The legend of the White Wolf

In truth, that was not the case. Gary was not so innocent and ignorant.

He knew the personalities and pasts of the major characters in Game of Thrones well, including Tyrion, of course. Winning their favor was therefore a piece of cake for him.

Besides, he had not really revealed his secrets to Tyrion.

He had only talked about his past in Winterfell and how he had come to King's Landing. He had not breathed a word of anything he truly needed to hide, such as the secret of his left hand.

Early the next morning.

After breakfast, Tyrion went out to the Red Keep to see the king.

Gary and Arya left right after he did.

With their purses on them, they wandered the streets and alleys of King's Landing, looking for shops they liked and buying freely.

Gary had not particularly wanted to shop, but seeing Arya hiding in her room all day, looking miserable, he had decided to take her out shopping to lift her spirits.

That way, he could not only buy the little girl some new clothes, but also get a few gifts for her to take back to Snow and Robb.

They shopped until the afternoon and returned laden with purchases.

Dressed in a new pink gown, Arya skipped and bounced happily ahead. Gary followed behind, carrying the gifts they had bought.

He had bought gifts for all the nobles at Winterfell, including Catelyn and Theon, with whom he was not on particularly good terms.

But of all those gifts, only three had been carefully chosen by him.

Two finely crafted steel swords, made by a master smith in King's Landing. Robb's and Snow's names were engraved on the blades; these were gifts for the two of them.

A suit of Gilded Plate Armor covered in exquisite patterns, with House Stark's direwolf sigil engraved on the breastplate. This was the gift Gary had chosen for Eddard.

Those three gifts were still being made, however, and would not be finished for another few days.

What he carried now were all small gifts that he and Arya had chosen together for the others at Winterfell.

Tyrion's residence.

By the time Gary and Arya returned, Tyrion had already been waiting for quite a while. He had asked the servants to prepare dinner and was waiting for them to come back.

The servants took the things from Gary's hands and would deliver them to his room later.

"Come, sit down. I have good news for you," Tyrion urged from the dining table.

After he and Arya sat down, Gary asked, "Did the king agree to send someone to escort Arya back to Winterfell?"

Tyrion raised his gold goblet of wine and took a sip. "His Majesty is very interested in you. I never expected your name as the White Wolf to have reached the Red Keep already."

Gary frowned. Interested in me? Arya is his old friend's daughter. Has the king got the wrong person?

And this White Wolf business...

"Could you help me get a different nickname?"

Tyrion asked in surprise, "You don't like being called the White Wolf?"

He had actually noticed some time ago, but had never understood why.

"No. I... never mind. White Wolf it is." Gary took a sip of wine, trying to banish a certain strange figure that had appeared in his mind.

Arya raised her hand and called out, "I know! Luke is the White Wolf. That's what the soldiers in Winterfell called him in private. Mother even argued with Father about it and wanted him to forbid the soldiers from spreading it among themselves. But Father ignored her."

Gary froze. How did I not know about this? And is it really all right for you to casually spill such juicy gossip about your own parents?

Tyrion said, "Rumor has it that you're Benjen Stark's bastard. Being a bastard, you can't bear the name Stark. To be honest, wolf nicknames have always been reserved for House Stark. Isn't it an honor for a bastard like you to have one? Why resist it?"

Gary laughed awkwardly. "I'm not deliberately resisting it. It just feels... a little out of place."

Tyrion gave Gary a meaningful look. He felt that his new friend was quite clumsy when it came to matters of power. "If the soldiers took it upon themselves to give you a wolf nickname, you must command considerable respect among Winterfell's troops, right?"

It was peacetime, and Gary had never led soldiers into battle. Where would that respect have come from? At least, that was how he saw it.

"I don't think so. I hardly ever associate with Winterfell's soldiers."

Arya tapped her plate and shook her head. "That's not true. Luke is very popular in Winterfell. The soldiers all say he's the strongest warrior in the North and can fight a hundred men alone. They all idolize you, and they often sneak outside the castle to watch you practice your swordsmanship."

Gary raised his eyebrows. "They do? Weren't they on routine patrol?"

He had indeed caught soldiers watching him a few times, but those soldiers had clearly said they were on patrol and had stopped by to take a look...

"Impossible. I have neither military achievements nor a title. Why would the soldiers admire me?"

Gary shook his head with a smile. "Arya, you made all this up, didn't you?"

Arya shouted, her face scarlet, "I did not!"

Tyrion could not stand it any longer. "Luke, even here in King's Landing, I've heard rumors about you. They say that a few years ago, you went alone to a village attacked by mountain bandits, killed more than three hundred of them single-handedly, and rescued over a hundred villagers."

Gary thought back. "That was my first patrol. We happened to come across bandits attacking a village. There were a lot of them, and our side had only four soldiers and me, so they wanted to go back for help. But I thought I could win, so I went in."

He continued, "But it wasn't as exaggerated as you said. There were only sixty-odd bandits, not three hundred. And they had neither armor to protect themselves nor proper weapons. They weren't particularly difficult enemies to deal with."

Tyrion smiled. "I knew the story had grown in the telling. Still, five men defeating more than sixty is no small victory."

No, those four soldiers didn't fight.

Gary silently took a bite of food and offered no explanation.

Tyrion took another sip of wine and smiled. "There's also a rumor that during that battle, you twisted the bandit leader's head clean off with brute strength?"

"Yes."

Tyrion froze, his goblet tipping unconsciously and spilling wine all over him. With no time to clean it up, he hurriedly asked, "That's true? You're that strong?"

Gary put down his goblet. "Don't be afraid. I'm not usually that savage. That was the one time I lost control and got a little carried away."

"I'm not afraid." Tyrion stood beside the table, brushing at the wine stains on his clothes. A maid beside him immediately took out a handkerchief and helped wipe his clothes.

The red wine had already soaked into the fabric and would not come out.

Tyrion spread his hands helplessly and sat back down. "Did you once kill an adult wild bull with your bare hands in the North?"

Gary glanced sideways at him. "You heard about that too? Yes, I suppose I did. That was last year."

But he had not been bare-handed. At the time, he had been looking for targets to practice on to improve his Iaido Slash. The immensely powerful wild bulls had become his targets, and he had faced down a charging wild bull with his blade in hand.

So that wild bull had died to the Ice Blade, not his fists.

"Then were you the one who led men to wipe out the mountain bandits in the North?"

Gary smiled. "How could that be? I've often gone out to hunt bandits over the years, but how could anyone wipe them all out? In times like these, there will only be more and more people who can't survive..."

Tyrion ignored Gary's lament. "No, no, no. The reason your stories spread was precisely because the mountain bandits in the North all headed south."

Gary furrowed his brows. "Really?"

Over the years, he had indeed killed quite a few mountain bandits to practice the killing intent of his Iaido Slash.

Tyrion poured himself another goblet of wine. "So we can conclude that you command considerable respect among Winterfell's troops. If you weren't a bastard, that prestige alone would make you a strong contender for the position of Duke of Winterfell."

He glanced at Gary. "If I were Benjen Stark, I would marry your mother and legitimize you, even if it meant breaking my Night's Watch vows."

Gary shook his head with a smile. "Benjen isn't my father, and I don't need to be legitimized. Being Duke of Winterfell isn't what I want."

Tyrion drained a goblet and smiled. "His Majesty also knows of your exploits. He wants you to take part in the tourney a week from now."

"Not interested." Gary waved a hand.

Tyrion reminded him, "This is your best chance to meet His Majesty. If you miss it, you may have to wait a while longer."

Gary hesitated, then compromised. "I'll go and have a look, then. I can't promise I'll compete."

Tyrion cleared his throat and said rather solemnly, "Ahem. What His Majesty means is that Princess Myrcella's birthday is in a few days, and a tourney should be held to celebrate with the nobles. And he hopes you can bring her an auspicious gift."

"What do you mean?" Gary did not understand.

Tyrion put it plainly. "The champion of the tourney can present a crown of flowers to the most beautiful woman at the grounds. It's a supreme honor, and His Majesty hopes you can win it for the princess."

Gary scratched his head. "It's the princess's birthday anyway. Whoever wins should give the crown of flowers to her, shouldn't they? Surely no one would be that tactless?"

Tyrion thought Gary was precisely that tactless person. "You're from the North. That gives it a different significance."

As far as he knew, King Robert had always wanted a marriage alliance with the North. After all, Robert and Eddard had grown up together and were extremely close.