Chapter 329: Windfalls are Hard to Hold
Egger was startled.
It wasn't that being seen through made him panic, nor was it that Roose Bolton's words were particularly treacherous or unexpected—it was their current location.
They weren't in a private solar in Queenscrown or the Dreadfort where they could indulge in grand, treasonous talk. They were on the walls of Deepwood Motte, the seat of House Glover, currently serving as the temporary command post for the Northern army!
The castle, which had been captured in a surprise Ironborn attack just months ago and was now back in a state of war, was under high alert. Armed guards stood sentry at intervals along the battlements, and patrols moved back and forth to ensure no gaps in the line... Was the Old Flayer not at all afraid of being overheard by someone with keen ears?
Egger quickly scanned his surroundings: they had just passed one sentry and were about a dozen meters from the next. The old fox had timed his speech for this exact window. The row of Northern soldiers standing at attention on the wall would never imagine that one of the North's most powerful high vassals was speaking such dangerous words to the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch right under their noses.
(Are you insane? Are we even that close? Dropping a line like that... how am I supposed to answer?)
Despite his quick wits, he was momentarily at a loss. Pretend not to understand? That only works on people who can actually be fooled. Enthusiastically agree and start plotting a rebellion? He didn't have that level of intimacy with Roose Bolton, and the timing was all wrong!
The two walked side by side. Though their pace wasn't fast, they were quickly approaching the next sentry. Now it was even harder to say anything.
Egger decided to maintain a pensive silence.
Fortunately, the Old Flayer had no intention of waiting for a response. After giving the Night's Watchman a sudden jolt, he seamlessly transitioned to a different topic as if the previous words had never been spoken: "According to the agreement I made with the other lords today, the Boltons—as a major house situated relatively far north—should contribute at least one thousand gold dragons to support the Night's Watch in its operations against the White Walkers. However, after some thought, I have a different idea. If one wishes to accomplish great things, what use is a mere thousand? I am willing to loan the Night's Watch ten thousand gold dragons to support the construction and development of the Gift under your command."
Despite the inner turmoil and the knowledge that this money would come with heavy strings attached, Egger played his part, adopting an expression of pleasant surprise. "If that is true, I must thank you on behalf of all the residents of the Gift for your generosity, Lord Bolton. The Night's Watch will surely use these funds wisely to ensure they achieve the maximum effect."
"You are too kind, Lord Commander." Bolton nodded with an unchanging tone, accepting Egger's gratitude. They chatted idly for a few more moments, and after passing another sentry, he returned to his earlier theme: "I am not asking the Night's Watch to do anything for me immediately. I only wish to remind you—opportunity always favors the prepared. To the west, the Iron Islands cannot be quelled simply by building a few warships. To the south, the Reach, Dorne, and the pretender king they support still possess great strength. Across the Narrow Sea, that Targaryen girl has taken Slaver's Bay and become a 'Breaker of Chains.' She has three dragons."
After shifting the topic again to bypass the ears of another sentry, the Old Flayer came to a halt. Leaning against the wooden railing of the wall, he gazed out over the boundless Wolfswood shimmering in the moonlight and spoke one final sentence: "Once you have built up your Gift and repelled the army of the dead... perhaps we can cooperate and make a name for ourselves in Westeros."
The conversation ended there.
The meaningful content consisted of nothing more than three phrases: "You don't seem like a man who can sit quietly," "Opportunity favors the prepared," and "Perhaps we can cooperate."
It seemed like he had said nothing, yet he had said far too much. Suitably organized, the Common Tongue of Westeros could be just as profound and multi-layered as any ancient script.
Egger had always been the one using silver-tongued persuasion to get others to join his plans; he hadn't expected to see the day the tables were turned.
A strange sense of role reversal washed over him. He felt as though he were in a strategy game, except this time the Old Flayer was the player and he was the NPC. Roose Bolton had secured a favor by speaking well of him to Robb Stark and lending him ten thousand gold dragons at a critical moment. Then, with these remarks that would seem nonsensical to an outsider, he had reminded Egger—his help was not without purpose; he expected a return in the future.
As for what kind of return, even the Old Flayer likely didn't know yet—he, too, was waiting for his opportunity.
After defeating the Ironborn and repelling the White Walkers, what could the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch do next?
Egger had no plan.
With the natural enemy of all mankind still looming beyond the Wall, potentially launching a final war at any moment, considering the afterward seemed a bit too optimistic and careless. However, just as one often flips to the end of an exam to check the essay prompt first, Egger had subconsciously been thinking about it all along. He didn't need Roose Bolton to remind him.
With this talk, Lord Bolton had simply pulled back the veil on a cruel reality, forcing Egger to face it now:
The Starks and the North were a giant tree that had grown for thousands of years. The New Gift under Egger's leadership, which had been revitalized by accepting the wildlings, was merely a sapling beneath that giant tree. The great tree could shelter the sapling from the wind, frost, and snow, preventing it from dying young... but rooted in barren land with a harsh climate like the Gift, the sapling's growth was actually being forcibly maintained by the infusion of external nutrients.
One day, the sapling would grow to the point where it would need to compete with the great tree for sunlight, water, and nutrients. At that time, it would either have to break through the giant tree's canopy to bathe in the sun and continue its life cycle, or remain in its shadow, slowly withering away after the external blood transfusions were cut off. Ultimately, when the birds were gone and the bow was put away—because it no longer had any utility—it would return to the path of decline it had been on before Egger arrived, gradually disappearing into history.
This train of thought made Egger very uncomfortable.
But unlike the Boltons, he had no ancestral blood feud with the Starks to justify a betrayal. If he truly faced this difficult situation in the possible future, what choice would he make?
As the saying goes, what you think of by day, you dream of by night. He had a terrible dream that evening.
In the dream, he helped the North settle the Iron Islands and easily dealt with the White Walkers using dragonglass cannons. The Gift was strong, its soldiers numerous, and its overall power had peaked. Then, he turned his guns around, helping Roose Bolton overthrow the Starks to become King in the North. After that... they continued their march south, using the might of firearms to conquer the rest of the Seven Kingdoms one by one.
Finally, the world was at peace. He became the First Emperor of Westeros, then turned around and killed Roose Bolton along with all the high-ranking officials of the Night's Watch industries. He sat alone upon the Iron Throne, a truly solitary man.
It had been a long time since Egger had been startled awake by a nightmare. Lying in his sweat-soaked bed, he thought for a long time and realized: this was not the future he wanted.
He was, after all, a person with independent will, not an NPC following simple logic gates or a data-driven entity whose favor could be bought with gold. What did it matter if Roose Bolton lent the Night's Watch ten thousand gold dragons, or even gifted them a million?
He did indeed owe the man a favor, but whether to repay it—and in what manner—was entirely up to his own whim. If there were no way to break the shackles of his identity as a Night's Watchman without destroying the Starks and bringing ruin upon them, then what would be so wrong with being the Lord Commander for the rest of his life?
Even if one's bottom line is low, there must at least be a line.
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