Game Of Thrones: The God-Emperor of Planetos-Chapter 74 - - Conspiracies (II)

"You may not want to fight, but I want you to fight." Aenar Targaryen, watching his ministers fight each other, balancing the power of the Court.

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Tyrion felt his body freeze as he saw the eyes of all of House Targaryen resting on him. Rhaella, in particular, watched her dear friend's son with a sad sigh. He had her hair, albeit a shade lighter, but his face... was nothing like Joanna's.

The memory of sweet Joanna made Rhaella sigh sadly, mourning the loss of her longtime friend.

"Would you like to introduce yourself, Lord Tyrion?" Aenar asked with a calm look.

He knew there was something almost childish about some of his actions, especially the way he amused himself by watching people's reactions in embarrassing or terrifying situations. Perhaps it was his personal hobby, but compared to the hobbies of other kings before him, his seemed harmless. Right?

Tyrion was surprised by the courtesy and hastened to reply: "I am Tyrion of House Lannister, Your Grace. It is an honor to be in your noble presence on this most memorable day."

Call him what you will, but for Tyrion, the priority was to stay alive. And if flattery could guarantee his survival, he was more than willing to pay compliments even to the hairy balls of the young king in front of him.

"What shall I do with you, Tyrion of House Lannister?" Aenar asked with an amused smile on his lips. "There are those who wish for your head at this very moment."

The king's gaze turned to Oberyn Martell, who regarded the kneeling Tyrion with a coldness that Aenar couldn't help but admire.

Aenar knew that he would look the same way if someone killed someone important to him.

Tyrion noticed Oberyn's gaze and felt a bitter smile appear on his lips. His already slim chance of survival seemed to disappear in the presence of the Prince of Dorne. If there was one House that rivaled House Lannister in hatred as much as House Targaryen, it was House Martell.

"I'm clever, Your Grace," Tyrion stated firmly. "I'm not big or skilled with a sword, but my mind is sharp. My advice can be valuable."

But Aenar's next words left him surprised and almost shocked.

"I know you're clever, Tyrion. I could use you in my court. But there's a big problem facing both of us."

"And what problem would that be, Your Grace?" Tyrion asked, a thread of hope in his voice. No matter how difficult it was, he could make it happen.

"Will you help me kill your father?"

Tyrion's expression vanished in the same instant.

Kill his own father? Even if Tywin was the cruelest man in the world, he was still his father. The man who had given him a home, food and rivers of gold all his life. Yes, he deserved the title of worst father in the world, but was that enough for Tyrion to help the enemy of House Lannister kill him?

"Your Grace, why don't we send the dwarf's head to Tywin? He will surely appreciate the gift. Perhaps we could smash his face against the wall first," Oberyn suggested, casting a cold, murderous glance at Tyrion. The Prince of Dorne could barely contain his fury at the son of the man responsible for the death of his sister and nephew.

Tyrion felt a shiver run through his body. Oberyn's gaze resembled that of a serpent, and now he understood perfectly why he was called the "Serpent of Dorne".

"A tempting offer," Aenar replied with a slight smile, "but it won't have much effect on Tywin. He would turn his son's death into an opportunity for profit and prestige. He might even claim that Tyrion died trying to kill Caraxes."

If it were Stannis or Renly, Aenar might consider the idea, as it would shake Robert mentally. But Tywin? He would use his son's death without scruple, especially the son he hated for taking the life of his beloved wife.

Oberyn, though reluctant, moved away and sat down, but his eyes never left Tyrion, as if he was imagining various ways of killing him.

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Tyrion listened to the conversation between Aenar and Oberyn with a bitter expression. He couldn't deny the Targaryen king's words. From what he knew of his father, the prediction was frighteningly accurate.

"Your Grace, may I say something?" Barristan, who was still kneeling beside Tyrion, intervened, drawing Aenar's attention.

The king's curious gaze landed on the knight of the Kingsguard, and he nodded slightly, indicating that he should speak.

"Your Grace, Tyrion may be small, but he is twice as honorable as many men who call themselves knights. He's a good man, unlike his father, who is a truly ruthless monster." Barristan spoke firmly, while Tyrion stared at him in surprise. Although the knight had promised to intercede on his behalf, he had never imagined that the man would actually dare to do what he had said.

Aenar tapped his fingers rhythmically on the arm of the throne, lost in thought. After long minutes, he finally announced his decision: "Barristan, Tyrion Lannister will be imprisoned while I decide his fate."

Tyrion's legs weakened, and he almost cried out with relief. He still had a chance to live. He didn't want to die, not yet. There was plenty of wine to taste, plenty of whores to enjoy and places to explore.

Barristan stood up and bowed respectfully. "Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace."

"Kindness, eh," murmured Aenar, a slight smile on his lips. The word seemed ironic to him. In recent days, he had had men, women, the elderly and even children executed without hesitation. Being called kind seemed like a hypocritical compliment, but it still amused him.

With the end of the gift ceremony, the banquet began. The guests took their seats, eating and drinking to their heart's content.

"What are you going to do with Tyrion, husband?" asked Visenya, a touch of coldness in her gaze. Although Tyrion was not directly to blame, his father had ordered the deaths of Queen Elia and Prince Aegon.

Aenar didn't answer immediately. Instead, he returned the question: "What do you want to do, my queen?"

Visenya was surprised, remaining silent for a few moments as she pondered her words. Daenerys, sitting next to her, watched her sister curiously. If it were her, she wouldn't kill Tyrion. What would be the difference between them and Tywin doing that? As Aenar had said the other night, it was a never-ending cycle of hatred and death.

Visenya wanted to kill Tyrion and at least partially avenge the death of her Good Sister and her nephew.

"Would killing him satiate your hatred?" Aenar asked again, looking at her with a smile.

"You don't want to kill him." Visenya concluded as she listened to his words, realizing that Aenar had already made up his mind.

"I want him to be my Hand." Aenar said casually, taking a sip of wine. His words left Visenya and Daenerys stunned. They could imagine many things, but never that Tyrion would become the Hand of the King. After all, it was the second most important position in the Seven Kingdoms.

"But will he accept? We're going to kill his father." Daenerys asked in disbelief. She couldn't imagine how Aenar would persuade Tyrion to fight against his own blood.

"I'll give him a reason to live and die for me." Aenar smiled, confidently. There was no doubt in his mind: Tyrion would not refuse what he had to offer. The dwarf would bend the knee and help him in the wars looming on the horizon.

Daenerys pouted, frustrated that Aenar wouldn't reveal what he would use to convince Tyrion, but put those thoughts aside.

"Let's dance, nephew." Daenerys suggested, smiling mischievously. Aenar smiled back, squinting at Visenya, who had a slightly envious expression at her sister's words.

"I'll dance with you later, Vy." He kissed Visenya's cheek gently before standing up and holding out his hand to Daenerys. She took his hand with a smile and stood up with him.

Visenya's mood improved with the kiss and her husband's words, although she still wanted to be the first to dance with him. Deep down, she blamed herself for not being quicker.

Aenar ignored the stares of everyone in the hall as she danced with Daenerys in the center. The four knights of the Kingsguard stood around, vigilant, protecting the king and queen with cold, watchful eyes.

"The position of Hand of the King is very powerful," Daenerys commented, feeling his hand on her waist. She moved closer, enjoying the warmth of his body.

"I know," replied Aenar with a whisper in her ear as they spun together. "But the Hand of the King won't have that much power. In fact, all the positions will be divided into two or three. I want to decentralize those powers."

Of course he knew how powerful the title of Hand of the King was, but he didn't intend to leave so much power in the hands of a single person. This would apply to all the positions on the Small Council. In his vision of the future, his ministers should compete with each other while he watched, controlling both sides.

What if they discovered his strategy? He didn't care. His ministers would be intelligent men and would understand that this was not a request, but an order. They could profit, but never as much as the king. And if they didn't accept these rules, Aenar would simply replace them with someone who did.

Daenerys looked at her future husband and understood that this was only the beginning, he would bring about a complete revolution in Westeros' system of government.

How could Daenerys have imagined that Aenar would change the system of nobility and centralize power for the Crown, taking large parts of land from the neighbouring kingdoms and diminishing the local power of the nobles. These nobles would not have as much power or autonomy as before.

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