Chapter 159

The City Watch had no portable siege equipment, only fixed defensive weapons mounted atop the walls. In his haste, Slynt could only come up with the crude idea of using fire. A dozen soldiers from the eastern barracks were ordered to carry wooden barrels of oil and torches, rushing toward the gates of the Mud Gate garrison.

"Loose!" Ser Jacelyn Bywater, standing atop the walls, swung his iron hand decisively. Dozens of archers emerged, and the twang of bowstrings filled the air as a volley of arrows rained down toward the soldiers carrying the barrels. The arrows landed mere meters ahead of the attackers, some embedding in the ground, others ricocheting off bricks. One even struck a barrel being carried by a gold cloak with a resounding thud. Startled, the soldier dropped the barrel, which cracked open upon hitting the ground, spilling dark oil everywhere. Thankfully, it wasn’t wildfire.

Gasps erupted from the soldiers and curious onlookers peering through windows or standing cautiously nearby. It was clear to everyone: Bywater wasn’t bluffing. The first wave of attackers was immediately "repelled," scattering back into the crowd. Even the torch-bearing soldiers loyal to Slynt retreated a few steps, unable to muster the courage to advance under the looming threat of arrows.

The space in front of the Mud Gate garrison wasn’t large. No matter how far they backed away, they were still within range of the archers. However, Bywater’s men made no further moves after driving back the barrel carriers with their initial volley. They had no intention of causing casualties.

"Fire back! Shoot him down!" Slynt, humiliated and enraged, screeched. "Kill that traitor!"

Reluctantly, the soldiers surrounding the garrison returned fire with a halfhearted volley. The arrows mostly thudded into the garrison walls or soared harmlessly over the defenders’ heads into the darkness. It was clear no one wanted to escalate the situation.

Bywater crouched low, shielding his face with his iron hand, and delivered a final, cutting statement. "Let’s not mince words anymore, Janos Slynt—I’m talking about you! If you have nothing to hide, wait until dawn. I’ll personally send the alleged criminal to the Hand of the King. Let him decide whether this man is a murderer or a persecuted whistleblower!"

"In your dreams!" Slynt screamed, his voice hoarse with fury. The situation had escalated past the point of no return. "Bring the ladders! We’ll attack from all sides and take down that traitor!"

The soldiers hesitated, torches flickering in the night. No one moved. Tonight, Bywater had done something none of them dared to do—stand openly against their commander. Many were watching with quiet approval, unwilling to risk their lives fighting fellow gold cloaks on Slynt’s orders.

"What are you doing? Do you intend to disobey my orders?" Slynt bellowed, trying to assert his authority. "Where are the officers? Organize the attack!"

One officer, the commander of the Gate of the Gods garrison, stepped forward and spoke. "Commander Slynt, we all trust your leadership, but perhaps Ser Jacelyn has been misled by rumors. The Mud Gate is surrounded. There’s no way for the suspect to escape. Why risk our men’s lives? Dawn is just hours away. Let’s wait for the Hand’s judgment."

"Yes, Commander," another officer chimed in. "Once the king’s men arrive, Ser Jacelyn will have no choice but to surrender the suspect. Let’s hold our positions until then."

Hearing the officers’ reasoning, supported by several others, Slynt realized his position was untenable. His numerical advantage had evaporated, and his authority crumbled. Looking around at the sea of soldiers surrounding him, who now seemed more like spectators than subordinates, he ground his teeth and conceded. "Fine! Seal the front and back gates. Don’t let anyone escape!"

After issuing the command, Slynt turned sharply, his cloak billowing behind him as he stalked toward the eastern barracks soldiers. Once out of earshot, he muttered to his lieutenant, Aral Dimm, "Have our loyal men ready. At dawn, the moment that Night’s Watch bastard shows his face, shoot him full of arrows. Don’t screw this up again!"

"But, sir, what if we hit Mud Gate’s men—"

"I’ll take responsibility!" Slynt snapped.
----


“I’ll take responsibility.” The words sounded decisive, but deep down, Slynt was filled with dread. For the first time in over a decade, he began to regret his actions.

From the start, he should’ve backed off after being rebuffed by that Night’s Watch officer’s female subordinate. Admiring beauty wasn’t a crime, but his mistake was refusing to let it go. He should’ve realized that anyone bold enough to stand firm against him would have the backing to do so.

And sure enough, his enemies had retaliated by rallying allies against him. The Night’s Watch enterprise, with its network of connections, had struck at him with devastating precision. Even then, there had been a way out: he could’ve exposed Cersei’s plans to Robert and positioned himself as an indispensable ally in the king’s inevitable conflict with the Lannisters. That might have mitigated whatever punishment came from Eddard Stark’s investigation.

But in a moment of hubris, he’d decided to eliminate his enemies in one fell swoop—and entrusted the job to incompetent men. His series of missteps had now led to this stalemate, a culmination of every mistake he’d made.

If he’d been less greedy, if he’d fostered more loyalty within the City Watch, he might have had the strength to storm Mud Gate and eliminate Bywater and that damn Night’s Watch officer. But now, with Bywater having destroyed his credibility in front of the other soldiers, any chance of taking the garrison by force was gone. His authority as Commander of the City Watch was hollow, and his enemies were poised to capitalize on his failure.

Slynt’s only hope now lay in killing the Night’s Watch officer before dawn and covering up the incident amidst the chaos he knew would erupt in the Red Keep. The king’s secret order for him to mobilize two hundred men outside the Red Keep at noon was a clear signal that the Lannister conflict was about to explode. But for Slynt, it also meant time was running out.
----


Inside the garrison, Aegor stood by a window, watching the scene unfold outside. He couldn’t see Slynt’s soldiers directly, but the relaxed demeanor of the Mud Gate men told him all he needed to know—Bywater had been right. For tonight, at least, he was safe.

Relief washed over him, though it was short-lived as the pain in his shoulder flared up again. He sucked in a sharp breath. "Ah—"

"Sorry, my lord!" Nina froze, her hands trembling. "Did I hurt you?"

After fleeing through the night without rest, his untreated wound had bled freely, soaking into his black clothing and drying into a stiff, crusty mess. The fabric had to be cut away to clean the wound. Nina, overwhelmed with guilt for the trouble she’d caused, looked ready to burst into tears.

"It’s nothing," Aegor gritted out. "If the wound didn’t hurt, I’d be worried. Keep going."

The crossbow bolt had left a gash nearly ten centimeters long, deep enough to expose bone in places. It wasn’t a life-threatening injury, but it severely hindered his mobility. He was lucky to have fought his way out despite the injury, but he knew that without Jaqen’s timely intervention, the arrow would’ve struck his back—piercing either his heart or lungs. In either case, he’d already be dead.

The thought sent a chill through him, but he pushed it aside. Seeing Nina’s tearful, guilt-ridden face, Aegor forced himself to sound reassuring. "Stop blaming yourself. I’ve told you—it’s not your fault. Apply the ointment and stitch it up."

"Stitch it... like sewing cloth?"

"Yes. If you can’t do it, ask Ser Bywater to find someone who can."

Having grown up in a family of weavers, Nina was no stranger to sewing, but stitching flesh was another matter. Her hands shook as she finished, and she stood awkwardly, awaiting his next instructions.

"You’re done here. Go get some rest in the next room."

"I... I can’t sleep."

"Then close your eyes and rest for a while. Don’t just stand there. Go on."

"My lord, what will you do at dawn?"

"What else? Stay put. Slynt won’t give up so easily. I’m not stepping out until the king’s or the Hand’s men arrive."

He had spent half the night fleeing for his life and the other half watching the City Watch tear itself apart. Despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. Outside, the sky was at its darkest, moments before dawn. In this absurd and brutal game of thrones, recklessness led to death—but even caution didn’t guarantee safety. For now, Aegor was alive. But as dawn approached, he couldn’t help but wonder what new challenges awaited when the sun rose.