"Careful now," Tyrion quipped, waddling ahead of the Dornish gentlemen tasked with escorting him to his would-be grave. "I'm like to wrestle your blades from your hands and make off faster than a bobcat."
He was answered by a grunt from a dark-skinned fellow, then shoved by his companion.
Tyrion almost slipped on the bloody floors of the Red Keep but was quick to steady himself with his hands against the wall. Dried blood crumpled and bits stuck to his fingers. The pungent scent of human flesh he could get used to, blood he could not.
The Gods were cruel to dwarves, and they were crueler to Tyrion Lannister, heir of Casterly Rock.
But then, being a Lannister was why he still drew breath when the Dornish had slaughtered all others, even a few among those who hadn't resisted in the slightest. Revenge for what had happened so long ago, he thought. Dorne was nothing if not stubborn, and their grudges ran deep and true.
"Why not toss me over the wall and be done with it?" Tyrion asked.
"The Prince has ordered for you to be presented to him."
Prince... Doran Martell?
No. Doran Martell was a known cripple, unfit to even make the journey, much less lead a Dornish host into King's Landing.
Oberyn then. It was Oberyn Martell.
That... That did not bode well for them at all.
Doran could still be reasoned with. Oberyn, on the other hand, was brutal and hot-blooded.
Tyrion clenched his bound hands, and cast a glance into the Keep's yard.
The Sun shone softly, and its warmth was gentle. But that was all the solace the day had to offer. Once the Keep had been besieged from within and from beyond, the green boys were quick to lay down their arms. Even when his uncle threatened death for such treason. Now, out in the yard, the Dornish gathered prisoners, and forced them to their knees under threat of having a spear shoved down their throats. He heard grunts and moans just beyond eyeshot, and blood caked the dirt.
In all honesty, Tyrion couldn't blame them for surrendering. Not when the gates he had painstakingly gotten repaired were once again struck down by the same crimson lightning.
He found it interesting however, that none of the actual host had touched a single hair on the head of any one prisoner, almost as if they were afraid of doing so.
"Would one of you mind carrying me? I doubt Prince Oberyn would like to wait around all day. If he does, perhaps we can pick this up anot-"
He was answered by another shove, this time harder.
"Alright."
They led him all the way up those damned serpentine stairs he'd almost slipped on more times than could count, past the great oaken doors into the throne room where none announced him. There, Tyrion found himself surprised.
What awaited him on the monstrosity of molten steel with crossed legs was a familiar face. It was not Oberyn Martell. It was that same intruder who had knocked the wind out of his father... late father, Tywin Lannister, with a glance.
Karl... waved his hand, an amicable smile on his lips.
"Been a while, little man."
"Indeed it has," Tyrion offered a smile of his own, bowing his head.
Depending on which of the rumours were true, either the situation was salvageable or it was far worse than before.
Oberyn Martell stood where the Small Council had sat. He gave Tyrion a curious look, then put a hand on one of the empty chairs and beckoned him over with his head. He saw Cersei seething to his side, Joffrey shivering next to her and an indignant old crone sitting across from him... Olenna Tyrell, Tyrion realised.
The Dornish had torn down the gold and red tapestries that hung from the walls. They went further, standing vigil on them with spears in their hands and swords on their belts.
"That," he pointed at the Iron Throne. "is where Robert Baratheon sat. This is where Tywin Lannister presented him with Elia Martell's children."
Calmly, the Prince of Dorne stepped over to the terrified Joffrey. Leaning against the head of the boy king's chair, he glared at Cersei.
"My Nephew!" His face trembled and became red as his eyes grew wet. "A boy so young he couldn't even speak! Gregor Clegane broke him against the wall! With the boy's blood still on his hands, he raped my sister. He raped my sister! Your man!"
Tyrion averted his gaze, as did Cersei, and for the briefest of moments, he saw Karl's eyes flash scalding red. The God... or man... or whatever he was... was quick to offer him another smile.
Oberyn spoke again, this time his words were coarse.
"What need...-" His voice cracked, "What need was there to stab a child fifty times? She was three! Three!"
His hands clenched onto Joffrey's throat. Cersei screamed as Oberyn wrenched the boy king from his seat and tossed him to the marble floor. Quickly, two spearmen moved to hold the Queen in place whilst Oberyn dragged Joffrey to the foot of the Iron Throne.
"Maybe I should do the same," He reached for the dagger at his belt.
Joffrey shrieked. He looked to Sandor standing under the shadow of the Iron Throne.
"Hound, protect me! I am your King!"
"Fuck the King," Sandor Clegane said plainly, not moving a step.
Joffrey then pleaded with... Karl of all people.
"You. You were my guard too! Protect me and I wil-" Oberyn thrust the dagger into his shoulder, carving into his chest, and the boy king shrieked again.
Far be it from Cersei Lannister to watch such a thing and do nothing. She tried to wrestle free but the Dornish held her firmly in place. She looked to Karl too.
"You. Please. He's a child!" She did something Tyrion thought she never would. With tears in her eyes, Cersei Lannister begged and pleaded. "It... It was all me! He doesn't... He never even knew!"
Karl rested his chin atop his palm, humming, "You realise this whole war is kinda your fault? His too."
"He had noth-"
"He's the one that had Eddard Stark executed, no?" Karl said. "And, well damn, he is technically a child. Still, are we just gonna gloss over the torture and rape or whatever he's been enjoying?"
"Exile him then. Banish him. Not this. Please. I'll give you anything you want... My... My body. Not my child. Not my sweet boy."
Tyrion paled at her words. Why did she think that was a plausible offer?
"...When's the last time you looked into a mirror, lady?" Karl chuckled openly.
Oberyn raised his dagger again, holding it high-
"Wait. Wait," Tyrion did not know what compelled him to speak but he did all the same. Hands bound, he wobbled over to Oberyn and bowed his head, "Let him go. He's lived like this. What do you think he could accomplish the way he is? I assure you any fate he suffers will be far more miserable than... this."
He could easily find the boy later. Or make arrangements to have him live well, as a Lannister. He could do nothing if he was dead.
"The half-man is right." Olenna Tyrell said crisply. "Look at the miserable thing. He still has a pretty face. The streets are not kind to one."
Oberyn stopped, he turned his head to Karl as Joffrey squirmed and screamed underneath him.
"I mean... He is still a kid. A shitty kid but I'm not really enjoying this," The... being shrugged. "It's not like he's the one that did what you're angry for. It was Tywin, and Tywin is dead. As is most of House Lannister out near Harrenhal. And if you punish him for his grandfather's sins, are you really any better than them?"
Yes. Yes.
Tyrion's eyes brightened. He was being reasonable. As he'd suspected, Karl was not some vengeful creature nor some ruler with some grand ambition, he was just doing what he easily could as he passed by. What 'he could do' however, was destroy them all in the blink of an eye.
"That's-"
"I mean, they're fucking weirdos into incest or whatever but that's not exactly a crime. Ordering the deaths of people for just speaking against you though, is. Joffrey has done that."
Even Tyrion couldn't find words to deny that.
"But even then, not like this. Kill him, sure. But there's no point in torture, it's not giving anyone catharsis or bringing anyone back." Karl shrugged and stepped off the throne. He sauntered down the steps to approach Tyrion with an easy smile. "You, we have a lot to discuss."
What could this thing possibly want with him?
Oberyn kicked Joffrey in the gut before gesturing to his men, "Take him away. Clean this place up for the King. For... whenever he chooses to join us."
Quietly, the Prince of Dorne walked off, leaving them alone with Karl.
For better or for worse, he could not say.
-