Early that morning, Grand Maester Pycelle came to find Tyrion.
"Lord." The old man's beard trembled; he looked as though he had aged twenty years in just a few days. "These letters..."
"Gods, I meant to see Father first." Tyrion felt a headache rising. "All this makes me feel as if I've gone back two months."
"You were still Acting Hand then, my lord," Pycelle said. "Lord Tywin won't rise until noon."
"He's old."
"Change is the nature of life, my lord." Pycelle sorted the letters. "Those the Queen Regent has read, and those she has not, are all here."
"The Vale?" Tyrion picked up one—from the Lord of Runestone, Bronze Yohn Royce. "How long has the Vale gone without writing to King's Landing? Since Jon Arryn died?"
The letter had been unfolded and read many times. Inside was a joint declaration.
"Lords Declarant," Tyrion murmured. "Lord Yohn Royce, Lady Anya Waynwood, Lord Gilwood Hunter, Lord Horton Redfort, Lord Benedar Belmore, Ser Symond Templeton. I can hardly remember half these names. I'll be taking this one."
"Of course, my lord. Allow me to make a copy."
"Ha. Littlefinger really did flee to the Vale, and actually married that old widow? So we're kin now?" Tyrion skimmed the letter. "Oh, they want to drive him out, looking down on his low birth? I doubt Lysa Tully would ever do such a thing. Lord Baelish may lack a few things, but none of that affects the widow of Jon Arryn's affection for him."
"The Queen has replied. She supports Lord Petyr Baelish."
"Why?" Tyrion frowned.
"The Queen believes Lord Baelish will resolve King's Landing's financial crisis."
"Utterly foolish." Tyrion shook his head. "Send word to Yohn Royce at Runestone in my name. Littlefinger is no longer Lord of Harrenhal—it's mine now. If he needs help, he can send his letters to Harrenhal."
"My lord, supporting Lord Yohn Royce may not benefit us," Pycelle warned.
"Who we support doesn't matter. What matters is who we oppose."
"And the other Lords Declarant? Should we send letters?"
"No."
"Could your decision spark conflict in the Vale?" the Grand Maester asked anxiously.
"Not while Lysa Tully and her son are alive. The Lords Declarant won't act rashly," Tyrion said. "Most of them are just jealous that Lord Baelish married a widow. Justice has nothing to do with it. I'll deal with them when I have time."
"Yes, my lord. I'll prepare the reply to Runestone," Pycelle said with a nod.
"What about Dorne? Any letters from Princess Arianne Martell?" Tyrion asked.
"There are letters from Dorne, but none from Princess Arianne," Pycelle replied. "Most are written by Prince Doran himself."
"Where would Ser Arys Oakheart be now? Could we reach him on his next stop? I want to contact him," Tyrion said.
"My lord, Ser Oakheart should already be in Dorne. A message can be sent straight to Sunspear."
"No, forget it." Tyrion shook his head. News from Dorne wasn't that important. "The Dornish haven't come storming out of the borderlands, have they?"
"Lord Tywin planned ahead," Pycelle said as he wrote. "Ser Gregor and Ser Lorch have led troops to the borderlands."
No one else would suffice. If those two died there, it might even cool Dornish anger, Tyrion thought.
He worked until noon, then grabbed a quick meal before his brother came to fetch him.
Together they went to see their father. Lord Tywin had moved to a tower near the sea within the Red Keep—bright and airy, though a touch shabby.
"Aunt Genna is personally looking after Father." Jaime glanced up at the tower, only half the height of the Tower of the Hand.
"That sort of thing should be done by maidservants," Tyrion frowned. "Tending an old man, cleaning up after him—having Aunt do that isn't right."
"I mean she looks after him like a steward. The hands-on work is still the maids' job," Jaime said. "What? Did you charm some lady who's willing to look after you instead?"
"No. I'm getting married soon. No more fooling around. You know that."
The guards let them pass. They climbed the spiral stairs without interruption and knocked on the chamber door. Aunt Genna opened it.
"Tyrion! You're back so soon!"
She ushered them inside. Tywin lay on the soft bed, his eyes sharp and focused.
"He looks fine," Tyrion said, waving his hand before his father's face. Tywin's eyes followed the movement. "Doesn't seem too serious."
"He cannot speak for now, nor can he walk," Aunt Genna said. "But he can hear everything you say."
"How… are you feeling?" Tyrion asked.
Tywin nodded.
"I had intended to suggest you return to Casterly Rock," Aunt Genna said. "You should be there governing the Westerlands."
Tywin shook his head.
"I can't return. It would raise suspicion," Tyrion said. "If word of this gets out—especially to Walder Frey and Roose Bolton—they'll stop fearing us."
"Just as they never feared Robb Stark," Jaime added. "You're nearly ten years older than the Young Wolf, yet to them you're still a cub."
"They'll pay for it sooner or later," Tyrion said. "Just wait and hear me roar."
Tywin nodded.
"Pycelle should travel with you back to Casterly Rock, in case anything happens on the road," Tyrion suggested. "Qyburn will remain in King's Landing. Once Father recovers, we can summon Pycelle back."
"Casterly Rock has its own Maester," Jaime said. "Or send Qyburn instead."
"Don't underestimate that old man—don't judge him by how he looks," Tyrion said. "He's one of the few in this city still willing to stay loyal to the Lannisters. At least for the past few decades he hasn't betrayed us. I trust him more than the others."
"But King's Landing…"
"As long as we don't fall out with House Tyrell, they'll stay loyal to the Iron Throne," Tyrion said. "Give them whatever they want—seats on the council, empty titles… Let the roses bloom in King's Landing. Is Lancel still commander of the Gold Cloaks?"
"He is."
"I doubt the boy is capable of the job. He hasn't sent me a single letter. Demote him to a lesser post and appoint someone else commander. Is Addam Marbrand in King's Landing? He's an old friend of yours. I think he's trustworthy, and competent."
Tywin let out a low groan and nodded.
"Your father agrees with you," Aunt Genna said with a smile. "That's no small feat."
"Well, it's rather difficult to lecture me through nods and head shakes," Tyrion said.