#House Lannister

[cinematic-phosphenes]

Princess Myrcella ASOIAF as historical paintings (21/∞)

Portrait of a Girl in a Yellow Dress, 1903 by Margaret Fletcher

[novaursa]

Legacy (what was promised)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: long live the king

- Next part: the judgment

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The heavy door creaked open, and Tywin stepped back into the chamber, his face as composed as ever, though his sharp gaze immediately swept over the room. The air was warm and thick with the scent of herbs, sweat, and the faint coppery tang of blood. The midwives bustled quietly around the bed, their hands deft as they tended to both you and the newborn.

Pycelle, still stationed awkwardly near the wall, stepped forward slightly and inclined his head toward Tywin. “My lord,” he rasped, his voice trembling with a mix of nerves and lingering irritation. “It is a son.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, though his piercing green eyes flickered briefly with something unspoken. He moved toward the bed with measured steps, his presence commanding as he approached the midwife who held the swaddled infant. She looked up, her hands steady but her demeanor reverent, as though handing over the child to a king.

“My lord,” she said softly, placing the child into Tywin’s waiting arms.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Tywin looked down at the tiny bundle. The child’s face was delicate but unmistakably strong, even in its infancy. Wisps of fine hair crowned his head, a striking mix of silver and gold that shimmered in the dim candlelight. His eyes, though barely open, revealed a vibrant violet hue flecked with pale green—an eerie but captivating blend of Targaryen and Lannister traits.

Tywin studied him in silence, his expression unreadable as he cradled the infant in his large hands. The weight of the moment was not lost on anyone in the room. Here, in his arms, was the future of House Lannister—a child born of two powerful bloodlines, a child who could command loyalty and fear in equal measure.

He turned toward the bed, where you lay propped up against the pillows, your face pale and glistening with sweat but your eyes bright with determination. The midwives had cleaned you up and tucked you under the covers, their whispered reassurances fading into the background as Tywin approached.

“You did well,” he said quietly, his tone softer than usual as he stopped beside the bed. His eyes met yours briefly before he held the infant slightly forward. “A son.”

Your breath hitched as you looked at the baby, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief, love, and exhaustion. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly, and Tywin lowered the child into your arms. The weight of him felt almost surreal, his tiny form warm and vibrant against you.

“He’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you brushed your fingers gently over the soft tufts of his hair. The baby stirred, his small hands curling into fists as he let out a faint whimper.

Tywin stood over you, his gaze fixed on the child with an intensity that betrayed his usual stoicism. “He is strong,” he said, his voice low but firm. “He will carry the legacy of both our houses.”

You glanced up at him, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Have you decided on a name?”

Tywin didn’t hesitate. “Damon,” he said, his tone resolute. “It is a name that commands respect. A name worthy of his heritage.”

You looked down at the child again, the name settling over him like a mantle. “Damon,” you repeated softly, the syllables rolling off your tongue. It felt right—strong, regal, and steeped in history.

The baby stirred again, his tiny face scrunching up as he let out a soft cry. You rocked him gently, murmuring soothing words as you held him close. Tywin watched silently, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding.

“He has your strength,” you said finally, your eyes meeting Tywin’s. “And your determination.”

“And your fire,” Tywin replied, his gaze unwavering. “He will be more than either of us. He will be great.”

The room fell quiet again, the weight of Tywin’s words settling over everyone present. The midwives exchanged glances, their movements hushed as they continued their work. Pycelle, still lurking in the background, cleared his throat as if to speak, but Tywin silenced him with a single glance.

For a moment, it was just the three of you—the powerful lord, the resilient mother, and the newborn heir. Damon, a child born of fire and gold, was the bridge between two dynasties, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

The dungeon was cold and damp, the only light coming from the flickering torches along the stone walls. Tyrion sat on the uncomfortable bench, his hands resting in his lap as he stared at the floor. The clinking of keys echoed through the corridor, followed by the measured footsteps of Varys, whose shadow preceded him.

“Ah, my favorite spider,” Tyrion drawled, looking up as the eunuch stepped into view. His voice was sardonic, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity. “Come to spin me another web of half-truths and cryptic warnings?”

Varys gave a small, almost apologetic smile as he stepped closer, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I come bearing news, my lord. Whether it’s welcome or not, I leave to you to decide.”

“News?” Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Cersei wants me dead. Or is it that I’m to be executed before the trial even begins? Do tell, Varys, don’t leave me in suspense.”

The eunuch tilted his head slightly, his expression calm. “You are correct in part. The queen regent is… insistent on seeing you punished for her son’s death. However, there will be a trial. Your father, as Hand of the King, has ensured that much.”

Tyrion let out a bitter laugh, leaning back against the cold wall. “Oh, a trial. How magnanimous of him. I’m sure it will be entirely fair and just. And by fair and just, I mean a complete farce orchestrated to appease Cersei’s bloodlust.”

“Your sharp tongue does you no favors, Lord Tyrion,” Varys said softly, his tone carrying a hint of reproach. “You’ve antagonized your sister and the late king more times than I can count. Did you truly believe it would not come to this?”

Tyrion shrugged, his smile grim. “Cersei would want me dead no matter what I said or did. It’s not as though I could have charmed her into civility.”

“Perhaps not,” Varys admitted, his gaze steady. “But threats, no matter how veiled, are never wise when dealing with someone as volatile as your sister—or the late King Joffrey.”

Tyrion snorted. “Volatile is a generous word for them, Varys. But do go on. You didn’t come here to lecture me on my lack of tact.”

“You’re correct again,” Varys replied, his voice lowering slightly. “There is another matter.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? Do enlighten me.”

Varys stepped closer, his tone quiet but deliberate. “Lady Sansa is nowhere to be found. She vanished shortly after the chaos began during the wedding feast.”

Tyrion’s expression darkened, though his voice remained light. “Gone, you say? Good for her. I hope she’s far away from this nest of vipers. Though I suppose that will only give Cersei more ammunition against me.”

“Indeed,” Varys agreed. “The queen regent is convinced that Lady Sansa’s disappearance is proof of your guilt. It’s yet another thread in the tapestry she’s weaving to see you condemned.”

Tyrion sighed, running a hand through his hair. “A tapestry I’ll no doubt be strangled with in the end. Lovely.”

“There’s more,” Varys said, his voice even softer now, as though reluctant to continue.

“More?” Tyrion looked at him with mock surprise. “What could possibly be worse than being falsely accused of regicide and knowing my sister will gleefully see me executed?”

“The Hand’s wife,” Varys said, his words deliberate, “went into labor during the wedding feast. While the chaos of the king’s death unfolded, Lady Y/N delivered a son. The child was born one day ago.”

Tyrion blinked, the news momentarily silencing him. “A son,” he said slowly, as though tasting the words. “Tywin’s long-awaited male heir. Of course. The gods do have a sense of humor.”

“Yes,” Varys confirmed. “By all accounts, both mother and child are healthy. Lord Tywin now has what he’s desired for so long—a legacy to carry on the Lannister name.”

Tyrion let out a sharp laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “Oh, how poetic. While one king dies, another is born. Tywin must be beside himself with satisfaction.”

Varys gave no response, his expression carefully neutral.

Tyrion leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. “A son with silver-gold hair and violet eyes, I presume. A perfect blend of fire and gold. No wonder my father wanted her so desperately.”

Varys inclined his head. “The child is indeed a striking mix of both houses. He will no doubt be a significant player in the years to come.”

“Significant?” Tyrion repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, he’ll be more than that, Varys. He’ll be Tywin’s pride and joy, the embodiment of everything he’s ever wanted. Meanwhile, I’ll be rotting in the dungeons, condemned for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“Not necessarily,” Varys said, his tone pointed. “There is still time to turn the tide.”

Tyrion looked up at him, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, do tell me, dear Varys, what grand scheme do you have in mind this time?”

Varys didn’t answer directly, his enigmatic smile returning as he stepped back toward the door. “I merely suggest you keep your wits about you, my lord. The game is far from over.”

As the door closed behind him, Tyrion leaned back against the wall, his mind racing. A son for Tywin. A son born in the midst of chaos. He couldn’t help but wonder what ripple effects this child would have on their already fragile world.

The sun was setting over King’s Landing as Jaime stepped into Cersei’s chambers. She was pacing near the window, her golden hair catching the fading light. A goblet of wine sat untouched on the table beside her, a rare sign of her restraint. When she turned to face him, her emerald eyes were ablaze with frustration.

“You came,” she said sharply, her voice laced with irritation. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten where my chambers are.”

Jaime sighed, his golden hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve been busy, Cersei. The city is still in chaos after Joffrey’s death, and father has me overseeing the preparations for Tommen’s coronation.”

“Oh, father,” Cersei sneered, her expression twisting with disdain. “That’s all anyone cares about, isn’t it? Tywin’s plans. Tywin’s legacy. Do you even realize what he’s doing?”

Jaime raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Cersei stepped closer, her voice lowering as her anger grew sharper. “He’s preparing to name that child—the dragonspawn—his heir. Can’t you see it? Everything he’s done, everything he’s built, will go to that boy.”

Jaime’s expression didn’t change, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “And what do you expect me to do about it?”

Her tone turned desperate. “You’re the firstborn son, Jaime! You should take your rightful place as the heir to Casterly Rock. Leave the Kingsguard. Father will listen to you if you claim what’s yours.”

Jaime exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “He’s already offered, Cersei. I refused.”

Cersei froze, her mouth slightly agape. “You… what?”

“I refused,” Jaime repeated calmly, though there was a faint edge of irritation in his voice. “It’s not my place. I swore an oath, Cersei.”

Her shock quickly turned to fury, and she stepped closer, her hands clenched into fists. “You swore an oath? To a king you killed? To a boy who laughed at you? And now to a child barely old enough to hold a crown?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “Tommen is innocent, Cersei. He needs protection, and you know that.”

“What about us?” she snapped. “What about our family? That boy—” She spat the word with venom. “—is not one of us. He’s a Targaryen. He’ll taint everything we’ve built.”

Jaime’s expression darkened, and he stepped forward, his tone hard. “That ‘boy’ is our brother. Whether you like it or not, he’s father’s son. Have you even seen him?”

Cersei’s eyes flared with fury, and she shook her head sharply. “No, I haven’t. And I don’t need to. He’s not my brother, Jaime. He’s a usurper. A reminder of everything I hate about our father.”

Jaime let out a humorless laugh, his golden hand tapping against the table. “Your hatred for father blinds you, as always. This isn’t about the child, Cersei. This is about you wanting to control everything. You can’t stand that father’s attention is on someone else.”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Don’t you dare lecture me, Jaime. You have no idea what it’s like to be pushed aside, to watch everything you’ve sacrificed for handed to someone else.”

“Sacrificed?” Jaime shot back, his voice rising. “You’ve sacrificed nothing. You’re the queen regent, Cersei. You’ve had everything handed to you, and still, it’s never enough.”

Her face twisted with rage, and she pointed a finger at him, her voice trembling. “You think you’re better than me? Because you play the noble knight, clinging to your pathetic oaths? You’ve thrown away your legacy for what? For pride?”

Jaime’s expression hardened, and he turned toward the door, his voice cold. “At least I’m not consumed by bitterness. The boy is our brother, whether you accept it or not.”

Cersei’s voice followed him as he left. “He’s no brother of mine! And if you had any sense, you’d see that.”

Jaime paused at the threshold, his back to her. “Maybe it’s time you stopped seeing enemies everywhere, Cersei. Not everyone is out to destroy you.”

He walked out, leaving Cersei alone in the fading light. She stood frozen, her chest heaving as her anger boiled over. With a scream of frustration, she hurled the goblet of wine across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall, red staining the stone like blood.

The air was quiet save for the faint coos of your newborn son nestled in your arms. Damon’s tiny hands curled around your fingers, his silver-gold hair shimmering in the light, and his violet eyes, flecked with green, blinked sleepily at you. His warmth grounded you, a comforting presence that momentarily eased the burdens pressing on your mind.

The door opened softly, and Olenna Tyrell stepped inside, her cane clicking against the stone floor. She surveyed the scene with a knowing smile, her sharp eyes taking in the peaceful tableau of mother and child.

“Well, don’t you look the picture of serenity,” Olenna said, her voice tinged with amusement. “And the boy—” she stepped closer, peering down at Damon with an approving nod, “—a fine heir if ever I’ve seen one.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a hand over Damon’s hair. “He’s everything I could have hoped for.”

Olenna settled into the chair by your side, her sharp gaze flicking to you. “I saw Lord Tywin a few hours ago,” she began, her tone casual but edged with mischief. “He was in the hall, looking as stern as ever, but I swear, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, the man was smiling.”

You raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing your face. “Tywin Lannister smiling? That must have been a sight.”

“Oh, indeed,” Olenna chuckled. “Though I can’t blame him. He’s waited for this—” she gestured to Damon, “—for over a decade. Or so I’ve been told.”

You glanced down at your son, your smile softening. “He’s certainly made it clear how much this means to him.”

As the midwives and servants finished tidying up the room and quietly excused themselves, Olenna’s expression shifted. Once the door closed, she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a more personal tone.

“You know,” she said, her gaze fixed on you, “I wanted to thank you.”

You looked at her, startled. “For what?”

“For helping dispose of Joffrey,” Olenna said bluntly, her tone as sharp as ever but carrying a faint note of gratitude. “That boy was a menace, and the realm is better off without him.”

You stiffened slightly, your fingers tightening on Damon’s blanket. “I didn’t—”

“Please,” Olenna interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t insult my intelligence, dear. You may not have poured the poison into his cup yourself, but you were part of the plan. Your presence gave it legitimacy, distracted the right people, and ensured everything went smoothly.”

You met her gaze, your expression guarded. “I did what was necessary. For Sansa, for Margaery, for the realm.”

Olenna nodded, a glimmer of approval in her eyes. “Exactly. And I, for one, am grateful. But speaking of Sansa…” She trailed off, watching your reaction carefully.

Your stomach tightened at the mention of the girl. “Is she safe?”

Olenna’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Baelish is taking care of her.”

Your brow furrowed, concern flashing in your eyes. “That doesn’t reassure me, Lady Olenna.”

“Nor should it,” Olenna admitted, her tone turning serious. “Littlefinger is an opportunist, always looking for the next move. But for now, he values her. She’s safe under his care, at least until she’s no longer useful.”

You let out a slow breath, your gaze dropping to Damon’s sleeping face. “Sansa has been through so much already. I hate the thought of her being under his influence.”

Olenna leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “The girl has strength, more than she realizes. She’ll survive this. And if she’s clever, she’ll learn to use Littlefinger as he uses her.”

You shook your head, your voice soft but resolute. “I just want her to find peace. She’s been a pawn for too long.”

Olenna reached out, patting your hand gently. “We all play the game, dear. Some of us are just better at it than others. And speaking of the game—” She glanced down at Damon with a faint smile. “—your little lion-dragon here will have his own part to play soon enough.”

You followed her gaze, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and trepidation as you looked at your son. Whatever the future held, you were determined to protect him—and those you cared about—from the dangers of the game you were all forced to play.

The dungeons of the Red Keep were damp and cold, the stench of mold and decay clinging to the air. Your footsteps echoed softly as you descended the stone steps, Ser Barristan trailing a few paces behind. The torches lining the walls flickered weakly, casting specters that seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness. Despite the discomfort of your recent childbirth, you pressed forward, determined to see Tyrion before the trial drew any closer.

As you approached his cell, Tyrion looked up from the bench where he sat, his features shadowed in the dim light. For a moment, he appeared genuinely surprised, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he doubted the reality of your presence.

“Well, if it isn’t my esteemed stepmother,” he drawled, standing and brushing imaginary dust from his tunic. “Shouldn’t you be resting in the comfort of the Tower of the Hand, basking in the glow of new motherhood? What brings you to my humble accommodations?”

You stopped just outside the cell, your hands clasped before you, your posture composed despite the lingering soreness in your body. “I couldn’t rest knowing you were here, Tyrion.”

He tilted his head, studying you closely. “Careful, my lady. Such kindness might make one think you actually care.”

You ignored his jibe, your tone steady but edged with seriousness. “I came to tell you that I’ll speak to Tywin. Whatever sentence he has in mind, I’ll try to temper it.”

Tyrion let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re wasting your breath, my dear. This entire charade is a trap, and we both know it. Father’s decision was made the moment Cersei pointed her finger at me.”

“I know,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with regret. “And I’m sorry.”

Tyrion’s sharp eyes locked onto yours, his expression shifting as realization dawned. “You know,” he said slowly, his voice dropping. “You know who did it.”

You met his gaze but said nothing, your silence speaking volumes.

He barked a humorless laugh, his hands spreading wide in mock incredulity. “Of course you do. The silent conspirator. And here I thought Varys was the best at keeping secrets.”

“This isn’t a game, Tyrion,” you replied, your voice firm but laced with sorrow. “Joffrey’s death was necessary, but this… what’s happening to you… it’s not right.”

“Ah,” Tyrion said, leaning back against the wall, his tone sardonic. “Spare me the pity, my lady. I’ve lived my life knowing I was a convenient scapegoat for every misfortune that befell this family. Why should my trial be any different?”

You stepped closer to the bars, lowering your voice. “I’ll do what I can. Tywin listens to me.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Does he? Or does he simply indulge you because you’re the mother of his heir?”

You straightened, your composure unwavering. “That child is your brother, Tyrion. And he deserves a chance to grow up in a world where his family isn’t constantly tearing itself apart.”

Tyrion sighed, his expression softening slightly. “Speaking of the boy… how is he?”

A faint smile touched your lips as you thought of Damon. “He’s healthy. Strong. He has his father’s resolve and his mother’s fire.”

Tyrion nodded thoughtfully, his gaze turning distant. “Good. He’ll need both if he’s to survive in this family.”

His tone shifted, becoming more serious as he stepped closer to the bars, his mismatched eyes meeting yours. “Listen to me carefully,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Once I’m gone—and I will be gone—Cersei will turn her attention to you and the boy. She hates you, and she’ll see Damon as a threat to her precious Tommen’s reign.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Stay close to father,” Tyrion said without hesitation. “For all his faults—and there are many—he won’t allow Cersei to harm you or Damon. He’s staked too much on you both.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his advice. “Thank you, Tyrion.”

He smirked faintly, his tone softening. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not sure my wisdom is worth much from a cell.”

A silence fell between you, heavy with unspoken fears and regrets. Finally, you stepped back, your gaze lingering on him. “I’ll do everything I can to help you, Tyrion. I promise.”

Tyrion gave a faint shrug, his smile bitter. “I suppose we’ll see how far promises go in this family.”

With that, you turned and began walking away, your steps echoing softly in the dim corridor. As you ascended the stairs, your heart felt heavy, the weight of the coming trial pressing down on you. But Tyrion’s warning echoed in your mind, a reminder that in this dangerous game, survival meant more than strength—it required cunning, alliances, and a steadfast resolve to protect what mattered most.

[sierrabravoecho]

Does Jaime’s golden hand point towards him being the valonqar?

What stands out to me is the shared meaning of the golden hand for Jaime and Tyrion, which is introduced for both as a symbol of their station - the gold chain of office for Tyrion as Hand of the King, and Jaime's golden hand as a replacement for his sword hand. Tyrion and Jaime see the qualities associated with each as central to their personalities and their worth to the court and to the realm. Tyrion was chosen as Hand for his intelligence and cunning. Jaime was raised to the kingsguard for his daring and skill with a sword.

For each of the Lannister brothers, the first mention of their golden hands are linked to their respective lovers:

We also have proof of both of these women being unfaithful- Shae with Tywin and Cersei with Lancel and the Kettleblacks (and Moon Boy for all we know).

Tyrion gets his revenge for this unfaithfulness by strangling Shae with his golden hands - the chain of office for the Hand of the King:

But how might this foreshadow Jaime being the valonqar?

Well, up until this point, we have seen Jaime enact justice with his golden hand (to RonCon for his mistreatment of Brienne, and to Ryman Frey for his incompetence and mistreatment of Edmure):

We’ve also seen him fantasise about how he might carry out further acts of what he views as justice (again using his golden hand):

He's even dreamed of how he might use his golden hand to punish Cersei:

In light of all of this, it's interesting to consider the Maegi's prophecy, which states that Cersei will be strangled to death by her younger brother:

Given that Tyrion exacted revenge on his unfaithful lover by choking her with his golden hands, it's not outside the realm of possibility that Jaime will be the one to strangle Cersei (an unfaithful lover, and someone who he thinks deserves justice for her actions).

[visenya-targarye]

it's always a lannister beefing with a child

(honorable mention)

[lmaowh-at]

They put the slay in kin(g)slaying

[quixoticclown]

Yes, these Muppets have taken Manhattan. The question now is can they HOLD it

[hylora]

Still a work in progress but I will post the timelapse one day, even if I never finished the piece

[oananovicov]

Jaimie of House Lannister - The Kingslayer.

[barbieaemond]

GAME OF THRONES S2E7 "A Man Without Honor"

[kudriaken]

House Lannister. My fanart series for the Great Houses from the ASOIAF. I wanted to make this for the longest time.

[greenbloods]

honestly hilarious that the lannister siblings are all history freaks in different direction. cersei rolls her eyes that jaime doesn't know what the second blackfyre rebellion was about while he rattles off the tale of ser luthor pisseryon of daeron i's kingsguard, who served for all of seven moons before he died shitting himself en route to dorne. meanwhile tyrion's sitting in the corner reading maester leomore's neo-myrxist critique of archmaester hargreave's account of the Storming of the Dragonpit (The Warrior Himself: Examining the Dying of the Dragons in the Light of the Seven) and not paying attention to it one bit because he’s moping about how everyone in kings landing hates him, the imp, because he’s ugly and rich, and not because he’s a feudal overlord who is fundamentally detached from the immediate concerns of his starving subjects

[quiddling]

gay son OR thot daughter? i thought you said gay son AND thot daughter 😟

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (the king is dead)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: driftmark

- Next part: the war

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sound of Tyland's hurried footsteps broke the serene stillness of chambers as he approached your side of the bed. Before you could stir fully from sleep, his hand was on your shoulder, shaking you gently but insistently.

“Y/N, wake up,” he urged, his voice low but filled with an urgency that immediately pulled you from your slumber. “You need to get up. Now.”

You blinked groggily, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Tyland? What’s—what’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.”

“There’s no time to explain,” he said, already moving to the wardrobe and pulling out one of your traveling dresses. “Get dressed, quickly. Gather your cloak. I’ll wake the children.”

His words sent a ripple of unease through you, and you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, heart pounding. “What do you mean, there’s no time? Tyland, tell me what’s happening!”

He paused briefly, turning to face you, his expression tense. “Viserys is dead.”

The weight of those words crashed over you, stealing the breath from your lungs. “Dead? How—when?”

“Tonight,” Tyland replied grimly, running a hand through his hair. “Word hasn’t spread yet, but it will. And when it does, this place will become a battlefield. We’re leaving for Casterly Rock. I need you to trust me and move quickly.”

You stared at him, the enormity of his words sinking in. The fear that had been rippling in the Red Keep for years was about to boil over, and you could see the determination in Tyland’s eyes—he was doing everything he could to shield you and the children from the storm.

“What about Rhaenyra?” you asked, your voice trembling. “And the rest of the family?”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, his gaze steady but filled with unspoken concern. “Rhaenyra has Daemon and her sons. She’ll fight her battle. But I will not risk our children or you in the chaos that’s coming. Please, Y/N—hurry.”

His urgency snapped you into motion, and you quickly dressed, your hands trembling as you fastened your cloak. The soft patter of Tyland’s boots echoed as he disappeared into the adjoining chambers to wake the children. Moments later, you heard muffled voices—Loren and Rhaelle’s sleepy protests, Kevan’s louder confusion, and Alysanne’s soft, frightened whimper.

When Tyland returned with the children in tow, their faces were a mixture of sleepiness and alarm. Loren, now a young man with the confident stance of his father, carried Alysanne in his arms while Rhaelle clutched Kevan’s hand tightly. Your youngest, barely three years old and still drowsy, was perched on Tyland’s hip.

“Papa, what’s happening?” Loren asked, his voice laced with concern. “Why are we leaving?”

Tyland set the youngest, a boy named Jaeryn, onto his feet and crouched to meet Loren’s gaze. “The King has passed, Loren,” he said carefully, his tone firm but calm. “Things are about to change in ways that could put our family in danger. We’re going to Casterly Rock to ensure your safety.”

“But why can’t we stay?” Rhaelle asked, her violet eyes wide with confusion. “This is our home.”

Tyland placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening. “Your home is where your family is, and right now, that’s Casterly Rock. This isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly, Rhaelle. Please trust me.”

You knelt beside Alysanne, brushing a tear from her cheek as you whispered soothingly. “We’ll be safe, my love. We just need to listen to your father and move quickly.”

Kevan, ever inquisitive, frowned. “Will we come back?”

Tyland hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “One day. But first, we need to leave.”

You stood, gathering Alysanne in your arms as Tyland ushered the children toward the door. His hand brushed yours briefly, a reassuring touch amidst the chaos.

“Do you have everything?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over you.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. “Where do we go now?”

“There’s a carriage waiting in the lower courtyard,” Tyland said, taking Jaeryn’s hand as he guided the group through the dimly lit hallways. “We’ll leave quietly before dawn. By the time the court wakes, we’ll be long gone.”

As you hurried through the silent corridors, the reality of the situation settled heavily over you. The death of Viserys was more than the loss of a king—it was the end of an era, the tipping point for a conflict that had been brewing for years. You glanced at Tyland, his jaw set and his pace unyielding, and silently vowed to trust him, no matter what lay ahead.

For now, your family’s safety was all that mattered. The rest could wait.

The carriage rattled over the uneven road as it moved away from the Red Keep, the faint glow of the capital's lights fading behind them. Inside, the air was charged. You sat close to Tyland, holding Jaeryn in your lap while Alysanne leaned against your side, her small hand clutching yours tightly. Loren and Rhaelle sat opposite, their faces pale but composed, while Kevan fidgeted nervously beside them.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady clatter of the carriage wheels and the muffled rustle of the wind. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice low but firm. “Tyland, how did Otto and Alicent allow us to leave? Surely they wouldn’t want us far from the court now.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t meet your gaze immediately. Instead, he glanced out the window, the faint glow of the moon casting shadows on his features. “They didn’t,” he admitted finally, his voice calm but clipped. “They have no idea we’re gone. By the time they notice, we’ll be far beyond their reach.”

You stiffened, your heart quickening. “Tyland, do you realize what they’ll do when they find out? Leaving the capital without permission—it’s practically treason in their eyes.”

He turned to you then, his eyes sharp but filled with determination. “Let them think what they will. My priority is our family, not Otto Hightower’s ambitions. I won’t let our children become tools in their schemes.”

Before you could respond, Rhaelle’s voice broke in, trembling with a mix of fear and anger. “And what about our dragons?” she demanded, her violet eyes shining in the dim light. “We’re not leaving them behind! We can’t just abandon them in the Dragonpit!”

Loren nodded in agreement, his expression resolute. “They’re part of us. How could we leave without them?”

Tyland hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line, but before he could answer, a piercing shriek echoed from above, followed by a thunderous roar that shook the air. The carriage jolted as the sound reverberated around you, and the children gasped in unison, their eyes wide with shock.

You leaned toward the window, pulling the curtain aside, and your breath caught in your throat. Above the carriage, several massive shapes loomed against the moonlit sky, their scales gleaming like jewels in the darkness.

“Belerix,” you whispered, recognizing your own dragon instantly. His massive, sapphire body shimmered faintly, his amber eyes glowing as he circled above, his wings spread wide and powerful. Beside him flew Valtyr and Aelirys, the twins’ dragons, their cries echoing as they soared gracefully through the air. Behind them, two smaller dragons flapped their wings, their roars lighter but no less fierce—Kevan’s flame-orange Orerion and Alysanne’s pearl-white Sylverith.

The children gasped in delight, their fear momentarily forgotten as they pressed against the windows to catch a better glimpse. “They came!” Rhaelle exclaimed, her voice trembling with relief. “They found us!”

“How?” you asked, turning to Tyland, your voice a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. “They were chained in the Dragonpit. How are they here?”

Tyland’s lips curved into a faint smirk, though his expression remained serious. “I bribed a servant,” he admitted, leaning back against the seat. “I sent a message to the Dragonkeepers before we left, instructing them to unchain the dragons. I knew they would follow us if they were freed.”

Loren stared at him, his awe turning into a grin. “You bribed the Dragonkeepers? That’s brilliant, Father!”

“It wasn’t without risk,” Tyland replied, his tone measured. “But I wasn’t about to leave your dragons behind. They’re part of our family.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tension in your chest easing slightly as you glanced out the window again. “Jason is going to be ecstatic when he sees all these dragons landing at Casterly Rock,” you said dryly, imagining your brother-in-law’s reaction.

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “He’ll have to get used to it. The dragons are ours, and they’ll go where we go.”

From above, Belerix let out a low, rumbling growl, as if in agreement. The sound seemed to calm the children, who leaned back into their seats with wide smiles, their earlier fear replaced by a sense of wonder and excitement.

As the carriage continued down the road, the dragons flew above, their presence a reassuring reminder of the strength and unity that bound your family together.

The carriage rattled to a halt at the base of Casterly Rock as dawn broke over the horizon. The towering cliffs of the ancestral seat of House Lannister rose before you, their golden hues catching the morning light, making the fortress appear almost otherworldly. The gates were wide open, and the sounds of a bustling courtyard echoed beyond—raised voices, the clatter of boots, and the unmistakable shrill cries of dragons.

You glanced at Tyland as the carriage door opened, his expression calm but with a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “It seems word of our dragons reached the Rock before we did,” you murmured wryly, stepping out with his help.

He chuckled softly, though his gaze scanned the commotion ahead. “Jason will be beside himself.”

The children spilled out after you, their excitement barely contained as they craned their necks to catch a glimpse of their dragons perched on the cliffs surrounding the Rock. Loren’s chest swelled with pride as he pointed to Valtyr, whose green-and-gold scales glimmered in the sunlight. Rhaelle clutched your arm, her eyes sparkling as she spotted Aelirys, perched daintily on a ledge with her silver-blue wings tucked in.

“They’re here,” Loren said, his voice filled with awe. “They followed us all this way.”

“They always will,” Tyland said, his tone firm but warm. “Dragons are bonded to their riders. They’ll protect you as fiercely as you protect them.”

The scene in the courtyard was chaos. Jason Lannister stood in the center, his arms crossed and his face red with irritation as he barked orders at the men around him. Soldiers scrambled, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror as they glanced toward the cliffs. One dragon gave a particularly loud shriek, causing a young stable boy to drop his bucket and bolt for the safety of the stables.

Jason caught sight of you and Tyland and strode over, his golden cloak billowing behind him. “Tyland!” he exclaimed, his voice exasperated. “What in the Seven Hells have you brought to my doorstep?”

Tyland’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Our family, Jason. Along with their dragons.”

Jason gestured wildly toward the cliffs. “Dragons, Tyland. Plural. Do you realize the commotion they’ve caused? My men are terrified, and the villagers are already spreading tales of fire and blood.”

You stepped forward, your tone calm but pointed. “Perhaps if your men were better acquainted with dragons, they wouldn’t scare so easily.”

Jason turned to you, his expression softening slightly, though his frustration remained. “Sister-in-law, I mean no disrespect, but this is Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone. We don’t deal with dragons on a daily basis.”

“Perhaps it’s time you did,” you said, lifting an eyebrow. “Our dragons are part of this family. They’re not going anywhere.”

Before Jason could respond, one of the dragons—a gleaming pearl-white creature you recognized as Sylverith, Alysanne’s dragon—let out a playful roar, sending a gust of wind through the courtyard. The soldiers scrambled further back, muttering among themselves.

Jason threw his hands up. “Seven save me,” he muttered. “I’ll need more wine for this.”

Tyland clapped a hand on his twin’s shoulder, his smirk widening. “You’ll adjust, brother. Besides, think of the stories you can tell—Jason Lannister, host to dragons.”

Jason groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I’m sure the bards will sing songs of my bravery while I tried not to wet myself.”

The children giggled at his theatrics, and you couldn’t help but smile as well. Despite the chaos, the sight of your family safe and together brought a sense of relief you hadn’t felt in days.

“Let’s get inside,” Tyland said, his voice returning to its usual calm authority. “We have much to discuss.”

Jason sighed but nodded, waving a hand toward the castle. “Fine. But if one of those beasts starts breathing fire, you’re cleaning up the mess.”

As you followed Tyland and Jason into the halls of Casterly Rock, the children lingered for a moment, casting one last glance at their dragons before hurrying to catch up.

The heavy stone walls muffled the noise of the bustling castle beyond, leaving only the sound of the flames and the occasional clink of a goblet as Jason Lannister poured himself wine. He sat across from you and Tyland, his sharp green eyes studying both of you with a mixture of curiosity and frustration.

“Well,” Jason began, swirling the wine in his goblet. “You’ve barely been here a day, and already you’ve brought chaos to my doorstep. Dragons, Tyland? Really?”

Tyland leaned back in his chair, his expression calm but resolute. “I did what was necessary to protect my family.”

Jason’s brows arched as he set his goblet down. “Protect them? From what? Or should I say, from whom? The raven arrived before you, Tyland. I know Viserys is dead. And I know Otto Hightower sent a message asking where House Lannister stands. If we declare for Aegon, all will be forgiven. Including your… insubordination.”

Your stomach tightened at Jason’s words, and you glanced at Tyland, whose jaw clenched imperceptibly. He met Jason’s gaze steadily, his voice calm but edged with steel. “Forgiveness comes at a price, brother. Otto’s mercy isn’t freely given—it’s a leash, one he expects to tighten around our necks.”

Jason sighed heavily, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “You took my men, my resources, and now you bring a storm to my gates. Explain to me, Tyland, why House Lannister should risk everything for this decision of yours.”

Tyland’s expression hardened, his golden eyes flashing. “Because Otto Hightower ordered my family placed under house arrest. That’s not an offer of forgiveness, Jason—it’s a threat. He wanted us to submit by force, to make an example of us if we didn’t bend the knee. I won’t stand for it. Not for me, not for my wife, and not for my children.”

Jason leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “And where does that leave me? Where does that leave Casterly Rock, Tyland? You’ve put me in the center of a storm, and now I’m the one who has to decide how we weather it.”

You spoke then, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the tension. “Jason, I understand the position this puts you in. But I will not stand against my sister. Rhaenyra is the named heir. My father’s wish was clear. Supporting Aegon would be treason against the crown—and against the bonds of family.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line as he regarded you. “And you think Otto cares about treason? About bonds of family? He cares about power, Y/N. And you know as well as I do that once the crown rests on Aegon’s head, his rule will be legitimized.”

“That’s the problem,” Tyland interjected sharply. “He’s using force and fear to make it so. If we bow to him now, it sets a precedent. House Lannister becomes a pawn in his game—a tool to secure his power. Is that what you want for our House, Jason? To be remembered as a family of opportunists who turned their backs on honor?”

Jason’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he leaned forward. “Don’t speak to me of honor, Tyland. I’ve upheld our House’s honor through every battle, every political game. And now you ask me to risk all of that for your ideals?”

“Not for my ideals,” Tyland countered, his voice rising slightly. “For our family. For our children. Otto Hightower threatened us, Jason. If we bend now, what happens when his demands grow? When he uses that leash to drag us further into his schemes?”

Jason let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “And if we declare for Rhaenyra? What then? We’ll be at war, Tyland. War with the Hightowers, war with Aegon, and possibly war with the Reach and the Crownlands. You’ve brought dragons, yes, but dragons alone won’t win this fight.”

You leaned forward then, your voice low but resolute. “Rhaenyra is not without allies, Jason. The Velaryons, the North, the Vale—they will stand with her. This isn’t just about dragons. It’s about what is right.”

Jason stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and admiration. Finally, he let out a long sigh, reaching for his goblet. “You always were the stubborn one, weren’t you?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “And you always cared about doing what’s best for our House.”

Jason drained his wine in one long gulp before setting the goblet down with a clink. “Very well. But understand this, Tyland—if I stand with you, with Rhaenyra, we are committing ourselves to a war that could destroy us. You’d best be ready for what comes.”

Tyland nodded, his expression grim but determined. “I wouldn’t have come to you if I wasn’t.”

Jason pushed back his chair, rising to his feet. “Then let us prepare. If war is coming, House Lannister will not be caught unprepared.” He turned to you, his gaze softening slightly. “You’d better hope your dragons are as fearsome as they seem, sister-in-law. We’ll need them.”

As he left the room, the tension lingered like smoke in the air. Tyland reached for your hand, his grip firm but reassuring. “We’ve taken the first step,” he said quietly. “Now we see where it leads.”

The warm glow of the hearth in your chambers at Casterly Rock offered little comfort against the weight of the conversation you and Tyland had just shared with Jason. The sprawling fortress, so grand and impenetrable, felt smaller under the looming shadow of war. You sat by the window, gazing out at the cliffs where the dragons had settled, their faint silhouettes outlined by the pale light of the moon. The children were finally asleep, their soft breaths filling the nursery down the hall, but your mind was restless.

Tyland stood nearby, removing his doublet and laying it neatly over the back of a chair. His movements were deliberate, but his shoulders were tense, the weight of the day pressing down on him. When he finally turned to you, his eyes softened, and he crossed the room to sit beside you.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said gently, taking your hand in his. His thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles, a comforting gesture that steadied you even in the storm of your thoughts.

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “It’s hard to find words for everything I’m feeling. The thought of war, of our family being drawn into it…” Your voice faltered, and you turned your gaze back to the window. “I can’t help but think about our children. What kind of world are we leaving for them, Tyland?”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “It’s a question I’ve asked myself countless times, Y/N. But we’re doing what we must to protect them. That’s all we can do.”

“Is it enough?” you murmured, your voice heavy with doubt. “Loren and Rhaelle—they’re old enough to understand what’s happening. They’ll want to fight, to protect the family. And the younger ones… Kevan’s so curious, always asking questions. Alysanne is so sensitive, and Jaeryn is just a baby. How do we keep them safe from all of this?”

Tyland pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. “We teach them strength,” he said softly. “We show them how to stand tall, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart. And we remind them, every day, that they are loved.”

You closed your eyes, taking solace in his words. “I wish they didn’t have to learn strength like this. I wish we could give them a childhood free of fear.”

“So do I,” he admitted, his voice tinged with sadness. “But the world doesn’t always give us what we wish for. It gives us what we can endure.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. The flickering firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the lines of worry etched into his features. “Do you ever regret marrying me, Tyland? Choosing to stand with my family, even knowing it would lead to this?”

He frowned, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Not for a moment,” he said firmly. “You are my wife, my love, the mother of my children. My loyalty is to you and to the family we’ve built. Whatever comes, I will never regret standing by your side.”

His words brought a lump to your throat, and you leaned into his touch, finding strength in his unwavering devotion. “Thank you,” you whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’d manage. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as the fire crackled softly in the background. But the heaviness in your chest remained, the knowledge that this peace was fleeting, that the world outside your chambers was changing irrevocably.

“Do you think we made the right choice?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tyland didn’t answer immediately. He gazed into the fire, his expression thoughtful. “We made the only choice we could,” he said finally. “Otto Hightower threatened our family. Rhaenyra is your sister, the rightful heir. And our children—our legacy—deserve a future free of fear. If standing with her is what it takes to secure that, then yes, it was the right choice.”

You nodded, though the ache in your heart didn’t lessen. “I just hope our children understand one day.”

“They will,” Tyland said firmly. “Because they’ll see it in us—in how we stand together, in how we fight for them. They’ll know it was always for them.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe his words, to cling to the hope that your family would endure the trials ahead. But deep down, you knew that the road would only grow more perilous. And as you sat together in the quiet of your chambers, the shadows of war loomed ever closer, threatening to upend everything you held dear.

[wodania]

round three of my six fanarts!!! thank you so much to everyone who participated and funded by elden ring addiction. keep an eye out for round four!

[lmaowh-at]

Lanns n Starks lineups/costumes sketches that I will probably add other houses to. Tywin and Joff & the rest aren't here because I was lazy and Cerseis dress took all of my energy. Don't ask me about inspiration or historical basis for these

[robynnnn311]

i know the kingsguard lodging situation hit a sexually repressed 15 year old jaime lannister like a truck