Chapter 1

Present-day August – The Ruins of Casterly Rock - Sansa

Sansa ran her hands over the ancient stone wall, tuning out the guide that was telling them about the crumbling ruins and what area of the great keep that they were in.

It was a bedroom, Sansa knew. One that most likely belonged to the Lord of Casterly Rock.

"Not paying attention?" came her father's deep voice from behind her. His tone was amused indulgence and she warmed at having him here with her.

Sansa grinned at him and shook her head. In all honesty, she most likely could have given the tour, that was how much she knew about this castle and the family that had once ruled it.

"You know I spent a month studying up for this place since the moment you told me where we were going."

Her father, Ned Stark, a history teacher in the North, tugged on her long ponytail.

"I know, Princess. Seeing you here, so happy, I know I made the right choice."

Sansa laughed and linked her arms with her father. If by 'right choice,' her father meant that he'd found the absolute perfect gift for her graduation this past spring with her bachelor's degree in history, then he was correct.

Sansa had turned twenty-two this year, and while young to already be finished her undergrad work, she'd skipped a grade when she'd been in primary school, putting her on pace to earn her doctorate sooner than most of her peers.

She was an only child to a single parent and, the apple of her father's eye. Their shared love of all things historical meant that as successful as Sansa was in her studies, her father was almost her best friend. And she couldn't care less if that made her weird.

Sansa still recalled her excitement when he'd handed her a slim envelope at the graduation ceremony back in May. She'd gasped when she opened it to see that they were going on a two-week tour of some of the most impressive ruins in Westeros. After their tour, which ended in the West, they would settle Sansa into her new apartment in Lannisport, where she was scheduled to begin her master's degree in the fall.

For some reason, unexplainable to everyone really, since she had been young, Sansa Stark had been captivated by House Lannister from the ancient period in Westerosi history when it was said there were such creatures as dragons, direwolves, giants and greenseers.

Of course, most modern historians dismissed the stories of such creatures from that time as nothing more than a coping mechanism for those much less learned than modern people, to describe invaders from foreign lands.

No one in modern times truly believed in such things – at least not in academia where Sansa excelled. Privately, she had always wondered, knowing there was always a kernel of truth in ancient tales.

Her own family had a rich and storied history, one that has fascinated Sansa since she'd been a child. While others loved Disney stories, Sansa had grown up on tales of Bran the Builder, Queen Sansa and Lord Eddard Stark. She knew Stark history well and had been excited when she was younger to learn of other great and noble houses from this bygone era. She had thought the Starks to be the only ancient great house!

Her father had a large picture book that he'd allowed her to glance through, with descriptions of the ancient noble houses and their principal people. Much to Ned's chagrin, her fascination with House Lannister began in earnest when she had been a girl. Loving father that he was, Ned had even gotten Sansa a little lion stuffed animal that year for Christmas and she'd named him Honour after Jaime Lannister's famous warhorse.

Her fascination with the Lannister's has continued, so much, that now, armed with her first degree and a promising start to her master's, she was finally here, in the Westerlands and exploring the ruins of Casterly Rock before school started in a week.

Ned's soft chuckle brought Sansa out of her musings.

"Yes, you have always been fascinated with these lions, Sansa." He winked at her. "One more than any other."

Ned shook his head, knowing he'd never talk her out of what she felt. They'd had many, many, many discussions over the years about her odd obsession with the last man to truly command the very castle in which they stood.

"He is so fascinating, father. Imagine a man with his power, his gold, his army, and yet, when the opportunity presented itself, he didn't take the throne. Why?"

It was a question that had baffled historians since 283. Almost eighteen hundred years later and no answers as to why he had not. He'd been in the perfect position to seize the Iron Throne when he'd taken King's Landing, his son and heir having killed the mad King, his army in a much better position than Robert Baratheon's.

Sansa was, of course, speaking of the Great Lion himself, Tywin Lannister. She'd been accepted to do her master's work in Lannisport on the premise of studying Tywin and attempting to stitch together a narrative on the man's psychological reasons for not taking the Throne at the conclusion of Robert's Rebellion.

A somewhat new area of study, Sansa was combining history, lore, and psychology to write her thesis on a man that many thought was one of the cruellest and yet most powerful and influential men during those ancient times.

Because of Sansa's obsession with the past, Ned had indulged her in her odd extracurricular activities her entire life. She had taken horseback riding lessons, eventually competing in dressage, along with archery, where she was skilled with a modern compound bow.

She had enrolled in ballroom dancing, becoming so good she could easily slip into any medieval ballroom and blend in seamlessly.

She was also well versed in music, poetry, and calligraphy.

Ned and Sansa often joked about how she would make a perfect wife for a nobleman in ancient times. She'd love that, and most of her Halloween costumes had been some variation of a gown from medieval times.

Many had shaken their heads at Ned, allowing her to pursue such hobbies, but he knew better than most, how fragile and fleeting life was.

Sansa was his second child, and his entire world now. Ned had been married to a woman he'd loved beyond all reason. He'd met Catelyn Tully when they'd been in university and they had married a year later, madly in love with each other at twenty-one years old. They'd waited until graduation after Ned had taken his first job in the North before they'd had their first child, a son they'd named Robb.

Sansa had come a year later and was only three months old when a terrible accident on icy winter roads had taken Ned's wife and two-year-old son from him.

From that moment on, Ned's only pathway out of his grief had been Sansa. She'd been a baby, needing him for everything, and it had bonded them in a way that most parents could only dream of.

Early on, Ned realized just how intelligent Sansa was as she breezed through her studies. By the time she reached high school, where Ned taught history and was vice-principal at the most exclusive private preparatory school in the North, she was a few years younger than her peers.

Ned still remembered the first time she'd tried out for the debate team, a twelve-year-old with braids, tall for her age, against kids two to four years older than her. The older kids had scoffed at her but she'd jutted out her chin and dug her heels in. An hour later, she'd reduced most of them to stuttering fools and had grudgingly earned the respect of her peers. Still, life as a genius with unique hobbies wasn't easy, and friendships were difficult to come by.

There were a few girls, Jeyne Poole and Wyn Manderly that had taken Sansa under their wings and ensured she wasn't too lonely during her high school years, but once out of school, they had drifted apart.

College had hardly been any better, and his daughter had a single-minded determinedness when it came to her studies. When most fathers were worried about their child flunking out of college or getting pregnant, Ned was watching her flourish academically. She'd gotten through her bachelor's degree in only three years.

Now she was on the cusp of something extraordinary, finally in a place to pursue her dreams, and while Ned would miss her, he was also incredibly proud of her.

"Don't linger too long," he said to her, brushing a kiss against her forehead as their guide indicated they were moving on to the next room. He could see that she wasn't quite ready to leave this area yet.

"I won't, Dad."

He shook his head and rushed to catch up with the others, giving her some space and time to explore on her own.

When she was finally alone, Sansa smiled happily to herself, placing her hand back on the ancient stones.

"What secrets could you tell?" she murmured. "Was it true that Tywin loved his wife as much as they claimed? Or was he as cold and harsh with her as he was with everyone else?"

The love story of Tywin and Joanna Lannister had been what had first drawn Sansa in House Lannister. There was a picture of them in her father's book and she'd gazed at it for hours. They had been twenty-one when they married and a true love match which was virtually unheard of.

She knew that Westerosi history was brutal, bloody and harsh. Most marriages during that time had been only for political gain, and women had little choice but to obey their father's commands. But some seemed to defy such odds and find their true match. The Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock had been one such couple. Or so all the books and stories claimed.

As a young woman, Sansa could hardly imagine anything more romantic than a man being so in love with you, that even for decades after you had died, he'd never taken another as a wife. Not only that, but Tywin's marriage to Joanna had also brought him no lands, no gold, no army! The man had also lived like a monk after his wife's death, with no hint at impropriety given.

It reminded Sansa of her parents and their love story and she knew she'd never settle for anything less. She'd often caught her father staring longingly at pictures of her mother, and she knew that Ned, like the ancient Tywin, had one true love.

That was what she wanted. A love so deep and true that it withstood the test of time.

Sansa knew her father thought her uninterested in guys. But that wasn't the case. She was a college graduate after all.

Her parents had been her age when they'd married, and it seemed so young to her. It wasn't that Sansa didn't want a boyfriend; it was just that the guys she'd met in college had seemed so immature. She readily admitted she spent more time in the past than she did in the present, and while others cared about keg parties and screwing as many as they could, Sansa wanted more.

This was why, even with her degree and her proficiency in her decidedly different activities, the fact that she spoke several languages and was beautiful and intelligent, she was, quite sadly, a virgin. Men simply weren't interested in her and she refused to settle!

Pushing aside that sad fact, she followed the stone wall, trying to imagine what it might have looked like at the height of Lannister power. They were the wealthiest house in Westeros, so it would have been decadent, Sansa knew. Heavy, ornate furniture, filled with gold and crimson, their sigil everywhere. Lost in her musings, she almost missed the slight raise in the stone wall. She stopped and frowned.

Her long slim fingers traced the stones as excitement hummed through her blood. The wall was not flush here, and she wondered why.

She knew she should alert the guide; Casterly Rock was a national historic site, one of the crown jewels of ancient keeps in Westeros, along with Winterfell in the North, Storm's End in the east, Highgarden in the Reach, Riverrun in the Riverlands and Sunspear in the south. But she did not and she couldn't say why.

Her fingers scraped along with the ancient stone, dust and disuse, making her cough until a tiny, hidden compartment was revealed. She gasped and flicked on her phone flashlight. The secret hiding spot was hardly big enough to hide anything worthwhile, and deep- so much so that she almost missed it. There, in the back, in the little compartment, was something dull and gold.

She knew she should care that she was breaking a million laws when it came to historical sites, but Sansa knew that she was meant to discover the ring. She pulled it out, its weight heavy in her hand. It was old, that much she knew, and had the stamp of the Lannister lion on it.

It was impossible, but it had to have belonged to Tywin Lannister. He'd been painted more than once with such a ring on his finger, and Sansa giggled as she attempted to slip it on her finger. Even on her largest finger, her middle one, it was huge. She could hardly believe she was in possession, or what she thought was a possession, of the Great Lion himself.

After the war with the dragon queen, and the death of his two eldest children, Tywin's house had faded. His one remaining son, the dwarf, Tyrion, had never married and never produced heirs. There had been Lannister cousins, of course, but the death of Tywin Lannister, at the hands of his youngest son had begun the decline of the once-great house, until they'd faded into obscurity.

Her father's voice calling her jarred her from her musings. Sansa slipped the ring into her pocket, righting the little stone hiding spot and hurried to catch up with her Dad, her mind racing the entire time. They made it through the rest of the castle, amazed by how Casterly Rock had been built into the literal side of a cliff.

That night at dinner, Ned grinned as he sipped his beer and asked her which ancient keep she'd liked best. This was their last stop, as she got possession of her apartment in a few days, and then classes began in a week.

She laughed and winked at her Dad.

"I'll give you Winterfell, for sheer size and creatively," she said. It had been built over hot springs, meant to help ward off the brutal winters that the North had been known for.

That was another major point of disagreement among historians – how those in ancient Westeros had categorized their seasons. Some seasons it seemed, had lasted for almost decades, and houses like hers had mottos dedicated to them. Her father used to tease her that if she didn't eat her vegetables, Winter would come, a fun play on their ancient house words.

"But the Rock, Dad. It was so amazing."

Ned gave her a long-suffering sigh. "I've lost you then, truly, to these lions, haven't I love?"

She beamed at him, shaking her head. Then she reached out and grasped his hand.

"You'll be alright with me here?" Sansa worried about him. Even when she'd done her undergrad degree, she'd stayed North and lived at home. Now, because of her dream, she was moving far away, almost to the other side of Westeros.

He patted her hand, a soft and loving look in his eyes.

"I'll be fine, Sansa. I'm so proud of you. This is such a great opportunity for you."

They both knew her dream was to become a professor, to one day teach, like him, only at university. Ned thought it the highest possible honour that your child wanted to follow in your footsteps. He'd miss his daughter, but he had a nice little nest egg from when his wife had died and planned to come and visit her often, while still keeping in touch by Facetime and text messages.

A few days later, they had Sansa settled into her new apartment in Lannisport, and Ned had one last gift for her before he had to go to the airport and catch his flight home.

He handed her the wrapped book, watching as her eyes widened. It was the picture book of Westeros history that had first started her on this pathway, the pages soft from how often they'd turned them and read through it, again and again.

"Dad!" she cried and threw herself into his arms, loving how strong he was, how sturdy and steady he was in his love for her. He was her hero, her best friend, and no man had ever matched up to him in her entire life. "Are you sure?"

His chest rumbled. "I am Princess. That way, your guilt will eat at you as you read through it," he teased her gently.

She gave him a watery laugh, both their eyes sheened with tears.

Ned knew that children had to find their own way; he was proud of her for doing so, but he'd miss her dearly as he finally closed her apartment door and hailed a taxi to take him to the airport. With one last kiss and hug, he was on his way.

Sansa had curled up on her little sofa, clutching at the book and sobbing. She was where she wanted to be, pursuing her dreams. But she already missed her Dad. She fell asleep, waking hours later, groggy and disorientated. She had a few days before classes started, and was, for the first time in her life, entirely on her own. She glanced down and saw a text from her Dad, who'd boarded his plane home, and then washed her face and made herself some dinner.

She went for a run through the streets of Lannisport, loving how even though September was a few short days away, it was still hot and muggy here. She ran through the university grounds, enjoying the ancient buildings and lush green lawns that sprawled for miles. She saw some other students, clearly studying here, wave to her, and she gave a tentative smile back. She was excited she realized to start fresh here.

Finally, back at her apartment, she texted her Dad, happy he'd made it onto the plane and then settled in with a cup of tea, the old sigil ring that she had kept hidden, and the book her Dad had left her.

There was comfort here, she thought, in having something from home with her in her new apartment in Lannisport. She giggled as she slipped the heavy, golden ring on her finger, then ran her hand down the side of the book, flipping to the page where Tywin Lannister's stern visage stared back at her.

"Ouch," she muttered, giving herself a papercut. She didn't notice the blood that seeped in and around the golden lion, penetrating the ring as she hummed softly to herself. A few years ago, a group of historians in the Westerlands had found the music that went to the song Rains of Castamere, and Sansa often found herself humming it at oddly inappropriate times.

She was lost in reading about the Rock when her phone rang. She grinned as she swiped it open to Facetime her father. He was finally back home and said he missed her and asked about her first half day by herself. While other women her age might find a father's interest cloying, Sansa happily told him about her run and the grounds of the university.

When she hung up, her spirits were high. On impulse, Sansa put the ancient ring on a chain she wore and went through her nightly routine. Somehow, being here in the West, she felt closer to her subject matter than ever before. It was a heady feeling to think that the Great Lion himself had once walked the streets of Lannisport and prowled through the hallways of the Rock.

Giggling, she sleepily wondered if she should get a cat, before finally drifting off to sleep. She'd left her window open, so the warm, humid air of the West, with a tang of salt, was free to float into her room, never noticing when the ring around her neck almost glowed like new gold, before it settled against her breast.

The Past - Casterly Rock

Tywin swore as he read the scroll that came from his son in King's Landing. In retaliation for the kidnapping of their sister and daughter, both Brandon Stark and his father Rickard had protested to the King. A mad King who, Jaime wrote, took offense to their anger and burned them alive.

"Fools," Tywin swore, his fist pounding on his desk. He glowered into the flames that roared in his massive fireplace in his study, lost in what might have been.

Forty-one name days and what did he have beyond his gold, his legendary reputation, and his great keep?

His heir, twenty, had been stolen from him by the mad King, and his daughter, Jaime's twin, was an arrogant and vain woman who refused to even discuss her future. His second son, one not of his blood, one that belonged to Aerys himself after the King had raped his wife, toddled about his keep, mocking him.

The woman he had loved, more than any other, had been stolen from him, raped by a man that he'd considered a friend, and forced to birth that abomination that Aerys had put inside her. Joanna had been thirty, Aerys several years older than them when that crime had been committed. He and Joanna had been married for nine years when Aerys had struck, taking what had been Tywin's.

Tywin knew he should have remarried; Joanna had been dead for years now, and he was young enough to produce more heirs. Yet he could hardly stand the sight of another woman, let alone the touch of one.

He was not like his father, whom seemed to fall in love easily and into bed with any woman willing to spread her legs for him.

No, Tywin had loved one woman and had no hope that any woman could ever capture his attention long enough for him even to consider pursuing her.

Now the King, fool that he was, and his idiot son were trying to start a war, Tywin thought.

There was simply no way that the Starks, Baratheons, and the Arryns would allow for such a slight to pass. How could they and save face?

Robert and Ned were both hotheaded and young. Robert was a year older than Jaime and Cersei, while Ned the same age. And the insult to their houses was something that could not be overlooked. Three ancient and great houses would march to war, of that much he was sure.

Tywin drummed his fingers, wondering what Dorne and the Riverlands might do. Brandon Stark was now dead, which meant that Catelyn Stark, another high-born woman Cersei's age, would require a new marriage.

The southern kingdom of Dorne had to be in a rage as well, with Elia all but trapped in King's Landing.

"Fools, all of them," Tywin muttered again. He had no love for the southern region, but in war games love mattered little.

Tywin himself would like nothing more than to call his banners, ride upon King's Landing and skewer Aerys himself for everything he'd stolen from Tywin, but he could not.

Not while Jaime was all but held hostage by the Mad King. How long after hearing Tywin's call to war would his son, his beloved firstborn son, be strung up like Brandon Stark or roasted alive like Rickard?

Aerys had him over a barrel, and it made Tywin's blood boil, to think of all he had lost to the King. And what he was helpless to do. It enraged the Great Lion to have his son so far away from him and under Aerys' control. There was no world in which Tywin would leave Casterly Rock to his second son, and no world in which he could join any uprising should he so wish. He would not risk Jaime's life.

That night, as he readied himself for bed, he spun the lion sigil ring he wore on his finger. It had belonged to every single Lord of Casterly Rock, an heirloom passed down through the generations, and he felt his once-proud house slipping away. Even if he could get Jaime back, Tywin did not get the impression his heir had any intention of taking his rightful place here at the Rock. In a few years, Jaime would be expected to marry and produce the next Lannister heir.

In his large, empty bed, Tywin twisted and turned, sleep alluding him, until finally, his eyes began to close. As they did, his ring warmed on his finger just as he was slipping into sleep, so he didn't even notice when he began to dream.

Or was it a dream?

As the vision came upon him, Tywin had the awareness that he was experiencing something out of the ordinary. There was a difference between his normal dreams and whatever… this was.

He glanced around the ruins in which he found himself, conscious that this was some type of vision. For a moment he wondered where and when he was. He was in a large chamber, that much he could tell, and it seemed oddly familiar.

Then he noticed two people standing in the middle of the room – and they were dressed in the strangest clothing the Great Lion had ever seen.

The woman was wearing what appeared to be her small clothes, tiny little short pants that left miles of long legs bare, and a top that molded to the generous swell of her breasts which showcased her slim stomach and toned arms. Her long red hair was tied back in a long tail that bounced as she spoke and Tywin wished for a moment he could touch it, for it reminded him of a flame.

The man, older than her, was similarly attired, although his short pants were longer, and his top had sleeves.

She was a singularly beautiful woman, and something stirred in Tywin that he'd not felt since he'd first glanced at his wife. Then she spoke, and he was riveted.

"Can you imagine, Dad, what it must have been like here, at the height of his power?" The pretty red-haired woman said, excitement in her voice.

A man, her father apparently, shook his head indulgently at her.

"I cannot but I am not in love with the lions like you are, princess."

She was a princess, Tywin thought! It was fitting, given her beauty and poise.

"He was so powerful, and yet he never took the throne. Why?"

"I suppose, Princess, that is what you'll have to figure out," the man said indulgently.

The woman laughed and spun around the room, which was devoid of furniture.

"This would have been the Lord's chambers. Tywin Lannister was said to have been vain enough to have lions and gold everywhere. I only wish I could see it. It would have been grand."

Tywin startled. Why on earth was she talking about him? And in that tone, as if she were intrigued by him. It was deeply unsettling, since most people were afraid of him, not fascinated by him. He'd built his entire reputation on being fearsome and unlikable.

Before he could process what was happening, the man laughed and linked his arm with the young woman.

"Come on, Princess, there is more to see. You can't spend all day in the Lord's chambers, no matter how much you might want to."

She laughingly agreed, and as they exited the room, they faded from view.

Tywin gasped and sat up in bed, the only light in the room from the embers of the fire. He glanced wildly around, confirming what he had already deduced in his vision. Somehow, he had been standing in this very chamber in his dream, or vision, or whatever that had been.

But nothing had been the same. The room was devoid of furniture, the walls crumbling in places, and no signs of anyone living there were viable.

Stranger still, was the odd clothing that the two people in his vision had been wearing.

Even though he was a pragmatic and logical man, Tywin knew that somehow, he'd glimpsed of the future. Shaking himself, wondering if he'd eaten something that disagreed with him, he pulled himself from bed. Then he found a flagon of wine and poured himself a goblet, sinking into a chair in front of the fire.

"What was that?" he muttered to himself, more disturbed than he wanted to admit. It wasn't even seeing his chambers empty that bothered him; it was her words and his reaction to the woman.

"What did she mean when she asked why I didn't take the throne? Surely she couldn't have meant what I thought she did?"

He shook himself, wondering why the only person to stir anything in him was a figment of his imagination.

Was he going mad, like Aerys? Was this how House Lannister ended?

Shaken, he stayed there, clutching at his goblet of wine, unaware of his sigil ring almost glowing on his finger, deeply disturbed and wondering what in the hell was happening to him.

He sat there for an age, the entire time, the laughter of a woman he knew was from the future, echoed through his mind, as if calling to him.

And fool that he was, he was unable to push her from his mind, knowing that even though it defied all logic, their futures were somehow intertwined. When he finally dragged himself to bed, he was lost in dreams of the woman, her body wrapped around his, and his world, finally, once again complete.