A/N: A new year and a new story that no one asked for...

I was writing the next chapters of my ASOIAF stories but after some struggling, this came to me and my muse insisted that I try it out. None of my stories are abandoned, it's just that sometimes I want to try something new. It honestly helps keep the creativity and energy going.

That being said the timeline is a little murky and liberties are being taken so I can try to explore this what if story, however, I still intend on doing them in a way that I hope will be believable.

The Black Crown

By Spectre4hire

1: The Lions Rejoice

"Robb Stark has been captured."

Tyrion nearly lost the grip on his glass when his father delivered the unexpected news. Stunned silence followed the announcement giving him a chance to see how the others reacted.

Varys feigned surprise, the eunuch having been the one to learn this news first with his network of spies. Baelish was openly smirking. The Grand Maester had a slimy smile, amidst the wisps of white hair that failed to recapture the man's once proud beard.

His lovely sister was smiling, her green eyes gleaming with triumph, taking a generous sip from her wineglass.

In celebration, Tyrion wryly thought, or defeat or anger or whatever else she needed to serve as an excuse to allow her to indulge. To think she was honoring her deceased husband not just by wearing black but by beginning to drink like him too.

She sensed his gaze and turned to him. Her beautiful face marred by her disgust for him, her eyes narrowed, sneering.

He responded with a wide smile and raised his glass to her. She looked away annoyed.

"What of Jaime?" Tyrion spoke up, "Couldn't they trade him for their king?"

Tywin Lannister's lips twitched. It wasn't exactly a smile, but it was a close resemblance to one. "They do not have Jaime."

"What?" Tyrion couldn't believe their fortune. They captured the Young Wolf and they had Jaime back?

"Ser Jaime was released by Lady Catelyn Stark," Varys spoke up, "An effort to trade him for her daughters," he bowed his head, "a noble gesture but a costly one."

Tyrion could see the desperate hope in his sister's eyes. Way to hide it sweet sister, he wanted to roll his eyes, but his love for Jaime stopped him. It was the only thing they shared, he realized. "Where is he?"

"At Harrenhal," Varys didn't answer until he received a nod from the Lord Hand. "Where Lord Bolton was amendable to an agreement."

"So he's safe," Cersei breathed out a sigh of relief.

"He is," the Lord Hand confirmed, "And is on his way to the capital."

"I want Stark dead!" Joffrey slammed his fist into the table. "Do you hear me? I want him dead!"

Tywin Lannister didn't even flinch at the king's command. "No," he didn't look up from his seat to address his grandson. "Robb Stark has been defeated. He will take the Black."

"Surely your jesting, father?" Cersei never knew when to keep her mouth shut. "He committed treason. He deserves to die."

Tyrion didn't mind his sister's stupidity. It was rather amusing especially when it was directed at their father.

"He has been beaten," Tywin's voice was firm and cold. "We must bring the north back into the fold. The Starks have ruled there for thousands of years."

"I don't care," Joffrey interrupted his grandfather's explanation. "I want him dead!" He stamped his foot. "I am the king! I demand you bring me his head."

Tyrion hid his growing smile with his wineglass. He looked to see a flicker of amusement across the Eunuch's face before replaced with bewilderment, while Baelish tried to look indifferent, and the Grand Maester blinked owlishly at the king as if he had never seen him before.

Cersei was the first to react to her father's stormy silence, grabbing Joffrey's hand, "We haven't let him finish," she coddled the boy, "Let us hear what grandfather has to say."

That only further infuriated Joffrey. He ripped his hand from hers as if it burned him. "He tried to steal my kingdoms! He needs to be punished."

"He is being punished, Your Grace," Tyrion decided to speak up, pitying his sister and nephew not that they appreciated it, judging by the looks they sent him. "I've been to the Wall. It's a cold, dreary place. A home of rapers and thieves, murderers and other criminals," he sipped from his glass, "Hardly the company for a king."

"He's not the King!" Joffrey corrected angrily, "I am the king!"

Tyrion bowed his head, "Long may you reign, your grace."

"The kingdoms have bled, now it is time to bind them together once more under the Iron Throne. They have gone to their knees and now it is our duty to help them to their feet." Tywin's eyes never left his grandson's. "And any man who must say I am the King, is no true king at all. Aerys never understood that, but you will learn that now that I've won your war for you."

"So you will let them live?" Joffrey asked sullenly. "We should give them steel not mercy! If they are to fall to their knees then that makes it all the easier to remove their heads!" A gleam could be seen in his green eyes, "They're all traitors! Robb Stark! His stupid mother! The Northmen! The Riverlords! All of them! I want them killed!"

"We'll surely run out of subjects with your wise leadership, Your Grace," Tyrion smiled innocently at his nephew.

"Enough," Tywin cut in before his grandson could make a further fool of himself. "The terms have been sent and agreed to."

"Without consulting me?"

Tyrion wanted to wince at his nephew's petulant tone.

"I am your Hand," Tywin reminded him sternly. "If you trust in my judgment your rule will be a long and prosperous one." He turned to Grand Maester Pycelle, "The king is tired."

Pycelle understood at once, "Dreamwine, my lord?" He moved to stand up.

"I am not tired!" Joffrey protested.

"That will serve," Tywin ignored him. "Cersei, make sure your son is well attended to in his chambers."

"Of course, father," Cersei bowed, falling into the dutiful daughter role with ease. She pulled at Joffrey's arm while Pycelle followed behind with the others understanding it was their cue to leave too.

"Not you."

Tyrion had made to leave like everyone else. He looked to see who it was his father was addressing. It was indeed him.

"You will stay."

Tyrion took some satisfaction at seeing Cersei's surliness at her being forced to go while he got to stay. He grinned at her, holding his glass in toast to her, that only angered her as she pulled harder on her son's arm.

"These childish games are beneath you, Tyrion," His father chided him.

Tyrion turned to see his father looked unimpressed. His natural look for me, he thought, and with that he drank. The wine sadly wasn't as sweet as his sister's reaction of her being dismissed and him staying, but mayhaps it will be with a few more samples.

"How were you able to capture the Young Wolf?"

"Under a peace banner," his father answered simply.

Tyrion frowned. "I wasn't aware we sent peace terms to him."

"We didn't," he answered, "The Freys did." His father sensed his confusion since he continued, "The pup needed allies and with our victory at the Blackwater, he didn't have many places to turn to."

"He was desperate," Tyrion mused, remembering news of the recent but disastrous defeat the northern forces suffered at Duskendale.

"Yes," His father agreed, "But the Freys were not alone, other houses sworn to the Young Wolf understood which way the winds were turning.

"Which ones?"

"His good family." His father answered, "Lady Westerling wrote to me as soon as Robb Stark captured the Crag. He was injured, and she desperate."

"Of course she was," Tyrion wasn't surprised, "I'm certain she's heard that famous song once or twice," he feigned confusion, trying to remember the name of it, before he snapped his fingers, "Ah, yes: The Rains of Castamere."

His father wasn't amused by his theatrics. "She understood the price of defying our house." His expression hardened, "A plan was formed that would allow the young wolf to be snared. The Freys would've killed him too had they received my blessing."

Tyrion perked at that. He would've thought his father wouldn't hesitate to make the Starks an example to those that defied the Crown just as he made examples of Houses Reyne and Tarbeck when they rebelled against House Lannister.

Tywin was watching him. Those specks of gold shining within the sea of green of his eyes. "It was tempting and something I considered," he admitted, "But in the end, I realized killing him in such a manner would only lead to short term gains while threatening our future aspirations on the Throne."

The thought that his father spared the young wolf without him realizing it was enough for Tyrion to chuckle. The absurdity of it was more amusing then he could explain. "What are the terms?"

"Robb Stark will take the Black. As will Ser Brynden Tully, and a few others who refused to bend the knee." He looked down at his parchment, "The boy's uncle, Edmure will marry a Frey. Their child will inherit Riverrun, but the Tullys have lost the rights to be the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands."

"Yes, you really cannot trust a Paramount if they turn on their king," Tyrion observed dryly. "Will the Freys take the title?"

"No," His father made no effort to expand on his answer. "Edmure, his Frey wife, and their future son will reside comfortably at Casterly Rock for a time."

"Hostages."

Tywin inclined his head, "Yes, in case Robb Stark and the Blackfish decide it's too cold at the Wall."

"He is a Northman and the Starks are honorable," Tyrion didn't see the boy breaking his vows of the Night's Watch.

His father made a face that conveyed what he thought of the Stark's precious honor, "His mother will also remain in the capital as a guest of the crown."

"A near full set of Tullys for your collection, Father." Tyrion wasn't looking forward to seeing Lady Stark again. Since their last encounter had led to him being her prisoner and spending time in the Sky Cells. A lovely adventure, but one he didn't need to repeat.

He saw his father's annoyance at his japes, and knew that he was risking being dismissed, so he straightened up in his seat the best that he could. "What of Winterfell? With Robb going to the Wall, and his brothers killed…"

"Winterfell will pass to Robb's eldest sister, the Lady Sansa."

She'll finally get to go home, Tyrion found a bit of happiness for the poor girl, knowing she deserved a better life then the one his nephew and sister had been giving her this past year.

"The Tyrells were scheming to marry her off to their heir," Tywin's voice broke through Tyrion's thoughts. He looked to see the distaste in his father's expression at their allies' secret plotting, "That cannot be allowed. Thankfully, Lord Baelish came to me and informed me of their intentions."

"You'd think the Tyrells would be satisfied with their grandson sitting on the Iron Throne," Tyrion observed bitterly. He remembered the riots that broke out in King's Landing due to Lord Tyrell withholding food from the Reach. Now, those same people cheer for them, Tyrion despised the Tyrells for it, since the blame was pinned solely on him, They're adored now and I'm still hated.

"Indeed," a hint of approval in his father's tone, "They overreached themselves, and that has been corrected, but that still leaves us with marrying the Stark girl."

"I'm sure there will be a line of suitors for her hand that would stretch from here to Winterfell," Tyrion pointed out. Not only was the girl young and beautiful, but she was the key to the north. All of whom would covet the title and prestige that came with ruling the north as a regent for their future son and heir.

"There will be no line, because she has already been betrothed."

"Oh?" Tyrion wondered if the betrothal agreement was one of the parchments in front of his father. "Is it a Frey?" He suspected that one of the houses that betrayed their Young Wolf would be given his sister as a generous reward for proving their loyalty was utmost to the Iron Throne.

"No, it is not," Tywin picked up one of his papers, "Though Lord Walder asked for it, but he was declined-repeatedly."

Tyrion smirked, "Lord Frey's ambition is an admirably ugly thing."

"A southern house would not be well received in the north especially within its heart at Winterfell," Tywin said mildly, "It seemed wiser to reward a northern family that proved themselves to our house."

"A trade was made," Tyrion figured it out, remembering how his brother's freedom had been secured, and the words that followed next from his father only confirmed it.

"Lady Sansa has been betrothed to Lord Bolton's son and heir," Tywin revealed, "Ser Domeric Bolton."

A/N: I won't claim this is original because I'm sure it's done before, but after some reading of the ASOIAF World book and other lore, the premise of this idea came to me along with several others.

If you're interested in this story don't hesitate to drop a review.

Thanks for the support,

-Spectre4hire