Chapter 38

Tyrion wasn’t wrong—Aegor couldn’t muster any joy. His earlier excitement at finally leaving the Wall had been doused by the deluge of tasks awaiting him. The weight of these responsibilities drained the humor and banter from his interactions. Walking back to his quarters alongside Tyrion, their conversation centered on planning his departure, and even his footsteps seemed heavier.

As they turned a corner, a hulking, rough-looking brother of the Night’s Watch carrying a large sack caught Aegor’s attention.

“Othor, what are you carrying?”

“Supplies. Benjen plans to head north tomorrow to search for Waymar Royce, wildlings, and whatever else might be out there—assuming any of it’s real.” The veteran ranger gave Aegor a once-over, his disdain evident. “Hmph. The famous ‘White Walker slayer’ turned supply officer. Off to King’s Landing to enjoy the good life, eh?”

“You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve been saddled with,” Aegor replied with a forced smile. Many brothers still doubted the existence of White Walkers, dismissing the warnings from three deserters as madness. Even within the Watch, skepticism abounded. But since Benjen had already confided in him, there was no point in hiding the truth. “Sure, it beats heading north to find White Walkers. Speaking of which, how’s the preparation of the weapons coming along?”

“Valyrian steel? Only the Lord Commander’s got one, and Benjen refused to borrow it. As for dragonglass, we’ve managed to make three spearheads and about a dozen arrowheads. If you weren’t lying about the number of Walkers, that should be enough.”

“I only saw five, but there’s no way there are just five in the world. They’re like lords and bannermen—spreading out in small groups beyond the Wall, picking off wildlings and taking their children to bolster their undead army. Once the wildlings are gone and their forces are strong enough, they’ll gather en masse to assault the Wall.”

Setting aside his worries about his own tasks, Aegor’s tone grew serious. Duty was duty. Even if he wasn’t accompanying the expedition, the success of his brothers’ mission mattered deeply. The survival of the Watch aligned with his personal interests—any major loss or failure could lead to his recall or worse, increase the burden of his assignments.

“Remember,” Aegor continued, “White Walkers aren’t mindless monsters. They’re intelligent magical beings. Killing one might have already alerted the rest. Even with dragonglass weapons, be cautious.”

Othor yawned. “You’re better off telling Benjen. I just do what I’m ordered.”

“I already have, but this is the kind of thing that can’t be overstated.” Aegor hesitated before adding, “And don’t forget—if anyone falls, burn the bodies. Fire works against wights, but it won’t kill a White Walker.”

“Got it. Not much sticks up here anyway. Anything else will just slip my mind,” Othor grumbled, waving dismissively as he carried on.
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“I’m not used to seeing you so... verbose,” Tyrion remarked with amusement. “Hearing you talk like that almost makes me believe in these White Walkers.”

Aegor merely offered a faint smile, unwilling to waste his energy convincing Tyrion of the danger. Regardless of personal beliefs, he was now a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch. Leveraging his knowledge and lies, he was seizing the chance to escape this harsh life.

Yet the expedition weighed on him. Benjen was leading seven elite rangers, including Will, north of the Wall. Every one of them was skilled, but without Valyrian steel, they were outmatched against enemies with superior strength, weapons, and magic. Even with dragonglass, their odds of survival were slim.

Aegor had narrowly avoided being part of this doomed mission. If Benjen originally planned for him and Will to guide the group, his absence increased the danger by one-ninth. If Will was chosen to replace him, then Aegor had effectively sent his tower mate and comrade to his death.

It wasn’t as though he and Will were close friends, but the thought of someone dying in his place made Aegor’s chest tighten. He let out a quiet sigh, forcing down the impulse to volunteer for the mission.
----


“What’s wrong?” Tyrion asked, noticing his companion’s sudden shift in mood.

“Nothing. Maybe I’m just an honest man at heart.” Aegor tried to lighten his tone. Tomorrow’s patrol would likely end in tragedy, but voicing his concerns would only seem like a curse. The events surrounding Bran’s fall had taught him that without status or authority, his efforts to intervene were futile. “I’m finally leaving, but I can’t help feeling a bit... nostalgic.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “If I recall, you were forced into this life.”

“Yes, but not by the Watch,” Aegor replied, shaking his head. “Once I joined, they treated me as an equal—food, shelter, even a small stipend. The conditions aren’t great, but it’s fair. Some nameless noble exiled me here, but the Watch didn’t mistreat me. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I do,” Tyrion said thoughtfully. “You don’t hate the Night’s Watch.”

Aegor nodded. Watching his former brothers prepare for the dangerous mission ahead, the weight of his assigned tasks seemed lighter in comparison.

For all its hardships, he was fortunate. By heading south, he was escaping Benjen’s doomed patrol and, likely, the Watch’s next catastrophic expedition. A few impossible tasks were nothing compared to the peril of facing White Walkers.

He had fed Jon Snow a speech about rising to challenges. Perhaps it was time to heed his own words.

"There’s nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it," he reminded himself. It was a cliché, but he clung to it nonetheless.

His days of coasting through life had ended. The Watch had pushed him out of his comfort zone, and now his future rested entirely in his hands. Could he juggle the roles of supply officer, recruiter, dragonglass overseer, and goodwill ambassador? He would have to try.

Aegor smiled faintly. "The world doesn’t hand out rewards to quitters."