GOT/ASOIAF: Ruler Beyond the Ice

For over a decade, Eddard Stark's unwavering respect for the Night's Watch had set an example in the North. This tradition had fostered a culture of friendship and honor toward the men in black, but as Aegor and Yoren continued their journey south, it became clear how isolated this sentiment was.

The farther south they traveled, the warmer the weather became, but the colder the reception from the people they encountered. By the time they passed Moat Cailin and approached the Neck, the attitudes of the villagers, settlers, and minor lords they met had become indifferent, almost perfunctory. After crossing into the riverlands, Aegor noticed that people paid no attention at all to the black clothes of the Night's Watch. As they moved even farther south, that indifference turned to disdain. The respect and warmth they had experienced in the North seemed like a distant memory.

Yet neither Aegor nor Yoren was particularly bothered by the shift in attitude. Both men were seasoned adults. Yoren, having traveled far and wide in service of the Watch, was used to the varying levels of respect—or lack thereof—shown to the black brothers across the Seven Kingdoms. Aegor, meanwhile, had braced himself for this reality long before setting out. If wearing the black cloak brought universal respect, the Watch wouldn't need to scour the realm for recruits to fill its ranks.

For Aegor, the journey south only reinforced his long-term goal: to find a way to shed the black cloak entirely. The cold stares and dismissive attitudes served as a constant reminder of his current status and of the motivation he needed to change it. However, one thing did trouble him: the task of improving the image of the Night's Watch seemed more daunting than ever.

---

No road stretches endlessly, and after nearly a month of traveling with Tyrion, their destination finally came into view. The journey had been filled with good food, leisurely sightseeing, and ample time for Aegor to reflect. Now, as the towering walls of King's Landing appeared in the distance, all his lingering worries melted away.

Aegor had been confident since leaving Winterfell that Catelyn's absence from the road meant their journey would remain uninterrupted. Still, it wasn't until they actually reached King's Landing without incident that he allowed himself to fully relax. The twists and turns surrounding the Winterfell incident were finally behind him.

This successful deviation from the original story held greater significance for Aegor than it might for others. It proved to him that the major events of this world—the plot of A Song of Ice and Fire—could be changed. With enough willpower and decisive action, anything was possible.

King's Landing, the largest city in Westeros and the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, loomed ahead. Overlooking Blackwater Bay, it was the seat of the Iron Throne and the Red Keep, the landing site of Aegon the Conqueror, and the center of the continent's politics, economy, and culture.

Now, a world traveler had arrived, one determined to alter the course of the future.

---

All the anxiety Aegor had carried during the journey evaporated, replaced by a bubbling excitement that threatened to overwhelm him. If not for his self-control, he might have galloped ahead on the King's Road like a man possessed.

A few miles outside the city walls, clusters of huts and tents began to line the roadside, marking the outskirts of civilization. With these came an unmistakable stench carried on the wind.

"Ah, the smell of King's Landing," Tyrion remarked, his tone light and amused as he rode alongside Aegor. "I've missed it. After months of fresh air in the North, it's almost comforting to return to this."

Aegor had heard tales of the city's infamous stench long before finding himself in this world, but nothing could have prepared him for it. The smell reached them even at this distance, and he couldn't help but wonder how much worse it would be within the city walls. By comparison, the icy air of the Wall—though harsh—was refreshingly clean.

"How can the capital of the Seven Kingdoms smell this foul?" Aegor asked, wrinkling his nose. "Don't they clean the sewers or take care of the garbage?"

"Oh, we have sewers, and garbage is cleared," Tyrion said, smirking. "But there's never enough manpower to keep up. First, we ensure the nobles' quarters are clean, then the wealthier districts. As for the poorer areas, well, they're left to fend for themselves. There are nearly 500,000 people crammed within the city walls. Imagine how much waste they produce every day."

Aegor frowned. "If manpower is the issue, why not hire more workers? There are so many poor souls outside the city who would gladly work for a meal and a few copper coins."

Tyrion chuckled. "A simple solution, but who do you suggest pays for it? Our dear king is already drowning in debt to the Iron Bank and to my father. There's no money for such noble endeavors."

Aegor sighed. "How can he stand the stench of his own capital?"

"The Red Keep sits atop Aegon's High Hill," Tyrion explained with a dry laugh. "The wind carries away the worst of the smell. The nobles up there don't have to worry about such things."

"Of course," Aegor muttered, shaking his head in resignation. He had no clever retort. Even with his knowledge of modern systems, he couldn't fix a city whose rulers saw no need to improve. Besides, his own list of priorities was already overwhelming. The smell of King's Landing was the least of his concerns.

As they continued along the road, the gates of the city grew closer. The northwest entrance, the Gate of the Gods, was teeming with life. A chaotic crowd of people, animals, and carts jostled for space. Among them were knights and free riders, bards strumming harps or beating drums, and merchants with carts piled high with goods—hops, corn, barrels of honey. Craftsmen, farmers, and prostitutes mingled in the throng, creating a scene as vibrant as it was disorderly.

Dozens of gold-cloaked City Watch guards struggled to maintain order amidst the surge of bodies. The gate was loud, congested, and overwhelming, but it was undeniably alive.

"The Hand's tourney," Yoren sneered. Born and raised in the North, he understood Lord Eddard Stark's temperament better than most people in Westeros. "The Hand must hate this tourney."

"The tourney itself isn't a bad idea. Events like these bring some prosperity to the kingdom," Tyrion remarked, his voice low but laced with sarcasm. "The nobles use it to show off and chase glory, the common folk get to join in the festivities and forget their hardships for a while, and the merchants make a tidy profit. The problem lies with our good king. He holds these tourneys far too often. There's one for festivals, one for the prince's naming day, one for the new Hand taking office, and another just because he's in a good mood. No registration fees, no entry fees—participants and spectators are all thrilled, but the organizers are buried in debt. And, of course, he borrows the money in the name of the Iron Throne instead of his own. Tsk tsk. I don't know whether to call him clever or..."

Tyrion trailed off with a smirk, leaving the thought unfinished.

The group discussed the recently concluded tourney as they rode through the bustling streets of King's Landing, drawing closer to the city's center.

The stench, much stronger now than it had been outside the walls, was unavoidable. Yet the human mind was remarkably adaptable, and within a few minutes, they began to tolerate it. It wasn't that their noses stopped working; their brains simply chose to ignore the foul odors and focus on other things.

---

"My backside has endured enough punishment these past two months. Let's find a place to settle down first and then think about what comes next," Tyrion said, changing the subject. "I know a decent inn, halfway up the slope of Rhaenys' Hill. The elevation makes the air fresher than most parts of King's Landing. You'll appreciate it."

"Don't you live in the Red Keep?" Aegor asked, surprised. Tyrion was the Queen's younger brother, after all. Even if his relationship with Cersei wasn't particularly warm, he should still have the privilege of staying in the royal castle—or at the very least, in the noble district below it.

"The Red Keep is too far from my favorite brothel," the dwarf replied with a mischievous grin. "And I can't stomach being surrounded by schemers, fools, and the ambitious every waking moment."

"My lord, you've already spent a great deal of coin on this journey. Let us handle the matter of accommodations ourselves," Yoren interjected. He was unaware of the private discussions and deals Tyrion had made with the higher-ups of the Night's Watch. As far as Yoren was concerned, Aegor had been sent to King's Landing purely to gather supplies. Relying so heavily on Tyrion's generosity made him uneasy.

"Seven gods, have mercy on a poor, wretched dwarf like me!" Tyrion exclaimed in mock outrage, shaking his head in exaggerated exasperation. "Do you expect me to ride halfway across the city whenever I feel like chatting with my two favorite brothers of the Night's Watch? Don't argue. Come with me."

***

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