Casterly Rock. Dining Hall.
The meat, vegetables, and bacon soup had already been cleared from the table, leaving only a selection of fresh fruit.
"What do you need to raise a little bird?" Lord Tywin asked, his piercing eyes fixed on Kevan.
"Water and millet." Kevan answered. He knew his brother hadn't summoned him back without a reason, there was something Tywin needed him to do.
Before Kevan sat an exquisite wooden box. Inside, wrapped in fine silk and tied with a red silk thread, was a pair of chopsticks, something he had yet to learn how to use, but clearly of great value.
Because they were rare, they were noble.
"And what about raising a wolf?"
"You feed it meat."
This kind of exchange wasn't new. They had had similar conversations many times before.
But Tywin always repeated himself, and Kevan always answered with care. Tywin wanted his most loyal and valued younger brother to remember these simple truths.
The most effective way to control complicated people and situations was often through the simplest methods and logic.
"And a vicious dog?"
"You give it bones."
"Exactly. If someone is useful to you, just give them what they want, and they will serve you loyally."
"Yes, my lord."
"What does Sandor Clegane, the Hound, want most?"
"Honor, my lord."
"So I gave him the honor of serving as Queen Cersei's personal guard in the Red Keep. Apart from the Kingsguard, there's no title more prestigious than that for a common knight."
"Yes, my lord."
"What are your thoughts on the changes in Gregor Clegane?"
"I'm concerned, my lord."
"Concerned about what?"
"That a mad dog should not possess human intellect."
Tywin's face was cold as iron. Even in private, speaking only with his brother, he never smiled. There wasn't a hint of warmth or humanity in him. He was all steel and stone.
"Even if a mad dog gains intelligence, could he surpass the maesters of the Citadel?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Would the Seven's light forever shine upon one man?"
"No, my lord. But a dog with a man's mind… it's unsettling."
"What would you do about it?"
"I… don't know."
"There's nothing to fear in a slightly smarter dog, as long as he remains obedient."
"It's only a problem if the dog turns into a wolf."
"This is a time of peace. A dog will never become a wolf. And even if he does grow into one, he'll be a wolf that tears at others, not at us. Lannisters are lions, always."
"Yes, my lord."
"Give the dog what he wants, and he will always remain your dog."
"I understand, my lord."
"Yes, a dog turning into a wolf is dangerous. But the real danger lies in the loss of loyalty. Whether your subordinates are rats, cats, dogs, wolves, or anything else, loyalty comes first. If you begin to doubt their loyalty, don't waste time trying to confirm it. Just kill them. Better to kill by mistake than to let a traitor slip by."
"Yes, my lord."
In truth, Gregor wasn't nearly powerful enough yet to warrant such a serious conversation. But this was the style of Tywin and Kevan in private. Ever since Tywin had taken control of the Westerlands at nineteen, he had developed this habit, treating every unusual person, event, or thing within their domain, no matter how small, with rigorous assessment and future planning.
When Jeyne Westerling entered the reception hall with Gregor Clegane, all the attending servants, household guards, soldiers, knights, and lords immediately perked up.
Even beside the towering figure of Gregor, Jeyne's beauty and radiance drew all eyes.
Lord Gawen, though dressed regally and walking beside her with her hand gently resting on his arm, was completely overshadowed. No one noticed him, even though he had entered the hall with Jeyne and Gregor.
Seated atop a lion-pelt-draped chair, Tywin Lannister sat upright, face like carved stone, radiating authority without a hint of anger. His golden beard, polished bald head, and gold-threaded formal robes gave him the aura of a ruler whose very presence could silence a room. Even the gold-threaded embroidery on his boots gleamed under the hall's torches.
There was an old saying among the smallfolk: "Even Tywin's shit comes out as gold."
But a knight once dared say that in Tywin's presence and has been rotting in Casterly Rock's dungeons ever since, never to see the sun again.
Maester Pycelle and Ser Kevan stood at Tywin's sides.
The hall was full of lords and knights, but none dared sit.
When Tywin sat, everyone else stood.
"Lord Gawen." Tywin said.
"Yes, my lord." Gawen hurried forward, dropped to one knee, and gave the formal oath of fealty.
Jeyne followed gracefully, kneeling beside her father in full view of all, also offering her fealty.
Tywin didn't move. He silently accepted their tribute.
The oppressive weight of his silence filled the room.
Gregor, sword at his side, moved to stand at Tywin's right.
"Was the journey smooth, Lord Gawen?"
"Very smooth, my lord."
That was the end of their conversation.
"Jeyne, you are truly beautiful."
"Thank you for your praise, my lord." Jeyne replied, bowing slightly with a soft smile and a curtsy.
"Maester, send ravens tomorrow across the Westerlands. I shall adopt Jeyne Westerling as my daughter. Summon all the noble houses to Casterly Rock within three days. In celebration, we shall hold three days of feasts, and on the third day, every noble and knight of the Westerlands shall gather in the Sept of the Seven to witness the anointing and adoption ceremony."
"Yes, my lord."
Gawen's face flushed red with disbelief and excitement.
He knew that the gifts alone from all the noble families would bring great wealth to House Westerling. There'd be no need to sell their ancestral lands to Earl Marbrand now.
Never in his wildest dreams had Gawen imagined Tywin would treat Jeyne's adoption so seriously. This was a signal, a declaration that House Westerling was about to rise again.
Jeyne Westerling couldn't hide her shock.
The rest of the hall was equally stunned. Tywin didn't need to mobilize the entire Westerlands just to adopt a daughter. It didn't make sense. Neither Jeyne nor her house was important enough to warrant such spectacle.
Gregor, however, understood. Tywin was planning something far greater: salt, chopsticks, and military outposts.
Gregor glanced at Kevan and Maester Bert. Their calm expressions confirmed it, they weren't surprised at all.
He knew he had guessed right.
Tywin's declaration was an event that should have caused an uproar across the Westerlands. And yet, despite the crowded hall, no one cheered, no one flattered, no one clapped.
Because Tywin hated such displays.
The vast hall remained eerily quiet. From outside, one might think it empty.
Tywin looked at Gregor.
They had made a wager. If Gregor could get Jeyne to accept his gift, without force, Tywin would support their marriage.
But choosing the gift was difficult. Delivering it even more so. And getting Jeyne to joyfully accept a gift from Gregor Clegane, a man with such a fearsome reputation, was no small feat.
Tywin wanted to test whether Gregor's new-found intellect was truly useful. Whether it was mere cleverness or true wisdom, either could be shaped into strategy.
A brave warrior is only muscle. But a brave warrior with strategy is a true general.
Tywin hoped this mad dog, under the light of the Seven, could become more than a brute.
Gregor said, "Lord Tywin, Lady Jeyne was very pleased with the gift I gave her. She accepted everything."
"How did you give it to her?"
"Ten miles north of the Kingsroad, we met Lord Gawen and Lady Jeyne. I asked my daughter, Julie, to help Lady Jeyne bathe and prepare herself. Then, inside the carriage, she helped her with her makeup. When she finished, Julie offered her the gifts, a silver mirror, rouge, scented powder, and eyeliner. Lady Jeyne accepted them with delight."
"Jeyne, is this true?"
"…Yes, my lord." Jeyne smiled politely, her posture perfect, but there was a hint of bitterness at the corners of her lips.
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