Tytos Lannister buried his face in his hands and gave himself up to blind, uncontrollable panic. He was acutely aware that he had not experienced the emotion in almost ten years, and it was no more pleasant now than it had been then. And a Tarbeck responsible both times. Why would the gods not leave him in peace? He was a nervous man, and exciting himself could be fatal to his health. The maester had said so many times.

The first of these landmark brushes with panic took place when young Tywin had been four or five years old, and biddable as a shepherd's dog. He always said his prayers, learnt his lessons and applied himself to swinging a sword as elegantly as he could. The servants loved him, Tytos' bannermen loved him, his siblings loved him, and Tytos thanked the gods every day for having given him such an unremarkable boy for an eldest son. It would make the future much easier.

Then one morning, an unexpected chorus of screams, grunts and laughs from the practice yard was swiftly followed by the presence of the master of arms in Lord Tytos' solar, blabbering like a fool drunk on strongwine.

'It's little Lord Tywin, my lord; he's swung a sword into the head of Lord Tarbeck's eldest and damn near beaten him to death –'

'What?'

'It's true, my lord!'

But Tywin is a good boy, a normal boy, unobtrusive, unassuming, one who wouldn't cause any trouble. The master of arms must have failed in some way. It must be that.

'And where in seven hells were you when this was happening?' Tytos demanded.

The master of arms blushed deeply before rushing to justify himself.

'No one could hold him, my lord, he was too –'

'No one could hold him?' Tytos repeated in disbelief.

'No, my lord,' the master of arms half-sobbed.

'He's five years old!'

'He was stronger than an aurochs, my lord; I've never seen the like in a child, he was –'

'What happened next?'

The master of arms then began to dance on the spot in anxiety.

'So there he was, blood flying every which way, and suddenly the little lady Joanna appeared and shouted at him.'

Tytos' heart stopped in his chest at that. If Tywin had harmed his cousin, and his girl cousin, at that, his wife would plague him about it till his dying day.

'And?' Tytos blurted.

"And', my lord?' the master of arms squawked in reply.

'What did she shout at him?' Lord Tytos bellowed, rather impressed at how powerful his voice could be when he put his mind to it.

"Don't kill him," the master of arms reported hastily, blushing once again as Tytos stared at him.

'That's all?'

'"Don't kill him," the little lady said, my lord, "Please don't."'

Good girl. At least someone else in this thrice-damned castle was fond of peace and quiet.

'Did my son listen to her?' Tytos asked.

'Yes, my lord,' the master of arms had replied, nodding furiously, 'he even apologised. Though the little lord was too far gone to hear him.'

Lord Tytos took a deep breath and slumped backwards in his chair.

'Please ask Tywin to come up.'

'He's with the maester, my lord.'

'Oh. I'll send for him later, then.'

Lord Tytos barely had the time to panic and groan inwardly at the injustice of his peace being disturbed in this way before he received a raven from the Lord Tarbeck that stopped just short of declaring war. Tytos knew that his own father would have called the banners, sent to King's Landing for reinforcements, and laid siege to the seat of House Tarbeck immediately. But sieges could be so very draining, and often expensive. To best way to overcome this little spat was no doubt to pretend that it had never happened, and to hope that Tarbeck would be equally gracious.

When Tywin eventually took it into his head to come up, boasting no injury more serious than a cut lip, his tale made Lord Tytos very uncomfortable.

'One of the lads' fathers wanted money for a new horse,' Tywin told him calmly, 'and Tarbeck told him to ask you, because you always give out loans and never ask for them back. I told him he was lying. He laughed at me.'

Tytos had coloured, but had not replied. There was no harm in being generous. None at all.

'Is it true that Lord Tarbeck owes you five hundred gold dragons?' Tywin had asked him indignantly, his enormous green eyes darkening.

'No,' Tytos had contradicted hastily, 'of course not.'

He was lying, of course, and he could tell from Tywin's demeanour that his son knew it; the same mix of pity, disdain and ridicule that he so often saw on the faces of his bannermen staring out at him from the eyes of his own son. But in the red flush rising in Tywin's cheeks, he saw a new emotion that made his expression all the more terrible to look upon: anger.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. Soon enough, it will all be forgotten.

But it had not been forgotten, of course.

Lord Tarbeck had demanded a public apology; Tytos had agreed; Tywin had refused; Tytos had insisted; Tywin had refused again; Lannister men and Tarbeck men had traded insults and come to blows in every town in the Westerlands, and catastrophe had only been averted by the intercession of the Ladies Tarbeck and Lannister, who had banged their husbands' heads together, forced them to shake hands and had so enjoyed the experience of it that they had begun to meet once a week for harp lessons right up until the day of Lady Lannister's death.

And now it was once again Tarbeck, this infernal Tarbeck, who was making Tytos tremble and sweat in distress for the second time in ten years; his hands clutching each other as they shielded his face; his heart throbbing madly in his chest; his head swimming and shimmering with nausea. Why were other people so fond of conflict? Why could they not simply be content with their lives and allow him to be content with his?

Lord Tarbeck, it would seem, had decided to stake an absurd ancestral claim to some dreary piece of dirt nestled right in the middle of those lands belonging to House Westerling. Matters between the two Houses had proceeded as such things usually do, until Lord Tarbeck had become bored with simple quarrelling, and had decided to stake his claim to the land using military force. Lord Tytos, queasy as he always had been about doing so much as talking to his bannermen, let alone disciplining them, had waited until the morning after the pitched battle on the plains beneath the Crag before summoning Lord Tarbeck to Casterly Rock, wishing that his wife were still alive to deal with the situation for him.

Remembering the interview, which had taken place an hour earlier, Lord Tytos whimpered aloud. It had been little more than a lot of one-sided screaming on Lord Tarbeck's part, with Tytos occasionally breaking into the din to plea for mercy on his shattered nerves.

'My dear Tarbeck, why must you shout so? My nerves are not what they once were. The maester says I should be careful.'

Lord Tarbeck had then proceeded to tell him, multiple times, what he thought of the maester, before remarking that he would be sure to chop the fool's balls off when he marched on Casterly Rock.

'And that is precisely what I will do, my lord, if you insist on preventing me from taking what is lawfully mine.'

Lord Tytos had then been seized by a kind of bravery that he had not experienced since his youth; shouting for his guards and ordering that his insolent bannerman be thrown into the dungeons below the Rock to await the King's justice; the infuriated Tarbeck roaring all the while about vengeance, fire and blood like some deranged Targaryen maniac.

When the door had finally closed behind the guards and their captive, the great roaring fire of Tytos' new-found courage had dwindled to a feeble wheeze of flame dancing off damp wood, until nothing was left of it but a faint odour of smoke, and blind, uncontrollable panic. Lord Tytos almost wept as he collapsed into his chair, wondering what in seven hells he was meant to do now.

Summoning a servant, he called for willow tea.