Back to past tense

I heard him before he even turned the corner. Nobody walks like Tywin fucking Lannister. The raw purpose present in his every step is simply formidable, and it was aimed right at me.

I had a million things to do today, but I’d been resting on my sunny bench by the alcove for a good half hour after Margaery left. It’s a small miracle to find a cozy spot in the Red Keep that’s not full of adulating courtiers and doesn’t smell like human shit.

But as I saw Tywin zero-down on me from across the hall, the color of his red doublet matching his temper, I knew my peace was to come to an early end. I didn’t mind it. I wasn’t made for peace. Never saw the point of it.

I greeted him when he made it past Ser Balon. “Grandfather.” I pointed across from me to where Margaery sat a while before. Same venue, different public. It’s a whole different show, like as not. “I thought you would’ve been the first to ambush me today.”

He didn’t even look at the bench, just stood in front me. Guy’s got a hard on for staring people down. “Finished with your bed warmer for the day, did you?” he snarked.

Fun fact about Tywin. If you annoy him enough he becomes as sassy as a teenage girl. Did he think I’d take calling Margaery my bed warmer personally and snap at him like a spoiled child whose toy was about to be taken away? As far as I know, that’s as accurate a description of what she is to me as anything, betrothal notwithstanding.

“Not for the day, no,” I said, smiling. “I’m sure I’ll see her later.” Then I put my feet up on the bench and crossed them at the ankle.

“I thought you were smarter than this, Tommen,” he said. “What happened today was a farce. You should have recused yourself, as I said. You let yourself be blinded by whatever love you have for that hateful little creature. You even let him defend himself after every witness.”

Tywin lecturing me about letting my feelings over someone mask my view of reality is precious. Especially when we’re talking about Tyrion.

“You mean I gave him a fair trial?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I still sentenced him, didn’t I?”

“To that sham of a trial by combat, you mean.”

I waved a hand. “If you wish to complain about a trial by combat, you can take it to the High Septon. I have no hand in what the Gods decide.”

“The Gods…” he seethed. “Do I look like a fool to you? That I don’t know that uncultured thug follows your word? You should have—”

“Should have what?” I cut in. “Told you what I was going to do? And give you the chance to summon the Mountain from whichever hole you stash him in? Or give you the chance to be rid of Tyrion’s champion? I think not.”

His eyes flashed. “You don’t think you should have trusted me with your plans? When I am your Hand?”

I snorted. The nerve on the fella. “The last king that trusted Lord Tywin Lannister got his city sacked and a knife on his back for his troubles.”

I swore a vein popped on his head; Aerys was a touchy topic with Tywin. But before he could snap back at me, a door banged open from the opposite side of the corridor Tywin came from and loud chatter filled the halls.

As if I meant to do it all along, I slowly stood from the bench and fixed my fancy black and gold coat. Just as a group of lower-standing Reacher lordlings and heirs, some just a scant few years older than myself, rounded the bend behind us and came into view. By the level of their laughter they were no doubt well within their cups. They had come for Margaery’s wedding with Joffrey, and had stayed over after the disaster. When you’re as rich and powerful as lords and ladies are in their own corner of the Seven Kingdoms—all with almost no accountability—there’s no end to parties, you just drink long enough until the next one starts.

They didn’t count on barging into the conversation of the two most powerful men in Westeros, however, to whom their feeble local power meant nothing. Their faces were a picture.

Twyin and I pretended we weren’t at each other's throats just a minute ago long enough for them to bow their way back from where they came from, uttering apologies and proclamations of loyalty all the way.

The doors closed behind them with a click this time. Tywin motioned with his hand, and two of his men went to either end of the corridor, no doubt to look out for and stop any new comers.

We had been half-whispering up until that point, so much so I don’t think even our guards heard our conversation. There was no need to have the whole court thinking the king and his hand weren’t seeing eye to eye. That’s a recipe for a civil war, right there. Especially when the Old Lion was involved.

I was sure Varys or one of his little birds was listening in on us. The walls had ears in the Red Keep, as they say, but I doubt our conversation was any news to him, even if they could pick out our voices. For those in the know, what happened in the Great Hall earlier today was obvious enough.

“Do you know why I did what I did?” I started again. “Why I arranged so Meryn would die and Tyrion walked away free?”

With his composure regained during our interruption, he played uninterested. His weathered face turned almost mocking. “Go on, enlighten me, Your Grace.”

“Tyrion is my assurance, my lord. My assurance against you. I’ll keep him by my side from now on. Give him a post on the Small Council. I know you won’t contrive to have him killed, even if you wouldn’t mind him stumbling into his death. Jaime might be your heir, but if I ask…” I opened my arms and shrugged. “Well, we both know he holds no love for the business of lording, don’t we?”

Tywin seemed to freeze for a moment. “You would go against my word, about my own lands?” His voice was a cold whisper.

Fun fact about Tywin number two. He respects power above everything. If I show him too much deference, he’ll walk right over me. But if I go too far, he’ll drown my entire family in a castle. It’s a tricky little balancing act.

I lifted an arm to assuage him. “Not if I could avoid it,” I said. “The Westerlands are my biggest supporters, and as you say, Tyrion isn’t fit to rule there. The lords won’t support him. But you’ve abandoned a king before, my lord. So long as you don’t betray me while you live, I won’t go against your wishes on the succession of the Westerlands, even after your time.”

I could still see the flicker of irritation in the set of his brow. He’s a man unused to being told off by someone. In his mind, neither kings nor gods are above a Lannister.

“Very well,” he said. “Keep your word, Tommen. Or you’ll see if I truly wouldn’t kill off one of my own.” Then he turned to leave.

I only nodded. Fair enough, even if I knew he was bluffing. Until I had a kid, I was the only Lannister the realm would accept as king. That gave me a good-sized wiggle room to poke the lion’s tail.

Then I remembered something, and quickly strode after him before he got too far away. “Oh, and grandfather.” He slowed until we were walking side by side, like the good little buddies that we were—death threats aside. “Believe it or not, I didn’t save Tyrion just to annoy you. He’s innocent, plain and simple.”

Tywin frowned. “You can’t know that.”

“And yet I do,” I said. This time, I made sure to whisper: “And you’ll help me catch the culprit, and the little dove that flew right out of our hands.”