"What are you doing?! Let go of me—don't you know I'm Lannister?!
Ow—easy!
My other boot fell off—pick it up for me!"
Tyrion "the Imp" Lannister had his hands shackled in iron. He hadn't even had time to get dressed properly—one foot was bare, and he was yelling at the top of his lungs… when a bull-necked guard grabbed him by the collar and hauled him straight in front of King Robert.
"My king," Eddard Stark stepped forward, producing a dagger still smeared with blood—and a Lannister seal.
"This bloodied dagger was found in Tyrion Lannister's chamber. And this sigil—bearing Tyrion's personal mark—was found clutched in Lady Darry's hand…"
"Lord Stark, what are you talking about?" Tyrion's forehead beaded with sweat. "I don't even understand what you're saying!"
He still hadn't grasped what was going on. He'd drunk heavily last night and slept like a stone—he'd only woken up when someone started dragging him by the neck.
"What are you still pretending for, Lannister devil?" Ned snorted, face hard as stone.
"Pretending? Pretending what?"
"You dishonored Lady Darry… and murdered her with your own hands," Ned said, staring into Tyrion's eyes, each word slow and deliberate.
…
"I'm being framed! My lords!"
Once Tyrion finally understood what he was accused of, he shouted the words until his throat burned.
He tried to straighten his short body, but guards like wolves seized his shoulders and forced him down.
Renly Baratheon, Master of Laws, struck a thoughtful pose—hand to chin, like some famous investigator.
"I see it clearly. Last night's feast—Lord Tyrion became consumed by Lady Darry's beauty, lured her to this sept. When force failed, rage took him, and he killed her. Then—fearing the king's justice—he sent the Hound, loyal to House Lannister, to clean the scene… only for Ser Barristan to catch him in the act."
A wave of shocked gasps rippled through the crowd. The theory sounded neat. It sounded plausible.
"You're talking out of your arse," Tyrion snapped.
"Is it not reasonable?" Renly asked lightly.
"Reasonable? Seven hells take you and your 'reasonable'!" Tyrion roared. "Everyone knows the Hound guards my dear nephew Joffrey. Only he and my dear sister Cersei can command him!"
"Your brother Jaime swore away his inheritance with the Kingsguard. That makes you the heir of House Lannister—future Warden of the West," Renly countered. "Is it not reasonable the Hound would obey you?"
"Then you're all mistaken twice over," Tyrion spat. "My father has never treated me as his heir. In his eyes, a dwarf is no better than a bastard!"
It was a matter of life and death. Tyrion didn't care about humiliating himself.
"Then explain why Lady Darry died gripping your personal sigil—and why a bloodied dagger was in your chamber."
…
Tyrion's face went ash-white. "Someone could have stolen my sigil. The dagger could be planted…"
"A servant saw you and Lady Darry leave the feast together, slip away into the sept. True or false?"
"It's true," Tyrion said quickly. "But we were discussing business. It simply didn't work out. Lady Darry wanted to talk about Lannister gold—"
"Enough!" King Robert thundered. "Shut your mouth! The proof is sitting in front of us, and you still dare to wriggle!
Men—kill him!"
Two Kingsguard drew steel with a ringing scrape, raising their swords to take Tyrion's head.
"No—wait! Jaime! Cersei! Help me—help me!
I don't want to die!"
Tyrion screamed until his voice cracked, eyes frantic as he looked to Cersei and Jaime.
Under Tyrion's desperate stare, the usually dominant Queen Cersei turned her head away, saying nothing.
Tyrion's expression twisted with horror.
You spiteful bitch—now you go quiet? Are you going to let them kill me?
"Do it!" Robert barked.
"Ah—no! I haven't drunk enough wine! I haven't had enough women!" Tyrion wailed, the blade pressing cold against his throat.
"Stop."
Jaime Lannister stepped forward—alone—placing himself between Tyrion and the swords.
"Your Grace," Jaime said loudly, "a dagger and a sigil are not enough to condemn Tyrion. And my father, Lord Tywin, will not accept this outcome."
"Using your father to threaten me?" Robert burst out laughing. "Tywin the gutless coward—when I fought Prince Rhaegar on the Trident, he sat in Casterly Rock watching like a craven!"
"Your Grace!" Queen Cersei snapped, finally forced to move. "My father is Joffrey's grandsire. Do not insult him!"
"Hah. And if I do?" Robert sneered. "Will your old man run from Casterly Rock to bite me?"
Robert looked ready to kill Tyrion anyway—
"Brother," Renly cut in smoothly, "this matter is grave. We should take Tyrion back to King's Landing and give him a proper trial. That way no one can claim House Baratheon abused power or wronged House Lannister."
Robert paused. Thought. Then waved it off with a grunt.
"You've got a point. Fine—enough. I'm going hunting. I'm done with this. You lot handle it."
Robert was reckless, but he wasn't stupid. Killing Tyrion here, on the road, without a formal judgment—Tywin would never swallow it. Robert's rage had been real, sparked by the horror and by his authority being challenged.
"Everyone out," Renly called as the crowd began to ebb. "The truth is clear! His Grace will give House Darry justice. Move along…"
Once the hall finally cleared, Renly still insisted Tyrion be imprisoned and taken to King's Landing, then judged properly.
"Lord Stark," Renly asked, "your decision?"
"Just let him go?" Ned sighed heavily. "After such evil?"
Domeric couldn't help it—his mind spat out a cold, bitter thought.
Eddard Stark was nothing if not rigid. He judged people by first impressions. He'd done it with Jaime. Now he was doing it with Tyrion.
Ugly face, bloody dagger, a seal—and suddenly Tyrion was guilty beyond doubt.
Even if Tyrion had truly done it, why would he leave his sigil at the scene? Why would blood still be on the weapon in his own room?
Who would be that stupid?
Well—some would.
Domeric thought of Catelyn. Then he looked at Ned.
Not the same blood, but the same brain. No wonder they married.
In the original story, Catelyn had taken a Valyrian steel dagger and decided Tyrion tried to kill Bran—then dragged him to the Eyrie, handing Tywin the perfect excuse to start a war.
And she'd never once asked the simplest question:
What idiot gives an assassin his own identifiable blade to do the job? Is that not begging to be exposed?
"Who said we're letting him go?" Renly rubbed his brow. "Taking him to King's Landing for trial shows the realm's law. That's the point."
Ned hesitated, then looked to Domeric.
"Domeric—what do you think?"
"Lord Renly's advice is sound," Domeric said evenly.
Killing Tyrion now would only force Tywin's hand early. It didn't help Domeric's longer game.
"Very well," Ned said at last, aligning with Renly.
"And the Hound?" Renly asked. "Do we need more men to hunt Sandor Clegane?"
"Ser Barristan should be able to take him," Ned replied.
…
The forest was empty and cold. The light was dying. Rain fell everywhere, relentless.
It felt as if the gods themselves were roaring above the clouds.
A massive figure ran through the mud.
A helm sat on his head, the faceplate shaped like a snarling hound—horrifying in the gloom.
Soot-black armor was gouged and battered, rain washing blood into the earth.
The Hound, Sandor Clegane.
He should have been tearing through the world like a beast—yet now he fled like a stray, hunted.
Then—
He stopped.
At the end of the path stood a man.
Rain slicked black hair to the back of his head. Deep eyes, cold as the sea, watched him without a flicker.
Sandor recognized him.
Domeric Bolton.
Stronger than him.
Lightning tore the sky—
and Domeric moved.
Boots splashed through puddles, swallowed by thunder and rain.
In the instant they passed each other, Sandor's sword was cut clean in half.
A slash.
A whip of blood.
Steel returned to its sheath.
The arc of red vanished under the rain as if it had never existed.
Sandor stared at his broken blade—then dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.
"Take him back. Lock him up," Domeric said.
"And make sure no one in House Lannister finds out."
"Also—do not let King Robert or Lord Eddard Stark learn of it."
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GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT
🏰🩸 GAME OF THRONES: SECRETS BENEATH THE DREADFORT 🩸🏰
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📢 DARK SECRETS RISE IN THE NORTH! 📢
Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort has 30 chapters ahead available on Patreon! 🐺🩸
Beneath the Dreadfort, old horrors stir.
Power, bloodlines, betrayal, northern cruelty, and buried secrets wait beneath one of the most feared castles in Westeros.
❄️ The North remembers.🏰 The Dreadfort hides.🩸 And some secrets should have stayed buried.
Uncover what lies beneath before anyone else does.
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