The wind by the Red Fork still swirled with dust and smoke; Jaime Lannister had not had even a moment's respite.
He still wore that tattered prisoner's garb, the coarse hemp fabric chafing his skin painfully, while the deep red marks left by the iron chains on his wrists remained. The months of imprisonment were etched across his haggard and disheveled face.
He didn't take the clean clothes offered by the servant, nor did he have any thought of resting. He snatched the reins of a warhorse from a nearby Westerlands cavalryman, vaulted into the saddle, and with a crack of his whip, galloped straight toward the vanguard of the Westerlands army heading west.
Only one thought occupied his mind: find Tywin and find out exactly what happened to Cersei—was she... still alive?
During his months of confinement, he could only piece together a fragmented truth from the guards' idle chatter:
Aegon Targaryen had returned with dragons and an army, occupied Dragonstone, crushed Stannis, and finally breached King's Landing.
Beyond that, he knew nothing of Cersei's whereabouts or safety; this uncertainty had long since exhausted him to the point of near collapse.
The Westerlands army was slowly marching west along the riverbank. The gold-and-crimson Lannister lion banners rose and fell amidst the dust, accompanied by the clatter of armor and the dull thud of hooves.
Tywin Lannister stood atop a high slope at the army's vanguard, a corner of his crimson cloak fluttering in the wind. Holding a riding whip, his cold gaze swept over the marching formation. The aura of authority he radiated caused the Personal Guard and generals beside him to hold their breath, not daring to disturb him in the slightest.
Jaime charged through the marching ranks on horseback, drawing stares from the Soldiers along the way, yet none dared to step forward and stop him.
He rode straight up the slope, leaping down before his horse had fully come to a halt. He strode toward Tywin, his voice desperate to the point of losing control, completely disregarding protocol or etiquette:
"Father, Aegon Targaryen has taken King's Landing—that's all I know! Where is Cersei? Is she still alive?"
Tywin turned his head slowly, his gaze indifferently sweeping over Jaime's disheveled appearance in the prisoner's garb. There wasn't a hint of emotion in his eyes as he spoke in a flat, level voice:
"King's Landing fell into chaos after the breach, and all communication with The Crownlands has been severed. There is no news of Cersei's death yet, but whether she lives or dies, no one knows at this moment."
Jaime's heart wrenched. He pressed further, "And Tommen? Myrcella? Where are they?"
"Before King's Landing fell, Tyrion sent Tommen to Castle Stokeworth." Tywin paused, his tone still matter-of-fact. "Now, what remains of the Lannister forces in The Crownlands have retreated to that castle. They are surrounded by the Targaryen army, cut off from the outside world."
Jaime's pupils constricted. A frantic thought took root in his mind. He stared intensely at Tywin, his voice trembling from extreme tension: "Cersei... did she also escape the Red Keep in the chaos? She's with Tommen, isn't she? She's retreated to Castle Stokeworth as well?"
Tywin watched him in silence, his thin lips pressed into a hard line. He neither nodded nor shook his head; his gaze within his sunken sockets was deep and inscrutable.
In Jaime's burning anxiety, this silence was immediately interpreted as confirmation.
Of course. How could Cersei ever leave Tommen behind? She must be with her son!
They were trapped in that isolated castle, in mortal danger! One step too late, and they would all die! This realization swept through his reason like Wildfire.
"Give me an army!"
Jaime stepped forward, nearly grabbing Tywin's cloak. His voice rose sharply, his eyes swirling with reckless obsession and urgency.
"Father, give me an army. I will march on The Crownlands immediately to reinforce Castle Stokeworth! If we're too late, they're finished!"
"Absurd!"
Tywin barked, his voice not loud, but cutting through the air like an icy whip, cold and unyielding.
"The army is exhausted after the hard fighting in the West and the maneuvering in The Riverlands. Robb Stark's Northern coalition still watches us from The Riverlands like a predator, and they have already refused an alliance."
"At this moment, withdrawing the entire army to the West to regroup, resupply, and stabilize our home base is the only strategic priority—the only way to survive!"
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze pressing down on Jaime with physical weight. "To rashly divide our forces and strike deep into The Crownlands to face Aegon Targaryen's dragons and army would be like throwing eggs against a stone."
"It would only waste twenty thousand Westerlands elites, turning them into a shield and stepping stone for the Stark and Tully alliance to resist the Targaryen army!"
"Do you want to see the Lannisters bleed their last drop of blood, Jaime?"
"But that is your daughter! Your... grandson!!"
Jaime's eyes were bloodshot. The fury built up from months of imprisonment, the fear for Cersei's safety, and Tywin's cold insistence on the 'greater good' completely shattered his reason.
Disregarding his surroundings, he hissed back, "So you'll just watch them be trapped and burned alive?! Is this your so-called family legacy? To abandon your own blood?!"
Tywin's face darkened completely, as if coated in a layer of ice.
The pressure radiating from him caused the Personal Guard nearby to involuntarily take a half-step back.
He stared at Jaime, speaking each word clearly and slowly, each one striking like a hammer blow:
"The Lannister army fights for the survival of the house, not for your personal whims. Remember, Jaime: you are not a white knight of the Kingsguard; you are the heir to Casterly Rock."
"The orders are set: the entire army retreats to the West. Anyone who dares speak of dividing forces or marching on The Crownlands will be dealt with for defying orders and inciting mutiny. Military law will not be merciful!"
Heir? Military law? To hell with military law and being the heir!
With the argument reaching this point, the last spark of hope in Jaime's heart died, replaced by a fury and determination that had been pushed to the brink.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, almost growling his ultimatum at Tywin:
"Fine, a fine 'greater good' indeed! A fine 'military law'!" He stepped back, a desperate fire burning in his emerald eyes. "If you won't send troops, I'll go myself!"
"Even if I'm alone, I will break into The Crownlands and reach Castle Stokeworth! If I can't save Cersei, I'll perish in dragonfire. I'm not looking back!"
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