This is rather anticlimactic, isn't it? There's no one here.

Okay, no, that was a lie. There were people within Casterly Rock itself, but none of them fighting men- only scared chambermaids and Lannister servants, and the occasional blood relation, judging from the abundance of green-eyed gold-haired people huddled behind the doors my Ironborn were hacking apart.

I shrugged. It makes sense, I suppose. Tywin took most of the fighting men to the Riverlands, got his ass whooped, then fell back to King's Landing, where he should be licking his wounds now that Stannis is dealt with.

...For the time being, at least. I'm going to have to deal with him at some point.

Stannis the Mannis Baratheon was a man that I, under normal circumstances, would have loved to serve, but so long as I claimed Kingship of the Iron Islands and he held to R'hllor, that would never come to pass. I still needed to go to Dragonstone, at some point, because Jon Snow would soon be in need of dragonglass.

But, those were problems for another time.

My Ironborn and I had burst into Casterly Rock expecting to face one last, desperate Lannister defensive. Worthy opponents, a fight great enough to rival that of the Age of Heroes!

Instead, we found the halls empty, people holed up behind locked doors. The smart ones, at least.

I never thought I'd be disappointed by the Westerlander resolve, seeing as what they went though while maintaining their loyalty in canon, but even the Mountain Clans of the Moon would at least set the place alight in order to spite me.

Ah well. Greenlanders will be Greenlanders, I guess.

Regardless of my opinions of the non-existent final stand, Casterly Rock had no fighting force left to speak of, and what forces they did have left were currently being killed to death by my forces outside- the ones that weren't in the process of sacking Lannisport and carrying off every not nailed down (and then some).

Well then, I guess the Rock is mine. Neat.


...Holy shit I actually did it.


Letting none of my inner cackling show on my face , I turned back to the Ironborn following me, I mused for a moment before shrugging. "Huscarls, go find the entrance to the treasury and mines, and guard 'em. Everyone else, go apeshit. No taking saltwives though. I need the noblewomen in here intact, understood?"

There was a general groan at that, but my men nodded, and off they went to do whatever it was Ironborn did during a sacking.

Meh. There were plenty of other women in here. Servants, chambermaids, probably a whore or two, knowing Tyrion. My Ironborn would not lack for pleasure.

Not me, though. I left them to do that, because I had no intention of gaining aids from some unknowing smallfolk, no sir.

I had better things to do, and the grin creeping up my face showed it.

Now, where exactly is the rookery? I have so many ravens to send.


The Prince of the Ironborn found his sister sitting on a crate, staring at the corpse of a Westerlander knight. If not for the fact that she seemed uninjured, Theon might have sped up to ensure she was alright, but Yara seemed fine, despite the look on her face.

"Yara? Are you alright?" he broached carefully as he came up besides her. The Ironborn princess did not answer for a moment, and Theon made to repeat his query before she finally spoke up.

"...Dark sorcery is afoot," she muttered, taking Theon aback. "What?"

"Dark. Sorcery," Yara repeated, now glaring at the corpse as if it would reveal to her the secrets of the world. "He was wearing castle-forged mail and plate, and he was a better fighter than I was. By all accounts, I should be dead, except my sword cut through him like a hot knife through butter! What the actual fuck?!"

Theon blinked, then turned to inspect the corpse more closely. Indeed, there was Yara's sword impossibly embedded through steel.

...Sword's aren't supposed to work like that, he noted duly, before shrugging. Then again, Theon was pretty sure wolves weren't supposed to know what their masters were going to do before they did them, so it wasn't really the strangest thing he'd seen.

"Forget about it for the time being, Yara. Uncle needs us, methinks."

"Wait, the madman actually took the Rock?" she asked, standing up, and Theon shrugged again. "Aye. I guess his tip about that secret entrance was on point. How he managed to know of it…"

He would never admit it to anyone, but the knowledge his uncle the Crow's Eye held frightened him sometimes.

That fear did not appear to apply to Yara, however, whose expression steeled, and she began to stride towards the keep above. "Come on little brother," she said. "I think we need to ask our uncle some questions."


"Stannis King."


Lord Paramount Tywin of the House Lannister

Warden of the West and Hand of the King.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see that almost every time an Ironborn passed the door to the room in which I lay, they glanced at me uncomfortably before quickly moving on. I honestly didn't know why. So what if I was cackling maniacally while practically dancing around the Rookery, writing letter after letter for every raven in Casterly Rock? It's hardly the most insane thing I could do, and I was of the opinion that this was a good way to waste my time.

With my huscarls keeping an eye on the Lannister gold vaults and my Ironborn doing as pirates do (namely, pillaging any and everything not nailed down, and then some), that left me free to proceed to the Rookery peacefully. There had been the problem of the Lannister Maester, who had managed to send off several ravens before I got to him, but meh. I didn't really mind.

Besides, said Maester stopped sending ravens after he was thrown out the window.

Not that it mattered in the end. Pretty sure Ashemark already happened by now, so the King in the North should be somewhere between here and Riverrun. Mayhaps a raven to the castle is in order. Riverrun as well.

I would get to writing the important messages later. For now, though, I was content to scribe nonsensical messages to parchment, tie them to ravens, and send them off to their destinations. Innocent things, like "Cersei Lannister's children are born of incest, signed Lord Tywin of House Lannister," and "To appease House Martell, the head of Armory Lorch and Gregor Clegane are to be delivered within the fortnight, signed Tywin of House Lannister.", all of which sealed with the wax sigil of House Lannister.

I cackled again.

Oh, the Red Keep had no idea what was coming for them.