Garon turned around. Tyrion Lannister, barely half his height, stood some distance away, watching him with curiosity.
"Good day, Lord Tyrion!"
Garon turned to face him and greeted him politely.
Tyrion wasn't at all surprised that Garon recognized him. To be precise, it would have been stranger if he hadn't.
He spread his hands and put on an exaggerated expression.
"Ah! Praise the Seven!"
"So the Northmen can be polite after all."
"I thought you only knew how to clutch a wine bottle and gossip behind people's backs."
Tyrion was long accustomed to the prejudice his stature brought him, but hearing it with his own ears was another matter from pretending not to notice.
Ever since he'd entered Winterfell, snide remarks had kept finding their way to his ears.
After more than a month on the road, Tyrion was in a foul mood. He needed to vent.
Garon sized up the sharp-tongued, caustic Tyrion before him, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes.
He hadn't expected to run into Tyrion under these circumstances, much less to discuss such a sensitive topic.
"Then you must have the North mistaken, Lord Tyrion!"
Garon didn't humor him. He replied without fawning or flinching, "Northmen are straightforward and hearty by nature. They'll say something harsh even when you're standing right in front of them."
Tyrion's eyes shifted, and he couldn't help sneering. "That's why I say Northmen are like the stones of Winterfell—cold and hard!"
But Garon said, "Though a stone is cold, if you hold it close, it will eventually warm."
"The Westerlands, on the other hand, are a mountain of gold. People's prejudices there are like that mountain: no matter how hard you try, you'll never dig them all out."
"I imagine you know that better than most, Lord Tyrion!"
Now Tyrion was truly surprised.
He didn't care that Garon had said he wasn't welcome in the Westerlands. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew that already.
What surprised him was that this young-looking Garon had such insight.
"Now there's a talent..."
"I remember he was among the welcoming party, but Catelyn didn't have him accompany us."
Tyrion silently wondered, "I've often heard that Lord Ned has a bastard son at Winterfell. Could this be him?"
An idea struck him, and he found himself wanting to make Garon's acquaintance.
Tyrion looked at Garon and said with certainty, "So, little bastard, how should I warm up the stones of the North?"
Garon sighed at that, leaving Tyrion somewhat at a loss.
"Lord Tyrion, I'm genuinely worried you won't make it out of the North alive. Calling someone a bastard so casually can get you challenged to a duel!"
Tyrion looked surprised. "You're not Lord Ned's bastard?"
Garon shook his head and introduced himself. "Garon. Garon Glover!"
Tyrion immediately recalled the Glover lands and their family banner.
"The Glover family of Deepwood Motte?"
He smiled awkwardly and explained, "A misunderstanding. I thought you were Lord Ned's bastard, since you're here at Winterfell."
Garon didn't mind and continued answering Tyrion's question.
"As for how to warm them..." His gaze paused briefly on Tyrion's head. "Show them what you're good at, and the Northmen will naturally open their hearts to you."
"What I'm good at?"
Tyrion shrugged and gave a crooked grin. "Good idea. I'm looking for some women to show them just how good I am."
He looked at Garon with an expectant expression. "So, friend, you must know where I can find women who'll make me feel like a king for just one Gold Dragon?"
Garon was speechless. He'd meant that Tyrion could win people over with his wit, but Tyrion had dragged the conversation right back to the subject.
Tyrion really was the Imp.
"Of course," Garon answered anyway. "You should be able to find plenty in Winter Town, Lord Tyrion, but..."
Tyrion thought of the village they'd passed just before entering Winterfell and casually prompted him, "But what?"
Garon smiled faintly, teasing him. "But I think you'll need a horse, Lord Tyrion."
"Otherwise, your legs will be too weak tonight to make it to the king's feast!"
Tyrion paused, then studied Garon seriously before bursting into laughter.
"So there are people as amusing as you in the North!"
"Remarkable. Truly remarkable!"
"Then, my friend, I suppose you can show me to the stables."
Garon bowed slightly. "My pleasure!"
He had his own reasons for getting close to Tyrion, so he had no intention of turning down the chance to build a rapport.
Garon led Tyrion toward the stables, attracting quite a few glances along the way.
"Hey, hey, friend, looks like you're quite a celebrity at Winterfell."
Tyrion paid no mind to the eyes on him. Instead, he was curious about the attention Garon was getting.
Garon only smiled and said nothing.
They crossed the training yard and reached the stables.
Once the stablehand learned what they wanted, he led out a horse and helped Tyrion mount.
Tyrion gave Garon a long look. His interest in him was growing by the moment.
But for now, the women of Winter Town were even more appealing than Garon.
"When I get back, I'll have to tell him what the women of the North are like..."
A roguish smile tugged at his lips. He flicked the reins and rode off.
Garon watched Tyrion's retreating figure with a thoughtful gaze, pushing all his thoughts about him to the back of his mind.
Just as he was about to turn back to his room to rest up for the evening's feast,
Jaime Lannister came through a side door and startled him.
"Ser Jaime?"
Seeing Jaime staring at him, Garon was a little puzzled.
He hadn't expected to speak with both Tyrion and his brother today.
Jaime glanced after Tyrion, then fixed his probing gaze on Garon and demanded bluntly,
"Where's he going?"
Garon shrugged and replied, "Lord Tyrion wanted someone to point him toward a place where he could find pleasure."
Understanding flickered in Jaime's eyes, and he pressed on. "Who are you, and why are you with Tyrion?"
"You'll have to ask Lady Catelyn. My room happens to be near Lord Tyrion's."
"As for who I am..."
"Garon. Garon Glover!"
Garon gave his name again. A look of recognition crossed Jaime's face. "The Glover family of the Wolfswood's Deepwood Motte?!"
Jaime shook his head, lost interest in Garon, and turned to leave.
But after taking a couple of steps, he suddenly remembered how Garon had looked at Joffrey during the welcoming ceremony.
His mood soured at once.
An idea struck Jaime. He decided to put the boy in his place.
He stopped and turned to look at the sword at Garon's waist.
"Can the wood of the Wolfswood make a good sword?"
Jaime's tone was flippant. "I'm curious—have you ever used a longsword to stab a beast in the Wolfswood?"
Garon didn't understand what he meant, so he could only nod along.
Then Jaime asked, "What about a man?"
Garon was stunned.
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