Chapter 351

Although Aegor hadn’t received the answer he most desired regarding the gods, he reluctantly accepted the premise that “the Cold God won’t intervene directly.” It wasn’t so much that Bran had convinced him, but rather that he had no other choice but to believe it. After all, the White Walkers and the wights at least had discernible forms and weaknesses. But the Cold God? If it truly existed and acted against the Night’s Watch, who could say how one might go about “slaying” a god?

At the very least, Aegor had gleaned sufficient information to bolster the defenses along the Wall. Overall, his plans for fortifications left no glaring gaps. If there were areas that still needed work, it would be reinforcing the garrisons at Icecanyon Port, Gorgewatch, and the Shadow Tower, as well as extending and repairing the patrol routes south of the Gorge. These efforts aimed to bring patrol frequencies along the Gorge to match those atop the Wall, providing a better defense against the undead hordes advancing along the northern bank.

Bran took another sip of water, falling silent for a moment. This pause gave his throat a rest and Aegor some time to think.

"If the Lord Commander has no further questions," Bran said at last, "I’d like to offer some advice: don’t pin all your hopes on keeping the enemy beyond the Wall. Be prepared to fight the White Walkers if they breach it." A distant look of recollection passed over the boy’s face. "Thousands of years ago, during the Long Night, humanity and the Children of the Forest fought the White Walkers without the Wall. The living retreated step by step, pushed southward almost to the Neck, until a group of heroes—courageous, wise, and capable—sailed around the enemy’s rear. At the narrowest point between the North and the lands beyond, at the very spot where we now stand, they sacrificed their lives to cast a powerful spell. This magical barrier severed the White Walkers from their source of power, giving Azor Ahai the opportunity to lead the allied forces and achieve victory in the War for the Dawn."

“I understand—so long as the Wall stands, fighting south of it grants us a great advantage,” Aegor replied, shaking his head. “But at the same time, the living on this side of the Wall would become easy prey and fresh recruits for the enemy. I won’t deliberately let the White Walkers pass the Wall just to exploit its magical protections, exposing the millions of Northerners to danger. As Lord Commander, my duty is to guard the gate. Whether I succeed or not, I must at least try to keep the enemy out.”

“Let’s hope the Night’s Watch can manage that,” Bran said with a quiet nod. “I only ask that you prepare for the possibility of battle south of the Wall.”

Aegor didn’t need Bran’s reminder; he had already taken precautions. The nineteen original castles of the Night’s Watch, the new forts at Crown's Rest, Icecanyon Port, and Gorgewatch, even the Shadow Tower—each had been fortified with walls and defenses under his command. And why? To ensure that, if a battle—whether against the living or the dead—reached the Wall, the defenders wouldn’t be caught unprepared.

"Thank you for addressing my questions, Greenseer." Aegor dropped any pretense of ignorance. Bran had already revealed his identity, and there was no need to play dumb. “You’ve just returned from beyond the Wall and must be exhausted. I won’t disturb you further. I’ve already sent a raven to Winterfell to inform them of your safe return. Arrangements have also been made at Castle Black for your travel. It’s late, so we’ll depart for Crown's Rest tomorrow. Your brother’s men can meet you there.”

“I’ll go with you to Crown's Rest,” Bran said, nodding. “But not because I intend to return to Winterfell. It is because Crown's Rest is now the headquarters of the Night’s Watch. For generations, the Starks have served the Watch, and now it’s my turn.”

Aegor frowned. Bran wanted to don the black? It made sense. If he truly sought to aid the fight against the White Walkers, what better position than within the Watch? On paper, both the petitioner and the one with the authority to decide—Bran and Aegor—were present, making it a simple matter. Emotionally, it was appealing to have such a powerful ally within his command. But politically, it was fraught. Robb had no heirs; as long as Bran lived, he was the Stark heir. Letting him join the Watch could provoke backlash, as had Tywin’s fury when the Mad King forced Jaime into the Kingsguard.

“I’m not opposed, in principle,” Aegor said after some thought. “But I’ll need your mother and brother’s approval first.”

“I can’t travel easily between Winterfell and Crown's Rest,” Bran replied. “Convince my family on my behalf, Lord Commander, and send me their reply. For now, let’s talk about another matter. I’ve brought something back from beyond the Wall—a gift for the Night’s Watch. It’s by the wall near the bed. Please, take a look.”

Curious, Aegor walked to the indicated corner. There, wedged between a cabinet and the wall, rested a slender, ancient sword in a scabbard worn with age. A sudden premonition gripped him as he picked it up. It was astonishingly light, almost insubstantial.

“Dark Sister,” Bran said, his tone casual, as if discussing a common utensil. “Bloodraven was its last owner. You’ve probably read about it in history books, so I won’t elaborate. All you need to know is that it’s Valyrian steel—a bane to White Walkers. A weapon for a hero. I trust you’ll make full use of it.”

Staring at the legendary sword, Aegor felt a surge of awe. Though familiar with the lore, he’d forgotten such details. This was an unexpected boon.

“I’ll make sure it serves its purpose,” he vowed. After a solemn thanks, he left the room, carrying the blade.

Outside, the cold wind howled, but the sky remained bright. Aegor unsheathed Dark Sister carefully, its scabbard long fused with rust and grime. With effort, he freed it. The blade gleamed with the unmistakable radiance of Valyrian steel—its rippling patterns flawless, as though the sword had been freshly forged.

Around him, his guards gathered, their eyes widening as they recognized the weapon.

“Valyrian steel?” someone whispered.

Aegor nodded, and a wave of awe rippled through the group. They knew its value—a blade that could buy armies or castles. And now, it was in the hands of their Lord Commander.