Tywin took an uncharacteristically long gulp of his wine. “I would have dealt with this earlier had I known of his… inadequacy.”

I chuckled. “I think inadequacy doesn’t quite cover it,” I said. Even I had not known how bad things were. I was quite sure today was the first time I had seen him string more than two words together. “It doesn’t matter. He won’t be a bother for longer. Him or Kettleblack.”

The mention of the dornish plot had him almost bearing his teeth. Tywin wasn’t over having his attack dog put down quite yet. “So it seems,” he grunted. “Have you any thoughts on who to fill the spots with?”

I hummed. “How about Ser Arthur Dayne, or Aemon the Dragonknight. Maybe Ryam Redwyne.”

“Then I wish you good luck with that,” Tywin said.

I raised an eyebrow. He was clearly baiting the topic. “Why, Lord Hand, have you a suggestion to make?”

Tywin nodded. At least he didn’t beat around the bush. “It’s one of the reasons I invited you here today,” he said. “I have found the knight you asked me to. The one from the tourney, with the black and white striped shield.”

I focused on the first part of his speech. “One of?” I repeated. Of course, Tywin never did things with only one goal in mind. I should have known he had ulterior motives, and he was using the promise of a potentially competent kingsguard as a reward. This man was really out here treating the king like a dog. “And I suppose you wish to speak on other topics before introducing our guest?”

“Quite so,” he said. He put down his wine and leaned forward on his chair. “I wish to speak on Sansa Stark.”

“Ah… her.” He wasn’t going to let the little bird fly away from the lion’s claws that easily, then. “Have you had word of Ser Kevan, then?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But my brother has my full confidence in this, as he will have as Hand of the King.”

Big praise for Kevan coming from him, but it only made me all the more weary. Everything that happened in the capital would be reported back to Casterly Rock. If I didn’t already know that, now I had confirmation.

“Very well. What about Sansa Stark?”

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Tywin made a sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t play coy with me, Your Grace. Time and time again you have gone off and done your own thing without word to your council, or your hand, and it has become quite vexing.” I felt my eyebrows raising. I had noticed that even Tywin had been more respectful toward me after the incident with the shadow-demon, and this was the first I had seen him truly speaking his mind. “I want to know what your plans are for her. Let me remind you that she’s wed Tyrion. She’s a Lannister by marriage.”

“A marriage that was never consummated,” I pointed. “To a son you just about had killed.”

Tywin didn’t bite. It seemed he had reigned in his temper after the mention of Dorne and the Mountain. “And the Stark girl?”

I sighed. What did he want me to say? That I was going to take her out of Lannister hands and marry her off to the Tyrells? It seemed obvious enough to me, but Tywin had a black hole in his brain where all negative, Lannister-related things went to die. Tyrion could never hold the North, nor could Jaime, who actually fought and killed northmen in the War of the Five Kings.

If I wanted to use Sansa to return the largest kingdom in my realm back into the fold, she could not do it as a Lannister.

“If you must know, I intend to use her to retake control of the North. I trust the Boltons as far as I can throw them, and I have word of Stannis’ ship being sighted sailing north past the coast of White Harbor. With Daenerys Targaeryen’s coming looming from the east, I want to start trimming down on potential turncloaks.”

Tywin looked at me. “We made a promise to the Boltons, Your Grace. A Lannister always pays his debts.”

“And I’m a Baratheon, Lord Hand.” I stared right back. “Best you remember that.” I reached for my wine and drank the cup in one go. I’d forgotten Lightbringer back at my rooms, and trading barbs with Tywin Lannister takes its toll on a man. I was becoming jittery. “Enough of this. It’s not a war you’ll have to fight, grandfather, I assure you. No Lannister levies will step foot north of the Neck. Perhaps we’ll even convince the Blackfish to join the expedition and leave Riverrun for your good-brother and Lady Genna.”

He leaned back on his chair. “He’s as likely to give up on his family’s castle as Stannis is on the war. Stubborn as a bull, that man is.”

“You’ve met him?” I asked.

“We fought together on the Stepstones against Maelys, his merchant princes, and the Golden Company. And it’s said he’s only gotten worse with age.” At least, that could not be said about Lord Tywin Lannister. He had already come out of his mother’s womb as worse as it gets. He wasn’t even twenty when he quelled the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion by drowning a castle’s worth of people. “Another thing, Your Grace. I meant to have words with Varys yesterday, but he wasn’t in his rooms. Some men said he took to ship days ago. What am I to make of this?”

Well, he was long dead and quartered by now, resting somewhere at the bottom of the Blackwater, or wherever Bronn had a mind to stash bodies. But I think he meant the polite answer to the question. “Varys left at my behest. I sent him somewhere he can make better use of his talents.”

“Where?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Where the king commanded him, Lord Tywin.” Sometimes you had to spell the hierarchy out for him.

Tywin was taut as a bowstring for a second, before he breathed out and settled for a scowl. “It seems I won’t be getting any straight answer from you today.”

I snorted. “As if you are any better, grandfather.”

He ignored my jibe and reached for a thin cord that hung from the ceiling. He pulled it twice in succession and somewhere deep in the tower, a bell rang. Soon, one of his sergeants stepped into the room. “Bring in the hedge knight,” Tywin ordered.

The man snapped a salute and retreated. We waited in silence until he returned, with the young man with the striped shield in tow, only this time he wore only a simple shirt and breeches and not ringmail. The sergeant and two other Lannister men stopped at the door, and the hedge knight sauntered into the room, walking up as if to meet old friends at an alehouse and not the king and his hand.

I had a feeling Tywin wasn’t going to be a fan of him.