Chapter 68

Tyrion’s enthusiasm for their new venture was boundless. By the time Aegor awoke from his dreams, dressed, and prepared to start the day’s work, Tyrion had already left with Morys to seek out the young man experimenting with grass-based papermaking outside the city.

Naturally, the Night’s Watchman felt no shame for sleeping in—he had worked late into the night, and despite waking later, he suspected Tyrion still had a few extra hours of rest on him.

As he ate breakfast in the inn’s hall, Aegor crossed paths with Yoren, who had risen late as well. The Wandering Crow seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the lack of commanding officers in King’s Landing. Watching Yoren’s carefree demeanor, Aegor couldn’t help but envy his companion—he himself had been swamped with tasks for weeks.

“Yoren, I have a question for you.” Aegor spoke up while biting into his breakfast. “Didn’t you recently visit the dungeons to recruit some new blood?”

“That’s right. Why?” Yoren sat down opposite him, ordering his own meal. “Not many would trade the black cells for the black cloak, unless they had no other hope.”

“Was one of them named Jaqen H’ghar?”

Yoren paused, scratching his chin. “Aye, I think there was. How’d you know that?”

“Just something I heard,” Aegor replied, keeping his tone casual. “Do you know why he ended up in the dungeons?”

“Of course. You can’t recruit a man without asking questions about his past.” Yoren shrugged. “The other two in his cell were madmen—murderers who scared even me. But Jaqen? He was different. Polite. Got caught stealing from the royal library, of all places.”

“Stealing books?” Aegor’s interest was piqued. This was a detail he didn’t recall from the original plot. What sort of book could prompt Braavos to send one of their finest assassins and spies? He pressed Yoren for more details.

“Don’t ask me—I can’t read!” Yoren laughed.

Aegor shook his head with a smile but couldn’t suppress his curiosity. “Still, stealing books doesn’t seem like a crime deserving of the black cells. Why was he locked up with murderers?”

“You know where the royal library is, don’t you? It’s in the Red Keep, right between the White Sword Tower and the Tower of the Hand. He wasn’t just charged with theft; they nailed him for ‘unlawfully entering the king’s residence with ill intent.’” Yoren smirked. “And his capture? That was a story in itself. He hid in the castle kitchen during the day and snuck into the library at night. But no one had borrowed books for weeks, and a thin layer of dust settled on the shelves. His footprints and handprints left a trail, which a cleaning servant noticed. They reported it to the Kingsguard, and Ser Barristan himself went to investigate that night. Sure enough, they caught Jaqen in the act. No windows in the library—he had nowhere to run.”

Ah, that made sense. Jaqen H’ghar might be one of the most formidable assassins in the world, but even he couldn’t take on two Kingsguard—especially when one of them was Ser Barristan Selmy, the finest swordsman in Westeros. This wasn’t some grand scheme to get sent to the Wall, then. But what had Jaqen been searching for in the royal library for several days?
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Yoren’s meal arrived, and the old Crow gleefully swatted at the serving girl, sending her running with a shriek before biting into his bread. “Here’s the kicker,” he added with a full mouth. “Jon Arryn hadn’t been dead long. Officially, it was illness. But an unknown figure sneaking within a hundred feet of the Hand’s Tower? Suspicious as hell. They sentenced him to death—called it justice for the late Hand.”

“Well, that’s... convenient,” Aegor muttered.

“Convenient?” Yoren snorted. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Who’s to say this Jaqen fellow—or someone working with him—didn’t poison Jon Arryn? The guy looks like a harmless scholar, but even those two lunatics in his cell were scared of him. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe he’s just a great fighter.”

“Maybe. Or maybe there’s more to him.” Yoren shrugged. “But it’s just speculation. Not that it matters—if he did kill the Hand, well, the Night’s Watch has taken in king-slayers before.”

Aegor chuckled to himself. As skilled as Jaqen was, even the greatest assassins could find themselves unlucky. Still, what had he been searching for in that library?
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After finishing his breakfast, Aegor made his way to the Night’s Watch office. The place was still barren, with no clients in sight. For now, his title as Chief Logistics Officer was mostly ornamental. With no subordinates, Aegor had to handle every detail himself, which was manageable for now but would quickly become unsustainable if his workload increased.

What he really needed was a capable and loyal aide—someone like Bronn for competence or Podrick Payne for loyalty. Preferably both. But it was too early to rush such matters.

After posting the two notices Tyrion had handwritten outside the office, Aegor welcomed his first visitor of the day: Arya Stark.
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A Stark guard accompanied Arya to the office. The girl had tied her hair into a neat ponytail and was dressed in a well-fitted gown from Winterfell. Though she wasn’t strikingly beautiful, her effort to look presentable earned a rare smile from the usually preoccupied Aegor.

At least she took his words seriously.

“You can wait outside,” Arya instructed the guard, her eyes brimming with excitement as she turned to Aegor. “I did as you said. When do we start?”

“Have a seat—did your father approve of this visit?” Aegor politely inquired, directing the question to the guard. Upon receiving confirmation, he nodded at Arya. “Alright, come with me.”

Arya hugged the bundle in her arms—a long object wrapped in cloth—and eagerly followed Aegor into the back room.

The office had a small courtyard, a rare luxury in this part of the city. Aegor had initially planned to use it for a garden or latrine, but now it seemed perfect for training.

Picking up a practice sword from the corner, Aegor turned to hand it to Arya, only to see her proudly holding out the slim blade Jon had given her.

“A pretty little sword, like a needle for sewing.”

“How did you know it’s called Needle?” Arya’s eyes lit up in surprise.

I know who forged it and who gave it to you, too, Aegor thought but merely smiled. “We seem to share a sense of aesthetics. Now put it away.”

“Can’t I practice with this?” she asked, frowning.

“This is a real blade. Do you plan to kill me or get yourself killed?” Aegor shook his head. “Come on, didn’t you promise to listen to your teacher?”

“But I snuck it here! If I take it back, my father might find it!”

“I’ll keep it safe for you,” Aegor offered. “When you’ve improved enough, we can spar with real swords.”

Arya hesitated but eventually agreed. “Alright. This way, I won’t have to worry about Septa Mordane going through my things!”

“Good. Now, take this,” Aegor said, handing her a practice sword.

With that, their first lesson began.