The moment Jaime Lannister demanded an answer, Humphrey's expression tightened with visible unease. He lowered his head, his posture respectful yet defensive.
"We searched most of the cells, Ser Jaime, but there was no sign of Corleone," he explained carefully. "He must have been placed elsewhere under Captain Sven's authority. Cross-team enforcement procedures are… complicated. My men are currently trying to find the exact location where he might be held."
Humphrey then shifted his gaze toward Commander Ser Addam Marbrand, adopting an almost helpless tone.
"My lord, as you know, Captain Sven and his men have always operated with a certain level of independence. His duties have rarely been questioned by others. And… well… he is a distant relative of Earl Rothesby. A true noble."
The subtle implication was intentional. Though Humphrey's words sounded like an explanation, he was deliberately fanning the flames. Addam's face darkened immediately.
"Bullshit!" Addam exploded, slamming his palm onto the table so hard that ink splattered. "The Rothesby family? Their entire 'territory' isn't even as large as a whore's panties! I'm the heir to the Earl of Branded City—does that idiot really think he outranks me?"
He stood abruptly, rage radiating from him.
"Go. Call that self-important bastard Sven back this instant! I want to see who thinks they run the Gold Cloaks. And I want to know who gave him the courage to detain the Hand's guest!"
Humphrey nearly smiled—inwardly. Outwardly, he sighed as though hopeless.
"I fear… he can't be called back right now, my lord. Captain Sven left for Flea Bottom with several of his men sometime earlier. Said there was an 'important task' he had to complete. He didn't share the details, and I didn't feel it appropriate to press him."
Addam's expression darkened further, and Humphrey could practically feel triumph blooming in his heart.
Sven Rothesby… this time you're finished.
While the commanders fumed, Rorger—who had been groaning on the floor—finally lifted his swollen face. His eyes widened as he recognized a man standing nearby.
Jaime Lannister.
Or rather, a cleaner, sharper, calmer Jaime Lannister than the broken one-handed man who had once rolled through the mud. His short hair and neatly shaved beard, combined with pristine white robes and armor, made him almost unrecognizable. But Rorger knew him instantly.
"Ah—!! Ser Jaime!" he cried, scrambling forward in a panic. The guards seized him before he could reach Jaime, but Rorger stretched his hands outward like a drowning man grasping a lifeline. Tears and snot streamed freely down his dirt-covered face.
"Ser Jaime, please! Corleone and I only won a bit of coin in Flea Bottom! But those damned Gold Cloaks conspired with the beast pit owner. They accused us of being escaped criminals!"
The words tumbled out in a frantic rush.
"Corleone tried reasoning with them, but they beat us without warning! They hit him over and over just to protect me—he took the blows himself!" Rorger sobbed harder, pounding his blood-stained palms against the floor. "They said they would convict us tonight and hang us at Mud Gate tomorrow morning!"
He crawled forward on his knees, almost collapsing.
"Ser Jaime… please save us. I'm a scoundrel. I deserve to die. But Corleone—Corleone is your savior! They'll kill him!"
The dungeon fell silent for a breath.
Humphrey watched Jaime's reaction with a flicker of unease. Rorger's words were exaggerated, of course—but they were powerful.
Jaime's eyes sharpened like drawn blades.
He turned slowly to Addam, his voice quiet but cold enough to freeze the air.
"Did you hear that?"
Addam swallowed. Jaime continued:
"My man. My savior. is here, in your cells, being framed as a fugitive, beaten, and scheduled for execution—all by your subordinates."
He stepped closer, emerald eyes burning with restrained fury.
"I don't care if Sven is a Rothesby or a dragon in disguise. Find Corleone. Bring him to me unharmed. If anything happens to him…" Jaime's voice dropped lower, sharper. "I swear on the Lannister name—the rains of Castamere will echo in Rothesby Castle for a month."
A chill spread through the room.
The rains of Castamere was not just a song. It was a warning carved into the bones of Westeros. A reminder that Lord Tywin Lannister had once erased an entire noble house—men, women, children—without leaving a single survivor. Another house had allegedly surrendered out of sheer terror after hearing the song performed in their hall.
Addam understood. His face tightened.
"Humphrey!" he barked. "Send someone to drag Sven back from wherever he ran off to. I don't care if he's halfway to Dorne—bring him to me! Now!"
"Yes, my lord!" Humphrey answered, startled by the command's intensity.
"And search every cell!" Addam continued. "Every corridor, every room. Turn the dungeon upside-down if you must. Within half an hour, Lord Corleone must be brought before Ser Jaime!"
Humphrey nodded frantically, then hesitated.
"Oh—right. There is one more place. A special cell at the very end of the dungeons. We use it for… unique prisoners. Corleone might have been placed there. I'll go check immediately."
"Wait."
Humphrey froze.
Jaime stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I will go with you."
Humphrey gulped. There was no arguing.
---
The Dungeon Stirs
Word spread quickly, and the once stagnant dungeons erupted with movement.
Boots thundered along the stone floor. Armor clattered. Orders were shouted back and forth, each more urgent than the last. Prisoners peeked out from their cells, curiosity rising above fear.
"What's happening?"
"Someone's being executed?"
"No… something big must've happened."
Before they could observe further, a furious guard stormed down the hall.
"Back! All of you, back!" he roared, smashing a wooden baton into the bars. "One more head sticking out and I'll bash your skulls in!"
The prisoners stumbled backward in alarm. A few were too slow and received blows that sent them sprawling. Their yelps and curses were quickly swallowed by fear as the guards lined the corridor, barking commands.
"Stay silent!"
"No looking!"
The dungeon became a cage of trembling shadows.
---
Jaime's Rising Fear
Jaime followed Humphrey through the dim corridor, his strides long and urgent. Humphrey practically jogged to keep pace.
The deeper they went, the heavier the air became. The stone walls dripped with moisture, and the stench—mold, blood, urine—grew suffocating. Jaime's jaw tightened.
Every breath made his imagination spiral.
Whipping? Torture? Mutilation?
Corleone's steady hands flashed in his memory—the hands that had stitched Jaime's severed wrist and given him back a semblance of hope. Hands that had saved his life.
If Sven had broken them…
If Corleone was already dead…
Jaime's fists clenched. He could almost taste blood on his tongue.
If they hurt him, I will make every last person responsible pay.
The further they walked, the more Jaime's panic mixed with rage.
Finally, the corridor opened into a dead end.
A heavy iron door loomed before them.
Humphrey wrinkled his nose.
"…Do you smell that?"
Jaime did. And it startled him.
A fragrance—light, sweet, completely out of place in this hellhole—drifted from behind the door.
His brows drew together sharply.
"Open it. Now."
Humphrey didn't dare hesitate. He fumbled with the keys and pushed the door open.
Jaime moved past him instantly, stepping into the doorway—
And froze.
Dead still.
His mind blanked for a full heartbeat.
"What the f—"
The words caught in his throat.
Because what he saw inside the special cell was ab
solutely nothing he had expected.
Not torture.
Not blood.
Not death.
Something so absurdly out of place that even the Kingslayer himself forgot how to breathe.
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