Chương 32: chapter 32 a day in the red keep
Robert Baratheon's POV
I watch as the giant strides through the castle gates, a mountain of muscle draped in fine, dark armor lined with gold. Caesar Lannister—if not for the proud lion on his chest that is acociated with the lannisters, he might be mistaken for some ancient warrior king from the old tales. His face is harsh, his gaze keen, and his shoulders so broad he seems to block out the sun itself. Behind him trail a a few dozen men—bloodied warriors, their metal armor black and also with gold coloring not true gold since thats only reserved for their general, with hardened faces and keen eyes that scan the courtyard like wolves on the hunt. I see Dothraki too, I note, among the ranks, with their braids and sun-darkened skin wearing leather armor made to be light and let them fight with flexiblilty. From what I know of the horse loving warriors, they follow only strength. And they're following him all of them follow him the man who took over all their territory and made them his by killing all their khals.
A pang of envy hits me as i see him and Tyrion claws at me as he comes closer. Here is a young man who fought his way to power, conquered cities, earned respect, and forged a kingdom in his own right with no help from anyone not even his grandfather. A true king in the making of Essos. Not like me, chained to this cursed throne, a king only because the gods saw fit to take Lyanna from me. while giving me the Iron Throne. A cold, twisted, unforgiving mass of metal I'd rather toss in Blackwater Bay than sit on one more day. A kingdom I never wanted, a duty I never asked for and a queen that makes me wanna drown myself in liqour and whored with all her nagging and dumb schemes. All I ever wanted was her.
Yes she gave me an heir but is he like ceasar no what did I get instead? A boy who could barely swing a sword, hiding behind his mother's skirts. Gods, how I wanted a son like Caesar. Someone who could stand by my side in battle, someone who'd take what he wanted without asking. Someone with the strength to rule and lead men into battle.
I shake the thoughts from my head as Caesar approaches. He drops to one knee, though he barely lowers his head. Cersei stands to my left, watching him like a hawk—though she hides any flicker of emotion well. Beside her, our children shift uncomfortably. Joffrey, eyes downcast, barely looks at the towering figure before him. Even after his face was mended, I can see he's still afraid of Caesar, still remembers the day Caesar tore those teeth from his mouth by slapping the boy silly. My boy. The heir to the throne, yet he shrinks in the presence of a lannister ceasar might not be a regular man but this boy can't be king if he doesn't have even the balls to raise his head.
"Caesar," I say, a grin tugging at my lips despite myself. "You've returned. How was it fighting the Dothraki and taking three slave cities?"
He meets my gaze with the faintest of smirks. "Child's play," he replies, his voice as steady as steel.
"Is that so?" I laugh, a bellow that echoes through the courtyard. "Well, come then! We'll have a feast to celebrate your homecoming. I want to hear your tales from the Essos!"
I gesture to a nearby servant. "Go, tell the kitchens to prepare a banquet. And tell my Hand I want him here—he should meet my great nephew."
The servant scurries off as Caesar rises, his gaze brushing over my family and council, lingering a moment on Cersei, who narrows her eyes in return. The way he regards her—it's like he's seeing right through her, sizing her up. He's wary, as he should be. She's always scheming, my queen. But if Caesar has plans of his own, he doesn't let it show.
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Caesar's POV
Robert is as I remember him—thick-necked, bear-like, a man who would rather swing a warhammer than hold a scepter. He acts like he is ok with having joffrey as his heir but his eyes betray a flicker of sadness. I know he wishes he had a son like me. He may not say it since he can't let people question the crown princess legitimacy but it's plain as day. And then there's the queen, Cersei. She regards me coolly, as if weighing the danger I represent. A clever move, that—trying to gauge me without making it obvious. But she'll find nothing in my face except indifference.
Then, I see the children. Joffrey, with his new teeth and faint scars from our last encounter, shrinks as if he wishes he could melt into his mother's gown. Pathetic. A boy who hides behind his mother's skirts and flinches from my gaze I'll be doing this kindom a fucking favor when i kill him. Beside him, his siblings—the little girl myrcella, and the youngest, Tommen, who stares up at me with open curiosity, untainted by the fear his brother can't disguise.
"My king," I say, addressing Robert directly and ignoring Cersei. Her eyes narrow, but she holds her tongue. Good. I don't need distractions.
"Caesar! Tell me, what brings you back to King's Landing?" Robert's voice booms, drawing curious glances from onlookers.
I smirk, glancing around at the nobles who've gathered to witness the spectacle. "I wanted to see my niece and nephew, of course. And I've brought something for you, Your Majesty—a new liquor, brewed only in my citties in essos."
Robert's face lights up, his interest piqued. "A new liquor, you say? Well, by the gods, let's have it! Pour me a cup once we feast
With that, Robert clasps a meaty hand on my shoulder and guides me toward the Red Keep, his enthusiasm infectious. We make our way into the hall, where servants are already scurrying to prepare. I take my seat to Robert's right, the best place to watch the others. Cersei glides to his left, a calculating smile on her lips, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders. She's dressed in Lannister red, though the richness of the fabric which i know she bought from me and the weight of her jewelery do little to soften the venom in her gaze.
"Tell me, Caesar," Robert says, settling heavily onto his throne-like chair. "Is it true you've fathered children all across the land?"
"Yes, Your Grace," I reply with a shrug. "My father wanted grandchildren. I've given him plenty. He sent me women from all over Westeros, and some of my men even found me many beauties from Essos."
Robert throws back his head and laughs, his booming voice echoing off the walls. "Tyrion! Your boy has done well by you!"
My father nods, his expression a blend of pride and mischief. "Aye, he has. And more than that—he's given me grandsons who'll carry my legacy foward."
As Robert laughs, the council members exchange uneasy glances. They look at me with the same wariness one might reserve for a loaded crossbow. A Lannister with power enough to make even the council shiver first my grandfather now me. The king's two brothers, Stannis, sits further down the table, his expression as hard as granite. He barely glances my way, though I know he's watching, calculating. Next to him is the youngest brother the sword swallower he looks at me with a kind smile probably planning to talk to me later.
Then, the Hand of the King enters—Jon Arryn, with his weary face and greying hair, his presence as steady as a stone pillar. He bows to Robert, who greets him with a clap on the shoulder. "Jon! There you are. Meet my nephew Caesar."
Arryn's gaze turns to me, and for a moment, I see a flash of discomfort in his eyes. He's heard the tales, no doubt. The giant who cut down every bandit in his path, who took three cities by sheer will and force. The merchant king who pays only what he deems fit, and not a penny more.
"Lord Caesar," Jon says, his voice steady, though his gaze is wary. "I've heard much of your accomplishments. The realm benefits greatly from your… endeavors."
"Yes," I reply with a faint smile. "My contributions have been many. Perhaps more than what some realize." A reminder, subtle but unmistakable. I know he would tax me more if he could since its obvious i make more then i let on, but he also knows that forcing my hand would cost the kingdom dearly.
He nods, but there's a flicker of unease in his gaze. He's calculating, weighing the threat I pose against the wealth and resources I bring. Smart. The same cannot be said of others.
Varys, that spider in silk, sits across from me, his face a mask of calm but his eyes keen i can see a little anger most likely for the fact that i keep killing his little birds. Littlefinger leans forward, a sly smile tugging at his lips, no doubt hatching some scheme of his own.
The hall fills with the rich scent of roasted meats and spiced wines, the murmurs of lords and ladies, and the clatter of silverware. I sit back, watching, calculating. I have no illusions about this place. The game of thrones is deadly, and everyone here would turn on me if they could serving their interests.
Most lords are bellow a king and have to respect his council and queen but not me I am Caesar Lannister, conqueror of cities, father of future giant warriors. And here, at this table, with Robert Baratheon roaring beside me and the council trembling before me, I know that I hold the power as i have since I was 8 namedays old I won long ago.
Let them plan, let them plot. I'll drink their wine which i sell to them, eat their food which i also sell to them, and bide my time when the day comes I'll fight them all take their heads and add it to my collection.
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I realized I made a mistake myrcella is older then tommen also I finally know where I will be going with this so I hope you all enjoy the rest of the story now if anyone wants to help me and get a shout out as thanks how old is the mc now and which chapter can I fix my mistake where the mc meets tommen and not myrcella I'd look but I'm lazy 😀
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