Chapter 22

A Tour of Casterly Rock – Tywin

With the obligatory introductions to family done, Tywin was eager to get on with their day. Before leaving the Lion's mouth, Tywin barked out an order.

"Marbrand, Clegane," he snapped as both stepped forward. Out of the corner of his eye, Tywin saw Gregor move. Tywin snarled and shook his head, horrified. As if he wanted that monster anywhere near Sansa.

"Sandor," Tywin clarified his voice cutting. Gregor stilled and looked at Tywin, his face furious.

Addam and Sandor were utterly loyal to not only Tywin but to Sansa. They had seen what she was and how much Tywin loved her, and he trusted them with her life.

"You two will guard my wife, and be by her side wherever she goes."

It was a slight and an obvious one to the older Clegane brother, but Tywin did not care. He didn't miss how close his daughter's 'guard' stood to her, and wondered if she thought him such an idiot that he couldn't see what she was attempting.

Tywin didn't even want to contemplate what she might have offered a man such as Gregor Clegane to win him to her side. He knew that the issue of Gregor Clegane would have to be dealt with and soon.

But now was not the moment, and both Addam and Sandor eagerly stepped up to be by Sansa's side. There were others, men who had been loyal to Tywin for years and were part of his personal escort. Then there were Kevan and Tygett, both of his brothers, dedicated to her safety and well-being.

He handed the cubs off to his steward, who said he'd see them settled in his private chambers, and the gave a soft smile to Sansa. He knew she had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

"Ready to see the Rock, my love?" he asked her quietly. Only those closest to them could hear the endearment, and they were well used to how Tywin felt about Sansa. Nobody seemed at all disturbed that Tywin was in love, for his siblings could recall how he was with Lady Joanna. For Genna and Gerion, they had simply thought this day would never come again, for Tywin had been so mired in his grief for so long.

She beamed at him, so brightly, that Tywin wondered if he'd ever had something so good and so pure in his life as Sansa.

"Oh yes, Tywin, I am ready!"

He chuckled softly, knowing what this meant to her.

For the first time in his life, Tywin wanted to shuck the mantle of responsibility that lay so heavily on his shoulders. He wanted to grab Sansa by the hand and race towards their bedchambers. He wanted to spend hours worshiping her, everywhere he'd dreamed of having her here, in his magnificent home. The excitement he felt at having her in his home, at Casterly Rock, was a palpable thing inside him, almost like a living entity, and he could hardly contain himself.

Of course, he did none of those things, for he was the Great Lion and had a reputation to maintain. It would do no one any good to watch him race through the halls, tugging Sansa along, like they were too excited to follow proper decorum.

Instead of running through the corridors of his beloved home, he tucked his arm into hers and sauntered at a leisurely pace, allowing the Rock's staggering beauty to wash over him as he viewed it through Sansa's eyes. He knew there was none other like it in the Seven Kingdoms. That wasn't boasting. It was simply the truth.

While it was the Casterly's of antiquity that had used the natural rock cliffs to build the first Rock, it was the Lannisters that had added to the castle to make it the stunning place it now was.

The concentric castle had many buildings between its outer walls and the inner building, and as they wandered together as Tywin pointed them all out. Sansa asked him dozens of questions, all of which he could easily answer. The Rock was Tywin's to protect, to cherish, to ensure it passed on to his blood, to his heir. His pride in his home was evident.

When they entered the main castle, Tywin brought Sansa first to the Golden Gallery. He was vain enough to admit he wanted to show off for his wife, and the Gallery housed the treasures of House Lannister.

With a nod to the two guards that were always stationed outside its ornate doors, Tywin indicated for them to be opened.

Sansa gasped as the warm afternoon sun spilled through the stained glass windows, lighting the walls that were a golden mosaic of glass tiles depicting some of the bravest acts of those from his noble house.

As they passed through the doors, Sansa couldn't help but reach out and touch the elaborately carved doors, inlaid with solid gold. There were eight panels, all with a different lion, some of the very best craftsmanship in the kingdom. They had taken years to make and were truly spectacular and one of a kind. Tywin knew there was nothing quite like them in the kingdom.

"Tywin, this is incredible," she said, eyes wide. She had stopped to run her hand over the carvings, shaking her head in wonder.

He chuckled softly. "I take it that these doors are not present in your Casterly Rock."

She gave an inelegant snort. "No. It was a ruin, Ty. Less than half this size, without even a moat. Most of the outer walls are missing, and only a few of the rooms even resemble what I see before me."

Sadness washed over Tywin, somewhat unexpectedly, to hear the Rock reduced to little more than rubble. It was a stark reminder of what, and more importantly, who had started the downfall of his house.

The meeting with his family had gone as he'd expected, although perhaps he hadn't quite been ready for the hatred that he'd seen flash in Cersei's eyes. He'd expected anger towards Sansa, for his daughter always maintained Joanna to some impossible standard, but what had been unexpected had been her fury at him.

It was apparent that his daughter believed he had betrayed Jaime with his marriage.

It was shortsighted of her, to think in such away. A man such as himself needed heirs. As painful as it might be to lose Jaime, Tywin had no control over what might happen to his son. And no matter what Cersei thought, Tywin could not change laws of inheritance. He wasn't even sure he would if he could. There was a reason for rules, and he was a man that took comfort in tradition. Firstborn sons inherited. That was the way it was. That was the way it always had been.

If the unthinkable were to happen to Jaime, Sansa gave House Lannister hope for a new heir to the Rock – a proper heir to the Rock. An heir from his blood. It was a man's duty to do whatever was in his power to better his family. Tywin's marriage to Sansa did that, for many reasons.

Cersei did not like that she would never inherit the Rock– but it was the way of things. It was how things happened in the West. And Tywin would not buck tradition – not even for her.

A gasp from Sansa drew his attention back to the present, as she tugged him further into the Golden Gallery. They spent an hour there, Tywin regaling Sansa with tales of the past and Lannister history. She was enthralled and delighted when she was able to touch some of the treasures that were housed here.

"It's like a museum, but real," she breathed.

"What is a museum?" he asked. He liked that they had this time, this space, to be alone. He could ask her questions about the future.

She smiled up at him, so full of love and warmth. It still staggered Tywin, how much she loved him.

"Well, museums are buildings dedicated to the past. They contain artifacts, like letters, clothing, weapons. Anything really, from whatever time or place the museum is about. For instance, there is a museum in modern Lannisport all about House Lannister, the Westerlands and ancient times."

"So, a museum is different from the Rock?"

Her laughed washed over him as she nodded her head.

"Yes. The Rock is deemed a heritage site – a ruin with a small museum attached. But the main museum, the one that deals with the history of the entire region, is in Lannisport."

"And do they have things of mine in this museum?" he asked, utterly captivated by such an idea.

Sadly, Sansa shook her head. "Not many, Tywin. Things … fell apart for House Lannister."

"Because of Cersei," he spat.

"Because of all of them," she countered gently. "I know you love Jaime, but he also refused to do his duty, Tywin. He never married and had children he could claim as his own. Cersei went mad for power, and in the end, only Tyrion was left. He never married either, never had any children. The Rock passed on to Kevan's children, but there was no more gold, or it was so mismanaged that within a few generations, the Rock had fallen into disrepair and never regained its former glory."

Rage consumed him when he thought of what his children had done to his legacy – a legacy that he'd done everything to maintain. Did they have no idea the sacrifices he'd made?

As much as he hated to admit it, Tywin could understand his role in the downfall of his house as he listened to Sansa speak of history as she knew it. He'd paid little attention to his children, thinking they understood what was required of them. And in the end, they'd disappointed him. In the end, they'd allowed it all to fall apart, each for their own selfish reasons.

He was lost in his musings when he felt Sansa's hand in his.

"Come now. Things have changed, Tywin. We will save Jaime and bring him back to the Rock, where you will help him understand his role. And then there is our marriage. Surely a child of ours would love this place as much as its parents."

The idea of a new generation of Lannisters, from his seed, strong and worthy of his name, gave him hope. As did the idea of bringing Jaime back here. Sansa was correct that Jaime needed his father; he needed Tywin's guidance, and dare he even say it, Tywin's love. Both had not been given freely in the past. If Tywin could somehow free Jaime from Aerys' clutches, he would ensure he was a better father to Jaime.

He knew Sansa wanted to ask why he'd ever left his heir, his beloved son in King's Landing, but he hoped she did not for he had no answer for her. It seemed like the height of madness to him.

It was one thing to do nothing when it had been Aerys that had Jaime and Tywin hadn't been in a position to argue with the King. But with Robert? He'd won the city for the man. It baffled him as to why he'd made the decisions he had.

One thing was for certain, Jaime would lose that ridiculous white cloak the moment Tywin took the Iron Throne.

Done with the Gallery, and wanting to show Sansa their bedchambers, Tywin promised her that she could come back whenever she wanted.

"It's like I'm living inside one of my textbooks," she told him, giving the Gallery one more longing look. Chuckling softly at her, he listened with half an ear as Sansa made notes on things she thought they might want to preserve for future generations.

"Speak with the Maester," was all Tywin said. He had a feeling that Creylan was more than going to earn his pay with Sansa here. She'd likely challenge the man on everything. And who knew what she might decree once she was Queen and had the power to take on Oldtown. Those old goats wouldn't even know what to do with her and her superior intellect.

They climbed the stone stairs to the upper level where the family rooms were located. While the Rock's bottom levels extended deep into the huge stone hill, with dungeons and storerooms, along with multiple passageways, the family rooms were in the more modern part of the castle and fit for royalty. No expense had been spared, and more glittering mosaics lined the hallways, the windows again, stained glass and telling the history of House Lannister as they made their way down the corridor towards the Lord and Lady's chambers.

Tywin was alone in this wing of the castle, having always preferred his space. The other end of the corridor held the rooms for the children, and a floor below, that of his family. But this upper level, the West part of the castle, was his and his alone. For a decade, since Joanna had died, he'd been by himself, and he was thrilled to have a wife to share his space with finally.

Before they entered the series of rooms that made up his private residence, he stopped her and dismissed their guards.

"We need to be alone," he told them all, needing this time with just Sansa. When it was just the two of them, Tywin took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"You are a student of history and an intelligent woman. You are well aware that for most of our station, marriages are neither love matches, nor particularly happy. They are made for political gain. Because of this, most high born men and women maintain separate bedchambers."

Sansa was gazing at him, keen interest there, and hadn't leapt to any wild conclusions, to which he was grateful. It wasn't easy for him to open himself up like this.

"Joanna and I never did. I do not tell you this to hurt you," he started to say before her hand was in his.

"I know," she said, and he gave her a grateful little nod. She did. It was one of the most extraordinary things about Sansa. She understood how much he had loved Joanna and yet, she was never jealous of her. It was remarkable.

"It is perfectly within your rights to request a separate bedchamber from me. There are extra rooms, which I have turned into a library and sitting area, which are technically yours, as my lady wife. But," Tywin said, praying he wasn't making a fool of himself, "I hope that you may wish to share with me."

They'd discussed it before, of course, but perhaps she'd changed her mind. She was now faced with living with him daily. Despite how much Tywin knew Sansa loved him, he was not an easy man. He was demanding, logical and could be cold and distant.

She said nothing for a moment, merely cocking her head, her face unreadable. He feared he'd miscalculated. Then she leaned in and rose up, to press her lips to his.

"Tywin, if you think, as your wife, I am sleeping anywhere, but beside you, you're crazy. Of course, I want to share a room with you."

"It's a series of rooms," he said, gruffly, the emotion making his voice growly.

Sansa grinned. "Well then, My Lord," she said in a japing tone, "I'd love to share a series of rooms with you. More places for you to make love with me."

Tywin felt the lust roar through him.

"Sansa," he warned.

He could well imagine the places he might have her. His wife was adventurous in their bed play, and Tywin found himself wanting her more each day that passed, not less.

She grinned and kissed him again, and he was swept away in such emotion for this woman in his arms. A part of him had feared that he'd feel Joanna's ghost, here, at the Rock. But she was safely tucked away in his heart, making room for Sansa, who filled all that loneliness he'd felt for so long.

"Show me our rooms, Tywin," she all but purred to him.

He grasped her hand in one of his and then opened the door using the ornate, golden lion handle, pausing for a moment.

"It all began here, you know."

"I do," she said, voice filled with emotion as she pressed closer to him. This was where she'd found his sigil ring, and set in motion everything that had ended with her here, as his wife.

He opened the door with a flourish, watching Sansa, for he knew what she would see. There was no private chamber in Westeros that rivalled his, not even the one in King's Landing for Aerys. The Red Keep was almost a hovel compared to the Rock. Tywin ruled here like a king, and it was reflected in his private rooms.

The door opened to a massive common area, with a seating area, a desk, and many books. The books alone were significant as yet another indicator of the wealth of House Lannister.

There were imported rugs from Essos covering the stone floors, while a huge fireplace dominated one wall. The furniture was hand-carved, lions, of course, inlaid with gold and one of a kind. The chairs had crimsons seats, with golden lions stitched on them. There was a day bed, a small cushioned couch where they could both sit, and bookshelves filled with his personal favourites that lined another wall.

Everywhere Tywin looked, he could see his proud house sigil and the stamp of his wealth - gold, crimson and lion.

There were also personal touches throughout; things that Tywin had collected over the years, or that held some importance to him. A candle. A piece of parchment. Some important passageway that he liked and had copied with his own hand, his scrawling script distinctive. A drawing. Almost no one but himself or his steward was here, so Tywin allowed himself these little touches that spoke of his personality.

"Everything in these rooms was commissioned new, several years ago," he told her quietly, meaning clear.

He'd had to get rid of everything he'd shared with Joanna when a break in his grief had allowed him to see that he'd built himself a shrine to her and had all but entombed himself inside these rooms. He'd forced his guards to remove it all within a fortnight, and then hired the best craftsmen in the land to replace it. No expense had been spared, although it was distinctly masculine. Tywin had never thought he'd share this space with another woman, so he'd gone with what he liked.

"Oh, Tywin, I understand," she said, an ache for him there, and a knowing look in her eye.

It was so odd, this compassion that Sansa had for him when it came to his grief over Joanna, and yet, no jealousy of his first wife. How did she have so much trust in what he felt for her? How did she see that part of him that Tywin had never shown anyone else? Not even Joanna. Sansa already knew him better than anyone ever had.

Once again, overcome by Sansa, he held out his hand for her, pleased when hers slipped inside his.

"Come now," he said, "There's more."

Tywin hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Sansa that these bedchambers were unrivalled in Westeros. If she'd had any doubts about his wealth and status, they were gone. He was a king in all but name and lived like one.

It was a rare day when Sansa didn't have anything to say. He showed her his collection of books, of which he was quite proud. There was a second library at the Rock, one for everyone to use, but this one held some of his favourite books, including ones in Valyrian.

She reverently ran her hands down the spines of them, picking one up.

"You read ancient Valyrian?" Her eyes had widened in wonder.

He chuckled softly. "Well, it's not ancient Valyrian now, is it?" He winked at her, delighted when she blushed.

She shook her head. "No, I guess not. Can you teach me?" she asked suddenly.

Startled by such a request, but deciding instantly he would, Tywin made that promise easily.

"Come, there's more," he said, pleased with her reaction already.

He was excited to show her the private bathing room, adjacent to their bedchamber, where there were two privies, along with three bathing pools.

"There is a larger bathing area, to which we have access through a staircase that goes into the massive stone edifice. I will show you that later. The largest bathing pool there is big enough to swim, and there is a vein of hot water that was discovered when the Rock was built, so we always have warm water. It is for the entire family, although there is a system in place to ensure privacy."

Sansa was stunned, and he took a moment to lean down, drawing her close. They were truly alone, away from any prying eyes for the first time since they'd set eyes on one another at Riverrun.

He took this moment to press a soft kiss to the nape of her neck, loving how she leaned back into his chest. It wasn't the most comfortable, for he still was wearing his armour, but he couldn't help but feel pleased possession surge through him, seeing Sansa here.

She was finally here, in his rooms, in his home. She wasn't a figment of his imagination any longer, but real. He'd dreamed of her, for nine long months. And now she was his wife.

"It's incredible," she said, looking around the bathing room, still shaking her head in awe, her eyes wide. "I mean, we knew this existed, but the details," she shook her head again as if she could hardly believe it.

There was a marble ledge, done in ivory, swirled with gold on the lips of the two pools in order to smooth out the rough edges of the stone, along with golden taps, that were carved in the shape of a lion mouth, so the water poured out of its mouth. Bottles of soaps, lotions and oils, and stacks of fluffy towels lined the shelves, and there were divans that she might lounge about if she so desired.

Best of all, the privies were private, with doors that closed.

"I realize it's not quite your beloved shower, but I hope it will do," he murmured into her ear, tugging on the lobe.

"It's remarkable," she told him, and he saw that she meant it.

Pleased she liked the bathing chambers, and sure she would no longer complain about a shower, Tywin preened. There was no other that would match Sansa in this time. He was the only one with the intelligence and the wealth to see to her needs and desires.

She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, grumbling slightly at his armour.

"This is in my way," she muttered, as Tywin chuckled.

"Would you like to learn how to remove a man's amour, wife?"

Her eyes lit.

"Oh my gosh, yes, Tywin! That would be amazing!" she exclaimed, and he laughed at her enthusiasm.

For him, the armour was a part of life, when he rode to war, a point of pride, and vital to protecting him. It had saved his life more than once, and Tywin took particular care of his armour, knowing the dashing figure he cut and how crucial it was to his safety.

But his wife, his delightful, intelligent, curious wife, would see it as something new to learn. He wondered if she'd ever stop amazing him, with her enthusiasm for this time in which she now lived.

His great helm, which he had not worn on his sojourn to the Riverlands, was a lion's snarling maw with rubies for eyes. The rest of it, including his impressive breastplate, was enamelled crimson, laced with gold. It was a stunning set that commanded attention and indicated Tywin's wealth. Tywin believed that simply because something was functional did not mean it couldn't serve another purpose.

Tywin knew his suit of armour was the most impressive in the realm, and it was so purposefully. Everywhere Tywin went, he wanted to remind people of his wealth and his power – and that of his house. No one was his equal when it came to his status. Not even the king.

Typically his steward, along with one of the squires assigned to the Casterly Rock guards, would assist him, but he knew that Sansa would revel in such an opportunity to be this close to steel plate armour from this time.

It was not something Tywin wanted his wife regularly doing as a chore, but since he was wearing only some of it today, it would be an interesting and important lesson for her, and one they could ill afford to pass up. If they ever were to have children, Sansa's sons would be expected to fight and defend the Lannister name. They, too, would have armour that befit their status as the son of the Great Lion. The sooner she learned, the better.

They both needed to do as much as possible to have her adapt to this time when all eyes would be on her. More eyes would be upon her, upon them, when the lords of the Westerlands arrive for their wedding feast.

Even with the lion cub rescue, Sansa was an unknown factor to most. There would be those that would seek to exploit their marriage for their own gain – or attempt to tear them apart. Her education would be brutal, and a single mistake, costly. But Tywin vowed to be by her side, to help her.

"Alright, love. What do you know?" he asked, guiding her out of the bathing rooms and towards the bedroom.

If he knew his wife, and Tywin was beginning to know Sansa very well, she'd be well versed in a knight or lord's steel plate armour of this time.

It was a mark of a man's wealth, and that of his house and his region, the number of men in his army that could don full armour when in battle. Tywin's army was strong, at least forty thousand men. And more than half of them had full armour.

As Tywin thought about his army, he tried to imagine what he might need for a march to King's Landing. He would not call all his banners, for that would leave him vulnerable to an attack from Highgarden, or the Iron Born from the sea. He would ensure he left some here, in the West, to defend what was his.

Tywin would have to be wise when he marched towards King's Landing. Too large a force and Aerys paranoia, not to mention his scouts, would convince the Mad King that Tywin was coming to sack the capital and take Aerys' head. Too few, and the King would rage that his force wasn't strong enough. It had to be just right, while at the same time, protecting the Rock and what Tywin had in the Westerlands.

Ruminating on the wars to come for a brief moment, Tywin missed when they got to the entrance of his, no, their bedchambers.

Sansa stopped so abruptly that Tywin almost ran into her.

"Sansa?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"It's your room," she whispered, eye darting around as if she didn't know what to take in first.

They landed on the massive bed, large enough for his long frame, with its massive posters carved with lions, suns and fauna from the region. There were crimson drapes, which could be brought down to give them privacy and piles of pillows and bedding.

She turned to him and winked.

"Oh, I do like your bed, my lion," she said, meaning more than apparent.

There were advantages to having a modern wife as Tywin was discovering. She wasn't shy with how much she desired him.

"Behave," he said, nipping at her ear, hard and ready. He wanted her there, spread out and naked, moaning his name as he drove into her again and again, both of them slicked with sweat. He'd dreamed of it for weeks, and now they were mere steps away.

"And, Sansa, it's our bed." He saw how she smiled with that word.

Two nightstands adorned each side, although one side hadn't been used for a decade, either the side of the bed or the nightstand. The one encounter Tywin had allowed himself, that one moment of weakness, had not happened here. He would never bring anyone but a beloved wife to his private chambers.

There was a small cushioned bench and more chairs in front of the fire, along with a dresser and a desk. There were times when it was too much work to go into his study to work, and Tywin often had thoughts late at night that he had to get down. It was just easier to work here.

Forgetting about his armour for a moment, Tywin stood and watched as Sansa pressed further into his bedchambers. Her hands ran over the furniture, touching different things. A crystal goblet that was part of a pair, a heavy golden candlestick holder, a brush that he used each morning for grooming.

This was his private lair, a place very few people had ever seen. Against one wall, another huge fireplace already lit to warm the room. Another held the doors that opened to a stone terrace that overlooked the Sunset Sea.

If Tywin chose, he could stand there and watch the sunset on Westeros, as it chased the horizon. The terrace was large enough that they could dine there, although it had been years since Tywin had done anything so fanciful.

Still, Sansa said nothing, as she reached the furthest wall, where an elaborate tapestry hung. It was a map of Westeros, at least ten feet tall, and held all the principal houses and their sigil. It was a stunning piece of craftsmanship, which she barely looked at. Tywin's breath hitched as she pushed it aside and turned to him, her hand stilling over the secret compartment.

He'd never doubted her story, not once.

But he knew now, unequivocally, that it had all begun here.

Meeting his eyes, she pressed the hidden lever that released the stone and gasped.

"Tywin," she said, voice shaking. He strode across the room, to be by her side.

"I'm here," was all he said.

Inside the hidden compartment, he had kept a ring that Joanna had worn, and a lock of her hair. It was the only thing that Tywin had been unable to part with. Everything else, including her dresses and jewelry, he had melted down one day in a fit of grief.

He'd removed both the hair and the ring before riding for Riverrun, knowing that it would be impossible to move forward with Sansa if he kept a part of himself hidden, if he kept part of Joanna. Thankful now that he'd taken them out, he reached for Sansa.

Sansa clutched at him.

"Do you know how many laws I broke by keeping your ring?"

He had not but was not surprised that she had. They had been drawn to one another, across time, by forces unknown.

"Was it worth it?"

"Oh gods, yes."

He saw her sudden desperate need for him, as much as he had for here. Cursing the armour and the time this would take, Sansa, let out a nervous giggle.

"Maybe you should call for your steward, and I'll watch," she said.

"That will take too long. I need you now," he muttered, hands at his belt, loosening his sword. The pommel was a golden lion, of course. As the sword came loose, Sansa's hand was suddenly there, her delicate fingers running over the lion's head.

"It's beautiful," she said reverently.

"Tell me, do we ever find Brightroar?" he asked suddenly, needing to know.

She shook her head and grief in her eyes. "No," she replied quietly, "Never."

Tywin grunted. Clearly, she knew something more but didn't want to say. Leaving it for now, he gave a small nod.

"Come, I'll show you how to remove a man's armour," Tywin said. Even if it took longer, it would be vital information for her to know, and a good chance for them to bond.

Tywin had a special rack and dummy in which the armour rested, in the corner of the room where his clothing was stored. It was a larger chamber, adjacent to their bedchamber. He found it neater to keep his clothing here, instead of strewn about his room.

When he showed her this room, where a few of her items had been placed, she grinned.

"This is like the best walk-in closet in the world," she said, shaking her head in wonder.

He stood back, watching her as she ran her hand over the doublets he favoured, leather boots, undergarments and tunics, breeches and socks. She was shaking her head and speaking softly, mostly to herself, and not for the first time, was Tywin astounded at how well she had adapted to this time.

She got to another one of his cloaks, this one a thick ermine, and one that truly designated his wealth. It had been dyed the crimson red he preferred, and was such a luxurious piece of his wardrobe, that his brothers often japed when he wore it, calling him the Lion King.

"It's so soft," she said, sinking her fingers into it. He chuckled softly.

When she finally turned back to him, her grin was infections.

"Alright, I'm ready."

"What do you know about steel plate armour?" he asked, taking on the teacher's role.

She named most of the significant pieces, and Tywin was impressed. She shrugged.

"I studied this period extensively. But it's different. Seeing it on you," she said.

"How?"

Her nose wrinkled adorably, and he longed to be out of it and have her in his arms.

"Well, how it all fits together. It looks more complicated. And, well, it's real. I know that you wearing a tasset could protect you in battle."

She pointed out the plate armour's distinctive pieces that were designed to protect the upper thigh, as separate plates hung from the fauld.

"Alright, well, when I am dressing in my armour, it is added from the feet up. There are some pieces that I won't wear when I am not in battle, but simply riding between keeps. I did that today, so this is not a full set."

His steward hadn't yet unpacked his trunks, where some pieces remained.

"Wasn't that dangerous?" she asked.

"When we were in the Riverlands, I did. But once we were close to the Rock…" Tywin shrugged.

Sansa frowned but nodded.

"Alright, well, what can I help with?"

They started with the gorget, the single piece of armour that hung from the neck, stamped with a lion. She loosened the lames, and Tywin felt the weight of the piece leave his body.

He'd had his first suit of armour when he'd barely been more than a boy so its weight was familiar. Still, it always felt good to shed it.

Next, Sansa worked on the spaulders and rondels, the pieces that covered the shoulders, armpit and upper arm. Together the two pieces were connected with more straps and decorated with sunbursts.

"Do they have to be decorative?" Sansa asked as she took the heavy pieces to the designated area on the rack.

"No, but simply because something is useful doesn't mean it can't be impactful."

She nodded thoughtfully, as she came back to him and reached for the next pieces.

"I know these – we called them rerebraces, to protect the upper arm."

He smiled at her. "Yes."

They worked in tandem until his arms were free of the couters, the articulated joint armour for the elbow and then the vambrace, the forearm guards. Again, Tywin had embellished these, with gold streaked through the steel.

He didn't have any gauntlets on today, as he hadn't been in battle, but the next piece, the cuirass with fauld, was heavy and would require them to work together to remove it.

"I know the proper name for it, but I always just call it the back and breastplate."

"That is fine," he said, giving her a nod to begin.

Tywin's was enamelled in deep crimson, highlighted in gold, stamped with the lion.

There were numerous ties and buckles, and he helped her find them all, including the plate armour that was worn below the breastplate, called a fauld.

She laughed softly as she ran her hands over it.

"I always thought it funny that knights wore metal skirts when I was a girl," she told him.

Tywin glanced down, noting that the overlapping horizontal lames of metal that were articulated for flexibility formed an apron-like skirt in the front.

She went to his back, and her hand was suddenly on his arse, as Tywin's eyes went wide.

"And what is this piece back here, My Lord?" she said, whispering into his ear.

"A culet," he managed to choke out.

Fucking seven hells, this was torture. The culet, along with the fauld, did make a metal skirt, although there were fewer lames on the back than the front.

"Very nice," she said, squeezing him.

Gods, he wanted her.

"Hurry," he all but commanded her, as she gave a throaty laugh.

They made quick work of the tassests and cuisses, which together formed the armour to protect the upper thighs. The cuisses, which on Tywin did not go around his thigh entirely, were connected with a peg and strap since he was always on his horse. Of course, his wife, little minx, ran her hands over his thighs, perilously close to his aching member.

"Fascinating," she said, now kneeling in front of him.

"Sansa," he groaned out as she came close to cupping him. Then, she ran her hands down his legs towards the poleyns, which protected the knees.

"Patience, my lord. I'm dis-armouring you," she purred, a clever play on the words. Tywin adored her.

"I can remove the greaves myself, wife," he said, a warning bite to his voice.

She laughed and then undid the peg at the front and the loop at the back, so the light armour that protected his thigh bone was suddenly loose.

Free from his armour, Tywin stepped out of it and scooped her into his arms.

"Mine," was all he said, striding across their bedchambers, before depositing her onto their massive bed.

He'd never had a woman in this bed, and he was infinitely glad for that, seeing Sansa there. Never shy in their bed play, Sansa rose up on her elbows, her eyes roaming over the underclothes that a man wore beneath a suit of armour.

"Off, now," she said, pointing at him, and Tywin was more than happy to comply.

He was comfortable naked, especially in his own rooms. He paused for a moment, seeing Sansa here. He'd somehow, against all the odds, done it. A woman that he had started to fall in love with, through visions, had come back through time, to a Westeros that was teetering on the brink of war, and he had secured as his wife!

Ten long months after thinking he was perhaps losing his mind, and the reality of Sansa was here, before him.

"Tywin?" she asked, and he shook his head from his woolgathering.

They'd be expected for dinner in a few hours, so as much as he would have loved to have to entire evening with her in this bed, he knew they'd be interrupted shortly.

"I'm here," was all he said, striding to the bed and joining her on top of the covers.

He loved how she arched up, to welcome his lips on her, as his hands traced the contours of her shapely body. She was a wonder, riding hard from the Riverlands and keeping up with the gruelling pace he'd set. She might look delicate, but she was strong – all lioness he knew.

With quick fingers, Tywin had her out of her gown, those incredible undergarments she insisted on wearing a feast for his eyes.

"Now that we are home, I'm going to speak with the seamstress to make more," she told him as his finger traced over a mounded swell of her breast. Hardly daring to imagine what Sansa might create, he leaned down to take the tip into his mouth, tugging hard.

She gasped.

"Make as much noise as you'd like, wife, for we are well and truly alone," he purred.

He saw her eyes darken with desire, her breath coming in small pants. This woman was as mad for him, as he was for her, so sure in her sexuality and the pleasure they could bring each other. It was a heady aphrodisiac and one that Tywin was more than willing to indulge.

"Tywin," she cried as he lowered his head again, feasting on her.

He took his time, removing those last few clothing articles until she was naked and spread out before him. She did not attempt to cover herself, instead of arching a leg and crooking a finger.

"You must remind me to show you some yoga poses," she told him as he ranged his long body over hers.

She had spoken of this yoga before, explaining it was exercise, a series of stretches, but for the life of him, Tywin had no idea why she thought he might want to watch her.

"Why?"

"Remember those little pink shorts you saw me in?"

His nostrils flared as his cock ached. He'd taken himself in his own hand more than once, recalling that outfit.

"Yes," he all but growled.

"Well now imagine me bending," she whispered as she tugged at his earlobe, "in all sorts of different ways. Arching and reaching and stretching."

Tywin growled and made quick work of reaching down, parting her thighs to see if she was ready for him. She was. This was going to be fast and good for both of them.

"Sansa," he said, her name almost painful. He needed her. Needed to be joined with her.

"Have me, husband."

He surged inside, watching her eyes go wide as her flesh stretch to accommodate him. She felt like nothing he'd ever experienced, and for a brief moment, Tywin stilled, joined as tightly to her as possible. Then he felt her hands on his face, and when he opened his, he saw she was right there with him.

"There are no words for what I feel," he choked out, finally moving, grinding into her, thrusting in and out, setting a rhythm they both enjoyed.

"I feel like I was made to love you. Only you," she replied.

Undone by her, Tywin captured her lips and concentrated on making this good for both of them. There were no thoughts of Joanna, his family, or the war that beat them down. Inside this room, in this bed, there was only them. Their love, their deep connection, made all the more incredible by how they'd come together.

When she started to tighten, her pants becoming more pronounced, her nails biting into his flesh, he reached down to stroke her as she liked, watching her throw her head back as she peaked hard on him, his name a litany she muttered over and over. He soon followed, spending deep inside her, collapsing on top so he could nuzzle at her neck.

Sansa hugged him close and stroked his back, soft and tender. Gods, it had been so long since he'd had any softness in his life. Eventually, he moved, rolling off her and bringing her into the cradle of his arms, taking a few more moments to simply enjoy having his wife in his bed, well-loved.

Having her home, at the Rock, Tywin felt settled, as if his entire life had been building to this moment.

"Thank you for coming for me," she said, breaking their comfortable silence. He gazed down at her.

"I will always come for you, Sansa."

She cupped his face. "I know, my lion." He watched as her eyes widened. "Oh my god! The cubs."

She sat up and looked around as if she'd expected to see them at the foot of the bed. Throwing back the covers, she practically leapt from their bed, grabbing his robe that she insisted upon wearing. He wondered what other clothing of his she would don.

"Where are they?" she demanded.

Tywin, comfortable in his nudity, left his bed to still her pacing. He loved how fierce she was over them, and she relaxed when she was back in his arms.

"My steward knew I wanted time with you. They are safe. I will call for him, and they will be brought to you, Sansa."

Her blue eyes flashed. "You heard what she said, Tywin."

And just like that, the tender moment between them was gone, as the harsh reality of their life intruded. No need to clarify the 'she' Sansa spoke of.

Tywin had pushed Cersei's behaviour aside while he'd shown Sansa the Rock, but he knew it needed to be addressed. She had been rude, ill-mannered, and offensive. Tywin had not expected Cersei to warm to Sansa immediately, but the harshness, the hated had shocked him.

Then to have her accuse him of treason, in an attempt to win Jaime back! She forgot her place, and her duty, and it was high time that Tywin reminded her, in no uncertain terms, exactly where she ranked when it came to those that Tywin loved.

The audacity she had, to infer that the cubs were not safe when they were young, was indeed beyond the pale. It was as if she had no understanding of the loyalty and trust required for their house to rise to greatness. They were so close to creating a legacy for House Lannister, and she threatened all of that.

But before Tywin spoke with his daughter, he needed to reassure his wife that not only was she safe, but that the cubs would be as well.

"You will stay here, with guards, of course. The cubs will stay in our rooms, and I will send Barba to you so that you can prepare for dinner. You may take your time, and I will come and escort you to the Great Hall."

"Tywin, she scares me. And not just her, but Gregor."

Tywin usually would take offence to being lectured, especially in his own home. But Sansa was not most people, as he was constantly reminded. Sansa knew what people like Cersei and Gregor were capable of, and he'd be an idiot not to heed her advice.

"I know. I saw it as well, Sansa. Please. Trust me," he all but pleaded with her. He'd never pleaded with anyone in his entire life, such was her power over him.

She worried that lip but nodded.

"I do trust you, Tywin. It's just that she is your daughter, and I feel we have put you in an untenable position. It is not merely that she doesn't like me. It is everything I represent; everything she feels I am stealing not only from her but Jaime. She will use the love you have for Jaime to make you feel guilty. You must be strong."

Tywin took a deep breath and then drew Sansa closer to him.

"I know what she is, Sansa. Your tales of what my future holds, what the future holds for my house should I not heed your words, are fresh in my mind."

Indeed, they were the things of nightmares for Tywin. He was a man who had done everything to better his family's position, and it was his children that had destroyed everything.

With a final nod from her, Tywin dressed quickly. He wished he had time to bathe and wash the hard ride from his skin, but there was an urgency he felt with Cersei. She was a loose cannon that needed to be reminded of her place. He passed Barba, entering their rooms with his steward, Gerold Serrett. Both of them had a lion cub in their hands.

"Here, My Lord?" Gerold asked.

"Yes. Lady Sansa will not have them far from us."

Gerold simply nodded as if he were used to taking orders about lion cubs. The man was worth his weight in gold dragons.

"Maester Creylen has indicated he wishes to speak with you when you have time."

Tywin grunted, knowing that Creylen would have many questions about the lions and their care. For now, they were safe here, in their private rooms.

"Leave the cubs with my wife, and find my daughter. I want to see her in my study within the hour."

Ser Serrett dipped his head in respect and then hurried to do Tywin's bidding.

While he had a desk in his private chambers, Tywin only ever conducted business in his official solar.

Tywin paused as he heard feminine voices from deeper in the rooms. He closed his eyes, savouring those sounds. It had been far too long since the Rock had a proper mistress and him a wife. The loneliness of the past decade washed over him. But no longer. Sansa was here. And she was his.

Then he sighed and focused on the task at hand. Namely taking his daughter in hand, and reminding Cersei that is was he that ruled the Rock, and not her.

The Main Solar: Meeting with Cersei – Tywin

Outside their chambers, the standing guards were Addam Marbrand and Sandor Clegane. Both men snapped to attention and nodded at Tywin.

"No one enters these rooms," he said, voice hard and brooking no argument.

Both men nodded.

"Not even my family," Tywin added. "No one."

Tywin locked eyes with Sandor and saw him nod.

For once, Tywin was grateful for the loyalty that Sansa had inspired in him. Sandor understood that he was large enough and intimidating enough that no one would attempt to get past him, save perhaps his brother. There were more guards, loyal to Tywin, lining the hallway to their bedchambers.

There was an impending sense of doom that he found impossible to ignore. He had assumed, incorrectly, that once he got Sansa to the Rock, she would be safe. But he now feared that she was even more vulnerable here.

And that made the Great Lion angry. Very, very angry. This was his home, no matter what his insolent daughter might believe. The mere fact that his wife was scared infuriated Tywin.

For years he'd lectured his children on their duty – what it meant to be part of this house and wear that proud lion sigil. And for years they had disregarded his words. Now his daughter, whom had somehow turned into a stranger before his very eyes, was the greatest danger to the woman he loved.

He strode through the Rock, his anger a tangible thing, as those that worked here scurried out his way. Word spread that their Lord was not pleased, and he seethed as he took his seat behind the massive desk that his father and his father's father had used.

Who did she think she was, to taunt him? To disrespect him? To question him? To think she could take him on and win?

His fists were clenched, jaw tight when his door open and she glided in. For a brief second, there was grief, that this daughter of his and Joanna, had turned so evil. She was as much his enemy as Aerys and Robert.

It hurt, Tywin realized, to have his own flesh and blood threaten the woman he loved. And not just Sansa. The cubs. Any future children. His legacy.

Tywin knew that Cersei would be a danger to everything he'd worked so hard to establish.

But as painful as it might be to put Cersei in her place, Tywin had a duty – to Jaime, to Sansa, to his house, to his legacy. That's what legacy was – what a man passed down to his children. Legacy was what remained of a man after he was gone. He knew what Cersei would do with such a gift, what she already plotted and schemed. He'd be a fool to dismiss what Sansa knew, what she had shared with him and Kevan. His children destroyed his legacy, led in large part by the woman standing in front of him.

In that other time, Tywin had done everything he possibly could to give Cersei all the power she craved, and she had pissed it away.

There was a chance, still, with Jaime, to save him from that white cloak Aerys had forced on his back. That white cloak that had made his son so dirty. It still enraged Tywin when he thought of what Aerys had tried to take from him.

But Jaime was not Cersei. She was a disgrace to the Lannister name. Her actions here and now had already condemned her to her fate.

It was his job to defend his blood, to defend the Lannisters. Even if that was from his own flesh and blood. Like a rotten apple that would sully the rest, Tywin had to deal with the poison Cersei would spread. He'd done so with his father, and he would do so with his daughter.

His marriage to Sansa gave him new hope. With her, the family name would live on. And Tywin would do whatever necessary to ensure that she was safe; that their children were safe. Even if that meant riding the family tree of the weak branches – those that tainted and threatened what was his.

He did not rise to greet Cersei. Instead, his eyes narrowed, and he uttered a single word.

"Sit," he commanded and watched as she swallowed hard.

For the first time, he saw fear in Cersei's eyes, as if she'd realized the line she had crossed with him.

Good. Let her know that she had angered the Great Lion. Let her remember what happened to those that crossed him.

For years he'd ignored her antics; the snipes, the cruel japes, the taunts. For years grief had made him numb to the carrying on of his children.

But no longer.

Tywin almost felt born anew, with the love for Sansa so fresh in his heart and mind. He had hope. He had a destiny. He was no longer mired in grief, bogged down by rage. He had been given a second chance. And Tywin did not mean to waste that chance.

"Father …" she began before he slammed his hand down, eyes enraged.

"Quiet!" he snarled.

She sank back into her chair, face pale.

"Don't do this, I beg of you," she pleaded.

She shook and rocked as if she were scared of him. But he knew it was a show.

When had she become so brazen, so unafraid of him? When had she begun to believe she might take him on and win?

Tywin scoffed at her show of servitude, hardly believing it.

"Do you think me a fool? Do you think you can threaten me? Threaten my wife, and there will be no consequences? Did your senses leave you, Cersei, while I was away?"

That got a reaction. Her nostrils flared, and he saw the argument rise. Gone was any attempt at being contrite. Here she was in her true form.

Good. Let them not play games. Cersei meek and biddable was not the creature Tywin had come to know.

Instead, her cheeks flushed red, and her breathing increased as if she were drawing power into herself. If it hadn't been aimed at him, Tywin would have been impressed. She reminded him of himself when he was younger.

When she spoke, it was all fire and fury, outrage and disdain.

"Father, can you not see the fool you are making of yourself? Fawning over that woman?"

Ahh, so they were back to that. Tywin's love for Sansa. Cersei had always jealously guarded her mother's memory. She'd held Joanna to some impossible standard, and Tywin had allowed it. He had never intended to remarry, thinking that Jaime would do his duty and give him the next generation of lions.

Beyond that, Tywin knew he could never speak to Cersei about what he felt for Sansa. She would not understand. She would not accept it. She would see it only as a weakness. She was a petty, vengeful thing, intent on having all the attention on her.

"Enough. It is not your place to question my choices. I am doing my duty. I am securing the family legacy. Lady Sansa …"

Cersei interrupted.

"Is an opportunistic woman who has seduced a lonely man. You dishonour mother and her memory, and the love you claim to have felt for her. You are no better than grandfather, fooling around with Gerion's wet nurse."

Tywin's fist slammed down, and he rose, towering over Cersei.

Tywin had to give Cersei her due. She did not flinch but met his eyes defiantly.

"You speak of things you know nothing about," he spat at her.

Her eyes glittered, and Tywin swore he saw madness there. She was on edge and a danger to any she perceived a threat to what she viewed as hers. And it was abundantly clear that even with Jaime as his heir, Cersei viewed Casterly Rock as hers. It was as if she forgot about Kevan and his sons. Tygett. Gerion. There were so many that stood between her and her prize.

"I know I am willing to do what must be done to ensure our house is strong. I know I am willing to do what you were not."

It was a barb, and not well aimed if she thought that killing her brother was something Tywin could not do. He'd simply chosen not to.

Tywin snorted and shook his head, grief and disbelief warring inside him.

What had she become? And what role had he played in turning her into what he now saw before him?

"You think because you killed Tyrion that gives you some sort of power? That you are now fit to question me? Killing him was shortsighted and impulsive."

She rose, too angry to heed her words.

"He was a disease. And embarrassment. Unworthy of the Lannister name."

"He belonged to her! I could have your head for what you did!" Tywin roared. That was why he'd stayed his hand. Tyrion might not have been his, but he'd been Joanna's.

She gave a bitter laugh. "He killed her! And you won't kill me, because you hated him as much as I did."

Tywin was gobsmacked at her gall. Before he could respond, she carried on, digging the pit she was in, deeper still, as he sat back down into his chair, shaking his head at her.

"You think your marriage makes our house stronger. But it does not. You have an heir. All your marriage does is undermine your power by demanding the West accepts that trout into our home! It says you have given up on Jaime. Do not speak to me about Mother and your children. About duty. About love. You abandoned us all when she died. And you let the Mad King take Jaime. Now you have abandoned your son, given up all hope for rescuing him. For her!"

The rage he felt at his daughter roared through him.

Had she no idea what it meant to watch the person you love, die in front of your very eyes? To be consumed by rage and grief and yet have no way of avenging what was done to that person?

"You do not know what you speak of," Tywin said, his voice shaking with fury. "I love Jaime. Do not ever speak to me about your brother and what I will or will not do to get him back."

She had no idea that with Sansa, Tywin had a better chance of getting Jaime back than without her. But Tywin would never let it slip exactly what Sansa was.

Moreover, Cersei did not know what Aerys was capable of. Tywin did. He knew how far Aerys was willing to go to hurt Tywin.

Tywin had been in no position these past years to rescue Jaime. But he had never given up hope that he would get his son back. To have that questioned by his daughter angered him.

She snorted and shook her head, looking at him with pity.

"And now you speak of war. Of dragging the Westerlands into a fight that is not ours. And for what? Do you think the King won't take Jaime's head the moment he hears you've called your banners? The moment he sees our house sigil, he will kill Jaime! You've signed his death warrent with your marriage."

Tywin snorted at her ignorance. He knew that Aerys would send a raven, demanding Tywin's army, to defend him in the capital. Aerys needed him.

It was Cersei who did not understand the subtleties of this game of thrones they were playing. She was a blunt instrument, meant to smash through things. That was not how wars were won. It was not how legacies were secured. It was not how alliances were built.

"You think because you killed your brother, you understand what it means to rule? That you know how to win wars? That you understand the importance of alliances? You think because you have blood on your hands, you know how the Mad King thinks? You understand nothing, daughter. You claim you listened to my endless lectures, on family, on legacy, on duty. If you had you'd know that Jaime is part of that. Jaime is my heir."

She shook her head, disagreement etched on her face.

"This will lead to ruin for our house. The King will not welcome your marriage. He will not trust that you come to his aid."

There was an ache in Tywin, as he realized that had the desperate need for power and control not consumed Cersei, she might have had a bright future as a powerful man's wife in a few years. Instead, she refused to do her duty; and threatened everything Tywin loved. Tywin was done with her arguments. And he knew what she did not - he knew what would destroy House Lannister. And it was not his marriage to Sansa.

"I have done what is required. The King has accepted my marriage, and Lady Sansa is more than worthy of the titles she now holds. You have proven that you are untrustworthy. I threatened the silent sisters once before Cersei, and I am not a man to make idle threats. I will not have my wife fear walking through the Rock, because of you."

As his words registered, he saw the gamut of emotions ran over her expressive face. She had not yet learned how to school her thoughts, which made her even more reckless. She was angry, furious, really. Jealous. Enraged. And she was already plotting. He could see it. And all of it was aimed at Sansa.

"Father, no," she all but begged, but Tywin was unmoved.

There was nowhere he could send her, no one he could marry her to that she would not corrupt. It would be like waiting for the knife in his back. Or Sansa's. And that was not something Tywin was willing to gamble on.

As he shook his head, the door to his study opened, and Gregor Clegane was escorted into his study, guarded by Vaylarr, Gerion, Tygett and Kevan.

Cersei swivelled, seeing her guard there, now in chains. Their eyes locked and something unspoken passed between the two of them, and Tywin knew that she had won a monster to her side. This ended now.

"What is the meaning of this?" she cried, distraught.

"It is time you realized how serious I am about my wife's safety," Tywin said, rising, voice cold and commanding. There were none in the room that doubted his power.

"Ser Gregor, you are hereby charged with crimes against your subjects, with the murder of your father, your sister and your mother."

Cersei gasped and shook her head, while Gregor's dark eyes glittered in hatred.

"I will send word, to Clegane Keep, and ask if there are any who know of other crimes perpetrated by you."

That had Gregor snarling as he struggled against his bonds. He was a huge man, powerful and scary. But even he was no match for the ten men that held him. As Tywin watched Gregor's eyes glitter in hatred, hatred towards him, he knew Sansa had been right. This man was a monster. He was a rabid dog that Tywin needed to put down.

"A trial will be held within the fortnight, where you will answer for your crimes. Until then, the dungeons in the bowels of the Rock will be your new room."

Gregor snarled but said nothing. Tywin turned back to Cersei.

"Until arrangements can be made for you, daughter, you are now remanded back to your rooms, to be guarded at all times."

"Father, no," she pleaded in a tortured whisper. "Do not do this, I beg of you."

Tywin snorted, shaking his head, unmoved by her pleas now that he'd taken her pet away.

"You've made your opinions on new marriage abundantly clear. You've admitted to the murder of your brother. The only reason I don't put you on trial is the embarrassment I'd bring to our House, to have our secrets aired for the rest of Seven Kingdoms to mock us. The only fitting punishment, the only one left to me, is the silent sisters."

The tears were real, he assumed, as they fell, ravaging her face. She shook. She sobbed. She begged. His siblings had entered the family solar to witness this spectacle. Before Tywin could speak, Cersei looked to them.

"Please, give me a chance to know Lady Sansa. Tonight, at supper. I promise I will try, father. I was simply shocked and in mourning upon seeing your new wife in our beloved home."

Tywin had no doubts that she was manipulating them all, but his siblings had always had softer hearts than him.

Genna turned to Tywin, having taken a sobbing Cersei into her arms. It was only Kevan, who knew that Tywin did – that the ruin of their great house as brought about by Cersei and her incessant need for power.

"Surely she can attend one family dinner," Genna implored him.

"Genna mind your place," Tywin snapped at his sister, angry that she had been so easily cowed by Cersei. Genna's green eyes flashed.

"Tywin, you bring home a new wife, a woman we've never met, from a house that is not in the Westerlands. Some of us need time to adjust. If Cersei doesn't attend family dinner, how else do you propose that your daughter get to know Lady Sansa?"

"So you make excuses for her behaviour?" Tywin said, shaking his head in disgust.

How had he been so blind to Cersei and her manipulations for so long? It was almost embarrassing to admit that it was only because of Sansa that he saw what his daughter was. It was the visions of Sansa that had torn him from his isolation, forcing him to look upon his family with the critical eye he was known for.

"She was rude and threatening to my wife, whom I need not remind you is now the Lady of Casterly Rock. Not you, Genna. And not her."

Tywin gave a pointed look at Cersei. "Sansa is now Lady Lannister."

Genna bit her lip, not daring to argue with that truth. Cersei's behaviour had been awful. And whether they liked it not, the Rock was now Sansa's.

"Let her make amends!" Genna cried as if she'd just solved some significant problem.

Amends, Tywin thought bitterly. As if he'd ever believe that were possible. He'd seen through the guise that Cersei wore, to what was below.

Tywin snorted and looked to his daughter, not trusting her for a moment. Still, perhaps there was a way to solve both his problems.

He thought a moment longer before he gave a cold smile, and watched as his siblings and even Cersei almost shrank back.

"The choice is yours, dear daughter. If you deliver a public apology to my wife, that meets my expectations, makes me believe you truly are sorry, that makes Lady Sansa feel welcome, then you may attend dinner."

"And if not?" she dared to ask, her chin notching up slightly.

Tywin gave an indifferent shrug.

"I'll have a tray sent to your room. You know my thoughts. You are dismissed. All of you," he barked, done with his interfering family.

Before they left, his eyes locked with Cersei's, and for a brief moment, there was a shiver of fear that skirted down Tywin's spine, as if he knew that he was tempting the gods, and fate to allow her a space at the Lannister family dining table. But he was a pragmatic man and dismissed that premonition without a second thought.

What harm could she possibly do? Gregor was now in custody, in the bowels of the Rock. Sansa was safe and secure in their chambers. And Cersei knew how serious Tywin was about his new marriage.

It was one dinner, where Tywin would have his wife guarded, her food tasted and her safety as his utmost concern. There was little Cersei could do, and Tywin knew she'd never be able to hold herself in check. She would reveal her hated of Sansa, and Tywin would have his siblings support when he sent her away. It was the best plan to allow Cersei to bring about her own demise.

With that final thought, he turned to the work that awaited him. His daughter would make her decision and seal her fate, one way or the other.

For now, Tywin had more pressing matters. He had stacks of correspondence waiting for him and knew that word of his marriage had spread across the seven kingdoms. Many would be wondering what this might mean for them, for any alliances they might have with the Great Lion.

Grabbing the letters, he strode for the room. He would read them in his private solar, near Sansa. She would be interested, of course, and her input was invaluable. There was a comfort, in not only having a wife again but also having one as intelligent as her, and with her knowledge. It allowed Tywin a higher degree of certainty for the upcoming choices he would be forced to make.

As he quickly walked back towards the west wing, he couldn't help but think about his daughter. She had a single chance to make good on her promise, or else Tywin would be forced to deal with her most unpleasantly. And he would deal with her.

She should be an asset to him. Instead, she was a disgrace, clawing at things that were not hers, questioning his decisions and authority, and running amuck. Left unchecked, Tywin had no doubts that she would bring House Lannister crumbling down around her pretty blond head. And he had no intention of letting that happen.

Soon enough, he was back in his rooms, hearing Sansa's happy cries as she tended to the lion cubs. He found them all on his bed, and while he had never consented to them being there, it was more than evident that his wife saw no issues with this arrangement.

Then Sansa caught sight of him, and she smiled, waving him over.

"Tywin, they love it here," she said, as he snorted and gave her a look, to which she didn't even blink. She knew he'd barely object.

The cubs were lounging on the best sheets in Westeros. He had no doubts they were comfortable. Still, it was a sight to see. His new wife, in his tunic, in his bed, his lion cubs with her.

He brushed his hand down her back, and she titled her head for a kiss, which he was happy to bestow.

"Are things alright?" she asked, slightly worried, noting the lines on his face.

"Everything will be fine, Sansa," Tywin told her, believing it. He'd not worry her with the issue of Cersei.

As Alexander pawed Augustus, and Sansa laughed, Tywin focused all his attention on her.

Within a week, Gregor would be dead, and his daughter would be shipped off, no threat to his wife. He'd done what was needed, what was expected of him in his role as the Lord of Casterly Rock. Moreover, he'd done what was needed to keep Sansa safe. It allowed him to relaxed, knowing he'd taken care of Gregor, and that soon, even Cersei would cease to be a threat.