Sansa's voice rang out clearly.
In that instant, time seemed to freeze.
Disbelief was etched on everyone's faces, followed immediately by an uproar within the Sept!
"By the Seven..."
"How is that possible?"
"They've been married for nearly a month now!"
"That's Tyrion Lannister; they say he once spent twenty Gold Dragons in a single night on Silk Street!"
From the high seat, Tywin Lannister remained motionless as he listened to the chatter, but deep within those emerald eyes, a whirlpool of complex emotions churned.
Absurd.
He had personally ordered the marriage of Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister; twenty-seven days had passed since then.
According to the thousand-year tradition of the nobility in The Seven Kingdoms, consummating the marriage on the wedding night was not a choice; it was an obligation, a responsibility.
It represented the continuation of the bloodline and the consolidation of the alliance.
Because those were the rules, a tradition of a millennium.
It ensured that the couple could produce a legitimate heir as soon as possible.
Moreover... Tywin remembered giving Tyrion very explicit orders.
He had told Tyrion that Sansa must be pregnant as soon as possible, the sooner the better.
Because a child with the dual bloodlines of Lannister and Stark was the swiftest path to legally acquiring Winterfell and bringing the North under their control.
He had ordered Tyrion to fulfill his duties as a husband, and Tywin never imagined the other would 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 was calmly admitting before all the nobility of King's Landing that she was still a virgin!
It was nothing short of a disgrace!
At this thought, Tywin couldn't help but turn his gaze toward the center of the Sept.
Sansa Stark stood in the light, her fully blossomed beauty framed by a dark blue velvet gown.
Her long red hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, curling slightly at the waist; her skin was as fair as the first snow of the North, and her features were as delicate as a masterpiece carved by a master craftsman over many years.
Especially those eyes—so clear and bright.
Without a doubt, Sansa Stark was recognized as one of the great beauties of The Seven Kingdoms.
When she first arrived in King's Landing, nobles had whispered at banquets that Sansa Stark's beauty was in no way inferior to that of a young Cersei Lannister, who was once hailed as the "fairest in The Seven Kingdoms."
Faced with such a wife, how could Tyrion possibly restrain himself?
What a joke!
Unless...
The fellow was deliberately defying him!
With that thought, Tywin's gaze slowly shifted to the area below the judgment seats.
Tyrion Lannister stood there.
Shackles bound his wrists and ankles, the chains glinting coldly in the morning light as he hung his head, his shoulders trembling.
Was he laughing?
Tywin's eyes grew even colder.
He felt this damned the dwarf was a punishment upon his lifelong reputation; had it not been for the fact that the boy bore the Lannister name, he would have had him thrown into the sea to drown the moment he was born.
However, surrounded by four Gold Cloaks, Tyrion didn't feel his father's increasingly murderous gaze at all.
He simply kept his head bowed, his long hair obscuring his ugly face.
A sense of vacancy filled his mismatched eyes; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Just then, Sansa spoke again.
This girl, who usually cared so much for propriety, swept her gaze across the whispering crowd and the malicious smiles; here, thousands of leagues away from her home in the North, she spoke of such matters before everyone, her voice 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, yet an underlying 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 was wearing the nightgown my mother had prepared for me, embroidered with the Stark Direwolf."
"He stood at the door and just looked at me for a long time, and then he said..."
Sansa's gaze fell upon the bowed head of the dwarf as she took a deep breath. "'If you are unwilling, we need do nothing,' that is what he said."
"I didn't answer, so he left, 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, the fourth... every night thereafter was the same."
Before everyone, she raised her head, a harder glint appearing in her blue eyes.
"Though I have not fulfilled my duties as a wife, he has truly done everything a husband could do."
"He would try to talk to me; in the darkness, from across the room, he would tell stories he'd 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 weren't funny at all—but I knew he was trying to make me laugh."
"During that time, I had nightmares almost every night—dreaming of my father's head rolling from the wall, dreaming of Joffrey's smiling face. When I woke from a nightmare, he would be sitting quietly by the hearth, not coming close, not touching, just... watching over me until I fell back asleep."
Sansa's confidence grew as she spoke; she stood tall and her voice rose sharply as she pointed an accusing finger at the prostitutes nearby. "So, when those women accuse Tyrion of being a lecherous, tyrannical monster who delights in abusing women..."
"I know they are lying!"
"Because such a man could never be as wretched as they describe!"
As her words fell, the Sept lapsed into silence once more.
An elderly nobleman nodded slowly, while several noblewomen exchanged glances and sighed softly.
Even one of the Gold Cloaks surrounding Tyrion loosened his grip on his sword hilt, a conflicted expression crossing his face.
But the malice in human nature never dissipates because of a moment's sentiment.
"That the dwarf, respecting women? Hahaha!"
From the middle of the gallery, a young noble dressed in bright yellow silk jeered loudly, "Come off it! I'd say he's simply incapable."
Hearing this, his companion sneered as well, "Exactly! My uncle said the dwarf are completely useless for that."
"Hahaha!"
Lewd laughter spread through several small circles like mold growing in damp corners.
And it was then that Cersei stood up once more.
Her movements were slow, her magnificent red gown swaying with her stride, her golden hair shimmering like molten gold in the sunlight.
"He doesn't touch you not because he respects you, Sansa, but because he doesn't 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 no one would want to look at it twice."
"We must understand that when the Seven created mankind, they did not always bestow equal grace."
"And he is a curse sent by the Seven!"
"His soul is twisted because of it. He may appear humble and polite before noble ladies, yet indulge in the darkest of desires in the shadows; he may hold reverence for purity and beauty, yet flock toward filth and depravity."
"Because deep down, he knows he can never truly possess purity and beauty; he knows he is forever broken, so he turns to women who likewise sell their bodies for coin!"
These words were malicious to the extreme, yet they accurately pierced the darkest corners of many hearts present.
The nobles nodded one after another, wearing expressions of "so that's how it is."
Even the prostitutes, who were implicated by her words, expressed their deep agreement.
After all, only this made sense.
This was reasonable.
This fit their imagination of "the deformed"—they were either evil monsters or pathetic cowards, but they could never possess true virtue.
Hearing the people begin to point and whisper about him again, Tyrion's body stiffened visibly; his shoulders tightened, his jawline tensed, and those mismatched eyes slowly closed.
The chains rattled on his wrists, the sound exceptionally jarring.
Then, Tyrion slowly opened his eyes and raised his head. He didn't look at the wife who had stood up to testify for him; instead, his gaze swept over everyone in the Sept.
And then he smiled.
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
A laugh of pure irony squeezed from the depths of his throat, sounding utterly insane, as if he had lost his mind under the crushing pressure.
"Ha..." Tyrion laughed, his shoulders beginning to shake: "Hahaha..."
The laughter grew louder and louder, until he was doubled over, the chains clanking, so exaggerated that tears even burst from the corners of his eyes.
As he laughed, he wiped away the tears with his shackled hands, but the more he wiped, the more tears fell.
"Brilliant!" Amidst the disgusted and surprised gazes of the crowd, Tyrion finally lifted his head, waving his hands as he shouted at the dome of the sept: "Absolutely brilliant! This play! This trial! These testimonies! It's a fucking joke!"
As his movements grew more animated, the Gold Cloaks became alert once more, their hands resting back on their sword hilts.
"A dwarf!" Tyrion ignored them, instead gesturing wildly 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... actually didn't touch her!"
Saying this, he turned to the entire hall, his mismatched eyes burning with a flame of rage.
"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 unworthy of the noble Miss Stark!"
"So I could only go to whores, because only they would flatter me for gold dragons, saying 'Mighty lion, you're so great'!"
"Are you satisfied! This is the truth you wanted to hear!"
The nobles burst into laughter.
The laughter was cruel, harsh, and unrestrained, echoing under the holy dome of the sept, like a collective ritual of sacrilege.
Tyrion joined in, laughing until his whole body shook, laughing until he could barely stand, while the Gold Cloaks stepped forward to hold him, but he struggled like a beast caught in a trap.
From the main seat, Tywin watched all of this coldly.
By this point, the trial had lost all semblance of seriousness; the entire proceeding had been turned by Tyrion into a farce of self-humiliation.
Consequently, even the name Lannister would be shamed by this.
"Enough!"
I don't know how much time passed, but seeing the laughter in the hall growing more intense, Tywin could no longer restrain himself and shouted a rebuke.
Awed by the authority of the Hand of the King, everyone immediately fell silent, even Cersei quickly shut her mouth and took a half-step back, not daring to provoke the Old Lion at this moment.
"The testimony of Lady Sansa." Seeing everyone quiet down, Tywin finally spoke slowly: "Does indeed offer a possibility."
"But even so, it cannot completely negate the credibility of 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, 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 such respect when in front of others."
Saying this, he turned to Tyrion below the trial bench, his emerald eyes filled with a cold expression.
As if saying that since he couldn't even handle a woman, then he had no reason to exist.
"If there is no other evidence that can completely clear his association with those accusations, or that can prove he had nothing to do with the death of King Joffrey, then..."
Just as Tywin was about to deliver the final verdict for this trial.
Tyrion suddenly lifted his head.
He looked at his father on the high platform, that face that always viewed him as a disgrace, the neglect, contempt, disgust, and harsh words of over twenty years, all converged in this moment into a torrential flood, breaking the final dam within his heart.
"You want me to confess, don't you, Father?!"
In front of everyone, Tyrion faced his father directly, roaring at him for the first time.
He struggled, the chains clanking, the Gold Cloaks pressed down on him with force, but he erupted with astonishing strength, almost breaking free.
"Fine! I confess! I confess to everything!"
Tyrion laughed loudly, tears and saliva mixing as they ran down from the corners of his mouth: "I am a dwarf, I am a monster, I was born to kill my mother!"
"I am unworthy of anything good! I could only go to whores, because only they wouldn't look at me with the eyes of someone seeing a monster, they only looked at my gold!"
"But do you know, do you know... who caused all of this?!"
Tyrion's voice suddenly rose, 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!"
Once these words were spoken, the sept fell into a deathly silence.
Not even the sound of breathing could be heard; no one dared to chime in or mock him in this situation.
"You never looked me in the eye!" Ignoring the horrified gazes of everyone, Tyrion screamed: "But what I hate you for the most isn't these things, what I hate you for the 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 afraid."
"Jaime went to chase the bandits, and I dismounted to protect her. She was too scared to be left alone, so I took her to a nearby inn, wanting to get her something to eat while waiting for Jaime to bring help."
"In 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, she said she loved me, and I believed it; gods, I actually fucking believed it!"
"I paid a septon to perform a secret wedding. I thought I finally had someone who loved me not because I was the son of Tywin Lannister, not because I was the heir to Casterly Rock, not for any fucking reason other than just because of who I am."
He choked up, swallowing hard, yet the glimmer of warmth that had just surfaced in his eyes was replaced by resentment.
"And then you found out." Tyrion's voice suddenly turned cold: "You told me everything was a lie, that Tysha was a whore, that the two bandits were also fake, that the whole thing was planned by Jaime to make me finally act like a man."
Silence.
Absolute silence; clearly, not everyone knew of this unknown past in the Westerlands.
But no one felt that Tywin had done anything wrong in this matter; after all, his own son falling in love with a peasant woman and secretly marrying her?
If it had been anyone else with a slightly hotter temper, like a noble such as Lord Randyll Tarly, they probably would have had the person killed on the spot.
"So you are right, Father."
"I am a monster, I am a monster inside and out, it was you who personally turned me into this."
He turned to the entire hall, his voice terrifyingly calm: "Now, sentence me to death, end this farce, end this mistaken life of mine!"
Facing Tyrion's hysterical accusation, Tywin's face grew increasingly livid.
He opened his mouth, preparing 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, with two fresh bloody scratches on his face.
But what caught everyone's attention most was that his left hand was dragging a ragged man as if he were a dead dog.
That man was also covered in mud and blood; he struggled, trying to crawl up, but Jaime gave a violent tug, and he fell heavily again.
Jaime just dragged the man like that, walking through the long aisle in the center of the sept, stopping in front of the trial bench.
He kicked the man heavily to the ground, then lifted his head, looking at Tywin on the high platform.
Sunlight spilled into the sept from the windows, illuminating the bloodstains on his face, a pair of eyes extremely similar to Tywin's looking incredibly determined.
"Father."
"I think we have new evidence."
Saying this, he kicked the man curled into a ball on the ground.
The man trembled, struggled, and used his last bit of strength to lift his head.
Beneath the mud and bloodstains was a face that could vaguely be recognized.
Dontos Hollard.