Just as Lancelot's mount, Hrakkar, and his squire, Aguda, were intimidating Ser Alliser Thorne, the oldest man in the Night's Watch, Maester Aemon, spoke up.
"Ser Lancelot, could you grant me a small favor and not lower yourself to Ser Alliser's level? As you know, he is a knight of noble birth and has always harbored resentment over being exiled to the Wall."
Lancelot looked at the old man whose eyes were clouded but not yet completely blind.
"Maester Aemon is right. Hrakkar, come back. Aguda, return the man's weapon."
Hrakkar withdrew his massive lion head and settled behind Lancelot like a guardian deity.
Aguda also sheathed Ser Alliser's sword back into its scabbard.
"Ser Lancelot, please join us by the hearth to talk! It is far too cold out here," Lord Commander Mormont said.
Lancelot entered the hall with them. After they all left, Ser Alliser Thorne shot a look of venomous hatred at their backs, but then he caught a glimpse of Hrakkar's enormous head and shuddered in fear.
"Yoren! Where are the recruits you brought this time? I need to whip them into shape!" Ser Alliser roared, trying to regain some of his confidence.
"Just these two. But they're mute, so go easy on them!" Yoren said.
"Mutes? Even better. Can't talk back when hit. I like it!" Ser Alliser revealed a cruel smile.
"They aren't ordinary criminals, but..." Yoren paused, then shut his mouth.
He couldn't very well say they were assassins who had killed two previous recruits!
"Doesn't matter if they're murderers. I've turned plenty of killers into proper men of the Night's Watch over the last dozen years," Alliser said.
The Night's Watch lacked enough knights, but after the Sack of King's Landing, a large group of loyalists refused to surrender and took the black instead. Ser Alliser was essentially their leader.
Inside the hall, a warm fire crackled in the hearth.
Lancelot looked at the row of Night's Watch officers before him. They represented the entire black-clad order. However, the Night's Watch now numbered less than a thousand men in total. Their strength was a shadow of what it once was.
> Name: Jeor Mormont
> Identity: 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch
> Class: Night's Watch
> Strength: 12
> Speed: 8
> Intelligence: 15
> Spirit: 16
> Mana: 7
> Talent: None
> Name: Aemon Targaryen
> Identity: Targaryen Royal
> Class: Night's Watch
> Strength: 2
> Speed: 3
> Intelligence: 25
> Spirit: 16
> Mana: 18
> Talent: Dreamwalker
Lancelot spent all the Popularity Points he had gained from the Night's Watch just to check the stats of their high command.
He noticed their class was uniformly listed as "Night's Watch," without specific distinctions like Ranger or Steward.
"Ser Lancelot! Is Robert well?" asked a one-armed blacksmith. It was Donal Noye, formerly the smith of Storm's End.
He had forged the warhammer Robert used to kill Rhaegar, and he had also made Stannis's first sword.
"The King is well. Singing and feasting every day!" Lancelot laughed.
"Ah, so he has changed after all!" Donal Noye sighed.
"He hasn't changed. He's just adapted to his new identity. He is still Robert Baratheon!" Lancelot said.
His words brought a spark back into Donal Noye's dim eyes.
"Ser Lancelot, as the King's envoy, is there anything we can help you with?" Lord Commander Mormont asked.
"I need someone to take me to inspect the condition of all the castles along the Wall, as well as the status of both the north and south sides. Finally, I want to go with the rangers into the Haunted Forest."
The officers whispered among themselves before Lord Commander Mormont spoke.
"We will cooperate with your mission, but we ask that you refrain from doing anything out of line! Including, but not limited to, provoking or insulting other members of the Night's Watch, like Ser Alliser."
"I'll walk around him when I see him, alright?" Lancelot said irritably. When had he provoked or insulted Alliser?
"Fine. Arrange a place for me to stay first. I need a room for two!" Lancelot said.
"Understood!" said Bowen Marsh, the First Steward, who managed all logistics besides combat.
Meanwhile, Tyrion had already gotten friendly with several men of the Night's Watch; his social skills were top-notch.
Tyrion had pried a lot of information out of them.
Most of it was horror stories from beyond the Wall and talk about the recent disappearances of many rangers.
Waymar Royce and his party weren't the first rangers to vanish, nor the last. After them, Lord Commander Mormont had sent many men to find them, but none had returned.
"Lord Tyrion, you're here representing the King. Does that mean aid from the Seven Kingdoms will be arriving soon?" a young brother asked. He was new and hadn't even been on patrol yet.
But the deaths and disappearances of the veterans terrified him.
"Aid? getting benefits out of the King isn't that easy. After all, the Crown is currently six million Gold Dragons in debt," Tyrion said truthfully.
"Seven Hells! Six million Gold Dragons!"
The young brother collapsed to the ground in shock, his legs too weak to stand.
"Then... how does King Robert maintain his rule? Through violence?"
"He relies on credit. When you have too many lice, you stop itching. Our King Robert is currently the biggest debtor to the Iron Bank, House Lannister, House Tyrell, the Bank of Oldtown, the Bank of Lys, and the Bank of Myr," Tyrion said with a smirk.
Privately, however, Tyrion admired Robert somewhat; owing so much money and still sitting securely on the Iron Throne was a miracle in itself.
"So will aid for the Night's Watch ever come?"
"That depends on our King! Hahaha, but these aren't things a young man like you needs to worry about. If the Wall falls, the tall ones will hold it up, right?" Tyrion's mismatched eyes gleamed.
Even if the Red Keep collapsed, he could survive longer than others—after all, being a dwarf meant he could fit into small places.
Lancelot arrived at the base of the Wall and pressed his palm firmly against the ice.
"There is no magic here! At least not on the south side!" Melisandre appeared behind Lancelot.
"Are you saying the north side might have magic?" Lancelot asked.
"Perhaps! However, most of the ice here is ordinary ice. But spells have been woven into it to prevent evil things from passing," Melisandre said. She could sense magic within the Wall, but not every block of ice was enchanted.
"Evil things can't pass... does that mean the White Walkers can't get in?" Lancelot asked.
"Perhaps. But the White Walkers are a highly intelligent race. They might figure out a way to bypass the Wall. even without destroying it, sending one or two wights across shouldn't be too difficult for them," she said.
Suddenly, Lancelot had an idea. He decided to do something fun. He called Hrakkar over and grabbed his Valyrian steel spear: Demon Slayer.
He had named the spear Demon Slayer, the meaning obvious: to slay the White Walkers.
Hrakkar carried Lancelot as they flew up to the top of the Wall.
Up here, the wind was fiercer, the snow colder.
Looking north, a primeval forest stretched out—the Haunted Forest. Covered in heavy snow, almost no green was visible; it was an endless expanse of grey. The snow fell constantly, no longer looking white.
After gazing beyond the Wall, Lancelot rode Hrakkar slowly down the face of the Wall. On the way down, he used Demon Slayer to carve a sentence into the ice.
"In the 298th year after Aegon's Conquest, the 16th year of Robert's Rebellion, Lancelot came to the Wall."
After carving the sentence, he used the Spark spell to scorch the letters, making them clearly visible and likely to last longer.
He used the Spark spell instead of the stronger Firebird spell because the power of fire was too weak here to manifest anything greater!
The men of the Night's Watch below watched Lancelot's actions. Some gritted their teeth, thinking he was damaging the Wall, while others envied his mount's ability to scale the heights.
"Lancelot, wait before you come down!"
Before Lancelot could land, Tyrion shouted loudly.
"What is it, Tyrion?" Lancelot asked, having Hrakkar hover in place.
"Put my name up there too! Before yours."
Lancelot smiled helplessly, then had Hrakkar fly back up to the spot.
"The space is a bit tight, but I can add Tyrion's name at the front."
"Tyrion, along with Lancelot, came to the Wall in the 298th year after Aegon's Conquest, the 16th year of Robert's Rebellion."
After finishing, Lancelot checked it carefully. satisfied there were no typos, he landed on the ground.
Tyrion immediately walked over and praised Lancelot.
"Something that will go down in history—and we uncle and nephew did it together! Hahaha!"
Tyrion put his hands on his hips and laughed heartily.
"When the ice melts, our names will disappear, Uncle!" Lancelot said.
"Then make it not melt! You know magic, don't you? Add more water, freeze it solid!" Tyrion asked.
"I don't know water magic! Priests of the Lord of Light don't learn water magic," Lancelot said.
"Although I don't know water magic, I can use shadow magic to turn the carved letters black, making them easier for others to read," Melisandre said, appearing beside them.
"Great! Let's go, I'll take you up," Lancelot said. Although he had carved the words with his spear, they were the same color as the ice and hard to see from below. If they were black, they would stand out clearly against the translucent ice.