Tyrion Lannister found himself remembering a cold night beneath a sky filled with stars.
He had stood atop the Wall, the colossal barrier at the edge of the known world, gazing north into an endless sea of darkness. The memory remained vivid even now. Back then, he had felt strangely conflicted. On one hand, standing atop that ancient structure made him feel like a king surveying his realm from the roof of the world. On the other hand, he had felt incredibly small.
The Wall had that effect on people.
The farther one looked into the frozen wilderness beyond it, the more unsettling the darkness became. The forests appeared endless, their shadows concealing unknown dangers. The wind carried an eerie chill that seemed capable of slipping through armor and skin alike, brushing against one's spine like the touch of a ghost.
Then there had been the howling.
The distant cries of wolves echoing across the frozen wilderness.
Even now, Tyrion could remember the shiver that had run through his body.
He shook his head slightly.
"I can't be a fool," he reminded himself.
Looking around the throne room, he saw the familiar faces of courtiers, lords, and schemers. Many wore expressions of amusement or concealed mockery.
As a dwarf, Tyrion had spent his entire life enduring ridicule.
The last thing he needed was for people to think he had become as mad as some wandering storyteller.
White Walkers?
The dead rising from their graves?
It sounded absurd.
Even if such things had once existed, they belonged to ancient legends from thousands of years ago.
The Long Night was a tale told by old nurses to frighten children.
The cold winds beyond the Wall.
The dark forests of the North.
The ancient stories.
Surely none of it meant anything.
Most people in King's Landing certainly believed so.
"Samwell Tarly?"
The sharp iron edges of the Iron Throne pulled Tyrion's thoughts back to reality.
He frowned.
The name sounded unfamiliar.
"Why have I never heard of him?" Tyrion asked. "A man from the Reach joining the Night's Watch?"
That, by itself, was unusual.
Tyrion knew House Tarly well enough.
It was one of the oldest and most respected houses in the Reach, sworn to House Tyrell of Highgarden.
Though not among the greatest lords of Westeros, House Tarly commanded substantial lands, wealth, and military strength. More importantly, its lord was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as a stern and capable commander.
It was difficult to imagine such a family willingly sending an heir to the Wall.
The times had changed.
Centuries ago, joining the Night's Watch had been considered a noble calling. Knights, second sons, and honorable men had traveled north willingly to guard the realm.
Now things were different.
The Night's Watch had declined for generations.
Most of its recruits came from prisons.
Poachers.
Thieves.
Rapists.
Murderers.
Bastards.
Disgraced nobles.
The black cloak had become less a badge of honor and more an alternative to execution.
"Samwell is the eldest son of Lord Randyll Tarly, my lord," Ser Alliser Thorne said with obvious reluctance. "He arrived after your visit to Castle Black."
"The eldest son?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow.
That made the situation even stranger.
"The heir of Horn Hill was sent to the Wall?"
His lips twitched.
"I must admit, I never imagined Lord Randyll Tarly to be such a devoted supporter of the Night's Watch."
Several members of the court chuckled.
Even Varys smiled.
"Our good Lord Tarly is indeed generous," the eunuch said softly. "To send his eldest son to serve the realm in such a distant place."
The implication was obvious.
Everyone understood what had happened.
Varys knew more than most.
His little birds whispered secrets from every corner of Westeros.
Samwell Tarly had once been the heir to Horn Hill.
He should have inherited rich lands, powerful bannermen, and one of the most famous swords in the Seven Kingdoms.
Heartsbane.
The Valyrian steel blade had been passed from father to son for nearly five centuries.
But Samwell had disappointed his father.
He was soft where Randyll was hard.
Gentle where Randyll was fierce.
Bookish where Randyll valued martial strength.
The stern lord of Horn Hill had never hidden his disappointment.
Tyrion understood immediately.
No father willingly sent his heir to the Wall unless he desperately wanted someone else to inherit.
"Sam claims he volunteered," Ser Alliser said.
The First Ranger's expression grew sour.
"But the truth is obvious. Lord Randyll never cared for a son like him."
"And yet you call him Sam the Slayer?" Tyrion asked.
The title sounded impressive.
Alliser's face darkened further.
"I underestimated him."
That admission clearly pained him.
"Most of us did."
He crossed his arms.
"The Lord Commander believed the fat boy had potential. I thought he was useless."
The hall listened with growing interest.
"Then the dead came."
The room fell quiet.
Alliser continued.
"On the night the wights attacked Castle Black, it was Samwell who realized something was wrong. He warned us and ultimately saved Lord Commander Mormont's life."
Tyrion studied the ranger.
Ser Alliser was many things.
Arrogant.
Harsh.
Proud.
But he was not a liar.
At least not about matters like this.
The fact that he was praising Samwell despite clearly disliking him made the story seem more believable.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The Wall truly changed people.
Perhaps there was something about standing at the edge of the world that forced men to discover strengths they never knew they possessed.
If someone as timid as Samwell Tarly could become a hero, perhaps Castle Black still served a purpose after all.
At the very least, Lord Commander Mormont remained alive.
That was good news.
Tyrion had genuinely liked the Old Bear during his brief visit north.
Mormont was one of the few men who seemed to judge Tyrion by his actions rather than his height.
"Did your brothers truly kill these dead men?" Tyrion asked.
"Yes."
Alliser answered immediately.
The memory clearly disturbed him.
"I was there."
His voice hardened.
"They were dead."
Nobody seemed convinced.
Tyrion noticed several courtiers exchanging amused glances.
Bronn looked especially entertained.
The sellsword appeared moments away from laughing.
"I'm not joking," Alliser said sharply.
"Those corpses rose from the dead."
The room erupted into murmurs.
Alliser ignored them.
"Many rangers vanished beyond the Wall. We searched for them and lost even more men."
He listed names.
"Ser Waymar Royce."
"Benjen Stark."
"Jarman Buckwell."
"Othor."
The names meant little to most people present.
To the Night's Watch, however, each represented a serious loss.
"When we found the bodies of Othor and Jarman Buckwell, they were covered in fatal wounds."
Alliser's expression grew grim.
"Their flesh was cold. Their skin was pale. Animals refused to approach them."
Several lords exchanged skeptical looks.
"Everyone advised burning the bodies immediately."
His voice became bitter.
"But Lord Commander Mormont wanted answers."
"So he brought them back to Castle Black."
Tyrion could already guess the ending.
"That night they rose."
The throne room fell silent.
"They attacked their own brothers."
"They tried to kill the Lord Commander."
Even the laughter disappeared.
The story sounded ridiculous.
Yet Alliser told it with absolute conviction.
"One of the creatures reached Mormont's chambers. Samwell Tarly stopped it by setting it on fire."
Tyrion leaned forward.
"And you are absolutely certain they were dead?"
"They were dead."
Alliser's reply was immediate.
"Their flesh was frozen."
"Their hands and feet had turned black."
"Samwell burned one."
"The other lost a hand."
"A hand which I brought with me."
Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his beard.
"Then where is this remarkable hand?"
The old man's tone dripped with skepticism.
Alliser's face reddened.
"It rotted."
Laughter immediately swept through the hall.
The ranger looked furious.
"I waited days for an audience."
"The hand decayed before anyone bothered to see me."
Now the laughter became even louder.
Many lords openly mocked him.
To them, he was simply another black-cloaked northerner telling ghost stories.
"What evidence was I supposed to bring?" Alliser demanded.
"My witnesses are all at Castle Black."
"The Night's Watch is desperately undermanned."
"We need help."
Tyrion sighed.
The ranger was sincere.
That much was obvious.
But sincerity did not make a story true.
"I'll send you more men."
Alliser blinked.
Tyrion continued.
"The Night's Watch serves the realm."
"Whatever I believe, your request is reasonable."
He turned toward the commander of the City Watch.
"Ser Jacelyn."
Jeslyn Bywater stepped forward.
"My lord."
"Escort our good brother to the dungeons."
"Allow him to recruit any prisoners suitable for service on the Wall."
Jeslyn hesitated.
"There may not be many left."
"Yoren recently took a large group north."
Tyrion waved a hand dismissively.
"Then arrest a few more."
Several people laughed.
Tyrion smirked.
"If that proves difficult, tell the poor folk there is bread waiting at Castle Black."
"Perhaps even cucumbers."
The hall chuckled.
"Half the city may volunteer."
The joke earned more laughter.
Yet beneath the humor lurked a practical truth.
King's Landing was overcrowded.
Food shortages were worsening.
Sending surplus mouths north solved several problems at once.
Tyrion was already preparing to end the audience.
There was no point arguing about dead men and ancient monsters.
The realm faced enough real dangers.
Then Alliser spoke again.
His voice was filled with anger.
"Do you think I sailed all the way from Eastwatch merely to be mocked?"
The room quieted.
Before Tyrion could answer, the doors opened.
One of Grand Maester Pycelle's assistants hurried inside.
The young man's face was pale.
Immediately, Tyrion felt a knot form in his stomach.
Bad news.
Very bad news.
Messages arriving at moments like this were rarely pleasant.
The servant hurried forward and handed over a sealed letter.
Tyrion examined the wax.
Dragonstone.
His expression darkened.
Only one man would be sending letters from Dragonstone.
Stannis Baratheon.
The hall grew silent.
Even Alliser forgot his anger.
Slowly, Tyrion broke the seal.
The letter unfolded in his hands.
His eyes moved across the first lines.
Then his face hardened.
The message began with two simple words.
War declared.
And suddenly, tales of dead men beyond the Wall seemed far less urgent than the living enemies gathering in the south.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)