I set the crossbow in my lap down on the floor, leaning it against the side of my desk. Yet not much more than a minute after I was alone I found Tywin Lannister walking through my door.
...
"I noticed the Greyjoy girl just left from here," he idly noted as he seated himself. No, not idly. Tywin Lannister was never idle.
"Yes," I said. "And with any luck she'll prove herself quite useful to me."
Tywin gave a curt nod. "Care to enlighten me?" he said.
"Of course," I said, and then gave him the abridged version of my encounter with Asha, watching his eyes observe mine carefully, almost warily. There was hint of approval in his gaze as I described my threats, and then concern at the deal I had struck.
"A foolish notion," he said bluntly after I was done. "You have lured a hostage. Throw her in the tower cells and use her against her uncles. Why let leverage go?"
"Because whilst Victarion might care," I said, "Euron won't, and it is he who sits the Seastone Chair. And she came to me willingly besides. What would it say of the honour of the new king if he ordered a guest he invited to be imprisoned without just cause?"
"So instead you will place her in prime position to threaten our trade with Essos?" Tywin asked, his unchanging expression shifting just enough to hint at incredulousness. "You would place such great faith in a Greyjoy?"
"I will place her in prime position to deplete the fleets that Daenerys Targaryen might use to one day darken my door," I retorted.
"The fleets of slavers, which comprise the majority of trade passing through the Stepstones in any case. Even if she turns on me most of the damage she will be able to do will be to them. The trading ships of Tyrosh, Myr, Lys and the like frequent those routes far more than any Westerosi fleet.
And I do not expect her to turn traitor so easily. Not after impressing upon her the intent behind my threats. Not after taking hostages of my own and placing one of mine among hers." I waved my hand dismissively through the air.
"The potential damage she can do is relatively minor in comparison to the benefit she can deliver.
By placing Asha on the Seastone Chair instead of smashing it to pieces I can save us a costly occupation, and preserve the lives of the fighting men who could be put to much better use elsewhere - like in the Vale or the North. In this case, winning the war is almost trivial; winning the peace almost impossible. Hence Asha's importance."
Tywin nodded, still unsatisfied, but willing to accede to me that much. "And how do you intend to win the war?"
"Lady Asha gave me more than just her allegiance, she also gave me confirmation of something my men had long suspected but never been able to prove," I lied, grinning and gesturing to the door.
"You see, Euron is planning an attack on the Reach, with the hopes to plunder as much as possible and build the necessary power and support among the other ironborn captains needed for more ambitious plots. I intend to take full advantage of the opportunity this plan presents. As such, grandfather, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to send for Lord Randyll?"
He stood from his seat in silence, ventured briefly beyond the door to relay my orders to one of the guards, and then came back in and reclaimed his seat.
"The man you intend to place among Asha Greyjoy's crew, who will he be?"
I shrugged. "That has yet to be decided, but I was rather thinking Sandor Clegane might suffice."
Tywin quirked an eyebrow. "Once a turncoat a man cannot be trusted. And you expect the Hound to keep the Greyjoy girl honest?"
"I'll have leverage to ensure his loyalty," I answered. "At least according to what Arya tells me of their journey through the Riverlands. Give the two one last meeting and I do believe he'll do anything to come back to her.
To be frank, he's the only real fighter I can think of who we can afford to take such risks with. If Asha kills him, it will be no great loss to us. Same if he turns tail. But if he redeems himself I'll have one more man at my disposal. The only alternative I can think of might be one of the Kettleblacks, but given they are still spies for Baelish I don't want him getting any funny ideas about forging alliances with the ironmen."
"If they are spies then why haven't you rooted them out?" Tywin asked, apparently unfazed at the revelation.
"I have been building a trap for Baelish," I explained, "and using the three brothers to feed him false information, to lull him into complacency. By what my own men tell me the plan is working, though Ser Osmund appeared to have had a change of heart shortly after donning the white cloak, and has ceased feeding secrets to our enemies. With Ser Osney disposed of, that leaves only Osfryd to contend with - which is no great concern."
Tywin nodded in approval. "And your threats," he continued, his gaze intense, "are they empty?"
I let a silence settle in as I mulled over the question, a long moment stretching to a minute, and then two. The curtains fluttered with the breeze, the flames in the hearth flickering to the sound of cloth gently flapping against stone. "I don't know," I finally answered. "I'd be willing to kill, that much I already know, but innocents... Women and children..."
"All war requires a sliver of ice in your heart," Tywin said, in an oddly tender tone. Well, tender for Tywin, at any rate. "It is good that you already understand this. But you can only know through experience. Have you ever taken a life before, Tommen?"
I shook my head. "Not directly. I've commanded men killed, seen them die, but never by my own hand. And, to be entirely honest, I'm not eager to start slitting throats." It was a line I had yet to dare cross. Once I had sullied my own hands I accepted that there was no return, no resolution. It was an act beyond intellectual plotting or assassination. Once I had killed Westeros would have claimed my soul.
"Then that must change," Tywin said. "Perhaps not today, but soon. To rule is to do a great many things, among which one is kill. And a weak man without the stomach for blood makes for neither an old monarch nor a wise one."
"I know," I said resignedly, just as Ser Loras entered to announce the presence of Lord Randyll.
"Send him in," I said, and so he came. Lord Randyll was a lean man, wiry and narrow with an iron will smouldering behind his eyes. His face was permanently set into the same expression - jaw clamped shut, eyes slightly narrowed, lips pursed and brow furrowed. His silver beard seemed to bristle around his jaw, rising to his ears before reaching his bald head, shaved completely smooth. He wore mail and boiled leathers covered by a mantle bearing the sigil of his house draped about his shoulders, Heartsbane's bejewelled sheath hanging from his hip.
"Come," I said, allowing a pleasant smile to pull on my features again, "take a seat, my lord."
Randyll pulled himself a chair and settled himself in it. "How can I serve you today, Your Grace?" he asked in a flat tone, spying Lord Tywin from the corner of his eyes.
"Well, Lord Randyll," I said, "it seems as though I finally have a war for you to wage."
...
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