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Chapter 586
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 17:45:33 +0000 UTC"Margaery Tyrell?" Aegor raised an eyebrow, letting out a small chuckle. "Not now. Once I’m finished with my work and have the time, perhaps."
Was the Little Rose a friend?
Judging by her involvement with the Night’s Watch industrial ventures after he’d left King’s Landing for the Wall—her frequent dealings, the significant exchange of funds—one could argue she was. But for the current Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, now pledged to Queen Daenerys’s cause, she was no ally.
Aegor could already guess why Margaery had chosen not to travel with the official delegation from the Reach and had instead approached him privately. It wasn’t difficult to discern.
Unfortunately for her, they were fundamentally incompatible. One was an aristocrat born into privilege, steeped in the traditions of noble power; the other, a revolutionary, championing the Dragon Queen’s vision of breaking the wheel. Their paths could never truly align.
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Nina, watching this unfold, didn’t entirely understand Aegor’s dismissive attitude. After all, even if the Queen distrusted Aegon’s claim to the Targaryen lineage, surely the Reach was a valuable ally worth courting?
But Nina understood at least one thing: her man was far sharper than she was. If this was his decision, it wasn’t her place to interfere.
And so, the Tyrell gem was left to wait, ignored for now. Meanwhile, the camp’s administrators crowded around Aegor, briefing him on the ongoing state of the siege as they followed him into Black-Walled Keep. The first stop on his inspection tour was the saltpeter storage facility.
Due to the war cutting off southern supply routes, the shipment Aegor had personally transported south by ship two years ago was the only substantial delivery the southern Night’s Watch industries had sent to the Wall.
But while transport had ceased, communication had not. Under Aegor’s orders, the saltpeter fields had maintained full production, halting only when winter temperatures made operations impossible. Workers who had no idea what purpose saltpeter served simply continued to deliver it for storage. Over time, it had accumulated into a staggering stockpile.
Unlike the rest of the wooden and earthen structures around Black-Walled Keep, the saltpeter warehouse was small but exceptionally sturdy. Built entirely of stone, it resembled a miniature fortress, sacrificing interior space for thick, fireproof walls. Inside, stone shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, lined neatly with heavy ceramic jars of purified saltpeter. The sheer volume stored here was staggering—more than the Night’s Watch had likely used in its entire history fighting the White Walkers.
"We’ve had accidents with this stuff during transport and storage," explained Neal, Nina’s brother, who oversaw the facility. "Some incidents even caused injuries. But after a few hard-learned lessons, we’ve figured out how to handle it safely. Fire sources aren’t allowed anywhere near the building, and flammable materials are strictly prohibited. The walls are designed with hidden ventilation shafts to keep the interior cool—though that only really matters in summer. Each warehouse holds about two hundred jars, and we have two more identical warehouses in the keep. We planned to build a fourth, but I realized the few dozen jars we produce each season can be stored in the field’s temporary depot instead. It saved us some funds."
Aegor nodded in approval, stepping forward to carefully pick up one of the jars. It was heavy—at least thirty to forty pounds.
Even estimating on the low end—thirty pounds per jar—three warehouses meant over six hundred jars. That was nearly twenty thousand pounds of saltpeter.
Ten tons.
And that was just the saltpeter. Once mixed with charcoal and sulfur to create gunpowder, the weight would expand further by several tons.
Ten tons of gunpowder!
Even though Aegor had already anticipated the stockpile’s size, seeing it in person sent a small thrill through him.
In a modern world, ten tons would be nothing more than a firework display. But in this age, at the dawn of gunpowder weaponry, this stockpile was effectively an inexhaustible mine of destruction.
Now he just needed more weapons to use it.
"Qyburn, these warehouses are under your care now."
"Consider it done, my lord." Qyburn’s smile remained as calm and grandfatherly as ever, utterly unfazed by the power he’d just been handed. Aegor didn’t need to explain further—the old man understood what "under your care" truly meant: he was to transform this stockpile into gunpowder.
Aegor set the jar back down, tamping down his excitement. "Alright. Let’s head to the forge."
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The forge at Black-Walled Keep was nothing compared to the industrial facilities of Crown Hill. It was more akin to an oversized smithy, producing spare parts for machinery and tools for the industrial compound, occasionally forging weapons and armor for local use.
But it had potential.
Metalworking was metalworking. In this world, where technological divisions were crude, a forge for swords could easily be adapted to produce cannons with the right modifications.
This forge would become Westeros’s second firearm production center.
By bringing Qyburn and his skilled team south, Aegor was setting the stage for the next step.
Crown Hill, nestled at the edge of the world, had fulfilled its purpose as his launchpad. It would remain his northern base, the birthplace of his innovations. But the future of gunpowder warfare would be built here—at the Night’s Watch industrial compound.
Dreams and ambitions made him tireless. Surrounded by aides and subordinates, Aegor moved from one site to the next, issuing orders and finalizing plans.
He inspected the forge’s conversion designs, reviewed the integration of the new security forces into the Night’s Watch army, and planned the supply lines for sulfur shipments from Dragonstone.
By the time he rode out to select a site for the artillery testing grounds, night had fallen, and hunger gnawed at him. But even as he returned to the keep, his mind remained sharp, buzzing with ideas.
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"The second generation of cannons won’t be ready in time for the assault on King’s Landing," Aegor explained as he strode toward the dining hall. "With the camp overcrowded with soldiers, secrecy is impossible, so there’s no rush. Once the city is taken, I’ll secure this area as a restricted zone. We’ll establish a dedicated department for security..."
His monologue was interrupted by a soft, lilting voice.
"Lord Commander, you’re as busy as ever. I’ve been waiting quite a while, you know."
Turning, Aegor saw a familiar figure step out from the shadows, her tone playfully chiding but devoid of any real irritation.
Margaery Tyrell had grown tired of waiting for an invitation and decided to meet him here, intercepting him in the officers’ dining hall.
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