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CaveLeather
The hall fell into a dead silence.
Oberyn's words hit like a hammer. He questioned Tywin's memory, dragged Lannister honor through the mud, and then casually offered to take the Hand's seat himself.
Nobody took the offer seriously. Everyone knew Oberyn was chaos in human form. Back in Dorne he'd slept with the wrong lord's mistress, poisoned his blade during the duel, and nearly started a blood feud. His brother Doran had to send his own son as a hostage just to clean up the mess. A man like that wasn't fit to run a tavern, let alone a kingdom.
Still, the damage was done. He'd said the quiet part out loud in front of every power player at the table. Tywin wasn't young anymore. Even the strongest lion eventually slowed down. And if that thought reached the wrong ears, things could get messy fast.
No one spoke. Mace Tyrell's face turned the color of raw meat. He opened his mouth, but one sharp look from Tywin shut him up.
Tywin finally moved. He unclasped his hands and placed one on the documents in front of him. The small gesture was enough. Everyone knew the Hand was about to speak.
Oberyn didn't give him the chance.
"Oh, right!" the Prince of Dorne snapped his fingers like he'd just remembered something important. "Almost forgot why I came."
"My paramour Ellaria walked past Pickled Meat Street this morning. Guess what she saw?"
He paused for effect, eyes sweeping the table, then grinned like a man who'd just won a bet.
"Thousands. Thousands of armed Gold Cloaks. A whole fucking army surrounding Flea Bottom like they were laying siege to Storm's End."
He clicked his tongue and shot a sideways glance at Mace Tyrell.
"Fucking hilarious."
"You need that many men to deal with a bunch of unarmed poor people? And you still can't finish the job?"
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dripping with mock concern. "Be honest, Tywin. Are your Gold Cloaks made of paper?"
Oberyn's grin widened. "You should've said something earlier. I could've brought a few hundred Dornish spearmen. We'd have that shithole cleared out in a day. Hell, I'd even call those rotting shacks a 'castle' if it makes you feel better."
The silence that followed was thick.
Everyone at the table knew about last night's chaos in Flea Bottom. No one had dared bring it up because mentioning it meant admitting Tywin's control wasn't absolute.
Oberyn had just dragged it into the light and pissed on it.
Mace Tyrell, who had only just arrived in King's Landing and was desperate to prove his loyalty, didn't understand the situation at all. He thought Oberyn was attacking Tywin's authority and saw his chance to score points.
He shot to his feet so fast his chair nearly toppled.
"Bullshit!" he barked, face red. "Pure slander! Under Lord Tywin's rule, King's Landing is orderly and secure. There's no way things are as bad as this Dornish madman claims!"
He spun toward Tywin and bowed deeply. "Your Grace the Hand, please don't listen to this nonsense. House Tyrell stands firmly with you. We believe that under your leadership, King's Landing and the entire realm will see unprecedented peace and prosperity!"
The speech was loud, passionate, and completely tone-deaf.
Kevan's mouth twitched. Grand Maester Pycelle suddenly found his papers extremely interesting. Varys lowered his head until the sunlight made his bald scalp shine like a beacon.
Even Tywin's expression darkened for a split second.
Mace had just done the one thing you never do in this room: loudly pretend a problem doesn't exist while everyone already knows it does.
He hadn't defended Tywin. He'd just reminded the entire table that Flea Bottom was out of control and that Tywin hadn't fixed it yet.
"Sit down, Lord Tyrell," Tywin said, voice low and cold.
Mace blinked, confused, then slowly sank back into his chair, green doublet wrinkled and golden rose looking suddenly cheap.
Tywin turned his full attention back to Oberyn.
"There has been some unrest in Flea Bottom," he admitted evenly. "A few merchants tried to hoard supplies and disrupt order. I've already sent Ser Adam Marbrand to handle it."
"The Gold Cloaks are moving to contain the situation and protect the law-abiding citizens of King's Landing. By sunset today, the district will be quiet again."
The statement was firm. Classic Tywin — acknowledge the problem, then declare it solved.
Oberyn raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
"Is that so?"
He dragged the words out. "Then how did I hear that the Gold Cloaks lost over a dozen officers last night… and that they couldn't even manage breakfast this morning?"
The temperature in the room dropped.
Tywin's eyes sharpened like blades.
Dead officers.
No food.
What?
He had personally approved three thousand gold dragons for supplies just two days ago. If what Oberyn said was true, then the situation in Flea Bottom wasn't minor unrest. It was close to collapse.
And worse — Tywin hadn't known.
Adam Marbrand's morning report had only mentioned "minor resistance" and "strengthened blockade." Nothing about dead officers or starving men.
Was Adam hiding the truth? Or had he already lost control of his own forces?
Tywin kept his face blank, but the fury underneath was ice-cold.
He turned his head slowly toward the end of the table.
"Lord Varys."
The spymaster finally lifted his head, wearing that same unreadable smile.
"Did you know about this?" Tywin asked.
Varys blinked, as if thinking hard. Several long seconds passed before he answered.
"It… does sound familiar, my lord."
He tilted his head. "My little birds did mention something about a quartermaster who may have taken a bribe and swapped good flour for… less fresh supplies. As for the dead officers, I heard rumors, but I assumed Ser Adam would report directly to you. I didn't want to waste your time with unconfirmed gossip."
His voice grew quieter with every word.
Tywin's hand, hidden beneath the table, clenched so hard the knuckles went white.
You should have told me anyway, you fucking eunuch.
But he didn't say it. He never would.
Oberyn, however, wasn't finished.
"Ohhh," he said, drawing the sound out like he'd discovered something delightful. "So that's how it is. A corrupt quartermaster. Dead officers. Hungry soldiers surrounding a slum. And our dear Hand had no idea any of it was happening."
He slapped the table and laughed, loud and mocking.
"Brilliant! Truly brilliant, Tywin Lannister. Every day in King's Landing under your rule is a new performance!"
He wiped imaginary tears from his eyes.
"First the king gets poisoned. Now the army can't even eat. What's next? The Red Keep's privies all clog at once and the whole court stinks to the heavens?"
He leaned back, still grinning.
"Honestly, if you're short on coin, just say so. House Martell may not be as rich as Lannister, but we could scrape together a few thousand dragons to help an ally. Better than letting your men fight on empty stomachs, no?"
Tywin's expression finally cracked — just slightly.
Then it hardened again.
"House Lannister," he said, voice like iron, "is never short on gold."
He turned to Kevan. "Kevan. Investigate the dead officers and the supply theft. Anyone involved will face the harshest military punishment."
Kevan nodded once. "Understood."
Oberyn let out a short, derisive laugh.
"'Harshest military punishment.' How convenient."
He looked straight at Kevan. "Every time your brother spills blood, you're right there cleaning it up and calling it justice. Castamere wasn't that long ago. You helped package a massacre as 'putting down rebels,' didn't you?"
Kevan's face went rigid.
Oberyn didn't stop. He glanced around the table.
"You all know the truth. You sit here pretending this is legitimate rule, but we all know the Iron Throne was built on blood and betrayal. And every single one of you is complicit."
Mace Tyrell couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his hand on the table.
"How dare you—"
"How dare I what?" Oberyn cut him off, eyes flashing. "Tell the truth?"
He turned on Mace fully now.
"During Robert's Rebellion, House Tyrell swore loyalty to the Targaryens. Then Rhaegar died at the Trident and you immediately pulled your army back from Storm's End and started sending food to Robert. The speed of that betrayal would make even a Lyseni whore blush."
Mace's face went white.
Oberyn wasn't done. He swung toward Grand Maester Pycelle.
"And you, old man. I heard it was your advice that convinced Aerys Targaryen to open the gates of King's Landing. And what happened after the Lannister army marched in? They slaughtered the royal family, raped my sister Elia, and smashed her children's heads against the wall."
He stared at Pycelle. "Yet here you still sit. Still wearing that chain. Still serving whoever holds power."
Pycelle's face had gone gray. His quill slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the table.
Oberyn spread his arms, smiling brightly.
"So this is the Small Council. A Hand who orders massacres. A brother who cleans up after him. A maester who betrays his king. A lord who switches sides faster than the wind. And a spymaster who serves… well, who the fuck knows."
He looked around at their faces one last time.
"No wonder King's Landing looks like this. With talent like yours, how could it be anything else?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Tywin slowly stood up.
"Meeting adjourned."
His voice was calm, but the threat underneath was unmistakable.
"Kevan. Handle the quartermaster situation. I want results by sunset."
"Mace. Once Tyrion's trial is over, return to Highgarden and deal with the Redwyne fleet. They're your vassals."
"Pycelle. Prepare all documents regarding Tyrion's trial and bring them to my solar tonight."
"Varys." Tywin's gaze landed on the eunuch. "I want accurate information on what is actually happening inside Flea Bottom. Not rumors. Not guesses. On my desk by sunrise tomorrow."
Finally, he looked at Oberyn.
"Prince Oberyn. You have the right to attend these meetings as Dorne's representative. But watch your words. King's Landing is not Sunspear. There are rules here."
Oberyn grinned. "Of course, Lord Hand. Everyone knows how much I love following rules."
The sarcasm was thick enough to choke on.
Tywin turned and walked out, crimson cloak snapping behind him.
Just as he reached the door, Oberyn's voice followed, low enough that only Tywin could hear.
"Oh, and give my regards to the Mountain. Tell him I'm still waiting for him… to recover."
Then Oberyn laughed and strode out of the hall.
The remaining council members sat in stunned silence, none of them willing to meet each other's eyes.