Since the king's host returned in triumph to King's Landing, quite some time had passed.
During this period, many things had taken place in the capital, and none had been livelier than the King's Victory Tourney. Knights from all over the realm arrived one after another.
And not only knights—free riders, craftsmen, soldiers, merchants, whores, and thieves of every sort all flocked to King's Landing.
The city was abuzz with noise and splendor.
As a criminal and a captive, Tywin Lannister had naturally spent this time in the dungeons beneath the Red Keep, far removed from the clamor of the world above.
Though the second level of the Red Keep's dungeon had small single cells reserved for noble prisoners, compared to his former station as Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West, the days of a prisoner were clearly not so pleasant.
The weather in King's Landing was hot. Whether rich merchants or noble lords, all wore silk robes to stay cool.
Even ministers such as Kal and the other royal counselors had their own formal silken attire.
But now, standing below the Iron Throne, Tywin Lannister wore only a coarse linen shirt, faintly reeking of sweat and sourness.
Looking at his father, the once-proud lion now reduced to this state, Tyrion Lannister pressed his lips together, a trace of complex emotion flashing in his eyes.
He had never seen his father like this, and never imagined that House Lannister would one day fall to such a plight.
Though he himself had once been a prisoner at Winterfell for a time, compared to his father, Lord Tywin, he had fared better.
After all, he had done nothing—merely an innocent who was implicated.
Kal Stone had even specifically instructed, before departing, that no one was to mistreat him.
Thus, seeing his father now, Tyrion could not help but feel a faint pang of pity.
He still remembered how, on the battlefield, Tywin would don a set of specially made crimson armor, engraved with golden lions, a vast cloak woven with golden threads trailing behind him.
He would ride his beloved mount—a white warhorse.
Majestic and imposing.
Even in ordinary garb, when standing still, his bearing had always been elegant, his presence commanding without a word.
From childhood, that was the father he had known.
Yet the man now standing before the Iron Throne, aside from his still-straight back and the composure that carried a remnant of pride, had nothing in common with the awe-inspiring Lord of Casterly Rock of the past.
The prisoner before him seemed utterly out of place.
"Father—"
As soon as Tywin took his place, Tyrion, standing among the foremost of the court before the throne, could not help but call out to his father—once the Lord of Casterly Rock.
He could scarcely remember when they had last met.
Ever since his youth, his proud father, who regarded his dwarf son as a disgrace to House Lannister, had never favored him and had never hidden his contempt.
That was why he had chosen to follow his brother Jaime away from Casterly Rock and come to live in King's Landing.
That place had never been his home—Tywin had never wished to see him.
Inside the silent hall, apart from the sound of breathing from the crowd and the crisp clatter of armor, Tyrion's cry stood out sharply.
Of course, Tywin heard the call.
But after glancing back and seeing who had spoken, he merely withdrew his gaze and looked once more toward King Robert Baratheon seated above upon the Iron Throne.
Even now, seeing that his father would not so much as respond, Tyrion lowered his eyes, a complex look flickering across his face.
"Tywin Lannister, how have you fared during this time? I hope the rats in the Red Keep haven't caused you too much trouble."
Robert ignored the rift between the Lannister father and son. Staring at the man he despised, he seemed quite pleased, his tone filled with mockery.
Yet Tywin was unmoved by Robert's taunt.
"This may be the most relaxing time of my life, Your Grace—and rats do not disturb a lion's sleep."
Seeing his mockery fail to elicit the reaction he wanted, Robert grew somewhat irritated.
"You'll remain relaxed, then, for I may just have your head struck off. Perhaps the rats will gladly make their home inside a lion's skull!"
But just as he spoke those words, Eddard Stark furrowed his brow beside him and quickly murmured a reminder: "Your Grace—"
The Hand was cautioning the king not to lose his decorum before the court.
Robert shot his Hand a glare and gave a cold snort.
"I am a failure, a sinner—history is written by the victors."
In the face of Robert's threat, Tywin Lannister only glanced toward Eddard Stark, who seemed to be speaking on his behalf.
His tone was calm, unhurried—so even that it was unclear whether he was answering the king or saying something to Eddard himself.
Seeing Tywin's indifferent manner, Lord Stark—afraid that the man might provoke Robert into having him dragged out and beheaded on the spot—hurriedly took over the exchange.
"Tywin Lannister, you sought to seize the throne, and when your plot failed, you brazenly raised war, bringing ruin to the smallfolk.
"You even conspired to hold the entirety of King's Landing hostage, using hundreds of thousands of lives as leverage against your king."
"Your crimes are far beyond what mere words like 'failure' or 'sinner' can describe."
Eddard Stark's gaze was stern as he enumerated Tywin's offenses one by one.
As for the gravest charge—the crime of abetting his own children's incest, which left the royal line without a true heir—Lord Stark wisely refrained from uttering it before the gathered court.
After all, it was not a matter of honor.
It was a scandal.
For the Lannisters' plot to usurp the throne was one thing, and Jaime Lannister's incest with Queen Cersei another.
The two were, strictly speaking, separate matters.
Yet the severity lay in their intent—to extinguish Robert's line and leave the throne without a legitimate successor.
And even if set aside, the three charges already laid upon him—conspiracy, rebellion, and the devastation of the realm—each was unforgivable.
Worse still, after his schemes had failed, Tywin had brazenly raised war in defiance, plunging the people into misery, and at the same time had struck at King's Landing by surprise.
He had even used the hundreds of thousands within King's Landing as bargaining chips to balance the scales of power.
That alone was an unforgivable crime—enough to drag all of House Lannister into the depths of the Seven Hells.
Had he not turned his cloak before the end and chosen wisely to surrender, who could say how this war would have concluded?
That was the sole reason he was still alive now.
"Eddard Stark, the war between the Iron Throne and the Westerlands is over. The Lannisters have lost everything—wealth, honor, all of it."
"You may choose to kill me. Perhaps that would be the easiest end for me."
To the charges against him, Tywin Lannister remained utterly indifferent, bearing not the air of a defeated man in the least.
Seeing that neither softness nor harshness could sway him—that he regarded life and death alike—Robert lost interest in further humiliating him.
"No. Killing you would indeed be a mercy, and I will not grant you that."
"Since you hold your family in such esteem, then so be it—you shall guard the realm for the sake of the kingdom."
"Serve as a man of the Night's Watch. That will be the most fitting end for you."
"I want you to spend the rest of your life repenting for what you've done."
Without wasting any more time, Robert bluntly pronounced Tywin Lannister's true sentence.
In truth, the matter of Tywin's punishment had already been decided back on the battlefield at Harrenhal, after Robert had taken command of the Lannister host.
Indeed, Robert's first impulse had been to execute Tywin outright—even if he had not been captured in defeat, but had instead surrendered of his own accord with dignity.
But that still could not quench Robert's hatred toward the Lannisters, nor his personal loathing for Tywin himself.
It was not so much Tywin's scheming for the throne beneath him that enraged him—Robert knew that others, too, harbored such ambitions, not just this unsmiling lion.
It was simply that Tywin had been driven to open rebellion.
After all, before him, Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands had done much the same—openly declaring his defiance of the Iron Throne.
But of all his sins, none was graver, none more unforgivable, than that the Lannisters had not only placed a cuckold's crown upon Robert's head, but sought to replace him through such deceit and substitution.
What the Lannisters had done was, beyond doubt, an attempt to sever completely the bloodline of Robert Baratheon.
That was the greatest and most unpardonable of crimes—and the very reason why Robert, in his fury, had declared open war upon the Westerlands and House Lannister without hesitation.
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