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298 AC
The day Tyrion Lannister left Winterfell for the wall , was the day the king and his family and his new hand left for the south. The morning was somber that day. Bright yet dull , clouds passed over head casting looming shadows over the land.
Winterfell stood behind him, its ancient walls steaming faintly where hot water from the springs met the cold air. It was a formidable place, draft and boring , but it was stern, old, and honest in a way Tyrion found both admirable and exhausting.
He would not miss it.
The Starks had been courteous hosts, courteous enough atleast. Still, there was something unsettling about the castle. It ancient crypts perhaps had the ghost its household spoke of but he hadn't seen none when he visited. Perhaps the heart tree with its mystical energy. There was something he couldn't put his hands on about the place.
A crunch of boots on grass and dirt announced Jon Snow's approach. The boy, no, the young man now was bundled in black and gray, a bastard's colors made formal. His face was clear with anticipation and something like fear, though he tried to hide it well.
"You're certain you want to come?" Tyrion asked mildly. "The Wall has a way of disappointing romantic notions you know."
Jon's mouth twitched. "I've no illusions. I know what it is."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Oh, my dear boy. No one knows what it is until they reach there and realize the true reality it becomes."
Jon did not answer that. He only nodded, eyes flicking briefly toward the main gate, where he could still hear Benjen Stark issuing curt orders to a pair of Night's Watchmen.
Benjen looked every inch a ranger lean, weathered, and utterly at home in black.
"Your uncle seems eager to be gone," Tyrion said. "One might think he thinks Winterfell oppressive."
Jon allowed himself a smirk this time. "The Wall calls to him. It always has been, It has been his home for years now."
"Then I suppose I should be grateful," Tyrion
said dryly.
"I've always wanted to see the edge of the world, and I lack the height to fall off it."
His answer was met with a snort from Jon.
The column assembled quickly enough. A dozen men of the Night's Watch, a few packhorses, and Tyrion's own modest retinue which consisted mostly of his saddle, his books, and four Lannister riders.
This was not a royal procession , merely a small party slipping northward into colder lands.
The kingsroad stretched before them, narrower here, worn by centuries of boots and hooves heading north and south. The land flattened and opened, dotted with leafless trees and pale grass bent low by cold air.
They rode in loose formation. Benjen Stark took the lead, Jon close behind him. Tyrion rode beside them when the road allowed, his pony trotting gamely to keep pace.
"Tell me," Tyrion said after a time, "does the Watch still frown on singing?"
Benjen glanced sideways. "Only if you're bad at it."
"Ah. Then I'll restrain myself." Tyrion sighed theatrically. "I was hoping to lift spirits."
Jon snorted again before he could stop himself.
"I hear that the Bolton Lands are also a spectacle worthy of visit. Is this true?"
"Hardly really, if you like to see mills, farms , granaries, town squares and being accosted by border patrols, then perhaps it would be a spectacle for you", Jon replies.
"Well people in the south claim they have the best roads on the entire continent and the best steel, and their sugar houses are said to be like honey farms so perhaps I should make a visit when coming back. Who knows." The dwarf says .
"Well Its up to you", Jon waved him off.
The hours passed quietly as they made their long journey. The sun shining heavily but it felt less intense with the cool atmosphere, it was lingering and distant behind a veil of clouds.
Tyrion occupied himself with observation, as he always did watching how Benjen's men spoke little but communicated nevertheless, he saw how Jon Snow listened more than he talked, how the land itself seemed to grow harsher with every mile.
By midday they paused to water the horses near a stream. The men broke bread and cheese, speaking ever softly among themselves.
Tyrion ate perched on a rock, his boots dangling.
"So," he said to Jon between bites, "have you been told what awaits you?"
Jon hesitated. "I know the Watch takes all kinds."
"All kinds," Tyrion echoed. "Thieves, poachers, rapers, and the occasional fool chasing glory. You'll fit right in."
Jon bristled at his words. "I'm not chasing glory."
"No?" Tyrion questions, more gently.
"Then what are you running towards? Or perhaps running from. And if that's the case then perhaps you'd find yourself in more danger than you would've bargained for."
Jon studied him for a moment, he looked all too annoyed at the imp already "Why are you going?"
Tyrion grinned all too eager to answer. "Curiosity. I find ignorance so dull."
That earned him a look from Benjen, assessing but the ranger said nothing.
"The world has a lot of curiosities and mysteries and I see my self as an adventurer wanting to experience some of these mysteries and curiosities"
After the meal they rode on.
As evening fell, the wind rose, cutting through cloaks and mail alike. When at last they made camp, it was little more than a shallow hollow with a fire coaxed reluctantly to life.
Tyrion watched the flames dance and crackle, the sparks vanishing almost as soon as they were born. He thought of King's Landing, of warm wine and its cold lies, and wondered how far away he truly was.
Jon sat nearby, staring into the fire as if trying to read his future in it.
"Cold enough for you?" Tyrion asked.
Jon said nothing he continued his daze not sparing a look on the dwarf.
"The more I look at you the more I'm reminded of Ned Stark. That same dull person " Tyrion said.
This got him a reaction from the bastard. But Jon looked back into the flame.
That night, wrapped in furs beneath an starry sky, Tyrion slept poorly. Dreams came unbidden of towering walls of ice, of laughter echoing in vast empty halls, of a dragon curled in the snow, too cold to breathe fire.
How awkward these dreams were, he always wanted to know what they meant but alas the answers were out of reach.
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