Chapter 121

“Marriage should be decided by one’s parents.” Forcing down the frustration in her chest, Margaery forced a smile onto her lips. “Let’s not discuss such matters, Lord Aegor. The lords of the League of Justice have all been apprehended. Since His Majesty has commanded you to accompany the army, it seems he bears no intent to kill them. Do you know how they will be dealt with?”

This was not something the Night’s Watch could possibly influence. Though Margaery appeared to direct her question at Aegor, it was clear her real audience was Barristan. In truth, she had little interest in the specifics of this information, but having just answered a question posed by the old Kingsguard, her instincts refused to let her be taken advantage of. She found herself asking a question in return—seemingly trivial intelligence often had a way of proving unexpectedly useful, or so her grandmother always said.

“The main perpetrators need not be discussed,” said the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard matter-of-factly. “Beyond the few leading the rebellion, a dozen or so knights who commanded troops to guard the Bloody Gate and resist the loyalist forces will be sentenced to don the black. As for the captured castles, most will be returned to their original lords, provided they acknowledge their liege’s treason and offer hostages. Of course, their lands will be significantly diminished, as the rewards granted to Ser Brynden Tully and other loyalist commanders have been carved out of rebel territories.”

...

To rebel and yet be forgiven—such leniency would be unthinkable under the centralized monarchies of the Celestial Empire’s history. Yet on Westeros, it was seen as the “most reasonable” course of action after thorough deliberation. This strange mixture of sentimentality and pragmatism in politics was quintessentially Westerosi.

The decision for leniency was shaped by numerous factors. First, Petyr Baelish’s flight implied his guilt, lending credibility to the rebels’ grievances and garnering them sympathy. Second, punitive measures like exterminating entire families simply didn’t work in this feudal era. Over decades of forming alliances, marriages had bound the noble houses of the Vale to the Starks, Tullys, and Baratheons. A mass purge would leave Westeros stripped of its nobility.

This was the reasoning Aegor crafted for Robert, but the real reason lay deeper. Those Vale lords had once shed blood in Robert’s Rebellion. The king was reluctant to obliterate them entirely.

From the royal tent hosting the “wedding,” the sound of shattering plates and goblets echoed. Whether it was drunken revelry or something gone awry, Barristan’s unease grew. Though two other Kingsguard knights remained with Robert, he could not let his guard down. After downing the last of his wine, the old knight excused himself from Aegor and Margaery, hand on sword, and returned to the tent.

Left alone with Aegor, the famed Rose of Highgarden felt no inclination to force a connection. Margaery had no intention of “pressing warm cheeks to a cold face,” as her grandmother would say, and in her disheartened state, she didn’t even attempt to prolong the conversation. Glancing at the Night’s Watchman, she declared, “You must be endlessly busy, Lord Quartermaster. I’ll take my leave. Before returning to Highgarden, I’ll stay in King’s Landing for a few days. Perhaps I’ll visit the Night’s Watch office and witness your legendary endeavors.”

Aegor nodded. “You would be most welcome.”

Head held high, Margaery turned on her heel and walked away without looking back. Though her actions seemed graceful and confident, her mind was in turmoil. Once, she had set her sights on becoming queen. Now, even the prospect of being a duchess’s wife seemed beyond reach. Jaime Lannister, as a Kingsguard, could not marry. Young Lord Arryn was sickly and unlikely to live long. Renly Baratheon was too close to Loras to need her influence—offering herself to strengthen that connection would be a waste. Was she truly left with no better choice than Edmure Tully?

Her grandmother’s ultimate advice came to mind—when all else failed, “climbing into someone’s bed” was the surest path to power. Olenna Tyrell herself had used this strategy to become Lady of Highgarden. But seducing Edmure Tully carried immense risk. If he bore a grudge for her earlier aloofness and rejection, casting her out in humiliation, the last vestiges of her dignity as the Rose of Highgarden would be utterly destroyed.

Never before had Margaery, the most beloved daughter of the Tyrells, experienced such frustration. The prospect of being unwanted, even when she offered herself, was a bitter pill. In the dim firelight, tears of indignation and humiliation sparkled in her eyes as she quickened her pace, vanishing from the Night’s Watchman’s sight.

...

The chaos wrought by the wild rumors finally subsided after two months of turmoil in the Vale. A single note had sparked a war, and Aegor’s understanding of the phrase “words are wind” reached new heights.

Yet, with the rebellion quelled and Littlefinger on the run, the power of Aegor’s fabricated tale was spent. Rumors held sway only while they spread and grew. Once they solidified into reality, they faded like a punctured balloon, swiftly vanishing from memory.

For all its power, gossip was no more than a beast. In the presence of true monsters—war and its endless appetite for lives—it became as harmless as a child’s pet.

The day after the victory feast, the armies of six kingdoms disbanded, leaving only a thousand loyalist troops to lay siege to the Eyrie. As the lords and knights returned to their lands, Aegor joined them, departing the war-torn Vale through the battered, slowly-rebuilt Bloody Gate.

After days of light travel, Aegor once again reached the bustling and “lively” capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Weaving through its familiar, twisting streets, he stood before the headquarters he had personally established—the Night’s Watch office.