Jon Snow's figure appeared especially thin under the cold moonlight.
His sword hung by his side, and he seemed to have had his bones removed.
Uncle Benjen's words were more piercing than the cold winds of the North.
Lynn did not offer comfort.
He just stood quietly to the side, letting Jon digest this cruel reality alone.
Sympathy is the cheapest thing in this world.
Jon needed to get through this himself.
A voice, abruptly, came from the shadows behind them, carrying a hint of drunkenness and playfulness.
"It seems not everyone enjoys the noise of a feast."
Lynn's muscles instantly tensed, and his fingers gripping the sword hilt tightened slightly.
He turned sharply.
A short figure emerged from the shadow of a pillar.
He was only half the height of an ordinary man.
But his well-tailored luxurious clothes and the silver cup in his hand, filled with crimson wine, announced his noble status.
Tyrion Lannister.
Queen Cersei's brother, known as the Little Demon.
A defiant smile hung on his face, and his eyes glinted with an all-knowing cunning in the moonlight.
Tyrion's gaze fell directly on Jon.
"Let me guess."
"You must be Ned Stark's bastard."
Jon's face instantly darkened, and his hand gripping the sword turned white.
The surname "Snow" was an unhealing scar on him.
And Tyrion, without mercy, poked that scar with his finger.
Tyrion seemed not to notice the anger on Jon's face, and took a sip of wine nonchalantly.
"Is your uncle in the Night's Watch?"
Jon turned around, facing the short dwarf.
"What are you doing here?"
Tyrion shrugged.
"Figuring out how to spend the evening with your family, of course."
"I've always wanted to see the Wall."
Snow ignored him, and just asked.
"Are you Tyrion Lannister? Cersei's brother?"
Tyrion took a sip of wine, and said self-deprecatingly.
"Hmm, that might be my greatest achievement."
"You have the gloom of a Northerner, but your face is much more refined than your half-siblings."
"That usually comes from the mother's side."
"Did I offend you just now?"
"Sorry, I shouldn't have brought up the bastard thing with you."
Tyrion swirled his wine cup, and ripples spread in the liquid.
"Don't look at me like that, child."
Jon's lips moved, but he couldn't utter a single word.
"You are indeed a bastard."
"Your father is Ned Stark, but your mother is not Lady Stark."
"Never forget who you are; this world will not forget either, because your name will always carry Snow."
"Use it to arm yourself."
"That way no one can use it to hurt you."
Jon froze.
Then, anger surged in Jon's heart.
"What do you know?"
"What do you know about being a bastard?"
Tyrion looked directly into Jon's eyes.
"All dwarfs under the sky are bastards in their fathers' eyes."
"How are you and I any different?"
Looking at Tyrion's short stature, the anger in Jon's heart immediately dissipated.
And Tyrion's gaze shifted from Jon to Lynn.
He scrutinized Lynn from head to toe.
From Lynn's faded black clothes, to the sharp sword in his hand, and then to his eyes, which remained calm in the night.
"And you?"
"You don't look like a dwarf, are you also a bastard like him?"
Tyrion asked with interest.
"Oh, no, you're not a Stark."
"You smell of crows."
Lynn didn't speak, just met his gaze calmly.
A dangerous aura emanated from this dwarf.
It wasn't a threat of force, but a sense of oppression stemming from intelligence.
"A Night's Watchman, instead of finding a plump whore to warm himself at the feast, is standing in this icy wilderness with the Duke's bastard, enduring the cold wind."
Tyrion took another sip of wine, the smile on his lips deepening.
"This is truly an interesting combination."
"The feast is too noisy."
Lynn finally spoke, his voice somewhat flat due to the wind.
"Oh?"
Tyrion raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
"I, however, think that this level of clamor is just enough to cover up certain less pleasant sounds."
"Such as lies, conspiracies, and… other sounds."
His gaze lingered for a moment on the longsword at Lynn's waist.
Lynn knew that Tyrion's words had a hidden meaning.
But Lynn had indeed simply come out for some fresh air.
This dwarf was far more sober than he appeared.
"How is the Wall?"
Tyrion changed the subject, his tone becoming lighter.
"I've always wanted to see that end of the world."
"I hear there are wildlings there, and… even more terrifying things."
His tone carried a hint of mockery, as if discussing an absurd fairy tale.
"The Wall is very cold."
Lynn's answer was simple and direct.
"Colder than Winterfell."
Tyrion laughed.
"It seems the Night's Watch's eloquence is as uninspired as the Northern weather."
He drained the last drop of wine from his cup, and casually tossed the expensive silver cup into the Snow.
"Alright, two melancholic sirs."
"I'm going to find something warmer and softer to pass this night."
He winked his dark eye at Jon.
"Remember my words, child."
"There's nothing wrong with being a bastard; at least you don't have to attend those utterly boring feasts."
With that, Tyrion hummed an off-key Southern tune, and with his short legs, staggered away, disappearing to the other side of the courtyard.
In the Snow, only a lonely silver cup and a string of varying footprints remained.
Jon still stood in place, as if nailed to the ground.
After a long time.
He slowly exhaled a breath, which condensed into a white mist in the cold air.
"He's right."
Jon's voice was very low, but no longer had the confusion from before.
He looked up at Lynn, and a glimmer of light rekindled in his eyes.
It wasn't the light of finding a home.
Rather, it was a resilience that sprouted after recognizing reality.
Lynn did not respond.
His gaze, over Jon's shoulder, looked towards the brightly lit tower in the distance.
After a long pause.
"Lord Benjen is still waiting for me."
Lynn patted Jon's shoulder, then walked towards the banquet hall.
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