Chapter 32

“Tyrion,” the Lord Commander addressed the dwarf with a slight nod from behind his desk. As the former Lord of Bear Island and a respected Northern noble, Jeor Mormont had the stature to forego formalities. “How are you finding your stay at the Wall?”

“Thank you for asking, Commander,” Tyrion replied with his usual wry smile as he settled into a chair across the table. “Aside from a perpetually numb backside and freezing nights that make me envy those wildlings we fought on the road, it’s been an enlightening experience.”

“It is our failure that wildlings crossed the Wall and endangered your journey. You have my sincerest apologies.”

“Think nothing of it,” Tyrion waved a hand dismissively. “In fact, the ambush was a rare thrill—something new to add to my collection of near-death experiences.” He paused, then added with a knowing smile, “But honestly, Commander, no matter how many men you have—or rather, don’t have—you’re still responsible for keeping the wildlings north of the Wall. If one of their raiding parties ever reaches the lands of House Stark, Karstark, or Umber, the repercussions would be… unfortunate, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Mormont replied gravely, leaning forward as his brow furrowed. “They’ve been slipping through the gaps—between the Shadow Tower, Eastwatch, and the lands near the Gorge. The Watch has neither the men nor the resources to intercept them all. I’ve already asked Maester Aemon to send warnings to the Northern lords. Eddard Stark has promised reinforcements, but it will take time for them to gather.”

“Lord Stark is a fine man, but even he can’t reverse the decay of the Night’s Watch,” Tyrion remarked with a hint of regret. “To see the shield of men reduced to this... it’s heartbreaking. Which is why I’ve decided to offer my assistance—a donation to your cause.”
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Even Jeor Mormont, who had long since learned to maintain his composure, blinked in surprise. The Watch’s survival increasingly relied on the charity of the lords and merchants of Westeros, and though Mormont was well-practiced in pleading for aid, he had not expected Tyrion to volunteer assistance so freely.

“That… would be most generous, my lord,” Mormont said, his tone softening as he addressed Tyrion with new respect. “The Night’s Watch will remember your name.”

“Not so fast,” Tyrion interrupted with a sly grin. “There’s one condition: I want one of your men to accompany me to King’s Landing to handle the logistics of this donation.”

“Which man?”

“Ser Aegor, the ranger you sent to Winterfell recently.”

Mormont’s expression hardened. “That’s a reasonable request,” he said carefully, “but the Watch is stretched thin. We need every ranger we have.”

“Oh, I’m not done.” Tyrion leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Aegor won’t just accompany me to receive the funds. He’ll stay in King’s Landing as a permanent representative of the Watch—a logistics officer tasked with gathering ongoing supplies and support.”
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Mormont’s frown deepened, and he regarded Tyrion with a long, measured look. When he finally spoke, his voice was firm. “The Night’s Watch is for life, Tyrion. No man can leave once he’s sworn his vows.”

“I understand your traditions—and I respect them,” Tyrion replied smoothly. “But this wouldn’t be abandoning the Watch. Aegor would serve as your agent in the capital, where he’d have access to far more resources than he ever could here at the Wall.”

Mormont shook his head. “Tyrion, I don’t know why you’re so set on helping this man, but we’re not just short on food or coin—we’re short on men. The Wall spans three hundred miles, and we have fewer than a thousand men to defend it. Of those, less than a third are combat-ready. Every man counts.”

“And Aegor counts for how much?” Tyrion shot back. “If you let him go to King’s Landing, I’ll ensure he sends enough supplies to make up for ten men—or more.”

“You’re asking me to trade one capable ranger for promises of coin and grain,” Mormont countered. “We’ve heard such promises before.”

“Then let me sweeten the deal,” Tyrion said, leaning forward. “I’ll personally guarantee that Aegor will return if needed. And if he doesn’t, I’ll replace him with a dozen recruits—not petty criminals, but educated men who can lead and train others. That’s my word, as a Lannister.”
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Mormont fell silent, his weathered features betraying his inner turmoil. The old commander knew a veiled threat when he heard one. Tyrion’s “offer” was no mere negotiation; it was an ultimatum wrapped in honeyed words. Refusing a Lannister’s goodwill could have consequences far beyond the Wall.

After what felt like an eternity, Mormont exhaled deeply and nodded. “Very well. I’ll allow Aegor to go to King’s Landing, but only if he swears an oath to remain loyal to the Watch and fulfill his duties there.”

“You have my thanks, Commander,” Tyrion said, rising with a satisfied smile. “And the Watch will soon have more than just my thanks—it’ll have my gold.”
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As Tyrion left Mormont’s chambers, Aegor stood waiting outside, his expression unreadable. “Well?” he asked.

“You’d better start packing,” Tyrion said with a smirk. “You’re going to King’s Landing.”