King's Landing.
The Red Keep.
Inside the King's bedchamber, a sharp crack echoed through the room as the gold crown, inlaid with rubies, flew a long distance before landing heavily on the thick velvet bed. Two young maidservants lay motionless beneath it, their fair skin marred by bruises and cuts, evidence of the torment they had endured.
Their eyes were tightly shut, their faces etched with pain and fear, yet the gentle rise and fall of their chests showed they were still alive.
"Hitting me again? Just wait until I tell Mother and Grandfather! They'll have your head chopped off and hung outside the Red Keep!" a young boy screamed, his voice trembling with both fear and fury.
Joffrey, thirteen years old, with his golden hair, striking green eyes, and fair, aristocratic features, clutched his throbbing face. He glared at the one standing before him with hatred and panic. That was Tyrion Lannister, his uncle, far shorter in stature but commanding respect through sheer force of will.
"It was your grandfather who told me to educate you," Tyrion said firmly, shaking his right hand to ease the sting from striking Joffrey. Perhaps next time, he thought, he should wear a glove.
"You are about to marry Margaery, yet here you are tormenting maidservants for your amusement in your own bedroom. If this ever gets out, it will surely ruin the reputation of the Iron Throne and the honor of Highgarden!"
Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard, standing nearby, remained impassive, his face unreadable. He had clearly been instructed by Tyrion not to interfere in the King's private matters.
Joffrey, still clutching his face, said defiantly, "I am the King. No matter what I do, that pig-like Duke will obediently send his daughter to my bed!"
"Slap!" Tyrion's hand connected sharply with Joffrey's cheek again, forcing the boy to stumble backward. "A King's neck is fragile, just like any other man's! Especially yours. You wear that ridiculous crown and think yourself invincible, yet do you know why you're still alive?"
Joffrey tried to protest, but Tyrion's raised hand silenced him, and the boy's defiance faltered.
Seeing his victory, Tyrion reluctantly lowered his hand. "No matter what you think, for now, you need to behave like a normal person. Stay in the Red Keep, cause no trouble, and wait for your wedding to be completed. I will keep a close watch on you!"
"Furthermore," Tyrion added, striding toward a young woman whose body trembled slightly, "Miss Sansa Stark's engagement to you has been dissolved. From now on, do not harass her for any reason. Understood?"
"I am the King! Can't I even teach a traitor a lesson?" Joffrey spat, fury and indignation in his voice.
Tyrion shook his head, then kicked him to the ground, following up with a series of forceful strikes. "I asked if you understand!"
"Understood?!" Tyrion demanded again, each word punctuated by a sharp kick.
"Understood!" Joffrey wailed, rolling on the floor in humiliation.
Finally, even the stoic Ser Mandon Moore could no longer remain passive. He stepped forward, blocking Tyrion with his body.
"What do you want?" Tyrion ignored him, focusing on ensuring the young king learned a lesson.
Joffrey scrambled to his feet, tears welling in his green eyes, rage and resentment coiled within him. He shoved past the Kingsguard and stumbled toward his mother's chambers, determined to report the humiliation he had endured in his own bedroom.
An absolute humiliation, he thought, burning with indignation.
"Go on, go tell your mother," Tyrion said indifferently. "And while you're at it, don't forget to recount your recent good deeds."
Tyrion's authority was backed by his father, Tywin Lannister. Cersei might be Queen Regent, but even she would hesitate to challenge the man who ruled with calculated ruthlessness.
Once Joffrey had gone, Tyrion turned to Sansa Stark. "Miss Stark, I apologize for the scene you were forced to witness. In truth, I am usually a gentle man."
Sansa's clear blue eyes brimmed with tears, yet her beautiful face remained composed, a polite smile gracing her lips. "Yes, my Lord. I know you are usually very gentle with people." Politeness, she understood, was her only armor in this dangerous world.
Since her engagement with Joffrey had been broken, she had rarely faced the venomous young king. Today, a small contingent of Golden Cloaks had burst into her chamber, disrupting her fragile peace. They had grabbed her and her two attendants, who had been tortured to the brink of death. Though she had not been harmed, witnessing her companions suffer had been an unbearable ordeal for a girl of twelve, raised in comfort and safety.
Seeing her acknowledgment, Tyrion allowed a small smile. "Miss Stark, my father wishes to see you. Please come to the Hand's Tower."
Sansa's eyes widened with fear. "May I know the reason, esteemed Master of Coin?"
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "What other reason could there be? Your brother has triumphed again. Though one fights in Riverrun and the other in King's Landing, their struggles never cease."
Tyrion's tone was calm, almost smug, as he led her along the corridors. His tenure as Hand had been marked by constant turmoil, yet he had achieved significant victories, and now he carried a quiet confidence.
Sansa's steps faltered as memories of past humiliations surged. When Robb Stark had won victories in the Westerlands, Joffrey had intended to punish her severely, attempting to strip her of dignity before all. Only Tyrion had intervened.
Now, with her brother's recent string of successes, she could only imagine the humiliation that might follow. Tears rolled down her cheeks, yet she maintained her composure as best she could.
Tyrion, ever perceptive, noticed the despair in her eyes. "Perhaps I wasn't clear enough, Miss Stark. You may be going home very soon."
Sansa's heart skipped. Could this be true? Could she finally escape the Red Keep? Hesitant, she accepted the handkerchief Tyrion offered to wipe her tears, apologizing, "My Lord, I will wash it and return it to you."
"No need. I have someone for that," Tyrion said, recalling Shae, his trusted companion.
"Let's keep going, Miss Stark. Trust me, you should soon be free of this hateful place," Tyrion added reassuringly.
Sansa offered a timid nod and followed closely behind him, the two wildlings, Shagga and Chella, guarding the front and rear. Shagga's axe and Chella's grim demeanor were oddly comforting.
As they passed through a courtyard strewn with yellowing leaves, they approached the Hand's Tower. Two guards, clad in lion-emblazoned helmets and chainmail, stepped forward, their eyes wary. Tyrion wasted no time with pleasantries. "Sirs, my father sent me. Announce my arrival to avoid delaying the Hand's important business."
The guards exchanged a glance. One sprinted into the tower and returned swiftly. "The Lord Hand asks you to wait in the study. After your discussion, he will receive Miss Sansa Stark."
Tyrion nodded. "Shagga, Chella, keep an eye on our guest. I'll return shortly."
Inside, Tyrion struggled up the winding stairs, each step a minor agony. Reaching the study, he overheard a familiar voice.
"Count Matthus led the few remaining cavalry to engage the enemy but was slain by Eddard Karstark," Varys reported, detailing the fate of the Reach's army. "Ser Marldune of House Tyrell was killed attempting to cross the Ruby Ford, ambushed by the Blackfish. Many of their knights fell similarly."
The list of casualties was long, nearly all from the Reach. Tyrion pushed open the study door.
"And House Tarly of Horn Hill?" he asked. "Did both father and son surrender or fall?"
Varys, sipping wine, paused. "Lord Randyll Tarly was ambushed by Eddard Karstark and captured. Dickon Tarly surrendered after Karstark threatened his father's life."
Tyrion's eyes widened in disbelief. He looked to his father, Tywin, whose expression mirrored bitter frustration.
Tywin explained calmly, "Eddard Karstark, from Karhold, second son of Count Rickard, slew Gregor Clegane and now controls the River Crossing."
"House Frey?" Tyrion asked.
"Most perished. Survivors were sent to the Wall," Tywin replied. "Now, my son, let us discuss family matters."
Varys bowed and exited, leaving Tyrion alone with his father. Excitement and anticipation stirred within him—things were starting to become interesting, just as he had anticipated.
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