read my new story:
Game of Thrones Iron Stark
Naruto: Uchiha Shiroge Rebellion
read more inpatreon CaveLeather
Tywin declined.
He had his own plans, but he wasn't about to say them out loud.
Tywin dreamed of his son becoming a great knight and his daughter becoming queen. He wanted them beautiful, strong, and brave—so no one would ever dare mock them.
Yes, after a lifetime of iron and blood, the one thing Tywin feared most was ridicule.
His father, Lord Tytos, had been weak. Westerlands lords humiliated him to his face. His father's mistress had lorded it over his mother, and his sister had been forced into marriage with some minor Riverlands noble.
Tywin had sworn he would never let the Lannister name be stained again.
"The Rains of Castamere" was the song written for his victory—the day the Lannister lion roared once more.
But today that lion stood before a dragon and had to tread carefully.
"Jaime is my heir, but he's obsessed with the honor of the white cloak. Even if I dragged him back to Casterly Rock by force, I couldn't tame that restless heart of his."
Tywin's mind worked like a web. He wanted his eldest son to choose to come home as heir, not be forced.
Otherwise he would have had the boy kidnapped years ago.
He was still in his prime—sharper, prouder, and more patient with his children for Joanna's sake. He refused to force them into things they hated.
"If the need ever arises, I will ask you myself to release Jaime so he can return and take up his rightful place."
Tywin was confident. After all his service, he had earned that much.
Besides, times had changed.
Staying close to the royal family was how you stayed ahead.
His eldest son's time in the Kingsguard had already paid off. Jaime had learned the best life-force techniques and formed his Life Seed. When he finally returned to the Westerlands, no young lord or knight from any vassal house could match him. He could secure fifty years of glory for House Lannister without breaking a sweat.
Jaime only seemed ordinary because this era was packed with legends—Barristan, the Blackfish, Arthur Dayne, Crown Prince Rhaegar, and Prince Daeron himself.
"Are you sure you don't want to?"
Daeron genuinely wanted to give him the chance.
Tywin answered evenly, "Let him gain experience first. You spoke of a dragon-lion union."
That was interesting.
It was clear Tywin was letting Jaime stay in the Kingsguard to polish his reputation—or simply to ride the royal coattails.
By saying "dragon-lion union," he was already planting the idea that if Jaime ever left the white cloak to become heir, Daeron couldn't object.
"If that's how we're talking," Daeron said, "then I need to reach a little deeper into your pockets."
Seeing Tywin had no intention of pulling back his investment, Daeron decided to lock House Lannister in tighter.
Of course, this was excellent news.
It proved Tywin was still firmly on the royal side with no plans to retreat to the Westerlands.
The crown was about to absorb the Riverlands and Stormlands and centralize power. They didn't need the Lannisters to survive—but having Tywin steering a loyal, wealthy house as the crown's ironclad supporter brought enormous unseen advantages and deterrence.
Daeron stood to leave.
He had wanted to leave Jaime behind to keep the widowed lord company and soften the sting of that day's forced abdication.
Tywin refused and told Jaime to get out with him.
Jaime was thrilled. He followed Daeron with a spring in his step, already imagining the king under house arrest and the pyromancer Rossart dead. Then he could ride at Daeron's side again, showing his face across the Seven Kingdoms.
Having formed his Life Seed and wielding the Bone Sword, he loved the Kingsguard more than ever.
He believed he had sharper eyes than Gerold or Prince Lewyn. By staying loyal to Daeron and following the path of Ser Jon and Barristan, he would earn trust and reap rewards.
If Daeron became a conqueror like Aegon or the Young Dragon, Jaime would be remembered like Orys Baratheon or "Dragonknight" Aemon—a legendary knight.
And if his sister Cersei married the prince, he would become royal kin.
"Barristan was right," Jaime thought. "Great knights must practice restraint. You can't waste your life force."
After soaking in the noble code of the Kingsguard, he had briefly seen the light.
Incest was better left to the Targaryens. It didn't suit Lannisters.
The more important reason was simpler: ever since arriving in King's Landing, Cersei had barely spoken to him except when she needed something done.
In that sting of disappointment he had turned to the White Book, reading the glorious deeds of past Kingsguard members. He was moved.
No one wanted to be "Strong" Lucamore Strong. They admired "Dragonknight" Aemon or "Tall" Duncan.
"I want to uphold honor so everyone can be proud of me."
Jaime had a one-track mind and kept reinforcing the thought.
With his student and eldest son gone, Tywin stopped working and ordered his daughter brought to him.
Soon Cersei arrived at the Hand's Tower in a bright floral gown. She didn't knock—she simply pushed the door open.
"Father, you wanted to see me?"
Cersei said sweetly.
Tywin frowned at her lack of manners but let it pass. "I've thought it over. I'm sending you back to Casterly Rock—and Tyrion with you. I won't have him embarrassing the Lannister name in King's Landing."
Cersei: ?!?
"What?!"
She panicked. "Send me back? Why?"
Then she realized her father was also sending Tyrion.
Cersei's voice turned vicious. "Is this because of that little monster? Just give the order and I'll have him tied up and shipped back to Casterly Rock tonight—or dumped in a King's Landing latrine."
"Silence!"
Tywin's frown deepened. He raised his voice. "Tyrion is your brother. Even if I hate admitting it, that is the truth. How dare you casually decide his life or death?"
She was getting more and more out of line.
Cersei's eyes reddened. Tears spilled as she rushed around the desk and grabbed her father's rough hand. "Please, Father."
"Don't send me away. I still have to marry the prince and give him lots of healthy, beautiful children. That's my life's dream."
"Please… please—"
Her performance was flawless, shaking his hand desperately, begging for pity.
If Daeron had been there he would have given her a very special look.
Those words sounded exactly like something a certain white-eyed wolf would say.
Tywin knew his daughter's foolishness and talent for faking emotion, so he stayed unmoved. "Daeron will marry his sister. You understand Targaryen tradition, don't you?"
No more needed to be said. Shaena was a dragonrider—naturally undefeatable.
"But they aren't even betrothed yet. There's been no word of it."
Cersei refused to believe it, defiance flashing in her eyes.
Tywin pulled his hand back, tone cold. "No word doesn't mean no real progress. It just means you haven't been paying attention."
He did intend to send her back.
For one thing, he refused to have weaknesses.
If Cersei married now she could wed the heir of a top-tier house and live happily.
Leaving her in King's Landing might waste her best years and leave her with nothing.
Worse, the boy could use her to manipulate House Lannister.
Tywin would never allow that.
For another, he wanted to test her resolve.
If Cersei insisted on staying, he would find a way.
Marrying his daughter to Daeron and producing a dragon-blooded grandson was too tempting to ignore.
He was willing to increase his investment in Daeron and the crown—even risk his daughter's youth and prime marriage prospects—on the chance.
"The most famous Targaryens with dragons were Jaehaerys the Conciliator and Viserys I. One had virtue but no luck. The other had luck but no virtue."
Tywin's gaze was distant. He placed Daeron far above them. "Among those without dragons, only the Young Dragon Daeron I and Baelor the Breaker stand out. Both had virtue but no luck."
Daeron was different.
He had dragons, lived in a stable era, and had the ambition to swallow three regions.
He held perfect timing, location, and people—virtue and luck. Heaven's chosen.
As long as he didn't die young, his achievements would surpass the Conqueror and the Conciliator.
From everything Tywin had seen, Daeron showed no sign of dying young.
His fortune was at its peak.
"If you're still obsessed, I will have you forcibly returned to Casterly Rock."
Tywin pretended to be angry, scolding his clinging daughter.
Cersei jumped, sobbing. "I want to stay here."
"Really?" Tywin kept his face stern.
Cersei nodded frantically.
Seeing that, Tywin eased off. "If you truly want to stay, you will obey me. No acting on your own. No doing anything distasteful. Understood?"
"Understood."
Cersei sniffled in agreement.
Tywin waved her off. "Go."
Cersei ran out crying.
"Hmph!"
Tywin rolled his eyes.
What a nuisance. He hated seeing his daughter look so cheap. She had inherited Joanna's beauty but none of their brains.
Cersei ran out the door, wiped away the worthless tears, and broke into a smug smile.
Send her back to Casterly Rock?
Not a chance.
She still had to marry the prince and become queen.
Cersei wiped a bit of snot, smoothed her wrinkled skirt, and muttered, "Watch my moves. I don't believe the prince can resist temptation."
As for obeying her father and being a good girl?
Don't make her laugh.
If listening to Father got her the prince, then Princess Shaena would never have become a dragonrider and crushed all the advantages Cersei had worked so hard to build.
"Once I deliver myself to him, I'll get the prince in my bed first."
Cersei touched up her makeup and decided on a night raid that very evening.
Bold as ever, she took a deep breath, lifted her skirts, and marched straight to Maegor's Holdfast. She banged on Daeron's bedchamber door.
Daeron wasn't there.
The moment he left the Hand's Tower he had flown back to the farm on dragonback to rest.
The farmhouse cottage was magical—he could hit the pillow at two in the morning and wake at six sharp, refreshed and full of energy.
Staying in the Red Keep left him restless and sleepless.
Cersei knocked for a long time and nearly drew the night watch.
Night raid failed.
Cersei slumped and trudged back to her quarters in defeat.
The next day the sun rose over King's Landing. The sky hadn't changed.
Daeron returned to the Red Keep and immediately called a Small Council meeting.
During the meeting the councillors noticed the purple seashell in the prince's hand.
"This thing grinds into purple dye—one gram sells for ten gold dragons?"
Daeron examined it curiously, turning the spiral shell over in his hands.
Aside from the pretty shape and extra little spikes, it looked like any ordinary seashell.
It wasn't even a special fish.
"Prince, I hear you brought back many Tyroshi skilled slaves," Lord Corlton said, licking his lips. "Are you planning to raise purple sea snails for dye production?"
Daeron kept his eyes on the shell and said flatly, "That's the idea."
"Then—"
Lord Corlton's eyes lit up. He wanted to volunteer or at least get involved.
Daeron glanced at him and cut him off.
"Be quiet."
"No problem."
Daeron did intend to breed the snails and had already chosen the man for the job.
"Littlefinger" Petyr Baelish.
The man was still out on the edge of the Kingswood, eating three whip lashes a day, doing the hardest, dirtiest labor, and living on black bread mixed with sawdust and vegetable soup. He was practically skin and bones.
Daeron had reserved Petyr as the overseer for the purple sea snail project.
Two reasons.
First, either kill him or use him. Daeron's inner circle lacked this kind of internal-affairs expert, so he would put him to work and deal with him later.
A ruler must make full use of talent.
With Petyr's low birth, Daeron could promote or execute him at will.
Any misstep and off with his head.
Second, to shake up the old Small Council members. During the power clash between him and his father, Lord Corlton and two others had wavered like weeds in the wind, trying to play both sides.
They had grown too used to coasting through meetings and no longer knew who held real power.
Davos and Alliser were lowborn military men. They weren't good at court games and had been sidelined with no real voice.
They urgently needed another lowborn but eloquent, ruthless operator to refresh the council and lay down the law for the old guard.
"Littlefinger" Petyr was perfect.
Men like him lived to climb. They would do anything to rise. Born to be the perfect black glove.
After the Great Council, Daeron would pull him out, station him in Dairy Town for construction, test him, and give him more responsibility if he performed.
If he did well and stayed loyal, he would replace one of the uncooperative old councillors.
"Prince, what about us?" Lord Corlton asked carefully.
"You all have new work."
Daeron handed each man a task list. "Read it carefully. I want five new towns built across the Crownlands, Riverlands, and Reach to relieve the overcrowding in King's Landing."
"You will oversee this entirely."