GOT: The Great — Chapter 272 - Tywin's Confession

The road from the Red Keep to the Great Sept of Baelor wasn't long. Crowds poured out of the side alleys to watch.

Drogo rode at the head of the column. He wore a deep grey leather jerkin, no helmet, a black cloak draped over his shoulders and curling faintly in the wind.

Aobing hadn't come. The Purple Dragon was still too small, and Drogo had left it back in the Red Keep with Irri to watch over it.

Windows opened one by one along both sides of the street. People leaned out from the second floors.

A red-haired prostitute in a thin, painted silk dress leaned against a windowsill and called down to the street:

"Is it that little bastard king's turn to die now?"

Her voice was sharp and bright, cutting right through the noise of the crowd.

"I'll tell you — these little bastards are all the same. None of them last!"

She was still laughing when a completely naked man grabbed her from behind, biting her neck, one hand pushing through her thin garment to her chest, fingers sinking into the soft flesh and kneading hard.

Belwas was walking the flank of the column. He raised his head and bellowed up at the second floor:

"You shameless slut! Keep making eyes and I'll cut your tits off."

All of the Kingsguard except Barristan Selmy were Unsullied brought over from Slaver's Bay.

Drogo had no doubt Belwas meant every word. The man had no gentleness in him whatsoever.

The red-haired prostitute startled at the shout and hastily slammed the window shut.

Bloodrider Cohollo rode with his whip cracking, shouting in Dothraki: "Khal Drogo approaches! Clear the way!"

No one understood a word of it.

The crowd simply pressed to both sides, opening a path just barely wide enough to pass, then closed back in again once the column moved through.

Most of those shoving to the front were craning toward the rear of the column, eager to see the Lannisters being marched through.

The Lannisters walked in the back half.

Joffrey Baratheon was at the front of them, hands bound behind his back with hemp rope. The ligature marks on his neck were still there, left from when he had tried to hang himself from the weirwood.

He walked with his head down, but his eyes were up, peering out through the gaps in his loose, disheveled hair.

Cersei Lannister walked behind him.

Her hair had grown back a little, but it was still very short, flat against her scalp, considerably greyer than before.

Jaime Lannister walked at her side, half a step slower than Cersei, as if he had placed himself there deliberately to block the view of those behind her.

His right hand was gone. His left hung at his side, and his body tilted slightly to the right as he walked.

Tywin Lannister walked last, a Dothraki warrior flanking him on either side.

"It's King Joffrey!" someone in the crowd shouted. "And Queen Mother Cersei, former Hand of the King Tywin, and the Kingslayer."

"The new king is taking them to the Great Sept of Baelor."

"They're going to die."

"Any moment now, any moment. Come on, I'll wager a silver stag the new king has their heads taken off."

"Should've had their heads taken off long ago, those incest-born bastards." A man spat, the glob landing just beside the tip of Joffrey Baratheon's boot.

"I heard it was Cersei who had King Robert killed," a woman said. "She arranged for her cousin — and her lover — Lancel Lannister to slit His Majesty's throat out in the forest. When they found out, she played innocent the whole time, lying and saying His Majesty had been gored to death by a wild boar."

"Shut that mouth of yours, woman! Stop talking nonsense! Lord Lancel was an honorable man, he was Lord Commander of the Warrior's Sons. He uncovered Joffrey's plot to blow up all of King's Landing, and he died with honor."

"Hah, that's not it at all. It was Jaime who killed the king. He's the Kingslayer."

Drogo glanced back, and just then caught sight of a man squatting in the street, relieving himself. The man scooped up a handful of the steaming filth he had just produced and roared:

"Go to the seven hells, you mongrel bastard!"

A clump of something wet and sticky flew out of the crowd. It arced through the air and landed squarely on Joffrey Baratheon's face with a wet SMACK.

The column continued upward. Passing through the Street of the Sisters, the crowd had grown so thick it was nearly impassable.

Drogo slowed his horse and let the tide of people surge in from both sides, pressing the column up toward the crest of Visenya's Hill.

The sept was nearly in ruins. Its white stone walls had been blackened by fire, bare rough stone showing through in places.

The spire of the Great Sept of Baelor still stood, but only half of it. The other half had crumbled into a heap of rubble piled along the side of the steps.

The white marble plaza was packed with people.

They shoved and jostled, everyone trying to push closer, to get a clear view of what was about to happen on the sept steps.

Tywin Lannister knelt on the High Septon's pulpit outside the great doors.

It was a raised stone platform, ordinarily used for reading out church proclamations. Today it was the execution platform.

A Dothraki guard stood on either side of him, curved blade in hand, point resting on the ground.

The noise from the plaza rose like a pot coming to a boil, sound climbing from every direction, crashing against the ruined walls of the sept, bouncing back into the crowd, dissolving into an indistinct hum where no single word could be made out.

Drogo dismounted. His boots hit the stone steps. He walked to the side of the pulpit and took his position.

He raised his right hand.

The clamor died. A stillness settled slowly over the entire plaza.

Tywin Lannister raised his head and began to speak, but his voice was barely a breath. Even Drogo, standing right at the side of the pulpit, couldn't make out what he said.

Sansa Stark, standing a few steps up on the stairs above, snapped: "What is this? Louder!"

The Dothraki guard escorting Tywin stepped half a pace forward and drove the butt of his blade hard into Tywin's back.

Tywin's body lurched forward, then steadied.

Joffrey Baratheon was kneeling beside him, traces of filth still smeared across his face, watching the old man.

"Grandfather. Pull yourself together. Don't embarrass us. For the family."

Tywin raised his voice and began again:

"I am the former Lord of Casterly Rock and former Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister." His voice grew stronger as he spoke, ringing out across the plaza. "I come here today, before the gods above and the men below, to confess my crime of deicide."

The crowd erupted. The air filled with jeers and curses from every direction.

"Kill him!"

"The Seven bear witness!"

"Godslayer!"

Tywin raised his voice again, straining to be heard.

"I betrayed the Seven, and I killed the High Septon." His voice rang out. "I had long known of Cersei's plan to blow up King's Landing, to leave the new king Drogo nothing but a ruin. The High Septon knew as well. Yet I still shielded my own and stood on the side of evil."

A stone flew from the crowd and caught Tywin in the forehead, opening a deep gash. Blood poured freely down his face.

More stones followed immediately. One struck the Dothraki warrior on Tywin's left. Another rang off Bloodrider Qotho's chest plate with a hard CLANG.

➤ Next: The Execution of Joffrey