THE RED KEEP - THRONE ROOM, KINGSLANDING
The throne room was dim, shrouded in silence but for the soft scraping of silk against stone as Queen Cersei paced before the Iron Throne. King Tommen sat upon it, his feet barely touching the floor, fingers twitching with uncertainty. Beside him stood Ser Kevan, silent. A small fire crackled weakly in the brazier near the dais, casting long shadows that danced like whispering ghosts. And there was Lord Baelish ever the serpent in a lion's den watching the Queen with veiled intent.
"My Queen," Baelish said at last, his voice oiled with caution, "I believe it is time we consider… the harsher alternative."
Cersei turned on him swiftly, green eyes flashing.
"Not another word, Lord Baelish."
Baelish inclined his head, lips pressed together in a courteous smile, though his eyes still burned with quiet urgency. Cersei turned her back on him, smoothing her gown as she looked up at her son her boy, her king.
"Tommen," she began, voice softer now, calculated, "We must begin thinking of alliances again. House Tyrell remains… useful. A marriage might calm the seas. Margaery is a sweet girl. She is also very willing, I've already spoke with the Tyrells."
Tommen opened his mouth, unsure, but no words came.
"My Queen," Baelish said again, more firmly now, "Forgive me, but this is not the time for talk of wedding veils and floral arrangements. That man Aeron Grim he drank poisoned wine and lived. Lived."
She turned toward him slowly, eyes narrowing like drawn blades.
"And how are you so certain the wine was poisoned?"
Baelish hesitated a moment, but the words came quick, precise.
"Because we tested it after. Poured it for two of the dungeons' peasants. They fell dead in five seconds, tongues black, eyes wide. The Maesters confirmed it. There is no doubt."
He took a step closer, lowering his voice.
"He is not just a man. Whatever else he is sorcerer, demon, godless wraith he is not natural. And we barely understand what he's capable of. Beyond his monstrous sorcery, there is something more. Something that cannot be bought or reasoned with."
Cersei waved a hand, as if swatting away a bothersome gnat.
"And yet he didn't kill us. He had every chance."
"Not yet," Baelish pressed. "But you saw what he did, what he could do. His dragon casts a shadow across the city walls. Lord Kevan here faced his soldiers in battle he too saw death.."
She turned away again, lips tight, eyes glassy with the weight of thoughts unspoken.
"My Queen," Baelish said, growing sharper now, "Denial will not save us. The North bends to him. The Stormlands are falling like autumn leaves. Did you not see the beast he rides? That was not just a dragon. That was a terror. Even the Targaryen girl's dragons pale in comparison to that thing."
Tommen shifted uncomfortably, his small voice finally breaking the silence.
"What… what does he want?"
Neither Cersei nor Baelish answered. The air turned heavy, the silence tense.
And then clack.
A slow, deliberate sound. The echo of boots against stone.
All heads turned toward the great doors as they opened with ceremonial weight.
The figure who stepped through needed no herald. He moved with grace unyielding, each footstep echoing. hair glinted beneath the torches, the lines in his face carved like stone. Eyes like pale ice scanned the room with measured disdain.
Tywin Lannister.
The lion had returned.
"Enough," he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a sword. "This room stinks of fear and indecision."
Cersei turned at once, her face lifting with strained relief.
"Father," she said, stepping toward him. "You're back."
Baelish bowed his head slightly, ever the politician.
"Lord Tywin," he greeted, careful and smooth.
Tywin gave him a glance sharp enough to draw blood. He strode further into the hall, his crimson cloak trailing behind him.
"I've heard what happened," he said. "But I want to hear it from you, Lord Baelish. From your own lips."
Baelish straightened. He didn't fidget, didn't blink.
"Of course, my lord."
He stepped forward, voice calm but laced with a quiet tension.
"He came to the Dragonpit on dragonback, one black beast and one so monstrous. Daenerys Targaryen rode her dragon. Aeron Grim rode something far worse. They landed together, but it was he who spoke. Calm. Cold. He made it clear he seeks surrender."
Tywin's brow twitched.
Baelish continued. "Not peace. Not negotiation. Surrender. He demands King Tommen step aside. That the Baratheons and Lannisters march out of this city... or he will raise these great houses to the ground."
Tywin chuckled. A low, humorless sound.
"How generous of him."
Baelish hesitated. For a heartbeat, he considered holding his tongue. But there was no wisdom in silence anymore.
'These people no longer know the line between reason and madness. Between strength and delusion,' he thought.
"Lord Tywin," Baelish said carefully, "he requested to send you a message personally. Had you been there, had you seen what we saw... the shadows, the poison, the dragons, the silence when he smiled. There is no winning or losing with someone like this. It took one meeting for me to understand that."
Tywin's eyes narrowed.
"Are you calling me a coward for not 'being' there, Littlefinger?"
The question hung like a blade over a gallows.
Baelish took a slow breath, then dipped his head in a motion that was neither submission nor defiance.
"I wouldn't dare, my lord. But you, of all people, must see it. This is not a war we can win through gold or force of arms. We are not facing an upstart. He is death incarnate..."
Tywin took another step forward, his gaze unwavering.
"You are not someone that believes in that sort of things lord Baelish.. So, we are to flee, then? Like whipped dogs. Leave the throne. The city. The realm. To a bastard with magic and shadow-tricks?"
He looked to Cersei, to Tommen, to Kevan. All were silent.
"That will not happen while I still draw breath."
Cersei smiled at that a cold, cruel smile of vindication.
Kevan looked away, discomfort plain in his face.
Baelish stood still. Then, after a long pause, he bowed his head again.
"In that case," he said softly, "forgive me, my Lord Hand. But I must relinquish my post. I am no longer fit to serve the crown."
He turned.
Cersei stepped forward at once.
"You dare walk out without your king's word or approval?" she snapped.
Baelish paused, turned slowly to the boy-king.
Tommen blinked. He looked at his mother, then at Baelish, lips parting as if to speak. But no sound came. Confusion painted his young face.
Baelish offered a tight smile. Then he turned once more.
"Let him leave," Tywin said.
Cersei opened her mouth, but Tywin raised a hand.
"I said let him go."
Baelish did not look back.
The great doors opened.
And Littlefinger slipped quietly out of the throne room.
Tywin turned to face the Iron Throne Tommen seated atop it like a child in a soldier's armor, small hands gripping the arm rest as if they might keep him steady.
Cersei folded her arms, stiff with pride and paranoia.
"He's a coward," she muttered. "Littlefinger never had the stomach for war. Or loyalty."
Tywin did not look at her. "He had the stomach to poison that man and face him in a meeting."
She clenched her jaw, but said nothing.
Kevan stepped forward at last, cautious.
"What now, brother? Baelish speaks true, we are facing a force beyond anything Westeros has known."
Tywin's eyes swept the chamber, resting for a moment on the Iron Throne, then on Cersei.
"You waste breath bickering over shadows," he said. "This man...this Grim...is not the first to ride dragons, nor the first to think himself invincible. He may possess strength, but strength without discipline is nothing. He will make a mistake."
Cersei spoke carefully. "And what if he doesn't make a mistake? He already seems to be winning the favor of several lords."
Tywin's expression did not change.
"Baelish mentioned that he cares about his Image..., then we will force him to make a mistake."