"Stay three steps behind me at all times." Lord Tywin ordered as they descended the turnpike stairs.

His father was walking fast, taking the stairs in long strides, and Tyrion had trouble keeping up. "Dwarf steps or ordinary steps, my lord?" He asked mockingly. "You may not have noticed, but it makes quite a difference."

Lord Tywin did not bother to slow down or turn around. "I did not give you leave to speak." He said icily. "And you would do well not to test my patience."

The Lannister household guards in their long crimson cloaks and lion-crested helmets manning the entrance to the Tower of the Hand had the decorum not to laugh, but even they could not help but stare at the odd procession of father and son. Oh joy, Tyrion thought.

By the time they reached the drawbridge to Maegor's Holdfast, his legs were cramping and his face was red. He could feel all eyes on him as he scampered into the Small Council Chamber behind his father. Yes, my lords, a hideous dwarf with half a nose, dressed like a child and panting like a dog. Oh father, perhaps you should put me on a leash and have me dance for their amusement like a tame bear.

Lord Tywin ignored the attention his son received, greeting the council members one after the other before seating himself at the head of the table. Tyrion sat down to his left, but his father shook his head, so he toddled off to the end of the table as the other men took their seats.

I barely know half the people in the room, he realized. Pycelle, Varys, and Littlefinger were present, and he recognized Mace Tyrell and the Lords Redwyne and Rowan. The rest he could not place. All our new friends and allies, greedy for their royal rewards. The king himself was notably absent, and for that, Tyrion was glad. Things were bad enough as they were without having to suffer Joffrey's gloating.

"What news of the war, Varys?" Lord Tywin opened the meeting unceremoniously.

"Alas, it would seem the Young Wolf remains undefeated in the field," Varys began. "But I do have some good tidings."

Tyrion slouched down on his chair until his face was at the same level with the table as the eunuch recounted how Randyll Tarly had chased Robett Glover back to Harrenhal. Now or never. "I'm bored, father." He said loudly. "When are we done so I can go play?"

"What else, Varys?" Lord Tywin asked curtly, ignoring his son, but Tyrion could tell he was piqued.

Twisting the lion's tail. It was a dangerous game, but he could see the appeal. If you dress me like a child and treat me like one, that's what you will get, he thought with a smile.

"The Dornish are riding for King's Landing," Varys continued his report. "Word has it they seek vengeance for the murder of Princess Elia."

"I've promised them justice for the death of the princess and her children." Lord Tywin said without so much as batting an eye. "Robert refused them, but with King Joffrey on the throne, they shall have it at last."

"King Joffrey is too gracious and kind!" Lord Paxter Redwyne exclaimed.

Tyrion sat up in his chair. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. "But father, wasn't it you who ordered the death of Elia and her children?" He blurted out before leaning back and smiling innocently. Out of the mouth of babes, my lord.

The silence that followed made even Tyrion uncomfortable.

"How dare you suggest such a thing?" Ser Kevan finally said with genuine indignation.

Lord Tywin himself sat motionless, his fingers laced under his chin. "My son is still feverish from his injuries," he said. "Kevan, take him back to my chambers and have a maester take a look at his wounds. See that he remains until I'm back."

"At once, my lord." Ser Kevan bowed.

"Why did you say that?" He asked as soon as they had left the room. "That was ill-advised. Your lord father does not take kindly to being mocked, much less in front of the Small Council."

"Why, I suppose I did not realize speaking truth is considered mockery these days."

His uncle sighed. "Whatever is going on between you and your father, you would do well to make peace with him and not provoke him further."

Father will never make peace with me, Tyrion wanted to tell him. He's been at war with me since the day I was born. But he knew it would do him no good to complain; Ser Kevan was his brother's most loyal supporter.

"Make sure he does not leave the Tower," his uncle told the guards after he had delivered him into their custody.

Lord Tywin did not return until long after the sun had set. "I told you not to speak without my leave." His voice was calm, but the look in his eyes gave Tyrion a chill.

"I forgot, father," he shrugged an apology. "Small children can be so frightfully forgetful. Will you forgive me?"

His father ignored the jape. "Since you are having difficulty understanding simple commands, I suppose we will have to practice." He waved his hand at him. "Go stand in the corner. Do not move until I tell you to."

Tyrion could feel his face turn red. You truly have lost your mind, my lord, he thought. This is madness. But then he took a deep breath. "Oh, very well, father," he said as he waddled towards the corner to face the wall. "Since you are asking so nicely."

Note: The Council meeting is roughly based on ASOS, Tyrion III