[Chapter Size: 1300 Words.]
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In the great hall of Pyke, Theon met Walder Frey once more, this time upon the Iron Islands.
"I thought you could have held it for a few more years," Walder muttered bitterly.
Theon poured a goblet of wine and handed it to him. "I have been patient long enough. The Riverlands are only the first step. The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros have lasted far too long."
He placed the cup into Walder's trembling hands.
"Selena, you married into my house. I hope you will ride proudly in the carriage of an empire, not lie crushed beneath its wheels as another corpse."
The old Frey drank a shaky mouthful of red wine. His greatest ambition had always been to secure the Riverlands and name himself Warden. He had never imagined Theon's vision stretched far beyond that. For the first time, he felt regret. If Theon's chariot ever collided with Casterly Rock or Highgarden, would it not be smashed to pieces?
Theon read the fear in his eyes and clapped him on the shoulder. "When Tywin dies, it will mark the decline of House Lannister. I will erode the Seven Kingdoms piece by piece. Do not panic."
Then, with chilling casualness, he added, "You have worked hard all your life. Enjoy your retirement here in Pyke. Write often to your children, though, I fear Amice might kill them all."
"Yes, Your Majesty…" Walder's tone was strange, unreadable, leaving no one certain what he truly thought.
Theon refilled his goblet and left him sitting alone.
…
King's Landing
In the throne room, the Imp stood trial. Tyrion Lannister faced the gathered lords, his rage boiling over.
As he lashed out at the nobility with merciless words, the chamber dissolved into chaos. Tywin immediately signaled Ser Meryn Trant to return Tyrion to the cells.
But Tyrion's voice thundered over the noise: "Father, I wish to confess."
The words silenced the hall. Jaime stared, astonished. To keep Tyrion alive, he had promised to renounce the Kingsguard and return to Casterly Rock as heir. He had even told Tyrion beforehand. Yet the venom of the court had pushed his brother to despair. Was Tyrion truly about to plead guilty?
Tyrion ignored Jaime's frantic gaze.
Tywin, too, glanced at Jaime with suspicion. Why had he not warned his brother properly? Still, it mattered little. A guilty plea would mean Tyrion could be sent to the Wall in black, and Tywin would be rid of him.
Tyrion turned to the lords. His voice rang out with bitter fury:
"I saved you all, this city, your worthless lives! I should have let Stannis kill every one of you!"
The lords roared in outrage. Tywin raised his hand. "Tyrion, do you confess?"
"Yes, Father, I confess. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"You admit you poisoned the king?"
"No!" Tyrion shouted. "I am innocent of that. My crime is far worse, I was born a dwarf!"
Gasps echoed. Tywin scowled. "This trial is not about your deformity."
"Oh, but it is!" Tyrion's voice climbed. "I have been judged my whole life for what I am!"
"You will not defend yourself?" Tywin demanded impatiently.
"No. But I will say this: it was not me!" Tyrion smiled grimly, and his face twisted with hatred. "I did not kill Joffrey, but I wish I had! Watching your cruel little bastard choke to death was more satisfying than a thousand lies!"
His eyes burned into Cersei. "I only wish I were the monster you all believe me to be. I wish I had enough poison to kill you all! I would watch you swallow it and die with joy!"
The hall erupted. Tywin rose at once. "Meryn! Ser Meryn, remove the prisoner!"
But Tyrion's voice cut across the uproar. "I will not die for Joffrey's murder. I know I will find no justice here. I appeal to the gods! I demand trial by combat!"
A stunned silence fell.
Trial by combat, an ancient law of Westeros, reserved for cases where proof was lacking yet judgment demanded resolution. Each side would choose a champion, and the gods would decide guilt or innocence through steel.
The trial was set for one month hence, giving both sides time to name their champions.
…
The Dungeons – A Week Later
Podrick Payne entered Tyrion's cell, carrying food. His loyalty to his master was unwavering.
"My lord," he whispered, "Queen Cersei has named the Mountain as her champion. He has already come to King's Landing. I saw it myself, she gathered refugees and gave them to him for slaughter, to hone his bloodlust."
Tyrion's heart sank at Podrick's words. The Mountain was one of the most fearsome warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, and Tyrion knew of almost no one who could stand against him.
Had his brother Jaime still possessed his sword hand, he might have fought for him.
Tyrion took a weary sip of wine. "Boy, it's time you left. You've lingered in King's Landing long enough."
"My lord, I swore my loyalty to you, I…"
"Enough. You need not die for me. Leave this city, go as far as you can!"
Podrick's lips trembled, but in the end he said nothing.
"Send Bronn to me," Tyrion added.
Podrick departed, but Bronn did not come at once. Three days passed before the sellsword finally appeared at Tyrion's cell.
"Well," Bronn said with a smirk, "this place suits you."
"Yes, I sleep beside my own shit every night. Quite the luxury," Tyrion replied dryly.
"I know why you've called me," Bronn went on, finding a place to sit. "But I'm to marry a noble lady. Cersei has gifted me a castle."
Tyrion's mouth twisted. "It seems my sister has bought you."
Bronn grinned. "You once told me that if anyone tried to buy me, you'd always pay double. Do you mean it?"
"What do you want, then? Two castles? Two noble ladies?"
"I'd want both," Bronn admitted. "But truth is, I don't want to die playing against the Mountain."
Tyrion chuckled bitterly. "Perhaps I should fight him myself. You'd witness a fine spectacle, an Imp hacked to pieces."
"You could ask your brother," Bronn suggested. "Didn't you once say he would always protect you? I spoke with him, if you begged him, perhaps he'd do it."
"That is impossible. Father would never allow it. He wants Jaime to cast off the white cloak and return to Casterly Rock as heir." Tyrion's voice was resolute. Jaime had offered before, but Tyrion would never let him. That was not who he was.
He forced a smile to change the subject. "So tell me, where did Cersei find this noble bride for you? Is she lovely, or some fat sow? If it were me, I'd rather none at all."
"She's from the Riverlands. Quite beautiful. And her father's very rich," Bronn replied, satisfaction plain on his face.
"The Riverlands…" Tyrion muttered. Suddenly, hope flickered in his eyes.
Bronn's expression hardened. "You wouldn't dare. I know what you're thinking."
"Write a letter to Theon Greyjoy for me," Tyrion said quickly. "Tell him I will sail back to the Iron Islands with him, serve him, if only he will help me now."
Bronn shook his head in disbelief. "Seven hells, you're a bloody genius. Fine, I'll write. If Greyjoy agrees, maybe you live after all."
They had both seen what Theon was capable of. And Tyrion now prayed the Greyjoy king still had use for him.
Once, Theon had even offered him the position of Hand to help govern the Riverlands. Tyrion had refused, determined to prove his worth in King's Landing and reclaim his birthright.
Now, he regretted it bitterly. If he had gone to the Riverlands then, he might not be facing death at the Mountain's hands.
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