Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 292 Tywin Lannister

Inside the council chamber of Harrenhal, the air suddenly became tense because of the words "Tower of Bliss".

Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne was the first to react, his slender finger precisely pointing to the ochre-red area in northern Dorne on the map: "The Tower of Joy—if I'm not mistaken, it should be in some hidden valley in the Crimson Mountains. It was an ancient tower overlooking the Summer Sea, now long abandoned."

Euron Greyjoy stroked his chin, calmly analyzing, "Judging from the situation, Miss Lyanna should be safe and sound. Otherwise, Rhaegar wouldn't have remembered to give the location before he died. However, having three Kingsguard guards protecting her is a bit troublesome."

"Then what are we waiting for!" Robert Baratheon jumped to his feet, his fighting spirit surging. "Let's muster our troops immediately, head to Dorne, and rescue her!"

Although Eddard Stark remained silent, his clenched fists and eager eyes clearly showed that he wished he could fly to his sister's side immediately.

"Foolish!" Lord Jon Arryn shouted, his aged but sharp gaze sweeping over the two young men. "We are now only one step away from final victory—the conquest of King's Landing! If we divide our forces now to launch a campaign against Dorne, giving the Mad King a chance to regroup, all the bloodshed and sacrifices we have made may be in vain! Those ten thousand-plus soldiers who died at the Trident River will have died in vain!"

Lord Horst Tully nodded gravely. "Lord Jon is right. We cannot afford to lose sight of the bigger picture; the fate of the kingdom rests on this."

Just as the stalemate reached its peak, Euron spoke again, his words carrying a strange, reassuring quality: "Lord Eddard, Robert, your concern is blinding. You should know better than anyone that the chivalry of those three Kingsguard—Arthur Dayne, Oswell Heaney, and Gerald Hightower—would not allow them to harm a woman or child in the slightest. Their presence by Lyanna's side is actually the strongest protection. They will not allow her to suffer any harm, nor will they allow anyone, not even their own, to offend her. Her safety is not a concern in the short term."

These words were like ice water, slightly extinguishing Robert and Ed's impulse.

They had to admit that Euron had pointed out the key—the Kingsguard oath itself was Lyanna's strongest shield at this moment.

When Aerys II's letter, threatening Jaime's life and ordering Tywin to immediately send troops, reached Casterly Rock, it was like a boulder thrown into a deep pool, finally creating the most fatal ripples.

Lord Tywin Lannister had maintained his neutrality with astonishing patience, observing the kingdom's conflicts with a detached eye, like a lion lurking in a golden cave, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He despised Aerys's madness and carefully assessed the strength of the rebels. But all this calm calculation was utterly shattered the moment Aerys used the life of his eldest son, Jaime, as a bargaining chip.

That letter crossed a line that Tywin Lannister absolutely could not cross—his family, especially his chosen heir.

The gates of Casterly Rock swung open with a roar. Lord Tywin Lannister didn't even waste time replying to the insulting letter.

Tywin Lannister never acts impulsively; he is calmer than anyone else.

The frigid air carried a chilling pre-battle atmosphere, yet he stood in the tent, as still as if cast in iron. The candlelight flickered in his deep green eyes, but it couldn't ignite a single ripple. He walked to the heavy oak table, spread out a sheet of sturdy parchment, dipped his quill in ink, and moved with a steady, unwavering motion.

Every word was carefully considered, like a move on a chessboard that decides the outcome.

He summoned his servants, who sealed the rolled-up letter tightly with cooled gold wax, pressing it affixed with the Lannister lion emblem. "Give it to Grand Maester Paisell immediately," he said in a deep, flat voice, "with the fastest raven."

The jet-black bird flapped its wings and disappeared into the night, carrying two secret orders that could turn the tide of battle, flying towards distant King's Landing: first, immediately move Jaime Lannister to a place of absolute safety; second, open the gates for him—Duke Tywin Lannister.

The message had been sent. Tywin turned to look at the map; the outline of the war was already clear in his mind. This wasn't a momentary impulse, but a game that had already begun, one he was destined to win. Calmness was the most effective weapon.

Tywin Lannister donned his crimson battle robes, mounted his warhorse, and rode before the Westerlands army, already assembled and poised for battle. The Lannister banner—a golden, roaring lion—flew for the first time on such a grand scale during this civil war, like a moving golden ocean, carrying chilling fury and destructive power, rolling towards King's Landing.

The Western forces, who had been observing from the sidelines, were finally forced into the battlefield by the Mad King's final madness.

Grand Maester Paisell, lurking deep within the Red Keep of King's Landing, was less a guardian of the knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms than a long-time pet of Tywin Lannister.

Loyalty? That's just another name for the price. For years, the golden dragons secretly transported from Casterly Rock to his chambers were so heavy they could bend the backs of the packhorses; the maidens wrapped in night and silk and sent into his towers were as tender and youthful as morning dew.

Tywin used gold and lust to firmly bind this chain around Paisell's neck.

Now, it's time to tighten the chains and let this pawn, buried deep within the core of royal power, play its role.

As the raven, its feathers as black as night, flew across the smoke-filled sky and landed on Paisell's windowsill, a knowing glint flashed in his cloudy old eyes beneath the chain. He shakily untied the letter tube, his fingertips touching the cold wax seal, as if he could feel Lord Tywin's icy will.

He unfolded the letter; it contained only two short lines, yet they weighed a ton. He wasn't surprised.

Prince Rhaegar had already fallen at the Trident River, the main force of the royal army had been annihilated, and the mad fire that had ignited on the Iron Throne by the Mad King Aerys was about to consume him. The allied forces were at their peak, and the tide had turned.

Pycelle staggered to the window, gazing down at the chaotic city of King's Landing. His aging, calculating heart was racing, weighing the options: Should he remain loyal to a doomed dynasty, burning to ashes alongside the mad king? Or should he turn to the new order forged in gold and iron by the Lion of the West?

The answer was as clear as when he accepted his first box of Golden Dragon cigarettes.

The so-called "right" side is always the victor. And Tywin Lannister, at this moment, represents victory. He slowly brought the letter close to the candlelight, the flame licking at the edge before quickly engulfing it. As the ashes fell, he had made his choice.

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