[Chapter Size: 2400 Words.]
Third Person POV.
The Wall.
...
...
Maester Aemon was seated when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in," he said.
The door opened, and small footsteps echoed through the room. "Well, if it isn't Lord Tyrion," Aemon said, recognizing the dwarf's small footsteps, who now belonged to the Night's Watch. He had arrived more than a moon ago, taken his vows alongside his nephew, and now they were both members of the Watch.
"Good morning, Maester. I noticed you weren't at breakfast today..." Tyrion said, while Aemon let out a small chuckle.
"I wasn't feeling well early this morning, Lord Tyrion. My days are becoming more difficult as time goes on..." he replied to the dwarf.
"You didn't miss anything, Maester. The food was the same as yesterday." Tyrion answered in an ironic tone.
"And what brings you here so early in the morning, Lord Tyrion?" the old man asked.
"I don't have conversations this pleasant with just anyone in this place..." Tyrion said, sounding distant.
"Don't say that, Lord Tyrion. You are certainly a very engaging man. Many people here like you," the maester said.
"They say they do. Or maybe they only think so because I'm amusing. To them, having a laugh is almost like seeing a woman in this place..." Tyrion replied mockingly.
"I imagine that isn't exactly the quality by which you would like to be remembered," the maester said.
Tyrion couldn't have agreed more... Things had been better before. He had gold and women. Now, he was bound by vows, and his family had been destroyed. It was strange that he and the old maester had so much in common... And this man belonged to the same family that had destroyed his own in return for what had happened twenty years ago...
"At least this place is livelier than the last time I came here," he finally said.
"Well, war is approaching, Lord Tyrion. But don't speak of yourself that way. I like you, Lord Tyrion, and it's not because you're funny."
"As I said, Maester, that's exactly why I'm afraid of losing you. You're one of the few men I can speak to freely about things other than trying to act like a fool, and we can actually talk about interesting things..." Tyrion said before pulling out a hidden drink and taking a sip.
"Lord Tyrion, you shouldn't be drinking that," the maester warned. Even if he couldn't see, he could certainly smell the alcohol.
Tyrion merely let out a small laugh. "Well, if you like me, then there's no way you'd report me, right?"
Tyrion drew another laugh from the maester as he took another sip and turned his attention back to him.
"This is all very strange. At the end of the world, I found support in a Targaryen, after everything."
"And I can say that I like a Lannister," the maester replied with a smile. They both began to laugh, and the laughter lasted for several seconds.
Tyrion took another drink before walking over to the window, watching everyone at work. As always, the courtyard was full of men carrying things from one place to another, marching as they passed along the Wall, and training on its northern side.
They did this every day. Personally, Tyrion found it fascinating, watching the people of Westeros who had come from the south, many of them from the Westerlands, training side by side with the free folk, who had, surprisingly, become quite adept at warfare. They now marched better than many armies of the Seven Kingdoms.
Not that it came as much of a surprise, considering the training the current King of Westeros had given them beyond the Wall before the invasion, turning them into a true army, alongside the giants, as well as all the experience they had gained while conquering the North and then the southern kingdoms until they had completely defeated all of their enemies. After all, the war against the Lannisters had not been the last thing they had done.
He did not know everything that had happened since leaving King's Landing, as the information available to him had been limited. He knew his father had also been concerned about the coming of the dragons and the rumors that they were being raised in Essos, along with the Golden Company. At first, he had hoped the two dragons would destroy each other.
In the end, he had worried for nothing. His other enemy had destroyed the Golden Company and faced the dragons. Not only had he faced them, but he had utterly defeated them.
For Tyrion, who had been at sea on his way to the Wall, by the time he received the news upon arriving there, the war had already begun and ended.
His eyes continued scanning the courtyard of Castle Black until they found his nephew carrying some supplies the men had asked for. There was firewood in his arms. No one forced the boy to do anything beyond basic chores. At least Tyrion had to be grateful for that, although Tommen was still deeply frightened by everything since arriving.
From a king, the boy had become nothing more than a child who had sworn the vows of the Night's Watch, destined to remain on the Wall for the rest of his life. To Tyrion, that almost seemed merciful compared to what had happened to House Tyrell and House Martell.
In a way, Tyrion had to be grateful. Even though resentment still burned within him over losing his entire family, despite also hating them.
Myrcella had been sent to the Silent Sisters along with the other noble girls and women. The king had placed her among them as well. There were Margaery Tyrell, Jeyne Westerling, Lysa Arryn, and Barbrey Dustin, among the most notable. He had spared their lives, since, judging by his reputation, everyone had expected he would kill them, just as he had done with Arianne Martell.
Normally, Westeros would condemn the sheer cruelty with which he dealt with Houses Tyrell and Martell. But after everything he had proven himself capable of, no one dared say a word. Not when he had slaughtered more men during the war than the very Council he had created.
That king could do whatever he wished. Everyone would kneel before him.
Even so, there was a certain instability. Tyrion had to admit that. After all, none of his allies had been harmed. He dealt only with his enemies mercilessly. He was not irrational. Cruel, certainly, but never irrational.
And that made him even more dangerous.
Tyrion wondered how House Tyrell and House Martell would have made their decisions had they known what awaited them. They probably had never expected complete annihilation the way it happened. After all, they had expected the Blackfyre to win the war, much less imagined they would never have the chance to negotiate their surrender against an army of more than one hundred and fifty thousand men and three dragons.
In the end, the enemy they believed they had some chance against toyed with them and killed them with ease.
Maester Aemon always made a point of never speaking about the king in front of Tyrion during their conversations. But the dwarf did not know that the old maester held a certain fondness for Daemon. After all, unlike the decisions made by Tyrion's father, who had massacred innocent children, the king had at least given them a chance to live, even if under vows and isolated from the political world of Westeros. It was a condemned life, yes, but it was still a life.
Tyrion should have hated Daemon. Perhaps he should have hated him as much as he hated his own father for everything that had happened to his family. But it was difficult to hate a man for not wiping every Lannister from the face of the world, just as it was impossible to defend his father for eliminating every Targaryen within his reach with such cruelty.
In a way, Tyrion's fate had led him to a place surrounded by men who hated him. There were still veterans of Robert Baratheon's Rebellion, loyalists who had fought for the Targaryens, men whom Jon Arryn had sent to the Wall. At least they were nowhere near as unpleasant as Alliser Thorne, whom Tyrion had the misfortune of meeting the first time he visited the Wall. In the end, the man died at the hands of the prince's son while he blew open the Wall's sealed gate. Ironic.
Even so, Tyrion was hated by many of those men, as well as by the new recruits arriving at the Wall every day. After all, countless families had suffered because of the wars started by the Lannisters after Robert Baratheon's death, and Tyrion himself had helped kill many people during the Battle of the Blackwater against Stannis.
His nephew was frequently insulted, but the Lord Commander had the decency to stop anyone who tried to physically harm Tommen, declaring that he was a brother of the Night's Watch and that no one was allowed to lay a hand on him. Otherwise, not even the king would let those men go unpunished.
Even so, the Night's Watch still had honorable men. Benjen Stark, the Lord Commander himself, and even Ned Stark, who joined them a few days after taking his vows, never showed any hostility toward the boy, although Ned still kept a cold gaze fixed on Tyrion.
Even so, Tyrion had to admit that Jeor Mormont did not allow anyone to cross the line or harm Tommen. And Tyrion was grateful for that.
In any case, there were still interesting things at the Wall. The maester was pleasant company to talk to. And as much as Tyrion hated being treated like a joke, sometimes it was enjoyable to talk with a few men who did not hate him and laughed with him while discussing ordinary matters.
But the most interesting thing of all was the dragon that remained atop the Wall. Tyrion had tried speaking with him once, but the dragon had simply told him to leave in a rather blunt manner. Even so, he could not help finding it fascinating that a dragon could speak the tongue of men. And a dragon from another world, as the men had told him. That world where the king had gained his powers... The powers of a god, Tyrion told himself.
The Lord Commander occasionally exchanged a few words with the dragon called Odahviing, but nothing more than that. After a while, the dragon would become easily irritated. Unless it was the king himself speaking with him, he did not seem willing to converse with anyone else.
A roar caught Tyrion's attention. Quickly, he turned his eyes away from the courtyard and looked up at the sky, just as everyone in the courtyard and the surrounding area did. Even Maester Aemon choked slightly as he tried to rise from his chair to catch a glimpse of the dragons arriving overhead.
The maester joined Tyrion at the window, and both of them looked ahead, where they saw two dragons approaching the Wall.
It was not as unusual as one might think, considering they had already witnessed it at least twice. The king had finally arrived.
Daemon landed near the entrance, drawing everyone's attention as he made his way toward the Wall to see how things were progressing.
Benjen approached him with an extra horse, since there were still at least two hundred meters between the landing site and the gate. Daemon accepted it, mounted, and the two rode toward the entrance of Castle Black, where Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, along with his other uncle and the others, awaited them.
Daemon noticed little Tommen working. The boy felt his gaze and instinctively shrank back, while Daemon merely gave him a nod. The boy's aura was red. Despite his fear, there was concealed hatred within him, which came as no surprise given that Daemon had killed his family... Daemon did not care. He spent no more than a few seconds looking at the boy before turning his attention back to the others.
After a brief welcome, they all headed to the war room.
The most important figures of Castle Black were already gathered: Jon, Benjen Stark, Ned Stark, and Stannis, who remained at the Wall training his men and organizing battle formations to face the army of the dead. Brynden was with the troops farther east, while Mance remained in the free folk city within the Gift.
Maester Aemon also arrived shortly afterward, and they all resumed discussing their strategies.
They had the resources. They possessed the necessary weapons forged from dragonglass. Hundreds of thousands of arrows had been crafted by the blacksmiths. Winter had already arrived, massive storehouses had been built, and there were enough furs to withstand the brutal temperatures.
The castles along the Wall were occupied this time as well. Those whom Daemon had sentenced to the Night's Watch had finally adapted, and that was no longer a problem.
In addition, wildfire had been positioned along the line of a direct assault on Castle Black. If it became necessary to use it, it was buried beneath the ground. All it would take was a single order to ignite it and blow apart a portion of the army of the dead when it arrived.
On the southern side of the Wall, the side of the living, Daemon had prepared the Seven Kingdoms exceptionally well. They were no longer divided as enemies, but united as a single force.
He did not know it, but he was the first king to ever accomplish something like that, and he was satisfied.
At the same time, on the other side of the Wall, far to the north and far from there, an enormous army made up of countless blue-eyed corpses stood completely still.
Among them, a man knelt.
Euron Greyjoy raised his head. His eyes glowed with an intense blue light, and his flesh no longer belonged to the warmth of the living. He had fully embraced his existence as a White Walker.
Still kneeling, he bowed before a figure far more imposing than himself.
The Night King walked past Euron without even glancing at him and made his way toward the dragon.
The dragon no longer bore black scales. Its body now radiated an icy blue glow, and its eyes shone with the same unnatural hue.
It had become an undead dragon.
Just like Euron. And both of them were about to be used to destroy the world of the living.
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