The Westerlands—tall and majestic Casterly Rock—stood like a primeval stone beast that had endured since time immemorial, facing the force of an eighteenth-grade sea gale and roaring toward the Sunset Sea.
The massive stone summit stretched beyond the eye's reach, the howling sea wind never ceasing!
Inside the great hall atop the Rock, the Duke of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West—"the Shield of Lannister," Tywin Lannister—was draped in a round-collared robe of crimson and gold. Holding a candleholder, he searched for something upon the maps that covered his desk, illuminated by the candlelight.
The candle burned bright, yet the face of its holder was shrouded in gloom!
"Apologies! My lord summoned me back urgently—what has happened?"
A deep, steady voice suddenly sounded beside the desk, breaking Tywin's train of thought. He lifted his head to see his younger brother, Kevan Lannister, standing there and looking at him.
"When did you return?" Tywin asked.
"Just now. I saw my lord deep in thought, so I waited a while."
Kevan Lannister's eyes felt sore. Lannisport was not far from Casterly Rock, but he had ridden hard through the night to return, a strain on his gradually worsening eyesight.
Tywin handed him a cup heavy with the fragrance of strong wine. "Sit. Have a drink to warm yourself."
The height of the Rock's summit was nearly three times that of the Wall at the edge of the world. Golden lion banners planted all across the summit snapped and thundered under the assault of the sea wind!
The chill of the heights and the gales from the sea successfully overturned the blazing heat of the long summer—and stamped on it a few more times for good measure.
"White wine from Tarth?" Kevan propped up his thickening belly, hesitated for a moment, then accepted the cup and took a light sip.
"Yes. A little at night helps with sleep." Tywin's gaze returned to the map. "Much better than poppy wine."
"My lord, forgive my bluntness—what has happened?"
Kevan could not quite keep his composure. Tonight, his brother seemed less severe than usual.
Yet on his way back, he had also received news: Tywin had executed several maidservants in succession for mistakes, and had even thrown his unfortunate nephew Tyrion back into the dungeons.
Casterly Rock itself seemed steeped in tension. No one dared to smile. Clearly, something had happened!
"Take a look at this letter."
Tywin glanced at him and slid a letter—patched together from countless fragments—across the desk to Kevan.
"From the Evening Star of House Tarth; respectful greetings to the Duke of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West!"
"...The lion has become a mad dragon; the ancestors of House Lannister roar in fury across the seven layers of hell. The young lion dares to steal the glory of the crowned stag; all the lords of the Stormlands shall never forget..."
"Those lowborn Tarth bastards!"
Kevan had barely read the opening lines when rage reddened his eyes.
"They dare provoke the lion! Lannisters always pay their debts! By all the gods, I will tear Tarth apart and slaughter every last Tarth breed!"
If not for the fact that the reconstructed letter was pressed tightly against an iron backing plate, it would already have been ripped to shreds again.
Even so, the iron plate creaked under the clamp of his bluish, iron-pincer grip, denting inward, shaped like a small shield.
"My lord, what do you intend to do?"
"Calm yourself. Keep reading—finish it."
Listening to his brother's curses, Tywin's expression remained unnaturally calm, even his breathing steady and even.
"...Incest is a sin of the eighth layer of hell. The crimes of Ser Jaime and his sister are written upon the woods of the Seven Kingdoms, too numerous to recount; even washing them with the waters of the Narrow Sea cannot cleanse their evil..."
"...'The Shield of Lannister' has become filth and should be spat upon by the people of the Seven Kingdoms together! Please forgive my rudeness. If forgiveness is impossible, you are welcome to dispatch a fleet to participate in Tarth Island's grand military exercise..."
"F*ck—shit—!"
Kevan revered his brother and had never disobeyed his words. Forcing down his fury, he read the letter to the end—only to explode with rage the next instant!
"My lord, the glory of House Lannister cannot be profaned! Please allow me to mobilize the fleet!"
For the first time, his aggressive instincts surged ahead of his brother's.
In the past, Kevan had never had a thought before Tywin did.
"Calm yourself!"
Tywin barked softly. His sharp gaze finally lifted from the map and turned toward his seething brother.
"But my lord—"
"Do you think my heart is not filled with rage as well? Do you think I value the honor and dignity of House Lannister less than you do?!"
His eyes turned ruthless, his presence imposing without anger—danger born of wrath!
"Do you think I do not dream, every moment, of leading an army to destroy Tarth Island?!"
"My lord, I—I didn't mean that!" Panic clearly surfaced on Kevan's face as he hurried to explain. "I—"
"I understand what you mean. And I know you've been swept away by anger."
Tywin drew a deep breath and waved his hand, dragging his weary body over to his brother. He looked him straight in the eye. The ferocity in his expression eased somewhat.
"But I have taught you many times: never let anger cloud your reason, and never make any decision when you have lost your rationality!"
"Because that is precisely the outcome our enemies toil to provoke!"
His brother's measured instruction gradually cooled Kevan's temper, and he began to notice another shocking revelation within the letter.
"I understand, Brother. But the matter of Jaime and Cersei..."
Both were his own nieces and nephews. Kevan could not bring himself to finish the sentence.
"It is likely true. I had heard rumors before."
Tywin frowned slightly. Unbidden, the words from the letter—'the lion has become a mad dragon'—rose in his mind. An indescribable feeling welled up: joy and anger mixed together, with a trace of fear?
"Brother, then why didn't you seal off the news? Why didn't you prepare earlier?"
Kevan was stunned. This passive approach was completely unlike his brother, who was obsessed with control.
"The rumors were confined to the Small Council long ago! Even Robert's Kingsguard knew nothing of it!"
"Only Jon Arryn had begun to sense something. Littlefinger would arrange to poison him for us. I thought everything would vanish with the death of the King's Hand—never did I expect this!"
Kevan knew his brother acted ruthlessly and without mercy. He felt no surprise at all over poisoning Jon Arryn, the King's Hand.
"I just didn't expect House Tarth to uncover this secret!" he sighed. "This family's rise has been far too strange—almost as if miracles keep happening. I've even heard the royal fleet has fallen?"
"That's right, though there's no definite news yet." A strange, cold light flickered in Tywin's narrowed eyes as he replied with knitted brows. "But the royal fleet was ordered to investigate Tarth Island's situation, and before long it was lost in the Narrow Sea! Hmph!"
Endless questions also surfaced in Tywin's mind. Why had Tarth Island risen so quickly? What was House Tarth's layout—its true design? Was their objective the Iron Throne as well?
Why had Tarth chosen to send this letter to provoke him...
Too many questions—on top of the possibility that his children's incestuous scandal might be exposed. He had to consider the worst-case scenario, which only gave rise to even more questions!
It left Tywin utterly vexed.
The great hall fell into silence. Only the wind outside the summit howled, battering against the iron windows.
"If the news gets out, the Westerlands could very well face a siege from six kingdoms," Kevan said without much deliberation, asking directly. "My lord, what do you think?"
As the one responsible for force of arms, he needed only to follow his brother's arrangements.
"I will not allow the worst to happen." Tywin gave a light laugh and led his brother to the map. "If Tarth Island truly were to send ravens everywhere—but we both know, that is nearly impossible."
"If it did happen, then Jon Arryn would die immediately. The Vale would fragment into scattered forces and withdraw from the conflict."
"Littlefinger and Lysa Tully will also help us ensure this."
From the map of the Vale, he removed a palm-sized banner bearing the sigil of an eagle.
...
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Here are a few fan-fic titles that I've recently uploaded on my Patreon:
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(End Chapter)