Ch. 4 War Council

I carefully watched Tyrion enter the solar and pay his respects to Tywin. He appeared guarded but determined.

This is the first time I've seen Tyrion in several months. I've become accustomed to seeing his two-toned hair and mix-matched eyes on a young Peter Dinklage.

Although, if I'm not wrong, I think I'm taller than him now. He really hasn't changed much since last I saw him. Seems he's still trying to act indifferent and aloof.

Before his short-lived marriage to Tysha, Tyrion would often come to find me. He wasn't the witty, smart-mouthed man I saw on t.v., but he was fun to be around. And he was always good for a story that could make you laugh.

That all changed after Tysha. It isn't common knowledge around the Rock, but I've been waiting for it to occur. One day Tyrion was his jolly, slightly bitter self, and the next time I saw him, he was resentful and distant.

He would rarely visit anymore. The only time I really saw him now was when he would visit the library to gather another bundle of books.

I wanted to talk to him, to let him know he wasn't alone. But I hadn't even reached my fifth name-day when he was at his lowest. What could I say to him?

"Greetings, father," Tyrion said respectfully.

I'm a bit surprised at the tone Tyrion used. There wasn't any love in his greeting, but he wasn't as hostile as I remember from the show.

"Tyrion," Tywin simply says.

Tyrion's lips slightly turn down in a frown before he resumes a neutral image. "I have come to discuss my Coming of Age Tour. I..."

"There will be no tour," Tywin interrupts, in a tone I've come to recognize as meaning 'his words are final'.

Tyrion is over-come with shock, and his mouth opens and closes for a moment. "But... but, father, my sixteenth name day is only a moon away. It is..." Tyrion desperately attempted to persuade Tywin.

"I said, there shall be no tour," Tywin commanded. I have witnessed that tone cow full-grown men.

"But why?" Tyrion asks under the blistering stare of his father.

I have to hand it to Tyrion, that takes balls.

"You are needed here, and here you shall stay," Tywin stated as he eased his gaze.

As if he already knows Tywin doesn't have a logical reason to deny him, Tyrion pushes on. "And what, may I ask, father, does Casterly Rock need of me?" Tyrion asked with an edge in his voice.

I really don't think I should be watching this. I like Tyrion, both from the show and the teenager I've come to know! This feels like I'm being forced to bear witness to Tyrion's torment, and I hate it.

Looking down at Tyrion from behind his desk, Tywin leans back into his chair. "I have reports of possible contaminants in the water supply. I am placing you in charge of this."

There's a hint of anger in Tyrion's eyes. "What?" Tyrion quietly asks in disbelief.

"You are to take charge of the drains and cisterns of Casterly Rock. You will have a dozen men at your disposal to assist in the management of our water supply and sewer drainage." Tywin explained. "I am giving you an opportunity here. Use it well."

Tyrion's face twists in indignation. "Giving me an opportunity? It sounds like you are giving me sewage." Tyrion belligerently replies.

Now, that's the kind of answer I expect!

"Enough," Tywin snaps.

Watching Tyrion flinch at his father's tone sends a spike through my belly. I'm just not sure if it's due to seeing Tyrion so thoroughly cowed, or because I can see myself reacting the exact same way.

With a voice filled with authority, Tywin issues his decree. "You will see this done, and I expect weekly updates on your progress. Is that understood?"

Pulling his dignity together, Tyrion raises his chin. "Yes. Father." Tyrion answers in a clipped tone.

Given a wave of dismissal, Tyrion turns and begins to walk out of the solar. For some odd reason, Tyrion glances towards the work station I'm currently sitting at. A hint of surprise flashes through Tyrion's eyes, and I do the only thing I can think of. I give him a small wave of my hand.

Tyrion didn't react to my little greeting as he exits the room.

I did not enjoy watching that.

*********************************

The Twenty-Eighth Day of the Third Moon, of the year 289 A.C.

It finally happened. During the hour of the owl, a raven brought word of an Ironborn attack on Lannisport.

Even with direct orders from Tywin Fucking Lannister, the sun had already risen by the time the impromptu war council was assembled. The first fifteen minutes of the meeting were the most productive.

Casterly Rock was put on high alert, orders where given to mobilize the garrison, and requests for updates sent to Lannisport by raven. Additional orders were sent to all coastal lords and landed-knights, warning of possible raids by the Ironborn.

It was chaotic and loud at first. Twice I had to run orders up to the maester's quarters to send out messages. Luckily it wasn't that far of a run.

But now? Hurry up and wait.

My own time in the Marine Corps taught me a sizable force needs time to mobilize, but that time is even longer in a medieval setting. Preparing thousands of soldiers to march was a far more time-consuming affair than I thought it would be.

The fact Lannisport was thirty-six miles away, sent a sense of helplessness through me. I know the Lannister fleet was burned, but I'm not sure if the Ironborn attempted to raid Lannisport. Not that they could ever take it in a single night. It's the third-largest city in Westeros and well defended.

On top of that, I may have done something stupid or brilliant. The verdict is still out. Either way, there really wasn't anything more to be done from Casterly Rock.

It's possible to do a hard march from Casterly Rock to Lannisport in a full day. But the soldiers would be utterly useless when they arrived. Heavy cavalry could make the trip in under seven hours. Hell, scouts and messengers took a full four hours to make the trip, but even then, the Ironborn would already be gone.

The only thing to do now was hope the garrison stationed at Lannisport is enough, and wait for a messenger to arrive.

Of course, Tywin is not one to waste time. I stood silently as the impromptu war council heatedly debated the next course of action. Occasionally filling a goblet of water for one of the men seated at the large war table.

There wasn't any shouting, but every man present was insistent his course of action be taken. Lord Tywin was the only one that didn't engage in any of the debates. He merely sat there with an unreadable expression, silently listening to his men.

Uncle Gerion, Tywin and father's youngest brother, was speaking when the door suddenly opened to allow three Lannister guards entry. Held by his arms between two of the armored guards, was a sweat-covered man in riding leathers.

"Milord, a messenger from Lannisport," One of the guards stated the obvious.

With a gesture from Lord Tywin, the third guard steps forward and hands over a long cylinder canister.

The room remains still of all movement as Tywin removes the rolled parchment from its container and begins to read. I nervously watch as Tywin's brow lowers with each passing second.

Try as I might, I can't help shifting my weight back and forth. Judging by how many lords and knights are leaning forward, it's safe to say I'm not the only one eager to hear the news.

When Tywin finishes with the message, he hands it off to my father before looking over the men present.

"Our fleet has been reduced to six carracks, three war galleys, and five merchanters. The merchanters were in dry dock." Tywin announced with an edge in his voice.

Outrage and anger spring up from the men present, except for my father. He's staring at the message with a confused look on his face. I can easily tell he can't make sense of what he's reading.

The knot in my stomach gets a bit bigger.

My father still has a confused look on his face when he begins to summarize the message for the group. "Our fleet met at least seventy Ironborn longships near the mouth of the lagoon during the hour of the wolf. At least eight longships were sunk, and another fifteen were heavily damaged. The wreckage prevented the Ironborn from getting into the port and burning the rest of the fleet."

Tywin gave the messenger a hard look. "Did you witness any of the battle?"

The messenger immediately looked to the ground and answered with a tremble in his voice, "Yes, milord. The burning sails, of those pirates, lit the night up."

"Ha!" Uncle Gerion joyfully laughed. "Make those dumb bastards row all the way back to Pyke!"

Tywin dismissed the messenger after a few questions revealed he actually saw very little of what happened. With the messenger and guards gone, the council resumed their debates as the message was passed around. The overall mood in the room was much more positive after receiving word of the battle, except for Lord Tywin. His expression was one of grim thoughtfulness.

A second knock at the door revealed the elderly Maester Volarik, with a raven message held in his frail-looking hands. The maester shuffled up to Lord Tywin and presented the message unceremoniously. "More word from Lord Reginald, my lord," Volarik weakly said.

Tywin took the small parchment and quickly read it. Looking up from the message, Tywin clearly announces, "Euron Greyjoy, has been taken, prisoner."