Casterly Rock
Tywin Lannister sat in his solar, the scratching of his quill the only sound against the backdrop of a storm colliding with the cliffs of the Rock. He did not look up when the heavy oak door creaked open. He knew the rhythm of the footsteps.
"Tywin."
"Kevan," the Warden of the West replied, a simple motion of his head indicating the seat opposite him.
Tywin rose with the grace of a predator, grabbing a bottle from the sideboard. He poured two cups. One for himself, one for his brother.
Kevan took a sip and flinched, his throat burning. "Ah... I still cannot get used to the flavor. But I suppose I can see the appeal."
Tywin drank his own in a single, practiced motion, his expression as unmoving as stone. Without a word, he slid a sheet of paper across the desk. Kevan picked it up, his brow furrowing. It looked like the vellum of the Maesters, but the texture was slightly worse.
"It comes from the North," Tywin stated.
Kevan's eyes widened as the implications struck home. "But... the Citadel? The Maesters?"
"They have kept silent," Tywin said, savoring the lingering heat of the northern spirit. "A deal was struck behind the curtains, of that I am certain. The content of that deal eludes me for now, but the result is clear."
"Ice from the Umbers, rum from the Mormonts, vodka from the Starks... and now this?" Kevan looked at the paper again. "Where is this being made?"
"Karstark territory," Tywin replied. "Our remaining spies in the North confirm it. They will be in full operation within three years."
"Remains?" Kevan caught the word. "This isn't the Stark way. Ned Stark is honorable to a fault. Sabotaging a spy network... this is madness."
Tywin nodded. "It is not the Stark way. It's that Stark's butler. I found the truth by looking at the new 'black spots' in our reports. Sebastian Phantomhive."
"The Bard?"
"Indeed. The cunning Bard. Every disappearance of a Lannister agent coincides with his visits to the Northern houses. Every new industry appears in his wake."
Kevan leaned forward, his voice a whisper. "We should send Tyrion to probe."
Tywin nodded
"The industries are in their infancy," Tywin said, his eyes narrowing. "And this Phantomhive... his information is a mix of absolute truth and perfect lies. Tyrion will go for he will observe. Then, we decide: recruit, threaten, or negotiate. It would be a shame to kill the goose."
"Which one?" Kevan asked.
"Janei and the Stark's first son," Tywin replied coldly. Kevan sighed, a sound of deep weariness.
"You know they will reject it, Tywin."
Tywin didn't blink. "Don't overstate the obvious. Tyrion needs an official reason to visit the North. While he is there, he will offer the hand of Joy Hill to this... Butler."
Kevan stood up, his face reddening. "She... she is Gerion's last memento! You would give her to a servant?"
"She is a bastard," Tywin said, his voice uncompromising. "And a cheap price to pay for such a man's alliance. My reach is long, Kevan, and I have found that the 'Phantomhive' name is a ghost, a fabrication. To a man with no past, a name like Lannister, even a bastard one, will be an offer he cannot refuse."
Kevan lowered his gaze, defeated by his brother's cold logic. "And if it fails?"
"Then Joffrey and the Stark girl will make a lovely couple," Tywin concluded. "The Starks would never refuse a royal proposal from 'their dear King.' "
Tywin finally added
"For soon enough, the North will hear the Lion roar"
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _
Highgarden
In the heart of the reach, the unofficial Queen of Westeros let out a sharp, dry laugh.
"What has you so amused, Grandmother?" Margaery asked, watching as Olenna Tyrell fanned herself.
"Oh dear, your favorite sheath-swirler has done it again," Olenna chuckled, watching the red roses bloom in Margaery's cheeks. Olenna took a breath, her eyes turning sharp. "I've known a great number of clever men, Margaery. I've outlived them all. Do you know how?-"
Margaery waited, knowing the answer was coming.
"-I ignored them all. It's that simple, my child. But your cross-dressing friend has made himself a very dangerous enemy of the Lannisters with these little Northern 'innovations.' Now tell me, what will happen to us when they clash?"
Margaery tilted her head, absorbing her grandmother's wisdom. "Nothing?"
"Nothing at all," Olenna smiled. "Our coffers grow fat, our relations with the North strengthen, and Loras and Renly have secured the Stormlands. The Lannisters can snarl all they like, but they cannot touch us."
"But Grandma... what if war comes?"
"As for that-" Olenna said, looking out over the endless fields of grain, "-we shall see. Anyone with an ounce of brain knows that bread is a must for any man. Let them fight. We will feed the survivors."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Dorne
Across Westeros, the "Alcoholic Revolution" was in full swing. Vodka, rum, and ice were the new gold. In the sweltering heat of Sunspear, ice had become the ultimate status symbol.
"Ahhhh... perfection," Oberyn Martell sighed, swirling a glass of vodka over crystal-clear ice.
"I am glad you enjoy it," Doran replied, watching the sunset with his brother.
"It seems the Northerners aren't as frigid as I thought. They actually know how to live. Cheers to that," the Red Viper said, already pouring his fourth glass.
"The situation in the North has become... unique," Doran said after a long silence.
"The Starks' new warden? What of him?" Oberyn asked, his curiosity piqued. "The tales of his songs have reached even here. I admit, I want to see the face behind the mask. Perhaps a song, a fuck, and a new friend are in order."
Doran nodded gravely. "The north industries bloom and a new player has entered the board."
"Do you think Lord Stark is this new player?" oberyn asked
The two brothers shared a look, then laughed. The idea of Ned Stark orchestrating a continental economic takeover was too absurd to consider.
"I see three paths," Doran mused. "A Lannister trap to conquer the North from within. A Tyrell ploy,though those flowers are usually as dim as they are pretty unlike their Queen. Or... someone truly loyal to the Starks."
"And you want me to find out?" Oberyn asked with a smirk.
"I do."
"And you'll let your brother's balls freeze in the North? How heartless, Doran," Oberyn sighed, though his eyes sparkled. "I have business in Braavos first, then Winterfell. Being your brother is exhausting."
Oberyn stood, snatching the bottle and the remaining ice as he walked away.
"Bring the other one," Doran ordered the servants completely aware and done with his brother's antics. Another bottle of "Northern Fire" and a fresh bowl of ice were brought forth for even the Prince of Dorne wasn't immune to the charm of a perfect butler's work.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
A/N: Sorry for not posting before. I had my glasses made yesterday and today I did not have access to my computer to write it. Hope you like it, leave a lick (I misspelled and wanted to write like, but I find hilarious the thought of you leaving a lick), a comment, a review or a stone, and if you dont, thats totally fine.