Tywin
He dipped the quill into the bottle of ink before drawing it out and tapping it two times to remove any excess before he put tip to parchment and signed him name. No grand loops, no sweeping embellishments… merely his name, written formally at the bottom of the document, making the contents official. Setting the quill into the proper resting bottle (unlike some barbarian lords he knew better than to let his quill rest in his ink pot) he opened a small hinged box and carefully took a pinch of fine ash and spread it over the parchment and then brushed off the excess. On the other side of his desk a special candle that could only be found in the Westerlands and was only sold to House Lannister and no other, burned away. While the sunstones of Antony Stark were already replacing most of the candles in the Red Keep there was still need for them in cases such as this. Tywin picked up the candle and tilted it so that a few drops of wax spilled onto the corner of the parchment, forming a thick golden wax that seemed to sparkle in the midday light. Placing the candle back in its proper place Tywin pressed a ring he hadn't worn in several decades into the wax, removing it to reveal the sigil of the Hand of the King now rising up from the pressed down wax. Only then, when the seal was in place next to his name, did Tywin Lannister set it on top of a growing pile of documents.
"Tell me," he said in a measured tone, his voice not rising in the slightest as he finally addressed the figure that was sitting before him, "who do you serve? And none of the expected and standard comments about how your loyalty is only to 'the realm'. I get enough of that from the likes of Varys and Baelish. I mean who do you serve, Pycelle Hill?"
The lack of his title and the use of his bastard name, the one buried so deep in the depths of history that no one would ever be able to find it, was entirely on purpose. Same as everything else Tywin did. He wanted the Grand Maester to remember that the two of them were the only men in all the realm that still knew just who he had been before he had the first link in his chain. The bastard son of Gerold Lannister, Tywin's own grandfather, gotten on a serving wench in a tavern that no longer existed, Pycelle Hill had shown himself to have a sharp mind and a weak body and thus had gone to the only place where a bastard might be rid of his hated name: the Citadel. But while he had removed from himself the reminder that he was a bastard Tywin learned of it and used that knowledge and the man's longing to be seen as a member of the true Lannister family to make him his instrument to keep control of the lands and the people within it. After all, it had been he who had used his contacts to keep Pycelle Grand Maester and his wealth and strength that allowed him to do away with the scandals that would have ruined him. Servants paid off, the old man's own bastards removed, lovers disappearing from the pages of history.
"House Lannister, my lord," Pycelle said earnestly. "I serve House Lannister."
"And who leads House Lannister?" Tywin asked. When the Maester merely blinked at him Tywin, his head still bowed down towards the papers on his desk, looked up with hooded eyes. "If you can't answer that question then this conversation has no merit."
"You, my lord," Pycelle said quickly. "You lead House Lannister."
"Correct," Tywin said sharply. "I do. And thus you don't serve House Lannister you serve me. For I am House Lannister. So tell me why you decided to scheme against my son, who I sent to King's Landing to represent me whilst I fought the war my foolish grandson caused."
Pycelle shook his head quickly. In years past him doing so was comical to most, as it caused his great long beard to sway about like a banner caught in a stiff breeze. But the Grand Maester's beard had been shorn off, leaving him with a far more respectable beard though Tywin knew the man hated how he looked with it. The long pointed beard, like that of some fey in a child's tale, made him look older and more foolish and thus served him well in his guise of dotard who fell asleep at odd times and shuffled about half in a daze.
"Lies, all lies!" Pycelle exclaimed quickly. "It was your son, my lord… he was a terror in the Red Keep, bringing shame and disgrace to your house and your name! I learned of it and when I attempted to set right that which he was attempting to do he had me thrown in the Black Cells."
"You were thrown in the Black Cells because you were given secret knowledge by my son concerning the marriage contract he forged between my House and the Martells." Tywin raised an eyebrow when the old man started at that. Clearly the maester had thought him ignorant. "Did it not occur to you that Tyrion would inform me of the actions he took in my name? He knew that there would be plenty in King's Landing who would try and twist what he did for the good of the realm to appear selfish or stupid. So he informed me of all her did. Not to ask permission… he knew that if he did that I would have dismissed him. I sent him here to rule in my name, not to be a puppet who would not speak unless I pulled on his strings. No, he informed me of his actions, of his decrees and decisions. A few I disagreed with and made that known but let him sort those out himself for none of them were so offensive as to require direct action. If they failed they were on him. But most I agreed with. Including marrying Myrcella to Doran Martell's son."
"But… but…" Pycelle stammered. "No raven-"
"What?" Tywin asked, pressing his fingertips together.
"Nothing," Pycelle stated, shrinking in his chair.
"No, I think not 'nothing'. I think you were about to admit that you read every message Tyrion sent… and every message I sent him. Messages marked for MY eyes only." A lesser lord, with a weaker grasp on their anger than Tywin had, would have murdered the old fool right there. "I told Tyrion, before I sent him to King's Landing, that I once thought him a stunted fool and that I had come to see that I was wrong. He proved as much during his time here. His squire, Samwell Tarly, might be a fat craven but he is far more intelligent than people realize. Randall Tarly was an imbecile to send him to the Wall… that was a waste but then again Randall Tarly only understands swords and shields. Tyrion noticed… he got hold of books from Across the Narrow Sea on raven training, most likely copies of ones stolen from the Citadel. Samwell Tarly trained his own raven to fly to Harrenhall. THAT is how Tyrion communicated with me without you realizing it. We of course sent missives back and forth using your ravens but the truly important ones only came from his squire. Tyrion knew the moment he arrived that you might be against him. His suspicious were correct. Had they been wrong he would have admitted his error and worked to correct it. But that never came to pass.
"I have always known that you carefully broke seals and examined the contents of your raven messages. Just as I know that Varys places children in the secret passageways throughout the Red Keep to hear conversations." His eyes flicked to one such spot, a painting of the battle between Orys One-Hand and the son of the Widow-Lover. Behind the wall was an alcove that would allow for one of Varys' "Little Birds" to stand and hear all that was said in the chambers of the Hand. He couldn't hear the child that he knew was listening in scamper off… but he did know that one of his chosen knights was waiting at the only exit from the alcove, sword ready. Varys would find the boy's lower jaw on his bed that night, along with enough blood to make sleep quite impossible. A reminder that Tywin was NOT Jon Arryn. "Just as I know that Littlefinger directs men that wish to gain favor with the Small Council to do business with establishments he owns… of which there are many. But… I did not think you so foolish as to spy upon ME!"
He bellowed the last word out, making the old man leap from his chair and send it toppling to the ground, the back of it breaking against the cold stone. Not that Pycelle noticed… he was too busy falling to his knees, far too quickly for a man who claimed to be so feeble and weak, and clasped his hands together even as tears streamed for his cheeks.
"I serve House Lannister… I serve-"
"You serve yourself," Tywin said coldly. "And you serve whoever threatens you in the present. My daughter made idle threats against you, did she not? About how she would have you replaced, about how if you didn't report all you heard she would send you to the Wall or have you labeled a traitor? Am I wrong?" Pycelle merely continued to whimper and Tywin sneered in disgust. He knew that Pycelle was a craven whose loyalties shifted with the slightest breeze but even the smallest and weakest of vermin would bite if cornered. But this man merely sniveled. "Did it not occur to you that a message to Tyrion and thus to me would have settled the matter? Or that my daughter is not as powerful as she thinks? Had she done a thing to you questions would have arisen. And she knew how close to the edge she already was when it came to my judgment of her. And yet you still did her will. Served her… instead of me."
At that Pycelle merely trembled, bowing his head and mumbling jumbled words as he begged for Tywin's forgiveness. The Old Lion let him do so for half a minute before he finally smacked the table with his open hand.
"If you are quite done embarrassing yourself?" He made a motion and Pycelle, still sucking back tears, rose to his feet and righted his chair, sitting down on the now broken thing and staring at Tywin with eyes filled with terror. "You will not return to the Black Cells. That would be a waste. Nor will I release you from your position as Grand Maester and demand a replacement. I am already dealing with the Tyrells and I will not have them, through the Hightowers, send a Maester who would be loyal to Highgarden rather than to Casterly Rock." He paused, allowing the old man to believe that all would be well before he continued on. "You serve me. Only me. Not Joffrey, not Cersei, not even yourself. Me. And you start from the very bottom once more. Every deed you have done to earn my favor? Gone. You have dreamed of being honored with a resting place either in the Red Keep or Casterly Rock? At the moment there is better chance of the Wall suddenly appearing in Dorne. If you died tomorrow I'd sell your bones to every magician in Pentos and Braavos who desired them for their spells. Except your head… I am sure there is some twisted magister who would love to… well, I don't need to continue, do I?" He tapped the table with his finger. "You start again. If you wish to ever earn my favor again… you will dedicate yourself to MY desires. Now go. And tell my daughter she may enter." Pycelle nodded and rose, wisely realizing that thanking Tywin wouldn't look good at that juncture, only for Tywin to clear his throat. "My son, known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as a lecherous little beast, managed not to sleep with a single whore during his time in King's Landing. You will do the same, Grand Maester. If I discover you have broken your vows I will remove your cock myself before sending you back to the Citadel to explain your failure. Do I make myself clear?"
The old man, more shrunken and broken than he had been when Tywin had commanded him brought up from the Black Cells, weakly nodded and continued out of the room without even a murmur.
Tywin returned to his papers, not even look up as he heard Cersei enter. He already knew what he would see: her gliding in, or attempting to if she hadn't already gotten into her cups, a smug little smile on her face that she thought made her look powerful and clever but just made her look like a lazy cat waiting for their dinner, dripping with gems despite there being no need for them, and most likely trying her best to hide her false hand that she was still ashamed of. Reading over carefully the decree (only fools signed something without ensuring that the scribe hadn't put something extra in there for their own benefit, which meant it happened far too often in Westeros) he showed no signs of noticing her even as she sat down, her gaze burning as she waited for acknowledgment. He knew that she was a vain creature, most beautiful women were, especially if they had always been beautiful. But her time in King's Landing had only made it worse, so that she believed she deserved attention and praise merely for existing.
'Joanna was never like that,' Tywin thought to himself, her memory the only thing that could make his heart painfully clench. His beloved wife had not been a pretty child… she had been gangly and awkward, far too tall and thin during her youth. It had only been when she'd reached maturity that she'd blossomed into a beautiful woman. As such she, unlike Cersei, had developed a personality that was more than "I am pretty, shower me with compliments". Caring yet fierce, a lover of books and the outdoors, able to hold conversations with lowborn and the high… oh, what life would have been like for all the Seven Kingdoms had Joanna lived and been able to mold Cersei into an image of herself.
"Father," Cersei finally said annoyance, having lost her patience with waiting. Tywin fought back a sigh; Tyrion would have lasted another five minutes and even Jaime… he stopped himself and instead focused on finishing looking over the document, reaching out and taking his quill. "Father, we have much to discuss. There is so much that needs to be done and we have little time to waste."
"I agree," Tywin said simply, dipping the quill into the ink pot. "You can go now."
"I… pardon?"
"There is much that needs to be done and I have little time to waste."
He knew she was glowering at him. He didn't care.
"Our war is over. We must-"
"Your war," Tywin said, signing his name to the decree. "You created it when you proved to be an utter failure as a mother and allowed your ignorant and arrogant son to make that display at the Sept of Baelor." Echoing Tyrion he stated, "That bit of pageantry will haunt our family for generations. Already the Faithful say that Joffrey disgraced the Seven."
"He… he was rash, perhaps, but no one believes-"
"A knight descended from the heavens, rescued Eddard Stark, and labeled your son a false king that should be overthrown, and then to truly add the final bit of failure to that entire scene, your son murdered a young girl," he snapped. "The only way it could have been worse is if the Seven had joined the Iron Man in condemning Joffrey. And even if he hadn't arrived Joffrey still spilled innocent blood on one of the most revered places in all of Westeros. After the entire Small Council had agreed to have Eddard Stark sent to the Night's Watch. We had everything we wanted… Eddard Stark removed from power and disgraced, his daughter as a hostage, and the ability to force his son to side with us against Robert's brothers. So please, tell me how it was merely a rash act and I shouldn't be utterly enraged by his stupidity?"
Cersei, her bluster leaving her, fumbled for an answer. "Joffrey… he is young-"
"When I was his age I had already served as a cupbearer and page for King Aegon V. I was a squire and would shortly be knighted. I had begun to forge the connections that saw me eventually become Hand of the King and had fought in tourneys and in battles." He paused, placing the quill in its bottle and getting the ash box. "Your brother Jaime was a squire as well and soon to be a knight. Even your brother Tyrion had been assigned tasks at Casterly Rock and was completing them. Tyrion. The stunted monster that killed your mother. And yet your son, who from the moment of his birth should have been taught how to be a king, behaves like a spoilt child throwing tantrums when he doesn't get his way. Who whines when a wolf gives him a few bites on his hand and demands presents and praise for merely managing not to trip over his own feet." Sprinkling the ashes on the parchment he then, and only then, looked up at her and narrowed his eyes. "Never tell me again that my grandson is too young. Doing so is to admit that you failed to raise him properly."
He knew she didn't like that. Cersei loved to believe that she was the greatest mother in all the lands. But the truth of it was that she didn't see children as beings to raise or nurture but rather as decorations to have about her. Tywin would never claim to be the best parent in the world… he understood his faults and caring for children was one of them. But that was why he had given his children over to others better suited for the task. He hadn't deluded himself into believing he could do it as Cersei had. She had clung to her children while at the same time keeping them at arm's reach and the results were clear.
"The pact between parent and child is quite simple," he said, brushing away the excess ash and setting the parchment to the side with the others. "A parent teaches their child how to succeed in the world. In turn a child brings glory and honor to their house until it is their time to take command. Your duty was to handle the issues that would arise against us… yet you have made more work for me." He shot her another look and she cringed. "I will be taking the molding of Joffrey and Tommen into my own hands. There is still hope I can salvage Joffrey and make him into a worthy king… the maesters can tell you of many young men who gained power and bumbled about only to mature into wise and strong lords and kings. There is time for Joffrey. As for Tommen I will ensure that he does not follow down the same path and that he is worthy to become the Lord of Casterly Rock. I will see to that… along with all the other issues that have now arisen."
Sensing she was on safer ground his daughter nodded. "Yes, and there are many. The war is over-"
"Oh? Is it now? Have I been so busy overseeing the rebuilding of King's Landing after the battle that I missed the Starks bending the knee?"
Cersei sniffed dismissively. "The Starks are not a threat. Stannis-"
"Aerys was so mad he spent the last years of his rule gibbering like an Essosi monkey on the Iron Throne and even he knew that the Starks are ALWAYS a threat. Torrhen Stark, had he not knelt, would have delayed Aegon's crowning by at least a year. There would have been no Field of Fire with that battle, not with the lay of the land and Aegon knew it. Stark could have pulled his men back, hidden in their lands, and made a Frozen Dorne. For all the talk of what others did in the Dance of the Dragons it was Cregan Stark and the Winter Wolves who set the realm back in place. And now we have a Stark who is beloved by the Riverlands and who has made it known that he will take prisoners SAVE for Lannisters. Any who share a drop of our blood are to be wiped from the face of the Westeros. And to make matters all the worse their words have come true once more: Winter is Coming."
"Good. Let them starve in their camps. It will make it easier for us to take them once Spring comes."
Tywin grit his teeth, wondering how a child of his could be so stupid. "The Northsmen understand Winter. It is the wolf that always prowls about their farms. And now they have much of the Riverlands to supplement them. We burned the fields, of course, but there is still time for another harvest, and the rivers will supply needed meat. It will not be their camps that suffer it will be ours. The ones keeping them from taking more territory. And when our camps fall, and they will, the North will carefully take more villages and castles. When Spring does come they will have taken nearly all the Riverlands and will be entrenched. This Winter will be a long one, possible lasting a generation. By the time we can properly face them again we will be the invaders. Your son is now King of Five Kingdoms… possibly Four if Lysa Arryn's bannermen get some sense and overthrow her and join forces with the new Northern Kingdom."
"But we now have time to build up our own strength," Cersei pointed out. "Stannis is defeated, Renly's forces have come to us, that whore Jane Seaworth-" Tywin could have sworn he heard a crack of thunder overhead even though the sky was clear, "-has fled, most likely to Pentos or Braavos… only the Starks remain and we can root them out."
"Stannis is defeated. But he is not gone. Unless Joffrey is using his head as a toy? No one knows what happened to him but until we see his corpse we can't believe he is dead. As for Renly he has fled to Essos, that is true, but we don't know why. Perhaps he and that Queen Jane have decided to marshal their strength together. Marry, use the wealth of the Storm Lands to buy sellsword companies, and return to take us off guard. Or he could seek out the last of the Targaryens and marry her. No… the war is only over when all our enemies are dead and we hold their broke bodies in our grasp."
With that he took another piece of parchment and began to look it over.
"Must you do that?" Cersei demanded, her remaining flesh hand twitching as she clearly desired to have a goblet of wine in it. "We are discussing important matters and we should not be dividing our attention."
Tywin huffed at that dryly. "We aren't discussing important things we are discussing your many failures. There is a difference." He swept his hand over the two piles of documents, one complete the other still needing his approval. "These are the important matters. While we have not made it official yet I am Hand of the King and I must see to it that the realm continues on." Cersei stared at him, trying to hide her befuddlement, and Tywin decided it was time for his daughter to receive a lesson. "There is more to ruling than wearing fine clothing and demanding servants do this task or that. The needs of the kingdom must be seen to."
"I know that," Cersei said petulantly, like a child caught doing something they knew was wrong.
"No, you merely think you do." He gestured at the parchments. "You think this mere busywork? Hardly. Each decree must be done and in quick order." He selected the one he had just affixed his name to, holding it out to her. "This one here declares the names of the men that will be knighted for their valor in the Battle of the Blackwater. They stood by us when all others fled or hedged their bets between us and Stannis. I will see them rewarded."
She scanned the list, most likely searching for the names of men who she'd want to meet and gain into her favor, only to pause, lips puckering tightly. "Podrick Payne? The tongue-tied boy that follows Tyrion around when the fat one isn't available?"
"That tongue-tied boy killed six of Stannis' soldiers despite it being his first battle. He also killed the man that killed Commander Stacey of the Gold Cloaks."
"He yelled at you!" Cersei exclaimed. "It is the talk of the city! You approached and he yelled at you! He should be in a Black Cell for that!"
Tywin almost rolled his eyes. Almost. Leave it to his vain daughter to hold onto every slight and grudge like she was a Frey. "He yelled at me because I hadn't noticed that your brother was injured. He showed loyalty to the man he was swore to. He could have easily bowed to me and tried to impress me but instead he stood like a man and demanded that I notice something I had missed. He knew that doing so was dangerous, that I could destroy him if I should choose, as you would in your limited, blinded ways, but still he honored his vow. A boy… a man… who is willing to sacrifice his standing and his life to ensure that his lord is safe and protected is one I want on my side. He will need a better education, as Tyrion was unsuited to teach him how to be a knight, but the boy is clever and will learn. Who cares if he fumbles his words if he can swing a sword and carry out orders?"
"So he is rewarded for being brazen," Cersei said with a sneer.
Tywin didn't even address that. The Lord of Casterly Rock didn't repeat himself. "Then there are the fallen. They still have families to think of. The crown will be providing a small payment to each that lost a husband, more if he was also a father. I will also find someone to see about arranging potential matches for widows to newly made single knights. Cregan Stark did that after the Dance and it saved the Riverlands." He paused, looking at her with a pointed gaze. "I had considered placing you in that position… many queens love to play matchmaker. But seeing as that is yet another time honored duty you have shrunk away from in favor of petty snark and wine drinking I will find another."
"Robert-"
"Was a boorish drunk. The whole world knows. That gives you the right to become the same?" Tywin shook his head. "Perhaps I should outlaw all wine from the Red Keep. Dry you out and see if there is any intelligence in that pickled brain of yours." His daughter bristled at that but held her tongue on that matter. "For certain others," Tywin continued, "their widows will receive more. May Parker the most." At Cersei's blank stare Tywin elaborated. "Commander Stacey died at the gate. Another Gold Cloak, Benjen Parker, died as well. The Commander's wife died a few years ago so that leaves his daughter, Gwen, an orphan. Benjen's wife, May, has taken her in along with her nephew, Petyr, whose parents were killed during the first night riots after Joffrey's murder of Sansa Stark." Cersei opener he mouth but Tywin continued on, refusing to let her speak. "I interviewed the Gold Cloaks, to try and assess who I would elevate to be their new commander. Most told me that Stacey was the best commander they'd had in ages and the ones who complained Varys has informed me were Slynt's men. Slynt." He narrowed his eyes once more and Cersei's boldness disappeared. "I have not forgotten that YOU were the one to suggest him for the post. You bragged about it to me in one of your letters, remember? The point remains that Stacey was a strong commander. How better to show the men that served him that I honor all he did than seeing to it that his daughter is cared for? And as May Parker has taken her in and the child of another lost Gold Cloak it is to her I will give the spoils. I will attempt to find a match for her but should she choose to honor her husband's memory and not remarry I will not force it upon her." He knew all too well what it was like to lose someone you loved far too soon. "Instead she will receive her husband's pay for the rest of her days."
Cersei gaped at that. "And… and how will we pay for that? Tyrion was fond of reminding us all that wars cost dragons and stags. He threw a fit over Joffrey's nameday celebrations-"
"As well he should have. Had I been here it would have been far worse. This is not one of your frivolous parties where you get to try and impress people you don't even like." He paused before selecting another piece of parchment. "And he is still wasting coin. Your brother, upon arriving in King's Landing, began to employ spies and hunters to seek out other whispered rumors of power and determine if they were real. Only things that had some basis in reality. Maegor's armor and Dark Sister, those things. Perhaps throwing good coin away but he was careful with what he spent and only on something where there was hope and which we might have use of. The armor could be repurposed, Dark Sister forged into new blades. My grandson learned of this and decided to command far larger and more foolish expeditions." He scoffed as he began to tick off a few of them, for Joffrey had demanded of the Small Council that they seek out weapons and magic from at least twelve different fairytales. "He sent three knights to the Stepstones to find a clan of assassins known as The Hand and force them to serve as his new Kingsguard. A red stone said to make any man a juggernaut is what another two knights are supposed to find somewhere off the western shores. Ser Adrian of the Tombs and four of his fellow knights sent to the Dornish mountains to find the bones of Meraxes. A Northern turncloak is to go to Skargos to try and find something called Norn Stones." He tossed the parchment aside. "Good coin thrown away. I will need to recall them all before they waste anymore." He paused, staring at Cersei. "Do you know how much that dress you're wearing costs? No, don't answer, I know you don't. You've never had to care about money so it has no worth to you. Well, that dress there costs nearly as much as a standard Gold Cloak makes in a year. How will we afford it? You'll go without new dresses for a year."
"You would have me dress in rags?"
"I would have you THINK!" Tywin roared, causing her to rear back and for a moment he thought she might topple like Pycelle had. "People talk of me in hushed whisperers but they never rose up and tried to overthrow me. Do you know why? Because while many saw me as cruel they understood that I could be kind. Generous even. To those that fought we me to put down the Reynes and Tarbecks and gave the spoils of war. But you have none of that. You give nothing, take all, and scorn people for even thinking that they should be given what they actually deserve. And you have passed those same thoughts onto Joffrey and now we are losing the war against the Starks. Losing… do you understand that? If Eddard Stark wanted the Iron Throne I dare say we'd be hard pressed to fight him off. We would, of course, even if I had to spend every coin we had left to buy the sellswords that would drive those Northerns back to their icy lands, but we would win. At a cost far higher than I'd like to every consider. But thankfully for us Ned Stark merely wants his own kingdom and if it weren't for the fact that he wanted every Lannister dead I might just give it to him just to get out of this mess that YOU AND YOUR MORONIC CHILD HAVE GOTTEN US INTO!" He stood up at that point, looming over the desk. "Remember. That." He glared at her, lips twitching and a growl wanting to escape his lips at the very sight of her. Oh the shame he felt that this ignorant fool was his blood. It was the same shame he felt when he thought of his own father. Different reasons for it but shame nonetheless. "Now," he hissed, "what is it you stormed in here to demand we talk about?"
Cersei swallowed, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair only in her startled state she used her false hand and nearly beaned herself in the head with it. She caught herself, however, and taking a moment to gather herself after the very thorough flaying she'd received she said, "With you here and the war… with the most pressing threats against us eliminated for now the time has come to see to filling the Small Council."
Tywin nodded in approval at that and he saw that she at once felt that she was on more solid ground. "I agree." Setting aside the decree, this one concerning the proper payment to the pyromancer's guild (not that they would see it as Tywin already had plans to destroy their order… wildfire had proven useful in the battle but Tywin did not like any weapon he didn't have full control of; it also reminded him far too much of Aerys) and selected instead a blank piece, dipping his quill in the ink pot before he began to jot down names and titles. He didn't bother to list himself, as that was obvious, and instead continued down the list. "Pycelle will return to being Grand Maester, though I have decided we will seek from the Citadel a younger maeaster to begin training as his replacement. The man is getting on in years and may die at any moment. Varys will remain as the Master of Whispers for now. But that leaves us with many positions to fill."
Cersei frowned. "What of Baelish? Will he not remain Master of Coin."
"For now," Tywin stated. "But I have plans for him concerning the Vale so he will be leaving us eventually so it would not hurt to begin seeking his replacement. Wars cost money after all and it wouldn't do to be without an able Master of Coin for long. We have not had a Master of Ships since Robert was alive and we also lack a Master of Laws. For the later Kevan will serve."
"Yes, a fine choice," Cersei stated as if she had some actual say in the matter.
"As for Master of Ships I have selected Mace Tyrell."
Here is daughter blinked in surprise. "Is that the wisest choice?"
"Part of my agreement with the Tyrells to get them to side with us after Renly fled was a position in the Small Council. Master of Ships is the least important position that still holds office and will please Lord Tyrell well enough. We'll just have to deal with his boasting and his bumbling but installing some able-minded men under him who know when to ignore his orders and do what is proper will see us well off." He paused, knowing the next two names would get a rather strong reaction from Cersei. "I have also decided to select two officeless advisors. Robert didn't have any but that was only because he didn't like going to Small Council meetings and wanted them to go quickly when he was forced to attend them. But such positions strengthen alliances and I will not give up such weapons that are at my disposal." He wrote down a name. "Besides, the first has already been decided."
"The Martells," Cersei said quietly.
Tywin nodded. "As part of the agreement to marry Myrcella to Trystane Martell. The hope is that eventually Trystane will come to King's Landing with Myrcella to serve on Joffrey's Small Council but for now he is too young and thus Prince Doran has been offered the seat and has accepted."
Cersei pursed her lips at that. "Is that wise? There is little love between the Martells and our family."
"True… but offers of power can go a long way to smoothing over old slights."
"And the other advisor?"
"Jon Stark."
Now he received the reaction he'd been waiting for. Cersei's eyes went wide before she began to laugh. Tywin didn't move a muscle, though it took all his strength not to do so; laughing at him was unwise for all, including his children. It was only because he'd expected it that allowed him to maintain control. When Cersei saw that he hadn't reacted she began to calm herself before staring at him in surprise and growing anger. "You're serious? You're serious." He merely stared at her. "A Stark… you would invite a Stark… a bastard one at that… the bastard of the man waging war against us right now, who spreads lies about me… to sit on the Small Council? Have you gone mad?!"
"Not in the slightest," Tywin said coolly. "Jon Stark is Antony Stark's heir. Antony has served as Warden of the West well and will continue to do so while I remain in King's Landing. I have sought information on Eddard Stark's bastard and learned that he was well liked during his time at Lannisport. He was solemn but also skilled, brave, courteous, and respected by the Small Folk. He won over those representing the Western Lords at his wedding and when the Iron Born attacked he did much to repel them back. King's Landing and especially Joffrey are lacking in all those things."
"But he is a Stark!" Cersei repeated.
"I know," Tywin stated. "That is the point." He sighed at her stupidity. "The North must be held by a Stark. They are too entrenched there. Jon Stark was raised in Winterfell, is known to many there. He also suffered greatly at the hands of Catelyn Stark. Few men can be raised as he was and not harbor hatred for their tormentors… and those that stood by and allowed it. With a few kind words and deeds we could win Jon Stark to our side. It would give us someone to install as Warden of the North when we finally root out Eddard Stark and his supporters and it would also show the Small Folk that Joffrey can forgive… something that is needed after he killed Sansa Stark."
"But Sansa-"
"If you tell me that the whore parading about the Red Keep is Sansa Stark as you claimed to Tyrion I will lock you in your room and not let you out until you've grown some wits." Cersei snapped her jaw shut and Tywin nodded. "I will deal with the whore soon enough. I must finalize things with the Tyrells but soon there will be no need for her now. She will be gone by the end of the day."
"Joffrey won't let her go."
"He will if he wishes to remain king," Tywin stated.
Cersei was about ready to speak again when the door opened and a messenger stepped inside. "Milord… Lord Tyrion is awake."
Tywin nodded. His son had been in and out of consciousness for the entire night and Tywin had given orders that he be alerted the moment Tyrion was fully awake. "Stay here. I won't be long. While I am gone consider who we might make the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."
"Jaime," she said without thought. "It has to be Jaime."
Tywin clenched his jaw before reaching over and taking the message he'd received from the Riverlands that very morning and passing it to her. He had just stepped out the door and allowed it to shut when Cersei let out a wailing screaming.
He didn't blame her. Not this time.
Forcing himself to keep his mind blank Tywin made his way down two flights of stairs to the rooms set up for Tyrion. It had been suggested by Pycelle (and most likely Cersei) to move Tyrion completely out of the Tower of the Hand but he had forebode it. Someone sworn to the crown had tried to murder him and at the very least Tywin wanted Tyrion close in case they tried again, so he might catch the assassin and find out their employer. Dismissing the servants that were moving about the room save for Samwell, who he allowed to stay seeing as the boy was Tyrion's first squire, Tywin took a seat near Tyrion's bed without a word. The dwarf was half sitting up, his brow still covered in sweat, staring at the bandages that were so thickly wrapped around his ruined hands that one couldn't even see his fingers. There was a quietness about Tyrion that Tywin wasn't used to, as he was far too often used to making japes and jests whenever one of them encountered the other. Instead Tyrion continued to stare at his hands, occasionally working his jaw from side to side.
"We won," Tyrion finally stated.
"We won. You held them off… and I dare say you may have even managed to have won, though with a heavy cost of life. Still, it bought me time."
"How did you get the Tyrells to join you?" Tyrion asked.
"Joffrey will marry Margaery Tyrell."
"He won't like that," Tyrion said. "He is enamored with that creature who claims to be Sansa Stark."
"I don't care what he likes or what he doesn't."
"I know," Tyrion stated. "I merely am-" he let out a weary yawn, "preparing you."
"Quite," Tywin stated, refusing to admit that Tyrion had a point but also not in the mood to argue purely to argue. "The man that tried to kill you-"
"That was no man," Tyrion said, finally looking at him with haunted eyes. "I don't know if it was a Faceless Man or some warlock from across the Narrow Sea who was skilled with illusions but… that was no mere soldier." Tywin got the sense there was more Tyrion wanted to say but refused to do so. He didn't press, for once, as he had his own feeling that he won't believe him anyway. "But whoever did it… they aren't done yet with me. Or any of us."
"I will keep that in mind." Tywin regarded his son for a moment. "When we last spoke in person I told you that if you did your duty properly and without bringing disgrace to the family name I would finally give you a position within the realm. I have asked about… not only did you never bring a whore to the Tower but you never saw one in a brothel or an inn or anyplace else. You have drank more than I would have wished but never lost yourself to it. The Small Folk blame you for their woes but they are all fools and would have blamed anyone who carried out things the way you did." He leaned forward in his chair. "You will be given Tarbeck Hall and its holdings."
Tyrion started at that.
"Castemere will remain forever in ruins if any Lannisters who come after me have some sense in their heads. It is a good reminder of what happens when we are crossed. But there are no songs about Tarbeck Hall and they were the lesser players in that rebellion. The crown will provide you with a sum to help rebuild and when you are well you will leave in a fortnite-"
"No."
"Excuse me?" Tywin asked.
"I will not go to Tarbeck Hall."
Tywin felt himself growing hot with rage. The impudent, greedy, vile little Imp was daring to throw back the grand gift he had given him. It was far more than he deserved, far more, and the ungrateful lustful beast denied-
"Not… not yet, at least," Tyrion managed to get out, cutting through Tywin's rage. "First… I have a final request."
"And that is?" Tywin said with all the icy coolness of the Wall itself.
"I wish to spend a year traveling Essos."
Tywin hadn't been expecting that.
Tyrion, clearly seeing that his words had caught him off guard, looked down at his lap once more. "I will never be a warrior. Not like Jaime. I will never be considered something people wish to look upon like Cersei. I can lead men but not like you… it will always be harder for me. And I know that thanks to my stature and my… actions… in my youth that japes will follow me for all my life. Were I to attempt what you did to the Castameres on another who had slighted me I'd be met with laughter even if I did everything correct. I understand that." He held up his mutilated hands. "But I will not add to the scorn and failure by not being able to even sign my own name or feed myself at my own table. I don't need to have that fool Pycelle or any other maester to look over my hands to know the damage is great. That there is nothing to be done in Westeros. But… I have read that there are healers in Essos who can work wonders."
"Mummurs' tales," Tywin stated.
"Most likely, yes. But if it were you… had you lost the use of your hands and you were the new Lord of Casterly Rock and knew that all were looking for a reason to mock you, to disobey you… would you not do anything to fix the issue? Or at the very least assure yourself that there was no solution so that you might rule without ever any doubt that you exhausted all hope?"
Tywin stared at Tyrion and truly took him in. Once his sister Genna had claimed that Tyrion was, of all Tywin's children, the most like him. He hadn't spoken to her for a year because of that insult. But now looking upon him and thinking of his conversation with Cersei… he realized that she had been right.
He didn't know if he should be shocked… or angered by the Gods and how they had set up such a mockery.
"You will have exactly one year from the day you leave King's Landing. Should you not return your claim will be forfeit and I will never give you another bent copper so long as either of us live."
"Understood."
Tywin rose and turned to go only to stop himself. Tyrion deserved to hear it from him. "You are needed Tyrion, more now than ever."
"What do you mean?"
Tywin forced himself to be as emotionless as the stone that made up Casterly Rock itself. "Word has reached me from Harrenhall. Hoat betrayed us." His hand clenched. "Jaime is dead."
Tyrion stared at him, dumbly and without comprehension for several long moments, the weight of what he'd just said slowly rolling over him like waves from the ocean. Tywin turned and walked out the door, shutting it just as he heard Tyrion begin to weep.
For the first time in his life… he couldn't find it in himself to scorn the dwarf for his weakness.
But Tywin Lannister didn't take the time to grieve. That was something for others to do. He had a kingdom to run now and more importantly he needed to get his family firmly back in place. Tyrion would be settled now… he had considered keeping him on the Small Council but decided that while others would see it as an honor to serve the dwarf would not. After all, Tywin would have been utterly insulted if Aerys or Robert had made him Hand then told him, "you did well but now you are Master of Ships". No, let Tyrion go to Essos to attempt to fix his mutilated hands and then return to the Westerlands and attempt to make something out of himself. Jaime- no, Tywin would not think of him and the could have beens that came with his son and heir. Cersei needed to be reminded that even a Queen could be told 'no'. She had always been a vain child and power had made it only worse. And she was ruining his grandchildren. Joffrey had already proven himself to be a whining wretch and Tommen was far too coddled, especially if he were to be Tywin's heir now. Yes, she needed to be dealt with so he could set about correcting his grandchildren.
There was so much else that needed to be dealt with. King's Landing needed to be set right. He had to deal with a royal wedding. The Starks. Stannis. And so many other things. There were rumors that Balon Greyjoy wanted to rebel again and his brother Euron had been spotted in the Shivering Sea for who knows what reason. He needed to get with Varys to find out about Daenerys Targaryen and he wanted to determine just what had happened to Arya Stark, for he so hated it when a piece in the Game of Thrones simply disappeared.
'But, before all that… I must deal with a bit of foolishness that has lingered for far too long.'
His progress took him from the Tower of the Hand to the main residency of the Royal family and Tywin felt his blood thunder in his ears at the fact that SHE was there. It reminded him far too much of his father and his whore. The candlemaker's spawn, who had dared to war his mother's jewelry and paraded about Lannisport as if she were the Lady of the Rock. And now Cersei and Joffrey had allowed it to happen again, only this time in the Red Keep! They hadn't even been brave enough to admit that she was a harlot and a thief… no, they had tried to lie and refused to let her go.
Tywin grit his teeth as he approached to guarded door. It was time to settle this matter.
"Clegane," Tywin snapped, staring at the large scarred man who had once served Tywin's grandson but now merely acted as a doorwarden to a whore. "Leave your post… you won't be needed." Clegane stared at him before moving several feet away from the door, eyeing Tywin carefully. He didn't like that at all… the man should have dashed away when commanded. No matter, Tywin would educate him on his own follies soon enough. Instead Tywin threw open the door and marched inside. "So," he said with utter coldness as he turned away from the harlot and locked the door behind him, "you are the whore who claims to be Sansa Stark."
When he looked upon her he was startled to find himself even more disgusted than he had been when he'd first entered. He hadn't thought that possible. He'd had Jaime tell him all he could about Sansa Stark and while his son hadn't paid much attention to the girl he had told Tywin enough to make it clear that she wasn't a woman fully grown with pale blonde-white hair and bright blue eyes. She had done nothing to disguise herself and Tywin's already low opinion of Cersei dropped even further as he looked upon the fake that she had paraded about the Red Keep claiming she was Eddard Stark's eldest daughter.
"I am afraid you are only half correct," the fraud said with a smile, not once leaving her perch by the large open window. "I am no whore."
"Do not bother to claim to be Sansa Stark," Tywin said, taking a step towards her. He wished Ser Gregor hadn't gone mad as if the brute were still alive Tywin would have enjoyed giving this bitch to the Mountain to do with her as he saw fit. "You are not her."
"No, I am not."
"So you admit it was a lie."
"I do," the imposter stated. "At least when it comes to my soul. The body did belong to Sansa Stark but she has no need for it now. I do."
Tywin huffed at that. The whore was delusional. "Sansa Stark wasn't ten-and-eight and her hair was a Tully red, not so blonde she could be mistaken for a Lannister."
"I altered this body to better suit who I truly am. It is bad enough I clawed my way out of the afterlife only to have this form be my only option I wasn't about to possess a child's body. I am a woman and I need a woman's form."
"You are an addled harlot who has disgraced this castle for far too long."
"You truly don't see it, do you?" she asked even as he neared her, Tywin deciding that it would be easiest to just shove her out the window. He would state that she killed herself upon him telling her she had to leave… that her grief and madness saw her leap to her death. People would talk but he couldn't have her living and spreading tales. "Do you not see me, Tywin?"
The use of his name, without any sign of his titles, infuriated him all the more and he quickened his steps towards her. The whore remained where she sat, mindless of the danger, a bare milky-white foot held up in the air slightly, blue nails catching the light of the sun as she watched him approach. "I see you all too well," he growled as he moved in for the kill.
"No, that isn't what you said," she said with reproachment. "You said, "I do, my lady, and I am thankful for it"."
Tywin froze, all thoughts of tossing her from the window leaving him with those words. "What did you say?"
But rather than repeat her statement the fake merely smiled tenderly at him. "I said that I was pleased that you were pleased with me. And you stated that "pleased" was such a weak word for what you thought of me." She shook her head. "You are no poet, Tywin, but I am glad that with me at least you tried."
His bowels had turned to water and his legs felt like they were jelly. He'd never been so shaken as he was in that moment. Not when his mother had died. Certainly not when the pox had taken his brother Tygett. The closest had been when she had-
"How do you know that," Tywin hissed, keeping his voice low so she didn't hear the tremble in his words. What she had spoken… of that first night as husband and wife… only two people had ever known…
"The same way I know that while you told people you named Jaime after the second son of Tybolt Lannister the First, who ruled Casterly Rock in all but name when his brother proved to be a weak man, in reality you gave in to my desire to name him after Ser Jaime the Just from The 77 Legends." She got to her feet and approached him and for the first time since he had been a child Tywin did not rush to meet an approaching foe. "The same way I know that you regretted being unable to give me your mother's jewelry because you felt it tainted by that whore who dared to wear them. The same way that I know that you had planned to have Tyrion fostered with the Starks originally and had even discussed the matter with Lord Rickard. I wish you would have done that, my love… I died bringing him into this world and it pains me to see how you and our daughter have so abused him."
"Joanna," Tywin whispered before turning away violently. "No. No, I do not know how you know these things but this is a trick-"
"Why?" the fake asked, moving quickly to circle around him so she might face him once more. "We live in a world of miracles now, do we not? Men in armor fly. The Asgardians descend upon the Stormlands. Is it so inconceivable-"
"Stop," Tywin ordered.
"So unbelievable-"
"You are not her!"
"That I would return to you?" She pressed her hand to his cheek.
He reached up to rip her palm away, to break her fingers and make her scream till she admitted the truth. But instead he found himself covering her hand with his own, shutting his eyes as he felt her touch. And instead of cursing her he found himself asking, "Why… how?"
"To the latter… I do not know. My time on the other side was… vague. I remember hearing Tyrion's cries and the room going dark… and then it is… foggy. But then I was clawing through darkness, like it were wet sand, and the next thing I knew I was in the Sept and Sandor Clegane was standing watch over me." She shook her head and looked away. "I didn't know what to do. They called me Sansa Stark and while I knew that wasn't right I didn't know who I was and they were so sure… for a time I allowed myself to believe I was that child. But as the days and weeks went on I remembered more and my body began to change… until, during the Battle of the Blackwater… I remembered. I remembered it all." She looked at him once more. "I remembered you, my love."
Tywin Lannister stared into her brilliant blue eyes. They were not the eyes of the woman he loved, the only person who had made him smile. And yet… her words, her memories…
"How will we explain this Joanna?"
His reborn wife smiled. "We will find a way. And then… we will rule as we were meant to."
~MC~MC~MC~
The Prisoner
When she'd been young she'd loved all the sweet tales and songs of ladies trapped in tall towers or dark dungeons waiting for their dashing knights to save them. The adventures the true and pure men would go through in order to get to their lady loves had always made her sigh in delight and beg for more. It was only one of the few times she and her sister had actually agreed on something, even if the younger girl had cared more about the sword play than the romance of it all. There had been days where she'd sat by her window and dreamed of what her prince would be like, coming to rescue her and carry her away to a world of never ending feasts and dancing where the birds came when she sang.
Now she looked back at that little girl and scorned her and her foolishness. Yes, those tales were lovely and ended happily but she never considered what it must be like for the lady who was trapped in the tower or the monster's cave or the empty island. Of the loneliness, the fear, the pain. And what of all the high born ladies that weren't rescued from their prisons? The storytellers and singers never told tales of them, obviously, but she now understood that there must be hundreds of them, thousands of them, who had sat and dreamed of rescue… and then wished for it. Prayed for it. Begged for it. Choked on their last breath wondering why they had been abandoned.
She looked back at how she had longed to be taken away to a magical world and felt her soul twist with agony. Because she had been too blind to see that there was no need for some dashing knight to carry her away… all she needed, all she now wanted, was home. To have her room that was her own where the servants didn't carry her every act back to the liars and snakes in exchange for coin. Where friendship was real and love never came with a price she wasn't willing to pay. She'd dreamed of King's Landing with its warm sun and fragrant flowers and grand tourneys but now all she dreamed of was pure white snow and quiet halls. She longed not to hear the lies that seemed to be the foundation of the South but of her brothers' laughter and her mother humming to herself as she went about her needlework and her sister's wild tales and her father's rumbling voice.
Night had fallen on the Capital and with it she quietly loosened the chains that bound her tight. Her jailer thought that she was helpless, that there was no way she'd ever be able to escape. But her jailer didn't understand her at all. No one did. They thought her weak, pliable, meek. That she would merely repeat the words they wanted to hear and do as they desired out of fear for her own life. And perhaps, when she'd first arrived in King's Landing and still loved songs and stories, she would have. But she had faced evil that few in Westeros had ever encountered and rather than shatter her as all would have expected it had instead made her stronger. It had taken patience but she had found ways out of her restraints and in the dead of the night worked so she might taste brief moments of freedom.
But tonight was different. Her hand had been forced and she had to act. She would not allow herself to remain a moment more, not with what Tywin Lannister planned to do. The thought of him touching her…
So she let her chains fall away as her jailer slept and she plated icy cold feet upon the smooth wood floor. She carefully tiptoed through the opulent room, pausing to open the main door before making her way to the chamber where the extra dresses and gems and jewels that had been gifted to "her" were kept. But where in the past she would have stared at such possessions and taken the time to admire their beauty, stroking the silks and feeling how smooth they were against her fingers, she instead moved past them all without a second thought, her focus solely on the large form that was half hidden away in there. She ran her fingers along the fur and fought the urge to weep, hating herself for denying her dearest companion a proper rest, but knowing that this was her only chance. Lifting the preserved direwolf with ease she made her way back to the bedchamber and placed down the beast next to the feather-stuffed mattress. She had to be careful, to ensure that her jailer didn't realize she was gone until she was far enough away that she could never be caught again.
She didn't know how she knew to do any of what she was about to do. It was certainly nothing she'd ever been taught by the septa. She wagered that had Septa Mordane knew of such a power she would have claimed that it was unnatural and evil. But what did she know of evil? True evil? No, she wasn't sure how she knew what to do… it was not a skill learned but rather an instinct. One that she dimly knew had existed in her all her life, from the moment of her birth, and merely waited for the right moment to manifest itself. She wasn't sure if now was the right moment but she'd run out of time. It was either to take the risk now or be a prisoner forever.
And she would not be held a second more.
Laying her lithe form upon the bed, her body as still as any other corpse in a crypt, she reached out with her right hand and pressed it to the direwolf's motionless head and focused. She thought of what she needed to do, of what she had to do, and when she felt the tug upon her very soul she welcomed it, chasing after it like when she'd been young and ran after butterflies, pretending they were fairies.
There was a painful sensation as a dead heart began to beat again and long cold nerves began to flair once more but she welcomed the agony. Embraced it. For that was life and it was better than the empty prison she had found herself in. She breathed in and out, forcing empty lungs to fill with air, and waited as her veins once more pulsed with blood. Then, and only then, did she open her eyes.
She found herself staring at herself.
Except it wasn't herself. Not anymore. It was her jailer. Her tormentor. The bane of her existence. Having twisted her body and her face for her own evil ambitions. Used her name to bewitch and ensnare. And in that moment she felt nothing but hate and rage and all she wanted to do was sink her new fangs into the monster's throat and taste her blood and gulp down her flesh. But just as she knew how to escape without understand how she'd come to learn it she instinctually knew that if she attacked now she would suffer. Her jailer was far too powerful to die from a wolf's bite.
So instead she turn, her steps a bit unsteady as she grew used to having 4 legs instead of two, but soon she was able to quietly slink through the shadows and nose open the door, darting into the hall and making for the stairs. It was only when she'd descended two stories that she began to run, pausing only when she smelled the foul scent of sweaty guards or the perfumes of royal servants. But always was her focus on escaping the Red Keep and then King's Landing itself, putting as much distance as she could between herself and her jailer. Out of the Keep, into the streets, through every gate. Each step one more towards freedom.
It was nearly three hours later at, appropriately enough, the Hour of the Wolf when she stood upon a small hill a league away and looked out at King's Landing. It had been so beautiful when she'd first seen it, when her dreams had been filled with how she would be its queen, with her golden future-king at her side and how she would give birth to his children, and how all would love her and cheer her name. But now she looked upon the stinking city and her lips curled back exposing her sharp teeth and she growled.
They had called her many things in that city. Little Bird. Dove. My Lady. Jonquil Reborn. But she was no longer a gentle thing that lived in a gilded cage and sang the songs her masters commanded. She was not a princess waiting for a knight to save her, accepting her fate and powerless to do anything about it.
No, she was no Southern bird. She was of the North, of ice and snow. And Winter Was Coming.
She turned her back on the Capital and began to run.
'I am the Red Wolf. I am Sansa Stark. And I am going home.'
~MC~MC~MC~
Author's Notes: And welcome to the greatest case of totally changing plotting plans!
So the original plan for the end of the Night's Queen arc in this story (in a Sandor POV) had her and Sandor watching Tywin give Joffrey a verbal beating when he whined about breaking off the betrothal to Night's Queen Sansa (Nightsa, if you will), then doing the scene we saw her where she tricks him into thinking she is Joanna. She would have then gone to gloat with Sandor that she was in full control only for the final moments to see Lady lick her fingers, resurrected as a wight… but what Nightsa didn't realize was that the wight was controlled by Sansa herself. This would have paid off in Book 4 (yes, the original plan was for Sansa to be trapped for all of Book 3) when Sansa and the Night's Queen were finally separated. I won't reveal how as I might still do a variation of what my original plans for Sansa were.
But then as I was thinking about how to end this book I was suddenly struck with the image of Sansa, warged into Lady's resurrected body (and no, Lady is NOT a wight… Sansa managed somehow not to just merely warg but to do the resurrection spell that brought Beric back), looking down at King's Landing and declaring "I am the Red Wolf. I am Sansa Stark. And I am going home."
Now, it gets even better because originally we STILL were going to get the Sandor chapter, just without the Joanna reveal as it had been moved here. But as I thought about it more and more I realized that was just me being greedy and wanting one more scene in this book of someone verbally bitchslapping Joffrey. And with moving the Joanna scene there was no need for it to exist. Thus I moved the Sansa POV here, which actually works better because it will create some interesting dramatic irony in an upcoming chapter.
Also, and I didn't do this on purpose but I find it funny all the same, all of you were so convinced Arya would be Wolfsbane and Sansa the Phoenix because of their actresses. And yet now we see Sansa as the closest to being Wolfsbane in this series? Is she Wolfsbane? No… she can't transform back to human. But in the future… well, that will depend on if I stick with my original plan or go in the new direction for Sansa's final scenes in Book 4.
On to other things! So, the amount of research I do for this story amazes me at times. For example, figuring out exactly how one would dry signatures in olden times (the poor blew. The rich used fine ash). I also researched the size of King's Landing along with how fast a wolf can run to figure out roughly how many hours it would take Sansa turn get a league away from the city.
The big reveal that is going to be forgotten in the reveal concerning Sansa is that Jon is headed for King's Landing. Yes, he won't know about it this book but he and Natasha are headed to the Capital and that is opening all sorts of possibilities. We never got to see Jon interact with Tywin and only saw him have a few moments with Cersei. But now we will get to see Jon… a Jon who knows the truth of who he is, visit the city his ancestors built… and then killed his family in.
And of course there is the reveal that, thanks to Mystique's actions, now the Lannisters truly think Jaime is dead. Which will greatly change events in Book 3.
For those curious how Nightsa knew all that Joanna did, if you reread Sandor's chapters you'll find that Nightsa invited an old servant who served Joanna to talk with her. THAT'S how she learned.