Game of Thrones: Winter Lord

"Salted beef and dry bread. Lady Lysa is truly generous," Tyrion muttered, eyeing the provisions stuffed into their hands by the Knights of the Bloody Gate.

Ser Lyn Corbray's expression remained grim. "I wish you a safe journey, Lord Lannister."

Tyrion smirked at their sour faces, finding a sliver of satisfaction in their discomfort. But the feeling was short-lived. As they trudged along the rugged mountain path, memories of the perilous journey ahead came rushing back.

He thought of the mountain clans—wild, hardened men with crude weapons and desperate hunger. Then he recalled the greedy jailer he had bribed in the Eyrie. An idea flickered in his mind.

A sharp whistle broke the silence. A figure emerged from behind a poplar tree on the roadside.

"Bronn?"

The sellsword spread his hands. "Seems the knights think I'm one of your lot."

Well, at least they had one more sword on their side, Tyrion thought.

"What's the plan? Fight them off?" Bronn asked, glancing at the two.

"It's still days to the Trident," Cole said, analyzing the situation. "The mountain clans are like ghosts. They could ambush us at any moment. Fighting isn't our best option."

"I meant, do you have any good ideas?" Bronn pressed.

"No. But we could always find a place to hide and wait until the Lannisters attack the Eyrie. Then we come out," Cole suggested.

Tyrion shook his head. "That's a terrible idea. With this little food, we won't last long. Besides, my father would sooner march against the North than waste his time attacking the Eyrie. The Arryns built this place like an iron fortress."

He flashed a knowing smile. "Perhaps we should speak to our new friends instead."

"New friends?" Bronn raised an eyebrow.

Tyrion waved a hand dismissively. "Come along. We have a long way to go."

He walked ahead, swaying slightly, looking as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Bronn shot Cole a questioning look, but the knight remained just as unfazed.

The sellsword muttered, "If we left him behind, I bet we could slip back to the Riverlands unnoticed."

"I can hear you," Tyrion called over his shoulder without turning around.

Cole smirked. "Truth be told, I never needed to come to the Eyrie in the first place." He clapped Bronn's shoulder. "Trust me, you won't regret sticking with a Lannister."

Bronn was a cutthroat, but not without a certain code. He took coin and did the job—no unnecessary betrayals, none of the backstabbing games the lords and ladies played.

And he was no fool. By the time they had traveled a few miles together, Bronn had realized that Tyrion Lannister was far more dangerous than he appeared. The little lordling had a mind sharper than a Valyrian steel blade.

And Cole? The knight was sharper than he let on.

If only you knew he was stealing your chance before you even saw it coming, Bronn mused.

Tyrion's voice broke through his thoughts. "So, Bronn, what is it that you want? Gold? Women? Glory?"

Every bit of strength counted now. And as long as he made it back to Casterly Rock alive, Tyrion knew all of those things were within his power to give.

Bronn curled his lip. "Glory? Aye, I love glory as much as the Unsullied love brothels."

Tyrion chuckled. "Save my life, and you can have whatever your heart desires."

They walked in silence after that, picking up their pace. The further they got from the Bloody Gate, the more the land stretched into desolate rock and jagged cliffs. Every step had to be taken carefully—one loose stone could mean a broken leg or worse.

And worse was lurking in the shadows.

"I need to rest," Tyrion suddenly announced after half a day of walking. The others could keep going, but he had no intention of killing himself on the road. His twisted legs weren't built for this kind of travel. "We should make a fire. I'm starving."

Bronn spat on the ground. "You eager to get yourself killed, Lannister? A fire will bring the wildlings right to us."

Tyrion plucked a dead branch from the ground and held out his hand to Cole. "Flint?"

Cole arched an eyebrow. "I'm not your squire, Tyrion." But he still reached into his pack and pulled one out.

"I know, I know," Tyrion said with a grin. "You're Ser Cole. A knight of the Seven Kingdoms. A virgin knight."

Cole rested a hand on his sword. "Women won't save you now. Only knights will."

"My seven hells, listen to yourself. So proud," Tyrion snorted. "But if you gave me a woman right now, I'd call it a fair trade—even if I died afterward."

Bronn's sword rasped free of its sheath. "The woman you want is here."

Dark figures emerged from the rocks. A dozen mountain clansmen encircled them, weapons drawn.

The trap had already been sprung.

The mountain clansmen, both men and women, were draped in fur. Most of them were lean and wiry, except for a few sturdier men who carried themselves like seasoned warriors.

"No, our new friends are here," Tyrion said, tossing aside the branch and wiping his hands on his tunic.

He stepped beside Bronn, pressing down on his sword hand. "No need to frighten our guests."

Then, with a wide grin, he called out to the wildlings, "Welcome, friends! Would you care to join us for a pleasant dinner? We have the finest beef and toasted bread."

The largest of the savages—a brute of a man—grunted. "Kill half of them, and we can have mutton instead."

Another, tall and wiry, leveled a knife at Tyrion. "Remember the name of the god who sends you to the afterlife. I am Gunthor, son of Gunn, of the Stone Crows."

"Shagga, son of Dolf," barked the burly one.

Tyrion inclined his head. "And I am Tyrion, son of Tywin, of the Lannister tribe." He gestured toward Cole. "And this is… well… he's with me."

The clansmen chuckled darkly, but Tyrion remained undeterred. "I see no need for bloodshed. We have something much more valuable to offer."

He rapped his knuckles against Cole's armor, then his own helmet. "These are fine things, worth more than all your goats combined. I'll give them to you freely."

A man named Conn let out a booming laugh. "Kill half of you, and we take them anyway."

The rest of the savages laughed with him, amused by the halfman's foolishness.

Only one among them, a wiry man named Torrhen Stark, did not join in. His eyes remained locked on Cole, wide with terror.

Shagga lifted his axe. "Kill them all. Keep half to milk the goats."

Cole unsheathed his sword. Torrhen Stark let out a strangled gasp and crumpled to the ground.

"It's him," he stammered. "He's the devil."

The mountain folk hesitated, eyes darting between Cole and Torrhen Stark. Was this truly the devil the man spoke of?

Cole, for his part, did not recognize him—one of the two clansmen who had once tried to ambush him.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Shagga roared and swung his axe, undeterred by fear or superstition. He was the mightiest warrior of the Stone Crows, and he meant to take the devil's manhood as an offering to the goats.

Cole met the strike with his sword, then countered with Winter Night. The blow struck true—Shagga barely had time to register it before he crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud.

The rest of the wildlings swallowed hard.

Tyrion's eyes gleamed. "Gunthor, son of Gunn, my house is rich beyond measure. We have warriors like him in great numbers. If you guide us safely down the mountains, I can offer you something far greater than just armor and swords."

Gunthor narrowed his eyes. "The words of the flatlanders are worth less than goat's piss."

"You saw it yourselves—his blade can cut through you as easily as it cuts through mutton," Tyrion said smoothly, gesturing toward Winter Night. "And in my tribe, there are many more like it."

Gunthor folded his arms. "So, son of Tywin, you mean to buy your life with a sword? Or a spear? Armor?"

Tyrion's smile widened. "Oh, my dear Gunthor. I can offer you much more than that." He spread his hands. "I can offer you the Vale of Arryn itself."

A bold promise—one they all knew was too grand to be taken at face value. But after witnessing Cole's strength and hearing the lure of steel, the mountain folk wavered. Doubt crept into their eyes.

Tyrion had planted the seed. Now, it was only a matter of time.

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