#the lion of lannister

[imjustapoorwayfaringgeek]

The Lion of Lannister

[ohnoitsmyra]

the lion of lannister

[shripscapi]

time for my regularly scheduled cersei redraw

this was mostly a chance for me to try and nail down the look I want to go for with womenswear in westeros. i’ve been wildly inconsistent up to this point because tbh I much prefer drawing menswear... but I want to draw a certain someone else in a dress so this was my practice >:)

[ladystoneboobs]

idt we talk enough about how a song of ice and fire is also the song of incest and cannibalism. i mean, sure, obviously both of those subjects are noted as present, but the saga feels much more known for its incest, which idt is fair or accurate to the later materiel. iirc, jaime fucking cersei next to their dead firstborn is the last instance of onpage incest happening in present tl, and after that it's all about the cannibals, baby.

(disclaimer: cw/tw sa, cw/tw rape, and i'm not counting cousincest as that's normal in-world even for non-targaryens and also still legal in many places in our world today, nor counting the faux-incestuous freudian mess that is littlefinger/alayne(sansa)/sweetrobin, nor any dark humor jokes and/or unfulfilled threats wrt forced cannibalism)

in fact pretty much all the active incest during the present tl happens in those first 3 books:

the twincest as a major plot point ofc, kicking action off when bran saw them fucking in a tower

and viserys creeping on dany and twisting her nipple

tyrion relating his backstory to bronn wherein he and tysha were both raped by proxy by his father, tywin (tho tyrion does not use that terminology)

craster still being alive to rape and impregnate his own daughters (resulting in dozens of forced incestuous relationships)

and theon unknowingly groping his own sister while she (knowingly) groped him in return

jaime's early pov recalled how he shut up cersei with kissing when they fought after bran refused to die

bella of stoney sept trying and failing to seduce gendry who is (unbeknownst to them both) her half-brother as both were sired by robert baratheon (only example in these 3 books where incest was averted before any sexual activity or incestuous contact occurred)

the aforementioned sept twincest next to joffrey's corpse

tyrion learning from oberyn about cersei twisting his penis when he was a baby

cersei's failed attempt to seduce jaime in wst, pulling out his dick for either a bj or hj until her talk of tyrion's death made him lose his boner

while incest is not exactly absent from the text after that, it seems to exist in the feastdance only in hypotheticals or past memories:

aeron's trauma flashbacks of his (implied only in published text) csa by euron

jaime still feeling lust when seeing cersei nude

and her fond reminiscing about them fucking behind robert's back/brief dream of them as a married couple before her walk of shame

and cersei remembering another she twisted tyrion's baby penis

victarion misinterpreting asha's offer of partnership as a marriage proposal and suddenly looking at his niece in a new way with "his manhood beginning to stiffen"

jaime's recollection of fucking cersei at darry next to robert as he was passed out drunk before cersei sent him to hunt arya (which would have happened back in agot and the point of this scene is more his failed hunt for a child just to make cersei happy)

arianne's "uneasy" memory of a past fantasy about being seduced by a man whose description is suspiciously similar to her late uncle oberyn

the aborted marital match of aegon/young griff to his purported aunt dany

illyrio saying (the now dead) viserys tried to rape dany the night before her wedding to drogo (another event from agot concerning a guy we already knew was into incest)

and tyrion once saying he wanted to rape as well as murder cersei

conversely, the cannibalism in the earlier books is most often only unproven hypotheticals alluded to as possible cannibalism:

old nan saying the others fed their dead servants the flesh of human children (which we have not yet seen with any wights so far, whether or not one counts walking undead eating human flesh as straight-up cannibalism)

the mystery meat in flea bottom's bowls o' brown which may or may not contain symon silver tongue after tyrion had him killed

renly's recollection that cressen kept stannis from catapulting their old master-at-arms by saying they may need to eat him later (which did not come to pass thanks to davos)

joffrey telling his people to eat their own dead (with no way of knowing if any actually did)

lady hornwood eating her own fingers (though bran's pov only notes them being chewed on, not swallowed. it's only in adwd that people talk of her eating the fingers.)

the mentions of the ice river clans being the cannibals beyond the wall (who are def not among the free folk jon snow gets to know onpage, making it just background detail)

bran's (possibly mythical) story of the rat cook

and biter chewing on people he attacked and other corpses (which seems to be just a side hobby connected to his killing method moreso constituting a snack than a full meal from a person butchered for meat. this tendancy of his is just background detail in acok, with biter chewing a corpse in the background after the weasel soup operation, and the hindsight implication that it could well have been him rather than dogs or wolves who had "been at" the corpses after the skirmish where yoren was killed)

while the feastdance feels much more in your face with cannibalism, having not only more total mentions of the practice but also more confirmed, actual cannibalism (as opposed to the ambiguity of each and every bowl o' brown), for those who know how to look at the evidence:

jaime learned that his father's mad dog aka the mountain fed parts of vargo hoat to all his prisoners (including vargo himself) after recapturing harrenhal

and euron bragged about pulling a similar trick with the warlocks he captured (the only twist being that the warlocks knew what they were being forced to eat, which vargo hoat and wylis manderly etc at harrenhal likely didn't)

the elder brother of the quiet isle told of biter eating all of a woman's breasts at saltpans after she'd been raped and killed (prob the largest amount of flesh biter's confirmed to have eaten from one corpse)

bran and co. ate "pig" supplied by coldhands which had to be long pig aka human meat

brienne felt her face being eaten by biter in her own pov (which is so much worse than him chewing others in the background of the weasel soup scene)

theon was told that two ironmen at moat cailin were found eating their dead comrades

the astapori were said to eat their own dead while under siege by the yunkishmen

and then were said to do so again in refugee camps outside meereen

sam and davos sailed past skagos and remembered stories of skagosi cannibalism

khrazz the pit fighter cut the hearts from his defeated foes to eat them

cotter pyke's last letter to jon snow said the wildlings were eating their own dead at hardhome

4 of stannis's men were executed by burning for butchering and eating other men (with asha wondering how many others had done so without being caught)

and ofc the frey pies with wyman manderly having his 3 former guests killed and serving their meat to their own kin and the other guests at ramsay's wedding while eating some himself too

two of these examples (involving gregor clegane and euron greyjoy) must have actually happened during the course of asos, but grrm chose to give us the gruesome details in affc, which was brand new information about men we already knew were villains but did not know were into that fucked-up shit specifically, unlike being reminded that agot-era jaime and viserys wanted to fuck their sisters. (and not unlike how adwd has the clarification of multiple characters saying lady hornwood ate her own fingers as opposed to bran's acok pov just saying she chewed on them.) it's as if after craster was killed and jc effectively broke up grrm decided cannibalism was the taboo subject matter he would fill the later books with, so we'd really feel the increasing danger of starvation-induced cannibalism with winter's arrival (and have no trouble believing rickon's new home of skagos really is a cannibal island). however, in-universe it feels like there's some sort of environmental balance connection so that the decrease in one formerly common behaviorial abomination just allows another such abomination to fill in the gap with a sharp increase in activity, like deer overpopulation resulting from lack of predators as if all the active incest somehow stopped more people from eating themselves or other people.

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (namesake)

- 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 part: under the dragon's eye

- Next part: credit's due

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

The birth of your first child was nothing short of a whirlwind for Tyland Lannister. He had spent the better part of the day pacing the length of the corridor outside your chambers, his nerves as frayed as his hair, while the sounds of midwives bustling about and the occasional shout from you reached his ears. The moment he heard the baby's first cry, Tyland let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

When the midwife finally allowed him inside, he approached you cautiously, as though afraid you might throw a pillow at him for causing this entire ordeal in the first place. But to his surprise, you looked radiant despite the exhaustion. You cradled a small bundle in your arms, and as Tyland moved closer, he saw the little face of your newborn son, his tiny fists clenched as if he was ready to take on the world.

Tyland felt a rush of emotions—pride, awe, sheer relief that everything had gone smoothly—but before he could utter a word, you looked up at him with a tired but triumphant smile.

"I’ve decided on a name," you said, your voice soft but firm.

Tyland, still slightly dazed from the whole event, blinked and nodded. "Of course, my love. What shall we call him?"

You took a deep breath and said, “Daemon.”

Tyland’s smile froze mid-expression, his brain doing a complete double-take. "I’m sorry, did you just say... Daemon?"

You nodded, the name rolling off your tongue as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes, after my uncle. Daemon Lannister.”

Tyland stared at you, his mind racing to process the situation. Daemon? As in Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, the man whose very presence was enough to send most people running in the other direction? And now, here he was, with his very own son named after that man? A Lannister named Daemon? The gods were truly laughing at him today.

"Ah... well," Tyland stammered, trying to find the right words. "That’s... certainly a strong name. A bold name." He hesitated, glancing down at the baby, who was already squirming in his swaddle as if he, too, had inherited some of his namesake’s fiery spirit. "Are you... sure?"

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Of course I’m sure. Uncle Daemon has always been there for me. It’s a fitting name for our son."

Tyland cleared his throat, still unsure how to react. “Yes, yes, of course. It’s just... a Lannister named Daemon. That’s going to... raise some eyebrows.”

You gave him a tired but amused smile. "It’s a good name, Tyland. Besides, I’ve heard plenty of Targaryens named Aegon. I think a Lannister named Daemon will survive just fine."

Tyland sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Survive, yes. But I have a feeling I’ll never hear the end of this."

And he was right.

It didn’t take long for word to reach your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, who seemed to be having the time of his life with this information. Tyland had just returned to his chambers after speaking with the maester when a servant knocked on the door.

"Lord Tyland," the servant said with barely contained amusement, "Prince Daemon sends his congratulations. He... also sends a gift for his namesake."

Tyland’s eyes narrowed. “A gift?” he asked warily.

The servant handed him a small package, which Tyland opened cautiously. Inside, to his horror, was a tiny pair of leather boots—dragonrider boots, fit for a baby.

"By the gods," Tyland muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course he would."

As if summoned by Tyland’s sheer exasperation, Daemon himself appeared in the doorway not long after, grinning from ear to ear. "So, I hear there’s a new Daemon in the capital," he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Tyland resisted the urge to groan. "Yes, yes, my son has been named after you. Are you quite done gloating?"

Daemon’s grin only widened. "Oh, I’m just getting started," he said, strolling into the room as though he owned the place. He looked down at the baby in your arms and nodded approvingly. "A fine name for a fine lad. I’m sure he’ll live up to it."

"That’s exactly what I’m afraid of," Tyland muttered under his breath.

Daemon chuckled, clearly enjoying Tyland’s discomfort. "You’re welcome, Lannister. If your son turns out half as impressive as me, you’ll have nothing to worry about."

Tyland shot him a look. "That’s precisely the problem, Daemon."

You, of course, were watching this entire exchange with an amused smile, clearly not as troubled by the situation as your husband. "I think it’s a good name," you said, glancing down at your son. "He’ll grow into it."

"That’s what I’m afraid of," Tyland repeated, this time louder, casting another wary glance at Daemon.

But despite the teasing, Tyland couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of pride as he looked down at his son. Even if the boy was named after a rogue prince, even if it meant enduring endless jabs from Daemon for the rest of his days, this was his son. A Lannister, through and through. And somehow, the name didn’t seem so bad anymore.

Still, as Daemon sauntered out of the room with one last smirk and a parting comment about teaching the boy to ride a dragon before he could walk, Tyland couldn’t help but sigh.

“I should have known,” he muttered, glancing over at you with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “We’re never going to hear the end of this, are we?”

You laughed softly, your eyes twinkling as you cradled little Daemon in your arms. “No, I don’t think we are. But we’ll manage.”

Tyland smiled despite himself, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "I suppose we will. And if he takes after his namesake... I’ll just have to make sure he’s at least a little more... manageable."

But deep down, Tyland knew that was wishful thinking. With a name like Daemon, nothing was ever going to be manageable.

Tyland Lannister had always prided himself on being a composed man, someone who could navigate political intrigues and family tensions with the calm dignity expected of a Lannister. But nothing in his experience—no underhanded dealings, no surprise royal decrees—had prepared him for the sight that greeted him one morning as he walked past the nursery where his infant son, Daemon, was being tended to by the servants.

It started with a shriek. Not the usual fussing of a baby, but the high-pitched, heart-stopping scream of one of the maids. Tyland’s blood ran cold. Without a second thought, he rushed toward the nursery, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.

"Lord Tyland!" came the voice of the nursemaid, hysterical and utterly panicked. "Something’s wrong!"

Tyland flung the door open, his heart hammering in his chest, and there, standing over the cradle, were two utterly terrified servants, their eyes wide as saucers. The cradle itself was rattling and shaking as though possessed by some malevolent spirit, and from within came a strange, ominous sound—like the soft crackling of fire and the faintest hint of hissing.

Tyland’s stomach dropped.

"What in seven hells is going on?" he demanded, pushing past the servants to peer into the cradle. His son, little Daemon Lannister, was cooing happily, completely unaware of the chaos around him.

But it wasn’t his son that made Tyland’s blood freeze.

Nestled beside the baby was a small, writhing, freshly hatched dragon, its scales shimmering like molten bronze, with tiny wings twitching as it squirmed in the blankets. The dragon let out a high-pitched screech, startling Tyland so badly he nearly knocked over a nearby table.

"By the gods!" Tyland yelped, stumbling backward. "What... what is that doing here?!"

One of the servants, pale as a ghost, pointed shakily at the dragon. "It... it was in the cradle, my lord! The egg must’ve been slipped in—h-heavens help us, it hatched!"

Tyland’s mind reeled. A dragon egg? In his son’s cradle? Who could possibly— And then it hit him like a slap to the face.

Daemon.

Of course. Who else would have the audacity, the sheer nerve, to sneak a dragon egg into an unsuspecting Lannister’s nursery? His uncle by marriage, Prince Daemon Targaryen, was no doubt behind this madness. Tyland groaned inwardly, already picturing Daemon’s smirk when he found out his little scheme had come to fruition. This was his idea of a gift? A baby dragon?

The tiny dragon let out another screech, this time flapping its minuscule wings in a rather pathetic attempt at looking menacing. It was no larger than a house cat, but to Tyland, it might as well have been Vhagar herself looming over the cradle.

“I need to get him out of there,” Tyland muttered to himself, eyeing the dragon warily as it curled protectively around Daemon’s tiny body, almost like it was already bonded with the infant. “How am I supposed to—”

The dragon let out a warning hiss, baring its little fangs at Tyland as he reached for his son. He froze, hands hovering in midair. Gods, of course it would hiss at me. Tyland had always prided himself on being a man of strategy, but how in the world was he supposed to outmaneuver a newborn dragon?

“Right,” he muttered to himself, eyeing the dragon again. “Nice dragon. Just... let me grab the baby and we can all get out of this unscathed, hmm?”

The dragon blinked at him with those shiny eyes, completely unimpressed.

Tyland, who had faced down far more intimidating foes in court, suddenly found himself at a loss for words, feeling as though he were trying to negotiate with an angry goose. Carefully, inch by inch, he reached out again, trying to gently lift Daemon from the cradle. The baby gurgled happily, completely unaware of the chaos surrounding him.

The dragon, however, was having none of it. It flared its tiny wings, making a noise somewhere between a chirp and a growl. Tyland yanked his hand back, eyes wide. “Oh, for the love of—this is absurd!”

As if in response, the dragon flicked its tail and settled back down, curling protectively around the baby. Tyland’s frustration grew. “He’s my son, not yours!” he snapped at the dragon, fully aware of how ridiculous the situation had become. “You’re barely out of the egg!”

The servants stood frozen in the corner, clearly unwilling to come anywhere near the creature. Tyland sighed, rubbing his temple. “Of course,” he muttered. “Of course Daemon would do this.”

Just as he was about to attempt another round of negotiations with the tiny dragon, the door swung open, and in strolled Prince Daemon Targaryen himself, looking as pleased as ever. One glance at the scene before him, and his grin widened.

“Well, well,” Daemon said with a mockingly thoughtful tone, crossing his arms. “Looks like my little namesake has found himself a new friend.”

Tyland shot him a withering look. “This... this is your doing, isn’t it?”

Daemon shrugged, feigning innocence. “I simply thought young Daemon could use a companion. A Lannister with a dragon—it’s almost poetic, don’t you think?”

“Poetic?” Tyland repeated incredulously. “I nearly lost my hand to this thing!” He gestured toward the tiny dragon, who let out another hiss as if to punctuate the point.

Daemon chuckled, clearly enjoying Tyland’s exasperation. “You’ll get used to it. Dragons aren’t so bad once you learn how to handle them.”

Tyland glared at him. “Handle them? I can barely get near my own son without this... this lizard snapping at me!”

Daemon sauntered over to the cradle and casually scooped up the baby, the dragon allowing him to do so without so much as a hiss. Daemon held the infant with a smug grin. “See? He already knows who his real protector is.”

Tyland groaned. “I suppose you’ll be telling me this is normal?”

Daemon clapped Tyland on the shoulder, still grinning. “Completely normal. Congratulations, Tyland. You’re the proud father of a dragonrider.”

Tyland sighed, rubbing his temple. “Gods help me.”

The tiny dragon let out a satisfied little chirp, settling back into the cradle as though it had won some unspoken contest. Tyland shot it a glare, knowing that his life had just gotten a lot more complicated.

“Just remember,” Daemon added, still smirking, “you’re welcome.”

Tyland could only groan in response.

Tyland Lannister was sitting in the gardens, trying his best to enjoy what should have been a peaceful afternoon with you and your infant son, Daemon. Of course, the key word there was "should." Things hadn’t been quite so peaceful since a certain little dragon named Viseron had entered their lives. Viseron, now about the size of a very large dog, was lounging a few feet away, sunbathing lazily, wings spread wide as if he owned the place.

Tyland glanced at the creature with mild suspicion. He still hadn’t quite gotten over the whole "I almost lost a hand to a baby dragon" incident. Viseron, of course, was completely unbothered, soaking up the warmth of the sun as though nothing could disturb his perfect little world.

You sat beside Tyland, gently cradling baby Daemon, who was babbling happily, completely oblivious to the chaos he had caused by simply existing. Tyland leaned over and gave his son an affectionate look, muttering, "You don’t know the trouble you’ve brought into my life, do you?"

Just as Tyland was beginning to relax, he noticed two familiar figures approaching from across the garden—Rhaenyra and Laenor, who had recently returned to court after their wedding. Rhaenyra, of course, had a gleam in her eye, the kind of gleam that Tyland had learned to be wary of. She was clearly in a mood for teasing.

“Well, well, well,” Rhaenyra called out as she drew closer, her voice light and playful. “If it isn’t the new dragonlord himself.”

Tyland sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Good afternoon, Rhaenyra. Laenor,” he greeted, trying to keep his tone civil and neutral. You, however, smiled warmly at your sister, clearly happy to see her.

Rhaenyra’s gaze immediately flicked to Viseron, who was still sunbathing nearby, his scales glinting in the sunlight. She raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “So, this is the infamous Viseron,” she said with mock admiration. “I must say, Tyland, I didn’t take you for a man of dragons.”

Laenor chuckled beside her, clearly amused by the situation. “He’s certainly got his hands full now, doesn’t he?”

Tyland groaned inwardly, already regretting not finding an excuse to leave the garden before they arrived. “It wasn’t exactly my choice,” he muttered, glancing at you. “Your uncle saw to that.”

Rhaenyra laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, I heard all about it. I can’t believe Daemon managed to sneak a dragon egg into your son’s cradle. You should have seen Father’s face when he found out. I thought he was going to choke on his wine.”

Tyland rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling embarrassed by the whole situation. “Yes, well, I’d prefer if we all forgot about that particular incident.”

But Rhaenyra, of course, was having none of it. She moved closer, eyeing Viseron with a grin. “I think it’s fitting. A Lannister with a dragon. You’ll certainly stand out now, Tyland.”

“I’d rather not stand out quite so much,” Tyland grumbled. “Especially when said dragon seems determined to make my life difficult.”

Rhaenyra’s laughter only grew louder. “Difficult? What’s difficult about raising a dragon?”

Tyland shot her a look, deadpan. “For starters, it tried to eat my sleeve this morning.”

Rhaenyra bit back a laugh, her eyes flicking toward the dragon again. “Well, that’s just part of the experience,” she said teasingly. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, look at him—he’s not so bad.”

Viseron, as if on cue, let out a lazy yawn, revealing sharp little teeth that Tyland was all too familiar with. He shot the dragon a wary glance. “Not so bad? He’s a menace in the making.”

Laenor chuckled, patting Tyland on the back. “Ah, come now, Tyland. You’ve got a son with a dragon, something no other Lannisters can say. It’s practically an honor.”

Tyland groaned, leaning back against the bench as you stifled a laugh beside him. “Honor? That’s not quite the word I’d use.”

Rhaenyra grinned, clearly enjoying the teasing. “And what word would you use? Terrified? In over your head?”

“Accurate,” Tyland muttered.

Baby Daemon, blissfully unaware of the conversation, babbled in your arms, reaching out toward Viseron, who was still lounging in the sun. Tyland’s heart skipped a beat as he watched his son’s tiny hand wave in the dragon’s direction, but Viseron didn’t move—he simply lay there, content to ignore the world around him. At least for now, Tyland thought grimly.

Rhaenyra, her eyes sparkling with amusement, leaned in closer to Tyland. “You know,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “I think Uncle Daemon did this on purpose just to see how you’d handle it.”

Tyland’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t say,” he replied dryly, knowing full well that Daemon had probably laughed himself to sleep after hearing about the chaos he’d caused.

Laenor grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Well, you’re handling it better than I expected,” he said, his tone light. “A Lannister with a dragon—who would have thought?”

Tyland sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Trust me, I didn’t ask for this. But here we are.”

You, still cradling baby Daemon, gave your sister a playful look. “He’s doing better than you think, Rhaenyra,” you said with a smile. “And besides, little Daemon seems to love Viseron.”

Tyland gave you a grateful look, though he couldn’t help but mutter, “One of us has to.”

Rhaenyra chuckled, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “Well, Tyland, I look forward to seeing how this all turns out. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be flying on dragonback before long.”

Tyland paled at the very thought. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Viseron, meanwhile, let out a contented huff, as if thoroughly enjoying the idea. Tyland shot the dragon a glare. “I’m watching you, you overgrown lizard.”

But despite his grumbling, Tyland couldn’t help but feel a bit more at ease as he looked at you, his son, and even the sunbathing dragon nearby. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was starting to get the hang of this—chaos and all.

Tyland Lannister had never been more anxious about returning to Casterly Rock, despite it being his childhood home. This time, though, he wasn’t just returning as a dutiful son or the Lord Treasurer of the realm—he was arriving with his wife, your toddler son, and a small dragon named Viseron. To say it was a complicated visit would be an understatement.

"Just remember," Tyland muttered as he straightened his tunic for the third time, "my family is not used to dragons. Or... well, anything remotely Targaryen."

You smiled patiently, holding little Daemon’s hand as he toddled alongside you. Viseron, now the size of a large horse, walked just a few feet behind, his golden-green eyes watching everything with a curious gleam. He had grown quite a bit since his sunbathing days in the King’s Landing gardens, and his presence was impossible to ignore—much to Tyland’s increasing nervousness.

The moment they stepped through the grand entrance of Casterly Rock, the air of formality and anticipation was palpable. Jason Lannister, Tyland’s older brother and Lord of Casterly Rock, was already standing at the head of the table in the great hall, surrounded by a collection of Lannister cousins, uncles, and other relatives who had come to greet them. Jason, naturally, had a goblet of wine in hand and an impossibly smug grin on his face.

"Tyland!" Jason boomed as soon as they entered. "Welcome home! And look at that—our little Lannister prince and his... scaly friend."

Tyland tried not to roll his eyes as Jason clapped him on the shoulder with far too much enthusiasm. "Brother," Tyland said, managing a polite smile. "It’s good to be back."

Jason’s attention immediately shifted to Daemon, who was currently holding onto your leg while giving everyone around him curious looks. "And this must be young Daemon!" Jason grinned, bending down to ruffle the toddler’s silver-gold hair. "A fine-looking lad. And the first Lannister dragon rider, no less!"

Tyland felt his stomach twist as Jason’s gaze shifted to Viseron, who was currently sniffing at a nearby tapestry as if deciding whether or not it was edible.

"Yes, yes, a dragon rider," Tyland said hastily, casting a nervous glance at Viseron. "Speaking of the dragon, perhaps we should—"

But before Tyland could finish, Jason had already raised his goblet high. "A toast!" he announced loudly, drawing the attention of the entire hall. "To Daemon Lannister, the first of our house to ride a dragon!"

The Lannister family, ever fond of toasts, quickly raised their goblets in unison, echoing Jason’s sentiment with various degrees of enthusiasm. "To Daemon Lannister!" they cheered.

Tyland, however, was too busy watching Viseron, who had become increasingly interested in the sound of clinking goblets. The dragon’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing on the shimmering cups as if they were the most fascinating things in the world.

"Um," Tyland began, holding up a hand, "perhaps we should—"

But it was too late.

Viseron let out a high-pitched screech, startling everyone in the hall as he stomped forward, his tail knocking over a nearby chair. The dragon’s eyes were locked on Jason’s goblet, and before anyone could react, Viseron lunged forward, his sharp teeth closing around the rim of the cup.

Jason yelped in surprise, yanking his hand back as Viseron claimed the goblet like a prized trophy. The dragon gave the cup a good shake, spilling wine everywhere, including all over Jason’s immaculate tunic.

"By the gods!" Jason exclaimed, trying—and failing—to maintain his composure. "The dragon just... stole my wine!"

Tyland covered his face with his hand, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "Of course he did," he muttered. "Of course."

The Lannister relatives, for their part, were watching the spectacle with a mixture of horror and amusement. One cousin was whispering furiously to another, no doubt speculating whether all dragon riders had to deal with such incidents on a regular basis.

You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to laugh as you knelt down to pick up Daemon, who had started clapping his hands in delight at the sight of Viseron’s antics. "Look, Mama, Viseron’s playing!" Daemon exclaimed happily, pointing at the dragon as though this were all part of some grand game.

Jason, however, was not as amused. "Tyland," he said through gritted teeth, wiping wine from his sleeve, "do you always let your dragon do this?"

Tyland gave his brother a tight-lipped smile, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity. "No, I generally prefer my wine in a goblet and not in the jaws of a dragon, but thank you for the suggestion."

Viseron, having grown bored of the goblet now that it was empty, dropped it onto the floor with a clatter and turned his attention to one of the nearby tapestries again. Tyland winced. "Perhaps we should move the dragon... outside."

Jason nodded furiously, his expression sour. "Yes, please. Before it decides to redecorate the entire hall."

You were still smiling as you handed Daemon over to Tyland. "Why don’t you take Daemon outside with Viseron?" you suggested gently. "I think it’s best to let them both run off some energy."

Tyland, clutching his son a little tighter, sighed. "Yes, excellent idea." He gave Jason a parting glance. "Apologies for the... incident."

Jason waved him off, though his expression suggested he would be thinking twice about any future dragon-related toasts. "Just... make sure it doesn’t eat anything else valuable."

As Tyland guided Viseron out of the hall, the dragon lumbering behind him, Daemon giggled happily in his arms. "Viseron’s silly, Papa."

Tyland sighed, his heart softening despite the chaos. "Yes, yes he is, my boy." He cast one last glance back at Casterly Rock’s great hall, where his brother and cousins were still trying to mop up spilled wine and repair the damage.

“Welcome to Casterly Rock,” Tyland muttered to himself with a wry smile, shaking his head. “I’m sure we’ll be remembered fondly.”

But despite the dragon-sized headache, as he looked down at Daemon’s bright, happy face and the contented dragon trailing behind them, Tyland couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, the Lannisters would survive having a dragon rider in the family after all.

[scorpiusartistry]

A Lion should never concern himself with the opinion of sheep.

Or should they, because I think the sheep would tell them all to go therapy.

Sketches of Queen Cersei Lannister, Jamie Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon, Myrcella Baratheon and Tommen Baratheon, my favourite dysfunctional family.

[thetormentita]

i got a req!!

Jaime x reader stark ( twin sister of robb )

they already married. Just make it smut and the plot depend on you author. I just wanna read some smut 🤭🤭

Omg, my first request ☺️🙈

a wolf in lion’s clothing

no matter the loss, a daughter of the North is not defeated until she says so.

Pairing: Reader! Stark x Jaime Lannister

A/n: warnings of smut, teasing, somewhat dark!Jaime (c’mon, give him a break, he has lost a hand and we all hate Vargo Hoat). Reader is Robb’s twin, but I did not want to feast over the Red Wedding because my Northern little heart aches for it 😢, let’s say she knows they are gone but not the whole circumstances

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Damned be the day you left Winterfell.

Damned be the day you and Sansa were trapped by the Lannisters.

Damned be the day your future was sentenced by your brother’s enemy.

Damned be the day you were taken to Casterly Rock, far from anything you knew, and surrounded you by unknown faces.

Damned be the day that shining knight had been relieved of his position as a Kingsguard and pushed to assume the status of heir to the Westerlands.

Damned be the day you were forced to marry him.

Damned be the day you found that he is the least bad of all that wretched family.

Damned be the day he went to war and returned maimed, with all his pride taken of him.

It had taken you all of your strength to not fall apart when you have seen that man coming from captivity, and all the courage you did not knew you had to not die when you heard him say that he feared that you would have gone to The Twins.

“What keeps you that busy? I haven’t seen you since lunch” You say with a soft smile when you come into the library and find him focused over a pile of dusty parchments. He looks up, a mixture of surprise and relief washing over his face. Sometimes he still flinches when somebody catches him by surprise, you think it is because of his moons as a prisoner.

“Ah, Y/N,” he replies, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. “I've been trying to sort through these old records,” he explains, gesturing to the mess of papers before him.

“It is dark outside, my love. You should rest," you suggest gently, glancing toward the window where the last sliver of sunlight has vanished. “The past cannot be changed, but exhaustion won't aid in the future,” you continue, moving closer to his side, kissing his hair once you are next to your husband.

He sighs deeply, nodding as he leans into your comforting touch. Eyes closed, he murmurs, “I know you're right. I just can't shake the feeling that there's something I've overlooked within these pages.”

“It just surely can wait” your hand lays upon his shoulder, tracing the way to the other with care. “Your mind needs as much rest as your body,” you insist, urging him to set the parchments aside.

He hesitates for a moment, eyes lingering on the scattered documents, before finally conceding, turning to face you with a softness in his look you have not seen in ages. A loving smile tugs from the corners of your lips as the other hand goes to his cheek, soothing the worry etched there. “Come,” you coax gently, drawing him away from the desk, “you can revisit the mysteries of the past with a clearer mind tomorrow.”

With a hum he manages to tug you towards him, falling on his lap. He wraps his arms around you, resting his forehead against yours, taking a moment to breathe in the calmness you provide. “You always know how to bring peace to my mind,” he whispers, pressing a grateful kiss to your temple.

You bite your lower lip, a playful glint in your eyes. “It's a gift,” you reply with a soft laugh, snuggling closer to him, brushing his lips with yours, tempting. “Perhaps we should see what tomorrow brings,” you suggest, teasingly brushing your nose against his.

“Screw tomorrow” he tries to kiss you, only for you to lean back slightly, just out of reach, your eyes gleaming with mischief. He chuckles, recognizing your playful challenge, and gently pulls you back toward him with a quiet determination . “No escaping now,” he murmurs, capturing your lips this time, their warmth reminding you of the comfort and safety he has always offered you.

The kiss deepens, each moment a promise of shared dreams and unspoken futures. Unconsciously you make yourself comfortable on his lap, giving up to his wondering hand on your back. With a contented sigh, you melt into his embrace, letting the world outside momentarily fade away. Time stands still as the mingling rhythm of your hearts becomes the only sound. His fingers trace light patterns across your back, grounding you in this perfect moment.

You end the kiss only to trace with your lips his jawline, earning pleasured sighs as he tilts his head to leave you an unbroken expanse of skin to explore, which you gladly pamper, a deep part in your mind yelling at you that right now the only salvation you have is to make that man sire children with you.

A wanton moan escapes your lips as you feel the bulge pressing against you, a reminder of his desire matching your own. You quickly change your position, riding his lap, as your quick fingers start unbuttoning his doublet, your eyes clouded with lust.

“Y/N…” he whispers, almost a purr as your kisses go down to his collarbone while you teasingly rock your hips against him. A muffled moan escapes your lips when you feel his hand and the golden prothesis caress your thighs under your skirt. “My little she-wolf”

Your hands roam free to his hair, your fingers curling against it, ripping a soft moan from his lips, half muffled by yours when you press a needing kiss.

“What if somebody comes—?”

“They will see their future lord fucking his wife and putting a little lion inside her.” as you talk your fingers quickly go to his breeches, unlacing them, searching for the object of your desire. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful?” your hands reach his cock and free it, going up and down of it before driving it directly to your folds, making him discover what you have spend days doing —purposely leaving your undergarments aside to get him fuck you. “Wouldn’t my lord like little lions playing free along the Rock?” you purr to his ear, gladly earning a lustful groan, making it the signal to slowly go down his length, silently moaning as your wetness takes all his cock and your folds glide over it with little to no effort.

Your hips keep rocking over his lap, swallowing all of him in the process, as you let yourself go, free to enjoy a pleasure that can guarantee your safety.

What at the beginning had been just wanton moans with the only purpose to entice your husband turn to feel true, to really drive you helpless as you give up to any restrains you had towards the man who had pliantly followed instructions that had led to the disappearance of what you once dared to call ‘home’. With the golden hand by the lower part of your back, his left subtly goes to the lower part of your belly, his dexterous fingers adventuring the way towards your sweet spot, its tips teasing it, tearing pleasure sounds from your mouth.

It had been days since that shell of a man had started to show himself again, and even more days since the last time he made that easily a mess of you.

“Shh” almost entranced, you lean over him, your sweaty forehead against his, your eyes half-lidded as if the thirst for his touch had possessed your body “The whole castle may hear us.”

The subtle weight of the golden hand forcing you to go slower as your hips try to search his good hand with a hint of desperation to ease the sudden need.

“Jaime—“ you whine, breathless, one of your hands unconsciously returning to his hair “Please."

His lips twist into a crooked smile as you lay featherlight kisses along his jawline, panting.

He knows well how you Starks could behave, because he had seen it with his very eyes at King’s Landing and in the battlefield, and he knows that if he wishes for you to be the mother of proper Lannister children, he has to make sure that you will make a proper lady of the Rock.

“Who do you belong to?” he whispers to your ear before nibbling your earlobe, earning a moan in exchange. “Come on, be a good kitten and speak to me.”

Before you can even try to speak, his fingers retake their ministrations between your legs.

“Jaime—“ you close your eyes in delight.

“Come on, sweet girl.”

It is hard to properly think when you are so close to the edge.

“Yours” you pant, helplessly realizing how tables have turned.

“Such a good girl” he nuzzles against your neck as you try your best to hump against him, perky breasts brushing against his chest from behind the fabric of your dress. “You want to give me heirs, don’t you?” you nod, mewling, half eager, half desperate.

You know too well that you can only survive if you become the mother of any heir to the Rock, and yet you cannot help but find it enticing any time that man does his best to carefully push you to an extreme, even if he tries to make you realize you have left all behind.

“Y/N” he sighs, his lips finding yours as you eagerly kiss him, finding that he is no longer making you stay still, but encouraging you to keep going as his fingers retake their speed in their teasing.

Finally the tingling feeling at your core takes over you and you find yourself muffling your moans against his lips as he releases himself inside you with the clenching of your folds, claiming you as his.

But you don’t care. You were made to endure.

You are a daughter of the North.

And the North never forgets.

[dragonsbone]

JOSANA & TYWIN LANNISTER

their rise & their fall

text in order from left to right:

❝ even my niece seems to understand strategy better than the lot of you. ❞ — tywin lannister ❝ you favor your niece more than your own children. tell me, have you given any thought of changing the line of succession? i’m sure that would go well with cersei. ❞ — tyrion lannister ❝ i served as his cupbearer. i observed his councils. i stood at his desk. everything i’ve learned, i’ve learned by my lord uncle’s side. ❞ — josana lannister ❝ my little birds report the lady josana remains to be loyal to her uncle. ❞ — varys ❝ the lannisters are not to be trusted, even the lady josana. they say she and tywin are cut from the same red cloth. ❞ — catelyn stark ❝ ah yes, tywin always did speak so highly of you. of course, you’d never know, given how scarcely you two are seen together now that you’re in the capitol. ❞ — olenna tyrell ❝ you were the only one he truly cared for since since my mother died. now, i fear he cares for nothing at all. ❞ — jaime lannister ❝ from the moment you betrothed her to the enemy, your prized pupil has been whispering the secrets of our family in the stark boy’s ear. ❞ — cersei lannister ❝ i wouldn’t be surprised if that bitch’s pup was actually his… mother says she never strayed too far from grandfather’s side before he sold her to the stark traitors. now she can barely stand the sight of him — i do suppose murdering one’s cunt of a husband does cause a rift of sorts. ❞ — joffrey baratheon ❝ both your daughter and niece were crowned queen, and yet… you’ve stripped the one more worthy of her title. how peculiar that a man as ambitious as yourself would do such a thing.  ❞ — oberyn martell

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[doe-drawz]

A Lannister always Drinks and Knows Things or Something like that

🐺STARKS OF WINTERFELL DRAWING HERE

They are all terrible but I love them all so much, they’re consistently making me laugh.. maybe not Cersei too much in the later seasons but Peak Lannister is season 2 in my opinion so! Here’s some season 2 lannisters! (Except Jaime since I’ll have a new post in the future with Prisoner Jaime ) So! Take Jaime in his goldcloak uniform instead!

[imjulia-andilikecats]

HE IS JUST A BABY👶!

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝑜𝑓 𝐶𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑦 𝑅𝑜𝑐𝑘

𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒐: officially, "Hear Me Roar!", unofficially "A Lannister always pays his debts." 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒍: a golden roaring lion on a field of crimson. 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔: have a reputation for being comely with fair, golden hair and emerald green eyes. Lannisters are known for wearing crimson cloaks, and their household guard are known as the red cloaks.

𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 one of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms; their seat is Casterly Rock, and their secondary exists close by in Lannisport.

The Warden of the West is a Lannister by tradition. Their gold mines have made the Lannisters the wealthiest of the Great Houses, and the Lannister fleet is anchored at Lannisport.

Through the female line the Lannisters boast of descent from Lann the Clever, the legendary trickster of the Age of Heroes who tricked the members of House Casterly into giving him Casterly Rock during the era of the First Men.

Later marrying Andals, the Lannisters reigned as Kings of the Rock until the Targaryen conquest, when they were defeated at the Field of Fire. King Loren I Lannister's surrender to Aegon the Conqueror allowed the Lannisters to remain the liege lords of the westerlands.

While the great wealth of Casterly Rock was untouched by the Targaryen Conquest, the Lannisters were reduced from kings to lords, and they did not have close ties to the new Targaryen kings. The Lannisters had little presence at the royal court for the first century of Targaryen rule, and no Lannister is mentioned as a member of the small council until the lead-up to the Dance of the Dragons.

During this first century, the noble houses with the closest political connections to the Targaryen dynasty were the Velaryons, Baratheons, Tullys, Hightowers, and Arryns.

[pettyprocrastination]

as much as I love 141 medieval au's here the reader is a noble lady saved from her marriage or some lone townswomans rescued by the group of knights (looking @ my own nun!reader in this) I do love the notion of a lady knight.

A badass woman with no name or backstory that's taken up the life of a sellsword- who scoffs at the notion of "honor" when spilling blood on your blade- death is death. Honor means nothing for God or king.

Her hair is cut close to her scalp, because it's all too easy for somebody to grab a handful of those soft locks and be at the perfect position to slit her throat in a fight. Covered in scars and carried by aching bones that broke years ago but never quite healed properly.

Maybe Price is a king who sees this helmeted figure fighting at a tourney for his name day and asks for their name- their noble house only to learn you have none. Simply a desire for the money awarded to the winner.

Maybe Gaz is beloved prince who often sneaks out from his guards nose to mingle with the common folk- who enjoys sitting in a tavern with others and singing songs while drinking ale with a pretty little thing on his lap until he's walking back to the palace and finds a blade at his neck in a dark alley as you warn him that noblebloods should never walk unaccompanied- it makes the job far too easy.

Maybe a beautiful noble lady is sent to stay under the eye of a royal family in discussion for marriage- when the house offers to gift her one for their personal guards of the 141, she insists she more than happy with her own- you. The silent armor-clad figure standing close to her side. (yes I miss domentzia. she's my wife and always will be).

[almostaknight]

no but jaime really did lay out aerys‘ corpse on the floor before ned like a proud cat going. there. I knew you were too weak and stupid so I went hunting for you. are you proud? pls give me pets!! and like all pet owners ned didn’t appreciate the gesture at all bc he was tired and knew he had to clean up the mess in the morning.

[themotherofblood]

Hello!

I saw that you asked about request for Tywin. I wanted to ask something brief about modern!Tywin with his young girlfriend. Anything you can think of with that scenario would be fine.

Thanks for reading me!❤️

you’ve been so engaged with the whole mafia Tywin thing, fyi I love you for this ask because that’s what inspired it bubs. I feel like this is a quaint set up chapter for this series :)

synopsis: a drunk encounter between Tywin and his golden darling.

warnings: shoe riding, AGE GAP, mentions of bullets. alcohol consumption.

word count - 2k+

masterlist | series masterlist | Lion’s Grasp AU

There was an odd sense of contentment, you were too comfortable with the life you had right now, devoid of having to ask too many questions— mostly for your own good. You had found a jewel of a man, and yes the gold digger comments never sit right with you but a man so fine, devoted was far good of a catch to let go. You wouldn’t think twice but close your eyes and jump down the cliff that was your relationship, there was no lie in the subtle fear that lingered in your heart around him. A striking silver fox and total charmer, it took learning to even breathe freely around him. 

Here you are now, in your own little apartment. Dabbing your fingers on your lips to soften the red lipstick, with the exam season finally over, you could let your hair down and drink till you become very aware of the organs within you and the booze— well, your perfect man happened to own some of the most notorious clubs around Lanniston, more like his son Tyrion but all the same. You looked up at the mirror, feeling great about how two hours of work made you look. 

You hesitantly looked at your phone, cheekily smiling at yourself as you unlocked it and snapped a picture of yourself and sent it to Tywin, you could almost predict the message you’d receive back. 

“Do not drink too much darling.” 

You gnawed at your thumb, shaking your head before shooting him a quick text agreeing with him. A bald-faced lie and he knew so, his men were already on the lookout for you and your girlfriends at Satin House. 

The music, as usual, blared so loud you were sure your heart was thudding the same beat, it felt liberating to not spend another night in dirty pyjamas and crying about your coursework. The henchmen Tywin had put up diligently did their jobs as not a single man dared to go beyond the stern glares these bulked men shot their way. You were sure Tyrion was here somewhere, the air was far too sultry for his involvement to be missing. 

You left early, however, knowing your heeled feet nor Tywin would appreciate it but mostly because you missed him terribly. Practically barring him from witnessing the mess you were in the past month. You huffed out into the cold air of the night, the skies were clear and downtown Lannisport was still alive. Meren already stood at the ready by the town car, you rolled your eyes at him. He always had this pinched look to him, very mean. 

“To home, miss?” He asked as you shuffled into the back of the car. You merely hummed in reply.

He was quick to the driver’s end, ready to head towards your apartment but you stopped him.

“Where is Mr Lannister?” You asked, eyes closed as you huffed deep breaths to shake away the loopy daze in your head. 

“At work, miss.” 

“Take me there then, take me to him.” 

Meren hesitated for a moment, his orders were otherwise but how could he deny his boss’s girl. So he nodded, and you rested your head on the window. Drawing little pictures from the fog that followed with your mouth breathing. That lulled you to sleep somehow from the twenty-minute drive that was to Loren Tower, you were roused by Meren as you blinked away the small nap. 

In front of you was the eighty-two-floor skyscraper, the first time you visited your jaw nearly hit the ground. The building was nearly empty for the night other than security and other essential staff who were only here at two in the morning because their boss was a cruel, cruel man. You fixed your hair in the reflection of the elevator mirror, hoping Tywin agrees with this little surprise drunk visit. 

When the elevator dinged open to his floor, his burnt-out but pristinely dressed assistant was the first face you saw, she looked like she was nearly checked out. 

“Miss—“ she raised the telephone but you pressed your finger to your lips, forcing her to keep your little secret as you walked towards his office. Your heels clicked against the annoyingly polished and glossed marble floors. 

Without knocking you pushed in, leaning against the mahogany door frame, admiring the view you had craved for weeks. His white button rolled up his taut forearms, fingers toying with the idle coffee cup. Brows pulled to a harsh gaze, as usual, he didn’t even look up. 

“Reached home, has she?” 

His crisp voice nearly made your already wobbly legs even more unstable. You smirked at him, he looked almost cute— so focused. You pulled in your lips before speaking up. 

“You should really get yourself a third assistant, poor Cassandra looks dead.” 

Tywin’s eyes shot up, immediately locking onto yours before burning into every inch of your body, from your toes to your head— torturously slow as he leaned back onto his chair. 

“I could— you know, fill that position if it’s open.” you hiccuped, pushing yourself away from the door frame. A dopey smile on your lips softens Tywin’s resolution. 

“How many have you indulged in, love?” 

You place your point exactly on the tip of your nose to prove your point, you weren’t aware of your organs just yet. You half wanted to crawl on top of his table and then onto his lap but you chose the more appropriate route and walked around the desk and then plopped onto his lap. 

“What’s the point of all this, if you still work till two?” You kiss his cheek, nuzzling into the stubble he had grown. 

“It’s tax season.”

“Tax season.” you scoff making him look up at you questioningly “Just because I don’t ask questions doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

“Like your hench-“

He cuts you off before you could finish, pressing his lips to yours and pulling your thighs around his so you straddle his lap. The taste of sour cherry vodka is very apparent on your lips.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to darling.” he lectures, leaning lower to kiss your neck. 

“On— on a more serious note, I could use a big girl job.” you smile at him, fixing the already untouched collar of his shirt. Truly, the corporate market was the Dothraki Sea without any administrative experience. 

He raises his brow. “Well, are you after Cassandra’s job?” 

“No, no — but what rich businessman doesn’t have a dozen assistants.” You shrugged, “And I think I have just the right qualifications.”

“Oh, do you now?” 

You eagerly nod, preparing yourself to list a vocal resume. “I make great coffee, a barista duh? I can type quickly, I’m friendly and I can be very pretty and— and” you stick out your pointer and curl it around his collar to pull yourself closer to his ear. 

“I can service you in many other ways, Mr Lannister.” You whisper in his ear before settling back on your calves. 

His gaze hardens once more as he pulls his lips to a tight line. “Alright,” he rubs up your back “you have had one too many.”

This time like an indignant child pouting you pick his pointer finger and place it on the tip of your nose to once again prove you were indeed not wasted and within your right mind. You wanted the job, and you were just a little horny. 

The green of his eyes traced over yours for a moment, before a scoff tumbled from his chest. “You want a job?” 

You nodded your head once more. 

“Earn it then.”

He helped you off of him, letting you settle onto your knees, the rug providing ample protection to your poor knees, you tilted your head confused as he lifted your chin with his pointer. 

“Take your panties off for me.” 

Your breath hitched as excited electrocution began hurtling towards your mound. Your dry spell was to be lifted, another reward for acing your exams. Your eyes were fixated on Tywin as you shuffled your fingers under your green dress and pulled off your black thong, he held your shoulders to stop you from stumbling forwards as you pulled the flimsy fabric back your legs. 

His other hand extended out for you to hand him your panties which he promptly shoved in his pocket.

“Let’s see if you are as qualified as you say you are, little miss.” 

You could stay here all day, oddly warm, comfortable. Minus the heels constricting your feet. It felt nice, it felt good thought it should be humiliating.

You sat on calves, with Jimmy Choo’s on your feet and a diamond pendant necklace around your neck. Head rested against Tywin’s thigh as he sat ever so commandingly in his armchair, his pretty whore knelt between his feet with an aching between your legs. You bite your inner cheek to not moan. 

“Please sir,” you whimpered, feeling another wave hurtling towards you as you rocked your hips against the fine black leather of Tywin’s dress shoes, the texture torturously stimulating your throbbing bud. You gnawed at his knee to stop the surge and then you whimpered once more. 

Your bottom lip wobbled, sniffling as you blinked away your tears. You sat straight with your back straight. You should have chosen the belt lashes instead, this was cruel—so fucking cruel. Here he sat, reading his revenue reports. You, about to be his pretty assistant (only by name) writhing at his feet, eyes glossed and lips bitten, full of colour.

Tywin rather enjoyed this, having you moved to a babbling, tearful mess before he buried his cock in the warm, wet snug for your pussy. He would make you earn the treat, he would have wanted nothing more but to keep you within his eyesight all day, safe and untouched. Your college had already taken such a toll on you he even went through with the private jet arrangements and hotel room to offer you a luxurious escape. His housekeeper, as you sat wiggling by his feet, was packing your luggage. 

“You’ve got to keep quiet, little girl, that was the deal.” His deeper voice crumbles, moving his hand away from the folders to gently pet your hair. 

You looked at him, lips pouted and trembling and nodded your head. Your eyes give him the sweetest most apologetic look, before sinking further into your knees and closing your eyes to avert this feeling of perpetual embarrassment and agony. 

Tywin set down his reports, finally having read through at least a dozen papers before focusing his attention on you. Her pet through your hair, lifting your chin to wipe at your tear-soaked cheeks. 

“Messy little slut.” He tuts, “So desperate to be around me, aren’t you?” 

You nod, sniffling away the more frustrated tears threatening to fall. 

“You’ve earned it.” he pets your cheek once more before the magical words fell from his lips. “Come sweetheart.” 

You nearly sob out in relief as you drop your head against his knee and pick up the pace of grinding against his shoe. Your shoulders shudder just as hard as your legs, your orgasm decimating your resolve. Crying out and heaving as you recover, the muffled sounds of Tywin’s voice coaxing you through it.  

He pulled you back to his lap after, rubbing your back as he put away his work for the night, making a call to have the car prepared. 

“I think I feel my organs now.” You groan against his shoulder, Tywin chuckles, shaking his head, wrapping his blazer around your shoulders before bundling you up. 

He walks out of his office, effortlessly carrying your smaller frame along, he turns to Cassandra’s desk, noting that she indeed looked exhausted. 

“Take your vacation days girl.” He orders as he walks to the elevator. 

“Night Cassandra,” you shoot her a wink over your shoulder. 

You almost doze away on his shoulder as you ride down to the parking, merely a few twitches at your fingertips. 

“Are we going to yours?” you murmur, looking up at him through half-closed eyes. He nods, placing you inside the town car before sternly turning to Meren. 

“The next time you choose to disobey my orders, a bullet will lodge itself within a place you may never find.”

Taglist in the comments

Ahhh, I’m so sorry how long this took to write. Minus the unnecessary things that have gone on for the past few days. My mojo really left me for a week or two but I’m here now, trying to get back into it.

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated.

Also my requests for one shots, this series and Bloody Baby are open, also stop by to my asks any time. I love ranting about my fics hehe.

[raspberryfingers]

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 12)

A/N: this chapter is probably my favorite addition of the rewrite :)

WARNINGS: NSFW

Word Count: 5.6k

—————

I sighed as I watched the last of my luggage be loaded into the wagon. I had packed light, because hopefully this excursion would only take two weeks at most. Both Sansa and Loras had packed a bit more, however, for if all went well they would not be returning to King’s Landing.

It was so early in the morning that the sun had not yet risen, and the only people at the entrance courtyard of the Red Keep were the nightguards and the men accompanying us. I regretted that we had to leave so damned early, as I’d wanted to say goodbye to Tywin. 

It made me rather sad, because I hadn’t a clue if he’d even remember me helping him to the Tower of the Hand when he woke up. His last memory of me might be the feast, and he would not see me again for two weeks.

“Are you alright?”

Feeling Ser Elias’ hand at my shoulder, I turned around and looked up at him with raised eyebrows. Processing what he’d said, I instantly nodded.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just rather anxious, I suppose. Quite a lot relies on this going right,” I said with a sigh, holding my arms and trying not to think about how much could go wrong on this trip. Elias nodded with understanding, removing his hand from me. 

“I understand. However, know that if it should go wrong, it is not your fault. If you cannot wager peace, there’s not a soul on earth who would’ve been able to.”

“Yes, well, the peace agreement was also my idea.”

“And one that I consented to.”

Ser Elias and I turned our heads at the sound of another’s voice, and I was surprised to find Tywin approaching us. I instantly smiled, going over to him and meeting him halfway.

“How are you already awake? Do you feel alright?” I questioned, pressing my hand to his forehead and examining him. Even in the darkness he still looked quite miserable. There was no doubt in mind he’d already vomited at least once.

“I feel entirely awful, but I had to come see you off. I told my guards yesterday that they were to wake me early this morning with no exception,” he explained, reaching for my hand and holding it in his. The feeling sent goosebumps up my arm, and I was somewhat flattered by the fact that he was this ill and had still come all the way down here.

“Will you be alright getting back to the Tower of the Hand?” I asked, noting that he had no coat on over his shirt and pants, just a cloak. I was certain he intended to go back to sleep after this. I prayed he would, he desperately needed it.

“I will be fine. My head hurts quite terribly, that’s all. How are you feeling?” Tywin’s free hand came to my arm, and it made me oddly sentimental. I did not want to leave him.

“Nervous, but that’s to be expected. If I tell myself everything I told you, it helps me calm down. I’m rather convincing that way. I just need to focus on rationality instead of my nerves,” I told him, unable to resist the urge to crack a joke as I squeezed his hand. He smiled gently, not enough for anyone else to notice if they were looking. 

“Well, you convinced me, and I had no qualms with the messier route. You are doing a good thing, remember that.”

“But… what if… what if things go horribly wrong, Tywin? What if I give Robb Stark his sister and two war prisoners with her? Then what?” I voiced my fears, for Tywin was the only person I felt comfortable voicing them to. He instantly shook his head, an entirely serious look on his face as he did.

“That is not going to happen. You will persuade the Young Wolf and you will end this war. You are capable of that, I am certain. And, in the impossible scenario that Robb Stark is utterly stupid and decides to take you hostage, I will call every last bannerman and come for you. I will be dead and rotting before any harm is ever done to you,” Tywin assured me, raising the hand on my shoulder to my cheek and holding eye contact as he said it. Somehow, his words were more comforting than I’d even thought possible.

“Oh Tywin…”

I embraced him then, my face pressed against his chest as I shut my eyes and just let him hold me. One arm wrapped around my torso, and the other hand came to my head, fingers intertwined with my hair. I could feel his breath on my scalp, and after a moment his lips too.

“You will return to me, (Y/N), safe and victorious. And when you do, I will hold you just like this. Do you understand?” Tywin whispered, pulling back a bit so he could look at me again. I nodded, giving him a frightened, desperate smile as though I was trying my hardest to believe his words. I needed him to be right. 

He kissed my forehead then, and I wanted to sob. I had just barely admitted to being in love with him, but either way, knowing that I had to part with him for two weeks was impossible to accept. 

“I’m going to miss you, Tywin,” I muttered, looking up at him solemnly. His lips parted, and he looked entirely shattered at my statement. He nodded, closing his eyes.

“I will miss you as well, dear girl.”

We stared at each other for a moment more, but Loras calling my name from across the courtyard made both of us look over. I sighed, knowing it was time for us to leave.

“I will see you in two weeks, Tywin. I will make sure of it,” I said, giving his hand one last squeeze before turning around and going up to my horse. I quickly mounted up, trying my hardest to make the aching go away. 

The large gate to the Red Keep opened, and as our small group began to move out, I looked at Tywin one last time. He only stared, but it was reassuring all the same. The fear dissipated, and in its place came determination. Yes, I would see him in two weeks, and when I did, I would smile from ear to ear as I announced the end of a war. 

—————

It had only been a few days since you’d left, but Tywin was already utterly miserable. He’d become accustomed to your visits in the morning before either of you had anything to do. It was a pleasant way to start his day, and without it he found himself somewhat aggravated. Now he found that it was hard to get work done without thinking about you or wondering where you were.

He had no idea if you were safe, or if you’d reached Robb Stark yet. He suspected not, but it was a small group and would allow you all to move quickly. Still, it irked him to not be 100% certain of your safety and wellbeing. He was glad you weren’t traveling in a wheelhouse, for that would’ve attracted far too much attention.

Sitting at his desk now, Tywin caught himself considering all these things. It was late morning, and he’d be having lunch soon. He could picture you doing the same, sitting with your brother and his wife. He tried not to think about the fact that Ser Elias was there with you too.

There was the frustration again. Tywin groaned as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling hopelessly. It was a never ending cycle of missing you and wishing you were here, then onto thinking about whatever you might be doing, and finally remembering that Ser Elias was with you the entire time. 

He knew that you were probably right, Ser Elias surely only saw you as a sister or a daughter, but how could Tywin not feel any jealousy at all? The man was six and a half feet tall, not to mention tremendously fit and good looking. It made the Old Lion miss his youth, for once upon a time he wouldn’t have felt insecure compared to a man like that.

Tywin sighed, blinking a few times as he considered just how badly he wished to have you all to himself. Gods, what would it be like to kiss you? To hold your cheek and feel the softness of your lips? He couldn’t even fathom it.

He thought back to the day at the inn, remembering how his breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you in the tub. He hadn’t even meant to look, for he’d never wanted to make you uncomfortable, but gods, you were beautiful.

Tywin hated the way that he thought about you, because he knew that whatever had happened to you as a girl had clearly made you wary of men and their intentions. He could not blame you, and yet somehow even he desired you. It made him feel disgusting, almost as though he was no better than the two soldiers whose tongues he’d cut off.

Of course, it was different. Those men had wanted to rape you, he wished to make love to you. The vision of it was only erotic because Tywin pictured you wanting him just as much as he wanted you. And, it was not as if desire was the thing he could feel when he thought of you. The affection and love had come first, then with it the lust. 

It was odd, for he had fucked whores at various points in his life, but that was merely to relieve his lust. There had been no desire for any of those women, he had simply paid them to make him feel good. He never kissed them, either. But gods, he wanted to kiss you.

That was the difference, he guessed. When he pictured himself fucking you, it was imagining your moans that made his blood rush. Because yes, he could certainly think about how good it would feel to be inside of you, but it was not nearly as attractive as the thought of you being pleased by him. You would look so pretty that way.

Tywin sighed, lifting his head from the back of his chair and looking down to find what he already knew was there. The strain in his pants had grown uncomfortable as he’d allowed his imagination to run wild, and now he simply felt frustrated. 

It had been quite some time since he’d requested a whore from the brothel. Normally just being around you left him content enough to simply touch himself when he grew aroused, but he felt quite insatiable now. Then again, he did not want to fuck a whore, he wanted to fuck you. And thus an idea sparked into his head.

Tywin reached for a blank sheet of parchment, instantly scratching down his instructions on it. He was sending for a whore, though not just any random one. He wanted a girl with your hair color, your eyes, and your height. He pictured every feature of yours perfectly in his head, discovering that if he’d wanted to he might’ve described you in exact detail. But no, the request must be general. Even then, it already was risky enough for him to be doing this.

Before he could think twice, the Lord Hand found himself finishing and sealing the letter. He would take it through the tunnel after he had eaten lunch, and that would be that. He expected a girl would be waiting in his chambers after supper. Somewhere deep down, Tywin knew it would be the last time that tunnel would ever be put to use. It was quite the relieving thought.

—————

Tywin was grateful to be back in his chambers, for he’d just told the king of your plan. True to his word, the Lord Hand informed his grandson about something he ought to know. Unfortunately, Joffrey had not taken well to the news. Tywin hadn’t expected anything less, hence why he’d waited to tell him until after you had left with Loras and Sansa.

But gods, that boy was cumbersome. So much so that Tywin had almost entirely forgotten about the request he’d given to the brothel earlier that day. Entering his bedroom, he was surprised to find a whore there waiting for him. She was still dressed, though only in a transparent fabric, and she had draped herself across the sofa.

Tywin froze as he took in her appearance. In terms of characteristics such as hair and skin, she matched you quite well, but in terms of actual features there was hardly a resemblance. Taking a deep breath, the Lord Hand told himself it was fine. He did not need to look at her face while fucking her, even if he had looked at yours in all his fantasies. 

“My Lord,” the girl greeted, slowly sitting up and giving him a seductive smile. Tywin found that her boldness irked him. You were not timid, to be certain, but he’d found there were some respects in which you were surprisingly vulnerable, and this would certainly be one of them.

She stood from the sofa, striding toward him in a somewhat teasing manner, almost as if trying to trigger some sort of instinct. Standing before Tywin now, she began to undo his coat. He did not deny her, but he did not do anything to encourage her either. 

With her face closer now, he noted that she was similar to you in age, probably in her mid-20s. That made him feel a bit better, at least. But still, when she smiled up at him it was almost aggravating. You did not smile like that. Yours was much prettier.

Tywin began to wonder if he even really wanted to have sex with this woman. She was not you, and you were all he wanted. But then again, he was still annoyed over the conversation with his grandson, and surely it couldn't hurt to blow off some steam this way.

“Would you like to undress me, my Lord Hand?” she asked with a giggle, completely removing his coat and his shirt. Tywin looked down at her, remaining silent for a moment.

“Undress yourself and go sit on the sofa,” he commanded, not a single hint of emotion in his voice as he did. The whore smiled and nodded, making quite a display of herself as she shed the thin gown off. She moved back to her original spot with a very seductive sway of her hips. 

Tywin let himself admire her for a moment, for he couldn’t deny that she was attractive. She had spread her legs as she sat, giving him quite the view. He wished he could see you in such a position; it would be the prettiest painting he ever saw.

Slowly, Tywin removed his boots and then approached the woman. She sat a bit straighter with expectation, batting her eyelashes as she looked up at him. Again, he found himself thinking of you. What might it be like to have you gazing up at him in expectation like this? He could imagine himself brushing your cheek with his fingers and tucking your hair behind your ears. 

He would not touch this whore like that, though. Such intimacy was reserved for you alone. Instead, he merely undid the ties on his pants, pushing them down just enough to free himself. Tywin wasn’t fully hard yet, for truthfully the thing arousing him most was picturing you in place of this woman.

But, either way, he welcomed her to touch him as he stood before her. The whore examined his cock with a smile, instantly reaching from him and beginning to stroke. The sensation was pleasant, but Tywin remained entirely composed until she moved forward a bit and took him in her mouth.

In response to that, he let out a deep exhale, looking down at the top of her head and nearly moaning when he realized that she looked just like you from this angle. Her hair was perhaps her largest similarity to you, and Tywin found himself reaching for it eagerly. His fingers weaved through it, and his grip was firm yet tender. 

The thought of you licking and sucking him this way fully hardened the Great Lion, and his hips involuntarily bucked into the whore’s mouth as he pretended that it was yours. He groaned rather loudly, fighting back the urge to let your name slip from his tongue. 

All sorts of ideas about you began flooding through his head. He could imagine your hands grabbing at his hips, pulling him in even farther. And to have those lips, those soft, convincing lips wrapped around his cock… gods, it sent a shiver up his spine. 

The whore swirled her tongue around his tip, but he did not feel that. Instead he felt you doing it, and he cursed out with utter delight. Of course, he could not entirely convince himself. Had it really been you he would’ve laid you across the sofa and buried his face between your legs already. For some odd reason, he also felt that you would be a woman bold enough to grab his balls while doing this. It was no particular fantasy of his, but the idea of you touching him in any way was absolutely titillating. 

Tywin felt his abdomen beginning to tighten, and he shook his head, opening the eyes that he hadn’t even remembered closing. He glanced down at the whore, removing his hand from her hair. Feeling this, she glanced up at him.

“Enough of that. Get up and bend over,” he instructed, swallowing and catching his breath as he took a step back. He watched the woman do as he’d requested, hands planted into the sofa with her ass raised toward him, and he nodded to himself. Her build was not exactly like yours, which of course served to disappoint Tywin, but it was close enough that—if he were to really put some effort into it—he could convince himself.

He approached her then, one hand grabbing at her hip and the other reaching for his erection. Tywin found his breath catching in his throat as he lined himself up at the girl’s entrance. He simply kept his eyes focused there as he pushed in, imagining how you might moan his name and arch at the feeling of him stretching you this way.

Well, that was what he had been imagining until he was interrupted by the sound of the whore’s moan. Her voice was nothing like yours, and even if he had never heard your cries of pleasure before, logic told him it would be nothing like the sound he’d just heard.

As he slowly began to thrust into her, he attempted to ignore her whines, simply shutting his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the walls around his cock, because even if she wasn’t you, it obviously still felt rather good. Whores were paid for a reason, after all.

Both of Tywin’s hands were on the woman’s hips now, and again he thought of you. He remembered what it had been like to wake up at the inn with his arm wrapped around you, how his breath had caught in his throat when he realized. 

That memory made him thrust a bit faster, and he let out a low moan as he did. The whore replied the same way, though her moans were far louder and much more exaggerated. It made Tywin increasingly annoyed, for not only did it not sound like you, but he knew it was fake. 

This kind of stimulation might warrant a few soft moans or gasps, but nothing like the lusty cries that this woman was currently making. Tywin had enjoyed plenty of late nights with Joanna, and was not ignorant to what actually made a woman feel good, which was exactly how he knew that the current moans coming from below him were entirely exaggerated. 

Attempting to ignore it, Tywin simply shut his eyes again and chased his own pleasure. He wondered if he even should’ve bothered asking for a woman that looked like you, for he was not spending very much time with his eyes open. Well, it had at least been convincing when she’d taken him in her mouth. 

Already thinking of the subject, Tywin found himself imagining how you might moan. More than that, he imagined the way you might gasp his name and shudder as you did. Well, he was trying to. It was hard to do when the whore was quite so loud.

Opening his eyes and looking down at the woman, he decided he’d had enough. Perhaps it was rude, but as he gave the command he did not particularly care. “Hush. Be silent.”

The air felt tense for a moment as the whore silenced herself; she was certainly unaccustomed to men requesting such a thing. Normally, the more she moaned the more they enjoyed it. Well, it didn’t matter. She would stay quiet for the amount that she was being given.

Now that it was quiet besides the slapping of skin, Tywin felt free to give in to his fantasies. He ran his hands over the woman, though really he was running his hands over you. He craved the warmth of your skin, the feeling of you beneath his hands. 

His thrusts became stronger now, and Tywin groaned rather loudly as he gave the whore’s ass a firm squeeze. This was pathetic of him, and he knew that, but his lust for you was so immense that he couldn’t help it. More than that, he simply wished to kiss and hold you. He certainly would not do that to a whore.

Tywin licked his lips, swallowing and breathing heavily as he exerted himself. He could feel his orgasm approaching, and so he leaned over the woman a bit to hit a deeper angle inside of her. However, upon doing so, he inhaled her scent.

He thrusted a few more times as he processed it, but for some reason Tywin could not ignore the perfume she was wearing. It was rather nice, but it smelled nothing like yours did. For some reason, he’d been able to ignore every other difference, but this was his breaking point. He could not ignore just how different from you this woman was any longer, and he sighed out with disappointment—more in himself than anything—as he pulled out of her.

The whore turned her head to look back, confused at what had just happened. Tywin was pulling his pants up, and he walked over to his nightstand to fetch the coin purse for her.

“For your time,” he said, bringing it back over to her. She was sitting on the couch now, feeling rather displaced and anxious. She’d never had a man just full on stop without finishing before.

“My lord, I apologize if I was unsatisfactory. Would you- would you like someone else?” she asked, looking up at him with a sort of embarrassment. Tywin took a deep breath as she said it, shaking his head. He suddenly felt bad.

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t that. And I’m fine, thank you,” he said, trying to reassure her without revealing anything. Had he spent a night with her a year ago, he would’ve found it rather satisfactory. But that was obviously very different now. Tywin could’ve been given the most desired whore in the world and he still wouldn’t have been content. 

“Would you like me to be someone else..?” she trailed off, seeing the look in the Lord Hand’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with a man who was clearly imagining another. Usually they had little shame in moaning other girls' names. 

Tywin only stared at her, handing her the coin purse and then stepping away. She nodded at him, not wanting to push it. She rose from the couch, grabbing her discarded dress and showing herself out through the tunnel. In the morning, Tywin would have a letter sent to seal the thing off. There was no use for it now.

The Lord Hand merely sighed, going to the small table and pouring himself some wine. Surely he was disgusting for this. He didn’t even want to think about how you would react if you knew he’d fucked a whore with you in mind. Again, the guilt came back to him as he considered that perhaps he was like every other man. Gods, it was horrible to love you and want you this way when he was 100% certain you did not feel the same in any capacity. 

Tywin sighed as he set his cup down and made his way over to the bed. He still had an erection to handle, and he supposed he’d get by just fine on his own. He undid his pants completely now, going fully nude and sitting on the edge of the mattress. 

He reached toward his nightstand, pulling out a handkerchief from inside the small drawer so he wouldn’t make a mess when he finished. Though, he wiped the whore’s slick off of himself first. As he did that, however, he noticed your handkerchief still sitting on top of the stand. He had eaten the cookie the morning you’d left, but he had not moved the cloth itself at all. 

An odd urge gripped Tywin, and he set aside the white cloth in his hand and instead reached for yours. He smiled fondly as he examined it, wondering if perhaps your sister or grandmother had embroidered the red roses around the edges of it, for you had once noted to him that you’d never been quite as good at it as them. The first letter of your name was also there in the corner, big and somewhat dramatic. It was pretty, and Tywin liked it. 

He intended to put it back on his nightstand, but a sudden whiff of flowers hit his nose and he instantly stopped. Slowly, with an unparalleled amount of hope, he brought your handkerchief up to his nose and inhaled. 

Smelling your perfume on it, he instantly exhaled and shut his eyes, allowing himself to fully take in the scent. Somehow, the familiarity of it made him feel as though he was holding you in his arms, or perhaps even just sitting beside you. 

Tywin Lannister had never imagined himself being overly fond of some floral scent, but suddenly he could not get enough of it. He found himself burying his nose in this damn cloth, laying back on the bed and getting comfortable as he continually inhaled. He was so obsessed with your scent that he nearly moaned out.

Before he could even fully process what he was doing, Tywin was reaching down with his free hand, taking a hold of his cock. He was practically throbbing now, and the ache for you was so intense that even the slightest pleasure—combined with the rosy perfume filling his lungs—made him shake.

He began to rub himself, slowly at first, as he moaned out. He could picture you sitting beside him, your hair perfectly messy and a smile on your face as you touched him. You would take joy in seeing him become a mess under your hands like this, wouldn’t you? Tywin gasped, handkerchief still pressed to his face.

He forced memories of you saying his name into his mind, his hold on his erection tightening now. He began to rub a little faster, breathing catching in his throat as he looked down at himself. Compared to the warmth of his hand, the feeling of the cold valyrian steel ring made him shudder. The texture of it was almost painful, but you had given him that ring. You had held it in your hands.

Again, he moaned out, still bathing in the scent of roses. In his mind you were still there beside him, watching him moan as you squeezed and tugged. He could see you, naked and beautiful as you tortured him this way. He wanted to kiss you.

He started to rub himself even more vigorously now, a moaning mess as his hips came up to meet his hand. Tywin practically whimpered, and his legs were beginning to shake. It was never like this when he touched himself. The scent of you alone had turned him into this.

“(Y/N)… (Y/N)! Oh gods… (Y/N)…” Tywin applied extra pressure to the tip of his cock, choking out your name with absolutely ecstasy. He could feel every single muscle in his body tensing, as though he were some sort of wild animal.

He found himself rolling onto his stomach, momentarily stopping and reaching for the body pillow against his headboard. With absolute desperation, he lifted himself up for just long enough to push it under him. Once he’d done that, his hand went straight back to doing what it had been before, and he groaned again.

The handkerchief was still against his nose, and with the pillow beneath Tywin, he could imagine himself on top of you. Not only that, but he felt your stomach pressing against his as your back arched, and he saw you throwing your head back with pleasure. 

Tywin moaned as he continued to pleasure himself, not caring at all how hot the room was growing. He was sweaty and tired, but your scent urged him to keep going; he listened quite obediently. 

He was thrusting into his hand—and the pillow as well—with extreme vigor, forehead pressed to the mattress as he panted out. Even if he’d wanted to, Tywin could not keep your name from his lips, especially as he imagined how you might shake and quiver beneath him in the midst of an orgasm.

He felt like a madman envisioning all the ways that he would take you. He wanted you beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist. Or perhaps he would kneel before you, thrusting with your legs over his shoulders. Then he would take you from behind, his hand on your back as your forearms collapsed beneath you out of sheer pleasure. Tywin wanted you on top of him, hips rolling against his as your breasts bounced and he sat up to kiss them. There was the scent of roses again.

Tywin shuddered, for there was too much on his mind. That was not all he wished to do to you. He saw himself inserting his fingers into you, curling and pumping as his thumb rubbed your clit. Surely that would make you sing his name, which was erotic enough as it was. Not only that, but the Great Lion imagined what it might be like to bury his face between your legs, holding them open as they shook. He would feast like a man starved.

Gods, it was a euphoric vision, and he’d found a particularly enjoyable rhythm with his hand. Tywin knew he was close, and his moans had become entirely pathetic, whiny and loud in a way they hadn’t been in years.

Suddenly, his abdomen squeezed tighter than before, his hand clenching around the handkerchief as he took another good inhale. Roses, roses and you. That was all that existed as he felt an all-consuming pleasure in his groin. 

The fresh cloth from earlier was entirely forgotten about, and Tywin did not care whatsoever as his seed spurted from his cock onto the pillow beneath him. He had surely ruined the case, but that was not even a thought to him as he cried your name out, so overwhelmed that his hand was forced to slow itself.

For a few seconds, the Great Lion was entirely frozen, moans becoming quieter and more relaxed as he came down from the peak of his orgasm. He had to swallow and catch his breath, exhaling deeply and blinking a few times to reorient himself. 

Tywin was so exhausted that he nearly fell asleep then and there, but the thirst in his throat forced him to roll over onto his back so that he’d wake up. He glanced over at the pillow, surprised at just how large his spend had been. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spilled so much.

Your handkerchief was still in his hand, and he stared at it for a few seconds before bringing it to his nose again. The scent had previously aroused him, but now it was comforting. He suddenly wished to hold you, to pet your hair and kiss your head. 

Though, the reality of what he’d just done also hit him and drove utter shame and guilt into the Hand of the King. As if he had not degraded you enough by imagining you when he was with a whore. 

Tywin sighed, sitting up slowly and reaching for the cup on his nightstand. The wine felt good in his throat, not to mention it soothed whatever nerves were gathering in his stomach. He was overthinking now. 

As he laid back in bed and cleaned himself up, Tywin also thought about how you were doing at the present moment. It was weird having no contact with you, and it would stay that way until you arrived back at the Red Keep. At least, he prayed that was what would happen.

He merely sighed as he contemplated, pushing the body pillow off the bed and onto the floor. He slipped under the covers then too, trying to get comfortable. It was extremely late now, and there was no doubt in Tywin’s mind that he’d fall asleep rather quickly.

After all, the scent of roses still hung in the air around him, and he prayed that it would never fade away. Perhaps, for once in his life, the gods would listen.

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[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (under the dragon's eye)

- 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 part: 1

- Next part: namesake

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

Tyland Lannister paced back and forth in his chamber, wringing his hands and mentally preparing himself for what felt like the most dangerous conversation of his life. Not even the thought of facing down his brother Jason after their last argument felt as terrifying as what he was about to do: approach Rhaenyra Targaryen for advice. On how to woo her sister, no less.

The marriage was only a week away, and despite his best efforts to appear composed, Tyland was at a loss. You were kind, gentle, and far less fiery than your older sister, but in truth, he barely knew how to connect with you. He had decided to give you a small trinket, a gift to show his affections and intentions, but what sort of thing would you appreciate? Something personal, meaningful—but what? After hours of agonizing, he had concluded that only one person could help him, even if she would rather throw him into the Dragonpit than give him advice.

And that person was Rhaenyra.

Summoning every ounce of Lannister courage (and pride), Tyland found himself standing outside her chambers. He adjusted his tunic for the tenth time, tried not to wipe the sweat from his brow, and knocked, his knuckles sounding louder than intended. The door opened slowly, revealing the princess herself. Rhaenyra looked up at him, her expression immediately turning guarded, and Tyland could feel the temperature drop several degrees.

"Lord Tyland," she said, her tone cool, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Tyland swallowed, feeling as though he had just entered a dragon’s lair. Which, metaphorically speaking, was exactly what this felt like. "Princess Rhaenyra," he began, attempting a polite smile that probably looked more like a grimace, "I was hoping I could... seek your counsel on a matter of importance." He hesitated. "Regarding your sister."

Her brow lifted, and she crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Regarding Y/N?" she repeated slowly, clearly intrigued but not yet lowering her guard. "This should be interesting."

Tyland took a deep breath. "With the wedding approaching, I... I wish to make her feel more comfortable in our union. I intend to give her a small token of my affection, something meaningful, but I... confess, I do not know what she might appreciate most." He shifted awkwardly, waiting for the inevitable snide remark, but to his surprise, Rhaenyra simply studied him.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Tyland could practically hear the wheels turning in her head, as if she were deciding whether or not to indulge him in this request. Finally, she sighed and gestured for him to come inside.

"Very well," she said, her voice carrying that authoritative tone she so often used. "But let me make one thing clear, Lord Tyland." She glanced over her shoulder as he followed her into the room. "I still don’t particularly like the idea of my sister marrying a Lannister. Any Lannister." The way she said it made his name sound like a bad taste in her mouth. "But..." She paused, turning to face him again. "Since this is happening, I suppose it would be in Y/N’s best interest for you to at least try."

Tyland gave a nervous nod, feeling the weight of her words. "That’s all I wish to do, Princess."

Rhaenyra studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to detect any insincerity. After what felt like an eternity, she finally relented, though her voice remained cautious. "Y/N doesn’t care much for jewelry or gold," she said slowly, watching his reaction. "So if you’re thinking of presenting her with a necklace or some grand ring, you may as well throw it into the sea."

Tyland blinked. "No jewelry?" That had been his entire plan—some beautiful Lannister heirloom or a finely crafted trinket, something shiny and expensive. He immediately started panicking inside. What else was there? "Then... what would she appreciate?"

Rhaenyra exhaled, clearly not thrilled to be aiding him in this venture. "Y/N prefers simpler things," she continued, her tone begrudging, as if she couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. "She’s thoughtful. She likes things that have meaning."

Tyland leaned forward slightly, his desperation growing. "Such as?"

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, as if holding back something. She glanced toward the window, clearly weighing her options before speaking. Then, in a voice so low that Tyland almost didn’t catch it, she muttered, "Honeycakes."

Tyland blinked. "I’m sorry, what?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked back to him, and she scowled. "Honeycakes," she repeated, clearly annoyed that she had to say it again. "She has a soft spot for them. There’s a particular kind made with cinnamon and a bit of lemon zest. She’s liked them since we were children."

Tyland stood there, staring at her in disbelief. Honeycakes? He’d been expecting some grand revelation—perhaps a cherished family heirloom or a rare flower from the gardens of King’s Landing. But no. Honeycakes. Cinnamon and lemon zest, to be precise.

Rhaenyra caught the look on his face and smirked, though there was a hint of reluctant amusement in her eyes. "What? Surprised she isn’t pining for a crown of gold?" she asked with a tilt of her head. "My sister’s tastes are simpler than you Lannisters might expect."

Tyland felt a strange mixture of relief and bemusement. "Honeycakes..." he repeated, half to himself.

Rhaenyra sighed, clearly done with the conversation. "If you want to win her favor, find those cakes. But don’t make a spectacle of it." She fixed him with a look that told him exactly what she thought of grand, Lannister gestures. "Y/N values thoughtfulness, not showmanship. Keep that in mind, Lord Tyland."

He nodded earnestly. "Of course, Princess. I... I truly appreciate your help." He bowed, though he couldn’t quite shake the strange image of presenting his bride-to-be with a basket of honeycakes before their wedding day.

Rhaenyra didn’t bother to hide her smirk as he turned to leave. "Good luck, Lord Tyland. You’ll need it."

Tyland Lannister felt as though he was walking into battle. Not with a sword, mind you—he’d gladly take a sword over the delicate parcel he was carrying in his hands. The package was small, neatly wrapped, and smelled faintly of honey and cinnamon. He could only hope Rhaenyra’s advice was sound, though he still had lingering doubts that honeycakes were the key to winning over a Targaryen princess.

He had spent the entire morning overseeing the creation of these cakes, much to the confusion of the castle’s cooks. Tyland had never concerned himself with culinary matters before, but today, he hovered over the bakers like a general over his troops. The result? A batch of perfectly golden cakes, warm with the flavors of cinnamon, honey, and a hint of lemon zest. Now, with the prize in hand, Tyland approached the gardens where he knew you often spent time with your ladies-in-waiting.

As he entered the gardens, he spotted you sitting under a tree, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves around you. You were surrounded by a few ladies, all of whom were laughing softly at something one of them had said. The moment felt peaceful, idyllic—until Tyland realized he was about to intrude on it, honeycakes in hand. Here we go, he thought, straightening his shoulders and adopting what he hoped was a casual, confident stride. In reality, he probably looked like a man trying to act casual while delivering baked goods to royalty, which is to say, he looked incredibly awkward.

You noticed him approaching and smiled, though there was a hint of surprise in your expression. “Lord Tyland,” you greeted softly, causing your ladies to quiet and glance between the two of you with interest. “What brings you to the gardens today?”

Tyland cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how out of place he felt among the roses and lilacs. “Princess,” he began, holding out the small package as if offering a peace treaty. “I... thought you might appreciate these.” He paused, then added awkwardly, “A gift.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity piqued. “A gift?” you repeated, your eyes drifting to the bundle. “What is it?”

“Uh... honeycakes,” Tyland said, his voice cracking just slightly on the word. He felt like a fool standing there, a grown man delivering pastries like some kind of bumbling suitor, but it was too late to back out now. “With cinnamon and lemon zest. I, uh... I heard they’re a favorite of yours.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and for a brief moment, Tyland worried he had completely misunderstood Rhaenyra’s advice. But then, to his relief, your face broke into a delighted smile, and you reached out to take the bundle from him. “Honeycakes?” you said, your voice filled with genuine happiness. “Oh, I haven’t had these in so long!”

Tyland blinked, startled by how quickly your expression had brightened. You unwrapped the parcel with eager hands, revealing the still-warm cakes inside. Without hesitation, you picked one up and took a bite, your eyes closing briefly as you savored the taste.

“They’re perfect!” you said, beaming at him. “Thank you, Lord Tyland.”

Tyland felt a wave of relief wash over him, though he was still a bit taken aback by how easy it had been. You seemed so happy, genuinely pleased by something as simple as honeycakes. For the first time since this entire betrothal had been announced, Tyland felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be such a disaster after all.

The ladies-in-waiting exchanged glances, clearly entertained by the scene, but Tyland barely noticed. He was too focused on the way you smiled as you continued to eat the cake, your delight evident in every bite. He had never seen you so at ease before, and the sight made something warm stir in his chest.

Still, the moment wasn’t without its awkwardness. Tyland stood there, unsure of what to do now that you had accepted the gift. Should he sit? Leave? Compliment the flowers? He cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I, uh... I’m glad you like them,” he said, feeling rather out of his element. “I thought... it might be something meaningful.”

You looked up at him, your expression softening. “It is,” you said, your voice gentle. “It’s thoughtful. Thank you, Lord Tyland.”

He nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure what to say next. You continued to eat the cake with such genuine enjoyment that it almost made the awkwardness worth it. Almost.

After what felt like an eternity of standing there, Tyland finally found the courage to sit on the nearby bench, careful not to intrude too much on your space. The silence that followed wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, but it was... well, a bit awkward. You looked at him with a kind smile, clearly sensing his discomfort but not pushing him to speak.

“I... wasn’t sure what you liked,” Tyland admitted after a moment, his voice a little quieter now. “But I wanted to try. To show you that... I’m trying.”

You regarded him thoughtfully, finishing the last bite of your honeycake. “I can see that,” you said, your tone warm. “And I appreciate it, truly. It means a lot.”

Tyland felt a strange sense of accomplishment—something he hadn’t expected when he first started this endeavor. For the first time, he felt like he had made a connection, however small, with you. There was still an awkward distance between the two of you, but it wasn’t as insurmountable as it had felt before.

As the two of you sat there, surrounded by the soft sounds of the garden and the distant chatter of the ladies, Tyland couldn’t help but feel a bit more hopeful. This marriage, which had once seemed like an impossible task, might turn out to be something different. Something better.

Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be such a terrible mistake after all.

The great hall was alive with the sounds of celebration—music, laughter, the clinking of goblets—and Tyland Lannister found himself in the very center of it all, though it felt like a whirlwind he was somehow caught in. He glanced to his right, where you sat next to him, radiant in your wedding finery, your presence as serene and composed as ever. At least one of us looks like they belong here, Tyland thought with a nervous sip from his goblet.

King Viserys, sitting at the head of the table, looked positively jubilant, his rosy cheeks practically glowing from the wine and the joy of the occasion. Every now and then, he would raise his cup to no one in particular, chuckling at something that seemed to amuse only him. Tyland suspected it was the fact that everything had gone smoothly, despite the strange, tangled mess of the betrothal in the first place.

Rhaenyra, seated a little further down the table, was sending Tyland sharp looks. But, to his relief, they weren’t the I’m going to feed you to a dragon kind of looks she usually reserved for him. No, these were more the I’m watching you kind, which, while still intimidating, felt significantly less lethal. Perhaps her sister’s obvious happiness had softened her a little—though Tyland wasn’t foolish enough to think she would ever fully approve of a Lannister as a brother-in-law.

Daemon, however, was another matter entirely. Leaning lazily in his chair with that unmistakable smirk plastered across his face, he hadn’t said much during the feast, but his eyes had been on Tyland more than once. And every time their gazes met, Daemon’s smirk seemed to widen, as if he knew a secret that Tyland didn’t. It was, frankly, unsettling.

Tyland shifted slightly in his seat, trying to ignore Daemon’s gaze, when the first of the lords began to approach the newlyweds.

Lyonel Strong, ever the statesman, stepped forward, his smile warm and genuine. “Lord Tyland, Lady Y/N,” he said, bowing slightly. “Congratulations on your union. May it bring great strength to both your houses.”

“Thank you, Lord Lyonel,” Tyland managed to say with a polite nod, grateful for the safe, neutral tone of the congratulations. Lyonel Strong wasn’t one for scheming or underhanded dealings—just the sort of man Tyland preferred in moments like this.

But Lyonel wasn’t the only one approaching. The next figure who came into view made Tyland’s stomach flip just a little: Otto Hightower, Hand of the King and, perhaps more importantly, the very man responsible for mixing up the marriage proposals in the first place.

“Lord Tyland,” Otto said, his voice smooth as silk, his smile conspiratorial as he leaned in just a touch too close. “Congratulations on this most fortuitous match. It seems my... suggestion has borne fruit, wouldn't you say?”

Tyland stiffened slightly, managing a tight smile. “Indeed, Lord Otto. Your... foresight was certainly... unexpected.”

Otto chuckled, a sound that made Tyland want to check his coin purse, just in case. “Ah, unexpected, yes, but beneficial, wouldn’t you agree?” He straightened up, giving a small nod in your direction. “The realm is stronger for it, and I daresay House Lannister has found itself in a most advantageous position.”

Tyland could feel the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air. Advantageous position. Yes, Otto expected gratitude. And not just the kind exchanged over pleasantries at a feast.

“As we move forward,” Otto continued, his voice lowering slightly, “I trust you’ll remember those who’ve helped place you where you are, Lord Tyland.”

Tyland’s smile faltered slightly as he nodded, already feeling the strings that Otto was undoubtedly weaving around him. “Of course, Lord Otto,” he replied, his voice carefully measured. “Your assistance has not gone unnoticed.”

“Good,” Otto said, his smile never faltering, though it held the slightest edge of expectation. “Very good.”

And just like that, Otto moved on, leaving Tyland to reflect on the many ways that conversation could come back to haunt him in the future. But before he could dwell too long on it, another voice interrupted his thoughts, and this one he knew all too well.

“Well, well, well, look at you!” Jason Lannister strode forward, his usual swagger on full display, followed by several other members of their family, who were all beaming as if this were a victory for House Lannister rather than a wedding. Jason’s grin was wide, bordering on smug, and Tyland braced himself for the inevitable teasing. “You’ve managed it, little brother! A princess! You’ve done the family proud.”

Tyland fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Jason,” he greeted, trying to keep his tone civil. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Jason clapped a hand on his shoulder, far too pleased with himself. “Oh, don’t be modest! A Targaryen bride! I didn’t think you had it in you, truly.”

From the corner of his eye, Tyland saw you hide a smile behind your goblet, clearly amused by the exchange, and something about that small gesture made him feel just a bit lighter. At least someone found Jason’s antics amusing.

“And what a bride you’ve got,” Jason continued, his grin never faltering. “Lady Y/N, you’re far too good for my brother, but I suppose he’s luckier than he deserves.”

You blushed slightly, though you managed to smile at Jason. “Thank you, Lord Jason,” you said politely, clearly trying not to laugh at his exaggerated praise.

Tyland groaned inwardly, already anticipating the endless teasing that would follow in the weeks to come. But despite Jason’s smugness, there was a genuine warmth to his congratulations. Tyland couldn’t help but feel that, in his own ridiculous way, Jason was proud of him.

The rest of the Lannisters offered their congratulations, each one with varying degrees of sincerity, but Tyland couldn’t help but feel more hopeful as the night wore on. There was something comforting about being surrounded by his family, as chaotic as they were, and sharing this moment with you by his side.

As the music swelled and the feast continued, Tyland glanced over at you once more. You were laughing softly at something one of your ladies had said, your face lit up by the glow of the nearby candles. For the first time, he realized just how lucky he truly was. What had started as a mix-up, a political maneuver he had been dragged into, was starting to feel like something much more.

Maybe, just maybe, this marriage would be more than a strategic alliance. Maybe it would turn into something he hadn’t dared hope for—something real.

As the feast began to wind down, Tyland Lannister found himself seated with a goblet of wine in hand, but not really tasting it. His mind was spinning, already working out how he might navigate the dreaded bedding ceremony. Maybe he could politely refuse—after all, he was a Lannister, and surely that carried some weight. Or perhaps he could find a way to subtly remove himself from the hall before anyone had the chance to call for the old, humiliating tradition. Yes, he could—

But before Tyland could formulate an escape plan, he noticed Daemon rise from his seat, a mischievous glint in his eyes. A sense of impending doom washed over Tyland, and he immediately stiffened. Nothing good ever followed that look in Daemon’s eyes.

Daemon raised his goblet, drawing the attention of the entire hall. “My lords, my ladies,” he called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the murmurs of the crowd. “Now, as is tradition, we celebrate the union of my dear niece and her new husband.” His grin widened, and Tyland’s heart sank. Here it comes, he thought, mentally preparing for the worst.

“But,” Daemon continued, his voice dripping with mock solemnity, “we are a house of dragons, not sheep. So, I say we leave behind the old customs of the bedding ceremony, and instead…” He paused, clearly relishing the moment as all eyes turned to him. “Instead, it’s time for the bride to saddle her husband upon the back of her dragon.”

Tyland’s goblet slipped from his hand, clattering onto the table. He was too stunned to speak, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Saddle? Her husband? On a dragon? His mind struggled to process the words, but Daemon’s smirk left no doubt—this was very much real.

Around the hall, murmurs of confusion and amusement rippled through the guests. Tyland’s gaze shot to you, but before he could say anything, his worst fear was confirmed when King Viserys—his father-in-law—joined in, clapping his hands together and laughing heartily.

“Now, that is a fine tradition!” Viserys exclaimed, clearly pleased. “No need for the old ways, not with dragons in the family!” He looked positively delighted with the idea. “I agree with my brother. Let my daughter’s husband show his bravery by riding Silverwing!”

Tyland felt the blood drain from his face. He had never felt further from his Lannister pride than in that moment. This had to be some cruel jest, a nightmare, perhaps. But no, it was all too real. He glanced at Daemon again, who was leaning casually on the table, watching Tyland’s horror unfold with gleeful satisfaction.

Across from him, Rhaenyra looked positively delighted, her lips curling into a smirk as she exchanged a glance with you. Tyland had no doubt she was enjoying this far too much. Her amusement was only compounded by Daemon’s outlandish proposal, which had, of course, been accepted by none other than the king himself.

Tyland’s mind raced. Saddle her husband? On a dragon? He wasn’t sure whether to faint or flee. He wasn’t even sure which option was worse—public humiliation in a bedding ceremony or being strapped to the back of Silverwing like a sack of potatoes.

You, seated beside him, must have sensed his panic, for you reached out and gently touched his arm. “Tyland,” you said softly, your voice calm despite the absurdity unfolding around you. “It’s all in good fun. No one expects you to actually ride Silverwing.”

“Don’t they?” Tyland croaked, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes darted to Daemon again, whose smirk seemed to widen with every passing second.

You gave him a reassuring smile, though your own amusement was evident. “Daemon enjoys making people uncomfortable, but he doesn’t expect you to ride a dragon. It’s just a joke.”

Tyland blinked, trying to absorb your words, but it was hard to find comfort when Daemon’s eyes were still fixed on him like a cat playing with a particularly entertaining mouse.

“I assure you,” you continued, “Silverwing isn’t saddling anyone tonight.”

Tyland exhaled in relief, though his heart was still racing. “I hope you’re right,” he muttered, glancing warily at the dragonlords at the head table. “Because I’m not exactly fond of being... airborne.”

At that, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “I’ll make sure no one forces you into the air,” you promised, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

But before Tyland could fully process your reassurance, Daemon raised his goblet again. “Well, Lord Tyland,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, “are you ready to embrace your Targaryen heritage and take to the skies?”

Tyland swallowed hard, feeling the eyes of the entire hall on him. He opened his mouth, searching for a polite way to decline without looking like a coward, when Viserys, still chuckling, waved a hand.

“Leave the man be, Daemon!” the king said, clearly enjoying himself. “Let him have his peace. There’ll be plenty of time for dragonriding later.”

The hall erupted into laughter, and Tyland felt his face flush with both relief and embarrassment. He shot a grateful glance at Viserys, who seemed more than satisfied with how the evening had turned out.

Daemon, still smirking, raised his goblet in Tyland’s direction. “Another time, then, Lord Tyland. But remember, it’s only a matter of time before you’re one of us.”

Tyland forced a smile, nodding stiffly. “Of course,” he managed, though he hoped that time was very, very far away.

As the laughter died down and the feast continued, you leaned in slightly, your voice low enough for only him to hear. “You handled that well,” you said with a teasing smile.

Tyland shook his head, still feeling a little shaken by the ordeal. “I’m not sure well is the word I’d use,” he muttered, though your soft laughter brought a smile to his face despite himself.

He took another deep breath, relaxing a little as the mood in the hall returned to its earlier festive atmosphere. It hadn’t been the disaster he feared—though it had been close. And perhaps, as he glanced at you beside him, smiling and clearly amused by the absurdity of it all, this union wasn’t going to be as terrifying as he had once thought.

As long as Daemon didn’t try to strap him to a dragon again.