The Lion of Winter
By Commander Shadestorm
Stave One: A King's Ghost
"Winter is coming." The words of House Stark, I wish I had listened to them now." Lord Tywin mused to himself as the last flickers of the logs in his chambers faded. He thought of calling for more but it hardly seemed worth it. The snows raining upon Kings Landing would douse it soon enough. The Hand of the King walked across the room and recalled his servant from Harrenhall, the one he had left with Clegane. She had been a sharp little thing, sharper than most of the serving girls and pages swarming this rats nest of a city. He should have brought her to the capital; she might have liked it here. Regardless, he was here and she was likely gone. How could he check on her since Martell poisoned the Mountain?
He locked his hands behind his back and paced towards the window, the howling winds of winter raging outside his window. Through the snow he could still hear the echoes of the peasants swarming the streets of the city, whores and smiths, Inn keeps and Gold-Cloaks alike singing. Singing the carols of Midwinter. Truly, I envy them. They only have their own lives, the weight of the seven Kingdoms is not weighing down on their shoulders. They have each other, their brothers, their children….their spouses. Oh, Joanna. The Great lion of Casterly Rock sighed and turned back to his office. He sat himself back down and chose another letter from the mound of them that were frequently sent to him from all corners. Lords fearful of their grain, Lords fearful of Stannis, Lords fearful of the Targaryen Girl. On and on. If they want grain, they might petition the Tyrells. With Tommen's marriage to Margaery, they might think to ask them if their food grows short. He picked up a pen knife and opened a letter bearing a seal bearing an upright stallion. House Bracken. It was all the same, the war had drained their supplies and their people were starving. It was all the same as usual.
Winter had been raging through the Seven Kingdoms since Tyrion's "trial." How long had it been now since he had taken the black, three years, four? Cersei had wanted his head, and was willing to pay a very handsome sum for it, though if anyone could travel to King's Landing from the Wall without freezing that would be accomplishment enough. They came slowly at first, light snows that caused happy laughs in the street. Snowball fights and such. But slowly and surely, they grew bigger and stronger and fiercer and forced the people inside their doors. Until now, that is. According to the Archmaesters and their white ravens, winter was it's halfway point. Midwinter, a time of celebration for Commoner and Noble alike. A time of Goodwill and giving to Andal and First Man alike. A bigger lie than the legend of the Others. A bunch of nonsense, what have they to be thankful for? Naught! They will die soon enough and the world will forget them sooner than later. Tywin sighed, but then a thought occurred to him. He gazed at the sun and realised it was later than he thought. Seven hells, I was supposed to meet with those representatives! He would have rushed out of his seat, but he would not do that. A Lannister does not hurry, he is calm and does not act like a fool, he recalled himself once telling Jaime back at the rock. He walked out the door to the tower of the hand, arms by his side as he silently acknowledged the guards with Lion-crested helms stand to attention for him. He descended the steps and noticed the looks that everyone gave him, from scullery maids, to Gold-Cloaks to coal boys and Serving girls. They all stood aside for him, he had always wondered whether it was the chain or the eyes that instilled fear in them.
From the youngest age, Tywin had known he did not smile. He recalled his last natural smile at the feast where father engaged Genna to a Frey, a second son at best. Not the heir, yet Lord Walder thought his spawn was fit for a lioness of the rock. His Father's own bannermen mocked him as the toothless lion after that day. The only times Tywin could recall smiling after that was his wedding to Joanna and when Tarbeck Hall came crashing down.
The looks those gave him were one of fear and respect. He looked down onwards and saw cheery looks on their eyes and they greeted their own people. They would never have gave him such treatment. No crimson cloak ever waved at him and said "Lord Tywin, how are you? When will you come to see us?" Had he seen any, the beggars would never have accepted Lannister gold, no whelp would ask him what it was o'clock, no one would ever inquire what way it was to such a place of Lord Tywin. Even the place dogs would wince when the prowling lion would happen to walk by.
But what did Lord Tywin care? He was Hand of the King, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West and protector of the realm. This was the very thing he liked! To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance. They scampered along, hoping his paw would not scoop them up and toss them into the lion's jaw. He continued to stroll along the hall, the sounds of winter and midwinter carolling outside the walls of the Red Keep, at that moment he saw his squire run up to him with his Golden Greatsword. "Lord Tywin, I cleaned your sword. Just like you asked!"
"Very good, leave it in my chambers." He commanded.
"Blessed midwinter, my lord!" he cried cheerfully.
"Hah!" said Tywin "A waste of effort!" He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the red keep, this Squire of Lannister, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again. "Midwinter, a waste of effort my lord?" asked his squire, aghast. "You don't mean that, I'm sure?"
"I do." Affirmed Tywin. "Blessed Midwinter! What right have you to be blessed, what reason? Your family is poor enough for a son of a Landed Knight."
"Come, then," returned the squire happily. "What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich and powerful enough." Lord Tywin, having no answer to his squire at that moment simply grunted and tried to shrug the situation off.
"Don't be angry, my lord!" said the Squire.
"What else can I be," returned the Hand, "when I live in such a world of fools as this? Midwinter celebration! Out upon Merry Midwinter! What's Midwinter to you but a time for paying King's taxes without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in, through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will," said Tywin indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with "Blessed Midwinter" on his lips, should be hanged and paraded above the walls of King's landing . He would!" Tywin didn't mean that part, it would cause too much civil disturbance to be at all worth it's effort. So he simply decided to wait out this blasted season, perhaps he'd be gone by the next midwinter.
"Lord Tywin!" pleaded the Squire.
"Jeron!" Tywin returned sternly, "Keep the season in your way and I will keep it in mine."
"But you don't keep it, my lord." The Squire argued.
"Then let me leave it then! Much good has it done you, as much good as anyone!" The Lord of Casterly Rock grumbled.
"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,'" returned the squire. "The celebration of Midwinter among them. But I am sure I have always thought of Midwinter, when it has come round, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that - a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the years, when men and women seem by one consent to open their hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, My Lord, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, Seven save it!" A nearby Gold Cloak involuntarily applauded, but one stare from Lord Tywin and he realised his impropriety and went about his duties
"Let me hear another sound from you," warned Lord Tywin, "and you'll keep your Midwinter by losing your situation! You're quite a powerful speaker, sir," he added, turning to his squire. "I wonder why you don't become one of King Tommen's retainers."
"Don't be angry, Lord Lannister. My Lord father asks you to come to my family's holdfast for our midwinter feast." Lord Tywin remained silent, but simply responded to the inquiry with a cold, hard stare. The ones the Warden of the West was known for, and that gave the lively squire his answer; "I would sooner see the Imp as Lord of the Rock, than attend your barely Highborn ilk for this ridiculous holiday."
"But why?" cried his squire. `
"Why? Why did you get married at such a young age, to a peasant at that?" asked Tywin. He recalled the shame that would have been brought on by his family when Tyrion wed a whore, or close enough. Perhaps his father wanted the downfall of his house.
"Because I fell in love, my lord."
"Because you fell in love!" growled Tywin, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a Blessed Midwinter. "Good afternoon!"
"I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?" pleaded his squire, as they stood by the glass window with the sounds of winter raging outside.
"Good afternoon," repeated Tywin.
"I am sorry, my Lord, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel. But I have made the trial in homage to the spirit of Midwinter, and I'll keep my winter humour to the last. So a Blessed Midwinter, my lord!"
"Good afternoon," said Scrooge.
`And a fruitful Spring upon us!'
"Good afternoon and hang my sword by the portrait." reaffirmed Lord Tywin. At that point his squire got the point and with a silent bow retired from the hall. Before which, however, he had halted to converse with a Red cloak, who was warmer than the Great Lion as he returned the Sqquire's greetings cordially. "There's another one," muttered Tywin "one of my Household honour guards, with ten silver stars a week, and a wife and family, talking about a holy midwinter. I'll retire to the Wall at this rate." Regardless Lord Tywin pressed his arms along his sides again and proceeded to the entry hall where the Royal steward looked to be assuring two shrewd looking businessmen. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their snow stained hoods down. They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him.
"Lord Tywin, son of Tytos of the House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the Wets, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Shield of Lannisport, Saviour of our city, Hand of the King and the protector of the realm!" the Steward announced before silently slinking from view.
"My Lord Hand, forgive us but we were expecting the King."
"King Tommen is…predisposed at this time of day." Tywin replied. Not a lie, feeding his cats was very important to His Grace.
"We have no doubt his Grace's liberality will be represented by his Hand." Said the Gentleman presenting his credentials. Tywin turned to his guards. "Escort these men to my solar." He commanded. The group returned to the tower of the hand, with Tywin at their head. Upon their return the doors were sealed behind them. Tywin glanced over and observed that his golden Greatsword was in its sheath under the portrait of himself, Joanna, Cersei and Jaime at Casterly Rock. "Please, be seated." He offered them opposing seats to him as he sat down, ever at attention like a cautious cat.
"My Lord," a businessman began "At this festive season of the year, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and Destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Especially with the conflict between the Wolf and the Lion. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, my Lord."
"Are there no dungeon cells?"
"Plenty of prisons, my Lord." said the gentleman.
"And the work camps?" demanded Tywin. "Are they still in operation?"
"They are. Still," returned the gentleman, "I wish I could say they were not."
"The mill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?" said Tywin. He almost regretted passing that law, the leagues of sparrows swarming into King's Landing were aout of control. Thus, he had persuaded Tommen to approve the construction of nationwide camps for those downtrodden by the war. These were not Summerhalls all across the realm, they were cold hard places for those with nowhere else to go.
"Both very busy, my Lord Hand."
"Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course," said Tywin. "I'm very glad to hear it."
"A few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink. And means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when want is keenly felt, and abundance rejoices. What shall I put the Crown's contribution for?" the other asked, picking up a quill and parchment.
"None." Tywin replied, almost instantly
"Ah, you wish for the Crown's charity to remain anonymous?" the former smiled.
"I wish to be left alone,' said Tywin raising himself from his seat. "Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at this time of the season and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned - they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there."
"But, but, many can't, My Lord. Many more would die!" the latter cried.
"If they would die," Tywin whispered leaning into them, "They had best do it- and decrease the surplus population of these Seven Kingdoms."
"But, my lord-"
"This is no concern of mine," Tywin reaffirmed, reseating himself, "It's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other peoples. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen." Before they could continue, Tywin called for a guard to escort them back to the docks. He returned to his works, with an improved opinion of himself and in a more frivolous temper than was usual with the hand of the king.
Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that people ran about with flaring lanterns, proffering their services to go before horses in carriages, and conduct them on their way. The streets of King's landing were truly alive at this time, the sounds of the docks and the Keep. Ravens and Gold-Cloaks. Whorehouses and taverns were what made this city. Even the slum in flea bottom seemed different tonight. As the Hand of the King stood vigil by his window he observed all that was under his dominion but it seemed off tonight. Foggier yet, and colder! Regardless the time eventualy came for Tywin to retire to his personal chambers, not too far from his work study. He put on his pair of leather gloves and strolled across. At this point only the Red cloak had remained behind, he regarded his lord in the usual matter.
"I suppose the garrison will want Midwinters day off?" he inquired.
"If it is quite convenient, my lord."
"It's not convenient," said Tywin, "and it's not fair. If I was to stop half-a-dragon for it, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound?"
The soldier smiled faintly.
"And yet," said Lord Tywin, "you don't think me ill-used, when I pay a day's wages for no work."
The guard observed that it was only once a season.
"A poor excuse for picking a lord's pocket!" said Tywin, buttoning his great-coat to the chin. "But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning."
The sentry promised that he would; and Tywin walked out with a growl. The study was closed in a twinkling, and the soldier, with the long ends of his red cloak dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide in Flea Bottom, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honour of its being Midwinters Eve, and then ran home as hard as he could pelt, to play at cyvasse.
Lord Tywin took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy manner; and having read all the papers, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker's-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so little business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young castle, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now, and dreary enough, for nobody lived in it but the Great Lion, the other rooms being all let out as offices. The yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was fain to grope with his hands. The fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway of the house. It made no matter, Lord Tywin sat by the fire in an old chair, sipping a glass of arbour red and recalling the rumours about Brandon and Rickard Stark.
Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact, that Tywin had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place; also that Tywin had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of King's landing, even including - which is a bold word - the court, garrison, and brothels. Let it also be borne in mind that Tywin had not bestowed one thought on King Aerys, since his last mention of his dead partner in ruling. It's our anniversary, do you remember King Scab? You squired for me in the war of the Ninepenny kings, now my Grandson sits upon your throne. How did that ever work out? Ah yes, I sacked your city and Jaime plunged his sword through your back! Tywin did not oft entertain these dark thoughts, for even the mad king had been his friend. Once upon a time. And then let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened that Tywin, having his key in the lock of the door, heard through the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change - not a knocker, but a loud and coarse laughter. It was croaky and hoarse and it's laughter caught the attention of the slumbering lord. "Guard." He called out, but received no reply.
"Guard." He repeated, a little louder this time but with the selfsame reply.
"GUARD!" he hollered at the door bursting out of his seat. He was enraged, how dare that guard ignore him? There was not a way in all Seven heavens and hells that he had missed his call. He angrily strolled across his chambers and unsealed the door, ready to accost the idle guard….but found the hall empty. Tywin was most confused, certainly, this was most peculiar. He glanced down one hallway and then another, all the while he heard the cackling grow louder and louder. He looked outside and noticed something, or to be more specific a lack of it. The windowsills were clear and the streets were empty yet neither the sun nor moon was suspended in the sky. Tywin walked through the empty halls of the Red Keep, trying to find the source of the merriment, and for the first time in forever, the Warden of the West was terrified. He knew where to go.
Eventually he found his way to the doors of the Throne Room, the laughing clearer than ever. No, no, it cannot be… He thought to himself as he reached out to open the doors but they obeyed his command all on their own. Tywin observed the science before him, the Throne room was filled with faceless lord and ladies and at the foot of that ugly chair was two great fires below the Dragon skulls-
Wait, Robert had the skulls of the Targaryen dragons taken down….It cannot be… Tywin walked through the formless mass and up to the foot of the throne. The long fingers and unbridled hair nestling the dragon crown revealed the only face Lord Tywin Lannister had never wanted to see, as the laughter finally died down.
"Aerys." He confirmed as the mass looked down at him from atop the Iron Throne.
"Tywin, my most dear and loyal friend. How kind of you to come." He smiled, but this was not Aerys. Even in the latest and most horrific years of the Mad king, he would never have looked like this. He was surrounded in a dismal glow. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part or its own expression. The same face: the very same. Aerys in his three headed dragon crown, usual waistcoat, tights and boot and his coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head. The chain he drew was clasped about his neck. It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made (for Tywin observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; so that Tywin, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the black swords on the throne behind him. The only time they would do no harm to King Scab. "It has been a long time hasn't it, how long now?"
"Almost two-and-twenty years, Your Grace."
"And yet, you still carry that same pain you always had for sweet Joanna. The third head of the dragon. Oh, I would have given up all seven Kingdoms for just one night-"
"ENOUGH!" he shouted storming up the steps of the Throne with a glare that would have sent the Others crawling back over the wall. "I care not for what you are; Aerys come back from the dead to haunt me, or some figment of a spirit. What do you want with me?" he demanded.
"Oh, much my friend." Aerys smirked.
"What are you?"
"Oh no, ask me who I was!"
Tywin sighed. "Very well; who were you? You're rather particular…for a shade." He had opted for "to a shade" but decided this was more appropriate.
"In life, I was Aerys, the second of my name of the House Targaryen, King of the Andals…" Titles, titles, titles…."…protector of the realm. I see you are doubtful of my existence." Observed Aerys, slouching on the throne unafraid of the blades as Tywin's king once had been.
"I am." Tywin stated, walking back down the steps of the throne towards the on looking crowd of faceless silks and robes.
"What evidence would you have, bar that of your own senses?" he posed.
"I cannot say." Said Tywin
"Why doubt you own senses, Tywin?"
"Because," said Tywin, "a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of sauce, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are! Spirit or no!" Lord Tywin was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means happy then. The truth is, that he tried to be cunning, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his curiosity; for the spectre's voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones.
To sit, staring at those fixed violet eyes, in silence for a moment, would play, Tywin felt, the very deuce with him. There was something very awful, too, in the spectre's being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own. Tywin could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven. "You see this toothpick?" said Tywin, returning quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though it were only for a second, to divert the vision's stony gaze from himself.
"I do," replied Aerys.
"You are not looking at it," said Tywin.
"But I see it," said the Ghost.
"And I have but to swallow it to spend the rest of eternity in the darkest pit of the seventh hell. Pure nonsense, I tell you; nonsense!"
At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Tywin was knocked aback, to save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear indoors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast! Tywin's eyes burst open as he clasped his hands before his face. "Get away from me!" he said. "Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?"
"Man of the worldly mind!" replied the Ghost, "do you believe in me or not?"
"It would appear I have little choice in the matter," muttered Tywin. "I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?"
"It is required of every man," the Ghost returned, "that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. We are doomed to wander through the world –oh, woe is me! - and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!" Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands.
"You are restrained," said Tywin, cold as Casterly Rock. "Tell me why." He commanded.
"I wear the chain I forged in life, just as a maester does" replied the Apparition. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?" Truly Tywin had begun to tremble at the sight of Aerys like this.
"Or would you know," pursued the Shade, "the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, the day you sacked my city. You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!" Tywin glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable: but he could see nothing.
"Aerys," he said, imploringly. "Aerys, for any love that was once between us, give me some explanation for this!'
"I have none to give, my friend" the Ghost replied. "It comes from other regions, Tywin of the House Lannister, and is conveyed by other septons, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our hall! In life my spirit never moved beyond the narrow limits of our castle; and weary journeys lie before me!"
It was a habit with Tywin, whenever he became thoughtful, to place his hands in a locked position behind his back . Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up his eyes. "You must have been very slow about it, Your Grace," Tywin observed, in a business-like manner, though with humility and respect.
"Slow!" the Kingly Ghost exclaimed.
"Over twenty years dead," mused Tywin. "And travelling all the time!"
"The whole time," said the Ghost. "No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse."
"You travel fast?" asked Tywin.
"On the wings of the wind," replied the Ghost.
"You might have got over a greater quantity of ground." Replied Tywin.
The Ghost, on hearing this, gave another cry, and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance.
"Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed," cried the phantom, "not to know, that ages of incessant labour, by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Septon spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!"
"But you were always a good man of council, Aerys," paused the Hand of the King, who now began to apply this to himself.
"Council!" cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. "The Seven Kingdoms was my council. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my council. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!" It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.
"At this time of the rolling season," the spectre said "I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Andals to our Kingdoms! Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me?" Lord Tywin was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly. "Hear me!" cried the Spirit. "My time is nearly gone."
"I will," assured Lord Tywin. "But don't waste my time! Don't be too elaborate, Aerys!" "How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible before this throne many and many a day." It was not an agreeable idea. Tywin trembled, and desperately sought to wipe the sweat from his brow.
"That is no light part of my penance," pursued the Ghost. "I am here tonight to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, my Lord of Lannister."
"You were always a good friend to me," said Tywin nonchalantly.
"You will be haunted," resumed the Ghost, "by Three Spirits both familiar and yet distant to you." Tywin's expression fell almost as low as the Ghost's had done.
"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Your Grace?" he demanded, in a faltering voice.
"It is." The Ghostly monarch conformed.
"I'd rather not," said Tywin.
"Without their visits," said the Ghost, "you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls One.'
"Couldn't I take them all at once, and have it over, Aerys?" Tywin japed, though not entirely.
"You should expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!"
When it had said these words, the spectre stood upon his spooky feet, passing his wispy fingers and overgrown nails from the Throne, his neck chain around his neck, as before. Tywin knew this, by the smart sound its teeth made, when the jaws were brought together by the bandage. He ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arm.
The apparition walked down the steps of the Iron Throne towards him; and at every step it took, a nearby window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it was wide open. It beckoned Tywin to approach, which he did. When they were within two paces of each other, Aerys' Ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no nearer. The Protector of the Realm stopped in his tracks.
Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear: for on the raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful hymn; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.
Tywin followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.
The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Aerys' Ghost; some few (they might be guilty parties) were linked together; none were free. Many had been personally known to Tywin in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white cloak, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below, upon a door-step. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever.
Whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, he could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded together; and the night became as it had been when he walked home.
Tywin stepped back and the window closed by itself, and he examined the great doors to the Throne Room by which he had entered.. Being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull conversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of repose; went straight to his chambers and to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.