Open Grey

"I'm sorry to see you go, my friend."

"Haha, don't get all sappy on me now."

Morning came to the green fork. The dark clouds of yesterday never did release their rains. They have passed dominion of the sky over to clouds of pensive grey.

Joe was strapping his gear onto Cookie, making that satisfying *fwip* sound when you tighten straps.

He loved that sound.

"Will you visit?" a flowery voice asked.

Joe turned to face Delilah. She was a sprite thing with healthy curves at the hips and plump squishiness at the glutes. Her brown hair and pale skin made her dark eyes brimming with life.

"Yeah," sooked a boy no older than 6, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and holding his mother's hand, "please do."

"I'm sure I will," replied Joe, "If the vibes will it."

Joe had spent the night at the Longlean household alongside Dennis, his daughter Delila, and her son, Dennis Jr.

And before you start freaking out, no. Dennis Jr is not the product of incest.

Delila had a child with some dude who ran off (presumed dead), and she named her son Dennis after her father.

Joe mounted guiltily. He wanted to apologize for all the noise he and Delila were making last night, but some things are better left unsaid.

['These Riverland girls are something else. . .']

*NEIGH!*

Cookie reared, and Joe waved heroically, "Until next time! Delilah, never change! Jr, practise every day! Dennis Sr, try not to murder any trees!"

With that, Joe galloped south.

The Longlean family watched until he faded into the distance.

***

Cookie had gotten used to the challenging rides.

She knew it wouldn't always be like this. Even after only a short while together, she and Joe were building that horse-whispery connection.

They were only riding fast because they had a plane to catch.

"There it is."

Joe knew this building well.

It stood two stories tall amid a patch of trees like a giant brick of stone discarded in the forest. The exterior blended well with the odd vine that grew up its cobbled walls.

This was the Inn at the Crossroads.

['How exciting!'] thought Joe, but then his joy turned to ash~

['Wait, if I've made it here, and have yet to encounter Tyrion, then. . .']

There was no time to lose.

With haste, Joe got Cookie settled into the stable for some water. Then he went inside the Inn.

There was a brazing hub inside, and the place looked just as Joe envisioned. He wanted to enjoy himself. This place was pretty much one of *the* places to check out in Westeros.

"Afternoon, m'lord," welcomed the tavern keep, "Here for a room?"

"Perhaps," replied Joe as he eyed around the place, "I'm looking for someone. Tyrion Lannister?"

The room went silent after hearing that name, and the tavern keep looked at Joe with worry.

"Ah," Joe said, reading the room, "I understand. Lady Stark has already taken him prisoner?"

"Y-," the tavern keep wished she had stopped herself, "Yes, m'lord. They took the king's road to Winterfell."

"FUCK!"

"!!!"

"Eeek!"

Joe's eruption made everyone jolt.

The tavern keep was almost too scared to ask. This man could be a cause of trouble. . . "A-a. A friend of yours, m'lord?"

"Huh?" Joe replied, now seeing the awkwardness he had caused. "What? No. I'm just mad I missed Lady Catelyn's epic speech, is all."

This gave relief to all in the room. Grips were released from blades, and the tavern keep could breathe again.

"Phew!" she said, feeling like years had been taken from her lifespan, "So what will it be, m'lord?"

"No need," said Joe, striding for the exit,

"I haven't got time to waste."

***

Grey skies.

Tyrion had been riding in darkness, but if he were a betting man (which he was), he'd put all his money on

Grey skies.

They had come to a halt. Lady Catelyn must feel they have ridden hard and long enough to afford a moment's respite.

The air was calm enough, as far as being a prisoner was concerned. And there was a soothing stream that poured close by.

Without warning, someone hoists Tyrion down from his horse.

'Easy. . .'

"Remove his hood," commanded the captor, and dark opened up to the light.

The first thing Tyrion saw wasn't Lady Catelyn.

Nor was it the bard singing some freestyle about whatever was happening.

It should have been Ser Rodrik's ridiculous white beard tied together under his chin. Alas-

The first thing Tyrion saw was that this wasn't the king's road.

"This isn't the king's road. You said we were riding for Winterfell."

"I did," replied Lady Catelyn, peering at the dwarf, "Often and loudly."

That's all Tyrion needed to know. He instantly calculated his fate and smiled, "Very wise. They'll be out in droves looking for me in the wrong place. Word's probably gotten to my father by now. . ."

Tyrion began scanning the faces of the men who helped Lady Catelyn restrain him, "He'll be offering a handsome reward. Everyone knows a Lannister always pays his debts."

This made Ser Rodrik dart his eyes around like a monkey puppet, unconsciously reaching for his sword.

"Would you be so good as to untie me?"

Lady Catelyn entertained the question, "And why would I do that?"

"Why not? Am I going to run? The hill tribes will kill me for my boots. Unless a Shadowcat ate me first."

"Shadowcats and hill tribes are the least of your concerns."

'Shadowcats. . .'

Tyrion had to give it to her. She was right on one thing.

"Ah, the eastern road. You're going to the vale. You're taking me to your sisters to answer for my *imagined* crimes. Tell me, Lady Stark, when was the last time you saw your sister?"

Lady Stark closed her eyes when she answered. A detail that Tyrion picked up on. "Five years," she blinked.

"She's changed. She was always a bit touched, but now you may as well kill me here."

"I'm not a murderer, Lannister."

"Neither am I!" Tyrion and Lady Catelyn were now beaming, "I had nothing to do with the attempt on your son's life!"

"The dagger found-"

"What sort of *imbecile* arms his assassin with his own blade?"

Lady Catelyn's mind began to race. The dream with the three-eyed crow. . . Joe's mentioning of the blade if it were ever to appear. . .

Ser Rodrik stepped up, "Shall I gag him?"

"Why?" snarked Tyrion, "Am I starting to make sense?"

*WHAM!*

Chaos happened suddenly, starting with a projectile hurled at the bard's face.

Readiness. Readiness and fear. Everyone sprang to action.

Lady Catelyn's men readied themselves for battle. Men of the hill tribes emerged from the mountainous bushes, clearly outnumbering them.

"RAR!"

From both sides of the road came men of the hill tribes.

This attack must have been planned. They must have been watching Lady Catelyn's party for a long time. Impressively strategic, as far as savages are concerned.

Tyrion took cover behind a small wall of stone. Ser Rodrik shielded Lady Catelyn with a chivalric 'This way!'

Meanwhile, a lean and agile sell sword drew his blade. He had black hair tied in a tight and battle-ready ponytail. His beard was shaved in that rugged manly stubble sort of way.

Quick, he was. He moved about in his dark leathers with cat-like feet. A sellsword of ultimate, shrewd agility.

But even more impressive was his way with the sword. Tyrion watched with awe as the sellsword cut down one, two, five.. The hillsmen were amateurs before him.

Facing death, the dwarf who'd spent all his life whoring and drinking had found some courage.

He crawled to his captor, "Untie me!"

Lady Catelyn puffed with panic, clutching at her small womanly dagger that would be better suited at cutting cheese than stabbing a man. . .

"If I die, what's the point?!"

The dire situation seemed to call for the breaking of decorum. Lady Catelyn relented, cutting at her prisoner's bond.

Tyrion was now free.

The first thing he did was look for the horses; couple were tied to a pole.

An easy escape if he could reach them. . .

No, that wouldn't do. Lady Catelyn released him from his bonds out of the assurance that he would help. As a man— no, as a Lannister, Tyrion would stand and fight.

He made for a shield. A pointy thing, it was, and big. Perfect for shielding a small fellow like himself.

Tyrion raised his shield and braced as men slung rocks at him from the hills.

"RAHHHH!!!"

He didn't have time to compliment himself. Suddenly, a hoard of hills men came charging at Lady Catelyn.

Tyrion's eyes widened. He had to do something, but what could someone as small as he do?

Whatever. That didn't matter.

He shook away his common sense and did what he could. He'd kill someone with a shield if he must.

Just at that moment of Tyrion having sudden clarity. . .

*NEIGH!!!!*

From the east road came a steed of white speckled with black, with a rider bearing amber eyes.

"HUMPH!"

Joe came riding through on Cookie, the steppe steed of the northern mountains.

Joe tugged the reigns, "Woah!"

He got off his horse without bothering for his shield or spear.

This situation called for a good old-fashioned slaughter with the sword.

*SHING!*

Joe unsheathed Icebreaker, and Tyrion goggled at it's magical radiance.

But the artistic marvel soon turned to horror.

Joe began his massacre. Tyrion had seen his swordsmanship against his brother Jaime. But that was a bout done with clear sportsmanship and with no intention to kill.

This was another story. . .

Joe's blade cut through the hillsmen like the hot blade that removed Ser Illyn Payne's tongue. Body parts flew, and blood splattered.

And for a moment, Tyrion thought he was gazing upon death incarnate itself.

Despite the fantastic display of Joe, Tyrion could not afford to daydream.

A rugged hillsman older than the rest came bearing down at Lady Catelyn with his axe as if this was his last chance at glory.

"!!!"

Tyrion sprung to action, using his pointy shield to jab at the hillman's calf.

"Argh!" he cried, dropping to his knees.

Tyrion didn't waste any time. He bashed the man's head. And when he was on the ground, he stabbed at the man's throat with his shield repeatedly.

He probably bashed at the man's neck at least a dozen times too many. . . But this was Tyrion's first kill. How was he to know it was safe to stop?

By the time Tyrion had finished his battle, everything was quiet.

In fact, the silence was waiting on Tyrion to finish.

Loud panting ensued. Ser Rodrik was injured. The sellsword was untouched.

And the amber-eyed youth, surrounded by detached body parts, blood, and death, was clean as a whistle.

"Ser," Tyrion said adequately but with the perfect amount of jest that their relationship warranted.

Joe smiled, wiping the blood from Icebreaker using the clothing of a dead body,

"Tyrion, how good it is to see you!"