Chapter 4

The present, November: Lannisport – Sansa

Sansa smiled at Pod. They were at the club, as promised, and the music was loud, and the drinks were flowing. Sansa hadn't missed how Pod's eyes had widened when he'd seen her in the shimmery, sparkling gold dress she was wearing. It was short, hugged her body in all the right places, and with her long red hair, it was Marg and Bronn approved.

She also hadn't missed the looks she'd received when the four of them had walked in from other men in the club.

It was nice, she thought. Nice to be noticed, nice to see the appreciative looks, nice to feel young and carefree.

Sansa accepted the first drink from Marg, sipped at the fruity concoction and tried to concentrate on what the cute man in front of her was saying.

Pod was nursing a beer, a little smile on his face, and his hands moving. He was studying Ser Brienne of Tarth, the noble-born woman that had become a knight after fulfilling her vows.

She had never been a favourite of Sansa's, but Pod was enamoured with her.

"Can you imagine seeing her in action? So few were even close to her size."

A relatively tall woman herself, especially when she was wearing killer heels like tonight, Sansa wondered at Pod's fascination with the woman. As it was, they were eye level with one another, and it wasn't exactly the most attractive thing to Sansa.

She liked tall men. She liked alpha men.

But she sipped her drink, nodding and trying. Because this was what she promised herself, even as another occupied her thoughts.

How was it that she felt this much for the man in her dream?

The more she thought about said dream, as she danced, and twirled, laughed with Marg and flirted with Pod, the more it felt real.

With Tywin, not Pod.

No matter how hard she tried, there was just no spark. And even he knew it. He was so sweet and kind and good.

They were slow dancing, arms around one another, but anyone that observed them could see it was as friends and nothing more.

"Just not there, is it?" he said, a little self-deprecating smile on his face.

"I'm sorry," Sansa started to say.

He laughed. "Sansa don't. You don't owe me anything. I like being your friend. It's enough."

She nodded, touched by how kind he was.

"I am curious, though."

"About what?"

"What type of man do you like?"

Sansa shook her head, swaying to the music and thinking about that. It was a good question; a legitimate one. And she had no answer.

"I don't know. I know what I do want."

"What's that?"

"A great love. Something beyond the ordinary."

"I think we all want that."

Sansa gave a rueful laugh. "Fair enough. I grew up with a father that loved my mother and then lost her. He's never really recovered from that."

"Wonder who that reminds me of."

Pod winked at her, and Sansa thought he was adorable. He was going to make some woman very happy one day.

Sansa rolled her eyes at him. She really had not fooled anyone with how much she adored the love story of Tywin and Joanna Lannister. She knew the man was a monster; he had done horrible things. She made no excuses for that, but she also thought there was more than just a monster to the man.

"Ok, smartypants, what do you want?" They were back at their table, another round of drinks. Sansa had a nice, pleasant buzz going, and she felt good. Marg and Bronn were making out but stopped when Sansa asked her question.

Pod blushed a bit, but forged on, shrugging a bit.

"I dunno know—a wife. Maybe a house in the suburbs. Teaching position and a couple of kids. I could coach soccer on Saturdays."

"That sounds good," Bronn said, surprising Sansa. She never thought she'd see Marg's oversexed, foul-mouthed boyfriend admit he wanted something like that. Something so … normal.

"Really?" Sansa said, looking at him, a bit skeptical.

His face twisted into what she supposed was a grin as he drank his beer. Somehow, he made it seem overtly sexual the way he wrapped his lips around the neck of the bottle.

"Well, maybe not coaching soccer. Or the house in the burbs. But a wife. Someone that's yours, you know. And a place to call your own. Man's gotta have his castle, and a castle has to have a queen."

Marg, if possible, wrapped herself even tighter around him, cooing at him. Sansa loved them all, drinking some more.

"Come on, San, you have to admit you want kids. I mean, you're that girl." Marg wiggled her eyebrows.

"Well, yeah. Of course, I do. But I also don't want to settle. I mean, I just want what my parents had," she said softly, and no one argued with her.

"Shots! We need shots!" Marg cried, breaking the awkward silence.

They had just done their second one when a voice that Sansa never wanted to hear spoke.

"So here's where the losers hang out."

Rolling her eyes, Sansa turned to see Joff standing there, a smirk on his face. There was something about his demeanour that set her on edge; he was slimy, she decided. It was as if he felt he was better than everyone, and there was cruelty to him. He was the same age as Marg, but nothing like her friend even though they both came from prominent families in the south and moved in the same rarified circles.

Marg snorted. She was sitting on Bronn's lap, full of confidence and owning her sex appeal. Bronn was gazing at her adoringly.

"Yeah, we're the losers."

She eyed Joff and his outfit - a too-tight black top and leather pants.

Leather pants.

Gods, what on earth was he thinking?

He was too skinny and too wimpy to pull that look off. That set him off and an ugly sneer marred his face.

"Well, look at you. She's a freak with her brain, and he's a fucking loser that can't get a chick. And you're dating some old loser. Gods, you're all pathetic."

Joff turned and stalked away, two of his hulking friends that looked like throwbacks to the Neolithic era, trailing after him. Their little group pushed him from their minds the moment he left. He just wasn't worth their time.

"Come on! Let's dance!" Marg said again, pulling them all onto the crowded dance floor where they danced in a group.

As Sansa shimmied and shook with Pod, Marg and Bronn, she couldn't help but feel that someone was watching her. Not in a creepy, stalker way. But someone that appreciated her, someone who was attracted to her, but who was also protective of her. It was a feeling she'd been searching for and never found. Until now.

Drunk and throwing caution to the wind, having no idea where this feeling was coming from, Sansa threw her hands above her head and shook her body, gyrating against Marg, showing off the moves she knew she had. The two of them were a sight, and Bronn and Pod, wise men they were, just stood back and appreciated the excellent view.

"It's a lie, right?" Bronn said to Pod.

"What's a lie?"

"That you don't get any." Bronn gave Pod a look. "I've heard rumours about you, Podrick Payne."

Pod mimed zipping his lips and then smacked Bronn on the back. He winked.

"I do alright."

Pod wiggled his tongue as Bronn howled.

"You dirty fucking dog!"

The two men were focused on one another, missing when Joff snuck in close to the two women.

Sansa was shaking her hips, laughing as Marg jiggled her boobs.

"Having fun, Sansa?"

"The best time, Marg."

Sansa was grinning at her friend when she felt someone cup her ass.

What the hell? She thought, twisting. Only, she couldn't, because Joff was there, pressed up against her.

OMG, what was that?

Something hard was pressing into her. It was his penis! Ewwww!

She just about gagged when she felt him grind himself into her. She glanced at Marg, who was miming throwing up.

Suddenly, Sansa felt a surge of anger and protectiveness, that was oddly directed towards Joff, and her ring glowed warm on her pointer finger.

She twisted and shoved Joff.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

He held up his hands and eyed her up, licking his lips. That smarmy smirk was on full display.

"Come on, baby. Anyone who shakes their ass like you were has one thing on their mind."

"Gross. Gods, why are you such a freaking creep," she yelled, pushing him in the chest.

He barely moved, while his two friends all of a sudden flanked him. She was shaking in rage, wondering what she could say or do to make him stop with this weird obsession with her.

The smirk on his smarmy face vanished and in its place was something almost evil.

"Careful, Sansa. I'm well connected. I could have you out of the program in a fucking minute!" Joff snapped his fingers.

For one brief moment, fear surged through her, and she wondered if he was telling the truth. Before Sansa could say anything, Marg was there.

"Oh gods, you're such a dick. Don't even try it. My grandmother is way more connected than your drunken waste for a mother, Joff," Marg snarled at him, wrapping an arm around Sansa.

"Besides, you're two weeks away from being kicked out of the program."

"Gods, you're such a slut," Joff snarled at Marg. He looked at Sansa. "And you're just a cock tease. Bet you're a fucking virgin. Your legs are so tightly closed that no man ever gets a chance to fuck you."

Shock, pure and bright, had Sansa standing there. Then she swore she heard a growl and almost a physical manifestation of rage, potent and hot, sweep by her. Joff stepped back, glancing around.

"Fuck this. None of this is worth it."

He spun and turned and disappeared into the crowd, just as Pod and Bronn joined the women.

"What did that fucker want?" Bronn snarled.

"Nothing, baby. But I think we're done."

Sansa still didn't know what had happened. She let Pod guide her to the coat check, and then out to the waiting uber. When they got to her building, she thanked her friends for the night, but she was lost in her head.

What had that been, tonight? It was the same feeling from her dream last night. There was this sense of connection, and the anger she'd felt on her behalf had been massive. If whoever was the owner of such feelings had been standing beside her in the club tonight, Sansa was more than sure Joffrey would have been a puddle of hurt on the ground.

"What is this?" she murmured out loud as she stripped off the dress, the shoes, her makeup. She wound her hair up and then stepped into the shower, wondering if she was losing her mind. Her eyes caught the lion sigil ring, and it almost glowed as it warmed on her finger.

When she was in bed, she took out the book her father had given her, turning to the worn page.

"If felt like you," she said, tracing her fingers over the stern visage of Tywin Lannister. "I could imagine that was how you would have reacted, should you have ever overheard something like that."

Sansa yawned, the day, the night, the drinks and the drama catching up to her. Sleepily, she closed the book and snuggled down into her covers. Maybe things weren't going to work out romantically with her and Pod, but Sansa knew she'd made some real friends in Lannisport.

And for now, that was enough. When the time was right, she'd find the man she was supposed to be with - she just had to trust the universe and believe her time would come.

The Past: Casterly Rock – Tywin

Since he'd confronted Cersei in his solar, Tywin Lannister, a man that had given very little thought and attention to his children for the past several years, had spent the last few days keenly observing his daughter. How he'd never seen her sense of entitlement, her arrogance, her disdain for those that served their house, including how she treated his brothers and his sister, shocked him.

It was clear that Cersei felt her place was as the mistress of Casterly Rock, a role her mother had last fulfilled. And in some ways, it was her role as his daughter. The problem was her perceived notion of what that entailed.

Joanna had been the consummate Lady Lannister, easily able to navigate her way through the daily trials and tribulations that came with running such a massive castle. His lady wife had worked as hard as Tywin to ensure that his family seat functioned in peak order. People that served them loved and respected Joanna Lannister.

She had been stern when required, but overall kind and fair to their servants.

She had been his helpmate in every way, and when war had taken Tywin from the Rock, he had never worried about leaving his castle in her capable hands.

Cersei was demanding, brittle, short with those meant to serve them.

At one point, Tywin thought she might actually strike a young maid that had tripped and spilled her tea, soiling Cersei's gown. Tywin himself glowered at the woman, but he'd never hit her.

Cersei screamed until the maid scurried from the room, the rage in his daughter's eyes palpable, as she'd muttered at the incompetence of everyone.

It carried on this way for days, with staff, with servants, with their family. And through it all, Tywin observed her, a growing feeling of unease settling into the pit that has formed in his stomach.

Cersei was disdainful to Genna, his sister, and flat-out rude to Kevan's wife, Dorna. Dorna was a lovely woman who was an asset to their house. Kevan and Dorna had been married for close to seventeen years and Dorna had done nothing to earn Cersei's derision.

Tyrion all but hid from her, shrinking away as she glared at him whenever they sat down to eat. Tywin had no love for his third child, but he had his reasons. What reason did Cersei have to treat him in such a way?

The only person she attempted to appease was him, almost saccharine in her smiles that she sent his way, cooing and doting on him in a way she never previously had. If she thought that such behaviour would make him forget all that she had threatened the other day in his solar, she was mistaken.

Tywin had thought of little else besides his troublesome daughter, the woman in his dreams and the rebellion that seemed to be raging around them. There had been no request from the capital for aid, and the messages from Jaime were far and few between; far too few for Tywin's liking.

Worse now, he was being pestered almost daily by Tyrion, who claimed he had something 'vital' to tell Tywin. Merely gazing at his youngest son, who was not his, was enough to enrage Tywin, and he dismissed him for a week straight, bellowing at the boy to leave him be.

With Tyrion, it was always some endless prattle about dragons or giants or some such thing that Tywin had no time for. He barely reacted when Tyrion cowered as he raised his voice to him, noting that his siblings were often there to offer comfort to the boy.

"He ought to toughen up," Tywin snarled, glaring at the boy as he went to leave the dining hall.

His children, all of them, had him in fits and starts these days, and it was not a position Tywin enjoyed.

It was because of that woman in his dreams that he had to pay attention to things he thought were well under control. There were days he raged at her for appearing, for making him question himself and his daughter, and others where he spent long hours being oddly grateful for her appearance in his life. Without her, who knows what he might have allowed to happen.

It was as if some blindfold had been removed, and he could see Cersei clearly now - see her for what she was. And what he saw did not impress Tywin in the least.

She thought herself intelligent, cunning, and coldly logical.

But Tywin was fast coming to see that she was none of those things.

She was a creature ruled by emotion, overwrought and prone to react without thinking things through. She was ungrateful and selfish and vain enough to believe her beauty would sway people to her cause.

She was a problem, Tywin deduced one evening late into the night as he sat and stared at the fire.

Instead of being an asset to their family, Tywin realized he would have to neutralize her, lest she tear their great house apart by the seams. He snorted in disgust at her - her actions colouring his thoughts of her.

"And to think I assumed it would be Tyrion that would destroy House Lannister," he muttered to himself.

The boy was so enamoured with him and Jaime, he'd likely do whatever they asked of him, whereas Cersei would not. And Tywin would not stand for those that might undermine his position, even if they shared his blood.

Speaking of blood, he wiped his hand, noticing that the paper cut he'd given himself weeks ago seemed to reopen at the most inopportune times.

As he lay in his bed that night, he allowed his gaze to drift to the side of the bed where his wife had slept. Unlike some nobles, they had shared a bed, at least whenever he'd been back at the Rock. Usually, the ache for Joanna was so acute, so painful that it stole his breath, but lately, Tywin had found it to be less so. Even now, he realized that things about the woman he loved had faded. Often, he found himself thinking about another as he went through his day, wondering if this woman from the future was a witch to have fascinated him in such a way.

He wished he knew her name. Hell, he wished he knew just how far into the future he was seeing.

There were times he hoped that the visions would stop, that he might never have another one. He'd done his duty, married and produced an heir. If he could wrest Jaime from Aerys' control, his family name would live on through his son.

Other times, he closed his eyes and prayed to gods he barely believed in that he would see the red-haired woman in his dreams.

Regardless, the worst was the lack of control, and even as he slipped into sleep, he felt that dragging, heavy slumber come upon him. He knew he'd see her tonight, though the Great Lion of Casterly Rock didn't know whether to be thrilled or angry that he seemed to be the subject of fickle gods that were playing with him and her.

The first thing Tywin noticed was the thumping of music, a cacophony of sound, and the sheer wantonness of wherever he was. If he had thought that the way people dressed before was crass, tonight his eyes hardly knew where to look.

Immediately he found her, wearing his colours of all things! She was in a short, shimmery gold gown that barely cupped her magnificent ass, red hair loose down her back and a flash of gold on her finger. She was gyrating with some other woman who was hardly as tall as her, her long legs ending in shoes that Tywin could not quite understand.

How did one stand on nothing more than a stiletto? He wondered. He couldn't help but let his eyes trail up her form, those long legs on full display, the shoes she wore somehow making them look even better.

Fuck, he was hard as stone, wondering what she might have on underneath her dress, seeing her swing her body around in such a way that had more than one man in her near vicinity eyeing her up.

And how could he blame them? She was a vision! A goddess he was sure, and a princess! She would, of course, have her pick of any man.

"Having fun, Sansa?" the other woman asked.

Sansa! Her name was Sansa! Something in Tywin cried out in joy that he now knew her name.

"The best time, Marg."

The two women were paying such attention to one another, that they missed when a man, blond-haired and with a cruel and calculating gleam in his eyes invaded Sansa's space. He pressed himself against her, touching her, and the lion in Tywin roared in disproval!

How dare he! Tywin thought.

She was NOT his to touch! He was enraged, fury consuming him. Had he been there, he'd have taken the man's hand for daring to touch her in such a way. Instead, he was helpless to do anything but watch some other man touch the woman that was his.

Because she was, Tywin realized. Somehow, and he didn't know how she was HIS. Sansa belonged to him, and he would kill anyone that hurt her.

He watched as she spun, shoved the man and yelled at him.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

The look on the man's face chilled Tywin's blood. It was cruel and vicious. This was not someone that would take kindly to being told no. Oddly enough, he reminded Tywin of Cersei, and the look he'd seen on his daughter's face when they'd been discussing her marriage options.

"Come on, baby. Anyone who shakes their ass like you were has one thing on their mind."

"Gross. Gods, why are you such a freaking creep," she yelled, pushing him in the chest.

Tywin saw two of the man's friends join him, hulking beasts, slathering as they eyed Sansa in her short gown.

They were not worthy to even look at her, Tywin snarled to himself.

Sansa was shaking, and Ty longed to pull her into his arms, where she would be safe and protected.

"Careful, Sansa. I'm well connected. I could have you out of the program in a fucking minute!" Joff snapped his fingers.

He dared!! Dared to threaten her? Who did he think he was?

Tywin saw genuine fear on Sansa's face, and he snarled at his impotence to do anything.

"Oh gods, you're such a dick. Don't even try it. My grandmother is way more connected than your drunken waste for a mother, Joff," the other woman said. "Besides, you're two weeks away from being kicked out of the program."

"Gods, you're such a slut," the man snapped back. Then he looked at Sansa. "And you're just a cock tease. Bet you're a fucking virgin. Your legs are shut so tight that no man ever gets a chance to fuck you."

Fury, unlike anything Tywin had felt since he'd learned of what Aerys' had done to his wife, swept through Tywin. He saw her shock, her hurt, her truth. Despite how this woman dressed, she was pure. And she was HIS!

Tywin growled and swore that those in his vision felt his rage, as the blond-haired man finally stepped back from her.

"Fuck this. None of this is worth it." He spun and turned and disappeared into the crowd, just as two other men joined the women.

"What did that fucker want?" one asked.

"Nothing, baby. But I think we're done."

Tywin barely glanced at them, his eyes on Sansa. There was another man there, this one protective of her in a way that spoke of friendship. Tywin saw that he guided her from the establishment where they had been when the vision began to fade.

Frustrated, he roared out his anger, wondering why he was being punished in such a manner.

When he woke, Tywin smashed his fist into his pillow, snarling at how impossible the entire situation was. He was being taunted with that which he could not have.

For ten long years, he'd mourned his wife, wearing his grief like a cloak to prevent him from feeling anything.

He'd pushed away his children, snapped on his sibling and had vowed never to take another as his wife. He would die with the world knowing he'd loved but one woman, a woman that had been stolen from him far too soon.

Now though, there was someone else. And he could not have her. He couldn't even protect her. It was a long and restless night for the lion of Casterly Rock, as he thought of Sansa and his inability to get to her.

A week after his latest vision, Tywin finally told Tyrion he would meet with him later that afternoon in his solar. He said it quietly to his son, seeing his eyes light. Tyrion gave him a small nod.

"Thank you, father."

Tywin said nothing, turning on his heel to leave.

As he strode from the dining hall, he missed the look on his daughter's face, still occupied with thoughts of the rebellion, Jaime, Sansa, and how everything seemed to be unravelling around him.

He sat at his desk and re-read the scroll that had arrived from Silverhill. House Serrett, whose seat it was, was one of the principal houses sworn to Casterly Rock, and Lord Serrett one of Tywin's most loyal bannermen.

He wrote of the Battle of Ashford, in the Reach.

My Lord Tywin,

It seems the conflict is escalating between the rebels forces and those loyal to the King. Lord Tarly, a fierce military commander and faithful man to House Tyrell, met Lord Robert Baratheon at Ashford in the Reach. The van of the Tyrell army, under the direction of Lord Tarly, ran into Robert's forces, overwhelming them and forcing Robert to withdraw from the battle before all was lost for the Stag Lord.

Word has come that Robert has left his younger brother Stannis, in charge of Storm's End, while Robert marches his forces North, to join with his allies, Lord Stark and Lord Arryn.

The Tyrell army, high on their victory, march towards Storm's End.

We remain, as always, vigilant in our defence of the Westerlands.

Your humble servant,

Lord Serrett.

Tywin leaned over his map.

Had Robert truly abandoned Storm's End, leaving it in the hands of Stannis Baratheon? And where might he go, should the scroll be true and that he'd turned North?

Into the Riverlands made the most sense, and towards Stoney Sept.

Had Tywin declared for the rebels, they might have gone to Deep Den or Silverhill, but he had not. And he was not prepared to do so. Not yet.

Still, it was worrisome, knowing that Robert emerged victoriously in the end. It forced Tywin to think about how he wanted to play this out.

Tywin knew that a marriage alliance had been struck between Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully. Ned Stark was friends with Robert but an entirely different type of man. The marriage between Ned and Catelyn gave the rebels four of the Seven Kingdoms. The Reach, Dorne and the Crownlands on one side, the Vale, the North, the Riverlands and Stormlands on the other.

And him, sitting idle in the West.

Night fell, and Tywin was summoned to supper, noting that for all his begging, Tyrion had not come to visit him. Nor was the boy at dinner. Tywin had no time for such antics and summarily dismissed him from his mind. If he couldn't bother to show when Tywin appointed him a time to speak with him, then Tywin would not seek him out.

It was the next morning and the frantic knocking on his door that woke the Great Lion. When he ripped it open, his steward stood there, pale and shaking.

"What?"

"It is your son, My Lord."

Tywin's stomach dropped, fear for Jaime almost paralyzing him.

"What has happened to Jaime?" he demanded, shaking the man.

He shook his head. "No, My Lord. Not Jaime. Tyrion."

Tywin frowned. "Tyrion?"

The man stuttered. "Yes, My Lord. Tyrion, the little lion. His body was found this morning, beneath one of the walkways."

"His body?" Tywin knew he sounded like an idiot, but his brain could not understand what he was being told.

The man nodded again. "Yes, My Lord. He appears to have fallen from a great height. He had been dead for some time before someone found him."

Tywin's eyes narrowed. There were very few places where someone of Tyrion's height could simply 'fall' to their death.

"Has he been moved?"

"No, My Lord. You are the first to know."

Dread filled Tywin's stomach as he raced to dress. He hated Tyrion, that much was true. But he had been Joanna's, what his wife had died for, and he was, after all, a Lannister. Trepidation curled in Tywin's stomach, although outwardly, he knew his face gave nothing away.

There was only one other person at Casterly Rock that hated the dwarf as much as he did; his daughter. As the Great Lion hurried after his steward, the once familiar comfort of his home took on a decidedly darker edge.

Was it possible Cersei capable of such an act?

And if so, what in seven hells would Tywin do with her?

His mind raced with possibilities, rejecting them, at war with love, duty and a dead wife that he seemed to fail by the day.

One thing was sure, as the sun broke the horizon, Tywin Lannister would not allow Cersei to destroy House Lannister. He had worked too hard, sacrificed too much to allow her such power. When he finally saw Tyrion's tiny body, he dropped to his knees, his failure almost breaking him.

He glanced up, noting his initial thought was correct. Given the height of the wall, and where Tyrion's body lay, this was no accident.

It wasn't the boy he mourned, nor the loss for himself, but how much he'd failed his beloved wife. Joanna was gone, dead from birthing this abomination Aerys had put in her stomach, and Tywin had been powerless to prevent even more death.

He barely even noticed the weeping of his siblings as they surrounded him; they had always loved Tyrion more than him.

When he rose, fury unlike any he'd felt surged inside him, almost choking him. His green-gold eyes glittered as he looked to his steward.

"Find my daughter; it is long past time she and I talked."

As Tywin stalked away from the scene behind him, he blocked out the wails, the yells, the protests. Cersei had gone too far; overreached, and she would finally know what it meant to cross the Great Lion. Her days at the Rock were numbered, her time as a Lannister even more so.

Tywin Lannister was Lord of Casterly Rock, not Cersei. And if saving his house meant destroying her, then Tywin was fully prepared to do so.