Tywin

His grandson had just gotten married.

His grandson, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, has just married one of the most beautiful women in all of Westeros and uniting her powerful house with his own.

He knew that for many they would have been focused on the ceremony that had happened, perhaps enjoyed the festivities that were just beginning to take part. Drunk some wine, perhaps indulged in some food that normally one would have avoided because of the orders of their maester to take better care of themselves. Perhaps taken a moment to reflect on the happy moment and those that had come before and they wished would come again. Shared stories of his grandson's youth with old friends, reminiscing times gone by.

Those were all things his father had done when he had gotten married. Tytos had come to him with tears in his eyes and told him how proud he was. He had sat with his bannermen and gorged on rich food and drunk far too much wine. He had loudly talked about his own mother, Tywin's grandmother long gone, and her adventures with Ser Ducnan the Tall. And he had proclaimed how he was sure in a decade and a half they would all gather again to see Tywin's son or daughter marry.

Tywin was not his father.

"Give the food to the poor," Tywin muttered to himself as he watched the servants move about offering platters of spiced meats and peppered cheeses to any who wanted it… and many turning them down because of the warm sun and the knowledge that there were now… Tywin did the math quickly in his head… 64 courses left to go. "We could have fed King's Landing for a year with how much those imported cheeses cost."

"Cersei insisted," Kevan said softly from where he stood; the two of them had moved from the head table and begun to walk about the large open courtyard that served as the main hosting area for the wedding feast.

"She insisted," Tywin repeated, only with derision. "And who allowed her to do that, hmmm? Who allowed her to believe she had any say in this."

"It is her son."

"She spread her legs and let him slide out of her. That was the last thing she did when it came to raising Joffrey. Do we let chickens tell us how we cook their eggs?" He sipped his wine, mostly because doing so allowed him to keep the more… colorful… words that were on the tip of his tongue from slithering out. "After he was born she had no desire to be a mother to him. It is like when she was a child and begged me for a pet. Assured me she would take care of the pony or the cat or whatever else she suddenly wanted. Only I remember how she let plants die because it was too bothersome to water them. I suppose we are lucky that Robert had enough sense to have nursemaids or she'd forgotten to feed Joffrey." He shook his head in disgust. "This was all about feeding her ego… something that is nearly as bloated as she has become."

He looked at his daughter who was guzzling wine down, her plate loaded with the precious cheeses and meats she'd demanded, waiting to be devoured. Her once slim and beautiful body, which had gotten him offers from across the Seven Kingdoms and from the powerful in Essos, had become soft in all the wrong places. Oh, it was expected that a woman would change as she aged, just as men did. Joanna had seen her hips flair and her bosom swell. But she had carried it regally, with dignity. Cersei vainly still wore dresses far too small for her swelling curves and not in the way the harlots and whores would to attract men. No one was glancing at her and dreaming of being with her when they saw how her dress cut into her pale flesh, leaving angry red lines along her skin. And if they were it was with the lust of a fetishist, not the desire of a powerful man wishing for one to share his domain.

"I have not received a single request for her hand," Tywin said darkly. "Not a single one. She is still within child bearing years and any son or daughter she produced would be kin to the King of Westeros. I should have many lords asking about her, wondering if a match might be made. And if not for children than at least for companionship. The last three wars have left plenty of lords all alone in need of a woman to manage their castles. Instead all I get is silence." He sipped his wine again; a controlled, measured sip. Not the gluttonous swilling of his daughter though, admittedly, she was trying to hide that she was doing it. "Though whether that be because of her fading beauty or her personality I can not say."

"Cersei is still beautiful," Kevan argued but it was a weak comment and they both knew it.

"She was the grand rose of Westeros once, all desired her to be part of their family. But just like so many roses she did nothing to weather the storms that came at her and now she is wilting." He glanced at his brother. "Joanna a…aged with grace. Your wife ages with grace. Gemna-" He paused.

Kevan was clearly fighting back a smile. "Making sure she isn't listening?"

Tywin huffed… though he did glance about quickly to make sure her nor her family were within earshot. Gemna was the only one he would ever allow to scold him. She had earned that right and had learned how far she was allowed to push. That didn't mean he liked to give her reasons to do so.

"All remain beautiful in their own ways. But Cersei clings to the delusion that she is as she was when she was just a maiden in Aerys' court, drawing the eyes of all that saw her. She has never learned how to play any other role and it harms her." He let out a huff. "This wedding is the proof of that. She still believes herself queen and thus powerful when she wasn't even powerful when Robert ruled."

"She helped us fill many positions with those that support the family," Kevan pointed out.

"Because Robert was lazy, not because she understood how to manipulate him. That is what I commanded her to do… to take Robert Baratheon and make him a king worthy of a dynasty. Instead we got a bloated oaf who clapped me on the back too hard, drove the crown into debt, and was gored to death by a boar that Cersei then made a great show of eating and savoring." He grit his teeth at that. "She is a failure."

"She has made mistakes," Kevan admitted as they watched the servants begin to gather up the platters and move to get the next course. It was some fish dish and Tywin, after a moment, decided he had no appetite for such meat and thus remained near the pillar he'd staked off as his own. "But there is still time for her to carve out a role for herself her in King's Landing. The new Queen-"

"Has no need for a mother," Tywin said, cutting his brother off. "While Mace Tyrell's ladywife died giving birth to her and Ser Loras make no mistake about it Margaery Tyrell has a mother. She is the child of the Queen of Thorns… more so than Lord Tyrell is I believe. Cersei has nothing to offer her… not that she would try. She is filled with disdain for her."

"Mothers are protective of their children. Joffrey is her child and his new wife-"

"This is not what is happening." Tywin's face screwed up at that. "I don't know what it is. It is… deeper…"

It wasn't petty jealous that drove Cersei to dislike Margaery. Nor was it merely a clinging mother trying to hold onto her child. And while part of it might have been her desperatation to maintain some of the power she had managed to claw out for herself… Tywin sensed there was something else at play. Something buried far under the surface.

He'd mentioned as much to Joanna a few nights ago as they'd lain together. It reminded him of Rhaegar and his sudden changes that had seen him go from a soft princeling that preferred poem and song to actually focusing on his skill with a sword and shield. It had been Joanna who had asked about a prophecy and while at first Tywin had scoffed… he'd begun to wonder. Could his foolish daughter have heard some prophecy and it was what drove her? The ramblings of madmen and witching women had made many people throughout history do things that appeared random and insane all in the name of trying to stop, or achieve, such foreshadowings…

"I haven't asked you," Kevan said, drawing him out of his thoughts, "how do you think our new queen will fair? The match was made to bring the Tyrells to our side but do you believe Margaery will serve our interests well? Or have you already begun to make other plans."

Tywin nodded slightly to his brother, pleased that he considered such things. After all, history was full of kings who had taken more than one wife. One hoped for an Alysanne but had to prepare nonetheless. Women died all the time, after all, even in the Red Keep.

"I am undecided on her so far," Tywin stated. "She has done well to manipulate Joffrey but that has been in minor aspects, playing to his ego. How she will manage when her family is gone and it is just the two of them… that will determine how powerful his reign is. Because he will flounder and fail if he does not have a firm hand and I will not be here long enough to see him through all that is coming. He will need guidance to temper his stupidity."

"And you think she can do that? Or not?"

"I am undecided," Tywin repeated. "She clearly understands the game… far better than that child Sansa Stark." He shook his head at that, wondering just what Ned Stark had been thinking when it came to the raising of his daughter. From all he had learned of the current False King he had sheltered his children, yes, but he had still taught them a touch of the larger world. Robb Stark had not been cowed by his bannermen and had proven to be skilled at war… though whether he was like his namesake and only skilled in warfare Tywin did not know. His youngest daughter had been said to be Lyanna Stark reborn and Tywin wondered what she would have been like; all reports from King's Landing said she was more beast than girl but of course she was! She was built for the North… putting her south was a mistake. Had she been married to a Northern Lord or a Martell… well, Tywin shuddered a little of what that would have meant. His spies stated that Robert had feared Daenerys Targaryen wed to a Horse Lord… Arya Stark wed to such a man? She would have bled her enemies dry.

And then there was Jon Stark.

He glanced at Joffrey as he sat, looking put out that he had to talk with a small lord who wished to give him platitudes on his marriage. If only Cersei could have born a child such as Jon Stark… the dynasty Tywin could have made! There was still time, of course, but it would have been nice for him to have seen it in full…

But Sansa Stark? The girl was a weak mewling child with her head filled with fluff. Joanna had talked with the servants that had known the girl during her time in King's Landing and told him how utterly stupid all of them had thought her to be. She had no understanding of the game and in fact had nearly gotten her father killed because she could not see past her own nose.

No… Margaery was no Sansa Stark.

"But?" Kevan asked.

"But she has been told all her life that she is exceptional," Tywin stated. "That… is a dangerous thing, I see that now. I made that mistake with Jaime and Cersei and see where that led us. My son filled his head with delusions of honor and standing and it got him trapped in a white cloak, stripped of his birthright, and then killed. Cersei… you know of her failings for they are far too numerous to count." He shook his head. "My father… even when he heaped praise on me there were plenty who reminded me of the falls of our house throughout history and kept me from believing I could drag it back to greatest. I hated them for doing so but also was grateful for the reminders. Humility… I see now that it is the best mold from with to create power."

"One could argue then that your treatment of Tyrion helped him become-"

"Let us not discuss Tyrion," Tywin said. He had come to an… understanding… when it came to his stunted son but that didn't mean he relished speaking of him. His eyes thus drifted once more to Jon Stark. "He has done well for himself, has he not?"

"I admit that he has. I worried how he would react to being here… knowing that he was all but a prisoner to use against Eddard Stark. But he has shown wisdom in his actions and behavior." Kevan smiled, shaking his head. "He treats it as the honor we claimed it to be rather than a hostage situation. He has been allowed free reign of the city and has not attempted an escape."

"Nor has he tried to ferment discord against us." Tywin had instructed some of his agents to drop hints to Jon that they weren't pleased with the Lannister rule. Nothing blatant… more the casual comment from those that might become potential enemies. Jon Stark had handled them with diplomatic grace, hearing them out but saying nothing unless their quibble was so minor that he could fix it; a kitchen girl wishing to leave her post, for example. He did not drive them off but he did not commit to anything. It was entirely possible he was plotting a coup at some point but there was a subtleness to his moves that, in all honestly, would make Tywin dip his head in respect just before he took the traitor's head.

Though, as time went on, he more and more hoped that would never come to pass.

"He is his father's son," Tywin said.

Kevan stared at him. "I admit that Eddard Stark has proven himself far more cunning since he claimed his crown but from what we were told by Jaime and Cersei he was not subtle at all when it came to the Game of Thrones."

Tywin nodded at that. "Yes. Even with Cersei's need to mock and embellish all in that matter my spies agree with her. In fact I'd dare say she was actually downplaying his blunders. The man is built to rule the North; the South is as foreign to him as the people of Yi Ti are to us." He paused, watching as Jon and his wife Natasha talked with Lord Westerling. "But Eddard Stark was far more clever than we gave him credit for… Jon learned well from him and the charm his father was known for."

Kevan screwed up his brow at that… before he quickly stopped himself from showing the shock on his face. "Eddard?"

"Let us talk of another," Tywin said in a low voice. "There is a bastard boy I have had my eye on for a position in the Casterly Rock stables. His father works there too… but recently I have begun to suspect the man and his …joy-filled tales of how the boy came to him. I wonder if the boy is something far more..."

Kevan's jaw worked. "Does the timing work though?" he asked. "I hear that when… the stableman returned with his bastard the boy was quite young and small."

"The bastard's mother was a frail and sickly creature. It was a miracle she came to term. It wouldn't be the first time a child was born small and remained so. I do believe Aegon the Conqueror's first son was a tiny thing that many thought wouldn't live…"

"Under his friend's very nose," Kevan whispered.

"A powerful weapon, is it not?" Tywin said. "Allied with his father… but then sent off to learn under a Southern Blacksmith. Married to a Dornish woman."

"What will you do?" Kevan asked.

Tywin smiled. "I have already begun to look into matters, to find maesters who will agree to confirm my belief. One already, an expert in art done of… dragons… confirms that when one looks past the dog's coloring they see the scales hidden under the fur." Kevan sucked in a breath at that. "I doubt the stableman told his bastard the truth; if he knew he would have shown already a greater hunger to claim his birthright. And the bastard would not have put up with the fishmonger wife and her scoldings. No… he does not know. Better he never learns."

"Then… what do you…"

"When winter has broken and Margaery has produced an heir to the crown we will install Jon Stark as the new Warden of the North. Antony has taught him how to do so in his actions as Warden of the West during our campaign so he will slot in rather well. Once he is established Joffrey and the Court will go to Winterfell where a marriage alliance will be declared between his heir and Jon Stark's eldest daughter. She will spend time in the Westerlands for fostering… I am thinking of having your wife take her in, or perhaps Gemna. Maybe both. Make sure she is loyal to us. But when she is of age we will marry the two of them. And I will leave strict instructions with a few… trusted men… that upon Jon Stark's death the records will be unsealed and the girl's heritage revealed. The lost princess now a queen and my grandson's legacy secured." He paused. "And should any of her brothers get it into their heads that they should be crowned it will be easy enough to have placed knives in the right places. A spare prince as the Warden of the North will work just fine."

"It is a… cunning scheme, brother. Assuming you are able to see it done."

"It will be done. My regret is I will not get to see it happen."

After that Kevan drifted off to talk with others. Tywin had no worry that Kevan would let slip what he'd told him… and he had no worry that he had been overheard. Cersei and Varys and Littlefinger believed their spies were mingling about him now, listening in. None of them realized they had been HIS spies long before they were theirs. He'd even given increases in pay to those approached, because while a spy was useful one who could also feed your enemies false tales was even better.

"Enough of this!" Joffrey suddenly called out, shoving his plate to the ground and causing it to shatter, sending bits of food splattering about. "This food is sitting heavy on my belly." He draining his wine glass and Tywin glowered; he had tried to limit how potent the wine was, knowing that Joffrey would see his wedding as a chance to over-indulge, but the boy was drinking so much of it that it didn't matter how watered down it was. "I would like some entertainment!" He clapped his hands. "A performance I arranged myself… my gift to you all-" He swayed slightly as he stood, nearly spilling his wine on Margaery's head though the Rose of Highgarden did a fine job of not letting her smile leave her face, "-and my bride!" Joffrey snickered suddenly. "I only wish my… beloved uncle… was here to enjoy."

"But I am, your grace!" a voice called out and Tywin's frown deepened as a dwarf stumbled out from behind a column. His hair had been painted gold and he wore a mask with one side green and the other black. His hands were wrapped in heavy wet bandages and under his arms he had a crude statue of a rather buxom woman and a thick book. "I… hic… would not miss your wedding for the world!"

"Why uncle, it appears you are already drunk!" Joffrey exclaimed in mock surprise.

The dwarf tripped over his feet but caught himself. "When am I… not?" 'Tyrion' asked before finally making it to the high table.

"Well," Prince Oberyn said as he walked up to Tywin, "this is rather interesting."

Tywin grit his teeth together. The Prince of Dorne hated him and his family. Blamed him for the death of his sister and her children. He would only talk with him if there was a chance to enjoy his misery… and that was exactly what he was experiencing at that moment. His fool of a grandson! It did not matter what Tywin thought of Tyrion he was still a LANNISTER! Respect was to be shown to their house and here Joffrey was mocking them. Making people laugh at them. At HIM.

"I suppose we can at least be glad that he is not parading out a corpse and claiming it to be his other uncle," Oberyn's paramour said and Tywin clenched his jaw shut; he didn't know if he should plot her death for that comment or admit that she was right and such stupidity was Joffrey to his fullest.

"I am so dreadfully sorry I was late, your grace," 'Tyrion' said, leaning on the table. "But it is these legs of mine… they are so small." Joffrey laughed at that but many of the guests frowned, wondering… was that the joke? "But I have brought a… gift… none the less!" He set the lewd statue on the table, taking a moment to rub its breasts with his padded fingers, before opening the book and clearing his throat. "In honor of his grace I give to you a most serious and dramatic retelling, with the most heartfelt respect one can muster for the fallen, of the War of the Five Crowns.

And with that more dwarves rushed into the pavilion, all garishly dressed.

"The Golden Wedding was said to have a mock sea battle," Oberyn commented. "Ships warred in the Blackwater for the entertainment of all." He lifted up his glass. "But… I suppose this is fine as well."

Tywin's right eye twitched.

"I am Eddard Stark!" A dwarf called out. He was riding on a stick horse, like a child, only its head had been changed to that of a direwolf. He wore dark armor with the only splash of color being a trout that had been attached to his crotch. "I am the King in the… uh…" He looked down at the fish. "What was it again, Cat?" He tilted his head. "Yes, North! I am King in the North!"

The audience jittered and jeered though not as many of Joffrey would have probably preferred.

"By the way," Oberyn said softly, "My daughter and Lord Jon ask if they might leave briefly. There is an issue concerning young Petyr, the boy he has been teaching, that they must see to. They will return soon."

Tywin merely nodded his head as 'Eddard' continued to boast about how great the North was with its emptiness and mudpies and Oberyn looked out into the crowd, giving a slight raising of his hand. Tywin watched Jon and Natasha nod before they hurried away. He honestly wished he could have joined them rather than watch this farce.

"I am Renly Baratheon!" another dwarf said, this one wearing the greens and golds that the youngest of the Baratheon brothers had taken to donning… only he was wearing a dress. There were flowers attached to the crotch of his costume and Tywin saw for the first time all day Margaery's smile fall and for just a second a scowl to cross her features.

'Idiot boy!' Tywin mentally snarled. Margaery had been married to Renly, though the marriage never consummated, and Joffrey dared to remind the kingdom of that with his stupidity?!

"I am Ser Davos!" a dwarf said, who was dressed rather plainly, a necklace of onions around his neck. "My king, greet your people!" With that he held up a plank of wood with a crude face drawn on it; that got a few more chuckles from the audience and Joffrey beamed and drank more wine.

"And I am Jane Seaworth!" a male dwarf with a heavy beard growled as he lumbered forth, the fake breasts he had bouncing about. "I am-"

BOOM!

Tywin ripped his eyes skyward, staring in shock at the black storm clouds that now flashed with lightning overhead. He had barely time to wonder how they had rolled in so very quickly before the downpour came, everyone screaming in terror and covering themselves as the rain fell. It was so hard that it bruised the skin of the women while the older guests fell to their knees in pain. Oberyn Martell let out a curse and held up his arm to shield his paramour while Tywin quickly moved to get to a doorway, crying out over the winds for everyone to get inside.

Lightning flashed overhead.

"It is interesting how danger can reveal truths about people," Oberyn said, having found himself standing next to Tywin once more when they'd reached the safety of the Keep, watching as the wedding guests hurried inside. "I learned that during my time in Essos, serving with the mercenary companies. A friend of mine, Wade, used to state that Chaos loved to reveal someone's true nature when faced with a risk of pain." He paused. "He also said, "Of course I'm telling you this only so you can tell someone else during a key moment as that will help pad things out while you wait'. He was an… odd man. Very inventive when it came to sex though."

"Quite," Tywin muttered to himself, watching as Olenna Tyrell suddenly lost her limp and managed to hurry through the doorway. And Grand Maester Pycelle was positively sprinting like he was trying to outrace Dothraki Screamers.

"Well, that is a lot of good coin washed away," the Queen of Thorns said after she finally made it inside, her clothing hanging off of her so that she looked more like a drowned cat than a highborn woman. The rest of the guests were faring little better. The men were just soaked, with their hair plastered to their faces, but the women in their long dresses had been instantly weighed down and many of them collapsed the moment they were safely inside. Makeup dripped down their faces in heavy oily streaks and their hair became a mish mash of stringy clumps so that Tywin found himself surrounded by muck-covered swamp witches rather than the wives and daughters of the powerful nobles of Westeros.

Tywin looked out onto the terrace and scowled, seeing the truth in Olenna's words. The beautiful floral arrangements that had been rushed from Highgarden by a train of wagons that had transferred their cargo from horse to hose so that they could race all day and night were now millions of broken petals and stems, smashed by the pounding rain. The food that had been made at great cost, brought both from the Reach and Essos, was a slurry that flowed along the stone floor and over the edge. The many banners showing the united sigils of the Tyrells, Baratheons, and Lannisters were torn down; they might be salvages assuming they ever found them though one of them was currently on fire even with the rains thanks to a lightning strike. Then there was the clothing that was ruined and of course the need to resupply the maesters after they dealt with the injuries…

"Who did this?" Joffrey screeched, causing all to turn away from the storm and towards the boy king. He seemed to have taken the worst of the storm's wrath despite him being one of the first to break for the holdfast. There were large welts already forming on his face from the rain striking him and his hair had been matted and twists to reveal the scars on the side of his face where his ear had been torn off by the Iron Man. His clothing looked to have been painted onto him, revealing just how scrawny he was; it was easy to have a powerful build when one's clothing was cut a particular way but the rains had destroyed the illusion and left only a stick thing boy who was now stomping about in front of his guests.

"Sweetling," Cersei said as she approached him, raising a hand to stroke his cheek only for Joffrey to smack it away.

"I am your KING! How many times must I remind you of that, mother? Or has all the wine you've guzzled dulled your senses?" The crowd watched on as Joffrey began to turn about, seeking someone, anyone, that he could abuse. "I want whoever caused this punished!"

"My love," Margaery said, somehow managing to smile even while looking like a rat who'd been dragged through a piss-soaked gutter. "It is rain… rain happens." She placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

Joffrey twisted and backhanded her, sending Margaery toppling to the floor.

Tywin saw his grandson's entire reign come crashing down into the depths of hell as his new queen fell.

The crowd went utterly silent but Joffrey didn't seem to notice or care. Instead he continued to stalk about like some wild boar, ignoring Ser Loras as he rushed to his sister's side, softly speaking to her and cradling her as she pressed a hand to her already swelling eye. Oberyn Martell's jaw twitched and Tywin quickly held out his hand and grasped Olenna's before she could take a step forward; it would do no good for her to approach now. Joffrey would order her head and if he did the Tyrells would bare steel and the Red Keep would be soaked in more than water.

"Someone caused this… someone sought out to ruin my day! My performance!"

'And your wedding,' Tywin thought but it was clear that Joffrey, mind addled with rage, drink, and stupidity, didn't even care about the vows he'd just taken hours ago.

"The septon… the High Speton…" Joffrey rambled. "He gave the blessing… or did he? Perhaps he tried and instead cursed me? He's allied with Eddard Stark, isn't he? Still mad I wanted his head removed at the Sept of Baelor! Well… well… I'll have his head! I'll take it on the altar! And then we'll tear down the Sept! And every single one of them in King's Landing until they all beg for my forgiveness! Who needs the Seven? I am KING!"

Joffrey was moving about the large circle that had formed around him, an entire audience to watch his grand performance of 'The Death of a Reign'. Because there was little doubt every single person in that room would spread the word of how the boy king had struck his wife hard enough to fell her and then gone on a delusional rant about outlawing the Faith. Already Tywin could see that the normal jovial and smiling Mace Tyrell was alternating between staring at his new goodson and his beloved daughter… and working himself into a fury. Tywin could feel Olenna trembling as he kept her from going to her granddaughter and he wondered just what the cost would be to fix all of this. Land? Titles? Would he be forced to bestow upon Willas Tyrell and all his descendants the title of 'Prince'?

"I am a Baratheon!" Joffrey screamed. "Ours if the Fury! We are the Storm Lords! The Storm bows to me!" He suddenly darted forward and the crowd parted so he could move into the doorway and scream at the sky. "I COMMAND YOU TO STOP!"

Lightning cracked overhead, so close Tywin could smell it. And then he smelled something else but thankfully Joffrey was so wet no one would notice.

The boy king stumbled back before taking a breath, running his hands along his sodden doublet. But if anyone thought he was gathering his nerves, thinking about his foolish actions, or anything else a wise and just king should do they clearly hadn't been paying attention.

"What are you all doing?" Joffrey demanded, glaring at them. "Why are you all standing there, looking so morose? This is a party! A celebration! Celebrate!" He sneered at them all. "CELEBRATE!"

A weak cheer went out from the shellshocked guests.

"Bring out the next course! I want to gather my strength before I behead all of the Faithful for summoning this storm. Grandfather, call for the Goldcloaks… we need to gather up every septon and septa who have betrayed us to the North. And then… then I think I'll do what you didn't have the balls to do. I'll ride to the North myself and I will slay every last Northerner! I'll take their heads… no. No, that is too good for those dogs. I hear the Boltons love to flay people alive. I will allow them to live if they flay every man, woman, and child in the Seven Kingdoms." The drunk fool didn't even notice the slip of the tongue. "Start with the babies… babies are easy to kill. The Gold Cloaks proved that when I had them murder my father's bastards."

Tywin glanced at Cersei and saw her pale faced. Good. Maybe now she was realizing the monster she had cursed them with.

"Wine!" he shouted. "I want wine!" He went over to the table that held the wedding gifts he'd been presented just that morning and picked up the sword that Tywin had gifted him, swinging it about in a wide circle and forcing people to leap back lest he cut them apart. "I need a cupbearer. Where is the bastard? Hmmm? Where is Jon Stark?"

"He left, your grace," Baelish said with a slight smile. "Ran off to deal with something…"

"Then you'll do," Joffrey said, causing Baelish's smile to falter slightly. Clearly he had thought that he could direct Joffrey's rage at Jon Stark, maybe cost him his head (not that Tywin would have allowed that) but Joffrey was so muddled and addled that he couldn't even focus his anger. "Get me a drink, Littlefinger! A drink!"

Baelish nodded and quickly grabbed the chalice he had gifted Tywin, a servant bringing over a wine jug and pouring it out, the poor girl terribly so hard she sloshed more on Littlefinger's boots than she got into the container. Finally Baelish snatched the jug away and poured it himself.

"Hurry! Hurry! I have a thirst!" Joffrey declared as Baelish darted over, holding out the cup.

Another lightning bolt cracked, so close and bright that it made everyone see just white.

Joffrey let out a gurgle.

Baelish still held the chalice in one hand… while the other held a dagger that had been plunged into Joffrey's chest.

The Master of Coin's eyes widen as he let go of the blade before stumbling back. That was enough to cause Joffrey to finally look down and realize what had happened. He numbly touched the hilt of the blade before he took a few steps back before falling to the ground.

That snapped everyone out of their shock and at once the room descended into chaos.

Tywin rushed forward, catching a glimpse of Prince Oberyn leaping over a woman that had fainted and moving to grab Littlefinger before he could even think to run. Ser Loras was pulling Margaery away even as she screamed for help while Mace Tyrell looked about wildly, as if he expected a team of assassins to suddenly come and attack them all. Tywin was at Joffrey's side only a second after Cersei, who cradled the boy's head in her lap as he feebly reached for… well, Tywin wasn't for sure what he was reaching for. He just kept grasping at air.

"Help!" Cersei screamed. "Get a maester! Get someone!"

Tywin though shook his head as he stared at his grandson. There was nothing that could be done. The dagger had plunged into Joffrey's lung and the way his lips were turning blue while bloody bubbles frothed from his lips it was clear that his lung was filling with fluid and collapsing on itself. He had seen many men in war die that way… and it was not a kind way to go. In fact getting them help only prolonged the pain; Tywin had more than once commanded a soldier who had suffered such a wound be killed at onceto spare them the agony of a slow death as they drowned in their own blood.

He couldn't do that here though. This was the King of Westeros.

Joffrey… would have to suffer.

Pycelle hurried over and began to look over the wound, gathering up some cloth and swiftly yanking the blade from Joffrey's chest before pressing a hand to the wound. The cloth quickly turned dark red and Tywin turned away as Cersei screeched for the old man to save her son, focusing instead on the dagger.

'Valyrian Steel with a dragonbone handle,' he thought as he picked the weapon up carefully, studying it. 'The weapon of a wealthy man.' He looked over at Oberyn who had locked Littlefinger in a grapple that prevented him from moving. The shock was gone and now Baelish was thrashing like a snake trying to escape a mongoose. Or a mockingbird trying to flee from a viper.

"Take him to the Black Cells," Tywin said darkly.