The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

3.04

G—

I fear you are right in your assumptions about the wildlings—but they aren't as I supposed. They run from the White Walkers like us, and we have been blind to this reality. The White Walkers killed most, if not all, of the Night's Watch. I do not know if my friends live freely or as wights at the Walkers' command. All that was left of the attack was a spiral of strewn horse parts. The scene of my brothers' slaughter was seen by a warg—a man who can take the body and eyes of an eagle—but when we arrived, the bodies were gone and the horses were strewn.

I need to know everything that you've learned of these creatures...the Wildlings may be able to distinguish what is true and what is not. I fail to recognize often enough what you've done for me, but I am grateful—truly.

One of the Wildlings—a girl Ygritte. She's a lot like you, but with hair the color of Sansa's and just as wild as Arya. She speaks a lot like you, but she is much more forward in her ways. I can't begin to understand what you mean about love—I've never felt it in a romantic sense—but interest I now know.

If you could, by chance, send my congratulations to Robb on his marriage, I would be in your debt forever. Your trepidation about this being his flaw is not something I can undermine—you are usually right—but if things go bad, I want him to know I cared enough to ask you to write him. And as for Bran and Rickon, I can only pray they live. My blood boils to hear of Theon's treachery and I hurt for my brothers, but knowing they are alive...it's not like the world's collapsed. I am grateful, but I am scared for them.

I will not deny I am in more danger now than before—I'm meant to climb the outside of the Wall with some wildlings—but I will try to be as safe as ever. Take care of yourself and Sansa, I couldn't bare anything happening to either of you.

Your impression of me being Robert Baratheon is highly insulting, but I cannot deny the threat I pay to Valyrion. Do you believe he'd rescue me if I fell from the Wall, like a knight in shining armor--like Rhaegar?

J

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Tyrion watches as Littlefinger's treasury accounts are moved onto the cart by Pod, the sun playing weird shapes upon all of them, through the wood carvings on the windows, high in Littlefinger's whorehouse. And though Tyrion has hoped to avoid any real conversation with this man--something Gabrielle had suggested against--here he was, listening to the innuendos of the whoremonger with little care.

"Apparently, Her Grace believed that you and Ros had some sort of special relationship," Petyr Baelish remarks upon the rather grotesque beating of said whore, Tyrion not wishing to think about it for how close it hits home. Reason number 1 of 100 to not take company in this man.

Tyrion grunts a short response, hoping to escape soon, "We don't. I did fuck her once."

"I know," Peyr responds with that infuriating grin that constantly leaves Tyrion wondering how Gabrielle dealt with it for as long as she did.

But Tyrion, nonetheless being manipulated by Baelish, feels the need to certify, "But we don't."

Again the man grins, "I know."

"But how would the queen get that idea?" Tyrion finally snaps, turning to look at this infuriating man who can push the buttons of all people alike.