Game of Thrones: Winter Lord

When Chella led her people back to the great wooden hall for the meeting, she found chaos awaiting her.

The free folk of the Black Ear Tribe who followed her were taken aback, clearly not understanding her intentions.

Seven of their people lay dead—all from the Black Ear Tribe. It wasn't long before someone realized that every corpse belonged to their own kin. One of the tribesmen turned to Chella, his face twisted in anger.

"Chella, why did my people die here?" he demanded.

Chella herself did not know what had transpired. She turned to Shagga for answers.

"Four were slain by the Stone Crows," Shagga explained, pointing at the fallen. "They were tasked with guarding the half-man. They would not stand idly by while others sought his life."

He then gestured at the remaining bodies. "These ones wanted the half-man dead. But the half-man has yet to fulfill his promise. He cannot die."

"It's Shagga, son of Dolf from the Stone Crows," someone muttered, recognizing him.

"You brought outsiders into the council hall. Are you betraying the Black Ears, Chella?" one of the other tribal leaders accused.

The gathered chieftains of the mountain clans turned their scrutiny upon her.

Chella's expression darkened. She shifted her gaze to Tyrion. "I need the half-man to explain himself."

Tyrion, aware that he was a guest in their domain, forced himself to swallow his irritation. In truth, he had no idea why they had been attacked so suddenly. Choosing diplomacy, he spread his hands and said, "We don't know either. Perhaps you should ask those two warriors instead."

He pointed toward the two sons of Zira.

Zira, suddenly recalling that she had sent her sons to watch over the situation, called them forward. The two youths, still shaken, recounted everything they had seen.

In the Black Ear Tribe, vengeance was a form of trial by combat—an act accepted by their traditions. Those bold enough to challenge an enemy were regarded as warriors.

Hearing that the attack had been an act of revenge, the other tribal leaders fell silent. Among them, the man whose kin had been killed still burned with fury, but he swallowed his anger, knowing the ways of their people. The dead had been warriors. If they were slain, it meant they were not strong enough to prevail. That was all there was to it.

"So, you summoned us here. What is it you want, Zira?" an elder of the Black Ears asked.

Zira relayed Tyrion's offer to them, and the chieftains mulled it over.

"I will not send the warriors of my tribe to fight for a half-man," the chieftain whose men had perished was the first to reject the idea.

With that, he turned and walked away. The free folk of the mountains owed no one loyalty. That he did not take revenge was restraint enough.

His departure unsettled the others. Even in their savagery, the mountain clans understood that risk and opportunity walked hand in hand.

Sensing hesitation, Tyrion seized the moment. "I have always heard that the warriors of the mountain clans are the bravest in the Vale," he said, his voice calm yet provoking. "Surely, you are not afraid?"

Shagga bellowed in response. "The Stone Crows fear nothing! We are the fiercest warriors in these mountains!"

"Bah! Your Stone Crows are only fit to lay with goats!" someone from the Black Ears retorted. "We are the bravest warriors in the mountains!"

A heated argument was about to erupt over which tribe was the mightiest.

Tyrion quickly intervened. "Since the Black Ears are so fearless, then prove your courage to me."

Zira fixed him with a hard stare. "Half-man, if you speak truth, then we will fight for you. But if you dare deceive the Black Ears, you will learn firsthand what our courage truly means."

This time, no one challenged the chief's decision.

With the Black Ears swayed, Zira led them to the Moon Brothers.

Upon hearing that the Black Ears had joined, the Moon Brothers readily agreed as well. The two tribes had long shared close ties—some even claimed that the Moon Brothers were once a splinter faction of the Black Ears.

That night, they stayed among the Moon Brothers, but word of Tyrion's campaign had already begun to spread. Before dawn, a warrior from the Burned Men arrived, having heard the news.

It seemed that the mountain was listening.

The chief of the Burned Men was known as the Red Hand. In this tribe, warriors marked their coming-of-age by burning parts of their bodies in ritual fire. The more vital the body part, the greater the honor they earned. Timett, the son of Timett, had carved out his own left eye, and for this act of sacrifice, he was chosen as the Red Hand.

(Timett, son of Timett, is a fearsome warrior from the Burned Men, one of the mountain clans of the Vale in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. He is known for his brutality and loyalty to Tyrion Lannister.)

Like many mountain clans, the Burned Men practiced hereditary titles, so it was not uncommon for fathers and sons to bear the same name.

When Timett arrived with a large war party, the Moon Brothers initially thought they were under attack.

However, they soon learned that the Burned Men had already visited the Black Ears before coming here.

For those who came to pledge themselves, Tyrion had no reason to refuse. He saw this as an opportunity—not just to strengthen their forces, but to prove himself. He might be a dwarf, but he was far from useless.

As the others spoke among themselves, Tyrion cast his gaze toward the starry sky.

There were times when he loathed the family he had been born into—a family that saw him as nothing but a disgrace. Yet, he also knew he had to be grateful for it. Without his name, he would have been left to rot in some sideshow, playing the fool in a traveling circus.

Now, he imagined the faces of those back in the Vale when they realized he hadn't just survived captivity—he had returned at the head of an army. That would be quite the sight.

Lannister. It was a name that carried weight. Tyrion was under no illusions about why these mountain clans followed him—it wasn't his charm or wit that won them over, but the power of his name. He was not so naive as to believe otherwise. The truly cunning knew how to use the advantages they were given, and Tyrion intended to wield his name like a blade.

"Which tribe should we go to next?" Cole asked, chewing on the food the Moon Brothers had provided.

He had no idea what was running through Tyrion's mind, but he had his own thoughts on the matter. It was human nature to rally behind strength. Cole understood that well. He did not fancy himself a king or a great general—he simply knew the value of following powerful men. Where there was power, there was food, safety, and opportunity.

As a man out of time, he had an advantage over these people. He knew how the tides of history shifted, knew which men to back for the greatest reward. In his past life, he had been unremarkable—calling himself ambitious would have been laughable. But here, he had a chance to carve out something more.

"We go to the Painted Dogs," Tyrion said.

He and Shagga had already mapped out the power structure of the mountain clans, and the Painted Dogs were their next target. This was the tribe that had once slain a King of the Vale, and despite centuries of warfare, they remained the strongest force among the highland clans. They were followed by the Burned Men, the Stone Crows, and others.

The Painted Dogs lived deep within the Moonlight Mountains.

The next day, they set out at dawn, winding their way up narrow mountain paths. They passed through thick forests, the sun shifting in and out of view between tangled branches. They marched from morning until dusk before the first shadow of the Painted Dog village came into sight.

As expected, this tribe was different from the others. Their settlement was built among sturdy stone houses, a rare sight among the mountain clans. The village itself was vast, at least two or three times the size of a Stone Crow encampment.

The land teemed with people.

And as soon as Tyrion and his men drew near, they were spotted.\

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