Chapter 68 Chapter 68: Tyrion

He dreamed of cracked stone ceilings, the smell of blood, feces, and burnt flesh, acrid smoke in the air, and people moaning and whimpering and screaming in pain.He wanted to move, but found that he actually wet the bed.The thick fog made him cry.I'm crying?Must not let father see.He is a Lannister of Casterly Rock.Lion, I am a lion, I am a lion in life, and I am a lion in death.But he was in so much pain, so weak that he didn't even have the strength to moan, so he could only close his eyes and lie in the filth that he had excreted, waiting.Someone nearby cursed the gods repeatedly in a hoarse voice.Hearing these blasphemous words, he wondered if his own death was near.After a while like this, the room gradually disappeared.

After that, he found himself outside the city, walking in a colorless world.The crows spread their wide black wings and flew in the gray sky. As he moved, they rose like violent clouds, leaving the feast of carrion for a while.White maggots crawled around in the black carrion.Gray Wolves, Gray's Silent Sisters, work together to strip the flesh of the dead.Corpses littered the arena.The sun shone like a hot white coin on the charred wrecks of the gray river.Wisps of black smoke and pure white ash rose from the pyre.My masterpiece, Tyrion Lannister thought, they died at my command. The world was silent at first, but after a while the dead began to speak, softly and horribly.They sobbed and groaned, they prayed for death, they cried for help, they longed for their mother.Tyrion has never met his mother, he wants Shae, but she is not in this world.So he walked alone in the gray shadows, full of thoughts...

The Silent Sisters stripped the dead man of his armor and clothes.The killing wiped away all the bright colors on the armor, leaving only white or gray monotonous decorations and clotted black blood.He watched the naked body being lifted up hands and feet, thrown into the funeral pyre, and joined his companions.Armaments and clothing were thrown into a white wooden carriage pulled by two tall black horses. So many dead people, so many, so many.Their bodies were lifeless, their faces dull, stiff, swollen, hideous, beyond recognition.The garments that the nuns took off were embroidered with black hearts, gray lions, withered flowers, and ghostly deer.The armor was scarred and full of holes, and the clothes were torn and damaged.Why should I kill them?I knew it before, but I can't say it now.

He asked one of the nuns, only to find that he had no mouth, and his teeth were covered with flat skin without any gaps.He was terrified, how could he live without a mouth?So he started running, towards the city not far away.As long as you go into the city and stay away from these dead people, you will be safe.He is not dead, although his mouth disappeared, he is still a living person.No, no, I'm a lion, a lion, a live lion.He finally ran to the bottom of the city, but the city gate was closed to him. When he woke up again, it was already dark.Complete chaos at first, but after a while the outline of the bed blurred around.The curtain was drawn down, but he could see the carved bedposts, and the velvet canopy above his head.There is a soft feather bed under the body, and a goose feather pillow behind the head.My own bed, I sleep on my own feather bed, this is my own bedroom.

It was warm inside the curtain and covered with a pile of furs and blankets.sweat.I have a fever, he thought dazedly.He was so exhausted that even the movement of raising his hand caused pain all over his body, so he gave up trying.The head was so big, the size of the bed, it was too heavy to get off the pillow.And the whole body lost consciousness.How did I get here?He tried to remember.Fragments of the battle flashed sporadically in his mind.Battles by the river, knights offering gauntlets, bridges of hulks... Sir Mandon.He seemed to see those dull eyes again, that outstretched hand, and the green fire reflected on the glazed white armor.Fear ran through his body like a cold torrent, and he wet the bed again.If he had a mouth, he would probably scream wildly.No, no, this is a dream, he thought, his head banging.Save me, who will save me.Jaime, Shae, Mother, someone help me...Tessa...

No one heard.No one came.He sleeps alone again in shit and darkness.This time, he dreamed that his sister was standing in front of the bed, next to his father who was as stern as ever.What a dream, Duke Tywin must be thousands of miles away in the West, fighting Robb Stark.There are others who come and go.Varys looked down, sighing, while Littlefinger made fun of him.Damn it, you treacherous bastard, Tyrion thought viciously, we sent you to Bitterbridge and you never came back.Sometimes he heard them talking to each other, but he didn't understand their language, only the voices buzzing in his ears, as if muffled by thick blankets.

He wondered if the battle had been won.We must have won, or my head would have been on a gun.Now that I'm alive, we must have won.He didn't know which would make him happier: victory, or regaining some of his ability to think.Great, no matter how slowly, his mind is coming back.This is his only weapon. The next time he woke up, the bed curtain had been pulled back, and Podrick Payne was standing beside him holding a candle.He saw Tyrion open his eyes and run.No, don't go, save me, save me, he wanted to shout, but he couldn't make a sound with all his strength, only let out a muffled grunt.I have no mouth.He raised his hand to touch his face, every movement painful and clumsy.His fingers found something hard where flesh, lips, and teeth should have been.Linen.The lower half of his face was tightly bandaged, leaving only holes for breathing and eating on the congealed plaster mask.

Soon Pod reappeared, followed by a stranger, a maester in a necklace and robes. "My lord, please don't move," the visitor murmured, "You are seriously injured, and it is not good for your body to act rashly. Are you thirsty?" He nodded awkwardly with difficulty, and the maester inserted a curved copper funnel through the feeding hole into his mouth and slowly poured some liquid.Tyrion had no choice but to swallow, realizing it was milk of the poppy before it was too late.The maester removed the funnel from his mouth, and he returned to his dream. This time he dreamed that he was at a feast, a celebration feast in the great hall.He sat on a high platform, and people raised their glasses to cheer him and pay tribute to the hero.Marillion, the singer who accompanied him through the Moon Mountains, played the woodharp and sang of the imp's bravery, and even his father smiled approvingly.When the song was over, Jaime left his seat, made Tyrion kneel, and touched him with a golden sword on each shoulder. When he rose, he became a knight, and Shae waited to embrace him.She took his hand, laughing and teasing, and called him her Lannister giant...

He woke up again in the dark, facing the empty and cold room.The bed curtain was lowered again.Something was wrong, something had changed, but he couldn't tell why.Alone, he pushed back the blankets and tried to sit up, but the pain was so severe that he soon had to stop moving and gasp for breath.The pain on his face was the slightest, but the whole right half of his body was in excruciating pain, and every time he raised his hand, he felt a stabbing pain in his chest.What's wrong with me?He tried hard to think, the battle scene was like a dream.I don't seem to be seriously hurt... Ser Mandon...

The memory frightened him, but Tyrion held on to it, faced it, examined it.He wants to kill me, yes, this is not a dream.He wanted to cut me in two, if it wasn't for Pod... Pod, where's Pod? He gritted his teeth and grabbed the bed curtain, pulling hard.The curtain broke away from the canopy and fell down, half on the body and one side on the straw mat.A little effort made him dizzy, and the room whirled around, bare walls and dark shadows, a narrow window.He also saw a box that belonged to him, a mess of clothes and scarred armor.This is not my bedroom, he realized, not even in the Prime Minister's Tower.Someone changed his place!He yelled angrily, but he groaned indistinctly.They moved me here - to die!As he thought, he gave up struggling and closed his eyes again.The room was damp and cold, but he felt hot all over.

This time he dreamed of a wonderful place, a cozy cottage on the shore of the sunset.The walls were crooked and cracked and the floor was compacted earth, but he was warm, even though they kept forgetting to add firewood and kept letting the fire go out.She liked to tease me about it, he remembered, and I couldn't think of adding wood, because that was always a servant's job. "We have no servants," she reminded him, and then I said, "you have me, and I am your servant," she went on, "humph! lazy servants! what do you do with lazy servants in Casterly Rock, my lord? ’ He told her, ‘Kiss whoever’s lazy,’ and she giggled, ‘No way. They’d get spanked, I bet,’ but he insisted, ‘No, we kiss him, like this.’ He demonstrated it to her. "First the fingers, one by one, then the wrists, yes, to the insides of the elbows, and then their playful ears, our servants have playful ears. Don't laugh! Then we kiss their cheeks, Kiss their noses, there's a little mole on it, here, uh, like this, and then kiss their lovely brows, hair, lips, their... um, um... mouth... um..." They would kiss for hours and then lounge in bed, doing nothing all day long, listening to the waves of the ocean and touching each other's bodies.Her body was his miracle, and she seemed to find pleasure in his too.She often sings for him.I love a girl as beautiful as summer, with the sun in her hair. "I love you, Tyrion," she whispered in his ear at night before he fell asleep, "I love your lips. I love your voice. I love the words you speak to me. I love the tenderness you give me. I love your face." "my face?" "Yes, yes. I still love your hands and their touch. Your lifeblood, I love your lifeblood and the way it feels inside me." "It loves you too, my lady." "I love to say your name. Tyrion Lannister. It suits me well. I don't mean Lannister, but the other half. Tyrion and Tessa. Tessa and Tyrion. Tyrion Leon. My Lord Tyrion..." Lies, he thought, all lies, all for money, she's a whore, Jaime's whore, Jaime's gift, my lady lie.Her face faded away, melting into tears, but even so, he could still hear her distant and faint voice calling his name. "...My lord, can you hear me? My lord? Tyrion? My lord? My lord?" Breaking out of the chaotic slumber induced by the milk of the poppy, he saw a soft pink face above his head.He was back in the dank, cold room, surrounded by ripped curtains, and this face was not hers, too round and with a brown beard. "Are you thirsty, my lord? I have milk for you, delicious milk. You don't move, no, be quiet, you need to rest." His wet pink hand held the copper funnel while holding the bottle. As the man leaned over, Tyrion seized his chain of many metals and tugged furiously.The maester let go in surprise, and the milk of the poppy spilled all over the blanket.Tyrion twisted the chain until he felt the metal ring sink into his fat, fleshy neck. "Never, never," he said hoarsely, so hoarse that he didn't know if he really said it, but he must have said it, because the maester replied, choking, "let go, please, my lord... you must Drink it, or the wound will hurt... Necklace, don't, let go, no..." When Tyrion let go, his pink face had turned purple.The bachelor flinched back, panting hard, deep white marks from the chains appeared on his flushed neck, and his eyes were pale and panicked.Tyrion raised his hand to remove the hard mask.He gestured again and again. "You...you want to take off the bandages, don't you?" said the maester at last, "but I don't...it's...that's very unwise, my lord. You are not yet cured, the Queen will..." Tyrion was furious at the mention of his sister.So, are you hers too?He pointed to the maester, and made a fist.Squeeze, suffocate, a vow!Unless the idiot does what he tells him to do. Thank goodness he got it. "I...I will carry out your lord's order, definitely, definitely, but...it's not wise, your injury..." "Quick, do it," he said a little louder this time. The man bowed, left the room, and returned with a long, thin serrated knife, a basin of water, a pile of soft cloths, and several bottles.Tyrion managed to squirm upward a few inches, half sitting up against the pillow.Keeping him absolutely still, the maester brought the point of the knife to the bottom of his chin, sawing steadily at the mask.One swipe and Cersei is out of me forever, he thought.The blade cut through the stiff sackcloth just above the throat. Fortunately, this pink and weak person does not belong to the braver puppet under the elder sister.Not long after, he felt a cool air on his cheek.The pain was still there, but he tried his best to ignore it.The maester threw away the stiff bandage with plaster. "Don't move, let me wash your wound." His touch is light, and the water is gentle.The wound, Tyrion remembered, the sudden silver light in his eyes. "It might sting a little," the maester warned, as he dabbed a soft cloth that smelled of crushed herbs with alcohol and wiped Tyrion's face.More than just a little tingling, the place where the soft cloth passed was as hot as fire, especially the nose, as if being stabbed and twisted by a burning poker.He gripped the sheets tightly and took a deep breath, trying not to scream.The maester gasped in amazement, like an old hen. "It is wiser to keep the mask, at least till the muscles grow, my lord. But now the wound is clean, well, well. When we found you in the cellar, you were lying among the dead and dying, and the wound Dirty and smelly, a broken rib, you can definitely feel it, whether it was the hammer or the fall, it's hard to tell. You took an arrow in the arm, right where the shoulder and hand meet, and the wound shows signs of necrosis , I was so worried that I had to amputate your limb! But we treated it with boiling wine and maggots first, and it seemed to heal very cleanly..." "Name," Tyrion gasped, looking up, "name!" The maester blinked. "Ah? You are Tyrion Lannister, my lord. You are the queen's brother. Do you remember the battle? Sometimes a head wound will—" "Your name." His throat was dry, and his tongue seemed to have forgotten how to pronounce words. "I am Maester Barabar." "Barabards," Tyrion repeated, "give me the mirror." "My lord," said the maester, "I suggest . . . which is, I'm afraid, er, not very wise . . . because . . . your injury . . . " "Here," he insisted.His lips were stiff and sore, as if he had been punched. "There is still something to drink, wine, not poppy milk." The maester stood up blushing, and hurried out, bringing back a jug of pale yellow wine and a small silver mirror with a gold frame.Sitting on the edge of the bed, he poured out half a glass and held it to Tyrion's swollen lips.There is no taste, and a trace of liquid flows into the abdomen coolly. "Again," he said when the glass was empty.Maester Ballabar poured another cup.By the time the second cup was down, Tyrion Lannister felt strong enough to face his own face. He held up the mirror, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.The sword wound was curved and long, from under the left eye all the way to the right chin.Three-quarters of the nose was missing, and a piece of the lip was missing. The torn flesh was stitched together with gut, and the rough stitching lay across the half-healed red skin. "Pretty," he said hoarsely, setting the mirror aside.He remembered it all.Shipbridge, Ser Mandon Moore, left hand, sword light.If I hadn't flinched, that blow would have cut off half my head.Jaime used to say that Ser Mandon was the most dangerous of the Kingsguard, because he had no expression on his face and no one could tell what he was up to.I should never have trusted any of them.He knew Ser Meryn, Ser Boros, and later Ser Osmond were his sister's men, but he kept pretending that the others hadn't quite lost their honor.Cersei must have paid him off to make sure I go to battle and never come back.Is not it?Otherwise, if I have nothing against Ser Mandon, why should he harm me?Tyrion touched his face, running his stubby fingers at the scar.Dear sister, give me another gift. The maester stood by the bed and waved his hands, like a goose about to take off. "My lord, don't, don't move around, there may be a scar left..." "Maybe?" His sneer was accompanied by painful twitches.Of course there would be a scar, and the nose would never grow back.Well, he's never been pleasing to the eye. "This is my -lesson -don't -play with-axes again." The cut on the lip was tight. "Where are we - where is this - what place?" The words hurt, but Tyrion It's been too long in silence. "Ah, my lord, you are in the Maegor Mansion, which is the room under the Empress Dowager's ballroom. Her Majesty the Empress Dowager specially placed you nearby so that she can take care of you from time to time." Of course she would, I bet! "Take me home," Tyrion ordered, "I want my own bed, my own chamber." I want my own people, my own maester, if... I can find someone I can trust. "Your own...my lord, that is impossible. That is the Prime Minister's room." "I'm—that's—the Prime Minister." Trying to speak exhausted him, and what he heard was even more confusing. Bachelor Barabba said with a bitter face: "No, my lord, I... you were seriously injured earlier and were on the verge of death. Your lord father has taken over the heavy responsibility. Lord Tywin, he..." "it's here?" "He saved us all that night. The people thought that King Renly's ghost had appeared, but wise men know it was your father and Lord Tyrell, and the Knight of Flowers and Lord Littlefinger. Ashes, kill the usurper Stannis from behind. It was a great victory, and now Lord Tywin has moved into the Prime Minister's Tower to assist His Majesty the King to set things right, Gods bless you." "Gods bless," Tyrion repeated hollowly.Damn father, damn Littlefinger, damn Renly's ghost! "Go to..." To whom?You can't ask this pink-faced Barabar to bring Shae.Who should he call?Who else could he trust?Varys?Polon?Sir Jacelyn? "...my squire," he finished, "Pod, Payne." It was Pod the boy who saved my life on that bridge. "Boy? That weird boy?" "Weird boy - Podrick - Payne - you go - call him." "As you order, my lord." Maester Balabar nodded and left in a hurry.Tyrion waited, feeling power seep from his body.I don't know how long I have been sleeping here.Cersei wants me to stay awake, but I won't obey. Podrick Payne came into the bedroom, timid as a mouse. "My lord?" He crept closer to the bed.This child was so brave on the battlefield, why is he trembling now?Tyrion didn't understand. "I intended to stay with you, but the maester told me to go away." "Let him go--listen to me--talk hard--I'll take sleeping wine-- sleeping-wine--not milk of the poppy--go to Franken--Franken--not Ballabar-- Watch him concoct—and bring." Pod stole a glance in his face, and looked away instantly.Alas, it's not his fault. "I also—" continued Tyrion, "where is my—guard—Bron—Bron?" "He became a knight." Even frowning hurts, "Find him—bring him." "Yes, my lord. I will go to Bronn." Tyrion clasped the boy's wrist. "Where's Ser Mandon?" The boy shivered, "No—it's not that I want to kill him, he—he—he—dead—" "He's dead? Are you sure? He's dead?" He rubbed his feet timidly, "Drowned." "Very well—don't say anything—about him—about me—about this—don't say anything." Tyrion was utterly exhausted when the squire left, so he lay back and closed his eyes.I don't know if I will dream of Tessa again, I don't know if she still loves my face, he thought bitterly.