“Hah, brother, that is a pipe dream!” Tyrion laughed playfully.
“How can a Lannister hope for something as laughable as happiness?
What we seek, all our lives, is boundless power.” As he spoke, his tone shifted, dripping with mockery.
Jaime shrugged, his expression bitter.
The two Lannister brothers drifted into their own thoughts, falling silent.
After a long while, Queen Cersei’s handmaid approached gracefully and curtsied.
“Ser Jaime, Her Grace requests your presence.” “Did my sister, so delicate at this moment, not happen to summon her most beloved little brother as well?” Tyrion interjected.
“Hmm…
your expression tells me I did not receive an invitation!” Tyrion hopped down from the balustrade, straightened his clothes, and strode off.
“Seeing me right now would only make our dear sister’s mood worse.
I’m off, my brother who hopes for our sister’s happiness!” With that, Tyrion turned his back to Jaime, waved his right hand over his shoulder, and walked away without breaking stride.
Jaime stared at the small retreating figure, sensing Tyrion’s loneliness, and opened his mouth to speak.
Jaime knew well that Tyrion possessed a kind heart.
Cersei never hid her loathing for him, yet Tyrion had never truly hated her in return.
On the contrary, he had always yearned for familial affection.
Whenever Cersei was in trouble, Tyrion’s small figure would always appear nearby, out of her sight, though he never approached.
Jaime loved his little brother dearly, but his beloved Cersei had hated Tyrion to death since they were children.
Jaime had tried to mend things before, but failed.
Now, he only hoped that, for his sake, the relationship between Cersei and Tyrion wouldn’t grow any worse.
The Red Keep, the Queen’s bedchamber.
Sitting before her vanity, Cersei seemed not to care in the slightest if others saw the bruises on her face.
She tilted her chin up slightly and curled her lips into a smile, but her tone was ice-cold.
“Jaime, I want you to kill Robert.” Jaime’s heart jolted.
He pressed his hands onto Cersei’s delicate shoulders.
“Cersei, I understand your anger, but we cannot be rash.
Robert is the king, and I am a knight of his Kingsguard, and…” Cersei shoved Jaime away in a fury, as if she had just heard something utterly ridiculous.
“Jaime the Kingslayer, are you lecturing me on the duties of the Kingsguard?” At the word *Kingslayer*, Jaime’s hands clenched slightly, a flash of anger crossing his face.
Suppressing his rage, Jaime urged in a low voice, “Cersei, you cannot act on impulse.
Robert is not so easily killed.
One misstep will bring disaster upon House Lannister, and Father will never forgive us.” Jaime’s mention of House Lannister managed to calm Cersei for a moment.
The memory of the Old Lion, Tywin Lannister, silencing her with a single look—a look that made her afraid to even breathe—resurfaced in her mind.
She had thought those fears had dissipated since she became queen, only to realize the memory was still there, terrifyingly clear.
Jaime stepped behind Cersei and gently wrapped his arms around her.
Her anger not yet faded, Cersei was displeased by his touch.
She struggled a few times, but seeing she could not break free, she allowed him to hold her.
Feeling Cersei’s warmth, Jaime was willing to embrace everything about her.
Cersei’s beautiful eyes fluttered, but the image that surfaced in her mind was of Baron Grim Crabb, far away on Crackclaw Point.
She felt it was time to grasp a sharp sword of her own—one not controlled by House Lannister or anyone else, a blade that truly belonged to her.
According to the intelligence provided by Grand Maester Pycelle, this petty baron was very good at war, having defeated twenty thousand men with only a thousand.
A sufficiently sharp sword.
The Whispers, the lord’s solar.
Grim took a large gulp of the sour red wine he had surprisingly missed.
He furrowed his brows.
*Still tastes terrible!* Having returned to the Whispers, Grim seemed to be in a consistently good mood.
“So, Maester Aehl, you told the Citadel that we defeated twenty thousand men in a single battle with only one thousand?” Maester Aehl grinned, revealing his few remaining teeth.
“I originally wanted to write that we defeated thirty thousand, but I was worried I’d scare the old men into a fit, so I lowered the number a bit, heh heh heh.” Grim smiled.
“Respected Maester Aehl, you have my sincere thanks for your continued support.” Maester Aehl rose shakily and bowed his head to Grim.
“My lord, you are right.
Learning to display one’s strength is an important part of statecraft.
Since you are to enter the Red Keep, you are joining the game of thrones.
Obscurity brings not only contempt, but silent death.
I merely wanted to use the Citadel to inform the great lords in advance that Lord Randyll Tarly is not the only one who knows how to fight.” “Your kind heart worries that the Citadel might hold me accountable in the future and tarnish my reputation, but I am already very old.
I only wish to do my part for you while I can still move.
Between you and the Citadel, my loyalty will always lie with you.” Maester Aehl blinked.
“With you projecting such formidable military prowess, I no longer have to worry that you might have to climb into the beds of noblewomen for the sake of our lands.” Grim threw his head back and laughed.
The Whispers, the smithy.
Monton spread his arms, sticking out his large belly, allowing the smiths to take his measurements.
After finishing the measurements, the blacksmith said respectfully, “Lord Monton’s physique is very robust.
It will take about the material of two and a half suits of plate armor.” “How long will it take to forge a full suit of plate?” Herschel asked.
“My lord steward, if we have enough hands, it can be finished in two months.” Steward Herschel pondered for a moment, resting his hands on his own belly, which was much smaller than Monton’s.
“Lord Grim departs in a week at the latest, and Monton is to accompany him.
As for the plate armor…
forge a breastplate for Monton first.
At the same time, have someone dismantle some ready-made mail and alter it to fit his size…” “I give you five days.”