The sight of Lord Roger Reyne outside my tent, hands bound and mouth gagged, was probably the best thing I could wake up to. Hell, give me a cappuccino and some fuzzy slippers and I'd call it the best day of my life. The mere sight of him seemed to send the Tywin corner into overdrive, mostly concerning the fact that his head wasn't atop a spike yet. One more thing I'd have to put up with in the meantime.
Behind him were another man and three boys, all of them in chains, while two other men stood at their lord's side. Two small girls trailed behind the party, trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. The chained man - who seems to be trying very hard to keep weight off his left leg - was probably Ser Reynard, and the boys must be the sons and nephews. As for the other two, I'm not entirely sure. Cousins? Guardsmen? Bannermen sympathetic to my cause? It didn't matter, as the party was surrounded by the other lords and two dozen Lannister pikemen.
Either way, the defenders were all assembled, and the trial would begin in a moment. You'd have to have the cognitive skills of Hodor to not recognize the verdict as a foregone conclusion, but maintaining at least a veneer of legality never seemed to hurt anyone. I don't mind, all the lords here don't mind, and Aerys sure as hell won't mind. The only people who do mind are the ones on trial and Tytos Lannister, who could probably be dissuaded by telling him I'm sending the Reynes to a nice farm upstate.
For my role as judge, I had chosen every single piece of Lannister-themed finery in my wardrobe. Polished red leather boots, silk breeches dyed a beautiful shade of gold, and a red velvet doublet with a golden lion's head embroidered on it. I felt like a marching band conductor in this getup, but it looked snazzy as hell. I'd probably die of heatstroke if the trial continued past noon, but I had a pretty good feeling the verdict would come through quickly. Call it a hunch.
At last, I ascended a makeshift podium and rapped a fist on the surface three times, calling the drumhead court to order.
"The trial is now in session. Would the accused state their names?" I asked. Stately, but still dripping with obvious contempt.
Lord Roger began to writhe, screaming what was undoubtedly a very unpleasant series of words through his gag, while the youth holding him spoke up.
"I am Ser Ryam Rayne, my lord. I am the eldest son of Lord Roger Reyne, and I speak on his behalf. He is currently incapacitated and unfit to represent himself in court." Lord Roger thrashed a bit harder at the metnion. "I also speak for my brothers Reynard and Rollam Reyne. We all submit ourselves willingly" - he paused to glare at his father - "to your benevolent mercy."
The lad was about sixteen and seemed to have inherited his father's skill and his uncle's desire to not be suicidal for honor's sake. No wonder Roger was pissed about Genna's marriage to Emmon Frey, the boy would've been the perfect age for a betrothal to her
The other chained man was next to answer. "I am Ser Reynard Reyne, second-born son of Lord Robert Reyne and brother of Lord Roger Reyne, my lord. I speak on behalf of my son Robert and my daughter, Rhaella Reyne."
How old was the girl, eight? Ten? She seemed like she'd be a good betrothal for Tygett once this whole mess was over.
The other man holding Lord Roger added his voice at last. "I am Ser Samwell Hill, commander of the garrison at Castamere, natural-born son of Ser Ronnel Reyne - brother of Lord Robert Reyne - and cousin of Lord Roger and Ser Reynard Reyne. I also speak on the behalf of my daughter Rohanne, my lord."
Jesus Christ, what is it with these people and alliteration?!
I forced myself to ignore the god-awful nomenclature and proceed as I had practiced. "Do you remit yourselves to the mercy of the court and swear to accept the verdict issued?"
A chorus of "I do"s was returned. Perfect.
"Very well." I shuffled some papers and glared down at them, trying to look as official as possible. "Lord Roger Reyne, you stand accused of conspiracy to commit treason and sedition against your liege lord, summoning your bannermen in rebellion, and attacking agents of your liege. Ser Ryam, does Lord Roger deny the charges?"
Ser Roger shouted a muffled phrase that sounded vaguely like 'fuck your mother'. Thankfully, Ser Ryam showed more tact and replied "He does not deny the charges levied against him, my lord."
It took every ounce of my being not to burst out in laughter then and there. "Ser Ryam, Ser Reynard, and Ser Samwell, you and those on your behalf stand accused of accessory to conspiracy of treason and sedition, accessory to treason, and accessory to attacking agents of your liege. Do you deny the charges?"
Almost in unison, they replied, "No, my lord." Creepy, but nonetheless perfect.
"Very well. The court shall now discuss to the payment of reparations. For the outstanding debts held by House Lannister of Casterly Rock in-"
"Pardon, my lord," Ser Ryam interrupted, "but I wish to speak in my father's defense-"
"Denied," I cut him off, my voice absolutely dripping with satisfaction. "By failure to deny the charges levied against him, Lord Roger has forfeited the right to an argument in his defense. The court shall now discuss the payment of reparations."
"But-"
"THE COURT SHALL NOW DISCUSS THE PAYMENT OF REPARATIONS," I thundered. Goddamn, that feels good. "No objections? The court shall proceed.
"For the outstanding debts held by House Lannister of Casterly Rock in the name of Lord Roger Reyne, the total value of all held debt is in excess of five million and four hundred thousand gold dragons. Ser Ryam, does Lord Roger dispute the value in question?"
More angry whispering between the Reynes. "No, my lord."
"Due to the nature of the debt, an agent representing the debtor house is free to call in the debt to the creditor house at the debtor's will. As representative of the debtor House Lannister, I choose to exercise that right at this time. All assets available in the treasuries of House Reyne shall immediately go to the repayment of the debt, followed by the repossession and sale of all furnishings greater than five gold dragons in value within the holdfast of Castamere. If there still remains an outstanding debt, then all gold and silver mines owned by House Reyne of Castamere shall be taxed at three-fourths of all revenue until the debt is repaid in full. Since the debt is to be repaid at the debtor's will and there is no dispute over the value of the debt in question, the matter is settled." I slammed my fist on the table in conclusion.
"Objection!" Ser Ryam cried out, "Your terms promised that House Reyne would not forfeit any property for reparations!"
"Overruled," I returned in the coldest voice I could muster. "The terms specified that no land shall be forfeited by house Reyne for reparations, and no land has been forfeited. It does well to remember that all land is property, but not all property is land."
The Reynes collectively grumbled, clearly irate but knowing they had no (legal) leg to stand on. I know the Tywin corner of my brain wasn't too satisfied yet, but I personally found this slow burn sort of humiliation to be far more satisfying in the long run.
"The payment of reparations has been resolved," I continued, "and now the court shall discuss sentencing for the accused."
More grumbling. More pleasure for me.
"Guards, for the safety of all involved, please separate the accused from one another and bring them forward for individual reading of their sentences." As Redcloaks stepped forward and began individually separating the prisoners, all the imprisoned Reynes began making a general clamor. Lord Roger even tried to headbutt the guard holding him, leading to an additional two marching forward to restrain his head and neck. As luck would have it he was up first.
"Lord Roger Reyne of Castamere," I boomed, "due to your failure to deny the charges set against you, the court hereby finds you guilty of all charges, and sentences you to be hanged at noon today."
Lord Roger thrashed and writhed harder than ever before, trying to inflict some sort of pain on any Lannister guardsman around him as they brought him closer. "Poor thing, must be delirious with fever from his wound. A pity," I softly chided as the guards dragged him back from the podium.
I wished that I could savor the moment a little longer, but I had business to do. "Ser Reynard Reyne of Castamere, due to your failure to deny the charges set against you, the court hereby finds you guilty of all charges, and sentences you to be hanged at noon today."
Upon hearing his sentence, Ser Reynard yelled out a list of words that Lord Roger wished he could've said to me, all while trying to break free and throttle anyone he can get his hands on. I nodded to a guard, who swiftly placed a boot on Ser Reynard's left knee and sent him to the ground howling in pain. I permitted myself a slight grin at the sight.
I noticed that Ser Ryam had seemed sufficiently horrified at the proceedings and regretful that he had ever forced his father to agree to the terms. that would make what came next all the more satisfying.
"Ser Ryam Reyne of Castamere, due to your failure to deny the charges set against you, the court hereby finds you guilty of all charges. While the option of taking the black is normally sufficient in lieu of death..." I watched a slight glimmer of hope form in Lord Roger's eyes. "However, the particularly egregious nature of this treason, as well as your position as eldest son and successor to the conspirators, the court sentences you to be hanged at noon today."
The glimmer in Lord Roger's eyes was gone.
Ser Ryam didn't take the news well. "You lying whore's son! You promised us clemency and a fair trial! Others take you! I'll cut your gods-damned heart out myself, you-" his rant was cut short by a swift knee to the stomach.
"Guards, please restrain the accused to prevent him from speaking out of turn and infringing on the order of the court." Ser Ryam soon found a pair of iron clamped on his wrists and a rag tied around his mouth. The remaining Reynes got the message and wisely stayed silent.
"Reynard Reyne, son of Roger," I called out, breaking the quiet. The guards dragged forward a boy about twelve years old, sweating bullets and desperately trying not to piss his breeches. That's younger than Tygett. Hell, that's younger than my little sister. Here's to hoping that he's not an idiot.
"Due to your failure to deny the charges set against you, the court finds you guilty of all charges. However, although the Father urges us to be swift in dispensing justice, the Mother also teaches us to not be without mercy. A son is not his father." The boy's expression lightened somewhat. "Therefore, the court shall present you with the option of taking the black. You shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children, and spend the rest of your days as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Do you accept?"
The boy paused, tears welling up in his eyes, before drawing in a shaky breath. "I-I reject the court's offer. If my father and brother die, then I choose to die alongside them."
Even though it seems like the boy had gone to the Dickon Tarly School of Rational Decision-Making, even I had to admit that he had balls. Not many twelve-year-old boys could stare death in the face like that and not choose the easy way out.
"The court sentences you to be hanged at noon today."
Beyond the distant chirping of the birds and the wind, the court was as silent as the grave.
The last of the Reyne boys was brought up. This one was younger, probably no older than ten. Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me? Please please please please please choose the black.
"Rollam Reyne, son of Roger, due to failure to deny your charges, the court finds you guilty of all charges. However, the court shall present you with the option of taking the black as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Do you accept?"
"The Wall! The Wall!" he cried out, before starting to sob.
"Very well. You shall be held as a ward of Casterly Rock until you are sent to the Wall by ship in a month's time."
Ser Reynard's son, Robert, was next. He also chose to take the black, which I was silently very thankful for. I'm already gonna be killing one kid today, and that's clearly more than enough for the rest of my life. At least the two will have someone they know and trust up there.
The last called forth for sentencing was Ser Samwell Hill, commander of the garrison.
"Ser Samwell Hill, due to failure to deny the charges, the court finds you guilty of all charges. However, the court shall present you with the option of taking the black as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Do you accept?"
"I accept, my lord. May I ask a question, though?"
He's already accepted, there's no harm in it. "Granted."
"What of my daughter, my lord? And Ser Reynard's girl, too?"
Well damn, now I really feel like a piece of shit.
"The daughters shall become wards of Casterly Rock until they reach maturity or a suitable marriage is found for them. They shall see no harm or ill treatment, I swear on my honor."
Ser Samwell bowed his head as the guards led him away to be put with the two boys doomed for the Wall. I could just barely hear him whisper, "Thank you, my lord," while they took him.
Most of the lords had begun to filter away, as well, leaving me standing at a podium like an idiot, Pate the servant, and half a dozen guards.
"With all male members of house Reyne of Castamere ineligible for inheritance, the Lordship of Castamere and all property in its name shall default to the control of house Lannister of Casterly Rock."
I halfheartedly let my fist fall on top of the podium. "Court adjourned."
Oh God, sodomize me with a shovel.
I grabbed the bottle of Arbor Gold and refilled my goblet.
I am a terrible human being.
I downed the goblet again. At least I don't hate red wine in this body, because that's all I've fucking got.
Note to self: see if they have hard liquor in Westeros.
I mean, he's a fucking twelve year old, for Christ's sake!
And right on cue, there's the fucking Tywin corner again. Calm down, he's just a Reyne.
Calm down? Calm down?! How the FUCK am I supposed to CALM DOWN when I'm gonna be EXECUTING A FRIGGIN' TWELVE YEAR OLD BOY FOR HIGH TREASON IN LESS THAN AN HOUR?!
Maybe if I hit my head hard enough on the table, it'll concuss the Tywin corner hard enough to make it shut off.
In the middle of putting my theory to the test, Pate found it opportune to enter my tent once again (unannounced, obviously).
"Uh... milord?" I paused doing my 'bad Dobby' impression long enough to look at him. "The hangings are scheduled to start in half an hour's turn." I continued staring at him until he got the message, hastily bowed, and backed out of the tent.
Okay, I should probably put on a more appropriate outfit.
...and finish the goblet of wine.
For the occasion, I had chosen a similar outfit as the morning's trial, but with darker and more muted colors. Turns out that Tywin's doctrine in the show of 'wear at least one black piece of clothing every single waking moment of the day' was far more accurate than I expected. Also, lots of little golden lion patterns were sewn all over the doublet. I feel like a Lannister Vuitton handbag.
As I rode out to the execution, I could see that everything was set up as I instructed. The condemned men (and boy) were all standing on some hastily-erected gallows on top of a small hill in the valley, one with a beautiful view of Castamere and the lake. I felt that giving them one last look at everything they lost would be a fitting reminder. The only others to inhabit the hill were two guardsmen and a septon who tended to the smallfolk across the lake.
I walked up to the gallows and took a stroll by them to get one final look at them. Lord Roger and Ser Ryam were both gagged, Ser Reynard was more of a quiet seething type, and young Reynard was trying as hard as possible to keep a stiff upper lip. All I could hear was the sound of the tall grass swaying in the wind.
I did take the opportunity to stop in front of Ser Ryam. I leaned in close to his ear and, confident that nobody else could hear, whispered, "Apologies for the earlier misunderstanding, Ser Ryam. I did promise your family a fair trial deserving your status. Though it seems you were under the delusion that you deserved to be treated as noblemen and not traitorous bandits." I pulled back before he could try to headbutt me and flashed a devilish little smile as I left him to squirm.
I didn't bother talking to the rest, their eyes said enough. Ser Reynard's were cold, a dull loathing saying that he would despise me with every fiber of his being for the (very short) remainder of his life.
Lord Roger's on the other hand, were flaming with a pure and utter hatred which left no doubt that if he wasn't tied up, he would rip out my heart with his bare hands and feed it to me here and now. I wonder how much of this is the delirium and how much is just his natural bravado.
I tried not to look at the boy's eyes. What I saw, however, was that he was too busy trying to convince himself he made the right choice to think anything about me.
I stepped off the gallows and took my position by the lever, while the septon began reciting the traditional Andal prayer for the dead. Despite my good night's rest, I felt my eyelids flutter a bit. Seems to me that no matter which body I'm in, the sound of a droning priest never fails to make me want to fall asleep.
When the septon concluded, I pulled the lever.
CLUNK.
Four trapdoors fell, and with them four bodies. Three of them hung limply a moment later.
Lord Roger, however, kept swaying, his feet swinging wildly in the air. It seems someone made his rope too short.
Oops.
Inside my brain, the Tywin corner filled with something that could vaguely be described as satisfaction. Satiation would probably be more fitting.
Almost as if on cue, two minutes in, a man on top of Castamere's high keep raised the Lannister banner. I swear I hadn't set that up, but I wish I had.
Lord Roger kicked harder.
I continued watching him, half out of desire to see what I started through to the end and half out of morbid curiosity to see what a dying man looks like.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and the kicks grew weaker and farther apart, then just small spasms, then nothing.
Four bodies swayed in the wind.
I remained transfixed for a few more minutes, when one of the guardsmen approached me.
"Milord, I see banners along the main road, riding for Castamere. They look like ours."
I could see them too. A dozen or so horsemen, galloping along the distant road toward the gates of Castamere.
"Let the bodies hang for another hour, then cut them down and bring them to the Silent Sisters for preparation," I ordered as I mounted my horse. I don't think even Tywin would fuck with proper treatment of the dead.
As I rode down the hillside toward Castamere, I could see that they definitely see that they were flying Lannister colors. And I had a sinking feeling about who was leading them.
When I arrived at the gatehouse and rode inside the courtyard, I didn't even bother to dismount. Besides, I didn't want to be on the ground when he was still mounted on his horse.
The first through the gate was a stocky man who looked oddly familiar. Tywin's memories reminded me that this was my brother, Ser Kevan Lannister.
We never got the opportunity to speak, but he was giving me a look that said "I'm sorry, but I tried, I really did".
Behind him rode Tytos Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock.
We walked through the halls of Castamere in silence, the only noise being the soft squish of our boots on the damp carpet beneath. Hopefully, we could get the servants to air them out and hope that most of the dyes don't run. Having to replace what was probably half a mile's worth of fine Myrish rugs was an expense I was not willing to cover at this time.
The hallway eventually deposited us in the Reynes' dining hall, whose name I would consider to be the understatement of the century. When you can comfortably park a 747 in your main hall, it's not a hall, it's a fucking wonder of the world. And the amount of decoration in it, Jesus Christ, the decorations. There's probably enough gold work, tapestries, and paintings on the walls to make the Vatican look austere. And this is just one room.
My point is, it took every single fiber of my being to not just gawk at it like an idiot.
We continued walking through the hall, trying to ignore the inch or so of standing water on the floor. An endless array of bags and crates were stacked on the tables, probably supplies that were moved up when the lower levels got completely flooded. At least the garrison here won't starve.
At last, the high table was in view. There were broken bottles of Arbor gold scattered about on the floor, possibly broken in the chaos of the surrender... or thrown at one another while arguing over the merits of surrender. Thankfully, there was an unbroken one next to two empty goblets, so I filled them up and handed one to Tytos.
"Tywin." Tytos sure could pull off sounding intimidated when he wanted to, but it loses a certain 'oomph' when everyone knows that you're incapable of following through.
"Father."
"What exactly were you hoping to accomplish by hanging the Reynes?"
"Restoring our family's honor."
"And how does that do it? You told me you were riding out to offer terms and restore the peace, not turn Castamere into a butcher's house!"
"And that is what I did. I offered the Reynes terms, they refused, so I dealt with them. Now we have peace."
"You had made it sound like you would show them mercy-"
"Mercy? You wish to lecture me about mercy? Your gods-damned 'mercy' is how this whole bloody mess started!"
"Why, you- I- That-" Tytos's face was turning a shade of red that seemed to match his doublet.
"Your 'mercy' meant that you were willing to forgive every missed interest payment, sign off on every loan increase without a second thought, and ignore every critical word about it, all in the names of 'letting bygones be bygones'. You let your bannermen rob you blind because you were too afraid to tell them 'no'. Do you know how much of the Rock's gold you've given away to the Reynes and their toadies in the past seventeen years? Do you?"
"N-no..." he stammered.
"Because I do. Eight million, eight hundred and fifteen thousand, five hundred and seventy-two gold dragons plus interest. Five and a half million of those went into Roger Reyne's coffers, two million to the Tarbecks, and a million total to their lesser banners, landed knights, and non-landed relatives. Almost one of every ten coins in the Rock passed out its doors at your behest. Was it that you didn't know, or that you just didn't care? 'Oh, I'm too busy looking for a new mistress to check the finances, I'll just let Tywin do it! I'll just have Tywin pull another hundred thousand dragons from the budget for another loan, he can shit gold on command! I'll just let Tywin run our finances and ignore his advice at every turn, I'm sure he won't mind!' Well guess what? I FUCKING MIND!"
Tytos simply stared slack-jawed, as if the fact that people didn't like him was some shocking new revelation.
"And it's not just the loans. All of this," I swept my hands around at the empty hall and let out a sardonic chuckle, "this is your doing! You pissed away eight thousands years' worth of honor in less than twenty! You marrying Genna to Emmon Frey, sending Kevan to squire for the Reynes, the whores, the wine, giving away honors like candy, all of it turned house Lannister into the laughingstock of Westeros! Did you seriously believe that Lord Roger, Lady Ellyn, Walder Frey, or any of the bannermen actually loved you? Oh, they would laugh at your jokes and flatter you, but they all laugh at you behind your back. It was a con, a scam, a giant lie that you bought into because it allowed you to think that someone loved you. They loved the gold, they loved how easily you'd part with it, they loved how spineless you were, they loved how you never stood up for what's yours, but they never loved you. Part of me thinks that you knew the truth all along, but you ignored it so you could live in your fantasy land of Lord Tytos the Well-Liked and Beloved by All while your son, who you still saw as a child to be scolded when he did something you disapprove of, went and cleaned it up! You may be angry at me for reaping this, but you were the one who sowed it long ago! This is all on your hands, not mine!"
As I caught my breath, I noticed that Tytos didn't even move a muscle, just stare at his shoes with his head hung low. Eventually, I saw tears welling up in his eyes. Was this what normally happened? He would put on his doe-eyes, cry some crocodile tears, and grovel until someone spewed some feelgood bullshit at him? Well, it's not gonna work on me.
"Y-y... you're right."
Oh. Oh god, he's not faking it.
He calmly set down his goblet, untouched, and started walking away.
When Tywin was a child, for a few brief years of bliss where he didn't notice the Reynes' scam, he saw his father as the greatest man to ever walk the earth. In his eyes, Lord Tytos was more than just a man, he was a being of infinite strength, with a laugh that could fill a room and bring a smile to everyone's face. As time went on and he learned the truth, he saw the man less as a paragon of joy and more a target for disgust and scorn, a view he continued to hold until the day I took up residency in his mind.
I could only see a creature deserving of infinite pity. He was a poor soul who had lost every meaningful relation in his life, thrust into a responsibility he had neither prepared nor desired to shoulder, and so desperate for anything resembling affirmation and support that he would shower that person in merits while reassuring himself that this is what affection really is.
I wanted to call out, to apologize, to give him a hug and tell him that he was only doing the best he could as a father and a lord, that I appreciated his efforts with all my heart. But I didn't. Maybe he needs a moment of harsh, unfiltered reality to hit him head-on, and hopefully he'll grow stronger from the experience.
I hope that's all it does.