After a private talk with his confidants, Aegor lay back in bed and continued to feign death.

Though poisoned and bedridden for days, unseen by the public, he remained the most talked-about figure from the Neck to the far North. Every faction had its eyes fixed on him, and visitors came in an endless stream to see him.

Yesterday and this morning, high-ranking officers from the Gift Army and former chiefs of the Free Folk tribes Beyond the Wall had come to visit. Aegor needed these people to witness his stable condition and then spread the news to reassure the soldiers. Otherwise, this army of wolves and tigers might lose control if they believed the mountain pressing over their heads had vanished.

Now that all of the Gift Army’s ranks had visited, it was the Starks’ turn in the afternoon.

This was easy enough to understand. Though Aegor and his men temporarily controlled Winterfell, the Starks were still the castle’s rightful masters. It was only proper that, after a guest was poisoned under their roof, the hosts should show guilt and concern.

Their delay of two days was also understandable. The investigation had not yet been concluded, and the Stark family were among the suspects. They had remained under the control and surveillance of both the Gift Army and Daenerys’s Queen’s Guard until the “culprit” had been caught and then committed suicide in his cell. Only then were they cleared and freed.

Well, free to a certain extent.

The hinges creaked as the door opened. The chatter outside stopped instantly. Maester Qyburn entered first, followed by Catelyn, Roslin Frey Stark with her infant daughter, and then Rickon, Sansa, and Arya. All the surviving Starks except Robb and Bran were present. The last to enter was Myrcella, or rather, Meave Snow, the family’s adopted daughter.

As the temporary head of the family, Catelyn had gathered this large group to pay their visit. To protect her children, this mother had been forced to swallow her pride and calculate every move. Though Aegor had once led troops to seize the castle, she understood that sulking or showing hostility would do nothing to ensure her family’s safety. The truth was clear: Aegor was the only one in Winterfell capable of controlling the Wildlings, and one of the few willing to protect the Starks—at least, to appear to.

Even if he was a despicable hypocrite, a hypocrite was still better than a true villain. The former, at least, had to care about appearances.

Only if Aegor lived could her children be safe. Only by convincing Daenerys and others that “the friendship between House Stark and Aegor remains unbroken despite past conflict” could she ensure her family would still be considered in future decisions. Whether for safety or to preserve dignity, she had to endure this visit and play her part in the performance.

The group approached the bedside. Aegor lay there with his eyes shut, breathing softly. The room fell into heavy silence, so quiet that a pin drop would have been heard.

This was a scene meant to be seen by others. They merely needed to be present long enough to fulfill their obligation. Facing the man who had stormed their home, who had kept them in fear and confinement for so long, it was already remarkable restraint that no one cursed him aloud. Expecting them to exchange polite words was too much.

Besides, Aegor was “unconscious.” No matter what they said, it would make no difference.

After a long pause, Catelyn, ever the diplomat, was the first to speak.

“The Lord Commander looks rather well. He should wake up soon, shouldn’t he?”

“In theory, yes,” Qyburn replied, taking her cue. “Physically, he is indistinguishable from a healthy man now—his breathing, heartbeat, and body temperature are all normal. The reason he remains unconscious is likely that his body still needs time to repair the damage the poison caused to his brain and nerves.”

The explanation was logical and convincing, almost believable.

According to the original plan, Aegor was to “awaken” two days after the investigation reached a dead end. But since the sudden appearance of a “culprit” who had committed suicide had prematurely closed the case, there was no need to prolong the act. He planned to announce his recovery the next day. Since the question had now been raised, he was content to let Qyburn set the stage early.

“That is wonderful. There are many herbs and medicines in Winterfell’s stores that strengthen the body. If you need anything, Maester Qyburn, I can show you later,” Catelyn offered.

“Thank you for your kindness, my Lady. If I find anything lacking, I will be sure to seek your help. For now, I would not trouble you,” Qyburn replied politely.

Both knew the exchange was hollow, yet they went through the motions nonetheless. When the brief conversation ended, silence fell again. Roslin’s attention was on the child in her arms, not on Aegor’s fate. Sansa, still inexperienced, stood stiff and anxious, unsure what to say. Arya, who had once been close to Aegor, was torn and confused. Only the youngest, Rickon, glared at the man in the bed with hatred. His beloved direwolf, Shaggydog, had been killed by the black-cloaked soldiers during the Gift Army’s night assault on Winterfell.

When the silence dragged on, Rickon frowned and blurted out the question that had been festering in his heart. “Why is it that bad people always live so long?”

He did not name names, but with Aegor lying in front of them and his mother’s earlier conversation with Qyburn, no one could mistake his meaning.

Everyone froze. Catelyn quickly pulled her son to her side before he could speak further. Qyburn, standing nearby, feigned deafness. He knew Aegor would not take offense at a child’s words.

In the end, it was Myrcella who broke the awkward silence.

“Since Lord Aegor might wake at any time,” the young princess said after studying the scene, “why isn’t anyone watching over him? If he wakes up and needs water or food, there will be no one to help.”

“Uh…”

Once again, the little girl had hit the sore spot. Even Qyburn, sharp as he was, found himself at a loss for words.

Only a few of Aegor’s closest confidants knew that he was pretending. But they were all men with duties too important to linger at his bedside. They could not spare the time to sit and “watch” an unconscious man.

As for assigning an ordinary attendant, that was out of the question. If someone not in on the secret stayed in the room, Aegor would be trapped in his act all day, unable to move. The moment anyone saw him up and about, the deception would collapse.

The man lying motionless in bed would, in truth, rise and resume work the moment the visitors left. No one outside the inner circle could be allowed to see that.

Why were the little girls of Winterfell all so troublesome?

“This is indeed our oversight,” Qyburn said after some thought. Admitting fault was the only safe answer. “Someone should have been present, but they must have stepped away for a meal or to relieve themselves. I will arrange for attendants to take turns watching over the Lord Commander around the clock.”

A clever answer, Aegor thought behind closed eyes.

Say whatever you please, old man. It’s not as if the girl can wander freely into the Gift Army’s quarters to check whether I truly have attendants.

Myrcella, satisfied with his explanation, nodded. Then, after looking at Aegor for a few moments, her eyes widened with sudden surprise.

“Oh, I think I just saw Lord Aegor’s eyes move!”

(To be continued.)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep