King's Landing – The Red Keep, Throne Room
The Iron Throne loomed over the chamber like a slumbering beast.
Forged from thousands of swords, its jagged blades cast long shadows across the room. Countless spikes, hooks, and twisted edges seemed to emerge from the darkness, silently reminding everyone of the price of power.
Around the Small Council table sat only three men.
The once-mighty council had been reduced to a skeleton of its former self.
Tyrion Lannister.
Grand Maester Pycelle.
Varys, the Spider.
The old maester's broad forehead and thinning white hair gave him the appearance of a harmless scholar. Varys, meanwhile, carried his usual sweet perfume and calm smile, making him seem more like a merchant than the kingdom's master spy.
Several seats remained empty.
No Master of Coin.
No Master of Ships.
No Master of Laws.
Not even a Hand of the King.
And Cersei had yet to arrive.
Tyrion leaned back in his chair and glanced toward the Iron Throne behind him.
It represented power, authority, and the right to rule.
Yet it was also cursed by countless tragedies.
Many kings had bled upon its blades.
Many rulers had met their end while pursuing it.
Even now, it felt as though the throne itself was watching him.
Across the table, Pycelle nervously wrung his hands.
"I am no traitor," the old man muttered. "I have always been loyal to King Joffrey. I have always served House Lannister. Everything I did was for your family."
Tyrion rolled his eyes.
The sight of Pycelle trying to defend himself was almost comical.
Not long ago, Tyrion's mountain clansmen had seized the Grand Maester and shaved away most of his magnificent beard as punishment for secretly reporting Tyrion's actions to Cersei.
After throwing him into the Black Cells for several days, Tyrion had finally released him.
Now the old man looked far less dignified.
"You old fool," Tyrion said. "You claim loyalty whenever it's convenient."
Still, Tyrion understood the truth.
During Pycelle's imprisonment, he had ordered a thorough investigation into the man's past.
What they discovered was astonishing.
The supposedly weak and frail old maester had spent years manipulating events from behind the scenes.
When Tyrion confronted him, no torture had been necessary.
Pycelle confessed everything.
And once he started talking, he never stopped.
Even at his age, his memory remained remarkably sharp.
Tyrion could still remember the old man's tearful confession.
"Everything I've done has been for House Lannister!"
"Ask your father! Ask Lord Tywin! I have always served him faithfully!"
"It was I who persuaded King Aerys to open the city gates!"
"The war was already lost after Prince Rhaegar died. The realm needed a king. Viserys was too young. Aegon was merely an infant. I hoped Lord Tywin would take the throne, but Robert's victory was unstoppable."
The revelations had stunned Tyrion.
For decades, Pycelle had secretly acted as one of Tywin Lannister's most loyal servants.
The old man had shaped the fate of kingdoms while pretending to be a harmless scholar.
Tyrion couldn't help admiring his father's influence.
Even the Grand Maester had belonged to him.
But the confessions did not stop there.
Pycelle had also revealed shocking details about the deaths of Jon Arryn and King Robert.
Though rumors had already spread across Westeros after the Storm's announcements, hearing them directly from Pycelle carried far more weight.
The old maester had spoken through tears.
"Robert was a terrible king," he had said. "A drunkard. A womanizer. A fool. He wanted to cast aside Queen Cersei."
"Renly planned to introduce Margaery Tyrell to him. The girl from Highgarden was meant to replace your sister."
"The gods are my witness. It is true."
Then came Jon Arryn.
"Lord Arryn discovered the truth about Cersei and Jaime."
"He planned to send his wife back to the Vale and his son to Dragonstone before taking action."
"Maester Colemon intended to help him recover, so I removed him from the situation."
"The Queen wanted Jon Arryn dead."
"She never spoke the words, because Varys was listening. Varys is always listening."
"But I could see the command in her eyes."
"I knew exactly what she wanted."
Pycelle had wept openly.
"But I did not poison him!"
"It was not me!"
"Ask Varys. Ask the Queen."
"It was probably the boy Hugh, his squire."
The more Tyrion learned, the more he realized how rotten King's Landing truly was.
Everyone lied.
Everyone betrayed someone.
Everyone had blood on their hands.
Ironically, despite all his crimes, Pycelle remained one of House Lannister's most devoted supporters.
That loyalty was the reason Tyrion had eventually released him.
Now, however, there were more pressing matters.
Tyrion tapped his fingers against the table.
"Gentlemen," he began, "our council has become embarrassingly small."
He gestured toward the empty chairs.
"These vacant positions serve no purpose."
A grin spread across his face.
"So why don't we sell them?"
Varys chuckled softly.
"And what exactly do you have in mind, my lord?"
"The positions of Master of Coin, Master of Laws, Master of Ships—even Hand of the King."
Tyrion shrugged.
"If someone is willing to support us, we can offer any of them."
Pycelle blinked.
"You intend to sell offices of state?"
"I intend to buy loyalty," Tyrion replied.
"The Reach is our best opportunity."
He leaned forward.
"Mace Tyrell has always coveted greater power."
"If necessary, I can persuade Father to grant him the office of Hand."
"Master of Coin would likely satisfy him as well."
"The Reach has fought the Stormlands for generations."
"Mace nearly starved Stannis to death during Robert's Rebellion."
"He won't hesitate to oppose him again."
Pycelle shook his head.
"My lord, you're dreaming."
"These titles only attract greedy men."
"Yet even greedy men fear losing."
"The Reach, the Riverlands, and every other kingdom can see the Storm's rise."
"No one will risk angering four kingdoms for a handful of empty promises."
"Two kingdoms," Tyrion corrected.
"The North and the Riverlands are occupied by my father's campaigns."
"We only need to worry about the Vale and the Stormlands."
"And the Free Cities," Pycelle reminded him.
"Myr. Tyrosh. Others may soon join the conflict."
"The world speaks of the Liberator."
"A new storm is gathering."
Tyrion smiled grimly.
"Exactly."
"If Lys and Volantis enter the war, everything becomes chaos."
"And in chaos, opportunities appear."
Varys clasped his hands together.
"My lord truly sees further than most."
"Save the compliments," Tyrion replied.
"Tell me instead whether your information is reliable."
The Spider smiled.
"My little birds rarely disappoint me."
"I have friends across the Narrow Sea."
"Their reports are trustworthy."
"Lys faces unrest."
"And Volantis has been debating intervention for some time."
Tyrion nodded.
"Good."
He turned toward Pycelle.
"I want letters sent immediately."
"To Highgarden."
"To Dorne."
"To the Iron Islands."
"As long as they send troops and slow the Storm's advance, we can negotiate."
"We have many bargaining chips."
"Council seats."
"Royal marriages."
"Anything necessary."
Pycelle bowed reluctantly.
"As you command, my lord."
Tyrion's eyes narrowed.
"And this time, no secret messages to my sister."
The old maester visibly paled.
"I understand."
"If you betray me again," Tyrion continued, "you'll return to the Black Cells."
"I understand," Pycelle repeated quickly.
The memory of Tyrion's savage mountain clansmen still terrified him.
With the matter settled, Tyrion rose from his chair.
"Finding allies is important."
"But first, we must survive."
The room fell silent.
"Everything depends on King's Landing."
"If the city stands, we still have a chance."
"If it falls, nothing else matters."
He looked toward the map spread across the table.
"The Reach may join us once they sense weakness in the Storm."
"Mace Tyrell is too ambitious to ignore such an opportunity."
"As for Prince Doran..."
Tyrion sighed.
"The man is cautious to the point of paralysis."
"Still, caution can sometimes be useful."
His attention shifted toward the city's worsening situation.
"Now for our next problem."
"The people."
The atmosphere grew heavier.
"Extend the curfew."
"Reduce grain distributions."
"Only the army receives full rations."
Everyone else must accept smaller portions."
Pycelle looked horrified.
"My lord, the people will riot."
"They may tear you apart."
"I know."
Tyrion's expression darkened.
"But we have no choice."
"King's Landing is becoming a powder keg."
"Refugees continue arriving."
"Food grows scarcer every day."
"If we do nothing, the city will explode before the enemy even arrives."
He slammed a hand against the table.
"Anyone who breaks the curfew will be treated as a traitor."
Pycelle slumped back into his chair.
The decision was harsh.
Yet he knew Tyrion was right.
"If the city falls," Tyrion continued, "none of us survive."
"The Storm's supporters will tear us apart."
"We'll end up hanging from the walls."
"Better to die fighting than starve while waiting."
No one argued.
Tyrion moved on.
"My mountain clansmen must also be released."
"They'll enter the Kingswood."
"They'll hunt enemy scouts."
"And they'll burn supply wagons."
Varys nodded approvingly.
"A useful distraction."
Then he asked,
"And what of your chain, my lord?"
At last, Tyrion smiled.
"It is nearly complete."
His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"I only hope our enemies become overconfident."
"They've won too many victories."
"Eventually success makes men careless."
He paused.
"And when that happens..."
"They'll sail directly into my trap."
Varys's smile widened.
"The chain alone is dangerous."
Tyrion laughed softly.
"The chain is only part of the gift."
"I've prepared something else."
"Wildfire."
Even Varys looked impressed.
"I sincerely hope they appreciate your generosity."
The room shared a brief moment of dark amusement.
Then Tyrion turned serious once more.
"Lord Varys."
"Yes, my lord?"
"I need to know exactly what's happening inside King's Landing."
"How many citizens support the Storm?"
"How many would betray us if given the chance?"
Varys bowed.
"My little birds will find the answers."
"Excellent."
Finally, Tyrion addressed the last issue.
"Myrcella and Tommen."
For the first time, genuine concern appeared on his face.
"The children cannot remain here."
If King's Landing fell, they would become valuable hostages—or worse.
"The boy goes to my father."
"The girl goes to Braavos."
The meeting was nearly over.
Outside the throne room, storm clouds gathered over King's Landing.
War was approaching.
The city held its breath.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, the Storm continued advancing toward the capital.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)