Chapter 153: The Trial Concludes
Sansa's voice rang out clearly across the Great Sept.
For a single moment, time itself seemed to freeze.
Every face in the hall twisted into disbelief.
Then the entire sept erupted into chaos.
"Seven gods above…"
"How is that possible?"
"They've been married for over a month!"
"That's Tyrion Lannister! I heard he once spent twenty gold dragons in a single night on the Street of Silk!" Street of Silk
On the high seat above them, Tywin Lannister remained perfectly still.
Yet deep within those green eyes, an incredibly complicated storm churned.
Absurd.
The marriage between Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister had been ordered personally by Tywin himself.
Twenty-seven days had already passed.
According to traditions upheld by the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms for thousands of years, consummating a marriage on the wedding night was not a choice.
It was duty.
Responsibility.
It symbolized the continuation of bloodlines and the strengthening of alliances.
That was the law of noble society.
Those customs existed to ensure legitimate heirs were born as quickly as possible.
And more importantly…
Tywin clearly remembered the explicit command he had given Tyrion.
Sansa Stark was to become pregnant immediately.
The sooner, the better.
A child carrying both Lannister and Stark blood would provide the perfect legal claim over Winterfell and allow House Lannister to secure dominion over the North. Winterfell The North
Tywin had ordered Tyrion to fulfill his obligations as a husband.
And he had never once believed the dwarf would refuse.
After all, Tyrion was infamous across the realm as a drunkard and a whoremonger.
The amount of gold he squandered in brothels was enough to maintain a small army.
At the wedding feast, Tyrion himself had sworn repeatedly that he understood his responsibilities.
And now—
Twenty-seven days later—
Sansa Stark stood before all the nobility of King's Landing and calmly admitted she remained untouched.
It was humiliating.
At that thought, Tywin's gaze slowly drifted toward the center of the sept.
Sansa Stark stood bathed in sunlight.
The deep-blue velvet gown wrapped elegantly around her fully matured beauty.
Her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, the ends curling softly near her waist.
Her skin was pale as the first snowfall of the North.
And especially those eyes—
Bright.
Clear.
Pure.
There was no question that Sansa Stark was acknowledged throughout the Seven Kingdoms as one of the realm's greatest beauties.
Her features looked as though they had been carved by a master artisan after years of painstaking effort.
When she had first arrived in King's Landing, nobles at court had whispered privately that her beauty rivaled even a young Cersei Lannister, once hailed as the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.
And faced with a wife like that—
Tyrion had somehow restrained himself?
Impossible.
Unless…
The dwarf had deliberately chosen to defy him.
At that thought, Tywin slowly shifted his gaze downward toward the tribunal floor.
Tyrion Lannister stood there in chains.
Iron shackles bound his wrists and ankles, their links gleaming coldly in the morning light.
His head hung low, shoulders trembling faintly.
Was he laughing?
Tywin's expression grew colder.
At that moment, he truly felt that this cursed dwarf was nothing less than punishment for a lifetime of greatness.
If Tyrion had not carried the Lannister name, Tywin would have ordered the infant thrown into the sea the very day he was born.
Yet the dwarf standing surrounded by four Gold Cloaks seemed utterly oblivious to the murderous stare directed at him by his father.
His head remained lowered.
Long strands of hair obscured his ugly face.
Inside those mismatched eyes was only confusion.
A hollow emptiness.
No one could tell what he was thinking.
Then—
Sansa spoke again.
This young girl, once obsessed with dignity and appearances, swept her gaze across the whispering nobles and mocking smiles around her.
Thousands of leagues away from her northern home, standing before the entire court, speaking of something so deeply private—
Yet her voice was steadier than before.
"Yes," Sansa Stark said calmly. "Everything I said is true."
"Because my husband, Tyrion Lannister, has never once forced me to do anything against my will."
As Sansa continued speaking, the uproar inside the Great Sept gradually quieted, though tension still lingered heavily in the air.
"On our wedding night, when he entered the bedchamber, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, trembling."
"I wore the nightdress my mother prepared for me. The Stark direwolf was embroidered across it."
"He stood at the doorway and simply looked at me for a long time. Then he said…"
Sansa's eyes fell upon the dwarf standing beneath the tribunal with his head lowered.
She took a slow breath.
"'If you do not wish it, then we do not have to do anything.' Those were his exact words."
"I didn't answer him. Then he walked away, spread a blanket beside the fireplace, and slept there through the night without saying another word."
"The second night was the same. The third. The fourth…"
"And every night afterward as well."
In front of everyone, Sansa slowly lifted her chin.
Something harder now shone within those blue eyes.
"Though I failed in my duties as a wife… he fulfilled every duty a husband should."
"He tried to speak with me. In the darkness, from across the room, he would tell stories he had read in books. Stories about the heroes of the Rhoynar, about the dragons of Valyria, about legends beyond the Wall."
"He told foolish jokes too. Some of them truly weren't funny… but I knew he was trying to make me smile."
"During that time, I had nightmares almost every night. I dreamed of my father's head rolling from the city walls. I dreamed of Joffrey's smiling face."
"And whenever I woke screaming from those nightmares, he would sit quietly beside the fire. He would not approach me. He would not touch me."
"He would simply… remain there."
"Watching over me until I fell asleep again."
The more Sansa spoke, the more conviction filled her voice.
Her back straightened.
Her chest rose proudly.
Then suddenly she pointed toward the prostitutes standing nearby and declared loudly:
"So when those women accuse Tyrion of being a lustful brute… a monster who delights in abusing women…"
"I know they are lying!"
"Because a man like him could never be as vile as they describe!"
The moment her words fell, silence descended over the sept once more.
An elderly noble slowly nodded.
Several noblewomen exchanged glances and sighed softly.
Even one of the Gold Cloaks guarding Tyrion loosened his grip on his sword hilt, conflict flickering across his face.
But the malice buried within human nature never vanished simply because of a moment's sympathy.
"That dwarf respects women? Hah!"
From the middle rows of the gallery, a young noble dressed in bright yellow silk laughed loudly.
"Please. More likely he just can't do it."
His companion burst out laughing as well.
"Exactly! My uncle says dwarfs are useless in bed!"
"HAHAHAHA!"
Crude laughter spread through the crowd like mold growing in damp corners.
And at that moment, Cersei Lannister rose to her feet once again.
Her movements were slow and graceful.
Her luxurious crimson gown swayed around her while golden hair shimmered beneath the sunlight like molten gold.
"He did not touch you because he respected you, Sansa."
Cersei turned toward the girl, a false smile of pity curling on her lips.
"He didn't dare."
"Look at him. A twisted creature. A monster so ugly no one wishes to look at him twice."
"We must understand that when the Seven created mankind, they did not bless everyone equally."
"And he…"
"He is a curse sent by the gods."
"His soul is twisted because his body is twisted. He may act humble and courteous before noble ladies while indulging his darkest urges in the shadows."
"He may admire purity and beauty… yet crave filth and degradation."
"Because deep inside, he knows he can never truly possess beauty or purity himself. He knows he will always be broken."
"And so he turns to women who sell their bodies for coin."
Her words were vicious beyond measure.
Yet they struck directly at the darkest corners of many hearts inside the sept.
Nobles nodded in understanding.
Expressions of "so that's how it is" spread across the crowd.
Even the prostitutes indirectly insulted by her speech seemed to agree.
Because to them, that explanation made sense.
It felt logical.
It matched the image they all wanted of the deformed and broken:
Either evil monsters…
Or pitiful cowards…
But never people capable of genuine virtue.
As whispers and mocking fingers once more turned toward him, Tyrion's body visibly stiffened.
His shoulders tightened.
His jaw locked.
Slowly, those mismatched eyes closed.
The chains around his wrists clattered sharply in the silence.
Then—
Tyrion opened his eyes again.
He did not look toward the wife who had just defended him before the entire realm.
Instead, he swept his gaze across every single face inside the sept.
And then—
He laughed.
A bitter, twisted laugh clawed its way from deep within his throat.
It sounded almost insane.
"Ha…"
Tyrion's shoulders trembled.
"HAHAHAHA…"
The laughter grew louder and louder until he was nearly doubled over, chains rattling wildly as tears streamed from his eyes.
He wiped at them with his shackled hands, but the tears only kept coming.
"Magnificent!"
Under the crowd's disgusted and bewildered stares, Tyrion suddenly threw up both hands and shouted toward the vaulted ceiling of the sept.
"Magnificent!"
"This performance!"
"This trial!"
"These testimonies!"
"What a fucking joke!"
As his movements became more violent, the Gold Cloaks tensed again, hands returning to their swords.
"A dwarf!" Tyrion screamed hoarsely, ignoring them completely.
"A monster who killed his mother at birth! A twisted, ugly little freak!"
"And somehow…"
"He marries the most beautiful girl in the Seven Kingdoms…"
"…and doesn't touch her!"
He spun toward the crowd, fury blazing inside those mismatched eyes.
"You want reasons, don't you? Explanations! Otherwise the world would feel unfair!"
"Well fine!"
"I'll give you one!"
Tyrion straightened, madness written plainly across his face.
"I admit it! I'm worthless!"
"I'm not worthy of the noble Lady Stark!"
"So I go to whores instead! Because they're the only women willing to flatter me for gold!"
"'Mighty lion, you're wonderful!'"
"Is that what you wanted to hear?!"
"Are you satisfied now?!"
The nobles burst into roaring laughter.
Cruel.
Piercing.
Unrestrained.
Their laughter echoed beneath the sacred dome of the sept like some grand act of collective blasphemy.
And Tyrion laughed with them.
His whole body shook violently as he laughed so hard he could barely remain standing.
The Gold Cloaks grabbed him to keep him upright, but he struggled wildly like a trapped animal.
Above them, Tywin Lannister watched coldly.
At this point, the trial had completely lost all dignity.
Tyrion had transformed the proceedings into a grotesque spectacle of self-humiliation.
Even House Lannister itself would be shamed by this farce.
"Enough!"
At last, Tywin's voice thundered across the sept.
The laughter died instantly.
Even Cersei hurriedly fell silent and stepped back, unwilling to provoke the old lion further.
"Sansa Stark's testimony," Tywin said slowly once the hall quieted, "does provide a possible explanation."
"But even so, it cannot completely invalidate the credibility of the other witnesses."
All eyes turned toward him.
Many nobles nodded immediately.
Some traced seven-pointed stars over their chests while murmuring agreement.
Sansa's face paled.
She wanted to protest, but Tywin gave her no chance.
"Therefore…"
"Lady Sansa's testimony only proves how Tyrion behaved in her presence."
"It does not prove whether he showed that same restraint with others."
As he spoke, Tywin turned his cold green gaze toward Tyrion below.
The meaning in those eyes was unmistakable.
If the dwarf could not even fulfill his duty with a woman like Sansa Stark…
Then he had no value left at all.
"If no further evidence can completely clear him of these accusations," Tywin continued evenly, "or prove he had nothing to do with King Joffrey's death, then—"
Suddenly—
Tyrion jerked his head upward.
He stared directly at his father.
At the face that had always regarded him as shame itself.
Twenty years of neglect.
Contempt.
Hatred.
Mockery.
Cruel words.
Everything crashed together like a tidal wave, shattering the final barrier inside his heart.
"You want me to confess, don't you, Father?!"
For the first time in his life, Tyrion roared openly at his father before the entire realm.
Chains rattled violently as he struggled.
The Gold Cloaks grabbed him harder, but somehow the dwarf exploded with terrifying strength, nearly breaking free.
"Fine!"
"I confess!"
"I confess to everything!"
Tyrion laughed hysterically while tears and spit ran down his face.
"I'm a dwarf! A monster! I killed my mother when I was born!"
"I don't deserve beautiful things! I go to whores because they're the only ones who don't look at me like I'm some beast!"
"They only care about my gold!"
"But do you know…"
"Do you KNOW who made me this way?!"
His voice rose to a near scream.
"You, Tywin Lannister!"
"My father!"
"From the moment I was born, you treated me like shame! Like a stain! Like a blemish on Lannister honor!"
The entire sept fell deathly silent.
No one dared speak.
No one dared laugh.
"You never once looked at me as your son!" Tyrion screamed, ignoring the horrified stares around him.
"But that's not what I hate you for most!"
"What I hate most…"
"…is that you took away the only thing I ever truly believed in!"
"The only person I ever believed loved me!"
"That year, Jaime and I were traveling from Lannisport back to Casterly Rock."
"We met a girl named Tysha on the road. Two outlaws were following her."
"Jaime chased them off while I stayed to protect her."
"She was terrified to travel alone, so I took her to a nearby inn."
"At the inn she looked at me and told me I was brave."
"She said I was kind."
"She said I was different from other nobles."
"And then she kissed me."
"She told me she loved me."
"And gods help me…"
"I believed her."
Tyrion swallowed hard.
For one fleeting moment, warmth flickered inside his eyes before hatred drowned it again.
"I paid a septon to marry us in secret."
"I thought I'd finally found someone who loved me not because I was Tywin Lannister's son…"
"Not because I was heir to Casterly Rock…"
"But because of me."
Then his voice turned cold as ice.
"And then you found out."
"You told me it was all fake."
"You said Tysha was a whore."
"That the outlaws were fake."
"That the entire thing had been arranged by Jaime…"
"…just to finally make me feel like a man."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Clearly not everyone in the sept had known this hidden story from the Westerlands.
Yet no one truly believed Tywin had done anything wrong.
A noble son secretly marrying a peasant girl?
Most lords would have had her executed on the spot.
"So you were right, Father."
"I am a monster."
"A monster through and through."
"And you are the one who made me this way."
Tyrion turned toward the crowd, his voice suddenly terrifyingly calm.
"So sentence me to death."
"End this farce."
"End this mistake of a life."
Tywin's face darkened further with every word.
He opened his mouth to deliver judgment—
But then—
"Wait!"
A voice suddenly rang out from the side entrance of the sept.
Everyone turned.
A man in white armor strode forward.
His cloak was torn.
Mud stained his armor.
Fresh blood streaked his face.
Jaime Lannister.
But what drew every eye was the figure he dragged behind him like a dead dog with his left hand.
The man was filthy, covered in mud and blood.
He struggled weakly to rise—
But Jaime yanked him violently, sending him crashing back onto the floor.
Jaime dragged him all the way down the center aisle of the sept befor
e stopping before the tribunal.
Then he kicked the man hard onto the stone floor.
Lifting his head, Jaime looked directly at Tywin.
Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the blood across his face and the fierce determination in eyes so strikingly similar to his father's.
"Father," Jaime said steadily.
"I believe…"
"…we have new evidence."
He nudged the trembling figure with his boot.
The man curled weakly on the ground before finally forcing himself to raise his head.
Beneath the blood and dirt, his face slowly became recognizable.
Dontos Hollard.
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