Chapter 330

The process of overthinking is always the most painful. Once Aegor made up his mind, he felt significantly lighter, forcing himself to shake off the emotional weight of Roose Bolton’s earlier insinuations and focus on the work at hand.

Against the backdrop of preparing for the White Walkers, that wasn’t particularly hard to do.

Aegor’s initial goal for this trip was to secure 30,000 to 50,000 gold dragons. But he quickly realized he wasn’t the first Lord Commander to ask for funding, and the Northern lords were well-acquainted with the concept of “protection fees.” They already had a set price in their minds, leaving no room for negotiation. What they offered was all he could get.

From various houses—excluding the Boltons—he scraped together around 15,000 gold dragons. Adding Roose Bolton’s generous loan of 10,000, the total unexpectedly approached his minimum goal. Better yet, most of it was a grant rather than a loan.

The promises of support were secured, but nobody carried such sums on a battlefield. Aegor would still need to dispatch his men with tokens to collect the money from the respective houses. Beyond finances, Robb Stark proved surprisingly dependable, issuing a decree across the Neck and the North for idle stonemasons, carpenters, and other craftsmen to gather at Winterfell in preparation for deployment to the West Coast shipyard.

While the Gift had no shortage of laborers, skilled craftsmen were nearly nonexistent. This influx of expertise would greatly improve the quality of Aegor’s workforce while saving him the trouble and expense of seeking and hiring talent. Robb’s proactive support for the shipyard project was something Aegor appreciated. With this in mind, Aegor decided to make a stop at Winterfell to collect both Stark’s “donation” and the craftsmen before returning to Crown's Rest—a gesture of respect to the Warden of the North and a show of his own regard for technical expertise.
----


As the Gift grew, so too did its connections with the South. Positioned along the Kingsroad, Winterfell had become an unavoidable hub for trade and communication, with employees of the Night’s Watch enterprises frequently passing through and even lodging temporarily.

Ordinarily, uninvited yet regular visitors would wear out their welcome. However, on Robb’s orders, Winterfell’s staff showed nothing but courtesy, even dedicating specific guest rooms in the castle’s residential wing for Night’s Watch personnel.

Now, Aegor stood by the training yard outside the guest quarters, breathing in the crisp northern air as he observed soldiers drilling in the center of the field.

He would have preferred to collect the money and craftsmen quietly and leave without drawing attention. Unfortunately, word of his arrival quickly reached Arya Stark, who came charging over with an exuberant shout.

“Master! Master!”

Aegor suppressed a groan, plastering a kind, elder-like smile on his face as Arya sprinted toward him, followed closely by another familiar face—Myrcella Baratheon, now going by the name Maeve.

“Master,” Arya greeted him with unrestrained enthusiasm, looping her arm through his. “Maeve wanted to ask about her brothers at the Wall but didn’t dare come alone, so I came with her.”

“They aren’t at the Wall,” Aegor replied warmly, glancing at the former Baratheon princess. “They’re in Crown's Rest, away from the frontlines, attending the school I set up for the Gift’s residents. Officially, they’re stationed as Watch members overseeing the students, but in practice, they’re also studying themselves. Given their prior education under a maester, I imagine they’re adapting quite well.”

“Oh, thank the gods!” Maeve exhaled in relief, her gratitude spilling forth.

“See?” Arya interjected with a smug grin. “I told you my master would take good care of them. As long as Joffrey doesn’t start acting like a prince again… Hmph.”

Interrupting Myrcella, Arya’s expression shifted from excitement to exasperation as she quickly changed the subject. “Master, my thirteenth name day is coming up!”

In Westeros, a name day is essentially a birthday. Aegor blinked in surprise, then put on an apologetic face. “Oh, is it? Damn, I didn’t prepare a gift.”

“Ugh, who wants your gift?” Arya stomped her foot in frustration. “That Harry guy is coming to spend it with me!”

“Harry who?” Aegor asked, confused. Surely not Harry Potter.

Arya, clearly irritated by his lack of interest, shook his arm furiously and even pinched him. “Harry Hardyng! My cousin Robert Arryn’s heir! Everyone calls him Harry the Heir! Ugh, he’s my betrothed!”

Ah, so that’s how it was. Aegor nodded in understanding. He couldn’t be blamed for forgetting—Harry Hardyng had nothing to do with him and wasn’t someone worth remembering.

No wonder Lady Catelyn had sent someone to Crown's Rest weeks ago to summon Arya home. It wasn’t just a family visit—her betrothed was coming to see her. “What, is he in a hurry to marry you? How old do you have to be to wed in the North?”

“I don’t know, I think there’s no fixed age.” Arya’s face fell into a pout. “But I don’t want to get married! Not now, not at sixteen, not ever!”

“Relax,” Maeve chimed in softly from behind her. “He’s probably just here to meet you and start building a relationship. While thirteen is the minimum marriage age, noble families rarely wed so early unless there’s a pressing need to solidify an alliance or the groom’s house holds significantly more power. Neither applies to you, so you’re likely safe until at least sixteen.”
----


Maeve’s insight into noble dynamics was impeccable, a result of her royal upbringing. House Stark had arranged Arya’s betrothal as insurance. Robert Arryn, the current Lord of the Vale, was a frail child with a precarious health condition, unlikely to produce heirs before his untimely demise. In such a scenario, Harry Hardyng, a lesser noble with distant ties to House Arryn, stood to inherit the Vale.

But since Robert was still alive and closely tied to the Starks by blood, there was no urgent need to formalize the alliance through marriage. Harry’s visit was more of a formality—his family lacked the power to rush the timeline, and even meeting his future bride required the excuse of Arya’s name day.
----


“See? You’ve got at least three more years to worry about this,” Aegor said dismissively, trying to free his arm from Arya’s grip. “Shouldn’t you be praying for your cousin Robert’s health instead of fretting over nothing?”

Arya refused to let go, grumbling, “But I just don’t want to get married—not now, not ever!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aegor sighed, reminded of Roose Bolton’s earlier remarks. The Stark family’s position was already being eyed by others, yet here was Arya, still wrapped in childish fantasies, unwilling to fulfill her duty as a noblewoman to secure her family’s alliances.

“Master, help me cancel the engagement!” Arya’s sudden outburst almost made him choke.

Canceling an engagement? The classic trope!

Suppressing the absurd thoughts that popped into his mind, Aegor glared at her. “You think breaking an engagement is that simple? And what do you expect me to do? I’m the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, not your family’s steward!”

“But you’re the best! Nothing’s impossible for you!” Arya whined, clinging tighter to his arm. “You have to come up with a way—no, three ways!”

Faced with her unreasonable demand, Aegor felt his head ache. He couldn’t help but marvel at how his reputation for solving problems had become a double-edged sword. Helping Arya break off her betrothal? That wasn’t just improbable; it was outright impossible!

“Fine!” he finally relented, exasperated. “I’ll think of something. Let go of me first.”

“Deal!” Arya released his arm, her face lighting up with smug satisfaction, as though his promise had already solved everything.
----


Life, Aegor reflected, was absurd. One moment, he was dealing with Roose Bolton’s veiled scheming, and the next, he was being dragged into a noble girl’s petty dilemma. He resolved to leave Winterfell at first light, delegating the rest of this errand to someone else.

For now, he sighed and began racking his brain for three ridiculous plans to appease Arya and buy himself some peace.