#like bringing up the Andals or the First Men in contrast to the Targaryens

[joannalannister]

Lady Joanna, may I please ask if you have any thoughts on Loren the Last and any other past Monarchs of the Westerlands? (I ask this having already commissioned and posted an illustration of King Loren on deviantArt, but genuinely wondered if you had ideas for any of his predecessors and thought one might as well include the first "modern" Lord of the Rock).

OooOOoooo omg this is you? I saw it this morning on DA, It’s gorgeous! Do you plan to post it on tumblr? I would love to reblog it from you, along with the other ones!

My main interest in the Lannister kings is that GRRM uses them to continue to explore themes present in the main series. For example, the relationship between the body and the self (or identity), and #body as battleground, is something that goes all the way back to Lann the Clever, who supposedly “sired a hundred bold sons and a hundred lissome daughters, all fair of face, clean of limb, and blessed with hair ‘as golden as the sun.’” 

GRRM/Yandel establishes ~The Lannister Identity~ as people who are beautiful, able-bodied (“clean of limb”), and golden-haired … people who are gender-conforming ie men who are “bold” and Masculine to the point of Toxicity, and women who are thin and gentle and graceful (“lissome”) … 

When the text says this, we’re supposed to say, “Wait. That’s bullshit.” (So much of Yandel’s writing is Bullshit.) Because characters like Genna immediately spring to mind. Genna who is fat and so much bolder than her timid husband. Genna “Get the Trebuchet” Lannister who is anything but gentle. Or Tyrion, who is disabled and who has white hair instead of gold and who in his own words would rather die in bed than in battle. (This is why Tyrion is Not A Targaryen; Tyrion is the linchpin of GRRM’s deconstruction of ~The Lannister Identity~.) 

And so, continuing this deconstruction in TWOIAF, just a few paragraphs after the “bold sons” passage, we get Loreon V, who “was dubbed Queen Lorea, for he was fond of dressing in his wife’s clothing and wandering the docks of Lannisport in the guise of a common prostitute.” I don���t know if Loreon would have considered themself trans or genderfluid or what, but Loreon undercuts the Bold, Masculine image that House Lannister would like to present to the world. And the fact that Loreon would rather be perceived as a common prostitute than a king … that’s a profound rejection of Lannister classism and elitism imo. I love how GRRM builds House Lannister up so that he can tear down its most vile aspects. 

The other ASOIAF theme that crops up here that I’m interested in is the duality of man. It’s not something readily apparent in the individual Lannister kings mentioned in TWOIAF, because we usually only get a sentence or two describing them, but it’s the way that GRRM writes it. In one sentence, Yandel praises the Lannister kings for their wisdom and their valor, only to follow it with this sentence: “Yet Casterly Rock also housed many a weak, cruel, and feeble king.” 

And my favorite example of this in TWOIAF is Tyrion II versus Tyrion III. Tyrion II was known as the Tormentor who delighted in making women bleed, while Tyrion III was a great conciliator, bringing the Andals and the First Men of the Westerlands together through marriages. We know from GRRM that Tywin named Tyrion, and I feel 100% certain that Tywin named Tyrion for Tyrion II the Tormentor, but I like to think GRRM named Tyrion for both. Or rather, GRRM created both of these Tyrions for the World Book, so that Tyrion Son of Tywin could be named for both of them to fill in that backstory. Tyrion has done some horrible things, but I believe he’s also capable of doing great things. (Such great things.) 

The heroes will always be remembered. The best.““The best and the worst. […] And a few who were a bit of both. 

And so we come to Loren the Last. 

Do you know who I think of when I think of Loren? I think of Lancel, Kevan’s son. 

When Tyrion was recounting the tale of the Field of Fire in AGOT, he says, “King Loren had escaped, and lived long enough to surrender, pledge his fealty to the Targaryens, and beget a son, for which Tyrion was duly grateful.” 

Now – this is just my impression!! maybe I’m wrong!! – my impression here has always been that Loren was a young man when he set foot on the Field of Fire – young enough that he hadn’t yet fathered any sons before his surrender. 

So imagine, if you will, a young Loren, not long a king, “cursed with all the certainty of youth, unleavened by any trace of humor or self-doubt, and wed to the arrogance that came so naturally to those born blond and strong and handsome. His recent elevation [to the throne of the Rock] had only made him worse.” 

The Gardener king needed the Lannister armies more than the Lannister armies needed him imo. Highgarden would have fallen easily to the dragons, but Casterly Rock? Never. So what madness possessed King Loren to leave the safety of the Rock and voluntarily meet the Targaryens and their dragons in the field? I believe Loren was “too young, too bold, too eager for glory” (like a lot of other Lannister boys). 

Loren must have thought he couldn’t lose. And for a few golden moments, it was high summer for House Lannister.

The hosts met on the broad plains of the Reach, amidst golden fields of wheat ripe for harvest. When the Two Kings charged, the Targaryen army shivered and shattered and began to run. For a few moments, the chroniclers wrote, the conquest was at an end … but only for those few moments, before Aegon Targaryen and his sisters joined the battle.

But it is high summer for House Lannister. So why am I so bloody cold?      –Tyrion, ASOS

(There are so many parallels between ASOIAF history and the main sequence of events, I love it. Whether it’s the Conquest or the War of the Five Kings or the War for the Dawn, the Lannisters can’t stand against the fire, and they shouldn’t try.) 

Oh, how he must have regretted his folly. 

Loren Lannister […] knelt as a king and rose as a lord.

The sense of loss here – of failure – to have a major part of your identity stripped from you and to be branded with that shameful sobriquet, “the Last,” a title that calls to mind Jon Connington’s words to Tyrion as “the last and least of our company”.

This newly minted king, who reigned so briefly, only to lose everything because of his pride. 

Imagine walking off that field, the sickly sweet smell of charred flesh all around you. 

Imagine the horror of it:

Ravens soared through a grey sky on wide black wings, while carrion crows rose from their feasts in furious clouds wherever he set his steps. […] From the pyres of the dead rose black columns of smoke and white-hot ashes. My work, thought […] Lannister. They died at my command. […]

So many dead, so very many. Their corpses hung limply, […] unrecognizable, hardly human. Why did I kill them all? He had known once, but somehow he had forgotten.

What madness possessed Loren to leave the safety of the Rock and meet the dragons in the field? “He had known once, but somehow he had forgotten.”

Perhaps Loren stepped onto the Field of Fire as a young man, but I believe he left it an old one. 

“Near four thousand men had burned that day, among them King Mern of the Reach.” 

Imagine turning your horse for home with that many ghosts. 

Imagine Loren’s once-mighty army, now greatly diminished, marching back up the Ocean Road. In every village, every town, every holdfast they pass by … imagine the accusing eyes of all the women of the west, the highborn and the low, the widows and orphans and now-childless mothers. 

Imagine how many of Loren’s friends died on the Field of Fire. The male half of Loren’s court must have been decimated, and the female half might have taught Barbrey Dustin a thing or two about hate. 

And after the dust settles…

How crushing must it have been to be the last and least of thousands of years of Lannister kings?  The last and least of such a proud lineage? 

Imagine walking through Casterly Rock, the seat of Lannister kings, the Rock itself like a throne at the edge of the Sunset Sea. And in every hall, every gallery remain the trappings of a lost monarchy, a constant reminder, as if Loren could ever forget. 

“Loren […] lived long enough to […] beget a son”

Again, this is just my headcanon, but I imagine Loren died young, with only the one son to his name. 

(We don’t know Torrhen Stark’s age AFAIK, but in contrast to young King Loren, I imagine Torrhen was an older man. He was certainly a wiser one.) 

idk, Loren hits all of my Lannister feelings. The Romanticism-capital-R, the tragedy, the hubris, the trainwreck of it all. 

And this is, like, probably totally irrelevant to everyone but me, but this:

Loren Lannister […] knelt 

makes me also think of this: 

Yet Grand Maester Pycelle tells us that when Aerys II announced Ser Jaime’s appointment from the Iron Throne, his lordship went to one knee and thanked the king for the great honor shown to his house. Then, pleading illness, Lord Tywin asked the king’s leave to retire as Hand.

The loss, the tragedy, the failure to protect the people we love … it kills me every time. Every time. 

(I paralleled Tywin and Loren in my fanfic, they give me Emotions.) 

Also Loren and I share the same name, his is just the male spelling :) Since you asked for my thoughts and that is definitely something I think about :)

Also also, I would be remiss if I did not mention @racefortheironthrone’s essays on the politics of the Westerlands, which analyze the policies of Lannister monarchs in detail

Part I

Part II

Part III

***

I don’t know if this satisfies your curiosity? Whenever people ask vaguely for my thoughts on a broad subject, I’m like, “But which thoughts? Headcanons I made up? Close examinations of the text? Both? Character-driven or thematic? An ASOIAF-only approach or in the context of the larger fantasy genre?” and then I just spray unfocused thoughts all over the place, if I answer broad questions at all. 

Anyways, this is far too long already, so I hope that satisfies! 

[humblemagic]

a meeting of equals

She had not wanted to come South, to risk enduring more abuses at the whim of another Southron ruler. Since Joffrey had proved himself a monster, she had only ever wanted to go home and remain within the walls of Winterfell. But Jon speaks truth as if everyone surrounding him does the same. He is transparent and unaccustomed to the life at court, and Sansa has been told that the dragon queen is even more beautiful than Cersei.

She arrives at Dragonstone with only her sworn shield and Brienne’s squire, Podrick, despite Jon’s protestations. She is greeted by Missandei, the queen’s most trusted advisor, and her former husband. A smile lightens her grim expression at the sight of him. Tyrion was always kind to her. She feels safer with him here.

“What can one sword do against the Mother of Dragons?” Sansa asks when Missandei bids them to relinquish their weapons.

“Quite right,” her first husband laughs.

The dragons fly overhead, and Sansa cannot help the look of wonder and astonishment that crosses her face. They are majestic. And terrible.

“How have you fared in the years since I’ve seen you, my good wife?”

“As I was married after, I believe you are now set free from your vows, my lord, though I admit I have not been quite as happy in my second marriage as I was when we were wed.I am quite happy to set eyes on you again.” She looks away from the blush reddening his cheeks.

“And I you, though I am surprised Lord Snow did not come himself.”

“Winter is here, and his attentions are better kept North. I hope you do not find me lacking as an emissary.”

“Of course not. You are most welcome at Dragonstone and, I beg you to believe, quite safe. Queen Daenerys values loyalty. If you bend the knee, you will be afforded her protection.”

Sansa gives a noncommittal sound.

Tyrion and Missandei lead them into a great barren hall made of stone.  Across the room, rigidly sat on her throne is a slight girl of no more than nine and ten, Sansa guesses. Her advisors walk to stand to either side of it.

“You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful queen of the Andals and the first men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains,” Missandei introduces.

Breaker of Chains, Sansa thinks, and yet you mean to use those dragons to enslave us all.

“I present to you Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark, the Winter Rose, Winterfell’s Reclaimer, Princess of the North, Lady and Blood of Winterfell.”

“Thank you for traveling so far, my lady. I hope the seas weren’t too rough.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Sansa answers. “I have heard of your trials and accomplishments and commend you for returning to your home.”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Thank you, Lady Stark. With that commendation, I must assume you are here to bend the knee like your forefathers before you.”

“I understand the assumption as Your Grace may not be aware of the strife between our families beginning with the kidnapping and rape of my dear Aunt Lyanna Stark by your brother, Prince Rhaegar, and the murders of our liege lord, Rickard, and his son, Brandon Stark, by your father, King Aerys.” She brings her hands together in front of her.

“Lady Stark, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes committed against your family. I am not my brother or my father. I have outlawed raping and reaving in the Iron Islands, and I have no intention of repaying loyalty with the death. I ask you not to judge me by the sins of my family.”

“That is kind. Many women will be spared torment,” Sansa nods.

Queen Daenerys leans back on her throne, her back straightening at the acknowledgment of her benevolence. “Torrhen Stark, the last King in the North, swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. I am the last Targaryen. Honor his vow. Bend the knee.”

“Will you apologize for your family’s crimes in one breath and negate the consequences to them in the next? I mean no disrespect, Your Grace, but you ask House Stark to honor an allegiance to your House that no longer bears weight. We must agree to leave past allegiances and crimes alike behind.”

The corners of her mouth lift in a facsimile of a smile. “If you have only come to break faith with House Targaryen, why are you here?” she demands.

Lord Tyrion’s gaze darts to Sansa anxiously. Those who anger the dragon queen do not survive long.

“To become allies, of course.” She gives the queen a genuine smile, a smile called up from her times with Margaery surrounded by scents of the sea and good humor. “Apart from the North, the kingdoms of Westeros will be yours. I hope that you are open to discussing a trade agreement that will come into effect when you take your throne.”

“We do not know each other, Lady Stark. Allow me to begin remedying that.” The queen stands, walking towards Sansa with slow steps, her hands stiff at her sides. “I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don’t remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I’ve been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years of exile? Faith. Not in any alliances or gods, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen.

“The world hadn’t seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born.,” she continues. “The Dothraki hadn’t crossed the sea, any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will rule. All of them. By declaring himself King in the North, your bastard brother is in open rebellion. Can you tell me what happens to those who rebel against the crown?”

Will you obey now, or do you need another lesson? Sansa is reminded of forcefully. The last time she was brought before a monarch to answer for her brother’s perceived crimes, she would have knelt and begged for mercy. But there is no mercy in this world, no knights or heroes. She lifts her chin.

In the pause she takes to temper her tone, Lord Tyrion speaks first.

“I believe Lady Stark is quite tired from her journey, my queen,” he says, drawing the queen’s attention. Sansa’s eyes remain on the threat before her. “If it pleases you, we could continue the discussion over supper after she rests.”

“It pleases me to have an answer to my question.” Lord Tyrion retreats. “Lady Stark?”

Sansa clears her throat delicately. “I do not discount your might, and you have my admiration and sympathies for the trials you have overcome as I have said, Your Grace. To answer your question, I must ask one of my own. At one point, there were five kings in Westeros: Kings Joffrey, Renly and Stannis Baratheon, King Robb Stark and King Balon Greyjoy. Now, there are three monarchs. Which crown would you find House Stark in rebellion against?”

“You said this woman was smart.” Queen Daenerys accuses Lord Tyrion.

“One of the most intelligent ladies I have encountered,” he affirms.

“In the time she’s been here, she has admitted that I will take the throne, still refused to bend the knee, and now she means to mock me.”

“Lady Sansa,” Lord Tyrion starts, capturing her gaze. “I once promised that I would never hurt you.” The queen watches curiously. “Though our marriage was in name only, I took that vow very seriously. I still do. Queen Daenerys can be trusted. She will avenge your father. Your brother will be Warden of the North, and you will be as safe there as you were when you were a child.”

“The North will never be safe under a Southron ruler,” she says, her unyielding tone at contrast with the softness of her expression. “She has already threatened the king’s heir.”

Queen Daenerys contradicts, “I threatened your brother who has no right to call himself king.”

“Were your family ties so weak that you don’t know any threat to my brother is a threat against me?” She lets rage color her voice, stepping closer, her chin raising another notch. “The Northern lords and ladies chose to follow Jon and name him their king. You need no rights to what is freely given.”

The woman stares at her stonily as if none of Sansa’s sound words can move her.

Frustrated, Sansa steps closer. “I imagine you think diplomacy is beneath you. You have armies and dragons. What can stand against you?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” she drawls.

“After the Lannisters named my father a traitor, my brother, Robb, was made king and led his armies against them. He won every battle. The people revered him as I am sure yours do you. With dragons and more men than can be counted with the eye, they must think you an insurmountable wall of force. The people called Robb the Young Wolf. They said that he could not be killed. Then, he was. The Boltons and the Freys cut my mother’s throat to the bone, murdered his pregnant wife and took his head. Why?

“He had enough might to rule the North and overthrow the Lannisters,” she adds. She ignores the false glaze of boredom in the queen’s eyes and continues in a bemused tone. “I have the scars to prove it. Yet, fierce as he was in battle, he never was good at diplomacy. He ostracized his bannermen, and,” her pitch falls like a blade, “ they betrayed him.”

“She speaks true. My father orchestrated the attack, but Stark’s own bannermen executed it.”

The queen is no longer feigning disinterest. Her eyes lock on Sansa’s with rapt attention. When Sansa speaks again in a lower tone, the queen’s head leans forward slightly.

“‘What do you want that you do not already have?’ When you sit the Iron Throne, surrounded by subjects who bent the knee only to save their lives and the lives of their people, I do not wonder what your answer will be. I know. You will want to be safe without your dragons or guards close at hand. You will want for true allegiance. Lords who hate you will swear fealty to you to save their lives, but I will not lie to you. I knew that an alliance with the North would not be sufficient to satisfy you. I knew that one sworn shield and her squire could not protect me should you decide to execute me as an example. I answered your summons anyway,” she pauses to give the queen time to decide on the reasons Sansa might have. “The North remembers. We have greater fears than death. My bannermen will not follow someone they do not trust. Will you work to earn it?”

There is nothing in the queen’s expression that belies the answer she will give. Queen Daenerys closes the distance between them, looking at her intently. Sansa forces herself to appear as calm as the first snow. She will die here rather than live the rest of her days in fear of the dragon queen’s wrath.

“The men will follow your brother, and he follows you,” the queen surmises.

Sansa gives no answer. There is none that helps her cause. To rebut it is to deem herself useless. To acknowledge it undermines him.

“And how do I earn your trust, Lady Stark?”

“With patience, Your Grace. With time, King Jon may find that you are worthy to lead the North. If you are not amenable, I must return to my brother with the news that you have refused an alliance with House Stark and our allies, House Arryn and House Tully.”

Instead of flushing with anger at the threat, the queen’s face becomes alight with the first true smile she gives Sansa. “I will not wait forever.”

“No, I would not expect you to. I only ask that you give a House that has been betrayed and nearly ruined time to know you as the queen Lord Tyrion believes you to be.” She lowers her head deferentially.

“In the meantime, you will stay here to get to know me.” She quirks an eyebrow, waiting for Sansa’s nod of agreement. She turns to Missandei. “Please show our guests to their rooms.”

With that, she walks away, and Sansa watches her go.

The tension does not leave her shoulders until she is within her chambers with the door barred. It is only then that she lets the relief she feels make her limbs tremble and her knees weak. She sits on the edge of the bed, hands clutching its sides, exhaling slowly. Her head aches as if she has been sewing intricate designs for hours.

How quickly she turned to threats, Sansa thinks, rubbing her temples.

Despite her willingness to kill, Sansa cannot deny that the queen does impress her. Not many monarchs would have allowed a stranger to convince them to wait for true loyalty. She is different. Cersei would have made an example of Sansa, not seemed genuinely pleased to be threatened. But it is not enough. In the morn, she will offer fleece and wool for the queen’s armies in exchange for dragonglass. She will bide her time, offering glimpses of trust, until Jon has enough to win the war against the dead. She cannot afford to do otherwise.