Game of Thrones: I Created the Magic Web.

I apologize, I thought it was just a common cold, but it's gotten worse these past two days. I can't write much, so please bear with me. I'll make it up to you in the next few days. Thank you.

My father frowned. "From the beginning, I've thought Stannis was more dangerous than everyone else combined, but he's been completely still. Varys has some information, like Stannis is building ships and recruiting mercenaries. He even said Stannis brought a shadowbinder from Asshai, but what does it all mean? And how much of it is true?" He shrugged with some annoyance. "Kevan, bring the map."

Ser Kevan complied immediately. Duke Tywin unfurled the leather map and flattened it out. "Jaime left us with a mess. Roose Bolton and his remnants are in our north, and our enemies still hold the Twins and Moat Cailin. Meanwhile, Robb Stark is sitting in the west. Unless we fight, we can't retreat to Lannisport and Casterly Rock. Jaime's been captured, so his army no longer exists. Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion will continue to harass our foraging parties. Looking further ahead, the Arryn family is to the east, and Stannis Baratheon is entrenched on Dragonstone. Highgarden and Storm's End to the south are already preparing for war."

Tyrion chuckled slyly. "Father, don't worry. At least Rhaegar Targaryen hasn't come back to life."

"Tyrion, I want you to offer some useful advice, not just empty words," Duke Tywin Lannister said.

Ser Kevan frowned at the map, his forehead creasing into deep lines. "Robb Stark has the support of Edmure Tully and the lords of the Trident. Their total force outnumbers ours, and we still have Roose Bolton behind us… Tywin, staying here might mean we'll be attacked on three sides."

"I don't intend to stay here. We need to deal with the young Stark before Renly marches from Highgarden. I'm not worried about Bolton. He's a cautious man, and the Battle of the Green Fork will only make him more so, so his pursuit won't be quick. So… we'll leave for Harrenhal first thing tomorrow morning. Kevan, order Ser Addam's scouts to conceal our movements. Give him as many men as he needs, in squads of four. No more disappearances…"

"As you command, my lord, but… why Harrenhal? It's a gloomy, ominous place, said to be cursed."

"Let them talk," Duke Tywin said. "Release Ser Gregor and have him lead his butchers to raid everywhere. Send out Vargo Hoat and his mercenaries, and Ser Amory Lorch as well. Give them three hundred cavalry each and tell them: I want the riverlands between the Gods Eye and the Red Fork turned to ash."

"You shall have it, my lord," Ser Kevan said, rising. "I'll go give the orders." He bowed and left.

After the father and son were alone, Duke Tywin glanced at Tyrion. "Your savages might like a little looting too. Tell them they can go with Vargo Hoat and raid as they please—loot, livestock, or women. Take what they like, burn what they don't."

"Telling Shagga and Timett how to raid is like teaching a rooster how to crow," Tyrion said. "But I'd rather keep them close." They might be crude and unruly, but they were still his men. He'd rather trust his own people than his father's. He didn't want to hand them over.

"Then you'll learn how to control them. I don't want to see them robbing and pillaging in the city."

"The city?" Tyrion asked, confused. "Which city?"

"King's Landing. I'm sending you to court."

This was the last thing Tyrion Lannister expected. He raised his goblet, drinking and thinking, "What are you sending me to court to do?"

"To be Hand," his father said abruptly.

Tyrion laughed. "I think my dear sister might have something to say about that!"

"Let her. Someone has to manage her son before he ruins us all. I think it's those fickle councilors—our friend Petyr, that doddering Grand Maester, and that eunuch Varys. What were they doing while Joffrey committed one stupid act after another? Whose bright idea was it to ennoble that Janos Slynt? That man's father was a butcher, and they gave him Harrenhal! Harrenhal! A castle fit for a king! He won't set foot in it while I still draw breath. I hear he chose a bloody spear as his sigil. If I had my way, I'd force him to change it to a bloody cleaver." His father didn't raise his voice, but Tyrion could sense his anger in his golden eyes. "They dismissed Selmy too. What were they thinking? Yes, he's an old man, but 'Barristan the Bold' carries weight in the realm. Serving him brings honor. Can the Hound do that? Dogs belong under the table, gnawing on bones, not sitting as equals." He pointed a finger at Tyrion's face. "Since Cersei can't control the boy, you will. And if those councilors dare to play us false…"

Tyrion knew it all too well. "Heads," he sighed, "on spikes, above the gate."

"You've learned something from me, at least."

"I've learned much, Father," Tyrion said quietly. He finished his wine, thoughtfully setting the goblet aside. Part of him was glad, gladder than he dared admit. Another part remembered the battle he'd fought on the upper Green Fork not long ago, and wondered if he was being sent to defend the 'left flank' again. "Why me?" he tilted his head. "Why not my uncle? Why not Ser Addam, Ser Flement, or Lord Slynt? Why not… someone taller?"

Duke Tywin rose abruptly. "Because you're my son."

That's when he understood. You've given up on him, he thought. You godsdamned bastard, you think Jaime is as good as dead, so all you have left is me. Tyrion wanted to slap him, to spit in his face, to draw his dagger and tear out his heart to see if it really was made of gold as the smallfolk said. But in the end, he just sat there silently, saying nothing.

Duke Tywin crossed the room, shards of the broken goblet crunching under his feet. "One last thing," he said as he reached the door. "You are not to bring that whore to court."

After his father left, Tyrion sat quietly in the inn's common room for a long time. Finally, he climbed the stairs back to his comfortable tower chamber beneath the bell tower. The ceiling was low, but that was no problem for a dwarf. Looking out the window, he saw the gallows his father had erected in the yard. The night wind stirred, and the landlady's corpse swayed on the rope. The flesh on her bones was as meager and broken as the Lannister's hopes.

He turned back and sat on the featherbed. Shae murmured sleepily and turned toward him. He reached under the covers and took her soft hand in his. She opened her eyes. "My lord," she smiled lazily.

As her nipples hardened, Tyrion leaned down and kissed her. "Sweetling, I wish I could take you to King's Landing," he whispered.

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