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Tyrion had indeed made that promise.
At the time, both the Mountain and Amory Lorch had died in the Riverlands. Tyrion immediately realized this could be a perfect opportunity to win over Dorne.
So he wrote to Prince Doran.
If Dorne agreed to ally with the Lannisters, Tyrion promised to send the Mountain's corpse to them so they could avenge Elia.
Oberyn had rushed eagerly to King's Landing.
But before negotiations could even begin, the very man who proposed and supported the plan Tyrion had been thrown into prison.
And Tywin flatly refused to acknowledge any of it.
Tyrion was brilliant when it came to political maneuvering.
His schemes and alliances often solved enormous problems with ease.
But he knew nothing about military matters.
If he had, he would never have tried to bargain using the Mountain's corpse.
Gregor was widely recognized as the Lannisters' rabid attack dog.
If he died and even his body was handed over to the enemy, what message would that send?
It would destroy the morale of every warrior loyal to House Lannister.
Tywin would never allow such a thing.
But from Oberyn's perspective, it felt like he had been played.
Oberyn had once said openly:
"I have never wanted to sack King's Landing as much as I do now."
"All my enemies are gathered here."
…
Faced with Oberyn's questioning, Tyrion shrugged indifferently.
"You can see my situation."
"I can barely keep my head on my shoulders."
"In a few days, I may be chopped into pieces."
"My head might even end up on a spear along the city walls."
"Maybe right beside my father-in-law."
"So you came to the wrong man."
Oberyn stood up and took the torch from the wall.
"No."
"You came to exactly the right place."
"Everyone I want dead is here."
"So I'll start with Lyle Crakehall."
"I'll be your champion."
"And I'll remind Tywin of something."
"If he refuses to give me what I want…"
"I'll simply take it myself."
Oberyn disappeared into the darkness.
"Ha."
Tyrion let out a shaky laugh through his nose.
How ridiculous.
A Lannister trying to kill a Lannister.
And the only lifeline left to save him was the sworn enemy of House Lannister a Martell from Dorne.
Ridiculous indeed.
Did every Lannister want him dead?
Tyrion tilted his head upward and forced his tears back.
…
Above the prison cell, Jimmy quietly withdrew after overhearing everything.
Originally, he thought that without the Mountain, Oberyn wouldn't participate in the trial.
But apparently that assumption was wrong.
It seemed Oberyn wasn't targeting a specific person.
He simply wanted every Lannister to suffer.
As long as something caused pain for House Lannister, Oberyn was happy to do it.
That made Jimmy's job easier.
Otherwise, he had been considering how to justify fighting as Tyrion's champion himself.
Becoming a champion in a trial by combat at this level wasn't something just anyone could do.
…
Jimmy now watched the spectacle with the attitude of someone enjoying a good show.
He wanted to see whether the Red Viper Oberyn Martell would stumble this time when facing someone nearly as powerful as the Mountain.
Soon the trial by combat began.
Lyle Crakehall entered the arena first.
He wore three layers of armor.
Plate armor.
Chainmail.
And thick boiled leather beneath.
His movements were slow, but the enormous greatsword in his hands had a reach large enough to compensate.
Oberyn entered next.
He wore only light armor made of a few scattered plates.
In his hands was a long spear.
The moment he stepped into the arena he began performing flashy spins and flourishes with the weapon.
The crowd erupted with cheers.
Compared to Lyle's cautious, lumbering approach, Oberyn's dazzling movements were far more entertaining.
Unfortunately, the arena was small.
That worked against the Red Viper.
With a single swing, Lyle could sweep nearly an entire section of the battlefield with his massive blade.
Oberyn was forced to leap and dodge constantly.
Still, the Red Viper lived up to his reputation.
His strikes were sharp and precise.
His movements fluid.
He circled Lyle, probing for gaps in the armor while avoiding the wide, devastating swings.
Again and again, his spear darted toward exposed joints.
But it was useless.
Plate armor.
Chainmail.
Boiled leather.
The layers slowed Lyle slightly.
But they also made Oberyn's attacks almost completely ineffective.
If Oberyn attacked with full force and left himself no room to recover, one thrust might land, but he would inevitably be caught by one of Lyle's sweeping strikes.
That single sweeping attack might have been simple, but it was brutally effective.
Oberyn was no longer young.
His stamina and endurance had already declined.
While his experience was vast, against an opponent like Lyle Crakehall, experience mattered far less than raw strength and endurance.
Panting heavily, Oberyn's eyes suddenly sharpened.
He lunged forward.
Then he planted his spear into the ground.
The shaft snapped under the strain, but it succeeded in blocking Lyle's sweeping sword.
In the same motion, Oberyn kicked the flat of the blade with both feet and drove the spear's butt upward toward Lyle's visor.
Thud.
"Ah!"
Lyle lashed out with a heavy palm strike.
It was as if someone had kicked Oberyn in the chest with a battering ram.
He flew backward through the air.
The blow itself wasn't fatal.
It didn't even rupture Lyle's eyeball.
But people had forgotten something important.
Oberyn's nickname.
The Red Viper.
Against him, even the smallest scratch meant death.
The poison was already working.
The pain was so intense that Lyle could barely even pick up his massive sword again.
That single strike had nearly taken him out of the fight.
Jaime on the platform and Tyrion below both let out quiet sighs of relief.
Despite everything, Jaime still hoped Tyrion would survive.
But he had no way to oppose Tywin's stubborn will or Cersei's obsessive hatred.
And after losing his sword hand, Jaime was no longer the warrior he once had been.
Otherwise, the man stepping into the arena to fight for Tyrion would have been Jaime himself.
"You bastard!"
"You damned Lannisters!"
"Every last one of you deserves to die!"
Oberyn pointed furiously toward Tywin on the viewing platform.
"Speak!"
"Who gave the order to slaughter my sister?!"
"Say it!"
He was practically pointing at Tywin's face as he shouted.
Meanwhile, Jimmy's eyes widened as he watched closely.
He was curious whether Lyle might still manage to turn the battle around.
Lyle writhed on the ground in agony.
Oberyn kicked the greatsword away with his spear and drove the weapon down into Lyle's leg.
The earlier strike had carried poison.
This one did not.
But the pain jolted Lyle into momentary clarity.
His eyes turned bloodshot as he stared up at Oberyn.
After finishing his furious rant, Oberyn raised his spear toward Lyle's throat.
The final blow.
"Goodbye, you damned Lannister dog!"
Whoosh.
The entire arena froze.
Slash.
Blood sprayed.
How fast could Lyle move after shedding his armor?
How fast could a man move when fighting for his life?
Oberyn had just found out.
At some point, Lyle had pulled a hidden cord.
All the armor strapped to his body suddenly fell away.
Like a cicada shedding its shell, Lyle burst forward.
He wrapped his massive arms around Oberyn and slashed his throat open with the sharpened edge of his arm guard.
Of course, Oberyn's dagger also struck.
It plunged into Lyle's ribs.
Just a little deeper…
Just a little more…
And it would have pierced his heart.
Oberyn's eyes burned with unwilling fury as hot blood poured from his throat.
"…"
"The gods have spoken."
Tywin rose from his seat.
"Tyrion Lannister."
"In the name of King Tommen I Baratheon, I pronounce you guilty."
"You are sentenced to death."
Cersei's face filled with satisfaction.
Jaime looked dark and silent.
And Tyrion…
Felt his heart sink into despair.
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