We all die. The question is what we stood for while we lived.
They stood in the throne room-- Tywin, Eddard, Robert and Jaime --and the body of late Aerys II lay before them, nearly drowned in a pool of his own blood.
Once, Tywin had called him friend, but that had been many years ago. This man, this so-called King, had stolen Tywin’s heir, dared to lay hands on his wife, and had refused to take Tywin’s advice even after the crown was buried in financial ruin.
And now, slain by a Lannister blade, but not by Tywin’s hand.
Jaime- who had been Tywin’s heir and hope for the future, stolen from him by Aerys and recruited into the Kingsguard- Jaime had repaid the debt in full.
Someone had to kill Aerys, Tywin had overheard Robert saying to Ned.
Even now, Tywin’s bannermen were sacking Maegor’s Holdfast, ensuring that the Targaryan bloodline ended here and now.
Any moment now, his men would present Robert with the bodies of his enemies, and an alliance between House Lannister and the new Crown would prosper. Tywin’s blood was nearly singing with the possibilities. An opportunity had presented itself to ensure his House’s legacy, and Tywin had seized it.
Tywin took a step back to avoid soiling his boot with the ever growing pool of blood.
“This one stood for blood and fire, it seems,” he said in response to Ned’s philosophizing, nodding curtly toward the body of the Mad King. “Shall we give his body to the flames? There is a certain poetic justice to it, no?”