In Aegor’s original world, the trajectory of civilization followed a spiral of progress, although there were moments of stagnation and regression, the general trend was one of upward development. But here, in Westeros, the situation was different.

Social advancement depended on productivity, which, in turn, relied heavily on population in an era of limited technological development. But feeding a population required resources, and the irregular, punishing climate of this world made resources scarce. The constant wars fought over these limited resources only worsened the problem, further destabilizing production. During a long summer, civilization might find a moment to flourish, but even a slightly extended winter could send it spiraling backward. This created a vicious cycle: humanity needed people to advance, but the fragility of life made progress painfully slow; stagnation and underdevelopment made further progress even harder to achieve. In this context, it wasn’t surprising that Westeros’s level of social development lagged so far behind its ancient history.

Aegor wasn’t entirely sure how much of the “tens of thousands of years” of history from the Dawn Age was factual, but he knew one thing: in this feudal society, especially in the sparsely populated North, armies couldn’t be mobilized quickly.

—

“I’ll contact the lords and request that they each send a few hundred men in proportion to their population to support the Wall,” Eddard Stark said at last, sighing deeply. Despite his brother’s earlier harshness, Eddard did not take offense, he knew Benjen’s bluntness came from concern, not disrespect. Shaking his head, he added, “But it’s the height of the farming season, so don’t expect me to raise significant numbers quickly. However, give me a detailed list of supplies, and I’ll see what I can provide.”

“As for the king, give me some time. I’ll speak to him myself.”

Eddard leaned back in his chair, his face shadowed with worry. “When I spoke with Robert in the crypt earlier, I mentioned the Wall’s need for support. Unfortunately, he’s preoccupied. Tensions in King’s Landing have him on edge, and he’s come here looking for my help. He’s in no position to worry about the Wall right now.”

“If the Wall falls,” Benjen said bluntly, “the North will be the first to suffer. Even if you help Robert stabilize King’s Landing, it won’t matter. Think about the consequences.”

Benjen’s tone softened slightly as he continued. “We don’t urgently need conventional supplies right now. Those can be arranged over time. But there is one thing we do need—obsidian. And not just a small amount. The Night’s Watch requires a large stockpile, and quickly. Unfortunately, obsidian is rare and expensive, mostly sold as decorative pieces in the market. We need it as a weapon, not an ornament.”

“I read somewhere that Dragonstone has massive reserves of obsidian,” Aegor interjected. “If we could arrange to mine it, it would be more than enough for our needs.”

Eddard nodded thoughtfully but remained skeptical of the Night’s Watch’s claims about obsidian’s effectiveness against White Walkers. Still, he had already refused so many requests that he felt obligated to act. “I’ll write to Stannis about this. Perhaps he can help arrange something.”

Eddard turned his gaze to the window, where the dim light of evening was settling over Winterfell. “It’s getting late. You two should bathe and change for the dinner. Robert is an old friend, yes, but he is also the king. If you’re too casual in his presence, even if he doesn’t mind, it might give others an excuse to criticize him or me.”

Benjen nodded, and the two Night’s Watchmen excused themselves. As they left the room, Aegor followed Benjen through the winding corridors of the castle. Despite his allegiance to the Night’s Watch, Benjen was still a Stark, and the room he had grown up in as a child remained his to use. To Aegor’s surprise, Benjen had also arranged for him to have a small room in Winterfell.

Given how crowded the castle was, Aegor would have expected someone of his rank, a lowly ranger of the Night’s Watch—to be assigned to a bunk bed in one of the inns outside the castle walls. That he had been given accommodation within Winterfell itself felt more like a precaution against him escaping than a privilege.

As these thoughts churned in his mind, Aegor and Benjen turned a corner and encountered a young man heading straight toward them.

“Uncle Benjen!”

“Jon.” Benjen smiled, his expression softening into something almost paternal. “You’ve grown taller again.”

The young man was lean, with a long face and dark brown hair that matched Benjen’s. Aegor didn’t immediately recognize him; the boy looked different from his depiction in the show. But the tone of their conversation gave it away, this was Jon Snow, the bastard of Eddard Stark. Of course, Aegor knew Jon’s true parentage: he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

As significant as Jon’s identity was, something else captured Aegor’s attention: the small, snow-white direwolf standing by Jon’s side. Its crimson eyes gazed up at him, curious but not hostile.

What the hell is going on? Aegor thought, his mind racing. Because of me, the deserters who would have been executed at the start of the original story—Gary and Will—never crossed the Wall. That means the Starks wouldn’t have encountered the dead direwolf and her pups on their way back from the execution ground. So how did this damn little direwolf end up with Jon Snow?

“If I’m not mistaken,” Benjen said, noticing the wolf, “this little fellow is a direwolf. They don’t come south of the Wall. Where did it come from?”

“The villagers found its mother dead on a path outside Winterfell,” Jon replied. “Jory went to investigate and brought back a litter of six pups…”

The uncle and nephew spoke casually, but Aegor was reeling. The sight of the direwolf made him question everything he thought he understood. The wolf’s presence meant one of two things: either his actions had less influence on this world’s events than he thought, or some larger force was actively working to maintain the story’s original trajectory.

While the pup at Jon’s side was small and unassuming, its very existence unnerved Aegor. The more he thought about it, the more he began to question whether his attempts to change the future of this world were truly within his control.

Sure, he had made small changes, Gary was still alive, and Will had survived but these were minor characters, nobodies in the grand scheme of things. Whether they lived or died had little impact on the broader narrative of Westeros. But what about Benjen Stark?

Benjen was a significant figure, one of the key players in the early events of the story. If some unseen force was working to preserve the original timeline, was Benjen doomed to meet the same fate during his next ranging mission, turning into a half-dead servant of the White Walkers? And if that was the case, what were Aegor’s chances of surviving the mission himself?

The more he thought about it, the worse his outlook seemed. If this world truly operated under some predestined narrative, his very presence, an outsider who had already altered events might make him a target.

I need to find a way out, he thought grimly.

“What are you daydreaming about? Let’s go.” Benjen’s voice pulled him back to reality. The chief ranger clapped him on the shoulder, gesturing for him to follow. “Take a bath and change your clothes. You’ll need to be ready for the dinner.”

“I’m joining too?” Aegor asked, surprised.

“Of course. There are only two of us here in Winterfell right now,” Benjen said with a faint smile. “Even if the whole Night’s Watch were here, they’d still be treated as honored guests. Enjoy it while you can. Only in the North does the Night’s Watch still get the respect it deserves.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep