ASOIAF/GOT: The King On The Wall

After drying himself off, Aegor picked up the clothes left by the servants. They were the characteristic all-black of the Night's Watch, but these were made of velvet, clearly not the standard issue uniforms of the Wall. The texture and workmanship were leagues above the coarse, practical clothing typically worn by the brothers. When he slipped them on and the soft fabric brushed against his skin, the sensation was so luxurious that he nearly sighed aloud. They weren't tailored for him, though; judging by the size, they were likely brought along by Benjen Stark.

Traveling on official business with a leader certainly has its perks, Aegor thought with a wry smile.

It wasn't as though he had never worn fine clothes before. Back in his previous life, his family hadn't been wealthy, but they were comfortable. They had a home, a car, and his mother owned a small clothing store. She was a skilled tailor, and growing up, he'd taken good clothes for granted. Anything he pulled out of his wardrobe was well-made and affordable. But that life felt like it belonged to another person, another era. Now, having struggled just to survive in this world, the simple comfort of good clothing felt like a luxury. Among the countless transmigrators in fiction, he thought bitterly, he must surely rank among the most pitiful.

Winterfell, warmed by its underground hot springs, circulated heat through its walls. Even in a room without a fireplace, the temperature was comfortably higher than the freezing outdoors. After his bath, Aegor relaxed in a chair, the heat lulling him into a rare sense of ease. For a brief moment, he didn't want to move a finger. But the evening's obligations called. Pulling himself together, he dressed and left the room.

---

The Night's Watch, though formally treated as "honored guests" at Winterfell, were far from being the center of attention. With the king's entourage present, Aegor was little more than an afterthought. Following the brisk instructions of the servants, he made his way to the banquet hall and found his assigned seat at a table tucked into a far corner.

The hall was alive with activity. The savory aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air. Banners from various houses adorned the gray stone walls, the direwolf of House Stark, the crowned stag of House Baratheon, and the roaring lion of House Lannister. A singer played the harp, his voice weaving a ballad that Aegor could barely make out over the din, partly because of his shaky grasp of the Common Tongue and partly because he was seated at the far end of the hall.

Jon Snow sat at the same table as Aegor. As a bastard, Jon's social standing at the king's dinner was not much better than that of a Night's Watchman. Whether his father was Rhaegar Targaryen or Eddard Stark, Jon was still illegitimate in the eyes of Westerosi society. Like Aegor, his inclusion at the banquet was purely ceremonial, he was allowed to sit, but only at the lowest tier of the hierarchy. Such was the cold reality of the feudal world.

Yet Jon didn't seem troubled by his status. He appeared relaxed, sometimes sneaking pieces of food to the direwolf pup hiding beneath the table, other times eagerly peppering Aegor with questions about the Night's Watch. His youthful enthusiasm and optimism were almost enviable.

Their table was shared by other young servants and attendants. Some served House Stark, others the royal family, and still others came from Lannisport or Casterly Rock. Despite their differing allegiances, these boys shared no deep-seated feuds or grudges. They sat shoulder to shoulder, sipping fine wine and swapping stories in easy camaraderie.

Jon's interest in the Night's Watch seemed infectious. As Aegor answered his questions, more and more of their tablemates began to lean in, setting aside their utensils and cups to listen.

"Do giants really exist?"

"Do the people north of the Wall actually sleep with goats?"

"I heard the wildlings eat their own children when food runs out!"

Aegor chose his words carefully. He avoided mentioning White Walkers, knowing that such claims would only earn him ridicule. Instead, he picked out the more colorful and entertaining stories from his time at the Wall, turning them into lively conversation starters.

Although Aegor was in his twenties, his youthful appearance helped him blend in easily with the teenagers around him. At the same time, his age and experiences gave him a quiet maturity that the others instinctively respected. Back in his previous life, he hadn't been particularly smooth-talking or charismatic. But here, in this world where strength and bloodlines dominated social standing, his knowledge and demeanor made him seem almost worldly by comparison. Drawing on bits of pop psychology he had read before crossing over, he found it easy to endear himself to the group.

Within a short time, Aegor had become the center of attention at his table. The boys surrounded him, raising their cups in toasts and peppering him with questions. Even those seated at neighboring tables began shifting their benches closer to listen in on his stories.

---

"Things aren't peaceful at the Wall these days," Aegor said after regaling them with enough amusing anecdotes to loosen their tongues and win their trust. He let his voice grow more serious, steering the conversation toward a topic that mattered. "The weather is growing colder by the day. One hundred thousand wildlings, led by the King Beyond the Wall, are gathering to breach the Wall and head south. To them, the Wall is the dividing line between life and death, crossing it is their only chance of surviving the winter.

"And that's not all. Rangers have reported sightings of strange, humanoid creatures in the Haunted Forest… figures that match the old stories of White Walkers. This year, several brothers have gone missing while patrolling north."

The boys listened with wide eyes, some visibly skeptical, others nervously amazed. Though his words were aimed at them, Aegor's true intention lay elsewhere. He knew these boys had no real power. But behind every servant stood a knight or lord. Jon Snow was close to the Starks, and the young attendants of other houses served those who controlled the resources of Westeros. By spreading word of the Night's Watch's plight through these channels, Aegor hoped to plant seeds of support that might eventually reach the ears of those in power.

The leaders of the Night's Watch were capable men, but they were constrained by their era. Raised in a world where swords decided disputes and the written word was secondary, they had little grasp of the concept of "public opinion." Aegor, with his outsider's perspective, saw the potential to use it to benefit the Watch and by extension, himself. After all, in this brutal world, survival often depended on collective strength. If the Night's Watch grew stronger, his chances of living through his time on the Wall would grow with it.

"One hundred thousand wildlings?" one boy repeated, incredulous. Others exchanged nervous glances.

"Can the Night's Watch stop them?"

"That's a good question," Aegor replied, grimacing as he drank the last of his wine. "The truth is, not all of those one hundred thousand are soldiers. There are children, the elderly, families traveling with livestock. At most, there are ten thousand who can fight.

"But the problem isn't their strength, it's our weakness. The Wall is massive, and the Watch doesn't have enough men to defend it all. If the wildlings choose to cross at an unguarded stretch, they could attack from inside and out. It would stretch us to the breaking point."

"What will you do, then?" another boy asked, his voice tinged with unease.

Aegor smiled bitterly. "That's exactly what the Chief Ranger came to discuss with the Warden of the North."

The boys began firing more questions at him, but their chatter abruptly quieted when the true stars of the banquet began to arrive.