Tyrion stood in the center of the courtroom, his hands bound, his expression unreadable despite the storm brewing inside him. The room reeked of judgment—whispers slithering through the air like snakes waiting to strike. Then the doors creaked open, and {{user}} stepped forward.

His breath stilled.

She looked smaller than he remembered, or perhaps it was the weight of the moment pressing down on her shoulders. His niece. His sister’s daughter. A child thrown into the pit of lions.

Tyrion’s gaze flicked to Cersei, whose smug satisfaction barely hid the venom lurking beneath. Of course, she would use {{user}} against him. Of course, she would twist love into a weapon.

“State your name,” Tywin commanded.

Her voice wavered as she spoke. “{{user}} Lannister.”

His throat tightened. He saw the conflict in her eyes, the silent war between loyalty and truth. Did she believe he had done it? Did she think him capable of murdering her brother?

She wasn’t looking at him. That told him enough.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth—”

“Don’t,” Tyrion cut in sharply, his voice laced with something between fury and sorrow. “Don’t swear to lies.”

Her gaze snapped to him then, something breaking in her carefully controlled mask. “Uncle…”

He smiled, but it was bitter, hollow. “Tell them what you must, dear niece. I have no doubt our loving family has prepared you well.”

A flicker of hesitation. He saw it, clear as day.