Harrenhal was everything the tales said it was. Dizzyingly tall towers, thick curtains walls that not even giants could break down, rooms that could fit thousands comfortably. It was one man's massive ambitious mind brought to life. Harren the Black was many things, and history would not remember him as any sort of hero, but it could not be said that he did not do things by half measure.
Even in the state of decay that the fortress was in, it was still one of the most, if not the most, fortified castle in all of Westeros. Casterly Rock was unassailable, and Winterfell was said to be impenetrable, but Harrenhal was one of a kind.
As Tywin looked out over the ruins, his men like specks of red down below, Ser Harys Swift explained to the rest of the council what had happened at Riverrun. The Knight of Cornfield looked ragged in his foolish-looking yellow and blue armor. He looked more like a rooster than the one of his sigil.
"It was a catastrophe," the old knight said wearily. "Ser Jaime captured at the Whispering Wood, Lord Brax drowned crossing the Tumblestone. They seemed to be everywhere."
"What happened to Ser Forley Prester?" Ser Kevan, Tywin's younger brother, asked.
"Last I saw, he was retreating west," Ser Harys responded. "If he was caught, of that I have no clue. Once I saw the drawbridge open and the garrison sally out, I knew the battle was lost."
"You ran." Tyrion, Tywin's youngest, commented.
"I brought word to my liege lord." Ser Harys retorted angrily.
Tywin resisted the urge to scoff. He would have heard of Jaime's defeat soon enough. The only safe place for the remainder of Jaime's host was here at Harrenhal or at the Golden Tooth which separated the Riverlands from the Westerlands.
"Your service is appreciated, ser," Kevan said, calming the tension between Tywin's son and the knight. "Go, find a bed and food."
Tywin did not see the man leave, but heard his boots and the closing of the door.
"This does not bode well for us, brother," Kevan said gravely.
Kevan wasn't wrong. The Stark boy had proven to be smarter than Tywin anticipated. Ambushing Jaime while luring Tywin's own army away from Harrenhal had been annoyingly clever and extremely successful for the boy. Most of Jaime's host of fifteen thousand had been wiped out by the northern army, with the likes of Addam Marbrand and other Westerland nobles now in Stark's hands.
Not to mention Jaime.
Now the 'Young Wolf' was in the perfect position to bring the lords of the Riverlands under his banner. It put Tywin in a precarious position. He stood between the Starks and King's Landing, but barely anything stood between the northern army and the gold-rich Westerlands. Tywin had left a strong garrison at the Golden Tooth when he had first entered the Riverlands, but against a host the size of Starks, it wouldn't hold for long.
Thankfully, the Stark boy wouldn't dare attack west, not when his precious father was still imprisoned in King's Landing.
"We should go after them now." Ser Raynald Westerling urged. "They're still gathering their forces. We should attack them before they are at full strength."
"They have more men than us," Kevan answered grimly. "We all heard Ser Harys' report. Jaime had to split his army into three camps to attack the castle." Kevan now addressed the entire council. "We know what the boy wants, and we have it. I say we trade Jaime and the others for Lord Stark and his daughters."
A few others muttered their agreement, but most were simply waiting to see what Tywin would say. The older men in the council had been on campaign with the Lord of Casterly Rock before and knew that whatever he said, that would be done. He would allow his commanders to bicker and debate, but in the end, his word was law.
Tyrion scoffed from his position at the other end of the table. He was cradling a glass of wine in his hand as he looked around at the council. He had been a late addition to Tywin's camp, emerging from the Mountains of the Vale with a host of a few hundred mountain clansmen. So far, they had proven….useful. Especially against the paltry force of infantry that Stark had sent after Tywin to lure him east.
"I doubt he'll agree Uncle," the dwarf remarked grimly. "What's to stop him from coming here? After all, we are all that's left between him and his dear father. As you say, he does have more men than us and will gain more by the day as the Lords of the Riverlands, who hate us by the way, join his side."
"Stark is as green as grass. He wouldn't dare attack us." Lord Marbrand countered. "Harrenhal is impregnable."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "That 'green' boy just made us look like fools." he pointed out. "We would do well to not underestimate him. He has proven that he is unafraid to take risks. Now he has the Blackfish at his side, and we know what that means."
The others frowned but didn't disagree with the Imp. Brynden Tully was an experienced veteran who would keep Robb Stark from making any foolish mistakes. Tywin couldn't help but be impressed with his son, although he would never say it outright. Besides, the Old Lion had other things on his mind than the Stark boy in the north. Cersei and Joffrey were continuing to show their ineptitude, turning King's Landing into a chaotic mess. He had been named Hand of the King, but Tywin couldn't afford to leave the battlefield. Robb needed to be dealt with, and soon.
Not to mention Renly and Stannis Baratheon. Robert's brothers had each raised armies of their own, placing crown's that they had no rights to on their heads.
A knock at the door interrupted Tywin's thinking. He turned around, gazing at the door.
"Come," he said, his tone cold and unwelcoming.
A boy poked his head in, gazing anxiously into the emerald eyes of the most dangerous man in Westeros. He cleared his throat and entered the room fully, his hands fidgeting with the little message.
"Forgive me, m'lord, but a message from the Capital," he stuttered.
Tyrion sighed and held out his hand, gesturing for the boy to give it to him. The messenger quickly pressed the note into the Imp's hand, bowed, and left as fast as he could. Tyrion unrolled the note, scanning the words before tossing the parchment on the table.
"Fuck." he muttered, taking a long drink of wine.
"Speak," Tywin ordered.
Tyrion passed the message to his uncle while he spoke. "Ned Stark is dead," he said bluntly. "Joffrey took his head on the steps of the Sept of Baelor. So now the Starks will never accept peace and the Faith can't be particularly happy either."
The other commanders groaned, looking at one another. Tywin glared at them all while Kevan offered the message to him. He took it without looking, his eyes still gazing at his council. After a moment, he looked down at the message. It was from Pycelle, Tywin's informant in the Red Keep.
E. Stark killed. Beheaded at the Sept of Baelor on the king's command.
Tywin frowned and put the message down. Cersei and her son had placed their family in a dangerous position. Ned Stark was the only prisoner capable of getting Jaime back. Without him, the Stark girls would not be enough to get his son released, nor any of the other prisoners Stark had.
"We should retreat to King's Landing," one man started before being interrupted.
"We would be seen as weak by our enemies," another shot back angrily. "We should rally out full strength and go after the Stark boy!"
"No surrender!" One growled.
"We should return to Casterly Rock…."
The argument continued to grow as more began offering their thoughts, talking over each other. Within moments, Tywin's war council of veteran campaigners partially collapsed into chaos as they began shouting amongst each other. The only ones who didn't take part were Kevan and Tyrion, both of whom were looking at Tywin.
"They have my son!" Tywin snapped, his voice silencing the room in an instant.
Kevan sighed, looking over at his brother. "Perhaps it's time we sued for peace," he said.
The quiet after the comment was shattered by the sound of glass breaking. All eyes turned to Tyrion, who had knocked his glass to the floor. He looked down at the mess calmly before turning his gaze on his uncle.
"There's your peace," he said sarcastically. "My nephew saw to that when he took Ned Stark's head. Robb Stark is winning, and he knows it, in case you hadn't noticed."
Tywin's councilors grumbled, but none would say that the Imp was wrong. Robb Stark had proven, with one victory, that he was just as deadly as the Baratheon brothers. Renly had the army, and Stannis had proven himself a fine strategist, but the Young Wolf was not an enemy to be taken lightly. He too had a good army, good commanders at his side, and a just cause that would endear him to the rest of Westeros.
"All of you out," Tywin ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The other lords looked at each other before following the order. As they filed out, Tyrion went to leave as well, but not before his father stopped him.
"Not you," he said.
Tyrion sighed and walked over to a seat next to his father, jumping up into it. He reached forward to pour himself wine, but his father beat him to it, grabbing the pitcher and pouring the purplish-liquid for him. Tyrion watched the process with a confused, slightly shocked look, but said nothing, gently grabbing the glass when his father put down the pitcher.
"You were right to say what you did," Tywin said, his voice passive. "The Stark boy will not be placated by his sisters alone. If we had Eddard Stark, then we could have brokered peace with Winterfell and Riverrun and turned our attention to Robert's brothers. Now that is no longer an option. You know this."
It wasn't a question but a fact.
Tyrion nodded slowly. "So what are we going to do?"
"You will go back to King's Landing," Tywin said firmly.
Tyrion scoffed. "And do what?" He asked sarcastically.
"Rule," Tywin stated. "You will bring the boy king and his equally foolish mother to heel as I deal with Stark."
Tyrion couldn't stop the shock from showing on his face. "Me? Surely there are others who can…." he stammered before his father cut him off.
"Because you are my son, and you are a Lannister," Tywin said simply. "And if you catch a whiff of treason from the others; Varys, Baelish, Pycelle…."
"Heads. Spikes. Walls." Tyrion finished before adding after a moment. "You know Cersei won't like this."
The Old Lion waved aside his son's concern. "She will do as I say," he said simply. "I will give you a message for her. There can be no more problems. I will not have our house fall to ruin."
Tyrion could only nod. "I will do as you ask," he said quietly, downing the last of his wine and waddling out.
"Tyrion," Tywin called after his son.
"Yes, Father?" Tyrion asked, turning slightly.
"Do not bring that whore with you. Do you understand?"
Tyrion didn't answer, simply nodding once before walking out.
Tywin watched him go. Not for the first time, the Old Lion wondered how the son he hated had ended up with everything he wanted in an heir. Jaime was a great swordsman, but he was naive and arrogant. Cersei thought herself clever, but she had the cunning of a blunt sword. She wielded her power like a bear with a sore head, lashing out at anything that annoyed her.
No, Tyrion was not like his siblings. He thought things through and was usually right in the end. When he faced an opponent, his ability to verbally attack someone with his mixture of intelligence and sarcasm left people angry and speechless. And when he sensed a weakness in someone, he exploited it and used it to his advantage, whether that meant gaining that person as an ally or destroying them soundly and without mercy.
Tywin had heard his son's version of the events that occurred in the Eyrie. He had managed to get around the Tully girls and recruit the Mountain Clans of the Vale to make his own personal army. Indeed, Tyrion was more capable than Tywin wanted to admit.
But he was a dwarf, and Tywin would rather drink the worst poison imaginable before he allowed him to become Lord of the Rock.