Jon
Sam had paused, leaning on the blunted tourney sword he'd been using to practice his hamstringing and looking over at Jon who stopped attacking the dummy that had been set up per his own instructions. It was shaped like a crude horse and he'd been alternating between lashing out at the 'rider' on it and the 'horse' itself. His fa… un…
'Just call him your fucking father!' he snapped mentally at himself.
…his father had told him plenty of times that battles were won and lost by understanding how to defeat a cavalry. Yes, one would naturally prefer to have horse riders on their side and not with their enemies but any man with enough skill could remove the advantage mounted knights provided. At the moment he was practicing what to do if he himself was unhorsed and faced a man trying to strike him down. The yardmaster had laughed when he suggested such training until Jon had reminded him that Ser Duncan the Tall had achieved his first victory as a knight by ripping Prince Aerion Brightflame from his saddle and pounding him in the mud. After that the man had rubbed his chin, admitted Jon's point, and set about making the practice dummy while muttering that maybe he should give it a try himself.
"Listen," Sam said, getting Jon to pause, "I know that the Dornish are pretty open minded but are you sure that your wife is going to be fine with this?"
"What do you mean?" Jon asked, utterly confused by the strange topic. "Training? She won't mind in the slightest. In fact if she could she'd be down here to though she prefers to go train with her father… we finally convinced him to find a manse to purchase so that he'd stop living in a brothel. Kept scaring all the whores when he practiced on the roof-"
"That's not what I mean," Sam said, his tone making it clear that he was trying to figure out if Jon was truly so dense. Which, apparently, he was because he had no fucking idea what Sam was going on about.
He'd just been training, as he had been for much of his days in King's Landing. His position on the Small Council meant that he didn't actually have a lot of work to do outside of meetings and they hadn't even had one yet. And it wasn't like the Lannisters were going to trust the former Bastard of Winterfell with anything important. Natasha refused to let him help with her spying and while he'd been annoyed at first he'd come to realize she was right because he was nearly as bad as his father when it came to lying and scheming. Unless it was about being the Centurion which was something else he couldn't do at the moment. Not with so many eyes on him.
So Jon trained. There was nothing wrong with that. In fact it was seen as a good trait for an heir to have. People loved men that were skilled in the martial arts. And no one could claim he was up to something sinister if he worked in the yard. It wasn't like he was making the dummy look like Joffrey or was plotting out how to take over King's Landing with a secret army. It was just a straw dummy.
The growing friendship he'd developed with Sam had also helped make him look less intimidating to those that still whispered he was a threat. Thanks to his dark skin and foreign blood few people wanted to be seen as friends with Sam. Oh, he was useful. But he would never be invited to dine at the high table or be given lands as a reward. He was a solider from across the Narrow Sea. Meaningless in their eyes because they were fools who couldn't see that Sam was one of the best tactical minds Jon had ever encountered. If he had decided to spar with the Kingsguard or with Joffrey himself (assuming, of course, the brat actually came down for his lessons) then Jon might have faced some trouble. But him working with Sam and the those that gathered around him made Jon seem less of a danger to them all. What threat could he be when the only connections he was making in King's Landing with were the other undesirables?
"Then what do you mean?" Jon asked, taking a moment to wipe his brow.
Sam gestured at Jon. "I mean that."
Jon looked down at himself, confused. Even with summer ending King's Landing felt like a baker's oven to him. Just walking around worked up a sweat and training left him soaked. He honestly pitied Ghost, who he let roam free in the Kingswood most of the time, visiting when he could; at least that way the wolf could enjoy the ponds and pools and sleep during the hit days.
Normally he wore a light shirt, sleeves short and fabric breezy and billowing so that the material didn't cling to his sweat-soaked skin. He'd done that at Iron Pointe with Rhodey, who'd been the first person to teach him how to truly fight in the heat because at Winterfell even on the warmest day and no matter how much you sweated a cold wind would suddenly blow and freeze the moisture right on your body. So you still dressed in layers but that was simply not something one could do in King's Landing.
But today had been different… a blistering day. The air had been thick with moisture as well, sapping the strength from many people and causing even the most dedicated of soldiers to flop down after half their normal training and pant while making the call for water. But Sam didn't let it affect him and Jon, unwilling to let the Summer Islander show him up in their friendly rivalry, had pushed himself on, stripping off his shirt and fighting bare chested in the yard-
Jon finally patted his chest. "This?"
"Yes that," Sam said with a teasing laugh. "I've heard your lady wife is a jealous type. And you are getting a lot of stares running around like that." He pointed towards a high window and Jon was startled to see several women watching them, looks that he'd only seen on Natasha's face moments before she suggested trying out something new with the cream she'd brought from the kitchens gracing their features.
"Should I put the shirt back on?" Jon finally asked.
"NO!" someone up above cried out only for the ladies to duck back inside when he looked up… though he could see them peaking from behind the curtains all the same.
Jon and Sam shared a look, the Summer Islander merely gesturing at the window as his only answer to that question. Jon, for his part, rolled his eyes before swinging his sword, readying to attack the dummy again only for the sound of footfalls to echo behind them. He turned and smiled as he saw three young people hurry in, as different as a group could possibly be.
The first was Petyr Parker. That boy… Jon thought he'd gotten a bad lot in life but poor Petyr had been dealt such cruelness by the Gods. Parents dead and then his uncle killed as well. Petyr was honestly the only representation he'd been able to find of the Lannisters actually doing something right. Lord Tywin himself had declared that Petyr's aunt would be given her husband's pay, as if the man were still alive and well, until the end of her days. And then he'd decided to bring Petyr to the Red Keep to train under Sam, so that the boy might have some knowledge of how to swing a blade before he truly became a man. He was a skinny thing, much like Arya, and from how he talked it was clear that he much preferred to read than fight; all had been surprised when the boy had bashfully admitted to teaching himself to read rather than learning through the kindness of a maester. Jon had been there when Sam had reported that bit of information to the Hand and Tywin had merely leaned back in his chair, stroked his chin, and declared, "Good." and commanded Pycelle allow Petyr access to some of his books. "One does not stifle such genius," Tywin had declared. "He may be the next Antony Stark."
Next to Petyr was Jiffsun's boy, Miles. The boy was shorter than Petyr but a bit more muscular. His energy was also different from Petyr's. Where his friend was twitchy, seemingly always expecting a punch to be thrown or a blow to come his way Miles keep his energy reserved until the last possible moment before suddenly bursting forward in an explosion of energy. Otherwise he seemed to flow through life like silk draped over one's shoulder. The boy was smart too, nearly as smart as Petyr, and picked up on tactics well. Petyr and him got alone perfectly, never once showing any sign of distrust as many Westerosi showed those from Essos.
The final member of the group truly made him smile, for she made him think of Arya. Gwen Stacey, the daughter of Jiffsun's predecessor. She was so much like Jon's little sister that at times he thought someone had captured Arya, dyed her hair, and told her to go by the name Gwen as some sort of prank against him. Cunning, smart, feisty… and never one to accept what a girl must and must not do. Oh, she wasn't completely like Arya, as she knew how to sew and could dance and play music and the like. But she also loved archery and the first, and only, time someone had called her out on it she'd spent half an hour naming every great warrior woman in Westerosi history.
"Hello, you three," Sam said pleasantly, the young ones giving him polite greetings. "Gwen, go ahead and start at the targets. Remember that you need to do 15 paces this time. You're too good at 10." Jon had asked Clynt to give him and Sam some advice on how to train an archer and they'd been using his tips quite a bit to help Gwen improve her form. "Miles, I think we'll work on blocks today. Little Tom needs to practice his swings. Petyr, you're with Jon."
"Yes Master Sam," Petyr said with a nod; Sam had tried to get the boy to call him just 'Sam' but he'd become so flustered at talking so casually to an adult that it had been a miracle he managed to just say 'Sam' without stammering for 20 minutes. Petyr walked over to Jon, tilting his head as he looked at the dummy he'd set up. "What exactly is that for?"
"I'm practicing fighting against someone who's mounted," Jon told him. "How you strike someone like that is far different than other attacks. You have to aim higher but also deal with the possibility that it might be better to aim low and take out the horse." Behind him he head Miles grunt as Little Tom swung a wooden blade at him, forcing the boy to block it with his shield. "Not all fights are fought on the same playing field, after all."
"Yeah but is this really the best way to do it?" Petyr asked, walking around the dummy. Jon watched him, mildly amused; the boy had the same look on his face as Maester Luwin when he was trying to sort out a difficult problem. "Why not have it that the dummy can be pulled down? That would be the first thing you'd want to do, right? Get them tangled up in the stirrups as they come down? Horse drags them along and they are liable to smash their skull into something or snap their neck. Ends the fight there. And if it could move you could judge how well your blows work as causing the rider to founder."
"Good point," John said. "But it would take too long for me to set the dummy back up each time. I'd end up getting only a few good hits in each training session."
"Not if you created a resetting mechanism," Petyr said excitedly, crouching down and pointing to the underside of the horse dummy. "This is mostly just wood… only the sides and head are padded. You have a hole in the center and thread some rope through it up to the rider dummy. Maybe build that dummy around the rope with a thick knot at one end. Then, when you yank down the rider you just tug at the rope-" he mimicked doing just that, "-and the dummy is pulled right back up. Or even something with a pedal-"
"A pedal?"
"Like a spinning wheel!" Petyr said, getting very excited as his mind clearly whirled with thoughts and ideas. "You would step on it and cause the rope to automatically be pulled and bring the dummy back up!"
Jon rubbed his chin in thought. "That might work." He didn't know who could make something like that… maybe Tony-
"Oh, it will work!" Petyr declared. "And you really need to practice with a moving target. A horse won't stand still; it will move around you. Even if you are just practicing attacking it a moving target is better than a still one."
"I can't bring a horse to the training yard and it would be cruel to be smacking it with a sword, even a tournament one," Jon kindly told the boy. While he appreciated the help the young man was trying to give him there were limits. And times when one must dream and one must practice. "Now, I think-"
"But you don't need a real horse!" Petyr exclaimed, excited, eyes nearly as bright as Sunstones as his mind clearly raced with thoughts. He spoke rapidly, practically bounding around the dummy as he pointed about the training yard. "Sam was telling us that it is important to build up all the muscles in your body, as that is the mistake many knights make. They focus only on, say, the arms, so they are able to swing a sword but can't even walk in full plate, let alone run during a charge. That's why every other day he has Miles and Gwen and I lift logs and run. And I made something so that we could lift heavy logs with our legs-"
"Gwen is doing this too?" Jon asked, amused.
Petyr blushed at that mistake but continued on. "But what if you combined both your dummy and those exercises? I remember seeing some farmers once have a donkey pull a large beam in a circle in order to mill bread. We could do something similar." He hurried to a spot that was roughly 5 feet away from where Jon stood. "You set up a pivot right here, with a long beam running in opposite direction. One is connected to the horse dummy, the other to a handle that someone has to push. As they move their part the horse would move. You could have people standing all in the circle, waiting for the horse to come by and then attack it. It wouldn't be as fast as a real horse but better than something stationary!" His eyes grew wide as inspiration clearly struck him. "Oh! And if you just wanted to horse to move faster you could create a water wheel!"
"A water wheel?" Jon asked, trying to keep up.
"Yes. You couldn't do it in the Red Keep but you could set it up by the Blackwater Rush. It would turn the wheel, which would turn other wheels, and that would make the dummy move! And you could even change the wheels to make it slower or faster-"
"All very good ideas, Petyr," Jon told him, pleasing a hand on his shoulder to get him to slow down. The boy was vibrating under his touch, trembling with anticipation at all the ideas that seemed to flow through his mind.
"Very good ideas."
Jon stiffened before he turned, everyone stopping what they were doing as Lord Tywin Lannister emerged from a doorway and walked into the training yard. Jon idly wondered how long the man had been waiting… he imagined for a while if he had been able to hear all Petyr had been saying. Lord Tywin wasn't a man that Jon imagined gave out such praise idly so he must have listened to all of Petyr's ideas.
Jon bowed his head slightly towards Tywin, even if it irked him to no end to do so. This was the man whose family had caused so much trouble for his own. His blood had caused Jon to lose his sister. The Night's Queen lived within Sansa's body, twisting it to her own ends, because of Tywin and the rest of the Lannisters. And through his birth father there was a brother and sister he would never know, died and gone. And now the man was interested in not just trying to make him all that Lady Catelyn had feared him to be, a usurper of Robb's birthright, but also marry off his future daughter to whatever monster Joffrey's loins produced?
All Jon wanted to do was bash the old man's brains in with his tourney sword.
But life with Tony had taught him patience and how to keep his emotions hidden from all. It would do him no good to reveal his true thoughts to Lord Tywin. If the man suspected for even a moment that he was thinking such treasonous things Jon's head would end up on a spike and most likely Natasha would quickly join him.
'She'd fight back. She'd win,' he mentally thought. But the fear that she wouldn't… that she would die… that was enough to keep him in line.
"Thank you, Lord Tywin," Petyr said humbly, dipping into a half-body bow.
The Hand of the King waved him off, walking over to the dummy Jon had gotten made. "An interesting set up for training, Jon," Tywin told him, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Petyr. "And an even more interesting idea for how to improve upon it, Petyr. You might have the makings of a maester in you. Of course there are some that would never have thought of such a thing as you have."
But Petyr pressed his lips together at that before saying, "Thank you, my lord, but I'd never be a maester." Tywin raised an eyebrow at that and Petyr, realizing he was engaging Tywin Fucking Lannister in conversation, stammered and rushed over the rest of his words. "Not that there is anything wrong with being a maester! They have their roles to play. But I wouldn't want that."
"And why is that?" Tywin pressed.
Petyr, grimacing as the focus of the training yard fell on him, sucking in a breath before saying, "Maesters learn many things but in the end don't actually do much. They teach lords and ladies and tend wounds and advise the holders of castles but that's it. They don't change the world… I think because they like the world how it is and don't want to rewrite their books?" He said the last part like a question, clearly scared out of his wits at what his thoughtless comments might cause.
But Tywin merely looked down at Petyr before nodding his head, slow and full of consideration. "Smart," he finally said, with a tone that for anyone else would have been rather cold but coming out of his lips was like Jon's father rushing to the top of the highest tower in Winterfell and singing to all to hear his pride. "A smart man with good ideas who understand the world. You, Petyr, might be someone to actually change things." He reached out and to the shock of everyone gave Petyr a small pat on the shoulder. "That is a good lad."
Petyr swallowed and nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak least he ruin the moment.
Lord Tywin clearly didn't need a boy from King's Landing to fill his ears with pledges of thanks for he merely nodded again before looking to Sam. "I wonder if I might ask you for a favor, Isamalwi?"
Jon mentally smirked. Of course Tywin Lannister would not only refuse to call the Summer Islander by his preferred nickname but would make sure to pronounce his given name properly.
"If I can be of help, my lord," Sam said wisely, hedging his bets. Never offer a man like the Old Lion of the Rock your unconditional promise of support.
Tywin opened his mouth only for the door he'd come from to open and Ser Mandon to arrive with Prince Tommen, causing everyone in the courtyard to once more dip their heads in respect.
Jon took a moment to consider the boy. In Joffrey's brother he saw how Cersei had been able to trick so many people into believing she'd given Robert children of his own loins. With Joffrey everything about him was the Queen and the Kingslayer. Not just his coloring but his build and especially his attitude. He had the same arrogance as the Queen, the sneer that seemed to forever tug on his lips and the eyes that could be cold one moment and burning with rage the next. He held himself like he had managed to do all the grand things of his family line and demanded to be worshiped and praised. And just like the Kingslayer he had no problem mocking and belittling others but, per Tony, both grew offended when they suddenly became the target.
But with Tommen there were enough things that could lend someone to believe he was Robert's child. Not his coloring, for he had the same golden hair and green eyes of the Lannisters. But with the baby fat that still clung to him and his thicker build he did resemble Robert a touch. And he had a kindness to him that made people want to help him, just as Robert had managed to draw the attention of all just by entering the room. Jon wondered how two brothers such as Joffrey and Tommen could be so unalike.
"Come here, Tommen," Tywin commanded and the boy hurried over to his grandfather, struggling to stand still with the princely air that all expected of him. Jon found it rather cute in one so little. He clearly understood what was expect of him and rather than be put off like Arya being told to behave a certain way Tommen liked to please his grandfather.
'Amazing,' Jon thought to himself as he looked at the boy who, even without staring up at his grandfather, radiated pleasure and happiness in being near him. 'Someone everyone else fears in Westeros, loathes even… including much of his family… could have this boy simply… love him.'
It was a strange thing, to realize that the monster you had heard so much about could have people that loved them.
"You've been helping Tommen, is that not correct?" Tywin asked the Summer Islander.
"I have, my lord," Sam said. "He is far too young for the yard and I felt it best-"
Tywin held up his hand. "I know." And Jon sensed he did know. It was a secret that was horribly kept, how Joffrey tormented his brother. Threatened him and did all he could to make the boy cry. And Cersei did nothing to stop it, always claiming that people misunderstood, that 'Jof loves his brother' even when Joffrey was standing next to her and happily proclaiming that no, he wished his brother was dead and buried but only if he could then dig him up to see what would happen to the corpse.
'I should have gutted the bastard the moment I first saw him,' Jon thought to himself. He remembered how Tommen had been nice to Bran and Rickon. Happily played with his baby brother and been eager to learn in the yard with Bran and after his brother's fall from the Broken Tower had actually come to give his sympathies to his father and mother. Yes, Tyrion had gone with him and guided him through the words but that was far better than Joffrey who'd only done it on the very last day before they'd all left… and suddenly Jon wondered if maybe THAT was why Lady Stark had been in a far fouler mood when he'd gone to give his own goodbyes.
"Tommen has mentioned that he is… fond of the training you gave him a few months back," Tywin said, resting his hand on the prince's shoulder.
"He is a smart boy, my lord. Eager to learn, which is important, but more importantly he respects the sword. He understands that it can hurt and kill. He isn't afraid… merely that he understands that it shouldn't be treated as a toy."
Tywin nodded at that; Jon wondered if he actually agreed with that assessment of the power of the sword. On one hand he imagined a man like Tywin felt that such emotions were a sign of fear, despite what Sam said. On the other… he imagined he didn't let the Kingslayer when he was a boy run about smacking servants on the rump with a toy sword. No… Tywin Lannister would not put up with such behavior, seeing it as unbecoming of a man of his House.
"His mother has been neglectful of his training," Tywin said simply.
"The queen is a busy woman," Sam said, trying to hedge his bets.
The Old Lion was having none of it. "She is a fool that focuses on the wrong things. When I was his age I was training to be a squire. I already knew much. Same with my brother. Same with my son. It can be… forgiven… that his grace is lacking in such knowledge-"
Jon knew that was a lie. He remembered Joffrey at Winterfell, trying to egg Robb into fighting with true steel and Ser Rodrik forbidding it, causing the brat to walk off with a laugh as if Robb were a coward… when it was clear now that Joffrey had been the fool that didn't know his way around a blade and had known that was the only way to save face. Jon remembered how Tommen had struggled in his padded armor and he suddenly felt a great bit of sympathy for the boy; he and Robb and chuckled at his antics but now Jon saw that the Prince was more like Rickon than Bran when it came to his knowledge of fighting. He would never have mocked Rickon like that.
"-but if Tommen is to one day be the Lord of Casterly Rock he must understand all there is to know about the art of warfare and battle. The current Master of Arms, however… is lacking."
Jon didn't say a word. He'd had a run in with the jackass himself; an arrogant little toady who had tried to claim that Jon must have stolen Shadowfang for how could he have a Valyrian Steel sword. That was why Jon had been thrilled to meet Sam and accept his offer to train in the smaller yard.
"I would be honored to teach him," Sam said with a smile before kneeling down before Tommen. "Assuming you do wish me to teach you."
"I do," Tommen said quickly.
"Tommen," Sam said, looking at the boy but Jon knew his words were for Tywin, "if you don't want to train with me please say so now. I swear you won't get in trouble."
But Tommen merely smiled. "I want to learn from you. I want to be a knight! I want to fight like my father and my grandfather! Win tourneys and earn my spurs!"
"Well," Sam said with a nod, "the first lesson for you is to understand the sword." He led him over to a rack of wooden training swords; while all those in the yard, even Petyr and Miles, could easily use a blunted steel sword Sam had insisted that wooden swords had a purpose. Let a man built up the strength in their arms and understand what made steel so much greater when they didn't have it. "Do you know the mark of a good sword?"
Tommen thought for a moment. "The blade?"
"That is the piece of the sword. What is the most important thing to look for in a sword?"
Again the prince thought this over. "Length?" he finally guessed.
"That is VERY important. But what is most important is balance."
"Balance?" the little prince asked, brow furrowing and chubby cheeks puffed out. "Why?"
"By the end of today YOU will be telling ME."
"It seems, Petyr, that you surround yourself with wise men," Tywin said, pulling Jon's attention from Sam showing Tommen how to balance a wooden sword on his fingers, so that the handle and blade didn't rock. "That is a mark of a man destined for great things… to surround himself with those that are just as wise as him."
"T-thank you, Lord Tywin," Petyr stammered again.
"Jon, a word?" Tywin asked.
He nodded. "Petyr, focus on the dummy. Actually hitting it, not improving it. We'll talk about what we can do with it later." The boy nodded and Jon moved towards Tywin who motioned for him to follow. Jon wondered just what the Old Lion was up to and why he seemed so oddly obsessed with him.
'Well, beyond the obvious,' Jon thought bitterly to himself. The man wanted him to be the new Warden of the North, to be put in place of Robb… most likely with Robb either exiled or sent to the Wall or his head removed. Or his body exiled to Essos and his head to the Wall. With Tywin Lannister one couldn't be for sure. And wanting to force his child to marry Joffrey's… it didn't matter that Natasha wasn't even pregnant yet he'd sail off and join the Dothraki before he allowed any child of his to be sold off like that, especially to the Lannisters!
Yet… Tywin's attitude concerning him was very odd and didn't make any sense. Wanting to talk with him… that was a touch understandable. Perhaps to spy on him or make sure he wasn't plotting some revenge. To make sure he truly was the loyal subject of the crown he claimed to be. That he was like many bastards who loathed their trueborn siblings and had no problem working with their enemies. But Tywin always seemed to be gravitating to him. Watching him. Seeking him out at meals. According to Natasha he was asking all sorts of questions about his childhood.
None of it made any sense!
"Your youth was rather different from that of most natural born children," Tywin said, causing Jon to shoot a sideways glance at him. They were wandering away from Petyr towards an empty part of the training yard. "You must know that most children born as you were do not receive training and care as you did."
"Of course," Jon said, deciding to keep things as neutral as possible in hopes that he'd be able to figure out just what Tywin was fishing for. "Natasha and I were very lucky in that regard."
"Yes, very lucky," Tywin stated. "Two children of your… status…" He was being careful to avoid the word 'bastard' and Jon wondered if it was because he'd heard of Jon's dislike for the word or purely good manners. Perhaps a bit of both. "…being given so much training and education… it is a blessing. One I hope you realize. Even if your father and you find yourselves on different sides of this conflict."
"One can respect the past while not losing the sight of the present," Jon commented.
"Indeed," Tywin said. "People make the mistake of thinking I hate Aerys." They had paused by one of the weapon racks and Tywin took out a sword, idly looking it over while Jon tried to puzzle out this new direction in the conversation. "They know how we parted and my thoughts on the slights he made against my family. But they fail to remember that once he was my friend. A good one. You see, it isn't Aerys that I hate… it's the Mad King. What he became. There is a difference."
"None of us are who we once were," Jon finally said while Tywin took a step forward, swinging the sword a few times, testing its weight. It was a practice sword, at most able to give one a bruise… but still Jon felt a bit of unease seeing it in Tywin Lannister's hands. The man wasn't known for his kindness and to Jon the Old Lion could make a feather a weapon.
"That is the important thing to remember. Who looks like a threat might in time because the weakest. And the most forgettable… or the most powerful. Rhaegar was like that." Tywin glanced at Jon. "He wanted to sing songs and hear stories. Until one day when he decided not to. That he must become a warrior. How many kings arose because of twists of fate? If not for Maegor's violence Jaeharys would never have been king and the greatest era of Westeros would have never begun. Had my ancestor pressed his claim to be honored with leading the main charge rather than the Gardener King… Aegon's dragons would have burned him alive and the Lannister line would have ended. Had the Starks lost a war it would be the Dustins that ruled. So on and so on. One must NEVER assume that someone is beneath them. For that is when they discover that those that stand low… can hold knives." He paused and nodded to himself. "I do much to remember that."
And with that he put the sword away and walked off without a word.
Jon didn't even notice Petyr had walked up to him until the boy said, "What were you two talking about?"
"I have no idea," Jon muttered.
~MC~MC~MC~
Author's Note: Not much to say, enjoy an Omake:
"We don't need to be adversaries, Jon. We both want what's best for Westeros," Tywin said as he looked at the sword.
'Why is Lord Tywin being so nice to me?' Jon thought.
"And if you scratch my back... I'll scratch yours."
'What a minute... is he coming on to me?'
Tywin reached down, fingering the sack of gold dragons that hung from his belt. "Should I slip something into your pocket? What's the harm?"
'Oh my god... he IS coming on to me!'
"After all... war makes for strange bedfellows," Tywin said temptingly.
'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!' Jon mentally screamed before speaking up. "I'm sorry Lord Tywin but I don't go in for these backdoor shenanigans. Sure I'm flattered... maybe even a bit curious..."
