Chapter 225

Aegor couldn’t reach a definitive conclusion based on observation alone, but he had both a sharp mind and a sharp tongue—he could ask questions and judge for himself.

“Why did Ser Rodrik execute the Bolton bastard but let this foul-smelling man live?” he asked.

The lead soldier among the Northerners replied, “Ser Rodrik wanted this man to testify to Lord Bolton about his bastard’s crimes when he returned to the North, hoping the Boltons would relinquish their claim to the Hornwood lands voluntarily.”

Aegor nodded in understanding. “And why did they end up sending him to the Night’s Watch?”

“Ah… Lord Bolton sent a letter to Winterfell a few days ago, officially severing ties with his bastard son. He stated that Ramsay Snow’s actions did not represent the Bolton family, and he renounced any claim to the Hornwood lands.”

Another soldier chimed in, eager to share gossip. “I’ve heard the contents of the letter—it’s stuck in my head: ‘The blood of a bastard is a source of endless chaos. Ramsay’s nature is deceitful, greedy, and cruel. I sever all ties with him. If he lives, neither my wife nor the legitimate heir she carries will know peace.’”

“Decisive. Roose Bolton is a ruthless man,” Yam remarked, clearly impressed. “It’s striking how differently Northerners treat their bastards—Stark and Bolton couldn’t be further apart.”

The comparison to Jon Snow was evident, and everyone present caught the subtext. The soldiers nodded in agreement, sharing a moment of camaraderie.

But Aegor’s suspicions only deepened. He turned to the prisoner. “This man reeks so badly. If he joins the Night’s Watch, I might never want to step foot in Castle Black again.”

“If my lord can’t stand the smell, I’ll wash immediately,” the man—called Reek—offered submissively.

But no amount of washing could remove the stench clinging to Reek’s very being. Aegor probed further. “The Night’s Watch is already chaotic enough. What use would we have for someone like you?”

“My lord, all the terrible things I did were under the bastard’s orders!” Reek cried. “I can read and write, and I’m skilled at many tasks. The Night’s Watch needs someone like me!”

Aegor narrowed his eyes. Reek? Literate? The real Reek could neither read nor write. These words solidified Aegor’s suspicions—this man was Ramsay Snow, the infamous “Little Bastard” of the Dreadfort.

Another villain. Worse than Janos Slynt, Ramsay was a depraved sadist. Aegor had fought to expose the threat of the White Walkers, uniting the Seven Kingdoms against a common enemy, only for them to respond by dumping their criminals and scum on the Night’s Watch.

Anger welled within him, but Aegor forced it down. His grand plan was only beginning. He bore the responsibility of protecting the North and the Seven Kingdoms, as well as the future of his followers and the Night’s Watch industries. He couldn’t waste time playing cat-and-mouse games with villains like Ramsay, nor could he risk exposing himself to unnecessary danger.

...

“What will happen if I refuse to let this man join the Night’s Watch? How would Ser Rodrik or Winterfell deal with him?” Aegor asked.

The soldier shrugged. “I’m no man of Winterfell, and I don’t know Ser Rodrik well, but I’d guess they’d hang him or cut off his head.”

“My lord?” Reek stammered in fear, realizing what Aegor was implying. “I’ll do anything! I swear loyalty to the Night’s Watch!”

Aegor shook his head. Sending Ramsay back to Winterfell might be the safest option, but too many variables could arise. What if Mormont overruled him and brought Ramsay back to Castle Black? What if the man escaped along the way? Aegor decided not to take any risks. “There’s no need to waste time sending him back. Find a place and hang him.”

“My lord! Why? I’ve done nothing wrong!” Reek cried, panicking at how quickly the situation had turned against him.

“Do it now,” Aegor commanded.

“Mercy, my lord! I didn’t do those things!” Ramsay—or Reek—broke free from the soldiers holding him and stumbled toward Aegor. Whether he intended to attack or beg was unclear. He didn’t get far—a soldier swept his spear across the man’s legs, sending him sprawling to the ground. As Ramsay tried to rise, the butt of the spear smashed into his face, shattering his teeth and leaving his mouth a bloody ruin.

The soldiers looked to Aegor. “But, my lord, there’s no gallows here.”

“Then find a tree outside the walls or set up a post. Handle it yourselves. Don’t ask me again.”

Aegor wasn’t entirely certain this man was Ramsay Snow, nor could he prove that Ramsay would cause trouble in the Night’s Watch. But he had made peace with his decision. For the sake of his plans, his followers, and his friends, eliminating a potential threat was a price he was willing to pay.

...

“My lord, wasn’t that a bit extreme?” Yam asked as the soldiers dragged the bloody, screaming man away. “What if Castle Black or Winterfell questions this?”

Aegor sighed. Mormont would likely be displeased, perhaps summon him for a reprimand or issue a reminder not to reject new recruits. Winterfell might feel slighted, but given Aegor’s past actions—saving Bran and Arya Stark—they wouldn’t push the matter too far. And Roose Bolton? He had publicly disowned Ramsay. Why would he retaliate over the execution of a disowned servant?

“Let’s not complicate things. If anyone asks, tell them it was my decision and take the blame off yourselves,” Aegor said. “In fact, perhaps I should have Mormont issue a decree: the Night’s Watch will no longer accept heinous criminals. If things continue like this, we’ll collapse under the weight of so many scoundrels.”

After touring the near-complete warehouses of New Crown Town, Aegor stopped at the gates. Ramsay—or Reek—had already been hanged from a sturdy oak just outside. The body swayed gently in the wind. Aegor stared at it for a long moment, feeling a strange melancholy.

This was a harsh, cold, and unforgiving world. There were no “main characters” or “supporting roles.” Everyone was just a mortal caught in the storm.

Even someone as infamous as Ramsay Snow could meet such an unceremonious end. Aegor thought of Gregor Clegane—once so prominent in the original story, but here, he had been executed by Tywin Lannister to placate Dorne, his death entirely off-screen. And Ramsay, cunning and cruel, had fallen into Aegor’s hands and met a swift, unremarkable fate.

Perhaps what Aegor had just done was called “decisiveness.” Every great figure in history lauded for this trait must have had moments like this—moments where they chose to act ruthlessly to avoid future regret.

Aegor turned to Yam. “Take the body down tomorrow. Burn it. Also, I have more tasks for you.”

He outlined his plans: build a rookery atop the island tower to improve communication with the outside world. Once the settlement was more stable, Yam was to travel south to negotiate food purchases from Northern lords. “Make it clear: we are buying supplies, not asking for charity. I understand it’s autumn and time to stockpile grain, but remind them the Night’s Watch protects the North. Ask them not to raise prices too high.”

“Understood, my lord. Anything else?”

“Yes. Take 100 gold dragons with you. Wherever you go, exchange for smaller denominations—silver stags, copper stars, even pennies. If we’re going to teach the clansmen to use money, we’ll need more than just gold coins.”

With final instructions given, Aegor added, “I’ll take fifty of the men Robb sent me. The rest will stay here with you. Be careful.”