Title: Unstoppable
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Fandom: GoT/ASOIAF
Genre: Fix-it, Time travel
Relationships: future-Tywin Lannister/Rhaella Targaryen
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Canon-level Violence, Discussion-murder, Discussion—pregnancy loss, Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Discussion—canon incest, Discussion—canon slavery
Author Notes: See A/N Tab on Story Page.
Beta: NinjaPaws
Word Count: 52,219
Summary: When Tywin Lannister is killed by the dragonspawn that carries his name, the Old Gods send him back in time to save his sister from House Frey. Tywin does it and all of Westeros heard him roar.

 

 

Chapter One

“You are no son of mine,” Tywin snarled, all of his focus centered on the purple eye of the monster that had murdered his wife. Tyrion. He should have drowned the monkey demon at birth but he had not.

He had allowed the creature to live.

He had given the creature his name. All because of his one green eye. Because of Johanna’s Lannister eye. Because he could not shame his beloved wife even after she was gone.

But that purple eye. No Lannister could have given Tyrion Hill such a feature. But Aerys, the mad king, his friend turned tormenter, had raped his Joanna. She had never recovered from Aerys’ abuse of her and his bastard’s murdering of her had ensured she never would.

“I am your son,” Tyrion said softly. “I have always been your son.” And he triggered the crossbow, letting the second bolt fly.

The force threw him back.

Tywin caught himself on moss. On grass and wood. He looked around and found himself in the middle of a battalion of white trees. Weirwood trees. The god trees of the North.

He was sprawled in the root cradle of one such tree and he was…small. The age spots and delicate skin of age were gone from his hands. Instead, they were plump with the blessings and fullness of youth.

He pushed himself into a proper sitting position to take in the visage of the tree in front of him.

It looked like his grandfather, Gerold the Golden, with his mane of hair serving as the transition from the bold lines of his face to the jagged bark of the tree. Looking upon it, he could no longer ignore the truths he had dismissed for decades.

His perfect, golden twins were nothing of the sort. Those he had seen as the seeds of a dynasty that would last a thousand years were self-obsessed fools. Jaime was a child murderer and a slave to his sister. Cersei was a harlot that had failed in her duty with deliberation and malice. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were the children of incest with no right to any throne. As bastards, they did not even hold a right to Casterly Rock.

And Tyrion.

Tyrion was not his issue, the old gods knew, but he had certainly been his son. Tyrion had learned all the lessons he had had to teach and, in his fury and pain from betrayal, would lead key players in decimating the Realm.

All of Tywin’s life’s work would be destroyed.

He leaned back against the tree as he reeled. His line was over. Westeros would never stand as one again and it all came back to him. His life. His children. His failure.

“I would not go so far as all that,” Tywin looked up to see a second tree had crowded in beside the one that looked like his grandfather. This one had the long, solemn face of a Stark. “You are not the only one who’s choices have brought Westeros to the brink. Neither are you the only one in your line, nor the only man of power, to contribute to the problem. But you do have something the others do not.”

“What is that?” he had to ask.

“Your sister.”

“Four sons in and she still prays to the old gods for her brother to save her from the match her father made for her in the Light of the Seven,” his grandfather’s tree said. “Three times a day, four days of every seven, she prays to us for it to be fixed. She is why you are here.”

“She is four sons into her marriage,” he repeated their own point back to them. “The time for me to interfere is long past.”

“What is time to a tree?” the Stark tree asked.

“Nothing,” his grandfather answered before Tywin could snarl at being fed a riddle.

“She was betrothed to the Frey when I was ten,” he pointed out to the trees. If they could get him there, he could certainly interfere. He might have to kill a few Freys, but there were too many of them in the world already.

“Do you think your age at that time will be a problem?” his grandfather asked.

“No.”

“We will give you three missions, three boons, three secrets, and three pieces of lost knowledge,” Grandfather Tree said. “Your first mission is to protect your sister.”

Tywin nodded. He had always protected his family and always would. His sister would marry a Lord Paramount, as she deserved. Not some second born Frey.

“Your second mission is to bring the magic of the Old Gods back into your world.”

Tywin could not say for certain how he would manage such a thing. He didn’t think House Stark had enough daughters to go around to make the worship of trees prominent in the South, but Tywin knew he would figure something out.

He could always declare himself a follower of the Old Gods. After all, unlike the Seven, he now knew they were real.

“Your third mission is to cause the Realm to prosper.”

Tywin snorted. The vast majority of his life had been dedicated to that exact goal and it had never ended well for him. “How am I to make that happen? Am I to be the Hand of the King again? Or will I be the king myself?” he asked, sarcasm thick in his tone. He had no desire to be king. He never had.

“Prince Consort, mayhaps,” the Stark tree said.

Tywin…was not sure what to say to that. He knew, if he did manage to go back to when he was ten, he would not marry his Joanna again. The Joanna that he would meet again, would not be the woman that had been his wife. She would be a stranger and he would not torture either of them with the shade of a love lost.

But to marry a Targaryen woman—one that would take the throne—that was a different matter altogether. It would have to be Rhaella, which meant Aerys would have to die—preferably while they were all young to reduce the damage Aerys would do to his sister. If he were Prince Consort, he could not be Warden of the West.

No, he could be both, but something would suffer as his children and the West had suffered a lack of his attention when he was Hand of the King. He had seen that already. He would not retread a failed path.

Kevan had done most of the work in Casterly Rock and the West the first time. It would only be justice to turn over their family’s lordship and warden status to the man doing the work—after Tywin had once again trained him to do it properly, of course.

“I accept my three missions,” he told them. “My boons?”

“First, you will be found by a Western Lion that will bond with you so that you know this was more than a dream.”

He had to admit dismissing this encounter as a dream was highly likely once he was again among the living. But, “A bond? Like the Stark Children had with their wolves?” Such would be quite a boon. He knew well the damage a single dire wolf could do to an army both physically and psychologically. A Western Lion would be twice the size and four-times the threat of a single dire wolf.

“Precisely,” Grandfather Tree agreed. “Should they earn it, your siblings will be found by and bond with Western Lions as well.”

“There are no Western Lions left,” he had to point out.

“There are,” Stark Tree disagreed. “They abide in the North where they are called Winter Lions or Cave Lions.”

“If I am to be ten, my siblings will be younger. Children are shaped easily.” Indeed, it seemed he had ruined his own children by accident with inattention. “Children are innocent and certainly worthy of all possible opportunities. Bonding with Western Lions would shape them and make them only more open to your influence.”

He had the feeling the trees were talking among themselves. All of them, not just the two he was actively speaking with.

“We promise nothing,” Grandfather Tree said, though it did sound like a promise to Tywin.

“To become Prince Consort to Westeros’s first ruling queen, the current king must favor me,” he offered. Aegon V would have still been king when he was ten. As the son of a Dayne and grandson of a Martell, the Unlikely would be the most likely king to successfully put a queen on the throne.

“Agreed,” the Stark Tree could not move more than its face but he still felt like the tree was nodding to him.

“Your third boon will be a wife that survives giving you many children,” Grandfather Tree told him.

“My wife did survive giving me more than one child,” he retorted sharply. “It was not my child that was the problem.”

“And as the husband of a queen, you will have every right to slaughter any man that looks crossways at your wife,” Stark Tree stated without sounding placating.

“The secrets and lost knowledge?” Tywin had to ask. There was a swelling feeling around him and he knew they were nearly out of time.

“They will come to you as you need them,” he was promised even as his head began to swirl with knowledge of mixing bloodlines and its impact on magic.

There was a pounding he could neither understand nor define around him. Or was it in his head?

He could not trust the Citadel, he suddenly knew.  They were waging a secret war on magic in general and House Targaryen specifically. If his children in this new life were going to be safe, he was going to have to castrate the gray sheep before they ever saw him coming.

“It is time, Lord Tywin,” a new, deeper voice intoned and the pounding grew louder. “Lord Tywin—”

“TYWIN!” Kevan’s—very young—voice drew him out of a haze. His younger brother pounded on the door some more. “Tywin! Is something wrong? Did you fall in? Did you jump? Tywin!”

He was in the privy because of course he was. The Old Gods might be real but that did not mean he would forgive their little joke.

“I am well, Kevan!” he called back as he went about finishing his business.

“What news?” he asked his incredibly little brother. The Kevan before him was nearly a decade out from growing respectable facial hair. Tywin could hardly remember the last time he had seen his brother’s bare face before this.

Kevan huffed. “Father received a pair of minor Riverlords as honored guests at lunch. Whispers say he’s ordered a full welcome feast for dinner.”

His father, Tytos Lannister, had never shied away from any excuse to feast but Tywin knew this would be the feast where Tytos announced Genna’s betrothal to the second son from House Frey—a minor house that was not even part of the West. It would be a complete scandal, not just because of the waste of Tywin’s sister, but because of the haste with which the agreement had been reached. Less than a single day of negotiations was unheard of for such an arrangement. Half a year was the standard outside of the siring of a bastard or a marriage ordered by the Iron Throne.

“Where are they? These Riverlords?”

“With father in his solar.”

Tywin nodded and turned toward his father’s solar with haste.

Kevan rushed to catch up. “Father ordered they were not to be disturbed!”

“I was not there for that order,” he retorted because he never took luncheon in the Golden Hall. Breaking his fast and supping with his father were nearly more than he could handle, and he knew for a fact that his father did not miss him when he was not present for a meal.

Kevan followed him but lingered at the top of the stairs as Tywin went to his father’s solar and wrenched the door open. He froze for a moment, taking in the scene.

His father was sitting behind his desk, but he was not alone. Stevron and Emmon Frey stood at Lord Tytos’s sides. They were all hunched forward, reading a parchment on the desk together. Both Freys had hands on his father’s shoulders and his father was holding a quill in hand.

“STOP!” he shouted and he could hear the Lion Guard on the level coming to attention. “What are you doing to him?” He pulled his belt knife and charged forward.

He jumped onto a chair, from the chair to the desk, and from the desk onto Stevron Frey with his knife leading the way. Everything went a little mad as he rode the Frey Heir to the ground, stabbing and slashing as they fell. Behind him there were shouts, clanging armor, slamming doors.

The smell of burnt hair and flesh pulled him from his battle fugue.

He looked up from the corpse of Stevron Frey to find a pair of guards pulling his father out of the hearth behind his desk while a third attempted to put out the fire that was his father with his own cloak.

“Maester,” he croaked. “Where is the maester?”

“He has been summoned, my lord,” the Master at Arms of Casterly Rock, Ser Rogar Banefort said, stepping forward. “What are your orders for the prisoner?”

Tywin could just make out Emmon Frey peaking over the shoulders of the guards that separated them. The guard were three deep between them and two deep behind the Frey coward.

“Is he wounded?”

“Broken wrist, for certain, and his face is bleeding,” Ser Rogar reported. “I expect he will need a maester himself. We saw him put Lord Lannister in the fire.”

“Put him in guest quarters under guard. The maester will see to him when he has done all he can for my father. Have my mother, siblings, and uncle sent to my solar. Tell them nothing of what has been happened, I will give them that information personally.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ser Rogar bowed more than nodded and turned to the Lion Guard to further hand down orders.

Maester Curtass arrived as the room cleared of guards.

Tywin waited more than half an hour as the maester made his assessment.

“Well?” he demanded when the man sat back on his haunches.

“He lives but I can make no promises about his recovery,” Maester Curtass told him. “I need a stretcher and as many men to carry it as possible. I must take him to my chambers and the transfer must go smoothly.” Maester Curtass looked up at him. “Your father’s life stands on the edge of a knife. The slightest misstep will kill him. We must proceed with the most care.”

Tywin nodded. It would probably be kinder to allow his father to die at this point but he could not say such a thing. If he did, he would be labeled as a kinslayer the moment his father inevitably passed from this world.

He turned to Ser Rogar. “You heard him.”

“Stretcher and bearers. Aye, my lord.” Ser Rogar walked off, calling names and orders in equal measure.

“I will advise my family,” he told the room. Then he took the contract House Frey must have brought with them to have such a document complete in such an early phase of negotiations.

He lingered on the stairs, reading this contract he had never seen before. It was a horror and his father signing it—as he must have in another life—would have been the death of himself and his father, had House Frey been at all braver.

Tywin turned around and headed straight for the Stone Garden. The Stone Garden was a rough-hewn cave with a weirwood tree flourishing in the center. Over the years, several Queens and Ladies Lannister had tried to plant more pleasing trees and flowers around the weirwood. They were never successful and he was certain they never would be.

The gods’ tree had always choked out lesser plants and feasted upon the remains.

He could not see an instance where the weirwood would give up its dominance of the chamber but, for once, he was grateful. No one would bother him in the Stone Garden because none came there. He needed the privacy.

He unrolled the betrothal contract that would have spelled the death of himself and his father and once again pulled his belt knife.

Decisively, he cut the last several inches from the document. He left Lord Walder Frey’s signature as it was proof Lord Frey was involved in this attempted crime against House Lannister, but he removed the area where his father was supposed to sign is a ragged fashion. The area had several sizeable ink blotches and he could not leave room for anyone to claim them a signature. He could not allow anyone to even think this contract could be valid.

He burned the inked scrap in one of the torches by the entrance to the garden and buried the ashes in the ground beneath the weirwood.

“Our little secret,” he muttered to the tree and when he looked up the wretched face was smiling in what he thought might be approval.

A purring growl made him look over and up—and up!—to see a Western Lion walk around the tree from behind. He was a beautiful white gold with a mane that started out the same color but darkened into a deep black. His back was speckled faintly in fawn and red—camouflage to help him hide though Tywin could not see how such a large creature could hide. He was enormous, certainly large enough already for Tywin to have ridden as an adult.

He put a hand on the lion’s face and the lion leaned into the contact. Tywin fell into the lion’s deep amber-red eyes until he could see himself staring up in awe with his own hand on his face—on the lion’s face.

He blinked and came back to himself but he could almost feel the lion’s lazy pleasure and contentment.

“Tybolt,” he decided. “I name you Tybolt for the Lannister king that destroyed utterly the first Andal Warlords to set their gaze upon the West and in honor of the gods that sent you to me.”

A chuff came from the other side of him and he turned to see a lady lion, evaluating him with steady eyes. He reached out to touch her as well but she moved beyond his reach.

Tywin frowned. Bonding one lion was more than enough but—

The lioness yawned and licked her chops.

“Do not eat anyone,” he ordered her sternly.

The lioness gave him an entirely bored, unimpressed look.

“You remind me of my cupbearer from Harrenhal,” he told her. The defiant thing barely flicked an ear at him in response.

Tybolt recalled his attention with a push from his great snout. Tywin focused on his bonded lion and Tybolt pulled—gently despite the great fangs that protruded far past his own bottom jaw—on the tunic Tywin was wearing.

He was not sure why the lion wanted it, but he pulled off his uppermost tunic and offered it to Tybolt. The lion batted it towards the god-tree with one giant paw and Tywin took the hint. He thrust it into the open, happy mouth of the weirwood tree. It and his next two layers were still cold with Stevron Frey’s blood but could not give all three of them to the tree. A lord could not prance about his keep unclothed and he was certainly the lord of the keep now. His father’s survival depended entirely on how long the gods wanted to drag out the man’s agony.

It would be best politically for him, if his father survived until he got the current king to Casterly Rock. His father’s survival would prevent Uncle Jason from claiming the Rock and give Tywin time to prove himself a capable lord.

And, unless he was mistaken, Aegon the Fifth was currently king and Aegon V was the kind of man to look beyond the obvious to see an individual’s true qualities. He would not see the truth but who could guess that the gods would give Tywin a second chance? Aegon V would see that Tywin was fully trained and ready to stand as lord despite his young age. Aegon V would certainly protect Tywin’s place.

If Aegon V wavered, Tywin knew exactly the gift that would sort that situation right out.

He went to the Heir’s Solar and found his family waiting for him. They all stood and stared in shock as Tybolt followed him in and settled between the desk and the fire. The female gave the room an assessing look before she backed out of it and the door closed. Then the door groaned and he realized she must have lain upon it.

He handed his Uncle Jason the Frey contract. “Read this.”

Uncle Jason had a temper and was prone to carrying on. Getting him outraged over the contract and then sending him off with a letter to King Aegon would be enough to ensure the man did not challenge his lordship of the Rock.

Tywin sat at the desk and wrote first a raven notifying the King that House Tully and House Frey had committed high crimes against House Lannister and that more information would come by rider.

Uncle Jason looked dazed as he passed the contract to Tywin’s mother, Lady Jeyne Marbrand.

Tywin wrote his witness account of what the eldest sons of House Frey had done to his father while he waited for his family to catch up to him. He would have to get statements from all of the guards that could read and write to send with it.

“This is outrageous!” his mother said as she read it.

When she was done, she passed it to Kevan who, after a pointed tug on his sleeve, held it so Genna could read with him.

Tywin clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. “Father is severely injured, the maester is unsure if he will live. He was attacked by members of House Frey when he refused to sign that contract.”

“A contract that gives our little Genna to a fully grown man!” Uncle Jason exploded, finally finding his voice. “And it gives that Frey Casterly Rock and the West if you were to die without issue!”

“If Tytos had signed it—” his mother shook her head.

“It would guarantee your’s and father’s deaths,” Genna said, showing the quick mind he had always appreciated.

Mayhaps a ruling queen would not be a bad thing, if she were like Genna.

“Yes, it would,” Tywin agreed.

“Lord Walder Frey signed this,” Kevan said in what Tywin knew was an attempt to be included. “That means that he is behind this attempted usurpation.”

“And he is a bannerman of House Tully,” Uncle Jason said snidely. Jason Lannister was one of the many that saw both House Tully and House Tyrell of jumped-up mummers pretending to be noble lords. They had been little more that knights before Aegon the Dragon raised them up to be Lords Paramount. As if they could be the peers to the lines of ancient kings.

Tywin did not find fault in his position, but he also knew what a threat Hose Tyrell might yet grow into.

He also knew well the potential for madness yet sleeping within House Tully.

Honestly, his plans for the future of Westeros would save an obscene number of lives by mixing the insanity out of several bloodlines. All he needed was the backing of the King to make it happen.

“Mother, I assume you will want to spend the time he has left with father?”

“Yes, please,” she choked. They had not been a love match, Tywin knew, but they had grown fond of each other and he would not begrudge his mother the time she needed.

“Go to him. I will see justice done. For father and for House Lannister,” he promised and she left. It took a bit of negotiation with the lion laid in the hall but, in the end, Tybolt shouldered the door open just enough for mother to squeak through.

“I have written a raven to the King to notify him of the event and that more information will follow.” He pointedly laid said raven on the blotter before him. “Uncle Jason, I need you to ride to King’s Landing with the official documents I will be putting together.”

“Of course,” Uncle Jason immediately agreed. “I will plead our case for Justice with the King himself. Shall I interview the guards for you and collect their statements?”

“Would you not rather spend time with my father? He is your only living brother.” The offer his uncle made would be a boon to him because the Rock would see his uncle serving his interests, locking his position as Lord of the Rock in their minds, but he knew he could not afford to appear as if he was putting himself first in this situation.

Uncle Jason shook his head grimly. “I saw him, lad. The Freys were cruel and vicious. They have ruined him. I would rather remember him as he was, than as he currently is. I trust you will not lay my brother to rest without me, should he pass.”

“Of course,” he agreed easily. His uncle would be coming back with the king, Tywin was sure. Having the king at his father’s final rites would be politically useful.

“Can we read the guards’ statements before you leave with them?” Kevan asked, indicating himself and Genna. “We still do not know what happened.”

“I was concerned when I learned that father had accepted the Freys as honored guests to Casterly Rock,” Tywin started.

Kevan nodded. “I remember.”

“I did wonder what business father could possibly have with a minor vassal lord from a different kingdom when I saw them together at luncheon,” Genna added. “They were surprisingly familiar with each other.”

“Exactly. I went to see what was happening,” Tywin continued. “When I opened the door, Stevron and Emmon Frey were on the wrong side of father’s desk. They had their hands on him. He looked afraid.”

“You shouted at them to stop and charged,” Kevan supplied.

“Yes, Lord Stevron is a belted knight and the heir to a noble house. I thought if I could make him stop, his brother would follow his lead. I am afraid it all gets blurry from there.”

“You nearly took off his head, lad,” Uncle Jason said with pride, “with a belt knife. Belt knives are more for eating than defense; it is as impressive as it is a fearsome feat that you managed. Your defense of your father will go down in the history of our House.”

Tywin nodded to his uncle. “Next thing I knew, father was horrifically burned and the guards were holding Emmon Frey hostage. He was wounded. I had him put in a guest room under guard until the maester can leave father.”

“Kinder treatment than he deserves,” Genna pointed out.

“Agreed, but I will not have House Lannister’s honor questioned in this matter.”

“Of course, my lord,” his family agreed.

“I do not know how father found himself in the fire,” Tywin admitted.

“Emmon Frey threw him there,” Uncle Jason answered. “According to the guards. It was probably an attempt to save his own life. Without your father to speak of the Frey’s crimes against him, finding the truth and justly punishing House Frey will be much harder.”

“If that were his goal, he should have thrown the contract in the fire as well,” Genna said with a roll of her eyes. “Mayhaps he was just a craven, trying to keep Tywin from coming at him.”

“Either way, Emmon Frey is a fool that will not be leaving Casterly Rock alive,” Tywin said before Uncle Jason could either disagree with Genna or reprimand her for her behavior. “If you would leave me,” he requested. “I have several letters to write before I tell the bannermen currently within Casterly Rock what has come to pass.”

“Bathe before you do,” Genna ordered, casually assured of her authority as she always had been. “And dress like a proper lord. You are half naked and stink of sweat, blood, and piss.”

“None of it is mine,” he assured her.

Genna laughed.

-*-

My King,

It is my regrettable duty to inform you that my father, Lord Tytos of House Lannister, Warden of the West, has been significantly injured. We are uncertain if he will recover.

There was an altercation in his solar. I caught two sons of Lord Walder Frey in the act of pressuring my father into signing away my inheritance and my sister to Emmon Frey, Lord Walder Frey’s second son. As my father’s son and heir, I interfered with their physical control of Lord Tytos Lannister and personally executed Ser Stevron Frey. Emmon Frey threw my father into the hearth in his solar, I believe in an effort to hide his crimes against my House. He was captured after the fact by House Lannister’s Lion Guard and currently resides in comfort within Casterly Rock.

House Lannister requires justice from House Frey and their overlords House Tully who cannot possibly be ignorant of their bannerman making such a bold move against another House Paramount. House Tully and House Frey may yet start an inheritance war in the West with their shameless scheming. House Lannister cannot believe such an act could have the support of the Iron Throne and we humbly request that you make an example of those that would destroy the King’s Peace for unlawful gain.

 

With great regard and prayers for swift justice,

Tywin of House Lannister

Lord of Casterly Rock, acting

Shield of Lannisport, acting

Warden of the West, acting

 

Additionally, as the key factor in this affair is an unjust marriage contract for my sister, I believe mayhaps it is time to forge links between the Paramount Houses of Westeros that would make kinslayers of us all should the King’s Peace be broken again. Such would ease the Iron Throne’s ability to bind the Paramount Houses to themselves—a necessity with only two members of House Targaryen currently being unwed and unmatched. —Tywin Lannister

-*-

Aegon passed the letter from the soon-to-be Lord of the West to his Hand and oldest son, Duncan.

“A ten-year-old wrote this letter?” he asked the rider that had presented it to him. Ser Jason Lannister was the lad’s uncle and had lived in Casterly Rock for the boy’s entire life. The man should be more than familiar with the boy-lord.

“With his own hand,” Ser Jason confirmed. “Before my eyes. In a single draft.”

Duncan the Small shook his head and passed the letter to Duncan the Tall, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. “It is difficult to believe.”

Ser Jason took a deep breath. “Lord Tywin has always been exceptional. Quiet, thoughtful, and vicious when crossed.

“While he lived, my father would tell anyone that would listen that Young Tywin bit his finger as an infant in revenge for him chucking the lad under the chin—it is a true story. Even as a babe in arms, my nephew did not tolerate being made a jape of. I do not know if he mentioned it in the letter, but Lord Tywin nearly took to head off of a belted knight with his belt knife in defense of my brother. If the Lion Guard had not had Emmon Frey three-deep behind them, I have no doubt the Young Lion would have done the same to him.”

“Young Lord Tywin feels House Frey has made a jape of House Lannister,” his Master of Ships, Lady Jaelyn Velaryon guessed.

“I believe you are correct, my lady,” Ser Jason agreed.

“He has proposed intermarriages between the Paramount Houses as a long-term solution,” Aegon’s firstborn told the council as the Lord Commander passed the letter to the Master of Ships. “Who is available to wed in the Paramount Houses?”

“Lady Celia of House Tully is still available to wed,” his Master of Whispers, Aema Waters, Jaelyn’s half-sister and his own niece by his brother Aerion, answered immediately. “My sources tell me Lord Tully is wishes for her to take the place of our late Queen Betha.”

Aegon fought a grimace. The maiden fish was pleasant enough. Gentle and steadfast. He had been willing to match her with his second son, Jaehaerys, but he would not take her as a wife for himself. She was simply not queen material. And it would take more influence than House Tully could muster to force him to remarry as king.

That would be even more true once the realm learned of this Frey Usurpation.

“She has two brothers, Lords Hoster and Brynden, making three marriages available for House Tully. All four of Lord Tytos’s children are unbetrothed—though most in both Houses are too young for marriage yet.”

“Only Lady Celia is old enough to wed immediately in House Tully,” Lady Velaryon agreed. “And other than her father’s hubris, she only remains unwed because all reasonable matches in the Riverlands married elsewhere while she was betrothed to Prince Jaehaerys.”

Jaehaerys was a massive disappointment to Aegon for allowing his sister to lead him around like a fool. If he had his way—and he would—Jaehaerys would never be king. Partially to thwart his daughter, Shaera, who had more ambition than sense. Partially because his son was weak willed and would be a disaster of a king.

Unfortunately, his grandson, Aerys, seemed to be no better. If for different reasons.

“If it were me,” Lord Ormund Baratheon, his Master of Laws and good-son said, “I would insist my sister marry young Lord Hoster the moment they are both of age to seal the breech.”

“Assuming House Tully is not directly involved in House Frey’s nonsense,” Lady Waters agreed. “House Frey though…”

Aegon held up a hand. “We must read this spurious contract and interview Lord Walder and Emmon Frey before we make a decision. That this is done correctly is even more important because the concern involves two separate kingdoms.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” came the general wave of agreement.

“Other marriable children of Paramounts?” He could think of at least two from House Tyrell but House Martell had children more of an age with House Lannister and his own grandchildren.

“Lord Luthor Tyrell, heir of Highgarden, and his older sisters, Amanza and Diandra,” Lady Waters listed off. “Lord Stark himself is a widower with only one child of his own and could use more offspring to secure his line of succession. His son, Lord Rickard, is the same age as young Lord Lannister. The Heir of the Vale has yet to remarry after losing his first wife without issue and he has two younger siblings from his father’s second marriage.”

“My son, Steffon, is seven,” Lord Baratheon said. “I have no interest in putting aside my wife though we are unsure she should carry again.”

Which was smart of him seeing as his wife was Aegon’s youngest child, Rhaelle.

“Dorne’s rightful heir, Princess Meria, is married,” Prince Markos Martell, his Master of Coin and the oldest member of the Small Council, supplied. “To an Yronwood. And they have a four-year-old son, Doran. My great nephew is cut of a similar cloth as our young Lord Tywin seems to be.”

Aegon was not sure that was a good thing to be able to see in a four-year-old but he would rather all of his nobles lived a healthy balance of ruthlessness and honoring their family, so he said nothing.

“My brother has remarried since the death of Princes Meria’s mother. His new wife has provided him a son—Leywn, age seven—and is once again with child. They are unlikely to inherit as Princess Meria has a son of her own. I could not speak to their marriage prospects either as you northerners find boys less useful outside of your own lines of succession.”

“For keeping the King’s Peace, certainly,” he agreed as he calculated the necessary travel time for what he wanted to happen and asked, “and the Iron Islands?” Because everyone left them out but they were, in fact, part of the Kingdoms of Westeros.

There was an awkward silence around the room until Aema Waters cleared her throat and leaned forward. “Lord Quellon Greyjoy recently ascended to Lord Paramount after the death of his father raiding on the Summer Sea. If he were not already six feet tall and every inch a fighting man, his lords would have put him down for his talk of freeing all of the Thralls—we would call them slaves—and discouraging what they call salt wives—kidnapped rape victims. He is four and ten.”

“He is taking a hard line to integrate his people with the rest of Westeros.” Lady Jaelyn agreed. “He’s a hardened reaver himself so I do not expect such traditions will stop but I live in hope.”

“Certainly, we should encourage his acceptance of our ways with a proper noble wife,” he said.

“Cousin,” Lady Jaelyn rolled her lips which meant she was uncertain of how to phrase something and was looking for words. “Are you aware that one of the first times House Greyjoy claimed leadership of the Iron Islands there was a bloodbath? History refers to it as an orgy of kinslaying.”

“Meaning binding them to the rest of us through blood may not work,” he concluded.

“I would certainly ensure the woman in question had an immense guard,” Lady Jaelyn agreed. “And if she can bring Lord Quellon to fall in love with her, even better.”

“I will consider what you have said,” he promised her. “Son, send notice to every Paramount House in the eight kingdoms that all leaders of Paramount Houses and their unmarried immediate family will travel to Casterly Rock to witness the King’s Justice. Make it clear that I will be exercising my royal right to arrange and oversee the marriages of my bannermen.”

“Yes, my king,” Duncan inclined his head.

“What of my sisters?” Aegon asked is Master of Whispers. They sent each other ravens occasionally but he had not seen either of them in far too long.

Lady Waters pulled a small, thick book out of one of her belt pouches and flicked through it. He was not entirely convinced she needed her little book of notes and he had certainly never seen her write in it, but he left the matter alone out of love and respect for his niece.

“Your youngest sister, Princess Rhae, married Lord Whent. An arrangement your father made, with her enthusiastic agreement, due to her fascination with Harrenhal. She has given him three daughters. Shella, twelve, is the heir of House Whent per the princess’s marriage contract which converted House Whent to absolute primogeniture. Minisa is eight. Lorisa is four. There is some contention between Lord Whent and his brother, Ser Whill, who has three sons, Walter, Oswell, and Theran. Ser Whill believes Shella should marry his son, Walter, and Walter should stand as the next Lord of Harrenhal.”

“We need to nip that in the bud,” he told her, leaving no room for argument. “A marriage contract written and signed by a king is not something I can allow to be thrown aside or circumvented. Lady Shella or one of her sisters will inherit Harrenhal and no other.”

“Yes, my king,” she tapped her fist to her heart in salute and agreement. “The younger sons, Oswell and Theran, have stated that both of their sole wish is to squire and join the Kingsguard.”

He nodded. It was interesting information and sure to be useful. However, it didn’t change the fact that Ser Whill and possibly Young Walter were going to die for their overreach.

“Princess Daella,” Aema Waters tipped her head. “Married Lord Jorvan Dayne, the Sword of Morning, quite young and has at least one grandchild.”

It was hard not to grimace. His sister’s grandchildren were a bit too removed for him to use to bind Westeros to him. Yet, as Daynes, they would look like Targaryens and that could certainly open some doors. Ways he could use them to benefit House Targaryen and the Realm.

“I will write my sisters and ask them to come as well.” He raised an eyebrow at his princely cousin. “Mayhaps some Dornish boys will make northern matches after all.” Because who but a proper Dornish lad would know how to support the future lady of Harrenhal?

Prince Markos nodded. “As you say, my king. I will begin ordering goods and supplies to Casterly Rock to support the coming gathering.”

“Very good.”

 

 

Chapter Two

Tywin sat himself tiredly in front of the weirwood in the Stone Garden.

While he could not afford to divide his attention enough to pray for hours at a time—certainly not three times a day, four days a week as his sister had in another life—he had still made a point of holding his own dawn vigil at the weirwood. He did his three hours a day, once every four days.

He figured it was rather like attending the Faith’s three-hour ceremony to the Father every seventh day. Enough for those paying attention to mark him as a good, god-fearing man whether or not he actually was.

He had learned young, in his first life, that the Faith kept score on such things and certainly made the parishioners pay for being anything less than god-fearing.

It was better to be god-fearing than humble, which required attending daily services from his observations. Or pious and devoted, which involved attending all seven ceremonies every day. Both humble and devoted reputations lead to septons thinking they could influence a lord or full-on rule in their place. Neither were something he could allow happen to his House.

Being proud and hubristic was worse, however, and lead to social consequences and any other sanctions the Faith could use to drive lords back into subservient humility.

Tywin could not allow any gods or their servants to think they ruled him or House Lannister. He was willing to work with gods, whoever they were, as long as their goals aligned. He was willing to accept intelligence he could not gather on his own, while he continued to expand his network of whisperers.

The benefits for sitting vigil before the tree were not lost on him. He felt calmer, could think more clearly, and left the Garden feeling grounded and firm. The gods never spoke to him, however. The Faith of the Seven often spoke of listening to the voices of the gods as they spoke to you and the old gods had certainly spoken with him before they sent him back into this world, but they had not chosen to speak to him since. It would be nice to know that they agreed he was on target for the completion of their plans.

Tybolt flopped down beside him and nudged him with his great nose.

Tywin glanced around, noting how the angle of the light had changed and stood. It was time to begin his work for the day.

-*-

“Your Grace?”

Aegon turned from where he was absently watching after his son Duncan’s party leaving for the Twins to see that Ser Jason Lannister had approached him as he rode alone next to Dunk. “Ser Jason?”

“With your permission?” Ser Jason gestured to the space next to him, opposite of Dunk.

“Certainly,” he nodded.

There was a strange look on the knight’s face. He had only known Ser Jason a moon now—two sevendays in the Red Keep as his staff arranged their travel and then nearly seven days with his sister at Harrenhal plus travelling time—but he got the feeling the expression Ser Jason now wore was unique for the man. It was not quite troubled, but there was some confusion and uncertainty about it.

“What troubles you, Ser Jason?” Dunk asked. Aegon thought the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard might be pointedly reminding the other knight he was present.

“It is a strange matter,” Ser Jason confessed. “I wished to you about it privately, Your Grace, and I think there will never be a better time for it than now.”

“Very well,” Aegon agreed. Everyone in their party was either occupied or quite distant—other than Dunk, the vast majority were both. Privacy was all but assured. “Say on.”

“My wife was something of a historian when she lived,” Ser Jason told them. “Despite our sigil, House Lannister has never bonded with Western Lions in the way House Stark once bonded with direwolves. House Casterly, from whom we inherited the Rock, the colors of and the sigil of, however, did.”

Aegon nodded. If he was right about where this was going, Ser Jason was about to confirm the most unlikely of whispers Lady Waters had brought to his attention to date.

“My nephew, Tywin, however. He—” Ser Jason cut himself off. It was entirely aggravating, but Aegon just watched as the man’s face went through a series of contortions as though he were arguing with himself. Ser Jason sighed. “I have to— I cannot allow the King to—”

“You cannot allow the king to what?” Dunk demanded.

Ser Jason blinked himself out of his confusion and focused on Dunk. “I cannot allow the king to enter the Westerlands without knowing that Lord Tywin has bonded a Western Lion.”

“A… Western…” Aegon had no idea what a Western Lion was. He had never heard of such a beast and he and Dunk had travelled the West extensively as knight and squire.

“A Western Lion,” Ser Jason repeated, nodding. “We have no idea where it came from. One-minute, young Tywin was in his father’s solar, giving orders. Then he took some time to address various issues and by the time he joined the rest of the family in the heir’s solar, he had a lion with him. Two, really, because the one that answers to him brought his mate.”

“I have never heard of this creature,” Aegon had to admit. “What does a Western Lion look like?”

“White-gold with a mane that fades to black. Taller than my nephew at the shoulders but not done growing yet, apparently, despite the fact that my nephew could ride it. Front fangs that hang down past its jaw. Amber-red eyes. Beautiful and terrifying,” Ser Jason concluded. “The lion was why I had no problem leaving my ten-year-old nephew in command of the Rock. Absolutely no one with sense will argue with him with an avatar of the old gods standing over his shoulder.”

“And anyone that does will get exactly what they deserve,” Dunk offered.

Ser Jason nodded. “My nephew named the lion Tybolt. I remember my wife telling me that Tybolt the Thunderbolt was the first King of the Rock to deal with Andal Invaders. He sent them back to Andalos in pieces—the ones that survived him, at least.”

“He might as well have declared himself for the old gods,” Aegon replied, biting back a groan.

The Faith of the Seven had been on him to tame and convert the North from their heathen ways. He had denied them, of course, but would the Faith stop themselves from starting a war without him if southron lords started abandoning them? Aegon could not see how they would.

“He has not made an official statement,” Ser Jason said. “And I believe he is savvy enough not to.”

“He has impressed me thus far.” Of course, all he had to judge the boy on was a letter and packet of evidence gathered on a case of attempted usurpation. Lord Tywin had not explicitly stated the ramifications of war, treason, and death that would come from the attempted usurpation of House Lannister, but Aegon thought that was because the boy had not seen the need, not because he did not know the possible consequences.

Shouts came from the line ahead of them and when he looked up, Aegon could see Riverrun in the distance.

“You were right to tell me of your nephew’s bonding,” he told the knight. “I would appreciate it if you would not mention it to anyone else.” Especially anyone among House Tully.

Ser Jason grinned as though he could hear Aegon’s thoughts. “House Lannister loves having their own little secrets. Especially with the blessing of the Iron Throne.”

Dunk snorted and Aegon silently agreed with his best friend’s opinion, unspoken though it was. A Western Lion was not a little anything.

“Though, I would be remiss if I did not mention that my wife, may she rest, had thought that history could be in the process of repeating itself,” Ser Jason said as he suddenly sobered.

“What do you mean?”

“Tybolt the Thunderbolt’s father was named Tywin.” Ser Jason paused and Aegon felt something sink in his belly. “Prince Tywin was the Western equivalent of Hand of the King for his older brother, King Tytos, and his own son, King Tybolt. He never ruled in his own name, but he certainly ruled the West for over thirty years. My wife believed he was the strategic mind behind his son’s victories over the Andals. That it is possible King Tybolt softened his father’s tactics because, after Tybolt was slain during an Iron Born invasion, Prince Tywin took his revenge on the Iron Islands in a brutal fashion far worse than anything King Tybolt ever did to the Andals.

“Prince Tywin was himself slain as he cut down both Lord-Captain Gorgon Greyjoy and his son, Lord-Captain Quellon.”

“Sometimes the way you nobles re-use names is entirely worrisome,” Dunk complained.

Aegon had to laugh and Ser Jason laughed with him.

“Well, the previous Jason Lannister was Lord of Casterly Rock and had a younger twin he allowed to drag him into the Dance of the Dragons on the wrong side because they were both rejected for the hand of Princess Rhaenyra,” Ser Jason offered with a grin. “While I am a mere knight, the only twins in my family where my oldest brothers that have now passed, and I am entirely content with the one son my lady wife left me, so nothing to worry about there.”

Aegon just shook his head as Dunk burst out laughing.

-*-

“Can you say that again?” Tywin had a policy of never allowing anyone the opportunity to repeat themselves to him but, as aggravating as it was, he found himself having to make an exception.

“I am with child and soon I will no longer be able to hide it,” his mother repeated. “Your father ordered me to end it because we both believe I will have a daughter.”

Just when he thought his father’s stupidity could not reach lower. “Why would father not want daughters? Daughters are a boon to any noble family.”

“Your father believes that daughters are for making amends and, as a Lord Paramount, others are to make amends to him rather than the opposite. He has maintained that he needs sons to receive those amends.” His lady mother, Lady Jeyne, shook her head. “When we were younger, I tried to persuade him otherwise, but his father and grandfather only had sons and he felt strongly that he had to do the same.”

“You have had a daughter,” he pointed out. Because Genna existed.

“Genna,” his mother agreed. “I want daughters. So much so that I asked my father to stipulate I would be allowed three daughters in House Marbrand’s marriage contract with House Lannister. During the negotiations, they reduced that to one daughter.”

Tywin nodded. He had wondered why the Marbrand contract had been especially generous. More generous than any of the other three marriage contracts his grandfather had signed for his sons, including the son that had originally been his heir.

“Daughters do not make amends,” Tywin had to say. “They build bridges and ensure the peace between Houses. The children of a daughter that loves the House of her birth are more inclined to honor that House—something House Lannister needs among our vassals.” And among the other Kingdoms of Westeros, if he had anything to say about it.

As he would.

“I agree,” his mother smiled. “But Maester Curtass is pressing me to come to him for the moontea. I was about to drink it when your father was injured; the cup mysteriously broke.” His mother kept her face so neutral that he knew she must have dropped or thrown the cup on purpose. “Maester Curtass is intent to follow your father’s orders but—” Lady Jeyne tipped her head, leaving him to fill in the rest.

“I will order him to leave the matter be,” he informed her and stood. “Mayhaps I will request a second maester to attend your health through the birth.” The gods knew Maester Curtass was distracted with his father’s needs. A second maester could be a good choice, or a necessity for him to take on. Mayhaps even a third maester, temporarily, to design and build a habitat for House Lannister’s Western Lions. “Now. I have a meeting with Lady Ellyn of House Tarbeck.”

His mother’s face fell into a moue of distaste. “I wish you would not allow her in the Rock much less speak with her, my son.”

Tywin knew that very well. His mother despised Lady Ellyn with a fervor he had been too young to understand when he was actually the age he appeared. Not that his age had stopped him from whole-heartedly agreeing with her. “She has come on official business for House Tarbeck. I have put her off some weeks, but I cannot refuse to do business with House Tarbeck because we do not like their representative.”

“You could,” his mother disagreed.

He took her arm to escort her from the room. “Is father’s refusal of daughters why there are five years between Genna and Tygette?” he wondered. There had also been six years between Tygette and Gerion in his other life. With the impending loss of his father, Gerion would unfortunately not come into this world.

“Yes,” she answered baldly. “Every time I drink the moontea, there is a chance it will damage my fertility forever. Your father cares not.”

“The tea makes it harder to get with child,” he realized aloud.

“And it makes the birthing of the children the gods give you all the more dangerous.”

That would explain why his mother had died due to complications with Gerion’s birth the last time after delivering four healthy children. If she had been forced to drink tansy multiple times in a decade—for more than a decade, really, it might actually be a miracle that his mother fell pregnant with Gerion in the first place.

And it would explain why Joanna had refused the tea every time he had offered it to her, even after her rape by the Mad King. Why she had almost seemed to fear it.

A firm knock sounded and the door opened as they reached it. The guard holding the door saw them, bowed, and moved back to one side of the door to reveal Lady Ellyn Tarbeck had arrived for their meeting.

Tywin kept pacing forward with his mother on his arm, forcing Lady Ellyn to step aside.

In the hall, he turned to his mother. “If he—” Tywin said pointedly and his mother nodded her understanding, “—continues to trouble you on the issue we discussed, refer him to me and I will clarify matters.”

“Of course, my son.” Lady Jeyne leaned in and kissed one of his cheeks. “Be well.”

“Be well,” he said and turned to Lady Ellyn. Who was staring after his mother. “Are you glaring at my mother?” he asked her.

Lady Ellyn jerked her gaze away from his mother and he caught a look of ire that cleared from her face as she looked at him. “My lord, our meeting?”

“Yes, of course,” he offered her his arm and led her toward the Stone Garden.

“Will we not speak in your solar?” Lady Ellyn asked.

“I understood you wanted a private conversation,” he said, and she frowned at him. “The Heir’s Solar is situated so that both the Lord and Lady can monitor the heir.” Tywin knew that because he had ripped it all out to make himself a grand solar and a private space when he became Lord of the Rock before.

Lady Ellyn nodded. He paused when she hesitated at the entrance to the Stone Garden but only for a moment.

“This is the only place of true privacy in the entire Rock,” he told her.

“Not many like trees staring at them,” she said waspishly.

“I have nothing to fear from trees.” Even as he said it, he knew it was false. He was not sure why; the old gods had favored him and certainly still did but…mayhaps the trees had more uses than being the face of the old gods. “You told Ser Jason when you arrived that you have come seeking a loan from Casterly Rock.”

“I have,” Lady Ellyn admitted as she allowed him to sit her on a root.

“What security do you offer?” he asked as he sat across from her so the tree’s face was positioned as a third person in the conversation. “What terms do you seek?”

Lady Ellyn blinked at him. “My lord?”

“I did not delay this meeting a full moon idly,” he told her. “I have been in correspondence with the Iron Bank of Braavos, learning the proper way to lend funds. I have read every book and scroll they have sent me. Did you not come prepared for this conversation?”

“I came prepared to have this conversation with your father,” she admitted.

Tywin nodded. That he knew.

“Is that why you sent my brother to Braavos?” she asked. “Because of correspondence?”

He raised an eyebrow at her because she was certainly toeing the line, inching upon reaching above herself, in questioning her lord’s choices. She flushed because she knew it.

“I have a document for a previous loan, signed by you and my father. There is no repayment plan, security, or penalties included in the document. Casterly Rock cannot, of course, extend more funds until the previous loan is repaid and all three of your children will be fostered within the Rock until repayment is complete. The Lion Guard and my household have already been apprised of this fact.”

“All three?” she asked weakly. She had brought them all, no doubt in an attempt to gain betrothals for them with Casterly Rock and other Lords of the West, but her intention did not change the opportunity her ambition had provided him.

“Yes, of course. If Lord Tarbeck is doing such a poor job of overseeing his lands that he requires two loans from Casterly Rock within three years and cannot repay either, his son clearly requires better instruction than his paternal line can provide. The peace of the West relies on the success of her Lords.” He stared at Lady Ellyn with all the intensity he could muster. He could feel Tybolt moving behind him and knew exactly what the lad was doing when Lady Tarbeck grew pale. “Mayhaps I should send the Lion Guard and my castellan to Tarbeck Hall to investigate the issues your lord-husband is having.”

“That will not be necessary, my lord,” she immediately assured him. “Do you have repayment terms written that I may review and sign for my lord-husband?”

“I have a few options,” he agreed and he removed three scrolls from one of his belt pouches. “Your children will still foster here for the duration of the repayment, regardless of which option you choose.”

“Of course, my lord.” She reviewed all three options. One was quite punitive, another was quite lax, and the third was a compromise. They were all within the realm of possibility for House Tarbeck. He knew because he had reviewed their taxes for the last decade before he drew the options up.

She selected the compromise, as he knew she would. Taking the punitive one would tacitly admit to a type of wrong doing including House Tarbeck’s actually lack of need for additional funds, but the lax one would leave the Tarbeck heir in Casterly Rock until he was two-and-thirty. He pulled a second copy of that scroll from another pouch and they took turns signing each copy for their records.

“Thank you, my lord,” Lady Ellyn said as she tucked away the repayment agreement for House Tarbeck’s first loan.

“Now, if you are interested in earning gold independent of your husband, I have an offer for you, in the service of House Lannister,” Tywin told her, hating every word.

Lady Ellyn had led the rebellion against his father until the very day she died in his first time at life. She had fought tooth and nail to become Lady Lannister, going so far as to start a foolish War of the Wombs against Tywin’s own mother, and she had never forgiven House Lannister for her own failure. She had been married off to old Lord Walderan Tarbeck by Tywin’s grandfather Gerold the Golden for her audacity and scheming. Tywin did not think she would ever forgive House Lannister for that, either.

In another life, she had died in the Rains of Castamere and Tywin had never been happier.

But, in this life, she had not yet gone so far. At this time, it was his duty as her lord to get her on-side and keep her from going so far. Not because he minded a little Rain, but because he was working to cultivate a more balanced reputation. He would never be loved by the West but he would be fair.

If that failed, he could always drive them back to fearing him later.

Lady Ellyn gave him a look full of sass he had seen time and time again on his son, Jaime’s, face when the man-child thought he was being clever. “I am a married woman, my lord.”

“And I am ten,” he reminded her, “and while I believe you might have been a fierce Lady Lannister, I cannot be expected to side against my own mother on such a thing.”

Lady Ellyn sighed.

“If you take an oath of loyalty and honesty to House Lannister, I will tell you how you might become the most feared woman in the West and possibly all of Westeros.”

Lady Ellyn’s eyebrows shot up and she nodded seriously, leaving pretense and games behind her.

“This oath will be made in blood on the weirwood tree and if you break it, the old gods will see you dead.”

“I do not believe in the old gods,” she pointed out.

“Facts do not care if you believe them.”

Lady Ellyn was quiet while she considered his offer. “Do you have a written copy of the oath that I may review?”

He pulled the appropriate scrap from his belt and handed to her. He also drew a dragonglass blade shaped like a leaf. It was simple but beautiful, set in a weirwood handle.

“It is the ancient ritual blade of House Lannister,” he told her when she stared at the blade. “Inherited from House Casterly. It is thousands of years old but the magic of the Old Gods keeps it new.

“We will use it to draw your blood to make the oath.”

Tywin watched her until she nodded.

“I will make this oath,” she indicated the parchment she held.

He held out a hand and she put hers in it. He turned her hand over, sliced across the palm, and placed it near the tree’s face so her blood stained the wood. “Speak your oath.”

Lady Ellyn checked the parchment one more time and spoke the oath word for word.

When he released her hand, they were both surprised to find it healed.

“The gods have accepted your oath,” he told her, hoping his surprise did not show as clearly as hers did.

He knew, suddenly, that her blood would remain fresh on the tree as long as she kept her oath. The moment she broke it, the blood would be absorbed and a just punishment would find her. As she had made the oath on her life, her life would be forfeit at the least.

“My duties, my lord?” She asked.

“You will be the Master of Whispers for House Lannister. House Lannister has their own network of informers; you will be given most of them. Your first goal will be to grow that network.”

Lady Ellyn leaned forward, clearly interested. “Do you have a direction you wish me to take for such expansion?”

He did, in fact. It was a method he was stealing wholesale from Littlefinger, may the Mockingbird never be born. “You will secretly, confidentially, and using House Lannister funds buy or found brothels of all qualities across all of Westeros. Within the decade, I expect House Lannister to own every place a man spends coin to spend his seed and for no one to know about it.

“You will keep the profit; I will keep the secrets.”

Lady Ellyn who had been nodding through his explanation, stopped. “I understand, my lord, and it will be done.”

“This is not to say you will not pay your taxes on your gains,” he warned her.

“Of course, my lord.”

“House Lannister owns all such places as we have discussed in Lannisport. I will have someone sneak you in so that you may observe the business and gain the measure of the people running them.”

“People?” Lady Ellyn asked. “Not men?”

“Over the years, we have found that higher ranking men respond better to a female proprietor. Particularly one that takes a cheerful, generous demeanor with them. Poorer and rougher clients respond better to no-nonsense men. We supply both because smallfolk have proven time and again to know secrets the highborn would prefer to pretend do not exist.”

“Very good, my lord, I look forward to the introductions.”

-*-

Tywin sat in front of the weirwood tree and stared into the face.

It had been a few days since his conversation with Lady Ellyn. He had noticed something not quite right about the tree during that conversation and he finally had time to investigate it. The grin he knew he had seen on the tree was gone. Now, the face was long and wailing like every other weirwood he had ever seen but he trusted his own faculties more than he trusted most people so he knew this tree was different somehow. There was some unexpected element to it that he had to see explained before he trusted or allowed anyone in his House to trust the God Trees of the North.

Tybolt and That Stubborn Thing strolled into the garden. Tybolt came directly to him and flopped over on the ground.

“Do you know what is strange about this tree?” he asked the lion and did not even feel strange to do so.

The lion focused on the tree hard enough that Tywin could feel his focus on the tree through their so-called skinchanger bond but that did not tell him anything.

Nothing for it, he focused on the tree as well.

Nothing happened.

He turned to That Stubborn Thing. “What about you?”

She yawned expansively an ignored him.

“If I knew the true name of my cupbearer from Harrenhal, I would call you that,” he told her, mutually unimpressed.

She flicked an ear at him.

He blinked as knowledge bloomed in his mind. He was an idiot. How could he not have known? His cupbearer had been Arya bloody Stark! And, certainly, she had been the spy in his ranks that he had not been able to find! He had personally given her unlimited access to himself and his solar.

He was a fool and he deserved every defeat he had suffered at the hands of Robb Stark because of his sister’s scheming.

“Arya Stark,” he called That Stubborn Thing and she looked at him immediately. “How do I use this thing?” he demanded.

Arya yawned again but stood. She paced over to him and almost-gently shouldered him out of the way, earning herself a warning snarl from Tybolt. By the time Tywin looked up, she had her paws on either side of the weirwood face and her forehead against the tree.

She pulled away to verify he had seen before she launched herself into the branches.

Tywin was entirely shocked that the stunted, twisted tree held under her weight.

“That was very clear, thank you.” He dusted himself off with all the dignity he could muster. This time knelt before the tree, putting his hands on either side of the face and his forehead against the trunk. Unfortunately, that left him staring at the tree’s blood-colored eyes.

He felt himself sink into those eyes, similar to how he had sunk into Tybolt’s—though colder and harsher. He let it happen.

He opened his eyes to find himself inside the formation of another battalion of weirwood trees. Or, possibly, the same battalion? Either way it was a representation of a place that was not physically real, that he was now confident of.

Tywin noticed he was looking down upon the tree faces rather than seeing them head on as he had been and looked down to see his old man hands. He was an adult again.

He followed the sound of voices to find two unmistakable Starks holding a conversation in this non-existent space.

“Who are you?” the younger asked. He was a boy, mayhaps ten years old, and that meant he had to be Rickard Stark.

The adult whipped around with his hand going to the hilt of the entirely oversized Ice. Tywin had handled it extensively before he had it reforged and he was certain of the sword’s identity which meant the man holding it could only be Rickard Starks’s father, Lord Edwyle Stark.

“I am Lord Tywin Lannister,” he answered the boy’s question, pleased to hear his adult tones and feel them in his chest. The squeak he was using to speak as a ten-year-old was ridiculous.

“I thought you were ten!” Rickard exclaimed.

Lord Stark made a quick series of hand gestures at his son.  Rickard stepped back and faded from whatever plane they were on.

“Are the two of you not in the same location physically?” Tywin asked. Could the weirwood trees enable long distance communication? It seemed impossible but—

“I am in Torrhen’s Square about to set sail for Casterly Rock. My son will stand as the Stark in Winterfell in my absence,” Lord Edwyle said.

Tywin nodded. How had his ancestors allowed themselves to lose the immense advantage of instantaneous long-distance communication? It boggled his mind.

“What were you discussing?”

“Projects I left for him to oversee in my absence.” Lord Edwyle laughed. It was a cutting sound rather than one of amusement. “Do be careful, Lord Lannister. One cannot lie in this place. Ask too many questions and I might start asking some of my own.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow. “Will you teach me the ways of the Old Gods that my ancestors forgot?”

Lord Stark held his chin as he considered. It was a tell his grandson, Lord Eddard, had used as well and Tywin had to wonder if having such a tell was deliberate. Mayhaps it was not a tell so much as a gesture used to buy them time to think.

“A southron lord worshiping the gods old and true will cause friction in the South,” Edwyle warned. “And you are neighbors with the Starry Sept, the Seat of the Seven.”

“A previous one, certainly,” Tywin agreed. The Starry Sept had been the seat of the Faith before the Sept of Baelor had been erected in King’s Landing. “A mutual defense pact would serve us both.”

“We would need to seal such a thing with a marriage to make the Southroners take it seriously,” Edwyle countered.

That such a marriage would require a daughter, was implied. “You should remarry—unless your missive from the king was different than mine, I would assume you will not be given a choice on the matter.”

“That was my reading of it,” Lord Edwyle agreed.

Tywin thought about the players currently alive, what he knew for certain about them and what he had long suspected. “Ask for Lady Alys of House Arryn.” The woman had given her husband eight daughters in his previous life. “Promise the first daughter she gives you to Casterly Rock and we will bind three Wardens into one pact.”

“That would be quite a boon.” Edwyle looked impressed.

As he should be.

“Growing up in the Erie will have prepared her for the cold of the North,” Tywin continued. “I have been told that reading is her first love and I understand she has told her father that she would only marry a man that could provide her a copy of a certain book and that he has agreed. You are known to have one of the greatest libraries in Westeros.” Tywin paused and considered the other man. “A library you have stolen from the Citadel.”

“Stolen is such a harsh word.” Lord Stark did not quite deny the accusation. “The gray rats have no care for what their acolytes do with the books they copy in normal circumstances. If certain, controlled books went missing for short periods, I am certain they showed back up eventually.”

That was clever. He would send his own loyal boys to the Citadel to do the same. Lady Ellyn could certainly find him boys of low birth hungry for such an opportunity.

“You are the ten-year-old Tywin Lannister currently ruling Casterly Rock, are you not?” Lord Stark asked.

“I am,” Tywin had to agree.

“But, here, you look seventy.”

If he had any vanity over his physical attributes, he would have to challenge Lord Stark for the insulting tone. Fortunately, for them both, that was not one of his vices. “Eight and fifty, if you please.”

“Your last life was a hard one, then,” Lord Stark said leadingly. As if Tywin was going to give him any information he did not have to.

“I have always done what was necessary,” was what Tywin told him.

“And the old gods sent you back to do it again,” Lord Stark shook his head. “My House has prayed for such a blessing with every Brandon Stark we have named.”

“That is a great deal of prayer.” Nearly every generation of Starks he knew of had a Brandon of their own. “But not one you have made.”

“Some beliefs are just that. I know my gods are true but I am not certain the old winter tale of the power of names is true as well.” Lord Stark shrugged. “What is the point of living if all you want are your ancestors to hold your hand the entire way? I would rather be my own man and I want the same for my son.”

“I agree,” Tywin had to admit. “Unfortunately, Lord Tytos could have been the end of House Lannister.” And that was true, his father could have been. “The gods have sent me to change our fate and that of the Realm.”

“All of Westeros?” Lord Stark frowned. “Not just the West?”

“Not just the West,” Tywin confirmed.

“How?”

“I am uncertain,” he had to admit. “I have come into possession of certain information that could change the entire line of succession for House Targaryen.” Lord Stark jerked and made a show of confusion. Tywin did not explain because it should be obvious that he was talking about the return of dragons and because the man did not ask. “Should a Queen emerge, I would be the best choice for her consort because of this knowledge.”

“I would certainly want to keep someone that could unsettle my entire House like that close,” Lord Stark agreed. “But you have asked for a daughter of mine?”

“Not for me,” he admitted. “For my heir. My brother, Kevan.”

“You will train him thoroughly?”

“You may rest assured,” Tywin agreed. Kevan was already undergoing the most unique education experience Tywin had ever heard a whisper of—an entire year of fostering under one of the premier Keyholders of the Iron Bank. The Keyholder had offered the opportunity to Tywin, intrigued by his questions and desire for knowledge, but he had accepted Kevan easily enough when told of Tywin’s circumstances.

It was unfortunate that Tywin could not take advantage of the opportunity himself but also fortunate as, this time, his father was not able to deny him the taking of the advantage.

“Very well. If the king requires that I remarry and if my lady wife provides me daughters, the oldest will be promised to Casterly Rock.”

“The gender of offspring can be determined by the face of the moon upon conception, apparently,” Tywin shook his head and Lord Stark scoffed. “I am still looking for documented studies of this… old winter tale, I believe you would call it.”

“I cannot say if I wish to contribute to such a study or deny the possibility. Regardless—”

A roar rocked the nether-space and Tywin physically jerked back. He looked up to see Tybolt closing in on Ser Gamon Broom, his sister’s bodyguard, who kept himself interposed between Genna and Tybolt.

“Tywin?” Genna stepped around her guard and Tybolt without fear. “Are you well? Why were you—” she glanced at the tree. “I am uncertain what you were doing, to be entirely honest.”

He sent Ser Gamon away with a gesture. The guard bowed and went to the entrance of the Garden. Tybolt huffed in disappointment and came back to lounge against the tree. Tywin took a seat on a root and pulled Genna down to sit beside him. “I was exploring something I believe our family has forgotten,” he admitted.

Genna nodded accepting his word and moved on. “Brother, where is Kevan? I have not seen him anywhere.”

“I told you he was going to Braavos.”

“I remember,” she agreed. “That was weeks ago. Certainly, he should be back by now.”

“I was given a unique opportunity,” he told his sister patiently. “Due to the attack on Father, I could not go through with it. Kevan has taken my place.”

“What opportunity?” Genna asked. “I will not tell anyone.”

Tywin knew that for certain. Even before learning the depth of hatred Genna held for her marriage, he would have trusted her with this level of secret. That she had kept her hatred of her Frey husband so secret that he only learned of her hatred from gods proved him more correct in doing so. “He is fostering for a year with a Keyholder for the Iron Bank of Braavos.”

Genna gasped. “Oh, that is wonderful! I have never heard of such a thing! Boys all over Essos would kill for such an opportunity.”

“Which is why Kevan has such a large guard with him,” he agreed.

“And… the tree, my lord?” Genna asked more hesitantly than he thought she was capable of. But she was only seven so he let it go.

“Sister. Allow me to introduce you to the magic of the true gods.”

 

Chapter Three

“A Man greets a Lion.”

Tywin looked up from where he was securing fresh trousers to see a face he had seen before. Not someone familiar. He did not, in fact, know the man’s name, but that face belonged to someone he had seen speaking with his Harrenhal cupbearer, Arya Stark—nearly forty years from now and yet looking exactly the same. All the way down to the Lannister armor this immortal stranger was wearing.

Considering the appearance, failure to age, and mode of address, this could only be a Faceless Man.

“The Lion greets a Man,” he corrected more than anything else.

A wave of amusement went through one of the Man’s eyebrows but he otherwise remained stoic. “A House would hear of the Lion’s interaction with a god with many faces.”

“How do you know?” Tywin frowned. The assassins of the House of Black and White were, basically, the priests serving Death, but the old gods did not have a specific death deity. Death was simply an accepted part of life.

The old gods did not truly have holy people either.

“The Many-Faced God has spoken. The Lion has been given a mission.”

“A mission and an enemy,” he agreed. Seeing no reason not to explain himself, he said, “I died.”

The Faceless Man inclined his head but otherwise remained unmoved.

“I found myself in a godswood, surrounded by white trees with red leaves and bleeding faces as far as the eye could see.”

His audience did not react.

“Two faces spoke to me. One looked like my grandfather. The other was a Stark.”

The Faceless Man blinked. It was almost a reaction.

“The faces gave me the opportunity to save my family,” Tywin said. “But I have to return the magic of the old gods to all of Westeros.”

“And this enemy will prevent this?”

“As far as I can see, the Citadel has been working to destroy magic since the Doom of Valyria. I cannot prove that they paid A House to do the deed, but that hardly matters. I know where they got the gold. I also know that even now they are working against us all, sitting on centuries of knowledge and discovery, denying advances that could improve every aspect of life for all of us.”

“How do you know this?” The Man asked, his voice full of silken peril.

Tywin was not impressed. “Valyria refused to sell House Lannister a Valyrian steel sword because of a prophecy—”

“That Lannister gold would destroy Valyria,” The Man supplied.

“Correct,” Tywin nodded. “And yet, House Lannister had a Valyrian Steal sword. We purchased Brightroar from a Maester Metalworker named Mavrock. A new blade, not one reforged. My ancestor watched Maester Mavrock turn raw materials into Valyrian steel because the process required the sacrifice of his beloved wife.

“My royal ancestor never spoke again after the ritual, but we have clearly laid out two points in my argument.” He held up one finger. “A massive payment of Lannister gold, linked to the Doom through prophecy, paid to the Citadel.” He stuck up a second finger. “Advanced technology that the Citadel has knowledge of but allows the rest of the world to believe is entirely lost.”

“There is a Maester of Higher Mysteries at the Citadel that claims the Citadel killed House Targaryen’s dragons.” Tywin frowned. Pycelle’s little minions had reported to him about Marwyn the Mage, but he never mentioned Marwyn’s age. Marwyn might not be alive yet. “There will be,” he corrected.

“You have mentioned the stifling of technology to the Iron Bank,” the Man prompted. “A Brother has spoken of your concerns to the Sealord himself.”

Even as young as he currently was, Kevan always came through for him on their plans. “New technology means more work. More trade. More trade means more profit. The Iron Bank is in the business of making profit.” Tywin pointed out. Braavos was a trading power. They needed improved technologies. Better ships, better weapons and armor to defend those ships, it was all connected. “I need allies that will not allow history and sentiment to cloud their judgement.”

“The enemies are more numerous than you know,” the Man warned him. “But the Many-Faced God has spoken and the Iron Bank and the Sealord have paid the God his due.”

Tywin considered that as he slipped into his tunic.

He had long suspected the Faith of the Seven could not be trusted. The High Septon had to approve all noble—and particularly all royal—marriages for them to be considered binding everywhere other than the North. And yet the High Septon of the time had allowed Robert’s Rebellion to play out when he could have ended the Rebellion handily with the information that he had to have about Prince Rhaegar’s marriage to Lady Lyanna. All of House Stark’s complaints of murder and kidnapping against the Iron Throne could have been laid to rest with that one bit of news. House Arryn’s honor would have been assuaged and House Baratheon would have folded or been handily defeated without the strategies of Eddard Stark.

And yet the High Septon had allowed House Targaryen to be deposed at the cost of a mere hundred thousand lives.

“The Faith of the Seven has long been an ally of the Citadel. Since the Andal Invasion, certainly. A religion would gain more from an ignorant populous than a group of scholars.” He picked up the long vest he had ordered laid out for himself. “House Hightower has long been the ally for both. They had certainly allowed the Faith to dictate their response to Aegon’s Conquering. And there was at least one Lord Hightower whose regent was a High Septon.” Tywin had never felt that was legal.

Just like he thought Baelor the Blessed should have had to give up his right to the Iron Throne the moment he took the vows of a septon.

Mayhaps he would need to push for a formal law to be written on the matter.

“House Tyrell marries House Hightower every other Lord,” he added. Was a House Paramount about to fall? If they were against the Iron Throne and magic, they would have to. And yet, Lady Margaery had been clearly named to appeal to a Targaryen Prince.

“A debt has been granted,” the Faceless said. “The Lion must decide how it will be paid.”

“A debt to me?” he had to clarify. He was talking to an assassin, after all.

The Faceless Man inclined his head. “For knowledge of enemies unseen.”

“Knowledge for knowledge, then,” Tywin decided. “Books. Rare and highly guarded books. Books on magic and dragons. Books the Citadel does not want exposed.”

“A debt will be paid.”

“You will update me as you work against our mutual enemies,” Tywin ordered.

Now, the Man’s ire was obvious. Or, mayhaps, it was a mummery. “The Lion is ten years old.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow at him. “I am eight-and-sixty, if you please,” he said, easily adding up his combined lifetimes. “How can I assist in our mutual endeavors if I am unaware of your operations?”

“The Lion will need a new maester,” the Man said before he turned to walk back toward Tywin’s private balcony.

“What does the House of Black and White know about Aegon Targaryen the Fifth?” he asked—very nearly blurted—much more impetuously than he would ever admit.

The Man paused, glancing back at him. “The House of Black and White knows many things and more about the Dragon King of Westeros.”

“You must be familiar with the favor he grants the lowborn and the commons he was raised by,” Tywin said leadingly. “The rights and protections he has granted them.”

The Faceless Man turned fully to face him. “A Man knows the Dragon King’s rule is tenuous. Nobles sworn to the Dragon King’s rule openly call the Dragon King a tyrant. A fool. A traitor. Weak.”

“Men would not say these things had King Aegon a dragon,” Tywin pointed out.

The Man tipped his head to one side like a curious bird. “The magic to hatch stone eggs is lost.”

“Is it?” Tywin prodded. He knew what Daenerys Targaryen had done in the future. The reports he had received on it were many and detailed. And they were from more that the girl’s fool of a Bear.

Her Dothraki in particular had been pleased to repeat the tale to all that would listen.

“What would the Dragon King do with a dragon?” Tywin pushed further. “He has already given the right of body autonomy to the commons—they cannot be harmed without being proven guilty of a crime. He sent the North an excessive amount of goods during the six-year winter I was born in the middle of, to ensure even the lowest and most common would survive with full bellies. He has ordered the Ironborn to release their thralls and return their salt wives—all of them nothing more than slaves by other names.

“Braavos has a vested interest in the end of slavery, does it not? Your own Order was founded upon the slaying of slave masters.” The last was a guess but Tywin was confident in it. Indeed, it was the only thing that made sense of the evidence he had seen and personally held.

“The Lion believes the Dragon King would ally with Braavos in this?”

Tywin shrugged. “With the right influence and dragons, all things are possible.

“Westeros is at peace.” For the most part. He would certainly do his part to prevent the rebellions his father’s ineptitude had caused in his other life. “Winter is a long time in coming. Soon second and third sons will outnumber the possibility of inheritance. They will grow restless in their ambition.

“A war of conquest would be preferable to the rebellion and civil war those circumstances always cause. That should be plain for any man to see.”

The Faceless Man nodded but did not speak.

“Clearing out and conquering the Stepstones are the obvious choice,” Tywin continued. “And on the other side of the Stepstones from Westeros lies Tyrosh.”

“Lys and Myr would not allow their sister to fall,” the Man pointed out.

Tywin carefully did not sigh in relief that the Man was starting to invest in the plan. Personally, he could not care less about the fate of slaves—people got exactly what they deserved in life—but Braavos’s support of House Targaryen and their dragons would be worth any cost.

“Even Volantis would rebel against the idea of Tyrosh falling to House Targaryen once the Dragon King began freeing slaves,” Tywin agreed. “Breaking the back of the slave trade would require Volantis to fall, of course. Once they move against House Targaryen, such a fate would be assured.”

“The Lion knows the magic the hatch dragons?” the Man asked directly, dropping his mysterious effect.

“I do,” Tywin confirmed. At his mental tug, Tybolt nosed his way into his bedroom from the sitting room to stare at the Faceless Man. Tybolt placed himself between Tywin and the Faceless Man. A pointed reminder that if the Man sought to remove him and his knowledge from the board, it would not be easily done.

The Man rocked back on his heels and regained his mysterious effect. “The plans of the Lion assume the other daughters of Valyria do not destroy the Dragon King once he has returned their birth right to the world. All Valyrians crave the power of the dragonlords of old.”

“They can try,” Tywin allowed. “But dragons are difficult to kill whether they have wings or not.” And it would not take much to twist such an incident into the opening gambit of a war.

“Before the end of slavery can start, the Dragon King’s enemies—internal and unseen as the Citadel and the Faith are—must fall.”

“The House of Black and White will consider your words.”

“And your alliance with House Targaryen,” Tywin told him. “Who better to guide the Free Cities from slavery to true freedom than Braavos?”

“What of the slaves that will die in your plan?” the Man asked. For a moment, it was as if the Man’s face fractured and a youngling looked at him, silently begging for mercy.

The Man rebuilt himself quickly but Tywin wondered at it. Was this Man in constant contact with the House of Black and White? Were all of them? Were they even men or just a different version of the weirwood trees with their many faces and instant, long-distance communication? No matter what the Faceless Men were, ending slavery was clearly a dear and passionate cause for them. It had already damaged the façade this Man presented to the world twice in the course of a single conversation.

“Did you know the slaves of Essos have their own hidden language?” Tywin asked and waited for the Man to nod before he continued. “Freedom and death are the same word in this language.”

“Dukkra ba dukkra,” the Man nearly whispered the phrase Tywin had first heard, shouted at him by a slave soldier during the War of Ninepenny Kings.

Tywin nodded. “Freedom or Death.”

-*-

“Your Grace,” Ser Jason Lannister greeted as he walked back towards where Aegon and Dunk were waiting.

Aegon had been watching the Lion Knight so he just nodded in return. Ser Jason had proven himself to be a clever companion on the ride from King’s Landing. Honest but tactful with an excellent, confident manner that had men of many ranks turning to him for leadership.

And he justifiably generous with those that rendered him good service, Aegon noted, as Ser Jason slipped a maid a pair of silver stags in exchange for a paper parcel.

“Welcome to the Golden Lion Inn, the finest inn in Lannisport,” the knight said grandly. “My nephew has reserved the entire inn for your party. Your sister, Princess Daella, has already arrived from Dorne with a party from House Dayne. They are inside.”

That was all as he expected. “Very good,” Aegon implicitly approved.

“And then there is this.” Ser Jason held the paper parcel in his direction.

Dunk intercepted it, of course, and opened the parcel to find an iron key with a golden lion face with ruby eyes on one end.

“A key?” Dunk asked even as he took off a glove to rub it on his skin to test for contact poisons.

“That is a Lord’s Key for House Lannister,” Ser Jason explained. Aegon took note that he was rather pale. “Only Lord Lannister is allowed to use them within our House. If I might hazard a guess, there is a secret or a surprise of great value waiting for you within the Inn.”

Aegon accepted and pocketed the key once Dunk felt it was safe. It was a curious thing. He had no idea what a Lannister would consider of great value. They had been counted among the richest Houses in Westeros since the Conquering though they had only become the richest House in Westeros since the reign of Ser Jason’s father, Lord Gerold the Golden.

As far as he had seen, House Lannister valued most their name and their rank in Westeros—above Lord Paramounts, they were Wardens.

Wardens answered to the King and his Hand only.

Ser Jason also seemed to love his family nearly beyond reason. If he was reflective of his brother’s and nephew’s values, that meant despite House Lannister’s vocal pride over the sheer amount of gold they had, the things they valued most were not things that could be acquired with gold. Aegon found that to be a virtue of great value and frustratingly rare among the noble class.

“The Riverlords?” he had to ask.

“Making for the Rock over land,” Ser Jason answered immediately. “As ordered.”

“Did you not need to go with them?” Dunk asked.

“If their party cannot find the Rock without me, they do not have the skills to lead the Land of Rivers,” Ser Jason said dryly.

Aegon had to give him that. Casterly Rock was the tallest geographical feature for leagues and taller than the Wall itself. If he stepped out of the Inn’s sheltered courtyard and turned north, he could see the keep with his own two eyes.

“Will you remain with us, then?” Aegon wondered.

“If you would like me too, certainly, Your Grace.” Ser Jason shrugged. “I thought you might want some family-only time. I was going to hop one of the supply ships making for the Rock’s Sea Caverns. That would allow me to beat the Riverlanders home and brief my nephew about their arrival.”

“Sailing is that much faster?” Aegon asked in surprise.

“There is a great deal of up in the overland travel between here and Casterly Rock. The Rock’s main entrance, the Lion’s Mouth, is over 900 feet higher than where we now stand. There are numerous switchbacks leading to the Mouth—all of it is steep and narrow to prevent invasion.”

“And it is easier to get up into the Rock itself from the sea?” Aegon frowned. “Nine hundred feet would be an excessive number of stairs.”

“Like the Wall, Casterly Rock has wench cages.” Ser Jason grinned. “Unlike the Wall, our larger wench cages are well equipped for comfort on the ride.”

Aegon snorted and shook his head, amused. “Very well.”

He looked around to ensure his family was with him. Two of his children, his two grandchildren, and the older two of his sister Rhae’s daughters.

Rhae herself was too pregnant to travel and had remained in Harrenhal with her youngest daughter. And he had sent Duncan the Small, his Hand and firstborn, to the Twins with a sufficient force at his back to take control of the Crossing whether they resisted the Iron Throne or not.

“Come along,” he ordered them all.

Three Kingsguard took the lead into the Inn with Dunk stayed, as ever, at his side. The last three Kingsguard with their two Whent squires created a white wall between his family and the entire world, including Ser Jason.

Inside, his eyes immediately landed on his sister Daella. She was beautiful, as she always had been, with her husband, the Sword of Morning, at her side. He knew from their letters that her oldest, a daughter, was already wed with a child and would be holding Starfall in their absence. Her other two children were lads, one was a squire to Ser Andros, the heir of House Yronwood. Her youngest son, Mordred Dayne, would be squiring with the most advantageous member of a Paramount House Aegon could find, if he had anything to say about it.

And he certainly would.

Squiring was one of the few methods other than marriage he could use to bind his chosen vassal to him.

The general preference for male children among his noble vassals and even his own family was quite vexing for Aegon. There were simply not enough daughters to marry his Paramount Lords to each other more than once. He needed all the alternative bindings he could manage to keep the Realm peaceful and united.

He ignored the Inn Master, a Lannisport Lannister, and made straight for his sister. Ser Jason proved his worth once again by intercepting his own cousin and enabling Aegon to do as he willed.

Food arrived quickly after he sat at his sister’s table and luncheon was joyous. Jaehaerys and Shaera were standoffish, as was their wont. Young Aerys looked to them and did the same. Although, young Rhaella was just six, she was much more independent and stronger willed than the other three. She was clearly thrilled to meet more family and settled in with young Mordred with familiar regard.

It was a lovely afternoon and exactly what he had not realized he needed for his own internal peace. He had barely even noticed Ser Jason taking his leave.

He had also forgotten the key in his pocket until he entered his rooms after a second meal to find a small gold-bound, red leather-covered chest waiting for him on a table directly in front of the door.

He unlocked the box and peeked in to see a book. No. Not just any book! He reached in and took it up before Dunk could interfere.

The book was a copy of Septon Barth’s Unnatural History. And it was the largest surviving tome of the name that Aegon had ever seen. His ancestor, King Baelor the Blessed had not approved of the title and had ordered their House’s greatest resource on dragonlore burned.

Every surviving copy he had found had been piecemeal, missing the intended illustrations and figures because they had been made by maesters attempting to recreate the lost knowledge after King Baelor’s death.

The copy in his hands was undamaged; bound in the colors and cover he knew Septon Barth had chosen; and old. It held the images and figures he had read about in scraps of books but never seen.

This book could only be an original.

Aegon was so pleased with the gift he decided to overlook the evidence in his hand that some historical Lord Lannister had committed treason by keeping the book hidden against his king’s orders to burn it. And that all of that Lord Lannister’s children had done the same.

He looked around the room and found the most comfortable looking corner to settle in for a read.

“Dunk,” he called, and his faithful friend stepped out of the shadows. “I will be starting and finishing this book tonight.”

Dunk nodded. “I will have food and water sent up. And a stimulant prepared, Your Grace.”

“My thanks.” Aegon grinned.

It was time to familiarize himself with the wisdom of his ancestors.

-*-

“My Lord,” a guard squad approached him as he escorted his sister to the Golden Hall for dinner.

The guard on the right of the diamond formation had the same face as the man that had come into his sleeping chambers but Tywin did not believe they were the same Man. Partially because Tybolt made it clear they smelled different but also because this Man did not present himself with the same charisma the other had.

“Yes?” Tywin raised an eyebrow, ignoring the Faceless Man that was now part of his household. It had to be a temporary measure. Possibly the assassin’s placement was the House of Black and White’s response to his request for open communication.

“The Riverland Host has arrived. House Tully and House Frey are among them. No sign of House Targaryen.”

Tywin nodded. That was what he had expected from ravens exchanged and his uncle’s briefing just hours before.

House Targaryen arriving with House Tully would be seen as a sign of favoritism and, in this situation, could damage the Iron Throne’s relationship with the West up to and possibly beyond the point of inciting a rebellion against the Throne.

For all his misplaced smallfolk-oriented sympathies, Aegon the Fifth was too savvy a player in the game of thrones to allow such a blunder.

“See the Riverlords to the Lion Hall,” he ordered. “And have all of our noble guests notified of the arrival. They are all welcome within the Lion Hall.” For the spectacle, he did not say.

There had been no official discussion of House Frey’s attack on his father and he had made no comments about it either, leaving the duty of spreading that news in the hands of the king as was only appropriate. He had seen copies of several of the king’s orders to his Lords Paramount to attend him in Casterly Rock. King Aegon had not mentioned the Frey Usurpation in any of them so Tywin was confident he had done as the king wanted of him despite a lack of official orders.

Lady Ellyn and his sister Genna, however, had done a marvelous job of turning the West and Tywin’s guests-by-royal-order against House Tully.

He entered the Lion Hall first and sat in what used to be the Throne of the King of the Rock. His mother came to sit in the smaller chair on his left as the Lady of Casterly Rock and Genna sat on his right as his heir in Kevan’s absence.

“All of the guests have gathered, my lord.”

He nodded to his father’s castellan, Ser Anron Farman, a cousin to the Farman of Faircastle. He pulled a sword from the sheath a guard was holding ready for him and laid it across his lap. Then he called out, “Open the doors.”

Lord Edgar Tully led his delegation in with his unwed daughter Lady Celia Tully on his arm. At his right was Hoster Tully who was all of twelve followed by Brynden Tully who was nine. In a place of honor, by Western Culture, standing immediately to Lady Celia and Lord Edgar’s left, was Lord Walder Frey.

That was a mistake.

“Guards!” Tywin commanded. “Seize House Frey!”

He stood when one of him men nearly caused Lady Frey—Walder Frey’s third wife, Amarei of House Crakehall—to drop her two-year-old son. “Gentle with the women and children!”

It was, ironically, a boon to him that Walder Frey was on his third wife. Lord Frey’s previous wives were a Royce and a Swann. Including House Crakehall in Lord Frey’s plotting meant House Frey had the right to call upon three of the largest armies in the lords’ individual kingdoms for assistance. Once Tywin pointed that out to King Aegon, it would be clear House Frey had been warmongering for far longer than anyone had noticed.

He would have to read the terms of the marriage contracts for each of Lord Frey’s marriages—they might give him even more evidence.

“Lannister, I must protest!” Lord Tully shouted, leading his daughter forward almost aggressively. “House Frey is my bannerman!”

“House Frey attempted to murder my father,” Tywin countered. He sat and pointedly returned the sword in his hand to its place on his lap, making it clear that Guest Rite was not on offer for House Tully. “And they may yet succeed. I will give them no room to work further evil upon my House. That you walked in here with Lord Frey in the position of Favor tells the West everything we need to know about their plans and House Tully’s place in them.”

Lord Tully’s eyes flew wide and his daughter looked like she might faint.

“I have to feed and house your party because of the orders of our king, but make no mistake, you are not guests. You are denied Guest Rite until the King’s Justice is served. Guest Right will only be restored to you if King Aegon the Fifth finds House Tully innocent of wrong doing.”

Lord Tully looked around and only then seemed to realize how few of his guards had followed him into the Rock proper.

He and his vassals had been allowed the same number as every other lord of equivalent rank. House Lannister simply had more. They also had more friends in the room considering how many of the man’s own Lords Vassal hand separated themselves and faded into the rest of the throng after the arrest of the Freys.

“Very well,” Lord Tully agreed. “I assume the Riverlands will not be welcome to socialize until the King’s Justice is done?”

Tywin nearly scoffed. “I am not a tyrant, Lord Tully.” Though he could certainly show Lord Edgar what a tyrant truly was, if that was what the man wanted—he had a life time of practice at it. “Only House Tully is denied Guest Right. The rest of the Riverlords are welcome within Casterly Rock. House Tully, however, will be under guard for the safety of my own guests because they do have Guest Right.”

Edgar Tully stared at him before bowing slightly and moving away.

-*-

When Aegon surfaced from the book, his room was hot. A quick glance around showed a large brazier, long and relatively narrow like a horse’s trough was well-lit in the most sheltered corner of the room. He could barely remember ordering such a thing to be hauled in somewhere around the Hour of the Wolf. Dunk, as ever, had found exactly what he wanted.

Aegon creaked as he stood and forced his body through a series of contortions to clear himself of the pain and stiffness.

He knew better than to indulge himself as he did, reading a book in a single sprint as he had but the information offered was vital. Vital to the future of his House and Westeros as a whole. He would have to read the book again more leisurely and make his own notes at another time.

He personally retrieved the dragon eggs he kept in a chest his people knew better than to lose or open. Seven dragon eggs. He had kept his own egg with him since the day he was knighted and able to defend both himself and the egg. A bronze egg swirled with gold; it had been placed in his cradle as a babe. From it he knew would hatch Vermithor come again. A kingly dragon that would be born in a time where the king needed a dragon.

He cradled his egg in the center, ensuring it was surrounded and held secure by hot glowing embers as described in Septon Barth’s writing. The other six went three-a-side of his own egg. Green, blue, and red on one side. Black, white, and silver on the other.

They would need a few days soaking in the magic of the fire before he could introduce them to his family and find out who might be worthy to stand as a dragonlord of old.

He might also have to convince a member of his family to sacrifice themselves to return dragons to their House. That would be the hard part. The sacrifice had to be willing. Mayhaps Jaehaerys’s weak willed nature would prove a boon. Certainly, any dragon Jaehaerys’s spirit merged with would be biddable despite how he could not find that very nature to be anything less than a flaw in his own son.

By all the laws of men, Jaehaerys was his clear heir to the Iron Throne, but. Would the Realm survive the rule of a man so easily swayed from the orders of his King and the good of the Realm by his scheming sister as Jaehaerys was? Aegon did not believe it would.

And Jaehaerys’s heir, Aerys, was already showing signs of madness as the Red Keep’s kitchen cats could well attest. Despite his legal standing, Aerys would not make a fit king either.

No, dragons were the only way forward. Both to ensure his just laws continued to protect the smallfolk and to ensure his line had a legal heir worthy of their dynasty.

Now he just needed the dragons.

And sleep. He definitely needed sleep.

 

Chapter Four

Aegon woke with a renewed sense of purpose. “My family?” He asked Dunk as his dearest friend laid out the breakfast the inn had provided. Dunk tasted all the dishes as he laid them out—a sacrifice Egg always prayed they would never learn the necessity of the hard way.

“Princess Rhaelle and Lord Baratheon have come out of hiding,” Dunk teased with a smirk.

Egg rolled his eyes. While he definitely wanted more grandchildren, he had no desire to learn any possible details of the making of those grandchildren. He had been relieved when his daughter had pulled him aside to let him know she and her husband would be sleeping in a different inn.

Particularly after nearly two months of hearing their efforts when the entire party was occasionally forced to sleep in tents.

“Plans for the day, Your Grace?” Dunk asked.

“Re-read several sections of my new book and the invite my family in to meet the eggs individually.” It might be too early for the magic of the fires to allow the hatchlings to detect possible riders. He might need to give them more time in the brazier before introducing his family. He was not sure it would be wise to remove the eggs from the fires until at least one rider was chosen.

“What day is it?” he needed to know. They were supposed to leave Lannisport for Casterly Rock at dawn on their fourth day in Lannisport. “What time of day is it?”

“Just after midday,” Dunk answered. “On our second day in Lannisport.”

Aegon considered the problem. He had called together his vassals to settle a matter vital to the Peace of the Realm.

But hatching dragons and bonding those dragons to their riders was also a matter vital to the Peace of the Realm. Giving the eggs time in the fires was non-negotiable. Three days on the fires before introducing the human element would be ideal because of his family’s inherent affinity for threes.

Or he could introduce the human element on the third day.

“How long can I delay the trip to Casterly Rock without offending my vassals?” he mused to himself.

“As long as you need to.” Dunk snorted “You are the king.”

Aegon shook his head. Dunk was a great and loyal friend but for moments like this, he needed his Betha, his beloved Queen. Her instinct for unspoken social boundaries had never been wrong and it was not as though he could just ask Lord Tywin how many days he could have before he pissed the West off.

“Tomorrow, I will send a letter to Casterly Rock that my party has been delayed,” he plotted out loud. “No details, Lord Tywin should know better than to expect such from the Iron Throne.” Aegon sorted several details in his head. “He should expect such a delay, knowing what he gave me.”

Lord Tywin could have given House Targaryen that particular book for the specific reason of delaying him, but Aegon could not see an advantage the lad could get from such a maneuver. The gifting of the book benefited the boy well and would likely serve House Lannister well for years. The advantages were clear with the gifting. But delaying? Aegon did not think that was a goal.

“How long have my eggs been on the fire?” Aegon asked as he moved away from the food to the younglings.

“Nearly twelve hours, now, Your Grace.”

Aegon nodded. Carefully, carefully, he turned the eggs using hearth tools.

Half a day on fire completed meant that he needed to keep the eggs hot for the rest of the day, all of day three and all of day four in Lannisport with his family meeting these revived eggs dawn of day five, before they sailed.

“The day after I send my letter, I want you and Ser Gerold to investigate our lodgings at Casterly Rock. I expect to need a large, private outdoor space.”

“One you can light fires in?” Dunk guessed.

“Oh, so, many fires,” Aegon prayed to every god he could name and a dozen of the ones he could not.

His family needed a dragon rider.

One dragon rider would be enough to secure the changes the Realm needed to make to thrive.

One dragon rider would ensure House Targaryen remained on the throne despite the Blackfyre Pretenders and any other dragonseed that had abandoned loyalty in the name of ambition that came along.

“It will be a good training opportunity for the Young Bull,” Dunk decided. “Have you considered expanding the Kingsguard?”

Aegon had. “Seven knights are certainly enough to secure a single figure but to expand that protection to the royal family, as so many kings have, seven is not enough.”

“I would certainly prefer my sworn brothers know what they are getting into before they swear,” Dunk said. “We took on those two Whent boys for squires, what about expanding that? A year unofficially squired to the Kingsguard—either the entire guard or one particular knight—should adequately prepare men for the duty.”

“And women?” Aegon poked. “Dorne certainly has the women warriors to support female knights.”

Dunk grunted. “And the North. But will the Faith accept women joining the service of the Warrior? They were the most adamant against women joining the Citadel and that should be service of the Crone by their reckoning.”

As Aegon ate, they worked through the needs of the day. When that was done, they passed back and forth more long-term issues neither of them had an answer for. Some the best solutions of his reign had come from chewing over issues with Dunk for weeks or moons.

“I shall read more today and join my family for evening meal,” was how he concluded their conversation.

“Very good, Your Grace.” Dunk gave him a nod that he knew to be a more genuine expression of respect that most bows the older man had given. “I shall inform your family of your expectations.”

“Very good,” he echoed, making Dunk smile.

-*-

“Are you responsible for that, too?” a voice asked.

Tywin first looked behind him to verify that Lord Edwyle Stark was the one speaking. When the Warden of the North gestured with his goblet, Tywin followed the motion to where Lady Amanza Tyrell was all-but dragging the Lord Reaper of Pyke, Lord Quellon Greyjoy, onto the dance floor. Lord Greyjoy made a mummery of ignorance and unwillingness but the moment they were on the dance floor together, Greyjoy straightened up and took the beginning position confidently, to Lady Amanza’s radiant delight.

Tywin had sent the Rock’s dancing master to Lord Quellon’s personal chamber, but he would never admit such a thing.

“I may have pointed out that full bellies are more receptive to change than empty ones,” was all that he would admit. “Have you approached Lady Alys Arryn yet?”

Lord Stark hummed. “It is difficult. Her mother is a Targaryen Princess.”

“Yes,” Tywin nodded.

He had forgotten there had ever been so many Targaryens. In his previous life, there had been a mere three for longer than he liked to think about it. The Tragedy at Summerhall had to have killed upward of thirty members of the royal family in one fell swoop.

He had not thought about removing the House of the Dragon from the game of thrones, in that other life. Not until Aerys the Mad had brutalized his wife. In retrospect, it was clear that someone had. Based on his gods’ given knowledge and the daily reports he was receiving from the Citadel, it had to be the maesters behind the Summerhall disaster, though he supposed it could have been the combined efforts of a number of causes and interested party.

“Did you find the courting gesture you needed?” Tywin asked.

“Within an hour of me discovering which book I needed to gain Lady Alys’s attention, a copy of it appeared.” Lord Edwyle raised a sardonic eyebrow at him. “Like magic, it was in my rooms on a side table as if it had always been there. Covered, as all books in the Winterfell Library are covered, with a direwolf running through snow.”

“A gift from the old gods,” he said with a blank face.

Lord Edwyle shot him a look of frank disbelief. “Certainly.”

Tywin cast around the hall and found Lady Alys sat with all the grace of her station in one of the comfortable chairs his servants had hauled in when it was clear the hall would be used for recreation. The book in her hands had a light-colored cover though he could not make out more details than that.

Based on Lord Stark’s comments, Lady Ellyn had done her work well. Even if they had been forced to sacrifice a book from his own libraries to manage it.

The Faceless Guardsman approached then and bowed before offering Tywin a scroll. The message was innocent enough—a maester had been vetted and dispatched to replace his current corrupt one—but the note itself was a good excuse for him to escape the full-on ball currently taking shape in his hall.

“If you will excuse me,” he said to Lord Edwyle.

The Stark nodded and moved on.

Tywin stood. The hall quieted nearly as quickly as it had when he was fully grown. Surprising, as he was barely any taller standing than he was sitting at this point.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he addressed them all, “I have received notice from our King, Aegon V of House Targaryen, that his party has been delayed in Lannisport.” And he had received such notice. By raven, before luncheon, but the gathered throng did not need to know such things. “As we no longer have to rise early to greet our King on the morrow, I bid you all to enjoy yourselves. Eat, drink, dance. Good night to you all.” And he left the Hall.

Knights fell in about him. Particularly, Ser Rogar Banefort, Casterly Rock’s master at arms, took one side and his father’s castellan, Ser Anron Farman, took the other, both paced themselves a half-step back from him.

On his way out of the Hall, Tywin stopped at a young knight, mayhaps six-and-ten. He was uncomfortable, clearly—fully armored though his scabbard was empty because of his rules for the Hall. The young knight was wearing the House Selmy coat-of-arms. There was only one person he could possibly be though Tywin hardly recognized him so young. Mayhaps it was the lack of beard.

“You are Ser Barristan the Bold, are you not?” he asked the older boy.

“A mite early on the ‘Ser’, my lord,” Barristan said, politely enough. “But I am Barristan the Bold.”

“Named such by Ser Duncan the Small,” Tywin pointed out.

Barristan stood taller in his pride. “He was a prince, then, but yes, my lord.”

“You have the look of a man in search of a body to guard.”

“I would be honored to have such a duty,” Barristan confirmed. “Once I am knighted and free to do so.”

Tywin nodded. “And your knight-mentor is?”

“Ser Grunar of House Tarly, my lord.” Barristan nodded to a knight sat a table away wearing green and red.

“Another Marcher Lord but on the Reach side of the Dornish Marches.”

“Aye, milord.”

“I would meet with you and Ser Grunar tomorrow,” Tywin decided. “You will meet me in my solar for second meal.”

“Aye, my lord, I will pass your invitation to Ser Grunar.” Barristan Selmy bowed.

Tywin nodded and left.

House Selmy was not a large House to be courted for favor, but Barristan had proven himself loyal to a fault in Tywin’s other life as well as a knight with few peers. Owning the steadfast loyalty of such a man would only be a benefit to his House and his plans.

House Tarly, however, was a large House to be courted for favor though most ignored them in favor of House Hightower or House Tyrell. House Hightower and House Tarly had the largest armies available in the Reach. In the event Tywin and his allies had to remove House Hightower from power by force, having House Tarly on their side was what would make it possible. House Tarly also had a better training for using their army than either House Hightower or House Tyrell, both of which had been merchants or stewards for so long they have forgotten how to be proper lords.

“Stop! Please!” A distressed female voice pulled Tywin out of his ruminations. “Just leave me alone!”

He looked up to see Lynora Hill, his Uncle Jason’s natural daughter, backed into a corner, holding a broom between her one of the Lion Guard.

“What is going on here?” he roared.

The Lion Guard whipped around, revealing himself to be Dirron Netley, a fisherman’s son from Lannisport. “My lord!” the guardsman straightened into attention with a quick salute tapped against his breastplate.

“Were you harassing my cousin?” he asked Netley.

“My lord?” Netley paled.

“Do you know whom you were trying to corner?”

“A bastard, my lord,” he answered.

“Her name is Lynora,” he ground out. “She is my cousin and only nine.”

“The septon said, my lord,” the boy tried, “bastards are only good for one thing.”

“Funny,” he said in a tone that made it clear he did not find the issue funny at all. “That the book the septon preaches says nothing about bastards or about the gods condemning them. It also does not mention the Father and the Mother being wed, making their children natural born as well.”

He waited for the guardsman to respond. He did not.

“The septon’s book, however, does point out that every child is sacred, born by the Will of the Father and the Mother, not the will of men. As my cousin is nine, she is certainly still a child. By following the words of the septon, you have violated the will of the gods. You have also irritated me beyond words.”

“Apologies, my lord,” the boy stuttered. “How can I pay the debt between us?”

That, at least, was the right thing to say.

“Remove his Red Cloak,” Tywin ordered Ser Rogar, his master at arms.

Netley took several deep breaths but maintained his composure while the cloak was stripped from him.

“You will serve the Night Watch on the Northern face of Casterly Rock for thirteen days,” he informed Netley. “After that you may re-join the current training groups and work toward regaining your place on the Lion Guard.” It would take the lad years, if he ever managed to regain the cloak of the Lion Guard. The trainers were harder on second-time trainees, and third-time trainees never survived for long, but Tywin thought that was fair for what he was attempting to do a Lannister by blood, if not name. “And if you ever press any part of your body against someone when it is unwelcome, I will personally remove that body part—no matter what that part is. Am I clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” Netley warbled.

“Get out of my sight.”

Netley fled.

“Cousin?” he held out a hand to Lynora.

“My lord,” she took his hand and curtseyed as well as any of her trueborn sisters. “I apologize for the inconvenience, my lord.”

“We are family, you and I,” he said dismissively. “Are you often accosted like that?”

“Not when my father is in the keep.”

“Mayhaps you should retire to your family’s quarters,” he told his cousin. Unlike many baseborns, Lynora was welcome with her father and trueborn brother because Uncle Jason loved both of his children freely and without reserve. Tywin had no idea how a new wife would deal with it. Joanna’s mother had loved Lynora Hill and Damon Lannister equally, but Uncle Jason’s courtship of Lady Marla Prester had been interrupted by House Frey’s attempted usurpation.

Tywin fought to remain stoic as he realized his Joanna would likely never be born. It was too likely that Jason would find himself betrothed by the king and married to another as the only Lannister of marriageable age.

“As you will, my lord,” Lynora Hill curtseyed again and left.

Tywin would have to talk to Uncle Jason about a bodyguard for Cousin Lynora. “I wish to speak with the septon first thing on the morrow,” he told Ser Anron, the castellan.

“Of course, my lord.” Ser Anron produced a small book and made a note.

Finally, finally, Tywin reached his solar and locked everyone attempting to attend him outside of it. He missed the days where he could refer them all to Kevan. Kevan would keep the entire household occupied and away from him for days at a time when he needed it, without Tywin ever having to ask.

Tywin took a deep breath and walked to his desk.

There was a very clear interloper laying on his blotter. It was a book, bound in Valyrian Steel, with a single-headed Targaryen dragon picked out in rubies on the cover. It took him a moment to decipher the glyphs on the cover but he had learned to read and write three dialects of Valyrian out of self-defense while he had been Aerys’s Hand.

In the most ancient tongue of Valyria, the book was titled Fire and Blood.

Tywin could barely breathe. The single most coveted book in all of Westeros—in all of the world! —was laying on his private desk like it belonged there.

It had to be a trap.

He moved back to the door and opened it to find several guards on watch in the hall. He picked two non-knights to ensure they could not read and waved them into his space. Once the door was again locked, he pointed at the book. “Investigate that.”

The younger of the two immediately took off his gloves and ran his bare fingers over the book. The older did the same, picking up the book outright and turning it over. They took turns sitting in his chair and touching all of the desk they could reach. Nothing happened.

This was his payment from the Faceless Men, he reluctantly concluded. Nothing more than that.

“Check under the chair,” he instructed.

The chair was manhandled thoroughly, all of his desk drawers were opened and riffled through, and they even lifted the carpet under his desk to stomp on the stone floor beneath it.

Again, nothing.

Tywin waved them out of his solar without warning them not to speak of it. He did not have to, all of his men knew better than to gossip about him, and reminding them to keep quiet would only send them looking for the reason behind it which he could ill afford.

Tywin took the book from his desk to a couch overlooking the ocean.

He would read the book, learn all the secrets House Targaryen did not want others to have, and then make a copy to gift to House Targaryen. He could not say how he would present it to the king, yet, but he would figure it out and he would keep the original safer than it had ever been in the care of others.

While he certainly would not tell them, the House of Black and White had settled any debt that might stand between them with this single book.

But then, they were the Faceless Men.

The chances they needed to be told the debt was settled between them was zero.

-*-

“My Lord?”

Tywin looked up from his porridge to find Lord Swann, Lord Royce, and Lord Crakehall standing across the High Table from him. It took him a moment to figure out what these three greater vassal lords had in common. Clearly, he spent too much time reading and not enough time sleeping since he had not anticipated the fathers of Lord Frey’s wives to have something to tell him. “My lords?”

“We would speak to you privately, if we could,” Lord Sumner Crakehall asked more than said. The boy was barely older than he was physically, but he was intelligent and devoted to his family.

“Very well,” Tywin stood and lead them over to a small room just outside the Hall. “This is about your Frey family, I assume.”

“It is,” Sumner Crakehall confirmed. “My father is infirm, as you know, and I have taken to overseeing House Crakehall and guarding our family. I came upon my sister’s marriage contract.” The man held out a scroll.

Tywin waved him off. “I have read it.”

“I figured you had as all such contracts have to be approved by House Lannister in the West.”

Tywin nodded. His father had mostly just kept copies of said contracts, but typically the Lord Paramount did have to approve their vassal’s marriages—particularly those to Houses outside of their Kingdom. Another mark against House Tully. Either they were too stupid to take such a step and establish appropriate boundaries for their vassals or they were supporting House Frey’s warmongering.

“As long as the blood of your blood lives with House Frey, you are bound to lend them arms should they call upon you for any reason,” Tywin pointed out the clause that had bothered him the most. “I assume the same is true for the two of you as well?” he asked Lords Swann and Royce.

Royce grunted his agreement.

“Mostly,” Lord Swann agreed. “My health has never been robust and my father is long past. My grandfather gave both of my younger sisters to House Frey—to Lord Walder and Heir Stevron, specifically—in exchange for sons. My sisters have both died, but their three sons remain with House Frey when rightfully, those three boys should be members of House Swann, not House Frey.”

“Do you have House Swann’s copies of these marriage contracts?”

Lord Swann produced the contracts immediately.

The gathered lords waited patiently as Tywin read both contracts. Spelled out, clear as day, any sons of either Swann daughter—Corenna and Cyrenna—that was not a member of the line of succession for House Frey would be given to House Swann.

“You realize Lady Corenna’s son Ryman is the firstborn son of the firstborn son? That makes him part of the line of succession.”

“Not necessarily.” Lord Swann shook his head. “Ser Stevron, the heir, died without ever ruling the Twins. There is legal precedent, set by House Targaryen, the prevents any child in that situation from automatically inheriting their father’s place.”

“That precedent was set with a woman, the Queen that Never Was,” Tywin disagreed.  “Ryman Frey is male.”

“Have you seen the conditions the Frey younglings are being kept in?” Lord Royce asked. “Seven children under five all being cared for by my niece, Perriane Frey. Not even a proper nurse, a single girl of three-and-ten.”

“She sought you out for assistance,” Tywin frowned. All of the Freys were supposed to be confined.

“She sent me a note through a servant,” Lord Royce corrected.

Tywin nodded, considering that. “You would take Lady Perriane into House Royce?”

“I would. Unlike her brothers, she has shown to have her mother’s care and consideration of others.” Lord Royce waved a hand dismissively. “The boys have too much of their father in them. They will share his fate or we will have another Frey Problem in a handful of years.”

“Do you have your sister’s marriage contract? Does it have the same defense of blood clause?”

“It does,” Lord Royce confirmed, handing over a scroll.

“Very well,” Tywin stood. “We will deal with this immediately. Lives are at stake.”

“Very young lives,” Lord Swann said fretfully.

They moved through Casterly Rock without speaking and, with the use of a wench cage, reached the level House Frey was confined to easily.

“My lord,” the guard on the wench cage saluted him as they exited the cage.

“The nursery?” he asked the guard.

“This way, my lord.”

They could hear the screaming from outside the closed door, well before they reached it. Inside, a girl that could only be a Frey, as well as Genna and her bodyguard were working to calm the children. Feeding, bathing, and changing them as necessary.

“Tywin,” Genna said with clear relief. “Thank the gods. Have you come to fix this?”

“I will do my best,” he promised his sister. “Lady Perriane?” he addressed the Frey girl.

She wobbled into the best curtsey should could manage with her arms full of squalling infant. “My lord?”

“Which children had mothers from House Swann?”

“Luceon, here,” she indicated the baby she was bouncing. “Ryman is the oldest, playing over there with the blocks. Jared is crying in his basin.”

Tywin went back to the hall and waved several guards in. “You two,” he ordered two of the elder guards who surely had children of their own, “will help Lord Swann take his nephews back to his House’s rooms. Luceon, Ryman, and Jared,” he indicated the three children.

One guard took Luceon from Lady Perriane while the other retrieved the crying Jared, leaving Ryman to hold his uncle’s hand and toddle along. He made a note to himself to promote that pair of guards for their good judgement and independent thinking.

Lady Perriane watched them with wide, thoughtful eyes.

“Hosteen and Lythene are Lady Amarei’s children,” she pointed out and Lord Crakehall went right for them. He took up the younger, the girl, Lythene, and one of the Lion Guard took up young Hosteen.

“You realize I cannot release their mother to you until the King has had his say,” Tywin told his bannerman. “She is Lord Frey’s wife.”

“House Frey may keep her for she has shown no care at all for her own children,” Lord Crakehall frowned and left.

Tywin wondered if Lady Amarei would be able to manage the work necessary, if she thought to return to the House of her birth after her husband was dealt with.

“Ser Stevron’s wife, Lady Jeyne was left at the Twins,” Lady Perriane told them, “But her children are beyond nursing so they were brought, Aegon and Maegelle.”

Tywin could not imagine taking infants so small from their mother, regardless of whether they were nursing or not. “I will put them in the Lannister Nursery with my brother Tygette and speak with Lord Lydden on the matter.” That his own bannerman had paid no mind to the children’s plight was strange to him. They were the man’s only grandchildren. Surely, he had some interest in them? Though current events did not support that assumption.

“And you will be coming with me, niece,” Lord Royce said. “I will speak to the King, if you will it, you will leave the name Frey behind and stand as mine own daughter.”

“Oh, uncle!” Lady Perriane threw herself at her uncle and into a hug.

Tywin turned away even as his personal guards took up Aegon and Maegelle Frey.

His list of meetings for the day had grown. The Septon of the Rock still had not answered his summons to meet, something the septon would have to answer for. He would have to meet again with Lady Ellyn to ensure knowledge of the Frey’s distain for and neglect of their own bloodkin was well known, even if it would ruin Lady Amarei Crakehall. The new maesters he requested from the Citadel should arrive soon. And he needed to find out what in the name of the frozen hells was going on with House Lydden and why their Lord did not care for his own grandchildren.

“Ser Rogar?” he said as he turned onto the level House Lannister was currently using for themselves since the king and his company would soon be claiming their family levels.

“My lord?” the man asked even as he settled little Maegelle more comfortably against his armored chest.

“Those first two guardsmen.”

“The ones that took Lord Swann’s kin?”

“Those exact two,” he nodded, “see them promoted. Or added to my personal guard.”

“Could do both,” Ser Rogar offered.

“Do it,” he ordered.

They entered House Lannister’s temporary nursery to find three nurses—two unoccupied, and one carefully feeding his little brother. The unoccupied nurses popped to their feet and immediately moved to take the Frey-Lydden children.

It was a relief not to have to tell people to do their clear duty.

“These are Aegon and Maegelle,” he told them

“Of course, my lord. We will care for them right proper, we will,” one of the nurses promised.

“See that you do,” he agreed and left for his solar. He needed a break from people.

And to figure out how to punish a wayward septon without bringing the wrath of the Faith down upon himself.

He had nearly forty minutes to himself before a knock at the door ruined his solitude.

“Enter,” he called and the guard at the door showed two men into his solar. Two maesters.

“Good morning, young Lord Tywin,” the older of the two men greeted him almost pointedly. The maester addressed him as Lord Tywin because he was the heir. He would not be Lord Lannister until his father died, abdicated—something he was physically incapable of—or was removed from Lordship by order of the King. “I am Maester Keeran. I am two Master-level builds away from being recognized as an Archmaester of Keepcraft by the Conclave. Your letter led me to believe you have one of those two projects waiting for me.”

“I do,” Tywin confirmed.

“Very good.” Maester Keeran sat down without invitation, as pompous as he was pleased.

“I am Maester Luwin,” the younger maester said and Tywin struggled to maintain his equanimity. Maester Luwin, in his other life, had served at both Riverrun and Winterfell. His reputation had been beyond reproach and his loyalty unassailable. This man would be a boon for House Lannister. “I understand your lady mother needs assistance?”

“Yes, the Lady Lannister is nearing eight moons heavy with child,” he confirmed. “Maester Curtass is fully occupied with my father’s health, as he should be, but the rest of my household and particularly my mother need care.”

“The stress she is under must be enormous,” Maester Luwin offered.

“My parents were an arranged marriage rather than a love match which gives me hope my mother will survive my father’s ultimate fate. I would prefer her to do so with the daughter she believes she carries.”

Maester Luwin nodded his understanding and acceptance without any sort of flowery court nonsense. Tywin could come to like the man.

“I would also prefer to allow Maester Curtass to retire when my father no longer needs him. The stress of my father’s situation is taking an even greater toll on him since I have ordered my mother to bedrest.”

“I would be pleased to serve House Lannister and Casterly Rock,” Maester Luwin said.

“While I need to return to the Citadel as soon as my build is complete,” interjected the almost-Archmaester, clearly trying to control the situation.

“Very good.” Tywin stood. “Maester Keeran, I will take you down to the levels I have chosen for the build so that we may discuss it.

“Maester Luwin, I will have a guard take you directly to my mother. As I mentioned, she is on bed rest until you say otherwise.”

“Of course,” Maester Keeran said.

Maester Luwin just nodded.

Tywin could tell already which maester he was going to get along with long term. Thankfully, he was the maester that would be staying.

Part Two || Return to Story Page.