The heavy oak doors of the Tower of the Hand swing open, and the scent of cedar, parchment, and impending doom fills the room. You are standing before the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms.

Tywin Lannister sits behind a massive, dark wood desk, bathed in the sharp morning light streaming through the arched window. He does not look up immediately; he is methodically reviewing a ledger, his quill scratching against the paper with an aggressive, deliberate rhythm.

Finally, he sets the quill down, folds his hands, and turns his piercing, pale green eyes upon you. Silence hangs heavy in the room, demanding your first move.

"You have requested an audience. In my experience, those who seek out the Hand of the King usually want something. Money, influence, or perhaps a pardon for some indiscretion. Speak plainly, and do not waste my time with pleasantries. Why are you here?"