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Chapter 113
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 22:22:15 +0000 UTC"Wait!" Earl Buckwell raised a hand, halting Aegor mid-sentence. The unexpected gesture left the Night's Watchman momentarily stunned. The old man leaned forward, his gaze sharp yet calm. "Aegor, I’ve seen your sharp mind at work before; I’ve no doubts about your abilities. But let me ask you this—does your idea guarantee the capture of the Bloody Gate?"
"No," Aegor replied honestly, shaking his head. "It’s not about taking the Bloody Gate. It’s about taking the Vale. My inspiration comes from ancient warfare in the place I came from—'China,' to name it plainly. But given my limited knowledge of warfare and the specifics of the Vale’s geography, I can’t make any guarantees."
"Then I can’t relay your plan to His Grace." The earl leaned back, his tone firm but measured. "Don’t forget, we Crownlands lords are here to atone for our past sins, not to make bold gambles. We aim to avoid mistakes above all else. If your plan works, the king will see it as our duty fulfilled—nothing more. But if it fails, even wasting a few days might bring his wrath upon me. The risks outweigh the rewards, and that’s not a trade I’m willing to make."
(He has a point.) Aegor stroked his chin, feeling the faint stubble under his fingers as he frowned. "Fair enough. What do you suggest, then?"
"Why not present your idea to the king yourself?" Buckwell suggested with a wry smile. "You’re His Grace’s chosen ‘attached Night’s Watchman.’ If your plan fails, the blame won’t fall on you—after all, you’re not even part of the feudal hierarchy. Even if the king gets angry, what can he do? You’re a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch; you don’t answer to him."
The idea made sense, but Aegor hesitated. Months ago, back in Winterfell, he had resolved to avoid standing out, especially in the volatile politics of the Seven Kingdoms. Offering military advice to the king against the Vale rebels? Even setting aside the question of whether it was appropriate for a Night’s Watchman to get involved, the potential fallout was daunting. If the plan succeeded, all would be well. But if it failed and Robert was forced to negotiate with the likes of Yohn Royce, those same Vale lords could hold a grudge against Aegor, scheming against him in the future.
Still, he didn’t immediately refuse. His circumstances had changed significantly since Winterfell. He had proven that events in this world weren’t immutable and no longer needed to live cautiously, constantly watching others for approval. Was stepping into the spotlight now a risk worth taking—or an opportunity to seize?
"Why not just go for it?" Yoren chimed in from the side, his coarse voice filled with a rough sort of encouragement. "What’s the worst that could happen? Robert’s not going to cut off your head because your plan doesn’t work. And if you pull it off, your name’ll be even bigger. Even Mormont himself wouldn’t dare mess with you."
Aegor ignored Yoren’s blunt reasoning. As the chief quartermaster of the Night’s Watch and founder of its budding industries, his considerations extended far beyond mere survival. Clearing his thoughts, he fell silent for half a minute, organizing his mind.
Littlefinger and Varys—one had already fallen, leaving the other in a curious position. But regarding the rebellion in the Vale, Varys had no direct conflict with Aegor’s interests. Even if the Spider were loyal to the Targaryens, he would prefer Westeros remain stable until House Targaryen could strike. As for the Seven Kingdoms, nearly everyone—except perhaps Dorne and the Iron Islands—wanted this rebellion resolved quickly. Aegor’s plan wouldn’t offend the powers that mattered; it would only trouble a handful of Vale houses allied with the Brotherhood of Justice. And those houses, for all their local strength, couldn’t pose a real threat to someone like Aegor, who now wielded both a name and a position.
If his plan failed, at worst, he’d lose face and gain a few more enemies. But if it succeeded? He’d preserve the wealth of potential customers, earn Robert’s favor, and potentially leverage that goodwill for something valuable. As Buckwell had said, the risks and rewards were disproportionate for the earl, but for Aegor? The potential gains far outweighed the risks.
"Very well. If you believe this is the right course, then I’ll do it."
Having made up his mind, Aegor immediately decided to take things further. His growing ambitions demanded partnerships with those far above him in status and power. Playing it safe and keeping a low profile would only make him seem unreliable and easy to dismiss. Without strong arms to show, he would build his reputation as a man of sharp wit and reliable plans.
The first step was to become a known figure. The next? To ensure that all in the realm understood that working with the Night’s Watch’s chief quartermaster was profitable—and crossing him came at a cost.
Confident that his plan had at least a fifty-percent chance of success, Aegor decided to go big. "When is the next war council?"
"Every day. Why?"
"Inform His Grace at tomorrow’s council that I have a strategy. If he’s willing to hear it, I’ll present it in front of everyone."
The era of laying low was over. It was time to step onto the stage.
----
As Aegor stepped out of Buckwell’s tent, he spotted Kasey waiting at his own tent with two horses already saddled.
"Master, everything’s ready. Shall we leave now?" Kasey asked eagerly.
"We’re not going anywhere. Take everything down and return the horses to the stables," Aegor replied.
Yoren laughed, his voice rough but full of amusement. "The lad’s about to stir the pot tomorrow!"
----
Since Horn Hill wouldn’t spare an extra tent for Yoren, the two Night’s Watchmen were forced to share. But Yoren’s slovenliness was unbearable, forcing Aegor to send Kasey to get him cleaned up—haircut, shave, bath, and fresh clothes—before he could even tolerate his presence.
The next morning, Aegor woke early and positioned himself outside Buckwell’s tent. Once the earl emerged, dressed and ready, they shared breakfast before heading together to Robert’s royal pavilion.
While Buckwell entered the tent, Aegor remained outside, watching as lords from the six kingdoms filed in one after another. Patiently, he waited.
Inside, the council had begun. Robert’s booming voice echoed clearly, even without shouting—he was the king, after all, and his words drowned out all others. After about ten minutes, Aegor heard the command: "Bring him in!"
A tall, imposing Kingsguard knight stepped out of the tent, his silver hair gleaming. With a glance, he easily spotted Aegor, clad in the black of the Night’s Watch. "Are you Aegor West? Come with me."
Judging by his age, this had to be Barristan Selmy, the living legend who had bested Oberyn Martell and captured Jaqen H’ghar. Aegor, still sore from facing the Red Viper himself, couldn’t help but glance at the old knight in admiration. Nodding, he followed him into the tent.
The council chamber was spartan in its design. At its center stood a massive table displaying a sand table of the Vale, with pieces representing the forces at play. The situation was clear at a glance: Robert’s loyalist forces vastly outnumbered the rebels and controlled most of the Vale. The Brotherhood of Justice and their allies were holed up in the Eyrie, surrounded but well-defended.
The concentration of pieces around the Bloody Gate told the whole story: One man can hold a pass against ten thousand.
Gathered around the table were representatives from the six kingdoms, each group clearly defined: Buckwell and the other Crownlands lords stood near Robert, followed by Renly and his Stormlands contingent, the North led by Robb Stark, the gold-and-scarlet-clad Westerlands nobles, the Reach lords led by Loras Tyrell and Randyll Tarly, and the Riverlands under a dour Edmure Tully. The smallest group was, unsurprisingly, the Dornish contingent, with Oberyn Martell smirking enigmatically at Aegor.
The Vale lords were absent, scattered to other duties, and Stannis, along with the Greyjoy princess, was at sea commanding the fleets.
"Well, then," Robert’s booming voice interrupted Aegor’s observations. "So this is the infamous White Walker slayer? You’ve got a plan to get us into the Vale? Let’s hear it!"
Aegor turned his gaze to the king, the only man seated at the table. Robert’s disheveled appearance—red-faced, rumpled clothes, and a cup of wine—was far from regal. Whether still drunk from last night or already drinking this morning, Aegor couldn’t tell. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the king, but it was the first time they’d spoken face-to-face.
This drunken, debauched man was the lynchpin holding the Seven Kingdoms together. How laughable. And how tragic that, in the original story, Cersei had been foolish enough to kill this lynchpin, plunging the realm into chaos while smugly believing she’d won the game of thrones. Without her father Tywin’s cunning, she wouldn’t have even lasted long enough to realize her mistake.
"Your Grace," Aegor began carefully, his voice steady, "before I present my plan, I must ask: Would offering you advice violate the Night’s Watch’s neutrality in the affairs of the realm?"
