Chương 18: Chapter 16: The Rains of Castamere
"On your feet, old fool!" a gaoler barked at the prisoner who was lying down on the broken cot in his cell.
"Yeah, the old lion is finally up, you get your trial as you wished," the other gaoler snarked as he pulled the broken old man up by his shoulder.
As the old man stood up, he glanced at the two gaolers with a melancholy smile and nodded. The three men silently made their way forward to the throne room of the Red Keep. All this time, during the entire way forward, the small folk and the servants who noticed the old man on the way to his trial became silent, and bowed their heads.
The gaolers if they noticed it, paid no heed. It was too risky to chastise the viewers or force them back. In the aftermath of Jaime Lannister's murder, spontaneous celebrations had sprung up all over the city of Kings Landing. The memories of the Lannister sack of the city were still raw and fresh. All the people who had suffered under the sack had taken vicious pleasure in publicly celebrating the death of the treasured son of the old lion of the west. Thanking the gods for justice, for fairness, they had taken enormous pains to ensure that all the members of the Westerlands who were present in the city witnessed these celebrations.
These had predictably inflamed the passions of the men of the West, who had lashed out harshly, wanting to put the small folk scum in their place. Many small-scale riots and scuffles had broken out between the Lannister Army soldiers and the small folk, and the gold cloaks were stretched to the breaking point in keeping the peace.
Realizing the dangers, Robert Baratheon had forced the Lannister army to move to Bitterbridge as soon as Tywin had regained consciousness, to maintain peace in the city. Thankfully, this occurred before a serious tragedy could transpire. However, the departure of the Lannister army was not without its own drama. As the men of the west began to set out, the people of the city who had come out to watch began to jeer and heckle the men, and shout out thanks to the heavens for the death of Jaime Lannister and wishes for the defeat of the said army.
It was a credit and testament to the discipline instilled in the army by Tygett Lannister, that the soldiers maintained their composure and walked out peacefully, even though their faces were blackened with rage.
Six days after the murder of Jaime Lannister, when Pycelle confirmed that Tywin was well enough to handle the day to day rigors of work, Robert immediately ordered the trial to take place.
Inside the throne room, all the nobles and leaders of the Rebellion gathered to witness this occasion. Present were Robert Baratheon, the King, Hoster Tully, the acting Hand of the King, Gyles Rosby, the Master of Coin, Varys, the Master of Whispers, as well as the leaders of the Northern and the Vale armies.
Separately from the rest, the contingent of the Westerlands led by Tywin Lannister stood. The very air around them was physically stifling, and their murderous intent could be sensed by everyone present in the room.
Soon, the herald announced the arrival of the prisoner, and an uneasy silence fell upon the hall. As everyone watched, with shackles binding his feet and manacles binding his hands, the prisoner awkwardly shuffled inside, being escorted by two gaolers from the black cells.
As they walked in, Tywin almost made to move, before he forcibly composed himself. The last few days had taken their toll on the former Hand of Aerys Targaryen. He seemed to have aged nearly ten years, even though he was just reaching 50 years of age.
As soon as the prisoner walked in, his eyes met that of Tywin's. For an instant, it appeared as if the world froze and averted its sight at the brilliance of two suns blazing in full strength and coming in front of each other. It was impossible to say which face showed more hatred for the other. It was a small consolation that Cersei Lannister had been packed off to Casterly Rock by force by her father. The young woman had become completely unhinged after the death of her twin, and had required constant sedation to keep her temper and rage under control. For her own safety, and that of everyone around her, she had been sent away, a scant comfort in the heat of the things.
As the prisoner walked in, and stood defiantly in the middle of the court, Robert Baratheon looked at the prisoner in detail for the first time. Old, and nearly seventy years of age, his wiry frame was indicative of the strength he had in his arms, with matted hair, and steel grey eyes, which had a sharp intelligence to them. There was more to this man than appeared.
With the absence of a Master of Laws, as Robert had not seen fit to appoint a replacement to the previous holder of the office, who had been burned alive by the Mad King, Hoster Tully took it upon himself to conduct the proceedings.
"You are Tybald, one of the gardeners of the Red Keep, are you not?"
The prisoner just nodded once in assent, his eyes never leaving Tywin as an unease spread throughout the hall.
"You are accused of the murder of Ser Jaime Lannister, anointed knight of the Kingsguard, son of Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West. You were observed by multiple witnesses committing the crime, and captured at the spot, with the weapon still in your hands. What say you to these charges?" Hoster groused, as he looked at the man in distaste.
The prisoner became still and then looked up at the ceiling. After a few moments, his voice was heard by all. A rather soft, and melodious tilt to it, and everyone jerked back to realize that he was singing a song, a very famous song at that.
One night, I hold on you
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, you
Castamere, Castamere, Castamere, Castamere
A coat of gold, a coat of red
A lion still has claws
And mine are long and sharp, my Lord
As long and sharp as yours
And so he spoke, and so he spoke
That Lord of Castamere
And now the rains weep o'er his halls
With no one there to hear
Yes, now the rains weep o'er his halls
And not a soul to hear
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
A deadly silence befell the hall, as everyone looked at the old man in shock, outraged at the audacity he had displayed in openly mocking Tywin Lannister by singing the very song that had immortalized the old lion throughout the world, at his son's murder trial.
"How much further does he intend to mock me?" Tywin whispered, trembling in a black rage, while Lord Brax, his closest attendant restrained him.
"Peace, My Lord, the King will not tolerate any interruptions, let the wretch explain himself. You will have justice, even the stag will not dare deny it to you!"
After a herculean effort, Tywin composed himself and continued to glare at the murderer of his son.
"What is the meaning of this?" Robert growled, his face contorted into a rictus of rage, while everyone in the throne room stiffened further.
"I explained my reasons, and motives for the murder, Your Grace," the old prisoner replied in a calm tone, while whispers broke out in the room.
With a glare, Hoster silenced the spectators and called out, "Explained! How?"
With a sigh, as if chiding a dull-witted student, the prisoner, Tybald, continued, "In the areas flooded by rain, where nothing seems to remain, there shall always be new life striving to grow. In those places, seeds old and new will bloom again," he finished, while most were taken aback.
Hoster was the first to get it. His face blanched, as he looked at the old man with absolute shock, "You! It cannot be! You people are still…," he began to speak before he cast a worried glance at Tywin, who was still trying to understand the meaning behind those words.
"What is going on, Hoster?" Robert asked impatiently, while the crowd began to show hints of restlessness.
"It is as he says, Your Grace," Hoster sighed, preparing himself for the fallout. "He has clearly explained his motive for killing Jaime Lannister by singing the Rains of Castamere."
"Rains of …" Robert began before jerking back on the Iron throne in shock. He muttered a silent curse as one of the blades pricked him as he moved, but his eyes were unswervingly on the prisoner.
"Rain. You are a Reyne of Castamere!" the King wondered in shock.
The result of this announcement was nothing short of apocalyptic. The throne room burst out into furious shouts of claims and counterclaims, and denials, while Tywin of all people, had gone as pale as a ghost and collapsed on his chair, with his face becoming listless, as he stared at the now revealed Tybald Reyne in complete horror.
"There are no Reyne's left! And I most certainly do not recall of your name amongst the members of House Reyne! I am certainly old enough to remember them!" Hoster insisted, as he stared at Tybald Reyne in a mixture of shock and curiosity, while throwing furtive glances at Tywin, and cursing himself for not anticipating this possibility.
"No, there are, Tully," Tybald spoke curtly, "Did all those rotten fish you eat in that shithole of your homelands addle your brains!?" the prisoner asked harshly, while roars of condemnation and outrage poured at the audacity of the prisoner from the spectators.
Ignoring the outraged look of the acting hand, Tybald continued, "I am a Reyne by blood, not by name! I am the bastard brother of Robert Reyne, who was the father of the Red Lion, Roger Reyne!"
A hush fell upon the room, as everyone digested the fact that a self-proclaimed bastard, the lowest of low in the rigid societal hierarchy of Westeros, had managed to slay the heir of the most powerful Lord in Westeros.
"A bastard!? And you dared to kill my son!?" Tywin whispered, his fists clenched, his voice tremulous as he gazed at the man who had killed his son.
"Yes, Tywin, a bastard! A bastard, a being, whom you so eloquently term as sheep, as nobodies, as not worth considering, and he ... is the one who has laid your house low! Did you really think that just because you wiped out those who were in the castle of Castamere, you had quashed your enemies? Did it not even occur to you, you pride-addled fool, that those who died in the castle would have their own loved one's and families and friends spread all over the world, and that they would seek their revenge in the future? Did you really think that no one would dare to strike at you, just because you are a fucking Lannister? That no one would dare to shed your golden blood; you misbegotten son of a swine!? Are you really that arrogant? Are you that much of a fool?" he all but shouted, while the throne room had fallen deathly silent.
All were watching the bastard of House Reyne, with unmitigated horror and fear, while Tywin staggered as if someone had physically struck him with a hammer.
"In the end, Lannister," Tybald growled harshly, and with savage delight adorning his eyes, "You too are just a man, and you too can be hurt, you too can be made to bleed, and brought low! Lannister's are not invincible, and you most assuredly are not the only one's who pay their debts! There are many others of the same mind, and drive! All we had to do was look around, and there was an ocean's worth of people who had been wronged by you, waiting to get their revenge on your house ready to assist us!"
Tywin was staring in disbelief at the man, each of the words uttered piercing his very soul like a burning lance, bringing back old wounds, long forgotten back to the front.
"Assist?" Hoster caught on to that word quickly.
"So, there is a third party behind this all!" he exclaimed, "Of course, a nobody like you would not dare attempt such a thing without a powerful backer! Who is it? Who is the hand that wields you as a blade?" the acting hand asked with a cold tone, while Tybald proudly straightened his back and after looking at the room, replied.
"Don't soil your underwear, Tully! Of course, there is someone behind me!" he exclaimed at which the throne room became silent, while Tywin hardened his eyes.
"The remnants of House Reyne are few, and are descended out of bastards, yes, but we still owe our loyalty to our house! We were waiting and biding our time, when our patron discovered us and approached us! He was the one who devised this plan, the one who granted us the means and the resources to carry it out! All that required was for one person to sacrifice his life in the attempt to strike the blow against Tywin, and in return House Reyne would rise to prominence once again!"
"WHO? WHO IS IT, YOU WRETCH? WHO DARES TO STRIKE AGAINST ME?" Tywin roared, finally losing his composure after receiving one shock too many, while his men physically restrained him from assaulting Tybald.
"Dorne!" was the thunderous reply which shocked the room into silence, "Prince Quentyn Martell of Dorne! The greatest mind to have been born in this world in the last thousand years! The invincible Prince of Dorne is the one who has set his sights on destroying you, you conscienceless motherfucker!" Tybald roared back at Tywin, who just stopped flat in his tracks, as if he had been struck dead.
He was not the only one. The whole throne room had become silent as a grave, as the bastard of Reyne revealed the guiding hand behind the strike against the Lannister's.
"Just as the Manderly's of the Reach moved to the North, and became the stalwart vassals of Stark, so too will the resurgent House Reyne move from the West to Dorne, and serve the Martell's as the defenders of the Marches! We are now the Reyne's of Starpike! For my deed, my house's future is assured, and we shall become the sworn bannermen of House Martell!" Tybald roared out in defiance and laughed heartily, as the throne room descended into chaos.
Amongst all the spectators, apart from Tywin, none was more shocked than Robert Baratheon. Hoster looked close to having an aneurysm, while the small council were looking kittenish. All except Pycelle and Varys, who were hastily re-evaluating everything they knew about the young boy-prince of Dorne.
"Did you really think that you could order the rape and murder of a Princess of Dorne and her children and expect no repercussions, you fucking idiot?" the question cut sharper than Valyrian steel with the intensity and the impact with which it hit everyone.
"All you fools in the small council, are you fucking idiots lacking any basic common sense? What in the name of the seven gods made you think that after all that has been said and done, that Dorne would simply accept what you dictated and surrender without a whimper? And you, Tywin, did you really think there would no be repercussions to your family personally? If you take the life of a Martell, what made you think that the Martell's would not take the life of a Lannister in response? Are you so arrogant, that your sense of self-worth transcends basic common sense?"
As the verbal lashing continued Tywin Lannister began to colour up, and his body began to shake uncontrollably, so much so, that it caused genuine alarm in his followers and forced Pycelle to run to his aid.
Robert Baratheon was red-faced, and was squirming in the throne room, sorely regretting allowing the trial to be public. He could not silence the spectators and the Martell's were gaining a fantastic coup of having pulled one over the Rebellion being proclaimed widely to the world all over.
"Listen to me, Tywin, and take the measure of the man whose ire you have earned!" Tybald called out, and Tywin turned to look at him with pure murder writ on his face.
"Quentyn Martell is the most brilliant mind to have born in this world, and I do not make this claim lightly. And your son is not the first Lannister to die by his command, and he will not be the last!" he announced and a bombshell it was, as the crowd again broke into an uproar.
Unheeding of the uproar, Tybald continued knowing that sooner or later he would be silenced, "Did you really think that your brother Kevan died of a riding accident?" he asked with a cruel smirk as the crowd again reeled at another unknown revelation.
Kevan Lannister's death had been announced as a riding accident to preserve morale by the small council, but it would seem, it was going to be short-lived. Of course Tywin knew the truth, but by phrasing it as a question in public, Tybald had struck a deathly blow to the reputation of House Lannister.
"Quentyn's schemes are not that easy for one with a limited mind, such as you, to grasp! By killing your brother, he is forcing you to choose between protecting the West from the Ironborn or taking revenge against the murder of your son! If you choose revenge, you would abandon your entire Kingdom to the Ironborn's depredations, and after such a move, how long do you think it will be before they seek a new Lord? But if you choose to save the West, that would mean you have admitted in front of the entire world that you are not capable of standing up to the Martell's and are running away with your tail tucked behind your legs!" he chuckled heartily while everyone turned to look at the old lion.
Whispers began to permeate throughout the room, while Robert and Hoster began to get irritated. They had finally realized that Quentyn Martell was using this man as a sacrificial mouthpiece to trumpet his own achievements and demoralize his enemies, namely them. Unfortunately for them, it was working, and they could not stop the trial in-between, as it would send the message that they feared what Quentyn was trying to convey through this man. It was a vexing thought.
Tywin was going through so many emotions at the moment, that it was hard for him to focus. A blinding hatred had erupted in his heart, as the machinations of the one's who sought to lay him low were laid bare.
"Of course, this is but one of the smallest of his ploys! It is an easy thing for him to get rid of your house anytime, but he does not want it," Tybald finished with a flourish. "As he has shown, the reach of the serpents of Dorne is long and their bite is deep! It is but a small matter for his assassins to slip into Casterly Rock and poison the food supplies of your people and the entirety of House Lannister will end up dead in a trice! But he does not want that! NO, TYWIN! Your suffering will be legendary! Quentyn will take everything that you treasure and trample it to dust in front of you, while you will not be able to do a damn thing to stop him! You seek a legacy of a thousand years! You fool yourself, Quentyn will be the one who will now decide the legacy of your house! He will take everything you cherish, destroy it and trample it to the ground, and you will be forced to watch, helplessly, unable to do a damn thing! You will beg for the mercy of death, but it will not be granted to you! You will die only when Quentyn Martell decides it is time for you to die! In the end, history will remember you as the arrogant fool who led his house to absolute destruction, one weaker than his father …," at that moment, Tywin gave an absolutely horrendous screech and pushed his men aside and ran towards Tybald.
He pulled out a dagger and stabbed the man, repeatedly, dozens of times, then hundreds of times, screaming incoherently, but in all this, before his last moments, Tybald Reyne noticed Tywin's eyes. At the beginning Tybald tried to fend off Tywin, but his shackles coupled with his old age sapped him of the required strength. Heedless, Tywin writhed and flailed stabbing him relentlessly with tears streaming from his eyes. Despite the pain, Tybald recognized them as tears of defeat, and content that he had avenged his dead kin, he closed his eyes forever.
Incoherently, Tywin kept on stabbing the corpse, screaming, "I AM NOT WEAK! I WILL RAZE DORNE TO THE GROUND! EVEN IF I HAVE TO SLAUGHTER EVERY MAN, WOMAN AND CHILD IN THAT CURSED LAND! EVEN IF I HAVE TO SLAUGHTER MILLIONS AND MY NAME IS REVILED THROUGHOUT HISTORY! YOU HEAR ME REYNE! THIS IS NOT OVER! THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING! TYWIN LANNISTER WILL NOT BE BROUGHT LOW BY THIS DEBAUCHED STRIPLING DESCENDED OF WHORES AND WEAKLINGS!"
"He doesn't need to! He already has brought you low! Look at yourself!" a voice full of scorn fell upon his ears even as he was dragged away, from what could only be generously described as a piece of meat, and not a corpse.
Tywin whirled around, only to see Hoster Tully pulling him away, with a look of disgust adorning his face, even as he noticed the entire throne room looking at him in absolute shock. At that moment, Tywin realized, that by forcing him to this state in open view, Quentyn Martell had already won against him in the court of public opinion. As he lowered his head in shame, hating himself for displaying such weakness in front of the world in such an irrevocable fashion, he steadfastly ignored the mocking laughter of Aerys Targaryen assailing him from the depths of his memories.
Author's note:
Before any of you complain, how Quentyn set up the Reyne's to kill Jaime will be explained in the next chapter. An interlude depicting the remnants of House Reyne.
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