When the first ray of sunlight in the morning shone through Tower of the Hand's window, Tywin·Lannister had already woken up.
To be precise, he didn't sleep much at all.
Hand of the King, who is about to be crowned king, is sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees, his back straight, his dark red nightgown hanging down to his ankles, and the golden lion emblem embroidered on the fabric.
Even in the bedroom, he still maintains an almost rigid manner.
Outside the window, King's Landing was waking up, the sound of seagulls came from the direction of Blackwater Bay, and the sound of people began to sound in the market in the distance.
Tywin stood up, stepped on the cold stone floor with bare feet, and walked towards the bathroom.
When I passed the huge silver mirror, I paused unconsciously.
The man in the mirror has broad shoulders, and even though he is nearly sixty years old, his body is still more upright than most young knights. The only flaw is that the long golden hair that he was once proud of has long since escaped, leaving only a forehead that is more shiny than a certain eunuch.
The whole person looked like a majestic lion that had just awakened.
If you ignore those blue and black panda eyes...
Tywin's mouth twitched slightly.
He came closer to the mirror and gently pressed the skin under his eyes with his fingers. The blue-black color did not fade away, but became more obvious due to the pressure, making it look particularly dazzling in the morning light.
Damn it.
I didn't sleep well last night.
To be precise, he had been suffering from insomnia for many days in a row.
Lying on the large bed every night, the Prime Minister tried to close his eyes and listen to the sound of the tide in Blackwater Bay outside the window, counting his breaths to force himself to fall asleep. However, sleep was like a stingy creditor, always refusing to come as scheduled.
Even if I finally fell asleep, I would often wake up in the middle of the night and find myself in a cold sweat, but I couldn't remember what I had dreamed about.
Most of the time, he was almost awake until the first ray of sunlight came through the window.
And the culprit behind all this is none other than...
Flea Bottom.
To be precise, it's the silent guy in Flea Bottom!
After scratching his bald head, Hand of the King stopped looking at himself in the mirror and walked to the golden toilet at the other end of the bathroom to sit down.
Come down.
Soon, half an hour passed, just like every morning in the past.
... no results.
I am irritated and my old habit has become more and more stubborn.
These days, Pycelle Grand Maester prescribed him several medicines, including honey water, fig paste, and even a herbal decoction shipped from Dorne, saying it had "miraculous effects."
However, after drinking Tywin for more than half a month, the only "miraculous effect" was just running to the toilet a few more times to drain the water, but there was still no progress in the real problem that needed to be solved.
This makes Tywin even more annoyed.
As early as half a month ago, he ordered two thousand Lannister soldiers to garrison King's Landing, and most of the troops were deployed along the bacon street, completely blocking the north side of the Flea Bottom. He even specially arranged for Adam to station his elite soldiers near the bacon street, which can be said to have put enough pressure on Corleone.
As long as Corleone couldn't help but take action first, he would immediately label that Farmer as "sabotaging the coronation of the regent and plotting rebellion."
At that time, the entire the Seven Kingdoms nobility will be on his side, because no one will sympathize with a madman who launched a rebellion on the eve of the king's coronation.
Quite a perfect plan.
But that's just a plan...
Under the strict guard of Tywin, half a month has passed, but Flea Bottom is still as quiet as a pool of stagnant water.
The "community coordinators" in gray uniforms patrol as usual, the bread smoke rises on time every morning, and the Fighting Arena lights are still bright. Even the frequency of gamblers going to spend money at the risk of being searched every day has not decreased much, as if the Lannister soldiers on the periphery do not exist at all.
Tywin I really can't figure it out.
He went through all the possible scenarios in his mind countless times. In order to prevent Corleone from tampering with him before his coronation ceremony, he told Varys to send most of Little Birds to infiltrate Flea Bottom and try to find out what Corleone was doing.
But what Little Birds's sons reported made him even more confused.
According to them, Corleone just handles official business and meets with businessmen as usual every day, occasionally goes to Fighting Arena to watch two games, and at night he always sits in a daze on the windowsill with a black cat in his arms.
It's just as laid-back as Tyrion before he became Master of Coin.
So strange.
After all, to be able to be so leisurely surrounded by two thousand soldiers is either a lunatic or someone who is emboldened.
And Vito·Corleone is obviously not crazy.
This also caused Tywin to suffer from insomnia for half a month, because he knew that Corleone must be planning something, because it was the other party who proposed that he be crowned regent.
It is absolutely impossible for Corleone to not know that once he is successfully crowned, he will be able to legitimately suppress Flea Bottom's forces in all directions, and he must take countermeasures.
However, after such a long time, there was not even the slightest movement.
But the more silent he became, the more Tywin felt that there was an invisible sword hanging above his head, which might fall at any time.
The feeling was more unbearable than any actual threat.
Corleone did nothing, Tywin couldn't do anything.
He could only wait.
And waiting is precisely the most torturous thing in the world.
Another quarter of an hour passed. Tywin stood up and straightened his nightgown. He looked back at the golden toilet with an extremely complicated expression.
As the most powerful person in Westeros, he owns a huge gold mine and commands tens of thousands of elite troops, but he can't even control when he can pull out the arrow.
This is probably Seven's biggest mockery of him.
Walking back to the mirror helplessly, the servants had prepared the dress to be worn for today's coronation ceremony.
Deep red Velvet Robe, with a complex lion emblem embroidered with gold thread on the collar and cuffs, a sable-trimmed cloak, and a decorative long sword on the waist. The scabbard was inlaid with seven rubies, each one the size of a dove egg, shining with deep light in the morning light.
He had never used this sword on the battlefield, but today it will become part of the Regent's scepter.
Standing in front of the mirror, Tywin felt that he looked like a real king.
No, more majestic than a king.
After all, my eight-year-old grandson... maybe a grandson, doesn't have such a calm demeanor.
Lifting his chin slightly, Tywin looked at himself in the mirror with satisfaction.
Everything is perfect.
Except for the two patches of blue-black under the eyes.
With a cold snort, he picked up a small porcelain box from the silver plate brought by the waiter. The box contained Pycelle special concealer, and carefully applied it on the blue-black under the eyes.
The effect of the concealer is good, the blue-black color is much lighter. But you can still see it if you look closely.
Tywin stared at himself in the mirror and was silent for a moment.
Forget it.
Today no one dared to look into the eyes of the Prince Regent. The most they could do was look directly at their own boots.
Finally, he adjusted the collar of his cloak, turned around and walked towards the door.
Tywin has never liked riding carriages because he thinks carriages are for women and the elderly.
Women need shelter from wind and rain, old people need cushions and blankets, and he, Tywin·Lannister, Casterly Rock Duke, Warden of the West, Seven Kingdoms Hand of the King, is the soon-to-be-crowned regent.
Neither a woman nor an old man.
Therefore, before Hand of the King got up, the attendants had already prepared a purebred Dorne horse that was completely black.
All the decorations used on the horse from head to tail are extremely luxurious, even the mane is tied one by one, making it look like a lion in the morning light.
Tywin quickly got on his horse, gently held the horse's belly and walked towards the gate of Red Keep.
Behind him, more than twenty Lannister knights in red armor rode their horses to keep up.
The door of Red Keep opened slowly. King's Landing had been waiting for a long time. The streets were crowded with people on both sides.
Gold Cloaks held hands and formed a human wall to keep civilians away from the cordon.
There were men and women in the crowd, old and young, and there were even sailors and porters who came from the dock area to watch the fun.
There were various expressions on their faces, including curiosity, awe, and excitement.
But Tywin doesn't care.
What civilians think of him has never been within the scope of Hand of the King's consideration, because a lion does not need the love of sheep, only the obedience of sheep.
And today, when he wears the crown of the regent, all Westeros sheep will learn to obey the will of the lion.
Riding the horse forward, the horse's hooves stepped on the stone road, making a clear and powerful sound. Tywin's body swayed gently with the ups and downs of the horse's back, and its posture was relaxed and upright.
He has been riding horses for more than forty years, and the back of a horse is more comfortable for him than most chairs.
At least that was the case a quarter of an hour before I got on the horse.
Not long after, Tywin felt a familiar dull pain in his waist...
Damn hemorrhoids!
I adjusted my sitting position slightly, trying to take the pressure from the saddle away from the hemorrhoids, but the saddle was tailor-made and the fit was almost perfect.
This means that no matter how he adjusts, the pressure will always return to the place where he least wants it to return.
However, Tywin's expression did not change at all. He still straightened his back and looked straight ahead. After all, he did not want the civilians to see his embarrassed appearance.
In order to resist the pain, he had to force himself to think about other things and distract himself.
About ten days ago, a squad leader named Ralf De took a dozen soldiers to a restaurant for dinner, and then they all died there.
Sir Adam·Marbrand's findings are puzzling.
The owner of the restaurant has been running a shop in Bacon Street for more than ten years. He is honest and has a good reputation. He has no motive or ability to commit the crime at all. The only thing that is questionable is his daughter who works as a laundry worker at Flea Bottom...
The case is still pending.
But even more bizarre is what happened next.
About ten days ago, an old knight who called himself "Whitebeard" began to move around King's Landing.
That guy wore a gray-white coarse cloth cloak, with a hood that covered most of his face. No one had seen his true face, and he specifically targeted those Lannister soldiers who oppressed civilians.
Some extorted vendors in the market, some molested women in the alleys, and some were drunk and smashed other people's shops.
All the soldiers were found dead, with their money bags missing.
It is said that the money will always appear on the doorstep of the poorest people in the neighborhood, and everyone who has been helped by "Whitebeard" will hear the same words.
"If you don't want to be bullied again, go to Flea Bottom, Black Hand Mafia will protect your safety."
Too arrogant!
When he heard the news, Tywin's first reaction was that it must be Corleone's handiwork, and he immediately ordered a thorough investigation!
But the investigation results were unexpected. Under Varys Little Birds's spying, he was surprised to find that the guy named "Whitebeard" had no connection with Black Hand Mafia at all.
The only intersection between him and Black Hand Mafia was when he defeated the first-level player "Iron Hammer" in the Ring of Order, and he never appeared in Flea Bottom again after that.
This guy always wanders the streets and alleys of King's Landing alone, like a knight-errant from a knight novel.
Tywin used all available intelligence networks to try to find out the true identity of this person, but found nothing except "Whitebeard", which was obviously a pseudonym.
Finally, he had to hold his nose and admit a ridiculous fact.
This guy is just a crazy fan of Black Hand Mafia!
He must have heard about Corleone's deeds from somewhere and was moved, so he spontaneously picked up the sword and performed chivalry in his own way.
Maybe Corleone himself doesn't even know that this character exists!
And those people who have been helped by "Whitebeard" have become Flea Bottom's most loyal fans.
They passed it down by word of mouth, adding fuel to the story of "Whitebeard" and making it magical. Some said he was a fallen knight inspired by Lord Corleone, some said he was the envoy sent by Seven to assist Black Hand Mafia, and some said he was the "fearless" Barristan Selmy himself.
Tywin When he heard the last rumor, the corner of his mouth twitched all morning.
Barristan·Selmy?
Come on, that old guy is now assisting Targaryen on the other side of the Narrow Sea, planning to fight his way back to Westeros.
As the horses' hooves jolted, the dome of Great Sept of Baelor appeared in view.
The tower shone brightly in the morning light, and the streets around Sept were already crowded with civilians watching.
Tywin's eyes fell on the dome of Sept, and his eyes suddenly became sharp.
After today, he will be the regent of Seven Kingdoms. Corleone and Whitebeard will all kneel under his crown.
All the insomnia, constipation, and anxiety that kept him awake at night would come to an end today.
He will wear the golden crown, sit on Iron Throne, and hold the supreme authority of Seven Kingdoms!
No one can stop it.
No one!
He gently pinched the horse's belly, urging the horse to speed up.
The black horse let out a low neigh, stepped forward with four hooves, and ran towards Sept Square.
At this moment, a rapid sound of horse hooves came from the side and behind.
Tywin turned around and saw his captain of the bodyguard approaching on horseback.
"My lord."
Tybalt's voice was very low, ensuring that only Tywin could hear. "There was news from the city gate that Sir Osmund Kettleb Lake requested to enter the city."
As he said that, he observed Tywin's expression and saw that there was no change, so he fulfilled the duty of a guard captain and suggested. "Should we drive him away?"
"Sir Osmond should have led his troops north a month ago. Not only has he stayed in the territory till now, but he also chose to enter the city today to say what gift he wanted to give to His Majesty the Regent... Maybe he...
Tybalt didn't finish his sentence.
The silence lasted for several breaths.
"Let him come." Tywin's voice sounded, very briefly.
Hearing this, Taibert frowned in confusion, but still swallowed the words that came to his lips.
"Yes, sir."
The captain of the guard reined in the reins and turned around. The sound of horse hooves gradually faded away, and Tywin's eyes returned to Sept's dome.
He had known Osmond would come.
A month ago, Tywin ordered him to lead his troops northward to wipe out the remaining troops of Stannis·Baila Theon.
That "army" was nothing more than a hundred-odd ragtag group of people gathered from Kateb House Rykker. It was poorly equipped, sparsely trained, and had no actual combat capabilities. It was obvious that he was going to die.
But Osmond obviously didn't want to die.
This guy is dawdling in the family territory. One day he says there is not enough food and grass, the next day he says there is not enough weapons, and the day after tomorrow he says that several soldiers have lost their limbs during training and need to be recruited again.
Nearly a month has passed and he still has not gone north.
Tywin knew all this, but he didn't push it because... let's see what choice his crazy and stupid daughter would make!
Today is a good day to receive gifts.
A slight smile appeared at the corner of Tywin's mouth, and then the black horse took four hooves and galloped towards the Sept gate.
Sept Hundreds of nobles have gathered in the square. They are wearing the most gorgeous dresses and look like a sea of colorful flowers in the morning light.
Seeing Tywin coming on horseback, everyone calmed down and automatically separated to both sides to make way for him to lead to the gate of Sept.
The road is paved with a deep red carpet, extending all the way to the arch of Sept, looking like a river of solidified blood in the sun.
In front of the main entrance of Sept, several red archbishops are already waiting.
They wore dark red ceremonial robes with gold trim on their collars and cuffs, and the Seven-Pointed Star holy emblem hung on their chests.
Seeing Tywin coming on horseback, respectful smiles appeared on the faces of the archbishops at the same time. The leader stepped forward, folded his hands on his chest, and bowed deeply.
"Tywin·Lannister, Seven wishes you the best...
But he didn't even have a chance to finish his speech.
Tywin then pinched the horse's belly hard, and the black war horse stepped directly onto the stone steps leading to the gate of Sept with four hooves!
The archbishops exclaimed for a while, and the leader raised his head with a blank look on his face.
Because... the war horse is charging straight towards me!