Wandering through the Great Sept of Baelor, Tywin Lannister immediately knew something was wrong. For one, Tywin Lannister was not a wanderer, nor was he a prayer. He was the Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, thrice Hand of the King—there was no time for wandering, and even less time for praying. Perhaps more pressing, though, was the matter that he simply could not remember how he had gotten there. The last time he had walked this path was—
A cold wave of shock washed over him. He slowly put a hand on his head and felt not a smooth scalp but short curls. Looking down, Tywin noticed that he was wearing rather regal clothing. The exact same clothes he had been married in, as a matter of fact. The setting was the same, the man was walking the same path—but where was the woman? With that thought, a figure came into view in the distance, kneeled before some sort of altar. Joanna, Tywin thought, although he immediately knew the thought was a foolish one. Still, the thought was equally enticing, so the man who had no time for wandering quickened his pace with a clear destination in sight. The closer he got, the more he couldn't believe his eyes—it was her, it was her, a vision in crimson and gold, exactly as she had been on the day he took her to be his wife. He stopped dead in his tracks, though, when he realized what she was kneeling before.
His lioness was praying in front of a bier, and on top of that bier was his very own body. It all came rushing back to him—Tyrion, the thud of the crossbow, and the darkness. I died on the bloody privy, he thought in disbelief. Joanna finally turned around, her wildfire eyes meeting his, and just as suddenly it didn't matter how he died or how she died or that either of them had ever felt anything other than that moment, because Tywin was struggling to find an earthly emotion to match the one he was feeling right now.
"I waited for you," she said simply, and Tywin was brought back to all those times when he returned from King's Landing, and she was there to say that every time. Sometimes she said it with a smile, sometimes she sounded a bit sad, sometimes she breathed it into his ear as they held each other in bed. Regardless of how she said them, Joanna spoke those words to her husband every time except the last, when she hadn't been able to wait for him before the life flickered out from within her. The thought haunted Tywin until his own last day—he was always gone too long from her, and he should've known that there would be a day when he came home and she was no longer there waiting. "I'm sorry," he replied.
"Sorry…now there is a word I don't ever recall coming out of your mouth," she quipped. "What are you sorry about, my lion?"
My lion…it seemed life a lifetime ago when Tywin was her lion—but then, he supposed it technically was. "I'm sorry for everything. Sorry that I always left you, sorry that I couldn't save you, sorry that Jaime and Cersei became exactly what I hoped they would be, sorry that Tyrion was too bloody clever for his own good, sorry that I didn't murder Aerys with my bare hands when he dared to say those things to you—"
"Even in death, your apologies are not like other men's," she laughed. Tywin hated laughter, but he always let his lady wife get away with it.
"I suppose I never wanted to be like other men. And you were never like other women."
"And even in death, you still know how to flatter me. I accept your apology, but you'll have to apologize to the children when their times come."
"Will we see them, then?"
"I would say so. I do believe we all have some unfinished business to discuss." Joanna rose from her knees and took Tywin by the hand. He had forgotten how small she was—thin fingers, slender wrists, a mane of spun gold that put her height just below his shoulder. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand and met her eyes.
"Will Tyrion come?"
"I should hope so. I've been waiting nearly thirty years to meet him," she smiled, but behind the smile was an obvious sadness. She glanced back at his rotting corpse on the bier. "Tywin, you were never a perfect man, but sometimes I wonder if you ever really knew yourself."
"What do you mean?" he asked, although on the inside he was thinking, I know exactly what you mean.
"It's been so many years since you took off that lord's mask of yours, my lion, that there have been times when I hardly recognized you. But still, I waited for you. It seems as though I spent more time waiting for you than sitting at your side. Do you know why I waited for you all those years, and for every year after?"
"No."
Joanna had to chuckle at her husband's terseness. "I waited because you never forgot me. And you never forgot the children. True, your methods were sometimes…questionable…but you always thought that what you did was for their benefit." There was silence for a moment before Joanna continued. "The children never truly knew you. But there will be time for that, and time for you to realize what you need to say."
"So now we wait?" he asked. Joanna gave an exasperated sigh.
"Tywin Lannister, your lady wife has waited patiently for you for decades upon decades. It's high time you do some waiting yourself."
"If you insist, my lioness. But where do we wait? Not here, surely."
"No, here will not do. We can wait wherever you'd like, but we can't go terribly far. Jaime will need me soon." Again there was silence, and Tywin studied his lady wife's face. His gaze could never wander far from her eyes, however. Wildfire. "Tell me," Joanna finally said, "When was the last time you were at Casterly Rock?"
Taking one last wary look at the corpse on the bier, Tywin led his lioness by the hand out of the sept to begin their journey, just like on their wedding day. And for the first time in years, Tywin Lannister smiled—just like on their wedding day.