Chapter 27 – The 30th day of July, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest

Tywin Lannister stood in the awning cavern, with only the steady sloshing of the waves as company.

The raven had arrived three days earlier, the same day they heard of Jaime's army reaching the Mander. That one day could serve up two pieces of good fortune had left Tywin suspicious, but he was in no position to complain, nor to turn away such an opportunity. A score of guards were concealed in the passageway behind him, but the Lord of the Westerlands stood alone by the small pier. The Rock had grown crowded as of late, as the finer people of Lannisport begged safety from their lord, but even its capacity to resist siege was not without limit. For every one he accepted, ten or twenty others were turned away. Those without 'Lannister' in their name were few, unless they were fighting men.

The servants had been busy reopening chambers that had been sealed for decades, clearing away the dust and vermin and making them fit for human habitation once more. Carts loaded with grain and meat and fish arrived at all hours of the day and night, enough to keep five thousand people fed for many months, even years. Scorpions and catapults dotted high ledges, positioned over every entrance. Up above, septons, knights and highborn ladies were bunking down in corridors and staircases, but tonight the lion's mouth had been emptied of all others.

He stood and waited. The Hour of Ghosts had been the agreed time, but Tywin had come down with the Hour of the Bat. It was rare that he waited on someone. It may have been decades since the reverse had been true. Since Aerys most like. He wondered what the Mad King would have made of the world today. Aerys had been hearing voices by the end of it, but now they lived in a world of magic rings and flying men. Perhaps we are all mad now.

Tywin was almost lost in thought when he heard a shout, and turned to watch as a sturdy longboat nosed its way into the cavern. The Greyjoy banner was furled, but the Ironborn were unmistakable in their armor. Two rows of oars dipped in and out of the water slowly, pushing off the rocks where needed. By the bow stood a tall figure, fully armored, with a kraken engraved on his chest and a cloak of gold cloth draped over his shoulders. Tywin stood rigid as the oarmaster steered the ship into position and a gangplank was lowered.

The tall figure exited his vessel, leaving his crew behind. Tywin stood a few steps up from the end of the pier, yet the figure was tall enough they were approximately level. He paused three steps away.

"Lannister" he said after a pregnant pause.

"Greyjoy" Tywin replied.

The figure raised his helm with a gauntleted hand, revealing a weathered face. They had not met since his brother's rebellion, and his hair was now flecked with grey, but Tywin could not fail to recognize the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet. He looked around the cavern with what may have been mild interest.

"A pity, I wished dearly to plunder this place."

"The gods would not smile on such an endeavor" Tywin replied.

Another moment's silence.

"You proposed a meeting" Tywin said. "Let us not delay. What terms do you offer?"

Victarion's face barely changed. A lesser man would have thought it stayed neutral, but Tywin had been reading men's faces since he was half a boy. This one is nervous he saw, despite all his bravado.

"The Ironborn will never bow to Stannis…nor to your pretender" Victarion answered. "My brother bent the knee once, but never again. The Iron Throne will renounce all fealty owed by the Iron Islands…including Fair Isle. It is one of the Iron Islands now."

Victarion paused a moment. Tywin's lip curled, but it was not yet the time to speak. The Iron Captain went on.

"In return, we will destroy the royal fleet when it arrives."

Tywin thought on this, stretching out the moment. "And what of your raiders along the coast? The holdfasts you have seized?"

"We have no interest in your green lands" Victarion replied, practically spitting the words. "Our longships will go elsewhere."

"And where will they go?"

Victarion cracked a broad smile now. "Wherever the sound of breaking waves can be heard. North? South? East? We shall raid where we will, as it was in the days of old, but your lands shall remain untouched. Once we are free, my brother will offer terms of alliance."

Tywin kept his face neutral in turn. He glanced a moment around the cavern. "The Rock has never fallen by storm or siege. Not in thousands of years. Not since Lann himself…If you can break the royal fleet, we can break Stannis." He looked back at Victarion. "An alliance would benefit both of us."

Victarion gave the tiniest of nods, then spat on the floor. "It was my brother's notion, not mine, if truth be told. I would be tempted to let Stannis finish you off."

"Then you would stand alone if we fell."

"We have stood alone before."

"Yes, when Westeros was a hundred kingdoms, but not when it was seven, let alone one."

Victarion did not reply straight away. His expression was one of barely concealed loathing, but Tywin could almost see the cogs turning slowly in his head.

"The best alliance is one strengthened with marriage…" The Lord Captain said slowly. "Your pretender will need a strong husband beside her."

Tywin scoffed at this. "Myrcella will have a strong husband, but my bannermen will never accept an Ironborn king. Had you offered her your fealty, such a thing may have been possible. I would have made you our Master of Ships, had you so demanded."

"Our alliance requires a Lannister daughter" Victarion said, in no tone now to brook argument.

Tywin thought on this another moment. Half a score of possible candidates came to him, but only one might truly serve. "My favorite niece, Joy, daughter of my late brother Gerion."

Victarion cocked his head. "Joy Lannister?"

"Joy Hill, though she has been nobly raised."

It was Victarion's turn to scoff. "I ask for a queen, and you offer a bastard?"

"Bastards can be legitimized. She is a sweet girl, most fair to look upon, and dear to our hearts."

Victarion was frowning now. "Have you no trueborn daughters to offer?"

"Lannister daughters are famed for their beauty. Most are wed as soon as they are flowered. You can have Joy, or you shall have nothing."

Victarion seemed to think on this a moment. "Very well. She shall come to Pyke, as our ward, but it is not enough. Another marriage…my niece Asha, she is unruly, dressing and going about like a man. She will need a strong husband to tame her and get her with child."

Tywin considered this too. "House Lannister has more sons. Ser Devan is unmarried, or Ser Lucion, both nephews of mine."

"You talk in vague terms, old lion" Victarion said, with a wave of his hand. He stepped away and took a moment to look around the cavern himself. For a moment he seemed to be considering a matter most deeply. "One more marriage then, to ensure the pact is sealed."

Tywin simply waited for him to speak.

"Your daughter, the queen…I will have her" he said bluntly.

Tywin nearly smiled. Just as lusty as Robert this one, and twice as stupid. "I cannot speak for the queen regent at this time…" he said, with measured caution. "Certainly, if you can relieve her of her imprisonment, Lord Captain, you can make your proposal to her. Present her with the heads of her captors, and no doubt she will be suitably grateful."

Victarion stared at him a moment, then nodded slowly. "Three wives have I had, and none have been able to bear me sons. Your daughter is fertile at least, and comely, so they say."

"The most beautiful woman in all the land, certainly."

"Then I will serve her the head of Stannis Baratheon at our wedding." Victarion's nodding doubled. "Very well then, Lannister. Three marriages we shall see, so the kraken may wed the lion."

"If you can succeed, Lord Captain" Tywin pointed out. "First, the Royal Fleet. Serve me the head of Imry Florent, and you will have our alliance."

There was some more discussion of the terms, before the Ironborn slipped away as quietly as they had come. Tywin ascended back up the stairs. His knees were aching before they passed the Stone Garden. His father's heart had popped ascending these very steps, he knew. He had already outlived him by another ten years, but it was never far from his mind these days. If the Gods should strike me down the same…what would happen to Myrcella? To House Lannister? Any one of a thousand servants or guards would happily have aided him, or carried him outright, but Tywin would never beg of such, not if he made it to a hundred.

The Hall of Heroes was barely recognizable. Most of the treasures had already been packed away in a lower cavern, under close guard. Two score knights and their retinues had taken it for their chambers. Men practically leapt to their feet to watch him pass, and silence followed him everywhere. He had almost crossed the room when he heard hurried footsteps. He turned to see the Banefort squire rushing over to him, panting sightly. The boy took a knee.

"Pardon my lord, a party just arrived at the north gate." He looked around the room a moment, lowering his voice. "Your son is with them."

For a moment Tywin was thrown. "Jaime?" he asked.

"Tyrion, my lord. He has returned from…" the boy trailed away. Around them, Tywin's guards had stopped, exchanging nervous glances. Even the barest mention of 'flying men' or the 'Stranger's Ring' was dangerous now.

Tywin composed himself at once. "Take me to him."

More flights of steps. Endless tunnels and halls. A sea of fearful eyes. It might have been the Hour of the Wolf before Tywin came across the party. The Captain of the Gate had shown them to the nearby kitchens. Guards sat on neighboring tables, eyeing the party warily, as if afraid to get too close. There, to Tywin's mild disbelief, Tyrion and his sellsword sat, chatting away happily and sipping tankards of ale, while the simple lad Kevan had picked out as his squire sat off to the side, listening as if just another spectator. Everyone in the room turned and jumped to their feet when Tywin entered.

Tywin paused, looking over the trio closely. Tyrion waddled forward a few steps and gave a clumsy bow. "Father" he said. The silence was pregnant.

"Out, all of you" Tywin commanded, without so much as glancing at the guards. There was the scraping of chairs and shuffling of footsteps as they hastened to obey. Tyrion waved away his companions. The captain was the last to shut the door. Father and son stood in the room, lit by a few torches and a crackling fire in the hearth.

"Tyrion" Tywin said. He looked his progeny up and down. He wore much the same garments as he'd left in. No hint of the devices of the flying men on his person. That was good. He had feared Tyrion would return in their garb, dancing to the Stranger's tune. Seduced by them as if by another common whore. "You have returned."

Tyrion cocked his head oddly. "Yes, father. Rest assured; I did not return from the dead…like Robert."

Tywin frowned, not entirely sure if his son was japing or not. The truth of what exactly had befallen Robert Baratheon was something he had pondered for months now. That someone had told him those disgusting lies about his grandchildren was one thing. Whether the Stranger's Servants had the power to do what the High Septon and Ser Baelor thought they could was quite another.

"They returned you here?" he asked, meaning the flying men, though it was hardly a question. Tyrion's garb was perfectly clean. He had made no lengthy journey, and no horse could cross a thousand miles in an afternoon.

"They flew me, yes. Dropped me off just before sunset, some miles north of the Rock" Tyrion replied, sounding faintly apologetic.

"Ser Baelor will not be pleased, nor Septon Eldron. They will see you and your companions anointed in the Seven Oils, to cleanse you of your…impurity."

Tyrion nodded. "I expect nothing less from our friends of the faith" he said, his tone almost respectful. "But my trip has been nothing if not productive. I have argued passionately for Myrcella's cause. So well, in fact, the flying men seemed rather keen to be rid of me. Stannis certainly was. I am told he demanded my expulsion, or failing that, my head. They wouldn't give him that, nor my tongue, and the only place acceptable for them to send me back was the Rock."

"The Dark Lord will be here in days" Tywin warned darkly. "Pray tell me you have some device or knowledge of use for us?"

Tyrion nodded. "Why yes father. I believe I do. Pray tell me, do you recall the note Myrcella passed to us after her escape?"

Tywin frowned. "Concerning this...gunpowder?"

"Yes. Have you made any progress on conjuring this substance?"

Tywin frowned again now. "I sent ravens even before we departed King's Landing, with instructions for men to start gathering the ingredients. The charcoal was easy enough, it is found in every hearth. We knew of sulfur at a few places. At Nunn's Deep, and in the Pendric Hills where there are hot springs. The maesters use it in their healings. Hundreds of men are out there mining it. I have told them it is more valuable than gold or silver. Then there's the nitre, this saltpeter. It is less common, but found in caves, of which we have plenty. We even scraped some off the walls here in the Rock. Maester Creylen has been overseeing our efforts. He mixes the ingredients together. He has been able to burn them, but I cannot say he has produced anything of use…"

Tyrion gave a little smile now, bordering on a smirk. "That is good to hear father, I prayed you would not be idle. But Maester Creylen does not know how to mix the ingredients properly. First they must be dried, and ground down into a fine powder. I can provide instructions."

"And how do you know this?"

Tyrion gave a little laugh. "Because the world of the flying men is brimming with knowledge. Something as simple as this is quite impossible to keep a secret. Oh, my hosts had their suspicions of course. They took certain precautions, refusing to allow us to take any books or scrolls back through the Ring…Fortunately, even they cannot take what is already in here." His dwarf son tapped the side of his head, giving an evil grin.

Tyrion turned around and picked up his tankard of ale again. He reached for the one that had been Bronn's and handed it to Tywin, who took it without comment. Tyrion reached up as high as he could and managed to clink the two glasses together. "A toast father, please. To my safe return". He took a deep swill and wiped his mouth "and to the Stranger's fire!"

"You can do this?" Tywin asked, skeptical.

"I am quite sure of it, if you give me some time."

"We have very little time Tyrion, and there are those in the Rock that fear our efforts. Ser Baelor has already objected, accusing me of dabbling in vile sorcery."

"With all due respect to Ser Baelor, perhaps we must explain to him if we are to have any hope of beating Stannis, it will be by using the knowledge of the flying men against him."

"He will be thrilled at that notion" Tywin replied.

"Them let him think elsewise" Tyrion said, lowering his voice a little. "Call it inspiration. A fresh vision from the Smith, coming to our aid. One way or another, we will need new weapons. Who knows what devices the flying men have already bestowed on Stannis?

Tywin considered this a moment.

"If what you say is the truth, you should wake the maester and set to work at once."

"That I will do, father. If you will excuse me."

Tyrion drained his cup, gave another little bow, and within moments was waddling from the room, calling for his squire. The door opened and he disappeared. For a moment a torch cast his shadow up on the wall, magnified to the size of a regular man, and then it too was gone. Tywin stood there a minute longer. Despite himself, he looked down at the tankard he was still holding. He lifted it to his lips, did take a drink, put it down, and followed his son from the room.

His guards reformed around him wordlessly as he headed back along the corridor. His thoughts should have been full of plans and preparations, of Stannis, of the flying men, of the faith and the Ironborn, of Jaime and Highgarden and the hundred other things that could turn calamity in the coming days. But the only thing aching more than his knees at that moment might have been his head. He had been surviving on three or four hours sleep a night, even less than he was used to.

The Lord of the Westerlands had just reached the correct set of stairs when, well behind him, he couldn't help but hear the sellsword's voice echoing down the passage.

"Honest lads, you would not believe Melbourne till you have been there…By day the city shines of steel and glass…At night it glitters like a million candles…They ride in horseless carriages and great flying boats and talk through magic mirrors…Every man lives in a palace, every meal is a feast, and every woman is a whore…"