A dying glow lingered in Tywin Lannister's solar, the hearth's embers flickering like silent sentinels in the gathering gloom. Beyond the mullioned windows, the sea beat an ancient cadence against the cliffs of Casterly Rock, its churn a lullaby he had always found grounding.
But not tonight. Tonight, it grated.
He rose from his carved oak writing desk, its surface still stained by ink and old wine — reminders of a day wasted salvaging his father's latest folly. Lord Tytos's dalliance with House Swyft had collapsed in ruin: extravagant promises penned in coin he could not deliver. Each misstep eroded the Lannister name, and Tywin wore that stain like iron armor, uncomfortable but necessary.
And now, without a summons or scheduled audience, Lady Serena Lefford had arrived at Casterly Rock barely an hour past, her horse lamed from the hard ride, demanding to see him alone.
At first, Tywin had considered ignoring her, but he suppressed that instinct and granted her the audience.
Serena Lefford stepped in, her cloak drawn tight against the chill. She stood before him in a plain cloak of forest green and brown travelwear, her expression unreadable. Tall, calm, unsmiling — like him, she had learned how to armor herself without plate. She curtsied just deep enough to avoid insult. Her hair, the color of honeyed wheat, was braided back in a practical Westerlands style, and her eyes — light hazel, sharp — met his without hesitation. Only the whiteness of her knuckles betrayed her calm.
"Lord Tywin," she said. "Thank you for seeing me."
"You arrived unannounced," Tywin said. "Without your father. That alone makes this conversation significant. Speak."
Serena glanced toward the guards at the door.
He raised a hand. They exited.
"You may speak freely now," he said. "The guards are gone."
Tywin resumed his seat without a word as she approached the desk.
Serena nodded and untied a leather satchel from her belt. She placed it on the table between them. "What I'm about to show you is the reason I rode here without my father's leave. And the reason I do not expect to leave this room alive."
Tywin's eyes flicked from her face to the parcel.
She reached into her satchel and pulled out a bundle of parchment, bound in faded velvet. Her hands were steady as she placed it on the desk.
"These letters were meant never to be found," she said. "But I found them nonetheless. And I came here with one purpose — to show them to you before it is too late."
Tywin said nothing. He unfastened the velvet, unfolded the top letter, and began to read.
And then he stopped.
"Where did you get these?" he asked.
"My second cousin Myranda ist the wife of Lady Joanna's older brother Stafford," Serena said. "During a recent visit to Lannisport, I stayed in her rooms. I found these hidden in the spine of a book. I never told my cousin what I found and I rode here because I believe you must know — before it's too late."
Tywin read the first one again. His hand tightened with every line.
He never questions me, not truly. He believes I wait with virtue. But Aerys still watches me. And when the time comes, I will not resist him. A lion's name and a dragon's blood — what child could shine brighter?
The words felt like poison on his tongue. He read the next one.
Aerys has grown cold toward his wife, and I know what he wants. If I give him what he craves, the timing will be easy enough to control. Tywin will accept the child. Who would ever suspect? My loyalty will never be questioned.
They weren't confessions—they were strategies. Not the agony of a woman trapped, but the calculations of one who had chosen the board and placed every piece.
Tywin didn't move and didn't speak. The fire leapt, and for a moment he saw in its red tongues the shape of a newborn, half lion's mane, half dragon's wing. His jaw clenched slowly as he reread the lines.
Joanna.
He had felt something for her — not just the fondness expected of a cousin, but affection deep enough that, in rare moments, he had let it guide him. In a life ruled by discipline, Joanna had been a rare warmth.
He had thought — no, known — that she was proud, clever, and sometimes reckless. But this… this was treason wrapped in ambition and tied with deceit.
The betrayal hadn't happened yet. But it was planned.
Cold, calculated.
And he had trusted her. That was the real wound.
"Do you believe this?" he asked at last, voice as smooth as a blade's edge.
"I read it twice to be sure," Serena said, her eyes unwavering on his own. "Three times, really. Then I memorized them in case I was caught. I believe she means it."
He nodded once, slowly, but his mind was racing.
"How many others know of this?"
"No one," she said. "Not my cousin. Not my father. I rode here alone, with no escort, to avoid notice. My father would rather hasten to see me married off to some damp brute from Blacktyde than let me speak a word of this, if he knew about it."
He looked up sharply.
"My youngest brother serves at Crakehall, pledged to your banner. Another trains at Pendric Hills. I would neither endanger nor tempt them with knowledge of this."
Tywin's voice was flat. "And why bring this to me?"
"Because when the lion falls, it drags down everything it stands on." Her voice cracked, not with fear, but urgency. "I would not see House Lefford fall when your enemies feast on the ruins of yours. If you marry her — if you raise the Prince's child as your heir — your house will rot from within. One day, someone will learn the truth. And it will destroy you. And us. I will not watch my brothers perish over rumors and bastard blood "
The logs in the hearth crackled, the Rock's walls seemed to heave with unseen breath.
Tywin stared at her.
She wasn't begging. She wasn't bluffing. She looked ready for whatever came next.
"Why not use it to your advantage?" he asked with a voice colder than the sea. "Leverage for power. Favor. A match."
Serena shook her head and lifted her chin. "I ask for only one thing in return."
"And that is?"
"A clean death. No pain, no scandal, no disgrace for my family. Just — a quick end."
Tywin blinked. "You believe I would kill you for telling me the truth? For warning me of a betrayal?"
"No," she said. "But I know men. Truth does not protect women when they carry dangerous things. I would rather you grant me peace now than let rumor or revenge find me later."
For a long moment, silence filled the solar.
Tywin regarded her in silence. And then, for the first time that night, he smiled — an expression that did not reach his eyes. He laid the letters down and looked at her again, as if truly seeing her for the first time.
"You know what I find most remarkable, Lady Serena?"
She didn't answer.
"That you did not come to barter. You came to burn. You came to save your house by lighting fire to mine, hoping I would stamp it out well before it reached yours."
Her voice softened. "And will you?"
"I will do more than that."
He folded the letters neatly and stared at them. Here lay the ultimate betrayal, wrapped in familiar handwriting and delivered with trust.
"You will not die today. Not tomorrow either. You will stay here under my protection until I decide what must be done and determine your fate. You'll say you are assisting my sister with household matters. That will suffice."
Her brows drew together, confused. "Why spare me?"
"Because you've done more for my house than half the lords who wear my colors. Because you could have ruined me — and didn't. And because I see value in courage."
He glanced at her again — not with warmth, but with the cold appraisal of a man weighing alliances, bloodlines, risks. He had buried sentiment long ago. At least in most cases. But strategy... strategy was always alive.
He rose again. Walked to the hearth. Stared into the fire.
He didn't burn the letters. Not yet.
Let them remain. Let them remind him.
He turned back, and for the first time that night, his voice softened by a sliver.
"And if your father threatens you again with Blacktyde, you may tell him this: House Lefford is now under the personal favor of Tywin Lannister. Let him make of that what he will."
She blinked, confusion flickering across her face. "You would say that, even now?"
"I protect what is mine. You brought me this truth. That makes you mine now."
Her breath hitched at that—whether from alarm or relief, even she didn't seem to know.
And somewhere, deep beneath the Rock, where ancient kings had whispered vows and plotted wars, something ancient stirred — an echo of a lion's roar, or perhaps the whisper of what was yet to come.