Chapter 114

“Damn the Night’s Watch!” Robert’s face flushed even redder in an instant.

As king, his whimsical decision to bring along a “camp-following Night’s Watchman” had originally been a gesture of confidence—a statement that the Bloody Gate would fall with ease. But with the campaign stalled, this unprecedented move had become a constant reminder of his own failure. Aegor staying quietly in the camp would’ve been fine, but now he had the audacity to step forward and offer advice. Every second the black-clad man stood in his line of sight felt like a slap to the face.

“How many times do I have to say it before it gets through your thick skulls? They’re rebels! Rebels! Rebels!” Robert roared, punctuating each word with a loud thump of his wine cup against the table. By the time he’d finished, the cup had cracked, red wine seeping between his fingers and pooling on the table. With a grunt, he flung the cup to the ground, smashing it into shards. Grabbing a tablecloth to wipe his hand, he bellowed again, “I’m quelling a rebellion, not waging a civil war! Understand? Now, either spit out your plan quickly, or get out of here! Someone bring me another cup!”

Aegor blinked, momentarily stunned, before realizing the last shout wasn’t directed at him. He had finally witnessed what it meant to serve a temperamental king. Despite all his dealings with powerful figures and his mental preparation, Robert’s outburst had rattled him. For a moment, he’d even flinched, half-expecting the wine cup to be hurled at his head. Fortunately, it had only been thrown to the floor. Not every man as powerful as Eddard Stark was as reasonable or approachable.

“Your Grace, please calm down. I merely wished to confirm!” Aegor said hastily. Against such a volatile monarch, there was no room for bravado or wit. Still, he’d achieved his goal: Robert had repeated “rebels” three times, publicly defining the conflict as an act of rebellion. That meant Aegor’s proposal to end the war would be seen as protecting the realm, not interfering in its internal politics—a crucial distinction for a Night’s Watchman.

From a strict legal standpoint, Aegor’s actions as a senior officer of the Night’s Watch—effectively the fifth-ranking commander of the Wall—could only be judged by Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander. But reality was simple: power dictated truth. Robert’s public declaration established the narrative, and no one, not even Mormont, would dare challenge it.
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Aegor glanced around the tent, noting Robb Stark giving him a friendly nod. Returning the gesture with a faint smile, he wasted no more time. “In the land I come from, ‘China,’ there is a region called Sichuan, surrounded on three sides by mountains and bordered to the east by a great, impassable river. Its natural defenses rival those of the Vale. For a long time, the only way to enter from the north was through a pass called the ‘Jianmen Gate,’ an obstacle even more formidable than the Bloody Gate.”

“Hmm, I see. And someone must have taken this ‘Jianmen Gate’ eventually,” said Randyll Tarly, his expression impassive. As the only man in Westeros to have defeated Robert in open battle, his words carried weight. “How?”

“Enough with the history lesson. Get to the point!” Robert snapped impatiently.

Aegor suppressed a sigh. These brutes had no patience for context, and his carefully prepared speech was now mostly useless. Fine, straight to the point it was. “The Jianmen Gate fell because its defenders were outflanked. While a large army remained to pin the defenders’ attention, a smaller, elite force bypassed the gate entirely, using hidden paths to strike at the heart of the enemy territory. I propose we do the same here. Leave a substantial force outside the Bloody Gate to feign an ongoing siege while sending the best troops through the mountains. Whether they relieve the siege of the Eyrie directly or encircle and seize the Bloody Gate from behind, the decision lies with Your Grace.”
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A chorus of scoffs and derisive chuckles erupted around the tent. Some lords openly sneered, while others whispered mockingly among themselves. Randyll Tarly’s voice cut through the murmurs. “An interesting idea, but tell us, Chief Quartermaster, do you even know of such a path into the Vale?”

“No, I don’t,” Aegor replied without hesitation. “And if I did, the rebels would surely know of it too, rendering it useless. What we need is a path unknown to the enemy—one that we might discover or create.”

“Easier said than done,” Tarly retorted coldly. “Do you think countless armies over the centuries, and the thousands of us here now, are all fools? The mountains encircling the Vale stretch for hundreds of miles. How long do you expect it would take to find such a path? A month? Two? Half a year? Meanwhile, should we leave tens of thousands of men here to rot? The Tyrells might afford the grain, but what of the travel expenses and wages?”

“Your objections are valid, Lord Tarly,” Aegor said calmly, having anticipated such skepticism. “But if King Robert invites the loyalist Vale lords to this council, they will surely tell him that hidden paths into the Vale already exist. The issue is not their existence but our ignorance of them. These routes are controlled by the mountain clans—independent tribes that neither answer to the Eyrie nor the Iron Throne. Outsiders have been blinded by the phrase ‘the Bloody Gate is the only way into the Vale,’ but the truth is, it’s simply the only way for large armies to march on flat ground.”

A small mental blind spot—easy to overlook, but once revealed, it was equally easy to exploit. “If Your Grace’s goal is to end this war rather than simply take the Bloody Gate, then my plan is this: continue feigning a siege with the main army, while sending a force of a few thousand elite troops into the mountains. They will subdue or recruit the mountain clans and use their guidance to penetrate the Vale. Victory will follow.”

“To maintain the element of surprise, these troops should disguise themselves as peasants dismissed from the army, seemingly returning home. The rebels would never suspect that the rabble they see leaving are actually elite soldiers headed into the mountains. By the time the defenders realize what’s happening, it will be too late.”
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The tent fell silent. Just moments ago, Aegor’s mention of bypassing the Bloody Gate had drawn ridicule. But now, with a detailed plan laid out, the room was quiet—thoughtful, even.

A slender, handsome squire brought Robert a new cup and poured him fresh wine. Yet the king, for once, refrained from drinking. He sat quietly, tapping his thick fingers on the table, his ruddy complexion seeming to pale slightly. Robert wanted to be the first king in centuries to conquer the Bloody Gate, but he also understood the stark reality: with the crown’s finances in shambles after Littlefinger’s betrayal, a costly frontal assault was not an option.

After nearly a minute of silence, Robert spoke. “Well? What do the rest of you think? Is the White Walker slayer’s plan feasible?”

“I think it is,” Randyll Tarly said, his tone still gruff but now devoid of derision. “If he hadn’t spoken, how many of us here would’ve remembered the mountain clans? It’s worth considering. But tell me, Aegor West—an outsider brought to the Wall in chains—how do you know the Vale’s geography better than native Westerosi?”

“There’s something called books, Lord Tarly,” Aegor replied with a slight smile. He wouldn’t tell them the book in question was A Song of Ice and Fire, nor would he reveal that his ideas came from Chinese history and the Thirty-Six Stratagems. “And there’s a saying: ‘A man need not leave his house to know the world.’”
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“I agree, Your Grace,” Robb Stark said. “The North is no stranger to dealing with clans. The Karstarks and Umbers have experience with such matters. Besides, the mountain clans share First Men blood and worship the Old Gods, just as we do. They’d be more inclined to listen to us. I volunteer to lead this effort with Northern troops.”

“Dorne has many mountains as well, Your Grace,” Oberyn Martell added with a sly grin. “My spearmen are no strangers to rugged terrain. With the right guide, they’ll manage just fine.”

With a clear path forward, the lords eagerly offered their support. It wasn’t that they had unwavering faith in Aegor’s plan, but compared to a suicidal assault on the Bloody Gate, even the treacherous mountains seemed preferable.

“Good,” Robert said at last. “Let’s see if your plan works, White Walker slayer. If it does, you’ll be richly rewarded. If not... I’ll have to swallow my pride and negotiate with those rebels.”

His voice was uncharacteristically calm, a sign that he was already preparing for the worst. “You’re dismissed. The rest of you stay—we need to assign the specifics.”