Tywin Lannister sat in his chambers at Moat Cailin, his fingers drumming against the polished obsidian table beside him. The room rivaled anything in the Red Keep - perhaps even surpassed it. The walls gleamed with some strange material that seemed to capture and amplify the light from the enchanted crystals mounted in ornate sconces. The furniture was crafted from woods he'd never seen before, inlaid with precious metals in patterns that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles.
He took another sip of the Northern wine, unable to deny its exceptional quality. The vintage had a complexity that put even the finest Arbor Gold to shame. Everything in this restored fortress spoke of wealth and power beyond anything the South could muster.
The feast earlier that evening had been a calculated display. Dishes appeared that defied the laws of nature - fruits that shouldn't grow in the North, meats preserved in ways that maintained perfect freshness, delicacies that by all rights should have been impossible to obtain. Yet here they were, served with casual abundance as if such luxury was commonplace.
"The boy is deliberately showing us what he's capable of," Tywin mused aloud to Kevan, who stood by the window looking out at the mechanical sentinels that patrolled the walls. "Each course, each detail of this fortress - it's all precisely chosen to demonstrate the North's newfound strength."
"Those metal giants..." Kevan shuddered slightly. "I've never seen anything like them. The way they move, how they coordinate with each other. Three of the Reach ladies fainted dead away when we first approached the gates."
Tywin remembered the moment well. The massive constructs - Dwarven Colossi, Owen had called them - stood near taller than the walls themselves. Their armor gleamed with an otherworldly sheen, and their movements were unnaturally smooth for something of that size. When one had turned its head to track their approaching party, several horses had spooked, nearly unseating their riders.
"Cersei is still in a rage about being assigned chambers no grander than any other noble house," Kevan continued. "Though I notice you haven't complained about our own accommodations."
"Because I understand what this truly is," Tywin replied, standing to pace the room. "This isn't mere hospitality. Every luxurious appointment, every impossible convenience - it's a message. The North is no longer the backward, barbaric region we've always considered it. This Owen Longshore has transformed it into something else entirely."
Through the window, Tywin could see the massive walls stretching into the darkness, illuminated by strange blue lights that cast no shadows. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the rhythmic clanking of the metal guardians as they continued their endless patrol. This was no longer the ruined fortress of legend. This was something new - something that changed everything he thought he knew about the balance of power in Westeros.
Tywin's contemplation was interrupted as Tyrion, Jaime, and Cersei entered his chambers, the heavy door closing behind them with a soft click that spoke of masterful craftsmanship. His children settled into the plush chairs and sofas - another display of Northern wealth, each piece upholstered in fabrics Tywin had never seen before.
"The children are finally asleep," Cersei announced, her voice tight with barely contained frustration. "Though Joffrey kept demanding to see more of those mechanical monstrosities."
Jaime stretched his legs out, looking more relaxed than his twin. "Ser Barristan's taken the watch. Robert's already passed out - seems the Northern ale and mead hit him harder than expected. Though his mood wasn't helped by the lack of... entertainment options. He misses his whores" Jaime said as cersei scowled.
"Speaking of Northern drinks," Tyrion held up an ornate bottle filled with deep blue liquid that seemed to shimmer in the strange lighting. "This is apparently called Blue Rose wine. Our gracious host Lord Owen makes it at Ice Crest." He examined the label with genuine appreciation. "The complexity of flavors is remarkable."
Tywin's scowl deepened as his youngest son uncorked the bottle and poured himself a generous measure. "Have you at least learned anything useful while indulging yourself?"
"Oh, quite a bit," Tyrion took a deliberate sip, savoring it. "The servants are surprisingly chatty, especially after sharing some of this excellent vintage. Did you know those metal workers in their mines never tire, never eat, never sleep? They just keep producing ore and precious metals day and night."
"We've all seen the wealth on display," Cersei cut in sharply. "What of Longshore himself? What have you learned of the man who presumed to marry a Stark?"
"Presumed?" Tyrion chuckled. "Dear sister, I don't think there was any presumption involved. From what I've gathered, Lord Stark practically threw his eldest daughter at him. And after seeing all this..." He gestured at their surroundings. "I can understand why."
Kevan moved away from the window to join them. "The boy can't be more than twenty, yet he's accomplished all this in just a few years."
"Indeed," Tyrion said. "And apparently, as much as i actually thought it a rumor despite all the talk it made when he married starks daughter, he was indeed just a simple blacksmith's son before all this. Though the servants whisper about him being blessed by the Old Gods."
"Superstitious nonsense," Cersei sneered.
"Is it?" Jaime asked quietly. "After what we've seen today? Those metal giants, the strange weapons, materials that shouldn't exist..." He shook his head. "Something unnatural is at work here."
Tywin's fingers resumed their drumming on the table. "What else have you discovered, Tyrion?"
"The fortress isn't just restored - it's completely transformed. The walls are lined with some material that apparently makes them unbreakable or near enough to the fact. Those metal giants aren't just for show - they're fully functional weapons of war. And this is just what they're willing to show us."
"What do you mean?" Kevan asked.
"Think about it, uncle," Tyrion swirled his wine. "If they can create all this openly, what are they hiding? I've heard whispers about their shipyards at Ice Crest, about weapons that could tear armies apart, about machines that can build other machines..."
Tywin sighed, cutting off his son's speculation. "Forget about rumors and whispers. Focus on what we can see, what we know for certain. What else have you discovered about Moat Cailin itself?"
Jaime straightened in his chair, his expression turning serious. "That's the strangest part, father. They've allowed us complete freedom to explore the fortress. No guards following our movements, no areas declared off-limits. It's as if they have nothing to hide - or perhaps more accurately, they're confident enough that it doesn't matter what we discover."
"And what have you discovered?" Tywin pressed.
"The provisions alone are staggering," Jaime said, leaning forward. "Ten massive storehouses, each filled to capacity with preserved foods. Not just salted meats and grains - they have fruits, vegetables, even fresh bread that somehow stays warm and fresh for months without spoiling." He shook his head in amazement.
"Six glasshouses as well," Kevan added. "Built right into the fortress walls. They're growing crops year-round just like we have seen the villages do with theirs, even in the depths of winter from what the servants say."
"I did the calculations though i would have to confirm with a maester," Jaime continued. "Should anyone be foolish enough to try besieging Moat Cailin as it stands now, they could hold out for fifteen years easily. Twenty if they implemented even modest rationing. And that's assuming they maintain their current standard of living - which, as we've seen, is far from austere."
Tywin's fingers stilled their drumming as he absorbed this information. A fortress that could withstand a siege for decades, with no meaningful reduction in quality of life for its defenders. The implications were staggering.
"And that's just the food stores," Jaime added. "We haven't even touched on their water supply, their weapons caches, or those mechanical servants that seem to handle most of the manual labor."
Tywin looked at him sharply. "What exactly do you mean by their water supply?"
"They have four wells within the fort, all producing clean water," Jaime explained. "But that's just the beginning. They've built these massive cylindrical containers they call tanks from the same bronze like metal they've made the colossi - storing enough water that they'll never run short for drinking or other needs."
Tywin's eyes narrowed as he processed this information. Another layer of security that made the fortress even more impregnable.
"As for their weapons and armor..." Jaime paused, his expression grave. "You've seen them up close, but there's more. Ser Barristan borrowed a blade from one of their young soldiers and tested it against a spare piece of armor he had brought. The Northern sword went through it like butter."
Tywin's jaw tightened at that. The implications of such weaponry in Northern hands were disturbing.
"Their bows are something else entirely," Jaime continued. "Made of reinforced ironwood and some material they call ebony. The combination makes their arrows faster, harder - capable of piercing the thickest armor with ease."
Kevan stepped forward, his practical mind seeking weaknesses. "The water - they're using pipes to distribute it throughout the fortress like the villages? Could those be cut off from a distance?"
Jaime shook his head. "The pipes run from the North, not the South. And even if someone managed to reach them..." He gave a humorless laugh. "They're guarded by two more of those Dwarven Colossi and what looks like an entire swarm of those spiderlike steam constructors."
The room fell silent as they contemplated the layers of protection surrounding even the most basic resources of the fortress. Tywin's fingers resumed their rhythmic tapping on the obsidian table, each tap echoing the growing weight of their situation.
Tyrion leaned forward in his chair, his mismatched eyes gleaming with intelligence as he voiced what they had all been thinking. "Any army attacking from the south would be slaughtered before taking a single step past Moat Cailin, if they could even make it past. And though we haven't seen them yet, I can't imagine anyone capable of rebuilding this place would make ships that couldn't turn Southern vessels to kindling from a distance."
Tywin watched his youngest son take another sip of the Blue Rose wine, noting how even Cersei didn't contradict this assessment. The demonstration they had witnessed earlier that day had shaken them all to their core.
"You all saw those 'cannons' of theirs mounted all over the walls and what they can do," Tyrion continued.
Tywin suppressed a shudder at the reminder. Lord Eddard had offered them a demonstration, his quiet confidence more unsettling than any boast. The fort's soldiers had set up a large block of thick brick at a distance from the fort, then lit some kind of fuse beside the large metal cylinders mounted on the walls. The resulting blast had sent heavy cylindrical balls hurtling through the air with devastating force, obliterating the brick target into dust and fragments.
The watching Southern nobles had been shocked into silence. Even Cersei had lost her usual smirk, her face pale as she realized the implications. These weapons made traditional siege warfare obsolete. No army could approach the walls while under fire from such devastating weapons and no army could hide behind walls while these things tore them apart. The North had created something that changed the very nature of warfare itself.
Kevan shifted uncomfortably, his eyes drawn to the walls where the cannons stood in silent menace. "Brother, what troubles me most is what they haven't shown us. Look there - beside each of those ebony cannons."
Tywin followed his brother's gaze outside the window to the strange weapons that lined the battlements. Next to each dark ebony cannon sat another, crafted from materials he'd never seen before. The moonstone cannons seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light, their pale surface etched with mysterious symbols that made his eyes hurt if he looked too long. The orichalcum ones gleamed with a greenish-golden hue, covered in runes that seemed to pulse with contained power.
"Lord Stark and longshore deliberately avoided demonstrating those," Kevan continued, his voice low. "When Prince Oberyn asked about them, they changed the subject rather quickly. If the regular cannons can reduce stone to dust..."
He left the thought unfinished, but everyone in the room understood the implications. If these were the weapons they were willing to show their visitors, what devastating capabilities lay in the ones they kept secret?
Tyrion drained his glass, his usual wit subdued. Jaime's hand had unconsciously moved to his sword hilt, though they all knew how useless steel would be against such weapons. Even Cersei had lost her contemptuous expression, replacing it with something closer to fear.
Tywin stood, commanding attention as he always did, though the luxury of their surroundings seemed to mock his authority. "The North has well and truly grown beyond what we can hope to match," he declared, his voice tight with controlled frustration. "Maybe in a thousand lifetimes, and I doubt they will stop."
His gaze swept across his family members, noting their reactions. Kevan's pragmatic concern, Jaime's warrior's assessment of their vulnerability, Tyrion's shrewd calculation of possibilities. Finally, his eyes settled on Cersei.
"We must find a way to join them in their prosperity or gain it for ourselves," Tywin continued. "Cersei, you will speak to Robert on the journey to Winterfell. Convince him to demand a match between Joffrey and the remaining Stark daughter. We need to bind our houses together before they grow even further beyond our reach."
Tywin watched as his daughter's face contorted with disgust.
"My perfect son will not marry some filthy northern bitc-"
Cersei's words died in her throat as Tywin surged to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. Raw fury blazed in his eyes as he towered over the table, causing his daughter to instinctively shrink back. Kevan moved with surprising speed for his age, placing a restraining hand on his brother's arm even as Jaime positioned himself protectively in front of Cersei.
"You fool," Tywin's voice was deadly quiet, trembling with barely contained rage. "You stupid, vain, incompetent foolish girl."
His fingers gripped the edge of the obsidian table so hard his knuckles turned white. "What have you ever done right? What single thing have you accomplished that hasn't been tainted by your pride and stupidity?"
Cersei's face paled, but her chin lifted defiantly. Tywin cut off any response she might have made.
"You had one task - one simple task. Give Robert strong heirs that looked like him. Instead?" He gestured sharply at her, causing her to flinch. "The king would rather bed whores and serving girls than touch his beautiful queen. Three children, and not one bears even a hint of their Baratheon heritage for him to fawn over or for you to use as a bridge between you."
Jaime's hand tightened on his sword hilt, but Tywin ignored him, his contempt for his daughter overwhelming any concern for his son's reaction.
"And now - now when the North has revealed power beyond anything we imagined, when they've shown wealth and advancement that makes the southern kingdoms look like beggars in comparison - you would reject the one chance we have to bind our fortunes to theirs?"
He shook off Kevan's restraining hand, his voice rising. "Your pride and stupidity will be the death of this family's legacy. Look around you!" He swept his arm to encompass their luxurious surroundings. "This is what the North can do with a single fortress. What do you think Winterfell holds? What secrets does Ice Crest contain? And you would deny us the chance to share in that power because you think your precious son is too good for a Stark?"
Tywin felt his rage boiling over as he watched Cersei's defiant posture even as it broke down. Years of frustration with his daughter's arrogance and incompetence came crashing down in this moment. He brushed past Kevan's restraining hand, feeling his brother's fingers slip away from his sleeve.
When Jaime stepped between them, hand on his sword, Tywin's contempt only grew. These twins of his, so caught up in their own importance, needed to be reminded of their place.
"Move aside," Tywin commanded, his voice carrying the weight of decades of absolute authority.
"I won't let you harm her," Jaime replied, though his voice held less conviction than his words suggested.
Tywin's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If you don't move, I will ensure your precious sister spends the remainder of her days with the Silent Sisters. Or perhaps I'll find her a place in one of Littlefinger's establishments. Which do you think would break her spirit more thoroughly?"
"You wouldn't dare," Jaime's voice wavered slightly, but his hand remained on his sword.
"Wouldn't I?" Tywin's voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Have you forgotten your brother's whore wife? Have you forgotten what I did to her? Test me, my son, and see what happens."
Tywin watched with grim satisfaction as the color drained from Jaime's face. His son's eyes darted to Tyrion, whose own mismatched eyes had become fixed on the floor, his usual wit silenced by the brutal reminder of Tysha's fate. The wine glass in Tyrion's hand trembled slightly.
Jaime stepped aside.
Tywin advanced on Cersei, who maintained her defiant pose even as fear crept into her eyes. He towered over her, his presence filling her entire field of vision.
"You will do as I say, when I say it, Cersei," he growled. "It was thanks to me that you are where you are, and you will not forget that. The days of your stupid scheming and defiance are through. Do you understand?"
Cersei's mouth opened, her green eyes flashing with familiar defiance, but before she could utter a word, Tywin's hand struck her face with enough force to snap her head to the side. The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the chamber.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Tywin roared, his commanding voice filling the room.
Cersei crumpled, her hand rising to her reddening cheek as tears welled in her eyes. Her earlier defiance melted away, replaced by the frightened submission of a chastised child. "Yes, father," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Tywin turned away from his daughter, his rage still simmering beneath the surface as he strode back to his seat. Kevan quickly straightened the chair, and Tywin lowered himself into it, his fingers resuming their rhythmic tapping on the obsidian table.
"Do you think Olenna Tyrell and that bumbling oaf of a son are sleeping peacefully right now?" he asked, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "Or are they plotting every possible way to secure a partnership with the North?"
His cold gaze swept across the room, lingering on his chastised daughter. "Prince Oberyn and his Dornish companions - do you imagine they brought Princess Arianne here merely for courtesy? They'll try to slip her into Lord Longshores bed, seduce him away from his wife, gain favor and prosperity through any means necessary."
Tywin's fingers stopped their tapping, curling into a tight fist. "The Tullys are probably already planning to ride ahead tomorrow with Lord Stark and Owen, using their familial connections to curry favor and improve the Riverlands."
His eyes fixed on Cersei, who still stood trembling, her hand pressed against her reddened cheek. "Yet here you are," he spat, "destroying our hopes of ascension with your stupidity."
The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Cersei's quiet sniffling and the distant sound of guards patrolling outside. Tywin felt his rage slowly subsiding, like molten steel cooling in a smith's forge. The familiar ache of disappointment settled in its place - a constant companion when dealing with his children.
He drew in a measured breath, letting it out slowly as he regarded his daughter. The red mark on her cheek stood out starkly against her pale skin, a physical reminder of his fury. Her earlier defiance had crumbled completely, leaving behind the shell of the proud queen she pretended to be.
"You will make sure Robert asks for a betrothal for Joffrey to Stark's daughter," Tywin finally said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute command. "And that will be the end of it."
One by one, his children and brother filed out of the room. Cersei first, practically fleeing with as much dignity as she could muster. Jaime followed close behind, his shoulders tense with suppressed anger. Tyrion drained the last of his wine before shuffling out, and Kevan gave Tywin a knowing look before closing the door behind him.
Alone in the oppressive silence of the chamber, Tywin sat motionless in his chair. The moonlight streaming through the windows as his thoughts turned, as they often did in moments of frustration, to Joanna. How different things might have been if she had lived. She would have raised their children properly, tempered Cersei's pride, guided Jaime's honor, perhaps even helped him see past his hatred of Tyrion.
He sat there in the quiet darkness, surrounded by the North's obvious prosperity and advancement, wondering if he was doomed to die watching his legacy crumble, surrounded by the fools his children had become.