The Mountain of Ice and Fire

鲁斯·波顿's face was calm as water, his voice soft, like the breath of a delicate woman: "Bran, did Daenerys Targaryen ever live here?"

"Daenerys Targaryen and Viserys Targaryen both grew up here, until Ser Willem Darry died of illness." Bran sat in his wheelchair, his expression serene. He looked carefully around the courtyard, as if he had lived here before.

Tyrion Lannister nimbly lit the brazier: "Bran, I believe you are accurate about the past, because the past cannot be changed; I don't think you have a chance with the future."

"Half-man, do you doubt the all-knowing prophet? When I occupied Winterfell, if I had the help of a prophet, I would have ambushed Robb Stark in the First Men's tomb, catching him off guard." After witnessing Bran's 'all-knowing' abilities, Ramsay Bolton's admiration for Bran reached the point of 'superstition.' He licked his lips, "When I hung Robb Stark's flayed skin, Winterfell would still be the Bolton family's."

"The prophet certainly knows what has already happened; but the future has many uncertainties. Why did we flee to Braavos? It's not because the prophet's predictive abilities are poor, but because of the hand of fate." Tyrion was a man who despised even gods, let alone prophets. "Bran designed a plan to kill the Mountain on Dragonstone, but it didn't succeed. If Bran knew he couldn't kill the Mountain, why would he do such a foolish thing to provoke him? If he didn't know he couldn't kill the Mountain, then the prophet cannot be certain about the future."

"The future will change based on the present, but some things are certain." Bran Stark looked at Tyrion.

Tyrion looked at Bran provocatively. Ever since he was forced onto Bran's pirate ship, Tyrion's sharp tongue had never stopped targeting Bran, but Bran never got angry. Roose Bolton admired Tyrion's eloquence like an outsider, while Ramsay Bolton and the two Sand Snakes found Tyrion's words more amusing the sharper and more刻薄 they were.

Tyrion said, "Bran, what can be said for certain in the future?"

"No matter what the future holds, your height will certainly not increase. The same goes for many things; they have already been determined, without a doubt, half-man," Bran said calmly.

Ramsay Bolton laughed heartily.

Tyene Sand and Sarella Sand both revealed bright smiles.

They always felt happy when the topic of Tyrion's height came up.

In the courtyard, servants were continuously unloading supplies from the carriages, including fine wine.

A hundred-man squad from the North, led by two knights, guarded the courtyard's gate and walls. This hundred-man squad was Roose Bolton's family guard. They had a total of three hundred-man squads. After Ramsay Bolton's defeat at Winterfell, this remnant force of three hundred men, led by Ramsay Bolton and Roose Bolton, secretly crossed the Narrow Sea and fled to Braavos to become mercenaries.

The North and the Braavos city-state faced each other across the sea, making it the closest city-state by sea.

The entire Bolton family was left with only three hundred-man squads.

Roose and Ramsay hoped to rely on the Three-Eyed Raven, who had proactively sought them out, to return to the North, replace the Stark family, and become the Lords of the North once again.

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders: "Well, the journey was tiring, I want to take a bath first, and then have a good drink."

"Tyrion, if you have the energy, perhaps you'd like to go to this place." Bran took out a small parchment scroll, as thick as a finger.

Tyrion, who had reached the door, stopped, turned around, walked back, took the scroll, opened it, and looked at it in the flickering firelight: "Bran, are you doing this on purpose?"

Bran didn't answer.

"Why didn't you say so during the day?"

Bran said to the servants, "Take me to my room."

"Yes, Your Grace."

The servants pushed the wheelchair, and the group followed, entering the hall.

In the courtyard, only Tyrion was left, along with the servants coming and going, carriages, and supplies.

Tyrion looked at the address on the scroll, shrugged his shoulders, and turned to leave the courtyard.

*

"My lord, this is the place." In the darkness of the night, the child's eyes shone brightly.

Tyrion took out a copper coin; he had never been so poor. Even during his most destitute times in King's Landing, Tyrion's tips were at least silver coins. When he was feeling a bit extravagant, he would give away a small bag of gold coins to the women of the pleasure houses.

A copper coin, still warm from his touch, was placed in the child's palm, and the child's eyes shone even brighter, like two tiny stars: "Thank you, my lord." The child's Common Tongue was filled with joy, with a heavy Braavosi accent.

This made Tyrion smile; he liked the feeling that children gave him. The child didn't think this was a small 'guide' fee; the child thought that the guy who was even shorter than him was generous and magnanimous. The child was satisfied, happy, excited, and joyful.

The child clutched the copper coin tightly, and ran barefoot on the cool stone streets, as fast as the wind, as if he had eyes on the soles of his feet. For a moment, Tyrion worried that he would fall, cracking his head open on the stone slabs.

Tyrion didn't take back his gaze until the child disappeared down the street.

In front of him were high walls, very high walls, made of giant stones. The door, however, was very small, only half the width of a normal door. Anyone with a slightly larger build would have to turn sideways to enter.

The wooden door had iron trim around the edges, and was thick and solid. The color of the wooden door was the same as the color of the walls. Standing a little further away, a person who was a little careless would not be able to find the door here.

The street that Tyrion was standing on was not exactly a street, but rather an alleyway. Overhead, there was only a narrow strip of blue night sky, with a few sparse stars hanging above.

Tyrion knocked on the door.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Three times.

Then he stepped back and waited.

After a long while, there was no movement.

Tyrion stepped forward again, this time using more force: Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three times.

However, this time the waiting time was even longer, and there was still no movement.

But the sound traveled along the walls of the alleyway in the quiet of the night. Footsteps sounded at the entrance of the alleyway, and three figures appeared.

Tyrion stepped forward again, knocked on the door, and clenched his small fist: Bang! Bang! Bang!

There was still no movement from inside the door.

At the entrance of the alleyway, the three figures walked in, three tall figures.

Tyrion looked around; he was the only one in the alleyway. The three figures approached, three young men with fierce eyes. Their faces were different, and they may have come from different ethnic groups.

"Hey!" one of them said, "Dwarf, give me your purse."

Swish!

Another man drew a dagger: "Did you hear what he said, dwarf?"

Another young man walked to the other side of Tyrion, blocking Tyrion's escape from the other side.

Tyrion leaned against the wooden door, his eyes were tense, but his tone was arrogant: "Hey, big guys, get out of here, I advise you not to cause trouble."

The three men laughed together.

"I'm home, there are people inside that you definitely don't want to see."

The leading man chuckled: "Dwarf, give us your purse, or we'll do it ourselves."

"Then you'll regret it," the man with the dagger said with a smile, "We'll not only take your purse, but we'll also strip you naked and throw you in the gutter."

"They're right," the third guy leaned against the stone wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching the ridiculous half-man with ease.

"Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!" A hissing sound came from the other end of the alleyway, far away.

The four of them looked together at the source of the sound, which was a guy wearing a black robe and a hood. His face was also hidden in the hood, and because of the distance and the darkness of the night, Tyrion could only see the man's black outline.

But the three men seemed to have been hit hard when they saw the figure, the guy holding the dagger dropped his weapon and turned to flee, and the other two guys fled even faster, like rabbits shot with arrows.

By the time Tyrion reacted from his cold sweat, the three thugs and the mysterious man in black at the entrance of the alleyway were gone.

Tyrion calmed down; he had a short sword at his waist, but in order not to provoke the three warriors, he restrained himself from drawing his sword. If the other party wanted to rob him by force, his tactic would be to bravely hand over his purse.

Tyrion was not a stingy person, but now, he was really poor. Honestly, he was most unwilling to follow a prophet who was all talk and no action; he would rather follow the Mountain or Daenerys. Tyrion had no respect or reverence for Bran Stark, the young man who had transformed into a prophet without joy or sorrow.

The Dragonstone assassination plan was the fundamental reason why Tyrion looked down on Bran. If the assassination plan had really killed the Mountain, that would have been another matter. The key point was that, with the wildfire material clearly insufficient, Bran Stark still carried out the 'assassination' plan, which was a very stupid decision. Tyrion always believed that Bran was not assassinating the Mountain and the Mountain's generals, but assassinating Daenerys Targaryen.

He believed that he understood the current Mountain better than Bran Stark.

If you can't kill the Mountain, then definitely don't do anything!

Later news confirmed Tyrion's worries: the Mountain returned, captured Daenerys, and recruited the Dothraki, the pirates of the Stepstones, and the Second Sons.

*

Tyrion decided to knock on the door one last time; if the door didn't open, he would leave. The night in Braavos didn't seem friendly to a half-man.

Tyrion raised his hand, and then he heard the door open.

The narrow door opened, and a tall, cold man stood in front of Tyrion. This man had a two-handed greatsword stuck on his back.

"Hi, Ser Ilyn," Tyrion said eagerly.

Ilyn Payne, former captain of Tywin Lannister's guard, and later Robert Baratheon I's King's Justice, had his tongue cut out by the Mad King Aerys during the Mad King's era, so he could no longer speak. During the Joffrey and Tommen eras, Ilyn Payne was the King's Justice.

Ilyn Payne glared at Tyrion, as if he didn't recognize him.

Ilyn had never liked Tyrion, and Tyrion didn't like him at all. The two despised each other and looked down on each other.

"I've come to see my brother, and my nephew and niece."

Ilyn didn't answer; he was tall and stood in the doorway, blocking the way. Tyrion couldn't squeeze in sideways. The door was too narrow.

"Please move aside, Ser."

Ilyn leaned out and scanned both sides of the alleyway, not finding anyone else.

"I'm alone."

Ilyn Payne still stared at Tyrion suspiciously.

"You doubt that I can't get here alone? How about this, you call Jaime out."

Ilyn Payne snorted and stepped aside.

"Thanks, big guy," Tyrion said with a smile. He swayed as he walked through the narrow door.

Suddenly, everything went dark; it turned out that there were no lights inside the door, and it was pitch black. Ilyn Payne closed the door, and the light from behind him disappeared, so he couldn't see his fingers in front of his face.

Tyrion reached out and touched something cold, realizing that there were stone walls on both sides, and the passage in the middle could only allow one person to pass through.

"Tsk tsk, this place is really easy to defend and difficult to attack," Tyrion praised.

How did Jaime's brain find this place?!

The house gate, the stone walls, and the passage after the broken door were all designed for safety.

"In a place like this, a sword can block a hundred-man squad!" Tyrion said with a smile.

Ilyn Payne, who was leading the way, couldn't speak, so naturally there was no answer.

The two walked for a long time, and suddenly everything opened up. They came to a very small courtyard, which was surrounded by several small stone towers. One of the stone towers had light coming out of it.

"Jaime?!" Tyrion asked Ilyn Payne, pointing to the light in the stone tower.

Ilyn Payne didn't say anything; he let Tyrion walk in front, and the two went up the stone tower together. Tyrion pushed open the door and saw a simple stone room. There were no decorations in the room. There was a broken carpet in front of the bed. On the bed, a person was half-sitting and half-lying. This person's face was covered with yellow beard, messy, his golden hair was also messy, his cheeks were sunken, his face bones were prominent, and his eyes had also fallen into his eye sockets, looking like he was seriously ill.

A woman was sitting by the bed, very familiar. It was Cersei's maid, Connie. Her eyebrows and eyes were delicate, but her brows were full of melancholy.

"Jaime!" Tyrion couldn't believe his eyes.

Jaime looked at Tyrion, his face showing surprise: "Tyrion." His voice was weak.

"You don't have to do this to yourself!" Tyrion rushed to the bed and reached out to stop Jaime from getting up.

"I caught a cold at sea, and then I had a high fever, and I became like this," Jaime said with a forced smile.

"Is it related to Cersei?"

A look of pain flashed in Jaime's eyes: "I know you don't like her, but she's already dead, Tyrion."

"I don't mean to blame her; she's our sister," Tyrion said seriously.

Jaime glanced at Connie, Connie got up, paid her respects to Tyrion, then walked out and closed the door.

"When did you come to Braavos, and how did you find me here?" Jaime sat up and leaned against the wall.

"I came with Bran Stark; he coerced me."

"Oh, the Three-Eyed Raven."

"Yes, the Three-Eyed Raven."

"I also accepted the guidance of the Three-Eyed Raven and came to Braavos, where I rented a house to settle down first."

Tyrion looked at Jaime. "Jaime, no matter what you want to do, you can't do anything if you don't get better."

"If I want to do something, will you help me?" Jaime was weak, but his eyes were still sharp and resolute.