Ser Alliser Thorne is giving the Night’s Watch recruits an inspirational speech, a phrase that here means being emotionally crippled by deep-seated childhood trauma, stemming from the incident during which he witnessed his mother fellating a pony only to later find out that it was his father indulging a My Little Pony fetish, and therefore being able to express feelings towards men younger than twenty-five only by metaphorically jerking his dick and ejaculating a pile of abuse all over them.

Eight recruits are graduating from basic training to make room for five new unfortunate souls: seven we don’t give a damn about and Jon. The boys engage in horseplay and tomfoolery of the sort I imagine to be common to British boarding schools, and then they drink wine and have a snowball fight. We are flounce of long hair away from this turning into a volume of yaoi manga.

As a reward, the boys get to have a proper meal during which they discuss their future. The Night’s Watch isn’t just one homogenous mass of men in black (that’s what the HBO show needs: Will Smith), they’re subdivided into rangers, who venture beyond the Wall; builders, who make sure the Wall remains standing; and stewards, whom no one remembers because no one wants to be one.

Jon does not join in the merrymaking because Jon is now middle-aged (don’t worry, if I remember correctly, he’s about to revert to teenagehood in the worst possible way) and a father to his men, especially Sam. Sam is not one of the eight chosen and will obviously become a bullying target the moment Jon and his boys aren’t around to protect him, so Jon worries. He saddles up and goes riding to clear his head. Weird, I wouldn’t have thought recruits could just ride off at will. I know desertion is a crime punishable by death, but surely even a token regulation that says you can’t just grab a horse from the stables and go for a midnight ride southward? Although maybe it’s specifically the recruits who can ride out at will because until they actually make the vow, they’re not bound and would not be considered deserters. Jon gets cold feet and briefly considers leaving, but it’s not like he’s got anywhere to go. Catelyn made sure he can’t call Winterfell home and Ned’s silence made him believe his mother to be a deep, dark, shameful secret. And so poor, sad Jon turns back northward, to his Castle Black, home for all the little boys that no one wants.

The ride wasn’t actually all about existential angst, it also had a more practical application of Jon coming up with a plan of action regarding Sam. Upon reaching the castle, he beelines for Maester Aemon’s rooms. The stewards serving as the maester’s personal servants (this is the most sibilant sentence in the history of sentences, I swear) are understandably reticent to wake an old man in the middle of the night because a young recruit says so. Jon somewhat politely but mostly forcefully insists.

Here’s the thing about Jon: a lot is made of him being an illegitimate child, part of the family and given many of the advantages of the upbringing, but also ostracized and singled out by society and never allowed to forget the “deficiency” of his birth. A lot is made of him knowing where he belongs, or rather doesn’t belong, of him being a Snow rather than a Stark. The truth is, though, that for all his name is Snow, Jon acts like a Stark. That is to say, he acts like a man of privilege and power, a man used to ordering other men and having his orders followed. Do you think any of the other recruits would even consider trying to get Maester Aemon out of bed at night and brush side a sworn brother’s objections to do so?

Jon wants Aemon to have Sam be promoted to a sworn brother and take him on as a personal assistant. He follows up the request with a long metaphor about maesters’ chains, taking forever to make a very legitimate point: killing Sam because he can’t be made into a warrior, or hunter, or manual labourer is stupid and a waste of resources. The Watch needs all the men it can get, including — and perhaps especially, considering how rarely they get them — men who can read, write, and do math, and do these things well. Sure, an army of intellectuals won’t stand up against the wildlings, but they aren’t building an army, they’re just putting one Sam to good use. Aemon compliments Jon’s HR skills and promises to take it under advisement, but you know he means “yes.” Good thing, too, Jon is going to need Sam there to verbally slap him out of a hissy fit, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Meanwhile, in the land of Awesome McAwesomepants… I wasn’t even going to do another chapter in today’s entry, but I couldn’t resist the siren call of Tyrion Lannister. Note: the drinking phrase for this chapter is “a Lannister always pays his debts.” You’ll need a lot of alcohol to cover it.

Tyrion and Bronn are making camp and Tyrion is trying to be a non-lord about this and gather firewood. Isn’t that what you plebes do? he asks. Only if you want to be a dead plebe, Bronn answers. Tyrion kind of mansplains why riding hard by night and hiding by day is a bad plan to Bronn. The hills have eyes! I don’t know, he’s good at talking, he can make anything sound reasonable, but how much does he actually know about surviving in the wilds? Stuff he hasn’t read in books, in any case. Not that I’m aware of any better credentials on the part of Bronn. They have an endearing heart-to-heart about it that goes:

Tyrion: Love you, dirtbag.
Bronn: Love you more, dead weight.
Tyrion: Love you most, money-grubbing, self-whoring ruffian.
Bronn: Love you most with a cherry on top, useless, gold-bleeding money pouch.

Tyrion convinces Bronn to have fire and roast a goat for supper. He’s very much unconcerned about the certainty of being discovered by the wild mountain tribes. In fact, very pointedly unconcerned and Bronn finally realizes that Tyrion has some sort of plan. With the wild tribes taking their sweet time in attacking, Tyrion makes conversation by talking about his first love.

I don’t know, I could make fun of this, but it’s a sad story, especially if you know the whole story. Jaime and Tyrion saved a destitute orphaned girl from some would-be rapists, then she and Tyrion got drunk in an inn, ended up in bed together, and then he decided to marry her. I would say that Tyrion is the kind of guy who marries the first girl to touch his penis, but disturbingly, I know that Cersei was in fact that first girl to do that. Amazingly enough not in an incest way, but in a let’s torture a baby by pinching his sensitive bits to make him cry way. Cersei’s a sick bitch. When Tywin found out a couple of weeks later, he had Jaime tell Tyrion that the girl was a hired prostitute and then made Tyrion watch as Casterly Rock guards paid for sex with her and had Tyrion go last. And that’s just the story Tyrion knows, the truth is sadder and sicker, so I’m pretty happy to move on.

Bronn takes first watch and wakes Tyrion up when they finally get snuck up on. Tyrion invites the would-be attackers to share their goat. He adds silver coin and assorted weaponry to sweeten the deal, but the various Names sons of Names remain unmoved. Then Tyrion points out that killing or capturing him now and taking his stuff is a short-term goal with a small return on investment. A more fiscally savvy strategy would be to help him make it through the mountains to the Riverlands. Reunited with his rich family, he’ll pay them in something better than gold. He’ll pay them in strong steel and a promise of conquest of the Vale. Note to the Tully sisters: don’t fuck with Tyrion. He’s a professional.