The Red Keep, the dungeons.
The straw spread across the floor reeked of urine.
There were no windows here, no bed, not even a slop bucket.
The Imp, Tyrion Lannister, vaguely remembered that the outer walls had been pale red, with patches of saltpeter showing through.
At the entrance was a gray door made of splintered wood, a full four feet thick, studded with iron nails.
When the jailer shoved him inside, he had managed to glance around the room for a brief moment. Then the door slammed shut with a boom, and he could see nothing at all.
There was not a single trace of light here. He was no different from a blind man.
Or rather, no different from a dead man.
It was as if he had been buried underground.
"Ah, how miserable."
Tyrion Lannister murmured to himself. He stretched out a hand and touched the cold stone wall, feeling a faint chill creep through his entire body.
The dungeons lay beneath the Red Keep. How deep they were, he did not dare imagine.
Tyrion immediately thought of those stories connected to Maegor the Cruel. Legend said that every craftsman who had built the castle for him had been murdered afterward and buried deep within these dungeons, so they could never reveal its secrets.
The gods were unjust.
Why?
Why must I suffer this?
Tyrion closed his eyes and began cursing the people he hated in his heart.
His dear nephew, that damned Joffrey, had actually framed him.
His dear sister, to shield her son, had thrown her own brother to his death.
And that stupid, self-righteous Eddard Stark, who believed himself a champion of justice, had accused him of murdering Lady Darry on the basis of some worthless evidence.
Even his own brother, Jaime Lannister, because Jaime had done nothing when Tyrion needed him most.
Yet in the end, the one Tyrion blamed was himself.
"Dwarf!"
He shouted into the darkness. "You goddamned dwarf!"
"You should never have come into this world!"
Tyrion wanted to burst into tears, but the tears simply refused to fall.
…
There was no sunrise or moonset in the dungeon. Nothing could be seen, and even scratching marks on the wall was impossible.
Eyes open or eyes shut, there was no difference.
Tyrion slept and woke, woke and slept, no longer knowing which was more painful.
When he slept, he dreamed: dark, troubling dreams filled with bloodlight and promises that could not be kept.
When he woke, there was nothing to do but think, yet the things in his mind were more terrifying than nightmares.
The only sound here was his own breathing.
After a long while, Tyrion began speaking aloud, just so he could hear a voice.
He devised plans and resolved to keep his mind clear, building castles of hope in the darkness.
And so Tyrion thought of the first girl he had ever loved: Tysha.
Tyrion had met Tysha on a desolate road.
At the time, several men had been harassing her.
Tyrion's brother, Jaime Lannister, had driven those men away, while Tyrion had looked after the girl.
She was a farmer's daughter. After her father died of illness, she became an orphan.
Tyrion fell in love with her and married her, even though he was only thirteen at the time.
When Lord Tywin discovered the matter, he told Tyrion that Tysha was a whore, someone the Lannisters had paid to let Tyrion experience what happened between men and women.
Tywin then ordered his guards to take turns with Tysha. For every guard she lay with, she was given one silver stag.
He made Tyrion go last, and gave her one gold dragon, because a Lannister was worth more.
Even now, Tyrion still could not forget that girl. Again and again.
"You fool," he murmured. "Even if Tysha was a whore, she was still worth loving!"
Tyrion began dreaming. Every dream was of that slender girl with black hair.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded from the corridor. Tyrion, half-asleep and half-awake, was startled awake.
At first, he thought he was dreaming, because aside from his own muttering, he had not heard any other sound in far too long.
Tyrion was burning with fever. His lips were cracked, and his whole body ached faintly.
When the heavy wooden door creaked open, the sudden light stabbed his eyes.
Jaime Lannister, golden-haired, appeared before him.
"Gods, am I dreaming, brother?"
Tyrion trembled like a sparrow that had found a whole field of grain in winter, joy mingling with fear.
"You are not dreaming, my dear brother."
Jaime Lannister answered with easy grace.
The Red Keep, the Tower of the Hand.
The morning was gloomy, cloudy and heavy.
It was not raining, but the air had grown even drier.
Thunderous hoofbeats woke Domeric from his brief, shallow sleep.
Gray morning light spilled through the window and into the room.
Domeric climbed out of bed and looked down at the square below.
Fully armed Lannister knights in red cloaks were conducting their morning drills.
Some crossed swords. Others charged on horseback and cut down straw dummies.
Domeric even saw the Mountain, Gregor Clegane, galloping across the hard-packed earth, raising his lance and piercing a straw man's head with thunderous force.
Cloth tore apart, and straw scattered through the air.
The Lannister knights cheered loudly.
It seemed yesterday's arrow wound had not done much damage to the Mountain at all.
This made Domeric realize that the world of Game of Thrones not only had magic, but the recovery ability of certain high-tier fighters was also astonishing.
…
The situation now seemed even more delicate. Domeric had a premonition that Cersei and her people might make their move against King Robert very soon.
In the original plot, Robert had only been gored by a boar and died after Lord Eddard had served as Hand of the King for some time.
Now, however, Lord Eddard intended to publicly try Tyrion, and had made a great show of summoning the Warden of the West, Tywin Lannister.
This had greatly intensified the conflict with House Lannister.
Under such circumstances, Robert's death would surely come sooner.
Even if news of Robert's death reached the court right now, Domeric would not be surprised in the slightest.
…
Domeric wandered casually through the Red Keep, as if waiting for someone.
This ancient castle was filled with a oppressive and solemn atmosphere.
The walls, built from pale red stone, always had a strangely vivid quality, as though the castle were some living thing.
Domeric left the Tower of the Hand, and at a glance, he could see the White Sword Tower rising above the outer wall. That was where the seven white knights of the Kingsguard lived.
As the king's personal protectors, the Kingsguard represented the highest honor of knighthood. They swore loyalty to the king, took no lands, no wives, no children, and lived only to guard that single vow.
Of course, whether they could actually keep it was another matter… such as the famous Kingslayer, whose vows were cheaper in his eyes than a fart from a whore.
Farther south stood Maegor's Holdfast.
That high tower at the center of the Red Keep, surrounded by a moat filled with iron spikes, was a castle within a castle.
It was also King Robert's royal residence.
And now, it was full of House Lannister's armed guards.
-
-
-
-
-
-
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🏰🩸 GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🚨 SOMETHING IS BURIED BENEATH THE DREADFORT...
And perhaps it was buried for a reason.
The North is a land of old blood, older grudges, and secrets hidden beneath snow and stone.
But few places inspire more fear than...
The Dreadfort.
30+ chapters ahead are already available.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🩸 THE DREADFORT HIDES MORE THAN BONES
🏰 Dark northern secrets
⚔️ Political intrigue
🐺 Westerosi power struggles
🩸 Bloodlines & betrayal
❄️ The brutal North
👑 Ambition & survival
💀 Mysteries best left forgotten
The North remembers.
But the Dreadfort?
🩸 The Dreadfort hides.
🔥 30+ CHAPTERS AHEAD.
👉 Go beneath the Dreadfort before the public readers reach the door.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
🌐 SrMagnusCorp: https://srmagnuscorp.com/
🔥 Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus
🐦 X / Twitter: https://x.com/SrMagnuscorp
⚠️ The more Power Stones this novel receives, the greater its release priority!
❄️ Winter may be coming. The secrets are already here.