Chapter 92

The next morning, Aegor and Tyrion rose early, armed with documents signed by Eddard Stark and an official commission from Jeor Mormont, and embarked on their first frenzied spending spree in this new world.

For the first time since its establishment, the Night’s Watch office remained closed for the entire morning. All staff, including Jaqen, accompanied their commanding officer to Steel Street within King’s Landing and the bustling Blackwater River ports outside the city walls—to shop.

The attendants had a simple job: carry the money and guard it.

A curious and intimidating group of black-clad “brothers of the Night’s Watch,” two heavily armed Lannister guards in dark red armor, and the unmistakable figure of a certain well-known dwarf moved through the city. It would have been surprising if anyone dared to make trouble for them.

They brought along half of their total funds—more than a thousand gold dragons—and by sunrise, they had already located the wealthiest merchants with the largest stockpiles. With an air of extravagance, they purchased supplies worth nearly ten times the cash they carried: enough provisions to feed the entire Night’s Watch for months, over a hundred horses, steel swords, bows, crossbows, and countless arrows—sufficient to arm seventy to eighty men to the teeth.

Rather than haggling, they paid slightly above market value and immediately placed a deposit of one-tenth the total cost. The condition? A signed contract.

The contract stipulated that the purchased goods must be inspected, gathered in warehouses at the port, and shipped to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea within two weeks. Upon arrival at the Wall and receipt of a delivery confirmation from the Night’s Watch, the merchants could collect the remaining ninety percent of the payment from the Night’s Watch office in King’s Landing.

Both parties agreed to a penalty of ten percent of the total value for breach of contract, equal to the deposit amount.

In simple terms, if Aegor decided to cancel the purchase, he would forfeit the deposit entirely—a gift to the merchants. Conversely, if the merchants reneged before shipping, they would have to return double the deposit.
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On the surface, the terms seemed fair, and the prices reasonable. But in truth, Aegor didn’t have enough funds to pay the remaining ninety percent. He was essentially leveraging the deposit—a fraction of the total cost—to gain temporary ownership of goods worth ten times its value.

Once news of the Vale’s upheaval reached King’s Landing and merchants realized the skyrocketing value of military supplies and provisions, the prices would surge. Tyrion’s analysis of the situation was sound, and the merchants—veterans of the trade—would reach similar conclusions, albeit a bit slower. Long before Robert could muster an army to march on the Vale, the price of supplies would soar beyond the ten percent penalty.

Aegor and Tyrion weren’t aiming to profit from this price increase—they were after the breach penalty.

The logic was simple: collecting breach penalties carried no risk, whereas attempting to profit from resale was fraught with danger. Large suppliers with such vast resources inevitably had powerful backers. If Aegor, armed only with a letter from the Hand of the King and insufficient funds to pay the balance, tried to sell the goods at higher prices, the transaction would stall. If the deposit were their personal funds and they were fearless, they might have pushed for a higher breach penalty and dragged out negotiations for greater gains. But with creditors likely to demand bond redemptions soon, their cash flow would collapse in no time. Everything would fall apart.

By appearing to concede the lion’s share of the profit and framing themselves as victims of breach, Aegor and Tyrion would walk away with full coffers, avoiding any accusations of war profiteering. The goods never physically passed into their hands, and the price surge left the Night’s Watch as a mere "victim" of market forces.

They hadn’t forgotten who the current Hand of the King was. Eddard Stark, with his rigid sense of honor, would never let Robert’s campaign against the Vale devolve into a feeding frenzy for profiteers. Before opportunistic merchants could enjoy their ill-gotten gains, they’d likely face swift punishment.

After that, it would be a clash between the merchants’ backers and the North’s honor-driven lord—a contest Eddard, with Robert still alive, would likely win. The extent of Eddard’s compromises with King’s Landing’s nobles and merchants would determine how much prices could be raised. By the time the dust settled, the Night’s Watch would have long since secured the breach penalties, repaid their creditors, and survived the most perilous stage of their entrepreneurial journey.
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That was the plan.

According to their calculations, these steps would take several days to a week to unfold. If any eager merchant finished inspections and prepared shipments earlier than expected, Aegor might have to stall for time—because once the ships departed, he’d have to worry about the remaining ninety percent payment.
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But in reality, events unfolded at breakneck speed.
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Aegor wasn’t the only one with ears in the royal court.

The news of the Vale’s unrest originated from the rebels themselves, who had sent their declaration to King’s Landing. While Varys’s spy network extended across the realm, the rebellion’s abruptness meant even his "little birds" couldn’t outpace the ravens from Runestone.

The first person to learn of the rebellion was Grand Maester Pycelle, who managed the ravens. The second was Queen Cersei, but the politically inept queen didn’t see how it might affect her. Varys came third, though his plans focused on the far side of the Narrow Sea and didn’t include profiting from a war in King’s Landing. The fourth was Eddard Stark, who then informed Robert at a council meeting. Only after that did the rest of the court hear the news.

By the time the whispers reached spies within the Red Keep and were relayed to their masters, the merchants of King’s Landing had yet to act. Messages needed to be smuggled out of the castle, passed through multiple hands, and delivered to noble houses and guilds. Without modern communications, this process took time.

Arya, however, overheard the news firsthand during lunch. Hearing her father discuss the rebellion and the urgent council meeting scheduled for that afternoon, the girl thought nothing of repeating the story to Aegor during her usual visit to the Night’s Watch office.

To her, it was just a thrilling tale to entertain her teacher.

And so, in this race for information, Aegor—by sheer luck and Arya’s playful chatter—became the unexpected winner.
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By noon, the merchants had caught wind of the news. The open market for military goods and provisions froze. By sunset, the first breach penalty—six hundred gold dragons—was delivered to the Night’s Watch office, along with a message from the merchants’ representatives: “Next time you have insider information, let’s cooperate properly. No more games.”

Staring at the sack of gold coins on his desk, Aegor and Tyrion fell silent.

Aegor broke into a cold sweat, shaken by how close he had come to failure. Without Arya’s timely information, his venture might have collapsed before it even began.

Tyrion, on the other hand, frowned deeply, contemplating a far graver issue: “If even the Red Keep, the royal residence, is this riddled with leaks, is the peace of the Seven Kingdoms nothing more than a fragile illusion?”