measured steps, he ascended the stairs of the hall. It was time to regain control, to deliver his speech, and to begin the new chapter of the Night’s Watch.
