AUTHOR'S NOTES: All right, I've got a few of them here. Yep, it's another multi-chapter...this is what happens when you work a low-stress office job that puts you in front of Microsoft Word all day. :) I know this basic premise has been done before, and very nicely- my dark little take on it just won't leave my brain, though.

We've got some AU action going on- in this version of the story, Joffrey is dead, and Tyrion's been arrested. The Lannisters have acquitted Sansa, though...and there, we begin.

The title translates to "I hold a wolf by the ears".

As always, send your feedback my way! -LM

"Have I said something amusing?"

Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the King, folded his hands atop the polished wooden table, his omnipresent frown immovable as ever. He narrowed his gold-green eyes only a fraction, kept his posture ramrod straight as he regarded the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who seemed incapable of preventing his mouth from twitching with incredulous laughter.

Ser Jaime Lannister, resplendent in his golden armor and white cloak, tilted his head slightly to the side, asked a question that had certainly never before been posed to Lord Tywin: "Surely you are joking."

A pursing of the lips, a lift of silver eyebrows constituted his father's reply. Jaime turned his gaze to his sister, seated at Lord Tywin's right. The Queen Regent only mirrored their father's posture, green eyes shining with a strangely triumphant glow. All he could think to do was shake his head, waiting for one of them to abandon the jape and speak to their true purpose.

Still waiting. Still nothing. He supposed he may as well play along:

"Well, Father," he drawled, "there seems to be a small obstacle to this plan." He used his left hand to grip the edge of his white cloak, waving it like a banner before the table. "I don't know if you recall, but I am a member of the Kingsguard. Nay, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. And as such-"

Cersei smacked her palm against the table, a slip of parchment beneath her delicate hand. She wore an ornate ring of emerald and pearl on her fourth finger; he watched the play of sunlight on the gems as she tapped her fingers on the letter. "Read it," she spoke quietly, lips stretched taut in an unnerving approximation of a smile.

He leaned forward, placed both the good and the gold hands upon the table- his left index finger lightly brushed over Cersei's, and she flinched. A brief scan of the text, and he stared hard into his sister's eyes, those perfect reflections of his own. His words came in a threatening hiss, jaw clenched tight: "You can't do this."

Any casual acquaintance of Cersei's would have found her expression thoroughly non-plussed, but he knew her too well for that, knew her too well to ignore the subtle narrowing of her eyes, the near-indiscernible widening of her smile. "No, but the King can." She pressed a finger to the bottom of the page: there, in wobbling script, Tommen's signature.

"So you see, " Lord Tywin clipped, "there's no hindrance at all."

Jaime felt the blood rushing to his face, curled his remaining hand into a fist. Lord Tywin opted to ignore his son's obvious rage, continuing in as placid a tone as ever. "I've asked very little of you, Jaime. In comparison with your sister" - he watched Cersei puff her chest out just a bit, and the sight caused his stomach to twist- "and even with your brother, you've been relieved of a great deal of responsibility, thanks to the Kingsguard."

Jaime opened his mouth to protest, to ask whether there could be a greater responsibility than defending the realm, defending the king...but to make such claims about the Kingsguard...Gods, I'd never be able to keep a straight face.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, allowing defiance to seep into his tone. "What is the Stark girl to you, Father? The Starks have lost Winterfell. None of them remain in the North. How valuable can her claim possibly be?"

"She's as dangerous now as ever- more, perhaps, for whatever Tyrion might have told her." The sound of their brother's name caused Cersei to stiffen with anger- she's taken to grinding her teeth again.

"It is your time to serve the family, Jaime. This is what I command. You'll marry the Stark girl, put a child in her, hold Winterfell under her name." Tywin's lips stretched into a straight line; as close to a smile as he'd ever allow. Jaime looked at Cersei again, felt a sudden and terrifying urge to slap the smugness from her face.

There was nothing to say, nothing to do. He reached his left hand up, removed the white cloak roughly from his shoulders, threw it at Cersei, who cried out when a corner of the fabric poked her in the eye.

"If I have your leave, Your Grace," he snarled, dipping his head in what might pass for a bow. Cersei gave no response save a glare, and he watched her twist the fabric of the cloak tightly around her hands. He found himself starting to recall the many other times she'd had his cloak balled up in her fists; he pivoted on his heel, hastened toward the exit.

"And Jaime," Lord Tywin called, "your brother failed to do his duty, even on the night of their wedding. Do not think to do the same- you will get a child on that girl. I'll not have it said that both my sons are less than men."

The lightest exhalation of breath, a sound he might have missed from anyone but her...Cersei, laughing.

Are you truly so vengeful, sister?