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Jon Snow's figure especially thin under the cold moonlight.
His sword hung at his side. His whole body like the bones had been pulled out.
Uncle Benjen's words more piercing than northern wind.
Lynn didn't offer comfort. Just stood quietly aside. Let Jon digest this cruel reality alone.
Sympathy the cheapest thing in this world.
Jon needed to walk out himself.
A voice suddenly came from the shadows behind them. Tinged with drunkenness and amusement.
"Seems not everyone enjoys the feast's noise."
Lynn's muscles tensed instantly. Fingers on his sword hilt tightened slightly.
He spun around.
A small figure emerged from the pillar's shadow.
His frame only half a normal man's height. But that well-tailored finery and silver cup filled with crimson wine proclaimed his noble status.
Tyrion Lannister. Queen Cersei's brother. Called "the Imp."
He wore an unruly smile. Those eyes glinted with cunning that saw through everything under moonlight.
Tyrion's gaze landed directly on Jon.
"Let me guess." "You must be that bastard of Ned Stark's."
Jon's face darkened instantly. His sword hand clenched white.
"Snow"âthat surname was an unhealable scar on his body.
And Tyrionâmercilessly pressed his finger hard into that scar.
Tyrion seemed not to see Jon's anger. Took a sip of wine on his own.
"Your uncle is a man of the Night's Watch?"
Jon turned to face this small dwarf. "What are you doing here?"
Tyrion shrugged. "Pondering how to endure dinner with your family."
"I've always wanted to see the Wall."
Snow didn't respond. Just asked. "You're Tyrion Lannister? Cersei's brother?"
Tyrion drank. Self-mocking. "Mm, perhaps my greatest achievement."
"You have the North's gloom. But your face is more refined than your half-siblings."
"That usually comes from the mother's side." "I offended you just now, didn't I?"
"Sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned the bastard thing."
Tyrion swirled his cup. Wine rippled in circles.
"Don't look at me like that, boy."
Jon's lips moved. But he couldn't speak a word.
"You are indeed a bastard." "Your father is Ned Stark. Your mother is not Lady Stark."
"Never forget who you are. This world won't forget eitherâbecause your name will always carry Snow."
"Use it to armor yourself." "Then no one can use it to hurt you."
Jon froze. Then fury surged in his heart.
"What do you know?" "What do you know about being a bastard?"
Tyrion looked directly into Jon's eyes.
"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes." "How are you and I different?"
Looking at Tyrion's small frame, Jon's anger dissipated instantly.
Tyrion's gaze shifted from Jon. Landed on Lynn.
He looked Lynn up and down. From Lynn's faded black clothes to his sharp sword. To those eyesâstill calm in the darkness.
"And you?" "You don't look like a dwarf. Are you also a bastard like him?"
Tyrion asked with interest. "Oh, noâyou're not a Stark."
"You smell like a crow."
Lynn said nothing. Just calmly met his gaze.
This dwarf radiated dangerous aura. Not from martial threat. But oppressive wisdom.
"A man of the Night's Watch not warming himself with a plump whore at the feast. Instead standing in this ice and snow with the duke's bastard."
Tyrion drank again. Smile deepening.
"What an interesting combination."
"The feast was too loud." Lynn finally spoke. Voice flattened by wind.
"Oh?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"I think that level of clamor perfectly covers certain less pleasant sounds."
"Like lies, plots, and... other sounds."
His gaze lingered a moment on Lynn's sword.
Lynn knew Tyrion's words had hidden meaning.
But Lynn really had just come out for air.
This dwarfâfar more sober than he appeared.
"How's the Wall?" Tyrion changed topics. Tone lightening.
"I've always wanted to see that edge of the world." "Heard there are wildlings. And... more terrible things."
His tone held mockery. As if discussing an absurd fairy tale.
"The Wall is cold." Lynn's answerâsimple and direct. "Colder than Winterfell."
Tyrion laughed. "Seems the Night's Watch's eloquence is as lacking as the North's weather."
He drained the last wine. Casually tossed the expensive silver cup into the snow.
"Well then, two melancholy gentlemen." "I'm going to find something warmer and softer to pass this evening."
He winked that black eye at Jon.
"Remember my words, boy." "Being a bastard isn't so bad. At least you don't have to attend those tedious feasts."
Finished, Tyrion hummed an off-key southern tune. Waddled on those short legs. Disappeared into the courtyard's other end.
In the snowâonly a lonely silver cup remained. And a string of uneven footprints.
Jon still stood in place. As if nailed to the ground.
Long silence. Finally he exhaled slowly. That breath condensed into white mist in cold air.
"He's right." Jon's voice was low. But no longer confused.
He looked up at Lynn. Those eyes rekindled with light.
Not the light of finding home. But resilience born from facing reality.
Lynn didn't respond. His gaze passed Jon's shoulder. Looked toward that brightly lit tower in the distance.
Long silence.
"Lord Benjen is waiting for me." Lynn patted Jon's shoulder. Then walked toward the feast hall.
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