Chapter 22: A Heart That Yearns for Peace
Glyn hadn't expected to meet an important "plot character" on his first day in King's Landing.
A thought struck Glyn—there were no such coincidences in the world. At this time, the Lannisters were still a "loving and harmonious" family. Was Tyrion scouting ahead for Cersei?
Tyrion Lannister's declaration to buy a round for the entire establishment was met with loud cheers from the tavern's patrons.
Tyrion's attendant tossed a full pouch of gold dragons into the tavern owner's arms.
Glyn watched as Tyrion faced the crowd's loud thanks, puffing out his small chest and responding with a pretentious air.
It was now the ninth month of 297 AC. The flower-like maiden Daenerys should be living with her brother in the manse of Magister Illyrio Mopatis in Pentos, on the continent of Essos.
The future Hand of the Queen, Tyrion, was currently in Westeros, spending money like water and simply enjoying himself to the fullest.
Life was comfortable enough.
Tyrion hopped over and sat on the stool opposite Glyn. His attendant brought two empty cups, placing them before Glyn and Tyrion, then filled them from a pitcher of wine.
Tyrion raised his cup toward Glyn, took a sip, and savored it with a sigh. "Dornish summerwine. A fruity aroma, sweet on the palate. It's my favorite..."
Tyrion grinned and continued, "Every sip is like tasting the fragrance of a young maiden, with an endless aftertaste."
Glyn smiled faintly.
Glyn placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head. "Good evening, Lord Tyrion Lannister."
Tyrion leaned back in his chair, holding his wine cup. "Has my fame already spread throughout the peninsula? A surprising honor, to be sure."
Glyn raised his cup and tasted the summerwine. This time, he didn't furrow his brow; it tasted quite good.
"When I was a child, whenever I refused to sleep, my mother would use your name to frighten me. You were the shadow of my youth. When I grew older, I made a point to learn more, only to realize it was a well-intentioned lie on her part. So, it's no surprise I recognize you, my lord."
"Haha, that must be a tragic memory!"
Glyn smiled, as if sighing with emotion. "My homeland is too far away."
Tyrion reached out, grabbed a piece of roasted meat from the plate, and stuffed it into his mouth. Chewing, he suddenly asked, "Aren't you worried about the Hand of the King?"
Glyn shook his head. "Great men don't pay special attention to little people."
Tyrion raised his cup again. "When I was your age, I often dreamed of one day having my own dragon. Are you troubled by the burdens of inheritance?"
"My legs are too short, and my head is too large, but at least this mind of mine fits me well enough. With it, I know very well what I can and cannot do. It is my weapon. Jaime has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind... And you? Little Lord?"
Tyrion's final tone was tinged with mockery.
Surprisingly, Glyn sensed a well-intentioned warning in Tyrion's words.
Tyrion lowered his head to drink, his eyes lifting to glance at the still-unmoved Glyn.
Tyrion put down his cup and stared at Glyn with great interest.
A faint smile appeared on Glyn's lips. "A heart that yearns for peace? I think no one would bear to stand in the way of a heart that yearns for peace."
Tyrion was quite surprised by Glyn's answer. He paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. "That's right! Everyone likes that. To peace!"
After laughing, Tyrion's expression turned serious. "I am a cripple; I would make a similar choice. But, young man, I must remind you, our queen can be very willful at times—and not in the commonly understood way. My advice to you is to bring Jaime along at such times. Only Jaime can persuade Her Grace."
"I will remember that, Lord Tyrion."
Tyrion's small frame was practically lying on the table as he stared intently at Glyn, his expression growing even more solemn. "So, Lord Glyn, tell me, are you still a virgin?"
Just as he'd thought. Glyn had felt Tyrion was about to start acting foolish again.
Facing the already grinning Tyrion, Glyn wore a complicated expression as he firmly shook his head in denial.
Tyrion's laughter grew louder.
Glyn propped his chin on his hand. Should he go and listen to a song tonight? The key point was listening to the song.
...
The next morning at Hook Bay, in a temporary residence.
Glyn woke up and rubbed his head.
Getting drunk is like loving the wrong person. Once the buzz fades, you sober up. Then Glyn's heart ached—ached for his gold dragons.
Tyrion's mind was filled with so many of Westeros's secrets, and he was an eloquent speaker. Glyn drank as he listened, and before he knew it, he had drunk too much.
Still not having had their fill, the two went off arm in arm to "listen to a song," with Glyn generously throwing money around.
Glyn was full of regret, telling himself this was the one and only time.
...
...
The Reach. Horn Hill. The sun was just rising.
Samwell Tarly dragged his overly large body along, holding his breath as he sought out his father—Randyll Tarly.
Samwell Tarly was extremely fat, with dark hair and a pair of gray eyes set in a huge, round face.
The bald Randyll Tarly sat imposingly at the dinner table, eating breakfast with his family. The table was very quiet, with only the faint sounds of cutlery and low whispers.
Samwell Tarly's arrival seemed to shatter the family's warm meal. Randyll Tarly merely glanced at him from the corner of his eye, ignoring the cautious and timid look Samwell directed at him.
At the entire table, only Randyll Tarly's younger son, Samwell's younger brother Dickon Tarly, quietly greeted Samwell.
"Fa... Father, I... I apologize for the intrusion. I..."
Samwell couldn't help but wipe away beads of nervous sweat.
*Clang!*
Randyll Tarly set down his cutlery. The others silently stopped eating.
"Fool! If you know you're interrupting, why come at this hour? Look at you, covered in useless fat!"
Samwell shrank back in fear.
"Weak and fat. All you do is bury your face in books, reading all day about the achievements of men better than you."
"You are about to become a man, but you are not fit to inherit my lands and titles."
Randyll Tarly's wife, Melessa Florent, could not listen anymore. Not wanting to argue with her husband in front of the children, she simply left the table in anger, expressing her displeasure that way.
His wife's departure had an effect; Randyll Tarly stopped his humiliation of Samwell.
Samwell watched his mother's retreating back, his face full of shame.
Samwell had been born into this family carrying all of Randyll Tarly's hopes and expectations. From the moment of his birth, too much had been expected of him.
As the eldest son, too many of his father Randyll's hopes were placed on Samwell.
When Sam was very young, Randyll Tarly doted on his son. But as Sam grew older, Randyll discovered that his son was not what he had hoped for.
Although Randyll Tarly had exhausted all efforts to raise Samwell, he found himself at a loss when it came to his son.
As these hopes were shattered bit by bit, the straightforward and rigid Randyll Tarly completely lost hope in his son, even coming to hate him to the bone.
"Fa... Father, I... I've been studying the combat tactics of House Crabbe."
(end of chapter)