“Damn Night’s Watch…” Robert’s face grew even redder.

As king, he had brought a Night’s Watch officer along on a whim, confident that the Bloody Gate would fall easily. But now, with the siege dragging on, his unprecedented decision had turned into an embarrassment. If Aegor had simply remained in the Antlers camp, it would have been one thing but instead, here he was, stepping forward to advise him. Every second the man in black stood before him felt like a slap to the face.

“How many times do I have to say this?” Robert bellowed, slamming his cup against the table after each word. “They are rebels! Rebels! Rebels!”

By the third outburst, the cup had cracked, and red wine spilled over his hand, pooling onto the table. Snorting, Robert hurled the goblet to the floor, shattering it, then grabbed the tablecloth to wipe his hand before roaring again:

“I am putting down a rebellion! This is not a civil war! Do you understand? Now, speak your piece or get out! And someone bring me another damn cup!”

Aegor froze for half a second before realizing the last command wasn’t directed at him. This, he supposed, was what people meant when they said a king’s moods were as dangerous as a tiger’s. He had braced himself for Robert’s temper, but witnessing it firsthand was something else entirely. For a moment, he had nearly ducked, expecting the cup to come flying at his head.

Fortunately, Robert had only smashed it on the ground. Unlike the honorable Eddard Stark, not every lord in the Seven Kingdoms was reasonable or even predictable.

“Your Grace, calm yourself. I only needed confirmation,” Aegor said quickly.

Against a king like Robert, this was no time for stubbornness or bravado. What mattered was that he had received the answer he wanted.

Robert had shouted rebels three times, loud enough for the whole war council to hear. That declaration made it clear, this wasn’t a civil war but a rebellion. By that definition, advising the king on how to suppress it did not violate the Night’s Watch’s neutrality.

Technically, as a senior officer of the Watch, the fifth in command at Castle Black, Aegor’s actions could only be judged by Lord Commander Mormont. Robert’s words carried no real authority over him.

But in the real world, authority came down to power. The man with the strongest fist made the rules. And with Robert making such a public declaration, Mormont wouldn’t dare challenge what had now become an established fact.

Aegor glanced around the tent. Robb Stark caught his eye and gave him an encouraging nod. Aegor returned the gesture, then turned his attention back to the king.

“In Tsena, where I come from, there is a place. It is surrounded by mountains on three sides, with an impassable river to the east. The terrain is as treacherous as the Vale. For a long time, the only way in from the north was through a pass, an even stronger natural defense than the Bloody Gate.”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Randyll Tarly interrupted, his tone as sharp as ever. “And then someone managed to break through the Gate. How?”

“Stop telling stories and get to the point!” Robert snapped impatiently.

Aegor sighed inwardly. No patience at all. They really don’t play by the rules.

Most of his prepared speech was now useless. What should have been a carefully constructed argument had to be condensed into a blunt summary.

At Thermopylae, the Persian army was held off by a mere three hundred Spartans. Even after suffering thousands of casualties, they could not break through, until they found another way around.

Take a detour.

Since Robert had no patience for the full story, Aegor skipped straight to the conclusion.

“Leave a large force outside the Bloody Gate to keep the defenders occupied,” he said. “Meanwhile, send your most elite troops through a hidden path. Once inside the Vale, you can either strike directly at the Eyrie to force a surrender, or coordinate an attack from both inside and outside to overrun the Bloody Gate itself. The choice is Yours, Your Grace.”

“Snort—”

“Ha!”

The lords around the table reacted with skepticism. Some chuckled. Others shook their heads.

Randyll Tarly remained expressionless as he coldly remarked, “It’s a fine strategy, if you can find such a path. Tell me, Chief Logistics Officer, do you happen to know which route leads into the Vale unseen?”

“I don’t,” Aegor admitted. “If I knew, then the rebels in the Vale would know as well, rendering it useless. What we need is a path they don’t know about or a new one, carved out for this purpose.”

“Oh, well, that’s easy then,” Tarly said dryly. “Do you think every army that has ever attempted to take the Vale, over thousands of years, was full of idiots? You believe you’ll just find a secret path no one has before?”

He gestured toward the sand table, his voice laced with contempt.

“The Mountains stretch for hundreds of miles. How long do you suppose it would take to traverse them and find such a route? A month? Two? Half a year? And what do you expect our tens of thousands of soldiers to do in the meantime? Go home and plant crops? Sit here and rot at the valley’s edge? The Tyrells may be able to afford supplies for that long, but who will cover the costs of marching the army back and forth, not to mention the soldiers’ pay?”

“Lord Tarly, your question is valid,” Aegor said, having anticipated the challenge. “If King Robert were to summon the few Vale clans that did not join the rebellion to this council, they would tell His Grace that there are existing paths into the Vale, more than one, in fact. The only reason these routes remain unused is that they are controlled by the mountain clans, who submit neither to the Eyrie nor the Iron Throne. Outsiders unfamiliar with the Vale have been misled by the claim that ‘the only way in is through the Bloody Gate’—when the truth is, if you want to take the main road into the Vale, then you must go through the Bloody Gate.”

Exposing a flaw in thinking was easy. The challenge lay in how to exploit it. Taking a detour was not as simple as just deciding to do so.

He paused briefly before revealing his final answer.

“But if the goal is simply to end the war, there is no need to capture the Bloody Gate. My proposal is this: Keep the main army encamped outside the pass, continuing daily feints with stones and arrows. Meanwhile, send a few thousand elite soldiers with limited supplies into the Mountains to subdue the mountain clans. Once they are forced into submission, these men—who know the terrain—will guide our forces through the mountain passes and into the Vale. Then, the war will be won.”

“To avoid arousing suspicion, these elite troops should be disguised as levies being dismissed to return home for the harvest. They will appear to be retreating from the battlefield, but in reality, they will slip into the mountains. The rebels will never suspect that the troops we leave behind are mostly raw recruits and camp followers, while the battle-hardened veterans have already vanished. By the time they realize what has happened, it will be too late.”

The plan sounded straightforward, but in reality, it incorporated multiple strategic and tactical principles—feinting in one direction while striking in another, disguising movement, misdirection, and deception. In the modern world, such a plan would be considered obvious. But in Westeros, where military command was often dictated by raw courage rather than strategy, this was a stroke of brilliance.

To come up with such a detailed plan in a single day was Aegor truly a military genius?

Not necessarily.

The truth was, the moment he had first laid eyes on the Bloody Gate and noticed its similarities to the Pass, his mind had already begun working on how to break through it. And when he realized that this war was directly tied to his own interests, the answer had already been waiting for him.

The tent fell silent.

A moment ago, when Aegor had first mentioned “taking a hidden path,” most of the lords had scoffed or sneered. But now, after hearing the full plan, who could argue?

A slender, well-dressed squire approached, setting a fresh cup of wine before Robert. But for once, the king did not drink.

Seated at the head of the table, Robert drummed his thick fingers against the wood, his expression unreadable. The flush of alcohol had faded slightly from his face.

He had wanted to be the first king in a thousand years to break through the Bloody Gate by force. But with Petyr Baelish’s betrayal and the royal coffers nearly empty, a direct assault would be too costly. He knew that much.

After nearly a minute of silence, he finally spoke.

“What do you lot think?” he asked gruffly. “Does the White Walker Slayer’s plan work?”

“I believe it does,” Randyll Tarly said without hesitation. His tone remained stern, but his stance had shifted. “If he hadn’t mentioned it, how many in this tent would have remembered that the mountain clans of the Vale do not answer to the Eyrie?”

Then, turning his sharp gaze to Aegor, he added, “Tell me, Lord Aegor West. I hear you came from overseas, and that you were shipped to the Wall the moment you arrived. So how is it that you seem to understand the Vale better than those of us born and raised in Westeros?”

Aegor smiled. “There is a thing called a book, my lord.”

He had no intention of telling them that the book in question was A Song of Ice and Fire, nor that his strategy had been drawn from the history of Earth.

“There is also a saying,” he continued smoothly, “You need not leave your home to know all the world.”

“Your Grace, I also find the plan feasible!” Robb Stark was the first to voice his support. “The North is home to many clans and tribes. The Karstarks and Umbers have long dealt with such people. Furthermore, the mountain clans of the Vale share the same First Men blood as we do and still worship the Old Gods. They would be more willing to submit to northerners than to southerners. I volunteer to lead the North’s forces for this operation!”

“Dorne has mountains as well, Your Grace,” Oberyn Martell chimed in smoothly. “Most of my spearmen are accustomed to scaling cliffs and ridges. With a proper guide, they could be put to excellent use.”

With a concrete plan on the table, the noble houses rushed to volunteer. Not necessarily because they were confident in its success but because no matter how difficult it was to march through the Mountains of the Moon, it was still better than being sent to die at the Bloody Gate.

“Very well, White Walker Slayer…” Robert exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if a great burden had been lifted. His voice had lost its earlier aggression, returning to its usual boisterous ease.

“Let’s see if your idea actually works. If it does, there will be a great reward.” Then, smirking, he added, “And if it fails—well, I suppose I’ll have to swallow my pride and talk to these rebels.”

A convenient way to shift all responsibility onto Aegor. If the plan succeeded, Robert could take the credit. If it failed, he could blame the Night’s Watch officer for wasting his time.

Clever.

“Now,” Robert continued, waving a hand, “you may go. The rest of you—stay. We have details to sort out.”

***

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep