Tywin Lannister's knees had long since been scraped raw. Blood mingled with mud, leaving marks of humiliation on his once-immaculate finery.
Two rough Wildlings dragged him like a dead dog through what had once been his home.
He smelled blood mixed with the stench of horse dung and the sour reek of Wildlings who went years without bathing.
He heard unrestrained laughter and the screams of Lannisters.
Those sounds echoed through the grand halls that had once belonged to House Lannister alone.
He saw the magnificent tapestries depicting House Lannister's glorious history torn from the walls and used to wipe bloodstained battleaxes.
Every sight, every sound, every smell tormented his already-ravaged heart over and over.
At last, he was thrown into his own study.
Everything here remained as it had been, seemingly by Mance Rayder's deliberate design.
The enormous map of Westeros still lay spread across the desk.
The door opened.
Three figures walked in.
Tywin slowly raised his head. When his golden-green eyes fell on the newcomers, a barely perceptible flicker finally stirred within them.
His three children.
Jaime, Cersei, and Tyrion.
Since Casterly Rock had fallen, they had traveled day and night, finally arriving here from the Trident.
"Father."
Jaime was the first to speak.
His handsome face was etched with exhaustion and anguish.
He still wore his gilded armor.
Yet now that armor looked like a ridiculous stage costume.
Cersei's face, however, bore a feverish flush.
Her eyes shone with a frightening intensity as she stared at Tywin kneeling on the floor, as though admiring a perfect work of art.
Tyrion went over to the wine cabinet and poured himself a glass of wine.
He swirled the glass and breathed in its aroma, an almost intoxicated expression spreading across his face.
"Look at you, Father."
Cersei finally