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#and tyrion became lord of the westerlands / the rock is his but he’s off doing stuff in kingslanding and jaime is just filling in for him

a-libra-writes · 3 years

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omg libra could you do like more hcs for tywin and his second wife? bonus points if she’s like relatively similar in age to tyrion(maybe a year or two older)

So I tend to HC the second-wife as being that young to begin with - because Westerosi lords are allergic to marrying any woman over 20 and she's still expected to give an heir (marrying older women only happens if she's a widow and has land).

So! I guess I'll do some general HC's? Some romantic ones and some domestic? Let's just roll with it

It's been said many times before, but nearly everyone underestimates her, including her family. She's really expected to just be a pretty set piece and baby maker, that's all.

So when she begins to run a tight ship at Casterly Rock, and when people notice the respect Tywin gives her and the duties she's given - well, they figure out it's best to please her if they also want to please Lord Tywin.

Those who stubbornly disregard her authority - this is quite a problem with visiting lords not from the Westerlands - they get a rude awakening. Tywin isn't afraid to outright throw an offending lord and his family out, and whose going to stop him? Those are the lucky ones, too. The unlucky ones have their names remembered and their reputations taking an ugly turn in the future...

On the more domestic side, the matter of her bedroom might cause some stir. In the South, couples traditionally sleep in separate bedrooms. I imagine Tywin and Joanna stayed in a room together, but she also had a separate bedroom with her wardrobe, a sitting area, a small library, and so on. After her death this was closed off. Her clothes, books, furniture and jewels weren't touched for a long time, then finally quietly packed away and stored in that room. The door hasn't been opened since Jaime and Cersei were children that couldn't contain their curiosity.

For the second wife, she'd have dwellings that were further down in the main hallway where the family's bedrooms are kept. Past the bedroom that Cersei demands be kept the way it's always been. Once they're closer she often stays in Tywin's room overnight, though they both dislike the handmaidens barging in. A few times he's stayed in her bedroom, and it's ... not unpleasant. It smells lovely, has a much cozier and has a lived-in feeling. He likes spotting the various gifts he's given her.

There's heavy expectations on how she ought to dress, as if everyone scrutinizing her actions wasn't bad enough. Tywin has had dozens of fanciful gowns made, from extravagant pieces for balls to more "casual" outfits for walking around the castle. While the dresses were initially fairly straightforward and always crimson with gold embroidery, as she and Tywin became closer, the gowns would be more customized and personal. Her favorite colors, embroidery representing both the lion and her house, especially flattering cuts ... and so on. Tho of course she can always call up a tailor and have gowns made according to her style if she'd like something less... Lannister.

Quiet evenings is an escape for the two of them. Tywin has a large and ostentatious study, and he's used to working quietly and alone, with nothing but a fire crackling or the gentle waves rolling outside the window. When his wife comes in, curls up on a plush settee and reads, he starts to get distracted. Tywin wouldn't admit to himself how much he glances up to watch her. Maybe hoping she'll look over her book and smile.

It brings back memories, and for once, remembering better times doesn't hurt quite so much. He still won't dwell on them, or tell you much about his early years ... it's not quite "healing", but it's something. Eventually she can convince him to side beside her and just ... talk. Not about politics or future plans, just conversation. This is a rare, tender moment in and of itself, and she's probably one of the few people to see Tywin like this.

#tywin lannister x reader #i trieeeddd sorreee #we need ourselves a second wife tag #libra headcanons

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

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Blood in the Rivers: IX

A/N: Apparently I cannot write short chapters. Thank you for your patience and for all the likes and reblogs and kind comments on the last chapter. I love you all so much. Special shout-out to @starlight-starwrites for listening to me whine about this chapter.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: NC-17, for acts of warfare (blood, guts, and gore--our Tully is a little mean), Face-sitting, fingering, using sex to go to sleep, a few kisses

Word Count: 14.2k ( ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Read Chapters I-VIII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Nine: The Monster, The Maiden

King’s Landing still smelled of piss and soured bread.

Robb’s missive had come just after they had set the Lannister fleet alight at Lannisport. Yara and her fleet would be left to sack Casterly Rock with a majority of Y/N’s small band of men while Obara and Arya and a handful of Riverlanders set off toward the capital with Y/N.

Cersei had grown desperate and crazed. Growing only more bold and paranoid after she was crowned Queen.

King Tommen was dead. Margaery had been thrown into the Black Cells under suspicion of his murder and the new queen had pulled nearly all of her loyal bannermen to protect the city. Obara surmised that it was a Faceless Man, sent after the king after the Iron Throne refused to pay their debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos.

So much had changed since she had left the safety of Sunspear’s shadows. And yet not enough. The Lannisters still called themselves the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms and the Realm still suffered.

Obella’s tactics had kept all but a handful of the men under Y/N’s command alive. The Westerlands had been put to the torch and their gold and silver mines plundered in the dark of the night. The small band of Riverlanders hid in the dense forests and picked off the Lions’ bannermen when the roads forced them to march two-by-two. She, Arya, and Obara had been welcomed as guests at Pinkmaiden and settled there as their first command stronghold. When asked why she did not think to travel to Riverrun, Y/N’s answer was simple. “I have asked men to leave their homes to fight. I do not go home until they do.” They had never stayed in a location for longer than two days, moving from target to target with brutal efficiency.

But now she was back in the gods-forsaken capital that she had narrowly escaped.

“Has it always smelled like this?” Obara asked, nose crinkling as the wind carried the putrid stench up to the high hill above the city.

“Yes,” both Arya and Y/N answered.

The men at their backs looked grim and anxious in their cloaks, trying to hide their armor. While the Northmen and Dornish were still marching toward the capital, the Reach knights and cavalry had been the first to arrive at the gates of the city, demanding the release of Margaery—the rightful queen. It provided a well-enough distraction.

Y/N slipped off Qēlos’ back and patted the mare’s side in thanks. The beautiful horse had earned her weight in apples a thousand times over in this terrible war. She handed the reins to Lord Blackwood who promised to keep her safe until she returned.

“But are you certain-”

“Lord Blackwood, my answer has not changed since the last time you asked. I thank you for your concern but it is unwarranted.”

The older lord’s face colored with an embarrassed blush and he dipped his head. “Of course, my lady.”

Arya barely concealed a laugh as she, too, dismounted but Obara was stone-faced as her feet hit the damp grass. Patrek Mallister was quick to offer his hand to take her horse’s reins. (In truth, he’d been quick to do anything Obara needed. When they were still setting the Westerlands ablaze and picking off their infantrymen from the cover of forest, Y/N noticed that the majority of men under Obara’s command were either half in love or half terrified of the eldest Sand Snake. Patrek was decidedly the former. His time as a captive of the Freys after the Red Wedding had stripped him of the wandering eye he was known for.)

Obara and Arya stepped to Y/N’s side and they each took a deep breath.

“May the Warrior protect you,” one of the men whispered at their backs.

But Y/N could scarcely hear it over the thudding of her heart. No matter how many times she had readied for battle and shadowed warfare, her heart always leapt into her throat. And maybe that kept her alive, the slight-panic keeping her senses heightened.

“This way,” Arya said, leading them down, down, down. While Tyrion’s crude drawing of the placement of the wildfire around the Red Keep and King’s Landing was safely tucked into Y/N’s small pack, Arya was the one leading them into the mouth of the passages beneath the city. She had warned them about the smell.

It did not help.

Once pleasant and cool water gave way to stink and muck that had Y/N retching. Arya shushed her above the lapping brown water as one of Euron Greyjoy’s longboats neared where they had been treading against the waves. And then, much to her horror, it became clear that they would have to submerge themselves in the muck to avoid detection as the boat sailed by. Through the brown water and with burning lungs, Y/N watched the boat sail across the surface and she nearly vomited when they quietly crested, feeling the disgusting water line her mouth as she clutched her pack to her chest.

“Nearly there,” Arya whispered, starting a slow swim toward a dark corner of the wall.

They were quiet as they hoisted themselves up into the stone hole, gurgling with more sludge. But Y/N could not hold back her retch any longer as they finally curled around a jagged corner. It echoed in the dark and she winced when she heard it.

“Come, Little Fish, do not let your stomach fail us now.” Obara’s words of encouragement were stilted as she tried to keep her own rolling stomach contained.

“The worst is behind us,” Arya whispered with a small smile, murky water on her lips.

Both Obara and Y/N sighed at the girl’s unflinching (if not dark) optimism they quickly set off after the young Stark, following her steps in the dark, twisting tunnels and up the tight steps of uneven stone stairs which led to more tunnels and more stairs. They walked in silence for a long stretch of time, the squish of their soaked boots the only sound they heard. But dim light soon trickled down from some unseen room above to light the path Arya led them on. With the light came the realization that they were surrounded by dragon skulls, damp and dusty with the passing of time.

“I once thought they were monsters,” Arya whispered, a far-off look on her face.

“Is this what you found when you disappeared for half a day?” Y/N asked, skirting around a skull with teeth as long as her arm. It all seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been worried about where Arya had hidden away and Ned had sent Y/N and half his guard out into the city to look for her. When Arya arrived back at the Tower of the Hand, reeking and dirty, near dark, Ned had been both relieved and furious with his youngest daughter.

“It was,” was all Arya said, voice sad. It had been a lifetime for her, too.

And now they were here, in the bowels of the castle that had tried to rip their lives asunder and had very nearly succeeded. But now it was their turn.

The dim light only grew a fraction brighter as Arya finally slowed to a stop—but the noise grew, too.

The first voice was unmistakably Cersei; “the Red Keep has never fallen.”

“Our own father helped it fall. Have you forgotten everything?” Jaime near-snarled in return.

Y/N crept closer to light on quiet feet and followed it so she could more properly hear the conversation. Any bit of information was valuable, even if she was soaked in muck down to her skin. She pivoted so she could look up into the room above, a tiny sliver of stone crooked in its place. She recognized the carved pillars and marble lions of one of the interior courtyards even through the small field of vision the stone allowed.

“Father is here—he will never allow-”

“Our father is not a god despite your best efforts to make him one in your heart of hearts. And neither are you.”

“He will keep us safe. I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! Let them try to take my crown.”

“They will try!” Jaime pressed. “The Tyrells are at the gates and the wolves and Martells are coming. What will you do when they arrive and Father’s plans fail you? Yara Greyjoy’s fleet have taken Casterly Rock. There are whispers of Riverlanders picking our bannermen off from the trees after torching most of our bannermen’s lands. What will you do?”

There was a pregnant pause and Y/N felt Obara tug on the back of her jerkin, trying to get her to move.

“Let them have ashes.”

Obara tugged again and Y/N let herself be pulled away this time as she fumbled to grab the wax-coated map of Tyrion’s wildfire storehouses from its hiding place in her pack, unhearing of Jaime’s reply. “We must be quick.”

Arya huffed. “You were dawdling.”

But the three of them set off in search of the glowing jars of fire and found them almost exactly where Tyrion had said they would be and quickly—and carefully—started to move them, hoping that Tyrion’s map proved accurate again. It took hours of cautiously shuffling in the dark to move the cracked glass jars and half-filled barrels they found to where they needed them for this plan to work. They did not have the time to completely empty the city of its wildfire caches and knew there were still piles of them in secret coves and shadowed corners of the city’s underbelly.

Through more thin walls and cutaway stones, they heard whispers. Whispers of the forces outside the walls. Whispers of movement of the gold cloaks and Kingsguard around the city. Whispers of doom with the arrival of the Northmen at the gates.

Whispers whispers whispers.

When her arms ached and her clothes had dried, they moved the last little jar into their pile. But the tiny jar refused to settle and tried to topple from its perch. Y/N thrust her hands out and caught it before it shattered on the floor. A single drop leapt from the jar’s depths and missed her hand before it spattered on the ground, hissing and smoking against the stone.

“We have to go,” Obara said. Even through the thick walls, they could hear the din of movement along the balustrades, readying for battle. Obara had a small barrel in her arms, too. The second-to-last piece in their plan.

Y/N froze for only a moment before she tore off the sleeve of her tunic and shoved it into the top of the jar in as a makeshift stopper. She could use it later, she reasoned to herself, as she stuffed it into the small bag at her back.

Arya was pressing her ear up to the slab of stone at the end of a squat, dead end tunnel. She only needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach it, face tight with concentration. “We’re good,” she whispered before reaching up to move the stone. A whoosh of cooled night air came with it.

Obara started to slowly pour out the contents of her barrel, leaving a sickly green trail from the pile of jars up to Arya’s side. “You first, Pup,” she said, crouching to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling.

Arya then leapt and scrambled up into the dark. Her little hands reached down for the barrel Obara was holding and Obara followed her path up once the barrel was out of her grasp.

“Little Fish,” Obara whispered, “come. We’re nearly finished.”

Y/N glanced back at the pile of wildfire. It looked so much smaller from a distance. She hoped it was enough. Obara held out a hand for her and Y/N took it, needing the help to get out of the tunnel. They were just outside the city now, right at the edge of one of the Old Gate. The grass was damp beneath their feet with early-morning dew as Obara took the barrel from Arya and quickly emptied its contents down into the hole and then trailed it away to leave a smoking green puddle. She discarded the barrel as they crept toward the sparse forest, hoping the growing sun would provide enough cover so the guards on the walls would not see them. The murmur of a city ill-at-ease crept over the high walls and gave a beat to their retreating steps.

Tytos and Patrek were hidden behind the first handful of trees, looking more worried than Y/N expected.

“The Tyrells have retreated for the moment. The archers on the walls have kept them from battering down the Lion Gate,” Tytos said as he handed over the reins to her horse. “And the Northmen have arrived.”

“Have they seen you or our men?” Y/N asked as she rifled through one of the saddlebags for a canteen and a scrap of cloth and quickly wet it, wiping it across her face.

“I do not believe so, my lady.”

Y/N nodded and then tossed a fresh and damp cloth to Arya and Obara, letting them clean their faces, too. She then grabbed a small canteen of ale and swished it around her mouth before spitting it out. “Raise your banners. It is time we made our presence known.”

Tytos nodded once again and signaled toward the men lining the dark of the trees.

Y/N hurried to pull on her armor and huffed out a thanks when she felt Obara’s rough fingers tightening laces or adjusting the pauldron over her shoulder that she had skewed in her haste. Arya’s armor was impeccably placed even without help and Obara slapped at Patrek’s hand when he tried to assist her.

The banners of the Riverlands started to rise as they stepped out of the tree line. Shouts came from the wall when they were spotted.

Y/N patted Qēlos’ flank as she pulled her bow and quiver from the horse’s tack, sending the mare further into the woods to wait.

“Archers!” Some gold cloak yelled from his perch. “Archers!”

Y/N nocked her arrow and Arya lit the end. Dirty fingers pulled the string tight for just a moment as she angled it up into the sky and then let it loose. It sailed through the air and hit the small puddle of green at the base of the wall.

A terrible crack and boom filled the sticky dawn air and Y/N nearly lost her footing as some invisible force shoved her back. Green flames filled the air and the city wall erupted into a storm of broken brick and black dust.

“The wall!” someone cried, muffled against the ringing in her ears. “They’ve breached the wall!”

Y/N righted herself and watched as her small band of Riverlanders and Obara and Arya surged forward in a wave, quickly followed by men in copper armor, pressing into the city’s wound as the green flames of the wildfire continued to eat at the wall and screaming soldiers.

The Dornish had come.

She nocked another arrow and let it fly, tearing into the neck of a distracted solider at the top of the crumbling wall. Another pushed an archer taking aim from his perch. Again and again she picked off the remaining soldiers on the balustrade above the hole in the wall until her quiver was empty. But then, even over the din of the battle, she heard a distinctive crack. Metal breaking and smacking against stone and brick.

“The gate! Defend the gate!”

And now there were two.

Y/N slung her bow across her shoulders and drew the pair of small blades from her belt and pushed forward, trailing behind the press of Dornish and Riverlands.

The city was in chaos. Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard and Westerland bannermen were scrambling over the rubble and wreckage, swords clashing against the invaders. But the Reach and North had pushed their way through the Lion Gate.

There would be no escape.

A man in red and gold armor screamed as he ran at her, spear thrust out in front. Y/N was able to dodge it but his feet could not be stopped and she sank the end of one of her blades through the eye slot of his helmet. She knew she needed to keep moving. Her armor was not meant for full-scale combat like this. But she would not leave her men, Riverlander or Dornish, to fight alone.

But the battle raged. Her small blades were coated in crimson and her arms ached as they pushed forward toward the Red Keep. Toward Cersei.

She caught sight of Arya in the skirmish ahead. The little wolf was holding her own for the most part against some City Watch brute but a well-timed kick to her stomach had Arya falling to the ground, her little sword slipping from her grasp.

“Arya!” Y/N screamed as her heart leapt into her throat to strangle the air from her lungs. “ARYA!” She pushed through the pulsing group, watching the Gold Cloak sneer and stalk toward Arya who struggled to get to her feet. Y/N fought against the crowd, dodging an ax at her throat and a sword at her stomach with a desperation and savage grace a person could only conjure for someone they loved. But she knew… She wouldn’t get to her in time. She wouldn’t make it. The man raised his sword, sweaty face pulled tight with glee and ready to strike the life from Arya Stark and then-

A golden hand caught the sword just as its reached its crest and Jaime Lannister shoved the man back before driving his sword through his belly.

Y/N slid to a stop on her knees as she reached Arya’s side, pressing Needle into Arya’s grasp again and urging her to her feet and back into the near-safety of the advancing crowd. Jaime gave them both a look as they stumbled back, unreadable and…sad. But then he was gone between the swarm of swords and shields.

The Bells did not ring. There would be no surrender. She expected nothing less from the queen.

But perhaps she should have remembered Cersei’s cruelty, her need for control, and Cersei’s own words. All Y/N could think about was finishing this—finishing this war, this stupid war that had taken too much from everyone she cared about.

As the sun started to settle high in the sky, she heard a rumble. Even over the roar of the growing battle, she heard it. Felt it shake the stones beneath her feet. And then the city burst. Green flames and thick smoke filled the air as brick and wood rained down like a terrible storm, ripping through Westerland armies and invaders alike. Dirt clouded her mouth and she tasted fire as her ears started to ring with an intensity she had never experienced, pushing her back and on unsteady feet. With dazed eyes, she watched a man in a gold cloak stumble forward, mouth open in a silent scream as the emerald flames blazed across his armor.

Someone’s hands grasped at her arm and tugged her to the side, finding a bit of refuge behind the fallen remains of an inn. Arya was looking up at her, covered in soot and blood and Y/N watched her mouth move for a few moments, unable to hear anything but then it came back in a wave.

“-taking the Red Keep.”

“What?” Y/N asked, tongue heavy in her mouth.

Arya frowned. “Did you hit your head? Robb is about to take the Red Keep. Cersei must have sent someone to light the rest of the wildfire.” Arya turned to look at something over her shoulder and stiffened. “Come on. We haven’t finished this yet.” The younger girl pressed Y/N’s blades back into her hands. She hadn’t even realized she had lost them. And then Arya was striding away through the rubble, disappearing into a haze of smoke as green flames continued to lick at the wreckage.

Y/N shook herself, trying to free her mind of the buzzing and sluggishness and opened her pack, making sure that her own stash of wildfire had not started to crack or bubble. It was intact, thankfully, and it gave her enough momentum to push forward. Another gold cloak ran into her path a few steps later. His armor was blackened and charred, and buckled when she kicked at his chest to knock him toward the ground before driving one of her blades into the small gap between his cuirass and helmet.

It was easy when they staggered and stumbled or looked too long at the green flames. It was easy. When had it become so easy?

But it didn’t matter when she kept Obara from falling to some red cloak’s sword through her back or when Tytos was knocked from his horse by a City Watch soldier. It didn’t matter that it had become easy when she was keeping her people alive. The ground continued to rumble as more small pockets of wildfire roared to life and burned everything it could. But she kept moving forward, her steps trailing behind Obara’s as they pushed up the steps toward the Barbican of the Keep. It had been reduced to chunks of splintered wood and twisted metal, trampled over by the advancing armies. Y/N turned as she reached the top—just for a moment—to see the destruction the war and wildfire had brought upon the city. Almost a quarter of King’s Landing was gone, swallowed into the maw of black smoke and broken stone. The Red Keep was still burning. More green flames had reduced most of its outer walls to piles of smoking rock and ash. Only the Holdfast still stood tall. If Cersei’s plan had been to burn the advancing armies in the streets—she failed. But a sizeable group of Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks still stood between them and the crown that sat on Cersei’s head.

And they pushed and swung their swords and battered their shields, driving the loyalists back or into the ground.

But then something caught Y/N’s eye. Drew her attention like the Stranger had placed their hand upon her head and turned it.

Tywin Lannister was standing outside the smoking Tower of the Hand. His sword was bent and his helmet fell from his fingers with a clatter. His guards had abandoned him; his grand army reduced to only a handful of men. But his face still hardened when his cold eyes raked over her. Even as the battle had clearly been lost, he held his head high and pointed his sword toward Y/N with a sneer. “Come along, girl. Let us finish this.”

Equal parts dread and joy stoked her soul then. And her heart thundered in her chest even as she knew that the time was short. As Tywin took a step toward her, she threw one of her blades, aiming for his throat—and he deflected it easily, as she knew he would. But her hand dove into her pack and her fingers found the warm glass. Y/N threw the jar at him, uncaring of how her shoulder popped and ached with the sudden movement. All she could do was smile when she watched it smash across his chest plate, dripping green. His eyes grew wide as recognition flickered across his face. She bent to pick up a piece of burning wood and threw it at him, watching the green flames erupt.

Fire makes people dance. And Tywin was no exception. He screamed through the green.

The scrape of a sword against a sheath gained her attention.

It was Oberyn. Dark eyes alight with want and fury and, with a single stroke, took Tywin’s head from his shoulders. It still burned as it rolled across the stone, spitting green embers in its wake. The body slumped to the ash-covered ground, plate armor smacking against broken stone. And then Oberyn was marching toward her, sliding his bloodied sword back into its sheath. With his usual brutal grace, he wrapped his arm around her waist and slanted his mouth against hers, uncaring of the grime or dirt. Y/N quickly reciprocated, pressing her lips firmly against his. Months of separation, months of wondering if she would see him again despite her promise, months of yearning poured out of her as she grasped at the back of his neck to pull him closer, uncaring for the moment of the surrounding destruction. All there was, was Oberyn Oberyn Oberyn and his beautiful mouth that she had missed too much.

He only pulled back to breathe before he took another kiss, smiling against her mouth. “Blood suits you, my moonlight.”

And it suited him, too.

Tywin’s head looked large as it sat next to Cersei’s. Most of it had escaped the wildfire because of Oberyn’s quick removal but half of it was still charred.

The man and woman who had destroyed her family had been reduced to silent heads on a soot-covered floor.

Robb was sitting on the Iron Throne, Widow’s Wail across his lap and a hammered bronze and iron crown settled over his dark auburn curls. The grime and blood of battle still streaked his armor but he looked every bit the portrait of a king with Grey Wind sitting near his feet, gnawing on something that looked suspiciously like someone’s arm. The remains of the Throne Room were filled with dirt-smudged commanders and lords who had sacked the City. Oberyn found all of it tedious and had slipped away with a kiss to her temple to help his men settle into camp for the night.

The sun was setting, casting the entire room in the warm glows of pink and orange over its broken walls and melted windows, like the gods were presenting them all with a bit of beautiful quietness for their victory. Their dead would be tended to later, before the city would be looked over to see what could be salvaged. The story that Cersei had set the stashes of wildfire alight as a final effort to kill the advancing armies was already being whispered throughout the smoking city. No one needed to know that the only reason why more destruction had not been reaped was because of Y/N, Obara, and Arya’s actions in the winding tunnels. It was their secret to keep and hold.

As Robb started to hold court, presiding over the captured Lannister forces and learning Euron’s fleet had turned and run when the wildfire had started, fleeing East toward Essos, Y/N excused herself, trying to fill her lungs with something more than soot. She walked through the winding halls, some half broken and others still filled with groups of injured needing a healing touch. And perhaps it was muscle memory, but Y/N found herself standing outside the door of her old room before she could remember turning that corner or walking down this hall. Her fingers brushed against the wood. The wound from Gregor’s sword had not been patched and it splintered under her touch when she pressed against it. For a moment, she thought of opening the door and walking in and seeing what else had changed or stayed the same. But her hand retreated. Her life was not here anymore. There was no need to step into a place of terrible memory just for memory’s sake.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and Y/N’s heart leapt into her mouth at the sight. “Jon?”

His face morphed from anger to surprise to joy and then he was running toward her with outstretched arms.

She met him halfway and threw her arms around him, uncaring of the blood or dirt and grime. He still smelt of fresh snow and pine even over the stench of battle. His gloved hand found the back of her head and he held her close—like he was afraid she would disappear from his grasp if he let go too soon. “Your hair is so long now,” she murmured into his shoulder.

And his answering laugh sounded choked in his throat. “I have so much to tell you.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

But then Mace Tyrell cam huffing and puffing into the hall, still clad in his gaudy golden armor and red in the face. “My lady, Lord Snow, His Grace is requesting your presence.” He then turned and half-ran back toward the throne room without an ounce of grace and his tarnished golden armor untightened and slapping against his extremities with each step. Y/N hid her laugh behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder.

“You have not changed at all, Y/N,” Jon quietly mused.

“Oh, I have changed quite drastically, dear cousin. But not the parts that matter.”

Jon shook his head with a small smile. “I will hear your stories one day.”

“As I shall hear yours,” she promised just as they walked through the broken threshold. But the respite was torn away the moment she noticed who had been lead in chains in front of Robb’s new throne. A handful of Freys were on their knees and snarled at her as she walked past when Robb waved her forward to stand at his side. They were surrounded by the small band of men she had brought to King’s Landing—every one of them looked hungry for blood. And if there had not been an audience, Y/N would have let them slake that need.

“House Frey has refused to bend the knee,” Robb said, his light eyes cold and hard as his gaze moved to the men at his feet.

“Usurper-!”

Whatever insult the Frey had wanted to spout was silenced when Tytos cracked him across the face with a closed fist, his dented gauntlet still covering his hand. “Silence!”

He turned and spat blood. A tooth clinked against the floor. “Bitch.”

Tytos raised his hand again to claim the rest of his brown teeth but Robb stood from the throne and strode down to the man and grabbed the Frey’s greasy hair and yanked his head back to expose his throat. The edge of Widow’s Wail pulled a thin line of crimson from his throat as he gulped. “Tell her what you confessed. Tell her, braggart,” Robb seethed, making sure to angle his face to look at Y/N. But every other person was staring at her, too.

And Y/N wished she had Oberyn to stand with—to feel his steadying warmth at her side when the man’s hard stare ripped across her face. But Arya was a comfort too, moving to stand at her side with a snarl of her own. “We found your father outside Pinkmaiden. He tried to bargain, said the Red Wedding did not have to stain all of our hands.”

Y/N could feel her heart stutter in her chest but fought to keep her face neutral. “But you did not care to treat with my father.”

“We dragged him to Harrenhal,” another man said with a laugh. “Took his head and gave the rest to the bear.”

Y/N felt her stomach roll. Bile was rising in the back of her throat in a terrible wave as she curled her into fists behind her back. Grey Wind rose from and licked his bloody chops, baring his sharp teeth and the man cowered and shriveled. “You boast of your own damnation. Have they never taught you of what becomes of men who do not heed the gods’ warnings? Or have the gods never touched The Twins?”

The Freys bellowed, screaming and hollering this and that but all she could hear was a dull roar in her ears, watching their dirty faces contort with their own simple rage.

She dragged her gaze to Robb. “I have heard what they had to say, Your Grace. What else would you have of me?”

Robb stood straight, ignoring how the prisoners still fumed. “I would have nothing of you, my lady. You and your house have paid a high price for your loyalty.”

Robb’s words pushed something both cold and soft against her fragile heart. She nodded once, knowing his words meant more than their simple meaning. “House Frey has wronged more than just me and mine, Your Grace. You know that better than anyone. Do with them what you will. I do not care for their mortal coils and the gods will not care for their souls.” And she watched, a little entranced as they were dragged away, one by one, and slowly the Freys’ screaming was snuffed out. Y/N noticed a bit of tension leech from Robb’s posture as the quiet settled over the crowded room and he retook his seat.

But it was quickly washed away as the next prisoner was brought in, chains singing with each step. A quick kick to the back of his legs brought Jaime Lannister to his knees in front of Robb. And the last living lion in the city actually smiled. “Stark, we must stop meeting like this.”

Maege Mormont started to draw her sword when Robb held up a hand. “You once made my mother a promise. An oath. To return her daughters to her care.”

“I did.” His green eyes flickered to Arya at Y/N’s side.

“You failed.”

Jaime clenched his jaw. “I did.”

“And then we find you fighting alongside your sister.”

“To be fair, it seemed your sisters were already in the care of your cousin so my oath-”

“My sister is the only reason your head is not on a spike,” Robb seethed. “She told me of how you saved her life.”

“Is this true, Lady Arya?” Some lord from the Reach asked. He was quickly met with looks of derision from the surrounding Northmen for questioning her or Robb. (“Of course it is true! She’s no reason to lie!”)

“It is true,” Y/N said, stepping in front of Arya who looked ready for the ground to swallow her whole. Her pride was a fearsome thing. “I saw it with my own eyes. Against his own bannerman, he raised his sword to keep Arya safe.” Murmurs started to slide through the assembled crowd and Robb’s jaw ticked to the side but all Y/N could see was Jaime’s soft, sad smile when he looked at her, like he was remembering how she cried and asked him not to tell anyone. A quiet kindness repaid.

“Your brother has been granted exile.”

And Y/N watched Jaime’s eyes widen, almost hopeful, as Robb continued to speak.

“You will have until sunrise to find a way out of my kingdom. If I see you again, your head will be thrown into Blackwater Bay.” Robb waved his hand and the chains encircling Jaime’s wrists and ankles were released. “A life for a life, Lannister. I suggest you make the most of it.”

“Perhaps they’ll have a song about my father when this war is truly over and the city is rebuilt. They can call it the Fish and the Bear.”

“I would hope the bards would grant him a more fitting song. He had more tales to tell than the way he left this plane, my moonlight.” Oberyn wrapped his arms around her as they stood on the balcony of her room, watching the city settle in for the night and she pressed her ear over his heart, listening to its beautiful beat and letting it steady her own.

It had been nearly a week since they had taken the Red Keep and Robb had been proclaimed king. Everything was slowly being rebuilt. Northmen and cavalry from the Reach were staying to help the city’s smallfolk resettle and survive, creating a sense that all would be well. The gold taken from the Westerland mines settled the Iron Throne’s debt with Braavos. Margaery had been surrounded by the maesters and healers the Tyrells had ferried with them in the war, making sure her time in the Black Cells had not permanently injured her, but had been presented to Robb just this morning and he had gladly accepted her as his queen. It was all a show, of course. The alliance between Robb and the Reach had been forged in the shadows long before he ever set foot in the city. The plan that Oberyn and Ellaria carefully crafted had unfolded beautifully. There were a handful of pieces left to move but Oberyn and Dorne were thankful for a bit of respite and Y/N was grateful for his arms to fall into when she felt that insidious ache once again grow in her chest. Oberyn made it easier to bear. He had kept her close when the other lords and ladies started to learn of her campaign in the Westerlands and what she had done—looks of horror and morbidly curious whispers disappeared when Y/N was in his arms. She only wished that Ellaria was there, too. It had been far too long since she had them in her arms. She needed them both.

“You are being called back to Sunspear, are you not, my prince?” A raven had arrived from Dorne just after they had broken their fast.

“We are being called back to Sunspear,” he mused before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But you are not coming with me.”

Y/N had not said anything to give him that inclination. But Oberyn always knew. She felt him breathe in the scent of her skin as she sighed, burrowing a little closer to his warm chest. “I have to finish it.”

“I know, my moonlight, I know. And I will never keep you from your wrath.” He leaned back to gently cradle her face in his warm hands. “But I will have you promise me, again. Promise me that you will not forget us. Come home. When you are finished, come home.”

“Tell me something, Arya. Something good.”

“I met a boy. Named Gendry.”

A dense fog had settled over the damp grass, curling its ghostly fingers around the trunks of the trees that sheltered Y/N and the armed men from any eyes that might be scanning the land from the safety of their chambers.

Arya spoke, unhurried but succinctly, about her time disguised as ‘Arry’ with Yoren and then the Brotherhood without Banners, as Y/N waited for her men to finish a perimeter check. Most she knew, having gleaned it from conversations with Arya back in Dorne when they took breaks at the training grounds with Obara. But it seemed she placed the secret of Gendry a little closer to her heart. “I thought I saw him in King’s Landing before we left. Working as a blacksmith again.” Arya almost sounded wistful. “I didn’t ask or get too close. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t know what to do if it was him.”

“I think we have both learned that fear gets us nowhere, Arya,” Y/N said softly. “If he makes you happy, makes you laugh, try. Seven know you deserve some joy.”

Arya’s mouth tilted up in a small smile and she looked out toward the formidable fortress of The Twins, seat of House Frey. A strange location for such sentimental talk but it seemed the pair both needed a bit of respite. The handful of Riverlands men who had gone with her to King’s Landing were accompanying her for one last mission. And a small band of Northmen who were heading home were given leave by their king to help Y/N if they chose—and they did.

Ghost, Jon’s white direwolf, trotted to her side on silent feet and Qelōs whinnied in greeting. Y/N had met Ghost after taking King’s Landing when she found Jon wandering the ruins of the holdfast, trying to find a kitchen so he could feed Ghost. The direwolf was decidedly quieter than Grey Wind but no less protective of his chosen Stark or anyone Jon seemed fond of.

And where Ghost was, Jon always appeared. She watched Jon slide through the trees to stand at her side.

“Twelve guards on the perimeter. Five archers in the Water Tower.”

“Inside?”

“No more than forty.”

Y/N nodded and tightened her grip on the reins. She knew most of the Freys and their allies had been in King’s Landing and had been disposed of in battle or by the ax.

But she wanted all of them.

“They seem to be gathering who they can. Must’ve heard whispers of us marching North.”

But the Freys had few allies left. They were the only house in the Riverlands who had not sent forth supplications and oaths of fealty to the new king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And the simple bit of parchment in Y/N’s saddlebag was all the protection and fodder she needed to fan the flames already consuming the dark part of her heart that had led her here. It read simply; House Tully was once again Lord Protector of the Trident and the liege lord of the Riverlands. Any and all actions House Tully made on behalf of the Crown to secure allegiance and peace were sanctioned and accepted.

Perhaps Robb did not know what Y/N meant to do. But maybe he did, letting her loose on the House that had caused both her and her sweet cousins so much pain. She had kept her wrath contained while at war. It burned and raged under her skin but she had pulled it back like a tiger on a chain, knowing that if she had let herself be blinded by her need for vengeance, she would have only caused herself and others more heartache as her men would fall to the sword and ax because her plans would have left them vulnerable instead of safe. But now they were safe. This was the final piece. And she could let it finally burn.

A window pushed open and caught Y/N’s eye. A glint of metal, a cage, was revealed in low candlelight. The rookery, it would seem. Y/N watched a raven fly and pulled an arrow from her quiver. She nocked it and pulled her bow taut, listening to the string sing under her fingers. The arrow flew and took the bird from its flight. They would have no support.

Y/N drew another arrow and turned to Jon. “Give the signal.”

“Your father would be proud, my lady. You are a force, just as he.” Tytos was still filled with compliments even as he let a maester stitch up a gash on his arm.

Y/N managed to smile and dipped her rag into a bowl of fresh water and dragged it across her blood and dirt caked face and neck as she glanced out the window. For a moment, she doubted Brynden Tully would be proud of her. Letting loose a band of men still raging from victory and anger from the betrayal of the Red Wedding onto enemy territory and giving them permission to do whatever they wanted and needed to take the fortress was not honorable or something he would have ordered. But he was gone and she still breathed. She was a survivor—and she knew he would be proud of that.

Portcullises crumpled and arrows flew. Swords ran red and the fortress burned. The siege had lasted all of a handful of hours—just long enough for her to spend her quiver of arrows as she picked off fleeing Freys as they ran across the bridges. But it was finished. Almost.

Y/N grasped Tytos’ uninjured shoulder and squeezed, telling him to rest as Patrek ran into the room and told her they had finished gathering the Freys as she requested. He led her out of the damp, dark castle and onto the grass just on the edge of the Green Fork. A band of about twenty men were on their knees as the Northmen and Riverlanders created a circle around them with dirtied swords kept them from wavering.

The last of the Freys. All of them were guilty. Every single one of them knew of the plot and drew their blades when the time came. Each one had benefitted in some way from the slaughter of the Red Wedding and murder of her father.

Patrek continued on as Jon separated himself from the group and touched her arm just before they reached the group. “This will not bring them back,” he whispered, dark eyes pleading. He had seen enough bloodshed.

Y/N pushed his hand from her arm and stepped forward. “No, it will not. But blood begets blood. And I shall bathe in it. There shall be no root or stem left.”

Patrek had dragged a large stump from the tree line and set it at her feet. She watched a few of the men nervously glance between the stump and Y/N, knowing what was coming.

“Your men have refused to swear fealty to King Robb, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your House has refused to bend the knee. Guest Right was violated for greed.” Y/N held her hand out for the ax Lord Cerwyn had across his back and he gave it readily. “I have learned that if you pass the sentence, you should swing the sword. I gave the order.” The weapon was heavy in her grip as she remembered Ned’s words. She’d just been a girl when he had said them and his eyes were sad. But she knew the words to be true and just. “Bring me Lord Walder Frey.”

Two Northmen darted into the group of Freys and pulled a snarling man, still in his sleeping clothes, up and then dropped him to his knees at Y/N’s feet.

“Little Lady Tully,” Walder sneered with rotted teeth. “If your cousin had been half the bitch you are, she might still be breathin’.”

“The gods gave you a chance to be true when they sent Lady Catelyn to your door. They gave you another when your men found my father. You and your wretched family betrayed mine. Now you must reckon with me.”

Walder’s face contorted and splotches of red dotted his grey cheeks. “You-”

Y/N swung the ax and buried it into his neck but it caught on this spine. His eyes grew wide as blood spurted and oozed from the wound. Walder’s mouth opened and closed with silent curses and stained his brown teeth red. She yanked the ax back and watched the Frey crumple down onto the stump before finally cleaving the man’s head from his shoulders. “Bring me the next,” she called out over her shoulder. “I should like to finish this before nightfall.”

She needed a new ax after the third Frey. And a damp cloth to wipe the blood from her face and hands.

“Bring me the next!”

A tall man was then shoved to his knees in front of her, brown hair thin and greasy as it stuck to his sweaty face. He snarled up at her, as a handful of others did before.

“Name?”

“Raymund Frey.”

And that gave Y/N pause. “Arya!” Arya came running, a stranger’s blood streaked across her cheek but still bright-eyed. Y/N handed over the ax. She took it with a frown and glanced at the Frey. “This is Raymund Frey.”

Realization dawned on the young Stark’s face and her grip tightened. If the Freys had not been so fond of bragging, perhaps they would not have known he had been the one to slit Catelyn’s throat at the Red Wedding. But they knew. And so, Y/N watched Arya bury the ax into the man’s neck.

And when all of them were gone, bodies left out to be pecked by hungry carrions, Y/N walked out into the river and washed the blood from her hands. It was finished. The blood in the rivers had washed her clean.

Riverrun had managed to survive a handful of sieges and a brief Frey occupation without losing its integrity. Jon and Arya accompanied her to her family’s seat and she invited the Northmen to rest in its halls for a fortnight before continuing North.

Houses from the Riverlands descended upon Riverrun when they heard of her return and Edmure’s release from the bowels of Casterly Rock. And Y/N was not sure if they had heard of her campaign at the Twins or in the Westerlands but a handful of them stuttered and avoided eye contact when they once again swore fealty to House Tully and bumbled through lathing compliments for King Robb as if he were standing beside her. It amused Arya endlessly who poorly concealed her giggles behind her hand until Jon nudged at her shoulder.

But Edmure had been much changed since his time in Casterly Rock’s dungeons. He walked with a limp and was in need of a cane. The fingers on his left hand were crooked, healed broken and at strange angles. And his vigor had left, his pride, too. Whenever anyone asked for an edict or command, his blue eyes flickered to Y/N and she found herself answering.

Settling feuds, giving instruction on how to rebuild, granting clemency, and doling out justice when needed. Through all of it he seemed to look to Y/N for guidance, to answer for him. She had only planned to stay long enough to make sure the Riverlands were at peace but Edmure gave her pause.

It was exhausting and confusing and Y/N, more often than not, found herself in the familiar kitchens late at night in search of wine. While she had anticipated that being within Riverrun’s familiar halls would finally grant her some peace, all she found was longing for the warmth of the Dornish sun and the gentle touch of Ellaria and Oberyn. The sound of the little ones laughing in the Water Gardens while Obara hollered out formations at the training field. Riverrun was so…quiet. Had it always been so quiet and cold? A small comfort was taking her father’s childhood rooms as her home. It was a way to feel close to him but the ache that had settled in her heart grew a little easier to bear with each passing day. And receiving a raven from Winterfell made her smile, too. It was from Sansa, stating that she had sailed North from Sunspear and had settled back into Winterfell without issue, a small band of loyal Northmen at her call. She had been named Warden of the North by her brother Robb and Y/N remembered how the broken throne room had been filled with cheers at the news, even if Sansa had not been present to hear it. But her own troubles persisted.

Jon found her the night before he, Arya, and the Northmen were to depart for their homes. She poured him a large glass of wine and ushered him into a seat in the dark room and finally pried his story from him. He spoke of betrayal and death and love and loyalty until the sun rose with the next morning.

“Out of all the Starks, you were the most prone to finding trouble.” She reached out to grasp his hand and squeezed, matching tired smiles on their faces. “But you survived. That is all that matters to me.”

He laughed and rubbed at his eyes as she smiled. “If you ever tire of the snow, come to Dorne. I will always have a place for you.”

And then she led him out into the sun to join the rest of the Northmen and bid him goodbye with a tight hug and a kiss against his head and she turned to Arya who begrudgingly gave back the Sand Steed she had stolen before hugging Y/N with a ferocity only she was capable of.

“Find your joy, little wolf,” Y/N whispered into her hair as she held Arya tight. “You deserve it. Now, stay safe.”

Arya nodded and sniffled once before clearing her throat as she pulled back. They both whispered soft goodbyes to each other as the morning light continued to grow. And then Y/N watched them disappear on the horizon with a heavy heart, knowing she was strangely alone now in the place she had called home. As she stepped inside, she nearly bowled over Roslin. Apologies tumbled from Roslin’s mouth as she cradled her son to her chest, almost shaking.

Y/N bit back a sigh and plastered a smile on her face. In truth, Roslin was a genial and gentle woman. Pretty. Loyal. So unlike the rest of her family. Y/N saw how she constantly looked to Edmure with love in her eyes and was met with a broken smile in return. And when the news had come of what had been become of her family, Roslin almost seemed relieved. It made Y/N wonder what she had endured while under her father’s thumb. “It is nothing, my lady. My fault. You are Lady Tully now. Apologize for only what is necessary.”

Roslin froze for a moment, as she always seemed to do whenever Y/N spoke with her, but then nodded with a small smile of her own. “Of course, my lady. Thank you.”

The pair spoke for a little longer, Y/N asking after the health of her babe, a boy nearing his first nameday and named after Edmure’s childhood idol and pride of their house, Kermit Tully, who had led House Tully to the height of their power during the Dance of Dragons. Yes, Y/N supposed, Roslin would grow to be a fine Lady Tully.

If only she could ensure Edmure would become the man she needed him to be.

Y/N eventually found herself slipping away after bidding Roslin a good day and walking up toward the rookery, she wanted to send a raven to Sansa to ask how she was faring. The ravens cawed in greeting as she stepped inside. They always recognized her, the intelligent little beasts. But it was the open window that drew her attention. A white raven cawed as it turned to watch her approach. The noise came again as she brushed a finger against the bird’s back and it fluttered its wings, showing the slip of parchment tied to its leg.

Y/N already knew what the missive would say – white ravens only appeared with the changing of the seasons.

The raven cawed against and nuzzled against her finger as she untied the parchment before flying away. And she was right – “winter has come” was all the Citadel had written, probably in haste to finish the hundreds more needing to be sent.

When she asked Edmure what should be done, finding him sequestered away in Hoster’s old rooms, he gave her another tired smile and asked her to make sure the other Riverlands houses were informed and cared for. Yet another obstacle. Dorne had never seemed so far away.

Y/N ordered the overfilled storehouses of the Twins be emptied to make sure the houses beleaguered by the long war would not starve and wrote to Willas and Olenna in Highgarden to secure a few hundred bushels of grain and barley as well. Even with the war, the Reach had enough to spare. And so, more weeks slipped through her hands. Lords and ladies from across the Riverlands came to Riverrun to receive what House Tully could give them and continue to ask for guidance from their liege lords.

An envoy from House Vance was the latest to arrive and it was then that Edmure seemed to finally show some of his former self. He smiled and greeted them, welcomed them, and helped them settle for the handful of nights they would be housed at Riverrun. And a breath Y/N did not realize she was holding finally pushed its way out of her tired lungs. He would be fine, she told herself. He just needed time.

Even Roslin seemed to settle more into her role at Edmure’s side. It was comforting to know that House Tully was secure once again. She sent a raven to Dorne, telling Oberyn and Ellaria she hoped to leave within a fortnight and arrive before the first snow of the new season. It put a certain spring in her step to think that soon she would be back in Dorne. She would be married and-

“Y/N!” Edmure called her name and snapped her from her pleasant reverie before the evening meal. She walked to his side in the hall and offered a small smile. “I have a gift for you, cousin.”

Before she could ask what the gift was, they were ushered into the hall for the meal. Edmure then pointed out Lord Vance’s third son and prattled on for a majority of the meal. Kirth Vance was handsome, she supposed, and he spoke kindly to servants and squires alike and tended to his horses and hunting dogs with care and doted on his nieces and nephews—if Edmure could be trusted. But every word nearly turned her stomach and she resorted to pushing her food around her place in a poor attempt to look like she was eating.

Ser Kirth was almost bashful as he met her gaze and quickly ducked his head with pink cheeks. “He thinks you are the most beautiful woman he has ever seen,” Edmure continued to whisper. “Kirth is not one to overstep—he would listen to your commands and see them through as a faithful consort to you here at Riverrun.”

And then she saw what this was.

“I would have the room,” Y/N said, rising from her seat. While most everyone quickly scurried away, including Roslin and her babe, Edmure signaled for Kirth to come closer. “No, no, Ser Kirth. My dear cousin has misread my intentions. I would speak to him alone.” Another ruddy blush took over his cheeks and he tipped his head before all but running from the hall. When the door firmly shut, she rounded on Edmure. “How dare you.”

Edmure stood, cane clacking against the floor. “Y/N-”

“If you think for a moment that you have the ability to coerce me into staying by offering me a man like that, you do not know me at all.”

“You led the Riverlands to victory. Not me. Not little Robb. You, dear cousin. You raised the banners and called on their loyalty and oaths. You bled alongside them.” Edmure pulled in a shaking breath and pressed harder onto his cane. “Riverrun should be yours.”

“I do not want it.” Y/N turned away from him, trying to hide her disgust. “Is this why you have shunned your duties? You believe you cannot serve your people.”

“I know I cannot.” And he sounded so defeated that she almost turned to comfort him. But rage kept her still.

“Then the Lannisters have won. They sought to strip you of your will and pride and make you a soulless creature of their making.” And Edmure was quiet and that was what had her turning. Her once near-boastful and handsome cousin had all but curled in on himself, face warped and scrunched like he was near tears. “Don’t let them win, Edmure. They are gone. You are still here. You are the man who led men into battle without flinching. You are the man who sheltered smallfolk here, in your home, because you knew they were scared.” Her voice cracked, broken in her throat. “You are the man who read me stories when I was a child. You are a good man. True, brave, and honest.”

Edmure shook his head and a single tear escaped his eye. “I cannot be that man again. I am tied to the family that imprisoned me, killed my sister-”

Y/N reached out to place her hand over Edmure’s on the head of his cane. “The Freys are dead and at my hand. I would gladly do it again. But that woman loves you—loves your son—despite your best attempts to spurn them. The gods have given you a fine wife, Edmure. Do not squander it.”

“She-”

“Is your wife. The mother to your heir. You were once a man of honor. Be so again. No one shall claim the Twins. Let it rot if you wish. Roslin loves you, chose you over her family. There is no ill will in that woman’s soul toward anyone. Just love.” Y/N sighed. “We know love in any form is rare, Edmure. You have found it in Roslin. I have found it-”

“In Dorne,” Edmure grumbled. “Yes, I have heard of your betrothal to Prince Oberyn and your dalliances with his paramour.”

Y/N pulled back her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, a sad shield against the wound he had cut. “I am happy. They love me. I love them. Why can you not see-”

“He has daughters older than you, Y/N. All of them bastards. Do you not believe you could find someone more suitable to call husband?”

“And you think Kirth Vance would be suitable?” She bit out, anger replacing the hurt. “I would give Oberyn eight more bastards if the gods allowed!” She bellowed as something protective struck at her stomach, even if the targets of her cousin’s ire were thousands of leagues away. “He loves me and I love him and Ellaria. He fought beside me, for me—for the gods-forsaken pile of brick and mortar because he knew I once called it home.”

“It is your home!” Edmure yelled in return. “You are a Tully-”

“I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell’s wife in all but name and I am going home!” Her chest heaved and she wiped a hand across her face, trying to calm herself before said anything else. “You are the Lord of Riverrun. Lord Paramount of the Trident. You are not a child. Your life has led to this moment. Do not forsake Hoster’s teachings for your learned meekness. He named you as his heir—be the man he knew you to be. Because I cannot and will not be.” And then she left, leaving Edmure alone.

Y/N pulled her fur-lined cloak a little tighter about her shoulders as she strode out to the stables. Qelōs was being tended to by the stable hand and her tack was waiting to be placed on her gleaming back. Full saddlebags were ready for one last journey South. Y/N had spent the last night in Riverrun’s Sept, praying for guidance and for her father’s soul one more time—another quiet goodbye. She thought it would be fitting to do it here, in his former home. And as the sun rose the following morning, it was the most at ease she had felt in almost a year.

“I am never coming this far North again,” Obara said, moving closer to her to try to get a bit of body heat. The large fur cloak and gloves were not enough, it seemed. Obara and Oberyn had led an envoy to the Riverlands to collect Y/N and ensure she was safely delivered back to Sunspear. Frost had started to stick to the grass around Riverrun, thin sheets of ice collected over patches of the rivers and Obara had been distraught about the temperature since she arrived with her father two days ago. Ellaria and the rest of the Sand Snakes had stayed in Dorne. Loreza and Dorea had apparently caught a bit of a fever with their first Winter and Oberyn and Ellaria both wanted to keep the rest of their daughters healthy. The little ones would be fine, but Ellaria and Oberyn always wanted to be sure.

Y/N chuckled at Obara’s plight and pulled a thick wool stole from one of her bags and wrapped it around Obara’s shoulders, making sure to tuck it high around her neck. “What of your plans to see Seagard? Hm? Lord Patrek will be devastated.”

Obara sniffed and looked away. “He must wait for Winter to end if he wishes to have me at his home. I am of Dorne. He-”

“Is in love with you, Obara. And Lord Mallister is amiable to the match if you wish it.” Y/N assumed tales of Obara saving his heir’s life and fighting beside the Riverlanders may have something to with Lord Mallister easing his views on who could be a possible match for his son. That, and Oberyn Martell being her father, a Prince of Dorne and the man who took Tywin Lannister’s head from his shoulders was a definite bargaining point. Y/N finished tucking the stole around her frigid companion. “But I am happy to simply see your face again.”

“Sap,” Obara said with a small smirk. “If I have to hear Father wax poetic about your eyes the entire ride to Dorne, I will be forced to murder you both.”

“Oh, I expect nothing less.”

They spoke a little longer, watching their horses be readied for the ride before one of the stable hands said, “Oh, Lord Tully! Good morrow!”

Y/N turned to see Edmure at the mouth of the stables. Roslin was at his side, a small smile on her delicate lips. Something was bundled in his left arm, his right still holding his cane. It had been a tumultuous two weeks within Riverrun’s halls. Edmure had stumbled when regaining his duties but fulfilled them with more confidence with each day. He had kept his conversations with Y/N at a minimum and had steadfastly refused to speak to Oberyn more than necessary when he first arrived. But Edmure softened. At almost an alarming rate. But perhaps that was simply Oberyn’s charm. His pervasive magnetism that could draw nearly everyone to his side if he wanted them. Edmure was no exception. And that gave Y/N a little comfort, to know that Edmure did not hate her betrothed as he had tried. Knowing her two families, no matter how different, were coming together was a solace. Riverrun would survive under Edmure’s lordship.

The pair stepped closer and Roslin helped Edmure press the bundle into Y/N’s arms. “It is a gift for you. A reminder of… of Riverrun.” Not of home. Not anymore.

Y/N looked down at the bundle and watched it move, the tip of the fabric peeling away to reveal a fluffy snout. Y/N quickly unwrapped the dog with a huff of a laugh as it wiggled in her hold. The pup fit comfortably in her arms and had the most beautiful black fur with a tuft of white on his chest.

“He is of the Riverlands, hearty and loyal. Even if Riverrun is no longer your home, I’d like… I’d like if you still had a piece of us with you.”

The pup squirmed in her grasp and raised up on unsteady legs to lick at her chin with a happy yip. A fortuitous distraction for both Edmure and Y/N as they tried to clear the tears from their eyes. Y/N nodded and pressed a kiss to the dog’s head before leaning up to kiss Edmure’s cheek. “He’s wonderful. Thank you, Edmure. A treasure to be sure.”

It was not an apology, not an outright one anyway. But Y/N accepted it just the same. It was a soft ending to a hard chapter.

But she was ready to start a new one.

And as Oberyn walked into the stables, a soft smile on his face, she knew it would be a good one.

The distance between Riverrun and Sunspear seemed so long and so short at the same time. Each night was spent in Oberyn’s arms, trying to reclaim the time she had lost. They would whisper about their plans for the future, of how they both wished Ellaria in their arms when the nights grew colder and colder.

But it was good. It was soft and gentle and eased the ache she had held against her heart like a shield since she had left his arms. It was good.

The pup had grown astonishingly fast. He often squirmed out of her grasp in the saddle to trot alongside their horses. If there were ever a body of water near the road, he quickly jumped into it to wet his fur and then happily scampered back into line, proud of himself.

“He is a little bear,” Oberyn once griped as the pup’s sharp teeth nipped at his leg when Oberyn had moved to help Y/N down from her horse. The pup seemed a little insistent on having Y/N’s attention at all hours and he only grew bolder as the distance from Sunspear grew shorter. Obara found her father’s frustration with the pup endlessly entertaining and would also lathe attention on the pup at any moment. She followed her father’s lead in calling him a little bear, much more affectionate in tone. And Y/N supposed the name just stuck. She called him her little river bear in High Valyrian, but settled on just calling him Gryves for short.

As they crossed under the stone arches of Sunspear and the crowds cheered, little Gryves happily pranced next to Qelōs and snapped his jaws, catching the flower petals the people of Sunspear had thrown into the air in celebration of their return. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes were waiting on the steps of the fortress and Y/N dismounted before Qelōs even stopped and raced up the stairs. Tears were in Ellaria’s eyes as Y/N wrapped her in her arms and she could taste them as she pressed her lips to hers again in again in a fevered frenzy as an incandescent warmth bloomed in her chest at just the simple touch of Ellaria’s skin. And it took Ellaria holding her still, gentle hands on the side of her face, to realize she was crying, too. “No more tears, my Tully,” Ellaria whispered. “You are home.”

A happy shriek had them pulling apart to see Dorea and Loreza bowled over on the steps being licked by Gryves whose entire fluffy body was shaking with how quickly he was wagging his tail.

Oberyn stepped to their side and kissed Ellaria soft and slow before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s smiling mouth.

Yes. She was home.

Gryves huffed for the third time, disturbing her attempt at sleep. Or maybe the dog knew she couldn’t sleep and was sharing in her plight. Y/N gave up after she heard him huff again and slipped out from under her blankets and padded over to her balcony, letting the cool breeze wash over her as she pulled the doors open. Gryves’ nails tapped against the stone beside her and they both walked to the railing, looking out over the still-bustling fortress.

Her wedding was tomorrow. Her dress was carefully hung and her maiden’s cloak alongside it. Daisy had been bouncing in each step in the last week, happy to have her friend back safely and to “finally see you married to your prince, my lady!” Daisy and Daemon’s own ceremony would be held the following day. People were buzzing about down below, readying for the festivities. While the ceremony would be small, Doran insisted on letting them have every finery they wanted. Y/N did not care if she had to marry in a threadbare sack and in bare feet and they only had blood oranges for their wedding dinner—she simply wanted to be married.

Gryves placed his front paws on the railing and looked out over the small crowd, too. He let out a soft ‘boof’ as he watched. He was still growing, his head now coming to her waist but he was still as playful as ever—and patient. Loreza had fashioned him a hat that looked peculiarly like an otter and he let the girl set it on his head and sat still long enough for the girls to coo over him before getting distracted by a gull he promptly chased into the sea. He was doted on by almost everyone who resided in or worked around Sunspear. (Oberyn was still trying to find a way to get the dog to like him and stop nipping at his leg whenever he tried to kiss Y/N.) Sarella was home (“For only a moment!” she insisted.) from the Citadel and the Sand Snakes were all together again and Y/N found them all to be wondrous company. Daisy and Daemon were still steadfastly in love, perhaps even more so that Daemon had returned unharmed. All of it was so idyllic. So perfect. And for a moment, Y/N once again wondered if the world was about to crash around her—but she quickly dismissed the thought and she thought of Ellaria telling her that happiness does not have limits and that she had the ability to choose every joy and happiness that was placed at her feet. And Y/N wanted to seize every last opportunity.

A knock at her door had her turning and Gryves kept to her side as she walked back into her rooms to open the door. Ellaria was on the other side with a soft smile and Gryves darted around her and into the darkened halls, probably in search of Loreza or Dorea. Y/N stepped back to let Ellaria in and softly shut the door behind her. Before Y/N could ask what she was doing, Ellaria had grasped at her face and pushed her lips to hers, easily delving into Y/N’s surprised mouth to lick and explore. Y/N faltered for a moment before letting her hands slide around Ellaria’s waist, bunching the silky fabric of her dressing robe between her fingers. Ellaria pulled away for a moment to press soft, wet kisses against Y/N’s cheek and down her neck, humming as she felt the thrumming pulse beneath the skin.

“I knew you would not be sleeping, my Tully.” Another kiss to Y/N’s panting mouth. “And I will have to call you something else after tomorrow, won’t I?” Ellaria’s laugh was light and her fingers started to trail up and down Y/N’s arms, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“You can call me whatever you desire,” Y/N said, tone breathy.

“And if I simply wanted to call you mine?”

“I am already yours.” Y/N leaned forward to press her forehead against Ellaria’s as her hands gently grasped Ellaria’s hands in hers, wrapping her fingers around her wrist. “I am yours and you are mine,” she whispered the vow against Ellaria’s lips. It was no Sept. There was not a Septon in sight nor any other trappings of the ceremony. But Y/N meant the vow as seriously as she would tomorrow with Oberyn.

And then Ellaria was kissing her again, tightening her grip on her wrists like she wanted to brand her touch to Y/N’s skin. “I am yours and you are mine.” Ellaria then dragged Y/N forward and spun her around before pressing a hand to her chest and pushing. Y/N didn’t even realize they had come so close to the bed until she fell onto it with a laugh, greedily grabbing at Ellaria’s legs as she climbed over her and stole another kiss against her smiling mouth. “You need to sleep, yes? I have two options for you.”

“Oh?”

Ellaria nodded and trailed her lips across Y/N’s chin, nipping at her jaw, before sliding down her neck again and letting her tongue dip into the notch between Y/N’s collarbones. “I can have you brought tea. Or…”

“Or…” Y/N played along, letting her hands slide up from Ellaria’s legs to her hips but her grip stuttered when Ellaria’s mouth suddenly pressed over her chest, tongue finding her nipple even through the cloth and teasing it to a hardened peak. When she was satisfied with one, she quickly did the same to the other.

“Or I can tire you out myself,” Ellaria said, situating herself with ease so she could lay her cheek against Y/N’s chest, undoubtedly listening to her fluttering heart. “Which would you prefer, my Tully?”

“You. Always you.”

Ellaria’s smile was bright even in the dark of the room as she sat straight and shuffled down the bed while signaling for Y/N to center herself in the blankets. She gracefully stretched out beside her slowly pushed the edge of Y/N’s chemise up, up, up until it exposed her lace-edged small clothes. “You’re always so pretty for me,” Ellaria mused before her fingers trailed over the front of them, already coaxing a moan from Y/N’s lips. “It has been too long since I’ve been able to touch you like this. You are never to leave us like that again.” She leaned down to kiss Y/N’s lips again, licking into her mouth. “Swear to me.”

“I swear it,” Y/N said, last word a breathless gasp as Ellaria’s talented fingers slipped beneath her small clothes and found her heat, ready and wet for her. Y/N had not even realized she had become so wet, only able to focus on Ellaria.

“Good.” Ellaria dragged the damp small clothes and dropped them to the floor. “So pretty,” Ellaria whispered as her fingers started to push through Y/N’s folds, gathering her slick before trailing up to her clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure to have Y/N’s hips lifting from the featherbed. Again and again, Ellaria would push through Y/N’s folds, barely dipping into where she needed her most, as she pressed lazy, open-mouthed kisses against Y/N’s panting lips.

“Please,” Y/N near-pleaded. “Please.”

“And always so polite.” And then finally—finally—Ellaria curled her fingers into Y/N’s pussy in one single motion and delighted in Y/N’s high pitched whine and how the younger woman fisted her hands in the silk sheets at her sides. Ellaria leaned up just enough to seal her mouth over Y/N’s, all teeth and tongue and heavy, warm breaths as her fingers started to move, dragging in and out even as Y/N’s fluttering walls tried to pull them tight.

The familiar coil was starting to grow and unravel at an embarrassing rate and Y/N heard herself nearly wailing as it snapped and that delicious wave of pleasure washed over her. But Ellaria did not stop. Her fingers continued to curl inside her, Ellaria’s other hand pressed down against Y/N’s belly and pinned her to the bed. Y/N cried out at the burst of pressure she felt bloom and the coil started to wind itself again, now with an unfamiliar bite and sting that sang with each movement of Ellaria’s fingers.

“Oh please,” she said, words choked in her throat. She reached out to grasp at Ellaria’s wrist, pushing her further, letting her fingers brush against the spot only she and Oberyn could reach.

“That’s my good girl. Take what you need.”

Even through her hazed mind, Y/N keened at the praise. She wanted to be a good girl.

Ellaria licked across her panting mouth and bit at Y/N’s spit-slicked lips, smirking the entire time. Y/N’s walls fluttered around her fingers and she pressed her thumb against her clit with enough pressure to have Y/N cry against her mouth. Slick soaked her hand but she did not cease her movements, pushing her fingers into her until her hips pressed up against her grip and Y/N’s fingers clawed at her shoulders.

“El-Ellaria I-”

But she pressed her down to the dampened blankets and smiled. “So beautiful,” she said. “Give me another. My good girl.”

Her thighs shook, nearly clamping down over Ellaria’s arm as wave after wave of terrible pleasure wracked her body. The room blurred as her arms slid down Ellaria’s back to pull her close as if she were not the one inflicting this delicious torture. The sounds that came from Y/N as her fingers continued to move could only be described as lewd. Wet and frenzied.

“Give it to me,” Ellaria said, steady and low against her heated skin.

Y/N cried out as another jolt of blinding pleasure shot through her, hips finally lifting from the featherbed as her vision went white. Her heart continued to roar in her ears. Ellaria’s fingers slowed their assault before pulling out, leaving Y/N feeling empty and spent even as her body shivered with residual tremors. Ellaria’s glistening fingers dipped between her kiss-bitten lips and her tongue twisted and slid to gather everything she could. When she was finished, she shuffled down Y/N’s body to press a kiss against her wet cunt and Y/N let out a broken moan. Her dark eyes sparkled when she looked up at her. “One more.” She licked a broad stripe up from her hole to her clit and Y/N keened, nerves alight and near painful. But the long strokes of Ellaria’s tongue continued, broken up by little kitten licks against her clit or dipping inside. Every flick of Ellaria’s glorious tongue brought Y/N closer to the precipice but it came sooner than either of them anticipated, dribbling out of her with a broken sort of cry and a new puddle between her thighs. With a final kiss, Ellaria rose and walked to the vanity near the open balcony and pulled a golden cloth from its pile before dipping it into the small basin of water Daisy had left for Y/N to wash her face earlier. She slid onto the bed again and wiped between Y/N’s still shaking thighs with a gentle touch, delighting when she shivered. “Are you all right?” Ellaria asked as her tongue peeked from between her lips out to clean the shining mess from around mouth.

Y/N sighed with a tired smile. “I am perfect.” She reached out toward Ellaria’s soft skirts and felt the silk slide between her fingers. “But I would like to please you, too.”

Ellaria smiled and dropped the damp fabric to the floor. “Are you sure?”

“I am. But I hope you do not mind guiding me.”

Ellaria slipped back onto the bed and her knees bracketed Y/N’s thighs as the younger woman gently pulled the skirt up to reveal Ellaria’s uncovered mound, shining in the candlelight. Y/N’s hands slid from her waist to the backs of her thighs, urging Ellaria up toward her face. Ellaria had taught her many things, one of them being how to give her pleasure with just her fingers and Y/N had delighted in the taste of her love. But, in truth, Y/N had been fascinated by watching Oberyn make Ellaria cum with his wicked tongue. She wanted a taste from the source, too.

“By the gods, you are perfect,” Ellaria murmured holding her skirts higher so she could look to see Y/N’s face between her legs. She reached down to curl her hand around the back of Y/N’s head, pulling her up to meet the crux of her thighs.

Y/N quickly licked a short but firm stripe from Ellaria’s hole to her clit, earning a soft sigh in return. The bitterly sweet taste of Ellaria was heavenly and Y/N quickly, selfishly, licked again and then wiggled her tongue against Ellaria’s hole, trying to collect as much as she could.

“That’s it.” Ellaria’s grip tightened on her head and Y/N licked again and again before taking a chance and pulling her clit into her mouth and sucking. They both sunk into the pillows.

Y/N reached up and around to grasp at Ellaria’s hips as her licks grew bolder, encouraged by Ellaria’s moans. They grew louder as her tongue started to delve and lick and press. Ellaria would sometimes murmur instructions, “to the left” “right there” “a little harder, my darling” and Y/N followed each with wild abandon and squealed when Ellaria pressed down onto her mouth and moved her hips, grinding against her tongue.

“So good,” She panted. “So good.”

Y/N ate her out in earnest, sloppy and spit sliding out of the corner of her lips between covetous licks. Ellaria could suffocate her like this easily—and Y/N would die happy.

Exploring fingers slid down and Y/N simply pressed against the bundle of nerves and smiled when Ellaria wailed in response, head tilted back to press the sound into the sticky night air. Her hips moved faster. Y/N did all she could to keep up, to give Ellaria as much as she had given her. The hold on her head tightened and Ellaria suddenly stilled above her with a groan. The thighs on either side of Y/N’s head shook and the taste of Ellaria flooded her mouth. Y/N pulled her fingers away from her clit but gave a few final licks before Ellaria pushed off and then sat beside her on the pillows.

Ellaria caught her breath with a laugh and then leaned down to press a kiss to Y/N’s lips. “I cannot wait to teach you everything I know.”

Ellaria kissed her again before Y/N rose and wet her own bit of cloth to wipe between Ellaria’s thighs. She lathed a kiss against each of Ellaria’s legs before pulling her skirts down again as she lounged on the featherbed. “I will be a dutiful student.”

The laugh Ellaria let out was tired but joyful. And they spoke for a few more stolen moments, Ellaria constantly checking to make sure Y/N was not overworked or feeling strange as they shared slow kisses in the moonlight. “Will you be able to rest now?” Ellaria asked as Y/N yawned.

“You have thoroughly exhausted me.”

Ellaria’s smile grew and she kissed Y/N one more time before she slipped off the bed again. “Then I shall see you in the morning, Princess.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of the title. “In the morning, my love.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills @nyrnerosmartell @5hundreddaysofsummer @honestlystop @huliabitch @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @karmezii @thesadvampire @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040 @paintballkid711 @huliabitch @stitchers-in-stitches @iellaren-uodo-rian

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #game of thrones imagine #oberyn martell #game of thrones #asoiaf

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libraryoffandomsuniverse · 4 years

Text

Being Tywin Lannister’s favourite child

Another idea that wouldn’t leave my head until I wrote it down!!! This is a mixture of both the book and the show. Warning for possible misogyny (I tried not to make it obvious, but it’s there. Westeros is a very misogynistic place after all). This is also a little Jaime and Cersei critical, so ymmv.

Congratulations on being a member of Westeros’ most dysfunctional family.

Don’t get me wrong, other noble families have problems of their own (the Greyjoys, Targaryens, Tarlys, to name just a few) but your family is so ostentatious with how messed up they are that they’re in another league.

You were born a few years after the twins.

Out of all your siblings, you’re the one who resembles your mother the most.

It was a fact that caused Tywin pain when she died, but he later grew to think of it as a comfort that some likeness to his beloved Joanna remained after her death.

Tywin Lannister never smiles, it’s true. But when you’re around him, his face does soften and relaxes.

One day the corners of his mouth crept up a fraction after you’d been particularly witty.

Tywin doesn’t mind you asking him questions, particularly about governing the Westerlands, because you always do it privately (to publicly question his judgement would be suicide) and they’re not stupid questions (if you think they are, you go to your Uncle Kevan because he’s more amiable).

Tywin’s never said it aloud, but he’s often thought that it would’ve been best if you’d been born a boy. House Lannister’s greatness would have continued under your leadership, but alas.

You get along well with your brothers, but Tyrion is your favourite.

You and him are the more intellectual siblings. You swap books together and converse about a wide range of topics.

Whenever you’re apart, you send each other long letters that always entertain the sender.

Part of you resents Jaime for joining the Kingsguard, because he was supposed to be the Lord of Casterly Rock and he threw it away.

Only a Lannister can love the Rock. What kind of Lannister gives it up?

You and Cersei have a complicated relationship.

As children, you were both very close (but not as close and her and Jaime) and you actually looked up to her.

She adored you in return.

You were so happy for her when she became Robert’s Queen.

And when her children were born, you fawned over them and constantly sent them little presents.

But as the years began to pass, your relationship became more and more tense, until you both seemed to get along better when you were miles away from each other.

Before your marriage, you helped your father run Casterly Rock. You did a superb job; he was impressed by your prudence, your discretion and your wit.

Cersei began to resent how Tywin listened to you more than her. She felt that he valued your opinion more than hers and discontent began to settle in her heart.

Tywin takes great care when it comes to choosing your husband. Cersei’s a Queen, so your marriage won’t be quite so magnificent.

But you’re a Lannister, so you’ll still get a very good one.

You end up being married off to one of the most powerful houses in the Westerlands.

Your husband is the heir. He’s not politically astute (unlike you), but he is kind, handsome and only a few years older than you.

Plus you later find out that he’s great in bed.

Your marriage is happy. You have several children and your husband succeeds to his Lordship a few years after you’re wed.

When Tywin sends Tyrion to King’s Landing, you join your little brother.

You arrive with your children and entourage (your husband stays behind to fight against the Northmen with your father) and Cersei is pissed.

She’s furious that Tyrion’s been made Hand and she despises the way that you’re treated as Queen in all but name.

Varys likes working with you and Tyrion. Both of you are the more reasonable Lannisters and he enjoys verbally sparring with you both.

You and Tyrion play good cop, bad cop with Pycelle. After Tyrion’s thrown Pycelle in the cells, you loudly advocate for his release.

It’s faked - you think he’s better off dead, but by petitioning for his release, you know you’ll gain his support. Pycelle dislikes Tyrion, but he can trust you.

Pycelle internally admits that you’re more reasonable than your sister.

After the Battle of the Blackwater, you avoid recrimination from Tywin. You hadn’t taken charge of the troops like Tyrion had. Instead you’d been responsible for ensuring calm during the siege and boosting morale among the nobles and the city’s population.

When Tywin becomes Hand, your husband joins him on the Small Council.

It’s an open secret that you’re the real power behind your husband and all his ideas are yours. You don’t attend the Council meetings yourself, but you still know what’s been discussed. Usually because your husband or Pycelle have dropped in afterwards to tell you.

Whenever you and Olenna Tyrell cross paths, it’s like two tigers circling each other. Separated by decades and family loyalty, you’re exquisitely polite to each other. But your words have a bite to them.

If she wasn’t a Tyrell, you privately muse, you’d like her.

“If Y/N wasn’t a Lannister,” Olenna says to Margaery, “I’d like her.”

You don’t believe that Tyrion killed Joffrey. You express your thoughts once to your husband. You don’t dare to tell your father what you think; you know he’s wanted Tyrion dead for years.

When your husband breaks the news of Tywin’s death, you’re taken aback. Somehow you’d forgotten that your father was mortal, that he could die. It had seemed like Tywin Lannister would live forever.

When you start to cry, your husband comforts you.

You later find out that Tyrion killed him. It sends a cold shiver down your spine. You don’t want to believe it, but you know it’s true.

As soon as Tywin’s body is taken back to Casterly Rock, Cersei begins to assert herself. As Queen Regent, she takes control of the Small Council and your husband loses his position.

You’re furious. Your husband’s always worked for the betterment of the kingdom and the family. Now he’s been pushed out, replaced by toadies and sycophants who cater to Cersei’s growing paranoia.

When you find out your sister’s allowed the revival of the Faith Militant, you’re enraged. You remember your history lessons, you know what will happen.

You try to make Cersei see reason, but it ends in a screaming match between the two of you.

Hurtful words are exchanged, so painful that they cut you deep (you won’t cry until you’re back in your chambers) and she banishes you from court. Your relationship is broken beyond all repair.

All you can do is ensure that your husband and children are safe.

“We’re going home,“ you tell your husband as you prepare your household to begin packing. “My sister refuses to see reason and her paranoia is hurting the crown. I won’t let her stupidity bring us to ruin.”

Your party leaves King’s Landing the next day. You return to the Westerlands, to your husband’s ancestral home, where you’ll be able to avoid the coming political powder keg that’s due to erupt any day now.

#tywin lannister x reader #got headcanons #tyrion lannister x reader #game of thrones imagines #cersei lannister x reader #my writing

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brrahbrrahcharacterimagines · 5 years

Text

Before (Podrick Payne x Reader) *SMUT*

MASTERLIST

Part 2 - After

Pairing: Podrick Payne x Reader

Word Count: 2112

Warnings: Swearing, SEX, unprotected sex (please be safe!), fingering, cum

A/N: This can maybe be read as a sequel to My Hero, but can also just be read on its own. Also, yay! I’m back from vacation, so here you go guys!

You had been travelling with Brienne of Tarth and Podrick for months, joining them as they made their way back to Winterfell. You had been born in the Westerlands, and admittedly weren’t fond of the cold. You shivered, trying to keep your teeth from chattering. You wrapped your arms around Pod even tighter, pressing yourself closer to him on the back of the horse you currently shared.

“Y/N,” said Pod, “are you alright?”

“Y-yea,” you said, stuttering as you shivered. “I’m just cold. The North has always been cold, but with Winter here I’m going insane.”

“My Lady,” called Pod to Brienne, “could we rest for a moment? I have an idea.”

“I’m not a lady,” replied Brienne grudgingly. “But yes, Pod. We need to make it quick though, we need to return to Lady Sansa in Winterfell.”

The three of you stopped and Pod got off his horse. As you moved to slide off as well, he stopped you.

“Scoot forward,” he said. You cocked your head in confusion but did as he asked. As you did so he remounted the horse, only this time he was behind you. He retook the reigns in his hands, surprising you as he wrapped his arms around you to do so. “Thank you My Lady, we may continue.”

“Pod, how many times do I have to tell you that I am not a lady?” Questioned Brienne, her tone tense. Nonetheless, you rode on back to Winterfell.

Podrick had been right. As you rode back you were significantly warmer. His arms around you made you feel much better, and his hot breath fanning on your neck made you heat up even more. You had had a crush on Podrick for a long time, but you never would have told him that. In your eyes, you were just some lowly girl from the Westerlands. You were sure that is how you were seen in his eye too.

You knew that Pod could get any girl he wanted. You’d heard stories, rumors, whispers about his bedroom prowess. Everybody knew that he had returned Lord Tyrion’s money from the brothel after the ladies there refused it. He had done something so amazing to them that he enjoyed their time for free. You had to admit that this intrigued you. Despite your best efforts there were many nights that you would lie awake, imagining what he might have done. These thoughts did nothing to cure your childlike crush on the boy, in fact they made it worse. You loved that he was sweet and shy on the outside, but knowing that he had a darker side in the bedroom turned you on.

When you finally returned to Winterfell, everybody was rushing around like mad. The Night King and his army were almost here. Overhearing yelling and commotion in the crowd you concluded that you likely only had 24 hours as a maximum before the Night King was at your doorstep. You bid Podrick and Brienne a goodbye before quickly making your way back to your room to change. Your dress had gotten dirty on the journey, and you’d be damned if you didn’t spend what may be your last hours looking good.

You changed hurriedly into a deep purple dress that Sansa had made. The neckline was lower than that of dresses that you usually wore, but you decided that now was a good a time as any to wear it.

Your braids had become messy during your ride, so you took them out. You had beautiful hair, opting to leave it down instead of taking the time to re-braid it.

Making your way through the castle you heard a loud voice echoing down one of the hallways. You recognized it instantly, only one man would be talking as loud as this when he wasn’t angry. Tormund.

You made your way towards his voice. You had never had any issues with Tormund despite him being a wildling and you wouldn’t mind seeing him before the battle began.

You rounded the corner, finding Tormund and a group of others listening to his story. You only caught the tail end, but you heard something about giants and breast milk. You figured you didn’t want to ask him to repeat it. The expressions on the faces of everybody else in the room alerted you that the story was a rather uncomfortable one for everybody other than Tormund. Among the group was Podrick, and you made your way to sit next to him. You thought you had seen him glance down at your more exposed cleavage, but surely you were mistaken. Right?

“Good evening, Pod.” You said with a smile. He returned your smile with one of his own that made your heart melt. You did your best to conceal your blush, turning towards the fire.

“Good evening Y/N.”

The group made mindless small talk for some time before Tormund asked Brienne if she was a knight. You were angry as she told him why she wasn’t; she was a woman. You couldn’t help but beam as she was knighted by Ser Jaime Lannister, becoming Ser Brienne of Tarth. Brienne herself even smiled, warming your heart. She rarely smiled, so seeing her beam so brightly was a treat. You returned to small talk for a while after the makeshift ceremony until Tyrion proposed a song.

At first, everybody was quiet. But then you heard his voice; the voice coming from the man beside you. The man that you had an undeniable crush on.

He had the voice of an angel, and you couldn’t help but stare in awe as Podrick sang one of your favorite songs, “Jenny of Oldstones.” He glanced at you as the song finished, making you blush. Surely he had noticed your eyes on him the entire time.

Everybody began retiring to their rooms or other places in the castle, with you deciding to try and get what little rest you could. Podrick offered to walk you to your room and you accepted. You wanted to spend all the time with him that you could.

As you reached your door you let out a sigh. As time kept ticking away you grew more scared, more afraid of the battle to come. Even if you survived in the crypts, Podrick would be out on the battlefield. You knew that you would be worrying about him the entire time.

You glanced up into Podrick’s dark eyes, thinking of an idea.

“Pod,” you asked hesitantly. “Would you like to stay?”

His eyes grew wide and a blush spread across his cheeks. He didn’t say a word, but he did enter the room behind you. He closed the door behind him.

You began to undress, feeling Pod’s eyes on your body. You flushed a bright red. Perhaps he had gotten the wrong idea...

“Could you turn around,” you mumbled. He blushed and did as you asked as you stripped down to your undergarments.

You slid into bed, covering yourself in the furs lying there.

“You don’t have to sleep in your armor Pod,” you said softly. “I’ll close my eyes if you want.”

Podrick paused for a moment.

“You don’t have to.”

You flushed a bright red as Podrick began to undress. Now that he was, you weren’t sure you could look away if you tried. His body was absolutely stunning. He had toned muscle in all the right places and it was making you wild. He smirked at you, only deepening your blush. Soon after, he slid into bed next to you.

You shifted closer to him. As you did so, he reached out to wrap an arm around you and pull your head closer to his chest until you were laying against him.

“Pod?” You whispered.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Thank you for staying with me tonight. I just didn’t want to be alone with everything going on.”

Podrick chuckled, sending vibrations through his chest. You could feel them well thanks to your closeness.

“Of course I would keep you company. I would do anything for you.”

His words sent a wave of comfort, and yet arousal, through your entire being. Maybe that wrong idea he had gotten was right after all.

“Anything?” You asked, pulling away to look him in the eyes. His eyes were dark, and they were wide. His eyes were full of lust.

“Anything.”

And with that word, your lips crashed to his as he moved to meet you in the middle. He moved so that he was propped up on his arms over top of you, bending down to press his lips to yours. Your lips moved fervently and feverishly, as if this was the only chance you had. With everything going on in Winterfell, it very well might have been.

You snaked around Podrick, trailing your nails up his back. He let out a groan, making you gasp in response. You tangled your fingers in his hair. You let out a moan as you felt Pod’s hard member brush against your core. Through your undergarments you could feel him grind into you, slowly picking up in speed and pressure.You let out a soft moan, only encouraging the man.

He pulled his hips away, ghosting his fingers down your body until they reached where you needed him most. He ran his fingers softly over your core, feeling you through the only layer you had left on.

“Gods you’re so fucking wet for me.”

You couldn’t help but let out a moan at his words, bucking your hips towards his hand. Hearing the normally innocent and shy Podrick curse as he touched your body put you right up on cloud nine.

Before you knew it, Podrick had pulled your remaining undergarments off as well as his own. He brushed the head of his cock against your now exposed cunt, teasing you. You grabbed his shoulders tightly, digging in your nails in anticipation.

“Please Pod,” you whimpered. His eyes filled with even more of that lustful fire that you loved.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

“Yes Podrick, please just go inside me,” you moaned. He did quickly, although he gave you time to adjust to the feeling of his dick inside your pussy.

It hurt at first, and you buried your face into Podrick’s neck. He was panting heavily, and you could tell how much willpower it was taking him to not fuck you already.

He started to move slowly, rocking his hips back and forth just a little bit. Quickly the movement became pleasurable, eliciting moans and gasps from that pretty mouth of yours that Podrick couldn’t help but bring his lips back to again. One of his hands reached up towards your breasts, kneading gently for a while before he began to run his fingers over your sensitive nipples. He would flick a finger over quickly a few times, then slowly graze your nipple as he circled the areola. He fell into a pattern with his fingers and his cock that was driving you crazy, feeling heat rush through your whole body.

He moved his fingers from your breasts, making you whimper as he slowly caressed down your stomach to your hips, eventually settling on your clit. He rubbed his thumb over the sensitive bud in time with his thrusts, making you moan loudly.

“Podrick!” You cried, making him falter and let out a load moan himself.

You felt his thrusts getting faster as he pounded into you harder and harder. You only got louder as the pressure on your clit increased and he began attacking your neck. Surely he would be leaving marks that would be there in the morning, but in the moment it felt so good that you didn’t care. He began to groan more, panting even louder as he reached his climax.

“Pod,” you cried again, sending him over the edge. You felt him spill his seed into you, pushing you over your own edge quickly as he continued to thrust sloppily and rub your swollen clitoris.

He pulled out after you had both finished, rolling over onto his back. He reached over to you, pulling you onto his chest. You felt him bend down, giving you a kiss on the top of your head.

“Pod?” You whispered.

“Yes Y/N?”

“You better keep yourself alive for me. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get to do that again.” You flashed a dorky smile up at Pod, earning a dopey smile in return.

“Don’t worry Y/N, we’re going to be doing this a lot more from now on.”

You weren’t going to argue with that.

Part 2 - After

#Podrick Payne #podrick payne x reader #podrick x reader #pod x reader #pod #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #game of thrones season 8 #game of thrones x reader

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

Text

Monster Among Men - Jaime Lannister

I was listening to 5 Seconds of Summer’s album Youngblood while I was trying to think about what to write. Then the song Monster Among Men came on and it hit me.

Jaime Lannister broke your heart. Years later, would he do it again?

The Westerlands had always been your home, even when it truly wasn’t. You had grown up in the in the Riverlands, under your family’s House name. The flowing streams and rivers of your homeland were serene, that much was true; but it was never enough for you. In your younger years, your mind often drifted to the rolling hills and rocky cliff sides of the West.

At first, your family was concerned. The Westerlands were a strange region, full of riches and mystery. Many Houses in Westeros had relocated to the area in search for the fabled veins of gold that bled life into the land. As a result, many old Houses of Westeros had faded from existence and out of the tomes of history. When you clarified your mind was not caught on the idea of coin but rather the adventure of it all, your family seemed to calm.

On your sixteenth nameday, the gift of the title of handmaiden was granted to you. The idea of serving a Lady and being on their beck and call was not the most appealing. It wasn’t until you were told who you were to be a handmaiden that your excitement grew. Cersei Lannister was to be your holding Lady. That fact required you to pack up your valuables and march off to the Westerlands; you would be living at Casterly Rock.

You had only heard tales of the seat of House Lannister, and none had done it justice in your eyes. The glorious castle stood proudly on the cliff, just as it’s owner stood strongly at the top of the heap. The golden sun shone down on the stronghold and you could remember how the sight lingered in your minds eye for weeks after.

What you had not prepared yourself for was the Lannister’s themselves. You quickly grew close to Cersei, as you were her handmaiden. Granted, you could only get so close. The young Lady Lannister was secretive and you did not what to pry into whatever ties she had got herself caught up in. Tywin was kind to you, happy that his daughter had a friend; even if you were obligated to be there. The youngest Lannister, Tyrion, was talkative with you. He found you interesting and you would often exchange books with each other in your spare time.

It was Jaime that gave you trouble. Rarely did you even see the developing young man, but when you did, you tripped over your own thoughts. His flowing blond hair and emerald green eyes started to fill your dreams at night, the longer you stayed at Casterly Rock. You had never spoken to him before, due to his cold gaze putting you on edge; but there was something about Jaime Lannister that just drew you to him. Maybe it was the fact that Jaime had already been staring at you whenever you glanced over or maybe it was just his good looks. Either way, he barely spoke to you. You became so interested in him, you turned to Cersei. You would ask her simple questions about him. Soon those questions became more frequent as Cersei showed more interest in you the more time you spent with her. The two of you soon bonded over conversation of her brother. She was your friend.

Your relationship, or lack thereof, with Jaime took a turn one night during the week long celebration of Tywin Lannister’s 46th nameday. While the head of House Lannister was not one for wild parties, he held one in the great hall of Casterly Rock to appease his lavish family members.You were tasked with spending the night beside Cersei, to make sure she wouldn’t drink unabashedly around the rest of the Lannisters.

Despite the fact you were glued to her hip, Cersei managed to get herself lost in a sea of drink. As you desperately searched for her, you bumped into a warm, solid wall. You let out a breath at impact and started to fall backwards. If it wasn’t for the strong arms that instinctively wrapped around your waist, you would have hit the floor.

“Oh, beg my pardon, Ser-”

“Not a Ser, not yet,” a smooth voice replied. You looked up and your gaze fell on Jaime Lannister. There was a smug grin playing on his lips as he glanced down at you. It was the first one of the smiles you had seen on his lips, at least on the smiles he directed at you. The sight of that alone made your heart race, and the fact he was holding you made you feel faint.

“Sorry, Lord Lannister I-”

“You know you can call me Jaime, you’ve lived here for a year now.” As he spoke, he straighten your back, but kept his arms snugly around you.

“Jaime,” you murmured, saying nothing more. He nodded, his smile fading slightly as he let his arms fall from your waist. When he cleared his throat, you took the brief moment to fix your wrinkled gown and then looked back up at him. His green eyes were already on you.

“Looking for my lovely sister?”

“Yes, she seems to have wandered off. I was told to watch her around the wine but she managed to evade my eyes.” Jaime nodded, the lightest of smirks on his lips.

“She has a habit of doing that.” Jaime glanced down the hallway where you both stood and then back at you. “I can help you look for her, sparing you from my father’s anger.”

“Thank you, Jaime,” you said with a soft smile, “is there anywhere she may have gone?” Jaime pressed his lips into a thin line as he thought. His brow furrowed and you couldn’t help but stare at his chiseled face. Your eyes saw every little tick he made and you loved the way his eyes lit up when his mind caught up with his thoughts.

“Yes, follow me.” He extended a hands towards you and you gladly took it. Jaime led you past happy party guests and through halls of the stronghold you had never ventured down before. Your heart was racing as he tightened his grip on your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as you darted past a group of guards. After walking away unnoticed, Jaime stopped you before a heavy-looking wooden door. Your nose screwed up as you sniffed the air. The sweet, tantalizing scent of baking pastries flooded your senses and you glanced up at Jaime. He smiled at you brightly before pushing the door open. You followed behind him as he walked inside the kitchen.

“Cersei hardly eats to begin with, why would she be in here?” You questioned as Jaime shooed the kitchen staff out. The cooks and cleaners frowned but listened, knowing that they would be chewed out if they didn’t.

“When Cersei drinks, she becomes peckish. It’s something I’ve noticed myself after suffering through this party each year.” Jaime walked over to where small buns were cooling on a rack. He picked one up and broke it in half. You peered at him as he ate and wondered if he hated all the parties held in his glorious home. “Here.”

You were pulled from your thoughts as Jaime extended a hand towards you. Glancing at it, you saw the other half of the sweet bun between his fingers. You took it with a soft word of thanks and chewed slowly. It still seemed odd to you that Cersei would run to the kitchen after indulging in one too many chalice fulls of wine; but Jaime was her twin brother. He knew more about his sister than anyone else ever would.

“Do you always have to look so nervous?” A light dusting of pink spreading across your cheeks at his blunt question.

“I-I hope not,” you stuttered, “I am just worried for Cersei.”

“You truly care about her?” Jaime took a step towards you, his eyes darkening ever so slightly. His voice was low when he asked, which tightened the knot in your stomach.

“Why, yes, I do. I feel that she is a friend.”

“Cersei doesn’t have friends,” Jaime said simply, “she’s only doing as father told her.” Your brows furrowed at his words as your heart ached at what he meant. “Don’t take it to heart, Y/N. Cersei doesn’t care about anyone except herself.”

“She doesn’t care for you? Or your father?” Jaime turned his head at your questions.

“She only cares when she’s using you,” he whispered bitterly, “even then it’s only so much.” His tone dripped with hurt as he spoke to you and the sound made your heart ache. “Have you ever cared about someone to the brink of wondering why, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you whispered almost immediately. You quick reply seemed to catch Jaime off guard as he looked at you, almost urging you to explain. “He doesn’t seem to care about anyone else….I guess you could say he’s similar to Cersei in that respect. He’s hardly said a word to me in the time that I’ve been near his side.”

“How do you know that he doesn’t care?” Jaime took a step towards you, “maybe he doesn’t speak because he’s scared.” Another step.

“He doesn’t strike me as one to get scared easily, especially by someone like me.” You gestured to yourself and Jaime cocked his head.

“With your beauty, I feel that any man would be terrified of you. The idea of hurting someone like you would be a haunting thought.” Another step and he was looming over you.

“Are you haunted then, Jaime?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. He let out a breathy laugh that brushed against your skin like a ghostly hand. “Demons cling to my back everytime I steal a glance at you,” he replied smoothly. You couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your lips. Jaime smiled too, but you could see the glints of fear in his eyes. He glanced at the kitchen door, as if to make sure no one was watching, then turned back to you to press his lips to yours.

Melting into his touch, you let his hands clutch your hips and pull your body flush to his own. His warmth spread to you and you could feel his heart pounding in his chest. You reached a soft hand up, cupping his jaw as your lips moved against his. He let out a groan as he pushed the backs of your thighs against the countertop.

“Jump,” he mumbled against your lips. You bent to his will and pushed yourself up on the table. Jaime wedged himself between your legs, his rough hands moving from your hips, up your arms and to your neck. He was only two years older than you, eighteen, but the Lannister boy kissed you with such experience that it made you weak.

You trailed your fingers from his jawline and into Jaime’s long hair. Gently pulling at the blond strands, he let out a low moan at the feeling. You smiled into the kiss which Jaime hungrily intensified by tangling his tongue with yours. The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn’t hear the kitchen door open and close.

However, you both did hear the clapping. Jaime pulled away from you at the first loud slap. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for the source. Finally, your eyes landed on Cersei, still in your red party gown. Her bright green eyes burned like wildfire and you felt a pit in your stomach start to form. You glanced at Jaime, waiting to see what he would do or say, but he remained still and silent.

“What a surprise,” Cersei drawled, “didn’t I tell you, Jaime? A little whore, desperate to spend the night with you.” You cheeks burned with white hot embarrassment at Cersei’s stinging words. Glancing over at Jaime, you saw the shame plastered across his face. “You do have anything to say for yourself, Y/N?”

“Why?” you asked, tears welling in your eyes. Your gaze shifted between Cersei and Jaime that is, until, Jaime met your sorrowful eyes.

“Y/N...I...I meant-”

“Come, Jaime, father will want to know that my handmaiden has been compromised. How disgusting it is to be harassed in this way.” Cersei turned tail and marched out the door, each step seemed to make her feel more proud. You turned to Jaime, waiting for him to finish, but the words seemed to have left him entirely as he followed his sister out of the door.

It had been a long time since you had thought of that night. In part because you wanted to forget about it happening, that and you hadn’t the spare moment to dwell. The War of the Five Kings was at its end and your family was trapped in the Riverlands. They did not wish to flee their homeland, leaving you stranded there with them.

Now, you were held up in your House’s stronghold as Lannister forces surrounded the moat that was acting as your only defense. You gazed out across the amassing sea of red and gold armor, wondering why you had once thought of the Westerlands as your home. All your memories of that place were now tainted by Cersei’s unending reach. The guard beside you shifted, his armor clinked as he did, drawing your attention to him.

“What is it?” You questioned, your voice laced with concern.

“Three horsemen approaching, it looks as if they wish to parlay.” You peered down at the three figures, the moonlight catching their armor plates as they walked. Then, upon seeing a head of shining blond hair, your breath caught.

“Lower the gate,” you murmured coldly.

“My Lady, I don’t belie-”

“Lower the gate.”

As you walked out on the lowered gate, you hugged your cloak closer to your body. The air was starting to grow more and more cool as the weeks passed. The cold wasn’t the only reason why you tugged the cloak more snugly over your shoulders though. Soon, the three men came into view. The two on either side of the man in the middle were fully armored.

It was Jaime who rode his horse between them. When he reached the end of the bridge, he clambered off his horse. He seemed off-kilter when walked; his left arm didn’t sway with the same amount of control his right one did. No longer did long blond hair obscured his features; his hair was cropped short and his face had aged. Yet, he was still the Jaime you had fallen for all that time ago at Casterly Rock.

“Y/N,” he started as he walked across the bridge, closing the gap between you. The guard to your left reached for his sword but you raised your hand.

“What is it Jaime? You know that the Riverlands are sworn to the Starks. My family will never submit to the Lannisters.”

“House Tully is loyal to the Starks, your House has few ties to them. There is still time for your family, Y/N. I came here with an offer.”

“How do I know that this isn’t some sick trick? Even the most immoral and simple tricks are used by your family. How can I trust a monster like you?” Jaime’s jaw dropped slightly at your words, knowing the time that you were referencing. He simply shook his head.

“I meant what I said that night,” he said softly, “every word.”

“That’s strange, I don’t remember you speaking that much,” you hissed. “I was scared. I knew, from Cersei had said about you, that I was going to be so bad for you, Y/N. You were, you are, so beautiful and kind, I knew that anything between us would end horribly. I just didn’t expect for Cersei to end it when it was just beginning.”

“You didn’t know what she was planning?”

“No,” Jaime said sternly, taking a step towards you, “never.”

“Then, then why are you here? To apologize?”

“Yes, and no,” Jaime said, looking back at the army behind him. “My father tasked me with controlling the Riverlands. I don’t plan on disappointing him. Align your House with the Lannisters and I can spare your family.”

“Why do you care about my family?” You asked, your voice low with distrust. Jaime sensed it and closed the gap between you. He reached out his right hand and brushed his warm fingers against your cheek. You gazed down at your feet, not before catching a glimpse of the golden hand attached to his left arm. It seemed that more about him had changed than you had originally thought.

“I won't break your heart again, Y/N,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to see me as a monster among men anymore. Let me save you and your House.”

“Jaime…” your words fell away when his thumb skirted across your bottom lip. You flashed back to that night; all the pain, the tears and being forced away from Casterly Rock. Then you remembered the heat, the kiss, and the love. You felt your fragile heart fall back into place as you stared into his shining green eyes.

“Alright,” you whispered wearily, “I accept your offer on behalf of my House.” Jaime let out a held breath in relief before leaning in and pressing a searing kiss to your cheek. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. You were going to give him one more chance.

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unwiltingblossom · 5 years

Text

So D&D has admitted to sneering at story arcs and overarching themes, and we can see in s8 (s8 spoilers btw) that they also sneer at character arcs, but do you know what else they sneer at?

Family trees. Game of Thrones’ ending was basically the exact opposite extreme of the Harry Potter/shounen ending where everyone has kids and gets paired up 19 years in the future. In Game of Thrones NO ONE is paired up, and NO ONE has any children. Shall we review?

Bronn is no longer married to the lady of that one castle, the Reach is empty, so he has no marriage lined up to continue his family line.

Pod appears to be Kingsguard and is now sworn to a lifetime of celibacy

Brienne is too, and no indication is given that she was impregnated by Jaime.

Cersei claimed to be pregnant but then died so nothing came of that.

Jon is now sworn to celibacy (again) and probably isn’t interested in going for ‘waifu I have to kill’ #3 at this point.

Tyrion has kind of forgotten he’s Lord of Casterly Rock, and while it’s heavily implied that he has a romantic connection with Sansa it’s not in any way implied anything will come of this in the actual writing, and he’s explicitly celibate by choice now due to strangling his last lover-who happened to be a whore, souring both possibilities for him at once.

Bran is unable to get it up, and would make any woman drier than an Essos wilderness if he tried to get it on anyway, since he’s also unable to fake emotions and chased off Meera.

Sansa is literally all alone in Winterfell surrounded by exactly 0 romantic prospects she might be interested in. She was heavily implied to have a romantic connection with Tyrion, but nothing has come of that. All of her other marriages have been crap, so expect her to be hesitant to pick anyone else.

Arya is terrified of character development and commitment because marrying someone she loves would somehow undo her ‘faceless assassin’ and ‘hero of the north’ thing and make her ‘just a lady’, and so went off to sea where no one is. If she’s not marrying Gendry, she’s not marrying anyone. End of story.

Gendry got rejected hard.

Robyn can Get It but has no mention of any interest in anyone aside from Sansa.

Unnamed Prince of Dorne has no suggestion of having a Princess.

Ellaria is still under the Red Keep looking at her dead daughter

Yara is implied to be into girls but even if she swings both ways, has no established male paramour to make children with.

Daario is sitting with his thumbs in his butt in Mereen wondering when Dany will come home.

Tormund got rejected by his Big Woman

Greyworm, in case you couldn’t tell, has no dick. And soon won’t have any skin.

Davos is too old for more kids, if he has any left those are all he’s getting, but who knows if they exist? Are they mentioned in the show? Does his wife still exist? No one knows.

THE MORMONTS ARE EXTINCT. ALONG WITH ANY HOUSE NORTH OF WINTERFELL.

Currently we have two people with children (potentially):

Sam, who is now Grand Maester and who renounced Tarly house but definitely didn’t die like Jon to get that back, and whose son(/daughter) is to a Wildling girl so almost certainly cannot inherit that house.

Edmure whose wife may escape Arya’s baking show now that she’s leaving for Westworld, and therefore maybe could potentially have a kid with her to repopulate the Riverlands literally all on their own.

THAT’S

IT.

People keep saying things like “Oh, if Brienne or Arya were pregnant it’d be SOOO CLICHE” but let me point you to an entire cast full or people whose names will die WITH THEM because in a world all about family connections and heirs, they decided that someone who can’t have an heir would be ‘PERFECT!’

Could some of the more minor figures like Nameless Princess have a spouse? Sure, I suppose. Could they one day HAVE spouses and kids? That’s possible. But the point is, it shouldn’t be an unknown future possibility that isn’t even hinted at. It should be shown.

And if they one day do have kids...uh. Then how is that a different end result from us seeing that?? It’s less cliche if we don’t see it? The implication of it being cliche is saying (that cliches are bad, which they aren’t) they SHOULDN’T ever be so for their ending.

Good thing we didn’t have that cliche. I’d hate for Arya to raise up kids who thought like her, or for the Starks and Lannisters to never again come into conflict because their bloodlines combined instead of just both ceasing to exist. Or for Gendry’s continued existence to have a purpose beyond him standing there and looking pretty occasionally. But it’s not cliche at all if Sam, a member of the Night’s Watch and Grand Maester, has a wife *and children* and maybe even lands. Or for a Stark to rule the south, the North, the far North, and be the only one to see the Westerlands.

Thank goodness no one got pregnant when they had unprotected sex or got married at the end of their character arcs even when they became King or Queen of a kingdom, though. That’d just have completely broken all realism and been totally cliche.

#game of thrones #got spoilers #got finale #sanrion #gendrya #long post #meta #ooc #spoilers

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gizkasparadise · 5 years

Note

Re: POV for the fury: literally anyone else’s reaction to the power move?

this got long im sorry ;; also up on ao3 here!

–

When they were younger, Arya wasn’t able to hide anything. It had humiliated Sansa as a child, the way she would just spout off whatever she was thinking, no matter what those thoughts were or who they were too. Back then, Sansa thought more than once her Lady was better behaved. When she was particularly annoyed, she would tell Arya so.

A lot has changed since then, for both of them. But as they go toward the dragonpit and Arya becomes increasingly still and unresponsive, Sansa thinks that maybe there is still the girl who would bare her teeth when she needed to get her way. Which she usually did.

Deny Arya anything, and it became her heart’s desire, their mother used to say.

Sansa is counting on it.

As their retinue approaches the pavilion, she’s not immune to the stares. Daenerys’ cool disdain is something she is already well-acquainted with, the Dragon Queen unable to put on her normal courtly mask in Sansa’s presence. While Sansa wishes she had played that hand better, and regretted Tyrion’s eventual fate because of it, it does nothing to curb the grim satisfaction she gets when Daenerys tries to smile at her like a subject but can’t.

If anything, it’s the Salt Queen’s blatant hostility that makes Sansa look away. She doesn’t know Yara, never will except for on the opposite side of a field, but she knows Yara cared for Theon. That Theon cared for her. And for his sake, Sansa allows herself this one regret, the one thing she wishes could have gone differently.

Still, Sansa keeps posture straight, her chin high. Good posture is important in a dance, and she’s found herself interesting partners. Sansa glances at the Baratheon banners, and is not surprised to see its Lord openly gawking at her sister. Her lips purse a little in a resigned sort of humor–if they’re compatible in areas beyond a lack of discretion, then there truly is someone for everyone.

Beside her, Arya looks as she always does. Her thumbs are hooked in the belt she wears around her waist, her eyes are trained ahead. But Sansa has felt this same, raw energy around Arya before–the beginning of the Long Night. She hasn’t been able to parse if this means Arya’s afraid or ready to kill something, but maybe those emotions aren’t fully separated within her wild sister.

Sansa takes her seat as the head of the Starks, and before she’s fully smoothed her skirts she sees a blur of grey and blue. Her head snaps up just in time to see Arya take the empty seat next to Lord Baratheon, and her eyebrows raise despite herself. Sansa narrows her lips, taking in what she can, the tells that aren’t spoken.

Arya’s hands are bunched into fists where they rest on top of her thighs. Her back is ramrod straight.

Gendry’s expression goes soft as he looks over her sister’s cuts and bruises, pausing on her lips and Sansa sighs. A master of subtlety, this new Lord Paramount was not. He nods at her, and Arya turns to look. The Starks’ gazes meet, and there’s that small furrowing in Arya’s brows that tells Sansa all she needs to know. That her gamble this morning had paid off.

“Might as well piss on him,” Sandor says from where he says to her right. He’s taken up the position where the Starks’ sworn shield would stand in both the wedding ceremony and this Council. Sansa’s not sure how this came to be, but she’s also not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Your meaning?” Even though she knows the answer.

His gaze flickers down to her, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. After a moment, he swallows and faces forward again. “You’ve eyes.”

“How long?” Sansa asks. Her suspicions are since Winterfell, if not earlier. But she has never seen an Arya in love, and so it’s hard for her to gauge the situation fully.

“Why the fuck should I know?”

Sansa glances up, unimpressed.

Sandor grunts at it. “Since they were runny-nosed brats. Not that they aren’t now.”

Sansa evaluates the two again. Arya is watching Gendry, and Sansa doesn’t think she’s ever seen her sister so vulnerable. Sansa silently forgives every single ripped hem, ruined doll, and social slight–Arya has found someone wonderfully convenient to fall in love with. Hopefully their earlier conversation is enough to move that piece on the board. All Sansa needs is for her sister to continue gestures like this, to make it obvious that a Stark and a Baratheon are in love again.

Because of course she isn’t the only one noticing. Geraint Lannister and Lord Royce both send glances to the Lord Baratheon, each looking as though they’re watching something play out again. Quentyn Martell is also keeping a watchful eye underneath his lazy repose–no doubt understanding the political match with Starfall may not play through. He catches her staring and sends a slow wink. Sansa responds with a polite smile.

She’ll need to watch that one.

By the time Daenerys starts to speak, Sansa feels reasonably confident in how the field has been set, knows she has a thorough understanding of its players. Today, it’s likely the Reach will be bled dry, its husk given to whatever Targaryen sympathiser Daenerys wants to pat on the head. For the first time in awhile, Sansa’s thoughts go to Margaery and she’s honestly sorry for what will become of her home.

“Thank you for coming, I’d like to welcome you to the first full Council- ”

The sound of a chair being violently shoved makes everyone stop. Sansa doesn’t have to guess where it comes from. For a moment, it’s like there’s a palimpsest: the Arya standing before her becomes younger, with branches in her hair and a tooth missing and ready to spit fire at anyone who said Jon couldn’t sit with them at a feast. Sansa does not know much about who her sister has become, but she knows the line of her clenched jaw, that her eyes narrowed in such a way means defiance. And Sansa feels a flicker of fear, because while she anticipated Arya being impulsive and reckless, she did not expect her to go this far for some boy.

“Arya Stark. There is something you have to say?” Daenerys asks, and Sansa can see the hostility radiating that she tries to hide behind a flat smile.

Try it, Sansa silently goads. Try anything against Arya. See how the North will respond. How your Lord Husband responds.

Sansa is not surprised that Arya’s attention bypasses the Queen’s and goes straight to Jon’s. There is a silent exchange there, and oh. Sansa is beginning to see what foundations have been laid down. Well done.

Arya is as ferocious as wolf’s blood has made her when she squares her shoulders and takes a visibly deep inhale. “I ask for my brother the King’s consent.”

“This little shit,” Sandor whispers when he, too, understands.

And Sansa does not try to contain the satisfaction blooming in her chest when Daenerys looks lost in the dark, when she turns to Jon looking for an answer Sansa thinks he doesn’t have.

Jon is clearly uncomfortable–both by the request from the sibling he used to dote upon, and the scrutiny of his wife. “What for?”

“My betrothal to Gendry Baratheon.”

It takes every lesson Sansa’s learned to not break out in triumphant laughter. Even still, she knows she doesn’t hide the grin on her lips. Jon’s eyes go wide, Daenerys’ nostrils flare. Across from Sansa, Quentyn Martell catches her eye, and makes a small dip of his chin–acknowledging a point gained in the greater game between them all. Sansa fights down grin in favor of folding her hands in her lap and turning her attention back to Jon. Who is glaring at Gendry. And for the first time in her life, Sansa is overjoyed to have Arya make a spectacle of their family.

“Granted,” Jon says.

Yes, Sansa thinks, fighting down a smile as Arya slowly sinks back into her chair and her blacksmith’s struck expression follows her. This will do nicely.

Her cousin on the throne. Tullys holding the Riverlands and the Vale. Starks ruling the North and Stormlands.

Sansa’s eyes land on Tionne Lannister. They met for tea two days ago, an invitation Sansa sent to demonstrate that the North’s ill will toward the Casterly Rock Lannisters need not extend to the Lannisport branch. They had decent conversation, during which Sansa not-so-subtly suggested that it felt like an opportune moment to have more women on the Council, what with Her Grace’s revolutionary ideas. Tionne’s face had brightened at the prospect, green eyes sparking with intelligence. If it went according to plan, Sansa suspects the young woman will be spending more time in King’s Landing. So will her unwed brother.

Crownlands, Riverlands, the Vale, the North, the Stormlands. Westerlands.

Sansa’s gaze shifts from Daenerys, to Yara, to Quentyn.

Winter is coming.

#asks!#the fury #!my post #sansa stark #gendrya #fanfic #meme #Anonymous #baby spoilers for a future arc that may/may not be included in the fury lol so #should be alright to read :'D

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annes-andromeda · 5 years

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GOT Virtues AU: The Lions and Their Cubs

N/: Finally, something not Jon related😅. So in this AU, the Lannisters own Lions and I wanted to make a drabble showing how they got them. I’d like to think that here, animal relationships are important. So expect some direwolf and dragon drabbles on the way. And maybe even a kraken one. *gasp* Have I said too much?😆

Tywin Lannister was a man to be feared, that much was known. His presence alone was enough for an entire hall of men to stand in silence and listen to this proud lion roar. The Warden of the West was currently at a matter of business with the lords of the Westerlands.

His three children: Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion were all waiting out in the halls of the Golden Tooth where Tywin had been sent to resolve the matter. Jaime and Tyrion sat side by side, while Cersei stood by the door, listening to her father’s every word.

“Why are you still standing over there?” Jaime called to his sister “A political meeting is no place for children”

“Shush!” Cersei said, hushing Jaime “I’m trying to listen! Unlike you, I actually pay attention to what father has to say. You might learn something from it”

“Well sure. Learn that father could never loosen up when he was a child”

Tyrion snickered alongside Jaime, earning a nasty stink eye from Cersei

“Unlike you, I actually listen to father. Properly” Cersei sneered “I’m sure if you’ve remembered, but there’s a reason father has us practice every day with our virtue”

“Oh of course, I remember. I especially remember the scrapes on my knees I earned afterwards”

“And don’t forget about that one time you got a cut lip and battered knuckles” Tyrion said, addressing Cersei not so subtly

Cersei simply scoffed at her imp brother “Like you would ever know or understand what it’s like to live with such power”

“And I do not wish to know” Tyrion said “I think will all those bruises, it shows that your place should be in the court and not the field”

“We’re not meant to use them for fighting” Cersei snapped back “The eldest child holds The Dusk and we’re learning how to control them. Not for petty fights, but for survival”

“Perhaps fighting and survival are more or less in the same context” Tyrion said

Jaime simply sat idly by, watching his siblings argue. For a child of eight years old, Tyrion knew how to use his words cleverly. Sometimes, he even sounded smarter than his fifteen year old sister.

The sound of chairs pushing in and footsteps were heard, and Cersei moved from the doors as they opened. Men walked out of the room, with Tywin coming out last.

“Were you waiting for an invitation to the meeting?” Tywin said, looking down at his daughter “Or have you been missing my lessons that much?”

Cersei didn’t answer, and instead followed her father along with Jaime and Tyrion.

“Father, can we go to the marketplace? Just for a bit?” Cersei asked

“And what would you hope to find there? A new dress for your closet?” Tywin said, never looking over his shoulder

Cersei scoffed at that “No, I could just get the tailors back home to make one for me”

Jaime stepped in “I believe what Cersei’s trying to say, Father, is that she saw something in the marketplace that peaked her interest”

Tywin stopped in his tracks, and turned to his children. He sighed deeply “We’ll stop at the marketplace for a moment, and you can use your money to get... whatever you considered special enough to be in your delicate hands”

——————————————————————————————————————————

The Lannisters stopped their horses at the marketplace in the Golden Tooth. It was rowdy and all the stands were full of food, cloth, or steel. Tywin offered Cersei gold coins that he had in his saddle.

“Don’t think I’ll be the one paying for it. Now go on, show us what was so eye catching that you had to stop me on this endeavor of mine”

Cersei rolled her eyes, walking towards the stand she had seen while on horseback. Jaime and Tyrion followed her, not knowing what she was doing.

“Did she secretly drink wine while on the way here?” Tyrion asked Jaime. The older boy simply shrugged, walking behind Cersei who stopped at a stand with a large pen in it. It held a litter of kittens, each piling up on each other. The Lannisters stared at the cats, with the male members eyeing Cersei in a not-so-fond way.

“Cats?” Jaime said “That’s what you thought was so amazing? Cats that father could buy in Lannisport?”

“No, you idiot!” Cersei said, grabbing Jaime’s arm and pointing behind the kittens “Look behind there! Don’t you see them?”

“See what?” Jaime turned his head, tarting to catch a glimpse of what she was looking at.

Cersei scoffed frustratingly. She walked up to the salesclerk “Sir, could you open these gates for me and my family? I’d like to make a purchase for your finest felines”

“But my lady?” The salesclerk said, easy with his words “The creatures you speak of are right before your very eyes. Wouldn’t you like to purchase them? They come at a good price”

“I don’t want to buy any of these cats” Cersei said “They’re boring. The ones I saw are all the way in the back. Open these gates or I’ll have your stand removed”

The salesclerk hesitated, but opened the gates for Cersei. She walked into the pen, ignoring all the kittens begging for her attention. Instead, she strolled pass them and stopped to where her prize was. Three felines lay together: one black, another white, and the last cream.

“These are ones that I saw” Cersei said to her father “They’re not ordinary cats. Their-“

“Lion cubs” Tyrion finished for her “The white one appears to be a hrakkar. They’re only found across the Narrow Sea where the Dothraki live”

“I want one” Cersei stated “A lion will be perfect for the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms”

“You’re not Queen yet, young lady” Tywin said “And a lion would be far too dangerous to keep in a confined space. What could these cubs bring to the table that would be of any use to us?”

“What if...?” Jaime stepped in “They were to be trained?”

Tywin turned to his eldest son “What are you suggesting?”

“What if we took all three of the cubs, one for each of your children, and they were trained to be guards. Think about it, there are people out there who want to steal our virtue. The lions could protect Casterly Rock if someone were to steal The Dusk from me or Cersei”

Tywin thought for a moment. Jaime had a point. The Dusk was the pillar of Casterly Rock, and if someone were to steal it, they’d need another pillar to hold the castle in place. Lions were perfect for the Rock. And they’d provide the best security, more so than regular knights or guards.

“You’ll make sure stay fed and well trained. I will not have rampant pets under my roof” Tywin said, walking out of the pen while the children grabbed the cubs. Cersei grabbed the black one, Jaime the white one, and Tyrion the cream one.

Cersei gave the coins to the salesclerk, and climbed atop her mount alongside the other Lannisters. She looked down at the black cub, and smiled “Your name will be Everan. You’ll be the most feared lion in all of Westeros, and men shall tremble at your feet”

The cub now named Everan simply stared at his new owner, not knowing that what she said would become true in the years to come.

——————————————————————————————————————————

While on their journey back to Casterly Rock, Tywin insisted that the cubs be put through their first test. A test to see how each lion would survive on their own.

“But they’re only babies” Tyrion said “They won’t be able to wander out there on their own”

“They won’t be alone” Tywin said “We’ll be right here behind them, observing to see what kind of training they’ll have to endure”

The cubs were dropped from the children’s arms and walked aimlessly around the fields. Everan snarled at his younger siblings, and lead the pack with pride of that of a king.

Cersei held her head high and smirked proudly “It appears I’ve picked right cub. Everan may be young, but he holds himself like a true pack leader”

The white cub, instead of backing down, snarled back at Everan and ran through the grass carelessly.

“He seems a bit reckless” Jaime said “But my cub seems to hold his ground quite well. He’ll be as fearless as the Rhoynar and the First Men” He stopped for a second, and then his eyes lit up “Hmmm, perhaps Rohar would be a good name for him. To remind the people of where his strength comes from”

Tywin looked at the cubs. This test seemed to be working well for the first two, but the last lion was having trouble catching up. The cream one was nearly at the heels of the horses they were riding, barely making an effort to catch up to Everan and Rohar.

“She doesn’t seem to be moving much” Tyrion said, looking over his horses head to watch the lion walk “There’s something wrong with her”

“If she can’t learn to make a move, she’ll be left in the dirt while her brothers roam the world” Tywin said, as he signaled on of the guards to come up

The guard grabbed the sheath of his sword and struck the cub, making it tumble on the ground. The lion could be heard giving a yelp of disapproval, and the dirt became red with the blood of her wound.

“You hurt her!” Tyrion yelled, getting off his horse and grabbing the cub “She’s bleeding! Why would you do that?!”

“Because she needs to learn” Tywin said “If she’s going to protect the Rock, then she needs to be prepared for any threats. She can’t be walking aimlessly around the castle while a stranger walks into its walls”

Tyrion looked at his father with hatred, but stopped as he turned to the lion in his hands. The sheath has struck her face, leaving a scar on her face that went from her left eye to the bottom of her right cheek. The wound was reassuringly not deep. Has the sword gotten deeper, the cub would’ve not have been able to get on her feet or make her cry of anguish.

“I’ll take care of her” Tyrion said to his father “Whatever’s wrong with her, I’ll try and fix it. She’ll protect Casterly Rock proudly, I promise. You may not see it, but she’ll be the strongest and biggest of them all. I know it”

A scoff could be heard from Cersei, but Tywin paid no mind to it. Tyrion was so determined to keep his new pet, and Tywin had no interest in starting an argument with the dwarf.

Tywin turned to his other children “You too, grab the other cubs. We’re done with their tests. For now”

Jaime and Cersei grabbed Everan and Rohar, while Tyrion climbed back onto his horse. The female cub could be heard purring into Tyrion’s chest, her wound no longer bleeding. The cut would affect her sight on her eye greatly, but it wouldn’t stop her from living.

Tyrion looked down at the cub, smiling fondly “I shall name you Cira. You will wear your name proudly, and you will wear it like armor. You’ll be stronger than any of the First Men or even any of the Unsullied across the Narrow Sea”

Cira looked up at Tyrion, licking his face lovingly. Tyrion giggled softly “You are my cub. And I’ll be your momma. Not your master or your owner, but your momma and your friend. And you shall be mine. From this day, until my last day”

Cira settled into Tyrion’s lap, accepting that this boy was her home. And she’d do anything to protect it. The same could be said for Everan and Rohar, who would make their owners proud.

Very proud.

#game of thrones #my writing #virtues au #tyrion lannister #jaime lannister #cersei lannister

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viranelle · 5 years

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Rhaegar Targaryen - The Last Prince of Dragonstone

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the last Prince of Dragonstone, was the eldest son and heir to King Aerys II Targaryen, the Mad King. He was the older brother of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen and the husband of Elia Martell, with whom he had two children: Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen.

Secretly, however, Rhaegar annulled his marriage with Elia and married Lyanna Stark in Dorne. Rhaegar's alleged "abduction" of Lyanna sparked Robert's Rebellion as Lyanna was betrothed to Robert Baratheon. Robert killed Rhaegar at the climactic Battle of the Trident, bringing on the deposition of the Targaryen dynasty.

Biography

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was the eldest son and heir of King Aerys II Targaryen, by his sister-wife Queen Rhaella Targaryen. For three centuries, the Targaryens had continued to incestuously marry brother to sister to keep the bloodline pure in the tradition of their Valyrian ancestors. Over time, this massive inbreeding led to a strain of insanity appearing in the Targaryen bloodline - culminating in Rhaegar's father, Aerys II, who is best remembered as the Mad King.

Aerys II's reign began with great promise, but as the years passed, he slid deeper and deeper into insanity and paranoia. The shift was gradual and he frequently recovered: by the time it became severe, Prince Rhaegar already showed such great promise as the future heir to the throne that most were willing to endure with Aerys's eccentricities, intending to wait out the remainder of his reign until Rhaegar succeeded him. Rhaegar was brave, kind, and wise and most looked forward to the golden era that would assuredly begin when he would ascend to the throne. Greatly troubled by Aerys II's growing insanity, Rhaegar was torn between whether to act against him or not, but could not bring himself to turn against his own father. Like the rest of the realm, Rhaegar hoped to simply wait out the rest of his father's reign, and that his bouts of insanity would remain manageable by his courtiers.

Rhaegar had good reason to think that the small council could keep the realm together despite his father's madness, as it was very capably led by Tywin Lannister, who served as Aerys's Hand for nearly twenty years.

Because Aerys and Rhaella had produced no daughters for Rhaegar to wed, he had to look outside the family for a bride. Many assumed that in reward for Tywin's long and distinguished service as Aerys's chief advisor, the bond between the Targaryens and Lannisters would eventually be solidified with a marriage-alliance between Prince Rhaegar and Tywin's daughter Cersei. Yet Aerys surprisingly spurned the match, saying that Tywin was still just a servant and shouldn't try to elevate his family above its station, as such a match was beneath Rhaegar. It was later believed that Aerys did this in a fit of paranoia that Tywin was trying to usurp his throne. Despite everything Tywin had done for him in two decades of loyal service, Aerys had grown so resentful and fearful that many people throughout the realm whispered - accurately - that Tywin was the real power behind the throne by that point.

Alienating his longtime Hand, Aerys instead agreed to an arranged marriage between Rhaegar and Elia Martell, a princess from Dorne, daughter of the ruling Princess of Dorne. Rhaegar and Elia's marriage was happy according to all accounts. Rhaegar and Elia had two children: a daughter named Rhaenys, and then a son named Aegon.

A few years later, the Great Tourney at Harrenhal was held and all the prominent lords of Westeros assembled. During the feast, Rhaegar played a song on his harp so beautiful and sorrowful that it moved even the wild she-wolf Lyanna Starkto tears. The exact events that happened in private are unknown, but the public events at the tourney's final joust are known to all: Rhaegar faced off against Ser Barristan Selmy in the final tilt, and won. Instead of then giving the victor's wreath to his own wife Elia Martell, however, the entire crowd of hundreds of people fell silent as he rode past her and gave it to Lyanna Stark, to name her as the tournament's Queen of Love and Beauty, an act that was doubly controversial as Lyanna was herself already betrothed to Robert Baratheon. At the same tourney, King Aerys announced that he was naming young Jaime Lannister to the Kingsguard. While he was a very skilled swordsman, Aerys really appointed Jaime to the order to rob Tywin of his eldest son and heir (as the Kingsguard forswear all right to inheritance), and treat him as a glorified political hostage at the royal court, should Tywin ever turn against him. Tywin was infuriated, as he had been grooming Jaime for years to succeed him as ruler of the Westerlands, and by law, Jaime's removal meant that the first in line to inherit Casterly Rockwould be Tywin's hated dwarf son Tyrion. Tywin promptly resigned as Hand of the King, and withdrew from King's Landing back to Casterly Rock.

About a year after the tourney, under as-yet unknown circumstances, Rhaegar allegedly abducted Lyanna Stark. Unknown to all, Lyanna had actually desired to leave with Rhaegar, and they ran off together to the Red Mountains of Dorne. They stayed at a relatively small castle Rhaegar named the Tower of Joy. Rhaegar arranged for the High Septon to grant him an annulment from his marriage to Elia Martell, then personally officiate his secret marriage to Lyanna the same day.

Lyanna's eldest brother Brandon then rode to King's Landing to demand the return of his sister and the death of Rhaegar, a rash thing to do according to others. King Aerys imprisoned him, and when their father Rickard went south to ransom his son, he was imprisoned as well. The Mad King then brutally executedboth of them by burning Lord Rickard alive with wildfire in front of the Iron Throneand baiting Brandon into strangling himself to death in an effort to save his father. Afterwards, King Aerys demanded that Jon Arryn send him the heads of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon. Jon Arryn refused, and instead, raised his banners in revolt. Eddard Stark and Lyanna's betrothed, Robert Baratheon, joined him to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty.

This war became known as Robert's Rebellion, or the "War of the Usurper" to Targaryen loyalists. To the confusion of many, Rhaegar's location remained unknown during most of the war, which lasted about a year: as Robert Baratheon's rebel army fought its way up from Storm's End through the Reachand the Riverlands, and then up to the Trident, Rhaegar was nowhere to be seen. For months, it seems he stayed in seclusion with Lyanna at the Tower of Joy in Dorne. During this early phase of the rebellion, Aerys II continued to think of Robert Baratheon as just an outlaw lord, but after he defeated all of the local royal armies thrown at him and crossed north of the Trident, Aerys finally realized that this was the worst revolt the Targaryens had faced in over a century.

Around the same time, Rhaegar suddenly returned to the royal court at King's Landing to lead the crown's armies. Both sides now mobilized the full might of their forces: Robert led his rebel army south (composed of Baratheon, Stark, Tully, and Arryn forces) while Rhaegar led the royal army north to meet him (composed of the Targaryen armies raised from the Crownlands, supplemented by another 10,000 from Dorne).

Accompanying Rhaegar were two of the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy and Lewyn Martell (uncle of Rhaegar's wife Elia). On the way, Rhaegar privately confided to Barristan that after they won, there would be "many changes" at the royal court upon his return - alluding that he intended to depose his father for his crimes and instability, and try to restore peace with the Great Houses of the realm.

Rhaegar and Robert's forces finally clashed at the climactic Battle of the Trident, at the crossing of the Kingsroad over the river. Rhaegar's army was fresh and slightly larger, but Robert's was more battle-hardened, and they slowly gained ground. Rhaegar and Robert spotted each other across the battlefield and rode out to fight, resulting in an epic duel which raged for hours as the battle dragged on around them. Robert finally killed Rhaegar with a mighty blow from his war hammer, which caved in Rhaegar's breastplate. His armor had been studded with red rubies, which were sent flying through the ford in the river - which ever since became known as the "Ruby Ford". Their leader killed, the Targaryen army collapsed, and the rebels were victorious.

With Rhaegar's death, the Targaryen cause was doomed: most of their supporters had been fighting for Rhaegar, not the Mad King, so after he died most either surrendered or switched sides (not to mention that the main Targaryen army had been destroyed at the Trident). The rebel army continued unopposed south to King's Landing - but Tywin Lannister's army arrived there first. Tywin had kept the Lannisters neutral throughout most of the war, and only made the calculated decision to side with the rebels after it became obvious they would win, to curry favor with Robert and his allies after the war ended. Tywin feigned that he had brought his army to help Aerys in his time of greatest need, but as soon as they were let inside the gates of King's Landing, the Lannister army promptly began to brutally sack the entire city.

Rhaegar's father the Mad King was himself killed by his own Kingsguard, Tywin's son Jaime Lannister (to stop him from enacting the Wildfire plot to burn down the city). Meanwhile, Lannister soldiers gained entry into the Red Keep: Ser Gregor Clegane, known as "the Mountain that Rides", cornered Rhaegar's wife Elia and her two small children in the royal apartments. Gregor killed Rhaenys and baby Aegon while their mother Elia watched helplessly, then raped Elia, before killing her too.

Shortly before the sack, Rhaegar's heavily pregnant mother Queen Rhaella had been sent to safety on Dragonstone island, along with his younger brother Viserys. Not long after they arrived, however, Rhaella died giving birth to Rhaegar's posthumous younger sister, Daenerys Targaryen. Viserys and his newborn sister then fled into exile in the Free Cities, across the Narrow Sea, before Robert's soldiers could arrive on the island.

Lyanna Stark did not survive much longer than Rhaegar: after arriving at King's Landing in the aftermath of the sack, her brother Eddard rode south with his companions searching for her, before finding her at the Tower of Joy in the western mountains of Dorne, protected by the last of the Targaryen Kingsguard, the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower, who had secretly been ordered by Rhaegar himself to keep her (and her unborn child) safe. Eddard and his companions fought them in an epic confrontation, at the end of which all were dead except for himself and the wounded Howland Reed.

Eddard raced inside only to find that Lyanna was dying from childbirth, after having given birth to her son, Rhaegar's last child and heir. With her last breath, Lyanna told Eddard of her secret marriage to Rhaegar, and that their son's name was "Aegon Targaryen". Lyanna made Eddard promise to keep him safe, because if Robert ever found out that Rhaegar had a surviving heir, he would kill him - not least of which because, as Rhaegar's lawful son, he was the reallegitimate heir to the Iron Throne, ahead of Rhaegar's younger siblings. To protect his sister's son, Eddard departed with Rhaegar and Lyanna's newborn child and took him back to Winterfell. Eddard claims his nephew as his bastardson fathered on campaign to keep the child safe, names him 'Jon Snow' and raises him in Winterfell.

After the Baratheons overthrew the Targaryens in Robert's Rebellion, history became biased in favor of the victors: Rhaegar became remembered as a villain second only to his insane father the Mad King, and people believed Rhaegar brutally abducted and raped Lyanna Stark and left her for dead. Even the Martells, who weren't sure what happened with Lyanna and didn't specifically care, were still upset that in either scenario, Rhaegar left Elia for another woman and dishonored Dorne. Had the Lannisters not butchered Elia Martell and her children by Rhaegar, the Martells might have kept that view, but the Lannisters' needless brutality drove a wedge between Dorne and the new Lannister-funded Baratheon regime in King's Landing. Targaryen loyalists, meanwhile - such as Rhaegar's own younger brother Viserys, in exile - developed their own skewed remembrance of events, that Rhaegar was the perfect Crown Prince, a tragic figure, and Robert was the villain of their story, seizing the throne from the rightful rulers and murdering the true heir.

Personality

According to those who knew him, Rhaegar was a wise, kind, and well-educated man, greatly loved in the Seven Kingdoms before his alleged abduction of Lyanna Stark. He was everything that could be hoped for in a future king, and very popular with lords and commoners alike - in contrast to his increasingly erratic father. Aerys's descent into insanity and paranoia greatly troubled Rhaegar, which resulted in Rhaegar frequently brooding on his inner turmoils. Rhaegar's honor and intelligence made him very charismatic, earning him the genuine support of his followers. Neither Rhaegar's allies nor his enemies could ever explain in later years why such a promising young prince would suddenly abduct Lyanna Stark, as it didn't seem in his character.

Despite the superb skills he displayed while participating in the great Tourney at Harrenhal, Ser Barristan Selmy described Rhaegar as a peaceful man who much preferred singing over fighting and killing. He was highly skilled at playing the harp as well, and would often go out into the streets of the capital city disguised as a common minstrel to play and sing for passers-by.

Rhaegar's sorrow at the behavior of his father (and his treatment of Queen Rhaella) gave him compassion for the suffering of others. When he went out to sing in Flea Bottom, he would usually give away any money he had earned from it - sometimes to the next minstrel on the street, or to an orphanage.

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Ultimately, Rhaegar still remains a controversial and perplexing figure as his star-crossed romance with Lyanna Stark inadvertently led to his insane father sparking a war with half of the Seven Kingdoms. Thousands died due to Rhaegar's actions (or inaction), ending in his death, the overthrow and exile of what was left of his family, and (indirectly) resulted in the murder of Elia and their two children together. What could possibly have motivated Rhaegar to not only elope with Lyanna, but fight a war to keep their marriage a secret, remains unknown. Rhaegar valued his forthcoming child with Lyanna so much that he even left champions of his Kingsguard behind in Dorne to defend her - living legends who could have tipped the balance if they had fought by his side at the Battle of the Trident.

Infrormation and pictures: Game of Thrones Wiki

#game of thrones #got #rhaegar targaryen

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lion-of-casterlyrock · 6 years

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Jaime was the eldest of Tywin Lannister’s sons. The only son, if his father had any say in the matter. He had been a golden haired child, and he’d loved his mother just as much as Cersei and their father had. He’d only been four when she died, giving him his baby brother. He’d always been fond of him. When he’d been a child, Jaime had struggled with his reading and his writing. His father had made him sit for nearly four hours each night, trying to teach him. Tyrion learned to read as if he were learning to breathe. The two brothers were always close. But never as close as Jaime and Cersei. They laughed together, cried together, slept in the same bed some nights. Cersei had resented how she was treated by their father, receiving less attention than her brother. While he learned to use a sword and a lance, their father teaching him how to fight properly and read, Cersei was put to task learning to smile, and wave, and act the part of a good and loyal wife. But she never felt ill towards Jaime. Jaime could do no wrong in his sister’s eyes. They’d always been close. Always.

He didn’t remember when their relationship had become more physical. But he remembered that they’d both insisted there was nothing wrong with what they were doing/ The Targaryens had married brother to sister for hundreds...maybe thousands of years. How could what they being doing be so wrong? He’d fallen deeper than her. At first, it had just been experimenting, but soon became an intense, chaotic relationship. While Jaime cared deeply for his sister and loved her fiercely, Cersei only mildly returned the affection. She did love him, but more as a sibling than a lover. While Jaime was always faithful to her and never had another woman, Cersei continued to have interests in other men. He never asked how many others she had besides him.

Jaime joined the Kingsguard. He was a young man of only sixteen, the youngest ever to join the ranks of the White Cloaks. His vows kept him from claiming any lands. He would never marry or have children, something he’d decided against anyhow, when Cersei had decided that she would have no man but the prince. Their father had been furious. He’d had Jaime’s life planned. He was to marry Lysa Tully, the daughter of Hoster Tully, only a couple years older than him, and inherit rule of Casterly Rock. But Cersei was delighted. They’d be close.

But then she was rejected, and their father felt slighted, and life...fell apart. A supposed kidnapping, a war, so much death. He couldn’t remember ever seeing so much death before...And he’d killed the king. He’d never be Ser Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock again. He was The Kingslayer. They whispered it behind his back, though it had been all they wanted, for someone to kill the Mad King and instill someone else in his place.

Cersei married the new King. Robert Baratheon. An alliance marriage that would secure the relationship between house Baratheon and Lannister. She told Jamie her wedding day had been the happiest of her life that night at the party. But the next morning, she was sour and bitter as she recounted her wedding night to him, when her new husband moaned the name “Lyanna” in her ear, as if it were her own. Jamie had watched her and remained a faithful knight, silent and strong as the couple welcome and mourned their first child. He’d been so tiny. He’d watched her struggle to force a marriage that had been crippled from the start, until the night she crept into his chambers, drunk on wine. And the relationship had picked itself right back up as if it had never ended. They fucked when they could in hidden places, making sure to never get caught. Jaime loved her, and she used him for a good ride. It wasn’t like he didn’t realize that she barely had half the feelings he did. He wasn’t stupid.

He’d ridden with her and the royal family to Winterfell after Jon Arryn’s death. They all greeted the Starks like old friends. More than once on the ride North, he’d heard Robert telling someone that he was going to wed his son that he’d finally gotten from Cersei to the oldest Stark girl. in the North, she was said to be a great beauty. When he’d gotten his helmet off and caught the eyes of the women in the courtyard, he’d realized that a great beauty in the north was very different from the South, or even the Westerlands. The girls up in the North were pale and hardy women, built for work and survival.

He hadn’t seen the Stark girl himself until the feast. He knew her by the color of her hair. Fiery red, and long. It caught the candle light perfectly. She was certainly a pretty girl, with a unique face. He’d never seen a woman who looked like her.

When they’d left, he rode ahead, his horse trotting past the carriage that the Stark girl rode in with the others. He’d slowed, resting his armored hand on the little sil of the window built into the carriage, careful not to catch the curtains that hid those inside from view. He’d lingered only a moment before riding ahead once more. He wanted nothing more than to return to king’s Landing. But of course, that was delayed by the damn children. The Hound killed a boy, Stark killed a wolf. His nephew got a little scar on his arm that he whined about. He felt bad for the girl...She didn’t deserve to be punished for something her sister and his nephew had caused.

He’d been flooded with relief when they finally arrived in King’s Landing. He waited to be sure that the carriage arrived safely, watching Lord Stark as he was summoned straight to the council. A smirk came to his lips as he watched him go. He slid from his horse, handing her off to one of the stable boys. There was to be a tourney in just a few days. There was always a tourney for new Hands or members of court, or anything that Robert could think of.

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anauthoroftheoldandnew · 6 years

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Me Rewriting GOT some parts of Seasons 6-7 and possibly a bit of things for Season 8

Seasons 6-7

First, Varys kills Kevan Lannister, the only remaining person who actually kept the Lannister family afloat while Jaime is gone in the Riverlands. Varys loudly declares for Dany and Cersei is told about this. Her son Tommen is killed and Myrcella perhaps dies with some infection from her ear (in the books, her ear was cut off by Arianne Martell’s tactics and plots) which leads Cersei to be more insane. The Sparrows have not been dealt with yet and Cersei in her grief and rage blows up the Sept of Baelor like she does in the books.

Jaime leaves her truly because he had seen the Mad King do it. Margaery and her brother Loras still dies but the Tyrells under Willas Tyrell and his younger brother with Olenna will avenge them and joins Dany’s side. Cersei takes the Iron Throne as she does in the end of Season Six and causes a break up of the Lannister family in factions (in my idea, I want that all the Lannisters of Lannisport and Casterly Rock to at least show up) and there is a faction supporting Jaime who has been freed from his vows and Cersei who takes the throne.

Jaime finds Sansa in the Vale after defying what he did and frees all the prisoners from the Red Wedding and banishes the Freys from Riverrun and forcing justice upon them. He thensaves her from Littlefinger, with Sansa causing Littlefinger to die after she manages to say the truth about his killing of Lysa and Jon Arryn (In the books she does see Littlefinger kill Lysa as is in the show but was in the room when Lysa confessed to helping Petyr with killing her husband.)

He promises to take her to Winterfell. Cersei summons all her remaining banners and she names Qyburn as her hand and lord commander to Robert Strong or reanimated Mountain. The Westerlands pummels into chaos and Cersei has to choice but to make the streets of Lannisport and the caverns of Casterly Rock bloody.

Cersei loses against Devan Lannister, one of her cousins who is totally on Jaime’s side and manages to kick Cersei and her forces out of Lannisport and Casterly Rock.

Cersei settles in Castamere with her army barely able and also where she takes all the silvers in the mine with labors of the common folk in order to pay the debts of the Crown to Braavos and just as we have seen in the show, the Iron Bank supports her and the explanation here is that Braavos hates Dany because she is a Valyrian and most of the people in Braavos are descendants of Valyrian slaves who escaped and founded the city and hates what Dany stands for and most especially hates her dragons.

This causes problems in the Free Cities as war looms there which causes Dany’s free states there to be ruined and reestablished into the old system which Dany does not manage to replace at all.

Cersei is told by Qyburn of some of the ways the Dornish managed to repel the dragons considering they are the only part of the Seven Kingdoms that was not conquered by Aegon and his sisters. So, they start mass producing large ballistic crossbows to defend the city. Cersei allies with Euron and Victarion sides with Dany. He manages to bring damage to his brother but he is killed by Euron.

Cersei manages to borrow money from the Iron Bank and in come the sellswords and she fights off the Martells and the Tyrells, but she is just barely able to hold them off. Cersei tries to rally the Stormlords to her cause but they ignore her commands and Edric Storm is found (one of Robert’s book bastards) and is legitimised by the Stormlords as a Baratheon and raises their lands against Cersei. Dany names him Lord of Storm’s End and legitimises him fully. Dany organizes her army and incorporates it with the Reach, the Stormlands and Dorne plus her own army.

Jon Snow is revived in the North with Melisandre's help after she uses Shireen as a sacrifice after Jon wargs into Ghost and as he does, also decides to leave the Wall in order to go back to Winterfell. Davos comes to Castle Black with Rickon (He is in the books, looking for Rickon to gain Stannis the allegiance of House Manderly.) Rickon is grown and Jon and him meet for the first time in a long time. Stannis defeats Ramsey Bolton in the battle who killed his father and became Warden of the North and Lord of the Dreadfort and Winterfell.

But he also dies during a battle against the Freys and some of the other houses who are about to arrive to kill him. Yara/Asha escapes and finds out she’s pregnant (she had sex in the books.) and brings Theon with her. They find out that Victarion is dead and Euron plans to find them next.

Sansa and Jaime arrives near the North where they find the Brotherhood without Banners and saves Podrick and Brienne, where Lady Stoneheart is. Jaime is almost killed by Stoneheart for being accused of being part of the Red Wedding, Sansa saves him and tells him he had been saved by her from Littlefinger and proceeds to tell her about everything she had suffered. Stoneheart spares Jaime’s life. They all decide, along with Jaime’s Lannister host, to take back Winterfell.

Jon decides to pledges to keep his brother safe and Davos demands justice for Shireen after he finds out. Jon banishes Melisandre from the North and she flees to Dragonstone where the last remaining stronghold of Stannis exists. Bran and Meera arrive in the Wall and are reunited with Jon.

Sansa and the rest of the gang arrive at Greywater Watch where Howland Reed is and Howland lets them pass through and comes with them to the venture, knowing what he must tell Jon Snow. Jaime is questioned about his loyalties but he says he has loyalty only to restoring his honor and his good name and to do the right things from now on.

Cersei is surrounded and Dany makes certain to siege the city, with Tyrells, Martells and Baratheon forces with her own. She gives it time until she loses patience and flies over the city. Drogon is injured by the ballistic crossbows which causes Dany to be angry. Cersei sees the dragons from the Red Keep and already has a plan of escape with Qyburn. Unbeknowst to Dany, she burns the city to the ground with Drogon's fire as she burns the Red Keep not knowing the wildfyre underneath the keep. Dany is in regret and horror as she does this and Tyrion calms her down, trying to bring her back to her mission. She will still have to restore peace.

Jaime's host and Sansa arrive at near Winterfell to see that the Freys and other houses hold Winterfell. Sansa shows herself to them as Lady of Winterfell. They are shocked that Jaime is there and Lady Catelyn in such a state. Jaime defends himself and says that he has taken Sansa home in his own accord. The Freys are killed in a revengeful way outside of Winterfell. Sansa is established at Lady of Wintefell, Lady Stoneheart kills herself and is buried in crypts, Ned's bones are finally taken by Hallis Mollen into Winterfell.

Dorne is taken over by Ellaria Sand with her daughters after Trystane and Doran are killed. Arianne Martell finally decides to go home and take control, starting a civil war with Ellaria, which causes deteoration in Dany's ranks. Sam in Oldtown where he meets Sarella Sand and Marwyn the Mage and learns the ways of Maestery. There is where he discovers the tome of the Song of Ice and Fire for Sarella and learns much more from Marwyn magic from Marwyn and finds out of Jon's parentage.

Things I would have on Season 8

Arya killing Cersei in Casterly Rock to fulfill the Valonqar prophecy. Dany beginning to doubt her purpose after what she did to King's Landing. Jon Snow finding out about his parentage. The Stark children reuniting. Arya to meet Nymeria again (properly) Arya meeting Gendry again. Ser Davos finally having some peace in his life. The Red Priests. IRON BORN KICKING ASS! The Fellowship of Winter. Dany and Jon meeting. Jaime redemption arc coming to completion. Brienne and Jaime finally getting together. The Battle for the Dawn. Peace returning to Westeros.

I know that's long and it's pretty late here in Asia but shit the more I'm reading into the books, the more I wanted many things for the show.

#asoiaf #game of thrones #mixingthemupisadelighttoo #jon snow #cersei lannister #jaimelannister #house stark #arya stark #sansa stark #bran stark #rickon stark #brienneoftarth #dorne #latenightthoughts

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nobodysuspectsthebutterfly · 7 years

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at what point do you go from being a son of a major house to being a cadet house to just being some dude with a good name? if jaime had married and had children (purely for genealogical debate purposes), would they also be lannisters of casterly rock while tywin was still alive, prior to jaime becoming lord of the rock? what if tyrion married, had children, but did not inherit because jaime did? are his children lannisters of the rock? (1/2)

(2/2) if tyrion buys a tower and sets up home in it, is it a cadet house? is tyrion a lannister of the rock, but not his kids? if his kids wander out to be traveling knights, are they lannisters of his cadet house? if they go marry innkeepers and live from home, are THOSE kids then finally not lannisters of the rock but just bob and tom lannister? are there rules? thanks!

Hey! First of all, cadet houses are not originally an ASOIAF thing – they’re a real-world historical thing. See the wikipedia article for “cadet branch”, that should answer many of your questions. GRRM has put a few of his own twists on the concept, though, so let me explain.

A cadet house in Westeros is created when a younger son or junior branch, not in the direct line of inheritance, is granted or acquires his/their own lands and castle and forms a new branch of the main house. Some examples:

House Greystark: thousands of years back, a younger son of House Stark and his family were granted the Wolf’s Den on land that would eventually become White Harbor. The Greystarks were around for five hundred years before they joined with the Boltons to rebel against House Stark, which ended badly for them; they are now extinct.

House Karstark: founded a thousand years ago by Karlon Stark, who was granted lands for his valor and built the castle Karl’s Hold. The name of the castle eventually shifted to Karhold, and over time the Karhold Starks became Karstarks. Their motto, “the sun of winter”, is a punning reference to their originator, a son of House Stark.

House Lannister of Lannisport: founded thousands of years ago, when there were too many junior branch Lannisters to fit in Casterly Rock anymore. Instead of expanding the tunnels of the Rock, they moved into a village a mile away and turned it into a town, then a city. Note, the Lannisters of Lannisport are only distantly related to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock (though probably some younger sons have married into them within the past couple hundred years) and have no real claim to the Rock.

House Blackfyre: a cadet house of House Targaryen, founded about 120 years ago by a legitimized bastard of King Aegon IV, who was granted lands by the Blackwater by his half-brother King Daeron II in respect of their late father’s wishes. Soon rebelled against the Targaryens, leading to five Blackfyre Rebellions; were exiled from Westeros, and are extinct in the male line.

House Fossoway of New Barrel: founded about 100 years ago when a cousin from a younger branch of House Fossoway finally had enough of his main-line cousin’s assholery – he changed his sigil to a green apple instead of a red one, and at some point acquired his own lands and castle. In current Westeros, characters often distinguish between the red-apple or green-apple Fossoways.

House Royce of the Gates of the Moon: uncertain when they were founded (at least 50 years ago), but the lord of the junior branch of House Royce of Runestone has been serving as the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon (an Arryn castle) for some years now. (The Keepers are traditionally Arryn kinsmen, note.) Recently they were granted the title and the castle in perpetuity by the Lord Protector of the Vale.

House Baratheon of King’s Landing and House Baratheon of Dragonstone: founded after Robert’s Rebellion, when Robert Baratheon became king of Westeros, and granted the Baratheon lands and castle of Storm’s End to his youngest brother Renly, and the formerly Targaryen castle and lands of Dragonstone to his younger brother Stannis. As the eldest son of House Baratheon, Robert could have reserved both Storm’s End and Dragonstone for his own potential sons, and left his brothers to fend for themselves, but he was carelessly generous instead. Note, the King’s Landing Baratheons currently use a split Baratheon/Lannister sigil, and the Dragonstone Baratheons use a sigil of the heart of R’hllor with the Baratheon crowned stag inside.

House Frey of Riverrun: The family of Emmon Frey and Genna Lannister, granted Riverrun after the Tullys were attainted by the crown, as part of the rewards for the Frey participation in the Red Wedding. (Note this does not include lordship over the Riverlands; that belongs to House Baelish of Harrenhal.) See also House Bolton of Winterfell and House Lannister of Darry.

Regarding your specific questions:

If Jaime had married and had children, would they also be Lannisters of Casterly Rock while Tywin was still alive? Yes, certainly, especially since Jaime is the eldest son and heir of Tywin. (I’m assuming this is in a no Kingsguard Jaime AU of course.) Note that Tywin was a Lannister of Casterly Rock when his grandfather Gerold the Golden was still alive, and Tywin’s younger brother Kevan and his family are Lannisters of Casterly Rock, and Tywin’s uncle Jason’s descendants are Lannisters of Casterly Rock. There’s a lot of Lannisters of Casterly Rock. (This family tree may not even be all of them.) Casterly Rock is big. There’s plenty of room for Lannisters.

What if Tyrion married, had children, but did not inherit because Jaime did? Are his children Lannisters of the Rock? Yes, as long as they keep living in Casterly Rock, see the above question.

If Tyrion buys a tower and sets up home in it, is it a cadet house? You can’t just buy a tower in Westeros, this is feudalism, all lands and castles belong to some lordly or knightly house already, and they don’t get sold. (He could buy a house in a city, but cities are different - ask @racefortheironthrone for the reasons why.) But Tyrion could be granted a tower, mind you. Or a castle. Tywin, for example, wanted to give Tyrion Winterfell. (Or the chance to capture Winterfell, at least.) If that had succeeded, Tyrion and Sansa’s children would likely found the cadet House Lannister of Winterfell. (Yes, it’s possible to have cadet houses in different regions of Westeros – see House Kenning.) It would be similar if Tyrion were granted lands and a castle in the Westerlands, although Tywin wouldn’t be likely to give him any such thing. (Jaime might, if Jaime were lord; but if Jaime were lord, Tyrion probably wouldn’t want to move out of the Rock.)

Is Tyrion a Lannister of the Rock, but not his kids? Tyrion would likely always consider himself to be a Lannister of the Rock, even if he formed a cadet house, and his kids might as well. Cadet houses are sometimes formed over time – see the Karstarks, who possibly considered themselves Starks of Winterfell who happened to live in Karl’s Hold for the first generation or two. But if a major family division was what caused the cadet house (see the green-apple Fossoways), then the choice to be associated with the new castle would encourage the separation. In the case of the theorized Lannisters of Winterfell, see the Freys of Riverrun or the Lannisters of Darry – the association of the new cadet house with the castle is part of the conquering of that castle and lands, to show both dominance over it and a connection to its smallfolk.

If his kids wander out to be traveling knights, are they Lannisters of his cadet house? Yes. See Ser Lothor Brune, a freerider who is related to the knightly cadet branch House Brune of Brownhollow, not the lordly main branch House Brune of the Dyre Den. (His sigil is the Brune of Brownhollow bear paw, distinguished by the apple cores of the Fossoways he slew and captured at the Battle of the Blackwater, from which he gained his knighthood.)

If they go marry innkeepers and live from home, are THOSE kids then finally not Lannisters of the Rock but just Bob and Tom Lannister? If they go and marry innkeepers they’ve married into trade, the horror. But they’re still a cadet branch of House Lannister. See the Arryns of Gulltown, a cadet branch who married merchants and are rich, though they’re considered uncouth and nobody talks about them. You’ve got to really suffer defeats to lose your status of nobility but keep your name – though that can happen, see the Heddles, who are innkeepers and considered smallfolk or as close to middle class as Westeros gets, but who are the descendants of a landed knight. (BTW, you’re suggesting the names Bob and Tom Lannister as a joke, but this is a family with a Jason, Dave, Kevin, and Gerry, so it’s not that off.)

Are there rules? The rules are what you make of them. It’s a matter of custom and tradition and societal acceptance, not law as such.

I hope that helps!

#madamovary #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #cadet houses #westeros laws and customs #house lannister #tyrion lannister #house lannister of lannisport #house greystark #house karstark #house blackfyre #house fossoway #house royce #house baratheon #house frey #lothor brune #house arryn #house heddle #long post

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luvlymustang · 7 years

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Game of Thrones - Theories By Pokey

The Small Council

I have posted my opinions on who will be on the Small Counsel at the end of the “Game of Thrones”, previously. This time I wish to make a few adjustments since I was not completely certain on a few roles. Plus, I wanted to provide an explanation as to why I believe these people will fill these specific roles.

Hand of the King: Tyrion Lannister

Since Tyrion has served well as the Hand of the Queen for Daenerys. I do not believe this will change even after Jon and Daenerys marry and take the throne together.

In my opinion, since Tyrion is Daenerys’ older half-brother (making him a dragon rider), then it’s possible that they would want to keep all three dragon riders together.

Master of Laws: Jorah Mormont

Jorah has been on the wrong side of the law for a fair amount of time in his life. He has earned his way back into Daenerys’ favor, plus he has shown great respect towards Jon Snow. If he makes it to the end alive, which I believe he will, then he would make a good candidate for this position since he will do anything to stay by Daenerys’ side.

Side note: The reason I believe he will make it to the end alive is because he has survived the Dragon Scale disease (with the help of Samwell Tarly).

I originally had Tormund Giantsbane for this position, but after much contemplation I concluded that Tormund will be given an honor, but it will not be this. (I will go further into the “other honor” later).

Master of Ships: Theon Greyjoy

At this point, Theon is the provider of a great many ships at Daenerys’ disposal. With Yara’s life in question (which I believe will end soon), this leaves Theon as the true heir (which he technically was anyway).

Once Euron Greyjoy is defeated (and killed), Theon will have an even larger fleet of ships. Besides, who’s better at being a Master of Ships than a Greyjoy?

Master of Coin: Davos Seaworth

Davos mentioned on many occasions that he has lived this long being a coward, so I know he will live even longer. He used to be a smuggler, so I’m sure he learned along the way how to handle money.

I originally had this as Petyr Baelish since I did not know who to put, but I doubt Jon will ever allow him to hold ANY position of power in the future. I also wrote Sansa Stark as an alternative since she seems to be turning into Baelish, but she didn’t seem a good fit either.

Master of Whisperers: Varys

Has anyone been better at this position than Varys? He will end up being the one person who held his position since Aegon was King.

Melisandre told Varys that both he and she are to die in Westeros. When this comes to be, I’m not sure who I would put in this position. I’ll think on this one a little longer.

Grand Maester: appointed by the Conclave of Archmaesters

I originally had Samwell Tarly as the Grand Maester, but I felt bad making him give up Gilly and Little Sam. Plus I really want him to have “another honor” which I’ll mention later.

I read that this position is the only position on the small council that the King does not choose for himself, so unless the rules change to allow Grand Maesters to have families, making it possible for Samwell to become one, I do not see how I can possibly predict this one.

Although, the Archmaester Ebrose, who was teaching/helping Samwell, may be a good person to back the possibility of Samwell Tarly becoming a Grand Maester.

Lord Commander of the King’s Guard: Brienne of Tarth

I believe there will be quite a few rules/laws that will be changing once Daenerys and Jon Snow take the throne. And with those changes, unless she chooses to stay at Winterfell, I believe Brienne will become the first female Lord Commander of the King’s Guard.

Seeing how Brienne is the heir of Tarth, it makes this a hard decision to allow the Tarth Family to die out with Brienne. Also, I personally want to see Jaime and Brienne together, but there’s a possibility that Jaime may not survive. I have a few theories of possible love connections that I will share eventually.

As a side note: I believe Podrick Payne will become a member of the King’s Guard. Both Tyrion and Brienne believe in this boy (or man, now), and I believe (if he survives the long winter) he will surpass his squire-ship.

Lord Commander of the City Watch: Grey Worm

Grey Worm has previously shown his ability to police the streets while in Meereen. I do not believe he will return to Meereen, since I believe he wants to stay with Missandei, who will stay with Daenerys.

I, also, believe that Daenerys will continue to want his counsel. Daenerys has him as the Commander of the Unsullied, as of right now. It’s possible that he will continue to hold this position as the Lord Commander of the City Watch, and the City Watch will consist of the Unsullied.

The Great Houses of Westeros

This is a rough estimation of how I believe the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms will end up. I titled this section the Great Houses of Westeros, because I believe that the kingdom built underneath Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen will consist of a lot more than 7 Kingdoms. Also, all the House leaders will be people who helped and trusted Jon and/or Daenerys and has earned their trust in return.

The Crownlands – Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen

Obviously, the King and Queen will take the Iron Throne which so many people have fought for.

The Vale – Sansa Stark

Sansa Stark could marry her cousin Robin to take over the Vale, since there is a possibility she will be kicked out of Winterfell. However, I don’t believe her marriage to Robin will last very long since I think Petyr will kill Robin out of jealousy. (There is a theory that he is already slowly poisoning Robin.)

The North – Arya Stark & Gendry Baratheon

An introduction to one of my couple theories: I believe Gendry and Arya will end up together.

With Sansa out of Winterfell, Bran as the Three-Eyed Raven, and Jon Snow as King, that only leaves Arya as the final Stark. Besides Jon Snow, Arya is the last remaining Stark with a direwolf. I look at it as if she is the final Stark (of Ned’s children) who is truly still a Stark. When Rob and Rickon died, so did their wolves. When Sansa chose status over family, her wolf was taken from her, much like her Starkness was. When Bran became the three-eyed raven, his wolf died. So, being the final true Stark, who is better to rule over Winterfell.

On Gendry’s status – I believe Jon Snow and Daenerys are going to recognize Gendry as Robert Baratheon’s son, and legitimize him. I don’t think they will fear him claiming the throne because there are 3 (yes, 3) living Targaryens fighting as one for the Iron Throne.

The Riverlands – Lyanna Mormont

The Riverlands use to belong to the Tully Family before being taken over by the Frey Family. Since Arya decimated the Frey family, that leaves Riverrun free for whoever to rule (not that the Frey’s would have kept it under the Targaryen crown). The Mormonts have been strongly backing the Starks for generations, and Lyanna has kept this true by putting her faith in Jon Snow as King of the North. She is a strong leader even at her young age, and she is straight forward. This I believe will entice both Jon and Daenerys to utilize her abilities by giving her the Riverland.

Iron Islands – Theon Greyjoy

Now, you may be thinking, it’s all nice and good that Theon takes the Salt Throne, but how will he create heirs to keep it? Well, do you remember the boat ride back to the Iron Islands Theon enjoyed with a lady? Her name is never given, but she was the Captain of the Ship’s daughter who was played by actress Amy Dawson back in the 2nd season. I believe she may have gotten pregnant with Theon’s child, and she may reappear after Theon claims the Salt Throne.

With the amount of sleeping around Theon did before being brutally dismembered, it’s possible he has multiple children out there.

Westerlands – Tyrion Lannister

To thank Tyrion for all his hard work, help, and advice, they may give him Casterly Rock. Now, being the hand of the king means you are with the King, so if Jaime survives, I believe Tyrion will leave the land in Jaime’s able hand… but it will still be Tyrion’s land.

Will Tyrion have an heir? I would hope so. Just like I hope Jaime eventually does as well (without Cersei). Too many Great Houses are dying off. I’ve always wanted Sansa and Tyrion to end up together, but I doubt anyone else wants to see that. Plus, that means I would have to find someone else to take over the Vale.

The Reach – Samwell Tarly

Let’s say Samwell sticks to his decision about leaving the Citadel. That makes him the last remaining Tarly male heir. He does have a sister, Talla, who is to marry Symun Fossoway. So, with no one in charge of High Garden since the Tyrells have been eradicated, I would give High Garden to Samwell, and Horn Hill to his sister Talla making High Garden for House Tarly and Horn Hill for House Fossoway.

The Great North – Tormund Giantsbane

The Wall is going to fall. With the Wall down, you can’t call it “North of the Wall” or “Beyond the Wall”, so I have dubbed it the Great North. The Wildings come from the North, and seem to prefer the North, so I believe they will remain in the North. Of course, Tormund Giantsbane will continue to be the leader of the Wildlings.

Dorne – Ellaria Sand

If she survives the “Pit of Hell” Cersei has put her in, since she has already pledge fealty to Daenerys, and lost her entire family to this “Game of Thrones”, I’m sure she will be rewarded with her own land back. If Yara survives, maybe they will end up together… Or maybe, she takes the leaders of the Dothraki.

I’m not sure who the heir will be, unless her daughter has an immunity to that poison that was given to her. If her daughter does have an immunity, or somehow survives, she should be married off to someone else, but who? Maybe I will explore possible marriage opportunities in another post

There are going to be a lot of babies born in this New Targaryen Era. I have a few theories of possible unions (one I have already introduced you to – Arya + Gendry), and a few theories of possible “babies on the way” (much like my theory on Theon’s baby – who is possibly a child by now). I’ll upload another post to explain my possible unions and children.

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crownsoffrost-rpg-blog · 7 years

Photo

TOMMEN LANNISTER | Austin Butler | Seventeen (17)

► Lord of Casterly Rock ► Lord Paramount of the Westerlands ► Warden of the West

♚ PERSONALITY

✔ kindhearted, understanding, patient ✖ gullible, spineless, naive

♚ HISTORY

Tommen is the youngest child and the second son of Cersei Lannister and her twin brother, Jaime. For a while, however, it was believed that he and his two siblings, Joffrey and Myrcella, were King Robert Baratheon’s instead. As a child, Tommen was particularly close with his sister, both of them being tormented and abused by Joffrey and his foul temperament. Tommen enjoyed spending time with the animals around the Red Keep, though a good chunk of them fell victims to Joffrey’s cruelty. As he grew up, Tommen ceased to bring animals in altogether. When he was nine years old, Tommen journeyed to Winterfell alongside the rest of his family, where he immediately took a liking to the Stark children, Bran in particular. The boy was relatively sheltered from the scheming and the drama that broke down after they returned to King’s Landing joined by Ned Stark and his two daughters. When tensions really started to brew, Tommen was sent at Cersei’s command to Rosby, though the journey was intercepted by Ser Jacelyn Bywater, who served under the current Hand of the King - Tyrion Lannister. Although he wasn’t aware of it, Tommen spent his time at Rosby as a hostage, as Tyrion was using him as leverage against Cersei’s attempts to harm the dwarf’s prostitute lover. Tommen was allowed to return to the Red Keep following the Battle of the Blackwater, where Jacelyn was killed. The turning point in Tommen’s life happened when his brother and king, Joffrey, was poisoned at his own wedding. Forced by the boy’s abrupt death, Tommen was forced to step up as the new King of the Seven Kingdoms under the guidance of his grandfather and Hand, Tywin. It was agreed that he would marry Margaery, Joffrey’s intended, instead.

Many believed Tommen would make a good King thanks to his benevolent and kind nature, but his naivety quickly started to shine through the moment he claimed the Iron Throne. He found great joy in applying the royal seal to whatever documents were slid onto his desk, but he had difficulties dealing with the realm’s pressuring matters. Instead of acting as a king, he spent a lot of time as a pawn in the power plays acted out by people much better at the game, including his own mother. Cersei often went out of her way to criticize Tommen’s lack of strength, even comparing him to Joffrey who, although cruel and vile, was headstrong and decisive. Tommen had little to say against the rise in power of the Faith Militants and even found himself unable to do anything to release Loras Tyrell from his arrest. However, under Margaery’s growing influence on him, he was encouraged to show more assertiveness towards the people playing him. Facing Daenerys’ approaching sizable army and three large dragons, Tommen realized his own weaknesses and cowardice. Under Margaery’s guidance, he agreed to spare the thousands of innocent lives that would had been lost by surrendering the crown after a few brief battles on the shore of Blackwater Bay. His gesture earned him, his family, and the Tyrells favor to the newly appointed Queen, also with a nudge from his uncle, Tyrion. After a talk with the Imp, Tommen learned of his, Myrcella’s, and Joffrey’s true parentage and agreed to let Daenerys strip him off his Baratheon name and legitimize him as a Lannister, unaware that it was a political move against Cersei. Thus, Tommen arrived for the first time at Casterly Rock, becoming the new Lord of the stronghold.

♚ PRESENT

Life as a Lord isn’t easy, but it’s definitely easier than being a King. It took Tommen a while to get adjusted to Casterly Rock, but he’s already starting to view it as home. His marriage with Margaery is happy, he’s glad Cersei isn’t pressuring him anymore, and is comfortable around the three cats gifted by his wife. However, Tommen’s tranquility is only a surface illusion and even he is starting to realize it. Cersei is unhappy with her status, Margaery steadily pursues her goal of being Queen, and the other Lannisters are looking towards him with hope for the House’s glorious restoration. He wants to change and he wants to become a strong and good leader, but he is unsure of where to look to learn. Margaery is trying to teach him her ways, which rely on charity, kindness, and openness. His mother is telling him that the only good way is through being feared and respected, just like his grandfather was. The rest of his family has their own methods. In this situation, Tommen feels lost and without direction, but he knows he needs to find one fast.

♚ CONNECTIONS

MARGAERY TYRELL - Tommen fell victim to Margaery’s charms the moment she paid him a midnight visit to his personal chambers. He cares for her deeply and wishes for nothing more than to spend the rest of his days fooling around with her and their future children. Blinded by his enthrallment, he only sees her kindness and big heart, but not her manipulation.

CERSEI LANNISTER - As much as Tommen wishes to become a reliable leader, he can’t stop running into his mother’s arms whenever things get dire. He admires her strength, though he often finds her to be too vicious and cruel. Despite that, there is a part of him that wishes to become just like her.

MYRCELLA BARATHEON - Tommen’s always been closest to his older sister, so he misses her every waking moment of the day. Since she became a ward, he’s been saddened by the possibility of her not being able to pay him a visit at Casterly Rock. Currently, Tommen is wondering whether Myrcella is aware of their true parentage.

TYRION LANNISTER - Tommen’s uncle is a great mystery to him. He’s certain Tyrion does everything in his power to protect him, including the gift of the name Lannister. However, his mother insists Tyrion’s doing everything just to set obstacles in her path and to spite her. That can’t be true, can it?

MENTIONED IN: Jaime Lannister, Margaery Tyrell, Cersei Lannister.

#medieval roleplay #new roleplay #royalty rp #asoiaf rp #game of thrones roleplay #tommen bio #male #open #open male #canon

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