Chapter 291

With the blade pointed at him, Jaime showed no sign of tension. Wearing a faintly amused smile, he kept his gaze locked on Cotter Pyke as his hand moved to his waist...gripping the exquisite steel sword forged by Lannisport's finest smith. Slowly, he drew the blade, the scrape of metal against the sheath’s mouth producing a subtle rasp that, despite its quietness, sent a shiver through many of those present.

The Kingslayer’s movements were deceptively slow yet fluid, and in a single breath, he had adopted a battle stance. “If you’re set on violence, my lord, then I… have no choice but to oblige.”

The gathered black-clad soldiers let out gasps and murmurs of astonishment.

Patrols beyond the Wall had long since ceased, the wildlings posed no immediate threat, and the White Walkers and their undead army had not been seen since their last incursion. The Night’s Watch was in a state of uneasy readiness, but months of monotonous routine—day after day of the same, soul-draining election process—had left the men restless. It had been a hundred days since Lord Commander Jeor Mormont’s unexpected death, and yet the Watch still lacked a new leader. The rank-and-file had grown tired of waiting for something—anything—to happen.

The return of the chief logistics officer a few days ago brought a flicker of life back to Castle Black, with the fiery argument that followed becoming a topic of gossip. But for all the tension, the conflict between the two factions had remained confined to the shadows, a battle of unseen maneuvers. On the surface, Castle Black was still stagnant—until today, when something finally broke the monotony.

Sensing a show was about to unfold, the brothers of the Night’s Watch abandoned their tasks to crowd around, forming a circle of onlookers. All that was missing were stools and roasted chestnuts to complete the theater.

Jaime and Cotter circled each other, observing each other’s movements. Their followers, too, abandoned their duties, standing ready with hands on their weapons. The atmosphere grew taut with unspoken tension.

The Kingslayer’s reputation preceded him; his skills were known across the Seven Kingdoms, and Cotter Pyke had heard the tales. Yet he also knew that men like Jaime Lannister—pampered highborns—were often overestimated. Their abilities rarely matched the legends. Today, he would see for himself what kind of warrior stood before him—a man who had slain two kings.

Cotter had made up his mind and steeled his body for the clash. But the moment their eyes met, a chill ran down his spine. He realized, in an instant, that Jaime Lannister was the most formidable opponent he had ever faced. Jaime stood there casually, weapon held in a simple, unembellished guard, yet it felt as though no attack could pierce his defenses. Cotter saw no openings, no weaknesses.

This man was nothing like the Ironborn of his youth, the wildlings he fought as a ranger, or even the southern nobles who sometimes joined the Watch. Jaime Lannister was something else entirely—the first opponent Cotter Pyke could not simply overpower with raw strength.

“Stop!”

Just as the tension reached its peak, with the clash between the Commander of Eastwatch and the Kingslayer about to ignite, a furious voice rang out, halting them in their tracks.

“What in the name of the gods are you doing!?” Ser Jaremy Rykker, the First Ranger, strode onto the scene, his eyes blazing with anger. The commotion had finally drawn the Castle Black officers from their quarters. He glared at Jaime. “Care to explain yourself, Lannister?”

Jaime, still holding his sword steady, didn’t even flinch. “Acting under orders, Ser Jaremy. The late Lord Commander Mormont appeared to me in a dream, instructing me to move the King-Beyond-the-Wall and his family to the safety of Crown's Rest. The chief logistics officer has approved the plan—Crown's Rest is prepared to receive them.”

He turned his sharp gaze toward Cotter. “But for some reason, Commander Pyke here has decided to interfere.”

“Jaime, if I recall, you’re a ranger,” the First Ranger said coldly. “Putting aside this nonsense about dreams, why did you go to the chief officers instead of consulting me—your immediate superior?”

“My apologies, Ser,” Jaime said smoothly. His tone was courteous, but the lack of remorse in his expression was clear. His blade remained unsheathed.

“This is your first offense, so I won’t press the matter further. Put away your sword and return Mance Rayder and his family to the tower at Hardin’s. I’ll see to their security.”

Jaime didn’t budge. He didn’t even glance at the First Ranger, standing motionless in front of the wagon carrying Mance Rayder’s family’s belongings. His contemptuous expression said it all: You think you can order me around? I’m a Lannister.

“Looks like the ‘Kingslayer’ has decided to defy orders to protect his wildling whore!” A mocking voice cut through the tension as Yohn Royce returned, flanked by over a dozen armed men. He joined Cotter’s side, his words laced with derision.

Castle Black was now packed, its residents—save for the few sentries on the Wall—gathered in the yard. All were clad in black, but the divisions were clear. Jaime stood at the head of his forty Westerlanders, Cotter had over thirty men from Eastwatch and Castle Black, and the senior officers and their attendants formed a separate cluster. The rest of the brothers watched from the sidelines, eager for entertainment.

At Jaime’s back stood Val, her golden hair glinting in the weak winter sunlight. She clung to him like a bird seeking shelter, her delicate beauty lending weight to Royce’s taunt. The two of them looked so alike in their arrogance that some might have believed they were siblings.

But Val was not one to take insults quietly. She threw back her hood, her voice sharp as she faced Yohn Royce. “Are you referring to me, Lord Royce?”

“You know exactly who I mean.”

She sneered. “Given that there are only three women at Castle Black—my sister, Melisandre, and myself—I assume you mean me. Allow me to correct you. The former Lord Commander declared that the free folk who surrendered are now New Gift citizens, forbidding the use of the term ‘wildling.’ By calling me a ‘wildling,’ you’ve already violated his command. Is it because he’s dead that you think you can say whatever you please?”

Royce’s face darkened as Val continued, her tone icy. “As for your claim that I’m some kind of… harlot… I’ve lived my entire life far from the Wall, and since arriving here, I’ve stayed confined to my tower, keeping away from all of you. I’ve never so much as touched a man south of the Wall. And yet, you have the audacity to slander me. Tell me, Lord Royce, who’s the real savage here?”

Her words stung like a whip, and Royce struggled to find a retort. But before he could respond, the officers stepped in, unwilling to let the situation spiral further.

“Enough!” Ser Jaremy bellowed. “Jaime Lannister, order your men to return Mance Rayder’s belongings to Hardin’s. Cotter, stand down and disperse your men. This farce has gone on long enough.”

But Jaime didn’t back down. “Today, Mance Rayder’s family will be moved to Crown's Rest. If anyone wishes to stop me, they’ll have to do so over my dead body.”

Cotter’s patience snapped. “So be it! Let’s see if the Kingslayer lives up to his name!”

As shouts erupted from the onlookers, Cotter charged, his twin axes gleaming in the pale light, aiming for Jaime Lannister.