Galon turned at the sound of the voice.
Not far away stood Tyrion Lannister—barely half Galon's height—studying him with sharp, curious eyes.
"Good day, Lord Tyrion," Galon greeted politely.
Tyrion was not the least surprised to be recognized. On the contrary, he would have been more shocked if a noble lad in Winterfell didn't know who he was.
He spread his hands dramatically.
"Ah! Praise the Seven. A northerner with manners."
"I was beginning to think all you people did was clutch your ale barrels and bad-mouth others from behind their backs."
He had heard cruel whispers ever since he entered the castle. A month on the road had left Tyrion irritable, and this was his first opportunity to vent.
Galon took the jabs without offense, studying the famously sharp-tongued dwarf. He hadn't expected to meet Tyrion here—much less to start a conversation touching upon brothels.
"You must misunderstand the North, Lord Tyrion." Galon countered calmly.
"Up here, we speak plainly. If someone has something rude to say about you, they'll happily say it to your face."
Tyrion snorted. "Which is why I said northerners are like these walls—cold and hard as stone."
Galon smiled. "Even stone warms if held close long enough."
"But in the West, prejudice is a mountain of gold. No matter how hard you dig… you'll never reach the bottom. I imagine you know that very well."
That gave Tyrion pause.
He cared little that Galon referenced his treatment in the Westerlands—everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew how poorly the Lannisters regarded their own dwarf.
What surprised him was how clearly this young man saw through it.
'A clever one…' Tyrion thought. 'And I recall seeing him earlier… yet Lady Catelyn kept him apart from the Stark family.'
There was a story here. Tyrion's mind immediately spun.
'I've heard the Stark lord keeps a bastard… is this him?'
His curiosity piqued, Tyrion flashed Galon a sly smile. "So then, little bastard brother—how does one go about warming northern stone?"
Galon sighed theatrically.
"I fear for your life already, Lord Tyrion. Calling someone a bastard so casually up here can lead to a duel."
Tyrion blinked. "You mean you aren't Ned Stark's bastard?"
Galon shook his head. "Galon. Galon Glover."
Recognition sparked. "Deepwood Motte?"
He chuckled awkwardly. "A misunderstanding, then. I thought your presence here meant you were the Stark bastard."
Galon waved it off and answered the original question.
"As for warming northern hearts…"
His gaze flicked briefly to Tyrion's head.
"You must show them your strength. Northerners respect that above all."
"Strength, you say?" Tyrion smirked. "An excellent suggestion. I'm on my way to demonstrate mine to a few lovely women."
"With a single gold dragon, they'll have me roaring like a king."
He gave Galon a pointed look.
"So, my new friend—surely you know where such joys can be found?"
Galon rubbed his forehead. His advice had been about intellect, not lust—but this was Tyrion Lannister.
"Yes," he said at last. "Wintertown has plenty of such places. Although…"
Tyrion raised a brow. "Although what?"
Galon grinned playfully.
"Although you'll need a horse. Wouldn't want your legs giving out before the king's feast tonight."
Tyrion stared—then burst out laughing. "Amazing! A northerner with wit. How rare. Well then, friend—take me to the stables."
"With pleasure," Galon said.
He had his own reasons for wanting to grow closer to Tyrion, so he accepted readily. As they crossed the yard together, they drew plenty of curious glances.
"My, my," Tyrion remarked. "It seems you're quite the figure here."
Galon only smiled.
They reached the stables. After confirming his request, the stablehands brought Tyrion a horse and helped him into the saddle.
Tyrion gave Galon a long look.
'This boy… was interesting. But not as interesting as the women waiting down the road.'
'I must tell him later what northern women are like…'
With a rakish grin, he snapped the reins and rode off toward Wintertown. Galon watched him go, thoughtful, pushing his own plans firmly back into the shadows.
He turned to head back to his chambers—only to nearly jump as someone stepped from a side door.
"Ser Jaime?"
Jaime Lannister stood there, golden and dangerous, studying him with narrowed eyes.
Galon hadn't expected to encounter both Lannister brothers in the same hour.
Jaime glanced toward the direction Tyrion had gone, then pinned Galon with a sharp stare. "Where is he off to?"
Galon shrugged. "Lord Tyrion asked where he could find… entertainment."
Jaime's expression darkened in understanding.
He stepped closer. "And who are you to be escorting my brother?"
"You'd have to ask Lady Catelyn," Galon said lightly. "Our rooms are near each other, and one thing led to another. As for who I am—"
"Galon. Galon Glover."
Recognition flickered.
"Ah. Deepwood Motte."
His interest seemed to vanish, and he began to turn away— But something made him stop.
He recalled the way this boy had stared at Joffrey earlier. Too boldly.
Annoyance flared.
"You carry a sword from the wolf-woods," Jaime said suddenly, eyeing Galon's weapon. "I wonder—have you used it against anything fiercer than trees?"
Galon blinked, unsure where this was going. He nodded slowly.
Jaime's lips curled, "And against men?"
Galon froze.
The question hung sharp and dangerous in the cold northern air.
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