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The Small Council Meeting
The halls of the Red Keep glittered with jewels and glass, crowded with so many knights that Tyrion wondered just how many appointments his father and sister had made.
With only half his nose remaining, the wound had scabbed over thanks to the maester's care. Tyrion would have preferred hiking the rocky trails of the Mountains of the Moon to enduring the stares of these finely dressed lords and ladies.
He looked more monstrous than ever now. Seeking a place with fewer prying eyes, Tyrion unexpectedly crossed paths with a Stark girl. She was slender, with delicate cheekbones, clear blue eyes, and thick auburn hair—clearly inheriting her mother's beauty.
"Lord Lannister," she said, offering a perfect lady's curtsy.
"Lady Stark," Tyrion returned the greeting with a slight bow.
She appeared troubled, as though frightened by something. Tyrion needed no explanation—it was undoubtedly his foolish nephew Joffrey's doing.
Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark had once arranged for Joffrey to marry her, but now Lord Tywin and Cersei seemed intent on having Joffrey wed the Tyrell girl instead.
Tyrion admitted the Tyrell girl was indeed beautiful, but she had been married to Renly. Who could say with certainty whether she remained a maiden? Despite her father's vigorous assertions, Lord Mace Tyrell likely remained in the dungeons of Storm's End.
That boy is truly remarkable, Tyrion thought. Can he do nothing right?
"You don't look well, my lady. Perhaps you should rest," Tyrion offered consolingly.
"Thank you for your concern, my lord."
She's like a little songbird, Tyrion thought. Her parents trained her well.
Tyrion nodded and continued on his way.
He crossed the courtyard and began climbing the stairs—a long, tedious ascent. Curse the craftsmen who built this castle, he thought as he made his uneven way upward. His father, Tywin, was holding a Small Council meeting in the council chamber. As the former Hand of the King, Tyrion was certainly qualified to attend, though Lord Tywin only acknowledged him as the acting Hand.
Entering the chamber, Tyrion glanced around. Lord Tywin sat in the king's chair, with Cersei and Uncle Kevan flanking him on either side.
Grand Maester Pycelle looked old and frail—so shaky that Tyrion wondered if a strong gust would scatter his bones.
Lord Paxter Redwyne of the Arbor sat with slumped shoulders, his thin frame topped by a balding head with just a few tufts of orange hair remaining. His face looked as murky as the waters of Blackwater Bay.
Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove was clean-shaven and robust.
The High Septon appeared gaunt, with a sparse white beard on his chin.
Among the many unfamiliar faces, Tyrion noted that no chair had been prepared for him. No—there was one empty seat, likely reserved for Lord Mace Tyrell. The Master of Ships apparently couldn't attend the Small Council meeting for now.
Tyrion caught his father eyeing him with a gleaming stare. In the past, he might have turned on his heel and stormed out, much as he had when Lord Tywin ordered him to lead the vanguard in the Riverlands.
Instead, he dragged a chair to the far end of the table and positioned himself directly across from Tywin.
"Tyrion, Lancel has told me of your heroics. He speaks quite highly of you," Uncle Kevan remarked.
Ah yes, my dear cousin Lancel. I wonder if his wounds have healed.
"I hope his recovery progresses well, Uncle."
"Everyone is present, my lord Hand," the eunuch announced to Lord Tywin.
"Then deliver your news, Varys," Lord Tywin commanded.
The eunuch rose languidly. "Grave tidings, my lords. Our fleet at the Arbor has been destroyed by the Ironborn. The Iron Fleet circumvented the Shield Islands and struck Whispering Sound. We've lost ninety-eight ships."
"They will pay for this," Lord Redwyne declared, slamming his fist on the table.
"Didn't the Ironborn previously offer us an alliance?" Tyrion inquired.
"It is not Balon Greyjoy who leads the Ironborn now, but his brother Euron," Uncle Kevan explained.
"What do the Ironborn gain by destroying the Arbor fleet?" Lord Mathis Rowan asked.
"My lords, I fear this is not the worst of it," the eunuch continued. "We've received word from across the Narrow Sea."
Are the Free Cities now meddling in Westeros affairs? Tyrion wondered.
"One of the Free Cities, Lys, has fallen to a combined force of Tyrosh and Dothraki. It appears the Tyrosh have reached some arrangement with the horse lords. Khal Drogo, who commands nearly one hundred thousand Dothraki, is leading his khalasar toward Westeros. Reports suggest he has gathered close to forty thousand mounted warriors."
"Dothraki? Those horse-riding savages?" Lord Mathis Rowan exclaimed in disbelief.
"Indeed. The Targaryen princess was previously wed to this Khal Drogo."
"They mean to reclaim the Iron Throne," Cersei stated flatly.
"When King Robert still lived, we held council on this matter—Lord Varys, Lord Baelish, and Lord Renly were present. King Robert advocated eliminating all Targaryens, but was firmly opposed by the former Hand, Lord Eddard Stark," Grand Maester Pycelle wheezed.
"Traitor," Redwyne muttered under his breath.
"According to my sources, it seems the Ironborn have also reached an understanding with the Dothraki," Varys concluded his report.
Tyrion began to understand why they had attacked Whispering Sound. The Ironborn and Dothraki joining forces—an alliance of pirates and raiders.
The Grand Maester cleared his throat. "I have heard the Dothraki are undefeated on open ground."
"Forty thousand mounted warriors? Are your sources reliable, Varys?" Ser Kevan asked.
"In my youth, I wandered the Free Cities and heard many tales of the Dothraki. They delight in plunder and leave death in their wake. Even the tallest city walls cannot deter their courage. The Dothraki are unmatched on the plains and face few worthy opponents. In their khalasars, everyone rides—regardless of age or sex."
Lord Tywin, who had remained remarkably composed throughout, finally spoke. "Whatever the case, if Tyrosh, the Dothraki, and the Ironborn unite, our challenge grows considerably more difficult. Surely none of you wish to see a horse-riding barbarian seated upon the Iron Throne?"
There's been nothing but ill news of late, Tyrion thought. If these forces truly combined, the Seven Kingdoms would face devastation. And then perhaps Stannis and the Starks would seize the opportunity to attack King's Landing as well.
"Lord Baelish has journeyed to the Vale of Arryn, hoping to secure allies from that region."
"Then why not form an alliance with the North as well?" Tyrion suggested abruptly.