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It is only after the evening meal of the second day Jaime and Brienne have come back that Tyrion and Jaime finally get a moment to themselves. Tyrion doesn’t fault his brother; he and Brienne have been away from Margaery for several moons and it was clear the three of them were just waiting for everyone to fuck off to show exactly how much they’d missed and been missed.

But it’s now been close to forty-eight hours since Jaime, Brienne and less than a third of the men they rode North with had come back, and Tyrion and Jaime are sitting in his solar, each nursing a glass of the good Arbour because his brother just fought an army of the dead and lived, so if that doesn’t ask for celebration, Tyrion doesn’t know what does.

Jaime and Brienne hadn’t been shy in answering their questions the night before, Jaime, especially, as jovial as always but it hadn’t been hard to see the tension in his body.

Tyrion wants to ask, “what was it truly like?” but he has a feeling Jaime won’t quite be able to put it into words. Or maybe won’t want to. And Tyrion doesn’t fault him that.

He still remembers his sister’s first wedding – the only he’s attended, to be fair –, having been very begrudgingly brought along by their father and finally getting a moment alone with Jaime and, eyes wide, asking, “why did you really kill the king?”

And Jaime had looked at him like he’d never seen him before and all amusement had left Tyrion, he’d just been so curious and Jaime’s lips had twisted down and he’d said, “you know, you’re the first one to ask” and then had told him a terrible story of wildfire, with more pauses than words and even at the time Tyrion had known he was leaving a lot out but then, spending the next few nights having nightmares of being burnt alive, he’d decided he was quite alright not knowing the details.

Tyrion doesn’t think this is the same at all. For once, Jaime was not alone. And perhaps there is a tiny part of Tyrion that is almost sad at the companionship Jaime now has, not because he’s jealous but because he’s sharing his brother, which he’s done all his life, but not ever to someone that deserved him.

But he drowns those thoughts, focuses instead on how happy he is to see Jaime finally be appreciated and, even more, become the king that none of them knew he could become, especially him.

“Father is...” Jaime suddenly starts, bringing Tyrion out of his thoughts. He blinks, looks at Jaime, who grimaces, though it doesn’t seem to be directed at him, but at himself. “Different,” he finally settles on.

Tyrion raises an eyebrow, then it’s his turn to make a face. “So Olenna was right all along?”

Jaime’s face turns disgusted; neither of them will ever forget the Lady of Roses’ reaction to their father’s marriage to Lady Stark – now Lannister –, that’s for sure.

“That’s not what I mean,” Jaime says, pauses again and Tyrion waits him out. When Jaime finally speaks, Tyrion is left blinking, caught utterly off guard. “He told me he’s proud of me,” Jaime’s voice sounds half baffled… half angry and Tyrion swallows.

He’s always wanted his father’s… love, respect, admiration, whatever he could have. But Jaime, who’d had most of it his life, had never seemed better off for it. Not truly.

“Well,” Tyrion starts, “maybe he did expect us all to become magical corpses after all.”

Jaime snorts, but he doesn’t look happy.

“He’ll be here in a fortnight,” Jaime says and Tyrion nods, though he already knows that. He and his lady wife are coming for a visit, after Higharden and on their way to the Rock. “You don’t have to see him,” Jaime continues and Tyrion looks at him, utterly not knowing how he’s supposed to be reacting. “In fact, I can make it so he can’t even enter King’s Landing. I’m the king, you know.”

Tyrion stares for a few more seconds before, in a low tone, he starts, “Jaime…”

Jaime exhales, angry, “I know. He wants to meet his grandchildren.”

Tyrion’s lips twitch, quite without his say-so. “And how did he take that news?”

“I can see where Cersei got it from,” Jaime says and Tyrion’s amusement dies just like that because of course, of course, their father would already be devising a way to quietly get rid of Brienne and the children before accepting they weren’t a threat. “It isn’t right,” Jaime continues and Tyrion is ready to say of course it isn’t, but people are used to the world being a certain way and you’ve told them all to go to hell or something along those lines, but then Jaime continues, “the way he treated you.”

Tyrion lets out a loud breath, then looks away, then back to Jaime, holding himself tight and he knows, in that moment, that if he did ask, Jaime wouldn’t let their father inside the castle’s walls. He might not even allow him to ever meet his grandchildren. And there is one moment where Tyrion almost does ask.

By this point, it has been close to two years since he last saw Father, and Tyrion can’t say he’s minded that much. Oh, of course, when it looked like their House was falling apart, he’d missed the man’s cunning, sure that he would devise a way for them to reach the top when everyone was sure they were falling, but the man himself, as a father? Certainly not. Tyrion’s quite happy Father will continue to live in Winterfell, at least until his lady wife’s children have all reached the age of maturity.

“I don’t have to see him,” he says, simply throwing it out there.

“You don’t,” Jaime replies, almost in a rage and Tyrion wonders if it isn’t for himself as well. All these years of being called a fool and that he was wasting his name and how he needed to stop this stupidity of being Kingsguard, it’s time to grow up and become a man, Jaime, and now, a couple of years living under a different House and Father’s saying he’s proud?

Jaime most likely thanked him for the sentiment. Tyrion wonders if he regrets that now, wishes he’d spit in his face instead.

He doesn’t want Father dead and he’s as certain as one can be of another’s mind that neither does Jaime but it doesn’t mean they necessarily want to see him.

And yet…

“I probably should,” Tyrion says and then, horribly, he’s wondering if Father will say he’s proud of him too.

“If he does or say anything… tell Brienne.”

Tyrion snorts, “she’d fight in my honour?”

“Yes,” Jaime says, confident and Tyrion feels a burst of fondness, for his brother, but for the family he’s created too, the family he’s sharing with Tyrion almost without a thought. “She will also make sure he never sees any of the children again before apologizing.”

Tyrion snorts again, then actually laughs. “Father? Apologizing? If that day ever comes, I must find out what they’re putting in his food up north.”

Jaime doesn’t look amused. “Promise me, Tyrion. Promise you won’t stay if he…” his lips pursue but Tyrion finishes the sentence mentally quite easily: acts as usual.

“I promise,” Tyrion says and it comes out easily because he doesn’t have to take it anymore. He’s Hand of the King, whether he gets the Rock or not, Jaime can get him quite the good hold, and he’s just ensured the Lannisters will become the richest family in the whole Seven Kingdoms (parted or otherwise) in the next decade.

So if Father decides to belittle him… then fuck him.

Jaime nods, like he’s proud of him and Tyrion realizes he’s proud of himself. He will see Father, and he can’t pretend there isn’t a part of him still looking for esteem, to talk of nothing else, but he doesn’t need it.

Tyrion crowned his brother a king, something their father could never have done in a hundred years, and he kept the kingdom whole while the rest of their family were hostages.

Tyrion is enough. If Father won’t see that… Tyrion can live with that, and he doesn’t even think it will be that hard.

.

Lady Catelyn is everything Tyrion remembers… from Winterfell. Not the woman that almost had him thrown out of the moon door. Her face when they lock eyes tells him that she certainly has not forgotten their last meeting but there’s something about it… she’s not embarrassed, but neither is she angry about the outcome. Lady Catelyn gives a slow nod and Tyrion, with a rueful smile, nods back.

And then his eyes turn on Father.

Tyrion can’t help but to swallow, even as Father’s eyes on him feel… different. He’s certainly not looking warm, no skin around his eyes crinkling for a smile, but, and Tyrion almost jumps when he realizes, there is no distaste there. If anything… there’s almost some relief. Like yes, Tyrion really is standing in front of him. Tyrion nods again, thinks back on what Jaime said, about how their father was different.

Tyrion, perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not – he’ll have to think on it – isn’t angry about it. He too is relieved that Father is well, that his mind didn’t break from confinement – though, from everything Varys shared, the Starks didn’t treat him nearly half as bad as he would have treated them.

“Tyrion. You look well.”

Tyrion’s lips twist up once more, “yes, if you ignore the scar across my face. Then again, what’s a scar to a dwarf?”

Father almost narrows his eyes and then Lady Catelyn speaks, “my eldest daughter would say scars are there to remember men of their valiancy.”

Tyrion almost says something unkind but he remembers the young woman he saw Joffrey beat up in court and instead nods at Lady Catelyn, “Lady Sansa always had a way with words. I hope she’s well?”

“She is, thank you, my Lord.”

Tyrion waves a hand, “we’re family. Please, Tyrion.”

“Then you must call me Catelyn.”

Tyrion, who has never known when not to push, raises the left side of his mouth and asks, “not mother?”

Father tenses and so do most people around, but Lady – Catelyn – laughs, “I am not sure we’ll convince your sister to call me that.”

Tyrion, who can only imagine the kind names Cersei has for her mother-in-law – the only she has ever met, in truth –, decides to only smile at that. Judging by Catelyn’s face, she’s quite aware of her daughter-in-law’s feelings for her. Tyrion also has no doubts that, having saved her son from losing his mind and murdering their whole family – or having to find a way to destroy the beast in him – will happily deal with it. Anyway, she might have been born a trout, but she’s a wolf now, and married to a lion on top of it. Tyrion is sure his new stepmother will handle Cersei just fine.

Margaery smoothly takes over the conversation from there, presents the children, one after another and seeing how she smiles at the three it truly is hard to believe that she loves the one that came out of her any more than she does the twins.

Tyrion ponders walking away but, perhaps in some masochistic urge, stays and sees Father’s face soften as he’s presented with three new grandchildren. Tyrion had still been living at home when Joffrey had been born and he remembers Father’s face at reading the letter. The satisfaction, that his daughter had given the realm a prince.

“Is she well?” Tyrion, who had understood from a very small age that his sister hated him just as much as their father, if not more, had asked and Father had looked at him like he didn’t know him. Then his lips had pursued and he’d replied, “she’s recovering” and that had been the end of the conversation.

It is Catelyn that asks the questions, about the birth and how much they’re eating, and then offers her own advice, both Margaery and Brienne listening attentively because say what you may of the woman, but she did give birth to five healthy children.

Father holds all of them in his arms, looks down at them before passing them to Catelyn, nods to both Margaery and Brienne.

There is still time before dinner, but Tyrion is still surprised when Father turns to him and says, “I would like to speak to you. In private.” Of course he doesn’t do such a thing as ask for a private word.

Even without turning, Tyrion knows Jaime’s eyes are on him – and probably his wives’ too. He wonders just what would happen if he smiled and said, “sorry, Father, I’m an extremely busy man, helping to run six kingdoms and all. But I’m sure I can make time in… oh, three moons?” Would Father go red with rage? Strike him? Perhaps not in front of his new wife who does not look to be holding onto his arm under duress.

“Of course,” is what Tyrion says and Father nods, then follows them out. Tyrion sees Jaime look from the corner of his eyes and shakes his head.

The Tower of the Hand isn’t that close to the royal rooms but they are the only ones Tyrion is sure to be private.

They don’t speak as they walk and it takes Tyrion half the walk to notice that his father isn’t walking as fast as usual, forcing him to look idiotic as he tries to keep up. No, instead, he’s… slowed down. Walking at Tyrion’s pace.

Tyrion swallows, wonders if Father has noticed it and then wants to smack himself because when has Father ever done anything otherwise?

Tyrion pours them two glasses of wine and then goes to sit behind his desk, with his father doing the same on the other side; he’d half thought he’d stay standing and keep the height difference.

“Your brother has done well for himself,” Father starts, eventually, “if in… unusual ways.”

Tyrion snorts, “who am I to argue with his happiness?”

Father’s eyes are attentive on him at that but he nods.

“You remain unmarried,” he continues and Tyrion has to force his body not to betray him, to not hide his hands by his thighs, or to start drumming his fingers, simply because he can’t read Father’s tone. Disappointed? Unsurprised – in a disappointed way because Father has never been anything but that in him?

“It’s busy work, being the Hand of the King,” Tyrion says and it’s Father’s turn to snort.

“I’m quite aware.”

Tyrion gives a small nod; yes, of course, how could he forget.

“What deal have you concocted with the Iron Bank?”

Ah, finally, what truly brings them here. Tyrion isn’t slow as he shares the details, but he still can’t help but to… well, show off a little bit. The way he’d realized the gold was almost gone but that they still had other minerals and, most importantly, that what the Iron Bank wanted wasn’t them, but the control.

Father blinks at the end. “You’re going to make us the richest House in the Seven Kingdoms. Possibly beyond.”

It’s Tyrion’s turn to blink, “I. Well,” and then he stops because he is, isn’t he? And no one else knows.

“Have you told your brother?”

Tyrion shakes his head, slowly, still lost in the way Father had said you like he meant it. And like he didn’t hate it. He wasn’t looking at Tyrion like he despised how smart he was, that he was a formidable tool despite how much he would have preferred otherwise.

Father nods, “it’s for the best that no one else knows. We’ll have to make concessions-”

“Make the Lower Houses believe we’re growing weaker, yes,” Tyrion cuts in and Father isn’t even upset, simply nods again.

And then he’s quiet and Tyrion doesn’t know what to say either. He hasn’t told Tyrion he’s an idiot, at least, but certainly not that he’s proud and Tyrion hates, hates that he truly had been hoping for it.

“Well,” he starts, ready to get up and end this charade, get to dinner and then only have to see Father at the family meals for the next week, and he’ll probably manage to not make an appearance to a few, he is a busy man, after all.

“When I heard you were alive,” his father starts, slow and Tyrion stops, looks at him and Father doesn’t break eye contact, “while we had all been taken North… I felt relieved.”

“It would have been quite the blow to find out there was no Lannister left alive in King’s Landing,” Tyrion says and Father sends him a look, a familiar one, the one that says you’re being an idiot but there is something… not soft, never that, but different about it. Perhaps it’s just the lack of and I won’t stand for it that usually accompanies it.

“It wasn’t that. It was… I felt hope. With you here… our chances were not gone.”

Tyrion swallows, words stolen from his throat. He exhales, “I see Jaime wasn’t lying when he said you were different.” Is he throwing his brother into the lion’s mouth? Perhaps but, like Jaime reminded him, he is the king.

Father’s lips twitch and Tyrion stares but he doesn’t know the last time he got even a glimpse of a smile on his father’s face. Then he grows serious, “no, I imagine he was not. My time in the North… it has been an educational experience.”

Tyrion doesn’t know what to answer, so he keeps silent, waits for his father to speak more and realizes that he wants that, he wants to be let inside that brilliant mind in a way he never quite was. Oh, he probably heard more from him than all his family put together but always with resentment underneath, that it was Tyrion there and not Jaime.

But Father doesn’t continue and Tyrion is left to imagine what he’s thinking. He wonders what it was like, to be around Ned Stark’s children, clearly raised so much in his image, a good one.

Tyrion clenches his jaw, imagines throwing his wine in Father’s face and yelling… he doesn’t even know what, because the anger isn’t truly there. A small piece of it, yes, but mostly… he’s tired.

What does it matter what Father learnt or didn’t in the North? If he wants to play father to a bunch of Northerners, he’s welcome to it, Tyrion only prays he doesn’t fuck them up too, though he thinks Catelyn will stop it from getting too bad, at least.

“You should start making a list of potential brides soon,” Father suddenly says and Tyrion blinks. “You’ll need an heir.”

Tyrion blinks. An… heir?

“I’m proclaiming you the heir of Casterly Rock.”

Tyrion blinks again and then he’s very glad he’s already sitting because for a moment he doesn’t think he can feel his body.

“Cersei will most likely have more children,” he hears his own voice saying and then Father is glaring, once again the you’re an idiot look.

“Don’t be a fool,” oh, and he’s saying the words too! “They’ll be heirs to the North. And even if they were not…” Father stops, studies Tyrion and then says, “you have proved your worth this past couple of years. In truth… you have been proving it for a while. Casterly Rock is yours.”

It’s not I’m proud but Tyrion thinks it might even be better. Except… there’s a bitterness in his mouth that has nothing to do with the wine. It is everything he has ever wanted to hear and more, and yet… it doesn’t actually erase everything that came before.

Because Father is right in one thing: he has been proving himself, over and over, since he was a small child and understood he was different.

When Tyrion thinks of his childhood, he thinks of Jaime, sitting next to him listening to him read, playing games with him, telling him stories… and protecting him. Protecting him from his sister and father. And oh, Tyrion will never forgive Cersei – not that she cares, not that she’ll ever ask for it – but at least she was a child.

Father was… his father. And he hated and belittled Tyrion and made him feel smaller than his stature ever could.

And he still won’t damn apologize. And he probably never will. Tyrion doesn’t know if it’s because he refuses to accept he was wrong, or is too bull-hearted to admit it or…

It doesn’t matter.

Tyrion gets up. “I think it’s time we joined the others.”

Father blinks, clearly caught by surprise. In a sharper tone, he says, “you should be thanking me.”

Tyrion laughs and there’s nothing amused in it, “as I suppose I should thank you for not throwing me out the window as a babe?”

Father looks like he’s been struck. Good.

Tyrion inhales, then lets it out and in as normal tone as he can manage, continues, “I’m glad you survived being taken up North. I truly am. I’m even happy that you seem to have found… enjoyment in your life there. It might surprise you, but I’ve never wanted you to come to harm. Though I don’t think even you’d fault me if I had.”

Father gives a slight flinch, small enough most people probably wouldn’t notice but Tyrion isn’t most people. He’s made a study of every single one of Father’s gestures and expressions. He had to. For his own survival.

“Give me Casterly Rock or don’t. I find… I no longer need it. You are correct. I’m going to make us the most powerful family in Westeros. Your name will be remembered in history… but so will mine. And not because of you, but despite you. So yes, keep the rock, don’t keep it. Give it to one of your new children. I can only pray you’ll be a better father to them than you ever were to us.”

And with that, Tyrion walks away.

His father doesn’t call him back.

They will most likely barely talk over dinner. And everyone will know there is a tension but no one will ask, not until Father and Catelyn are gone and, even then, it will be Olenna, since Jaime would wait for it to be just the two of them.

Tyrion thinks her reaction will be “it’s about time” and Jaime… Jaime will be proud. And Tyrion realizes that’s the only one he truly cares for the opinion of.

Father and Catelyn will leave and perhaps they will see each other again, perhaps they will not. Tyrion finds he is at peace with whatever comes. When his family was taken from King’s Landing… that was abrupt. But now… now there is closure.

It is most likely not the one Father expected but fuck him. Tyrion meant his words; he’s glad he survived, he’s even glad he isn’t miserable up North. But Tyrion owes him nothing. He never did. And he’s ready to live the rest of his life knowing that.