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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

Note

Ooh I had an interesting/cute fic idea (okay, based on a dream I had): fem!Reader is a sweet and compassionate lady of a lesser known House who wants to be a good wife to whomever her husband is, but she is avoided by other men because when she is asked to play her violin all she knows how to play is “The Rains of Castamere”. So when the Lannisters arrive at her family’s estate, fem!Reader is asked to play her violin after they arrive. Tywin surprises everyone by singing as she plays and that is how Tywin finds his second wife!

order up!! kicked my feet at this idea, my lady. also i read the last part of the req after I’d written literally all of it so he doesn’t sing in front of people to her but he does sing… also i have a kind of reverence for joanna when i write tywin usually but uhhhh dw abt her this time. I hope you enjoy, groovy-lady thank you sm for the req !! kiss kiss xx

As Long and Sharp as Yours

Tywin Lannister x f!Reader

House Dumain of The Diamond Isles was a lesser, but not unimpressive, house of the Westerlands, one known for fish-mongering and shipwrighting. The fine ships that comprised the Lannister fleet all came from the Diamond Isles, and this made your home a destination of interest to your liege lord Tywin Lannister. In half a moon’s turn, the Great Lion would be journeying to your home to attend a celebration of three centuries of unification between your house and the Lannisters.

As the eldest daughter of Lord Dronwyre and Lady Ellasayne of House Dumain, you were dubbed the Jewel of the Isle for your beauty and grace. What a shame, then, that no man of any surrounding house had made an offer for your hand in some time. Your handmaidens had told you the talk of the court they’d overheard from other maids. Men did not take interest in you for your seemingly untouchable beauty (and perhaps your protective brother and father had a part in this), and frustratingly, your lack of skill in the violin. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that you had not desired to learn it, and then when your mother insisted upon lessons, you refused to play anything but The Rains of Castamere. It frightened many of the younger lords to hear a lady play such a morbid tune. You enjoyed watching them squirm, though part of you hoped to see a man not cower away from you when you played.

“Daughter,” your father said, walking into your music room. “Your mother requires your presence for the event planning.”

You smiled from the window.

“And we wouldn’t dare disobey mother,” you laughed, putting your violin back into the open case by your stand.

“Of course not, my girl. Only fools disobey their wife on certain things.”

“I shall go see to her,” you said airily, gliding past your father and giving him a kiss upon the cheek as you passed to the hall where the most noise was being made. Organising events had been one particular duty your mother assured you’d be more than proficient in. The trick to being a good wife is to be an informed woman, your mother would often say. Thus, her frustrations when you refused to learn more with the violin. She’d even had you try the harp and the piano, but again, you’d learned enough to play The Rains of Castamere and nothing more.

For an entire week, your mother and you organised accommodations for your guests--who’d be arriving any day now--a menu for the entire event, entertainment including a small orchestra, and of course, your mother made sure to lecture you on finding a husband during the three-day event. You knew she was getting antsy to see you betrothed as you’d surpassed the age she was when she was already wed and with child with your father. She never failed to remind you of this, especially as the day of Lord Lannister’s arrival drew ever near.

When the lesser guests began arriving, gentlemen seemed to flock to you, but you waved them away to linger by your older brother, who easily glared any would-be suitors away from you both. It was working splendidly until the Lord Lannister himself entered the ballroom, having arrived earlier in the day from a small stop in Lannisport to oversee his immediate domain. His presence was unmistakable, his emerald glare sure and confident. You’d never seen that look in any young lord’s eyes, or even your brother’s for as fierce as he was.

Your father gestured you over to meet the Lord with your brother and mother.

“My Lord,” your father bowed, your mother curtseying daintily beside him, a perfect lady in all ways. You really did hope to be as impressive as her in time, though, as she reminded, she already had a head-start on you. “May I introduce my son and heir and my daughter, the Jewel of the Isles,” your father said, gesturing to you and stating your names. Lord Lannister looked intently at you after hearing your moniker. It was hardly as impressive as The Great Lion, but nothing really was.

“My Lord,” you said, curtseying just as your mother had. Your dress, in blue, your favourite colour, was different from the ones worn in places like the capitol. It flowed around you like water, and the diamonds around your wrist and throat gave you the appearance that you’d walked to the sea by your home and adorned yourself in its sparkling hues. You did not speak more, but you felt a gaze settle on you throughout the night as your mother made you dance with any lord that asked. As yet another lord stepped on your foot, you felt a presence beside you.

“Allow me to cut in,” the deep voice of the Great Lion spoke, effortlessly transferring your partner with himself and all but dismissing the younger lord with two left feet. “If he stood on your foot another time, I worried he may have broken it,” he said as an explanation. You smiled gratefully and thanked him for his intervention. Then, before you could stop yourself, asked him about his home. You’d been to the Rock once as a girl, and hardly remembered anything but the sheer size of the place and all the gold inside it.

Lord Lannister did not give pause before he began telling, very factually, any detail about his home he felt worth sharing. The way the sun set over the sea was a detail he mentioned that you particularly enjoyed. You asked if he had any paintings done of the sunsets, and though he answered in the negative, a curious light entered his eyes, as though he was considering the idea. When your dance ended, he bowed, you curtseyed, and he excused himself from the festivities, citing he was weary from days of travel. The young lords lined up to dance with you again once he’d left, all even more eager now you’d caught the eye of a man far beyond their status.

When you were finally free from the welcoming party, you stumbled to bed and fell into a dead sleep, dreaming of sunsets, green pastures and even greener eyes.

“Our Liege Lord was hardly able to keep his eyes off you,” your brother Darwyn said as he collected you from your rooms for the luncheon your mother and you had organised. The small orchestra would play while you dined in the gardens that overlooked the sea. It was your favourite place to take your meals in the entire keep, and your mother had allowed you to mostly plan it all as practice for being the wife of a lord.

“Our Liege Lord is not to be spoken like gossip, brother,” you scolded. For all your rebellion with the violin, you could hardly fathom acting out in any other way. Your brother though had a penchant for rule-breaking, even if he was very good at not being caught.

“Bah,” he waved you away. “Even father noticed, and he would rather swallow a live herring than marry you off.” It was true, and one of the foremost reasons you hadn’t been wed yet at twenty summers old. Your lord father was renowned for his protectiveness of his only daughter. “You may be wed sooner than you think,” Darwyn said teasingly as you arrived at the outdoor gardens, just in time for everyone to note your arrival, and your subsequent blush from your brother’s words.

You sat the head table, your brother to your right, then to his right, Lord Lannister followed by your father then mother. As the Liege Lord and the guest of honour, he sat at the Lord’s table. You were grateful for the buffer your brother presented as in the seating arrangements. Lord Tywin was a handsome man, and your brother teasing you made you blush, not from embarrassment, but from how delighted you were at the idea of being Lady Lannister. You wondered if he was considering remarrying. It had been over half a decade since his first wife had perished from a fever barely a year into their marriage, and though it was no love match, stories of the Great Lion’s turmoil at his wife’s death had reached as far as the Starks in the north.

The orchestra played a soothing, if jolly, tune which loosened the atmosphere enough for the guests to talk amongst themselves. You were enjoying the fish and clam soup made from fresh seafood caught overnight when Lord Fremont, one of the men that had danced with you (and stepped on your toes) the night before. He tapped his fork against his goblet, catching the attention of everyone in attendance and silencing the orchestra.

“My Liege Lord, my Lords and Ladies, may I toast to the Westerlands! Three hundred years strong and as beautiful as ever because of this!” Everyone raised their goblets and toasted a “here, here!” in unison. But the young Lord was not finished. “We have all heard tales of the beauty of the Jewel of the Isles, but I have also heard she plays the violin as birds sing. May we request a song, my Lady?”

Your mother shot you a look that both said “Don’t do it” and “You cannot refuse”. With a gentle squeeze on your arm from your brother, you stood, asked for your violin to be fetched, then once it was in your hands, walked to the raised dais where the orchestra was sitting. You whispered to the conductor (who had taught you the violin himself), and at his smile and nod, you took the seat of the violin player.

“I have many talents,” you began, “music is not one of them, but I do know a song our Liege Lord may enjoy.”

You played the first notes softly and repetitively until the orchestra had joined you, then you began playing in earnest.

“And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?”

You watched your family as you sung. You had not told them you could and made sure never to do it in front of others, but this seemed as good a chance as any to reveal this little talent. The orchestra played softly enough to allow your violin to be heard over the other instruments, and you always found the sinister nature of the song was made almost sweet by the higher register of a violin.

“And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.”

Many of the young lords, including Lord Fremont, had looked away already, but Lord Lannister had kept his eyes on you the entire song. By the time the last notes floated softly from your strings, the Lord’s eyes had shut softly, as though to savour the sounds. You stood and curtseyed once the song was over, and to your horror, Lord Tywin had leaned over to your father, whispered something, stood and left.

You walked back to your seat after handing off your violin, then sat in choked silence as the rest of the courses of the feast came and went. You excused yourself as quickly as possible to your rooms to hide from the shame of displeasing your Liege Lord. No man in attendance would ask for your hand now, and there was no way any lady of a great house would take you as her lady-in-waiting once news spread. You were doomed. Utterly doomed.

A knock sounded at your door, and your mother entered a moment after, looking pale with tears in her eyes. It was much worse, then, if your mother was so rattled. She hardly ever faltered unless something tragic had happened. Perhaps the Lord was so displeased he would see to your death for even daring to play his song.

“You are to be wed to Lord Lannister in a sennight,” she whispered. You nodded sadly, then understood her words and snapped your head up to look her in the eyes, the same colour and shape of yours. “He says you have enchanted him, even more so with the reverence of your performance.”

“He— I’m… Pardon?”

Your mother burst into tears and moved to embrace you tightly. She was smiling now, though her tears persisted. She was sad you’d be leaving home, but pleased you’d managed to secure a marriage to your Liege Lord.

In a flurry of action, you found yourself in your father’s solar alone with Lord Lannister, who stood by the window. He made an imposing silhouette against the bright glint from the sea. When the door snicked shut, he turned to face you. You curtseyed and waited for him to speak with your hands clasped in front of your abdomen.

“You mentioned you had no talent for music, my lady. Are you a liar or unaware of your gifts?”

You looked up startled.

“I did not qualify for the orchestra when I was a music student, my lord. I have no talent apart for that song in particular, I assure you.”

“Well, how fortuitous that I am of the opinion that only that song matters. Come here, my lady.”

You walked forward to him, the flush on your face growing with each step. He was so intimidating, but you wanted to look at him, to study his face and form, fine as it all was.

“Let me see the Jewel of the Isles,” he said, tipping your chin up with his finger. “There is something to be said about a beautiful lady growing in a beautiful home. You are singularly lovely, my lady.”

“You’re so handsome,” you blurted before you could refrain. You covered your mouth with a delicate hand, as though to stifle anymore words physically. Lord Tywin’s lips turned up ever so slightly, and his chest puffed infinitesimally.

“My thanks, my lady, for the generous words.” He stepped forward, holding out a hand which you took without hesitation, though you weren’t sure what he was to do. He guided you to him, a firm arm wrapping around your waist, the other taking your hand in his. “Would you humour me, my lady? I must hear your voice again.”

You smiled and followed as he led you into a slow waltz as you sang his song for him. His eyes shut again as you both danced, and as you finished the song and his eyes opened again, you wondered if perhaps your favourite colour was green, after all.

“There you are, my Jewel,” your husband said from behind you. You smiled and turned from the window where you watched the sunset, your son slumbering peacefully in your arms. “And how is the little Lord?”

“As gluttonous as his father for my attention,” you smiled sweetly at him, laughing lightly at his mock offence.

“A young man of taste, then.”

“And how are you, my Lord? Have you completed your day’s duties?”

“Indeed, and I believe I am in the mood for a song, wife.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly and placed your son in his cot behind a curtain, hushing him when he grumbled at no longer being held. He wanted to be in your arms or his father’s, and anyone else was simply not up to par. He settled after a moment, too sleepy to fuss much.

“And what song would you like, my Lord?” you asked coyly, moving to him to take your position in his arms.

“Which song do I always request, wife,” he huffed. You hummed a smile, eyes closed as he swayed you both.

“It escapes my mind at the moment, my Lord.”

Tywin raised a brow then swooped to press his teeth gently to your pulse, kissing the sting away and making you gasp. It had been over a year, and not once had your husband ever requested another song, or insist you learn any others. He seemed perfectly satisfied with you knowing only his and singing it to him at his request (which happened to be often).

Then, to your shock and delight, he began to sing. The words, far more suited to his baritone and husk, washed over you as he led you in a gentle dance.

“In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws,” he sung.

“And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours,” you finished, your voices mingling in harmony.

Even when the song ended, neither of you parted or ceased the sweet dance. The Great Lion had wooed you so thoroughly that you could not help but love him as ardently as the sun shines.

“Tywin,” you whispered. Anything louder than the slight volume would shatter the moment.

“My Jewel?”

You leaned up to kiss him, sighing when his stubble (which you insisted he keep) scratched gently at your lips.

“I’m so glad that fool asked me to sing your song.”

Tywin kissed you again, then glanced behind you to the curtain that shrouded your sleeping son.

“Not as glad as I am,” he said, swooping down once more.

#request complete #game of thrones #tywin lannister x reader #tywin x reader #got x reader #tywin lannister

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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

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requests are temporarily closed while i sort through the 5 i have right now, but theyre really wonderful ideas so it wont be hard to write them. it certainly shouldn't be long before requests are open again <3 kisses for you all x

#not writing

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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

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can I just say thank you to all of you that have left sweet comments and liked and reblogged ?? i did not realise the tywin tag was still so active and assumed I’d be throwing my work into a void, just to rid myself of the urge to write. But you’ve all been so sweet im blowing kisses to you all thank you so much again x

#not writing

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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

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Please for the love of god give us a part 2 for tyrell!reader

order up <3 ps i literally forgot cersei existed, assume she went mad and leapt off a tower after joffrey’s death or died from grief idk. anyways, here’s good father!tywin and the happy ending we deserve <3 can be read alone, of course, but I’ll link part one too

Going In

Tywin Lannister x fTyrell!Reader

Part One

Tyren had taken his first steps the day his father was slain in battle. You knew the possibility of him being killed when the Great Lion called his vassals to his cause. King Joffrey had made one final mistake before his grandfather saw him removed from the throne by conquest. Your sweet sister, Margaery had been a fool to hope she could tame the Mad King, and she’d paid with her life before the entire court.

Now, a moon after battle and after his coronation, King Tywin, First of His Name, had summoned the Widow Marbrand and her heir to bend the knee. You hadn’t expected the summons, especially as your husband’s brother, a man who despised you and your son, had already gone to the capitol in your stead. It seemed the King wished to see you personally.

Arriving in King’s Landing for the second time in your life, this time with a strawberry blond son on your hip, was a bittersweet affair. For as morose as you’d been to marry Lord Marbrand, he was a wonderful husband and father in the time he was allowed to fill those roles, and you missed him.

Wearing a black gown with your customary thorned shoulder pads, you looked every inch the Briar Rose people knew you as.

Being escorted to the mostly empty throne room and having given Tyren to a nursemaid, you prepared yourself to face Tywin Lannister, a man you might’ve married some years ago. He was sat at the Throne, looking as he had when he was Hand: commanding. He watched you as you approached, lips frowning at your choice of colour. Of course you mourned your husband, your friend, and the man supposed to guide Tyren in being a man himself. Now, all he had was you and a scornful uncle.

“Your Grace,” you greet, curtsying low and long.

“Lady Marbrand,” he said. “Or are you Lady Tyrell again? My condolences on the loss of your husband.”

“It is still Lady Marbrand, unless my brother by law commands I remarry.” The King did not seem pleased by the answer.

“And you’ve brought your son?”

“Yes, Your Grace. He is with his maids.”

“Bring him,” he commanded. Dread filled you. Would he harm your son? He wouldn’t dare, you resolved. You’d kill him, king or not if he had any untoward intentions.

When your son was brought into the throne room and saw you, he reached out with his chubby little hands, calling for his mama. You smiled at him and accepted him from the nurse, kissing his head as it settled by your neck on your shoulder.

“He seems a healthy babe,” the King commented.

“He is, though his teeth give him grief nowadays,” you replied cautiously.

“My lady,” the King says, before dismissing everyone but you and your babe from the room. You clutched Tyren protectively, and watched as Tywin’s eyes lost the hard look of a ruler in charge. Now, he seemed the same as when you’d stroll the gardens many moons before, and your heart lurched against your ribs at what that might mean. “Approach,” he said at last. You did.

He stared at Tyren, at his faintly red and gold hair, and the bright blue eyes the Marbrands were known by. Tyren watched the King in return, and after looking to you unsurely, he reached forward to be held, to your horror.

“Calm yourself, my lady. I will not hurt him.” And then your son was on the King’s lap, reaching for his ear and getting distracted by his sideburns.

“I had thought my brother by law came, Your Grace, to bend the knee on the Marbrand’s behalf.”

“He did arrive. And then he requested permission to wed you. When he was denied this, he vowed to have you killed. He is in the Black Cells awaiting his punishment.”

“Punishment for what, Your Grace? He did not attempt to kill me, what crime could he have been imprisoned for?” You had no fondness for your husband’s brother, but even Tywin Lannister could not do whatever he wished.

“For speaking against the future Queen.”

You frowned at the King.

“I cannot wait to meet her, especially to apologise for my brother by law’s words.”

Tywin stood from the throne, and descended the few steps that separated you both, your son in his arms doing funny things to your heart rate. When he was near enough, he reached for your hand to hold the one unoccupied by your babbling son, and brought your knuckles to his lips.

“You once told me, had I not hesitated, life might be very different. Of course,” he said, looking to Tyren, “we cannot regret everything about my hesitation, but everything else…”

“Your Grace,” you said, looking down to crush the hope forming in your chest. Hope was a fool’s emotion, hope was what got your sister and your husband killed, what made your brother by law act senselessly. You’d be damned before hope killed you too.

“Briar Rose, they call you. But you have only been a rose to me. I will not hesitate again, my lady. Should you deny me, I will not let you leave my sights. You will be here and safe and mine, or just safe and here. The choice is now yours,” he explained, looking to Tyren and quirking his lips at how enamoured the boy was with his hair and sideburns.

“I would be Queen.”

“You would.”

“I have never desired to be Queen. That was Margaery’s dream, and her dream killed her.”

“My grandson killed her. She was innocent in everything but wanting to be a fair ruler. She told me, a short while after her wedding, that she wanted to be queen because she wanted to be like you. And I happen to agree that you’d make a wonderful queen.”

“And the other candidates to be queen?” By the gods, hiding your jealousy at the thought of other women was harder than ever to temper with this man holding your son and your hand.

“There are none,” he said, looking at you knowingly.

“You have much faith in me, Your Grace, to assume I am what the realm needs.”

“I am what the realm needs. And you are what I need. Agree, my lady. And I can rectify the mistake I made two years ago.”

You wanted to say yes, wanted to let him move closer than he already was, to kiss the mouth of the only man who had made you laugh since your brothers.

“My son. His birthright is Vine Hall, I don’t want him to be prince.” Sensing how close he was to victory, Tywin let go of your hand to wrap it around your waist, and hold you securely to him.

“He will inherit Vine Hall, and if he wishes when he is older to be prince, we will discuss it again then.”

The Lion could be reasonable, you thought as you leaned forward in lieu of answering. He met your kisses with the attitude of a man starved, and did not pull away from you until you were breathless.

“Mama,” your son said impatiently, tired of waiting for your attention.

“Yes?”

“Horsies,” he said plainly. Tywin chuckled against your throat.

“To the stables,” he said, before walking with your hand in his out of the throne room to indulge your son.

===

The wedding was as grand as the richest King in history could afford to put on. And members of the nobility were still gathered in the capitol in the wake of the coronation, so to say it was a gay affair was putting it mildly.

King Tywin had even danced with his Queen before all the court at the wedding feast, and already you knew there would be songs of the Great Lion and his Briar Rose.

When he’d pulled you from the feast to go see Tyren off to bed, you had expected you’d both return to the celebrations and mooch as you would have to for the rest of your life. But your husband dragged you to the Royal Chambers (that had been redesigned after Joffrey’s proclivities were discovered) which were no longer separated into two bedrooms, but one master bedroom with chambers for any children, a study, a parlour and a dining room.

He kissed you silly, and before you knew it, you were naked as your nameday under your husband.

“Mine,” he had said throughout the night. As he kissed your neck, your breasts, your stomach (paying sweet attention to the silvery scars bearing Tyren left you with) and your hips.

“Tywin!”

Your first husband had never been passionate, but your second husband had enough for two people. He was a man starved at your core, kissing, sucking and licking, he even laid gentle bites on your thighs which made you quiver in your desperation. You peaked twice on his face, and even then he didn’t look ready to stop.

“Tywin,” you panted, tugging at his arms to return to you at the top of the bed. He separated from your core with a final kiss which made you jolt, then crawled up to you, kissing the same pathway he had on his way down. “No more teasing,” you scolded, though the effect was lost with your blush covering your chest and face.

“Teasing?” he grumbled, lowering himself over you to pin your body to the bed. As though using magic, he was lined up and already gently prodding, allowing you to slowly open up for him before pushing inside. “You peaked on my mouth twice, wife. That isn’t teasing.”

“I know you, Lion,” you panted as he settled fully inside you. He did not move, even after you’d adjusted and began wriggling beneath him. “You’re teasing me right now.”

“I only want to be sure my wife is appreciating my attentions,” he goaded, grinding slightly but not nearly enough to bring you any relief. “How can I be sure she is, when she accuses me thusly?”

You looked up into his eyes, and felt, once again, your thorns retreat. You cupped his cheeks, wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him sweeter than ever. Please, you whispered against his mouth. My Lion.

“You were always meant to be mine,” he growled, as he made you his wife good and proper. You could not speak anymore, too busy trying to replace the breath your husband took as he firmly drove into you. When you whined, a sound that had your eyes shutting and cheeks flushing, you made to move your hand to cover your mouth.

“No,” he growled, pulling your hand from your mouth. “You are my queen now, my lioness. Let me hear you.”

That night, you’re quite certain all of King’s Landing heard your roar.

===

“Father,” Tyren called one morning as the royal family was breaking their fast. Now ten, and growing more and more every day, Tyren was approaching manhood, and all at your husband’s attentive measures. He was training Tyren himself in the art of the sword, and told you of every success and lesson your son learned in the training yard.

“Yes, son.”

You felt a stirring anytime Tywin claimed Tyren as his. And he had done a lot already. He’d named him the Marbrand heir, but had his name changed to Lannister. Children of our marriage will be Lannisters, and it wouldn’t do to have Tyren feel excluded, especially if his siblings are princes and not he. You’d been particularly ravenous for him the night he said that.

“Why am I not a prince like my brothers?”

The question made your stomach drop, but one look at Tywin told you all would be well.

“You are the heir to Vine Hall. It was agreed by your mother and I that you would not be prince, until such a time as you could decide yourself.”

Tyren looked off in thought for a moment. Tywin had often commented that though his colouring was of his sire, his face was yours. You could see it when your son thought hard about something, and in the curve of his smile and the slope of his eyes. You suspected Tywin had a private adoration for Tyren this way, as your other two sons were the spitting image of their father.

“Do you think I would be a good prince, father?” your son asked hopefully, looking with pale blue eyes into rich green. Tywin’s lips quirked.

“You are my son, and I have taught you myself in the ways of the realm since you could read. You are already a good prince, Tyren, even if it not your current title.”

“Mother, would you be upset? If I wanted to be prince? Who would Vine Hall go to?”

“You could never upset me, Tyren. Vine Hall would go to Goodwin, only because Tyson has had his heart set on being a knight since he could say the word.” Your second son at eight was determined to be as great a knight as his older half brother Jaime, who had married and spent most of his time at the Rock now.

“What about me, mama?” a sweet voice called. Ysold, your daughter, unlike her older brothers eating either side of her, was always talkative in the mornings. She must get it from her father, the early rising habit. There were not enough hours in the day to be a good queen and sleep, it seemed, and you were always tired in recent memory.

“You, my princess, will be locked in a tower and guarded by dragons,” your husband teased. Ysold laughed at her father and called him silly, which Tywin pretended to take offence at.

“Mama told me you’d pick me a husband, papa, and he’d take care of me and our children!”

Tywin glared at you for the truth of the matter. He was especially protective of Ysold, who like Tyren, had her father’s colouring with golden hair and emerald eyes, but was your little twin in every other regard. Your pregnancy with her had been difficult, the birth frightening, but you’d recovered in the five years since. Tywin was still hesitant about more children, fearing another would be too much for your body.

“Your mother is speaking with fairies,” Tywin dismissed. “I have even picked out the dragons.”

Ysold laughed again and forgot about her question altogether in favour of following her brothers to archery lessons. Tywin had not been thrilled by your suggestion she join them, but with the idea of her being able to defend herself (and the spare hour they’d have without the children) he’d reluctantly agreed.

“You will have to choose a man for her one day, husband.” He hummed but said nothing, glaring at his eggs.

“No man will deserve her.”

“Do you mean to say you don’t deserve me, too, husband?”

Tywin looked at you, at the coy expression on your face, and smirked.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

You stood from the table and moved toward your chambers, looking over your shoulder at him.

“Perhaps you could remind me why I stay by your side, then?”

“Gladly,” he growled, chasing after you into the bedroom to blissfully waste away an hour.

#game of thrones #tywin x reader #tywin lannister x reader #got x reader #tywin lannister #reader insert #request complete

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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

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if anyone out there wants a got dilf other than tywin, rest assured that jorah, ned, roose and stannis are also in my head rent free ❤️

#game of thrones

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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

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Could you do a Tywin fic where the reader is Margaerys older (3 years) sister. The reader had duties back in highgarden and is now in king’s landing for her wedding. She is just like her grandma and also the secret favorite.

Just a Battle of wits between reader and Tywin. Also jealous and possessive Tywin even though they are not together would be fun.

firstly, im blowing you a kiss for the request, secondly, please ask for a sequel where i fix it. im begging. i hope you enjoy, cheyxfu, and that it was at least similar to what you had in mind <3

about 1,245 words

Hesitate

Tywin Lannister x fTyrell!Reader

Part Two

Arriving several moons after your siblings to the capitol had not been the initial plan, especially as Margaery had designs to be queen and wanted her big sister with her. You had hated to deliver the news of the change in plans, but needs must, as your grandmother would say to you.

The sweltering heat, nothing like the mild summer days of High Garden, bore down on you the moment you approached the steps of the Palace. Dressed more sharply than your sister in a gown of light purple with severe spiked shoulders, your hair unbound and falling in long sleek locks to hide their glint, there was no doubt why you were called the Briar Rose. With the cunning wit and cold derision of your grandmother, and the beauty and grace of your little sister, many had heard of you, but few had seen you.

“Your Grace,” you said, curtsying to the King. The Boy King Joffrey had leered at you the moment he saw you, and his mother’s jaw had stayed tensed throughout the introductions. It was when you were introduced to the Hand that you understood what a true reputation was.

The Great Lion stood a head taller than most men save his first son, but he was broader than even Ser Jaime could ever hope to be. He was a fine specimen of man, and quite untouchable. A shame, you thought privately.

Even more interesting was how the Hand had seemingly made a habit of joining you for your daily turn around the gardens in the Keep. At first neither of you spoke, but with time the conversation flowed, and an odd brand of banter was established. He was funny, you realised a sennight into this routine. His humour was well camouflaged behind wit and disdain, and genuine scolding.

“For a lady who’s motivation to come to the capitol was finding a husband, you have not indulged any other in your presence but myself and your family.”

“I fear there’s a shortage of interesting men in the capitol, Lord Hand.”

“I suppose I should be honoured to have your glowing praise.”

You laughed and said, “Lord Hand, you honour me with your witticisms.”

He seemed rather smug at that.

Of course, the walks could not persist forever. Margaery was sure a betrothal between her and Joffrey would arise any day, and your grandmother had decided it was time to set her efforts with you and your marriage prospects. Being the resourceful woman she was, Lady Olenna had a candidate by the next day.

“Addam Marbrand?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, granddaughter. I am never too old to take you over my knee.” You rolled your eyes at the empty threat.

“It was only a surprise, grandmother. I will do whatever you deem best.” Olenna smiled at you.

“This is why you’re my favourite,” she said lowly. Margaery, for as shortsighted as she could be, was truly the only one of your siblings to openly rebel against grandmother. Lady Olenna had not liked the idea of Margaery being wed to the King, especially as whispers of his madness gained traction throughout King’s Landing. But, as the baby, Margaery got what she wanted.

Addam Marbrand, the heir to a Westerlands Keep called Vine Hall, was a gentleman. You knew your grandmother would ensure her granddaughters went to good men (even if Margaery wanted to be Queen more than she wanted to be safe and happy). He was not nearly as impressive as the Great Lion, but he was attentive and respectful, and though maybe a little dull, he would certainly be a dutiful and kind husband.

“Have you developed a sudden allergy to the flowers, my lady?” a voice sounded from behind you in the parlour you took your afternoon tea in.

You’d wondered when he’d show. He hadn’t given you the impression he was a man who was dismissed.

“No, Lord Hand. My betrothed has asked me to attend them when he is present.”

The silence, long and odd, that followed was uncomfortable. You’d wanted the Great Lion to act a little faster in his subtle attempts to gain your favour, then ultimately your hand. But he hadn’t, and the Queen of Thorns was not a patient woman.

“Your betrothed?”

“Yes, Lord Hand. An heir of the Westerlands, Addam Marbrand.”

Tywin Lannister knew Addam, of course. The man had squired for him near a decade ago, then had become a fierce warrior and proven himself to be an upstanding example of Western nobility. If only Tywin didn’t suddenly despise the lad, it might’ve been good news.

“And you are pleased with this?”

You looked at him from your settee as he stood a polite distance away, a distance he’d have to maintain always, going forward. He really was a fine man, you thought.

“I am pleased my grandmother has found me a strong, gentle man.”

“But not the man you’d hoped.”

This was dangerously close to a confession, and you, for all your strength, were still a rose, and in a momentary lapse of judgement, your thorns gave way to petals for him.

“No, Lord Hand. Not the man I’d hoped for.”

You took your leave, and that was the last time you were alone with Tywin Lannister again for a long time. The court knew of your strange rapport with the Great Lion, and how, as wife to Lord Marbrand, you still assisted the Small Council in place of your grandmother, now that she was the Queen’s grandmother.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” came his voice. It had been a long time since you’d heard just his in an empty room, and you closed your eyes for a moment to savour the sound.

“Thank you, Lord Hand.”

“And are you pleased to be carrying the Marbrand heir, Lady Marbrand?”

“It’s an honour to serve my good husband this way.”

You heard him step closer.

“You did not answer my question.”

Turning to him, you glared half-heartedly. In the time between now and the last you’d been alone with him, your thorns had sharpened to protect your reputation. A reputation Tywin Lannister looked to be attempting to sully.

“I am pleased to be having a babe.”

“A babe by your husband?”

“Do you want to hear otherwise, Lord Hand? I could tell you the truth of it all, but what would it change? You hesitated, and my grandmother did not.”

He did not seem pleased to hear you speak to him that way, as frankly as anyone dared to. He stepped closer but you held up a hand.

“You did not try to convince her of another option,” he accused.

“What other option? ‘Grandmother, I walk the same path every day with the same man at the same time’ is hardly a convincing enough candidate.”

He watched you deflate, saw how the slump of you shoulders accentuated your swelling abdomen, and he felt something terribly close to despair. It was not his babe inside you, not his cloak of protection you’d been shrouded in. He had hesitated, and the notion shamed him.

He’d let you walk out of the parlour, and had not called on you again. You’d bore your husband a son by summer’s end, had named him Tyren, a Western name through and through, even if he knew the deeper reason for the babe’s name.

You hesitated, his dreams taunted him in your sweet voice. You hesitated. You hesitated. You hesitated.

#request complete #tywin x reader #tywin lannister x reader #got x reader #game of thrones #i already have an idea to get them together #if y’all want a happy ending like i always do <3

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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

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also not a request, im writing what i want to read at the moment, it seems! The lowdown: there’s angst, sex and romance, all Lannister style. He growls. You’re welcome. Very reader focussed, but about a third of it is Tywin’s pov. Possessive, protective husband vibes. Again, you’re welcome. He’s Hand to Joffrey (gag) so it’s set post Robert’s death, but canon? We don’t know her. Also, can we agree Genna is the sister in law we all need?

Coming in at a whopping 8,112 words

In Time, the Lion Loves

Tywin Lannister x fem!Reader

It was a purely political marriage, one that occurred a mere fortnight after your meeting Lord Lannister of Casterly Rock in King’s Landing. He had been taciturn and serious bordering on standoffish most of the time. You were embarrassed that your father had all but forced his hand, what with Lannisters paying their debts and all. And saving Jaime Lannister from the Starks and returning him home when Lord Lannister couldn’t? It was a debt large enough to warrant a hopeless, trustless marriage between you and he.

“Let’s retire,” he said from beside you at your wedding feast, an ostentatious event organised by the Boy King Joffrey and his mother. He’d been unexpectedly amicable, in the way lord husbands were supposed to be with their wives. He’d let you sip from his wine goblet and had given you first pick of the plate you both shared. You enjoyed the roast pheasant while he preferred beef.

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” the King announced, face flushed terribly from the wine he’d indulged in, and green eyes sparking with malice. The King had always looked at you as though he might pounce, and tonight of all nights, you had to rein in your fear of him. As soon as men rose and began tugging at your beautiful gown, they stopped.

Lord Lannister had slammed his hand on the table, the boom echoing throughout the hall the feast was being held.

“No man but I shall touch my wife. Get off her,” he growled. The men around you couldn’t flee fast enough. Then neutral green eyes settled on you, readjusting your sleeves that had come down your shoulder some in the tugging and offering you his hand to escort you from the hall.

He poured you more wine once in the Tower of the Hand, but you did not move to drink it. You had let go of your fear of this man in particular, especially as he’d kept you close to him all evening, and had gently seated you beside him at the feast. It could certainly be a ruse, one to make him seem the perfect Lord even in a marriage he had not chosen.

“Stop thinking so much, you’ll make yourself dizzy.”

“I was thinking how much I appreciate your manner, my Lord. It would not have surprised me if you were a cruel man in private, though I am beginning to see there isn’t any needless cruelty in your body.”

He looked at you then, watching as you took a single, gracious sip from your cup, before turning and looking at him too. You were beautiful, this he knew. He was a widower, not blind, and he had appreciated privately any particular woman of exceeding beauty. But he’d always been a jealous and possessive type of man, and you were almost made more beautiful by the fact you were his alone. His wife. He’d need to get used to that again.

“You will bear me sons, and manage the Rock should we return. It would not do to sully our alliance so soon.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Are you nervous, Lady Wife?”

“No, my Lord. I snuck off to a brothel before we travelled to King’s Landing and had a whore explain to me the truth of a marriage bed.”

Already he felt a flare of possessiveness take him. The thought of you in any brothel made him twitch. Had any men seen you? Had anyone touched you? He found the thought entirely unacceptable, and was sure to say so.

“I knew I’d be married shortly after my arrival here, my Lord. I did not want to be uninformed, and septas take a vow of chastity. How could they give me an objective insight into married relations?”

“While it is an admirable quality to seek out your own answers,” he said, walking over to you and looking down as you sat opposite his desk. “You will not set foot in an establishment like that again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord,” you said, looking up at him with earnest eyes. He liked them, he decided, when they were settled on him.

The first night, he’d answered any questions you’d been left with on how a woman takes pleasure from her husband, and gods, did he give you pleasure. In short order, you’d found yourself looking forward to the hour or so an evening he’d dedicate to getting an heir on you. You were grateful he’d make it an enjoyable experience.

He was long and hard, and you’d taken him two dozen times at least already, and every time he had to let you adjust, lest he hurt you. It was sweet torture for him, feeling you tight around his cock, sighing and humming for him until he’d draw out more sounds.

Your hands, never stilled once he was inside you, gripped at his back, his sides, his neck. Anywhere you could reach, you would touch, but never outside the bedroom. He used to appreciate this, he realised, sinking in all the way and delighting in your gasp. Not having a clingy little wife who lingered about him at all hours.

No, he realised, drawing back then driving forward more firmly. He wanted you to be clingy with him. It was barely a moon into his marriage to you, and he wanted to possess you as much as you seemed to possess him. With this thought, he dedicated himself to your pleasure. He’d make you enjoy his cock beyond anything else, then he’d make you enjoy him.

“My Lord,” you whined as he brushed a spot inside you that had your eyes rolling back and fluttering shut.

Oh yes, the Lion thought, he’d have you in all ways soon enough.

When you’d both agreed to make small appearances around the Keep, Tywin had thought it’d send a clear message that the Lord and Lady Lannister were united despite the tenuous start of your marriage. It did not quite have this affect, to his chagrin.

Men watched you everywhere you went, he realised on these walks. Their eyes would follow your walk, your hair, your face and any words that floated along the wind sweetly. You were splendiferous in red and gold, and he’d spared no expense on your wardrobe. Bedecked in the finest gowns, second to only the Queen, and even then outdoing his daughter to her distaste. He’d made it as clear without words as possible, you were his. And yet, these cads watched his wife as though she were still an eligible heiress and not his lady wife.

Then began the marks.

On your neck, your shoulders, even your wrists, which he delighted in kissing and licking in rare shows of intimacy. He was an odd man, your husband, but he left you to your own devices apart from your new routine of walking and visiting your bed to procure an heir. He’d stop his attentions once you were with child, you knew, but you ignored the twinge of upset the thought caused. He was not your lover, he was your husband, and you lived in a world where they were not one and the same.

The marks were bothersome, especially if he hadn’t kept to below your collarbones, as you’d told him to. He rather seemed pleased with himself when a bruise was left by your ear or your throat. You’d learned all sorts of hairstyles to cover them, styles that seemed to draw the eyes of others, but none moreso than the Master of Coin.

Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish was not a man you’d heard of before your arrival at the capitol, but he’d made himself known to you at your wedding, and seemingly every other day since. He’d appeared sympathetic at first to your marriage, though when he saw your irritation at the perceived pity, he’d taken another approach. Whispering words of the deeds your Lord Husband had done to carry on his legacy. The details disturbed you of course, but you were not so foolish to think Baelish would tell you anything of the truth, only what he wanted you to know. Ignoring him was easy, but his presence made you uncomfortable, try as you might to hide it.

“My Lady,” he smirked at you. Sat at a bench in the leafy shade, enjoying the weather and a good book, you greeted him politely but made no move to stand or invite him to sit. He cleared his throat at the ensuing silence. “I had hoped you might walk with me around the gardens, my lady?”

Closing your book, you stood and began making your turn about the aisles of flowers and crawling vines. He walked beside you looking at you out his periphery. You’d mastered the art of looking around a room without moving your eyes, so his attention was far less overt than he’d hoped.

“And what did you wish to speak to me about, Master of Coin?” You felt an odd yearning for your husband then. Surely the sly little man would leave you be if your hulk of a husband were near.

“Have you travelled to Dorne before, my lady?”

The question sent a chill through you. The man was up to no good, you were sure, but your husband would surely not desire to hear your concerns over the, as far, polite attentions of a member on the Small Council.

“I have not, my lord. I don’t much fancy such arid temperatures, so I cannot say I have a desire to visit anyhow. Have you?” you asked to keep your polite façade.

“I have, my lady. It’s a beautiful, if arid as you say, land. I’ve many friends there, and a home of my own, too, for when business takes me that side of the world.”

“If you only wished to inquire about my travels, Master of Coin, I shall bid you farewell.” In a move so fast you hardly realised it’d happened, Baelish had placed your hand over his arm. Coincidentally, your Lord Husband happened upon you both that instant. You pulled your hand from him with a delicate frown and took a step away.

“Baelish,” your husband gritted, eyes glittering with danger. For you or Baelish, you weren’t quite sure. Almost certainly both.

“Lord Hand. I shall leave you to your strolling, my lady. Good day.” And then he was gone.

“You are not to walk about the Keep unattended, wife,” Tywin says lowly.

“Yes, my lord,” you reply softly, turning to return to the Keep proper.

That night, your lord husband drew peak after peak from your body, relentless until you were practically unconscious from the pleasure. You’re mine, he’d said over and over as he drove into you. And he did not stop touching you. Your hair, your face, your lips especially. He seemed to kiss the breath out of you, stopping only when he’d finished a second time, and you could barely speak.

You’d woken the next morning alone, as you always did. Your husband would only share your bed for the act of siring an heir, and would always be gone by the time you woke. It didn’t bother you, you told yourself as you woke cold and sore. It was perfectly expectable for a husband to act this way. And you would do your duty, as you’d been taught to, so it hardly mattered if he was there when you woke. He didn’t need to be next to you in the morning to get a child on you, so why would he? It was this cold logic that helped you through your bath and preparations for the day.

===

Two moons later, and your husband had not refrained from exhausting you thoroughly every night. He stayed a little longer, waiting for you to be asleep before he would make his exit, and sometimes you swore you could feel his fingers caressing whatever body part was exposed to him. Though it was surely the musings of a well-sated, completely exhausted woman.

The Master of Coin’s attentions had not faded either, though this made you less than pleased. It was hard to desire leaving the Tower without your husband, knowing Baelish would find you inevitably. He had gotten into the habit of placing your hand on his arm when he could get away with it, which was often as he avoided your husband at all costs. There was no love lost between Littlefinger and the Great Lion.

“Your husband is making a three day expedition to the surrounding towns. Something the Hand does every year or so.”

“Yes, he’s mentioned it. He’s made arrangements accordingly.”

“You must be excited to see more of King’s Landing, my lady.”

“I have requested to stay behind,” you say offhandedly. You were hoping to gauge his intentions by telling him this. The look of determination, and something much like scheming, settled in his eyes. It frightened you.

With the desire to be away from this man and near to your husband, you bid the Master of Coin farewell and walked away before he could follow.

Entering the Tower and seeing your husband hard at work at his desk brought you a feeling of peace you did not realise he gave you.

“Wife,” he said simply.

“My Lord,” you always replied. There was a settee by the window, and in the time you’d been married to Tywin you’d never seen him sit there. You walked to his bookshelf, grabbed whatever spine took your interest and sat at the settee to read. Your husband made no comment, so you did not move.

A couple hours of silence followed, you reading about agricultural infrastructure and him responding to raven after raven.

“You’re disturbed,” he says suddenly.

“I grew weary of people watching me.” It was not quite a lie, but again, how could you be honest that you were hiding from the Master of Coin? That you thought he was up to something? That and how quickly you tired these days. Being married was exhausting, especially when your husband could not seem to get enough of your attentions at night.

“I leave on the morrow for the Tour of the Hand. I had summoned my sister to come for a few weeks to the capitol and she arrived today, but is resting. Mostly to get her away from that miserable husband of hers,” he added. He’d been doing that over the last few weeks, adding details that he usually wouldn’t if you were anyone else. It felt like a token, of what you couldn’t say, but something from him to you regardless.

Your anxiety got in the way of any warmth. Without Tywin, Baelish would have no deterrent to keep him from approaching you, even calling on you in your chambers if he was bold. Having Genna Lannister (never Genna Frey) would perhaps be a hindrance rather than a help. You didn’t know the woman, and the only other Lannister woman in the capitol made no efforts to get to know you.

“I shall look forward to meeting her, my Lord.” He hummed and that was that.

Later that night, after dinner, your husband summoned you to his chambers. Usually he’d cross the dividing parlour between your rooms and bed you there, but he obviously couldn’t be bothered to make the journey, you thought.

He was undressing you as he made sure to do every night, never letting you do it yourself. You undressed him, he’d instructed you on your wedding night, and he would undress you. It was only when you were splayed across his bed, hair unbound and laid across the pillows when his eyes darted to your midsection.

Palming your lower abdomen, and seemingly finding what he was looking for, he said, “You are carrying my babe in your belly, wife.”

The words brought dread. Would he stop his attentions? You hadn’t realised how much you liked them until they might be taken away. But then his words actually sunk in. A baby. There was a babe in your belly, your own, and in some moons it’d be in your arms, gods willing.

Tywin watched as you smiled small at first, then sat up and felt where his hand cupped the slight swell. He saw a true smile from you, one bright and warm as the fire in his chambers that crackled merrily. Tywin felt annoyed that he would have to leave you come morn, especially now that the next lion of Casterly Rock was in your belly. And quietly, perhaps he enjoyed the way you sat with him, and wanted more of the same.

Feeling pride at making his wife smile, and that he’d gotten a babe in her so quickly after their marriage, he kissed you breathless until you pulled away for air. It didn’t stop him from trailing kisses across your neck and collarbones, down to your breasts, which were heaving by now. He couldn’t wait to see them swell in the coming moons.

You thought he would stop there, return to you and get on with it, but he moved lower and lower, until he was staring into your most private place. It was embarrassing for a few moments, until he leaned forward and began kissing you there too. It was overwhelming. So perfect, making you writhe and pant. You never begged, but if he toyed with you like this long enough, you were sure you would.

“You’ve done well, wife. Allow me to reward you,” he purred before his tongue went inside. This, you decided, was well worth it to have waited for. In no time at all the sounds of him kissing you there overtook the fire and even your own deep, heavy breaths were drowned out. “One lion stronger, soon to be two,” he said as you peaked over his lips and tongue.

===

You woke a little after you’d both fallen asleep, tired and sated and, dare you think, happy at the prospect of the babe. It took you a moment to realise you weren’t in your own rooms, and that this was the first time you were waking up beside your husband.

He was laid out on his back, long legs nearly stretching the entire length of enormous bed, one of his arms bent underneath his pillow, and one stretched to rest under your pillow. You only allowed yourself a moment to admire him before quietly getting out of bed, collecting your clothes and moving like a ghost to your own rooms. It was hardly an hour past midnight, and you felt so tired all the time (from the babe you now realised) that all you wanted was to sleep.

Tywin woke an hour before dawn to an empty bed, and this infuriated him somehow. To be left while he slept made him feel as though you’d taken your pleasure and gone away from him. The only thought that stopped him from barging into your rooms was how that’s exactly what he did to you every night but the one you’d just shared.

Getting up from bed and throwing on a dressing gown to cover his nudity he marched directly to your rooms, finding you curled up by the edge of the bed, as though leaving a space for someone else. This appeased him in a way he couldn’t ascertain, but he needn’t linger. It was early still, and he didn’t need to be up and out of the Tower until after breakfast in a rare change of schedule.

He approached your sleeping form and gently manoeuvred you so he could scoop you up. You hummed, then frowned and blinked an eye open.

“M’Lord?” you mumbled.

“Hush,” he soothed, using the voice he’d found you reacted particularly well to. “I woke to find my wife missing from my bed,” he explained softly. “I am simply rectifying the issue.”

“Didn’t think you wanted me to stay,” you sighed, shutting your eyes and allowing him to grip you behind the knees and scoop you by your shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you said, and Tywin was distracted by how sweet and docile you were when sleepy.

“Hush, I said,” he murmured by your temple. You curled closer to him at that, and his chest rumbled in satisfaction. “From now on, you stay in my bed.”

“With you?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes softening, though you’d never know with your eyes shut. “With me.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Tywin, he wanted to say. Call me Tywin, anything but that. He did not. He was asleep again in moments now that you were back in his chambers, and you’d been asleep again before he set you in the centre of the bed.

When you woke, your husband was still in bed with you, an arm wrapped round your waist, hand splayed over your slight swelling. When he woke a few minutes after you, your husband tightened his hold and pulled you closer. This was new, you thought. But delightful. You realised more and more how pleased you were that you married such a fine man, even if you’d never share a love or more intimacy than expected of you in public. This was enough, you told yourself. It had to be.

You both laid together for a while, and during that time you wondered if your husband would truly listen to you if you mentioned Baelish. But then he rose to dress in time for a midday departure, and you decided the moment had past. You would be able to handle Baelish. You were a lion now.

Genna Lannister was already sat at the breakfast table, and you almost did a double take. Where Tywin was sleek apparel and minimal embellishments, Genna was the opposite. She wore a scarlet gown that accentuated her plump figure, gold dripping from her ears and throat and wrists, and hair done so elaborately you wondered how long she’d been awake to have managed such a style. And she was vivacious as they came.

You enjoyed her immediately.

“Sister!” she announced at your arrival, standing and coming to greet you as though you were long time friends. It didn’t feel predatory the way Baelish or the Queen could be, so you smiled and greeted her the same way.

“No greeting to your Lord Brother?” Tywin grouched.

“Oh, are you here as well, Tywin?” Genna teased. He huffed and pulled out your chair, assisting you into it before seating himself and glaring at his sister to do the same so they may eat.

“And how is my big brother, then?”

“You’re only being tame because you think I have a secret.”

“On the contrary, brother, I know you have a secret, and even better than that, I already know what it is.” She turned to face you and smiled truly at you. “Congratulations, sister,” she said sweetly. “And you! What a greedy lion you must be to get a child on her so fast!”

“Genna,” he warned, seeing your embarrassed flush. The blonde only laughed and waved him away. And Tywin let her! What a marvel this woman, her sister, was turning out to be.

“Oh, quit your growling and eat your porridge, brother.” And Tywin did just that.

It was a lively breakfast that came to an end when Tywin excused himself to prepare for his departure. You curtsied when he bowed to you both before taking his leave.

“Tell me, my dear, have you thought of names?”

“I only discovered last night I was withchild, and it was even my husband who’d figured it out. Do you have suggestions?”

“Genna for a girl,” she joked. “Tyton is a strong name. Perhaps Tywin will like it, too.” You agreed, and you did like Tyton. It was a strong name.

Genna, after a tour of the Tower, insisted on a walk around the gardens before seeing Tywin off. Baelish did not appear, to your relief, but his absence was almost as worrying. He was up to something you could tell, but what? Maybe you could confide in Genna?

In the end, you saw off your husband as a good wife should, not even having to pretend very much that you were sad to see him go. The Queen hadn’t paid an inch of attention to you besides a look of distaste after she greeted her Lady Aunt. And then it was back inside for you and Genna to read, then eat and retire.

The next day, you realised that yes, you missed your husband. Already you were wishing the three days would end so he could be by your side again. Your anxiety about Baelish had only worsened since you’d found you were having a babe, and Tywin had suggest you both wait to see the maester until after he returned. The news would spread fast that the Lady Lannister was withchild, and Tywin had said he didn’t want to be far when that happened, in case of anything. You’d wanted to lean up and kiss him when he said that, but you refrained, certain he’d shoo you away.

“My dear, you look exhausted. Come, we’ll prepare for bed then retire.”

You nodded to Genna, who had doted on you in a rather maternal way since her arrival. She’d helped you to undress, then into your nightgown and bed, wishing you sweet dreams before going to her own chambers on the level below.

It was dark when you were disturbed by something. The fire had died down (no one but Tywin could make a fire that would last the whole night) and the room was pitch black. You turned to sleep again when something foul smelling fell over you mouth and nose. You struggled against the stranger’s hand, trying not to breathe in whatever was soaked into the cloth. To your horror, your body was relaxing, your mind losing consciousness. Your last coherent thought was a desperate yearning for Tywin.

===

Genna woke and dressed, her handmaiden well versed in her hair enough to do it all in half an hour, and was sitting at the breakfast table waiting for you. When half an hour past and she heard no movement from yours and her brother’s chambers, she made her way to them herself. If the maids were too incompetent to wake you then she’d do it herself.

Upon entering the room, she stopped short. You were not in bed, and there were no maids fluttering about as they would if you were bathing. Genna had learned to trust her intuition and felt something was deeply wrong, especially as the bed looked as though you’d had a restless sleep. She wanted to believe you were just up early and perhaps strolling the gardens, but Genna knew that wasn’t the case.

She called for the guards, and told them to gather as many Lannister men as they could to search the Keep for the Lady Lannister. She hoped beyond hope she was wrong, but she so rarely was.

===

You woke to darkness and the gentle sway of a ship sailing, and thought yourself dreaming before you jolted upright. You were in a cabin on a ship, that much was obvious. What wasn’t, was why you were there, who’d taken you and where you were going. Dread settled in your gut. Would your husband find out? A silly question. He possibly already knew. What you were frightened to consider was that he might think you’d run away. Your heart gave a fierce pang of longing for your husband yet again, and then steely resolve filled you. There was a desk in the room you were in, one obviously well used, if the stacks of papers, inkwell and sacks of coins were any indication.

You stood, saw a dress laid out on the bed, one of dark blue decorated with swirls in a pattern you knew Baelish to favour. You should have said something, you thought bitingly. You should have gone with your husband. Then you’d be exhausted but safe, and with him.

You dressed in the gown quickly, fearing someone would come in as you were underdressed. The gown had pockets, as was custom in southern dresses now that the Queen had made it so. A plan was forming in your head about what to do, and with the nimbleness of a mouse and the resolve of a lionness, you grabbed the smallest coin pouch, checked to see it had golden stags, then bound the pouch tight as you could to avoid clinking, pocketed it, then sat on the bed and waited.

Baelish came in after a time, not that you were surprised, but you had a part to play now, and you’d need to be convincing. Your life and your babe’s counted on it.

“Lord Baelish?”

“Hello, my dear.”

“My Lord, what has happened? Did my husband send for you?”

“Your husband,” Baelish began, walking to sit beside you on the bed. It was a violation of etiquette, though you didn’t show any discomfort. “Will no longer be an issue.”

Your heart almost stopped, but then you reasoned even Petyr Baelish could not kill your husband. Tywin was too well-protected and too intelligent to be caught off guard as you had.

“He has sent me away?” you asked, playing the distraught little wife.

Baelish made to speak, to deny your words, you knew. Then he paused, and you saw that he considered you believing this the favourable option.

“He did, my Lady. He had men retrieve you from your bed, but my own intercepted them and brought you aboard my ship. I intended to offer you a spot anyway, to come with me to the Vale where my betrothed awaits us.”

You allowed a faux tear to fall, and your head to droop down to your chest.

“He isn’t fond of me,” you admitted quietly. You weren’t sure it was a lie, so it was easy to say so.

“He neglects you, my Lady. You are such a treasure,” he said, the obvious lust making your stomach roll. You only managed to nod. “We’ll be docking soon, my Lady. I sent another ship to Dorne and we will be docking nearby to the capitol to avoid suspicion. Why would we be so close when there’s a ship making to across the sea?”

“Very clever, my Lord,” you said softly. He smirked at you then brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, you blushed and turned away, and it was enough to deter him from pushing for more. You felt sick that he was touching you, feeling as though you were somehow being unfaithful to your husband. You couldn’t let on that you thought this, so you didn’t.

You waited until you heard Baelish disembarking the ship with great fanfare, stating something about needing to settle some business in the port town you were docked at. It was very late at night, you couldn’t have been sailing for more than three or so hours, but regardless, it was many days walk and at least a day’s ride by horse to return to the capitol. You found a cloak and some old breeches and tunics in a closet, boots that were too big, so you stuffed some cloth under and around your foot. It made you a few inches taller, more convincing in your disguise as a sailor. You pinned your hair back with whatever you could find and slipped out of the cabin to find a guard slumped over in sleep outside your door. You hadn’t known he was there, but by the grace of the Mother, you had a chance.

You walked off the ship in no particular hurry to avoid suspicion, then made your way to the nearest stable you could see, banging on the door until someone answered.

“What d’ya want,” a grisly looking man groused once he opened the door. You placed the coin pouch in his hands.

“Give me your best horse, saddle it immediately and the coin is yours.” He nodded, looking at you strangely before doing as you asked.

“I dunno who yer runnin’ from, girl, but ye better be fast. An’ ‘ere,” he said handing you a pouch of what you discovered to be bread and some apples. “Some for ye, and some for the stallion,” he explained.

“I thank you,” you said quietly.

“Go on now. Sun’s comin’ soon.” And off you rode.

It was in the heat of the midday sun you began to feel poorly. Your legs were sore and chafing, your hips aching, and you hadn’t dared stop to rest or eat lest Baelish discover you. You wouldn’t rest until you were back with your husband, this you vowed.

===

“A raven, milord, from your Lady Sister,” the squire said as Tywin retired to his tent. By the morrow, he’d be back in his own chambers with his wife, and able to be rid of the grime that always managed to build up on the road.

He sat first, poured some wine, and took a long sip before unrolling the parchment and reading the note.

“Prepare my horse!” he roared moments after having read the note a third time. Men sprang into action, some packing his tent and others preparing to depart with their Liege Lord. Within minutes he was riding hard into the night and back to King’s Landing.

His wife had waited for him to be gone then she’d stolen away in the night with his babe inside her. He was furious, and he rode like it. How dare she, he thought. You had tried to make a fool of him and no one fooled the Great Lion and got away with it. Beyond his anger, he realised his chest was tight. She’d left, was all he could think. And he’d fancied himself to be growing fond of her. What a fool.

“I want a patrol to set out immediately,” he said to yet another squire as he marched into the Red Keep. “Find my runaway bride and bring her to me unharmed.”

“Yes, milord!” And away the boy went.

Genna was pacing in his study when he arrived, a worried look on her face she only wore for her family (minus her husband), then regarded him intensely.

“She did not run, Tywin.”

“She did,” he gritted out.

“She didn’t. She fretted the entire day you left, asked me about a dozen times where I thought you might be as the day passed. She did not leave, brother.”

And loathe as he was to admit it, his sister was far more perceptive than she had any right to be. If she believed his wife had not run from him, then he would try to believe the same. His anger immediately turned to angst.

“Then she was taken, and is likely gone to me forever if she is not found in the next days.” His voice was low, growlish, and Gemma saw right through it.

“She’s a smart little thing, Tywin, and we have some leads already. Have hope, brother.”

“She is carrying my babe,” he said, though his sister knew him too well not to know what he truly meant.

“She is your wife, brother, and she at least takes her vows seriously. She would not betray you like this, and I happen to think she will try everything in her power to come back.”

Tywin realised she could very well be dead already. How apt of the gods, to thrust a wife upon him he had no want for, then to take her from him when he did.

“I’ll kill whoever did this,” he said quietly. He felt his sister’s hand on his shoulder and clenched his fists. He wished for his wife in that moment, their easy silences and the way she seemed to seek him out just to be near to him. “And I’ll never let her leave my sight again.”

===

There was a point where even your horse refused to go farther, and you had to agree. It was nearing nightfall, and you were exhausted. Your whole body ached, and you thanked the gods you weren’t heavier withchild or riding wouldn’t have been an option.

You settled for the night, ate the bread the stable hand had packed you and fed all but one apple to your horse, who munched happily on them then the grass, then promptly went to sleep near you. It was a sweet horse, and didn’t mind when you laid next to it, leaning your tired body on its side.

You slept for hardly a few hours before dreams of Baelish catching you and Tywin truly having sent those men woke you. Rousing the horse, who seemed grumpy at being woken, you re-saddled him and began a lighter pace. You had already begun to recognise your surroundings, and made haste again towards the capitol. When you crested a hill and saw the top of the Red Keep in the distance, you burst into tears of relief and pushed your horse to ride on. He seemed to understand your anxiety to be home, and did as you bade him. You patted his neck the entire way through the sleepy King’s Landing, and all the way to the King’s Gate.

“Who goes there,” the gate master called out at your arrival. Your must’ve looked like a commoner with your drab coat and less than quality clothes. They probably thought you stole the horse.

Pulling back your hood, you revealed your face, unpinned your hair and announced yourself.

“I am Lady Lannister,” you said, and heard murmuring follow. A guard came down to you, shone a torch in your face and upon recognising you, he called for the gates to open and for someone to retrieve the Hand.

They escorted you up to the Palace steps, and assured you they’d take care of your horse, before a servant came to take you to your chambers. You could hardly walk, so sore from the saddle, and exhausted beyond belief. You were nearly at the Tower when a commotion caught your attention.

Ahead of you, you saw your husband. He was still dressed from the day and did not look to have slept, despite it being nearly dawn. He laid his eyes on you, and both of you sprang to go to the other.

Your legs protested the pace, but you hurried down the hall to him. In several long strides he reached you and pulled you to his chest, arms locking around you tight. You cried again, clutching the lapels on his doublet.

“Hush, wife,” he said, though you cried harder at his voice. He picked you up into his arms, told the guards to stand by the door on rotation, then took you inside the Tower.

You had cried all through him undressing you, and himself, all through the bath he’d ordered be delivered, and all through him washing your sore, bruised and chafed body. Only when you were back in your bed did you finally settle enough to speak.

“I didn’t run from you, I swear it, I swear it,” you repeated to him, begging him without words to believe you. He caressed your body from hip to shoulder, holding you tight.

“I know you didn’t, wife, though I had initially assumed that to be the case,” he said as though it shamed him to have thought that.

“Baelish,” you gasped. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think— I didn’t think you’d believe me, but I should’ve said, I should’ve gone with you,” you explained, though you didn’t really explain much at all.

“Baelish took you?” he growled, arms tightening around you. You nodded.

“He had two ships, one to Dorne and one to the Vale. We docked in the night to not look suspicious, and I found clothes and stole a pouch of coin, slipped off the ship and bought a horse. I rode all the way here, I hardly stopped.”

Tywin would be the one to kill Baelish, he decided. For making his wife afraid, for taking her from him and for putting his babe in potential danger. He would make it slow as possible without being outright torture if he could manage, though the idea certainly had merit.

“I was so frightened,” you admitted quietly, looking up from your husband’s chest to peer at him in the eyes. “Scared he’d get me all the way to the Vale, and then I’d never be able to get away. Scared he’d know about the babe and— and give me something to kill it,” you said voice cracking. You lifted a palm to his cheek, the first time you’d ever reached for him outside of marital duties. He leaned into your palm, eyes fixed on you. “I was so scared I’d never be able to see you again, my Lord.”

“Tywin,” he said, desperate, though you couldn’t tell it was that. “You call me Tywin.”

“Tywin,” you breathed, and then his mouth was on you. He called you wife, he called you lady, he called your name, all with ‘my’ attached. He did not leave you as you drifted into an exhausted sleep, nor as you rested. Not for anything. His grandson could summon him and he’d tell him to talk a walk off a balcony railing. He would not let you go, not ever again.

“I’m here,” you whispered in your slumber, arms equally tight around him. “I’m here, Tywin.”

He kissed your hairline, smelling the soaps he’d used to wash you, the ones you always smelled of. He couldn’t believe someone had dared to steal you from him, to take his lady wife.

“I thought you might’ve been…” he could not finish the thought. It would make him think of the familiar grief he carried with him every day, the one of a man who’d lost his wife. He could not compete with gods and nature, but he could certainly compete with Baelish.

“It would need more than a mockingbird to defeat a lionness,” you purred. His worry for you had made you feel needy, and you knew he hated neediness.

“You will not leave me,” he commanded, and your heart gave way to the affection you held off for so long.

“Never,” you agreed. “And if I go anywhere, I’ll take you with me,” you said, kissing him firmly, your fist time initiating such an embrace. He gave into you immediately, ravishing your mouth and neck and chest with those marks he was so fond of, and truly, you were fond of them too. Maybe you’d even be daring enough to leave your own.

He made love to you that morning, as the birds sang so did you, though to Tywin, your song was much sweeter.

It was some weeks before your husband brought up your kidnapping again. He had been fiercely protective since your return to him, and there wasn’t a moment you were unguarded. There was no Baelish in the capitol anymore, so you felt at ease enough to return to the gardens as you used to, though now you had Genna for company, who was doting and funny, and kept your spirits high through the stress of the recent moon.

You were declared in perfect health despite the bruising and chafing by a maester Tywin trusted. You thanked the gods every day since your return for keeping your babe safe through the turmoil.

“My dear,” Genna said, pulling you from your daydreaming. “Have you thought it might be twins?”

That night, you asked Tywin if he agreed with his sister, and after careful consideration, he agreed you were larger than usual for so early on. His eyes darkened, and he pulled you to bed within moments.

Your husband, you’d learned in the recent weeks, was needier than he let on. Always wanting to touch, always wanting to kiss your sweet mouth when privacy allowed it, and gods, did his desire for you become plain as the sun in the sky. He could not get enough of you, how your hips were widening and your breasts were swelling, how your stomach had begun to protrude noticeably. He was prideful as a lion, especially with evidence of his virility in the form of his beautiful wife carrying his babe.

On a day where you wanted nothing more than to nap and read in your husband’s solar while he worked, there was finally news of Baelish. His ships had been sacked by the Greyjoys, and he’d been held prisoner there for a sennight. Tywin allowed you to see his correspondence thereafter with the Greyjoys, and you nearly baulked at the sum of money he’d offered for Baelish, alive.

And, as in most things, Tywin got his way, and Baelish was delivered to the capitol in chains. He certainly looked worse for wear, and you privately found satisfaction in that.

Baelish had demanded a trial by combat, and a knight well known in Dorne had stepped forward to be his fighter. Tywin had wanted to fight himself, but as Hand to the King, he resided as a judge on the case and was not permitted. His son, Jaime, had volunteered to fight on, technically, your behalf, though he was officially representing the Hand.

Jaime arrived to the fight in Lannister gold and red, declared he fought as the son of the Great Lion, and would fight for his Liege Lady. He nodded to you in the Dragon Pit, where the fight was to take place, and you nodded back in appreciation of the message. Even the Queen, who had mellowed around you some with your pregnancy and her aunt’s intervention, had nodded approvingly.

The fight was far shorter than any would’ve expected, the Dornish fighter far more flashy than skilled. He was no match for Jaime, who was considered one of the greatest knights in history.

Baelish’s head hung low as his champion yielded, and Tywin had insisted he be executed then and there. You watched as your husband swung the sword himself, and forced yourself to witness Baelish’s head fall from his shoulders.

Later, when you were finished being sick, Tywin scolded you.

“You needn’t do things like that, watching something so violent. I should have had you escorted back to our chambers.”

You graciously took his hand as he led you to bed after you’d rinsed your mouth and chewed some mint leaves.

“I would not have agreed to be away from you,” you said simply, watching Tywin’s frown deepen and his chest simultaneously puff at your desire to always be by his side.

You’d grown bolder in your affections for him slowly everyday since your return. You touched him all the time now, and he revelled in it.

“Lay with me,” you requested sweetly, patting his side of the bed. Your stomach was certainly too large for a single babe, and sleeping had already become difficult for you, only made easier with your husband’s arms around you. It was inconvenient, but he would sooner bring his work to bed than give you reason to shy from him again.

“And how are my little lions,” he said as he reclined and cradled your belly in his palm.

“They’re— oh!” You exclaimed, reaching for your belly, a frown furrowing your brow.

“What is it?” he asked at once, dread taking him. But you smiled suddenly, grabbed his hand and pressed it firmly to the other side. He was about to call for a maester when he felt the fluttering kicks of his children (he was convinced there were three, though you vehemently hoped not).

“They’re saying hello to their papa,” you sighed as he began massaging your bump, as though playing with the babes inside.

He moved lower on the bed, pressed his mouth to your skin and hummed. You laughed as the babes wriggled inside you, the feeling odd and bordering on uncomfortable, but to see this man, your husband, so gentle with you and with children that did not yet quite exist, your heart felt fuller than ever.

“Tywin,” you called, prompting him to look up at you. “You are dearer to me than any other, my lion.”

Your husband smiled and crawled back up to your lips to kiss them. He did not say anything back, but he made the most gentle love to you, whispering your name and how lovely you were, how good a mother you’d be to his babes. By the time you peaked, tears had been streaming down your face, wiped away each time by the gentle hand of your man.

#tywin x reader #tywin lannister x reader #got x reader #game of thrones #tywin lannister #genna lannister

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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

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heyy, just dropping into say if you ever feel like blurbing on the lannisters, you have a reader ready to eat it up 😩🙈

im cooking babe, be hungry I got a MEAL for you !!! the way im writing what i want to read 🙈

#anonymous #im seriously making like an eight course meal rn <3

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queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

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not a request, I’m just fixating on Tywin Lannister <3 the timeline of this rather ignores canon, but as it is, Tywin is about 15 years older than !reader, Jaime and Cersei are about 8 years younger than !reader. Joanna died giving birth to the twins, so no Tyrion (sorry!), and there’s no Robert’s Rebellion, so no War of the Five Kings either. There’s allusion to a battle in the Capitol when Jaime and Cersei are toddlers, and i pretended this was to overthrow aerys in my head, though I gave zero details about it. Anyway, enjoy!

Edit: it’s nearly 6k words whoops

A Fool’s Errand

Tywin Lannister x fem!Reader

Loving Tywin Lannister was a fool’s errand, or so everyone said. But you, the sweet young daughter of the Warrior Lord Dumain, had never shied from a challenge yet. Not in our blood, your father would say. Warriors fight for what is right, and for what they want, my girl. And you wanted the Old Lion himself.

It had begun quite accidentally, and not even because of Lord Lannister, but his wife. She had hosted a tourney you’d gone to as a girl, and you thought her the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen (the portrait of your long dead mother non-withstanding). She had glided around the Rock, where the tourney was held, and her golden hair and dress had caught the eye of everyone, naturally.

The first day you’d followed her around, a girl of no more than eight having an easy time staying hidden in order to sate your curiosity. On the third day, Lady Joanna had spoken.

“Come out from there, my little shadow,” she hummed from her bench in the gardens. Shyly, you stepped out from behind an enormous pot and looked at your feet. Your father told you not to get in the way of anyone and to listen to your septa (who you’d managed to slip away from every day since your arrival). Your worry must’ve been evident, for she reached out a graceful hand and beckoned you closer. She must’ve tired easily from her round belly, which was too large to hold just one babe, you’d overheard your septa mention.

“You must be Lord Renhaal’s little girl,” her sweet voice said, pulling you from your childish musing.

“Yes, my lady,” you replied softly. She smiled, and you understood how people loved her instantly. You felt you’d do anything to keep her smiling at you.

“And what wonderful manners, forgetting all the spying, of course.” Though her words were chastisement, her face belied no displeasure.

“I wasn’t spying, my lady,” you defended, desperate to clear up the misunderstanding. “Father said, before we came here, that Lord Lannister was a serious man, and not to get in his way out of everyone here. And you’re so nice! I was only curious about what sort of lady would make a serious man happy… my lady.”

Drawing you closer so you were sat next to her on the bench, Lady Joanna began to impart knowledge you would never forget.

“My mother used to tell me that even the most stoic of men need a lady to love them. Because, little shadow, good women make good men better, and that makes a good man’s wife the best sort of woman. And I have always wanted to be the best I can.”

You nodded, understanding that love was important to men and women both, if what Lady Joanna was saying was true. Loving a man like Tywin Lannister was made to seem easy with this knowledge. And perhaps, that is where you’d gotten the lesson wrong.

“You will love a serious man one day, little lady.” The knowing glimmer in green eyes was lost on you.

“My little warrior,” your father started. Stood at the docks, twenty and one summers old, an accomplished archer and peerless sailor, you will always be your father’s little girl. “Do not be rash out there. I know you are excited and adventure is in our bones, but you surely cannot fault a father for worrying over his daughter.”

Smiling and stepping closer to him, his large body older but no less impressive, you reassure him that you were raised by the most battle-experienced man in the realm, and the most successful to boot. You would be fine, you told him, and he trusted your words enough to let you board your ship, one he’d had made just for you for your nameday two years earlier.

The Shadow Maiden was a fine ship made of Essosi ashwood, a dark, grey-stained wood with sails green as your family’s house colours, and a hooded maiden figurehead dark as the rest of the ship with golden accents in the dagger and map held in her hands. It was small, which meant fast, but solid from the heavier wood that comprised the ship. For where you were going, you’d be thankful for these qualities.

“There is no need to worry, father. I do not mean to break our streak of victories, and so I will not. I will return with what I seek, I assure you.”

“And you still won’t tell me what it is you endeavour to find?” You shake your head, eyes turning down lest he read your thoughts. “It hasn’t got anything to do with Lord Lannister, does it? I cannot force him to accept a marriage contract, even for all the treasure in the world, and neither can you, my dear.”

It was a sore topic of conversation, the two rejected marriage proposals that had been sent at your behest to Lord Lannister, one by raven and one by you in person. His wife had been gone for nearly a decade and a half, and somehow, in your limited interactions with the Old Lion, the late Lady Joanna’s words made more and more sense. You could see plain as day his desire to have his wife back, and though you ached to be able to give him this, the next best thing was you, yourself. A woman who understood and was understood by his late wife.

Shaking your thoughts away, you accept your father’s kiss upon your cheek and his tight embrace before embarking your ship, beginning the month long trip to Essos.

“My Lady,” you heard behind you. Turning to see Lord Kevan Lannister, you dipped into a perfect curtsy, and greeted him demurely. At twenty summers old, you were considered the fairest and most eligible of Westerosi nobility. Everyone could see this but Lord Lannister, whom you had come to convince a betrothal to. Lord Kevan was a gentleman, and a doting father and husband to his young son and pregnant wife.

“My Lord. What may I do for you?”

He frowned, the furrowing of brows a far cry from his usually pleasant expression.

“My Lady, I fear you will not be received well in your request. I only wish to impart some insight into my Lord brother, whom I know well, of course. He is not a kindly man, and nothing and no one could sway him once he’s made a decision. I only say this to warn you, but knowing your father, you are likely as determined as he in all things.”

Heart dropping but smile staying firm, you considered his words carefully before speaking.

“I am determined, yes, but mostly, your brother is the only man, save my father, who will do what needs to be done to carry on a legacy. Your brother has only one son, and I hear he is rather keen on the Knight’s Guild… And I confess, I do not wish him to be—“ lonely, was the word you would have used about anyone else, but to imply that would certainly offend, and that was the last thing you wanted to do. “—well, someone told me that even the most stoic of men need a lady, and I’m rather set on him. If he rejects me, I will graciously excuse myself and not bother him again. But I must try, or I’ll never forgive myself.”

Your skirts whispered as you slowly paced in the parlour you’d settled in. The gold was a bit much, you thought privately, but the large window overlooking the Sunset Sea was worth the ostentatiousness.

Lord Kevan looked at you for a long moment, as though he’d heard the words before himself, before nodding and offering his arm to escort you to Lord Lannister’s solar.

It had gone worse than you’d imagined, and you’d imagined the worst case scenario. The truth was, Tywin Lannister was not just serious. He was borderline cruel, sly as a fox and intimidating as his house’s sigil. He’d all but snarled at you when you finished your proposal.

“You wasted my time for that? I have already rejected your offer—twice now. I have better things to be doing,” he said, standing above you where you sat opposite him. “There is nothing marriageable to me about a slip of a woman who fancies herself a lady and an adventurer, a mere girl inexperienced in life and cavorting as though she is touched by the Maiden herself. Hear me now, girl,” he growled, green eyes spitting like wildfire, “even if you marched in here with Brightroar in your arms, I would not marry you.”

And of course, the sweet image of him even reluctantly agreeing and you supporting his lordship over his subjects for the rest of your days faded away like a dying sun. Face placid, hands steady and voice clear, you simply said, “that sounds like a challenge.” He didn’t have time to berate you for your insolence, for you were already out the door and making your way to your wheelhouse, insisting on leaving that instant.

The people of the Rock would no doubt think you a cowardess who tucked tail and ran in the face of the Lion’s roar. But they did not know you, did not know the sparkle in your eye was not tears, but determination.

Docking in Essos was made simpler by the permits your father had arranged for you, even if the dock master insisted you pay extra. Your men, men you’d known since they were capable of getting seasick still, had made promises to ensure your safety, but even twelve broad sailors were not enough to sway a man’s greed. It mattered little in the end, you would restock water and food as much as possible before circumnavigating the coast of Essos. Another sennight of sailing the coast, then a moon navigating open waters and finally, you’d made it to the ruins of Valyria.

The once great castle by the cliffside had mostly fallen into the sea, and the jagged protrusions of stone were less than ideal for a galleon, but your little ship was nimbler and sleeker than any hulking vessels that thought to shortcut through these waters.

“My Lady, we’re nearing the Ruins. Shall we anchor and rest through the night?” You agreed that was best, and though the anticipation thrummed through you all night, you were rested enough by dawn to begin what you’d spent over two months sailing for.

For two days you’d steered your ship through previously untraversable waters, before coming across what seemed yet another shipwreck. At first, it looked like every other one you’d passed: broken, rotted and empty. You’d nearly sailed right by it when you caught sight of a lioness figurehead.

In the history book that had found its way across Westeros to you (anonymously, though you suspected Lord Kevan would be the only one to have possession of such a tome) it said King Tommen of the Rock, First of His Name, had sailed the Vibrant Lionness named for his wife who had hair red as the setting sun. And here it was, you thought, anchoring and row-boating to the half-submerged wreckage. By the light of the midday sun, and your own willingness to get dirty (thank goodness you were among good men who wouldn’t think twice of you wearing breeches for the duration of the journey) you had begun searching for your boon.

And in what would’ve been the captain’s quarters, next to a curled up skeleton in rags, was a scabbard holding a sword. You held your breath, stepping cautiously to avoid the most rotten planks of wood on the uneven floor, before grabbing the sheath, and revealing Brightroar. The smile you wore as you rowed back to the Shadow Maiden was nothing short of radiant. Welcomed with a great cheer, you promised your men that weather and gods willing, you’d be home in six short weeks.

It was closer to being seven weeks, but finally being docked at the port by your father’s Keep, you were able to breathe. You’d done it. You’d retrieved what all of Westeros knew Tywin Lannister desired most. And though your heart panged, the desire to be his wife hardly diminishing even after being eviscerated by him, your pride won out. If anything, Lord Lannister would owe you a debt, even if you’d never collect on it.

“My girl!” your father roared as you disembarked the ship, arms wrapping around you and swinging you in a wide arc. It was nearing your nameday again, and he worried you wouldn’t be home in time to celebrate. “And dare I ask if you found what you were looking for?”

You smiled beatifically, and it was answer enough for you lord father. He insisted you stay for your nameday, which was a week after your return, and would go for a week at least. Being his only daughter, and one of only two surviving children of his, there would never be a year he didn’t revel in having you with him still.

During this fortnight, you’d learned that Jaime Lannister had in fact been selected by the Knight’s Guild as the youngest member in history, and would therefore not inherit his family’s seat. Jaime had been a sweet boy, and you’d doted on him on the many occasions you’d seen him in his childhood. Cersei, while a little cold at first, had followed her brother’s adoration of you after a time. You were happy to know Jaime was doing what he loved most, even if you felt a twinge of guilt at how it proved you right to the Old Lion after all.

Having made the arrangements with Lord Kevan (Lord Lannister would not even respond to any ravens from you, he’d mentioned in a letter once) to visit the Rock under the guise of the twins’ name day celebration, you set off once again to the far Westerlands.

Your skin had gotten some shades darker from the expedition to Valyria, and your hair had lightened at the ends slightly. You’d grown more lean, but stronger, your muscles toned as opposed to bulky, like your older brother’s. In short, you were more formidable in appearance than the last time you’d been to the Rock. Your dress, the same deep green as your family’s colour, flattered your waist and hips, the neckline revealing only the top of your collarbones and a small sliver of your shoulder with long, wide sleeves that fluttered around you as you walked up the steps and into the maw of the lion.

Most of Westeros had heard of your expedition and many at the Rock who’d travelled far and wide were certain you’d present Jaime and Cersei with a priceless gift. It was priceless, you thought, but not quite for the twins. For Jaime, you’d actually gotten a fine stallion, one bred by your father and brother personally some years ago, and for Cersei, a necklace of diamonds cut to appear as shards of sparking glass inlaid in Valyrian steel. You knew Cersei was jealous over the Valyrian steel dagger her brother had gotten some namedays ago, and thought this may be enough to settle that dissatisfaction she still carried.

Three days of celebration gave way to the dawn of the twins’ actual nameday, which would be the day you presented Jaime and Cersei their gifts, and a final gift for the House of Lannister as a whole.

A fine spread was laid out for everyone to break their fast, and per tradition (which began when the twins were much younger and far too impatient to wait until dinner to open gifts) presents were prepared to be opened during the feast. The gardens where the meal was held were expansive and bittersweet to sit in. They reminded you of the Golden Lady, who despite being noble of birth, had tended her own garden herself. Lord Lannister now paid a slew of gardeners to preserve it exactly as it had been left by its keeper.

“We saved yours for last,” Jaime whispered beside you with a mischievous grin. You had not sat far from the Lannister family, mostly due to the Lord’s children’s fondness of you, to his chagrin. He hadn’t looked at you once, pointedly ignoring your entire side of the table, even with the guests he didn’t despise surrounding you on either side.

“Yours are always the best ones,” Cersei added with a secret grin. You laughed at that, and called your men to escort the war horse for Jaime into the gardens. A hush fell over the table as the great Arabian horse, golden of coat, trotted to you at your whistle. He was enormous, as horses bred by your family were known to be, but this horse looked large next to large horses.

“Every great knight needs a steed attuned to him, one that will fight as much for him as with him. He will never listen to another, never let himself be mounted by another. Only you, my lord,” you explain to Jaime as he marvels at the hulking beast.

“I’m honoured, my lady, to receive such a prestigious gift… I shall never fear battle with a mount like this.”

“And with your lion’s heart,” you added fondly, watching as Jaime, as near to manhood a boy can be, gently stroked the horse’s nose before letting it be led to the stables. You felt a heavy gaze on you then, but refused to look at the exact pair of green eyes that had settled on you. “And for the young lionness,” you announce, revealing the fine necklace, “jewellery and dresses are a lady’s armour, and there is no finer necklace than this in all the lands. Made of Valyrian steel, with shards of diamond, it will cut through anything should you use it right. It may save your life one day, my lady, though I shall pray that you never find need of it for that.”

Cersei’s eyes widened slightly, and she hesitated for nary a second before lifting her elaborate braid from her neck and turning for you to fasten it. With her dress of pale gold (so like the image of her mother now that she’d grown) the necklace looked like it was made with the dress in mind.

“Your gifts, as usual, delight my children,” a low voice intoned from the head of the table, the gardens, still silent enough for it, seemed to echo his voice. And once again, you are reminded of what a powerful man he is. Though you are not the lady he desires help from, you delight in his attention nonetheless.

“I have one more gift, if it pleases you, my Lord? I travelled very far to acquire this treasure, and there is no one in Westeros but you who could accept it.” A murmur slithered through the guests, and many eyes were now glued to you in interest, surely anticipating the revelation for the reason of your expedition on the sea they’d all heard about.

“You are most generous,” he said tonelessly, pure disinterest coating each syllable. You nodded gracefully, and with the lessons in ladyhood that had been drilled into you, you curtsied and glided to Ser Romnack, who held a slender, rectangular box engraved with lions with rubies for eyes and golden fangs. Walking back to where Lord Lannister sat upon a dais at a grand table perpendicular to the others, you presented him with the fine box, not looking at him but at the table.

He took it, and with little fanfare, flicked the latch of the box and swung the lid open. His brow furrowed, you noticed from your periphery, but it melted away as fast as it manifested. Instead, Lord Tywin Lannister wore a look of true surprise, his lips parted and eyes fixed on the contents of the box. He stands, looking deeply at you, though you do not look at him. From the box, he revealed Brightroar, the ancestral sword lost to the Lannisters for nearly three centuries. And now it was home, thanks to you.

The crowd’s reaction was far more animated, and almost at once people were clapping and cheering for you, to your embarrassment. You demurely wave away the cheers, accept the grateful embrace from Cersei and the gentlemanly way Jaime held your hand for a few long moments, then returned to your seat to finish the rest of the feast. Shortly after, festivities began again, and it was easy to slip away from the crowd, even if everyone seemed to be seeking you out.

You’d been to the Rock many times before, so finding your way to the parlour you favoured in your visits was possibly as easy with your eyes closed. The parlour with the wide window that overlooked the sea, that was rarely frequented, or so Lord Kevan had mentioned. You settled into a plush settee and began to mentally plan out your return home.

You had promised your father that once you returned from the Rock, you’d marry a lord or heir of his choosing, since he had given you two attempts of your own and you’d used them both on the Lord of the Keep you were in. Perhaps you could admit to a preference for blonds, though your father hardly seemed the type to care about a superficial detail like that.

“I have not known you to shy away from a celebration, especially if my children are involved.”

You hummed, not moving to stand or curtsy, fatigued and uncaring of the consequences therein. “Ah, but you do not know me, my Lord.”

“No,” he agreed, stood by the other side of the settee. “I know little about you, especially if I am to believe you retrieved Brightroar yourself.”

“I had twelve men with me. Men who I trust and who trust me with their lives. It rather makes impossible expeditions that much easier. Trusting them, that is.”

He was silent for a moment, then he spoke once more.

“I told you I would not marry you, even if you had Brightroar in your arms.”

Turning to glare at him, you stood. “I did not travel for four months across seas to find a way to marry you, Lord Lannister,” you said firmly. “Jaime will be the finest knight Westeros has seen in centuries, and he deserves to fight with his family’s sword, as my brother does, as my father and all his fathers before him did.”

He glared fiercely at you, wildfire eyes attempting to burn you with their scorching anger. You returned the glare with an ice cold one of your own, one you’d steadily become known for.

“I suppose you expect this Lannister to pay you the debt you are owed,” he said as though bored. Your glare broke, expression turning neutral.

“I want nothing from you that you are unwilling to give, Lord Lannister. And I’m a woman with enough dignity to bestow my companionship with a man who might appreciate it someday. So, no. I do not expect any repayment. Good day, my Lord.”

The door had barely opened before a large hand flew passed your shoulder to slam it shut.

“Do not walk away from me, girl.”

“I am no girl. I have sailed across the Sunset Sea, traversed the Ruins of Valyria and lived to tell the tale. And beside that, I have honoured the name Lannister by bringing back your greatest desire. I am no more a girl than you are a coward.”

And with that, you’d wrenched the door open and walked speedily to your apartments where your handmaidens awaited you. You told them to arrange for an early departure, and they began packing immediately, sensing your irritation.

It was early evening, and nearing the time of your departure when Jaime and Cersei made to visit. Cersei was, in private, far more emotional than she ever let on in public, and her anger and sadness at you leaving was plain to you. You’d seen her as a little sister when you were younger, but now you wondered if she’d viewed as more of an aunt, or a godsmother. Either way, your long embrace and promises to write were just enough to pacify her. Jaime was more stoic, you’d noticed, trying to be strong for his sister but also leaning into his impression of how a good man acts. It had made you smile, and a little teary, to see them so grown. You’d known them since they were babes, of course, and had even visited frequently for long intervals when they were barely walking while your father fought and won battles in the Capitol with Lord Lannister.

“Don’t fret, my little lions,” you said, holding Cersei again and cupping Jaime’s cheek in your spare palm. “There is nowhere in the world I would not travel to see you both. Even if my future husband forbids me.”

“Husband!?” Cersei shrieked, and strange panic in her eyes as she shared a look with Jaime.

“But I thought you were going to speak to father about a betrothal?” she asked.

“I have made two proposals to your Lord Father, and both were rejected, my darling.”

“But you brought Brightroar home,” Cersei argued. “He’ll marry you now if you ask him! He owes you a debt, and Lannisters—“

“—always pay their debts, I know, Cersei,” you sigh tiredly. “I do not want any man to marry me because he feels indebted to me.”

“But you’ve been dedicated to father forever!”

None of you noticed another visitor silently enter, too closely embraced and focussed on each other to pay attention.

“I will find another man to dedicate myself to, and I will bear him sons as is my duty. I could no sooner force your father’s hand than I could bring harm to either of you. That is what love makes of us at times…” you trailed off.

“What’s that, my Lady?” Jaime asked.

“Fools, darling. And I have been a fool twice already for him. I will not disgrace myself or my family by asking a third time.”

“No,” the Old Lion said from behind you all, causing the three of you to turn and face him. “You will not. Children, leave us.”

Cersei’s grip around your waist tightened in impertinence. “Are you going to upset her? She was upset when we got here,” she says boldly to her father. He glared at his daughter, and a battle of wills that had no clear winner began and ended in a few seconds.

“Off you go, little lions. I will be fine,” you said, shooing them gently, even if Cersei looked unconvinced. With a final glare to her father and a tug from her twin, the young lions were gone, the door closed, you and Lord Lannister alone once again.

“What did they speak of,” he asked bluntly.

“Which part, my Lord,” you ask as you gathered a ring from your bedside that you’d taken off that morning and forgotten to put back on. An emerald ring, once belonging to your mother, that rarely left your hand.

“You are not scheduled to depart for another three days hence.”

“A change in circumstances, I’m afraid,” you answer.

“And what changes are those,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“It is past time I marry, my Lord. My Lord Father has allowed me my adventures, but I grow wearier every day of the spinster I am sure people think me to become.”

“The opinions of sheep matter not to lions,” he said, as though that explained everything.

“I am not a lion, my Lord.”

“Not yet,” he agreed.

You turned then, and looked at him. He had Brightroar fastened to his hip, and in the finery he wore for the celebrations, he made a striking image. Shoulders broad and chest puffed with the confidence of a Lord reunited with his family’s blade, you’d thought he never looked more handsome, though you knew better than to let the opinion show.

“I won’t marry one of your brothers, or a son of a vassal house. I am a lady of highest birth, and will find myself a husband fitting my status, my Lord,” you explained evenly, looking away to gather your shawl, the last of your personal effects in the room. You made to the door at that, and once again, Lord Lannister prevented you from leaving.

“That is twice you have walked away from me. The debt is repaid,” he purred beside your left ear. Goosebumps raised at his vicinity, and many questions at his comment. “Twice I have rejected you, and twice you have walked away from me. I have killed men for less. That debt is repaid.”

Thinking the interaction some sort of taunt, which he was not above in the slightest, you disregarded him and attempted to open the door with force. This time, however, he did lot let you walk out. He simply slammed the door again.

“Thrice, my Lady,” he said lowly. “And now you owe me a debt.”

A warrior’s daughter you may be, but even your heart could not protect itself from the cracks beginning to show. How foolish could you have been? It was a fool’s errand to love a man like Tywin Lannister, and gods, had you been a fool. You should never have followed the Lady Joanna around her own home. You’d known better even then, and you should not have sat with her, or listened to her, or decided to be a great lady like her. Why couldn’t you have just sat quietly at that tourney with your septa as you’d been told to? And you had risked your life and the lives of men you’d known all your life to give this man the only treasure he could not buy. All you’ve done, and only to owe him, as he said.

“Remove your hand, my Lord. I am leaving.”

“No. You owe me a debt and I intend to collect.”

“Then I suggest, my Lord,” you said cuttingly, “you allow me to return to my father so he can settle this perceived debt. Send him a raven with the sum of gold you don’t truly need, and let us be done here.”

He did not budge, and you felt the horrifying sting of frustrated tears burn your eyes.

“I’m afraid there is only one thing that could settle this debt. Your hand.”

Rage filled you.

“Then have the left,” you muttered angrily, turning and holding out your wrist. “Give your blade the blood of the hand that brought it back to you. That’s poetic, even for you.”

You expected to see that dark resolve you saw in your father’s eyes when he would sentence a man to death. That grim satisfaction and humanitarian dread combined. But his eyes were not angry, no wildfire spitting and flaring in his gaze. In fact, they rather resembled the rolling hills of lush green pastures and forests that surround the Rock. And for once, you noticed, his mouth was not held in a grim line, nor was his face set in stony dissatisfaction as it so often was. He looked softer, face relaxed and… almost open.

“I do not mean it quite so literally,” he said, bringing the hand by his side to gently hold the wrist you’d bared to him. It was the first time he had touched you, you realised.

And then his words untangled in your head and made a little more sense. Only, he could not mean to ask for your hand after rejecting it twice, could he?

“My late wife,” he began solemnly, “would say that a woman’s dedication is rarer than dragon eggs and infinitely more precious as well. She rejected my proposal to her twice, and on the third she agreed, because, she said, any man willing to make a fool of himself for her hand was a man she could be dedicated to.”

“I… I do not understand, my Lord,” you uttered quietly.

“I expected you to ask a third time, my lady. Expected you would return in a matter of weeks and insist on a betrothal. And I would have accepted then. But you did not,” he explained, voice low, meant to soothe rather than intimidate. “I was furious when I heard you’d left Westeros. I thought it was to sail east to find a husband, and had a mind to send a fleet after you. My brother insisted you’d return, and I trusted him. He was right.”

Mind working, you could only dumbly stare at him as he told a tale of how his twins had begged him to propose a betrothal to you when you’d been eight and ten, and how he knew you were not ready to be a wife, the call for adventure itching under your skin needed to be sated first. How he had rejected the first proposal easily, but the second one was much more difficult.

“I expected you to doggedly pursue your goals to be wedded to me as your father might’ve pursued his in battle, but for as similar as you are to him, you are not the same at all. And then I thought you would surely perish on your expedition, especially as the moons passed without word of your return. And now, here you are at my children’s nameday celebrations, the finest mount in the realm for my son, the finest jewels in the realm for my daughter, and my own greatest desire, second to one.”

You blinked, looking at him suspiciously, as though his brothers and guests might pour out of some alcove and laugh at your folly to half believe him.

“And the debt I owe you, my Lord? How is that to be paid.”

“I answered this already, my Lady. Your hand.”

“My hand.” You repeated.

“Since it is unlikely you will propose a betrothal with me a third time, I must insist upon it myself. It is the only way I shall consider the slight of walking away from the Lion of Casterly Rock repaid.”

He looked down at you, watching quietly for a turn in your expression, anything really. You were still as marble, and your hand felt as cold as it too. Then he saw it, that faint glimmer of hope that he’d seen in your gaze on at least two occasions prior. It was there again, barely, and tentatively. But it was there, and it was all he needed.

He swooped down to press a gentle kiss upon your soft mouth, holding himself back from kissing you as he wanted to. It took a short second for your brain to shut off and for your body to move as it wanted. You leaned forward into the kiss, bring your hand to his chest, the other still held in his large hand, thumb gently stroking over the pulse that sped up under the delicate skin.

“You have not answered me, my Lady,” Lord Lannister said, pulling his mouth from yours to trail kisses across your cheek to your ear, nibbling gently on your lobe and halting any clever answer you might’ve been able to give.

“What?” you asked dazedly. Lord Lannister’s lips quirked at your ineloquent reply.

“Will you give me your hand?”

He pulled back to look you in the eyes, and now his lips were not touching you, you could think a little clearer.

“Only if you will give me yours.”

Predatory though it was, the Old Lion grinned at his victory.

#tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #tywin x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #kevan lannister #brightroar #reader insert #not a request #let me know if you want a sequel #i can make it spicy

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