Duskendale, Dun Fort.
This castle that once held kings now served as the Iron Throne's temporary seat.
Tommen Baratheon had just been crowned in a hurried ceremony. The boy's face was still bewildered.
The Small Council met then in the castle's chill great hall. At the head of the long table sat Tywin Lannister. Cersei was to his right. Grand Maester Pycelle trembled as he shuffled papers. Varys stared at the table, his little finger curled in a faint smile.
Tyrion was absent. Tywin had ordered him thrown into the dungeon.
Tywin broke the heavy silence. His icy gaze fixed on his daughter. His voice held tightly controlled fury.
"Cersei, hundreds of thousands of lives in King's Landing—Renly, the Tyrells, the Stormlands, the Reach—almost the best of the realm's nobility—reduced to ashes. Tell me why."
Cersei snapped her head up. Her voice was bitter.
"Those filthy, low rabble. They insulted me. They spread lies about me and Jaime… and Renly, that hypocrite. And House Tyrell. They tried to depose me, and now they want my son's crown. They all deserve to die. Every last one of them."
She seemed to see again the faces that had humiliated her during the riot in King's Landing, the smug looks of Renly and Margaery. The green flare of wildfire flashed madly in her eyes.
"Wildfire was theirs to receive. It is the gods' punishment delivered by my hand. I will turn them all to ash. I will make their ambitions scream in the green flame."
"Punishment?"
Tywin slammed his fist down. The crash made Pycelle flinch.
"You handed the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, the realm's order, and hundreds of thousands of lives to wildfire. You've made every lord in the realm see us as madmen, as butchers, as demons who have forsaken the gods."
He rose. His tall shadow fell over Cersei.
"Cersei. Your folly and madness have left House Lannister utterly isolated. We must give the Seven an answer. Something to shut those fools up, at least for a while."
Varys spoke at the right moment. His voice was soft but heavy with consequence.
"Your Grace, my lord, the bad news does not end there. We have confirmed reports that Robb Stark has publicly announced the marriage of his sister Sansa to the eastern lord rising across the Narrow Sea, to secure Dothraki support."
"In the Stormlands, the acting lord of Storm's End has proclaimed Robert's bastard, Edric Storm, king and is gathering remnants of forces. As for the Reach, Willas Tyrell has crowned a bastard of Robert named Gendry king. Lord Randyll Tarly backs him and leads a Reach army driven chiefly by vengeance. They have pushed into the heart of the Westerlands."
"Outside Lannisport, Gendry's Reach army met Robb Stark and his Dothraki, who aimed to sack the port. The battle was savage. Ser Barristan Selmy fell defending the newly sworn king, Gendry. Lord Randyll Tarly, bearing the gravely wounded, near-dead Gendry, led a small band of survivors in a desperate breakout back to the Reach.
Robb's already battered Dothraki were shattered. After their defeat they broke, abandoned the King in the North, and poured like a plague into villages and towns across the Westerlands, burning, looting, and committing all manner of atrocities."
"Those savage bastards running wild on my lands!"
Every word Tywin spoke carried a bone-chilling intent to kill.
"They will pay—with blood!"
His gaze swept across the assembled men. "I have commanded Ser Damion Lannister and Ser Addam Marbrand to lead an elite cavalry force around the main battlefront and strike Highgarden directly. Willas Tyrell and that blacksmith king, Gendry, must die! The treasury and granaries of Highgarden must serve the Lannisters!"
Maester Pycelle asked in a trembling voice, "But... what of Robb Stark in the North, and the Dothraki rampaging through the Westerlands..."
Tywin settled back into his seat, hands folded on the tabletop, flames burning deep in his eyes. "The North has its own arrangements. As for those locusts on horseback, we'll crush them slowly once we've dealt with Highgarden and the Stormlands."
If the plan goes without a hitch, news of Robb Stark's death should reach us soon enough, Tywin thought with a cold smile.
His gaze finally settled on Cersei. "Furthermore, to swiftly stabilize the situation and crush the Starks' attempts to forge an alliance with the men of the east, His Grace Tommen will, at the appropriate time, take Sansa Stark as his Queen. That The Easterner shall never set foot in Westeros!"
Tywin would never forget Stafford's death at Tyrosh; he regarded Lo Quen as an enemy.
Cersei opened her mouth to protest, but under her father's icy, knife-like gaze, she reluctantly swallowed her words.
Make that little wolf girl queen? She gritted her teeth in fury.
…
The next day, the courtyard of Dun Fort was transformed into a makeshift courtroom.
Beneath a leaden sky, nobles and knights formed a semicircle. Tyrion Lannister, weighed down by heavy chains, was escorted forward by two towering guards. His small frame appeared even more hunched under the chains' drag. His face was bruised and unshaven, his different-colored eyes bloodshot.
Three figures sat upon the bench of judgment.
Tywin Lannister, Lady Tanda Stark, and Lord Renfred of Duskendale.
Tywin's voice was icy. "Tyrion Lannister, you stand accused of willful dereliction of duty during the King's Landing uprising, which enabled the mob to seize King Joffrey and ultimately led to His Grace's brutal death. You are also charged with spreading vile rumors about the Queen to disrupt the state, and plotting and executing the heinous crime of setting the city ablaze with wildfire. Do you plead guilty?"
Someone had to take the fall for King's Landing's destruction. That someone was Tyrion.
Cersei was the first to rise, her eyes blazing with venom as she pointed at Tyrion, her voice shrill.
"Him! That dwarf! He's always been jealous of Joffrey—because Joffrey was king and he was just a mocked freak. He argued with Joffrey countless times, even slapped His Grace across the face. He held a grudge, so when the mob stormed the Red Keep, he deliberately opened doors he shouldn't have. He wanted the mob to kill Joffrey.
And those rumors? He spread them too! He hates me, hates Jaime, hates anyone better than him. He used these filthy lies to strike at us, hoping Father would finally see him. He thought this would earn him Casterly Rock? Dream on!
As for wildfire... look at that twisted face of his! Only a monster as dark and warped as him could conceive of burning tens of thousands alive with wildfire. He hates King's Landing! He hates everyone who ever mocked him!"
Varys rose abruptly, sighing. "Ah... I never wished to believe it, but the truth is heartbreaking. As Master of Whisperers, I must remain faithful to my duty. During his tenure as Acting Hand of the King, Lord Tyrion did indeed hold multiple secret meetings with Lord Hallyne of the Alchemists' Guild, inquiring about wildfire's storage and deployment. At the most critical moment of King's Landing's siege, it was Lord Tyrion who overruled all objections and ordered vast quantities of wildfire pre-positioned at key points along the walls and gates. These commands are all documented in official records."
He spread his hands helplessly. "As for the abduction of His Grace Joffrey, amid the chaos, Lord Tyrion, as the supreme commander, failed to prevent it effectively. Some witnesses even claim he deliberately or inadvertently guided the mob's direction."
Finally, a slender figure was brought forward—Shae.
Dressed in simple maidservant's attire, her face was pale, her eyes darting nervously, unable to meet Tyrion's gaze.