Chapter 54

Perhaps sensing the murderous intent emanating from the man, or realizing her own overstep, the casual air on Melisandre’s face faded. She locked eyes with Aegor for a long moment before a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Very well.”

The Night’s Watch was a key force against the Lord of Light’s eternal foe, and Aegor was the first black-clad brother she had encountered since coming to Westeros. Despite her disdain for mortals, she ultimately decided it was unwise to immediately alienate a potential ally of significant importance.

Turning away, the red priestess led Aegor to a pair of chairs in the corner of the room and gestured for him to sit. “Ask your questions. As long as my lord permits me to answer, I will hide nothing.”

Aegor strode to one of the chairs without hesitation, his tone sharp. “You said there’s an aura of an otherworldly god on me. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“To be precise, there are two auras,” Melisandre replied evenly. “One is faint but deeply malicious. The other is far stronger, yet without malice. Frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“Why would I have these two auras on me?” Aegor asked skeptically. He was a materialist at heart, but this wasn’t the world he came from, and the woman before him had already demonstrated powers beyond his understanding. Even if he didn’t believe in divine forces, he decided it was safer to tread cautiously. “I’m just an ordinary soldier of the Night’s Watch.”

“No, you’re not,” Melisandre said bluntly. “I saw in the flames how you fought against a servant of the Cold God. You were brave. It’s rare for a mortal to kill such a magical creature. From the moment you struck it down, you ceased being an ordinary member of the Watch—you became someone who caught the Cold God’s attention.” She waved dismissively at the guards, signaling them to leave and shut the door. “The trace of evil on you is the residue of that battle. From now on, whenever you’re within the Cold God’s reach, you’ll be noticed far more quickly than any of your comrades.”

Aegor’s heart sank. He was unnerved by her ability to glimpse his past from just a few drops of blood, but her words were even more alarming. He had somehow been marked by the Cold God? And who—or what—was this “Cold God”? Was it just another name for the Night King? Or was she bluffing, using information she had gleaned from Jeor Mormont or Eddard Stark?

“What about the other ‘powerful’ aura you mentioned?” Aegor asked carefully, his mind racing. “I did kill a White Walker, but that was the strongest foe I’ve faced in my life, and I only survived because it underestimated me. If I was only marked with a faint trace of evil from that battle, what kind of monster would leave behind the stronger aura you sensed?”

“That’s what puzzles me,” Melisandre admitted. “The being that left the stronger trace is far weaker than the Cold God, yet its mark on you is far clearer. The only explanation is that you directly confronted or clashed with it. But for a mortal like you to walk away from such an encounter unharmed is nearly impossible. Stranger still, when I gazed into the flames, I saw not a battle but a young boy falling from a great height. If you want me to explain further, you’ll first need to tell me what happened.”

“You’re the one who claims to see everything in the fire,” Aegor retorted. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Seeing the past through flames isn’t as miraculous as you imagine,” Melisandre said, seating herself opposite him after he sat. “I cast your blood into the fire and glimpsed fragmented visions. The weaker aura—the trace of evil—showed me a brief glimpse of your fight with the Cold God’s servant, what you call a White Walker. I saw you drive dragonglass into its gut, though the vision ended there. The stronger aura, however, revealed more. I saw you talking to a boy on a rooftop, then saw him fall. I couldn’t hear your conversation, nor do I understand how it connects to a god. That’s why I need your explanation. What exactly were you doing then?”

“I was trying to stop…” Aegor began, furrowing his brow. Mid-sentence, a realization struck him, and one word came to mind: Greenseer.

A storm of thoughts churned in Aegor’s mind. His failed attempt to stop Bran from falling seemed trivial, but it taught him an important lesson: interfering with the storyline required more subtlety; brute force wouldn’t work.

If there was one thing Aegor prided himself on, it was his ability to learn from failure. But after hearing Melisandre’s words, he began to wonder if his inability to change Bran’s fate wasn’t due to poor planning or execution, but because he had unknowingly opposed a higher power.

It was like the stock market—no matter how skilled a retail investor was, they couldn’t outmaneuver the hedge funds. And even the hedge funds, with their immense resources, wouldn’t dare challenge a state-backed fund. If Bran’s fall wasn’t a coincidence but the deliberate act of some entity or god, was Aegor merely a pawn in its scheme?

The only suspect that came to mind was the Greenseer. But why would the Greenseer insist on Bran’s fall? Was it necessary for the boy to be crippled so he could venture beyond the Wall and inherit the Greenseer’s mantle? And what about that day’s events? Jaime and Cersei Lannister had chosen to be reckless enough to commit treason in Winterfell’s tower while Bran just happened to climb up to spy on them. Was it all orchestrated by the Greenseer?

Melisandre watched as Aegor hesitated, his expression shifting repeatedly as he sank into deep thought. Mistaking his silence for reluctance to speak, a shadow crossed her enchanting face. “My Night’s Watch friend, I’ve been quite rude. I don’t believe I’ve even asked your name.”

“You may call me Aegor.”

“Well then, Aegor, if you’ve discovered anything, it would be wise to share it.”

Melisandre, like anyone, had her own biases. Unlike the skeptical commonfolk of Westeros who dismissed the White Walkers as myths, she believed the Night’s Watch to be unyielding warriors holding the front line against the darkness. With that impression in mind, she decided to adopt a softer approach. “The two gods that left their marks on you hold little power in the South, but they remain beings that could crush you with a single finger. Only the Lord of Light can protect you now.”

Aegor hesitated. He didn’t fully understand what “gods” in this world truly were—whether they were omnipotent beings of myth or simply powerful entities with mastery over magic. But one thing was certain: the Lord of Light, or R’hllor, was undeniably real and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension.

If he had to align himself with a deity, R’hllor seemed like a strong choice. But Aegor had too many secrets. In a world as treacherous and full of inexplicable forces as this one, blind trust in any god was dangerous. What if the Lord of Light coveted the knowledge in his mind or sought to exploit his understanding of worlds beyond this one?

He could barely contend with a single priestess, let alone a god. Entrusting his life to an unknown force without understanding its intentions was sheer folly.

Feigning a perplexed expression, Aegor carefully crafted his response. “It was during King Robert’s visit to the North. I was accompanying First Ranger Benjen Stark to report on the wildlings and White Walkers beyond the Wall. That day, I was training alone in a corner of Winterfell when I saw Lord Stark’s second son climbing a tower. Fearing he might fall, I called out to warn him… but the boy wouldn’t listen. In the end, he was startled by someone leaning out of the tower and fell. But no matter how I look at it, it was just an accident. If I offended some god in the process, then that god must have wanted Bran to fall or be crippled. But why? What would be the point?”

...