Chapter Text
Tywin opened his eyes and sat up.
He was in a bed, the pale light of dawn coming through the windows of the lord’s chamber in Casterly Rock.
For a moment, he simply sat there, confused. The last thing he remembered was her. Arya. The poison she had brought him. A last mercy to an old man who deserved far worse. She had stayed with him, held his hand until . . . Don’t be reckless. That was the last thing he had said to her.
He lay back with a sigh. And now, somehow, he was here. In Casterly Rock. When by all accounts he should be dead. He did not believe Arya could have spirited him out of King’s Landing, and even if she could have, her grief had been too real. No, however he had come here, she’d had no part in it. But then who had? Who had both the power and the motivation to save him? The Queen would not have done it. She had no reason to renege on her deal with Dorne, especially given what he had done to her siblings. Varys perhaps? He would not put anything past the Spider. Or maybe Tyrion. He barked a mirthless laugh at that. Tyrion. His misshapen son, who had every reason to hate him, going behind his queen’s back to save him. Or perhaps he was dead.
Yes, he thought. That would explain it. Arya’s poison had killed him, and it turned out there was some form of afterlife after all. This was far more likely to be one of the seven hells than the seven heavens. But if this was a hell, it was an odd one. Or perhaps his torment had simply not begun yet. Perhaps the gods had chosen to grant him mercy for his final, selfless act. He snorted. It had hardly been selfless. It had all been to secure his legacy, as it had always been.
He rose and began to dress. He was in no hurry. If he was dead, time was the one thing he certainly did not lack any more. And if by some miracle he were alive . . . well his survival was no doubt meant to be a secret, and marching brazenly out of his chambers would not keep it. Whatever his fate was, it would come to him.
He was surprised by how long he was kept waiting, but eventually there was a knock at his door. “Enter,” he called.
The door was pulled open. And Tyrion stepped through, followed by Kevan. His son looked him in the eye, a cold expression on his face. “I am your son,” he said, his voice as cold as ice. “I have always been your son.”
Tywin regarded him. He did not bear his scar from the Blackwater. This was the seven hells then, and demons in the shape of his kin had been sent to torment him: the son he had scorned, and the brother who had died following him. “Yes,” he said. “You are. And you always have been.” He looked to Kevan. “Do you have something to add as well?”
Tyrion opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it again, confusion spreading across his face. “That’s it?”
“What reaction did you expect?” Tywin asked.
Tyrion chuckled mirthlessly. “I half expected you to reach for a dagger the moment you saw me. At the very least, I thought you would have yelled at me. Once you realized it wasn’t a dream at least.”
“It being a dream never occurred to me. I didn’t think the dead dreamt.”
“You do remember then?” Tyrion said.
“I remember.” He turned his back to the two of them and strode to the window. “Well, get on with it.”
A pause followed his words. “Get on with what?” Tyrion said slowly.
“Whatever torments you have devised for me. I deserve them well enough, I’m sure.”
For a long moment, there was no answer. Then, “Who are you and what have you done with my father.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Both Tyrion and Kevan were staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To make me suffer for all the evils I did in life? That’s what the septons always claimed awaited people in the seven hells.”
Tyrion stared at him incredulously. And then he threw his head back and laughed. “You . . . you think this is the seven hells? Oh, I’m afraid not father. Although I’m sure they’re awaiting you when you eventually die again. But I think I’ll keep you alive for now. It will be so much fun to force you to witness the son you always hated ruling Casterly Rock.” He chuckled gleefully.
It was Tywin’s turn to stare. “Are you saying I’m not dead?”
“You’re alive,” Tyrion said. “Everyone is. Everyone who died, and those few of us who managed to survive until the end.”
Kevan cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. “Brother, what Tyrion told me . . . it’s the only explanation for things. I know it’s hard to believe, but . . . it’s real. As far as I can tell, at least. We’re back in time, back before it all started.”
Tywin frowned. “Back in time,” he said slowly.
“Yes, and back from the dead,” Tyrion said. “Brandon Stark worked his magic. Oh, yes, magic is real. Snarks and grumpkins too, although we call them White Walkers and Wights.”
Tywin raised an eyebrow. “I know well enough of White Walkers and Wights. I saw them with my own eyes. I killed a wight.” He looked at Kevan. “I saw you become one.”
“That’s impossible,” Kevan said. “You died before I did.”
Tywin turned to face them fully. “Perhaps you should start from the beginning. When are we?”
“A little later then we’d like to be,” Tyrion said, his mouth twisting in displeasure. “But near enough for our plans still to work. Jon Arryn died a few days ago. We’ll be receiving the raven with the news tomorrow.”
“And what happened next, as you recall?” Tywin asked.
Tyrion shrugged. “King Robert decided to go North to appoint Ned Stark as his hand. I left to tag along with them and see the North for myself. They came back south, Ned Stark figured out the truth about Jaime and Cersei, got himself killed because of his honor, and then war broke out. Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy, most of them fell sooner or later. You remember this, don’t you?”
“I do,” Tywin said.
“Good. Joffrey was assassinated, you put me on trial for it even though I hadn’t done it, but Jaime and Varys helped me escape and I killed you on my way out.”
“Varys killed me as well,” Kevan added. “In the name of ‘Aegon Targaryen.’”
“I see,” Tywin said calmly. Even if he accepted the possibility of time travel, what they just said was wrong. “And why should I believe you? That this is real, and we’ve all traveled back in time? I’m much more inclined to believe you demons.”
Tyrion shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter much either way. Consider this a coup, father. I’ll be taking charge of the West from now on.”
“Hold on just a moment,” Kevan said, giving Tyrion a sharp look. When he turned back to Tywin, his gaze was imploring. “Brother, how can I prove it to you? How can I show you that this is real?”
“You can start by explaining why I recall things differently from how you just said them,” Tywin said.
Kevan frowned. “How do you remember things, then?”
Tywin looked at Tyrion. “You never killed me. Cersei did want to put you on trial for Joffrey’s death, but I put you on a ship to the Free Cities before she could. And Varys never killed you, Kevan. It was wights that did it. It happened right before my eyes.”
“Wights?” Kevan said. “As in dead bodies commanded by a White Walker?”
Tywin nodded slowly.
Kevan seemed to sag in relief. He turned to Tyrion. “There, he believes in wights and Walkers. There’s no need for someone else to take over from him. He can lead the West himself.”
Tyrion was looking at him skeptically. “You actually believe in the Others?”
“If by the Others, you mean White Walkers, yes, I do,” Tywin said. “I saw them myself. I fought against them.”
“How?” Tyrion demanded. “You died.”
“All men die, eventually,” Tywin said. “But I did not until after the Long Night.”
“What do you mean after the Long Night?” Tyrion asked. “There was no after the Long Night. The Others won, they were going to wipe us all out!”
“They didn’t win,” Tywin said. “We defeated them at Harrenhal. Barely, but we defeated them. Arya struck down the Night King, and all the wights and Walkers died with him.”
“The Night King,” Tyrion said. “You mean the Night’s King? That old legend about the man who married one of the Others?”
“No, I mean the Night King, the leader of the White Walkers,” Tywin said. “Surely if you faced the Long Night as well, you knew about him?”
Tyrion shook his head. “If the Others had a single leader, we didn’t know it. They had commanders, we saw that, but no king that we could find.”
Tywin took a deep breath. “Let us presume for a moment that this is all real, that somehow we have been brought back to life and traveled back in time. Why do I remember differently from the two of you?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Tyrion said. “Bran warned us that too many people might remember, but he never said anything about a situation like this.”
Tywin considered his options for a moment. This could all be false, still. Some version of hell like he’d initially assumed, or else some strange death-vision brought on by the poison. It was exceptionally vivid for some any kind of hallucination or vision, though, and his mind felt clear, not muddled. If this did turn out to be an afterlife of some sort . . . well surely nothing could go wrong by treating it as if it were real. “You two remember the same?” Tywin asked. “You’ve checked? Confirmed the details of your stories against one another?”
“Not exhaustively,” Kevan said. “But everything he said lined up with what I knew, up until I died, at least.”
Tywin nodded. “Kevan, go through the castle. Find out how many others remember and how many different versions of events we’re dealing with. Tyrion, to my solar. I want to know everything about what you remember.”
“You’re not giving the orders anymore,” Tyrion said. “I’m in charge now.”
“Really?” Tywin asked. “You mean if I call my guards in right now and asked them who they obeyed, they would say you instead of me?”
Tyrion’s expression faltered. “I know what’s coming. I can prepare us for the war to come. You can’t.”
“And why can’t I?” Tywin asked. “The White Walkers are coming. We need to prepare for a harsh winter and a night that won’t end for the duration of the battle. We need dragonglass and fire to kill wights and Walkers. And most likely, we’re going to need Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons.”
As he named that last thing, Tyrion’s eyes lit up. “And that’s just the thing!” Tyrion said. “Daenerys will never agree to work with you. You’re the one who killed her siblings. I, on the other hand, am her Hand.”
“I convinced Daenerys Targaryen to set aside our differences in the face of the Walkers once before,” Tywin said. “I don’t see why I should not be able to do so again. If it’s the issue of the throne you’re worried about, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. If she wants to kill Robert Baratheon, so be it. She can even have Joffrey if she wants. I’m not letting that idiot boy anywhere near real power ever again.”
Tyrion gaped at him. “Just like that? You’re just going to let her have the throne? What happened to getting a king with Lannister blood, what happened to a dynasty to last a thousand years?”
“If I want a dynasty to last a thousand years, Joffrey is not how I’m going to get it,” Tywin said. “I will settle for a dynasty that rules the West for a thousand years rather than burn our house down trying to hold on to a throne we have little chance of sitting for any length of time. Now, if you’re finished trying to claim a position that isn’t yours, perhaps we can actually begin sorting out this mess?”
Tyrion stared at him for a moment longer. Then he swallowed. “I will have Casterly Rock one way or another,” he said. It sounded hollow, though. A child’s desperate plea.
“That remains to be seen,” Tywin said. “We will see what Jaime remembers once we get him out of King’s Landing.” And what Arya remembers, he added silently.
He and Tyrion retired to his solar while Kevan worked on making an accounting of the castle. And there Tywin listened while Tyrion told his tale. And what a tale it was. In the version of events Kevan and Tyrion remembered, he had never found Arya Stark at Harenhal. And how much that changed. Instead of bending the knee, Robb Stark was killed by the Freys and Boltons in what came to be called the Red Wedding. Joffrey died at his own wedding, not in the throne room. And killed by the Tyrells, not Arya. Tyrion was put on trial, freed by his brother and Varys, and then . . .
“I went to your chambers,” Tyrion said. “I found Shae there, in your bed.”
Tywin frowned. “Who is Shae?”
“You don’t remember? Did I not meet her in your memories?” Tyrion asked. “The woman you forbade me from bringing to court.”
Tywin blinked. “Your whore? I had her in my bed?”
“Don’t call her that,” Tyrion said, eyes hardening.
“I call her what she is,” Tywin said. “Unless I’m mistaken. Did you not pay her for her company?”
“I . . .” Tyrion ground his teeth. “Yes, you had her in your bed.”
“I would question then if the Tywin you knew is me at all,” Tywin said. “I’ve never dallied with whores, and I certainly have no desire to do so in future.”
“Don’t call her-” Tyrion stopped himself, glaring at him. “Well, you did. Or at least, the other you did. She was in your bed, wearing nothing but your chain of office. I strangled her with it.”
“And then you killed me?” Tywin asked mildly.
Tyrion smiled, a cruel, bitter smile. “I found you on the privy. We talked briefly. Then I shot you with a crossbow. You shat yourself as you died.”
An ignoble way to die, Tywin thought. But then, death was death. Did it really matter so much how one died? “And then?” he prompted.
Tyrion looked at him strangely. “And then?” he repeated. “I tell you I killed you in cold blood, and all you have to say is ‘and then?’”
“What else would you have me say about it?” Tywin asked.
“I’d expect you to be angry about it,” Tyrion said. “I assumed if I failed in taking control of the West from you, you’d have me locked up at the least.”
“Do you want me to lock you up?” Tywin asked drily.
“Well, no, but-”
“Then perhaps you should not make me think so hard about why I should,” Tywin said. “Do you intend on killing me again?”
“Do you intend on giving me Casterly Rock, as is my right?” Tyrion returned.
Tywin considered him. “Did your Jaime ever give up his white cloak?”
Tyrion clenched his jaw. “He did.”
“As did mine,” Tywin said. “Even if he doesn’t remember, I very much doubt either Robert Baratheon or Daenerys Targaryen would allow him to keep it. Jaime is my eldest child and my heir. Casterly Rock is his.”
“He doesn’t want it,” Tyrion said. “He never has.”
“Wants and wishes do not concern me,” Tywin said simply. “Enough of Casterly Rock. What happened after my death in your memory?”
Tyrion glared at him for a long moment, but when he opened his mouth, it was to continue his tale. Tommen’s marriage to Margarey Tyrell. The arrival of someone claiming to be Aegon Targaryen in the Stormlands. Cersei’s foolish scheme with the faith militant and how it backfired. The destruction of the Great Sept of Baelor. The wars that followed. Stannis defeating the Boltons and taking the North, forcing Baelish out of the Vale and winning it to his side, rescuing a captive Sansa in the process. The Iron Bank’s support for Stannis giving him the men to retake the Riverlands from the Freys. Euron Greyjoy’s depredations. The Westlands splitting over Cersei’s actions and her alliance with Euron. Daenerys returning from Essos with three dragons and multiple armies at her back. Aegon burning after trying to steal one of Daenery’s dragons. The Tyrells, Dorne, and the Stormlands all declaring for Daenerys. Stannis being killed by Euron Greyjoy, Jon Snow bending the knee to Daenerys, eventually becoming her consort. The defeat of Cersei and Euron, Jaime killing Cersei with his own golden hand (it seemed he was destined to lose his hand no matter what happened). And then the attack of the Others. The Fall of the Wall. The Fall of Winterfell. The string of defeats that followed all across the South. And finally, the last stand at the God’s Eye, and Brandon Stark’s ritual to send them all back to do it right this time.
There were some differences that could not be explained simply by him failing to recognize Arya at Harenhal, however. Their version of Robb Stark had married Jeyne Westerling; his had married Tallissa Maegyr. He had never had to contend with an Aegon, pretender or real, nor had he ever discovered any sign of Varys’ allegiance to this Aegon, whoever he was. There were other things as well, small things. Some of those who had come to Westeros with Tyrion’s Daenerys Targaryen Tywin had never heard of before; The Boltons taking Harenhal and throwing Armory Lorch into a bear pit instead of him being slain with one of Arya’s names; Tion Frey being killed by Rickard Karstark in place of Martyn Lannister.
When Tyrion finished, Tywin thought for a moment. “So you lost, and you gave yourself another chance to do it right. You say we were sent back in time. To then?”
Tyrion grimaced. “The plan was to send us back to before Jon Arryn’s death, but something went wrong. We arrived afterwards instead.
Tywin nodded. “What was the plan?”
Tyrion opened his mouth, but then he hesitated. “Why should I tell you? You’re not part of it at all.”
“Clearly not, seeing as you had planned to depose me and take over the West yourself,” Tywin said. “But that won’t be happening. If you want my cooperation, you’ll have to convince me of the soundness of your plan.”
Tyrion narrowed his eyes. “You’ll refuse to join the fight against the Others?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Tywin said calmly. “But considering you and yours lost in your memory, while I emerged victorious in mine, what reason do I have to follow your plan instead of making my own?”
“What is your plan, then?” Tyrion demanded.
“At present, I have none. First, we must know who our allies are. You write to those who were supposed to come back with you. I will write to the great houses and find out who remembers what. What we do next will depend on that.”
“We?” Tyrion asked.
“Yes, we.” Tywin said. He looked at him. “I will not promise you the Rock; Jaime gave up his white cloak in both your life and mine, and so he is my heir. But you are my son and a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and if we survive this, you will have a wife and lands fitting for your station.”
Tyrion stared. “What happened to you?”
Tywin met his gaze steadily. “My own grandson for whom I won a crown tried to kill me. The daughter I made queen betrayed me. But the son I hated for most of his life, whom I sent into exile for a crime he didn’t commit, still remained loyal to his family, and with nothing but his name and his wits became the second most powerful person in the realm.”
“Only second most powerful?” Tyrion joked weakly.
“In name, at least. You were Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen.”
“Yet you say I remained loyal to my family, despite being Hand to its greatest enemy.”
“You sent us warning when she turned her sights to Westeros,” Tywin said. “That warning gave us time to prepare for her coming and negotiate a peaceful transfer of power that preserved my legacy and the Lannister name.”
“I can’t imagine the Queen ever making a deal that let you keep your head.”
“I did keep my head in fact. Just not my life.”
“You let yourself be killed?” Tyrion asked, dumbfounded.
Tywin nodded. “The wars were over. The realm was at peace. And Jaime had finally stepped into his role as heir with Arya at his side. My legacy was secure.”
“So that’s it then?” Tyrion said. “You’ll help us against the Long Night and meekly accept your death as long as your legacy is secure?”
“If my death is the cost to secure my legacy, I will gladly pay it.”