Chapter 541

Back in his office after parting ways with Petyr, Aegor immediately summoned his subordinates.

Most of the senior officers stationed at Winterfell had already been dispatched as envoys to various parts of the North, leaving only a handful behind. But fewer people also meant one advantage—the meeting started swiftly.

“I just received word that this has appeared among my Gifted Lands army.” Aegor slapped the paper Petyr had given him onto the table, his expression dark. “When did this start? Why am I, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, the last to know about it, even after outsiders? I’ve repeatedly told you all to stay vigilant, to watch for anything unusual happening around us. Are my words just empty wind to you?”

The officers, caught off guard by the reprimand, exchanged uncertain glances. None of them knew why their commander was so angry, and no one dared to be the first to speak. The room fell into silence—until Aegor decided to call on someone directly.

“Harvey, you first! Did you know about this?”

Harvey stiffened but stood up. “I… heard about it.”

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I overheard some soldiers talking about it while making rounds.”

“And why didn’t you report it to me?”

“Because… I didn’t realize… it was serious enough to report.”

Aegor was momentarily speechless. The lad was quick-witted—he had chosen the perfect excuse to shift responsibility: inexperience, lack of judgment, rather than deliberate negligence. Ignorance is not a crime—an ideal way to deflect blame in any inquiry. What could Aegor even do? Dismiss him? Demote him? The Gifted Lands army had been scraped together from the ground up, and Aegor had already picked the best men he could find from the common ranks. Even then, the officer corps was still thin.

“You’re being too harsh on them, my lord,” said Maester Coburn. As the army’s chief technical officer, he rarely spoke during meetings. But with so few attendees this time and the rest of the officers looking as timid as chicks, he had no choice but to speak up. His reputation in weapon development gave him enough standing to interject. “Most of these lads are of common birth. To them, encountering something like this is just an amusing bit of gossip. The contents of this paper don’t target you, my lord, so why would they even think of reporting it?”

Coburn had a point. Aegor sighed inwardly. Political sensitivity wasn’t like reading or arithmetic—it couldn’t be taught through a few lessons or drilled through training. Those born outside noble families, who hadn’t grown up steeped in intrigue, simply lacked the instincts and vigilance to recognize such things.

But then, there were nobles among the officers. Quite a few, in fact—mostly lords who had backed Renly’s rebellion and were sent to the Wall after Stannis’ victory. Many had been deployed as envoys, but at least two were still in the room.

“Bookwell, Lyke,” Aegor said, fixing them with a sharp look. “The others are of common birth and lack political awareness. But you two have noble names. Explain to me why you also failed to recognize the significance of this.”

The two exchanged glances, wordlessly debating who would answer first. After a few seconds, Warner Bookwell straightened and said, “My lord, we were born in the Crownlands. We were among the first in the Seven Kingdoms to hear about these mysterious notes when they first appeared in King’s Landing. Frankly, after all these years, the fact that—ah, I mean, that the Hand of the Queen has been subjected to anonymous slander is so well-known that it’s practically ancient history. It has spread across the Neck and beyond, from the Narrow Sea to the Sunset Sea. It’s nothing new to us. So when we heard the soldiers discussing it, we didn’t think it was important.”

“But we forgot,” Lyke added with a weary sigh, “that most of the Gifted Lands army is made up of newly settled people from beyond the Wall. To them, learning that the Queen’s most powerful minister—who has been closely working with you, my lord—has such a dark past is shocking. We were negligent. We accept full responsibility and will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary.”

Aegor could hardly press the issue further. At the end of the day, “watching out for underhanded tricks” was an extra expectation he had placed on his officers—it wasn’t actually part of their duties. A soldier’s job was to obey orders unconditionally. Political sensitivity, however, required independent thought. Expecting an army to be both politically shrewd and battlefield-effective was a near-impossible demand, given the times.

Besides, Bookwell and Lyke weren’t merely making excuses. They were right—newly settled Gifted Lands soldiers had never heard of Petyr Baelish’s past. This was the kind of minor detail that most wouldn’t even notice. But Varys had seized upon it, turning an old forgery into a new weapon. The sheer cunning of it sent a chill through Aegor.

This only highlighted an issue that had been festering for a long time—one Aegor could no longer afford to ignore.

As the de facto lord of the Gifted Lands, Aegor possessed military might—but his soft power was severely lacking.

He had an army, but he had no council. No advisors.

As Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, things had been simple—so long as he could win battles against the Others, he was doing his job. No one questioned him. But now, as he stepped into the world of politics, his battles were no longer just fought with steel and blood. His enemies could no longer be dealt with through brute force alone.

And now, his long-standing neglect of one critical issue—the lack of competent, trustworthy advisors who could guide him, warn him, and help him navigate this new battlefield—was glaringly apparent.

A surge of frustration, almost desperation, welled up in his chest.

He needed talent!

Aegor needed subordinates like Petyr and Varys—keen-eyed, politically astute, and shrewd enough to navigate the dangerous game of thrones. But in a world where education was scarce, the only people who met those qualifications were his enemies—Varys, Littlefinger—or powerful nobles like Tyrion Lannister, whom he had no hope of recruiting.

There was one person, though. A young girl, right here in Winterfell. She was powerless, without status, and eager for protection and a way to change her fate. With a mere gesture, she would throw herself into his service.

But Myrcella Baratheon was a thirteen-year-old girl. He couldn’t take her into his army. He couldn’t even introduce her to the Queen—her identity as a princess of the former regime was far too dangerous. The more he thought about it, the more regretful he felt. For a moment, he almost wished he had never met her at all.
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Lost in thought, Aegor let his anger dissipate. He couldn’t even remember who he had planned to reprimand next.

But he had never truly intended to punish his officers. Their lapse had frustrated him, but his show of anger was meant to impress upon them the importance of vigilance. The Gifted Lands army had always carried out his orders with discipline. If he began berating them for something beyond their duties, it would be nothing more than impotent rage. Worse, it would foster resentment and ultimately doom him.

“Forget it. I accept your explanations. This matter is settled.”

He nearly added that he hoped they would learn from this and be more aware in the future—but then realized that was like asking a rooster to lay eggs. Instead, he shifted focus.

“This paper’s appearance has disrupted the political climate in Winterfell, disturbed the Hand of the Queen, and indirectly hindered Her Majesty’s efforts to unite the Seven Kingdoms. From this moment forward, no one in the army is to discuss or spread this rumor. Anyone who disobeys will face military justice. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” the officers chorused.

“Havy, Malen, Bookwell, Lyke—stay. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Once most had left, Aegor turned to the remaining men. “Havy, Malen—you two will investigate this thoroughly. Track down how the paper entered our army, when it happened, and through what means. Find the culprit if possible. But do not act without reporting to me first. Understood?”

“Yes, my lord.”