A Song of Ice and Fire: Wrath of the Sleeping Dragon

Willas and Tyrion welcomed the envoys from Essos—the Sealord of Braavos, magisters, princes, and others—into the Red Keep, holding a welcoming feast. However, not only was Viserys absent, but even the attendance of the Small Council members was sparse.

The Hand of the King, Myles Toyne; the Master of Whispers, Varys; and the Lord of the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton, did not attend. The Master of Agriculture, the Master of Crafts, and others were present at the welcoming feast.

Notably, the Master of War, Kago, had returned to King's Landing at some unknown time. He and a few of his tribesmen sat at a nearby table, drinking heartily. On the other side, the Dothraki guards standing beside the Frog Prince cast curious glances in their direction.

They had also heard of a tribe that had sworn allegiance to the Empire, active on the great plains east of Pentos, guarding the Empire's eastern frontier. However, these Dothraki would not feel ashamed, as submitting to the strong was a normal thing in their eyes, especially when the other party was a dragonrider like Kago.

The Dothraki were not a united race, often embroiled in internal strife. Throughout history, instances of unification had been scarce; otherwise, they would have long conquered the world.

If two Dothraki encountered each other in an unfamiliar foreign land, they wouldn't have a tearful "hometown reunion." However, they also wouldn't be hostile. There was simply no deep bond between tribesmen, no sense of shared ethnicity—only the identification with one's own tribe.

But even so, comparing the two sides, the Frog Prince's guards indeed appeared a tad poorer.

The Dothraki guards glanced at their meager attire—horse-hair leg wraps, painted leather vests—while the other group wore fur armor, thick leather boots with embedded metal plates, bronze belts, and carried bows and arrows. The arakh swords hanging at their waists gleamed, far superior to the shabby weapons in their own hands.

The Dothraki guards felt a sense of imbalance in their hearts. On the other side, after some rounds of toasts at the banquet, Tormo Fregar, the Sealord of Braavos, politely asked, "Lord Willas, might I inquire as to His Majesty's current whereabouts?"

The magisters of Lorath and Norvos, the red priests from Qohor, and others at the same table all turned their attention, as Viserys had not appeared at the feast, despite being the protagonist of this gathering.

"His Majesty is currently stationed at the Wall," Willas replied.

"However, we have sent word to the North. I believe His Majesty will return soon."

Although the distance from Castle Black to King's Landing seemed vast, riding a dragon would not take long. The Sealord of Braavos, who had been on edge, breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this and nodded.

"That's good."

He had gathered so many people to come to King's Landing to seek aid, fearing that Viserys would refuse to see him. After all, with the long night descending, everyone was preoccupied with their own troubles.

Who had the capacity to care for others? Seeking help was not an easy feat.

At another table in the Red Keep's banquet hall, a kindly-looking old man in a cloak was eating leisurely. However, the black-haired, hook-nosed man beside him seemed restless, constantly raising his head to look around.

Tyrion, on the other side, noticed him because the man's gaze frequently fell upon him. Tyrion vaguely remembered that the kindly-looking old man should have been wearing a golden mask. Could this be his appearance with the mask removed?

The black-haired, hook-nosed man's gaze landed on Tyrion once more, and he made a gesture. Tyrion instantly understood.

"Oh, apologies, my lords," Tyrion shrugged apologetically. He placed his wine goblet in the hand of a passing servant girl, his fingers "accidentally" brushing against her bottom, eliciting a glare. He then quickly walked towards a balcony outside the Red Keep's banquet hall.

The other man also discreetly said a few words in Valyrian to those around him and left his seat, arriving at the balcony Tyrion had just entered. He closed the balcony's large doors.

"Tyrion, it's me," the black-haired, hook-nosed man said after entering. "Jaime."

However, Tyrion showed no reaction, shrugging as if he couldn't understand his words. It was only when the man removed his disguise, revealing his true face, that Tyrion breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew~" Tyrion sighed. "Jaime."

"You know I have to be careful here."

Tyrion slightly turned his head, glancing around to ensure no one was paying attention. He then had Jaime put his disguise back on, reverting to the black-haired, hook-nosed appearance from earlier. Tyrion joked, "Actually, I had already guessed it was you. Do you believe me?"

"Enough with the nonsense, Tyrion," Jaime retorted, not mincing words upon seeing his long-lost brother. He had someone else he wanted to see even more.

"Where is Cersei?"

"I've come to take Cersei away this time."

Jaime had previously attempted to break into the Red Keep to take Cersei away but had been surrounded and attacked by Unsullied soldiers, failing in his endeavor. This time, he had successfully infiltrated the Red Keep, a rare opportunity for him. He wanted to seize the chance to take Cersei away.

However, upon hearing his elder brother's words, Tyrion fell silent for a moment. His joking earlier was in the hope that his brother would not bring up this matter, but Tyrion's brows furrowed, hesitating to speak. Jaime noticed all of this, and a sense of unease rose in his heart.

"Speak, Tyrion," Jaime urged.

"Where is Cersei?"

"What happened to Cersei?"

A bad premonition surged in Jaime's heart, his heart rate accelerating. As a Faceless Man in Braavos across the Narrow Sea, he naturally had no way to inquire about the condition of Cersei, who was detained in the Red Keep. After all, many years had passed. The former prince had been reduced to a stable boy, and the former queen was even less of a concern.

Could Cersei be dead?

Jaime felt as if he had been struck by lightning, his mind going blank.

However, Tyrion seemed to have guessed his brother's thoughts. He sighed with a furrowed brow, his expression somewhat distressed as he spoke.

"Don't overthink, Jaime," Tyrion said.

"Cersei is not dead."

"It's just..."

Tyrion still hesitated to speak.

"Just what?" Jaime asked impatiently.

"It's just... Cersei has remarried," Tyrion finally took a deep breath and said, looking at his brother's urgent expression.

Upon hearing this, Jaime stood there, stunned, unable to recover for a long time.