Victory in the trial by combat was within reach, and Tyrell was ecstatic. He was already signaling the guards to remove the shackles from his wrists and ankles, and asked Podrick to find the best inn in the city—he wanted to scrub off the filth and enjoy a proper feast.
But what he never expected was that the Red Viper didn't finish off the Mountain when he had the chance. Instead, he kept stabbing him with his spear, over and over again, inflicting wounds that made the Mountain howl in agony, all while shouting questions about his crimes. It gave Tyrion a sinking feeling—something was going very wrong.
"Speak! Say it! Say what you did, you bastard—confess your crimes!" The Red Viper drove the spear into the Mountain's flesh with precision, causing pain more intense than anything he'd ever felt, though not enough to kill. And he kept demanding, louder each time, "You raped her, you killed her children—confess, bastard!"
Even the Mountain couldn't withstand the unbearable pain. It scrambled his thoughts until all he wanted was for it to end. He screamed, "Yes! Yes, it was me! I raped that whore! I made her watch as I smashed her child to death! Then I killed her too! Yes—it was me!"
The crowd erupted. Now they all knew the truth.
But the Red Viper wasn't finished. Circling the Mountain, he pointed toward Tywin. "Who? Who ordered you to do it? Tell us—who?!"
Tywin sat upright, his face contorted in fury. He wanted nothing more than to end this disgraceful spectacle, but there was nothing he could do.
"Tywin! Tywin Lannister told me to do it!" the Mountain bellowed, the pain blocking any thought but what echoed in his head.
The entire plaza fell silent. All eyes turned toward Tywin, full of loathing, contempt, and disgust.
The Red Viper had gotten what he wanted—and seeing Tywin's twisted expression, he smiled.
But just as he relaxed, satisfied at last, he failed to notice a rotten egg beneath his foot. He slipped, falling hard to the ground—right beside the Mountain.
The Mountain seized the moment without hesitation. He lunged, grabbing the Red Viper by the neck and twisting with all his strength.
The Red Viper reacted just as fast, whipping out a dagger and plunging it into the Mountain's neck.
Both men's bodies jerked—and then collapsed, unmoving, their condition unknown.
The crowd was stunned. Some tried to rush forward to check on them.
"Back off!" A sudden whirlwind burst around the two fallen fighters, forcing everyone back. Then Lynd landed beside them and knelt down to assess their condition.
They were alive—but in terrible shape. The Mountain was covered in wounds, and the dagger had struck his neck. Fortunately, it missed a fatal point and hit the vertebra instead. The force wasn't enough to pierce bone, but it severed the nerves, leaving the Mountain paralyzed.
As for the Red Viper, things were no better. Though he'd managed to sever the Mountain's spinal nerves, the Mountain's final neck twist had damaged his vertebrae too, tearing his own nerves. He was also paralyzed.
Seeing both of his enemies lying helpless on the ground, Lynd almost burst into laughter. But knowing the moment wasn't right, he took a deep breath, held back his amusement, and called out loudly, "Both men suffered neck injuries and are unable to continue. The match is a draw."
"A draw? How can it be a draw?!" The crowd was dumbfounded. There had never been such a case before. In all the previous trials by combat, there had always been a winner and a loser—one dead, one alive. Never had both combatants survived yet been unable to go on.
Still, for the gambling houses and noble elites, this was great news. No one had predicted this outcome, which meant the house took everything.
"This isn't a draw! It can't be!" Tyrion shouted. "Look at the Mountain—he's covered in wounds! Just give it some time and he'll bleed out. Prince Oberyn is the true victor!"
Those who had bet on the Red Viper all echoed the sentiment. Judging by what they saw, the Mountain looked on the verge of death—his armor soaked in blood, his body riddled with cuts.
But Lynd shook his head. "The poison Oberyn used isn't meant to kill—it's meant to torture. It keeps the victim alive, prolonging the pain for months, even years."
As he spoke, Lynd removed the Mountain's armor, revealing his wounds. The bleeding had stopped, replaced by clusters of purple-black swelling that looked grotesque.
"Haha! You're damn right! This poison will make him suffer until the end of his days. Enjoy it, bastard!" The Red Viper had just regained consciousness. Ignoring his own condition, he burst out laughing.
"I warned you to be careful," Lynd said with a sigh, glancing at Oberyn.
"I'm still breathing, aren't I?" Oberyn replied, shooting him a sideways look.
Lynd looked down at him. "But you're paralyzed. The mighty Red Viper will spend the rest of his life as a cripple, needing others just to relieve himself. Do you really think that's better than death?"
The color drained from Oberyn's face. He had no response.
At the same time, the Mountain also regained consciousness. Though the nerve damage had taken away his ability to move, it hadn't dulled the pain. The moment he woke, searing agony shot through him, forcing him to scream again and again.
"A trial by combat can't end in a draw," Tywin suddenly stood and said. "Let them lie there. One of them will die first—then..."
Lynd cut him off. "Lord Tywin, this is a trial by combat, not a trial by waiting for death. The Seven have already rendered their judgment—and that judgment is a draw. If it weren't, then why would Prince Oberyn, who clearly had the advantage, step on an egg and slip? That was the will of the Seven. This duel ends in a draw."
With Lynd invoking the Seven Gods, Tywin had no choice but to fall silent. The rest of the crowd in the square also accepted the verdict.
Still, a draw in a trial by combat was unheard of. No one knew what to do with Tyrion now—should he be released or executed? In the end, they had no choice but to return him to his cell until a new ruler was chosen for the Iron Throne, who would then decide his fate.
...
When Lynd brought the Red Viper back to his estate, he was still reeling from the shock of his paralysis.
"You pissed yourself. I'll have your men help you change your pants," Lynd said, glancing at the damp spot on the Red Viper's trousers.
"Lynd, kill me!" the Red Viper pleaded. "Kill me. Don't let me live like this."
Lynd looked at him and chuckled. "I was actually planning to save you. And now you're giving up and asking me to kill you? Do you really want to die that badly?"
"Save me? You can actually save me?" the Red Viper looked up at Lynd nervously, needing confirmation.
"My Black Cave research team recently developed a new potion," Lynd said firmly. "It won't just heal you—it'll make you stronger than you were before. The only side effect is... your eyes will look a little different."
The Red Viper was at a loss for words, his eyes welling up. He had only been paralyzed for a short time, but despair had already set in. And now, suddenly, there was hope. How could he not be overwhelmed?
"What do I have to give in return?" he asked. He knew Lynd too well not to expect a price.
"I want to establish a territory on the continent of Sothoryos," Lynd said in a steady voice. "I'm going to build a town, but I need someone to lead the effort. You're the right person for the job."
Even with Lynd holding the key to his recovery, the Red Viper couldn't help but protest. "Are you mad? Trying to settle Sothoryos? Do you know Queen Nymeria once tried the same thing? She failed miserably."
Lynd smiled. "Queen Nymeria didn't have the Children of the Forest, Stone Giants, or a host of spellcasters on her side. Don't worry. The Miracle Fleet has already built a base on Sothoryos's coast. It's not nearly as dangerous as the old tales make it out to be."
After hearing this, the Red Viper made no further objections. He nodded, agreeing that if Lynd could cure his paralysis, he would take on the role of commander for the Sothoryos expedition.
...
Leaving the Red Viper's estate, Lynd returned to his own. Cersei was already waiting there.
"How's the Mountain?" he asked her.
"Worse than dead," Cersei answered coldly.
"Find a way to have Sandor Clegane inherit House Clegane," Lynd ordered. "Send the Mountain to the Black Cave. Qyburn will make good use of him."
"Yes, my lord," Cersei replied with a nod.
Anyone witnessing this exchange would have been shocked. Cersei was being far too obedient—it was nothing like how a queen should behave.
Lynd continued, "Once this is all over, have Jaime take Tommen to Casterly Rock. As for you, go to the Redemption Sept and continue your training with the sisters."
Cersei hesitated. "My lord, I want to know who killed Joffrey."
Lynd looked at her, thought for a moment, then said, "If we trace it back to the root... it was your father, Tywin."
"My father?" Cersei was clearly caught off guard by the answer.
Lynd then told her the story about Tysha. After listening, Cersei was stunned. She never would have imagined that her son's death had anything to do with something that happened more than ten years ago. She still remembered laughing at Tyrion when she first heard the story—mocking him for thinking a half-man like him could ever marry anyone but a whore.
Who would've thought that the farm girl everyone believed dead had become a Faceless Men master at the House of Black and White in Braavos? Cersei might have been foolish, but even she understood how terrifying such a person was. Once marked by a master of the Faceless Men, survival was nearly impossible.
Cersei suddenly thought of something and asked in a low voice, "Father? Is my father dying too?"
"Yes," Lynd replied with a firm nod.
Cersei fell silent for a moment, then said calmly, "Once my father is dead, I'll return to the Redemption Sept."
With that, she pulled up the hood of her Redemption Sister's robe, bowed, and quietly left the room, heading toward the courtyard where the sisters resided. It was clear she had no intention of returning to the Red Keep.
...
After nightfall, outside Tyrion's cell, the guard on duty had passed out drunk. Drinking with him was the dungeon keeper, Rugen—a fat, middle-aged man with greasy hair, a pointed cap, a jailer's uniform, and a filthy face. Rugen stood up, took the key, and unlocked the cell door.
Tyrion hadn't been sleeping. The stench of alcohol outside had kept him awake, so the moment the door creaked open, he jolted upright and shrank back into a corner. Alarmed, he stared at Rugen and said, "Whatever they're paying you to kill me, I'll pay ten times more. You know what they say—Lannisters always pay their debts!"
Then he heard a familiar voice—Varys, speaking from behind Rugen's disguise.
"My lord, are you even still a Lannister?"
"Varys? Is that you?" Tyrion stood up instantly, but his face quickly twisted with doubt. "Or... are you a Faceless Man wearing his skin?"
Varys sighed and said, "My lord, if you still want to play this game of 'real or fake Varys,' I'd really prefer we do it somewhere else. The atmosphere here is quite unpleasant."
"You're here to help me escape?" Tyrion still wasn't sure this was truly Varys, so he played along and asked, "Why? Why would you help me? Honestly, our relationship isn't worth this kind of risk."
Varys gave a helpless smile. "True. Our relationship alone isn't reason enough. But someone doesn't want you dead just yet—and I owe that person a favor. So I'm using one of my identities to buy you a chance at survival. After tonight, Rugen the jailer will no longer exist."
Tyrion paused, then said firmly, "I'm not going. I won't die. I'm staying."
Varys's tone grew more serious. "Do you really think you'll survive? You know better than anyone how much your father cares about the family's honor. And the substitute you arranged for this trial has disgraced House Lannister. People are already talking about your family the same way they talk about House Frey—finished. Do you honestly think your father will let that go?"
Tyrion's face turned ashen. He knew his father's nature, knew exactly where he stood in his father's eyes. Just as Varys said, Tywin Lannister would never let someone live if he believed they had shamed the family. The assassins might already be on their way.
"The door's open. Whether you leave or not is up to you," Varys said. He didn't wait for an answer and stepped out of the cell.
Tyrion hesitated for a brief moment—then quickly followed, staying close behind Varys as they slipped into the hidden passage.