Casterly Rock.
The giant lion of the Westerlands perched on the cliffs of the Sunset Sea, silently watching the ebb and flow of its tides.
Inside a spacious study in the castle.
Duke Tywin Lannister sat behind his desk, reviewing the account books from various lords across the Westerlands.
His face was devoid of expression, his pale green eyes like two unpolished gems, sharp and penetrating.
A maester hurried in.
He respectfully presented a rolled parchment.
"Your Grace, a letter from King's Landing."
"It was specially delivered by a messenger, so it must be urgent."
Hearing this, Tywin finally looked up and reached out his hand.
Unfolding the letter, Tywin's gaze quickly scanned over it.
The study was quiet, with only the faint rustle of the parchment being turned.
When Tywin saw the line in the letter, "Jaime Lannister has resigned from the Kingsguard," a barely perceptible softening finally appeared on his face.
He slowly raised his head and handed the letter back to the maester.
"Reward the messenger ten gold dragons."
Tywin's voice was calm and unruffled, betraying no emotion.
The maester bowed and withdrew.
Once again, Tywin was alone in the study.
He stood up, walked to the balcony, and looked down at the surging waves of the Sunset Sea below.
In Westeros.
1 gold dragon = 210 silver stags = 11,760 copper pennies.
That means 1 silver stag = 56 copper pennies.
1 copper star = 8 copper pennies.
A table full of good food and wine, such as mutton, duck, oat bread, and ale, would cost no more than 1 silver stag, and you'd even get a handful of copper coins back.
A roasted sausage and a mug of ale cost only 1 copper penny.
A set of high-quality armor, including chainmail, gorget, greaves, and a full helm, would cost only 800 silver stags, or about 4 gold dragons.
Of course, the thickened plate armor worth 20 gold dragons that Lynn prepared for the Unsullied was far beyond what this kind of high-quality armor could compare to.
An old, not-too-rusty iron armor could be sold for 200 silver stags.
A decent warhorse cost around 750 silver stags.
The iron throne's debt exceeded 6 million gold dragons... It's worth noting that Ros's first night was once worth 1 gold dragon.
And a messenger, receiving ten gold dragons from Tywin for delivering a message, could only mean one thing.
Tywin was truly happy now.
Jaime had finally taken off that ridiculous white cloak and returned to his rightful place.
That is, the legitimate heir of Casterly Rock.
A feeling of relief finally welled up in his heart.
He had poured half his life's effort into this son.
He had trained him to be the most excellent commander, the most qualified lord, the most dazzling lion of House Lannister.
He was supposed to inherit everything from him, leading the glory of House Lannister to new heights.
Yet, for a fleeting vow, he had imprisoned himself in that white cage for twenty years.
Now, Jaime was finally back.
Though the manner was somewhat unexpected.
But the outcome was good.
Tywin finally allowed himself a smile.
He thought of his other son, Tyrion.
The dwarf who brought him shame.
When was the last time they met?
The last time they met was... last time.
Tywin himself didn't know when he had last seen Tyrion.
Then, after going north with Robert to ask Ned, there had been no news since.
Perhaps he died in some unknown prostitute's bed, or perhaps he fell into some wine barrel and drowned alive.
But Tywin didn't care.
He only knew.
House Lannister already had a qualified heir.
As for Jaime going north to help that Lynn... Tywin was not opposed.
He even welcomed it.
He saw through Robert's foolish scheme at a glance.
It was nothing more than trying to kill with a borrowed knife and reap the benefits.
But he underestimated the wolves of the North, and he underestimated the eagles of the Vale.
More importantly, he underestimated the lion of House Lannister.
Did he think House Lannister wouldn't act because of his threats?
Jaime going to the North was a good opportunity to see for himself what kind of person that Lynn truly was.
It was also a good opportunity to see how powerful his legendary dragon truly was.
If Lynn could win, House Lannister would gain a powerful ally with a dragon.
His "granddaughter" would also become the most powerful mistress of the North.
The Westerlands would sign a peace and friendship alliance agreement with the Gift.
If Lynn lost... that was also fine.
Tywin would personally lead the Westerlands army north to "avenge" his granddaughter's husband.
Then, under this pretext, he would naturally take over the vast lands of the North.
House Lannister would absolutely not stand idly by in this war!
Of course, they would not appear as allies.
They would enter the battlefield as saviors, when everyone else was exhausted.
Then, they would mercilessly seize the final spoils of victory.
Whether it was Stark, Arryn, or Tully... all would become stepping stones on House Lannister's path to dominating the Seven Kingdoms.
House Lannister would undoubtedly be the final winner.
As for the threats from Dorne and Highgarden?
Just a bunch of clowns.
He didn't care.
Tywin turned around and sat back down at his desk.
Spreading out a new parchment, Tywin dipped his quill in ink again.
He needed to write back to Jaime.
The content of the letter was simple.
[Go forth and act, Casterly Rock will always be your backing]
King's Landing.
The familiar smell of rotten fish and shrimp.
A man in a grey robe stepped off the recently docked merchant ship, the "Seasnake."
He looked unremarkable.
Like the most ordinary apprentice at the The Citadel in Oldtown.
Or an inconspicuous attendant to some minor noble.
His face was plain; thrown into a crowd, he would be impossible to find again.
No one noticed him.
In this city full of schemes and desires, everyone's gaze was focused on the towering spire of the The Red Keep, and on the important figures who were about to stir up the winds of change in the Seven Kingdoms.
The arrival of an unknown nobody was less significant than a drop of rain falling into Blackwater Bay.
The man passed through the crowded dock and entered the foul-smelling Flea Bottom.
The air here was even more murky, with drunkards' vomit and children's feces visible everywhere.
In a dimly lit tavern, the man exchanged a few copper pennies for a mug of poor-quality ale.
The liquid was cloudy, with a strange sour taste and a familiar bitterness.
But he didn't care.
He just sat quietly in a corner, listening to the chaotic conversations around him.
"Have you heard?"
"That Lord Lynn from the North married Princess Myrcella!"
"More than that! The King even granted him the Gift!"
"The most important thing is, he has a dragon! A real dragon! The kind that breathes fire!"
A mercenary, his face flushed from drink, gestured wildly, spittle flying.
"I saw it with my own eyes!"
"On the day of Lord Lynn's wedding, that dragon circled above King's Landing, its wingspan wider than the dome of the Great Sept of Baelor!"
"You're just bragging, I was there that day too, why didn't I see it?"
"I think you've had too much to drink!"
Dragon... The man's hand, holding the mug, was perfectly still.
In his mind, however, a completely different scene emerged.
That was the Valyria mines buried deep underground, a darkness and despair that never saw the light of day.
It was scalding magma, scorching air, and the blood-stained whips of the slave overseers.
And, the giant dragons circling above the mines, casting enormous shadows.
They were the masters' weapons, symbols of power, and the eternal nightmare of the slaves.
The Many-Faced God was born from that desperate darkness.
The first Faceless Man bestowed the gift of "release" upon those suffering in agony.
Then, he bestowed this "gift" upon the high and mighty Dragonlords as well.
The hatred between the Faceless Men and the dragon-riders was etched into their bones from the day the Faceless Men were born.
Dragons were the embodiment of fire, a miracle of life.
But in the eyes of the Faceless Men, they were merely remnants of the old tyranny.
All men must die.
Dragons are no exception!
The man's thoughts returned to reality.
He remembered another matter.
That man from the Iron Islands who called himself "Crow's Eye."
Euron Greyjoy.
He used a petrified Dragon Egg, acquired from who knows where, to try and buy his brother Balon Greyjoy's life from the House of Black and White.
He came here for dragonlore and the weaknesses of dragons.
Collecting Dragon Eggs was only to destroy them.
Assassinating Balon was merely a convenient act.
His true purpose in King's Landing was the living dragon and the man who controlled it.
Lynn.
A mortal should not possess such power.
Anyone who wielded such power would eventually go mad.
The man drained the last sip of bitter ale from his mug.
He needed an identity, an identity that would allow him to approach the North, to approach that man, without arousing suspicion.
He stood up and left the tavern.
First, he would assassinate Balon; destroying the Dragon Eggs was the urgent matter. Lynn's business could wait for now.
At the street corner, two City Watchmen in golden cloaks.
A perfect opportunity.
The man adjusted his breathing and changed his posture.
His shoulders hunched slightly, his steps became somewhat unsteady, and his eyes took on a hint of a thief's greed and timidity.
He fixed his gaze on a plump merchant who had just emerged from a brothel.
The merchant's money pouch at his waist was bulging, bouncing with his corpulent body.
The man, like an inconspicuous shadow, quietly followed him.
At a corner, he "accidentally" bumped into the merchant.
The movement was light, barely attracting any attention.
But as he passed the merchant, the heavy money pouch had already slipped into his sleeve.
He didn't leave immediately.
Instead, he deliberately slowed his pace, even looking back.
He wanted to ensure that the two City Watchmen could clearly see the fleeting "triumph" on his face.
"Catch him! My money! He stole my money!"
The fat merchant's shriek came as expected.
The two bored City Watchmen, like flies smelling blood, immediately surrounded him.
"Boy, put your hands out!"
One of the burly guards, his face covered in scars, pointed his sword at the man and barked.
The man obediently raised his hands, a panicked expression on his face, and the money pouch in his sleeve "accidentally" slipped to the ground.
The evidence was undeniable.
"Caught red-handed!"
"Come with me, little thief!"
The Gold Cloak sneered, reaching out to grab him.
"Wait a moment."
The man suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but it made both guards pause.
"You can arrest me, but can you tell me what crime I have committed?"
"Huh?"
The other tall, thin guard looked as if he had heard a joke.
"You stole something and you're asking us what crime you've committed?"
"I think you've lost your mind!"
"What is the charge for theft in King's Landing?"
The man continued to ask.
There was no fear on his face, only a pure curiosity.
"A hand chopped off, then thrown into the Black Cells!"
The burly guard said impatiently.
"If you're lucky, maybe you'll be sent to The Wall in the North, to serve in the Nights Watch until you die for the kingdom!"
"The Wall..."
The man repeated the word softly, as if savoring its meaning.
"Is it cold there?"
The two guards were completely baffled.
They had arrested at least a thousand thieves, but they had never seen one like this.
Caught, not begging for mercy, not resisting, but instead concerned about whether The Wall was cold?
"Nonsense! That's the North!"
"It's cold enough to freeze your balls off!"
The burly guard cursed.
"Stop the damn nonsense, come with us!"
"Alright." The man nodded.
Then, to everyone's astonishment.
He suddenly ducked, his shoulder slamming hard into the burly guard's chest.
The guard grunted.
Then, the guard, like an enraged bull, swung the heavy hilt of his sword down towards the man's head!
The man did not dodge, allowing the sword hilt to strike the back of his head.
Thud!
A dull thud.
The world instantly became quiet.
In the last moment before losing consciousness, a slight curve appeared at the corner of the man's mouth... When the man woke up again, he was already in the damp, dark Black Cells of the The Red Keep.
The back of his head still throbbed faintly.
The cell reeked, with piles of moldy straw and unknown filth in the corner.
Several equally ragged prisoners, like a heap of garbage, huddled in a corner, groaning in pain.
The man sat up, leaning against the cold stone wall.
He surveyed the filthy surroundings, his eyes as calm as still water.
Everything was going according to plan.
Assaulting a Gold Cloak was an aggravated offense.
He no longer qualified for a chopped hand.
The only outcome was to be sent to The Wall.
To become a "glorious" member of the Nights Watch.
Being sent to The Wall with the Nights Watch was his best camouflage.
No one would care about a group of scumbags.
A jailer, carrying a dimly lit oil lamp, walked over.
He pushed a bowl of dark, unknown gruel through the bars.
"Eat, you scum."
The jailer's voice was filled with disgust.
"This is your last good meal before you go to The Wall."
The prisoners swarmed forward, fighting over the foul-smelling food like hungry dogs.
Only the man remained still.
He just sat quietly in the darkness, closing his eyes.
The clamor of King's Landing, the stench of the cell, the wails of the prisoners... all faded away from him.
He only needed to wait now.
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