The Tower of the Hand felt colder than it should have.
Autumn wind off the Blackwater crept through every crack in the stone. Even with a roaring oak fire in the hearth, Tywin Lannister could feel the chill in his bones. He sat behind his desk, staring at the short letter in his hand.
Littlefinger had refused his summons. Claimed his wife was unwell and the Vale needed him. Polite. Almost mocking.
No one refused Tywin Lannister.
He dropped the letter onto the desk and let the silence stretch.
A knock came at the door.
"Enter."
Ser Talbert Hetherspoon stepped inside. The captain of the Lannister household guard looked older than usual, his face tight with something close to discomfort.
He stopped five paces from the desk and gave the proper salute.
"My lord. This afternoon, in the Hall of Order… Lady Sansa Stark and Lord Tyrion Lannister were formally divorced. Bishop Reynard performed the ceremony."
Tywin's fist came down on the desk like a hammer.
The sound cracked through the room.
Talbert stayed silent. He knew better than to speak when his lord was angry.
" Tyrion agreed to this?" Tywin asked, voice low and controlled again.
"Yes, my lord. Word is he insisted on making it public."
Tywin leaned back in his chair. The firelight caught half his face. His green eyes stayed cold.
Of course Tyrion had agreed. Of course he had made it a spectacle. The dwarf had always known exactly how to twist the knife.
Tywin's mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile.
"That little monster never misses a chance to remind me he exists. As if the gods themselves placed him here just to shame me."
Talbert didn't move.
Tywin studied him for a long moment.
"Have you made any progress on the leaks?"
Talbert reported what he had found. Three servants with questionable movements. A kitchen boy who left the Red Keep at odd hours. A scribe who lingered near the Tower before meetings with Corleone. A young guard whose sister had married a fisherman in Flea Bottom.
All three had already been dealt with. Reassigned. Suspended. Put through brutal "special training."
Tywin listened without interrupting, fingers tapping slowly on the desk.
Then he said, "Put them in the black cells. Let Rolfe question them."
Talbert blinked once, then answered immediately. "Yes, my lord."
Too smooth. Too perfect.
Tywin kept watching him.
"You've served House Lannister for how long now, Ser Talbert?"
"Twenty-two years, three months, and five days, my lord."
"Your father and grandfather served before you. A family tradition."
"An honor, my lord."
"Honor." Tywin's eyes didn't soften. "Tell me, Ser Talbert. Between honor and loyalty, which matters more to a knight of the Kingsguard… or to the captain of my household guard?"
The fire popped. The shadows on the wall shifted.
Talbert answered carefully. "For a knight, honor is the foundation. But for your sworn man, loyalty is the only rule that matters."
A perfect answer.
Tywin nodded slowly, then said, almost casually, "I remember Melara."
Talbert's shoulders jerked before he could stop himself.
Tywin continued as if he hadn't noticed. "Pretty little girl. Brown hair, brown eyes. Sang in the courtyard at Casterly Rock every summer. Clear voice. I had lemon cakes sent to her once."
Talbert swallowed hard. "You… remembered that, my lord?"
"I remember every person who serves House Lannister. Their service. And their losses."
He let the words hang.
"Some things never truly pass, Ser Talbert. And some loyalties, once broken, can never be mended."
Talbert straightened his back. "My loyalty has never wavered, my lord. It will not waver now."
"Good." Tywin's voice was ice. "Then keep digging. I want everything on Corleone. Send men to the Citadel if you must. Reach out to the Iron Bank in Braavos. I want to know what that man is."
"Yes, my lord."
"As for Littlefinger… since he won't come to King's Landing, make sure the Vale feels the consequences. Remind the lords there that the Crown still has friends."
Talbert bowed and left.
The door closed.
Tywin sat alone, staring at nothing. Outside, the city lights flickered on. Flea Bottom's streets glowed brighter and more orderly than the rest of the city. Like a second heart beating in the dark.
He thought of Corleone walking into the Great Sept dressed like a farmer. Of Sansa Stark standing tall and cold after her divorce. Of the way everything he tried to control kept slipping sideways.
Every move he made seemed to hand Corleone another victory.
He clenched his fist.
No. He was Tywin Lannister. He did not lose control. He did not make mistakes.
A sharp knock broke the silence.
Kevan entered without waiting for permission. His face was pale.
"Tywin."
"What is it?"
Kevan put a sealed document on the desk with hands that were not quite steady.
"Prince Oberyn Martell just made a formal request before King Tommen. He wants the murder of Princess Elia and her children reopened. He names Ser Gregor Clegane as the killer."
Kevan took a breath.
"And he demands that Gregor name the man who gave the order."