Brothers

(Thanks to reader 202108302200774 for the monthly ticket.)

(Why has it been so quiet these past two days? Come on, everyone, liven things up!)

"What happened?"

"How did it end so quickly?"

"Impossible! That was Barristan the Bold!"

"This must have been rigged!"

In the stands, the nobles of King's Landing broke into boos, utterly unable to accept such a perfunctory ending.

They were so worked up entirely because everything had ended too quickly.

Yes, too quickly!

No man liked hearing those words, much less five members of the Kingsguard!

After Arthas easily sent Jaime flying with a single punch, Barristan and the other three followed close behind, intending to surround Arthas from four directions.

All four swung their swords at Arthas at once. Everyone thought he would have nowhere to dodge this time, but everyone was wrong.

Arthas did not choose to dodge. Instead, he raised the deep-blue sword in his hand and traced a perfect circle like an elegant dancer.

Having absorbed a soul, Frostmourne's blade shone with a barely perceptible light. As the swords clashed, it sliced all four of their blades in two as easily as cutting tofu!

Knights deprived of their swords were like beasts stripped of their fangs and claws, left to let Frostmourne carve fresh wounds into them. Their sturdy armor offered no protection whatsoever.

Though Barristan remained agile despite being over fifty, he only lasted a few seconds longer than the other three.

As the massive fist descended, the man universally acknowledged as the finest knight in Westeros, who had scarcely tasted defeat since being knighted at sixteen, had no choice but to fall at the lion's feet.

"Littlefinger, this must have been your doing!"

Broken swords lay scattered across the field, and seven Kingsguard lay sprawled in every direction, but the noble spectators had no attention to spare for the defeated knights.

"You must have secretly switched their swords so Arthas could win and you could take all our money!"

A man in lavish clothing rose from the stands and pointed indignantly at Baelish, whose face was so mournful he looked as though his mother had died.

At those words, all the nobles in the stands turned to Baelish as one. If looks could kill, he would probably have been cut into a thousand pieces by now.

"Hey! Hey! Calm down!"

Though he was still calculating how to wriggle out of his debt to the Imp, if he did not explain himself now, he might never make it out of the tourney grounds.

He tried to maintain his usual elegance, but could not conceal the tremor in his voice:

"This was a fair contest witnessed by the Seven. How would I, Baelish, dare tamper with such a sacred tournament?"

Seeing that no one believed a word of it, he hastily pulled over the Imp beside him. At this moment, his creditor had actually become his greatest hope of salvation:

"I'm sure you all know Lord Tyrion Lannister. He wagered ten thousand gold dragons before the match. Everyone heard him."

"If Arthas won, I would have to pay him one million, one hundred and sixty thousand gold dragons!"

"Since betting opened, I have only taken a little over a hundred thousand gold dragons in wagers from all the nobles of King's Landing. Why would I tamper with the match and risk paying out such an enormous sum?"

Then he put an arm around the Imp's shoulders and shook him gently, looking at him pleadingly:

"Lord Tyrion, please explain it to them for me."

"Ahem..."

Seeing that the situation was becoming dangerous, the Imp decided to say a few words on his behalf. After all, if the crowd killed Baelish here, he could hardly dig up his grave to collect his million-plus gold dragons.

"They must be in this together!"

But just as he was about to speak, another shrill voice rang out from the crowd:

"That Lannister dwarf must have teamed up with Littlefinger and staged this whole thing to swindle us out of our money!"

"Who is spouting that nonsense?"

The Imp instantly blazed with anger. As a Lannister, though Tywin treated him poorly, he had never lacked money to spend since the day he was born.

He seized the lion sigil on his chest, as though he meant to hold it high for everyone to see:

"I am Tyrion Lannister."

"Son of Tywin Lannister."

"If I hear anyone else claim that a Lannister conspired with others for money, I will make him hear the lion roar!"

"A Lannister always pays his debts!"

His shout silenced the crowd at once. They feared Tywin's formidable reputation, and they also knew that the Lannisters' wealth was indeed renowned.

But the silence did not last long. When a rotten egg flew out of nowhere and struck Baelish in the face, the crowd erupted again.

"Damn you, Littlefinger! How dare you cheat us out of our money! I curse you to the Seven Hells!"

With that curse, the crowd shoved forward, surging toward Baelish and the Imp.

Before he could react, the short-statured Imp had already been stepped on several times. He struggled to squeeze out of the crowd, but lacked the strength and was swallowed up among the people along with Baelish.

Just as despair rose within him, the crowd suddenly fell silent again. Then a pair of powerful hands lifted him straight up and tucked him under an arm. Like a moving wall, the man easily pushed through the crowd and headed out.

"Clegane..."

Feeling the warmth of the Mountain's chest, the Imp actually found that savage face a little more pleasing to the eye.

"Hey, go easy on him, all of you!"

He shook his head, banishing that terrifying thought, then stuck out his short little arm and pointed at the crowd behind the Mountain, shouting:

"He owes me over a million gold dragons! Don't you dare beat him to death!"

"A Lannister always pays his debts..."

As the Mountain's strides grew longer, the two soon disappeared from the tourney grounds.

"Arthas Lannister!"

In the king's private stand, Robert stared incredulously at the victorious Lannister below and shouted his name.

The blond youth slowly approached Robert's seat, rested both hands on Frostmourne, and knelt on one knee to await the king's appointment.

The Kingsguard gradually recovered as well. Those whose longswords had been broken could only approach the king empty-handed. Only Jaime's sword remained intact.

The Kingsguard likewise knelt on one knee behind Arthas, as though the young man in red armor were their leader.

"You defeated all seven of my Kingsguard, accomplishing a feat without precedent in the entire history of Westeros."

Robert's gaze did not linger long on the five living Kingsguard. He merely gave the elderly Barristan an extra glance tinged with regret.

The old man, who had devoted almost his entire life to the sovereigns of the Seven Kingdoms, was nearly due to retire.

Returning his gaze to Arthas, Robert set down his beloved wine cup and asked loudly and solemnly:

"From this day onward, every knight in Westeros will train hard with you as his goal. Your name will resound throughout the Seven Kingdoms!"

"So, what reward would you like, Arthas Lannister?"

Robert stared intently at the boy of only fourteen. He had always regarded fearless, powerful warriors with admiration and respect.

Even if he was a Lannister.

"Your Grace, I want nothing."

Arthas's gaze was firm and full of respect, like an upright knight just setting out into the world, still dreaming of serving all beneath the heavens.

"I ask only that you honor your promise before the match and make me the glorious Commander of the City Watch!"

Looking into Arthas's loyal eyes, Robert found him increasingly likable. He truly was unlike the Lannisters Robert usually despised, with their perpetually sinister, appraising gazes.

"Then, young Lannister, one final question."

Having already made his decision, Robert voiced his last remaining doubt:

"With the Seven as witnesses, and all the nobles of King's Landing as witnesses!"

"Will you remain forever loyal to your king?"

"Your Grace!"

Arthas's smile was gentle and warm. His steady, upright tone actually reminded Robert of his dearest friend, far away in Winterfell:

"My blade will always serve you."

"Very well!"

Robert gave a decisive wave of his great hand. He had never even imagined that one day he would appoint a Lannister so willingly:

"I, Robert Baratheon."

"King of the Andals and the First Men, declare before the Seven."

"That Arthas Lannister is hereby appointed Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing, to command all the Gold Cloaks and maintain order in King's Landing!"

Having solemnly finished the words of appointment, Robert laughed and picked up the wine cup beside him:

"Commander Arthas, the safety of King's Landing is in your hands!"

"Of course, Your Grace."

Arthas slowly rose. Rather than displaying the jubilation of an ordinary young man, he retained his upright, steady expression:

"I will guard King's Landing day and night, until the last moment of my life."

This pleased Robert even more. He almost felt the urge to marry his daughter to him.

But then he remembered that Myrcella was still young, and that she was also Arthas's niece.

Though Robert himself had a quarter of Targaryen blood, he was not particularly supportive of marriage between close relatives.

"All right, Barristan."

Putting those tangled thoughts aside, Robert looked at the five Kingsguard still kneeling:

"And the rest of you, Ser Arys Oakheart."

"Ser Boros Blount."

"Ser Mandon Moore."

"There is no shame in losing to a warrior like him."

"Chin up, all of you! Your king still needs you to protect him!"

After so many years together, Robert could clearly name every one of them. This, too, was part of his personal charm.

Seeing their despondent faces after their defeat, he finally behaved like a king and offered his Kingsguard words of comfort.

Yet Jaime's was the only name he did not call.

"For the Seven's sake, go find Grand Maester Pycelle and have your wounds treated."

Seeing that, apart from Barristan and Jaime, their sword wounds were still bleeding, Robert could not bear to say anything more.

Leaving them with those words of concern, he departed with his cupbearer.

From beginning to end, he had not exchanged a single word with Cersei beside him, as though she were merely a stranger.

"Arthas, Jaime..."

After Robert left, Cersei looked helplessly between her two younger brothers below. For a moment, she could not decide whether to congratulate the victorious Arthas or comfort the defeated, dejected Jaime.

After considering it for a while and finding the choice impossible, she simply lifted her skirts and hurried away from this fraught scene as though fleeing.

"Jaime, get up."

Ignoring his nephew, who was still glaring resentfully at him from the stands, Arthas walked over to Jaime, thrust Frostmourne into the ground, and took his arms in his powerful hands to help him up.

"We are brothers. No matter who wins or loses, the glory belongs to House Lannister!"

Jaime raised his head and looked at Arthas's sincere face. Much of the jealousy and resentment in his heart actually melted away.

He nodded woodenly, then opened his arms and warmly embraced the younger brother who had humiliated him before everyone.

Feeling the other's powerful arms and burly frame, Jaime knew perfectly well that he would never surpass him again in this lifetime.

"Arthas."

Jaime stroked his younger brother's golden hair, like a lion grooming the mane around another's neck, and spoke softly into Arthas's ear:

"I know I have never really been a proper Lannister."

"I can rest easy leaving it to you."