As the last supper before his trial, the guards offered Tyrion a spread that would have been a feast in any other cell: fat, bursting sausages, fried eggs with lacy brown edges, and a large bowl of rich, meaty gruel.
However, Tyrion had no appetite at all. His nerves were tied into tight, painful knots, and his stomach felt as if it were filled with crushed lemons. Sour bile rose in his throat with every breath. He gripped his dagger, stabbing it into a sausage, and then spun it around on the plate with a morbid rhythm, wishing it were his elder sister, that golden-haired madwoman who wanted nothing more than to see his head on a spike.
"Bronn, I truly hope you delivered the message," Tyrion whispered to the empty air. "My father... no matter how much you despise me, you should at least give me a chance to speak. Father... help me."
He silently prayed to the Seven Gods in his heart; he had never been so devout in his entire life.
"What? Not hungry?"
A majestic, gravelly voice echoed from the shadows. Tyrion turned his head, his heart leaping with a mix of surprise and dread.
Standing outside the cell door was the imposing figure of Lord Tywin Lannister. He was dressed in a deep purple velvet coat, the gold-linked Hand of the King chain gleaming on his chest. He looked like a statue of power carved from obsidian and gold.
"I thought you weren't coming," Tyrion muttered, quickly stuffing the cooling sausage into his mouth. "My good father... you surely don't want to speak to your son through a door, do you?"
A hint of profound disgust flashed in Tywin's pale green eyes. "Swallow your food before speaking, Tyrion. Basic courtesy is the only thing that separates us from the beasts."
Tyrion quickly chewed and swallowed, tossing the dagger onto the plate. He bowed as best he could in the cramped space. "I was too excited. I repeat: will you come in, or shall we shout our family secrets to the rats?"
Tywin did not answer. He simply looked at the guard, who fearfully pulled out a ring of keys and, with trembling hands, opened the iron door.
"Please, sit." Tyrion wiped a wooden stool with his sleeve, then glanced outside. Ser Ilyn Payne stood there, the royal executioner who had once used Ice to kill Eddard Stark. It seemed that if today's conversation was not pleasant, Ilyn's six-foot-long greatsword would be the last thing Tyrion ever saw.
"Flattering me will not change the weight of the evidence, Tyrion," Tywin said, sitting down and smoothing his coat. "Say what you want to say. I am busy."
Looking at his father's expressionless face, Tyrion, who had spent the last three days preparing a list of the Tyrells' motives suddenly had a flash of terrifying insight. It was like thunder clearing a fog.
"You already know who the killer is!" Tyrion cried, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Don't you?"
"Lower your voice. In the Red Keep, one must speak with steady breath," Tywin said indifferently, neither admitting nor denying. "If that is all you have to say, I am leaving."
"Why?!" Tyrion hissed. "The killers are the Tyrells! They benefit the most! They want a puppet on the throne, not a mad dog like Joffrey! Why should I bear this crime? What is your game, Father?"
As soon as he finished speaking, the sound of steel sliding against leather echoed outside. A cold glint flashed beyond the door, followed by a wet, gurgling scream. It was the guard's dying wail.
Lord Tywin did not even turn his head. "See? I told you to be steady. That man didn't need to die tonight. After the trial, he could have gone home to his wife. But because you cannot control your tongue, he is now a liability."
"Stop lecturing me with your hypocrisy!" Tyrion shouted, his fear finally being overtaken by rage. "You killed him! You've already decided I'm a piece of dung-covered chess to be moved. If you want your son to do something, explain it! I will resist, Father! Even I will resist!"
Tywin narrowed his eyes. His pupils shimmered like molten gold. After a long, suffocating pause, he spoke.
"Do you remember Janos Slynt?"
"The butcher's son? The corrupt Commander I sent to the Wall? It's hard to forget a man with a face like a frog," Tyrion shrugged.
"He sent a raven," Tywin said. "It says the rebel Eddard Karstark, in league with Jon Snow, who is now Lord Commander has let sixty thousand wildlings through the Wall. Along with three hundred giants and a hundred mammoths."
Tyrion's jaw dropped. "Jon Snow? Commander? And the wildlings... they've been enemies for millennia! How?"
"Eddard Karstark brought three thousand elites," Tywin said, a hint of grudging respect in his voice. "He designated the Commander by force, donated enough supplies to feed the Watch for a year, and brought hundreds of recruits. He has effectively turned the Night's Watch into a Stark vanguard."
"I see," Tyrion nodded. "Iron and sweetness. Methodical."
"No," Tywin retorted. "The Watch still claims neutrality. But those sixty thousand wildlings are now living in the Gift. If the Starks absorb them, they will have an army that can drown the West in blood. Janos Slynt is a useless tool. He cannot stop it. But you... you are smart."
Tyrion let out an exaggerated gasp. "So you plan to 'legitimately' throw me to the Wall to handle your Wildling problem? I truly am a dung-covered pawn."
"I will give you three hundred soldiers loyal to Lannister," Tywin said. "They will take the Black with you. I will arrange for the Redwyne Fleet to send enough supplies to the Watch to make you a hero in their eyes. You will cultivate influence. You will ensure those wildlings never march south."
Tyrion squinted, considering the board. "The Wall is Stark territory. Going there is a death sentence. And Eddard Karstark isn't stupid; he's likely already settling the able-bodied ones in the North or the Riverlands."
"Winter is coming," Tywin ignored the objection. "Karstark cannot feed them all. The ones left behind are your opening. As for the Starks... even a boy like Bran understands the laws of the Night's Watch. You will be untouchable once you wear the black."
Tyrion leaned back. "And what of the peace? I negotiated the prisoner exchange. To get Tarly back, we have to give the North grain."
"I will delay the exchange for 'various reasons'," Tywin said coldly. "Once you plead guilty tomorrow, I will marry Tommen to Margaery and send them both to Casterly Rock. A King cannot be raised in this city of scheming women. I will order Tarly to feign an attack on Harrenhal to tie up the Blackfish, while Loras and Daven attack the Golden Tooth. We will reclaim our gateway."
"And Stannis?" Tyrion asked.
"Littlefinger," Tywin's eyes turned murderous. "Reports suggest he had a hand in Joffrey's death. I've sent him an ultimatum: return to prove his innocence, or bring the Knights of the Vale to fight Stannis. He is a smart man. He knows the Vale will choose the Throne over a step-father."
Tywin stood up, looming over his son. "You have your answers. Now give me mine."
"I will plead guilty, Father," Tyrion said, spreading his hands. "The Old Bear once said the Watch needs smart men. It seems he was right."
"Good. I will arrange your departure immediately after the trial."
Tywin turned and left. Tyrion followed him to the threshold and saw Podrick Payne pinned to the ground by Ilyn Payne, the silver greatsword resting on the boy's neck.
"Podrick is the most loyal squire I've ever seen," Tyrion said quickly, seeing the lethal intent in his father's eyes. "I need him."
Tywin's gaze flickered. "Loyalty should be rewarded. Podrick Payne, tomorrow you shall be knighted. But when Tyrion goes North, you will 'voluntarily' take the Black with him. Do you understand?"
Podrick, terrified and weeping, stammered, "Y-yes, My Lord. I promise."
"Hmm." Tywin walked away, the silent executioner at his heels.
Tyrion looked at his shaking squire and managed a sad smile. "Well, Ser Podrick. It looks like we're going to find out if it really is as cold as they say."
[System Notification: Narrative Pivot: The Exile's Gambit.]
[Status: Tyrion Lannister joining the Night's Watch (Lannister Contingent).]
[Strategic State: Tywin's Counter-offensive against the North initiated.]