The Small Council assembles in the chamber room. At the table are Tyrion, Cersei, Varys, Lord Tyrell, Kevan Lannister, the new High Septon, the newly re-installed Pycelle, and a bunch of people Tyrion doesn’t recognize. The king’s seat is, as usual, empty. Lord Tywin walks up to the seat and sits down in it like a boss.
Tywin: It’s good to be the Hand.
Pycelle: Uh, Tyrion. You’re in my seat.
Tyrion: Eat a bag of dicks, Pycelle. A whole bag.
Kevan: Watch your mouth, nephew. Anyway, we have some business to discuss. First of all – the health of my son, Lancel. He is not doing well. He was badly injured in the battles to defend King’s Landing. He should have recovered by now, but for some reason he remains sick.
Cersei: Yes. Terrible. What an odd… coincidence. That he’s still sick, I mean. It would be a shame if he died. If he died and wasn’t able to tell anyone about the things he knows about. Terrible.
Varys: In other news, we recently had a very successful attack on the Boy Wolf’s forces.
Tywin: Yes, the child must soon return north to defend Winterfell. He will not be able to claim his home back from the ironmen or he will be seen as no king at all. That will leave Riverrun undefended and ready to attack.
Kevan: Balon Greyjoy has sent us a letter, proposing an alliance.
Mace Tyrell: We should agree to this alliance. Let him have the north and he will take care of our Stark problem.
Tywin: An alliance? I think not. What good would that do us? He is already doing our work for us… and for free. He’s fighting with the Starks. We have given him nothing for this. Let him keep doing what he is doing. Let them all battle among themselves. Then we will swoop in after and fight what remains.
Tyrion: Yeah, like the SPECTRE fighting fish thing.
Cersei: What? I don’t follow?
Tyrion: The analogy that SPECTRE uses for who they are. In one of those early James Bond movies. I forget which one. From Russia with Love, I think. Blofeld vaguely explains the philosophy and motives behind SPECTRE, and he uses the Cold War as an analogy. The US and Russians are two fish fighting. Let the two fight until one kills the other. Then the survivor will be weak and injured. But you’re still healthy. Then you go in and kill the exhausted winner. Something like that.
Pycelle: I was in a James Bond movie once.
Cersei: Oh, uhh… okay, Tyrion.
Tywin: Something like that, son. But more importantly, it buys us more time to consider better offers.
Tyrion: Better offers? Do you have something in mind, father?
Tywin: No. I’m just going to be cryptic like that. So that later in the book we can drop some sort of new, secret alliance that nobody saw coming.
Pycelle: What? Like the Boltons or something?
Tywin: *sigh*
Tyrion: See, this is why nobody likes you, Pycelle. You just go and destroy all that dramatic momentum with shit like that.
Cersei: We can’t forget about Lysa Arryn.
Tyrell: I hate those Arryn bitches. They are, like, my arch enemy! Lysa hasn’t sworn fealty to King Joffrey. We should march on her and fight her now!
Tywin: No, I have other plans for Lysa Arryn. I am sending Littlefinger to the Vale to woo and wed Lysa. It should be easy. After all, Littlefinger has already blasted that before. He’s been all up in there.
Tyrion: Hrm. Before a match to Littlefinger wouldn’t make sense because he was a nobody. But now that he’s the Lord of Harrenhal, it makes PERFECT sense for him to wed Lysa. Almost as if his request for Harrenhal was well-planned out for ages as part of some sort of grand masterplan between him and Lysa that goes back to the VERY BEGINNING OF THE BOOK SERIES.
Cersei: *rolls eyes at Tyrion*
Tyrion: And just what are we going to do about the Master of Coin position if Littlefinger leaves?
Tywin: Well, that explains why you’re in the room, Tyrion.
Tyrion: Huh?
Tywin: I mean you’re not Hand of the King anymore. You really have no role on this Small Council anymore. Unless…
Tyrion: Wait, you’re going to make ME the master of coin? Don’t you remember anything about my math skills, dad? I flunked out of Algebra in high school. I took an economics class as an requirement in college for my B.S. and did so poorly in it that I had to become a liberal arts major.
Tywin: Well, it’s going to be you. Littlefinger leaves tomorrow.
Tyrion: Didn’t he JUST get back to King’s Landing?
Tywin: Next up… wedding arrangements for my son and Margaery.
Pycelle: Ah yes, I hear news that Prince Doran Martell and three hundred Dornishmen will be arriving in time for the ceremony.
Tyrell: UGH! Doran Martell?! I HATE THE MARTELLS! Those guys are my arch enemies! No way! Why did we invite them?
Kevan: Jesus Christ, Mace. How many arch enemies do you have? Don’t you get along with anyone?
Tywin: Lord Tyrell, it is best you make peace with Doran ASAP. He is coming at my invitation. And when he arrives, he will have a seat on the Small Council.
Tyrell: WHAT?!
Tywin: I have also promised him the justice that King Robert denied him for the murder of his sister, Elia, and her children.
Everyone in the room goes silent at that remark. Because it’s pretty much an established and well-known fact that Elia and her Targaryen children (Rhaenys and Aegon) were murdered by the Mountain on the orders of Tywin Lannister himself.
Tyrion: Uhm… dad… are you sure you’ve though this one through?
Tywin: Moving on… the lands that we’ve recently claimed from those houses in rebellion. We need to divvy those up.
Varys: Oh, but before we discuss that… can we talk about this crazy rumor I’ve heard from my spies in Essos? Apparently, a three-headed dragon has hatched in Qarth. Or something like that. Maybe it’s three dragons with one head each. They say that—
Tywin: --OH MY GOD, nobody cares. Varys, surely that’s FAKE NEWS and we have nothing to worry about related to dragons in Essos.
They then move on to discuss other matters of importance: The gold cloaks who deserted their posts when Stannis’s forces were attacking.
Tyrion: We should send them to the Wall.
Twyin: What? To help defend the North from Wildlings? Please, the Mance Rayder and the Wildlings are practically our allies if they’re attacking the north. Let’s just bust all their knees apart with hammers and throw them in the streets to be beggars. That should serve as a good warning for what happens to turncloaks. Okay, I think our business here is done. Everybody leave!
Everybody gets up to leave.
Tywin: --UNLESS your last name is “Lannister.”
Tyrion: Awww. Damnit.
Tyrion, Cersei and Kevan all stay. Everyone else departs.
Tyrion: So what? Now we’re doing one of those “everyone else is gone so we can talk freely about our REAL plan” scenes? Good. Because I have some stuff that I didn’t want to share in that open forum. Namely about Littlefinger. We can’t trust that guy.
Kevan: Why? He’s served us well. He’s even brought us news about a plot by the Tyrells to sneak Sansa out of the city and marry her to Willas, the heir to Highgarden.
Cersei: WHAT?! Those damn Tyrells! How dare they plot behind our backs like that.
Tywin: Indeed. I will not allow it. The Tyrells and Starks together? No way, Jose! And so, to prevent that, I will arrange a marriage between Willas and Cersei.
Cersei: Uhm… what?
Tywin: You heard me, daughter.
Cersei: NO. FUCKING. WAY.
Tywin: You will do as I command.
Cersei stands up, throws both middle fingers in her father’s face, and storms out of the room.
Tyrion: Hahaha, that was pretty hilarious. Better not tell Jaime about his plan or he’ll kill Willas. You know what I mean.
Tywin: I don’t see what you’re laughing about, son. It’s about time you stop your filthy, whoring ways and get married too. And by that I mean to Sansa Stark.
Tyrion: Say what now?
Tywin: You heard me. Marrying her to the Lannisters made sense when we wanted to marry her to Joffrey, and it makes just as much sense still. When the boy wolf is dead and defeated, it will be your and her heirs that rule Winterfell.
Tyrion: I don’t think the Tyrells are going to go for this plan.
Tywin: They won’t have a choice in the matter. I plan for you and Sansa to be married soon. Before the Tyrells can even announce their plans for Willas and Sansa. Then they will have no cause to protest.
Tyrion: Sansa is just a child. I can’t marry her.
Tywin: Yes, a child who has had her first blood.
Kevan: And she’s got some pretty nice ta-ta’s developing.
Tyrion: Gross. You pervert.
Kevan: You’re the one who’s going to marry her. So you’re the real pervert.
Tyrion: NOT BY CHOICE! I’d much rather have a woman who actually WANTS me.
Tywin: Hahahaha, oh man… TOO RICH, Tyrion. Too rich. Do you think those whores you sleep with ACTUALLY want you?
Tyrion: Look, I’m just saying this doesn’t make sense. I get that you want the Lannisters to have a solid claim to the North. But if so… why not take that proposed deal with the Greyjoys? The Greyjoys are the ones who actually hold the North now. Why not marry me to that Greyjoy daughter? What’s her name? Yara or something?
Tywin: Asha. Where the hell did you get “Yara” from?
Tyrion: *shrug* Anyway, I’m just saying.
Tywin: The Greyjoys might hold Winterfell for now. But they will not hold it for long. Mwahahaha.
Tyrion: Uh oh. You’re doing that cryptic “you know something but you’re not telling anyone else” thing again.
Tywin: I am.
Tyrion: And any claim my children with Sansa might have to Winterfell depend on us actually defeating Robb Stark, which isn’t guaranteed. And any children Robb Stark has will also come in line ahead of ours. Isn’t he supposed to be engaged to some Frey girl or something like that?
Tywin: About that… he has broken his oath to marry the Frey girl. He has taken up with some Westerling instead.
Tyrion: WHAT?! Why would he do that? That is STUPID AS FUCK.
Tywin: I know, right?
Tyrion: I’m surprised you’re taking this so well, dad. The Westerlings are sworn to House Lannister. That type of betrayal is usually something that would send you into a fury.
Tywin: Yes. Well. I have a plan.
Tywin then gives a slight smirk.
Tyrion: A smile? A SMILE? You never smile, dad! Oh shit! Things are on like Donkey Kong.
Tywin: It’s good to be the Hand.
Pycelle: Uh, Tyrion. You’re in my seat.
Tyrion: Eat a bag of dicks, Pycelle. A whole bag.
Kevan: Watch your mouth, nephew. Anyway, we have some business to discuss. First of all – the health of my son, Lancel. He is not doing well. He was badly injured in the battles to defend King’s Landing. He should have recovered by now, but for some reason he remains sick.
Cersei: Yes. Terrible. What an odd… coincidence. That he’s still sick, I mean. It would be a shame if he died. If he died and wasn’t able to tell anyone about the things he knows about. Terrible.
Varys: In other news, we recently had a very successful attack on the Boy Wolf’s forces.
Tywin: Yes, the child must soon return north to defend Winterfell. He will not be able to claim his home back from the ironmen or he will be seen as no king at all. That will leave Riverrun undefended and ready to attack.
Kevan: Balon Greyjoy has sent us a letter, proposing an alliance.
Mace Tyrell: We should agree to this alliance. Let him have the north and he will take care of our Stark problem.
Tywin: An alliance? I think not. What good would that do us? He is already doing our work for us… and for free. He’s fighting with the Starks. We have given him nothing for this. Let him keep doing what he is doing. Let them all battle among themselves. Then we will swoop in after and fight what remains.
Tyrion: Yeah, like the SPECTRE fighting fish thing.
Cersei: What? I don’t follow?
Tyrion: The analogy that SPECTRE uses for who they are. In one of those early James Bond movies. I forget which one. From Russia with Love, I think. Blofeld vaguely explains the philosophy and motives behind SPECTRE, and he uses the Cold War as an analogy. The US and Russians are two fish fighting. Let the two fight until one kills the other. Then the survivor will be weak and injured. But you’re still healthy. Then you go in and kill the exhausted winner. Something like that.
Pycelle: I was in a James Bond movie once.
Cersei: Oh, uhh… okay, Tyrion.
Tywin: Something like that, son. But more importantly, it buys us more time to consider better offers.
Tyrion: Better offers? Do you have something in mind, father?
Tywin: No. I’m just going to be cryptic like that. So that later in the book we can drop some sort of new, secret alliance that nobody saw coming.
Pycelle: What? Like the Boltons or something?
Tywin: *sigh*
Tyrion: See, this is why nobody likes you, Pycelle. You just go and destroy all that dramatic momentum with shit like that.
Cersei: We can’t forget about Lysa Arryn.
Tyrell: I hate those Arryn bitches. They are, like, my arch enemy! Lysa hasn’t sworn fealty to King Joffrey. We should march on her and fight her now!
Tywin: No, I have other plans for Lysa Arryn. I am sending Littlefinger to the Vale to woo and wed Lysa. It should be easy. After all, Littlefinger has already blasted that before. He’s been all up in there.
Tyrion: Hrm. Before a match to Littlefinger wouldn’t make sense because he was a nobody. But now that he’s the Lord of Harrenhal, it makes PERFECT sense for him to wed Lysa. Almost as if his request for Harrenhal was well-planned out for ages as part of some sort of grand masterplan between him and Lysa that goes back to the VERY BEGINNING OF THE BOOK SERIES.
Cersei: *rolls eyes at Tyrion*
Tyrion: And just what are we going to do about the Master of Coin position if Littlefinger leaves?
Tywin: Well, that explains why you’re in the room, Tyrion.
Tyrion: Huh?
Tywin: I mean you’re not Hand of the King anymore. You really have no role on this Small Council anymore. Unless…
Tyrion: Wait, you’re going to make ME the master of coin? Don’t you remember anything about my math skills, dad? I flunked out of Algebra in high school. I took an economics class as an requirement in college for my B.S. and did so poorly in it that I had to become a liberal arts major.
Tywin: Well, it’s going to be you. Littlefinger leaves tomorrow.
Tyrion: Didn’t he JUST get back to King’s Landing?
Tywin: Next up… wedding arrangements for my son and Margaery.
Pycelle: Ah yes, I hear news that Prince Doran Martell and three hundred Dornishmen will be arriving in time for the ceremony.
Tyrell: UGH! Doran Martell?! I HATE THE MARTELLS! Those guys are my arch enemies! No way! Why did we invite them?
Kevan: Jesus Christ, Mace. How many arch enemies do you have? Don’t you get along with anyone?
Tywin: Lord Tyrell, it is best you make peace with Doran ASAP. He is coming at my invitation. And when he arrives, he will have a seat on the Small Council.
Tyrell: WHAT?!
Tywin: I have also promised him the justice that King Robert denied him for the murder of his sister, Elia, and her children.
Everyone in the room goes silent at that remark. Because it’s pretty much an established and well-known fact that Elia and her Targaryen children (Rhaenys and Aegon) were murdered by the Mountain on the orders of Tywin Lannister himself.
Tyrion: Uhm… dad… are you sure you’ve though this one through?
Tywin: Moving on… the lands that we’ve recently claimed from those houses in rebellion. We need to divvy those up.
Varys: Oh, but before we discuss that… can we talk about this crazy rumor I’ve heard from my spies in Essos? Apparently, a three-headed dragon has hatched in Qarth. Or something like that. Maybe it’s three dragons with one head each. They say that—
Tywin: --OH MY GOD, nobody cares. Varys, surely that’s FAKE NEWS and we have nothing to worry about related to dragons in Essos.
They then move on to discuss other matters of importance: The gold cloaks who deserted their posts when Stannis’s forces were attacking.
Tyrion: We should send them to the Wall.
Twyin: What? To help defend the North from Wildlings? Please, the Mance Rayder and the Wildlings are practically our allies if they’re attacking the north. Let’s just bust all their knees apart with hammers and throw them in the streets to be beggars. That should serve as a good warning for what happens to turncloaks. Okay, I think our business here is done. Everybody leave!
Everybody gets up to leave.
Tywin: --UNLESS your last name is “Lannister.”
Tyrion: Awww. Damnit.
Tyrion, Cersei and Kevan all stay. Everyone else departs.
Tyrion: So what? Now we’re doing one of those “everyone else is gone so we can talk freely about our REAL plan” scenes? Good. Because I have some stuff that I didn’t want to share in that open forum. Namely about Littlefinger. We can’t trust that guy.
Kevan: Why? He’s served us well. He’s even brought us news about a plot by the Tyrells to sneak Sansa out of the city and marry her to Willas, the heir to Highgarden.
Cersei: WHAT?! Those damn Tyrells! How dare they plot behind our backs like that.
Tywin: Indeed. I will not allow it. The Tyrells and Starks together? No way, Jose! And so, to prevent that, I will arrange a marriage between Willas and Cersei.
Cersei: Uhm… what?
Tywin: You heard me, daughter.
Cersei: NO. FUCKING. WAY.
Tywin: You will do as I command.
Cersei stands up, throws both middle fingers in her father’s face, and storms out of the room.
Tyrion: Hahaha, that was pretty hilarious. Better not tell Jaime about his plan or he’ll kill Willas. You know what I mean.
Tywin: I don’t see what you’re laughing about, son. It’s about time you stop your filthy, whoring ways and get married too. And by that I mean to Sansa Stark.
Tyrion: Say what now?
Tywin: You heard me. Marrying her to the Lannisters made sense when we wanted to marry her to Joffrey, and it makes just as much sense still. When the boy wolf is dead and defeated, it will be your and her heirs that rule Winterfell.
Tyrion: I don’t think the Tyrells are going to go for this plan.
Tywin: They won’t have a choice in the matter. I plan for you and Sansa to be married soon. Before the Tyrells can even announce their plans for Willas and Sansa. Then they will have no cause to protest.
Tyrion: Sansa is just a child. I can’t marry her.
Tywin: Yes, a child who has had her first blood.
Kevan: And she’s got some pretty nice ta-ta’s developing.
Tyrion: Gross. You pervert.
Kevan: You’re the one who’s going to marry her. So you’re the real pervert.
Tyrion: NOT BY CHOICE! I’d much rather have a woman who actually WANTS me.
Tywin: Hahahaha, oh man… TOO RICH, Tyrion. Too rich. Do you think those whores you sleep with ACTUALLY want you?
Tyrion: Look, I’m just saying this doesn’t make sense. I get that you want the Lannisters to have a solid claim to the North. But if so… why not take that proposed deal with the Greyjoys? The Greyjoys are the ones who actually hold the North now. Why not marry me to that Greyjoy daughter? What’s her name? Yara or something?
Tywin: Asha. Where the hell did you get “Yara” from?
Tyrion: *shrug* Anyway, I’m just saying.
Tywin: The Greyjoys might hold Winterfell for now. But they will not hold it for long. Mwahahaha.
Tyrion: Uh oh. You’re doing that cryptic “you know something but you’re not telling anyone else” thing again.
Tywin: I am.
Tyrion: And any claim my children with Sansa might have to Winterfell depend on us actually defeating Robb Stark, which isn’t guaranteed. And any children Robb Stark has will also come in line ahead of ours. Isn’t he supposed to be engaged to some Frey girl or something like that?
Tywin: About that… he has broken his oath to marry the Frey girl. He has taken up with some Westerling instead.
Tyrion: WHAT?! Why would he do that? That is STUPID AS FUCK.
Tywin: I know, right?
Tyrion: I’m surprised you’re taking this so well, dad. The Westerlings are sworn to House Lannister. That type of betrayal is usually something that would send you into a fury.
Tywin: Yes. Well. I have a plan.
Tywin then gives a slight smirk.
Tyrion: A smile? A SMILE? You never smile, dad! Oh shit! Things are on like Donkey Kong.
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