While Cotter Pyke and Yohn Royce were indeed troublesome, with the tunnel from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to beyond the Wall already sealed, and himself being extremely cautious, even cowardly, it would be difficult for them to cause any real trouble even if they wanted to. Dealing with them, given his overwhelming advantage in both position and strength, would, at worst, mean tearing away all pretense and simply killing them.

To put it bluntly, in Westeros over the past two years, men of far higher rank and nobler birth than those two had been dying like flies. It was hardly news. The only difference this time was that it would be him doing the killing.

The next problem he faced, however, was the one that truly gave Aegor a headache.

Melisandre, the Red Priestess. In terms of status, she was a priestess of the Lord of Light, a counselor “sent” by King Stannis to the Wall to aid in its defense. In terms of strength, she commanded dozens of loyal followers, all trained in arms since childhood, who had fought alongside Stannis in the South. And she herself was a witch who wielded extraordinary powers.

He could not threaten her, let alone remove her. If she insisted on placing “expanding the Red God’s influence” above his work as Lord Commander in establishing his authority and managing the Gift, Aegor truly did not know how he would deal with her.

After supper, Aegor paced his chambers for a long while, turning the matter over in his mind, but in the end found no perfect solution.

Forget it, he decided. He would summon her and see if he could reason with her, appeal to her sense of the greater good, persuade her not to keep acting willfully and recklessly, disrupting matters at her whim.

Given that she saw him as the Prophet, and he had even saved her life, there might yet be some hope.

If they truly could not come to an understanding, then he would think of “other ways,” he thought grimly.

—

After some hesitation, Aegor chose to send for her rather than going himself.

The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, in theory, held a rank no lower than a king’s envoy. Respect and caution were one thing, but he still needed to maintain his bearing. He was now the highest authority in the Gift, and if he humbled himself simply because the woman before him possessed some strange powers, he would be placing himself in a weaker, subordinate position from the very start.

As though she had been waiting for the summons, Melisandre arrived within minutes.

When she pushed the door open and entered, Aegor had already drawn the steel sword, still blazing with light, and set it on the table, his meaning plain.

The brightness, as strong as a high-powered lantern, filled the room more brilliantly than midday sun, making it impossible for Aegor to sit at the table. He could only stand by the wall, facing away from the light, in a pensive pose.

“Commander,” Melisandre said softly as she stepped inside, her voice light and ethereal. Perhaps finding the glare excessive, she raised a hand to shield her eyes.

“Lady Melisandre,” Aegor replied without expression. He picked up a blanket and draped it over the sword, dimming the light, then turned and fixed the Red Priestess with his gaze for several long moments before speaking, his tone clearly unfriendly. “You seem to know so much about Lightbringer. I have a question. If I just hang it here like this to use as a lamp, will it keep shining and save the Watch a fortune in oil and candles?”

“No. Even the true Lightbringer of legend only shines when its wielder infuses it with magic. Your sword glows because I cast more than twenty powerful light spells on it at once. The effect is not permanent, and steel is a poor conductor of magic. By tomorrow it will likely be as it was.”

Her frank admission saved Aegor the trouble of arguing. His expression darkened. “If I recall correctly, in this very room we spoke at length and agreed to aid one another against our common enemy, with the understanding that I would not publicly acknowledge any title or convert to the Red God. Last time your people proclaimed me the Prophet at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, I let it pass. Now you come to Castle Black and, without a word to me beforehand, make such a spectacle before hundreds of my brothers? Tell me, is this your way of breaking our agreement?”

“Calm yourself, Commander.” Melisandre slowly shook her head, stepped further into the room, and came a little closer, warmth seeming to radiate from her. “Allow me to first explain today’s events, in light of a guess you once made.”

Under Aegor’s full attention, the Red Priestess recounted the day’s events, leaving out her old injury and certain confidences, speaking only of what could be told.

As she went on, Aegor’s tension eased, and by the end he did not know whether to laugh or sigh.

Since they had met, she had always worn that mysterious, utterly calm, almost divine mask, as though all things were in her grasp. It had led Aegor to think of her as a calculating player, like himself or the Old Flayer, who planned everything before moving a piece.

So when the incident occurred that afternoon, he had naturally assumed she had staged it deliberately, to force him to acknowledge his identity as the Prophet and create a situation in which religious authority would supersede that of the Lord Commander, like the divine right of kings or a Pope crowning a king.

Who would have thought the truth was simpler? A moment of foolishness from a witch not as clever as he had imagined, doing something stupid.

Of course, Aegor did not entirely believe her. Just as with Robb’s questioning over the encirclement of Castle Black, it was entirely possible she was shifting the focus, making him think it had merely been “a mistake” rather than deliberate provocation.

Even so, what did it matter? Aegor was not her liege lord, nor could he decide her fate. He had no interest in punishing her, only in ensuring she would not place “expanding the Red God’s influence” above his greater plans, or act rashly in ways that undermined his authority.

What Aegor did not know was that Melisandre, like him, was outwardly calm but inwardly uneasy. She believed utterly in prophecy, and the Lord of Light had shown her in the flames that only by fighting side by side with the promised prince could they hope to win the great war to come.

She was the only priestess of R’hllor at the Wall, representing him among the living in the war to come. If, through a moment’s folly, she fell out with the Lord Commander, the man leading the Gift and the Watch in the front line of the war of ice and fire, and the living lost through such division, allowing the cold god to triumph, that would be a grievous sin.

At all costs, she must maintain a stable, trusting alliance with Aegor.

…

Aegor did not know her thoughts, but he could sense she did not wish to oppose him. A Red God priestess of such standing, who rarely showed deference to anyone, had come at once when summoned and patiently explained herself. Whether or not the truth of her story mattered, the very act of explaining was a sign of yielding.

His supposed role as “Prophet” clearly weighed more in her heart than he had guessed. When both sides valued the greater good and wanted to repair the breach, the one who saw it first and stood firm would hold the advantage.

Aegor quickly seized that advantage.

He feigned irritation and summed up her explanation. “So, to avoid wasting magic that was about to fade, you acted on impulse, casting dozens of… powerful, what did you call them, light spells, on my sword? Do you realize that because of your impulse I was nearly blinded by my own blade?”

The anger was feigned, but the disappointment was real. Melisandre had said the magic released when Maester Aemon was cremated was strong enough to almost restore life, yet he, like the rest of the Watch, had felt nothing. It seemed he truly was only an ordinary man, with no tie to magic.

“I considered that possibility halfway through, which is why I did not continue. But I did not expect that a little over twenty spells together could have such strength.” Melisandre gave a rueful smile and shrugged. She was telling the truth here. In this age of waning magic, casting even one spell was costly. Repeating one dozens of times was unthinkable, unless under rare conditions such as the cremation of a Targaryen. In her excitement, she had not controlled her power. “Commander, has your sight returned to normal? If not, perhaps I might heal you. R’hllor is the source of all that is good. Though we are called priests of the fire god, we can do more than set people alight.”

She stepped closer, clearly intending to cast some healing spell. Aegor raised a hand quickly to refuse. After an afternoon’s rest, the dark spots in his vision had mostly faded, and even if they had not, he would not allow an unknown witch to work strange sorcery on him.

The familiar warmth of her presence surrounded him. He noticed something different: though she was still the same stunning beauty, she now seemed ten years younger, the faint traces of time erased, her skin radiant with a strange light. Aegor could not help but think of the word ethereal.

Was this some sort of charm?

He pushed the thought aside and kept his face stern. “Lady Melisandre, I do not doubt your will to help defend the Wall. What happened today, and at Eastwatch before, I will take as well-meant mistakes and not bring up again. But I will repeat two requests. If you feel I have no right to command you, or you truly cannot agree, then I will harden my heart and ask you to leave my lands.”

“Commander, you are the host, I the guest. I will naturally heed your requests. Speak them.”

“Only two,” Aegor said gravely. “First, do not allow anyone, in any fashion, to claim I am the prince that was promised. Whether I am or not is unimportant, but remember, my ‘predecessor’ is King Stannis, who now sits the Iron Throne. He is an honorable man, but no one is pleased to hear a title taken from them. In this war for the living, I will need aid from across the Seven Kingdoms. That is not too much to ask, is it?”

Her faint smile did not falter. She nodded.

“Second, any public act you take in the Gift in the name of the Lord of Light must be reported to me beforehand. You need not come yourself, send someone. If I raise no objection, you have leave. Agreed?”

“Very well. Two points. Does this mean our misunderstanding is over, and we are close friends once more?”

“If you insist on calling it that, then yes.”

How important communication was. That afternoon, Aegor had been thinking of ways to rid himself of Melisandre if she would not cooperate. But once they spoke face to face, they found they had simply been overthinking.

Aegor breathed easier, no longer playing the villain. He was about to end the meeting politely when the Red Priestess, who had been humble and reasonable throughout, suddenly moved to his side and took his right arm.

“What?” Aegor frowned, puzzled, but did not think the worst. With her powers, she had no need for such contact to harm him.

“You are very anxious, Commander. Is it because you have never held such high office and feel unsettled, or is it fear of the war to come?”

Aegor was taken aback. Thinking it over, perhaps his emotions had been more unsettled since his election.

Nonsense. It was like that old trick, “Don’t think of an elephant.” Tell someone in a solemn tone that they have a problem, and when they look inward, they will find problems whether or not they exist.

Trying to play games with him? This was nothing.

Aegor narrowed his eyes, about to answer, but the witch gave him no chance.

“Fulfilling your duty and defending the realms of men is important, but you must balance work and rest. Do not collapse before the war begins. A relaxed body and a calm mind are essential for success.” She lifted his right arm and guided it firmly to her waist. “Men and women are different by nature. The supreme wisdom of the Lord of Light teaches us that union can produce power. Of course, Commander, you may scoff at this, so let us be plain. Even if intimacy does not produce power, can it not relax body and mind, help us understand one another, and build a closer, more stable alliance?”

In his hand, the warmth and softness of her waist was unmistakable. Aegor realized he had been mistaken again. Melisandre was not playing tricks now. She was seducing him.

(To be continued.)

***

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