NOVEL NEXT Chapter 32: Chapter 32
"Tyrion." The Lord Commander nodded at the dwarf seated across from him. As the former Lord of Bear Island and a man of considerable standing in the North, Jeor Mormont had the right to address him directly by name. "Are you enjoying your stay at the Wall?"
"Thank you for asking, Lord Commander. Apart from my numb backside and the delightful chill that keeps me shivering at night, everything's been splendid," Tyrion replied, settling himself into the chair with a faint smile. "Though I must say, being ambushed by a group of wildlings on the way was a unique and thrilling experience. One I could've happily done without."
"The failure to stop wildlings beyond the Wall lies with the Night's Watch. Please accept our apologies," Mormont said, his tone somber.
"Very well, I forgive you," Tyrion said with a shrug, shifting uncomfortably to ease the pressure on his sore behind. "I've taken some time to familiarize myself with the state of the Night's Watch over the past few days, and I must admit, I can't find it in me to criticize you too harshly. But—if I'm being honest—no matter how short-handed you are, it's still your responsibility to keep the wildlings at bay. This time, Benjen and his men kept me safe, but what happens when wildlings slip past you again? If they strike deeper into the North, attack Umber, Karstark, or even harm the Stark family or their bannermen, it would create chaos. Don't you agree?"
"Yes," Mormont admitted with a deep frown. "The wildlings climb over the Wall near the unmanned gaps between our fortresses, row across the Bay of Seals past our two pitiful patrol boats, and slip through the foothills near the Shadow Tower. The Night's Watch tries to intercept them, but we are stretched too thin to cover every weakness. I've already instructed Maester Aemon to send word to the lords of the North, and Lord Stark has agreed to raise temporary forces for our use. The problem is, I don't know how long it will take for those forces to be gathered and sent."
"Lord Stark is a good man," Tyrion said, his expression tinged with regret. "But even the best of men cannot halt the decline of the Night's Watch. It pains me to see this once-proud shield of humanity reduced to such a sorry state." He paused, then continued with a slight smirk, "That's why I've decided to provide funding to the Night's Watch."
"Ah?"
Even Jeor Mormont, a man known for his composure, blinked in surprise at the declaration. The population of the Gift and New Gift under the Watch's control barely exceeded 10,000, far too small to sustain the nearly 1,000 members of the Night's Watch. Over the years, financial aid had quietly become the Black Brothers' main source of food, wages, and supplies.
As Lord Commander, Mormont was no stranger to soliciting support from nobles, and he had been considering how best to appeal to Tyrion Lannister for aid. That the Lannister dwarf would volunteer assistance without prompting caught him completely off guard. So much so that, in his excitement, he adjusted his tone immediately: "That... That is most generous of you, my lord. The Night's Watch will be forever grateful for your kindness and your consideration of the greater good!"
"Hold on," Tyrion said, raising a hand. "There's a condition attached—I want to nominate someone to accompany me to King's Landing to receive this 'funding.'"
"Who?"
"Aegor. The ranger you sent to Winterfell not long ago."
"That's a reasonable request," Mormont replied, quickly regaining his composure. He studied Tyrion for a long moment before speaking again, his tone cautious. "But the rangers are short of men as it is. He will need to return as soon as possible."
"I haven't finished yet," Tyrion said quickly, noting the way Mormont's sharp gaze seemed to cut right through him. As expected of the former Lord of Bear Island, Tyrion thought, and hurried to clarify. "He won't just accept my funding and then return. He must also remain in King's Landing to continue securing food and supplies for the Night's Watch."
Mormont fell silent for a moment before responding carefully. "Tyrion, the vows of the Night's Watch are for life. No one joins and then leaves."
"I understand and respect that tradition," Tyrion said smoothly, leaning forward. "But he would still be serving the Night's Watch. His station would simply shift to King's Landing, where he could act as a supply collector, ensuring ongoing support for the Wall. King's Landing is the largest city in Westeros, teeming with lords and merchants. Securing additional funds and resources would be far easier there than it is here."
Mormont shook his head. "Tyrion, I won't pretend to understand why you're so determined to help this man, but let me speak plainly. The Night's Watch lacks many things—food, funding, and equipment—but what we lack most is manpower. Yes, our resources are stretched thin, but we could scrape by for months by rationing supplies or relying on the Northern lords. Starvation is not an immediate threat.
"But people," Mormont continued, his voice heavy with frustration, "are another matter. We have fewer than a thousand brothers left: 600 here at Castle Black, 200 at the Shadow Tower, and even fewer at Eastwatch. Of those, less than a third are capable fighters. The Wall is 300 miles long. If an attack came, I'd be able to station only three men per mile. Think about that, Tyrion."
"Three and a third," Tyrion quipped with a yawn. "Not even that, if we're being precise. And let's not pretend they'd all be needed. I doubt your enemies will bother attacking every mile of the Wall. Besides, King's Landing has a population of half a million. Pull a few from the slums and send them here, they'd fill those empty towers in no time. Don't you already have crows like Yoren roaming around Westeros recruiting? Why can't Aegor do the same?"
"This is different," Mormont countered, his voice firm. "The crows who roam are veterans—men who've grown old in service. Their best fighting days are behind them, and sending them south is the only way to make use of what strength they have left. They've taken root here and have nowhere else to go. Even then, we calculate their travel costs and ensure they can't linger too long after completing their missions.
"But Aegor is not the same. He's young, strong, and intelligent, exactly the kind of man we desperately need here. If I let him go, I might never get him back, even if I sent men to drag him back. And," Mormont added with a grumble, "the Night's Watch already has plenty of boys from the slums. The men we receive these days are stable hands, thieves, and rapists. Yes, they make up the numbers, but we're sorely lacking in men capable of training, managing, or even leading them. Right now, there are fewer than thirty men at the Wall who can read, let alone think strategically or plan operations.
"Frankly, Lord Tyrion," he continued, his voice tinged with exasperation, "I'd rather ask you to stay at Castle Black to help us than to send Aegor away."
"You give me far too much credit," Tyrion replied with a smirk. "But if you don't mind, I'd be happy to send all the dwarves in Westeros to join the Watch."
The joke fell flat. Mormont's stern expression didn't waver. He shook his head. "Forgive me, Tyrion, but I can't accept your proposal. I won't force you to provide financial support, but please don't ask me to let him leave again."
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Damn it, why couldn't this old man be a little slower, a little easier to fool? Tyrion cursed inwardly. Jeor Mormont was far too sharp for Tyrion's liking. And while the dwarf prided himself on keeping his promises, he hated the thought of letting down a friend. After a moment's thought, he decided to play his last card.
"Commander," Tyrion said, his tone growing serious, "let me put it this way: I swear on the honor of the Lannister name that Aegor will not desert. If you lose a capable soldier because of me, I will personally compensate you with a dozen replacements not thieves or rapists, but men I will train, discipline, and prepare for you. What do you say to that?"
Mormont let out a heavy sigh, his frustration evident. His earlier refusal had been firm, yet Tyrion persisted, bringing up his family's honor—a veiled reminder of the Lannisters' influence. The subtext was clear: I am taking this man with me, so grant me this favor.
Mormont understood the implication all too well. Refusing Tyrion now would mean offending a powerful ally.