"Are you in such a hurry to leave?" Lord Commander Mormont asked Tyrion.
His gaze held a trace of expectation. Tyrion was one of the few important men from the south who had ever come this far north.
"I can hardly wait, Lord Commander," Tyrion replied. "Otherwise my brother Jaime might start worrying that something's happened to me. He might even think you're trying to persuade me to join the Night's Watch."
Tyrion enjoyed drinking and trading jokes with Mormont and the others. They treated him with a great deal of respect. But he could not remain here. Lions did not join the Night's Watch, and the cold hardship and loneliness of this place were obvious at a glance. Even though his family had plenty of children, none of them would ever take the black.
"That would actually suit me well," Mormont said, picking up a crab claw and cracking it open with a sharp snap. Though the Lord Commander was old, he still had the strength of a bear. "Tyrion, you have a fine mind. The men at the Wall have need of someone like you."
Tyrion grinned. "Lord Mormont, for saying that, I'll be sure to gather every dwarf in the realm and send them all to you."
The table erupted with laughter. Tyrion sucked the meat from the crab claw and reached for another. The crabs had arrived that very morning from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, still frozen in ice barrels when they were delivered, so they remained especially fresh and juicy.
Tyrion glanced around the table. Among the senior men of the Night's Watch, he was not always popular.
Ser Alliser Thorne was particularly different. In the presence of a Lannister, he could not bring himself to smile.
Alliser was around fifty, solidly built, lean and severe. His black hair was already streaked with gray, and his eyes shone like dark agate.
Tyrion knew why. The man had once been a knight of House Thorne from the Crownlands and had fought for House Targaryen during the War of the Usurper. He had served as one of the defenders of King's Landing. When the city fell, Great Lord Tywin offered a brutal choice: take the black, or have his head on a spike before nightfall. That humiliation had never left Ser Alliser.
"I see you're barely half a man tall, yet you speak with no restraint," Alliser said, his voice dripping with hatred. "Perhaps we should settle things with a contest."
"Why bother?" Tyrion replied lightly. "There are crabs right here."
Tyrion's mockery sent Alliser storming out of the hall without another word.
Tyrion knew his sharp tongue had offended someone again, but that hardly mattered.
The others were used to it. Ser Alliser had always been like this. His harsh tone and contemptuous manner made the recruits of the Night's Watch dislike him deeply. Many of them had even given him a variety of unpleasant nicknames.
"Gentlemen, keep your eyes open," Tyrion said with a smile. "Ser Thorne should be cleaning horse dung, not training recruits."
"The Night's Watch doesn't lack stablehands," the Lord Commander replied. "These days, that's the sort we get anyway. Rapists, thieves, or stableboys. Ser Alliser is one of the few properly knighted men to have joined the Watch since I became Lord Commander. He fought bravely in the Battle of King's Landing."
"Pity he chose the wrong side," Jaremy Rykker said coldly.
He shared a similar fate. Like Ser Alliser, he had been a royalist knight during the Battle of King's Landing and had eventually chosen the road north.
"I'm sorry," Tyrion said to the Lord Commander and the others. "There was a fine young lad who meant to take the black, but I talked him out of it."
"You mean Jon, Lord Eddard's bastard?" the Lord Commander asked. From Benjen, he already knew of the boy from House Stark.
"Yes." Tyrion nodded. "The boy had made up his mind, but the war in the south drew Great Lord Eddard away, and he followed him to King's Landing."
"War." The Lord Commander chewed slowly on the word.
This war had something to do with him as well. Rumor had it that his son, Jorah, had found new employment across the Narrow Sea and was now serving as an officer there.
Maester Aemon, seated at the far end of the table, suddenly spoke. The senior officers of the Night's Watch fell silent, listening to the words of their oldest member.
"Lord Tyrion is not small at all," the old maester said gently. "Among us, he is a giant. A giant who has come to the end of the world."
The blind maester smiled faintly.
He was a thin, frail old man, his face covered with deep wrinkles, his head completely bald. After a full century of life, the heavy chains of his maester's collar hung loosely against his throat.
Tyrion studied the expressions of the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon.
Did they want to ask him about something?
About the war across the Narrow Sea. About the orphaned Targaryen. About the Lord Commander's son, who might one day fight the Iron Throne to the death.
After supper, the others gradually left.
Lord Commander Mormont invited the Imp to sit beside the hearth and handed him a cup of warmed wine. The drink was so strong it stung the throat and brought tears to the eyes.
The Lord Commander had already decided to assign three strong warriors to escort Tyrion for his safety. Tyrion was sincerely grateful for the gesture.
"Life here grows harder by the day," the Lord Commander sighed. "Young men cannot forget their past lives. But once they arrive here, they must leave behind their brothers and their mothers alike. I understand that well enough myself. My own family... since my son brought disgrace upon our house and my sister took over the rule of our lands, I have never even met several of my nieces."
"Your son?" Tyrion said. "I heard he's found himself a new position across the Narrow Sea and is doing quite well."
"That has little to do with me anymore," the Lord Commander said quietly. "Once, I hoped he might join the Night's Watch as well. But he did not. I swore my vows. I have no power to bind his choices."
Tyrion found that difficult to believe.
Could these men of the Night's Watch truly cast aside all personal ties?
"Then I must apologize," Tyrion said at last. "I had hoped to repay your kindness."
Like a bastard, a dwarf learned early to read people's feelings. Tyrion understood that the Lord Commander had something he wished to ask.
"Of course you can," the Lord Commander said bluntly. "Your sister is the Queen, your brother a great knight, and your father the most powerful man in the realm. Please carry our plea to them. Tell them how desperately we need help. My lord, you have seen it with your own eyes. The Night's Watch is slowly dying out. Our numbers are not even what they once were. Six hundred men remain here, two hundred at the Shadow Tower, and even fewer at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Of those, less than a third are truly fit to fight. Yet the Wall stretches three hundred miles. If the enemy comes, I can only spare three men to guard each mile."
Tyrion understood the meaning behind the words. The old man wanted him to return south and secure reinforcements.
"That may be difficult at the moment," Tyrion said, spreading his hands. "If you knew the situation in the south, you would understand that another war is about to begin. Young men will be needed everywhere."
"That may be true," the Lord Commander sighed as he warmed his hands by the fire. "But I have run out of options. I sent Benjen to search for Lord Yohn's youngest son. The boy disappeared on his very first ranging. Lord Yohn's son is as green as fresh grass, yet he insisted on leading the patrol himself, claiming it was a knight's duty. I did not want to offend his father, so I agreed. Foolishly, I even sent two of my best men with him."
The Lord Commander went on, recounting the fate of the three-man patrol led by Lord Yohn's youngest son. One had deserted, the other two had vanished.
Then he spoke of the Night's Watch as it stood now. What remained was little more than a ragged band of sullen young men and worn-out old veterans. Even men like Alliser and Bowen now had to shoulder the burden of command.
"I promise I will speak to His Grace," Tyrion said at last. "I will also speak to my father and my brother."
He listened patiently to the old man, understanding the urgency behind his words.
But Tyrion suspected his promises would bring little real help. At best, they might comfort the old man for a time. Cersei hated him, the king would likely treat his words as nonsense, his father Tywin had no interest in the troubles of the North, and Jaime would probably laugh it off.
...
"When I was a boy, I often heard that long summers are followed by even longer winters. This summer has already lasted nine years. Soon it will be the tenth. Think about what that means."
Tyrion nearly laughed. Some people claimed such long summers meant an endless summer ahead, a sign that the gods were tempering the world like steel.
But Lord Commander Mormont had turned deadly serious.
"The days are growing shorter. That much is certain. The maester has received a letter from the Citadel. Summer is ending."
Mormont reached out and gripped Tyrion firmly, forcing him to understand the gravity of the situation.
A dark age might be approaching. Direwolves. Mammoths. Snow bears as large as aurochs. And things even more terrifying.
To Tyrion, the stories sounded more and more absurd. Wildling invasions. White demons marching from the north.
Late that night, Tyrion climbed to the top of the Wall and gazed into the distant north.
The wind howled across the ice like a blade. Beyond the Wall the land dropped away into a vast wilderness of darkness and desolation. Far off he could make out the forest, its trees impossibly tall. Tyrion could not help but imagine some strange horror emerging from those woods.
He stood alone at the edge of the world.
For a moment, he thought perhaps he should have brought that foolish bastard boy along with him.
...
Inside the smithy of Wolf's Den, the ringing of hammer against metal never stopped.
Gendry was forging a breastplate, wearing his leather smith's apron. He worked with complete focus. In his world there was nothing but steel, the bellows, and the blazing furnace. The hammer moved as if it were part of his arm.
Smithing was what Gendry did best. Whenever he returned to the forge, his body seemed to remember everything on its own.
Still, he did not spend every day hammering metal. Forging weapons and armor had gradually become more of a pastime, even a small reward.
Daenerys stood nearby, watching him. She noticed the movement of his chest muscles as he worked. Under his hammer, steel rang like music.
He is so strong. Strong and handsome, she thought.
Daenerys had always been a little prone to romance. Young and inexperienced, it was easy for her to lose herself in love. Gendry was handsome, and he treated her with great affection. To Daenerys, that felt like happiness.
Gendry lowered the breastplate into the tempering trough. The hot metal hissed softly, almost like a cat.
"Looks good, doesn't it?" Gendry said, holding the armor up for her to see. He had made it for Daenerys. It would have seemed small for a man, but it fit her perfectly.
"It's beautiful," Daenerys said, nodding.
He is my pride, she thought. And one day, I will become his pride as well.
"Don't you feel hot, Dany?" Gendry asked.
"A little," Daenerys replied. "But I can bear it. They say true dragons do not fear fire."
"Silly girl. No one is truly immune to fire," Gendry said with a laugh, gently pinching her cheek.
Could Daenerys truly summon flames?
Gendry did not know.
He too wished he could awaken the fire within himself. But it seemed the moment had not yet come.