Daria on the Trail:

Interlude: Tywin and Genna One

Another Interlude from Bleeding Kansas, even if Orrick Trout has a bit part.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or A Game of Thrones. I don't own Daria Morgendorffer either. This story is fan-fiction, written for fun, not for profit. If you like it, please write a review.

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Casterly Rock
Westeros
App. July 20th, 1860 AD

Morning:

"Good morning, Tywin," said Genna, greeting her older brother and the Lord Paramount of the Westlands.

"Good morning," her older brother returned.

"Slept well?" asked Genna. By the look she gave him, he knew that she already knew the answer: he hadn't.

"Hmm," Tywin replied.

"You didn't. I can tell," said Genna. "You could try some of that tea I sent you."

"The stuff the—English—export from that China place?" said Tywin. "The only thing that stuff does is keep me awake at night."

"No, the other stuff," Genna replied with amusement. "The stuff I sent you that's grown here in the Westlands."

"That wouldn't be the stuff old hedge-witches and would-be seers claim promotes visions and glimpses into the future, would it?" said Tywin.

"That's what they claim," said Genna, pleased that her brother had made some inquiries before actually drinking it. The Old Lion of Casterly Rock did have enemies after all. "Not that I believe the rubbish about visions and prophecies. But it does help me sleep and it would help you sleep too, and by the look of you, you could use it."

Tywin gave his sister a look. "I'll think about it," he averred.

That evening her decided to take his sister's counsel. He had a servant brew a cup earlier that evening, had a taster drink it, and when the taster didn't expire, decided to have another servant brew up a full potful of the stuff. He drank a couple of cups before he retired.

To his relief he found that the tea actually did promote slumber and instead of restlessly tossing and turning in his bed, he fell into what might have been a satisfying slumber—except for the strange dreams.

Both of his dreams seemed prophetic. Despite the fact that he had little truck or belief in prophetic dreams, he was annoyed that neither of his dreams made any sense. His first dream found himself watching a young wood-chopper: a tall, lanky dark-haired man chopping wood not far from a riverbank. He noted that the wood-chopper was clean-shaven, dressed in the Yankee fashion, and looked like someone who lacked money. Small-folk, he thought scornfully. Something told him that he was not seeing something in the present but in the past. He thought to greet the woodcutter but decided against it. What words would he have with a simple wood-cutter, a simple wood-cutter who probably didn't speak Andal or even acknowledge him? None. Instead he chose to watch while the woodcutter kept chopped wood into smaller pieces until he woke up to piss.

A thought struck him after he found and used the chamber-pot. If his sister's tea promoted prophecy, it was a bloody waste of time. Still, he was getting some sleep, which was something he did appreciate. He got back into bed and soon returned to his slumbers.

He began to dream again and again found himself someplace else on the other side of the Arch. This time he found himself drifting along after someone else: a man with reddish-brown hair, shabby clothes, and piercing blue eyes. Somehow, he knew this vision was much closer to the present. The man looked like another Yankee, someone impoverished but trying to rebuild his fortunes after some reversal. He noted a signpost nearby. He was curious enough to awaken and then sound out the foreign letters G-A-L-E-N-A. He had a face, he had a place, but no name or no particular reason to believe that the man he was seeing would ever amount to anyone of importance.

He fell asleep again, then found himself standing behind a man sitting at a rough-hewn table writing something down on paper. The man and what he was writing seemed inconsequential, but then he overheard the man speaking the way that some men chose when they gathered their thoughts and set them to parchment. He was surprised to hear the man speaking in the Common Tongue, not in English: "I (scratch) knew (scratch-scratch-scratch) then (scratch-scratch-dip) that (scratch-scratch) this (scratch) man had been (scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch) marked (scratch-scratch) by the Warrior." The thought was so ludicrous that he woke up chuckling in amusement.

The next morning his sister asked him if he'd seen anything important in his dreams.

"No," he replied.

SPOILER:

Genna Lannister's tea is clearly working not only as a sleeping aide but also as an aide to prophetic insight, even if Tywin Lannister has no idea as to who the men he saw might be. Identifying the two men shouldn't prove too difficult for Americans reading this story: I'll have mercy on readers from other countries and provide identifications by request.