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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ act two ━━ 𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. · 。ﾟ୧ ⋆. 𝗙𝗢𝗢𝗟𝗦 𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗. ₊˚.༄ ━━━ WHERE THE FLOWERS BLOOM, ❝ the lad's practically skipping ❞
𝓘ssac stared at the wooden table before him as he awaited for the council to enter the room. His father stared at his son silently, though he knew it wouldn't last long as everyone seemed to be taking their time.
He had already heard the lecture of how it should have been him leading their men to war the night the Baratheon fleet came to shore, and not Tyrion. It was no secret how much Tywin Lannister despised Tyrion for his ─ birth defect, as Tywin put it.Being born with dwarfism wasn't something the man thought would happen especially with his wife dying during birth.
Isaac saw it as unfair to put blame onto his younger brother for something he could never cause himself, the death of their mother, his genes. It was his fault, but yet everyone seemed to enjoy poking fun at him and blaming him for everything.
Whereas now, for the first time ever, Isaac was also receiving the cold shoulder from his father for simply having fate in his brother. And if it weren't for Tyrion, they wouldn't have held their enemies off until their father arrived.
Isaac glanced over seeing Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lord Petyr Baelish enter silently seeing the blonde already stood off to the side as Tywin stood at the head of the table.
Tyrion enters next.
Tywin sits, then Pycelle, Varys, and Littlefinger join him. Both, Tyrion and Isaac remains still, while Queen Cersei Lannister. enters and surveys the room. She pauses, then walks to the table. She picks up one of the two remaining empty chairs and places it directly next to Tywin, then sits while the others smirk.
Isaac rolled his eyes at his sister and takes his seat, Tyrion moves forward, and drags the final chair noisily to the opposite head of the table.
He sits.
"Intimate. Lovely table. Better chairs than the old small council chamber. Conveniently close to your own quarters. I like it." Tyrion says lightly, his brother smirks.
Tywin ignores his son and asks, "What news of Jaime?"
No one answers.
"Twenty thousand unwashed Northerns have known about his escape for weeks. Collectively, you control more spies and informants than the rest of the world combined. Do you mean to tell me that none of you has any notion of where he is?" Tywin asks.
"We are trying, my lord." Varys speaks up.
"Try harder. What do we have, then?"
"Robb Stark and most of his bannermen are in Riverrun for the funeral of his grandfather Lord Hoster Tully. In Stark's absence, Roose Bolton holds Harrenhal, which would seem to make him Lord of Harrenhal, in practice if not in name." Varys says.
