Before long, only Tywin, Kevan, and Tyrion remained in the room.
Tyrion kept sipping his ale. "So—how goes the war?"
"The fighting has gone smoothly enough so far," his uncle replied. "Edmure Tully split his forces into small patrols along the borders to block our raids. Your father and I smashed most of them before they could regroup."
"Your brother Jaime has been winning victory after victory," his father added. "He first mustered outside Golden Tooth, where he routed the armies of Lord Vance and Lord Piper. Then he met the Tully host in pitched battle beneath Riverrun. The result? The riverlords were utterly broken. Edmure Tully and many of his bannermen were swept up in one stroke. Lord Blackwood scraped together a handful of men and fled back into Riverrun, where he's now shut up behind the walls. Jaime has the castle under siege. The rest scattered like frightened birds, each running home."
"And your father and I are hunting them down one by one," said Ser Kevan. "Without Blackwood to hold the line, Raventree Hall fell at once. Lady Whent, short of men, surrendered Harrenhal. Ser Gregor burned Piper and Bracken lands bare..."
"So no one left in the Riverlands can stand against you?" Tyrion asked.
"There are still a few bones to gnaw," Kevan said. "House Mallister still holds Seagard, and Walder Frey is gathering men at the Twins."
"They don't matter," said Tywin. "The Freys won't march unless they smell victory, and right now the air reeks of Tully defeat. As for Jason Mallister, he hasn't the strength to fight alone. Once Riverrun falls, both houses will bend the knee. Unless Stark or Arryn marches, this war is already won."
"If it were me, I wouldn't fret over the Arryns. The Blackfish might turn up with a few men—he is a fish, after all—but the Starks are another matter," Tyrion said.
"Eddard Stark is our hostage," Tywin reminded him. "He's rotting in the dungeons under the Red Keep, in no shape to lead men to war."
"True enough," Kevan agreed. "But his son has summoned the banners. He commands a host at Moat Cailin."
"So our beloved King Robert has suffered an accident," Tyrion said dryly.
"You are perceptive," his father replied. "You've grown on this journey home. It seems a brush with death has taught you something. You handled Leo Lefford well just now."
"When challenged, you answer with iron and blood. When they kneel, you raise them up yourself—else no one will kneel again," Tyrion said. "But let's get back to the Starks..."
Tywin rose, pacing the table. "Your nephew rules in King's Landing now—along with your sister."
"No surprise there," said Tyrion. "I've no interest in that cesspit. All I ask is that little Joff keeps Lord Eddard alive..."
"He will," Tywin answered.
Tyrion let out a breath. He knew unless he flew back himself, Eddard Stark was as good as dead. That left only one other matter.
"Robb Stark's army..."
"Is gathering at Moat Cailin," Kevan repeated.
"His mother's a Tully. He won't just sit by," Tyrion said. "My brother's in danger at Riverrun. I suggest we send ravens at once..."
Tywin let out a cold snort. "It seems you've still much to learn. If Robb Stark means to reach Riverrun, there's only one crossing on the river."
"The Twins," Tyrion answered. "The Frey lands."
"Late Lord Walder Frey," Tywin said. "I doubt he'll rush to choose sides while the outcome remains uncertain."
"True, Lord Walder never stirs unless profit drives him," Tyrion agreed. He couldn't reveal his foresight, so he pressed another way. "But what if he's offered a prize greater than defying you?"
"What?" Tywin frowned, Kevan turning to listen as well.
"Picture it," Tyrion said, spinning the tale. "Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, marching south with his lords, desperate to cross at the Twins."
"And his mother urging him to hurry, to save her kin," Tyrion went on. "That foolish woman—she's rash enough to do anything."
"So what would Lord Walder seek at such a moment? He's long schemed to raise House Frey among the great families..."
"Then it won't be as simple as a toll," Kevan said.
"He'll demand marriage," Tywin finished.
"Exactly," Tyrion said with a thin smile. "If Robb Stark agrees to take a Frey bride, what do you think Lord Walder will do?"
"That's only conjecture," Tywin said, though his tone carried a note of doubt. "Wars aren't won on guesses."
"Still, there's no harm in caution," Tyrion pressed. "It's my dear brother's life on the line. You won't risk that, will you? A warning in a letter costs us nothing."
Tywin gave a slow nod. "You have a point."
"But since we're on the subject of Catelyn Stark," Tyrion added, "she said something to me in the Eyrie."
"What?" Tywin asked, already setting pen to paper.
"She spoke of the Mad King," Tyrion said. "Hints that I might be..."
"Rumors," Tywin cut him off, firm and final, eyes fixed on his writing. "I thought none in the Seven Kingdoms still dared sully the Lannister name, yet there are always fools bold enough to test my wrath."
"These poisonous lies will vanish with the Riverlords," Tywin said, his quill digging so deep it scored the parchment. "When I take Riverrun, Hoster Tully will kneel and beg pardon for his daughter's madness."
"Tyrion," Kevan spoke up, "you were born with green eyes. But that night, you burned with a fever that wouldn't break. By morning, when it finally passed, one eye had turned pale violet. The maesters of Casterly Rock recorded it in detail. It was illness—nothing more."
Tyrion nodded. "The rumors don't trouble me. I only thought to mention them."
"And Father," he added, "at the end of that letter, write this: if the tide turns against you, don't waste yourself trying to claim Robb Stark's head. Your safe return means more than anything."