Chapter 107: Has the Realm Already Become a Lannister Realm?
"Does anyone know where that damned eunuch has gone?"
At the small council session personally convened by the Queen Regent, Cersei Lannister lounged sideways in a deep blue gown, legs together, green eyes slanting toward the dwarf seated in the high-backed chair of the Hand of the King.
Tyrion, who had just arrived, didn't look at her. Instead, his gaze locked onto Podrick, seated opposite him, wearing an innocent expression and offering a helpless shrug.
Seeing her brother enter and immediately glare at Podrick, Cersei's brows arched in irritation. She slapped the table sharply.
The sound drew a weary sigh from Tyrion.
"That's a difficult question, dear sister. I'd wager no one in King's Landing can find that spider now. If he sensed certain people were moving against him, he's likely already slipped beyond the walls and vanished to some safe hole."
"No one in this city is more sensitive to danger than he is. The faintest tremor in the wind, and he's the first to know."
Only after saying this did Tyrion drag his furious eyes away from Podrick and finally look at Cersei.
"So I would very much like to know which fool thought this was wise."
"The enemy hasn't even reached our gates, and we've already begun tearing at ourselves—losing three crucial councilors in the process."
Cersei's eyes went wide with rage.
"What are you implying, you little monster?!"
"I'm asking why you did this!" Tyrion shot back, unafraid. He had never truly feared the woman before him.
"But now? I can't remember a worse moment."
"Tell me—how does losing the realm's master of whisperers, the man who keeps the crown's coin flowing, and a learned Grand Maester benefit you?"
"Can you guarantee the kingdom won't descend into chaos without them? Or do you believe I've grown three heads and six arms, enough to replace an entire council by myself?"
Tyrion leaned forward, neck craned, anger plain on his face as he fired the words back without a shred of courtesy.
The meeting hadn't even properly begun before the siblings were already at each other's throats again.
When Tyrion blurted out that line about "three heads and six arms"—a metaphor he must have picked up somewhere along the way—Podrick, who had been sitting to the side enjoying the drama like a spectator at a play, couldn't help letting out a snort of laughter.
Both Lannisters turned on him at once, faces flushed with anger.
Podrick raised a hand weakly and offered a timid correction.
"Lord Tyrion… you only have one head and two arms…"
It was, technically, a very reasonable observation.
Tyrion slowly shifted his glare onto him.
"Ser Podrick Payne, while I lack proof, I strongly suspect you just insulted me. Should I, as Hand of the King, punish you for it?"
"Believe me, I can strip that 'ser' right off your name. And tell me—how do you feel about the Wall? Before Lady Catelyn Stark dragged me to the Vale, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was always complaining about being short on men…"
"You dare!"
Before Tyrion could finish threatening his own squire, Cersei rose like a lioness defending her cub.
And just like that, the siblings were at each other again—steel against steel.
Watching the dwarf seething and the queen bristling protectively, Podrick only smiled and spread his hands.
"Lord Tyrion, I swear I meant no disrespect. What I meant is… perhaps you and Her Grace might consider replacing certain councilors with people who are actually useful. And reliable."
Tyrion, who had only been picking a fight for sport, paused.
"Hm?"
Cersei, chin high, gave a proud little snort.
"That was always the intention."
Tyrion frowned. Podrick hadn't breathed a word of this to him.
"You have something in mind? Or have you already chosen replacements?"
Sharp as ever, Tyrion caught on quickly.
"I intend to grant one of the small council seats to House Martell of Dorne," Cersei declared. "Prince Doran should feel honored—and kneel to Joffrey in gratitude."
She said it like a royal favor bestowed from the heavens.
"And the Vale as well. The Arryns will follow suit. Even the Iron Islands—why not? I can grant them a title. Warden of the North, perhaps."
That made Tyrion's heart skip. Since when had his sister developed such grand strategy?
And such generosity?
The thought barely formed before he realized the truth.
His eyes slid to Podrick, who was now leaning back with one leg propped on the table, looking entirely at ease.
Podrick met his gaze and smiled.
He came to the same conclusion I did…
Tyrion pressed his lips together, suddenly thirsty, reaching for his wine.
But why use such a crude method? No warning, no room to maneuver?
That damned boy—could he not consult me before doing things?
The raid on that town had been like this. And now this sudden purge of three councilors—right when Tyrion himself had been preparing to act.
In the span of a few exchanged looks, the Hand and his squire reached an unspoken understanding.
It still made Tyrion grind his teeth.
But there was one comfort.
He no longer had to worry which councilors were truly Cersei's creatures.
All three men he had suspected were now gone—cut off in one unbelievable stroke, and by Cersei's own authority.
So now…
How exactly was she supposed to fight him?
Had the realm truly become a Lannister realm at last?