Chapter 81

Before crossing over, Aegor often wondered: how did a family like the Starks, known for producing so many seemingly foolish individuals in the story, manage to stand tall in the North for thousands of years? How had they won against rival claimants to the title of "Kings in the North"?

Now, as an outsider living in this world, Aegor was forced to spend time deeply examining the question. Slowly, he realized that Eddard Stark's ineptitude in the "game of thrones" wasn't simply a flaw in his character or upbringing, but rather a product of the position he had been thrust into—something that had been doomed from the start.

Eddard Stark wasn’t raised to be a ruler in the cutthroat world of Westerosi politics; he was raised as a second son.
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In this era, to prevent internal family strife, many great houses trained their heirs and younger siblings differently. The heir was taught not only to lead and govern but also to know when to uphold honor and when to sacrifice it to protect the family’s interests. In contrast, the younger children only needed to be brave, honest, and loyal—qualities befitting a sibling who would support the heir, not take charge themselves.

In simple terms, the firstborn had to be cunning, while the younger siblings were better off naïve; too much competence in the latter would only lead to familial discord.

Eddard Stark had been given the second treatment.

At the age of eight, he was sent to the Eyrie to be raised as Jon Arryn’s ward, ensuring the North’s alliance with the Vale. His foster father, the upright and honorable Lord Arryn, raised Ned to be a paragon of responsibility and virtue—just like Eddard’s younger brother Benjen Stark, who had grown up to be the Night’s Watch’s dutiful First Ranger. Eddard was, in essence, molded into the perfect second son.

This was fine in and of itself—until his elder brother, Brandon Stark, was executed by the Mad King.
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Losing a firstborn heir was not uncommon in this chaotic and backward world. Normally, a family patriarch would quickly designate another child as the heir and reeducate them accordingly. But Eddard’s father, Rickard Stark, was also killed on the same day as Brandon.

Thus, Eddard, a "ward and second son" with no training as a ruler, was suddenly thrust into the role of Warden of the North and head of House Stark. Such situations were rare enough on their own. What made it worse was that the tragedy sparked the Rebellion, and war broke out immediately—leaving Eddard no time to receive any sort of crash course in leadership.

Lacking experience or wisdom in governance, Eddard was fortunate to have allies: his wife’s family, led by Hoster Tully, and his foster father Jon Arryn provided guidance during the chaotic rebellion. Despite some stumbles, they, along with Robert Baratheon, managed to overthrow the Targaryens and claim victory.

By the war’s end, Eddard Stark had become a celebrated war hero and the undisputed head of House Stark. With no one left who could guide or teach him, he began ruling the North based on the virtues instilled in him during his upbringing—honor, loyalty, and justice.
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Luckily for Eddard, the North’s relative isolation and lack of political intrigue meant his "second-son" approach to leadership didn’t cause significant problems. Not only did he uphold his virtues, but he also passed them on to his children, raising them to be "ideal younger siblings" rather than heirs.

The consequences of this became glaringly apparent when his eldest son, Robb Stark, became King in the North. Robb, with no training in politics, committed one blunder after another: offending the Freys and breaking his betrothal, executing Rickard Karstark, and walking into the trap of the Red Wedding. These mistakes—entirely avoidable for a politically savvy ruler—led directly to his downfall.

If Brandon Stark had lived to raise his children, would they have made such glaring mistakes? Highly unlikely.

So, calling Eddard or his descendants foolish or naïve misses the point. It’s not that they were inherently incapable—it’s that Eddard was never meant to lead. He was a product of a system that groomed him for a different role, and fate, compounded by Robert Baratheon’s poor judgment, placed him in the wrong position.

In the end, the real culprit was the "second-son" education Eddard had received.
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For Aegor, the challenge now was figuring out how to preserve this honorable, stubborn, and tragically misplaced man. Not because Aegor admired Eddard’s virtues—he didn’t care about honor or justice—but because keeping Eddard in his current role as Hand of the King served Aegor’s interests perfectly. As a steadfast supporter of the Night’s Watch, and someone who was remarkably easy to manipulate, Eddard Stark was an asset Aegor couldn’t afford to lose.
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"That’s settled, then! Tomorrow, no excuses!" Arya’s delighted voice pulled Aegor from his thoughts.

"Of course," Aegor replied, smiling. "The Night’s Watch keeps its word."

Watching Arya skip off happily, Aegor let out a long sigh. Supporting a lost cause like Eddard Stark was exhausting, but at least his first attempt to interfere with Littlefinger’s plans had succeeded. With the chaos temporarily under control, Aegor finally had some breathing room.

Time to start preparing my next move.

That night, Aegor resolved to draft his letter to Commander Jeor Mormont. He needed to convince the Old Bear to cancel or at least delay the planned ranging beyond the Wall. If possible, he would even propose capturing a few wights and sending them south to King’s Landing—a shocking demonstration to force these "civilized" lords to confront the reality of the undead threat.

As he and Tyrion returned to the inn, Aegor glanced back at Jaqen, who was dutifully "guarding" the office. The man was as inscrutable as ever.

Would Jaqen simply leave when his mission was complete, or would he continue lurking in the shadows, stirring up trouble? Either way, Aegor couldn’t afford to let his guard down.
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"Close up shop. Let’s go," Aegor called to Jaqen.

With a slight smile, Aegor decided to play along with the assassin’s act for now. He might not match Jaqen in combat, but when it came to playing the long game, Aegor had learned a trick or two.

"Don’t go to bed too early," he added, turning to Tyrion. "I might need your help drafting a letter tonight."

"You know," Tyrion retorted, "for a man so keen on borrowing, you’d think you’d have mastered writing by now. Pimping for you is hard enough without doing all your clerical work too."

"Hard work builds character," Aegor replied with a grin.
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The letter to Mormont would be tricky. Jeor Mormont, former Lord of Bear Island and current Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, was not an easy man to persuade. His decision to launch a ranging beyond the Wall was rooted in sound reasoning; the Watch needed to investigate the growing threat of the Others.

But Mormont didn’t yet grasp just how dangerous the Others truly were. Aegor couldn’t use logic to dissuade him because, from a purely strategic standpoint, the ranging made sense. To succeed, Aegor would need to take an unconventional approach—one that combined shock, persuasion, and a bit of manipulation.

As they reached the inn, Aegor’s mind churned with possibilities. By the time he sat down to write, he had a plan: he would begin the letter with a deliberately provocative accusation to grab Mormont’s attention, then follow it with a balanced mix of appeals to reason and emotional arguments.

It was time to see if words could succeed where logic alone could not.