Tywin stood where he was, watching the direction in which his son had disappeared, his crimson cloak swaying incessantly in the wind atop the slope.
His hands, held behind his back, tightened their knuckles slightly before slowly releasing, forcibly pushing the surging anger and more complex emotions back into that bottomless pool of icy stillness.
He turned his head, his face having returned to its usual expression of cold rock, and looked at the trembling herald beside him, his voice harsh and devoid of any emotional fluctuation:
"Order the entire army to halt. The river valley ahead is level; we will camp there and rest for the night."
"Set double sentries and send outriders twenty miles out to strictly prevent scouts from The Riverlands from spying on our strength and movements. No camp is to move a single soldier without my personal order."
The army had marched for a day and endured the tense standoff of the hostage exchange; both men and horses were exhausted. This order was reasonable, and no one questioned it.
The command spread quickly through the marching ranks. The well-trained army of The Westerlands began to change formation and select ground for the camp.
Their efficiency was extremely high; before long, a regular and strictly ordered Lannister camp had risen from the ground. The largest and most conspicuous command tent in the center was also quickly erected.
Tywin stepped into the command tent and dismissed all attendants and his Personal Guard, leaving only emptiness and silence.
He sat down behind the long table covered with maps, remained silent for a moment, and then said in a deep voice toward the outside: "Have Ser Addam Marbrand come to see me alone. Everyone else, retreat fifty paces from the tent; no one is to approach without being summoned."
The Personal Guard outside took the order and left.
A short while later, the tent flap was gently lifted, and Addam Marbrand bowed as he walked in.
He was similar in age to Jaime, with a steady face and capable manner. He had been one of Jaime's childhood playmates at Casterly Rock and was now a heavily relied-upon core general in the army of The Westerlands.
He walked to the long table and bowed respectfully: "Lord Duke."
Tywin looked up, his gaze falling upon him—not cold, but heavy.
"Addam, any news within the army regarding The Crownlands, King's Landing, or Castle Stokeworth—especially unconfirmed rumors that might shake morale—must be strictly suppressed."
"Manage your men well and keep an eye on the others. Whoever dares to be loose-tongued and discuss things they should not, will face the consequences."
Addam felt a chill in his heart and bowed his head in response: "Yes, my lord. I will conduct strict patrols and put an end to rumors."
Tywin nodded slightly, his gaze still locked on Addam's face as he continued in a level but pointed tone: "You know Jaime's nature. Impulsive and stubborn. He has just returned, his mind is not at peace, and he has some thoughts he shouldn't have. As his friend, find an opportunity to give him a word of advice."
"Tell him... to consider everything carefully and find a reasonable excuse that takes the overall situation into account. If his mind is truly set, some things might not be impossible to grant him, provided the method is appropriate."
He paused, his direction shifting slightly: "The war in The Crownlands is currently at a fever pitch, and the Targaryens are in high spirits. Any action must be taken with extreme caution and restraint."
"If an action is viable, it must be swift; once finished, withdraw immediately and do not linger for battle. If someone is blinded by personal feelings and insists on acting recklessly, putting the entire army in danger... as a general, your priority must be to keep the army stable."
His heavy gaze fell on Addam, and he finally concluded simply. He did not finish every thought, but the weight and expectations within were already clear:
"You are someone I value—steady, knowing when to advance and when to retreat. My meaning... you should understand."
Addam Marbrand's heart trembled as he instantly grasped all of Tywin's calculations. Suppressing his surging thoughts, he bowed again, his voice low and firm:
"I understand, Lord Duke. I will act according to your instructions, prioritizing the family's interests. I will not fail to maintain the proper boundaries."
Tywin gave a barely perceptible nod and waved his hand.
Addam silently exited the command tent, took a deep breath of the cold air outside the camp, steadied himself, and headed straight toward various parts of the camp.
He knew where Jaime would be, based on his understanding of his old friend.
Sure enough, he soon spotted Jaime in the southeast area of the camp.
The golden-haired lion was pacing anxiously like a trapped beast, the repeated setbacks causing the ferocity in his eyes to grow heavier.
Addam saw him waiting outside the tent of a senior general of The Westerlands, only to be politely stopped by guards with the excuse that "the lord is currently discussing military affairs."
He then saw Jaime pull aside several captains of the Personal Guards of Western vassals, speaking urgently, but they only looked troubled and shook their heads repeatedly, not daring to promise a single word.
Jaime had been away from the center of power in The Westerlands for too long.
He had donned the White Cloak at sixteen and stayed in King's Landing for over a decade; he had no foundation within the military hierarchy of The Westerlands.
And in the army of The Westerlands, ruled with an iron fist by Tywin Lannister where military orders were like mountains, those vassals and generals truly did not dare to move a single soldier without the Duke's personal order.
Seeing this, Addam walked forward quickly and, before Jaime could try to stop another passing knight, called out in a low voice: "Jaime."
Jaime turned his head sharply, the urgency and frustration burning in his eyes almost erupting. Seeing it was Addam, his brow furrowed, and his tone was irritable:
"If you've come as a lobbyist for the Lord Duke you serve, to persuade me to give up, don't bother. I mean what I say; even if I'm alone, I'm going."
"I'm not here to persuade you to give up, Jaime."
Addam's voice was low and earnest. He stepped forward, blocking the view of others, adopting the posture of an old friend offering private advice.
"But acting like this, crashing around like a headless fly, will not only fail to save anyone but will also cost you your life or get you arrested by the Duke for disobeying orders. That would be the end of it."
Jaime stared at him intensely, saying nothing, but his tense body relaxed slightly.
Addam continued, lowering his voice even further: "The Duke's orders are absolute, and the entire army is under his control. Resisting him head-on is useless. If you want to lead troops to Castle Stokeworth, you can only do it through wit, not force."
"Wit?" Jaime suddenly grabbed his arm, his grip so strong it made Addam wince, a spark of hope reigniting in his emerald eyes. "You have a way? Tell me!"
"First," Addam said slowly, his gaze sweeping over Jaime's filthy prisoner's clothes and haggard face, "what does the Duke value most? The dignity of Lannister and the respectability of the family heir. Look at you now—disheveled clothes, a mess of an appearance, impulsive and losing your composure."
"Going to talk to him about leading troops and the big picture in this state will only make him more repulsed."
Jaime froze for a moment, looked down at himself, and frowned deeply.
"You must first clean yourself up, put on our Westerlands armor, and go see him as the heir of Casterly Rock, as a Lannister Lion."
"Then, present your idea... but not for the sake of saving Queen Cersei, at least not on the surface."
"Then how should I say it?" Jaime asked urgently.
"Approach it from the perspective of military strategy."
"Propose a plan to divide the troops. An army of forty thousand is too bloated to move together. Suggest dividing into a vanguard and a rearguard. Let Lord Tywin lead the main vanguard back to The Westerlands first, while you lead the rearguard to provide cover. Once the main force is far away, you can immediately strike for The Crownlands. With such a posture and plan, the chance of success is several times higher."
He paused and said softly, following Jaime's thoughts: "Queen Cersei is still waiting for you at Castle Stokeworth. Only in this way can you legitimately obtain military command."
The anxiety and rage in Jaime's eyes were now completely replaced by a desperate hope.
He nodded heavily, unwilling to wait another moment.
"You're right!" He released Addam and turned immediately, shouting to a nearby attendant who was unsure whether to approach or retreat. His voice was somewhat sharp with urgency: "Prepare water! I want to bathe! Now!"
The attendant jumped and hurriedly replied: "Yes, Ser Jaime! I'll prepare hot water right away..."
"No hot water!" Jaime's brow furrowed, his impatience reaching its limit. "Go to the river! Bring two buckets of cold water, immediately! Now!"
His heart was burning with anxiety, feeling as if a fire was raging in his chest; every minute and second of waiting felt like a lifetime.
Hot water? He couldn't wait for firewood to boil a pot.
The attendant dared not say more and ran off in a panic, soon returning with another person carrying two wooden buckets filled with river water.
The river water was bone-chilling, carrying the frigid bite of early winter.
Jaime stripped off his prisoner's rags and washed his body roughly with the piercingly cold water, scrubbing away the grime and fatigue of months in a dungeon.
Then he took a short blade and haphazardly shaved off his messy beard, revealing a handsome, cold, and sharp-featured face. He simply smoothed his golden hair with his hands, unable to care for any refinement.
He donned his red Lannister Lion armor with gold trim; the roaring lion crest on the breastplate was fierce and striking, glinting with a cold, hard light under the camp's daylight.
Even with such a hasty dressing, Jaime's natural handsome appearance and sharp green eyes, paired with the majestic armor, still made him look exceptionally heroic.
The wretchedness of a prisoner had completely faded, leaving only the arrogance and urgency of the Lannister heir.
He took a deep breath, reining in all his impulsiveness and hostility, and strode toward the central command tent. After signaling the Personal Guard to announce him, he stepped steadily inside.
Tywin sat in the primary seat and looked up at him. A faint, almost imperceptible flicker of satisfaction crossed his eyes before quickly returning to a cold silence.
"Finally," Tywin said, putting down the documents in his hand. His voice was flat, revealing no praise or criticism. "You look the part. Much more pleasing to the eye than that ridiculous White Cloak."
Jaime walked to the long table and stopped.
He ignored his father's habitual disparagement of the White Cloak. Instead, he took another deep breath, keeping his tone as steady as possible, even adding a touch of composure gained from reflection.
He entered the conversation entirely in the tone of a military discussion, mentioning neither their previous dispute nor Cersei:
"Father, I was too impulsive before and disregarded the big picture. The allied forces of the North and The Riverlands indeed still need to be guarded against. I believe we should split our forces; forty thousand troops moving together is too bloated. If the North sends light cavalry to follow and harass us, the main army will find it difficult to react in time."
"How about... you lead the main force of twenty thousand back to the Westerlands first to stabilize our rear, while I lead the remaining twenty thousand to set up defenses at the border? We can prevent a sneak attack by Robb Stark's army, ensuring the Westerlands remain safe while also keeping watch on the movements of The Crownlands and The Riverlands."
The tent fell silent for a moment, save for the occasional crackle of charcoal popping in the brazier.
Tywin leaned back in his chair, his fingertips still lightly tapping the smooth tabletop. His face was calm and rippleless, as if he were seriously weighing the pros and cons of the proposal.
This brief silence felt incredibly long to Jaime; he could almost hear his heart drumming against his ribs.
He forced himself to stand straight, meeting his father's scrutinizing gaze with a steady look.
After a long while, Tywin finally spoke, his tone carrying a businesslike caution and a hint of subtle, reluctant acquiescence:
"Splitting the forces... rear defense... staying alert for the Starks and Targaryens..." He repeated the keywords from Jaime's words as if pondering them. "Though somewhat risky, it is indeed more flexible than the entire army moving in a bloated fashion. Since you are willing to take on this heavy responsibility..."
He paused, his sharp gaze fixing on Jaime, and his tone suddenly turned cold, carrying an unquestionable command:
"Then it shall be as you say. But you must remember, Jaime: your task is to garrison the border, stabilize the defensive line, and scout enemy movements. Without further orders from me, you are absolutely not to set foot within the territory of The Crownlands."
"If you dare disobey, it will be treated as desertion, punished severely by military law without leniency. Do you understand?"
Wild joy surged in Jaime's heart, a flood of relief nearly washing away his composure.
He suppressed the excitement and urgency that were almost spilling from his eyes. He clenched his right fist and struck it heavily against the lion-head sigil on his left chest, producing a dull metallic clang.
He bowed slightly to Tywin, his voice sounding somewhat low due to his suppressed emotions:
"I understand, Father. I will strictly observe my duties, garrison the border, and will not cross the boundary without authorization."
Jaime bowed again, then immediately turned and strode out of the tent.
His pace grew faster and faster until he was almost at a trot, the plates of his armor clattering against each other with a light clink.
His mind was focused solely on getting the deployment orders as quickly as possible, assembling those twenty thousand troops, and then... then rushing to Castle Stokeworth!
Cersei, wait for me!
He was completely immersed in the joy of his successful plan and the urgency of saving her, failing to notice that everything—from Addam's'suggestion' to Tywin's 'acquiescence'—was within his father's cold and precise calculations.
Once Jaime's figure had completely vanished beyond the tent flap, silence returned to the interior.
Tywin slowly withdrew his gaze. The reluctant, pondering expression on his face faded, leaving only a bottomless coldness and depth.
He knew his eldest son too well.
Impulsive, driven by emotion, with a near-pathological obsession with Cersei.
If Jaime said he would go to The Crownlands alone, he truly would.
Even if Tywin strictly controlled the military power so that Jaime couldn't move a single soldier, with Jaime's temperament, he would definitely steal a horse, take a sword, and break into that land ravaged by dragonfire and surrounded by enemies alone.
The final result would only be dying pointlessly on some unknown road, his corpse pecked at by crows.
And Jaime was the son Joanna left behind, the rightful heir to Casterly Rock.
As for that Dwarf, Tyrion... a flash of undisguised loathing crossed Tywin's eyes. He had never considered that deformed monster his son, let alone his heir.
The bloodline and glory of House Lannister could never be lost to a foolish lover, and certainly not to a deformed monster.
Moreover, there was Tommen.
That child was the only legitimate claimant to the iron throne from the Lannister bloodline after Joffrey's death.
He was the foundation of the family's future power, an indispensable bargaining chip to climb back to the pinnacle of authority.
The siege of Castle Stokeworth had to be broken.
Tommen had to be brought back to the Westerlands alive.
He hadn't told Jaime a single lie just now.
It was true that Cersei's whereabouts were unknown, and it was true that Tommen was besieged at Castle Stokeworth.
He simply chose silence, using that quiet, ambiguous attitude to guide Jaime—who was already blinded by anxiety and love—to reach his own conclusion that 'Cersei must be with Tommen, trapped in that isolated castle together.'
That was enough.
Enough to make this rebellious son, whose heart was filled only with his sister, willingly and even eagerly volunteer to lead the troops there.
And those subtle instructions to Addam Marbrand were the final insurance.
Addam was steady, loyal, and knew how to assess the situation.
With him by Jaime's side, he could help Jaime successfully 'persuade' Tywin to give him military power, and at the critical moment, use prudence and the big picture as reasons to hold back a potentially out-of-control Jaime, ensuring they retreat immediately after rescuing Tommen and not get entangled with the Targaryen main force.
This would preserve the family's only legitimate heir and recover the cornerstone of the family's future royal power, killing two birds with one stone.
As for Cersei... there was no ripple in Tywin's eyes.
If she was still alive and in the castle, then that was her good luck.
If she wasn't there, or was already dead... then that was simply fate.
What mattered was the future of the family.
All these calculations, these unspoken arrangements, were for one purpose alone... Lannister.
The next morning, the orders to split the forces were officially issued.
Tywin Lannister wasted no words, not even looking at Jaime again.
He personally led the twenty thousand most elite main troops of the Lannisters and broke camp to head west.
The roaring lion banners fluttered in the morning breeze. The grand army, like a river of metal, rolled toward the heart of the Westerlands, gradually growing distant until it finally vanished into the dust on the horizon.
Meanwhile, Jaime could no longer contain the Raging fire in his heart.
After the last unit of Tywin's main force vanished from sight, he immediately mounted his horse and drew the sword at his waist.
He turned his horse's head, no longer looking west, but pointing the tip of his sword straight east... toward The Crownlands.
"All troops, hear my command!" His voice was somewhat hoarse from excitement and determination. "Target: Castle Stokeworth! Full speed ahead!"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the somewhat confused and restless ranks below, and added sharply with an unquestionable air of slaughter:
"Those who fear battle, those who disobey orders, those who delay military operations... shall be dealt with by military law and executed on the spot without pardon!"
Addam Marbrand sat on his horse slightly behind him, his face calm. He tightened his grip on the reins and nodded slightly to several officers who looked his way.
The orders were passed down through the ranks.
Despite the confusion and the unease at the sudden turn toward the east, military orders were as immovable as mountains.
Under the leadership of Jaime Lannister, the twenty thousand Westerlands troops reorganized their ranks, kicking up clouds of dust as they galloped at full speed toward The Crownlands and Castle Stokeworth.
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