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novaursa · 2 months ago

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A Lion's Leap (runaway)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous chapter: child's play

- Next part: runaway

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

Tyland Lannister was quite possibly the only man in the Red Keep who didn’t want to be summoned in the middle of the night. After all, he had just returned to the warmth of his chambers, finally slipping beneath the covers next to you, his beloved wife. He had barely managed to put the chaotic events of the day behind him: Lucerys’s petition for Driftmark, Vaemond’s gruesome death (he could still hear the sound of Daemon’s sword), and the tense family dinner where one poorly aimed insult had nearly turned the entire affair into an all-out brawl.

But just as he began to doze off, allowing himself a moment of peace, there came a knock at the door. A servant entered quietly, his face pale in the candlelight. "Lord Tyland, you’re summoned to the small council meeting. Immediately."

Tyland groaned, sinking deeper into the blankets. "Surely it can wait until morning," he muttered, wishing to stay in the comfort of bed with you beside him.

The servant shifted awkwardly. "It’s from the Hand of the King, my lord."

That snapped him awake.

Reluctantly, Tyland kissed your cheek before slipping out of bed, hoping not to wake you as he hurriedly dressed. Couldn’t the small council meet at a reasonable hour? He was muttering curses under his breath the entire walk to the council chambers, escorted by none other than Ser Criston Cole, who looked far too awake for this ungodly hour.

By the time he arrived, the small council chamber was already filled with familiar faces: Otto Hightower, Queen Alicent, Lord Beesbury, Grand Maester Orwyle, Ser Barristan, and Lord Jasper Wylde. All of them sat in stony silence, the air thick with tension.

"Gods," Tyland muttered as he entered, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. "Can someone explain why we’re meeting in the middle of the bloody night? I was rather hoping to get a few hours of rest, seeing as how it’s been a rather eventful day."

Otto’s cold voice cut through the room like a blade. "Viserys is dead."

Tyland blinked, suddenly wide awake. "I—what?" His voice faltered as he took in Otto’s words. "The king is... dead?"

Otto’s expression remained hard, not a flicker of grief visible on his face. "Yes. He passed in the night."

For a brief moment, Tyland stood there, the shock settling over him like a heavy cloak. But just as quickly as the realization hit him, his first instinct was to stand up, his mind immediately shifting to you. "I need to inform Y/N," he said, his voice firm. "She needs to know about her father—"

Cole stepped in front of him before he could move toward the door, blocking his way with unsettling efficiency.

Tyland froze, alarmed. "What is this?" he asked, looking between Cole and Otto, his heart beginning to pound. "Why are you stopping me?"

Otto raised a hand, a silent command for Cole to remain where he was. "Ser Criston," he said calmly, "see to it that Lady Y/N stays in her chambers. She is not to leave until further notice."

Tyland’s stomach dropped. "What? You can’t—she’s her father’s daughter! She deserves to know!" His voice rose in protest, panic starting to bubble up inside him. "You can’t keep her locked up like a prisoner!"

Otto’s gaze didn’t waver, and his voice remained cold and controlled. "Your wife will remain in her chambers for her own safety. She will be informed when the time is right."

Tyland’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. "For her safety?" He glanced around the room, desperate for someone to speak up. "She’s done nothing wrong. What is this about, Otto?"

Otto stepped closer, his expression darkening. "Do you remember who arranged your marriage, Lord Tyland?" His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "It was me who ensured you wed the daughter of the king, securing your future and your place at this very table. And now, it is time for you to return the favor."

Tyland felt the weight of Otto’s words settle heavily on his shoulders, but he couldn’t ignore the growing sense of unease. "What are you asking of me?" he asked, his voice strained. "I won’t allow my wife to be treated like a prisoner."

Otto’s gaze was steely. "Your wife will be free the moment she publicly denounces her sister’s claim to the throne. And declares Aegon as the one true king."

Tyland stood frozen, his mind spinning. Denounce her sister? The very idea of it sent a chill down his spine. He could already imagine the look on your face if he brought this to you. There was no way you would stand against Rhaenyra, not after everything that had happened. And what would happen to him, to both of you, if you refused?

Tyland’s mouth went dry. "And what about our children?" he asked, his voice quieter now, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "What happens to them?"

Otto’s lips twitched into a thin smile, though there was no warmth behind it. "That depends entirely on you, Lord Tyland. Ensure your wife makes the right choice, and your family will have a secure place in the new order. Defy us..." He let the threat hang in the air.

Tyland swallowed hard, feeling the walls closing in around him. He had known that his marriage to you came with political ties, but this—this was something far darker than he had ever anticipated. And yet, what choice did he have? Could he really risk everything, risk you, by standing against Otto’s plans?

For a moment, he considered the absurdity of it all. Here he was, a Lannister, entangled in Targaryen politics, with dragons on one side and conspirators on the other. A lion, trapped between fire and intrigue, in a situation so precarious he could barely think straight.

"Do I have a choice?" Tyland asked, his voice quieter now, though laced with bitter humor. He already knew the answer.

Otto’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "We always have choices, Lord Tyland. Some are just... less pleasant than others."

Tyland stared at the table, his mind spinning with the weight of the impossible decision before him. But one thing was clear: whatever came next, his world had just shifted in a way he could never have predicted.

And somehow, he had to find a way to navigate it without losing everything.

Tyland Lannister felt as though he was walking through a fog as Ser Criston Cole escorted him back to his chambers. The events of the night were still a blur—Beesbury’s death, the tense small council meeting, Otto’s chilling ultimatum. He could still hear the sound of Cole’s hand slamming poor Lord Beesbury’s head against the table, the crack echoing in the chamber like a bell tolling the end of reason.

And now he had to face you. The very thought made his stomach churn. He could already imagine the look on your face when he told you what had happened. But how could he explain it? How could he tell you that your father, King Viserys, was dead—and that Otto expected you to betray your sister?

As Cole opened the door to your chambers and allowed him to enter, Tyland braced himself. The soft glow of the candlelight illuminated the room, casting long shadows over the familiar space. The moment he stepped inside, he spotted you immediately. You were pacing near the window, your brow furrowed in worry, and the moment you saw him, you rushed forward, concern etched across your features.

“Tyland!” you exclaimed, your voice filled with relief but also confusion. “What is going on? They won’t let me leave the chambers, and the children were brought here suddenly—what is happening?”

Tyland’s gaze drifted to the two figures seated on the cushioned bench near the fireplace. Your children, Daemon and Alyssa, were wide awake despite the late hour. Daemon, the elder of the two, was sitting quietly, his eyes filled with worry. Alyssa was fidgeting restlessly, her silver-gold hair falling in soft waves as she leaned against her brother, clearly trying to understand the confusion.

Tyland sighed, his heart heavy as he turned back to you. He wanted to protect you from all of this, to shield you from the storm that was brewing, but there was no easy way to do this.

He gently took your hands in his, guiding you to the bench where your children sat. “My love,” he began softly, choosing his words carefully, “there’s... something I need to tell you.”

You sat down beside him, your eyes wide with concern. “What is it? Please, just tell me.”

Tyland swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “Your father, King Viserys... he passed in the night.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Your eyes flickered with confusion, as if the meaning hadn’t quite reached you yet. But then, slowly, the weight of his words settled over you, and your expression crumpled.

“My father...?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “No, it can’t be...”

Tyland squeezed your hands gently, his heart aching as he watched the tears well up in your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said quietly. “It’s true.”

The first tear slipped down your cheek, and then another. Soon, you were crying softly, your shoulders trembling as the reality of it all sank in. Tyland wished he could offer you some comfort, but the truth was, he was barely holding it together himself. His mind was still reeling from the night’s events.

Daemon, sensing his mother’s distress, stood up from his seat and moved closer, his hand resting on your arm. “Mother?” he asked quietly, his young voice filled with uncertainty. “Is Grandsire really... gone?”

You nodded through your tears, pulling Daemon into a tight embrace. “Yes, my love. He’s... gone.”

Alyssa, her face scrunched in confusion, came closer to you and wrapped her arms around your arm. Giving her silent support.

Your sobs grew quieter as you held your children close, but Tyland could see the devastation in your eyes. He knew he had to tell you the rest, but how could he bring it up now, when you were already so heartbroken?

After a few moments, you wiped at your tears and looked at Tyland with a trembling smile, though the pain was still fresh. “Why... why won’t they let me leave?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Why is the castle locked down?”

Tyland took a deep breath, his heart sinking as he prepared himself for the next part. “There’s more,” he said quietly, his voice soft but urgent. “Otto... he has plans. He intends to crown Aegon as king.”

Your eyes widened, the fresh wave of shock cutting through your grief. “But... but my sister—Rhaenyra—she’s the heir!”

“I know,” Tyland said, his voice filled with frustration. “But Otto is moving quickly. He wants Aegon on the throne, and he’s locking down the castle to make sure no one can challenge it.”

You shook your head, disbelief and anger mixing in your expression. “No... that’s not right. My father—he wanted Rhaenyra to rule.”

“I know,” Tyland said again, his voice lowering. “But Otto... he expects you to denounce Rhaenyra. Publicly.”

The words hung in the air like a sword over your head. You stared at him in stunned silence, your face pale as the implications of Otto’s demand hit you. “He wants me to betray my sister?”

Tyland nodded grimly. “He thinks it’s the only way to secure Aegon’s claim. And he expects me to make sure you do it.”

You stood there, frozen, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on you all at once. Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were mixed with anger. “How could they ask this of me? How could they expect me to choose?”

Tyland’s heart ached as he watched you struggle with the impossible decision. “I know, my love. It’s unfair. But Otto is determined... and he’s not giving us much of a choice.”

You shook your head, looking lost and heartbroken. “I... I can’t.”

Tyland reached out and gently wiped away your tears, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured softly, though even he wasn’t sure how. “We’ll figure this out together. I won’t let them harm you or the children. I promise.”

But even as he said the words, he knew that the storm was already upon them. The question was how they would survive it.

The small council chamber was filled with animosity as you sat there, Tyland by your side, your face set in a defiant expression as you faced down Dowager Queen Alicent and her father, Otto Hightower. You had barely had time to process the news of your father’s death—a mere few hours had passed since he’d drawn his last breath—and now, here you were, expected to make a decision that would betray your family.

Across the table, Alicent sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, her gaze steely yet pleading. Otto, on the other hand, looked more like a hawk ready to swoop down, his eyes flickering between you and Tyland with barely concealed impatience.

“We understand you’re grieving,” Alicent began, her tone almost gentle, as if she truly sympathized. “But the realm must be protected. King Viserys would want peace, and peace can only be assured if Aegon takes the throne.”

You clenched your fists under the table, willing yourself to remain calm. “Peace?” you echoed, a bitter edge to your voice. “How can you possibly speak of peace? My father hasn’t even been gone for a day, and you’re already talking about crowning a new king. This is nothing but ambition wrapped in feigned concern for the realm.”

Tyland shifted uneasily beside you, his hand resting on yours in an attempt to offer comfort—or perhaps to remind you not to leap across the table. He glanced at Otto, his expression wary, knowing that the Hand of the King would take any resistance as a personal affront of what he asked of him.

“Your father would have wanted this,” Otto said smoothly, ignoring the look you were giving him that could have melted iron. “King Viserys was a man of practicality. He knew what was best for the realm. Rhaenyra... well, she does not have the temperament to rule. Aegon is the answer.”

You scoffed, unable to contain yourself. “Aegon?” you said, your voice dripping with disdain. “My father would have laughed at the very thought of that. Aegon is a boy—a spoiled, reckless boy who doesn’t care for duty or responsibility.”

Alicent’s face tightened, though she maintained her carefully measured tone. “He has grown, Y/N. He is more than capable of ruling, with the right guidance.”

“Which is exactly what your father is so eager to offer, I imagine,” you replied sharply, shooting a pointed look at Otto, who didn’t even bother to hide his irritation. “It’s clear this has nothing to do with my father’s wishes and everything to do with your own ambitions.”

Otto leaned forward, his gaze hardening as he locked eyes with you. “You tread on dangerous ground, my lady. I have been loyal to House Targaryen for years, and I am advising you to make the decision that will ensure stability for the realm.”

You felt Tyland’s hand tighten on yours, a silent reminder to keep your composure. But you could feel your anger boiling within, and it took every ounce of restraint to keep yourself from rising to your feet.

“I refuse,” you said, each word dripping with finality. “I refuse to denounce my sister. And I will not support this sham of a coronation. My father deserves better than this disrespect, and my sister deserves the throne that he promised her.”

The room fell silent, a thick, tense quiet that settled over the table like a dark cloud. Alicent’s face remained impassive, but her fingers tightened around the armrest of her chair, a flicker of frustration breaking through her composure. Otto, meanwhile, fixed Tyland with a glare that could have curdled milk.

“Lord Tyland,” Otto said slowly, his tone icy, “perhaps you can speak sense to your wife. Remind her of her position and the... responsibilities that come with it.”

Tyland gave a forced, strained smile, his gaze darting between you and Otto. “My lord Hand,” he said carefully, “it is not my place to impose my will upon my wife’s loyalties. She has made her position quite clear, and I... support her in this matter.” His voice wavered slightly, though he managed to keep it steady enough.

Otto’s eyes narrowed, and Tyland could feel the weight of the warning hidden behind them. “I would suggest, Lord Tyland,” Otto said, his voice dangerously low, “that you consider carefully the implications of... loyalty to the wrong side. This decision may affect more than just your own fortunes as I've already warned you an hour ago.”

Tyland forced a tight smile, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned toward Otto. “Are you... threatening me again, Lord Hand?”

Otto’s gaze didn’t waver. “Only reminding you of your obligations,” he replied with a thin, almost polite smile. “You and your family are deeply... valued in the realm. But that value can shift, depending on... certain allegiances.”

Alicent cleared her throat, her tone sharp with impatience. “We do not wish for conflict, Lady Y/N. We only ask that you show understanding, for the sake of the realm—and for your children.”

You clenched your jaw, fury bubbling within you as they tried to use your children as leverage. “How dare you?” you hissed, your voice trembling with anger. “You speak of peace, yet here you are, tearing apart a family and betraying my father’s wishes before his body has even grown cold.”

Tyland, sensing you were moments from throwing something—or worse—gave you a gentle squeeze, an attempt to steady you. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “this conversation would be best continued once the... emotions of the day have settled.”

Alicent looked ready to protest, but Otto waved a dismissive hand. “Fine,” he said, his gaze steely. “But I advise you both to consider carefully. The people have already gathered in the Dragonpit to see their new king crowned. And I don’t believe they’ll take kindly to... dissent from those who should be showing unity.”

The statement hung in the air, and Tyland felt a shiver run down his spine. He glanced at you, feeling the full weight of Otto’s threat, but his expression remained defiant.

Otto and Alicent rose, signaling the end of the meeting. But as they moved to leave, Otto shot one final, pointed look in Tyland’s direction.

“Think carefully, Lord Tyland,” he said softly. “The crown has a long memory.”

And with that, they swept out of the chamber, leaving the two of you alone in the thick, oppressive silence. Tyland let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he said finally, his voice laced with strained humor, “at least we know where we stand.”

You shook your head, feeling the sting of tears you refused to let fall. “They think they can scare us into submission.”

Tyland sighed, giving you a rueful smile. “I suppose they don’t know us very well, do they?” He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Whatever happens, I’m with you.”

The morning was cold as you, Tyland, and your two young children, Daemon and Alyssa, were being escorted through the corridors by Ser Criston Cole and his men. Tyland’s hand was firmly clasped around yours, his mind already whirling with worry as he glanced between his young family and the steely expression on Cole’s face.

Cole had made it quite clear that he was under strict orders to take you to the Dragonpit. Despite your refusal to support Aegon’s coronation, you were expected to make an appearance—or at least, that’s what Otto Hightower insisted on.

But just as they neared the Dragonpit, a small commotion erupted ahead. The doors were flung open, and a cluster of Dragonkeepers rushed toward them, their faces a mix of fear and urgency.

“Princess Y/N!” one of the Dragonkeepers called, out of breath as he reached your side. “Silverwing, Viseron, and Grey Ghost are attempting to break free of their chains. They sense your distress—they’re... they’re about to make a scene.”

Tyland’s eyes widened, casting a wary glance at Criston Cole, who looked thoroughly unamused. “Wonderful,” Cole muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. “As if we needed more disruption.”

You turned to Cole, managing a calm smile that Tyland could only admire in such an unpredictable situation. “Ser Criston, unless you want our dragons to interrupt this crowning ceremony by burning half of King’s Landing, I suggest you allow me and my family to calm them down.”

Cole’s jaw tightened, clearly torn between his orders and the potential disaster of unleashed dragons. Finally, with a grudging sigh, he waved a hand. “Fine, but make it quick.”

Without missing a beat, you took Tyland’s hand again, pulling him forward. “Thank you, Ser Criston. I promise we’ll handle it.”

Tyland, his nerves already fraying, leaned in close as they walked. “I’m not entirely sure I like where this is going.”

You flashed him a mischievous smile, one he knew all too well. “Trust me.”

When you arrived at the Dragonpit, the sight was nothing short of breathtaking. Silverwing, your mighty dragon, stood proudly, pulling against her chains with a deep rumble of impatience. Nearby, Viseron, Daemon’s dragon, let out an annoyed screech, his wings half-spread in anticipation. And young Grey Ghost, Alyssa’s dragon, was already clawing at the ground, his silvery scales glinting in the early light.

A Dragonkeeper rushed over, his eyes wide. “My lady, the dragons are ready. They’re awaiting your command for flight.”

Tyland blinked, taking a step back as he processed the scene. “Ready... for flight?” He turned to you, his brow furrowing. “Wait a moment... did you plan this?”

You only gave him an innocent smile, though there was a glint in your eye that told him everything he needed to know. “The Dragonkeepers were kind enough to help. Besides, Tyland, you and the children deserve to be safe—away from this... situation.”

Tyland’s jaw dropped. “You... you mean to tell me we’re leaving?” He glanced back at the Dragonpit’s entrance, realizing Criston and his men were still too far to hear. “And you planned this with them?”

You shrugged, guiding Alyssa to Grey Ghost as Daemon climbed confidently onto Viseron’s back, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Our dragons don’t wait for anyone’s approval, Tyland. And neither do we.”

A Dragonkeeper approached Tyland, gesturing to Silverwing. “Lord Tyland, your place is with your lady.”

Tyland felt his stomach twist. He’d managed to avoid any sort of flight with the dragons since your wedding, when Daemon had suggested a “new tradition” of strapping Tyland to the saddle to be “carried off” by Silverwing as a replacement for the bedding ceremony. It had taken him weeks to shake that mental image, and now here he was, faced with the very prospect he’d been dreading.

You held out a hand, smiling encouragingly. “Come on, love. Silverwing’s waiting.”

Tyland’s face paled, and he tried to find an excuse, any excuse, to remain firmly on the ground. “Are you... are you sure it’s necessary that I join you in the sky?”

You tilted your head, giving him that look he could never resist. “Tyland, are you really going to make me take off without you?”

With a reluctant sigh, Tyland took your hand, allowing you to help him onto Silverwing’s back. The dragon shifted slightly, as if acknowledging his presence, and he swallowed hard, clutching the saddle for dear life.

As you took your place in front of him, Tyland muttered under his breath, “I have to admit, I preferred the idea of hiding in the Red Keep over flying.”

You only laughed, giving Silverwing the signal to take flight. With a powerful push, Silverwing’s wings unfurled, and Tyland’s stomach dropped as the dragon launched into the air, the ground quickly disappearing beneath them.

Tyland’s hands were practically glued to your waist as Silverwing soared higher, and he shut his eyes tight, muttering a mix of prayers and curses. “How... how do you people do this regularly?”

You glanced back with a grin. “It’s in our blood, Tyland. And look, the children are loving it.”

Tyland dared to crack one eye open, and sure enough, Daemon was laughing with pure delight as Viseron flew beside them, and Alyssa was nestled contentedly against Grey Ghost. Both children looked as if they’d been born for the sky. Meanwhile, Tyland was clinging on for dear life, wondering if it was possible to faint while in flight.

After what felt like an eternity, he noticed the familiar coastline of the Westerlands coming into view, and a chill went through him as he realized they were nowhere near Dragonstone. “Hold on,” he called, trying to make himself heard over the wind. “Where are we going?”

You looked back with a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “Casterly Rock, of course. It’s safer there. And,” you added with a teasing smile, “your family deserves to see their very own dragonriders in flight.”

Tyland felt a mixture of dread and resignation. “Casterly Rock? My brother Jason is going to have a field day with this.”

You laughed, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Well, at least he’ll get the chance to see his niece and nephew properly this time—dragons and all.”

As Silverwing descended toward Casterly Rock, Tyland couldn’t shake the feeling that life was only going to get more chaotic.