By Sword and Noose
Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC
You let the silence stretch for a long moment, for all that you had reached this verdict long before you stepped into this chamber today. Still, you speak the words, for this is a momentous time for your quick-growing realm. Thus, you intone, "There are no easy judgments. No matter how clear the law, no matter how certain the evidence, no matter how crushing the guilt. There are always other things to consider beyond merely the fate of the accused themselves."
Most of the witnesses have gone now, having said their part, some with tears, some with rage, some with a simple breath of relief to be finally listened to. Your eyes fall on a young man who had lost his brother to a mage of the Golden Shields for nothing more than a drunken brawl in which the wizard had called his magic and 'painted the tavern red with his blood'. His was not a unique tale, merely one of many chosen for the passion of its telling. "The first question has to be whether restitution can be offered to those wronged in accordance with the damages they received. In a perfect world, all wrongs could be righted with the right judgement, but our world is not perfect and even my power can not restore all the lives lost or forever impacted by the vile acts we have heard about today. Even now, Imperial healers try to ease what suffering they can. In this case, however, I must admit that true restitution cannot be offered by a judgement. All it can give is closure for those still alive and vindication for those who are not."
You do not even glance at the once lord of the Westerlands, but instead sweep with your gaze the seats of the Princeps and the Vox, from the empty seats that shall be filled with the representatives of the western lands to the already seated representatives of Essos, from the Narrow sea to Mantarys. "The second question has to be, how can the law and it's enforcement prevent such events from transpiring in the future. The acts we have heard recounted today were the result of a weak and incapable Usuper whose presence was barely felt outside his throne room, leaving his vassal to scheme, plot, murder, and defile in his absence. Worse yet, some of these actions received the full blessing of the man who styled himself king. Even under the most cursory of scrutiny, the crimes discusses should not,
could not, have been left unnoticed for so long, let alone be ignored and tacitly approved for political convenience. But the Imperium is
not the Iron Throne and under the stalwart vigil of the Inquisition and the many law enforcement officers of the realm, I have full trust that I shall never again have to hear about atrocities such as these committed in my realm."
There is no doubt in your mind that all of them had heard that loud and clear. Now you look into the silver eye of the mirror that carries your face and your voice far and wide, and to them you speak. "That brings us to the third and final question. What is the message that this ruling will send? How will it be received by those who had not been impacted by these events? How will it inform their actions in the future? The case put before me today is of great scope, both in the width of crimes and their depravity. Yet, many knew what transpired. Many aided and abetted the accused. While he gave the orders which lead to these crimes, he was incapable of imposing such madness on the world without their aid. Here it is, that this ruling must send a clear and firm message for all the world to hear."
Silence falls again, heavy as a curtain of lead, only the softest of whispers from the upper seats of the Principium break it, speculation too urgent to be kept quiet even one moment more. You pay their whispers no mind. At last you look down onto the still defiant face of the Old Lion. He does not seem a lion now, to tell the truth, more a starving vulture denied his roost, and if he has yet the strength not to speak then it is held back by a thread. Wrath and contempt bubbles there, envy and rage beyond the power of words to speak.
"For the crimes committed by the head of House Lannister, aided and abetted by other members of said House and in furtherance of it's political and economical goals, House Lannister is hereby dissolved by Imperial decree."
One can almost feel the air in the chamber thinning from all the in-drawn breaths. From the seat of the accused, Tywin jumps to his feet and opens his mouth to speak, but without word or gesture you silence him, the first and last spell you shall ever work upon him. This chamber is one of debate for the good of the realm and it is one of judgement, but not of bandying sharp words with dead men.
Thus you continue as the legionaries flanking Tywin press him back into his seat. "All fiefs and properties of the defunct House fall to the crown and will be used to alleviate the damages inflicted through the crimes of Tywin Lannister. Former members of House Lannister who wish to petition the crown to retain all or part of their fiefs and properties may do so, provided they have not been found guilty of crimes against the Imperium, or aided and abetted the crimes discussed today. All legal claims and obligations related to House Lannister are now void and any attempts to reinstate or make legal claims on the basis of House Lannister will be made in direct defiance of Imperial decree and thus be considered treason."
Slowly you turn to look at the two mirrors that hold the images of Lanna and Gerion, kindled again for the sentencing. "Gerion and Lanna Hill. You have pleaded guilty on all charges levied against you. I therefore bestow upon you the title Slaver, for your enslavement of sentient beings, and the title Maleficar, for your abuse of magic for vile purposes and the atrocities committed in this. As per the laws of the Imperium, I sentence you to death. However, the crown notes your admission of guilt and the remorse shown during the trial, and thus rules that the sentence will be carried out by the sword. Your children will become wards of the crown."
The implication of your words is not lost on the old man in black, not lost at all. His struggles go from mere rage and affronted pride to deadly purpose as he struggles to reach for the sword of one of the legionaries with all the strength left to him, until Malarys freezes him in place with a command and, you suspect, an edge of hidden glee. He had not enjoyed having to deal with Tywin's interruptions.
There is something like gratitude in the eyes of Lanna, though Gerion seems too consumed by anger at his eldest brother to actually give much thought of it, not that you blame him for that at least.
At last you look to the architect of all that has been recounted today, and with perhaps a touch more relish than you really should, you say, "Tywin
Hill." You let the words hang for a moment. "Your conduct before this court has been marked by belligerence, petulance, and a lack of repentance that almost veered into glee over the crimes you committed. You have been found guilty on all charges levied against you. The court would also fine you for disrespect, but as you have no worldly possessions, this will be waived. I bestow upon you the titles Slaver, for you enslavement of sentient beings, the title Maleficar, for the crimes and atrocities wrought by magic that have been committed in your name, the title Oathbreaker, for your false conduct during the Usurpation and for breaking the oaths of vassalage to the Iron Throne, and the title Traitor, for violently resisting the rightful sovereign of the Imperium and his servants. I sentence you to death by hanging."
Although you had half expected him to resist again once when Malarys' spell was lifted, he does not, seeming to have found some mastery over himself. After a moment's hesitation, you dispel your own working, giving him back his voice. He might, after all, have some words of repentance to speak even now... though you very gravely doubt it.
He says nothing at all, perhaps concerned that any insult or challenge shall be cut off mid-word, making him look all the more absurd. Or perhaps he is simply unable to find, in all the tongues he knows, any words that could fit his loathing of you in this hour.
The doors of the chamber close behind him with a heavy clang like the unto a tomb door closing.
***
The sun shines red in the western sky, bathing in crimson the white marble of the palace and beyond that the fair walls of houses drawn from the depths of the earth trailing off like steps to the western sea. It streches beyond even that, to the causeway that goes as far as Dorne and over the leagues to the mountains of the Westerlands, to Casterly Rock empty of Lannisters for the first time in an age, where now only the red and black of the legion is seen, but no gold. Oathkeeper flashes with its own flame before the assembled crowds as the first of the prisoners are brought up.
Some lords no doubt wonder why you had asked your sworn sword to play the task of executioner, but not Ser Richard himself. If that is an honor you wish to give to two among your foes, then he shall grant it and be glad for having himself removed them from the world.
The two come forth slowly, eyes filled with regret, but not with fear. Death for them is not the great unknown it might be for others, and you had pledged to deliver their souls bound in a silver of steel to Axium, where the World Wheels yet turn true and you had pledged also that their children shall be honorably fostered.
Once, twice, the sword flashes, almost too fast for the eye to see, and the sound of two heads falling is as one.
For his part, Tywin is not so fortunate, no sword of arcane forging for him, no champion so skilled in its use that one hardly feels the sword upon the neck. Instead there is only a common scaffold, of the sort that had seen countless criminals sway for the amusement of the crowds and the profit of the crows.
"Do you have any final words, Tywin Hill?" the hangman asks. For all the pomp of the moment and the fact that he shares the proverbial stage with a companion, the man sounds bored, caring nothing for whom Tywin Hill might once have been and likely just waiting to get to his dinner.
"Enjoy your triumph while you can, boy," he spits at last towards where you look on from a high seat. "I did it, too, when I was your age. But I do not think you shall live as long as I before you see it all crumble down to death and ruin."
No answer comes as the noose it fitted upon his neck and seat kicked from beneath his feet. It takes him only a few moments to die. Bored the hangman might be, but like most in Sorcerer's Deep, he knows his trade.
As the first stars kindle in the sky, you hand the souls of Lanna and Gerion to a somber Deva whom Yrael had called, and as to the soul of Tywin Hill... well the imp is very suspicious to be getting gifts unlooked for from you, but he is not going to argue with his good fortune.
What next?
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OOC: I was tempted to break this up into two updates, but in the end I just went with it in full. We have already spent a lot of time on this trial so best to just see it over. Not yet edited.
