Chapter 2

The law was clear: deserters of the Night’s Watch were criminals, and every lord of the Seven Kingdoms was obligated to hunt them down and execute them. This was especially true in the North, where the Stark family and their bannermen had no mercy for deserters. Unless a man fled north to join the wildlings, the fate of those who attempted to escape was grim and certain. But Aegor had no intention of running toward the Others and the wildlings, the very threats he wanted to avoid. Running south, however, was another matter.

If he truly intended to escape, he would need to prepare. First, he’d need a good horse, enough provisions, a change of clothes to discard the black, and an opportune moment to slip past the Watch’s territory unnoticed. He would need to avoid every village and settlement along the way. If he could manage to cross the Neck and leave the North behind, his chances would improve significantly. Once he reached the warmer and safer lands of the South, he could head for the fertile Riverlands or the Reach, places where the lords and nobles cared little for the Night’s Watch. There, he could find a new life, somewhere his origins would not be questioned.

The plan was simple enough in theory. The problem lay in the harsh realities of this feudal world, where travel was arduous, and outsiders were rare. With his distinctly foreign features and no legitimate identity, the odds of success were slim.

Shaking the thought from his mind, Aegor refocused on the task at hand. The crunch of hooves on snow filled the air as they moved deeper into the vast, frigid forest north of the Wall. The sunlight quickly disappeared behind the dense canopy of trees.

“Damn wildlings,” Gary cursed under his breath. “The colder it gets, the more restless they become.”

“They wouldn’t be wildlings if they behaved,” Aegor replied dryly, brushing snow off his sleeve. Resources were stretched thin, and the Night’s Watch had abandoned regular patrols in favor of a more unpredictable schedule to confuse the wildlings. Two nights ago, a sentry on the Wall reported seeing firelight a few miles north. That was why the Lord Commander and the First Ranger had sent this patrol out. Without that sighting, the men would have been enjoying the warmth of the barracks instead of braving the cold wilderness.

“Stop chatting,” Ser Waymar Royce ordered curtly without turning around. “Spread out, keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

Gary and Will exchanged a glance and shrugged, pulling faces behind the young knight’s back. The group of four men varied in age—Gary was the oldest, followed by Will, then Aegor, and finally Waymar. Yet the youngest among them was their leader. This didn’t sit well with the others.

Waymar Royce, the third son of the Lord of Runestone, had little chance of inheriting his family’s title. Choosing the Night’s Watch as his path, he had arrived at the Wall accompanied by an entire wagon of personal belongings, escorted by his father’s men. His arrival had become the butt of jokes among the Watch, the great Ser Waymar Royce looking more like a tourist than a sworn brother.

The idea of all brothers being equals rang hollow when an inexperienced noble lad was put in charge of seasoned men. This was Waymar’s first patrol as a leader, and it was no surprise that his authority was met with skepticism.

Still, discipline was a core tenet of the Watch. Despite their grumbling, the others obeyed, spreading out in a line to search the area.

It wasn’t long before they found signs of human activity near the area where firelight had been spotted: footprints in the snow, ash and embers from a fire—clear evidence of wildlings passing through.

“They’re gone,” Gary muttered, looking to Waymar hesitantly.

...

The Night’s Watch had been born in the wake of the Long Night, a time when the Others swept south and nearly destroyed humanity. In the aftermath, the Wall and the black-clad order were established to defend against the threat of the Others and protect mankind. For a time, serving in the Night’s Watch was a great honor, and men of high standing sought to join its ranks.

But as the Others retreated to the far north and faded into legend, and the generation that endured the Long Night passed away, the Watch’s importance began to dwindle. Though the Wall continued to hold back wildlings for centuries, its prestige suffered a fatal blow with the arrival of Aegon the Conqueror and the establishment of the Targaryen dynasty.

The Targaryens, with their dragons, did not diminish the Watch directly, but they inadvertently undermined it. When wildlings mounted a large-scale attack, the king simply rode a dragon north, incinerating the invaders. The wildlings were swiftly defeated, but the message was clear: the realm now had a weapon that made the Watch seem redundant. Why maintain an aging order when a dragonrider could resolve any threat?

The decline was inevitable. Nobles and knights no longer saw the Watch as a noble calling. Recruitment faltered, and the Watch lowered its standards. Over centuries, the proud order became a shadow of its former self.

The men of the Night’s Watch now fell into three categories. The first, like Aegor, were criminals sent to the Wall as punishment: thieves, poachers, rapists. Once unworthy even of carrying the Night’s Watch banner, these men now made up the bulk of its ranks, with no future save death or desertion.

The second group joined out of necessity: impoverished farmers, bankrupt merchants, disgraced nobles, and bastards. These men often had nowhere else to go. Many served as craftsmen or stewards, performing the essential tasks that kept the Watch functioning.

The final and smallest group consisted of volunteers like Waymar Royce—men who came to the Wall out of honor, duty, or a desire to escape political struggles. These men, often from noble families, were quickly promoted to leadership positions. It was an unspoken rule, for who else could command an army of criminals and outcasts?

However, even the idealistic noblemen quickly lost their enthusiasm. The harsh reality of the Wall and the dismal state of the Watch drained any romantic notions they once held. Waymar Royce was no exception. He deeply regretted his decision to come here. No one had forced him to join; he had been inspired by the Watch’s vows and wanted to prove his lack of ambition to his family. But now, with the vows taken and his pride on the line, he had no choice but to stay.

If he wanted to leave with his dignity intact, he needed to achieve something significant first.

Surveying the abandoned wildling camp, Waymar made his decision. “They’re not far. Follow the tracks. We’ll pursue.”

...