Chapter 512

"A-Are you saying… Lord Bolton… conspired with you to overthrow House Stark!?"

Watching the girl’s mouth open in shock, Aegor nodded. He was about to continue when doubt suddenly crept into his mind.

He and Myrcella hadn’t known each other for long—barely a year or two—but in that time, she had proven herself to be intelligent, kind, strong, and brave. And now, she had risked herself to deliver such a crucial message. It was only natural that Aegor had begun to see her as a reliable friend, someone he could trust.

But was that just an illusion?

At the end of the day, she was still only a girl of fourteen or fifteen. Could she truly be trusted with something of this magnitude?

Before receiving the intelligence about Bolton, Aegor’s strategy had been thrown into turmoil by Robb Stark’s deft command of the Northern forces. He had been torn between bombarding Winterfell as a show of force or redirecting his attack to Seagard. But either choice had the same ultimate goal: minimizing Stark casualties as much as possible.

This was not just a matter of personal sentiment—it was a strategic necessity. Aegor had no intention of treating Westeros as a fleeting conquest. He was here to build something lasting, to secure power, position, and legacy for himself under the Queen’s rule.

For those starting at the bottom, survival often meant choosing between reputation and material gains—after all, as a common soldier in the Night’s Watch, Aegor’s name had once been worth less than a single gold dragon. But the higher one climbed, the more reputation and power became intertwined. Now, as the ruler of the Gift and a key vassal of the Queen, he had to guard his reputation as fiercely as his position—perhaps even more so than a cautious commander like Denys Mallister once had.

Now, if Bolton truly had defected to Daenerys and was escorting her south, Aegor had only one path left to walk: he had to take Winterfell before the Queen arrived and force the head of House Stark—be it Robb or another—to bend the knee.

At any cost. By any means.

Only then could he uphold his promise to receive the Queen within Winterfell’s walls, while simultaneously thwarting Bolton’s treachery and maximizing both his political and personal interests.

The most logical course of action? Say nothing to Myrcella. Pretend to heed her warning and feign withdrawal, only to launch a sudden, overwhelming assault on Winterfell within the next two days.

Not a siege. A swift and decisive storming of the castle.

…

All of these thoughts passed through Aegor’s mind in the span of mere seconds. But as he hesitated, he realized he had already crossed the point of no return.

With Myrcella staring at him, wide-eyed, stopping mid-sentence now would only make him look suspicious, as if he had been caught fabricating a lie.

Should he change the topic and divert her attention, or should he treat her as an equal—someone worthy of being confided in?

If Myrcella didn’t believe him and warned Winterfell’s defenders, it would be a disaster. But if she chose to help him, it could be the key to a swift victory with minimal bloodshed.

Meeting her gaze, Aegor made his decision. He clenched his jaw and forged ahead. To hell with it. His life wasn’t at stake here. What harm was there in taking a gamble?

"That’s right," he said. "The recent rumors about the South planning to punish the Night’s Watch and remove me as Lord Commander? They weren’t baseless. It was Bolton who sent envoys to warn me. I deliberately spread the rumor to keep the Gift on high alert."

As he spoke, he carefully weighed his words, ensuring there were no gaps Myrcella could poke holes through. At the same time, he silently prayed—prayed that this girl, who had endured so much, was still as decisive and brave as he remembered.

"I abandoned my initial plans and came south to Winterfell because of that warning. Lord Bolton offered me a deal: he would secretly aid my campaign, ensuring my swift victory over the Northern forces. In exchange, I would erase House Stark from existence and make him Warden of the North."

"You refused." Myrcella’s tone wasn’t questioning. It was a statement.

"Of course. The Starks are my friends. I would never harm them unless I had no other choice." Aegor’s voice was solemn. "But because I see them as friends, I cannot tolerate betrayal. That’s why, even after rejecting Bolton’s offer, I still marched south—to demand an explanation. What I never anticipated was that the old flayer would bypass me entirely and align himself with the Queen, orchestrating a scheme that could doom House Stark."

As Aegor spoke, his voice rang with conviction, but Myrcella only blinked, her skepticism written all over her face.

She wasn’t as easy to fool as Arya, despite being a year younger.

Aegor didn’t fault her for doubting him. In fact, if he were in her place, he would have dismissed his own words as nonsense.

That was the problem: unless one had the advantage of a transmigrator’s foresight, there was no reason to suspect Roose Bolton of treachery. The man was too careful, too patient. He was a snake who never struck until his prey was utterly exposed. If House Stark remained steadfast, giving him no opening, Bolton might very well have lived out his days as a "loyal" vassal.

This left Aegor in an awkward predicament—he was trying to prove something that was true but had no tangible evidence to support it.

Unless one of the Bolton men imprisoned in Crown Hill testified against their lord, he had nothing. No letters. No proof.

He needed another angle.

"The design for dragon-killing scorpions was only recently refined by the Night’s Watch engineers. Such complex weapons cannot be mass-produced overnight, nor can men be trained to use them instantly. Even Stannis failed to bring down a single dragon when he had dozens of scorpions in King’s Landing," Aegor reasoned, his tone almost coaxing. "So how, exactly, did the North suddenly become capable of slaying dragons? Does that sound reasonable to you?"

He leaned forward slightly. "Myrcella, if you were a treacherous vassal scheming against your liege, what would be your greatest fear?"

Myrcella nearly flinched at hearing her true name spoken aloud. She wanted to tell him to stop, afraid someone might overhear. But she resisted, pushing down her discomfort and forcing herself to think.

She had always loved books and stories, but unlike most girls, she had no interest in knights and princesses. She preferred tales of power, politics, and war—the kind usually meant for boys.

Piecing together what Aegor had said, her mind quickly found the answer.

"My greatest fear would be House Stark and… you reaching a peaceful resolution, preventing me from seizing power in the ensuing chaos."

"Exactly," Aegor confirmed. "That’s why Bolton sent word to Winterfell claiming he had defeated the Queen and was marching south—to stall negotiations, to keep Robb from striking a deal with me. And if Bolton arrives at Winterfell beside Daenerys, as her sworn bannerman, what do you think will happen?"

Myrcella paled. "If the Queen takes Winterfell with Bolton at her side… she will see House Stark as an enemy." She swallowed. "He’ll make sure no Stark survives."

"Precisely." Aegor’s voice was grim. "I might be at war with them, but I would never allow Arya or her family to come to harm. But if Daenerys arrives with Bolton in command? Every last Stark—Robb, Sansa, even little Rickon—will be put to the sword."

Myrcella’s mind raced, but she hesitated. "Even if I tell Robb everything, he won’t believe me."

"I know," Aegor said. "That’s why I’m not asking you to tell him. I’m asking for your help."

"Help?" Myrcella tensed.

"Tonight, I will take Winterfell. And to minimize casualties, I need you to do one small thing."

Myrcella froze. She felt like a rabbit caught in a snare.

(Oh no… I came to warn him, and now I’m a conspirator in a coup!)