The voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly through the entire Sept.
The fat High Septon's hands froze midair, the crown hovering an inch above Tywin's head. He didn't dare move it forward or pull it back. His face flushed deep red as sweat rolled down his forehead in heavy drops.
Tywin's green eyes flashed with cold fury. He rose slowly, turning toward the voice.
Hundreds of nobles followed his gaze.
A tall, lean figure stood at the side entrance. He wore a plain gray-white cloak with the hood pulled low, revealing only a stubbled chin and a graying beard. Under the stares of the crowd, he lifted a hand and pushed the hood back.
"Bonifer Hasty," Tywin said coldly.
He knew the man well.
Commander of the Warrior's Sons. The most devout knight in the Stormlands—or so everyone had once believed.
Tywin knew better. This man hadn't turned to the Seven out of faith. He had done it for a woman. A very beautiful woman.
Rhaella Targaryen.
Years ago, a young Bonifer Hasty had been obsessed with the princess. At a tourney he won the championship and crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty. But his blood wasn't noble enough for a Targaryen. After Rhaella married the Mad King Aerys, Bonifer abandoned everything and became the most pious man in the realm. He claimed only the Maiden could replace Rhaella in his heart.
Of course, both Aerys and Tywin had known the truth. The High Septon had once told Aerys that Bonifer often prayed alone before the Maiden's statue at night. The septons regularly heard strange, muffled sounds coming from his chambers.
The past didn't matter now.
Bonifer's face looked pale in the sunlight, but his eyes burned with a fierce, almost feverish light. Tywin recognized that look. It wasn't devotion.
It was ambition.
"Tywin Lannister!"
Bonifer struck first, stepping forward and sweeping his gaze across the hall. His voice rose sharply. "You knelt here and swore before the Seven to rule with justice, to show mercy to the weak, to go forth with courage, and to guard the purity of the royal bloodline."
"But you conspired with Walder Frey and Roose Bolton. You broke the sacred laws of guest right and murdered King Robb Stark of the North at a wedding feast. You destroyed an enemy you couldn't defeat on the battlefield. Is that your idea of justice?"
"You sent Gregor Clegane to burn villages across the Riverlands. Thousands of smallfolk died because of you. Is that what you call mercy to the weak?"
His voice grew louder, dripping with open contempt. "When Robert Baratheon rose in rebellion, you hid behind the walls of Casterly Rock and did nothing. Only after Rhaegar Targaryen died at the Ruby Ford did you finally march on King's Landing. Is that your idea of courage?"
"And your daughter, Cersei Lannister. The three children she bore—Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen—which one of them carries Baratheon blood? They are the get of the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister. Yet you looked the other way and let your grandson sit the Iron Throne wearing the Baratheon name. Is that what you call guarding the purity of the royal bloodline?"
The hall fell into stunned silence.
The nobles stared, mouths open, unable to speak.
The earlier accusations hadn't truly shocked them. Those were the kind of ruthless moves everyone expected from Tywin Lannister. But the last claim…
Everyone had heard the rumors. Stannis and Renly had shouted them loud enough during the war. But no one had ever dared throw them in Tywin's face in open court like this.
It wasn't just an insult. It was a direct slap across the face of House Lannister.
Tywin's expression didn't change. His green eyes fixed on Bonifer Hasty with icy calm. Everyone in the hall knew the Hand was furious.
"If I'm not mistaken," Tywin said at last, voice low but clear, "the man who's been killing my soldiers across King's Landing these past weeks and blaming it on the Black Hand… that would be you, Hasty."
Bonifer didn't answer. Instead he raised his right hand high and shouted.
"Warriors' Sons! Purge the traitor Tywin Lannister! Restore the glory of the Seven!"
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Every door in the Sept burst open at once. Nearly a hundred armed men poured inside and seized every exit.
They moved fast. Twenty red-cloaked Lannister knights were cut down before they could react. The rest drew steel and formed a tight ring around Tywin.
When the chaos settled, the attackers stood revealed. They wore rainbow-striped robes and carried swords with seven-colored belts. Sunlight flashed across their armor like living fire.
"The Warriors' Sons!"
The fat High Septon recognized their colors at once and collapsed onto the steps, shaking and muttering prayers.
The Warriors' Sons. An ancient holy order that had vanished nearly three hundred years ago. They had once been the militant arm of the Faith, fighting alongside the Poor Fellows. The Cruel King Maegor had destroyed them with dragonfire and steel, then banned the Faith from ever arming itself again.
Now they had returned.
Bonifer Hasty stood at the center of the rainbow flood. The light reflected in his eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted in a small, satisfied smile.
It wasn't the smile of a pious believer.
He had waited a long time for this moment.
During the War of the Five Kings he had led the hundred-man Warrior's Sons through bloody fighting in the Riverlands. He had watched lords and knights slaughter one another while villages burned and smallfolk died by the thousands. That was when he began to doubt the legitimacy of kings and whether the Iron Throne truly enjoyed the favor of the Seven.
He had found his chance when Cersei Lannister, drunk on power, came to him.
She would never know the truth. Bonifer had never cared about helping her seize control.
He wanted the Warriors' Sons restored. He wanted the power of the Faith to stand above the power of kings.
Lannister, Stark, Baratheon—it didn't matter. Lion, wolf, or stag. In the end, all would kneel before the Seven.
With the Warriors' Sons inside the Sept, the nobles panicked. Some screamed and tried to rush the doors, only to be driven back by drawn swords.
The fat High Septon curled into a ball on the steps, clutching the crown and shaking while he prayed.
Only Tywin remained perfectly still. He didn't even glance at the armed men flooding the hall. His green eyes stayed fixed on Bonifer.
"Warriors' Sons," Tywin said with a cold laugh. "You really think these men are enough to kill me, Hasty?"
"Don't forget. There are two thousand soldiers in the city. My knights will hold until reinforcements arrive."
"I know how strong Lannister knights are," Bonifer answered calmly. "But most of your men were sent to Flea Bottom. The rest… someone else will keep them busy long enough."
"By the time your reinforcements reach the Sept, all they'll find is a body cleansed by the Seven."
He raised his hand to order the attack.
Before he could speak, a deafening roar of battle cries erupted outside the Sept.
Bonifer's face went rigid. He whipped his head toward the main doors. The shouting grew louder, closer, rolling like a tide.
Then it stopped.
Heavy footsteps echoed. A blood-covered figure appeared in the doorway. Sunlight streamed in behind him, turning his outline gold.
Lannister soldiers poured in after him, surrounding the Warriors' Sons in seconds.
The bloodied man strode inside, boots leaving red prints on the stone. As he stepped into the light, the nobles recognized him.
Adam Marbrand, Commander of the City Watch.
His armor was soaked in blood. A longsword dripped in his right hand. In his left he carried something round. He stopped before the altar and hurled it.
The object rolled across the floor and came to rest at Bonifer's feet.
It was the head of Ser Osmund Kettleblack.
The former Kingsguard's eyes were still open, frozen in shock and terror.
Bonifer stared down at it. His face showed nothing, but the light in his eyes began to die.
He understood.
Tywin Lannister had known Cersei's plan from the beginning. He had let them all step into the open, then crushed them in one move.
Damn him.
Bonifer looked up at Tywin on the altar. The Hand's green eyes were cold and empty, like a lion watching prey.
"Kill them!" Bonifer roared, raising his sword.
"For the Seven!"
The cry echoed from dozens of throats. Rainbow colors surged forward as the Warriors' Sons charged the altar, blades flashing.
Adam Marbrand raised his hand. Red-cloaked soldiers surged to meet them.
Steel crashed against steel.
The Warriors' Sons fought like madmen. They were outnumbered, but none of them retreated. Men with severed arms kept swinging with their remaining hand. Men run through with spears still crawled forward to bite at throats. Even as they died they held their rainbow banners high.
Bonifer fought at the front. His sword work was clean and deadly. In moments he cut down three Lannister soldiers. His gray-white cloak turned red. Blood matted his beard. But his eyes still burned.
He reached the steps of the altar. Only ten paces separated him from Tywin. He could see his own reflection in those cold green eyes.
Then a broad-shouldered knight stepped into his path.
Adam Marbrand.
No words were exchanged. The two knights clashed on the stone steps.
Sword met sword in a storm of sparks. They fought from the steps to the altar, then across the colored glass floor. Sunlight through the windows painted shifting shadows over them as if the gods themselves watched.
Finally Adam found an opening. His blade took Bonifer's right hand at the wrist, then kicked him backward.
Bonifer's sword clattered to the floor.
He staggered against a pillar, chest heaving. For the first time, exhaustion showed in his eyes.
Adam didn't press. He simply stood there, blood dripping from his sword.
Bonifer looked at his empty wrist. It was over.
He closed his eyes and gave a bitter smile. When he opened them again there was no fear left. He bent slowly and picked up his fallen sword with his left hand.
Then he gathered the last of his strength and stepped forward.
The blade drove straight through his heart.
Bonifer's body jerked once, then went still. His lips moved as if trying to speak, but only a faint sigh escaped.
The rainbow banner slipped from his fingers and fell into the blood.
The colors remained bright. The man who held it would never rise again.
The Sept grew quiet.
The last Warrior's Son lay in a pool of blood, still clutching a torn rainbow banner. His eyes stared upward at the dome as if questioning the gods.
Why did you abandon us?
No answer came.
Dust settled. Hundreds of nobles huddled in corners, shaking and covered in dirt and blood.
Tywin still stood on the altar. He had not moved an inch during the entire slaughter. It was as if the bloodshed had been nothing more than a passing breeze.
He turned and looked toward the steps.
The fat High Septon was curled up there, clutching the crown with both hands and trembling like a leaf.
Tywin walked over without expression and took the crown from his grasp.
He turned to face the hall. Sunlight caught the golden circlet as he slowly raised it and placed it on his own head.
The crown gleamed against his bald scalp.
His green eyes swept the room like a lion surveying a blood-soaked domain.
Bodies lay everywhere. Warriors' Sons and Lannister soldiers bled together. Torn rainbow banners lay trampled in the gore.
The Regent stood above it all, face cold and hard.
"From this day forward," he said, voice carrying through the Sept, "I, Tywin Lannister, am Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
He let the words hang.
"I have spoken. Who supports me? Who opposes me?"
No one answered.
After what they had just seen, only a fool would speak against him now.
"Good." Tywin gave a short nod. He straightened his crimson robes and turned toward the chair where Tommen had been sitting. "I believe we can return to the Red Keep now, Your Grace—"
He stopped.
The wide chair beside the altar was empty.
Tywin scanned the hall. There was no sign of the boy king. The nobles looked at one another in confusion. No one had seen Tommen leave.
A deep, muffled rumbling rose from beneath the Sept.
Boom… boom…
The sound grew louder, heavier, like something massive waking deep underground. The entire building began to tremble. Colored glass windows vibrated and hummed.
Tywin felt a cold, instinctive dread he had never known—not even when Coreyon's blade had touched his throat.
This feeling had a name.
Death.
He turned to leave, but before he could rise the world exploded.
Green fire erupted from below. The images of the Seven twisted and melted in the flames. Colored glass shattered outward in a glittering storm of deadly light. The dome collapsed. Massive stones rained down on screaming nobles.
The roar could be heard across King's Landing.
In Flea Bottom, in the Red Keep, at the Lion's Gate, along Blackwater Bay—everyone stopped and stared in the same direction.
The Great Sept of Baelor.
Had exploded.