Late at night in the study of the Tower of the Hand, the candlelight burned bright.
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Tywin Lannister sat behind his desk, with three different reports spread out before him.
One was the latest assessment of the royal debt, the figures still shocking; one was from Kevan, the master of laws, regarding the preparations for Tyrion's trial, listing no fewer than five witnesses and their testimonies.
There was also one from Varys, the master of whispers, which described the movements of the Redwyne Fleet in exhaustive detail.
But at this moment, all three reports were pushed aside.
Tywin's gaze fell upon the man who had just rushed into the study.
Ser Adam Marbrand, commander of the City Watch; he had not yet removed his armor and was drenched in sweat, with a fresh bloody gash on his right cheek, looking as if it had been sliced by a stone or some kind of projectile.
"My Lord." Ser Adam's speech was extremely urgent: "Flea Bottom... is out of control!"
"About an hour ago, a group of commoners tried to rush the checkpoint, claiming they wanted to go out to buy medicine. The guards blocked them according to protocol, a scuffle broke out, someone threw stones, and three of our men were injured."
"Then the conflict escalated. More people poured out from deep within Flea Bottom. They didn't seem like a temporary gathering at all, my Lord. Those fellows were holding torches, shouting slogans, and are now advancing toward various checkpoints in an organized manner. The soldiers are about to lose control."
As these words were spoken, the study fell silent for a moment.
The candle flame crackled.
A moment later, Tywin finally tapped the tabletop. There wasn't a hint of surprise in his pale green eyes; instead, he asked faintly, "How many people?"
"At least three thousand, maybe more, and the scale is still expanding!"
Adam swallowed hard, his voice a bit dry, not daring to say more.
Tywin nodded, reached out for the silver bell at the corner of the table, and shook it gently. The door opened, and a servant entered soundlessly.
"Wine," Tywin said. "Two cups. Ser Adam must be very thirsty."
The servant withdrew and quickly returned with a tray.
On the tray were two silver cups filled with deep red wine—a vintage from the cellars of Casterly Rock, aged thirty years.
Adam took the other cup, his hand shaking slightly, causing some of the liquid to slosh out.
Tywin picked up a cup, took a slow sip, and then spoke thoughtfully: "Vito Corleone has come back after all."
The candlelight danced in his eyes like two points of cold fire.
Hearing this, Adam nodded hesitantly and replied cautiously, "It seems so, my Lord. Soldiers have reported seeing someone very similar to Vito Corleone at the front of the crowd, but we cannot be certain yet."
"And... they are all shouting, 'We don't want Lannister, we want the The Mafia'... and... 'We want Corleone'."
As he spoke, Adam's face darkened further, and he shook his head: "But it could also be an impostor, or the soldiers might have misseen. After all, according to previous reports, he should have died at sea."
"No, he is not dead."
Tywin's tone was extremely certain, and his gaze turned fierce: "A man who could escape unscathed from Roose Bolton at Harrenhal and build an underground kingdom right under the nose of King's Landing will not die so easily at sea."
He looked at Adam: "Did your men see him leave Flea Bottom?"
"Not yet. All exits have been blockaded by us, at least in theory, but with the current level of chaos..." Adam shook his head. "If he truly is in the crowd and wants to use the chaos to slip out, it's not impossible."
Upon hearing this, Tywin fell silent for a moment.
His gaze passed over Adam to look at the massive map on the study wall; it was a map of all Westeros, from The Wall to the Dornish Marches, with every inch of land clearly marked.
At the location of King's Landing, there was a small dot circled in red ink.
Flea Bottom.
The place he had always ignored, believing it only required the minimum cost to maintain the minimum order.
Now, it was on fire.
"Ser Adam." After thinking for a moment, Tywin withdrew his gaze and said coldly, "How many men does the City Watch have in Flea Bottom and its surroundings?"
"About four hundred, distributed across six main checkpoints and twelve patrol points."
"Not enough." Tywin shook his head, his tone gradually becoming resolute: "Deploy more men!"
"Draw two thousand men from the City Watch, and I will transfer another five hundred from the Lannister household guard. Send them all to Flea Bottom!"
As soon as these words were spoken, Adam was stunned: "So many? That is enough to start a war!"
"Execute the order." Tywin interrupted him, his voice not loud, but every word was like a steel nail driven into wood: "I want you to seal off every exit, every alley, and every gap large enough for a person to pass through in Flea Bottom before dawn."
"No matter the method, I want Flea Bottom turned into an island!"
"But my Lord..." Ser Adam, who usually followed orders without question, swallowed hard and said urgently, "This will incite even greater resistance!"
"Those commoners... they are currently only demanding food and medicine. If we use the army to bottle them up, they will certainly fight us to the death!"
"By then, I fear it won't be three thousand; perhaps the entire population of Flea Bottom will join the riot!"
Facing Adam's dissuasion, Tywin stared at him for a long time before speaking: "Ser Adam, in what year were you born?"
Hearing this, Adam was taken aback: "261 AC, my Lord. I am five years older than Jaime."
"Time truly flies; you are nearly forty years old, Adam."
Tywin sighed: "I remember when your father sent you to Casterly Rock to be my squire; you were still an ignorant child."
"Your father, Lord Damon Marbrand, is the Earl of Ashemark and my most trusted vassal. Did he ever tell you what happened in the Westerlands the year you were born?"
As these words were spoken, Adam's expression changed.
Of course he had heard—not just him, but every noble in the Westerlands knew the story by heart.
"Castamere..." Ser Adam whispered.
"Correct, Castamere." Tywin walked back to the fireplace, his back to Adam, watching the flickering flames: "When I was eighteen, two families in the Westerlands believed House Lannister had grown weak."
"The Reynes and the Tarbecks. They owed Casterly Rock enormous debts. When I went to collect, Lord Reyne laughed and said: 'You are not the only lion in the West; we too have claws, and they are sharp and deadly.'"
His voice echoed in the study, calm yet filled with a heavy weight: "They joined forces and raised their banners, tearing up their oaths of fealty."
"My father, Lord Tytos, wanted reconciliation. He wanted negotiations, and even personally went to Castamere to attend a 'reconciliation feast' hosted by Lord Reyne. Both sides exchanged gifts, toasted one another, and swore loyalty until the end of time."
At this, Tywin turned to look at Adam: "Do you know how long that reconciliation lasted?"
Adam shook his head.
"Less than a year," Tywin said. "Because the Reynes and Tarbecks never intended to truly reconcile. They were merely buying time to gather more troops and consolidate their alliance."
"The situation then was far more critical than it is now. House Reyne had operated in the Westerlands for centuries and was deeply rooted. Their castle was strong, their provisions ample, and their soldiers well-trained."
"And my father was indecisive and hesitant. The other vassals of the West were watching to see if House Lannister had the strength to quell the rebellion."
He walked to the desk and pressed his hands onto the surface: "So I did three things."
"First, I did not negotiate with them directly. Negotiation is the choice of the weak; it is an admission that the other party has the right to speak with you as an equal, and they did not deserve that."
"Second, I chose the weaker one to strike first: House Tarbeck."
"I descended upon Tarbeck Hall with such speed that I crushed them before they could gather all their vassals. When Lord Walderan Tarbeck was captured, he thought I would ask for a ransom. I told him, 'Do you wish to use Lannister gold to ransom yourself?'"
As he spoke, Tywin let out a cold laugh.
"Then I killed him."
"I killed his sons, killed everyone with the name Tarbeck, and killed anyone who bore the Tarbeck sigil on their shield."
"I put their heads on spears and brought them to Tarbeck Hall. Lady Tarbeck closed the gates to hold out, boasting that her walls were impregnable."
"My siege engines were ready in just one day. A boulder flew over The Wall, striking the keep, and she was buried inside with her son. Then my army stormed in."
He paused: "I burned Tarbeck Hall."
"I still remember it now; the fire burned for a full day and night until the castle was nothing but a blackened, empty shell."
Listening to Tywin's narrative, Adam felt his throat go dry and quickly took a sip of wine to moisten it.
He felt that the study was so quiet that he could almost hear his own heartbeat.
Then, Tywin spoke again: "When I was dealing with Tarbeck, House Reyne was rushing to their aid by night."
"But they came too late, seeing only a towering inferno. The 'Red Lion' Roger Reyne led two thousand men in a charge against my camp, while I had three times his numbers and was well-rested."
"In just one battle, he was defeated. A crossbow bolt pierced his backplate; the fellow struggled to ride for half a league, fell from his horse, and was then taken back to Castamere by his men."
"Castamere is a peculiar castle, nine-tenths of its structures are underground, converted from mines. House Reyne retreated into the depths, thinking it was an impregnable fortress."
"So I did a third thing."
He looked up, his pale green eyes gleaming coldly in the candlelight: "I had all the exits of the mine blocked with stones, earth, and anything that could be found, sealed so tightly that not even a squirrel could squeeze out."
"Then, we built a dam and spent two days diverting the stream toward the nearest mine entrance."
"Of the three hundred members of House Reyne, not a single one walked out of that mine."
"Since then," Tywin continued, "no one in the Westerlands has dared to openly defy House Lannister. Not because they love us, but because they are afraid—afraid to their very bones."
"They will remember one principle: when you challenge a Lannister, you will find no negotiations, nor will you be given a second chance."
As the words fell, Adam felt sweat trickling down his back.
He had heard of Castamere and heard that song; it was the deepest fear in the heart of everyone in the Westerlands.
"Now."
"There are three thousand people in Flea Bottom, perhaps more, holding torches and shouting slogans as they attack my army."
"What do you think I should do, Ser Adam? Negotiate with them, grant their demands, and then wait for tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that, for more people to stand up and make even more demands?"
At this, Tywin sat in his chair and gave a cold sneer, shaking his head slightly: "No, rebellion is like a plague. You must cut off the source of infection at the first sign of symptoms, in the most thorough way possible."
"But my lord," Adam lowered his head, struggling to persuade him, his voice trembling: "Flea Bottom is not Castamere. It is part of King's Landing, where there are thousands of innocent civilians. That is their home; we cannot hope to drive these innocent people from their homes and then expect them to do nothing..."
""
"Innocent?" Tywin interrupted him, a clear coldness appearing in his expression for the first time: "When the first person raised a torch, the second followed, and the third shouted, they all made their choice."
"The choice to stand in opposition to House Lannister."
He walked back behind the desk, sat down, and picked up the quill again, writing quickly on the parchment.
After finishing, Tywin pressed the Hand's seal upon it and handed it to Adam: "This is an official order."
"Deploy troops to blockade Flea Bottom. Heralds are to read the proclamation at every blockade point so that everyone hears it!"
Adam took the order.
The parchment was light, but he felt it was as heavy as a thousand catties. The content was brief and cold:
By order of Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, Flea Bottom is to be placed under martial law immediately. Anyone armed and attacking checkpoints, committing arson, or
attacking soldiers shall be executed on the spot. Civilians must return to their homes and are forbidden from gathering; violators will be treated as rebels.
"Also," Tywin added, "deploy archers and crossbowmen onto the rooftops. Let those civilians see them clearly; it is best if they shrink back out of fear."
"And if..." Adam asked with difficulty, "if they continue to attack?"
Tywin looked up at him, and in his emerald eyes was a near-absolute certainty—certainty of his own correctness, certainty that his way was the only effective way in this cruel world.
"Then let them attack," he said coldly. "Let them see if flesh and blood can truly break through steel."
"But for killing civilians in the capital, what will The Seven Kingdoms think?"
Tywin tilted his head slightly, as if he had heard a childish question: "Ser Adam, what do you think The Seven Kingdoms think right now?"
"I..."
""
"The North is in internal chaos, with Bolton still fighting for control against numerous Stark loyalists."
"The The Riverlands is in ruins, House Tully exists in name only, the The Stormlands is leaderless, the Vale has closed itself off, and Highgarden..."
. Tywin sneered: "House Tyrell is busy trying to push their daughter onto Tommen so that woman can securely become Queen."
He leaned forward, hands pressed against the desk: "No one will care how many civilians died in Flea Bottom!"
"They only care about one thing: whether Tywin Lannister can maintain absolute control over King's Landing in a situation where yet another king has died!"
"If I show weakness, if I hesitate, if I allow a mob to do as they please in the streets of the capital."
"Then tomorrow, a second or third Corleone" will emerge in other cities. The day after, vassals will begin to question the authority of the Iron Throne, and the day after that, this barely stitched-together kingdom will split apart once more!"
Adam fell silent.
He knew Tywin was right.
In the game of thrones, weakness is death.
But he still could not accept it.
He was the commander of the City Watch; his duty was to protect King's Landing. Even if those people lived in Flea Bottom, even if they were poor, dirty, and troublesome, sending soldiers to conduct such a large-scale massacre went against the spirit of chivalry...
Standing before the Hand's desk in long silence, this was the first time Tywin had seen Adam Marbrand so hesitant.
Tywin stared at him coldly for a long time, then suddenly spoke.
"Ser Adam, your father is my most trusted vassal. He sent you to my side hoping you would grow and be able to take on greater responsibilities."
"Do not disappoint me."
"And do not disappoint your father."
Adam felt a chill rise from the soles of his feet, spreading through his body instantly.
Tywin's voice was calm, but Adam heard what lay within: the Hand was reminding him of his identity, his position, and who had given him everything he had.
Taking a deep breath, Adam straightened his chest and struck his fist heavily against his heart: "As you command, my lord!"
With that, he turned toward the door without hesitation, pushed it open, and walked out.
The study door closed.
Tywin put down the quill, leaned back in his chair, and narrowed his eyes slightly as he continued to think.
Joffrey was dead, and Tyrion was in the dungeons awaiting trial.
Cersei was hysterical all day, seemingly growing more insane, while Tommen was still a child, but at least far more obedient than Joffrey.
Margaery Tyrell and her grandmother were sniffing out opportunities everywhere in the Red Keep, and there was the betrayal of the Redwyne Fleet.
The crown was heavily in debt, and there were problems everywhere—The North, the The Riverlands, Dragonstone...
But it did not matter.
As long as he remained in King's Landing, and the Hand of the King was still Tywin Lannister.
Westeros would always be under control.
Tywin opened his eyes and looked at the red circle on the map.
He remembered the first time he heard that name, from a Farmer who had returned from the The Riverlands, healed Jaime's wound, and obtained a pass from Roose Bolton.
At the time, he thought the man was a useful tool—clever, skilled in medicine, and possessed of some influence among the lower classes—someone who could be used to handle dirty work.
So he gave Corleone a chance to be a hand in the dark.
Corleone had done well, perhaps a bit too well.
He had cleaned up Flea Bottom, established order, struck down competitors, and even helped deal with Gales Rosby, but later... Corleone's influence grew too quickly, even becoming somewhat out of control.
Now, at least several thousand people were willing to take to the streets with torches for him.
Tywin stood up and walked to the window.
From the high windows of the Tower of the Hand, one could overlook nearly half of King's Landing.
At this moment, the sky was faintly glowing with an orange-red light—not from the dawn, but from torches, thousands upon thousands of torches.
Flea Bottom seemed to be burning.
Tywin watched for a long time.
Then he turned, walked back to the desk, and rang a silver bell.
An attendant appeared silently once more.
"Go to the Red Keep dungeons, bring that Dothraki here, hold him in solitary confinement, and await my orders."
"Yes, my lord."
The attendant withdrew.
Tywin turned and walked back to his desk.
He sat down, closed his eyes, and began to wait.
Waiting for Adam to execute the order, for the army to assemble, and then for the fires of Flea Bottom to be extinguished. There were no other options.
Because he was Tywin Lannister.
And a Lannister always pays his debts.
>
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