Chapter 330: The Legendary Broken Engagement (Part 1)
The process of agonizing over a decision is always the most painful; once Egger had made up his mind, he felt much lighter. He forced himself to forget the emotional impact of Roose Bolton's heavy implications and threw himself back into his current work.
With the Others as the ultimate opponent, staying focused was actually quite manageable.
Egger's initial goal for his journey south to borrow money from the Northern lords had been 30,000 to 50,000 gold dragons. However, he soon discovered that he was far from the first Lord Commander to start his term by asking for coin. The nobility, long accustomed to paying "protection money," already had fixed psychological price points. There was no room for negotiation; he simply took whatever they were willing to give.
From various houses excluding the Boltons, he managed to scrape together about 15,000 gold dragons. But combined with the ten thousand lent by the Old Flayer, the total unexpectedly neared his minimum target—and more than half of it didn't even need to be repaid.
The promises of funding were secured, but no one carried that much gold to a war zone. Egger would have to send his subordinates with tokens to the various family seats to collect the funds. Beyond the coin, Robb Stark, as the Lord of the North, proved reliable by providing manual support. He issued a proclamation across the lands north of the Neck, ordering idle stonemasons, carpenters, and other craftsmen to gather at Winterfell, preparing to head north to assist in building the West Coast naval port.
The Gift had no shortage of labor, but it was almost entirely devoid of skilled masters. The participation of these craftsmen would significantly enhance the overall quality of Egger's workforce and save him a fortune in recruitment costs. Robb's serious commitment to the naval port project was something Egger appreciated. After some thought, he decided to stop by Winterfell on his way back to collect the Stark donation and pick up the team of professionals. It was a gesture of respect toward the Warden of the North and a public display of how much he valued technical talent.
With the construction and development of the Gift, communication between its core, Queenscrown, and the south became increasingly frequent. Winterfell, situated on the Kingsroad, inevitably became a vital transit hub. Every few days, employees of the Night's Watch industries on official business would pass through for a temporary stay.
Technically, guests who visit frequently without an invitation are often unwelcome, but under Robb's instructions, Winterfell dared not be negligent. In addition to increasing the number of servants, they had even designated specific rooms in the Guest House for the personnel under the Night's Watch command.
Currently, Egger stood by the training yard in front of the Guest House, breathing the fresh air while observing the drills of the garrison soldiers.
Though he had intended to quietly take the money, lead the craftsmen, and leave, the castle was only so big. News of his visit was impossible to hide from the second Stark daughter.
Sure enough, after standing there for only a short while, Arya came running toward him in high spirits.
"Master! Master!"
Though his scalp felt numb, Egger put on the face of a kind elder and nodded to Arya—who likely thought he had come specifically to see her—and to Myrcella standing behind her. Or rather, she was now called Maeve.
"Master," Arya hooked her arm into his without hesitation. "Maeve said she wanted to ask how her two brothers are doing at the Wall, but she was too shy to come alone, so I came with her."
"They aren't at the Wall," Egger said with a gentle smile to the former princess. "They are in Queenscrown, far from the front lines, in the school I established for the residents of the Gift. They are 'overseeing' the students as members of the Night's Watch—of course, while their title is overseer, they are actually there to learn. I've told the teachers to take extra care of them. Given their background in maester-led education, they should find it quite easy."
"Hearing you say that, my Lord, sets my mind at ease. I cannot thank you enough—"
"I told you, my Master would definitely look after your brothers. As long as Joffrey stops thinking he's a prince and bullying people... hmph," Arya interrupted Myrcella habitually, her excitement suddenly shifting into a look of distress. "Master, my thirteenth name day is almost here!"
A name day was the Westerosi equivalent of a birthday. Egger was slightly surprised and quickly put on an apologetic expression. "Oh, is it? Drat... I didn't prepare a gift for you."
"Bah, who wants your gift!" Arya stamped her foot in frustration. "That Harry is coming. He says he wants to spend my name day with me!"
"Which Harry?" Egger was confused. It certainly wasn't Harry Potter.
Egger's question revealed that he wasn't paying attention to her personal affairs at all, which annoyed the girl. Arya angrily shook the arm she was clutching and even gave him a pinch. "Harrold Hardyng! The heir to my cousin, Robert Arryn! Everyone calls him 'Harry the Heir'! Ugh, he's my fiancé!"
Oh, right. That guy. Egger realized his mistake. It wasn't that his memory was poor, but rather that the boy had so little to do with him that he hadn't felt the need to remember him.
No wonder Lady Catelyn had sent someone to Queenscrown weeks ago to urge the girl home. The son-in-law was coming to visit. "What? Is he in such a hurry to marry you? At what age can one marry in the North?"
"I don't know, there doesn't seem to be a rule," Arya said with a long face. "Anyway, thirteen is allowed. What am I going to do? I don't want to get married!"
"He probably won't. Harry is likely just here at the request of his family elders to meet you—to start 'cultivating feelings,'" Myrcella offered in a soft, consoling voice. "Thirteen is indeed the generally accepted minimum age for marriage, but usually, that only happens if the groom's side is far more powerful than the bride's family, or if both sides are desperate to confirm an alliance. In Arya's case, the Hardyng family wouldn't dare push for a wedding until she is at least sixteen."
Myrcella was, after all, born a princess; she understood the rules of the "noble game" quite thoroughly.
The reason House Stark had arranged this marriage was because the current Lord of the Vale, Robert Arryn, was a sickly child with epilepsy whose health was so poor he could die at any moment without an heir. Among the living nobility of the Vale, Harry the Heir had won by default as the first in line for the Eyrie because his grandmother was an Arryn.
However, Robert Arryn was still very much alive and was the first cousin of the Lord of Winterfell. The alliance between the North and the Vale was natural and firm. Arya's betrothal was, put simply, an insurance policy meant for a worst-case scenario.
House Hardyng, as a middle-tier family, could not be considered the powerful party in a union with a Great House like the Starks. They had no right to dictate the wedding date; even to see his bride, Harry had to travel a great distance under the guise of a name day celebration.
"Did you hear that? Just say a prayer for your little cousin. As long as he lives, no one will pressure you before you're sixteen. What's the panic?" Egger shook his arm, but failed to dislodge Arya's grip. "Where is your fiancé? Aren't you afraid he'll see you like this and get jealous?"
"He's still on the road. It'll be two days before he arrives," Arya clung to Egger's side, dejected. "But I just don't want to get married. Not now, not at sixteen, not ever."
"What nonsense are you talking? Is this a matter of what you 'want'?" Egger sighed, recalling Roose Bolton's hints. Even the Starks' status was being coveted, yet the second daughter was still full of naive ideas. It was truly...
"Master, help me think of a way. Break off the engagement."
The legendary "breaking of the engagement"? What a classic trope!
The familiar term triggered a series of strange associations in Egger's mind. He quickly reined in his thoughts and glared at the girl. "Can an engagement be broken just like that? Even if it could, what say does a Lord Commander of the Night's Watch have?"
"Aren't you supposed to be able to solve anything? What's so scary about helping your most obedient disciple break an engagement!" Arya began to throw a tantrum. "I don't care! You have to think of a way. At least... at least three ideas!"
Right. I have exactly one disciple. Most obedient, most beautiful... since there's no competition, you can say whatever you want. Egger's head throbbed. He gave others the impression he could solve any problem only because he never attempted anything he wasn't certain he could finish.
But helping the sister of the Warden of the North break a betrothal? There was simply no way to even start!
"Stop it!"
"I won't stop!" Arya, acting as if she had caught a life-saving straw, refused to let go. "If you don't give me three ideas today, I'm not leaving. I'll even crawl into your bed tonight!"
Good heavens, Egger groaned inwardly. How does this brat dare to say such things with others listening? He really should have left Deepwood Motte and gone straight back to Queenscrown!
"Fine, fine, fine! I'll give you ideas!" Egger didn't doubt for a second she would actually do it. Fearing the girl might blurt out that they had already shared a bed once, he quickly gave in. "Let go first."
"Mhm." The girl let go, looking triumphant. She likely believed that if it was Egger's idea, it was 100% guaranteed to work.
With the Great Enemy at the gate, he was spending his time dealing with the treacherous Roose Bolton one moment and figuring out how to help a noble girl break an engagement the next. Life was absurd. Egger decided: unless it started raining knives, he was leaving for Queenscrown the second the gates opened tomorrow.
Despite the headache, he began to think seriously. He needed to generate three plans to get rid of this little she-wolf and get through the day.
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