Chapter 65: New Option
For his very first Small Council meeting to open with such an entertaining spectacle, Podrick found himself deeply dissatisfied by one particular rule—
no food allowed.
Left with no other choice, he lifted the goblet on the table and took a sip, using the motion to hide the smile he could no longer suppress.
Then he reached out, picked up one of the letters on the table, and unfolded it to read.
Tyrion, meanwhile, took a letter from his sister's hand and compared it with the others.
After a brief glance, he realized that every letter on the table contained exactly the same text—the only difference lay in whose hand had sent it.
Which meant two things:
there had been more than one scribe,
and the letter had been sent to a great many people.
"The first letter was received by Maester Frenken of Stokeworth," Grand Maester Pycelle explained from the side.
"The second was addressed to Lord Gyles."
Podrick didn't recognize either name, so he simply read on.
In fact, he had decided before the meeting even began that today he would do nothing but observe.
The contents of the letter held no surprises.
It was Stannis Baratheon's formal denunciation of Cersei Lannister—followed, as expected, by an extensive and meticulously argued justification of his own lawful claim to the Iron Throne.
Podrick nodded as he read.
The phrasing was precise to an almost obsessive degree; one could tell exactly what kind of man had written it just from the tone alone.
While Podrick was absorbed in the letter, Littlefinger—seated diagonally across from him—idly stroked his beard.
Then he spoke, leisurely and unhurried.
"If Stannis sent copies to them," he said, "then every noble house in the Seven Kingdoms has surely received one as well."
The words landed like oil on fire.
Already seething, Queen Regent Cersei erupted completely, shrieking like a scalded cat:
"I want every one of these letters burned—every last one of them!"
"Not a single word of this must reach my son or my father!"
But Tyrion's reply came cold and cutting.
"I rather suspect Father has already heard more than just a whisper."
He glanced up at his sister.
"Stannis would have sent ravens to Casterly Rock and Harrenhal long before now. Burning these letters won't change a thing."
"Spilled water cannot be gathered again," he continued flatly.
"Once the letters were sent, they were beyond recall."
"And to be perfectly honest," Tyrion added, "what's written in them isn't even that bad."
The dwarf's way of expressing anger was, quite clearly, far more refined than the queen regent's.
This sort of subtle, needle-sharp provocation was not something ordinary people could pull off.
Podrick set the letter down and, inwardly, gave Tyrion a thumbs-up.
And sure enough, the moment Tyrion finished speaking, Cersei spun around, her green eyes wide with fury as she glared at him.
"Do you have any sense at all? Have you even read what he wrote?!"
"He calls my son 'the boy Joffrey'—and then he dares accuse me of treason!"
Podrick strongly suspected that if the room hadn't been full of senior lords, the poor dwarf would already have taken another slap to the face.
And he had to admire her acting.
Cersei Lannister knew perfectly well that every accusation in that letter was true, yet she still managed to perform as though she had suffered some monstrous injustice—full of righteous indignation, putting on a show worthy of applause.
That saying really had been right:
the more beautiful a woman is, the better she lies.
As for Tyrion, faced with his sister's tirade, he could only mutter inwardly:
But is he wrong?
Quite coincidentally, he and Podrick were thinking the exact same thing.
If this war were ever truly lost, Cersei could easily switch careers and become an actress—she had undeniable talent.
Or, failing that, she could still make a very comfortable living on her looks alone.
That said, for a dwarf who lived by his tongue, counterattacking was hardly difficult.
Tyrion dropped the two letters he had been comparing and spread his hands.
"Stannis needs a pretext to legitimize his rebellion," he said flatly.
"What did you expect him to write?"
"'Prince Joffrey is my brother's lawful firstborn and rightful heir, and I shall now raise my banners to contest his throne'?"
Instead of defending her, Tyrion was mocking her outright.
Cersei nearly exploded—one hand slammed onto the table with a loud bang.
"I will not allow anyone to call me a whore!"
Her pale skin flushed crimson, veins standing out on her slender neck.
What, sister, Tyrion thought, I never said Jaime paid you—why rush to label yourself so eagerly?
Naturally, he didn't dare say that aloud.
Instead, he put on a show of solemnity and picked up the letter again, pretending to reread it.
And this bit of willful ignorance wasn't entirely pointless.
His eyes caught on a peculiar turn of phrase.
"'Under the illumination of the Lord of Light,'" Tyrion read aloud.
"That's an odd choice of words."
At this, Grand Maester Pycelle—trapped between the siblings' verbal crossfire—cleared his throat.
"That phrasing appears frequently in correspondence from the Free Cities," he explained.
"It roughly means 'written under the witness of the gods.'"
"The 'Lord' here refers to the god worshipped by the red-robed priests—it is their custom."
As he spoke, the others' gazes drifted back to the letter.
Podrick, meanwhile, thought of the red-robed woman beside Stannis.
Melisandre.
A priestess of R'hllor.
At this point, she probably wasn't yet the most influential adviser in Stannis Baratheon's camp—but it wouldn't take long.
It was she who would later convince Stannis that he was Azor Ahai reborn, setting off a chain of irreversible events.
How much of that disaster was Melisandre's doing, and how much came from Stannis's own ambition, was hard to say.
But when it came to using shadow magic to murder Renly Baratheon, Stannis bore undeniable responsibility—no excuses.
Lost in thought, Podrick drifted further.
By that logic, Renly Baratheon likely didn't have much time left.
"I recall Varys mentioning years ago that Lady Selyse had already fallen under the influence of the red priests," Pycelle added.
It wasn't a major revelation—but it was a warning.
Tyrion flicked the letter lightly.
"So the husband followed the wife's example," he mused.
"Perhaps this gives us an angle—have the High Septon publicly denounce Stannis for abandoning the Faith of the Seven and betraying the lawful king."
…Oh.
That was an option?
The seamless back-and-forth between them made Podrick lift his head slightly.