Yoren's band of recruits merged into Lynn's disciplined column.
Having done his homework, Yoren knew that Lynn was currently riding under Lord Eddard's banner, so he wisely kept his mouth shut.
His silence seemed to infect the rest of the group.
The thirty-odd so-called "new recruits" of the Night's Watch formed a stark, pathetic contrast to the soldiers under Lynn's command, who were clad in iron and radiated the hardened aura of the North.
These new recruits were dressed in rags, their bodies reeking of a sour stench that suggested they hadn't seen a bath in years. Some cowered, their eyes darting around nervously like rats that had spent too long living in a gutter. Others wore fierce scowls, possessing the desperate, violent air of cornered beasts.
Lynn rode side-by-side with Arya.
She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.
"Lynn, Father promised he'd help you earn a lordship. So, if you become a Lord, does that mean you'll finally be eligible to marry me?"
Lynn paused.
Arya was still young. She didn't truly grasp the complexities of power, nor did she care about the politics of station and high birth. She simply knew who made her happy, and she wanted to be with them.
It was typical Stark directness.
However, it was obvious someone had put these words in her head.
Lynn didn't deny it. "That's right. If I become a Lord, your father would surely agree to let me marry you."
Arya lit up, her chatter instantly increasing.
"I knew it! Jon didn't lie to me."
"He told me I should help you out more, and that I should put in a good word for you with Father whenever I can..."
So, it was Jon.
Lynn realized the boy must have picked up on the subtle clues and noticed Arya had special feelings for him. After all, Jon and Arya were close, so it wasn't surprising he'd see it.
Fortunately, Jon had no ill intent. The tension in Lynn's face softened.
He turned his head to look back at Jon Snow.
Jon was on horseback, not looking at Lynn, but rather staring involuntarily at the recruits trudging alongside them.
Jon's eyes landed on a man missing an ear. The man was staring at Arya with cloudy eyes, his gaze filled with naked, unfiltered greed.
Then Jon saw another man, this one with a hideous scar across his face. The man licked his cracked lips without shame, his eyes roving hungrily over the convoy's supplies.
These men... these are my future brothers?
Jon's brow furrowed unconsciously.
In his imagination, the Night's Watch was a brotherhood of men like his uncle Benjen, or warriors like Lynn—an iron wall of heroes dedicated to protecting the realm.
Not this... rabble.
Calling them a "rabble" was being generous.
"What are you looking at?"
A voice cut through Jon's thoughts.
Tyrion Lannister had trotted his pony up beside Jon without him noticing. His mismatched eyes held a playful glint, as if he could read Jon's mind.
"Admiring your future brothers-in-arms, are we, Bastard?"
Jon's lips pressed into a thin, hard line.
"They are men of the Night's Watch," Jon said, a note of defensiveness in his voice that he hadn't intended.
"Oh, certainly," Tyrion nodded with exaggerated agreement, as if acknowledging a profound truth. He took a swig of wine from the skin hanging at his belt. The spiced vintage made him squint in satisfaction.
"They are about to don the black and guard the realm. How noble."
Tyrion pointed a stubby finger at a man with a face like a weasel.
"See that one?"
"I'd wager he's a thief. A career criminal who couldn't keep his hands to himself. Maybe it was for a few crusts of bread, or maybe a Lady's necklace. The magistrate gave him a choice: lose the hand, or take the Wall."
"It seems he's quite fond of his hand."
Jon's face went slightly pale.
Tyrion's gaze shifted to the scarred man.
"And that one."
"Look at the way he walks, look at those eyes. A killer, no doubt about it. Maybe he gutted a man in a tavern over a whore, or slit a throat in an alley for a purse of coppers. The noose or the North—it's all the same ending to him."
Tyrion's voice wasn't loud, yet it surgically dissected the fragile cloak of "honor" Jon had draped over the Night's Watch in his mind.
"And him. The one staring at Arya."
The corner of Tyrion's mouth quirked up.
"A rapist. The most disgusting sort. If not for Yoren's chains, I suspect he'd be trying his luck right now. Gelding, or a lifetime of celibacy at the Wall... I suppose that wasn't a hard choice for him. He values his privy parts."
"Though, I suppose any man would make the same choice." Tyrion shrugged.
Jon's breathing grew heavy. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the reins.
"Stop it."
"Hah." Tyrion let out a short, sharp laugh. "Bastard boy, what exactly do you think the Wall is?"
"A home for heroes?"
"No, no, no." Tyrion shook his head theatrically, like he was correcting a slow child.
"The Wall is the privy of the Seven Kingdoms."
"All the filth, the stench, the refuse that can't be seen in the light... it all gets flushed up there eventually."
"Thieves, poachers, killers, rapists, and..." Tyrion trailed off, his shrewd eyes fixing intently on Jon's face.
Jon froze in his saddle.
He wanted to argue, to fight back, but he couldn't find a single word.
What Tyrion said was the truth. A bloody, ugly truth that Jon had been actively trying to ignore.
He looked up at his "new brothers" again.
This time, he didn't see future comrades. He saw specific, dirty crimes. Theft. Plunder. Murder. Rape.
The noble fantasy he had held for the Night's Watch was shattered in that instant, crushed into dust by Tyrion's brutal honesty.
Up ahead, Lynn pulled lightly on his reins. He didn't look back, but he had heard every word of the conversation. Benjen Stark maintained his usual mild expression, seemingly unbothered by the harsh reality.
Seeing that everyone had fallen silent, Tyrion lost interest in the lecture. He pulled a book from his saddlebag and began reading with gusto.
This piqued Jon's curiosity, distracting him from his gloom.
"I noticed it before," Jon said. "You're always reading. Why do you read so much?"
Tyrion didn't even look up.
"Jon, look at me. And tell me, what do you see?"
Jon hesitated, unsure how to answer.
Tyrion answered for him. "I imagine you want to say you see a dwarf."
"And it's true. I am a dwarf."
"If I had been born into a peasant's family, I would have been drowned in a privy before I took my first breath."
Tyrion turned a page.
"But, I happened to be born at Casterly Rock, a Lannister. I am watched. My sister is the Queen. My nephew is the future King, Protector of the Realm."
"And me?"
"Do I simply occupy the Lannister name without pulling my weight?"
"My brother has his sword. King Robert has his warhammer. And I... I have my mind."
Tyrion tapped his temple with a short finger.
"A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge. That is why I read so much, Jon Snow."
Jon fell silent.
He looked at the dwarf before him. For the first time, he felt that inside Tyrion's small, stunted body lay a strength that rivaled any knight's.
Jon thought of himself. What was his advantage? What was his weapon?
Tyrion glanced up at Jon.
"I enjoy talking to people. It lets me learn how different minds work. What about you, Bastard boy?"
"It's your turn. What's your story?"
Hearing himself called 'Bastard' one too many times, Jon rolled his eyes and shot back with a complete lack of courtesy.
"Imp. Beg me, and maybe I'll be in a good enough mood to tell you."