Chapter 388

A Shortage of Rooms.

This trivial issue shouldn’t have been troubling the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, who was already juggling countless responsibilities. Yet, in truth, it wasn’t something that Yarm, merely a “mayor,” could solve on his own.

The root cause of the shortage wasn’t simply logistical—it was the unexpected guests.

Catelyn Tully had arrived in the Gift with two young girls. Though the core group consisted of only three people, they had brought along a dozen guards and servants. The North had always respected the Night’s Watch, and even when Aegor had been a low-ranking ranger, Winterfell had always provided him with a private room during his visits. This hospitality extended even to Robert Baratheon when he visited the North.

Now that Aegor was Lord Commander, he naturally reciprocated. Lady Stark and her daughters were each given their own room, and even their guards and servants—though not afforded private accommodations—were housed two or three to a room, with beds for everyone. Their treatment was no worse than the Crown's Rest garrison itself.

Adding to this, Aegor had returned from King’s Landing with a new subordinate and two groups of guests. Qyburn could easily be housed with the alchemists, posing no difficulty. Master blacksmith Tobho Mott, being a distinguished craftsman, needed at least a private room or accommodations with his assistant. As for Beric Dondarrion and Thoros, along with their three followers, they required at least two small rooms or one large one.

In trying to ensure a proper reception for everyone, Aegor had run into a hard truth: Crown's Rest’s inner keep wasn’t as expansive as Winterfell, nor did it have as many rooms. Now the guest quarters were completely full.

The situation was manageable for now, but if the White Walkers attacked and the industrial zones shut down, an additional 30–40 technical specialists and managers would need to move into the inner keep for maximum protection. Many of these individuals were skilled craftsmen hired from across the Seven Kingdoms or talents Aegor had personally trained. These people had no combat training, and their contracts didn’t include fighting the White Walkers. Unless absolutely necessary, Aegor wouldn’t send them to the front lines.

To avoid cramming these critical personnel into storage rooms during an emergency, five or six rooms needed to be freed up in advance to prevent chaos when the time came.

Yarm, despite being a senior manager in the Night’s Watch’s operations and a key figure in Crown's Rest’s governance, lacked the authority to handle this sensitive issue. As the steward, he could not unilaterally reassign rooms meant for important guests.

This was why Yarm had escalated the matter to Aegor. As Lord Commander and master of the Gift, Aegor’s involvement would lend legitimacy to any decision. If he personally explained the situation, whether to Arya, Myrcella, Winterfell’s soldiers, or Beric and Thoros, it would be a simple matter to reassign rooms. But if Yarm, a lowly official, tried to tell them the rooms weren’t enough and that they needed to “make do,” it would come across as a grave insult.
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After leaving the meeting room, Aegor turned and glared at Arya. “You little brat. Were you trying to get me in trouble back there with your nonsense? What were you hoping for—your betrothed to hear rumors and challenge me to a duel?”

“I wasn’t!” Arya protested. “I was trying to help! I saw you didn’t have enough rooms, so I offered mine. Instead of thanking me, you’re scolding me!”

“Fine, fine, I’m the bad guy who doesn’t appreciate your good intentions,” Aegor replied, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t I warn you before? This shortage of space was bound to happen. Where’s your mother?”

“She went to Castle Black days ago and hasn’t come back yet. I stayed behind to keep Bran company.”

Aegor resisted the urge to groan in frustration. He’d hoped Lady Stark would return to Winterfell with her entourage sooner rather than later. Her presence here offered no real help and only added to the burdens of the Night’s Watch, who had to ensure her safety and comfort. But voicing that aloud would sound too much like a dismissal.

“Where’s Maeve? Take me to her. Since you’re so generous about giving up your room, I’ll have Maeve move in with you. No objections, right?”

Arya shrugged. “Fine by me. It’s a big room anyway—it felt like a waste having it all to myself. Maeve’s probably off playing with Tommen and that kitten. Honestly, she and her brother should’ve swapped roles. Tommen acts more like a girl than a boy. He doesn’t care for riding or archery—just cats!”

“And you think everyone should be like you, swinging swords and chasing danger, don’t you?” Aegor said, shaking his head. Then he turned serious. “Now, enough about rooms. I want you to explain something to me—what were you thinking, sparring with Asha Greyjoy?”

Arya hesitated, looking sheepish as she edged closer. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just some normal practice.”

“Normal practice?” Aegor raised an eyebrow. “If I write to Lady Stark and tell her her daughter has been practicing swordplay with a Greyjoy prisoner, how do you think she’ll react?”

Arya’s eyes widened in panic. “Don’t! She’d freak out and drag me back to Winterfell forever! I swear, it’s not my fault. Asha started it! I was practicing with some of the guards, and she kept criticizing me, saying this was wrong and that was wrong—”

“And you got mad and told her to prove it?”

“Well… maybe a little,” Arya admitted. “She said she could beat me with her legs chained. I couldn’t let her get away with that!”

“And how long has this been going on?”

“Not long. Today was only the second or third time,” Arya said unconvincingly. “You just happened to come back too early!”

Aegor sighed, seeing through her lies. If she was already casually calling Asha by her first name, they’d clearly sparred enough times to build some level of camaraderie. Arya’s knack for befriending anyone was both a strength and a liability—sometimes it brought her allies, but other times it could lead her into danger.

Still, upon reflection, Aegor realized he might have overreacted. From what he’d observed, Asha wasn’t the type to act impulsively. Hurting Arya out of petty malice would be counterproductive to her chances of eventual freedom. She likely saw Arya as a potential ally—or, at worst, as a source of entertainment while in captivity.

Even so, Aegor wasn’t about to let this continue. “What if she does have ill intentions? What if she’s hiding something?”

“She doesn’t!” Arya said defiantly. “It’s just a mutual exchange of skills!”

“Mutual exchange of skills,” Aegor repeated, amused by her self-important phrasing. “Well, I’m putting an end to it. No more sparring with Asha. If I catch you doing it again, she’ll lose her privileges, and I’ll write to your mother. Understood?”

“Fine,” Arya muttered, folding her arms in defeat. “But you’re the one who won’t practice with me. What am I supposed to do if I can’t find anyone else?”

“You’ll survive,” Aegor said, ruffling her hair. “Now take me to Maeve. And don’t forget—you’re staying within the inner keep from now on. No wandering off.”

“Ugh, fine!” Arya huffed dramatically, though she couldn’t help but smile as she grabbed his arm. “Hey, did you see the Mad King’s daughter while you were in King’s Landing? Does she really have dragons? Is she really as beautiful as they say?”

“Didn’t see the dragons,” Aegor said with a chuckle. “As for her beauty… let’s just say you’re not far behind.”

“Liar!” Arya laughed, punching him playfully.

Smiling, Aegor shook his head, letting her guide him toward the next problem to solve.