Game of Thrones : Winter Lord

The Black Cat's Journey

"She is so pitiful," said Durran, his chubby face filled with regret. "Married to the little lion and forced to share his bed tonight."

Cole left quietly. The banquet had not ended pleasantly. Joffrey had demanded a bedding ceremony, his malicious intent clear—he wanted to humiliate Tyrion.

In the end, it was merely another Lannister family farce.

Tyrion had fiercely rebuked King Joffrey's cruel suggestion, his posture defiant despite his anger.

Seeing Jon's silence, Durran also fell quiet.

The aftereffects of wine and using the Eye of Time made Cole eager to return to his quarters.

Back in the courtyard, Cole asked servants to prepare bath water and fresh clothes. The garments were infused with perfume.

He rose from the cold bathtub and donned a dark woolen robe.

The night was chill, a cool breeze helping to clear his head. As he walked to the front of the courtyard, a pair of green eyes flashed from the shadows. Something leapt toward him but fell short in midair.

Cole quickly caught the black cat.

It seemed unwell. The creature trembled slightly in his arms, its mewling extremely weak.

Balerion struggled to stand, crying weakly at Jon, attempting to jump from his arms. But its paws slipped, and it tumbled to the ground with a soft thud.

Cole knelt quickly to attend to it. The black cat struggled to its feet once more and staggered toward the yard entrance. After two steps, it collapsed again.

It dragged itself to the gate and turned back, as if calling to him.

Cole seemed to understand its meaning. Under the moonlight, he followed the narrow shadow cast by the fading light.

Suddenly the cat ran forward, its earlier weakness apparently forgotten.

Cole paused and shook his head. Why was he following a cat in the middle of the night?

He was about to return to his chambers when another plaintive cry reached him. Those dim eyes called to him hoarsely and weakly, stirring a sudden sadness within Jon, as if he were about to lose something precious.

Could it be that a black cat, which had been with him for only a few days, had evoked such emotion?

Cole had never considered himself sentimental.

The cat didn't run again but walked deliberately, looking back at him every few steps.

He followed as it turned corner after corner. The black cat's pace grew slower and more labored, yet it continued with stubborn determination.

This black cat is dying, Cole thought to himself.

It had lingered near Cole these past days. It was very old—cats rarely lived beyond twenty years.

Cole noticed blood on his hand—the cat was injured as well.

It had rejected everyone else's touch like a hedgehog, except for Jon's.

Since you chose to trust me, Cole thought, I'll accompany you on your final journey.

They came to a dark entrance. The cellar beyond was cold and desolate, with whistling wind echoing through the space.

Cole looked down at the cat, as if to ask, "Is this where you've chosen to rest in peace?"

The black cat stepped into the darkness that yawned like an abyss. Cole hesitated briefly before following, taking a torch from the wall and striking flint to light it.

The cat moved forward with difficulty, keeping close to the wall. Cole wanted to help but didn't know how. It would turn to look at him after every few steps.

If Cole lagged behind, it would call to him urgently.

Man and cat proceeded through the weak firelight until they reached a sealed wall. The cat slipped through a gap in one corner, then its anxious calls came from beyond the barrier.

Cole bent down and peered through the opening. Moonlight spilled across his face.

The black cat gazed at him, and a sense of relief seemed to emanate from it in the moonlight.

Finally, like an old man who had resolved his final concerns, it accepted fate's guidance and moved toward its end.

Balerion settled on a curved stone and curled up silently, slowly closing its green eyes.

Under the silver light, it seemed to glow, with what looked like star-scales and fireflies dancing around it, as if its soul were sinking into eternal night, guided by the light.

Cole rubbed his eyes hard. The stone beneath the cat appeared to be glowing.

It turned red like a small brazier gathering heat.

The figure of the black cat gradually melded with the stone.

The torch in Jon's hand suddenly flared, flames reaching toward the stone.

He could not pass through the wall, which seemed to have been resealed. The hole appeared to have been dug by the black cat itself.

Jon's heart raced. Something told him that beyond this wall lay something immensely important to him.

Suddenly, Aemon's words came to mind.

The old maester had told Cole that he sensed the breath of his kin.

Jon's heart thundered as realization dawned—he knew what the stone must be: a dragon egg!

He opened the Eye of Time in the moonlight and gazed into the cave. Under the egg's radiance, a shadow emerged from within it.

It was a tiny dragon, with small wings and delicate feet.

"When I married for the first time, a drunken septon presided over the ceremony, witnessed by pigs. My wife and I let our witnesses arrange the wedding feast. Tysha fed me bones, and I licked the grease from her fingers. After eating and drinking, we tumbled laughing into bed..." Tyrion turned his head to swallow more wine.

Though it was the finest golden wine from the Arbor, Tyrion could taste nothing.

Sansa was nothing like Tysha. Though obedient, she radiated rejection. She was here only by force.

Though Tyrion had forgotten Tysha's face, and though the girl before him was undeniably beautiful, he could not forget the joy of mutual love.

He could not force this girl to satisfy his selfish desires. That was not what he wanted.

The girl sipped her wine fearfully, responding mechanically to his words.

"On my honor as a Lannister," Tyrion declared after coming to a decision, "I swear I will never touch you until you are willing to accept me."

"My lord," she asked, "what if I never am willing?"

Her words struck him like a slap. Tyrion felt himself humiliated. Why had he imagined a Stark girl would ever willingly love him?

People called him Imp and dwarf. He shouldn't have expected so much.

Tyrion couldn't help but laugh at his own foolishness.

In that moment, he wondered: if he weren't deformed, would Sansa have married him happily?

"Never?" He laughed bitterly. "Well then, that's why the gods created whores."

Sansa watched as her new husband climbed from the bed, staggered across the carpet, curled beneath a blanket on the floor, and fell asleep.