Jaime caught up to his father in the hall. "Father," he began, "about Tyrion. You know he—"
Tywin interrupted his eldest son impatiently. "Yes, I know. Tyrion's duty is over. He should go back to where he belongs—the circus, a brothel, or wherever else he fancies."
Jaime stared at his father's indifferent expression, and the words caught in his throat.
Tywin turned to face the son in whom he had placed all his hopes. "Listen, Jaime. You are the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Your place is by the king's side, performing your duties. Protect your king, and don't concern yourself with other matters."
After speaking, Tywin turned and walked away, leaving Jaime with a bitter taste in his mouth. He ignored his father's command and left the Red Keep to find Tyrion.
He found him at his private residence, drowning in decadence and anger.
Jaime looked at his younger brother apologetically. He knew Tyrion deserved better than to be cast aside like this. He had tried to tell his father that Tyrion's actions should be rewarded, but Tywin's coldness had cut the conversation short.
Seeing his brother, who had spent the last several days in a drunken stupor, made Jaime's heart ache. "I'm sorry, Tyrion. I told Father that he shouldn't be doing this to you. I know what you did for King's Landing. We held the city because of you, long enough for us to arrive and break Stannis's army. Your contribution shouldn't be forgotten."
Tyrion clutched a wine jug and took a long drink, the strong fumes filling his mouth. "To hell with King's Landing, and to hell with his credit!" he slurred, his words thick with resentment. "I wish I'd just handed the city over to Stannis. I hear he's a strict man, but at least he's fair. If I'd given him the city, he might have rewarded me with some minor office."
Jaime didn't get angry at his brother's bitter words. He understood the terrible injustice Tyrion had suffered. He wanted to change things, but their father, Cersei, and even Joffrey would never listen. They all hated Tyrion.
Jaime was better with a sword than with words. He offered a few clumsy words of comfort until he ran out of things to say. Before he left, he promised Tyrion he would do his best to persuade their father to give him another chance.
Tyrion knew his brother's affection was genuine. They had been close since they were children. Unlike his father and Cersei, Jaime had never cared about his appearance and had always treated him as a true brother.
Still, he held no hope for Jaime's words. He knew his father. Duke Tywin had never truly seen him as a son. Tyrion was ugly and short, and his birth had killed the woman Tywin loved. His father had hated him from that day forward. In Tywin's mind, not drowning him at birth was the greatest mercy a father could show.
For years, Tyrion had fantasized that he could use his sharp mind to change his father's opinion of him.
As it turned out, he had failed. Utterly and completely.
A disheartened Tyrion continued to numb himself with alcohol, with no idea what to do next. After all, without the name Lannister, he was just a dwarf that everyone despised. He probably wouldn't even survive.
Meanwhile, in the Riverlands, Jason led the First Northern Army and a thousand cavalry to the gates of the Twins. His artillery was pushed into position, the black muzzles of the cannons aimed at the tall gatehouse of the Frey stronghold.
On the battlements, the ninety-year-old Lord Walder Frey, supported by his servants, led a crowd of his descendants to stare at the strange, two-wheeled steel barrels being positioned by the army below. They were completely baffled.
News of Roose Bolton's defeat had already reached them, along with the fact that the two thousand Frey soldiers sent to aid him had been captured. Lord Walder and his kin were horrified.
Now, a fortnight later, Jason's army was outside their walls. The Freys had closed their gates and retracted the drawbridge, relying on their tall stone walls and the Green Fork River to keep them safe.
The Twins were built across the river, connected only by the bridge that was now raised. Separated by the wide, rushing water, the Freys felt secure, confident that Jason's soldiers could never scale their walls.
Jason, however, had no intention of sending his men to build a bridge under a hail of arrows. He would use his artillery to eliminate the defenders first.
Surrounded by his guards, Jason rode his horse to within a stone's throw of the castle. "Send a man to shout," he commanded. "Tell the Freys to surrender!"
He knew Walder Frey would refuse—unless the old man's brain had finally turned to mush—but Jason intended to give him a chance. If they surrendered, he would spare a few of the younger Frey children, letting them live on under new names. It was a mercy born of his modern sensibilities. He knew the lords of the North would prefer to see every last Frey put to the sword.
As expected, the offer was refused. The Freys were confident that their strong castle and the natural barrier of the river would protect them.
Jason took one last look at the fortress, then wheeled his horse around and rode back to his lines. "Fire the cannons!" he ordered. "Reduce those walls to rubble for me!"
At his command, ten 12-pound cannons roared like thunder.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Ten solid iron balls screamed toward the Twins. A few, fired at the wrong angle, flew over the walls and landed inside the castle grounds, but the rest slammed into the stone battlements.
BOOM!
One cannonball blasted a hole in a corner of the wall. The flying debris struck the Frey soldiers hiding behind the ramparts, and their screams filled the air. The high-speed stone fragments shattered limbs and caused gruesome head injuries.
The defenders had never seen weapons like these. Lord Walder and the family members still on the wall were paralyzed with terror. The ancient lord collapsed, frightened into a faint by the deafening roar of the cannons.
After several more volleys, the castle wall was in tatters. The soldiers defending it were either torn to pieces by cannon fire or had fled the walls in terror.
With the threat of archers eliminated, Jason's soldiers moved forward. They carried rough-hewn timbers to the riverbank and began constructing a pontoon bridge, directly in front of the shattered gatehouse.
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