"Shall I call for Grand Maester Pycelle?" Tyrion asked as he tended to his father's wound. The arrow shaft was lodged in quite deeply and its hooked point made pulling the arrow out messier than it should have been. Blood seeped out of the shoulder, producing a steady current of red liquid. With a frustated huff, Tyrion reached over to the table for more bandages, hoping to still the flow of blood.

Tywin snorted. "You may be no healer but I would sooner have you tend to my wound than that old fool." Sitting in his armchair, he watched with cool eyes as Tyrion struggled to tend to his wound.

The flow of blood began to slow and Tyrion silently praised the gods. "I would say this is going to hurt," Tyrion joked, "but then I would merely be stating the obvious." With those words, Tyrion's red stained fingers grasped the front of the arrow where the point was sticking out and pulled.

His father sucked in a sharp breath, but that was the only noise he made. Naturally, Tyrion thought to himself sarcastically. Tywin Lannister is immune to pain. He discarded the arrow on table beside them, grabbed more bandages, and began to patch up the wound. His blood coated fingers slipped on the flimsy fabric, but he knew this would have to do until morning came, when his father could have his wound actually cared for.

When his shoulder was finally wrapped and bandaged, Tyrion backed away, the nervousness that had disappeared when he had begun work on his father's wound coming back in full force. Surely, he would call for the guards and have him taken back to his cell, or perhaps killed right here in Tywin's chambers. This did not seem far from a logical conclusion and Tyrion wrung his hands, looking anywhere but at his father.

"Who helped you escape then?" the older man spoke to him after a few minutes of silence. Tyrion forced himself to look into his father's unreadable gaze. "Was it Jaime? I wouldn't be surprised. He has always had a soft spot for you."

Tyrion had nothing to say to this. Here they were, chatting about how he escaped, while a dead Shae lay on his father's bed. He couldn't help himself as he glanced despairingly over at her still form, her dark eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Tywin noticed this, of course, and sighed. "Forget about her, Tyrion. She was a whore, whether you want to admit that to yourself or not."

Tyrion sent a resentful glare his way. "Of course I know she was a whore. I am a dwarf, not an idiot." He swallowed, stealing another glance at her. "She tried to kill me. With a dagger, she-" He trailed off, fighting the lump in his throat.

His father raised an incredulous eyebrow. "The whore tried to kill you and you're telling me that she loved you?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "That is not love, Tyrion. That is hate."

Tyrion wanted to claw and scratch at his father's face, but something deep within his guts told him that what Tywin said was true. "I had no choice." he said in a quiet voice. "I tried to send her away. After I married Sansa, how could I possibly continue what I had with Shae? I said terrible things to her. Of course she would hate me."

Tywin stared at him deeply. "And what did you say?"

"...I called her a whore."

A deep throated laugh erupted from his father and Tyrion felt a degree of rage well up within him. "Forgive me," he said testily, "but I find none of this particularly amusing." Oh, the audacity of this man!

Tywin quieted his chuckling, eyes still glimmering. "A whore is offended that you would call her a whore?"

Tyrion glared at him. "It is much the same as calling a bastard a bastard. They know it is who they are, but it hurts to be called one anyways."

"And tell me, Tyrion," his father replied, "did it ever hurt you to be called a dwarf, knowing that you were and are a dwarf?"

Tyrion's eyes flashed. "You know it did." he said coldly. "It still does. I am just better at pretending it doesn't."

Tywin was silent for a moment. He shifted in his chair, staring off beyond Tyrion for a moment. "I have always hated you." he said finally, his voice low.

Tyrion stiffened. He just knew what was going to come next. Tywin would talk about how he had murdered his wife by being born and how his deformity had plagued him throughout his whole life. And then he would call the guards and have them take him to his cell and probably execute him on the morrow-

"When Joanna died and I was faced with you," he ground out, "I wanted nothing more than to strangle you and cast your body someplace and let it rot."

"You're being quiet poetic tonight." Tyrion said. "You should have someone write a song about this. It could be called, How My Bastard Dwarf Son Killed The Love Of My Life. It has a kind of ring to it, wouldn't you agree?"

Tywin continued on as if he hadn't heard him. "I loved her very much. I loved Cersei and Jaime, for they were my children. But you...seeing your deformed infant body caused something inside me to wilt. I was embarrassed by you, humiliated even. I was lord of Casterly Rock and the father to a monstrosity. I was the laughing stock of the Seven Kingdoms."

Tyrion felt something bitter and vile crawl up his throat. "Well, forgive me," he bit out, "for being the cause of your degeneration. I never thought that my appearance would be the catalyst for the demise of your parental care."

Tywin stared at him for a minute. "However," he continued, heaving a great sigh. "As much as I wanted and hope that you would die on your own, you defied my expectations. You coped with your deformity. You coped with being the embarrassment of House Lannister. You would not die, no matter how often I or others would wish such a fate on you. And I respect you for that."

"I'm touched, really." Tyrion replied automatically as his father spoke. And then he blinked. Wait, what had he said?

"I admire it, even." Tywin said in a grudging voice. "You fight for what is yours."

Tyrion stared at Tywin as though he had grown two heads. "...Thank you, I suppose." he said quietly. "I do try."

Tywin grunted, shifting his wounded shoulder a little. Tyrion stared, feeling his throat constrict. "Was there ever a time," he asked, hardly daring to hope for an answer to his question, "when I made you proud? Or was I always a disappointment to you?"

Tywin looked intently at him. "The Battle of Blackwater Bay." he said almost instantly. Tyrion blinked, not expecting that at all.

"But...you never came to see me. I-I assumed that I had not lived up to your expectations." Tyrion stammered, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. In all honesty, he had not thought that Tywin would answer at all.

"On the contrary, you impressed me." the older man said. "You led men into war, into a battle that you all clearly expected to lose. And you would have, if I had not arrived when I did. But you rallied the spirits of men who knew that the chances of surviving that night were slim. Instead of Joffery striding out into the heat of battle, it was you. A dwarf, of all things, leading men against unbeatable odds, against Stannis Baratheon himself."

A trickle of warmth snuck its way into Tyrion's chest. So he had impressed Tywin at the Battle of Blackwater Bay. He had made Tywin Lannister proud.

"I did not come to see you," his father continued, "because I could not find it within myself to admit that I was proud of you. I harbored hate and loathing for you and was furious when I heard you brought your whore with you." He paused, taking a deep breath. "But I was proud, Tyrion, as much as I hate to admit it."

Tyrion was stunned. This was a lot, coming from Tywin Lannister. Tywin never complimented or praised any of his children. Not Cersei, not Jaime, certainly not him. And yet here he was, saying that he was proud.

"I..." Tyrion began. "I do not know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything." Tywin said flatly, pulling himself up. Standing, he loomed over Tyrion menacingly. "I suppose you are wondering what, in fact, I should do with you."

All the warmth that had fathered in Tyrion's chest crumbled into ashes. "Yes, I guess I am." he answered slowly, staring warily at the man in front of him. "Although it is probably obvious. You will execute me. I came to your chambers to kill you-"

"-and instead you saved me." Tywin interrupted. "And you well know that a Lannister always pays his debts."

Tyrion blinked. "Wait, so...you are not going to kill me?"

"No." his father said. "Instead, despite several good reasons of why I should not, I will allow you to escape." Tyrion could not believe what he was hearing. "You will be snuck out of King's Landing in a wagon taking supplies to neighboring villages. You will get off at one of them and travel, by foot or horse or in whatever manner you choose, to Winterfell. There, I want you to tell Roose Bolton that he is no longer Warden of the North and that he is to relinquish his title and the realm to you."

Tyrion's mouth dropped open. "Wait...what? Are you...are you serious?"

Tywin stared intently down at him. "You shall be lord of Winterfell. That is, if you can survive the journey, perhaps locate your wife along the way, and bear a son, who will become lord of Winterfell after your passing."

"...But...why...I mean, Bolton, he...he helped lure the Starks to the Twins! He has done more for you than certainly I ever have!"

"So I should reward the man for helping to murder the entire line of Starks at a wedding?" Tywin growled.

"No." Tyrion exclaimed, "of course not! But what about Cersei?"

"Cersei," Tywin answered, "shall be punished accordingly, for she attempted to murder me, however poor the attempt was."

"Yes, she always did want to get her hands dirty about something."

"If you should bear a son with your wife and miraculously rally the support of the Northerners to your claim of lord of Winterfell, then perhaps I shall consider a pardon for your crime-"

"What crime?" Tyrion cried. "I never murdered Joffery and you know it!"

"But the rest of the realm does not." Tywin retorted. "And until I grant you a pardon, you are as good as a traitor in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms."

Tyrion huffed, crossing his arms. "And you think the North will at all accept me as the lord of Winterfell, let alone have Sansa say yes to having a child with me?"

"And there is the challenge." Tywin said smoothly. "You were always one to beat the odds, Tyrion. I expect that this shall be of no issue. Guards!"

Tyrion's eyes widened unexpectedly at his father's shout. "Why are you doing this?" he asked him, completely baffled and surprised by this turn of events. "Surely there are people more capable of doing this."

Tywin looked at him, the sound of guards running down the halls with clinking armor reaching both of their ears. "Because you are my son."

Tyrion's throat constricted again. For the third time that night, he wanted to cry. Of course, he had already cried enough in front of Tywin Lannister, so he chose to hold the sudden warmth springing in his chest inside.

The guards rushed into Tywin's chambers. "I want you to take my son and hide him in one of the wagons bound for the North." Tywin ordered them, noticing their confused expressions. "If anyone is to hear or know of this, I will have your heads. Do you understand me?"

Both of the guards nodded and grabbed Tyrion by the arms rather roughly. "What about Shae?" he shouted. Tywin gave him an exasperated look.

"Don't worry," he said, "she will be buried in an appropriate fashion. Now, take him away."

No, put me down! Tyrion wanted to scream. He had so many questions burning in his mind right now. But the guards dragged me out of his father's chambers and down the halls, their armor and his heavy breathing the only sounds echoing down them.

"Lord of Winterfell," he whispered, feeling both a sense of excitement and foreboding. "Just what exactly does that really entitle?"

A/N: I hope everyone who has read this story has enjoyed it; I am actually surprised at the number of views this story has already gotten. The sequel to this story, called You Will Always Be My Lady, will be posted in a day or two. If you don't want to wait, the story is available on Archive Of Our Own.