Casterly Rock – Tywin
Tywin had spent far too much time since his latest vision mulling over what he'd learn from the alluring red-haired woman from the future.
The most disturbing part for him was not that Robert Baratheon had been named king, but the actions of his daughter. For too long, Tywin realized, he'd allowed his children to run amok, believing that the family name, family honour would be enough for them to understand what was expected of them.
They were Lannister's for god's sake, he fumed. Lannisters did not act like fools!
They were the wealthiest and one of the most powerful houses in the Kingdom.
And according to the woman from his visions, his children destroyed his great house.
Did Cersei think he was playing a game that didn't have dire consequences?
Did she think this game of thrones a child's game?
Did she not realize the consequences of her actions?
If the woman in the vision was to be believed, and Tywin could scarcely believe she couldn't be, since learning of the first two victories in the rebellion, then Tywin had made his daughter a Queen!
And Cersei had repaid him by destroying his house.
He'd been in a foul mood, wondering when he might confront Cersei and impart to her the expectations he had for her as his daughter.
Now, more than ever, he spent hours in the family solar, watching her and the lecherous little stump of a boy toddle around. He hated Tyrion with a passion and knowledge that others in the future somehow knew his shame, knowing that Tyrion was not his, burned a pit in his stomach.
Word had come about Jon Arryn's victory at Gulltown. And the rumour was that Eddard Stark had escaped the net of the Vale to race home to the North and call his banners, while Lord Arryn and Lord Baratheon battled Marq Grafton.
Of course, it was Robert that killed Grafton, taking Gulltown and securing his reputation as a man to be reckoned with, instead of a buffoon that drank too much.
Tywin spent hours over his map, moving a stag and a falcon marker to indicate the victory. Knowing that Robert was to be crowned King, knowing that he'd emerge victoriously, it was easy for Tywin to see how the man had built his following. And here he was, forced to sit on the sidelines and watch, like some idiot and not a man that had won two wars!
It galled him, eating away at the hours when he should be sleeping.
Robert, after securing victory at Gulltown, had raced home to the Stormlands, where once again, word had come that not all supported the Stag lord.
Tywin scoffed. If he called his banners, his loyal men would heed his call, lest they need to be reminded what happened to those that sought to defy him.
Summerhall. Robert's next great victory, where he'd killed Lord Fell and took Lords Cafferen and Grandison to Storm's End. Word now came that those three houses that had risen in protest against Robert had pledged to him, and Robert was now free to ride North, to join forces with Lord Arryn and Lord Stark.
And he was stuck at the Rock, Tywin snarled.
Even his loyal brother Kevan gave him a wide berth these days, as his mood was as foul as the storms that rolled in during the autumn months and battered the Rock.
Finally, when he could stand it no longer, Tywin demanded Cersei come to his solar where they would talk.
Tywin was deep into his correspondence, using a sharp knife to slit open the wax seals that came from across the realm to give him valuable information. He barely noticed when he'd nicked himself, the blood trickling over his fingers and settling around his sigil ring.
He was seated behind his desk, his face in his customary scowl as he read the scrolls when Cersei strolled into the room.
Tywin eyed her critically, noting for the first time that while she was a woman who had reached her age of majority there was a cold and calculating air to her.
Tywin thought there was something in her eyes that was almost tinged with madness; certainly, ambition burned bright and hot there.
Shaking himself from his musings, he indicated the seat across from his.
"Father," she smirked, seating herself.
How had he not seen the calculation in her eyes before?
It was clear for anyone who cared to look at her to see. She made no attempt to hide it, and for the first time, Tywin wondered what she wanted, this daughter of his.
He admonished himself for being so blind and consumed by grief that he'd paid little to no attention to his children, preferring that his siblings take on their care.
Now, it seemed he'd miscalculated. He'd always assumed that the end of his house would come from external sources intent on destroying him. To learn his children had a hand in House Lannister's demise had kept him up many nights over the past few weeks.
"Come," he said, tone cold, motioning to her. They walked towards his large map of Westeros he kept in a corner of the room, where natural light spilled in.
Cersei frowned at his command but rose to follow him.
There was a hardness to her beauty, Tywin realized suddenly. She knew what she was, and he was sure she'd use it to her advantage. And while he approved, when her plans did not match his, it was worrisome.
"What do you see?"
She frowned. Everyone knew of the rebellion, and word had started to spread about Robert's two victories.
His daughter sneered as she glanced at the capital. Her hatred for House Targaryen was almost as deep as his - but that was because they'd rejected her. It was yet another slight against his house from his one time friend.
"The rebels are brave, father, to fight against a Mad King."
Tywin's eyes never left hers, watching as she scanned the map.
"These are Lord Robert's victories?" She indicated the map.
"Hmm," Tywin agreed. "They are."
Whatever Robert might be, craven on the battlefield was not one of them.
The man from the Stormlands had hoped for a marriage between Houses Baratheon and Stark one day. But with that option now gone, Tywin saw another option. When he told his daughter, she snorted in disgust.
"He started a war against the King, and all because of her."
Her eyes darted North. To Winterfell. To the Starks.
Tywin steepled his hands, thinking.
What did his daughter want? There were precious few options available to highborn women. Marrying was what was expected of them.
"Should Robert emerge victoriously, he'll be a powerful man, daughter. Perhaps the most powerful man in Westeros. And he will be in need of a Queen."
Her green eyes flew up to his, and he saw something there that chilled his blood.
Denial.
Rejection.
A slyness he'd not noticed before.
"More powerful than you, father?"
Tywin wanted to snort at her blatant attempt at flattery.
"He will need a Lady for Storm's End, Cersei, and if he takes the Iron Throne, a Queen by his side. He will need an heir. Perhaps not immediately, but in a year or two, when things have settled."
She shook her head. "He's a brute from all accounts, father. He is rumoured to be in love with another. You can't possibly think I'd want to marry such a man."
"Love? That is your objection to such a fine match?" Tywin scoffed.
Cersei's hands shook and her head followed. "Not him."
Tywin glowered. "No? Then perhaps Lord Arryn. The man also needs an heir and is Lord of the Vale."
His daughter paled even further and stuttered.
"Gods, father no. I beg of you, no."
Tywin's frustration grew, along with his ire.
"Then Oberyn Martell? He's not the heir to Sunspear, but a Prince."
Cersei said nothing, her green eyes gleaming in denial.
"Stannis? In a year, you two would be a good match. If Robert were to be King, Stannis would be lord of Storm's end and the two of you are the same age. Perhaps a match could be made for you with him."
Her head shook, almost frantically and tears gathered in her eyes, rejecting each name he threw out.
For some reason, her tears moved Tywin naught. It was a show, he was sure.
Tywin's fist slammed down on the map.
"What do you think your duty is, Cersei? You are my daughter. Your role is to marry, to help secure alliances for our house, and to produce heirs!"
Her green eyes glittered, and rage, impotent and hot roared through them.
She was angry to be discussing her marriage, Tywin realized, stunned.
What did she think her role was if not to marry well and secure the best alliance possible for their house?
"If I were your son, we would not be having this conversation! I would not be bartered about like some broodmare, my only worth to you the marriage I can make. The Rock would be mine! I am your firstborn, father."
Tywin snorted and shook his head, incredulous at her gall.
"That is not how laws of inheritance work. We are not Dorne. Jaime is my heir."
There was a flash there, something possessive in her eyes when he said his son's name and it bothered Tywin on a fundamental level for a reason he could not name.
Tywin leaned over the map, his eyes boring into hers.
"He is my son, my heir Cersei. He's not yours. Do not forget it. Jaime is MINE!"
He saw the argument on her face before it left her lips, her mouth moving as fast as she could form the words. How had he ever thought her demure and like her mother was beyond his reasoning at this moment?
She leaned towards him, hurt, rage, anger, possession all stamped across her face which had almost turned ugly with the emotion she was feeling.
"He is not! He is my twin! We shared a womb. He loves me best, and you will not separate us. Not when the Mad King is dead. Jaime will come home to the Rock and you cannot force me to leave."
Tywin scoffed and shook his head, disgust in her evident on his face.
"Casterly Rock is not yours, Cersei. Your future is not here. You are a noble and true-born woman. In a year, you will marry and become the Lady of a great house. And your marriage will help our family."
Tywin turned to leave the room when her voice stopped him. It was cold and calculating and the implications so great that they settled like a pit in his stomach.
"And if I refuse, father? What good would your plans be if no one wanted me? If I were to start rumours that I am not ..."
Even she did not dare finish that sentence.
Pure, unadulterated rage surged through him, and he spun back, stalking towards her, grabbing her by the arms, holding her tightly.
Did she dare to threaten him with such an action?
Did she not understand the consequences such a choice would have – not just on her but on their house, their position in Westeros?
A rumour such as the one she threatened could destroy a woman in an instant. A high-born woman clung to her maidenhood and guarded it as if it were precious. Because it was!
"You would dare to defy me? You would do something like this, to hurt not only yourself, your family? Your maidenhood is the only thing that you have, daughter."
He saw anger in her eyes, and then denial. Tywin's head spun, and he had no idea what to believe.
Was she simply testing him?
Would she really do whatever it took to avoid marriage?
Had she given away her maidenhood?
And if she had, to whom?
"I am sorry, father," she stuttered.
She shook her head and a man that prided himself on being able to read people his entire life, to know if they were speaking falsely, had no idea if she was lying to him or not.
His eyes narrowed.
"Your duty is to marry, Cersei, and marry a man that will help our House. You are a Lannister! And you will marry whatever man I choose."
His voice had risen, the command in it unmistakable.
Tywin saw that she wanted to deny it; she had rejected every choice he'd given her, to say she wouldn't marry. He'd have none of it.
"I have given you a choice, Cersei, more than most fathers. Think on that."
With that, Tywin stalked from the room, unaware his youngest child had hidden himself so he could overhear the entire conversation.
When the room was clear of the Great Lion, Tyrion whistled softly as he emerged from behind a large ottoman.
At ten years old, he was still incredibly small for his age, and while he was brilliant, he could not understand why his father hated him so much. It was worse now that Jaime was gone, off to the capital and guarding the King.
His sister hated him almost as much, if not more than his father. But now, well now he knew her secret. He'd always been smart for his age.
He didn't understand why his brother seemed to love her so much. She was a bitter woman, cruel and mean, and did not love Jaime the same way his golden brother loved her.
Now when she'd taunted their father, Tyrion knew he had to tell his father lest Cersei made them all look like fools.
When Cersei spotted him, she snarled at him.
"What are you doing, lurking here?"
He gave a little whistle, shrugging his shoulders. For so long, all Tyrion had wanted was his father to love him. Perhaps if he were to speak to his father about his sister and her plots, Tywin might love him. It had to be better than how things currently were.
"I wonder what Father would think if I were to speak to him about you and Jaime."
Cersei's eyes narrowed, as she stalked over to him, leaning down and drilled a finger into his chest.
"You will say nothing, Tyrion, you spiteful little creature. Do you think that father would even believe you? You, the child who killed his beloved wife."
Tyrion's eyes widened, and he nodded, holding up his hands, backing away from her, suddenly scared. Her eyes were raging.
"LEAVE!" she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth.
Tyrion's heart was racing as he hurried from the room, fear screaming through his body. There was something unhinged about his sister, and for the first time in his young life, Tyrion Lannister was scared.
The Present, November: Lannisport – Sansa
Exhaustion beat at Sansa as she lit the candles in her bathroom, pouring the lavender bubble bath into the warm water. She had a glass of wine, the music she liked on low and no plans on exiting her bathtub until she was a prune!
If she thought the first few months of her Master's degree had been tough, these past few weeks had challenged her in a way she had never thought possible. She'd decided her professors were trying to kill them; to bury them beneath so much reading that she could barely find time to do anything but read, attend class and write papers. And even then, she was barely keeping up. Her brain actually hurt.
That was why her Friday night was spent alone with her candles, wine, and music.
Marg had begged her to go out with her this weekend, eventually wearing Sansa down so that she'd agreed to go to a club with Marg and her boyfriend Bronn tomorrow night.
Pod was coming as well, and while Sansa didn't really want to go, she knew that it was necessary to participate in some things to keep her new friends.
She giggled when she thought of Joff's face when their professor had scolded him in front of the entire class today. He was failing, refusing to keep up with the readings, and was in real danger of flunking out.
Sansa closed her eyes and thought about the period they were focused on. The beginning of Robert's Rebellion and the response of the Westerlands.
It was hard to argue that during this time that Tywin hadn't been his cold and calculating self, sitting at the Rock and refusing to declare for either side.
Sansa's point was - who could blame him?
"His son was a hostage of Aerys," she had said to the class, while others had rolled their eyes at her continued defence of him. "What could he have done?"
Most thought that he'd made his choice not to engage so that his army was not depleted, but Sansa believed it had much more to do with Jaime being in King's Landing than it did with Tywin's concern over the Lannister forces being killed.
It was a crucial point in her thesis - that Tywin's love for Jaime was absolute and genuine; and that it had blinded him to Jaime's faults and had prevented the Great Lion from focusing on what his other children were doing. That and the fact that the man had been lost in his grief over the death of his wife.
When she finally emerged from the bath, an hour later, she dried herself off and put on a tank top and boy shorts, and crawled into bed. She had hours of work to do tomorrow, groceries to get, and her apartment to clean before she could even think of joining her friends at the club.
Still, it was fun to think about going out, at least once in a while. She was a young woman, after all. People in university went out to clubs all the time.
Sansa was sleepily fingering the lion ring she now wore on her pointer finger, having had it fitted, so it was snug on her finger and always there. She loved what it looked like and often found herself playing with it, or stroking her other fingers over it.
Most thought her obsession with Tywin had extended to having this knock-off piece made, something cheap and unimportant.
Only she knew it had once belonged to him.
As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if he indeed was the man they knew of in the history books. He was such a dominating figure that surely he couldn't live up to the reputation that had trickled down over the years. There had to be some softness to him, didn't there?
Yawning once more and closing her eyes, Sansa missed when the ring went warm, slipping into sleep and hoping she'd dream of times gone by.
Sansa knew she was dreaming almost immediately when Casterly Rock and the Lannister's came into view. She looked around to see herself in a room that was a study, no a solar, she corrected herself. Had she had hands, she would have clapped in glee!
She loved it when her mind gave her the dreams she wanted! And what better dream than to see Tywin Lannister. And was that his daughter with him?
This had never happened before, so Sansa concentrated on what they were saying. Her brain was a marvelous thing.
"And if I refuse, father? What good would your plans be if no one wanted me? If I were to start rumors that I am not ..."
Sansa was startled at how angry Tywin appeared to be. How could his daughter not see the impact of her words on him? And more, why would she taunt him in such a way?
Tywin was glaring at his daughter, Sansa saw, and she wanted to tsk at Cersei for taunting him in such a way.
"You would dare to defy me? You would do something like this, to hurt not only yourself, your family? Your maidenhood is the only thing that you have, daughter."
Cersei shook her head.
"I am sorry, father."
"Your duty is to marry, Cersei, and marry a man that will help our House. You are a Lannister! And you will marry whatever man I choose. When you are twenty-one you will be wed."
Cersei's mouth had snapped shut and was in a thin line. Sansa thought she was a fool! Her father was giving her a choice, and so few women got that in these times.
"I have given you a choice, Cersei, more than most fathers. Think on that."
Then Sansa saw the Great Lion spin and walk out of the room. Her dream mind followed him as he stalked down the corridors of what had to be Casterly Rock!
GAH! She was seeing Casterly Rock. This was the best dream ever! She wondered where her mind had come up with all the lifelike details. She wished he would slow down so she could look at the beautiful tapestries that graced the walls, the windows, and the glass mosaics.
"Fool," he was muttering to himself as he made his way into the Hall of Heroes.
Sansa gasped at the sight before her (or would have, had she had a body! But in her mind, it was a total gasp).
The area was beautiful, with massive, life-sized monuments from legend in House Lannister. Sansa wondered where Tywin was going, and then saw as he stopped before a painting of Joanna Lannister.
Her romantic heart swooned. To be so loved that a man never once took another wife, even when it would have benefited him to do so. What must that be like?
"I am lost, my love," the Great Lion said, kneeling before the painting. "For too long, I have ignored our children, allowed them to think that they know what is best for themselves and for our house."
The grief in this man was almost palpable, and Sansa wished she could comfort him.
"I have not upheld my promises to you, wife. Our son, our beloved Jaime, is lost, a hostage in all but name to the man that I know hurt you. Our daughter is a vain, cunning creature, whom I'm afraid will bring us all to ruin. And as much as I hate him, I have never been able to kill the abomination that took you from me."
Sansa ached for this man. She had no illusions that he wasn't a cold and calculating man, a ruthless man, that would do whatever it took to see his family, his name, his house succeed.
But he was also, a man that loved deeply and had been wronged; by his friend, the King, by his children, and by the untimely death of his beloved wife.
As the dream began to fade, she wondered why her mind had made up such a conversation. In all her years of research, she'd never once heard of Tywin ever confronting Cersei in such a way.
Sansa gasped as the dream let go of her, coming awake instantly.
It was so vivid, she felt like she had been there, and the ache she'd felt for Tywin hadn't left even upon waking. She glanced over and saw that it was barely 3 A.M., too soon to start her day.
But whatever she was feeling, it was not sleepy as she lay there in her bed, trying to dissect what she had just dreamt. She pushed back the covers and padded to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As she looked outside, the city asleep, like she should be, she thought of what she'd seen.
How different would things have been, Sansa thought, had Tywin known what type of woman Cersei was.
Would he have ever recognized her lust for power? Would he have been able to prevent her and Jaime's ill-fated relationship in King's Landing after Cersei had wed Robert? Would he have been able to save his house from ruin had he known what his children were plotting?
Sighing, she placed her glass in the sink and then went back to bed. It would take some time, but she needed the sleep, especially with Marg's plans for her.
She wondered if she might dream of Tywin again, but when she slipped into sleep, it was only silence that greeted her, her visitors from the past nowhere to be found.
The next morning after hurrying to get groceries and store them in her little kitchen, Sansa glanced between the stack of books she had sitting there, waiting for her and the outside world where light, drizzly November rain was making everything grey and wet and miserable.
It matched her mood, one she'd been in all morning. She'd woken from her sleep, thinking she'd be excited to dive back into the ancient world of the Westerlands, but instead, she'd felt decidedly off.
The grief that she'd witnessed in her dream had felt too real, too up close and personal. The look on the face of the man they called the Great Lion had been one that she'd often seen her father wear on his face.
Sansa had spent some time in therapy, mostly to learn how to help her father cope with his grief.
The therapist had called it 'complicated grief.'
It was more than just being sad that someone died; it often was something those that had lost a child or a beloved spouse felt and was often accompanied by additional mental health disorders like anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder. It often lasted longer than 'normal' grief, although Sansa hated that term, going on for an extended length of time.
Ned had told Sansa, and her therapist that it was only her, his daughter, that had given him a reason to carry on after losing his wife and young son, and Sansa had carried the mantle of that responsibility for years.
Most days, she hadn't minded. Her father had been wonderful, and they were extremely close. Sansa could hardly imagine what he'd been through losing his wife and son.
But it was this experience, this knowledge that had her in a mood this morning.
What she had seen in her dream last night, the agony and the pain on the face of the man in her dream had been an expression she'd seen too often in real life.
It made her feel restless and itchy, and she knew she couldn't stay in her small apartment all day. Making a decision, she found her Hunter rain boots, an umbrella, and her North Face rain jacket and was out of the apartment before she could question her decision.
There was only one place to go; the ruins of Casterly Rock. Being the offseason, the hours were reduced today to 11 am - 4 pm. She skipped the guided tour, and dashed inside, knowing where she needed to be.
When she entered the Hall of Heroes, or what they now believed to be the Hall, she stopped. She could see it, in perfect clarity in her mind, in all its glory as she'd dreamed last night.
Where had those images come from? she thought, wandering through the ruins, her hands touching the bases of the monuments that were long gone.
Hundreds of years ago, all the magnificent castles in Westeros had been raided, bones of long-dead ancestors stolen, sold on the black market to people who had to possess something that wasn't theirs.
Guiltily, her eyes strayed to her ring, but she shook it off. The ring was different. She had been meant to find it, she knew.
She stopped at the exact spot where she'd seen dream Tywin drop to his knees; his entire body defeated as he'd confessed his failures to his late wife.
"I wonder how long she'd been dead?" Sansa said, out loud and to no one.
The rain and wind had picked up, and she was the only one here; everyone else was inside, taking cover, but she couldn't help but let the elements wash over her.
Was it any wonder she couldn't find a man to love her the way that men like her father and Tywin had loved their wives? Was she so wrong to want what they had? Even when grief all but crippled them, they'd still had the good memories.
She wandered, aimlessly, down the hallway that was just old crumbling stone now, and she swore for a second she saw the tapestries that had lined the walls, the mosaics of glass pieces, inlaid with gold that must have taken hundreds, if not thousands of years to create. The Rock of her dreams had been everything she'd ever imagined it to be, and she'd seen only two rooms.
It didn't surprise her when she ended up in what she now knew was Tywin Lannister's private solar. She could picture the large map that he'd loomed over, berating her daughter as they'd discussed the rebellion.
The historical society had named this the family library, but Sansa knew they were wrong.
What was going on with her?
Where did the sense of urgency, of knowledge, of melancholy come from?
She laughed out loud, harshly into the room, and waved a hand as some turned and shot glares at her.
She could see the massive desk in which the Great Lion must have spent hours writing his scrolls. There was a famous line attributed to him; some wars were won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens. Tywin had won wars both ways.
Gods, she was a freak, she thought. She was obsessed with a man that had lived over seventeen hundred years ago!
If she were honest with herself, which, it seemed like the mood she was in, she compared all men she met to either her father or Tywin!
And then wondered why no one ever measured up.
One man, her father, was so good, so pure-hearted and kind that Sansa swore no other would ever compare.
The other man a monster, only made softer by his epic love for his wife and the grief that had clearly consumed him upon her death.
And these were her two ideals. No wonder she was single, and a virgin at her age.
She wandered through more of the ruins, somehow knowing what the Rock looked like at the height of its power when the Great Lion ruled here.
Shaking her head, Sansa finally left the Rock.
She had to get over this… obsession. Her classmates were right.
She was single-minded, and while that served her well in her studies, it sucked for her dating life. She needed to give some men a chance if she didn't want to end up an old maid, all by herself with twelve cats!
Take Pod. He was nice and age-appropriate. Sure, Sansa felt more emotion for dream!Tywin than she had any man in recent memory, but maybe she wasn't being fair to Pod, or any man she'd met.
As she emerged from the ruins, she was startled to see how dark it was.
How long had she been here?
"Crap," she whispered.
It was almost 4 pm. It would take at least half an hour to get home, and then she had to make supper and get ready. Marg and Bronn were picking her up in just under two and a half hours.
"I'd better hurry," she muttered to herself, almost running to her car, not even glancing back at the Rock. She had to let this insanity of comparing men to Tywin Lannister of all people go. There were no men like him; there hadn't been for hundreds of years.
She turned her car on, cranked the radio to some stupid modern pop station and gave herself a stern lecture. It was high time she started to live her life in the present; the very modern 21st century.
Her entire life, she'd wanted a great love, and she wasn't going to find it by crawling around old ruins and dreaming of a man that was long dead.
Squaring her shoulders, she sent Marg a text when she got home.
Sansa: Still on for tonight?
Marg: You bet! Excited?
Sansa: Heck yeah! Time to cut loose and have fun.
She groaned. Who the heck said cut loose? The nerd that was her.
Marg: Oh, sweetie, you're adorable! I have it on good authority on Podrick Payne is looking VERY forward to tonight.
Marg had included a little emoji with wiggly eyebrows, and Sansa laughed, despite herself. This was good. This was normal.
Sansa: Awesome. Can't wait. See you soon!
Marg: You bet! And Sansa – dress to impress. You're smoking hot! Time to find you a man.
Shaking her head at Marg, Sansa promised she would.
Then she firmly pushed Tywin Lannister, and his grief-filled eyes from her mind determined to give it her best shot tonight at finding someone she might connect with. She was done living in the past; the present and her future were calling.