Chapitre 31: chapter 31 the giant returns
Cersei Lannister - POV
Cersei stood on a high balcony of the Red Keep, her knuckles bone-white as they gripped the stone ledge, her face cold beneath a mask of regal beauty. Below her, the fleet of foreign ships sailed into the port, each vessel massive and black like steel arrows aimed at the heart of King's Landing. The sun cast their shadows long and dark upon the water, making her skin prickle with dread. The Beast had returned.
A shudder ran through her, but she stilled it with a tightening of her lips. He was back—that abomination, that foul spawn of her twisted little brother. Her father's latest "favorite," who had not only dared harm her precious Joffrey but had left Jaime a fractured shadow of his former self. She thought of Jaime, her beloved twin, who once carried himself with the easy grace of a lion but now looked downcast and haunted whenever the boys name was spoken. It was as if the memory of that boy had slashed Jaime's pride open, leaving it to bleed, unhealed.
And yet, she was helpless. "As useless as a kitten with its claws ripped out," she thought with a bitter sneer. Even Robert wouldn't touch the boy, even after what he'd done to his heir, for as he liked to say Tyrion's son pays more taxes than anyone else in the realm. Not to mention his trade empire brought in barrels of the finest spirits in the world, and Robert, who worshipped his cups, cherished those drinks more than he cared for his own blood. My poor Joffrey, she thought, clenching her fists, her golden hair spilling around her face in loose waves. Her son's last run-in with that brute had left him traumatized, his arrogant gleam replaced with a flicker of fear. All because he'd dared mutter a slur about her dwarf brother.
She closed her eyes, rage surging through her. Even her father—Tywin Lannister, the most feared man in Westeros at least he was—refused to punish the boy. She still felt the sting from her father's slap that day he arrived, red-faced and thundering that if she attempted anything against his "heir," he'd see her locked in a cell until she learned her place and all because i tried paying some swords to kill him. He'd chosen that monster over her sons, over the rightful legacy for Casterly Rock. The Rock was meant for Tommen, her sweet, innocent boy, not that monstrous creature who had outgrown most men by the time he was five. But Tywin had made it clear: the boy would inherit everything.
A scowl twisted her beautiful face, transforming her features from lovely to lethal. She couldn't stand the thought of seeing that face again—the defiant eyes, the easy smile that seemed to mock her with every look.
"My queen," came a sly voice from behind her.
Turning, she found Littlefinger there, his sharp features alight with that signature smirk that made her skin crawl. Dressed in dark, elegant silks, Petyr Baelish looked every inch the ambitious lord he was, with clever eyes that always seemed to be calculating his next move. He bowed low, though his gaze never left hers.
"Have you come to ask me for something, Littlefinger?" she sneered, her voice like honeyed venom.
He chuckled, unfazed. "On the contrary, my queen. I've come with a solution to our…mutual problem."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what do you want in return?"
"Simple," he replied smoothly, leaning against the balcony rail with that infuriating casual grace. "His businesses. Once the Beast is dead, his empire will be ripe for the taking."
Cersei's gaze turned calculating. "If you manage to take his life, you can claim whatever scraps you can hold. But the kingdoms will fight for it including my father."
"Oh, my queen," he said with a glimmer in his eye, "I have my ways."
Her curiosity sharpened. "So, what is your plan, then?"
Littlefinger's smirk grew wider. "It's a simple matter of funds, my queen. The Faceless Men are easily the most effective assassins in the world. No soul who crosses them returns to the light."
Cersei's heart leapt at the name. The Faceless Men—their reputation alone chilled the spine, and for good reason. She had once considered using them herself, but her coffers were watched too closely by Robert and her father. "And how do you intend to pay for such a thing? You're a cunning man, Littlefinger, but I doubt even you have that much gold lying around."
He laughed, a dark, dry sound. "I already have paid them, my queen. The deed will be done by nightfall. He will lay his head on his pillow and enter the sweet embrace of death."
Cersei's smile returned, cool and triumphant. Good, she thought, a deep satisfaction curling in her chest. Let that abomination perish. Let him die and free my loved ones from this curse. Soon, her claws would be restored, and she'd have Tywin's focus back where it belonged: on her children, Joffrey and Tommen.
"Thank you, Littlefinger," she purred, her voice silken. "For once, you might actually be of use."
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Tyrion Lannister - POV
The wind tasted of salt as Tyrion Lannister stood at the edge of the ship's deck, watching King's Landing come into view. Next to him, his son—tall, broad-shouldered, and calm as the sea itself—surveying the coastline with the slightest hint of a smile. Tyrion studied the boy's profile, the strong jaw, the cool, blue-eyed gaze that had none of the nervous fidgeting Tyrion had known as a child. No, his son bore the calm demeanor of someone who saw the world as an arena, not a threat.
"Tell me, what do you plan to do?" Tyrion asked, breaking the silence.
"About what?" his son replied, feigning innocence, though there was a spark of mischief in his eye.
Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Don't play coy. About your enemies here, boy. You know who I mean." His tone held the familiar bite of sarcasm, but there was worry beneath it. His son's confidence was admirable, but kingslanding was a nest of vipers, and he knew better than anyone the danger of underestimating those power hungry people who would do anything for more power.
His son laughed, a low, throaty sound that seemed to roll with the waves. "Oh, I'll handle them when the time comes. For now, I plan to enjoy myself. Have a drink with that fat oaf of a king, slap the prince around a bit, maybe make the Spider squirm." His grin widened. "And who knows? If Aunt Cersei provokes me enough, maybe I'll relieve her of a finger or two."
Tyrion couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, though he shook his head. "This isn't a vacation, you know."
The boy raised an eyebrow. "Feels like one. I'll have some fun—and then I'll take care of business."
Tyrion looked at him, his expression torn between pride and exasperation. "And if someone tries to stop you?"
His son's smile faded slightly, replaced by a grim seriousness. "Then I'll do what's necessary. Worst case? I carve my way through the Red Keep. Give it a new reason to be called the red keep and remind everyone of the boogeyman who they seem to have forgotten."
The words were calm, almost casual, but they made Tyrion's stomach twist. "Sometimes I wonder if you're too confident," he muttered.
"Would you rather I wasnt?" the boy asked, amusement flickering in his gaze.
Tyrion sighed, glancing at the nearing port. "No you are a lion and have shown you are deserving of your confidence so do as you will. I have no love for Cersei, and my only concern in King's Landing is you and your uncle jaime."
The boy hummed in a low, thoughtful tone. "Well then, I'll make sure not to kill or cripple Uncle Jaime, for your sake."
"Much appreciated," Tyrion replied dryly, though relief glimmered in his eyes.
The ship creaked as it neared the dock, the outline of King's Landing sharpening into focus. Tyrion's heart pounded as they prepared to disembark, but he said nothing, letting his son take the lead. As the steps lowered, the boy moved first, his stride confident and steady, his cloak made out of a bears hide billowing behind him. Tyrion followed close behind, ready for whatever awaited them.
The red keep would soon know that the Beast had returned—and this time, he would not leave as quietly as before.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone