A Song of Grace & Fury

The first thing Cersei noticed when she set foot into the Small Council chamber was a momentous shift in the air. The heavily decorated room felt tense, to the point where it was suffocating, in a way, even though nothing had really changed.

And the Queen Dowager knew the cause very well.

The seat of the Hand wasn't empty as before, instead occupied by man well into the later years of his life, with a shaved head and side-whiskers the colour of her own hair. His badge of office was fastened on the breast of his deep red coat, and his gaze made her feel small and unnecessary as she quickly moved to the chair she'd had moved to the chamber for herself.

Her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and the Warden of the West, had moved into the city some time ago, bringing with him a significant part of the Lannister host after, as hushed whispers rumors would have it, facing a great defeat in the Riverlands.

Even on her way here, Cersei had seen scores and scores of Lannister men with their Lion helms and their red cloaks marching about the Red Keep, the rest of King's Landing was the same. Some of them had made camp outside the walls but most had moved into the city, manning the walls and patrolling the streets.

From the Street of Steel, to Weasel Alley, to the Shadowblack Lane and even Flea Bottom.

The man responsible for the patrols sat beside her father, her uncle, Kevan Lannister, a seemingly portly man that shared their features but not their beauty. He had golden hair cut short and a thin beard lined his jaw.

He'd been appointed the Master of Law not too long ago and become responsible for the administration of justice across the Seven Kingdoms.

Cersei noted that even Pycelle, skittish and aged as he showed himself most of the time, had his back straight, with beads of sweat forming on his wrinkly skin. Varys had his thin smile but ducked his round head low and clasped his hands together, concealed under loose silk robes.

King Joffrey Baratheon sat at the head of the table, impatiently tapping his fingers against the armrest of his seat, his chin resting in the palm of his other hand, "Get on with it already. What are you waiting for?"

"Joff-"

Cersei was silenced by a glance from her father. His pale green eyes briefly lingered on her before turning to her son.

"The Riverlands and the North are to be left alone." He spoke with the sort of finality one would only expect from Tywin Lannister, "Pycelle, send a raven to Petyr Baelish. He is to parlay with Robb Stark as if he means to join them."

Cersei raised a brow, her mind racing to understand her father's decision.

The Grand Maester nodded his head quickly, the chains around his neck clanking, "As you will it, Lord Hand."

"A wise choice. But, Lord Baelish was deposed, father. I don't believe he'd like to listen to us, much less obey such a command." 

Cersei scoffed at the one who'd spoken up and hid her scowl behind the long sleeves of her dress.

The new Master of Coin was her own younger brother, a halfwit monster of a creature with stunted legs and a jutting forehead. The monster's birth had seen their mother to the grave.

And a monster he was, with mismatched eyes of green and black and almost pale, thin hair that looked nothing like a Lannister's, littered with strands of a deep black.

Tywin's gaze lingered on the halfman for barely a few moments before he moved on, posing no answer to his inquiry, "And see to it that the foolish price on this... Karl's head is removed."

Kevan looked at his brother before nodding. Both of them seemed to share a kind of understanding that was lost on all other members of the small council, "Stannis Baratheon prepares to attack from Dragonstone, see to it that the scorpions work as they should. He mustn't pass the gate. And fighting him on water is a fool's errand."

The Baratheon brothers would clash amongst themselves first, then inevitably turn their sights to King's Landing for their false claims where they would be met with the full might of the Westerlands.

Her brother, Jaime Lannister, had diverted his original route to the Riverlands and was marching to reinforce them with a second host. This one, largely untouched if not slightly rattled by their defeat.

The room went oddly silent once he finished, and Cersei noted Joffrey was looking at his grandsire with glassy eyes and clenched fists. Unfortunately, Varys spoke up before she could attempt to assuage her son's frustration.

"I... It is true, then?" The Master of Whisperers asked pitifully, his eyes glazed with sadness, "There is a mage among them?"

Tywin raised a brow, "I would expect the Master of Whisperers to be aware of what goes on within the realm."

"Ooh, and what else? The Dragons have returned?" Tyrion japed with a small laugh... then went silent when all gazes in the room fell on him.

As always, the oaf had been travelling and whoring about like he usually was so Cersei was certain he had little if no idea at all of what had happened in the Riverlands.

"What?" The half man started, putting his cup of wine on the long table, "...Are you telling me it's true that a man calls upon lightning and flame?"

Varys nodded grimly.

"The Citadel has promised that it will shed light on this strange happenstance and denied it as exag-"

Pycelle shut his rambling mouth when he realised that both the aged Lannister brothers were glaring at him as if he had done them personal wrong.

"This Council is dismissed." Tywin spoke out finally, "All of you will leav-"

"Who do you think you are?! This is MY council! I say when it ends!" Joffrey finally exploded with bubbling rage, his face a shade of frustrated red, "Who let YOU decide you could slow down the war?! You... You coward!"

The King shot to his feet and slammed his hands on the table, "How dare you ignore me?! Are you..." He pointed one of his soft, untested, fingers at his grandsire's chest, "Are you going to hide under your rock again?!"

Flinching, Cersei turned her eyes away from the tantrum in shame, scowling when Tyrion let out a whistle and sipped his wine.

Tywin calmly turned to stare Joffrey in his eyes, making the boy king flinch and take a step back, before he turned his eyes to the rest of them, "I said, all of you will leave. Need I repeat myself?"

"Nobody moves without me saying it! I'll have all your bloody heads on a pike!"

"Dear nephew, I find your reaction to be a tad ex-"

"Shut it, Imp!"

Tyrion Lannister raised his stubby hands in surrender, relaxing into his seat.

"How do you propose we win?" Tywin's deathly calm voice tersely cut into the tense air.

His words made Joffrey open his mouth to scream again... only no words came out.

His eyes wandered around, and he uncomfortably clenched and unclenched his fists, "I... You... We attack them! And crush their heads!"

"Are you suggesting we face them in pitched battles? Or enter forests they know like you do the softness of your feather and silk pillow... Your Grace?" The words hung in the air, laced with a calm ruthlessness that made Joffrey hesitate, "...The King is tired."

Joffrey grit his teeth, preparing to lash out again, but this time, Cersei quickly grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze, "You'll win the war, Joffrey." She cooed, standing up to stroke her son's blonde hair along the back of his head, "Stannis needs to be dealt with first. What if they attack us while your grandsire is gone to bring you Robb Stark's head?"

"B-But mother..."

Tyrion chuckled, "Go strangle a puppy or two to feel good about yourself."

An Imp her younger brother was, but he was also sharp.

It was glaringly apparent that they were on the losing side of this war... and Tyrion had certainly realised that.

The Iron Islands had been decimated, and the one to do that had repelled their advance into the Riverlands. Stannis Baratheon gathered a force, aided by a sorceress, at Dragonstone while Renly Baratheon had won the allegiance of the Stormlands AND the Reach, by some stroke of fate.

Dorne watched and waited in silence, but their seething hatred for the Lannisters was known to all, from a mummer's boy to a lord.

They had none to aid them... unless her father's intentions for the Vale and Petyr Baelish blossomed into a miracle.

"Go, Joffrey, calm yourself with some wine."

King Joffrey Baratheon finally relented, his fists still clenched.

"This isn't over!"

With one final indignant shout, he stomped away.

"Tyrion and Cersei, you will stay." Tywin spoke up just as the others left, putting a hand on the long table.

Cersei looked at Tyrion in confusion and was met with a shrug.

The Imp cocked his head, "What can this humble dwarf do, father?"

Instead of answering, the Lord of Casterly Rock turned to her, "You will make sure that Joffrey does not undermine everything with his rashness."

"So we agree on that." Tyrion spoke up, "The boy's out of touch with reality, I'm afraid."

"We must not trifle with the North, not until I find a way to deal with this... Karl."

"What? The great Lord Tywin Lannister is afraid of a man?" Cersei's lips curved into a mocking smile as she sat back down, pouring wine for herself.

Her father raised a finger, and put it on his badge of office, "Plate... makes it so that blows from swords and axes do not harm a man... Arrows simply..." He dragged the finger from his breast to his shoulder, then moved it through the air, "Bump off."

Cersei cocked her head, unable to understand the meaning behind his words, and put down her cup.

He never explained himself in such detail, "What does that mean?"

Intrigued, Tyrion also leaned in, mismatched eyes narrowed.

"What it means, girl." Tywin spoke calmly, "... Is that in the time it took you to sip on that wine... five and a hundred men in plate died to lightning. Along with four and a thousand foot soldiers. All as I watched. The men think they faced a God."

The wine dropped her from Cersei's hand, and the metal cup clambered against the ground, filling the chamber with its ugly noise. Tyrion's mouth closed and opened in disbelief, and Cersei herself was no better.

"What do you think should be done?"

Cersei found no words to answer his question, unable to even answer, so Tywin continued, "The only thing we can do is entice him wealth and fame... or hire a faceless man, such that he can be struck down quick enough to not call upon whatever power he possesses."

The Queen Dowager wondered how her father was so completely calm and calculating in the face of such a revelation... then quickly realised that he had had a long time to come to terms with what he'd seen on the journey here, and then during the time he'd taken to bring it up.

"Might we send Myrcella to Dorne to secure their allegiance? Or at least, neutrality?" Tyrion suggested in a voice quieter than usual. His words flew over her head, a head that had been thinking she could seduce the man who'd routed her father.

Myrcella was her daughter, and a princess of the Seven Kingdoms, not some bargaining chip and Cersei would never allow her to be used as such.

Tywin looked at his youngest son, a glint in his green eyes, "You don't seem surprised?"

"Well father, I saw a seven hundred foot tall wall of ice so thick a dozen knights could ride abreast with ease." The imp explained with a spring in his form, "Then I was taken hostage by a crazed mother, sent to the Vale, sentenced to death, escaped, and then forced to run here all while being a dwarf... A terribly handsome one, but a dwarf all the same. You'll forgive me if I'm a bit susceptible to the mysterious nature of our world and the secrets it hides. If the dragons were real, what's a stormsinger?"

"Wise. Unexpectedly so." Tywin admitted.

And the fact that he did left Tyrion with eyes so wide one would think they'd pop out... After all, it was no secret that Tywin Lannister held little love for his dwarf son. He hadn't praised him, even unwittingly, for as long as he'd lived, even Cersei knew that.

Before she could muse over the change in her father, Tywin turned to look at her,

"It's true. They're bastards, aren't they?"

If the previous words had left Cersei unable to speak, these ones left her unable to move or even think.

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