"Is there something else?"
Seeing that Corleone did not bow and withdraw as expected, but instead remained standing where he was, Tywin raised his eyes slightly, a flicker of doubt passing through them.
Normally, after receiving an order, a clever man should immediately go and think about how to execute it, rather than lingering.
And the man before him was clearly no fool.
Meeting Tywin's scrutinizing gaze, Corleone showed no sign of stage fright or any intention of beating around the bush, speaking directly: "Yes, my lord."
"I have one more personal request that I hope to receive your approval for."
"Speak up." Tywin's voice betrayed neither joy nor anger.
"I once promised Lady Falyse Stokeworth that I would secure a decent position in the City Watch for her husband, Ser Balman Bywater."
The air went quiet for a moment as Tywin did not respond immediately, instead sizing up Corleone.
He did not take offense at such a sudden request.
After all, in Tywin's view, people who were without desire or who acted solely on ideals were the most suspicious and difficult to control—people like Eddard Stark.
Only when a person has desires and wants do they have weaknesses, making them easy to control.
"Why didn't you go to Ser Adam Marbrand?"
He looked at Corleone and asked pointedly, "He is the commander of the City Watch; arranging a position would not be a difficult task for him."
"Given your relationship with Jaime, he likely wouldn't refuse."
This question was a small test; Tywin barely bothered to hide it, and Corleone could hear it as well.
But his answer came without the slightest hesitation, his voice clear and firm: "I work for you, my lord, not for Ser Adam Marbrand."
These words were frank and direct, making it very clear that he would not go over Tywin's head to find someone else—this was a show of respect for his authority.
"Haha... interesting."
Upon hearing this, Tywin, who had been stern and unsmiling for years, actually laughed out loud.
A very faint flicker of surprise passed through Corleone's eyes, but it quickly returned to calm.
Seeing his confusion, Tywin explained, "Countess Tanda Stokeworth is the aunt of Lord Gyles's second wife, and is also a distant cousin of Lord Gyles himself."
"The Rosby family is dwindling; once Lord Gyles passes away, then Rosby... will very likely belong to House Stokeworth."
Hearing this, Corleone had a sudden realization.
He hadn't expected there to be such a layer of connection between the two families; one could only say that the noble circle was truly messy.
"So..." Tywin continued to ask, "This is the first time you are doing something for me, Corleone.
"Even though Ser Balman was a very excellent knight in his youth."
"Are you sure you want to waste this... 'favor' as you usually call it, on a senile fat man?"
Corleone was silent for a moment, seemingly thinking seriously about Tywin's words.
When he raised his head again, there was only a near-stubborn certainty in his eyes: "If a promise to a woman cannot be fulfilled, then how can I make you believe every word I say to you, every thing I promise you?"
Silence fell over the study once more, the hearth fire crackling.
Tywin Lannister stared at Corleone for a long time, long enough to make an ordinary person feel pressured.
Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly.
This Vito Corleone always managed to hit the mark perfectly in his speech and actions.
Neither humble nor arrogant, possessing desires yet knowing how to package them with principles, knowing when to advance or retreat, and even more, knowing how to manifest his value.
That Jaime had brought back such a person after a trip to the Riverlands was perhaps one of the few lucky things that had happened to him in all these years.
Thinking of this, Tywin said no more. He pulled open a drawer of the desk and took out a blank piece of parchment stamped with the sigil of the hand of the king.
"Conveniently, Sven Rosby is dead."
As he wrote, he said: "Tomorrow morning, when the news I want to hear arrives, this commission will appear on Ser Adam's desk."
Conditions clear, exchange explicit.
This was the efficiency of Tywin Lannister.
"Good night, my lord."
Corleone understood, said no more, bowed to Tywin again, and turned to leave.
Tywin's gaze did not follow Corleone's back.
He stood up, his eyes falling on the massive map of Westeros nearby. His finger moved, finally pointing accurately at the territory marked with the Rosby family crest.
Vito Corleone... he repeated the name in his mind.
Truly an interesting person.
He had the shrewdness and ruthlessness of someone who climbed up from the bottom, yet he wasn't as crude and short-sighted as an ordinary nouveau riche.
If he had been born into some noble family, even as just a second son, his achievements would likely have been limitless.
The moment this thought arose, it inevitably stirred his most troubling concerns.
Indeed, even a man like Tywin Lannister had his own troubles, and that was...
...the legacy of House Lannister.
At the thought of his children, his brow furrowed slightly; after all, not a single one of them was easy to deal with.
Jaime, his eldest son.
Since childhood, he had been immersed in a longing for knightly legends, showing no interest in power, responsibility, or the continuation of the family line.
Getting him to take off that white cloak would likely be harder than conquering ten cities, no matter how Tywin tried to persuade him.
Tyrion... better not to mention him.
As for Cersei.
His eldest daughter had gotten her wish and become Queen, and now she was the Queen Mother.
Her desire and obsession for power were very much like his own, which had once given Tywin a glimmer of hope.
However, her wisdom, methods, and vision were completely unable to match her own bloating ambition.
One could even say... she was stupid!
Thinking about the matter with Eddard Stark, Tywin still found it somewhat difficult to let go even now.
They had clearly captured the Warden of the North, holding the best card in the Seven Kingdoms, enough to force the North to submit without shedding a drop of blood, and then link up with the Riverlands and the Vale!
Holding six of the Seven Kingdoms, the remaining two brothers, Renly and Stannis, wouldn't have been able to cause any significant trouble!
But what did Cersei do?
She actually indulged that idiot Joffrey in cutting off Eddard Stark's head, pushing the North and the Riverlands completely to the opposite side of the Lannisters!
In the end, he, the Lord of Casterly Rock, had to go to war again to clean up their mess.
Fortunately... the mess was almost cleaned up.
At this thought, Tywin's gaze turned cold and hard as he pulled open another drawer of the desk.
There were no documents inside, only a crimson badge lying quietly.
—The Flayed Man.
Rosby was located northwest of Blackwater Bay.
It was the most convenient route from King's Landing to Twilight Valley Town, almost entirely surrounded by vast fertile fields and gentle hills.
Septs, vegetable gardens, apple orchards, and barley fields were everywhere, full of abundant vitality.
During the ongoing wars, the Riverlands had been turned to scorched earth, and so Rosby and the neighboring Starkworth Castle became the guarantee for sustaining the hundreds of thousands of people in King's Landing.
It was said that almost half of the food consumption in King's Landing originated from these two loyal Crownlands fiefs.
It was precisely because of this irreplaceable contribution that Lord Gyles began to grow arrogant.
He firmly believed that although he did not hold a seat on the Small Council, he should have enough of a say before the iron throne.
Therefore, when his chosen heir, Sven Rosby, was killed, Gyles had the courage to march straight to the iron throne and righteously accuse the hand of the king.
At this moment, returning to the main keep from the attached small sept, Lord Gyles's mood was already different from when he had left.
After the Small Council meeting ended, he had been shrouded in a sense of resentment, almost unable to breathe.
Perhaps hoping to receive an answer from the gods, he had gone to the familiar sept and poured out his indignation to the septon he knew so well.
But fortunately, the septon did not rebuke Gyles, but instead comforted him with the teachings of the Seven.
"The Seven see all, my lord."
As he paced forward, the septon's gaze, which had seemed exceptionally focused in the candlelight, and his peaceful holy voice seemed to surface again.
"Man is born with sin; living in the world is a journey of atonement."
"Wealth, power, health, and even kinship are all tests granted by the Seven, or trials taken back."
"What is important is not indulging in feelings of sorrow and injustice, but in understanding the divine will within and making a more devout offering and conversion."
"Only through unreserved dedication and the rejection of the vain glories of this world can the soul approach the glory of the Seven and receive true justice."
The septon had spoken thus, his voice full of a sacred sense of mission.
Gyles felt that he had not fully understood the deeper meaning, but his mood had inexplicably become slightly better.
Perhaps he was not devout enough?
Thus, before leaving the sept, he had not only made the regular donation but also added an extra thousand golden dragons as a'special pious donation'.
Supported by two guards, Lord Gyles dragged his coughing, sickly body back to his bedchamber on the top floor of the castle's main tower.
He refused the offer of his exceptionally supple mistress to attend to him, wanting only to be alone.
Lying on the large bed hung with heavy curtains, the fatigue of the day intertwined with the strange peace brought by the sept at night, and his thoughts began to grow active again.
Tywin Lannister's power was immense, but he was not without enemies.
Perhaps he could contact several other nobles who were equally dissatisfied with his dominance, or even... go to Prince Oberyn Martell for help?
The Dornish would certainly be glad to see the Lannisters suffer.
And there was the Faith. Yes, that septon; he seemed very insightful, perhaps he could get a word in with the High Septon through him...
His clouded eyes rolled in the darkness as Gyles calculated carefully how to make Tywin reconsider the classification of Sven's death.
At the very least, he had to give House Rosby a more 'decent' explanation.
But just as his thoughts were unsettled and he began to grow drowsy.
Suddenly, Gyles's eyes widened. In a daze, he seemed to see an eerie silhouette detach itself from the shadows at the foot of the bed, silent, like an entity born from a nightmare!
Fear made him want to scream, to call for those guards outside whose footsteps he usually complained were too heavy.
However, a cloth with a strange odor firmly covered his nose and mouth.
Cold, damp, but unshakeable.
When Lord Gyles regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a chair, the surrounding environment incredibly familiar.
Isn't this my damn cellar!
He struggled frantically, but his mouth was gagged and he could make no sound.
Until then, a clear shadow stepped before Gyles.
"Good evening, Lord Gyles."
1
It was him!
Hearing this voice, Gyles immediately widened his eyes, finally managing to see the person before him clearly.
Vito Corleone!
That detestable commoner who had exonerated Jaime Lannister before the iron throne that afternoon!
But now, he had long since shed those magnificent outer garments, wearing only a dark undershirt with sleeves rolled up, looking like a craftsman, or... a butcher.
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