.
Sansa's voice fell, crisp and clear.
At that moment, time seemed to freeze.
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Incredulous expressions appeared on everyone's faces, followed immediately by an uproar in the sept!
"By the Seven..."
"
"How is that possible?"
"They've been married for almost a month, haven't they?"
"That's Tyrion Lannister. Word is he once spent twenty gold dragons in a single night on Silk Street!"
In the high seat, listening to the murmurs of the crowd, Tywin Lannister remained motionless, but deep within his pale green eyes, an extremely complex emotion was churning.
Absurd.
The marriage of Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister was ordered by his own hand, and twenty-seven days had passed since then.
According to the thousand-year-old tradition of the nobility of The Seven Kingdoms, consummation on the wedding night was not a choice, but an obligation, a duty.
It represented the continuation of the bloodline and the consolidation of alliances.
Because that was the rule, a thousand-year tradition.
It ensured that the husband and wife could produce a legitimate heir as quickly as possible.
Moreover... Tywin remembered giving Tyrion very explicit orders.
He had told Tyrion that Sansa must be with child as soon as possible, the sooner the better.
Because a child carrying the blood of both Lannister and Stark was the easiest way for them to legally secure Winterfell and bring the North under their control."
He had ordered Tyrion to perform his husbandly duties, and Tywin had never expected him to refuse.
After all, as a notorious drunkard and lecher, the money Tyrion spent in brothels was enough to support a small army.
At the wedding, Tyrion had given his solemn word.
Yet now, twenty-seven days later, she had calmly admitted in front of all the nobility of King's Landing that she was still a maiden!
This was nothing short of a disgrace!
At this thought, Tywin could not help but turn his gaze toward the center of the sept.
Sansa Stark stood in the light, her deep blue velvet gown draping over her fully matured body.
A slender waist, full breasts, and a long, elegant neck.
Her long auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, curling slightly at her waist. Her skin was as fair as the first snows of the North, and her delicate features looked like a masterpiece carved by a master craftsman over many years.
Especially those eyes, so clear and bright.
Without a doubt, Sansa Stark was universally acknowledged as one of the beauties of The Seven Kingdoms.
When she had first arrived in King's Landing, nobles had whispered at feasts that Sansa Stark's beauty was in no way inferior to that of a young Cersei Lannister, who was once hailed as the 'fairest maid in The Seven Kingdoms'.
Faced with such a wife, Tyrion had actually managed to restrain himself?
What a joke!
Unless...
The fellow was doing this deliberately to spite him!
At this thought, Tywin's gaze slowly shifted to the area below the judges' bench.
Tyrion Lannister stood there.
Manacles bound his wrists and ankles, the iron chains glinting coldly in the morning light, his head bowed as his shoulders trembled.
Was he laughing?
Tywin's gaze grew colder still.
He felt that this wretched dwarf was nothing but a curse upon his lifelong glory. If not for the fact that the boy bore the Lannister name, he would have had him thrown into the sea to drown the very moment he was born.
Yet Tyrion, surrounded by four Gold Cloaks, did not feel his father's increasingly murderous gaze at all.
He merely kept his head bowed, his long hair shrouding his ugly face.
His mismatched eyes were blank, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Just then, Sansa spoke again.
This girl, who had always cared deeply about propriety, swept her gaze over the whispering crowd and the malicious smiles. In this place thousands of leagues away from her home in the North, speaking of such matters in front of everyone, her voice was actually steadier than before.
"Yes, what I said is absolutely true."
"Because my husband, Tyrion Lannister, has never forced me to do anything I did not wish to do."
As Sansa spoke, the clamor in the sept subsided slightly, but an undercurrent of tension and restlessness remained.
"On our wedding night, when he entered the bedchamber, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, trembling all over."
"I wore a nightgown my mother had made for me, embroidered with the Stark Direwolf."
"He stood at the door, just looking at me for a long time, and then he said..."
Sansa's gaze fell upon the dwarf with his head bowed, and she took a deep breath. "'If you do not wish it, we need do nothing.' That is what he said."
"I did not answer, so he walked away, spread a blanket on the rug by the hearth, and slept there the whole night without another word."
"The second night was the same, and the third, and the fourth... and every night thereafter."
Before them all, she raised her head, a harder glint flashing in her blue eyes.
"Though I did not fulfill my duties as a wife, he did everything a husband could possibly do."
"He would try to talk to me. In the darkness, from across the room, he would tell me stories he had read in books—about the heroes of the Rhoynar, the dragons of Valyria, and the legends beyond the Wall."
"He would tell silly jokes. Some of them really weren't funny, but I knew he was trying his best to make me smile."
"During that time, I had nightmares almost every night. I dreamed of my father's head rolling off the wall, and of Joffrey's mocking face. When I woke up screaming from those nightmares, he would sit quietly by the hearth, not coming close, not touching me, just... watching over me from there until I fell asleep again."
Sansa grew more confident as she spoke, her chest rising and her voice suddenly sharpening as she pointed at the whores nearby. "So, when those women accuse Tyrion, calling him a lecherous, cruel monster who takes pleasure in abusing women..."
"..."
"I know they are lying!"
"Because, such a man could never be as vile as they describe!"
As her words fell, silence descended upon the sept once more.
An elderly noble nodded slowly, and several noble ladies exchanged glances, sighing softly.
Even one of the Gold Cloaks surrounding Tyrion loosened his grip on the hilt of his sword, a conflicted look appearing on his face.
Yet the malice in human nature would never dissipate from a moment's sentiment.
"the dwarf respecting women? Hahaha!"
From the middle of the gallery, a young noble clad in bright yellow silk called out mockingly, "Come off it! I say he simply couldn't perform."
At this, his companion sneered, "Too true! My uncle always said dwarfs are completely useless in bed."
"Hahaha!"
Lewd laughter rippled through several small circles, spreading like mold in a damp corner.
And it was at this moment that Cersei stood up once more.
Her movements were deliberate, her luxurious crimson gown swaying with her steps, her golden hair shining like molten gold in the sunlight.
"He did not touch you, Sansa, not because he respects you, but because he did not dare."
Cersei turned to the girl, a mocking smile of pity on her face. "Look at him! A twisted monster with a face so hideous that no one would willingly look upon it twice."
"We must understand that when the Seven created mankind, they did not always bestow equal grace."
"A person born deformed is a curse sent by the Seven!"
"And so his soul is twisted as well. He may act humble and polite before noble ladies, yet indulge his darkest lusts in the shadows. He may hold purity and beauty in awe, yet flock to filth and depravity."
"Because deep down, he knows he can never truly possess purity and beauty. He knows he will always be broken, and so he turns to women who likewise sell their bodies for coin!"
These words were malicious to the extreme, yet they struck a chord in the darkest corners of many minds present.
The nobles nodded one after another, wearing expressions of'so that's how it is.'
Even the whores, who were implicated by her words, nodded in deep agreement; after all, they had long since lost any sense of dignity.
After all, only this could explain it.
Only this made sense.
Only this fit their imagination of the 'deformed'—they were either wicked monsters or pathetic cowards, but they could never possess true virtue.
Hearing the whispers and pointing start up again, Tyrion's body visibly stiffened. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and his mismatched eyes slowly closed.
The iron chains rattled against his wrists, the sound exceptionally grating.
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Then, Tyrion slowly opened his eyes. He raised his head, not looking at his wife who had stepped forward to testify for him, but instead swept his gaze over everyone in the sept.
Then he laughed.
An incredibly sarcastic laugh squeezed out from the depths of his throat, sounding utterly insane, as if he had lost his mind under such heavy pressure.
"Ha..." Tyrion laughed, his shoulders beginning to shake. "Hahaha..."
The laughter grew louder and louder, until he was rocking back and forth, his chains clanking loudly, so exaggerated that tears even burst from the corners of his eyes.
While laughing, he used his shackled hands to wipe away the tears, but the more he wiped, the more they flowed.
"Brilliant!" Amidst the disgusted and surprised gazes of the people, Tyrion finally raised his head, waving his hands and shouting at the dome of the sept: "Absolutely brilliant! This play! This trial! These testimonies! It's all a fucking joke!"
As his movements grew more animated, the Gold Cloaks became alert once again, their hands resting back on their sword hilts.
"A dwarf!" Tyrion ignored them, waving his arms and screaming, his voice distorted by hysterical laughter.
"A monster born to kill his mother, an ugly, deformed wretch, who actually married the most beautiful girl in The Seven Kingdoms, and then... simply didn't touch her!"
As he spoke, he turned to face the entire assembly, his mismatched eyes burning with flames of fury.
"You want reasons, you want explanations, right? Otherwise, this world would be too unfair, wouldn't it? Fine, I'll give them to you!"
Tyrion straightened up, his face full of madness: "I admit it, I am truly useless. I am not worthy of the noble Miss Stark!"
"So I can only go find whores, because only they will flatter me for gold dragons, saying 'Mighty lion, you are so amazing!'"
"Are you satisfied now! This is the truth you wanted to hear!"
The nobles burst into laughter.
The laughter was cruel, jarring, and unbridled, echoing under the sacred dome of the sept like a collective ritual of desecration.
Tyrion joined in, shaking with laughter, laughing until he could barely stand. The Gold Cloaks stepped forward to restrain him, but he struggled like a beast caught in a trap.
From the main seat, Tywin watched all of this coldly.
Things had reached this point, and the trial no longer had any shred of seriousness; the entire process had almost been turned by Tyrion into a farce of self-humiliation.
Consequently, even the name Lannister would be shamed because of this.
"Enough!"
I don't know how much time passed, but seeing the laughter in the room growing more intense, Tywin could no longer hold back and reprimanded them loudly.
Out of fear of the Hand of the King's authority, everyone immediately fell silent. Even Cersei quickly shut her mouth and stepped back half a pace, not daring to provoke the Old Lion at this moment.
"Lady Sansa's testimony." Seeing that everyone had quieted down, Tywin spoke slowly: "It does indeed provide a possibility."
"But even so, it cannot completely negate the credibility of the other witnesses."
Upon hearing this, everyone's gaze focused on him.
The nobles nodded one after another, many tracing the seven-pointed star on their chests, whispering in agreement, "The Hand of the King is right."
Sansa's face was pale. She wanted to refute it, but Tywin did not give her the chance.
"Therefore."
"Lady Sansa's testimony can only prove Tyrion's behavior in front of you, but it cannot prove whether he could maintain that same 'respect' when in front of others."
As he spoke, he turned to Tyrion below the judgment seat, his emerald eyes filled with a cold expression.
It was as if he were saying that since he couldn't even handle a woman, there was no need for him to exist.
"If there is no other evidence that can completely clear him of his connection to those accusations, or that can prove he had nothing to do with King Joffrey's death, then..."
Just as Tywin was about to deliver the final verdict on the trial.
Tyrion suddenly raised his head.
He looked at his father on the high dais, that face that had always viewed him as a disgrace. The twenty-plus years of neglect, contempt, disgust, and biting words converged at this moment into a torrential flood, breaking the final dam in his heart.
"You want me to confess, don't you, Father?!"
In front of everyone, Tyrion confronted his father, roaring at him for the first time.
He struggled, his chains clanking, and the Gold Cloaks pressed down on him hard, but he burst forth with astonishing strength, nearly breaking free.
"Fine! I confess! I confess to everything!"
Tyrion laughed, tears and saliva mixing as they ran down the corners of his mouth: "I am a dwarf, I am a monster, I was born to kill my mother!"
"I am not worthy of anything beautiful! I can only go find whores, because only they won't look at me with the eyes of someone seeing a monster; they only look at my gold!"
"But do you know, do you know... who caused all of this?!"
Tyrion's voice rose sharply, almost tearing his throat: "It was you, Tywin Lannister! My father!"
"From the moment I was born, you treated me as a disgrace! As a stain! As a blemish on the glory of the Lannister name!"
When these words were spoken, the sept fell into a deathly silence.
Even the sound of breathing could not be heard; no one dared to interject or mock him in this situation.
"You never looked me in the eye!" Ignoring everyone's horrified gazes, Tyrion screamed: "But what I hate you for most is not these things. What I hate you for most is that you took away the only thing I ever believed in! The only person I ever believed in!"
"That year, Jaime and I were returning to Casterly Rock from Lannisport, and on the road, we met a girl, Tysha. She was being followed by two bandits and was very scared."
"Jaime went to chase the bandits, and I dismounted to protect her. She was too scared to leave alone, so I took her to a nearby inn, wanting her to eat something while waiting for Jaime to bring reinforcements."
"At the inn, she looked at me. She said I was brave, said I was different from other nobles, said I was so kind."
"Then she kissed me, and she said she loved me. I believed it—gods, I fucking believed it!"
"I paid a septon to officiate a secret wedding. I thought I finally had someone who loved me not because I was Tywin Lannister's son, not because I was the heir to Casterly Rock, not for any fucking reason other than for who I am as a person."
He choked up and swallowed hard, but the trace of tenderness that had just surfaced in his eyes was replaced by resentment.
"Then you found out." Tyrion's voice turned cold suddenly: "You told me it was all a lie, that Tysha was a whore, that those two bandits were fake, and that the whole thing was orchestrated by Jaime to make me 'finally act like a man'."
Dead silence. Absolute dead silence. Clearly, not everyone knew about this untold past of the Westerlands.
But no one thought there was anything wrong with what Tywin did. After all, his own son falling in love with a peasant girl and marrying her in secret?
If it had been someone with a slightly hotter temper, like Lord Randyll Tarly, they probably would have had the person hacked to death on the spot.
"So you are right, Father."
"I am a monster. I am a monster inside and out, and you are the one who made me this way with your own hands."
He turned to the entire assembly, his voice terrifyingly calm: "Now, sentence me to death. End this farce, end this mistaken life of mine!"
Facing Tyrion's frantic accusations, Tywin's face grew even more livid.
He opened his mouth, prepared to deliver the verdict.
But just at this moment... "Wait!"
A voice came from the side door of the sept.
Everyone turned their heads.
They saw the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard striding in wearing white armor, his armor covered in mud, the hem of his white cloak torn, and two fresh bloody scratches on his face.
But what was most eye-catching was that his left hand was dragging a ragged man along like a dead dog.
That man was also covered in mud and blood. He struggled to crawl up, but Jaime gave a violent yank, and he fell heavily again.
Jaime just dragged the man like that, walking down the long central aisle of the sept and stopping before the judgment seat.
He kicked the man heavily to the ground, then raised his head, looking at Tywin on the high dais.
Sunlight spilled into the sept from the windows, illuminating the bloodstains on his face, his eyes, which were extremely similar to Tywin's, filled with immense determination.
"Father." "I think we have new evidence."
As he spoke, he kicked the man curled up on the ground.
The man trembled and struggled, using his last bit of strength to raise his head.
Beneath the mud and bloodstains was a face that could vaguely be recognized. Dontos Hollard.