Chapter 145 — One Man Roasting Five at Once!
A deathly silence filled the chamber.
Prince Oberyn Martell's words had struck with terrifying precision.
He had questioned not only Tywin Lannister's memory, but the credibility of House Lannister itself.
And at the end, he had even casually proposed a replacement.
Naturally, nobody took seriously his suggestion that Tywin step down so Oberyn could become Hand of the King.
Everyone knew the man was brilliant—
But utterly incapable of ruling anything without causing chaos.
Back in Dorne, he had once slept with the mistress of old Lord Yronwood. When the affair was discovered, Oberyn had poisoned his blade during their duel and killed the man dishonorably.
The scandal nearly shattered relations between House Martell and House Yronwood.
To avoid trial, Oberyn had fled across the Narrow Sea to Essos.
In the end, Prince Doran Martell personally cleaned up the disaster, even sending his own son, Quentyn Martell, to foster with House Yronwood to mend relations.
What competent lord behaved like that?
Still—
Though nobody trusted Oberyn to govern a realm, he had successfully challenged Tywin's ability to rule one.
And if those words spread outside this chamber—
If the great houses heard them—
Who knew what chaos might follow?
After all, even Tywin Lannister would grow old one day.
History was full of rulers who had been brilliant in youth and disastrous in age.
Nobody at the table dared speak.
Mace Tyrell's face had turned the color of liver. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, only for Tywin to silence him with a single glance.
Tywin himself remained expressionless.
Slowly, he separated his folded hands.
His right hand rested lightly atop the documents on the table.
His left settled against the armrest.
The tiny movement instantly told everyone present—
The Hand was about to speak.
But Oberyn continued talking anyway, never giving him the chance.
"Oh, right!"
The Red Viper suddenly slapped his forehead dramatically, as though remembering something important.
"My paramour, Ellaria, happened to pass through the Street of Flour this morning. Guess what she saw?"
He paused deliberately, eyes sweeping across the council chamber.
Then a wicked grin spread across his face.
"Thousands. Thousands of fully armed Gold Cloaks surrounding Flea Bottom from every direction."
He clicked his tongue theatrically.
"The sight was magnificent. Anyone ignorant of the truth might've thought King's Landing was preparing to storm Storm's End."
A few people shifted uncomfortably.
Oberyn snorted with laughter and deliberately glanced toward Mace Tyrell before shaking his head.
"It's hilarious, really."
"So many soldiers…"
"Just to deal with a bunch of starving peasants?"
"And they still can't suppress them?"
He leaned farther over the table again, smirking openly.
"With all due respect, Lord Tywin…"
"Are your Gold Cloaks made of paper?"
A few council members instinctively lowered their eyes.
Everyone had heard the disturbances in Flea Bottom last night.
Nobody dared mention it.
Because mentioning it meant questioning Tywin's authority.
But Oberyn had dragged the entire matter naked into the center of the room.
The stalemate in Flea Bottom was real.
The inability of the Gold Cloaks to crush it was also real.
And by mocking it openly before the Small Council, Oberyn was publicly tearing apart Tywin's image of absolute control.
Worse still—
He deliberately exaggerated the resistance, making it sound less like suppressing a riot and more like besieging an enemy fortress.
An enormous humiliation.
Unfortunately, Mace Tyrell still had absolutely no idea what was happening.
The Lord of Highgarden had only recently arrived in King's Landing and was desperately trying to prove his loyalty.
Hearing Oberyn insult Tywin, his instincts immediately screamed:
This is my chance.
Time to shine.
Seeing everyone else remain silent, Mace abruptly surged to his feet so quickly he nearly toppled his chair.
He pointed at Oberyn and exploded.
"Utter nonsense!"
"Complete and total rubbish!"
"Under Lord Tywin's rule, King's Landing is perfectly orderly! The kind of chaos you describe is impossible!"
He grew more excited with every word.
"And even if riots did occur, how could Lord Tywin possibly fail to suppress them after deploying so many men? Your claims are absurd!"
Then he turned toward Tywin and bowed deeply.
"My lord Hand, please do not listen to the slander of this Dornish madman!"
"House Tyrell stands firmly beside you. Under your leadership, King's Landing—and all Seven Kingdoms—shall surely enter an era of unprecedented peace and prosperity!"
Mace finished triumphantly, cheeks flushed red with passion.
But he failed to notice the reactions around him.
Kevan's mouth twitched slightly.
Grand Maester Pycelle suddenly became very interested in rearranging his scrolls.
And Varys…
The eunuch's bald head was already shiny enough.
Now that he'd lowered it beneath the sunlight, it practically gleamed like polished silver.
Even Tywin's expression darkened visibly.
Because Mace Tyrell had committed a fatal political mistake.
The stupidest thing in politics was not choosing the wrong side.
It was pretending obvious truths did not exist when everyone in the room already knew them.
Mace thought he was flattering Tywin.
Instead, he had publicly reminded everyone present that something disastrous truly was happening in Flea Bottom.
His flattery had landed squarely on the horse's leg.
"Please sit down, Lord Tyrell."
Tywin inhaled slowly.
His voice remained calm and controlled—
But anyone who knew him could hear the icy fury beneath it.
Mace froze.
Only now realizing the atmosphere was wrong.
He awkwardly opened and closed his mouth, still not entirely understanding why he had angered the Hand.
But under Tywin's murderous gaze, he finally sat back down.
His green silk robes wrinkled awkwardly in the process, the golden rose embroidered upon his chest seeming suddenly dimmer.
Having dealt with the fool, Tywin ignored him completely and returned his attention to Oberyn.
"There has indeed been some unrest in Flea Bottom."
At last, the Hand finally spoke.
His tone was utterly composed.
"A number of merchants attempted to hoard supplies and disrupt market order for personal gain. I have already ordered Ser Addam Marbrand to restore control."
"The Gold Cloaks were deployed to prevent the riots from spreading and to ensure the safety of the law-abiding citizens of King's Landing."
He paused.
His green eyes locked onto Oberyn.
"Before sunset today, peace will be fully restored."
The words carried absolute certainty.
That was Tywin Lannister's style.
Never deny the existence of a problem—
But always insist it was already under control.
The issue, however, was simple.
What if the problem wasn't solved by sunset?
Still, perhaps in Tywin's mind, suppressing a riot of commoners with nearly half the City Watch should have been effortless.
But hearing Tywin's answer only made Oberyn's smile widen further.
"Really?"
He dragged out the word lazily.
"Because I heard…"
His grin sharpened.
"…that the Gold Cloaks lost more than ten officers overnight."
"And that some of your brave men can't even afford breakfast anymore."
The chamber instantly erupted into shocked silence.
Tywin frowned, an extremely dangerous look flashing through his eyes.
More than ten officers dead?
The troops couldn't even afford breakfast?
What did that mean?
To say House Lannister had no money—
And to say it in front of the entire Small Council—
Was nothing less than a slap across Tywin Lannister's face.
A Lannister always paid his debts.
But more importantly—
A Lannister was never poor.
That belief was one of the foundations of the family's authority.
Yet moments later, Tywin realized there was a far more serious issue.
The Gold Cloaks hadn't eaten breakfast?
Impossible.
Just two days earlier, he had personally approved three thousand gold dragons from the royal treasury as a special fund for the Flea Bottom operation.
If what Oberyn Martell said was true, then dead officers meant the command structure was collapsing.
Starving soldiers meant morale was crumbling.
And if both were true—
Then the situation in Flea Bottom was no mere disturbance.
It was approaching total loss of control.
Worst of all…
As Hand of the King, Tywin knew absolutely nothing about it.
Because the messenger sent this morning by Ser Addam Marbrand had only reported "minor resistance" and "reinforced containment."
Nothing whatsoever about dead officers.
Nothing about hungry troops.
So was Addam hiding the truth—
Or had even Addam himself already lost control of his forces?
Suppressing the fury and suspicion boiling within him, Tywin maintained his outward calm.
Slowly, he turned his head.
His gaze cut across the table like a blade of ice.
"Lord Varys."
The Master of Whisperers finally lifted his head, that smooth, round face wearing its usual unreadable smile.
"Have you heard anything of this matter?" Tywin asked quietly.
The calmness in his voice was terrifying.
Varys blinked.
He appeared to think seriously for several breaths before suddenly seeming to remember something.
"Now that you mention it… yes, my lord, there may indeed have been such reports."
Tilting his head thoughtfully, he continued:
"My little birds did whisper something along those lines."
"There was apparently a quartermaster who accepted bribes from certain merchants and replaced the flour meant for the Gold Cloaks with… less fresh supplies."
"As for the dead officers, I also heard rumors."
"But I assumed they were merely unverified street gossip."
His voice grew softer and softer.
"I thought Ser Addam would provide Your Lordship with a detailed report, so I did not consider it necessary to mention."
By the end, Varys was practically mumbling to himself.
Yet in the silent council chamber, every word sounded painfully clear.
Under the table, Tywin's hand clenched violently.
For a split second, the famously composed Lord of Casterly Rock nearly lost control.
Then why the fuck didn't you say so earlier?!
The furious curse exploded inside Tywin's mind.
But outwardly, his expression never changed.
That damned eunuch.
Always the same.
If you asked him, he answered.
If you didn't ask, he remained silent forever.
As though every secret he possessed existed solely to cause chaos at the worst possible moment.
Sometimes Tywin genuinely wondered whether Varys served the Seven Kingdoms at all—
Or whether he was simply playing some incomprehensible game known only to himself.
Suppressing the urge to draw his sword and remove that bald head from its shoulders, Tywin slowly relaxed his grip.
But Oberyn clearly had no intention of letting such a perfect opportunity pass.
"Ohhhhhh?"
The Dornish prince dragged out the sound dramatically, grinning as though he had just discovered the greatest joke in the world.
"So that's how it is!"
"A corrupt quartermaster, dead officers, starving Gold Cloaks surrounding the city…"
"And our glorious Hand of the King knew absolutely nothing about it!"
He slapped the table and burst into laughter.
The sound echoed through the chamber like nails scraping glass.
"Magnificent! Truly magnificent!"
"Lord Tywin, King's Landing under your rule delivers new entertainment every single day!"
"Not long ago the king was poisoned."
"Today the army can't afford food."
"What's next?"
"Tomorrow will the toilets in the Red Keep clog and stink up the entire castle?"
Oberyn laughed so hard he actually wiped tears from the corner of his eyes.
"Honestly, Tywin Lannister…"
"If you're short on coin, you should simply say so."
"House Martell may not be as wealthy as the Lannisters, but we can certainly spare a few thousand gold dragons to support our allies."
Then suddenly, his laughter vanished.
He stared directly into Tywin's eyes and enunciated every word slowly.
"It would still be better than sending soldiers to war on empty stomachs."
At last, Tywin's expression shifted ever so slightly.
But Tywin was still Tywin.
Within moments, he suppressed all personal emotion and answered coldly:
"House Lannister does not lack wealth."
He paused, then looked toward Varys.
"Lord Kevan Lannister, conduct a full investigation into both the officer deaths and the theft of military supplies."
"All involved are to be punished under the harshest military law."
The Master of Laws straightened immediately.
"Yes, my lord."
Simple.
Efficient.
Ruthless.
That was always Tywin's style.
When a problem was dragged into the sunlight, he crushed it with overwhelming force to prove that everything remained under control.
Unfortunately, Oberyn had clearly come prepared today.
He had no intention of letting Tywin escape so easily.
"Punished under military law?"
The Dornish prince snorted with laughter.
"What an amusing phrase."
"Every time your family spills blood, your dear brother appears afterward to 'enforce the law.'"
He glanced contemptuously toward Kevan.
"But somehow the people punished are never the real killers."
His gaze sharpened.
"After the massacre of The Rains of Castamere, who exactly was busy at Casterly Rock dressing up extermination as 'putting down rebellion'?"
"That was you, wasn't it, Lord Kevan?"
"You may not have been Master of Laws back then, but the work itself hasn't changed much."
He leaned back thoughtfully.
"Now then… what other noble houses disappeared beneath Lannister 'justice'?"
"Oh, right."
A cruel smile spread across his face.
"I'm sure everyone here remembers the song."
Then Oberyn began humming.
Low.
Sinister.
Mocking.
"The rains weep o'er the hall…"
"…where not a soul remains…"
He was singing The Rains of Castamere.
The song House Lannister wore as a symbol of pride sounded grotesquely ironic in his mouth.
At last, Tywin interrupted him.
His voice wasn't loud.
Yet the entire chamber seemed to freeze solid.
"Prince Oberyn."
For the first time, unmistakable anger entered the Hand's tone.
"Kevan Lannister is a loyal servant of the realm and a capable Master of Laws. His administration of Casterly Rock speaks for itself—"
"Loyal?"
Oberyn burst out laughing again, madness and contempt mingling in his voice.
"Loyal to whom?"
"To the Iron Throne?"
"To justice?"
"No."
"He's loyal only to you."
He jabbed a finger toward Tywin.
"You kept your brother as your shadow for forty years."
"And now you sit him in a council chair and think a fancy robe can wash the blood from his hands?"
The chamber fell silent again.
Oberyn swept his gaze across everyone present.
"You all know the truth."
"You sit here pretending this is lawful rule."
"But every one of us knows the Iron Throne is built on blood."
"And Lannister power is built on betrayal."
Then his smile widened savagely.
"And every single one of you…"
"…is feasting at the same table."
At last, Mace Tyrell could no longer endure it.
He slammed both hands onto the table and shot to his feet.
"Outrageous! You dare accuse us—"
"I dare what?"
Oberyn turned on him instantly, entering full attack mode without the slightest hesitation.
His smile returned.
Only now it dripped with pure mockery.
"Lord Tyrell, your family's performance during Robert's Rebellion was truly unforgettable."
"You loudly proclaimed loyalty to House Targaryen…"
"But the moment Prince Rhaegar Targaryen died at the Trident, you withdrew from Storm's End and immediately offered food and loyalty to Robert Baratheon."
Mace's face instantly went pale.
But Oberyn wasn't finished.
"And the recent war was even better."
"The instant Renly Baratheon died, you immediately switched sides to Joffrey…"
He grinned maliciously.
"No, sorry."
"To the Lannisters."
"That speed of surrender would put even the most fickle whore in Lys to shame."
"You… you…"
Mace trembled with rage, unable to form a sentence.
But Oberyn never gave him the chance.
He immediately swung toward another target.
"And you, Grand Maester Pycelle."
The old man's face turned deathly pale the instant his name was called.
The quill slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the table.
"I've heard," Oberyn continued softly, "that King Aerys II Targaryen opened the gates of King's Landing because you advised him to."
"And what happened afterward?"
"The Lannister army entered the city."
"They butchered House Targaryen."
"They raped my sister, Elia Martell."
"And smashed her children against a wall."
His eyes turned icy cold.
"And yet you remained Grand Maester."
"You still sit here today."
"Serving a new king…"
"…or rather, a new Hand."
He smiled faintly.
"What inspiring loyalty."
An eerie silence consumed the chamber.
Mace Tyrell stood frozen, lips trembling.
Pycelle lowered his head, shoulders shaking slightly.
Kevan's face was dark with fury.
Varys still smiled—
Though something sharp flickered deep within his eyes.
Nobody knew what Oberyn truly wanted.
The Prince of Dorne had stormed into the council chamber not to negotiate—
But to rip it apart.
And he had succeeded.
Single-handedly.
One man against the entire Small Council—
And nobody could answer him.
Only after venting all his fury did Oberyn finally lean back in satisfaction.
Hands behind his head.
Boot resting atop the table.
Swinging lazily.
"So then…"
"Our glorious Small Council truly is overflowing with talent."
"A Hand famous for massacres."
"A Master of Laws whose job is cleaning up after him."
"A Grand Maester who betrayed his former king."
"A lord who changes sides with the wind."
Then he tilted his head toward Varys.
"And a eunuch who nobody's entirely sure works for whom."
Oberyn spread his hands cheerfully.
"With a lineup like this…"
"I'm honestly not surprised King's Landing turned into such a disaster."
Silence.
A full minute of suffocating silence.
Sunlight still streamed through the high windows.
Dust still floated through the golden beams.
But everything had changed.
The dignity, authority, and grandeur of the Small Council had been ripped apart by Oberyn in the most brutal way imaginable.
He had proposed no policy.
Advanced no agenda.
Offered no solution.
It was almost as though he had come here for one purpose only—
To humiliate Tywin Lannister.
To humiliate the Small Council.
To humiliate Lannister rule itself.
Finally, Tywin slowly rose to his feet.
His movements were calm and controlled.
But every gesture radiated the pressure of an approaching storm.
"This meeting is adjourned."
His voice was steady.
Absolute.
Final.
"Kevan, handle the quartermaster matter. I want results before sunset."
"Lord Mace, once Tyrion Lannister's trial concludes, you will return to Highgarden immediately and suppress the Redwyne fleet rebellion. They are your bannermen. The matter belongs to House Tyrell."
"Grand Maester Pycelle, organize all documents regarding Tyrion's trial and deliver them to my study tonight."
"Lord Varys…"
Tywin paused.
His eyes locked onto the eunuch.
"I want to know exactly what is happening in Flea Bottom."
"Not rumors."
"Not guesses."
"Facts."
"Place them on my desk before sunrise tomorrow."
Finally, he turned toward Oberyn.
Their gazes collided in midair like clashing blades.
"Prince Oberyn Martell."
"As Dorne's representative, you have the right to attend the Small Council."
"But mind your words and your conduct."
"This is King's Landing."
"Not Sunspear."
Oberyn immediately grinned.
"Of course, Lord Hand."
"Everyone knows I'm a man who deeply respects rules."
The sarcasm in his tone was almost tangible.
Tywin ignored him.
Turning sharply, he strode toward the exit, crimson cloak sweeping behind him like a blade.
Just as he reached the doorway—
Oberyn spoke again.
Not loudly.
But loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"Oh, one more thing, Tywin Lannister."
Tywin's steps paused briefly.
But he did not turn around.
Oberyn rose from his chair as well.
As the two men passed shoulder to shoulder, the Dornish prince lowered his voice so only Tywin could hear.
"Give my regards to Gregor Clegane."
"Tell him…"
"…I've been waiting for his recovery."
Then Oberyn burst into laughter and walked away.
Behind him, the members of the Small Council sat in silence—
Looking at one another,
Unable to speak a single word.