Chapter 16

The hall quickly fell silent as all eyes turned to the entrance. Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, escorted the queen into the room.

Before Aegor's transmigration, he’d heard a theory about Game of Thrones: due to budget constraints, the production prioritized casting actors based on their acting skills rather than their looks or age. As a result, many characters appeared older or less attractive than their book descriptions, while some minor characters dazzled with beauty.

The queen before him seemed to confirm this theory. She was much younger and more beautiful than the screen version, lacking the sinister, villainous aura that had made her intentions so obvious. Her golden hair shimmered beneath a gem-encrusted crown, the emeralds perfectly complementing her dazzling green eyes. Her face carried an innocent, radiant smile as she walked gracefully into the hall, not sparing a glance at the Warden of the North beside her. If Aegor hadn’t known her true nature, it would’ve been impossible to imagine the venom that lay beneath such beauty.

Next came the king, arm in arm with Lady Catelyn Stark. He was every bit the red-faced, bearded figure Aegor remembered, though taller and more imposing—a stocky man gone to seed rather than the short, round drunkard from the show.

Following them was a procession of Stark and Baratheon children, each slightly different from their screen counterparts. Aegor didn’t bother sorting out who was who, too preoccupied with taking advantage of the distraction to indulge in the feast. He tore into the fish and meat on the table with gusto—something he hadn’t done in ages, especially after sacrificing so much for the obsidian dagger that had saved his life.

The Lannister brothers entered next, trailing the children. Jaime Lannister was every inch the golden knight, tall, handsome, and exuding confidence. Dressed in a scarlet silk tunic, polished black boots, and a flowing black cloak, he looked more kingly than the king himself. Beside him was the unmistakable figure of Tyrion Lannister. Unlike Jaime’s grandeur, Tyrion’s appearance needed no introduction—his stature alone marked him as the infamous Lannister dwarf.

This might be the most worthwhile person to befriend in the entire story, Aegor thought as he watched Tyrion pass by. With his cunning and influence, Tyrion could prove invaluable in finding a way out of the Night’s Watch without having to flee. But how could a lowly ranger strike up a conversation with a Lannister?

Lost in thought, Aegor watched the brothers ascend to the high table reserved for guests of honor.

Finally, the procession concluded with Benjen Stark and Theon Greyjoy, the “ward” of House Stark. After everyone had taken their seats, glasses were raised in toasts, blessings were exchanged, and the feast officially began.
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Jon Snow and the squires at Aegor’s table pressed him for more stories of his adventures beyond the Wall. But Aegor had other things on his mind. “I’ve told enough of my stories,” he deflected with a smile. “Why don’t you tell me yours? I’ve never been south of the Neck—what’s life like in the South?”

It was easy to relax among these young, simple-minded boys. A few drinks later, they were all chatting like old friends. One of the squires, emboldened by the wine, launched into a tale of his knight’s exploits. Beneath the table, Jon’s direwolf, Ghost, gnawed contentedly on the scraps tossed his way, while Jon himself listened intently to the stories of war, hunting, and romance.

Aegor, however, was distracted. His thoughts drifted far from the table, to schemes and plans that might change his fate.

“Jon, how are you enjoying the evening?” a familiar voice asked suddenly. Benjen Stark had left his place at the high table and come over to their corner.

“I’m having a great time,” Jon said brightly. “Uncle, Aegor told us the Watch is short on men. When you leave, take me with you.”

The squire in the middle of an exaggerated tale fell silent, making room for Benjen to sit. He accepted a wine cup from Jon, took a sip, and said, “Summerwine. Nothing sweeter. How much have you had tonight?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Benjen set the cup down, glanced toward Eddard Stark at the high table, then turned back to his nephew. “I’ll be honest, the Wall could use someone like you.”

Jon’s face lit up with pride. “I’m better with a sword than anyone I’ve trained with. Even Hullen says my riding is among the best in Winterfell.”

“Impressive.”

“Then you’ll take me?” Jon asked eagerly. “If you speak to my father, he’ll agree—I know he will.”

Benjen glanced at Aegor, who shrugged noncommittally. Then the First Ranger looked back at his nephew and said gently, “Jon, the Wall is a harsh place for a boy.”

“I’m nearly a man,” Jon protested. “Next nameday, I’ll be fifteen. And Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster.”

“That’s true.” Benjen smiled faintly, refilled his wine, and took another sip.

“Daeron Targaryen conquered Dorne when he was only fourteen,” Jon added, trying to bolster his case.

“And it took an entire summer to do so,” Benjen replied. “That young king lost ten thousand men taking Dorne and another fifty thousand holding it. Someone should’ve told him war isn’t a game.” He paused, drinking again. “And Daeron Targaryen died at eighteen. Did you forget that part?”

“I didn’t forget,” Jon said, his face flushing—whether from wine or frustration, it wasn’t clear. He straightened his back and declared, “I’ve made up my mind. I’m joining the Night’s Watch.”

The table fell silent. While the squires had been enthralled by Aegor’s tales of patrolling beyond the Wall, none of them had seriously considered joining the Watch themselves. They were all legitimate heirs or sons of knights and merchants, bound to lives of relative comfort—unlike Jon, who grew more isolated from his siblings with each passing year.

Benjen smiled faintly. “Jon, you don’t understand. The Night’s Watch is a brotherhood of sacrifice. We have no families, no children. We take duty as our wife and honor as our mistress.”

“Bastards can have honor too,” Jon said stubbornly. “I’m ready to swear my vows.”

“You’re only fourteen,” Benjen replied calmly. “Until you’ve known a woman, you can’t possibly understand what you’re giving up.”

“I don’t care about women!” Jon snapped, his voice rising.

Benjen’s smile turned knowing. “If you truly understood, you might care more than you think. When you’ve fathered a few bastards of your own, come find me, and we’ll talk.”

“I will never father a bastard!” Jon’s voice shook with anger, his face red with humiliation. “Never!”

The entire table fell silent, as did the neighboring tables. Jon stood abruptly, his chest heaving with emotion.

“Excuse me,” he said stiffly before storming off, nearly colliding with a serving girl on his way out. He shoved aside the outstretched hand of a well-meaning squire trying to comfort him and disappeared into the night, Ghost trailing at his heels.
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Aegor nearly groaned aloud. Here I am, trying to escape the Night’s Watch, and this kid is doing everything he can to join. Benjen’s warnings had been clear enough, but Jon had taken them as insults.

No wonder they call you Jon Snow… because you truly know nothing. Aegor smirked to himself, but the humor was fleeting. Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he stood.

“I’ll go check on him.”

“Let him cool off,” Benjen said, waving a hand dismissively. Then, after a moment of thought, he added, “Actually, go ahead. Make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish in his state.”
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