On the northern bank of the Blackwater River, Tywin Lannister, Duke of Casterly Rock, was inspecting his army, but his expression was grim.
Like Samwell, he had his fair share of problems to deal with.
While Tywin held the advantage in territory—controlling the Crownlands, the Westlands, and portions of the Riverlands, Vale, and the North—on paper, his position seemed superior to Samwell's. However, in reality, the southern forces clearly had the upper hand.
The Reach was the wealthiest and most populous region of Westeros, providing Samwell with an abundance of soldiers. In contrast, Tywin could fully rely only on the Westlands. The North, Riverlands, and Vale—though nominally under his control—were far weaker due to years of war and hesitant to fully support the Lannisters.
The influence of the Starks, Tullys, and Arryns—the "Wolf, Fish, and Falcon"—still loomed large in these regions.
Though Tywin had propped up new allies like House Bolton, House Frey, and House Waynwood, these families could not yet fully replace the influence of the traditional rulers.
Many families loyal to the Starks, Tullys, and Arryns, while unable to openly defy the Lannisters, still covertly resisted. For instance, they had sent old men, sickly soldiers, and young boys to "support" Tywin's war effort.
Nominally, the forces loyal to King's Landing numbered 80,000, but Tywin knew that perhaps only half of them were battle-ready.
He dared not rebuke the northern families, fearing it would push them into open rebellion and destabilize his rear.
In truth, his rear was already on the brink of unrest.
In the Vale, House Royce openly questioned the legitimacy of Lady Anya Waynwood's appointment as Warden of the Vale, accusing her of imprisoning young Lord Robert Arryn for her own gain.
In the Riverlands, House Tully had gone a step further. Led by Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, they seized Riverrun and declared independence.
In the North, while Winterfell remained under the control of House Bolton and the last Stark heir, seven-year-old Rickon, served as a puppet, Tywin knew that many northern families despised Lord Roose Bolton. With the northern army deployed south, the region was growing dangerously unstable.
Tywin had hoped that with winter approaching, Samwell would delay his campaign, giving him time to consolidate power in the North, Vale, and Riverlands. But to his dismay...
Even after bribing the Braavosi with vast sums, Tywin found himself unable to dissuade the Storm King from launching his war.
News had just arrived that Samwell's vanguard had left Bronze Gate and was advancing toward the forward camp on the southern bank of the Blackwater.
Faced with this, Tywin had no time to address the brewing chaos in his rear. He was now forced to make a critical decision:
Should he abandon the forward camp and retreat to the northern bank, using the Blackwater as a natural defensive barrier, or send reinforcements to hold the position?
---
Lost in thought, Tywin returned to the Red Keep under guard.
"Send for Tyrion," he instructed.
"Yes, my lord."
Tywin entered his study, unrolled a sheet of parchment, and picked up a quill. But for a long time, he didn't write a word.
The room remained deathly quiet until a knock broke the silence.
"Enter."
Tyrion pushed the door open, his usual smirk on his face.
"If you're asking about the state of our supplies, I'm afraid there's no good news. We're running dangerously low on grain—"
"The grain isn't an issue," Tywin interrupted curtly. "The Braavosi will soon deliver a shipment."
Tyrion gave a playful whistle.
"Who knew the Sealord was such a generous friend?"
Tywin's lips twitched slightly, betraying his irritation. He wasn't about to admit that he'd promised the Sealord ten years' worth of gold from the mines of Casterly Rock in exchange for this "friendship."
"I have a task for you."
"By all means, command me."
"The unrest in the North, Vale, and Riverlands cannot continue unchecked. I've decided—"
"Father," Tyrion interrupted with exaggerated alarm, "you're not planning to send me to quell rebellions, are you? Surely my failure in Dorne taught you I'm not the miracle worker you imagine me to be."
"I don't expect you to crush rebellions," Tywin replied coldly. "I expect you to marry."
"That sounds much simpler." Tyrion's curiosity was piqued. "And which unfortunate lady has been sentenced to life with a dwarf?"
Tywin ignored his son's sarcasm and stated plainly:
"Sansa Stark."
"Eddard Stark's eldest daughter? She's been in your custody all this time?"
Tyrion's mind flashed to the image of the innocent, red-haired girl he'd seen at court. His heart unexpectedly skipped a beat.
Merciful gods, could you finally be smiling upon me?
Or is this just another cruel jest?
Tywin didn't answer his question. Instead, he rose and motioned for Tyrion to follow.
"Come with me."
---
Curious, Tyrion followed his father out of the study and up to the top floor of the Tower of the Hand, where a heavily guarded door awaited them.
The guards bowed as Tywin approached.
"Open it."
"Yes, my lord."
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and Tywin entered first, with Tyrion close behind.
"This is your bride," Tywin announced, gesturing to a red-haired girl standing timidly in the corner of the room.
Tyrion scrutinized her, then frowned.
"This is Sansa Stark?"
The girl appeared to be around fifteen or sixteen, with striking auburn hair and large, dark eyes. She bore a passing resemblance to Sansa Stark, but Tyrion knew immediately she wasn't the real Sansa.
"I say she is, so she is," Tywin said flatly.
The girl shrank back, head bowed, avoiding the gaze of both men.
Tyrion shook his head.
"I understand you want to use this marriage to placate the northern families, but if they discover this deception, it will only enrage them further."
Unmoved, Tywin replied,
"They haven't seen Sansa Stark in years. How many still remember her face? At this age, girls change quickly. A slight difference in appearance is perfectly natural.
Besides, Rickon Stark is on his way from Winterfell to attend the wedding. He will personally hand his sister's hand to you."
Tyrion shrugged.
"A seven-year-old's endorsement? That's hardly convincing."
Tywin's patience began to wear thin.
"Belief is their concern. Your job is to marry her. With Eddard Stark's eldest son at the Wall and his second son missing, if Rickon were to meet with an 'accident'..."
Tyrion noticed the cold glint in his father's golden eyes.
"Then your wife would become the heir to Winterfell," Tywin continued. "And through her, you will control the North's most important stronghold."
"And I won't need to concern myself with inheriting Casterly Rock, will I?" Tyrion quipped.
Tywin didn't deny it. Turning toward the door, he said,
"Spend some time getting to know your future wife. I'll see that the wedding is arranged promptly."
---
As Tywin reached the door, Tyrion spoke again.
"Father, if Jaime continues to refuse Casterly Rock, would you ever consider me—"
"Forget Casterly Rock!" Tywin snapped, spinning around, his voice cold and sharp. "I will never allow a dwarf to sit as Warden of the West. You'd reduce this family to a laughingstock, just like my father did!"
Tyrion remained calm, meeting his father's anger with quiet satisfaction.
"So that's it," he said softly. "You fear I'd make the family a joke. For a while, I thought I wasn't your son."
Tywin's eyes flickered.
"The world knows you bear my name. I've given you your due. Don't expect more."
With that, he stormed out.
Watching his father's retreating figure, Tyrion suppressed a host of unspoken questions, instead muttering,
"Has Jaime returned? I'd like him to attend my wedding."
Tywin paused briefly before answering without turning back.
"He should make it in time."
"Good," Tyrion said with a wry smile.
Once Tywin was gone, he turned to the girl in the corner and softened his tone.
"What's your name?"
"Sansa Stark," she replied hesitantly.
"I meant your real name," Tyrion said gently. "Don't bother lying; I've met the real Sansa."
The girl trembled, her voice barely audible through her tears.
"Jeyne Poole."
(End of Chapter)