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Tywin stood at his desk, his fingers ghosting over the infant's wispy white-gold hair. The babe slept peacefully, unaware of what was happening around him. Afternoon light filtered through the high windows of the solar, catching the unusual sheen of the child's hair - neither fully Lannister gold nor Targaryen silver, but something between.
'The gods mock me,' Tywin thought, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. The memory of last month's orders came to him - Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch were sent to handle Elia and her children. He hadn't ordered Elia's rape and death specifically, but Clegane's brutality had served its purpose. But one of them had escaped his grasp. Rhaenys Targaryen. The girl was still alive, and from what Tywin had heard, Jon Arryn was the one making sure she would continue living.
And now here lay another dragon spawn, though this one bore the blood of the lion.
The heavy oak door creaked open, and three wet nurses entered. Behind them came four Lannister guardsmen - men Tywin had known since they were boys, men whose loyalty he'd bought and tested a hundred times over. Captain Daven's hand never left his sword hilt as he took position by the door.
Tywin's cold green eyes swept over the wet nurses. "Who else knows?"
The youngest - barely more than a girl - trembled visibly. "No one, m'lord. We swear it."
"Not even your families?" Tywin's voice was soft, almost gentle, which somehow made it more terrifying.
All three shook their heads frantically, eyes wide with fear. The eldest wet nurse, a woman with grey streaking her brown hair, spoke up. "We know better than to gossip about the affairs of House Lannister, m'lord."
Tywin's boots clicked against the stone as he moved to his desk. He retrieved three small pouches, the soft clink of gold audible in the tense silence.
"Your silence will be rewarded," he said, holding out the pouches. When the women reached for them, his grip remained firm for a moment. "But understand this - if I hear so much as a whisper about what you've seen..." His eyes flicked to the guard captain. "Your flesh and bones will part ways."
The women clutched their pouches, faces pale. The youngest looked ready to faint.
"Captain," Tywin nodded slightly.
Daven moved forward, his armor creaking. "Come along, then." He gripped the youngest nurse's arm while his men handled the others. The women didn't resist as they were led out, though the eldest cast one last worried glance at the sleeping babe.
As the door closed, Tywin moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back. "Send for my brother," he commanded the remaining guard, who hurried to obey.
Tywin watched the courtyard below, where servants scurried about their duties like ants. Five minutes passed before he heard the familiar stride of Kevan Lannister entering the solar.
"Brother," Kevan's voice was warm but cautious - he'd learned long ago to read Tywin's moods. "You wanted to..." He trailed off as he noticed the infant. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Tywin, why is there a babe in your solar?"
Tywin turned, his face impassive. "He's mine."
Kevan's eyes widened slightly. "Yours?"
"My bastard son," Tywin clarified, watching his brother's reaction carefully.
Kevan's mouth opened, then closed. He took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "Forgive me, brother, but... why? This seems unlike you."
"Does it?" Tywin moved to stand over the sleeping child. "Tell me, brother - do you truly believe I would ever allow Casterly Rock to pass to that..." his lip curled slightly, "...creature that killed Joanna?"
Understanding dawned in Kevan's eyes, but he spoke carefully. "Jaime is still your heir. Unless..." He studied his brother's face. "Has he said something?"
"He means to continue playing at being Kingsguard," Tywin's voice held carefully controlled contempt. "I talked with him but he is dead set on staying as a Kingsguard, he told me he wants to make up for what he did for killing Aerys."
Kevan stepped closer, examining the infant. The babe stirred slightly but didn't wake. "People will talk, Tywin. A bastard appearing suddenly, at your age..."
"Let them talk," Tywin waved a hand dismissively. "In two months' time, Cersei will wed Robert Baratheon. Once she's queen..." A cold smile touched his lips. "Well, what better gift for your new father than legitimizing his bastard son, Adrian."
"Adrian Lannister," Kevan said thoughtfully. "That's what you'll call him?"
"A proper Western name," Tywin nodded. "Nothing too grand, nothing to draw unnecessary attention."
Kevan was silent for a long moment, studying his brother. "And the mother?"
"A servant girl. Lysene descent, hence the unusual hair. She died in childbirth, naturally." Tywin's tone made it clear this was the official story, not to be questioned.
"Of course," Kevan nodded, then hesitated. "Brother... are you certain about this? A bastard, even a legitimized one..."
"Is better than a dwarf," Tywin cut him off sharply. "The boy has Lannister blood. He'll be raised properly, educated well. In time, people will forget he was ever a bastard at all." He turned to face his brother fully. "I trust I can count on your support in this matter?"
Kevan met his brother's gaze steadily. "Always, Tywin. You know that." He glanced at the child again. "Though I hope you've considered what this might mean for House Lannister's future. The realm has seen enough war over succession."
"The realm has seen enough of many things," Tywin replied cryptically. "Which is why we must adapt. The game never truly ends, brother. The pieces simply move to different positions."
The babe chose that moment to wake, blinking up at the two men with startlingly green eyes - Lannister eyes. He made no sound, simply watched them with an unsettling intelligence.
"Well," Kevan said softly, "he certainly has the look of a lion."
"Indeed," Tywin agreed, his expression unreadable. "And that's all anyone ever needs to know."
.
.
The autumn sun beat down mercilessly as the Lannister procession approached King's Landing. Tywin sat astride his white charger, wearing a crimson cloak with gold threading catching the light, his polished armor gleaming. His face remained impassive despite the heat, green eyes fixed on the city walls ahead.
The wet nurse, Serra, had proven herself worth every golden dragon. She sat quietly in the enclosed carriage, tending to Adrian with a competence that satisfied Tywin's exacting standards. "The babe hardly makes a sound, m'lord," she'd reported that morning, her eyes downcast respectfully. "Sleeps through the night, too. Strong little thing."
Tywin had merely nodded, though privately he was pleased. Even as an infant, the boy showed more promise than the creature that had killed Joanna.
As they approached the city gates, the crowds parted like a tide before them. Tywin observed their reactions with cold satisfaction - the way mothers clutched their children closer, how men lowered their eyes and shuffled backward. Some still bore bandages from the sacking three months past. The memory was fresh; the fear was in the air like a dark cloud.
"They remember," Kevan remarked quietly from beside him, his bay stallion matching pace with Tywin's mount.
"Good," Tywin replied simply. Let them remember. Fear was a far more reliable tool than love.
Behind them rode their escort - thirty of House Lannister's finest. Among them rode Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, his massive form making other men look like children in comparison. His presence alone was enough to make the smallfolk retreat further.
The enclosed carriage followed, its crimson curtains drawn against both sun and prying eyes. Tywin had positioned four trusted guards around it, their hands never far from their sword hilts. The wet nurse knew her instructions - keep the boy quiet, keep him hidden, speak to no one.
As they passed through the city, Tywin noted the signs of recent violence still visible despite hasty repairs - scorched buildings, newly replaced doors, fresh mortar between stones. The sound of hammers rang out as workers rushed to prepare the city for the upcoming royal wedding.
When they finally reached the Red Keep's gates, they passed through and entered the main courtyard; Tywin spotted Cersei waiting in the courtyard. She wore a gown of deep crimson silk with golden embroidery, her hair arranged in an elaborate southern style - already playing the part of queen. But Tywin saw what others might miss - the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes darted toward the carriage before quickly looking away.
'Foolish girl,' he thought, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. 'Still thinking with her heart instead of her head.'
He dismounted, his boots meeting the cobblestones with a decisive click. Stable boys rushed forward to take the horses, bowing deeply and avoiding eye contact.
"Father," Cersei stepped forward, executing a perfect curtsy. Her voice was steady, but Tywin caught the slight tremor in her hands as she smoothed her skirts. "We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival."
"Daughter," he replied coolly. Her eyes flickered again toward the carriage, and anger flared in his chest.
"Is..." she began quietly. "Is he in the carriage?"
Tywin's green eyes bored into hers. "Follow me," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "We have matters to discuss."
Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the keep's entrance. His crimson cloak billowed behind him as he walked, and the sound of Cersei's slippered feet told him she followed obediently.
"Kevan," he called over his shoulder, "see to the arrangements we discussed."
His brother nodded, understanding the command. The carriage and its precious cargo would be taken to the secured chambers Tywin had arranged in advance, far from prying eyes - and far from Cersei's reach.
As they entered the cool darkness of the keep, Tywin noticed how the servants scattered before them, pressing themselves against walls or ducking into side passages. Even here, in the heart of Robert's new kingdom, the Lannisters commanded fear and respect.
"Father," Cersei tried again once they were alone in a corridor, "surely I could just-"
Tywin turned so suddenly that she nearly walked into him. "Surely you could what?" he asked, his voice soft but dangerous and hushed. "Compromise everything we've worked for? Risk your crown for sentiment?"
Cersei's face paled, but she held her ground. "He's my-"
"He is my bastard son," Tywin cut her off sharply, still talking with a hushed tone. "That is what everyone must believe. That is what you must believe, if you wish to be queen." He stepped closer, towering over her. "Or shall I tell Robert Baratheon what really happened at Harrenhal? Shall I tell him whose blood truly runs in the boy's veins?"
Cersei's green eyes - so like his own - filled with tears she refused to let fall. "No, Father."
"Then we understand each other." He straightened, adjusting his sword belt. "You will be queen. The boy will be legitimized as my son. And you will never - never - give anyone cause to question either of those facts." His eyes narrowed. "Am I clear?"
"Yes, Father," she whispered, her face a mask of composed grief.
"Good." He turned to continue down the corridor. "Now, tell me about the wedding preparations. I trust everything is being handled according to our station?"
As Cersei began reciting details about seamstresses and ceremonies, Tywin allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction. Everything was proceeding according to plan. Soon, his daughter would be queen, his grandson would be secured as a legitimate Lannister, and House Lannister would have everything it deserved.
And if he had to break his daughter's heart to achieve it? Well, that was a small price to pay for legacy.
.
.
Tywin's footsteps echoed through the corridors of the Red Keep. Serra followed at a careful distance, and Adrian bundled securely in her arms. The column of Lannister soldiers behind them followed, their armor creating a rhythmic symphony of metal against stone.
The massive doors to the throne room groaned open at the hands of Baratheon guards. Tywin's stride didn't falter, though, for a moment, his mind conjured the image of Aerys perched atop the Iron Throne, fingernails long as daggers, eyes wild with madness. But reality quickly reasserted itself - Robert Baratheon was the one sitting in the Iron Throne.
Robert sat with one leg thrown carelessly over an armrest, his famous warhammer leaning against the throne's side. At seven and a half feet tall, with shoulders like a bull and arms corded with muscle, he cut an imposing figure - though his partial state of dishevelment, with his beard untrimmed and doublet slightly askew, somewhat undermined the regal image.
Jaime stood at his post in his white cloak, his face carefully neutral, though his eyes tracked his father. Tywin ignored him completely.
"Lord Tywin," Robert's voice boomed across the chamber. "Welcome to King's Landing." His tone suggested he found some private humor in those words, given recent history.
Tywin executed a precise bow, neither too deep nor too shallow. "My soon-to-be king," he replied smoothly. "I trust you find the capital... secure under your authority?"
Robert's blue eyes flickered with something - anger? amusement? - before he forced a smile. "Aye, secure enough, thanks to your... timely intervention during the rebellion."
"House Lannister lives to serve the realm," Tywin said. "And soon our houses will be joined. The realm will know centuries of peace under Baratheon and Lannister rule."
Robert's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at the mention of the marriage, his knuckles whitening slightly on the throne's armrest. Tywin noted these details with cold satisfaction - the man's displeasure meant little so long as he did his duty.
Jon Arryn stepped forward then, his lined face grave. Despite his sixty-five years, he stood straight as a spear, his grey-streaked hair and beard neatly trimmed. His pale blue eyes fixed on Serra and her burden with obvious suspicion.
"Lord Tywin," Jon's voice was measured, diplomatic. "Who is this you've brought to court?"
Tywin gave a subtle signal, and his soldiers filed out of the throne room. Kevan caught his eye briefly before following them, understanding passing between the brothers without a word. Soon, only Serra remained, clutching Adrian protectively to her chest.
Tywin approached the wet nurse. He took the child from her arms, his movements surprisingly gentle for hands that had ordered so much violence. With precise care, he pulled back the blankets covering the babe's face.
"This," Tywin announced, his voice carrying clearly through the throne room, "is Adrian Hill. My son."
Jon Arryn's eyebrows shot up, his mouth falling slightly open. Robert stared hard at Tywin for a long moment before an explosive laugh burst from his chest.
"GODS!" Robert roared, slapping his thigh. "Tywin Lannister has a bastard!" His laughter echoed off the vaulted ceiling, making Serra flinch. "The great Lord Tywin - strict, proper, Tywin - couldn't keep his cock in his breeches!" He doubled over, great guffaws shaking his massive frame.
Tywin's face remained impassive, though a muscle ticked in his jaw. He waited with rigid dignity as Robert's mirth slowly subsided.
Still chuckling, Robert descended the throne's steps, each footfall heavy on the metal. He moved with surprising speed for such a large man, crossing the distance to Tywin in long strides. His blue eyes, sharp despite his apparent joviality, studied the infant's face.
"Who's the mother then?" Robert asked, reaching out one massive finger to touch Adrian's cheek. "Must have been something special to catch the great lion's eye."
"A servant girl of Lysene descent," Tywin replied smoothly. "Hence his coloring. She died in childbed."
"Convenient," Jon Arryn murmured, though not quite quietly enough to go unheard.
Robert either didn't hear or chose to ignore his foster father's comment. He was still studying Adrian, his expression now thoughtful. "Brings him to court though, doesn't he? Not hiding him away in some remote keep." He looked up at Tywin, a knowing glint in his eye. "Why is that, Lord Tywin?"
Tywin met his gaze steadily. "I would ask a boon of you, my lord, when you become King. I would have the boy legitimized as Adrian Lannister."
"Legitimized?" Jon stepped forward, frowning. "Your heir is Ser Jaime, is he not?"
"My son seems determined to continue his service in the Kingsguard," Tywin replied, his tone making it clear what he thought of that choice. "And I will not have a dwarf inherit Casterly Rock."
Robert's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "So that's the way of it, is it?" He glanced at the throne, then back at Tywin. "You want me to make your bastard legitimate. And in return?"
"In return, you shall have the wealthiest, most powerful house in Westeros as your steadfast allies. My daughter as your queen. And peace throughout the realm."
"Peace," Robert repeated, his voice suddenly bitter. "Peace bought with Lannister gold and Lannister swords." His massive hands clenched into fists, then slowly relaxed. "And what of justice?"
"Justice was served," Tywin said coldly. "The Targaryens are dead or fled. You will sit the Iron Throne. The realm will heal and prosper under your rule."
Robert's face darkened for a moment before he barked out another laugh, this one shorter and sharper than before. "Gods, but you're a cold bastard, Tywin." He reached out and clapped Tywin on the shoulder, hard enough to make a lesser man stagger. "Very well. When I'm crowned, the boy will be legitimized. Adrian Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock." He grinned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Consider it a wedding gift to my beloved goodfather."
Jon Arryn's face was troubled, but he said nothing. What could he say? The deal was struck, the pieces were in place. Tywin had won another round in the great game.
"My thanks, my lord," Tywin said, inclining his head slightly. "The realm will not forget your generosity."
As Serra took Adrian back into her arms, Tywin allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. Let Robert laugh. Let Jon Arryn suspect. None of it mattered.
.
.
Tywin entered his chambers, his boots silent on the thick Myrish carpets.
"Five men at Serra's door," he ordered the guards. "No one enters without my permission. If anything happens to the child, your families will beg for death." His cold green eyes swept over them. "Understood?"
The men saluted, armor clinking as they hurried to obey. Tywin had just settled behind his desk, reaching for reports from Casterly Rock, when a commotion erupted outside.
"Ser Jaime, your father hasn't-" came a guard's protest.
The heavy oak door burst open, slamming against the stone wall. Jaime Lannister strode in, his white cloak billowing behind him, golden hair disheveled as if he'd rushed here. His hand rested on his sword hilt, and his green eyes - so like Joanna's - blazed with anger.
"Ah, Ser Jaime," Tywin said without looking up from his papers, his tone suggesting he was addressing a distant acquaintance rather than his firstborn son. "I see the Kingsguard's discipline continues to deteriorate."
"Who is the child?" Jaime demanded.
Tywin's quill scratched against parchment for several long moments before he deigned to respond. "I see your memory for court gossip is as sharp as ever, though your understanding of basic courtesy seems to have dulled." He finally looked up, his face a mask of cold disdain. "Tell me, can you recite all the rules of knighthood but not comprehend simple rumors? The boy is your half-brother."
Jaime's face went through a series of emotions - shock, confusion, disbelief. His hand dropped from his sword hilt as if he'd forgotten it was there. "When?" he managed finally. "How?"
"I believe you understand the mechanics well enough," Tywin replied drily. "A servant girl of Lysene blood, some nine months ago. She died in childbed."
"This isn't like you," Jaime said, taking a step forward. His white armor creaked slightly. "Why?"
Tywin set down his quill before addressing his firstborn son. "Since you seem determined to play at being a glorified bodyguard rather than fulfill your duties as heir to Casterly Rock, I required another son. One who might actually understand the responsibilities of his position."
Color rose on Jaime's face. "You still have a son! Tyrion-"
"That creature is no son of mine," Tywin cut him off, his voice suddenly sharp as Valyrian steel.
"He is your blood!" Jaime's fist slammed down on Tywin's desk, rattling the inkwell. "Your son! My brother!"
"And you are my son, yet here you stand in that white cloak, forsaking your duty to your house." Tywin rose slowly from his chair, his height allowing him to look down at Jaime despite the desk between them. "Do not presume to lecture me about family obligations when you abandoned yours at the first opportunity."
Jaime's jaw worked silently for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less intense. "You didn't need to go that far."
They both knew he wasn't talking about Adrian anymore.
"Didn't I?" Tywin's voice was soft, dangerous. "Tell me, Ser Jaime, what would you have had me do? Leave the dragons alive to threaten Robert's reign? Leave loose ends that could unravel everything we've built?" His lip curled slightly. "You may have forgotten what it means to be a Lannister, but I have not. That girl is lucky to be alive, and only because Jon Arryn is saying that as a girl, she has no right to the Throne, and this is somewhat calming Robert."
"Not like that," Jaime's voice cracked slightly. "Gods, Father, not like that. Clegane... what he did to Elia and Aegon, what he almost..."
"War is ugly," Tywin said dismissively. "Death rarely comes as cleanly as songs would have us believe. But it comes all the same, and House Lannister must think of the future." His eyes bored into Jaime's. "Something you seem incapable of doing."
Jaime stood there, chest heaving slightly, his face a storm of emotions. For a moment, he looked like the boy Tywin remembered years ago when Joanna had been alive when everything made sense.
"Is there anything else I should know about you father?" The last word dripped with sarcasm.
"Unless you've reconsidered your position regarding Casterly Rock?" Tywin raised an eyebrow. When Jaime remained silent, he picked up his quill again. "Then we are done. Do close the door properly on your way out. And next time, remember that even knights are expected to knock."
Jaime turned on his heel, his white cloak snapping behind him. He paused at the doorway, not looking back. "The child... will you at least be kind to him?"
"I will raise him to be worthy of the Lannister name," Tywin replied. "Something you might have considered before throwing yours away."
.
.
The candles had burned low when a soft knock broke the night's silence. Tywin sat at his desk, still fully dressed in his crimson doublet with gold threading, reviewing documents by candlelight.
"My lord," the guard's voice was barely above a whisper, "Lady Cersei is here."
Tywin's quill paused mid-stroke. He'd been expecting this. "Send her in."
The door opened with the barest whisper of sound. Cersei entered like a ghost, her crimson silk dress rustling softly against the stone floor. Her golden hair was loose around her shoulders, and even in the dim light, Tywin could see the redness around her eyes - she'd been crying.
Her gaze swept the chamber until it found the ornate cradle near the bed. The moment she spotted Adrian, her composure cracked. She took a half-step forward, her arms rising instinctively.
"Why are you here?" Tywin's cold voice froze her in place.
Cersei's hands trembled as she lowered them. "I want to see my s-"
"Father," Tywin cut her off sharply, rising from his chair. His shadow, cast by candlelight, stretched long and dark across the floor as he approached her. "You came to see your father, did you not, Cersei?" His green eyes bored into hers. "And your new half-brother?"
Understanding and pain flickered across Cersei's face. She swallowed hard, her throat working visibly. "Yes... Father."
Tywin moved closer, towering over her. "He is no longer your child. He is my son. The sooner you accept this truth, the better for all of us."
Cersei's lower lip trembled, but she forced herself to nod. Tears gathered in her eyes but didn't fall - at least she remembered that much of her training.
After a long moment, Tywin stepped aside, allowing her path to the cradle. Cersei moved forward slowly, as if in a dream. When she reached the cradle, her hands gripped its edges so tightly her knuckles went white.
Adrian lay sleeping peacefully. As Cersei reached down to lift him, his eyes fluttered open - Lannister green, just like hers. A small sound escaped her throat, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"Hello, sweet one," she whispered, cradling him close. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, inhaling his scent. "Aren't you beautiful?"
The baby regarded her with an unnervingly intelligent gaze, reaching up to grab a strand of her golden hair.
"Who cares for him?" she asked, not taking her eyes off Adrian's face.
"Serra. She's proven capable." Tywin watched her carefully. "I kept him here tonight because I knew you would come."
Cersei bounced Adrian gently in her arms; the way she rocked him gently reminded Tywin of Joanna, but he ignored that memory. "Father," she began carefully, "perhaps you could maintain chambers here in the Red Keep. There are many suitable rooms in the Tower of the Hand, or-"
"Once the wedding is over," Tywin interrupted coldly, "I will return to Casterly Rock. With my son."
Cersei's arms tightened around Adrian. "But surely-"
"You will not see him for a very long time." Tywin's voice was final. "Consider it the price for your foolishness. You nearly destroyed everything our house has built through generations. Your reckless actions could have ended us all."
"I loved him," Cersei whispered, a tear finally escaping to roll down her cheek.
"Love is poison," Tywin replied. "A sweet poison, yes, but one that will kill you all the same. You will be queen. That is what matters. That is what you always wanted, is it not?"
Adrian made a small sound, and Cersei quickly soothed him, swaying gently. Her face was a mask of barely contained grief as she gazed down at him. "Not like this," she murmured. "Never like this."
"The time for such sentiments is past," Tywin said. "You will marry Robert Baratheon. You will give him heirs. You will be queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And you will forget about this child."
"How can you ask that of me?" Cersei's voice cracked. "He's my son. My blood."
"He is my son," Tywin repeated, each word sharp as a blade. "Your half-brother. That is what you will tell yourself every day until you believe it. That is what you will tell anyone who asks. That is what you will remember when you see him years from now, grown into a proper Lannister heir."
Cersei pressed her face against Adrian's head, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The baby reached up, touching her wet cheek with curious fingers.
"It's time," Tywin said after allowing her a moment. "Give him to me."
For a heartbeat, something dangerous flashed in Cersei's eyes - the same wildfire that had led her to risk everything for Rhaegar. Then, slowly, painfully, she placed one last kiss on Adrian's forehead and handed him to Tywin.
"Goodbye, sweet one," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Be good for your... father."
Tywin took the child with ease, noting how Adrian's eyes followed Cersei as she backed away. "You should rest," he told her. "You have fittings for your wedding gown tomorrow."
Cersei straightened, forcing her features into the mask of composure expected of a Lannister. Only her eyes betrayed her pain as she headed for the door. At the threshold, she paused.
"When you look at him," she said softly, "do you see Rhaegar or me?"
"I see my son," Tywin replied. "Nothing more."
The door closed behind her with a quiet click. Tywin looked down at Adrian, who stared back at him with those knowing green eyes.
"You will be worth it," he told the child. "You must be."
In the corridor, Cersei's footsteps faded away, carrying a piece of her heart with them.
.
.
The Great Sept of Baelor blazed, the sunlight illuminating the place inside, casting rainbow patterns across the assembled nobility. Tywin Lannister stood perfectly still, his face a mask of dignified satisfaction as he watched his daughter ascend the marble steps toward the High Septon. Cersei was resplendent in a gown of ivory samite and Myrish lace, her golden hair braided with threads of real gold and crimson ribbons.
Robert waited at the top of the steps, his massive frame barely contained by a doublet of black velvet with golden stags embroidered across the chest.
When Cersei reached him, Robert swept the heavy black-and-gold Baratheon cloak around her shoulders. Tywin noticed how his daughter's face might have been carved from ice - beautiful, but utterly devoid of warmth. Her green eyes were distant as if she were somewhere else entirely.
"In the sight of gods and men," the High Septon intoned, his crystal crown catching the light, "I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."
As Robert and Cersei spoke their vows, Tywin allowed himself a moment of pure satisfaction. This was what he'd always wanted - his daughter as queen, his house's power secured. If the price was her happiness... well, happiness had never won any wars.
The feast that followed filled the Red Keep with music and laughter - most of it Robert's. Tywin observed from the high table as his new goodson drained cup after cup of wine, growing louder with each one. Beside him, Cersei picked at her food, responding to Robert's booming declarations with monosyllabic answers; the way she was stabbing the food, one would think she was fighting it.
Jaime stood at his post, resplendent in his white armor, his eyes never leaving his twin. Concern etched deep lines around his mouth as he watched Cersei's growing distress.
Seven hours of festivities crawled by. Finally, a drunken lord called for the bedding ceremony. Robert roared with approval, already pawing at his clothes as ladies swarmed around him, giggling and pulling at his garments.
"Careful there, ladies!" Robert bellowed. "Leave something for my queen!"
When the men moved toward Cersei, Jaime's hand fell to his sword hilt. His green eyes glared at anyone who dared to approach. "I'll escort my sister," he announced, his tone brooking no argument. The other men backed away, none willing to challenge the Kingslayer.
As the wedding party disappeared down the corridor, their raucous laughter echoing off the stone walls, Tywin allowed himself a small, cold smile.
"And so you lose again, Aerys," he murmured to himself, imagining the Mad King's rage at seeing a Lannister queen crowned. "Even in death, you lose."
.
.
Seven days later, the throne room was packed with nobles eager to witness the legitimization. Tywin stood before the Iron Throne, Adrian secure in his arms. The boy was quiet, watching the proceedings with those intelligent green eyes.
Robert sat on the Iron Throne, looking uncomfortable. His voice boomed across the chamber as he read from a scroll.
"By royal decree," Robert announced, "I hereby legitimize the natural son of Lord Tywin Lannister. From this day forward, he shall be known as Adrian Lannister, with all the rights and privileges thereof!" He grinned broadly. "A gift for my new goodfather!"
Tywin accepted the scroll with a bow, careful not to disturb Adrian. The boy reached toward the dancing dust motes in a shaft of sunlight, seemingly unimpressed by the momentous occasion.
As the assembled nobles applauded politely, Tywin caught sight of Cersei standing to one side. She wore her new crown and a gown of Baratheon black and gold, but her eyes were fixed on Adrian with such naked longing that Tywin felt a flash of irritation. 'Control yourself,' he thought. 'You are a queen now. Act like one.'
Jaime stood behind Robert, his white armor gleaming. His face was troubled as he looked between his father and the child, as if trying to solve a puzzle whose pieces didn't quite fit.
"The Lannisters of Casterly Rock," Robert declared, raising his wine cup, "now and always!"
The crowd echoed the toast. Tywin looked down at Adrian - at his grandson who would forever be known as his son - and saw the future of House Lannister secure in those Lannister-green eyes.
'Let them drink and celebrate,' he thought. 'Let them toast and cheer. None of them understand what truly happened here today.' He had won - not just the game of thrones, but the game of legacy. His house would continue, strong and pure, through this child of dragon and lion.
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