Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

Chapter 367 - 367: Tyrion’s Guess

"You have to believe me—Joffrey wasn't poisoned by me. His death had nothing to do with me."

Tyrion took the wine bottle from Lynd, lifted it to his lips, and took a deep drink before speaking.

It was the night before his public trial, and Lynd had brought a bottle of wine down to the Red Keep's dungeons to see him. In less than two days, Tyrion already looked much more worn down—frayed, uneasy, and clearly rattled.

"I know you didn't poison Joffrey," Lynd nodded, then added, "But that doesn't necessarily mean you had nothing to do with it."

Tyrion, quick as ever, picked up on something in Lynd's tone and immediately pressed him.

"Lynd, do you know something?"

Instead of answering directly, Lynd spoke in a more roundabout way.

"If someone really wants to kill a person, the simplest way is to strike at them directly. The more people involved, the more unpredictable it becomes. So, if someone had the means to poison Joffrey outright, why bring you into it and create unnecessary complications?"

Tyrion seemed to catch on and murmured,

"They wanted to use me... to get at House Lannister."

Lynd glanced at him and smiled slightly.

"Do you think you're that important to House Lannister? That the whole family would collapse if something happened to you?"

Tyrion's face twisted. He knew the answer. Especially now that Jaime had left the Kingsguard and was on his way back to Casterly Rock to take over as heir—Tyrion had never felt more expendable. He wasn't just a nuisance anymore. He was a liability. An embarrassment. A thorn in Tywin's side.

"So if it wasn't about House Lannister... then it was about me?"

Tyrion took another sip and gave a bitter laugh.

"Someone hates me that much?"

Lynd said nothing, only continued to look at him in silence.

Tyrion froze, surprised.

"It really was about me? But why? Why would someone hate me enough to frame me for regicide?"

Lynd spoke with quiet purpose.

"That's something you'll have to figure out for yourself. Think carefully—who hates you that much?"

"Hates me?"

Tyrion paused, thinking.

"There are too many. The nobles of King's Landing whose houses I ransacked during the siege... the families of the soldiers I dragged onto the walls to defend the city... They all hate me. I can already imagine what the trial will look like tomorrow. Hopefully, the eggs they throw at me are fresh—rotten ones smell awful."

Lynd looked at him and said,

"You're still able to joke. Seems like you already have a plan for the trial."

"No plan."

Tyrion shook his head, then looked at him hopefully.

"But since you're here... maybe you'll break me out? I swear, I'll go with you to Summerhall and serve as your advisor."

"You really think I'll get you out of here?"

Lynd asked with a quiet laugh.

Tyrion shrugged.

"No. I know you won't. But it doesn't hurt to ask. Who knows—maybe you'll suddenly pity me and save me out of the goodness of your heart?"

Lynd shook his head.

"Any other time, I might have. But not this time."

Disappointment flickered across Tyrion's face. He took another swig from the bottle.

"It's because I'm accused of killing the king you recognized, isn't it?"

"The king I recognized?"

Lynd snorted.

"Do you honestly think Joffrey deserved my recognition? What I acknowledged was his right to inherit. King Robert did pass the throne to Joffrey before he died, and I owe much of where I am now to Robert's support. I'm grateful for that. So yes, I recognized the successor he named as the rightful king.

This is also why, even though I respected Eddard Stark and admired his character, I didn't save him—because he altered Robert's will."

Tyrion looked at him in confusion.

"So if it's not about Joffrey's death, why won't you save me this time?"

Lynd was silent for a moment, then said softly,

"Because the person seeking vengeance... has very good reason."

"You know who killed Joffrey?"

Tyrion immediately straightened, his tone growing serious.

"Yes,"

Lynd replied with a nod.

"You were involved?"

Tyrion asked, stunned.

"No,"

Lynd answered.

"From beginning to end, I was only a bystander."

Tyrion couldn't help himself.

"What about Varys? Was he involved?"

"No. He was a bystander, too,"

Lynd said confidently.

"That's impossible,"

Tyrion said firmly.

"Varys was the one who gave me the poison! That night, he talked my ear off. He told me Joffrey would never let me go. That even if I joined the Night's Watch, Joffrey would have me ambushed on the way there and tortured to death.

And knowing Joffrey, I believe it. So he gave me the poison—said I should drink it when I had nowhere left to run. Said it would spare me the pain."

"Sometimes what you see with your eyes isn't necessarily real, especially in a place like a dungeon," Lynd reminded him.

"Tyrion, you're a smart man. Think carefully and you'll find many clues."

With Lynd's prompting, Tyrion quickly fell into his memories.

Before long, he suddenly came to his senses and exclaimed,

"The Varys I saw was fake."

"What do you mean fake?"

Someone asked from outside the door. Moments later, Jaime entered, holding a bottle of wine and being let in by the guards. When he saw Lynd and Tyrion—who was also holding a bottle of wine—he paused for a moment, then smiled at Lynd.

"Looks like we were thinking the same thing."

"I can never have enough wine,"

Tyrion immediately waved at Jaime, motioning for him to bring the wine over.

Jaime walked up, handed the wine to Tyrion, then found a relatively clean spot to sit and asked,

"What were you talking about just now? I thought I heard something about 'fake'?"

"Varys. Varys is fake,"

Tyrion replied. Feeling the explanation was a bit vague, he added,

"When you came to see me yesterday, didn't I tell you I saw Varys in the dungeon? That Varys was fake."

Jaime didn't seem surprised.

"I know. You mentioned it at the wedding banquet. When you said you saw Varys, he was actually in a meeting with Father. I was there too. He never left."

Tyrion said in a low voice,

"The only ones in the world who can disguise themselves that perfectly are the Faceless Men of Braavos—and it had to be a Master Faceless Man. The Varys who came to see me was one of them in disguise. He gave me a bottle of poison. And Joffrey... he was poisoned by that same Faceless Man. The whole thing was done to frame me."

Jaime's expression shifted to surprise—then to excitement.

"Now that you've found a lead, I'll go tell Father immediately. He has to stop tomorrow's trial and launch a new investigation into Joffrey's death."

He started to stand—but both Lynd and Tyrion stopped him at the same time. Lynd pressed down on his shoulder, and Tyrion grabbed his arm.

Seeing both of them restrain him, Jaime looked confused.

"You want to say it, or should I?"

Tyrion looked to Lynd.

"You go ahead,"

Lynd said, letting go of Jaime's shoulder.

Tyrion sighed.

"Even if you tell Father, he'll never believe my theory."

Jaime fell silent.

He knew exactly how much their father despised Tyrion. In fact, before coming here, he had already gone to speak with Tywin. But in the end, he hadn't been able to convince him to spare Tyrion. All he'd managed to do was force a concession—if Tyrion confessed, he could take the black and join the Night's Watch. At least then, he'd keep his life.

Seeing the expression on Jaime's face, Lynd and Tyrion both realized—Jaime had already tried. He just didn't say it aloud.

So Tyrion explained, "Father won't believe my theory—not because he despises or hates me, but because there's a major flaw in it."

"Flaw?" Jaime looked at Tyrion, puzzled.

Tyrion elaborated, "Hiring a Faceless Man to kill a common merchant costs thousands, maybe tens of thousands of gold dragons. But hiring a Master of the Faceless Men to assassinate the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms? That would take enough gold to fill the vaults of Braavos—enough to raise and equip an army of a hundred thousand elite soldiers. Do you really think anyone would spend that kind of money just to kill Joffrey?"

Jaime hesitated, then shook his head. "So your theory is wrong."

"No. I still believe I'm right. Joffrey was definitely poisoned by a Master of the Faceless Men. And I was indeed framed by one," Tyrion said gravely, turning to Lynd. "If no one could afford to hire a Master of the Faceless Men, then there's only one explanation: that Master has a personal grudge against me. Everything he did was to frame me. Joffrey was just a pawn."

Hearing that, Jaime looked at Tyrion like he was some sort of court jester. "Tyrion, my brother, I've never seen you so full of yourself. You really think someone would go so far as to kill the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms just to set you up?"

But Lynd's face showed a flicker of surprise. Some of what Tyrion said was off—Joffrey wasn't a pawn, he was the intended target—but using his death to frame Tyrion? That part was true.

"It's real. It was to frame me!" Tyrion exclaimed, picking up on Lynd's reaction.

Seeing Tyrion's excitement, Jaime realized Lynd might know something. He turned to him and asked, "Lord Lynd, do you know something?"

"I do," Lynd admitted. "I already told Tyrion—I know who killed Joffrey, I know what the goal was, and I believe that what they did wasn't wrong." He looked at both Tyrion and Jaime and said, "This is just the beginning. The real play hasn't even started yet."

"You were involved in this?" Jaime's face darkened, his voice low.

"Do you think I needed to be?" Lynd replied with a smile. Then he turned to Tyrion and added, "Get some rest. Tomorrow's trial is going to be awful for you. You'll need your strength. I'd rather not see you collapse in the middle of it."

Tyrion raised the wine bottle in his hand. "Don't worry. With these two bottles at my side, no storm can bring down the giant Tyrion!"

Lynd gave a slight shake of his head at Tyrion's forced bravado, then turned and walked out of the cell.

Once he was gone, Tyrion immediately dropped his raised arm and slumped back into the same dejected state Lynd had found him in. "Jaime," he muttered, "I'm finished this time."

Jaime shook his head. "No, you won't die. Father promised me—as long as you plead guilty, he'll let you take the black and join the Night's Watch."

Tyrion couldn't help but shout, "Join the Night's Watch? How is that any different from dying? I've already heard that White Walkers have been spotted beyond the Wall. The Night's Watch is fighting the wildlings, trying to bring them under control by force. If I end up at the Wall, I'll be shipped to the front lines the moment I arrive. Don't forget—Stannis is the one commanding the Watch now, and he hates me more than anyone."

Jaime lowered his voice. "The black cloak is just a cover. I'll ambush the convoy on the way and get you to Essos. No matter how powerful the Night's Watch is, they can't chase down a deserter beyond the Seven Kingdoms."

It was a plan Jaime had suggested before. Back then, Tyrion had rejected it—he thought he could clear his name and prove his innocence, so he hadn't included it in his plans. But now, it was the only hope he had left. He had no choice but to give in.

When Tyrion finally nodded in agreement—pleading guilty and joining the Night's Watch—Jaime's tense expression softened, and he smiled.

...

Tyrion's trial was held on schedule. Duke Tywin was eager to resolve the matter quickly and shift his attention to Tommen's coronation.

So early that morning, Tyrion was pulled from his cell and taken to the throne room. Tywin summoned the city's lords and nobles to attend, and even allowed a portion of King's Landing's commoners into the hall to witness the proceedings.

But what Tywin didn't know was that the question he cared about most—the Iron Throne, whether it would belong to the queen or the king—had already been answered over the last two days. All that remained was to wait for the right moment to reveal it.

Nor did he know that a venomous snake, prepared for more than a decade, had been placed at his throat—its fangs aimed directly at him, ready to strike at any moment.