The Kingdom In Their Hands
"We find Sansa Stark a different husband," Tywin said.
"Wonderful," replied Tyrion, rolling his eyes and tapping a hand on his book.
"Yes, it is," taunted back Cersei, and Tywin saw the immediate realization appear on his son's face and he knew what was coming next.
His son turned his gaze on him and glared at him.
"You can't mean it."
Tywin stared right back at him, his eyes darkening, his expression set in stone.
"I can and I do," he said without hesitation, knowing what had to be done in order to keep the girl in his clutches, but at the same time another reason lingered in the back of his mind, one that he knew he would never acknowledge out loud.
"Joffrey has made this poor girl's life miserable since the day he took her father's head!" he said emphatically, forcing his father to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything. "Now she's finally free of him and you give her to me? That's cruel! Even for you…"
"Do you intend on mistreating her?" he asked, still stony faced, and his son did not answer, which was an answer in and of itself.
He would not lay a hand on her.
"The girl's happiness is not my concern," he continued. "Nor should it be yours."
"She's a child!"
Cersei interrupted, saying, "She's flowered, I assure you; she and I have discussed it at length."
The rest of the conversation ensued, but in the end Tywin knew that Tyrion was the only one that he trusted in his family to actually treat her with kindness and respect. Jamie, even if he were there, would never have been able to look past the fact that she was a Stark, but with Tyrion…he might, eventually, love her.
And, as he thought it over, she just might fall in love with him. Neither of them could see it, but being a father and a man of significant power and connections, he had seen their few interactions and heard how they talked about the other when not in the other person's presence…small gripes, of course, but nothing that actually held any hatred or true animosity towards the other person.
Tywin was well aware of the fact that Tyrion had the largest heart of the three children. He believed in fair play.
And Sansa…well, she was one of the only Starks that he had ever met who knew how to properly play the Game. And he knew that Tyrion saw it, as well, and respected her for it. She was careful in what she said, who she talked to, and how she interacted with those who were a part of the Small Court.
She was almost as calculating as Tyrion, and Tyrion was almost as kind as her, which was why they made a good match.
They were the ones that crossed the divide just enough to overlap, the only two of the enemy houses who could, possibly, sit on the Iron Throne.
Tywin was not a blind fool.
He knew that he was taking a risk putting the two of them together; Starks and Lannisters were dying at about the same rate, and, if he wasn't careful, the only ones left in the end might be Tyrion and Sansa…making his youngest son the King of the Iron Throne and his soon to be daughter-in-law the Queen of the North. If they had a son, he would become ruler of the Winter Fell, as well as Casterly Rock, and with their hands outstretched over the seven kingdoms it would be a reign unlike any other.
He didn't want it to happen, of course. He had set up contingency after contingency, and was always in constant movement, plotting and moving chess pieces around the board…however, doubt still remained.
Lord Tywin had thought about giving her to Jamie, but had dismissed the notion because he knew that his son would never be able to put a proper heir in the girl's womb, not with his affections lying…elsewhere; and so, he had chosen Tyrion, and now he simply prayed that his son had as few scruples as he thought he did and would put a child into her as soon as possible, even if he only did it out of fear of his father's anger.
His son was someone that many respected, though they would never admit to it, but it was the truth; and Sansa Stark was someone that many admired, though, again, they would never admit it, but if they were to become King and Queen…there would be no more reign of fear, and Tywin did not want that.
He knew that the only way to truly hold on to one's power was to keep fear alive, which was why he was still alive. Ruling in fear kept you more aware of your enemies, more aware of what your weaknesses were, so one was able to build them up and was always ready for an attack, but ruling through love and respect…it blinded you. It made you soft. It was what got you killed more often than not, usually by someone that you least expected. He had read enough about history to know that this was true.
However, even as Tywin thought this, a traitorous thought lingered in the back of his mind…
Maybe it's time for a change.
He brushed the thought to the side, trying to destroy it the instant in surfaced, trying to deny its existence, but he knew where the thought was coming from.
He had spent his entire life fighting, pushing the edge, constantly looking over one shoulder to avoid being stabbed in the back, his mind always finding the patterns and manipulating them to suit his own needs…and he was exhausted.
Secretly, silently, he was tired of it; and maybe, just maybe, that was why he'd chosen Tyrion for her. He knew that they were both smart enough to know how to avoid being put under anyone's scrutiny, keeping them out of the line of fire for quite a long time…possibly long enough to be the last remaining heirs.
Maybe his soul was telling him that it was time for a change.
Quickly, he shoved off the feeling and went back to work, occupying his thoughts once more with the welfare of the kingdom and his incestuous grandson, the King.
Only days later, he stood in the temple for his son's wedding and watched as Sansa Stark, soon to be Lannister, carried herself with all the grace and authority of a Queen, not just a mere Lady, and he felt that he was seeing something unique, but, yet again, he brushed it off.
What felt like ages passed, but soon everything was done, even the nightmare of a wedding feast, and he collapsed on the edge of his bed.
Just before he went to sleep, he sent up a silent prayer to the Gods from his mind, not letting a single traitorous syllable of the prayer be spoken to the empty air, knowing that even though he thought he was alone, that the walls just might have ears.
By the Seven, let them live. That is all I ask. Let them live…
Tywin knew, in his heart, that the only hope that there truly was, was them.
The kingdom was in their hands.
THE ENDS