Jon Snow's figure appeared especially frail in the crisp moonlight.
His sword hung at his side, and he seemed to have had all the bones drawn from his body.
Uncle Benjen's words were colder than the northern wind.
Lynn offered no comfort.
He simply stood quietly to the side, allowing Jon to process the cruel reality alone.
Sympathy was the cheapest thing in this world.
Jon needed to find his own way out.
A voice suddenly came from the shadows behind them, carrying a hint of drunkenness and amusement.
"It seems not everyone enjoys the clamor of a feast."
Lynn's muscles instantly tensed, and his fingers tightened slightly on the sword hilt.
He spun around sharply.
A short figure emerged from the shadow of the colonnade.
His stature was only half that of an ordinary man.
However, his well-tailored fine clothes and the silver goblet in his hand, filled with crimson wine, indicated his noble status.
Tyrion Lannister.
Queen Cersei's brother, known as 'the Imp'.
A defiant smile played on his face, and his eyes glinted with a cunning that seemed to see through everything in the moonlight.
Tyrion's gaze fell directly on Jon.
"Let me guess."
"You must be Eddard Stark's bastard."
Jon's face instantly darkened, and his hand clenched the sword hilt until his knuckles turned white.
The surname 'Snow' was an unhealing scar on him.
And Tyrion mercilessly poked that scar with his finger.
Tyrion seemed not to notice the anger on Jon's face, taking a sip of wine as if to himself.
"Your uncle is a Night's Watchman?"
Jon turned to face the small dwarf.
"What are you doing here?"
Tyrion shrugged.
"Pondering how to spend the evening with your family."
"I've actually always wanted to see the Wall."
Jon ignored him, simply asking,
"Are you Tyrion Lannister? Cersei's brother?"
Tyrion took a drink of wine, self-deprecatingly saying,
"Yes, that might be my greatest achievement."
"You have the melancholy of a Northman, but your face is much fairer than your half-siblings."
"That usually comes from the mother's side."
"Did I offend you just now?"
"My apologies, I shouldn't have brought up the bastard issue with you."
Tyrion swirled his wine glass, and ripples spread through 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 Eddard Stark, but your mother is not Lady Stark."
"Never forget who you are, and this world will not forget either, because your name will always carry Snow."
"Arm yourself with it."
"That way, no one can use it to hurt you."
Jon was stunned.
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.
"Every dwarf under the heavens is a bastard in their father's eyes."
"How are you and I any different?"
Looking at Tyrion's small stature, the anger in Jon's heart dissipated instantly.
Tyrion's gaze shifted from Jon to Lynn.
He sized Lynn up and down.
From Lynn's faded Black (clothes), to the sharp sword in his hand, and then to his eyes, which remained calm even 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 said nothing, simply meeting his gaze calmly.
A dangerous aura emanated from the dwarf.
It was not a threat of force, but a sense of oppression stemming from intelligence.
"A Night's Watchman, instead of finding a plump whore to keep warm at the feast, is standing in this freezing cold with the Duke's bastard, enduring the biting wind."
Tyrion took another sip of wine, the smile at the corner of his mouth growing wider.
"This is truly an interesting combination."
"The feast was too noisy."
Lynn finally spoke, his voice somewhat flat due to the wind.
"Oh?"
Tyrion raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so?"
"I, for one, think this level of clamor is perfect for masking certain less pleasant sounds."
"Like lies, conspiracies, and... other sounds."
His gaze lingered for a moment on the longsword at Lynn's waist.
Lynn knew that Tyrion's words carried a hidden meaning.
However, Lynn had truly just come out for some fresh air.
This dwarf was far more sober than he let on.
"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 cold."
Lynn's reply was simple and direct.
"Colder than Winterfell."
Tyrion laughed.
"It seems the eloquence of the Night's Watch is as unremarkable as the northern weather."
He drained the last drop of wine from his goblet, then casually tossed the expensive silver cup into the snow.
"Well, my two melancholic sirs."
"I'm off to find something warmer and softer to pass the night."
He winked his black 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, wobbled on his short legs, and disappeared to the other side of the Courtyard.
In the snow, only a lonely silver goblet and a trail of uneven footprints remained.
Jon still stood in place, as if nailed to the ground.
After a long while.
He slowly let out a breath, which condensed into a white mist in the cold air.
"He's right."
Jon's voice was low, but no longer held its previous confusion.
He looked up at Lynn, a glimmer of light rekindled in his eyes.
It was not the light of finding a home.
Rather, it was a resilience that broke through the earth after acknowledging reality.
Lynn did not respond.
His gaze passed over Jon's shoulder, looking 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 feast hall.