Kevan Lannister had scarcely opened his mouth to ask Tywin's guard to announce him before the chamber door flew open, and a young man in Lannister livery bolted out of it, disappearing down the corridor in a whirlwind of sobs and rapidly-moving limbs. Sighing, Kevan entered the room to find Tywin standing before the glass in one of his 'too angry to talk' moods, struggling with the elaborate lion-shaped clasps on the magnificent crimson and gold doublet their father had sent as an early wedding gift.

Kevan slapped Tywin's shaking hands away from the clasps and began to buckle them himself, trying not to laugh at his brother's evident anxiety.

'Isn't it bad luck to drive servants to tears on your own wedding day?' Kevan enquired good-naturedly.

Tywin snorted in derision, but did not reply.

'Oh, I know,' Kevan continued, 'you're probably at a complete loss to understand why the boy reacted that way.'

'I simply told him to go away,' Tywin answered flatly.

Kevan laughed affectionately, rolling his eyes as his brother glared at him in response.

'Don't you try your death stare on me, Tywin,' Kevan declared, 'I am immune.'

'Oh no, you're not.'

Kevan thought for a moment before replying.

'You're right. I'm not.'

Tywin took a pitcher of wine from the table behind him.

'Wine?' he offered.

'Don't mind if I do,' Kevan replied, mildly concerned by the earliness of the hour, but nodding his thanks as Tywin handed him a glass.

Kevan raised it dramatically above his head.

'To Cousin Joanna!' he exclaimed.

'May she not be late!' Tywin finished.

Kevan raised one eyebrow quizzically.

'A joke, Tywin? Should I summon a maester to examine you?'

Tywin raised one of his own eyebrows in response.

'Only if you're foolish enough to think I was joking.'

Kevan watched as Tywin finished his wine in one gulp and poured himself another glass immediately.

'I saw Father this morning,' Kevan ventured cautiously.

'Did you?' Tywin replied, without much interest.

'He says he came to see you, and that you refused to let him in.'

'I had no desire to break a man's jaw on my own wedding day.'

Kevan sighed.

'Tywin…he's a soft old fool, I know, but he is your father.'

'So everyone tells me.'

Kevan's heart sank as he watched Tywin's lips turn white along with his face, making him look older and bitterer than his fifteen years. There was a hardness in his eyes that did not belong there; an abysmal flaw in what could otherwise have been a perfect emerald. True, there were also creases between his eyes from reading too much, and callouses on his hands from sparring too much, but that look in his eyes came from hating too much, and Kevan knew that his brother had not been born hating people.

'Do you remember the day we fetched Cousin Joanna from Lannisport?' Kevan asked.

Tywin did not reply, but Kevan could tell, immediately, that he did remember, and decided to press on.

'You were three, and already a wise man –'

'Kevan –'

'I was two, and a total idiot. So I called you a miserable coward and dared you to throw yourself from your pony and into the harbour. I never imagined that you'd actually do it.'

Tywin remained silent.

'Once I'd stopped laughing,' Kevan continued, 'I realised that you weren't coming up for air, so I started to scream. And Father dove into the sea immediately, without even removing his cloak or his boots, graceful as a dolphin. He might have been a fish himself. When he pulled you out, you were coughing and spluttering and utterly hysterical, holding onto him like your life depended on it and screaming at anyone who tried to pull you away from him, even Mother. Eventually, he seated you in front of him on his horse, and you rode together, sopping wet, all the way back to Casterly Rock. Sometimes he would let you take the reins and steer the horse into a gallop, and he would tell you stories about Aegon the Conqueror and the Field of Fire. And I remember Mother complaining and the servants gossiping, and the smallfolk frowning about the Lord of Casterly Rock rewarding his son for his idiocy instead of having him whipped, starved and punished, as any normal parent would have done. I remember being insanely jealous, because I had to stay on my stupid pony while you got to ride on father's hunting horse, like a real grown-up. It made me wish I had thrown myself into the harbour instead. And when we eventually got home, you followed him around for days afterwards. He was a hero to you, and you loved him, and I know that you've never stopped loving him, in spite of everything. I can see it now in the way you're glaring at me. So yes, he's a weak old ass who deserves hatred and ridicule, but he doesn't deserve them from you. He deserves protection, and compassion, because he is a good father. Even though he's the worst Warden of the West in…well…ever, really.'

Tywin's eyes were softer than a child's, and Kevan thought for one moment that he saw tears there. If he did, they were gone in an instant, and all that remained was Tywin, staring guiltily at his boots and looking more helpless than Kevan had seen him in years.

'I don't hate him,' Tywin mumbled, 'not really.'

Kevan grasped the back of his brother's neck and forced Tywin to look at him.

'Then stop being such a bloody cold fish, and shake his hand or smile at him or something when you get to the Great Sept, or you'll have me to deal with.'

Tywin's eyes meet Kevan's for a moment, blue-green and gold with emotion, before Kevan leaned in and embraced his brother tightly, smiling to himself when Tywin did not remain stiff as a board, but did a passable job of returning the embrace, his wine glass still clutched in his hand.

'Now, then,' Kevan said, confiscating Tywin's wine glass and pushing him towards the door, 'let's get you married before you retire another perfectly good servant for breathing too loudly.'