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"I don't want to hear about how hard it is—I want to hear what we're going to do. Don't worry. Before you starve, everyone else will have dropped dead already. After all, the gods punished me by making you a Lannister."
Right now, they were well and truly cornered—trapped with no way out, and no reinforcements in sight.
Neither the North nor the Riverlands had any reason to lend them aid. Tywin still didn't even know whether Eddard Stark was alive. Ever since they'd been cut off and surrounded inside King's Landing, the Lannisters had been left blind to the outside world. Only a few ships managed to slip through at sea now and then.
As for the Stormlands and the Reach—they hadn't come offering help, but instead had marched forth with grand armies, eager to snatch the Iron Throne the Lannisters had spent so much effort securing. The fundamental conflict between them was impossible to reconcile.
That left only the Westerlands—their final stronghold, already badly battered and clinging to hope. Jaime, following Tywin's orders, had sealed the gates and committed to full defense, driving out the Ironborn raiders who kept plundering the west.
And then there was Dorne. But that was an even colder trail. Tywin knew all too well what the Red Viper, Oberyn Martell, and his brother, Prince Doran, truly wanted. What they desired was his own head.
Tywin might have elevated his family's status to the very heights, but he hadn't gone mad. Not enough to offer up his own severed head to Dorne as a gift in exchange for their support.
King's Landing, as it stood now, if he were to leave, would be left in the hands of those two useless fools. Could they possibly hold command over the twenty thousand proud, unruly soldiers stationed in the city? Once he was gone, there was no telling which noble house the Lannisters' power would fall into.
As for Joffrey, well, in Tywin's eyes, he had never been part of the equation. That boy sitting on the Iron Throne, flaunting his crown, was nothing more than a child. There was no further commentary to be made on him.
"If we don't want to die here," Tyrion said, "then we need to think of a way to strike back at Renly. Hit him hard enough that he'll feel the pain and pull back his troops."
"Or we could try sweet-talking Stannis. Get him to hurry up and land. We could even feign weakness and say that King's Landing won't hold out for more than a few days. We have failed. Renly is about to enter the city and claim the throne. Let's see how his brother responds to that."
"The last option, of course, is to grab our good king and make a break for it—storm out of the city. As long as we move fast and stay ruthless, I doubt Renly will push us too hard. After all, he still has his brother to deal with. He won't want to waste all his strength fighting us."
"That's Joffrey's throne! You can't just do that!" Cersei snapped.
"Oh, please," Tyrion scoffed. "Tomorrow I'll have one of the smiths in Flea Bottom make me an iron chair. Does that make it a throne too? If he really is a king, then wherever that pretty little butt of his is parked—that's the throne. Wake up, my foolish sister!"
Without even glancing at his sister, who was clearly incapable of saying anything useful, Tyrion turned his oversized head back to his father, Lord Tywin, and continued:
"But here's the real problem. If we try to retreat to the Westerlands, we'll suffer heavy losses along the way. Head south, and we'll be hounded by Renly's army at every turn. If he wraps things up with his brother quickly, we might not make it out alive."
"If we head north, we have to pass Riverrun. That's no small thing. Tell me, my wise father…do you think Edmure Tully will just let us pass through unscathed?"
Unscathed? If Eddard Stark really was dead, and if word got out that it was Tywin who had drugged him to speed things along, then once the wolf cubs of the North got wind of it, they'd send orders to Edmure Tully without a second thought. And then, well… they might not make it back to the Westerlands at all.
Tywin Lannister knew it better than anyone—he had taken drastic measures to get rid of that hot potato, Eddard Stark, as quickly as possible. But in doing so, he'd planted a seed of danger that was bound to grow.
If Eddard Stark truly was dead, then even if no one could prove it was his doing, the wolves of the North would still lay the blame squarely at his feet.
Every time this thought crossed his mind, Tywin Lannister could barely restrain the urge to kick both his daughter and his son. Damn them both for their inability to control whatever lay between their legs.
If it hadn't been for their incestuous affair, if not for the fact that Joffrey bore not the slightest resemblance to any Baratheon, they would not be in this wretched situation, surrounded on all sides by enemies.
Of course, the Baratheon brothers had always coveted Joffrey's throne. Rebellion would have come sooner or later. But the scandal surrounding Joffrey's parentage—that was the spark that lit the fuse. The legitimacy of royal blood was not something the realm could afford to see tainted.
There were many truths in this world that everyone knew but pretended not to acknowledge, until someone finally handed them the excuse they had been waiting for. And his beloved daughter and son had delivered the perfect one into the hands of every ambitious noble across the Seven Kingdoms.
"If we want Stannis to come ashore, we will have to offer him something of value. He is no fool. What you just suggested is nowhere near enough to make him set aside his claim and help us deal with Renly."
Tywin stared coldly at his dwarf son, waiting for the rest.
"Of course it's not," Tyrion replied without missing a beat. "Stannis Baratheon wants the throne in King's Landing, doesn't he? Then let's give it to him."
At that, Tywin Lannister narrowed his eyes. His dwarf son's judgment on such a critical matter once again challenged everything he thought he knew about the boy.
If he were born normal, Casterly Rock would have surely been his.
For a brief moment, the thought passed through Tywin's mind—only to be ruthlessly crushed the very next instant.
But Cersei reacted like a lioness whose cubs had just been threatened. She shot to her feet, shouting with fury.
"How dare you, Tyrion! Joffrey's throne cannot be taken away by anyone. I will never allow you to do this!"
Tywin Lannister's patience finally snapped. In that moment, he realized that summoning Cersei tonight had been a mistake—a foolish one. Her mind was consumed only by her precious Joffrey and her own place as Queen Regent. She cared for nothing else.
"…Leave."
He glanced at his daughter with open distaste and uttered the word in a flat, composed voice.
Cersei froze, stunned. "Father…?"
"I said… leave. Do not make me say it a third time."
Tywin Lannister's authority within the family towered above all others. Cersei did not dare defy him. Beneath her father's cold, unyielding gaze, she could only storm off in reluctant submission, though not without first casting a vicious glare at Tyrion on her way out.
Once the room was reduced to just the two of them, father and son, Tyrion gave an exaggerated shrug and spoke with a mocking lilt.
"Oho… a private conversation between men, is it? Tsk tsk, I'm truly flattered."
Tywin, of course, knew better than to expect sincerity from that comment, but he wasn't in the mood to care. He got straight to the point.
"Tyrion, tell me your plan."
"My plan? It's simple. We tell Stannis directly that we're finished. If he doesn't come soon, we'll surrender to Renly. It's not as if House Lannister holds any deep-seated grudge against Renly Baratheon. At the end of the day, we are still just the Wardens of the West."
"Go on."
"I've been in King's Landing long enough to get a sense of the man. Stannis Baratheon—he's about as stubborn and foul-tempered as they come. Once he believes something is rightfully his, there is absolutely no room for compromise."
"If we hand the throne to Renly, that is something Stannis will never tolerate."
Tywin Lannister gave a slow nod. He had to admit, every word his dwarf son had just spoken was true. In the dire straits they now faced, their only hope of survival lay in taking a risk and making a bold move. If they remained aboard this sinking ship, they would drown with it.
"Good. But it is not enough, Tyrion. You know what this family wants. Joffrey may be a foolish boy, but he is still sitting on the throne. We must do what we can to keep him there."
"Mmm… that makes things much harder. We'll need a backup plan."
"First, we lure Stannis in. As long as his banners appear outside King's Landing, he's already stepped into our game. Renly will have no choice but to divide his forces to defend against him. That alone will ease the pressure on us considerably."
"We could even try spreading that news to Renly's camp. Let him know that Stannis is coming straight for the city. That should help ensure those two brothers do not unite to crush us first."
"If we are unlucky and they refuse to take the bait, then the only way to preserve our family might be to grab Joffrey and flee back to Casterly Rock—assuming neither of them cares enough about my dear nephew to chase us."
"But if things play out the way we hope, then, dear Father, we'll need to find a way to make those two brothers tear each other apart beneath the walls of King's Landing. In fact… we could even pretend to abandon the city entirely—pull our people back for a while. Then, once one of them's defeated the other, we strike."
"Then why don't we just return to Casterly Rock now?"
Tywin posed the question in an even tone. Deep down, he already knew the answer, but he could not resist testing his son a little further.
"It's too far," Tyrion replied. "Getting from Casterly Rock to King's Landing without crossing the Riverlands means taking a long detour to the south. By the time a winner emerges in King's Landing, even if the news reaches Casterly Rock immediately and we mobilize our forces without delay, they'll already be ready for us by the time we return."
"If Stannis wins, at the very least the Stormlands and the Crownlands will rally behind him. He still commands the royal fleet, so he won't fear us laying siege to the city."
"If Renly wins, we'll be facing the full strength of the Reach. There'd be no point in marching on King's Landing then. We'd do better to prepare for the roses swarming up from the south."
And with that, Tyrion laid out the entirety of his plan, placing it plainly on the table. He looked straight at his father, his tone suddenly sharp and serious.
"Father, if we want to play it safe, then the best course of action is to return to Casterly Rock at once and let the Baratheon brothers tear each other apart. We wouldn't need to stay another day in King's Landing."
"But if we want to gamble on victory… then, Father…"
"Then we have to start preparing right now."
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[Chapter End's]
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