Yet after Kal's reply, the room fell silent.
Seeing this, Kal could only give a signal to the guards beside him, and one of them opened the door of the room that had been temporarily used as a cell.
Since it was already close to dusk—and in the North, night came earlier than elsewhere—the moment he stepped inside, the dimness of the place was obvious.
Of course, that hardly posed any problem for Kal.
The guard outside, taking the hint, promptly shut the door again.
"Eaten yet?"
Kal's greeting, casual yet practiced, was directed at Tyrion, who sat slumped on the bed, face streaked with grief, curled into the corner against the wall, his vacant eyes fixed on the sentinel tree outside the window.
In this world, Kal was the only one who would greet someone like that.
Hearing his voice, Tyrion, who was quietly swallowing his own sorrow, didn't look at him, but neither did he leave Kal hanging.
With a voice hoarse from disuse, he forced out a "jest": "If I say no, could you conjure me a steak?!"
Kal didn't answer.
Instead, he walked straight to a wooden table, raised his hand, and set down a plate.
In the next instant, a rich and strangely enticing aroma began to spread through the air.
But Kal didn't stop there. He set his hand down again on an empty spot on the table, and a green bottle appeared.
Eyeing the bottle of elven wine, Kal thought for a moment, then simply placed four more identical bottles alongside it.
Catching the faint sounds and the drifting scent, Tyrion finally turned his head with a dazed expression.
"How did you know I'd bring you steak?" Kal chuckled when the little man finally stirred, stepping aside to reveal the table he'd set.
But Tyrion only looked at him with suspicion.
"I didn't see you bring that in. Don't tell me you're actually a mage?!"
"And I've never heard of any magic that can conjure food!"
His gaze fixed on the lavish spread, Tyrion asked the question almost on reflex.
Kal, however, looked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Well, you weren't looking at me just now," he said, pointing toward the tree outside the window. "If you hadn't turned your head, I'd have thought you'd fallen in love with that tree."
"So, have you ever imagined that you might actually be an Children of the Forest? Or perhaps a dwarf living in a cave?"
"I've only imagined dragons—me riding one, setting fire everywhere, burning to ash anyone who calls me a dwarf!" Tyrion shot back, a trace of irritation in his tone at Kal's teasing.
Then, after a moment's thought, he added, "And the Children of the Forest certainly don't look like me!"
"True. They're definitely not as ugly as you, and they're certainly taller!"
Seeing that the man could still joke, Kal ignored the lingering gloom of his "emo" mood, strode forward, and with one swift motion, hauled him onto the stool before the table.
Kal pushed the plate across the table toward him. "I'm guessing that aside from the bit of fried fish and bacon you had this morning, you haven't even had a sip of water all day. So, I brought you some wine—"
"Maybe it'll help you have a halfway decent evening."
Though Tyrion's heart was still heavy, Kal's rough handling left him momentarily at a loss for words.
Looking at the generous dinner set before him, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of gratitude.
"Thank you for caring, my friend—though it'd be even better if there were a woman as well."
"I seem to recall someone saying not long ago that he had no friends in Winterfell."
Kal arched a brow at that, drawling the words as he picked up a bottle. With a flick of his thumb against the cork, it popped free and went flying.
He handed the elven wine to the dwarf, whose mood seemed somewhat improved.
Tyrion took it without hesitation, tipped it to his lips, and gulped down more than half in one go, only stopping when he nearly choked.
After wiping his mouth, his gaze grew slightly hazy as he looked at Kal. "Yes, so what's the problem? If I'm not mistaken, we met back in King's Landing—my friend."
With that, he drew another breath and drained the rest of the bottle in one long swallow before tossing it carelessly to the empty floor beside him.
Then he simply reached for the steak on his plate, tearing into it with his hands and chewing in great mouthfuls, ignoring the knife and fork.
"You've never told me where you get this wine of yours," he said through a mouthful, not bothering to look up at Kal.
Kal only smiled and, as on previous occasions, left the question unanswered.
When it became clear he wouldn't speak, Tyrion didn't press him, focusing instead on his food.
Only after he had finished the entire steak and drained a second bottle of wine did he wipe his greasy hands off on the bed sheets beside him.
"All right, I'm full!"
"So tell me—if I remember right, you're not the sort to do this kind of… what's the saying? 'A sudden show of kindness means you're either a spy or a bandit?'"
"Well, I'll admit, that does fit pretty well."
With two bottles of wine in him and the meal settling in, the alcohol was starting to take hold. Tyrion's eyes were bleary as he looked at Kal.
Kal, seeing his swollen, bloodshot eyes, didn't answer. He simply set down in front of him a long object wrapped in coarse linen.
"What's this?" Tyrion asked, puzzled.
"Jaime's sword. I took it."
"Don't tell me you want me to pick it up and become a warrior like my brother?" Tyrion shook his head.
"If I could, I wouldn't mind—but I think we'd better wait until I grow another metre. Then there'll be no problem."
He didn't take the sword, instead letting the remark drip with sarcasm.
Hearing him say that, Kal's voice grew a little heavier. "I never meant to kill him—"
"I know. You don't need to feel guilty about it, my friend."
Tyrion fell silent, then gave a faint smile as he said this.
Setting aside the fact that there were plenty of witnesses who saw Jaime take his own life—even if he hadn't—when he'd pushed Bran from the tower and tried to murder a child over that matter,
if Kal had truly killed Jaime then, Tyrion wouldn't have held it against his friend.
He knew what was between Jaime and Cersei, and he knew that many others knew as well.
Only a fool like his own brother and Cersei would think they had been discreet.
If Robert had ever bothered to pay attention to anything happening in the Red Keep, their affair would have been exposed under the noonday sun long ago.
And though he hadn't been there and didn't know exactly what had happened, Tyrion knew that Kal Stone had actually tried to save Jaime.
Otherwise, why would he have beaten him so badly, even pinning him to the stone wall with a blade?
The truth was, Tyrion couldn't blame Kal for it. He had long imagined such a thing might happen.
What he hadn't expected was that it would end up as a fatal accident for Jaime here in Winterfell.
At that thought, Tyrion reached for another bottle of wine, pulled the cork out himself, and lifted it to his lips.
Kal did nothing to stop him.
"Jaime told me something once. It was about Tysha—"
Kal paused, thinking it over, then decided to speak.
Even if he wasn't sure whether telling it was the right choice… or keeping it secret.
But as Jaime's final message to Tyrion, Kal felt he had to tell him—even if, once Tyrion knew, it would make him hate Jaime Lannister.
After all, if Kal could figure it out, then Jaime Lannister surely would have known as well.
At the mention of that name, Tyrion instinctively froze mid-motion, his gaze locking onto Kal with a strange, indescribable emotion.
Kal didn't linger long with him. This visit's main purpose had been to tell Tyrion this secret.
Before leaving the makeshift cell, he glanced back at the half-man who had already drifted into sleep.
Even in slumber, tears still trailed from the corners of his eyes.
As Kal had expected, the moment Tyrion learned the truth, his emotions shattered completely—
and with the wine coursing through him, that collapse was absolute.
In that bout of wild, hysterical frenzy, Kal had nearly believed the man might lose his mind entirely.
With no other choice, he had quietly used magic to send him into sleep and silence.
"Pitiful… tragic… lamentable—"
"Detestable!"
Kal himself wasn't sure what he was muttering as he stepped out of the room.
With war on the brink, he had preparations to make.
From tomorrow, his task would be to accompany the steward in charge of grain levies through Eddard Stark's lands, collecting supplies for the coming conflict.
And, as Eddard Stark had put it, as a knight, he also needed to learn how to manage a domain.
From now on, whenever necessary, Kal would study under Lord Stark's stewardship, so that when the day came that he held lands of his own, he wouldn't let poor management drive them into financial ruin.
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