Tyrion's dining room was filled with the fragrant aroma of food, as he prepared a grand meal for himself. When it came to food, Tyrion could proudly call himself a gourmand.
"My dwarf friend, you certainly know how to enjoy yourself," Bronn said, looking at Tyrion's lavish breakfast: blackberry and nut honey cakes, cured ham, bacon, breaded fried starfish meat, autumn pears, and an onion cheese with eggs prepared Dorne-style with plenty of pepper. Tyrion also had a large pot of black beer and low-alcohol golden sweet wine brought in.
"It's a welcome feast for everyone, after all, we've been through thick and thin together as friends," Tyrion said with a smile, referring to his small entourage: two Attendants and two Mercenaries.
Tyrion admired Bronn the most because he was cunning, agile, and strong. Although he worked for Tyrion's family and gold, he was still a talented individual.
"Cheers, to our Lannister giant," Bronn proposed first.
"Cheers!" The black beer was so rich; such fine wine couldn't be found in the North. Tyrion also laughed; a giant. How he wished he truly was a giant. Then his life would no longer be an insult to a dwarf.
"But one person is still missing. It's a pity I can't invite him here."
"Is it a whore?" Bronn asked.
"No, a very special person." Tyrion shook his head. The person he was referring to was Jon. The situation in King's Landing was complex and ever-changing, and a meeting between the two would be too awkward.
Tyrion felt that the situation in King's Landing was very bad now, with a slow, suffocating feeling.
Tyrion couldn't pinpoint what exactly was wrong. Perhaps it was the significant personnel changes in King's Landing: Lord Arryn had died, Lord Stannis had fled back to Dragonstone, and now Stark had entered the game. People came and went at the card table.
"After we leave, where do you think that foolish woman will go?" Tyrion asked Bronn.
"Anywhere, my Lord, she has many places to go. The Eyrie, Riverrun, Winterfell. But she's too foolish and will bring great trouble to the Riverlands." Bronn continued Tyrion's thought, tasting the Dorne-style eggs. The pepper taste was indeed too strong.
"Indeed. I value my honor greatly, but it's still far less than my father's," Tyrion mused. Tywin's demands for family honor were rigid, perhaps because past events had hurt him too deeply.
"Perhaps I should also write him a letter, even if it won't do much good." After much thought, Tyrion still wrote a letter to Tywin in Casterly Rock. Even if he was a Half-man and a dwarf, he was still a part of the Lannister family, after all.
Although Tyrion felt his letter wouldn't influence the outcome of events, writing it was still a gesture. Tywin was waiting for an opportunity to intervene in the Riverlands, and now was the time. Ravaging the Riverlands, luring Lord Eddard to send troops, and taking the opportunity to suppress the already weak power of House Tully—killing several birds with one stone.
"It's fine to write it. I think the events of that day must have already spread like wildfire, especially that cunning Old Frey. They have over twenty men, but not one was willing to help Lady Catelyn. I heard Old Frey is a pervert who preys on young women. Such an old scoundrel surely cherishes his life the most and must have already written a letter to your father," Bronn quipped. And those wandering Knights in the inns, they would smell gold and head to Casterly Rock.
"Even so, it still needs to be written. Once it's done, I'll leave it to you, Jak."
"Understood!" Jak replied.
"Lord Eddard probably doesn't know what his wife did, does he? Lord Eddard always has a grim face, as if someone owes him money," Bronn grumbled.
"Lord Eddard might already know. Don't forget the man in black who was with us."
"Actually, you could consider getting yourself a powerful bodyguard, like Ser Gregor. Look at an eight-foot giant; who would dare kidnap you then?" Bronn's companion, Chegan, joked.
"Come on, even mad dogs have their masters. Ser Gregor only wags his tail at my father," Tyrion knew very well. And with Tyrion's circumstances, he couldn't attract too many skilled individuals, especially those who valued a Knight's family honor. That wasn't something money could solve.
"But seriously, how much strength do you think you have to face Ser Gregor?" Tyrion curiously asked Bronn. He had also witnessed that scene in the Tourney, Ser Gregor cutting down a warhorse and almost slaying the Knight of Flowers with a single sword.
"Are you f***ing kidding me, Little Monkey?" Bronn couldn't help but retort. "Life is only once, and that's a massive brute. Ser Gregor is never known for speed, only for being incredibly strong with boundless arm strength. And I'm telling you, for a man of that physique, his speed is already terrifying enough, not to mention his long reach and large attack range. As for pain, he seems far less sensitive or bothered by it than ordinary people."
"And you also saw Bronn's physique, my Lord," Chegan added. "Bronn's trick is to circle around, then lure Ser Gregor into expending his energy until he's exhausted, and finally try to trip him. When Ser Gregor falls, his height won't help him. But the risk is too great, my Lord. You also saw Ser Gregor's strength; one lapse in attention, and the challenger would surely die."
"That's true," Tyrion sighed. The Lannisters indeed had many skilled fighters, but how many would fight for him? His father's dogs, his brother's companions. And he, with his big head, thick skin, and gold, could only attract arrogant, ruthless ruffian Mercenaries like Bronn.
"But it's not entirely without a chance," Bronn said after downing a cup of wine. "Ser Gregor's physique is indeed robust, but if there were a Knight with astonishing speed and strength, he should also be able to fight Ser Gregor."
"Oh, it's not impossible, but such people are too rare," Tyrion stroked his chin. There might be one Across the Narrow Sea, and perhaps one in Dorne. The King's Bastard was said to be even fiercer than the King in his youth, making him a formidable opponent.
"I wish I had my own team," Tyrion sighed.
"Don't think about it, old friend. Do you really want to dig up a team of Wildlings to support you?" Bronn laughed heartily. "The one who saved you that day wasn't a Wildling, but an imposter."
"Wildlings?" A flash of inspiration struck Tyrion's mind... At the top of the Tower of the Hand, in Eddard's chambers, Eddard paced back and forth incessantly.
In the early morning, the air felt cooler. Walking to the window, across the vast courtyard, he could even see Littlefinger's bedroom.
His daughters still had their dreams: Sansa's dream of being a lady, Arya's dream of being a hero. Arya was covered in injuries from Water Dance, but she enjoyed it. They were both young and didn't yet understand the cruelty of the adult world.
After the Tourney, Varys had come to see Eddard. Eddard had to admit that the eunuch's disguise skills were unmatched; he had changed his appearance to see him, and what he said filled Eddard with fear.
The eunuch told Eddard several secrets, but Eddard couldn't grasp Varys's plan.
First, the Lannisters had planned to assassinate the King during the King's Tourney. King's Landing was full of Lannister influence.
The King's two brothers disliked the Lannisters, but they also disliked the King. As for the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan was old and frail, while Ser Boros and Ser Meryn were both the Queen's dogs.
Second, regarding the death of the former Hand, Lord Jon, Varys said he was poisoned by a Knight of the Vale, the poison being tears of lys.
"Damn it," Eddard drew his dagger. It was indeed incredibly sharp. Eddard liked his thoughts to be as sharp as a blade, allowing him to uncover the truth of matters.
One after another, things flooded into his mind. Eddard felt his information was overloaded. And what was more terrifying was the one-sidedness: these sources of information were almost all shaped by Littlefinger and Varys.
Lord Arryn's death, Bran's assassination. Now he wasn't without clues, but rather overwhelmed by information, a mix of truth and falsehood, unsure how to judge. There were also two key figures in these events: one was hiding in The Eyrie, Lady Lysa showing no concern for her husband's death. The other was Duke Stannis, who had fled back to Dragonstone and refused to reply.
"I still don't have many clues," Eddard sighed. What he currently had were books, the appearance of the King's bastard, and a mysterious Brothel he hadn't yet found.
Eddard recalled the appearances of the bastard children: their chins, eyes, black hair, and blue eyes. Eddard knew the King had more than one bastard; those Children all seemed to be like that. Eddard knew of the daughter the King had fathered in The Eyrie, and another bastard in the Stormlands. As for the more famous one Across the Narrow Sea, everyone knew about him.
But why were Lord Jon and Stannis so persistently searching for these bastard children?
"Could it be..." Eddard took a sharp breath. He remembered the few words Stannis had given him, but unfortunately, Stannis refused to say anything more. This was just his own speculation.
"Oh, and that dwarf with the playful expression," Eddard thought. The Brothers in Black had told him the full story.
The dwarf had returned safely to King's Landing. Eddard already knew what had happened; Catelyn's impulsiveness had once again worsened the situation. Eddard couldn't help but worry about Tywin's actions; he was a cruel and cold man.
"Perhaps the dwarf was right, Littlefinger isn't trustworthy? But who wanted to kill Bran, and why frame The Imp?" Eddard thought, then recalled Jon's words. The Imp had even sent a message through Jon: Littlefinger was very strange.
Eddard couldn't help but consider another possibility: if Lysa, Littlefinger, and Varys were all untrustworthy, then this conspiracy was orchestrated by them. Although the idea was very dark, Eddard had to let himself believe such a possibility existed.
"If everyone is untrustworthy, then who can I rely on?" Eddard felt more alone than ever before.
"Cate, if Catelyn hadn't captured The Imp, where would she be now?"
But Eddard's contemplation didn't last too long. Someone had already informed him that the King himself was attending the Small Council, which was a rare sight, and therefore the King also had to be present in person.
Eddard found this quite unusual; the King rarely attended the Small Council in person.
"Robert, I beg you!" Eddard pleaded, "Please think clearly. You are murdering a Child, and moreover, you are stained with the evil deed of kinslaying." Eddard thought about it; this matter was indeed too sinister.
"The whore is pregnant!" The King slammed his fist on the council table, his voice like thunder. "Ned, I warned you about this before, remember? I told you when we were still in the barrowlands, but you wouldn't listen. Very well, now you listen carefully: I want them dead, mother and Child both dead, plus that idiot Viserys. Is that clear enough? I want them dead."
The other prominent Lords tried their best to pretend they weren't there. Their actions were undoubtedly much smarter than his. Eddard rarely felt so alone. "If you truly do this, you will live in infamy."
"Lord Eddard, we have thought of a good solution. If the Hand gives the order, then the King will not bear the infamy of kinslaying," Varys proposed. "My Lord, this is also for the duty of thousands of people."
Everyone looked at Eddard in unison. Eddard felt a burning rage in his heart. If this was the path of politics, then he absolutely regretted coming to King's Landing.
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