Chapter 75 - Conspiracies (III)

WARNING: This chapter will mention rape, so if you have any sensitivity to the subject, I advise skipping these specific paragraphs.

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"A battle doesn't only take place on the battlefield, a seemingly casual conversation is often more brutal in a person's heart." Aenar Targaryen, observing Hizdahr zo Loraq.

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A day had passed since Aenar's coronation, and now he was officially king, at least in the eyes of the people of Essos. In Westeros, however, Robert's allies considered him a fraud, perhaps even a usurper.

Descending the stone stairs that led to the prisons, Aenar smelled the putrid odor of the place. The stench of sweat and mold hung in the air, mixed with other smells that he preferred not to identify at the moment.

Behind him, Leda accompanied him, wearing her shining armor and the white cloak of the Royal Guard. Although she was short, the girl exuded an aura of authority that would put many men to shame.

At the end of the staircase, a long corridor revealed itself. Iron bars lined both sides, while scattered torches cast a pale orange light over the room.

Aenar observed the cells as he passed. Inside, old and decrepit priests, who had refused to accept the religious reforms he had implemented, were slowly rotting away. The conditions of these men were miserable, inhuman even, but the smile on the young king's lips never wavered.

How should he feel about those who refused to keep up with the times? Dying in the darkness of those cells, without suffering, was the greatest mercy he could grant.

After walking through a few more cells, Aenar stopped in front of one in particular. Inside, Tywin Lannister's youngest son was reading a book. Unlike the other prisoners, Tyrion had a comfortable bed, clean water and decent food, only the stench was something he shared with the others.

When he heard footsteps stopping in front of his cell, Tyrion didn't want to turn his attention away from the book at first. He was immersed in reading the Bible of the Red Faith. However, when he looked up and realized who was there, his expression changed instantly. He closed the book, got off the bed and bowed slightly as a sign of respect to the king.

"Your Grace." Tyrion greeted Aenar with a respectful tone, his voice carrying a mixture of admiration and fear. He avoided looking directly into the young monarch's eyes, but he still couldn't hide his curiosity.

At last, Tyrion understood why all the people of Volantis and other parts of Essos worshipped Aenar as a Messiah, perhaps even as a god.

The book he had just read was simply unlike anything else he had read in his life. The indoctrination capacity of the book, called the Bible, was incredible to say the least, and Tyrion had no doubt that the Red Faith would quickly spread throughout Westeros.

Although the Faith of the Seven preached kindness, gentleness and chivalry, the methods of the Red Faith priests were incomparable in terms of indoctrination efficiency. The advance of that religion seemed inevitable.

And that same book was written by the same man who stood before him. How could Tyrion not feel afraid of a man capable of making millions of people worship him as a God with a mere book?

Leda opened the cell door and positioned herself next to the cell, Aenar entered without any hesitation. He looked around, noticing how surprisingly organized everything was. When he noticed the Red Faith Bible resting on the bed, his lips curved into an amused smile.

"Was the reading fun, Lord Tyrion?" Aenar asked, curiosity evident on his face.

Tyrion hesitated for a moment before answering truthfully: "Entertaining, and quite revealing in some respects."

He wasn't lying. Reading it had really made him reflect, especially on some life lessons that resonated deeply with him. This only increased the admiration he felt for Aenar.

Aenar wasn't surprised by the answer. He knew that prisoners often turned to religion for solace or guidance, and it was precisely those who often showed the best behavior in prison.

And although Tyrion hadn't been in prison for long, it was a short, life-changing experience, at least for those who really wanted to change their lives.

"I'll be blunt, Tyrion." Aenar stared into the dwarf's heterochromatic eyes, one green and the other black. "I want you to be my Hand."

The king's words left Tyrion completely stunned. If Visenya and Daenerys found the idea of naming him Hand of the King shocking, for Tyrion it was unthinkable. He was an enemy of House Targaryen, but here he was, being invited by the king himself to be Hand, one of the most prestigious positions in Westeros.

Still, as he remembered Aenar's goals and the legacy of House Targaryen, Tyrion sighed deeply, wearing a bitter, helpless expression. The chance to prove himself had become something he could never accept in his lifetime.

"Your Grace honors me with this request, but I cannot betray my house, least of all my father." Tyrion refused with a determined tone.

For the first time, Tyrion lifted his gaze and stared into the king's purple eyes, showing a determination he had rarely displayed in his life. However, as he did so, he was disconcerted.

Those eyes weren't looking at him with contempt, disgust or repulsion, emotions Tyrion had been used to since childhood. Aenar's gaze was something different: human, full of genuine interest, as if he saw something in Tyrion that no one else saw.

"What if I gave you a reason?" Aenar asked, tilting his head slightly, his tone laden with curiosity.

Tyrion was surprised by the question, but shook his head. He really couldn't imagine anything that could convince him to accept that position.

"Look into my eyes." Aenar ordered, activating his Prescience.

Although confused, Tyrion obeyed. The instant his eyes met the king's, he felt as if an invisible punch hit him in the stomach, taking his breath away and his balance for a moment.

Suddenly, he was somewhere else. The landscape around him was peaceful, with green hills and a simple wooden house in the distance, enough to offer shelter from the rain and sun.

The door of the house opened and a young woman came out. She must have been no more than ten years old and somehow seemed strangely familiar to Tyrion. He tried to remember who she was, but the memory slipped away, hovering just out of reach.

Time passed quickly in Tyrion's eyes, he saw the girl gradually mature and the familiarity only grew when he saw the girl, much older than before, become the woman he had fallen hopelessly in love with when he was twelve.

"Tysha." The name escaped Tyrion's trembling lips.

He had seen it all. From the moment he met her, the sweet sound of her voice as she sang, to the impromptu wedding, blessed by a drunken septon in the presence of pigs. They were the happiest fifteen days of his life, days he wished would last forever.

But the dream turned into a nightmare.

And then came the worst.

The vision unfolded with brutality and cruelty. Tywin's guards, cold and merciless, abusing Tysha in a gang rape. Each cruel act accompanied by silver coins thrown at her feet as payment for her "service".

Finally, the ultimate humiliation. Tywin forced Tyrion to take part, to commit the same heinous act against the woman he loved. But, as he was a Lannister, his coin was gold, after all, "a Lannister is worth more".

Pain and hatred burned in his chest. But the scene changed.

The anger dissipated momentarily, replaced by bewilderment, as he saw Tysha in a boat, heading for Pentos.

There was no death scene as Jaime had told him. This only made him realize that not only had his father deceived him, but so had his brother.

Then another scene appeared in his vision. Tyrion saw again, his eyes red with rage, the scene he could never erase from his memory. His father, Tywin Lannister, ordering Jaime to lie, saying that Tysha was just a prostitute.

Time moved on quickly, and Tyrion found himself in front of a Red Faith church. A woman, now older, around twenty-five, dressed in a red cloak, was handing out food to hungry children. Her hair was black, her eyes blue, perhaps she wasn't extraordinarily beautiful in the eyes of the world, but for Tyrion, there was no more beautiful woman.

"Tysha..." he murmured, his voice breaking, the desire to cry evident. But he stopped himself. He wouldn't cry, not in front of Aenar.

The vision disappeared, and Tyrion returned to the cold, damp cell.

"So, do you agree to be my Hand?" Aenar asked, his voice gentle but firm. For all his authority, there was a spark of compassion in his tone.

Tyrion raised his eyes to the king, his gaze filled with resentment and hatred. "I accept. I want Tywin Lannister dead."

Not only would he kill the old man, but he would make Tywin see his greatest humiliation: Tyrion, the despised son, taking control of Casterly Rock, something Tywin would never allow.

Aenar smiled. "As of today, you are my Hand." He held out his hand to help Tyrion up. "Now let's go. We have a meeting with a secret prince of a broken dynasty trying to rise again."

Tyrion straightened his clothes, cleared his throat and tried to compose his remaining dignity.

"Hizdahr zo Loraq." Aenar couldn't help but think of the man with the amber skin and dark red hair.

It would be quite an interesting conversation...

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