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Maegor's Holdfast had never been a pleasant place.
Even in summer, when the rest of the Red Keep baked under the sun, this tower stayed cold and damp. The walls were built of heavy black stone on the orders of Maegor the Cruel himself, meant to make any lord who crossed him feel the chill in his bones.
Tonight the rain had been falling since morning. It tapped steadily against the narrow windows, turning the council chamber into something wet and miserable.
King Tommen sat at the head of the long table. The eight-year-old boy wore a deep red velvet doublet embroidered with the crowned stag. His golden curls had been carefully brushed, but his feet didn't reach the floor. They swung gently beneath the chair.
In front of him lay a stack of documents waiting for his signature and the royal seal. For Tommen, this was the only part of being king he actually enjoyed.
He picked up each paper, read it as best he could, signed his name in careful letters, and pressed the golden stag seal into the red wax. When no one was looking, he allowed himself a small smile.
Then he glanced at the arguing lords and the smile vanished. He yawned.
The shouting had been going on for a long time. At this hour he should already be in bed.
"…I will say it one last time, Prince Oberyn," Mace Tyrell said, trying and failing to keep his voice level. "The North has only just been pacified. Stannis is still missing. There is a Targaryen queen across the Narrow Sea with three dragons. This is not the time to dig up old grievances."
Oberyn Martell lounged in his chair like he owned it, one leg crossed over the other. He looked almost bored.
"Old grievances?" he said softly. "You call the rape and murder of my sister and her two children an old grievance, Lord Tyrell?"
Mace's face turned red. "The war—"
"The war was over," Oberyn cut in. "King's Landing had already fallen. The Mad King was dead. Lannister banners flew over the Red Keep. My sister was murdered after the fighting ended."
He leaned forward slightly. "That was not war. That was butchery."
Pycelle tried to smooth things over with his usual trembling voice. Oberyn turned on him instead.
"Spare me your talk of dignity, Grand Maester. I spent three years at the Citadel. I forged six links. I know exactly what kind of men buy their chains with gold and how little they actually learn."
Pycelle's face went purple. He opened and closed his mouth but no words came out.
Mace slammed his hand on the table. "Mind your tongue, Prince Oberyn!"
Oberyn smiled. It did not reach his eyes.
"Mind my tongue? Should I mind it the way Gregor Clegane minded his when he smashed my nephew's head against a wall? Or when he raped my sister while her daughter watched?"
Tommen flinched and clutched the seven-pointed star pendant around his neck. He began whispering a prayer under his breath.
Cersei had been silent until now. She sat at the far end of the table, slowly turning a crystal cup in her fingers. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm and almost pleasant.
"I understand Prince Oberyn's pain," she said. "I lost my own eldest son not long ago. The desire for justice is… powerful."
Mace and Pycelle both turned to stare at her.
Oberyn's eyes narrowed.
Cersei set her cup down. "A realm that cannot punish the murder of a princess and her children has no law worth respecting. If Ser Gregor Clegane committed these crimes, he should face trial. The same law that applies to smallfolk must apply to knights."
Mace looked like he had swallowed something sour. "Your Grace, reopening this case will strain relations between Dorne and the Westerlands—"
"My father is busy enough already," Cersei said coldly. "He has the North, Stannis, and the realm's finances to worry about. Perhaps this matter should not rest on his shoulders alone."
She looked directly at Oberyn.
"I support reopening the investigation. I support a formal trial. And given the seriousness of the case and the king's young age, I propose we form a Regency Council to oversee the proceedings and ensure they remain fair and untouched by outside influence."
The chamber went very quiet.
Mace's mouth opened and closed. Pycelle looked like he might faint. Tommen stared at his mother with wide, frightened eyes.
Oberyn studied Cersei for a long moment. He understood exactly what she was doing. She wasn't seeking justice for Elia. She was reaching for power while her father was distracted.
He didn't care. As long as Gregor Clegane and whoever stood behind him were dragged into the light, he would dance with the devil herself.
He pushed a rolled parchment across the table.
"My formal petition," he said. "Reopen the case. Arrest Gregor Clegane. Form a seven-member commission. Summon every witness still alive."
He turned to the boy at the head of the table.
"A man who commits a crime must face judgment, Your Grace. Do you agree?"
Tommen looked at his mother. Cersei gave the smallest nod.
The little king swallowed. "Y-yes. If someone did something wrong… they should be judged."
Cersei stood up. In her thick-soled boots she was nearly as tall as Oberyn. The deep blue velvet of her gown caught the candlelight.
"As the king's mother and protector of the realm," she said clearly, "I support Prince Oberyn's proposal. I also support the immediate formation of a Regency Council to manage this trial until it is concluded."
Mace made a strangled sound. Pycelle started coughing into his sleeve.
Before anyone could speak, the heavy doors at the end of the chamber opened.
Tywin Lannister stepped inside.
Rain dripped from his crimson cloak and ran down the gold thread. His wet hair clung to his forehead, but his back was straight and his green eyes swept the room like a blade.
No one moved.
Tywin walked to the head of the table and stopped. Water pooled at his boots.
He looked at his daughter.
"Continue," he said quietly. "I'm curious what decisions were made in this Small Council meeting held without the Hand."