"My lords, would you permit me a few private words with my sister?" Tyrion Lannister asked the others with perfect courtesy. He needed to speak with Cersei and sort out what in King's Landing was truth and what was lies.
Tyrion looked at the four men before him, making it plain enough that he wanted them gone. Grand Maester Pycelle was there for counsel, Varys handled intelligence, Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, counted coppers, and Janos Slynt commanded the city watch. The first two were old hands, men who had at least served the realm since the Mad King's day, while the latter two were both upstarts. But Tyrion thought the lot of them were dreadful. Perhaps only the old maester truly leaned toward the Lannisters. The others were another matter entirely. One glance at this lineup told him what was missing: an army, a fleet, Dragonstone, and the stormlands.
They might not show Tyrion much respect, but Lord Tywin's orders carried the weight of a mountain. Tyrion could not trust any of these great officers. Besides, if he wanted the finer truths of the matter, he would have to pry them from his sister Cersei.
Varys rose smoothly, wearing his usual oily, flattering smile. Of all of them, the eunuch master of whisperers was the cleverest and the smoothest with words.
"No doubt Your Grace's sweet voice has been sorely missed by you, my lord. Shall we let brother and sister enjoy a little reunion? The affairs of this troubled realm can wait a moment longer."
Tyrion watched them get ready to slip away one by one. Old Pycelle shuffled along on unsteady legs, his white beard spilling down like a waterfall. Janos the upjumped butcher's son hesitated for a moment. Littlefinger was the last to rise.
"Shall I have the steward prepare some rooms for you in Maegor's Holdfast at once?"
"Lord Petyr, I appreciate the thought, but I'll be staying in the Tower of the Hand, in Lord Stark's former chambers," Tyrion said lightly.
He knew exactly what Littlefinger meant. The curse of the Tower of the Hand. Unfortunately for Littlefinger, that little warning had no effect on him. The Imp had at least two strengths. The first was learning. The second was that he was not superstitious.
Littlefinger, sure enough, turned it into a joke, bringing up the miserable fates of the last two Hands to dwell there, Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark, the eagle and the wolf.
Tyrion answered at once, dredging up older history. "The last Hand Aerys Targaryen named was killed during the sack of King's Landing. I doubt he even had time to move into the tower. He was Hand for all of fourteen days. Before him, his predecessor was burned alive. Earlier still, two men were stripped of lands and titles, died on the road into exile, and counted themselves lucky to die with nothing left at all. I believe my father may be the last Hand ever to leave King's Landing whole."
Littlefinger immediately covered the awkwardness with a warm laugh. "How delightful. Perhaps the Tower of the Hand is less safe than the dungeons. I know the flavor of dungeons well enough."
His face remained amiable, but Tyrion knew his thoughts were turning fast enough. Catelyn had released the Imp. That meant the Imp might already know something of what had been whispered. Dwarfs and bastards were both sensitive creatures, and both knew how to hold a grudge. Littlefinger could not be feeling easy.
I'd dearly love to stuff you into a dungeon, Tyrion thought bitterly, but for now he still needed Littlefinger's coppers. So, as a broad-minded acting Hand, Tyrion made a joke at his own expense instead. Courage and foolishness were only ever separated by a single line.
"Whatever curse haunts the Tower of the Hand, a man my size is quite good at slipping past grasping claws."
Tyrion watched the three of them leave as well. Janos gave a booming laugh, Littlefinger a teasing one, and the old maester wore a grave expression.
Once they were all gone, Queen Dowager Cersei Lannister promptly changed her face. The Queen Dowager had no interest at all in stories from history. What she wanted now was soldiers.
"You cannot imagine how I've missed your sweet voice," Tyrion said with a sigh.
"You cannot imagine how much I'd like to rip that eunuch's tongue out with red-hot pincers," the Queen Dowager shot back. "Has Father lost his wits? Or did you forge that letter?"
She read the letter again, growing angrier the more she looked at it.
"Why has he dumped you on me? I wanted him here in person." She crushed Lord Tywin's letter in her fist. "I am Joffrey's regent, the Queen Dowager. I sent him a royal command."
"And he ignored you," Tyrion replied calmly, without changing expression. The title of Queen Dowager Regent was impressive enough, but a man who held a great army had no reason to fear it. In an age of chaos, King's Landing was lucky if its commands reached even one or two regions, the crownlands and the westerlands.
"What I need are loyal, capable young warriors. If Father will not come himself, then he should at least send men like that," the Queen Dowager complained.
"I know what you mean, sister. The little blacksmith has won three victories in a row, and the tale going around outside is that he is the true king and the Warrior himself. By rights, a young storm should be met by young men. Back in the day, the Mad King found a griffin to make Hand and send against Robert. But as for our little Joffrey, when he hears news like this, all he does is fly into a rage and tear out tongues. As for actually going to war..."
The Queen Dowager pressed her lips tight, anger showing on her face. "No one is taking little Joffrey from me. If I said that letter was false and ordered them to throw you into the dungeons, I promise you, no one would dare disobey."
Tyrion studied his sister's face. The Queen Dowager was furious, furious that their father had ignored her orders, furious that her decrees did not travel unchallenged.
At that moment, Tyrion understood that he too was walking on a knife's edge. The Queen Dowager had far less wit than beauty. If he said the wrong thing, Cersei would absolutely have him thrown into a cell. So Tyrion softened at once before his dear sister, reminding her first of Father's army, then of the fact that he had come all this way to help.
"I did not ask you to come help badly. I ordered Father to come to court himself in answer to the royal command."
"Did you?" Tyrion said calmly. "What you wanted was Jaime."
Tyrion had no wish to speak his brother's name just now, but the rumors were not mere wind. Robert's will was now known everywhere. The Three Storms were setting the realm ablaze, and had dragged the trout and the direwolf in with them.
"Be quiet. Jaime, he..." the Queen Dowager said uneasily.
His sister liked to think herself clever and seasoned, but Tyrion had grown up beside her and knew her nature perfectly well. Reading the expression on her face was as easy as reading one of his favorite books. What he saw now was anger, fear, and unease.
"He's recovering from serious wounds and resting at the Golden Tooth. But the situation is not encouraging. Without his sword hand, my brother has gone from Kingslayer to cripple and crippled man in the mouths of half the realm."
"Damn them all. Whoever dares say that, I'll have his tongue cut out," the Queen Dowager said in a fury. "Debts must be paid. Sooner or later, I'll make that little blacksmith pay the price."
"What's worse is the present," Tyrion said. "That little blacksmith of House Baratheon has already collected a bit of interest from us, and Stark and Tully have been thoroughly driven off by what we did to them. Right now they're burning with anger."
"Enough. I do not want complaints. I want solutions." The Queen Dowager waved a hand. "And Jaime. Why has Jaime not written to me? Why write to Father first?"
"He's more badly hurt than you think. That little brat Robert left behind is ruthless, and he's a problem. Aside from losing his sword hand, Jaime now has an ugly scar on his face. Fortunately the bone of his nose wasn't cut away. Only some flesh was sliced off, from his nose to above the right eye socket. If my brother hadn't been lucky, his skull would have burst open just like that fool Amory's."
Tyrion's voice dropped low. He was certainly biased toward his brother, but their enemy was even more fearless and savage.
"The scar on his face. I wouldn't reject him for that. He should have written me a letter," the Queen Dowager said, uneasy. She did not believe her brother Jaime was truly so badly hurt, had never dared believe it. If that inborn beauty were gone, if he became some maimed man full of bitterness toward the world, would she still be willing to bed him?
Tyrion saw Cersei's unease and felt a chill run through him. He had known beforehand that the two were close, but he had not imagined it was this far beyond reason.
"Leave revenge against the little blacksmith aside for now. The northern army is coming as well, and Father is considering how to deal with the crisis. He must already have told you that the Twins are lost," Tyrion said to his sister.
The Queen Dowager nodded. "I know House Frey has been destroyed, but I haven't let word of it spread. That would be fatal. You've seen the state King's Landing is in by now. The people are starving and wailing, and they resent us more by the day. If the Twins are lost, then the northern army, the trout, even the little blacksmith, can draw on northern strength. King's Landing would fall into even worse chaos."
Thousands upon thousands were fleeing to King's Landing to escape the war, believing it safer here. Tyrion had seen the surging crowds with his own eyes on the kingsroad. Mothers carrying children, anxious fathers eyeing his horses and wagons with greedy looks. Once those people reached the city, they would spend everything they had for the shelter of high walls, and think that enough.
"Bad as it is, we still ought to make a try of it. Perhaps we should think about winning over our enemies' friends. The little blacksmith is beyond negotiation, but the North at least..."
"There's some sense in that. The Starks aren't likely to forget that we chopped off quite a few northern heads."
"True enough," Tyrion said with a nod, returning to the matter of hostages. "But you still have his daughter in hand, don't you? I saw the older sister with Joffrey in the square. And of course we have a more important hostage as well, that 'Eddard' who was already beheaded. A brilliant idea, truly."
"That was Sansa," the Queen Dowager said. "I've claimed to the world that her sister Arya, that little wild thing, is in my hands too, but that isn't true. When Robert died, I sent Ser Meryn Trant to seize her, but that damned dancing master interfered, and she escaped in the confusion. No one has seen her since. A great many people died in the city that day. I imagine she's dead too."
Tyrion felt that even without Arya, Sansa alone, together with Eddard as a bargaining piece, was already a very strong hand. It only needed to be played at the right moment.
"Who knows about the switch with Eddard?" Tyrion asked in a low voice.
"The four men you just saw. Everyone except Lord Janos."
Tyrion kept that in mind. That fool Janos was the most critical matter for now, and he was certainly going to be replaced. As for the others, their knowledge of the secret was trouble as well.
"Take good care of that man. I've heard what lies beneath the Red Keep can drive a person mad."
"At least that much I understand. What are you planning?" the Queen Dowager asked in a lowered voice. "To send envoys north, calm the Starks, soothe the Stark whelps and women?"
"That was the idea, but it's already too late. If the northerners march south, they and Father will be fighting soon enough," Tyrion said. Two suitable Stark hostages. If he cast them away at the right moment, it would deal a fatal blow to the little blacksmith's cause. The northerners would not even need to turn on him. They would only need to go back north.
"Tell me about our friends on the council. What exactly is the matter with them?" Tyrion asked.
The Queen Dowager glanced toward the doors. That little group was all the people she had managed to hold onto. "What about them?"
"Father doesn't seem to like them. Before I left, he said this. If those men's heads, meaning Littlefinger, Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys, and Commander Janos, were cut off and mounted on spikes beside the northern heads on the city walls, I wonder what sort of sight that would make."
Tyrion leaned across the table. "Are you sure they're dependable? Do you trust them?" He remained deeply suspicious of the loyalty of King's Landing's ministers. Two old slippery survivors from the Mad King's time, and two ridiculous upstarts of recent rise. Father's concern was not without reason.
"I trust no one," Cersei snapped, "but I need them. Does Father think they mean ill?"
"You could say that's exactly what he suspects."
"Based on what? What does he know?"
Tyrion was nearly unable to hold himself back. Joffrey had only been king for a few days, yet one disaster after another had already piled up. Which went to show that someone had certainly led the boy astray.
The Queen Dowager was helpless as well, so she could only explain. "Joff has never lacked for counsel, but he was stubborn by nature to begin with. Now that he's king, he feels even more strongly that he ought to do as he pleases and not let anyone control him."
"Anyone who puts on a crown loses his wits," Tyrion said in agreement. "But when Eddard Stark was killed at the Great Sept of Baelor, didn't you tell little Joffrey the truth of it?... Was that really Joffrey's idea?"
What a perfect lie it might have been, and yet now it had become a complete mess. Speak of it openly, and the king's honor would be dragged through the mud, with some false minister sent out to apologize. Keep it hidden, and the northerners would be alienated beyond repair.
The Queen Dowager frowned. "I warned him seriously, over and over again. As for the deception, Joff is still only a child, so he knew nothing about it. It didn't matter anyway. According to the plan, we were going to show mercy, declare that after Eddard repented he had agreed to take the black, then kill that unlucky counterfeit. As for when the real one actually left, that would be entirely in our hands. That way little Joff would have a lawful claim, and the Stark pup would behave himself. But Joffrey decided it was his duty to give the crowd a good show. What was I supposed to do? In front of the whole city, he declared that Lord Eddard's head should be struck off, and Lord Janos and Ser Ilyn were eager enough to carry it out without asking me a single word."
Tyrion looked at the Queen Dowager. "And you managed to offend the High Septon too, didn't you? The whole affair is dreadful enough already. If Stark had not stubbornly refused to admit guilt, he might really have lost his head."
The Queen Dowager clenched her fists. "Now the High Septon curses us for keeping it from him first, then defiling the Great Sept of Baelor with blood."
"So that toad had a hand in this too," Tyrion said, then moved to the more important matter. "Tell me, whose brilliant idea was it to grant Harrenhal to him and appoint him one of the realm's chief officers?"
"Littlefinger arranged it. We needed Slynt and his Gold Cloaks. At the time, Eddard Stark was already acting strangely. He kept visiting places like smithies and brothels, and he was always digging into the people around Lord Jon. Then this once, against all habit, he decided to go hunting with the king. Normally he should have gone after the Mountain himself and fallen neatly into Father's trap. In any case, I went to see Littlefinger in the black cells back then. A man who counts coppers always has many friends, so arrangements had already been made in advance. Besides, Stark's elder daughter was only a child. With a little coaxing, I learned even more."
The Queen Dowager went on, "Eddard was not only plotting with Renly to seize power, he was also writing to Stannis, asking him to stabilize the situation and help that bastard come back and claim the throne. We nearly lost everything. If Eddard had not cared so much for his family, he would never have dared return to King's Landing. We won, but only by a hair. And as you've seen, Renly and Stannis are still outside, while Eddard's bastard Jon and Barristan ran off with the letters."
So Littlefinger had spilled quite a lot, Tyrion thought. Trusting Littlefinger, or letting him know anything about Eddard, had been Eddard's greatest mistake.
Tyrion was genuinely surprised. "Your luck has been remarkable, sister. Still, filth like Littlefinger does have his uses. And you even pried secrets out of Sansa, Eddard's own trueborn daughter. The girl has always been gentle and polite. Pity she hardly seems northern at all."
The Queen Dowager dismissed it. "Littlefinger is far more useful than the other fools. What does Varys know? And that old man Pycelle is little more than a sack of old bones. Littlefinger, at least, can be useful. It was his idea to look into Eddard's people, and naturally I thought of Sansa. As for that little Stark girl, she'd just begun dreaming of love and wanted nothing more than to stay with Joffrey. She would have done anything he asked. I never imagined he would cut off 'Eddard's' head and call it mercy. That shattered her little dream of love."
"Ha. His Grace certainly has a unique way of winning affection," Tyrion said with a grin. "The small council and the White Swords have been so badly depleted that now even Littlefinger and the butcher's son count as able men."
"At least they're better than you. The Gold Cloaks command several thousand men."
"Have you decided who should join the White Swords?" Tyrion asked. "Whoever is chosen ought to be a real fighter."
The Queen Dowager shook her head. "These are chaotic times."
"True enough. And where are we supposed to find men like Barristan and Jaime now?"
"Barristan? He's just an old man, and a traitor," the Queen Dowager said dismissively.
"Oh, that old man of yours, Ser Barristan Selmy, was Robert Baratheon's Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," Tyrion reminded her pointedly. "Of Aerys Targaryen's seven White Swords, only he and Jaime are still alive. The smallfolk speak of him as if 'Serwyn of the Mirror Shield' and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight had been born again. If they see Barristan the Bold fighting side by side with the little blacksmith Gendry, what do you think they'll make of it?"
The Queen Dowager turned her face aside. "I hadn't thought that far. Perhaps we should have placated him with Harvest Hall back then, but the old man would not bend. He cared only for honor."
...
In the end, the two of them did form an alliance. To face the Three Storms, the direwolf, and the trout, little Joff would have to behave himself. Even if Joff cared for no one's words, the times were different now. Tyrion was, at the very least, a lion carrying Tywin's will, and the Queen Dowager needed to work with him.
Tyrion lifted the Queen Dowager's hand in a gesture of humility. Brother and sister they might be, but for the sake of that ugly iron chair, they would have to row in the same boat.
"You've always been clever," the Queen Dowager said, giving Tyrion a surprised glance. The boy seemed to be submitting.
"Only a little cleverness," he said with a chuckle.
"In that case, it may be worth trying. But Tyrion, do not get the wrong idea. I accept you, but you are Hand in name only. In truth, you are my assistant. Before you take any action, you must discuss your plans and intentions with me first. Without my permission, you are not to act on your own. Is that understood?" the Queen Dowager emphasized.
"Oh, perfectly understood." Tyrion looked at the Queen Dowager. Gods knew how much this woman loved power.
"Do you agree?"
"Of course," Tyrion lied. "Dear sister, I am at your command."
By now Tyrion knew many truths. Joffrey had ordered the execution of "Eddard," and Littlefinger had been the one behind winning over the toad Slynt.
That left only the most important truths still unanswered. The deaths of Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon.
"Our aims are the same now, so there should be no more secrets between us. Lord Jon's death?"
"How should I know?" the Queen Dowager said, looking at her brother.
"It's only that Lord Eddard kept questioning everything. Wasn't he suspecting you?"
"That fool Eddard Stark laid the same charge at my door. He kept digging and digging. In any case, he believed Arryn suspected... or was convinced... and in the end he went the same way himself."
"And you and our good Jaime are so lovingly devoted to one another?"
She slapped him across the face.
The Imp would not let the point go. Grinning, he asked whether Cersei was not being a little too partial, and besides, exactly what it was Jaime saw in her. For that, all he got was another slap.
Now only one last secret remained. Tyrion looked at the Queen Dowager, thinking of the death of that brute. Tyrion had actually rather liked Robert Baratheon, coarse voice and all. No doubt part of the reason was that his sister hated him so completely.
On this matter Cersei admitted the truth readily enough. Robert had indeed been killed by a boar. It was just that before the hunt, Lancel had given him a few extra skins of strong sour red wine, doctored to be four or five times stronger than what he normally drank.
With all this settled, Tyrion felt he now had a rough sense of what to expect in King's Landing, and he turned to leave. The place was full of lies, and the truth was hard to find. Littlefinger's lies. Varys's lies.
But the Queen Dowager stopped him. "You are not leaving. I want to know how you mean to avenge Jaime."
"I naturally have plans. Do you think I love my brother any less than you do? But this is not something to be done in a day or two. For now, I intend to ride through the streets and get a better sense of the city's condition." Tyrion rested a hand on the head of the sphinx by the door. Truth be told, his hatred was not quite so intense. On the battlefield, this had not been cruelty to a prisoner. A warrior gambled and accepted the loss. Even his brother did not harbor so much resentment.
But the situation. The situation truly was dreadful. Father was dealing with the North, while Tyrion had to handle King's Landing and look for allies. Who those allies might be was hard to say. The Tyrells and the Martells were still hesitating.
I have to make proper use of what resources I have, Tyrion understood. "Before I go, there is one more thing I must tell you. No matter what happens, do not let anything happen to our hostages. If we lose both of them, we'll be in far too passive a position."
Speaking of children, Tyrion's thoughts turned to Cersei's own. They too were strategic assets, priceless if used well. Joff, Tommen, and Myrcella. The girl could be wed for alliance, and the boys too would have to be kept firmly in hand. In preparing for the possible collapse of King's Landing, Tyrion was not thinking about Joff. He was thinking about Tommen and Myrcella.