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Chapter 315
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 12:17:19 +0000 UTCCotter Pyke and Yohn Royce were difficult to deal with, no doubt, but with the tunnel at Eastwatch sealed off from the lands beyond the Wall and with Aegor's cautious—or perhaps cowardly—approach to managing them, the chances of them causing real trouble were slim. If it came down to it, Aegor could simply end them—tearing off the façade of civility and outright executing them.
After all, in the past two years, men of far higher birth and rank had been struck down like flies. It wouldn’t even be news; it would merely be the difference between someone else swinging the blade and Aegor doing it himself.
But the next problem he needed to address was an entirely different beast.
Melisandre, the Red Priestess. By title, she was a servant of R’hllor and Stannis Baratheon’s royal advisor, sent to the Wall to aid in its defense. By strength, she commanded a retinue of seasoned warriors who had fought in Stannis’s campaigns, and she herself wielded supernatural powers.
She couldn’t be threatened, nor could she be easily dealt with. If she insisted on prioritizing the expansion of the Red God’s influence over Aegor’s authority and the vital work of fortifying the Gift, Aegor had no idea how to handle her.
After dinner, Aegor paced in his room, racking his brain for a solution. But no perfect plan came to mind.
Fine, he thought bitterly. He’d summon her and try to reason with her—explain the greater picture, appeal to her sense of duty, and persuade her to stop meddling so recklessly.
She believed him to be Azor Ahai reborn and owed her life to him. Perhaps there was hope yet.
If not… well, he’d think of something else later.
----
After some hesitation, Aegor decided to summon her rather than go himself.
As Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, his rank was no less than that of a royal envoy. Respect and wariness were one thing, but he still needed to maintain the dignity of his station. Bowing too much to the Red Priestess’s supernatural powers would only set the tone for a future where he was subordinate to her.
----
Melisandre arrived sooner than expected, as if she had been waiting for his call.
When she pushed open the door, the room was bathed in blinding light. Aegor had placed the glowing steel sword on the table, fully drawn from its scabbard, the intensity of its light making the entire room brighter than daylight. It was impossible to sit at the table, so Aegor stood with his back to the sword, pretending to be deep in thought.
“Lord Commander,” Melisandre greeted him, her voice soft and ethereal. She stepped into the room, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the glare.
“Lady Melisandre.” Aegor nodded curtly, his face unreadable. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over the sword, muting most of its light. Only then did he turn to face her, his expression cold. After studying her for a few seconds, he spoke, his tone sharp. “You seem to know a great deal about Lightbringer, so I have a question: if I left it here as a lamp, would it keep shining indefinitely? It could save the Night’s Watch a fortune on candles.”
“It wouldn’t,” Melisandre replied evenly. “Even the true Lightbringer only shines when its wielder channels magic through it. Your sword glows because I cast over twenty enhanced light spells on it. Steel isn’t a good conductor of magic, and the effect isn’t permanent. By tomorrow, it will have returned to normal.”
Her straightforward admission saved Aegor the trouble of prying. His expression darkened as he asked coldly, “If I’m not mistaken, we agreed on certain terms the last time we spoke. We would work together to fight the Others, but I wouldn’t publicly acknowledge any divine identity or convert to R’hllor. Yet, despite that agreement, your people declared me Azor Ahai reborn at Eastwatch, and I let that slide. Now, at Castle Black, you pull a stunt like this without so much as consulting me. Tell me, are you planning to break our agreement?”
“Calm yourself, Lord Commander,” Melisandre said, her tone measured as she stepped closer, the warmth radiating from her almost palpable. “Allow me to explain what happened today—it ties into a theory you once shared with me.”
----
Under Aegor’s watchful gaze, the Red Priestess recounted the events surrounding Aemon’s cremation, carefully omitting personal details and sensitive information while sharing what could be disclosed.
As Melisandre spoke, Aegor found himself slowly relaxing, even as a wry smile tugged at his lips.
From the moment he met her, Melisandre had carried herself with an air of mystery, as if everything were part of a grand plan only she could see. It was easy to believe she was a schemer of unparalleled cunning, someone who never acted without calculating every move.
So when the incident at Castle Black unfolded, Aegor had immediately assumed it was part of her agenda—a deliberate attempt to pressure him into claiming the title of the prophesied hero and elevate the Red God’s authority above his own.
Yet the truth, it seemed, was far simpler. It was nothing more than an impulsive mistake by a sorceress who wasn’t as infallible as she appeared.
Of course, Aegor wasn’t naive enough to trust her completely. Melisandre could very well be downplaying her actions to make them seem like a harmless blunder rather than a calculated power play. But in the end, it didn’t matter. What Aegor needed was not to punish her but to ensure that she would no longer prioritize spreading her faith over his plans for the Wall and the Gift.
----
Unbeknownst to him, Melisandre was wrestling with her own doubts. She had no choice but to maintain a strong alliance with Aegor. The flames had shown her the truth: only by standing with Azor Ahai could they hope to win the coming war. If she alienated him now, humanity’s disunity could lead to their downfall, and the Lord of Light’s flames would be extinguished forever.
Failure was not an option.
......
Aegor had no idea what Melisandre was thinking.
But that didn’t matter.
What did matter was that he had sharp instincts—and he could feel that she did not want to oppose him.
This was a woman who carried herself with unshakable confidence, who stood above others with her prophetic authority, who rarely bowed to anyone—
Yet here she was, responding to his summons immediately, standing before him patiently, explaining herself in measured, non-confrontational tones.
Whether the content of her explanation was truth or lie didn’t matter.
The act of explaining itself was an admission of weakness.
She was yielding, even if subtly.
And that told Aegor everything he needed to know.
This “Azor Ahai” identity of his—it held more weight in her mind than he had originally assumed.
And in a situation where both sides valued the bigger picture, both eager to mend relations, the one who recognized the advantage first—
And the one who remained firm—
Would seize absolute control over the relationship.
Aegor grasped this immediately.
And he would not let it slip away.
......
Aegor feigned frustration as he summarized her explanation.
"So, you decided—on the spot, without warning—to channel all that excess magic into my sword, layering it with dozens of… what was it? Enhanced light spells?" His tone was sharp, accusatory. "You do realize that in your moment of inspiration, I was nearly blinded by my own damn sword?"
His anger was mostly an act, but his disappointment was real.
Melisandre had claimed that Maester Aemon’s funeral fire had released so much power that it was nearly enough to bring the dead back to life.
And yet, just like every other Watchman present, Aegor had felt nothing.
No warmth. No whispers. No trace of anything supernatural.
It seemed he was, after all, just an ordinary man—completely unconnected to the mystical forces of this world.
"I anticipated that possibility halfway through, which is why I stopped reinforcing the spell," Melisandre admitted with a small, apologetic smile and a shrug. "Though I did not expect… that even just twenty or so layers of the spell would have such a blinding effect."
She wasn’t lying about that part.
In a world starved of magic, every spellcaster had to ration their power carefully.
Under normal circumstances, casting a single spell dozens of times in succession was wasteful beyond reason—
But burning a Targaryen was not a normal circumstance.
With a rare chance to wield magic freely, she had let her excitement get the better of her.
She had simply miscalculated.
"Has your vision fully recovered now, Lord Commander?" she asked, stepping closer. "If not, I may be able to heal you. R’hllor is the source of all that is good—though we are called priests of fire, our gifts are not limited to setting things aflame."
She took another step, her posture suggesting she was about to place her hands on him and attempt a healing spell.
Aegor immediately raised a hand, motioning for her to stop.
By now, the lingering dark spots in his vision had mostly faded—
And even if they hadn’t, he wasn’t about to let a sorceress work magic on him without knowing exactly what she was doing.
As she moved closer, he suddenly became aware of something else—
A warmth radiated from her, a heat distinct from the usual temperature of the room.
And as his eyes settled on her, he noticed—
She looked different.
She was just as beautiful as ever, but something about her appearance had changed—
Her skin, once subtly marked by the passing of time, was now youthful and radiant.
The faintest traces of age had vanished.
Her features glowed with a soft, almost supernatural luster—a delicate, ethereal luminescence.
For a fleeting moment, the sight of her stirred a word in his mind—
Otherworldly.
Then, just as quickly, he pushed the thought aside.
Was this a glamour? Some enchantment meant to influence him?
If so, it wasn’t going to work.
He steadied himself, refocusing.
"Lady Melisandre," Aegor said, his expression hardening. "I do not doubt your commitment to defending the Wall."
"What happened today, and what happened at Eastwatch before, I will assume they were well-intentioned mistakes—and let them go."
"But I will now repeat some requests—and if you cannot abide by them, or if you believe I have no right to command you…"
His eyes locked onto hers.
"Then I will have no choice but to remove you from my territory."
Melisandre tilted her head slightly, her lips still curved in a faint smile.
"You are the Lord Commander, and I am a guest in your domain. Your requests, of course, hold weight. Speak them."
"There are only two," Aegor said.
“First, no more public declarations that I am Azor Ahai. Whether or not it’s true doesn’t matter. My predecessor, King Stannis, still holds that title, and I can’t afford to alienate him or anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms who might support us in this war. Agreed?”
Melisandre’s smile did not waver. She simply nodded in understanding.
"Second—any and all public actions in the Gift done in R’hllor’s name must first be reported to me."
"You don’t need to come in person—just send word. If I do not respond, take that as silent approval. Understood?"
Melisandre considered for a moment, then smiled again.
"Very well. Two requests. Then we are once again friends and allies?"
"If that’s how you want to phrase it," Aegor replied, shrugging.
Conversations mattered.
Just a few hours ago, he had been thinking about how to get rid of her if she refused to cooperate.
And now?
A simple, straightforward discussion had cleared everything up.
If nothing else, today was a reminder—sometimes, just saying things aloud solves more problems than scheming in silence.
Aegor let out a small sigh of relief.
With that settled, he prepared to politely end the meeting—
But then, something unexpected happened.
The Red Priestess, who had been nothing but calm, respectful, and reasonable throughout the conversation, suddenly stepped closer—
And without hesitation, took hold of his right arm.
"…What?" Aegor frowned, momentarily caught off guard.
His first instinct wasn’t suspicion—he knew that if Melisandre wanted him dead, she had a thousand better ways than simply touching him.
"You are anxious, Lord Commander," she said softly.
"Is it because you have never held such power before?"
"Or because you fear the coming war?"
Aegor blinked, thrown off for a brief moment.
Was he…?
No.
Of course not.
This was the classic psychological trap—someone tells you "You are anxious," and suddenly you start wondering if it’s true.
It was like telling someone not to think about elephants—suddenly, all they can think about is elephants.
Did she really think she could manipulate him that easily?
Aegor narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to respond—
But before he could, Melisandre spoke again.
"Duty and war are important," she murmured, her voice carrying a low, knowing warmth.
"But one must also tend to their body and spirit. If you overburden yourself, Lord Commander, you may break before the war even begins."
She lifted Aegor’s hand with surprising gentleness, guiding it toward her waist.
"Union creates strength," she whispered.
Aegor felt warmth—soft, heated skin, an almost unnatural heat beneath his fingers.
It took him a second to process what was happening.
Then he realized—
She wasn’t playing mind games anymore.
Melisandre was seducing him.
