The Road to the Wall
Tyrion Lannister & Jon Snow**
The road north was quiet except for the crunch of hooves and the soft pad of Ghost trotting beside Jon. Snow fell lightly, melting on his black cloak. Tyrion rode a shaggy hill pony, wrapped in far more furs than Jon thought necessary.
The dwarf took a sip from his wineskin and regarded Jon with a curious glint.
"Well then, Jon Snow," Tyrion said. "I've heard more interesting gossip about you in the past week than most men earn in a lifetime."
Jon sighed.
And here it comes.
Tyrion raised a single golden eyebrow.
"Let's start with the obvious: the sword. Not the little practice blade on your hip — no, no. The other sword."
His voice dropped theatrically.
"The one made of metal 'sharper than Valyrian steel,' gifted by a creature the smallfolk call the Shadow."
Jon stiffened.
Ghost growled lightly, sensing his tension.
"Oh, don't worry," Tyrion chuckled. "I don't mean to pry into Northern secrets."
He leaned forward.
"I fully intend to pry into them."
Jon swallowed.
"I don't know much," he said carefully. "He saved me from wildlings when I was a boy. And recently he… helped me."
"Helped?" Tyrion echoed. "My dear boy, you were seen holding a blade that cut through a training post like butter. Old men in Winterfell whispered your gift was a blessing from the Old Gods. Some even claimed you made a pact with a shadow of ice."
Jon shook his head firmly.
"That's nonsense."
"Most rumors are," Tyrion agreed. "It doesn't stop them being fun."
He watched Jon closely.
"You're not telling me everything."
Jon avoided his gaze.
He couldn't reveal Leo.
Not his name.
Not his arm.
Not his power.
Not his connection to Jon.
So he said the safest truth:
"He saved Arya," Jon murmured. "From a bear. From worse. And he didn't want thanks or attention. He… just helps people and vanishes."
Tyrion blinked.
"…he saved your little sister?"
Jon nodded.
"And left before anyone could even thank him."
Tyrion sat back on his saddle, deeply intrigued.
"Well, that certainly does not fit the behavior of a sellsword or a bandit."
A pause.
"And this man… gave you a blade rarer than Valyrian steel?"
Jon hesitated—
then nodded once.
Tyrion whistled.
"Either he is spectacularly generous… or spectacularly dangerous."
A sly smile crept across his lips.
"I do hope I have the chance to meet him. I adore mysteries. Especially ones that irritate my sister."
Jon snorted despite himself.
"If he doesn't want to be found," Jon said, "you won't."
"Oh, Jon," Tyrion laughed. "Everyone wants something. Some men gold. Some glory. And some"—he looked north, toward the distant Wall—"some want only to hide."
Jon didn't answer.
He just rested a hand on Ghost's head.
And in the back of his mind…
he heard Leo's words:
"Don't reveal me.
Not yet."
Arrival at Castle Black
Jon Snow, Tyrion Lannister, Ser Alliser Thorne, Ghost
The Wall rose like a mountain of ice as Jon and Tyrion approached, wind howling across the courtyard. Men trained half-heartedly, some barely able to lift a sword. Others lounged near the armory, faces hollow, tired, or resentful.
Tyrion wrinkled his nose.
"Well," he muttered, "this is certainly… darker than the stories."
Ghost trotted beside Jon, silent, white fur glowing against the bleak stone. As they passed through the gates, recruits stared openly — at Ghost, at Jon's sword, at the way Jon carried himself.
Word had already spread.
The boy with the shadow-gifted blade.
Thorne Notices Jon First… then Tyrion
Ser Alliser Thorne stomped into the yard, cloak whipping behind him.
"Snow," he barked. "You arrive late for training."
Jon saluted stiffly. "Ser."
Thorne's eyes narrowed — not at Jon.
At Tyrion.
"And who," Thorne sneered, "is this little—"
"Careful," Tyrion said lightly. "I bite."
Thorne's jaw clenched.
He despised Tyrion instantly.
"You Lannisters think you're above the Wall? That you can ride into our yard with your wine and your wit?"
Tyrion smiled sweetly.
"Oh, I don't think it. I know it."
The courtyard went dead silent.
Some recruits snickered.
Others stepped back as if expecting a fight.
Thorne's face turned red.
"Lords do not command respect here," Thorne growled. "Only strength."
"I see," Tyrion said. "Then you must be the weakest man alive, considering how desperately you try to look dangerous."
A few recruits choked on laughs.
Thorne stepped forward—
—and Ghost growled.
Low.
Warning.
Deadly.
The recruits froze as the white direwolf padded between Thorne and Tyrion, teeth bared, fur raised like frost-laced needles.
Thorne reached for his sword.
Jon stepped in front of Ghost instantly.
"Ghost, heel!" Jon commanded.
Ghost obeyed…
but didn't take his eyes off Thorne.
Thorne's Rage Turns to Jon
"So," Thorne snarled. "Your beast threatens sworn brothers already.
You think yourself special, Snow?"
Jon forced his voice calm.
"No, Ser. I'm here to serve."
"Good," Thorne spat. "Because I'll break that arrogance out of you.
Lannister or not—"
he glared at Tyrion
"—if either of you cause trouble, you'll wish you'd never come to the Wall."
Tyrion smirked.
"Oh, I already wish that. But I'm still here."
Thorne stormed away, cloak flapping like a furious crow.
Tyrion & Jon Afterward
Tyrion turned to Jon.
"Well then," he said cheerfully, "your new home is full of sunshine."
Jon sighed. "Ser Alliser hates me."
"Good," Tyrion replied. "It means you're interesting."
He glanced back toward Ghost.
"And your little wolf is quite protective."
"He knows people," Jon said.
Ghost nudged Jon's hand.
Then, quietly, Ghost looked north—
as if he sensed someone watching.
Someone with a metal arm.