Chapter 142 — Tywin's Thunderous Response
The Hand's solar in the Tower of the Hand blazed with candlelight deep into the night.
Tywin Lannister sat behind his desk, three separate reports spread out before him.
One detailed the latest assessment of the Crown's debt—the figures were still catastrophic.
Another, sent by Kevan Lannister, outlined preparations for Tyrion Lannister's trial, listing no fewer than five witnesses and their testimonies.
The third came from Varys, containing an unusually thorough report on the movements of the Redwyne fleet.
But at this moment, all three reports had been pushed aside.
Tywin's attention rested on the man who had just burst into the chamber.
Addam Marbrand, commander of the City Watch, still wore his armor. Sweat soaked his brow, and a fresh cut stretched across his right cheek—as though struck by a stone or some thrown object.
"My lord," Addam said urgently, breathing hard. "Flea Bottom… is out of control."
"About an hour ago, a group of smallfolk tried to break through one of the barricades. They claimed they needed medicine. The guards stopped them according to protocol, but there was pushing… then someone threw stones. Three of our men were injured."
"After that, the situation escalated. More people poured out from deeper inside Flea Bottom. They didn't look like a random mob, my lord. They were carrying torches, shouting slogans…"
His throat tightened.
"They're advancing on the barricades in organized groups now. The men are struggling to hold them back."
Silence settled over the room.
Only the crackling of candle flames could be heard.
After a moment, Tywin tapped the desk lightly. There was not the slightest trace of surprise in his green eyes.
Instead, he asked calmly:
"How many?"
"At least three thousand. Possibly more." Addam swallowed hard. "And the numbers are still growing."
He hesitated, not daring to continue.
Tywin merely nodded.
He reached for the silver bell at the corner of the desk and gave it a soft ring.
The door opened immediately, and a servant entered without a sound.
"Wine," Tywin ordered. "Two cups. Ser Addam appears thirsty."
The servant bowed and withdrew.
Moments later, he returned carrying a silver tray.
Upon it rested two silver goblets filled with dark red wine—thirty-year vintage from the cellars of Casterly Rock.
Addam accepted one of the goblets with trembling hands, spilling a little wine over the rim.
Tywin raised his own cup and took a slow sip.
Then, in a thoughtful tone, he said:
"So… Odin has returned after all."
Candlelight flickered in his eyes like two cold flames.
Addam hesitated before nodding carefully.
"It appears so, my lord. Several soldiers reported seeing a man at the front of the crowd who resembled Odin. We cannot confirm it yet, but…"
He paused.
"And the mob is shouting the same slogans everywhere."
"We don't want the Lannisters."
"We want the Black Hand."
"And…"
His expression turned grim.
"'We want Odin.'"
Chapter 142 — Tywin's Thunderous Response
As he spoke, Addam Marbrand's expression darkened further. He shook his head uneasily.
"Though… it's possible someone is impersonating him. Or the soldiers were mistaken. According to the earlier reports, he should already be dead at sea."
"No."
Tywin Lannister's voice was absolute, his gaze sharpening into something cold and ruthless.
"He is not dead."
"A man who escaped Roose Bolton alive… a man who built an underground kingdom beneath King's Landing while everyone watched…"
"He would not die so easily in the sea."
Tywin looked directly at Addam.
"Have your men seen him leave Flea Bottom?"
"Not yet."
Addam hesitated before answering.
"All exits are still under blockade. At least, in theory. But with the level of chaos right now…"
He shook his head grimly.
"If he truly is hiding among the crowd, slipping out during the confusion wouldn't be impossible."
Tywin fell silent.
His eyes drifted past Addam toward the enormous map hanging upon the wall of the solar—a detailed map of all Westeros, stretching from the Wall to the deserts of Dorne.
At the location of King's Landing, there was a small circle marked in red ink.
Flea Bottom.
A place he had ignored for years.
A place he had considered unworthy of anything beyond the minimum amount of order maintained at the lowest possible cost.
And now—
it was burning.
After a long moment, Tywin withdrew his gaze.
"Ser Addam," he said coldly, "how many City Watch men are stationed in and around Flea Bottom?"
"Roughly four hundred. Spread across six major checkpoints and twelve patrol stations."
"Not enough."
Tywin shook his head, his tone turning decisive.
"Mobilize more."
"Pull two thousand men from the City Watch. I will dispatch another five hundred Lannister guardsmen from the household troops."
"Send all of them into Flea Bottom."
Addam froze.
"So many?" he blurted out. "My lord… that's enough men to wage a war."
"Carry out the order."
Tywin interrupted him calmly, though every word struck like an iron nail hammered into wood.
"Before dawn, I want every exit from Flea Bottom sealed."
"Every alley. Every passage large enough for a man to crawl through."
"No matter the method, I want Flea Bottom turned into an island."
"But my lord…"
For perhaps the first time in years, Addam Marbrand openly hesitated before Tywin.
He swallowed hard.
"That will provoke even greater resistance."
"The smallfolk only want food and medicine right now. If we surround them with soldiers and trap them inside, they'll fight like desperate animals."
"Then it won't just be three thousand rioters."
"The entire district may rise."
Tywin stared at him for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he asked:
"Ser Addam… what year were you born?"
Addam blinked in confusion.
"261 AC, my lord. I'm five years older than Jaime Lannister."
"How quickly time passes."
Tywin's voice carried an almost reflective calm.
"You're nearly forty now."
"I still remember when your father sent you to Casterly Rock to serve as my squire. You were only a boy then."
He paused.
"Did your father—Lord Damon Marbrand—ever tell you what happened in the Westerlands the year you were born?"
Addam's face changed instantly.
Of course he knew.
Every noble in the Westerlands knew.
"Castamere…" he muttered quietly.
"Correct."
Tywin walked toward the hearth, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the flames dance.
"Castamere."
"When I was eighteen, two houses in the Westerlands decided House Lannister had grown weak."
"House Reyne and House Tarbeck."
"They owed enormous debts to Casterly Rock. When I came to collect payment, Lord Reyne laughed in my face and said…"
Tywin's voice echoed quietly through the solar.
'The lion is not the only beast in the west. We, too, have claws—and ours are sharp.'
"They raised banners against us and broke their oaths."
"My father, Tytos Lannister, wanted reconciliation. Negotiation. Peace."
"He even attended a 'feast of reconciliation' at Castamere itself. Gifts were exchanged. Toasts were made. Oaths of eternal loyalty sworn."
Tywin turned slowly toward Addam.
"Do you know how long that reconciliation lasted?"
Addam shook his head.
"Less than a year."
"Because the Reynes and Tarbecks never intended peace. They merely wanted time—to gather more troops and strengthen their alliance."
"The situation then was far more dangerous than this. The Reynes had ruled the western hills for centuries. Their fortress was strong, their coffers full, their soldiers disciplined."
"And my father hesitated."
"The other western lords watched carefully, wondering whether House Lannister still possessed the strength to crush rebellion."
Tywin returned to the desk and placed both hands upon it.
"So I did three things."
"First—I refused to negotiate."
"Negotiation is the choice of the weak. To negotiate is to admit your enemy deserves to stand as your equal."
"They did not."
"Second—I struck the weaker house first. House Tarbeck."
His voice remained calm.
Almost detached.
"I descended upon Tarbeck Hall before they could gather their bannermen."
"Lord Walderan Tarbeck believed I intended to ransom him after his capture."
Tywin gave a cold smile.
"I asked him whether he intended to use Lannister gold to purchase his own freedom."
"Then I killed him."
"I killed his sons."
"I killed every man carrying the Tarbeck name."
"I killed every soldier bearing their sigil."
"I mounted their heads upon spears and marched them before Lady Tarbeck herself."
"She barred the gates and boasted that her walls were impregnable."
"My siege engines were assembled within a day."
"One stone shattered the keep."
"She and her son died buried beneath the rubble."
"And then…"
Tywin paused briefly.
"I burned Tarbeck Hall."
"The fire burned for an entire day and night."
"When it ended, nothing remained except blackened stone."
Addam swallowed hard and took another drink of wine.
The solar had become so silent that he could hear his own heartbeat.
Tywin continued.
"While I destroyed the Tarbecks, the Reynes marched day and night to aid them."
"But they arrived too late."
"They saw only flames."
"Roger Reyne charged my camp with two thousand men. I had three times that number—and the advantage of preparation."
"One battle ended it."
"A crossbow bolt pierced his backplate. He managed to ride half a league before collapsing."
"His men carried him back to Castamere."
Tywin's eyes hardened.
"Castamere was… a special castle."
"Nine-tenths of it lay underground, carved into the mines themselves."
"The Reynes retreated below, believing themselves untouchable."
"So I did the third thing."
He raised his head slowly.
His pale green eyes glimmered like frozen steel beneath the candlelight.
"I sealed every entrance to the mines."
"With stone. Mud. Timber. Anything we could find."
"I sealed them so tightly not even a squirrel could crawl free."
"Then I built dams."
"For two days, we diverted the streams into the mine entrances."
"More than three hundred Reynes drowned beneath Castamere."
"Not one came back out."
Tywin's voice grew colder.
"After that, no house in the Westerlands ever openly defied the Lannisters again."
"Not because they loved us."
"But because they feared us."
"They learned a simple truth."
"When you challenge House Lannister…"
"There is no negotiation."
"There is no second chance."
Silence followed.
Sweat slid slowly down Addam's spine.
Every man in the Westerlands knew the song of Castamere.
And every man feared it.
Tywin sat once more.
"Now," he said calmly, "there are three thousand people in Flea Bottom. Perhaps more."
"They carry torches. They shout slogans. They attack my soldiers."
He leaned back slightly.
"What would you have me do, Ser Addam?"
"Negotiate?"
"Grant their demands?"
"And wait for tomorrow… and the next day… and the day after that… until more mobs rise with more demands?"
He let out a cold laugh.
"No."
"Rebellion is like plague."
"You cut out the infection the moment the first symptom appears."
"And you do so thoroughly."
"But my lord…"
Addam lowered his head, still struggling to argue.
"Flea Bottom is not Castamere."
"It's part of King's Landing."
"There are tens of thousands of innocent people there. It's their home."
"We can't trap them inside, drive them to desperation, and expect them to do nothing…"
"Innocent?"
For the first time, visible frost entered Tywin's expression.
"When the first man raised a torch…"
"When the second followed…"
"When the third began shouting…"
"They all made their choice."
"They chose to stand against House Lannister."
Tywin returned to the desk and picked up his quill.
He wrote swiftly across a sheet of parchment.
Then he stamped it with the Hand's seal and handed it to Addam.
"This is the formal order."
"Seal Flea Bottom under military lockdown."
"At every checkpoint, heralds are to read the proclamation aloud so all may hear it."
Addam accepted the parchment.
It felt strangely heavy in his hands.
The wording was brief and merciless:
By order of Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, Flea Bottom is hereby placed under military control. Any armed assault upon checkpoints, acts of arson, or attacks against soldiers shall be punished by immediate execution. All civilians are ordered to return to their homes and forbidden from gathering in groups. Violators shall be treated as rebels against the Crown.
"And one more thing," Tywin added.
"Position archers and crossbowmen on the rooftops."
"Let the smallfolk see them clearly."
"Fear may still persuade them to retreat."
Addam hesitated.
"And if… they continue advancing?"
Tywin looked up.
In his green eyes burned absolute certainty.
Certainty that he was right.
Certainty that his methods were the only methods that worked in a brutal world.
"Then let them advance," he said coldly.
"And let them discover whether flesh can truly overcome steel."
"But if we slaughter civilians inside the capital…" Addam asked quietly. "What will the Seven Kingdoms think?"
Tywin tilted his head slightly, as though hearing a child ask something foolish.
"What do you think the Seven Kingdoms are concerned with right now?"
"The North is consumed by civil war. The Boltons still struggle against Stark loyalists."
"The Riverlands are ruins."
"House Tully exists in name alone."
"The Stormlands are leaderless."
"The Vale hides behind its mountains."
"And Highgarden…"
Tywin gave another cold laugh.
"The Tyrells are too busy marrying their daughter to Tommen Baratheon so the girl may remain queen."
He leaned forward, palms pressed against the desk.
"No one will care how many smallfolk die in Flea Bottom."
"They care about one thing only."
"Whether Tywin Lannister can maintain absolute control over King's Landing… after yet another king has died."
"If I show weakness…"
"If I hesitate…"
"If I allow mobs to rampage through the streets of the capital…"
"Then tomorrow, another 'Odin' will appear in another city."
"The day after, bannermen will begin questioning the authority of the Iron Throne."
"And soon after that…"
"This kingdom—barely stitched back together as it is—will split apart once again."
Addam said nothing.
He knew Tywin was right.
In the game of power, weakness meant death.
But he still could not accept it.
He was commander of the City Watch.
His duty was to protect King's Landing.
Even Flea Bottom.
Even the poor.
Even the filthy and troublesome.
To unleash soldiers upon civilians on such a scale…
It violated everything a knight was supposed to stand for.
Tywin studied Addam's hesitation for a long time.
Then he spoke again, his voice suddenly colder.
"Ser Addam."
"Your father is among my most trusted bannermen."
"He sent you to me so you might grow stronger… so you might one day bear greater responsibility."
"Do not disappoint me."
"And do not disappoint your father."
A chill shot through Addam instantly.
Tywin's tone remained calm, but the meaning beneath it was unmistakable.
Remember who gave you everything.
Addam drew a slow breath, straightened his back, and slammed his fist against his chest.
"As you command, my lord!"
Then he turned and strode from the room without another word.
The door closed.
Tywin set down his quill and leaned back into his chair, eyes half-closed in thought.
Joffrey Baratheon was dead.
Tyrion Lannister awaited trial in the dungeons.
Cersei Lannister descended further into madness by the day.
Tommen Baratheon was still a child—though at least more obedient than Joffrey had ever been.
Margery Tyrell and Olenna Tyrell prowled through the Red Keep searching for opportunities.
The Redwyne fleet had rebelled.
The Crown drowned in debt.
The North, the Riverlands, Dragonstone—
Problems everywhere.
But none of it mattered.
As long as he remained in King's Landing…
As long as he remained Hand of the King…
Westeros was still under control.
Tywin opened his eyes and looked once more toward the red circle upon the map.
He remembered the first time he heard the name.
A peasant from the Riverlands.
A healer who had treated Jaime's wounds.
A man who had obtained safe passage from Roose Bolton.
At first, Tywin had seen him merely as a useful tool.
Intelligent.
Skilled in medicine.
Influential among the lower classes.
Useful for unpleasant work.
So Tywin had given him an opportunity.
A hand working in darkness.
And Odin had performed exceptionally well.
Too well.
He cleaned up Flea Bottom.
Built order.
Destroyed rivals.
Handled problems like Gyles Rosby.
But afterward…
His influence grew too quickly.
Too far beyond control.
Now thousands marched through the streets carrying torches in his name.
Tywin rose and walked to the window.
From the high tower of the Hand, nearly half of King's Landing could be seen.
The night sky glowed faintly orange-red.
Not dawn.
Torches.
Thousands of them.
Flea Bottom looked as though it were burning.
Tywin watched silently for a long time.
Then he returned to the desk and rang the silver bell once more.
The servant appeared immediately.
"Go to the Red Keep dungeons."
"Bring me the Dothraki."
"Separate him from the others and hold him until I give the order."
"Yes, my lord."
The servant withdrew.
Tywin sat once more behind his desk and closed his eyes.
Now all that remained was to wait.
Wait for Addam to carry out his orders.
Wait for the troops to gather.
Wait for the flames in Flea Bottom to be extinguished.
There was no other possible outcome.
Because he was Tywin Lannister.
And a Lannister always paid his debts.