Chapter 8: Expectations

Tywin Lannister had taken his place as the hand of the king. And so Tyrion fell from his rare chance at power. He always knew that his reign was temporary. His father had given him the position and his father now took it away. Tyrion felt the ache of the loss like the throb of the still healing wound across his face.

Shae wanted them to leave. She was a smart woman, and recognized that there was little left for Tyrion in this place. Yet he couldn't leave. He clung to this damn city even after it had rejected him because maybe, just maybe, he would find a taste of power again.

Pathetic, Tyrion thought. I really am pathetic.

Still, he found himself, in his pathetic state, walking toward the tower of the hand to speak with his father. He needed something to do. He needed to make his case that he could still be useful to the Lannister family. He had done his part to protect the city, so where was his reward for that?

As he approached the tower, he heard a rather loud conversation inside. At first he thought it must be Cersei snapping at their father again. But no, the voice was too young for that.

"She's going to murder me in my sleep. Even if I don't go near Joffrey, she is going to murder me in my sleep. Then she'll find a way to blame me for it."

"Really? And Cersei told me that she made peace with you."

"Of course she did. She wanted me to tell you the same."

"But you're not."

" You told me not to lie to you."

"It's good to know you're listening."

Tyrion peered through the crack in the door. His father sat at his old desk, but in front of him paced a girl with dark brown hair and the pale skin of the north. Arya Stark. It must be. He had heard of her arrival in the city because Cersei had raved to him about it as well. She was a ward of Lannister now. A hostage. Yet for being a hostage, she did not seem to measure her words around his father. She did not seem afraid of him at all.

"I only mention it because I don't want you to think everything is solved," Arya said. "And if I do die, you'll know who to blame."

"I never thought everything was solved. Nothing I say could keep Cersei from hating you. I only want her to be a little quieter about it." Tywin set down his quill. "You're not very good at hiding your feelings either, Lady Arya."

"Can you blame me, my lord?"

"It does not matter if I blame you or not. It's true."

Tyrion thought as if he had stepped into a dream. Tywin did not usually entertain this kind of talk from anyone . From his family, sometimes, depending on his mood. But not usually. He seemed almost… amused. A few times Tyrion thought he saw the shadow of a smile on his lips. It was a humorless, biting smile, but still. A rare thing for Tywin Lannister. Tyrion almost never saw such an expression.

Tyrion accidentally opened the door a bit more and it creaked. Arya Stark spun around, like a wolf searching for a threat. Tyrion sighed and opened the door the rest of the way.

"Forgive me if I'm interrupting."

"You're not," Tywin said. His expression became cold again at Tyrion's arrival. "Tyrion, this is Arya Stark."

"The new Lannister ward. Yes, I have heard." Tyrion approached her, holding out his hand. "My lady. We did not speak when I last visited Winterfell."

"Because I'm small and no one notices me," Arya said accepted his hand.

"Well, I can sympathize with that. I'm smaller than you as you can see," Tyrion said.

"It's refreshing," Arya said. "Everyone around here is too tall."

Tyrion grinned. This girl was certainly nothing like her sister. She was far more honest, and far less careful. It could get her killed in this place. "I must agree with you, Lady Stark."

Tywin cleared his throat leaning forward. "Did you come with a purpose, Tyrion?"

"I usually do," Tyrion said, releasing Arya's hand. "We don't speak in our leisure time, father."

His father regarded him coldly for a long moment before looking to Arya. "You may go."

Arya nodded once. "My lords." Then she slipped from the room.

"She's quite something," Tyrion commented. "Different from her sister. Courtesies don't become her."

"Did you come here to discuss the Stark girl?" Tywin asked.

"No. I was just making small talk." Tyrion sat down in front of him. "I came to discuss the future."

"That's a vague purpose."

"My future then."

Tywin laughed once though there was no joy in it. "You want to know if there is still a position of power for you here, now that I have taken back my seat as hand of the king."

"That's the short way of putting it yes," Tyrion said. "I did prove myself capable of handling the responsibility."

"You brought a whore to my bed. Is that what you call being capable?"

"I did not spend all of my time in bed or with whores," Tyrion muttered. "I kept Joffrey in line as best as I could and when he cowered in the keep, I held the gates at the Battle of Blackwater. I bled for this family."

"And you want a reward."

"Yes," Tyrion said. "Is that truly so much to ask, father? For some sort of recognition?"

"Jugglers and singers ask for applause. You are a Lannister," Tywin said flatly. "Do you think I demanded a garland of roses every time I suffered a wound on the battlefield?"

Tyrion clenched his jaw. No, his father did not ever seem to have any need for the recognition of others. But he did not know what it was like to be looked down upon every single day. People respected him. Tyrion would not need rewards either if he was simply respected.

"I have seven kingdoms to rule now," Tywin said. "You may have bled for this family, but you would have died had the Tyrells not arrived at my orders. While you were whoring and playing at power, I made peace with the north, crushed Stannis' armies, and now the Greyjoys are on the run. The War of Five Kings is over."

"Were we having a competition? Forgive me, I would have brought more of my accomplishments," Tyrion said, staring at his hands.

" What do you want, Tyrion?" Tywin raised his voice then, at the edge of his patience.

"I want what is mine. By right." Tyrion matched his father's volume. "Jaime may be your eldest son, but he surrendered his right to your lands and titles when he donned the white cloak. I am, therefore, your heir. You can't deny that. I don't ask for a bloody garland of roses. I won't even ask for your gratitude because I know I'll never get that. But I do ask for what is mine."

"So, you want Casterly Rock," Tywin said.

"With Jaime in the King's Guard, I am your heir," Tyrion said. "I may be a dwarf, but I'm still your son."

"Yes," Tywin agreed after a pause. "You are my son. You killed your mother coming into this world. Do you think I would forget that?"

Tyrion gritted his teeth together. "You always speak of that day as if it was by design. As if I intended-"

"I don't care what you intended. It happened all the same," Tywin snapped. "You will be given more suitable quarters for your name and station. You will be given a position of power within this keep so that you can continue to serve your family. Serve well, and eventually you may have a wife. But nothing on earth can compel me to name you my heir. I will die before I see you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse."

The words stung Tyrion to his very core. They had always been implied of course, in his father's cold tone and his icy glares. Yet to hear them out loud still hurt more than Tyrion wanted to admit.

"Tell me, father. To whom will you give Casterly Rock? I am eager to know," he murmured.

"That's none of your concern," Tywin said. "We'll speak no more of your rights." He spoke with such an air of finality that there was no room to argue further. "Go. Now."

Tyrion could do nothing but obey. His father always claimed the last word, one way or another, and Tyrion did not want to hear anymore words from him that day.

Even when everything else seemed relatively hopeless, Tyrion could still count on Jaime. Having his brother back at the keep, safe and sound, was a bright spot to his loss of power. Of everyone in his family, Jaime was the only one who truly liked him. His father and sister had rejected him long ago, but Jaime taught him to ride and how to speak with charm. It was a relief to see him again.

His time as a northern prisoner had clearly weakened him. He was thinner and paler, with some scars lingering on his face. But he was still Jaime, with his usual easy smiles. He needed a few of those after his conversation with their father.

"So… how did it go?" Jaime asked.

"About how you'd expect," Tyrion said.

"That bad?" Jaime poured them both wine and handed him a cup. Tyrion drained it in a few gulps and he raised an eyebrow. "Worse?"

"Always worse." Tyrion handed his cup to Jaime to be filled again. He wanted to drink his weight in wine. "Even with the white cloak on, he still seems to think of you as his heir."

"I don't want the Rock," Jaime said. "I would much prefer you have it."

"Don't tell our Lord Father. Then he might hate you as much as me," Tyrion said. "Well, not quite."

"Perhaps we should employ the new ward to talk to him for us for now on," Jaime said. "He doesn't seem to mind when she argues."

Tyrion leaned forward. "So you noticed it too."

"Am I blind and deaf? Of course I noticed it." Jaime shook his head. "I've witnessed a few of their conversations. And he kept her as his cup bearer for a few months before the war ended. Clearly he enjoys the girl."

"But why?" Tyrion said. "We simply must figure out her secrets."

Jaime grinned. "Hoping to learn from her?"

"Why not?" Tyrion said. "I'll take whatever help I can get at this point." Tyrion clasped his wine glass in both hands. "Let us think. What does she have in common with people that father likes?"

"First we have to identify who father likes," Jaime said.

"True. A difficult task." Tyrion tapped the rim of his cup as he thought. "Uncle Kevan?"

"Yes, he likes Kevan," Jaime said. "Aunt Genna too. He always allowed her to talk back to him. I think he likes our aunt better than any of our uncles in fact."

"He likes all of his siblings well enough. Though few of their spouses," Tyrion acknowledged.

"What do they all have in common?" Jaime asked.

"Well, they are family," Tyrion said. "I suppose they're not afraid of our father. They grew up with him. Maybe that makes it more difficult to fear someone. I don't fear Cersei for that very reason."

"Really? I fear her sometimes." Jaime said mildly.

Tyrion tilted his head to the side. "Is she not happy to see you returned?"

"Happy? Maybe. But also drunk and very angry," Jaime glanced down at Tyrion's nearly empty cup of wine. "You both drink too much these days."

"Tell her that she's reminding you of me. Maybe she'll stop," Tyrion finished the wine and went to pour more. "Back to the matter in question. Our aunt and uncles are different from Lady Arya as they are siblings."

"This is true. So who else does he like?" Jaime asked.

"Well, you and Cersei of course," Tyrion said.

"It does not seem like that sometimes," Jaime said.

"If you could hear the difference in how he spoke to us, you would know it," Tyrion said. "You're the Golden son, Jaime. You can get away with nearly anything, and you'll still be the favorite." He smiled ruefully. "Even if he does get angry."

"He's certainly shouted at me much louder than he has shouted at Arya Stark," Jaime said. "Because he cares perhaps."

"Yes. He has high expectations of you." Tyrion snapped his fingers. "Maybe that's it."

"What?" Jaime asked.

"High expectations. Our Lord Father may love you and Cersei, but he has dreadfully high expectations for both of you. No offense, but you constantly fall short," Tyrion said. "He has high expectations for many people."

"But not for the Stark girl," Jaime said.

"No," Tyrion said. "He had no expectations for her from the beginning. It makes it very easy for her to exceed them."

"Perhaps that is the key," Jaime said. "But then, father always had low expectations for you as well."

Tyrion smiled bitterly. "I'm a special case, Jaime. He hates me so much that even if I rose above his standards, he would never admit it." He raised his glass. "So there's no hope for me."

Jaime plucked the glass from his hand before he could take a drink and set it out of his reach. "You've had enough."

"I don't think so. I'd like a lot more," Tyrion said.

"To hell with what father thinks of you," Jaime said. "The way I hear it, you did save this city. You did a respectable job of handling Joffrey as well. Whether father acknowledges or not, this city owes you their lives. Isn't that enough for you to know?"

"Was it enough for you to know?" Tyrion murmured. "When they called you Kingslayer?"

Jaime looked down at the table with a heavy sigh. "Well… it helped at least."

Tyrion stood in his chair, leaning forward and plucking his cup back from Jaime. "Cheers," he raised his glass. "To impossible expectations."

Jaime half smiled and tapped his cup against Tyrion's. "Let's see how long the Stark girl can exceed them."