A clash of kings/Harper Collins

Tyrion Lannister pushed open the door, momentarily feeling a taller stature. He interrupted a meeting involving five members of the king's small council. Cersei, his sister, regarded him with a blend of surprise and displeasure.

"You can see where Joffrey has picked up his manners," Tyrion remarked, lingering to appreciate the ornamental Valyrian sphinxes guarding the entrance, projecting a laid-back confidence. He knew Cersei could detect vulnerability as easily as a dog senses fear.

"What brings you here?" Cersei inquired, her captivating green eyes devoid of any warmth.

"I'm here to deliver a letter from our father," Tyrion responded, strolling over to the table and laying the tightly rolled document before them.

The eunuch, Varys, accepted the letter, examining it with his finely manicured hands. "How thoughtful of Lord Tywin. His choice of golden sealing wax is particularly exquisite," Varys commented, inspecting the seal closely. "It appears entirely authentic."

"Of course it's authentic," Cersei retorted, grabbing the letter from Varys. She broke the seal and unfurled the parchment.

Tyrion watched as she read. She had claimed the king's seat for herself—he surmised that Joffrey rarely deemed council meetings worth his presence, much like Robert before him—so Tyrion took his place in the Hand's chair, finding it fitting.

"This is preposterous," Cersei finally spoke. "Our father has sent my brother to represent him in this council. He instructs us to accept Tyrion as the Hand of the King until he can come himself."

Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his long white beard thoughtfully and nodded with gravity. "It seems a welcome is indeed necessary."