GOT/ASOIAF: Ruler Beyond the Ice

The clanging of swords echoed through the courtyard, marking just another ordinary day at Castle Black.

Commander Mormont had resisted the Royce family's demands to punish the three surviving patrol members. Now, these men, who had escaped the blades of the White Walkers, were no longer under suspicion of desertion and could move freely within Castle Black.

On the balcony overlooking the courtyard, Aegor and Tyrion stood leaning against the railings, watching the new recruits train below. The scene reminded Aegor of standing on a college campus, observing younger students during their first military drills.

Unfortunately, there was little to admire among these new recruits—not a single woman among them, nor even many handsome men.

In the center of the yard, Jon stood out, clad in a black wool sweater layered beneath a leather vest and chainmail. He wielded a training sword with practiced ease, sparring with an opponent.

This training batch was the largest in Castle Black's history, with nearly twenty recruits, most aged between fourteen and eighteen. Even among such a group, none could match Jon's skill. Some recruits were agile but timid, like Will, while others fumbled with their swords like children handling daggers. One was so weak he could barely swing his weapon. Most of them, however, were slow and clumsy.

Jon, in comparison, was a tiger among sheep. In just a few minutes, he had defeated four recruits in succession. With a well-timed feint, he disarmed a fifth—a thick-necked recruit, then pushed away the man's sword and struck his abdomen with an elbow. The recruit staggered, lost his balance, and fell heavily into the snow, his dull-edged blade slipping from his grip.

Aegor had to admit that Jon's swordsmanship was every bit as impressive as the boy claimed. Even if Aegor, a "veteran" with a year's service and nearly a decade of experience over Jon, were to duel him, the best outcome he could hope for would be a draw through sheer defensive effort.

The training session came to a halt when the recruit instructor, Alliser Thorne, intervened. Thorne, a former knight who had been exiled to the Wall after backing the losing side in Robert's Rebellion, clearly harbored no affection for Jon Snow, the bastard son of the rebellion's victor. Though Aegor and Tyrion couldn't make out the exact words exchanged between Thorne and Jon, it was obvious the conversation was far from friendly. Jon's face darkened with anger.

"That boy's got talent," Tyrion remarked, shifting uncomfortably. The days of riding had left him sore, and standing was the only position that didn't aggravate the pain. "But for someone who's supposed to be making friends among his new brothers, he's being a little too harsh."

"If he keeps this up, he'll find it hard to get along in the Watch. Someone ought to talk some sense into him."

"You're surprisingly compassionate."

"I can't help it," Tyrion said with a shrug. "I've always had a soft spot for bastards, cripples, and outcasts—anyone dealt a bad hand by the gods."

Aegor smirked. "So, I'm an outcast too, lucky enough to end up on your list. Should I consider myself fortunate or cursed?"

"Hmm… Excellent question. You've got me stumped."

As the days passed, Aegor found himself growing more at ease around Tyrion. The Lannister dwarf had an uncanny charm. Despite his noble lineage, he didn't exude arrogance or condescension. Not being insufferable was, in itself, a rare skill—one that highlighted his intelligence.

At that moment, Tyrion gestured toward the yard. "How are things progressing with the rangers?"

"The Chief Ranger is already preparing for the next patrol. I'll be leading the way," Aegor replied, his tone deliberately nonchalant, though inwardly he felt a gnawing anxiety. "How long do you plan to stay at the Wall?"

"I can stay as long as I like. It's not as if I have a kingdom to govern," Tyrion said with a shrug. "How long does a patrol usually take?"

"Anywhere from one or two months to half a year," Aegor replied.

"That's unfortunate. I was hoping you'd catch a White Walker and bring it back for me to see. You know, to prove you weren't exaggerating." Tyrion's expression was one of exaggerated regret. "I came here mainly to see the legendary Wall, climb to the top, and piss off the edge of the world. But I can't stay here for that long."

Catch a White Walker? Aegor couldn't help but feel the absurdity of the suggestion. The collection of dragonglass weapons had only just begun. At present, the amount of obsidian available wasn't even enough to properly outfit a patrol team. And despite its usefulness against White Walkers, dragonglass was brittle—too fragile to be wielded like conventional weapons such as Valyrian steel.

Dragonglass weapons weren't a solution to decisively turn the tide; at best, they gave humanity a faint chance of survival against the White Walkers. With no preparations and no real strategy, returning alive from beyond the Wall would already be a miracle. Catching a White Walker alive? That wasn't even worth considering.

The Night's Watch was far from ready to deal with the threat of White Walkers, but the stubbornness of the Stark bloodline clearly ran deep. Benjen Stark refused to delay or cancel the patrol, no matter how Aegor tried to dissuade him.

"My lord, it might be possible to capture a wight," Aegor said, choosing his words carefully. "But a White Walker... Forgive us, that's far beyond our ability. This patrol led by Ser Benjen is meant to verify the truth of the White Walkers' existence. If he returns with evidence, then perhaps the Night's Watch can plan a larger operation to prove the threat to the rest of the world..."

Joining this patrol would almost certainly be a death sentence. Avoiding the mission was the only way to survive. Yet, no matter how dire the circumstances, Aegor couldn't afford to push Tyrion too hard. The dwarf, after all, was a true Lannister and a highborn noble. Tyrion had already promised to help him, any further pleading might come across as desperate or disrespectful.

"Relax," Tyrion interrupted, brushing off the explanation with a casual wave of his hand. "It was just a joke. I'm willing to take you away from the Wall, but not because you've killed some ridiculous magical creature. No need to explain yourself."

Tyrion shrugged again. "I'll go talk to your commander and arrange it. Oh, and stop calling me 'my lord.'"

"Alright, Tyrion," Aegor replied, exhaling in relief. He gave the dwarf a grateful smile. "I'll wait for your good news."

"I'll do my best not to disappoint you," Tyrion said as he shuffled away toward the commander's office, his short legs carrying him in a brisk, awkward gait. A few steps later, he paused, turned back, and waved a hand dismissively. "Find a place to sit down. No need to stand around waiting for me here."

And with that, the dwarf disappeared into the corridors of Castle Black.