Chapter 5: Interlude: Tywin 1 (274 AC)

Interlude: Tywin 1 (274 AC)

~o~

King's Landing was the "Crown Jewel" of the Seven Kingdoms, but as far as he was concerned, it was simply a large spiraling city mired in filth from the masses of human flesh. As Tywin Lannister rode his horse through the stained stone street along with a small entourage of guards walking silently beside him, the peasantry made way for him with slightly bowed heads. However, for those eyes that he did see, they were filled with fear, awe, and not a little bit of anger. The sight never failed to disgust him. What made the city a nauseating nest of squalor and disease was the smallfolk themselves, overpopulating the infrastructure far beyond what it could reasonably be expected to handle. The sewers were inefficient—unsuited for the torrent that they were made to contained—and the so-named citizens were blackened souls, little more than the rats that they feasted on. The ones that came to the capital were those seeking out their fortunes, often possessing none of their own. Scarcity breeds squalor and disorder, so the corruption ran rank on their bodies and minds.

This side of the city was closer to the slums, closer to where the most low of smallfolk were isolated and contained. The reasoning why was simple. The peasantry were easily corrupted by their surroundings. In a fertile farmland, a peasant could become a hard worker, but in this piss-stained streets of Flea Bottom? A waste of the air was all that they would become. Such men were useful in strict moderation, but in here, they were overgrown and self-inflated. If this was Lannisport, he would have never tolerated it.

However, this city was the King's, not his. The man and his ancestors were content to let this—

A hand grabbed the edge of his red cloak.

Tywin glanced disdainfully at the peasant woman gripping his cloak. She was trembling, sun-burnt face streaked with tears, old and new.

"Pl…please, m'lord. My daughter. She, she is—" A spear pierced her side, eliciting a surprised scream from her. She crumpled to the ground, moaning and crying, but they were quickly stomped out by his guards. The crowd around simply stared, doing nothing but watching. The woman wasn't a random death; she had caused her own death sentence by touching his possession, so they had no sympathy for her.

Tywin pulled out a bejeweled knife and used it to tear off the small portion of his cloak that was touched. He was not a man that cared about getting dirty, but in those cases, he knew where it was from. Mud, dirt, blood. However, with those hands, there was no telling where they had been, whether they had been dunked in the water of the sewers or splattered with the expulsions of the diseased. In any case, the moment he left, the smallfolk would ransack the body of all its possessions and defile it, as this hive of maggots was wont to do. The piece of fine red fabric fluttered to the ground, soaking into the puddle of blood that slowly grew from the near unrecognizable lump of flesh and clothing.

This city never failed to disgust him with its filth.

~o~

As Tywin Lannister stepped into the room, the two Kingsguard knights on either side shut the doors behind him. Shrouded in the white cloaks of their duty, they stood silently, awaiting that which would not come. In the wide and empty throne room, illuminated by the flickering fires of torches and braziers, there was no one else save for the most important man in the kingdom, sitting on an ancient chair composed entirely of iron swords. King Aerys II.

Tywin walked across the empty room, his footsteps echoing loudly in the silence. Only when he reached the tip of the stairs did he finally bow his head slightly in greeting.

"Your grace."

"Lord Tywin, I see you haven't forgotten your way to King's Landing." The words might have sounded cheerful, but the sneer on Aerys's face told otherwise.

"My business took longer than expected, your grace."

"Bah. Save me your excuses," Aerys said. "You're just a servant, and it'll do you well to remember your duties. I do not like being kept waiting."

"I will keep your words in mind, your grace." Tywin's remained calm and stoic, but his fingers twitched.

"As you always say, but do you now? How many times must I repeat it?"

"I thank you for your patience, your grace. I will endeavor to exert myself."

"Empty words and empty platitudes," Aerys said. "Never the less, let it not be known that I am not gracious to even the most empty headed of my servants. Congratulations on your son's betrothal to that Dornish whore."

Tywin stayed silent, staring stonily at the king.

"Isn't that your great scheme? Turning Dorne into a productive kingdom loyal to me? Do you think that I will thank you for it?" Aerys waved his hand wildly. "You're doing this because of my grand plan I had before, aren't you?! The one that involved making Dorne prosperous by…by….what was it? That plan! My plan. Stealing the grand plans of the king is not permissible."

Tywin took a step onto the stairs.

"What do you think you're doing?" Aerys's eyes narrowed.

"…wishing you a pleasant day, your grace. I am fatigued from my journey so I'll retire to the Tower of the Hand."

"See that you do. We will converse again in the morn."

"As you wish, your grace."

~o~

Tywin stared out of the open window from the upper level of the Tower of the Hand. From this height, the air was fresh with a touch of the sea breeze, unlike the abhorrent smell that lingered through the city.

"If making me wait will appease your anger, my lord, then I'll wait for as long as possible."

It was a long moment before Tywin finally turned around to give attention to the overweight eunuch sitting idly in the chair in front of the desk.

"What are you here for, Varys?"

"Ever since I came to be the Master of Whispers two years ago, I have seen his grace's descent into…instability. Yet, ever since Prince Jaehaerys's birth, there has been a marked improvement, and the realm has benefited from it. Your conversation with his grace is not productive towards that goal."

"Why am I not surprised you know about this? Your informants work fast."

"Then, Lord Tywin, may I ask you to not push his grace too far?" Varys faintly smiled, reaching over the desk to to pick up a rolled-up parchment. "You are one of the pillars that he holds onto, even though he does not wish to admit it. Should you leave, I'm afraid that he will regress to a point where Prince Rhaegar will be forced to assume the crown before he is ready." He unrolled the parchment, letting the golden broach of a hand hidden within fall into his palm. "I believe you will still need this, my lord."

"Putting aside how you knew that, this conversation is reaching dangerously close to treason."

"My, my. That isn't my intention at all. If I had my way, then the realm would be stable and happy. Unfortunately, the facts are laid out as it is. His grace is losing his reason. He sees shadows where there are none, and I'm afraid that you and Queen Rhaella face the blunt of it. Even Prince Rhaegar, young as he is at ten and five, is starting to feel the effects of his grace's descent," Varys said. "His grace's trust in even his closest confident is waning as his hysteria grows. You must understand that I'm a proponent of stability. I am doing all within my power to maintain it, but I fear that if even one of his pillars were to disappear, his descent would accelerate dramatically."

"And your solution?"

"Stay as the Hand of the King." Varys's smile slipped from his face. "Even though his other pillars are Queen Rhaella and Prince Rhaegar, his grace is slowly pushing them away as surely as he is pushing you away. Still, that gives time, and time is valuable in finding a solution of a more permanent variety."

"Is this all you came here for?"

"For the most part, yes. A bit of consul for one who usually gives such." Varys placed the golden broach on the desk.

"Then you may leave," Tywin said. "Go."

"As you wish, Lord Tywin, but do convey my congratulations to your son's engagement. It's a wonderful arrangement that will prove fruitful for your ambitions."

~o~

A/N: Not the Tywin interlude you wanted, but the Tywin interlude you deserved!

…lololololol.