Ugh... blegh... urgh...
Tyrion clung to a tree, retching up stomach acid in exhaustion.
Joffrey gently patted his back. "You've worked hard. Hold on for another half day. Winterfell is just ahead, and we can get a good night's rest."
"Half a day?! You might as well kill me!"
Tyrion wrapped himself around the tree trunk. "Don't expect me to take another step today!"
This was the third day since they had set out from Castle Black.
Joffrey, Osha, and the Children of the Forest rode the Giant Lion, while Tyrion, Jon, and Ghost rode the Snow Bear. Traveling ten-odd hours a day, the two giant beasts had somehow already covered more than a thousand kilometers.
The endless jolting and swaying had utterly defeated Tyrion's small body.
"My dear nephew, I know your magic is impressive. You made Rainwater and Snowball faster than Message Ravens and gave them greater endurance, but why the rush?"
Joffrey gave him a faint smile.
"By my calculations, Father has probably entered the Riverlands by now."
Tyrion froze. Then he released the tree and let himself crash heavily onto the ground. He understood the deeper meaning behind Joffrey's words.
Of course. A king dying beneath the throne would inevitably stir up a bloody storm. How could that be allowed?
The Riverlands were neither too near nor too far. They were just right.
Tyrion understood that their pace could not slow. "At least teach me Rainwater's magic."
He rolled around on the ground, looking as though he would not rest until he got what he wanted.
Joffrey shot him an annoyed glare. It seemed he could not save these three Rune Energy after all. "Get up, and I'll give it to you."
Tyrion sprang up and executed a graceful backflip.
Joffrey split off a Recovery Rune