[134] The Clegane Inquiry

Chapter 134: The Clegane Inquiry

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Morning light streamed through the tall windows of Tywin Lannister's solar, catching dust motes that danced like tiny golden specks.

I sat in the Old Lion's chair, continuing to find a certain poetic justice in occupying the seat of the man who'd helped destroy my family. The leather still held the impression of his form, a ghost I was slowly exorcising with my presence.

Today, I had a special guest sitting across from me.

Lady Alysanne Clegane, her back straight as a spear.

Even seated, her height was apparent. Standing, she would tower over me despite my own impressive stature of six-foot-three after all the System enhancements. Her face bore the strong Clegane features, pronounced jaw, heavy brow, but lacked the brutality etched into her brothers' countenances. Her eyes, a surprisingly soft hazel, regarded me with measured intelligence.

"Your Grace, I must express my deepest concern that an assassin disturbed your rest," she said, her voice low and melodic, at odds with her imposing frame. “House Clegane stands ready to ensure such an affront never occurs again."

I studied her, thinking of Brienne of Tarth. Both women defied conventional beauty with their size, yet where Brienne was a warrior through and through, Lady Clegane was something else entirely. Her hands bore calluses from quills rather than swords, and her gown, a practical cut of dark yellow, was tailored to minimize rather than accentuate her frame. Still, there was a commanding presence about her that demanded attention.

The dragon sees what others miss.

"An assassin of unusual skill," I remarked casually, swirling the wine in my goblet. "A Faceless Man, if my understanding is correct. Do you know what that means, Lady Clegane?"

Her expression remained unchanged. "I've read accounts of them in my library, Your Grace. Legendary killers from Braavos who can change their appearance at will. Expensive to hire. Impossible to escape." A pause. "Or so the stories claim."

I smiled thinly. "Yet here I sit. Stories, it seems, have their limitations."

"Indeed." Her eyes held mine steadily. "How fortunate for the realm."

"Fortune had little to do with it," I replied. "Tell me, Lady Clegane, what do you know of your house's standing these days? Your brother Gregor serves Tywin Lannister, hunting smallfolk across the countryside. Sandor abandoned his Kingsguard vows and fled. And yet here you sit, in the Dragon's den, offering condolences."

I leaned forward, watching her reaction. In the show, Sandor Clegane had been one of the more complex characters—his journey from the Hound to something approaching redemption had been compelling. But his sister had never appeared; she existed only in the family registry.

Lady Clegane met my gaze without flinching. "If Your Grace truly believed I had something to do with last night's unfortunate incident, I suspect I would be facing dragonfire rather than conversation."

Her calm demeanor was impressive. No nervous fidgeting, no excessive blinking. Either she was innocent or exceptionally skilled at deception.

"Why do you think I called you here for that? Perhaps I merely find you interesting," I countered. "Your brothers cast such large shadows, yet you seem content to dwell within them, managing your house's affairs from the background."

"Shadows provide cover, Your Grace. One sees much while remaining unseen."

"And what have you seen, Lady Alysanne?"

She shifted slightly, the movement causing the light to catch on the small golden dogs embroidered along her collar. "I've seen houses rise and fall on tides of ambition. I've seen good men destroyed by pride. And I've seen that loyalty to the wrong person can be... costly."

We understood those words perfectly, her and I.

I laughed, amused by her carefully constructed response. "You remind me of someone, Lady Clegane. A man who once said that power resides where men believe it resides."

"Lord Varys, I presume?" she replied promptly, surprising me. "Though I would argue the Spider places too much faith in shadows and not enough in substance."

"You know of the Spider's philosophies?"

"I read widely, Your Grace. And I listen carefully. Even whispers travel far if one knows how to catch them."

I studied her with new appreciation. This was no mere caretaker of a minor house. Perhaps in another life, she might have played the game on a larger board. She'd have made a formidable Master of Whisperers.

"I'm beginning to think the wrong Clegane went to King's Landing. Perhaps if it were you, the royal situation would have been different. These days, the Queen candidates fight among themselves, perhaps that wouldn’t have been the case with someone like your expertise present among them," I said, allowing a hint of flirtation to color my tone.

Her eyebrows rose fractionally. That was the first genuine surprise I'd seen from her. "Your Grace honors me," she said carefully. "Though few look upon me and think of... courtly possibilities."

The dragon takes what it desires, but desires wisely.

"Their loss," I replied simply. "Intelligence is far more seductive than mere beauty, though you sell yourself short in that regard as well."

A faint color touched her cheeks as she smiled. It was a rather charming sight on such a formidable woman. "You've developed quite the reputation with the ladies of the realm, Your Grace. I doubt I'm your usual fare."

"I've never much cared for 'usual,'" I said. "But we digress. I have a task for you, Lady Clegane. A chance to secure your house's position, which currently hangs by a rather frayed thread thanks to your brothers' choices."

She inclined her head. "I serve at Your Grace's pleasure."

Initially, I thought she was the culprit. As someone from the Dog House of House Lannister, all fingers pointed at her. But after this talk, my suspicion had lessened.

"One of the lords who attended the banquet facilitated the assassination attempt, that I'm sure of. Someone with access, influence, and Tywin Lannister's ear. I want you to find them." I set my goblet down with deliberate precision. "You have three days."

"And if I succeed?"

"House Clegane will clear its reputation, and find itself with better lands than the kennel masters of Casterly Rock deserve. And you, my lady, will have earned my personal gratitude."

Lady Clegane considered this, her large hands folded neatly in her lap. Despite her size, there was a certain grace to her movements, a controlled precision that spoke of someone comfortable in their own skin.

"And if I fail? Or worse, if you suspect I'm the culprit after all?"

I smiled. "You're clever enough to answer that yourself."

Fire cleanses all doubt.

She nodded once, accepting the stakes. "Three days. It shall be done, Your Grace."

"Good. You may go. I believe we understand each other."

Lady Clegane rose, her height truly impressive as she towered over me even while I remained seated. She curtseyed with surprising elegance for someone of her stature.

"Before I go, Your Grace... may I offer one observation?"

"Speak freely."

"The man or woman who hired a Faceless Man fears you greatly. Such fear... it could be useful, if properly channeled."

I laughed. "Are you counseling mercy, Lady Clegane? From a family known for burning villages and smashing infant skulls?"

My words seem to rattle her for once, and not in a bad way. She found herself disgusted at the prospect that her brother, the Mountain, indeed had smashed infant skulls. "...Not mercy," she replied evenly. "Strategy. The Lannisters always pay their debts, but dead men pay no debts. House Lannister isn't the only one with financial wisdom."

With that parting thought, she took her leave, the door closing softly behind her.

I remained in Tywin's chair, tapping my fingers against the polished wood of his desk. Lady Alysanne Clegane had proven far more intriguing than expected. If she succeeded in her task, she might become a valuable asset. If she failed...

Well, dragons were not known for their forgiveness.

****

Three days. I'd given Lady Alysanne Clegane three days to uncover the traitor among these preening, self-important lords of the Westerlands.

In that time, I'd watched them squirm, each suspicious of the other, none daring to leave despite their obvious discomfort. It reminded me of season one's small council meetings—a nest of vipers pretending to be garden snakes.

The Great Hall of Casterly Rock hummed with tension as the assembled nobility shifted in their seats. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long fingers of gold across the stone floor.

Lady Margaery sat to my right, a vision in Tyrell green, the bodice of her gown cutting low enough to draw wandering eyes yet modest enough to maintain decorum. Her lips curved into a knowing smile whenever she caught a lord staring too long.

"My lords and ladies," I began, rising from the ornate chair that had once been Tywin's. "I thank you for your patience these past days."

Lord Serrett, a thin man with a nervous disposition, cleared his throat. "Your Grace, while we are honored by your hospitality," he said, tugging at his doublet's high collar, "might we inquire when we shall be permitted to return to our holdings? The harvest season approaches, and—"

I silenced him with a look that would have made Tywin Lannister proud, holding his gaze until beads of sweat formed on his brow and his words died in his throat.

Fear serves better than respect when respect cannot be earned.

"The harvest, Lord Serrett?" I let the question hang in the air. "Indeed. We shall all reap what we have sown, shall we not?"

Lady Alysanne Clegane stood near a side entrance, her imposing height making her easy to spot. She gave me an almost imperceptible nod. For she'd succeeded.

"As some of you may have heard," I continued, pacing slowly before them, "an attempt was made on my life three nights ago. A Faceless Man, if you can believe such extravagance. I'm almost flattered by the expense."

Murmurs rippled through the assembly.

Lady Lyra Prester's empty seat stood as a silent accusation, her mysterious absence had been noted, though none had dared question it directly. Now they knew why since such rumors had already spread beforehand.

"Your Grace," ventured Lord Lefford, his golden tooth glinting as he spoke, "have you determined who among us might have... facilitated this regrettable incident?"

A chill smile played across my lips as I paused my pacing. "Oh yes, my lord. That particular mystery has been solved."

Tension crackled through the hall like lightning before a storm. Every lord straightened, every lady's fan stilled. Each fearing to hear their name, yet desperate to know who had been foolish enough to cross the Dragon King.

Even kings and queens are terrified of the reckoning that dragons bring.

"Lord Gawen Westerling," I announced, my voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "Would you be so kind as to stand?"

The thin, anxious lord paled visibly, his face turning the color of curdled milk. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he found his voice.

"Y-Your Grace, there must be some mistake," he stammered, rising on shaking legs. "I have always been loyal to—"

"To Tywin Lannister," I cut him off. "Yes, we're well aware." I gestured to Lady Clegane. "Lady Alysanne, perhaps you might enlighten our friend as to the nature of his... indiscretion?"

Lady Clegane stepped forward, her movements surprisingly graceful for a woman of her stature. Today, she wore a deep black gown that exposed her shoulders, tightening around her neck and waist to define her powerful frame. Thanks to her muscular arms, it was not conventionally beautiful by this world’s standards, but it was undeniably striking.

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"My investigation revealed three key facts, Your Grace," she said, her melodious voice carrying easily. "First, Lord Westerling's maester sent a raven to Lannisport the night before the attempt, addressed to a merchant known to have Braavosi connections."

"Lies!" Westerling shouted, his hands trembling. "My maester would never—"

"Second," Lady Clegane continued as if he hadn't spoken, "Lord Westerling's personal guard was seen escorting a veiled woman to the home of Lady Lyra Prester a few days ago, during such a time where the real Lady Prester has been sick bedridden for a while, and died not long after that. Few servants saw the incidents; none dared to speak because somehow Lady Prester appeared healthy the next morning.”

The hall erupted in whispers. I watched recognition dawn on several faces—lords who had assumed the seductress at the feast was indeed Lady Prester, now realizing they'd been deceived along with everyone else.

"And third," Lady Clegane concluded, "upon searching Lord Westerling's quarters while he was out drunk, I discovered this." She produced a small iron coin, holding it up for all to see. "A Braavosi token bearing the symbol of the Faceless Men, hidden beneath a loose floorboard along with correspondence bearing Lord Tywin's seal."

In another world, Tywin Lannister would never have made such a mistake.

But Lord Westerling was no Tywin Lannister, and he wasn’t playing against Robb Stark—he was playing against me. A man who knew all the moves before they were made.

Lord Westerling's face contorted with panic. "These are fabrications! Your Grace, I beg you, I am innocent! Lady Clegane has always harbored ill will toward my house over boundary disputes! This is her revenge!"

I strode toward him, unhurried, deliberate. When I reached him, I yanked him up by his collar, lifting his feet clear off the ground with my enhanced strength. His eyes bulged with terror as he dangled helplessly.

"Boundary disputes?" I whispered, just loud enough for those nearest to hear. "You conspired to have me killed over boundary disputes?"

Without waiting for his response, I dragged him toward the nearest window—a vast opening that looked out over the sheer drop to the rocks and sea below.

With one hand, I flung the casement wide.

"Your Grace, mercy!" Westerling shrieked, clawing at my grip. "My wife, my children! Please!"

The mighty rarely think of wives and children when ordering deaths. Only when facing their own.

"Did Tywin promise to elevate your house in return for this service?" I asked, holding him half out the window. "Did he offer gold? Land? Or did he simply threaten what might happen if you refused?"

"I was forced!" Westerling sobbed. "He said he would destroy my family if I didn't help! Please, Your Grace, I had no choice!"

I brought my face close to his, looking directly into his terrified eyes. "There is always a choice," I said softly. "And you made the wrong one."

With that, I released my grip, letting him plummet from the window with a shriek that quickly receded as he fell. Before he'd dropped even half the distance to the ground, a golden blur shot across the sky. Viserion, summoned by my whistle, caught the falling lord in her massive jaws.

The crack of bone was audible even from our height as her teeth clamped down, silencing his screams forever.

The assembled nobility watched in horrified silence as my dragon wheeled out over the sea, her golden scales glinting in the sunlight, Lord Westerling's legs still visible dangling from her mouth before she tossed her head back and swallowed him whole.

I turned back to face the room, where every lord and lady stood frozen in shock, several ladies having swooned into their chairs, men ashen-faced with terror.

"My lords and ladies," I said, my voice carrying easily through the silent hall. "Let me be perfectly clear. You swore oaths to me. I expect those oaths to be honored. Those who remain loyal will find me a generous king. Those who waver..."

I gestured to the window behind me, where Viserion now circled lazily, the sun catching her golden scales.

"My dragon is still hungry."

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