Chapter 38 – The Invitation
The summons arrived at dusk, bound in crimson ribbon and sealed with gold.
No messenger stayed to deliver it — only the faint scent of leather and smoke where the parchment had been left on my desk. That was Tywin's way: a command that carried its own certainty.
I stared at the lion pressed into the wax for a long time before breaking it.
> Lord Tywin Lannister requests your company this evening. The matter concerns the Crown's expenditures and future administrative structure. Supper shall be served.
Supper. Not council. Not audience.
An invitation dressed as civility. A test disguised as a meal.
Rourke saw the seal and frowned. "Do you want me to send word ahead?"
"No," I said, rising. "Men like Tywin already know who's coming before the knock ever sounds."
---
The Lannister solar was nothing like Baelish's chambers. No velvet, no scent of wine. Just stone, firelight, and precision — everything measured to the inch.
Tywin sat alone at the far end of the table, his plate untouched. A single goblet of red caught the fire's reflection.
"Clerk Holt," he said without looking up. "You're punctual."
"I was summoned, my lord."
He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit. Wine?"
I declined with a small shake of the head.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't empty — it was deliberate, a space he used to watch how others filled it.
Finally, he said, "The Queen spoke of you."
That caught my breath for half a second, though I didn't show it. "Her Grace is generous to notice a clerk."
Tywin's gaze flicked toward me — sharp, assessing. "Cersei is rarely generous. She notices only what threatens to matter."
He leaned back slightly, fingers resting on the stem of his goblet. "She tells me you've been efficient. Ruthless, even. You've reduced waste in the Treasury and cut Baelish's fingers shorter than he realizes."
"I serve the realm," I said evenly.
He nodded once. "A convenient truth."
He poured himself a measure of wine, not offering again. "Tell me, Holt — what do you want?"
"I'm content where I am."
Tywin smiled faintly, though it never reached his eyes. "Men who are content don't attract the attention of lions."
The fire popped behind him. Shadows twisted against the walls like quiet witnesses.
"I've read your adjustments to the accounts," he continued. "You understand numbers as weapons — quiet, clean, without blood. That is a skill this city has forgotten."
I waited. He wasn't finished.
"The Queen believes you could be useful," he said. "And I find myself inclined to agree. The King's finances are... delicate. Baelish hides behind charm and confusion. I prefer clarity."
"You want me to report on him," I said.
"I want you to assist him," Tywin corrected. "Officially." He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering. "But you will answer to me."
There it was — the invitation, wrapped in the shape of duty.
A leash made of gold still bound the neck.
"What would you have me do?" I asked.
"Observe," Tywin said. "Listen. Learn what Baelish values and what he fears. Men like him always speak to their reflections; you will be the mirror."
The words were neither threat nor promise. They were command.
I met his gaze. "If Baelish discovers this—"
"He won't," Tywin said simply. "And if he does, he will have more to lose than you."
---
Dinner arrived — cold venison, dark bread, and nothing sweet. Tywin ate sparingly, his movements deliberate, the rhythm of a man who used even silence as a form of rule.
When he finally spoke again, his tone was almost conversational. "You're not from any noble house. No coin, no banners. And yet, you've built a voice that echoes through the ledgers. That takes... focus."
"Necessity," I said.
He studied me, the faintest trace of something like approval in his eyes. "Good. Ambition without necessity is just vanity."
For a while, we ate in silence. I could feel him measuring every gesture, every word I hadn't said.
Then: "Tell me, Holt — what do you think of the Queen?"
The question was a blade wrapped in silk.
"She is… formidable," I said slowly. "And not easily pleased."
Tywin's mouth curved slightly. "You've met her, then."
I didn't answer. That was answer enough.
He rose from his chair at last, wiping his hands on a folded cloth. "Baelish will not like this arrangement. That pleases me. I suggest you continue to please me."
"I understand, my lord."
"No," Tywin said, turning to face me fully. "You comprehend. Understanding comes later."
He walked to the window overlooking the darkened courtyard. "Men who survive in this city learn quickly that loyalty is not about affection. It's about alignment. Align yourself with something greater than survival, Holt."
"And what would that be?" I asked.
His gaze stayed on the firelight below. "Legacy."
---
When I left the Lannister quarters, the hallways felt narrower than before. The scent of smoke and iron clung to my cloak.
Rourke waited near the Treasury gates. "You're late," he said.
"I was being measured."
"And?"
I glanced back toward the Keep. "I think I passed."
He frowned. "You don't sound pleased."
"I'm not sure I should be."
---
That night, I sat before the Ledger. Its pages shimmered faintly, lines shifting as if the ink itself listened.
> "New contract detected," it whispered. "Risk assessment: severe."
"True," I murmured. "But risk and opportunity often wear the same face."
> "Probability of betrayal: eighty-seven percent."
"Then I'll prepare for ninety."
The whisper went silent. Outside, the city murmured with the kind of life that only came before storms.
For the first time, I realized what it meant to be seen — not as a servant, not as a tool, but as a player.
And in King's Landing, players don't rest.
They wait.
---
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