Chapter 11: A Turning Point
What a coincidence.
Egger knew exactly what Maester Aemon was referring to—the death of the Hand meant the main plot had officially begun. It should have been a monumental realization, but at that moment, he truly lacked the energy to dwell on it. Nearly ten days and nights of flight had utterly drained his body and spirit. Though his earlier interrogation before the high command hadn't required much physical effort, it felt as if his last drop of mental faculty had been evaporated by the strain of thinking. He had practically been carried to the holding cell by two rangers; the second he touched the cot, he fell into a dead sleep.
The days of "confinement"—which were essentially a form of semi-detention—lasted for a while. To an ordinary person, such isolation would be agonizing, but Egger savored it. He ate until he was full and slept until he woke, skipping all drills. After dozens of hours of pure comfort, he finally felt his vitality return.
With enough rest under his belt, it was time to start worrying about his personal future.
Littlefinger had already done away with the previous Hand of the King. In the upcoming royal visit to the North, Robert would invite the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark, to take up the post... and immediately following that, the Game of Thrones would truly commence.
None of this had much to do with a lowly man of the Night's Watch, save for one detail: the deceased Jon Arryn was the Warden of the East, Ruler of the Vale, and the liege lord to whom "Bronze Yohn" Royce and his house owed their fealty. It was impossible to know how Yohn Royce would feel receiving news of his liege's death and his son's disappearance simultaneously, but if luck was on Egger's side and the lord was too busy to breathe, perhaps he would give up on pursuing a "deserter" who had supposedly caused his son's death?
Egger gave a self-deprecating laugh. Pinning one's hopes on the negligence or mercy of others was always a gamble—and in this cruel world, it was the height of stupidity.
The wrath of House Royce was far away for now; he currently faced a much more pressing issue. Benjen Stark had been summoned back to Winterfell by his elder brother to attend the feast welcoming the King. The day Benjen returned to the Wall would be the day he led a ranging party north to find the Others and Waymar Royce... and when that time came, would Egger, hand-picked as a guide by the First Ranger, be wiped out like the squad in the original story? Or would he, like Benjen, be turned into a living corpse by the Children of the Forest?
Neither was a fate he was willing to accept.
He had to do something.
From the black-clad brother who delivered his meals, Egger learned that Gared had regained consciousness. He decided that after lunch, he would visit him under the pretext of checking on his recovery. If he could find a moment alone, he might be able to ask about the route through the Great Gorge. Although his freedom was restricted—he couldn't take a horse from the stables or leave the camp—moving around within Castle Black was permitted.
However, before he could act on his plan, he was summoned once again by the high command.
Are we leaving already? Egger thought anxiously as he walked into the meeting room. He found the scene to be a near-perfect replica of his interrogation day, with one exception: sitting in the seat of the accused was someone he hadn't expected to see.
"Will? You're alive!?"
"Egger!" the man turned and cried out in pleasant surprise. He looked haggard. Egger and Gared had taken the only two horses; the warhorse Waymar had ridden actually returned to Castle Black on its own even earlier than they did. This meant the poacher had made it back to the Wall on foot with no horse and no supplies. It had taken him longer and he had endured more hardship; had it not been for his extensive experience as a hunter and the fact that he hadn't been spotted by the Others, he never would have made it back alive.
The already thin Will now looked like skin and bones. There was even a half-finished bowl of hot porridge on the table in front of him; he was being questioned while he ate. "The Seven be praised! If it weren't for you, I'd be a dead man for sure!"
...
"What?" Egger didn't understand. The man had survived through his own grit; what did it have to do with him?
"That day I was hiding in the tree, I watched with my own eyes as Ser Waymar was cut down by those ghost-things. I waited a long time after they left before I climbed down." Will's hand trembled as he lifted the bowl for another sip of porridge, hissing as he burned his tongue. "I was just about to find something to bring back as evidence when... he... Ser Waymar stood up from the ground. He'd been hacked up something awful, but his eyes were glowing blue, and he reached out to strangle me. His... it was terrifying. If you hadn't reminded me at the last second to watch out for dead men, I never would have reacted in time!"
So that was it! He hadn't expected that a casual remark made in a state of extreme agitation would save a comrade who was destined to die. But why call him here now?
He scanned the room and saw something on the table before the officers.
Judging by the hilt, it was Waymar Royce's sword. Forged from superior steel, it had held up longer against the Other's weapon, but the result was that it had shattered even more completely. Aside from the hilt and a palm-length section of the base and tip that remained intact, the middle of the blade was splintered into countless shards, like a tree struck by lightning. It must have been an incredible task for Will—to have seen the horror of the Others and the dead rising, and still have the presence of mind to collect the shards and carry them for over ten days back to the Wall.
Now, Waymar's broken sword—or rather, shattered sword—had been roughly "assembled" by Mormont or someone else. Just as Egger had described days ago, the fracture points of the shards aligned perfectly like broken glass, showing almost zero deformation when pieced back together.
This was powerful evidence in support of his claims! Egger's heart raced; he suddenly realized a favorable turning point might be occurring.
"You lot, take Will down," Benjen Stark, who had been sitting quietly, spoke up. "Don't give him too much food all at once; a starving man won't notice when he's gorged himself. Rest is the priority."
Will was supported by two brothers as he left the room, still asking Egger how he had known the dead would rise. Once the room fell silent, Benjen gestured for him to sit.
"Will's account doesn't differ much from what you and Gared told us. Looking at the state of him, I don't believe you three colluded to have him come back late on purpose," Commander Mormont said gravely. "I now have reason to believe that a strange enemy has indeed appeared north of the Wall... perhaps the Others, perhaps something else."
Will's testimony wasn't the only factor that had changed the minds of the high command. In fact, during the days Egger had been sleeping, they had consulted the Night's Watch smiths and conducted a series of experiments. The results proved that no one could replicate the way those steel blades had been shattered. The shattered sword the poacher brought back this morning was even more extreme. Regardless of the cause, Mormont was convinced of the anomaly.
"I am leaving for Winterfell immediately. Prepare yourself to come with me," Benjen said, taking over from the Lord Commander. "I want you to report your experience to the Lord of Winterfell so we can request support... bring the broken swords from all three of you. Prepare your words; be fast and concise. King Robert is arriving in the North soon, and my brother will be very busy."
Maester Aemon nodded and added, "There is no need to be over-rehearsed. Just speak as you did to us a few days ago; you performed well that day."
"Understood." Egger suppressed the excitement in his chest. "I... I'll go prepare right away."
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