Tywin wished he had taken a Maester or two with him, and maybe ever a coterie of scribes also, for he would never remember all that the Lord of Winterfell talked about during their long rides during the day and sometimes long talks deep into the night.
Lord Stark seemed to be some sort of savant, a man who should be in Oldtown and be busy forging links on his Maestres chain, such was his knowledge. Luckily he was not mused Tywin, instead here he was spilling a veritable cornucopia of ideas out of his head, ideas that Tywin was certain he would at least have to try. The mechanical sowing and reaping machines, why they sounded like veritable gifts from the Gods themselves to increase agricultural productivity. His lip curled downwards a little bit when he remembered that Cersei, beautiful and proud as any Lioness of the Rock, had asked what was the point of such devices, surely that was what smallfolk were for?
Interestingly Lord Stark had not corrected his daughter in her ignorance, was he already enamoured by his perfect, beautiful daughter? Or was he not saying anything out of respect for the presence of her father and the fact that they were not yet married and it was not his job as of yet to correct Cersei?
Maybe neither, though he was dammed if Cersei would ever be let forget that no matter who she married that he was head of House Lannister, her true family.
But maybe he had neglected the education of his daughter, for she was prone to making such gaffs in conversation frequently whenever he and Lord Stark discussed the matters that interested them both. The Lord had some astonishingly innovative ideas when it came to banking, and he was especially indignant about the role of the Iron Bank in Westeros, and the exorbitant rates of interest they, and every other bank, foreign or domestic charged. Some of that gold that sat in the vaults below Casterly Rock that the Lannister's had dared not release for fear of collapsing the value of the metal that their fortune depended upon, might finally have a use. To act as collateral for a series of loans to establish a network of 'merchant banks' to lend at reasonable rates of interest for productive purposes.
Equally fascinating was the Starks insistence that Westeros must not only build a bigger navy, but that it had to wrest control of what he called the 'carrying trade' from the great mercantile city of Braavos. The 'merchant marine' of Westeros needed to be expanded greatly, and while on the subject the Stark had turned the conversation to the Iron Isles.
The two men were sitting in a booth in a Tavern sharing a jug of reasonable ale; the booths to either side were empty to give the two Lords paramount privacy, said privacy enforced by a coterie of Lannister and Stark guards keeping the rest of the patrons at bay. Cersei had joined then for the meal, a good meat and vegetable pie with bread and roasted potatoes. Stark had taken a pie all to himself, along with a full loaf of good white bread, and a tray of roasted potatoes. Tywin and Cersei had shared a pie, a loaf and a tray of roasted potatoes between them. Cersei had been as usual unimpressed with the fare and the accommodation, but by this stage Tywin was inured to his daughters whining on the subject.
From spending this amount of time with Lord Eddard Tywin had noticed that the Stark had an enormous appetite, seeming to eat as much as two or three men regularly. And yet he remained as fit and lean as ever, seeming to have nary a once of fat on his body. He could put away drink at an equally prodigious rate and seemed never to get more than mildly drunk, a talent that he had witnessed at feasts in the Red Keep on numerous occasions.
After the meal Cersei had lingered a while, engaging Lord Stark in some conversations about the banner men of the North and their various histories, a conversation that Tywin approved of, Cersei was at least showing a modicum of interest in her future role as wife to the Warden of the North. He noticed that Cersei seemed to be much more polite to Lords Stark, but maybe that was just the ale talking, he noticed that his daughters face was quite flushed, as was her neck and upper body, that bit that was visible on the slightly more conservative dress that she was sporting. Her dresses had been quite scandalous the last few weeks in the Red Keep, much too revealing to his taste. There had been no need for Cersei to overplay her hand like that; it was only petty of her to flaunt herself, and now that he thought about it, perhaps that flaunting was a sign of what she thought of as her 'victory' in snagging Lord Stark? His daughter was a complex creature he came more and more to realise, but she was only a woman, and soon she would be married and with a husband to guide her. But he would still make sure that Cersei never forgot that she was a Lannister by blood and but a Stark by marriage.
Cersei had excused herself a while ago, remarking that she knew they had wanted to talk about 'boring things', but nor before she had given the Stark a peck on his check, much to his surprise. Tywin had hidden his grin at that, ah but she was a manipulative one his daughter, she was already starting to work on Ned Stark, he wagered that by the time they reached Winterfell the young Lord would be completely smitten with Cersei.
Tywin brought his mind back to the present as Lord Stark talked about canals and about how the key for them would be a canal between Seaguard and the Green Fork, the great river of the Riverlands which was navigable as far as The Twins by ocean going ships of less than two hundred tuns burden. A pity that the Stark had turned down the marriage to Catelyn Tully then was it not? Hoster Tully was not the kind to forget slights or insults like that. The Stark lad still had a lot to learn about politics he mused, he had left no northerner in Kings Landing on the Small Council for one. And just who would vouch for him and his ideas when they were not confined to the North then eh? Was he relying on his friendship with Robert Baratheon to get things done? Even if his Grace took an active interest in what Lord Stark tried to do outside of the North, the machinery of the Small Council could still effectively block any and all plans the young Lord might have.
And then the Stark had left one enemy already on the Small Council, Lord Varys. Tywin had heard that Lord Stark had suggested that Varys be removed from the Small Council, but in this he had been blocked by Jon Arryn, and yet another sign of the rift between two formerly close men. With Jon Arryn no longer a close supporter of Lord Stark, well let's see how young Ned Stark's plans would go eh?
"Aye I can see that, but the Iron Born, if we cut that canal we would only open up the Riverlands and the western shores to them raiding and reaveing, for I know they will soon take up that tradition of theirs."
"Aye Lord Tywin, and sooner than you think" the Stark leaned closer and dropped his voice "Balon Greyjoy is rebuilding the Iron Fleet, we have at most four, maybe five years before he goes on the rampage again.."
"You know this for certain?" gasped Tywin, doubt in his voice and eyes.
"I'm as sure as I am sitting here opposite to you my Lord."
"Then we must inform the Iron Throne Lord Stark, have King Robert warn Lord Balon Greyjoy of the consequences of his actions" of course this was not what Tywin would do, but let's see what Lord Stark replied with eh?
"Must we?" asked the Stark, raising an eyebrow. "If I know, then how come King Robert does not know? He has a Master of Whispers whose job it is to alert the Iron Throne to threats such as these? If Lord Varys knows and yet says nothing, or if he does not know…"
Tywin's mind turned over the possibilities in his head, interesting, most interesting, this Stark had depths to him that he found fascinating. Ah, of only he had been fostered at Casterly Rock and not at the Eyrie, what a player of the Game of Throne he would have made of Ned Stark! Now to start planning to replace Varys with someone more loyal to him… or maybe Lord Stark wanted his own man in the role of Master of Whispers? Possibly, most likely he would wager, so mayhaps a little struggle with his soon to be goodson over the replacement of Varys? Interesting indeed, and at once a possibility to teach young Stark about the Game of Thrones and to see how well he can play said Game? Tywin felt that familiar quickening of the pulse as the plots and plans started to form, gossamer thin threads to be pulled this way and that with the barest of tugs now to influence events several years from now.
"But surely Balon Greyjoy knows that he will be defeated, that he cannot win?" Tywin asked of Ned Stark.
"Lord Balon Greyjoy is as dumb as a sack of pigshit; he is surrounded by Lords and Captains all hankering for a return to the 'Old Ways'. Even if he wanted to, he has no choice, he has to do this or he faces being usurped by others who want a return to the so called 'Old Ways'.
"The Iron Islands are a curse upon us, always making trouble, always sulking and threatening to upset things, when I was Hand of the Kings they were always raiding and giving me headaches that I did not need."
"Aye, and their threat makes the western shore of the North untenable to large scale settlement and exploitation, hence why I want a fleet there as soon as possible."
"I fear any war will be costly with them, they are a menace, but one which can so easily slip away and bide it's time for another day" Lord Tywin said, grinding his teeth in frustration.
"They don't have to be my Lord; the solution for the Iron Islands is for the 'rains to weep o'er the halls' of the Iron Islands as they say. When Balon Greyjoy and the rest of the squids decide to have a collective lapse of reason and go on their little murder spree we must make a desolation of the Iron Islands and call it a peace."
Lord Tywin raised his cup in salute to the northerner, making a solemn promise to himself that if he was ever to find himself on the opposing side to Lord Eddard Stark that he would send a Faceless Man to rid him of Lord Stark first.
"To a desolation that we will call a peace" Lord Tywin said in a low voice, never taking his eyes off the grey, cold eyes of Lord Eddard Stark