chapter 151 part 1
Chapter 151: Black News
Red Keep, the Maester's Tower.
Grand Maester Pycelle's face was wreathed in smiles as he said respectfully, "Lord Glynn, this old maester awaits your command."
Glynn smiled. "Grand Maester Pycelle, you must have been terribly busy these past few days."
Hearing Glynn's words, Pycelle's expression turned worried. "There are many who are seriously injured. I can only do my best… Sigh, may the gods preserve them."
Glynn's eyebrow rose. "Do you mean there's a possibility that some might die?"
Pycelle sighed. "Their injuries are simply too severe. No one can guarantee they will all awaken… If they can, it will be a blessing… but if they cannot… they may never wake again. We can only pray for the gods' mercy."
After speaking, Pycelle shook his head regretfully.
Glynn's brown eyes shifted, and he stared at Pycelle for a moment before speaking. "The Grand Maester is merciful. It seems the injured who may never wake up also include Tyrion Lannister."
As Glynn's words fell, Pycelle's body couldn't help but stiffen.
A hesitant look appeared on Pycelle's face. He asked tentatively, "Lord Glynn, what do you mean by that…?"
*Truly an old fox…* Glynn took a few steps, closing the distance to Pycelle, and his hand shot out to grab the old man's shoulder.
After stumbling back a few steps, Pycelle was forced into a chair by Glynn.
"Maester Pycelle, you are not being honest enough."
As he spoke, Glynn pointed to a quill and a piece of parchment. "It has only been a few days. Why are you up to your mischief again? Come now…"
Glynn picked up a blank sheet of parchment and placed it before Pycelle. "Write everything down. If you conceal anything or are dishonest… you know the consequences, Grand Maester Pycelle."
"Lord Glynn, I…"
Pycelle looked at Glynn, who was watching him like a tiger, and the words died in his throat. His hand, covered in age spots, tremblingly picked up the quill.
After writing a few lines, Pycelle suddenly burst into tears, crying, "Lord Glynn, I cannot betray Queen Cersei!"
Glynn drew the dagger that Pycelle was all too familiar with, and the old man immediately fell silent.
"Maester Pycelle, are you trying to push the blame onto Queen Cersei?"
Pycelle explained in a panic, "But—but I am telling the truth! To help The Imp's wounds heal faster, she told me to let him sleep more. It would be best if he slept forever—that is what she implied to me, truly!"
Glynn pulled a chair to the other side of the desk and sat down.
"Maester Pycelle, an implication is not a direct order. The noble Queen Cersei cannot be stained by any blemish."
On the surface, Pycelle looked like any other terrified old man, but in his heart… *Isn't Lord Glynn Lord Stark's man?!*
Pycelle was deeply confused. Had Lord Glynn secretly been Queen Cersei's man all along? Or was he betting on both sides?
Or perhaps, there was another, even more deeply hidden figure standing behind him?
Who could it be? Could it be a Targaryen?
…
Pycelle asked cautiously, "Then what should I write?"
"Just write the truth. Weren't you planning to secretly murder Tyrion Lannister?"
"I was… I am a maester. If I weren't forced by someone, I would have no reason to harm a person… Ah…"
A cold glint flashed. The half of Pycelle's white beard that reached his chest was sliced off by Glynn's dagger.
"Do not test my patience…"
As he spoke, Glynn frowned. He could smell the stench of urine.
"Maester Pycelle, do you know what to write now?"
Pycelle felt a deep despair in his heart. He could feel the murderous intent emanating from the young man before him.
*I am a member of the Small Council. Surely this young lord wouldn't dare…* He recalled the confession he was forced to write that night, and Hand Stark… Pycelle despaired once more, realizing this man truly did not fear killing him.
*As long as I can live, one day…* Pycelle choked out, "Lord Glynn, from this day forward, I am your loyal servant. Please forgive my foolishness. I will write it now!"
Pycelle wrote, wiping away tears from time to time, cutting a truly pathetic figure.
Glynn's hand moved to his sword-hilt. Maester Pycelle flinched, and his pitiful act vanished instantly.
…
"Lord Glynn, I have finished writing."
"Rewrite it. Do not forget that you have no quarrel with Tyrion."
…
"Lord Glynn, I have finished writing."
"Rewrite it. How dare you slander Ser Jaime?"
…
"…Rewrite it."
"…Rewrite it."
"…Rewrite it."
…
"Sob… Lord Glynn, I beg you, give your poor servant some guidance."
Glynn's long fingers tapped the arm of his chair. "Maester Pycelle, you should be well aware that Lord Tywin does not love his dwarf of a second son, correct?"
…
Glynn finally showed a hint of satisfaction. Maester Pycelle finally let out a breath he had been holding. He felt that if he had failed to write it correctly this time, his life would have ended right here. Fortunately, he had managed to save his own skin.
Glynn took the parchment Pycelle had written on and said, "Pycelle, thank you for your trouble. This is very good. You've given yourself another path forward."
Pycelle forced a smile and expressed his gratitude obsequiously.
Glynn waved the rolled-up parchment in his hand. "Rest assured, this is a secret between the two of us. The Hand of the King is not interested in such things."
Pycelle was momentarily stunned. He scrambled to his feet and knelt before Glynn, wailing, "Lord Glynn, I do not want to take the black! I don't want to go to the Wall! I beg you, save me!"
Lord Glynn did not seem to mind the strong smell of urine coming from Pycelle. He stood and personally helped the old maester to his feet.
"You must, after all, continue to be loyal to the Lannisters. It must have been difficult for you to go against Queen Cersei's will."
After a pause, Glynn added, "We are on the same side. I will not send you to the bone-chillingly cold Wall. You may sit on the Small Council with an easy heart."
A glimmer of light flashed in Pycelle's murky eyes. With old tears streaming down his face, he said, "Thank you, Lord Glynn. Pycelle will forever await your command."
Glynn gave a slight nod. "There is one more thing."
With his head bowed, Pycelle's gaze shifted. "Please, give your order," he said respectfully.
A slight smile touched Glynn's lips.
He placed a hand on Pycelle's shoulder. "Maester Pycelle, I had thought we were on the same side, but your earlier performance was very disappointing."
Glynn felt Pycelle's body stiffen for an instant.
"It seems you realize it was wrong not to be honest with me. Since you have made a mistake…"
Panic filled Pycelle's eyes. He stammered, "Lord Glynn, I… I… Under your guidance… I will never dare to do so again. I promise, I swear it to the gods."
Glynn patted Pycelle's shoulder. "Very good. I will believe you this one time."
Before Pycelle could breathe a sigh of relief, Glynn continued, "This time, you may choose for yourself."
Pycelle's heart skipped a beat. He trembled as he asked, "My… my lord… choose… choose what?"
Glynn looked out the window, paused, then brought his gaze back. "Before sunrise tomorrow."
Glynn sized up the decrepit old maester. "A finger will do, or an ear. You may choose a body part yourself. Have it delivered to me before sunrise tomorrow."
Pycelle cried out in terror, "Lord Glynn, I have already…"
Glynn cut him off. "I can also choose for you."
Pycelle slumped onto the stone floor like a pile of mud.
Glynn looked down at Pycelle's ashen face and said coldly, "The prerequisite for being on my side is complete honesty. Otherwise, how can we trust one another? Without trust, how can I be at ease letting you keep your seat on the Small Council?"
Pycelle suddenly raised his head and gritted his teeth. "I am a member of the Small Council to begin with!"
Glynn paid no mind to Pycelle's defiance. He simply watched him quietly.
Pycelle quickly realized what he had just done, and another wave of heart-wrenching regret and tearful begging began.