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Arya started to protest again, but Lynn stopped her with a look.
Every eye in the camp was locked on the silent duel.
Lynn sat calmly, picking up a stick to poke the fire. Sparks flew upward, bright and brief.
"Love?" Lynn said finally.
His voice was soft, but it cut through the crackle of burning wood.
"The Lannisters seem to know a lot about that word."
Tyrion shrugged. "I've dabbled."
Lynn smiled faintly. The expression was unreadable in the firelight.
"I heard a story once. About love. The hero was a Lannister."
Tyrion's body went rigid. His hand tightened on the wineskin.
"Oh?" He tried to sound casual. "We Lannisters have many stories. Which one?"
Lynn ignored the deflection.
"There was a young Lannister," Lynn began, his tone flat, detached. "He saved a girl from bandits. His brother drew his sword and chased them off. The young man gave the girl his cloak."
Each word was a hammer blow.
Tyrion's face drained of color. His smile became a frozen mask.
"She was a wheelwright's daughter. She was starving. He took her to an inn. She ate three roasted chickens and drank a flagon of wine."
Jon and Arya exchanged confused glances. Why did this story make Tyrion look like he'd been stabbed?
Only Benjen Stark frowned, sensing something darker.
Lynn continued.
"The young man drank too, though he wasn't used to it. He wanted to numb himself. He was afraid she'd only see his... defects. That she'd stare at his handsome brother instead."
"But this girl was different. She was kind. She saw him."
"So the young Lannister fell in love."
"They made love. They whispered promises. She sang him a sad song."
"They found a drunk septon, bribed him with gold, and married."
Thud.
Tyrion's wineskin hit the ground. Red wine bled into the snow like a wound.
He tried to speak. Nothing came out.
Lynn looked up, meeting Tyrion's wide, mismatched eyes.
"But two weeks later, the septon sobered up. He told the boy's father."
"The father made the boy's brother confess the truth."
"It was all a lie."
"The girl was a whore. Hired by the father to teach his son a 'lesson.' The chase, the rescue, the inn, the septonāall staged."
Tyrion's world shattered.
Lynn stood. He looked down at the trembling dwarf.
"The father wanted the lesson to stick," Lynn said, his voice ice. "So he summoned the 'bride' to the barracks."
"He made every soldier in the garrison take a turn with her. One silver coin each. A fair price for a whore, don't you think?"
"And the boy? He was forced to watch. And at the end... he had to pay her too. One gold coin. Because a Lannister is worth more."
"She dropped the coins. They spilled everywhere. Silver on the floor."
Arya looked away, sickened. Jon's face was pale.
Lynn leaned close to Tyrion's ear.
"Isn't that right?" he whispered. "Tysha."
The name broke him.
"AHHHā!"
A raw, animal scream tore from Tyrion's throat. His eyes were wild, stripped of all wit and charm. Only madness remained.
He stared at Lynn like he wanted to carve his face into memory.
How does he know?
No one knew. Not even Jaime would speak of it.
Lynn straightened up.
"Now do you believe the Old Gods guided me?"
"Stop guessing. Stop talking."
"I don't like being judged."
"Understood, my Lord Lannister?"
Tyrion tried to compose himself. He couldn't.
Lynn patted his shoulder.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
He paused.
"But I'll tell you this: What you saw that day... may not be the truth."
The words hit like lightning.
Tyrion's head snapped up.
"What do you mean?" His voice cracked. "What else do you know?"
~~~~āā~~~~~~~~āā~~~~
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