Chapter 35

Benjen left, and Aegor walked out of the room with a spring in his step, intending to find Tyrion.

From the beginning, Tyrion Lannister had taken the initiative to help. Aegor, however, wasn’t naïve; he knew that his carefully crafted lies—half-truths spiced with imagination—had caught Tyrion’s interest. It was a calculated performance, one he considered a success. But the swiftness with which Tyrion had proposed a solution, marched straight to the Lord Commander, and effortlessly secured permission to take Aegor south? That was beyond Aegor's ability to orchestrate through charm alone.

Tyrion’s intelligence and emotional perceptiveness were on full display. With just a few casual remarks, the Lannister had pieced together Aegor’s reluctance to join the next patrol and chosen to help without hesitation.

Sometimes Aegor wondered: Was Tyrion truly drawn to the tales he had spun, or did the man genuinely, unconditionally want to help a fellow outcast?

Ultimately, Tyrion’s reasons didn’t matter. What mattered was that the Lannister had extended a hand at a critical moment, potentially saving Aegor’s life and reshaping his future. The debt was colossal, and Aegor knew it could only be repaid through a lifetime of loyalty and friendship.

But lifelong loyalty couldn’t replace a simple thank-you, and Aegor set off to express his gratitude. Spotting Tyrion wasn’t difficult—after all, in the sea of tall, black-clad men, a dwarf stood out easily.
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“Tyrion! Thank you—I knew you’d pull it off!”

“Of course, who do you think you’re talking to? No one dares stop the infamous ‘Imp’ of House Lannister.” Tyrion raised his chin with exaggerated pride. Then, smirking, he added, “Though I always knew the Starks were poor, I hadn’t realized just how poor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, convincing the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon wasn’t difficult. But Benjen Stark? He insisted on ‘discussing financial contributions.’” Tyrion chuckled. “I was prepared to be bled dry, ready to ask Jaime for a loan when I returned to King’s Landing. But when he named his price? I nearly laughed in his face.”

“Was it that low?”

“Not exactly low, but let’s say it’s what I’d consider a few months’ worth of pocket money—less than what I planned to offer, actually. And his solemn expression, as if he were demanding the crown jewels, nearly broke me.” Tyrion shrugged. “Naturally, I played along. I acted shocked, haggled a bit with their steward and builder, and walked away victorious... Hm?”

Aegor was still trying to gauge how much “a few months’ pocket money” meant to someone like Tyrion—was it two months? Nine? Either way, it must have been a fortune to someone like him, whose total net worth barely exceeded a single gold dragon. Before he could ask further, Tyrion suddenly motioned for him to be silent and follow.
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Puzzled, Aegor complied. They crossed the training yard and approached the armory, where they found Jon Snow surrounded by a group of new recruits.

It was clear what had happened: Jon had bested the recruits during training, bruising their pride, and they had cornered him to teach him a lesson. Tyrion, always empathetic toward underdogs and bastards, must have stumbled upon the scene while leaving the Lord Commander’s quarters.

Aegor frowned at the recruits, stepping forward to block the doorway. He tilted his head, silently signaling them to leave.
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Whether it was his "old soldier" presence or Tyrion’s noble status, the recruits reluctantly dispersed, muttering curses under their breath as they passed Aegor.

“What happened?” Aegor asked, though he already knew the answer. He had come to thank Tyrion and discuss the timing of their departure, but with Jon present, such topics were inappropriate.

“Nothing,” Jon mumbled, his back turned as he busied himself tidying practice gear. He sniffled, refusing to let tears fall, though his frustration was evident.

Stripping off his armor and sweat-drenched undershirt, Jon changed into his plain black tunic. In that moment, his thoughts drifted to Winterfell—to his siblings, even Sansa, who barely acknowledged him. He missed them all.

No one had prepared him for what the Night’s Watch truly was. Tyrion and Aegor had hinted at the truth, but Jon had clung to his idealized vision of rangers slaying White Walkers and fighting honorably against wildling hordes. The grim reality left him questioning everything.

Did his father know what the Watch had become? As Warden of the North, surely Eddard Stark understood its state. Yet when Jon announced his intention to join, his father hadn’t hesitated or tried to dissuade him. The thought stung. Had Eddard been eager to be rid of him?
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“No wonder,” Jon muttered bitterly, his voice low. “No wonder you’re so desperate to leave. This place... this place is miserable.”

“Yes, it is.” Aegor suppressed a chuckle. “But look at it this way: I’m only leaving because I had the extraordinary luck of meeting a nobleman willing to help. And even then, I’ll be summoned back the moment they call for me. You, on the other hand, can leave anytime before your oath. You could walk away now and never return.”

Jon froze, his hands tightening on the practice gear. It was true—he could leave. But the thought of returning to Winterfell, where Catelyn’s cold disdain awaited, filled him with dread. The Wall, for all its misery, was at least a place where he could carve out his own identity.

Jon lifted his chin, stubborn resolve hardening his features. “I won’t leave.”
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“Then you’d better figure out how to make this place work for you,” Aegor said, his tone gentler. “You’ve chosen this life, and you’ll spend the rest of it here. Whether that life is long or short depends on how you handle yourself. If you keep humiliating those recruits with your swordsmanship and lording it over them, someone will slip a dagger between your ribs the moment you let your guard down.”

“You think you’re better than them?” Tyrion added, his voice sharp. “I watched you spar this morning. That wasn’t training—it was a performance. If you’d used a real blade, they’d all be dead. Is that what you wanted? To humiliate them?”

Jon flushed. In truth, he had felt a brief flicker of pride in his victories.

“You’re smart,” Aegor interjected before Tyrion could press further. “You understand what I’m saying. You joined the Watch to do something great, didn’t you? But think about it: if this was a place where people could achieve greatness easily, would it still be so desperate for recruits?”

Jon hesitated, his lips twitching as if searching for a retort. But Aegor wasn’t finished.

“In my homeland, there’s a saying: ‘Before the heavens entrust someone with great responsibility, they must first endure hardship and suffering to strengthen their spirit and sharpen their resolve.’”

Jon stared at him, unsure how to respond.

“If you truly want to do something great, you must endure,” Aegor concluded. “And when you do, the rewards will be worth it.”
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Jon’s expression remained skeptical, but Aegor saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes. For now, it was enough.