Chapter 35

300 AC

The atmosphere in King's Landing was tense, the air thick with the weight of recent revelations. The Lannisters had been exposed, their deceit laid bare before the king and his council. But as the storm clouds of retribution gathered, Tywin Lannister, the master strategist, was already making his move.

Tywin sat in his private chambers, his face a mask of calm as he carefully penned a letter. His hand was steady, his thoughts sharp as he laid out the first steps of his plan. The contents of the letter were simple yet precise, each word carrying the weight of a hundred more left unsaid. He sealed it with the golden lion of House Lannister and handed it to his most trusted messenger.

"Take this to the maesters," he instructed, his voice betraying nothing of the urgency he felt. "It must reach the Westerlands before the sun sets."

The messenger bowed deeply and left without a word, knowing better than to question his lord's commands.

Once alone, Tywin allowed himself a moment to consider the events that had transpired. The accusations against Cersei, the legitimacy of her children questioned—these were grave matters, but Tywin Lannister was no stranger to challenges. He knew that the time had come to act, not with words but with steel and strategy.

The air in the Red Keep was heavy with a sense of foreboding. The Small Council meeting had concluded, leaving the lords and ladies of the realm with much to consider. But while the halls of King's Landing buzzed with rumors and whispers of the Lannisters' deceit, a more dangerous plot was already in motion—one that would shake the foundations of Westeros.

Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, stood before the council for what would be the last time. His face, usually a mask of cold calculation, was now drawn and pale. He spoke with deliberate slowness, every word measured as if it pained him to speak.

"Your Grace," Tywin addressed King Rhaegar with a voice tinged with weariness. "I regret to inform you that I am unwell. My health has taken a turn for the worse, and I must return to Casterly Rock to recover."

Rhaegar, ever composed, nodded sympathetically. "I am sorry to hear of your illness, Lord Tywin. Your service to the realm has been invaluable, and I pray for your swift recovery."

Tywin inclined his head slightly, his pale green eyes betraying none of the emotions swirling beneath the surface. "I thank you, Your Grace. I shall return to my duties as soon as I am able. Until then, I leave the matters of the realm in your capable hands."

As Tywin made his exit, escorted by his children Jaime and Cersei, the truth of his departure remained hidden beneath a veil of politeness. There was no illness. The Lion of Casterly Rock was retreating not to heal, but to prepare for war.

The journey to Casterly Rock was swift and silent. Tywin, with Jaime , allowed his mind to churn over the events of the past few days. Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon had uncovered a dangerous truth one that threatened the power Tywin had so carefully amassed. But the Hand of the King was not one to be cornered easily.

Upon reaching the gates of Casterly Rock, Tywin immediately set his plan into motion. Ravens were dispatched to every corner of the Westerlands, calling the banners of House Lannister to arms. The sigil of the lion would soon fly over every tower and stronghold as the Lannisters prepared to crown Tywin as the new King of the Rock.

In the days that followed, the once-quiet halls of Casterly Rock were filled with the clamor of armor and the sharpening of swords. Men from every house sworn to the Lannisters arrived in force, pledging their loyalty to Tywin. The old alliances that Tywin had forged over decades now bore fruit, with the might of the Westerlands poised to strike.

The grand hall of Casterly Rock, carved deep into the heart of the ancient fortress, echoed with the faint murmurs of its occupants. The walls, adorned with golden tapestries depicting the might and grandeur of House Lannister, seemed to shimmer in the flickering torchlight. The air was thick with tension as Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Hand of the King, and now, in his mind, the rightful King of the Rock, gathered his most trusted advisors and bannermen for a council of war.

Tywin sat at the head of the long stone table, his cold green eyes sweeping over the faces of those assembled before him. Each man present was chosen for his loyalty, his capability, and his willingness to do what needed to be done, no matter how ruthless. Jaime Lannister, his golden-haired son and heir, stood to his right, a silent sentinel, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. Tyrion Lannister, the clever, sharp-tongued dwarf, sat at the other end of the table, his mismatched eyes observing everything with a keen intelligence that belied his stature.

On Tywin's left, Asha Greyjoy, Tyrion's wife and the Ironborn Lady of Pyke, lounged with a confidence that came from her position as the de facto ruler of the Iron Islands. Her sharp eyes betrayed nothing of her thoughts as she listened to Tywin speak. Around them were the lords of the Westerlands, men who had served House Lannister for generations, their loyalty unwavering, but their faces now etched with concern.

Tywin leaned forward, his voice cold and precise, cutting through the silence like a blade. "The realm is in chaos, but chaos is a ladder, and we will climb it to heights no one else can reach. King Rhaegar believes he has uncovered a secret that will break House Lannister. He is mistaken."

There was a murmur among the lords, but Tywin silenced them with a glance. "Rhaegar's strength lies in the loyalty of his bannermen, but loyalty can be bought, traded, or destroyed. The Targaryens have ruled Westeros for centuries, but their rule has always been tenuous, dependent on the support of those who seek to gain from their power. We will sever those ties."

Jaime's expression was one of grim determination as he listened to his father. He knew the plan well, but hearing it laid out so coldly reminded him of the stakes involved. "The Riverlands are secured," Jaime said, his voice low but resolute. "Lyssa and I have ensured that House Tully remains loyal. Riverrun is ours, and with it, the heart of the Trident."

Tywin nodded, satisfied. "The Riverlands are key. With Riverrun under our control, we have cut off the North from the South. Brandon Stark may think his position is strong, but his son Robb's marriage to our Joanna ensures that Winterfell will remain tied to us. The Starks are wolves, but even wolves understand the importance of family. Their loyalty will follow the bloodline."

Tyrion, ever the strategist, spoke next, his voice measured. "The Iron Islands are ready. Asha and I have made sure of that. The Greyjoys may be reavers, but they know the value of power. The Iron Fleet will strike where it is least expected, securing the western coasts and disrupting any attempts by the crown to rally their forces."

Asha's lips curled into a half-smile. "The Ironborn are restless. They crave the thrill of battle, the plunder of rich lands. With the right incentives, they will follow wherever we lead them."

Tywin's gaze shifted to Jaime once more. "And the Vale? Cersei and Elbert Arryn have done their part?"

Jaime's jaw tightened slightly as he nodded. "The Vale is secured. Elbert may be the Lord of the Vale, but it is Cersei who wields the power. The knights of the Vale will rally to their banners when the time comes."

Tywin's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good. The Vale is a fortress in itself, and with it under our control, we can ensure that the East remains out of the crown's reach. Elbert's loyalty is unwavering, and through him, we control one of the most strategically important regions in the realm."

A silence fell over the room as Tywin allowed his words to sink in. The lords present exchanged uneasy glances, each understanding the magnitude of what was being discussed. But they were men of the West, forged in the fires of Lannister ambition. They knew that the only path forward was one of strength and ruthlessness.

After a moment, Tywin continued, his voice steely. "The North, the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Iron Islands—all secured by blood and marriage. But we are not alone in this. The alliances I have forged over the years will now bear fruit."

One of the lords, a grizzled veteran of many battles, spoke up. "And what of the Reach, my lord? The Tyrells are powerful, and Highgarden is rich. Can we count on their support?"

Tywin's gaze turned to Asha, who answered in his stead. "Willas Tyrell is married to Sansa Stark, Brandon Stark's daughter. The Reach may be bound to the North through that union, but Margaery Tyrell is married to Renly Baratheon, and Renly's ambitions may well outweigh his loyalty to the crown. The Tyrells are a wildcard, but they are not to be underestimated."

Tywin's lips thinned as he considered the Tyrells. "The Reach is fertile ground, both literally and figuratively. The Tyrells will act in their own best interest, as they always have. We will ensure that their best interest aligns with ours."

Tyrion interjected, his voice laced with irony. "And let us not forget that Edmure Tully, the heir to the Riverlands, is married to a daughter of House Hightower. The Hightowers are powerful in the Reach, and their influence could sway many lords to our side."

Tywin nodded, his expression hardening. "House Hightower's influence runs deep in the Reach, and Baelor Hightower's marriage to Elia Martell ties Dorne to their cause. But Dorne is another matter. Oberyn Martell is Rhaegar's Master of Whispers, and he is not one to be swayed easily. We must tread carefully where Dorne is concerned."

Jaime spoke again, his tone contemplative. "And what of Winterfell? The North is vast, and the Starks are not easily cowed. Robb Stark may be our ally through marriage, but Brandon Stark is a different beast altogether."

Tywin's gaze grew cold. "The North is a difficult land to subdue, but it is not invincible. The key lies in controlling Winterfell and keeping the Starks isolated. As long as Brandon Stark remains focused on the North, he will be less likely to interfere with our plans. And with Robb's marriage to Joanna, we have ensured that the Stark line will be bound to us by blood."

The room fell silent once more as Tywin's words hung in the air. The pieces were in place, the alliances forged, and the stage set for what was to come. Tywin Lannister had always been a man of iron will and unyielding ambition, and now, as the storm clouds gathered over Westeros, he knew that the time had come to strike.

The Final Command

Tywin rose from his seat, his presence commanding the attention of all present. "The time for talk is over. We have secured our positions, and now we must act. Raise our banners, call our bannermen, and prepare for war. The crown may think they hold the power, but they have underestimated the strength of House Lannister. We will not be ruled by weakness. We will take what is ours, by force if necessary."

Jaime, Tyrion, and Asha exchanged glances, their resolve solidifying. They knew the path ahead would be fraught with danger, but they were Lannisters, and Lannisters did not back down.

As the lords of the Westerlands began to file out of the room, Tywin turned to his sons one last time. "Remember, the lion does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep. We are Lannisters, and we will not be brought low by anyone, not even the king. The realm is ours for the taking, and take it we shall."

With that, the war council dispersed, each man prepared to play his part in the grand game that was about to unfold. The Lannisters had laid their plans, and now, the game of thrones would enter its most dangerous phase.

Tywin Lannister watched as his bannermen left the hall, his mind already calculating the next moves. The crown, the realm, the Iron Throne—it would all be his, or it would be reduced to ashes.

For in the game of thrones, there were no second chances. And Tywin Lannister had never been one to lose.

The day of Tywin Lannister's coronation dawned clear and bright, the skies above Casterly Rock a brilliant blue, unmarred by even a single cloud. The sun rose over the waves of the Sunset Sea, casting a golden hue over the ancient fortress that had stood as a symbol of Lannister power for centuries. But today, that power was to be formalized in a way it had never been before.

Within the great stone walls of Casterly Rock, preparations were underway for a ceremony unlike any the Westerlands had ever seen. The Lannister bannermen, their armor gleaming in the sunlight, stood at attention, their crimson and gold banners fluttering in the sea breeze. The lords and ladies of the Westerlands, dressed in their finest silks and velvets, had traveled from every corner of the region to witness this momentous occasion. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, as if the very air was charged with the significance of the day.

The great hall of Casterly Rock, carved deep into the mountain, had been transformed for the occasion. Golden tapestries, bearing the sigil of House Lannister—the proud lion rampant—hung from the walls. The floor was strewn with fresh rushes, and the air was filled with the scent of pine and lavender. At the far end of the hall, a raised dais had been constructed, draped in crimson cloth, and atop it sat a throne of gold and iron—Tywin Lannister's throne, the seat of the new King of the Rock.

As the appointed hour approached, the lords and ladies took their places in the great hall, their eyes fixed on the dais where the coronation would soon take place. The silence was palpable, broken only by the faint rustle of silk and the occasional clink of armor. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the weight of history pressing down on all who were present.

Tywin Lannister, dressed in resplendent robes of crimson and gold, stood at the entrance to the hall. His expression was as cold and unreadable as ever, his green eyes sharp and calculating. He had always been a man of few words, preferring action over speech, but today, he would speak words that would echo through the annals of history.

At his side stood Jaime Lannister, his golden-haired son and heir, the Kingslayer who had once served the Targaryens but now pledged his sword to his father's cause. Jaime's face was a mask of determination, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. Behind them, Tyrion Lannister, the clever and cunning dwarf, watched with a wry smile, his mismatched eyes glinting with intelligence. Asha Greyjoy, Tyrion's wife, stood beside him, her sharp gaze taking in every detail of the hall and its occupants.

The sound of trumpets echoed through the hall as Tywin began his slow, deliberate walk towards the dais. The lords and ladies of the Westerlands bowed their heads as he passed, a gesture of respect and acknowledgment of the power he wielded. Tywin's steps were measured, each one taken with the knowledge that he was about to ascend to a position of ultimate authority—a position he had fought and schemed for his entire life.

When Tywin reached the dais, he turned to face the assembled lords and ladies, his gaze sweeping over them like a cold wind. The room fell silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on all present. Tywin's voice, when he spoke, was as steady and unyielding as the man himself.

"Lords and ladies of the Westerlands," Tywin began, his voice carrying through the hall, "for generations, House Lannister has stood as the shield and sword of this region. We have defended our lands, our people, and our honor. But today, we stand on the cusp of a new era."

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. The lords and ladies watched him intently, their faces a mixture of awe and respect. They knew that Tywin Lannister was not a man to be trifled with, and that this coronation was not just a formality—it was the beginning of a new chapter in the history of Westeros.

"For too long," Tywin continued, "the Westerlands have been subject to the whims of distant kings, to rulers who do not understand our strength, our pride, our legacy. No more. Today, we take our destiny into our own hands. Today, the Westerlands becomes a kingdom in its own right, with a king who will defend its interests, who will ensure that House Lannister remains strong and unyielding."

As Tywin spoke, the great doors of the hall swung open, and a procession of septons entered, led by the High Septon himself. The septons, clad in robes of pure white, carried a golden crown, crafted with the same skill and artistry that had built the great fortress of Casterly Rock. The crown was simple but elegant, adorned with rubies and sapphires that caught the light as the septons approached the dais.

The High Septon ascended the steps of the dais, the crown held reverently in his hands. He approached Tywin, who stood tall and proud, and raised the crown high for all to see.

"In the name of the Seven," the High Septon intoned, his voice solemn and resonant, "I crown you, Tywin of House Lannister, King of the Rock, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West. May your reign be long and prosperous, and may the Seven bless you with wisdom, strength, and justice."

With that, the High Septon placed the crown on Tywin's head. The weight of it settled on him like a mantle of power, a symbol of the authority he had claimed through sheer force of will. Tywin's expression remained impassive, but there was a glint in his eyes, a flicker of satisfaction that betrayed the pride he felt in this moment.

The lords and ladies of the Westerlands knelt as one, their voices rising in unison. "Long live the King of the Rock! Long live King Tywin!"

As Tywin took his seat on the throne, the lords and ladies rose, their expressions a mixture of respect and fear. They knew that Tywin Lannister was not a king to be trifled with. His rule would be one of strength, of discipline, of unwavering control. The Westerlands would be forged into an unbreakable force, a kingdom that would rival any in Westeros.

Jaime Lannister stepped forward, his voice clear and strong as he addressed the assembly. "The Westerlands stands united under the banner of House Lannister. We will defend our lands, our people, and our king with all the strength we possess. Let the world know that the Lion of Lannister does not bow, it roars."

Tyrion, ever the pragmatist, added his voice to the chorus. "The Ironborn stand ready to serve our king. The seas are ours to command, and with them, we will ensure that the Westerlands remain secure."

Asha Greyjoy's smile was sharp as she nodded in agreement. "The Iron Fleet is at your service, Your Grace. The seas are our domain, and we will make sure that no enemy dares challenge the might of the Rock."

Tywin's gaze swept over the hall one final time. He had achieved what few men ever could—a crown, a kingdom, and the loyalty of those who would fight to the death to protect it. But Tywin Lannister was never content with mere victory. He knew that the real challenge lay ahead, in maintaining the power he had claimed and ensuring that House Lannister's dominance would never be questioned.

As the coronation came to an end and the lords and ladies began to file out of the hall, Tywin remained seated on his throne, his mind already turning to the battles yet to be fought, the alliances yet to be secured, the enemies yet to be crushed. For in the game of thrones, power was not given—it was taken, held, and wielded with ruthless precision.

And Tywin Lannister was the master of that game.

As the sun set over Casterly Rock, casting the fortress in a golden glow, the sounds of celebration filled the halls. The feast that followed the coronation was a grand affair, with tables laden with rich foods and fine wines, the best that the Westerlands had to offer. The lords and ladies of the realm toasted their new king, their voices raised in song and laughter.

But amidst the revelry, there were those who watched and waited, who understood that this was but the beginning of a new order in Westeros. The Westerlands had a king now, and with it, a new power had risen—a power that would soon make its presence felt across the entire realm.

In the shadows of the great hall, Tywin's eyes gleamed with the cold light of ambition. The crown sat heavy on his brow, but it was a weight he bore with pride. The Lion of Lannister had claimed his kingdom, and nothing would stand in his way.

The game of thrones had entered a new phase, and Tywin Lannister was ready to play it to the end.