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Blood In the Rivers: IV

A/N: I’m sorry. (But, on that note, chapter V will be out soon, because I had parts of that written long before I thought of actually posting this fic.) Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented, and read the last chapter. You deserve nice things.

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

Rating: T for brief suicidal thoughts, canon typical sexism, my overuse of italics

Word Count: 7k (I have lost my chill, apparently)

Read Chapters I-III here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Four: A Pentoshi Heart

Her mother once said, “You may have your father’s name, little one, but you have a Pentoshi heart.”

“What does that mean, Mother?” Y/N asked, eyes wide in childlike curiosity. Her little hands had grabbed fistfuls of her mother’s deep blue skirts as the wind rushed by, carrying the scent of evergreens.

“It means,” she paused and cleared her throat, words warbling on her tongue in her beautiful, Pentoshi accent, “it means that you fling yourself into adventures without thinking of the consequences. That you destroy what you cannot control.” Vaella bent and held her daughter’s face in her hands. “You must take care, little one, that you do not lose yourself to someone who will drive you to your worst impulses.”

The words meant little to young Y/N, but she nodded and smiled at her mother. “I will try, Mother. To not lose my heart.”

Perhaps she had been given too much time to think. Or maybe thinking was the only thing from teetering over the edge into despair. It had been almost two weeks since Tywin had announced that Loras had been raised to the Kingsguard. The second royal wedding was the day after tomorrow and she…hadn’t seen Oberyn since he’d kissed her in the Small Council chamber.

Ellaria had been scarce in her visitations, too. They’d met only twice in the gardens for a few brief moments. There was something Ellaria was hiding, Y/N was sure of it. But she was too sad to question it. To ask for answers. To ask where Oberyn had gone.

And the last time Ellaria had held her close, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her lips, she whispered, “you must be strong, My Tully.”

The sound of the nickname on Ellaria’s tongue almost relieved the weight she felt on her shoulders. She was Ellaria’s. She had been Oberyn’s, too. But that had been nearly a week ago. She’d only caught a glimpse of them at Tommen’s coronation celebrations. A single view of their golden and yellow skirts and robes and then they were gone and she was left to swear her fealty to the new king by herself. Little Tommen seemed too kind to really be king—but she knew he had been king before that silly crown was placed on his head. As soon as Olenna had shared the news of Joffrey’s death, she knew Tommen was king. Everyone had referred to him as king the day after Joffrey’s funeral anyway, the ceremony seemed redundant.

Y/N was suddenly brought back to the present as something sharp sunk into her shoulder. The Maester had the good grace to look apologetic as he continued to haphazardly pull the stitches from her skin. “Nearly finished, my lady.” Daisy was standing at her back as the maester worked, trailing comforting fingers up and down her spine to distract her from the strange ache the procedure created. “These have been some of my finest work. The scars shall be minimal compared to what it could have been.”

Y/N wanted to tell him that the scars were still ugly no matter how “fine” his stitching may have been. It twisted from the edge of her collarbone to just under her arm, raised and discolored like a beacon of her misstep. There was a matching scar on her back. They’d had to cut her open to clean the wound properly, pouring firewine into her flesh to stop a possible infection. It was a small solace that she had been unconscious for that.

To keep her mind from focusing on the pincers in the feeble hands of the Maester, she tried to think of anything else. It was a bit of advice her Uncle Hoster had taught her when she was still a girl and she’d fallen off her horse and into the rocky bed of the Tumblestone river, earning herself a nasty cut along her leg that required stitches. Uncle Hoster, she thought, dead and gone now—he’d died when she was on the kingsroad to represent the Riverlands at court and ask for the Crown’s protection against the raiders. Word only reached her after she’d settled into her chambers at the Keep. Gone. Just like that. Then there was Eddard Stark, calm and strong and if not a little sullen at times. He always had a kind smile for her. He was gone, too. Bran and Rickon killed by Theon in a coup at Winterfell. Catelyn and Robb dead as well. Arya was in the wind, as was her father. Edmure was a captive of the Lannisters and Sansa was in hiding in Dorne. Jon was at the Wall. What a mess. They’d been scattered like sand in the wind.

This obviously was not a productive train of thought so she tried to focus on the dark but happy reality that Joffrey was dead. Dontos, too. Dontos who had tried to lead Sansa away from her teachings and plan.

“Dontos said he has a plan to get me out of King’s Landing,” Sansa whispered as they pretended to pray. She had told her of the note Dontos had placed beneath her pillow, swearing his fealty to Sansa’s cause as recompense for her saving his life. “He says he has a friend with a ship that will get me out. Take me home to Winterfell.”

“Do you believe him?”

“He seems to believe it.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath through her nose and tightened her clasped fingers. “Has he said anything else to you? Mentioned who this friend is?”

“No.” Sansa shuffled closer on the stone.

The older of the pair paused for a moment. The knight-turned-fool was easily manipulated. There was no possible way he could formulate a plan—the fact that he managed to smuggle a note beneath Sansa’s pillow was suspicious enough. “Tell me what else he says.” She reached out and tugged at the end of Sansa’s loosened braid and a small smile finally touched Sansa’s pretty, pink lips. “But you trust me to get you out of here, don’t you?”

“You’re my family. The only family I have left in this terrible place. Of course I trust you.”

The maester finished and she thanked him before he toddled out of her chambers. Silence stretched for a few moments, tense and sad.

“What can I bring you, my lady?” And poor Daisy continued to fret, noticing her lady’s dour mood. “There are fresh lemon cakes in the kitchens. I watched them bake this morning.”

Y/N nodded and stood from her chair. “That sounds lovely. And any juice you can find.”

Daisy nodded and scurried away, happy to see that Y/N was eating. Her meals had been sparse the last handful of days and had taken to only drinking water. It would be good for her to have something in her stomach.

As the door closed, Y/N caught Daemon watching Daisy as she walked away and smiled despite her own melancholy. They would make a handsome match—and as Daisy was the fifth daughter of a Landed Knight, it wouldn’t be a preposterous one either. Perhaps she could speak to Daisy when she returned. But, for now, she rolled her shoulder and felt the pinch that came with disuse and the presence of new scarring. The blades she once sewed into her dresses and hid throughout her chambers had been hidden away at the bottom of her chest and covered with chemises and underclothes to keep any prying eyes from discovering them. She pulled two from the depths and carried through the familiar steps Ser Maegyr had taught her. One position into two and then the third and then back again, swinging and stabbing the blades through the air. “Aim for the eyes, the throat, and the upper thigh, My Lady. All men bleed.”

Her shoulder continued to pinch and quickly ached as she persisted in her steps.

“Move fast and sure. Indecision will cost you your life.”

She turned and did the steps across the floor, moving with each new pass. Thoughts trickled by as she tried to think of only Ser Maegyr and his training—but the thoughts came just the same. Of Tywin and his proposal. Of Ser Gregor and his threats. Of all the ways her family had been betrayed. Of Oberyn and Ellaria and their soft lips and beautiful words. She arced the blade in her left hand down and buried it into the soft wood of her vanity. The wood cracked and splintered as she yanked it out.

She hadn’t meant to do that.

A knock at her door had her stashing the blades beneath a pillow and throwing on a dark blue dressing gown over her chemise before she opened it just a crack to see who was there—it was just Daemon. His light eyes searched her face as it was revealed, worry coloring his features. “My Lady? Are you well?”

He must have heard the noise and thought something was amiss. “I am, Ser. I am sorry to have troubled you.”

His dimpled smile appeared and he ducked his head. “You are never any trouble, my lady.”

Before she closed the door, she briefly thought of asking Daemon of Oberyn and Ellaria’s whereabouts. Daemon had been knighted by Oberyn himself—and of course, there had been whispers that Oberyn then took the young knight to bed. And where Oberyn went, Ellaria always was. Could she ask him? But her proper manners reared their head and quieted her tongue. “You are far too kind, Ser. Daisy should be back soon with lemon cakes. Please, take some for you and your brother in arms.”

His smile widened. “Thank you, my lady. They’re my favorite. But are you sure Daisy will not mind?”

“If you ask nicely and say I gave you permission, I suppose she’d be agreeable. Your dimples can work wonders, I’m sure.”

A pretty pink filled his cheeks and she laughed for the first time in almost two weeks. She smiled at him and they said their goodbyes before she shut the door again and she picked up her blades and started to resume her steps. But then there was another knock at her door and she once again hid her blades away under her pillow. She smiled, thinking it was Daemon again or Daisy with the lemon cakes, but her face fell when Bernadette, Cersei’s handmaiden, stood in her doorway.

“My lady, the queen has requested your presence in her chambers.” Her dark eyes slid down Y/N’s hastily tied gown and chemise. “Shall I help you dress?”

“No. I can do it myself.” She closed the door and scowled before pulling open one of her chests and retrieving a simple, pale blue gown that tied at the sides instead of the back. She dressed before pushing her feet into soft-soled slippers. Y/N opened the door to see Bernadette eyeing Daemon and his counterpart with unmasked contempt and she stepped in front of them. “If you’re done eyeing my guards, you may escort me to Her Grace.”

Bernadette flushed and dipped her head. “Yes, my lady.”

The walk was tense and quiet and Bernadette’s heeled shoes slapped against the stone floor and the sound echoed through the halls, grating on Y/N’s last nerve. It was a strange relief to see Cersei’s apartment door.

Bernadette knocked and glanced at Y/N before opening it, “Lady Tully, Your Grace.”

Y/N cast one last look at Bernadette before stepping inside and making sure the maid stayed out in the hall.

“Sit,” Cersei said, pointing at the chair on the other side of her desk without looking up from the parchment and ink she was focused on.

Y/N did as she was told and watched Cersei write, scratching away at the parchment with a subdued flourish. It was a silly little power play. One she knew well. But she still knew how to play the dutiful loyalist and could sit still for hours while Cersei pretended to not see her.

After a few moments, Cersei set down her quill and looked Y/N over. “You are healing well.”

“Yes, Your Grace. The maester relieved me of my stitches this morning.”

Cersei hummed and sat back in her chair. “There has been such whispers about you, Lady Tully. You just cannot seem to stay out of harm’s way.” Cersei’s cold green eyes stared at her shoulder, knowing where she had been injured. “It seems being aligned with my family has given you scars.”

“Nothing that can’t be covered up, Your Grace. Scars fade with time.”

“Indeed they do. But, you have been remiss in keeping your maids beside you. Wandering the halls like a servant, unaccompanied.”

“I only have Daisy, Your Grace. I found it more timely to have her run to the markets or the kitchens for me than to follow me around the Keep. I did the same at Riverrun. I have never cared to have a shadow.”

“But you care for the Dornish guards outside your door?” Cersei asked, head tilting just so.

Y/N offered an easy, sad smile. “Prince Oberyn insisted, Your Grace, after the…wedding.” She pressed as much false sadness into her tone and dipped her head. “I have tried to tell him it was not necessary—that the Keep is safe. But who am I to argue with a prince? And the one that helped save my life, at that. I’m sure they will depart soon. I am terribly sorry if they have caused a fuss for the Kingsguard.”

“I would have them replaced. Two of the finest knights from the Westerlands outside your door.”

Another scheme, it seemed. Another move across the board. “That is a very kind offer. But I am afraid I must refuse. The finest knights should be guarding King Tommen, should they not? But I shall send the Dornish knights away today. It is not a matter to me.”

“His Grace has the King’s Guard.”

“Of course, but surely his protection is paramount to mine. Dontos-”

“Is dead, Lady Tully. Have you not seen his head on the spike at the gate?”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m afraid my injury has left me inside the Keep’s walls aside from the coronation and funeral. I’ve not had the opportunity to venture out otherwise.”

Cersei took a sip of her wine and arched a blonde eyebrow. “I offer you a great service, Lady Tully. And you refuse it. Father told me you tried to refuse sitting at our side at the wedding. Have we done something to insult you so?”

Cersei’s hidden meanings and loaded questions had not dulled with the death of Joffrey. If anything, Y/N saw that the queen had started to lean more heavily into thinly veiled insults or threats. A tired game, to be sure. “Of course not, Your Grace. Your family has been far kinder to me than I feel I deserve.”

“And you feel you are not right to marry my father?” Cersei asked point blank.

“I am not sure if I would be a worthy Lady of the Rock,” she said simply. “I am the only daughter born to a second son and a foreigner. One is dead. The other is a traitor. I am not quite the match a man of your father’s station should require.”

“And yet, he’s inclined to choose you still. Despite your…shortcomings.” Cersei almost smiled and took another drink of wine. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Y/N stayed silent, watching Cersei watch her over the rim of her chalice.

Cersei set down her chalice and steepled her fingers atop her desk. “I’m going to give you advice. The same advice I gave that bitch Sansa before she disappeared.” She leaned forward in her chair. “The more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“I do, Your Grace.” And she did. The advice was cruel but kind in equal measure, a way to survive the perils of marriage to man you could not love in any capacity. It was easy to see that bit of advice had seen Cersei through her marriage to Robert Baratheon. It was another crack in her armor.

Cersei nodded and sat back and took another gulp of wine. “It’s just as well, you know. Father loved Mother with a fierceness that can never be replicated.” The Queen Regent fixed her green gaze on the younger woman. “He will never love you. All the stories you’ve read in the dark of your rooms as a girl, of dashing knights and love, they do not exist.”

Y/N straightened her shoulders. “I never cared for fairytales or love stories, Your Grace.”

Cersei smirked. “And of what did you care to read?”

“War.”

Cersei pushed out a short laugh through her teeth. “Perhaps you are more suitable than you think, Little Lamb.”

A knock at the door broke the tightly wound atmosphere of the room and Bernadette stepped in. “Lady Olenna, Your Grace.”

Olenna then barged into the room and her dark eyes swept from Cersei to Y/N. “Ah, I was told you were here. I need to speak with you.”

Y/N turned to Cersei who had pursed her lips. Of course, seeming to look to the queen regent for guidance was just another way to masquerade as someone who cared about what she said. Cersei paused and then nodded.

“Come, Little Fish. I don’t have the virtue of time.”

Y/N sighed and rose and followed the Queen of Thorns back out into the hall after quickly curtseying. Bernadette started to follow when Olenna turned and eyed her up and down. “You can stay here.” Olenna looped her arm through Y/N’s. “We are perfectly capable of walking on our own. Thank you.”

The handmaiden essentially shriveled up into herself at that and curtseyed before retaking her place outside Cersei’s doors, red in the face. But all Y/N could see was the hulking mass of The Mountain now standing guard in the shadows. His dark eyes raked down her form as they had hundreds of times before and he actually licked his lips like a hungry dog. Thankfully, Olenna didn’t seem to notice or did not care and continued to pull Y/N along. Two Tyrell handmaidens followed several paces back.

“It is as if they don’t trust me,” Olenna said loudly.

Y/N wordlessly thanked her companion with a gentle squeeze to her arm and let the older woman lead her out of the Keep and into the godswood without much passing between them aside from trivial conversation about the preparations for the second royal wedding. As they were firmly planted within the shade and greenery of the godswood, Olenna pulled them both to a stop. The two handmaidens had stayed at the gate, surreptitiously turning their backs to give the two high-borns privacy and to keep others away.

“You are quite the challenge, aren’t you, Little Fish?” Olenna chuckled and they settled on the stone bench Y/N and Sansa used to favor. “Everyone thinks they want your loyalty. Everyone thinks they have it.” Olenna patted her hand. “You would have made a fine Lady of the Reach.”

“No longer wanting to marry me to Lord Willas? I’m almost insulted, Lady Olenna.”

Olenna chuckled. “The Lions have their games, we have ours. But, no, Little Fish. It seems as if you are not meant to be a Tyrell.”

“A shame. I have heard Highgarden smells much more pleasant than King’s Landing.” She bit back a sigh. “Why have you requested my presence? We no longer have anything to offer one another.”

A titter escaped Olenna’s lips. “Abandoning hope already? I must have mistaken you for a fighter.”

Y/N turned and tried not to glare. “Tywin Lannister has essentially proposed marriage. There is no fighting him. No other man in this damned city would dare stand against him.” But the anger she’d felt bubbling slipped out of her like a wave and left her sagging in her stone seat. “I’m going to be his broodmare and provide him with another heir and then I can only hope that my second son will become Lord Tully. My home in the clutches of lions. I’m almost tempted to leave it to the Freys. They’ll never hold it.” Y/N closed her eyes and sat straight to angle her face toward the sun, trying to feel its warmth instead of the turmoil in her stomach. “It’ll be besieged and seized over and over again until they abandon it. It will become a mess of rock and rubble in a handful of years.”

“Are you a witch, too? Such terrible visions you have, Little Fish.” The tone of her voice was as close to sympathetic as Y/N had ever heard it but she did not pull away from the sun. “But I, too, would rather see Highgarden in ruins than in the hands of the lions.”

Y/N nearly startled as Olenna gently touched her cheek. Her eyes opened to see Olenna smiling softly at her, a look she had thought reserved for Margaery. “You offer something very precious. In time, you will see.” She tapped Y/N’s cheek and then stood. “It seems you will make allies of us all.” Olenna paused and fished something from the pocket of her dress and handed it to Y/N. “For your scarring.”

It was a small, green jar about the size of her palm. Y/N twisted the top of the jar off and the scent of mint and roses hit her nose, filtering from the white paste carefully spooned into the jar’s depths. That was the closest thing she would get to an apology for being maimed.

“Let us get you back to your rooms. You need your rest.”

Y/N stood and let Olenna once again wrap an arm around hers and they walked back into the cold shadows of the Keep. As they neared her chamber door, Y/N noticed that only one guard was standing sentry—and her door was ajar. The guard’s eyes widened just a fraction as she neared with Olenna at her side. Y/N arched an eyebrow as she stepped from Olenna’s hold and pushed the door open completely, letting the hinges squeal.

Daemon and Daisy were half dressed on the silk rug beside her bed, obviously in a heated embrace. Crumbs of lemon cakes and droplets of juice littered the rug as they continued to kiss and tug and haphazardly try to get each other’s clothes off.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Olenna said, fighting a smirk as she peered into the room. Her handmaidens were on their tip toes behind her, trying to steal a look, too. She waved them back and patted the remaining, fully dressed, guard on the shoulder before the door closed.

Even then Daemon and Daisy did not separate.

Y/N tilted her head to the side as she watched them, half amused that they hadn’t noticed her, half heated at the sounds they pulled from each other. Little gasps, muffled moans, as hands slid across skin and slipped under armor and cloth. It took Y/N a moment to gather herself before clearing her throat.

That was what finally did it.

Daisy’s eyes opened and she gasped and shoved Daemon off of her and he flopped onto the stone with a slap. She shot to her feet and curtseyed, “My lady.”

Daemon was slower to rise, a smirk already pulling at his lips as he bowed, uncaring of his bare chest or half-tied breeches. “Lady Tully.”

Y/N reached out and righted the strap of Daisy’s chemise. “Did you at least save me some lemon cakes?”

Daisy’s shoulders dropped. “No, my lady.”

Y/N turned to Daemon before bending and grabbing his tunic from the rug and handing it to him. “When I said to ask her if she’d share lemon cakes, this isn’t quite what I had in mind, Ser Daemon.”

He pulled the tunic on and then reached for his outer robe which had been rolled into a ball near her vanity, as if it had been shucked off in haste and then forgotten. “She is a master negotiator, my lady.”

Daisy looked like she was trying to scowl but a giggle slipped out instead. “I am so sorry.”

“You both are very lucky no one else noticed your indiscretions. Will you be a bit more cautious in the future?”

“Will there be a future?” Daemon asked softly as he looked to Daisy, eyes open and hopeful as his small smile pushed his dimples to full display.

Y/N felt the urge to look away and she was thankful she did as she heard Daisy whisper, “perhaps, Ser.”

Both of them redressed as Y/N settled on the soft blankets of her bed, a little selfishly happy that they hadn’t used her bed. The pair avoided eye contact with each other (and Y/N) before Daemon slipped out. It was quiet for a beat and then two.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“My lady, I am so sorry-”

“You deserve to be happy, Daisy. I’ve told you that. If Ser Daemon makes you happy, I am pleased.” She reached out and touched Daisy’s hand with a smile and fought the urge to tease. “But please, take care to be a bit more discreet next time.”

Daisy’s blush continued and she nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

The ceremony came and went and Y/N felt her cheeks hurting with how long she had to press a fake smile to her lips. Kevan Lannister and his wife were once again at her side during the ceremony and Lady Dorna had taken it upon herself to link arms with Y/N as the group walked from the Sept of Baelor toward the Keep for the festivities. Dorna prattled on about her life in Lannisport and Y/N managed to interject a time or two to make it seem like she was listening but she begged off as they reached the grounds.

“I must admit I’ve worn the wrong shoes, my lady. If I am to dance, I must change them.”

“Oh, you must!” Dorna agreed. “But do not be absent too long. Your presence shall be missed.”

Y/N smiled again, teeth near rotting, and hurried away. But she did not stop at her chambers. Did not stop at the Holdfast. She raced as fast as she could to the top of the west turret and only drew in a full breath as she touched the rusted railing and the door slapped shut behind her.

Sleep had evaded her the night before. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw Tywin’s face, Gregor’s face, Cersei’s face. All of them snarling and slobbering and growing pointed teeth to devour her whole. The fleeting happiness she had found in teasing Daisy or Daemon for their newfound fondness for each other was short lived when she realized that she would never be held like that, kissed like that. The Prince of Dorne and his Paramour had not looked at her as they walked by when the ceremony was over. Ellaria’s arm had been tucked into Oberyn’s and they spoke softly to one another as Y/N craned her neck to try to get them to notice her. They didn’t.

And as much as she had said that she had not cared for stories of romance or fairytales, she did. She had wanted what her mother and father had: an all-consuming, passionate type of love that stretched into the grave.

It had been a childish dream to think she had tasted it on the tongues of the Dornish couple. She realized that now. All she had been was a game to pass the time. Surely that was all she had been. A childish game.

And it had been childish to run up here, thinking the air and wind could ease the pain in her chest or the slow constriction she felt about her throat. All it did was give her a view of the city she hated and a small reprieve from the stench.

“Lady Tully.”

She turned at the sound of the voice and was surprised to see Jaime Lannister standing near the door leading down into the Keep. The wind caught his white Kingsguard cloak and it fluttered in the wind, giving him the appearance of some roguish prince. His golden hand glinted in the sunlight. “Ser Jaime.” She dipped her head. “I thought His Grace would have you at his side.”

“It is for His Grace that I am here. King Tommen has asked where you were.”

Sweet Tommen. And the small smile the knight gave her reminded her of the smiles the prince, now king, had happily shared at Joffrey’s wedding. “I just needed a moment, Ser. Just a moment.” There was no chance she was going to start confiding in the Kingslayer—even if there had been rumors he’d been much changed since his captivity and the loss of his hand. He was still a Lannister.

And it was because of his refusal to leave the Kingsguard that she had even come into this position.

A future at Casterly Rock. Unloved and used for the prize between her legs.

“You are standing close to the edge, my lady.” There was actual concern in his voice. How preposterous!

“I would not give anyone the satisfaction of throwing myself off a turret. And I would not spoil another royal wedding. Air, Ser, is all I needed. Away from…this.”

“Then I shall stand here until you are ready.”

And it was said with such soft conviction and that damned concern that it snapped in her chest. Maybe she should throw herself from this turret and be done with her warring emotions and the frivolity of wanting to be loved or thinking she could make a smidge of difference in this wretched world. To end it before it began. It would be a hollow victory, to be sure. She’d rob Tywin of another wife for a moment but he would find another. The Freys would hold Riverrun for a time but it would be destroyed and returned to the mud from whence it came as the riverlands devolved into infighting. The Crown would have to deal with that, again. But she would not see it happen. And Sansa would still be alone in Dorne, without an outside ally.

She was crying in earnest before she could stop it and the metal groaned under her tightening grip. Y/N heaved under the weight of it all. How stupid she had been. How optimistic. The only good thing she had done was save Sansa.

And, as she looked up into the clear, blue sky, she knew that had to be enough.

Y/N sucked in a breath and calmed her tears, wiping the salt away from her skin with the dark blue cloth of her bell sleeves. The wind dried the rest. She took a calming breath, then another, before turning and looking at Jaime. “Shall you be my escort to the festivities, Ser?”

He looked like he wanted to say something, mouth open and expectant, but he closed it and nodded. “Yes, my lady.” He held out his arm for her and she took it and let him lead her back into the fray.

“I would…I would prefer if no one else knew of what transpired on the turret, Ser.”

“No one will.”

She nodded, almost believing him, as they entered the grounds. Once again, it was awash with Lannister red and gold and filled with food and people and entertainers. The famed knight led her through the throngs of people and toward the head tables reserved for the Tyrells and Lannisters and her stomach sunk at the sight of the empty chair at Tywin’s side. The smirk on the old lion’s face when he saw her only confirmed it: she would be sitting beside him.

“My son, you are kind to deliver Lady Tully to us.”

“I needed to change shoes if I was to dance, My Lord.” She smiled. “I apologize for my absence.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady.” Tywin stood from his seat. “If you would join me.” He held out a hand toward her as he reached her side.

And she left Jaime’s hold and slid into Tywin’s without blinking. There would be no fight. “Thank you, Ser Jaime. For escorting me.”

Jaime dipped his head and glanced at his father before standing beside the other members of the Kingsguard, hand over his sword’s hilt.

Tywin wordlessly led her out into the couples already dancing and pulled her close as he began the steps. The familiar scent of leather and clove swept under her nose and it took a concentrated effort not to wrinkle her face in an attempt to get away from the smell.

“Cersei has said you refuse to send your Dornish guards away.” The tone was reminiscent of Hoster scolding her as a girl when she would not eat the fish on her plate for supper.

“I only thought it polite.” Thankfully, the steps of the dance were easy and the turns kept giving her opportunity to slip from his grip, if even more a moment.

“Yes, you seem very polite with Prince Oberyn.”

“He saved my life, my lord. I would not repay his kindness with enmity.”

Tywin pushed out a long breath through his nose as he stepped back to let her turn under his arm. “You are overly concerned with politeness.”

“It is a woman’s duty to make sure guests are respected and cared for. Prince Oberyn has a seat on the Small Council and is a renowned warrior, I would not deem myself above him in any circumstance. If he feels the need to put guards at my door, it would be rude to refuse him, would it not?”

Tywin’s thin lips pulled into a smile and she had never been so terrified. “A fine lady you are, Lady Tully.” The dance ended and they clapped but Tywin did not move from her side. “But Prince Oberyn has said he will no longer fill Dorne’s seat at the Small Council. He leaves in three days’ time to return to Sunspear. He has promised another will be elected to fill the seat.”

Tywin did not care if House Martell filled the Dornish seat on the Small Council. She knew it. He thought he had won the game against Oberyn and his quest for vengeance against the Lannisters and the Mountain. Perhaps she did not know Oberyn as well as she thought. But how well did she, could she, have known him? What were a handful of conversations and stolen kisses?

Nothing. They were nothing. And something cold and broken settled in her bones then. They were leaving. Even if they had not spoken to her in weeks, she still felt the news like a slap to the face. And perhaps that is what it was. She was tossed aside in the end, a sad little thing to be scooped up into the paw of a lion.

After another dance, Tywin excused himself to speak with Mace Tyrell and Y/N curtseyed as he left her side, thankful to see Margaery waving her over. It was an easier distraction, the fake smile was almost real. Tommen was smiling beside his new queen and their hands were clasped together, nearly hidden under the table cloth.

“It is good to see you well, my lady,” Margaery said.

“I am happy to be able to fully enjoy the festivities, Your Grace.” She turned to Tommen. “And you look happy in married life.”

Tommen’s cheeks pinked and he looked at Margaery who smiled sweetly at him. “I am. The Seven have blessed me with a fine wife.” His blush only grew as Margaery pulled their clasped hands up and pressed a kiss to his hand.

“You must ask your fine wife to dance then, Your Grace. Keep her happy.” Y/N winked as Tommen paused and then scrambled to his feet and held out his hand for Margaery to take. She did with a wide smile and the crowd parted for them as they made their way closer to the bard and minstrels. Y/N watched them dance, Margaery smiling as she coached Tommen through the steps. They were a pretty picture.

Tyrion stepped to her side and handed her a full chalice of wine. Y/N took it with a soft ‘thank you, my lord,’ and quickly drained its entirety. “You are not well, Lady Tully?” He took the chalice from her and signaled for it to be filled again as he led her closer to his table at the far end of the raise dais and away from some of the crowd.

“I’m waiting to be shot again, my lord. The last wedding I attended was much bloodier.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. “You are safe here,” he murmured.

“Is anyone truly safe anywhere?” She took the refilled chalice and took her time sipping on the burgundy liquid as she turned to look out over the crowds, half-hoping to see the Dornish prince and his paramour. She took a hearty gulp when she didn’t see them, in relief or sadness, she did not know. “But my feelings should not spoil your fun, Lord Tyrion. I thank you for the wine.”

Just as his brother did before, Tyrion looked as if he had more to say. But he didn’t and dipped his head. “I am at your service, Lady Tully.”

The rest of the festivities slipped by. Tyrion danced with her twice and then Kevan Lannister asked for a turn, too. Margaery pulled her from her seat when the minstrels played a tune and called for a dance for only the women to enjoy. She ate roasted boar and honey-coated carrots and drank wine and smiled when she needed but kept quiet in her seat for most of it. Tywin did not offer any conversation and she glad for it. Simply sitting beside him was exhausting. It was as if she was constantly waiting for him to do something, say something. But, as the sun started to set and painted the grounds a soft pink, a knight from the Westerlands approached their table and whispered something into the Hand’s ear.

Tywin’s lips pulled into a thin line and he stood. “Excuse me.”

Y/N watched him go and briefly wondered what had caused him to leave so abruptly. But soon calls for the bedding filled the air and Margaery and Tommen were carried away by a riotous crowd and the festivities were quickly devolving into more lecherous frivolity as they usually did at weddings—the dances were closer, the music faster and heady. Wine was gulped and kisses stolen as the shadows grew darker. Y/N let herself enjoy being a voyeur for a moment and waited until the sky was a beautiful, deep purple before she excused herself. Daisy was waiting for her near the gates to the grounds and they quietly walked back into the Keep, both tired for different reasons. They spoke softly of their time at the festivities, vastly different experiences glaringly apparent. Y/N thought Daisy must have managed to sneak away with Daemon by the blush still touching her cheeks.

They rounded the corner toward her chambers and froze as they watched servants carrying her belongings out of her room. “What are you doing?” She reached out and pulled a dress from a bundle in a girl’s arms. “Where are you taking my things?”

“Lord Tywin has said your rooms are to be moved to the Tower of the Hand.”

“No!” Y/N barked out, pulling more and more of her belongings out of the strangers’ arms and Daisy quickly followed suit. “I have not accepted this move. You cannot just take-”

“Of course they can. I ordered them to do so.”

Y/N spun to face Tywin, clutching her chemises and dresses to her chest like armor. “You overstep, My Lord. I have not accepted your proposal. It would be indecent of you to put me in such a position.”

“Accept my proposal and it would not be indecent.”

“I must have time to think.” She hated how weak she sounded, how desperate. “I have to speak with the Grand Septon, for guidance and prayer before I can make such a decision.” She didn’t and she never would but she hoped playing to his sense of chivalry, no matter how skewed it had become, may work in her favor. She felt her arms starting to shake with how tightly she was holding her mess of fabric to her chest. It felt like there was a hand over her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs as she stared at him.

Tywin stared at her, eyes hard. Then, he held up a hand and the flurry of movement ceased. “Bring Lady Tully’s belongings back to her original room.” There was a murmur of acknowledgment and she watched as they filed back into her room, like a group of soldiers from the corner of her eye. But she did not take her gaze away from Tywin as he stepped closer. “This will be the only time you defy me.” He then stepped away and disappeared into the shadows.

It wasn’t until Y/N was alone in her room with a chair against the locked door, did she collapse, struggling to pull in air as she wept into her blankets. Daisy had quietly left after helping her to refold her dresses and chemises and placing them back in her chests. Y/N curled into a ball on her featherbed and tried to remember something Oberyn and Tywin and Cersei couldn’t touch. Everything was slipping from her grasp.

“Let me be your champion!” Jon’s voice echoed, followed by Robb, “I am your Dragonknight!”

But where were her Dragonknights now? Dead or wearing a cloak of black. She had no knights. Not anymore.

“You must be your own knight,” she whispered into her pillow. But she knew she wasn’t a knight. She was a fish out of water. Surrounded by lions.

A/N: The next chapter will probably be up some time this weekend. Please let me know what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame

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

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boystownbirdie · 7 years

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LMWTV4U: GOT S7E4

Welcome back to let me watch TV 4 u! I watch TV so you don’t have to!

Today let’s explore Game of Thrones Season 7 Episode 4 titled: The Spoils of War. Correct me if I’m wrong but I’m pretty sure that’s the name of a Clint Eastwood flick, no?

Today’s recap will be a quick one (due to my own time constraints, not for lack of DRAMA) so let’s go!

First, we watch Jaime and Bronn marching away from Highgarden, fresh off of poisoning Gma Tyrell…

Bronn is like, why the long face bro? We know that Jaime is having #emotions about Gma Tyrell’s confession that she poisoned Joffrey. Jaime is like I CANT SAY. And he gives Bronn some cash money for his services. We get a shot of the giant truck of money which is important to the later scenes. Then Jaime tells Bronn and Sam’s Dad and Sam’s bro (lol his name is Dickon which is ironic because he is not really a dick but his dad sure is) to go collect the harvest from the local peeps.

Next, we stop in to see QPC talking to her banker friend in King’s Landing…

She mentions said truck o’ money and is like ITS COMING, DUDE. CHILL. And he’s like let’s discuss stocks and bonds. And then they have a discussion about investing. It’s kind of boring.

Next, we see Littlefinger giving Bran a knife…

Which is the knife that was used to try to kill Bran waaaaaayyyy back in season 1. If you’ll recall in season 1 ep 1, Baby Bran saw Jaime and QPC boning and Jaime pushed him out of a tower causing him to be concussed and paraplegic but also gain some of his vision-abilities. While he was still concussed, QPC (we assume) sent someone to kill Bran to ensure he never told their secret. So Littlefinger (LF) gives Bran this knife and is like, let me know if I can be of any assistance. Then Bran quotes some OG LF (“Chaos isn’t a pit. It’s a ladder”) and LF is clearly freaked because this means Bran could also know about his betrayal of Ned Stark in season 1.

Meera comes in to check out Bran’s new wheelchair and to tell him she’s heading back home. Bran is like kewl bai. And she’s like srsly? I risked my life for your and my bro died for you. And he’s like I’m not Bran anymore, I’m the 3 eyed raven. I no longer have feelings.

Speaking of no feelings, we see our old pal Arya roll up at Winterfell and we feel ALL THE FEELS. She’s stopped at the gate by 2 very salty doormen who are like naw bitch, private club, members only. And she’s like I AM AN OG MEMBER OF THIS CLUB. After some cajoling, they let her in and she sits in Winterfell for the first time since she left back in Season 1 and then disappears. Was anyone else worried that she’d left? I was. But fear not.

The doormen go to Sansa and they’re like umm some bitch who says she’s your sis is here but now she’s gone? And Sansa’s like, I know where she went, TO THE CRYPTS! So Sansa goes downstairs and finds her sis and they reunite and hug and it’s adorable. It’s esp adorable since we know that IRL these actresses are besties but they haven’t had a scene together since S1, so to see their chemistry as real life friends play out is so sweet. Arya tells Sansa she’s just been bopping around killing people and Sansa is like LOL WUT? And Arya is like hahahaha jk. Did anyone else shed a single tear when A and S were discussing their past traumas and A says “Well, our stories aren’t over yet” ?!?!?! Cuz I shore did.

Then they go to see Bran who is still being real creepy and #nofeelings. Sansa tries to warn Arya that Bran is a real bummer now, so Arya’s like hi bro, I haven’t seen you in a million years. And he’s like yes you were heading to King’s Landing to kill Cersei but changed your mind. And she’s like ummm, k? And Sansa helpfully tells her that Bran has “visions” now. But then Bran basically spills the beans that Arya was not JK-ing about being a trained assassin now. And Sansa is a little creeped. Then Bran gives Arya that same knife he got from LF cuz he’s like... you know how to use it better than me.

Ladyknight sees Arya, Sansa, and Bran walking through Winterfell together and Pod, her squire (which is basically like an apprentice?) is like YOU DID IT YOU GOT BOTH GIRLS HOME SAFE. And Ladyknight is like naw it wasn’t me, but Pod is like take some credit, hun. And she’s like K thanks. Later, we watch Ladyknight and Pod sparring. Arya meets Ladyknight again and is like can I train with you? And they have a cute lil’ sparring scene in which Arya shows off her skills gathered over the past 7 seasons and Ladyknight is like WOWZA! Meanwhile, Sansa is watching and she seems kinda jelly? Or maybe she’s just nervous about her sis being an assassin? Sansa is watching this all with LF, and as they leave we’re reminded that Arya doesn’t like the looks of this guy.

Next, we stop in on Dragonstone, where things get HOT AND HEAVY

Khaleesi is heading to meet Bae and chatting with her hottie translator, Missandei (Missi) about Greyworm. Missi SPILLS THE TEA and is like we did EVERYTHING BUT. And is like it was goooooood. And Khaleesi is visibly shook but in the best way. They meet up with Bae who’s like lemme show you some caves. The last time Bae went into a cave with a beautiful lady, he lost his v-card so this has got us thinking. Khaleesi is like I’m not scared of Bae I’ll go alone. Bae shows her that he’s got enuf rocks for his rock collection (aka project to save everyone from the ice zombie army), but he’s like, there’s something else you should see. He shows her these cave paintings from children of the forest (CoF) who we basically like neanderthals in GoT-world. He’s like look, the CoF’s drew pics of them working TOGETHER with humans to defeat the ice zombies.

While he’s giving the tour, he touches her hand to guide her flashlight. AND IT IS SO HAWT I nearly exploded. He’s like, we must all work together to fight the ice zombies, and she says, “I will fight for you, I will fight for the North.” But first you gotta #bowdownbitches. And he’s like ummmmmm can’t? And she’s like please, let’s work together. And they truly almost makeout right then and there it’s so hot.

When they emerge from their cave of sexual tension, Tyrion is there to tell her about recent battles. As you’ll recall from last week, things did not go as planned with taking over Casterly Rock, since Jaime diverted the army South to take Highgarden. Khaleesi is like I’m starting to wonder if you aren’t actually loyal to your bro and sis, Tyrion. Then she asks bae what to do. He’s like well just don’t use dragons to kill innocent people that’s what the bad guys do.

Next, no-knuckles (NK) and Bae have a discussion about Khaleesi. NK is like, she’s fly, no? And Bae is like “she has a good heart” and NK is like, boi you been checkin’ out more than her heart. They see good ole Missi who asks ‘bout Bae’s name “Jon Snow” and he has to explain it’s because he’s a bastard. They ask her about why she loves Khaleesi so much and she says it’s cuz they chose her as their leader and also knows she could leave if she wanted.

Next up, Previously-traumatized-Theon washes ashore. Bae is pissed at him because he betrayed his bro Robb Stark many seasons ago and killed some people in Winterfell, but Bae says he won’t kill PTT because he helped Sansa escape. PTT explains that he needs Khaleesi’s help to get sis back from their Uncle-Crazy-Pants, but Bae is like, umm…. Khaleesi is gone…

Which leads us to the last scene…

Bronn and Jaime are checking out the people farming that they discussed before. Bronn and Sam’s dad and bro confirm that they were able to collect grains/harvest etc… and Sam’s mean dad mentions that the gold is safely in King’s Landing. Sam’s mean dad (SMD) is like here’s a good idea to get things moving along, let’s flog the stragglers but Jaime is like ummm…..naw. Once SMD rides off, Jaime asks Sam’s Bro Dickon (SBD) how he feels about battles and SBD turns out to be a real sweetie pie just like his bro. He’s like I don’t love to kill people but I will if I have to.

All of the sudden, Jaime and co hear a rumbling far off. The skies are kind of gray and they’re on the wrong side of a hill so they can’t really tell what’s coming, but they #getinformation #beyonce and prep for battle. Then, a BILLION DOTHRAKI (the horse ppl who love Khaleesi) roll up on their horses, raring to fight. Jaime looks, frankly, spooked. His army is like ummm…wtf. AND THEN KHALEESI FLYS OVER ON A DRAGON OMFG!!!!!!!!!!!

Before the Dothraki ride their horses straight into the Lannister army, Khaleesi is like breathe fire, babe, and her dragon scorches a bunch of the Lannister fleet. Then the fighting really starts. It’s a lot of Dothraki really giving it to the straight-laced Lannister army who’ve never seen people fight like this before. And then a lot of Khaleesi telling her dragon to breathe fire and wiping out her enemy. IT IS BADASS and also Jaime looks positively terrified.

At one point, Jaime is saved by SBD during battle scene. Jaime tells Bronn to get the giant dragon-shooter-machine and Bronn is like no way, you do it. And Jaime’s like I GOT ONE HAND BRO, CAN’T (it’s very but-you-ain’t-got-no-legs-lieutenant-dan). It seems like Bronn is gonna just bounce, esp since he loses his gold, but instead he heads to the dragon shooter and gets it locked and loaded.

Meanwhile, Tyrion is watching this mayhem and he seems kinda sad. A Dothraki dude is like wow, your people are bad at fighting and Tyrion sees his Bro Jaime out there and seems remorseful. While Tyrion watches his bro struggle on the battlefield, Jamie also looks around at the destruction and fire and seems deeply sad as well.

But back to the battle, Bronn is firing away at the dragon with the giant-dragon-shooter. After some misses, he finally hits the dragon and successfully wounds him. In retaliation, the Dragon blows up dragon-killer-machine (Bronn narrowly escapes). Wounded, the dragon has to land on the shore and Khaleesi hops off to survey the damage to her baby boi. Jaime sees Khaleesi and is like, well, here’s my chance. He’s riding toward her on his horse and Tyrion sees this all and keeps saying, “flee you idiot” because, presumably, he doesn’t want to see either of these people killed.

Jaime rolls up, about to stab Khaeesi and it looks like it might happen when all of a sudden, the dragon brings his head around breathes fire directly at Jaime. At the same time, someone (it looks like Bronn) grabs Jaime and pulls him into the water to escape the fire blast. BUT THEN we just get a clip of Jaime sinking into the water and MAYBE DROWNING?!?!?!?!?!! OMG THIS EPISODE WAS AMAZING I AM GAGGED.

Let’s recap

Biggest surprise this ep: KHALEESI ROLLING UP ON A DRAGON!! Also, is Jaime dead?!?!?!?!

Biggest letdown: the cave of sexual tension was kind of a letdown but I think it’s happening people, I think it’s coming.

Important fashion moments: I’m loving the little getup Arya is wearing during her sparring match with Ladyknight. Also everything Khaleesi and Missi are wearing is #bomb.

Who died this ep? A bunch of Lannister army people, maybe SMD? Also a bunch of Dothraki too. And then the big Q- maybe Jaime?

Thanks for reading!!! Follow me on tumblr! Tell your friends!

Also, a disclaimer that I posted last week:

You might IDGAF this but just to lay it out there, I purposefully avoid all other recaps/reviews/think-pieces about the latest episode in the time between watching the ep and writing this recap. Sometimes I will hop on to the GoT wiki page to find out a character’s name or check a fact but mostly it’s just my own notes that I reference.

WHY AM I EVEN SAYING THIS? I often will read other recaps/reviews after writing and posting this one and I’m like OMG WE HAD THE SAME REACTION/ SAID THE SAME THING about a scene or a character. So I guess I just wanted to say that any similarities between this recap and any other recap are unintentional and coincidental.

I know what you’re thinking: PROVE IT. Well, much like Bae trying to prove the ice zombies are real, I can’t prove it, I can only state the facts and hope that my time-worn face and honest peepers will be enough :)

#lmwtv4u #gotrecap #gotreview #gots7e4 #spoils of war #game of thrones #game of thrones recap #game of thrones review #jonsnow #jaime lannister #drogon

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