Chapter 11

What a coincidence.

Aegor immediately understood what Maester Aemon was referring to—the death of the Hand of the King meant that the main storyline was beginning. This marked an important turning point, but Aegor couldn’t muster the energy to think about it. Ten days and nights of fleeing had drained him of both physical strength and mental stamina. His sharp performance during the questioning before the Night’s Watch leadership had been his last push, leaving him utterly spent. When two rangers helped him to the holding cell, he collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep instantly.

His "confinement," which was little more than a partial detention, lasted several days. What might have been torturous for others felt like a blessing to Aegor. He spent his days sleeping, eating, and resting without even attending drills. It was a rare period of relaxation that finally allowed him to recover his strength.

With his energy restored, it was time to think about his future.

...

Littlefinger had orchestrated the death of the previous Hand, and in the upcoming royal visit to the North, Robert Baratheon would invite Eddard Stark to become the new Hand. Soon, the game of thrones would begin.

None of this had much to do with a lowly member of the Night’s Watch like him. The only potential connection lay in the fact that the late Jon Arryn had been the Warden of the East and the ruler of the Vale—a lord to whom Waymar Royce’s family was sworn. Aegor could only imagine how “Bronze Yohn” Royce would react to receiving news of both his liege’s death and his son’s disappearance. If luck was on Aegor’s side and Yohn Royce was too preoccupied, perhaps he wouldn’t pursue the supposed “deserter” responsible for his son’s fate.

Aegor chuckled bitterly at his own thoughts. Hoping for leniency or negligence from others was a fool’s gamble, especially in this cruel world.

The Royce family’s wrath was a distant concern. For now, a more pressing issue loomed: Benjen Stark had been summoned to Winterfell to greet the king. When he returned to Castle Black, he would lead a patrol beyond the Wall to search for the White Walkers and Waymar Royce. Aegor had been named as the guide for this mission. Whether the outcome was annihilation like in the original story or Benjen's transformation into a wight by the Children of the Forest, neither fate was acceptable to Aegor.

Something had to be done.

Aegor learned from a steward that Gary had regained consciousness. He decided to visit him after lunch, hoping for a private conversation about potential escape routes through the Gorge. Although he was confined to the castle grounds and forbidden from taking a horse, he could still move freely within Castle Black.

But before he could act, he was summoned again by the Night’s Watch leadership.

Are they sending me north already? Aegor entered the meeting room with trepidation, only to find a scene eerily reminiscent of his previous questioning. The only difference was the presence of an unexpected figure seated before the table.

“Will, you’re alive!?”

“Aegor!” The speaker turned with surprise and joy. He looked utterly haggard—thin to the point of being gaunt. Aegor and Gary had taken the only two remaining horses, and Waymar’s warhorse had returned to Castle Black far earlier, meaning Will had made it back on foot, without supplies, surviving only on his hunting experience and sheer luck.

Skin and bones, Will sat with a bowl of hot porridge in front of him, sipping it between gasps. “Seven hells, if it weren’t for you, I’d be dead for sure!”

“What?” Aegor blinked in confusion. What does this have to do with me?

“That day, I was hiding in the tree,” Will explained, his voice trembling. “I saw Ser Waymar get cut down by those monsters. I stayed there until they all left. But then... then he stood up again. Ser Waymar—he stood up, covered in wounds, with glowing blue eyes. He reached for me, trying to choke me. Gods, it was terrifying. If you hadn’t warned me to beware of the dead, I wouldn’t have reacted in time!”

So that was it. Aegor had thrown out a hasty warning in his panic, never expecting it to save a life. Still, why had they called him here?

Scanning the room, Aegor noticed the shattered remains of a sword on the table before the commanders. The hilt and guard were unmistakable—they belonged to Waymar Royce. His high-quality blade, forged from superior steel, had lasted longer in the clash against the White Walker’s weapon but had ultimately shattered even more thoroughly. The sword fragments were scattered across the table like the aftermath of a lightning strike. To Aegor’s surprise, Will had managed to collect most of the pieces and carry them back over miles of treacherous terrain.

The fragments had been reassembled into their original form, almost exactly as Aegor had described days earlier. The breaks were clean and precise, as if the sword had been shattered like glass, with no visible deformation.

This was irrefutable evidence supporting his story. Aegor felt a glimmer of hope—perhaps things might turn in his favor after all.

“Take Will to rest,” Benjen Stark ordered, breaking the silence. “Don’t let him eat too much at once. A starving man won’t realize when he’s overeaten. Rest is his priority.”

Two black brothers helped Will to his feet. Even as he was led away, Will kept glancing back at Aegor, asking how he had known the dead would rise. When the room was quiet again, Benjen gestured for Aegor to sit.

“Will’s account matches yours and Gary’s, with only minor differences,” Lord Commander Mormont said gravely. “Given his condition, I don’t believe the three of you could have conspired to fabricate such a tale. I’m inclined to believe there is some truth to your story—whether it’s White Walkers or some other malevolent force.”

It wasn’t just Will’s testimony that had swayed them. During Aegor’s days of rest, the commanders had consulted the blacksmiths and conducted experiments on steel swords, confirming that no known method could replicate the way the blades had shattered. The fragments Will brought back had only solidified their suspicions.

“I’m leaving for Winterfell soon,” Benjen said, picking up where the Lord Commander left off. “Prepare yourself—you’re coming with me. You’ll report your experiences directly to Lord Stark and request aid. Bring the broken swords and rehearse your account. Be concise and clear—my brother will be busy, as King Robert is arriving soon.”

Maester Aemon nodded in agreement. “No need to overthink it. Just speak as you did during your first report. You performed well then.”

“Understood,” Aegor replied, struggling to contain his excitement. “I’ll prepare right away.”

...