The hall fell into a heavy silence.
Tyrion stood frozen, as if Corleone's words had pinned him to the floor. His lips twitched, but no sound came out.
He, who had always prided himself on his sharp tongue and clever negotiations, suddenly felt utterly powerless against this man.
But Corleone wasn't finished. He took another step forward, pressing the attack with his words.
"You keep saying you were treated like a bastard in your father's eyes, Tyrion Lannister. Yes, that must have been painful. Unfair. I can understand that."
"But…" His tone shifted. "You've never truly known what it means to have nothing."
"You were born in Casterly Rock, wrapped in gold from the moment you drew your first breath. Every drop of wine you drink, every silk you wear, every breath you take carries the scent of power. You may not admit it, but people have always respected and feared you because of the name Lannister."
"Deep down, you still believe you're better than me—better than every wretch crawling through Flea Bottom. That's why you thought you could trample on my goodwill and treat me like a beggar you could buy off with a handful of coppers."
"I never said that!"
The words cut deep. Tyrion lifted his head, trying to fight back. "I was just… I was only—"
"You just didn't want to admit it," Corleone cut him off, spreading his hands as if stating the obvious.
"Look how natural it feels to you."
"My father was a farmer, so I must be a farmer. If I try to bring order, I'm overstepping. If I ask for a fair deal, it's presumptuous. Even the famous words that echo across the Seven Kingdoms—'A Lannister always pays his debts'—you refuse to honor."
"You're too narrow-minded, Lord Tyrion. In that regard, you're not even half the man your father is."
"At least he has spent his life living by what a fair trade really means, what an exchange of interests truly is."
Those words struck Tyrion like a whip, hitting the most vulnerable spot in his soul.
Yes, he was a dwarf. Born that way.
And precisely because of it, he craved respect more than anyone—and was more sensitive to slights than anyone.
He had mocked himself countless times in public, spent his days in brothels and drowned himself in wine, all to hide that fragile, wounded pride.
That was why, when Shae called him "my lion" during their nights together, he could never resist.
"I'm not in the mood for your lectures right now, Corleone!"
He had been laid bare, and the shame turned to fury. His voice dropped to a hiss. "Tell me—where is the owner of this necklace?"
He clutched the pearl necklace tightly, as if it were the only lifeline keeping him from drowning.
Looking at his twisted face, Corleone's lips curved into something almost like pity. He slowly sat back down in his chair, still looking down at Tyrion from above.
"See? You're still doing it—questioning my character, still convinced that someone like me is always capable of something vile."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice growing authoritative. "We're all hypocrites, rolling around in the mud of power."
"But unlike you—and unlike most people in this city—I don't use the humiliation of a woman as leverage."
The moment he finished speaking, footsteps echoed from downstairs.
Moments later, Bronn appeared at the top of the stairs, his leather armor still damp with morning dew, breathing a little hard.
His eyes flicked first to Corleone, then he strode over to the dwarf and leaned down, speaking low. "Stokeworth Castle. She's back inside. I watched her go in myself. Not a hair out of place."
The words hit Tyrion like a wave of relief. The crushing pressure lifted so suddenly he nearly staggered. He took a step back to steady himself.
His grip on the necklace loosened. The pearls were slick with cold sweat from his palm.
Talking with Corleone had drained him more than facing his father ever had.
This man…
Once the tension eased, Tyrion's feet stayed planted on the ground, but his sharp mind clawed its way back to the surface.
He looked up, truly seeing Corleone for the first time.
Waving Bronn back to wait by the side, his voice lost its earlier flippancy when he spoke again. Now it carried weariness and caution.
"What exactly do you want, Corleone?"
"…Fairness."
Corleone's answer was simple and firm. "And the gold that was already mine."
But watching that calm, composed face—always in control—Tyrion felt a fresh surge of inexplicable anger.
He didn't realize it was jealousy.
Still, Tyrion kept his cool. He didn't keep provoking. Instead, he tried to negotiate. "The Iron Bank's envoy is hounding me for repayment every day. The treasury is as empty as a gutted oyster."
"I need time."
"Time?"
Corleone leaned forward, elbows on the table. Then he shook his head slowly. "No. You don't have time anymore."
"Before the sun sets tomorrow, I want to see ten thousand gold dragons placed in front of me."
"Ten thousand!!!"
The number shattered Tyrion's composure. He jumped up and snapped back, "We agreed on half—"
"That was yesterday's price."
Corleone didn't yield this time. He held his ground. "For a friend, I'm happy to show generosity. But for someone who brought armed men into my home and tried to put me in chains, the price is different."
Seeing Tyrion about to argue, Corleone took a deep breath and spoke coldly. "Think carefully, Lord Tyrion."
"If the Hand of the King finds out his son turned the Red Keep into his personal brothel…"
"I can't guarantee what will happen next."
"After all, not long ago, you were the Hand. Now you're Master of Coin. Next…"
"The Night's Watch?" he added with a mocking tone.
The naked threat left Tyrion grinding his teeth so hard the sound was audible.
He knew he had no room to bargain. After all, before coming to King's Landing, Tywin had warned him—no whores. And certainly not hiding one inside the Red Keep for so long.
He hadn't forgotten what happened with Tysha.
"…Fine!"
Tyrion clenched his fists, forced to swallow the bitter pill. But he still added a warning. "Ten thousand gold dragons. But you swear this ends here."
"Shae will not be disturbed again. This secret stays buried in your gut. Otherwise…"
"Of course."
Corleone finally offered a genuine smile, answering calmly. "You have my word."
With that, he picked up his knife, issuing a clear dismissal. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my breakfast is getting cold."
Seeing the gesture, Tyrion and Bronn turned to leave. But Corleone's voice followed them from behind.
"Oh, one more thing."
They turned back. Corleone pointed his knife lazily toward Bronn. "Your friend here caused me some minor trouble earlier. I'll give him a chance to make up for it, but I don't want to see him in Flea Bottom again."
Bronn covered his nose dramatically. "Perfect! This place reeks anyway. I'd rather smell fish on the Street of Silk than spend another minute here!"
---
Stokeworth Castle.
In a small, hidden underground chamber, when Varys slid open a concealed stone slab, the short Tyrion immediately squeezed inside anxiously.
"Shae!"
In the dim lamplight, he saw the dark-haired woman standing uneasily in the corner. He rushed forward on his stubby legs.
Grabbing her slender shoulders, his eyes full of lingering fear. "Look at me!"
"Did that Vito Corleone hurt you? Tell me—where did he touch you?"
"Hurt me? Who? Lord Corleone?"
Shae blinked first, a flicker of confusion crossing her face, then shook her head. "He didn't hurt me. We… we just had dinner together."
"Dinner!"
Tyrion's voice shot up. He knew exactly what dinner alone between a man and a woman implied.
"He didn't… you didn't…"
He wanted to ask but couldn't bring himself to say it directly, so he stammered vaguely.
This suspicious attitude made Shae's expression change instantly. Her large eyes filled with practiced tears.
"You think I wanted that, Tyrion!"
She yanked free from his hands and stepped back, her voice trembling with a sob. "You think I wanted to be alone with a stranger in a place like that?"
"It was you! You left me here to play the lowly handmaiden!"
"What's the difference between a handmaiden and a whore in the eyes of you great lords? We have no right to refuse!"
She kept sobbing, accusing him. Tyrion felt his heart breaking.
He panicked, his usual sharp mind vanishing, turning into a clumsy man trapped in love.
"No, Shae, that's not it!"
He hurried forward, trying to pull her back into his arms. "I was just so worried about you. That Corleone—he's a very dangerous man. I was afraid he…"
But as Tyrion's arms wrapped around her, his eyes accidentally swept across her fair neck—and saw the necklace set with black gems hanging there!
His movements froze. A flicker of doubt rose again. He couldn't help asking, "This necklace…"
Shae's heart jumped, but she reacted lightning-fast. She covered it with her hand. "This… this was a gift from Lady Falyse. She saw how hard I worked taking care of Lady Lollys, so she rewarded me…"
"You're still doubting me!"
Then she turned the tables, pointing at Tyrion accusingly. "I knew it… I knew it… In your heart, I'm still just that camp whore!"
"I'm leaving King's Landing right now. I'll never appear in front of you again!"
With that, she really started to pull away, pretending to storm off in anger.
"No! Shae, I love you!"
Seeing her like this, Tyrion hurriedly held her tight, refusing to let go no matter how she struggled.
"Remember? I'm yours, and you're mine!"
Feeling her warm body in his arms, Tyrion kept whispering their intimate words to comfort her. In his heart, he told himself: She loves me. She's just scared.
She won't betray me. I'm her lion. I can protect her. I can give her everything!
Fortunately, Shae didn't push it too far. After a token struggle, she calmed down. The two shared a tender moment.
Tyrion turned his head—and saw the shining bald head of Varys entering through the secret passage.
It was this Spider who, with his perfect knowledge of every hidden tunnel and secret door in the Red Keep, had arranged their secret meetings all this time.
"You should have told me sooner, Lord Varys."
But the events of the day still left Tyrion complaining. "That man had a handwritten appointment from my father—Grand Royal Commissioner of Special Affairs!"
Varys folded his plump hands inside his wide sleeves, his face showing just the right amount of helplessness and grievance. "My dear Lord Tyrion, I did warn you."
"Just last night, I told you that the evidence we held was not enough for the Gold Cloaks to arrest Vito Corleone."
"But you were so angry at the time, I'm afraid you didn't fully hear my ramblings."
Hearing this, Tyrion froze. Then he recalled—yes, the Spider had mentioned something like that last night.
But at the time, he had been so focused on Shae's safety that he'd brushed the words aside.
Shaking his head in regret, Tyrion didn't press Varys further. Instead, he said "Sorry," then pulled Shae close again to enjoy their hard-won intimacy.
He didn't notice that when he mentioned the title "Grand Royal Commissioner of Special Affairs," a spark of excitement flashed in Shae's eyes as she lay against his chest.
Soon, Tyrion and Shae disappeared deeper into the shadows of the secret chamber. No need to say what would happen next.
In the empty entrance, only Varys remained.
Watching them go, he looked down at his own crotch, the corner of his mouth twitching. Then he gently rubbed his fingers together and whispered, almost like a sigh:
"The little birds have not yet flown, yet King's Landing welcomes another pair of hands in the dark."
"The Hall of Order…"
"Will you turn this place into even greater chaos, or bring order to the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Vito Corleone…"