Lancelot and his group returned to Castle Black, planning to rest for a few days before exploring the West.
Unlike the Kingsroad to the east, which was as straight as a sword, the road to the west twisted and turned like a coiled snake.
While resting at Castle Black, Lancelot saw a batch of new Night's Watch recruits. One among them was particularly tall and stout.
His name was Samwell Tarly, the eldest son of Earl Tarly of Horn Hill in the Reach. Because of his cowardice and perceived weakness, his father had sent him to the Wall to join the Night's Watch.
"I give you two choices: join the Night's Watch, or we go hunting together, and tomorrow your body will be found in the woods."
That was what Lord Randyll Tarly had told Samwell.
They say even a vicious tiger won't eat its cubs, but this Earl of Horn Hill was ruthless enough to contemplate killing his own son.
Lancelot watched as Ser Alliser Thorne trained the recruits. He gave them many nicknames.
"Rat! Frog!" "Scorpion! Ant!"
But for Sam alone, he dubbed him "Sir Piggy."
"Beyond the Wall, if you get hungry and can't find food, having our Sir Piggy with you might keep you alive for another month with all that meat! Hahaha!"
Ser Alliser mocked. The others joined in the ridicule.
Samwell, though as large as a great bear, was a cowardly one. Even when insulted, he didn't speak back, only lowering his head to stare at his boots.
Smack! Ser Alliser struck Samwell with the flat of his sword.
"Ah! Ah! AHH!" Samwell fell to the ground in terror, covering his head with his hands, trying to hide.
The others started bullying Samwell too, as if they had found a new toy.
Lancelot couldn't watch anymore. With a wave of his hand, Hrakkar let out a thunderous roar.
The terrified Night's Watchmen looked in horror as Hrakkar approached.
"Lancelot, what are you doing? We are training recruits!" Ser Alliser gritted his teeth, glaring at Lancelot.
"Ser Alliser, if you had a shred of knightly honor, you wouldn't bully someone who has no will to fight back," Lancelot said.
Lancelot then hopped onto Hrakkar's shoulder.
"The strong bullying the weak doesn't make one truly strong. If you dare to draw your sword against me, then I'll believe you have strength," Lancelot challenged.
Seeing Lancelot atop the giant lion, Ser Alliser's face turned green. He ignored Lancelot and stormed off the training ground. The other recruits scattered as well, leaving only Lancelot and Samwell.
Lancelot jumped down from Hrakkar and walked up to Samwell. "Get up, big guy."
Hearing Lancelot's voice, Samwell cautiously lifted his head.
"They're gone. Thank you for saving me! Ser Lancelot," Sam wiped the sweat from his face.
"With your size, you could crush them. What are you afraid of?" Lancelot asked.
"I've always been cowardly. I've never even killed a chicken."
Lancelot was speechless.
"You have the build to slaughter a bull; why worry about chickens?"
"King Robert is a head shorter than you, and he's a powerhouse. I bet you are too."
Lancelot checked Samwell's stats.
Name: Samwell Tarly
Identity: Heir to Horn Hill (Disinherited)
Class: Night's Watchman
Strength: 36
Speed: 4
Intelligence: 22
Spirit: 8
Magic: 6
Talent: Voracious Reader. Read a book a hundred times, and its meaning will appear. Expert at discovering secrets in books that others miss.
Looking at Samwell's stats, Lancelot found it bizarre. His strength was a whopping 36—even higher than Robert's 35. Yet he was afraid to kill a chicken.
Then Lancelot realized: it was cowardice, not lack of strength. Size and weight were strength. The bigger the mass, the greater the power.
Giants beyond the Wall didn't train; they just lived their lives. But standing over ten feet tall—some reaching four or five meters—their strength naturally exceeded the Mountain's. The Mountain, at eight feet, was a child compared to them. Their strength came from simply growing big.
"Sam, not all Night's Watchmen are good people. This place is arguably the most chaotic in the Seven Kingdoms, filled with murderers, rapists, and thieves."
"Abandon your fantasies about noble black knights! Here, you need to survive Ser Alliser first before you officially become a man of the Night's Watch," Lancelot advised.
"Thank you, Lancelot!" Samwell said.
He thanked Lancelot not just for saving him from Alliser, but for telling him the truth.
"To survive at Castle Black, you need to find some friends. That part is up to you."
Lancelot patted his shoulder and left.
---
A few days later, Lancelot and his group gathered supplies and ale, then set off to explore the West.
Exploring the West was difficult; the road was treacherous.
One night, they arrived at the Nightfort, the largest castle of the Night's Watch.
"There are plenty of ghost stories about this place. Want to hear a few?" Tyrion asked.
They camped inside the Nightfort, cooking by a fire.
Podrick was the perfect squire, taking excellent care of his knight.
Bacon, sausages, black bread, cured meat, and ale made up their dinner.
"Tell us, Uncle. Agoda and Podrick probably haven't heard them, and Melisandre might not have either," Lancelot said.
"Ahem!"
Tyrion cleared his throat and began the story of the Night's King. Legend had it he was the thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, back when the Watch was mighty.
This Night's King was also rumored to be a Stark—Brandon Stark.
One day, he returned from beyond the Wall with a woman whose skin was as pale as the moon.
The brothers in black at the Nightfort looked at her with fear. Her eyes were blue, her skin like cream, cold to the touch. She neither ate nor drank.
Brandon Stark seemed bewitched by her. He declared himself King—the Night's King, ruling from the Nightfort.
He established a cruel reign over the Wall. Thirteen years later, the King in the North and the King-Beyond-the-Wall joined forces to take him down.
"So, the North and the Wildlings aren't always enemies? They've cooperated before, right?" Podrick asked.
"Correct. They cooperated many times in the past, but that was thousands of years ago. Now, due to prejudice and duty, the Watch and the Wildlings are sworn enemies. Isn't that right, Agoda?" Lancelot asked.
Agoda nodded.
"But there are Crows we respect too. Like Qhorin Halfhand of the Shadow Tower. He is a Crow worthy of fear."
After dinner, they went to sleep. However, Lancelot heard scratching sounds in the night and got up to investigate.
Following the squeaking, Lancelot arrived at a well.
"Is this...?"
Lancelot felt he had stumbled upon the secret passage from the books, the one leading beyond the Wall.
"But the path down seems difficult! Should I go check it out?" As Lancelot hesitated, Tyrion arrived.
He had heard the rats too.
"Lancelot, did you find the rats?" Tyrion asked, wrapping his cloak tighter.
"The sound went into this well. I can still hear faint noises," Lancelot said.
"However, I don't recommend going down. It's likely dilapidated and dangerous."
"Then find something to plug it up?" Tyrion suggested.
"Alright! I'll find a big rock."
Lancelot carried a massive stone slab and covered the well opening. Then he left with Tyrion.
But after they left, more rats scurried out from cracks.
---
Lancelot and his group continued west, documenting the damage to each castle.
Since Night's Watch castles lacked outer walls and weren't very large, repairing them wouldn't be technically difficult, just costly in manpower and resources.
On a chilly morning, they reached the Shadow Tower, the last inhabited castle east of the Gorge. Although Westwatch-by-the-Bridge lay further west, it had long been abandoned.
Ser Denys Mallister commanded the Shadow Tower. He was over eighty and had lost some of his imposing aura.
However, Qhorin Halfhand was stationed there, so the Wildlings still feared them greatly.
After meeting them, Lancelot explained his status as the King's envoy.
"We will cooperate fully with your work, but please do not interfere with our daily training and patrols," Commander Mallister said.
"Naturally."
After a few days at the Shadow Tower, they reached the edge of the Gorge in the west.
"What's across the Gorge?" Tyrion asked.
"Let's go see," Lancelot said.
The five of them mounted Hrakkar, intending to fly across.
But strong cold winds buffeted the Gorge, blowing Hrakkar off balance. They nearly fell off. Although Hrakkar was mammoth-sized—a titan to humans—he was fragile against the gale.
Fortunately, Lancelot had secured ropes around Hrakkar beforehand. Everyone held on tight and avoided falling.
As they passed over the Gorge, Lancelot glanced down. He thought he saw dark figures moving below. Were they animals, or Wildlings?