"Stop talking nonsense, Tyrion!"
A sharp voice cut through the corridor, followed immediately by another, more dangerous one.
"And don't forget," the second speaker added grimly, "you are my brother."
"I finally dragged myself back from that cursed hellhole in the Riverlands," the first voice continued without slowing down, "and not only did you fail to greet me properly, now you have the gall to pester me the moment you see me, asking for a small favor?"
A snort of disbelief followed.
"A small favor? You call a bathtub full of gold a small favor?"
Jaime Lannister's mocking tone echoed faintly through the hallway.
"And do you have the faintest idea how many Gold Dragons it would take to fill an entire bathtub? Ten thousand, at least! At a minimum!"
"Damn it all," Jaime went on irritably. "Do you think I excrete gold like our father, Lord Tywin Lannister, the Honorable Treasurer of the Rock and master hoarder of dragons?"
The other voice answered lightly, almost lazily.
"I've already spoken to Father about it."
There was a short pause, then:
"He agreed."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy.
"Unless, of course," the speaker added pleasantly, "you intend to disobey our lord father's orders, Tyrion."
A sharp hiss came from the shorter man.
"Of course not. But you have to understand—ten thousand dragons is not pocket change! Even House Lannister does not mint its own gold out of thin air!"
"Oh?" Jaime said dryly. "That's not what your accounts of brothel expenses suggest."
"Seven hells, Jaime! Have you ever learned to shut up in your life?!"
The two brothers were still bickering loudly as they pushed open the doors leading into Adam Marbrand's office.
Commander Adam Marbrand looked up from the mountain of scrolls scattered across his desk, already exhausted beyond measure.
The moment his eyes fell on the tall knight in white armor, his body froze.
For a second, his mind did not react at all.
Then—
"By the Seven Above…"
Adam leapt from his chair so fast it nearly toppled backward.
"Jaime?!"
He rushed around the desk and crashed into Jaime in a bone-crushing embrace, the steel of their armor clanking loudly.
"You lucky bastard!"
Adam pulled back just enough to stare at Jaime's face, disbelief and wild joy written all over his expression.
"I knew it! I knew you wouldn't die like some nameless fool in a southern swamp. If Lord Tywin hadn't blocked me at every turn, I would have marched half the Westerlands into the Riverlands and dragged you home myself!"
Jaime laughed and returned the hug with equal strength.
"It's good to see you too, Adam."
As the eldest son of the Earl of Ashemark, Adam Marbrand had been sent to Casterly Rock as a child to serve as Tywin Lannister's page. From there, he had grown up alongside Jaime, training, fighting, and laughing under the golden banners of House Lannister.
They were both knights through and through—simple in their values, blunt in their loyalty, and unwavering in their devotion to battle.
Their bond had been forged in the training yards of the Rock and tempered by real blood on real battlefields.
And yet—
During the Battle of the Whispering Wood, Adam had been sent east with the cavalry to engage Edmure Tully's forces at the Red Fork, missing the fateful encounter that led to Jaime's capture.
By the time news reached him, Jaime had already become the Kingslayer in chains.
Seeing him standing alive before his eyes now felt like the Seven themselves were playing a cruel joke in reverse.
"Oi! Excuse me!"
A new voice suddenly cut into the reunion.
A voice low, sharp, and distinctly offended.
"Are you two done hugging? Or should I leave the room and come back later when you've finished embracing like love-struck maidens?"
Adam blinked.
Then he looked down.
And finally noticed the short figure standing beside Jaime, arms crossed, golden hair disheveled, mismatched eyes filled with irritation.
"Oh! Look at that," Adam said with exaggerated surprise.
"The Halfman exists after all."
Tyrion Lannister scowled.
"Yes, yes, laugh it up. It's not as if I've spent my entire life being invisible already."
Before Tyrion could take another breath, Adam suddenly bent down, grabbed him around the waist, and hurled him up onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Adam!" Tyrion yelped. "Put me down, you brainless brute!"
The Commander laughed loudly and bounced Tyrion once for emphasis.
"My dear Lord Treasurer! Where's my pay? You're three months behind in wages! Have you brought my money with you today?"
"I… can't… breathe!"
Tyrion kicked helplessly in the air.
"Money! Yes! Of course there's money! There is always money somewhere when I'm involved, you brute! Now put me down before I throw up on you!"
Adam raised his eyebrows.
"You threaten that every time."
He lifted Tyrion slightly higher.
"Pay me today or I'll sell you to Silk Street as a dwarf gigolo. I'm sure someone will pay good money for your sharp tongue."
Tyrion gagged dramatically.
"I swear by the Seven, Adam, you set me down right now and I'll personally ensure you never see a dragon again for the rest of your miserable life!"
Despite his words, Adam held him carefully.
For all his roughness, he had never treated Tyrion cruelly.
He and Jaime were seven years Tyrion's seniors. They had watched him grow up at the Rock, scrawny, strange, and stubborn.
Lord Tywin's hatred toward his own son was no secret, but to blunt men like Adam, blood was blood.
And Tyrion's wit, courage, and occasional flashes of quiet kindness made him far more respectable in their eyes than most noble fools.
"Alright, Adam," Jaime said with amusement.
"Put him down. Before he actually vomits and floods your office."
Adam laughed and set Tyrion back on his feet.
Tyrion straightened his crushed velvet coat with exaggerated dignity and glared.
"I hope you both choke on gold dragons."
Adam clapped him on the shoulder.
"We missed you too."
As the brief moment of laughter faded, Adam's gaze drifted downward.
His eyes landed on Jaime's right wrist.
On the empty space where a hand should have been.
The room seemingly froze again.
"Your hand…" Adam said quietly.
His smile vanished.
His entire posture shifted.
"Who did it?"
Jaime hesitated.
"The man who cut it off is already dead," he said calmly.
Adam's jaw tightened.
"And you think that makes it better?"
Jaime shrugged.
"It makes it finished."
Adam took a deep breath.
"I have time, Jaime," he said seriously. "Tell me who hurt you."
Jaime looked at him quietly.
Then smiled faintly.
"Not today. It's a long story. And right now, I need your help."
Adam did not push further.
"Then speak," he said simply. "I'm listening."
"I'm looking for someone," Jaime said. "A friend."
Adam raised a brow.
"He saved my life," Jaime continued. "We parted ways after returning to the city. He said he would visit my father at the Red Keep tonight… but it's already evening. I haven't heard a word from him."
Something in Jaime's voice made Adam serious.
"He doesn't break promises," Jaime added.
"Name?"
"Vito Corleone," Jaime replied. "He's a doctor."
Adam turned sharply toward his adjutant.
"Humphrey!"
"Yes, my lord!"
"Mobilize the Gold Cloaks. Every unnecessary job is now canceled. I want every patrol focused on one name—Vito Corleone."
"Yes, my lord!"
"Find him before night falls."
Humphrey saluted and turned to leave.
"And one more thing," Adam added darkly.
"Tell Sven Rothesby to stop wasting men on whatever half-baked nonsense he's chasing."
"If he delays the Hand of the King's business again, I'll skin him alive."
Humphrey nodded quickly.
"Yes, Commander."
"Whatever mess lies in Flea Bottom or the fighting pits can wait. Tell him to deal with this Rorg
er nonsense properly."
"Yes!"
Humphrey bowed and turned.
"Wait!"
Jaime suddenly spoke.
"Rorger?" he repeated slowly.
Adam looked back.
"You said… Rorger?"
The name hung heavy in the air.
Something dark stirred in Jaime's eyes.
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