News of the founding of Harrenhal University spread across Westeros like wildfire, leaving everyone stunned into numbness.
"Just how many secrets is Roman Rivers hiding? How did he manage to build a university in the middle of a war?"
"By the way, can those of us who aren't subjects of House Whent attend? I heard Harrenhal University accepts both men and women, and there's no obligation to serve after graduation!"
"You're dreaming. The Hean Family only accepts people from their own territory, and there's an entrance exam. Do you really think you have what it takes?"
"What's so hard about that? I'll just defect to House Whent. Maybe life would be better there anyway!"
...
In King's Landing, both House Lannister and House Tyrell were left speechless by the announcement. Tywin saw the deeper implications of the university at a glance.
"Roman can carry out massive construction projects in the rear while fighting on the front lines," Tywin said grimly. "Harrenhal's potential has not yet been fully revealed, but even now there is little we can do about him."
Kevan studied the vast tracts of occupied territory on the map and asked cautiously,
"Then should we attempt to sue for peace with House Whent?"
"Sue for peace?"
Tyrion swirled the wine in his glass, eyes fixed on the clear golden liquid, and spoke slowly.
"Ser Roman holds the advantage right now. Any peace terms would be more than we could bear. Besides, why would he want peace? He can simply keep fighting."
"Furthermore, he is not a noble in the traditional sense. Rather than negotiating terms and withdrawing troops, Ser Roman prefers to conquer land and then redistribute it entirely."
Tywin looked at Tyrion, then glanced at the Reach army currently defending the city, calculating how to break the deadlock.
"Our forces far outnumber Harrenhal's, but every time the battle begins to turn in our favor, Roman flies over the army and rains down destruction. If we want to defeat the Harrenhal army, we must first find a way to deal with Roman himself."
As he spoke, Tywin picked up a wooden model of a scorpion ballista crafted by the maesters.
"The Citadel has modified the existing scorpions and produced a large number of an improved version. These should be capable of injuring Roman."
At these words, the Dornish representative nearby could not help but sneer.
"Lord Tywin, surely you don't think that because we once brought down Meraxes, you can bring down Ser Roman? Ser Roman possesses the intelligence of a normal human and is far smaller in size. The success rate of hitting a human-sized target in the sky is no better than catching Baelor the Blessed in a brothel!"
Tywin stared silently at the Dornishman. He knew the Red Viper had recently met with Roman, but he could not lash out. Even though he knew Dorne would eventually seek revenge against House Lannister, he still had to show these Dornish advisors sufficient respect for now.
Yet Tywin also noticed Dorne's strange behavior. Ever since Roman had spread word that Tywin had ordered the Mountain's atrocities, brief protests had erupted among the Dornish smallfolk. They had demanded that Prince Doran take revenge on both Lannister and Baratheon, but Doran had eventually suppressed them.
The Old Lion would never believe Doran would simply let the matter rest. After learning of the Red Viper's meeting with Roman, he became even more certain that House Martell was plotting something.
After the council meeting ended, Tywin called Tyrion to his private chambers. In the end, he chose to listen to the insights of the dwarf son he hated most—yet who was also the most brilliant.
"Tell me, Tyrion. What is your plan for our next move?"
The Imp glanced at his father and asked, "Father, you don't want to admit defeat, do you?"
Seeing that Tywin did not answer, Tyrion continued on his own.
"Father, your iron-fisted rule unified the nobles of the Westerlands, but it also left them resentful. Now your defeats on the battlefield have given them ideas. If you seek peace now, they will surely seize the opportunity during any truce with Ser Roman—while your troops are still recovering—to break away."
"As for Harrenhal, Ser Roman will not stop his expansion. Every piece of land he has conquered has been swallowed whole by House Whent. His control over territory is something we traditional nobles cannot match. He has no intention of stopping."
Tyrion poured two large cups of wine and handed one to Tywin.
"Furthermore, House Tyrell currently controls the defense of King's Landing. They will not allow you to make a unilateral peace. It would be too humiliating—at least not until the Reach army has suffered massive casualties."
Tywin looked at his son with a mixture of reluctant gratification and deep disgust. He could not understand why the gods had granted such sharp intelligence to this dwarf—the same son who had killed his beloved wife.
"Enough. I understand your thoughts. You may go."
Tywin did not touch the wine Tyrion had poured for him. Instead, he simply opened the door and walked out.
The Imp stared at the untouched glass with a bitter smile. It was fine Harrenhal crystal—clear, exquisitely crafted, and practical—yet Tywin had ignored it completely.
Just as Tyrion was about to drink the cup himself, Tywin suddenly returned.
"Tyrion, I heard you brought several whores back to the Red Keep after the Battle of the Blackwater. I have already dealt with them."
"Remember your status. You are a Lannister. Your conduct must befit a Lannister. Let there be no next time."
Tyrion was stunned. By the time he regained his senses, he found himself alone in his bedroom.
The Imp shouted the names of those women. They had been among the few who were genuinely willing to share their hearts with him, and they had cared for him after he was wounded in battle.
And now… Tyrion knew Tywin's methods all too well. They were gone.
He wanted to scream, but he did not dare. He feared Tywin would hear. He could only grit his teeth and endure it.
But the Imp immediately grew furious at his own weakness. He realized he did not even have the courage to be angry with his father.
Amid humiliation, rage, and pain, Tyrion buried his oversized head in the pillow and began to cry.
After an unknown amount of time, the door opened and Kevan walked in.
The Imp lifted his tear-streaked face. His eyes were red and swollen, and the pillow beneath him was soaked.
Kevan said gently, "Tyrion, I heard what happened. Do not blame Tywin. His severity is for your own good."
"Uncle, are you going to defend Father now as well?"
Kevan's voice rose slightly. "Defend? No, Tyrion. I am merely stating facts. Tywin has done so much for this family. Ever since King Robert died, he has worked tirelessly to protect Lannister interests. We can sit here in the Red Keep and live in relative safety—and you can drink here—all because of his efforts."
"Tyrion, you should try to understand your father. Discord between father and son is always a great misfortune for any family, especially one like ours that is currently sitting on a volcano."
Tyrion's voice cracked. "Uncle, after all that, you still don't understand my situation. Father hates me, and I hate him… but you love him!"
Kevan wanted to continue persuading him, but the Imp had lost all patience.
"Go, Uncle. Let me have some peace. Let me rest for a while."
Tyrion turned his back, struggling with his short limbs to pull the blanket haphazardly over himself.
Right now, he only wanted to escape everything in sleep.
Now Get The FULL AVAILABLE NOVEL at Once!
At Lower Prices!
@patreon.com/Authorizz/shop