Tyrion Snow?"
Tyrion Lannister's eyes widened, and he stood rooted to the spot.
He looked down at his unusually thick hands, which now seemed stained with an indelible sin.
The person before him no longer seemed to be Tyrion Lannister, the heir to Casterly Rock, the Half-man famous for his wit and sharp tongue, but rather the product of a mistake, a cursed bloodline.
"How ridiculous…"
Imp lowered his head and murmured, his voice hoarse.
He had always wanted to prove to his father, Lord Tywin, that he was the child most like him.
He didn't have his brother Jaime Lannister's sound body, so he diligently studied and read, trying to possess a mind as wise as his father's.
Yet, he performed like a clown on stage, unaware that the script had been wrong from the very beginning.
Memories flooded back, and all the previously overlooked details now became incredibly clear.
Lord Tywin's strange gaze when he looked at him, his brother Jaime's occasional pity, and even his sister Cersei's hatred for him, all found their true source now.
It turned out he had always lived in a lie he had woven himself.
Tywin Lannister was never his father.
That proud man had endured this humiliation his entire life—a bastard forced upon him by the Mad King.
But whether out of love for his wife Joanna, or to protect the family's honor, Tywin Lannister still held his nose and acknowledged him!
Suddenly, Tyrion burst into laughter.
The laughter echoed in the empty room, carrying a heartbreaking madness.
What exquisite irony!
He had spent his life yearning for the glory that came with the Lannister name, unaware that a wilder, older, more noble blood flowed in his veins.
"Targaryen…"
He softly uttered this unfamiliar surname, as if tasting a bitter wine.
Tyrion Snow once thought he had seen through the rules of this world's game, only to realize now that even his most basic identity was false.
The dwarf who prided himself on being the smartest was, in fact, the most foolish and stubborn of imbeciles.
"You have two choices: become the heir to House Lannister and be judged by His Majesty; or renounce the Lannister surname and go to the Dragonpit to serve as a Dragon Guard, doing what a Targaryen bastard should do!"
Viserys Valerion asked solemnly.
Upon hearing this, Tyrion Snow suddenly felt relieved.
From now on, Imp no longer wanted to win the approval of a father who could never love him.
This time, he would live for himself.
"Tyrion Snow? Not a bad name, at least I don't have to worry about my big head being chopped off by the Targaryen!"
"Being a bastard isn't so bad, after all, every dwarf is a bastard in his father's eyes!"
Imp spread his hands, stubbornly defiant… In a blink of an eye, the new dynasty's judgment day for the rebel leaders was approaching.
Even though Young Aegon was just an unknown young man, with the dragons' blessing, the legendary "tough guy" Stannis Baratheon was ultimately defeated.
This overwhelming victory once again cemented the Targaryen Family's myth of invincible dragons.
The usurper's war, which had lasted for more than a decade, was finally completely quelled by the Targaryen Family!
Soon after, a few days later, Viserys Targaryen announced the beginning of the war criminal trials.
The first to be punished was the former Grand Maester Pycelle, who had defected to the enemy and betrayed King Aerys.
His crime was deceiving the King into opening the Mud Gate, which led to the fall of King's Landing!
As for his other various crimes, big and small, such as his immense wealth yet feigning illness to get free prostitutes, they were countless.
However, watching his former formidable opponent and Small Council member being publicly ordered to be beheaded by Viserys Targaryen, Imp merely shook his head and quickly departed.
Once a honored guest, today a prisoner!
The "Imp," once famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms for his love of books and sharp tongue, had now become a typical drudge, constantly busy amidst a group of rough men who also reeked of sweat.
Of course, he was still the lowest-ranking laborer, specifically responsible for cleaning dragon dung.
Those Dragon Guards who considered their status noble often loathed such dangerous and dirty work.
They would only occasionally hurry past, pinching their noses, with undisguised disdain in their eyes.
But Tyrion Snow kept his head down, shoveling scoop after scoop, completely ignoring their disgusted glances.
He worked diligently, panting heavily.
His former cleverness and strategies were useless here.
After days of arduous labor, the foreman would slip a few warm, sweat- and dragon-dung-smelling copper coins into his hand.
That was his day's wage.
Though insignificant compared to the gold dragons he once handled, Imp still clutched them tightly.
Imp was now dressed in coarse linen clothes.
Various indescribable stains had almost dyed the clothes beyond their original color, but Tyrion Snow no longer had the luxury to care about such things.
He didn't, as in days past, lavishly scatter gold dragons or silver stags on a prostitute's bed, nor did he, like his fellow workers, immediately rush to the nearest tavern to numb his weary body with cheap ale.
He simply walked silently to the market, surveying the cheap goods on the street, and finally, with those few body-temperature copper coins, carefully bought a few pieces of not-so-fresh but well-made honeycake.
Sometimes he would also bring a small piece of smoked meat, sometimes even just a shriveled apple.
Tyrion Snow meticulously wrapped it in a repeatedly washed cloth, then carefully tucked it into his bosom.
"Oh, Imp, going to bring your sister food again? Your sister is about to be judged, hahaha!"
The Dragon Guards sitting nearby burst into laughter.
Facing their mockery, Imp kept his head down, saying nothing.
Every day at this time, he would punctually go to the heavily guarded dungeon.
There, his sister Cersei Lannister and her family of four were imprisoned.
Smelling the usual musty air in the dungeon, Tyrion Snow, as always, quickly slipped the body-temperature food from his bosom through the gaps in the bars.
Each time he came, he never left any words, only pushed food inside, and then, as he arrived, silently, dragging his exhausted body, quickly disappeared into the twilight.
Tyrion Snow seemed to have grown accustomed to his sister Cersei Lannister's indifference towards him.
Initially, he was met with a deathly silence.
Cersei Lannister, even as a prisoner, was still that proud lioness.
Whenever Tyrion Snow left after dropping off food, she would carefully inspect it with an extremely wary gaze, fearing she had fallen into Imp's trick.
However, hunger, like dripping water wearing away stone, eroded the invisible barrier between the siblings.
From some unknown day, Cersei Lannister seemed to tacitly accept the food Tyrion Snow brought.
The food he left was no longer ignored or discarded.
On the contrary, whenever his heavy footsteps appeared at the end of the corridor, a small commotion would arise behind the bars.
It wasn't Cersei, but her children—Tommen, Myrcella, and Joffrey Baratheon.
They eagerly crowded by the bars, their eyes full of anticipation for the food.