The hall fell into a deathly silence.
Oberyn's words were incredibly lethal; he not only questioned Tywin Lannister's memory but also challenged the Lannister family's credibility, and finally, he even threw out an alternative proposal.
Though no one paid any attention to his suggestion that Tywin should abdicate and let him be the Hand of the King.
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After all, everyone knew that this man had no idea how to govern and was quite reckless.
Back in Dorne, he had an affair with the mistress of the old Lord Yronwood. After being discovered, he used a poisoned blade in a duel to kill the man, causing the relationship between House Yronwood and House Martell to drop to freezing point.
To escape trial, he had to flee to Essos.
It was ultimately his elder brother, Prince Doran Martell, who personally stepped in to clean up Oberyn's mess, sending his eldest son Quentyn Martell to House Yronwood as a ward to settle the matter.
What normal lord capable of governing a territory would ever do such a bastardly thing?
However, while his ability to govern a territory was questionable, he had successfully challenged Tywin's ability to rule at this moment. If these words got out and were heard by those already two-faced families, there was no telling what trouble they might stir up.
After all, despite Tywin Lannister's formidable reputation, everyone grows old eventually, don't they?
There was more than one monarch who was wise in his youth but became senile in his old age.
No one present dared to speak. Lord Mace Tyrell's face turned the color of pig liver; he opened his mouth to say something but was silenced by a single look from Tywin.
Tywin's expression remained unchanged.
He merely slowly uncrossed his hands, pressing his right hand lightly onto the documents on the table while resting his left on the armrest of his chair. This subtle movement let everyone know the Hand of the King was about to speak.
But Oberyn was still delivering his verbal assault, giving him no chance to speak at all.
"Oh, right!" The flighty Prince of Dorne suddenly seemed to remember something and slapped his forehead. "I almost forgot the main business."
"My paramour Ellaria passed by Bacon Street this morning. Guess what she told me she saw?"
He paused intentionally, his gaze sweeping over everyone, before a cunning and exaggerated smile broke across his face. "Thousands! Thousands of fully armed Gold Cloaks, a black mass, surrounding Flea Bottom so tightly not a drop of water could leak through. That formation, tsk tsk, if I didn't know better, I'd think they were laying siege to Storms End."
With that, he gave a sneer, cast a meaningful glance at Duke Lord Mace Tyrell, and shook his head. "It's simply hilarious!"
"To deal with a bunch of unarmed paupers, you actually need to deploy so much manpower and still can't take them down?"
"Forgive my bluntness, Lord Tywin, but are your Gold Cloaks made of paper?"
Oberyn's expression was exaggerated as he leaned forward again, supporting himself with both hands on the table, almost pressing his face against it as he teased, "You should have said so earlier."
"I could bring a few hundred Dornish spearmen from Sunspear, and within a day, I guarantee I'd help you take that 'fortified' castle... if that pile of ramshackle shacks can even be called a castle, hahahaha."
Hearing this, the people present looked at each other again, their eyes flickering.
Everyone had heard the commotion in Flea Bottom last night, but no one dared mention it, because mentioning it was equivalent to questioning Tywin's ability to rule.
And Oberyn's words had almost laid it out nakedly on the table.
The stalemate in Flea Bottom was a fact, and the fact that the Gold Cloaks had failed to take it for a long time was also true.
But to openly mock these facts at the Small Council was to publicly tear away Tywin's disguise of 'having everything under control' before all the power players.
Even more poisonous was that he intentionally exaggerated the resistance in Flea Bottom, describing an action to suppress paupers as if it were a formal siege, which greatly humiliated the capabilities of Tywin and the Gold Cloaks.
However, Lord Mace Tyrell alone was still unclear about the situation.
The Duke of Highgarden had just arrived in King's Landing, his heart set only on showing his loyalty, and he hadn't had time to learn about the events in Flea Bottom.
Hearing Oberyn's mockery, he instinctively thought the Dornishman was slandering Lord Tywin's wise rule.
This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
It's my turn to take the stage!
Seeing that no one was speaking, Lord Mace Tyrell stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his excitement.
Pointing at Oberyn's nose, he unleashed a torrent of abuse: "Horse shit!"
"Pure nonsense! Under Lord Tywin's rule, King's Landing is in perfect order. How could the situation you describe possibly occur?"
"Taking a step back, even if a riot occurred in King's Landing, with Lord Tywin's ability, how could it be impossible to suppress even with so many men? It's absolute rubbish!"
He became more excited as he spoke, turning to face Tywin and bowing deeply. "Hand of the King, please do not listen to the slanders of this Dornish madman!"
"House Tyrell stands firmly on your side. We believe that under your leadership, King's Landing and indeed the entire The Seven Kingdoms will usher in unprecedented prosperity and peace!"
Mace spoke with impassioned fervor, his cheeks flushed with excitement.
But he didn't notice that when his words fell, Kevan's mouth twitched slightly, Grand Maester Pycelle lowered his head, pretending to organize the scrolls on the table, and Varys...
This fellow's forehead was already bright enough, and now that he buried it, the sunlight reflecting off it made it appear even brighter.
It could almost compete with the Hand's.
Even for someone as steady as Tywin, the moment Mace's words left his mouth, his expression became extremely unsightly.
Duke Mace had committed a fatal error. In a political struggle, the most foolish act is not choosing the wrong side, but lying through your teeth when everyone already knows the truth.
This would not only fail to please Tywin but would instead make the Hand of the King feel that the Duke of Highgarden was a fool, and... this fool had publicly reminded everyone that'something major had indeed happened in Flea Bottom'.
It could be said that Mace's attempt at flattery had backfired spectacularly.
"Please sit down, Lord Tyrell."
Tywin took a deep breath. His voice was low and steady, but those familiar with him could hear the suppressed chill beneath that calm.
Mace froze for a moment, only then realizing the atmosphere was wrong.
He opened his mouth awkwardly, clearly still unaware of why he had offended the Hand of the King.
But under the other man's murderous gaze, he eventually sat back in his chair sheepishly, his emerald-green doublet rumpled by his large movements, and even the golden rose on his chest seemed to have dimmed.
Having dealt with this fool, Tywin no longer looked at him, his gaze falling back onto Oberyn's face.
"There have indeed been some disturbances in Flea Bottom." This time, the Hand finally got his chance to speak, and his tone was very candid. "Some unscrupulous merchants hoarding supplies and intending to disrupt the market order took the opportunity to stir up trouble. I have already ordered Ser Adam Marbrand to handle it."
"The Gold Cloaks' actions are to quickly control the situation, prevent the disturbances from spreading, and protect the safety of the majority of law-abiding citizens in King's Landing."
He paused, his emerald eyes staring directly at Oberyn. "By sunset today, peace will be restored there."
This sentence was spoken with absolute certainty, carrying an unquestionable authority.
This was Tywin Lannister's style: never deny the problem, but always claim the problem is under control and about to be resolved.
However, the problem was... what if the problem wasn't resolved by sunset?
But perhaps in Tywin's view, with nearly half the Gold Cloaks deployed, suppressing a disturbance of this level wouldn't be a problem at all.
But hearing Tywin's answer, Oberyn raised an eyebrow, the mockery in his smile deepening by several degrees.
"Is that so?"
"But how is it I heard..." he drawled, "that the Gold Cloaks not only lost over a dozen officers in a single night, but can't even afford breakfast?"
As soon as these words were spoken, everyone in the hall was shocked.
Tywin frowned, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.
A dozen officers dead?
Can't afford food?
What does that mean?
Saying to his face that the Lannisters have no money?
Wasn't this slapping Tywin Lannister's face in front of all the council ministers?
A Lannister always pays his debts, but more importantly, a Lannister is never short of money; this was one of the cornerstones of the family's authority.
But immediately after, Tywin realized a more serious problem.
The Gold Cloaks didn't eat breakfast?
How was that possible?
He had personally approved the allocation of three thousand gold dragons from the treasury just two days ago as special funds for the supplies of the Flea Bottom operation!
If what Oberyn said was true, then the deaths of the officers meant the command system was paralyzed, and the soldiers' lack of food meant morale had collapsed.
If these two things were true, then the situation in Flea Bottom was far more than a'small problem'—it was close to being completely out of control!
Even more fatal was that... Tywin, as the Hand of the King, was actually completely unaware of this!
Because the person sent by Ser Adam Marbrand this morning to report only said they 'encountered slight resistance and have strengthened the blockade,' without mentioning a word about dead officers or starving soldiers!
Was Adam hiding the truth, or... had even Adam himself lost control of the troops?
Strongly suppressing the doubts and anger in his heart, Tywin maintained his outward calm.
Tywin slowly turned his head, his gaze piercing like an ice blade toward the other end of the long table.
"Lord Varys."
Hearing this, the Master of Whispers finally raised his head, an inscrutable smile hanging on that round, smooth face.
"Have you heard of this?" Tywin asked, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Varys blinked, seemingly thinking seriously about something. It took several breaths before he seemed to remember. "It seems... there is such a thing, my lord."
As he spoke, he tilted his head as if trying hard to recall. "My little birds did indeed mention it once. Ah, I remember now."
"There was a quartermaster who apparently took bribes from certain merchants and swapped the flour that was supposed to be supplied to the Gold Cloaks for... well, some things that weren't so fresh."
"As for the Gold Cloaks' officers dying, I heard a bit about that too, but I thought those were just street rumors, unconfirmed tidbits of news."
"I thought Ser Adam would report to you in detail, so I didn't specifically bring it up."
Varys's voice became softer and softer as he spoke, almost turning into a monologue by the end, but in the silent hall, every word was piercingly clear.
Tywin's hand beneath the table suddenly clenched; usually so steady, he nearly lost his composure.
Then why the fuck didn't you say so earlier!
This angry curse exploded in Tywin's heart, but his face still showed no expression.
This damned eunuch!
He was always like this: if you asked, he would speak; if you didn't ask, he would remain silent forever.
It was as if all the secrets he held were only meant to be used to stir up trouble at critical moments.
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Sometimes Tywin even suspected that this eunuch was not serving The Seven Kingdoms, but was playing a game whose rules only he knew.
Suppressing the urge to draw his sword and sever that bald head on the spot, Tywin slowly unclenched his tightly gripped hand.
But Oberyn clearly did not intend to let this good opportunity to mock House Lannister pass.
"Oh~~~" The Prince of Dorne drew out his tone, as if he had discovered some immense amusement: "So that's how it is! The quartermaster is corrupt, many officers are dead, the Gold Cloaks are laying siege on empty stomachs, and our Hand of the King is completely unaware of it!"
He slapped the table and laughed, the sound echoing through the hall, grating enough to make one's scalp tingle: "Brilliant! Simply brilliant! Lord Tywin, King's Landing under your governance truly has new drama every day!"
"Not long ago the King was poisoned, today the army has no food to eat. What about tomorrow? Will it be that the toilets in the Red Keep are clogged, and the entire court reeks?"
Oberyn laughed until he was rocking back and forth, even exaggeratingly wiping the corners of his eyes.
"Seriously, Tywin Lannister, if you're short on money, you should have said so earlier. Although House Martell is not as wealthy as House Lannister, we can still manage to bring out a few thousand gold dragons to support an ally."
As he said this, he immediately stopped laughing, stared into Tywin's eyes, and said seriously, word by word: "That's better than letting soldiers fight on empty stomachs, right?"
Upon hearing this, the expression on the Hand of the King's face finally showed a slight change.
But Tywin was Tywin after all, and he quickly suppressed his personal emotions again, saying firmly: "House Lannister is never short of money."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Varys: "Lord Kevan, thoroughly investigate the two matters of the officers' deaths and the embezzlement of military provisions. Deal with all involved personnel according to the strictest military law."
The master of laws straightened his back: "Yes."
Concise, cold, efficient.
This was Tywin's consistent style; when a problem was exposed to the light, he would use thunderous means to crush it, thereby proving that everything was still under control.
But Oberyn was clearly prepared today and did not intend to let Tywin off so easily.
"Deal with according to military law?" The Prince of Dorne sneered and shook his head: "What an interesting turn of phrase."
"Every time your brother creates bloodshed, you are busy behind him 'dealing with it according to military law', only you never deal with the real culprit."
His spearhead was still mainly aimed at Tywin, but when his peripheral vision swept over Kevan, his words were full of undisguised contempt: "After the massacre at Castamere back then, who was busy in Casterly Rock packaging the extermination as putting down a rebellion? It was you, wasn't it, Lord Kevan?"
"Back then you weren't the master of laws yet, but the work you've always done is essentially no different."
"Let me think, what other families have disappeared under 'Lannister justice'? Oh right, everyone present should still remember that song, right?"
Oberyn suddenly began to hum, the tune strange and eerie: "The rain cries in the hall, but there are no souls within..."
He sang that famous 'the rains of castamere', a tune that once made House Lannister proud, but in Oberyn's mouth, it seemed so ironic.
"Enough."
Tywin finally interrupted him, his voice not loud, yet it caused the air in the entire hall to stagnate.
"Prince Oberyn." The Hand of the King for the first time carried a trace of detectable anger: "Kevan Lannister is a loyal subject, a competent master of laws, and his management at Casterly Rock is plain for all to see..."
"Loyalty??" Oberyn laughed and interrupted, his laughter full of wild mockery: "Loyalty to whom? Loyalty to the Iron Throne? Loyalty to the law?"
"No! He is only loyal to you!"
"Tywin Lannister, you have let your brother be a shadow for forty years. Now you have elevated him to this position. Do you think giving him a master of laws' robe can wash away the filth on his hands from helping you wipe away bloodstains?"
As he said this, he looked around, his gaze sweeping over every face: "You all know the truth. You sit here, pretending that all of this is a legitimate rule, but we all know clearly in our hearts that the Iron Throne is cast in blood! The power of House Lannister is built upon betrayal!"
"And every one of you is a guest at this banquet of sin!"
Upon hearing this, Lord Mace Tyrell could no longer hold back, slammed the table and stood up abruptly, his face flushed red: "Arrogant! You actually slander us..."
"I dare what?"
But facing his reprimand, Oberyn, who had already gone on a rampage, did not intend to stop; instead, he activated berserk mode and started spraying directly.
He looked at Lord Mace Tyrell, a smile returning to his face, but this time it was undisguised mockery: "Lord Tyrell, your family's performance during Robert's Rebellion was truly impressive."
"You claimed to be loyal to the Targaryens, but as soon as Prince Rhaegar died in battle at the The Trident, you immediately withdrew your troops from Storm's End and offered food and loyalty to Robert Baratheon."
Upon hearing this, Mace's face instantly turned pale, yet Oberyn continued to be relentless: "The previous war was even more brilliant. Renly Baratheon had just died, and you immediately turned to Joffrey... no, that's not right, you turned to House Lannister."
"This speed of surrender, even the most fickle whore in Lys would have to feel inferior!"
"You... you..." Being driven to exasperation by these remarks, Mace began to tremble all over, pointing at Oberyn.
But Oberyn didn't give him a chance to speak at all, turned his spearhead, and pointed it at Grand Maester Pycelle who was cowering in the corner.
"And you, Lord Grand Maester Pycelle." The Prince of Dorne continued to spray: "I heard that the reason King Aerys Targaryen opened the gates of King's Landing back then was because you, this Grand Maester, whispered slander in his ear!"
Not expecting the other party to call his name, Grand Maester Pycelle, who had been sitting properly, saw his face instantly turn ashen, and the quill in his hand dropped onto the table with a "clatter".
"And the result?"
"After the Lannister army entered the city, the first thing they did was massacre the Targaryen family, rape my sister Elia Martell, and smash her and Prince Rhaegar's two children against the wall!"
He paused, his eyes coldly sweeping over Grand Maester Pycelle: "And you, Lord Grand Maester, you are still the Grand Maester, still sitting here, serving the new King, oh no, that's not right, now it's the new Hand of the King."
"This loyalty is truly touching!"
The hall fell into an eerie silence.
Lord Mace Tyrell stood there, his lips trembling, but he couldn't say a single word.
Grand Maester Pycelle lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly.
Kevan's face was livid, Varys was still smiling, but a sharp light flashed deep in his eyes.
No one knew what Oberyn wanted to do.
This Prince of Dorne had appeared suddenly, but his purpose seemed not to be to persuade anyone at all, but to completely disrupt the Small Council and turn it into a farce of revealing each other's shortcomings!
And he had succeeded!
With the power of one person, he had actually managed to berate the entire Small Council into silence!
Only after he had finished venting did Oberyn look at all of this with satisfaction, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, the tips of his upturned boots swinging gently in rhythm.
"So I say."
"This Small Council of ours is truly full of talents. A Hand of the King who massacres allies, a master of laws responsible for cleaning up after the Hand, a Grand Maester who betrayed his old master, a duke who sways with the wind, a..."
He looked at Varys and tilted his head: "A eunuch who never knows who he is serving."
Obe
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