First meeting with Tyrion

Jon Snow's figure looked especially frail in the cold moonlight.

His sword hung at his side, and he looked as though all the strength had drained from his body.

Uncle Benjen's words cut deeper than the bitter winds of the North.

Lynn offered no words of comfort.

He simply stood quietly beside Jon, leaving him to absorb this cruel reality alone.

Sympathy was the cheapest thing in this world.

Jon needed to find his own way through.

A voice abruptly came from the shadows behind them, tinged with drunkenness and amusement.

"It seems not everyone enjoys the noise of a feast."

Lynn's muscles tensed instantly, his fingers tightening slightly around his sword hilt.

He spun around.

A short figure stepped out from the shadow of a pillar.

He stood only half as tall as an ordinary man.

But his finely tailored clothes and the silver cup of crimson wine in his hand proclaimed his noble status.

Tyrion Lannister.

Queen Cersei's younger brother, known as "the Imp."

A rakish smile played across his face, and his eyes gleamed in the moonlight with a cunning that seemed to see through everything.

Tyrion's gaze settled directly on Jon.

"Let me guess."

"You must be Ned Stark's bastard."

Jon's face darkened instantly, and his grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles turned white.

The surname "Snow" was a scar on him that would never heal.

And Tyrion had just mercilessly jabbed a finger into that scar.

As though he had not noticed the anger on Jon's face, Tyrion took a sip of wine.

"Your uncle is in the Night's Watch?"

Jon turned to face the little dwarf.

"What are you doing here?"

Tyrion shrugged.

"Working up to spending supper with your family."

"I've actually always wanted to see the Wall."

Snow ignored that and merely asked a question.

"You're Tyrion Lannister? Cersei's brother?"

Tyrion took a drink and replied with self-mocking humor.

"Yes, perhaps that's my greatest achievement."

"You have a northerner's gloom, but your face is much finer than those of your half brothers and sisters."

"That usually comes from the mother's side."

"I offended you just now, didn't I?"

"Sorry, I shouldn't have brought up your being a bastard."

Tyrion swirled his cup, sending ripples through the wine.

"Don't look at me like that, boy."

Jon's lips moved, but he could not get a single word out.

"You are a bastard."

"Your father is Ned Stark, but your mother isn't Lady Stark."

"Never forget who you are. The world won't forget either, because your name will always be Snow."

"Arm yourself with it."

"Then no one can use it to hurt you."

Jon froze.

Then anger welled up in his heart.

"What do you know?"

"What do you know about being a bastard?"

Tyrion looked Jon straight in the eyes.

"Every dwarf in the world is a bastard in his father's eyes."

"How are you and I any different?"

Looking at Tyrion's small stature, Jon felt his anger vanish all at once.

Tyrion's gaze shifted away from Jon and settled on Lynn.

He looked Lynn up and down.

His gaze traveled from Lynn's faded black clothes to the sharp sword in his hand, then to his eyes, which remained calm even in the darkness.

"And you?"

"You don't look like a dwarf. Are you a bastard like him, too?"

Tyrion asked with interest.

"Oh, no, you're not one of House Stark."

"You have the smell of a crow about you."

Lynn said nothing, merely meeting his gaze calmly.

There was something dangerous about this dwarf.

It was not the threat of physical strength, but a pressure born of intelligence.

"A man of the Night's Watch, standing out here in the freezing snow with a lord's bastard instead of finding a plump whore at the feast to keep him warm."

Tyrion took another drink, his smile deepening.

"What an interesting pair."

"The feast was too noisy."

Lynn finally spoke, his voice sounding somewhat flat in the wind.

"Oh?"

Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

"Was it?"

"I find that just this much noise is enough to cover certain less pleasant sounds."

"Lies, for instance, conspiracies, and... other sounds."

His gaze lingered briefly on the longsword at Lynn's waist.

Lynn knew there was more to Tyrion's words than he was saying.

But Lynn had truly only come out for some fresh air.

This dwarf was far more sober than he appeared.

"How is the Wall?"

Tyrion changed the subject, his tone becoming lighter.

"I've always wanted to see that edge of the world."

"I hear there are Wildlings there, and... things more frightening still."

A trace of mockery colored his voice, as though he were discussing some absurd fairy tale.

"The Wall is cold."

Lynn's answer was simple and direct.

"Colder than Winterfell."

Tyrion laughed.

"It seems the eloquence of the Night's Watch is as uninspiring as the weather in the North."

He drained the last of his wine and casually tossed the expensive silver cup into the snow.

"Well then, my two melancholy gentlemen."

"I'm off to find something warmer and softer to pass the night with."

He winked his black eye at Jon.

"Remember what I said, boy."

"There's nothing so bad about being a bastard. At least you don't have to attend those utterly tedious feasts."

With that, Tyrion hummed an off-key southern tune and staggered away on his short legs, disappearing at the far end of the courtyard.

Only a solitary silver cup and a trail of uneven footprints remained in the snow.

Jon still stood where he was, as though nailed to the ground.

A long time passed.

Only then did he slowly exhale, his breath condensing into a cloud of white mist in the cold air.

"He was right."

Jon's voice was low, but the uncertainty from before was gone.

He raised his head and looked at Lynn, a glimmer of light rekindled in his eyes.

It was not the light of someone who had found where he belonged.

It was a resilience that had broken through the earth after he had faced reality.

Lynn did not respond.

His gaze passed over Jon's shoulder toward the brightly lit tower in the distance.

A long silence followed.

"Lord Benjen is still waiting for me."

Lynn patted Jon's shoulder, then headed toward the feast hall.