Sorry about the messed up first version. Everything should be fixed now.

Tyrion

He stood there in the Godswood quietly, listening to the sound of the wind in the red leaves above him. The face carved into the trunk still intrigued him. How long ago was it carved? Who had carved it? He weighed the report he had written in both hands and then looked down at it. So many pieces of foolscrap, bound together with rough bindings on the left hand side of it. Everything he had seen, everything he had heard, everything he had read (well, summarised at least). Would it be enough?

And then he tucked the book under one arm, lifted the heavy bag with the other and stumped grimly away towards the rooms that had been set aside for Father. Dacey had asked him if he wanted her to join him in this. He had kissed her hand, praised her gallantry and then told her that no, this was his battle.

There was a guard at the door, a man in the standard Westerlands helm that he had never particularly liked the design of. The guard knocked on the door as he approached and then opened it at the barked 'Come!' from within.

Father was inside, standing at the window, his hands behind his back and tension written all over the set of his shoulders. Tyrion swallowed slightly but walked in. It was then that he noticed that Uncle Kevan was sitting at the table to one side whilst in the far corner Uncle Gerion was lounging in a chair, one foot on, appropriately enough, a small footstool.

"Sit." Father almost spat the word out. He sat in the nearest chair abruptly, the bag at his feet and the report on his lap. This was as bad as he had feared. Father sounded several leagues beyond merely angry. And he had every reason to be.

After what felt like an age and a half Father finally tore his gaze away from the window and wheeled around, pacing around the room and finally settling into a chair facing him. "Did you know?"

He knew exactly what Father was talking of. "No."

Father stared at him intently, eyes narrowed, studying his face. "Did you suspect?"

Ah. Time for the truth. "That they were doing something stupid? Yes."

Father's hands balled into fists briefly, knuckles whitening. "Then why," he said in a tightly controlled voice, "Did you not say something?"

He looked Father right in the eye. "Would you have believed me? I had no proof. Nothing. Just a few anecdotes about looks and glances, nothing tangible. If I had told you – you would never have believed me. You would just have called me a revolting dwarf with a disgusting imagination and then had me banished to the remotest corner of the Westerlands." Or, perhaps, the Wall.

Father stared at him, every muscle in his face taut, strain written all over his face, almost seeming to lean forwards – and then slowly he leant back in his chair and passed a hand over his eyes. "You have a point," Father said eventually. His eyes drifted over the room and finally returned to him. "No, I would not have believed you. Not without proof. The whole thing is rank madness. Whoever would have thought that this could happen?"

Tyrion sighed. This was a time to hold his tongue and be sober and silent. But he had to say something. "Jaime left for the Wall this morning."

"Good," Father said, his eyes blazing. "When I go to the Wall to see it I will speak with him, whether he likes it or not. He needs to know what his behaviour has cost his family." Father looked at him. "Descendants of Lannisters yet unborn will be dealing with the aftermath of this, you realise that don't you?"

He thought of the jokes, the ribald songs and the general sniggering that was probably already starting to spread across Westeros. "I do," he said eventually. "I do."

There was a depressed silence in the room for a long moment, before Father broke it. "What's that in your hand?"

Ah. He stood and then walked over to Father and handed his report over. "You told me to go to the North and find out why Lord Eddard Stark was asking about the Others. Here, Father, is my full report on all that I have experienced."

Father took it with a slightly bemused look. "This is not a report, this is a small book." He placed it to one side. "Summarise it. Succinctly."

He opened his mouth to reply, closed it as he thought very hard and very fast, and then turned to walk back to the bag. Opening it he pulled out Rocktooth, hefted it in his hands for a moment with a sigh and then he walked over to place it on the table next to Father. "This is Rocktooth, the axe wielded by Lann the Clever. And the Call is true. This thing kills wights and Others in very impressive ways."

This resulted in something that he had never seen before in his entire life – Father looking absolutely flabbergasted. He stared at the axe with his mouth slightly open for a long moment. "Rocktooth," he said after a while. "The ancestral weapon of our family. I once had Casterley Rock almost turned upside down looking for it."

He nodded. "It was at the Nightfort, Father." And then something occurred to him. "Oh," he muttered and then he pulled out the twin knives from his hip. "And The Warnings too. They glow when wights and Others are near. It's a bit alarming when that happens."

Father looked at the knives, the axe, at Tyrion, at the axe again and then seemed to collect himself. "Sit," he said again. "And explain."

So he did. He sat there and just started to talk about his trip the North, from the moment he left Lannisport, to the moment that he arrived in Winterfell for the first time. On and on he talked, recounting everything he had seen, heard of, experienced. Occasionally he pointed at the report and named a page, allowing Father to open it and peer at maps, or drawings, or particular passages. He continued on, his throat growing drier and drier but he kept on talking until he became hoarse. This was important.

Oddly enough it was Father who poured him a goblet of wine and then gestured at him to drink and then continue. So he did, blessing the sensation of the wine going down his parched throat – and then he started to talk again. On and on he went, before he finally ended with the sad events of the past few days and then the thing that in his mind was just as important, his proposal of marriage to Dacey. And then he fell silent with a rather defiant tilt to his head. He was bloody well going to marry her.

Uncle Kevan had moved to the table not long after he had started talking, so that he could at least glance at the report. He now looked at if Casterley Rock had been dropped on his head. As for Uncle Gerion he was smiling proudly at Tyrion, sipping from his own glass of wine. And Father… Father was staring at him with the oddest look on his face that he had ever seen. It seemed to combine a great many emotions, including astonishment, incredulity, disbelief, vague annoyance and a slowly growing something else.

"I see," Father said slowly. "So, to summarise your summary, since you left the Westerlands you have confirmed the fact that the Ironborn are fighting amongst themselves, confirmed that the North is preparing for a very cold and long winter as well as a war against a legendary enemy, rescued the only child of the late Torgen Surestone, escorted her safely to her family here Winterfell, discovered that the First Men used dragonglass on a hitherto-unsuspected scale to fight the Others and their wights, forged a good relationship with the Starks, discovered what had happened to the Mountain Tribes of the Vale, witnessed the Old Gods speaking through the mouths of a Stark not once but three times, ridden to the Wall, witnessed a council of war between the Starks and the lords of the North, listened to Ned Stark decide to turn his back on thousands of years of enmity between the North and the Wildlings and let the latter settle in the Gift, travelled to the Nightfort and fought rogue Wildlings there, discovered not one but three heirlooms of House Lannister that had been thought lost, passed under the Wall through a magic gate, helped to rescue a half-wighted Stark who has been wandering the Haunted Forest for at least hundreds of years, killed wights with Rocktooth, confronted and killed an Other with it as well, and finally took part in what many are referring to as Ned Starks Great Ride South, when he moved at a speed that genuinely shocked me. Would that be a fair summation?"

He ran through what Father had just said in his head and then nodded. "Erm, yes Father."

The silence that followed was the longest one of all, a long-drawn-out moment of total silence as Father just stared at him through narrowed eyes. And then he finally opened the report to the page with the careful line drawing of an Other, before doing something that utterly shocked Tyrion.

He laughed.

It was a soft, rueful laugh, a noise that combined amusement with bemusement and a certain amount of bewilderment. And the other three men in the room just stared at him in astonishment.

After a moment Father looked up. "It seems that the Gods have a sense of humour. A twisted one, but a sense of humour. It seems that the son that I wanted to succeed me has shamed the family in every way, but the son I thought was unworthy of the family name has instead shown himself to be a true Lannister. I always thought you a stunted fool. But I was wrong. You've… you've done well." The last words looked as if they left a slightly bitter taste in his mouth.

Slightly dazed at receiving praise from Father he nodded at him. "Thank you Father."

"You've also brokered yourself a marriage that I have to say is far better than anything I could have arranged for you. Lady Surestone is the daughter of a good man. Treat her well, or I'll have something to say about it."

He peered at Father. "You… knew of him?"

"I did." Father leant back in his chair and seemed to sigh a little. "When you are Lord of Casterley Rock you will soon find that there are always people out there who will look to you to resolve disputes over land and other things. And there are always those who think that it would be clever or cunning to cite old or obscure laws or precedents in their favour. Such as the laws of the First Men."

Understanding blossomed. "Lord Surestone was an expert on the First Men."

Father nodded in what have been approval. "Exactly so. He once came to Casterley Rock to ask about its history. At the time I was adjudicating a particularly messy and intractable land dispute between Lords Lefford and Brax, with the latter citing an obscure law dating from the First Men, so I had little time for a Northern Lord. But when he heard about the dispute he approached me in private and explained the law in some detail – and in full, as Brax had only referred to a part of it – giving me the full context of it that allowed me to settle things quickly and cleanly.

"Surestone returned to the North after that but ever after, especially when I was Hand of the King, I would write to him with the latest knotty little legal problem involving fools who tried to cite the laws of the First Men." He sighed. "His letters always had more common sense and practical wisdom than the letters of a hundred lords that used to arrive. I am… aggrieved that he is dead and will talk to Dacey Surestone to pass on my sincere regrets about his passing. I'm also glad that his murderer has paid for his crime. I take it that Bootle's head is the one over the gatehouse?"

Eyebrows raised, Tyrion nodded. "It is."

"Good." Father stood and then passed the report over to Kevan, who took it with a sigh. "And now I have to go and see my grandchildren. I understand that Joffrey has utterly disgraced himself."

"He has," Gerion grimaced. "Tried to knife Robb Stark in the back. Even worse, the boy didn't even have a belt knife on him. Joffrey on the other hand had a stolen dagger made from Valyrian steel. Despite that the Stark boy disarmed him and broke his nose. Oh, and one of the wildling girls kicked him in the balls."

Father grimaced as much as he ever could. "I see," he said heavily. "Dishonoured and disgraced indeed. Very well." And then he paused and his eyes looked almost like emeralds, so hard did they appear to be. "And then I will talk to my daughter. And… explain matters to her."

As Father strode out Tyrion found that his goblet was being refilled. Still faintly dazed he looked up to see that it was Uncle Gerion. "What just happened?"

His uncle refilled his own goblet. "Your father has had his world upended and shaken, and has just been forced to react. Congratulations Tyrion." He smiled at him. "Your mother would be so proud of you right now."

Robb

It was interesting to see how much Sarella had improved in her archery skills in such a very short amount of time. It was enough to make him pause in his walk along the wooden causeway and stare carefully. The Dornish girl was an enigma. A dangerous enigma.

"She's good," said a voice to one side and he blinked a little. Ah. Val again. He had the feeling that he had to be very cautious around her at times. He'd made bad mistakes in that previous life.

"She's improving fast." He tilted his head to one side and then looked at Grey Wind, who was scratching at an itch with a rear leg and closed eyes. "Odd that."

"She hates being defenceless," Val muttered as she walked over to Grey Wind and added her fingers to scratching away the itch. Much to his surprise the direwolf muttered with obvious pleasure, leant into her hand, almost overbalanced and came very close to falling over. For some reason he glared at Robb as if he was to blame for that. "But she's used a bow before. I think it's the arrows she's having trouble with."

He looked back at the Dornish girl with narrowed eyes and then stared at the arrows she was using. And then he understood. "She's using dragonglass."

"Aye. A heavier weight. Different balance. Needs a different way of loosing it from a bow. She wasn't used to it at first." Val looked at her. "Why are people so skittish around her?"

He smiled and then tilted his head at Val so that they started to walk away from Sarella. "Her father. Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne. Also known as the Red Viper. And a very dangerous man."

Val blinked at him for a long moment. "What's a viper?"

Ah. He should have expected that. "It's a snake, and a poisonous one at that. The Red Viper fought in Essos and it's said that he likes to use poison on his blades. And his temper can be as hot as the land he's from."

"Mance told me what a snake is," Val said thoughtfully and then she shuddered a little, making her braid swing behind her for a moment. "And can Dorne really be that hot? No ice, no snow, barely any water?"

"Well," he said cautiously, "There is some water there. Otherwise there'd be no Dornish Red."

She nodded seriously, her mind obviously struggling with such an alien concept, and they passed down the rest of the wooden walkway in a companionable silence. At the end of it they came out at a platform and there they found Mance Rayder.

The King Beyond the Wall was dressed in clothes of red and black and was softly strumming on his lute. Robb wasn't entire sure he recognised the tune, but there was something stirring in it, a hint of a greater theme.

"A new tune?" Robb ventured.

The older man looked at him for a moment, a hint of amusement in his eyes and his mouth twitched to one side for a heartbeat. "Oh, yes. A new tune. You'll hear all of it soon. It's not quite ready yet. Not quite right in places. It will be though. It will have a royal debut."

Robb sat next to the former man of the Night's Watch. "Have you met the King then?"

"I have." The strumming became something a bit more harsh and martial. "The Demon of the Trident. I had heard rumours that he had become a fat old man. That was… wrong."

No, he thought, remembering what he could recall of that other King Robert from the other lifetime, that was right. "The Call awoke something within him. And Stormbreaker…"

The strumming stilled completely. "The sword of the Durrandons. The Fist of Winter, Stormbreaker, this talk of Otherbane… the First Men must have hidden them well, or had a plan, or… something."

"They must have," Robb agreed heavily. "Before the Andals came. And then the Targaryens."

"Oh," Val broke in crossly. "In the name of the Old Gods will you two cheer up? There is much that is waking up. Look at the horizon in front of you, not on the one at your back."

He exchanged a look with Mance and was about to make a protest when a guard suddenly made an appearance. "Lord Robb, Lord Rayder, Lady Val, Lord Stark requests your immediate attendance at his solar."

Mance Rayder closed his eyes in annoyance. "I am not a bloody Lord and-" He looked at the bewildered guard. "Oh never bloody mind. Lord Robb, lead the way please."

As they trotted down the nearest flight of stairs he heard Val snark at Mance: "I thought you were to be a Lord?"

"Not just yet," Mance muttered. "Lord Stark's idea. Depends on a few things and… oh, stop smirking at me goodsister."

He smiled a little himself and continued on, Grey Wind leading the way. As they approached Father's solar he could see Ser Barristan Selmy and Jory Cassel guarding it and relaxed a little. "The King is within," he said in a low voice to the two Free Folk. "And hopefully not Lord Lannister."

"Many seem afraid of the man," Val said with puzzlement in her voice. "Why?"

"I will sing a song for you later Val," Mance replied. "It's called 'The Rains of Castermere', and after I sing it I shall explain what it is about."

Robb nodded at Selmy and Cassel and then waited as Ser Barristan knocked on the door, opened it at a muttered command from within and then held it open so that the trio could walk in.

Inside they found Father and the King, as well as Lord Stannis, sitting on one side of a table whilst on the other were a particularly interesting set of people all in travel-stained clothes. Two of them were red-headed twins wearing the surcoat of the Redwynes. The third was a man in the black of the Night's Watch. And on the table was an open bag and in the bag were… large eggs? Large eggs that glittered?

"Robb," said Father, who looked a bit strained. "Come closer, all of you. Rayder, we need your help on this. These three men have just arrived from Castle Black. Before then they were at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and before that they were at Hardhome, North of the Wall."

Mance stepped forwards, his face pale. "Is everything alright there? There was a gathering of the Free Folk there."

The closer of the red-headed twins stood and nodded at him. "Horas Redwyne. I was there with Cotter Pyke. Fear not, we got them all out there. All but the giants, who went South to the Wall. But we went looking for cages there, the cages used to display wight parts, and we found these… bones in one of the caves. And these. Eggs."

The man of the Night's Watch nodded. "Jon Hill, melords. Pyke sent them on to Castle Black after getting a raven from Maester Aemon. He saw them himself. And then sent us South here with them, riding hard. And the letter he wrote to his Grace and Lord Stark."

"Maester Aemon," the King rumbled as he stared at the eggs, "Said that they – and the bones – are not from dragons. The bones were the wrong colour and the eggs felt… wrong." He paused, his face working with some unidentifiable emotion. "I agree about the touch. Not like dragon eggs. Not quite right." And then he stood abruptly and strode over to stare moodily out of the nearest window.

Father looked at the King, obviously puzzled, and then looked at Mance Rayder. "There are legends of ice drakes, or ice wyrms. Legends South of the Wall at least. What do the Free Folk know of them?"

There was a clunk as Mance Rayder put down his lute and then walked over to stare at the eggs. "Oh, there are tales alright. You said that there were bones in a cave at Hardhome, lad?"

Horas Redwyne looked a bit irked at being called 'lad', but nodded. "The place – the cave – looked as if it had been half-melted in places. Claw marks everywhere as well. It was… peculiar." The Reachman shuffled his feet. "I'll confess that it shook me."

"The fate of Hardhome has always been a mystery," Mance muttered. "Perhaps now we have a better idea of what happened there. As for tales of ice drakes… all I have is just that. Tales. Legends. I've never seen one. Nor have I heard of anyone seeing one."

"I have." It was Val who spoke. She was pale and unsettled. "My father's mother once told me that she had seen something, far off in the sky, when she was once on a hunt. North-West of the Frostfangs. It had wings and was like nothing she had ever seen in her life. It was no bird. It was too large for that. Too… strange as well."

There was a moment of silence and then the King stamped back over from the window. "Sorry Ned," he rumbled at Father. "Memories." He looked at Stannis Baratheon, who looked back with an odd look of his own. "Our Grandmother was a Targaryen. She gifted me her dragon egg when I was young. It's in a chest somewhere in Storm's End. Been there for years. Seeing these brought back memories." He pulled a face.

"Well," sighed Father. "We have yet more proof of things beyond the Wall. And we know now to never dismiss tales of things we think of as being impossible. Not now. There are so-called legends that are flesh and blood." He looked at the Redwyne twins. "My compliments to your lord father and please tell him everything that you have seen. Our thanks for coming here with these. I've ordered quarters for you to stay in."

The Redwyne twins bowed at them, whilst the man of the Night's Watch nodded wearily and then the trio left. Father leant back and sighed. "And now we have a new mystery to unravel."

The King nodded and seemed about to speak when there was a knock on the door that had barely closed. "Yes?" Robert Baratheon barked crossly.

Ser Barristan Selmy opened the door, looking grave. "Lord Lannister wishes to have a word your Grace. He has Joffrey Hill with him."

Ah. Robb straightened and Mance Rayder looked at the King. "We'd better leave your Grace."

But the King shook his head. "No. Stay." He flicked a finger at Robb and Val. "These two stopped his attack dead in its tracks. Whatever this is about I want them in the room."

Tywin Lannister stepped into the room looking as if he was the lord of Winterfell and nodded formally at the King. "Your Grace," he muttered. And then his grandson walked in, slightly stiff-legged.

Joffrey Hill looked as bad as his real father had when he had sworn his oath before the Heart Tree, with dark circles under his eyes and a haggard look to his face. His eyes were bloodshot and hunted, flickering from face to face – and when he saw first him and then Val they bulged slightly and then took on a slightly mad aspect, combining horror, anger and above all fear. He looked quickly back at the door, but Frostfyre was standing there, looking grimly at him, and he swallowed convulsively. "Your Grace," he said eventually, after getting a glare from his grandfather.

"Your Grace," said Tywin Lannister after a moment that included a flicker of the eyes in the direction of the ice drake eggs. "I am glad that so many are here to witness this. My grandson has something to say."

Joffrey shambled – there could be no other word to describe it – forwards and then stared at the floor. There was a red mark on one cheek, as if something or someone had hit him there. "Your Grace," he said hesitantly. "I am… I am here to confess my guilt… for my…" He bared his teeth for a moment, but then saw the intensity of the glare that his Grandfather was directing at him and then flinched more than a bit. "My attack on Lord Robert Stark. I wish, in recompense, to take the Black." The last words came out in a rush, with what sounded like no small amount of resentment behind them.

The King looked at him with a great deal of contempt in his eyes and then looked at Father. "Lord Stark, it was your eldest son and heir that he attacked. What say you on this matter?"

Father swept Joffrey with an equally contemptuous look – and then he rubbed his jaw in that way he had of showing that he was about to make a decision. "By right and law I could take his head for what he tried to do. But he failed and has confessed his guilt. Given his family and the circumstances, I can accept his appeal to be allowed to join the Night's Watch."

There was a long silence as the King stared at the boy he had thought was his son, his face more than a little red. And then he sighed and rubbed his forehead for a moment. "Very well. My thanks, Lord Stark. You have been most merciful under difficult circumstances, and the Crown is grateful to you. Lord Lannister, what say you?"

Something like a sigh might possibly have escaped the lips of Tywin Lannister, but the Lord of the Westerlands gave no other sign of his relief than a nod of the head. "My thanks, your Grace. Lord Stark as well." He sent yet another glare in the direction of his grandson, who once again visibly flinched before sending another hunted look at the door. Frostfyre almost seemed to briefly curl a lip at him before moving to one side, and the bastard then scuttled out to join the guards who were out there.

"My thanks again," Tywin Lannister said. "And your Grace, I must go and talk to my daughter." He bowed shortly and then swept out, his face stony.

It was only once the door was closed that the King spoke again. "I almost pity her," he muttered. "Well – almost."

Cersei

Regal.

She had to be regal. She was Queen, no matter what that fat fool said, she had been born to be Queen. And nothing could take that from her.

She paced about the pathetically – insultingly – small room, her hands clasping each other spasmodically. Where was he? Father was in Winterfell, she knew that from the muttered comments of the guards. He should have come to her first of all, before meeting anyone else.

And she knew what she would say to him, how she would persuade him that the Starks and the Baratheons were nothing more than liars, how Stannis Baratheon was playing the Game of Thrones to make himself Robert's heir. This was nothing more than a naked power play on his part, the filthy lies about she and Jaime were nonsense.

Yes, she could make Father believe. He had to believe her. He would never allow Robert and his curs to deprive her of her title – her rightful place.

No, Father would put Robert in his own place, reminding him that House Lannister was the real power behind the throne. Father was still owed a huge amount of coin by the Crown – that was the reality. All the tales of that oaf Baelish's property holdings and how the debt had vanished were nothing more than lies, and childish ones at that.

And once Father had slapped Robert down and punished Stannis and Stark – how dare they imprison her! – perhaps it would be time for the King to have an accident, perhaps whilst hunting. Joffrey would be King. She could control him. She was sure of it.

And the North would burn, from the Wall to the Neck. Dragonstone would burn too.

She had to be regal.

There was the sound of approaching boots in the corridor outside and she turned to the door, her heart in her mouth. Was that Father's voice?

And then the door opened, to reveal Father. He strode in, dressed all in black, she opened her mouth to speak – but the moment she looked at his face the words she had been planning died unsaid on her lips. Father's face was a frozen mask of bleakness, pale skin drawn tight over bone. Except for his eyes. His eyes blazed with one emotion. Black fury. She recognised that face. That was the face that Father used when punishing people who had committed terrible crimes and all of a sudden she felt real fear.

Father closed the door and then his hand shot forwards and pointed at the chair by her. "Sit." He said the word in a voice like iron and she hurriedly did as she had been commanded. Things were slipping out of her control and she was about to open her mouth to speak when all of a sudden Father drew a dagger from a sheath at his belt and then jabbed it, point-first, into the table, before sinking into a seat of his own, his hand still curled around the handle of the weapon.

There was a long moment of silence as Father seemed to suppress some violent emotion, his knuckles white on the pommel, and then finally he spoke. "I am now going to speak. Whilst I speak you will be silent. If at any point you make the ill-considered decision to interrupt me you will regret it." He looked at the dagger and then at her again. "Nod if you understand."

Suddenly terrified she nodded choppily.

"All my life," Father went on in a low, hard, voice, "I have worked with just one aim in mind. One constant goal. The restoration of our family to its proper place as the most powerful and influential house in the Westerlands, if not in all of Westeros. To that end I have done things that you cannot imagine. I have worked on a scale and at a pace that would bewilder you. I have praised fools and wise men. I have used cravens and heroes. I have killed and I have been merciful.

"And I had thought that all of that work had finally brought House Lannister to new heights. A new royal family. My grandson would be king after his father died." There was a creak, either from the dagger handle or Father's fingers as they tightened around the handle again. "But now here we sit, in this room, at this time, and everything that I have worked for lies in pieces at my feet, smashed and broken."

His free hand came up from his lap and he pointed his forefinger at her. "I gave you one task, just one. You were to marry Robert Baratheon, bear his children and achieve my ultimate goal of creating a Lannister-Baratheon dynasty that would outlast and outshine the Targaryens, so that if Aerys Targaryen could look up from whichever of the Hells he's suffering in, he'd see what House Lannister – what I – had achieved and gnash his teeth in rage. Well, now. If Aerys can look up from wherever he's squatting and see me today he'd be laughing at me!" The last three words were snapped out in a rising half-shout that made her lean back in terror. Father never bellowed. But now he was sitting there, visibly fighting to regain his composure.

After a long moment Father composed himself again. "Because how was I to know that you had your own plan? If, that is, such a word can be used to describe the morass of selfish, squalid, filth that you have been wallowing in for years. You decided that instead of bearing the King's children you would part your legs like a whore for your own twin brother so that the pair of you could rut like a pair of mindless animals. You would then pass any resulting children off as your husbands."

Father's eyes seemed to blaze with new fury as they bored into her. "The fact that this was treason – affecting the royal succession – never seemed to have bothered you. The fact that the children wouldn't have a single Baratheon trait between them, but be pure Lannister, also never seems to have bothered you. Perhaps you hoped that no-one would notice the fact that your children would not resemble your husband in any way. Well, as you might have noticed given your current location, someone noticed." He hissed the last word in a way that chilled her.

"Now," he said, speaking in a way that made it seemed as if his words were causing him physical pain, "Before you open your mouth and deliver a torrent of lies as you deny everything, I must first tell you that Jaime wrote out a full confession." Her heart seemed to stop for a moment in her chest. No. No, her soulmate would not have betrayed her like that. No. It was impossible. Father had to be lying. "A confession that I have read. It made me want to vomit and for the first time in my life I was almost glad that you mother is dead, because what I read would have broken her heart. The confession has been copied out and those copies went out to King's Landing and other places days ago."

There was another silence as he tightened his grip on the dagger yet again, before seeming to force himself to relax just a hair. "So, what impact has your little plan had? We will get to you later, I know that you are a selfish creature so we will look at the wider picture that would probably never otherwise occur to you.

"Let us start with your children. Tyrion once told me that one of your good points is that you love them. Well, your plan has certainly impacted all three of them." He leant forwards slightly. "They are all bastards born of incest. Those words will follow them for the rest of their lives. You might as well have branded the words on their foreheads. The glittering future that they had once is gone. They have been stripped from the succession. They are all Hills."

She stared at him in horror. No. They were royalty.

"Of course," Father continued remorselessly, "The fate of some of your children is easier to predict than others. Let us start with your oldest, shall we? Joffrey. You wrote so often to me about him, praising him to the skies, telling me how clever he is, how wise, how brave and how kind. I have spent some time with him today and now I wonder who you wrote of, because I swiftly discovered that Joffrey is a stupid, foolish, craven and cruel boy. The thought of him on the throne horrifies me. The moment he saw me he ordered me – ordered me! – to call my banners, invade the North, rescue him, burn the North to the ground and kill every man woman and child in it and then take him back to King's Landing. He went on and on about it until I gave him the back of my hand and shut him up.

"I then took him rather firmly in hand. You might not know this but a few days ago Joffrey got blind drunk and decided that the best was to ingratiate himself with me would be to kill Ned Starks oldest son and heir, Robb Stark. So the damn fool tried to stab the Stark boy in the back with a stolen Valyrian steel knife, without any warning, at a time when Robb Stark was unarmed and alone. I cannot even begin to describe how foolish that was."

Was Robb Stark dead? Surely the guards would have mentioned something about that. Perhaps it was a secret. Perhaps her revenge had already started? But then Father narrowed his eyes a little. "He failed. Robb Stark, despite his handicaps, disarmed and defeated Joffrey. Broke his nose as well. Oh and he was kicked in the crotch by some wildling girl who happened to be passing. Now, normally an attack on the heir of any of the Wardens of Westeros would normally have one conclusion, namely that of the attacker's severed head ending up on a spike. However, I have talked to Joffrey and then brought him before the King and Ned Stark, and the latter has agreed that Joffrey will not be executed. Instead he will take the Black. He will live on the Wall, he will die on the Wall. Given the list of his true attributes that I listed earlier I doubt that the period between those two things will be very long, especially given the war that is coming to the Wall.

"Next there is Tommen. He will not go to the Wall." She wanted to sob with relief. "Instead he goes to the Citadel. It is his choice, no-one else's. The boy seems very certain about the fact that he wants to go there. My grandson will learn to shovel raven dung and one day wipe the snotty noses of the pestilential children of whatever minor lordling he is sent to be Maester to. And around his neck will be the chain he will forge and one of the links on that chain will be made of cat hair, because at the Citadel he will become an expert on what he calls 'kitties'. Are you not proud of him?"

Father leaned forwards again. "There are smallfolk in the smallest part of the Westerlands who know that you do not breed cattle siblings together, as you can inbreed your way to imbecility. The Targaryens tried it and look how they ended up – a shrieking lunatic obsessed with wildfire, whilst his sons were a fool whose obsession with prophecies ruined the dynasty and a lunatic who tried to sacrifice his own sister in a blood magic ceremony that led to his death. Now, the Targaryens at least had a ritual that they said would protect them when brother married sister, but by the end it was a jumble of Valyrian fragments. You had… nothing."

Father leant back again and passed his free hand over his forehead. "Now we come to Myrcella. And here I want to weep. She has, so far at least, escaped the taint of madness, or instability at least, that her other siblings have. She is beautiful, intelligent, wise, kind and above all practical. She knows exactly what you have done to her and has come to terms with it. Talking to her left me with a profound sense of sorrow. Oh, the matches I could have made for her! The heirs of great houses would have beaten a path to our doors when they discovered what she is like!"

A look of profound fury was directed at her. "And now… nothing. She knows that her future no longer glitters, but is cloudy and dull. Knows that all too well. Her dream of marrying handsome, clever, brave Robb Stark is gone. Instead she has told me that knows that she will have to make do with whoever I can find. Her only request is that he be kind to her. I will honour that request."

Silence fell in the room for a long moment. "And now let us turn to Jaime," Father snapped suddenly, making her jump a little. "You have done something here that I could not. I have been trying and failing for years to get him out of that damn white cloak of his. Now I know why you blocked my efforts. Now he is rid of it! Alchemy indeed! But… he has merely swapped his white cloak for a black one. He will join his son on the Wall, both men of the Night's Watch.

"Good, because he is an imbecile. I really could have gotten him out of that white cloak years ago if he had told people the true reason why he killed Aerys Targaryen. He did not do it to curry favour with Robert, oh no. He did it to stop the madman from ordering that a huge set of stockpiles of wildfire hidden under King's Landing be ignited. He saved the city – but then he didn't tell a soul about it and left the foul stuff where it was. Apparently he thought that it would degrade. It does not. It matures. There's a cache under the Red Keep even now. Jaime wrote his confession after being told of all this and left for the Wall first thing this morning."

She found herself going pale. Wildfire? Under the Red Keep? Why had Jaime not said anything of it?

"And now let us turn to Tyrion, and here the irony becomes rich and thick enough to walk on." A peculiar look crossed Father's face, one that combined many emotions. "I sent Tyrion to the North to find out why Ned Stark was asking questions about what I thought were nothing more than legends. He succeeded. In fact he performed far above my wildest hopes.

"In the time that he has been here in the North he rescued a cousin of Ned Stark from a fate worse than death and escorted her here to her family in Winterfell. He found out just how the Call was sent out. He went to the Wall and discovered not one but three long-lost heirlooms of House Lannister there and then he battled side by side with the Starks against Wildlings, wights and Others. He has not just seen one of the legendary Others, he has killed one. He has, in other words, behaved like a true Lannister. Can you imagine my astonishment? Of course you can, you are staring at me like a lunatic. But the fact remains – Tyrion has been a credit to the family. You have spent years dripping poison in my ears about him. It seems that we were both as wrong about him as we could be."

What might have almost been a terrible smile twisted Father's face. "And now see what alchemy you have wrought! Tyrion, the dwarf son I have despised for so long, is now my heir. He will inherit Casterley Rock when I die. The decision is made, the die is cast. It's Tyrion or no-one. And he has made a marriage compact that will benefit us all. He will be marrying the Stark cousin that I mentioned. Dacey Surestone is her name. I knew her father. A good man. A good match."

No. No. No. It could not be. Casterley Rock could not be that disgusting dwarf's inheritance. It was… wrong. Wrong, beyond words. She almost reeled in her chair. No. There had to be a way around this. Perhaps… she thought of her earlier thoughts, and what Father had said of Joffrey and a solution sprang into mind. She licked her lips, turned to father and –

But then Father just looked at her and the words once again died unsaid on her lips. "I know," Father said heavily, "What you are about to say. 'Surely Father, this is wrong, Jaime should inherit, or Joffrey. Call the banners. Inflict vengeance.' I see those words almost forming on your lips. And I can say only one thing in response: no. Joffrey will never succeed me as the boy is mad. As for Jaime… again, no."

He looked at her for a long moment and then seemed to sigh. "You have never understood power, not really. For you it's the prospect of imminent violence that you can order on a whim. But the truth is that it's more… nebulous than that at times. Varys once told me that it's a shadow on a wall. A neat turn of phrase but wrong as well. No, power is something else. It's based on reputation. Any fool can shriek an order, but having it carried out is a different thing.

"You probably don't understand this, but when I destroyed the Reynes and the Tarbecks in the way that I did, that was a mistake. I was young. I should have left a few of them alive, to provide an example to the Westerlands of those who cross us. The Rains of Castermere gave me a reputation of a mad dog, killing all those who crossed me. I had to work hard after that to change what the Lords of the Westerlands thought of me. It took years of governing wisely, adjudicating disputes carefully and even-handedly. I had to prove myself a just and wise ruler, and then again as Hand of the King. And when I gave my word I meant it. I proved it. I made a name for myself in ruling justly. That was real power.

"Jaime has now sworn three great oaths. One he broke for the noblest of reasons – to save King's Landing. One he broke for the most squalid of reasons – to lay with his own sister and commit treason in the process. If he breaks the third oath – if he even can and live, given what I have heard about the Fist of Winter, which he swore the oath on – then two things will happen. First, he will be hunted by men from all of Westeros. Second, no-one will ever trust him again."

His eyes searched her face and then Father sighed again. "The Lord of the Westerlands must be trusted to keep his word. A lord who has a justified reputation as an oathbreaker… will never be trusted. If I went North to 'rescue' Jaime now, he would be the weakest future lord of Casterley Rock ever. Weaker than my own father. So… no. Jaime cannot succeed me. Plus he's also a fool. And if you ever think that I am ever leaving the two of you in the same place together ever again, you're a fool as well."

She sat there, her mind a turmoil of shock and anger and confusion. After a long moment she realised that Father was staring at her.

"And then there's you," Father said flatly. "The person who has inflicted more harm to our family name than anyone else in the history of our family. There are Lannisters yet unborn who will be affected by what you have done. Every Lannister girl for years to come who marries will have the babe peered at and inspected as people wonder if the child looks too Lannister. Where was the father nine months before? And where was her brother, or her father, or her uncle? You have smeared the word 'incest' across the family name and it will be a long time before it fades. Generations in fact."

Father fell silent and just stared at her. She stared back, motionless, white-faced and terrified. "I should kill you, for what you have done to us, but that would add the label of kinslayer to the Lannister family name," Father said eventually. "It might be cathartic though. I'm angry enough for it. But it would be too easy. That said, I cannot send you to become a Septa, or join the Silent Sisters. That would be an insult to the Faith. Your former husband has told me that I must consult with him to decide your fate. And I don't know yet just what might be an… appropriate punishment."

He stood abruptly, pulling the dagger out of the table, and then stared at her, his nostrils flaring. "Perhaps exile somewhere truly remote, a place where you cannot indulge in your squalid little lusts. I will think on it. But know this – I am beyond ashamed of you. You are a disgrace to our family."

And with that he swept out.