Chapter 5

The Past – Casterly Rock: Tywin

If Tywin thought his siblings would simply allow him to stalk off and speak with his daughter on his own, he was sorely mistaken as he heard their clomping footsteps hurrying after him as he made his way back inside the grand stone hallways of the Rock.

He knew what he would face when they finally caught him; censure, judgment, derision. Tywin had not hidden what he'd felt for his youngest son, even when his siblings doted on the boy.

How could they when they saw a creature to be pitied instead of one to hate? They did not know that Tyrion was not his, where he came from, the blood that flowed in his veins. Yes, he had been a Lannister, but he'd been something else as well. Tywin had heard it all before, how he was a monster for how he'd treated Tyrion, multiple times, from his own family, and he was in no mood for it again.

But it seemed like it mattered naught what he wanted, for they followed him into his solar, all but frothing at the mouth with their superiority and moral high ground.

"He deserved better than to have you as a father," Tygett snarled at Tywin, slamming his fist down.

The fourth Lannister born to Tytos, and the one that had so much potential, Tywin thought—wasted on trying to undermine him, instead of standing by his side. How much stronger would their House be, if Tywin could rely on Tyg the way he did Kevan? The man was fearsome in battle, but his rage at being in Tywin's shadow was an almost palpable thing. Now thirty-two, Tywin needed Tygett to become the man he should have always been.

Tywin had once heard Genna, the only sister of the entire lot of them, and thirty-four, say that to live in his shadow was almost an impossibility. Only Kevan had remained loyally by his side, never challenging him, only helping make their House stronger.

Gerion, now twenty-seven, was handsome and fair-haired and refusing to settle and do his duty to produce more Lannister's. His youngest brother preferred japes and wine, women and adventure and was the favourite uncle of his two sons.

Perhaps it was the nature of lions; after all, there was only supposed to be one male in the pride and Tywin never allowed anyone to forget that he was the Lord of Casterly Rock and not them.

Exhaustion, sudden and swift, overtook Tywin as he sat in his chair, allowing his siblings' anger at his failure to protect Tyrion to wash over him.

He was all but immune to it, knowing they'd thought this of him for years. If only they knew Tyrion's origins, then perhaps they might understand why Tywin could never have loved him, but why he had to keep him alive.

A voice, soft and seductive, whispered through his head.

And why can't they? Tyrion is dead. Joanna is dead. Aerys holds your heir hostage. Why allow the Dragon King to sew more derision and hatred in your House? Hadn't the damage he'd done already been far too high a price to pay? Why give him more power? Why allow him to keep you apart from those that can make you strong?

Tywin was lost in his musings, wondering if he could share what had happened to Joanna with his siblings, or if it were a secret he would take to the grave as he'd always assumed he would. He wanted nothing to sully his wife's name; no scandal attached to her. It was the very least he could do after failing so monumentally in protecting her.

But now, as spittle flew from Gerion's mouth as he raged about Tyrion, Tywin could see the fractures were already deep in House Lannister.

As if sensing he was not paying attention, Tyg leaned on his desk, smashing his fist again, his green eyes glittering with hatred.

"What would Lady Joanna say of your failure here today, My Lord? She would be ashamed to call you her husband. The boy was helpless, and you did nothing to keep him safe; he whom she gave her life to bring into this world. That shame will reside with you for all your days."

Pure, white-hot rage surged through Tywin, propelling him to his feet. He was around his desk in moments, his hand on Tyg's neck, pinning him to the desk.

"You dare?" he seethed.

"I do," his brother said, struggling to get loose. "She would be devastated."

The other three looked at one another. Tywin and Tygett's relationship had always been hot-tempered, but never had Tyg pushed the Great Lion so far.

"You never deserved her. She was everything good, and when she died, she took all happiness from the Rock."

Shocked gasps rang the room, as Tywin tightened his hold on his brother's neck, until finally, he stepped back, letting him up. Tyg snapped and snarled, turning towards Tywin, until Kevan stepped between them, a hand on Tyg's chest. There was silence in the room, as the five Lannister siblings all stared at one another.

Tywin sucked in a deep breath.

"You're right, Tygett, about some things, and incredibly wrong about others."

"You dare to speak to me in riddles when your youngest son lies dead on the stones?"

"Silence!" Tywin bellowed into the room, breathing hard. He knew he was at a crossroads: he could continue to keep the secret of Tyrion's birth and drive his siblings further and further away. Or he could share his most painful failure; the rape of his beloved wife.

"You are right that when Lady Joanna died, she stole all the happiness from the Rock, but you are wrong as to when that happened. It was long before she was on the birthing bed, being torn apart by that monster."

"He was a child!"

"He was not mine!" Tywin roared, and four sets of stunned eyes stared back at him.

"Tywin?" Kevan finally asked tentatively. His beloved second brother, always the peacemaker.

"Aerys," Tyg whispered, a dawning horror on his face. He was nine years younger than Tywin and had both loved and loathed his eldest brother. But he knew Tywin's entire life and knew where his brother had been the year before Tyrion had been born.

Tywin gave a tight, short nod.

Genna looked like she might be ill, while Kevan had paled, and Gerion simply appeared shocked.

"After the twins, the birth was hard on Lady Joanna. Her heath was fragile. We were careful in our marital relations. We did not know if she would survive another pregnancy. It was enough. We had our heir. Years later, we were in King's Landing, as you are aware. Joanna joined me for the Anniversary Tourney to celebrate the King. She was thirty, but her health was poor."

Aerys was a few years older than Tywin who was the same age as Joanna.

There was a weariness to Tywin's voice as he recalled the most painful time in his life. All the Lannister's knew that the King, drunk on wine, had publicly insulted Lady Joanna by asking if her breasts had been ruined by breastfeeding her children. Tywin had tried to resign as Hand of the King the next day, but Aerys had refused the resignation.

"She never confirmed that it was him," Tywin finally said, collapsing into his chair, his voice raspy. "But her handmaidens told me she dismissed them all for a week, refusing to leave her bed soon after that insult. I was too busy attempting to keep things running in the tourney, and I paid little attention to her. By the time we made for the Rock and were home, she was pregnant, and we hadn't shared a bed in months."

It was more than Tywin had shared with anyone. Ever. Even with Kevan. None of the Lannister siblings knew what to do with what they had just learned. And while they might want to demand justice, to want to kill Aerys themselves for what he had done to their brother and his wife, everyone knew the position the man occupied and whom he had by his side.

With Jaime serving as a Kingsguard, any plan for vengeance would have to take into account such a fact. Tywin would never allow his heir to be put in danger.

"When Tyrion killed her when he tore her apart, I wanted to walk him into the sea and toss him into the waves."

"Why did you not?"

Tywin gave a bitter laugh. "Because he was hers."

Few men in this world loved their wives the way that Tywin had loved Joanna.

"So while I never loved him, never would love him, I could have killed him many, many times. And I did not. Despite the monster, you all think I am, he was not anyone else's to kill. He was a Lannister; he was hers. And she died to bring him into this world. Had I known he was in danger, I would have put measures in place to protect him."

"He was a child," Genna said, sniffling and wiping away the tears. "Who on earth was he a threat to?"

And now, another decision, Tywin thought.

He glanced at Tyg, who appeared lost in his anger, and then to Gerion.

Had he changed anything between them with what he revealed?

"I am not an easy man, nor do I plan on changing who I am. Our House is the greatest in the Seven Kingdoms. The only thing that matters to me is family; that our name lives on. For far too long, the two of you have pissed and drank and japed your way through life. Both of you refuse to take a wife. Tell me, do you have any intention of doing your duty?"

Pain lanced across both their faces—a brittle laugh from Tyg's mouth.

"You think it is easy living in your shadow? You, the Great Lion, a man that singl-handily brought two houses to utter ruin when you were barely more than a boy? You are loved and feared, brother, in equal measure not only in the Westerlands but in the realm itself."

"And you refuse to do your duty, Tygett! I can find you a proper match - a woman of the Westerlands, whose father is loyal to our House. When will you do your duty?"

Tygett said nothing, merely glaring at his older brother.

Tywin pressed further.

"Our House could be the most powerful in the kingdom, greater than the Targaryens or the Martells. Stronger than the Baratheons. Great Houses are at war with each other Tyg, and members of said houses dying. And yet, here were are, five strong."

His brother snorted. "You think us strong? We live in your shadow."

"Then take your own piece. Marry, produce heirs, and stand by my side. The realm is at war, and change is coming. Our House has the chance to establish a dynasty that can last a thousand years. Or," Tywin said, pausing dramatically, "We could fade into obscurity."

"You are obsessed with legacy, brother."

"The family name is the only thing that lives on."

Gerion shook his head. "You make it sound so easy, but it is not."

Tywin whirled on him. "Then explain it to me."

"Even I, young as I was, have heard that it was not Aerys that ruled the Seven Kingdoms, but Tywin Lannister. The people loved you, even with your stern visage that never smiled. Yes, they feared you, but you brought peace. Even now, the realm is being torn apart from the King's madness and we sit and do nothing. The realm would look to you again. Yours is an impossible legacy to escape."

Tywin suppressed a sigh. It was easy for those that did not wear the mantle of responsibility. For someone whose son, whose heir was not a hostage of a man that loved to burn people alive. And for as much as he'd revealed tonight, Tywin was not quite ready to share his visions of Sansa, and the victory of Robert at the end of this rebellion, for fear it might not be true and he'd sound like a madman.

Despite the secrets he still held, Tywin could tell that something had shifted, even subtly here with his siblings. By allowing them a glimpse of his pain, of what he had suffered, he had worn down the worst of their anger, and perhaps, even more promising, he'd began to bring them back into the fold.

"And your daughter? Cersei?" Kevan asked, reminding Tywin of his initial rage upon discovering Tyrion's body. "What does she have to do with this?"

All eyes were on the Great Lion as they waited, the solar silent. Again, there was only so much Tywin felt comfortable with revealing, even to those in this room. He had to be careful; Cersei, despite what he was fast coming to suspect about his eldest child, was a dangerous woman, but she might yet be an asset to their House.

"My daughter has balked at the expectations of a high-born noblewoman. She refuses to discuss marriage, instead of believing her place to be here, at the Rock. With Jaime acting as a glorified bodyguard to Aerys, who was standing in her way of becoming the next mistress of the Rock?"

It was a version of the truth, a twist on what he knew. He might want his family to be behind him, but Tywin knew that information was power. He saw Kevan react to the news that Cersei saw herself as next in line when he had provided House Lannister with a son. They were not Dorne; laws of inheritance were clear, especially in the Westerlands.

"She wouldn't," Kevan whispered.

"Who else hated Tyrion as much as I did?"

There was no response, for there was none to give. Everyone had seen how much Cersei hated her youngest sibling. While his siblings now knew the origin of Tywin's hatred for the dwarf, Cersei's remained a mystery. And one that the Lannister lions were determined to solve.

"Leave her to me," Tywin commanded his siblings. They turned to stare at him before they left his solar.

"She is my daughter."

When all four nodded, he waved them from the room, and sat and twisted his lion sigil ring on his finger, barely feeling it warm, trying to find his way forward when it felt like everything had suddenly changed.

The Present: December – Sansa

Sansa gasped as she woke up from her latest vivid dream featuring Tywin Lannister, glancing at her clock. 3 am. The witching hour. The time when she should be asleep, given the fact that she had a final in the morning before she was flying home to Winterfell for the Christmas break.

Knowing she'd be unable to sleep, Sansa pulled on her pyjama pants and slipped her feet into her fuzzy slippers. She was wide awake as she popped the pod into the coffee machine and brewed her first cup of the day.

She sat at her kitchen table, her head resting on her arms as she examined the ring on her finger.

Nowhere in her extensive research had she ever come across anything that suggested that Tywin Lannister had attempted to build relationships with his siblings, nor had Tyrion died as her dream indicated.

It was a fascinating question. What might have happened had Tyrion died young, as her dream had shown? It appeared that Tyrion's death had forced the truth from Tywin's lips, allowing him to trust his siblings with at least some of what had gone on between him and Aerys and the origin of Tyrion's conception.

Sansa knew Tygett to be a commanding force on the battlefield. He'd have been an asset to House Lannister, had he ever been able to escape from the shadow of his eldest brother. Sansa had no living siblings, so she could only try to imagine what it must have been like to grow up with such a man leading your House.

She sat there for what she knew was hours, until the sun finally broke through, bathing Lannisport in its golden hue. She had to admit she was excited to go home to the North. She loved Lannisport, but the break was a welcome one. Their family was small, with only her dad's brother Ben joining them for the holidays, but it was theirs and something she looked forward to each year.

As she made her way to the university where her exam was being adjudicated, Sansa thought about what it must be like to have such a large family and then to watch them fall, one by one. Tywin's love for his wife and his eldest son were well-known hundreds of years later. Kevan and Tywin had remained close, and even Genna had chosen to stay at the Rock, raising her children, her sons, in the Westerlands. It was his other two siblings that had been lost to him.

Sansa slid into her seat, slipping her pencils from their case, refocusing on the task in front of her and pushing the dream from her mind. Three essay questions dealing with the effect of Robert's Rebellion, the Greyjoy Rebellion and the impact of Jaime and Cersei's actions on the long-term stability of the realm. When the test package was slid in front of her, she put her head down and began to write, knowing this material like the back of her hand, and looking forward to being home and putting her first semester of her master's degree behind her.

"Princess!" Ned cried, wrapping Sansa up in his strong arms. Her dad always smelled like Old Spice, mints and ink.

"Dad."

She snuggled closer, relishing in the feeling of comfort and home that came from being back here. Wintertown's airport was small, and they got her luggage quickly, making their way out to the snowy parking lot to her dad's truck.

"I missed this," she said, realizing how true the words were.

She grinned happily as he drove them to their favourite diner, where they had been coming for years. Sansa slipped inside the worn vinyl booth, where they both ordered soup and a hot turkey sandwich. The menu hadn't changed in years, and the familiarity of it all was like a warm hug.

They spent an hour catching up, Sansa laughing at her dad's stories of his students and their antics. She shared that Joff, as predicted, had been kicked out of the program and that Marg and Pod had become good friends of hers.

She didn't mention the dreams to her dad; they seemed too intimate, and she wanted to keep them to herself. But that night when she curled up in her childhood bed, in her old room, contentment unlike what she'd felt for a long time settled over her.

The following week was a wonderful break from her busy schedule in the West. She slept in late, binge-watched all the shows she'd neglected for the past few months, cooked delicious dinners for them and shopped to her heart's content. They went and got their Christmas tree from the little farm that grew them all year long, and then decorated it as they watched old Christmas movies and sipped on eggnog.

When Uncle Ben showed up on Christmas eve, the three of them made their annual pilgrimage to the cemetery where her mother and brother were buried, bringing a little lantern and a candle that they always lit. Her father had chosen to bury them beneath an ancient weirwood tree, where his mother, father, younger sister and older brother were all buried as well.

Sansa laid a spray of amaryllis and white lilies on her mother's grave, running a hand over the marble headstones. There was hardly a day when Sansa wasn't grateful for her father and the life that he had given her. She hugged him hard, thinking of another man that had lost a beloved wife, as her father told her stories about her mother and brother.

Ned, Ben and Sansa all stared down at the graves of their family before the cold drove them home and into their cozy home.

That night as she snuggled into her bed, she thought herself lucky. Her family might not be large, but it more than made up it in love and acceptance. As long as she had her father, Sansa knew she was blessed.

The Past: Casterly Rock – Tywin

Tywin had spent the past few days since Tyrion's death thinking, alone in his solar or his bedroom. He'd shut his family out, including Cersei, needing time to think before he acted. He felt if he made a single wrong move, then his world would crumble, and he'd sacrificed too much to allow Cersei to ruin his House.

That was why when Sansa appeared in his dream state, Tywin felt such a sense of relief that he was shocked, his knees did not buckle. How was it this woman called to him in such a manner? What was their connection? He felt almost weak looking at her, but since he was not a physical manifestation, he dismissed that thought, instead of concentrating on Sansa. He never knew how long he might stay in the vision, and wanted to miss nothing.

She was dressed in a puffy garment of some type, a strange hat on her head, her long red hair a bright ribbon in the snowy night. He was drawn to it, like a moth to the flame.

He wished he could touch her hair, and run his fingers through its silky strands. For a single, brief moment, he imagined it spread out on his pillow, him perched above her. She was a glorious creature and one he had missed. The loneliness of his life seemed amplified when he saw her.

Tywin knew he wasn't an old man; he'd only seen forty-one name days. Many in the realm would have taken another wife and produce more heirs. Perhaps if she were here, he might entertain the thought….

But she wasn't, and that was madness. He'd been married once and had vowed to never be married again.

Tywin turned his attention back to the scene before him, as Sansa stood between her father and another man that had to be a relative for he looked like Sansa's father.

They were standing in a dark, almost foreboding-looking place, with strange markers surrounding them and what looked like an ancient weirwood tree. Tywin had never been North, but even he recognized it from his extensive readings and saw as Sansa knelt to put flowers beside one marker.

The name was clear; Catelyn Stark. Beloved mother and wife. Gone too soon, always loved.

She was a Stark! Had he been forced to guess, Tywin would have thought her to be a Tully with her red hair.

Sansa stepped into her father's arms, and Tywin ached for her. She had such a small family, and Tywin knew how vulnerable those who were alone were. He wanted to warn her father to protect her, to ensure her safety was paramount. But he was helpless to do so.

Instead, he listened as her father spoke of how much he loved her mother, their first meeting at university and how it had been love at first sight. Tywin did not understand all the references Sansa's father made, but the sentiment remained similar to what he had experienced with Joanna.

The vision faded as they walked away in the snowy night. A melancholy air was staying with him as he watched her go, aching to be with her, and knowing that everything around him was changing.

Family.

It was always about family. Even in the future, wherever and whomever Sansa was, family was of paramount importance to her.

It was the only thing in the end that mattered.

And Cersei was attempting to assert her power over him by forcing his hand. With Jaime as Kingsguard, did she truly think he would give her the Rock?

When he summoned her to his solar, he did so alone, even though things had changed between him and his youngest brothers.

Their anger at Cersei and their sympathy towards him (Tywin refused to call it pity) meant that they were wholly on his side now. Cersei and her manipulations would move them naught. Perhaps this tentative truce between the five of them would not last, but for now, they were at least united in the goal to see that role Cersei might have played in the little lion's death.

Still, he would confront his daughter alone. The last thing he needed was one of them demanding justice when Cersei might still serve a purpose. That was always what Tywin had excelled at; utilizing anyone and anything for his own purposes. While his siblings might be ruled by emotion, he was ruled by logic.

Word had come that she had reacted dramatically when she'd learned of Tyrion's death, but not for a single moment did Tywin believe her tears. He'd been blind to many things since Joanna died, but his daughter's hatred of his second son was something that even he had known about. And had been told by his siblings over the past few days, lest he forgot, or be moved by her dramatics.

Cersei entered his solar with Tywin sitting behind his large, imposing desk, completely alone. He knew the picture he presented, and more than one person had cowered in his presence.

Tywin watched as a brief moment of shock and then fear skittered across her face before it was replaced with a mask of grief. It was seeing his unyielding face that drove home the fact that Tywin was not playing games with her.

"Sit."

His voice was a command, not a suggestion, and she arranged herself before him.

"I am told you are beside yourself with grief, daughter, at the loss of your youngest brother."

"I am father," she said, sniffling and casting her eyes downward. "Such a tragedy that he is gone so young."

Tywin wanted to snort in disgust. Both Genna and Kevan had shared stories with him on just how awful she had been to Tyrion. Perhaps that was all it was; she had hated him and saw an opportunity

"I find that almost impossible to believe, given how much you hated him."

Her head whipped up, green eyes flashing, and Tywin saw her loathing for Tyrion there.

Did his eyes look the same when he spoke of Tyrion? He wondered briefly.

"He murdered my mother," she spat. "He was an abomination."

"He was a Lannister," Tywin bellowed at her.

She shot to her feet, almost shaking in rage.

"He should have been dead long ago; nothing like him was ever fit to share our family name. He was a vile creature."

Tywin was staggered at how awful a person his daughter appeared to be, and yet, had he not thought the same? Daily?

"And so you saw to it, did you? Pushed him from the ramparts? Watched as his body fell to the stones below?"

Tywin saw the moment Cersei realized she had overstepped, and she shook her head, denial stamped across her features.

"No, I did not. I haven't spoken to him in weeks father."

The word was on the tip of his tongue – liar.

Cersei might think herself able to play the game, but it was clear she was out of her depth, especially when it came to him. Had the others been here, they would have been screaming for her head, but she might yet be useful. If Robert did win the rebellion, if his visions were correct, marriage alliances would be crucial in establishing new partnerships. And she was unwed and noble-born. When she was twenty-one and the rebellion was over, she would still be useful by marrying someone that would strengthen their house.

But Tywin also knew he could not underestimate his daughter.

So he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Since you are so overcome with your grief, I am ordering you locked in your rooms. Food will be brought, along with whatever books you might like. When Tyrion's funeral is held, you may attend. But anything else, any correspondence you might have, any leisure activities you planned, any functions you might think you need to carry out, will cease immediately."

Her mouth dropped open before her eyes narrowed. It pained Tywin that they were Joanna's, for they were filled with such venom he thought a lesser man might wither before them.

"You wouldn't."

"I would, and I am. And if needed, a pinch of sweet sleep in your wine and food, to help you deal with your grief. I am told sleep is best when you are overwrought with emotion."

She changed tactics, the tears pouring down her face.

"Father, please, do not. You need me by your side. I am your only child left."

Tywin snorted.

"Jaime is not dead. And I have my siblings, Cersei. I have my family. Word will go out throughout the kingdom that you have fallen ill due to your grief and are in mourning for a year. That is sufficient time, I believe, for you to recover."

Her face paled at his announcement.

Tywin gave a small nod to two guards that had slipped inside his solar, and they had to drag her away. She was scratching and spitting, calling him vile names and cursing the Sunset Sea to take him as well.

"It is this or the Silent Sisters, Cersei," Tywin said, voice deadly with intent.

She stilled then, eyes fearful.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

She straightened and held her head high, and she glared at him.

"You are a disgrace to our House, unable to do what was required. He was a diseased branch that needed to be purged from our family tree. You disgust me."

She spun and was gone, as Tywin staggered back against his desk.

How many times had he thought the same thing? Was his daughter correct? Had his love for Joanna blinded him to what had been required of his House? Had he been wrong in keeping Tyrion alive to honour Joanna and her sacrifice?

The mere idea of Tyrion marrying one day, having children and giving them the Lannister name had kept him awake more nights than he'd cared to admit. Now that was no longer an issue with Tyrion dead. Had she done him a favour?

Unsure of what to think and hating that he felt such a way, Tywin pushed the entire business from his mind, unwilling to examine it closer.

Instead, he wondered when he might receive word from Jaime in the capital. He had written the King to ask permission for his son to be released from his Kingsguard duty to attend Tyrion's funeral.

For now, Tywin had attempted to control the situation to the best of his ability and neutralize his daughter. Only time would tell if his actions were sufficient to stem her thirst for power.

A fortnight later, the lions of House Lannister arranged themselves in the sept at Casterly Rock for the funeral of Tyrion. Jaime had not been granted permission to attend, and Tywin seethed when that scroll had been delivered to his solar, another slight by Aerys against him.

Cersei, whom he had not seen since he'd removed her from his solar and placed her under the watchful eye of his loyal guards, raged daily at Tywin. She played the part well, Tywin thought dispassionately, moaning and crying, grieving as if Tyrion was not hated by her and she had not had a hand in his death.

It still bothered Tywin that even when confronted, she never confessed to the act. Perhaps if she had told him the truth, that her disgust and rage had overwhelmed her, they might have been able to salvage something out of their fraught relationship. But her inability to confide in him had irrevocably broken Tywin's trust in her, and he now viewed her as a problem to be managed.

If she thought that her performance during Tyrion's funeral would earn a reprieve, she was sorely mistaken as she soon discovered as she was dragged back to her rooms. She glanced toward her uncles and her aunt for help, but they turned a blind eye to her insults and her screams.

Surprisingly, the most significant change at Casterly Rock had been Tywin's relationship with his siblings.

When he'd informed them of the outcome of his discussion with Cersei, there had been the expected outrage that her punishment wasn't more severe. Until Tywin pointed at the map and demanded they think about the rebellion that was consuming Westeros.

"I do not mean to emerge from this battle in a weaker position. She is a trueborn noblewoman of good standing. In a few years when she has come to see things my way she may yet be an asset to our house."

Tyg has snorted, but since he'd finally agreed to marry, one day, Tywin let it slide for now. He wanted his brother on his side, not constantly fighting with him at every turn. Their time to strike was growing closer, Tywin knew, with the rebellion still raging.

"We should pick a side," Tyg had demanded, looking down at where the last known rebel forces were headed.

It was plain to see what side he thought they should take. He'd rush to the rebel's side and throw their lot in with them.

"We must think of Jaime," was all Tywin would say.

When he went to protest, Tywin held up a hand.

"I am well aware of what Aerys has done to our House. But I will not jeopardize Jaime's safety on an outcome that is not yet a guarantee."

Neither Tyg nor Gerion completely agreed, but neither one of them was the head of the Lannister army. Still, Tywin knew when he rode to war, he'd have his brothers at his side, Tywin could only wonder what the next one might bring.

Three months later, word reached the Rock that Lord Stark had made it home to Winterfell and called his banners. He was marching south, joining his forces with that of Lord Arryn and Lord Hoster Tully.

As Tywin moved the silverfish on his great map, he wondered if it was just Catelyn's betrothal to Ned Stark that moved the Riverlands lord. Regardless, that made four of the seven regions at war with the King. His green eyes flicked towards Dorne. Like him, Doran Martell had been slow to call his banners. Tywin knew it was because Elia and her children remained in the capital. Like him, the Prince in Sunspear had someone he loved that was all but hostage in King's Landing.

Still, as Tywin pondered the map, he wondered if Sansa and her visions were correct.

Was it possible that Robert did emerge victoriously? And if so, how did Tywin extract Jaime from Aerys clutches?

Sighing, a headache pounding at his temples, Tywin turned to leave his solar, knowing these puzzles would be here tomorrow. For a brief moment, he wondered if he might have another vision; there had been nothing since he'd seen Sansa in the snow and cold standing over her mother's grave.

Then he shook himself from such foolish thoughts.

She was lost to him; out of his time and beyond his reach and thinking about her anymore would do him no good.

He readied himself for bed, alone, and knew this was his future. He'd had one great love, and no woman, either in this time or another, could compete with that. He was a fool even to entertain such ideas.

He was not a starry-eyed young man, and this life was not a song or poem. Life was hard, cruel and brutal, and even if he could, he'd never wish for Sansa to be here. Westeros was not kind to women, and even less so to those of her beauty. She was happy and loved where she was.

And more importantly, she was not, nor would she ever be his.