A knight inspected them, then turned and entered the camp.
While they waited, Ser Bronn guided his horse a few steps closer and lowered his voice beside Tyrion. "Before we go in, I feel like we ought to leave behind a will."
Tyrion froze slightly, seemingly surprised. "Do you have any inheritance to leave?"
Mercenaries never saved Gold Dragons. No matter how much they earned, it all went to whores.
Ser Bronn seemed equally incredulous. "Do you need an inheritance to be qualified to leave a will?"
Tyrion grinned. "Otherwise, your will would only become a burden for the living. You'd hear them cursing you from the Seven Hells."
Ser Bronn shrugged. "I actually love my son, Tyrion Stokeworth."
Tyrion raised his brows. "He's been born?"
Bronn shrugged again. "Not yet. Soon, though."
Tyrion gave him a once-over and said with a smile, "I'll do my best to make sure father and son get to meet."
"You truly are a kind-hearted lord..."
As they spoke, the tall, brawny knight who had gone to deliver the message returned, and the guards opened a path.
Tyrion nodded his thanks, then, with Bronn's assistance, clumsily jumped down from his horse.
After entering the camp, the knight continued to lead the way, while three Grey Cloaks followed behind them.
Before long, Tyrion spotted a leather tent flying the largest Direwolf banner.
He discreetly scanned the surroundings. It seemed... Stannis's evil magic had put Stark in a difficult position, but it had not frightened him. He still remained at the defensive front of the camp, as was his old habit.
Tyrion withdrew his gaze. If a few defeats were enough to crush his spirits, how could he possibly hold secure his position as lord of The North?
As he approached the tent entrance, the