บท 237: Chapter 238: The Imp’s Preparations
Tyrion Lannister, or "The Imp," wore a thick wool cloak as he made his way through the cold, dark dungeons.
"How much further?" he asked.
"We're nearly there, my lord," replied Hallyne, the pyromancer, holding a torch to guide Tyrion through the tunnels under Rhaenys's Hill.
Tyrion followed Hallyne through the passages until they finally reached a spacious underground chamber, where saltpeter covered the damp walls.
At the entrance to the chamber, Hallyne left the torch outside, taking only a sealed candle-lit lantern as he proceeded cautiously.
It seemed that flames had to be handled with extreme care here.
"My lord, as you see, here is the substance I mentioned."
Tyrion picked up a jar, examining it carefully. It was a small, round, reddish clay pot, just large enough to fit in his hand.
"My lord, be careful," Hallyne cautioned, visibly tense. "The clay shell is fragile; be careful not to drop it."
His cautious attitude made Tyrion extra careful. He unscrewed the cap and looked inside at the thick green liquid, asking, "This is wildfire?"
"Yes, my lord. The essence of our wisdom," Hallyne replied proudly.
"It's the essence of the Mad King's madness," Tyrion muttered under his breath. But now, he needed this substance. "I've heard that once this stuff ignites, even water can't put it out?"
"That's correct. Wildfire seeps into fabric, wood, leather, and even steel, setting them ablaze, and water can't extinguish it. It burns until everything is reduced to ash."
"Perfect. I'm quite fond of your 'essence of wisdom.' How many jars of it do you have?"
"About eight thousand."
"Eight thousand!" Tyrion was stunned. "How did you end up with so much?"
Hallyne chuckled. "The Mad King was quite fond of it, my lord. We produced a lot of it for him."
He hesitated, choosing not to mention that the Mad King had once planned to bury jars of wildfire all over King's Landing, intending to burn the city to the ground.
Tyrion grimaced and said, "I'll need these. Soon, the officers of the City Watch will come to you. You're responsible for teaching them how to safely set up and use the wildfire."
"Understood, my lord."
Leaving the dungeons, Tyrion mounted his mare and rode back toward the Red Keep.
As he neared the castle, he noticed a large crowd of ragged townsfolk gathered in the square outside the gates, shouting for food.
His guards grew tense, drawing their swords to keep the people at bay. Gold Cloaks were also called out, escorting Tyrion into the keep without incident.
King's Landing was already facing food shortages. Tyrion understood this too well.
At least, he thought, it was fortunate that his uncle had taken those fifty thousand men out of the city. He felt sympathy for the starving people, but he couldn't produce food out of thin air, and he had more pressing matters at hand.
Pushing these thoughts aside, Tyrion entered the receiving hall in the Tower of the Hand, where a group of blacksmiths awaited him, kneeling as he entered.
Climbing onto his chair—a bit high for him—Tyrion signaled for them to rise and said, "Master smiths, I have summoned you for an important task."
The blacksmiths exchanged uncertain glances before one stepped forward and said, "We await your instructions, my lord."
Tyrion beckoned, and Bronn stepped forward with a canvas sack, tipping its contents onto the rug. A few dull clinks echoed as metal clattered onto the fabric.
"This is your task," Tyrion said, pointing to the items on the ground. "I need a thousand more links like these."
One of the blacksmiths picked up the object and examined it: three thick iron links joined together to form a short chain.
"What do you need these for, my lord?"
"You don't need to know that," Tyrion replied curtly. "I just need to know if you can make a thousand of these in five days."
"These links aren't difficult to forge, but a thousand in five days—that's a lot, my lord," the blacksmith replied hesitantly.
"A thousand in five days. It has to be done," Tyrion insisted. "I want every forge in King's Landing working on these chains around the clock. Everything else can wait."
The blacksmiths glanced at each other, and one spoke up again, "But, my lord, the Queen Regent ordered us to forge more armor and weapons for the newly recruited Gold Cloaks…"
"Stop that work," Tyrion commanded. "Finish the chain links first."
"But, my lord, the Queen Regent said she'd break our hands if we didn't finish the armor on time."
"That won't happen. I assure you." Tyrion muttered a silent curse at Cersei, who was always complicating things.
Relieved, the blacksmiths nodded and then asked, "My lord, iron prices have been rising, and forging these chains will require a large amount of raw iron and coal."
"Tell me what you need; I'll cover the costs," Tyrion promised. "A Lannister always pays his debts."
Once he'd finished with the blacksmiths, Tyrion immediately left the Tower of the Hand and headed to Maegor's Holdfast.
As he entered the Queen's quarters, the singing and harp music stopped abruptly.
"Oh, Lancel, my dear cousin, I didn't realize you had such a lovely singing voice," Tyrion called cheerfully as he strolled over to the bed.
Suddenly, he felt a pang of pity for his brother Jaime. The woman Jaime loved so deeply had already found a replacement during his darkest days.
Lancel stiffened at Tyrion's sarcastic tone. "Tyrion, did the Queen Regent summon you?"
"No," Tyrion admitted. "My apologies for interrupting, but I have urgent matters to discuss with my sister."
Cersei lay lazily across her bed, her bare feet crossed, her golden hair loose and beautiful. She glared at Tyrion with fury in her green eyes. "Imp, get out!"
"Dear sister, you look especially lovely tonight," Tyrion said, offering a quick compliment before continuing, "But before you kick me out, perhaps you should hear what I have to say."
Cersei bit her lip, her expression venomous. "What could you possibly want?"
"It's not good news, admittedly," Tyrion shrugged, "but it is a matter of life and death—for all of us. Could we speak privately?"
Lancel clearly didn't want to leave, but with a signal from Cersei, he reluctantly departed, casting Tyrion a glare on his way out.
Once the door slammed shut, Tyrion jumped onto the bed, grinning. "I heard that King Robert died in this bed. And you kept it?"
"It brings me good dreams." Cersei kicked him off. "Now hurry up and speak."
Tyrion got up, rubbing his bruised knee, but his smile remained. "I've received news that Stannis Baratheon is gathering his forces on Dragonstone. He'll likely launch an attack on King's Landing within five or six days."
Cersei leaped up, furious. "Damn it! And you're here grinning like a pumpkin at a harvest feast! Are the city's defenses prepared? Have we sent word to Harrenhal? And Kevan—he never should have taken that army to the Stormlands!"
"Uncle Kevan's 'army' would only worsen the situation if they were here," Tyrion assured her, raising a hand to calm her. "Don't worry, dear sister. I've made arrangements. If Stannis dares to attack, I'll turn his fleet into fireworks."
"Really?" Cersei looked at Tyrion with deep skepticism. "What have you arranged?"
"As I said, fireworks. Oh, and a chain." Tyrion smirked.
But his smirk only enraged Cersei, who slapped him hard across the face.
"Ow!" Tyrion protested, clutching his cheek. "Do you realize I'm trying to save our family—and your life?"
"You?" Cersei scoffed. "You can't do anything but consort with whores!"
Tyrion, losing patience, explained, "I've ordered the blacksmiths to prioritize my task, so your armor will have to wait."
"You're making me wait?" Cersei fumed, raising her hand to strike him again.
But Tyrion dodged quickly, adding, "Father warned you to obey me. Unless you want him to marry you off to some smelly Ironborn lord, you'd best cooperate."
At the mention of their father, Cersei finally relented, though her eyes still blazed with fury. "Don't get cocky, Imp. One day, you'll be at my mercy."
Tyrion shrugged, unfazed by her threat. "One more thing. On the day Stannis attacks, I'll need King Tommen to appear on the walls to inspire the troops."
"Absolutely not!" Cersei shrieked.
Tyrion had expected resistance, but not such a violent reaction. He tried to calm her. "He won't be in any real danger, I promise. He just needs to wear armor and appear under heavy guard atop the walls. It'll boost morale."
"No! You've already taken one child from me. I won't let you take my last!" she screamed "Impossible!" Cersei continued to scream, "You won't get away with it! Not a chance!"
Tyrion was also furious: "I'm not here to negotiate with you. This must be done. Think about it carefully, if King's Landing unfortunately falls, how can your son be safe? By then, Stannis will hang Tommen, you, and my head on the city walls."
"No, no!" Cersei broke down and cried.
This time, Tyrion was dumbfounded.
He hadn't seen his sister cry in many years. Even during their childhood in Casterly Rock, Cersei wasn't a girl who cried easily.
When his sister cried, as her brother, he should comfort her... but this... this is Cersei...
Tyrion hesitated and moved his short legs to his sister, tentatively patting her shoulder.
"Don't touch me!" Cersei turned her body away.
Tyrion sighed and said, "I swear to you, if anything happens to Tommen, I'll pay for it with my life. That should be enough, right?"
Cersei sniffed and said indignantly, "If only I were a man. Then I wouldn't need you fools! Father would give power to me, not you, the idiot dwarf!"
Tyrion shrugged: "Alright, dear sister, this "idiot dwarf" will have to fight to defend the city. You should get some rest. Also, I hope you grow a dick soon."
(End of Chapter)
TL: Caught Up with the other translation.
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง