Chapter 25: Green Speculates on the Reason

Before we begin, I'd like to thank Benoit_Valtin for his comments — they were taken into account during this translation. THANKS

Free City of Pentos, Mansion of the Magister

The sunlight poured like molten gold, and wisps of white cloud drifted lazily across the azure sky.

In a shadowed corner of the bedchamber, knelt Daenerys Targaryen—the last scion of a fallen dynasty, the girl who would one day be known as the Mother of Dragons. Her slender arms, delicate and trembling, clutched her body in a futile attempt to shield herself.

Since her arrival in Pentos, the Magister Illyrio Mopatis had gifted her a gossamer gown dyed a soft blue. It was finely woven, cool against the skin, and Daenerys had cherished it as a rare comfort in exile.

Now that treasured gown lay torn in strips around her—ripped apart in rage by the only family she had left, her brother Viserys Targaryen.

Her silver-gold hair curled wildly around her face, unkempt yet ethereal. Violet eyes shimmered with unshed tears, sorrow clouding their depths.

With skin as pale as cream and a fragile, haunting beauty, Daenerys looked more like a spirit from some forgotten tale than a mortal girl.

The handmaiden, her own abdomen still aching from blows suffered, rose with difficulty. Her face twisted in sympathy as she wrapped Daenerys in a blanket.

Daenerys lifted her eyes to the girl's, her voice heavy with guilt."Are you hurt? I'm sorry. I... I was afraid. I couldn't protect you, and you were wounded for protecting me."

The maid shook her head gently."Your Grace, I'm all right. Let me help you rise."

Viserys Targaryen, the elder son of Mad King Aerys II and Queen Rhaella, had styled himself Viserys the Third. After the Usurper's War, he fled Westeros with his infant sister, proclaiming himself King of the Seven Kingdoms and wandering the Free Cities in search of allies.

He found only locked doors, cold stares, and whispered insults. Desperation drove him to sell even their mother's crown—a shame that earned him the mocking title: the Beggar King.

Ever since that sale, his temper had darkened beyond reason.

Daenerys often yearned for the brother of her childhood—the boy who spoke to her of dragons and thrones, who promised her a crown of her own once their house was restored.

She dreamed still of that boy returning to her. But dreams were a poor shelter from cold truth.

King's Landing, Red Keep

On the morning after receiving the Queen's appointment, Green had donned bright silver plate armor for the first time in weeks. Over his shoulders hung a blue cloak embroidered with the sigil of House Clegane.

At his side strode Mondon Waters, clad in mail and breastplate, a great round shield slung across his back, and a warhammer at his waist. He served as Green's sworn shield.

The Gold Cloaks at the Red Keep's gate barely questioned them. A quick glance at the sealed royal order was enough—they were waved through without delay or inspection.

No one searched them for weapons. No demand was made to surrender their arms.

Baron Green made a quiet note of that. King Robert's Red Keep, he thought, was a castle with no sense of peril.

Mondon's dull eyes sparkled with curiosity as he stared about, taking in every stone and corridor with the wonder of a child.

Green, unhurried, followed the directions the guards had given.

It wasn't long before a man appeared before them—tall, broad-shouldered, clad in silver plate and a cloak of white. His golden hair shone in the sun, and his green eyes glittered cold as gemstones.

Green knew at once: Ser Jaime Lannister.

When the knight first came into view, Green had felt it—just for a heartbeat—a killing intent. It was fleeting, but real.

Raised in a world where danger lurked in every corner, and honed further by the strange strength his new life granted him, Green's senses were sharp. The malice had been there, however brief.

He considered the cause. A strange look passed across his face.

Jealousy?Did Ser Jaime think him some dainty youth sent to warm the Queen's bed?Is this what they called being ruled by the heart?Foolish. I eat by the strength of my sword, not my face.

But Green's expression revealed none of these musings. He stepped forward, composed and polite, and bowed."Good day, Ser Knight of the White Cloak."

Jaime leaned on his longsword, eyes scanning the young man before him. His voice held its usual pride."I am Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard. And you are Baron Green Clegane—the wildling pup?"

Green's tone was calm as a winter lake."I am, Ser Jaime."

The Kingslayer raised a brow. Tyrion's judgment, it seemed, had not been wrong—the boy had a seasoned temperament.

Any other noble so young and already heir to a house might have bristled at the insult. Green did not.

Jaime did not care for him, but neither did he see reason to antagonize him further."Come with me, little baron," he said curtly.

Green inclined his head in thanks and gave a subtle look to Mondon.

Mondon, thick as ever, failed to grasp the meaning of the glance. This wasn't the time for questions.

Instead, he scratched his head and rested a hand on the warhammer at his side.

Did he mean for me to bash that smug knight's skull in?

Green caught the motion and murmured without looking back:"Stay close."

Ah. So I misunderstood.Mondon gave a sheepish grunt and followed, still gaping at the grandeur around him.

Green quickened his stride to walk alongside Jaime."Forgive the question, Ser Jaime—but what duties fall to a Queen's Affairs Officer?"

Jaime's eyes narrowed slightly."You didn't ask Tyrion?"

Jealousy again? Is he overprotective of Tyrion?

Green considered it another possible source of that momentary hostility.

He sighed."I thought I was avoiding Lord Tyrion… only to discover yesterday that he was also avoiding me. A perfect stalemate—each fearing the other."

Jaime laughed, recalling the state his brother had been in."Tyrion told me yesterday he'd never touch wine again."

Green chuckled."On the third day of knowing him, I heard those same words. They lasted—perhaps half a day."

"With Lord Tyrion's wit, he'll always find a reason clever enough to make you yield."

Green's tone was full of sincere respect—and it softened something in Jaime.

Looking at the young man beside him, handsome and mild, Jaime found it difficult not to be at ease.

Yet just as their talk began to warm, Jaime's expression turned cold once more—remembering something, perhaps.

Tch. A brooding knight, are we?

Green, a man of broader perspective, didn't take offense.

We'll deal with that later.

.

.

.

🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥

📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯

The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥

Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.

🔗 Claim your place: www.patreon.com/DrManhattanEN👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN

Your loyalty feeds the flame. And fire remembers.