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Chapter 306
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 12:14:25 +0000 UTCRobb felt like he had been outmaneuvered, but he couldn’t figure out how it had happened.
His original plan was straightforward: question Aegor about his recent actions, expecting the man to dodge, deflect, and try to weasel his way out of trouble, as Karstark had predicted. When that inevitably happened, Robb would cut him off, issue a stern reprimand, and make it clear that his behavior would not be tolerated.
If Aegor continued to obfuscate or showed no genuine remorse, Robb was prepared to publicly throw his support behind Dennis Mallister, the commander of the Shadow Tower, as the next Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. With Mallister’s steady leadership and Robb’s backing to counter Aegor’s growing influence, the Gift’s situation could be stabilized.
But none of that happened. Instead, Aegor had walked in and, before Robb could even show his displeasure, laid everything bare. He confessed to every detail—the reasons, the actions, even his inner thoughts—and then, to Robb’s complete surprise, admitted fault without hesitation and offered to take full responsibility.
His attitude was so straightforward and sincere that it left Robb completely unprepared.
What was supposed to be a stern interrogation of the Night’s Watch Chief Logistics Officer for his reckless actions somehow transformed into a brainstorming session among the Northern lords to help Aegor clean up his mess.
The worst part? Robb, as the Warden of the North, had no formal authority to punish a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch. The only individuals who could discipline Aegor were the reigning king or the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch—neither of whom were currently in a position to act. King Stannis was busy suppressing rebellions, and the Lord Commander’s seat was still vacant. Without breaking the delicate balance of his relationship with the Night’s Watch, Robb could only warn and advise Aegor. There was no means to enforce real consequences.
So, was Aegor truly a repentant officer who had made a rash mistake, or had he calculated all of this and deliberately played the role of a humble subordinate to leave Robb without recourse?
Robb resisted the urge to rub his temples. For all his battlefield acumen, he was still inexperienced in the complexities of political maneuvering. Dealing with enemies on the battlefield was far simpler than dealing with allies in the political arena.
Despite his frustration, Robb managed to maintain a composed façade. “Alright,” he said, “I have one final question—Black Castle’s officers sent me a letter. Why didn’t I receive it?”
“Well...” Aegor wore an expression of innocent confusion. “There are sixteen recently reactivated fortresses along the Wall. While it’s easy to station men in them, it takes time to train ravens to recognize and reliably travel to these locations. Even for the smartest ravens, it’s a long process. Currently, only seven mountain clan-occupied fortresses have functional rookery. Ice Mark here doesn’t even have a rookery yet, and the one at Castle Black is still far from operational. I have no idea where the officers sent their letter, but it’s entirely possible it was misdirected. The fact you didn’t receive it is... unfortunately, quite normal. I assure you, my lord, it had nothing to do with me.”
The explanation was plausible enough. Robb scrutinized Aegor’s face for a moment but found no signs of deception. Reluctantly, he let the matter drop.
“At least you didn’t try to cover up the situation at Castle Black,” Robb admitted. “On that front, your attitude is acceptable.”
“Very well,” Robb concluded. “As Lord Bolton suggested, let’s focus on resolving the situation at Castle Black. We need to act swiftly.”
...
Hearing this, Lords Glover and Umber, who had remained passive observers throughout the discussion, finally exhaled in relief. Both had leaned toward supporting Aegor but had refrained from openly speaking in his favor while Robb’s stance remained uncertain. Now that Robb appeared ready to move on, they felt more comfortable weighing in.
“The most urgent task,” Glover began, “is to order the troops surrounding Castle Black to withdraw immediately and restore the freedom of those trapped inside. A public statement acknowledging the mistake and an apology to the sworn brothers would also be appropriate. Ideally, this should be done in person by the man responsible.”
“Withdraw the troops, apologize, and call it a day?” Rickard Karstark snorted. Though he recognized the matter was largely settled, he couldn’t resist pushing back. “Aegor has overstepped his bounds, and now that the Gift is full of outsiders, there needs to be clear oversight of non-Night’s Watch forces. Without a Lord Commander, the sworn brothers are hamstrung while these outsiders run wild. If they’re going to stay in the Gift, they must abide by the Night’s Watch’s laws, no matter how friendly they may be.”
“You have a point, Lord Karstark,” Robb agreed. “I will personally inform the mountain clans that, as guests of the North, they are welcome to assist in defending the Wall. However, they must follow the Night’s Watch’s laws. No one—whether they take Aegor’s coin or eat his grain—should act outside these bounds. Any future unauthorized mobilizations will be treated as treason, and I will personally see to it.”
Robb’s voice grew sharp as he turned his attention back to Aegor. “And you—send word to your men immediately. Order them to withdraw to Crown’s Rest. No more schemes. The public apology and formal statement can wait.”
The rebuke was firm but reasonable, and Aegor had no choice but to nod and accept it. He made a show of his compliance, signaling that he would do exactly as instructed.
...
Everything was going as expected.
For now, he would obediently follow Robb’s orders, dispatching riders to Castle Black with the command to withdraw. His men would gather their belongings and depart swiftly.
But once they left Ice Mark… well, that was where things would start to diverge from what the Northern lords envisioned.
The messengers wouldn’t ride day and night with reckless urgency, as Yohn Royce had. Instead, they would move at a reasonable pace—riding a few miles, taking a breather at each waystation, stopping to rest whenever convenient. Along the way, some would suffer accidental injuries, others would fall ill with sudden stomach pains… There would be all sorts of unfortunate delays.
Aegor had adjusted his rhetoric at the last minute based on Arya’s precise intelligence, but the contingency plans he had already put in place required no alteration.
The order to withdraw would take two to three days to reach Castle Black. It would take another full day for the troops to complete their retreat. And by then, the most capable fighters—those with actual Night’s Watch oaths—would have already departed eastward under Jaime Lannister’s command. Their destination? Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, where Aegor’s so-called “grain-unloading team” had already secured the port and occupied the fortress.
Even if Cotter Pyke bolted for Eastwatch the moment the siege was lifted, Aegor had already stalled him for over a week. As long as the first loaned grain shipment successfully made it ashore and into storage at the nearest hill-fort before then, everything would have been worth it.
Of course, once this was all over, he would likely have to return to Castle Black and issue a formal explanation—and perhaps even an apology.
Most people would consider bowing to one’s opponent and apologizing to be an embarrassment. And yes, on some level, it was. But the simple fact remained:
He had mobilized troops to surround the headquarters of the Night’s Watch.
The battle-hardened garrison had dared not engage.
And in the end, Aegor faced no real consequences—no punishment, no expulsion from the Lord Commander election.
Anyone with half a brain would understand who had really won.
...
The entire matter was resolved within the time it took the escort guards to finish breakfast.
Aegor’s chosen messengers hurriedly set off under Ser Rodrik’s watchful eye, carrying the withdrawal orders as instructed. Meanwhile, the Northern lords, having cleaned up his mess, finished their meals and turned their attention back to the scheduled inspection of Ice Mark.
The New Gift settlers—or as the Seven Kingdoms preferred to call them, wildlings—called themselves Free Folk. But the ones facing the Northern lords today looked neither wild nor free.
The boldest, strongest, and fiercest among them had already perished—either in battle against the White Walkers or following Mance Rayder’s doomed assault on the Wall.
Of those who remained, the young and able-minded had long since left for Crown’s Rest to seek work, hoping to secure their people’s survival.
And the ones left behind?
Mostly women and children. A handful of warriors.
No elderly, no sick, no crippled—those who could not fend for themselves had not survived the crossing.
Dressed in ragged clothing, their bellies hollow with hunger, these people only managed to cling to life thanks to the tireless efforts of the Night’s Watch logistics corps. Even so, they existed in a fragile state—neither freezing nor starving to death, but never truly warm or full either.
The great Northern lords, armored head to toe and helmeted for good measure, approached these “dangerous” exiles with caution… only to be met by a crowd of timid, half-starved wretches who could barely muster the words to greet them.
Their eyes were hollow, numb, devoid of hope.
Robb had heard of such expressions in his father’s stories—during long winters or times of war, when food supplies dwindled and spring or peace failed to arrive.
The starving, desperate peasants who gathered outside Winterfell’s walls in those times?
They had looked exactly like this.
So-called wildlings… strip away the distance and the myths, and they’re nothing more than farmers who happened to live beyond the Wall.
That thought passed through the minds of more than one Northern noble.
And that was exactly the effect Aegor had wanted.
But there was no deception here—no tricks or staged performances.
All he had done was tell these Free Folk a single message before the inspection:
"If the Northern lords find you unruly, they will drive you all back beyond the Wall."
The result spoke for itself.
...
These people would never be able to defend the Wall against the White Walkers. That much was obvious.
But every highborn lord knew the truth:
The world may not be ruled by commoners, but it cannot function without them.
If the Free Folk—as a whole—could be made into what Ice Mark had become…
If they could be settled into the Gift, made to support and sustain the true Night’s Watch garrisons…
Then perhaps this plan could work.
The Northern lords were only halfway through their inspection of the Wall. There was no rush to make final judgments yet.
Everyone went about their business.
The fleeting daylight of Westeros’ northernmost frontier quickly vanished. As night fell, the smell of cooking fires once again drifted from the kitchen rooftops.
And in the darkening twilight, another visitor arrived at Ice Mark.
Like Yohn Royce before him, he too came from the west.
Like a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch, he too was clad in black.
But unlike Yohn Royce, the Commander of Shadow Tower had not come alone.
Nor did he look travel-worn or weary.
Ser Denys Mallister had left Castle Black deliberately, predicting that the conflict between Cotter Pyke and Aegor would inevitably spiral into chaos. He had removed himself from the mess early, unwilling to let it tarnish his legacy.
And he had been right.
The situation had escalated beyond what even he had imagined—so much so that he now saw an opportunity.
Aegor had overplayed his hand.
And Denys Mallister now believed he could seize it.
...
On the very day that Crown’s Rest’s troops surrounded Castle Black, he had received word via raven.
Without hesitation, he had chosen his men and dispatched them eastward along the Wall—searching for the Northern lords to deliver the message.
If Robb Stark could be provoked, if Aegor West could be brought down, there would be no contest.
Denys Mallister would inevitably become the next Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.
But fate had another twist in store.
That very same day, another piece of news had reached him—this time from Deepwood Motte.
A revelation so significant that his instincts screamed at him: This is the moment.
This was the moment where the entire game could shift.
Denys Mallister could no longer afford to remain a bystander.
So, unlike the reckless haste of Yohn Royce’s mad dash, he had taken his time.
He had gathered his strength.
And now, just as darkness claimed Ice Mark, he had arrived.
With a purpose.
...
Denys dismounted, handing his reins to a subordinate as he took in his surroundings.
The frigid air turned his breath into plumes of white mist. The presence of Northern soldiers all around confirmed it—this was the place.
The election for the next Lord Commander had already dragged on far too long. In the end, it was not careful deliberation but external events that had finally forced a resolution. Fate had a way of playing its own game.
He inhaled deeply.
One way or another, this matter would be settled tonight.
A patrol approached, questioning him. After a brief exchange, Denys received surprising news—someone from Castle Black had already arrived ahead of him, bringing word of the Gift’s so-called rebellion.
Robb Stark likely already knew everything. He had probably even decided on a course of action.
“Tch—”
Denys frowned, deep in thought. This changed things.
His original plan had been to present the first report of the siege and control the narrative, but if the Northern lords had already discussed it, he had to adjust. Better to gather information first.
Without hesitation, he inquired about the noble guests' lodgings and set off toward the main keep, heading first for the Karstark quarters.
"Denys!"
Rickard Karstark’s voice rang with genuine surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Few outsiders would have expected a blunt, honor-bound brute like Karstark to be close friends with a smooth, calculating, ever-cautious man like Denys Mallister—but as the saying went, gentlemen may differ, but they remain friends.
Their differences had never strained their bond. In fact, they had known each other for over forty years, dating back to a tourney in their youth—long before Denys had taken the black.
Denys removed his heavy fur-lined helm, smiling. “Does a man need a reason to visit an old friend?”
“Hah! No reason needed, no reason at all.” Karstark chuckled, then quickly waved away the attendants and younger kin in the room. Only when the door was shut did he settle back into his chair and get to the point.
“If you came to report on Castle Black, you're too late. Yohn Royce already arrived this morning and told us everything.”
“I heard,” Denys said with a sigh. “First sworn brother in months to set foot beyond the Wall, and he makes it from Castle Black to Ice Mark in a single day and night. Truly, that man lives up to his name—Bronze Yohn.” He shook his head. “He still believes Aegor West got his youngest son killed. Stubborn as ever.”
“And Robb Stark?”
Karstark exhaled. “He was furious at first, of course. But then… well, it’s a long story. Sit down, have a drink—I’ll explain.”
Denys could already tell the situation had not developed as he had hoped. He took the warm cup of mulled wine Karstark offered, settled in, and listened patiently
...
Rickard Karstark was no master storyteller, but as a nobleman, he had enough education to stick to the key points.
Eventually, he managed to reconstruct the morning’s entire chaotic proceedings for Denys.
When he finished, he let out a long sigh.
“Aegor’s ties to House Stark are too strong. Robb simply can’t bring himself to come down hard on him. And with Roose Bolton whispering in his ear—well—even something this big was let slide.”
Karstark shook his head bitterly. “You came all this way for nothing, old friend.”
Luck?
Denys didn’t believe it.
He hadn’t been there to witness it firsthand, but he could already picture exactly what had happened.
Aegor had outmaneuvered them.
A crisis defused, a scandal reduced to a minor incident—classic damage control. Denys had to admit, it was impressive.
Still, he had one lingering question:
How in the Seven Hells did Aegor convince Roose Bolton to support him?
Denys smiled faintly. “You needn’t worry—I didn’t come all this way just to lodge complaints on Cotter Pyke’s behalf. That would be a waste of my time.”
Being late was unfortunate, but there was no point dwelling on it.
He shook his head and placed his cup down. “I had another reason for coming—one far more urgent. The western coast of the North is in grave danger. The Ironborn have attacked again.”
"What? Those sea dogs are back?!"
Rickard Karstark's reaction was immediate, his face twisting with frustration.
His own lands lay far from the western coast, so he had no personal stake in this battle—but when one Northern house suffered, the whole North bore the burden.
The North was vast, but food and resources were limited. If one region was ravaged by war, the rest would be forced to endure a harsher winter to compensate.
“The Ironborn were supposed to be raiding the Reach! What the hell brought them back here?”
“That’s not our concern,” Denys replied grimly. “Deepwood Motte only has raven messengers for Shadow Tower and Castle Black. With Castle Black under siege, the message fell to me.”
He exhaled, glancing toward the main keep. “Once Robb hears of this, he’ll abandon the Wall’s inspection and march west. And when that happens… there will be no one left to keep Aegor in check.”
Karstark followed his reasoning quickly.
"If we leave, Aegor will have free reign in the Gift."
Rickard clenched his fists. He didn’t need to guess what Robb’s next move would be. Protecting his vassals took priority over inspecting the Gift.
And if Robb left… Aegor would be left unchecked.
“Damn shame,” Karstark muttered bitterly. “We had the perfect chance to bring him down, and we missed it. Now we’ll never get another one.”
Denys took a moment to process everything.
Aegor had been on the verge of ruin—but the political landscape had shifted too quickly.
Karstark gave a blunt summary.
“Honestly? For all my dislike of Aegor, even I can’t deny it—he’s done a damn fine job with the Gift. Every place we’ve inspected—Crown’s Rest, Last Hearth, Ice Mark—has been better than expected.”
He let out a long sigh.
“In truth, Robb’s been more than satisfied. I won’t bother lying to you—he’s impressed.”
Karstark rubbed his temple. “And with Glover and Umber leaning toward Aegor, and Roose Bolton backing him so strongly, there’s nothing I can do. I’m outnumbered three to one. Even if I wanted to turn Robb against Aegor, it’s impossible.”
Denys had traveled all this way, and he hadn’t even seen Robb yet—but he already knew the battle was lost.
Even he, with all his patience and restraint, couldn’t quite suppress his frustration.
He let out a slow breath, his thoughts shifting rapidly. His expression hardened.
“Thank you, Rickard. I appreciate your honesty.”
Denys rose from his seat, his decision made.
“Now, I need to have a talk with the next Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”
Karstark blinked. “Wait—you’re surrendering?”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Denys. Aegor’s support at Castle Black will have taken a hit after this stunt. You still have a chance.”
Denys shook his head.
“I could stall the election for a few more months—perhaps even a year.” He fastened his cloak, heading toward the door. “But for what? Risking disaster, all for a personal grudge? If the White Walkers strike while the Watch is leaderless, we could all be doomed.”
He turned back, voice steady.
“I’ll either make him back me—or I’ll back him.”
“This ends tonight.”
