Tyrion
Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King and probably the most hated man in King's Landing, surpassing even his nephew, the king himself. He however did not hate himself, he did however hate most of his relatives. One of the few good things that might come from this siege would be most of them dying as well. He wouldn't object much to that, especially his sister's death has been a part of his dreams for years, but it would probably also involve him dying, a prospect that he didn't fancy at all, he much preferred still being able to drink. At least Myrcella and Tommen were safe. That was one of the few good things.
Beyond all the troubles of preparing a city for siege he had received ravens with messages that were simply put idiotic. The dead rising from their graves, walking away. What kind of fool beliefs that sort of thing? He suspected some ploy from Stannis' supporters to distract them from the coming battle. He looked over more letters that had arrived, bearing many seals from as many places. Then, hidden in the pile, he saw a sigil that he knew all too well. His father's.
He opened it, expecting another set of instructions, or being berated for something that he had done. But instead of that the message read something so completely unbelievable that it had to be a forgery. It said that lord Bolton had been defeated by an army of the dead, and that he had marched to Riverrun, leaving Ser Gregor Clegane behind as a rearguard. There he had made a truce with the rebels, agreeing to fight together for now. Tyrion was strongly urged to find Arya Stark back, or to provide a suitable excuse for her disappearance. He also had to place priority on the safety of Sansa Stark, and to ensure that no harm came to her.
He looked at the letter in complete surprise. His own father making peace, and not even on very favorable terms. He needed a drink, and some time with Shae. But as he was getting up for his favourite pastime, there was a not entirely polite knocking on the door and a man burst in. Tyrion sighed, he knew the red-bearded man all too well. Ser Meryn Trant, one of the Kingsguard. Utterly loyal to Cersei, and not one of his favourites. "The queen wants to see you, now."
He sighed again: "Tell my beloved sister that I'm on my way."
"She wants you there now. And I will take you to her. Now."
"Yes, yes, yes. I'm coming.", why couldn't they find some nicer Kingsguards, more civilized ones. Oh yes, Joffrey had chased them off.
A little later they arrived at the queen's apartments, where she was sitting, holding in one hand a glass of wine, and a letter in the other. It was one of the few things that they had in common, the love of wine, the hatred for each other, and of course their splendid looks.
"Can you believe this Tyrion? Our father making peace, and now wanting the Stark brats in one piece?"
"Oh, I can believe it all too well, but it would have been a lot easier if you hadn't lost the younger one, and your son hadn't beaten the older. But of course, I am not the one who will be blamed for that."
"But you will be. You are the Hand of the King. And people will tell father what I want them to. So, I want you to find that girl."
"We've been trying that for quite a while now, without much in the way of success, as you might remember. She's probably dead anyways."
"So? Then you just produce a body, and say that she died."
"And you expect me to say that to a group of angry Northmen? They will say that we murdered her! No, I will think of something."
"You certainly should. Has he also told you about those wights?"
"Yes, he did. It seems rather unbelievable. But now that Jaime is free it will be quickly dealt with."