Tyrion rolled his eyes. "If the Starks feel the need for gold, they can melt down Jaime's armor."
if we ask for a truce, they will think us weak, Sir Addarn argued. "We should march on them at once."
Surely our friends at court could be prevailed upon to join us with fresh troops, said Sir Harys. "And someone might return to Casterly Rock to raise a new host."
Lord Tywin Lannister rose to his feet. "They have my son," he said once more, in a voice that cut through the babble like a sword through suet. "Leave me. All of you."
Ever the soul of obedience, Tyrion rose to depart with the rest, but his father gave him a look. "Not you, Tyrion. Remain. And you as well, Kevan. The rest of you, out."
Tyrion eased himself back onto the bench, startled into speechlessness. Sir Kevan crossed the room to the wine casks. "Uncle," Tyrion called, "if you would be so kind..."
Here. His father offered him his cup, the wine untouched.
Now Tyrion truly was nonplussed. He drank.
Lord Tywin seated himself. "You have the right of it about Stark. Alive, we might have used Lord Eddard to forge a peace with Winterfell and Riverrun, a peace that would have given us the time we need to deal with Robert's brothers. Dead... " His hand curled into a fist. "Madness. Rank madness."