"My lords, may I have a private word with my sister?"
Tyrion Lannister's voice was polite, even courteous, as he addressed the Small Council. Yet beneath that civility lay a sharp intent. He needed answers—real answers. In King's Landing, truth and lies were so tightly woven together that only a careful hand could separate them.
His mismatched eyes swept across the four men seated before him.
Grand Maester Pycelle—stooped, ancient, and outwardly loyal.
Varys—the Master of Whisperers, soft-spoken and unreadable.
Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger, smiling as always, his mind no doubt calculating ten schemes at once.
And Janos Slynt—the Commander of the City Watch, a man risen far too quickly for Tyrion's liking.
This was the council governing the capital.
And in Tyrion's eyes, it was a deeply flawed one.
Two old foxes who had survived since the days of the Mad King. Two opportunists who had clawed their way into power. No army. No fleet. No true strength behind them.
A hollow council in a city under threat.
Tywin Lannister's orders had placed Tyrion here, but that didn't mean he trusted the people he was meant to command.
Especially not these men.
For what he needed to know, only one person could answer him honestly—or at least honestly enough.
Cersei.
Varys was the first to rise.
"Ah, how touching," he said smoothly, his voice syrupy. "A brother reunited with his sister—how could we possibly intrude?"
He gave a slight bow, his expression pleasant but eyes sharp as ever.
"My lords, shall we grant them this moment? The affairs of the realm will still be waiting when they are done."
One by one, the others followed.
Pycelle shuffled out slowly, leaning on his staff.
Janos Slynt hesitated, glancing between Tyrion and Cersei before finally leaving.
Littlefinger lingered the longest.
"Shall I have rooms prepared for you in Maegor's Holdfast?" he asked casually.
Tyrion smiled faintly.
"No need, Lord Baelish. I'll be staying in the Tower of the Hand—Lord Stark's former residence."
A flicker of amusement crossed Littlefinger's face.
"Ah… the Tower of the Hand. A place with quite the history."
Tyrion knew exactly what he meant.
Jon Arryn had died there.
Eddard Stark had followed.
The place carried a reputation—a curse, some whispered.
But Tyrion Lannister was not a man ruled by superstition.
"The last Hand to die in King's Landing was burned alive before he could even settle in," Tyrion replied calmly. "And before him? Exile, execution, ruin. If the tower is cursed, it is a patient curse."
Littlefinger chuckled.
"How reassuring."
Their eyes met briefly—smiles masking suspicion.
Then Littlefinger inclined his head and departed.
Brother and Sister
When the door finally closed, silence fell.
And Cersei changed.
The poised regent vanished, replaced by a woman brimming with frustration and anger.
"You don't know how much I missed your voice," Tyrion said lightly.
Cersei's response was immediate and venomous.
"You don't know how much I'd like to tear that eunuch's tongue out with hot pincers."
She crumpled Tywin's letter in her hand.
"Has Father lost his mind? Or did you forge this yourself?"
Tyrion didn't react.
"He sent me because you need help."
"I need him," Cersei snapped. "Not you."
"And yet," Tyrion said calmly, "he didn't come."
Cersei's jaw tightened.
"I am the Queen Regent. I issued a royal command."
"And he ignored it."
The truth hung between them.
Power did not come from titles.
It came from armies.
And Tywin Lannister commanded the greatest army in the realm.
Cersei did not.
"I need loyal men," she said, pacing. "Young, capable warriors. Not cowards hiding behind walls."
"I understand," Tyrion replied. "Especially now."
He leaned back slightly.
"The Boy Blacksmith has already won three victories. The realm is starting to call him a true king."
Cersei's lips thinned.
"Joffrey hears these rumors," Tyrion continued, "and responds by… removing tongues."
Cersei's anger flared.
"No one will take my son from me."
"Of course not," Tyrion said mildly.
But his next words were sharper.
"You don't want Father here. You want Jaime."
That struck home.
Cersei froze.
"Jaime is recovering," she said quickly. "At the Golden Tooth."
"Recovering… without his sword hand."
Tyrion's tone was soft, but merciless.
"He's no longer the Kingslayer. Now they call him the cripple."
"Enough!" Cersei snapped. "Anyone who says that will lose their tongue!"
Tyrion studied her carefully.
Anger.
Fear.
Denial.
All written plainly on her face.
"Things are worse than you think," he said. "The North is rising. The Riverlands burn. And our enemies grow stronger by the day."
"Then stop telling me problems," Cersei snapped. "Give me solutions."
The Game of Hostages
Tyrion nodded.
"We still have leverage."
Cersei raised an eyebrow.
"Sansa Stark."
Cersei gave a small nod.
"She's still here."
"And Arya?"
Cersei frowned.
"Gone. Escaped during the chaos. Likely dead."
Tyrion exhaled slowly.
Even so…
"One hostage is enough—if used correctly."
"And the other?" he asked.
"The one in the Black Cells."
Cersei's voice lowered slightly.
Tyrion understood immediately.
Eddard Stark.
Or rather… the man meant to replace him.
"A dangerous secret," Tyrion murmured.
"Then keep it safe," Cersei said sharply.
"I intend to."
The Truth Behind the Crown
Tyrion leaned forward.
"Tell me something, sister."
"Who truly rules this council?"
Cersei's expression hardened.
"I trust no one."
"Good," Tyrion said. "Because Father doesn't trust them either."
He repeated Tywin's words.
Cersei frowned.
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that everything is falling apart."
Tyrion's gaze sharpened.
"Joffrey has been king for mere days—and already we're drowning in consequences."
Cersei hesitated.
Then, reluctantly, she spoke.
"I warned him. I told him what to do."
"But he didn't listen."
"No."
Her voice was tight.
"He wanted… spectacle."
Tyrion sighed.
"So the execution of Eddard Stark…"
"…was Joffrey's decision."
A silence followed.
A disastrous decision.
One that had ignited half the realm.
Littlefinger's Game
"And Janos Slynt?" Tyrion asked.
"Littlefinger arranged it," Cersei said.
"Of course he did," Tyrion muttered.
Everything led back to Littlefinger.
Gold.
Influence.
Information.
"He's useful," Cersei insisted.
"He's dangerous," Tyrion corrected.
"And that makes him useful."
Tyrion didn't argue.
But he didn't agree either.
The Dead King
"There's one more matter," Tyrion said quietly.
Cersei's eyes narrowed.
"Robert."
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then—
"It was an accident."
Tyrion waited.
Cersei exhaled.
"…mostly."
She looked away.
"I had Lancel give him stronger wine. Much stronger. He drank… and when the boar came…"
Tyrion nodded slowly.
Not murder.
But not innocence either.
An Alliance of Necessity
Silence settled again.
Then Cersei spoke.
"You will work with me."
Tyrion smiled faintly.
"Of course."
"You will not act without my approval."
"Certainly."
"You will remember who truly rules here."
Tyrion bowed his head slightly.
"My dear sister… I am at your command."
A perfect lie.
But a necessary one.
Tyrion's Resolve
As he turned to leave, his mind raced.
He had learned much.
Joffrey's recklessness.
Littlefinger's manipulations.
Cersei's secrets.
But the game was far from over.
King's Landing was a city of lies.
And the truth…
Was always buried beneath them.
At the doorway, Tyrion paused.
"One last thing."
Cersei looked at him.
"Protect the hostages."
His voice was serious now.
"If we lose them… we lose everything."
He stepped out into the corridor.
The game had begun.
And Tyrion Lannister intended to win.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)