Leaving the council chambers, Tyrion Lannister nodded to Ser Mandon of the Kingsguard and walked through the long, vaulted hall.
Tyrion had many thoughts; defending King's Landing was a rotten job, especially with a group of ministers whose loyalty was questionable and intentions sinister. The citizens of King's Landing were always known for being chameleons and hot-tempered. After all, King's Landing was a major trading port, a city of 400,000 people, not a specialized defensive castle like Storms End.
"Fortunately, I am defending, not attacking. Holding the city is always somewhat advantageous. Not only me, but even my father Tywin Lannister's army is now focused on defense and counterattack, unable to stretch its battle lines further." Tyrion comforted himself. Not just himself, but the entire House Lannister, having ignited the conflict from the start and provoked enmity everywhere, was now somewhat mired in the quagmire of war.
Ser Jaime's forces had already been routed, leaving only Tywin's troops positioned at Harrenhal, ready to counter the Wolf Pack, deer, and trout coalition moving south or advancing east from Riverrun. As for himself, he only had a few hundred men to help defend King's Landing.
Seeing Tyrion, Bronn followed him. Timmy, son of Timmy, was nowhere to be seen.
"Where has our Red Hand general gone?" Tyrion asked Bronn.
"He wanted to look around. His people aren't used to waiting idly in halls."
"I hope he doesn't kill any important court figures." Tyrion knew the temperament of these Hill Tribesmen well. These visitors from the Mountains of the Moon were never suited for city life, especially with their fiery tempers and arrogance. If anyone offended them, they would draw their blades.
Tyrion instructed Bronn to find Timmy, ensure his wildlings had food and lodging, and have them guard his safety in the military camp beneath the Tower of the Hand. Even more troublesome, these wildlings had to be housed separately to prevent them from fighting again. The Stone Crow Clan and the Moon People Clan could not be put together, and the Burned Men Tribe needed independent barracks.
"If I were to arrange for you to kill The Boy Blacksmith, how would you feel?" Tyrion asked.
"Me?" Bronn looked at Tyrion and burst out laughing. "You want me to kill him? Would you be willing to reward me with Harrenhal, a reward as grand as Harrenhal?"
"Why not? This would be a great achievement." Tyrion smiled. "A Lannister always pays his debts. Just imagine how many gifts you would receive that day."
"Forget it, old friend. I want to live a few more years." Bronn spread his hands. "Your older brother was directly cut down by the storm, becoming a one-handed swordsman, and you're still talking about me? But he was still lucky, unlike fools like Bloodbeard and Khal Drogo. The battlefield is the battlefield; it's not about age, gender, or status, but about victory. They mocked The Boy Blacksmith for his youth, but The Boy Blacksmith took their lives."
"You wouldn't dare let the Queen Mother hear that."
"Alright, I'll be careful." The Mercenaries was already a little impatient. "I heard the King's Bastard is six feet six inches tall (1.98 meters). His strength and speed are incredibly astonishing, and his arm strength is boundless. I tell you, he is a perfect monster warrior, with long arms and legs, a wide attack range, and the explosive power of a brute, though he also exhausts quickly. But the blacksmith is furious and resilient, seemingly tireless on the battlefield. Oh, and he has an indestructible arakh. And the scariest thing is his mind. Generally, strong knights don't like to think, but this Boy has both a brain and a warhammer. Think about your older brother, lured into the forest. After the encirclement and charge, The Boy Blacksmith not only utterly defeated Ser Jaime but also killed many Red Cloaks who came to aid him. If Ser Jaime hadn't fled quickly, he would have ended up like Amory, cut in half."
"Are you that afraid of him?" Tyrion used a goading tactic.
"Of course I'm afraid of him, do you take me for an idiot? Old friend. I don't like doing risky jobs; one mistake and my head is gone." Bronn snorted, "Actually, your family's Mountain might be able to try, but that fool seems to be dead too. The Mountain's mind is rumored to not be very sharp. I don't think he would have succeeded even if he were alive. A faster, stronger, more cunning, and fierce opponent, even if slightly smaller, has The Mountain ever seen such a foe before?"
"Forget it, I'll take to the field myself, slay the Bastard, and let the Singers compose a beautiful song." The Imp chuckled. His main task was to defend King's Landing. As for confronting The Boy Blacksmith, how easy could that be right now?
"I hope I get to hear it someday." Bronn laughed. "But The Boy Blacksmith and the little Wolf Pack have your father to deal with; we still have Stannis and Renly to consider."
"Where are you going?" Bronn was curious. In the current situation, wasn't commanding the army the most important thing?
"I'm going back to the Broken Anvil." The Broken Anvil was an inn in King's Landing, near the Gate of the Gods, close to the city wall. Qira, daughter of Qick, and her Black Ears tribe Hill Tribesmen were staying at this inn, as was Shae.
Bronn suddenly understood; the dwarf still couldn't forget his little lover.
Bronn chuckled brazenly, "Do you need an escort? I heard the streets are quite dangerous."
"I'll call my sister's Captain of the Guard and remind him, by the way, that I am also a true Lannister. That fellow probably forgot that his allegiance is to Casterly Rock, not Cersei or Joffrey."
An hour later, escorted by a dozen Lannister guards wearing crimson cloaks and lion-crested helmets, Tyrion rode out of The Red Keep. As he passed under the gate, Tyrion noticed the heads hanging on the city walls; though dipped in pitch, they were already rotten and black, beyond recognition.
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