Chapter 18

"Fear," Aegor concluded, "is the reason for the greatest fortifications and standing armies. Only fear could have driven the First Men, thousands of years ago, to build such a towering Wall and maintain an army of thousands—an army that neither labors nor answers to anyone. There’s no other reasonable explanation."

"Alright, you make a good point," Tyrion admitted candidly. "But forgive me for being stubborn—I won't believe in mythical creatures until I see them with my own eyes."

"Disbelief is your right," Aegor replied with a shrug. Convincing Tyrion of the White Walkers’ existence wasn’t his goal. "To be honest, I wouldn’t have believed it myself—until I fought one with my own hands and watched it shatter my steel sword like glass with its ice blade."

"Wait a moment," Tyrion said, his curiosity piqued. "At first, I thought you were some sort of steward in the Night’s Watch. Now you're telling me you were out there fighting White Walkers? What exactly are you—a steward or a ranger?"

"A ranger," Aegor sighed, turning to Jon. "Young man, do you want to know why your uncle doesn’t want you joining the Night’s Watch? Come with me, and I’ll show you what the White Walkers did to my sword. You’ll quickly understand that your prized swordsmanship and skills are useless against an enemy like that."

Jon didn’t hesitate, immediately following Aegor. After a moment’s pause, Tyrion’s curiosity got the better of him, and he trailed after them with his short legs. Aegor exhaled in relief—his goal wasn’t just to show Jon the shattered sword but to use this opportunity to get closer to Tyrion and set up a more significant conversation.

The two followed Aegor through the halls of Winterfell until they reached the modest room Benjen Stark had arranged for him. Inside, Aegor retrieved the evidence he had brought from Castle Black—the shattered swords he had shown to Eddard Stark to plead for aid—and laid them out on a small wooden table.

"The most damaged sword, the one belonging to Waymar Royce, was left with Benjen Stark to be passed to the Royce family as a relic of their son’s sacrifice," Aegor explained as he displayed the items. "What you see here are the swords that belonged to me and my companion Gared."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "I heard Waymar Royce went missing on patrol and was presumed dead?"

"I watched him fight a White Walker and die," Aegor lied smoothly. In truth, he hadn’t seen it directly, but Waymar’s death was a certainty. There was no way Tyrion or Jon could disprove his account. "My companion and I would’ve shared his fate if not for this—" he held up the dark, crude dagger—"a dragonglass blade I made myself. If you’re interested, you can try piecing these swords back together. Not everyone gets the chance to see steel shattered by ice magic."

Jon’s youthful curiosity was evident as he immediately began attempting to assemble the fragments. Tyrion, on the other hand, had little interest in weapons—especially broken ones. He wandered around the room, hands clasped behind his back, before returning to Aegor.

"What’s your full name, Aegor?" Tyrion asked suddenly.

Aegor smiled inwardly. He had been waiting for this opening. "I don’t really have one. Aegor is just a name a few Westerosi villagers gave me. I don’t even know what it means."

"Not a Westerosi name, then? You don’t look like one of us either," Tyrion observed. "Where are you from? Essos? The Summer Isles? Surely not Sothoryos?"

"None of those," Aegor replied. "I come from what you call the Sunset Sea. Beyond it lies a land we call Caina—our name for the central landmass. For thousands of years, my people believed our continent was the center of the world, surrounded by endless oceans with little more than scattered islands beyond."

"Caina?" Tyrion repeated, intrigued. What had begun as idle curiosity now held his full attention. "I’ve never heard of such a place. How did you end up in Westeros?"

"That’s a long story," Aegor said, pleased that his plan was working. "In my homeland, scholars conducted astronomical observations and calculations, concluding that the world is a sphere. They theorized that if a ship sailed in one direction, it would eventually circle the world and return to its starting point. To prove this, our rulers funded expeditions in all directions, constructing ocean-going steel ships to explore the unknown."

"Steel ships? That’s impossible," Tyrion scoffed.

"Would an iron bowl sink in water?" Aegor countered. "Steel ships float for the same reason. It’s about displacement, not material. Our technology far surpasses Westeros. If you’re interested, I can explain more later."

Tyrion mulled this over, his sharp mind quickly grasping the concept. "But how do you build a steel ship large enough to carry people? One leak, and it would sink faster than a stone."

"We use a technique called welding, which fuses steel plates together into a seamless whole," Aegor explained. "I’m not a craftsman, so I can’t give you the details."

"Fascinating," Tyrion admitted. "Continue your story."

"As an adventurer with some reputation, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. After investing heavily in the expedition, I secured a berth on one of the eastbound ships. Months later, we sighted Westeros."

"But I’ve never heard of foreigners landing from the Sunset Sea. What happened to your ship?"

"It sank," Aegor said grimly. "We found land but were caught in a storm while searching for a landing point. Our steel ship was designed to withstand storms, but it struck a hidden reef. Steel ships, while strong, sink like stones once breached. I was lucky to survive, clinging to debris until I washed ashore."

"And then?" Tyrion pressed. "Surely the Northmen didn’t drag you to the Wall as soon as you landed?"

"I was starving after days adrift," Aegor admitted with a sigh. "When I finally reached a village, I couldn’t communicate. The locals wouldn’t help me, so I... took matters into my own hands. Let’s just say I wasn’t very good at stealing. They caught me, and the choice was simple: lose a hand or take the black."

Tyrion stared, wide-eyed. "You, the first known man from Caina to reach Westeros, were press-ganged into the Night’s Watch?"

"Pretty much," Aegor said with a wry smile.

"This is the most ridiculous story I’ve heard all year," Tyrion said, his expression a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "Frankly, I’d sooner believe in White Walkers."