Tyrion Lannister waddled down the halls of Casterly Rock, never stopping to take note of the glances by the lowly folk who attended to him and his honorable family.

Though he was a high born, the servants and guards of the castle never quite showed him the same respect they had held for his father, Lord Tywin Lannister, or his siblings Jamie and Cersei. Perhaps it was fear that kept these lowly people in chime. Lord Tywin was a cunning, sleuth man who few dared to cross or anger. Or perhaps it was the looming notion of the Queen, Cersei Lannister, Baratheon by marriage, that her heart was rumored to be cold and far less beautiful than her face by nature. "Beautiful devil" whispered the halls in her absence. Then of course, Ser Jamie Lannister, the King Slayer...The name alone elicited a few whispers of shame and fright.

Whatever the sort it was, the thought would have to spare and be patient for a more appropriate time of pondering; the imp of Casterly rock was being summoned by his father.

Tyrion burst through the doors of his father's study with barely stifled urgency. His balance was askew from a decedent glass of Dornish red he had been sipping whilst reading in his chambers before Giselle, a kitchen wench, and his favorite whore of Casterly Rock, had disrupted his dwindling concentration to bring news that his father requested his presence.

"To what do I owe this honor, father?" Tyrion boomed, confidence of a true lion present in his stature. Tywin, though disgruntled with his disfigured son and ashamed to have him prod his honorable halls, gave Tyrion a flinting look from beneath his seering brow. "I imagine it must be important, for you to call upon me at such an ungodly hour. Though I hear the Proud Lion of Casterly Rock never sleeps...still, to be publically called on is truly an honor I haven't yet had the pleasure of living" Tyrion walked about the study, gesturing to his father with a smug smirk on his strange, mismatched face. He eyed a wine cask mischievously while fixing his arms behind his back.

"And how does it feel, my dear son?" Tywin mocked carelessly, his scowl never leaving his indifferent, stoic face. The old lion was already irritated and tired with his unfavorable son and could vaguely smell what he only knew to be a Dornish red on his son's breath and clothes. Such a peculiar smell, the Dorne grape carried. It smelt of summer heat, drought and the salted sea. Most likely, ripened and kneaded by the ailing dark, cracked fingers of a Dorne slave, spoken over with a drawl that only a descendant of inferiority and peasantry could carry.

How he loathed everything that was Dorne.

But not his son. No, not the fucking imp, demon monkey, he thought. He loved everything that was Dorne.

"I must say, it hasn't quite lived up to what I had imagined. Perhaps once you explain why you have summoned me though, it might" Tyrion mocked while he gleamingly helping himself to a golden chalice that was molded to resemble a lion roaring. Red and green rubies crusted the cup sparkling in the stifled ray of the sun that seeped through plush, red curtains. Though the room was well lit, there was an ominous and dark tone to it. Tywin stood from the oak desk that was littered with letters and crumbled red wax fragments of parchment opened and some to be sent off. Tyrion helped himself to the wine in his father's personal cask, never once taking note of the withered man looming over him in attempt to belittle and make him feel as insignificant as he believed him to be. Tyrion sat quietly and took a painfully slow sip of his wine. He stared up at his disturbed father, never flinching at the cold glint in his eyes that he knew he could only hold for him. Tywin loosened with a exasperated breath.

"Eliesse" He stated plainly, pushing off his desk in a fluid motion. He walked to the window sill that was fogged from the night's dew. Silence overtook the men and swallowed their words, giving birth to a tension that was always so foreign, even between the two dueling father and son.

"What of her" Tyrion demanded, no honor escaping his tinged red lips. His hand gripped the chalice roughly, eyes averted down. Though Tyrion knew no shame for the name, his breath hitched in grief and wary. Lord Tyrion was very rarely disturbed, bested or silent. But the name pained his heart and elicited a fury of anxiety in his chest that he often liked to mistake for a young death brought on by the ale and whoring he regularly partook in. Anything but that name, he wished to hear. Anything but her's. Sweet, sweet Ellie of Dorne.

"Though you might assume, and shall know is not privy the case...I am aware of her name day approaching, yes?" Tywin spoke smoothly, eyeing the full moon that lapped lazily at the banks of his land. Tyrion's gaze followed his father as he paced tiredly through his study. "I take your silence as a confirmation. Nonetheless, she is almost a girl-woman of ten and two. It is time for her to become accustomed with westernland living. I have sent a raven requesting her departure of Dorne immediately" Tywin turned to eye a seething Tyrion. He raised a brow bemused at the imp's reaction.

"She will not return here" Tyrion spat low and full of animosity.

"She will"

"She is only a girl!" he seethed once more.

"She is a Lannister!" Tywin boomed, his fist cracking the once smug night and scattering the tension throughout the room and down the halls to curious ears that had suddenly flooded the dark corners. "By blood, she is of my own, whether I rebuke the day you met and fell in love with the peasant-loving soul of her mother Eliessia Martell" Tywin spat, hastily swatting away the wax speckles on his desk. His eyes flitted over to his son whom usually boasted a cunning, proud stature yet looked meek and as small as he stood from the ground. He basked in the moment smugly.

"She is my daughter…the only blood of my own I will ever know…"

"Yet you sent her away like you do the whores after you are finished parading them around my castle, shameless and all. I will hear nothing of your woes" Tywin dismissively took a seat once more at his desk and dipped his quill in ink as black as his soul and undoubtedly his intent. He began writing scrawl, not once taking heed of his son who had grown somber and small.

Tyrion sat silently in his chair, eyes averted to his cup that was filled with red deliciousness. But the deliciousness suddenly seemed to be a pool of blood that leaked from his throat and bubbled from ashamed lips. He could not find his proud, slick voice or form any words that would best his father. No, Tyrion was ashamed.

"I sent her away because it was unsafe for her to remain in lands with monsters bearing chain mail that choked, defiled and robbed the life from her mother whilst she still suckled at her bosom...a babe no older than a day and she witnessed the murder of her mother and her mother's beloved sister and small children. If Jamie hadn't burst through the keep's doors at that exact moment…My sweet Ellie would be dead, and you satisfied no less, I'm sure. That was your plan, after all. Murder any remnants of me and my blood, rip them out root and stem...the idea of your imp son raising an heir...a true, Lannister heir sickened you. So long as it came from the demon monkey son, it be deemed a punishment of the Gods" Tyrion bellowed low in his chest, thrusting the cold, gold chalice upon his father's desk and cracking the old Lord's concentration from his parchments.

Tywin scowled, leaning back ominously to glare at his son with cold, emerald eyes. The air in the quiet study was moist and cool from the dewy night but sharp where elevated breaths were taken between the two men sparing with cunning and word.

"The wine clouds your judgment, Tyrion. I have not nor will not forsaken my granddaughter to the impregnable dessert of Dorne any longer. True ye say safety be the top priority of our beloved Eliesse's sending to Dorne to live with her uncle Oberyn, but it is time for her to take her rightful place by namesake in the westernlands. Barren Dorne has taught and served all purpose for the young woman and here is no threat becoming in Westeros. She shall return before being wed off to a lowly name or bastard, as Dorne culture takes no offense to status. Eliesse will learn her heritage and duty as a westerner and Lannister by name, and I will hear no more of your intolerable chatter to the fact" Tywin boasted dismissively, turning back to his quill and ink.

Tyrion squeezed the chalice once more and harshly threw back the remnants of its contain. He slammed the cup once more on the oak desk, though this time Tywin did not flinch nor glance from the letter he was writing.

He knew he had won.

Tyrion quickly padded towards the study's door, unable to bare the sharp pain that had ignited behind his left ear, or silence the screams deep within his chest. His mind became a slew of Eliessia's great, lordly laugh that though he could remember like he'd heard it all day, was slowly becoming muffled and farther imbedded in his memory by his own doing. He wanted to silence his great love, for fear that his still ripened grief would implode like a dam breaking and drown him in everlasting sorrow.

Wine and whoring was his only way to escape the sharp pain in his chest for his great love and their sweet daughter, innocent and rosy cheeked. He had barely kissed her button nose before she was whisked away by smugglers, her pathetic and weak cry drowned out by the sound of the bay and undocking of a common ship in Kings Landing. He himself was a man of no more than ten and six, though at that moment he couldn't of felt more like a boy. Guilt filled his bones as he watched a wet nurse whisk his Eliesse away. A small babe, motherless and now fatherless was to be shipped off with letter intact and intended to a family that he knew loathed the Lannister insignia but would take refuge in the tiny piece that remained of their beloved Eliessia. Though Dorne wept for their princesses, they would rejoice for their incarnate.

"It is my duty as Eliesse's father to protect her and ensure the longevity of her life. I could not do the same for my beloved Eliessia or her sweet sister, Elia. But I give you my greatest gift, with sorrow in my heart and blood in my mouth. Keeping her would be serving no justice in her name and placing love before duty. Though she bares a name you loathe, I pray to the God's you won't turn her away or punish her for the sins of father's. She is but a babe, my babe, and I love her with all the little my heart be. Please protect her. She is the only piece of Eliesse left in a cruel world that would do good to know her love. Raise her with light in her heart and strength in her veins. May she be fierce and bold like our Ellie in all her days.

Yours truly,

The Imp of Casterly Rock"