Tyrion Lannister sat alone in the Small Council chamber, internally contemplating whether the upcoming meeting would bear good news for a change, or whether it would be a continuation of the months of fuck ups that had plagued the capital. To put it plainly, Tyrion was miserable…everyone in the city was miserable. His father was the only one who seemed to be able to hide it, but Tyrion could tell that even the great Tywin Lannister was beginning to unravel slowly.
The Hand of the King had lost his home to Robb Stark, and all but lost his heir. Jamie was bedridden, nothing but a living husk, whether from the wounds themselves or from the knowledge that he was a defeated cripple who would never ride into battle again, it was hard for the maesters to tell. Tyrion loved his brother, but his legendary arrogance had finally caught up with him.
If Jamie had simply lost a limb, it would have not been the end of the world, but Robb Stark had also made sure that Jamie would never carry on the Lannister name as Lord of Casterly Rock (at least legitimately, thoughts of his golden-haired nephews and niece flashing through his thoughts). This meant that Tyrion was the only one who could, a fact which brought Tywin Lannister no small measure of shame.
While Tywin's simmering anger caused the entire castle to walk on eggshells, it was nothing compared to Tyrion's dear sister. Cersei had been nearly catatonic upon learning of her lover's condition, but that had quickly turned into unbridled rage. She had the patience for no one, lashing out at any who displeased her. Cersei had murdered two servants in just the past few weeks for minor failings, shoving one off of a balcony and brutally stabbing another at least a dozen times. Apparently, Jamie's cock was the only thing that had kept her from coming completely undone.
The worst of it though, was that wretched boy who called himself king. Tyrion could think of no other person less suited to rule a kingdom. Joffrey was, to put it plainly, a monster. He enjoyed torture and inflicting pain on others. To try and restrain him, they had tried to calm the boy's appetites with whores. However, with the unspeakable things Joffrey had made them do, often leaving the whores maimed and broken, the brothel owners in King's Landing were now less than willing to offer their services. Now Joffrey simply resorted to raping the serving girls at his whim.
Joffrey's behaviors were awful on a good day, so the setbacks and defeats at the hands of the King in the North left the boy seething, ordering ridiculous attacks and troop movements that Tywin always ensured never happened. The last royal decree had been to conscript every boy and man over thirteen years of age into a royal army to march north. The king did not seem to grasp the fact that he was despised by a great portion of the populace and that arming that same populace, and telling them they should march to their deaths in the frigid north was a recipe for a bloody uprising.
As Tyrion heard footsteps approaching, he quickly refilled his wine cup, throwing the bitter liquid back in a single gulp. He needed something to fortify his resolve for the next hour, and there was no better option. Tyrion lounged back as he watched Tywin, Cersei, Mace Tyrell, Pycelle, and Kevan Lannister pour into the room. Tywin noticeably sat in the King's chair.
"Will my beloved nephew, the King, not be gracing us with his presence?" Tyrion questioned.
"The King is otherwise engaged," Cersei snapped.
Tyrion snorted. "Has he stolen a baby to use as a pincushion?"
"Enough, Tyrion," Lord Tywin ordered, intense eyes flashing. "There are important matters to be discussed. The King will be updated on those matters accordingly."
"Of course, Father," Tyrion responded, biting his tongue. "What news does the Hand have to share with the Council?"
"This morning I received a raven from one of our spies in the north. It would seem that Roose Bolton was defeated in battle and captured."
Kevan Lannister blustered at the pronouncement. "Our most recent reports have been certain that Robb Stark is still in the Westerlands, as is the bulk of his army. Roose Bolton had thousands of men in the north, more than enough to bring it to heel. Who in the blazes was able to defeat him?"
"Stark's bastard brother ambushed the Boltons as they attempted to siege Last Hearth, aided by northern mountain clansmen," Tywin responded, his face barely able to mask what Tyrion knew was a boiling internal fury.
"Savages," Mace Tyrell grumbled. "No better than wildlings."
Tyrion could not help but roll his eyes at the fool. "Those savages were enough to overcome a well-equipped Bolton army."
"Why was the Stark bastard in the North to begin with?" Cersei questioned.
"A question to which I cannot answer," Tywin admitted. "I don't believe the original intention was to confront the Boltons. The timing does not line up, and I doubt Stark would have relied on a force made up of mountain clans to confront Roose Bolton if such an attack had been planned out in advance."
"I agree," Tyrion added. "The brother was in the north for another reason. It may have been just a matter of reinforcing Winterfell. Stark's entire family is currently there, after all. The obvious answer is usually the correct one."
Just as Tywin was about to counter, a Lannister guard entered the chamber, a small scroll in his hand. Tyrion watched in curiosity as the soldier approached his father.
"Pardon, my Lord. There was a messenger bearing this. Said to deliver it only to you. Also said he'd been delayed and the new one is several weeks old." Tywin took the scroll from the young man, waving him away with only the slightest of acknowledgments. The Hand of the King slowly broke the seal on the parchment, unfurling it completely. As he took the words in, Tyrion could see the old warrior's fists clenched, his jaw rigid.
"What is it, Father?" Cersei questioned.
"Robb Stark has taken the Twins. Walder Frey is dead."
The room fell into an uncomfortable, stunned silence. Tywin paid Tyrion no mind as he reached to refill his cup, which was a testament to the precariousness of their situation.
Tyrion drained his cup once more, gathering the fortitude to break the quiet. "I don't need to state the obvious, but I'll do so anyway. If the Boltons and Freys are off the table, then we have no hope of overtaking Stark in the North…not that there was much of a hope, to begin with." The idea of buying off the Boltons and Freys had never been something that had sat well with him, for a variety of reasons.
Cersei sneered. "You would give up so easily?"
"With control of the Twins, Stark has a stranglehold on the North," Tyrion stated. "Marching a force North and expecting anything other than slaughter is an utter fantasy."
Cersei did not relent. "What do you know about battle, you little monster?"
"More than you," Tyrion countered.
"And what is your solution?" Tywin interjected the sibling back and forth.
Tyrion glared at his sister once more before shifting his gaze to his father. "There is only one thing left to do. We negotiate terms of peace with Stark."
"Surrender?" Kevan frowned.
"I didn't say surrender," Tyrion replied. "It is time to face hard truths. The North and the Riverlands are lost to us. That is a fact, and no decision we make will change it. Stark is no conqueror. He will be satisfied with those holdings."
"And the fact that he currently holds our ancestral seat?" Tywin asked.
"Again, we negotiate. We offer to recognize his claim to the North and Riverlands, something he has regardless of our recognition of it, and in exchange we get back our home. Maybe we give up some land in the exchange, maybe a political marriage, but nothing to weep over. There are four factions left on the board. Joffrey in King's Landing, Stannis in the South, Stark in the North, and this alleged Targaryen across the sea. Stark is the most powerful, and I'm sure the most reasonable, out of that group. It only makes sense to take an enemy like that off the board and focus on the other, more direct threats."
"What worry is the little Targaryen bitch to us?" Cersei questioned.
"I'm sure you've heard the rumors about her dragons," Tyrion stated, his tone biting. "If a day arises when this girl comes to Westeros, she will be focused on King's Landing and the Iron Throne, not Stark in the North. She will be our problem. And who knows, maybe if we make nice with Stark, he will see the common good in preventing dragons from burning down Westeros. We've lost the war with Stark. It is time we think beyond it."
Done with his speech, Tyrion sat back in his chair, carefully watching his Father's expression, for truly it was the only one that mattered. He braced himself, ready to withstand a barrage of vitriol for the mere suggestion that the great Tywin Lannister would admit defeat. However, instead of an immediate backlash, his Father seemed to be in deep contemplation. Finally, the Hand stood, establishing his dominance over the room.
"As much as I am loathed to admit it, Tyrion's perspective on this matter is not off the mark. Stark's position in the north is entrenched, and our only ally, if he can even be counted as an ally, is Baelish, who has half of the Vale rebelling against him. Sometimes, when the odds are not in your favor, the only prudent decision is to retreat and live to fight another day, on your terms."
Kevan Lannister interjected. "While I understand the wisdom of a truce, what guarantee is there that Stark will even be amenable to one at this point? He is winning. Add to that Jamie threw his brother off a tower, my niece and nephew murdered Ned Stark's closest friend, and we offered bribes to Stark's Bannerman to assassinate him. I can confidently say, brother, that if the tables were turned, you would smother out the threat without mercy, not humor the thought of truce."
"We are Lannisters and they are Starks. They have their ideals, we have our ambitions. Stark will seek peace if the opportunity presents it," Tywin reasoned.
"And Stark will simply trust our word?" Kevan questioned.
"We'll provide some insurance," Tywin stated, looking back to Tyrion.
Tyrion was instantly discomforted. "And that means what, exactly?"
"Such important negotiations cannot take place via raven and should be handled in person. That is why you shall travel north to meet Stark and secure a truce. As part of that truce, and as a show of good faith, you shall remain in the north as a representative of King Joffrey and guest of House Stark."
Tyrion gripped the table in front of him with both hands. "You mean to make me a hostage? Your only functioning son and heir is to be a hostage to the King in the North."
Tywin scoffed. "Don't be dramatic, Tyrion. Firstly, you can put this nonsense of you being my heir out of your head. There will never come a day when you shall become the head of this House. You may be my blood, but I would never dishonor the legacy of House Lannister with such an action. If Jamie is unable to take his place as heir, Tommen shall be named heir, or I will take a wife and sire one myself. I shall hear no more on that from you. Secondly, do not be concerned about your safety. Stark will not harm you, regardless of how long we are faithful to this truce."
Tyrion was momentarily stunned, the harshness of his own Father's words and the humiliation of them being thrown out before the rest of the room was like a dagger twisted in his guts, being maligned for things beyond his control. He steeled himself, suppressing both the hurt and rage. "Regardless of how long we are faithful. Meaning you do not intend to be faithful?" Tyrion questioned.
"For a time, and for so long as it is to our advantage. We will let Stark disarm and become complacent, while we reinforce our strength. It may be time to seek outside assistance, potentially from the likes of the Golden Company."
"That would be expensive," Pycelle wheezed out.
"I am sure Lord Tyrell, as Master of Coin, will manage to scrounge up the funds," Tywin simpered at Mace Tyrell, who rose high in his seat, eating up the attention.
"Of course. I shall see to it immediately."
Tywin finally sat back in his chair. "Excellent. I knew we could count on you. It appears we are settled then. Tyrion will immediately prepare to journey North, with a small escort. We shall provide advance notice of his journey so that he is to be expected and not delayed."
Cersei objected. "The King will not agree to this. He will not simply submit to the idea of losing his Kingdoms."
"Joffrey will do what I tell him," Tywin answered. "If that boy wants to survive, let alone retain his crown, he will listen. If not, he can abdicate and Tommen may take the crown instead."
Cersei and Tywin continued to bicker. Tyrion had ceased paying attention, instead trying to control his jumbled thoughts. He had always been proud of his House, regardless of his Father's and Sister's unrelenting scorn. Yet there was only so much one man could take. Now he was to be his family's sacrificial lamb. He was to be a hostage, but a worthless one. Robb Stark holding a dagger to Tyrion's neck would not give Tywin a second of pause from his goals. His Father had noted that Lannisters were driven by ambition, so maybe it was time he saw to his own.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
If it was not for the fact that he was the King, Robb would have openly wept at the first sight of Winterfell. He held off against the urge, but just barely. He rode at the front of the column of his army, thousands of Northerners behind him, also glad to be home. A small force would remain camped around Winterfell, but many would be returning to their castles and lands, preparing as best they could for winter.
Robb was dressed in his finest, bronze crown upon his head for his first trip to the North as its King. Winterfell was ready to meet him. Guards lined the path up to the castle, holding back throngs of people who had come for a glimpse of their King. There were shouts and cheering as Robb made his way closer and closer to the castle. He did his best to acknowledge as many of his people as he could, offering a smile or a wave, especially to the small children who sat on their parent's shoulders, some even waving small Stark banners.
The castle gates were open in welcome, and Grey Wind, who had been lazily trotting at Robb's side, bound suddenly through the gates, no doubt sensing his siblings within the castle. Robb picked his pace up slightly, passing through the gates and into the central courtyard where his family waited, behind them, a pile of dire wolves leaped upon each other, enjoying their reunion. Robb saw his mother, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, and slightly behind them Shireen Baratheon. He smiled at them before his eyes fell on a sight that took his breath more than the frigid cold ever could. Margaery stood beside Catelyn, a thick set of furs wrapped around her shoulders. Her dress of grey and green was striking, but Robb's eyes were drawn to where her hands rested on her greatly rounded stomach. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when he realized that he had not missed the birth of his child. His gaze shifted to his wife's face, red-tinted cheeks slightly more rounded than the last time he had seen her so many months ago.
Robb dismounted his horse, and in just a few hurried paces he had swept his Queen into his arms. He breathed in her scent deeply. Her arms remained around his neck while his own journeyed down onto her abdomen. He was struck speechless.
"Welcome home, my King," Margaery whispered into his ear.
Robb drew back, staring into her slightly wet eyes. "It is good to be home. You look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you."
"I feel as big as a castle, but the sentiment is appreciated," Margaery grinned. "I was beginning to think you would not make it back in time. I tell our child every evening they must hold on just a bit longer."
Robb smiled like a fool. "I'm here now." He captured his wife's lips briefly before turning to the rest of his family.
Robb's mother embraced him tightly, for several long moments, reluctant to let go. Finally, she pulled back, but Robb could see something else in her eyes. "What is it, Mother?"
Catelyn looked reluctant but answered still. "I don't mean to spoil your homecoming, but there are several important matters that require the King's attention. It's probably best you assemble your lords in the great hall."