Chapter 362

Everything was set. Ideally, when the Others attacked, the Gift’s army would operate like a well-oiled machine, following the battle plans as if programmed to do so—holding the line, resisting, and even defeating the undead to protect the Seven Kingdoms. But armies are made of people, not machines, and the residents of the Gift, whether from the mountains or beyond the Wall, didn’t exactly possess lofty ideals like “serving the people” or “offering their hearts for humanity.” In this era, even a king sometimes had to take the field personally, let alone the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

As the highest military and political authority in the Gift, Aegor relied on both his legitimate position and the many legends about him, spread intentionally or not, to command unmatched reputation and authority. This made day-to-day management smooth and unimpeded. But the price of this reputation was clear—this “hero” couldn’t simply retreat into the shadows and play the role of a strategist. The Gift’s army could only maintain morale and achieve peak performance under his direct command.

As for King’s Landing? Even if Aegor wanted to strategize from afar, the distance between King’s Landing and the Gift was far more than “a thousand leagues.”

Daenerys was a queen—or at least she saw herself that way. As a mere Lord Commander, Aegor couldn’t simply send a subordinate to negotiate with her. So, what should he do? Should he abandon his holdings, his responsibilities in the south, and even his wife (well, not yet a wife, and definitely no children yet) to focus entirely on the battle ahead—risking the final confrontation with the Others without the trump card of dragonglass bombs? Or should he gamble on making the trip south, risking accusations of “desertion” in the face of an enemy?

Aegor was torn, caught in a deep internal struggle, his thoughts turning the matter over and over. Meanwhile, across from his desk, Myrcella found herself in an equally awkward position. She had come to express her gratitude, and if Aegor was busy, she could politely excuse herself after saying her thanks. But if Aegor had free time, she intended to stay for a bit longer, chat, and leave a good impression. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she only sought to curry favor for her brothers’ sake and had no interest in him personally.

But now—Aegor sat behind his desk, clearly not doing anything specific, and he even chatted with her briefly. Yet after only a few words, he fell silent again, lost in his thoughts. For Myrcella, it was a dilemma: leaving felt rude, but staying was increasingly uncomfortable.
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As she fidgeted uncomfortably, Aegor sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples, frustrated by his indecision.

Myrcella saw her chance to escape the awkwardness and seized it. “Lord Aegor, you must be overworked from guarding the Wall and protecting the North. Shall I massage your temples for you?”

It was phrased as a question, but she didn’t wait for an answer. The little princess quickly walked around the desk, standing behind him, and gently replaced his hands with her own, pressing lightly on his temples.

“Huh?” Aegor blinked, momentarily startled, before quickly realizing what was happening. Ah, so this was why Catelyn was willing to take her in—this girl, so young, yet so thoughtful and tactful, could even make obvious flattery seem natural and disarming. No wonder she was beloved in every timeline and wherever she went.

What a gift.

Realizing she was likely doing this out of gratitude, Aegor decided to let her continue. His tangled thoughts refused to settle, so he leaned back fully, surrendering to the “royal deluxe massage” provided by the princess of the former Baratheon dynasty.

The room was warm, and Myrcella’s small hands were soft and warm as well. She was petite, so her strength was light, but her movements were delicate and precise. Even though she wasn’t particularly skilled, her attention to the right spots was enough to make it soothing. Lazily leaning back, Aegor thought he could almost smell a faint milky sweetness in the air—pleasant at first and even more relaxing the longer it lingered. After she finished his temples, her hands naturally slid to his shoulders, applying slightly more pressure to work on his tense muscles.

Was this a natural talent too? Aegor felt goosebumps rising. He had experienced professional massages before his transmigration, but he’d never imagined that something as simple as a few gentle squeezes could feel this satisfying. A bizarre thought crossed his mind: thank goodness he’d sent Jaime to Eastwatch. If the Kingslayer knew his daughter was here massaging another man’s shoulders, he’d probably draw his sword and charge in.
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“Mm—” Aegor groaned softly, instinctively vocalizing his satisfaction before realizing it was inappropriate. He quickly spoke to cover his embarrassment. “What did Joffrey and Tommen talk about? Did they mention any difficulties or things they wanted? Feel free to ask on their behalf, as long as it’s not too much, I’ll make it happen.”

Ask for something? Joffrey’s wants were endless, but Myrcella knew her brother too well—indulging him would only make him greedier. As for her sweet younger brother… She thought for a moment before shaking her head. “Not really. Joffrey—Lord Aegor, you must keep someone watching over him. Give him something to do so he doesn’t sit idle and stir up trouble. As for Tommen… well, Lord Aegor, did you know there are many cats in the Red Keep?”

She then began telling Aegor a string of stories about Tommen and the Red Keep’s cats: which cat liked to rub against Tommen’s legs, how one he fed every day had never let him pet it even once, and how Joffrey once tried to grab a cat eating meat Tommen gave it, only to get scratched.

Myrcella’s voice was soft and pleasant, never cloying. Aegor wasn’t particularly interested in the stories, but her melodious tone and the comforting massage combined to create a hypnotic effect. Half-drifting, Aegor thought he could really use one of those reclining chairs that could fold out flat; if he had one, he’d take a proper nap before tackling his headache of a dilemma again.

After a while, as she ran out of cat stories, Myrcella said while still massaging his shoulders, “Tommen never asked for anything, but he’s the loneliest of us. Joffrey isn’t a good brother to him. If you could bring him a kitten or two to keep him company, he’d be overjoyed.”

Ah, so that’s what all this talk about the Red Keep’s cats had been leading to—an indirect way of asking for a gift for her brother.

This girl wasn’t just emotionally intelligent; she was clever too. Aegor chuckled quietly, marveling at how such a bright child had come from Robert and Cersei—a drunkard and a fool—or even Jaime, who wasn’t exactly known for his intellect or tact.

“Very well. I’ll have someone look for kittens in the Gift, see if any family has some that just weaned, and bring two for Tommen.”

“Thank you, Lord Aegor!” Myrcella couldn’t hide her excitement, her voice light and joyful. “Don’t just sit there with your arms crossed—let me massage them too!”

“No need. My arms are fine. Just focus on my shoulders, press a little harder, and then go rest.”

“Alright.”

Grateful for Aegor’s kindness, Myrcella put more effort into her massage. But just then—the door suddenly swung open without warning, letting in a gust of icy wind mixed with snow. Aegor opened his eyes to see who dared barge in without announcing themselves, only to spot Arya standing at the door, wide-eyed and stunned, staring at the awkward position of Myrcella standing behind him.