Chapter 10

"So, you’ve brought back two broken swords to prove that you and Gary are not deserters, but heroes who killed a White Walker?" Lord Commander Jeor Mormont’s expression was grave as he scrutinized Aegor, as if trying to uncover any trace of deceit.

Aegor took a deep breath. "I won’t claim to be a hero because, ten days ago, I did flee from the site of the battle. I neither saved Ser Waymar Royce nor recovered his body. However, I believe that returning to the Wall to warn of the White Walkers’ return is far more important and meaningful than dying in vain."

"Dragonglass can indeed kill White Walkers. Many legends say so," Maester Aemon remarked, his trembling hands carefully examining the crude obsidian dagger Aegor had handed over. The blind old scholar seemed genuinely intrigued by the tale. "If I’m not mistaken, you’re a foreigner, recently learning the language of Westeros. How are you so familiar with these legends?"

"In my homeland, there are similar stories—myths, I thought, until I found myself here and saw the Wall with my own eyes."

...

After killing the White Walker, Aegor had retrieved his frightened horse a few hundred yards away, still laden with the oats meant as feed. Feeding it the rest of the grain and allowing it to rest, he then used the horse to carry a severely injured Gary back to the Wall.

Now, seated in the warmth of the Lord Commander’s chamber, Aegor found himself face-to-face with the leadership of the Night’s Watch for the first time. During his year of service, he had tried every means to catch the attention of the Watch’s commanders. Finally, he had succeeded—but as a suspected deserter.

"Maester Aemon," Aegor said calmly, addressing the aged scholar, "you’re a learned man. Surely you understand that if legends from different lands share similar accounts of an event from long ago, it’s likely that event was real. White Walkers exist, and they’ve returned."

The blind maester nodded, though he couldn’t fully grasp the situation. At least, Aegor thought, he seemed to accept the logic of the second half of his statement.

"Hmph," scoffed Ser Alliser Thorne, the Watch’s drill instructor. "Sounds to me like he faked an injury, snapped a couple of swords, and made up some story about a glorious battle just to escape punishment. This one’s always been slippery. Lazy during training, cutting corners whenever he could. And now he claims he killed a White Walker? If those even exist?"

Aegor didn’t respond. He knew Thorne wasn’t targeting him specifically. As someone who had been an engineer in his previous life, Aegor admitted he wasn’t physically strong by this world’s standards. His struggles with the Night’s Watch’s grueling training had earned him a poor reputation, even though he had ultimately passed. Thorne’s disdain, however, was universal; the man’s bitter cynicism made him unpopular among most of the Watch.

"Ser Alliser," Aegor said after a moment, his tone measured, "have you ever seen a broken sword?"

"More than you’ve seen good ones."

"Then examine these broken blades closely," Aegor retorted, growing bolder. "The swords of the Night’s Watch are forged from steel, a material known for its toughness. Steel doesn’t break like glass or ice. No matter how much force or speed is applied, a broken steel blade will show deformation at the fracture. But these two swords I brought back—look at their breaks. I brought all the fragments. Reassemble them, and you’ll see they fit perfectly together, without any sign of distortion."

Mormont raised an eyebrow and motioned for the blades. Piecing them together, he found that Aegor’s claim was accurate. Except for a few small chips that had flown off, the blades aligned seamlessly, almost as if they had never been broken.

"How is this possible?" the Lord Commander asked.

Aegor hesitated. He couldn’t explain metallurgy to men who’d never studied physics. Nor could he be certain that his modern-world understanding applied in this magical one.

"Legends say White Walkers wield ice magic," he said instead. "Perhaps their weapons froze the steel, making it brittle. I can’t say for sure, but I’m confident no one in the Watch could replicate this break, no matter how hard they tried. The Lord Commander is welcome to consult the chief blacksmith or anyone else in Castle Black. If they can replicate it, I’ll accept punishment as a deserter."

...

Donald Noye, Castle Black’s one-armed blacksmith, was a veteran of Baratheon campaigns. He’d fought in countless battles, lost his arm at the Siege of Storm’s End, and forged King Robert’s famous warhammer. Aegor might know more about modern materials, but no one could match Noye’s practical expertise. Aegor doubted even he could explain these breaks.

The room fell silent as Aegor’s confidence swayed the commanders. Finally, Maester Aemon spoke again. "I examined Gary’s wounds. They were caused by a sharp weapon but showed signs of severe frostbite, localized entirely around the cuts. It took hours to remove all the necrotic tissue. I don’t know if Donald can explain the swords, but I certainly can’t explain those wounds."

The commanders exchanged glances. Mormont turned to First Ranger Benjen Stark. "He’s one of your men. What’s your take?"

Benjen, a lean man with a sharp gaze, had been silent, studying the evidence Aegor brought. At last, he spoke. "We are the Night’s Watch. We guard the realm of men from the dangers beyond the Wall. Yet for all our knowledge, we know little of what lies in the far North. I’ve never seen a White Walker, but I won’t deny their existence. I’ll lead a patrol north in a few days to investigate Aegor’s claims. As for now..."

Benjen paused, meeting Aegor’s gaze. "Our priority is to inform House Royce of Ser Waymar’s disappearance. As for Aegor, he’ll be confined until the next patrol. Then, he’ll lead us to the site and prove his story."

...

Gary called it. Aegor couldn’t help but admire the old ranger’s uncanny prediction. Two brothers helped him to his feet and led him out of the chamber. Just before the door closed, he overheard Maester Aemon speaking to Benjen Stark.

"Before you head north, there’s something else to attend to. A raven brought word: the Hand of the King is dead. The King is traveling to Winterfell, and Lord Eddard has requested your presence to greet him."

...