The Lonely Lioness - Cersei Lannister Quest

Harrenhal was a drafty place. And leaky too. Even in the midst of Harvest Season, when the rains were lightest, there was still the constant drip of brackish water somewhere in the dilapidated towers. Though, for all Tyrion knew, there were just some rooms up in the molten towers where the water gathered in Hearth Season and then served as a reservoir to sustain the dripping for the entire year. He had half a mind to clamber up there and check. See where the noises were coming from and then work back from there to solve the issue at the root. It surely did not do the moldy old stones any good if this was kept up.

He suspect he would not have the time to do so though. It had been a fortnight that his father had ignored him after he finally made his way over the mountains and to a friendly banner, but now he had been summoned and, good little heir that he was, he would do as bidden. His mood soured as he kept climbing up the stairs to the room his father had chosen to lair in. Heir. Even though he had been that for so many years, he never felt it. Jaime was heir. Tywin Lannisters golden boy, adored by all. Somehow, he was certain, his father would finagle him out of his oaths and make him inherit Casterly Rock. But no amount of gold could someone back from the strangers realm. The ache of knowing that still would not lessen.

Pushing open the rickety wooden, splintered old oak patched over with whatever had been at hand a at the time, he found the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands as one usually did these days. Hunched over a map, scribbling notes on a wax tablet laying next to him. "You asked for me, father." Tywin only made a vague noise in return, still engrossed in his work, so Tyrion seated himself.

"You are earlier than expected," he finally said in response.

"The ladies of the night were all busy, so I had no one to get tangled in the sheets with," Tyrion japed and got no answer. "Maybe I should send some riders out to gather more? I'm sure a great whore raid will lift spirits!"

The steady scratching of the pen stopped and finally Tyrion had his full attention. "You will have to become more discrete with these things. Talk of potential bastards would not be much of a problem when you have a trueborn heir, but your bannermen thinking you might be having dalliances with their wives and daughters can be dangerous." It was not a reprimand. Not a condescending lecture. For all intends and purposes, it sounded as if his father was giving him good advice.

The thoughts of Jaime had made him sad, now Tyrion was also bewildered. "Not telling me to stop?" He asked almost weakly.

"That has not helped before and time is running short." Tywin turned back to his map, absentmindedly tracing a route between Saltpans and the Bloody Gate on it as he spoke. "I was always hoping your... appetites... would become more moderated as you aged or married. We will have to settle for hiding them better."

"No more alternatives to the Imp, I suppose." He tried to make it sound like a funny joke, though he could not keep his sadness out of his voice.

The pen stopped mid stroke. His father did not look up again, but there was some heat in his voice as he spoke. "You are still my son. A Lannister. Not some creature I picked up in the gutter."

Tyrion made a doubtful sound in response. "Could have fooled me. Remember when you had me muck the gutters of Lannisport?"

"And as a true Lannister should, you excelled at that task." The answer came immediately, before Tywin looked pensively at the map again. "Jaime never had a hand for administration. He would have been a Lord Lannister without peer in an age of war and conquest, but not in a peaceful realm."

It was perhaps the first time that he had heard his father say something like this. Praise him. Criticize Jaime. It almost sounded as if he was glad that it would be Tyrion who would inherit Casterly Rock. "The world must be ending for you to say such things."

"It all but is," he spoke in a resigned tone. "All those years of hard work and maneuvering, and now your sister has thrown it all away. And I can't even say for sure why."

Standing up on the too small chair, Tyrion had his own look at the map. Plenty of Lannister figurines were standing over the Riverlands. "I thought a botched poisoning drove her mad?"

Putting the tablet aside, Tywin got up and went for a cabinet nearby. He returned with two goblets and a bottle of wine from Crakehall that he began to pour them as he talked. "That's just the half-lie I told our bannermen. According to Pycelles last letters before she had his tongue cut out and hung him in a cage from the Red Keep, she had taken to drink Shade of the Evening. I presume that is what caused her bizarre obsession with the Tullys. I presume it was the last favor he has done to me. To a friend of the house."

"To a friend of the house," Tyrion replied as they clinked their cups together. For once his father had not even watered down the wine. "What now? You are a traitor and Cersei is mad. And the Ironborn are tearing up the Westerlands."

"All in due time. We will find a way to depose Cersei without further tarnishing the name Lannister. For now we will deal with the most urgent issues." He drank another sip before pointing back to the map. "I will be moving to the Bloody Gate and shatter what is left of the Stark and Tully host. Word from Riverrun is that the siege will not last much longer. Then the Riverlands are almost fully under our control. The Freys and Boltons can take care of the rest."

Glancing over the map, it was indeed almost over. Raventree Hall was invested too. Wayfarers Rest had yielded just a day ago. That left only Seaguard and Darry as major keeps. "How did you even manage to turn these two?"

"An army without a goal is worth little. One with contradictory goals is even worse." Tywin gestured to the Bloody Gate and the black fish and white direwolf heads standing there. "Robb Stark was set on avenging his fathers honor, even though he had taken the black and the matter was closed. Catelyn Stark still blames us for her sons accident, even though she has no proof. Most lords just wished to return home instead of indulging them. I made some offers and sensible people saw their chance to avoid dying for a pointless cause."

Knowing his father, those offers included a healthy amount of Casterly Rocks gold and some promises on top. He was born a dwarf, not deaf or stupid. Roose Bolton and Black Walder Frey were acting like Lords Paramount already. It was clear what their price had been. Wondering why he had been summoned, Tyrion studied the map further. "Tarly is marching against the Mountain," he noted after a moment. "I presume you want me to keep an eye on him?"

"No, that is Kevans duty. I need an experienced commander to preserve our riders against Tarly." Tywins eyes glanced to the other side of the map.

Tyrion took a deep gulp of his wine, finding it empty far too soon. "You want me to relieve Casterly Rock and Lannisport."

"Only the former. I have given orders to empty the cities larders into Casterly Rock and yield it. It would not have held much longer and this way the castle will readily sustain itself for one season more." He spoke dispassionately about the matter. As if he was explaining his reasoning for the pick of the wine he had served Tyrion.

"They will sack Lannisport," Tyrion pointed out carefully.

"It can be rebuild," the same flat voice answered him. "The real wealth of the Westerlands always was in the mines. As long as there is gold under Casterly Rock, we can rebuild the city. But we can't undo the shame of losing our seat to Balon Greyjoy. A Lord Paramount has to set priorities."

"Of course," he said in an equally flat tone. It was still his father, all other oddities of this reunion aside. The house came first and no price was too high to ensure its prestige was not tarnished. Which was what began to drive him uncomfortable. "Why me?" He asked quietly, almost whispered.

"Because you will be Lord Paramount Tyrion Lannister when I am with the Stranger." There was oddly enough to resignation his fathers voice as he said that. No pride either, but Tyrion was content with what he had. "Raising a new army in the Westerlands to free our home is a good way to get the bannermen used to the idea. And to prove yourself once more."

He studied the map for a while longer, dread, hope and ideas mingling in his mind as he read names of places and houses. Sarsfield, Lefford and Brax. Letters to Marbrand, Lyden and Sarwyck. A plan was slowly forming. "I hope I can raise to the challenge you set me, father."

Tywin answered without the slightest moment of hesitation. "I know you will." And the worst part was that Tyrion was certain that he meant it.

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AN: Lot's of stuff happening all around. Probably will need two more interludes to cover the most important bits.