"...I want him dead!" A hysterical voice cried as Tyrion waddled into the Small Council Chambers, his hired bodyguard Bronn at his back. Inside, his nephew Joffrey was pacing and ranting. The other members of the council sat in silence around the table while the boy's mother tried to calm the boy king down.
Joffrey hadn't changed much since Tyrion last saw him at Winterfell, except for the damn crown on his head. He was still tall for his age, with curly blonde hair and reasonably handsome features. He was dressed in red leather, his personal banner of a prancing stag and roaring lion stitched out with gold thread on his right breast. He wore a half cloak of black and gold hanging off one shoulder to pay homage to his father's family. His crown was a slim gold circlet encrusted with sapphires.
Tyrion never cared for his sister's eldest. He was cruel and stupid, with a quick and abrupt temper that caused him to do quite a few things that made Tyrion found, to a point, sadistic. For instance, Tyrion once had a conversation with Robert Baratheon during the feast of some tournament, and as always, the fat king was complaining about his family, one of three topics he always talked about. The other two were war stories and the loss of Lyanna Stark.
The drunk king had told Tyrion about a time where Joffrey had cut open his brother Tommen's pregnant cat to see the unborn kittens inside. The boy hadn't even been ten name days. It was that story that always made Tyrion weary of his nephew. He did not fear him, Tyrion knew that Joffrey was craven at heart, but Joffrey was now king and there was no telling what the boy might do with the power he wields, especially since his mother seemed to have little to no control over her son.
"Peace, my dear. Robb Stark will be dealt with." Cersei promised.
Even after birthing three kids, Cersei Lannister was still a strikingly beautiful woman. With golden hair, sparkling emerald eyes, fair skin, and a slender, graceful figure, there was a reason she was known as the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros. Most, upon catching sight of the woman, would agree with the sentiment, but Tyrion had the unfortunate honor of knowing the woman. She was spiteful and arrogant and had more pride than her late husband had bastards.
Her only redeeming quality that Tyrion was willing to admit was that she loved her children more than anything else in the world.
"Quite right," Tyrion said, walking over to his sister, who looked both surprised and angry to see him.
"Uncle?" Joffrey said, obviously surprised to see him. "What the blazes are you doing here?"
Tyrion ignored his nephew, planting a kiss on Cersei's cheek before pulling out a chair for himself, jumping up onto the seat. When he was seated, he pulled out a scroll from his belt and tossed it towards Cersei before pouring himself some wine.
Cersei broke the wax seal and quickly read the message, her eyes narrowing before she looked at Tyrion.
"You lie," she growled.
Tyrion shook his head. "Father can not leave the field, not while the Stark boy is still in the Riverlands. He's proven surprisingly dangerous for his young age."
"Grandfather should fight him and be done with it." Joffrey spat in annoyance. "He's supposed to be the greatest commander in Westeros."
"He is," Cersei said, defending her father.
Tyrion nodded. "Do not forget Nephew, there are still your uncles who we must deal with. One with a hundred thousand men."
"You still never said why you are here, Lord Tyrion." Grand Maester Pycelle sputtered.
Tyrion looked at the old man, giving him a forced smile. He wasn't an idiot. He knew that his father had Pycelle in his pocket. He's been there since before Robert's Rebellion. Anything that happened that could potentially harm the Lannister cause in King's Landing was told to Tyrion's father by the old man.
"With my father currently indisposed, I am here to take his place as Hand to the King," Tyrion said casually, taking a drink of wine.
The Small Council was the group of individuals who advised the king, led by either the king or their Hand. Unfortunately, the war had taken a toll on the already small group of people. Renly Baratheon and Stannis were gone, leaving the positions of Master of Laws and Master of Ships vacant. There was one other position that was vacant that Tyrion noticed instantly.
"Where is Ser Barristan?" He asked, looking at his nephew.
Joffrey scowled. "I sent him away."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow, glancing at his sister, who looked too nonchalant. If this was one of her plots, which it probably was, it was a truly stupid one. He turned his attention back to his nephew.
"Please tell me he's away on some sort of mission."
Joffrey looked at him like he was stupid. "I dismissed him from my Kingsguard. He let my father die. He's too old to guard anyone. Uncle Jaime is now my Lord Commander."
Tyrion sighed. He would need a lot more wine than he realized if he was going to be dealing with his foolish sister and her equally foolish son.
"You do realize that the man is the most respected and famous knight in all of Westeros." Tyrion gritted out. "Not to mention he's one of the most dangerous fighters alive. What if he decides to serve one of your uncles? Thousands will flock to their banner."
Joffrey waved aside his uncle's words. "The old man's probably dead by now," he argued. "Killed by some bandits."
"And what of your new Lord Commander. Do you know where he is? Oh, right, in the dungeons of Riverrun!" Tyrion scolded before taking a breath, calming down. "What else should I know?"
"It seems Robb Stark has placed a crown on his head as well." The Master of Spies Varys simpered quietly. "He has been named King in the North, supported by the lords of the North and the Riverlands."
Varys was an interesting person and one that was truly dangerous. He was a plump, bald eunuch from Essos who had started as the Mad King's spymaster. Always adorned in silks smelling of lavender and rosewater, the fools of the court didn't always take the man known as the 'Spider' seriously.
But Tyrion was no fool. He was potentially the deadliest man in all of Westeros.
"Traitors," Cersei growled.
Tyrion turned on her, raising an eyebrow. "He wouldn't have put a crown on his head if his father was still alive." He pointed out, shooting a dark look at Joffrey as well. "Regardless, my father will deal with him in due time. Renly and Stannis are our bigger problems. What have we done to prepare the city for an attack?"
"We have been saving food," Pycelle mumbled.
"For the citizens?" Tyrion asked, surprised that such an order had been given.
"For the nobles. The ones who need it." Cersei answered. "The peasants will have to survive on their own."
Tyrion sighed, again shaking his head. Much more wine was needed. "What about defenses? What of the Goldcloaks? Do we have enough men to fend off an attack?"
"The 'valiant' city watch is currently keeping order in the city." The Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, answered easily. "The Queen Regent's order to preserve food for those in the Red Keep has not been popular."
"So I've seen," Tyrion muttered, remembering the destroyed shops he had noticed on his way to the keep. People were desperate and hungry, it was a small wonder that the Red Keep hasn't been stormed and sacked for food already.
"If you have anything in mind, Lord Tyrion, please share," Varys said gently, leaning back in his chair, hiding his hands inside his wide sleeves.
Tyrion thought for a moment. "Whatever crownlander lords are still loyal to us, have them assemble their men and march to Duskendale. We can not afford to bring them into the city, but they will be close enough to help should we need it."
"Who will lead them?" Pycelle asked.
"Lord Renfred Rykker," Tyrion answered firmly. The Lord of Duskendale was a decent warrior and man, loyal to the crown and bluntly honest. Tyrion had seen him participate in a few tournaments at the capitol. He had represented himself well.
"Should they not go and join father in the Riverlands?" Cersei asked stupidly.
Tyrion shook his head. "That'll leave the city defenseless, and without the city, Joffrey can no longer be king. That is something we are trying to avoid," he explained, speaking to his sister as one spoke to a child. "Now, what else?"
"We are six million in debt," Baelish said, a slight smirk on his face.
Tyrion was close to clawing out his eyes.
"Who are we indebted to?"
The Master of Coin didn't even have to glance at his books. "Oh, the Tyrells, the Faith, and a few others. Our largest debts belong to House Lannister and the Iron Bank."
Tyrion tapped his glass thoughtfully. "Well, I have an idea."
"Fantastic, my lord, what might it be?" Baelish asked with mock amazement.
Tyrion gave the man an annoyed look. "We will double the wages of our City Watch," he said, "and encourage them to visit the brothels."
"We don't have the money…." Pycelle began to say, but Tyrion didn't let him finish.
"If Baelish can find the money to let the late King Robert host his many tournaments, he can find the money to give our valiant city defenders better pay," Tyrion said, gazing at Baelish. "Or can you no longer do magic, Lord Baelish?"
The well-groomed valeman gave Tyrion a reassuring smile that the small man didn't buy for a second.
"I do believe I can find the money, my lord, never worry." He promised. "Might I say, it's a wonderful idea to encourage them to find some, ah, relief."
"I'm so happy you think so," Tyrion said. "Because the taxes of each and every brothel in the city will go up by, let's say, seventy-five percent."
Baelish barely kept up his mask, his only giveaway being a small twitch in the corner of his eye. Next to him, Varys was watching the conversation with an amused smile, leaning back in his chair and resting his arms on his rotund stomach.
"For what purpose, my lord?" Baelish finally forced out, his mask still in place.
"Well, if we drive more people to go to the brothels, we can then take that money and give it back to the Iron Bank," Tyrion explained. "Of course, unless you don't want to help bring down our debt? I would hate for a fourth member of this council to be gone."
Baelish bowed slightly. "I will see it done, my lord."
At this point, Joffrey had lost interest in the discussion now that he wasn't the center of attention. He leaned against the chair in front of him, examining his immaculate fingernails for dirt.
"Joffrey, how about you go practice with your crossbow," Cersei suggested before turning to the other council members. "That will be all for today, my lords."
Joffrey looked confused but shrugged, striding out of the room, Ser Meryn Trant instantly flanking him. The others began to leave as well, filing out of the room till only Tyrion and Cersei were left. Baelish was one of the last to leave, giving Tyrion a small, amused glance as he walked out.
When they were alone, Cersei rounded on her brother, her eyes full of hate.
"I don't know how you managed to convince Father…."
"If I could convince Father of anything, I would be Lord of Casterly Rock already." Tyrion interrupted with mock boredness, taking a drink of wine. "I'm here to make sure you and your son don't burn down the city while Father makes sure those who want to see the boy's head on a spike don't get the chance."
Cersei continued to glare at Tyrion. "Joffrey is king."
"Joffrey is king." Tyrion agreed before changing the subject. "Now, if you would be so kind, what happened with Ned Stark?"
Cersei shifted uneasily. "He was spouting nonsense. Lies," she said, not meeting Tyrion's gaze. "He had to be killed."
"One the steps of the Sept?" Tyrion snapped. "We have enemies lining up to take your son's head. Why must you make more?"
"I tried to change his mind." Cersei snarled, defending herself. "He would not hear it."
Tyrion wagged his finger. "You are his mother. You have more influence on him than anyone. I will do my best to make sure the city doesn't turn against us, but you must bring him to heel and fast. Father is quite annoyed with you and the fact that Jaime has been captured as well didn't help that."
"What is he doing to rescue him?" Cersei asked, her voice softening exponentially.
Tyrion shrugged. "I'm not sure. Perhaps we could trade for him. After all, we still have two starks." He said, downing the last of his wine before pouring himself more.
"One stark," Cersei said quietly.
Tyrion stopped pouring, gently setting the pitcher down before gazing at his sister. "One?" He asked. "What happened to the other?"
"It was the little bitch Arya," Cersei growled. "I sent Ser Meryn and a group of guards to collect the girl and kill her dance teacher. They were all knocked out and the girl escaped. We haven't been able to find her or her teacher."
"Her dance teacher knocked out a kingsguard and a group of guards?" Tyrion asked, surprised. "How is that possible."
Cersei shook her head. "I don't know."
"What kind of dance teacher did the girl have?" Tyrion asked.
"Some sort of essosi," Cersei answered in annoyance. "Some kind of water dance."
Tyrion froze. "Water dance?" He asked. "The girl was learning to Water Dance?"
"What of it?" Cersei asked. "It's dancing."
Tyrion shook his head. "Water Dancing is a Braavosi form of sword fighting that is extremely hard to fight against if you've never seen it. If that man was a teacher, then Meryn Trant and the guards didn't have a chance. The man probably could have killed them with a bloody stick!" He scolded his sister. "So now we have what? One Stark?"
Cersei nodded. "Sansa," she answered stubbornly.
Tyrion sighed and drained his cup in one go. "Well, there goes any chance of getting Jaime back," he said sadly. "Stark will never trade him for one of his sisters."
"What do we do?" Cersei asked quietly, looking at Tyrion.
The Imp shrugged, thinking for a moment. "Continue to rule," he said finally. "Our only hope is Father now. Him against more than half the realm."