Tyrion Lannister (297 A.C. Elventh Moon)
The Wall
He had thought the North itself was cold, but the Wall, damn the Wall, was colder still. And winter wasn't even here yet. He shivered beneath the bear pelt Benjen Stark had given him. It smelled musky, with a hint of sweat, but at least it was warm.
He stood beside his brother, Ser Bennard, and Lord Commander Mormont. A gruff, gray-bearded knight was shouting at a group of recruits below, drilling them in the yard. His brother gave him a concerned glance and snorted. The men-at-arms had set another boy against Jon Snow. The lad was better than all of them combined, but he didn't see that he was irritating and humiliating the others.
"Charming man," Tyrion muttered.
"I don't need him to be charming," Mormont grunted. "I need him to turn these untrained boys, thieves, and hungry mouths into men of the Night's Watch. Winter is coming, and even here, it's getting colder. They need to be ready."
"How's that going, Commander Mormont?" Tyrion asked dryly.
"Slowly," Mormont replied.
Tyrion nodded. The man was likely right. Still, charm and inspiration helped men fight better, he'd seen it in both Loren and Jaime. Loren was a mix of fear and admiration; their father inspired only fear, and Jaime only admiration.
Ser Alliser Thorne sighed below. "Lord Snow, it seems you're the least useless person here. Now go and clean up."
"Ser Alliser, wait a moment," Loren called down.
Loren descended into the training yard.
"What do you want, Lord Lannister?" Alliser growled.
Loren smiled faintly. "You forget something, Ser. These boys are no better than levies holding sticks or spears. One charge from the enemy, and they'll scatter like leaves. A shieldwall, or any party, is only as strong as its weakest link."
He turned to the recruits. "All of you, pick up a shield."
They obeyed, reluctantly. Soon they stood in a loose, disorderly line. Loren picked up a training greatsword, gave them a quick glance, and then suddenly charged at Jon Snow. The boy, completely unprepared, took the full force of the blow against his shield and was sent sprawling into the Snow.
The other recruits laughed. Loren turned his gaze on them, cold as ice, and the laughter died.
Tyrion smiled and looked at Bennard, who smiled back. They both knew what Loren was doing; they'd seen him do this before. He had a habit of gathering a hundred levies from their lands each year and training them himself. This was how it always began.
The Lord Commander gave Tyrion a questioning look, but Tyrion only smirked.
Jon Snow got back to his feet, dazed and angry, shame burning in his eyes. Loren charged again, this time at another recruit, the large lad called Grenn. The boy's eyes widened, but too late; he went down hard, and again the laughter rose, until Loren silenced it with another glare.
"Fools," Loren growled.
He charged a third time, at another lad, sending him down into the Snow.
By the seventh boy, Jon's eyes had widened with understanding. "Grenn, Pyp, stand beside me. Lock shields."
The boys hesitated but obeyed. "You two as well," Jon added.
Soon enough, all of them were standing in a line. Loren charged once more, yet this time, no one fell. The line held.
"Finally," Loren said, lowering his sword. "You runts learned something. Remember this, lads, in battle, anything can happen. But when you fight together, you stand stronger than you ever will alone. Especially in a place like this, and against what you may one day face."
He turned to Alliser. "That, Ser, is how you train runts. Not by setting them against a boy who's had more training than all of them combined."
Alliser only growled and turned away. Snow looked down, ashamed.
Tyrion smiled as the recruits began to disperse, heading off to clean up.
"Thank you, Lord Loren," Mormont said. "I think you got through to them better than our master-at-arms ever could."
"That was the plan," Loren said, wiping his brow. "Runts they might be, but you need every man you can get. Tactics win battles, but only if the men beneath you can hold the line."
With that, he walked off, likely to find a bath. Training runts was hard work.
Jeor turned to Tyrion and pulled a letter from his pocket. "A raven came, for Lord Stark's son."
"Good or bad news?" Tyrion asked, hearing the heaviness in Mormont's tone.
"Both," Mormont said simply, handing him the letter.
Armory
Tyrion entered the armory to find Jon Snow speaking with Grenn and Pyp.
"I'm sorry I was so hard on you," Jon said quietly. "I didn't think. I didn't understand before."
"Well, I learned something, at least," Grenn grunted, rubbing his nose. "Don't attack you." He patted Jon's shoulder.
Jon noticed Tyrion then. "Everyone knew what this place was, and no one told me. No one but you and your brother. He said my choice was hard but an honorable one. Said not all men have the guts to make it." His voice wavered, the weight of it clear. "My father knew… and he left me to rot at the Wall all the same."
Tyrion smiled faintly. The boy wanted pity, but pity was poison here. He needed truth.
He glanced at Grenn. "His father left him, too. Outside a farmhouse when he was three." Then to Pyp: "He was caught stealing a wheel of cheese, for his sister, who hadn't eaten in three days. The choice was his right hand, or the Wall."
He looked back at Jon. "You see, Snow, everyone here has a sad story. You're not the only one. If the Watch were such a fine calling, men would be queuing up to join."
Jon sighed. "They were angry because I was better. But before your brother told me, I didn't realize I'd had more training than them."
"Indeed you did," Tyrion said. "You're a bastard, but still a nobleman's bastard. You may have had it rough, but most of these boys are common-born. They've never held a sword before in their lives. When your father called his banners, many a peasant was pressed into service. Those few times were when they learned to wield a spear, and if they were lucky, maybe a battle axe or sword, if they could loot one or be granted one. Swords are expensive; spears are not."
Jon gave a somber nod.
Tyrion then produced the scroll. "Oh, and your brother Bran has woken up."
Jon snatched it, eyes widening as he read, as Snow read, Tyrion walked back out the armory.
Lord Commander Solar's
Tyrion sucked the meat from another crab leg. He and his brothers had arrived yesterday from Eastwatch, and their taste reminded him of the ones caught off the coast of the Rock, though these were far larger, by a third at least, by his estimation.
"Are you both sure you must leave us so soon?" Jeor asked somberly.
"Oh, I wish that I could stay," Tyrion replied, reaching for another leg, "but our other siblings would surely miss us. As would Loren's girls miss him. They might think you've convinced us to take the black."
"Would that I could," Jeor said, cracking open another leg. "You both have qualities the Wall needs, wit and the will to lead men."
Tyrion grinned and looked fondly at his brother. "Oh, I shall search every nook and hole for more dwarves and send them to the Wall. I'm sure my brother can send our empty dungeons at Rock and send them North."
Ser Alliser looked at him sourly. "The Lannister mocks us."
"Only you, Ser Alliser," Tyrion said.
This time, the laughter was more subdued, except for Loren.
Thorne's black eyes fixed on Tyrion with loathing. "You have a bold tongue for one who is less than half a man. Perhaps you and I should visit the yard together."
Loren snorted. "A man who needs to challenge my brother to battle is half a man himself. Battles aren't won by might alone; cunning can win them too."
Thorne gave Loren a look of contempt. Of all Tywin's children, Loren looked the most like their father, save for the mismatched eyes they both shared.
Tyrion smiled and raised his crab leg. "But if we are to fight, I'll fight right here, for the crabs!"
Thorne rose from his seat in anger. "Come then, and make your japes with steel in your hand!"
Tyrion leapt onto his chair and pointed his fork at the fuming knight. "See, Ser, I have steel in my hand right here! Let's duel!"
"Duel, duel, duel!" the old raven croaked from its perch. The hall roared with laughter, Jeor Mormont nearly choking on his food.
Thorne, still fuming, stormed out of the room.
"To victory go the spoils," Tyrion declared, reaching for Thorne's remaining crab legs as he clapped Jeor on the back.
When the laughter finally died down, Jeor gave him a hard look. "You are either a fool or very brave to provoke Ser Alliser so," he scolded.
Tyrion sat again and took a sip of wine. "The man is sour, and the dead have more humor than he does. If he keeps on like that, sooner or later, someone will take a swing at him."
"He can be quite witty, you know," the Lord Steward noted. "You should hear all the names he's given the recruits over the years."
"Hmm," Loren mused. "My brother isn't wrong. Ser Alliser might be a fine fighter, but training those boys isn't one of his gifts. Send him to the rangers instead. The recruits need a calmer, more patient man to make something of them." He lifted his cup.
"Mayhaps the Rock has some older knights or men-at-arms willing to come to the Wall for decent pay to be sent to their families," Bennard suggested.
"Perhaps," Loren replied.
"Ser Alliser is one of the few knights to have joined us during my time at the Wall," Jeor said. "He fought bravely during the battle for King's Landing."
"On the wrong side," Ser Jaremy Rykker noted. "I ought to know, I was there on the battlements beside him. Your lord father gave us a splendid choice: the Wall, or our heads on spikes. No offence intended, my lords."
"None taken," Tyrion replied with a chuckle. "My father has a fondness for heads on spikes and slain enemies. I think you might have disappointed him with your reply."
"Thank you," Ser Jaremy said with a sardonic smile.
Jeor cleared his throat. "Some of what Ser Alliser said is true. I do fear you mock us."
"Indeed he does," Loren agreed. "Though my brother mocks everyone, no matter how big or small they are."
"Quick right," Tyrion smiled, reaching again for the wine.
"For a small man, you've quite the appetite for wine," Bowen Marsh noted, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, I think Lord Tyrion is quite a large man," Maester Aemon said softly, smiling faintly as he turned his clouded eyes toward them.
Tyrion and Loren both chuckled.
"He's been called many things," Loren said, "but large isn't one of them."
"Yet I think he is," Aemon continued, "as are you both. You are giants here, at the end of the world."
"Giant, I quite like that," Tyrion japed. "Instead of Tyrion the Dwarf, I'll be Tyrion the Giant of Lannister."
The room chuckled again.
"Nonetheless," Maester Aemon said, still smiling, "I think it's true."
Tyrion inclined his head. "You are too kind, Maester."
"I've been called many things," Aemon replied with a faint laugh, "but kind isn't one of them."
The table laughed once more.
Then Jeor looked at them both, his expression grave. "Lord Tyrion, Lord Loren, I have a request for the sake of the Watch. As many know, our order has been in decline for centuries. I have fewer than a thousand men to man the Wall, six hundred here, three hundred at the Shadow Tower, and fewer still at Eastwatch. Of those, not all can fight."
"That's three men for every mile of the Wall," Tyrion said.
"Indeed, as I said, witty, and that doesn't include all the other work that must be done. You need more men, more resources to maintain the Wall and the castles that still stand." Jeor added.
He felt a pang of pity for the old bear. Here was a man who had given his life to a fading order.
"I urge you both," Jeor said, "to speak to your good-brother the King, or the Queen, your brother, and your lord father."
Loren spoke first. "As Bennard suggested, I shall see what I can do in the West. Some older knights might join for coin to send to their families, or younger sons, perhaps."
"I shall see what I can do in the capital," Tyrion said. "Though it will be difficult. Ask a favor there, and they'll expect one in return."
"I thank you both," Jeor said. "I hope you'll return in the future. The Wall and the Watch will always offer their hospitality."
Jeor raised his cup. "To friendship."
"To friendship," Loren echoed.
The table echoed their toast.
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