TYRION I

He leads the way out of the Throne room, Joanna on his arm and feels like the richest man alive; she truly was a blessing to have. Not just to Tyrion himself but to everyone who got to meet her and talk for longer than a few minutes. He thinks she embodies the best of House Lannister — at least one member of their family won't bring shame to their history books. Between him, Cersei and Jaime, Tyrion could already see the ink on the paper state something along the lines of: the imp manwhore of Casterly Rock, his father's biggest disappointment, a grotesque, ugly looking thing.

Then, for Jaime, who no matter what great deed he did and does next, no matter what battles he's won and shall win again...will never escape the monkier: 'Kingslayer.' An Oathbreaker, a man without honor to have stabbed the king he had sworn to protect in the back. Centuries won't erase such stain, even if the King had been a mad cunt the Realm has been better off without. It was still his King and he had still sworn a vow.

Cersei, well what could they write of the woman who gave birth to Joffrey and who cared more about her slippers than the commonfolk? The rumors regarding her and Jaime brought forth other accusations, bastard breeder amongst them.

Overall, their spots in the history of Westeros had already been decided, neither up to Lord Tywin Lannister's standards.

Ah but Joanna's...

What was there not to sing beautifully about? She didn't have his ugliness, didn't have Jaime's badly notorious reputation though she was well known still only she was an inspiration to women everywhere, didn't have children, was unwed...there, perhaps that's what they would latch onto in order to smear her too– Childless, unwed, a spinster.

Though he's yet to hear anyone throw that in her face— thus far, she truly has no unforgiving flaw, no fatal sin to carry into her older years. He doubts their father will let her stay unwed for much longer but he keeps those things to himself. No need to spoil the mood tonight–

Or the next day which has Tyrion sporting a headache and wondering how come Joanna didn't have any but then he's always been a heavier drinker than her. He's also wondering how early had she woken up to have been going about royal duties for the better part of the day now.

He starts singing to announce his entry.

"And who are you?" the proud Lord said

That I must bow so low?

Only a cat of a different coat

That's all the truth I know.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws

And mine are long and sharp, my lord

As long and sharp as yours–"

"Yes Tyrion, you may come in~"

"Sister–" he greets with a grin that stretches from one corner of his mouth to the other, his arms wide open as he walked in, momentarily pausing at the sight of her guest. "And Lord Stark, how are you?"

The boy seems unlike himself as he barely manages to stutter out a response.

"Hi uhm, I am f-fantastical, my lord. Your Grace, Highness...Lady, uhm–" he bows, his eyes glued to the ground. "Good day." then he leaves her study in a hurry, making Tyrion wonder what the two could have spoken about to warrant such reaction. He had mistaken Joanna's title two times before reaching the correct one, not that Tyrion thought his sister minded.

He glances behind him, his amusement lingering on his face while pulling up a seat to occupy.

"Did you summon the boy so you could fluster him back to the North, sister?"

"Fluster him?" Joanna echoes. "If that were truly my intention, I would have mentioned the talk I am not quite certain his father had with him regarding his marriage night." she retorts before giving Tyrion her full attention and resuming a more serious posture.

"You and I need to talk. These accounts–" Joanna starts, gathering the stack of papers atop her desk. "–are horrible. They look like the work of a child."

Tyrion takes the seat in front of her. "Yeah well, I am sure documents were the last thing on Renly Baratheon's mind when he thought he could become King rather than stay a loyal servant to the Crown. Any reason as to why you took over his study, Jo?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Feeling nostalgic, perhaps?~"

Joanna takes one of the papers, crumbles it and chugs it as his head, causing Tyrion to laugh. "There was no empty spot of the sort that I could use without throwing someone else out and..." she pauses, casting aside the rest of the stack. "Read, that's not Renly's handwriting, I would have recognized it if it was. It's Lord Petyr Baelish's."

"Those are Littlefinger's accounts–" Tyrion confirms after his eyes skip through them. "How did you get these?" He looks up at her, a note of concern in his tone. He didn't want to know how the man might react when he discovers that they are missing.

For her part, his sister looks unbothered but then she's forever been the unafraid one from the two of them. Tyrion was cautious, a combination of his small stature and the mind the Gods had saw fit to bestow upon him, almost as an apology for his other traits, flaws and physical deformities. So he was weary, he had reasons to be.

Joanna had never been weary, even when she ought to have been— that's where he came in. He was as much of a shield for her as she had been a sword to him–in this sense, they might as well have been born twins themselves.

One half of the same coin.

She cleans the tip of her sword with a tissue, causing Tyrion to swallow thickly and hope she hadn't killed for some damned papers. "You don't need to know, but–" she leans forward.

"He's been borrowing money that the Crown didn't use–" she turns some papers 'round. "Let me rephrase. The documentation is, by all means, legal. The amount he asked for in the name of the King is there, but if you check the inventory, where the money went to–"

She takes out a huge pile of paper next, giving it over to Tyrion who accepts it with the skepticism of a born disbeliever. That's not to say he didn't have faith in his sister, of course not but to think Littlefinger had grown sloppy with how he hid himself or rather his wrongdoings...

"At least a quarter was not used in the King's benefit." she finishes saying.

Discard the thought, he retracts as his eyes trace the accounts, further disbelief contouring the sharp edges of his face, softening them. It probably never crossed Littlefinger's mind that someone would care enough to go through it never mind understand it.

"You went through every purchase the Crown's ever made?" When did she even have the time between them drinking yesterday and this afternoon?

"No–" she shakes her head. "I went through the ones from the time Jon Arryn was Hand, then had to pause during the time of Lord Stark, mind you he was not responsible for the situation we are in now, in fact–" she gives Tyrion only the papers that the late Lord Stark had written.

Tyrion is too busy doing the math in his head and on his fingers, to take them just yet, looking comical with the widening of his eyes.

That's at least fifteen years worth of paperwork that his sister had just dug up, he doesn't know if he should admire her tenacity or be scared of it.

"He had tried to fix the problem by cutting back on costs. The issue might have been fixed, slowly, over time, if... If he had been allowed that time."

The regret in her voice is more than heard, a regret Tyrion himself shares. Lord Eddard Stark did not deserve to die, not like this.

Though now it seems like they got bigger problems on their hands, treason from the outside and treason from the inside, he had a feeling that Littlefinger could not be trusted but now he had said confirmation much faster. Had it been just greed, greed and wanting to boost his business, they would have let it slide perhaps but he thought there was more to it than that— Joanna doesn't seem to think that too but Tyrion does, he's spent far more time in King's Landing in the past than she had not to see the threat that was Littlefinger.

Plus, Varys had reasons to distrust him. And if the Master of Whispers had reasons to distrust someone, then Tyrion would be a fool to assume the opposite. He's not assuming anything, that's for sure.

Though he voices out something else entirely. "And what about this?"

"That is how much has been missing since he died, the Queen nor King have it in themselves to consult their finances, if anything they think the treasury is bottomless–" she rolls her eyes. "I'll have to speak with Cersei about this, Joffrey is young but our sister has got no excuse, the Crown will go bankrupt at this rate, we–"

Indeed, Joanna didn't seem to find Littlefinger a serious threat but then how could she? She recognized worthwhile enemies if they held a spear in their hands or a sword at their side, her worries lay with the King's finances, not with the shadows on the wall.

He will concern himself with the shadows, that was his duty now as Hand, to see what the Crown and their subjects were blind to, his sister included.

"We are Lannisters." Tyrion cuts her off calmly. Joanna gives him an incredulous look, then a scoff when he continues giving her a pointed stare.

"You and I both know the common saying is far from being true." she retorts, organizing some of the papers neatly.

"And what common saying would that be?" he asks, tapping his fingers against his chair' sides.

Joanna gives him a dirty look in return for his trouble, the 'I cannot believe that you are going to make me say it.' kind of look.

He pretends not to have picked upon it.

"Well?" he prompts, the smile fighting to make an appearance on his face though mirth could already be seen dancing in his unfaltering gaze.

She huffs, closing the drawer to her desk a touch more agressively than needed but she does elaborate at last. "That contrary to popular belief, we do not shit gold, little brother."

Following that, Tyrion's laughter could be heard from all across the Narrow Sea.

It's a quarter past eight when Tyrion calls Bronn over to task him with finding out whether Joanna had killed for the papers she's gotten or if she just so happened to be cleaning her sword at the time of his arrival.

Tyrion gave everyone the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise so he hoped she hadn't but would also not remove it as a possibility. Joanna, while courteous and cheerful, will talk using her sword, if she thought she couldn't get her way the diplomatic route, which knowing Littlefinger...

...is most likely what happened.

Though if Littlefinger himself had been killed by his sister's hand, he would have heard about it, Varys would have rejoiced, Cersei would have pinned the blame on him and depending on how much his dearest nephew cared about losing his Master of Coin, he might have had to explain it to Joffrey that his aunt killed the man.

But considering how much more inclined he was to agree with Joanna's doings, he might have not done anything other than grumble and tell him to find a new Master of Coin. How his sister had gotten into his good graces was beyond even Tyrion's understanding though he had a feeling Joanna filled up a spot that the late King Robert hadn't and that Cersei never grasped the importance of.

Boys needed to feel they were worth something early on, to feel included in talks of battle and taken hunting, fighting. Joanna did all those things with Joffrey, Cersei didn't, Robert didn't. He saw her more favorably as a result though even Joanna's influence hadn't counted heavy enough to stop the boy from developing his...tendencies.

May the Gods help us all.

Tyrion stands up straighter when the door to his chambers opens, Bronn dragging the unfortunate soul responsible for taking care of Littlefingers' accounts.

"My Lord Hand, here's the guy you wanted to question." he pushes the lad forward so hard he trips and nearly falls face first onto the floor. He stumbles in, with Bronn following closely behind and making sure the guy doesn't get too close to Tyrion or better said, that he doesn't topple over him.

The joys of being small.

Bronn grabs him by the cuff of his neck, holding him still. "There, there lad, don't go killing off my money source or I'll do y'er worse than Littlefinger when he finds out you gave the documents to the Lady."

The lad is taller than Tyrion by at least three heads, he's scrawny, with long limbs and fearful clear blue eyes that peak beneath dirty blond hair. He looks like he too, got screwed over by Baelish at some point in his life and was now paying the price for it.

Master of coin, indeed.

Tyrion clicks his tongue at the thought before swatting it aside and clapping his hands once. "Come now, Bronn, there's no need for the poor lad to fear us, is there?" he thinks he understands why Joanna had an easy time getting the documents if that's all that stood in her way. Though Tyrion had seen his sister scare off mightier looking men than the fool of ten and eight standing before him now.

"Oh come, sit down, let us have a drink while I apologize for my sister's roughish behavior, you see she's very..." he pauses as he leans over the table to look at the lad's face better, noting the scar above his eye and remembering the blood Joanna had been wiping off her sword. Huh, scrawny the kid may be but he had the galls to tell his sister 'no.'
"...tenacious when she wants to be." Tyrion finishes, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface of his table.

"Isn't that right, Bronn? Women these days." he looks to his sellsword friend to back him up.

"Aye, women. You know what they say, can't live with them but life would sure as hell be boring without them. A necessary evil, if you want." Bronn shrugs, as though the three of them were debating weather.

Tyrion nods, reaching over to pour the lad a cup of wine, pushing it towards him.

"Drink. Bottom's up."

The lad does as told though his fingers tremble as they grasp the cup, spilling some of the Dornish's finest.

"Good lad. I will let you go now if you swear not to tell Littlefinger who took his accounts."

They have an understanding in less than five minutes and Tyrion thinks the matter settled.