Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 32: Plans, Funerals and Reunions

―At King's Landing―

Red Keep ― Tower of the Hand...

Tywin Lannister stood in the meeting hall of the Small Council. Pinned to his chest, like a prize and trophy, was the Hand of the King's badge of office. He wore a smug look upon his face as he walked around the table. A single chair at the head as six chairs lined up in total. He looked up just in time to see his grandson walk in.

"Your Grace," he coolly greeted.

"Grandfather," Daveth greeted.

Soon after the brief formalities between the two ended, Varys, Littlefinger, Pycelle arrived, with Cersei and Tyrion in tow. Each spared each other a glance as Tywin and Daveth both took their respective seats. Tywin leaned back and tapped his fingers on the table; Daveth straightened his posture. With haste, each councilor took a seat as Tyrion appeared behind them. Soon the solid steps of heel echo the hall and the entrances way as Cersei became known; the Queen Mother let out a weary sigh and looked to a chair. Walking over to it, she picked it up and brought it over to Tywin's right side across from Daveth as Petyr stood next to the Young Stag. Tywin raised a brow at his daughter's actions as she was quite distance from him as of late. All eyes turned to Tyrion, the Imp; holding his chin high closed his eyes and dreamed he was back in his bed chambers with Shae between his legs. With a sigh, he walked over to the last chair and dragged it to face opposite of his father. Climbing into the seat, he let out a sigh.

"Intimate. Lovely table," Tyrion commented. "Better chairs than the old Small Council chamber. Conveniently close to your own quarters. I like it."

Very funny, uncle, but now is not the time to be making snide comments like that, Daveth thought unamused with a hint of mental exhaustion added.

Tywin paid no mind to Tyrion's compliment. "What news of Jaime?" he asked.

Everyone looked around, trying not to look the Old Lion in the eyes. The Young Stag, however, stood his ground and met his grandfather's gaze.

"You'll be pleased to learn that Ser Jaime is set to arrive at the capital by midday along the Roseroad soon as was required by the concessions agreement the Lord of Highgarden himself signed," Daveth spoke. "He gets his heir back, and you get yours."

"Hmmm," Tywin nodded in acknowledgment to the report – noting how the other councilors looked off to the side; uncertain as to whether it was shame or disappointment that the Oathkeeper delivered the news Tywin wanted to hear but they themselves couldn't provide. Cersei looked off to the side; Tywin spared her a glance and went on. "What else?"

"Robb Stark along with his mother and sisters are said to be preparing to leave the capital to travel to Riverrun for the funeral of their grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully," Varys said with a smile. "They have requested the King's leave to go with the promise of returning for the royal wedding."

"They have my permission," Daveth instructed. "And please inform Edmure that he is to now assume his late father's role as Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident on a more permanent basis."

"At once, Your Grace."

"There is also word that the widow Arryn is set to arrive at the capital soon," Tywin mentioned. "I assume that is your doing, Your Grace?"

Daveth shook his head and turned his gaze to Petyr. "It was actually the Lord of Harrenhal himself who suggested it, of course. The name actually suits our purposes far more than that useless pile of rubble."

"And the Lord of Harrenhal will in turn make a worthy suitor for the widow Arryn," Tywin said upon piecing the puzzles together.

"For which I am extremely grateful to you, my lord, Your Grace," Petyr said too proudly not to be noticed.