Chapter 742

After eliminating Petyr and Varys, there was no longer anyone qualified to compete with him for the position of Imperial Hand—but his continued tenure was contingent on one condition: remaining at court rather than retiring to his lands.

This arrangement was not some spur-of-the-moment decision. The granted lands and the territories beyond the Wall were vast, but sparsely populated—far too insignificant to match Aegor’s contributions. Thus, Daenerys added Storm’s End and half of the Stormlands to the deal. With this, Aegor instantly became the lord of the Wall and half of the Stormlands, elevating his power and resources to stand on equal footing with the other Six Kingdoms.

Finding space to settle tens of thousands in peacetime would normally be a nightmare, but after a devastating war and a harsh winter, the one thing Westeros had in abundance was land.

Aegor straightened his posture, setting aside his casual demeanor, and quickly recalled the line he had prepared in advance.

“Before I answer, there is something that has been troubling me, and I would appreciate your insight,” Daenerys said, a smile playing at her lips—not an intentional seduction, but no less breathtaking for it. “Ruling an empire alone is a burden far too great for a young woman like me. Lately, I have been feeling more and more that I need a husband to share this responsibility. As my Hand, what do you think of this?”

This was not a question to be answered thoughtlessly or without hesitation. Aegor feigned a moment of contemplation before responding with deliberate resolve.

It wasn’t that he was unwilling—he just suddenly felt like being difficult.

Damn this woman and her tenderness.

“I offer the gratitude of the entire Gifted Army for Your Grace’s generosity,” he said, fully satisfied with the arrangement and seeing no reason for objection. “I have only one final request, which I hope will not trouble Your Grace.” He composed himself, took a deep breath, and said, “I have traveled thousands of miles, crossed the Sunset Sea, and thought I had seen every landscape and met every type of person in this world. But a person like you, Your Grace—one who possesses such soaring ideals, unyielding determination, and boundless kindness—was beyond even my imagination, let alone something I dared to hope to encounter.”

The newly established “Domain of the Wall” would be a ducal territory, home to over a hundred thousand people and covering nearly a third of the North’s landmass. Such a vast and remote frontier could not be governed from afar—it would require feudal administration. As the de facto ruler, Aegor would hold the sole authority to appoint lords and distribute lands. Even without an official title, he would, in all but name, be the Duke of the Wall—the uncrowned king of the lands beyond the North.

For once, Daenerys did not immediately give her approval.

“The Stormlands may be dissolved, but Storm’s End still stands. Only the most distinguished hero is worthy of claiming that ancient stronghold. In addition, I will grant you all the land stretching from Wendwater to Shipbreaker Bay, where you may settle the Gifted folk you have brought with you.”

And best of all, this move would place the Gifted Army and the remnants of the Golden Company side by side—two groups of rough, veteran soldiers who had once been enemies, now set to keep each other in check. Stability for the empire.

“Granted.” Daenerys did not hesitate in the slightest—this was merely going with the tide. This was Aegor’s conquest, his earned reward. She had no claim to it, and no reason to oppose it. “Handle the arrangements as you see fit. No need to report back for further approval. If financial support is required, discuss it with Tyrion and inform me of the result.”

“You say that, and I am truly moved,” she added, clearing her throat. She spoke playfully, as if joking, though her voice carried a hint of something else. “But you should know that’s not the answer I was looking for. If my greatest hero does not receive a reward befitting his merit, others will see it as a failure of my judgment. And even if you care nothing for public perception, if my most trusted and beloved advisor cannot bring himself to ask me for what he truly desires… that would trouble me greatly. Surely, that alone is reason enough?”

“I thank Your Grace.” Aegor had expected this answer. Without missing a beat, he continued, “Then I have another request. The Gifted Army and their families, who marched south with me, have bled and suffered in service to the realm. Forcing them to return to the frozen north after tasting the warmth and prosperity of the south would be cruel and unjust. I humbly ask Your Grace to grant them land in the south where they may settle and live in peace.”

Daenerys, despite knowing rationally that this was flattery, could not help the slight flutter in her chest.

It sounded like a love confession. And in some ways, it wasn’t far from one.

But in truth, what drove Aegor’s request to “remain by Daenerys’s side” was not simple admiration for “the most beautiful woman in the world”—it was the desire to stay at the center of power.

As for the Starks, the Crown had already accounted for the loss of these lands in the division of war spoils. Whether they were satisfied with the arrangement was another matter entirely.

At last, the moment had come.

Aegor knew he was dangerously close to overstepping—he stood on the razor’s edge of a ruler’s paranoia. But Westeros was still in the early-to-mid stages of its monarchical development. This was not a world that had yet produced a Wang Mang, a Sima Yi, or a Zhao Kuangyin—no precedents of usurping regents, overreaching chancellors, or warlords turning on their sovereigns. The brutality of court power struggles had not yet reached its peak.

As long as he did not become the first, Daenerys would have little reason to view him as a threat.

“I fight for Your Grace to honor my vow, not for reward,” he declared, his voice ringing with just the right amount of righteous conviction. In the presence of Tyrion Lannister or Daenys Melister, he could afford to be candid. But before the Queen, he would never let his mask slip. “To ease Your Grace’s burdens, to fulfill Your dreams and aspirations, to bring you joy and satisfaction—that is the greatest reward I could ask for.”

The combined might of the Wall’s domain and half the Stormlands seemed formidable, but even at its peak, its strength would barely place it between the North and Dorne. And unlike them, Aegor was not a native lord—he was an outsider, a foreigner.

Ruling over some remote frontier as a glorified warlord? For a transmigrator like Aegor, that was meaningless. It could never compare to being at the heart of the empire, where he could command its full strength and shape its future.

In essence, what he sought was the secularization of the Night’s Watch’s domain—swallowing up two northern lordships in the process. House Bolton, having openly turned against the Starks, would gladly change allegiance. As for House Karstark? They had refused the Gifted Army’s call to arms during the southern campaign and now bore the brand of traitors. Being stripped of some land and forced to endure a little humiliation was a mercy compared to what had happened to the Riverlands lords who had chosen the wrong side.

“I wish to remain at Your Grace’s side for as long as I live, offering my strength, my wisdom, and my life in service to you and this newborn empire.”

And besides…

They were both unwed, with “shared ideals and goals.” That alone would make any conflict between them far less likely.

“Well then,” he said, making no attempt to feign hesitation, “since Your Grace is so generous, I do have a few more wishes I hope you might grant me.”

His first request came without pretense:

“I believe the old system of the Night’s Watch has long been proven obsolete. Originally created to defend against the Others, it eroded into little more than a glorified northern border guard. Now that the empire’s frontiers stretch beyond the Thenns, I propose that all lands south and north of the Wall—including the Gifted lands, the Dreadfort, and Karhold—be unified into a single domain equal in status to the North, directly loyal to the Crown. In times of peace, it will serve as a counterbalance to the North. And should the Cold God rise again, it will become the first line of defense.”