What had just happened seemed like nothing more than a brief interlude. Everyone followed the servants into the feast hall.
The hall blazed with light. Elegant, luxurious decor. Courteous attendants. Soft, beautiful music flowing through the air. And on long oak tables—countless delicacies…
It was the full standard of a grand noble banquet.
"Gods, brother—Winterfell's richer than I thought!" Tyrion "the Imp" Lannister exclaimed, openly astonished. "I figured they'd serve us wild greens and turnip soup."
Tyrion was extremely short, with a dwarf's misshapen, ugly head, a brow that jutted sharply. Long straight pale-blond hair, one eye dark and one green, and a scruffy beard shot through with brown and gold.
The sort of face that could stop a child's crying—no wonder people called him "the Imp."
"Honestly, I'm surprised too," Jaime agreed with a nod, though his eyes never left his sister, Cersei.
The feast began quickly.
Tyrion, as the second son of House Lannister, held a lofty status—yet no one in the crowd wanted anything to do with him.
The gods had given the best looks to his brother and sister—Cersei and Jaime—like perfect sculptures carved by a master.
When it came to Tyrion, it was as if the gods had casually pinched some clay… and pinched too hard, crushing it.
And yet—when the gods close one door, they open another.
This twisted, broken-bodied "Imp" possessed rare intelligence, and an uncommon measure of decency—arguably the true inheritor of Tywin's political talent.
By rights, since Ser Jaime Lannister had joined the Kingsguard and sworn his life to the king, Tyrion should have been the Lannisters' primary heir.
But Lord Tywin never treated him as such. His disgust was barely concealed.
If not for the Lannisters' reputation—and the fear that kinslaying would anger the gods—many believed Tywin would have ended his second son with his own hands.
There were even rumors that Tyrion was the bastard of the "Mad King," Aerys II.
And the rumor had… threads that could be followed.
First: on Tywin's wedding night, Aerys had openly lamented the loss of the lord's right of first night—hardly subtle, implying he had thoughts about Tywin's bride.
Second: during the celebration of the tenth year of Aerys's reign, the king had kept Joanna alone in the Red Keep overnight. What happened then didn't require much imagination.
A year later, Tyrion was born—and Joanna died in childbirth.
Everyone knew the Lannister look: golden hair, blue eyes. The Targaryen look: silver hair, purple eyes.
Tyrion's hair was pale blond, and his eyes were mismatched—one dark, one green.
A blend, almost, of lion and dragon.
Judging by appearance alone, it was entirely possible Tyrion was the Mad King's dwarf son by Joanna.
Tywin's hatred of Tyrion wasn't just about the dwarfism. Tyrion was the living symbol of Tywin being cuckolded.
Tywin had once all but said it outright:
"The laws of men make you my son—give you my name and my garments—because I cannot prove you are not mine… and the gods force me to watch you wearing the lion's sigil, my father's sigil, my grandfather's sigil, the sigil of House Lannister…"
In other words:
You are not my blood.
And when Tywin later broke with Aerys II while serving as Hand, that "humiliation" likely played no small part.
If, during Robert's Rebellion, Tywin—Warden of the West—had stood firmly with Aerys, with the Reach and Dorne backing him as well, he might have crushed the "fish-wolf-stag-hawk" coalition.
The war that overturned all Westeros could have ended very differently.
But there were no "ifs" in reality.
Domeric couldn't help thinking: Aerys and Rhaegar truly were father and son—ruining House Targaryen for the sake of women.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. Ser Tyrion, I presume?" Domeric approached with a cup in hand, bending slightly, polite and measured.
"I am. Ser Domeric—well met." Tyrion tipped his head with a smile. When Eddard had introduced Domeric to Robert earlier, Tyrion had been close enough to hear it all.
They fell into conversation almost immediately.
"Ser Domeric—so I've heard you've been beyond the Wall. What was it like?" Tyrion asked, curiosity plain on his face.
"I have. Honestly? Not much to see. Endless snow and ice—cold enough to freeze a man stiff." Domeric shook his head.
"I hear the Wall is one of the wonders of the world. I meant to piss off the top of it, just to say I did…"
"Do not even think of it," Domeric cut in. "At that temperature, you'd pull it out and it'd snap off. If you have no use for it in the future, then by all means—try."
"So you've tried?" Tyrion seized on the point at once. "I imagine you've had an… interesting experience atop the Wall."
"Something like that." Domeric gave a helpless smile.
"And the Night's Watch—are they well? I've heard the Watch is little more than thieves, cutthroats, and murderers now."
"Say that again and I'll take offense," Domeric said, his expression darkening. "They're heroes."
"It seems I've offended you," Tyrion said quickly. "My apologies. Dwarfs aren't exactly known for reading a room. We've always been jesters and performers—loose tongues, loose manners…"
A shadowed sadness crossed his smile.
"Being a dwarf in body is never a weakness," Domeric said firmly. "If your heart is strong enough, you can stand taller than any giant."
"Is that so?" A flicker of light appeared in Tyrion's eyes.
They spoke a little longer. Domeric, truth be told, admired the Imp—and hoped they would not become enemies in the days to come.
"Forgive me," Domeric said at last. "My betrothed is calling for me."
"Of course."
…
In the center of the hall, on the dance floor—
Sansa wore a lavish, intricately pleated gown. Lines of gold thread and silver trim traced her form perfectly. Her auburn hair flowed down her back, and her eyes—soft as water—rested on Domeric.
She was the brightest, most dazzling presence in the entire feast.
Only thirteen, yet the "Flower of the North" already stunned the room—hardly inferior to the "Light of the West," Cersei Lannister, seated above.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Domeric said. "I was talking with someone."
"It's… fine," Sansa answered softly, a little tense. "Ser Domeric… shall we begin?"
She placed her pale, flawless hand into his.
They moved together with effortless ease. In Domeric's arms, Sansa displayed her charm without restraint.
With light, flowing steps, they danced across the floor—youth in motion.
The man tall and straight, the girl radiant and beautiful—
A perfect pair, instantly the focus of the hall.
Beside them, the scene of Joffrey and Arya was… rather different.
The arrogant, high-nosed prince still feared his father more than anything else. Before Robert's death, Joffrey's cruelty and stupidity had not yet fully erupted.
Under Robert's command, Joffrey was forced to invite his "betrothed" Arya to dance.
Arya clearly refused to cooperate. She pretended she couldn't dance at all—so before the song was even half done, Joffrey's polished, embroidered boots were covered in dense footprints…
Watching the future "eternal emperor" grit his teeth through the pain and somehow finish the dance, Domeric found it genuinely funny.
Evil men need stronger men to grind them down.
…
At the high table, Queen Cersei sat speaking with several noblewomen.
Tyrion waddled over on his short legs. "Hey—sister. Congratulations. You've got yourself a fine future daughter-in-law."
Cersei always looked down her nose at people. On Tyrion, she didn't even bother hiding it.
"Tyrion—if you love talking so much, do enjoy it while you can. Once your tongue is cut out, you won't be saying much at all."
"Just a jest. Consider it a fart you happened to hear," Tyrion said easily—long practiced against her venom. Then he pointed toward the dance floor, toward Joffrey.
"Still… your future daughter-in-law seems to have the direwolf blood in her. Look at that wild step. And Joff's face—gods, the pain…"
He sighed theatrically. "I'm suddenly worried about your future relationship with your daughter-in-law."
Cersei's teeth clenched. She looked ready to explode.
Tyrion, satisfied he'd achieved exactly what he wanted, sauntered off. "I'm going to find Jaime.
Farewell, dear sister."
-
-
-
-
GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT
🏰🩸 GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT 🩸🏰
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
📢 DARK SECRETS RISE IN THE NORTH! 📢
Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort has 30 chapters ahead available on Patreon! 🐺🩸
Beneath the Dreadfort, old horrors stir.
Power, bloodlines, betrayal, northern cruelty, and buried secrets wait beneath one of the most feared castles in Westeros.
❄️ The North remembers.🏰 The Dreadfort hides.🩸 And some secrets should have stayed buried.
Uncover what lies beneath before anyone else does.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🛑 ALSO AVAILABLE ON PATREON:
🌃 Cyberpunk: Dogtown Legend🔥 Cyberpunk: The Relentless👩👦 Cyberpunk: Lucy Adopted Me and I Got a System🧠 My Cyberpunk 2077 Simulator🤖 My Girlfriend's a Cyberpsycho—Who Knew?🛡️ Star Wars: The Rise of Mandalore🌌 Star Wars: Relics of the Past⚡ The Rebirth of Harry Potter🌹 R18: Reincarnated in Her World
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🔗 Patreon: www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus👤 Patreon Name: SrMagnus🐦 X / Twitter: https://x.com/SrMagnusBook
⚠️ The novel with the most Power Stones gets more chapters first!
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━