Chapter 363

“What are you two doing?”

“We… we…” Arya’s sudden shout transformed what had been a perfectly normal interaction into something that felt like being caught red-handed in a compromising situation. Myrcella, startled, found herself stumbling over her words, but after a few seconds, she snapped back to her senses—what was she panicking for? “I was giving Lord Aegor a shoulder massage. He works tirelessly guarding the Wall, and it’s exhausting.”

Arya found herself momentarily speechless. After a pause, she strode over with her characteristic energy, circling behind Aegor and using her strength to nudge the little princess aside. “What’s so hard about massaging shoulders? Let me do it!”

“What’s your problem?” Myrcella muttered under her breath, annoyed.

“Hey, you didn’t even close the door!” Aegor called out, his voice raised. Thankfully, the guards outside were diligent enough to handle it for Arya, preventing too much precious warmth from escaping. “Don’t you know to knock before entering someone’s room? Ever heard of manners?”

“Nope,” Arya replied bluntly, glaring at Myrcella with the air of a territorial wolf staking its claim.

“All right, Myrcella, you should head back now.” Aegor couldn’t enjoy himself anymore, sitting up straight and giving Myrcella an apologetic smile. “Your accommodations have been arranged. Ask the guards outside if you have any questions—someone will call you for dinner.”

“Okay, then. Thank you again, Lord Aegor!” Myrcella responded cheerfully, leaving gracefully without complaint.
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After the little princess departed, Aegor turned to Arya with a hint of exasperation. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you picking on her?”

“Who’s picking on her?” Arya retorted, indignant. “I see her as a little sister, but… but she…” She trailed off, the words “wants to be my stepmother” dying on her tongue. The thought embarrassed her too much to say aloud, and on reflection, she realized she might have overreacted. Shrinking back slightly, she muttered, “Never mind.”

“What does she want?” Aegor asked, amused. Arya’s expression practically screamed jealousy, making her look like a concubine in a harem drama fighting for favor. “Her family suffered a great tragedy. She was forced to leave everything behind and come here alone, becoming a foster child in your home. She’s obedient, considerate, small, pitiful, and helpless—couldn’t you be a little nicer to her?”

“I am nice to her!” Arya shot back defensively. But, perhaps realizing that her earlier actions weren’t the best evidence of that, she softened her tone and added begrudgingly, “Hmph. I’m small, pitiful, and helpless too, but you don’t treat me any better.”

Ungrateful brat. How am I not good to you? Aegor rolled his eyes. He knew what Arya meant by “better treatment”—she wanted someone powerful to step in and help her break off her betrothal, restoring her “freedom.” But true freedom came at a price, and no one with common sense would waste their time meddling in something so trivial.

“All right, Lady Stark, so small, pitiful, and helpless,” Aegor said with mock solemnity. “Let me ask you something. Why were you giving me the cold shoulder earlier when I came to pick you all up?”

Arya scowled and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “It’s because—last time you came through Winterfell, you stayed just one night and left without saying a word. What’s that supposed to mean? If you didn’t want to help me, you could’ve just said so! Who cares!”

Her words were heated, but her face was tinged with a faint blush. She had initially planned to keep giving Aegor the cold shoulder for a few more days, but after a heartfelt conversation with her mother and brother Bran earlier, she had wandered outside without thinking and, somehow, her feet had carried her back to the Lord Commander’s office. For all her past attempts at sulking or silent treatment, she had always failed to keep it up for long. In the end, her instincts won out, and she couldn’t resist coming to see him—thankfully, or she might not have noticed someone trying to “steal” her mentor!

“I really did have urgent business that day. It wasn’t intentional,” Aegor admitted sheepishly. He didn’t dare ask Arya how her first meeting with her betrothed had gone, knowing it would only lead to another round of complaints about breaking the engagement. “Anyway, since you’re here, I need to ask you—did you hear anything about Daenerys Targaryen while you were at Winterfell? Has she brought an army back to Westeros? Where did she land? What’s she doing now?”

“I’m not telling you!”

That means she’s heard something. Aegor’s brows furrowed. “Don’t joke around, Arya. This is serious—it’s a matter of life and death for the Gift and the North!”

“The Mad King’s daughter? What does she have to do with our life and death?” Arya scoffed, pausing as if something suddenly clicked. She gasped theatrically. “Ah! I get it now. You must’ve heard she’s ‘the most beautiful woman in the world’ and want to see her for yourself! Don’t you know? Beautiful women are all dangerous, snake-hearted creatures!”

What nonsense. The mental gymnastics of girls were truly beyond comprehension. If Arya hadn’t mentioned it, Aegor would’ve almost forgotten Daenerys was even a woman. With the Others and their undead army looming, who had time to care about her beauty?

Shaking his head, Aegor started to deny it but instinctively took a more roundabout approach. “But I think you look beautiful today too. Am I in danger now?”

“Really?” Despite herself, Arya’s voice betrayed a hint of delight and shyness. It took her a few seconds to realize he was contradicting her argument, and she angrily dug her fingers into his shoulders. “You’re right—you are in danger!”

“Hey, stop, stop—are you massaging or trying to kill me?”

This girl’s strength was no joke. Wait… how had this turned into such a ridiculous conversation? Just moments ago, Aegor had been focused on critical matters of life and death concerning the battle against the Others, yet Arya’s entrance had completely derailed the tone of the Night’s Watch Commander’s office.

Pulling Arya’s hands away from his shoulders, Aegor decided it was time to get serious. He began explaining the potential war between Daenerys and Stannis in King’s Landing, the possible impact on the Night’s Watch’s industrial operations there, and how this could disrupt their preparations for the final confrontation with the Others.

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“Something to counter the Others?” Arya echoed, her tone uncertain, though she grasped the gist of it. “If you have something like that, why not make it in Crown's Rest instead of somewhere as far away as King’s Landing?”

It was a fair question, but things weren’t that simple.

Establishing a production line for saltpeter from scratch was a far cry from simply relocating existing metalworking or smithing operations. Though Aegor knew the basics—that saltpeter was produced by certain bacteria—he wasn’t an expert. Beyond general principles, he was clueless about the specifics: the necessary materials, tools, and equipment. Without a clear list of requirements, Crown's Rest, with its limited resources and infrastructure, couldn’t compare to King’s Landing.

Not to mention, the inventors and craftsmen in King’s Landing’s industrial hub weren’t exactly eager to leave the comforts of the capital to freeze in the North.

“You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it,” Aegor said, feigning sternness. “Now, spill everything you know!”

“Ugh, fine,” Arya muttered, shaking off his hand but then dutifully returning it to his shoulder to resume the massage—this time, with genuine effort. “The news is from several days ago. The Mad King’s daughter suddenly appeared with a massive fleet off Blackwater Bay. She defeated the Dragonstone fleet and took the island. Then, she quickly captured the Crackclaw Point and, supposedly, is advancing toward King’s Landing by both sea and land.

“Hand Davos sent a letter to Winterfell, requesting the North to mobilize and send reinforcements south to lift the siege. But we don’t have anyone to spare! Robb’s still out there, and who knows if he’s received news through other channels. Ugh… endless wars. No wonder some in the castle are saying we should declare independence already.”
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Dragonstone, just like in the original timeline. It seemed that certain strategies remained the optimal choice regardless of the timeline. That was good news—if he decided to go with Melisandre to meet Daenerys, Eastwatch’s ships could take him directly to Dragonstone, saving him the trouble of searching for her.

“She hasn’t directly attacked King’s Landing yet?”

“Pfft, as if she’d dare. The king’s already prepared for those dragons. If she flies to King’s Landing on one, it’ll be shot down immediately.”

Aegor let out a breath of relief. It was true—Stannis Baratheon, a cautious and experienced commander, wouldn’t leave such a glaring threat unaddressed. Proper preparations were the expected course of action. Still, Aegor couldn’t help but feel some pity for Stannis:

Here was a king, not particularly inept, but after two years on the throne, he’d yet to rule over a unified realm. A skilled general, yet his enemies kept emerging one after another. Just as he crushed Young Aegon and the Golden Company in the Stormlands, leaving only Storm’s End unconquered, the original Targaryen queen came out of nowhere to seize his old stronghold of Dragonstone. Aegor couldn’t help but shake his head at the man’s luck.
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