Joanna felt Tywin shake her awake and say her name, and she blinked at him as her eyes perceived constellations of candlelight burning small and insignificant in the otherwise pitch dark room.

'What time is it?' she mumbled.

'Three hours before dawn,' Tywin replied.

'Oh go away,' Joanna groaned, and pulled the covers over her head, grunting in annoyance when Tywin promptly pulled them off again.

She glared at him, and suddenly her heart was hammering bile instead of blood, and she was sitting up in bed as sleep fell from her like the linen sheets that fell from her body. Tywin's face was a grim mask against the crimson and gold of his armour, and he looked like a warrior, a killer of men, a commander of armies, a king. She hated it.

'Why are you wearing your armour?' Joanna asked softly.

Tywin took her hand.

'A raven came for me an hour ago, from Kevan,' he said, 'House Reyne and House Tarbeck have rebelled against Casterly Rock. They declare in no uncertain terms that they will no longer insult the honour of their Houses by swearing allegiance to a weak old fool who can barely rule over his own mistress, leave alone a kingdom. The Red Lion urges my father to recognise Castamere and Tarbeck Hall as a free and independent realm –'

'A lamentably small realm, wouldn't you say?' Joanna snorted.

'- and Lady Tarbeck simply dares my father to come after them,' Tywin finished quietly.

Joanna stared hard at Tywin, willing him to meet her eyes. But he did not, his eyes remaining fixed on the place where their two hands lay clasped together.

'So…you're going after them instead?' Joanna ventured reluctantly, fearing that saying the words would make them true.

'Yes,' Tywin nodded, confirming her fears with very little attempt at ceremony, 'tonight I ride for Casterly Rock to take command of our forces.'

'Why?' Joanna demanded, louder than she had intended.

Tywin blinked at her in surprise.

'What do you mean?'

'Why it is you that must take command of our forces?'

Tywin looked slightly hurt that she had not understood immediately.

'Asking sixty thousand men to fight for my father will accomplish nothing but losing this war before it has begun,' he explained.

'They need not fight for your father,' she said desperately, 'there are older commanders, all of them experienced in battle. Why must you take command?'

Joanna knew the answer before Tywin opened his mouth to reply.

'I will be Lord of Casterly Rock someday,' Tywin pronounced, 'when that happens, I must command absolute loyalty. I will not accomplish that by acting like a green boy who does what other people tell him; a coward and a fool who allows his commanders to win his wars for him while he cowers beneath Casterly Rock, fighting in tourneys and reading his books. When people speak the name of Lannister, they do so with a laugh and a sneer. By taking command of our armies in this campaign, and by winning, whatever the cost, I will restore our family's honour. Our name will be what it once was: a name to be spoken with fear. With fear comes power. With fear comes respect.'

'Making people love you will bring you both those things, and with much less shedding of blood,' Joanna replied, disliking all this talk of fear.

'You yourself told me that Father deserved my protection,' Tywin scowled impatiently.

'So that's why you're doing this? Because you love your father?'

'I love our family. It amounts to the same thing.'

Joanna's skin crawled. She was accustomed to Tywin's refusing to acknowledge his love for his father, and to his constant proud words about family and legacy. But tonight she seemed to hear them, to really hear them, for the first time in her life, and the sound they made did not please her. Perhaps it was because Tywin was clothed in armour as he spoke the words rather than in a doublet and breeches. Or perhaps it was really his voice that was clad in steel; a metallic hardness emerging from its core that she had never heard him use when talking to her. Wrath, disappointment, heartbreak and hopelessness: she had heard them all before. But this. This was something new. Something grown up. Something…ominous.

'So,' Joanna continued sharply, pushing her thoughts aside, 'it is for love of our family, and for no other reason, that you would turn yourself into the terror of the Westerlands; that you would risk getting yourself killed before you even come of age?'

'I would be proud of such an accomplishment,' Tywin replied stubbornly.

'Of being a terror or of getting killed?'

'Frightened bannermen are respectful bannermen!'

Joanna's temper flared at his failure to answer the question.

'You can't frighten anyone if you're lying dead in a ditch somewhere in Castamere!' she exclaimed, 'you're good with a sword; brilliant, even; but you've never been a squire, you've never fought in a battle, and you've never commanded so much as a team of scribes!'

'I thank you for your confidence in me, my lady,' Tywin declared icily.

'Don't twist things, Tywin!'

'I am doing nothing of the sort. You have made your opinion on the subject clear, and it disappoints me. Gravely. Do you really care so little for the restoration of our family name that you would have me stay here and let other men fight my battles for me?'

Sometimes Joanna wanted to strangle him. But when she reached out her hand, her fingers touched Tywin's cheek instead of closing around his neck, and she was grateful that he did not flinch away from her.

'I have nothing but the deepest respect for your desire to restore our family name,' she said gravely, 'but it means nothing to me if you die trying.'

Tywin's lips parted.

'Joanna –' he started.

'If I had to choose between the family honour and you, I would choose you,' she declared, with a firmness she was rather proud of, 'and I know that you would do the same, for all this blathering about legacy.'

It was a bold claim to make, and as sure as she was that he loved her, Joanna expected Tywin to immediately deny that he would do any such thing; to tell her to grow up and not to be a fool; or to joke about it and say that he'd put her on the first boat to Astapor if it would gain their House just a little more honour. Instead, his hands were winding around her back and he was kissing her like it was his last night in this world; pressing her so closely to him it hurt.

His armour felt freezing against her skin, and his sword was jabbing into her side, but his hot, swollen mouth drowned her in wine, her entire body seeming to contract into that one space where his teeth and his tongue were; tasting her, smothering her breath and her reason. When she fell backwards, he fell with her, and he was so heavy, so uncomfortable and so cold; but his kisses down her neck seared so beautifully that they almost made her scream.

'Tywin, please don't go,' Joanna murmured, tears forming in her eyes, 'I love you; please don't go.'

Tywin's hands framed her face, and his eyes were green and gold as they met hers.

'I love you more than you can imagine,' he whispered back, 'but I have no choice.'

As she sat watching him pack the last of his personal effects, she remembered the last time he had left her; how she had screamed through the door and refused to say goodbye; a stubborn little idiot of ten. She wouldn't do that again.

So when she accompanied him to their chamber door, she tried to think of something fitting to say; something wives were expected to say to lord husbands that they might never see again. But her mind remained blank and empty; empty of everything except who she really was; of everything except what Joanna Lannister of Casterly Rock, and no other, would say.

Joanna handed Tywin his helmet.

'Don't get killed,' she said shortly.

Tywin smiled at her.

'Yes, my lady,' he replied, and closed the door behind him.