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starsofjewels · 6 months ago

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The Yellow Wedding

(Gregor Clegane x Bride! Reader)

Yes, I know, and I pinky promise I'm ashamed that I'm a Greggie C simp. Yes, I know, he's like the only GOT character who is completely morally unforgiveable. Yes, I know, I have a problem, blame it on the lack of stability idfk.

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A/N: This pookie has been in my drafts since before I made this account, so it's kind of my baby. If you think Gregor Clegane is bad, just wait and see what else I have in store for y'all. Gods bless.

This is the beginning of a series I like to call- Who the f*ck is writing for that character? I did promise questionable- You get questionable.

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CONTENT: Canon compliant! Arranged/ forced marriage, language, non descriptive! Sex/ nudity, alcohol use/ drunkenness

(Is Greggie C his own content warning? Probably.)

Word count: 3.3k

It is not a match you would ever make for yourself. You would spend no time begging your father for such a marriage or pleading with your mother to make your father consent. No, this was your father’s decision alone. You do not know what Tywin Lannister has promised your father, but you assume something great; more men to fish the rivers or more materials to make the small Riverlands village your father controls less sparse. No matter what it is, he is convinced it is worth the price, and so you will marry Gregor Clegane, the Mountain.

Although you have spent your childhood in the Riverlands, you have heard of the monstrous man. Beastly tall, and stronger than any man alive. Even you, with your quiet, humble education are well-versed in his ferocity, of the sheer terror he inflicts upon even the strongest of men. Although you were no older than three or four at the time of Robert Baratheon’s rebellion, you know full well what the Mountain did to Rhaegar’s bride and their children; and the horses he can behead with a single swing of his great sword. And it makes you sick to believe that you will wed such a monster.

Crying to your father does nothing, nor does wailing endlessly to your mother, or the septa whose focus is now on your sisters. You are a low noble, your father tells you, it is better than you deserve and more than you will ever get again. Your mother cannot speak to you, she sobs when she tries, and you know there are things not even your mother can tell you.

Your sisters squeal with excitement at the idea of travelling from the Riverlands, and you realise that although you have gone as far as Highgarden, your sisters have barely seen Acorn Hall. You do not ride with them, no, Lord Tywin provides you and your father with a separate carriage, decorated beautifully and accompanied by grey horses. Your father promises he will let you keep one after you are married, and even as a grown maiden, the thought of another horse excites you.

You realise unreasonably quickly that this wedding is a Lannister wedding. Although you are not marrying into the house of lions, the entire event is tainted with their presence. You will be married in Lannisport, in a dress paid for by Tywin Lannister and designed by his tailors. The food and the wine from his contacts, and the guests Lannister supporters. Your father is impressed, he tells you what is gold, and what is silver, and how lucky you are to be such a finely kept bride.

“Lannisport is beautiful this time of year,” Your father takes your hand in his as you begin to ride, as though that helps you, “You will enjoy it, I think- The sea air may calm you…”

You nod, uninterested, as you begin to move further away from your home. He sighs,

“You may not be pleased with this arrangement, Daughter, but Lord Tywin has given you a better wedding than any girl could wish for. The Mountain may not be a kind husband or a good husband, but you will be safe.”

“If he doesn’t eat me first…”

Your father hears you, despite how lowly you mumble. He looks at you, displeased, and says nothing.

The ride to Lannisport takes several days. Each time you stop your sisters marvel over something new, so easily impressed that a fallen tree sparks hours of conversation. They spend all of their time “helping” the stableboys with the horses and chasing after innkeepers’ cats. Part of you wishes you were young enough to join them, to run along with them and hide from the cooks, sneaking sweets from the kitchen.

Instead, you are sat down with your mother and your septa. The latter very gently explains what will happen to you when you are joined with Clegane in the eyes of the Gods when you become man and wife and things are suddenly expected of you; and you realise it is nothing you didn’t already know from listening to your father’s guards, or from far too much time with only yourself for company. It will hurt, she tells you, it always hurts; he will not be gentle, he will not care for you afterwards, and you wonder how a celibate sister would know such things.

The rush of Lannisport is not like anywhere else you have been on your travels; it is busier, much busier. You know from your studies there are hundreds of thousands of inhabitants in this city, and you wonder if all of them have come out to meet with you. They haven’t, of course, aside from a few young children who stare at the gold and silver carriages, and the servants employed to assist your family. Anyone around you is far too busy with their own life to care at all about what you do.

Your sisters are taken off to see the sights the city beholds, the high walls, the ports, and the beaches, utterly distracted by lights and sand. You, as always, are not as lucky. The septa dresses you in a fine yellow dress, in such a shade you immediately recognise it as Clegane colours. She fixes your hair with thin, silver ribbons which suit your hair nearly perfectly, and leads you along the bright halls of your apartments.

You have no time to awe at the Lannisters’ exuberant wealth - You see the gold-lined portraits your father could never afford, the jewels left in glass bowls with no fear anyone may steal them. No, you are brought swiftly, and with no fuss, across the halls, until you reach what you assume to be a sitting room. She leaves you at the door, slamming it shut before you can register you have been thrown in.

The room is darker, the curtains are pulled, creating a dusky light which draws only unease from you. Wine is laid out for you, and a selection of fruit, and other trinkets you cannot make out in the dim light.

The creature at the other end of the room stirs, and you yelp. You expect it to be Gregor Clegane, and your hands reach for the doorknob, only to find it locked. The man stands, and he is far taller than you could imagine. Taller than any man in the Seven Kingdoms, or anywhere else, you think. He grumbles and moves closer to you with slow, deliberate movements, taunting you.

Once you see the scars poorly hidden by his thick, long hair, however, you realise it is, in fact, not your prospective husband. But his brother; the Hound, Sandor.

You have heard every rumour about the Hound. Savagery matched only by his brother, a rage fuelled by a young Gregor plunging his brother’s face into a fire, over nothing more than a wooden knight, no matter what their father told those around them. He fears nothing: not Gods, not kings or the lions they surround themselves with. And soon, he will be your brother-by-law

He laughs. Deep, and rumbling, and you know he is laughing at you. The Hound takes a cup of wine for himself, drinking it entirely with one sip. He eyes you up, and down.

“You are… my betrothed’s brother?”

You try to sound like a proper lady. The Hound laughs in your face.

“Your betrothed?” He mocks, setting the empty cup down and marching towards you. You see the burns on his face - Ugly, pink things, still not healed after endless years and more ointments than you could imagine. “This isn’t a fairytale, little lady. I’d be surprised if you survived the wedding night.”

“I-”

He does not let you speak,

“If his hands don’t kill you, girl, his cock will.”

Your eyes go wide as he utters the word - Something you’ve only heard out of drunken peasants, and not knights. He notices immediately.

“He’ll say far worse than cock, petal. I don’t know why Tywin Lannister is making you marry my brother, but it won’t be pleasant.”

He sighs, sitting himself back down,

“The only reason I’m here is to make sure you make it to the bed- It’d look bad on the family if he killed you before then - As if we could be worse.”

There is nothing you can say to make the situation better or, for that matter, any worse. Sandor looks at you properly, and he realises how young you are.

“How old are you, girl?”

“I’m… nine and ten, Ser.”

He softens, somewhat. His scars seem less frightening when his face is not a scowl.

“Young-” He says, quietly, “young, little thing. By the Gods, his last ones have all been older.” His voice drops, but you hear him. “He might spare you…”

He fills the brief silence that follows.

“You’ve never had a man, have you?”

“No, Ser.”

“Ser. I am no Ser, lamb.”

You stare up at him, almost confused. You were certain he was a knight- Any king would jump at their chance to knight a man like Sandor.

“I refused. Ever since Rhaegar Targaryen knighted your betrothed. If a brute like the Mountain can be made a knight, I refuse.”

“That… I suppose that… makes sense.”

He sighs, reaching out to you and taking your hand, gently.

“If you do what he says, you might be fine. Don’t anger him, petal. Don’t ever anger him. Not even the Gods will save you.”

With that, he leaves you alone in the dim sitting room, until the septa returns and helps you back to your chambers. She asks basic questions, which sound as though she’s written them in advance.

For the next three days, you are primped and prepared like a fine ham, rather than a beautiful bride. Women engulf you nearly every moment of the day, bathing you in hot water filled with roses, scrubbing you raw.

You are taught the wedding procession, how the septon will join you together under the Seven, and what will be expected of you in the early stages of your marriage.

Upon the morning of your wedding, you are awoken to find your wedding dress already waiting for you; white and delicate, an apparent symbolism of your purity. Despite never having bedded a man, you wonder how pure you truly are. Of course, you look like the freshest, whitest snow in comparison to Gregor.

Once you are dressed, and the ladies have swooned over how beautiful you look, you sit with the septa, awaiting the Mountain’s guests to complete their prayers, so you may be brought in.

There are private prayers for you, the septa blesses you and prays for a hopeful marriage. She sits with you and offers you wine.

“Do you truly think this marriage is a good match?”

She sighs, taking a place beside you.

“Gregor Clegane is indeed a dangerous man, but all men can be tempted by the kisses of their lover, and enough delicate touches.”

Your eyes widen and you look at her, shocked. She smiles at you.

“Do you really think I wouldn't know of the ways of men, sweet girl? They are all the same, these brutish, knight types.”

For a moment, the septa becomes almost like a best friend, she laughs with you in a way you have never seen before.

“If I am still alive when you have daughters,” she says, “I shall serve them. And I shall pray every night they are as wonderful as you, sweet one.” She looks at you, “write me. Tell me you are safe, yes?”

“Yes. I promise you.”

Your father calls for you shortly after, you see his eyes widen as you emerge from your bedroom in that fine, white dress. You are walked rather unceremoniously to the castle’s great hall. There are decorations everywhere, flowers of white and yellow, blue and red. A true, rather fantastical, combination of your house being joined with the Cleganes and the Lannisters overseeing your union.

Your septa waits for you by the doors and sets a crown of flowers upon your head; a bronze headdress, with flowers twisted into the metal. A small, inconsequential tradition of your house. An attempt to make you feel as though you haven't been entirely abandoned by them.

As you walk to the aisle, you recognise almost none of the guests. You see Sandor first, sitting right at the back of the hall. You can tell he is already drunk, and he refuses to look at you.

Although you are not married in a sept, you are still joined by a holy man- You assume the septon is someone of reasonable importance within Lannisport, whose loyalty to the house of lions overpowers his devotion to the faith. Or, perhaps more likely, this septon has refused to marry a monster such as your groom in a place of worship.

You see the Mountain from a distance and, somehow, this man is far, far taller than his brother. You would expect such a man to be wed in his chain mail, or the heavy black armour you have heard so much about. Instead, he wears a tunic in such a yellow you immediately recognise it as Clegane colours, even from a distance. Although this is your first meeting, you notice how out of place he looks without his armour.

The wedding procession is long and quite boring, and you understand why your sisters have each been given a new doll to entertain themselves with. They smile and wave and giggle as you eventually pass them, delighted to see you dress so wonderfully. Your mother shushes them, her eyes so red you can tell she has spent hours sobbing over this marriage.

The Mountain reaches out for you, and your hands grasp his own large paws, enclosed in black leather gloves. He makes no effort to speak to you, or smile at you, or do anything to comfort your terrified self, but you see him look you up and down and smile with desire. At least he is pleased with you.

His cloak is far heavier than you would expect it to be. Thick, black fur, which weighs you down to the point you are unsure how you can stand properly. It must be bear, you think, or something equally ferocious. He lets you take his arm to support yourself, as he pledges to protect you; and you wonder how long said protection will last.

One of those large, gloved hands takes your chin, lifting your face up to look at him. His hand is the size of your head, perhaps bigger. The Mountain is so large, he grasps you by the waist and pulls you up to reach his head. He carries you like you are nothing, cradling you with the same ease one would a cushion.

You are announced as man, and as wife, and he kisses you with the ferocity expected of such a man. It is not loving nor fond, but it is certainly passionate. He refuses to let you go, holding you tightly and walking with you, like a child.

The celebration is far greater than anything you could imagine. The Lannister dignity and refinement thrown violently aside for drink and dance. You are placed at the head of the feast table, beside your monstrous husband. You watch him eat, and drink enough to kill any lesser man. You cannot eat, despite the cakes and pastries, and all of the things you would gladly finish off on any other occasion.

You look at Gregor, and you sip your wine graciously, fearful of spilling something down yourself.

He catches your glance, and looks down at your barely touched plate. You anticipate anything but your husband lifting your spoon, and putting it to your mouth like a baby. Half out of fear, and half out of curiosity, you accept the spoonful of broth. It is too hot and not particularly flavoursome, not that you complain. Gregor smiles, looking you up and down once again, and he speaks. For the first time.

“You’re pretty.”

“Is that… good?”

He thinks for a moment,

“Aye, it’s good. You’ll make me good sons with those hips.”

You grow hot with embarrassment, unable to do anything but giggle slightly. He leans into you, out of your father’s earshot.

“Are you as delicious as you look, little thing?”

“I- Don’t know, my lord.”

He moves your hair to kiss the side of your neck. You can see this action garnering the attention of those around you,

“Mh, well- Just you wait, then, and we shall see.”

The rest of the evening is almost a blur, as you take more and more wine and honey mead. By nightfall you are flush with borderline drunkenness, and your equally-drunk husband could be a prince charming, for all you care.

He lifts you up to dance with you, too large for any form of regular dance. Your first dance as a couple is a spectacle to behold; and you cannot stop laughing the entire time. You cup his face in your hands, and you kiss him as though you do, truly love him, but you assume it is merely the alcohol in your system.

You mean to thank Lord Tywin, or whomever he has sent to oversee the wedding, or to visit your young sisters, brought out of the way of the wedding feast. There is not enough time, or sobriety, for you to do either. You are instead lifted from your chair and hauled off to Gregor’s chambers, for your new duties as his wife.

By the time he is finished with you, you can barely remember your own name. You do recall your septa’s warning of a man’s cruelty once his desires are fulfilled, and expect the worst.

Your husband rises from you, almost completely naked, and for a moment you think he will return to the festivities without his tunic. Gregor, however, returns to you with a cup of wine. You can barely drink it, giggling drunkenly as near half the wine dribbles down your bare chest.

Although you clean yourself, he holds you steady.

You spend the rest of the night in his bed, listening to the celebrations below eventually die down, as more guests retire. You sit up in thought, and he looks at you.

“No bedding ceremony?”

He snorts, pulling you closer.

“No. No other man gets to see-” His hands travel down your body, resting on your hips, “this.”

You groan, shivering despite the fire.

“Are you pleased, then?”

“Aye, aye. Pleased. I’ll be more pleased once you give me my sons.”

You whack his shoulder lightly. He does not even feel it, of course.

“Can we not enjoy our wedding night first?”

“Gods, you talk like a rich little cunt, woman.”

You splutter with laughter and he kisses your neck again, biting down on your shoulder just gently enough that it does not hurt.

“We can enjoy ourselves whilst you give me a son, love. That’s the fun of it.”

You sigh, resting a head on his bare shoulder.

“That was… quite fun…”

“Aye, it was.”

Eventually you shuffle down the bed, realising just how large it really was, to facilitate your husband’s massive form. It is warm, even if the sheets stick to your skin.

His arms wrap around you, and before you know it he is asleep, tucked into your shoulder. Gregor’s peacefulness seems odd, compared to the beastly Mountain you have heard stories of, and you wonder if he will, truly, treat you well.

You watch the fire for some time, until you too fall asleep.

The festivities continue for a day and one more night, until the feast is truly over and you set off for your husband’s keep.

You give the older of your sisters your crown of flowers and wave with the same enthusiasm they did on your wedding day as Gregor hands you his stallion’s bridle and wraps his arms around your hips. You leave Lannisport as the lady of the Mountain, and you wonder how he can be so pleasant to you, but so fearful on the battlefield.

Not that you particularly care, not when you seem to have tamed the Mountain who Rides.

#game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got #got x reader #gregor clegane #gregor clegane x reader #game of thrones x y/n #got x y/n #got x you #house clegane

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agent-whiskeys-sweetheart · 2 years ago

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Yay your requests are open again!! :) if you are still doing game of thrones requests. Could you possibly right about some of the characters defending you against any disrespect or question of your character?

I love this request! Thanks so much for sending it in!

Jaime - Jaime would fight to defend your honor. Not necessarily to the death but he would make a huge show of fighting in your place to make sure that no one ever disrespects you again. He knows you’d be scared to defend yourself so he’s happy to do it for you.

Sandor - Sandor would kill any man that dares disrespect you. He wouldn’t bother to talk or negotiate with them. The moment that a disrespectful word about you comes out of their mouth he’s slicing their throat. He would make sure you’re never disrespected again.

Petyr - Petyr would engage in a battle of wits with whoever is stupid enough to talk badly about his girl. He would always wins as his opponent is woefully underprepared in terms of intelligence. Petyr would end the fight with a grin, knowing he’s defended you well.

Jon - Jon wouldn’t want to start a fight over it. He would know that it’s for the best to be the better people and walk away rather than fighting about it. Of course he’d want to fight for you but he thinks it’s best to leave the whole situation alone and be with you instead.

Robb - Robb would start a fight with anyone that disrespects you. He wouldn’t want to do permanent damage to your verbal assailant but he would definitely prove that he’ll come to your aid every time. He would be sure to give you lots of praise and love when he’s done.

Tywin - Tywin wouldn’t personally kill whoever it is but he’d make sure that they disappear for good. He’d never want you to have to face them ever again. Anything that brings you discomfort or unhappiness has no place in your world. So he makes them go away.

Bronn - Bronn wouldn’t give a shit about the person that disrespects you. That’s not to say he doesn’t care. He just doesn’t care about their opinion. He’d much rather spend time making sure that you feel loved and taken care of than fighting someone he doesn’t care about.

Jorah - Jorah would immediately usher you away from whoever it was that disrespected you and shower you with love and affection. He would want you to completely forget about that person so that all you can remember is his undying adoration and love for you.

Ramsay - Ramsay would happily torture the person that disrespected you. He would make you sit and watch as he tears them limb from limb so that you know that he’ll always defend and take care of you. It’s his sick twisted way of showing you that he adores you.

Stannis - Stannis is a king. No one disrespects his girl and gets away with it. However he is also a just king. He would throw them in a dungeon to spend the rest of their days rotting away, thinking about the way that they disrespected you and facing the consequences.

Oberyn - Oberyn would get so pissed. You’d have to hold him back to keep him from stabbing the person that disrespected you. However, he wouldn’t because he knows it would displease you. No matter what he wants to make sure that you’re happy and taken care of.

Dany - Dany would be completely enraged. She would bring the guilty party before her and she would have her dragons burn them to death. She would never want to have to look on that piece of garbage again and she wouldn’t want you to have to either.

Brienne - Brienne wants to be the bigger person. She would end up giving the person one swift punch, knocking them out with a single hit. That would be the extent of her rage and then she would lead you away by the hand, giving you a kiss and telling you she loves you.

#game of thrones #game of thrones preferences #game of thrones x reader #jaime lannister #sandor clegane #petyr baelish #jon snow #robb stark #tywin lannister #bronn of the blackwater #jorah mormont #ramsay bolton #stannis baratheon #oberyn martell #danaerys targaryen #brienne of tarth

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phoenix-king-ozai · 8 months ago

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Honestly if Zhao actually killed Zuko I don't think it'd go well even if it worked because I don't think Ozai would appreciate this regardless of which version we're talking about.

Like come on, if Ozai wanted Zuko dead, he'd have fried him during the Agni Ki and I most certainly don't think he'd appreciate Zhao deciding his kid's fate in his stead.

Also if Ozai found out Zhao did it, he's getting turned into a burnt crisp because ignoring how bad it's look to allow Zuko's death to slide, Live Action Ozai seemed impressed Zuko even found Aang and didn't give up on him despite him being disappointed so him being killed would just result in a fiery death.

Iroh stated himself that Fire Lord Ozai would be displeased…probably furious over Zuko’s assassination by pirates when talking to Zhao in the animation. Iroh knows Ozai better than anyone else alive than maybe his wife Ursa and daughter Azula!

Iroh in the Live Action claimed that Ozai committed the assassination of Zuko when he talked to Zhao. However, it is extremely likely that Iroh was creating a false narrative to delude and misdirect Zhao from being aware that Zhao was the true culprit of the treasonous crime on his nephew. Iroh even suspects that Azula was helping Zhao get his promotion. Iroh was even willing to talk to Ozai regarding sending his Royal Procession Imperial Guards after Zuko. Iroh also should know that Ozai still cares deeply about his son and probably wouldn't assassinate him without just cause or reason. Even strategically Ozai would be extremely furious by having a member of his personal military assassinate his own son for his own political rise and gain. How dare a commoner and soldier kill his own flesh and blood firstborn son; Crown Prince of the Fire Nation even during exile. Blood of Agni, The Almighty Sun Spirit! The Fire Sages as well as the rest of the Fire Nation nobility would see that as an unforgivable slight against the Royal Family and Ozai would be seen as weak and foolish not to respond. Just like Tywin Lannister when his son Tyrion was kidnapped at the Vale in Game of Thrones. Tywin immediately sought out violent retribution against House Tully of the Riverlands because Catelyn Stark and Lysa Arryn were the daughters of Foster Tully of Riverun and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Zuko’s death by the plot of Admiral Zhao would be answered with Fire and Blood!

#atla #iroh #ozai #zuko #zhao #avatar the last airbender #fire nation royal family #fire family #avatar #father and son relationship #father and son #dad & son

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catofadifferentcolor · 1 year ago

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Terrible Fic Idea #65: GoT, but make it Narrative Symmetry

The thing about Game of Thrones is that there are very few slash ships that I can get behind, which is why I tend to lean towards a female!Jon Snow in my terrible fic ideas. Then I thought: what if Jon Snow looked just slightly more like his mother?

Or: What if Robert Baratheon takes one look at Jon Snow, decides he's Lyanna Stark reborn, and decides he's not going to give up his second chance at a Stark bride?

Aka: The Jon the Fair fic.

Just imagine it:

Lysa Arryn never gets the chance to poison her husband. Instead, on the very day she was set to carry out her plot, Robert Baratheon discovers that his wife has been cuckholding him with her brother and that his children are bastards. The shock kills Jon Arryn, and in a matter of hours Cersei, Jamie, and their children are imprisoned, executed, and their corpses tossed into Blackwater Bay.

While Tywin prepares his uprising, Robert heads north seeking a Hand and a Northern bride. He knows Neds daughters are both too young, but perhaps he has a beautiful, dutiful cousin who'd make a suitable queen.

Robert is fully prepared to search the entire north for a suitable bride when he catches sight of young Jon Snow practicing his swordplay in the yard. In the twilight, with slightly longer hair than canon, he looks so much like Lyanna Stark that for a moment Robert thinks he's been transported into a dream.

In the cold light of morning, Robert realizes that the person he saw was his best friend's male bastard, but can't quite bring himself to care. With the help of his kingsguard, he abducts young Jon Snow, dresses him as a woman, and drags him kicking and screaming back to King's Landing.

Now, the rest of Westeros is aware Ned Stark had a bastard, but nothing beyond that. So when Bobby B arrives in King's Landing claiming to have married "Lyarra Snow", Ned Stark's batard daughter, very few people realize his "bride" is male. Or unwilling.

For Jon's part, he's about as displeased to be be "wed" to his abductor and rapist as one might expect, but plays along as Ned Stark's bastard daughter for the simple fact that claiming to be male when everyone else around him thinks him female will cause more problems than it might solve.

Ned wants to raise the North against Robert for Jon as he did for Lyanna, but getting his kingdom to go to war for an abducted bastard is more difficult than getting them to go to war for a beloved daughter of a Lord Paramount. At best, he's able to convince his bannermen to stop paying taxes to the king.

Meanwhile, Twyin Lannister is preparing his own rebellion against Robert for killing his beloved daughter and son - but when he kills Robert in battle, the rule of the Seven Kingdoms falls to his "queen", Jon Snow, who is not inclined to make peace with a rebellious Lord Paramount.

Jon, largely trapped in his role as "Queen Lyarra" by circumstance, makes the most of it.

Honestly, my muse starts tapering out once it comes to figuring out the exact details of how "Queen Lyarra" manages to rule the Seven Kingdoms after Robert's death. The Westerlands are put down, peace is restored, etc.. but most people come to think that "Queen Lyanna" "crossdresses" as a man and is the "foremother" of the royal house that follows after him. (Think Hatshepsut without the strap-on beard.)

Bonuses include: 1) a detailed exploration of gender roles in Westeros, what is means to be a man forced into a woman's role, and the historical nonbinary/intersex/androgyny of Vayerian dragonlords before the Doom; 2) a detailed exploration of what it means to be the abducted bride of a king, with no legal recourse beyond lie back and think of England and yet a certain amount of power over everything except one's rapist; 3) learning to rule a kingdom on the fly because it's either that or wallowing in absolute horror of one's circumstance, but never being able to come clean about who you are without losing everything that put you in power in the first place; and 4) historians arguing for centuries afterwards whether "Queen Lyarra, First of Her Name" was a AMAB crossdresser or butch lesbian who took up a male role to solidify her rule.

Honestly, I'm not sure this amounts to a coherent fic idea other than Bobby B passes a male Jon Snow off as his second wife, but it is what it is. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do anything with it.

#plot bunny #fic idea #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #asoiaf #jon snow is a targaryen #jon snow #robert baratheon #crack fic #cross dressing #gender roles #forced marriage

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onthesandsofdreams · 1 month ago

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A Stark She Remains [10/?]

Fandom: ASoIaF Characters: Sansa Stark, Robb Stark, Lancel Lannister Prompts: #15 and #17 of @fictober-event Warnings: Canon cursing, character death

On AO3

Miles away from Kingslanding, Robb Stark frowns at the news. "What do you mean Tywin Lannister is dead?"

Maege Mormont shrugs. "The news came in from the people. It seems his horse spooked and kicked him. He was dead before he hit the floor. However…"

"Yes?"

"Strangest thing I've heard Your Grace, the people are whispering that Joffrey Baratheon is cursed."

Robb frowns and looks around the tent, his men are hanging onto the conversation, eager to hear anything. "Whatever do you mean, Lady Mormont?"

"The people speak of men dying." Maege Mormont says. "First Ilyn Payne, then Jaime Lannister, Petyr Baelish, some guards, including Kingsguards and now this. They speak of a curse, of the Gods being displeased with the brat who sits on the Iron Throne."

His men grumble, but it is the Great Jon who is the loudest, "Aye, little cunt deserves it after what he did. Maybe the Gods saw Ned and decided to avenge him."

Robb nods sharply. "Perhaps it is so. Let us hope our luck continues, then. And may the Gods keep on smiling on us."

In the Lannister camp, Kevan Lannister keels over clutching his heart. Lancel rushes towards his father, but his father is dead before he hits the ground.

As Lancel stares into the unseeing eyes of his father, the hysterical thought crosses his mind as to how is Cersei going to react to this.

In short? It will not be good.

He swallows, orders someone to care for his father. The letter must come from him, after he has sent the letter to Cersei, he will stand vigil with his father.

But he knows that now they are without Lannister heads, and the Gods knew whom Cersei would apoint to lead their armies. He could only hope it wasn't him. It would be an honor, but the Northen men had seen battle before. He had not.

Miles away, back in Kingslanding, Sansa sits in the presence of some of the women of the court in a sewing circle. The Queen is not here, but she had been ordered to attend.

It does not escape her that the Queen wants her guarded. She is fine with it, so long as Joffrey keeps away, she can deal with the scorn, pity and silence.

The Queen would be harder to avoid now, but the time was coming. She just had to be patience. Soon enough she would have to strike the deadly blows to the Lannister cause.

Soon enough her jailers would die.

No sooner than the thought crossed her mind, that she shivered. Ah yes, Kevan Lannister's name had been added, and if she was correct, the man had joined his brother in the Stranger's grasp.

Could not happen to a better follower.

She would have to wait and see what happened before she added another name to her book. Lord Tyrion, Joffrey, Cersei. Those names burned and her hand almost itched for the quill and the book, but she had to be patient. As joyful as it could be to write them all down in one go, it would not do.

Oh.

If Lord Tyrion died before Joffrey then Joffrey and the Queen would have free reign on the Keep. Her heart skipped a beat, yes, Joffery's time drew ever closer.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling. 'Let's try this Sansa', she told herself. 'Joffrey first, then the Queen and then, Lord Tyrion.'

#fictober24 #sansa stark #asoiaf #robb stark #lancel lannister #au: canon divergence #tw: character death #tw: death #tw: language

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ladystoneboobs · 1 year ago

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He[Ned] had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell. -Bran I, aGoT Bran's bastard brother Jon Snow moved closer. "Keep the pony well in hand," he whispered. "And don't look away. Father will know if you do." -Bran I, aGoT Lord Eddard had tried to play the father from time to time, but to Theon he had always remained the man who'd brought blood and fire to Pyke and taken him from his home. As a boy, he had lived in fear of Stark's stern face and great dark sword. -Theon I, aCoK The Lannister lord was strong-looking for an old man, with stiff golden whiskers and a bald head. There was something in his face that reminded Arya of her own father, even though they looked nothing alike. He has a lord's face, that's all, she told herself. She remembered hearing her lady mother tell Father to put on his lord's face and go deal with some matter. Father had laughed at that. She could not imagine Lord Tywin ever laughing at anything. -Arya VII, aCoK Theon told himself he must be as cold and deliberate as Lord Eddard. -Theon IV, aCoK [...] "My father never used a headsman. He said he owed it to men he killed to look into their eyes and hear their last words. And when I looked into Ygritte's eyes, I . . ." Jon stared down at his hands helplessly. "I know she was an enemy, but there was no evil in her." -Jon VII, aCoK As he knelt to the block, the kennelmaster said, "M'lord Eddard always did his own killings." Theon had to take the axe himself or look a weakling. -Theon V, aCoK He is an old man, Jon told himself. Fifty, maybe even sixty. He lived a longer life than most. The Thenns will kill him anyway, nothing I can say or do will save him. Longclaw seemed heavier than lead in his hand, too heavy to lift. The man kept staring at him, with eyes as big and black as wells. I will fall into those eyes and drown. The Magnar was looking at him too, and he could almost taste the mistrust. The man is dead. What matter if it is my hand that slays him? One cut would do it, quick and clean. Longclaw was forged of Valyrian steel. Like Ice. Jon remembered another killing; the deserter on his knees, his head rolling, the brightness of blood on snow . . . his father's sword, his father's words, his father's face . . . -Jon V, aSoS "My blood price, he[Tormund] called it," said Jon Snow, "but he will pay." "Aye, and why not?" Old Flint stomped his cane against the ice. "Wards, we always called them, when Winterfell demanded boys of us, but they were hostages, and none the worse for it." "None but them whose sires displeased the Kings o' Winter," said The Norrey. "Those came home shorter by a head. So you tell me, boy … if these wildling friends o' yours prove false, do you have the belly to do what needs be done?" Ask Janos Slynt. "Tormund Giantsbane knows better than to try me. I may seem a green boy in your eyes, Lord Norrey, but I am still a son of Eddard Stark." -Jon XI, aDwD

aw, gotta love that dichotomy of even ned's own adoring children, not just theon, knowing he had a cold and stern side as a lord, grim and frightening to enemies, always alongside the warm, laughing dad who told them bedtime stories, that nice side of ned which is the only part most of fandom wants to acknowledge. arya even reminded of him by the face of tywin frickin' lannister! this same dad who laughed off bran's disobedience climbing all over the castle like a monkey, who couldn't punish arya for using a secret sword behind his back, who didn't even want sansa to be a witness to his passing sentence on gregor clegane with mere words for his crimes, that same soft-hearted guy would have admonished 7yo bran for looking away from his first beheading, to toughen him up and make him into a man already. just imagine, for jon to be so certain of that, either he and/or robb must have looked away from their first beheading at bran's age and been sternly told off for it. (amab) children can't be allowed to have a natural human reaction to sudden blood and gore watching dad kill someone. gotta stamp that shit out right away!

striking the way jon always uses memories of ned to choose not to kill innocent people who had yet to do him harm, first with ygritte and then the old man ygritte urged him to kill, but also uses his noble father's example to prove his willingness to kill children with zero sense of contradiction. that has to be a reference to theon, right? ned's own experience (implicitly) threatening a child ward/hostage, which all his bannermen would be well aware of. sure, jon's right about the unnamed older man. ned wouldn't murder one of his own subjects like that, he owed no duty to the magnar of thenn and would likely find undercover work even more distasteful than jon did. but, ygritte, really? a wildling of the enemy people all northerners were taught to kill? i have to wonder. did ned really find more evil in the deserter's eyes than jon did in ygritte's, making him deserving of beheading? or is it just that ned could feel he deserved to dutifully kill every time he passed that eye contact test? his reasoning was that deserters were dangerous because they already had a death sentence for oathbreaking, therefore had no reason not to commit any other crime. doesn't that same self-fulfilling violent prophecy apply to all people born on the wrong side of the wall? when you've got nothing left in life, you have nothing to lose by attacking people on the other side. is theon being "cold and deliberate" at winterfell, even killing a man with his own hand for someone else's crimes, is that really so unlike a true son of eddard stark? how different is it from what ned could have done to theon himself to punish him for his father's crimes? (surviving) child-ward-hostages always "none the worse for it" indeed.

(also interesting how jon thinks of janos slynt when asked if he could behead a wildling child. janos slynt who had sinned against jon and ned, wanting jon dead since the day they met, exactly the same as anyone to be beheaded, no matter how young or innocent. can't question jon's willingness to behead anyone else once he's executed one awful guy. it's even funnier when we the readers know janos slynt's worst sin is baby-killing as part of his old job. killing royal bastard kids like jon, no less. jon gets to (unknowingly) kill a baby-killer and threaten children in the same book, using the baby-killer's death as precedent for killing someone else's children. guess that's all part of killing the boy to let the man be born, gotta be willing to kill any man or boy. neither prince theon nor lord commander snow could afford to look a weakling to their own men or enemies. uncle maester aemon helped finish all the work ned started turning jon into a hard, strong man.)

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #ned stark #bran stark #theon greyjoy #arya stark #jonathan snowflake starkgaryen #wolf pack #he was his father's son. wasn't he? wasn't he?#two reasons i can't be a northern nationalist stark stan: 1. having never been up north in winter i am a weenie when it comes to cold #2. idt a clean behading works as a morality test #should we really compare stark beheading to bolton flaying and see it as a pure and sacred tradition just for being cleaner?#do y'all just not realize how hard is it is to behead someone w a giant sword? that you can ignore the sexism and ableisn and just think #theon (and robb w karstark) mustve done it freakishly wrong?#arya couldn't behead someone either. not just sansa (or bran).#her thing is stabbing and slitting throats not literally swinging a big blade like ned. and that's ok!#a humane execution method is kinda an oxymoron but idt any beheadee would be grateful for a personal messy killing by a kid as long as they #didn't enjoy it and felt kinda sad like ned afterward #even theon could pass that part of the test #do we not think roose bolton and rickard karstark could follow the old way too?#(c)lsb

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jackoshadows · 2 years ago

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One of my favorite Jon Snow chapters. It’s a rather quietly meditative and introspective chapter with Jon reflecting on his childhood and wrestling with Stannis’ offer to be Lord of Winterfell and his own desires and ambitions.

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want?

It’s interesting to note that unlike the other Stark children, Jon doesn’t really consider Winterfell to be his home. There’s the dreams of the old kings of winter telling him that he doesn’t belong and there’s the memories of Catelyn making him feel like he doesn’t belong there.

The chapter starts with Jon remembering Robb telling him that he can’t be Lord of Winterfell because he’s bastard born (A poignant moment because we as readers know that Robb has legitimized him as Jon Stark, KITN and Lord of Winterfell). From here, Jon reflects on marriage, children, family, home, Robb, Ned, love and the future as he walks by the ghosts of his past.

Outside, he found he had no idea where he was going. He walked past the shell of the Lord Commander's Tower, where once he'd saved the Old Bear from a dead man; past the spot where Ygritte had died with that sad smile on her face; past the King's Tower where he and Satin and Deaf Dick Follard had waited for the Magnar and his Thenns; past the heaped and charred remains of the great wooden stair. The inner gate was open, so Jon went down the tunnel, through the Wall. He could feel the cold around him, the weight of all the ice above his head. He walked past the place where Donal Noye and Mag the Mighty had fought and died together, through the new outer gate, and back into the pale cold sunlight.

Just as Jon finally comes face to face with his desire for Winterfell, Ghost makes an appearance and gives him his answer. Jon is not going to break his oaths, become Lord of Winterfell and burn down the Godswood as Stannis desires.

We then get to see the first election in Westeros and all the different players. Here’s where we get the first hints of the likes of Marsh and Othell Yarwyck, with Thorne trying to convince Yarwyck to stand down in favor of Slynt in order to not displease Tywin. And Yarwyck more or less suggesting Jon, taking into consideration that Slynt would displease Stannis. We see how a lot of the NW brothers don’t like Janos Slynt’s bluster and big talk.

And finally, Mormont’s raven. Did Sam place the raven inside the kettle? Did Maester Aemon know? Was it Bloodraven’s doing?

The chapter ends with Jon being elected Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and starting a whole new story arc for the character.

The Wall was his, the night was dark, and he had a king to face.

#Jon Snow #favorite chapter #Also the reason for why GRRM gave up on the 5 year gap #Because there was so much for Jon to do at the Wall

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year ago

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From the Ashes Pt. 3.5

Pairing(s): Tywin Lannister x Joanna Lannister, Aerys Targaryen x Rhaella Targaryen, one sided Aerys Targaryen x Joanna Lannister

Warnings: just aerys being a fucking creep, Rhaella POV

Words: 1699

Summary: After first meeting her future daughter-in-law, Rhaella thinks back to her dear friend Joanna.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42

Book Two of Heir of Ash and Fire

Book One of Heir of Ash and Fire

She had always considered Rhaella her dear friend, even if she had been the queen’s lady-in-waiting, Joanna and Rhaella had been close. Close like sisters. When Rhaella was angered, so was Joanna. When the king had gone too far and hurt his already fragile queen, Joanna was wounded as well to see Rhaella in such a state.

So to be let go of being one of her personal ladies, Joanna was quite shocked. She had just told Rhaella of her engagement to her cousin Tywin, a man whom she had truly fallen in love with. Cold and hard to laugh Tywin. His actions spoke more than any of his words could. Joanna knew that Tywin reciprocated these feelings of adoration, he would speak softly of his love for her and it made her heart soar even more.

Rhaella should have been happy for the young, blushing, bride. Selna Dayne was surely excited for her companion. Her glittering violet eyes showed her genuine joy for Joanna.

The thin Queen of Westeros, however, appeared somewhat apprehensive at this news and gently told Joanna that she was letting her go as a lady-in-waiting.

“I. . . I don’t understand.” She looks to Selna for guidance, that this must be a mistake, but the Dornish beauty was equally confused. “Have I done something to displease you, Your Grace?”

“Of course not.” Rhaella holds Joanna’s hand reassuringly. Her face was so thin from her previous miscarriage that it stretched over her features painfully. Watery lavender eyes glance at the four year old Rhaegar who was playing with wooden figures on the floor. Joanna and Selna dotted on the young boy as he was breathtakingly beautiful and a joy to be around. “I just think it would be best if you were no longer in my service.”

“Forgive me, but you have to give her a reason.” Selna insists. Both of the young girls watched Rhaella like a hawk, eyes trying to delve deeper into her.

How could she say it out loud? To say it out loud would ruin sweet Joanna. A truth that was known to Tywin already. He had not said anything to his fiancee for a reason. But here they were, girls insisting upon an answer. They would accept nothing less.

Pursing her lips, Rhaella drops Joanna’s hand. “I fear for you if you were to stay here.”

Pale blonde brows furrow.

The thought of Aerys using the girl as he did her. . . That beautiful milky skin of her’s being tarnished by bruises and cuts was too much for Rhaella to even think about. She had to do what was best for Joanna. There had already been rumors of Aerys taken the maidenhead of Joanna during Jaehaerys’ coronation. That was bad enough. What if Aerys had it in his mind to go through with the rumor before Joanna was to marry Tywin? It scared Rhaella. She wanted Tywin to take her far away from King’s Landing.

“Aerys desires you in his bed. He’s wanted you for quite some time. I think. . . I think that the news of you wedding Tywin would be enough to make him go through with the deed. They haven’t gotten along for quite some time now.” Finally breaking, she told the girls of the secret she had tried to protect them from.

Selna’s face grew pale at the thought of Aerys, that wicked man, having his way with Joanna. Joanna did her best to conceal her trembling. Both had seen what going to bed with Aerys would do to a woman. The evidence was all over Rhaella.

It pained Joanna to leave her lady, but everyone in that room knew it for the best. With Aerys being the way that he was, Joanna wasn’t safe in King’s Landing.

So fragile Joanna looked at that moment, fragile and scared making Rhaella regret her decision for a moment before the blonde closes her eyes and nods.

“Very well. I will leave King’s Landing immediately.” Concern flickered in her green eyes when she gazes at Selna. Dark haired Selna with large eyes like gemstones. How on earth she possessed such beautiful lavender eyes without being related to a Targaryen, no one would know. The light contrast of her eyes to her tanned skin made her so much more alluring.

Her concern was easily read by Rhaella who had been concerned about the Dornish lady as well.

Selna suddenly grew rigid. Surely Aerys wouldn’t dare touch her for risk of disrupting his alliance with Dorne. The House of Dayne was a loyal and favorite house of the Martells who ruled the desert land. With their family sword Dawn, many members had brought fame in battle.

“She will be fine. Aerys has no interest in women who have already had children.” Rhaella assured her. Selna released a sigh of relief, thanking the gods for her three children. Reassured, Joanna finally manages to smile. She could leave without any regrets.

Standing up, she bows to her queen. “My lady, it has been the utmost honor to serve you.”

“It was my honor to have you in my service. Now go and live a happy life.”

* Rhaella had wept rivers when the news of Joanna’s death reached her. One of Rhaella’s biggest regrets was not keeping in touch with her. She wanted Joanna to continue on with her happy life and forget about court. Intending for Joanna to never come back to King’s Landing, Rhaella had made herself distant. With Aerys descending into madness, there was no predicting what he would do to her. All to protect Joanna and her happiness.

She felt that sorrow again when she first met (y/n) Lannister, a sweet enough looking child who lacked her mother’s beauty. The smile is what brought the image of Joanna to Rhaella. A smile that warmed Rhaella to the bone.

“It’s my honor to meet you, Your Grace.” The little girl was quiet in the way she spoke, bending slightly in the knees for a curtsy. This was Rhaegar’s future wife.

“You look just like your mother.”

(y/n) stumbles forward a little bit, gawking at the queen. Her pale green eyes are wide in disbelief before a shy blush makes her gaze shoot down to the ground. “Oh. . . People say that about my sister. Not. . . me. . .”

Rhaella smiles at the shy girl. The poor girl must have never been complimented before. From what Rhaegar had told her about (y/n), she wasn’t the favorite among the Lannister siblings. Said that many favored Cersei more due to the fact that she had Joanna’s loveliness and grace. Many were quick to forget that Joanna’s pretty face wasn’t what made Joanna a dear to be around. Her smile and laugh was what truly made her soul shine.

“Trust me young one, I knew your mother very well. You look so much like her when you smile.” She winks at her, making (y/n)’s smile return. In truth, Rhaella had been worried when Rhaegar gave her the news that he had chosen a bride. And his bride was still but a child. That’s why she would live on Dragonstone until the age she was deemed ready to say her vows that tied her forever to Rhaegar.

This little girl would someday be the queen of all of the Seven Kingdoms. Joanna’s daughter. It seemed like there was no escaping the Targaryens. The female lions just appeared to be drawn back to the Red Keep and all the dangers it held within. From her meek mannerisms, Rhaella thought sadly to herself that this girl would not survive long in the game of thrones. Even the strongest of players were known to be brought down eventually.

“They look very similar to Jaehaerys and his little queen Alysanne.” Varys mentioned one day as he had traveled with Rhaella during one visit to meet the youngest Lannister daughter. Rhaegar and (y/n) were out in the courtyard, enjoying the small amount of sun that streamed in while Rhaella was sitting down in the patio with the Master of Whispers. Rhaella didn’t mind one bit when Varys asked if he could come along for this visit. He was a wonderful companion and Rhaella enjoyed the interesting conversations they shared. “Don’t you think so, Your Grace?”

Rhaella watches them as Rhaegar instructs (y/n) where to place her fingers on the harp. Patient as ever, Rhaegar speaks to her in a soft and gentle tone. One of her braids was still undone from where Viserys had pulled at it incessantly. Thalina, (y/n)’s personal hand-maid, had her back pressed up against a column; watching her charge with a pleasant smile.

Jaehaerys and his little queen Alysanne. . . They went behind their mother to wed one another because they were truly in love. Spending weeks there in Dragonstone, the two had found sanctuary where they could love one another freely and grow. Eventually though, they both found themselves returning to King’s Landing. After all, Jaehaerys was king and couldn’t stay long from his throne. The Queen Mother always saw such a dramatic change in Rhaegar when he was around (y/n). He smiled and laughed more. Back in the Red Keep, all joy was gone from her son as he was forced to watch his father fumble with such a large kingdom. (y/n) made him happy, made him warm.

“Yes, very much so. . .” She whispers in reply. Rhaegar’s Little Queen. The Mouse of Casterly Rock. She had done quite a bit of growing herself too. Since arriving to the island, (y/n) had learned to be more confident and grow a backbone. Of course she was still learning, undoing all the things that her family had pressed upon her. She spoke with the queen mother now without stuttering or looking shy as she had with their first meeting.

Plucking from (y/n)’s harp filled the courtyard with whimsy that Rhaella missed the brief exchange between Thalina and the eunuch.

(y/n) was becoming her own person. Perhaps. . . once she was older she would indeed have what it took to become a major player and win at the

#A Song of Ice and Fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fanfic #A Song of Ice and Fire fandom #ASoIaF #asoiaf fandom #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fic #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom

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hello-nichya-here · 2 years ago

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Tywin hates Tyrion because Tyrion embodies everything he doesn't like about himself:

-Tyrion is a cunning, but ruthless man who will take revenge with extreme violence for any slight, real or perceived, while also cavorting with whores. This describes Tywin to a T, with even Genna lampshading that Tyrion is Tywin's real son.

I disagree. Jaime is not exactly a saint, and his affair with Cersei and how obvious it was were one of the many things that put the Lannisters in a bad position before the realm - yet Tywin not only never shows any disdain towards Jaime, he is actively trying to find a way to convince him to leave the king's guard so he be his heir. And even though Tywin has no respect for Cersei due to his mysogyny, he never shows any real negative feelings towards her either.

Tywin hates Tyrion because, in Tyrion's own words, all dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes - and the fact that his mother, the only person Tywin seemed to love, died during childbirth doesn't help.

In Tywin's introduction scene, in a Tyrion chapter, we are told that he shaved his head once he started losing a bit of hair because "Tywin Lannister doesn't believe in half measures." Tyrion is the half man. The imp. People called him a monster from the moment he was born, and they thought, and even hoped, that he would die soon. Tywin repeatedly offered a marriage to Tyrion as an insult to other families, and it worked.

The simmilarities between the two of them might disgust and displease Tywin sure, but not because it shows him his own bad traits. Tywin hates that they are so alike because it is an insult to him to have anything in common with someone that is barely considered human in the world they live in. He knows that Tyrion's very existence would make him, his family, his lineage, and his legacy look bad, and that is ALL Tywin cares about.

In another world, one in which Tyrion has the exact same personality, but is a tall, handsome man like Jaime, Tywin wouldn't have a problem with him, hell he might even be his favorite son (provided of course that Tyrion didn't do thinks like marry a common girl).

#asks #tywin la #tyrion lannister #tywin meta

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writingsofwesteros · 1 year ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/735363706205208576/httpspinit5fcrqg3-why-does-he-look-so-loving

I am setting a scene for this

One of Stev and Tywin's daughters is wandering in Casterly Rock and comes to stand in front of The paintings of The old ladies and lords.

One catches her eye because well, that's definitely her Papa but not her mama. She is only 8. So she knows about Joanna but being so young she hasn't thought of It too much; just on The perspective that she has 2 uncles and an aunt who are actually her half siblings.

"you're late for our lesson, young lady" her papa's Voice startles The girl but she quickly calms smiling bashfully.

"I'm sorry, Papa. I got stuck", she says truthfully.

Tywin notices what she is looking at and kneels down next to her. "Looking at this I presume?"

"she is Joanna, right pa? Uncle Jaime's mama", she asks innocently her favourite uncles name coming to mind first. Her biggest supporter in her reading problems, If you don't count her mama of course.

"she is", tywin says face unreadable. Looking at his late wife, he feels great sadness but also contentment. She is gone, she has been gone for a long time, and he has found a new way to look at Life.

Little Ariella's face goes sad putting her little hand on her papa's shoulder. "If she hadn't died you wouldn't be with mama"

"We do not know, and frankly the what if's are not the thing a wise young lady spends their time thinking of in these situations"

Ariella looks displeased with her Papa, making tywin smile on The inside. Her displeased face so much like her mothers.

"Do you love mama?", she suddenly asks. Tywin looks off guard, not liking The L-word that much, nor The idea of discussing such things.

But then he looks at ariella. His sweet girl, hair thick like her mothers, dirty blonde like his own. And eyes wide and brown like stev's. Little lopsided dimple she had too, when she smiled, just like stev's. And then there was The laughter that he recognized to Be a little replica of his own.

This is when The loving look comes to his face. "Your mama turned my life upside down"

"and?"

"and what?"

"say you love her!"

"do not talk to Papa like that you pushy young lady, but yes I love mama. And that is why she-" he starts pointing to Joanna "can rest in peace. And I will never ever listen to someone comparing her and mama, am I clear? Your mama deserves better"

"yes Papa", ariella says happily her dimple showing, as she leans to hug her Papa.

Their daughter is too damn cute!!

she is", tywin says face unreadable. Looking at his late wife, he feels great sadness but also contentment. BLESS!!

#stev

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redwolf17 · 6 months ago

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same anon as before with the theories/speculation for bel 2. I.... uh had some more (this is why rereading is so fun)

• Little Wren displeased over not being allowed to accompany Bel to her meeting with the queen and the princesses; she has not stopped talking of that fateful day with Princess Arya. She is cheered however when Bel tells her that Arya remembered Wren

.• We’ll get some updates about Violet and Master Arthor

.• Just as we got to know Bel’s girls in her introductory POV, we’ll get some introductions/insights into the survivors of Chataya’s- I imagine there might be a few who decide to join Bel’s, perhaps leading to some tensions/clashes/new friendships

• Marei will be among them, grieving for her lost babe. As we never get to see what poor Obara’s mother went through years ago in Oldtown when her daughter was taken away, I feel like this would be a good opportunity to see that realized through another character- albeit in very different circumstances. For example, perhaps she has little interest in the celebrations over the heir’s birth/the sept being built to honor the children who died in Aegon and Rhaenys’ place. Bel is worried for her; thinks if Marei’s babe had been a little sister instead Bel might have known what to say.

• Ynys asking how beautiful Queen Sansa is. Bel answers truthfully that she is very beautiful, and that her sister Princess Arya is quite pretty too. Ynys snorts and dryly comments that the only reason people would think she Ynys isn’t prettier is because she lacks the girls’ high birth. (You the author continuing to make a point about classism) While Bel knew there was truth enough in Ynys’ words (considering how people like the bitch queen Cersei and her lickspittles behaved)- Sansa Stark would have still been a beauty if she was a bastard girl of low birth or a maid like Meri, rather a queen. There would have been a hardness to that beauty to be sure, but it would have existed all the same.

• I can see there being some misinformation concerning the details of Cersei and Jaime’s deaths. Information does takes time to travel (i.e. like Margaery Tyrell finds out about her rival’s death like a month after) and sometimes that information gets twisted/exaggerated/misheard along the way.

• Grim pleasure being taken in the fact that queen and kingslayer died betrayed in their own father's castle. Fitting how they spent those last hours in their precious Casterly Rock after the horrors they inflicted on our cast of character's own home of Kingslanding

• Guesses over what the name of the new heir would be. Aegon was a popular guess, Nettles hoped for Rhaegar, nobody wanted or suggested Aerys. Nobody predicted Gawaen

• Celebrations over Gawaens birth will have Bel thinking about her memories of Tommen and Mrycella's. Similarities but also contrasts drawn- they were the grandchildren of Tywin after all

Love the theories!

#the weirwood queen #always enjoy a good ask

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isefyres-archive · 8 months ago

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Ser Rylon Allyrion. Heir of Godsgrace and Daemon Sand's half brother. Ser Ryon Allyrion and his sons are among Oberyn Martell's emboy at King's Landing. The Lord of Godsgrace is present at the feast when Ser Balon Swann arrives in Sunspear to deliver the Mountain's skull. He drinks when Ricasso raises a toast to King Tommen I Baratheon, Rylon, however does not. He remains at Sunspear as a knight sworn to protect Princess Myrcella as his father arranges a marriage to a Qorgyle, displeasing his brother Daemon, who has an affair with the girl.

Lord Lance Serrett is the Lord of Silverhill and the head of House Serrett. He succeeded his father after he died at Blackwater by crossfire by the Lannisters with wildfire. Lord Serrett is part of Lord Tywin Lannister's army invading the riverlands, riding alongside Ser Kevan Lannister in the center of Tywin's army during the battle on the Green Fork. When Tywin makes his son, Tyrion the acting Hand of the King, Lord Serrett is among the alternatives that Tyrion suggests. Lance is reporting to Olenna Tyrell, seeking revenge for his father's death and House Serrett' old domains in the Reach.

#artwork╲ houses › mutuals can interact.

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warsofasoiaf · 1 year ago

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By that point, wouldn’t Tywin have been made aware of Robert having just spared Barristan though?

After being captured alive, and after he was wounded. Three other members of the Kingsguard died on the Trident. Better to have his own troops, who would know how displeased Tywin would be, rather than Robert and Eddard's troops who probably wouldn't be so discriminating, and might jump at the chance to slay such a famous swordsman.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#jaime lannister #tywin lannister

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just-some-random-blogger · 8 months ago

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No cuz you don't understand, and you will never fucking understand how BAD I got it for this man. The way you wrote him ⚰️ IM IN MY FUCKING GRAVE. *Unhinged up ahead*

If it isn't staunchly clear I LOVE this. I love how you wrote. I'm not gonna lie to you, I thought this would be like an old fic that is badly formatted and it would be like ooh nice, THE WAY I SCREAMED WHEN I CHECKED ITS CARBON DATE HELLO APRIL 3 IN OUR YEAR OF THE LORD 2024. I HAVE BEEN BLESSED.

You don't understand you don't understand this scratched SO MANY hemispheres in my brain what the fucking fuck what the fuck

“… should just cut her open, drag the babe out and have done with it… wouldn’t be the first Lannister woman to die in childbed…”

Whoever said this, I wish them a very get kicked in the groin and pushed into a dungeon to waste away

“‘M sorry, m-my lord,” you whispered, unable to stop the tears from slipping down your already damp cheeks.

I'm gutted

To be a woman is to perform

[...] he had to admit that the muted pink suited you beautifully, and provided a fresh and youthful contrast to his daughter’s sour, almost vulgar even by his standards, display of power.

DAMN. Cersei hater #1

If it isn't the consequences of my actions

“Then you shall dance only with me,” he said. “I will not have you jostled so,”

GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE HES SO PATHETIC FOR IT AND I WANT HIM BAD

Tywin ignored your complaints, only speaking once you arrived at the entrance to the Tower- and even then he only spoke to the guard at the door. “No one is to enter this tower until tomorrow,” he said lowly, before all but frog-marching you through the door and up the winding stairs.

Tywin turned around to face you. “No, wife,” he murmured, stepping closer to you so that you had to look up at him. “You have not displeased me… exasperated, perhaps, but not displeased,” you smiled slightly, opening your mouth to speak, but Tywin cupped your head with both of his hands, his thumbs stroking your jaw. “I intend to bed you tonight, My Lady,” he said, voice gravelly. Your face heated, but you nodded slowly. “Your body should be ready to take me once more,” he continued. “That is if you are agreeable?” He added, raising a brow. He had laid out from the beginning that while he expected you to do your duty and provide him with a son, he would not have you in his bed unwilling.

“It may be a little uncomfortable, perhaps. Not as painful as childbirth, I’m sure, nor breaking your maidenhead,” your eyes widened at his words and he smirked. He so loved to see you flustered. “Such an innocent, wife,” he said, stepping closer to you and undoing the pins in your hair. He nodded his approval when you unwound the braids, shaking out your hair.

I'm glad he respects childbirth enough

“Will you be gentle with me?” You whispered, eyes widening as his hand slipped up your front, over your breasts, lightly squeezing your throat before he tilted your head to the side.

“Absolutely not,” he growled into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing there as your gown fell stiffly to the floor.

Eyes downcast, you made to wrap your arms around yourself; your pregnancy had left it’s mark on your body, your belly soft and marked with stretch marks, your breasts hanging heavier than they had when you first married. Tywin held your hands by your sides briefly, before his large hands claimed your hips, his thumbs massaging the softness of your belly. “I want another babe in your belly before year’s end,” he said lowly, making you shiver. “I want to watch you swell again with another of my heirs,”

Tywin got up onto the bed, looking down at you as he came up between your legs, which fell apart willingly to allocate his breadth, to which he hummed with approval, his hands dragging up your thighs. You sighed softly as your body refamiliarised itself with the weight atop it, offering him a soft, shy smile. He returned it with a rare quirk of his lips, before his fingers teased closer to your exposed core, shushing you gently when you gasped. Whimpering, you arched your back as he dipped his fingers into your waiting wetness, body tense. “Are you in pain, wife?” He said lowly, his movements stilling.

I don't even remember what I wanted to say about this I'm just such a fucking whore for this old man

“You look as though you belong in a pleasure house in Lys, spread out like that,” he said, his voice gravelly with desire. And he had a point; your breasts rose and fell with shaky, heavy breaths; your eyes were now dark with lust, brow furrowed and lips plump as you stared down at him, propped up on the pillows with your hair splayed out.

“Are you calling me a whore, My Lord?” You questioned, pushing yourself up on your elbows.

“No,” he said, guiding his cock to you. “But if you were a whore, you would be mine alone,”

YOURE DEPLORABLE LANGUAGE 😋😋😋😋😋😋😋

Despite his promise to not be gentle with you, he held you tight to his body by your thigh, massaging the quivering limb with his hand as you adjusted to the suffocating tightness of your union. With a needy whine, you rolled your hips experimentally, grinding your clit against his pubis. The resulting tightening of your channel had him hissing in pleasure, and with a low groan he began to move with slow deep thrusts that had your head spinning.

I'm just a hole

One hand still gripping his bicep like a vice, you trailed your other hand over his shoulder anchoring yourself as you made feeble attempts to meet his movements. Grunting, Tywin grasped onto your hips, before moving his grip to your thighs, holding them apart as he began to fuck you harder, faster. You cried out at the shift in pace, arching your back as Lord Tywin took his pleasure (though he gave just as much as he took). He let out a groan of pleasure as his own thighs trembled and his hips stuttered, and he emptied his seed into you.

Tywin only smirked, prowling over to you. “Indeed,” he said. “It would seem, wife, that we must return to bed…” you cocked your head to the side, looking up at him curiously. “An heir will not find its way into your belly if my seed is dripping down your thighs, now, will it?”

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP EVERYDAY I WAKE UP AND IM NOT GETTING PLOWED BY THIS OLD MAN FUCK

Fulfilling Duty

Pairing: Tywin Lannister x Reader

Warnings: smut, pinv sex, fingering, reference to pregnancy and childbirth, brief reference to death during childbirth, reference to prostitution, implied arranged marriage, breeding kink, body image issues, implied innocence kink, older man/younger woman.

Italics indicate flashback

Gif creds to owner

After nine long months of pregnancy and two gruelling days of labour, Tywin Lannister finally had the son he craved. Little Darrick was perfect in every way. At almost four months, he guzzled his milk the way King Robert his guzzled his wine; he roared like a lion when something was amiss, fat angry tears pouring down his reddened little face until his mother or father consoled him; his hair thickened and lightened every day, though he showed no trace of Lannister emerald eyes (much you your elation; he already looked so much like Tywin so it was nice to see a shred of yourself in your son’s face).

The birth of your son only strengthened Tywin’s… affection towards you. It was not love- not yet at least- but his respect and fondness certainly grew. During the home stretch of your labour he had barged into the birthing room after overhearing an outspoken courtier’s gossip.

Your labour had dragged on and almost two whole days had passed since you first started having pains. While you had started in relatively high spirits, as progress began to falter almost to a halt and ‘one more push’ became an empty promise, your resolve almost completely shattered.

What had started as determined groans and howls of pain turned into whimpers, and then sobs as you begged the maester to just, please, get it out of you.

It seemed Tywin hadn’t unclenched his jaw for days, and while he wanted to remain just a room away in his office should he be called into the room, the Seven Kingdoms would not stop for any infant, not even the son of the Hand.

He had been walking back from an audience with disgruntled artisans from the city when he overheard some courtiers.

“… glad she’s shut up with the screaming, could hardly sleep a wink last night…”

“… should just cut her open, drag the babe out and have done with it… wouldn’t be the first Lannister woman to die in childbed…”

“… he’ll want another off her, just in case… especially if she gives him a girl…”

Tywin’s nostrils flared with rage, and while he would have so dearly loved to confront the gossiping courtiers, he marched to the tower of the hand, entering your chamber to the shock of your midwives and maester.

“Milord! Women’s work is still happening! The baby ain’t here yet,” scolded Jeyne. She was the eldest of the flock midwives attending you and the most experienced too, and had been crucial in supporting you.

Tywin held up his hand, and jeyne pursed her lips, knowing she could not argue. “Fine. But you’re not to interfere down here, milord. We’re nearly there,”

“You said that- ah- last night,” you said weakly, your voice shaky. Tywin sighed softly and knelt at your side, pushing your hair away from your face. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, one that he had done when you consummated your marriage. “‘M sorry, m-my lord,” you whispered, unable to stop the tears from slipping down your already damp cheeks.

“You needn’t be,” he said lowly, speaking so only you could hear. “You are doing well, just a little longer,”

Although the midwives and maester had repeated the same words over and over again over the last day, Tywin’s firm, authoritative voice reassured you, renewing your determination.

Tywin’s eyes flicked sideways to you. It was the first public event you had attended since giving birth, and he had kept a close eye on you all day. He’d even insisted on your retiring to bed for several hours in between the joust and the feast (“fine, I’ll rest. But only because I didn’t want to watch the archery anyway,”).

If you were tired, it did not show. You looked radiant, smiling serenely as you clapped for the dancing. You had changed into a gown of soft pink brocade, and while he always preferred to have you on his arm in matching Lannister red, he had to admit that the muted pink suited you beautifully, and provided a fresh and youthful contrast to his daughter’s sour, almost vulgar even by his standards, display of power.

“If you continue to glance at me so, you will miss the dancing, husband,” you said out of the corner of your mouth, bemused at the almost uncharacteristic attentiveness of the Old Lion.

“Then I shall miss the dancing,” he said lowly, though he kept his eyes dutifully on the entertainments. “Are you sure you will not sit?”

You rolled your eyes, turning to face him fully. “No,” you said with exasperation. “I am well rested, I promise you, My Lord,” your lips quirked into a smirk. “I may even join in with the dancing,” you added.

Tywins jaw clenched as he looked down at his mischievous young wife. Your pregnancy and subsequent birthing of a viable heir for him had consolidated your power in court- and your worth in the marriage. “Then you shall dance only with me,” he said. “I will not have you jostled so,”

And so the Lord Paramount of the West took his wife by the hand and led her to the dance floor, lest she be manhandled by less careful members of court.

Grinning, you held onto his hand, beginning the steps that you had known since childhood. “I so love it when you give in to my whims, Lord Lannister,” you murmured, laughing lightly at his grumble of agreement. He supposed he owed you a fair bit, now that you had given him his heir.

“You are as stubborn as a mule when you want to be, wife,” he muttered, pulling you closer to his body by the waist as a drunken jester weaved through the crowd, his motley cap jingling. But despite his complaints, Tywin permitted you two more dances, before you retreated from the crowd- the bawdy songs had began, and he would not have his wife passed about like the maidens in the songs.

Instead of sitting back down, Tywin took you before the king, bowing and excusing the two of you. “We must retire for the night, your Grace. Lady Lannister is very tired,” he said shortly, bowing once more as the king waved you away.

You followed him, your face indignant, but you did not dare question him until you were out of earshot of any high lords. “I most certainly am not tired, My Lord,” you said, running a little to keep up with his long strides. “I do not need to be bundled off to bed like a child- again,”

“My lord?” You asked cautiously when you arrived at his chambers. “Have I displeased you?”

Nodding slowly, eyes wide as you stared up at him, you let out a shaky breath. "I… yes. Please," you murmured your consent, following him out of the solar to his adjoining bedchamber, where the hearth was crackling and the luxurious bedsheets were already turned down. Tywin poured out a cup of wine, offering you it, nodding when you smiled at the vintage before finishing the cup for you.

“Do you think it will hurt?” You murmured out of the blue, taking your jewellery off and setting it on his dresser.

“It has been a while…” you considered, looking up at him in the mirror as he stepped behind you, beginning to unlace your gown.

“It has,” he said in agreement.

“Will you be gentle with me?” You whispered, eyes widening as his hand slipped up your front, over your breasts, lightly squeezing your throat before he tilted your head to the side.

“Absolutely not,” he growled into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing there as your gown fell stiffly to the floor.

You made to turn to begin undressing him, but he lightly batted your hands away, continuing to strip you of your stays and chemise until you were bare before him.

“Yes, my lord,” you breathed, your breath hitching as he gripped your hips tighter, drawing your naked body to his, your skin hot against the cool metalwork of his belt and buttons. Slowly, he began to walk you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed, and he helped you up onto the mattress, his eyes blazing with lust. His green-gold eyes pierced you as he removed his chain of linked golden hands, his doublet, his boots and trousers too. Your eyes flicked down briefly as you admired your husband’s build; despite his age, Tywin was fit and strong, and your glance did not go unnoticed by him.

“No…” you whispered, pushing your hips up to his hand as if to reassure him.

He nodded, looking down at you as his fingers worked you open for the first time in months, though he did not seem out of practice in the slightest. He watched intently as your face contorted, brow furrowing and mouth falling open, and your body twisted while you clenched around his fingers. When he felt the erotic spasming of your inner walls, he nodded and hummed with satisfaction, before withdrawing his fingers. You watched in awe as he used your release coating his fingers and dripping onto his palm to slick up his cock.

“Are you calling me a whore, My Lord?” You questioned, pushing yourself up on your elbows.

“No,” he said, guiding his cock to you. “But if you were a whore, you would be mine alone,”

He grunted, pushing into your tightness. With a cry, you tossed your head back, your nails clawing into the Lion of Lannister’s muscled back and arms as you adjusted to his invasion. You hissed out a curse between your teeth, gasping as he stilled, smirking down at you. “Such deplorable language,” he said, and you could only whimper in response, gritting your teeth and scratching at his back. Despite his promise to not be gentle with you, he held you tight to his body by your thigh, massaging the quivering limb with his hand as you adjusted to the suffocating tightness of your union. With a needy whine, you rolled your hips experimentally, grinding your clit against his pubis. The resulting tightening of your channel had him hissing in pleasure, and with a low groan he began to move with slow deep thrusts that had your head spinning.

Moaning lowly, you fell back into the pillows, panting. You felt the bed dip then settle as he withdrew from you and stood, and your eyes slipped shut as you heard him rustling about the room, the door slamming shut. You frowned. He must have dressed quickly. With a sigh, you stood up, albeit shakily and slipped your chemise back on. His thick seed seeped down your thigh as you stood before the mirror, combing out the tangles in your hair with your fingers.

The door opened, and Tywin stepped into the room, but before he acknowledged you, he turned to what you assumed was his squire. “Have the servants bring up two plates from the feast, and a flagon of Arbor Gold,” he said to the lad, who responded with a quiet ‘yes, My Lord.’ “And see to it that Lady Lannister’s handmaidens know to come here on the morrow with her gown and jewels. She will be staying here tonight,”

He dismissed the squire with a nod and shut the door, turning to you with raised eyebrows. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to return to my own chambers, my Lord,” you murmured, finally able to smooth your hair down over your shoulders.

“Indeed not,” he said simply. “I was merely arranging some supper and wine,”

You crossed your arms. “And for my handmaidens to come here on the morrow?” You teased.

#tywin lannister smut #Tywin Lannister x reader #my brain cells have come to life

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