Deep within the black cells of the Red Keep, there was almost no light to be seen.
Only a stub of a nearly spent candle was stuck to the wall of the corridor. Its flame flickered weakly in the damp, stifling air, casting a dim, yellowish halo that threatened to be swallowed by the darkness at any moment, barely illuminating the outlines of the cold iron bars and rough stone walls.
Tyrion Lannister curled up on the damp, freezing floor of the cell, his small frame huddled inside oversized, filthy prison garb, as if trying to scrape a shred of non-existent warmth from the bone-chilling cold.
He stared blankly at the flickering candle flame, his eyes hollow, as if he could see the passage of time in the outside world from the slowly shortening candle.
He tugged at the corner of his mouth, pulling it into a curve of utter self-mockery that could hardly be called a smile.
"When Eddard Stark was imprisoned here, it must have been just like this," he murmured, his voice as light as a sigh, swallowed by the thick darkness the moment it left his lips.
"Waiting for that doomed, hopeless trial, crushed by despair until one cannot breathe, unable to distinguish day from night, only able to watch as death approaches, without the strength to even offer a shred of resistance..."
He slowly turned his head, his gaze crossing the cold iron bars to look into the neighboring cell.
On the pile of hay in the corner curled a one-armed figure, seemingly still in a stupor; it was Jaime Lannister, who had been brought in not long ago, covered in blood and filth.
The self-mockery at the corner of Tyrion's mouth deepened, his lips so dry they felt as if they might crack.
He lowered his voice even further, until only he could hear:
"Ha, the Seven truly know how to play the most absurd jokes. The lions of our House Lannister have gathered in these black cells of the Red Keep in such a state."
"Jaime has lost an arm and become a prisoner, I am the Dwarf whom everyone despises, and Cersei..."
He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing, and did not continue. The smirk of self-mockery slowly faded, replaced by an unconcealable desolation and anxiety.
"Of the great House Lannister, now only our aged father, Lord Tywin, remains outside, struggling to hold the remnants together."
Lord Tywin is old; how much longer can he hold on?
Perhaps this time, the proud House Lannister, having stood for hundreds of years, is truly destined to be completely destroyed by our generation.
This thought weighed heavily on his heart, almost suffocating him.
Just then, a stifled cry of pain came from the neighboring cell.
Jaime's body trembled, and amidst the relentless dull ache and sharp, stabbing pains from his severed arm, he struggled to open his eyes.
His vision was blurred at first, only slowly focusing after a while. The first thing to come into view was the familiar, small figure behind the iron bars.
"Ty...Tyrion?"
Jaime's voice was as hoarse as sandpaper rubbing together. Every word he spoke tugged at the dull pain in his chest and the empty, searing agony in his shoulder.
He panted, cold sweat seeping from his forehead. His once-bright green eyes were now bloodshot and weary, with urgency almost overflowing: "Cersei... where is Cersei? Where is she?"
The self-mockery on Tyrion's face vanished instantly, replaced only by a near-painful weight and a deeper, indefensible guilt.
His lips moved, but the pale excuses he had rehearsed countless times in his heart could not be uttered.
He simply remained silent, wearing an air of resigned exhaustion, and turned his head, signaling with his eyes for Jaime to look toward the darkest corner on the other side of the cell.
Jaime's heart sank abruptly.
Enduring the tearing pain of his severed arm, he moved his body with difficulty and followed Tyrion's gaze.
In the corner curled a frail figure, her long golden hair disheveled, covered in dust and stains, her once-magnificent gown so dirty its original color was unrecognizable.
She was clutching a bundle tightly in her arms... a piece of dark red rag, long since blackened by dried blood.
It had once wrapped a head... the head of a "King".
As for where the head had gone, no one knew; perhaps it had already rotted and been casually discarded by an impatient jailer.
The figure trembled slightly, her mouth emitting broken, incoherent gibberish, completely immersed in a world of madness.
Her past beauty, pride, and even her sharp, ruthless nature were all gone, leaving only a completely shattered, insane shell.
Jaime's breathing stopped abruptly; his chest felt as if it were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand, causing his whole body to tremble with pain.
He could hardly believe it, but those contours, that golden hair...
"Cer...Cersei?" he rasped, his voice shattered and trembling with disbelief.
The figure went rigid.
It was as if this voice, which she had longed for day and night and which had supported the last shred of her illusory hope in the abyss, had finally pierced through layers of nightmares and dragged her out.
She trembled and lifted her head with extreme slowness.
Through the gaps in her messy, dirty golden hair, a face that had once been stunningly beautiful and had captivated countless men was now pale and haggard, with sunken eye sockets and vacant, lifeless eyes.
Cersei Lannister's hollow gaze locked onto the face behind the iron bars—a face just as wretched, yet intimately familiar.
After a brief moment of bewilderment, the long-repressed pain, fear, resentment, and despair finally found their only outlet and erupted violently.
"You...!!!"
She lunged at the iron bars, gripping the cold metal tightly with both hands until her knuckles turned white.
Her beautiful green eyes were wide, burning with the flames of madness, staring straight at Jaime.
"You finally decide to appear! When Joffrey's head was brought before me, where were you?!"
"I was imprisoned in this hell, watching everything collapse, watching my child... watching my child..." Her voice suddenly rose, piercing and shrill, laced with a blood-weeping hoarseness. "Where were you?! Where were you?! Jaime!!!"
The intense emotions made her chest heave violently. She gasped for air, and as her gaze swept over the empty sleeve of Jaime's right arm, her pupils contracted sharply.
Her heart felt as if it had been pricked by a needle. The instantly erupting venom froze for a moment, only to be swallowed by an even deeper, more twisted hatred.
She whipped her head around to look at Tyrion on the other side, turning all her rage, resentment, and despair into the most vicious curses, hurling them at her Dwarf brother:
"It was you! It was all you...! Your utterly stupid schemes! Your self-righteous cleverness! You caused us all to be captured!"
"We ended up in this state because of you! You monster! Dwarf! Why don't you just die...!!!"
The shrill cursing echoed through the black cells, striking the stone walls and triggering a chilling reverberation.
Tyrion lowered his head in silence, his small shoulders shrinking almost imperceptibly.
Those words were like poisoned needles, precisely piercing the place where he was most vulnerable and had no defense.
The self-mockery, sarcasm, and cynicism he used as a mask in his daily life were completely torn away, revealing the bloody, inescapable guilt beneath.
He had no words to offer; he simply buried his head lower, as if trying to shrink into the shadows and disappear completely.
Jaime looked deeply at Tyrion's small, lonely figure, almost swallowed by the shadows.
Even though his heart churned with unspeakable resentment, confusion, and even a trace of anger at being dragged into this desperate situation...
But looking at Cersei, who was in a state of madness and complete collapse, and then at his brother in the next cell, who was usually sharp-tongued but now silent as stone.
All words of accusation were choked in his throat, turning into a breath of stifled air tasting of rust, weighing heavily on his heart, leaving only boundless helplessness and dense, agonizing pain.
"Cersei..." His voice was dry. He tried to keep his tone steady, but could not hide the tremor and exhaustion. "I am sorry... I wasn't there for you when you needed me most. I..."
"Sorry?!" Cersei interrupted him sharply, as if she had heard the biggest joke. A strange, twisted expression appeared on her face, and her voice was shrill and broken. "What use is saying that now?!"
"Look at yourself! You have become a prisoner too! You have lost an arm! A useless cripple!"
"You... you useless men! Father is like this, you are like this, and that Dwarf is even more of a waste! It is you! All of you who have brought me to this point!"
"And that Aegon... that damned Targaryen bastard! A bastard! He ruined everything! He took everything from me...!!!"
She cursed incoherently, pounding desperately against the iron bars. Tears mixed with the grime on her face, carving dirty tracks down her cheeks.
Despair and madness had completely consumed her.
Just then...
"Clang...!"
The heavy cell door was suddenly kicked open from the outside. The harsh sound of metal grating against metal interrupted Cersei's hysterical screaming.
Two jailers in black armor with expressionless faces strode in, their footsteps sounding exceptionally heavy in the silent black cells.
They had a clear objective, walking straight to Jaime's cell door. They efficiently unlocked the chains, grabbed Jaime—who could barely stand due to blood loss and weakness—and dragged him out.
"Where are you taking him?! Let him go! You lowly wretches! Let him go...!!!"
Cersei lunged at the iron bars, reaching her hands through to grab at something, but she only grasped at empty air.
She screamed and cursed, her voice filled with terror.
Jaime stumbled as he was dragged, the piercing pain in his severed arm making his vision go black.
He struggled and looked back, catching one last glimpse of the screaming Cersei, and then at Tyrion in the neighboring cell, who had finally looked up with a complex expression.
Deep in his eyes churned an inseparable mix of reluctance, guilt, and a trace of exhaustion from finally accepting his fate.
Cersei watched Jaime being dragged into the darkness outside the cell, and at that final look of his, a fear colder than death suddenly seized her.
The madness and venom on her face were instantly replaced by immense panic, her voice trembling and distorted:
"Jaime...! Jaime! Don't go! Come back! Come back to me...!!!"
But the jailers' hands were like iron pincers, dragging him away without mercy.
Jaime's figure soon vanished into the shadows around the corner of the corridor, leaving only Cersei's desperate cries and the sound of her pounding against the iron bars, echoing against the cold stone walls, gradually fading away.
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