Ruby Ford, on the banks of the Trident.
The last light of sunset spilled across the rushing waters, tinting the Westerlands encampment on the shore in a heavy shade of gold and crimson.
Inside the great command tent, the deep-red banner of the Lannister lion hung behind the main seat. Candlelight flickered across Tywin's cold, stone-hewn face as he held a freshly delivered raven scroll in his hand.
The letter carried the latest rumors from King's Landing—vile whispers questioning the true parentage of Cersei and Jaime.
"Bang!"
A heavy crash shattered the silence.
Tywin's palm struck the oak war table with such force that the inkwells and map scrolls leapt into the air.
Kevan flinched at the outburst. He had never seen his brother lose control like this.
"Wretched vermin! Filthy scum!"
Tywin's head snapped up, his eyes blazing as he glared at Kevan. "Kevan! Write to Cersei at once—send a raven. Tell her to find every last one of those gossiping rats. Hang them all from the walls of the Red Keep. Let the crows peck out their eyes. Let the whole of King's Landing see what becomes of those who slander the royal family, who defame the Lannisters. Kill them all until no one dares to whisper another word!"
Kevan's heart clenched. He bowed deeply. "At once, my lord."
He hesitated, noting with unease that his brother's fury had named only Cersei, conspicuously omitting another name—Tyrion. Still, he did not dare to pry.
Instead, he ventured cautiously, "Cersei may already be overwhelmed... King Joffrey—His Grace—he..."
"Joffrey?!"
Tywin's anger flared anew, seizing a new outlet. He shot to his feet, his voice rising like a whip. "Don't mention that spoiled brat! Look what he's done! And Cersei—what kind of mother is she? She can't even control her own son! I told her to keep Eddard Stark alive, to trade him for Jaime! And what happened?!"
His voice thundered through the tent. "He butchered Eddard Stark in front of the whole of King's Landing! Now the entire realm laughs at House Lannister—for birthing a mad king who slaughters great lords with his own hand!"
Kevan stood silent, his head bowed, feeling a helpless weight settle in his chest. Joffrey's impulsive execution had indeed upended all their plans.
"Cersei... perhaps she never imagined Joffrey would act so decisively," he murmured.
"Never imagined? Hmph!"
Tywin's cold laugh cut through the air like a blade. "She didn't fail to foresee it—she failed to control it. She's foolish, short-sighted, blinded by power and her own emotions. She thinks wearing a crown makes her invincible? She's forgotten that true power is built on strength—and wisdom—on control."
He sank back into his chair, his chest rising and falling as he forced his fury back under command.
For a long moment, he sat still, rubbing his temples as the flickering candlelight reflected in his pale green eyes. Doubt shadowed his gaze.
The timing of these rumors was too perfect.
Who would dare?
A face flashed across his mind.
Varys. Only he possessed the network—the "little birds" scattered throughout King's Landing, capable of spreading whispers like wildfire.
And Littlefinger—his whores carried secrets faster than ravens. A single word from one of them, and the whole city would know by morning.
Tywin's mind worked swiftly, but he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came. Spreading such slander benefited neither Varys nor Littlefinger. At least, he saw no reason why it would.
Then, who gained from it? The only possible advantage seemed to point toward Tyrion.
Tywin did not believe his son would be so reckless—but the very suspicion was enough to ignite another spark of fury deep in his chest.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to decades past.
Thirty years ago, when he had served as Hand of the King to Aerys in King's Landing, Joanna had been forced to return to Casterly Rock after Queen Rhaella's jealousy had driven her away. They had been separated for long stretches, seeing each other only on rare visits.
And yet...
Cersei and Jaime had been born after one of those visits to the capital.
He remembered the rumors that had circulated before their marriage—that Joanna had lost her maidenhood to Aerys on the night of Jaehaerys II's coronation, and that Aerys, upon taking the Iron Throne, had briefly kept her as his mistress.
When Tywin first heard those whispers, he had flown into a rage, vowing publicly to rip out the tongues of those who dared repeat them.
And on his own wedding night, Aerys had made lewd remarks and even laid improper hands on Joanna—an offense that Tywin had never forgiven, nor forgotten.
Soon after, Queen Rhaella had driven Joanna away.
The memory made Tywin's face turn ashen-green, a faint tremor running through his chest. A sense of cold dread unfurled within him—an unease he refused to name.
He could not, and would not, think further on it.
To do so would be to profane Joanna's memory, to threaten the sanctity of the Lannister bloodline itself.
He shook his head sharply, as if to cast out the unwelcome thoughts, and forced his mind back to the present. Drawing a deep breath, he steadied his voice, his gaze hard and focused once more.
"Kevan, one more matter," he said quietly. "You will personally draft a letter, in my name, to be sent in secret to certain lords of the Stormlands and the Reach."
Kevan's brows knitted together. "That may not be easy. Renly commands the combined armies of the Reach and the Stormlands. His forces far outnumber ours. Even if some lords harbor discontent, I doubt any would dare act rashly..."
A cold smile touched Tywin's lips. From the pile of sealed messages on his desk, he plucked a specific one with precision and handed it over.
"Read this. Varys's little birds just delivered it. Seems there's unrest within Renly's grand host. Rumors are spreading through the camps of the Reach and Stormlands like wildfire."
Kevan took the missive, eyes scanning the parchment swiftly before widening in surprise.
"The rumors say Renly still has no heir? That he may even be incapable of siring one? And—Seven save us—there's worse. They say he prefers men. That Queen Margaery Tyrell is nothing but decoration?"
He inhaled sharply. "Can this be true?"
"Truth is irrelevant," Tywin replied, his voice calm and cutting. "What matters is that the rumors exist—and that people believe them. For a 'king' whose rule rests on fragile alliances, without a legitimate heir, this is the weakest point in his armor.
Add whispers that call his manhood and legitimacy into question, and every Stormlands lord resentful of the Tyrells will begin to stir. All we must do is give them a nudge—a quiet reminder that the Lannisters are willing to keep their doors open."
His gaze fixed on Kevan, though he withheld another truth: Lannister agents already lingered within Renly's army, waiting for the right spark to ignite dissent.
Kevan's expression softened into reluctant admiration.
His elder brother always saw through chaos, found the fault line in every enemy, and struck cleanly at the heart.
"I understand," he said. "I'll send the letters through our most discreet channels."
Tywin nodded, his eyes returning to the map spread before him. "The North must not be left in peace either. That young wolf cub, Robb Stark—barely had word of his father's death reached him before he crowned himself King in the North. Hmph. Brave, perhaps—but a fool nonetheless."
He lifted another parchment, scanning it quickly.
"Our spies report something interesting. Catelyn Tully, shortly after Eddard Stark's imprisonment, commanded her son to seize Jon Snow at once and use him as a hostage to secure Eddard's safety."
Kevan's eyes flickered. "Jon Snow? Rhaegar's bastard?"
Tywin nodded slowly, his expression unreadable save for the glint of cold calculation in his eyes.
"But Robb Stark concealed that order. Instead, he called his banners and marched south in defiance. And worse—he sent Theon Greyjoy, that ungrateful Kraken pup, back to the Iron Islands. The Ironborn repaid him by striking Winterfell. Eddard Stark's youngest son, Bran Stark, is said to be dead."
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "I've already written to one of the Northern lords. I stated only the facts—and the consequences. The cracks will show soon enough. When suspicion and resentment begin to fester among their camps, when their loyalty to Robb starts to waver... that will be the moment the Westerlands claim victory."
He paused, then added, "Send more letters to other Northern lords—especially those whose holds have been besieged or seized by the Ironborn. They'll recognize the wisdom—and the sincerity—of our offer."
Kevan looked into his brother's calculating eyes, both awed and unnerved.
Tywin Lannister was preparing to light two fires at once—one beneath Renly's armies, the other under Robb Stark's fragile kingdom.
Kevan bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord. I'll see it done at once."
Tywin waved him away.
The command tent fell silent once more, save for the faint crackle of candlelight flickering against the lion-embroidered walls. Shadows danced across Tywin's pale, stern face, his green eyes glinting coldly beneath the wavering flame.
He picked up the letter of rumors from King's Landing once more, fingertips brushing across the inked words. His gaze turned distant, deep, and unreadable.