He stood on the watchtower from on high, at the peak of the mount. This was the highest point of Casterly Rock, and from here, he could observe all before him; it was all his to see. It was all the glory of House Lannister. There is no grander sight in Westeros, he thought.

From here, he could see the Lion's Mouth, the two hundred feet high cavern on the south face of the Rock, and the great stone stairway that led to it. He could see the sea gates, and the domineering carved Lions that sat on pillars on either side of the doorway into the caverns. In the near distance, Lannisport also loomed, with its ring of high walls and the great Motherhouse dominating the skyline.

It was all cast against an endless sky of shifting hues, as dark blues and blacks gave way to violet slashes, rising crimsons, golden rays and the light blues of a new day as the sun rose over the Western half of Westeros.

Tywin Lannister could see it all. And in his mind's eye, he could see the kingdoms, and the Iron Throne, and the city built by the Dragon Kings too. He had once hoped to take that city and see the downfall of the line of Kings who built it, but it was not to be. Fate had turned on the toss of a coin, and it had not landed in his favour.

It was no matter. What could not be taken by force could be won with time.

He turned at the sound of steps echoing through the crisp morning air, and he felt his lip curl at the sight before him, the constant reminder that the Gods were cruel and eager to teach him humility in the face of his high ambitions. The creature struggled to wedge himself through the open wooden door and once he did, he had the temerity to stand there panting before Tywin as if he were not an abomination to all decent men.

"Father." His younger son's smirk was as infuriating as his smug voice. "You asked for me?"

Stunted legs and stubby fingers, and a forehead that loomed larger than the rest of his face. Mismatched eyes of green and black, and hair so blonde it looked suspiciously white. An ugly face. This was the beast that killed his beautiful wife. This was the odious shame and ever constant embarrassment that marred Tywin's pride. The Gods did not like those who threatened to best them, and they punished those who tried. The Imp, his dwarf of a son, was the proof. He stood before Tywin in his father's colours, in a shrunken golden doublet and black breeches, with his father's proud Lion sigil on his crimson cloak, and something curled in Tywin's stomach at the sight. Still, he thought, it was wasteful not to use every means at his disposal, for there was a use for every tool he had. Even this creature.

"Ah, are we to go straight to the main course?" The dwarf wobbled on his legs as he walked to the wall protecting them both from a long fall and painful death. The wall came to Tyrion's nose. "I would at least like to appreciate the view first, Father."

What little you can see of it. "This year is the 300th anniversary of the Conqueror's landing."

"I am aware. How time flies, like the Black Dread himself."

Tywin felt his eye twitch. "In his…wisdom, the King wishes for representatives from the Kingdoms to attend him at the capital, to organise and participate in the celebrations. You will attend on behalf of House Lannister."

"Me?" The Imp's eyebrow rose. "Not Jaime?"

"Your brother is busy."

"Oh? What busies him so?"

Not being an embarrassment to House Lannister. "He is with your sister at Riverrun, since that oaf Tully cannot be trusted to run his own household, never mind a kingdom. Rebels are making noises again."

To rule the Riverlands in these times was like balancing a dagger on a fingertip; one had to do enough, but not too much. Tywin had once hoped that Cersei had learned enough to manage that without her father's counsel, but it was no matter. "My hope is that Jaime will direct them North to the border, or west, to the Vale, but we shall see. The rebels are currently providing nuisance we could do without."

"If only we knew where who was funding them." Tyrion laughed as if he alone were clever enough to uncover the great mystery. "Why not send me there and Jaime South?" The dwarf raised his arms, stretching his abnormal limbs. "That would be a better use of both our talents, do you not think?"

It was true the Imp had a certain cunning, for all he was a monstrosity. If only Jaime had inherited the brains to go with the brawn. "Jaime is too loyal to Rhaegar." Even now, Tywin's heir struggled to throw off the white cloak taken from him as a boy. "Rhaegar, Dayne and Barristan all. His place is not at the Capital."

"Well Jaime's loss is my gain. It has been too long since I was in King's Landing."

Let us hope you never return. "I need to know Rhaegar's state of mind," Tywin turned towards back towards the rising sun. "And how his sons fare."

"Does Pycelle not keep you informed?"

"He does," Tywin acknowledged with a brisk nod. But not enough. The Imp heard the unspoken just as clearly. "But only what he can. The Crown Prince he sees often, but the King does not attend council, and is a hard man to reach, as you well know. And as for the Prince of Summerhall - Pycelle reports that neither Rhaegar nor Dayne lets anyone near the boy without their leave. They did not trust Pycelle with the boy's wounds."

And how interesting, that was; they had brought maesters from Dragonstone and Starfall to look after the boy instead. Pycelle had been most aggrieved about it, and it was most concerning, for it told Tywin Pycelle had not been as subtle in his support for House Lannister as he was bid. That was a problem.

He could hear Tyrion scuff the stones as he sought to hoist himself above the wall, as to better see the entirety of the scenes beneath them both. Tywin had to resist the temptation to push him. Kinslayers were the most accursed. "That is no surprise," said Tyrion. "Given what happened. Most fathers are protective of their sons."

He clenched his jaw. "I wish to know the truth of it with Prince Aemon. Who attacked him, why, and his current mind. Pycelle writes he has changed. Perhaps, if he takes his station more seriously…"

"I understand, Father," Tyrion said. "Options are like women: always good to have more than one."

Insolent, impudent, immature little imp. He clenched his fists. "Do you know why I am sending you to King's Landing?"

Tyrion's tone was light, as if they were discussing their nightly meal. "For my keen eyes and wits, I would hope."

"It would not do to send my brothers or a cousin," He turned to look down upon his son. "Unfortunately, the King is no fool, for all that he is foolish enough to have taken a liking to you, and the West must be seen. All other Lords will attend or else send their heirs; I will make do with you. He will not see your presence as an insult, and you are not without your wits."

A dark look formed in Tyrion's eyes, and Tywin felt satisfied. "I shall ask again. Do you know why I am sending you?"

"You do not care about these celebrations." Tyrion's tone had turned dull, and Tywin delighted to hear it.

"I do not care," He agreed. "I will send you with gold, and a guard, and gifts as befitting the celebrations and your station. You will bring an offer to fund the feasts, and half the prizes. You will not spend any of it on whores. You will not spend your days in your cups. You will not bring shame upon our House. And you shall pay attention, both to the Crown Prince and to his brother, and you shall report back. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Father." Tywin was glad to see he did, completely. The Imp's cunning was not always a bad thing; he could be trusted to hear the words people did not say.

The King would not see Tyrion's presence as an insult.

But the rest of the realm would.

"Good. And while you are there, do tell Ser Gregor to heed my last message. Now Go."

"Tywin,"

"My Lord,"

"Brother!"

Tywin greeted them all with a curt nod as he strode to his seat at the head of the long table. They met in the room next to his solar, deep in the heart of the winding, complex of Casterly Rock. He had always liked this room; it was small enough to call it intimate, but the walls were paved with depictions of Lannister victories, tapestries of the Westerlands, and golden flourishes, and the ceiling was barely seven foot from the ground, so low that men could not stand in anger, lest they hurt their head. It better focused minds when men had to think before they acted.

He strode to the seat with arms cast in gold, the snarling rampant on its back befitting his status as the Lion of Lannister. A golden goblet also awaited him, water cooled as he liked it, alongside blueberries in a bowl. He took one as he scrutinised each of the men around him in turn. "What news?"

His brother Kevan spoke first. "My Martyn has returned from squiring at the border. He reports that the Freys have lost yet more men. This young Stark is proving quite the hindrance."

Tywin had hoped the boy a fool, flushed with the recklessness of youth, but he had clearly been trained well by his father. It was no matter; it did not work against his interests. For now.

"I would be more shocked had the Freys not lost men. Let the Stark face the Red Cloaks, and we shall see if he is all they say he is." Addam Marbrand leaned back on his seat. He was a cocky, charming Knight with red hair that fell to the nape of his neck. He was also friends with Tywin's heir, and he shared blood with Tywin's mother. "Were we to send real men North- "

"We would throw good coin after bad," Gerion said. He put his feet on the table. Tywin glared, and his youngest brother grinned. Tyrion writ large, he thought. "Let the Freys waste theirs instead. If a House must send their men to their deaths, I can think of no better choice than them."

"I agree," said Kevan. Tywin did also. The Freys could field over four thousand men in good times. Enough to threaten his own grandson's hold on the Riverlands. That would not do. Even his own sister's marriage to a Frey could not counteract the needs of the House. It was necessary that the Starks could not rest easy, or live well, or know peace. It was not necessary that Lannister men die needlessly to achieve it.

"Speaking of our coin," said Tywin. "What news of the Fury?"

"Nothing new as of yet." Kevin's face as grim, as it often was when the rebels were concerned. The band of men they called the Fury were the bane of King's Men up and down Westeros, particularly in the Crownlands and the Riverlands. "Rumour has it they continue near Saltpans."

He sipped his water. "And the Vale?"

"Peaceful for now," said Marbrand. "For now."

"It is west we should look, not east." Kevin replied. "We have news of the Ironborn." Dark looks followed, and his brother offered Tywin a scroll. "Just arrived," he said.

Dark wings, dark words. "Balon, the fool, he dares write to me again?"

It was an injustice that Balon Greyjoy had people to call him King - it was an injustice that the man had so much as a Keep to his name, even as worthless as it was. Silently, Tywin still seethed. The Ironborn had attacked Lannisport at the beginning of the current summer, and for their sins, they had dearly paid the price; half their men dead, half their ships burned, and the Greyjoy fool sent back to his pile of rocks two sons short. Tywin had hung the youngest one in full view of his father's ship, and brought the lion's roar to Pyke's gates, with what forces the King could muster at his back.

That should have been the end of it. There had been an understanding, soon after; the Ironborn could rape or pillage as they please in the North, or act like pirates in the Narrow Sea, but they would serve the Crown. Except, in all his wisdom, Rhaegar Targaryen had done nothing when the fool Balon declared himself King once more and saw fit to raid again; the Hand's excuse was that the Ironborn were useful for distracting the North. The only saving grace of the whole affair was that even the Greyjoy was not fool enough to attack the West, when there were better, safer targets elsewhere.

Tywin dearly desired to turn Pyke the way of Castamere, but the Ironborn had their uses. And if neither Rhaegar Targaryen or Eddard Stark sought to remove them and their like from their western coasts, that was their failing, not Tywin's. Weak Kings make for weak realms.

The wax seal had not been broken. Good. He withdrew the scroll, only to frown.

"Lord Tywin?"

"Balon is dead," Tywin said simply.

Kevan frowned and Marbrand laughed.

"Not a morn too soon," replied the latter. "Did he choke on fish?"

Tywin frowned. "The new King is Euron Greyjoy. Why not Balon's heir?"

"Dead as well, most like. The Ironborn are one step above savages." Marbrand shook his dismissively. "So long as their eyes look North and not South…"

Kevan took back the scroll. "The Crow's Eye - they say it was he who convinced Balon to burn Lannisport."

Tywin clenched his jaw. "More dangerous than his brother. An unwelcome development."

"I'll prepare the Fleet."

"Good. And send a message to The King and his Hand."

Marbrand's scepticism shone from every line on his face. "The King will do nothing."

"Perhaps he shall compose a song!" Gerion chortled and begin mimicking the playing of a harp. Tywin's eye twitched. "He does it so beautifully. The one he played when he was last at the Rock did make me weep so. Highhhh in the hallssss…"

His temper flared. He had banned that song from Casterly Rock. Five times he had seen the King since his coronation, and five times the King had played that thrice-damned tune. Gerion had sung it for weeks once he realised it annoyed Tywin so, just to make the Imp laugh. Weak men made for weak Houses, too. Only the Gods knew what would happen to the Lions of the West when Tywin died.

Marbrand was continuing to laugh at Tywin's fool brother when the other, more respectable Lannister turned to him with a serious cast to his face. "Tywin, there is something else we should discuss. The Cheesemonger."

Marbrand's laughter died, and Gerion's singing ceased, and suddenly there was silence.

Each looked around the table. Tywin tapped his fingers on the wood. He had made his feelings clear on this.

"Why?" Gerion looked between the two of them, frown lines forming on his forehead. "I thought- "

"I have received no message." Tywin interrupted.

"Were we expecting one?"

"Not a raven." Kevan said grimly. But there would be a message all the same, Tywin thought. One in Fire and Blood.

"Tywin- "

He set his jaw. "You have made your thoughts clear, Kevan."

"I do not trust him," His brother's green eyes, so like Tywin's own, were full of worry. "Or who he works with, or this business you have involved us in."

"We have committed nothing yet."

"It is fraught with risk- "

"I am aware."

"I agree with Kevan," Gerion sat up, and both two brothers shared a look of understanding. Tywin's rage was on him again. "I understand your position, brother, but this plan- "

"Is merely a plan." He ground out. "Plans can change."

"Not this one." Gerion's face was uncharacteristically grim. "Unlike you, brother, I have been to Essos. I know these people. I have met some of these people. Some plans are written in ink, and others etched in blood. The people you deal with- "

"Share our same goals."

"Share your same goals." Kevin shook his head. "Jaime mislikes this plan too."

"When Jaime is Lord of Casterly Rock, he can rule as he sees fit. While I am Lord, I shall do as I see fit, for the interests of our House. And we cannot afford to not act while others do so."

Gerion frowned. "Why not? It worked for us in the Rebellion."

It did not, and the roads not taken still haunted Tywin even now. He would not risk that again. "There are others caught in the web." He went to rise. "I thank you for your wise council. We are done."

"No, Tywin- "

"What say you Marbrand?" Gerion interjected. "Perhaps you can convince my brother of the folly in this- "

"My Lord, that is not my place." Marbrand stood slowly, nodding to Tywin.

"And neither is it either of yours," Tywin declared. "You are my brothers, and Lannisters, and I value your council. Be assured, I will not risk the future of this House."

Kevin placed a second scroll down with his palm. "This came weeks ago."

Tywin spared it nary a glance.

"Interesting news from the Stormlands," Kevin continued lightly. "I was surprised to hear of it, given you have known it for weeks."

Gerion sat back down, eyes gleaming.

"Marbrand," Tywin barked. "Leave us."

The Knight looked between the three of them and then did as he was bid. Kevan lowered too, frowning, while Gerion folded his arms behind his head, the picture of arrogance, as if the whole thing was not a matter of kings and thrones but dinner and drinks.

"This does not worry you?" asked Kevan.

"That Renly Baratheon plots?" Tywin scoffed. "He is a boy nursing a petty grudge. Nothing more."

If one called resenting the near annihilation of one's House a grudge. In truth, Tywin was most pleased to hear of it. It served his interests, and Tywin had not quite forgotten Renly's father, who had once been a friend and ally. Perhaps the Gods had not fully forsaken the Stag, and the boy would prove half the man his father was. "I warned Rhaegar to not listen to Connington. He should have raised the boy loyal. Instead, he has allowed Connington to twist the knife all these years, and he now has Robert's heir spiting him in his cups. That is no fault but his own."

Kevan shook his head. "Renly brings the Tyrells with him."

"The Tyrells have a foot in each camp. It is no matter."

"And if the Tyrells were to step towards Renly rather than the Princess Rhaenys? You know what they say about her, and the company she keeps."

"I do." It was an open secret at court, and Tywin had eyes and ears in King's Landing. "I also know what they say about Renly."

House Tyrell had married poorly, with their most valuable heirs married to those who would see their marriage beds as a burden. Unfortunate for them, but then Mace Tyrell had always been a fat oaf. He had not prepared the way for his children as Tywin had for Jaime and Cersei; not all ran the affairs of their House as well as Tywin did House Lannister.

"Tywin." Kevan closed his eyes, pained. "Baratheon - and potentially Tyrell - are meeting with these people. If we were to throw our lot in with them- "

"Or if we don't-" Gerion interjected again.

"We will do what is best for our House."

"These people…" Kevan shook his head, despairing. "These people…Tywin, have you forgotten? We fought these people, Tywin."

He clenched his jaw. He did not wish to think the past. At the end of the table, Gerion was watching them both with an unreadable look on his face.

"What is done is done," declared Tywin. "Yesterday is done. What matters is only the future of our own House."

"You risk the House's future, Tywin. If either Renly or Lord Tyrell are told, and if they otherwise learn, and turn their cloaks- "

"If. If, then we will deny it."

"If they turn their cloaks first," Kevan continued. "The Crown will turn on us."

"No. The King is weak." Tywin rose and turned to the window overseeing the coast and the Sunset Sea. Dull, and overcast. The weather reflected his day - grim, and full of wasted potential. He tired of this endless debate. "The Crown is weak. Connington is weak. We fought against the Band of Nine, and now you fret over a band of fools."

"The King is no fool. Nor is the Cheesemonger."

Tywin's eye twitched. "Do you not think I have plans in place?"

"I think you are blinded," Kevan said. "I think you cannot let go of your humiliations."

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes. "This is not about the past."

"This is only about the past, Tywin." Kevan stood, and Tywin could see his distorted reflection in the distorted glass window. He looked tired. "This is about your twenty years as Hand, and the King you served, and the wife he shamed. This is your own pride. Do you think Joanna would want this?"

The lion roared in his chest. He clenched his fists. "Careful. You are my brother, Kevan, but careful."

"I have always given you the advice you needed. You have always heeded it. Heed it now, Tywin, and stop this madness. You risk your life's work, to what end? To wage war on a dead man."

"The die is cast, Kevan."

His brother came closer, voice rising. "Why can you not see that you have won? Merely by surviving, you have won. He is dead, and despised, and you are the most powerful man in the realm. With Joanna's betrothal to the Crown Prince your blood will sit his Iron Throne in the generations to come. Why must you continue this?"

"BECAUSE HIS BLOOD STILL SITS THE IRON THRONE!"

He rose until the ceiling loomed close enough to his head that he could see the detailing of a thousand years of artistry, and the marks of a thousand years of Lannister heads. "His son sits it now, and his son in the future, and his son will after him. And what blood of mine that shall sit after him will have the blood of Aerys also. That is no victory. It is not enough."

"Is it not enough what we do to the realm for your vengeance? House Targaryen has never been weaker; the realm has never been weaker and you are leaving it open for these rapists and plunderers- "

"It will be enough when House Targaryen is cast off the Iron Throne." He snarled. "It will be enough when their blood no longer sit the Throne, when they are nought but names in the histories, and when there is no man, woman or child with the name Targaryen in Westeros. Then it will be enough. Then. Only then."

-
Tyrion left within the fortnight, and the sun shone a little brighter on the Rock for it. Yet there were times, like tonight, when Tywin found sleep defying him. His brother's words from that day were still ringing in his head. Kevan had always understood his place as Tywin's second, but he had also always given sound advice. A man was only as wise as the men around him, and Kevan was wiser than most.

He left his bed and stood, naked as the day he was born into the world, and moved to the desk, contemplating the map laid upon it. A half-empty cup of Arbor Gold also awaited him, and he swindled it in thought. The whore was still asleep; he could see her blond ringlets out of the corner of his eye, and the curves of her form beneath the thin sheets.

The map was a mess, covered in pieces and scribbles from his quill, reflecting the world outlined on its paper. The Starks to the North, claiming to be Kings. The Ironborn on their rocks, claiming to be the Kings. The Targaryens, in their citadel, claiming to be Kings. There were kingdoms at war, with some battles waged with weapons and others with words, some battles burning and others freezing, but across the seven kingdoms, there were men doing as Tywin did now, plotting, scheming, and thinking of plans and goals.

It had not always been this way. Tywin had been Hand of the King to Aerys Targaryen, the youngest Hand in history, and under his rule, for nigh on two decades, the realm had flourished, united, and whole, under the banner of the Dragon, but under the lead of the Lion. Tywin had restored the dignity of his House and the wealth of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and all had been well, until the Mad King earned his name and ruined it all, when he had spurned and humiliated and burned the men below him.

He took a sip as he looked upon his map, his eyes roaming eastwards to the Essosi lands. Pentos was in dispute with the Crown over import taxes and tariffs across the Gullet. Tensions were supposedly rising between the Norvoshi and Braavos, though neither Tywin nor his spies knew why, while the Golden Company were making moves to the South, for reasons Tywin knew very well.

He tapped his finger on Pentos, considering. Near two decades of planning were coming to a head, and soon he would have to decide. He had many options, none of them good; that much had always been true.

"Milord?"

The whore's head rose, bleary eyes turned his way. She was fair enough, with the look of a Lannister, pale, with green eyes and the pert chest of youth. It was no strange thing to see, in this part of the world, for many a Lannister had partaken in the taking of whores or had discrete affairs outside the purview of the Rock or manses of Lannisport, and there were many who had the blond hair and green eyes that marked out a member of his House. He enjoyed the sight of her, but for only for a moment; he was spent, and shame was returning to him like an old friend. "Leave us. Do not be seen."

She stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, until he took a step forward. She squeaked in alarm and gathered her smallclothes, dressing in a rush and averting his eyes. This one was new, and not yet learned her place or the way of things, but she would learn, in time. He turned back as the door closed behind her; his guard would ensure her discreet departure. There was a process to be followed.

His finger moved from Pentos to King's Landing. There, Rhaegar claimed to rule, sitting upon the Iron Throne that his ancestor had built, the very throne Tywin had reinforced in Aerys' name. In a fairer world, the King would be Tywin's goodson, husband to his daughter, but the world was not fair.

Rhaegar's father had been the proof of that. He could still see him as if he were before him; he could always see him, as he was and as he became. As a youth Aerys had been handsome, with the look of a Targaryen, not unlike his son, with the violet eyes and gold-silver hair. He had also been charming, and easy to like. Tywin, Aerys and Steffon Baratheon had been friends, scheming at court, partaking in whores and wine and grand strategy, fighting battles in the Stepstones, dreaming of remaking the world anew, and the world had been bright, and full of promise.

Aerys ended in a dark room, wasting away in the shadows, snarling at the ghosts. As unfortunate as it was that Tywin had not been there to see his last breath, he had seen the King near the end, and the memory remained as fresh to him as the suckling pig Tywin had feasted upon this evening. The room had been an opulent prison, with a four-poster and fine furniture and all manner of books and paper upon the desks, but with the curtains drawn, jagged shadows had pierced the room like the many swords of the Iron Throne.

Aerys had been pacing, and he had reeked. And they said Targaryens were Gods. He was a King no different than a peasant, and Tywin had found himself thankful no smallfolk could look upon Aerys as he was, lest all the foundations of the realm shake at the sight. He was smelling, and deranged, his long hair mattered, his beard tangled, and his fingernails like talons. Aerys had paced before him, head turning, with his mouth open, spluttering and spitting, and his hands waving, turning this way and that for no rhyme or reason. His eyes had been wide and unseeing. He had looked as thin as a child. He was sprouting nonsense about wildfire and burning his enemies. He had not seen Tywin.

The Lord of the West had walked up to him and looked upon the man who had once been his friend, and he had remembered. He had ruled the realm with Aerys. He had laughed over wine with Aerys and fought next to him in battle in the Stepstones.

He had watched, and seethed, as Aerys mocked him, and belittled him, and called him servant.

He had watched, and seethed, as Aerys grabbed that which did not belong to him, reaching for Tywin's beloved and her breasts, and for what lay between her legs, as if being King meant he could take whatever he wanted, no matter the cost, and no matter the debt.

For that, near the end, Tywin put his hands across the former King's throat, and he squeezed. For that, near the end, Tywin grabbed the former King's manhood, and crushed, until the King's cried out in pain. For that, near the end, Tywin had grabbed his hair, and pulled with one hand while punching with another, while thinking of his children, the dwarf most of all.

Lannisters always paid their debts.

Tywin considered the map before him, lost in his memories, staring at lines on paper, as naked as a barely born babe, and his blood burned.

The debt was not yet paid.

The next day found him above the courtyard, watching as his men engaged in their swordplay, his granddaughter by his side for her lessons. Jaime's daughter was tall for her age of two and ten, with the Lannister look and long hair the colour of honey, and Tywin had no doubt she would be a great beauty, like her Aunt Cersei. She was watching the scenes below with keen eyes. When his granddaughter felt his eyes upon her she smiled up at him, and he felt his own mouth turn upwards, if only for a second. Joanna was a sweet girl who spent too little time at the Rock; her mother was the heir to the Golden Tooth, and far too possessive of the girl besides.

"Tell me, Joanna, why do we watch them train?" He asked.

Jaime's daughter considered her words. "It's important that they know we watch them."

Tywin nodded approvingly. "Yes, but is that all?"

"It's important that we know how they train, and how they fight."

"Why?"

"They need to fight as one."

He turned away from the fighting to observe Joanna's face. "Indeed. But do not just watch, listen." Tywin pointed back to the yard, where steel clashed on steel in a pleasing rhythm that echoed through the yard. "What you see, and hear, is how realms are won, lost and kept. Herein lies the strength of our House."

"What about our gold?"

"Our gold buys steel, and men to wield it."

Joanna turned back to the yard, face thoughtful, her hands pressing into the wooden bar keeping them from falling. "So when I am Queen for Aegon, our gold will buy steel and men for the Crown…"

"When you are the Lady of the Rock," Tywin corrected her. In name only, at least. "That will be your title."

Joanna shook her head. "My father says- "

"Your father has not yet given you a brother. Your cousin Joffrey is to inherit the Riverlands. Tommen is a Tully." For now. "Casterly Rock will be yours. Do not fear otherwise, until your father begets a son. You may be a Queen, but you will be Lady Lannister first."

"But Uncle Tyri- "

"What is the state of Westeros?" interrupted Tywin.

She frowned. "I don't understand."

"The Kingdoms, the men who rule it, affairs across the realm. Tell me."

Joanna shot him a suspicious look before shaking her head. "Weak. Westeros has weakened."

"The Stormlands?"

"Half the Lords there resent the King, and all Lords resent each other, because most of them fought for Robert, but some for King Rhaegar."

"Indeed. The Dornish?"

"They mourn the Queen Elia and curse the King for shaming his wife."

"And they curse the King's brother, who is married to the heir to Dorne." Viserys was more like his father than Rhaegar. "What of those in Highgarden, and their vassals?"

"They were craven, for withholding most of their men from battles, and feasting outside Storm's End."

"The Tyrells could field more men than even us. And yet, do you think them stronger?"

"I'm not sure," She replied, frowning. "Mayhaps?"

"They are not." Tywin declared. "Because, as up jumped stewards, with that fat oaf Mace to lead them, their vassals spite them. And the Vale, and the Riverlands under your Uncle?"

"There are rebels across the Riverlands, and especially in the Vale." She considered this for a moment. "I've never understood why the King never defeated them."

"Because he can't." He felt himself smile, despite himself. "Every kingdom in Westeros south of the Neck is divided, except ours. Every kingdom led by weak rulers who do not command the loyalty of their vassals. It is not just men and their steel that win and keep realms, Joanna. It is the ruler who commands those men, and provides their steel, and feeds their bellies, that win and keep realms. It is strong rulers, and fear. Fear of our forces, and how we might use them. And that is what our gold buys us. Gold, like everything else, is a tool, and history is not decided by the tools but the one who wields them."

Tywin's father had used the gold of Casterly Rock to pay for whores, women, wine and all the other vices of weak men. Tywin knew the true worth of gold; gold was a means to an end, and the whisper in a man's ears, and the unseen hand that could give as much as take, and provide as much as choke.

And Tywin's hands were on Rhaegar Targaryen's neck, whether he knew it or not.

They stood in companionable silence, watching the men do battle, all in boiled leather with steel caps bearing the proud crest of the Lannister lion, until the captain of his household guard Vylarr strode up to them both. He nodded to them both and bowed to Tywin.

"Lord Tywin, a messenger has come, with a message from Riverrun."

Joanna frowned next to him. "Tully? News from Riverrun? My Father?"

It was urgent news, then. Or else, he thought, not something to be trusted via the quill. "Lord Edmure, or my daughter?"

"…Neither, Lord Tywin."

He took the scroll. It bore the seal wax of leaping trout, but when he unfurled it, the writing was hastily scrawled, the hallmarks of a childish hand. "What is this?" His eyes roamed the page.

To my dearest grandfather,

I hope this letter finds you well.

My lady mother does not know I write to you. I fear something is wrong here. My Lord Father is abed, and I fear for his health, as well as the safety of myself and my brothers. Some of my father's vassals have come to Riverrun to demand his presence, and now refuse to leave. My lady mother and my Uncle cannot make them go.

I am certain your arrival would restore confidence and order.

Your Granddaughter,

Myrcella, of House Tully

His other granddaughter, this one Cersei's. He crushed the paper in his fist. "Who has seen this?" He demanded.

"I did not read it," Vylarr replied. "The messenger gave me this as it is. A member of the Tully Household Guard."

A red cloak, in other words. Cersei had been wise enough to ensure the men manning Riverrun were loyal to her. Yet his daughter had not been wise enough to keep her own household or mind her own children. He huffed his frustrations and pointed a stern finger at his Captain. "Have him secluded until further notice. This news is for no ears. And then fetch a hundred of your best men while I inform my brother that he has the Rock in my absence."

"My Lord?"

He considered the scroll again. It was most certainly Myrcella's hand; she had visited the Rock enough for Tywin to know it. It was not the place of a child to demand anything of an elder, but the girl was not her mother. She too had a sweet temperament, in truth, like the grandmother she had never met. If she were writing ravens of her own accord…He grimaced. This raven was at least a day old, if not two, given the distance from the Rock to the seat of House Tully. He could not risk it, when his own heir had only a daughter himself; plans still rested on Joffrey and Tommen both.

He turned to Joanna. "I am to leave for Riverrun. Kevan will run things in my absence, you will attend him, and learn, and listen, until your mother returns to take you back to the Golden Tooth."

"What's happening at Riverrun?" She asked.

"We shall see."

They rode hard across his lands, a fortnight and more across the River road, northeast from the Rock, stopping only for rest at the keeps of his vassals. There were times for impressing upon those beneath him the might of the Lion, and there were times for expediency, and the latter won his days. All the while, he thought of nothing but the lecture he would give his fool children, and their endless failure to do as they were bid.

They were proudful, and they were spiteful, and full of low cunning, from the stupid boy who wanted to throw away his inheritance for a soiled white cloak, to the stupid girl who dreamed of being born with a cock, to the petty, pointless Imp. Proudful, and spiteful, and determined to throw away all that Tywin had given them, all three. Why were they so unlike him?

The Riverlands were central, not just to Westeros, but to Tywin's plans. They were a breadbasket, a land of towns and rivers and many people, the pathway to the North, a road to the Vale, and the fulcrum by which the rebellion survived. The forces of the Fury, the rebel bands that destroyed the King's Road, and supported the rebel lords of the Vale, made their home in the Riverlands. Battles were being fought with the Stark armies in the Riverlands near the Neck. It was vital that the Lannisters controlled it; he had stressed that to his children. A delicate balance requiring a careful hand, he had told Cersei, Jaime and Tyrion all.

It was a dangerous game they played, fighting and supporting both sides, and the Riverlands was central to it all. He had told Cersei that when she had married Edmure Tully. Tywin could brook no discontent or troubles, not when other plans were so close to fruition.

The three-sided castle of Riverrun came before them soon enough. It stood between three rivers, its red sandstone walls rising from the waters and glistening in the sunlight, blinding all who came near for leagues around. They came to it from the west, which should have meant riding over the man-made ditch that dominated the western side of the castle. The two rivers of the Tumblestone and the Red Fork flowed in the distance, running past to the North and South respectively, and even from the back of the long line of men, Tywin could hear the churning waters of the Tumblestone, caused by an ivy-covered waterwheel.

The men stopped, and suddenly there were shouts ahead. Tywin pulled in the reins of his palfrey and rode, the men parting for their Lord as they should, only to see the cause of their delays. The entire castle was inaccessible, surrounded by water; the moat had been filled, and Riverrun was not so much a castle dominating the land as a bastion upon an island, its three sides protected by wide, rivers lapping at its sandstone sides.

"Ride as close as you can, with the banners," He barked. His men did at once, but Tywin could not help the discomfort he felt. The moat was filled only in times of danger, but there were no approaching armies beyond the Lannister men accompanying their Lord; it did not bode well. Those within were keeping out the outside world. Upon the battlements, Tully men stood vigilant, their arrows ready to loosen, and he scowled at the sight.

Tywin and his men waited, and not a moment too soon the drawbridge lowered, and men rode towards them with fish-crest helms and hauberks over boiled leather, dressed in the Tully colours of blue and red. When they came nearer, he accosted them. "What is the meaning of this?"

He sat astride his palfrey and stared coldly at them both and was only slightly satisfied to see the shadow of fear on their faces. The men stopped and nodded. "Lord Tywin, forgive us. We did not expect your arrival."

He waved an arm at the castle. "Clearly. I want the truth of what is happening here. You would do well to open these gates. Now."

The two guards shared uneasy glances, each worried. "My Lord, we have been instructed by the Lady Cersei- "

"You will inform my daughter that I wish to see her."

They conferred, and one left, riding hard. Tywin followed, uncaring of the cries of the remaining Tully guard, and watched as the great heavy redwood doors to the castle opened. As one man went through the doors, two more raced out, and Tywin recognised them from the sigils etched into their cloaks, a blue stripe on yellow for one, and the naked maiden for the other. The two men ran across the drawbridge, their eyes locked on his.

The Piper Knight spoke first. "Lord Tywin! Thank the gods. You must speak sense to your daughter- "

"I am here to speak to my daughter. Who might you be?"

The other man swatted his companion on his arm and offered his arm to Tywin in apology. "Forgive my friend, My Lord. This is Marq Piper, heir to Lord Piper of Pinkmaiden, and I am Lord Lymond, of House Goldbrook. We have met before."

So, they had. He lowered his arm from his place on the horse and latched forearms with Goldbrook with a brisk nod. "Well met again, Lord Lymond. What goes on here?"

Goldbrook and Piper each frowned before the latter spoke. "We know not, Lord Tywin. Edmure - Lord Tully - is…they say he is abed. The Lady Cersei says he is merely unwell, but she does not allow us to see him for ourselves, and they will not allow us access to Ravens- "

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "You doubt my daughter's word?"

"We just wished to see him," said Goldbrook. "We are old companions, and we fret for his health. There are more of us in the Keep."

They beckoned, and Tywin followed, Vylarr and other trusted red cloaks not far behind. As they entered the first courtyard, they were greeted by a chorus of greetings and warnings. It was fuller than Tywin desired, with various Lords watching on curiously. Piper, Vance, Blackwood, Mallister, and even Darry men were all crowding the courtyard; Tywin counted at least sixty men, some with weapons, others with scrolls.

"Lord Lyonel, what is this-?"

"Is that-Lord Tywin!"

He rode past them all, stopping only to the entrance of the central keep, which stood tall and triangular as the castle itself. All in Riverrun seemingly had three sides, and Tywin had always seen it fitting, given the Tully's own affairs in the past decades. Loyalists, rebels, neutrals, a face for each loyalty.

He slammed his hand on the heavy redwood doors to the central Keep of the castle, and a red cloak he vaguely recognised opened it and bowed at the sight of him. "Lord Tywin, we spotted you from the battlements. Please…"

He walked past, Vylarr following, and the echoes of protesting voices silenced when the heavy doors slammed shut. The keep was not particularly large, and Tywin knew the Great Hall, with the high seat of the Tullys, was to his right, while the Lord's solar was to his left, connected to a private audience chamber above the Hall by way of a spiralling staircase. He disposed of his riding gloves and moved to his left. Edmure would surely be there, or in his adjoining rooms.

His steps stopped, however, by the sound of his daughter.

"Father!" The familiar pang of pain at the sight of her face, so like her mother's, came and went. Cersei Lannister remained beautiful, even in their thirties, with long tresses of golden hair and emerald eyes that declared her a Lannister of Casterly Rock. Yet she was wide-eyed as she ran up to him, her crimson gown flowing behind her, and he could not help but notice the way her restless hands clutched at the edges of her sleeves. Her smile was brittle, even as she stilled and steadied herself. Tywin's gaze sharpened.

"Father," she began. Her voice was too light, and too quick. "You come uninvited. A most pleasant surprise…"

"I came invited." Tywin held up the scroll. "Do tell me, Cersei, why you cannot control your own household."

She cocked her head, her expressed unchanging. "I do not know what you mean."

"Your daughter writes to me, telling me she worries for her father and Riverrun is unsafe. I come here, and there are Lords in your courtyard, spiting your name and wanting to see Lord Edmure. I want the truth of it. What is happening?"

"Myrcella? I…I will speak to her." Cersei grimaced. "It is nothing, Father, I assure you. We are…merely handling a small matter. My Lord husband is unwell. That is all. Nothing that requires your attention."

He stepped closer. "Do you think me a fool?" He hissed. "Even without the raven, one look at the castle would give me cause for worry. I am not so old yet that you may lie to me so brazenly. Tell me. What has happened?"

Cersei's fingers twisted in the fabric of her gown. "It is nothing." She insisted. She reached for his arm. "Come, see your grandchildren. It has been too long. You needn't worry yourself with Edmure. The Maester assures me…"

He took a long look at her and then turned on his heel, moving back to the spiral staircase that would lead him to the solar. She cried out behind him. "Father- "

"What have you done, Cersei?" He demanded. "Something is wrong, and I will have the truth of it- "

"Father!"

Jaime came up the staircase, all easy smiles. Even now, he was Cersei's mirror, tall, broad, and handsome, with hair the colour of beaten gold that fell with waves down to his neck. And yet, Tywin noticed, he wore his golden armour with the Lannister lion. "Jaime. Move."

"Father, how is Joanna?"

"Fine," He replied. "Unlike Lord Tully, clearly."

Jaime shot a look over Tywin's shoulder and grimaced. "The oaf is just taken unwell. It is handled. I promise, Father. Why are you here? Come, see my nephews and nieces."

He felt his suspicions grew. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. "Move, now."

"Nothing is wrong- "

"Nothing?" Tywin repeated. "I shall be the judge of that."

He moved past his son and Jaime did nothing to stop him, despite Cersei's protests. His discomfort grew.

And as he walked down the staircase, through doors, past rooms, towards the solar of the Lord of Riverrun, so did the smell.

A certain, disgusted horror was rising within him. He opened the door, knowing already what he would see.

The smell came first, putrid and heavy, lingering in the air and cloying his senses. Tywin had known it before, this smell, the acrid stench of sweat and decay, of gas and rot, which invaded the nose and stayed there, refusing to leave. He looked down upon the corpse of Edmure Tully. He was already rotting. His head was connected to his body by some bloody string of skin; the mark of a clean cut by a sword and a man who knew how to wield it.

Behind him, his children came racing into the room, panting. Jaime slammed the door shut.

Tywin's voice was a whisper, but it echoed between them all. "What have you done?"

"Father," Cersei said, reaching for him. She sounded as disgusted as he felt. "He - he, he took unwell.."

"Killed. He was killed. Why?"

"He…"

He turned to them with eyes like daggers. "Explain to me," He said. With earnest effort, he sounded calm, even to his own ears. "How did this happen?"

Cersei dug her nails into her palm, while Jaime just sighed.

"Well?" demanded Tywin.

"He…he saw." Cersei whispered. "He saw, and… we…had to act."

"I had to act," Jaime continued. "And so, I did."

"He saw?" Tywin repeated. "He saw what?"

More silence. The twins exchanged glances, and Cersei suddenly laughed bitterly. "What do you think he saw?"

"I do not know," Tywin hissed. But the horror within him was rising at something new, buried deep, and he desperately tried to quench it.

"You must know," Cersei replied. "Father, you must. He saw, he saw…"

Tywin had plans. Plans, to bring down the Dragon. Plans, to weaken their enemies. Plans, for the House to rise, ever further, and ever faster. Tywin had plans, and plots, and schemes, and as he looked upon his children, it was if, in their faces, he could see all his plans die in a single moment.

He felt himself suddenly lost, in failure, and in waves of revulsion.

"He saw us." Jaime said simply. He shrugged, then, as if they discussed mere trivialities. "So, I killed him."

"You have to help us, Father." Cersei came closer, eyes wide. "Please."

He saw us. He turned his back on his children, took one last look at Edmure Tully's near decapitated, decaying remains, and then walked to the stone balcony, which was as triangular as everything else in this damned castle.

"Father?"

He looked out from the solar of the Lord of Riverrun. In his mind's eye, he saw the rivers rising, and rising, and rising, until it towered over even the castle, and crashed down upon them all, until they were lost in the depths of the waters, never to return, destined for a watery grave.

Tywin Lannister closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He had so many plans.