Chapter Text
Even when Jaime knew the ending, it did not make it any easier. The entire trial seemed a farce for the benefit of the public. If Daenerys could, she would have simply sentenced Tywin to die without the fanfare. But she had a reputation to uphold.
Reputations...what a curse they really were. Jaime had a reputation as a Kingslayer and an oathbreaker, which people used to throw in his face at every opportunity. No matter what he did or what he said, he knew that reputation would follow him. So he had embraced it, abandoning honor and playing the despicable man everyone expected him to be.
Tyrion did the exact same thing. People called him a dwarf, an imp. A devious, lecherous, warped little man. And he had worn it all like armor. Because that was his inescapable reputation from the time he was born.
But good reputations seemed even more poisonous to Jaime. Those who wanted to appear righteous and just would do anything to keep from falling from people's esteem. And if they stayed long enough in the light...well the books would consider them heroes long after they died. Robert Baratheon, who Jaime had watched smile at the sight of the dead children, was still considered a hero for years after. Even when he became useless from drinking and whoring and plunged the kingdom into debt, the reputation of the hero of the Rebellion followed him.
And Ned Stark's good reputation got him killed. Because everyone expected him to be honorable all of his life. His friends, his family, even his enemies. Until eventually, he could not be anything else. He made a foolish decision...because what was he without honor? One different choice and perhaps he could have returned to his family instead. But his reputation swallowed him up and lost him his head.
Jaime's father had a reputation as well. One of ruthlessness but also strength. He was one who never flinched. Never showed his weakness. Some people hated him for it and others looked to him as a leader. But who was to say what Tywin really felt beneath his mask? Fear, regret, sadness. When had the great Lord of Casterly Rock ever shown any such weakness, even to his own children? His reputation demanded that he stay calm and composed.
Even when the verdict was read to the court, he did not falter. Jaime did. He felt a shudder go through him and he looked instinctively to Tyrion as the voices of the court rose all around them. Tyrion wore a grim expression that may have been a mirror of Jaime's own. They both knew the ending. And still...
And still it knocked the breath from Jaime. Even though he knew in his heart that his father was guilty. That his father had earned this. It was a consequence of that ruthless reputation. He knew that Tywin was not an innocent being charged for a crime he did not commit. But it didn't matter. He was still Jaime's father.
He searched for Arya in the crowd then, not wanting to see her expression, but knowing he must none the less. But in the sea of people, he did not find her. She was no longer standing beside her mother. Had she already left the hall?
"To go where," he wondered. It didn't matter, he supposed. His missing wife was a good enough excuse to get him out of that crowded hall and the many gazes which lingered on him. He caught his father's eyes for only a moment as the guards approached him. Then he tore his gaze away and hurried from the hall.
Arya was not in their room, nor was she in the place they always sparred. He couldn't find her in the gardens or in the Tower of the Hand. It seemed to Jaime that she had disappeared and that was potentially...dangerous.
On one hand, Jaime knew Arya was sensible enough to know that she couldn't fight this. Not without causing devastating and far reaching consequences. On the other hand, he knew how she could get sometimes when she was desperate. So he needed to find her. Just in case.
He asked Tyrion, but he said that he had not seen her since the trial. Robb Stark was the same. He had seen her leaving right after the verdict but nothing else after that. And her mother could not help him either.
"I will look for her as well," Catelyn promised. "Best that she's not alone now."
In the end, however, it was Sansa Tyrell who guessed where Arya might be. "It's only a hunch," she said. "But...I don't think she's in the Red Keep right now. When we were children and Arya got very upset...she used to run as far as she could and hide where no one could find her. She wasn't actually very good at hiding though. Not from family."
"How far do you think she's gone?" Jaime asked.
"Not far," Sansa said. "And I think I know where she ended up."
Jaime would not have guessed that Arya came to this place, but the moment he arrived, it made sense. He had been to the Sept of Baelor many times. For funerals, for weddings. He wasn't a particularly religious man but, it was impossible to avoid such things in King's Landing. The last time he had been there...was it for his own wedding? Yes, that was possible. That seemed like a very long time ago.
Arya was not in the sept. She was sitting up on the statue of Baelor just outside, wrapped in a cloak that nearly obscured her face. She was a shadow amongst the falling snow, and if she was cold she did not show it. She was a statue herself against the icy winds. Most would not have recognized her. But Jaime knew her form like the back of his hand.
He approached slowly, standing just beneath her beside the statue, wondering if he should speak. But there was nothing he could think to say. Instead we stood still and silent. Waiting.
"I've always avoided this place," Arya said at last in a soft voice. "All of the time I lived here. I avoided this place like the plague. I was only ever forced to come here for a few funerals and weddings. And when I did, I don't think I let myself focus on anything until I was inside the sept." She looked up from her hands, staring straight ahead at the steps. "But this was where I was when they brought him out. I was on this statue, watching it all."
Jaime let out a long breath. Of course...of course that was what brought her back here. She was tormenting herself with her own helplessness. Punishing herself for not being able to do anything. Arya had never been content to sit and watch. She seemed to consider that the greatest possible sin.
"I stayed her until Joffrey ordered Illyn Payne to bring him my father's head," Arya continued. "Then I climbed down and tried to push my way through the crowd." She smiled bitterly. "I don't...know exactly what I meant to do. I had my little needle of a sword. Perhaps I thought I could kill them all and save him. I was a child then. A foolish child. It was lucky that a man named Yoren stood in my path and held me back or else I might have been killed." She let out a shuddering breath. "I think...that day will always be the worst in my life."
"Then why come back here?" Jaime asked.
"I don't know...if we'll come back here again tomorrow," Arya said. "I needed to prepare myself for that possibility."
Jaime took a step toward her. "Executions take place in many places, Arya. Not just here. It may be...some other place."
She nodded once.
"And even if it isn't, you don't have to return here," Jaime said. "I think my father would understand."
"It's not about what he would understand," Arya said. "People will look for me to be there. They will see it as weakness if I am not present."
Jaime looked up at her, not sure exactly what to say. Yes, perhaps the lords would see it as weakness. But would that be so terrible? Was she not allowed to have one moment when she faltered?
Of course not. Because Arya was in the midst of building a reputation for herself as well. I reputation that walked a very fine line between her father and his. Mercy and ruthlessness. Respect and fear. Wolf and lion. It would be a difficult reputation to uphold and somewhere along the line, Jaime was sure it would eat her alive. It already was. And yet, what choice did she really have?
"Well, there's no need to put on a show of strength until tomorrow," Jaime said at last, reaching out a hand to her. "So you have no need to sit out here in this cold."
Arya looked down at him, glancing from his face to his hand. Then she accepted and let him help her down from the statue. She did not let go of his hand even once they were standing side by side. She clutched it tight in her own.
"I'm...sorry," she murmured. "He's your father. I should be a comfort to you. Not the other way around."
"I'm not comforting you," Jaime assured her. "I just think its best not to tempt the winter. I know you have Stark blood, but still."
"I would have been fine," she said.
"No doubt," Jaime said, linking their arms and drawing her closer to him as they walked. "You can comfort me later, if it makes you feel any better. Inside of the Red Keep though. I'm not as strong against the snows as you."
Her mouth twitched into a small smile as he led her along.
Daenerys had not said how Tywin would die, perhaps because she wanted to keep her options open. Tywin had a few predictions of course. Beheading was the most common method of execution in the Seven Kingdoms. But then again, Daenerys did have dragons, and she had executed more than one soul with dragon fire.
He supposed he would prefer beheading. At least he could keep his dignity through that. No man could stand strong against Dragonfire, and then there would be only ashes to bury.
He tapped a few fingers against the small table in his room. They had returned him to his so called prison until dawn of the next day, leaving him rather alone with his thoughts. The trial had gone as expected. Varys had done exactly as he asked him. Now he would have a place on Daenerys' small council. But he would not only be whispering in her ear.
"Give testimony against me. Gain Daenerys trust. And once you do, you will keep a close eye on her and send a few birds toward Arya if any...concerning signs arise."
Varys had accepted the task. In fact he seemed rather intrigued by the arrangement. And now Arya would have eyes and ears in the small council besides Tyrion. It was an ideal contingency plan, especially if Tyrion ever found himself in a position where he had to watch his step. And of course, Varys had contacts all over the country.
In most cases, Tywin would worry about Varys' loyalties, but his actions seemed in line with his claim of serving the realm. And if it was truly the people who mattered to him, than Arya was ideal for him to support. She concerned herself more with the affairs with smallfolk and seemed to care about their wellbeing. She cared about most innocents. It was not a trait that Tywin could boast, but it could serve her well in establishing control in the winter. Jaime meanwhile could easily gain favor with the nobles of the west as his eldest son. And Tyrion, with any luck, would keep control over the Crownlands.
Tywin rubbed a hand over his face. He was still planning out the future, right up until the end. But at this point he had done everything he could. The rest was up to his children. Tyrion. Jaime.
Arya.
He still was not afraid to die, even standing at the very end of his life. In fact, he preferred a clean death to exile at the Night's Watch. He could not imagine doing well there or living much longer. Better to end it now.
It was an honorable gesture, of course, that Robb Stark had argued on his behalf. The young lord had told Tywin as much earlier that day. He had stopped him and his guards in the hall on the way back to his room.
"I offered it as a possibility," he had said. "I said that you should be given a choice. Prince Oberyn did not agree and the queen ultimately sided with him."
"Kind of you to try," Tywin said.
"It wasn't kindness," Robb said. "Most men are given the choice. And...however difficult our past, we were allies in the most recent wars."
"I suppose it was what honor demanded then," Tywin said.
Robb raised an eyebrow. "You told me once that honor was idealistic nonsense."
"I did. I wasn't sure you remembered anything from that meeting other than wanting to tear my throat out."
"Oh, I remember that feeling distinctly," Robb said. "But I remembered that little lesson of yours as well."
"Did it stick?" Tywin asked.
"Not particularly," Robb said. "I value honor a great deal more than you I think. I just don't blindly cling to it or use it to ignore the truth."
"Well...that is a start," Tywin inclined his head "Best of luck with the north, Lord Stark."
The young man had managed a quick nod before leaving him. It was amusing sometimes to see how Stark minds battled with the concept of honor. On one hand, Robb considered this trial justice the same as his father did. On the other, the Lannister armies had helped him to win the northern civil war. Which code of honor was one supposed to uphold then? Support of one's allies or support of justice?
Still, Robb Stark had learned a great deal over the past several years. He was no longer the impulsive, cocky boy of the War of Five Kings. What raw talent he had for leadership had been refined. And House Stark, against all odds, would be House Lannister's strongest ally in the coming years. That was not something Tywin would have predicted seven years ago. He would not have predicted being on anything but hostile terms with any of the Starks.
But Robb Stark was not the only one who felt called to speak to him in the moments before his death. Tywin was surprised to receive a visit from Catelyn Stark shortly after the trial. Her expression was rather solemn, though he was sure it was not for him. For her daughter, of course, but not for him.
"Lady Catelyn," Tywin said. "I somehow thought we had spoken for the last time a fortnight ago."
"As had I," Catelyn said. "But there was something you said in the trial that I needed to ask you about."
Tywin gave a wave of his hand. "Ask then. Answering you won't make my current situation any worse."
"It was what you said about Robert," Catelyn said. "At the very end. Did he...truly smile? When he saw the dead children?"
Tywin raised an eyebrow. "What reason would I have to lie about that detail?"
"I'm not sure," Catelyn said. "To make it seem as if the deaths of the children were inevitable."
"They were inevitable. I did not make them seem that way," Tywin said. "And you already know that I was not trying to escape execution, so I had no reason to lie."
Catelyn exhaled, sinking into a chair across from him. "Then he did. What kind of man could bring himself to smile at such a sight?"
"A man who hated all Targaryens and wanted them dead," Tywin said. "Does that sour your good opinion of him?"
Catelyn brushed a few strands of hair away from her face. "I never had a good opinion of him. He was friendly enough at first, but he spent most of his time drinking and openly consorting with other women. Sometimes when his wife was in the room."
Yes, Tywin recalled as much. Robert never dared to dishonor Cersei in such a way when Tywin was nearby, but he heard the stories from her. And Tywin was not often in the capital in those years. "He never was a responsible man."
Catelyn twisted a ring about her finger. "No. Not a drop of responsibility in him. But I understood why Ned was loyal to him because they grew up together. But...if when he saw those children..." She shook her head. "My husband hated you for what happened to them, and he was right to do so. But he went south for Robert. He died for Robert. I don't understand that at all...if what you say is true."
"Because no matter how Robert Baratheon reacted, he did not do the deed," Tywin said. "Perhaps your husband pretended that his friend would have showed mercy. Or maybe he forgot the smile in time."
"I don't know how he could," Catelyn murmured. "He never should have come south to this rat's nest of a capital. This place was not built for men like him."
"No. It wasn't," Tywin said. "I'm sure he would be pleased by the verdict today. You can take some comfort in that I suppose."
"He would be pleased," Catelyn agreed. "Though the Dornish Prince shouldn't have brought him into it. Not when Arya was on the stand."
Tywin recalled that moment well. The one instance in the entirety of the trial when he had almost dropped his calm expression. Oberyn Martell was called the red viper for a reason. Like any snake, he knew how to find weak spots and strike fast and hard. It was amazing that Arya had held together as well as she had. "I knew that Prince Oberyn would find some time to bring the honorable Lord Stark into the trial to prove his point."
"I have no issue with that," Catelyn said. "Just with him using it against my daughter."
"Believe me, I took issue with it as well," Tywin said. "She held strong enough against it."
"She did. A picture of strength really." She glanced at him. "You truly do not deserve her."
He did not argue that point...because Catelyn Stark was quite right on that count.
They lapsed into a long silence then, and Catelyn stood to go. She said she did not want to take up anymore of his last hours.
"No need to worry about that," Tywin said. "I doubt I'll have many visitors today."
"You don't have a reputation for making friends," Catelyn said.
"No," Tywin agreed. "Watch out for her. Arya. And if she seems as if she is about to do something especially foolish...advise her not to."
"She doesn't listen to me any more than she listens to you," Catelyn said. "But I will."
"Thank you," he said. "Farewell, Catelyn."
Her hand tightened just slightly on the handle of the door, but her expression remained impassive. "Farewell, Tywin."
It occurred to Tywin later that it was the first and only time that they had not used each other's titles. Perhaps because they realized it did not matter anymore.
Tywin's next visitor surprised him as well, though not for the same reasons as Catelyn. This person he knew was fond of him, but he hadn't actually thought she would make it before he was executed. But when he looked up, Genna was bursting into the room like she always did, her riding cloak still fastened to her shoulders.
"At least they didn't throw you into some dark cell," she said, surveying his quarters. "I wouldn't have been able to visit you there. Too cold."
"I...wasn't sure you would reach King's Landing in time," Tywin said, still bewildered by her sudden appearance.
"Well you didn't give me much notice, did you?" Genna said tersely. "Kevan only a few moons in the dirt and you send me a letter saying you might soon be joining him. You two can't..." She paused, turning away for a moment to wipe at something under her eye. "You can't expect me to attend two funerals in such a short amount of time."
Tywin exhaled. "I did not mean for you to attend two funerals. Kevan...was not supposed to die."
"It didn't surprise me when I heard," Genna said. "I always knew Kevan would die following you somewhere. That was the lot he chose in life."
He didn't follow, Tywin thought grimly. He went ahead of me...before it happened.
"I always knew Tygett and Gerion would go before us," Genna said, pacing about the room. "Even though they were younger. They seemed the type to die earlier. But I had rather hoped I would go before you and Kevan. I'm not sure how I would go. Choking perhaps. Or falling from my horse. Or some plague." She was agitated. She always twisted her fingers together when she was agitated. And she couldn't keep still. "I thought...somehow...at the very least you would outlast me."
Tywin moved into her path, because her pacing was beginning to agitate him as well, catching her arms to still her. "Genna...stop."
Her jaw went taut and she glared up at him. "You realize, don't you? That after tomorrow, I'll be the last of our family. Mother and father gone long ago and all of my brothers dead. It's selfish of you to leave me with that burden."
"Would you have rather have left me with it?" Tywin raised an eyebrow.
She laughed once, but the sound was pained. "Well, you're used to it, Tywin. Taking on the burdens of our family. You made it your job since you were a child. Since father wouldn't do the job..."
Yes, she was right. Tywin had born the burdens of the Lannister name since before he became a man. And now, for the first time in so many decades, he was about to pass them off to someone else. What a strange feeling it was.
"Don't worry. I'll look after the younger ones. Jaime and Tyrion. And all of Kevan's children too," Genna murmured. "The name will continue on. Like you wanted. And I won't waste a single tear on you or any of the dead."
"Good," Tywin said. "I wouldn't deserve them."
She looked up at him with a sort of exasperated look. Then she hugged him tight. He let her, resting a hand on top of her head. For all the years that had passed and for all the people they had lost, she was still his younger sister.
He was glad she had made it before the end.
Less than an hour later, Tywin received another visitor. This one had been expected. He recognized his second son's shadow at the door before he stepped into the dim lighting. It was a shadow that Tywin had so often resented over the years-stunted and misshapen. Belonging to a child who killed his mother to come into the world. Yet still, at the end of it all, his son.
"That went as expected, I suppose," Tyrion said. "Though I'm not sure if you planned for Varys."
Tywin had planned for Varys, but he did not plan on telling Tyrion that. It was easier for one to hide a secret from their queen when one was blissfully unaware. "It didn't matter either way. I agreed to face trial knowing that Daenerys would find me guilty."
Tyrion nodded once, rubbing a hand behind his head. "It was a long affair."
"I've seen longer."
"I'm not sure I could have sat through longer," Tyrion admitted. "You know when you exiled me all of those years ago, I remember wanting to refuse the ship out of spite. Demand you put me on trial anyway. But I'm glad I didn't because...well I don't think I could have endured a trial like that. Especially is Cersei was the one gathering the witnesses." He paced over to the table where a pitcher of wine sat. They had been kind enough to provide wine at least. Tywin watched him pour. "You didn't seem bothered by it. Though maybe you were just hiding it well. Were you bothered?"
"It varied from moment to moment," Tywin said.
"Yes...I imagine it did." Tyrion crossed the room again, holding two cups of wine. He set one in front of his father. "One last drink then. Not that we had many but...it's a special occasion."
Tywin accepted the cup, taking a small sip. Tyrion finished have the drink in one go. His son was nervous. Just like Genna had been. Agitated. Not knowing what to say. Unable to keep still. Not one person knew exactly how to say goodbye.
"Is your queen satisfied with the result?" Tywin asked.
Tyrion laughed once. "I think she would have preferred it if you confessed."
"Naturally," Tywin said. "But she must have known I wouldn't give her an easy time. The people would not have believed it."
"I told her as much," Tyrion said.
Tywin sipped at his wine again. "She did not ask you to play judge or witness."
"She did," Tyrion said, lowering himself into the seat across from Tywin. "I just...asked to abstain from it. Given I was only a child when it all happened. It didn't seem I had much to add to the proceedings."
"Except for the fact that I told you what happened that night," Tywin said. "That I had, indeed, meant for my men to kill the children, if not so brutally. It seems that would have been a useful testimony to her."
Tyrion drummed his fingers against his now empty cup. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?"
"You didn't tell her," Tywin said. It was a statement not a question.
"The people won't trust a Hand who testifies against his father," Tyrion said. "I need to think about the future. I knew she would find you guilty regardless. There was no need."
"That sounds reasonable enough," Tywin acknowledged.
"Yes, I thought so too," Tyrion said, setting down his cup with a harsh 'clack' against the table. "In any case, she allowed me to abstain and avoided complicating the whole matter."
"Kind of her," Tywin said. "In any case, Varys said anything that you might have said. It would have been redundant."
Tyrion nodded, fidgeting with the pin on his chest. Tywin recognized it. It was the one he had left in his office on his desk. "It's strange to be in the Tower of the Hand again. Do you...remember when you sent me to manage Joffrey in your stead?"
"Of course I remember," Tywin said. "It wasn't very long ago."
"Feels like a lifetime," Tyrion said. "And now this...this feels the same just...more permanent."
"Your queen seems a touch easier to manage than Joffrey," Tywin said. "And if she begins to show any dangerous signs, I assume you will keep a close eye on them and act as you feel necessary."
"Yes. I will," Tyrion said. He sighed, rising to pour himself another cup of wine. "First time that I will be an official Hand and not an acting Hand. I have some rather large shoes to fill for someone so small. I think Lord Varys once told me that a small man can cast a very large shadow." He turned, a bitter smile on his face. "But then again, you always did blame me for being small."
"I didn't," Tywin said, and at those words, Tyrion's bitter smile faltered into a look of confusion.
"You could have fooled me, Father."
"I didn't blame you," Tywin said. "I hated you for it, on occasion. But perhaps that was because I couldn't blame you for it. It would have been so much easier if I could."
Tyrion seemed to shudder, looking away and drinking deeply again. There was a long silence between them, which was to be expected. They'd never been particularly good at talking to each other when they were not arguing.
"Do you know how she plans to execute me?" Tywin asked.
Tyrion shifted from foot to foot. "There are...a variety of possible methods."
Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Does one involve dragons?"
"Yes. One involves dragons." Tyrion looked back at him. "I'll argue for beheading if I can. Cleaner and more likely to be accepted by Westeros nobility."
"I'm sure Prince Oberyn would hope for a more painful method," Tywin said.
"Of course he would," Tyrion said. "But he's not Daenerys Hand. I am."
There was a hard note in his voice just then. A note of anger, perhaps, at Oberyn. Anger for Tywin's fate? He knew perfectly well he didn't deserve that from his son. But Tywin inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"Well..." Tyrion finished his drink and set the cup back on the table. "I wouldn't want to...take up any more of your time. I suppose I'll..." He trailed off as he moved toward the door. "I suppose its best we say goodbye here."
"Yes. That would be for the best," Tywin said.
Tyrion nodded once, looking as if he had so much more to say but no idea how to say it. "Farewell then...Father."
"Farewell, Tyrion."
His son slipped out the door soon afterward and Tywin heard it lock behind him. He leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. It was strange to him...that his son had any regret at all. He had expected Tyrion to be rather spiteful when he returned from across the narrow sea. He would not have been wrong to hate him. Tywin had exiled him for a crime he did not commit because it was convenient.
But, at the end of the day, Tyrion did not always do what Tywin expected.
Another hour wore on. Another hour alone with his thoughts. And then Tywin's eldest son came to the room and sat at the table across from him. They had not spoken since court and even then they had only exchanged a few words. Their last real conversation had come the day before that, when Tywin told him his intentions for the future. He had expected Jaime to argue. Of course he had. Not one of his children ever went along with his plans without putting up some argument.
But in these last moments, Tywin hoped not to argue anymore.
"So," Jaime said. "Everything went exactly as you wanted?"
"Yes," Tywin said. "It did."
"Well at least someone is happy then," Jaime said. "You're one of maybe...three people? Daenerys Targaryen, Oberyn Martell and you. What an interesting group."
"I don't think Daenerys Targaryen is happy. She hoped for me to confess and make things easier," Tywin said. "And she'll be worried about her future relationship with House Lannister. Oberyn Martell on the other hand...I do imagine he's quite happy."
"He wouldn't be if he knew that you planned this whole arrangement," Jaime said. "I don't suppose Daenerys told him that."
"I doubt it. Tyrion would have advised her not to. And she does seem to listen to him," Tywin said.
Jaime nodded once, rubbing a hand across his stump. He had forgotten his golden hand...or perhaps he had intentionally neglected to wear it.
"You never told me the full story of that day," Tywin said. "The day you killed the Mad King."
Jaime shrugged. "It...didn't seem important."
"Thousands of barrels of wildfire hidden all across King's Landing didn't seem important?"
"No, they did, but..." Jaime shook his head. "I didn't want anyone to know about them. It seemed better that way. What if a new king came along and decided one day to follow in the Mad King's footsteps and set them alight. Only this time, I wouldn't be there to stop it."
"It's possible," Tywin said. "So why didn't you tell me?"
Jaime sighed. "I...I don't know. At the time, it didn't seem to matter whether I told the truth or not. Everyone had already formed their opinions the moment they walked into the throne room and saw Aerys Targaryens blood on my sword. What did it matter why I did it? He died. That was the end of it." He looked up at him. "In any case, you were rather angry with me at the time. And I avoid talking to you when you're angry."
"Why did you think I was angry?" Tywin asked.
"Because...I became a knight of the Kingsguard and surrendered my birthright for a king who would have burned down the world if he got the chance," Jaime said. "I know you were furious at me for that."
I was far more furious at Aerys, Tywin thought. And myself. I should have told you the truth about him long before so that you would have known to refuse him.
"You were just a pawn in a game between us. A game that started before you were even born," Tywin said. "It his revenge when he named you kingsguard."
"I know that now," Jaime said. "He told me as much once. At the time I thought it had something to do with my skill with a sword. Foolish thought. In the end, being in the King's Guard wasn't much about skill. Just about watching the king do terrible things and not having the power to stop any of them." He looked up at him. "Was that what it was like as his hand?"
"I could manage some of his terrible things," Tywin said. "Not all of them."
I could not stop him from taking you from me, he thought. I could only barely stop him from going after your mother. And there was nothing I could do to save him from himself in the end.
"I saved a great many people that night when I drove a sword through his back," Jaime said. "I saved strangers. I saved enemies. I saved you. But in the end, I killed him for myself as much as the rest of you. Because he was a monster and he terrified me."
"Yes, he was a monster," Tywin murmured. "And I should have told you about him long before he named you to his Kingsguard. Then you could have refused him."
"Would he have let me refuse him?" Jaime asked.
"If he had retaliated, I would have found a way to kill him myself," Tywin said. "I should have found a way. Long before you stabbed him in the back...I should have ended him."
Jaime shrugged. "Dead is dead. It doesn't matter who did it."
Tywin inclined his head, acknowledging the point. "Do you know where he hid all of the wild fire?"
"No," Jaime said. "I can't begin to know. Beneath major thoroughfares and landmarks. Beneath the gates I expect."
"Hire men to search for them then," Tywin said. "And move them. Daenerys Targaryen is not mad yet, but we will not take the risk."
Jaime nodded once. "I'll handle it father. The wildfire and...everything else."
"What is everything else?" Tywin asked.
"Solidifying control over the west even after you're gone," Jaime said. "Maintaining strong allies but making sure House Lannister is never reliant on them. And helping Arya adjust to her new role of course. I'm exactly worried about her."
"You'll naturally have more loyalty from the western lords," Tywin said. "Since you're a Lannister by birth."
"Yes," Jaime said. "But I'll insist that they recognize her authority as well."
"Good," Tywin said.
They lapsed into silence for a while, as if they knew their last meeting was coming to an end but did not know how else to drag it out. At last, Jaime stood and Tywin stood with him. There was an uncertainty in his son. A fear. He did not think he could step into this role. It was a position he had been avoiding all of his life and he had clearly hoped to avoid it just a little bit longer.
"You'll be fine," Tywin said at last. "You're my son and heir. And I would not be leaving now if I did not think you were ready."
Jaime nodded once. "I'll...try not to disappoint you then father."
Tywin reached out then, clasping the side of his face in one hand. "You won't."
He felt his son shudder slightly beneath his palm. Then Jaime managed a nod and a soft goodbye. Moments later, he left the room and Tywin was alone again.
He sighed and slowly returned to his seat. He tried not to think of what else he should have said to his son before he left. After all, Tywin had never made a habit of regret.
It was the dead of night and Tywin did not sleep. There was no point to that. And besides. He was still waiting. Waiting for one last visitor.
Then, in the Hour of the Wolf, she came. The door creaked open one last time. Tywin looked up to see Arya slipping into the room. She had seemed to fill the room during the trial, so it was almost strange to see her then, looking very small.
For a long moment, she stood in front of the closed door, not saying a word. Then she glanced down to see Tywin's empty cup sitting beforehand.
"More wine, my lord?" she asked, as if she was his cup bearer all over again.
His mouth twitched. "Yes. Pour yourself a cup as well."