King's Landing. The Small Council Chambers. 299 AC.
Tyrion Lannister.
The last few months had not been kind to the Giant of Lannister. His "beloved" sister and "sweet" nephew, in just a couple of months of holding power, had managed to make such a mess of things that their father still hadn't finished cleaning it up after nearly a year. Perhaps others didn't see it, or simply didn't dare say it aloud, but Tyrion saw one plain truth: the Mighty Tywin Lannister was slipping. Documents took a little longer to finish, orders came out a little less sharp, he slept longer and worked less. Old age spares no one, and a reign as long as his, laced with a pinch of poison besides, showed even less mercy.
But it seemed he wasn't the only one who noticed. Little Joffrey the beast might not grasp the fact outright, but he sensed the Lannister patriarch's weakness all the same, and so did his bitch of a mother. Because of it, the mother and son duo had grown bolder and bolder, forever trying to apparently set things right in their own way. A fool, truly, made a worse ally than a decent enemy. Thankfully their father blocked most of their attempts, but even so, the damage was done.
To the rest of the world, serving as Hand was the greatest honor imaginable, but few understood what a thankless task it truly was, especially under a fool of a king. Tyrion himself had held the post only briefly, but even that brief taste had been enough. Strange as it sounded, he had come to genuinely enjoy the intrigue, the betrayals, the diplomacy, and every other trapping of the game of thrones. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he had tasted the finer things life had to offer. When the fates of thousands hinge on your decisions, when you outmaneuver the court's schemers at their own game, when those who once looked down on you scramble to please you instead. Tyrion had sampled the most dangerous fruit of all, Power, and had not let it master him.
The little lion had savored the game, and then his father returned and everything snapped back into place: he became an ordinary wastrel again, and the Mighty Tywin resumed his place as the pillar of power over the Crownlands. His father hadn't even needed to say a word; he had simply arrived and reclaimed the Handship. It had stung, but Tyrion was no stranger to that particular sting. A week later he'd been handed a task, surprised everyone by carrying it out brilliantly, then given another, then an appointment, and now, half a year on, here he sat on the Small Council as Master of Laws.
It had been hard won, but every council session more than made up for the exhaustion. Lord Lannister might be a pragmatist through and through, yet Tyrion's mere existence had a way of stirring irrational feelings in him. His father was slipping, that much was fact, but the workload hadn't shrunk to match, and he'd been forced to delegate authority to men he trusted. Uncle Kevan, Tywin's constant shadow, was off in the west and unable to help, and the rest of the lion's brood showed no particular talent worth relying on. Which left, by process of elimination, the humble Giant of Lannister. It gave him no small satisfaction to watch his father nearly turn himself inside out at having to depend on him, the family's own castoff. And doubly so when his "beloved" sister saw their father placing more trust in him than in the illustrious queen herself.
"What do you all think?" Learn everyone's opinion first, hear out your subordinates, then make your own decision: an old tactic of his father's, one he'd used for decades.
"Willas Tyrell's army is a thorn in Axel Arryn's side, but it's a thorn in ours as well. I think it would be wise to join forces and deal with the threat together."
"Agreed. It would not only weaken our enemies and drag the Vale into a proper war, but it would also set a good precedent for a genuine alliance, rather than... this... " He couldn't find quite the right word, but "fictitious" hung unspoken in the air all the same.
"Nonsense," Joffrey cut in with his own verdict. " The Arryn swore fealty to the Iron Throne, and it's his duty to obey the king who sits on it. Let him handle the rebels on his own. If he manages it, I might just forgive him his slowness..."
Tyrion understood well enough what had driven his father to drag Joffrey to every council session, but he considered it a wasted effort. The little shit would learn nothing from it regardless, and he'd bleed the council dry of patience trying.
"His Grace's thinking is sound." Baelish, of course, the very man who'd put the idea in Joffrey's head in the first place. "Let Lord Arryn attack on his own. It lets us conserve our own strength, weakens the usurper, and takes the wind out of the Falcon's eye's sails. We might also offer the Vale our aid on the condition that they first return Casterly Rock's gold." It seemed Littlefinger hadn't taken kindly to how Axel Arryn had treated him, nor to the years of work Arryn had cost him.
"I'm new to strategy, but why exactly have we decided that Lord Arryn is simply obligated to attack Willas Tyrell?" Such a simple question left the talkers at a loss.
"Lord Tyrion, Lord Arryn cannot go on plundering the river lords with the Tyrells breathing down his neck. Naturally he'll want them gone by whatever means necessary, and he'll be willing to pay dearly for it. Our task is to squeeze the greatest possible profit from that." Clearly, Littlefinger was furious and ready to do whatever he could to spite the Arryn; he'd been far more restrained before all this.
"You're mistaken. By taking Harrenhal, the Vale gained a great castle in the very heart of the Riverlands. Restored, it would become an unassailable stronghold, one that would let them effectively ignore Tyrell's army entirely."
"Restoring a fortress that size isn't cheap, nor is it quick. Lord Arryn won't..." Everyone had his own motives, his own angle, and everyone argued his proposal accordingly.
Tyrion, for his part, would have preferred to agree. A joint battle alongside the Vale's forces against the usurper would considerably strengthen the Lannisters' position. He wasn't fooling himself; he understood well enough that the lords of the Crownlands followed them more out of desperation than loyalty. Once, that hadn't concerned him much, but Viserys Targaryen and his Dothraki horde had changed the rules of the game entirely. There was a real chance those lords would desert to the Targaryen's side, just as the lords of the narrow sea had done. But with the Falcon's eye standing beside them, that risk would drop considerably. However much people criticized Axel Arryn, he had brought prosperity to the Crownlands, and that wasn't something easily forgotten.
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