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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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ladystoneboobs · 7 months

Text

Lord Tywin did not, in the end, shit gold.

so, let’s talk about the recurring motif of shit concercerning the lions of casterly rock/king’s landing. the tywin connection is perhaps strongest and most obvious, yet the appearence of either literal poop or poop talk comes up with all the other lannisters too, barring only myrcella and tommen.

i counted at least 9 mentions of the joke about tywin pooping precious metals. (8 in the main series plus 1 in the world book) this includes the title joke in his death scene, and then there are over 10 more references to tywin dying in the privy.

we’ve also got:

one of our first descriptions of joffrey’s bad personality is jon snow’s summation of him as “a little shit”. not literal poop in this case, but i thought the choice of insult was interesting. (in fact, i believe this is the only time that term is used this way. no non-lannister could ever be so shitty.)

tyrion’s first job from tywin being putting him in charge of all of the drains in casterly rock, presumably including the ones from the privies.

tyrion asking “why does a bear shit in the woods?” in response to cat’s question of why littlefinger would lie to her

bronn telling tyrion he won’t “m'lord you every time you take a shit” in the same chapter where tyrion tells the vale mountain clansmen that his “father’s smiths shit better steel” than their weaponry.

walder frey deeming tywin and stannis “both bungholes who think they're too noble to shit” (”think” meaning walder knows better, that tywin does shit and it’s probably just as gross and stinky as frey poop)

tyrion listing “magnificient destriers shit everywhere” as a reason his battlefield days were done (or so he thought)

tyrion telling varys he should wear his rugen disguise to court and that it would make cersei “soil her smallclothes”

tyrion choosing to poison cersei with laxatives so that she’d be too busy shitting to bother him during court business.

tyrion deeming his predecessors, lords arryn and stark, “too honest to live, too noble to shit” (in this case i think he’s using “too noble” in a different sense than walder frey did, implying that shitting is practical and immoral, like any competant lannister would like to be)

the king’s landing riot on the day of myrcella’s departure starting with multiple clods of dung being flung at joffrey.

joffrey’s crown then being “dung-encrusted” as tyrion attacked him after they escaped the riot

tyrion telling varys and bronn that joffrey was not fit to sit a privy, let alone the throne

catelyn comparing jaime’s honor to the contents of the bucket where he’d been forced to piss and shit in his dungeon cell. an implied shit-for-honor metaphor which he returns to several times, twice in that last chapter with her and repeatedly (at least 7 times, the magic number!) in his own pov.

tywin’s horse taking a shit in the throne room right before he made his grand entrance post-blackwater

tyrion being trapped in a room smelling of “blood and shit and burnt flesh” when he was warehoused with all the other wounded and dead/dying immediately post-blackwater

tyrion saying cersei treated him like a mushroom on his sickbed post-blackwater because she “keeps me in the dark and feeds me shit”

tyrion thinking of the upcoming royal wedding and its pie, believing that doves especially love to shit on him, a sentiment repeated on the wedding day

a king’s landing urchin trying to throw manure at tyrion, and later tyrion telling sansa they must keep the curtains closed on his litter to avoid those fecal projectiles. (the kingslanders seem to be very fond of dung-throwing since tyrion was told they also threw it at his vale clansmen as they were sent home)

jaime recalling that the mad king shit himself in his last moments (meaning jaime’s kingslaying and tyrion’s kinslaying came with the same odor)

jaime noticing the abundance of horseshit in the stables of the outlaws’ inn he and bri and cleos visit

jaime recounting that brienne had to clean him when he soiled himself in the saddle post-mutilation

on jaime’s first return to harrenhal he notes “Someone had dug a privy trench in the very spot where he'd once knelt before the king to say his vows.” (gotta love all the obvious symbolism in jaime’s pov. “it was that white cloak that soiled me, not the other way around.”)

tyrion wishing the father’s statue would fall and “crush joff like a dung beetle” during the royal wedding ceremony

jaime explaining the stink of the capital to his northern escort as “Smoke, sweat, and shit. King's Landing, in short.” (kl being a setting associated with the lannisters, perhaps even moreso than never-seen-yet casterly rock.)

jaime correcting a man at the gates of kl who thought tywin shit silver instead of gold

the hound saying sansa “shit on the Imp's head and flew off.” when learning of her escape

jaime seeing a crow shitting on blessed baelor’s statue as he and cersei spoke to mace tyrell at tywin’s funeral

tyrion seeing a pile of horse dung on the old valyrian road and thinking of his father down in some hell

tyrion telling duck and haldon "Pissing is the least of my talents. You ought to see me shit." as his means of introduction

even kevan gets into the poop game telling jaime "I was hanging outlaws and robber knights when you were still shitting in your swaddling clothes”

cersei then tells jaime that kevan will have his hands full at darry “teaching Lancel how to wipe his arse.”

cersei dreaming of keeping tyrion’s severed head in her chamber pot to pee and poop on

tyrion describing the smell of old volantis: “There's fish in it, and flowers, and some elephant dung as well. Something sweet and something earthy and something dead and rotten.”

tyrion thinkling the mud in the poorest part of volantis was the color of “a baby’s nightsoil”

tyrion noticing dung carts pulled by dung-tattooed slaves and almost walking into elephant dung until jorah snatched him aside

jaime meeting shitmouth on his 2nd return to harrenhal

cersei being disgusted by all the sparrows befouling baelor’s plaza “with their pigs and goats and nightsoil” (nightsoil = human poop euphemism)

jaime recalling merrett frey being branded by wenda the white fawn and “the kettles of shit his fellow squires made him eat once he was returned” (presumably in a figurative sense)

genna telling her husband he could wipe his arse with the deed to riverrun for all the good it did while the blackfish still held the castle

edwyn frey’s plan in jaime’s riverrun war council involving shit-smeared arrows

jaime describing the freys’ messy siege camp with “raw brown mud, mixed with horse dung and torn up by hooves and boots alike” and only “flies, horse dung, and Ser Ryman's gallows, standing forlorn” left after their departure

tyrion thinking the people laughing at his fall in his and penny’s show on the ship would “have laughed hard enough to shit their breeches along with him[tywin]” if they’d seen him kill his father

then tyrion and penny being trapped during the storm with her dog and ever-shitting pig (and the ship’s creak sounding like “a constipated fat man straining to shit”)

tyrion again experiencing the “stink of blood and shit” in the slavers’ camp amid the bloody flux

tyrion and penny having to clean yezzan’s pools of slimy, bloody shit after he contracted the bloody flux

doing all that in “a miasma of sweat, shit and sickness inside yezzan’s pavilion” (with six of his soldiers also suffering the shits outside)

one of the second sons offering to behead tyrion and toss his corpse in the latrine pit upon his arrival in brown ben’s tent

cersei smelling the essence of kl upon her release from baelor’s sept: “the scents of sour wine, bread baking, rotting fish and nightsoil, smoke and sweat and horse piss. No flower had ever smelled so sweet.”

cersei later slipping, during her walk of shame, in “something that might have been nightsoil”. which was probably not so sweet

cersei walking on, after she could see the red keep ahead, through mud and dung, bleeding and hobbling

brown ben plumm telling tyrion he’d have to shit into a bucket bc of too many eyes at the latrines

tyrion telling penny “Fight or hide or shit yourself, as you like, but whatever you decide to do, you'll do it clad in steel."

some of these are just turns of phrase or everybody poops situations included for the sake of comprehensiveness, but i do think the sheer amount of lannister-related poop references is meaningful. does it mean anything that tyrion, as tywin “writ small”, (and tywin’s most unfavorite lannister) is the child of tywin with the most shit references (or is just that he also has the most pov chapters?)? or that cersei, tywin’s other heir (and tyrion’s other abuser) ends up trapped in a privy after being dosed with laxatives by tyrion, and then tywin dies in a privy after being shot by tyrion? or that myrcella and tommen, the most innocent lannisters, are not so associated with shit?

this imagery does have different meanings with each character. for tyrion it’s usually about his father and society at large shitting on him, for jaime it’s mostly about his solied honor and the dishonorable characters he interacts with, for joffrey and cersei it’s about the common people they disdain reacting to them, bringing them down by dirtying their bodies, human waste connecting the lannisters with those they rule, not so different after all. and for tywin, poop regularly ruins his moments of glory whether it’s his entrance to the throne room, his death failing to shit gold, or his very smelly funeral. but for all of them it is a humanizing element, showing they are just as gross and vulnerable as anyone else. jaime is no golden god, he’s a disabled knight at one point too weak to wipe his own butt in the immediate aftermath of his injury. perhaps that is the real lasting legacy of tywin lannister: a load of reeking shit which can be gilded like gold but never truly mistaken for perfection.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #tyrion lannister #cersei lannister #Jaime Lannister #Tywin Lannister #Joffrey Baratheon #kevan lannister #lancel lannister #genna lannister #Pride of Lions #ive had this sitting in my drafts since pretty much the start of this blog #inspiring to finally finish it by the last season of suck session and all the talk of logan's piss motif #(c)lsb #didn't lj-cuts have an endpoint so you could put a visible conclusion tl;dr below?#anyway i wish tumblr readmores worked like that #long post #sh1tpost

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