Happy new year everyone! As I said previously, we'll now come back to our dear Tywin. We're slowly approaching King's Landing, but we're not here yet. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

The King, his new Hand and Lord Eddard Stark left Winterfell in a gloomy atmosphere. Lord Stark's son was still comatose, but with his seemingly accidental fall (even if Lady Catelyn claimed it wasn't accidental) the tension had moved up a notch. Ser Barristan Selmy believed the King wasn't safe here anymore and Tywin was inclined to agree.

His own departure hadn't been easy. Gerion was thrilled to go south, but Benjen Stark disapproved so strongly his gaze was more freezing than the Lands of Always Winter. He didn't even try to look happy when Tywin named him acting commander. "It's against the vows," Stark said. It wasn't, but Tywin didn't have to justify his choices anyway.

Tywin had to admit he was rather ill worried. He felt safe enough with the guards Lord Stark had agreed to lend him, and he guessed they were the closest he could get to his own men, but… they weren't his rangers. He didn't know their names and didn't know who fought well and who couldn't be trusted when alcohol or girls were involved. Furthermore, he trusted none of those southron lord. Or lady. Or his own… family, he guessed? Queen Cersei looked vapid and mean, ser Jaime an insufferable thirty years old child, prince Joffrey was a sadistic little idiot and his siblings were too young to be of any use. If the very popular ser Rynald Reyne decided to murder him or Gerion to extinguish once and for all the Lannister's main line, none of them would move a finger. Well, none but Ned Stark, Tywin though, but Stark wouldn't see it coming, honorable as he was.

He slept badly. Tywin had had nightmares for years after Castamere, right until his first winter north of the Wall. He had almost frozen to death up there, but when spring came there was nothing left for him to fear. He had slept soundly ever since.

Until he went south again.

He tried to think about the red leaves and running water. He tried to recall the texture of Dagardr's bitches' fur. He tried counting the ravens, he tried the immensity of the Frost Fangs and the impossible blue of the sky up there. Even the green eerily lights of the farthest north did nothing against his anxieties. Sleep eluded him and left him far too many hours to think. Ser Rynald Reyne clamored that his father had left the Rock to speak with the king. Tywin remembered Llewyn Reyne. He remembered his face better than his own father's. He remembered his armor, his sword, his voice, the color of his hair. His name rang in his head until the silence became louder than thunder. Llewyn Reyne. Llewyn Reyne. Llewyn Reyne.

Sleeping was worse. Once he woke remembering the smell of Llewyn Reyne's father and had to pretend he had eaten something bad when his retching roused Gerion.

I should kill him. I should kill Llewyn when we'll meet him. If I'm lucky I may even get his wretched son.

Most of his days were spent teaching the Old Tongue to the King. Rhaegar was a fast, passionate learner who seemed to lit up when it came to poetry. While Tywin enjoyed their time together, he was always embarrassed to find that Rhaegar couldn't be bothered by anything else. He dismissed most of his lords when it came to ruling his Realm without even trying or feigned to listen for a few minutes before he sent them to Queen Cersei. Tywin would have liked to take those matters in hand, but couldn't since Rhaegar preferred to keep him by side as a bloody glorified mummer rather than as an actual acting Hand.

And so day after day they approached Riverrun, where Sansa and Arya Stark would meet their grandfather for the first time, a detour meant as peace offering toward the Starks. Needless to say, Eddard Stark wasn't moved (though lady Sansa seemed delighted), while Queen Cersei lamented angrily. And day after day they came closer to Llewyn Reyne who was bound to meet them here.

Two days before Riverrun, Tywin was startled out of sleep by Gerion's drunken breath on his face.

"What you doing? Get off!"

"You were biting your arm," Gerion slurred. "Look!"

Tywin swore. Another bad habit that was coming back. He hoped he hadn't bitten deep enough to scar again.

"It's nothing. Bad dreams. Go to bed."

"No. You were biting your arm."

"Go. To. Bed. You are drunk."

"No. I know you used to bit your arm when we came to the Wall. You're not well."

"And you are drunk."

"That's not really important." Gerion crawled on his camp bed, making it crack as if it was going to break. Tywin tried to push him away but his legs were tangled in his blanket. "You're not well and I'm the only one out there who is going to care."

"You are preventing me from sleeping and threatening to destroy my bed," Tywin growled as coldly as he could. "I don't want people to care. Move."

"No. I'm sick of you waking me up with your nightmares. Tell me or I'll strangle Rynald Reyne tomorrow. I'll make it slow. Then I'll cut his head and give it to you."

"If you're going to stay there, please breathe the other way. The smell is disgusting. And you won't kill any Reyne tomorrow. I'm fine."

"It isn't true."

"Then pretend it is." You know I'm never going to admit you're right anyway. Then: Shit, my wrist's bleeding.

He waited until Gerion was fast asleep, then slipped out of bed. He tied a handkerchief around his wrist and climbed into his brother's bed to finish the night.

They reached Riverrun two days before Llewyn Reyne. Tywin's rooms were third best (after the King's and the Starks'), not very big but with a beautiful view on the godswoods. A finely spun set of three tapestries recounted the story of some Tully knight in the time of Aegon the Conqueror. It was quite pretty, but Tywin was frustrated by the nagging impression that in his youth he would have been able to relate the story. He was trying to remember his lordly skills and was slowly starting to put a sigil on every major family, a name on every function old and new, and to get a clear idea of who was running the kingdom and how.

He forced himself to be in the castle main's yard when the Reynes arrived. He was afraid but refused to admit it to anyone but himself, much less to them. The Reynes would find the last heir of the Lannisters standing proud before them. Let his presence remind them that they were nothing but thieves!

Llewyn Reyne rode in front of his escort. Shocked, Tywin noted that the guards of the Rock's armors hadn't changed at all since his youth. The men still wore red, the same red they wore when Tywin had led them twenty five years ago. Thieves. You could at least have melted the old ones to make them your own. The man himself was older than Tywin by two years, shorter but still in shape. He had his father's dark chestnut hair, barely streaked with grey and white, worn half long and free behind his shoulders. A cropped beard crowned his jaw, a bit redder than the rest, especially above the lips. He was aging well, Tywin painfully conceded, and looked handsome in his travelling clothes of reddened leather and wool.

The Lord of Casterly Rock dismounted. Since Rhaegar was officially sick (though Tywin suspected he was too "tired" to deal with the Reynes) and Hoster Tully was genially ill, Ser Edmure Tully offered the salt and bread. There was no tension between them to betray bad relations, nothing to imply Lord Reyne was ostracized by his peers. Tywin stayed still as stone and, he knew, as unreadable as the Queen beside him.

"I wonder," the woman whispered, low enough to be sure her uncle would be the only one to hear, "what is happening in your head right now. Do you wish him dead?"

Will you please shut up, your Grace?

"No."

"Really? In your place I would. However, in your place, I would have protected my family."

In my place you would have done nothing but get raped by his men. You are no spearwife, Cersei Goldfyre.

Of course he wished Reyne dead. That his niece needed to ask proved she wasn't nearly as bright as she thought she was. Fortunately (or unfortunately, Lannister wasn't sure), Llewyn Reyne was now climbing the steps toward the keep, toward them. Tywin fought the urge to flee, retch or do both while the Warden of the West politely greeted the queen. Stiff and pale as marble, Lannister fought to keep his body under his control. He wouldn't flinch. He wouldn't. He was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He owed to his men to look strong; any weakness would be a botch on their honor.

Ser Rynald was laughing somewhere in the background. The little shit must be so sure his father would make the king back down. Perhaps Tywin should kill him first. It was said nothing was worse for a father than to see his children die. Revenge for my father. He was weak, but he did nothing to deserve the death of his two sons. Tywin himself didn't count. He had been horrid as a child, ever unable to show his father anything but scorn.

Lord Llewyn turned to him.

I will not flee. I don't fear you.

"Lord Tywin."

Lannister didn't answer. Jaw clenched, he was sure he'd never be able to control his voice.

"I would like to confer with you in private when you are available."

I would like to bit your head off with my bare teeth. Tywin nodded. Gerion was away for the day, hunting with some younger knights he had met on the way. No one would accuse him of being his accomplice. Too bad Tywin couldn't get Rynald first, but if Llewyn was mad enough to be alone with him, so be it.

They climbed to Tywin's quarters and, while they had only three floors to walk through, the trip seemed longer than it would take to climb the Wall. The Lord Commander had never been comfy when people he didn't know walked behind him, but to have a Reyne behind his back was unnerving.

Tywin grabbed Dark Sister as soon as the door closed, lunged forward and, before Reyne could say a word, put the edge of the sword against his neck. With the razor-like sharpness of the blade, a single, small gesture from left to right and the throat would split.

"Wait," Reyne said, hand raised, palms open. "You can kill me later. I promise I'll let you. Just… just hear me now. We have to talk."

"I can kill you know," Lannister growled. He had killed many men since he left the West, but none would please him more. He still felt empty and scared, though, and his hand was trembling. "I've dreamed of killing you all for years."

"Well deserved, I guess," Reyne answered. His unnerving calm was unexpected. "Which is why I will let you kill me if you wish to do so, after you hear me out."

"I'm not interested."

"You have a son."

What? The sword flinched and Reyne shuddered. A slim red line started to bleed, not enough to be threatening, but enough to be a testimony of Tywin trouble.

"You have a son, conceived the night before your departure from Lannisport. His mother was a blond haired prostitute named Mellyn, blue eyed. His name is Tywald."

He couldn't remember the name of the girl, but he did remember her face: she was the first and only girl he had had in his whole life.

"How can you know he is mine?"

"The girl was a virgin when you had her. Her madam had charged extra money for that, she said, and had hoped to charge extras again if the girl stayed untouched for your return. When my army reached the Rock she pretended to sell me the girl, believing I would reward her for your child. I hid her and the boy until my father died. He looks so much like you, no one would deny he's your son."

Tywin stepped back, sword still unsheathed. Reyne was lying. He could only be lying.

"He wants to meet you. If you want to meet him." The Lord's eyes turned to pleading. "Please. I know many men are indifferent to their bastard, but Tywald… he deserves to know his father. He's a wonderful lad."

"You won't make me believe you came here sorely to make me meet my bastard, sir. Your son betrayed your intend weeks ago."

"What intend?" Llewyn shook his head. "My son is an idiot. Worse, he is a cruel idiot. True, Rynald wrote to me. He claims your nomination is a plot hatched by Queen Joanna to destroy our family and wants me to pressure the king into naming him his Hand. As I said, my son is an idiot. I think Queen Joanna hoped no one would be named Hand of the King. She is the Queen Regent and the Protector of the Realm, I really can't imagine her bringing south some forgotten cousin who doesn't owe her anything."

He sighed.

"You are right, though. I wasn't here only to arrange a meeting between you and Tywald. I came to apologize for… for what was done twenty-five years ago. I know what my father did to you. It is unforgivable."

Tywin felt as if the Wall had fallen on him. Ice crept from his bowels to his chest, his legs lost all strength and his sword almost fell from his numb fingers. For one moment he felt like he was in Roger Reyne's dark cell again, his smell overwhelming; then it passed and all that was left was rage.

"You dare to ask for my forgiveness? After what your family did to mine?"

Again, Llewyn shook his head.

"No. No I don't. When we rebelled, my father told me you were a tyrant. Your father had failed his vassals in every way and you, his son, were a sadistic brute just waiting to slaughter every single lord who dared to speak up. I believed what we did was just, that we were fighting to restore a strong power in the Westerlands. I never thought it would come to this. I never believed my father would let his men rape your sister, that he would kill children, or that he would treat you with such… dishonor as he did." He let out a sharp, dry laugh. "But I saw. Too late, but I saw who he was. I kept your brother Gerion with me at all times when I discovered how badly he had treated you. I never allowed him to have your brother, nor your son. But I don't ask for your forgiveness. Only the Gods can forgive the Reynes for their crimes, and even they will never erase the stain of our conquest of the Rock."

"I cannot forgive you," Tywin heard himself say.

He couldn't bear this conversation. He felt like drowning.

"I know." Llewyn Reyne returned, softly, sadly. "But I had to tell you… I had to apologize." He knelt, head down. "I beg you, and the Gods, to believe me. I am sorry."

"Go." He couldn't. He just. Couldn't. "Go away."

He heard him leave.

Then he crumbled in a corner, sank his teeth in his wrist and started to cry.