#olenna tyrell

[asoiafwomensource]

A selection of women of A Song of Ice and Fire (part 1 - part 2)

[helaenarts]

‘Such a restless girl, our little queen. She seldom let more than three days pass without going off for a ride. Some days they would ride along the Rosby road to hunt for shells and eat beside the sea. Other times she would take her entourage across the river for an afternoon of hawking.’

Cersei VI A Feast For Crows

[alicentgwayne]

Tell us the truth, no harm will come to you. My father always told the truth. Yes, he had that reputation. And they named him traitor.

GAME OF THRONES — 3.02 "Dark Wings, Dark Words"

[stormborns]

GAME OF THRONES 3.06, The Climb

[salialenart]

“you may learn that some roses have steel thorns”

Surprise collab with @vazdelart for House Tyrell Week

Happy Birthday @highgardenart 🏵️

[valyriansource]

a song of ice and fire & spurned betrothals

[arte072]

a young Olenna Tyrell née Redwyne: The Queen of Thorns 🍇🌹✨

[omgellendean]

Some ASoIaF (main books) child-killers and how they feel about their crimes:

Tywin Lannister: 1 (plus however many Reyne-Tarbeck kids there were). Would quote Sun Tzu at you if he could.

Roose Bolton: 1 that we know about. Just another Tuesday for him.

Petyr Baelish: 1 WIP. You won't prove anything.

Gregor Clegane: 2 that we know about. Just another Tuesday for him.

Theon Greyjoy: 2, but not the ones everyone thinks; 1 threat. Pretended not to care but actually feels bad, currently a bit distracted by the horrors.

Olenna Tyrell: 1. He had bad vibes.

Sandor Clegane: 1 that we know about. Had to be repeatedly called out and retraumatised to notice people tend to get upset by murders. Still dgaf about Mycah personally.

Jaime Lannister: 2 failed attempts, 2 threats. Technically shouldn't even be on the list unless we include a half of Westeros, but everyone thinks he belongs here. Jaime agrees.

Cersei Lannister: ~20. Fuck them kids.

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝑜𝑓 𝐻𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛

𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒐: "Growing Strong". 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒍: Is a golden rose on a green field. 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔: Members of the family tend to have curly brown hair and brown eyes.

Lords Paramount of the Mander and the liege lords of the Reach. House Tyrell is a large, wealthy house, its wealth is only surpassed among the Great Houses by House Lannister. The Tyrells control much of the agriculture in the Reach, making them influential players in the politics of Westeros.

Unlike most other Great Houses, the Tyrells never ruled as kings. Instead, they trace their line of descent through the female line to the legendary Garth the Gardener, the mythical first King of the Reach reigning in the Age of Heroes, and the son of the equally mythic Garth Greenhand.

After the fall of House Gardener, the Tyrells rose to prominence by supporting Aegon I Targaryen. In return for their loyalty, they were granted the title of Wardens of the South and became one of the most powerful houses in Westeros.

During the reign of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the Tyrells hosted the famed Tourney of the Field of Roses.

As the Dance of the Dragons began, Lord Lyonel Tyrell was an infant, and his regent mother was judged likely to align the Reach with the House's "overmighty" bannermen, the Hightowers, and the greens.

However, House Tyrell decided to take no part in the war. The Tyrell bannermen, on the other hand, were split during the war, with men of the Reach fighting on both sides. Later Ser Ulf White attempted to claim Highgarden for himself, as House Tyrell had taken no part in the Dance and he believed they should be considered traitors.

During Robert's Rebellion, House Tyrell stayed loyal to King Aerys II Targaryen. Lord Mace Tyrell's forces achieved victory against Lord Robert Baratheon at the Battle of Ashford.

[korkiekenobiconfirmed]

[missswritesalot]

Winter’s thorn

Summary: Lady Y/N Tyrell, the rose of Highgarden, had no intentions of marriage when she visited Winterfell. But with her honor on the line, she might have to reconsider.

Part two

“What about Lady Y/N Tyrell, the younger sister of Lady Margery Tyrell,” the maester suggested. “She is young and Lady Olenna is seeking an alliance. Her raven comes with certain peculiar ideas that need careful execution.”

Catelyn was delighted. After hours of pouring over letters from all the heads of the houses, she found Robb his ideal match. She ordered a feast to be held, and invited Lady Y/N Tyrell under the pretense of trade.

“Almost here, Y/N,” said your cousin Taena. You shivered and wrapped your cloak around you tighter. “You are aware this visit is not purely of trade?”

“Now, Taena, that’s enough.” The septa chided.

“Even Queen Daenerys wishes to see you married, cousin. Perhaps to-“

“No more, cousin. I tire of this, although you mean it in jest.” You said, exhausted by these rumors.

“It would mean strengthening our loyalty to the Targaryens. He is Jon Snow’s brother,” Taena said.

“Cousin,” you corrected. She took it as though you were chiding her, and unexpectedly fell silent.

You took two steps out of the carriage, unassisted. You tried holding your head high, like the wind wasn’t cutting into your skin.

You were astonished to find the people of House Stark assembled in the courtyard, waiting for your arrival.

Catelyn was the first to greet you.

“My son, the Lord of Winterfell, Robb Stark.” She said, motioning to him. You’d heard of him, they called him the young wolf. Honorable. Gentle and strong.

Robb had the most gorgeous blue eyes you’d ever seen, framed by thick auburn lashes. His hair was a signature Tully red, just like Sansa’s. You’d once thought she was the most comely maiden at court, and her brother had all of her good looks in his ruggedly handsome way.

You courtesied in greeting. He took your gloved hand in his bare one and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Your heart raced. He was so beautiful. You didn’t look up, and affixed your eyes on your boots instead.

“Lady Tyrell, we thank you for making the long journey up north. I hope it was not too difficult.” His voice could’ve melted the snow around you.

You nodded curtly: he should not see the blush on your face.

In your haste, you tripped on a stone hidden in the snow. A strong, leather clad arm wrapped around your waist to pull you up. You felt him stand you upright and the fingers of his other hand dug into your arm to steady you.

You gasped at the close contact, and turned to face him. He might be the lord of Winter but his arm felt like it might burn you. His fingers, where they touched the smallest silver of skin at your shoulder, were equally scalding. You didn’t want to step away from him into the cold.

“Forgive me, Lady Tyrell,” Robb said, his blue eyes still peering into yours. There was an instinct to lean into him, to step into his arms. But you resisted.

You turned your face away, and looked as angry as you could.

“Unhand me at once,” you said slowly. The Septa behind you gasped at your lack of courtesy.

“Lady Tyrell-“ Catelyn began, but you cut her off.

“Pardon me, Lady Stark, but the carriage journey was long and tiring. My companions and I would be obliged for a warm room.” You asked.

The walls of Winterfell were bare, the tapestries grey with little or no embroidery. The heat you had longed for suffocated you. Your mind still harbored thoughts of Robb and only Robb. No, you corrected, Lord Stark. You touched your shoulder where his fingers had rested, and giggles burst out of you. Thankfully, your cousins weren’t around to witness your shame.

You thought of how this was where Robb grew up, his childhood home that was now his.

You tugged on a new dress, one that stood out against the drab castle walls, with its golden roses and green leaves on a background of ivory and pale green.

You heard a loud sound outside. You opened the chamber door at once, and Robb Stark tumbled in.

“My lord, what does this mean?” You asked, horrified he was in your chambers.

“I only meant to escort you to the great hall, my Lady. But there has been an invasion into Winterfell and as my guest I must see to your safety myself.”

You only just noticed his armor. He bolted the doors and you backed away from him.

“My cousins?” You asked.

“They are safe, in the library. Do not fret, my Lady. You will be reunited as soon as the threat is stopped.”

You trusted Robb, you realized. It was a fool’s idea to put your trust in a strange man who you didn’t know, just because you found him attractive. But you trusted him.

“My Lord, it is most improper for a Lady to be in the presence of a man without companions.” You protested, just to save face.

“Proprietary will not restore your life when it has been taken by a criminal’s blade.” Robb said. You closed your eyes.

“I apologize you have not yet supped, my Lady.” Rob said softly. His concern endeared him to you even more.

“I’m not hungry,” you said. You went to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Do not mind me, Lady Tyrell. I cannot express the depth of my displeasure that Winterfell is inadequate on your first night here. Please rest until my men finish the task.” Robb said courteously.

You laid on the bed, the dress too uncomfortable to sleep in but fitful sleep did come.

It was in the early hours of the morn when the Septa found you curled on the furs in the chamber room. Robb was resting against your bed, his head lying on furs with his legs sprawled out across the floor.

“Taena,” you said, going into her embrace.

“Oh cousin,” she said, crying. More of your companions rushed in and fussed over you. You broke your fast with them, your voices and laughter could be heard across the hallways.

Your septa walked in just as soon as the servants cleared the room.

“Y/N, do not tell untruths when I ask you this,” she said. “And I place no blame on you. Was Lord Stark in your chambers during the attack?”

“Why, yes,” you confirmed, head nodding. “He was the most noble.”

“And you did not think of your honor?” The septa asked gently.

“Even the most noble ladies laid next to their knights with nay but a sword between them.” You protested.

“Robb Stark is neither your sworn protector nor a knight.” She said. “Lady Catelyn has written an apology to your grandmother, and suggested a proposal.”

“A proposal for what, septa?”

“A marriage between two great houses. You’ll be betrothed to Lord Stark.”

[helaenarts]

Ser Garlan Tyrell and his wife lady Leonette Fossoway

Praying for crumbs of them in winds 🙏🙏🙏

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

A Tyrell in the Lion's Den (Part 2)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Word count: 4.4k

Pairing: Tywin Lannister x Tyrell!reader

Summary: Y/n Tyrell carefully navigates the dangerous political landscape of King's Landing, balancing loyalty to Tywin Lannister while grappling with the growing uncertainty and peril that comes with playing the game of thrones.

My requests are open

________________________________________________________

In the weeks that followed, my relationship with Tywin became the most exhilarating secret of my life. Every glance, every whispered word exchanged in the corridors of the Red Keep, only served to heighten the thrill. But as much as I relished our clandestine encounters, a part of me couldn’t shake the unease that settled deep in my chest. Tywin Lannister was a man of power and calculation, and I knew that being involved with him meant treading a precarious path.

Our meetings grew more frequent, though always shrouded in secrecy. He would send a servant to deliver a note—a simple piece of parchment with a time and a place. Sometimes it would be his chambers, where we would talk late into the night about everything and nothing, the weight of our responsibilities momentarily forgotten. Other times, it was the godswood, where we would walk together in silence, the cool breeze carrying our unspoken thoughts.

And then there were the nights when we didn’t talk at all.

It was on one such night, as I lay beside him in the dim light of his chambers, that I allowed myself to wonder what it all meant. Tywin wasn’t the kind of man to indulge in frivolities; he was too focused, too driven. So why was he indulging in me? Was I truly more to him than a distraction, as he claimed? Or was I just another pawn in his grand game, destined to be discarded when I had served my purpose?

I turned to look at him, his face softened by sleep, the stern lines of his features relaxed in a way they never were during the day. For a moment, I was struck by how vulnerable he looked, and I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t love—not yet, at least—but it was something close. Whatever it was, it terrified me.

The next morning, as we dressed in silence, I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question that had been gnawing at me.

“Tywin,” I began hesitantly, fastening the clasps of my dress. “What is this to you?”

He paused, turning to look at me with that unreadable expression I was beginning to dread. “What do you mean?”

“This,” I said, gesturing between us. “Us. What does it mean to you?”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, but I could see the wheels turning in his mind, calculating, measuring. Finally, he sighed and walked over to me, taking my hand in his.

“This… is something I did not expect,” he admitted quietly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “But it is something I find myself unwilling to give up.”

His words were a balm to my anxiety, but they also left me with more questions. “And what happens when this becomes… inconvenient?”

Tywin’s grip on my hand tightened slightly. “It won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

I wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that this formidable man who had orchestrated so many intricate plots could somehow keep our relationship safe from the treacherous waters of court politics. But a part of me knew that no matter how careful we were, nothing stayed hidden in King’s Landing forever.

My thoughts must have shown on my face because Tywin’s expression softened in a way I rarely saw. “I care for you,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And I will do whatever is necessary to protect you.”

Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door. Tywin’s demeanor shifted instantly, the warmth in his eyes replaced by the cold calculation that so many feared. He released my hand and moved to open the door, his mask firmly in place.

It was a servant, delivering a message from the Small Council. Tywin took it without a word and dismissed the man, but I could see the change in him. The moment of vulnerability was gone, replaced by the Lord of Casterly Rock, the Hand of the King, the man who held the fate of the Seven Kingdoms in his hands.

“I should go,” I said, not wanting to overstay my welcome. “I’ll see you later.”

Tywin nodded, his attention already shifting to the message in his hand. I left his chambers, feeling a strange mixture of satisfaction and unease.

As I made my way back to my own rooms, I couldn’t help but think about what Olenna and Margaery had said. My grandmother’s warning about playing with fire echoed in my mind, and I wondered if I was indeed getting too close to the flames. But then I thought of Tywin’s words, his promise to protect me, and I felt a spark of hope. Maybe this wasn’t just a game. Maybe it was something more.

But even as I tried to reassure myself, a new fear crept into my heart. What if I was falling for Tywin Lannister? And what would that mean for me, for my family, for the future we had so carefully planned?

Days turned into weeks, and the tension in the capital continued to rise as Margaery’s wedding drew nearer. The city buzzed with preparations, the streets filled with merchants and nobles from all corners of the realm. It was a grand event, one that would cement the alliance between House Tyrell and House Lannister, and everyone was on edge.

Margaery, ever the consummate bride, handled it all with grace and poise, though I could see the strain in her eyes. We spent hours together, going over the final details of the ceremony, the feast, and the countless other events that surrounded the wedding. But even in the midst of all the chaos, she never missed a chance to tease me about my “distraction.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet about a certain someone lately,” she remarked one afternoon as we tried on our dresses for the wedding. “Has the lion finally lost his roar?”

I shot her a look, though I couldn’t help but smile. “Hardly. He’s just… busy.”

Margaery arched an eyebrow. “Too busy for you? I find that hard to believe.”

“He has a realm to run, sister,” I said, adjusting the delicate lace on my sleeve. “I’m hardly his top priority.”

“Perhaps not,” Margaery agreed, her tone thoughtful. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t matter to him.”

Her words made me pause. Did I matter to Tywin? Or was I just another complication in his already complicated life?

Before I could dwell on it too much, Olenna swept into the room, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of our attire. “Well, don’t you both look lovely,” she said, her tone approving. “It’s a wonder the entire court isn’t tripping over themselves to catch a glimpse of you.”

“Not all of us need to be the center of attention, Grandmother,” I said, earning a chuckle from her.

“True, true,” Olenna conceded. “But a little attention never hurt anyone. And speaking of attention, I trust you’re still keeping our dear Lord Tywin on his toes?”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t suppress the warmth that spread through me at the thought of him. “I suppose you could say that.”

Olenna’s expression softened. “Just remember, my dear, that men like Tywin Lannister are not easily swayed. If you’ve captured his interest, it’s because you’ve shown him something he’s not used to seeing.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Someone who isn’t afraid of him,” Olenna said with a knowing smile. “Someone who doesn’t cower in his presence or seek to curry his favor. That, my dear, is a rare thing indeed.”

I thought about her words long after we had finished our fittings and returned to our rooms. Was that why Tywin was drawn to me? Because I treated him like a man, not a monster? And if so, what did that mean for us?

The night before Margaery’s wedding, there was a grand feast in the Great Hall. The room was filled with the finest lords and ladies of the realm, all dressed in their most opulent attire, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. Music filled the hall, and laughter echoed off the walls, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

Tywin was seated at the head table, his expression as inscrutable as ever. I caught his eye a few times throughout the evening, and each time, I felt a jolt of electricity run through me. But we were careful to keep our interactions to a minimum, knowing that the court’s eyes were always watching.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed more freely, I found myself slipping out of the hall, needing a moment of respite from the noise and the crowd. I made my way to the gardens, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stifling heat of the feast.

I wasn’t alone for long. A few minutes later, I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, and I turned to see Tywin approaching, his expression unreadable.

“Couldn’t stand the festivities any longer?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I smiled. “Something like that. And you? Surely the Hand of the King has more pressing matters to attend to.”

Tywin shook his head, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Not tonight.”

We stood there in silence for a moment, the tension between us palpable. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer.

“Tywin,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “What happens after the wedding? What happens to us?”

He looked at me, his gaze intense. “We continue as we have,” he said simply. “Unless… you want something more.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. “And if I do?”

Tywin’s expression softened, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Then we will find a way.”

________________________________________________________

The wedding of Margaery and Joffrey was a spectacle unmatched by any in recent memory. The Great Sept of Baelor was adorned with garlands of flowers, the air thick with the scent of incense and the murmurs of the gathered nobility. As the High Septon pronounced the young couple husband and wife, the cheers from the crowd were deafening. Yet amidst the celebration, I felt a chill, as if the gods themselves were watching with bated breath.

The feast that followed was equally grand, with tables groaning under the weight of lavish dishes and endless goblets of wine. Joffrey, in his typical fashion, reveled in the attention, making crude jokes and ordering the musicians to play increasingly raucous tunes. Margaery played her part perfectly, smiling and laughing at her husband’s antics, though I could see the strain in her eyes. This was not the life she had dreamed of, but it was the one she had chosen—or rather, the one that had been chosen for her.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere in the hall began to shift. The laughter became more forced, the smiles more brittle. Something was wrong, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I scanned the room, searching for the source of my unease, and my gaze landed on Tywin. He was watching Joffrey with an expression I couldn’t decipher—something between disdain and calculation.

And then it happened.

Joffrey, in the middle of a cruel jest, suddenly began to choke. At first, the guests thought it was part of the act, laughing along with the king’s apparent discomfort. But when he fell to the floor, gasping for breath, the laughter turned to screams. Chaos erupted as everyone scrambled to understand what was happening. Margaery knelt beside her husband, her face a mask of horror, while Cersei screamed for the maesters.

I stood frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. Joffrey’s face turned purple as he clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging with terror. It was a gruesome sight, and yet I couldn’t look away. I could hardly breathe myself, the shock of the moment pressing down on me like a weight.

Tywin remained seated, his expression unreadable, though I could see the tension in his posture. He was watching everything, taking it all in, and I realized that he must have known something like this could happen. Perhaps he had even expected it.

In the midst of the chaos, a thought struck me like a blow: this wasn’t just an accident. Someone had poisoned the king. And if Tywin had anticipated it, then he was either involved or already planning how to use this to his advantage.

The realization sent a shiver down my spine. If Tywin had a hand in this, then he was far more dangerous than I had ever imagined. But before I could dwell on it, Joffrey gave one final, convulsive gasp, and then he was still. The hall fell into a stunned silence, the only sound the ragged breathing of those closest to the king.

Cersei’s wail of grief shattered the silence, and she rounded on Tyrion, who had been holding the goblet Joffrey had drunk from. “He did this!” she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at her brother. “He poisoned my son!”

Chaos erupted once more as the guards seized Tyrion, and I felt a surge of panic. Tyrion couldn’t have done this—he wasn’t capable of such a thing. But as I looked at Tywin, still calm amidst the storm, I realized that the truth didn’t matter. What mattered was how this tragedy could be used, how the pieces of the game would move in response.

I needed to leave the hall. I needed to think, to understand what was happening and what it meant for my family, for Tywin, for the realm. But as I turned to go, I felt a hand on my arm. I looked up to see Margaery, her face pale and drawn.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, don’t leave me alone.”

I nodded, squeezing her hand in reassurance. Whatever was happening, we would face it together. We had no choice.

As the night wore on, the Great Hall became a place of mourning and fear. Joffrey’s body was taken away, and the guests were ushered out, leaving only the closest members of the royal family and their allies behind. Margaery and I sat together, our hands clasped tightly, while Olenna hovered nearby, her sharp eyes taking in every detail.

Tywin approached us, his face set in a grim mask. “Margaery,” he said softly, “you should rest. The day has been a long one.”

Margaery shook her head. “I can’t. Not until I know who did this.”

“We will find the culprit,” Tywin assured her, his tone as cold as ice. “But for now, you must take care of yourself. You are the queen now, and the realm will look to you for strength.”

The queen. The words hung in the air like a curse. Margaery had wanted to be queen, but not like this. Not with the blood of her husband still fresh in the minds of all who had witnessed his death.

Reluctantly, Margaery allowed herself to be led away, and I followed close behind, my mind racing. Tywin’s words had been carefully chosen, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye. He had a plan, of that I was certain, but what it was, I couldn’t yet fathom.

Back in our chambers, Margaery collapsed onto the bed, her composure finally breaking. “What do we do now?” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “What will happen to us?”

I knelt beside her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “We do what we must,” I said, though the words felt hollow. “We survive.”

Margaery nodded, though I could see the fear in her eyes. She was strong, but even she wasn’t prepared for the storm that was coming.

As I sat with her, trying to offer what little comfort I could, my thoughts kept drifting back to Tywin. What role had he played in this tragedy? And more importantly, what did he plan to do next? I had aligned myself with a man of immense power, but that power came with a price—a price I wasn’t sure I was willing to pay.

The days that followed were a blur of tension and uncertainty. Joffrey’s death had plunged the court into chaos, and the search for his killer consumed everyone’s thoughts. Tyrion was imprisoned, accused of regicide, though I knew in my heart that he was innocent. But proving that was another matter entirely.

Tywin took control of the situation with his usual ruthless efficiency, organizing the investigation and ensuring that the realm remained stable. But his actions only deepened my suspicions. He was too calm, too prepared. It was as if he had been expecting this all along.

One evening, as I made my way back to my chambers, I found myself face to face with Tywin. He was waiting for me, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low.

I nodded, following him into a nearby room where we could speak in private. Once the door was closed, I turned to him, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” I asked, unable to keep the accusation out of my voice.

Tywin regarded me with a cool, measured gaze. “I suspected that something was afoot,” he admitted. “But I didn’t know the specifics.”

His words did little to ease my fears. “And you just let it happen? You let Joffrey die?”

Tywin’s expression hardened. “Joffrey was a liability,” he said bluntly. “His death, while unfortunate, opens up new opportunities for the realm. Tommen will be a better king—a more pliable one. The realm needs stability, and this is the way to achieve it.”

I stared at him, shocked by his callousness. “And what about Margaery? What about our family? Do we mean nothing to you?”

Tywin stepped closer, his gaze intense. “You mean more to me than you realize,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “But you must understand that this is the game we play. Power requires sacrifices—sometimes even those we care about.”

His words chilled me to the bone. I had known Tywin was a ruthless man, but this… this was something else entirely. He was willing to sacrifice anyone, anything, to maintain his grip on power. And I was beginning to wonder if I had made a terrible mistake by aligning myself with him.

But even as I questioned my choices, a part of me was drawn to his strength, to his unwavering resolve. Tywin Lannister was a man who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals, and in a world as dangerous as this, perhaps that was exactly what I needed.

“Where does this leave us?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Tywin reached out, taking my hand in his. “It leaves us exactly where we were before,” he said. “You are still important to me, and I will protect you. But you must trust me, even when things seem uncertain.”

Trust. It was a dangerous word, especially in the world we lived in. But as I looked into Tywin’s eyes, I realized that I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to survive, I had to trust him.

I nodded, though the doubt still lingered in my heart. “I understand,” I said quietly.

“Good,” Tywin replied, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. “We have much to do, and the game is far from over.”

________________________________________________________

The days following Joffrey’s death were consumed by a whirlwind of activity. The court was in a state of upheaval, with every noble and servant whispering about the poisoning and the ensuing chaos. The trial of Tyrion Lannister loomed large on the horizon, casting a shadow over everything. Cersei was relentless in her accusations, demanding justice for her son with a fury that brooked no dissent.

Margaery was a picture of stoic grief, playing the role of the mourning widow with impeccable grace. Yet behind closed doors, she was deeply troubled. The death of her husband, even one as detestable as Joffrey, had left her vulnerable, and she knew it. The power she had been so close to securing was slipping through her fingers, and there was little she could do to stop it.

One evening, as we sat together in her chambers, Margaery voiced her fears. “What will become of me now?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Joffrey is dead, and Tommen is just a boy. Cersei will do everything she can to keep me away from him.”

I took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Tommen is kind-hearted and easily influenced. With time, you can win him over. And remember, you have grandmother by your side. She is a formidable ally.”

Margaery nodded, though the uncertainty in her eyes remained. “But what if Cersei succeeds in keeping me away from Tommen? What if I’m cast aside like Sansa was?”

I hesitated, unsure of how to answer. The truth was that Margaery’s fears were not unfounded. Cersei was ruthless and would stop at nothing to protect her remaining son. But I couldn’t let Margaery lose hope. “You are the Queen, Margaery. You have the support of the Tyrells and the goodwill of the people. Cersei may be powerful, but she is not invincible.”

She gave me a small, sad smile. “Sometimes I wonder if I was ever truly meant to be queen. Joffrey’s death feels like a sign that I’m cursed.”

“Nonsense,” I replied firmly. “You have the strength and the intelligence to navigate this storm. And you have me. We will face whatever comes together.”

Margaery’s smile grew a little stronger, and she leaned her head against my shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

As we sat there in silence, I couldn’t help but wonder what Tywin’s next move would be. He had assured me that everything was under control, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there were more twists and turns ahead. I needed to be vigilant, to protect both Margaery and myself from the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the Red Keep.

A few days later, I received a summons to meet with Tywin. I wasn’t surprised—he had been unusually distant since our last conversation, and I knew that something was brewing. When I arrived at his chambers, he was seated at his desk, a map of Westeros spread out before him.

“Sit,” he said, not looking up as I entered. I obeyed, taking a seat across from him. For a moment, there was only the sound of the crackling fire, and then Tywin finally looked at me.

“The situation is more complicated than I anticipated,” he began, his voice as cold and calculated as ever. “Tyrion’s trial will be a spectacle, and Cersei will stop at nothing to see him executed. However, there are those who believe in his innocence—people who could prove troublesome if they were to act on their convictions.”

I nodded, understanding the implications of his words. “You want me to keep an eye on them?”

“Precisely,” Tywin said, leaning back in his chair. “You have a unique position within the court. You’re close to Margaery and the Tyrells, and people tend to underestimate you. Use that to your advantage. Find out who is sympathetic to Tyrion, and report back to me.”

It was a dangerous task he was asking of me, but I knew better than to refuse. “And what of Margaery?” I asked carefully. “She’s worried about her position now that Joffrey is dead.”

Tywin’s expression softened slightly, though his eyes remained calculating. “Margaery will be fine, as long as she remains useful to us. Tommen will need a queen, and Margaery is well-suited to that role. But she must not overstep her bounds. Cersei will be watching her closely.”

I swallowed, knowing that Margaery’s future depended on a delicate balance of power. “I’ll do what I can,” I promised.

Tywin nodded, his gaze piercing. “Good. Remember, loyalty to the Lannisters will be rewarded. Betrayal will not be tolerated.”

With that, he dismissed me, leaving me with the weight of his expectations on my shoulders. As I left his chambers, I couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of dread. The game of thrones was becoming more dangerous by the day, and I was walking a very thin line.

Over the next few weeks, I began to carry out Tywin’s orders, subtly gathering information from those around me. I listened carefully to the conversations in the court, noting who spoke in favor of Tyrion and who remained silent. It was a delicate dance, one that required me to be both discreet and cunning.

Margaery, meanwhile, was doing her best to maintain her position. She spent more time with Tommen, charming him with her kindness and winning over the young king’s trust. But Cersei was never far away, her presence a constant reminder of the danger that surrounded us.

One evening, as I was returning to my chambers, I was approached by a figure I hadn’t expected to see—Varys, the spymaster. He moved silently, his expression unreadable as he blocked my path.

“A word, if you please,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, glancing around to ensure we were alone. “What do you want?” I asked warily.

Varys smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been very active lately, gathering information for Lord Tywin. But I wonder, do you truly understand the game you’re playing?”

“I understand enough,” I replied, though my heart was pounding in my chest.

“Do you?” Varys’s tone was almost pitying. “Tywin Lannister is a powerful man, but his power is built on fear and manipulation. You are valuable to him now, but what happens when you’re no longer useful? The Lannisters are not known for their mercy.”

His words struck a nerve, and I felt a surge of anger. “What are you trying to say?”

Varys sighed, as if disappointed by my response. “I’m saying that you should be careful where you place your loyalties. The winds of change are coming, and when they do, those who are too close to the Lannisters may find themselves swept away.”

With that cryptic warning, Varys turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me with more questions than answers. His words lingered in my mind, fueling the doubts that had been growing since Joffrey’s death.

[stormborns]

As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.

[mikasaerens]

House of the Dragon lacks fearlessness

The characters are all too safe and sanitized.

Meanwhile in ASOIAF/GOT we had actual female rivalries and ambitious female characters.

Cersei destroys her entire kingdom and rule just to get Margaery locked up on false charges. She tortures an innocent man, has the High Septon killed, secures her bastards on the throne not caring that it led to a war, murdered her best friend at age 11 just because her friend had a crush on Jaime etc..

Daenerys is not afraid to kill her abusive brother brutally, she secures her rule by brutally killing slave masters (as she should)

Olenna commits regicide

Sansa feeds Ramsay to the dogs and smiles. She goes behind her brother’s back to secure the Army of the Vale to claim victory for herself in the Battle of the Bastards.

And so on and so on!! Nobody regrets shit. They’re allowed to be fucking actual human beings!! Complex, flawed and brutal!

Meanwhile we have Alicent hesitating at defending her own family and getting mad at Aemond for suggesting Helaena get off her ass and fight.

We have Rhaenyra worrying about the small folk like any royal would ever give a fuck.

This show butchered its female characters. Completely and utterly.