When Cersei was off and away, Tywin stood and gestured to follow him. The small council room was located somewhere in the middle of the Tower of the Hand, and it was a short walk past expensive halls and up stone stairs before we reached the Hand's solar. The room that once belonged to Eddard Stark had tall, narrow windows, with an imposing mahogany desk at one end and a smoldering hearth on the other.

Tywin bid me sit on the guest's chair and rounded the desk to settle across from me. He served us both a goblet of watered wine, then he waited.

His power plays were becoming rather inelegant, at this point. I raised an eyebrow. "Yes, grandfather?"

He looked at me through stony green eyes. "Is this true?" he asked. "What your mother said. Did Margaery Tyrell visit you at night?"

"She did," I told him. "The night of the coronation, and every night since then."

He hummed into his drink. "And does she whisper suggestions in your ears?"

"Oh yes," I said, smiling. "And the good, innocent young king follows her commands like a trained little puppy."

Tywin stared at me for a moment before nodding. "Good. Let her think she has you in her hands. The Tyrells are the most powerful House after ours. They can raise a hundred thousand swords if needs be, and the Reach comes with a coin worth its weight in gold when winter comes. It is likely you will have to marry her."

"I will do it for the sake of lasting peace in the Seven Kingdoms."

Tywin made a sound that could pass for a snort. "I'm sure you will. Do not underestimate her, however. She's her grandmother's heir in all but name."

"Of course," I allowed. "But as long as Margaery is Queen, the Tyrells will not make a move. At least not until she births a male heir. After that, I'll have to take more precautions." And I would, trust me. I had no intention of being shanked the night my firstborn came into this world.

Tywin gave me a tight nod. "Good. Never underestimate your enemies, and always keep in mind what their goals are. If you know what they want, you know what next they will do. I see that, at the very least, you're not arrogant like your mother or an unambitious fool like your Uncle Jaime."

"Thank you, grandfather," I said warmly. The silence stretched on, just the way Tywin liked, and I let it. Finally, a few minutes later, I nodded to myself as if struck by some revelation about what he said. "I see," I half-whispered. "I take it Uncle Jaime has not taken you up on the offer of becoming your heir, then?"

Tywin clicked his tongue. It was clearly a sensitive topic for the old lion. "No."

"It makes sense," I compromised. "It's a lifetime commitment, after all. Their vows are until death." Then I smiled at him. "Then again, the king does have the power to oust a kingsguard from his service. For whatever reason he sees fit. Joffrey did it with Ser Barristan easily enough… tactless as it was."

Tywin gave me an inquiring look. "You would discharge your Uncle Jaime?"

"No. I would discharge him and order him to take the heirship of the West," I said. "If that be your wish, of course."

Tywin was silent for a minute, lazily stirring his goblet on one hand. "At what price?" he asked finally.

I told him, "The debt."

"You would have me clear the Iron Throne of its obligations to House Lannister?" he asked incredulously.

I barked a laugh. "No, grandfather, no. What would be the point in that? You won't recall the arrears while I sit the throne, nor while my children do. No. I would have House Lannister assume the crown's debt to the Iron Bank, instead."

It was Tywin's turn to laugh, though there was no humor there. "That's absurd. When was an heir worth almost three million gold dragons?"

I scowled. Fine, if not the carrot, the stick. "As you wish. Then I'll retain Ser Jaime and pardon my Uncle Tyrion in his upcoming trial. I'll keep the dwarf at my side until you pass away, and he'll be given the Rock the very day your body is buried beneath its crypts, to drink and whore away all you've ever built." I stood up, knocking my wine in the process. I slapped my hands down on the desk, uncaring as they stained red with wine. "Then, as your body rots and your bones break, I'll come to your tomb and ask you again if some gold was worth the name Lannister."

Tywin Lannister didn't even blink as he considered me and my words. Slowly, he rose from his seat. I only realized how much taller he was when my eyes came up to only his chest. When I finally looked up, he was staring at me with unknown emotions on his face. Anger and irritation were dead set on his gold-flecked eyes, but there was a grudging sort of pride there as well.

"Very well," he rasped. "House Lannister will assume the crown's debt to the Iron Bank, and—"

"And," I interrupted, "when the time comes, Ser Gregor Clegane will serve his King. I'll have need of him yet."

Tywin caught on quickly. "He's my sworn bannerman. I won't hand him over to appease some dornishwoman's memory."

"You won't be handing him over to anyone. When the time comes, you'll not lose any prestige over it." I sat back down as a show of respect. No need to poke at his wounded ego even more. "In return, I'll honorably dismiss my Uncle Jaime, to assume his rightful place as heir to Casterly Rock. And, for the duration of this Winter—be it a year or twenty—I'll cut the taxes to the Westerlands in ten percent."

Tywin ground his teeth loud enough I could hear his jaw clicking. "Twenty."

I smiled. It was good to be king. "Fifteen."