GOT/ASOIAF: Ruler Beyond The Ice

Suppressing the frustration welling in her chest, Margaery forced a smile.

"Let's not dwell on such trivial matters, Lord Aegor," she said smoothly. "All the princes of the so-called Alliance of the Righteous have been captured. Since His Grace ordered you to accompany the army, I assume he has no intention of executing them. I wonder what fate awaits them?"

Though she seemed to be asking Aegor, the question was truly directed at Barristan. She wasn't particularly interested in the answer, but after having been questioned herself, her instincts demanded she return the exchange, never give something for nothing. Even seemingly insignificant information could prove useful someday, or so her grandmother had taught her.

"The main ringleaders will, of course, face judgment," Barristan answered. "As for the lesser lords who led their men in rebellion, they will be sent to take the black."

The old knight saw no need to conceal this information—Aegor, as a Night's Watch officer, would know soon enough, and Lady Tyrell would hear of it before long.

"As for the castles taken during the conflict, they will be returned to their original lords, so long as they acknowledge the treason of their family heads and offer hostages as proof of loyalty. Naturally, their lands will be greatly reduced. The holdings granted to Ser Brynden and the other loyalists today? Those all came from the traitors."

---

Rebellion forgiven—such a thing would have been unthinkable in the old empires. But in Westeros, such leniency was considered the most practical course of action. It was a land where honor still held weight, and pragmatic mercy often won out over blind vengeance.

The decision to spare the rebels had many factors behind it.

First was Littlefinger's escape, his flight was as good as an admission of guilt, confirming the whispers of conspiracy. The so-called Alliance of the Righteous, which had once seemed a noble cause, now found itself receiving unexpected sympathy from various quarters.

Second, the idea of exterminating entire noble families simply wasn't viable in the feudal structure of Westeros. The Deer, Wolf, and Osprey Alliance had been forged decades ago, and over time, the noble houses of the Vale had intermarried with those of the North, the Riverlands, and even the Stormlands. If punishments were carried out too harshly, the bloodshed wouldn't stop until half the realm's nobility was wiped out.

These were the justifications Aegor might give if asked.

But the real reason for Robert's mercy was far simpler, many of these families had once fought for him in the war against the Targaryens. And Robert Baratheon was not a man who forgot those who had helped him claim his throne.

---

A loud crash echoed from within the great tent, the sound of plates or cups shattering. Whether it was a sign of celebration growing too wild or the beginnings of an altercation, it was unclear.

Barristan frowned. Though Robert had other Kingsguard present, he was still uneasy. He lifted his jug, downed the last of his wine, and exhaled. His task complete, the old knight gave Aegor and Margaery a nod before turning toward the tent, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Now, only two remained.

A man and a woman.

But there was no romantic atmosphere between them.

Margaery Tyrell was many things, but she had no intention of wasting her time trying to melt the cold demeanor of a Night's Watchman. She had other concerns, and the night had drained her more than she cared to admit.

"The Chief Logistics Officer must be busy," she said lightly. "I won't keep you any longer."

She turned to leave, then paused briefly.

"I will remain in King's Landing for a few days before returning to Highgarden. Perhaps I shall visit your office then, and see this legendary Night's Watch industry for myself."

Aegor exhaled subtly, relieved that their conversation had reached its natural conclusion.

"I look forward to your visit, my lady."

Margaery lifted her head, turned on her heel, and walked away without looking back.

Her movements were graceful, composed, almost indifferent. But inside, her thoughts were in complete disarray.

She had once aimed for the crown, yet now, she couldn't even secure a ducal marriage.

Jaime Lannister, bound by his Kingsguard vows, was not an option. The young Lord Arryn was sickly and unlikely to live long. Renly Baratheon… well, Loras had already secured that alliance, making her own involvement unnecessary.

What was left?

Would she be reduced to climbing into Edmure Tully's bed? Was that all she had left to offer her family?

Her grandmother had always taught her that seduction was the ultimate weapon, one used with great precision, and only when absolutely necessary. After all, it had been Olenna's skill in such matters that had once secured her place within House Tyrell.

But for Margaery to resort to such measures now—with Edmure of all men? It was a risk. What if he rejected her, out of pride or spite for past slights? She would lose not just her dignity, but any remaining leverage she had.

For the favored daughter of House Tyrell, the darling of Highgarden, to find herself unwanted, it was an unbearable humiliation.

Beneath the flickering firelight, unseen in the night, unshed tears welled in her eyes.

She quickened her pace and disappeared from Aegor's sight.

---

The chaos sparked by a single, reckless rumor had finally settled after nearly two months of upheaval.

Aegor had always understood the power of words, but never had he witnessed firsthand how mere whispers could set entire armies in motion.

Yet in the end, rumors—no matter how fierce were but paper tigers. Their greatest strength lay in their spread, in the uncertainty they sowed. Once a rumor became fact, it lost its edge, deflating like a punctured wineskin.

For all their danger, rumors were nothing compared to the brutal certainty of war.

---

The morning after the feast, the great host of eighty thousand men dispersed like scattered crows. Each lord and knight returned to his own lands, his own family, his own hearth.

Only a token force remained, some thousand men under Robert's banner, along with the last loyal knights of the Vale camped at the foot of the Eyrie. Their task was simple: wait.

Either Lysa Arryn would come down willingly, or hunger and fear would drive her from her mountain stronghold.

After all, the king had summoned the banners of six kingdoms to crush a rebellious vassal. Even if she had no intention of defying the crown further, she had to present herself before the king to kneel, to beg forgiveness, to swear her loyalty anew.

More than that—Jon Arryn had been Hand of the King for over a decade. Countless nobles had tied their fates to his. And now, his wife had poisoned him for the sake of an affair?

Robert might be willing to let the matter slide, but others would not be so forgiving.

---

As for the rebel lords?

Of the leaders of the Alliance of the Just, only Lady Anya Waynwood had been spared execution, imprisoned instead in the Red Keep, if only because she was a woman.

The others?

No ransoms. No pardons.

They would take the black.

With so many noblemen marching for the Wall, Lord Commander Mormont's struggle for manpower would be eased, at least for a time.

Aegor left the matter to Yoren. With Robert assigning an escort, the new recruits would reach Castle Black without incident.

The rebellion had been costly, and countless small matters still needed resolution. But those were no concern of the Night's Watch.

A day after the banquet, Aegor and his squire departed the Vale, traveling alongside the lords and soldiers returning home.

Once more, they passed through the battle-worn Bloody Gate, now under repair, and left the highlands behind.

After several days of travel, they arrived once more at the heart of the realm—the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, the city that never truly slept.

King's Landing.

The streets were as loud, filthy, and teeming with life as ever.

Aegor walked the familiar path through the crowded avenues until, at last, he reached the doorway of the institution he had built with his own hands.

The Night's Watch Office.

(To be continued.)

**

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