King's Landing, the Red Keep.
Tyrion Lannister had imagined his reunion with Cersei many times over. For him, swaggering into her presence and watching her jaw drop would be a fine pleasure indeed.
But coming to King's Landing was no pleasant assignment. His father had already laid out the worst possible outcome for him.
"If King's Landing truly cannot be defended, then at the very least we must keep an heir in our own hands," Tywin had told his son.
I won't let that happen, Tyrion thought.
"What do you think my sister will do when she sees me, with a sellsword and a pack of free companions in tow?" Tyrion asked Bronn.
"The Queen Dowager certainly won't thank you for it," Bronn said with a laugh.
"You never know," Tyrion replied, grinning.
Tyrion glanced again at his companions, Bronn the sellsword and Timett the savage, but that was his little circle.
Tyrion did not possess Jaime's magnetism or charm. His brother Jaime always had a way of making men follow him loyally, even to the death. Tyrion, by contrast, could only buy loyalty and obedience with gold and his family name.
When they reached the council chamber, Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard, wrapped in a snow-white cloak, immediately stopped Tyrion. The man looked like a corpse draped in a burial shroud.
"The Queen Dowager has given orders. No interruptions during the meeting."
Tyrion drew a parchment from his sleeve. "It's only a trifling matter, ser. This is a letter from my father, Tywin Lannister, the current Hand of the King, and it bears his seal."
"The Queen Dowager does not wish to be disturbed," Ser Mandon repeated in the same slow, deliberate tone.
Tyrion looked at Ser Mandon, weighing how he might get inside. Jaime had once said that aside from himself, Mandon was the most dangerous of the White Swords, because he was always expressionless, like a man with a painted face, impossible to read.
Tyrion tilted his head back to look up at Ser Mandon, but could not guess what he was thinking. The man's face remained perfectly blank, still as a dead well. Tyrion began to consider using force. Ser Mandon was certainly no match for Bronn and Timett together. Bronn was quick, and Timett fought like a man who did not care whether he lived. But Tyrion had come to King's Landing to help stabilize the larger situation. If he killed Joffrey's guard the instant he arrived, what then? Yet if he was simply turned away at the door, where would his authority come from?
"Ser Mandon, I imagine you haven't yet met my companions. This is Timett son of Timett, Red Hand general of the Burned Men of the Mountains of the Moon. And this is Bronn. Though to tell the truth, he originally had a companion," Tyrion said with a smile.
"Our companion got finished off by me personally. He's gone now. Came down sick on the mountain road and slowed us up," Bronn said cheerfully, correcting him.
Because of Tyrion's whimsical scheme, they had gone to the Mountains of the Moon to recruit men after leaving King's Landing. Poor Chiggen had come down with a high fever and could not manage the mountain road, so Bronn simply put him down. Still, the result had been good enough. By sheer luck, they had managed to bring back a group of men.
Ser Mandon ignored all of it and did not move an inch.
"Anyway," Tyrion said brightly, "I truly would like to see my dear sister, and while I'm at it, deliver this letter inside. Ser, would you be so kind as to do us the favor of opening the door?"
Tyrion laughed as he walked through the doors. At that moment, he truly felt like the giant of Lannister. This was his first victory of the day.
Inside the council chamber, five great men were discussing affairs of state, but the moment they saw Tyrion enter, they all fell silent.
Tyrion looked at the five people before him. No wonder his father Tywin had been uneasy about leaving matters to them. Queen Dowager Cersei, the elderly Grand Maester Pycelle, the eunuch Varys, the master of coin Littlefinger, and that upjumped lord, Janos Slynt, Lord of Harrenhal and commander of the Gold Cloaks.
Like the White Swords, the small council was badly short-handed. Barristan, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, had fled, and Ser Jaime had lost his hand. Everything was in pieces now.
So this is my lot, Tyrion sighed inwardly. I have to carry these people through the crisis.
It was not an easy task. The master of laws, the former Hand, the master of ships, the former commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Jaime and the rest. Some had fled, some were wounded, and some were rotting in the black cells.
Joffrey himself was not present, just as King Robert had seldom cared to attend meetings of the small council.
"It's you." Half of Cersei's tone was disbelief, the other half naked disgust.
"At last I know where Joffrey learned such exquisite manners," Tyrion said, stopping to admire the Valyrian sphinxes standing guard to either side of the door, utterly at ease.
Cersei's beautiful green eyes rested on her brother Tyrion, still unaware of why he had come. They were brother and sister, yes, but the gap in height and appearance between them was enormous, as wide as that between the light of the westerlands and a little demon monkey. Their relationship had always been wretched.
"I've brought a letter from our dear father," Tyrion said lazily as he made his way to the council table and set a rolled parchment before Cersei. His legs would cramp if he tried to move too quickly.
Varys, with his head like a boiled egg, came gliding forward again, reeking of sweet powder and perfume, and took the letter in his powdered hands to inspect it. By every measure it was genuine, even the wax seal shone yellow-orange like gold.
"Of course it's genuine." The Queen Dowager took the letter and unfolded it.
Tyrion watched her face. His sister sat openly and confidently in the seat of power, and he felt immensely pleased. It was a splendid little prank, and the expression on her face was delightful to behold. Seeing no one object, Tyrion took the Hand's seat for himself without the slightest hesitation.
"This is outrageous." The Queen Dowager announced their father's orders to the others. Lord Tywin had sent Tyrion to court to take over his duties, and Tywin instructed the council to regard Tyrion as the Hand of the King until he himself could come to court and govern in person.
Ordinarily, for a Hand to overstep in this way would be a grave slight to both the King and the Queen Dowager. But these were wartime days, and no one could afford to fuss over protocol. Besides, none of the great officers of the realm objected.
There was no need to speak of Grand Maester Pycelle, with that great waterfall of a beard.
Even Janos, commander of the Gold Cloaks, whom Tyrion had not known before, seemed very much in favor. Tyrion knew only that the man had once been notorious for corruption and drawing pay for soldiers who did not exist.
Janos Slynt had a double chin and a nearly bald crown, and looked for all the world like a frog. A frog newly risen to power and swollen with self-importance. "My lord, we are in dire need of you. Rebellions are breaking out everywhere, ominous signs fill the skies, and riots are spreading through every street and alley of the city..."
That drew an immediate sharp rebuke from the Queen Dowager. Keeping order was the Gold Cloaks' responsibility to begin with, and Janos's words sounded unpleasantly barbed.
"As for you, Tyrion, you would be far more useful to us out on the battlefield killing enemies."
Tyrion smiled. "My lords, a chair is much safer than a horse. And I would much rather hold a wine cup than a battle-axe. War drums split the head, armor bakes in the sun, and warhorses shit everywhere. How could any of that compare to King's Landing? Besides, I'm too small for a very large chair, and I can't drink that much wine. I was nearly kidnapped by that mad Stark woman, after all, so I rather doubt anything here could turn out worse than that."
"Lord Lannister, you are quite right," Littlefinger said with a very friendly smile, though Tyrion knew full well he could not trust the man.
Tyrion smiled back at Littlefinger. If only that dagger with the dragonbone hilt and Valyrian steel blade could be explained just as neatly, that would be even better. Tyrion had never trusted this man, always smiling, always unreadable.
"So then, I ask you all to serve me. Even in the smallest matters. Even if only for the time it takes to drink a bottle of fine wine."
The Queen Dowager looked down at the letter on the table and read it again.
"How many men did you bring?" she asked. That was what concerned her most. Aside from the Gold Cloaks, King's Landing had no troops to call on at present. A city of four or five hundred thousand without soldiers was simply ridiculous, especially with enemies sharpening their blades on every side. Whether it was Renly or Stannis, either might soon march on the city.
"A few hundred at least, most of them my own men," Tyrion said bluntly. "As for Father, he was unwilling to send troops. He's still at war, after all. I'm sure you've heard what happened at Riverrun and in the North."
"I am deeply worried about Ser Jaime's wounds. I pray for him day and night. That ambitious schemer in the darkness is truly vicious beyond words." Varys drifted up beside Tyrion, and Tyrion caught the scent of perfume before anything else.
"You have my thanks for your kindness," Tyrion said, looking at the Spider.
"Enough." The Queen Dowager was furious. "The situation in the North is a disaster. That little blacksmith has already caused enough trouble, and the South is hardly any better. Renly and Stannis are still negotiating, trying to betroth Edric to Stannis's ugly daughter. If they reach an agreement, then whether Renly marches from Storm's End or Stannis sends his fleet across the sea, what use will your few hundred men be? What I need is an army, and Father sends me a dwarf instead. The Hand is chosen by the King and appointed with the consent of the great officers of the realm. Joffrey appointed our lord father."
"I wish you'd relax a little, sister. The Three Storms haven't joined them yet," Tyrion shot back. "As for the Hand, Father appointed me."
"He has no right to do that unless little Joffrey agrees," the Queen Dowager snapped, seething with displeasure.
Tyrion looked at her. Power truly did change people. The Queen Dowager's first decree had been aimed at their own father, and Lord Tywin had not appreciated it in the slightest. No doubt that had left her deeply frustrated.
But Tyrion knew he could not nurse grudges the way the Queen Dowager did. The greatest problem before them was the war. Lord Tywin was at Harrenhal, and the Queen Dowager was perfectly free to go ask him herself.
For now, however, Tyrion needed to have a private word with the Queen Dowager.