Benjamin Franklin once said that nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes. I'd like to add another - being afraid of Tywin Lannister.

Joffrey had seen him on some occasions prior to this meeting, but it was my first time seeing the patriarch of the Lannister Family, the Old Lion himself. His eyes were a piercing green flecked with gold, holding a gaze that made lesser men - which includes most, including myself - shake in their boots. His hair was shaved well and regularly ever since his hairline started receding, but his bushy side whiskers, coloured like pure gold, only added to the ensemble. He looked nothing like Charles Dance - while the actor had an aura of dignity around him, the character himself emitted one of unadulterated power, causing me to feel fear and awe in equal measure. If he felt any happiness at seeing his children and grandchildren for the first time in what must have been months if not years he didn't show it. Tywin Lannister didn't smile, and a scowl rarely left his face.

"Cersei. Jaime. Welcome to Casterly Rock." he said, his voice not betraying any hint of emotion, when he met us at the top of the stairs leading to the Lion's Mouth. He sat atop a stallion the colour of midnight and I'm pretty sure that if he kept looking at me for a few more seconds I would have lost the contents of my bladder. Thankfully, he looked away and I audibly sighed in relief. Not exactly the greatest start, but I guess not much more could be expected from my first meeting with the Great Lion of the Rock.

Everyone knows that Casterly Rock is huge, but it truly is beyond description. Two leagues by two miles by two thousand feet sounds like a lot, but it's way beyond the point at which size stops making sense. Out of all the fantasy races the Lannisters are closest to the Dwarves - they have a lot of mines and live in a mountain, among others - and I was never more grateful, because if not for the immense amount of gold and toil put into making this place travelable I probably would've died from going up all those stairs. The books that I'd read on the way here said Casterly Rock had fifty floors and a dozen more underground, with veins of gold yet untouched and others in production, far from the paltry depiction that it had in the show. I'm pretty sure it took over an hour for us to get through all the corridors and lifts to our quarters. The ones given to me rivalled mine in the Red Keep in space and luxury, and it seemed to have won a competition as to how much crimson and gold can be put into one room.

After taking a bath, I was invited to Tywin's solar by a servant. Of course, that invitation was an order, but I would've gone anyway. You don't say no to talking with Tywin Lannister, especially in private. I'd always been a fan of the Lannisters because the Starks are a bunch of do-gooders in both the show and the books, while all of the Lannisters are interesting characters with depth and moral dilemmas. Those that have the name, of course. The faux-Baratheons are either sadistic little shits, completely irrelevant or plump and cravenly, respectively.

The Rock was absolutely gigantic, as I've said before, but all of the important quarters were relatively close to one another at the very top of the Rock, so it didn't take that long to reach it. I hadn't put on my cloak, though I very much liked wearing it, so I was simply dressed in a doublet and breeches, both Lannister Red. At each side of the door stood a guard, their red cloaks resting heavily on their elaborate armour. They immediately straightened up upon seeing me and opened the doors. I found him sitting at his desk, a quill in hand, writing a letter. Disturbed by the creak of the door, he slowly raised his head and bore his eyes on my own. If I have a soul, he saw it in intimate detail at that moment. I walked towards him and stood close to the table, awaiting further instructions.

It came with an almost imperceptible nod of the head instructing me to sit down, so I did so.

"Your mother has praised you extensively since she arrived." he said, his voice deep and powerful. "While I generally do not trust her as a judge of character, it would be counterproductive for me to ignore it entirely."

"You wish to judge me yourself, my Lord?" I said, struggling ferociously to keep myself calm and collected and not wilt under the pressure.

"Yes. I have posed this problem to both your mother as well as your uncle Jaime. Both of them failed. If your mother is correct, you will not." Tywin said, pulling out a small map of the Westerlands. "Imagine that there are enemies attacking House Swyft of Cornfield and House Farman of Fair Isle, but you only have the forces to defend one of them. Which one do you aid?"

"House Swyft, obviously." I said, and his brow tightened in response.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Ser Harys Swyft's daughter Dorna is married to uncle Kevan. Like it or not, they are family and family comes first. The Farmans grew truculent even after the Rains of Castamere and had to be reminded of the fate of the last houses who defied House Lannister. It is imperative to reward loyalty and not defiance, my Lord." I answered and Tywin leaned back in his chair.

"You're right, but for the wrong reason. You're not looking at this strategically. The Swyfts are responsible for the majority of our food supply and to lose the fields that give their keep its name would mean that we would be completely dependent on the Reach not to starve. The Farmans are a crucial part of our maritime defensive strategy, yes, but they are not as crucial for our survival. Besides, anyone trying to take Fair Isle would find it a challenging prospect, especially due the measures put in place after the Greyjoy rebellion." Tywin answered, and I felt stupid. Of course he was talking about it strategically and not politically. I had to resist the urge to not slap my forehead.

"Still," he continued, "you got it right. That's what matters. The means are irrelevant - it's the end that's important. Nobody will care how you won a battle a thousand years from now, only its result. It seems that your mother wasn't totally wrong."

I felt pride well in my chest almost up to bursting. That's about as close Tywin Lannister came to giving a compliment.

"Thank you, my Lord." I was able to say.

"Now, about Jon Arryn…"

— — — —

I walked arm-in-arm with my great-aunt Genna through the streets of Lannisport, a score of Red Cloaks following close behind. She was chattering away and I was half paying attention, nodding when it seemed appropriate. I was quite sure I looked the fool, but I was pretty sure she barely even realised I was there. I had asked her for advice on purchasing some jewellery for Sansa and earned a lot of good-natured ribbing for it, but she agreed nonetheless. Genna was the mother and father of her little family - Emmon Frey was more of a piece of furniture than anything else. I would be incredibly surprised if he weighed more than one hundred and twenty pounds, and he quite literally didn't have a chin.

Anyway, I trusted Genna more than I did Cersei, especially with anything involving the woman I would marry. I wasn't enough of a fool to believe that she would see Sansa as the harmless creature she still is, though it didn't hurt to try. We walked around for quite a while before she found a jeweller who for all I knew was chosen at random and decided to go in and I followed. The store was well-lit and professionally organised, with clean and ordered display tables showing intricately crafted jewellery in a variety of precious metals.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what I'm doing so, could you please lead the way?" I asked her as we got to the counter.

I allowed my eyes to wander as Genna prattled away. As she described what seemed like dozens of pieces of jewellery - hairnets and bracelets and rings and earrings, all filled with wolves and lions and stags and so on - my eyes locked on a piece behind the table on a little cupboard.

"What about that one?" I asked, pointing at it. The owner turned around and picked it up.

"This one?" he asked and I nodded. He laid it on the counter in front of us.

It was a thin necklace in silver with a large ruby cut in the shape of a heart and surrounded by tiny diamonds suspended on it.

"It's perfect." Genna said, "We don't need the rest. We'll just take this one."

I could see the disappointment show in his face - he just lost a lot of business - but he said nothing of it and simply told us the price. It was outrageous, but my aunt didn't seem to mind and immediately accepted it. Either nobody had any sense of the value of money in this world or I had severely overestimated how much it was actually worth.

I left the store with it inside one of the many hidden pockets of my doublet and, instead of returning to the Rock, decided to explore Lannisport a bit further. It had half of King's Landing's population but smelled orders of magnitude better. It was ordered with clean, wide streets, functioning sewers and solid buildings and proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that King's Landing being 'a stinking shitpile of a city' as Oberyn Martell so eloquently put it is solely the fault of the Royal Government, for in Lannisport stands incontrovertible evidence that the creation of a clean and civilised city is possible. On that day I vowed to fix that city, if not to modern standards then to those of Lannisport. It shouldn't be too hard… right?

— — — —

Thanks for reading! Your reviews are always welcome, though I must make it clear that this is not an incest story in any way.

As it may become painfully obvious who anyone who has any knowledge of the subject, I don't know the first thing about jewellery. If the necklace I described is the epitome of gaudiness and poor taste I sincerely apologize and invoke suspension of doubt. It's the thought that counts, or at least that's what my mother told me.