Chapter 329

Aegor was startled.

It wasn’t the content of Roose Bolton’s words or the audacity of the man’s insinuations that unnerved him. What truly shocked him was their current location.

They weren’t in a secret chamber at Crown's Rest or the Dreadfort, where they could freely discuss treasonous and dangerous topics. They were standing on the walls of Deepwood Motte, the Glover stronghold that was temporarily serving as the Northern army’s command center.

Just months earlier, this castle had been sacked in a surprise raid by the Ironborn, and it was now on high alert. Guards stood watch along the battlements at regular intervals, fully armed, with patrols passing frequently to ensure there were no gaps in the defenses. Yet Roose Bolton, without hesitation, had chosen this brief window between sentry posts to speak his veiled, treacherous words.

Aegor quickly scanned their surroundings. They had just passed one sentry and were still several paces from the next. Clearly, Roose had timed his statement to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. Still, Aegor couldn’t shake the unease of such boldness—how could this man feel so confident speaking such dangerous ideas in plain sight of Northern soldiers?

You must be mad! We’re not that close. What do you expect me to say to this?

For the first time, Aegor truly understood the feeling of being put on the spot, much like Liu Bei when Cao Cao famously called him a “hero.” Quick-witted as he was, he found himself at a loss for how to respond. Should he feign ignorance? That would only work on a fool. Should he outright admit to Roose’s insinuations and begin plotting rebellion together? That was far too premature—and too risky.

With the next guard fast approaching, Aegor decided to remain silent, adopting an expression of deep contemplation.

Fortunately, Roose seemed uninterested in receiving a reply. He continued walking as if the previous comment had never been spoken, seamlessly transitioning to another topic. “As we agreed earlier today, House Bolton, being one of the northernmost great houses, will contribute at least one thousand gold dragons to support the Night’s Watch in defending against the White Walkers. However, I’ve had another idea.

“To achieve great things, a few hundred or a thousand gold dragons are nothing. I am prepared to lend the Night’s Watch ten thousand gold dragons to support the Gift’s construction and development.”

Though Aegor’s thoughts were still reeling from the earlier exchange, he instinctively adopted a surprised and grateful expression. “If that’s truly the case, I must thank you on behalf of all the residents of the Gift. The Night’s Watch will make sure every coin is put to good use.”

“You’re too kind, Lord Commander.” Roose nodded with his usual cold detachment, acknowledging the thanks with a slight inclination of his head.

The two exchanged a few more casual remarks as they passed another sentry. Then, as if returning to their previous thread of thought, Roose continued, “I don’t expect the Night’s Watch to do anything for me immediately. I only wish to remind you that opportunities favor those who are prepared.

“The Ironborn cannot be subdued with a handful of warships. In the south, the Reach, Dorne, and their puppet king remain strong. Across the Narrow Sea, the Targaryen girl has declared herself queen of Slaver’s Bay, and she has three dragons.”

Pausing again to avoid being overheard by another patrol, Roose stopped by the wooden parapet and leaned on the railing, gazing out over the moonlit expanse of the Wolfswood. He spoke his final words softly, almost as if they were meant to be carried off by the wind.

“When you’ve secured the Gift and repelled the army of the dead… perhaps we can collaborate and make something of this land.”
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That concluded their conversation.

The meaningful parts boiled down to three statements: You’re not someone who can remain content., Opportunities favor the prepared., and Perhaps we can collaborate someday.

It seemed like nothing, yet it carried so much weight. Properly interpreted, even the Common Tongue could be as profound and layered as High Valyrian.

Aegor felt a strange role reversal, as though he were now the subject of someone else’s strategy game. Roose Bolton, with his offer of ten thousand gold dragons and his insinuations of future collaboration, was skillfully positioning himself as someone Aegor would owe. It was a reminder that his assistance came with strings attached, that he expected repayment—though even Roose likely didn’t yet know what form that repayment might take.

What could Aegor, as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, even offer after defeating the Ironborn and repelling the White Walkers?

He had no answers.

Contemplating such questions while humanity’s greatest enemy still lurked beyond the Wall felt overly optimistic—bordering on arrogant. Yet, deep down, Aegor couldn’t deny that his mind had already begun to wander toward such possibilities.

Roose Bolton’s words had merely stripped away the pretense, forcing him to confront the harsh reality of the future.
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House Stark and the North were like an ancient, towering tree, while the Gift, revitalized under Aegor’s leadership, was but a young sapling beneath its shade. For now, the great tree shielded the sapling from frost and storms, protecting it from premature death.

But the sapling grew, nourished by external resources. One day, it would compete with the great tree for sunlight and nutrients. When that day came, it would either break free of the canopy to thrive or wither in its shadow, unable to sustain itself once the external aid ceased.

The thought left Aegor deeply unsettled.

Unlike the Boltons, who harbored generations of animosity toward the Starks, Aegor had no such history. If a day of reckoning ever came, how would he choose?
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That night, he dreamed of a dark future.

In the dream, he helped the North subdue the Ironborn and used dragonsteel cannons to easily annihilate the White Walkers. The Gift grew powerful, its military unmatched, and then he turned his forces south. Together with Roose Bolton, he overthrew House Stark, making Roose the King in the North.

From there, they marched on the rest of Westeros, conquering the other six kingdoms with the power of gunpowder and fire.

At last, the continent was united under his rule. He crowned himself Emperor of Westeros. But as the dream continued, he betrayed Roose Bolton and the other leaders of the Night’s Watch, eliminating all his allies. Alone, he sat upon the Iron Throne, a true tyrant and solitary figure.
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Aegor awoke in a cold sweat, the nightmare still vivid in his mind.

Lying in the damp sheets, he reflected. That was not the future he wanted.

He wasn’t some mindless entity governed by logic and numbers, bound to repay Roose Bolton simply because the man had lent him money. Even if Roose had handed him a million gold dragons outright, it wouldn’t mean he had to compromise his principles.

Yes, he owed Roose a debt. But how, or even whether, to repay it was ultimately his decision. If he couldn’t find a way to secure the Gift’s independence without betraying the Starks or plunging the North into chaos, then he would remain the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch forever.

No matter how low the bar, there had to be a line he wouldn’t cross.
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