In the dimly lit Small Council chamber, Tyrion Lannister found himself seated amidst an atmosphere laden with gravity, the flickering candles casting elongated shadows on the ancient tapestries that adorned the walls. The polished surface of the time-worn table reflected the feeble glow, a silent witness to myriad deliberations akin to the one unfolding before him.
As he sat alone, Tyrion's gaze wandered, absorbing the regal thrones encircling the table. Tywin, his father, occupied the head, his countenance stern and unmoving, while Cersei, his sister, occupied the formidable chair opposite to Tyrion. Both visages, etched in the semblance of living statues, betrayed no hint of warmth. The air resonated with palpable tension, akin to the settling dust that caught the evening sun's rays pouring through the windows.
Frustration welled within Tyrion, and he absent-mindedly tapped his fingers on the table, a rhythmic cadence echoing through the room. A man of ceaseless tasks, Tyrion had assumed the role of Master of Coin after Littlefinger's mysterious eastern departure, allegedly to spy on Daenerys Targaryen. The burden was thankless, compounded by the disappearance of two ledgers coinciding with Littlefinger's exit—the records of the final two years of Lord Arryn's tenure as Hand of the King.
"Will. You. Stop. That. Irritating. Noise!" Tywin's piercing green eyes fixed upon Tyrion, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.
Tyrion, suitably chastised, stilled his tapping fingers as Cersei's hideous smirk acknowledged her momentary triumph. She indulged in a sip of wine, her demeanour radiating smug satisfaction.
The heavy oaken door creaked open, heralding Jaime's late entrance. His presence, though delayed, ushered in a subtle shift in the room's dynamics. Tyrion's eyes flickered between his father and sister, searching for elusive signals of approval or disdain.
"Sorry I'm late. His grace..." Jaime's voice trailed off as he surveyed the room, dismissing any potential explanation with a nonchalant wave. "Never mind."
Cersei reclined on her regal chair, her inquiry cutting through the lingering tension. "Why are we here?"
"In time," Tywin replied, redirecting his attention to Tyrion. "Tyrion, has anyone refused an invitation to the wedding?"
"Lysa Arryn. Says she can't leave her boy alone, and he is too sick to travel," Tyrion responded.
"Thank the gods," Cersei chimed in with a satisfied tone.
"The woman is such a bore," Jaime added, joining them at the opposite end of the long table, aligning himself with his father.
"Anyone else?" Tywin inquired, his gaze shifting between his children. Tyrion offered his latest piece of information, "We haven't received a reply from Lord Stark. I am aware he was dealing with a wildling problem. He might be too busy."
"Too busy to attend the wedding of his King and swear fealty? Nonsense!" Tywin shook his head, dismissing the idea. "My sources say he is up to something."
Tyrion, still perplexed, sought clarification. "Up to something? I can confirm the Night's Watch told me there were serious problems..."
"Stop!" Tywin interrupted with firm authority. "I don't care what Lord Commander Mormont had to say. There is speculation of the Greyjoy boy having visited with Lord Manderly. Ever since, it appears shipbuilding has increased at White Harbor."
"Well, the Starks are keen on the phrase 'Winter is Coming,'" Tyrion remarked, recalling his frigid trip to the Wall and grimacing at the memory. The biting cold and the men, even colder. The prospect of an army of the dead marching south lingered in his thoughts, but he dismissed it. If it were true about the army of the dead coming south, then they were all in trouble. However, that is none of our concern. The wedding is more important.
"Lord Stark, by virtue of his wife, has the loyalty of two of the Seven Kingdoms, if not three, counting the Vale. Lysa Arryn is not coming, and neither is Ned Stark. Am I to assume the same of Hoster Tully?" Tywin inquired.
"He's on his deathbed," Tyrion replied with a casual shrug, underscoring the dire state of affairs.
"That's no excuse," Cersei stated sarcastically, earning an incredulous look from Tyrion.
"Your sister is right, for once in her life," Tywin acknowledged, his patience wearing thin. "My concern is that we have three of the Seven Kingdoms refusing to swear fealty to the King." He turned to Cersei, his tone becoming more stern. "All because of a foul rumour. I will not have it!" His fist thumped on the oak table, emphasising the gravity of the situation. "They are making us look like fools."
"Between the three of you, I have had nothing but disappointment," Tywin continued, his gaze shifting between his children. Jaime, caught off guard, received a stern command. "Jaime, you are to relinquish your post as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I want you to take up residence at Casterly Rock. There you will rule in my stead." Before Jaime could protest, Tywin turned to Tyrion. "You will wed Lysa Arryn."
Tyrion was taken aback, exchanging bewildered glances with his siblings. Cersei snickered, and Jaime, still processing his own command, was momentarily oblivious.
"But the woman is mad," Tyrion protested.
"She's the regent of the Vale and wields considerable power. She's fertile. Wed her, put a babe in her belly. It's more than you deserve," Tywin insisted, his decision unwavering.
"I'm sure you'll make a wonderful couple," Cersei added, her smirk widening.
Tywin turned to Cersei with another decree. "You will ensure the loyalty of the Riverlands by marrying Edmure Tully."
Cersei, as outraged as Tyrion felt, raised her voice in protest. "You can't do this. I am the Queen Regent." The tension in the room escalated.
"I assure you, I can and I will. You are my daughter and will do as I say. You are still fertile. Let him get you with child and quash these disgusting rumours once and for all," Tywin asserted, leaving no room for Cersei's refusal. He then turned to Jaime with another decree. "You will wed Sansa Stark."
Tyrion and Jaime exchanged horrified glances. "She is already wed," Jaime protested.
"To a bastard who has abandoned her and is north of the wall. Most likely dead. I doubt the marriage was consummated; I believe she had not flowered at the time of the wedding. That was two years ago. I suspect the situation has changed since then, although she is probably still a maid," Tywin explained, his voice unwavering.
"She is a child," Jaime argued.
"She is a woman," Tywin corrected him. Jaime, unsettled, raised another concern. "And if the husband is alive?"
"He won't be. I'll make sure of that. His idea of bringing the wildlings south of the wall has not gone down well among the northerners. Should Lord Stark try raising his banners, he will be sorely mistaken if he expects them all to follow him without question. His son is following his lead, which means His Grace will have to put someone else in charge of the north."
"Who?" Tyrion inquired.
"That is none of your concern," Tywin stated firmly. "Now, Myrcella is to wed Trystane Martell. She will leave for Dorne after the wedding with Prince Oberyn."
Cersei, incensed, protested, "Myrcella is a child."
"She will flower soon," Tywin stated, his decisions resolute and unyielding.
"And Tommen? I suppose you have found a match for him?" Tyrion questioned, observing the unprecedented anger in Cersei's eyes.
"I'll leave him be for a while as he is Joffrey's heir. Should any ill befall Joffrey, he will marry Lady Margaery," Tywin calmly replied.
"Am I supposed to be consoled by that, father?" Cersei retorted, her frustration clear.
"This is about family. You will do as I say," Tywin asserted, his voice brooking no dissent.
"And if our matches refuse?" Tyrion pressed.
"Refuse a Lannister?" Tywin's tone almost held amusement. "I doubt that. But let us say your scenario is correct; then the King will demand it."
"You really think the three regions are devising a rebellion against the crown?" Tyrion sought clarification.
"If they swear fealty, then you won't have to marry them. As simple as that. Mayhaps you write to them once more, Tyrion. Be a little more persuasive in your demands," Tywin suggested, looking at Tyrion with a condescending gaze.
"I'm Master of Coin, not a wedding planner," Tyrion retorted, rolling his eyes.
"But you are so good at it," Cersei chimed in, her words dripping with sarcasm.
"Why would they agree to these matches if they are in rebellion?" Jaime questioned.
"Then we take matters into our own hands," Tywin declared.
"Am I allowed to remain as a Kingsguard until we have confirmation from Winterfell?" Jaime sought some reprieve.
"No, you will relinquish your cloak immediately. His grace insists," Tywin commanded. "After Joffrey's wedding, I want you to go north and speak with Lord Stark. Tell him his King wishes to wed Sansa, if he refuses, he will face the King's displeasure."
Jaime, consumed by anger, stood up and removed his white cloak, throwing it on the floor. "He wants me gone? Then I'll be gone!" He stormed out of the room.
"You are all dismissed," Tywin declared. The Lannister siblings dispersed, each grappling with their own emotions.
Tyrion, barely able to contain his rage, waddled back to his chambers. The prospect of forced marriages, especially with Lysa Arryn, filled him with dread. It seemed like a recipe for rebellion rather than compliance. As he pondered the situation, he couldn't shake the feeling that his father's motivations went beyond mere marital alliances. The pieces of this intricate puzzle eluded him, leaving Tyrion with a sense of foreboding about the future of the Seven Kingdoms.
When Tyrion opened the door to his solar, he discovered Varys seated at his desk, patiently waiting. Unless the Spider had found Littlefinger and the missing ledgers, Tyrion had little interest in conversing with him.
Closing the door behind him, Tyrion took charge, grabbing a carafe of wine and two goblets. No verbal confirmation was needed; he knew Varys would partake. As he poured the wine, he posed the question, "How can I help you today, Lord Varys? Do you have an update on our missing books?"
"I'm afraid not. Oh, thank you," Varys replied.
Tyrion settled into his chair. "So, how can I help you?" he inquired.
"Ah, I think it is how I can help you," Varys replied with a cryptic smile. "My little birds tell me our King is not the only one who will be wedded. And Ser Jaime no longer wears white."
Tyrion's gaze bore into Varys. "News travels fast these days," he remarked dryly. Varys simply shrugged with a knowing smile. Tyrion took a swig of his wine. "Is this what you wish to discuss?"
"It is, my lord. I have news from the north. Jon Snow has returned from beyond the Wall with three wildlings, and more are on the way. One would have to assume he and his cousin have consummated their marriage by now," Varys revealed.
"That could cause problems with my father's plans." Tyrion frowned.
"Indeed, it would." Varys nodded.
"Shouldn't you be telling this to my father or my brother?" Tyrion questioned.
"That would be most unwise. However, I do have some interesting news regarding the inhabitants of Queenscrown. Ser Barristan Selmy has offered his services to Ned Stark's former bastard," Varys revealed, a smile playing on his lips.
Tyrion's brow furrowed. "Why would he do that? If he wanted to guard someone, I would have thought he would head east to Daenerys Targaryen."
"Precisely, which means it will not be as easy as your father thinks to get rid of this boy," Varys sighed. "You are the only one who has met him. What is he like?"
"He's a Stark. Moody, broody, and excellent with a sword. Similar in skill to Jaime, from what I could tell. Very mature for someone his age. He is one of those people who commands respect. I expect people would want to follow him into battle if he were in charge," Tyrion shared. "He is smart and practical. Nothing like any lordling I have ever encountered.
"Sounds like a charming man," Varys remarked.
"He is. Why are you so interested in this bastard?" Tyrion inquired.
"After the debacle with Daenerys Targaryen, your father has tasked me to arrange the downfall of the young Lord. Although I personally wish him no ill, I must serve the realm. I will travel north, to do what must be done for the good of the realm, before your brother goes to Winterfell." Varys said.
"Why are you telling me?" Tyrion pressed.
"I am telling you, as I can no longer search for the missing ledgers, because I won't be here. And, if you want my honest opinion, I believe Lord Baelish has sided with the Dragon Queen in the east, or he is dead. If he took the ledgers with him, we will never see them again," Varys explained. With that, he stood, giving a perfunctory bow. "It has been a pleasure working with you, my lord. Now I must leave to go north." And without giving Tyrion a chance to respond, Varys exited the room, leaving Tyrion alone, without even giving him the chance to say goodbye.