TWL Chapter - 78

This had to be the most entertaining afternoon Tyrion had experienced in months.

Watching Jaime gawk at everything was priceless. His brother—always so composed—looked like a man trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

"Not the frozen wasteland you were expecting?" Tyrion asked, unable to keep the amusement from his voice as Jaime nearly walked into a merchant's cart while staring at a group of Tyroshi traders.

Jaime recovered with his usual speed, flashing that practiced smile. "I'm just surprised you haven't taken me to all the whorehouses yet."

"Ah, we have plenty of time for that later," Tyrion chuckled.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while before Jaime had to open his mouth and spoil it.

"So... Father's been telling me you've stopped writing him reports," Jaime mentioned casually.

Tyrion waved dismissively, not even trying to hide his irritation. "Bah, the spies disguised as guards he sent with me are doing that anyway. Why should I waste my time with such redundant work?"

"You don't have to tell me, I just had to ask," Jaime shrugged.

When they got close to the clinic, Jaime stopped in his tracks. Tyrion watched with satisfaction as his brother took in the scene—direwolf pups were playing while a massive direwolf lounged below with obvious patience.

"Is that the mage's direwolf?" Jaime asked in a low voice.

"Oh, you've seen Fenrir before?"

"Yes, he's gotten a lot bigger. I didn't think that was possible."

"I'd take you to meet El, but he isn't here at the moment. I'll introduce you later."

"So where are we going now?" Jaime asked, relieved they were moving away from the giant wolf.

"My new office. You have no idea how much work opening a new bank is going to be."

"Why?" Jaime interrupted. "Why work for him? You could do anything now. I'm sure Father would reinstate you as heir any day."

Tyrion couldn't help it—he burst out laughing. "Wow, you are delusional. Are you sure the Kingsguard haven't been hitting you in the head too much?"

Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but Tyrion wasn't finished. "And to answer your question, I get paid quite well now since I'm in charge of the gold and all." He couldn't keep the smugness out of his voice.

"And that gold in turn means I don't have to grovel to our dear father asking for coin to spend," he added, opening the door to the new building that had been bought across from the clinic that acted as the bank.

"Ah, that makes sen—" Jaime began, before his expression shifted to complete bewilderment. "There's a donkey in your office."

Tyrion followed his gaze and grinned. "Donkey, what are you doing here?"

"Shh! Those bloodthirsty monsters were chasing me all through town and no one was helping me! I'm too handsome to die!" Donkey replied frantically.

"Ooh, who's this? He looks like Prince charming. I don't like him," Donkey continued, studying Jaime with obvious distaste.

Tyrion watched as Jaime took a step back as his hand moved instinctively to his sword. "Did… did that donkey just talk?"

"Of course I did! I can sing too!" Donkey announced proudly, then began singing completely off key: 

"No matter what they take away from me, they can't take away my dignity!"

Tyrion doubled over laughing as the great Kingslayer gaped at a singing donkey like a village fool.

"Your face..." Tyrion wheezed, trying not to fall over laughing.

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Freya wasn't used to having a lot of free time, but she had been freed up considerably lately since the early days when El first started disappearing into the forest and made her in charge of helping all the patients.

For a stretch of time, she had to do that alone, and now even though teaching and learning herself took up most of the time, things had become more manageable.

And with Emilia living in the clinic, she had basically become her assistant. 

That girl was adorable, always happy to help and learn, not a single complaint. She was ashamed to say she had been slightly suspicious at first, but she was sure now that the girl wouldn't hurt a fly.

And it wasn't just Emilia that helped her.

Most of the students now knew the basics of first aid and could identify the common symptoms and deal with the stitches, which were most of the work. All under her supervision, of course.

For injuries that weren't immediately fatal, she let her students diagnose them and explain their reasoning for why they were prescribing certain treatments.

It was quite fun now. She could see what El used to smile about when he was quizzing her. It was quite a proud feeling seeing your students actually figuring stuff out.

She kind of missed it herself.

It felt like she used to get that feeling almost every day when she had first met El.

She should somehow get him to teach her something new.

So far he had only taught one class, and that was unacceptable. He was busy with other important things now, but she should be able to convince him somehow.

Currently she was busy watching over all of her students as they attended to easy patients currently in the hospice. Since the delegations from King's Landing and all over the North had arrived, it had led to lots of small fights involving sharp objects. Thankfully no one had come in with a fatal injury than one man with missing fingers.

She had done everything she could for him and would have to call El to do the rest, but she had at least managed to salvage the fingers.

Now the rest of her students were disinfecting, stitching, and bandaging everyone with minor wounds.

Her good mood soured as she remembered that there would be a feast today, and if El came home today, then she too would be roped into going.

She hoped he would forget again so she wouldn't have to go.

He had been disappearing into his projects ever since returning from the Wall, working on something mysterious as usual. She really needed to ask him to show her those basement tunnels he'd been using—it would be useful to know all the ways in and out of the clinic.

Of course, he chose that exact moment to emerge from the basement, looking slightly disheveled.

"You look disappointed. Did I forget something again?" El asked, catching her expression.

Freya sighed. "No—well, yes—but that's not why I'm disappointed you're back."

"I'm confused," he said, tilting his head .

"The king arrived today, and most of the northern lords are here too. There's going to be a feast tonight." She gestured helplessly. "Which means if you're here, I have to go."

"Ah." Understanding dawned on his face. "I can leave if you want?"

"No, it's important. You need to be there," she said firmly, then brightened. "But you can make it up to me by teaching the students something new tomorrow."

"Deal," he agreed without hesitation. “How are things going here?”

Freya gestured around the bustling clinic. "We've been busy. The city's population doubled overnight with all these visiting lords and their households. Lots of minor injuries—cuts, scrapes, the occasional broken bone from tavern brawls. Nothing complicated, thankfully."

"How are the students handling it?" El asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Better than I expected. They remember what I've taught them and ask good questions. Emilia's caught up remarkably fast for joining late—she's practically my assistant now, and they deal with all the disinfecting, suturing and bandaging so it saves me a lot of time." 

"They're not allowed to do anything without my approval, but it saves time."

"Sounds like you have everything under control," El said approvingly. "Let me know if you need anything."

"We'll need a bigger classroom soon."

"Already being handled," he replied. 

"And can you tell me how you keep showing up from the basement?"

"Oh, I haven't told you? I'll show you tonight. It's more fun that way," El said with a mysterious smile.

Before Freya could respond, Sansa hurried over, having just finished wrapping a merchant's scraped knuckles.

"El, you're back!" she said, relief evident in her voice. "Father wanted me to tell you—the moment you returned, you should come to the castle. He's going to tell everyone about... you know." She paused, glancing around at the busy clinic full of ears.

"Thanks for letting me know, Sansa. I'll be on my way soon."

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The great hall felt cramped. 

Every lord of the North and some of their heirs was packed inside. The tension was thick.

It looked like a war council, and in some ways it was one.

Ned sat at the head table, Robert beside him looking tired and grim. He had hoped El would be here as well, but he wasn't back yet and this couldn't be held off any longer.

His bannermen sat rigid in their seats. They had greeted each other solemnly and sat in uncomfortable silence.

All of them knew this wasn't a normal gathering—he had implied as much in their summons.

"My lords and ladies," Ned began, his voice carrying across the packed room. "I've called you here because the North faces a threat unlike any we've seen before."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Lord Umber leaned forward, his massive frame creaking in his chair.

"Tell us who we are at war with, Lord Stark," Umber rumbled.

Ned waited a beat. "The Others have returned."

The silence that followed was loud.

"My lord, I may have misheard, but did you say the Others—" Manderly said carefully.

"You heard me right, Lord Manderly."

Then all of them started talking at once. Lords shifted in their seats, voices overlapping in concern and disbelief.

"My lord, surely—"

"This cannot be possible—"

Ned let them voice their concerns, waiting for the initial shock to pass.

"I would like to finish what I was saying," he said firmly. The hall slowly quieted, though muttering continued. "My brother, the First Ranger, and the mage recently went beyond the Wall to investigate certain disturbing events that have been happening for some time now. They encountered them."

"What exactly did they encounter?" Karstark asked.

"The White Walkers and their army of thousands of undead wights."

The words shut everyone up momentarily.

"I don't mean to doubt the mage—he has been helping the North greatly," Umber said carefully. "But surely you must consider... that there might be some greater plot?"

Benjen's voice cut through the murmurs, cold and quiet. "So you're calling me a liar as well, Umber."

"It is quite a bold claim, First Ranger. Surely you can understand our concerns," Bolton replied smoothly, his pale eyes studying everyone.

From the back, the Kingslayer's voice carried with disdain. "Well, this is rich. The honorable Stark, reduced to believing in ghost stories. What's next? Do these Others come riding dragons that spew ice?"

Then everyone started talking over each other again, voices rising in argument and protest.

"Enough!" Robert bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. Wine cups jumped. The hall fell silent. "Seven hells, you sound like a bunch of bickering children!"

Robert stood, his presence commanding the room. "Now listen here, you stubborn goats. I've known Ned Stark since we were boys. He's never lied to me, never led me astray, and he sure as hell wouldn't start now." His voice boomed across the hall. "If he says there are monsters in the snow, then by the gods, I believe him!"

The king's support visibly shook several lords. Robert's grin turned predatory.

"Besides," he continued, "sounds like the first interesting fight I've had in years. Been getting fat and bored sitting on that damned throne. About time something tried to kill me again!"

"I can understand your disbelief," Ned continued, "but I've also been wondering—why would my ancestors build a wall so tall it cuts across the continent just to keep out wildlings? Or was it something worse?"

As the room pondered that unsettling logic, several faces grew thoughtful.

"So I'm proposing we put together a small group to investigate. I'll go myself, along with anyone who wishes to volunteer."

"I'll go," Benjen said immediately.

"As will I," Robert declared, ignoring the horrified look from several lords.

"Your Grace, surely—" Ser Selmy said.

"Don't 'Your Grace' me, Selmy. I haven't had a proper adventure since the Rebellion."

Tyrion raised his cup from the corner. "Well, count me in. When do we leave for this delightful adventure?"

"Brother, you cannot be serious," the Kingslayer said, incredulous.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world." Tyrion grinned.

"I have already told you I'm joining as well, Lord Stark," Oberyn's voice carried from where he lounged. "Let it never be said that Oberyn Martell said no to an adventure."

Bolton's pale eyes calculated for a moment before he nodded. "House Bolton will provide men as well."

"Wow, all of you are quite suicidal," a familiar voice interrupted from the shadows near the wall.

Every head turned as El stepped into the torchlight, having somehow appeared from nowhere.

"How long have you been there?" Ned asked.

"Long enough to know that most of you have no idea what you're volunteering for," El replied, his expression deadly serious.

He looked around the room. "The thing waiting for you beyond the Wall isn't just dangerous—its an existential threat to every living thing on this world. If you're going, you need to understand: this isn't a hunting trip or a chance for glory. It's reconnaissance against an enemy that can kill you in ways you can't imagine. And this time, I will not be going with you to bail you out when things go wrong."

The hall had gone deathly silent.

"So choose to volunteer carefully," El continued, his voice ominous. "Because some of you might not come back."