Game of Thrones: Knight's Honor-Chapter 350: The Price of a Sword

"You know, it wasn't House Frey that violated guest right. The one who really trampled on it was Robb Stark."

In a tavern, a man spoke up as a bard sang a ballad about the events at the Twins.

"What kind of nonsense is that?" someone immediately scoffed, shooting the speaker a look of disgust.

The man leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial. "Think about it. Robb Stark always looked down on House Frey. He broke his oath and rushed to marry some daughter of a fallen noble house rather than honor his betrothal to a Frey. So why would he suddenly agree to marry into House Frey again?"

"You're confused. Wasn't it Edmure Tully who married into House Frey?" someone else interjected, trying to correct him.

"Edmure Tully? You don't know the half of it," the man said smugly, glancing around. "It was actually Robb Stark. The whole 'Edmure wedding' was just a cover. Robb told the Freys he wanted to take two wives—just like Aegon the Conqueror—so he wouldn't be seen as an oathbreaker and could still keep his promise. But he never intended to go through with it. He just used that story to lower the Freys' guard, planning to kill them all at the banquet and seize the Twins. Northerners have been dealing with wildlings for generations—they don't care about honor. Even their women are ruthless. Look at Roose Bolton. Look at the Bloody She-Bear. That's how savage the North really is."

"Too right. The North is nothing but savages." Heads nodded in agreement across the tavern.

Someone frowned. "But if that's true, why did Robb Stark die at the banquet?"

Before the original speaker could reply, another chimed in, "Think about it. Walder Frey's an old weasel who's seen everything in his lifetime. He must've seen through Robb's scheme and set a trap of his own. He let Robb walk right into it. Frankly, those Northern dogs had it coming. They wrecked the Riverlands. Good riddance!"

"Damn right they did! If they hadn't dug up the Trident and flooded my farmland, I'd have been home by now instead of stuck here suffering," a Riverlands man cursed bitterly.

And these kinds of rumors weren't limited to just that tavern. In inns across the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Westerlands, the same story was being told. House Frey, once the clear violator of sacred law, was being painted as the victim. Meanwhile, Robb Stark and the Northern lords—who should have been the wronged—were being slandered as scheming traitors.

...

In the Tower of the Hand, Tywin Lannister sat in his familiar chair, reviewing the latest intelligence report. Beside him sat Jaime Lannister, his newly fitted golden hand resting on the arm of the chair. The once-arrogant Kingslayer, now missing a hand, looked very different—quieter, graver. Some of that change, perhaps, came with the streaks of silver now touching his temples.

"Hmph. That useless brother-in-law of mine still hasn't given up on his delusions," Tywin said coldly, tossing the report aside.

Jaime picked it up, scanned through it, and frowned. "They're twisting the whole story upside down. People actually believe this?"

"Never overestimate the intelligence of the smallfolk," Tywin said coolly. "Look closer—see where the rumors first started spreading."

"The Riverlands?" Jaime guessed quickly. "They're playing off the Riverlands' hatred for Roose Bolton."

Tywin nodded. "You may have lost a hand, but it seems you've finally grown a brain."

"I'd rather have my hand," Jaime muttered, glancing at his golden prosthetic. "At least then I wouldn't be thinking so clearly." Then, fixing Tywin with a sharp look, he asked, "Are you really going to send Cersei to the Redemption Sept in Summerhall?"

The question drew a weary sigh from Tywin. As much as he disapproved of his daughter's behavior, he had no desire to ship her off to a sept. But this wasn't about what he wanted—it was about what he had to do.

Not only had he already sent formal letters to all the great houses of the realm, but even Lynd Tarran had agreed to act as the guarantor of the oath. If Tywin reneged now, Lynd would be duty-bound to enforce the agreement. And in that case, it wouldn't just be Cersei who paid the price—Tywin himself would face the consequences as a known oathbreaker. Clearly, Garlan had anticipated the possibility of betrayal when he drafted the terms.

So, to avoid any complications, Tywin had placed Cersei under house arrest as soon as he returned to King's Landing. She was not to leave the palace without permission. He couldn't risk her running.

"You shouldn't be asking me," Tywin said gravely. "Ask your friend Lynd Tarran. He's the guarantor. It doesn't matter if I break the deal, or even if House Tyrell does. He will see the agreement honored. That is his role."

"Talk to Lynd?" Jaime murmured, deep in thought.

"Joffrey and that Tyrell girl, Elia, are about to be married," Tywin said. "I've already sent an invitation to Summerhall. As the guarantor, Prince Lynd is obligated to attend the wedding. That's your chance to speak with him. If you fail to convince him, he'll take Cersei back to Summerhall when he leaves."

Jaime's expression grew grim as he sank into contemplation.

Seeing Jaime like this, Tywin couldn't help but sigh inwardly, though his tone remained cold as ever.

"Even if she ends up in the Redemption Sept, it doesn't matter. As long as Cersei steps through those doors, my promise is fulfilled. After that, we'll find a way to get her out—send her to Braavos or the Summer Isles to live. Problem solved."

Hearing this plan, Jaime nodded slowly. It seemed plausible.

Tywin continued in a low voice, "Once the royal wedding is over, I'll have Joffrey announce your dismissal from the Kingsguard..."

"No! I won't—" Jaime immediately protested.

"Quiet. Listen to me." Tywin's voice cut sharp. "I don't care about whatever filth is going on between you and Cersei, and I don't want to. So long as it doesn't harm the Westerlands or Casterly Rock, I've turned a blind eye. But your mess has brought ruin. It led to a war that never should've happened. Even your uncle Kevan is dead because of it. And you still want to cling to that ridiculous white cloak? Look at yourself. That isn't a white cloak you're wearing—it's red. Stained with your kin's blood."

Jaime lowered his head, avoiding Tywin's gaze, but his voice stayed firm. "If you try to force me to take off this cloak, I'd rather die."

Tywin's eyes widened, and he stood, stepping close to Jaime. He bent forward slightly, and said, slowly, word by word, "If you dare, if you really die—then I will send Joffrey and Tommen to follow you. Cersei too."

Jaime's eyes flew wide as he stared at his father, as if seeing him for the first time. It took him a long moment before he finally spoke.

"They're your grandchildren. Your daughter. How could you—"

"And you're still my son," Tywin interrupted coldly.

Jaime searched Tywin's face, hoping for a flicker of hesitation. There was none. Nothing. He knew Tywin meant it. If he really did take his own life over the Kingsguard, Tywin would absolutely do as he threatened. Jaime could no longer see even a shred of emotion in his father's eyes.

"Is it because of Uncle Kevan?" Jaime asked quietly. "Did his death make you like this? So cold, so heartless?"

Tywin didn't respond. But his silence said enough. Kevan's death had hit him harder than anyone realized. Whatever humanity Tywin had left was buried with his brother. Now, all that remained was his focus on Casterly Rock's future—its survival and legacy.

"You made me Lord of Casterly Rock. What about Tyrion?" Jaime asked again. "He held off Stannis' army for nearly a month with barely any men. He was the key to that victory. But as soon as you came back, you stripped him of power and locked him up. That's not fair."

"Fair?" Tywin scoffed. "Do you even know what 'fair' means? Letting Tyrion roam free in King's Landing is no act of fairness—that's a death sentence. Every noble in the Red Keep, every beggar in Flea Bottom, they all hate him. They're all waiting for the chance to kill him. I locked him up to keep him alive. I posted guards to protect him. That's not punishment—it's protection."

Jaime looked stunned. "That can't be. Tyrion saved this city. He should be celebrated as a hero."

Tywin nodded. "He did save King's Landing. But at what cost? In the eyes of the people, he forced them—lords and peasants alike—to climb those walls and fight demons. They don't see a hero. They see the devil who dragged them into the fire." He paused. "After the wedding, you'll return to Casterly Rock with him. He'll take over as castellan in Kevan's place."

Jaime still wasn't satisfied, but he couldn't find the words to object. Silence fell again in the Hand's study.

...

Not long after, a Lannister knight stationed at the Red Keep's gate hurried to the door, saluted, and said, "Lord Hand, an envoy from Summerhall has arrived."

"An envoy from Summerhall?" Tywin raised an eyebrow.

Jaime asked, "Is it for Joffrey's wedding?"

Tywin shook his head. "Impossible. With Lynd Tarran's temperament, he'd have sent a simple reply. He wouldn't dispatch a formal envoy."

He gestured for the knight to bring the visitor in.

Moments later, Jon Bulwer entered the room, holding a box, led by a royal attendant.

Seeing Jon, Tywin's expression shifted in surprise, and he rose from his seat.

Jon Bulwer might not have been a powerful noble—just the lord of a small keep in the southernmost Reach—but his position beside Lynd Tarran made him unique. He was Lynd's right hand, his deputy in managing the affairs of Summerhall. In many ways, he was Lynd's voice. At the Redemption Council, the seat he occupied was the one reserved for Lynd himself.

A man like that—second only to the ruler in Summerhall—appearing now at the Red Keep as an envoy, made Tywin deeply curious.

What could have brought him here?

"Lord Tywin." Jon entered the study and bowed.

"Lord Jon." Tywin returned the gesture with a nod, then got straight to the point. "Are you here on Prince Lynd's orders?"

"I am." Jon placed the box he was carrying onto the table, took a step back, and said, "His Highness has asked me to return this to its rightful owner."

Tywin paused, exchanging a glance with Jaime before stepping up to the box and lifting the lid.

When he saw what lay inside, Jaime's face showed confusion—but Tywin's expression shifted instantly. His hands began to tremble as he stared down, overcome with emotion.

He carefully lifted the item from the box and examined it, turning to Jon for confirmation.

"This is Brightroar?"

"It is." Jon nodded. "This is the ancestral sword of House Lannister—Brightroar."

At Jon's words, Jaime looked stunned. He had assumed it was just another Valyrian steel blade—he never expected it to be the long-lost family heirloom.

"How did this sword end up in Prince Lynd's hands?" Tywin's gaze remained locked on the sword, inspecting every detail, mentally comparing it to what he remembered from books and records describing Brightroar's appearance.

Jon explained, "His Highness found the sword in the ruins of Valyria. It was being held in the arms of your brother, Ser Gerion Lannister. It seems that Lord Gerion had indeed found Brightroar—but sadly, he never made it out of Valyria."

"Gerion..." Tywin's expression wavered. The image of his youngest brother flashed through his mind, along with the words Gerion had spoken before leaving. It appeared he had fulfilled his promise after all—he had found the sword.

A trace of sorrow flickered in Tywin's eyes, but it quickly faded. He handed Brightroar to Jaime, then turned back to Jon.

"I doubt Prince Lynd would go to the trouble of returning the sword for nothing. Tell me—what does he want?" frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

Jon smiled. "His Highness would like Storm's End and Dragonstone."

Tywin blinked, then suddenly burst out laughing.

"He wants to trade one sword for both Storm's End and Dragonstone? He's not greedy, I'll give him that." He looked at Jon and added, "Very well. If that's what he wants, he can have them. Storm's End and Dragonstone are his."