DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 1 - GAME OF THRONES

Tyrion I

In the dimly lit Small Council chamber, TyrionLannister found himself seated amidst an atmosphere laden withgravity, the flickering candles casting elongated shadows on theancient tapestries that adorned the walls. The polished surface ofthe time-worn table reflected the feeble glow, a silent witness tomyriad deliberations akin to the one unfolding before him.

As he sat alone, Tyrion's gaze wandered, absorbingthe regal thrones encircling the table. Tywin, his father, occupiedthe head, his countenance stern and unmoving, while Cersei, hissister, occupied the formidable chair opposite to Tyrion. Bothvisages, etched in the semblance of living statues, betrayed no hintof warmth. The air resonated with palpable tension, akin to thesettling dust that caught the evening sun's rays pouring through thewindows.

Frustration welled within Tyrion, and heabsent-mindedly tapped his fingers on the table, a rhythmic cadenceechoing through the room. A man of ceaseless tasks, Tyrion hadassumed the role of Master of Coin after Littlefinger's mysteriouseastern departure, allegedly to spy on Daenerys Targaryen. The burdenwas thankless, compounded by the disappearance of two ledgerscoinciding with Littlefinger's exit—the records of the final twoyears of Lord Arryn's tenure as Hand of the King.

"Will. You. Stop. That. Irritating. Noise!"Tywin's piercing green eyes fixed upon Tyrion, his voice cuttingthrough the air like a knife.

Tyrion, suitably chastised, stilled his tappingfingers as Cersei's hideous smirk acknowledged her momentary triumph.She indulged in a sip of wine, her demeanour radiating smugsatisfaction.

The heavy oaken door creaked open, heraldingJaime's late entrance. His presence, though delayed, ushered in asubtle shift in the room's dynamics. Tyrion's eyes flickered betweenhis father and sister, searching for elusive signals of approval ordisdain.

"Sorry I'm late. His grace..." Jaime'svoice trailed off as he surveyed the room, dismissing any potentialexplanation with a nonchalant wave. "Never mind."

Cersei reclined on her regal chair, her inquirycutting through the lingering tension. "Why are we here?"

"In time," Tywin replied, redirectinghis attention to Tyrion. "Tyrion, has anyone refused aninvitation to the wedding?"

"Lysa Arryn. Says she can't leave her boyalone, and he is too sick to travel," Tyrion responded.

"Thank the gods," Cersei chimed in witha satisfied tone.

"The woman is such a bore," Jaime added,joining them at the opposite end of the long table, aligning himselfwith his father.

"Anyone else?" Tywin inquired, his gazeshifting between his children. Tyrion offered his latest piece ofinformation, "We haven't received a reply from Lord Stark. I amaware he was dealing with a wildling problem. He might be too busy."

"Too busy to attend the wedding of his Kingand swear fealty? Nonsense!" Tywin shook his head, dismissingthe idea. "My sources say he is up to something."

Tyrion, still perplexed, sought clarification. "Upto something? I can confirm the Night's Watch told me there wereserious problems..."

"Stop!" Tywin interrupted with firmauthority. "I don't care what Lord Commander Mormont had to say.There is speculation of the Greyjoy boy having visited with LordManderly. Ever since, it appears shipbuilding has increased at WhiteHarbor."

"Well, the Starks are keen on the phrase'Winter is Coming,'" Tyrion remarked, recalling his frigid tripto the Wall and grimacing at the memory. The biting cold and the men,even colder. The prospect of an army of the dead marching southlingered in his thoughts, but he dismissed it. If it were true aboutthe army of the dead coming south, then they were all in trouble.However, that is none of our concern. The wedding is more important.