The next day, the Tower of the Hand.
Morning light fell slanted across the dark carpet.
Corleone stood quietly in the center of the solar, about ten paces from Tywin Lannister's massive oak desk.
Today he wore a dark grey wool tunic devoid of any family sigil, well-tailored but unassuming. His signature Black Hand cloak was absent; he stood tall and relaxed.
His calm gaze rested on Lord Tywin, who was reviewing documents behind the desk. He waited patiently, as if he could stand there all morning.
The Hand's hand was steady as a rock as he wrote, his speed swift, yet he seemed entirely immersed in his work, failing to notice the other person in the room.
Corleone showed no sign of irritation.
He knew very well that even though he now held a knighthood, in the presence of Tywin Lannister—the true core of power in The Seven Kingdoms—there was essentially no difference between a knight and a commoner.
Time passed. After about a quarter of an hour, Tywin finally set down his pen and raised his pale green eyes, fixing his gaze on Corleone.
"Be seated, Sir Corleone."
"No need for such formality."
He spoke words of concern, but his tone lacked any warmth. However, Corleone caught a flicker of satisfaction deep within those eyes.
Clearly, the wait just now had indeed been a test.
Tywin was observing whether this newly made knight, whose prestige and deterrent power had skyrocketed overnight, would become arrogant due to last night's victory or forget his place.
Corleone's posture of continued respect undoubtedly provided the answer Tywin wanted.
At least on the surface.
"Thank you, my lord."
Only then did Corleone bow slightly and sit down composedly, showing no sign of resentment at being slighted.
"Ser Gregor's injuries are severe," Tywin said suddenly. He didn't cut straight to the point but mentioned it as if in casual conversation. "Grand Maester Pycelle spent half the night fussing over him. He lost much blood and remains unconscious."
"However, just as you said, there is no immediate danger to his life."
Hearing this, Corleone's expression remained unchanged as he replied frankly, "As I said, I am first and foremost a physician, my lord."
"An understanding of human anatomy is the foundation of making accurate judgments. My statement that his life was not in danger was based on a professional assessment."
Tywin gave a nearly imperceptible nod, as if accepting the explanation.
But then, he shifted the topic and spoke quite abruptly: "You seem to be on good terms with Prince Prince Oberyn Martell?"
At those words, Corleone's pupils contracted slightly.
The blood feud between Dorne and the Lannisters was known to everyone in The Seven Kingdoms. Last night, Oberyn had made no secret of his hatred for Tywin and the Mountain.
Tywin mentioning his relationship with Oberyn at this time was certainly not without purpose.
Corleone's mind raced as he weighed his words, responding with a relaxed tone: "Prince Oberyn... has a rather unique personality."
"We had a wager over a small matter previously, which I was fortunate enough to win. He appreciates those who dare to take risks, so he owes me a favor. That is all."
He downplayed their relationship as one of a wager and mutual appreciation, implying they had no deep connection, let alone a political alliance.
This was a direct attempt to clarify his position through words.
After hearing this, Tywin did not press further. Instead, he turned his gaze out the window, as if lost in memory.
"Sir Corleone, you may not know that during King Robert Baratheon's rebellion, we House Lannister were the last to join the side of the victors."
"Therefore, to secure our footing, we had to show sufficient... sincerity."
He turned back, his voice steady as he recounted the events of over a decade ago: "When I presented the bodies of Aerys Targaryen's two children, wrapped in Lannister crimson cloaks, before the Iron Throne, everyone understood. Our house had forever forsaken the Targaryen dynasty."
"Robert himself was most gratified. Even a man like him knew well enough that as long as Rhaegar's bloodline remained in this world, his crown would never sit securely."
"Since he preferred to see himself as a hero and a liberator, then... someone had to do the necessary dirty work for him."
The air in the solar seemed to grow heavy.
Tywin made no effort to hide the bloody path behind House Lannister's rise from Corleone.
This was not a confession, but a warning and a lesson. He was telling Corleone that the path to the pinnacle of power is paved with bones; loyalty and value are often proven and exchanged through the execution of the filthiest tasks.
Corleone listened quietly, his face showing no sign of shock or surprise.
He merely pondered for a moment before speaking slowly: "My lord, I have always believed that in the game of thrones, 'greatness' and 'filth' are often synonymous."
"Beneath every seemingly stable throne lie buried skeletons and secrets untold to outsiders. A crown in the sunlight requires hands in the shadows to polish and consolidate it. This is the eternal price."
His answer did not judge right or wrong. Instead, using an almost philosophical tone, he acknowledged the rationality and universality of such bloody trades.
This was both an endorsement of Tywin's actions and a subtle expression of his own understanding of the nature of the game of power.
More importantly, it was telling Tywin a fact—he knew the rules of the game.
Hearing this, a flicker of approval flashed deep in Tywin's eyes.
This answer was clearly more to his liking than simple agreement or hypocritical moral condemnation.
"Correct," Tywin nodded slightly. "We did the dirty work for King Robert, and in exchange, we secured a firm alliance between Lannister and Baratheon."
"And in that 'dirty work,' Ser Gregor contributed the most."
He subtly acknowledged the fact that the Mountain had killed Elia Martell and her children, though he did not state on whose orders it was done.
"Consequently, our relationship with Dorne is not harmonious, and Prince Oberyn's attitude toward that grudge is the greatest obstacle."
Listening to Tywin's monologue, Corleone offered no opinion, for he knew the man was testing him.
In that case, he would give him ample space to speak.
After a brief silence, Tywin stared quietly at Corleone for a few seconds, his gaze seemingly able to pierce through flesh and look directly into the soul.
"You are very clever, Sir Corleone."
With a short laugh, Tywin spoke again, his voice unreadable: "Very clever indeed."
"Good at seizing opportunities, good at utilizing rules, and even better at remaining silent at the right time."
"But unfortunately, clever men often share a common flaw: they are more loyal to their own wisdom and ambition than to any specific person or house."
By this point, the warning was very direct, but Corleone still remained silent, listening quietly.
Seeing him like this, Tywin leaned forward slightly, the pressure he exerted suddenly intensifying: "I did the dirty work for Robert, and after waiting over a decade, I finally sat in the seat of the Hand, controlling the power of The Seven Kingdoms."
"Clegane does the dirty work for me, and for that, I granted him a knighthood, lands, and my protection, making him the most feared sword in the West."
As he spoke, his green eyes locked onto Corleone, questioning: "So, Sir Corleone, what have you done for me?"
"How am I to believe in your loyalty?"
Having reached this point, Tywin decided to stop beating around the bush. Every question was like a cold dagger pressed against Corleone's throat, forcing an answer.
Corleone met his gaze without flinching.
He knew that at this moment, any ambiguity or flowery promises would be fatal.
He needed to provide a clear answer, one sufficient to convince the man.
Under Tywin's gaze, Corleone slowly stood up, solemnly placed his right hand over his chest, and bowed slightly. His voice was clear and firm: "My lord."
"I... shall forever be your hand in the darkness."
He repeated the words he had used when first swearing fealty to Tywin, then continued his statement: "Last night, Ser Gregor Clegane disrupted the order of my banquet and also severely damaged the reputation of House Lannister."
"But considering he is your man, I ultimately deferred to your judgment."
Corleone emphasized his motive for retaliation and attributed his restraint to his respect for Tywin.
Then, Corleone straightened up, his gaze frank: "You have already granted me the title of knight and your recognition and support for the order in Flea Bottom."
"And what I desire is merely the opportunity to continue serving as that 'hand' for you, aspiring to one day sit upon a seat on the Small Council and await your command!"
He did not ask for any lands or offices but instead highlighted his ultimate ambition—nothing more than a seat on the Small Council.
This both lowered his posture and made his demands clear, making it very convincing.
Tywin stared at him for a long time, seemingly evaluating how much of Corleone's words were sincere and how much was calculation.
Finally, he nodded, leaning back into his chair as the pressure dissipated slightly.
"Very well," he said, his voice returning to its usual flat tone. "Remember your words, Sir Corleone."
"Now, tell me your specific plan regarding the expansion of Flea Bottom."
Hearing this, Corleone thought to himself that this damned Old Lion was truly too suspicious.
Fortunately, the man still needed him to get things done.
He sat down again, took out his PPT... parchment, and began to articulate his plan with clear logic.
Corleone had designed this plan for a long time, combining modern concepts with the actual situation in Westeros. He spoke of street grids, water and sewage systems, functional zoning, and how to achieve commercial profitability through interconnectedness.
His presentation was pragmatic and full of detail, focusing not only on a grand blueprint but also including feasible implementation steps. It was extremely thorough.
Tywin listened quietly, occasionally interrupting to ask one or two pointed questions, all of which Corleone answered with sound reasoning.
As the explanation deepened, a hint of admiration gradually appeared in the way he looked at Corleone.
It was as if he were saying, 'You're a bloody genius!'
The level of detail in this plan was truly rare in the world. Some of the infrastructure and construction concepts presented were unheard of even to him, the Lord of Casterly Rock!
"—That is the general outline, my lord." Corleone finished his explanation and let out a sigh of relief.
Luckily, in his past life, he had chased a girl who was an urban planning major and had spent every day accompanying her to lectures at the neighboring school; otherwise, he would have been completely in the dark.
"In principle, I agree with your entire plan."
Tywin gave a straightforward affirmative response: "The thinking is clear, the considerations thorough—much better than those fools on the Small Council who only know how to bicker over budgets and responsibilities."
However, he then shifted his tone: "But I have a concern at the moment, Sir Corleone."
"This may affect the progress of the Small Council's support for your plan."
"Please, speak your mind." Corleone knew the main event was coming and quickly bowed in acknowledgment.
Hearing this, Tywin slowly stood up, walked around the desk, and approached the massive map of Westeros.
His finger pointed to the bottom right corner of the map, to a small independent island not too far from King's Landing.
"Stannis Baratheon."
Tywin spat the name out, his voice cold. "Though he lost the Battle of the Blackwater, he still occupies Dragonstone and claims to be the rightful king."
"Furthermore, the Baratheon stronghold of Storm's End is still holding out. He himself continually harasses the coast of the Crownlands and conspires with sellswords across the Narrow Sea. He is a persistent nuisance."
As he spoke, he turned around, his green eyes staring directly at Corleone. "Originally, I had a task. I intended to entrust the retaking of Dragonstone to Ser Gregor Clegane."
"But as you can see, given Ser Gregor's current condition, I fear he will not be swinging his greatsword again anytime soon."
"So, Sir Corleone."
Tywin took a step forward, closing the distance to Corleone, and questioned him word for word: "Are you willing to take his place and go to Dragonstone for me to try and persuade Stannis Baratheon to surrender?"
At these words, Corleone's pupils contracted slightly.
Persuade Stannis to surrender?
That man who was stubborn beyond measure?
Everyone knew this was an almost impossible task.
If Stannis were that easily swayed, he wouldn't have continued to hold Dragonstone and defy the Lannister-Tyrell alliance after Robert's death.
Persuade him to surrender?
It was more like a death sentence!
"Of course, I know this task is difficult. If you are unwilling to go, I will not blame you."
"However, given that the expansion of Flea Bottom may lead to chaos similar to the previous two riots, I shall have Ser Adam arrange for two hundred City Watch soldiers to assist you in maintaining order."
Upon hearing this, Corleone immediately understood.
Fine, this damned old man was waiting for me right here!
He called it 'assisting in maintaining order,' but to put it plainly, it was an overt move to secretly monitor and divide Corleone's power!
Once the expansion plan was complete, the Gold Cloaks could naturally step in and reap the rewards!
For a moment, the air seemed to freeze completely.
Corleone's brain worked at an unprecedented speed.
Refuse to go to Dragonstone?
That would mean all his previous professions of loyalty were empty words, and his painstaking development in Flea Bottom would likely end up benefiting others.
Accept?
It was almost a certain death.
"It is no matter, Sir Corleone, you may rest easy."
Sensing Corleone's hesitation, a nearly imperceptible smile flashed in Tywin's eyes. "I know Stannis is a stubborn man; getting him to surrender is nearly impossible."
"You need only travel to Dragonstone, convey the Iron Throne's stance to him, and tell him that Storm's End will soon be taken by House Tyrell, at which point his forces on Dragonstone will be isolated and without aid."
"Quite simple, is it not?"
He spoke beautifully, but everyone knew that for Stannis, who had just suffered defeat, going to Dragonstone to persuade him to surrender at this time carried a high probability of being executed on the spot.
No, it was more likely he would be burned alive by that man as a sacrifice to some god who actually got things done.
This wasn't an option given to Corleone at all; it was merely a pretext to force him into submission.
Should he choose to refuse, Tywin would have sufficient reason to revoke all the power he had previously promised Corleone and naturally dispatch the Gold Cloaks to occupy Flea Bottom.
But a moment later, under Tywin's gaze, Corleone slowly stood up and met his eyes calmly.
After a few seconds, he bowed slightly and responded with a firm tone: "I have said, my lord, that I shall forever be your hand in the darkness."
"Therefore, I would be more than happy to go and meet this... King of Dragonstone on your behalf!"
more chapter available in p@tréøñ(Atoki_29)
30% offer on annual membership also