Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

Seeing Kal wear that look of deliberate ignorance, Tyrion gave a short chuckle and shook his head.

Then, raising his wine cup lazily in Kal's direction, he shifted the subject with feigned nonchalance.

"Oh—by the way, almost forgot to mention!"

"Our generous king has declared that if anyone manages to hunt a wild aurochs on their own, they'll be rewarded with a hundred golden dragons!"

As Tyrion delivered this, his disproportionately large head—with that pronounced brow and crooked features—twitched with exaggerated winks and contorted expressions that somehow made his already hideous face look even worse.

Kal couldn't help but think that maybe this whole "wise man" act didn't suit Tyrion at all. Maybe he belonged in a circus instead—as a little monster who could scare children to tears.

And not someone who went around spinning tales to terrify grown men.

In fact, with any luck, a few bored bards might pick up his stories and spread them far and wide. Then, years from now, noble house nannies across the land would use tales of "Tyrion the Terrible" to frighten disobedient children into going to bed.

Unfortunately, before Kal could voice any of this, Tyrion pinched his voice into a dramatic shriek and cried out theatrically: "Oh! Seven hells!"

"By the Seven, that's a fortune! Even a half-man like me can't help but be tempted!"

"But sadly, it's for one day only! Offer expires soon!"

After his grand performance, Tyrion let out a melodramatic sigh, then drowned his disappointment with another hearty gulp of red wine.

The implication behind Tyrion's words was clear—as if to say that if he really tried, Robert's promised reward would end up squarely in his pocket.

But Kal, who had never been able to stand people acting smug in front of him—even in his previous life—wasn't about to let that slide.

Without hesitation, he fired back with a sharp jab: "Is that because it would take you an entire day just to get yourself on a horse?"

Kal looked at him seriously, as if he genuinely believed that to be the case.

"No, of course not!"

But instead of getting offended, Tyrion set down his wine cup and shook his head with a grin.

With a slight flick of his fingers, a gleaming golden dragon coin appeared in his hand.

"Because now, I have my Knight of the High Stool!"

"For just one gold dragon, I can mount a horse faster than a healthy man!"

At that, Kal's eye twitched—and before Tyrion could even blink, the shining little beauty had vanished from his hand in a blur.

With no expression on his face, Kal casually slipped the still-warm coin into his own pocket. Then he turned his head, as if nothing had happened, and spoke again in an even tone: "Wow, I've always heard tales of King Robert's generosity…"

"But I never imagined he was this generous!"

"Aurochs, huh? I can't say I've ever seen one myself… Maybe I should join this little expedition."

He paused briefly, then added: "But do you happen to know who told the king there were aurochs in this area in the first place?"

...

At dawn, before the sun had even risen, Robert had already gone out hunting.

But unlike the usual pomp and grandeur, this time he brought only two members of the Kingsguard to accompany him.

The rest consisted of just over a dozen scattered cavalrymen and a few male servants, whose responsibilities—aside from ensuring the king's safety—primarily involved carrying tents, food, and wine.

After all, when the king went hunting, there was no way he would be trudging across the hills looking for prey himself.

All he had to do was sit in his tent, drinking fine wine, and then, when the time came for him to actually do something, pick up a spear and finish off the prey that had already been run ragged.

Compared to the grand procession of the usual royal retinue, this meager group looked rather sparse and quiet.

And watching this 'hunting' party from a distance was Kal—though this time, he didn't join them.

Not because Robert didn't want him to.

But because Queen Cersei Lannister—who had somehow found out that the king intended to take a lowborn sellsword, and worse, a bastard like Kal Stone, along on the hunt—had stormed in, furious, skirts swishing, to voice her protest loudly.

Whatever the exact argument between them was, no one knew—except, perhaps, the three Kingsguard stationed outside the chamber when it happened.

What followed was Robert storming off early the next morning, angry and fuming, spear in hand, his flabby body bouncing with every step—and this time, with hardly any men in tow.

Before leaving, he even announced that what was originally supposed to be a full day's hunt would be cut short—he'd be back before evening.

So then, the question was: how did Kal know about the quarrel between the king and the queen last night—and even part of its contents?

That was because, not long after the two parted on bitter terms—not even waiting for the next morning, just shortly after nightfall, with the moon barely halfway into the sky—

Somehow, a flurry of rumors had already swept through the entire camp and even reached the inn at the crossroads.

So even if Kal had wanted to remain ignorant, it would've been impossible.

What caught the most attention in these rumors, of course, was the supposed reason for the argument between the king and queen.

And thanks to the gossipy chatter of male and female servants, stablehands, and other camp followers, it had quickly become common knowledge that the quarrel was over a bastard.

And now, in a quiet corner of the camp, Kal—the very man at the center of everyone's attention for no apparent reason—stood there calmly, silently watching Robert and the others depart.

He acted as though he hadn't heard a single whisper of the rumors swirling around the camp.

But no one knew that, deep down, he had quietly let out a sigh of relief.

Because if Cersei was resorting to such methods, then it meant that this whole affair truly had been nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment incident.

And that was good news.

Still, after Robert and the others had completely vanished from view, Kal's thoughts drifted back to what Tyrion had said yesterday—about who told the king there were wild aurochs nearby.

Raymun Darry.

"Why would it be Raymun Darry?"

Kal muttered softly to himself, still unable to make sense of what had really happened that night at Castle Darry.

Tyrion had told him that Robert had personally summoned Raymun Darry—the current lord of the castle—after nightfall.

Reportedly, the two had even spoken for a full quarter of an hour.

And more surprisingly, when they parted, it was Robert who walked Lord Darry to the door.

Even stranger, the stern-faced Raymun Darry who had entered the room had come out with a warm smile and enthusiastically invited the king to stay a few more days.

It was almost unbelievable.

Only after Robert declined did Lord Darry casually mention that wild aurochs had recently been sighted near the Trident.

And that, it seemed, was how this whole business had started.

The oddity of it all made Kal question whether he was simply being paranoid...

Watching the king's hunting party disappear into the woods, Kal could only sigh inwardly and whisper a silent prayer for them.

"Let's just hope Robert doesn't run into any aurochs today…"

As he stood there alone, looking rather forlorn as he watched the hunting party ride off, a mocking voice suddenly called out from behind him.

"You know,"

"When a noblewoman's husband brings a bastard home to raise alongside her legitimate children, she has every right to humiliate that bastard."

"In such cases, no one says a word. Not even her husband."

Tyrion strolled leisurely toward Kal, his small hands clasped behind his back.

Today, he was dressed in a custom-made outfit of crimson velvet, embroidered with golden threads in the sigils of House Lannister.

The rich garments lent him an air of dignity, making him look nothing like those dwarves in traveling circuses, dressed in cheap, gaudy cotton dyed with bad pigments.

Though short, he looked noble.

Still, Kal thought Tyrion would be better suited to a circus than to standing here, mocking people with idle words.

He turned to face the dwarf, his expression cold.

"I wouldn't know… My mother was just a common peasant woman."

"And like any ordinary person, once she awoke from a dream that was never hers to begin with, she built a life of her own."

At that, Kal paused for a moment—then looked at the dwarf in front of him and allowed a faint, fleeting smile to tug at the corner of his lips.

"So not only do I not know who my father is, but I've never lived that kind of so-called 'privileged' life under someone else's roof."

"Well then, I suppose that's something to be thankful for…"

Tyrion tilted his head slightly. The way Kal spat out the word 'privileged' sounded as if he'd forced it through clenched teeth.

Brushing the topic off with a vague remark, Tyrion took a moment to give Kal a slow, deliberate once-over.

Since Kal had been informed yesterday that he'd have the day off, he wasn't dressed in his usual armor.

Instead, he wore a light half-leather jerkin over his clothes. Apart from the longsword still strapped to his waist, he looked much lighter and more relaxed.

Yet, as Tyrion sized him up, the only thing he noticed about Kal's expression—aside from the usual chill sparked by his own jabs—was how unreadable it remained.

Nothing seemed out of place.

Still, glancing at the people occasionally passing by—some throwing strange looks their way—the dwarf began to wonder if something was off after all.

Kal gave a slight nod. "You're not wrong."

"Then should I say… I envy you a little?" Seeing that Kal had barely reacted to his last provocation, Tyrion decided to shift the conversation.

"You absolutely should," Kal replied without missing a beat. "If you were as tall and handsome as me, maybe you wouldn't be wasting your life lounging in brothels all day in King's Landing."

"Oh, right—" Kal stroked his chin, "—you're not going back to Casterly Rock because you don't want to, is that it?"

A stab to the heart.

Twice.

"Gods damn it, I must've been drunk on bad wine to be worrying about some bastard!" Tyrion cursed, spitting as he raised his middle finger. "You're a bloody bastard, you know that?"

It wasn't often Tyrion dropped his guard like this. Seeing it happen, Kal finally broke into a genuine grin and stepped past the dwarf, heading toward the inn's tavern.

"Thanks for the compliment!"

"But this bastard's off to grab some breakfast—and maybe treat his friend to a mug of ale."

"If you're paying, I'm having three!" Tyrion snapped back, not about to pass up the rare chance to let a miser open his purse.

"No problem. If that's not enough, Fawkes should still have plenty in stock. After holding it in all night, he's probably wondering where to pour out all that 'ale' in his belly!"

"I did feed him a load of oats last night, after all!"

"You mean your damn gelding?"

"If you like him so much, you can keep him!"

"By the way, that red wine you gave me last time—where was it from? Got any more?"

"That stuff was the best wine I've ever tasted!"

"If there's enough of it, we could go into business. Then you could buy yourself a castle—and have Robert knight you while you're at it."

"Speaking of which, have you thought about your house name yet?"

"Change the subject before I regret being nice."

"Then… thanks for the girl you sent to my room?!"

"Fuck off."

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