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In the Game of Stones, you either win or you wait. The more Power Stones you offer, the faster the chapters come.
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( Tywin Lannister POV )
The Lion stood on a balcony in the tower of the hand, waiting for his siblings and children to arrive as he tapped his fingers along the railing. He was actually in quite a good mood, though you wouldn't know it from his perpetual frown.
His job had grown far easier as of late, after Prince Visery's birth that is. While the king had been incredibly paranoid over the safety of his infant son, he had seemingly forgotten his typical paranoia against Tywin as a result. Additionally, finally having a child that wasn't stillborn and seemed likely to live past his infancy, had generally improved the King's mood greatly. He was still sour and bitter and increasingly visibly aged, but Aerys was acting as a better king now than he had in years.
Tywin couldn't bring himself to think of him as a friend anymore, not after years of insults, mockery, and paranoia, but Aerys was at least tolerable these days. Tywin no longer spent his nights weighing the merits of resignation. It was that somewhat mending relationship that made him confident as he worked his next play in the Game of Thrones.
This tournament was to be his lever. He had involved Aerys substantially in its creation, cast to celebrate Prince Visery's birth, the prize pools were substantial and the scale was enormous.
Tywin had invested a great deal in ensuring that it would be a lavish tourney, one to remember. New stands were built, with the old ones only used for the smaller Prince's tourney grounds. The route for the horse races, some eighteen miles long, was set and decorated with colorful banners of red and black, silver and purple. A truly enormous amount of food was being brought into King's Landing, along with firewood, tents, and all manner of other supplies.
It was to be a huge tournament and a huge expense. The cost neared a hundred thousand gold dragons, but in Tywin's mind, it was an investment. All of this he did for a purpose. He had opened up one of the vaults of Casterly Rock and paid for half of the tournament himself, all to one end. Cersei, Tywin's daughter, would be betrothed to Prince Rhaegar when this tournament was done, and Tywin's grandchildren would someday sit on the Iron Throne.
Tywin would make sure of it.
Still, that was, for now, a long-term ambition, and he needed to focus his current efforts on ensuring that said betrothal did in fact happen. This tournament needed to go smoothly, no, perfectly, to minimize the chances of Aerys throwing a tantrum or refusing his betrothal.
The King was clearly desperate to find a 'suitable' Bride for Rhaegar these days, what with his failed emissaries to Essos, but as with most of what Aerys did the man couldn't commit to it for a long-term effort. Now was the time for Tywin to strike, not with steel, but with gold and words of rekindled friendship.
It stung that he had to kowtow once again to the toad who'd insulted him so many times, but that great and terrible throne of swords was too tempting to secure for his future bloodline.
Tywin glanced out across the Narrow Sea, grey and dark under cresting whiteheads, so similar and yet also different to the view from Casterly Rock a continent away.
"Lord Hand." Came a knock at the door. "Your family has arrived."
Tywin felt his spirits lift slightly, dynastic plotting set aside for now. Perhaps Casterly Rock was not so far away after all.
"Let them in," he said, stepping off the balcony.
Genna was the first to enter, grinning as she saw him with the jolly smile that always lifted his spirits, while his children followed after her. He felt a deep debt of gratitude to his sister for how she had mothered his children since Joanna's death. There were lessons he simply wasn't suited to teach them, especially from across the continent. He had begun to pay it back with his promotion of her worthless husband to Lord Tempor over a reasonably prosperous region, but he felt it was not quite enough yet to account for her services. He gave her a very thin, but nonetheless rare smile as his children followed in behind her.
Jaime and Cersei, identical as ever, were the first into the room. All bright smiles they greeted him cheerfully.
"Father!" they shouted in unison, and he couldn't help but snort in surprise as the pair of them ran forward to embrace his sides. He let them have it for a moment, before gently prying them back.
"This is my office you know." He said sternly, but not without affection. "Still, it is good to see you both. I hope your trip over was not overly rough."
"Jaime couldn't stand the wheelhouse, he was sick the whole way over," Cersei said immediately, which made Tywin roll his eyes at the obvious attempt to tease her brother, though he found himself looking over expectantly at his son anyway.
"I much preferred riding with Uncle Tygett," Jaime admitted readily. "When will I be squired and given my own horse Father?"
Ah, a question he actually had an answer for. "Soon, after this tourney in fact." Tywin had been planning it for some time. Ideally, Jaime would be Prince Rhaegar's squire, but if that fell through he'd already arranged for a backup position with Lord Sumner Crakehall. "I've arranged several options."
Jaime's eyes lit up, and Tywin couldn't help but feel pride in his son as the boy inevitably asked "I heard there will be a squire's tourney Father, may I… May I join the melee at least?"
The initial response that came to mind was no, of course, but he paused after a moment of thought… If Jaime did well, it might give him greater legitimacy, and a better chance to be squired to Prince Rhaegar. Tywin considered for a moment, glancing up towards the door, where Tygett was standing somewhat dispassionately. He had a tumultuous relationship with his second brother, but even Tywin could admit that Tygett had always been the best warrior and tourney knight of the four of them.
"If your Uncle Tygett thinks you have a decent chance at winning I'll allow it," Tywin said at last. "I've heard you're very skilled in the yard, but the Prince's tourney will include boys three, four, or five years older than you. They'll be bigger and stronger."
"Jaime won't lose to anyone." His daughter chimed in confidently, and Tywin rolled his eyes once again, his gaze settling on Tygett.
His brother shrugged. "I don't know his chances of winning, but I have faith enough he won't disappoint." the militant Lannister glanced towards Jaime. "I don't mean to insult you, boy. You have a real skill with blades, but skill only goes so far against raw muscle."
Jaime frowned but nodded after a moment, before turning his gaze back to Tywin. "Will you allow it then?"
"..." Tywin considered. The prospect of his son losing embarrassingly and leading to insults from Aerys was… unpleasant, but the prospect of his son winning and bringing greater glories to House Lannister was not to be dismissed.
For years now men had told him that Jaime was a great generational talent with a sword, and the weapons in the Prince's tourney melee were padded, so he was at little risk of severe injury… Tywin paused, thinking of his decisions in the past, how trusting his other son had indeed improved the power and wealth of House Lannister. If he could trust Callum's mind, why not put faith in Jaime's arm?
"I will trust you with this," Tywin said at last. "The Tourney is in two and a half weeks. Practice well with your uncle, and bring Glory to House Lannister in the Melee."
Jaime positively beamed at his words, and Tywin felt his heart thaw a bit at the expression. Cersei mirrored her brother's face, which had much the same effect.
Tywin turned his eyes to the last of his children (except for the imp, his thoughts spoke like poison in his ear.) who had been standing quietly to the side of his desk, dutiful and calm as ever, Callum greeted him with a bright smile, hands placed still at his sides. "Good day father, I'm very glad to see you again." The boy greeted politely after his siblings had finished their questioning. "I hope things have been well since you last wrote?"
"They have. King's Landing has become more friendly to our interests in the meantime." Tywin spoke in moderately coded language. Callum always seemed to have a good inkling of his plans, even better than Kevan at times, which was almost frightening. "Have your own endeavors gone well? Did the Septons agree to fund your press?" Callum had come to Tywin with his plan to produce tens, hundreds of thousands of copies of the Seven-Pointed Star first.
Tywin wasn't opposed on principle to the plan, but funding it directly from House Lannister's cophers when his son estimated the total cost at somewhere around 100 thousand gold dragons was simply not feasible. Together through their correspondence, they had determined that the better option was likely to seek buy-in from the church, though from the blush rapidly spreading over his son's cheeks Tywin could guess that not everything had gone to plan.
"They-uh… they agreed to fund it, father," Callum answered, somewhat surprisingly, though the words that followed explained his son's embarrassment. "I approached a Septon and a Septa of some influence through Ser Ilyn, and they loved the press, or rather what it could make.
But as soon as I explained it to the Septa- Septa Margot, she proclaimed that I'd been blessed by the Smith, that my press was a Miracle of the Seven, and she took my holy mission to spread the Seven-Pointed Star to the masses very literally." Tywin blinked and raised his eyebrows as his son went on. "It's all spiraled a bit outside my control I'm afraid, and matters like this scare me for their unpredictability."
Tywin frowned. Callum seemed quite shaken by the entire thing from his demeanor and the way he spoke. His son was normally a careful planner like Tywin himself, but it seemed he'd been affected quite severely by his plans being derailed, albeit not in an immediately disastrous direction. "I will speak to you more of this later." Tywin decided. He needed more context for the situation before he settled on a response, a hasty decision would get him nowhere. It was also possible that his son was exaggerating.
He'd need Ser Ilyn's input as well. There were other matters to address with Callum too. "Callum, You should know that House Martell will be arriving for the Tourney Soon, Princess Elia will be with them." He glanced at his son. "Prince Doran will be here as well. His mother has grown sickly as of late, you must make a favorable impression on him so that he will choose to uphold your betrothal should Princess Ennella pass away before you marry Elia."
Callum seemed to center himself from his earlier worry as Tywin spoke, and by the time he finished, Callum was once again the fully collected son that he knew. "Of course Father. I'll try to improve my relationship with Princess Elia as well."
"See that you do," Tywin said, before glancing back across the rest of his gathered family. "Well then." Tywin frowned, gesturing with his hand. "You all know what you are to do, and I still have much preparation to see to as Hand."
His family recognized the dismissal for what it was, and though Tygett wore a sour expression at the curtness of it, they all shuffled out of his office with little fuss, and Tywin was able to turn back to his papers, marking out a new set of orders for the expansion of the existing jousting Lists in preparation for the tournament.
Yes, everything was running smoothly, and House Lannister had a great deal to look forward to.
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