As befits a Lannister of the Rock, even a supposed kingslayer, Tyrion's cell was at the topmost floor of the dungeons. Which isn't to say it didn't reek of rat piss and rotten feces as soon as I walked through the door. The floor of the cell was covered in old hay and dust, with only a thin strip of light penetrating the oppressive darkness of the dungeons from a narrow opening near the stone ceiling.

I found my uncle curled into a small human ball near the back of the room, shying away from the fire of my torch like a cornered animal, covering his face with his tiny hands. "Uncle?" I whispered.

Tyrion twitched where he sat. "What?" he wheezed out, voice thick with disuse.

"It's me, Uncle Tyrion. Tommen"

He lowered his arms then, slowly. Tyrion Lannister was never the most majestic Lion of Lannister at his best, but he was looking particularly wretched on this fine autumn day. He still wore the same deep burgundy vest and shirt he did during Joffrey's wedding, only darkened with grime and torn around the shoulders, no doubt from when he was manhandled into his cell. His skin looked waxy and pale—at least from the few spots I could glimpse that weren't smeared with soot, and the first signs of food deprivation had already settled in, with the bones along his cheek and brow seeming to jut out more prominently along the ridges of his face.

"Oh. Tommen, right." He paused for a moment, then seemed to remember himself. "Ah, where are my manners." He jumped up from the bench, stumbled, caught himself on the wall. When he could finally stand straight, he worked his throat for a moment and spat on the floor. Then he gave me a teeth-filled Lannister smile and bowed. "Welcome, Your Grace, King of the Andals and the First Men, titles, titles, to my most humble abode. What can this servant do for you?"

I smiled. "I should've known you wouldn't lose your tongue despite your time in captivity."

"I have found captivity suits me, dear nephew," said Tyrion. He tilted his head to the side. "Have I ever told you of my time in the Vale? The view is certainly better than here, I will give them that."

"I've heard rumors here and there. Something about milking your eel into my mother's stew." I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are those the stories you wish to tell me?"

Here, even Tyrion Lannister sputtered. Given a few feet of height and width he would've made a fantastic Mace impression. "Ah." He cleared his throat again. "Well, um, no, not particularly what I had in mind. I was thinking more of tales of the famed sky cells of the Eyrie."

I simply nodded. Benevolent king that I was, I let the issue go. "Of course, uncle. I would be happy to hear more about it later."

"That's good news, that there will be a 'later'," Tyrion muttered. He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped, considering me. His mismatched eyes, sunken on their sockets and half-lidded with exhaustion as they were, still very much shone with intelligence. "Though, I must say, it's impressive that you know about something like that, Your Grace. Word for word, as it is." His eyes flickered to a spider web on the corner of the cell before coming back to meet mine. "Varys, I presume?"

"Not him, as a matter of fact. A ruler must have many eyes and ears, and I have mine even where spiders can't reach and little birds don't fly."

Tyrion looked taken aback. "I see," he said, almost solemn. "Kingship has suited you, nephew."

Without answering, I walked to the nearest sconce and placed my torch inside. Only then did I turn to him, making a show of eyeing him up and down. Not a terribly long job, that. "And I see kingslaying hasn't suited yourself, uncle."

"Tommen." Tyrion let out a tired sigh, then shook his head. "No, Your Grace, please. Surely you know I wouldn't kill you brother—my own nephew."

I stared back at him, feigning an intensity I did not feel, then nodded. "I believe you, uncle." I strode over to sit on the bench and, with an inviting motion of my hand, Tyrion moved to follow me. "I always did, really, but others…"

"You mean my sweet sister," he said dryly.

"Yes, mother. She was most adamant on your guilt."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Was?" he asked. "I don't think there's anything Cersei would enjoy more than seeing my head separated from my body by way of sword."

My face turned blank. "I'm afraid mother isn't in a position to enjoy anything," I said. "She died, uncle, the week before last. It's the reason it has taken so long for your trial."

Tyrion rocked back against the wall as if struck, mouth agape. He took a moment to process my words. "The bells," he whispered under his breath. When he turned to me, his eyes were full of compassion. "Tommen I… I'm sorry, truly. Your mother and I… well, it matters not. She was still your mother. Cersei had no love for me, it's true, but she loved all her children fiercely—more than anything."

I nodded. "Thank you, uncle, but I'm not here to talk about her. I've done my grieving," I told him. "My mother's death might have delayed things, but grandfather will push for your trial soon enough."

"Of course he will," he said, shaking his great, dirty blond mane in resignation. A father's love is no small thing in a man's life, and Tyrion Lannister had never so much as felt a sliver of it. "The Gods know Lord Tywin has wanted to be rid of me since I first came kicking and screaming into this world."

This time, I was the one affecting a gentle expression, one hand going to his shoulder. Many times I had debated whether to keep him alive or let Tywin have his wish, lop his head off and be done with it. Yet that very same hatred for the dwarf was a weakness, an opening to be explored, a check to his power if wielded correctly.

Lord Tywin's Bane, the Mad King named him. And, indeed, he could be a great liability, as he was with Daenerys by the end of the show. But he could be useful, too. A good peace-time administrator, morally flexible, and with enough daddy issues to take advantage of. I wouldn't throw him away that easily.

I waited for the moment to pass and cleared my throat. "Anyway. I'm afraid mother has already done considerable damage to your case. She had talked with several people before her passing—servants, lords and ladies, witnesses and spectators. As the prosecution, she planned to bring all your history of… misunderstandings and quarrels with Joffrey and herself into the open. Grandfather has taken that part over, now. And whether due to obligation or Lannister gold, many will come forward."

"So it's hopeless, then?" he asked, grimacing.

"Not quite," I said. "I talked with Lord Tywin about the trial. He had wanted me to recuse myself, so that he'd sit as judge in my stead…" I trailed off. I was becoming a master of dramatic pauses. "Naturally, I dissuaded him from that thought. Instead, I managed to… come to an agreement with him."

"A dangerous proposition, nephew, bargaining with Tywin Lannister."A wily smile tugged on Tyrion's lips. "I believe the proverb 'making a deal with the devil' was first spoken specifically about my father, in fact."

I laughed, an alien sound in this dark place. "Too right uncle, but needs must. Despite the more current dispositions in court, I happen to value your life quite a bit. Something about loving thy family, or so I heard."

Tyrion snorted. "I'm afraid I'm not quite familiar with the concept."

"Don't say that," I admonished. "That's rather unfair. Myrcella and I have always loved you."

Tyrion raised his shackled hands in surrender. "I know, nephew, I know. Forgive me. It's the adult Lannisters that have always had it out for me. Only Jaime… well, I suppose, not even Jaime anymore." He looked around the room, as if to point out his brother was nowhere to be found.

"Yes, Uncle Jaime. He's… not doing well since mother died. I'm sure you can imagine. It's why he didn't come with me today."

Tyrion nodded, though he didn't look convinced. Good, I thought. The less the two talk, the better.

"He cares, Uncle Tyrion. He will do his part in our efforts to save your head." At his questioning look, I continued, "Lord Tywin had, above anything else, one major demand in exchange for your life. I'm sure you can imagine what."

Confusion marred his face for only a second, before it hit. Nobody could accuse Tyrion of being slow after all. "Ah. Of course. Casterly Rock. The heirship," he spat. I could see the anger and resentment built up over years bubbling up inside of him—lips upturning, skin flushing, eyes glaring at some nonexistent enemy—threatening to blow up.

"Uncle—"

"It doesn't matter," he said quickly before I could continue, the sudden anger leaving him as fast as it came. He let out a long, suffering sigh and turned to me. "I guess it never did. I was a fool for ever thinking the great Tywin Lannister would allow me anything in life, much less the Rock itself."

"I'm sorry. I know that's something you've always wanted."

"Bah!" He offered me a forced grin. "The whores here are better anyway. They are too blond in Lannisport."

I smiled with him. "That's good," I said. And it was too, just not for the reasons he suspected. He was at his lowest now, all soft and buttered up. An easy prey if there ever was one. "As selfish as it might be, I'm glad you'll be able to stay here in King's Landing. I need people I can trust if my rule is to flourish. Competent people, not the groveling parasites that hound me day and night for any scrap of royal approval I can relieve myself of. No. I need you, uncle. You. Many may not, but I remember how it was during the siege. And I also remember how you worked tirelessly to protect us, to save us, while Joffrey and mother feasted and made merry."

The torchlight danced over Tyrion's scarred face, over his twisted body, and I could see my words, my approval—something long denied to him, seeping into his bones, rounding up his shoulders, straightening his back. Like water to a parched man, he drank it all up, so I pushed on.

"If you wish, I would have you on my Small Council when the time comes."

I knew he'd go for it before he even answered.

"Your Grace, I… I would be honored," he croaked, jaw tight with emotion. Shuffling from his seat, Tyrion knelt in front of me. "Tell me what I must do."