She bowed her head, her voice barely a whisper. "It was... it was Lord Tyrion... he... he told me to spread those rumors when I served the noble ladies and misses... about Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime's parentage. He said... he said only by inventing that the Queen and Ser Jaime are not Lord Tywin's blood, by ruining their names, would Lord Tywin treat him as his only son. Only then might he give Casterly Rock to him instead of Ser Jaime... He also said... he hated the common folk who mocked him for being a dwarf... he said... when the wildfire burns... those jeers will turn into screams..."
"Shae!"
Tyrion finally roared, fixing Shae with a stare, pain cutting his voice. "I treated you—"
"Silence!" Tywin's voice cut through, cold.
The nobles around them ignited. A tide of fury slammed toward Tyrion.
"Kinslayer!"
"Wildfire demon!"
"Kill the dwarf monster!"
"Hang him!"
Tyrion stared at the faces twisted by rage. He looked at his father's expressionless face on the judgment bench. He saw the mad delight in Cersei's eyes. He saw Shae's fearful evasion that only sealed his "crimes"...
A cold despair swept over him. The last shred of strength left him.
He laughed—hoarse, broken, laced with bitter irony.
"Am I guilty?"
He raised his head. His mismatched eyes swept the bench and the enraged crowd. "Yes, I am guilty! My crime is being born a dwarf! My crime is repulsing you so-called 'normal' people the moment you glance at me! My crime is that whatever I do—even breathe—is original sin in your eyes!"
He jabbed a finger at Cersei, his voice rising. "Cersei, you say I tried to kill Joffrey? That I wanted to blow up King's Landing? I wanted to save that damned brat more than any of you! I wanted to save King's Landing more than any of you! Because it was my father's charge. Because it was my only chance to prove myself. The wildfire was your doing! You had the alchemists move all the wildfire into the sewers. You lit that fire. You burned hundreds of thousands to death!
You sat on that ship fleeing King's Landing and laughed with delight when the wildfire exploded. You said those mobs and Renly's men deserved to go to hell. You said you would lie with the pyromancers of the Alchemists' Guild to win their loyalty and make them do your bidding. You said all that on that ship—to me, to every lord of the Small Council!"
He turned to Tywin, fury blazing in his eyes. "And you! My father! You knew the truth! You always knew! But you chose to sacrifice me! To use your dwarf son's life to calm the mob, to protect your blood-soaked, mad daughter! Because in your eyes I was never your son. I was a disgrace. A stain to be wiped away with death!"
"Enough!"
Tywin snapped. For the first time a visible anger tightened his features. "Ranting and slander will not save you, Tyrion."
"Slander?"
Tyrion laughed, the last shred of reason fraying. "Then let's speak the truth. Let's speak of the shadow that has pulled the strings all along—Lord Littlefinger!"
He pointed at Littlefinger in the gallery. The man's face drained of color. "It was him! He sparked the war between Stark and Lannister with a Valyrian steel dagger! When Renly besieged the city, it was likely he who leaked my plans to use wildfire against the enemy! And more!"
Tyrion fixed Littlefinger with a death stare. "He sailed across the Narrow Sea to fetch grain at my behest and came back with a ship of sand. Is that not proof of his collusion with Renly—deliberately cutting King's Landing's supplies to hasten its fall?!"
Littlefinger sprang to his feet, wearing a mask of innocence and injured pride. "This is naked slander, Lord Tywin, my lords. Lord Tyrion, knowing his end is near, lashes out like a mad dog. Petyr Baelish's loyalty to the Iron Throne and House Lannister is plain as day! Every accusation he makes is without evidence—nothing but a dying man's desperate attempt to sow confusion!"
Tywin's cold gaze swept over Tyrion, then rested on Littlefinger's posture of "steadfast loyalty," before settling back on Tyrion. "Tyrion Lannister, your evasions and false accusations only compound your crimes. By the law, your guilt is beyond pardon..."
Tyrion unleashed a final, furious roar, cutting Tywin off. "Let the gods judge my innocence. I demand trial by combat!"
The court fell silent.
Trial by combat.
An ancient right. The accused's last chance.
A shadow crossed Tywin's eyes, but his face stayed icy. "As you wish. Your life is now in the hands of the gods and the swords of men."
…
The dungeons of Duskendale were even more sinister than those of Riverrun.
Tyrion curled up in a cold pile of straw, heavy chains binding his hands and feet. The accusations of the day, his father's coldness, Littlefinger's deceit, Shae's betrayal... Countless images flashed through his mind, tormenting him.
He thought he had grown numb, but the despair of being pushed into the abyss by those he once loved still tore him apart.
"Creak—"
The heavy iron door swung open. A figure stepped inside—tall and imposing, with a golden beard and an icy gaze.
It was his father, "Tywin Lannister."
Tywin stopped before the cell door, gazing down at Tyrion. His face was expressionless, yet his eyes flickered with a malevolent delight Tyrion had never seen before.
"My foolish dwarf son..."
"Still dreaming of a trial by combat?" "Tywin" said coldly. "Still believing the gods would favor a monster guilty of kinslaying?"
A beastly growl rose from Tyrion's throat. "I did not..."
"You did not?"
"Tywin" cut him off, a cruel smile curling his lips. "Why do you think I must have you dead? Merely for that fool Cersei? Or to appease the rage of those ants?"
He shook his head slowly. "It is because... I never considered you my son."
Tyrion's body went rigid. He stared at his "father" in disbelief.
"Tywin's" face twisted with vicious malice. "Remember your first wife? Tysha? The whore you thought I paid to humiliate you?"
A cold hand seemed to seize Tyrion's heart.
Tysha.
The only woman he had ever truly loved, and the one he had personally... He dared not think further. That wound had never healed—it was the deepest scar of his life.
"She wasn't a whore..."
"Tywin's" voice was like an ice pick, driving deep into Tyrion's chest. "She was just the daughter of a Westerlands farmer—a foolish country girl who truly adored you. I made Jaime deceive you. I made you destroy the only ordinary happiness you could ever have."
"Why?!"
Tyrion froze as if struck by lightning, speechless for a long moment.
At last, a raw roar tore from his throat as he thrashed against his chains, the iron clattering furiously. "Why did you do this?!"
"Why?"
...
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