(Casterly Rock: 1/2/299 AC) Tyrion I

"You cannot be serious!? You can't treat me like this!" Cersei shrieked, slapping both hands on their father's gilded war table. Though made of oak, sturdy and thick, the sudden force caused several of the pieces arrayed along the unfurled map of Westeros to topple over. The lithe Blood Rose smirked beneath veiled eyes, while the intimidating form of Ser Lyle Crakehall merely grunted. Alongside the Crakehall stood the daring Ser Addam Marbrand, and the shuffling coward Ser Harys Swyft who appeared more distraught than normal. All were clad in their plate and scale armours, ready for war, save for Ser Swyft. Despite their surroundings, Tyrion could feel a certain emptiness in the room now that his uncle Kevan was gone, after having been dispatched a day earlier to continue recruitment of Westerland forces with Ser Stafford. The recruitment effort, which had originally been meant as a deterrent to force the Lady of Dragonstone to back down, had instantly turned into the frenzied conscription of a full-fledged army. From what his father had said, a scant few days before Tyrion, Cersei and her brood, had found themselves outside of Deep Den, the Westerlmen army had swelled to nearly twenty-thousand strong.

"Do not presume to convey to me how to treat you," the Lion of the Rock growled, his jaw twitching only slightly at the irritation stirred up by Cersei's defiance. "I am your father. You had every advantage. I gave you free reign, and you squandered it on petty misguided grievances." Bright lights filtered through the windows of stained glass depicting roaring lions, which were perched high atop the library's walls. Rays of crimson and gold marched silently across the smooth stone floor of the room, following the trail of the sun and illuminating the books, scraps of parchment and raven scrolls scattered about throughout edges of the war table.

"I…" his sister stumbled upon her words before spotting the slowly approaching guard. "Don't you dare touch me! I am the Queen!" she roared, her still slightly swollen face appearing eerily akin to the fat red face of the King from when Tyrion had last laid eyes upon him at Winterfell. A time which, to him, may as well have been a lifetime ago.

"Correction: you were the Queen," he spat, looking at her dead in the eyes. "Unless, of course, Robert's demands for your head were merely affectionate words from a loving husband?"

Cersei's baleful gaze and cold silence were her only response.

"Face it, you fucked us, Cersei. You allowed us, you allowed this family to be bent over a table so the firebitch could have her way with us!" Even as the furious words left his mouth, Tyrion felt a twinge of respect at the Lady of Dragonstone, but his anger at Cersei had been festering long enough to dispel the momentary bout of veneration.

"How dare you!" she crowed, and turned to Jaime, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the entire exchange. "Jaime! Tell father this is unnecessary! Tell him! He'll liste…" she started, before being cut off by their father.

"He'll do no such thing," Tywin glared at Jaime, causing the pride of his father to turn his head in shame. The normally gregarious smile was all but smitten from his handsome face. "Ignore her and her protestations," the Lord of Casterly Rock said. The man in Lannister armor wrapped his hands around his sister's wrists and held on tight. "Take her to her chambers and make sure she stays there," Tywin growled, countering Cersei's venomous eyes with a bitter stare of his own. "And no visitors, save for her children," he saw the quick glance the lord lion had shot towards the rumored father of Cersei's children. "I won't have you embarrassing me any longer. Not while this war, which you caused with your incompetence, looms over us all. Tyrion is right, you had ample time to secure the capital, and then you just allowed that Yi-Tish woman to run roughshod over you and all the others! What good is your position and our gold, if you can't even stop a meddlesome foreign woman from interfering in our affairs?"

"You…you can't do this father," she pleaded with a teary sheen, all the while attempting to wrest herself out of her guard's hold. Her twin emeralds searched for purchase amongst them and found it within their brother Jaime, who had since turned to gaze back upon their sister. The formerly gleaming white armor of the Kingsguard had been replaced by crimson and gold the instant King Robert had declared them all traitors and a family of incestuous deviants besides. There had been demands for his sibling's heads, but Tyrion rightly expected that such demands would fall upon deaf ears. His father, though wroth at the news, which had reached most of Westeros by that point, would never betray his kin. But he knew what thought had crossed his father's mind the moment the raven scrolls had been read.

"They're all laughing at us, because of you," Tyrion rose, watching as Cersei dug herself into a deeper and deeper pit, in her futile contestations of her supposed place at the table.

"Father…" Jaime started, before the head of their house slammed his palms upon the table, further rattling it about and causing more pieces to fall.

"Not another word, from either of you!" his father's countenance had taken a much darker turn when his golden child had uttered words in defense of their sister. A sister who had suddenly silenced herself beneath their father's foreboding expression. "You!" he pointed to the man, who appeared to have shit in his armor. "Get her out of my sight!"

"No! Father! Father! Let me go!" Cersei pleaded, her voice gradually fading from hearing as she was led out of the room, and down the vast hallways leading to her chambers. Of all the grim faces present within the room, only one beamed with a twinkle of delight. Loras Tyrell.

Had their situation been less dire, he may have found the same amount of enjoyment from Cersei's chastisement, but this was no such time. He scanned the map of Westeros and noted the reported positions of the burning stag and her allies. The placements of which seemed, to him, to merit a degree of sense given the landscape. However, in the midst of the possibilities, he found the most interest in the markers placed along the wall. 'Are the rumors true?' he wondered, after having read the proclamations from both the King and Lord Stark upon his return to the Rock.

The Lion of the Rock presented a grim nod to Ser Addam, signaling a continuance of his accounts on their clashes with the Rivermen, before the Queen's earlier interruption had abruptly silenced him.

"As I was saying, my lord," he cleared his throat. "Skirmishing has already been reported along our northern border with the Riverlands, nearer the Golden Tooth. Sers Gregor Clegane, Armory Lorch, and their force of five-hundred mounted knights and one-thousand conscripts, joined with Lord Lefford's army of nine-hundred men-at-arms, and two-hundred strong cavalry to engage a superior number of troops commanded by the Tully heir, Edmure. Near five-thousand, mostly peasant levies, from what Lord Lefford's scouts reported. Ultimately, they were driven back to Riverrun, though our losses were tallied at two-hundred-and-eight levies, four knights, and forty-seven men-at-arms."

"Probing for weaknesses?" Tyrion posited. While lacking in military matters, he knew probing attacks when he saw them, for he would oft use them in conversation.

"Most assuredly," Ser Loras answered, as he tapped upon the pommel of his rose-handled sword. "How many Rivermen were slain?"

"Five-hundred-and-sixty-four were dead upon the field, another two-hundred scattered into the woods during the retreat. Ser Gregor is in the process of riding them down with his cavalry," the man's words were stiff and assertive.

"No," his father said, rumbling the room with his gravelly voice. "Send word to the Mountain, immediately. I do not want any unnecessary pursuits." Greenish-gold eyes brimming with the wisdom of years of service to the crown and the experience of crushing unruly vassals, glared at the stag pieces reported sitting idle in Moat Cailin and the castle-fortress of Storm's End. "That is what destroyed Tarly, and I will not have it be the end of me."

"They're just children, father," he said, then immediately regretted the choice of words. For the Lady of Dragonstone, despite being of senior age to himself, had also been little more than a child when she had come to Westeros and decimated the Reach.

"I concur, Lord Tywin, perhaps it would be prudent to…" Ser Harys began, as he motioned towards the stag piece placed at King's Landing.

"Any spawn of Azula Baratheon, regardless of age or gender, is not to be underestimated. The woman has not left the capital, nor does she appear to have any immediate plans to do so. The whereabouts of Lords Stark, Renly, and Stannis are unknown. The only certainty our spies have given us, is that the King and the Silver-Tongue were last noted as raising a force near Storm's End, and that the Ursa girl remains at the Neck awaiting northern reinforcements," his father rubbed at the golden whiskers running down along the sides of his face.

"Led by Lord Stark, perhaps?" the Tyrell ward advised.

"Of that, there can be no doubt," Tywin cleared his throat in the silence following his reply, then moved to stare at the map and the pile of missives gathered at the head of the table. "Ser Loras?"

"Yes, my lord?" the young man stepped forward, his former grin turning stern and flat. The jeweled rose, clutched in the lion's jaws, glittered in the stained-glass sunlight.

"Any word from your father," the Lord Lion questioned, as he continually ran his eyes across the length of the table.

"I am afraid not, Lord Tywin," Loras shrugged, seemingly indifferent to their plight now that the apparent source of his amusement had been sequestered within her bedchambers. "Only my grandmother has written to me as of late," the Tyrell spoke, covered in his shimmering armour, and with an iron-tongue.

"It appears our letters to him have not had the intended effect," his father continued. "I would prefer to know sooner, rather than later, upon which side he falls."

"His indecisiveness has at least delayed major actions from enemy forces," Tyrion noted, as he suspected his survival along the Gold Road had as much to do with Mace Tyrell's inaction, as it had the strange group who had taken him and his sister's family.

"But that will not hold indefinitely," his father supplied with a grey scowl.

"I wish I could provide more, my lord, but unfortunately what little of my father's plans that the Lady Olenna has seen fit to include within her letters, has hinted at him remaining uncommitted to either cause. He has started calling his banners, though for what purpose has not been made clear to either my grandmother or myself. A strange thing though, Lord Tywin."

"Hmm?"

"She did allude to my father playing host to some visitors from the Golden Company, who were brought in alongside several 'Dornish-looking' envoys, near a fortnight ago."

"I've shared words with her enough to know that the Queen of Thorns would not have used that euphemism, unless she was sure they were Dornish," the Lord Lion sighed, his lower jaw twitching as he did so.

'The Golden Company? Dorne? To what end?' he perked up at the news, wondering what, if anything, those two players had to do with the chaos at the capital, and their business in the Reach.

"If he is speaking with Dorne, then he intends to turn against us," Ser Harys stated, his eyes darting back and forth between Jaime and Ser Loras. "Those olive-skinned sword swallowers have no loyalty towards us, especially not after…" the man mumbled the last, ending abruptly in his words, as his father raised a brow.

"Perhaps they have a claimant?" he mused, thinking about the history books he had read on the Blackfyre rebellions.

"What? Another Blackfyre?" Ser Lyle scoffed, his bulk vibrating beneath crossed arms in a dry laugh. "They're all dead, just like their cause. Ser Barristan saw to the last Blackfyre on the Stepstones. Now the Golden Company is composed of exiles with no loyalty to anything besides the weight of their employer's purse. Furthermore, what purpose would Dorne even have to even consider siding with those pretenders anyway?"

"The death of Princess Elia," he said simply. "Our hands may be bloodied because of it, but the Baratheons built their claim upon her and her children's corpses," Tyrion explained, not wishing to make eye contact with his father upon the mention of the name. The gruesome fate that befell the former Princess of Westeros and Dorne, had always been a sore spot between houses Martell and Lannister, though none would ever speak openly about the subject within earshot of Tywin Lannister or his kin. "I imagine revenge to be order of the day, for Prince Doran. At least, that would make the most sense, as dull as it sounds," he looked to the Crakehall, then to his father.

"If that's true, then why send the Red Viper to the capital? And why did the firewoman take him to Dragonstone? Surely they are allies?" Ser Addam asked, finally finding the will to speak.

"Either he did not know of Doran's plans, whatever they may have been, or he had his own?" Tyrion proposed. "But whatever the case, supporting the crown will not be a priority for Lord Tyrell. His less-than-amicable relationship with the Lady Azula is well known. He would do nothing, just out of spite, so as not to make her rise to the top of the shitpile any easier. As for supporting us against the rest of the realm? Well," he hesitated, "as long as King Robert lives and continues spouting his lies about my niece and nephews being bastards, that would not be the best course. Especially if we should lose, as I imagine the Lady of Dragonstone would be more than delighted to merit out punishment to Mace Tyrell a second time. Not to mention, I would not put it past her to orchestrate the deaths of his male heirs while she was at it. All of them," he shared a look with Ser Loras. "Then she could play her Tyrell ward, now-turned-heir, as she wishes. Perhaps even wed her to the Silver-Tongue, if it was feasible. But a Blackfyre supported by Dorne? Now there's another option. Which if seen clearly and played correctly, would give Lord Tyrell everything he wants."

"Which is?" the Blood-Rose inquired, staring at him with dead eyes.

"One," he stuck out his index finger. "Revenge against Azula. Two," he jutted out a second finger, as he started pacing around the grand table and the map resting open atop it. "A rise to prominence, for both him and his house, within this hypothetical Blackfyre court. Three," with his third finger raised, he traced the path of the borders between Dorne and the Reach. "Secure borders with Dorne. Four. Possible marriage between his son Willas, to Arianne Martell, to further strengthen his ties to the new order. And I say 'possible' because the Blackfyre claimant must be male, so that would be another marriage prospect for the next Princess of Dorne. Otherwise, parading around a Blackfyre, would be pointless. And five," he displayed his small hand, with all five fingers raised, and stared at his father. "A Lannister who pays his debts."

The Lord of the Westerlands narrowed his stony gaze and waited for him to continue.

"You see, if Dorne is in league with Blackfyre pretenders, then they would need the Reach more than the Reach would need them," he stared at the map, and the large area that composed the region in question. "Not only would having the backing of two kingdoms add legitimacy to this theoretical claimant, but all that land? All that manpower? All those ships that the Reach possesses? All of them, formidable, but when coupled with Dorne and the Golden Company, it gives them more than enough to overwhelm the King's coalition, and mayhap even the ironships themselves. Tyrell knew before we all did, of the woman and her people's magic, and he's had more than enough time to develop a counter to them. Or at least I would hope he has."

"Well if he has, he has been awfully quiet about it," Swyft muttered under his breath.

"So what?" Marbrand pressed. "The Westerlands can offer more gold and more men, than Dorne and that band of sellswords."

"True enough, but we do not offer security. Any war we wage with the Reach as our allies, will see the Reach ravaged, because we would not be able to assist them in any meaningful capacity given the distance and number of enemies just waiting to breakdown our doors the second we do." He motioned his hand across the long borders of the Reach, then pointed towards the Storm and Riverlands. "They would not just face threats from the North and East, but from the South. Because if Dorne truly does have a Blackfyre claimant and decides to back them, while the Reach sides with us, then Lord Tyrell would be facing a three-front war. Dorne would never attempt an attack by sea, so long as the Royal fleet still haunts the watery gulf between us and Essos. Their only option would be to march through the Reach, and make for the strongholds of their enemies," he pointed at Storm's End and the King's Landing. "Which would only open up Lord Mace to infighting, as he tries to rein in his bannermen and subdue any Blackfyre and Baratheon allies in his territories from destroying his eastern and southern fronts before the first swords are even crossed. Your father is ambitious," he looked to the Blood-Rose, "but he is no fool."

"Yes, my grandmother told me his humbling at the woman's hands had changed him," Ser Loras almost shrugged at his own words. "But not to what extent."

"If he is as clever as I am taking him to be," Tyrion continued, "then he is in a unique position to leverage any negotiations in his favor. I'm sure he wants you back. After all, what father would not want their son returned to them?" he pointed to the young knight. "And its because of this, that he would not risk raising his banners against us. However, if he speaks on our behalf in a possible alliance with whatever Blackfyre claimant the Dornish may have, it would serve everyone well. As long as Dorne accepts."

"As long as Dorne accepts," the Lord Lion spoke, his jaw seemingly twitching in the light.

"Which they must, if they want the armies and resources of the Reach at their back. Otherwise, whatever game they are playing is a lost cause. Just like ours, as long as Robert lives." He waddled to the pitcher of wine, set aside near the head of the table, and poured a smooth Dornish red into an empty goblet, before eyeing his father. "And what would Lord Mace ask for in return for such an advantageous alliance? What would you?"

Raising his glass for a drink, he heard the silence and saw the unanswered question lingering about them like some foul odor. A sudden knock shattered the stillness and saw the eyes of those gathered within diverted away from the table and towards the gilded wooden doors.

"Enter," his father said, the tiredness and aggravation almost palpable in his normally steely voice.

"Pardon the intrustion, my lord," he heard the calm voice of Creylen, the maester assigned to Casterly Rock. "Word from the Citadel," he added evenly, before forming up beside his father and presenting a battered little ravenscroll. Snatching the small scroll out of the man's mildly calloused hands, his father furrowed his brow and began reading the tiny thing.

Before long, the Lord Lannister lowered the scroll and tossed it upon the table. His face became creased, and he grew quiet. "King's Landing is in need of a new Grand Maester."

"Really?" Tyrion asked, as he reached towards the discarded scroll. Unfurling the diminutive note, he began to read aloud and noticed the contents sounding like they were written by someone with a laughing hand.

"Maester Creylen, as member of our esteemed order, It is with the deepest of my regret that I must inform you of the arrest of Grand Maester Pycelle, under the charges of conspiracy to commit treason and the murder of Lord Jon Arryn. His trial will be presided over by the acting Hand of the King, Azula Baratheon and her chosen judges, Lords Renly Baratheon and Petyr Baelish.

~Archmaester Marwyn."

"If Baelish was our inside man, he seems to be doing quite well for himself," Tyrion quipped as he read the letter. "The treason I could understand, but the murder of Lord Arryn? I doubt even Pycelle has the stones to be anywhere near that ambitious. Especially with the Lady Azula lurking about in the shadows like a manticore. These charges of murder must be false. What reason would he even have to kill the man?" He pondered the idea, and found his eyes drifting towards Jaime, his golden brother. A brother who shifted uncomfortably beneath his mismatched gaze. 'Odd,' he thought. 'Unless?' Tyrion felt his face crease as his father's had, when he realized why Jon Arryn's name was mentioned in the charges against the former Grand Maester. 'He was investigating you lot, wasn't he?' he wanted to say aloud, but stopped himself to avoid further embarrassing them all in front of their bannermen. 'And if that's true, then I'm sure the bitch of Dragonstone can make him talk, and place yours and Cersei's names upon his list of accomplices. A list which I'm sure Azula would see grow to encompass us all.'

"My lord?" Creylen continued, with his hands flat at his sides. "There was also the matter of the pronouncements made by the King regarding the…" he raised a hand towards his mouth and released an awkward cough, "…Others."

"Add them to the list of vile rumors, false accusations, and obfuscation of facts, that the witch from the Fire Nation has seen fit to deliver unto us," the Lord of the Rock snorted, his visage as bleak as the Stranger himself. "I will not entertain that madness. She only seeks to sow discord amongst our ranks. Her lies will find no purchase here," his father eyed them all with a withering glare.

"Well, if it was true, then the Others overrunning the North would prove quite the boon," he idled, thinking upon his father's words after having spoken his mind. "But even if its not, we could use the news as an advantage. 'The 'witch' from the Fire Nation.' Your words father, not mine."

"What are you getting at?" Tywin Lannister looked upon him with his pale green eyes all flecked with gold.

"Hmm," he looked around, "this is perhaps something we should discuss in private?" Staring between his father, Jaime, and Ser Loras, Tyrion was almost certain that the Lord of Casterly Rock would have him address his thoughts amongst the others, but as soon as it came, the tense moment passed.

"All of you to the great hall. We will convene back here in an hour," the old lion commanded, and the others obeyed, save for the golden son, and bloody rose. As soon as the room emptied of the others, his father glared at him. "Well? Why did I just command my council to leave on your word alone?"

"Because I haven't failed you father," he answered.

"Yet," the old lion countered.

"Well, if I fail you, I hope it is because I was too smart," he grinned, sipping at his wine. "Now, I would wager that the four of us are not particularly devout, but let us look at the narrative presented to us, shall we? A foreign witch, from some unknown, fantastical place, slithers her way deep into the King's council," he scanned the room and found three pairs of eyes, two emerald and one gold, upon him. "That sounds suspicious, but not that threatening in and of itself. However, the witch brought with her a legion of fellow sorcerers. Shortly thereafter, she begins gathering a following of red priests, and somehow even manages to acquire direct patronage from the Red Temple itself! Now things are getting interesting, for you see, she was courting the Lords of Great Houses before she sprung her trap. She warded off her daughter, to the North, and sees her son spread his poisonous words throughout the Stormlands. She builds a fleet loyal to the King, but is it truly loyal to him? Or to her? Perhaps she used her powers to bewitch him? Her meteoric rise should certainly cause suspicion, should it not? Perhaps she made the King believe that his children were not his own? Make Lord Stark believe the lie as well? Seven-Hells, perhaps she even murdered the Lord Arryn because he came close to unravelling her lies himself? He was rumored to be a faithful man. And to top off this compelling drama, the Others return."

"Summoned by their master, whom I can only assume to be the witch of Dragonstone, in your little story?" the golden knight, of House Lannister, chuckled humorlessly. "A fanciful tale, little brother. Unquestioningly not one lacking in imagination," Jaime sniffed. "But how much is fact, and how much is fiction?"

"That's the beauty, it would not matter," he grinned. "Not when the faith itself supports it, along with the masses behind them. The people are easily led, and we need to secure their hearts before the woman poisons them completely against us."

"What do you mean," his handsome brother asked. "The High Septon…"

"I am not talking of the High Septon," Tyrion felt his grin twist higher as the look on his father's typically stoic face turned to one of profound thought. "How can he be trusted if the witch has indeed overthrown the mind of the King? Why would she have spared him such a fate?" He looked towards his father, brother, and Tyrell friend, and saw differing levels of thoughts swimming within their disparate gazes. "We may not have the numbers to match those arrayed against us, but we certainly have the gold. So what if Lord Tyrell choses to remain neutral? He has no control over what the followers of Faith of the Seven chose to do of their own accord, does he?"

"He does not. The High Septon does, but as you said, how can he be trusted?" the Tyrell bared his teeth in a disquietingly sharp smirk. "Ask my father to petition the faithful within the Starry Sept and the Sept of Highgarden to raise their dusty old swords again?"

"Perhaps not so directly. Especially if he wishes to maintain his neutrality," he suggested.

"The faith-militant reborn? A tall order from one so small," Ser Loras shared a look with him, beaming all the while. "The chance of success is somewhat dismal, but…"

"If even a handful of them believe it," the old Lion stirred. "Then that is enough. All we need is for the faithful to see the witch and her people attacking them. After that, her reign would be even shorter than Maegor's." Old emerald eyes, stared at him, "Craft your narrative. Make it worthy of our name, and then have Creylen send it to every corner of Westeros."

"It will be done, father," he nodded, then drained his cup.

"Ser Loras," the Lord Lannister shifted his gaze, "you and I will send our own letter to your father."

"As you command, my lord," the young knight clapped his hand upon his chest and bowed.

"Come, we have much to do."" Tywin ordered, a newfound energy seemingly flowing within his words and stance.