Kal didn't bother discussing with Tyrion whether he had ever seen snow before, or if he even remembered his first winter.
Because, frankly, he had no memory of it.
Still, the moment he sensed something was off about the dwarf's mood, he had a good idea what the issue might be.
If a song he casually hummed could stir up such emotions in the Lannister dwarf, even Kal—with nothing more than his big toe—could figure it had to be about a woman.
And what kind of woman could make Tyrion dwell on the past like this?
Obviously, it had to be that former wife of his.
So Kal simply left behind a bottle of elven red wine, tucked the two borrowed books under his arm, and turned to leave without the slightest intention of talking it out.
Tyrion hadn't been wrong to mock himself. Sometimes, he really was just a pitiful half-man—a dwarf no different from a bastard.
And all Kal could do for his friend was leave him a fine bottle of wine and a bit of solitude.
Because when a man's having his man-period, those two things are the best medicine.
But once Kal returned to the inn, he changed his mind.
"Melinda, I think your little lion really needs you right now. Yes, right now—put down that damned tray and get off that damned soldier's thigh!"
Do a good deed, then disappear without a name.
When it comes to a man's troubles, really, it's just that simple.
Kal was confident that if you added a woman on top of those two earlier remedies, then all it would take was one night for Tyrion to be back to his old self.
Cure-all. Instant results. Never fails.
After all, Kal's personal motto had long been—
"There's no heartbreak a good soak—and a happy ending—can't fix."
With his mood greatly improved, Kal happily carried the two books in hand as he strolled back to where his mercenary band was camped.
As for running into Cersei—well, that had been a complete accident. Kal didn't give it much thought.
Truth be told, it wasn't the first time he'd seen her. But he had never actually spoken a word to Cersei before.
And when it came to that woman, Kal had always maintained one principle: the farther I stay from that mess, the better. I don't want her stink clinging to me.
That held true now. Hopefully, it'd stay that way in the future too.
And after giving Melinda the heads-up, Kal made it clear he wouldn't be interrupting their little rendezvous.
So, still holding his books, Kal returned—calm and content—to his mercenary company's camp.
"Boss!"
Kossi greeted him with his usual enthusiasm, rushing over the moment he saw him.
And as soon as the other members of the Blackstone Mercenary Company noticed Kal's return—most of them already resting after a long day of work—they began calling out their greetings too.
Kal responded to each of them, one by one, then stayed right where he was, casually chatting with the crew who had been eating and fighting by his side all this time.
Naturally, the conversation soon flowed from "Have you eaten yet?" to more colorful topics—complete with the usual talk of tastes and preferences.
The group's laughter quickly followed, loud and in sync.
After chatting with his men for about half an hour, Kal finally stood up and made his way to the quarters Kossi had prepared for him to rest.
This was a sheltered spot, blocked from the wind by a massive boulder. A simple hammock had been tightly secured between two thick trees—Kossi's work.
This was, after all, the quickest and most practical way for mercenaries to rest while on the road.
But before lying down, Kal couldn't help but glance once more toward the distant inn.
By now, the area outside the building was completely covered with the crimson tents of the Lannister soldiers.
Those vibrant, red canopies looked just like mushrooms bursting through dead leaves and broken branches in the valley after a rainstorm—each one pushing up its cap as if racing to be seen.
Vivid. Striking. Impossible to ignore.
Holding the books he'd borrowed from Tyrion, Kal pulled his gaze away.
He'd lived in the Vale long enough to know one thing: the more beautiful and colorful something looked, the less trustworthy it usually was.
It might lure you in with its bright appearance, tempting you to draw close.
But the moment you touched it—or worse, tried to consume it—it would make you pay the price.
Of course, things weren't always so absolute. If handled just right, such things might even bring you a kind of pleasure that words could never capture…
...
"I want you to kill him."
Cersei walked along the path, cutting through the crowd before slipping into the woods. She stopped at a small stream where crystal-clear water flowed gently over smooth stones.
When the sound of footsteps behind her drew close, she didn't bother turning around to see who it was. Her eyes remained fixed on the stream, and her voice came cold and sharp as ice: "I want you to kill him."
Jaime Lannister, who had followed her all the way there, froze for a brief second. Then, after a moment of thought, he understood exactly who she meant.
"Cersei… he's just a boy. He doesn't even know anything…"
Jaime didn't know what else to say. He stared at her back, trying to reason with her—trying to soften whatever rage had driven her to this.
But before he could finish speaking, Cersei suddenly turned around. Her gaze locked onto him with blazing intensity.
"A boy?"
"Do you know how old he is now? Eighteen!"
"You were only fifteen when Ser Arthur Dayne knighted you—because you fought with such courage during the campaign to destroy the Brotherhood of the Kingswood."
"And look at him—look at that towering body of his. Tell me, who in the Seven Hells would see that and still call him a child?!"
Cersei's eyes were wide with rage as she lashed out furiously at Jaime.
Faced with her inexplicable fury, Jaime Lannister could only feel helpless.
"Cersei, he didn't do anything…" Jaime sighed softly. He stepped forward and reached out to place a steadying hand on her shoulder, his expression sincere as he gently tried to comfort her.
"He just got back from the Free Cities. He's only been in King's Landing for half a year!"
"He doesn't even know anything. All he's doing is trying to make a better life for himself…"
Perhaps because of Tyrion, Jaime's view of Kal wasn't as extreme as Cersei's.
In fact, it was quite the opposite. Jaime felt a certain fondness for this boy who, in his teens, had dared to cross the Narrow Sea alone and carve out a living in the Free Cities.
Courage—that was the first trial for any boy hoping to become a man. That was honor.
And Jaime himself had become a knight back then for the very same reason: because he had courage.
But upon hearing Jaime's words, Cersei narrowed her eyes and shot him a sharp, suspicious glare—like she was looking at a traitor.
Then, with a sudden jerk, she flung Jaime's hands off her shoulders and resumed her harsh tirade.
"Hey—listen, Jaime! No one's a fool!"
"He has to know something. Otherwise, why didn't he go back to that damned Vale and wallow with the donkey shit? Why come to King's Landing?!"
"Don't tell me it's because he thinks the whores here are filthier than the ones in the Vale!"
It was obvious that Cersei didn't believe a single word Jaime had said.
The moment she heard about Robert's bastard suddenly showing up in King's Landing, Cersei had felt a deep, instinctive discontent.
And that was even before the fact that she already despised Robert with all her being. So when it came to this uninvited bastard of his, her disgust ran from the depths of her mind all the way to her bones.
If that were all, it might have been nothing—after all, she knew all too well what kind of man Robert had been.
Over the years, Robert's bastards could probably fill an entire brothel.
And as far as this widely known fact across the Seven Kingdoms, Cersei had always just turned a blind eye to it. She never took it to heart.
She was always clear on what she wanted.
But this time was different. From the moment Kal Stone showed up in King's Landing, and with everything that had happened since, she had begun to sense something else—a looming threat.
That vague, inexplicable sense of danger made her instinctively uneasy, as if even the Red Keep was no longer safe.
That feeling made Cersei restless and uneasy.
It was as if only by driving a sword straight through that damned bastard's chest—and then twisting off his head and placing it right in front of her—could she feel any relief.
But she couldn't do that. Because Jon Arryn's presence had been protecting that wretched boy.
If it hadn't been for Jon Arryn intervening from the shadows, she would have long since had someone throw that bastard out of King's Landing.
And if he still didn't know his place, well—King's Landing's sewers were no stranger to mysterious corpses floating up every day. One more fresh body wouldn't make a difference.
That went for Robert's other bastards too!
And that was why, all these years, even though Cersei resented Robert and his bastards, she had been unable to do anything about them.
But this time, before she could even make up her mind to act—Jon Arryn suddenly dropped dead under suspicious circumstances.
And Robert immediately brought Kal Stone to his side!
He hadn't said anything explicitly, but to Cersei, Robert's actions were clearly driven by motives he dared not admit.
That only hardened her killing intent.