"My Lannister giant."
Tyrion whispered to himself. Her tears had been sentimental, her story tear-jerking, and his true enemy was himself.
He had saved everyone in this sinful city. Yet now they all laughed, their smiling faces piercing his soul like a sharp knife.
Their mouths twisted with joy, their bodies shook, and many laughed so hard that snot sprayed from their nostrils.
What did Cersei promise her? Tyrion looked at Shae's face in grief.
"I confess," he said, looking up at his father's light green-gold eyes. "I plead guilty!"
Lord Tywin remained silent. Prince Oberyn looked slightly disappointed. "You admit to poisoning the king?"
"I have nothing to say about that," Tyrion replied. "I am innocent of Joffrey's death. I committed a more terrible crime."
He took a step closer to his father. "I was born. I lived. My sin was being born a dwarf, and for this I repent. And no matter how many times my noble father forgave me, I continued my ugly deeds."
"Ridiculous, Tyrion," Lord Tywin declared. "Just address the charges. This is not a trial for being a dwarf."
"No, my lord, my whole life has been a trial for being a dwarf."
"Will you not defend yourself?"
"Nothing to add—I didn't do it, but now I wish I had." He turned to face the hall, addressing the sea of pale faces. "I wish I had enough poison for all of you. Your only regret should be that I can't be the monster you imagine me to be.
I am innocent, but I will find no justice here. You leave me no choice but to appeal to the gods above.
I demand trial by combat!"
"Have you lost your mind?" his father shouted.
"No, I've finally found it. I demand trial by combat!"
"He has that right, your honor," Queen Cersei reminded her father and Prince Oberyn.
Lord Tywin was silent for a moment, then angrily slammed the table.
"Do you have a champion to prove your innocence? Or will you fight yourself?" Lord Rowan, one of the judges, asked.
"Indeed, my lords." An unexpected figure stood up from among the onlookers. "He has a champion."
The dark-haired figure quickly became the focus of the entire hall.
The room fell terribly quiet for a moment, all eyes on Cole, who spoke clearly: "The gods are my witnesses. I, Cole, will serve as champion for my old friend Tyrion to prove his innocence."
Cersei hesitated for a moment, then said angrily, "Ser Gregor Clegane will be Joffrey's champion. He returned to the city just yesterday. Let the gods judge."
Cole gave Tyrion a slight nod, then sat down quietly, as if this were merely a small matter.
"The trial will be held tomorrow," Lord Tywin Lannister announced, regaining his composure. He stood and left, his face darkened with fury.
Tyrion slept better than he had in weeks. When Cole had stood up, his heart had seemed to float back from the depths to which it had sunk.
Whatever happened, they would face it together, just as they had at the Eyrie. If they won, they would leave together. If they lost, they would die together.
The next morning, he rose from bed with unusual energy. He requested permission to visit his champion.
When he arrived at Cole's quarters, he found him sharpening his sword with a whetstone.
Cole smiled slightly. "Tyrion, it seems every time we meet, I must fight in a trial by combat."
The dwarf sat beside him. "Gods above, do you know what the singers call you?"
"Dwarf's Savior."
The two men smiled at one another.
Tyrion asked with concern: "What about the Mountain? He's nearly eight feet tall, weighs thirty stone, all of it muscle. His weapon is a greatsword he wields one-handed. He can cut a man in half with a single stroke. His armor is so heavy that no ordinary man could bear its weight, let alone move in it."
"I'm far more agile than he is, Tyrion."
Tyrion frowned, looking at Cole's armor. "Even so, isn't your armor too... thin?"
Cole wore only chain mail, knee guards, a gorget, arm protection, and a white cloak, with a simple half-helm.
"Don't worry, Tyrion. Ser Garlan will lend me a set of plate armor," Cole said.
"Will that rose boy be so generous?"
"I don't know about generous, but Margaery Tyrell also drank from that cup of wine. Perhaps they believe you meant to kill her as well."
"I didn't kill Joffrey," the dwarf declared again.
"I know. I just wonder why Margaery was fine after drinking from that cup."
Tyrion was stunned, asking in confusion, "She did drink from it, but didn't she avoid the last of it?"
Cole shrugged. "I was too far away to see clearly."
The Tyrells sent a set of plate armor bearing no house emblems. Cole instructed the servants to carry it as they walked to the arena.
The outer courtyard of the Red Keep had been chosen for the duel, and was already crowded with spectators.
Some had even brought stools.
The gold cloaks cleared a path, and when Cole and Tyrion walked to the center of the yard, the crowd pointed and whispered at the dwarf's appearance.
Cersei and her champion, Ser Gregor Clegane, had been waiting. The Mountain wore heavy armor from head to toe, looking like a steel giant. His massive helmet was sealed tight against his gorget, with only small openings for breathing and narrow slits for vision.
Before him stood an ugly greatsword, as large as the Stark heirloom "Ice." Ordinary men would need both hands to lift such a blade, but the Mountain needed just one.
On the high platform sat Prince Oberyn and Lord Tywin.
The High Septon, wearing his tall crystal crown and trailing his long robes, approached slowly. He raised his seven-colored crystal, praying to the Father for judgment and to the Warrior to grant strength and courage to the righteous.
Someone handed the Mountain a shield emblazoned with the seven-pointed star.
Cole's squires helped him don the borrowed plate armor. When every buckle and rivet was secured, Cole drew two swords from the scabbards held by the servants with a clear ring of steel.
He truly meant to fight with two blades.
The Mountain approached with heavy strides. Cole adjusted his armor and stepped forward.
With each step they took toward one another, Tyrion's heart pounded harder, until they stood about five yards apart. The Mountain raised his ugly greatsword and brought it down in a mighty arc.
Move, move away, Tyrion prayed silently.
But his eyes soon showed him a desperate sight—Cole stood like a rock, not moving an inch.