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Tyrion covered his chair with a Myrish carpet to compensate for his lack of height.
This grand table of the small council had clearly never been designed with a dwarf in mind.
Only the court jesters had seats sized for dwarfs.
The king's position remained occupied by Lord Tywin, who had received the Storm King's envoy in the great hall before convening this council meeting.
They hadn't even taken time for lunch.
Ser Kevan sat rigidly upright, while Cersei stared vacantly into space.
Gods, Tyrion had never seen his sister like this before, and she'd been the same in the hall.
"Did you hear the Storm King's conditions clearly?" Lord Tywin's voice cut like a winter wind.
The silver-haired envoy had made it quite plain—if King's Landing refused to cooperate, Stannis would withdraw his army to the North and abandon Storm's End and the Narrow Sea to the Dothraki and the Ironborn.
"Let them flee to the North if they wish. If that land of snow and rock can rid us of one enemy, it's undoubtedly a blessing," Lord Mathis Rowan declared.
Though Cole's terms had been somewhat vague, everyone understood what he truly wanted.
"They don't want just the North, and Lord Stark will not surrender his territory," Ser Kevan said.
Even so, the North comprised half of Westeros—space enough for all of Stannis's forces. Yet Tyrion sensed his uncle was right. The Northerners worshipped the old gods and had no love for the Lord of Light.
"They want us to exhaust ourselves fighting the Dothraki, then they'll lead their armies south from the Neck," Lord Paxter Redwyne offered, one of his rare moments of rational analysis.
After the destruction of his fleet in the Whispering Sound, he hated the Ironborn with a vengeance.
If the North, the Riverlands, and Stannis joined forces to march south, could King's Landing—having just fought a desperate battle against the Dothraki—hope to prevail again?
Tyrion inwardly denied it. It was questionable whether they could defeat the coalition of the horse lords and the Ironborn in the first place.
"Then give them the Stormlands," Tyrion suggested.
With Stannis in the Stormlands to occupy the enemy, the Westerlands and the Reach could remain safely in the rear, uninvolved in the initial fighting.
The Westerlands and the Reach would not become the first battlefield.
If the Dothraki invaded, they would surely land in the Stormlands or the Riverlands—assuming their leaders weren't complete fools.
As for the Ironborn capturing King's Landing, they would first need to navigate Blackwater Bay, and Dragonstone would serve as a barrier protecting the capital.
"They want more than just the Stormlands, Tyrion," Lord Mathis observed.
The Stormlands alone would not satisfy Cole and Stannis.
They demanded to lead the war effort. King's Landing would need to provide them with wartime supplies, return all prisoners and castles captured during the conflict, and acknowledge the territories they had seized in the fighting.
Such terms were impossible to accept.
"Even if we don't give them the Stormlands, they'll take it back or surrender it to the Dothraki," Tyrion shrugged.
"Tell them what you know of Stannis, Varys," Lord Tywin commanded.
The eunuch spoke in his soft voice: "My lords, what Lord Snow claimed is indeed quite exaggerated. According to my little birds, there are approximately fifty ships remaining on Dragonstone, with only thirteen hundred soldiers."
"So he was lying to us?" Lord Redwyne asked.
The eunuch tilted his head. "Not entirely. At Storm's End, my lords, Stannis does indeed command an army of more than ten thousand."
"Where did he find so many men?" Lord Mathis Rowan asked, surprised.
"The wildlings of the Kingswood worship him as king, and Beric Dondarrion, Bryce Caron, Eldon Estermont, Rolland Storm, and others have gathered troops for him."
These were houses that King Joffrey Baratheon had granted to his loyal supporters after the Battle of Blackwater.
Ten thousand men was not an overwhelming force, but neither was it insignificant—much depended on how many were mounted.
"In any case, he agreed to come to King's Landing, which at least demonstrates Stannis's willingness to negotiate," Ser Kevan said.
Everyone knew Lord Tywin had made his decision.
"Let's conclude the meeting here. Tyrion and Cersei, remain. We must discuss the wedding," Lord Tywin announced.
The wedding in question was not the king's, but Tyrion's own.
The lords of the small council rose and departed.
Only Lannisters remained.
"Father, shouldn't I recuse myself?" Tyrion asked. It was, after all, his wedding.
"No, you should know the arrangements. This time, we won't allow drunken septons to perform your vows. Don't embarrass House Lannister," Lord Tywin said coldly.
"Where will the ceremony be held? The Great Sept is being prepared for Joff's wedding," Queen Cersei finally seemed to return to her senses.
"There won't be many guests. It will take place in the small hall of the Tower of the Hand," Ser Kevan said.
"Are the tailors finished with the garments?" Lord Tywin inquired.
"They've been completed. I believe you'll be satisfied with the groom's attire, Tyrion," his uncle said, glancing at him.
Tyrion could only offer a strained smile. He had no doubt about the quality, but no matter how fine the dwarf's clothing, he would never be the true focus of any gathering.
"What is House Stark's position regarding the wedding?" Tyrion asked casually.
"As long as you take the girl's maidenhead, you needn't worry about their threats, Tyrion."
No surprise there. If he actually did that, Lord Eddard would likely cut off his manhood and feed it to the direwolves.
"I hope you can get her with child quickly, so we can use the babe in her belly to persuade Lord Stark to commit troops."
They discussed matters further before Lord Tywin adjourned the meeting.
He departed first with his brother Kevan, and Tyrion climbed down from his chair only to find Cersei watching him with her beautiful green eyes.
The Imp glanced at her sideways. "Dear sister, are you prepared for your marriage to Highgarden?"
He saw anger flare in those eyes.
"I'm not going anywhere," Cersei answered in a bitter tone.
Tyrion shrugged helplessly and turned to leave.
"Where did you find that man?" Cersei's voice followed him.
"Who?"
"The boy with silver hair."
Tyrion considered for a moment. "Oh, you mean Jon? He didn't have silver hair when we first met."
Speaking of silver hair, Tyrion had his own suspicions. He had specifically examined the genealogies of the noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms. The young man was likely a bastard of Brynden Rivers, known as Bloodraven, or perhaps the bastard son of Bloodraven's own bastard. His Valyrian steel sword was probably the lost Targaryen blade, "Dark Sister."
Lord Bloodraven had once served as Hand of the King and had suppressed several Blackfyre Rebellions.
"He was willing to sacrifice his honor in exchange for the realm's peace," according to Bloodraven's recorded words at his trial.