Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 294 Jaime Lannister

After receiving Tywin Lannister's secret letter, the Allied vanguard cavalry paused for rest on a high ground.

Eddard Stark, Oberyn Martell, and Euron Greyjoy distanced themselves from the soldiers and went into the shade of a dead tree, the contents of the letter casting a heavy shadow of doubt among them.

Eddard unfolded the parchment printed with the sealing wax of a lion and solemnly repeated the core message: "Duke Tywin Lannister claims that he will lure King's Landing into opening its gates, demanding that we postpone our advance and keep our distance from him. We will enter King's Landing once the gates are under our control."

Oberyn gave a soft hum, his fingertips casually stroking the hilt of his gun. "If we can subdue the enemy without fighting, we'll naturally shed far less blood. But the question is—should we trust that old lion?" His red, serpentine eyes gleamed with the wariness and keenness characteristic of Dornish people.

Euron let out a low chuckle: "If what this letter says is false, Tywin's army is probably already at the gates of King's Landing. What should we do? Fight him at the walls? Our forces are outnumbered, and our chances of victory are slim. Or should we hold our ground and wait for Robert and the main army to arrive? Therefore, if the letter is false, we should march slowly and wait for the main army to arrive."

Euron changed the subject, casting his gaze towards King's Landing in the distance, and continued, "If what this letter says is true, then that is naturally the most ideal outcome. Moreover, you might as well think a little deeper—is there any possibility of reconciliation between Tywin and the Mad King? After suffering several public insults from Aerys, would a lion who always seeks revenge still bow down and serve as the Mad King's loyal servant? Therefore, if the letter is true, we should also proceed slowly, wait for the city gates to open, and avoid a siege."

"Whether it's true or false, we face different situations, but our approaches are the same."

Ed listened in silence, his pragmatic nature, honed by the harsh North, allowing him to quickly weigh the pros and cons. He nodded slowly, making his decision: "In that case, let's do as Tywin says, slow down, keep our distance, and observe the situation."

Night fell.

Tywin Lannister's twelve thousand soldiers from the Westerlands surged silently to the outskirts of King's Landing like a crimson tide of steel.

Their camp was orderly, with spears and halberds standing like a forest, gleaming coldly in the pale sunlight—this was not a hastily arrived, exhausted army, but a venomous snake lurking beneath the city walls, poised to strike.

Inside the throne room of the Red Fortress, the air was as thick as congealed blood.

The maester's chain around Grand Maester Paisell's neck jingled as he hunched over, holding a tightly sealed parchment high before presenting it to the shadow on the Iron Throne.

"Your Majesty," his voice trembled with deliberate reverence, "Duke Tywin has sent a letter—hearing the tragic news of the Trident, and deeply concerned for Your Majesty's safety, he has led his entire army day and night to come. He is willing to offer the loyalty and lives of his twelve thousand brave men of the Westerlands to defend the capital and protect your throne!"

Before he could finish speaking, a voice as urgent as the rustling of silk rang out. "Your Majesty, you mustn't!" Varys cried out.

He slid forward from the shadows, his pale face etched with genuine worry. "Duke Tywin's army arrived too conveniently, too swiftly. If he truly intended to rescue us, why didn't he go to the Trident sooner? Now that the city gates are open, letting the wolf in will have unimaginable consequences!"

Aerys II abruptly rose from the twisted iron throne, his robes torn in several places by sharp edges. His withered fingers gripped the jewel-encrusted scepter tightly, his bloodshot eyes, filled with rage, fixed on Varys.

"Shut up!" he roared, his voice echoing through the royal hall. "You spider in the gutter! What can you do besides sow suspicion and fear?" In his rage, he swung his scepter and slammed it down on Varys's shoulder. The heavy blow made the eunuch stagger, a look of pain flashing across his face.

Aerys, panting heavily, pointed his scepter at Varys, the gems reflecting a frenzied light. "Tywin has come to save my kingdom! If you dare utter another word, sowing discord between me and my loyal subjects," he leaned closer to Varys, lowering his voice, the threat more chilling than a roar, "I will fill your throat with wildfire and burn you to ashes from the inside out!"

He has gone mad, so mad that he can no longer distinguish right from wrong, so mad that he thinks he has grasped a lifeline, so mad that he believes in the lion that has long since broken ties.

Varys lowered his head, remaining silent, burying all his warnings and anxieties deep within his heart. Meanwhile, Grand Maester Paisell remained humbly bowed, a barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth in the shadows unseen by anyone.

Grand Maester Paisell's cloudy eyes swept quickly across the throne room, finally settling on Jaime Lannister, the Kingsguard. He tilted his head very slightly, then hunched over and silently retreated into the shadows of a side corridor.

Jaime understood immediately, gripping his sword hilt and following steadily. During his time in King's Landing, he had long known that this Grand Maester was his father's man and had secretly done him many favors.

After walking through a dimly lit corridor and making sure no one was around, Paisell stopped, his breathing slightly rapid. "Come with me," he said succinctly.

"Where to?" James raised his golden eyebrows slightly, a hint of youthful confusion on his handsome face.

"Get out of this vortex," Paisell lowered his voice, his tone carrying a barely perceptible urgency. "Do you really think your father led the entire army here to save His Majesty Iris? Staying with the Mad King will make you his hostage, and once your father enters the city, you will only face death."

James was strong enough to wield a longsword with ease, but faced with such a complex game of chess, his thinking seemed somewhat straightforward. "I—I'm not quite sure what my father is trying to do," he admitted, not fully grasping the deeper meaning behind his words.

Paisell shook his head, almost speechless; there was no hope of redemption. "Let's go," he said, having lost patience for further explanation, "Let's take refuge in the secret chamber until the fighting subsides—"

Jaime took a few steps, the armor and white robes making a slight rustling sound. Then he abruptly stopped, as if nailed to the spot. "No," he said, his voice low but unusually firm, "I cannot go."

Paisell turned around in astonishment: "What?"

"The King—he has planted wildfires all over King's Landing," Jaime's voice lowered, carrying the heaviness of having learned a terrible secret, "He intends to set it all ablaze when the city falls, so that the entire city—will be buried with him."

Paisell's face drained of color instantly, and he gripped James's arm tightly. "Then we should get out of the city immediately! The farther the better!"

Jaime shook his head firmly, his gaze fixed on the throne room, where the Mad King's intermittent roars echoed.

"No," James said, pulling his hand away from Paisell's. "I must stop this massacre."

Before he could finish speaking, he resolutely turned around, his golden figure disappearing back into the shadows of the hall, heading towards the mad king.