Before Viserys set sail back to the continent of Westeros, Tyrion was fortunate enough to become a father. It happened on a midsummer night, when the night breeze of Braavos seemed to carry the sounds of love songs. Everyone was sitting in the courtyard, eating fruit, enjoying the cool air, and watching the stars. Suddenly, the pomegranate in Tysha's hand slipped, and its rich, crimson juice splattered on the ground. At the same time, her water broke. She was in labor! Servants scrambled to carry her back to the bedroom, and the local midwife they had summoned prepared to follow.
"Wait!" Viserys saw that she hadn't washed her hands, let alone disinfected them, and immediately jumped up to stop her. "This won't do! You must wash your hands first, and use strong spirits!"
Tysha's cries inside the room were heartbreaking and anguished. The experienced midwife was blocked by Viserys. She raised her old eyes. "My lord, this is a woman's affair, what do you know? I've delivered hundreds of children!"
Viserys simply refused to let a pair of unwashed hands touch the woman in labor. He also ordered her to change out of the robe, which who knew how long she had worn, and to put on a clean headscarf! Wash your hands quickly!
Anxious, Tyrion pulled at his hair amidst his wife's screams. The midwife and his friend were at a standoff. He quickly made his choice, believing his friend.
Sandor brought over some liquor from the kitchen. He grabbed the midwife's hands.
It was also due to Viserys' insistence that the midwife reluctantly displayed her toolbox for assisting with childbirth. Seeing the forceps and scissors with bloodstains on them...
"My God, all of these must be burned in fire and then doused with liquor!" In Viserys's opinion, the fact that mothers and newborns could survive under such circumstances meant they were exceptionally gifted, having been selected by heaven. The death rate for women giving birth was so high, whether they were poor, unkempt people from the streets, or pampered nobles in castles... He thought of Lyanna.
She had given birth to her brother's son in the Tower of Joy, only to die from massive blood loss and a fever. Wasn't that caused by an infection? Oh, my God! Brother preparing so many roses for her room was not as good as preparing a reliable healer. Sigh, how would a prince know about these things? There was no saving her… Lyanna looked quite strong—when she returned to Westeros, she must have Wynton find someone to study basic childbirth care, and then prepare people to send to Dragonstone. If her brother and Lyanna married normally in this lifetime, and no rebellions happened, her childbirth conditions should be better than in the original story, right? She better not die—otherwise, her brother would become a widower!
Viserys waited anxiously, worrying. He tried to recall some correct and useful things… It seemed like they had to wait until the cervix dilated to ten fingers wide? It seemed like they would have to do an episiotomy if there was no other choice—Oh, God! He was again thankful to come to the world of Ice and Fire as a prince, not a princess—inescapable marriage and childbirth were terrifying! Several Targaryen princesses had died from this before!
When the constellation of the Old Woman's Lamp dimmed in the southern sky, as dawn was about to break, the heart-wrenching cries of a baby pierced the ears of everyone anxiously waiting! Tyrion immediately jumped up and rushed to the bedroom door, "Tysha!! Tysha!!"
Another loud cry came! It was like a duet!!
The mother, who had given birth, had no strength to answer. After a while, the maidservant smiled and said that the lady was safe and sound, and had given birth to a beautiful pair of twins! The midwife was also complacent, saying that the children were very healthy, and they were the six hundred and twenty-first and six hundred and twenty-second babies she had delivered!
The newborns, wrapped in clean, soft silk, were brought out. Viserys curiously examined the twins: a boy and a girl, normal babies, with golden, fluffy baby hair, and beautiful, delicate features… Wow! This inheritance—they looked exactly like Cersei and Jaime. He almost burst out laughing.
Tyrion had already become excited and lost control. The Imp jumped onto the fountain like a dwarf in a circus, shouting at the sky! "I have a son! A daughter!!" "I am a father!!!"
The gushing water drenched him from head to toe. Tyrion laughed, laughed up at the sky, brushed his golden, wet short hair, high-fived Sandor, generously gave gold coins to all the servants, and also wanted the passersby to drink wine freely, repeating to Viserys again and again: "I have children!"
Viserys watched his friend's joy, his purple eyes filled with contentment. He said, "They're healthy children! One day, you can bring them back to the Lannister family!"
...If Lord Tywin and Cersei saw that these pure Lannister children, with their golden hair and blue eyes, were actually Tyrion's... I wonder what expressions they'd have, haha. Just thinking about it gets me a little excited.
Overjoyed, Tyrion wanted to thank Viserys. After the celebrations, he asked him, the witness of this wedding, to name the twins. He was the Imp's wedding witness in Essos, so if Tywin wanted to deny the marriage or deal with Tysha in the future, he'd have to consider that.
Viserys thought for a moment and decided to name the boy Tommen and the girl Myrcella. As for the name Joffrey, it was better not to inflict that on anyone.
"You're a clever man, you must raise them well," Viserys instructed Tyrion before leaving White Harbor. "I hope the children inherit your mind and their mother's strength and kindness."
The Imp chuckled, "Of course! Especially the girl, she mustn't be like my sister, beautiful but with an empty head... As for the boy, it's okay if he's a bit slow, he can still be a knight."
"Now is not the time to bring them back, you understand."
Tyrion nodded. "I understand. I must wait until I no longer rely on my father, or on the Lannister family's prestige. Then I will have the right to hold my head high and say to them, 'Hey, let me introduce you to the beautiful Lady Tysha and her smart and lovely children! Whoever doesn't like them can go to hell! I don't care! Anyone who wants to hurt them is declaring war on me!'"
Viserys laughed. "I always support you, and my brother Rhaegar will too! My brother is very open-minded!"
Tyrion looked at his friend, who was beaming with joy, and there was something in his eyes. "Prince Rhaegar is said to be looking for a bride..."
Viserys was full of confidence. "Hehe, if my brother gets married, he can be made the Prince of Dragonstone, we can't wait any longer!"
Tyrion opened his mouth, looked at his spirited friend, and still couldn't say anything. He coughed. "But we've been out for a few years, we should go back and take a look. You go first, have a safe journey. I'll go back to Westeros later, leaving Sandor to look after and protect them. Looking forward to our reunion!"
"Great, looking forward to it! I'll be with my brother! I'll make a name for myself under him then!"
Viserys was full of confidence and turned to board the ship. Tyrion, behind him, showed a tangled expression: his good friend still hadn't realized what his feelings for his brother were. He mentioned him, and he remembered his eyes... Tyrion, who understood love, could see it. Viserys would face a desperate situation once he realized it. But he couldn't offer any help. Because that was... a taboo that couldn't be spoken, a forbidden confession. Prince Rhaegar, the new hope of the kingdom, he must not bear a certain reputation, would Viserys understand this, and therefore be in pain?
His swordsmanship was already excellent, but he couldn't be a Kingsguard on duty in the bedchamber, that would be as good as killing him. Nor could he be the Hand of the King, because a person as pure as Viserys couldn't bear to gradually become an outsider under Rhaegar's family roof.
By the Seven Gods, and whatever gods there may be in Essos, please listen to me, the little devil worriedly watched the purple sailboat sail away, and prayed piously, that this matter, and the parties involved, could have a good ending.
Viserys's merchant ship was headed for White Harbor in Westeros this time. The only natural deep-water port in the North, and also its largest settlement. He was now armed with a sharp, legendary sword. As for his swordsmanship, to put it mildly, he could take on ten ordinary bandits without a problem.
So, no wonder the all-knowing Lord Bloodraven wanted me to get Blackfyre first! With my current skills, I don't need to ask Uncle Aemon to send someone to take me beyond The Wall! Viserys had his own plans on how to arrange everything. He planned to follow a smuggling ship.
More than a month later.
White Harbor. In the low and cramped Lazy Eel tavern at the mouth of the White Knife, sailors spilled out from their ships. They drank the worst liquor, spitting and boasting about their heroic deeds, and then cursing the owner for not selling enough tasty pork and gristle pies — amidst the chaos and noise, Rollo, captain of the smuggling ship and pirate ship Pebble Cat, strode in with a group of his men.
He tossed a shiny silver stag to the owner, "The best liquor, the hottest women, and a dozen pork pies for each of my men! I mean real pork!"
Wow, made a fortune again! The sailors hooted and asked if he had discovered a secret treasure on some deserted island.
"That's some treasure! Ivory, furs, agate — guarded by a ten-thousand-year-old black-furred giant beast! My ship slipped past the beast under its very nose! Hahahaha!"
"However, someone on my ship died suddenly from an illness, so I'm looking for a replacement…"
The sailors all knew that Rollo's business was extremely profitable.
Rollo looked around, pleased with himself, and produced a bag of copper coins, "Whoever can beat my first mate gets this bag, and a place on the ship!"
The sailors looked at the Pebble Cat's first mate, a burly man with a red face, a heavy sword at his waist. He spat on the ground and snarled, "Anyone want to try me?"
The sailors still remembered the poor fellow who'd had two fingers chopped off the last time he'd tried to fight him – they looked at each other hesitantly.
"I'll give it a shot!" a voice suddenly came from the corner.
Rollo looked over and saw a thin young man, with dark skin. His long, red-and-black curly hair was styled into countless rough braids, held back by a headband. His purple eyes were the most striking feature of his face. He wore a coarse linen cloak, revealing a deep red scarf underneath – and a large, cross-shaped tree fork was wrapped in linen on his back.
"I drifted here from Meereen, and I know a little swordsmanship! Please, let me have a ship to sail on, and a bed to sleep in!"
Probably a slave who escaped from Meereen. Captain Rollo thought, it doesn't matter. After all, his smuggling ship wasn't exactly full of law-abiding citizens. What else could a desperate person do besides become a sailor?
He gestured to the first mate to size him up. "Best not to injure him. Sailors need two hands to tie ropes and move cargo!"
Seeing that the young man seemed ready to fight with the wooden, tree-branch-shaped sword on his back, a sailor who came with Rollo, named Davos, couldn't bear it. He tossed his iron sword to him. "Use this. Be fair."
The Meereenese man thought for a moment and nodded.
"Right, let me introduce myself first! I'm Jack Sparrow – used to have a ship called the Black Pearl!"
The sailors erupted in laughter because of this name, "Jack Sparrow". They also started making vulgar jokes.
How boring, Viserys thought, cosplaying as "Jack Sparrow". He stood firm, holding the iron sword, and gently shook it...
Before the first mate could react, a large chunk of his collar was slashed off.
What was the ultimate significance of finding a swordsman in a tavern for Rollo?
More than half a month later, his ship, laden with iron weapons, rounded The Wall and landed on a beach north of Eastwatch. He intended to trade with the Wildlings for obsidian, furs, amber, and ivory. However, he was ambushed by a Night's Watch cavalry unit.
Rollo thought he was done for, expecting to be beheaded. Who would have thought that his newly recruited sailor, Jack Sparrow, would bravely fight back? He took on ten men and routed the Night's Watch. Rollo seized the opportunity to escape to a familiar Wildling tribe. But his ship had already set sail—Davos made a decisive decision and successfully escaped with the remaining sailors, continuing their smuggling activities at sea.
Rollo didn't know if Jack Sparrow had made it onto the ship. But it was said that the Night's Watch hadn't caught him; he disappeared into the snow-covered forest. Rollo couldn't wait for the Pebble Cat, so he followed the Wildling tribe as they migrated. Eventually, he became a Wildling himself, sitting by the campfire and boasting to the younger generation about all the cities and ports he had visited: Oldtown was like a perfumed, high-class lady desperately trying to maintain her family's status. Lannisport was like a pretty milkmaid, not difficult to plunder. White Harbor reeked of fish, while King's Landing—once a stinking mess—was now much better. Apparently, this was all thanks to Prince Rhaegar, who had organized people to repair all the muddy roads and renovate the slums.
***
My brother, Viserys, is coming soon!
...
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(End Chapter)