Tyrion Lannister's breathing became heavy and ragged. He gripped Lynn's arm with a strength that belied his size, a frantic, almost manic fire burning in his mismatched eyes.
"What do you mean?" his voice was hoarse, like rusted iron scraping together. "What else do you know? Tell me!"
A deathly silence fell over the camp. Even the crackling of the fire seemed muffled by the heavy tension in the air. Jon and Arya shared a bewildered look; they couldn't fathom how a single story could cause a Lannister to lose his composure so completely.
Only Benjen Stark, his weathered eyes flashing with understanding, stood up quietly. He took the hands of the confused children and led them toward the other side of the camp. There were some things children shouldn't hear—and Tyrion's past was far too cruel for young ears.
Lynn didn't pull away from Tyrion's grasp. He simply looked down, watching the dwarf's face flush with emotion and his eyes fill with bloodshot desperation.
"Lord Tyrion," Lynn's voice was terrifyingly steady. "Some truths are like Pandora's box. Once opened, what comes out might just consume you."
"No!" Tyrion growled. "Tell me! Tell me the truth! Please."
That last word was forced through clenched teeth. The proud Lion of Lannister had just bowed his head in a way he never had for anyone, all for a truth that could overturn his entire life.
Lynn shook his head. "It's not time yet."
Tyrion's body swayed. The fire in his eyes died out instantly, leaving behind nothing but the cold ash of despair. "Why? What do you want?"
Tyrion snapped his head up, his mind racing to find a bargaining chip. "Gold? Casterly Rock is paved with it! A mine! I'll give you a whole gold mine! Just tell me!"
He was begging. A Lannister was offering a fortune for a single answer.
Lynn smiled faintly and slowly pried Tyrion's fingers off his arm, one by one. "My Lord, do you really think the Old Gods have any use for gold?"
Tyrion froze. "Was that their guidance too?" He stared into Lynn's bottomless eyes. For the first time, he realized that his vaunted wealth and wit were utterly useless against this man. He couldn't buy him, and he couldn't outtalk him. He was a fly caught in a web, and the man before him was the spider waiting patiently.
"Then what do you want? If you told me this much, you must want something! Just say it. Anything within my power is yours!" Tyrion's voice trembled.
Lynn leaned down, whispering into Tyrion's ear. "What I want, you cannot give me—not yet. But that day will come."
Lynn knew that telling Tyrion the whole truth now wouldn't have the maximum impact. He was waiting for the weight of the Lannister family's oppression to push Tyrion to his absolute limit. That was when the truth would be most useful.
Lynn straightened up and turned away. "Get some rest, my Lord. It's a long road to the Wall."
With that, Lynn walked toward his tent, leaving the shell-shocked dwarf alone in the freezing night. Tyrion sat slumped in the snow, his body shaking—not from the cold, but from the realization.
If it was all a lie... if Tysha wasn't a whore, but just a poor, innocent girl... if the whole thing was a setup... Then what was the point of all the pain and humiliation he had endured for years? How cruel a role had his father, Tywin Lannister, played in his life?
Tyrion slammed his fist into the frozen earth. Blood seeped from his cracked knuckles, but he felt nothing.
---
In the shadows nearby, Jon watched the exchange, deeply shaken. He had never realized that words could hold such terrifying power. Lynn hadn't even drawn a sword, yet he had utterly broken a high-born Lannister.
"Was he... always this formidable in the Watch?" Jon asked Benjen.
Benjen watched Lynn's retreating back with a complicated expression. "No," he shook his head. "The Lynn I knew was just an ordinary young man. But now..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Now, he's like a sword drawn from its sheath."
Benjen was beginning to believe that the Old Gods really had sent Lynn a message. Arya, meanwhile, gripped the hilt of "Needle" at her waist, her eyes shining with admiration. This was who she wanted to be—not a lady like Sansa in a pretty dress waiting for a prince, but a warrior who could make enemies tremble and keep her family safe.
"I've spent my life living in a lie tailored specifically for me," Tyrion thought, kneeling in the snow. "My father, my sister, my brother... everyone manipulating me in ways I couldn't see."
To Tyrion, the name Lannister felt less like an honor and more like a curse. Lynn looked back at him and allowed a small smile to touch his lips. He didn't dislike Tyrion; he was simply planting a seed. Everyone was a piece on the board, but some were players too. The seed of hatred and betrayal had been sown. One day, it would grow into a tree tall enough to topple House Lannister—and Lynn would be the one to water it.
The next morning, the change in Tyrion was obvious. He stopped drinking. He threw his wineskin into the ashes of the fire and didn't look back. He stopped talking, too. The dwarf who usually armed himself with wit and insults had become a mute overnight. He rode in silence at the back of the line, his cynical mask replaced by a haunting gloom.
Jon tried to talk to him a few times, but the hollow look in Tyrion's eyes made him swallow his words every time. Arya sidled up to Lynn and whispered, "Lynn, what's wrong with the Halfman? He looks like he's dying."
Lynn ruffled her hair. "No, he's not dying. He's being reborn."
The party continued north in a heavy, oppressive silence. Even Yoren's criminals sensed the shift and stayed quiet. Only Lynn seemed unbothered. He spent most of his time practicing archery with Benjen. Draw, aim, fire. Over and over.
> Archery (Novice) 5/10
> Archery (Novice) 6/10
Lynn was thrilled to find that instruction combined with hard training actually boosted his experience. He trained even harder, and his progress shocked Benjen. The young man seemed born for combat; he mastered every tip the First Ranger gave him with uncanny speed.
Five days later, a massive white shadow appeared on the horizon, stretching from end to end. Everyone pulled their horses to a halt.
The Wall.
An unimaginable barrier of ice and ancient magic, it sat like a Great White Dragon at the edge of the world, towering into the clouds and stretching into eternity.