Chapter 183

"If I’m not mistaken, our house words are 'Hear Me Roar,' correct? What’s the matter? Have we finally realized that roaring or not, we’re doomed all the same?" Tyrion smirked, the family crisis seemingly doing little to curb his irreverent demeanor. He glanced at the paper briefly, grasping the situation instantly. "The choices before us are quite clear: roar and die under a flurry of swords… or roll over and wag our tails, hand over my dear brother and sister to be beheaded, and then let me—yes, the 'Imp'—inherit Casterly Rock and attempt to salvage the Lannisters’ downfall."

Cersei snorted coldly, and Jaime shot a glare at his brother. How could he still make such crass jokes at a time like this?

Tywin said nothing, his gaze fixed on Tyrion until the latter shrugged and conceded, "Alright, there’s another option: negotiate a compromise with the Iron Throne. Send Jaime to the Wall in black and dismiss the charges against Cersei for lack of evidence."

"Compromise is only an option when you can’t win on the battlefield," Kevan interjected. "Robert is bringing the strength of six kingdoms against one. Why would he agree to spare Jaime and overlook Cersei’s crimes? Everyone knows that if the armies of the six kingdoms march into the Westerlands, they don’t need strategy or tactics. A simple frontal push towards Lannisport will see us defeated within a month—we have no Bloody Gate to hold."

"You’re absolutely right, Uncle. Robert won’t compromise," Tyrion said, shaking his head regretfully at Jaime. "Dear brother, not finishing Robert off with that stab of yours is the greatest mistake of your life. If our beloved king remains alive, there’s no way out of this crisis. Instead of debating whether to comply with the ultimatum, perhaps we should start discussing which Free City we’ll flee to, which one can protect us from the Iron Throne’s reach, and whether the ships carrying us across the Narrow Sea will make it there in one piece."

The room grew tense at the open suggestion of regicide.

Tywin’s eyes remained locked on Tyrion. Among the five people present, his dwarf son was the only one whose thoughts aligned with his own. If not for Tyrion’s disreputable appearance and scandalous lifestyle, Tywin might have considered letting him succeed as head of the family. After all, Jaime and Cersei had forfeited any claim to pride with their own disgraceful actions. How could Tywin condemn Tyrion’s fondness for brothels when Jaime and Cersei’s sins were far worse?

...

"Father," Tyrion said suddenly, "you deployed troops to retrieve Jaime and Cersei, which means someone tipped you off. There are no outsiders here. In this moment of crisis for our family, could you tell me whether that informant is inside the Red Keep?"

"Pycelle," Tywin said flatly. "Back when I was Hand of the King under the Mad King, he and I worked together to bring order to the Seven Kingdoms. We built a deep friendship."

Friendship, of course, was nonsense. Only Tywin knew the truth: Pycelle had been his loyal supporter since before Cersei was even born. Kevan and Cersei assumed Pycelle was swayed by Lannister wealth or their connection to the royal family, but they were unaware that Pycelle had been Tywin’s pawn for decades.

Such secrets were meant to remain undisclosed, even from family. But with the Lannisters now on the brink of destruction, what use were informants if the family itself didn’t survive?

"I see," Tyrion mused, a look of realization crossing his face. "No wonder you always seem to have news before anyone else. I suppose the raven bearing the warning left before Eddard Stark’s pursuit even began. And let me guess—on the day the Mad King was convinced to open King’s Landing’s gates, Pycelle was the one whispering in his ear?"

Jaime and Cersei stared at their father in shock. They had never suspected their father had such an ace up his sleeve. How many secrets did Tywin Lannister hold?

Tywin’s silence confirmed Tyrion’s suspicion.

Recovering quickly, Tyrion’s mind raced. "That brings us to the crucial question, Father: if Pycelle was willing to convince the Mad King to open the gates for us, would he now be willing to eliminate Robert for us?"

"That seems unlikely," Kevan said, regaining his composure. "Betraying the Mad King could be justified as saving the people of King’s Landing. Now, with public sentiment against us, who would take the risk of assassinating the king of the Seven Kingdoms?"

"Pycelle is the Grand Maester. He’ll be treating Robert’s wounds. A little tampering with the medicines to prevent the wounds from healing—or worse, to cause them to fester—wouldn’t be difficult," Tyrion said with a sly grin. "Once Robert is dead, and his body cremated, the Seven wouldn’t be able to divine the culprit."

"Pycelle wouldn’t dare," Cersei interjected. "We’d be better off hiring the Faceless Men of Braavos. They never fail."

"The Faceless Men aren’t the simple assassins people think they are," Jaime replied. "They have their own rules, and Robert is one of the Iron Bank’s largest clients. As long as he pays his debts, Braavos wouldn’t risk killing him, not even for twice the amount of his loans."

Tywin ignored his golden children’s bickering, his eyes fixed on Tyrion. He disliked his dwarf son, but Tyrion’s intellect was undeniable. Ordinary methods wouldn’t save the family now. Perhaps it was time for something more unorthodox.

"Let’s say I could arrange for Robert’s death," Tywin said at last. "What would you suggest we do next? Even with him gone, Jaime would still be a kingslayer, and Cersei would remain accused of treason. No successor to the throne would ever forgive them."

...

"One step at a time, Father. If House Lannister is to survive, we can’t afford a single misstep. Instead of focusing on ‘what’s next,’ perhaps we should first address the immediate threats," Tyrion said, his tone serious for once. "For all we know, by nightfall, enemies might already be landing on the shores of the Westerlands."

"The ironborn?" Tywin’s brow furrowed. Tyrion’s words struck a chord. Tywin had been so preoccupied with Robert and the other six kingdoms that he had nearly forgotten the more immediate danger lurking nearby.

"Ever since Aegon’s Conquest, the ironborn have been forbidden from their old reaving ways. That gave the Westerlands’ coastal villages the safety they needed to prosper, filling them with wealth that the ironborn have long coveted," Kevan said. "Jaime’s attack on Robert might have given them the perfect excuse. The moment they hear of this crisis, they’ll be raising sails for our shores."

"Summon the guard!" Tywin barked, rising from his seat. His orders were sharp and immediate. "Send word to Lannisport and the Fair Isle fleet—prepare for battle and patrol the coastline to prevent a blockade. Notify all coastal houses to evacuate their people and move their valuables into fortified castles. Patrols are to be doubled, and security heightened to the maximum level!"

"But Father," Cersei said, frowning. "The Iron Throne’s ultimatum hasn’t even expired. Would the ironborn dare defy the crown and attack us first?"

"Under the guise of pressuring the Lannisters to submit to the Iron Throne, anything is possible," Tywin snapped. "If fighting breaks out, do you think Eddard Stark will punish them for acting too quickly? And even if the raiders deny being ironborn, who can prove otherwise in times like these?"

"Father, your decisiveness is truly unmatched," Tyrion said, his smile sly. "But since you’ve decided not to hand over Jaime and Cersei, we should start planning how to fight this war. Do we wait for the six kingdoms’ armies to gather and face them in open battle? Or do we strike first, avoid their strength, and attack where it hurts? And if we do strike first, where should we aim?"

"Strike first?" Kevan was visibly startled. "We’re already in a weaker position. If we make the first move, we’ll lose all room for negotiation. It would be suicide!"

"Uncle is correct—striking first would be a dead end," Tyrion said, draining his cup. "But, as Father just mentioned, if Robert were to die… well, in that case, the first to act might gain the upper hand. Now, Father, no more hypotheticals. Do you have a plan to kill Robert? Even a chance?"

"For the future of our house, we’ll have to take every risk," Tywin said, his voice grim. "There are a few within the Red Keep who don’t bear the name Lannister but can still be swayed. At this point, it’s a gamble we can’t afford not to take."

"Then, aside from preparing for the ironborn, what else should we do?" Tywin asked, his gaze steady on Tyrion. "Speak plainly. Spare no detail."