Tyrion stood motionless atop the battlements of the Red Keep, as still as a statue.
Below him, King's Landing was a sea of chaos. The air was thick with smoke, arrows, and the screams of the desperate.
Father, can you hear them? Tyrion thought bitterly. Their screams are born of your arrogance and pride.
He knew, of course, that Tywin Lannister would be utterly unmoved by the suffering of the masses.
With the city brimming with soldiers, the rebellion would inevitably be crushed. The innocent lives lost in the process would not burden Tywin with the slightest pang of guilt. If anything, Tyrion suspected his father might secretly welcome the bloodshed, seeing it as a convenient way to reduce the population and conserve precious grain.
Such was the cold, ruthless nature of those in power.
Tyrion thought grimly that he was fortunate to have been stripped of his authority, sparing him from direct involvement in this bloody debacle.
Still, as he watched the chaos consume the city, his thoughts wandered to Shae.
Is she safe? Has the violence reached her? Does she even have enough to eat?
Tyrion longed to bring her into the safety of the Red Keep, but he dared not.
If his father discovered that he was keeping company with a whore, the nightmare of his youth might repeat itself.
Oh, Tysha... He thought of his first wife, the lies surrounding her, and the torment that followed.
He remembered Caesar's words to him during their brief meeting.
Who was lying?
Tyrion had hoped Jaime would provide him with the truth.
But his brother remained at the Wall, refusing to return.
As for asking his father directly—Tyrion didn't have the courage. He already knew what Tywin's response would be: denial and cold disdain.
---
Tyrion wasn't sure how much time had passed, but eventually, the chaos in the city began to subside.
By then, the area around the Red Keep was littered with corpses, and Aegon's High Hill was drenched in blood.
The soldiers began clearing the battlefield, dragging bodies into heaps before setting them ablaze.
Thick, acrid smoke rose into the sky, the stench of burning flesh so foul that it made Tyrion gag. Unable to endure it any longer, he left the battlements.
As he made his way back to his chambers to rest, he was intercepted by his cousin, Lancel.
"Tyrion, Lord Tywin has summoned you. He wants you in the throne room."
"The throne room?" Tyrion frowned. "What's so urgent it requires such pomp?"
"You'll find out soon enough." Lancel's expression was grim.
"It doesn't sound like good news," Tyrion muttered, sensing trouble. With no choice but to comply, he followed Lancel to Maegor's Holdfast.
---
The throne room was already packed with nobles by the time Tyrion arrived.
King Tommen sat atop the Iron Throne, his small face pale with fear. Whether it was the riots or the spiked monstrosity beneath him that terrified him, Tyrion couldn't tell.
To Tommen's right stood Tywin, calm and composed as ever.
To his left was Queen Cersei, wearing a look of smug satisfaction that immediately set Tyrion on edge.
Her expression made him uneasy, a sense of foreboding rising within him.
"Your Grace," Tyrion said as he stepped forward and bowed. "You summoned me?"
Tommen gave a small nod, saying nothing.
It was Tywin who broke the silence.
"Tyrion, as the former overseer of the city's supplies, there are certain issues that require your explanation."
"What issues?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Since your return, you stripped me of my authority. The riots in the city are the result of your decree to seize grain from the populace, not mine."
"This isn't about the riots," Cersei interjected sharply. "It's about the grain you were managing. Where did it all go? Why is the city so short on food?"
Tyrion smirked. "Dearest sister, do you think I can conjure grain out of thin air? The city is starving because no shipments have arrived from across the Narrow Sea—"
"Lies!" Cersei snapped, her eyes gleaming with vindictive glee. "Shipments from Essos have been arriving regularly. So where is all that grain, Tyrion?"
Lady Anya Waynwood, standing among the gathered nobles, added solemnly:
"During today's riots, some rebels broke into the granaries. My soldiers found sacks inside, but they were not filled with grain. They were filled with sand."
Tyrion blinked, incredulous.
"Did you replace the grain with sand, Tyrion?" Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort asked, his pale eyes gleaming with malice.
Tyrion turned to his father, his gaze silently accusing. This is your mess—explain it.
But Tywin said nothing, his golden eyes steady and unreadable as he looked down at his son from the Iron Throne's shadow.
"Tyrion," Cersei pressed, "did you hide the grain somewhere? Are you hoarding it for yourself?"
Tyrion threw his head back and laughed, a wild, manic sound that echoed through the throne room.
"Enough! What's so funny?" Cersei demanded angrily.
"Oh, everything," Tyrion said between gasps of laughter. "The irony, the audacity—it's all so very amusing, don't you think, Father?"
Tywin's silence persisted, his cold gaze fixed on his son.
Growing bored, Tyrion finally sobered and shrugged.
Tywin spoke at last, his voice measured and icy:
"Tyrion, as the overseer of supplies, you are responsible for this. Explain yourself."
Tyrion scoffed. "If you want to execute me, Father, there's no need to fabricate these ridiculous charges."
"Confess!" Cersei shrieked. "Tell us where the grain is, or no one can save you!"
"Oh, fine." Tyrion wiggled his fingers theatrically. "Abracadabra—ta-da!"
"Enough!" Lady Waynwood snapped. "This is no time for jokes. Without grain, the city cannot hold!"
Tyrion shook his head. "I told you long ago that we should surrender to Caesar."
"Guards!" Tywin's voice thundered, cutting through the tension. "Take Tyrion to the dungeons! He will face trial tomorrow."
"No trial is necessary!" Tyrion bellowed as the guards grabbed him. "I'm guilty! Guilty of being a dwarf, guilty of being an abomination, guilty of being a scapegoat! Kill me, Father! Kill me!"
The guards dragged him away, but his defiant voice echoed through the hall, lingering long after he was gone.
---
A heavy silence followed.
It was Roose Bolton who finally spoke:
"Lord Tywin, what about the grain?"
"I will handle it," Tywin replied with calm authority.
The nobles exchanged uncertain glances but ultimately held their tongues.
The meeting adjourned, and the lords began to disperse.
Cersei stayed behind, catching up to her father. "What will you do about the grain?" she asked quietly.
"I told you," Tywin said evenly. "I will handle it."
Something in his tone made Cersei hesitate. For the first time, doubt crept into her mind.
"Father..." she began tentatively.
Tywin turned to face her, his gaze steady. "You have my word."
With that, he strode away, leaving Cersei standing alone in the shadowed hall.
For all her life, Tywin Lannister had been a figure of unshakable authority, a man who seemed invincible and infallible.
But now, watching him walk away, she noticed something she hadn't before.
His back was slightly hunched.
Father is getting old...
(End of Chapter)