Chapter 24

Casterly Rock - Tywin

There were moments in Tywin's life that he could recall with perfect clarity. They were often punctuated by horrible things that had happened either to himself, those he loved, or by his own hand.

The threats against Joanna, especially on his wedding night from his one-time friend, Aerys. It had been so long ago but he could bring that memory up in an instant.

The prevailing sense of death as the waters of a nearby stream flooded into Castamere, as House Reyne and their revolt against him ended with drowning screams.

Joanna bleeding out as she laboured to bring Tyrion into this world.

If anyone had ever been bold enough to ask, Tywin could have told you what those events smelled like, what he'd felt, and even the precise words of conversations that had taken place.

They were seared into his mind, and much like he suspected Sansa could, he could recall things with perfect clarity, so brilliant was his mind.

It was why he never forgot a slight.

What had taken place in his home, tonight would be one of those events that he never forgot.

He'd known, had been told, forewarned by the woman he loved that he knew was from the future what Cersei was capable of. And still, he'd underestimated his daughter. He'd been unable to see her for the power-hungry monster she was.

There was a part of Tywin that longed to rationalize what had happened.

It was such lunacy, such idiocy, that how could he have ever possibly conceived anything like this would happen? Surely no one could have seen this?

But that was an excuse.

Sansa knew. Sansa had told him. Sansa had warned him. Sansa never trusted Cersei.

In his arrogance, vanity, and ego, he'd assumed he could control Cersei, even when Sansa had doubts.

And in not listening to her, he'd almost lost her.

As he stalked from the Crimson Hall, now more aptly named than ever, his temper was holding by only the thinnest of margins. He wanted to lash out, at whomever was convenient, to somehow pass the blame for putting his beloved in danger to someone else.

And yet there was no one to blame but himself.

He was Tywin Lannister.

He was the Lord of Casterly Rock.

He was the Shield of Lannisport.

He ruled like a king here.

And he was Sansa's husband. It was his duty to keep her safe. And he'd failed spectacularly.

Never would he have imagined the greatest danger to her would have been here, in his beloved Rock - from his family.

His long strides ate up the distance to the dungeons, as more and more people rushed towards the Hall to help those that were injured.

Tywin knew Sansa, Kevan, and Tygett had things well in hand. At this moment, he needed answers.

Tywin barely noticed the guards that fell in around him. Not that he thought he needed him. There were none left in his home that would try to harm him. It was too little, too late. The damage that had been wrought tonight was catastrophic and would reverberate for years. He knew it. He could barely imagine how he might write Lord Marbrand, a most loyal man and House to his family and tell him that his eldest son was dead.

And Tywin did not even want to think what Jaime might do when he learned of what had happened.

His sister and twin. His best friend. His favourite Uncle. All of them dead.

Gods, Tywin had no idea how he was going to write that raven. It made him ache to think of how Jaime would react, being alone, in King's Landing when he learned of all the death.

And would it even be possible to ever convince Jaime that Cersei had somehow orchestrated it all? Or would he lose his son anyways?

By the time Tywin reached the dungeons, it was more than apparent what had happened. The stench was overwhelming. The Captain of the Lannister guard hurried down the steps, clearly winded. Tywin had snatched the only torch still lit and turned a snarl on his face.

"What in seven fucking hells happened?" he seethed, his voice so cold and deadly it came out like a whip.

Vylarr swallowed hard and shook his head.

"I do not know, My Lord."

Tywin snarled. "These are you men, Vylarr! Explain to me how he escaped!" Tywin roared, the small, dank space making his voice boom.

To Vylarr's credit, the man did not flinch, nor did he shrink. "Food and drink were brought to the men. We did not have tasters. I did not expect …"

Both men's eyes went to the two guards that lay dead at the entrance to the dungeons.

Gods, what a fucking mess, Tywin thought, sucking in breath through his mouth to avoid the stench.

When administered in the proper dosage, there were poisons that would send someone off to the stranger as if they were doing nothing more than slipping into sleep.

Whatever his daughter had used, these men had suffered. Blood caked their eyes, nose, ears and mouth as if they had all but liquified from the inside out. Likewise their fingers and cheeks, and other parts of their flesh had a district puffiness and purple hue.

Tywin wanted to kick one of the corpses, and he was so angry. How had he not predicted this?

Footsteps heralded the approach of Tywin's Master at Arms, Ser Broom.

Having two of his most loyal and trusted men here, and still seeing what his daughter had been capable of, enraged him.

"Clean up this mess. Ensure the castle is locked down—question everyone. Somehow, Cersei got poison into this castle. I want a name within two days," he snapped, and both men nodded, not daring to tell him what an impossible task it would be.

The Rock was teeming with thousands of people, and more had arrived when it had been announced the Great Lion had taken a wife. There were countless possibilities of how Cersei might have gotten what she needed. And she was more than capable of doing so. Trying to discover who had helped her would most likely turn out to be a fruitless task.

Leaving the dungeons, he took the steps two at a time.Tywin sucked in a breath when he was back on the main level. He refused to glance down the hallway towards the room where the destruction had taken place, still not quite ready to face his failure in such abject fashion. He needed answers, and the dungeons had only painted part of the picture.

Knowing what he needed to do, he stalked towards the east wing of the castle, where the family rooms were, and where Cersei had spent her past twenty years.

Even with her madness, she would never have conceived that things would go so horribly wrong for her, so if there were answers anywhere, it would be there.

Her room was as expected, the epitome of opulence and luxury second only to his. It was clear that Cersei fashioned herself the mistress of the Rock and had decorated accordingly. It was shocking to realize only a few short hours ago, Tywin had japed with Sansa about her worry overspending his gold when Cersei had no such qualms.

Still, none of that mattered – it spoke to how she viewed herself, to the role she'd assigned for herself. But it was nothing that Tywin did not already know. Cersei had longed for what she perceived was to be hers – Casterly Rock. Had he never remarried, had Jaime never been released from his duties as Kingsguard, Tywin was more confident than ever that she would have found a way to manipulate it so that she was the one that became his heir. And anyone, or anything that stood in her way, was simply an obstacle she needed to remove.

Hence the attack on Sansa.

Cersei would have known that Gregor would not survive – not when he was in the very heart of the Rock, surrounded by lions. Her plan must have hinged on Gregor killing Sansa, and then Tywin taking the Mountain's head, thus keeping Cersei's involvement a secret. It was an asinine plan, barely logical, and yet, there was no other reasonable deduction.

He wished his search would have found a diary, a note, some explanation. But there was none to be found.

In her room there was nothing but beautiful gowns, jewels, combs and makeup.

But nothing personal. He reached a compartment, smaller than the rest and locked at her vanity. Not having time for finesse, Tywin ripped it from its hinges and stopped cold.

His first wife's jewelry spilled out.

Not the most expensive pieces, not even some of her favourites. But smaller things, that Joanna had worn early on in their marriage and when they were mostly alone.

A ring.

A thin necklace of two gold chains, intertwined with a small emerald.

Two ruby jewelled combs that she loved to pin her golden hair back with.

For one brief moment, grief and love warred equally in Tywin, as he recalled those early years, when it had been the four of them, and he had been content for a time.

He had loved Joanna and cherished her as his lady wife, his helpmate, and the mother of his children.

And he knew that her death had a profound effect on him and the children – one he had done a poor job of navigating.

But even with the small pile of mementos, it wasn't enough to humanize the monster his daughter had become.

Sansa had lost her mother, and she hadn't spent the rest of her life plotting revenge against a world that had stolen her far too soon.

"It doesn't excuse what she did," Kevan said. Tywin's head snapped up as he realized he was no longer alone.

Trust Kevan to find him.

His brother's eyes were angry - angrier than Tywin had ever seen as he stepped into the room.

Kevan barely glanced down at the pile of jewels, keeping his eyes locked on Tywin.

"Losing her mother, having you shut down. None of that excuses what she did," he repeated, voice harsh and accusatory. His rage broke through Tywin's grief.

"She was my daughter."

"She was a monster," Kevan countered, raising his voice for perhaps only the third or fourth time in their lives. "Or have you forgotten what Sansa, what your wife told us? What type of person can blow up a sept full of people, including her Uncle and her cousin and then take the crown from her dead son's head?"

Tywin wanted to rail, to argue and to bellow. But he bit his tongue.

His daughter killed Kevan. Perhaps not in this timeline, but in the one that Sansa knew.

And not just Kevan. She had killed thousands - possibly tens of thousands. And all to get to the crown. For power.

Tywin was not averse to war and death. He was good at it, and he was ruthless when needed. He knew the price that had to be paid, sometimes, to bring stability to a region, to a realm. He'd done so early on and had reaped the benefits of two brutal campaigns to bring House Tarbeck and Reyne in line and since then had the loyalty of every house in the Westerlands.

But senseless violence had never appealed to him. There had to be a reason, clearly defined and well managed for violence, for war. It was why he'd not declared for either side in the rebellion. Tywin knew what it meant to march men off to war, to know the price that they would pay. It had to be worth it.

If one simply indulged in violence, then they were nothing more than animals, ripping at each other's throats, fighting over their fellow man's carcasses. There were others that liked death, and pain and chaos. But that was not, nor would it ever be Tywin's preferred mode of operation.

And yet even knowing what Cersei done tonight, knowing what she had been capable of as she got older, she was still his. Cersei was still his blood, his flesh, a living reminder of his first wife, a woman Tywin had loved deeply.

He hated how conflicted he felt, that there was this tiny shred of guilt and grief warring inside him against the anger and disgust.

"Had she lived, Tywin, there was nowhere you could have put her that she would not have been a threat. And not just to you. But Sansa, our House, your reign and any children that you might have with Sansa. You know this."

Tywin could barely nod, but when he did, it was infinitesimal, the only acknowledgment he would make that he'd misjudged this entire situation so horribly.

Only because of what had happened tonight would Tywin allow Kevan this latitude, to speak to him in such a way. They both knew it.

"Genna?" Tywin finally dared to ask. He was so angry at his sister he wanted the throttle her himself, but he also knew that was simply his wounded ego, fear and anger. Should she live, Tywin would have enough time to be furious with her.

Kevan sighed heavily, and for the first time, Tywin saw that he was covered in blood. Whose Tywin did not know.

"Alive, but unresponsive. She has a deep head wound that bled a lot. Sansa mentioned that head wounds do bleed copiously but that they might not be fatal."

It was as if a fog suddenly lifted at hearing Sansa's name. Tywin spared one last glance around Cersei's room before he realized this was the last place he needed to be. There were no answers here – there was never going to be a reason for such carnage, such wanton destruction. Now, he needed to be back with his wife.

Before he left her rooms, he ordered his guards to have it all packed up and stored, and then pushed it from his mind.

Tywin entered the small dining hall to a scene he'd witnessed before, although never inside the hallowed halls of the Rock. And never with his wife, the woman he loved, barking out orders as if she were some general that was part of his army.

Sansa's gown was torn, splattered in blood. She must have hastily wiped her face, but there were still specks and smears of gore covering her. More astonishing than her appearance was the absolute authority in which she was ordering about his men – including Maester Creylen.

Tygett was standing guard and staring at her in wonder when Tywin stepped closer. She had Sandor Clegane's legs elevated, and his chest exposed.

"What is going on?" he asked Tygett. His brother shook his head in awe and told him.

"She demanded we boil water before we dress the wound. Only clean bandages and no one was allowed to touch him before they washed their hands in soap and warm water. She has the Maester boiling the needle and is just about to clean the wound site, claiming the smallest speck of dirt may lead to an infection."

Tywin took in the scene and noted that Sansa was applying the pressure to the wound, while Creylen prepared the needle.

"His bleeding has slowed. I'm sure no major organs were nicked, and there doesn't seem to be any stench from a punctured intestine. I must examine it closer," she muttered, glancing around. "I need more light!"

Immediately, three of the Lannister guards rushed forward with candles.

"Your Lady wife has won over your entire household, Tywin," Tygett said, finally turning to look at him. His eyes widened slightly and then narrowed. "Where were you?"

"Dungeons."

"And?"

"Poison."

"Seven hells," Tyg muttered. "Madness."

"And stupidity," Tywin muttered. Such loss and waste.

"Gerion?"

Tyg gave a heavy sigh. "His body has been removed. He will be prepared and taken to the Sept."

"And Addam?"

"The same."

Both men were silent, and Kevan approached and indicated that Lady Stark was safely back in her chambers, with Dorna, who ensured she was settled. Genna had been moved to her rooms, where she was being tended, but had not yet woken.

"Careful," Sansa snapped as she drew Tywin's attention back to the scene in front of him. He wondered for a moment how he might explain how his wife seemed to have intimate knowledge of how to treat wounds and had the confidence and the stomach to do so. Still, the look of pure adoration on most of the faces in the Hall ensured Tywin that his wife had won everyone in the Rock to her side.

"We need to debride the wound of any foreign material before you begin to sew him up," Sansa said, carefully peeling the bandage back.

"Why My Lady?" Creylen asked, interest evident.

The light from the additional candles helped, and Tywin watched as there was only a slow trickle of blood now. The sword had cut clean, and once Sansa was satisfied, she looked up to meet Creylen's eyes.

"Infection. This is why I insisted on cleanliness. The wound itself won't kill him, but it can be deadly if there is puss and swelling after we stitch him up."

Every man in the room nodded. Most had real-life experience with a wound that festered. It was an awful and painful way to die.

"And this is how you prevent it?" Creylen asked, eyes incredulous and wide, gesturing to the warm basin of water, soap and clean bandages.

"Yes. Keep your hands clean and your instruments sterilized. I mean, it would be better if we had some …."

She paused as if she suddenly realized what she was about to reveal. Coughing, Tywin could see her mind racing.

"We just need to keep things clean. That is what is most important. Small stitches, Maester," she said, finally rocking back on her heels.

Tywin moved quickly, almost catching her as the adrenaline from the night drained out of her, and exhaustion took over. Thankfully, she didn't put up a fuss as he gathered her in his arms.

"Come, that is enough for now," he told her gently. He could see the protest she wanted to mount, but he knew that Creylen had things well in hand.

"My Maester has sewn more than one wound shut, Sansa. You need to bathe and sleep."

For a moment, he thought she might argue, but when her chin dropped, and she curled into closer to his chest, he knew he had won for now. Tywin had no doubts that Sansa would feature prominently in the care of one Sandor Clegane and his sister once she rested up.

His long strides at up the distance to their bedchambers, his steward there when the door was opened. Tywin noted the extra guards that lined that hallway, but he thought that highly unnecessary now. The threat had been destroyed, and all that was left was the monumental mess that had been left behind.

Barba was scowling at him when he entered the bathing chambers with Sansa in his arms. He could hardly blame her. After all, it was his fault her mistress had come so close to losing her life.

"Tywin, where are the cubs?" Sansa asked suddenly.

She'd been near-catatonic and quiet on their journey back her, but now that she was here, it warmed Tywin that she would think of them.

"Safe, my love."

Gerold had seen to them, keeping them safe, fed and locked away so no harm could come to them. It was a small mercy, and Sansa relaxed upon hearing that.

"I have her, My Lord," Barba said, voice hard and eyes glittering.

"Barba, Tywin can take care of me."

For a moment, the two women just looked at one another, some internal war that Tywin was not part of, raging between them, but then Barba gave a jerk of her head.

"I've left a clean nightgown and robe for her, along with the socks she prefers. There is a light meal; some broth and bread."

Tywin saw the woman bite her lip as if she wanted to say more. There was a part of him that wanted this lowly servant to unleash her anger on him. It would be no less than he deserved. But instead, the woman just gave him a final glare and left them alone.

Unlike the bath a few hours ago, in which they had taken their time, and Sansa had cared for him, now the bath would be perfunctory. Sansa began to shake when she realized the state she was in.

"I need to get clean," she said, staring in horror at her blood-stained hands, looking between him and the hands she held out in front of her as if the entire evening was finally catching up to her.

"Get in," was all he said, as the tub was half full. She did so, hurriedly, and he followed, knowing that the epic breakdown was coming.

"I need to be clean," she kept saying as she shook. Much like she had earlier, Tywin grabbed the soap and began the task of ridding her of the blood and gore that came from having someone decapitated nearly on top of you. He didn't even allow himself to think about what he was picking from her hair, as she sat in front of him, all but curled into herself.

It took almost three-quarters of an hour until she was clean, and the water tinged pink. Thankfully, there was a second tub, smaller, in which he filled as the first drained. This one had only enough room for her, but the water was hotter, and he was able to rinse her thoroughly before her skin's paleness began to alarm him. He made a motion to get her out of the water. She needed food and then sleep.

"Sansa, love, you must try to eat something," he said, trying to be gentle. Gods he was exhausted, the weight of what had happened pressing down upon him.

Her eyes turned to find him, and they were impossibly wide, blue pools that had questions he didn't, or wouldn't answer.

Would she ever not see him as a failure? Tywin wondered.

Since they had met, his wife, this intelligent, beautiful, bold woman, had sung his praises. She had gazed at him with adoration in her eyes. Tywin knew that he was the only man in the seven kingdoms that Sansa wanted and that she viewed him in a way no else did.

But now?

He was unworthy of any of that.

"How is Genna?" she asked, interrupting his negative spiral of thoughts.

"Alive, but unresponsive," he said and saw the tears pool. Sansa barely knew the woman, but she understood that Genna was family.

"Gods, what a mess," she whispered as he wrapped her in a towel and tried to dry her. Suddenly, her hands were on his chest, almost grabbing at him.

"I'm so sorry, Tywin," she said, tears tracing down her ravaged face.

Seven fucking hells, none of this was her fault, and he'd be damned if he left her shoulder any of the blame.

"Stop. This is not on you," he responded, voice gruff. "This is entirely my fault."

Her mouth opened to protest, and he silenced her with a brutally demanding kiss.

"No," he said again when he finally pulled his lips from hers.

Tywin saw the fire spark in her eyes as if she might argue before exhaustion buckled her knees. He somehow managed to get them into their nightclothes, and then scooped her back up into his arms to take her to their bed.

"I can walk," she protested weakly.

He only snorted and then deposited her onto their bed, where the cubs awaited them. There was something about seeing them all together, seeing Sansa alive, that threatened to undo him.

He had come so close to losing a second wife, and this time, at the hands of his flesh and blood. There was a part of Tywin that knew he should be tucking Sansa into their bed and then going and overseeing the clean-up of the mess his daughter had made. Then Sansa glanced up from petting the cubs.

"Come to bed," was all she said, and he was moving before he could contemplate doing anything else.

If it made him weak, to go to his wife who needed him, then Tywin would be weak. Tonight others could take care of what needed attending. Sansa required him here, by her side. The moment he was in bed, she was in his arms. The room was dark, although there was some light from the embers in the fire. He felt her shake before the sobs consumed her.

Tywin had no words of comfort to offer. Tonight had been a nightmare in every way imaginable, and something even he was struggling to process. There was no possible way that a woman from her time; someone who had for all intents and purposes led a sheltered and charmed life, could have been prepared for this.

And in a place that she'd longed to see, somewhere he'd promised would be safe – her home. The violence was appalling, even to a man such as himself. So instead of useless platitudes, Tywin held her until she fell into an exhausted sleep, and the followed her over, chased by nightmares of a dead wife, and his world turned to ash.

The next morning Tywin awoke just as dawn was breaking. He slipped from the bed, pleased when Sansa did not wake. He'd call for a tonic to be brought to their rooms. He imagined she'd still be in shock, and she might not want to stray far.

As for him, what little sleep he'd gotten had been broken and restless. He dressed quickly, Gerold there to see to his needs and those of the cubs.

"What news of those who were hurt?"

"Lord Clegane has made it through the night, although Maester Creylan has him heavily drugged so he can heal. Lady Genna remains asleep, her wounds treated, but no change."

Tywin merely grunted as he took a seat at his desk. The correspondence he'd been so eager to share with Sansa was staring up at him, as Gerold awaited his commands. Snatching it up, Tywin rose again, unable to be so close to Sansa, to witness the look of disappointment in her eyes when she rose and gazed upon him and saw how monumentally he had failed in his promise to keep her safe.

"I will be in the main solar. You are to call for the Maester when my wife wakes. She is not to leave the apartments," Tywin snapped, striding from the room. He missed the look of disbelief on his steward's face, too caught up in the disastrous dinner to realize that he might be making a mistake in isolating himself from his wife.

But there was simply no way that Tywin could stand to face her this morning. Without even glancing back, Tywin left his private chambers, determined to put as much distance between himself and his wife as he could, until he'd ensured that all threats to her were dealt with, and his own bruised ego healed.

The worst thing was, he knew that she'd forgive him if he were to show any of the emotion he was feeling, and that was not something he could abide; not in this lifetime or the next. He did not know if he'd ever deserve her forgiveness and had no idea how to make things right between them again.

Ironically, it appeared his daughter might have done what she had set out to do – break the Great Lion and the woman he loved apart. Too bad for Cersei, the cost had been far too high.

Casterly Rock – Sansa

The side of the bed where Tywin slept was cold when Sansa finally awoke. She knew he was an early riser, a man that had far too much to accomplish and not nearly enough time to get it all done. Still, she'd expected to find him in the apartments somewhere. It was Gerold who informed her that he'd gone to his solar, leaving instructions for him to call the Maester to prepare a tonic to calm her nerves.

Sansa snorted and ordered Gerold to find her handmaiden – and not to call Creylan. If Tywin thought he could drug her through this horror, her husband was sorely mistaken.

She was heartsick, revolted, disgusted and shocked at what had happened. She knew it would take her time to grieve for Addam, who'd been a good and loyal man and had put himself in harm's way to save her life.

She would mourn that she never got a chance to know Gerion better, having only two brief encounters with Tywin's youngest brother.

She would go and oversee the recovery of Sandor Clegane, a brave young knight that had saved her.

She would spend time praying to the gods, or whatever entities existed that Genna pulled through and wake. Sansa knew she was in a coma and that there were many cases of people waking – not that she could share her knowledge with anyone but Tywin.

She would do all these things for people she barely knew, but was being kept from helping the man she loved most.

Tywin, it seemed, was doing his level best to either ignore her altogether or speak to her using as few words as possible.

The first day after the disastrous dinner party, she hadn't seen him until late that night when he finally crawled into bed beside her. He smelled of sweat and ink and parchment and smoke, so she knew he must have holed up in his solar the entire day. She'd gone to visit both Sandor and Genna, who were both either unconscious or too drugged to respond to her pleas for them to recover.

Kevan and Tygett had both found her in Genna's room and had hugged her, reassuring themselves that she was fine. She wept with them over the loss of their brother and tried to apologize for it was her life that he'd given his for. Surprisingly, it had been Tyg that had stopped her, shaking his head.

"He did what was needed," was all the man said.

Both men asked if she'd seen Tywin, and she shook her head, and they exchanged a look that had her stomach in knots. It seemed her lion had a reputation for isolating himself. And brooding. That was hardly news to her, having studied him so extensively, but it was different to be on the receiving end of it.

Logically Sansa knew he wasn't upset with her. She knew that for a man like him, this would be the ultimate humiliation, and his ego would have taken a huge hit. He'd also lost his daughter and been made to look like a fool. Sansa just wished he'd speak to her.

By day three of being ignored by Tywin, she was complaining to Kevan that he was essentially given her the silent treatment.

"It's all of us," Kevan said, shaking his head and sighing deeply. "After Lady Joanna died, he was like this for months, Lady Sansa. None of us could get through to him."

That made Sansa worry. She could not live like this – silently sleeping beside a man that had shut everyone out of his world. She knew he was grieving. She knew he was upset. But she was his wife! And she could help. If only he would speak to her!

By day five, Sansa was beyond angry, bordering on genuinely pissed off. It was a rare thing for her temper to reach such a point, but being ignored by her husband would do it. He'd left her a note, with instructions on planning the funerals, to which Sansa had handed back to Gerold and told him, "Tell my husband if he wants me to act like Lady Lannister, he can start by asking me himself."

With that, she'd sailed out of the rooms and gone to read to Genna. Sandor was now awake, crabby, and had not wanted her company. She'd been offended until Tyg had told her that he didn't want her to see him as weak while he was recovering.

"You're embarrassing him, making such a fuss about him. His status is legendary now, but you're hovering like a mother hen. Leave him in our care; we'll make sure he's back in fighting shape," Tyg had told her.

Sansa had rolled her eyes at men and their fragile egos, but had left well enough alone.

It took an hour after she'd essentially told Gerold to tell Tywin to go fuck himself when it came to planning the funerals, when her husband found her. Sansa felt his presence in the room before she turned to see him there.

He was fuming.

Good.

She was itching to have this out with him. If Tywin thought her some meek little woman, he had another thing coming.

"Lady Lannister," he snapped, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes at his high handedness.

"Husband."

"Last I check, you are not Lady Genna's nursemaid. You are my wife! And the Lady of Casterly Rock. There are duties for you to perform," he all but snarled.

The current nurse in the room glanced between them, nervously, while Dorna fussed. Sansa calmy marked her place in her book, set it down, and squeezed Genna's hand. She leaned down to speak to her comatose goodsister.

"It appears my husband, the stubborn ass, has decided to speak with me finally. I'll be back tomorrow."

Then Sansa rose and walked past Tywin, determined to have this out with him, once and for all.

He was by her side in an instant, and she serenely strolled back to their rooms, not giving away how she felt inside. Inside, her blood was pumping, and her ire was up.

Once they were in their rooms, Sansa dismissed Gerold and Barba and then took a seat.

Tywin paced like a caged lion, and while her heart ached for him and what he was going through, she had no intention of making this easy on him.

Finally, he stopped and glared at her. "What is the meaning of not doing your duty?"

She arched an elegant eyebrow. "Padron me?"

There was a lot Sansa was willing to put up with when it came to Tywin, but being accused of neglecting her duty was not one of them. Not when she'd been violently attacked and almost killed in his home, which he'd assured her was safe. He was lucky she wasn't a complete mess after that utter ruin of a dinner.

He waved the piece of parchment that Gerold had given her this morning at her requesting her help in planning the funerals. As if she would even know where to start when Genna lay comatose, and Tywin was ignoring her.

"This! You need to help plan the funerals. The Rock is in chaos, and you are hiding out here, reading to Genna and checking on Clegane. You need to do your duty!" He ended his sentence in a roar, and she finally had enough.

Standing, she strode to him, poking him in the chest, before she grabbed the parchment and tore it in two. His eyes had widened that she would dare, but Sansa was beyond caring.

"Enough! You have ignored me for five long days, Tywin, disappearing before I wake, ordering the Maester to drug me with tonics, and slipping into our bed late at night. If I didn't know how much you despised whores, and could smell the ink on you, I'd think that you'd been sleeping with someone else to deal with your grief."

His eyes went wide, and his nostrils flared, but she wasn't done. Not by a long shot with this man. Tywin would learn here and now just exactly what type of woman he had married.

"No, you will listen to me! I know you are grieving, and I am as well, but you've shut me out. You've shut Kevan and Tyg out. We didn't do this to you, Tywin. We should not be punished for what your daughter did!"

He went to argue, but she kept on talking.

"I will not have this type of marriage! I won't! You will not continue to act like this to treat me this way."

"SHE WAS MY DAUGHTER!" he finally roared back, and Sansa felt something in her heart break for him. She wanted to reach for him, to comfort him. But for too long, people had allowed Tywin to get away with this behaviour.

"I know. And I told you exactly what she was!" Sansa yelled back. "You didn't take her, or the threat she posed, seriously."

He reared back, eyes narrowing. "You never liked her."

Sansa gave a sad smile and shook her head. "I did not. But had she been sane and civil, I would have tried, Tywin. For your sake, if nothing else."

She watched him all but deflated in front of her, and there was so much of her that wanted to comfort him. But it was not time.

"You are grieving, and it is understandable. But you are also pushing away the people who love you, who can help you. Get your head out of your arse Tywin and be the man I know can be. Let me in. Let me help."

Their gazes held for a moment, and she thought he might turn to her, but instead, his shoulders slumped, and he turned away, towards the fireplace.

Away from her. Away from her love and compassion and understanding. Always alone. When would he learn that she was the type of woman he could count on?

How did a man that was one of the most powerful in the realm look so lonely? She wondered.

Gods, she ached for him, but she was also so frustrated with him. Just when she thought they were getting somewhere, he reverted to his former cold self.

She knew tough love was needed.

"Find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I want my husband. Not simply someone to sleep beside."

With that parting shot, Sansa took her leave. She'd given Tywin Lannister plenty to think about.

Casterly Rock – Tywin

Tywin stood shockingly still as his brain tried to process what the fuck had just happened.

What on earth did his wife mean that he had his head up his arse? That was physically impossible. Then he glowered as he realized it was an insult!

Who the hell did she think she was? How could she not see the pain that he was in? It was the deepest humiliation, an embarrassment beyond anything he'd previously experienced that his daughter had attempted to murder her. Not only that, it had shaken him to his core, to see another woman he loved come so close to death.

How did she not understand that? Sansa knew him better than anyone, despite how short of a time they had been together.

He felt the betrayal of her anger cut him deep.

He was the one that was dealing with the fallout of Cersei's actions. He needed his wife to do what was required during these trying times. And now she thought to lecture him?

He stormed from their bedrooms, determined to find his brothers and get the funeral planning started. Tywin knew that Sansa would flee back to Genna's room, a glorified nursemaid that was shirking her duties.

He bellowed for Gerold to get Kevan and Tygett to his solar and was pacing when they entered. For a brief moment, Tywin stilled, shocked at how haggard they looked. Was it the same for him? There had been so much death in their family lately, and as frustrating as Genna was, the thought of losing her as well-formed a pit of dread in Tywin's stomach.

"My wife has decided she is above planning the funerals, so I require your help. The two of you will work with Gerold to see that they are done. Gerion will rest in the Hall of Heroes."

When his brothers exchanged a knowing look, Tywin stiffened and leaned over his desk.

"Is there a problem?" His voice was low and deadly, and his temper on a hair-trigger. Kevan sighed and ran a weary hand down his face before he all but collapsed into a chair.

"Tywin, your wife isn't refusing to help plan the funerals. You've ignored her for five days, given her no guidance on her role as your wife, and been an utter ass to anyone who even looks at you. Quite frankly, I'm surprised you even noticed."

Tywin glowered at his brother, who didn't seem bothered in the least that he was angry.

A harsh bark of laughter drew Tywin's attention to Tygett.

"She finally got angry at you, did she."

The man had a grin on his face! A grin of all things.

Tywin seethed. It was inappropriate.

His fist slammed down.

"I am the Lord of Casterly Rock. My word is law…" he began to say before his brothers exchanged a look and then laughed.

They laughed! At him.

Tywin wanted to snarl, to smash, to howl out his anger and all these feelings that were bottled up inside him.

"Except when it comes to your wife," Kevan countered.

Tyg shook his head, almost in sympathy. "That is one woman that I would not want to anger."

Confusion coursed through Tywin as his usual harsh demeanour seemed not to affect his family. He finally took his seat, glowering at his brothers, who continued to jest about Sansa and her power over him. Over them all, it seemed. Tywin did not even know what to say when it came to everything that had happened since they'd arrived back home.

He'd had such high hopes; two new lions cubs, a wife he loved, a plan to get back his heir and a way to finally bring the Targs to their knees. How had it all gone so wrong? He let his brother's banter fill the background noise as his brilliant mind tried to process what he might have done differently to prevent such an outcome from occurring.

Finally, taking pity on him, Kevan rose to pour them all goblets of wine.

"Drink," he said, shoving the Arbour gold at Tywin.

He was never one that indulged in wine or drink, hating how it dulled the senses. But he spent the evening getting steadily drunk with his two brothers, his guard lowering for once, as they spoke of childhood follies and their shared memories of Gerion. When he finally stumbled to his feet, Tywin realized it was quite late.

"She told me to find somewhere else to sleep," he mumbled drunkenly, as Kevan and Tygett all but shuffled him back towards his rooms.

Kevan patted him on the back, which generally would have annoyed Tywin, but he let it go.

"Ahhh, then she is well and truly pissed. Might I suggest the day bed in your private solar," Kevan said, a knowing smile on his face.

Tywin wanted to argue that it was ridiculous. There was no way Sansa would kick him out of their bed.

They got Tywin to his rooms and then handed him off to Gerold, who assured them he would see to the Lord of the Rock. Tywin saw the door to their bedchambers closed, and while angry, he was too drunk to do much about it. Then he noticed his sleep gown, a blanket and a pillow on the day bed.

Too inebriated to do much more than stumble through changing, he somehow got himself situated on the most uncomfortable piece of furniture that he owned, and fell into a drunken sleep, chased by nightmares of blood, where it was Sansa's head that the Mountain had claimed. Tywin's entire world was painted red.

He woke the following morning to discover Sansa and the cubs gone, his back aching and his head pounding. He suffered through a bath, attempting to rid his mouth of the foul taste that had taken up residence and then demanded to know where his wife was.

"In the family dining hall, My Lord, breaking her fast."

Tywin dressed quickly and strode through the hallways, determined to find her. This had gone on long enough! The woman drove him mad, chasing all rational thoughts from his mind.

He heard her bright laughter before he saw her and found her entertaining Kevan, Dorna, their children, Genna's children and Tygett, and various other family members, cousins, aunts and the like. The cubs were playing by the fireplace, and all conversation stopped when he entered. He strode through the room and straight towards her, caging her in as he leaned down.

"Never again will I sleep anywhere but my bed, with you by my side, wife."

If he'd been less fuzzy-headed, he might have noticed the sparkle in her eyes before her lips curved into a wicked smile.

"Did you have a night of poor sleep, My Lord?" she asked innocently.

He snarled and pushed back from her to take his seat at the head of the table. Sansa, he could see, was attempting not to laugh at him. The others were studiously avoiding his gaze as he bellowed for his meal. When it was placed in front of him, the conversation resumed, although he sat there stewing, gazing at Sansa, who all but held court, delighting those from his house with her wit and banter.

Finally, having his fill, he rose and gave her a pointed look.

"I will see you tonight, wife," he said, before he went to his solar, knowing the work that awaited him.

By midafternoon it was apparent that those in his household were avoiding him, although his lunch was delivered, and it was noted his wife had demanded he have soup and fresh bread to settle his stomach. Wondering if it were some sort of peace offering, he resisted the urge to find her, instead, working through dinner and only going back to their apartments late that night. Thankfully, the door to their bedchamber was open, the cubs on their pillows.

He'd missed them, Tywin realized suddenly, standing there. His wife was curled up on her side of the bed, all but invisible to his eye under the blankets. But it was more than just seeing her that made him ache. This anger, this fight, this lack of connection had shaken him. He missed her brilliant mind, her supportive ways, her belief in him. He missed her looking at him and telling him that she loved him.

He was so sure that she would blame him for what had happened, that she would look upon him differently for failing to protect her, that he'd reacted poorly. It was out of fear of losing her, losing her love and the way she looked at him as if he was a good man – a man worthy of her, that had caused him to shut her out.

Stripping quickly, he hurried to join her. The fight had gone out of him, and he just wanted Sansa in his arms. He pulled back the covers to see pillows between her and him.

"Seven fucking hells, what is this?"

"It's a pillow wall," she answered immediately, clearly not asleep.

Tywin snarled and began to grab them when she tugged back.

"Sansa, let go!" he ordered.

This was incredibly childish behaviour, and Tywin's temper rose.

"No. I am here, in your bed as ordered, but you're still grumpy and angry and moody. So the pillow wall stays!"

It was ridiculous but it was not something Tywin was willing to back down on. He pulled hard, and she held onto the pillow tugging back, until there was a ripping sound, and they were both covered in feathers.

Stunned, Tywin could only stare down at Sansa, who looked like a bird, before her mouth twitched. He was immobile, looking at the mess on their bed before she threw her head back, and somehow was snorting and laughing so hard the bed shook.

"Oh …. Oh my god, you should see what you look like," she said, giggling and pointing at him.

Tywin was unimpressed. She laughed harder. "You look like a duck's arse exploded all over you."

She had tears in her eyes. She was laughing so hard. Tywin had no idea what came over him, but seeing as she was covering in feathers as well and that the laugher was back, he pounced.

She gasped and then reached for him, and before he knew it, his lips were on hers in a searing kiss. He knew he was bruising them both, but he needed this connection with her and felt the relief course through his body when she tugged him closer. Finally, daring to let them breathe, he drew back, only slightly so their mouths were still very close.

"Hello husband, welcome back," she whispered, eyes filled with love – for him.

Tywin felt his world settle. She still loved him even after he failed her.

Taking a ragged breath, he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. He couldn't bear to see the compassion or the pity there.

"You must understand, the sense of helplessness I felt. How much I failed you …."

He ground out, hating to be this vulnerable – even in front of her. Tywin felt Sansa stroke her fingers along his neck, soothing him.

"I know," she whispered.

He finally dared to open his eyes, and he saw she did understand.

"But you are not alone, Tywin. You did not lose me. I am right here."

He could only nod, emotion threatening to choke him. He was not good at expressing himself, at showing any weakness. Her hands continued to comfort him, and the tight ball that had been buried in his chest for days finally broke loose. Laying his face in her neck, Tywin Lannister, the most powerful man in the realm, wept as his wife held him, saying nothing as he silently sobbed for everything that he had lost, and how close he had come to losing her.

When he was spent, he barely reacted as Sansa fixed their bed as best as she could, and then drew the covers up around them. Tywin held her in his arms, knowing that somehow they would survive this – because they had one another. And no matter how great his failure, his wife loved him, and he loved her. His daughter had not won. Sansa was still here; alive and in his arms. And Tywin would never allow anyone to hurt her ever again.