"Should we kill him?" Cersei pondered, eyes wandering across King's Landing from the window of the Small Council chamber. She put her hands against her navel, one over the other, and took a deep breath to calm her heart, feeling the smooth fabric of her golden dress.
The realm was at war, this was a truth known to the youngest of babes to the oldest of men, to decrepit to even move. It wasn't some small rebellion, no, it was a storm that had swept up the whole of the continent in what was but a year or two... she couldn't remember.
Yet... she could still smell the smoke from bread being baked, the strong scent of heavy perfumes and the stench of nightsoil. She could almost see the small folk. Scurrying about to their little works like ants, laughing amongst themselves despite the grim fate that surely awaited them all.
"Should we kill him?" She questioned again. This time, casting a glance over her shoulder at the stumpy dwarf drinking wine at the table from a silver goblet.
He stopped, looked over at her with those dreadful mismatched eyes of green and black, then wiped his mouth with his collar. "I thought I had misheard you, sister."
"You did not." Cersei murmured, calm... far too calm for what she was suggesting.
"Then let me tell you the truth," Tyrion let out a small sigh. "That has to be the stupidest thing I've heard you say. And best believe I've heard a lot."
"Why?"
Tyrion let out a laugh, "In case you couldn't tell, we're surrounded by enemies on all sides. Tywin Lannister is the one person that's stopping them from making me into a jester and you into a glorified whore. And you wish to be rid of him." He shifted his stubby wrist to peer into his drink. "I'm going to need something much stronger if I'm sitting through this."
Cersei clenched her fists. He was right.
But what could she do?
Ever since the truth of her children had come out, her father had stripped her of all she had built until all she was left with was the name, Queen Mother. Her influence was gone. Lannister men watched her wherever she went. She'd become a prisoner in her own keep.
To add insult to injury, he'd sent Jaime away to command the effort against the Reach and shut down Joffrey so harshly her poor boy hadn't left his room.
Tywin and Kevan Lannister had effectively assumed command of King's Landing.
"Let's think for a moment." Tyrion interrupted her thoughts. "We're dead in the water as it stands. If our dear father was gone, who would command our forces? Me? I appreciate the trust but I must admit I would better serve being tossed over the wall as a stone than a warrior."
"Jai-..."
Tyrion laughed at her before she could even finish her words.
"You wish him gone, don't you?" Cersei hissed, glaring at the monster. "I am not blind to the sudden respect Father has for you."
Tyrion had been made Master of Coin by her father.
The Imp smiled and raised his hands in surrender. "Neither am I. But I will not say it isn't appreciated."
"You laugh while I have been reduced to all but a pretty face."
"In my defense," Tyrion grinned the widest grin she'd ever seen. "I'm not the one who decided to get curious with my own twin. I am curious as to how it worked however. I remember you and Jaime looked alike... Oh my, were you attracted to your own ima-"
Cersei finally turned around, and stared at him in silence. Tyrion quieted down when she did that, understanding the threat she posed if sufficiently irked. She smiled at that.
"Hm." Tyrion jumped down from his chair and stumbled to a table. He cocked his head, staring at the jugs, then shrugged and picked one up, the strongest one, before returning to his chair.
It was almost comedic.
"I think you'd be better suited as the court fool."
"Perhaps. But we all know who looks like one right this moment." He laughed again, bolder than she'd ever seen him.
Before she could chide him however, the doors to the chamber parted. One by one, the members of King Joffrey Baratheon's Small Council filtered past the jewelled Valyrian sphinxes flanking the entrance.
Varys, Master of Whisperers.
Pycelle, Grand Maester.
Kevan Lannister, Master of Laws.
Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King.
Cersei watched quietly as Tywin stepped to the seat of the Hand, then ignored it entirely to sit down at the head of the table, in the seat reserved for the King of the Seven Kingdoms. The badge of office he typically wore was nowhere to be seen on the breast of his blood-red coat.
Tyrion whistled, visibly amused.
"Shall I be the one to start then?" He quipped, practically jumping. It made Cersei stifle her laughter. A little attention and respect from their father after a life of neglect and the Imp was following him like a pup.
Tywin gave him a small nod.
"Very well. The Commander of the City Watch was demanding more coin for his men." He pushed his goblet aside, "I reminded him that it was Lannister soldiers patrolling the streets and that his men were getting coin to sit and look pretty. I've also paid a handful of men to give the… more... gruesome... rumors regarding our foes more air."
"Why should that matter?" Cersei felt a fool when all eyes landed on her.
"Well done." Tywin nodded again. He looked to Pycelle. "What of our raven to Dorne?"
"Oh, oh yes. Of course." Pycelle mumbled incoherently, shuffling about as the chains around his neck clanked. He produced an opened letter, then behaved as though that simple action had left him winded. "Prince Doran Martell expresses his regrets. They are unable to host Princess Myrcella at this time."
Cersei opened her mouth to express her grievances but a quiet glare from Kevan, her uncle, made her forget them. No doubt her father had told him of her relationship with Jaime.
"Well. That's that then. It's not as if we could have expected much else of them."
"It means they have found another to ally themselves with." Tywin said plainly. He locked his hands together, leaning on the table. "But it is of little consequence now."
"W...Why is that so, my lord?" Pycelle mumbled. He looked as if the few hairs left on his scalp would fall there and then.
Tywin glanced at Varys.
"Renly Baratheon is dead. Killed by a shadow. The Stormlands have declared fully for Stannis Baratheon."
The sudden declaration was followed by a pregnant pause as all present processed the possibilities presented by the development.
Alas, Cersei didn't get the opportunity to ponder it much longer after that.
"Joffrey will wed Margaery Tyrell."
"Poor girl." Tyrion gulped his drink.
"You can no-"
"It is a better match than he deserves, girl." Kevan Lannister interrupted her once again, visibly irked by her. She turned her eyes to Tywin, but was met with the same cold disregard they all had given Tyrion. Her father, who had made her Queen, seemed to treat her as if she were a stranger.
Not one to mince words, Tywin continued, "It matters not. Mace Tyrell will join us with some eighty thousand swords… Loras Tyrell will wed Myrcella... Jaime will lead a force into the Stormlands, to stop Stannis once and for all."
In but a moment, Cersei felt as though she had lost two of her children. Her lips trembled and the mask of stoicism faltered. "W-Why? Isn't Joffrey enough?"
"We have no other, girl." Tywin said. Their relationship was too tattered for him to placate her. "With the Reachmen, our forces equal those who seek to destroy us. The Dornish will wait till all is done, it is what they have always done and what they will do now."
"Can we not hire mercenary companies?"
Kevan answered the question in his brother's stead, resting a palm atop the long table between them. "Stannis has blockaded the bay. We will starve before we wage war if the Reach does not aid us… Yet they have no claim so they need us as well."
"What is that?" Tyrion spoke up. He counted on his fat fingers. "Robb has the combined might of Vale, the North and the Riverlands. Stannis has what? Some twenty thousand men?"
Kevan nodded. "Twenty."
"Then with eighty from the Reach and Forty of our own thanks to the God or Devil or whatever they're calling him running around. It will be a hard battle."
"Not if they besiege us." Tywin said. Even Cersei could see just how closely he was listening to Tyrion, even if this was probably all he had considered before any of them. "We stand a chance yet. Provided something is done of this..." The old lion stirred, his words a whisper, "Karl. Varys."
Everything her father did had him keep this 'Karl' in consideration in a way that did not fit a man of his stature.
The Master of Whisperers lowered his hairless head, and hid his hands in the silks of his loose robes. He cast a long glance at the window, where King's Landing sprawled below, then finally spoke. "I am afraid I must disappoint, Lord Hand." His eyes moved back to the man sitting at the head of the table. "My birds sang of him at Riverrun last. He left before Robb Stark did, and none know of his whereabouts. It is as if he has disappeared."
"We should be glad of that." Tyrion quipped and gulped his drink again.
"But not so fortunate." Tywin said. "There's little chance of him just disappearing."
"Ah... about that." The Imp jumped off his chair again. As Cersei watched, he wobbled to a shelf near the corner and reached for a book. Only his legs weren't quite up to the task. "Varys, if you would."
"Of course, my lord."
And so, the eunuch joined the Imp. Tyrion pointed at a thick book and Varys retrieved it for him. Carrying it over to Tyrion's chair, he carefully set it down before helping Tyrion take his seat. Cersei wanted to laugh, but her father's stoic gaze made her forgo her amusement.
"As you all well know, I do love a good book." Tyrion laughed as he pulled the book open. Dusty pages, browned by time that looked as if they'd fall apart to anything more than the most gentle touch greeted them. "Westeros has little in the way of sorcery, thanks to the Maesters and their denial of such things." He idly looked over to Pycelle who averted his gaze. "But it is not so in Essos and the Shadow Lands beyond. There is mention of stormsingers, who called to the skies... and those who enact blood rituals and whatnot. But, none of what we hear of this person."
"Out with it, what is it you mean?" Cersei hissed, frustrated from just how much they all had dulled her words.
Tyrion looked at her calmly. "I fear the small folk may have the truth of things."
"That it is a god who aids them?" Tywin questioned, eyes shimmering.
"Perhaps so... or perhaps something beyond what we can understand entirely." Tyrion smiled, showing crooked teeth, "But that... is a rather dull prospect. I'd rather believe it's a man just travelling around and doing what he wishes."
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