The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 9

Seated next to Robb in the Great Hall, I shift uncomfortably, I had already voiced my unease about being at the head table since I'm not yet the Lady of Winterfell but Robb insisted. Considering my impending wedding, I suppose it's bearable. Robb's gaze shifts downward to Tyrion Lannister, who has surprised us with a visit from the Wall.

Greywind and Nymeria lurk beneath the table, casting menacing glowers at the Lannister, while Robb's glare could make even me tremble. Observing this, Tyrion raises a curious brow and remarks, "I must say, I received a somewhat warmer welcome on my last visit."

Disregarding Tyrion's remark, Robb addresses Yoren, who stands beside the Lord. "Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome at Winterfell."

Tyrion's grin widens with amusement. "Any man of the Night's Watch, but not I, eh, boy?"

"It's Lord, Lord Tyrion, not boy," I interject, disliking when people belittle those I care about. "You should understand how unsettling it is when people misidentify you. I imagine it's not all pleasant being referred to as the imp," I remark.

Tyrion's smile broadens as he points at me. "I knew I liked you."

Robb gently places his hand on mine, which is resting on my thigh, a comforting gesture to soothe my agitation. "I'm not your boy, Lannister,' he asserts, "I'm the Lord of Winterfell while my father is away."

Tyrion responds with a sardonic smile. "Then perhaps you'll acquire some of a lord's courtesy," he retorts.

Hodor strides into the great hall with Bran perched on his back, Theon trailing behind.

Tyrion's gaze falls upon Bran atop Hodor, his expression a mix of shock and concern to my surprise. "So, it's true. Hello, Bran. Do you recall anything about what happened?"

Archsepton Redmond, seated nearby, interjects, "He has no memory of that day."

"Curious," Tyrion muses.

Growing weary of Tyrion's presence, Robb finally asks, "Why are you here?"

Tyrion disregards Robb's inquiry and instead directs his attention to Bran. "Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel? My neck is beginning to ache," he jests.

Bran obliges, instructing Hodor to kneel, bringing him eye level with Tyrion. The Lannister wears a smile as he engages Bran. "Do you enjoy riding, Bran?" he asks.

"Yes, well, I used to," Bran replies.

Maester Luwin interjects from the head table, "The boy has lost the use of his legs."

Tyrion shrugs nonchalantly. "What of it? With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride."

My eyes widen a bit in shock at the unexpected kindness from Tyrion. Could this be genuine or merely a ruse? Even considering the latter seems risky.

"I'm not a cripple," Bran retorts defensively.

Tyrion scoffs sarcastically. "Then I'm not a dwarf! My father will rejoice to hear it. I have a gift for you." He hands Bran a scroll. "Give that to your saddler. He'll provide the rest."

As Bran unrolls the scroll and reads its contents, a glimmer of hope lights up in his eyes, eliciting a small smile from me.

"You must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a yearling and teach it to respond to the reins and to the boy's voice," Tyrion explains.

Bran looks up at Tyrion with newfound hope. "Will I really be able to ride?"

"You will. On horseback, you will be as tall as any of them," Tyrion assures him.