Chapter 31

The clash of swords and the clanging of metal echoed across the courtyard—it was just another ordinary day at Castle Black.

Commander Mormont had weathered the pressure from House Royce, taking the brunt of their indignation on behalf of the three survivors from the patrol. With his intervention, the trio who had escaped the clutches of the Others were cleared of desertion charges and could now move freely within the confines of Castle Black.

At that moment, Aegor stood with Tyrion on a balcony overlooking the training yard. Leaning against the railing, they watched the new recruits spar below. The scene faintly reminded Aegor of his university days, observing freshmen undergoing military drills.

The only difference, he mused, was the complete absence of women—or even any particularly good-looking men—in this harsh, frozen stronghold.
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Jon Snow, dressed in a woolen tunic beneath a leather vest and mail, was at the center of the yard, wielding a training sword against his opponent.

This cohort of recruits numbered almost twenty, including Jon as the only volunteer—a rare and sizable intake by Night’s Watch standards. Their ages ranged from fourteen to eighteen, yet none could hold a candle to Jon, the youngest of them all. Some were agile but cowardly, flinching at every swing; others held their swords like daggers, stabbing awkwardly. One recruit seemed so frail he could barely lift his weapon, while the rest were clumsy and oafish, flailing their blades with no sense of strategy or technique.

Jon, however, was a wolf among sheep. In just a few minutes, he had already defeated four opponents in quick succession. Now, he faced a fifth—a burly recruit with a thick neck. Feinting skillfully, Jon tricked his opponent into overextending, then landed a clean strike to his head. As the recruit staggered back, Jon followed up by disarming him and finishing with an elbow to the stomach. The man lost his balance, collapsing onto the snowy ground with a heavy thud as his dull training sword slipped from his grasp.

Aegor had to admit, Jon’s swordsmanship was as good as advertised. Even if Aegor, with his additional ten years of experience and time spent in the Night’s Watch, were to face him, he doubted he could do better than hold out for a draw by staying entirely on the defensive.

The training was paused as Ser Alliser Thorne, the drill instructor, entered the scene. The bitter former knight, exiled to the Wall after his side lost the Rebellion, clearly held little love for Jon, the bastard son of the victorious Starks. From the distant balcony, Aegor couldn’t make out their conversation, but it was clear from Jon’s increasingly irritated expression that it wasn’t a pleasant one.
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“That boy has talent,” Tyrion remarked, still standing to avoid aggravating the soreness lingering from their long journey. “But he’s being awfully rough with his future brothers, don’t you think?”

“Jon came here for honor,” Aegor said, glancing down at the younger man. “But now he’s discovered the reality of the Night’s Watch—a far cry from what he imagined. Betrayed by his own expectations and left to stew in resentment, he’s channeling all his frustration into the training yard.”

“A poetic summary,” Tyrion said with a chuckle. “You’re becoming quite the philosopher.”

“It’s no philosophy, just observation,” Aegor replied. “But if he keeps this up, he’ll have a hard time fitting in with the rest of the recruits. Someone needs to show him how to navigate this place.”

“What can I say? I have a soft spot for bastards, cripples, and broken things,” Tyrion said with a self-deprecating smile. “It’s a bad habit of mine.”

“Then I suppose I should count myself fortunate to fall under that last category,” Aegor quipped, raising a brow. “But I’m not sure whether that makes me lucky or cursed.”

“Hmm, good question,” Tyrion mused. “You’ve stumped me there.”

The growing familiarity between the two had made their exchanges increasingly casual. Tyrion’s ability to remain approachable and free of arrogance, despite his high birth, was one of his most endearing traits. It was a skill—one that Aegor respected. Coupled with his sharp wit, it marked Tyrion as someone destined to accomplish great things.
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“How’s your situation progressing?” Tyrion asked after a moment.

“The First Ranger is preparing for the next patrol, and I’ve been assigned as a guide,” Aegor said nonchalantly, though inwardly he was anything but calm. “How long do you plan to stay here?”

“As long as I like,” Tyrion shrugged. “It’s not like I have pressing state affairs to attend to.”

“A patrol can last anywhere from a month to half a year,” Aegor added.

“What a pity. I was hoping you’d bring back an Other for me to see, just to prove you weren’t making it all up.” Tyrion smirked, his tone light, though there was genuine curiosity behind his words.

Aegor’s heart skipped a beat. Capture an Other? That was laughable. Even with the scant supply of dragonglass weapons the Watch had managed to craft, they were far from ready to face the true horrors beyond the Wall. Those weapons were fragile, more glass than steel, and only useful in specific circumstances. The Night’s Watch was still woefully underprepared, and going beyond the Wall now was nothing short of suicidal.

“My lord,” Aegor began, struggling to keep his tone measured, “capturing a wight might be feasible, but an Other? That’s beyond our capability. The First Ranger’s mission is to verify their existence. If he returns safely, then perhaps we can plan a proper operation to gather proof.”

Tyrion waved him off, chuckling. “Relax, it was a jest. I don’t need you to catch me an ice demon. My offer to help you leave the Wall isn’t conditional on you proving your tall tales.”

“Thank you, Tyrion,” Aegor said, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I’ll await your good news.”

“You won’t have to wait long,” Tyrion replied confidently. Turning, he began to hobble away toward Mormont’s office. After a few steps, he glanced back. “Find somewhere to sit. No need to stand around like a lost puppy.”

Aegor watched him leave, feeling a glimmer of hope amid the perpetual cold of Castle Black.