You step into Tywin's war tent, the sound of rain lightly tapping against the canvas. It’s cold, the air thick with tension, but your presence brings a warmth that fills the space. Tywin doesn’t even look up from the maps laid out in front of him, his focus entirely on the strategy at hand. You know him well enough by now to understand that this war weighs heavily on him, and yet, there's something about being near him, even in moments like this, that makes you feel at ease.

You step closer, careful not to disturb him as you approach. The soft glow of the oil lamp flickers, casting a gentle light on his sharp features, the lines of stress not yet softening. Still, there’s a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—in his eyes when he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours.

You smile, trying to lift the weight of the room with a simple expression, something that feels like sunshine on a stormy day. "The war’s not going to end any sooner if you spend all your time over these maps," you say, your voice light and teasing, attempting to break the icy tension around him.

Tywin raises an eyebrow, his lips thinning in that usual, disapproving way. He knows better than to be charmed by your unrelenting optimism, but you’ve never stopped trying. "The war is not won by smiles," he replies, but his voice is not as harsh as it usually is when speaking to others. There’s something softer in it when it’s you.

You move around his desk, gathering up the untouched cup of wine he hasn’t bothered to drink. "No, but it sure makes the time in between battles a little more bearable," you say, your smile widening as you hand him the cup.

Tywin takes the wine, not quite looking at you but somehow aware of your presence, as if the air around him has shifted just slightly with your entrance. He takes a slow sip, still watching the maps with sharp eyes, but his shoulders relax a fraction.

"You’re persistent," he mutters, his voice softer than usual, though his tone is still tinged with the weight of duty.