#tygett lannister
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The funny thing about Tywin is that he is literally the only one out of his siblings that doesn't actually like Tyrion.
Gerion was of course his favorite uncle. Tygett always treated him kindly, as Tyrion recalls when Tyrek goes missing. Kevan kisses him on the cheek (actual physical affection!) and praises him for his deeds during the battle of the blackwater. Even Genna considers him to be just like Tywin, whom she confirms she loves and goes on to describe as the sort of man who comes around only once in a thousand years.
Every one of Tywin's siblings actually likes Tyrion and can see his worth. Tywin is just blinded by his hatred and ableism.
#tyrion lannister#tywin lannister#tygett lannister#genna lannister#kevan lannister#house lannister#asoiaf#valyrianscrolls#gerion lannister
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💛 Genna and her non tywin brothers
i think a lot about them and I think they are basically a sibling unit unto themselves! like tywin is almost a second father, and Kevan is more like the big brother/eldest daughter syndrome kid who tells them all what to do and mediates during arguments. Genna likes to rib him but will take his side when she's done having fun and they have to wrap things up. Tygett sulky ass mf who is quite sensitive and takes offence to anything. constantly riled up by Gerion but enjoys duelling w him bc Kevan never gets involved in their sports. severe middle child syndrome, would probably be happiest as the eldest son of a minor house bc he finds the Lannister aesthetic A Bit Much. vents to Kevan and Genna frequently, enraged by the way they've just settled w the status quo. Gerion is Genna's fave and embraces his role as the youngest child whole-heartedly. takes the piss out of Tywin behind his back but would never dare to his face: very afraid of him but won't admit it, lowkey longs for his approval hence his ill-fated trip to Valyria which his other sibs begged him not to undertake. habit of taking a joke too far (hence why he's always fighting w Tyg). and finally Genna herself who I think is all of her brothers' favourite cos she's best at reading them and a good listener etc + not afraid of Tywin as her brothers all are to greater and lesser degrees. she says shit to Tywin's face that none of them would but they absolutely like to quietly watch just to see his reaction
in short i think they are a strangely functional family, who can rely on each other for love and affection and Tywin for protection. they did worry when they heard that guy was going to have children though and essentially took over as substitute parents for Cersei, Jaime and Tyrion as soon as Joanna was gone based on a mutual agreement that it was difficult enough having Tywin as a second father never mind an actual one
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TYWIN LANNISTER, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport,
His wife, [LADY JOANNA], a cousin, died in childbed,
Their children:
SER JAIME, called the Kingslayer, a twin to Cersei,
QUEEN CERSEI, wife of King Robert I Baratheon, a twin to Jaime,
TYRION, called the Imp, a dwarf,
His siblings:
SER KEVAN, his eldest brother,
His wife, DORNA, of House Swyft,
Their eldest son, LANCEL, squire to the king,
Their twin sons, WILLEM and MARTYN,
Their infant daughter, JANEI,
GENNA, his sister, wed to Ser Emmon Frey,
Their son, SER CLEOS FREY,
Their son, TION FREY, a squire,
[SER TYGETT], his second brother, died of a pox,
His widow, DARLESSA, of House Marbrand,
Their son, TYREK, squire to the king,
[GERION], his youngest brother, lost at sea,
His bastard daughter, JOY, a girl of ten,
Their cousin, SER STAFFORD LANNISTER, brother to the late Lady Joanna,
His daughters, CERENNA and MYRIELLE,
His son, SER DAVEN LANNISTER,
His counselor, MAESTER CREYLEN,
His chief knights and lords bannermen:
LORD LEO LEFFORD,
SER ADDAM MARBRAND,
SER GREGOR CLEGANE, the Mountain That Rides,
SER HARYS SWYFT, father by marriage to Ser Kevan,
LORD ANDROS BRAX,
SER FORLEY PRESTER,
SER AMORY LORCH,
VARGO HOAT of the Free City of Qohor, a sellsword.
#a game of thrones#appendix#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#house lannister#casterly rock#tywin lannister#joanna lannister#jaime lannister#kingslayer#cersei lannister#tyrion lannister#kevan lannister#dorna swyft#lancel lannister#genna lannister#cleos frey#tygett lannister#tyrek lannister#gerion lannister#joy hill#stafford lannister#daven lannister#leo lefford#addam marbrand#gregor clegane#harys swyft#forley prester#amory lorch#vargo hoat
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You smile like Gerion and fight like Tyg, and there's some of Kevan in you, else you would not wear that cloak... but Tyrion is Tywin's son, not you.
#tygett lannister#tywin lannister#gerion lannister#genna lannister#kevan lannister#house lannister#asoiaf#asoiafedit#gotedit#valyrianscrolls#grrm#asoiaf siblings#twoiaf#lannister siblings
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House Lannister!
Tywin Lannister
Jaime Lannister
Cersei Lannister
Tyrion Lannister
Gerion Lannister
Joanna Lannister
Kevan Lannister
Daven Lannister
Genna Lannister
Tygett Lannister
By TheMarkyGallery
#a song of ice and fire#house lannister#tywin lannister#jaime lannister#cersei lannister#tyrion lannister#gerion lannister#joanna lannister#kevan lannister#daven lannister#genna lannister#tygett lannister#fanart#deviantart
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Terros' Next Top DILF: Round 1
Harwin: art by wickedlittlebxtchfromhighgarden, AWOIAF Page
Tygett: art by tygettlannister, AWOIAF Page
BRACKET LINK
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Tygett & Gerion Lannister
Tywin's youngest two brothers! Unfortunately, neither makes it onto the page in the novels proper. For Tygett, we know he's an accomplished knight, and that he dies of pox sometime after siring his son Tyrek. I've depicted him in his thirties since it's not clear. We also know he has a lot of resentment for his position "in Tywin's shadow," as it were, courtesy of his big sister Genna. As such, I wanted him to look kinda like Jaime but angrier. Gerion, on the other hand, was full of laughter and jokes. Jaime and Tyrion both call Gerion their favorite uncle, and I think they share something of his personality. He's missing as of the start of the series, having gone on a quest to Valyria ten years prior. He was also in his thirties at this point.
#house lannister#tygett lannister#gerion lannister#asoiaf fanart#artbreeder#valyrianscrolls#megamikenzie#queue better believe it
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#asoiaf art#valyrianscrolls art#art reblog#themico#not mine#lannister#house lannister#tywin lannister#joanna lannister#genna lannister#gerion lannister#kevan lannister#lancel lannister#tygett lannister#tytos lannister#westerlands#casterly rock
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my new favorite asoiaf character is kevan lannister
not since the dance has there been a government lannister stooge as effective as my man kevan
love this pencil pushing king
#kevan lannister#his name is so funny too#all these lannisters named tywin and tyrion and tygett and hes just kevin spelled wrong#king#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#game of thrones#house lannister
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I love your analysis of Tywin’s creed of Lannister superiority. How do you think it affects Kevan and Tygett’s kids? Especially since their fathers had such second place status to Tywin.
This is something we have next to no information on (we just don't know most of these kids). But even with the very minimal information we have, I think there's an effect and we see that in how his first cousins interact with Jaime.
First is Cleos Frey. Yeah, sure, he's a Frey, but he's still a cousin.
Jaime smiled knowingly. Men will read all sorts of things into a knowing smile, if you let them. Has cousin Cleos truly swallowed this kettle of dung, or is he striving to ingratiate himself? What do we have here, an honest muttonhead or a lickspittle?
Ser Cleos prattled blithely on. "Any man who'd believe that a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard would harm a child does not know the meaning of honor."
Lickspittle.
Jaime I, ASoS
Jaime was on the lookout for someone sucking up to him - and Cleos being a cousin did not get him even the slightest benefit of the doubt. There's no familial loyalty here, just ingratiation.
Why? That's when we look to Lancel.
Lancel shuddered. "Seven save me, but I wanted to be you."
Jaime IV, AFFC
Those cousins are not immune from looking on Tywin's branch of the family and their wealth and their power and their notoriety and thinking I want that. It looks to me like the young men, at least, amongst the cousins feel the inferiority that Tywin wanted everyone to feel when they looked at the Lannisters.
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Tyrek Lannister, the only son of Ser Tygett Lannister and Lady Darlessa Marbrand, vanished at thirteen y.o. in the 299 A.C. riots of King's Landing (ACOK, Tyrion IX).
So, this kid has been missing since 1998 --- and I felt the need to give him a face.
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the pawn in every lover's game (part eight)
Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader
When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince.
A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.
crossposted on ao3
masterlist
word count: 6.4k
notes: your responses to last chapter blew me away!!! i hope you guys enjoy this chapter too 💚 (:
His grip hurts.
You want to yank your hand away from Victor and rip the crown off your hands and just leave but he holds you in place, his armored hand tight around yours, metal digging into flesh. He’s no longer waving, simply standing and staring back into the royal box at Aemond, but he does not let go, ignoring your attempts to pull free.
He doesn’t care about the pot of gold or even about the pride of winning the first royal tourney in decades. His prize is you and your hand and he’s not keen on letting it go, not even if he’s facing down Aemond One-Eye for it.
Finally, his hold loosens when the royal box begins to clear out, as the court starts to make its way down to the two of you, when Aemond himself turns his back to follow the procession. Quickly, you yank your hand out and move away from him, glaring at him. Your hand aches and you’re sure if you look down, you’ll see the imprint of his fingers gripping you, and the thought of him leaving any type of mark on you makes you want to claw at your own skin. You fold your arms against your chest to resist the temptation, ignoring etiquette for once in your life.
Victor turns to follow you and, when he smiles, you wish you could reach out and slap him straight across the face.
Let me leave my mark on him instead.
“Where did you get the handkerchief?” You ask, your voice dripping poison.
Victor blinks at you before moving his hand up to grip the handkerchief still wrapped around his bicep. “You gave it to me, remember?”
You shake your head fiercely. “No. No, I did not. Today is the first day I have ever handed out my favor and it was to my cousin, Ser Tygett. I’ve never given it to you.”
His smile doesn’t even waver though he does look sheepish. “Your other cousin, Lady Jocasta, gave it to me after I spoke to her at the welcoming feast. She understood that you were too shy and nervous to give it to me yourself. Understandable considering the company you keep.”
“The company I keep?” Your tone is low and dangerous and Victor notices since, for the first time since he’s entered the tourney grounds, his expression flickers into uncertainty.
He opens his mouth to say something but he’s caught off guard when a man comes to a stop next to him, slapping him hard on the shoulder.
“You performed amazingly, my boy,” the man cheers, grinning broadly as he gives Victor a shake. Lord Erren Florent, his father. He is a head shorter than his son but much stockier and rounder in the face, giving him a pleasant and unassuming appearance. But when he turns to face you and the pale gray eyes he shares with his son sharpen, you realize quickly that he wears his own skin like a mask. “Well done on your fine catch! What beautiful Queen you’ve claimed, Victor!”
Hidden in your folded arms, you curl your hands into fists, digging your nails into the palms of your hand. “Thank you, my lord,” you bite out, conscious of the eyes curiously watching your every move. You want to order them all to look away, to entertain themselves with some other tragic affair, but that will only encourage more stares, more whispers. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must meet back up with my family so I may return to the Red Keep. I have business with Princess Helaena to attend to.”
Erren immediately shakes his head, laughing. “Nonsense, my lady. You’re the Queen of Love and Beauty and my son crowned you! Your father will surely come to meet us and we can all ride back together. My litter is certainly big enough!”
You smile tightly. “Lord Lannister is a busy man. I’d prefer not to keep him waiting. I can pass on your request for a meeting, however.”
“Might we accompany you, then?” Victor asks, leaping into the conversation, and you don’t bother to hide the flicker of annoyance on your face at the intrusion.
Lord Erren laughs, the sound ringing false in your ears. Every move he makes is calculated and designed to endear you to him except it falls painfully flat. “That feels like the simplest solution! Come now, my lady, lead the way.”
You stare back for a moment, incredulous, but the Lord of Brightwater does not give anything away, simply keeping his broad smile even if it does not quite reach his eyes. You glance over towards the royal box and spot Queen Alicent, flanked by Ser Criston, speaking in low tones to Helaena.
Aemond and Aegon are nowhere to be seen.
Heaving a sigh, you nod, suddenly too tired to even pretend to entertain this sham, and you turn on your heels. The moment you move to walk away from the tourney grounds, the Lannister soldiers your father had assigned to you appear from who knows where and fall in step around you, forming a wall between you and the Florents.
You vow to increase their wages tenfold.
Leaving, however, is just as miserable a task as staying had seemed. As you walk through the tournament grounds, eager to get to your wheelhouse, people call out to you, congratulating you for being crowned. Nobility and smallfolk alike cheer for you but their praise only makes your resentment grow and grow.
This is what the songs were about. As a little girl, you had dreamed of this moment but it all tastes like ash in your mouth since it’s the wrong man. Instead of someone you cared for, it’s an overeager upstart that’s deluded himself into believing that you want him and only him. You had always imagined that you would cherish your crown of flowers, wear it until it was wilting on your head, and press flowers from it and hide them in your books.
Now, you just want to rip it off your head and burn it. You want Victor to watch.
Your face a mask of pleasantry that you don’t feel, you rush through the festival grounds, finally reaching near where your wheelhouse had been stored. By it, you can see your uncle and father, heads bowed together as they speak, looking like perfect mirror images of each other. Upon your approach, they look up, eerily in sync. Jason gives you a small nod but, when he looks over your shoulder at the Florents, his face flashes with annoyance. Next to him, Tyland’s face is carefully blank with only a perfectly polite smile lighting up his features.
“Lord Lannister,” Erren coos as he steps forward, awkwardly sidestepping your guards in order to bow in front of your father.
A second too late, Jason nods his head, clearing his face immediately. He’s noticed my own frustration and is responding accordingly you realize and, even with all your current anger, you feel a glow of affection towards your father. “Lord Florent,” he echoes back, smiling. His charm is returning readily and, if you didn’t know better, you would think that your father was genuinely pleased to meet the Lord of the Brightwater. “Allow me to congratulate you and your son for the great honor Ser Victor has fought to bestow upon his house.”
Erren smiles as Victor bows his head in thanks next to him. “My son has also bestowed your daughter a grand honor as well. A crown and the title of Queen of Love and Beauty.”
Tyland laughs, teeth flashing. “House Lannister thanks you for it. It’s gratifying to have the rest of King’s Landing catch up to believe that my niece’s beauty is beyond compare.”
Frowning, you shoot a glare at your uncle for his overeffusive praise but his friendly grin only grows bigger when he notices your disapproval.
He’ll have his fun, I suppose.
Lord Erren, however, does not see your stormy expression or, more likely, does not care since he aims directly for the point. “Now, my lord, my son has been captivated by Lady Lannister’s maidenly behavior and looks for quite some time. She is, as we all must agree, a lovely young lady and it is becoming time for her to secure a husband.”
Jason’s smile grows visibly tight. “She has time yet, Lord Florent,” your father says, laughing slightly. “Her eldest two sisters are not yet married.”
“Ah yes,” Erren exclaims, snapping his fingers. “Lady Cerelle and Lady Tyshara, am I correct? Even in Brightwater, I heard tale of Cerelle the Almost Heir and the Golden Beauty of the West. If they’re anything like your daughter here, I’m sure they will secure husbands sooner rather than later.”
Like a bucket of ice water, you, Jason, and Tyland all freeze at the name he had called Cerelle. You had heard it said once or twice in Casterly Rock by visiting nobles after Loren’s birth but your rage at the nickname had been enough to quiet them in the moment. Afterward, Lady Johanna had taken a firmer hand - backed by your father, she had expressly banned the noblemen who had whispered the name from ever visiting the Rock again. Only Cerelle herself had managed to quell your family’s uproar, maintaining the peace and arguing for leniency for the offenders.
“I’d thank you, my lord,” you quietly say, voice as cold as winter itself. “If you would not repeat that name in our presence again. Little Loren is the heir now but, if he had been a girl, Cerelle would have made a glorious Lady Lannister and would have served our house well. She does not deserve to be mocked for her years of service when she was our heir.”
“My father did not mean to cause offense,” Victor says, bowing earnestly, and your father laughs humorlessly.
“And yet, he somehow managed,” Jason says, frowning down at the Florents. In the diminishing daylight, your father looks more golden than ever and his displeasure twists his features into something more leonine and dangerous. He was the Warden of the West, after all, and he would suffer no insults to any member of his house.
Lord Erren, realizing his misstep, bows at the waist. “I hope you will not let my careless words color your opinion of my son. I did not realize the name was hurtful.”
Tyland, always the more levelheaded and diplomatic amongst the three of you, nods his head. “I’m sure you did not mean to, my lord, but my brother and niece are understandably protective of Lady Cerelle. While I will not deny that House Lannister’s time without a male heir brought much uncertainty to our family, if Cerelle had remained as my brother’s heir, it would not have been a tragedy. It’s happened once before in our history and we have only grown stronger.”
“Of course,” Erren nods, moving on the defense now. Next to him, Victor shifts awkwardly and you relish the look of distress on his face. “Lannister ladies are as much lion as their male counterparts. My apologies.”
As much as you would love to storm off now, you know full well that you cannot leave. All around you, people are filing into their wheelhouses to go back and prepare for tonight’s feast. Their eyes are all watching your small group curiously and, even if you and Jason had taken offense, you know the rest of the court will not understand.
You wonder how many of them whisper about House Lannister’s almost heir behind your back.
Plastering a plainly false smile, you nod at Erren. “I thank you for your apologies, my lord. It is a gracious thing to do.”
“It’s only the right thing to do,” Victor interjects, looking at you with undisguised longing. Only by years of etiquette lessons under the strictest septas do you keep your anger off your face. “My father only meant to compliment your sisters.”
“My son has told me grand tale of your beauty and manners, my lady,” Erren says, smiling once more. “I was gratified to find them true. I can only imagine the same for your lady sisters.”
You nod, more to remain silent than caring about his blatant attempts to gain your favor, and Erren takes the chance to barrel forward. “Would you and your father like to join us for tea tomorrow? Before the melee? Our families meeting here today gave you your crown and brought honor to the Florents. Perhaps we can discuss an even greater union.”
You turn to your father, deferring the decision plainly, and, for a glorious and nerve-wracking moment, you think he is too angered to agree and that he will decline the Florents’ request. After a second, however, your father nods, forcing a smile. “Of course, my lord. It is only what is proper.”
It is what is proper. The gossip of King’s Landing would tear you, and only you, to shreds if it came out that your family had not met with Victor’s following his crowning you Queen of Love and Beauty.
It does not make it go down any more smoothly however and, murmuring your farewells in as polite a tone as you can muster, you clamber into the wheelhouse, throwing yourself onto the cushioned seats with a sigh. Your father and uncle quickly follow and the moment the doors are pushed shut by a servant, you rip the crown off your head and throw it to the floor.
“Well,” Tyland says, laughing a little. “None of us need ask how you took it.”
You scowl. “He faked a favor, uncle. A bloody favor and he made me look like a fool in the same move. Everyone saw me give my favor to Tygett and, by Victor riding out with a handkerchief that that idiot Jocasta gave him, he lied to the court and all but said I was a lovestruck dolt who's hiding her grand affair. I’m sure by now they’re all whispering about how I long to become a fox of House Florent with him and live in Brightwater under the watch of his father and brother.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, little one,” he chuckles. “This entire miserable affair will only increase your renown. Perhaps they will give you a nickname to rival Tyshara’s. Nevertheless, the singers will love it.”
Jason frowns. “Love it? Love what?”
Tyland’s smile grows. “Did you not see, brother? I suppose you were in the Lannister box and couldn’t see and the Florents arrived before I could tell you. The gossip will spread soon enough but the royal court all saw Prince Aemond refuse to let our little lady go. He was holding her hand tightly and, when Ser Victor crowned her, he did not clap. In fact, none of his siblings did either and even the Queen seemed hesitant to congratulate him.”
Your cheeks flush. You had only noticed Aemond’s refusal - embarrassingly, you hadn't even thought of looking over at Helaena and Aegon, let alone the Queen. It’s gratifying to know that they weren’t celebrating your humiliation, that they were as upset as you were.
Jason tilts his head in thought. “The prince may be angered but will he do something?”
“He’s Aemond Targaryen, the rider of Vhagar,” you reply, feeling a genuine smile creep onto your face. “He claimed the Queen of All Dragons and there’s no living dragon that can match her ferocity. He is the same.”
Tyland laughs. “Jason, you could marry her right now to Victor Florent and she will wake tomorrow a widow. That situation will sort itself out - or perhaps I should say that Prince Aemond will handle it for us - and your daughter will get herself the prince you sent her to get all those years ago. ”
“May the Seven rest Victor Florent’s soul,” your father says but, when you look over at him, he’s laughing and you grin broadly.
You spend the rest of the ride back to the Red Keep in companionable silence.
——————————–
When you step into the throne room, a step behind your father, conversation falters before dying at your entrance. It’s almost funny in a way, you think, as you walk towards the front with eyes watching you, their gazes fixed upon your unadorned hair. You can hear people whispering at their tables, your name along with Victor and Aemond’s being the loudest words, and it only makes you hold your head up higher.
You can hear their whispers turning away from your lack of a crown and towards the color of your dress. A far cry from the red and gold gowns you had been wearing the past few days during the feast, now you’re dressed in a pale blue gown that flows softly around your body, the skirt trailing behind you. Silver lions are stitched into your sleeves and, when you move, the candlelight catches the metallic shimmer of the thread. Surrounded by the red and gold of the rest of your house all around you, you stick out even as you walk in union with them.
You’re a Lannister. You’re a lion of the Rock.
But you are not the one who gave Victor Florent that handkerchief.
Two nights ago, you had wanted people to notice House Lannister as your house had been introduced. Now, no one looks away as you continue down the center aisle.
It’s not what you had meant but, for the moment at least, you’ll take it.
When you reach the head table, you curtsey low, noting with some degree of displeasure that Aemond is missing still. When you straighten up to head to your seat, the Queen calls your name and the throne room waits with bated breath.
“Won’t you keep my Helaena company, my lady?” Alicent says, smiling. Her face is a picture of perfect courtesy and you can hear the grumble of the court behind you when they are denied more fodder for their gossip.
You easily agree, smiling, and with a quick look at your father, who nods in approval, you head up to the royal table, sliding into the seat next to Helaena. She’s taken Aemond’s old seat, leaving you to be the one between her and the Queen, and you idly wonder if her mother told her to do it.
You want to lean over to whisper and ask her but, with the Queen right at your elbow, you don’t dare. Luckily, or unluckily, the nobles all quickly introduce themselves to the royal family, eager to get to their tables to begin eating and chatting. Unlike the welcome feast, this feast is much more casual in nature. There is no speech from Otto Hightower, no opening dance from Aegon and Helaena. Instead, the food is quickly served and the room all turn to do their business.
As soon as you turn, however, to speak to Helaena, who has once again taken to trying to shred the napkins with her delicate hands, the Queen says your name, her tone soft.
“Your grace,” you say as you spin back to face her, bowing your head slightly. “How may I serve you?”
Alicent doesn’t immediately respond, simply scanning your face carefully as if she’s looking for something, before she sighs. When she turns to face the rest of the throne room, you almost think she won’t say anything anymore. But, when she finally does, her voice remains quiet. “When I was a girl, I thought there was no better honor than to wed a Targaryen. No greater joy. It was the only thing I had ever wanted.”
Somehow, with the pain in her voice, you don’t think she’s speaking about the King. It was an open secret that, while Alicent loved and cared for her husband, she was not in love with him. He could never inspire this much emotion in her voice. You doubt he ever had.
“I’ve learned, however, with time, that the dragons are dangerous, willful. Even the most peaceful amongst them.” Alicent continues, reaching for her goblet. Her brown eyes stare straight ahead, so unlike her children’s but somehow so hauntingly similar. Her children are every bit her’s as much as they are the King’s. “They do nothing by halves. Everything they do, they throw everything they have into it. Ruling. Fighting. Loving.”
“Of course, my queen,” you murmur when Alicent falls silent. “I’ve spent enough time with Helaena and the princes to see that.”
She turns to face you, smiling ruefully. “My children are no exception to it. Their dragon blood runs strong and it is because of that, I worry. Before being a queen, before any of it, I am their mother.”
You can only nod.
“My son loves you,” she finally says and your heart stops. “I’ve known it for quite some time and it’s never bothered me. He deserves his happiness, as do you. But… he’s a Targaryen and I worry about what that love will drive him to do.”
After a moment, you lean in slightly closer, looking at her with openly inquisitive eyes. “What do you mean, your grace?”
Alicent taps her fingers against her goblet. “Aemond’s joined the melee. He trains with Ser Criston even now for it.”
The breath leaves your lungs and you stare in open confusion.
Aemond has entered the tourney?
You shake your head, trying to knock some sense back into yourself. “He hates tourneys. He considers them a waste of his time.”
“He does,” Alicent agrees immediately. “But he does not consider you a waste of his time. I am… worried he’s not entering the tourney with the best of intentions. He does not seek honor or pride. Not his own, at least. He may try to win the crown but… I do not believe that is his main goal.”
Your eyes slide to Victor Florent, just to see him staring at you plainly. He looks stricken and pained, but he’s not fearful. No, his eyes are just glued to your crownless head.
Has he even noticed? You think, feeling nothing - not even pity. Does he know just whose rage he’s invited?
You swallow thickly. “Do you wish for me to talk him out of it, my queen? Are you concerned for his safety?”
She shakes her head immediately. “No, no. That is to say, I am concerned for him. He’s my son - I will always worry for him. I… Ser Criston tells me he’s twice as skilled as any man with two eyes, if not more so but still…”
She appears lost in thought for a moment, eyes staring blankly at her clasped hands on the table, and you know she’s thinking of that night in Driftmark, the night that haunts you all. After giving her a moment, you clear your throat and Alicent’s eyes leap to you. She straightens up again, shaking her head once more.
“I could never ask that of him. I imagine not even you could ever ask that of him. He’s a man grown and moreover, he’s a Targaryen prince. He will do as he pleases but… He’s my son, my precious boy, but he’s a dragon through and through. His way is fire and blood. I just wished to inform you, my lady.” She finishes quietly, eyes staring into yours before she turns to speak to her father on her other side, plainly finishing her conversation with you and dismissing you in one fell sweoop.
You stare after her, stunned. Queen Alicent loves her son, loves him more than she loves herself or any other, and because of that, she knows the truth of him, of all Targaryens.
Whichever Targaryen she wanted taught her that lesson and taught it to her well you think as you look at the Queen’s turned back. She had been burned. Alicent had birthed four dragons but fire still frightened her, still proved too hot for her comfort.
But you weren’t frightened. You couldn’t be. You had long since seen the real Aemond, the one that was vengeful and cruel. Moreover, you had whispered to him in his chambers so long ago that you were the same.
You aren’t kind or gentle by nature. You’re a Lannister, the blood of kings, a lion of the rock.
We may have bent the knee to the dragons but we will never cower before them.
Taking a deep breath, you turn to Helaena, resolved to speak with Aemond soon.
——————————–
In all your time spent at the capitol, you can probably count on your hands the number of times you have visited the training yards. Unlike other ladies of the court, the idea of watching the knights during their daily training had never had an appeal to you. Without the heraldry and opulence of tourneys, training was just men beating each other with sticks while the court rewarded them for it by clapping and cheering. There were countless other things that you would prefer to do and, barring a few times you had wanted to corner Aemond, you had kept your distance from the yards.
Your memories of the few times you had gone down to the yards are hazy but one of the things you do remember is the crucial point that all the men training were using wooden swords to practice, aiming to bruise rather than to maim.
As you watch Aemond duck under Ser Criston’s morningstar, his silver hair a streak in the pale moonlight, you realize with a cold fear that the weapons in their hands are steel.
You openly stare, hands clutched tightly in front of you, as Aemond quickly recovers, circling around the older knight slowly, sword held loosely in his grip. He doesn’t stay idle for long, darting in faster than you register, but, as quick as he is, Criston is faster, quickly moving to keep the distance between him and the prince wide. Aemond doesn’t let up, however, spinning on his heel to shorten the gap and, turning his sword in his hand to avoid harming the kingsguard, strikes Criston with the flat of his blade on the wrist.
Criston lets out a grunt but holds onto his weapon, swinging it in Aemond’s direction almost immediately, but the Targaryen is quick and, with a quick feint, he’s up next to Criston, sword at the knight’s neck.
For a moment, the two men stare each other down, Criston saying something low underneath his breath that you can’t hear, before he takes a step back, nodding his head at Aemond before turning to bow towards you. “Apologies, my lady,” he says, voice steady as if he hadn’t been training long before you had made your way to the yards. “As I’m sure you just saw, I was rather too preoccupied to greet you properly before.”
You shake your head immediately, curtseying back. “Please, do not worry, Ser Criston. You were busy training our prince. That surely has more value than just greeting me.”
Criston gives you a tight-lipped smile in response, stepping back and shooting Aemond a quick look. After a moment of dead silence, in which the three of you all stare at each other awkwardly, the knight heaves a deep sigh, rubbing his hurt wrist. “I’ll be right over here, selecting, uh, a new sword.”
In a clear bid to give the two of you space, Criston walks over to the sword rack, turning his back for some semblance of privacy but purposefully staying close enough to serve as a chaperon.
You stare at the knight for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before you take a deep breath and turn back to Aemond. The prince is already watching, his amethyst eye glowing pale in the moonlight. With his sword still held in his hand, he looks the warrior that you had always imagined when listening to the singers crone their songs; beautiful and dangerous, just like the dragons his family liked to pretend they were.
How can I be frightened of him? When he’s always been everything I’ve ever wanted?
“When were you planning on telling me?” You finally say, eyes searching his carefully. “Did you want me to find out when you walked out onto the grounds?”
He shakes his head, sheathing his sword at his side. “Did Helaena tell you?” He asks in lieu of answering.
“No,” you respond, taking a step closer, conscious of the way he straightens up as if he’s preparing himself for a fight. “The Queen told me. She seems to think I have something to do with it.”
“My mother worries though she shouldn’t have imparted that worry onto you,” he says, voice low, and, quickly, you glance over to Ser Criston, the knight still sorting through the sword rack at a glacial pace. You step closer and feel a rush of gratification when Aemond moves to meet you.
Closer now, close enough to feel his warmth in the cold air, you feel steadied. “I’m not worried,” you finally say, shaking your head firmly. It’s the truth of it. “At ten, you climbed onto the back of the largest and fiercest dragon in the world and claimed it for your own. That same night, you stood in front of the court and defended your mother to a room full of the Princess’s supporters. That was you as a boy. You’re a man now. I pity whoever has to face you in the melee tomorrow.”
There’s a moment of silence, as you watch the tension drain from Aemond’s body, before he moves.
Aemond reaches for you first, hand gently brushing your own. Your breath hitches and you surge forward, bringing it up to hold in between the two of you. His grasp is gentle and loose. Here in the training yard, he doesn’t feel the urge to chain you to him, to hold you steady. You come to him willingly and here, with only Ser Criston for company, there is nobody who seeks to rip you away.
“You surely cannot pity them all,” he says, his voice a grumbling tone that vibrates you to your core.
You smile wryly, laughing slightly. “No. Not all.” You admit freely. “Victor Florent made me out to be a lovestruck fool to the court and crowned me in front of nearly all of King’s Landing. He got his meeting with my father even if his own father only succeeded in angering the Lord of the Rock rather than securing a betrothal. He aims to repeat his success tomorrow and crown me again. If the prize he was fighting for was something more worthwhile than my hand, I’d be impressed with all the effort he’s putting into it. As it is, it’s wasted.”
Aemond frowns down at you, his free hand coming up to tug on one of the strands of your hair that falls free around your face, teasingly scolding you. “Your hand is a worthy cause. Victor Florent is the one not worthy. He shames you by thinking he can honor you in a marriage.”
You grin. “I thank you, my prince, for the credit to my name though I wasn’t trying to devalue it - just merely question the effort put into something that he’ll never have. Before today, my father would never consent to the marriage because I’m a daughter of a High Lord and that entitles me to more than the fourth son of a minor house. Now, he’d rather see me married off to an innkeeper than to Lord Erren’s son for the insults that House Florent has levied towards House Lannister.”
“Has someone broken the news to Victor?”
At that, you frown, tracing your thumb over the ridges of Aemond’s knuckles as you think. “I don’t think he’ll believe that I have no interest in marrying him until the day that a man places his house’s cloak over my shoulders. Even then, he’ll probably still think that I’m only thinking of him, only dreaming of the charming and humble life he can give me.”
Aemond lets out a noise of discontent. “His entitlement has no bounds.”
“Perhaps he’ll learn his place,”
“Perhaps someone will help him find it.” His low response hangs heavy in the silent night air and you look up at him, feeling your chest warm. It’s a prayer, a promise, a vow. It’s all for you.
You stand there for a moment, wishing you could curl up in this feeling and live in it for eternity. “I want to give you a favor,” you blurt out, knowing as soon as you say it that it’s the best you can give right now. His eye darkens as he looks down at you. Somewhere, vaguely in the background, Ser Criston coughs very loudly, as if reminding you that he’s there. Somewhat flustered and annoyed, you barrel onwards, feeling out of balance. There’s no clever wordplay or hiding now - only the bare truth. “A true favor. One that is freely given - not because I’m avoiding Victor Florent but because I want to give you one. I know there are no favors given in the melee - not like in the joust - but I want you to have mine regardless. I-If you’ll have it.”
He looks back at you, his gaze so piercing it feels like he’s peering straight into you and you pray that he is.
All of it is for you. Every last bit of me.
Finally, he smiles except it’s not soft or kind or gentle.
It’s hungry.
“I would accept, my lady,” he murmurs, freeing his hand from yours in order to trace your face. You chase its warmth until he cups your face, his hand large enough to hold it in its entirety. Your eyelids droop, content to stay in his heat. “Except you’ve already given it to me.”
You blink, slightly dazed, before pulling yourself back into focus, embarrassed at your lack of restraint. You frown up at him, quizzical. “The only favor I’ve ever given out before was to Tygett.”
His smile only grows and he leans down until his forehead is pressed up against your own and you suddenly know.
“You gave it to me eight years ago,” he continues in that same low tone and you step closer, crowding into his space. His body heat is blazing but you want more and more and more. You want as much as he can give you right now and you want even more than that. “You gave me your favor alongside a story and a promise. I carry it with me always.”
At that, you pull back, only slightly, so you can scan his neck. There’s no necklace, not even a golden chain that denotes the sapphire necklace your father gave you all those years ago. No sign of the gift you had given him in his room at Driftmark, the night your lives had changed irrevocably, when you had sworn yourself to his cause until your end.
But then you remember.
Symeon Star-Eyes.
Your eyes dart up to his own and his smile only grows.
A distant part of you is aware of what is expected of a lady of your station when confronted with this truth. Your old septas would scream at you that you should pull away in disgust, in horror of what he’s done to himself. Maybe you should even beg him to undo it and remind him that stories are just stories and he shouldn’t harm himself more than he already was.
But all you can think about is that scar; horrible, wide, and gaping. The grievous wound that Lucerys Velaryon had left on him. Even now, you can see the carnage, the butchery. For years, the mere thought of that wound and the way it had bled would be enough to drive you into a boiling and murderous rage.
Except right now, as you think about his scar, you don’t think about the way Aemond had flinched as the maester had sewed it back together, stitch by agonizing stitch. You don’t smell the sickly sweet smell of milk of the poppy or hear the Queen’s sobs. Instead, you think about how he had taken the scar the Strong boys had given him and had opened it back again.
And then he filled it with you.
Breath hitching, you stare back at him, eyes full of amazement and wonder, your hand coming up to touch the ridges of his scar that stretch past the leather of his eyepatch. His other eye flutters close and he leans into your touch and you wonder if it’s possible to love someone as completely as you love him.
For a wild moment, you think about pulling off his eyepatch, about pulling him close and kissing him as hard as you could, about learning his body as well as you know the rest of him. But you can’t, not here, with Ser Criston Cole only steps away, listening closely for any signs that he should intervene and stop the thread of honor snapping under the strain of the two of you.
So instead, you push yourself up on your tiptoes and, as gentle as can be, you press a kiss to his eyepatch, lingering for a moment. Beneath your lips and beneath the cold leather, you can feel Aemond’s breath stutter, feel him push close to you.
You pull away and look at him, wondering if he sees you as completely as you see him. He looks back at you, his amethyst eye as beautiful as ever, and you imagine seeing him with the sapphire one as well and seeing him as he truly is.
You want it. You want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything save, maybe, him himself.
There’s a loud cough in the distance, followed by Ser Criston’s loud declaration that he’s almost selected a sword, and, reluctantly, you pull yourself away. As soon as you do, however, Aemond captures your hand once more and, bowing at the waist, brings it up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles.
You freeze, feeling impossibly hot all of a sudden.
“My lady Lannister,” he murmurs and you can feel each word being said against your hand. “I humbly ask for your continued favor in order to bring you victory.”
He looks up at you, eye gleaming knowingly in the moonlight.
“Of course,” you softly say after a moment. “It’s always been yours.”
#i have been waiting to write the final scene for a while lol#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aemond x you
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Hello there. Sorry for disturbing you, I just got thinking and imagining something. It’s about Yandere platonic House Lannister and Modern Reader and possibly other Modern Readers.
In the Red Keep there’s a book that secured very good, because it’s an important treasure for House Targaryen. There are family portraits of House Targaryen and Modern Readers.
One day Rhaegar Targaryen called Lady Y/N Lannister to show her something. Y/N followed Rhaegar and both of them got to the library.
Modern Reader: My prince, what is exactly you wanted to show me?
Rhaegar Targaryen: The important treasure of my House.
Rhaegar Targaryen pulls out the book out of the shelf and opens it.
Modern Reader confused: A book?
Rhaegar Targaryen: Not a book, but our great, happy memories.
Once the book is opened they see family portraits:
Daenys Targaryen, Gaemon Targaryen, Lord Aenar Targaryen and Y/N L/N the saviour and a faithful loyal friend.
Lord Aerion Targaryen, Lady Valaena Velaryon, baby Visenya, Aegon, Rhaenys and Y/N L/N aka saviour and faithful loyal friend.
King Aegon the Conqueror, Queens Visenya, Rhaenys and Y/N Targaryen aka saviour and faithful loyal friend.
(There are Modern Reader, saviour and faithful loyal friend with Aenys’s family, Maegor’s family and Jaehaerys’s family)
Modern Reader: It’s her? Right? I’m surprised that she didn’t change.
Rhaegar Targaryen: She was immortal, but then she disappeared. No one knows why. It was mentioned, she traveled to Old Valyria to find Princess Aerea Targaryen daughter of Rhaena Targaryen and Balerion the dread. Both returned, but Y/N didn’t. King Jaehaerys commanded to find her, although it was impossible. The Valyria was still burning and not many returned. Princess Aerea Targaryen was sick, but she told them Great-grandmother, Y/N Targaryen stayed in Old Valyria, so princess Aerea and Balerion return safely. Although, our saviour and faithful loyal friend didn’t return.
Modern Reader looks sad at this, because she realised just how important was The Saviour of House Targaryen, then she noticed other portraits: It’s King Viserys 1, Queen Aemma Arryn and Rhaenyra Targaryen, right?
Rhaegar Targaryen: Yes, next to them is Princess Y/N The Great.
Modern Reader: She disappeared too?
Rhaegar Targaryen sighs: Yes, unfortunately. She was The Hand of the Queen.
Modern Reader: There are many titles to her.
Rhaegar Targaryen: Yes, that’s correct.
Modern Reader: Then what happened afterwards, if she solved many problems and made the realm prospered?
Rhaegar Targaryen: Blackfyre rebellions.
Modern Reader: Oh. My prince, I apologise for my question, but why are you showing me this?
Rhaegar Targaryen: Because I… feel like I need to. And I… think there is connection between you and them. That’s why.
Modern Reader pulls out a small portrait of House Lannister, where it’s her and Lannister family members, before Tyrion was born. And she placed the portrait to the book.
Lord Tywin Lannister, Lady Joanna Lannister, Gerion, Tygett, Genna and Kevan Lannister Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Y/N Lannister.
It’s noticeable that all Modern Readers look similar.
Rhaegar Targaryen: I’m sad, that we didn’t meet you first.
Sooo, what do you think about it? Sorry if it’s long and big, and maybe a little confusing. I just wanted to share it with you. So, your thoughts? As for me, I think other would notice similarities between Modern Reader Lannister (The tribute of Westeros, Problem-solver, The Brave), Modern Reader The Great and Modern Reader aka The Saviour and faithful loyal friend of House Targaryen.
An interesting scenario. Maybe if the loyal friends of House Targaryen are actually the reader's grand relatives. So it makes more sense for the reader to have the same similarities with them.
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OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST
THEORY:
Varys has Tyrek Lannister
TIER:
People's Choice!
Stumpy note: This is one of those times when I don't think you should pay close attention to my definitions. I don't want to influence your vote, but I just want to say that sometimes something can be extremely likely without there being mountains of evidence. For instance, consider a theory like the Hound being the gravedigger.
Strong Contender: These theories have a lot of textual support, but there are still some elements of uncertainty.
vs.
Possible: These theories could be true, but additional evidence is needed, as different interpretations or errors are possible.
vs.
Under Consideration: These theories haven't garnered strong or extensive evidence, but they're worthy of discussion.
[Tier list overview]
EVIDENCE:
First, who is Tyrek Lannister?
Son of Darlessa Marbrand and Tygett Lannister, Tywin Lannister's brother.
Handsome with long golden curls, roughly the same age as Sansa.
Served as Robert Baratheon's squire.
Married Lady Ermesande Hayford to secure her lands for House Lannister.
His bride, Ermesande, is an infant.
Moving on to the key points.
Stannis and Renly Baratheon block King's Landing's food supplies, causing widespread unrest. On the day Princess Myrcella leaves for Dorne, a mob attacks the royal party, sparking a riot.
Tyrek was in attendance and goes missing in the chaos.
"Ser Preston is not returned," Ser Boros Blount reported, "nor Aron Santagar."
"Nor Wet Nurse," said Ser Horas Redwyne. That was the mocking name the other squires had hung on young Tyrek Lannister. - Tyrion IX, ACOK
And stays missing.
Tyrek was still missing, as was the High Septon's crystal crown. Nine gold cloaks had been slain, two score wounded. No one had troubled to count how many of the mob had died.
"I want Tyrek found, alive or dead," Tyrion said curtly when Bywater was done. "He's no more than a boy. Son to my late uncle Tygett. His father was always kind to me."
"We'll find him. The septon's crown as well." - Tyrion IX, ACOK
This mystery continues into the next book.
"Aye. I fear I did not leave him in the best of moods. Lord Tywin feels forty-four hundred guardsmen more than sufficient to find one lost squire, but your cousin Tyrek remains missing."
Tyrek was the son of his late Uncle Tygett, a boy of thirteen. He had vanished in the riot, not long after wedding the Lady Ermesande, a suckling babe who happened to be the last surviving heir of House Hayford. And likely the first bride in the history of the Seven Kingdoms to be widowed before she was weaned. "I couldn't find him either," confessed Tyrion. - Tyrion I, ASOS
Suddenly, a throwaway detail: Varys, the master of whisperers and knower of all things, helped try to locate the young man.
"He's feeding worms," said Bronn with his usual tact. "Ironhand looked for him, and the eunuch rattled a nice fat purse. They had no more luck than we did. Give it up, ser."
Ser Addam gazed at the sellsword with distaste. "Lord Tywin is stubborn where his blood is concerned. He will have the lad, alive or dead, and I mean to oblige him." He looked back to Tyrion. "You will find your father in his solar." - Tyrion I, ASOS
Then, another oddity: Varys the mummer puts on a bit of a performance.
"Alas, our beloved Tyrek has quite vanished, the poor brave lad." Varys sounded close to tears. - Tyrion III, ASOS
Not done yet, the author extends this mystery into A Feast for Crows. I can't give you an exact number of days, but at this point, Tyrek has been missing for a long time, and these people probably should have moved on.
Also, check out that ellipsis of truth.
The lady of the castle was a Lannister by marriage, a plump toddler who had been wed to his cousin Tyrek before she was a year old. Lady Ermesande was duly trotted out for their approval, all trussed up in a little gown of cloth-of-gold, with the green fretty and green pale wavy of House Hayford rendered in tiny beads of jade. But soon enough the girl began to squall, whereupon she was promptly whisked off to bed by her wet nurse.
"Has there been no word of our Lord Tyrek?" her castellan asked as a course of trout was served.
"None." Tyrek Lannister had vanished during the riots in King's Landing whilst Jaime himself was still captive at Riverrun. The boy would be fourteen by now, assuming he was still alive.
"I led a search myself, at Lord Tywin's command," offered Addam Marbrand as he boned his fish, "but I found no more than Bywater had before me. The boy was last seen ahorse, when the press of the mob broke the line of gold cloaks. Afterward . . . well, his palfrey was found, but not the rider. Most like they pulled him down and slew him. But if that's so, where is his body? The mob let the other corpses lie, why not his?"
"He would be of more value alive," suggested Strongboar. "Any Lannister would bring a hefty ransom."
"No doubt," Marbrand agreed, "yet no ransom demand was ever made. The boy is simply gone."
"The boy is dead." Jaime had drunk three cups of wine, and his golden hand seemed to be growing heavier and clumsier by the moment. A hook would serve me just as well. "If they realized whom they'd killed, no doubt they threw him in the river for fear of my father's wrath. They know the taste of that in King's Landing. Lord Tywin always paid his debts."
"Always," Strongboar agreed, and that was the end of that. - Jaime III, AFFC
Finally, it happens: Jaime Lannister implicates Varys in the disappearance of Tyrek Lannister and openly questions why Varys wasn't present during the bread riots.
Also, another ellipsis of truth!
Yet afterward, alone in the tower room he had been offered for the night, Jaime found himself wondering. Tyrek had served King Robert as a squire, side by side with Lancel. Knowledge could be more valuable than gold, more deadly than a dagger. It was Varys he thought of then, smiling and smelling of lavender. The eunuch had agents and informers all over the city. It would have been a simple matter for him to arrange to have Tyrek snatched during the confusion . . . provided he knew beforehand that the mob was like to riot. And Varys knew all, or so he would have us believe. Yet he gave Cersei no warning of that riot. Nor did he ride down to the ships to see Myrcella off. - Jaime III, AFFC
You might remember that Varys also helped Gendry escape King's Landing and claims to have done the same for Aegon VI Targaryen.
Snatching young male nobles from King's Landing has become something of a hobby at this point. (Not to be outdone, Littlefinger has taken up the same pastime.)
"Here's something you don't know. It wasn't supposed to happen like it did. I was set to leave, wagons bought and loaded, and a man comes with a boy for me, and a purse of coin, and a message, never mind who it's from. Lord Eddard's to take the black, he says to me, wait, he'll be going with you. Why d'you think I was there? Only something went queer." - Arya I, ACOK
x
The lad flushed. "That was not me. I told you. That was some tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away." - Tyrion VI, ADWD
Lastly, in 2001, George R. R. Martin pulled a George R. R. Martin.
Was "file Tyrek" closed in ASOS with the hint that he ended in a bowl of stew?
Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. - George R. R. Martin
(To my knowledge, it has never been hinted that Tyrek ended up in a bowl of stew.)
COUNTER-EVIDENCE:
Maybe Littlefinger has him?
On a serious note, this is a totally realistic scenario:
"If they realized whom they'd killed, no doubt they threw him in the river for fear of my father's wrath. They know the taste of that in King's Landing. Lord Tywin always paid his debts." - Jaime III, AFFC
STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:
Two more and Varys gets his boyband.
Remember everyone, sometimes: quality > quantity.
VOTE:
NEXT THEORY:
Tysha is the Sailor's Wife
[Main menu]
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Lord Gyles stood coughing, while poor cousin Tyrek wore his bridegroom's mantle of miniver and velvet. Since his marriage to little Lady Ermesande three days past, the other squires had taken to calling him "Wet Nurse" and asking him what sort of swaddling clothes his bride wore on their wedding night. - Tyrion VI, aCoK
Tyrek was the son of his late Uncle Tygett, a boy of thirteen. He had vanished in the riot, not long after wedding the Lady Ermesande, a suckling babe who happened to be the last surviving heir of House Hayford. And likely the first bride in the history of the Seven Kingdoms to be widowed before she was weaned. - Tyrion I, aSoS
Tyrek Lannister and baby Ermesande Hayford
#asoiaf#tyrek lannister#ermesande hayford#house lannister#a storm of swords#a clash of kings#a song of ice and fire#valyrianscrolls#2022#character design
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If Robert had walked in after the Sack of King’s Landing and been properly disgusted at both Elia and her children’s deaths or the sack in general, what would his options have been? He could try to arrest Tywin on the spot, but Tywin’s got his own army nearby, some of whom are even in the room. Metaphors about the meaningless of war and its supposed motives aside, what justice could Robert do, right then at that moment, or afterwards as king?
Unfortunately, not much in terms of actual punishment. Medieval conceptions of law and ethics concerning conduct in warfare and rival claimants were not great even for children, and there doesn't appear to be any tradition of sparing rival claimants or taking efforts to capture them alive in Westerosi history. We see rival kings sent off to the Wall, but we don't really see examples of people killing off rival kings being punished for it. From Jon Arryn's perspective, Robert also has future concerns to take care of - Robert is worried that if he punished Tywin, it would make consolidating rule over the Seven Kingdoms harder, people would be less willing to accept his rule and come over to his side.
What he could do, however, is not reward Tywin for his conduct. He could condemn the action, send Jaime to the Wall for betraying his Kingsguard oath, and take steps to not reward the Lannisters - that means no Cersei marriage and no Lannister appointments in court; he'd make them pariahs at court. It wouldn't mollify Doran at all - he'd still plot for a restoration. It would mean relying harder on the North-Vale-Riverlands-Stormlands bloc and that makes potential Lannister covert support of enemy factions a potential wrinkle in the years ahead. It'd be interesting to see if that turns into a Lannister cold war, with Tywin and loyal Kevan on one side with potentially chafing Tygett and Gerion on the other, but I doubt it.
If it did happen, I actually think things would be fairly smooth. The long summer will help, as will not having a lunatic at the helm.
Thanks for the question, Way.
SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King
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