35

Chapter Text

Chapter 35 Bad News

Maester Cressen

Cressen plodded along down the corridors of the Red Keep. Being Grand Maester was more tiring than he had imagined.

Oh to be young again and vigorous!

And this was just the regular duties of Grand Maester. This Return business was only making matters worse, along with the preparations for war. Although war against who first was the question. The Lannisters unquestionably had to be crushed. The Targaryens and the Tullys as well, but that matter was much more complicated than dealing with the Lannisters. The Tullys were still Ned Stark's goodfamily and any word from Winterfell had yet to come in answer to any of the ravens that had been sent.

The silence was ominous and worrying for Cressen. One or two ravens could go astray, but he'd sent far more than just one or two...

Robert had brushed off his misgivings, saying that Ned was just sulking after everything that had happened before. He was busy making plans to how he and Ned would crush the Lannisters and the Targaryens together. He was gleeful and happy as he made those plans despite Cressen's misgivings. Though with the arisen Targaryen issue, he had relaxed marginally; it lay beyond the realms of belief that Ned Stark or any Northern House would ever support a Targaryen after all that Aerys and Rhaegar had done. So there was that, despite the ominous silence from Winterfell.

With all of these uncertainties, Cressen was beginning to feel his years more and more with each passing day. He was lucky- and very glad, he had so many assistants to aid him. He sighed, there was so much to be done each day and not enough hours in the day to do everything.

He sighed again, at least the muster coming along nicely. The full might of the Stormlands was nearly assembled and much of the Crownlands had gathered as well.

The news from the Reach had also sparked envy from Robert. Mace Tyrell had sent Mathis Rowan to begin raiding the Reach border with the Westerlands. By all accounts, things were progressing well, though no major battles had been fought yet. And Tywin Lannister had yet to stir from his den or respond to the ravens they'd sent, but that was expected; at least to a point. His response would be calculated and hard, even with them holding Cersei as their hostage.

That was the extent of the good news.

The Iron Islands were silent, not that anything was expected from Balon Greyjoy, especially with his news of his planned second rebellion. He'd be dealt with permanently after the Lannisters and the Targaryens.

The Vale was still having problems, reeling from the news of Jon Arryn's true fate. Lord Royce was doing his best but things were slow going there.

On the other hand, the news from Dorne was appalling. Open fighting was ongoing and the Red Viper was cutting a brutal swath through the rebellious vassals of the Martells, after some sort of massacre at the Water Gardens. Recent reports placed him besieging the Yronwoods. The question at the forefront of Cressen's mind was whether or not Oberyn Martell would leave any alive, considering his history with that proud family. That relationship had been tenuous and terse at best during the good times. To make matters worse, Prince Doran's heir had been murdered and rumors of Kinslaying continued to come out of Sunspear.

Not that much had been expected of Dorne. That was the one mitigating factor among the bad news coming from the far south. At least this way they would be too busy to support Robert's enemies. Dornish support for this Jon Targaryen would have been a highly possible option otherwise.

Cressen sighed, ever since that night far too many things had changed, and still much was unexplained starting with just how all of this had happened. The High Septon- or rather the new replacement after what the Faith Militant had done, was still cloistered with the surviving Most Devout, trying to decide whether it was the Seven that had done this and why they would they do this in the first place. What rumors he'd heard had spoken of a couple of particularly outrageous and dark theories. One Septon was even rumored to have mentioned the Others and the Long Night...though the High Septon had dismissed those claims along with the errant Septon.

Cressen scoffed mentally, the Others? Nonsense. Northern nonsense, ancient tribal legends of long winters that was all the Long Night had been. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He shook those musing off, there were more important things he had to focus on. Like the abysmal finances of the Crown, or the proper restoration of the the Goldcloaks honor. What Robert intended to do to the Lannisters would deal with half the problem with the former, while Ser Jacelyn was doing a marvelous job with the latter.

Cressen continued plodding onwards. He rounded a corner and stopped suddenly. He blinked in surprise.

"Lord Rosby?" he called out in concern.

The fragile lord was shaking where he stood, a hand on the wall to support him as he was walking forward. The Lord's eyes were wide and wild, his face pale with sweat dripping down his brow. The perpetual handkerchief he carried was damp as he continuously wiped the sweat away. The man trembled as he walked and looked about to fall over at any second.

"Lord Rosby?" Cressen called out again when the lord failed to respond.

The Lord looked towards him, his panicked eyes locking with Cressen's. Lord Rosby opened his mouth and his lips moved...but no words came out. He just continued to shake uncontrollably.

Was the man having a fit?

"Guards!" Cressen called out hastily. If the old Lord fell over, he wouldn't be able to carry him. He was too old for such things now, "Guards!"

Two men came running, hands on their swords as they approached looking for danger.

"Help Lord Rosby to my rooms!" Cressen commanded, "Quickly!"

The guards looked at Cressen and then to Lord Rosby. The men relaxed fractionally as they came to the Lords side and in next to no time, they more or less carried the shocked Lord to the maester's chambers as Cressen followed behind as fast as his old legs could move. Once there, the guards sat the Lord in a chair as Cressen hastily assembled a tonic to calm the Lord's nerves and help if the man truly was having a fit.

"My Lord, you have to drink this," Cressen said as he held out a goblet filled with the tonic.

The Lord looked to Cressen and reached out a trembling hands. To Cressen's eyes they shook far too much properly hold the goblet. So he held the cup to Rosby's lips as the man drank hungrily.

The man coughed and Cressen stepped back, "Calm yourself, my Lord. Deep breaths. The tonic will steady you, but you must give it time to act."

Lord Rosby's eyes were still wide and fearful, but the man's colour started to improve. He obeyed and focused on taking deep breaths. The shakes lessened but didn't disappear. Thankfully, the man didn't look like was going to keel over dead now. Proper colour was returning to his face.

Cressen turned to the waiting guards and dismissed them with a dismissive wave, "Wait outside, if I have need I will call you back in."

The guards nodded and obeyed, closing the door behind them as they left.

Turning back to Rosby, he saw them man giving him a panicked look.

Cressen reassured the man, "It's alright, tell me, my lord, have you been having dizzy spells today or the last few days?"

Rosby shook his head fearfully, "No-no," he began in a halting manner, "I..I..I am well. Th-the-the same cough as always." He wiped at his brow with omnipresent handkerchief.

"Has something happened, today? Perhaps some bad news?" Cressen asked pointedly.

The man shuddered and shook in response, the fear in his eyes intensified and he mumbled something that Cressen couldn't make out.

"Please calm down, my lord. Whatever you have learned, surly it cannot be that bad," Cressen said laying a reassuring hand on the lord's shoulder.

Rosby shot him a disbelieving look and shook his head. He mumbled again, the words were lost to Cressen.

"Please speak clearly, my lord. Perhaps, if you share whatever is troubling you, I can help?" Sharing whatever was troubling the Lord would only help calm the man, it couldn't be as bad as man was making it out to be. It was his experience that men often exaggerated their troubles.

Rosby shot him another disbelieving look and shook his head fearfully, "Dis-dis-disaster ma-maester," the stuttering tone of the man was improving even as his shakes continued.

Cressen patted Rosby's shoulder and gestured for him to continue.

"Jo-n Tar...Targar-Targaryen."

Perhaps he spoke too soon. "What have you found out, my lord?" Cressen's mood darkened, next to nothing had been discovered by Renly since Wode's heir had warned them of this Targaryen's existence.

"Jon-Jon Sn-Snow."

Cressen frowned, a northern bastard? What did some northern bastard have to do with the mystery Targaryen?

"The Bastard of Winterfell is Jon Targaryen! Jon Snow is Lord Stark's nephew!" Rosby screamed in despair. "Lyanna Stark's son!"

And just like that, it all suddenly made horrifying sense...

Cressen stood for a moment not believing his ears, his mind reeling and numb from the shock, he staggered away from Rosby and fell down heavily into the nearest chair. His heart was beating like hammer against his chest, "No...no it cannot be..." he whispered in disbelief. If this was true...then Seven Kingdoms were fractured now beyond anything he could have conceived of...

Rosby's voice gained strength as he spoke, "...my meeting with the Iron Bank. Tycho Nesteros, we spoke. He wasn't expecting us to repay King Robert's debts...he told me why! He told me the truth of it! Jon Targaryen! Jon Snow!" he screamed in the end in fearful shock. He shook again, he whispered in despair, "How am I to tell the King? How am I to tell him Lord Stark is...How maester?! " he screamed begging for a solution.

But Cressen's mind wasn't paying him any more attention, the implications of this fact were playing out in his mind as a nightmare. A son of Rhaegar Targaryen, born of the North and raised in Winterfell would be welcomed by the Lords of Westeros. He would be no outsider but a Westerosi raised by the honorable Lord Eddard Stark. Bastard or not it might not matter much. Some would have rejected the prince as false and possibly as mad as his father and grandfather...but not if Eddard Stark was backing him. They would say that the no-nonsense Stark blood would calm his hot dragon blood. And the same reasons that would lead some to reject Viserys Targaryen would endear Jon Targaryen to them. The Starks always stood by family. If Jon Targaryen was coming for the Iron Throne...then it was with his uncle's support! And they already had the Riverland's support!

The nightmarish scenario playing out in his mind was overpowering...

Lyanna Stark's son.

Rhaegar Targaryen's son.

Eddard Stark's nephew.

This was going to kill Robert...if it was true...

He came back to his senses and found Rosby was still staring at him waiting for an answer. Cressen didn't have one for him. This was just as the lord had said...a disaster.

No.

It was an utter debacle of unimaginable size.

xoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Tyrion Lannister

Despite the Reach, everything was coming along swimmingly. Ravens from Daven spoke of a few minor skirmishes but nothing major, and soon enough he would parley with the commander of the Reach forces. Mathis Rowan was commanding the Reachers, which was to their advantage as the man was sensible and likely to hear them out. Though whether he remembers or not was another issue, he doubted the man would be marching to war against them if he knew the true stakes of what was coming for them all.

In the mean time, things were progressing well in the rest of the Westerlands. Men were assembling at the Rock and a second group at the Golden Tooth. As soon as word came from Winterfell, he and the might of the Westerlands would be able to move. Whatever happened with the Reach, Robert Baratheon would have to be dealt with, the increasingly angry Ravens from King's Landing were quite entertaining especially considering they were directed at his father.

His father would have been apoplectic with rage after reading how some them were phrased. Robert had, obviously, personally written some of them considering how coarse the language had been at times. Though his maester seemed to gained control after some time, not Pycelle of course, Tyrion doubted the old lecher was still alive by now.

And no matter how much his fingers itched to send them a cheeky reply, he wasn't going to send them anything till Winterfell answered him and he had a viable strategy.

On other matters, the Iron Islands had been surprisingly agreeable. Yara Greyjoy had seized command and the the Ironborn they'd seized in Lannisport and the rest of the Westerlands had been sorted out. Those loyal to Yara, had been sent back to Pyke, the rest...well fewer Ironborn were something to be celebrated no matter how good their relationship with them was now.

As for the Riverlands, Hoster and Edmure had been very threatening in their letters despite their vow of fealty to Jon. Edmure especially was turning out to be a changed man this time around. The news from the Twins was brutal and something he would have expected from his father...not the floppy fish.

Or not so floppy fish now.

The Legend of the Tully Rock of Doom...or Justice, depending on who you asked, was growing and spreading through the Riverlands and the Westerlands. The legend and stories grew more fanciful with every bard he heard it from...and dear uncle Emmon kept growing more and more white with every retelling of just what Edmure had done to his family in revenge for the Red Wedding. At this rate, Tyrion expected that Emmon would keel over dead from fear sometime soon.

That aside, at least it was one border secure. The Tullys knew what was at stake.

The Vale was in much the same boat, Lord Royce was prepared to march for Jon, now that Lysa had been removed from power.

The Stormlands and Crownlands were Robert's as expected, though once the truth of Jon spread he expected there would be some defectors.

And he had no idea what the Narrow Sea Houses would do. He personally knew none of them. Or the state of Dragonstone. What was Stannis doing now? Actually, what was Davos doing now? Jon's Hand would be there and considering what Stannis had done at the end, he didn't expect that reunion to be happy, in any manner or form.

A quiet part of his mind, again silently marveled over the fact that he'd actually found a father that was worse than his. Poor Shireen. The little girl didn't deserve what had happened to her.

He sighed and then twinged in pain as his wounds moved. They were healing well but not fast enough for his tastes. It was a reminder of her. And he didn't need any reminders of her! The mental pain was worse than the physical pain...and he wanted to forget her as quickly as he could...but at least he was still alive. It was a rare thing that a man could undo one their greatest regrets...so there was that, at least.

He cast those unhelpful thoughts of her aside and focused back on the present.

He was sat in his solar, in his daily meeting with the rest of the Lannisters of the Rock. It was all to better keep them all apprised of the happenings as they waited for word from Winterfell. It was a new private ritual for the Lannisters in this new and changed world they found themselves in. Uncles Kevan and Stafford, Aunt Genna and Jaime were gathered here, each with their own reports of ongoings in the Rock. Daven would have been here but he was, hopefully, busy defusing the situation with Lord Rowan.

Jaime was sitting, just as smug and prideful as always. Well maybe a little less prideful, all things considered. But he was still smug. Uncle Kevan looked a little constipated. He had, ever since he'd had to turn against father...but that was to be expected after a lifetime of loyal service. He was with them now, but it still pained him. He knew what was at stake and was loyal to Tyrion now.

Uncle Stafford was a different situation, he didn't remember and was constantly surprised as revelations were thrown at him. He was still getting used to Tyrion's position as Lord of the Rock, but Cerenna and Daven, when he was here, were constantly assuring him that there was no other choice in the matter...not that he had the backbone to go against Kevan or Genna- never mind both of them at the same time. Uncle Stafford was many things, but bold was not one of them. Many accused Kevan of not having an original thought in his mind that Tywin didn't have, but the truth was, that was Stafford, not Kevan. Oh, he was a kindly man, and a proper Lannister when it mattered. Tyrion was reasonably fond of the man.

Genna was talking now, long suffering annoyance on her face, "...Well our shouting matches have stopped, and he's only been half listening to what I've been saying," Aunt Genna said offhandedly, "his silence tells me he's beginning to understand that this is his new reality. From Lord to prisoner it's not something he can accept easily...and it shows." she finished dryly.

Uncle Kevan shifted uncomfortably, discussing father would always be discomforting for him, no matter how much time passed. Jaime had an unreadable expression on his face. He hadn't talked to father since his return to the Rock.

"Yes, well I'm happy he's stopped shouting at you, dear aunt," Tyrion replied, "You've always so...testy after your conversations with him."

Genna gave him a sharp look, "Lord of the Rock you may be, but I can still take you across my knee for your cheek. None of these fools here could stop me."

Tyrion and Jaime laughed as Kevan and Stafford gave her disapproving looks. Or at least tried to. The new dynamics at the Rock gave her much more power than under father and they knew it. Kevan didn't relent at her look, but Stafford folded and looked away like a tent without a tent-pole.

"Of course dear Aunt, I will endeavor to keep my cheek to a minimum, though I fear I shall fail miserably," Tyrion lamented unabashed.

She huffed and sat back, "So what news?" she asked moving forward with the meeting.

"For now, the same," Tyrion began seriously, his cheeky tone melting away, "We still have no word from Winterfell, though I expect that Ser Barristan will have reached them by now. Everything depends on what they plan."

"And Daenerys?" asked Aunt Genna pointedly.

A pang of guilt stabbed at him, he had been trying not to think about just precarious Daenerys's position is Essos would be with this massive return of people. She had far too many enemies there...but there was nothing he could do from here in the Westerlands. Perhaps Bran was already doing something for her? Though, what could possibly be done, completely escaped him.

He answered gravely, "We pray for her. That is all we can do for her till we have dealt with Robert..."

A knocking interrupted him.

He frowned and called out, "Come!" His guards had orders not to interrupt unless it was important.

A Redcloak entered and bowed deeply, "I am sorry, my Lord. There is a messenger- a knight, from the Hightower demanding an audience. He is adamant that he speak only to you, my Lord."

Tyrion was startled and looked to his family. They were equally startled, a Hightower knight here? He nodded back at the Redcloak and said neutrally, "let him come."

As the guard left to obey, Uncle Kevan spoke up, "What does Lord Hightower want?"

Tyrion shrugged, but didn't say anything else, though he shared his uncle's question.

They didn't have to wait long, the messenger was a burly man wearing a heavy tabard. He had a bull's skull on a red background on his tabard, identifying him as a member of House Bulwer. A House sworn to the Hightowers, "I am Ser Walys Bulwer. Lord Leyton Hightower has personally charged me with delivering this letter to you, my lord. And only you." the grim faced knight stated adamantly as he bowed, and then held out a thick sealed letter to Tyrion.

Tyrion's eyes narrowed as he shot the man a suspicious look, "Why would Leyton Hightower be sending me messages?" he asked out loud. It didn't make much sense, wouldn't Lord Hightower be more concerned with the happenings of the Reach, than the Westerlands? Why would he be speaking to them at all...especially considering that Jaime slew his grandson?

The messenger turned grimmer as he proclaimed, "There is a traitor in Casterly Rock. It is all in the letter, my lord." He held out the letter closer to Tyrion.

Tyrion gave him a hard look, as he gingerly took the letter from the man's outstretched hand. The rest of his family began mumbling amongst themselves. He paid, neither his family, nor the man any more attention as he tore open the letter and pulled out an alarming number of sheaves of parchment. Whatever the Lord of the Hightower wanted it appeared to be exceedingly complicated if he was writing so many pages and sending a cryptic courier.

He began reading. He read and read, as he blinked and balked as the sheer audacity of the maesters was explained. It was beyond even his own considerable imagination. He snorted in amusement as Leyton said they used his father, the great and powerful Tywin Lannister as a puppet against Aerys.

Then he came to the how of it and all thoughts of amusement fled from his as a maiden runs from the Mountain that rides.

His heart froze and he frowned, at first not understanding the words written in front of him. He reread it again and again. For someone who prides himself on his reading, that part of the message was read far too many times before he realised the full import of words.

Mother...

Creylen...

Mother...

Creylen...

His breathing became harsher.

Creylen...

He wanted to scream with rage. His mind raced even as he felt tears begin to flow down his cheeks.

"Tyrion?!" called out Jaime suddenly rising to his feet in alarm.

Tyrion ignored his brother. Jaime didn't matter. All that mattered was that he hadn't killed his mother.

Creylen had murdered his mother!

All the grief he had been given for it. By Cersei. By his father. And he had done nothing! Nothing! It was all Creylen!

That fucking traitor!

His mind went to a very dark place as he began to imagine just how he would pay back this debt.

All those years without her...she was stolen away from him! How might things have different if she had been here?! His mind was racing, he couldn't focus, he was experiencing so many emotions now...but most of all he felt...numb. The rage was there building, but it was a numbing rage.

"Tyrion!" Jaime repeated again, concern written across his face. This time, he standing by his side, he was reaching for the parchments in his hands, "What is going on?!"

He pulled the parchments away from Jaime's grasp and gaze before he could see the truth. His brother couldn't find out. Not yet. He held the parchments close to his chest, cradling them there.

"POD!" bellowed out Tyrion, causing Jaime to jump back in surprise.

The boy appeared with an alacrity, "My, Lord?" he asked in surprise and concern.

"Get Bronn! NOW!" he bellowed angrily.

Pod didn't even nod, before running off as fast as his feet could take him.

Jaime and the others were staring at him in disquiet now.

"Tyrion...what's happening?!" Jaime demanded, his expression dark and confused. "Who is this traitor Lord Hightower is warning about?"

Tyrion ignored him, he couldn't think straight, he didn't know how to react. He threw back his chair, the chair toppled and fell, but he ignored it. He began pacing back and forth in the solar, ignoring everyone, still clutching the parchments to his chest.

His chest ached. Rage and despair fought for supremacy in his soul as he tried to come to terms to this unexpected, impossible revelation.

This is how uncle Stafford feels all the time, isn't it? This is the difference between those who remember and those who don't, isn't it?

His mind was his weapon but he couldn't think clearly now. He needed to calm down and think.

He looked up suddenly, Ser Walys was still standing there at attention.

"Ser Walys, I must thank you for this service to House Lannister. We always pay our debts, consider yourself my personal guest for the time being. Rest and enjoy the hospitality of the Rock, we shall talk again once I have...dealt with the traitor."

"I was only doing my duty, my Lord, and all traitors must be dealt with harshly," the grim knight said with a deferential bow.

"Oh...harshly doesn't begin to approach what I'm going to do," Tyrion promised darkly.

The knight nodded once, before leaving without further fanfare.

Tyrion resumed his harried pacing.

"Tyrion!" shouted aunt Genna, "Explain what is happening! What traitor?" she demanded gruffly.

Tyrion cast her one look, "Once Bronn is here." He ignored her as she again starting questioning him. Kevan and Jaime joined her, throwing questions and demands at him.

None of it mattered. All that mattered what was what he was going to do next.

Soon enough Pod returned with Bronn.

"Good. Pod go stand outside. On pain of death, tell the guards no one is allowed out before me or without my express permission," Tyrion commanded.

Pod looked confused but he obeyed without hesitation.

He turned his attention to Bronn. Bronn had changed, gone were his old black leathers, he was wearing fine livery in the blue and gold of House Lefford, with their sigil decorating his fancy silk shirt. His recent wedding to Alysanne Lefford had been quick and small, despite the wealth of the Leffords...though he was making up for it with how he was dressing these days. As well as the more useful benefit of better armour and weapons. He still kept his prized curved dagger, but he'd replaced the handle with something more expensive.

"You called, my lord?" Bronn asked with his usual insolent tone.

Tyrion approached him and gestured him close. Bronn frowned and bent down.

"Be ready for anything and don't let anyone leave this room," he whispered to Bronn.

Bronn shot him a concerned look, but nodded curtly.

He turned back to his family, "Jaime...give Bronn your dagger," Tyrion commanded firmly, "The same goes for you, Uncle Kevan, Uncle Stafford."

Jaime and his uncles started at the unexpected command. Stafford frowned but didn't hesitate though both Jaime and Kevan shot him suspicious looks.

"What is happening Tyrion, they- we cannot be traitors," Genna cut in suddenly, her eyes shining with concern.

"It will all be explained in a moment, now obey me!" Tyrion shouted back loosing his temper.

Genna glared back and remained silent.

Bronn collected the daggers and then paused in front of Genna and gave her an expectant look.

"What?" she demanded irately.

He kept looking at her and then raised an eyebrow at her.

After a moment, she huffed and did something with her skirts, producing a dagger from somewhere.

Despite the situation, he found himself looking at his aunt in surprise. The rest of the Lannister men were giving her similar looks.

She cast them all dark looks and then turned back to Tyrion, "Get on with it."

"Good, Bronn give them to the guards outside, then stand by the door."

Again, Bronn didn't say anything and just obeyed. It was another thing he liked about Bronn, he always knew when it was time for silent obedience. Once Bronn was finished and closed the door again, Tyrion turned back to his family.

His voice was dark and trembling as he began, "It is treachery. Foul treachery beyond bounds..."

He explained the depth and breadth of the maesters' conspiracy in small and halting words. Targaryens. Magic. Father's part in recent history.

Finally, he spoke the unspeakable words and named the traitor and his most heinous act.

Creylen...the murder of Joanna Lannister.

For a long moment, the room was frozen. He could it see it on their faces. Just like him they couldn't come to terms with what he was saying. Not at first, it was too unthinkable.

But like a dam breaking, the words finally sank in.

With a yell, Jaime howled with inarticulate rage and upended Tyrion's expensive desk, scattering important missives and expensive trinkets across the floor of the solar. He kicked the desk twice cracking the wood with the strength of his rage. Tears were streaming down his face now, just as they had Tyrion's moments before. He stood over Tyrion's ruined desk and panted as he shook with rage.

Kevan was staring at Tyrion, his disbelieving look was rapidly being replaced with an enraged look that was more at home on Tywin's face than on the sedate and dependable Kevan. He stood and hurled his chair across the room, with a foul oath.

Stafford was shaking were he sat. His face turning redder than Tyrion had ever seen it. His placid uncle also had the first murderous look in eyes that he ever remembered seeing there. The hands of his chair suddenly splintered and Stafford looked down at them in surprise. He blinked not understanding what he had done.

But Genna...

There were tears in Aunt Genna's eyes. This was the first time he'd ever seen tears in his aunt's eyes. The indomitable Lady Genna was not like other women. She was a Lannister and prideful lion with a tongue to match that of the legendary Queen of Thorns....having them both in same room was a situation he never wanted to see.

She didn't cry.

She never cried.

Except she was now...

Oh, there was rage there as well. The look of unmitigated rage there was probably the same one that was currently occupying his own face.

And now Jaime...he'd never seen such rage in Jaime's face. He could see his brother's mind beginning to move. Jaime's face was frozen now and he stomped toward the door.

"Get out of my way Bronn! I'm going to fucking kill him!" Jaime screamed.

Bronn shook his head, "Can't do that."

Jaime tried to push past him, but Bronn pushed him back.

Jaime's rage grew even more, "I am going to fucking feed him his chain! One fucking link at a time!"

"Still can't let you pass. Got orders," Bronn retorted without budging an inch.

Jaime ground his teeth and turned around to face Tyrion, his face red he screamed, "Get him out of my way!"

Tyrion gave his brother a cool look, he'd expected the rashness of his brother, "Bronn..." he began, "...knock my brother out."

Jaime's expression twisted into confusion and then disbelief as Bronn's arms were suddenly around his neck, choking him. Jaime fought uselessly, Bronn's grip was too great and he already had too much leverage. The element of surprise was too great here.

In next to no time, his brother went limp and Bronn gently lowered him to the ground. He looked up at uncle Kevan, who was approaching him cautiously, "Don't even think about it."

Kevan turned towards Tyrion, "Release us Tyrion. He must die." There was more loathing in those last three words than Tyrion had ever heard from his uncle.

Tyrion nodded, "Oh, he will...but you and Jaime would kill him far too quickly."

Kevan stared back at him coolly.

"What do you plan to do?" Stafford cut in, there was a coldness in his voice that Tyrion didn't recognize...though it was to be expected, Joanna had been his dearest sister.

"I thought that would be obvious, Creylen," he spat the name, his tone filled with loathing, "will die a long, gruesome death. Something fitting to be a new verse for the Rains of Castamere."

Uncle Stafford gave him wolfish smile at odds with his normal blundering manner, "Good."

"What now?" Genna bite out, finally speaking through her ire.

"Now, Creylen goes to the dungeon while I think about something truly suitable for the magnitude of his crime..." he paused and cast a long hard look at each of them, "And each one of you is banned from the dungeons until further notice!"

Genna huffed angrily but didn't add anything. Kevan gave him an angry look.

"There is a debt owed me and he will pay it and all the accumulated interest it entails!" Tyrion crowed angrily.

"And Jaime?" Kevan asked.

"My brother will remain in his rooms until he calms down...however long that it." Tyrion stated evenly.

"He won't like that," Kevan retorted with a frown.

"Tough, I'm Lord of the Rock, not him. My orders will be obeyed." Tyrion scoffed tersely. He turned to Bronn, "Come along, we have a maester to arrest."

Bronn opened the door with a wary eye at the other Lannisters. Tyrion walked though the door and left his furious family behind, locked way in his half ruined solar.

Notes:

He he, lots of emotions here :DXD