Game of Thrones: Winter Lord

Tyrion complained to Cole as they set up camp, "Jon asked me to help his crippled little brother, but I'm just a crippled dwarf. Even the maester can't make him stand."

"Maybe Snow just wants you to enlighten the boy with knowledge."

A flicker of helplessness crossed Tyrion's face. Not every Stark was as easy to get along with as Jon Snow. He understood all too well the deep-seated prejudice the Stark family held against the Lannisters.

Lions and wolves were natural enemies in the wild.

Take Benjen Stark, for example—his contempt for Tyrion had been evident when they journeyed north together. The bearskin cloak Benjen had given him was meant as an insult, reeking and tattered. But Tyrion had worn it without hesitation, refusing to let the Stark's petty jab get the best of him.

If he hadn't promised Jon, Tyrion wouldn't have even set foot near Winterfell. He'd have preferred to stay in the nearby winter town, find a northern girl, and enjoy the night.

"Hey, look what I brought!" Yoren grinned, revealing a set of blackened teeth as he held up a snowshoe hare. He had just returned from a hunt with two other brothers of the Night's Watch.

They were tasked with escorting Tyrion to Winterfell, after which Yoren would continue south to King's Landing, searching for fresh recruits in the dungeons for the Night's Watch.

As a sworn brother, Yoren served as a recruiter, traveling between the castles of the Seven Kingdoms to gather criminals and send them to the Wall.

Lord Commander Mormont, sensing trouble beyond the Wall, had grown increasingly concerned about the dwindling numbers of the Night's Watch. He had sent Yoren to King's Landing once again, hoping to bring back more men.

The Lord Commander had been particularly generous to Tyrion, hoping the dwarf might put in a good word with the Queen or Lord Tywin, emphasizing the Watch's desperate need for men.

"Little Cole, it's all yours. I haven't had your roasted meat in a long time." Yoren shoved the hare into Cole's hands without ceremony.

Cole and Tyrion's two squires busied themselves setting up the camp, gathering firewood, and preparing the meal.

With practiced efficiency, Cole skinned the hare, removed its entrails, and cut two short branches to hold it over the fire. He made shallow cuts in the meat before placing it on the spit.

Nearby, he skewered two onions on twigs and placed them over the flames.

As the meat began to cook, Cole retrieved the herbs he had gathered along the way, rubbing them over the half-roasted hare. He squeezed onion juice over it, adding chopped garlic to enhance the flavor.

A rich aroma filled the camp, causing Tyrion—who had been drinking and reading—to twitch his nose. He set his book aside and made his way over.

"Cut me a piece," he demanded impatiently.

Cole sliced off a crispy leg and handed it to him.

Tyrion bit into the meat without hesitation. His face immediately flushed, and he leapt back, grabbing his wineskin. He gulped down half of it before exhaling slowly.

"Damn it, I can still get burned in this frozen wasteland!" he cursed.

"Who told you to be so greedy?" Cole chuckled.

The other Night's Watch brothers, drawn by the enticing smell, gathered around. One hare wasn't nearly enough for seven men, but with rye bread, each could at least have a small portion. Given his status, Tyrion received a larger share.

"It's a damn shame the Old Bear let you go," Yoren muttered through a mouthful of meat.

"If King Robert knew someone could roast meat this well, he'd probably send the Kingsguard to kidnap you," another black brother added, laughing.

The comment seemed to amuse Tyrion. Swallowing another bite, he smirked. "I've had the honor of eating meals prepared by the king's royal chefs. Honestly, this isn't any worse."

Turning to Cole, he added, "Are you sure you don't want to be a cook? I could have my father bring you to Casterly Rock."

Tyrion's offer didn't faze Cole. "Even if you invoke Lord Tywin's name, I have no desire to be a cook for you. If you want to eat my food, you'll have to become my squire instead."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "You're not even a knight. Beg me, and I might have my brother knight you."

"Brother? Kingslayer?"

Tyrion shook his head. "He doesn't like that nickname."

"No one likes nicknames, just like everyone calls me 'Raven,' which isn't exactly lucky," Yoren said.

One of the Night's Watch brothers chimed in, "Black wings bring black news."

"Not always. At least the crow brought good news to Jon," Tyrion said, taking another bite of his rabbit—one of the last pieces he hadn't finished yet.

That night, Tyrion and Cole shared a tent. The little imp had a habit of talking in his sleep—quite vividly at that. Cole did his best to keep his distance.

By morning, Cole woke with bloodshot eyes. Tyrion, meanwhile, was already complaining. "When we get to Winterfell, we need to find a feather bed first—and then a whore."

With that, he took a swig from his wineskin. Cole suspected the man needed it just to function.

After packing up their belongings, they continued southward. The outline of the ancient forest was already visible. This was the Wolf's Wood, a place where the howling of wolves was a constant companion through the night.

Beyond the Wolf's Wood lay Winterfell. The narrow mountain trails and the King's Road were difficult to track in this dense forest, but Yoren, a veteran of the Night's Watch, would not lose his way.

They rode slowly, the forest living up to its name—shadows thick with hidden dangers.

Tyrion rode beside Cole. Since learning that Cole had read all the books of the Night's Watch, the two had found an endless stream of topics to discuss. Tyrion shared tales of the South, while Cole spoke of the history of the Wall.

The Wall, built of ice and stone, had stood for nearly eight thousand years. Every story that unfolded there was recorded in the maester's library.

Listening to tales of the White Walkers and wildlings, Tyrion frequently marveled. "Your stories are far more thrilling than the ones my old nurse used to tell."

Before he could finish, a dark blur shot out from the shadows like black lightning, slamming straight into Tyrion.

Cole jolted in surprise, while the Night's Watchmen and squires pulled hard on their reins.

Tyrion had already been thrown from his horse. The creature standing over him was a direwolf—massive, nearly half the size of a horse.

Yoren's eyes widened. "It's a direwolf."

Everyone in the Night's Watch had heard of Jon Snow's white direwolf, but none had seen one this large.

With its massive paws pinning Tyrion to the ground, the beast bared its bloody fangs, ready to strike.