Outside the tent, the raucous cheers of reveling soldiers echoed through the curtains, starkly contrasting with the tense silence inside. Under the watchful eyes of countless nobles, Aegor's body trembled slightly, he hadn't expected Robert to distribute rewards in this "make a wish" fashion, leaving him unprepared.
Your Grace, please release from my vows as a brother of the Night's Watch!
The words almost escaped his lips, but reason held him back at the last mont.
Would such a request be "too outrageous" for Robert? Aegor couldn't say for certain, but he knew the king had the power to grant it. If Robert declared him a free man and a citizen of the Seven Kingdoms, Jeor Mormont wouldn't dare openly object.
But how would Eddard Stark react? As Hand of the King, he had the authority to challenge royal decrees, and from a legal standpoint, while a king could legitimize a bastard, he had no right to absolve a sworn brother of the Night's Watch from his vows. That had been the rule for a thousand years. If Ned insisted on upholding tradition, Robert would have no legal ground to stand on. Even if the king's will ultimately overpowered the Hand's principles, Aegor would forever be at odds with Ned Stark, a dangerous position for any man in the Seven Kingdoms.
And then, what of the Night's Watch industries? If he were freed, there would be no justification for him to continue managing the fledgling manufacturing and financial empire he had built under the Watch's banner. Mormont could appoint soone else to seize control of all its assets. Ned Stark, in his unwavering sense of justice, might even assist in preventing Aegor from transferring any of its wealth.
Beyond that, on a personal level, Aegor had grown accustod to life as a Night's Watchman, particularly the privileges that ca with his unique position as chief logistics officer. He never had to fight on the battlefield, a luxury few n could claim in an era where life was as cheap as dirt.
Not under the jurisdiction of any lord, not bound to anyone's will, not subject to any orders…
Anyone with an ounce of intelligence could see how much power such a position held. He might wear the black and carry an oath, but the privileges he wielded were far more valuable than a re citizenship that held no real influence. As things stood, he was the only man in the Seven Kingdoms who could carve out his own path purely through his own rit, free from noble birth or family ties.
Throw all of that away and start over?
The thought alone was unbearable. If he abandoned his Night's Watch identity, how many years of struggle and risk would it take before he could once again stand among the real power players of Westeros, drinking and laughing with knights and lords, or sitting face-to-face with a king?
---
"What?" Robert, though impatient, was noticeably softer toward Aegor than he had been in their last war council. After all, this was the man who had saved his honor. "If you can't decide right away, sit down, have so wine and at, and tell when you've made up your mind."
"No, Your Grace, I've already decided." Aegor raised his head, forcing down the mix of excitent and nervousness. "You said I could ask for anything, without limit on quantity."
"Well… no, but it can't be too outrageous. Let's set a limit—three requests, as long as they don't break the law or violate your Night's Watch oath."
"I only need two." Aegor felt a surge of relief. He had prepared only one true request, but the second was a necessary pretext, a cover to make his real demand seem more reasonable. "First, the Alchemist's Guild in King's Landing has, by your command, safeguarded the wildfire left over from the previous dynasty. In the warm South, such a thing is dangerous, but in the cold and desolate North, it could be a stable and effective weapon. I ask Your Grace to order the guild to relocate the wildfire stores from King's Landing to the Wall, leaving only a few assistants to oversee them, while the pyromancers, those skilled in its preparation are sent to the Night's Watch to produce and supply this weapon for the defense of the realm."
"Write that down!" Robert exhaled in relief, glancing at his scribe. So long as it wasn't about gold, he had no objections. "What's the second request?"
"There are over a hundred thousand wildlings beyond the Wall, restless and in need of aid. However, the Iron Throne…" Aegor hesitated, knowing he couldn't say outright that the crown was broke. Robert would take offense. Instead, he softened his words. "…is unable to provide the necessary support. The Night's Watch understands Your Grace's difficulties, so we have chosen to be self-sufficient. Through the logistics departnt I established, we have begun raising funds, purchasing supplies, and training new recruits in King's Landing through our own efforts."
Many in the tent were already aware of the Night's Watch's growing industries. Even Robert himself had heard bits and pieces, after all, every book sold in Westeros, even the cheap brothel pamphlets, bore the sa tiny imprint on the back: Produced by the Night's Watch.
"Well, go on."
"But one thing frustrates ," Aegor continued, his tone asured. "Despite our efforts, all business ventures that provide logistical support to the Night's Watch are taxed by the Iron Throne just like ordinary rchants. The crown is ant to fund the Watch in its defense against the White Walkers, yet instead, the money we work tirelessly to earn is being drained back into the kingdom's coffers instead of going toward the Wall's defense—"
"Alright!" Robert waved a hand impatiently. "The Night's Watch's purchases of food and arms—oh, damn it all. Never mind! From now on, all Night's Watch activities within the Seven Kingdoms are tax-exempt!"
Gasps rippled through the assembled lords. Robert, who had not yet drunk himself into a stupor, suddenly realized sothing was amiss. "Wait… no. No nas allowed. Only sworn brothers of the Night's Watch, n who have taken the oath and stood atop the Wall, can be exempt!"
"Your Grace!" Ser Barristan Selmy, standing beside the king, finally spoke up. As a Kingsguard, he had a duty to advise his liege against reckless decisions. "Rules exist to prevent exploitation. If you set such a vague condition, what's to stop n from taking the oath, standing on the Wall for a few days, and then returning to claim lifeti tax exemption? Within a decade, every rchant in the realm will beco a Night's Watchman!"
Robert frowned, realizing the flaw in his decree. But he was Robert Baratheon, and a king who had spoken boldly could not back down without losing face. "Forget it! White Walker Slayer, the exemption applies only to you. Only you—personally—will be free from taxation."
"Your Grace!" Barristan looked exasperated. The restriction seed harsh at first glance, but in reality, it was still a loophole large enough to drive a cart through. It wouldn't take ten years, under Aegor's leadership, the Night's Watch could funnel vast amounts of wealth through his personal exemption. Complete tax immunity had no place in a feudal system.
"Enough, no more talk!" Robert, ever the hot-tempered warrior, had grown tired of the debate. He paused, then threw back his drink, sloshing wine from his cup. "White Walker Slayer, I'm warning you, this privilege is for you alone. You are forbidden from passing it on or letting others benefit from it. If you push your luck, I'll take it back!"
Setting a vague bottom linemuch like reserving the right of final interpretation—was, at the very least, a aningful restriction. Barristan Selmy sighed but chose not to challenge Robert's temper any further.
"Alright, get out of here." Robert sounded slightly irritated, but today was a day of celebration. He downed the rest of his wine, and the alcohol quickly dulled his frustration. "Next—Robb! What do you want? Don't dawdle like the one before you!"
"Thank you, Your Grace." Aegor suppressed his excitent and returned to his seat. His original goal had been to secure tax exemptions for the Night's Watch factories, but he had ended up receiving sothing far greater, tax exemption privileges for himself. With this in hand, as long as Mormont remained clear-headed, Aegor would never have to worry about being sidelined or recalled. As for the supposed restrictions? In the future, he would simply have to travel frequently to apply his personal tax-free status to the ever-growing Night's Watch industries.
He might not yet be among the most powerful figures in the Seven Kingdoms, but he would soon be one of the most valuable.
As he settled back into his seat, a familiar, beautiful young woman raised her glass toward him. Margaery Tyrell had not been present for the war council, won were not permitted to attend but the victory feast was a different matter. She smiled, her gaze appreciative. "The chief logistics officer is truly impressive. I admire you!"
Aegor grinned. "Likewise. But compared to tax exemptions, those who collect taxes, such as the Tyrells are the real winners here."
He could barely contain his pride. So long as he didn't abuse his privileges, Robert's personality ant he would never revoke them, even if he later regretted granting them.
The only common-born man in the grand tent had beco the center of attention among the Seven Kingdoms' nobility.
Those who rely spent gold rarely understood its true worth. But the lords who managed tax collection, the heads of noble houses, treasurers, and regional rulers knew exactly what Aegor's tax exemption really ant.
They weren't envious, but they couldn't deny it: this young Night's Watchman had pulled off sothing remarkable.
So many eyes were fixed on Aegor that few paid attention when Robb Stark stepped forward to claim his own reward.
But then, with a single sentence, the Young Wolf commanded the entire tent's attention.
The once-muted hall erupted into cheers, gasps, and confused whispers. Aegor nearly choked on his wine.
He had thought Cersei was the biggest winner of this war. Just monts ago, he had been certain of it.
But now, he realized there was soone else.
Robb Stark knelt on one knee before Robert, took a deep breath, and declared:
"I have fallen in love with Roslin Frey, daughter of Lord Walder Frey, at first sight. Your Grace, please grant her hand in marriage!"
***
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