Lord Tywin had not paid the egg any heed; it was a lark by his son Jaime to find it at all, and kept only in the bedchamber by Joanna's urging, and it could not have been further from his mind at that instant.
For Joanna lay dead, his son an Imp, the maesters gaping, for Lord Tywin was all fury in every chiseled line of his body, and then the grief sank in.
It would not do to show any emotion; and so Lord Tywin walked the length from the room where his wife's body lay, and when he reached his chamber, dismissing even Kevan, did he collapse upon his bed.
Choking sobs that pulsated through him, and that the sound of cracking, did not rouse him until he took his first breath. Oddly he felt a stir, and when he felt a slither, it was his upbringing as a knight, and long experience as a lord in politics, that a dagger drawn could not go awry.
He faced with his blade outstretched, a slithering baby dragon that looked up at him. This chance of the gods could not be what he wanted less. He'd gladly strangle it to have Joanna back; and only moments before, had considered the same fate for his newborn babe.
A baby dragon could only hold utility to him; it slithered close and bared its wings, and though Lord Tywin saw all that would one day be fearsome and fright, he met its gaze. This was not just a dragon.
He could say no other word to sway his understanding, and then it blinked, and he knew.