Tywin

The Hand of the King awoke as he always did: flat on his back, on the right side of his great bed, his sheets smooth with hardly a wrinkle. Years of practice and discipline saw him not roll about or toss and turn as he freed himself from sleep; Tywin Lannister merely opened his eyes like a corpse suddenly reanimated. Some might have thought it had something to do with his stern personality but it was more practical than that: when one slept on a battlefield the quieter he was meant he was the last to be stabbed in their sleep. Tywin could feel the sun on his face and his next action would have startled even those that claimed to be close to him, for it was so unlike the powerful and stern man they knew.

Tywin smiled.

Then, as he always did ever morning, he turned his head to the left… and stared at the young woman that laid beside him.

Joanna.

And his smile remained for a few moments more.

She looked so very different from how he always saw her in his mind's eyes but that was to be expected. After all, she had done the impossible and fought her way back from the afterlive to return to him. She had beaten the Stranger after finding that the Seven Heavens simply couldn't compare to a life in Westeros with her family, with him. Anyone would have gained scars from such a feat so the fact that all she had to show for such a battle was a different face was a compliment to her strength and will.

Joanna thought it funny how he hesitated sometimes when they were together, how he would suddenly become, in her own words, 'more shy than you were on our wedding day'. He of course scoffed at that; he wasn't shy. Not him. He was merely considering who she was now, taking her in. It still felt a bit wrong for him to be with her like this, for he had bound himself to her mind, body, and soul in front of the Seven in the Sept at Casterly Rock. Yet now it was only her mind and soul that he could say remained to him and it felt like visiting a whore to see her during their lovemaking twist and gasping for air while wearing the face of Eddard Stark's daughter.

She'd found that even more amusing.

"So many men grow tired of their wives and seek out something different and unique," she'd told him once over dinner when the subject had come up again. "It is why the whore houses that manage to find exotic beauties are the ones that get the most coin. Men grow tired of the now and seek out new adventures."

"I am not most men," he had stated firmly.

"Other men see their wives grow stout with moles popping up in the most hideous of places and feel their lust curdle. They see the wrinkles that form and how the hair begins to turn white and fall out like their lady wives are becoming onions and they wish that they had never been saddled with such a creature. And if the gods suddenly came to them and told them they could have their wives made fresh and young again they would give up all they had just for such a miracle."

"I am not most men," he had repeated.

He sat up carefully, sliding out of bed so he didn't wake her. He had always been an early riser and while she wasn't one to lie under the thin sheets until the sun was halfway across the sky she had never gotten used to his early hours and out of respect for her he'd always been careful when waking up so he didn't disturb her. Quietly making his way over to a chair he looked out and saw that the dawn hadn't truly broken yet. He considered lighting a candle and continuing with the book he had been reading the day before hand. It a large book that one needed to sit at a great table to read for it was simply too heavy to comfortably place in a lap. And it was dense too… not for a casual reader looking for something to take their minds off the problems of the world.

Grand Maester Malleon's The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms.

'The damn book that started this ludicrous war,' he thought with a touch of bitterness, looking towards the tome in question.

Tywin had first thought that it had been Tyrion who had requested the book for the lecherous little man had actually, for once, obeyed his father's command and not brought a single whore into the Tower of the Hand. In fact according to his spies Tyrion had surprised him and not seen a whore since they'd gotten the news of Jaime's capture, let alone disgrace the Tower with one's presence. He hadn't demanded the ugly little creature not see a whore, as he had thought that was far too much; once more Tyrion had surprised him. It was clear from his handling of King's Landing that pulling away from such wasteful endeavors allowed him to better handle tasks, just as Tywin had always believed when it came to any man that gave into their vices, and he'd assumed that Tyrion had sought out the book for some purpose. Alliance making perhaps or to try and discover if there was an heir to the Starks connected with the South outside of Antony and Ned Stark's bastard that they could use.

But Pycelle had informed him that the book had remained in the main room of the Tower for quite some time, before Tyrion had arrived in fact. It had been Stark who had asked for it and that had puzzled Tywin until Pycelle revealed that Jon Arryn had also read the book and that was the reason why Eddard had requested it.

'This is the book that made Jon Arryn believe that Cersei cuckold Robert,' he thought to himself in annoyance. 'Stannis and Eddard and Renly all claimed their crowns because of that thing. Without its existence they would have bent the knee to Joffrey and none of this would have happened!'

'Or,' a dark little voice whispered, 'until that failure Cersei created did something truly stupid.'

He wanted to burn the book. He wanted to rid the world of it and then Tywin wanted to find the bones of Grand Maester Malleon and rip them from whatever crypt or grave they had been placed in and toss them into the sea to be lost among the current.

But as with so many things in his life Tywin Lannister took hold of such foolish impulses within his hand and tightened his fingers until he crushed them into nothingness. Others controlled their impulses but were never rid of them, not truly. They merely reined them in like a snorting horse that did not want to take a saddle. Tywin broke his impulses like one should properly break a mount, so that he was in full control of them.

'The book isn't the problem nor what it contains. It is the meaning that some have gleamed from it.' And Tywin knew that with such things it was only a matter of effort to find a way to bring forth new understand. New conclusions. The book had started the filthy rumors about his family then it could also utterly destroy them. He merely needed to seek them out.

Thus he'd started with every marriage between a Baratheon and a Lannister. He'd first gone through all of the Lannister men who had taken a Baratheon bride, assuming that the likes of Eddard Stark would have only looked for male Baratheons mingling with ladies of House Lannister. But when that had only shown that upon the rare times that the Lion mingled with the Doe the children always favor the Stormlander he had tried Stags and Lionesses.

The same result.

Other men would have given up at that point and begun to question their family to see what lies they had been told. Not Tywin. He had begun to look at offshoots of the Lannisters, those that had founded minor houses and if their wives and husbands had in turn been from minor houses of the Baratheons. He'd also made a list of other Great Families who had defining traits to see if ever the Lannister blood won out with them or if attributes ever overrode the Baratheon ones. And if then he found certain family traits rarely bred true try and find cases where they did; already he was considering the fact that save for his youngest daughter and his bastard none of Ned Stark's children took after him. None would ever claim that Lady Catelyn Stark had cuckold her husband; only Cersei would be so stupid, like how she had suggested to Tyrion they claim Shireen wasn't Stannis' child. It was madness… they would need Shireen wedded to a Lannister to secure Storm's End seeing as Tommen would be Tywin's heir, so calling her a bastard wouldn't do.

Secondly… he'd heard the stories of what Jane Seaworth could do and had no desire to taunt fate.

This was the project he considered returning to as he sat in his chair but he ended up deciding against it. Such work needed a clear mind and Tywin didn't have that at the moment. Looking out the window and seeing the sky turning orange and purple where before it had been black was enough to show that he was losing track of time and thus couldn't focus on his research.

So instead he gazed at Joanna.

She looked older now than the Stark girl should have been… older than when she'd revealed herself to him now that he thought about it. 'She had looked to be a woman barely removed from her childhood but now she is truly grown,' he thought to himself. The red hair of the Tullys had completely disappeared, leaving her with white locks that bordered on the silver of the Targaryen. Her eyes had also lightened so that they were like a crack of blue lightning on a stormy sea. The clumsiness of youth had left her but the slowness of old age hadn't yet fallen upon her as it would have had she not been taken from him in the birthing bed, leaving instead only the grace that the Lady of the Rock should have. Her features were sharper, her pale skin only highlighting her strong cheekbones and long elegant swan-like neck. 'She isn't the woman I married but she isn't Sansa Stark either.' He shook his head. 'And that is a relief.' He could not stand the thought of bedding a child like some of the lecherous lords desired. 'There are enough tales about the disgusting nature of my family that I do not need to be accused of lusting after babes. Though… there would be enough gossip should it be learned that I am sharing a bed with a child promised to my grandson.'

That was the most frustrating thing for Tywin, that he couldn't reveal Joanna's return to the world. It was one of the rare times that he had needed her to talk him out of a rash action.

"No matter how you state it the smallfolk won't understand," she'd told him. "Their minds are too small and too prone to accepting the most vile and disgusting of rumors. No, we must keep this hidden, my lord husband, until the time is right."

He was pulled from the memory when the women in question rose up, a slight smile forming on her lips. "You are staring again. You know that you can do more than that to awaken me."

Tywin merely looked at her, arching an eyebrow in response.

"Of course that would be a bit too much for you, wouldn't it?" she said teasingly. "The Lord of Casterly Rock is not a man to indulge in such manic passions. Just like he can not show a sliver of kindness, of caring, of humor or joy. He is as cold as the gold that lines his vaults."

"You're mocking me," he said dryly.

"I am mocking the image the world has of you," Joanna told him as she freed herself from the bed and made her way to the Essosi changing divider. He honestly didn't understand why she needed it as she slept in the nude and had no qualms about slinking through their chambers without a hint of modesty. Through it Tywin could see her silhouette, every shapely curse in perfect definition as she dipped her hands into the cool water basin and began to wash the sweat of sleep from her form. "If you have become the mask that you present to the world then it is your own fault that you are mocked."

Tywin merely let out a scoff at that and began to dress himself. He had never been able to beat her when it came to a battle of witty words. She was the only person in all of existence that made him feel stupid. He glanced over at her and saw that Joanna taking her time preparing for the day, carefully soaking a cloth into the basin and running it up and down every inch of her body. She was trying to tempt him but Tywin had control of all his emotions, including his desires, and would only unleash them when he knew the time was right. So as his wife's shadow raised her leg up and began to slowly slide the damp cloth up and down her calf he dressed himself with steady hands.

After a short but filling breakfast consisting of sausage patties, several nut-flavored muffins, and an assortment of fruit, he'd left Joanna in the care of Clegane and made his way down to the bottom of the tower where he kept his offices.

Most people assumed that the Hand of the King did all his business at the top of the Tower, so they might overlook the Capital and all that dwelled within. And he knew that was true for most hands. Jon Arryn had utilized the highest levels of the tower as he was far more familiar with ruling above the clouds and even the Red Keep with is soaring towers could not match the Eryie. Ned Stark had simply continued on as Jon Arryn had, though Tywin suspected that was more Robert's doing; Stark was an uncomplicated man who did not need grand edifices to feel powerful. No, Tywin suspected that had he been given a choice Eddard would have worked out of a one of the Red Keep's more basic rooms, closer to the people and all that Northern ideals. As for Tyrion he had ruled that making the rooms his own was foolish for there was simply too much to do for him to focus on redecorating. Thus he had made do with Stark's choices and several of the servants had revealed that Tyrion hadn't found time to rid the tower of Eddard's personal possessions that had been left since his capture and escape. That had explained why he'd found several vests that were too large for him with the direwolf sigil sewn onto them.

But when Tywin had been Hand of the King under Aerys he had never kept a single level as where he performed his duties. Rather he moved up and down the tower as the seasons changed, climbing upwards as the days had grown colder and descending to flee the heat as Spring and Summer had come upon them. He knew that in a year or two he'd need to see about moving back up to the highest levels but for now he had chosen the third level to hold court and council in his duties as Hand.

The morning was spent dealing with the little matters that were rarely spoken of in the Maesters chronicles. Lords with petty disputes or seeking favors, shop keeps and merchants begging for royal favor, the approval of budgets for the many Heads of Staff that filled the Red Keep. All of these were carefully gone over by him (he had yet to select a team of servants that he could assist him) to ensure that no trickery was being performed before they received his seal of approval. Most would have seen it as tedious work but for Tywin it was satisfying because it proved that King's Landing and the lands the Crown still controlled were returning with some semblance of order. Men fearing how they would feed their families did not worry about tolls upon their roads or approval to clear trees that bordered the Kingswood. A plea from a Reach merchant for compensation after a caravan of his had been destroyed and ransacked. The more petty and minor the issue the more it showed Tywin that things were returning to normal after the bloodshed.

Though not fully, considering how small the stack was compared to how it had been during his time with Aerys.

Only the Crownlands, Westerlands, and Reach were sending him petitions and requests. The North and the Riverlands were directing their messages to Riverrun and Winterfell, so that the newly crowned King In The North could make his decision known. It was a reminder that the war was not done but rather had entered a standoff that Tywin was ill pleased with. Standoffs had never worked out well for him… the Defiance of Duskendale being the prime example.

The Vale was quiet too, with only a few messages coming from Lady Lysa Arryn. He still wasn't sure what to make of that woman; it hadn't been just Cersei but all his children who had complained that she wasn't right in the head. Robert as well, if Tywin was remembering correctly. It spoke of dark things when those four were in agreement about something. Baelish had been petitioning to go and see her, to bring her into the fold, but Tywin was not ready to let the Master of Coin leave his sight. Only he knew that the 'Magician of Gold' was just another mummer who had fed Robert's gluttony by borrowing from all he could find. That was why he'd refused to send him to Braavos, choosing to have Antony deal with the Iron Bank, and why he now chose to send other envoys to The Vale to determine what Lysa Arryn was up to. No… Baelish would remain where Tywin could watch him.

Dorne and the Iron Islands were quiet as well but that was to be expected because they rarely spoke with King's Landing. Both believed that it was better to ask for forgiveness than approval and thus what messages he received from them usually involved figuring out just how to make restitutions for the laws they broke.

Then there were the Stormlands.

'They are the most concerning,' he thought to himself, selecting a report from Varys and reading it over. 'Stannis has disappeared but his men continue to rally to the cause, refusing to submit even after the disaster of the Battle of Blackwater. Only now they fly a new sigil…' He looked at the drawing one of Varys' Little Birds had sketched out: A short handled hammer with a lightning bolt of either side. 'Varys says he's heard whispers that a second of the New Gods has appeared in the Stormlands: the Stranger. But he no longer hides his face and proclaims that the men must hold their ancestral homes till 'the Storm Queen returns'.' Tywin scoffed at that. 'Storm Queen… Jane Seaworth has proven more ambitious than I ever expected.' Stannis was not a man to be enthralled by a woman, especially not a common-born one. And while Jane Seaworth was a beauty despite her origins it was her mind that was far more impressive. 'Stannis is dead and she has claimed Shireen and is using her as a means to hold her crown.' Tywin tapped his quill against the edge of his desk lightly. "She's forming not a court but a cult," he finally muttered to himself. "The Warrior and now The Stranger. Stannis fell in with the Red Priestess and Jane Seaworth played upon those that longed for a return to the Seven." He could imagine it well… she would find people that could play the roles of the New Gods and claim that she communed with them… perhaps even try and claim a spot as one of them. Essos had seen plenty of frauds claim to be gods descended from the Heavens why not with the Faith of the Seven?

He took out another piece of parchment and made scrawled off a quick note before ringing for Ser Podrik Payne. Tyrion's former squire now worked for him, having chosen to remain in Westeros and not follow Tywin's son to Essos, and had proven quite good at delivering and receiving messages. The boy knew when to be bold but more often knew when to be quiet.

"Yes milday?" Podrik asked, bowing his head.

Tywin held out the note. "Take this to the Sept of Baelor. I wish to speak with the High Septon on some matters." He needed to make sure that the Faithful knew to declare 'Queen Jane' a blasphemer and not side with her as a prophet.

But Podrik didn't take the message. "Begging your pardon, my lord, but there is still no High Septon."

Tywin frowned. "They still haven't decided? I was informed that Septon Frill had been selected." And by 'informed' he meant that he'd had his agents whisper in the right ears that the crown would be most pleased if Frill were selected.

"Septon Frill nearly won and would have with another round of voting… but my lord… he's disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Tywin repeated.

"Yes. And now there is new debate amongst the Most Devout. Some wish to wait till Frill is found but others argue he is dead and a new vote must be held. Septon Willum is a possible candidate as is another… one known as the Sparrow."

Tywin bit back a curse. Just what he needed. Frill was placid and easy to control; Willum was a bastard of House Stryker and was a zealot who made Stannis look like Tyrion. And now a new player? It gave him a headache just to think of it. "Very well… then find whoever is at least overseeing the Sept of Baelor and let THEM know I wish to see them."

"Of course, my lord," Podrik said, taking the note and hurrying out of the room… only to return moments later.

"Is there a problem?"

"No my lord. Or yes my lord. Ser Adrian of the Tombs has arrived to see you."

It took him a moment to remember who the man was but when he did he gave the slightest of nods. "I will see him now." Ser Adrian had been one of the men sent off on Joffrey's follies to seek out lost treasures and items of legend because the King was a child. And he had the imagination of one and believed that just because there was a flying knight harassing criminals throughout Westeros that meant that every washer woman's tale must be true. Tywin had been recalling them all back to King's Landing to recoup the cost but Ser Adrian had been an interesting case as he'd been approached about the man by the Tyrells before he'd learned of Joffrey's wasteful endeavors. In fact it had been the conversation about Ser Adrian that had first alerted Tywin to how his grandson was flittering away more gold dragons on useless things.

The Tyrells. While he didn't hold Cersei's unbridled hatred for them and saw the uses the family had… it did not mean that he trusted them. Mace Tyrell was a buffoon… or portrayed himself as much. Tywin had encountered plenty of people who chose to present themselves in certain ways in order to lull their enemies and their allies into false senses of security. Antony Stark had perfected the guise of a flippant wasteful Lord but Tywin had seen the man working out contracts and settling disputes among the smallfolk of Iron Pointe. And he'd also been able to look over the incomes and spending of Antony's lands and knew that for all his love of parties he was cagey when it came to stockpiling coin. The same was true of Mace Tyrell in his opinion; the man had realized early in life that people saw him as a fool so he played up that persona so that no one ever realized that he was shifting them into positions that he desired.

It had been Mace Tyrell that had wisely decided to siege Storm's End rather than attack it, ensuring no loss of life on either side. Tywin's personal spies had reported that near the end of the siege Mace had ordered an increase in supplies, especially in basic staples like salted beef and preserved fruits. Such things were not needed… unlessthe Lord of Highgarden had been prepared to allow 'theft' to occur that would see the supplies reach Stannis. Which was wise as that would have allowed Mace to ensure the survival of his House had Davos Seaworth not gotten involved. Much as Tywin himself had done the Tyrells had carefully positioned themselves so that no matter who won they would not face extinction. Should Aerys have managed to slay Robert, Eddard, and Jon Arryn then Mace would have gone in, killed Stannis and Renly, and been hailed a hero. And when things had gone about as they had he was able to apologize to Robert, point out that no one of importance actually died because of the Siege, and only have to deal with Stannis grinding his teeth.

So when Mace Tyrell had come to him requesting his help in ending the mission Ser Adrian was on Tywin had politely agreed… and then begun to silently inquire about the Man of The Tombs to find out why he was so special.

'Because if all the Tyrells care about is that gaudy crypt of theirs then they are all the buffoons the rest of Westeros sees them to be.'

Mace had claimed that Ser Adrian might give him some problems when he returned to King's Landing, claiming that the man had a 'wander lust' that caused him to be unable to remain in one place for long and was prone to be outspoken when it came to personal grudges. But the figure that entered the room did not storm in red of face and snorting like a bull. Nor was there the swagger that some, such as Baelish or Cersei, would have come with. No, Ser Adrian entered with quiet calmness, dressed in basic leathers and carrying some rolled up parchment.

"Lord Lannister," Ser Adrian said politely, bowing a respectable amount. Not so low to appear to be bootlick but not so shortly that it was disrespectful. "I apologize for the delay in my arrival. I had wished to return a month sooner." Tywin without a word motioned for him to sit. "My men and I had already set out and were five days ride from our camp in the Red Mountains when we'd learned in a small village that your messenger had ridden to find us. We turned around at once to try and intercept him but the Gods were cruel… I am sorry to say he is dead."

That was unexpected. "Dead? How?"

"A fall," Ser Adrian said. "The Red Mountains are a tricky place, especially when you get into the caverns. A wrong turn and you find yourself plummeting. Brice, one of the men in my party, discovered his body and we spent a day trying to safely retrieve it but I am sorry to say that we were unable to do so, as the risk was too great for us."

"That explains a week's delay, not a month's," Tywin stated.

Ser Adrian's face twisted. "Trekking through the Crownlands was not as easy as I had hoped, for there were some pockets of Renly Loyalists that we had to deal with. They are dead… the heads were left with local lords, if there is a reward for them."

"There won't be," Tywin said, looking down at a scroll that had been left for him concerning the costs still owed to some bakers for refreshments for Joffrey's last nameday. Waste. Waste and more waste. "All of the high lords turned their cloaks for Stannis after Renly's plot with the Iron Born was discovered." And what madness that had been, to so alienate his Reach allies by siding with their enemies. It would have been like a Lord brazenly walking up to Robert and proclaiming they were a Targaryen Loyalist. "All that remains are the rabble that were barely above bandits before all of this madness."

Ser Adrian merely shrugged. "I thought as much but it never hurts to ask." He paused for a moment, licking his lips. "And then there is the Vulture King."

"The Vulture King?" Tywin asked.

Ser Adrian shifted. "I know how it sounds, my lord-"

"No, I do believe you," Tywin said wearily, massaging his left temple. "With how many times some fool has taken up the mantle of the Vulture King I am only surprised it has taken so long for some bandit to take up the title in order to use the chaos of our current times to their advantage." He leaned back in his chair, considering the problem. The Vulture King had become something of a legacy that wasn't so much passed down but claimed. Like a Valyrian Steel Sword that kept disappearing throughout history only to reappear during times of strife with a new bearer. A Vulture King would rise up, cause problems, and then be ground down back into the earth only for another to rise decades or even a century later. He knew that there was some debate among the Maesters of just how many Vulture Kings there truly were. Did one count every drunken brigand that declared themselves the bane of the Seven Kingdoms? Or only the ones that had attracted the attention of the Targaryen? But even those ones had seen some of their numbers rank as only minor inconveniences… "What do you know of this man?"

"Little," Ser Adrian admitted. "Only that he has been attacking caravans as they make their way towards the city. Does not target peasants moving to and from the Capital and if one has a strong enough guard he and those working for him will not attempt a strike but the slow, cumbersome columns of merchants shipping food and wares into the city are a favorite target."

Tywin reached over and began to sort through the stake of requests he'd been going through until he found one in particular. He looked at Ser Adrian, considering him for a moment, before deciding that nothing the request stated was truly private or secretive and thus he handed it over to him. "Would this fit the Vulture King's favored targets?"

The knight took the scroll and scanned it before going back over and reading it a second time. Tywin was pleased… the man understood that sometimes it was better to leave a lord waiting for the correct answer than to rush to give the wrong one.

"A shipment of Arbor Gold… yes, this would be something the Vulture King would target. Easily sellable and something he… or I suppose she… could hold onto if they feared that some noble band of warriors were hunting them."

"My thoughts as well. Food spoils. Wine only gets finer with age." Tywin took back the scroll. "The Vulture King delayed you?"

"Only because I was being careful. You must understand, my lord… only myself, two hired sellswords, a man who left the Citadel, and hired workers went to the Red Mountains. Until we were closer to King's Landing the rumors of this new Vulture King were running rampant, with the size of his group ranging from a dozen to over a hundred. I did not wish to risk our lives needlessly and so chose to not follow the Rose Road."

Tywin considered him for a long moment before finally nodding. "And of this mission the king sent you on… seeing as there are no reports of crates filled with dragon bones you clearly failed?"

"I did," Ser Adrian admitted. "I only found Queen Rhaenys bones."

The Hand of the King stared at him, lips pressing together into a tight little line. "I am not one for games, Ser Adrian. If you have something to say then say it."

"The Lord of the Hellholt moved Queen Rhaenys' body after his men shot her dragon out of the sky. She was crushed… the bones shattered in many places."

"And you are sure it was her?"

"I am. I believe that the original plan was to bring back the bones as part of some plan to get… something… from the Conqueror but for whatever reason that never happened. I only found them by following some records we discovered-"

"It doesn't matter," Tywin said, cutting the man off. "An oddity of history, that is all. You may present it to Pycelle but that will be all the Crown does in this matter."

"There isn't anything else to investigate, my lord, so I accept your choice. I did not bring the bones with me but I can provide Grand Maester Pycelle with the location of the cave."

"Do so," Tywin stated. "Now then, concerning what will be required of you next."

"I would like to remain in the city for now… attend the King's wedding as a representative for my family."

"That is acceptable," Tywin said just as a Gold Cloak hurried into the room. "What?" Tywin barked out, annoyed that he was being interrupted.

"My lord, you need to come to the throne room at once."

"And why is that?" Tywin asked even as he rose from his chair. If this was some waste of time, either on the part of the Gold Cloak or Joffrey, he would rain hellfire on everyone.

"There has been an incident at one of Littlefinger's brothels. Lannister soldiers fought with Prince of Dorne's personal household guard." The man swallowed. "The delegation from Iron Pointe was also involved. Commander Davus sought to keep things under control but the King and the Queen-Mother learned of the incident and are demanding to pass judgment now."

Tywin forced himself to remain calm. 'Of course… of course Joffrey would find a way to make a further mess of things. Or his mother.' As he thought of it that seemed more likely. She hated the Dornish, thought they were a threat to Myrcella, and thus would have seen this incident as a way to seek revenge. Perhaps even demand Myrcella's return for the Prince's freedom. Which was utterly foolish… the damn girl would most likely get Tywin's granddaughter killed through this play. And getting Jon Stark involved… the North was happy to remain entrenched where they were but if Joffrey called for another Stark to die? Madness and stupidity and more madness.

"Tell them I am coming now. Get them to postpone any judgment as long as you can. Go." The Gold Cloak nodded and Tywin made his way around his desk and towards the door before he barked, "Ser Adrian, with me."

"Yes, my lord," the knight said, quickly following. "What can I do for you? Do you need me to find someone?"

"No. Simply follow and observe. You are a man of common sense and I fear we will be lacking much of it in the throne room." He paused, considering his words before adding, "And if someone should do something stupid like draw a blade you will assist me in… settling matters."

"Yes my lord."

"Do as I command and I will find other tasks for you."

That got the man's attention and he quickly nodded. "Yes, my lord." And Tywin knew that he could rely upon the man to follow orders, at least in this instance. Because he was hungry. For recognition. For glory. For support.

And Tywin would provide it.

Because if Mace Tyrell was so interested in the man… well, then there must be something that made the man worthy of such attention.

The walk to the throne room took far too long for Tywin but when he arrived he was pleased to see that while the usually members of court were already standing about chatting with each other Joffrey and Cersei were nowhere in sight. Someone had been smart and delayed telling them that the 'prisoners' had arrived… or the King was in one of his moods where he couldn't be bothered until he was done with whatever entertainment he'd occupied himself with was finished. It didn't matter. All that mattered was Tywin was there first before his grandson could do something stupid.

He walked over to where the Small Council was standing. Varys looking about like he hadn't a care when in reality he was deciding just which conversations he'd find more about after all was done. Baelish was entertaining some older woman, most likely trying to leech another free meal. Pycelle was hunched over a table that was filled with paper and ink, ready to begin recording all that happened so he might add a third king to his records of the history of Westeros. Ser Balon Swann, newly made Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stood near the throne saying nothing as Mace Tyrell prattled on to him about something or another.

Instead of any of them Tywin chose to head to where his brother was standing, Kevan chatting with a tall muscular black man wearing the uniform and armor of the Gold Cloaks.

"Jiffsun," Tywin said simply, wasting no time with a friendly greeting. "What happened?"

The new lord commander of the Gold Cloaks proved that Kevan had been right to select him by instantly getting to the point of the matter, not bothering to stammer out greetings. Too many people thought he wanted the world to fear him. That was just foolish. Fear made people stupid and it wasted time. Tywin Lannister wanted respect, as that was a far better emotion. And Jiffusn Davus was showing him respect while remaining collected and in control.

"Prince Oberyn and his paramour, Ellaria Sand, had purchased the top floor of the Blue Oyster, a brothel owned by Lord Petyr Baelish." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small booklet of cheap parchment, a spiral of wire holding it all together and letting him to quickly flip through the pages. Seeing Tywin staring at the strange booklet the man smiled slightly. "Something quite common in the Summer Isles. It allows us to take quick notes without having to lug around scrolls or heavy tomes. I use graphite wrapped in leather, which is less messy than ink. I am requiring all my Gold Cloaks to carry them; any that can't read and write will be taught to do so. A record that all can see is better than a memory."

"Clever," Tywin admitted, shooting a glance at Kevan. His brother nodded and Tywin knew that by the next day his brother would commission more of these small booklets for their own men's use. Tywin himself was considering having one as well… it would be helpful if he needed to quickly write down information. Let it never be said the Lord of the Rock couldn't adapt. "You said Prince Oberyn. What of Prince Doran Martel?"

"Remains in Dorne, according to the Prince."

Tywin wasn't one to curse out loud but now he found himself wishing his reputation would allow him to utter a simple, "Fuck". Doran Martel was someone he could work with, for while he was cunning he also had a strong control on his emotions. Oberyn? He was cunning, intelligence, creative… and the very model of Dornish fire and passion. Put him on a Small Council where a king with a level and cool demeanor was leading things and he might actually be a grand help, balancing out the ruler. Had he been on the Council with Robert the two would have spent half their time feuding, half their time visiting whore houses, and the entire time drunk. Have him though now, with Joffrey?

'Like pouring cooking oil onto a fire,' Tywin thought grimly. 'Why did he come? He hates King's Landing after what Gregor did to his sister.'

"He was greeting his daughter and her husband, Lord Jon Stark."

Pieces instantly fell into place. Oberyn was here because of his daughter, Natasha. The only one of his children he'd ever had legitimized and, from all reports, his favorite.

Kevan chose to spoke at that moment. "I met with Tyrion's sellsword, Clynt. He stated that Lord Jon and his party were harassed at the city gate by some Lannister men." He glanced over Tywin's shoulder towards Ser Adrian.

"What my brother says next does not reach another's ears. Not if you wish to remain in my good graces."

"Yes, my lord," Ser Adrian stated.

"Go on, Kevan."

His brother dropped his voice. "I spoke with one of the survivors… they were ordered to 'greet' the party from Iron Pointe."

'Cersei,' Tywin thought bitterly. 'Damn her.' Joffrey would have merely demanded Jon Stark be marched directly to a Black Cell. No, this was his daughter's action. Out loud he said, "Is that what led to the fight?"

"Not at first," Jiffsun stated, flipping through his notes. "According to statements I got-" Tywin was impressed; normally the Gold Cloaks just arrested people and then let the lords sort it out hours or days later. Jiffsun actually believed in everything the Gold Cloaks were supposed to be, "-a group of Lannister men not connected to the soldiers at the Gate barged into Prince Oberyn's room and words were exchanged."

"And with the Dornish when words are exchanged it usually involves blades," Ser Adrian said.

Tywin glanced over his shoulder at the man but couldn't find it in himself to dismiss the knight; after all, he was only saying what they all knew was true.

"As the fight was settling down the guards from the Gate marched into the brothel and everything started up again." Jiffsun shut his booklet. "My men were summoned and when I learned who was involved I came to personally deal with it. The Lannister Soldiers must have sent a runner to the Red Keep because shortly after I arrived royal guards arrived and demanded that all involved be brought before the King, for his grace wished to handle things himself."

'In other words Cersei wanted this to happen.' He looked at Kevan and could tell that he felt the same way.

"Lord Tywin, if I may speak my mind? The Dornish and Iron Pointe party were defending themselves."

"Which means that this will be a farce at best and a disaster at worst if we don't do something," Kevan stated.

"We will do something now. Kevan, where is his grace and my daughter?"

"Cersei is having a mid-day meal… she asked not to be disturbed and I felt no need to go against her orders."

"Good," Tywin said, appreciating once more how cunning his brother truly could be.

"His grace is with his tutors and I made sure that the servant sent to retrieve him knew to take the long way." Kevan paused. "We should have the servant transferred someplace else, lest Joffrey take his wrath out on them."

"Have them and any family they have sent to Casterly Rock," Tywin said. Normally he wouldn't worry about such things but with Joffrey's reputation for extreme action he couldn't afford to add to the tally. To Jiffsun he asked, "Where are they?"

"I have them in one of the rooms close to the throne room… I thought it best not to have the crowd gossiping about them until you arrived."

"Or the king?" Jiffsun didn't say a word to that. 'Smart man.' "Kevan," Tywin stated, "you are Master of Laws. Jiffsun is Commander of the Gold Cloaks. I am Hand. I would say we are more than enough to deal with this… incident. No need to waste the king's time?"

"I agree."

Jiffsun, without prompting, went off to go get Prince Oberyn and the rest of his party while Kevan moved to inform Pycelle of what was going to happen. Tywin looked over at Ser Adrian and said quietly, "If any fool makes a move towards the Prince or Lord Jon and his ladywife you are to cut them down where they stand." He wouldn't be shocked if one of Stannis' secret supporters decided to try and kill the accused in order to flare up the war or create a new front.

"It will be done," Ser Adrian stated. He didn't reach for his sword but he could tell the Man of the Tombs was ready to grasp it.

Tywin nodded and made his way to the Iron Throne, climbing up the great ponderous thing and taking a seat. The crowd instantly grew quiet and Tywin felt a small burst of pleasure at how they all recognized his authority.

"We are here to settle the matter of a disturbance that occurred within King's Landing today. The accused are Prince Oberyn Martel-" that got a murmur, "Lord Jon Stark-" an even greater murmur and a few gasps, "-and their party. Lord Commander Jiffsun, bring in the accused."

Tywin watched as the large party entered. Prince Oberyn was first, all smile and swagger, but also a rage in his eyes at yet another slight against him and his family thanks to Tywin's. He knew that would require some politicking on his part, offers of repayment and apologizes once all this was settled. It wouldn't be enough of course but it would be expected. Beside him his latest paramour, a bastard woman he'd need to look into. After him was a woman wearing black riding leathers and with a shock of red hair that would have made the Tullys envious; Oberyn's daughter and the future lady of Iron Pointe. Behind them all were the household guards of the Prince and of Iron Pointe but it was the four figure that led the accused, the dark haired man wearing a jacket with the red and gold wolf of Iron Pointe that drew Tywin's attention.

All at once he was decades in the past, watching as another young man walked into the throne room. And where that one had silver hair and violet eyes to Jon Stark's dark locks and nearly as dark eyes the physical build and the facial features were all the same. Blood could do so many strange things to a child, create looks that made them at first resemble their parents…

Time itself seemed to stop.

It all made sense. Why Eddard Stark had rushed so quickly to retrieve his sister, refusing to wait for a stronger host, almost needing to leave the city without delay. His feud with the king that had seemed far more loud and boisterous than it should have been between two men that were basically brothers… would have been brothers had Lyanna Stark survived. Why Oberyn Martell had decided to make the bold move to marry his eldest daughter to Ned Stark's bastard... reforging a bloodline that had been lost. Why Varys had been reported to have been moving about near Elia Martell's bedchambers shortly before Tywin's freeing of King's Landing.

'Eddard Stark… you clever brilliant man,' Tywin thought to himself as he stared at Jon Stark. Or, as he now realized…

'Aegon Targeryn, son of Rhaegar and Elia.'