Chapter 452: Twist of Fate

Loras Tyrell stood in the hallway of the Tower of the Hand, his brown hair tousled by the biting wind.

But his heartbeat was even more erratic.

Beside him, the steward of the Red Keep knocked on the door once again.

"Lord Tywin, I've brought Ser Loras Tyrell to see you."

Loras took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves while pondering the reason for Tywin Lannister's sudden summons.

When Caesar had given him two choices—joining the Night's Watch at the Wall or seeking vengeance for Lord Renly Baratheon—he had chosen the latter.

No matter the cost.

And the cost had been steep.

But if it meant killing Tywin Lannister, Loras would not regret it for a second.

The opportunity to avenge Renly, however, had eluded him. While Tywin had accepted his supposed fealty, the Hand clearly distrusted him, and Loras had yet to find a chance to act.

Now, at last, the opportunity had come.

A few days ago, Varys had approached him, bearing a letter in Caesar's handwriting.

Loras had been skeptical at first, doubting that Varys could arrange a private audience with Tywin Lannister.

Yet, against all odds, the Spider had delivered.

Whatever reason Varys had used to persuade Tywin likely tied to the current dire circumstances. Even the mighty Tywin could not ignore the fact that the Lannisters were losing ground rapidly.

"There's a crossbow on the wall. Once you've done it, escape through the passage hidden in the fireplace," Varys had instructed him.

The memory of those words lingered in Loras's mind, yet a feeling of unease gnawed at him.

It wasn't the thought of killing Tywin that unsettled him—he had no qualms about that. It was the idea of trusting Varys, a man infamous for his secrets and schemes.

Another knock on the door snapped Loras out of his thoughts.

The steward called out again, but there was no response from within.

"Could Lord Tywin have gone to bed early?" Loras asked.

"Lord Tywin never retires this early," the steward replied.

After a moment's hesitation, the steward pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Loras followed.

The room was empty, lit by the flickering light of a dozen candles on the desk.

Loras's gaze darted to the walls, searching for the crossbow Varys had mentioned—but it was nowhere to be seen.

Damn that Spider, Loras thought bitterly. Of course he can't be trusted.

"Lord Tywin?" the steward called out again, moving toward the adjoining bedroom.

Loras took a step to follow, but stopped as a faint metallic scent reached his nose. Blood.

His heart skipped a beat, though his face betrayed nothing.

While the steward went to check the bedroom, Loras turned toward the source of the smell.

Pushing open a heavy iron-reinforced door, he froze at the sight before him.

Tywin Lannister—Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Hand of the King—sat slumped on the privy, his clothes disheveled. A bolt protruded from his abdomen, buried to the fletching. Blood trickled down the shaft, pooling beneath his bare legs.

Loras's mind stalled for a moment before he noticed the crossbow lying discarded on the floor.

The Spider hadn't lied.

Someone had beaten him to it.

But who?

Instinctively, Loras picked up the crossbow. As he turned, he saw the steward standing in the doorway, his face pale with horror.

"You... you killed Lord Tywin!"

Loras said nothing.

Any denial would be futile.

As the steward turned to flee, Loras acted on instinct, swiftly nocking a bolt and letting it fly.

The arrow struck the steward square in the back, cutting off his cry for help.

Loras knew he couldn't linger.

"...The escape route is hidden in the fireplace..."

Recalling Varys's instructions, Loras didn't hesitate. He rushed to the fireplace, stepped over the burning embers, and fumbled until he found the hidden mechanism.

With a soft click, a stone door slid open, revealing a dark passage.

The sound of guards shouting outside urged him forward. Loras ducked into the hidden passage and pulled the door shut behind him.

Crawling through the narrow, pitch-black tunnel, a triumphant smile spread across his face.

---

Meanwhile, Tyrion Lannister descended the shaft back into the hidden chamber where he had parted ways with Varys, only to find the Spider gone.

Without a guide, Tyrion had no idea how to navigate the labyrinthine tunnels.

Well, not entirely true—he did know how to return to his cell.

But going back was out of the question.

Standing before five branching paths, Tyrion chose one at random.

Let the gods decide, he thought with grim amusement. Probably hell.

Kinslayers are cursed, after all.

And Tyrion had just killed his father.

As he trudged through the damp, shadowy passage, images of Tywin's final moments played over and over in his mind.

He wasn't sure how long he walked or how many twists and turns he took before a faint light appeared ahead.

Pushing open a stone panel above him, Tyrion emerged into the open air.

The full moon hung high in the sky, casting silvery light over the Red Keep. Wind howled through the trees, their shadows stretching across the ground like clawed fingers.

Within the castle, guards with torches hurried back and forth, their expressions tense.

I'm still in the Red Keep, Tyrion realized with a wry smile. The gods truly do want me dead.

"Who's there?"

A patrol of guards approached, torches in hand. Tyrion felt oddly calm, resigned to his fate.

"It's me, Tyrion Lannister," he said plainly.

The guards recognized him immediately. They hesitated, unsure whether to bow or draw their swords.

Wasn't this dwarf supposed to be locked in the dungeons?

"I won't make this difficult for you," Tyrion said, his tone almost polite. "Take me to the king. I'm ready to face judgment for my crimes."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances before escorting him to Maegor's Holdfast, where King Tommen's chambers were located.

Upon entering the room, Tyrion saw Queen Cersei hurling a vase against the wall in a fit of rage.

Tommen sat on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Your Grace," one of the guards announced, "we found Lord Tyrion wandering the castle..."

Cersei spun around, her pale face contorted with fury and grief.

"Tyrion? How did you get out of the dungeons? What are you doing here?"

"I missed you, dear sister," Tyrion said with mock cheer. "Seeing you so radiant and queenly warms my heart."

"Don't mock me!" Cersei snapped, striding forward and slapping him hard across the face. "Do you know what's happened? Father is dead!"

Tyrion staggered from the blow, his mind reeling.

"Of course I know. I—"

"You know nothing!" Cersei slapped him again, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. "Father is dead! We're doomed! Who will control the northern lords? Who will stop Caesar? That damn Caesar—sending assassins to kill Father! I knew that snake Loras couldn't be trusted. We should have killed him the moment he arrived!"

"Assassins? Loras?" Tyrion repeated, bewildered.

"Yes, Loras Tyrell killed Father! You fool!" Cersei shrieked, raising her hand for another slap.

But this time, Tyrion caught her wrist and bellowed, "Enough!"

Cersei froze, her hand trembling in mid-air.

For a fleeting moment, her expression shifted from rage to something resembling fear.

"How dare you!" she spat. "You have no right to—"

"I have every right," Tyrion interrupted, his voice cold. "As Tywin's firstborn son and the rightful heir to Casterly Rock. With Father dead, I am now Lord of the Rock and Warden of the West."

"Ridiculous! Jaime is—"

"Jaime joined the Night's Watch," Tyrion reminded her. "You know as well as I do that the Watch requires its members to forfeit all claims to land and titles. By law, I am the rightful heir."

Cersei's face flushed with anger and humiliation as she stared at her brother.

For the first time, Tyrion stood before her not as the dwarf she despised, but as a figure of authority, a shadow of Tywin himself.

Her hand wavered, trembling in the air, before she finally let it drop.

(End of Chapter)