Chapter Text
Tyrion had always known that the Seven had forsaken him all his life. There was ample evidence to demonstrate that claim. What he hadn’t previously grasped was that their disdain for him ran all the way to active mockery. But that was before he saw the blue-clad man with the strange hair standing confidently before the court, declaring his intention to defend a man who had been practically proclaimed guilty before the crime had even been committed. He felt a strong desire to burst into spontaneous applause at this rare display of divine farce.
His bemusement vanished, however, to be replaced with a perverse glee when he saw the look on his father’s face, a battleground between rage and bafflement.
“Allow me to summarise, for the purposes of clarity,” said Lord Tywin, the coolness in his voice belying the fire in his eyes. “You wish to stand for the accused -” not ‘Tyrion’ or ‘my son’, of course “- in his trial, as would a champion in a trial by combat. Is this correct?”
The blue man nodded. “Yes, Your Hon- my lord. Think of it the same way, if it helps. But with words instead of swords. And, uh, no death at the end.” He added, in an undertone that Tyrion only just about heard: “I hope.”
Tywin’s face continued to be a glorious picture; he seemed caught between rolling his eyes and sputtering in angry incomprehension. Perhaps the gods are on my side after all, Tyrion reflected. If this keeps up, this fellow is like to cause my dear father a fatal heart attack.
On reflection, that too would probably be held against him.
Tyrion finally managed, regretfully, to tear his eyes away from his father’s face. Mace Tyrell looked to be unsure of the entire situation; he kept looking from the blue man to Lord Tywin, as if searching for some kind of signal. Oberyn Martell, on the other hand, had leaned forward, his hand on his chin and a look of amused interest in his eyes. This is either very good or very bad. Perhaps both.
“The idea is not without precedent,” the Red Viper began, a strange glee bubbling below the surface of his words. “Doubtless we have all witnessed trials where the defendant is incapable, and some family member or such speaks for them.”
Lord Tywin scoffed. “This man is no Lannister. And stunted though he may be, surely no man in this hall believes Tyrion incapable of speaking for himself?”
Tyrion hated to admit it, but Lord Tywin did rather have a point. In a battle of words and wits, I am Gregor Clegane. If it must come to that, I would much rather rely on myself than some stranger.
As if reading his mind, the blue man turned and flashed him a grin. Despite himself, Tyrion found himself a little reassured. Surely no-one would pronounce this madness so boldly unless they had a good plan? And at present, Tyrion was quite happy to grab hold of anyone’s good plan. Within reason.
Prince Oberyn was speaking again: “I have read about times before the Conquest when lords would allow some disinterested party to speak for a defendant in cases of some complexity. I believe it was felt that having another individual investigating would help the course of justice along.”
Whether Oberyn really had ever read this kind of thing, Tyrion had no idea; he himself had certainly never come across any such thing, but then he had no idea what treasures Dornish libraries might hold. If I get out of this, I shall spend the next year reading up on old justice systems, he promised himself. Preferably far from here.
The blue man nodded his agreement. “Exactly. After all, the judges are neutral parties.” Lord Tywin’s face tightened considerably, and Tyrion wondered anew if the man was brilliant, or a fool. “It is only fair, only just, to have someone on the defendant’s side as well.”
Lord Tywin shook his head. “If you wish to convince someone with fool’s talk of justice, seek out Stannis Baratheon. I am here representing the Crown, and it is the opinion of the Crown that Tyrion Lannister will be judged fairly in the light of the Seven without some mummer blindly attempting to sway that judgement. Now remove yourself from this hall before I have you thrown into a cell.”
Prince Oberyn stood up. “I must object, Lord Tywin. I do not know how you serve justice at Casterly Rock, but in Dorne we allow the accused some rights. How can any man prove his innocence with the court weighing down his every move?”
Lord Tywin spoke through gritted teeth. “This court is prepared to allow every reasonable request of the defendant. This request, however, is sheer lunacy. Now please, Prince Oberyn, sit down so that we may proceed.”
A grin crossed the Red Viper’s face. “If the trial’s continuation is dependent on my sitting down, then I believe I will remain standing, Lord Tywin. I daresay I have better perspective this way.”
The blue-clad man was also grinning. Tyrion wondered just how urgent his death wish was. Meanwhile, Lord Tywin had turned to face Prince Oberyn, while Mace Tyrell looked as though he was contemplating standing up as well. Tyrion could almost hear the cogs turning in his head – if a Martell can stand up in the middle of a trial, why not a Tyrell?
“Prince Oberyn, your childishness is both obstructive and embarrassing to yourself, your brother and your kingdom.” Lord Tywin had left patience far behind. “You will be seated immediately, or I will seek a new judge.”
The Dornish prince shook his head slowly. “But my brother and my kingdom wouldn’t like that, would they? Oh no, Lord Tywin. I speak with the voice of Dorne, and Dorne is most displeased at this turn of events. You will allow this man to speak for the accused, or I will be forced to return to Sunspear carrying most… grievous news.”
Tyrion almost gasped. No-one had spoken to Lord Tywin like this since the age of nineteen, since Castamere. Well, probably Aerys had, but then even he had ended up no better than the Reynes. He cannot afford to look weak, but he can scarcely afford to alienate Dorne either. And that is besides those thinly veiled threats. Choose carefully, Father, or hire a very dedicated taster.
After a few moments of glaring, Lord Tywin sighed. “I did not expect a man of your… reputation to have such an appetite for foolishness. Nor did I imagine Dornish law to be a mere mummer’s farce. However, the crown chooses to indulge you, for now.” Yes, nice wording, Father. ‘The crown chooses’, not ‘I am forced to’. As though every man in this hall has not just been witness to you actually having to compromise.
Prince Oberyn nodded, apparently satisfied. “Very well. Step forward, Ser.” He nodded to the blue-clad man, who did indeed step forward. “Will you honour us with your name?”
“Phoenix Wright, my lords.”
“And do you, Ser Phoenix, swear to defend this man, Tyrion Lannister, to the best of your ability from the charges brought against him?”
“I do.”
“Should these charges prove false, you will assist the court in aiding Lord Tyrion?”
“I will.”
“And should they prove true, you will raise no objection to the penalty imposed by the court?”
Ser Phoenix half-turned and met Tyrion’s eye for just a moment, then returned to the judges. “I will raise no objection.”
Oh good. An optimist.
To entrust my life to a vengeful father, or a stranger playing some inexplicable game, and quite possibly in league with the Viper. What a bounty of choice is laid before me.
It was only an hour or so later that Tyrion, to his complete lack of surprise, was disturbed from his grim meditations by the arrival of a visitor. What did surprise him was that Ser Phoenix had brought someone else with him, a young woman with an elaborate hairstyle and a purple dress, whose look of perpetual cheeriness immediately set Tyrion’s teeth on edge.
“Your lady wife, ser?” asked Tyrion by way of greeting; to his immense satisfaction, the girl’s smile disappeared to be replaced by a look of mingled shock and horror.
“Certainly not… I mean, no,” said Ser Phoenix, looking for all the world as though Tyrion had greeted him with a punch. How nice to be represented by a man of such ironclad composure. “This is my friend Maya Fey. She… helps me in these matters.”
“I see. My apologies for any offence, Lady Maya.” Tyrion bowed slightly, noting as he did the look of amused surprise in the girl’s eyes. This one is no lady in truth. Then again, this foolishness seems to be serving me better than the alternative; I would be well advised to indulge it.
“That’s all right, Lord Tyrion,” said Maya, bowing back. Wrong. You should take a good deal of care in King’s Landing, girl.
“Very well then, Ser Phoenix.” Tyrion made himself as comfortable as possible on the edge of his cot. “Tell me this much to begin with: do you have experience in these matters?”
Ser Phoenix drew himself up confidently. “Yes. Quite a bit, actually.”
“I see. And have you defended many men accused of regicide?”
The blue knight’s face fell. “Well… no. I can’t say I have.”
“Lots of murderers, though!” said Maya, beaming.
“People accused of murder, Maya,” said Phoenix, grimacing. “Most of them were innocent. That’s really the point.”
“Well, happily for all concerned, I can assure you that I fit neatly into that grouping,” said Tyrion. “Is this sort of thing common where you come from? Another party defending the accused?”
He said it with forced casualness, and noted with approval that, judging by the stricken look on his face, Ser Phoenix had spotted the crucial point.
“Well, yes…It’s how things are done. Defence on one side, prosecution on the other, plus a judge. And they’re all impartial. Or they’re supposed to be, anyway.”
Impartial justice? Don’t dare suggest such a thing to my father. Oh dear, too late. “So where is it that you hail from, ser? Your accent is strange, and I have never heard of this system of judgement. Somewhere beyond the Free Cities, perhaps?”
“Somewhere far away,” said Ser Phoenix through gritted teeth. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
How enlightening. A fugitive of some sort, perhaps? “As you wish.” He placed the subject carefully to the back of his mind, for future consideration. “So how do we proceed from here?”
“We should start by establishing the basics,” said Phoenix. “What can you tell us about the murder?”
The question was an obvious one, and yet Tyrion winced. “No more than any other man in this city. One moment all seemed relatively well, the next the king was suddenly choking to death. What more is there to say?”
Phoenix surveyed him carefully. “You suspect poison?”
Tyrion snorted. “Find me a single person who does not. If Joffrey’s death were believed to be accidental, my chamber would not have been downsized so dramatically.”
“But that’s so unfair!” said Maya, her cheeks puffed out in indignation. “All those people at the wedding and yet you’re the only suspect?”
“Maybe just the most convenient suspect,” said Phoenix quietly. Tyrion, to his own surprise, found himself nodding.
“Perhaps so. I am… not a popular man here. The only person of any consequence who might take my side is… well, no-one is quite sure just where he is at present. Or if they are, they have not thought fit to tell me. My father and sister despise me more than anyone. The court sees me as a conniving monster. The smallfolk find me a convenient scapegoat for all their various ills. The closest things I have to friends in this city are my squire and a sellsword.” He laughed bitterly. “Tragic, isn’t it? I have to employ people to get them to like me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Maya crept forward and took his hand between hers. “We’re your friends,” she said, smiling gently.
Tyrion’s instinct was to scoff at such an over the top pronouncement of false compassion, but as he looked at Maya’s shining eyes, and past her to the smile on Phoenix’s face, something stopped him. If these two are mummers, they are masters of their art, which could be very useful to me. If they are fools, better fools by my side than nobody. After a few moments, he found himself hesitantly returning their smiles. Who was the last person who had smiled at him so straightforwardly? Shae? Aye, a smile I bought with Lannister gold. Tysha? But… no. He had enough worries without indulging himself on that font of misery.
Ser Phoenix’s voice broke across his thoughts. “Tell us about the late king.”
Tyrion shrugged. “Joffrey? A monster. I hated him-“ He broke off suddenly. Idiot dwarf! You might as well have just confessed! He carefully surveyed their expressions. Maya, who was now kneeling on the floor in front of him – I fear for your knees, lady – had dropped her smile, and now wore an expression of pity. Phoenix looked thoughtful, but nothing about his face suggested triumph or condemnation. Well, I have come this far. “Yes, I hated him, as did just about everyone else. And yes, I argued with him, but if I murdered every man who threw petty insults my way I would be alone in a city of corpses.”
“Was there anyone in particular who hated Joffrey? Even more than you did?”
That answer came readily enough. “Sansa. Sansa St- Lannister. My wife.”
Phoenix and Maya exchanged a knowing glance. “Ah yes,” said Phoenix. “We’ve heard a little about her, all right. I believe she’s been missing since the wedding?”
“Precisely,” said Tyrion. “If she had only had the good grace to bring me with her, well…” He raised his hands in a gesture of futility.
Phoenix nodded. “Seems awfully convenient. Or, uh, inconvenient for you, I guess.”
“If you have a theory, Ser Phoenix, please elaborate. I am going nowhere.”
Phoenix shook his head. “No theory. Not yet. I think I need to go out there and do some digging.” He stood up and stretched. “Oh, and Lord Tyrion? Just ‘Phoenix’. I’m not a knight.”
“I guessed as much,” said Tyrion. “Consider it a gesture of politeness. Deference, if you prefer. But if you’d rather I didn’t…”
“I kind of would, actually,” said Phoenix, scratching the back of his head embarrassedly. “Feels like you’re expecting too much of me. Never really been the dragon-slaying type.”
“I don’t know about that, Nick,” said Maya excitedly. “You’re as good as any knight! Running across burning bridges, facing down murderers and assassins, getting attacked by prosecutors…”
What in seven hells have these two been through? The pained look on Phoenix’s face suggested these were reminiscences he would rather were left alone.
“I guess I could get used to being a knight. Hey, what about a samurai?”
Maya’s face instantly fell. “Don’t be silly, Nick.”
“Hey, that doesn’t seem fair-“ Phoenix suddenly seemed to remember that they were not alone, and turned back to Tyrion. “We’ll be back soon, I promise.” He nodded as he left. Maya trailed behind him, beaming.
“Don’t worry, Lord Tyrion. With Nick on your side, you’ve got nothing to worry about!” For some reason, she outstretched the thumbs on both hands and held them upwards while grinning. She continued this gesture all the way out of the cell.
What an odd gesture. Vaguely obscene, I should think. Tyrion sighed and tried to make himself comfortable on the bed, such as it was. They don’t lack for confidence, which is something, especially if they’re to match wits with my father. But they do lack for trepidation, given what they are up against.
All the same, as their faces swam before him in the darkness, he couldn’t help but feel the crushing weight on his shoulders lessen just a little.