"So, you've been sleeping here for two days?" Tywin Lannister asked, seated behind his desk.
Tyrion sat opposite his father, rubbing his temples, still savoring the memory of that sweet night.
Later, he had dreamed—he was a green-eyed crow, watching Robb Stark wed beneath the heart tree. Then, he became a purple-eyed raven, watching the queen step into the flames and emerge reborn, cradling three dragons in her arms.
It seemed that strange magic… Shae had only been the key. The door was open now—ready to be used.
Across from him, Cersei sat beside their father, leaning slightly away from her brother.
"My apologies," Tyrion said. "I suppose after defeating Stannis, I should have pressed the attack and taken Dragonstone, shouldn't I?"
"He was defeated by you?" Cersei scoffed. "The Baratheons never fail to surprise. Robert, that brute, somehow managed to smash Rhaegar to death with a hammer…"
"Your brother is a war hero," Tywin interrupted, surprisingly in Tyrion's defense. "A man who brings honor to this house deserves respect."
"You hear that, sister?" Tyrion smirked. "You'd best start listening to Father's commands. Women like you don't get a seat at the table."
"Enough," Tywin said sharply, knocking his knuckles against the desk. "Tyrion, you've done well—won the war, secured a betrothal. I came today to discuss that very matter."
Tyrion straightened, clearing his throat. He was ready—ready to marry Margaery Tyrell.
"The betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa Stark is annulled," Tywin said. "Joffrey will marry Margaery Tyrell and make her his queen."
"What?" Tyrion nearly toppled out of his chair. Cersei burst into laughter at the sight.
"My sweet brother," she mocked between giggles. "Still thinks he's the realm's darling."
"Lord Mace Tyrell finds your behavior arrogant and lacking in courtesy," Tywin said. "He insists Margaery must be queen. The Rose of Highgarden's wishes matter little. If Lord Mace wants a king, we'll give him one."
"You're an arrogant little wretch, and Lord Mace is right about that," Cersei sneered. "They want a king, and you're no match for dear little Joff!"
"But Lannister blood stands above all others," Tywin said sternly. "Don't lose heart. You have another prospect." He raised the letter in his hand.
"Prince Doran is pleased with Myrcella's betrothal," he continued, "and has offered another." He held the letter out, but Tyrion didn't reach for it.
"You are to marry Arianne Martell."
Cersei's laughter filled the room. "My darling brother is to wed a Dornish whore!"
Tyrion said nothing. He simply imagined punching his sister in the face, the way Robert once had. And perhaps throwing in a swing for that puffed-up fish-faced lord while he was at it.
When Tyrion didn't respond, Tywin turned to his daughter. "You will marry as well."
The words struck Cersei like a slap. She froze, then her face flushed crimson. "No. I won't remarry. No... I refuse."
"Every day you remain a widow is another day Stannis can slander you," Tywin said coolly. "You need a new husband. You will bear new children."
"Three are enough! I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not some broodmare! I should choose for myself!"
Cersei stormed from the room, her fury unmistakable. She couldn't defy her father—she never could. Her marriage to Robert had proved that well enough.
Should I say something? Tyrion thought. Apologies, Father, but my dear sister's dream husband was actually our brother.
"I won't marry Arianne Martell," Tyrion said slowly once Cersei was gone. "I remember you once mentioned such a match when I was a boy, but Prince Doran refused."
"At that time, Arianne was betrothed to Viserys Targaryen," Tywin said. "Now that Viserys is dead, the agreement no longer stands."
"I'll only accept Margaery," Tyrion said firmly. "Otherwise, I'll stay unmarried."
"Splendid," Tywin said dryly. "Shall my second son join the Kingsguard next? Lord Mace wants a king, while Prince Doran has asked for you by name. Joffrey and Margaery are of an age, and so are you and Arianne." His voice grew hard. "Do you mean to insult both Highgarden and Dorne at once? The betrothals of children are a matter for their parents to decide."
Tywin studied him in silence for a long moment before speaking again. "You've slept with Margaery."
"I haven't," Tyrion said flatly.
"Ah," Tywin said quietly. "The stench of lies in this room. You are my son—did you truly think you could deceive me?"
Tyrion said nothing.
"Tell me, Tyrion—after you lay with her, did your sword draw blood?"
"What?"
"I asked you," Lord Tywin said, his voice rising, "was Margaery Tyrell a virgin or not? By the gods, you lecherous fool, how have you turned into such a clumsy boy?"
"I was exhausted," Tyrion muttered. "The room was dark, and it was... on the carpet... I didn't really notice..."
"Idiot son," Tywin snapped. "The septa examined Margaery Tyrell. She was no longer a maiden, yet she swore it was from riding practice. That could have been our excuse to bar the Tyrells from the Red Keep. But you, you witless fool—you let the Rose use you as a pawn! Now we can't move against them!"
"They knew that if it were because of you, I'd never dare speak of it," Tywin growled, his jaw tight. "Now Joffrey has no reason to refuse the match, and the Tyrells will take their seats on the Small Council. They made her sleep with you precisely because they never intended her to marry you!"
"You've lost your wits if you think the Rose of Highgarden is like one of those little knights' daughters you used to tumble," Tywin said, pacing furiously. "Was it her beauty you wanted?"
"I... I wanted the Reach's support," Tyrion admitted.
"We are Lannisters!" Tywin's voice thundered, barely restrained. "Lions don't eat grass! You want powerful allies? Then marry Arianne Martell and mend our ties with Dorne."
"Dorne isn't as wealthy as Highgarden—"
"—As Highgarden?" Tywin cut him off with a cold sneer. "Casterly Rock holds more gold than we could ever spend, and you still covet their coin? The Tyrells are glorified stewards of the old Gardener kings. A single Florent could split their strength in half, not to mention the Redwynes or the Hightowers. You've lost your mind thinking Highgarden is a prize worth chasing."
"Dorne may not be as rich," Tyrion countered, "but the Martells are Princes of Dorne. Even Aegon the Conqueror couldn't make them kneel. In Dorne, when House Martell calls, the realm answers."
Tywin glared at him, eyes cold as steel. "So which do you want, a fraction of the Reach—or all of Dorne?"
Tyrion didn't answer, but Tywin could see the hesitation flicker across his face.
"In Dorne, women can inherit," Tywin continued. "Arianne is first in line for Sunspear. She's full-figured, beautiful—well suited to your... tastes."
"But I'm not the heir to Casterly Rock," Tyrion finally said.
"Ha!" Tywin barked a short, derisive laugh. "A cunning little fox, aren't you? Learning tricks from Littlefinger now?" He snorted. "Marry Arianne Martell, and I'll name you heir to Casterly Rock."
"Deal," Tyrion said at once, standing to leave.
"Wait." Tywin's voice stopped him. "You'll also see to it that Joffrey gains some... experience. I won't have the king scorned by a queen who's tasted more than he has. Find a girl from a wealthy merchant's family or a minor noble house. Pay whatever it takes, but make sure she's clean—and keep it quiet."
"I'll still be staying in the Tower of the Hand."
"That's fine," Tywin said. "Just think twice before taking off your breeches again."
Tyrion nodded.
He would have to speak with the Rose and find out who was lying. He trusted neither side. At least in another life, his father had lied to him once before—about Tysha.
If it was House Tyrell, then a Lannister debt would be paid in full.