Under everyone's gaze, Corleone walked in.
His posture was leisurely, as if this were not the highest temple symbolizing the faith of The Seven Kingdoms, but Flea Bottom, his The Hall of Order.
Walking straight down the central aisle of the sept, the Gold Cloaks on either side instinctively gripped their sword hilts, yet not a single one stepped forward to stop him.
Their gazes drifted between Corleone and Tywin, ultimately choosing to remain silent.
He stopped beside Sansa.
Corleone's gaze swept over Sansa, nodding gently, before turning toward the dais.
The Hand sat on the high-backed chair in the center, his face expressionless, but those green eyes were staring intently at Corleone.
Seeing this, the corners of Corleone's mouth curled up slightly.
Then he pressed his right hand to his chest and bowed.
"Lord Tywin."
His voice was clearly audible in the silent sept: "I can prove that Lady Sansa Stark has been staying in Flea Bottom this entire time."
With that, Corleone stood up straight and looked calmly at Tywin as he explained, "Seven days ago, three nautical miles southeast of Blackwater Bay, my merchant fleet encountered a sloop attempting to slip out of the harbor under the cover of night. Since I had ordered a ban on all smuggling, they boarded it for inspection."
"Onboard were two sailors, a sellsword from the Vale, and a young lady locked in a wooden crate in the cargo hold—who was none other than Lady Sansa Stark."
"The sailors quickly confessed. They had picked up the cargo at the sewer docks of King's Landing. The client paid ten gold dragons upfront, requesting they transport the wooden crate to Driftmark, with another fifty gold dragons upon arrival. As for what was in the crate, they didn't ask, as that is the rule of the smuggling trade."
Hearing this, Tywin's fingers tapped gently on the armrest. After a moment of thought, he continued to ask, "What about Dontos Hollard? Lady Sansa said she was taken by him during the chaos of the wedding feast."
"I do not know, my lord," Corleone shook his head. "My men thoroughly searched the cargo ship and interrogated everyone. They found no trace of Dontos Hollard. From pickup to departure, there were only those three people on the ship."
This answer made Tywin frown slightly. He turned to Sansa. "During your abduction, did you hear Ser Dontos say why he did this, Lady Sansa?"
Hearing this, a look of confusion appeared on Sansa's face, and she pursed her lips. "I... I don't know, my lord. At the wedding feast, when the King collapsed, everyone panicked.
"Ser Dontos suddenly grabbed my arm and whispered, 'Come with me, or you will die.' I was so scared at the time that I just followed him...
"..."
"He led me through a side door, down the stairs, and into a carriage. There was another person inside, masked, who covered my mouth and nose with a cloth soaked in medicine... When I woke up again, I was already in the wooden crate, hearing the sound of waves."
"So... you do not understand why he wanted to harm you," Tywin said.
"I don't understand," Sansa's voice carried a hint of bitterness. "I really don't understand."
This answer caused many nobles present to look suspicious.
Because logically, this made no sense.
Many people knew of Dontos Hollard's background. He was the last bloodline of House Hollard, which had served House Darklyn for generations as vassals of Duskendale.
More than twenty years ago, during the Defiance of Mugu Town, Lord Darklyn imprisoned King Aerys, and House Hollard took up arms alongside their liege lord.
After the rebellion was suppressed, both houses were stripped of their lands and titles, and nearly everyone was executed. Only the young Dontos was spared, pardoned by the The Mad King because Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard pleaded on his behalf.
From then on, Dontos remained in King's Landing as a squire until King Robert ascended the throne. One day, a heavily drunken Robert, for reasons unknown, had a sudden whim and granted him a knighthood.
But he had no lands, nor any income, remaining a knight in name only.
"Earlier last year, during the tourney for King Joffrey's thirteenth name day, Ser Dontos signed up to compete. However, on the eve of the tourney, he drank excessively. The next day, he barged into the arena half-naked, behaving inappropriately, which the King viewed as a blatant insult to the royal family."
Seeing everyone's eyes focused on her, Sansa turned slightly pale and said softly, "At the time, King Joffrey intended to execute Ser Dontos, but I pleaded for him. Back then... I was still King Joffrey's fiancée."
"Perhaps out of respect for the betrothal, the King spared Ser Dontos from the death penalty but stripped him of his knighthood and ordered him to become a fool."
As she spoke, tears began to well in Sansa's eyes, as if she were doubting herself, constantly murmuring, "I saved him... yet he treated me like this. Why? Why?"
Seeing Sansa like this, many of the surrounding nobles cast sympathetic glances toward her.
Just then, Corleone, standing aside, suddenly spoke up: "Perhaps it is precisely because you saved him."
Hearing this, Sansa turned to look at him, her blue eyes filled with incomprehension.
Corleone looked around and said loudly, "A knight who prided himself on honor was stripped of his armor, had his sword taken, and was forced to wear a fool's motley in front of everyone to entertain them."
"And then, at his most humiliating moment, the one who saved him was a fourteen-year-old girl. Although she was the King's fiancée and the future Queen, still..."
"..."
Pausing for a moment, Corleone continued, "Perhaps he felt this was an unbearable humiliation."
As soon as these words were spoken, silence fell over the sept.
The nobles exchanged glances, and many nodded gently in agreement.
They understood this mentality.
In the knightly culture of The Seven Kingdoms, honor is supreme.
Charging into battle and winning glory is honorable; even being captured is nothing, as one can simply be ransomed back.
But being publicly saved by a woman at one's most helpless moment could indeed sting some people's fragile pride.
"So, you mean," Tywin spoke slowly from the high seat, "Dontos's abduction of Lady Sansa was not out of some conspiracy, but purely... revenge?"
"Perhaps," Corleone said noncommittally, leaving it open. "We currently have no direct evidence, so we can only speculate."
"Perhaps he was put up to it by someone, but there is also a very strong possibility that Dontos Hollard wanted to prove he wasn't a pathetic wretch who needed a woman's protection, even if it meant committing a crime."
This explanation was simple, direct, and aligned with human nature, immediately winning the agreement of most people.
Meanwhile, Tywin remained silent, his gaze shifting between Corleone and Sansa.
Were there loopholes in this story?
Of course there were.
However, Tywin currently had no desire to pursue this matter.
Because Joffrey's death had occurred a week ago, the truth was not important to Tywin at all. What mattered was...
If Corleone was telling the truth, and Sansa really had been abducted shortly after Joffrey's death and hidden in Flea Bottom all this time, what did that mean?
It meant that during the days when Tywin ordered the Gold Cloaks to take over Flea Bottom, which then triggered the riots, Sansa herself was right in the center of that chaos.
Yet such an important person was right under his nose, and he, the Hand of the King, the de facto ruler of The Seven Kingdoms, knew absolutely nothing about it?
The commander of the City Watch, Adam Marbrand, had never reported it; the Master of Whispers, Varys, had never mentioned it; even the informants he had placed in Flea Bottom had never sent any related news.
Either Corleone's lockdown was terrifyingly tight...
Or... there was a problem with the people around him.
Of course, Corleone had already demonstrated this to him a few days ago. What made a shiver run down Tywin's spine, however, was that the news of Corleone assassinating Paxter Redwyne had only just arrived seven days ago.
And at that time, he should have still been drifting at sea, yet he was still able to hide Sansa Stark right under his nose!
Furthermore, the Gold Cloaks had only just withdrawn from Flea Bottom the evening before last.
Logically, Corleone should be in the The Hall of Order right now, busy restoring his rule, appeasing the commoners, and rebuilding his authority in Flea Bottom.
This was the golden window for consolidating power.
Yet he had appeared here.
In the Great Sept of Baelor, at Tyrion's trial, testifying for a Northern girl with whom he had no relation.
Why?
At this thought, Tywin's eyes locked onto Corleone.
That face remained calm, showing no trace of calculation, but Tywin knew that every move this man made had a deeper purpose.
Memories of that night a few days ago uncontrollably surfaced in his mind.
In the bedroom on the top floor of the Tower of the Hand, the sword in his hand had thrust toward Corleone's throat with all his might.
The tip of the blade pressed against the skin, yet it could not advance even a fraction of an inch.
The absurdity of that moment still made Tywin feel uncomfortable to this day.
Because this meant that the knight before him, born a Farmer, possessed some sort of power he could not comprehend.
And now, this man with strange powers was standing in his courtroom, calmly testifying for Sansa Stark.
What on earth was he planning?
Tywin's mind raced.
To save Tyrion?
Given the relationship between Jaime and Corleone, this was indeed possible.
But... was it really just that?
Pondering, Tywin's gaze returned to the young girl in front of him.
Sansa Stark.
The living heir to the North.
Controlling her would be equivalent to planting a nail in the North.
In the future, whether used to counterbalance Roose Bolton or as a bargaining chip to negotiate with the Stark remnants, she would be priceless.
Corleone had saved her, hidden her, and was now publicly testifying for her—was he trying to keep this favor firmly in his grasp?
Had this guy actually begun plotting for the North already?
At this thought, Tywin's fingers gripping the armrest could not help but tighten slightly.
Originally, Sansa's sudden appearance had rekindled a spark of ambition in Tywin's heart.
Robb Stark was dead, Bran and Rickon were rumored to be dead as well, and Arya was missing. Legally speaking, Sansa was the most legitimate heir to Winterfell.
When he forced her to marry Tyrion, Tywin's ultimate goal was to have Sansa bear a child of Lannister and Stark blood, thereby bringing Winterfell into their pocket.
But the premise of all this was... Sansa had to be under Lannister control.
And now...
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
Tywin's gaze shifted between Corleone and Sansa.
If Sansa was under Corleone's control, then all plans would need to be re-evaluated!
Corleone was not Bolton.
While that flayer was cruel and cunning, he at least followed the rules of the noble game: power, land, marriage, betrayal—these were all domains Tywin was familiar with.
But Corleone.
He was an unknown variable.
This fellow, who had gone from a Farmer to a knight, had not only infiltrated King's Landing with an underground network and established order using "The Mafia" rules, but even blades could not harm him in the slightest.
Furthermore, Corleone played by no rules; Tywin had realized this the moment he was threatened one-on-one by him that day.
He had spent sixty years simplifying this world into a set of rules that could be understood and manipulated.
Power stemmed from force and wealth, loyalty could be bought with gold, and fear was more effective than love.
But Corleone's existence challenged this set of rules.
The Hand of the King pondered this continuously, and the silence within the Great Sept of Baelor dragged on for too long.
Until the nobles grew impatient, and the murmurs grew louder.
Finally, Tywin spoke.
His voice was steady, revealing no emotional fluctuations.
"Since Ser Corleone is here to testify for you."
His gaze shifted from Corleone to Sansa. He sat up straight and spread his hands: "Then, please continue your testimony, Lady Sansa."
Once these words were spoken, Sansa visibly sighed with relief.
She looked at Corleone beside her, a touch of gratitude in her blue eyes, then turned back, facing the dais, and straightened her spine once more.
"Yes, my lord."
Sansa's voice was firmer than before. Her gaze swept over the pale-faced prostitutes in the gallery, and she said, enunciating every word: "Regarding the accusations made by those ladies just now."
"Claiming that my husband, Tyrion Lannister, is a lecherous, tyrannical demon who takes pleasure in abusing women."
"These accusations are complete nonsense."
"Because Tyrion Lannister is by no means a depraved demon!"
As her voice fell, a commotion erupted in the gallery.
The faces of the few prostitutes began to turn pale, their expressions shifting constantly.
After all, they were well aware that what they had said was entirely a lie, but having taken the Queen Regent's money, combined with the complete disparity in power, they had no choice.
The stout, burly one tried to stand up to say something, but her shoulder was immediately pressed down by the Gold Cloak beside her.
"Don't move, bitch."
Sir Balman Bych stared straight at her, his sparse beard rising and falling with his breath: "Your time to speak has passed. If you disrupt the trial proceedings again, I guarantee you will have a hundred customers tonight!"
Hearing this, the stout woman shrank her neck in panic, never daring to move again.
Tywin, in the seat of honor, did not speak, just watched silently.
But in the front row of the gallery, the Queen Regent stood up abruptly.
Her magnificent red gown swayed violently with her movement, her blonde hair reflecting a dazzling light in the sun.
However, her beautiful face was horribly twisted by rage, and raw hatred churned in her emerald eyes, ruining that touch of beauty.
"He is the demon!"
The Queen Regent's voice was sharp, tearing through the silence of the Great Sept of Baelor. She pointed at Tyrion below the dais, her finger trembling from the force, accusing: "That damned dwarf has been stained with sin since the moment he was born!"
"He tore my mother's body apart, crawled out of her womb, and used his deformed head to kill her!"
"My mother died on the day this monster was born!"
As she spoke, her voice grew higher, tinged with tears, yet it was incredibly malicious.
"Look at his eyes, those ugly, mismatched eyes, always greedily staring at every woman's chest!"
"You can go ask the servants of the Red Keep how many barrels of wine this dwarf drinks every month. Who among those who served him has not suffered his insults and beatings!"
Cersei grew more agitated as she spoke, even walking down from the gallery step by step, approaching the trial area.
The Gold Cloaks wanted to stop her, but seeing the madness in her eyes, and mindful of the Queen Regent's status, they hesitated and dared not step forward.
Even Ser Balman just lowered his head, not daring to cross Cersei at this moment.
How terrifying a woman blinded by hatred and madness could be, Balman knew all too well, because his wife was like that every day.
"He is a monster!" The Queen Regent lunged at the railing of the trial stand, hissing at Tyrion: "Deformed in body and soul, the Gods stuffed every sin into his ugly head when they created him, making him jealous of everything beautiful, sound, and complete!"
"That is why he poisoned my son! Because he was jealous, jealous that Joffrey would become King, jealous that he inherited the appearance of his father and me, jealous that the Lannister bloodline would continue on the Iron Throne!"
"And he, a dwarf, a monster, can only ever hide in the shadows, using his deformed brain to plot how to destroy everything beautiful!"
These words were extremely vicious, yet exceptionally effective.
The atmosphere in the Great Sept of Baelor changed.
The nobles began to nod and whisper.
"The Queen Regent is right... a dwarf is born in a curse."
"Killing his mother at birth, this is a sin..."
"I heard that in the Battle of the Blackwater, he burned Stannis's fleet with wildfire, even burning his own men..."
The murmurs rose like a tide.
Tyrion lowered his head.
The chains rattled on his wrists, but he did not argue, did not refute.
He just stood there, his small frame appearing exceptionally pitiful surrounded by the Gold Cloaks.
Perhaps in the eyes of the world, a dwarf is born guilty.
His very existence is original sin.
His intelligence is cunning, his humor is frivolity, and his penchant for drinking is depravity.
People only believe what they want to believe, and no one considers that even a dwarf has never forced a woman to serve him.
And an ugly dwarf poisoning a handsome young King—how logical this story is, how well it fits people's imagination of a "monster."
For a moment, the Great Sept of Baelor turned into a one-sided scene of universal condemnation.
Sansa Stark watched all of this.
The mad Cersei and the nodding nobles reminded her of the past, when she too often faced such situations.
Her fists clenched quietly at her sides.
Then, Sansa took a step forward.
"Perhaps in your eyes, Tyrion Lannister is a dwarf, a monster, a deformity born with sin."
The young woman's voice was incredibly clear, immediately drowning out those whispers.
Her blue eyes swept over the entire hall, her voice suddenly rising, shocking everyone: "But in my eyes."
"He is a man of noble character, who respects women—a true knight!"
Boom!!!
Once these words were spoken, the Great Sept of Baelor erupted.
"What!"
"A knight? Him???"
"Could it be she has fallen in love with that dwarf?"
"Miss Stark is truly mad; she'll stomach anything."
People discussed it heatedly, but mostly with ridicule and confusion; after all, no one could connect Tyrion with the word "knight."
Even Tywin raised an eyebrow slightly.
Cersei scoffed, shaking her head, her blonde hair swaying: "It seems these months of hiding have made your brain unclear. That dwarf respects women?"
"The golden dragons he spends in brothels are enough to feed an army! His way of showing respect is by making those women kneel on the ground and lick his..."
"Does she have proof?" Sansa suddenly interrupted her.
Cersei froze.
Sansa turned around, facing the entire hall.
Her spine was straight, her neck slender, like a proud swan.
Sunlight spilled onto her from the colorful stained-glass windows, gilding her with a faint halo.
"You accuse Tyrion Lannister of being lecherous, tyrannical, and taking pleasure in abusing women."
"Then, please produce evidence. Not the testimony of prostitutes—everyone knows those are just lies that can be bought with money. I want solid, concrete evidence."
As she spoke, she looked at Kevan on the dais: "Lord Kevan, as the master of laws of the kingdom, you should know that under the laws of The Seven Kingdoms, to accuse someone of a crime, you need solid evidence."
"So may I ask, apart from these prostitutes who can be bought with a few golden dragons, and apart from Her Majesty the Queen Regent's personal hatred and prejudice..."
"Is there any concrete evidence proving that Tyrion Lannister has ever abused women?"
Upon these words, the Great Sept of Baelor fell silent.
Cersei opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, she just gritted her teeth.
Because she truly had none.
Tyrion spent money like water in brothels; that was true. He drank heavily; that was also true. His tongue was sharp, often offending people; that was also true.
But abusing women?
Beating, imprisoning, taking pleasure in torturing women?
There was no evidence, because it