Chapter 1: A Lion Cornered

Hear me Roar ... Winter is Coming ... Ours is the Fury ... Fire and Blood ... Growing Strong ... As High as Honor ... Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken ... Family, Duty, Honor...

House Words one and all.

Lines to live by.

They inform entire bloodlines and chart a course for entire swaths of Westeros. They are drilled into noble children’s heads from an early age and inform them of that which is most important to their families. By the time these young beings grow up, they have be forged by these repeated phrases.

A Targaryan will have ruthlessness in them, a Lannister may pay their debts but never do they fear from showing off, a Stark is noble and true because they know something greater than politics will inevitably arrive, and a Tully understands that their honor and family are bound by duty.

However, somehow, within every few generations, some of these families scheme and plot for power, and they always excuse their actions as being ‘for the good of the realm’, yet the small folk almost never see such prosperity in most of these times despite the words of honor and goodness and righteousness of these houses.

Before too long, some either play these games of thrones or abstain from such an action, yet to do nothing while evil prospers might be seen as avoiding responsibility.

Thankfully, a shift had occurred of this isle of Westeros. A new match of sorts is about to begin. This time, though, the intent is incredibly focused, and events and people will be changed forevermore, not knowing of the manipulation of their destinies.

This is not a game of thrones for the good of the realm, but rather these these games of thrones will be of good ... For the Realm.

Breaking his fast with eggs, crispy bacon, and a chilled honey milk or a nice beer from the North was how Tywin preferred to start his morning.

However, on this particular day, Tywin was annoyed for her had three visitors at his castle, claiming to have business with the Iron Throne and financial matters. Every since Robert won the damn seat, Tywin had not had a single restful night.

Arranging a marriage between Cersei and Robert Baratheon should have made Tywin’s days easier. Instead, all the man did was hunt and whore all day while Cersei bitched Tywin into an early grave.

She wanted to be queen, but she did nothing with and for the station she desperately wanted. Moments like these Tywin either wish he had lost the war and was dead, or Rhaegar Targaryen had actually taken a liking to Cersei.

Unfortunately, Rhaegar was many things, but he was no fool. If he married Cersei, Rhaegar would have never known peace. That was one of the reasons Tywin’s hair was falling out. He considered shaving the blasted bits, for he was not patient to allow nature to do its work. If the usual course was going to strip him of his hair, he wanted it to do so in a timely manner.

Shaking his head, he thought of these supposed representatives of the Iron Bank. If they were to come, at least they came in an orderly fashion. He only was upset that they have come long before noon.

“Good morning,” Tywin said when a servant led the three individuals into the dining hall where Tywin ate alone.

“Good morning, Lord Lannister,” one said.

Tywin observed these foreign financiers, and he was suddenly at a loss. They seemed to be in tunics draped in robes. There was a certain countenance to them, which told him that they were of a nobility ... of a kind. However, he could not place them.

There were two women and one man. He wondered if they were related, for there was a similar appearance to them. Two of the three had a light tan, but one was pale with white hair. He very much doubted that they were of a Targaryen persuasion, yet he could not be sure, so he did not rule it out.

“Lord Tywin is fine,” the Warden of the West said.

He offered them seats to sit in, but not a plate of food. After all, they would not be staying long, and he would not waste him time with false pleasantries.

“Very well, Lord Tywin it is,” said the man. “I am Therogon. These are my sisters, Mórhalia and Stygia.”

“And are you of a House I might recognize?”

The white haired one, called Mórhalia laughed when the inquiry reached her ears. Had this strip of a girl no manners?

“Forgive my younger sister,” the one called Stygia said.

She had black hair, a light-bronze complexion. Her dress was of red, purple, and black. From what Tywin could tell, gems were sewn into her clothes. While he could not be certain, he knew a fake ruby or sapphire when he saw one, and this woman did not appear to have a single artificial stone on her person.

“Sometimes, she lacks for manners,” Stygia went on. “Especially when we travel to foreign lands.”