Chapter 18: Tywin's Designs
Beneath Maegor's Holdfast
Beyond the secret chamber where dragon eggs and royal treasure lay dormant, a final stone door stood sealed.
The sigil carved upon it was ancient — a three-headed red dragon on a field of black, its edges worn smooth by time. When the door was pushed open, it revealed a narrow passage descending into darkness, sloping gently downward beneath the Red Keep itself.
Prince Rhaegar, cradled against his mother, felt an inexplicable unease as he gazed into the passage. It was like staring into the throat of some great beast, patient and waiting.
The Red Keep was infamous for its hidden ways. Spies whispered of secret stairs, murder holes, forgotten cells, and tunnels that led nowhere — or straight into death. Yet none of those passages touched Maegor's Holdfast. The fortress was built to stand alone, cut off even from treachery.
Except this.
"This passage was built for kings alone," King Jaehaerys II said quietly. "It does not connect to the others. It leads beyond the walls, to the Blackwater Rush itself. Boats are hidden there, kept ready."
A king's last road.
"If King's Landing falls," Jaehaerys continued, his breath already shallow, "this is how House Targaryen survives."
He rested against the wall, clearly fatigued.
"I pray you never need it."
Princess Rhaella nodded solemnly.
Rhaegar stared into the dark, imagining cold water rushing past stone, the river carrying secrets toward the sea — toward the Blackwater Bay, and beyond that, the Stepstones, where war still smoldered.
The War Without Maris Blackfyre
Though Maelys Blackfyre was dead, the war had not yet fully ended.
Bloodstone still burned.
Royal banners filled the island now — the crowned stag of House Baratheon, the lion of House Lannister, the trout of House Tully, and the kraken of the Iron Islands. The Golden Company was outnumbered, pressed from shore to hill, its remaining captains already thinking of escape rather than conquest.
The Kingsguard led from the front.
Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull himself, commanded the vanguard, his white cloak stained with salt and blood. Behind him stood the princes and lords — including Prince Aerys Targaryen and Tywin Lannister, positioned well within the army's core, surrounded by sworn swords.
The Lion's Tent
Inside a campaign tent marked with the golden lion of Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister sat opposite his younger brother.
Kevan Lannister listened carefully, as he always did.
Outside, Lannister men-at-arms stood watch — disciplined, silent, clad in red cloaks and steel helms etched with lions. The roar of the sea could be heard beyond the camp.
Tywin's face was calm, almost expressionless.
"Did Lord Roger Reyne suspect anything when you came?" Tywin asked.
"No," Kevan replied. "To him, I am still merely a nephew paying respect."
Tywin nodded.
Roger Reyne fancied himself a great lord now — commander of the Westerlands host after the death of Ser Jason Lannister. He had always despised Lord Tytos Lannister's softness, and Tywin knew that arrogance had only sharpened since command fell into his hands.
"How does he comport himself?" Tywin asked.
Kevan did not hesitate.
"He issues orders as though the Westerlands were his by right. He sends Lannister men to the worst fighting while keeping his own close. He speaks openly of weakness in House Lannister."
Tywin's jaw tightened — just slightly.
"Good," he said. "Pride makes men careless."
Kevan hesitated before speaking again.
"There will be no reconciliation, will there?"
Tywin looked at him.
"Do you reconcile with a blade at your throat?"
Kevan swallowed.
"In the past," he said carefully, "rebellious lords were fined, stripped of hostages, and had lands seized."
Tywin's green eyes hardened.
"That is how weak lords maintain order."
Kevan understood then.
This would not end in fines.
"You do not object?" Tywin asked.
Kevan shook his head.
He believed in his brother — believed that Tywin was the lion House Lannister had been waiting for.
The Crown and the Lion
"We cannot rely on the Crown," Tywin said quietly. "Nor on the Small Council."
House Targaryen ruled by legacy now, not fear. Without dragons, the Iron Throne leaned upon great lords — and great lords did not forget debts.
Kevan glanced instinctively toward the royal encampment.
Tywin waved the concern aside.
"Prince Aerys is not our enemy," he said flatly. "But neither is he our protector."
Aerys had birthright.
Tywin had resolve.
"One day," Tywin continued, "the realm will remember that power does not come from crowns alone."
Kevan said nothing.
The lion was already planning the future — and it would be written in blood and gold.
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