...On the Kings Road, The Imp, Tyrion Lannister, swung his short legs as he rode his horse at a leisurely pace.
He was in a very good mood.
This time, following the King's party to Winterfell, he had first very cleverly avoided the debt collectors sent by the Iron Bank, and then thoroughly experienced the enthusiasm of the wayward women of the North.
At House Stark, he had met a very interesting bastard.
Though still quite green, he seemed to see a hint of Arthas's shadow in the boy.
He had left the King's party in high spirits and gone to see The Wall with the youth, who had been egged on by a few words from the Lady of Winterfell to swear an oath to join the Nights Watch.
Upon his return, The Imp had also very kindly provided the little boy from House Stark who had broken his legs with a blueprint for an auxiliary tool that would allow even a paralyzed person to ride a horse.
He was very happy in his heart, not expecting that in just a month's time, he would have built such a good relationship with the Family of the lord of winterfell.
"Reading more books really is useful, wouldn't you say, Ser Gregor?"
The Imp looked at The Mountain beside him, who was also on horseback but clearly several times taller than him, his eyes making no attempt to hide his smugness.
"I do not wish to speak with you."
Glancing down hatefully, The Mountain replied in a muffled, booming voice.
This half-man, who couldn't even hold a sword steady, had spent every day in the North lingering in brothels as if he had never seen a woman in his life.
Even more irritating was that, due to Arthas's orders, he had to stay by his side at all times.
Listening to the Imp frolic with whores in their tender embrace all day long without being able to leave for a moment made him feel like an incredibly dedicated pimp.
The Mountain might be large, but he wasn't stupid; he knew how to read the situation.
As the mad dog of Lannister, The Mountain's loyalty was not limited to Tywin alone; back then, if it hadn't been for Tywin's approval, he wouldn't have dared to raise his sword against Arthas even if he had ten times the courage.
However, his attitude toward the Imp was not so kind, as the other was not well-regarded in Tywin's eyes.
"Alright, alright, relax a bit, big guy."
Seeing the somewhat restless Mountain, the Imp understood his thoughts perfectly and immediately spoke to comfort him:
"At this pace, we'll be in King's Landing in two more days. It won't delay you from participating in the King's Tourney."
Indeed, the Tourney held to welcome Eddard's appointment—or rather, just an excuse Robert found to hold one—was about to open. How could the naturally cruel and slaughter-loving Mountain be willing to miss such a good opportunity?
"Don't speak of it so casually."
"If I don't make it to the Tourney, I will definitely petition Lord Arthas to let me leave your side once we return to King's Landing."
Forcibly suppressing the irritation in his heart, his thick legs tightly gripped the horse's flanks; over these past few days, he had almost forgotten what battle felt like.
"Hey, show some respect, will you? I am a Lannister, after all."
The Imp half-jokingly pulled a coin purse from his waist and shook it continuously, the Gold Dragons clinking beautifully against each other... "My Lady, please eat something."
At the Crossroads Inn in the Riverlands, Catelyn Tully hid her Face beneath a wide hood, though the worry in her blue eyes could not be concealed.
Beside her, the stout, white-haired Ser Rodrik Cassel handed her the food in his hand with a concerned expression.
As the master-at-arms of Winterfell, Rodrik had served House Stark for most of his life; it could be said that in Winterfell, no one was more loyal to Eddard and his Family than Rodrik.
Out of absolute trust, Catelyn had brought only him on her journey south to King's Landing.
"Ser Rodrik, do you believe what Varys said is true?"
The two of them had left King's Landing two days ago, but because the city was in a state of chaos, Catelyn had not seen her husband. Instead, under someone's specific guidance, she had met the kingdom's Master of Whisperers, the bald, fat man Varys.
Her son, who was in a coma, had encountered an assassin, and by some coincidence, the assassin's weapon actually originated from a Lannister!
This information was simply too shocking for her.
Chewing her food vigorously, her fierce gaze at that moment resembled a mother wolf whose only thought was to protect her cubs.
Although Varys had repeatedly stated that no one would be stupid enough to give their own weapon to an assassin, Catelyn had already firmly decided in her heart that the culprit must be that Half-man from House Lannister!
"Hey, you handsome knights, would any of you be willing to give us a seat?"
Just as she was thinking about how to make the Lannisters hand over the culprit after returning to Winterfell, that hateful dwarf Catelyn thought of day and night suddenly appeared at the inn's entrance!
The Imp walked through the inn's aisle with his short legs, looking relaxed and composed, followed by The Mountain, who was so hulking his head nearly touched the ceiling. His leisurely expression was as if a king were reviewing his troops.
"I am willing to pay three Gold Dragons for a seat."
The coin purse full of Gold Dragons flipped up and down in his hand; the wealthy Lannister never feared not having a place of his own in a crowded inn when traveling.
"Oh, dear Gold Dragons..."
"No, it should be, dear Lord Lannister."
"You may use my seat as you wish."
Just as he was about to reach Catelyn's side, a lean, brown-haired man stood up respectfully and very politely gave up his seat.
"Thank you very much, generous knight."
Grandly pulling out three Gold Dragons and placing them in the man's hand, the Imp glanced smugly at The Mountain behind him:
"See? I told you, as long as there are enough Gold Dragons, there's nothing that can't be done."
Looking at the gloating Imp, The Mountain rolled his eyes again and kept his mouth shut, not wanting to respond.
The speaker meant nothing by it, but the listener took it to heart; Catelyn, nearby, misunderstood the meaning of those words.
"Damned Lannister, are Gold Dragons really omnipotent?"
"I wonder how many Gold Dragons this fellow used to bribe an assassin capable of trying to kill Bran."
Thinking this, she pulled her hood as tight as possible, not wanting the other to recognize her here.
Ser Rodrik also buried his head deep the moment they entered, focusing intently on finishing the food in his bowl.
"Oh, my Lord, I am no knight. Please, just call me Bronn."
Gently stroking the Gold Dragons in his hand and carefully tucking them away, the man's eyes looked at the Imp as if he were a fat sheep for the slaughter, flatteringly praising him in hopes of getting more benefits:
"Speaking of generosity, who can compare to the noble Lannisters?"
"Hahaha~"
The disgusting flattery drew disdainful looks from everyone present, but the Imp laughed very happily and tossed over another Gold Dragon:
"You really are an interesting fellow, Bronn."
"If there comes a day when you can't make a living in the Riverlands, come find me in King's Landing."
"I believe you can find a very well-paying job."
"Thank you again for your generosity, Lord Tyrion."
Amidst the envious and hateful gazes of the crowd, Bronn unhesitatingly accepted another Gold Dragon and obediently stood aside to make room for The Imp.
"Oh, look at this, in such a shabby place, there is actually such a beauty!"
Just as he was about to sit down, The Imp's eyes caught a glimpse of Catelyn's slender back and he couldn't help but offer a compliment.
It must be said that the heavens are unfair; although she was thirty-five and had borne five children for Eddard, Catelyn, who had been much prettier than her sister Lysa since childhood, still maintained a fine figure.
She prayed silently that he wouldn't come over, but The Imp approached while swinging his coin purse, teasing incessantly:
"I wonder how many Gold Dragons it would take for such a beauty to join me for lunch?"
"Enough, Tyrion!"
Unable to endure it any longer, Catelyn threw back her hood, revealing her auburn hair, her sapphire-like eyes staring at him with resentment.
"Oh, Lady Stark!"
Seeing her Face clearly, The Imp wished he could slap himself twice, and he was equally shocked.
Who the hell knew that the Lady of Winterfell, who was supposed to be guarding her son, would suddenly appear in this shabby little inn in the Riverlands.
As he cried out in surprise, the knights eating and drinking in the inn stood up one after another, greeting Catelyn.
This was, after all, Tully territory. As the eldest daughter of House Tully, although she had been married off to Winterfell for over a decade, there was still at least a basic level of respect for Catelyn.
"Please forgive my insolence, My Lady."
"You know, I'm just an uncultured dwarf who sometimes can't control his mouth."
Under the unfriendly gazes of the crowd, The Imp quickly lowered his head and apologized to the woman whose eyes gleamed with a fierce light as if she wanted to swallow him alive, thinking it was his words that had enraged her.
"The last time I left this place, I was still Catelyn of House Tully."
To The Imp's surprise, Catelyn ignored him, instead standing up and walking into the aisle, shouting loudly to the surrounding knights:
"I wish to know if the knights present are all friends of House Tully or House Stark."
"Of course, My Lady!"
"The Liege Lords we serve are all loyal partners of House Tully (Stark)."
Though they didn't know what she wanted to do, the group of knights still gave her Face by responding collectively.
"Very well, my friends."
Ignoring Rodrik's discouraging gaze, Catelyn pointed at The Imp and shouted righteously:
"This Half-man, while a guest in my home, dispatched an assassin to murder my child who is only ten years old."
"I ask you all to assist me in escorting him back to Winterfell to await the King's judgment!"
The crowd, having realized what was happening, responded with a roar, grabbing their weapons and surging forward like a tide.
Seeing things take a bad turn, The Mountain immediately drew his greatsword, blocking the space between the crowd and The Imp, while The Imp, who still hadn't figured out what was going on, had a head full of question marks:
"???"
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