"The thirty thousand troops stationed at Old Oak are constantly training, and Lord Mathis Rowan is determined to resist."
Lord Tywin stared straight ahead into the deep corridor stretching before them.
"Our army will march south tomorrow."
His deep, commanding voice echoed in the golden corridor, reaching places beyond sight, and the walls of gold shone brightly in response, as if the very rock were listening.
Casterly Rock, which had never fallen to enemy hands.
Joffrey walked alongside its master, Lord Tywin, discussing war and all its accompaniments—death, gold, and power—conceiving campaigns, arrangements, and conspiracies in hushed tones.
Casterly Rock had undoubtedly heard many such conversations over the centuries, and was already accustomed to them, perhaps even weary of their familiar rhythms.
Fortunately, Joffrey was young enough to still maintain interest and pleasure in such matters.
"Grandfather, I wish you victory in advance," he said with a smile.
"The territory of House Oakheart will be incorporated into the Westerlands, their title revoked, and a permanent governor established." Joffrey spoke of the distribution of the spoils of victory as a matter of course.
"In your opinion, Grandfather, how should House Rowan's lands and title be handled?"
Two sweet fruits, ripe for the taking.
House Oakheart ruled from Old Oak, their territory situated along the northern coast of the Reach, bordering the Westerlands. They guarded the coastal approach and lay close to the Shield Islands, Highgarden's sea defense line—a position that might well be called the northern wall of the Reach.
Taking Old Oak would disintegrate the Reach's independent defense, allowing the Westerlands to penetrate directly to Highgarden, bringing troops to the very gates of the city, making it impossible for House Tyrell to respond with any semblance of calm.
House Rowan of Goldengrove was even more significant.
Their fief encompassed nearly the entire northern Reach, with many vassals and loyal knights sworn to their service, rivaling the power of their liege lord Tyrell in many respects.
Moreover, House Rowan boasted an ancient lineage, noble blood, prestigious reputation, and favorable relations with Houses Tyrell, Hightower, Redwyne, and Tarly—all bound by marriage and mutual support.
In terms of both strength and reputation, among the hundreds of lords in the Seven Kingdoms, House Rowan surely ranked among the top ten.
However, Lord Tywin answered obliquely: "Lady Arwyn Oakheart has many sons, and Tyrell will likely support one of them to claim the inheritance of Old Oak, placing the Crown and the Westerlands in a difficult position."
Joffrey shook his head gently. "There is no cause for concern. As long as Grandfather is willing to accept this gift, certain... arrangements will clean up all manner of troubles."
He smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "Didn't a thousand Holy Warriors transfer from King's Landing under your command?"
Along with these reinforcements came three hundred artillery crystal cores. The crystal cores were inscribed with runes and infused with magical energy, making them easy to transport. When combat was imminent, the warlocks need only fuse them with steel to recreate the deadly weapons they powered.
Complete victory on the Western Front would be fashioned by these means.
"Even so," Lord Tywin appeared uncharacteristically cautious, "the Reach will not willingly accept such changes. All surviving houses will maintain strong vigilance, if not outright hostility. The realm will find no peace this way."
Tywin regarded Joffrey with a measuring gaze. "Why not permit an unmarried Oakheart daughter to inherit the title? We could find her an excellent husband of our choosing."
This was the traditional approach—rule a partner's fief as husband or wife, allowing power to transition smoothly from one house to another while maintaining the appearance of continuity.
But this would not satisfy Joffrey's ambitions.
In his grand design, Old Oak would undergo far greater changes after the war.
Rain House was the first experiment with appointed governors, and Old Oak would serve as a further test—no hereditary titles granted, only royal officials installed, with personnel appointed entirely by the Crown.
This was precisely why Old Oak was to be incorporated into the administration of the Westerlands.
By limiting the inevitable disputes and conflicts to the level of the Reach and the Westerlands, the Crown could remain aloof, intervening as arbiter to achieve its desired ends.
Was Lord Tywin unwilling to play the villain in this scenario?
Or had he perhaps recognized the destruction this policy would wreak upon the noble feudal system? As a great lord himself, did he resist rather than support royal centralization?
Joffrey continued walking, his footsteps echoing on the stone.
"Grandfather, don't you wish for the Westerlands to expand their territory? If we adopt your suggested approach, what justification would we have for bringing Old Oak under western administration at all?"
Tywin and Joffrey walked side by side, their shadows mingling on the golden floor.
"The Westerlands, the Reach—these are merely names," Tywin said. "As long as Old Oak remains in our hands, its nominal affiliation matters little."
"Besides," Lord Tywin added meaningfully, "is it not all under the rule of the Iron Throne regardless?"
Joffrey sighed, a sound filled with exaggerated patience.
"Grandfather, you naturally understand that the territories under the Iron Throne differ greatly in their loyalty."
Joffrey pointed out the distinctions with sharp precision.
"The Westerlands stand as close to the Crown as family, together with those houses and fiefs that directly pledge allegiance to the Iron Throne. These constitute the loyal forces of the royal house."
"Most lords in the North, Riverlands, and Vale maintain no open quarrel with the Crown, and might barely be regarded as allies of convenience."
"The Reach and the Stormlands present more formidable challenges to royal authority—one covets the throne itself, while the other seeks to return to court and seize real power."
"As for Dorne, it drifts beyond our influence, hardly qualifying as a vassal under the throne at all."
Joffrey spoke eloquently, without evasion or pretense, as if he truly regarded Tywin as a trusted counselor and elder.
"Grandfather, should we allow this situation to persist?"
Joffrey's eyes burned with earnest conviction.
"Aegon the Conqueror with his three dragons failed to subdue Dorne completely, nor could he compel the Seven Kingdoms to submit sincerely. He was forced to maintain the status quo, governing the realm with the cooperation of the great lords."
"But circumstances have changed."
"We possess a force more powerful and precise than dragons, sufficient to bestow grace upon all, ensuring universal submission."
"To squander such an opportunity would surely invite divine displeasure!"
Joffrey's tone hardened with certainty.
"Grandfather, do not limit your vision to Casterly Rock. The Seven Kingdoms, Essos, and countless unknown lands beyond—our journey has no end!"
Every word revealed his boundless confidence.
And why should he not be confident? The God-given Light Curtain and various magical powers represented an overwhelming advantage in this age. How could any man possessing such weapons doubt his eventual triumph?
Lord Tywin offered no immediate response.
The two continued forward, each step on the golden stone floor echoing clearly through the vast space.
The corridor widened gradually.
They entered a spacious hall where hundreds of mighty suits of armor in various styles—some ancient and dull, others polished to a gleaming finish—stood displayed in niches carved into the living rock.
The Hall of Heroes.
Joffrey knew that behind each suit of armor lay buried a valiant Lannister knight, lord, or king who had fallen in battle, their final rest granted within the mountain they had served.
Boom... boom... boom...
Rhythmic thunder rose from far below—the roar of the tide crashing against the base of the Rock, a constant reminder of the sea's power.
Lord Tywin halted before a suit of bronze armor.
Joffrey approached to examine it more closely. Time had left countless marks upon the metal. Even with careful maintenance, the armor was covered with verdigris and mottled patches.
"Joffrey Lannett," Lord Tywin said.
"Have you heard of him?"
Joffrey nodded slightly. "An Andal knight who lived thousands of years ago. He married the only daughter of King Tybolt III of Casterly Rock, later taking the name Joffrey Lannister. He was crowned as Joffrey I and ruled the Kingdom of the Rock."
Lord Tywin gently stroked the ancient armor with unexpected tenderness.
"He possessed another suit made of iron, but it has long since crumbled to dust. Only this bronze armor, forged in Casterly Rock's own foundries, has endured, preserved alongside the Rock itself."
Crack!
The bronze armor was suddenly lifted from its stand by Lord Tywin's hands, the ancient metal plates colliding against one another, threatening to shatter after millennia of fragile existence.
"Casterly Rock offers this as a gift."
Lord Tywin's eyes were filled with complex emotions, impossible to decipher fully. "Does it please you, Your Grace?"
Joffrey extended his palm.
The moment his fingers touched the armor, the bronze seemed to flow down his arm to envelop his entire body, the metal mysteriously restoring itself to pristine condition.
Joffrey I.
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