NOVEL NEXT Chapter 33: Chapter 33
What does it mean to offend the Lannisters?
There is a well-known song in Westeros, sung from the courts of kings to the firesides of peasants. It is called The Rains of Castamere, also infamously known as Tywin's Curse.
The song recounts the complete annihilation of House Reyne, a once-proud Westerlands family. They shared the lion sigil with House Lannister, built their wealth on gold mines, and rivaled Tywin Lannister in power and prestige. But they made the grave mistake of defying Tywin before he became Hand of the King. In one decisive battle, House Reyne was wiped out—lords, soldiers, servants, even distant relations were slaughtered or vanished without a trace. Today, most people don't even remember that House Reyne ever existed.
"Massacre of a house and destruction of a legacy" is a concept almost unheard of in Westeros outside of stories about the Targaryens, who once wielded dragons to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. While legally, lords hold the authority to punish vassals in such ways, in the three centuries since Aegon's Conquest, only the Lannisters have executed such ruthless justice.
This act solidified the Lannisters' rule over the Westerlands and cemented their fearsome reputation across the continent. Even Aerys Targaryen, later called the "Mad King," was impressed by Tywin's ruthlessness and brought him to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King.
And Tywin, as history would prove, was indeed more than capable of governing the Seven Kingdoms.
The fear inspired by Tywin's methods lingered long after. When the Farman family of Faircastle resisted their lord's control, Tywin sent a harpist to their hall to play The Rains of Castamere. That alone was enough to make them surrender. When the Freys orchestrated the Red Wedding, they used the song as a signal to begin the massacre, bringing an end to Robb Stark's rebellion. At King Joffrey's wedding feast, the same song was played repeatedly at the suggestion of Olenna Tyrell—a subtle, but grimly prophetic touch, given the fate that awaited the young king.
Even at the Siege of Riverrun, when Jaime Lannister had The Rains of Castamere played outside the castle walls, it was enough to make Edmure Tully surrender without a fight.
This song holds a terrifying power, and that power is backed by the Lannisters' wealth and ruthless will.
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In short, the Lannisters are not to be trifled with.
But is there anyone in Westeros who isn't afraid of the Lannisters? Of course. Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, for one.
The Night's Watch was far removed from the power games of the South. No matter how fearsome or wealthy House Lannister might be, they could not send their forces to the Wall. The Rains of Castamere? At the Wall, the only thing falling was snow, and the bitter cold would freeze the strings of any harp long before a song could be played.
Even if Tywin himself had made the request, Mormont might not have cared, much less for Tyrion, whom he regarded as little more than a clever, insistent meddler. Still, while Mormont was unafraid of the Lannisters, he had no reason to provoke them unnecessarily. He wasn't in the habit of picking fights just to prove a point. Instead, the grizzled old commander scratched his head and thought of a compromise.
"It's not that I don't want to honor your request, my lord," Mormont said carefully, choosing his words with a touch of politeness. He had decided to pass the decision to others. "But Aegor is a ranger. His transfer must first be approved by his direct superior. Besides, Maester Aemon has already made a special request for him as well."
With that, Mormont turned to his steward and ordered, "Go fetch the Chief Ranger and the Maester."
If there was any combination less intimidated by the Lannisters than Mormont, it would be Benjen Stark, a Stark in his prime with the weight of his family name, and Maester Aemon, a man who had lived long enough to see his own Targaryen relatives wiped out.
Mormont allowed himself a moment of silent satisfaction at his cleverness, though Tyrion looked as though he might explode with frustration. The former Lord of Bear Island might look blunt and straightforward, but there was a sly cunning in his approach.
The summons didn't take long. The Black Brothers' quarters were small, and soon Benjen Stark and Maester Aemon entered the room. After Mormont explained the funding proposal and Tyrion's request, Benjen's expression turned stony.
"Lannister," Benjen said coldly, his tone sharper than his glare. "I don't care how your southern noble games and power plays work. But let me warn you: if you're thinking of poaching men from the Night's Watch, you've come to the wrong place."
"Poaching?" Tyrion was stunned. He prided himself on his sharp wit, but for once, he was caught off guard. "You think I'm trying to recruit him for myself? If I were king, I'd make Aegor Hand of the King! The Seven Kingdoms would benefit from his talents far more than the Wall ever could!"
"You'd make him Hand of the King, would you?" Benjen sneered. "And yet here you are, trying to drag him away from his sworn duty so he can run errands in King's Landing."
"Calm down, Lord Tyrion," Maester Aemon interjected gently. "It's true we didn't fully recognize Aegor's abilities before. But now that we've seen them, we will do our best to make use of his talents. In fact, I've already discussed with Benjen that after this patrol, I plan to bring Aegor into my service. There are tasks here that an illiterate man cannot do."
"Illiterate tasks?" Tyrion scoffed. "Do you mean reading letters and balancing ledgers? Counting rations? Forgive me, Maester, but Aegor is capable of far more than clerical work!"
"With all due respect, Lannister," Benjen said with icy disdain, "he is a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. In life, he fights for the Watch. In death, he is its ghost. No matter how talented he may be, his duty is to the Wall."
Tyrion was momentarily at a loss for words. But the dwarf was never one to give up easily. Inspiration struck, and he smiled slyly. "How can it have nothing to do with me? If the White Walkers you're so concerned about truly exist, then they threaten the entire realm. I may be a dwarf, but I'm still human. Strengthening the Night's Watch helps all of us."
"Strengthening the Watch by stealing away its best men?" Benjen snapped.
"I'm not stealing him," Tyrion shot back. "I'm sending him to where he can do the most good! Do you know why the Night's Watch has fallen so far?"
Benjen raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Enlighten me."
"Because you've isolated yourselves," Tyrion replied, his voice rising with passion. "You cling to traditions, refusing to adapt, refusing to connect with the rest of the realm. The world has changed, but the Watch hasn't. No wonder it's in decline."
Benjen opened his mouth to retort, but Maester Aemon held up a hand. "Tyrion, there is wisdom in what you say. But we are stretched too thin as it is. Losing Aegor would only make our situation worse."
"And clinging to him as you are now will only hasten your decline," Tyrion countered. "The Night's Watch needs to adapt, or it will vanish. Maester, you're the wisest man here. Surely you can see this makes sense?"
Tyrion leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "With Aegor in King's Landing, the resources and allies he could secure for the Watch would far outweigh anything he could accomplish trudging through snow or sorting ledgers."
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