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The next morning, in the Tower of the Hand.
Morning light slanted across the dark carpet. Corleone stood quietly in the center of the solar, ten paces from Tywin Lannister's massive oak desk. He wore a plain dark-gray wool coat with no house sigils, his black-hand cloak left behind. His posture was straight but relaxed.
He kept his eyes on Tywin, who sat behind the desk signing documents, and waited without complaint. He knew better. Even with a knighthood, in front of the real power in the Seven Kingdoms, a knight and a peasant were the same.
Tywin didn't look up for nearly fifteen minutes. When he finally set his quill down and raised his cold green eyes, his voice was flat.
"Sit, Ser Corleone."
"Thank you, my lord." Corleone gave a respectful nod and took the offered chair. He showed no irritation at being made to wait.
Tywin studied him for a moment. "Ser Clegane's wounds are severe. Grand Maester Pycelle worked on him half the night. He's lost a lot of blood and remains unconscious, but as you predicted, he should survive."
"I'm a physician first, my lord," Corleone answered calmly. "I know the body. The cuts were deep but clean. For a man his size, the blood loss isn't fatal."
Tywin gave a small nod, then changed the subject without warning. "You seem to get along well with Prince Oberyn Martell."
Corleone's mind sharpened instantly. Everyone knew the blood feud between Dorne and House Lannister. Oberyn had made his hatred obvious last night. Tywin bringing this up now wasn't casual.
"He's… an interesting man, my lord," Corleone said lightly. "We made a small wager and I won. He respects boldness. That's all it is. A favor owed, nothing more."
Tywin didn't press. Instead he leaned back and spoke of the past. "You may not know this, Ser Corleone, but House Lannister was the last great house to join Robert's rebellion. To prove our loyalty, we had to show real commitment."
He met Corleone's eyes. "When I wrapped the bodies of Elia Martell's children in a Lannister cloak and laid them at the foot of the Iron Throne, Robert finally understood we had truly turned our backs on the Targaryens. Someone had to do the ugly work so Robert could keep playing the hero."
The room felt heavier. Tywin wasn't confessing. He was teaching.
Corleone didn't flinch. "In the game of power, my lord, greatness and filth are often the same word. Every throne sits on bones no one wants to see. That's the price."
A flicker of approval crossed Tywin's face. "Exactly. The Mountain did most of that dirty work for me. That's why I gave him lands, a title, and my protection."
He leaned forward slightly. "So tell me, Ser Corleone—what have you done for me? Why should I trust your loyalty?"
Corleone stood, placed his right fist over his heart, and bowed. "My lord, I have always been your hand in the dark. Last night, Ser Clegane damaged my feast and your family's reputation. I only acted because the offense touched both of us. I accepted your judgment because you are the Hand."
He straightened. "You gave me a knighthood and support in Flea Bottom. All I want in return is the chance to keep serving as your hand… and one day, a seat on the Small Council."
Tywin watched him for a long time. Finally he nodded. "Good. Remember what you said."
He stood and walked to the great map of Westeros on the wall. His finger tapped the small island southeast of King's Landing.
"Stannis Baratheon. He still holds Dragonstone and calls himself king. His forces keep raiding the Crownlands and making trouble. I was going to send the Mountain to deal with him, but that's no longer possible."
He turned back to Corleone. "So I'm sending you instead. Go to Dragonstone. Convince Stannis to surrender."
Corleone's stomach tightened. Convince Stannis? The man was famous for never bending. This was a suicide mission.
Tywin continued smoothly. "Of course, I understand it's difficult. While you're gone, I'll send two hundred Gold Cloaks to help maintain order in Flea Bottom during the expansion. They'll keep the peace."
Corleone understood perfectly. The "help" was surveillance. Once the expansion was done, Tywin could take control of Flea Bottom whenever he wanted.
Silence stretched between them.
Then Corleone stood again, met Tywin's gaze without blinking, and bowed once more. "I told you, my lord—I am your hand in the dark. I will go to Dragonstone and speak with Stannis Baratheon."
Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a single nod.
"Leave tomorrow. And don't disappoint me, Ser Corleone."