As he had expected the landings of the Golden Company and the three Targaryen's in the Stormlands had galvanized Robert into action, calling his banners and sending out ravens far and wide.
Lord Tywin, already in state of perpetual anger and rage over the condition of his daughter Cersei, and who had carried out his threat of hanging thirty random guards from the Red Keeps garrison, despite the helpless bleating's of Ned Stark, had taken his forces southwards to block the invaders from approaching Kings Landing
King Robert had barely even deigned to take any interest at all in the presence of his father-in-law, but he had ceased his monumental drinking binge and was somewhat energized by the thoughts of the coming battles. He was seen every morning in the yards, swinging Warhammers and giving everyone who saw him frank fears for the Kings health. For Robert was completely out of shape and was pushing his body far too hard for the general state of disrepair he was in
He cracked his lips into a smile, his fangs tasting the night air as it whistled by him, his great bat like shape gliding through the darkness, his target visible ahead after a few hours of flight.
The campfires of the Lannister army twinkled in the darkness ahead as he approached them, he concentrated and extended his presence, willing forth a mist to enshroud the hundreds of tents below.
He watched with detached interest as his mist roiled and crept over the earth, enshrouding the encampment, until he judged it sufficient for what he required it for. Banking and circling he descended slowly, carefully, so as not to draw any attention to his swooping shape.
His target was the largest tent in the very center of the camp, and as he flared his membranous wings, he alighted silently behind one of the tents adjacent to his destination. Reshaping his flesh to that of his true form he sent his senses outwards, gauging the situation, and adjudging it to be favorable he loped off towards his target.
His mist was dense enough to hide him from observation, the guards posted around the tent of their Lord being none the wiser as to his passage, he silently slit a hole in the golden pavilion and snuck inside.
It was dark inside, but that was nothing to him, for darkness was his element, and he carefully, stealthily approached his target, the sleeping form of Tywin Lannister.
He let his mind slip into the sleeping mind of the Old Lion, capturing it swiftly and with minimal resistance, looming over the man as he awoke with a startled, strangled cry.
He tried to move, to call out, but of course he could not, his mastery over Tywin Lannister's
mind was absolute, crushing.
He took several languid steps closer to the panicked Lord, his eyes burning crimson in his head, his huge, fanged jaws open in a leering parody of a smile. The sheer terror sparking in the Old Lion's mind was as heady as any perfume he had ever inhaled, as he stopped and knelt down by the man's prostrate form, abed and utterly paralyzed.
He gently laid his huge, taloned, claw like hands over Lord Tywin's face, cradling the man's chalk white face almost like a mother would one of her babes, and he whispered, his voice clotted with the bloodlust rising within him.
"Lord Tywin, your time has come, the Stranger awaits in judgement for your crimes," a lie, but one which he delighted in telling the Old Lion, if only for the pleasure he got from the extra spike of fear it generated within the trapped and helpless mind of Lord Tywin.
"But before you go to his halls, know this. Your son Lord Tyrion will inherit Casterly Rock and attain the mantle of Warden of the West, the children that Cersei birthed are all Lannister, born of foul incest between her and your son, her twin brother Ser Jamie."
His face cracked into a visage of pure joy, or what passed for pure joy on the face of a wamphyri as Tywin's mind recoiled from what he was saying, disbelief trying to push these unpalatable ideas out of his mind. Ah no, he would not let that happen, could not let that happen, so he extended a tiny portion of his will to push these most unacceptable of concepts deeper into the folds and whorls of Tywin Lannister's brain.
"Yes" he hissed, leaning his nightmare countenance closer to that of Lord Tywin, "you know this to be true Tywin, you just refused to see it! Your legacy, such as it is, is a lie! A mockery of all that gods and men hold true, abominations for grandchildren and an abomination for an heir! I am sure that the ghosts of the Reyne's and the Tarbeck's are laughing themselves silly!"
Considering that he was a great abomination his words were cruelly ironic, but he cared nothing to reflect on this.
Tywin's body twisted and shook as he said these poisonous words, as he desperately tried to shake off the control he had on him, to deny the truth of these accusations, even by only fitfully spasming and trying to grunt out his denials.
"Oh, and before you depart, it was I who honored dear, sweet Cersei with my cock and seed, ahhhhh, how she writhed and screamed her denials as I took her, at least at first, for she soon could only pant and moan as I gave her all of me, again and again and again...."
With that his bloodlust finally overcame him and the flesh of his taloned hands flowed and surged, burrowing into Tywin's mouth and surging into his throat, seeking out the arteries and veins in his neck to feast upon the man's life blood.
"Ahhhhhhh" he sighed as Tywin's blood began to flow into him, great ropes of thick saliva drooling from his slackly open, fanged jaws.
Once his feeding was complete, he gave Tywin's neck a quick sharp jerk and retreated the way he came, loping through the mist enshrouded camp, avoiding patrols when he could, slaughtering when he could not, until he gained the open fields beyond the camp.
He had carried off one of the Red Cloaks, as a snack and to further fuel himself for the long flight back to Kings Landing, because he was greedy, and because he could. He feasted on the terrified lad in a convenient copse of trees a few hundred yards beyond the perimeter of the Lannister camp, still shrouded in his mist and still seemingly to be unaware of his recent presence.
Off he loped in the long, easy strides of the wamphyri, eating up the miles to a hill he had
spied from the air, he made it to its crest, part of the hill had slumped away to leave behind a cliff like section. Here he changed into his bat form and launched himself into the air, flying back towards Kings Landing.