Capítulo 20: Chapter 20 : Meet Again
Dusk hung heavily over the land. As the crimson sunset faded, the sky and earth seemed draped in a deep blue curtain. The Neck, shrouded in mist, felt haunted—its marshes thick with eerie silence. The North was littered with graves, and in the fog, lonely spirits seemed to flicker in and out of sight.
Cole was covered in mud. Riding a horse through the swamp was a poor choice, especially at night.
Leading his mount carefully, he had to activate the Eye of Time every so often to stay on the right path. Straying even slightly could mean sinking into quicksand or vanishing into the treacherous bogs.
This was a place of death. Venomous snakes, toxic plants, and lizard-lions—each one capable of ending a life.
The Neck was the North's natural fortress. If properly defended, a single man could hold the pass against ten thousand.
By night, the damp miasma thickened. People spoke of the marsh folk who lived here, calling them "mud men," but in the two days Cole had spent in the Neck, he had seen neither house nor human—only endless wilderness.
He dared not stop for long, wary that the ground beneath him might shift, or that a lurking lizard-lion might strike.
The mud caking his clothes was thanks to one such beast. After leaving the farmhouse, he had ridden hard, plunging into the swamp as twilight deepened. He hadn't rested much through the night, only stopping when the morning mist dispersed and sunlight trickled through in golden beams.
He had dismounted to scoop some water and wash his face when he met the damned creature.
A lizard-lion, lying in wait, had lunged at him the moment he bent down.
It hadn't fought with honor, so Cole hadn't shown mercy. He sent the beast to whatever gods it believed in. Its meat, he had quickly discovered, was tough and dry—not worth eating.
Now, every floating log in the water reminded him of the attack.
No wonder so many people never left their homes. The world beyond was wild, remote, and filled with danger.
Exhausted, he stopped now and then to rest, but never dared to sleep. He hadn't slept well in a long time.
Then, suddenly—fire.
A distant flicker, like a dim star in the moonless night.
Fire meant people.
Cole's fatigue vanished in an instant. Someone was there. Should he approach?
Anyone camping in the wilderness at night was likely a wandering knight, a mercenary, or a merchant.
But greed was a dangerous thing. Even Theon Greyjoy had coveted his sword—what would these strangers do? Perhaps the silver in his pouch was temptation enough.
His blade, Winter Night, was simple: plain hilt, unadorned steel. He still didn't understand why Theon had tried to steal it. Surely Winterfell had finer swords?
Not that it mattered—House Stark already had Ice, their great Valyrian steel blade.
Suddenly, a voice rang out.
"Morris, are you deaf? Suck the poison out for your master!"
It was loud—without fear of attracting lizard-lions.
The voice was familiar.
Cole led his horse forward. Then, as fate would have it, he saw Tyrion Lannister sprawled atop a wooden stake, his pants half-undone, exposing a pale patch of skin.
Cole had thought Tyrion would be long gone, having crossed the Neck and headed south. Or perhaps he had already been captured by Lady Catelyn Stark and taken to the Eyrie.
At the sound of movement, Yoren and the guard Jack sprang to their feet. They watched as a shadow emerged from the mist.
Cole stepped into the firelight, his face coming into view.
"Little Cole? How in the seven hells is it you?" Yoren asked, stunned.
Tyrion turned his head, his face lighting up with relief—before quickly contorting into a grimace.
"Oh, Morris, for the love of the gods, be gentler!" he grumbled.
Cole smirked, though his eyes carried a hint of complexity.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
He led his horse closer to the fire, tying it to a short tree.
His gaze fell on Tyrion, still lying down.
"What happened?"
Tyrion looked somewhat embarrassed, though his words remained as grand as ever.
"Damn it, you warned me about the she-wolf, but I nearly met my end at the fangs of a she-snake."
He scowled at Cole. "Your predictions are terrible."
Cole's lips twitched slightly. He had thought his luck was bad, but Tyrion's situation seemed even worse.
"Lord Cole, it was just a harmless water snake," Morris explained from the side.
"You know nothing," Tyrion snapped. "That was a venomous snake! I saw one kill a man when I was a boy."
Morris wisely shut his mouth and resumed tending to Tyrion's wound, though the location—just under his thigh—was rather awkward.
"I almost became a eunuch," Tyrion grumbled.
Cole let out a short chuckle.
"Did the Starks kick you out?" Tyrion asked, smirking. "I told you, they only welcome the Night's Watch."
Seeing Cole's strange expression, Tyrion's eyes widened.
"Wait… you were actually kicked out?"
"Almost."
Tyrion burst into laughter. "Hah! I'd love to know how you managed to get thrown out by those honor-obsessed Starks. Weren't you supposed to be their cook? What did you do, piss in their wine?"
"You really deserve to be eaten by Jon's direwolf," Cole muttered, looking like he wanted to hit him.
"A bastard wouldn't dare lay a hand on the queen's brother," Tyrion shot back. Then he groaned, wincing. "Morris! Can't you be a little gentler? When we return to Casterly Rock, I'll have you thrown into the women's wing so they can teach you what gentleness is."
Morris looked aggrieved. He was already being as careful as possible, but how was he supposed to extract the venom without any effort? Not to mention—it was just a harmless water snake!
"I'll take you to the Westerlands," Tyrion declared. "No one will dare touch you as long as you carry the name 'Lannister.'"
Cole considered that for a moment. Perhaps joining the Lannisters wouldn't be a bad choice, even if Tyrion wasn't exactly favored by his father, Lord Tywin.
"My fee isn't cheap, Lannister," he said, half-joking.
Tyrion grinned and held up two fingers. "I'll pay double."
Cole extended his hand. "Then it's a pleasure doing business with you. But I told you before—I won't be your squire."
"Oh, Cole, you're just like those greedy hedge knights."
"And why not?" Cole pulled out a small book from his coat—The Life of Ser Duncan the Tall—and flipped to a passage. He read aloud:
"Hedge knights are the purest knights. Other knights may serve lords or chase lands and titles, but we follow our hearts and remain true to our beliefs."
Tyrion took the book from him, eyes gleaming with recognition. "I was wondering where this had gone. So you had it."
"The Night's Watch are the purest knights," Yoren chimed in from the side.
"A group of thieves and rapists who violate everything knighthood stands for," Tyrion quipped without missing a beat.
Capítulo 21: Chapter 21 : Fateful Encounter
Tyrion lay slumped over his horse while his servant led the way. Turning his head toward Cole, who was riding beside him, he remarked, "So this is the infamous Neck Swamp? Hardly as dreadful as they say."
"You haven't ventured deep enough," Cole replied. "The quicksand and swamp mud wouldn't let you feel so safe."
After getting a rare good night's sleep, Cole was in a much better mood.
"Men built something as massive as the Wall—filling in a few roads through the swamp isn't impossible," Tyrion mused. "The North holds half the kingdom's land, yet its population isn't even close to King's Landing's. Though, to be fair, I don't believe the records in the books. There must be more people in the North than they claim."
"No one counts every head," Cole said. "How could there ever be an accurate number?"
"If they widened the roads through the Neck, allowing more merchants to travel freely between the North and South, maybe this land could actually be put to use," Tyrion continued, voicing his thoughts aloud.
He always had a way of thinking ahead, often analyzing things deeply—something Cole couldn't help but admire.
After taking a sip of wine, Tyrion returned to his usual self, the sharp-witted, shameless little imp. Traveling with him was never dull; there was always some conversation to be had.
As the muddy path gave way to scattered gravel and a distant coastline came into view, Tyrion pointed toward a cliff.
"Welcome to the South, Cole. That's the Bay of Crabs. Those three islands belong to the Vale of Arryn. We'll find an inn soon."
They had entered the region of Lord Harroway's Town, where inns were plentiful along the Kingsroad and the Trident.
"Tyrion, we should reach Casterly Rock as soon as possible instead of lingering on the road," Cole urged.
Tyrion pointed at his backside. "Unless you have a dragon to carry me, I can't ride any faster."
Then he smirked. "You're still worried about that dream, aren't you? I've dreamed of dragons too, but they've been extinct for centuries. Dreams are just dreams, Cole, like those ghost stories old wet nurses love to tell.
"Come now, let me introduce you to the charms of southern women."
"No, Tyrion," Cole said seriously. "Trust me—staying at an inn will be a decision you regret the most."
Tyrion groaned, rubbing his forehead dramatically. "You actually believe in this nonsense? I guarantee you, whatever you dreamed was a lie."
Despite his complaints, they avoided the inns and camped in the wilderness for several nights.
But on this particular evening, a light drizzle was falling, and darkness was closing in. Up ahead, an inn glowed warmly in the gloom.
Tyrion could take no more.
"Cole, for the love of the gods, have mercy on a poor Lannister," he pleaded. "I need a hot bath and a real bed. I refuse to sleep in the rain like some beggar in a stable."
Four pairs of eyes turned to Cole, making it difficult for him to keep insisting otherwise.
"This little rain is nothing," he muttered. "Compared to the North."
But it was clear Tyrion had made up his mind.
Cole could only pray that this wasn't the night. He didn't have a perfect memory—only vague recollections that Tyrion would run into trouble in the South. But the timeline in the books was a mess, aside from the general sequence of events.
"Jack, get the door," Tyrion instructed.
Jack pushed it open and called inside.
The innkeeper was a plump woman with white hair. When she grinned, revealing teeth stained red from sourleaf, a flood of memories crashed into Cole's mind.
Damn it.
He immediately scanned the room.
Tyrion had already pulled out a gold dragon. "All I need is a warm fire and a place to sleep."
The innkeeper hesitated, looking troubled as she kept apologizing. Because of the Hand's tournament, the rooms were full. She couldn't turn out paying guests just for gold.
Then Cole spotted her.
Among the wandering knights and sellswords, one figure stood out.
She wore a coarse linen dress, but nothing could hide the air of nobility about her. And beside her sat a knight with a head of white hair. She had her head lowered, listening intently to the minstrel at the next table.
There was no doubt about it.
Lady Catelyn Tully.
Eddard Stark's wife. The mother of Robb Stark, the Young Wolf.
She was beautiful, with striking red hair. Not as old as Cole had imagined. Perhaps not even thirty—an age when a woman's charm was at its peak.
The singer's eyes lit up when he spotted Tyrion, and he stood up excitedly.
"Lord Lannister!" he called out, eager to make an impression.
He immediately launched into a pitch for his songs, hoping to win the nobleman's favor. But Tyrion wasn't listening—his attention had already been drawn to the people sitting at one of the tables. A slow smile spread across his face.
"Lady Stark," he said smoothly. "What a surprise. My apologies—I didn't have the pleasure of seeing you in Winterfell."
The singer froze. His mouth hung open as he looked between Tyrion and the woman he had just been trying to impress.
He had no idea she was someone of such high status. He had only approached because of her beauty, hoping for a coin or, if luck was on his side, something more. Now, realizing his mistake, his expression shifted rapidly between shock and panic. Damn my awful eyesight.
But Tyrion was merely exchanging pleasantries. What happened next left the singer, and everyone else in the room, utterly stunned.
Cole sighed internally and reached for his sword. There were dozens of knights here.
Then Catelyn stood, raising a hand to silence the room before pointing directly at Tyrion.
"This man came to my home as a guest," she declared, her voice steady and firm, "while secretly plotting to murder my seven-year-old son."
As expected, the moment the accusation left her lips, the entire inn turned hostile.
The knights present were either direct vassals of House Tully or sworn to its bannerlords. Catelyn, the former highborn lady of Riverrun, commanded their loyalty. Before calling for Tyrion's arrest, she had already listed the names of their lords, ensuring that none could remain neutral.
The sound of steel being drawn filled the room.
Tyrion's mouth fell open in disbelief. He turned to Cole, who simply shook his head.
"Lady Stark," Tyrion began, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "I believe there must be some misunderstanding—"
But Catelyn cut him off, laying out her accusations with ruthless efficiency.
Then she presented the so-called proof: a Valyrian steel dagger, the weapon used in the attempt on Bran's life.
The onlookers erupted. Drunken knights, sellswords, and common rabble shouted for Tyrion's blood. Some called for justice; others simply wanted an excuse for violence. Only the innkeeper pleaded desperately—if a Lannister was slain under her roof, her own life would be forfeit.
Cole quickly scanned the room and locked eyes with Yoren. If the Night's Watch recruiter stayed out of it, there was still a chance Cole could escape alone.
But then—clang!
Yoren's sword left its sheath.
Tyrion flinched and turned to Cole in alarm.
"Put that away! We're not their match," he urged, but they were already too far apart.
Cole ignored him. Instead, he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chaos.
"Gentlemen, you are sworn to your lords and to His Majesty the King," he said, his tone calm yet commanding. "This man is the Queen's brother. His father is Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. Do you truly believe you have the right to pass judgment here?
"If you think he is guilty, then let us take him to King's Landing and let King Robert decide. That would be the lawful course, would it not?"
Catelyn turned to him with blazing eyes.
"My lords," she said coldly, "this man is in league with demons. He has no honor to speak of. I ask you, in the name of your oaths, to aid me in bringing them to justice. Help me escort him to Winterfell, where he can await the king's judgment."
Tyrion turned back to Cole.
"Cole," he whispered urgently, "put down your sword. We cannot win this fight."
He turned again, trying to reason with the knights, but their minds were already made up.
Cole briefly considered his chances. If he abandoned Tyrion, he could probably escape on his own. But he looked down at the Lannister, then exhaled heavily.
With a sigh, he lowered his sword.
Fate, Lannister, he thought bitterly. Let's hope we both live through this.
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