Tyrion and Jaime

Garon turned his head to look back, and Tyrion Lannister, who stood only half his height, was standing not far away, observing him with curiosity.

"Good day, Lord Tyrion!"

Garon turned around and greeted him politely.

Tyrion was not the least bit surprised that Garon could recognize him; in fact, it would have been stranger if he hadn't.

He spread his hands, wore an exaggerated expression on his face, and said.

"Ah! Praise the Seven."

"So, people of The North can be polite after all."

"I had assumed you lot only knew how to clutch wine skins while gossiping behind people's backs."

Although Tyrion had long been accustomed to the discrimination brought on by his stature, hearing it with his own ears was a different matter entirely from ignoring it.

Ever since he entered Winterfell, snide remarks had been constantly drilling into his ears.

Having traveled for over a month, Tyrion was in a foul mood, and he needed to vent.

Garon sized up the sharp-tongued and cynical Tyrion before him, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes.

He had not expected to meet and converse with Tyrion under these circumstances, especially regarding such a sensitive topic.

"Then you must have misunderstood The North, Lord Tyrion!"

Garon did not indulge him, retorting neither humbly nor arrogantly: "Northerners have always been straightforward and hearty; even if you are standing right in front of them, they will say whatever harsh words they have to say."

Tyrion's eyes rolled, and he couldn't help but sneer: "That is exactly why I say Northerners are like the stones of Winterfell—cold and hard!"

To his surprise, Garon replied: "Though stones are cold, there is always a way to warm them if you hold them to your chest."

"But The Westerlands are like a mountain of gold; prejudice in The Westerlands is like that mountain—no matter how hard you try, you can never dig it all away."

"I think Lord Tyrion should know that better than anyone!"

At this, Tyrion was thoroughly astonished.

He did not care that Garon mentioned he was unwelcome in The Westerlands, as that was already common knowledge across The Seven Kingdoms.

What surprised him was that Garon, who didn't look very old, possessed such deep insight.

"A talent, indeed..."

"I remember he was in the welcoming party earlier, yet Catelyn did not have him accompany us."

Tyrion speculated silently, I have always heard that Lord Ned has a bastard at Winterfell; could it be him?

His heart stirred, and he couldn't help but feel an urge to befriend him.

Thus, Tyrion looked at Garon and said with certainty: "Then, little bastard brother, how should I go about warming the stones of The North?"

Garon sighed upon hearing this, leaving Tyrion somewhat confused.

"Lord Tyrion, I truly worry whether you can leave The North alive. Calling others a bastard so casually is a good way to get challenged to a duel!"

Tyrion asked in surprise: "Are you not Lord Ned's bastard?"

Garon shook his head and introduced himself: "Garon, Garon Glover!"

Tyrion instantly recalled the territory and family sigil of the Glovers.

"The Glovers of Deepwood Motte?"

He gave a sheepish smile and explained: "A misunderstanding, a misunderstanding. I thought that since you were at Winterfell, you were Lord Ned's bastard."

Garon didn't mind, instead continuing to answer Tyrion's question.

"As for how to warm them...", his gaze paused briefly on Tyrion's head, "you must let them see where your strength lies, and the Northerners will naturally open their hearts to you."

"Where my strength lies?"

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders and laughed strangely: "Good idea. I am currently looking for some women to witness where my strength lies."

He looked at Garon with a look of affirmation and asked: "Then, friend, you must know where those women are—the ones who only cost a Gold Dragon to make you feel like you're in heaven?"

Garon was speechless. He had originally meant that Tyrion could solve things with his wit, but he hadn't expected Tyrion to steer the conversation back to this.

One could only say that Tyrion was truly The Imp.

"Of course," Garon gave him an answer nonetheless, "in Winter Town, Lord Tyrion should be able to find quite a few, but..."

Tyrion thought of the village he had passed just before entering Winterfell and added casually: "But what?"

Garon smiled slightly, teasing: "But I think Lord Tyrion will need a horse."

"Lest your legs be too weak to stand by tonight, and you find yourself unable to attend the King's banquet!"

Tyrion froze, then took a serious look at Garon before bursting into loud laughter.

"So there are people as interesting as you in The North!"

"Rare, truly rare!"

"Then, friend, I think you can take me to the stables now."

Garon bowed slightly: "With pleasure!"

He had ulterior motives regarding Tyrion, so naturally, he would not refuse the chance to draw closer to him.

Garon led Tyrion toward the stables, attracting quite a few gazes along the way.

"Hey, friend, it seems you're quite the celebrity in Winterfell."

Tyrion remained indifferent to the gazes landing on him, but he was curious about the looks others were casting toward Garon.

Garon simply smiled and did not answer.

The two crossed the training grounds and arrived at the stables.

Upon learning their intent, the stable hand led out a horse and helped Tyrion mount.

Tyrion took a deep look at Garon; his interest in Garon was growing by the moment.

However, at this moment, the women of Winter Town were more attractive to him than Garon.

Once I get back, I must tell him what the women of The North are like...

A cynical smile appeared at the corner of his mouth as he flicked the reins and rode away.

Garon's gaze was profound as he watched Tyrion's receding figure, burying his various thoughts about him deep in his heart.

Just as he intended to turn back to his bedroom to rest and prepare for the evening banquet.

Jaime Lannister, who appeared from a side door nearby, gave Garon a start.

"Ser Jaime?"

Seeing Jaime staring at him, Garon felt a bit puzzled.

He had not expected to be able to speak with both Lannister brothers on the same day.

Jaime turned his head to look at the departing Tyrion, then cast a probing gaze back onto Garon, demanding an answer without ceremony.

"Where is he going?"

Garon shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Lord Tyrion hoped someone could point him toward a place that could bring him some pleasure."

A flash of understanding crossed Jaime's eyes, and he pressed further, "Who are you, and why are you with Tyrion?"

"You would have to ask Lady Catelyn that; my room just happens to be not far from Lord Tyrion's bedchamber."

"As for who I am..."

"Garon, Garon Glover!"

Garon stated his name once more, and a flicker of realization crossed Jaime's face, "The Glover family of Deepwood Motte in the Wolfswood?!"

Jaime shook his head, lost interest in Garon, and turned to leave.

But after taking only two steps, Jaime suddenly remembered the scene earlier during the arrival, when Garon had looked at Joffrey.

His heart immediately grew displeased.

A thought stirred in Jaime's mind, and he decided to teach the lad before him a lesson.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the sword at Garon's waist.

"Can the wood of the Wolfswood produce a good sword?"

Jaime's tone was flippant, "I am curious, have you ever used a longsword to strike at the beasts in the Wolfswood?"

Garon did not understand the meaning behind his words for a moment, so he could only nod along with his question.

To his surprise, Jaime asked again, "What about a person?"

Garon was instantly stunned.