Chapter 15

Drying off the beads of water on his skin, Aegor picked up the clothes delivered by the servants: a black robe in the signature color of the Night’s Watch, but crafted from velvet and clearly not standard issue. The texture and workmanship were leagues apart from the coarse uniforms worn by the rank and file. Sliding it over his shoulders, the fabric’s smoothness against his skin almost made him groan with delight. In Westeros, only the Night’s Watch donned all-black attire, but judging by the fit, it was clearly not made specifically for him—it must have been a spare set belonging to Benjen Stark.

Traveling on official duty with a superior really is better than being stuck at the Wall, Aegor thought with a wry smile.

He wasn’t unaccustomed to fine clothing. Before coming to this world, his family hadn’t been rich, but they were well-off enough to own a house and a car. His mother, a skilled seamstress who ran her own boutique, had ensured that his wardrobe was always filled with practical yet stylish outfits. Growing up, wearing high-quality clothes had felt as natural as breathing. But that life now felt as distant as a dream from another lifetime.

Once, he had worked hard for an even better life. Now, he was reduced to feeling grateful for the simple pleasure of comfortable clothing. Among all the transmigrators out there, he was probably one of the most pitifully underachieving ones.

Winterfell, built atop natural hot springs, circulated the warm water through pipes within its walls. Even the humblest rooms without fireplaces stayed at least twenty degrees warmer than the freezing outdoors. Fresh from his bath and comfortably seated in a chair, Aegor was so relaxed he didn’t want to move a finger. But he had obligations tonight. Pulling himself together, he straightened his clothes and left his room.
----


In Winterfell, the Night’s Watch were “welcome guests,” but the term was more flattering than truthful. With the king himself in attendance, no one had time to pay attention to a low-ranking ranger. After following the impatient directions of a servant, Aegor finally arrived at the banquet hall and found his seat in a corner among the early arrivals.

The hall was warm and filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread. The gray stone walls were adorned with banners: the gray direwolf of House Stark, the crowned stag of House Baratheon in gold, and the crimson lion of House Lannister. A bard played a harp and sang a ballad, but Aegor, unfamiliar with the language and seated far from the center, couldn’t make out the lyrics.

Sharing his table was Jon Snow. At this royal feast, it didn’t matter whether Jon’s father was Rhaegar Targaryen or Eddard Stark—his status as a bastard meant he was as “welcome” as Aegor: allowed to attend but relegated to the lowest tier of participants. Such was the rigid hierarchy of Westeros.

Jon, however, didn’t seem bothered by it. He appeared at ease, feeding the small white direwolf curled under the table and eagerly peppering Aegor with questions about the Night’s Watch. His youthful optimism and curiosity contrasted sharply with the somber realities Aegor had witnessed beyond the Wall.

In addition to Jon and Aegor, the table was filled with young squires from various houses: some serving the Starks, others loyal to the royal family or hailing from the Westerlands. These lower-ranking guests had no ancient grudges or political feuds, and despite their diverse origins, they sat shoulder to shoulder, sharing drinks and stories in lively camaraderie.

Jon was particularly intrigued by tales of the Wall, and Aegor obliged, recounting his experiences. As he spoke, more and more boys at the table paused their meals to listen, and soon, even those from neighboring tables scooted closer to eavesdrop.

“Do giants really exist?”

“Is it true the wildlings… you know, with goats?”

“I heard they eat their own children when they’re starving!”

Aegor avoided mentioning the White Walkers, knowing it would only invite skepticism. Instead, he stuck to entertaining tales and left out the truly terrifying parts.

At twenty-something years old, Aegor’s youthful appearance—thanks to his Eastern features—allowed him to blend in with the teenagers, but his maturity and experience lent him an air of authority. Having read popular psychology books in his past life, he knew how to engage an audience. In his previous world, he wasn’t especially smooth-talking, but here, among boys enthralled by stories of bravery and battle, he quickly became the center of attention.

Within moments, the ranger in his spotless black garb was the star of the table. The young squires surrounded him, plying him with drinks and questions, their excitement contagious. Even those seated at nearby tables leaned closer to hear his tales.

“But things at the Wall haven’t been peaceful lately,” Aegor said, steering the conversation toward a more serious tone. “The weather’s growing colder by the day. The King-Beyond-the-Wall is gathering a massive host—tens of thousands of wildlings—aiming to breach the Wall and head south. Rangers have reported seeing strange humanoid figures in the woods. Several brothers have already gone missing during patrols beyond the Wall this year.”

For the squires and bastards at the table, such news had little personal relevance. But Aegor knew that rumors had a way of spreading. Bastards were still connected to noble houses, and squires served knights and lords—people who held real power in Westeros. By planting these seeds of concern, Aegor hoped the Night’s Watch’s plight would reach the ears of those who could provide aid.

“The wildlings are ten thousand strong?” one boy asked, his expression wavering between disbelief and alarm.

“Give or take. Among them are the elderly, women, and children. By my estimate, only about ten thousand are capable fighters,” Aegor explained. “Even so, they’re no match for the Wall itself. The real problem is that the Wall is too long, and we don’t have enough men to guard every section. If the wildlings choose an undefended area to climb over, they could easily overwhelm us.”

“What’s the plan, then?” another squire pressed.

Aegor gave a wry smile. “That’s precisely why our First Ranger is here—to discuss that with the Warden of the North.”

Before the conversation could go any further, the doors opened, and the main players of the evening’s feast entered the hall.
----