Aegor actually knew nothing about military matters. The plan he proposed to Robb was mostly based on guesswork. While it appeared shrewd and convincing on the surface, whether it was truly the best option… still remained to be seen.

He wasn’t sure whether the North would gain more than it lost from this arrangement, but one thing was certain—he and the Night’s Watch had emerged as the biggest winners from this conversation.

First, Robb had sought advice from him, a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch who, in theory, should remain neutral. Not only did this add another shared secret to their private relationship, but it also meant Robb now owed him a favor. With this bond between them, Robb would find it difficult to conduct the inspection with true impartiality. As long as no major problems surfaced during the inspection of the Gift, he likely wouldn’t oppose the Gift resettlement plan openly.

Second, the new Warden of the North had originally intended to sincerely check the progress of the resettlement plan during his inspection. But after being subtly misled, he changed his mind and decided to cite “unfavorable conditions in the North” as part of his rationale for not participating in the war. Once the original intent of an action becomes impure, the focus will naturally be diverted, and the final result is likely to shift as well.

Lastly, the main Northern force, which would now remain in place, was a natural and powerful reserve force for the Night’s Watch. This meant that the defense of the Wall against the White Walkers would now have significantly more buffer time. Even if something went wrong, the Night’s Watch would have time to send a warning, and the situation could still be salvaged.

—

This conversation had taken far longer than expected, but Aegor had successfully achieved the goal he’d set when he headed south. The serious bluffing was now over, and he’d successfully misled the new Lord of Winterfell. On the fourth attempt, Aegor’s farewell finally went smoothly, and he exited the study.

Several of his personal guards, who were rarely far from him, were still waiting outside. Aegor nodded to them, casually bid farewell to the two Stark guards, and unhurriedly led his own men toward their lodging.

As the Chief Logistics Officer of the Night’s Watch and one of the key figures in expelling the Ironborn during the war, even though the army had yet to fully disband and soldiers still filled the castle grounds, Aegor had been granted a private guest room for rest in Winterfell. After walking a few minutes with his subordinates, once they were out of sight of the guards and servants, the relaxed expression on his face disappeared. His expression shifted, and he signaled for the most capable of his guards to come forward and receive urgent orders.

“Leave the city immediately with a dozen men. Ride back to Crowntown and tell Yam: the Warden of the North will depart in two days to inspect the Gift. Tell him to prepare accordingly,” Aegor said rapidly. “I’ve already given him detailed instructions before leaving. There’s no need to say too much—he’ll understand. But the situation has taken a slight turn, and the response I gave him before must be adjusted. You must remember what I say next word for word and deliver it clearly to the mayor and Chief Logistics Officer of Crowntown.”

The young guard gave a solemn nod. “Yes, my lord. Please give your orders.”

“First, regarding the scale and manner of reception—the noble entourage coming for the inspection has changed from one house to five…”

Aegor walked while giving orders. In the hundred-pace stretch between the study and his guest room, he wracked his brain to quickly list several new adjustments. It was impossible to be completely thorough in such a short time, but there was no other choice. Time was tight. The message had to be delivered today.

As the head of his own faction, he also decided to delegate some of the smaller issues to his subordinates.

…

“That’s all for now. Tell Yam and Humphrey that if they think anything is missing, they’re to fill in the gaps on my behalf. Head out now. Ride at a normal pace, no need to rush, and be careful on the road.”

“Yes.”

Yam’s family had once run gold mines for House Lannister, and Humphrey had been an accountant for the merchant guild in King’s Landing’s Westerlands quarter. When it came to dealing with people, neither of them would be entirely clueless, even on a bad day.

The young man turned and left. Aegor paused in thought. Finding nothing else to add, he shook his head and stepped forward to push open the door to his room.

A clear and youthful voice called out, making him stop in his tracks.

He turned and saw a little girl step out from around the corner in the corridor.

The girl looked even younger than Arya. Aegor quickly concluded he didn’t know her. His first instinct was that Varys had sent a little bird to deliver a secret message… but then he remembered that he likely held no significance in the eunuch’s eyes. His second thought was that this girl was truly quite pretty. Her delicate, porcelain-like face was tinged red from the cold, and her thick, golden hair couldn’t be contained even under her fur hat—a few locks escaping and catching the light.

“It’s me.” She seemed to have been waiting for some time. Aegor gave up on guessing. “Lady, you are—?”

“I’m Maeve. Maeve Snow.”

Who in the world was this? Aegor was still completely confused. A bastard? But this girl appeared pampered and carried herself with grace. If she’d claimed to be Arya’s sister—the third daughter of House Stark—people might believe it. Yet Aegor was certain: the Starks had no such child.

“Hello, Lady Maeve. How can I help you?” Aegor gave a polite smile and nodded, assuming the respectful manners due to a noble lady.

“No… my lord, you’re too kind.” The girl’s eyes showed a flicker of panic, but she quickly calmed herself. “I heard news that… my brother and younger brother are about to follow you to the Wall. To take the black and join the Night’s Watch.”

If he couldn’t figure it out now, he might as well scrap his brain.

Myrcella Baratheon. The former Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.

The arrangement Eddard Stark had made for this girl during his lifetime seemed to be working… But changing her name was one thing—why give her the Northern bastard surname? If Jaime knew his only daughter now bore the name “Maeve Snow,” pitifully living under someone else’s roof in Winterfell, what would he think?

After a few seconds of random thoughts, Aegor realized his reaction might be unfair to Eddard.

When Eddard Stark devised this arrangement, he couldn’t have possibly known Jaime would one day take the black. These steps weren’t taken to humiliate anyone. As the product of a scandalous incestuous relationship, if Myrcella was to be kept safe, her original identity had to vanish completely. For secrecy, outsiders couldn’t be involved. Even the poorest noble houses would consider it an insult to give their family name to a bastard born of Lannister blood. The best course was to follow the same path as Jon—living as a bastard in name only.

Letting Myrcella grow up as the supposed child of an unknown noble, adopted by House Stark, then marry a lesser lord or newly knighted man, raise children, support her husband, and live a peaceful life… That was likely the best fate Eddard Stark, the honorable man, could imagine for the daughter of his enemy.

(Jaime was now his sworn brother, so by a stretch, couldn’t Myrcella be considered his sworn niece?)

Aegor didn’t know why such a strange thought crossed his mind. He shook his head slightly to dispel it and sighed. “The news you received is correct, Lady.”

“So it’s true…” Myrcella had clearly gone to great lengths to find out where Aegor was staying. She hadn’t come just to confirm the news. She didn’t look surprised. Her head dropped and she sighed softly. After staring at her toes for a moment, she looked up again, seeming to summon courage before speaking. “My brother… he’s not a good person. To be honest, I’ve long felt someone needed to teach him a lesson. But Tommen… he’s truly kind. He won’t even step on an ant. He doesn’t know… anything… about my mother or uncle…”

Tears welled up in Myrcella’s eyes. Her voice began to tremble. She tried her best to hold back her sobs, but couldn’t finish what she wanted to say.

Her words were disorganized, and even included a veiled criticism of Joffrey, but Aegor could guess her true intent. This little princess—nine or ten years old, who had fallen from the Red Keep into the cold halls of Winterfell—had not forgotten to protect her brothers. She had come here, searching for him, just to plead that he treat Joffrey and Tommen with kindness.

Truly… heartbreakingly sensible.

Aegor’s heart softened. He gently patted the girl on the shoulder. “Lady, I don’t know what kind of impression the Night’s Watch has left on you, but I promise you—I won’t let harm come to your brothers. They’ll be treated fairly.”

They were the result of parents who couldn’t control themselves, yet the children were the ones who had to pay. From a modern perspective, it was tragic. Personally, Aegor couldn’t stand Joffrey. Though both he and Arya were troublesome, their mischief came from very different places. But Aegor had too many things to deal with. He certainly didn’t have the time—or the boredom—to purposely make life harder for the little monster now under his watch.

He would treat Joffrey and Tommen fairly. That was true. But then again, there was a reason the Wall was a place of exile. Even if no one bullied them deliberately, how good could life there really be?

“Thank you… for your promise, my lord.” Myrcella wiped away her tears. It seemed she was determined to finish what she had come to say. “But I have one more request—perhaps an unreasonable one. I hope… you can give them a little extra care, on top of fair treatment. Is that possible? I know—I know I might be asking too much. But I’m willing… to give anything. Do anything…”

She stopped there, perhaps realizing she had nothing to offer. The man before her was a senior officer, commanding thousands, trusted by Stark, and allowed into Winterfell’s study. Myrcella had changed her name and concealed her identity. But for the sake of stability in the Seven Kingdoms, her brothers had to take the black under their real names. The thought of them living under others’ scorn and hatred—seen as monsters—tore at her.

The girl finally broke down and wept, covering her face with both hands.

Aegor looked helplessly at his guards. They simply shrugged. No one knew how to comfort this heartbroken girl.

“Alright, Lady Maeve. I promise.” Aegor gave in to the tearful pleading of his sworn niece. “I will do everything I can to ensure your brothers are safe and well at the Wall, both physically and mentally. If necessary, you may petition the Lord of Winterfell to visit them—at an appropriate time and in a suitable way. Are you satisfied with that answer, Lady?”

“Thank you, my lord… Thank you…”

Aegor wasn’t sure if Myrcella was truly overwhelmed with emotion or putting on an act for sympathy. Either way, he feared that if she kept talking, she might say something melodramatic like offering herself in exchange or swearing lifelong servitude. He quickly winked at a guard nearby. “Escort Lady Maeve back to her room. Take good care of her!”

…

That madwoman Cersei could actually give birth to such a clever, kind daughter. If Arya were even half as sensible as her, how much trouble could she save everyone?

But on second thought, this kind of “sensibility” was tragic in itself. From the warm, bustling Red Keep to the cold, stone walls of Winterfell… relying on the mercy of enemies, reading others’ moods to survive, gathering information, and using tears as a final weapon to protect her brothers—this was the fate of the defeated.

Though she annoyed him every time they met, Aegor was certain: if he ever had a daughter of his own, he’d rather she be a troublemaker like Arya—pestering him when he was busy, always needing him to clean up her messes. At least she could enjoy her childhood freely—innocent, joyful, and full of life.

So long as she didn’t get him killed.

Aegor sighed as he watched the guards escort Myrcella away, then suddenly remembered something important.

“Do you know who she is?”

“More or less…”

“The daughter of our cuckolded king, I suppose.”

“No. The correct answer is, you don’t know.” Aegor gave the sarcastic guard a hard look, then swept his gaze over the others. “She’s just a girl adopted by Winterfell. You don’t know her name, and you certainly don’t know her origin. You didn’t hear this conversation. Keep your mouths shut. Understood?”

Seeing the look in his eyes, the guards who had followed Aegor since King’s Landing knew he wasn’t joking. They immediately responded solemnly, “Yes, my lord.”

Eddard Stark’s arrangement wasn’t perfect, but it was thoughtful. Whether out of respect for that fallen great man or to protect an innocent girl, Aegor didn’t want Myrcella’s secret to be exposed under his watch.

Sometimes, it did feel good to be the honorable one.

(To be continued.)

***

For every 200 PS = 1 extra chapter. Support me on P/treon to read 30+ advanced chapters: p-atreon.c-om/Blownleaves

(Just remove the hyphen to access normally.)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep