Tywin leaned forward, eyes burning with naked hatred through the iron bars. "Because I've always suspected you aren't my blood, Tyrion. Not Tywin Lannister's. You're more like the bastard that mad King Aerys fathered when he raped your mother in his final, crazed days. Look at your face. Look at your twisted body. What part of you is Lannister? What part of you is me? I have no proof, but the doubt gnaws at me day and night. To see this monster—purchased with your mother's life—is unbearable.
I will torture you, humiliate you, deny you any happiness, and finally crush you like a bug. That is your only purpose. I know you didn't spread the rumors—you're not that stupid. I know Cersei lit the wildfire in King's Landing, but what of it? I want you dead. Your death will hide the Lannister scandal, calm the Seven Kingdoms' fury, and most important of all…remove this poisoned thorn from my heart."
Tywin watched Tyrion's face contort with shock and rage and listened to the roar building in his throat. He nodded with satisfaction. A cruel, almost pleased smile tugged at his lips.
"Hate me, my foolish dwarf son. Take that hatred with you to the trial by combat, and be hacked to pieces. That will be your final performance."
He turned away without another glance and left the cell. The heavy iron door slammed shut, cutting off the last faint light from outside and crushing the last of Tyrion's illusions about his father and his house.
Tyrion slumped onto the cold, stinking straw as if every bone had been taken from him. Overwhelming pain, the fury of betrayal, and a cold hatred that settled into his marrow swallowed him whole. He curled into himself, trembling violently—not with tears but with a silent, soul-rending howl.
Tysha… Father…
...
Some time later the cell door opened again.
This time it was Varys.
He wore the same soft robes. His round face looked grave and concerned for the realm.
"Lord Tyrion, there is no time. Come with me," Varys said urgently.
Tyrion lifted his head in a daze. His mismatched eyes were hollow. He still reeled from the crushing conversation with his father.
Varys produced a key and quickly unlocked the heavy chains on Tyrion's hands and feet. "Hurry. I know a secret passage."
When the cold iron fell away, a numb jolt ran through Tyrion's nerves. He stared at Varys and croaked, "Why…save me? Didn't you just accuse me in the street?"
Having just been told the cruellest truth by his father, he distrusted everyone by instinct.
Varys sighed. His look was sincere. "Because my heart is bound to the realm, Lord. Look at the Seven Kingdoms now. The Lannisters, Starks, Baratheons, Tyrells—these once-proud houses have trampled honour and decency for power and vengeance. War, slaughter, betrayal—endless. This land needs a different voice. Someone who can bring a new order.
And you, Lord Tyrion, with your wit, might find a place serving under King Viserys Targaryen in the south. The Seven Kingdoms need change. I have borne humiliation and hardship for this day."
He spoke while guiding Tyrion swiftly and cautiously past the patrolling guards toward the exit.
"Viserys?"
Tyrion followed mechanically, his mind a storm. Tywin's words circled him like a spell.
"Do you know where my father's chambers are?"
Tyrion asked abruptly, his voice hoarse and threaded with cold intent.
Varys' footsteps paused for the briefest fraction before he nodded. "Of course. Top floor of the east tower of the main keep. Why?"
"Take me there."
Tyrion's voice held no inflection.
Varys regarded him for a long moment, asked nothing, then nodded. "Follow me. Most of Duskendale's elite have been taken by Addam Marbrand and Damion to raid Highgarden. The guards are thin."
They moved through the dim corridors of the castle. As Varys had said, the guard was sparser than usual. They reached the east tower of the main keep without incident and climbed the winding stone stairs. Tyrion's heart hammered in his chest, not from fear but from hate coursing through his veins. Every word Tywin had spoken burned in him.
The top-floor door stood ajar. Tyrion signaled Varys to wait at the stairwell and slipped inside.
The room was spacious and heavy with the scent of expensive incense. A faint fire flickered in the hearth. A massive four-poster bed dominated the center of the chamber. And on the bed...
A lithe figure lay lazily in a sheer nightgown. It was Shae. She looked freshly bathed; her hair was still damp and a faint flush lingered on her cheeks. At Tyrion's entrance she startled, then her expression turned to a mix of surprise and disgust.
"Tyrion?"
Shae sat up; the gauze slid, exposing a wide swath of skin. "How did you—"
Her words cut off.
Tyrion lunged like a wild beast. He threw himself forward and with all his strength clamped his hands around Shae's slender throat. All the betrayals, all the humiliation, all the pain crystallized into a single, primitive will to kill.
"Guh... guh..."
Shae's eyes went wide with terror. Her hands clawed at Tyrion's arms in vain; her legs kicked; choking gurgles came from her throat. Her face flushed from red to purple as the fear of death and disbelief filled her eyes.
Tyrion held on, his gaze blank, until Shae went limp. He released her and panted. He did not look at her body. Instead he scanned the room and took down a decorative crossbow from the wall.
From the far reaches of the chamber came the faint sound of running water—the latrine. Tyrion moved silently and flung the door open.
Great Lord Tywin Lannister sat on the privy, the hem of a golden nightgown ridden up to reveal hairy calves. He held an unrolled sheet of parchment in one hand. Surprise flashed across his perpetually stern, icy face at Tyrion's arrival.
Tyrion did not hesitate. He cocked the crossbow with practised speed, drew a gleaming bolt from the nearby quiver, set it, and aimed.
Tywin's pupils snapped tight. "Tyrion! How dare you—"
"Bang."
The crisp click of the trigger sounded sharp in the hush of the chamber. The bolt flew like lightning.
Thud.
It struck with deadly precision below Great Lord Tywin's exposed lower abdomen, driving deep. His body went rigid. The parchment slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. He bowed his head and stared in disbelief at the shaft's fletching protruding from his belly, then looked up at Tyrion with eyes full of utter shock and pain.
"This arrow is for Tysha..."
Tyrion's voice came out cold as if from the depths of hell.