Lancel's gossiping was annoying.
Tyrion couldn't help but call Lancel's squire to carry Lancel away, and the world became beautiful and quiet.
Tyrion threw a few pieces of wood into the bonfire: "Queen Cersei might put you in charge of the Kingswood Hunting two days from now."
Green leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed.
Green took a sip of summer red, his gaze shifting to Tyrion.
Tyrion shrugged: "My sister's emotions are intense; whether it's love or hate, when she likes you, she'd give you everything."
Tyrion reined in the smile on his face, his words serious: "If she hates you, she'll want you dead, the more cruel, the happier she'll be."
Tyrion reached for the wine jug, pouring wine as he spoke: "You'll be very busy next; my old sister, well, of all the people in King's Landing, she loves you the most."
Tyrion couldn't be serious for more than three seconds, his words turning into teasing again.
Green slightly curved the corner of his lips: "Lord Tyrion, I will try not to make mistakes and extend Her Majesty the Queen's favor as much as possible. I sincerely thank you for your advice."
Tyrion grinned: "Yes, extend it as much as possible, make it last, like a man's... uh, I almost made a joke about Queen Cersei's love life."
Tyrion raised his cup towards the Red Keep: "Forgive me, my dearest sister!"
Green couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Mondon and Angai, one broad and one tall, sat by another bonfire in the backyard.
Angai happily drank his ale, his attention focused on Green's direction not far away.
Mondon put a fist-sized piece of roasted beef into his mouth, chewed for a while, and swallowed: "Angai, don't just drink. Today's smoked meat tastes great."
Angai reached into the plate, tore off some meat, and put it in his mouth: "It's good, but I still prefer ale."
Mondon said gruffly: "The ale here tastes ordinary. Goldenrod ale is better."
Angai was puzzled: "Is it famous? Why haven't I heard of it? Goldenrod... could it be?"
Mondon's big head nodded: "It's the ale from our territory. It used to have several names, but later I heard that Butler Herschel oversaw the improvement of the brewing process and set the new name. It's a pity you can't drink it for now."
Angai scanned his surroundings every now and then.
Angai stretched, moving his gaze. Although it was night, Angai's eyes still shone.
After he finished his movements, Angai finally spoke: "Thank the Seven Gods, thank Lord Green. Although I haven't been there yet, I finally have a home. I love Whispering City."
Angai gulped down a large mouthful of ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand: "When I go back, I want to find a bride, I want to have a son, I want to carefully teach him archery... Oh, Seven Gods, I used to live day to day and dared not even dream of these things."
Mondon chuckled: "Kill more people, earn enough merit, and Lord Green will bestow a manor."
Angai nodded heavily, then suddenly said: "I wonder if the girls in Whispering City will like me!"
Mondon thought for a while, then said in a simple voice: "The women of Whispering City fight as well as men. You're quite handsome, so you need to be careful. If they fancy you, they'll just carry you away. If you can't beat them, you'll be theirs forever."
Why fight? Why resist!
Oh my gods, is Whispering City the home of the Seven Gods? There's such a wonderful place in the world!
"Actually, I quite like being passive."
After speaking, Angai's smile was a bit lewd.
The intelligent Mondon understood Angai's smile and also chuckled.
The two chuckling men suddenly stopped, their gazes simultaneously fixed on the same spot.
Petyr's attendant, led by Green's attendant, had just entered the backyard when he instinctively felt his back prickle, stopping in his tracks, afraid to move further.
He felt suddenly stared at by two or more beasts, as if another move would result in his neck being bitten off.
The feeling of being in danger disappeared, but Petyr's attendant's back was indeed drenched in cold sweat.
He dared not look up. At Green's attendant's second reminder, he slowly moved his feet, instinctively slowing his breathing.
Petyr's attendant finally walked tremblingly to Green, bowing very respectfully.
He swore he was more submissive now than when facing Petyr, from the bottom of his heart.
Tyrion observed Petyr's attendant, whom he had met a few times, with interest.
Petyr's attendant almost bent his body into an inverted V, his hands holding up the folded invitation letter.
Green commented that the etiquette of Petyr's attendant was excessive, overly formal.
Green gestured for his attendant to take the invitation letter.
After Petyr's attendant left, Tyrion finally couldn't help but cover his stomach and burst into laughter.
Green looked at Tyrion, who was almost out of breath, a hint of a smile in his eyes: "I was also surprised by Lord Petyr's attendant's excessive politeness. You seem to already know something?"
Tyrion waved his small hand, wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, and then said: "You are the Beast King, long accustomed to the beasts around you. If I hadn't met Gregor, your guard would have scared me senseless. He was truly scared."
[Gregor Clegane, a sworn knight serving the Lannister, nicknamed the Mountain, extremely tall, cruel and bloodthirsty, fond of killing.]
Tyrion chuckled, using himself as an example, not at all minding making fun of himself.
At this moment, Green finished reading the contents of the invitation letter and frowned slightly: "It's Duke Jon who wants to see me."
Tyrion's eyes moved, and he reached out to take the letter from Green's hand.
Tyrion read it very carefully: "This is ghostwritten, the tone is overly polite!"
Tyrion slapped his thigh and continued: "Look at me, I'm drunk. It's obviously Petyr's handwriting."
Tyrion pinched his chin and murmured: "It's not that I look down on you, after all, you're just a Baron. The King's Hand invites you, and the Master of Coin runs errands for him. The specifications are excessive, it's not normal."
Green nodded slightly: "This doesn't give me a chance to refuse."
Tyrion agreed: "Right! That's what it's for!"
Tyrion was thinking, his eyes darting back and forth.
Green suddenly said: "Has Petyr always been this bold?"
Why ask if Petyr is bold? Tyrion's face showed confusion: "He's a man who tightly arms himself with elegance, he's very cautious..."
As he spoke, Tyrion seemed to think of something and paused, meeting Green's steady gaze: "It looks like he's already floating on the surface, but actually..."
The phrase 'great recluses hide in the city' was something Green couldn't translate into Westerosi: "The Spring of Convergence truly favors you. It seems he stands prominently in the crowd, but he is precisely in the place most easily overlooked."
Tyrion interjected: "Pressing time, a high-profile invitation, the King's Hand's prestige... Littlefinger is indeed cunning!"
Green was a little puzzled. Was he being underestimated? Or...
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