Afternoon in Flea Bottom.
The sun shines through the messy clotheslines above the street, casting mottled light and shadow on the stone pavement.
Smoke curls up from low chimneys, mixing with the smell of stewed food and cheap spices, slowly wafting through the air.
The children were chasing and playing in the alley, and their laughter was so lively. They seemed to be two completely different worlds from the flea bottom full of violence and anger a few days ago.
Tyrion Lannister stood at the door and looked up at the newly hung wooden sign on the lintel.
The sign was written in black paint: House of Order-Flea Bottom Special Autonomous Region Administrative Center.
Affiliated to Vito·Ser Corleone.
The handwriting is not beautiful, but it is very straight. The paint has not completely dried, and it has a moist luster in the afternoon sun.
Tyrion looked at it for a long time, then let out a breath.
In the quiet foyer, two young men "Community Wardens" wearing gray uniforms and short sticks on their waists, with proud expressions on their faces, stood up straight and stared straight ahead.
Tyrion walked inside.
The interior of the main hall had undergone some changes compared to the last time he came to attend the banquet. New wainscoting was installed on the walls, and the dark wood was polished smooth, reflecting the sunlight coming in from the high windows.
The floor was paved with new stone slabs, and the flatness was outrageous. It was probably wider than the main hall.
The fireplace at the end of the hall burned with a gentle flame, and the firewood crackled, dispelling the coolness of late autumn.
There were people coming and going in the hall, but it was orderly.
There is a row of wooden tables against the wall on the left. Behind each table is a person who looks like a clerk, with accounts or documents spread out in front of them.
There was an extremely neat queue in front of the table, men and women, old people and children, all wearing brand new and clean clothes.
They waited quietly, occasionally chatting in low voices, but no one cut in line, and there was no sound of quarreling or shoving.
Tyrion saw an old woman walking to a table and handing over a few Copper Penny.
The clerk behind the desk smiled and took the money, recorded it in the account book, and then handed the old woman a small wooden sign.
The old woman took the wooden sign and carefully put it into her arms. With a relieved expression on her face, she turned and left.
"That's a resident identification card."
A voice came from behind Tyrion.
He turned around.
I saw Vito·Corleone standing there, wearing a simple dark robe, without a sword, holding a thick Booklet in his hand, looking like he had just come out of a certain room.
"Everyone who lives in Flea Bottom needs to register and get a sign."
Corleone walked to Tyrion, his eyes also fell on the people lining up in the hall, and explained, "The signs are divided into several colors, green is for permanent residents, and blue is for temporary residents."
"With the brand name, you can buy cheap food at our food store, receive medical treatment at Clinic and enjoy benefits, and your children can attend the literacy classes we run."
His tone was calm, as if he was stating something ordinary.
But Tyrion heard the deeper meaning.
Registration, licensing, and hierarchical management. Control food, control medical care, and control education.
This is not simply giving alms or maintaining order, this is a whole social system!
And all this took only three months.
"You created a country within a country, even better than all the seven lords the Seven Kingdoms!"
Tyrion said in amazement, with no concealment of admiration in his tone, and even a hint of unnoticeable fear.
However, Corleone just glanced at him and said calmly, "I just created a place where people can live normally."
Then he turned around and said, "Follow me."
Tyrion followed, and they walked through the main hall and up the stairs. The second floor was obviously an office area. It was much quieter, and the sounds of discussions could occasionally be heard from several rooms.
Go all the way to the third floor.
Corleone walked to the end of the corridor and opened a heavy oak door.
This is his office.
The room was large, with bookshelves filling three walls, filled with books and scrolls.
The entire row of windows was open, letting in the afternoon sun and breeze.
You can see the roof of the flea nest outside the window. Those low shacks are being gradually renovated, some have been replaced with new tiles, and some are being reinforced.
There was a huge oak table in the center of the room. There was nothing on the table except a few documents, an inkwell, and a quill.
There were two high-backed chairs on each side of the table. Corleone walked to the main seat and sat down, raising his hand to signal Tyrion to sit opposite.
But he did not sit down immediately. Instead, he moved a stool to the window, stepped on it, and looked out the window.
From this height, you can see the entire Flea Bottom, the clean streets, the chimneys emitting smoke, the gray uniforms Coordinators patrolling the streets, and the newly built market in the distance, with stalls arranged neatly and people coming and going.
There were hawking sounds one after another, and the whole flea nest showed an orderly atmosphere of fireworks.
"You know what."
Tyrion spoke without looking back, "I grew up in Casterly Rock. It was a castle built on a gold mine. The corridors were paved with marble, the walls were hung with silk, and the wine cellars contained the best wines from the Seven Kingdoms."
"My father always said that that's what power looks like, but after going through this prison, I like it better here than those cold things."
As he said that, he turned around, jumped off the stool, and climbed onto the high-backed chair. The chair was too high for him, and his feet could not reach the ground and hung in the air.
He adjusted his sitting posture and then looked at Corleone.
"No matter what."
"Thank you, thank you for keeping your promise and letting me be free."
Hearing this, Corleone leaned back on the chair, and a gray-black long-haired cat jumped onto his lap.
Caressing its hair carefully, Balerion squinted his eyes and made a "coo" sound in his throat, then raised his head and looked at Tyrion in front of him together with Corleone.
"No need to thank me."
"This is a business deal. You pay and I do the work. Now you are temporarily free. I received the money and the transaction is completed."
"Temporarily free?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow.
"Tywin has not completely withdrawn the accusation." Corleone knocked on the table. "Dontos Hollard's testimony points to others, but the one-sided words of a fallen knight are not enough to convince the jury that you are innocent."
"They need more evidence, not to mention the nature of this assassination... forget it."
Corleone waved his hand, intending to say that the assassination was actually planned by that old woman Olenna Redwine.
But after thinking about it, it is better that as few people know about this matter as possible, so as not to cause any complications.
"So, I got a chance for you from the Prime Minister not to stay in the dark cell, but you can't leave King's Landing until the trial is over. You have to report to the Capital Guard once a day to make sure you don't escape."
"I call this method bail pending trial."
Hearing this, Tyrion frowned at first.
After all, after James brought Dontos Hollard up, his prime minister father urgently stopped the trial, and he had no idea what happened afterwards.
It's like there is a pair of invisible hands pushing all of this to happen.
But Corleone didn't say anything, and he wisely didn't ask. There was just a sarcastic smile on the corner of his mouth, "It's better than hanging."
"Indeed."
There was silence in the room for a moment.
Tyrion's eyes fell on Corleone's face, observing the man carefully again.
The face was ordinary, nothing special, except for the deep and calm eyes.
Who would have thought that this man, who was just a Farmer a few months ago, would now be able to control some situations in King's Landing and even influence the Prime Minister's decision.
He recalled the way Corleone walked into Baelor Great Sept on the day of the trial, calm and collected, as if he was not walking into the most sacred hall of the Seven Kingdoms, but his own backyard.
This man saved him.
But he bluntly said that this was just a fair transaction.
But it was this cold rationality that gave Tyrion an inexplicable sense of security.
"Speaking of money." Tyrion said, breaking the silence. "I have asked Bronn to send the ten thousand Gold Dragon to your treasury. You should have received it, right?"
Corleone nodded. "Your payment Mercenary was very punctual."
"That's good."
Hearing this, Tyrion joked calmly, "Thanks to your last threat, I remember it very deeply."
"It made me understand that money is not everything, but nothing is impossible without money, especially when you need life-saving help."
As he spoke, his short legs swayed gently in the air, enjoying themselves.
"So when I was still serving as Chancellor of the Exchequer, I kept some money and deducted a little bit from each expenditure from time to time, but it added up to a lot."
"Now that I think about it, it's actually quite sad that a Lannister needs to save money secretly."
"Come to think of it, that guy Petyr Baelish has been the Chancellor of the Exchequer for so many years. I can't even imagine how much money he has embezzled."
Facing Tyrion's rambling narration, Corleone just listened quietly without any expression on his face.
There was another moment of silence.
Seeing that Corleone really had no reaction, Tyrion stopped testing and spoke directly, "So, our deal is completed, can I leave, or do you have other... services to sell?"
At this time, Corleone said slowly, "The transaction is completed, but there is one more thing."
"What's the matter?"
"Someone wants to see you."
Tyrion was stunned for a moment.
Before he could ask further questions, Corleone had already walked to the door and opened it.
Sansa Stark walked in.
She changed from the dark blue velvet dress she wore at Baylor Great Sept, and now wore a simple gray woolen dress with a dark shawl outside.
Her long red hair is braided into a thick braid and hangs down on her chest. There is no makeup on her face. She looks more mature than her actual age, but also more determined.
She is not alone, but is followed by a middle-aged man wearing a dark red robe with a seven-pointed star holy symbol hanging on his chest.
The man was thin and had a serious face. He was holding a thick book "Seven-Pointed Star" and a roll of parchment in his hand.
Tyrion recognized that outfit.
Cardinal.
A priest of the Church of the Seven Gods, his rank is second only to the Archbishop and Archbishop.
Seeing this, Tyrion's eyes narrowed and his gaze moved back and forth between Sansa and the Bishop.
"Sansa, this is...
"Lord Tyrion Lannister." Sansa interrupted him and introduced in a very calm tone, "This is Bishop Renard, from Baelor Great Sept."
"He came today to preside over an important ceremony."
Her tone was too formal and too cold, which made Tyrion feel inexplicably flustered, and he couldn't help but turn around and look at Corleone.
But Corleone just stood quietly by the door, arms folded, like a bystander.
"What ceremony?" Tyrion asked.
Sansa did not answer, but took out a roll of parchment from the inside of the shawl, unfolded it, and placed it on the table.
The paper is very new, but the ink has dried long ago, so it is obviously not a temporary draft.
Tyrion looked down.
After just reading the first few lines, his mind started buzzing.
To the Church of the Seven Gods and His Excellency the Archbishop:
I, Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, hereby formally request the dissolution of my marriage to Tyrion Lannister...
Tyrion raised his head sharply and looked at Sansa.
There was no expression on the girl's face, just as cold as the North snow, and she looked completely businesslike.
"You want a divorce?" Tyrion asked in disbelief, his voice trembling.
"Yes." Sansa's answer was brief but affirmative.
It's no wonder that Tyrion reacted so violently. After all, everyone knows that divorce is a very rare thing in the history of the Seven the Seven Kingdoms.
But it's not without precedent.
Naerys Queen, the wife of Aegon IV Targaryen, once filed for divorce on the grounds that her health was really bad and she could not bear her husband's long-term demands.
Although it was not successful at the time, it is generally believed that a marriage can be annulled with the approval of the church and after mutual agreement between the spouses.
Looking at Sansa's cold face, Tyrion opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but his throat seemed to be blocked by something.
After a long while, he took a deep breath and clenched his fists. "If you get divorced, you will be in danger."
"King's Landing is full of people who want to take advantage of you. The North is now in the hands of Bolton. Without the protection of the Lannister name, you...
"Lannister's last name?"
Sansa interrupted him, her voice suddenly rose, and she sneered, "Lord Tyrion, please look at yourself."
"You carry the Lannister name, but you can't even protect yourself."
"If I hadn't defended you at trial, you would have been tied to the gallows now. Your father wanted to use you as a scapegoat, your sister wanted to use your death to vent the pain of losing her son, and your family... your family has never really accepted you."
She spoke very directly, and every word was like a knife, stabbing into Tyrion's deepest wound with precision.
"So please don't say anything about protection to me." I've had enough of the Lannister protection. They tricked my father into coming to King's Landing and saw through it, and then forced me to marry a Tyrion to legally seize the North!"
She took a deep breath and said decisively, "I don't need such protection. I would rather face danger alone than have anything to do with Lannister anymore, and...
"At Flea Bottom, I am completely safe."
Hearing this, Tyrion closed his eyes.
He wanted to refuse not because he wanted to keep Sansa, he knew he couldn't, but because he felt that once divorced, Sansa would really be alone.
A girl, without the protection of her family, without the name of a husband, has to face everything alone in the most chaotic time of the Seven Kingdoms, which is quite dangerous.
But Sansa was right.
He can't even protect himself, how can he protect her?
On the judgment seat, it was Sansa who saved him, not him.
In the Red Keep, she endured humiliation and fear, and never gained a little bit of safety and dignity because of her identity as Tyrion Lannister's wife.
Their marriage was a mistake from the beginning. It was planned by their father. To continue to maintain this mistake was unfair to Sansa and a kind of torture to him.
Thinking this, Tyrion looked at Corleone.
The man was still standing quietly by the door, with no expression on his face.
But Tyrion suddenly realized that he arranged this meeting, he found the bishop, he provided Sansa with shelter and support, and gave her the confidence to file for divorce.
This is not a sudden decision.
"Lord Tyrion."
Feeling his gaze, Corleone said, "Divorce is indeed a shame for male nobles. If you are worried about reputation, I can ask Bishop Renard to keep it secret for the time being. The documents can be sealed and the ceremony can be kept private. We can wait until the right time to announce it."
"This way, you can at least retain some... semblance of dignity."
Hearing this, Tyrion smiled, but there was no bitterness at all. Instead, he seemed very calm.
"Dignity?"
"Ser Corleone, after going through that trial, being abandoned and framed by my family, what dignity do you think I have left?"
As he spoke, he shook his head and looked at Sansa.
The girl was also looking at him, her beautiful blue eyes showing no nostalgia at all.
"I agree," Tyrion said, his voice firm. "I, Tyrion Lannister, agree to dissolve my marriage to Sansa Stark."
Sansa's eyes widened slightly.
Obviously, she didn't expect him to agree so readily.
"But." Tyrion continued, turning his gaze to the bishop. "I request that the ceremony be carried out now, in public."
"There is no need to keep it secret. I want everyone to know that Sansa Stark has taken the initiative to dissolve her marriage to Tyrion Lannister."
He paused, and there was a hint of self-deprecation on the corner of his mouth. "Speaking of which, I really can't wait to see how ugly my father, who claims to control everything, will look after hearing this news!"
"Hahaha!!