Kevan Lannister had barely set foot in King's Landing after his long voyage from Lys when a messenger came bearing an urgent summons. His elder brother, Lord Tywin, required his presence immediately. Weariness still clung to him like sea salt, but Kevan knew Tywin well enough to understand that such a call could not be delayed.
The Hand's Tower loomed in the Red Keep, solemn and imposing. Kevan climbed its steps with heavy feet and a heavier mind.
Inside, the chamber was dimly lit by tall, iron sconces. Lord Tywin Lannister sat in silent majesty at a great oaken table. The golden Hand's chain gleamed against the deep crimson velvet of his robe, every link a reminder of power and responsibility. His pale green eyes, hard as gemstones, were fixed on something unseen, his thoughts clearly miles ahead.
Beside him reclined the Queen Mother, Cersei. She wore scarlet brocade and a circlet rimmed with gold, black diamonds glittering above her brow. Her golden hair fell in lustrous waves down her back, and a ruby-studded necklace accentuated the proud lift of her chin. She exuded beauty and command, but to Kevan's eyes there was something unsettling in the tableau.
Two figures stood silently near her — his sons, Lancel and Willem. Kevan's heart clenched as he caught the expression in their eyes: too intent, too captivated by their cousin, by their Queen. It was dangerous — sinful, even. Cousins might wed with the blessing of the Seven, but secret liaisons with the Queen Mother? If such whispers reached beyond these walls, the Rock itself would become the jape of all Westeros.
Suppressing a sigh, Kevan bowed.
"You have returned, brother," Tywin said, his tone calm but carrying authority enough to fill the room. "You have worked hard."
Kevan straightened. His skin was cracked from long weeks at sea, his voice hoarse with brine and wind. "Tywin, matters in Lys were not as straightforward as we hoped."
At this, Tywin raised a brow, though his face betrayed little else. "Explain."
Kevan drew a long breath. "The Free Cities are at each other's throats. Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr are locked in a bitter trade war, each ready to spill blood at a moment's provocation. The Archon of Lys would not provide us a fleet. He fears entanglement, and supplying ships to the Iron Throne would draw the ire of his rivals."
"So you returned empty-handed?"
"Not entirely." Kevan allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "Though the Archon refused, I lingered in Lys and courted others. Eventually, I persuaded one of their great trade princes, Trygg Omollan. He has agreed to lease us a fleet: twenty oared warships, fifty longships, and the crews to sail them, all for six months."
Cersei shifted lazily in her seat, stretching her arms in a way that made Lancel's eyes widen before he caught himself and retreated a step.
Tywin, unbothered, asked evenly, "And the price?"
Kevan's expression darkened. "Exorbitant. The down payment is five hundred thousand gold dragons. Afterward, thirty thousand a week until the term ends. In total, one million two hundred and eighty thousand."
Tywin did not blink. "Give it to him."
The calm certainty in his voice left no room for debate. "Secrecy in King's Landing is a myth. The Small Council cannot pass wind without the stink spreading through Flea Bottom before nightfall. Stannis likely already knows of my designs in the Vale. The more strength we can muster, the more room I have to outmaneuver the unexpected."
Cersei spoke, her tone dripping disdain and curiosity both. "And those merchants hanged by the City Watch? Were they Stannis's spies?"
Tywin gave her a cold glance. "Those 'deer-horn fools'? Yes — or so Varys reported. In truth, they were debtors who dreamed Stannis would pardon what they owed the Crown. Naïve. Stannis would knight them at dawn and seize their properties by dusk, then hang them for presumption."
Kevan interjected, seizing the chance to turn talk back to coin. "The confiscated wealth helped, but even so… the treasury is bare. Tyrion's taxes reached even the brothels to fund Joffrey's wedding, and yet we are poorer than beggars. If we must fund this fleet, we have no coin for anything else. Dorne pays barely a token. The Starks drove out our collectors in White Harbor. What remains from the Crownlands, Vale, Reach, and Westerlands cannot match our debts, the upkeep of the Red Keep, and the pay of the Gold Cloaks."
Cersei waved a dismissive hand. "Then stop paying the Iron Bank. Tell them Lannisters always pay their debts — later. They cannot sail across the Narrow Sea to seize the Rock." She smiled, pleased with her own brilliance.
Tywin's gaze cut to her, sharp as a blade. "If you were not my daughter, if you were not a Lannister, you would be sold in some alley for words so foolish."
Her lips parted, stung.
"I allow you to sit here to listen, not to prattle," Tywin continued, his voice low but hard as iron. "You will watch Tommen. Keep him from the Tyrells' clutches. That is your task."
Cersei's pride burned, but she forced her chin high. "And if we still lack the coin? The sailors will not serve us out of love."
Tywin finally allowed the barest curl of his mouth. "House Tyrell has supplied gold. They agreed readily — though I told them it was for the war."
Cersei bristled. "But that was meant for Tommen's wedding feast—"
Her words faltered under his stare. Kevan stepped in hastily. "Did the Tyrells voice no objection?"
"None," Tywin said. "Their lords thirst for blood in the Stormlands. As long as we march there, Highgarden will not quibble. A simpler wedding is safer, in any case."
He leaned back, voice steady and absolute. "Once Stannis is crushed, once Dragonstone and Storm's End are ours, Tommen's rule will stand unshakable. The South will be ours entire."
Then he turned, eyes narrowing upon his daughter. "After the feast, you will return to Casterly Rock with Tommen and his bride. Then you will wed again. Oberyn Martell of Dorne."
Cersei froze as if struck. Color flooded her face. "No. I am the mother of two kings. I will not remarry."
Kevan, awkward, tried to soothe. "Your Grace, you are still young, beautiful, and fertile. Rumors in King's Landing will vanish if you are wed anew—"
Cersei flared. "I am the Queen Mother, not some courtesan to be traded at your whim!"
Tywin's voice cut like steel. "Sit, or I will wed you to Euron Greyjoy instead. He delights in wives who cannot speak, and knows well how to silence them."
She went pale, trembling as she sank back into her chair.
"Dorne can give us ten thousand spears," Tywin pressed. "Highgarden will not break with us over it. With Stormlands, Dragonstone, Vale, Westerlands, Crownlands, Reach, and Dorne together, nothing will stand in our way. Even the Riverlands will drown before us."
"In short — Greyjoy or Martell. Choose."
Cersei's mouth twisted, but at last she managed, coldly, "You are ever too thoughtful, Father. So my choices are a mad sea monster or a lecherous prince." She rose stiffly. "This is too grave to decide in haste. I will consider."
"Go, then," Tywin said. "But remember — you are a Lannister."
She swept out, though her steps betrayed her shaken pride. In this chamber, even the Regent was but a daughter before her father.
Tywin waited until the door shut, then turned to the young men lingering uneasily. His gaze fell on Lancel.
Kevan coughed, uneasy.
"Lancel," Tywin said. "You will oversee the replacement of the Red Keep's guards. The Gold Cloaks are riddled with spies and bought men. I want Red Cloaks at every post."
The young knight stammered, "Yes… yes, my lord."
"Willem will assist you. Go."
When the boys were gone, Kevan frowned. "Brother, why such measures? I have been away only months, yet everything here seems changed."
Tywin's voice lowered. "Because I no longer trust the Tyrells. Nor Littlefinger. I suspect they conspired to kill Joffrey."
Kevan's eyes widened. "But… Tyrion confessed!"
"No. He is no fool. He would not use a whore as an accomplice, nor act so openly. Someone else seized the moment."
"Littlefinger? House Tyrell?" Kevan shook his head in disbelief. "How could they dare—?"
"Varys told me," Tywin said coldly. "At first I thought it nonsense. But the proof he laid before me… too much, too precise. Enough to damn them both, though I suspect even he plays his own game."
Tywin's hand closed around his goblet. "Kevan, you are my truest ally. From this day, trust no one lightly. The Red Keep crawls with enemies. Lannisters must stand together — or fall divided."
The weight of his words pressed down upon the chamber, upon Kevan's shoulders, and upon the fate of a kingdom trembling at the edge of chaos.
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