Chapter 46 — Standoff
Tyrion Lannister never got to eat his dinner.
He was still hunched over his desk, drowning in paperwork, when Bronn barged into his study without knocking. The first words out of his mouth were:
"Pod's in trouble."
Tyrion's head snapped up, confusion flickering across his face.
…
The throne room — where the king ruled — was as imposing as ever.
The Iron Throne sat atop its forged steel dais, narrow steps spilling downward, a long carpet running from the foot of the throne to the bronze-and-oak doors that sealed the far end of the hall.
Night had fallen outside. Stars glittered, and the red comet — that burning omen — had finally vanished from the sky, ceded once again to the familiar pale crescent of the moon.
Firelight danced in the throne room. Torches and candles bathed the hall in warm golden glow — yet not a shred of warmth could be felt.
The light only made the cold sharper.
On the Iron Throne sat Queen Regent Cersei Lannister, rigid and high, fingers clamped upon her gown as if crushing the fabric to restrain her own fury.
Beneath her, two long tables flanked the hall.
At one sat Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin — calm on the outside, though his brow creased faintly and his fingers rubbed together in unconscious calculation.
Beside him sat Grand Maester Pycelle, hunched like a forgotten boulder, eyes half-shut, looking as though he'd been dragged straight from his bed without warning.
On the opposite end of the hall, Tyrion Lannister entered — face stormy — with Bronn and Timett of the Burned Men at his back.
He raised his eyes to the sister on the throne. Their gazes met — her icy, his blazing — and Tyrion climbed onto a chair beside the table, seating himself without ceremony.
The massive throne room fell into a suffocating silence.
Only when Varys arrived, swaying in with soft steps, did the oppressive mood crack.
"Oh dear… my lords, King's Landing is chaotic enough as it is. How could something like this still happen?"
The moment the eunuch entered, he sighed dramatically, drowning in grief before he even reached his seat. He slid into the last empty chair beside Tyrion, full of fragrance and sorrow.
He shook his head as though the tragedy at Silk Street had wounded him deeply.
Tyrion shot him a look, his eyes glinting for a heartbeat.
Varys met the look and gave a thin, bitter smile. Tyrion acknowledged with a nod — and then turned toward the throne.
"My dear sister," he began, voice like a blade sheathed in politeness, "I expect an explanation."
The words had barely left him when Cersei's eyes slashed back at him like knives.
"An explanation?"
"Your damned squire butchered seven of Lord Janos Slynt's men in the street! Seven Gold Cloaks! He even cut one man's hand off — and now you demand an explanation from me?!"
Her voice shrieked through the hall, fury blazing.
But the venom of Cersei Lannister was something Tyrion had lived with his whole life — and fury never cowed him. Not tonight.
"My darling sister," Tyrion replied coolly, tapping the table with a single finger — click, click, click — "I must correct you."
"Pod did not kill those seven Gold Cloaks in the street. He killed them inside a brothel. And he did so in self-defense."
One eyebrow rose.
"And we should all be grateful he killed only seven Gold Cloaks — and not the King's seven Kingsguard. After all, they also number seven, don't they?"
"Oh — forgive me. I momentarily forgot that Ser Barristan Selmy was driven out by you and dear Joffrey — dismissed in disgrace."
Tyrion shrugged. "I do remember the confusion — and the rising anger — on Father's face when he heard of it."
"And there's also our dear brother, Ser Jaime Lannister," he added softly, voice laced in poison.
"Poor Jaime, still in Robb Stark's hands. I do wonder how he's faring these days…"
Tyrion leaned back, finishing:
"So even if Podrick wanted to kill the Kingsguard, I'm afraid he simply didn't have the opportunity."
Tyrion finished speaking with both hands extended, as if pleading pure sincerity.
Of the Kingsguard left in King's Landing, only two were present beneath the Iron Throne — Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Meryn Trant, standing silent in their white armor.
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, was absent.
Tyrion's thinly veiled mockery did not escape them; both turned their heads toward him.
But before either knight could speak, the moment Cersei heard the name Jaime Lannister, something inside her snapped.
"Tyrion — you damned little monster!"
"I swear I will sentence your squire to death! I'll have the Kingsguard take his head!"
Cersei practically threw herself up from the throne, face flushing red, jabbing a finger down at her brother with the rage of a cornered lioness.
But her threat was not enough to silence Tyrion.
"Oh? And with what charge, dear sister?"
He met her glare head-on, stepping down from his chair and turning to face her fully.
"As far as I understand, Pod did nothing. Yet Lord Janos Slynt intended to throw him into a dungeon, violate him, and then kill him."
"Apparently this all stemmed from a single question — when Pod asked why our honorable Lord Slynt was smashing up a brothel."
"What a terrifying crime."
Cersei roared in response, "He obstructed a City Watch operation! Lord Slynt was right to arrest him — is that not enough?"
It certainly wasn't, Tyrion thought.
"Well, then allow me to be curious — what operation exactly was Lord Slynt performing that required smashing a brothel, kidnapping a defenseless girl, and preparing to murder her newborn child? A child still nursing?"
"Whose order was that?"
"Our beloved King Joffrey's?"
At that, a cold sneer twisted across Tyrion's lips.
He knew perfectly well what had happened in Silk Street — that the Gold Cloaks had been hunting and exterminating King Robert's bastards.
And he knew Podrick had simply stumbled upon the moment they were about to kill the infant girl Barra and her mother.
Before that moment, Pod had done nothing.
Janos Slynt never announced any orders — only swung the blade first.
Cersei faltered.
Her expression froze — then soured further, darkening by the heartbeat.
Because she knew the truth:
The order did not come from Joffrey.
It came from her.
And admitting that in public would be catastrophic.
The three councillors seated below — Baelish, Pycelle, and Varys — kept their eyes down, avoiding the blast radius, faces unreadable.
Everyone understood the truth.
No one dared say it.
Royal scandals were not something one discussed.
Tyrion gave a small, apologetic shrug — all poisoned politeness.
"Forgive me, dear sister. I truly cannot understand why Lord Slynt behaved as he did, nor why he would attack Podrick Payne without cause. I only know that Pod acted in self-defense."
"And I am not interested in why Lord Slynt wanted to murder a mother and her swaddled infant — or why he then tried to butcher my squire, a twelve-year-old child of House Payne."
"So here and now, I demand that Podrick Payne be declared innocent — and that Lord Janos Slynt be held responsible and made to apologize."