Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter - 97

The halls of the Red Keep had never felt so suffocating. A heavy silence loomed over the court, broken only by the whispers of anxious courtiers and the distant cries of the city below. Ever since the news of Jaime Lannister’s execution had reached King’s Landing, the atmosphere had turned tense, as if the very walls of the castle could feel the weight of what had transpired.

Inside the chambers of the Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister sat in rigid silence. A goblet of wine rested untouched before him. He had read the message three times already, yet the words still burned in his mind.

Tywin was no stranger to loss, but this… this was different. This was his golden son, his heir. The pride of House Lannister. Gone. And not in battle, not to some accident of fate, but by the blade of a bastard who dared to call himself king.

His fingers curled into a fist, knuckles turning white. Across from him, Cersei stood frozen, her face pale.

“That Targaryen filth… he killed Jaime,” she whispered, her voice shaking with a mix of rage and grief.

Tywin exhaled sharply, eyes like steel. “No, Joffrey killed Jaime.”

Cersei’s eyes snapped up. “What?”

Tywin rose from his seat, towering over her. “It was your son’s foolishness—his arrogance—that set this war ablaze. If Joffrey had not executed Eddard Stark, none of this would have happened. The North would not have risen. Jon Targaryen would have remained a minor threat. And Jaime—Jaime would still be alive.”

Cersei’s lips trembled, but she did not back down. “Joffrey is the King! He had the right—”

“A right he had no understanding of!” Tywin’s voice thundered through the chamber. “A wise king does not start a war he cannot finish!”

Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne, the so-called ruler of Westeros, yet it was Tywin who truly held power. Or so he had thought. But now, the realm was crumbling. The North and Riverlands were lost. The Vale had aligned with Jon Targaryen. And now the Westerlands itself was under siege.

But worst of all, Jaime was gone. And no matter how much Tywin wished to deny it, he knew that the tides had turned against House Lannister.

A knock on the door interrupted them. One of his captains entered, bowing low. “My Lord Hand… we have finished the investigation into King Robert’s death.”

Tywin’s gaze snapped to him. “And?”

The captain hesitated. “The evidence is clear, my lord. Robert Baratheon did not die by Eddard Stark's hands. He was killed… by our own men.”

Silence filled the room.

Cersei took a sharp breath. “That’s a lie!”

The captain hesitated but pressed on. “The guards who killed King Robert have confessed under interrogation. It was Ser Jaime and the Queen’s personal guards who struck the final blow.”

Tywin’s face darkened. “Jaime?”

The captain nodded. “Yes, my lord. But… they claimed they acted under the Queen’s orders.”

Tywin slowly turned to Cersei, his expression unreadable.

“You ordered Robert’s murder?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

Cersei’s hands clenched into fists. “I did what was necessary! You wanted Robert dead just as much as I did!”

Tywin’s expression barely changed, but his fingers drummed against the table, the only sign of his fury. “You fool.”

“I protected us!” Cersei hissed. “I protected our house"

“And instead, you ensured it's destruction,” Tywin cut her off coldly. “You think you have outmaneuvered the game, but all you have done is given our enemies the blade to cut our throats.”

Cersei glared at him, defiant. “I did what had to be done.”

Tywin shook his head. “You did what was reckless. And now our family is at the brink of ruin.”

He turned back to the captain. “Who else knows?”

The man hesitated. “Only the interrogators and myself, my lord.”

Tywin inhaled slowly. “Good. Make sure it stays that way. Kill anyone else who speaks of this.”

The captain nodded, bowing once more before exiting.

Cersei stared at Tywin, her lips curled in anger. “What do you intend to do?”

Tywin sat back down, finally lifting the goblet of wine to his lips. He took a slow sip before answering.

“What I always do, Cersei. I will find a way to fix your mess.”


The air in the solar of the Red Keep was thick with the scent of candle wax and old parchment. Tywin Lannister sat at his writing desk, the dim light of flickering candles casting long shadows over his sharp, angular features. His quill moved with steady precision across the parchment, forming words that carried both weight and desperation.

"To Lord Stannis Baratheon, Warden of Stormlands, rightful Lord of Storm’s End, and brother of the late King Robert Baratheon,"

The words were carefully chosen. Not “Prince Stannis” or “Pretender Stannis,” but “Lord of Dragonstone.” A recognition of his status without outright acknowledging his claim to the Iron Throne.

Tywin dipped the quill into the ink again, continuing with a measured tone:

"The realm stands upon the precipice of ruin. The treasonous acts of Jon Targaryen and his Northern allies threaten the stability of Westeros. The usurper styles himself as a king and seeks to wipe away not only the name of Lannister but all those who once swore fealty to the Iron Throne. You are a man of duty, a man of law. You know that despite whatever differences exist between us, the true enemy is the one who seeks to break the kingdom apart, not those who defend it."

Tywin leaned back slightly, considering the next words carefully. He had already written three letters to Stannis. Three times, they had been returned with cold refusals. Stannis, ever the rigid and unyielding man, had no love for House Lannister, nor had he forgotten the slights that his house had endured under Robert’s reign.

But this was not just about Stannis’s grievances. It was about survival.

"The North, the Riverlands, and the Vale have fallen under the sway of Jon Targaryen. The Reach, once a powerful ally, is divided in civil war between House Tyrell and House Tarly. The Westerlands and the Crownlands stand alone. Without unity, the realm will crumble. House Baratheon was meant to rule, not to stand idly by as usurpers take the throne from those with the true right to it. House Lannister is prepared to support your rightful position as King's hand once this rebellion is crushed."

It was a gamble. Tywin had no intention of seeing Stannis sit on the small council, but he needed his armies. If he could persuade the Lord of Storm's End to lend his forces, even temporarily, it would give the Lannisters the breathing room they so desperately needed.

But he knew what Stannis’s reply would be.

Ever since the war began, Tywin had reached out to the Stormlands. Not just to Stannis, but to his bannermen. And every time, the response had been the same: silence, or veiled insults.

“When King Robert ruled Westeros, no Stormlanders were given any honor.”

It was a bitter truth. Under Robert’s reign, the Stormlands had been overlooked. The power of the realm had shifted toward the Westerlands and the Vale, while the men who had bled for Robert’s throne were cast aside.

And now, with King Joffrey on the throne, the Stormlords had no reason to believe that things would change.

Tywin sighed. He set the quill down and pressed his fingers to his temples.

He knew the truth: Stannis would not help them.

And Dorne? That was even less of a possibility.

The Martells had never forgiven the Lannisters for the deaths of Elia Martell and her children. And no amount of diplomacy would ever make them forget the blood that had been spilled in the sack of King’s Landing.

Dorne had not declared for Jon Targaryen, not yet. But neither had they offered any aid to the Iron Throne. They remained neutral, waiting like a viper in the sand, ready to strike when the moment was right.

Tywin clenched his jaw. The kingdom was unraveling before his eyes.

With the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale united under Jon Targaryen, and with the Reach in chaos, House Lannister was surrounded. The Westerlands and the Crownlands alone could not win this war.

They needed an ally. And yet, there was no one left to call upon.

For the first time in years, Tywin Lannister felt something dangerously close to doubt.

He had always believed in power, in control. But now, for the first time, he saw the cracks forming in the foundation of everything he had built.

If Stannis refused him, if Dorne remained neutral, if the Reach continued to burn… then what remained for the Lannisters?

A house with no allies. A kingdom with no future.

Tywin exhaled, folded the letter, and sealed it with the lion of Lannister.

It would be sent to Stormlands.

But in his heart, he already knew the answer.

Tywin Lannister did not have to wait long for a response. When the raven arrived from Stormlands, he broke the seal with steady fingers, expecting yet another cold rejection—or worse, silence.

Instead, what he read sent a rare chill down his spine.

"To Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock,"

"I have received your letters. I have read your pleas. And I will answer you, not with swords in your defense, but with the truth."

Tywin’s eyes narrowed. He continued reading.

"The false king Joffrey Baratheon is no Baratheon at all. The so-called heir to my brother’s throne is the bastard spawn of Jaime and Cersei Lannister. I have long suspected this treachery, but now it is confirmed—confessed by the Kingslayer himself before his execution."

Tywin's grip on the parchment tightened, but he forced himself to read on.

"For years, I remained bound by duty and honor. I would not raise my banners against Robert’s blood. But now I know the truth: Robert’s blood does not sit the Iron Throne. It never did."

"And so I do what is my right. I claim the Iron Throne by the laws of gods and men. I have called my banners. Iron Throne is mine, and the Stormlands rise with me. I have sent letters to every lord of Westeros, so they too shall know why I do this. They will know that I am not a usurper. I am not a traitor. I am the rightful king, the last true Baratheon, and I will not rest until the false king and his tainted kin are wiped from the realm."

Tywin’s expression darkened.

"Do not send me another letter pleading for alliance. I do not need the friendship of liars and traitors. You built your power on falsehoods, Lord Tywin. And now the truth shall undo you."

"King Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Tywin crushed the letter in his fist.

A deep silence settled over the solar. Even the candle flames seemed to burn lower, as if the room itself felt the weight of what had just been declared.

The whispers began in the taverns and marketplaces, in the septs and along the roads where merchants and travelers gathered. At first, they were hushed—an accusation spoken behind cupped hands, a rumor murmured in the ear of a friend.

"The boy king is no Baratheon."

"His hair is golden, not black."

"He is not Robert’s son but Jaime Lannister’s."

But rumors, once loosed, spread like wildfire, and this one burned through Westeros with an intensity unseen in years. It was no longer just whispers among common folk; noble houses, bannermen, and even knights in service to the crown began to hear and repeat the words.

At first, the Lannisters tried to crush it.

Gold was offered to silence those who spoke too loudly. Spies were sent to infiltrate the sources of the rumor. Cersei ordered those who dared to speak against Joffrey to be punished—some were whipped, others hanged. But the more they tried to stamp it out, the more the flames grew.

Because with each retelling, the rumor evolved.

It was no longer just a tale of Joffrey’s birth. Now, it was whispered that King Robert had learned the truth before his death. That he had been furious, ready to cast Cersei and her children from the Red Keep. And that it was not an accident that he died.

"The Lannisters killed Robert."

"Jaime Lannister and his guards struck him down."

"Cersei poisoned his wine before he rode out that day."

Truth and falsehood mixed together until it no longer mattered what was real. All that mattered was that people believed it.

And they did.

The Faith of the Seven had always been powerful in Westeros, but under Robert’s reign, they had been kept in check. Now, with war on the horizon and doubts spreading, even the pious warriors in the Lannister armies wavered.

At first, it was a few—knights and soldiers who prayed to the Seven and refused to fight for a false king. Then, dozens. Then hundreds.

Men who had taken up arms in the name of House Lannister, who had pledged their swords to defend King Joffrey, suddenly found themselves questioning everything. The Septons whispered that the gods would not favor an incest-born king. That supporting Joffrey was supporting a lie.

In Lannisport, a company of soldiers abandoned their posts, leaving in the dead of night. Near Stoney Sept, entire regiments of men devoted to the Faith threw down their swords and refused to march under the Lannister banner.

And in the Crownlands, some among the city guard—the very men meant to protect King’s Landing—turned against their commanders, breaking ranks and disappearing into the streets.

Even among the nobles, unease grew. Lords who had once sworn loyalty to House Lannister suddenly found themselves reluctant to commit their men to war. Letters arrived at Casterly Rock, filled with excuses, delays, and doubts.

And Tywin Lannister knew what this meant.

This was not just a battle for the throne.

This was the slow, creeping death of his family’s power.

For years, he had ruled the realm from behind the throne, manipulating kings and queens with gold and steel. But now, for the first time, he found himself besieged on all sides.

Jon Targaryen in the North.
The Vale and Riverlands against him.
The Reach in chaos.
Dorne waiting in the shadows.
And now Stannis Baratheon, a man with nothing but iron will and righteous fury, claiming the throne for himself.

This was not just another rebellion.

This was war.