A Heart That Yearns for Peace?

Lord Gryn had not expected to encounter such an important "plot character" on his very first day in King's Landing.

Gryn's mind stirred; there were not that many coincidences in this world. At this point in time, the Lannister family was still a "loving" unit—was Tyrion here to scout the situation ahead of time for Cersei?

Tyrion Lannister's announcement that he was buying drinks for the entire tavern was met with loud cheers from the patrons.

Tyrion's squire tossed a heavy pouch of Gold Dragons into the arms of the tavern keeper.

In Gryn's line of sight, Tyrion stood straight, his small stature puffing up with reserved pride as he responded to the loud expressions of gratitude from the crowd.

It was September of 297 AC in Westeros; Daenerys, a young maiden, should currently be residing in the mansion of Illyrio Mopatis, the Magister of Pentos on the continent of Essos, alongside her brother.

The future Hand of the Queen, Tyrion, was currently squandering gold across Westeros, living life to the fullest.

Life was strange enough.

Tyrion hopped onto the chair opposite Gryn's table. His squire placed two empty wine glasses in front of them and filled them from a flagon.

Tyrion raised his glass toward Gryn in a gesture, took a sip, and savored the taste. "Summer Wine from Dorne. Rich with the aroma of fruit and a sweet finish—it is my absolute favorite..."

Tyrion grinned and continued, "Every sip is like tasting the fragrance of a maiden; the aftertaste is endless."

Gryn smiled faintly.

Gryn placed a palm over his chest and nodded. "Good evening, Lord Tyrion Lannister."

Tyrion leaned back in his chair, swirling his glass. "Has my reputation already spread across the entire peninsula? I am deeply and unexpectedly honored."

Gryn raised his glass and tasted the Summer Wine. This time, he didn't knit his brows; it tasted quite good.

"In my childhood memories, whenever I refused to sleep, my mother would use your reputation to frighten me. You were the shadow of my childhood. After I grew up, I specifically looked into it and realized it was just a well-intentioned lie from my mother. So, it is no surprise that I could recognize you."

"Aha, that must be a tragic memory!"

Gryn chuckled, as if lamenting. "My homeland is far too distant."

Tyrion reached out, grabbed some roasted meat from a plate, and chewed it before suddenly asking, "Are you not worried about the Hand of the King?"

Gryn shook his head. "Great men do not intentionally pay attention to a small figure."

Tyrion raised his glass again. "When I was your age, I often dreamed of having my own dragon one day. Is this the burden of inheriting a family estate?"

"My legs are too short and my head is too large, but at least this head fits me well. Relying on it, I know very clearly what I can and cannot do; it is my weapon. Jaime has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my wits... What about you? Little Lord?"

Tyrion's final tone carried a hint of disdain.

Unexpectedly, Gryn sensed a well-intentioned warning beneath Tyrion's words.

Tyrion lowered his head to drink, his eyes sweeping up to glance at the still-indifferent Gryn.

Tyrion set down his glass, staring at Gryn with keen interest.

A faint smile appeared on Gryn's lips. "A heart that yearns for peace? I don't think anyone would have the heart to stop a heart that yearns for peace."

Tyrion was surprised by Gryn's answer. He paused for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Indeed, everyone loves that. To peace!"

Once the laughter died down, Tyrion's tone turned serious. "If I were you, I would make a similar choice. But, young man, I must warn you: our Queen is occasionally quite willful—and not in the way people generally understand. My advice to you is to bring Jaime along at such times; only Jaime can talk sense into Her Majesty."

"I will keep that in mind, Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion leaned his entire small frame across the table, staring at Gryn with an even more serious expression. "Then, Lord Gryn, tell me: are you still a virgin?"

As expected, Gryn had felt earlier that Tyrion was about to pull some prank.

Facing the grinning Tyrion, Gryn's expression was complex as he firmly shook his head in denial.

Tyrion's laughter grew even louder.

Gryn rested his chin on his hand. Perhaps I should go listen to some music at a brothel tonight? The focus is on the music.

The next morning, Hook Harbor, temporary residence.

Gryn woke up and rubbed his head.

Drunkenness is like loving the wrong person; once the intoxication fades, you wake up, and then Gryn felt the sting—the sting of losing Gold Dragons.

Tyrion's mind held too many secrets of Westeros, and his eloquence was remarkable. Gryn had listened and drank, and before he knew it, he had gone overboard.

Still unsatisfied, the two had gone off to listen to music, and Gryn had generously thrown money around everywhere.

Gryn felt regretful, warning himself: never again.

The Reach, Horn Hill, the morning sun rose.

Samwell Tarly dragged his overly large frame, holding his breath as he sought out his father—Randyll Tarly.

Samwell Tarly was extremely obese, with dark hair and a pair of grey eyes set in a huge, round face.

The bald Randyll Tarly sat majestically at the dining table, having breakfast with his family. The table was quiet, save for the faint sound of cutlery and whispers.

Samwell Tarly's arrival seemed to shatter the family's peaceful meal. Randyll Tarly merely glanced at him from the corner of his eye, ignoring the cautious, hopeful look Samwell cast his way.

At the entire dining table, only Randyll Tarly's youngest son, Samwell Tarly's brother, Dickon Tarly, quietly greeted Samwell.

"Fa... Father, forgive... my intrusion. I..."

Samwell could not help but raise a hand to wipe away cold sweat.

Bang!

Randyll Tarly set down his knife and fork, and the others ceased their meal in silence.

"Fool, if you know it is an intrusion, why come at such a time! Look at you, covered in useless fat!"

Samwell shrank his neck in fear.

"Weak, obese, only capable of burying your face in books, spending your days reading about the achievements of men far superior to you."

"You are about to come of age, yet you are unworthy of inheriting my lands and titles."

Randyll Tarly's wife, Melessa Florent, could no longer bear to listen, but not wishing to argue with her husband in front of the children, she left the table in a fury to express her displeasure.

His wife's departure had its effect, and Randyll Tarly finally ceased his humiliation of Samwell.

Samwell looked at his mother's retreating back with a face full of guilt.

Samwell was born into this family carrying Randyll Tarly's hopes and dreams; from the moment of his birth, he had been burdened with excessive expectations.

As the firstborn son, Samwell had been given too much hope by his father, Randyll.

When Sam was very young, Randyll Tarly had doted on his son. But as Sam grew older, Randyll Tarly discovered that his son was not the man he had hoped for.

Although Randyll Tarly had exhausted his efforts to groom Samwell, he found himself at a complete loss when faced with him.

Once those hopes had shattered bit by bit, the upright and rigid Randyll Tarly became thoroughly disappointed in his son, even to the point of loathing him.

"Fa... Father, I... have studied the battle tactics of House Crabb."