Chapter 477

Even as the head of a rising power burdened with the weight of his ambitions, Aegor found himself mouthing lines fit for a romantic novel: “Spending a lifetime silently protecting her.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Aegor felt the urge to retch, his stomach churning at the sheer melodrama of it.

Disgusting as it was even to himself, the irony wasn’t lost on him—sentimental, idealistic platitudes like these somehow worked wonders on someone as earnest and unworldly as Jon Snow. After listening to Aegor’s carefully layered arguments, Jon sat in silence for a long while before gritting his teeth and nodding. He resolved then and there to live as the tragic guardian of his queenly aunt.

With that, Aegor had managed to temporarily suppress this looming threat. Yet he knew deep down that this was far from over. If Bran the Greenseer truly had ulterior motives, he wouldn’t stop. He might continue planting subconscious suggestions in Jon’s mind or manipulate others, like Catelyn Stark, to spread the truth indirectly and sow further chaos.

The situation was unresolved, and Aegor had no clear solution in sight. To hedge his bets, he told Jon as he left, “If you ever change your mind, come to me first. I’ll personally arrange for you to meet the Queen.”

Once Jon was gone, Aegor slumped into his chair, exhaling deeply. Only then did he notice the dampness on his back—he’d broken into a sweat. What he’d thought would be a simple meeting to secure Jon as the vanguard of the upcoming expedition had turned into an unanticipated crisis. Even for someone as seasoned as Aegor, improvising a solution on the spot was no easy feat.

He shuffled the papers on his desk into a neat pile, setting them aside before rising to stretch his legs. Gesturing to the guards to indicate he wasn’t going far, he stepped onto the second-floor balcony. Leaning on the railing, Aegor let the cold wind wash over him, clearing his mind as he sorted through his thoughts.

Earlier, he had considered consulting two Red Priests for advice. But now, as the cold air sharpened his focus, he dismissed the idea.

Melisandre and Marchello, both High Priests of R’hllor, were reliable spellcasters and organizers of their faith, both in battle and in day-to-day affairs. Yet their fanatical belief in their dualistic worldview and their habit of interpreting cryptic visions from flames made them unsuitable as trustworthy advisors. Aegor could already imagine their response: the moment he voiced suspicions about the Greenseer, they’d likely suggest purging the heretic and converting to the worship of the Lord of Light to avoid corruption by dark forces.

For one, Bran Stark was still a Stark.

Whether his actions were driven by his own will, the Greenseer’s influence, or both, he remained a member of the Stark family. Unless Aegor was fully prepared to eliminate him and deal with the fallout, any rash action would be disastrous.

Moreover, even if he decided to disregard consequences, it wasn’t clear whether the Red Priests could even match the Greenseer’s power. Aegor couldn’t quite explain it, but his instincts—shaped by past experiences—told him that Melisandre and her ilk were merely practitioners of magic, while the Greenseer had transcended mortal limits. If mortals were a “1” in power, then the Red Priests were perhaps a “1.5.” The Greenseer, however, was fundamentally a “2,” operating on an entirely different plane. Could a pair of priests overcome such a disparity?

Finally, Aegor couldn’t discount the possibility that Bran and Catelyn’s intentions were entirely genuine—perhaps they had revealed the truth purely out of goodwill. Was he the one twisting everything into a conspiracy, seeing ill intent where none existed?

Should he confront Bran directly, opening the floor to honest discussion?

The problem, Aegor realized, was trust. Even if Bran insisted there was no hidden agenda, would Aegor believe him?

Probably not.

With a wry smile, Aegor acknowledged that he’d fallen into the trap of doubt. Whether or not the suspected party had ill intentions, he couldn’t let his guard down. Such was the inevitable plight of those in power.

As he mused, a messenger rushed up the stairs, panting heavily. Barely catching his breath, the man delivered urgent news: “Lord Commander! The Unsullied forces that landed at Eastwatch have arrived outside the gates of Horgrown. The city guard has temporarily sealed the gates, awaiting your instructions.”

…

“They’re here already?”

Aegor was mildly surprised. He’d received word last night of their landing at Eastwatch but hadn’t expected them to arrive so soon. They must have rested only briefly before setting out again, their pace outstripping even his finest troops. Such discipline and efficiency were worthy of the reputation that made the Unsullied feared across Westeros.

“Well then,” Aegor said, his spirits lifting slightly. “Gather my men. Let’s go meet them.”

At least this was one development he could view positively amidst the chaos.

Leading his retinue, Aegor made his way to the northern gate of Horgrown, where the Unsullied had assembled outside in perfect formation. Their winterized combat gear, prepared for the cold of the North, was supplemented by borrowed Night’s Watch cloaks. From a distance, they almost resembled a particularly well-trained contingent of black brothers. A quick headcount estimated their numbers at no less than four hundred.

In front of the phalanx stood two figures. One, diminutive and instantly recognizable, was Missandei, Daenerys’s most trusted aide. The other, bulkier and clad in a hooded cloak, was unmistakably not an Unsullied officer.

Aegor’s confident expression faltered for a fraction of a second.

One eunuch was bad enough. But when Aegor’s gaze shifted to the man flanking Missandei and the hooded figure, he recognized the slim, sharp-eyed individual immediately. The realization struck him like a blow: not just Varys, but Petyr Baelish as well.

The two most infamous schemers in Westeros, standing side by side on his doorstep.

Suppressing the storm brewing inside him, Aegor plastered on a welcoming smile as he approached.

“Missandei, Lord Varys, Lord Baelish,” he greeted smoothly. “Welcome to Horgrown. The Gift is honored to receive such esteemed guests. Please, bring the Unsullied inside. Accommodations have been prepared to ensure your comfort.”

Missandei inclined her head politely but answered with a firm smile. “Thank you, Lord Commander, but I’m afraid we must decline your hospitality.”

“We cannot delay any longer,” she explained. “Every moment we tarry here is another moment the Queen spends surrounded by strangers, vulnerable to unforeseen dangers. We must press on to Last Hearth.”

Varys added in his smooth, honeyed tone, “A reliable guide to lead us would be much appreciated, Lord Commander. The northern roads are treacherous, and Last Hearth is not so easily found.”

Aegor could not deny their request. Blocking Varys and Baelish from reuniting with Daenerys would only raise suspicions. Reluctantly, he appointed a trustworthy scout to accompany them south.

As the Unsullied marched away with military precision, Aegor remained behind, watching their retreating forms with a mounting sense of unease.

Two schemers, two storms of trouble, heading directly for Daenerys. And him, stuck in Horgrown, unable to intervene.

The game had changed, and Aegor needed to act fast before the pieces moved beyond his control.