#tywin's true heirs...

[kingsmoot]

cers and tyrion talking about stannis and renly here but tyr could just as easily be talking about them 😪

[aerithisms]

people constantly lament all the cut and altered plot lines from game of thrones the show and they're right but i think one of its worst sins was omitting cersei's gender swag

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

#tywin: your brother jaime would never be such a pathetic flop like you #*cut to jaime being a pathetic flop*

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (the broken)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: a lion and a wolf

- Next part: the uncertain

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling @meowmeowmothermeower @nen-nyy

The banners of House Lannister fluttered in the wind as the golden lions of Casterly Rock stood in rigid formation, awaiting the arrival of their lord. The towering gates creaked open, revealing the column of men riding under the red-and-gold banners of the Westerlands. At the head of the procession rode Tywin Lannister himself, his face as unreadable as ever, his posture rigid with the weight of expectation and unshakable authority.

Jaime stood at the forefront of the welcoming party, his golden hand resting against the hilt of his sword, his flesh-and-blood hand curling and uncurling at his side. It had been three moons since his wedding, three moons since he had last seen his father. In that time, King’s Landing had been reshaped—Tommen now sat the Iron Throne, Margaery Tyrell had been crowned his queen, and the kingdom had been soothed into uneasy stability under Tywin’s iron grip.

But there was another matter pressing on Jaime’s mind.

As soon as Tywin dismounted, Jaime stepped forward, his gaze sharp. “Is it true?”

Tywin barely glanced at him before handing his reins to a waiting stable hand. “Be more specific, Jaime.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “Tyrion.”

That made Tywin pause, his face darkening slightly. “Yes,” he confirmed after a moment. “He escaped the night before I left King’s Landing. There has been no word of him since.”

Jaime exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching. He did it. Tyrion had done what Jaime had hoped for but never dared act upon himself. He had slipped the noose. But the question remained—at what cost?

Tywin turned away, removing his gloves one by one, his expression calm but calculated. “Come. We have much to discuss.”

Jaime fell into step beside him, his mind still reeling. “And what of Cersei?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She is displeased. But she is queen regent now. Her focus is on securing her son’s reign, as it should be.”

Jaime huffed a humorless laugh. “I imagine she’s blaming me for Tyrion’s escape.”

Tywin didn’t deny it. “Her grief has made her reckless. But we have more pressing concerns.”

Jaime sighed, already knowing where this was going. “The North.”

Tywin nodded. “The Boltons hold it now. The Stark boy is dead, and with him, any serious resistance to our rule.”

Jaime’s steps slowed. The words felt like a hammer blow to the chest, even though he had known they were coming. He had felt it in his bones the moment you stopped looking at him with defiance and started looking at him like he was nothing.

“And Y/N?” Jaime asked carefully, his voice quieter now.

Tywin finally stopped walking, turning fully toward him. “That is precisely why we need to speak in private.”

Jaime’s stomach clenched.

Tywin’s gaze was cold, assessing. “I have heard troubling rumors.”

Jaime forced himself to keep his expression neutral. “About?”

Tywin studied him for a long moment before saying, “Your marriage.”

Jaime exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. “What about it?”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Three moons have passed, and yet there has been no heir announced. No signs of a child. And, more importantly, no confirmation of consummation.”

Jaime clenched his jaw.

He should have known this was coming.

He had been careful, had made sure to uphold the illusion of duty in public, had ensured that appearances were kept in court. But behind closed doors, you had barely tolerated him, and he had not pushed for more.

Tywin’s voice was low, steady. “Did you expect me not to notice?”

Jaime exhaled through his nose. “And what would you have me do? Force her?” His voice was edged with something sharp now.

Tywin’s expression remained unreadable. “She is your wife. It is her duty.”

Jaime let out a humorless laugh. “Is it? Or is it just another way for you to cement your hold on the North, even now, when there’s nothing left to rule?”

Tywin’s eyes darkened. “This marriage was meant to solidify our power. Yet you treat it as if it is nothing but an inconvenience.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, his temper flaring. “Because that’s what it is. A political move. A transaction. Not a marriage.”

Tywin stepped closer, his voice lowering dangerously. “Then perhaps you should stop acting like a love-struck fool and start acting like the heir to Casterly Rock.”

Jaime felt his stomach twist. His father’s words hit a nerve deeper than he wanted to admit. Love-struck? Was that what Tywin thought?

Tywin studied him carefully, as if gauging his reaction. “You have a duty, Jaime. You wanted this marriage to keep her away from Roose Bolton, did you not?”

Jaime remained silent.

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then it’s time to ensure it wasn’t in vain.”

Jaime exhaled sharply, his hand curling into a loose fist. “She doesn't even tolerate me anymore”

Tywin’s gaze was impassive. “Then she will learn.”

Jaime looked away, swallowing hard.

He had spent three moons trying to be careful, trying to keep from becoming the monster you already saw him as. But now, standing here with his father, hearing the cold finality in his voice, Jaime realized—

Tywin would not let this stand.

Jaime had fought for you, had stolen you from Roose, had done everything in his power to keep you safe.

But he couldn’t protect you from this.

Tywin turned, beginning to walk once more. “Prepare yourself, Jaime. There is much work to be done.”

Jaime stood there for a moment longer, his chest tight, his mind warring with itself.

Then, with a slow exhale, he followed.

Because he had no other choice.

The great doors of Casterly Rock swung open, the banners casting shadows against the stone as Tywin stepped inside, his measured stride echoing against the marble floors. Servants bowed as he passed, the atmosphere within the keep shifting instantly at his arrival, as if the very walls themselves straightened in deference to the Lion of Lannister.

Jaime followed, his thoughts still tangled with the conversation they had just had, his fingers twitching at his side. The weight of his father’s expectations pressed down on him like a suit of armor too heavy to bear, suffocating, unrelenting.

But the moment they entered the grand hall, all thoughts of duty and obligation momentarily halted.

Because Winter was there.

The great silver-and-white beast lay stretched across the polished stone floor, his massive head resting on his paws, his piercing blue eyes watching them with an eerie stillness. The direwolf had become a presence in the castle, a silent guardian that never strayed far from your chambers. Jaime had fought to free him from that damned kennel, convincing Kevan that locking him away served no purpose other than antagonizing you further.

Kevan had relented—reluctantly—and Winter had been allowed to roam within reason. You had been grateful, for the briefest of moments, before retreating back into yourself, closing every door between you and Jaime in the wake of Robb’s death.

Tywin came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the beast, his expression flickering with the slightest hint of displeasure. He regarded Winter the same way he would regard a poorly-trained hound, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Jaime smirked faintly. “Ah. I see you’ve met my wife’s loyal shadow.”

Tywin’s gaze did not shift. “You should have had it put down.”

Jaime’s smirk faded, his shoulders stiffening. “She would have never forgiven me.”

Tywin exhaled through his nose, finally turning to face his son. “She already hasn’t.”

Jaime’s jaw clenched.

Tywin continued, his voice calm but cutting. “Do not mistake tolerance for affection, Jaime. The girl has done nothing but endure your presence. And if what I hear is true, she no longer even looks at you.”

Jaime inhaled slowly through his nose, his temper flaring despite himself. “And you believe forcing her will change that?”

Tywin tilted his head slightly. “I believe that reminding her of her duty will.”

Jaime’s grip on his belt tightened, his golden hand a heavy weight at his side. He could feel Winter’s eyes on him, unblinking, the wolf sensing the tension in the air.

Before he could formulate a response, movement from the far end of the hall caught his attention.

And there you were.

You stepped into the hall with slow, measured steps, your expression unreadable as your gaze swept across the room, catching sight of your father-in-law standing beside his son. Your posture was poised, regal, but there was no warmth in your eyes—only the cold resolve of a woman who had already lost everything.

Winter lifted his head slightly at your arrival, his tail thumping once against the stone before settling again.

Tywin turned, his gaze assessing as he took you in. “Lady Y/N.”

Your chin lifted slightly, your voice cool but polite. “Lord Tywin.”

Jaime studied you carefully, searching for any trace of the girl he had wed three moons ago, the one who had once spat fire and fury at him, who had fought against her fate with every ounce of will she had left. But you had changed.

Robb’s death had stripped something from you.

You had not spoken more than a handful of words to Jaime since you had learned of it. You did not argue, you did not lash out, you did not even glare at him as you once had.

You simply ignored him.

And Jaime wasn’t sure which had been worse.

Tywin observed you for a long moment before speaking. “I see you have made yourself comfortable here at Casterly Rock.”

You didn’t react, your hands folded neatly before you. “As comfortable as a Stark can be in a lion’s den.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at Jaime’s lips despite himself.

Tywin, however, remained impassive. “Your position is not so tenuous as you think, my lady. If you are wise, you will see that.”

You met his gaze steadily. “If I were wise, I would not be here at all.”

Jaime watched the exchange with thinly veiled amusement, though he knew better than to voice it aloud.

Tywin merely regarded you coolly before shifting his gaze toward Jaime. “We will speak later.”

Jaime inclined his head slightly, knowing better than to press the issue further.

Tywin left without another word, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode down the hall, his presence as heavy in departure as it had been in arrival.

Silence followed in his wake.

Jaime turned toward you, exhaling slowly. “You always did know how to make an impression.”

Your expression didn’t shift. “I have no interest in impressing him.”

Jaime tilted his head, watching you closely. “Or me, apparently.”

You finally looked at him then.

It lasted only a moment, but it was enough.

Because for the first time in weeks, Jaime saw something flicker behind your eyes—something real, something raw.

And gods, he wanted to reach for it.

But you looked away just as quickly, stepping past him without another word, moving toward Winter, your fingers brushing against the direwolf’s thick fur in silent comfort.

Jaime turned, watching you go, his throat tightening.

She already hasn’t, Tywin had said.

And for the first time, Jaime feared he might be right.

Jaime came to his father a few hours later into the private solar, the heavy oak doors closing behind them with a dull thud. The room was exactly as he remembered it from his youth—grand, lined with shelves of old tomes and polished silver goblets, a massive desk at its center. The Lannister lion was embroidered on the rich crimson banners hanging from the walls, a reminder of who ruled these halls and who always would.

Kevan was already waiting inside, seated near the hearth, his face schooled into careful neutrality. He had never been as harsh as Tywin, but there was no mistaking the fact that his loyalties were unwavering. His uncle had always been Tywin’s shadow, carrying out his brother’s will without question.

Jaime leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, waiting for his father to speak.

Tywin poured himself a goblet of wine before turning, his gaze keen as ever. “The girl still hasn’t warmed to you.”

Jaime smirked, though there was no real amusement behind it. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Tywin ignored the remark, setting his goblet down with a clink. “Three moons, Jaime. Three moons, and yet your marriage remains unfulfilled. You have done nothing to secure your position, nothing to ensure an heir.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “And you expect that to happen when she barely even speaks to me?”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive. “Then make her.”

Jaime pushed off the desk, scoffing. “Oh, yes, because forcing myself on my wife will do wonders for our already thriving marriage.”

Kevan, who had remained silent until now, finally sighed. “No one is suggesting you force her, Jaime.”

Jaime turned to his uncle, eyes flashing. “Aren’t they? Because I know exactly how this goes. My duty is to take what’s mine, regardless of what she wants. That’s the Lannister way, isn’t it?”

Tywin’s gaze darkened. “She is your wife. It is her duty as much as it is yours.”

Jaime ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow exhale. “She hates me.”

Tywin studied him for a long moment before speaking. “She hates what you represent.”

Jaime barked a humorless laugh. “And what’s the difference?”

Kevan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “She is grieving, Jaime. That much is obvious. The loss of her brother has hardened her against you, but that does not mean she will never bend.”

Jaime scoffed. “You don’t know her, Uncle. She would rather burn this entire castle to the ground than bend.”

Tywin remained silent for a long moment before stepping closer. “Then give her something else to hold onto.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Tywin’s voice was calm, calculated. “You cannot change the past, but you can shape the future. She is here, and she will remain here. Whether she accepts it or not is irrelevant. What is relevant is whether or not she finds a reason to stop fighting it.”

Jaime frowned. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

Tywin studied him for a long moment before finally saying, “You make her see the benefit of being a Lannister.”

Jaime stiffened. “You want me to buy her loyalty?”

Tywin’s lips twitched slightly. “You want her to trust you, don’t you?”

Jaime hesitated. He hated that his father could see through him so easily.

Tywin continued, his voice unwavering. “Then give her something. Offer her security. Offer her power. Make her see that she stands to gain more as your wife than as a grieving Stark.”

Jaime clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “And if she still refuses?”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “Then you remind her of what she has already lost.”

Jaime exhaled slowly, looking away. He hated how easily his father played this game, how effortlessly he turned emotions into weapons, vulnerabilities into tools.

Kevan cleared his throat. “Perhaps a child would ease things.”

Jaime snapped his gaze back to his uncle. “You think that’s the answer? To tie her down even further?”

Kevan shrugged. “It would make her needed. If she carries the future of this house, she will have no choice but to accept her place in it.”

Jaime gritted his teeth, the words striking a nerve he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Tywin’s voice was final. “You have a duty, Jaime. To your house. To your future. Whatever fondness you think you have for her, whatever guilt you carry—it is irrelevant. Your marriage will be fulfilled. It is only a matter of how long you intend to delay the inevitable.”

Jaime inhaled sharply, holding his father’s gaze.

There it was. The ultimatum.

The decision he had been avoiding since the day you became his wife.

Kevan leaned back, watching him carefully. “She was always going to be a prisoner, Jaime. Whether here, in King’s Landing, or in the Dreadfort. At least here, she has some say in how comfortable that prison is.”

Jaime turned away, staring at the golden Lannister banners, his hands tightening at his sides.

He hated this.

Hated that they were right.

Hated that, despite everything, he wanted you to choose him.

He just didn’t know if he could live with himself knowing that the choice was never really yours to begin with.

The summons came at dusk.

A Lannister guard had arrived at your chambers, standing stiff and unreadable as he informed you that Lord Tywin required your presence in his solar. The words had been clipped, almost impersonal, but there was no mistaking the weight behind them. This was not a request.

You hadn’t argued. You had simply risen, smoothing down the fine Lannister-red gown that you despised wearing, and followed. Winter had growled lowly as you left, watching you with piercing blue eyes, but he had remained in the chamber, knowing instinctively that he could not follow.

Now, standing before Tywin Lannister in his grand solar, you wished you had ignored the summons entirely.

The room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of a dozen candles. The scent of parchment and ink filled the air, mingling with the rich aroma of Tywin’s untouched goblet of wine. He sat behind a massive wooden desk, his expression as impassive as ever, his pale green eyes appraising you with something akin to curiosity.

You stood before him, your arms crossed, your posture rigid. “If you’ve called me here to discuss something as trivial as the color of my gown or the way I hold my goblet at feasts, I’d rather return to my chambers.”

Tywin exhaled slowly through his nose. “Your tone, Lady Y/N, is as sharp as ever.”

You tilted your head. “Perhaps if I were treated like a guest rather than a prisoner, my tone would soften.”

Tywin regarded you for a long moment before leaning back slightly in his chair. “You remind me of someone I once encountered at Harrenhal.”

You stiffened slightly, though your face remained unreadable. “Do I?”

He studied you carefully, his gaze assessing. “A sharp tongue. Fierce eyes. A wolf in the body of a girl.” His voice was measured, as though he were testing the waters, waiting for a reaction. “She claimed to be a boy, but I knew better.”

Your fingers curled slightly into your palms.

Arya.

He was talking about Arya.

Your heart clenched at the thought of your sister—lost, gone, her fate unknown. But you forced your expression to remain still. You would give him nothing.

Tywin let the words linger between you before finally shifting, dismissing the topic as easily as he had brought it up. “But that is neither here nor there.”

You swallowed down the bitter taste of grief, your voice cold when you spoke. “Then why am I here?”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for his goblet, taking a slow sip before finally setting it down with deliberate care. “It has been three moons since your wedding, and yet your duty as Jaime’s wife remains unfulfilled.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, your shoulders tensing. “My duty?”

Tywin’s expression did not waver. “You are a married woman now, Lady Y/N. Your role is to provide heirs to this house. To continue the legacy of House Lannister.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “House Lannister already has heirs.”

Tywin’s brows furrowed slightly.

You tilted your head, your lips curling into something sharp. “King’s Landing is still a home to two golden-haired heirs of Jaime Lannister, unless you’d have me believe they belong to Robert Baratheon instead.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Tywin’s face darkened, his grip on the goblet tightening slightly. “Mind your tongue, girl.”

You crossed your arms, unflinching. “Why? Are we not speaking of duty and legacy? Or do you expect me to bear children that will be passed off as someone else’s while you sit there and pretend you do not know the truth?”

Tywin’s jaw clenched, his voice lowering to something dangerously calm. “Those rumors are nothing more than slander spread by your father and brother—both of whom paid the price for their treason.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The reminder was a blade against your ribs, biting and merciless.

You swallowed the grief threatening to claw its way up, your voice quiet but unyielding. “You murdered them.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. “Your father was a good man. An honorable man. But honor is not what keeps a kingdom intact. Power does. And he lost.”

Your nails bit into the fabric of your sleeves. “And Robb?”

Tywin regarded you carefully. “Your brother’s fate was sealed the moment your mother released Jaime.”

Your breath was shaky, your entire body coiled tight like a bowstring ready to snap.

Tywin studied you for a long moment before leaning forward slightly. “I did not summon you here to discuss the past. Your grief is of no consequence to me. What is of consequence is the fact that you are the Lady of Casterly Rock and yet you refuse to embrace the role given to you.”

You scoffed. “Given to me?”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened. “You may despise this arrangement, but you would do well to accept it. You are no longer a Stark. You are a Lannister now.”

You took a step closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I will never be a Lannister.”

Tywin’s expression did not change, but his voice cooled. “You will bear the name. And you will bear the children. That is all that matters.”

The words struck something deep, something raw, something furious.

Your hands trembled slightly at your sides, but you clenched them into fists, refusing to let him see the cracks beneath your mask.

Tywin exhaled slowly, pushing himself to stand, his towering presence looming over you. “You have a choice to make, Lady Y/N. You can remain defiant, remain stubborn, but it will change nothing. Your future is here. Your role is set.”

You lifted your chin, your voice shaking with restrained fury. “And if I refuse?”

Tywin’s eyes gleamed with quiet authority. “Then you will learn.”

The threat was not spoken, but it was there.

Your throat was tight, your heart pounding against your ribs.

Tywin regarded you for a moment longer before turning away. “You may go.”

You did not hesitate. You turned on your heel, your steps measured, controlled, refusing to let him see how deeply his words had cut.

But as you stepped out of the solar and the heavy doors shut behind you, you felt it—

The walls closing in.

The cage tightening.

And for the first time since you had been brought to Casterly Rock, you realized—

There was no escaping this.

Jaime had spent the evening drowning in his father’s words, the weight of expectation pressing down on him like an iron gauntlet. Every conversation with Tywin left him feeling like a boy again—small, powerless, molded into whatever shape his father deemed necessary.

Now, as he climbed the stairs toward his chambers, he felt none of the confidence he usually wore like armor. He had been warned, ordered, and reminded of his duty, and yet the thought of forcing something that wasn’t freely given made his stomach churn.

When he pushed open the heavy wooden doors to his chambers, he found you already there, standing near the fireplace, your hands clenched into fists. Winter lay stretched across the furs beside the hearth, his massive form unmoving, but his eyes snapped to Jaime the moment he entered.

Jaime sighed, running a hand through his golden hair. He could tell instantly that something had happened. The tension in your shoulders, the way you stood rigid, barely looking at him—it was all too familiar.

“I take it you spoke with my father,” he said smoothly, closing the door behind him.

Your gaze flicked to him then, sharp and full of fire. “And I take it you already knew what he would say.”

Jaime exhaled slowly, stepping further into the room. “I had a fair idea.”

Your laughter was hollow, devoid of humor. “Of course you did.”

Jaime watched you carefully, his fingers twitching at his side. “What did he say?”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you turned toward the fire, the flickering light casting an angry glow against your face. “What do you think he said? That I must submit, that I must produce an heir, that my grief means nothing because my purpose is to serve House Lannister.” You turned back to him, your jaw tight. “I will never be a Lannister, Jaime.”

Jaime inhaled slowly. “That’s not what he wants to hear.”

You glared at him. “I don’t care.”

Jaime sighed, stepping closer, his golden hand resting at his side, his left hand reaching up to unfasten the clasps of his tunic. The day had been long, draining, and the last thing he wanted was another battle.

But he should have known better.

You weren’t done.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Your voice was quieter now, but it was still edged with bitterness. “You knew what he would demand, and yet you said nothing.”

Jaime stilled, looking at you carefully. “What would you have me say?”

You took a step closer. “Anything.”

Jaime exhaled slowly. “Would it have changed anything?”

You clenched your jaw, looking away.

Jaime took a cautious step forward. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, stepping back. “Don’t act as if you care.”

Jaime’s patience was thinning. “You think I don’t?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I know you don’t. This is convenient for you. You get to be Tywin’s perfect heir while I rot in this damned castle.”

Jaime’s nostrils flared. “You think I wanted this?”

You turned to face him fully now, your chin lifting in defiance. “Didn’t you?”

Jaime closed the distance between you in two strides, his jaw tight as he stared down at you. “If I wanted to be my father’s perfect heir, I would have consummated this marriage the night we were wed.”

You inhaled sharply, your fingers curling at your sides.

Jaime lowered his voice, his breath warm against your skin. “I would have forced you beneath me, like some savage, and ensured that you carried a Lannister child.”

Your breath hitched.

Winter growled lowly, the sound vibrating through the room, but neither of you moved.

Jaime leaned in slightly, his voice quieter now. “But I didn’t.”

Your chest rose and fell heavily, your pulse quickening.

Jaime studied you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. “Why do you think that is?”

You swallowed, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

Jaime tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Say it.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know.”

Jaime exhaled softly, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Then let me tell you.”

Before you could react, his left hand came up, his fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin slightly upward.

The kiss was slow at first, hesitant, as if he expected you to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his tunic, gripping it tightly as his lips pressed against yours, firm and unyielding.

Jaime felt something snap inside of him, something raw and desperate that he had been fighting for far too long.

The fire crackled beside you both, casting flickering golden light over your faces as Jaime deepened the kiss, his golden hand hovering at his side, useless, while his left hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Your breath hitched against his mouth, your fingers tightening against his chest.

And for the first time in three moons, you didn’t pull away.

[j-k-writes]

The Lion of the Trident

Summary - After Rhaegar's defeat on The Trident, Robert and Ned must deal with the Prince's surviving forces, including Y/N Lannister.

Warnings - age gaps (Y/N is about 16/17 while Ned and Robert are 19/20), canon character death, general GOT warnings, ableist language (toward Tyrion), mentions of violence, sexual content

Y/N was awoken to the feel of frigid water pouring down on him. 

He shot up, gasping and shivering. He pushed himself further into the makeshift outdoor prison cell, covering himself further in mud. He shook his hair out as the chilled water settled deep into his bones, glaring up at the men responsible. 

“I know I stink, but that’s not quite the bath I had in mind.” Y/N’s words didn’t quite land the way he’d hoped with the shivers racking him visible to the men standing over him. 

“King Robert wishes to speak with you.” 

Y/N laughed, “King? I wasn’t aware Aerys had died?” 

The two men didn’t grant the Lannister heir with a response, grabbing his arms and dragging him to his feet. He attempted to jerk his arms free from the men’s grasp, but the days spent chained to a pole with little food and water had weakened him enough that the two men had no trouble dragging him to Robert’s tent. 

Realizing he had no choice but to let this farce take place, Y/N steeled himself holding his head high as they walked through the camp. He smiled at the jeers thrown his way, finding himself laughing at quite a few. The days of abuse, physical and verbal, he’d suffered at the hands of the usurpers were nothing compared to the years living in his father’s tight grasp. Perhaps if they set Lord Tywin in front of the young knight he’d have been more forthcoming with his information. 

Robert Baratheon looked exactly how Y/N remembered him, towering over every lord in his tent. Y/N’s eyes trailed down the Baratheon’s body, gaze settling on a fresh bandage applied around his torso. 

“Sit him down.” Ned Stark spoke, drawing Y/N’s attention away from the Stormlander. Y/N grunted as he was forced into a chair, wincing as the rough wood of the seat made contact with the bruises no doubt littering his body. The two men were dismissed, and Robert and Ned turned their full attention to Y/N. 

“While I admire the efforts, you will be getting no valuable information from me.” Y/N spoke, taking in the different reactions from the two men. Ned winced at the reminder of the Lannister’s treatment in the camp, while Robert simply frowned, scowl deepening. 

“Has Tywin Lannister declared for the Targaryens?” Robert asked, and Y/N laughed, wincing half a second later at the pain it caused him. Tywin Lannister was still holed up at Casterly Rock with Cersei and Tyrion, leaving Jamie and Y/N to fight their own battles. 

“Did you see the Lannister forces at The Trident, Robert?” 

“I saw you.” 

Y/N smiled, “And you caught me.” 

“Are you saying you were with Rhaegar’s forces against your Lord father’s wishes?” Ned asked. 

“Which answer would make you less inclined to kick me in the ribs?” Y/N asked, if the two men brought him here for information they might as well get on with it. Y/N wishes to return to bed, finding small comforts in his sleep, as fitful as it was. 

Once again, Y/N’s words made the Stark flinch. “I apologize for your treatment, it was not our intention-” 

“Save it, Ned.” Y/N spat. “I am not a boy, I know how war works. I chose the losing side, and now my fate lies in your hands. If you’re going to have me killed as a traitor I’d rather you just get on with it, perhaps the afterlife will have less mud.” 

Robert barked out a laugh, “Alright.” 

“Robert-” 

“You heard the man, Ned.” Robert said. “He is of no use to us.” 

“If he speaks true,” Robert made to interrupt, but Ned continued on ignoring his friend. “If he speaks true, Lord Tywin has not yet declared for a side. If we have his son, his heir, he may be more sympathetic to our cause.” 

Y/N scoffed, “My father has two other sons.” 

“The kingsguard and the imp?” Robert raised an eyebrow and Y/N frowned. Tyrion was a child of the House Lannister, and even that it seemed would not save him from the realms scorns. Robert was right in his statement, however, Jamie was a sworn knight of the kingsguard, and his father could not even look at his youngest son let alone declare him heir. 

“I am not just some whore who’s body you can sell.” Y/N spat. 

“The whispers I hear would say differently.” 

“What the fuck are you implying.” Y/N sneered at the same time Ned let out a choked ‘Robert’. 

Robert held his hands up in mock surrender, dropping the topic. Ned sighed, turning to Y/N, “I know we are not friends Ser Y/N, but you are a fine knight, and with you and your house’s support behind us in this war we can win.” 

“You’re already winning.” Y/N deflated, it was true. Rhaegar was dead, and from Jamie’s reports Aerys was madder than ever. The war was practically over, and Y/N Lannister had chosen the wrong side. “You do not need the support of my father or me.” 

“Would you rather die?” Robert asked, his eyes scanning the knight in a way that made him squirm in his seat. 

“If I must.” 

“You do not have to, Y/N.” Ned sighed, “Work with us to secure your father’s support and we will let you live.” 

Y/N bit his lip, sinking in on himself. He knew he had no real choice, they would not kill him no matter what he said, they wanted his father’s army too badly. He could either let himself be a prisoner or he could be an equal with the two men. 

“Fine, tell me what to do.”

Jamie had killed Aerys, Tywin had sacked the city, and now the throne was Roberts. Y/N however, instead of celebrating the victory with his father and brother, was in the chambers of Ned Stark, drunk, half naked, and pressed into the mattress. 

“Don’t you have a wife?” Y/N gasped as Ned roughly tugged at the laces of his trousers. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Ned asked, although his smile as he finally managed to undo the laces undercut any bite put into his words. 

Y/N laughed as Ned tugged his trouser down his legs, tossing them to the side. Ned looked up at the man, smiling, and Y/N took the opportunity to wrap his legs around Ned’s waist and flip them over. Ned gasped as his back hit the bed, and Y/N smiled down at him. He leaned down close to his ear, whispering, “No.” 

Ned grabbed the back of his head, roughly smashing their lips together. Y/N immediately relaxed into the Lord’s hold, allowing Ned to trace his mouth down his jaw. Y/N gasped as Ned pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone, before biting down roughly. Y/N ground his hips down roughly into Ned’s and the Stark’s grip in Y/N’s hair tightened as a low groan escaped his throat. 

“Have you ever shared a bed with a man before, Ned?” Ned paused, giving Y/N all the answers he needed. Y/N hummed, pushing Ned down into the bed. Ned stared up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly, and skin flushed a red that was sure to be unusual for a Northerner. “Let me teach you then, Lord Stark.” 

Before Y/N could move however the door to the chambers burst open and the men jumped apart. Ned, still half dressed, threw a blanket to Y/N who quickly grabbed it to cover himself. The men both looked to the door, where Robert, now King Robert, was standing, a jug of wine in hand. Robert did not seem shocked at the sight, an amused smile plastered on his face. 

“What do we have here?” Robert said, still smiling. He closed the door behind him with his foot, placing the jug of wine on the table near the door. He took a seat, “Well, don’t stop for me.” 

“Robert-” Robert held a hand up, and Ned closed his mouth. 

“Are you just going to watch us, Robert?” Y/N said, trying to keep his usual confidence, although he could feel his face burning. Ned made a noise at Y/N’s question, but Robert smiled. Y/N looked to Ned, who’s flush had deepened significantly, before turning back to Robert. “Because the Keep’s beds seem big enough to fit three.” 

Robert’s smile widened, and Ned made a noise that sounded like he was dying. On many drunken nights throughout their journey to Kingslanding Ned had confided in Y/N about he and Robert’s youth-fueled escapades, although they had never gone past sloppy kisses Ned had always wondered what it would have been like to cross the line. 

“What did you say to him to get him into your bed?” Robert said to Y/N. 

“He has gotten me into his bed.” Y/N said. “Although it took him more cups of wine than you to do so, my king.” 

Ned looked between the two men, opening his mouth, probably to ask about Y/N’s words, but Y/N stood dropping the blanket and all words died on Ned’s lips. Robert smirked, standing and stripping his extensive layers. Ned stood silently, looking between Y/N and Robert, and Y/N just placed his hand on Ned’s bare chest. 

“Get onto the bed,” He whispered to Ned, chuckling when the man stripped himself of his remaining clothing and laid down into the bed. Robert came to stand behind Y/N, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Would you like to teach him or should I?” 

“You.” Robert released the man, walking toward the head of the bed. He crawled onto the bed, coming up behind Ned. He grabbed Ned’s jaw, forcing him to look at Y/N as he approached the bed. 

“Watch and learn, Ned.”

[cdragons]

I'm Yours, But You Can't Be Mine | Dark!Robb Stark x fem Knight!Reader

Summary: The Freys and the Boltons were so close in their attempt to assassinate Robb Stark and switch the tides in favor of the Lannisters. But a knight's devotion to her king should never be tested. Her loyalty always remains true, even if she breaks the heart of the man she loves in order to protect him.

Trigger Warning(s): MDNI 18+, blood, gore, graphic violence, forced abortion, violence against women, canon character deaths (not Robb or Starks), graphic smut, more hurt than comfort, Talisa is a spy (and a ho), Reader has post-murder clarity and guilt

A/N: A couple of days ago, I woke up and chose violence (emotionally and "literature"-ally) ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ. Also, Theon Greyjoy never betrayed Robb in this fic bc I said so - HOORAY! Also, if anyone can tell me how I can use different fonts in my posts, that would be great.

Walking out from the tent where the emergency council meeting was held, you steeled yourself for the information you would have to discuss with your king. With each step falling to the ground, bringing you closer to his tent, the boulder in your stomach grew more and more heavy.

“This is a bad idea,” you thought to yourself. “This is a bad idea and a mistake; he will never forgive you if you go through this.”

But you made a promise – and as Ned Stark taught you, you would keep it because it was right and honorable. Because when choosing between what is right and what is easy…you must always choose what is right.

You stopped before the two Northmen who stood outside your king’s tent as guardsmen. Their postures straightened and appeared as imposing as possible when facing you.

“Turn back, Ser (Y/N),” one guard said. “No matter how familiar with King Robb, we are on strict orders from Lady Catelyn that no one but her and Princess Arya are permitted to enter His Grace’s tent.”

“I need to speak with the King,” you spoke in your best militant and authoritative tone. “His lords and I just held an emergency council meeting to discuss House Frey’s betrayal. I need to ensure that no information is held from him.”

“Perhaps it be best you let His Grace rest,” the other guard spat out. “He had just lost his queen and future heir at the hands of Walder Frey – even if his wife was a spying, traitorous cunt sent by Tywin Lannister. We could all use some time to mourn.”

You snarled and grabbed your dagger when you saw the sigil sewn on her sheath. He belonged to House Blackwood. Your eyes softened as you recognized him as Bywin Blackwood, cousin to Lucas Blackwood, one of the four hundred casualties slain by Hosteen Frey. Taking a deep breath, you tried to appeal to their sympathetic natures.

“I concur, Ser Bywin,” you said. “But you cannot deny that time is of the essence. Three days have passed since the failed Red Wedding, and word has surely reached Tywin Lannister and the rest of the Red Keep of their failure. I fear for Princess Sansa’s life if we do not take action soon. Her well-being is entirely dependent on King Joffery and his bitch mother’s whims and wishes. The faster I can bring our king up to speed, the faster we can retaliate and bring our former liege lord’s daughter back.”

You watched them glance at one another before delivering the final blow. “And then we can all go home so that we may finally properly mourn and honor the lives lost in this war.”

They let you through, and you entered your king’s tent. Seeing your friend lying so still on his cot broke your heart. His chest was wrapped entirely in gauze and bandages, and the memory of seeing the arrows puncture his body swept chills down your back. Grey Wind sat beside him as dutifully as ever and did not even turn his head to look at you when you entered. Like his master, Grey Wind was a beast of discipline and strength. He and Robb shared the same qualities of holding the stoic appearance of a leader – even when the world around them came crumbling down. But here, at this moment, Grey Wind was neither a beast nor a leader. At this moment, he was simply the pet whose mind was running rampant with worry from fear of his dearest friend never waking up.

You held out your hand and called out his name. “Grey Wind.”

His head finally turned to face you. You often wondered if he was more man than beast, sometimes based on how soulful his eyes looked alone. You crouched on the ground and beckoned him to you.

“Come here, boy. Are you thirsty? I brought you water.”

He immediately trotted to you and showed his joy in seeing you were alive by licking your face and nudging you with his wet nose. You softly laughed at his eagerness to shower you in love while also inspecting your body to see if you were injured or carrying weapons. His body stilled, and his fur stood as he stopped to sniff the sword resting on your hip. He took a sniff and bared his teeth to let out a low growl when he recognized the scent of Talisa’s blood soaking the metal of your blade underneath the leather sheath.

You petted him and spoke in low whispers to calm him down. “It’s alright, boy. She met her end – you and I both ensured that.”

A pained voice rasped out. “I don’t suppose you got any information out of it?”

Your eyes widened at the only other voice in the room, and Grey Wind immediately returned to Robb’s side.

Tears filled your eyes as relief flooded your body. “Robb,” you sobbed out.

Before you could stop yourself, you flung yourself to hug him. “You’re alive! Oh gods – you’re alive!”

Returning your embrace, Robb held you close. “I am, and so are my mother and most of our men—all thanks to you.”

But the happy atmosphere became sour and somber when he looked down at your sword. The memory of your hands covered in his wife’s blood as you stormed into Frey’s Great Hall with the rest of his men was fresh in his mind. Fury swirled and thundered inside him as he learned he had been played as a fool by Tywin Lannister. Using one of his vassal house’s daughters as a spy while disguised as a healer so that she could seduce him was a low he never thought those fucking lions would stoop down to, but they had, and he will have their heads on spikes.

His grip on your arms grew harder. “Did she suffer?” he asked.

You looked him straight in the eyes. “Every second until she had her last breath.”

“Good,” was his only response.

“Robb,” you started. What you were about to tell him was cruel, but he needed to know. “I tore her child out from her womb…it had blonde hair.”

Robb let out a bitter laugh and clenched his fists. “So not only was she a spy, but she was also a whore.” He shook his head. “I was a fool.”

You took his hand in yours. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She had us all fooled.”

Robb shook his head. “Not you. She never fooled you. You hated her the minute you saw her, and you were right, too.”

You never once hid your distrust and dislike for her from the moment she and Robb locked eyes, a distrust that only grew more intense when Robb decided to marry her, thus breaking the vow he made with Walder Frey. But despite your skepticism of Talisa Maegyr, you never suspected she was a spy under Tywin Lannister. Eventually, though, you began to trust her after observing her for countless hours.

She wasn’t a Frey girl, but she might be good to Robb. Maybe she would make him happy.

Robb tucked in a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Who would’ve thought that your natural hatred and distrust for anything pretty would come in so handy?”

“I do not hate all things ‘pretty,’” you scoffed. “I just have a natural distrust for things that seem too good to be true that happen to be pretty. Why do you think I ran away from you for so long?”

Robb smirked. “But you always trusted my father?” he chuckled.

"Ned Stark was someone who was born into privilege and knew it," you shrugged. “Besides, he was old and fat when he found me. And I didn’t think it would be useful until now.”

You thought it strange to see her leave the feast so early, claiming that she felt ill, and one of Bolton’s soldiers escorted her to her chambers. You whispered to Theon that you needed some air before quietly following them. You found them discussing how everything was set and how House Stark would fall that night. Talisa’s true name was Joy Marband, one of House Lannister’s vassal houses in the Westerlands. Tal- Joy ensured Lord Bolton that House Lannister would reward him for his loyalty to the crown. Horrified by this revelation, you rushed to where Grey Wind was locked up and freed him after slaying the guards that stood in front of his kennel.

“Grey Wind, gather the men,” you ordered. “Gather as many as possible and lead them to the Great Hall! We don’t have much time!” Grey Wind howled before doing exactly as you ordered. When he parted, you set off to find the spying whore. On your way to find her, you slew every son, guard, knight, squire, and steward that came across you.

You found her all right – found her in her chambers getting fucked from behind by one of Lord Frey’s many bastard sons. You took out your dagger and gutted him from balls to the chest before cutting off his pathetic cock. It gave you a sick amount of pleasure to see how his blood sprayed across the room – from the walls to the bed, on the traitorous cunt’s back he was fucking to on your clothes. His body went limp as a massive puddle of blood surrounded him. After watching him die, you turned your attention to her.

“Please,” she cried while clutching a blood-splattered sheet close to her chest. “Please, I am with child – Robb’s child!”

You reached out, and your hand squeezed around her throat as she tried to claw her way out of your grasp. Anger being your drive, you slammed her head against the headboard of the bed and watched as her lips turned blue from lack of air.

“Don’t you say his name,” you growled. “Don’t you EVER say his name!”

You flung her like she was a simple ragdoll as her body slammed against the stone wall adjacent to the bed. She coughed and gasped for air while rubbing her throat – the bruises were already forming. You stalked towards her before she could crawl away.

“Robb trusted you!” you thundered. “Lady Stark trusted you! The North trusted you – I TRUSTED YOU!”

You towered over her, grabbed a fistful of her umber-shaded locks, and forcefully yanked it until her face was only inches from yours. “AND WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU TOOK THAT TRUST AND REPAID IT WITH BETRAYAL!”

She tried to crawl away before you stomped on her hand and felt it being crushed underneath the sole of your boot. Your former queen wailed in agony from the pain that almost hid the sound of her bones cracking. The dagger you used to fill the bleeding corpse was still in your other hand, and you knelt to trace Lady Marband’s pretty face with its tip.

“W-w-what are you going to do to me?” she pathetically sniffled.

“I have – STOP CRYING! I have only one question for you,” you harshly whispered. “Did my king truly sire the child in your womb?”

“YES!” she cried out quickly…too quickly. Your jaw clenched so hard you thought your teeth would break from all the pressure.

“…Liar,” you hissed.

With nothing left to stop you, you took your dagger and stabbed it into her body. Dragging the blade until her insides were spilling out into your hands, you dug your find to find the child. Her screams howled louder than any beast at night, and you were almost worried that her wails would give away your position. But all those worries went away when you tore the fetus from her womb. Pouring water on it, you found tiny wisps of hair…straight, blond wisps of hair that more resembled the color of golden wheat than Robb’s dark, russet curls.

Hearing Grey Wind’s howl outside the window, you knew it was time. Still holding the whore’s limb and bloodied bastard in your hand, you raced to find Grey Wind. If your suspicions were true, most of the archers for House Frey were already inside the Great Hall while the feast was happening. If you didn’t hurry, you and the men Grey Wind gathered would be too late. You managed to locate him quickly and were relieved to find thousands of men behind him as he immediately trotted to your side.

“Queen Talisa Maegyr is a traitor working for the Lannisters!” you loudly roared. “She belongs to House Marband—one of their vassal houses! Tywin Lannister had sent her to spy on and seduce your king!”

You raised the dead babe high above your head for all the men to see. “The babe in her stomach is not even Robb’s! If you wish for proof, see for yourself!”

You flung its body to the nearest man. He picked it up, and you can see his eyes widen and fill with rage before confirming your words as truth.

“BLONDE!” he bellowed for all his comrades to hear. “BLONDE LIKE JOFFERY AND HIS WHORE MOTHER, HIDING IN THEIR RED SHIT-STAINED CASTLE!”

Cries and shouts of outrage and anger amongst the men. You watched with bated breath as the surge of revenge and the need for bloodshed filled their hearts. You then revealed that Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were also in a secret allegiance with House Lannister and watched as enraged spirits filled the men with enough fury to take down an army of ten thousand. The North needed something to boost morale, and here it was. You looked down at Grey Wind. He stared back into your eyes with the same loyalty he gives Robb, and you know what you must do.

With one swipe, you unsheathe your blade, ‘Purge,’ and raise it above your head as the men go silent.

You shouted before leading the charge into the keep. “COME WITH ME AND LET’S TAKE THESE FUCKING FREYS TO THEIR GRAVES!”

Grey Wind howled to the sky, and the men raised their weapons to let out their battle cries as they followed you, storming into the keep. You shouted orders for the Riverland archers to run to the upper levels to take down the Freys perched there. Your king’s direwolf raced ahead and took down any soldier that tried to cross him. By the time you and the men reached the doors leading to the Great Hall, all of Grey Wind’s face was soaked with spilled red liquid life save for his golden eyes.  

You pushed the door open just in time to see Robb stagger back from the arrows piercing his chest. Just when Roose Bolton tried to deliver the final blow, Grey Wind let out a booming bark before dashing to Lord Bolton and clamping his teeth into his neck. Meanwhile, you went to where Theon was held and removed the heads of the men who were pinning him down with a single swing. You grabbed him by his doublet’s collar, yanked him to his feet, and shoved a spare sword in his hand.

“Grab Robb and his mother, and get out of here!” you ordered.

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you–”

“Dammit Theon! Don’t argue with me!” you shouted. “Just get Robb and Lady Catelyn somewhere safe!”

Theon looked at the chaos unfolding around him. “What about Queen Talisa?”

“She’s dead! I killed her!” you answered.

 “WHAT?!” Theon’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head.

You rolled your eyes. “Tywin Lannister sent her to spy and fuck Robb – NOW, GO!”

Once you saw Theon take Lady Stark and they dragged Robb’s bleeding body to safety, you could finally focus on the fight. You focused your sights on every man who wore a Frey or Bolton sigil and didn’t stop until each one was lying at your feet. The blood spilled from each slash, stab, and chop from Purge soaked your clothes and caked your face. But it was as if a dark ritual had taken place, as their blood only seemed to empower each and every one of your attacks. Before long, it was too late for House Frey and House Bolton. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton were bleeding at the Northmen’s feet, and any reinforcements called were immediately subdued and taken into custody.

As far as you were concerned, the only Frey left in the hall was Roslin—but whether she and the rest of her sisters would keep their heads after their surviving brothers would soon lose theirs didn’t really matter to you.

“I’m alive,” Robb began while cupping your cheek, “because of you. The North survived because of you. How can I ever repay you?”

You held his hand. “I didn’t save you for your gratitude, Robb. I didn’t save you so that you could repay me with titles, money, or lands. I saved you because it was my duty. I saved you because I swore to that night Joffery called for your father’s head, and we named you ‘King of the North.’ I saved you because I…”

Robb titled his head. “Because you what?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you whispered.

“Because you love me?” he softly asked. Pressing his forehead to yours, he continued. “Because I do…you know I do.”

You shook your head. “No, Robb – please. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t say things you don’t mean to make me look less foolish.”

You tried to move back and away from the man you’ve longed after for as long as you could remember. But Robb took your hands and pressed them close to his chest as he implored you to remain by his side.

“That night, after they named me ‘King of the North.’ Do you remember? We were in my tent. I told you I wanted to be alone, but you refused to leave me. I cried and lashed like a screaming child, but you never left.”

This was getting too far. This wasn’t why you came here. “Robb, you need to listen to me–”

But Robb didn’t stop talking. “You just stood there – taking it until you finally took me in your arms and held me. You didn’t say a word; you just let me cry out my pain. Like that time when we captured the Kingslayer, you held my hand when I kneeled in front of the Whispering Wood to mourn the men I lost. You didn’t speak of how brilliant I was or how the lives lost were for a good cause; you let me be me and mourn.”

“Robb–”

“That’s when I knew I loved you – that I’ve always loved you. And then, when we kissed–”

“I’m leaving,” you blurted out, “to Maidenpool tomorrow morning.”

The silence between you two seemed to echo louder than any wind that howled during the fiercest storms. Shock was the first thing on Robb’s face before complete and utter horror took over.

You may have spoken too quickly. “Well, no…technically, I and…a few other riders will be headed to Maidenpool tomorrow morning. We need to prepare a ship for your voyage to Dragonstone.”

“…What?” His voice sounded so broken that you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You combed your fingers through the stray hairs in front of your face. Then, you took a deep breath to prepare for the little speech you had prepared for this moment. This was the plan you and all lords agreed on. It was a good plan, and it was going to work. That’s all you needed to believe to convince Robb.

“Stannis is the realm’s best chance for peace. Perhaps he’s too stubborn but needs more people on his council. Your lords and I decided it was best if you traveled to Dragonstone to try and convince him to become allies with us. But you still need a few more days to recover. So, by the time you arrive at the docks, the ship will be ready. That’s why I – we’re traveling to Maidenpool… to travel to Dragonstone.”

“And after?” Robb breathily asked. His grip on you tightened in desperate hopes of keeping you close. “After we speak with Stannis, we’ll come back? You and me—we’re coming back together?”

You looked away. “You’ll be coming back…along with everyone else. But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

“But I…I won’t be coming with you.”

Robb dropped his hands as if you burned him. You were lying. You had to be – you weren’t genuinely thinking about…about leaving him.

“No,” he panted with terrified eyes. “No, no, no, please.”

You cupped his face. “Robb, please understand–”

“What’s there to understand?!” he cried out. “I love you! And you love me – and yet you’re leaving me! Why?”

“You don’t love me,” you countered. “You’re only saying you love me because you’re angry and hurt by Talisa–”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that whore,” he spat out.

You rolled your eyes. “Robb, please. You married her. You took her as your wife and nearly ruined the North because of that choice. Of course, you loved her. And, understandably, you’re lashing out because she betrayed you. But don’t lie to me and say you didn’t love her.”

“(Y/N), love,” he beseechingly thought, “you have no idea how wrong you are.”

Robb snarled like the wolf he was at your words. “I married her because I thought she was carrying my child, and I didn’t want my future heir to be a bastard.”

“Even so, that doesn’t explain why–”

You were going to hate him for what he was about to say. “Because you refused me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his shameful reveal. Robb never felt more rueful and penitent of his naivety than now. The last thing he wanted was your disgust and hatred, but he needed you to understand how long he’s loved you. He needed you to realize that you were always the one who held his heart and sanity – without you, he was nothing, as was proven by the Freys and Boltons’ betrayal.

“Robb, I…I don’t – I don’t understand,” you stammered. Your eyes showed that your mind was running amok with questions and a desperate need for clarification. “Wha-…what are you talking about?”

Robb took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump lodged in his throat.

“That night when my bannermen named me ‘King,’ you followed me to my tent. I kept lashing at you like an angry child, but you never left my side. And then…we kissed, and it led to more. The following day, I wanted to find you – to declare my love for you fully. But every time I got near you…you turned away like I was poison. That’s why I turned to Talisa…to try to forget about you.”

Your eyes widened in horror as your chest moved up and down with shaky breaths. “You broke your vows with Walder Frey…was because of me? You bedded and married Talisa because of me? …I hurt you… a-a-and–” You let out a trembling sob. “–Oh gods, this is all my fault! I-i-if I hadn’t confused you that night–”

Robb could feel you slipping away and continued to try to tether you to him.

“No, my love,” he cooed. “You never confused me. You’re not listening to me. I’ve always loved you, even before that night.”

Robb tried to hold you close, but you harshly shoved him back and stood. He watched as tears continued to fill your eyes, and your face carried an expression that could only be described as overwhelming guilt. Robb flung the covers off him and tried to walk towards you, but each step he took closer to you made you step further back.

You stared at him with a shameful expression. “Robb, I…I was wrong to let things escalate between us. You had just been declared king and were grieving for your father, and I took advantage of your grief and vulnerability–”

Robb tenderly held your face. “No, no, no—you didn’t, though. (Y/N) That night…you gave me your love. You didn’t say it, but you gave me your love, and I gave you mine. I never regretted that night or laying with you. How you spurned my attempts to connect with you afterward—that was what hurt me the most.”

“Robb…” you sobbed his name as tears strolled down your cheeks. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted…I thought if I weren’t beside you…I’d also be protecting you from distractions from the war and your duty to the Freys – oh gods, I’m so sorry.”

You put your hand over your face. “Robb, if that night never happened…if I never followed you to your tent then…then, we wouldn’t be in this mess! All of this is my fault! Talisa, the Lannisters, the broken vow with Walder Frey – the North is more vulnerable than ever, and it’s because of me! …I mutilated a pregnant woman and murdered her unborn child.”

Robb helplessly watched as you continued to blame yourself for his foolishness. Knowing you would want your privacy, he sent Grey Wind away to guard his tent. Gods, his father would be so ashamed of him if he saw him now. He watched as you fell to the ground and began to weep out apologies to every soldier who was murdered by the Boltons and Freys at the Red Wedding.

…Lucas Blackwood…Dacey Mormont…Patrek Mallister…Robin Flint…Ser Wendel Manderly…Owen Norrey…And over three hundred other men and soldiers whose blood were spilled that night.

You even begged for forgiveness from the old gods and new ones, for the blood that belonged to Joy Marband that will forever remain on your hands, along with the stolen breaths of her unborn son.

But then the tears stopped…and an eerie calm cloaked the tent. Your eyes were red and swollen, but a spark of mad clarity was dancing in them. Very slowly, you stood with your head still bowed.

“I have to leave,” you whispered. “I have to leave and never come back. If I stay, I’ll only continue to ruin you and our cause more than I already have.”

You turned away to leave, but Robb reached out to stop you before you could take another step. He begged you to look at him, pleading for you to listen to reason before making any rash decisions. When you stubbornly refused, he grabbed your jaw and forcefully turned your head to face him. His crystal-blue eyes were wide with fear and misty from anguish. He had to make you understand that your leaving was not an option.

“(Y/N), look at me—please, love,” Robb implored. " If you leave me, I will never recover. If you dare leave my side, I will tear all of Westeros apart—leaving no stone unturned, no cave unsearched, no village left unplundered. We belong together. You and me – ruling the North, side-by-side in Winterfell. Us, together, spending every night in each other’s arms, with each morning beginning by being greeted by our children.”

He pulled your face closer until your lips were only a few inches away, and your individual breaths intermingled to become one. You want that life with him—just as he wants that life with you. So why can’t you embrace it and share it with him?

You shut your gaze from him and tried to choke down the pain. “It doesn’t matter what either of us wants. All that matters right now is what we need. What matters is how we can gather ourselves from these losses and try to form allies. And if me being here distracts you from that, then…then I need to leave.”

Robb determinedly shakes his head. “No, no – I don’t accept that.”

“Robb–” you tried to reason, but all of your pleas were cut off when he pressed his lips against yours.

And just like that – all words floated away like debris falling into a steady river.

A warm and tingling sensation ran down (Y/N)’s body as their lips met, and she closed her eyes to fully succumb to the sensation. She knew that she should have pushed him away immediately. But as Robb continued to hold her face gently to deepen the kiss, all sense of reason fled from (Y/N)’s mind when his lips moved against hers with gentle and firm urgency. In that moment, nothing mattered – not the messy past, the unstable present, or the uncertain future. At that moment, (Y/N) felt completely free of all worries and fears as Robb’s hands began to trail down to wrap his arms around her waist to hold her closer while (Y/N) wrapped her arms over his neck.

Despite the constriction of their lungs, neither wanted to part. If they could die in this embrace, then so be it. (Y/N) felt every hard, warm muscle of Robb’s body pressed against hers as they began to walk back until the back of his knees hit his cot’s edge. They tumbled onto the cot, and the fall caused Robb to fall on his back with (Y/N)’s soft and supple frame to press further against him. He slightly winced in pain, which caused the two lovers to finally part. As (Y/N) stared down at her king with a concerned expression, Robb thought an angel was with him.

He stared at her flushed cheeks and lust-glazed eyes with naked longing. Her (h/c) strands tumbled to form a curtain hiding their faces. Staring at the mythic beauty over him, Robb knew he wanted this with (Y/N) forever. Meanwhile, (Y/N) gently swept his curls from his face before trailing her hands down his bandaged chest to search if any wounds had been opened.

“Do you need me to stop?” she asked, her heart beating a hundred miles a minute. “You’re still healing, it might be best if we–”

“If you even think of finishing that sentence with ‘stop,’” Robb interjected. “I’ll bind your hands and take you from behind over and over until the only word you can say is my name – just to show you and everyone else that I could be dying from a cut-off leg if it means I can have you.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and giggled. “You’re so dramatic sometimes. I just don’t want you bleeding out and dying before I finish.”

Robb sat up, wrapped his arms around her, and forced her to straddle him. The sudden realization that Robb had been naked this entire time had somehow escaped (Y/N)’s attention as she felt the evidence of his heavily growing arousal against her body. His lips hovered as his warm breath hit her skin, and his low-timber voice whispered into her ear.

“At least you know where this night will take us,” he huskily growled. “Because I don’t plan on stopping until your womb is so full of my seed – it leaks from your cunt.”

He lowered his hands to grasp her hips before trailing them down to sink his hands over her ass. Showing his canines with a lecherous grin, Robb teasingly ground his hips against hers. He rubbed his hardening manhood against her warm core and reveled in the gasps and whimpers escaping her plumped lips. (Y/N) threw her head back as she could no longer hold back her cries of ecstasy. Taking full advantage of her exposed neck, Robb latched his lips just under her and traced the column of her neck with his soft, hot lips.  The feeling of his lips combined with the scruff of his beard against her skin was nothing less than euphoric.

“Oh, Robb,” she breathily panted as their bodies rocked together in sync. “Gods, don’t stop!”

Her hands roamed until her fingers fisted around his dark copper curls. (Y/N) felt her lower body clench when he bit on a pulse point before giving languid strokes of his tongue on it. The contrast between his hot, wet tongue and the chill of his breath when he blew on it gave her goosebumps. (Y/N) softly pushed him back as she longingly gazed into his sapphire-ice pools with her (e/c) eyes and twirled one of his russet curls with her finger. Robb leaned forward and pressed a small peck on her lips as an overwhelming feeling of love encompassed him at her smile.

“I love you,” he sighed out, “do you know that? I love you, (Y/N). I love you so much.”

(Y/N) wanted so desperately to say it back, but the words failed. Seeing how much his love struggled, Robb cupped her cheek and reveled in her warmth as she nuzzled into his palm.

“You don’t have to say now,” he reassured her. “I just—I just want you to know that. Promise me no matter what, you know that.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I promise,” she said with a trembling voice. “I…I want it to say back. But I just…with everything that’s happened—I can’t help but feel like…if Red Wedding wasn’t going to be the thing that causes us to lose this war, I’m so scared of what will.”

Robb pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “Don’t be scared. I know we’ll make it. We will win this war and take King’s Landing from the Lannisters. And when we do, Sansa will finally be free, and we can all return home.”

“To where you’ll rule the North as King in Winterfell,” (Y/N) mused in a wistful tone. “It feels like a sin to even dream of it now.”

Robb stroked his thumb over her cheek. “It’ll be your home, too.”

(Y/N) gave her beautiful king a genuine but sad smile. “I don’t want to talk about the future right now.”

Robb’s brow furrowed at her foreboding words. “What do you want to talk about?”

When (Y/N) pulled away and stepped off his lap, Robb was prepared to chase her through the camp naked if she dared run away while he was in this state. But she just stepped to the center of the space before removing her boots, followed by her stripping the dark leather breeches slowly down until the bare skin of her legs was revealed. She then lifted her tunic over her head along with her chest binder.

Robb was so painfully hard just from looking at her. He cursed himself for thinking he could ever be happy with Talisa, knowing that perfection was standing before him in his tent. His eyes drank in the sight of (Y/N)’s naked body as if looking away would kill him. He took it all in, from every scar that faded to a pale sliver to every beauty mark unique to her. He wondered if she truly knew how beautiful she was…if she understood how much she had completely and utterly bewitched his soul just with her presence. He wondered if she knew how much he wanted to kneel at her feet so that he could beg for her permission to let him worship her for the rest of his life.

(Y/N) began to walk toward him, and it felt as if the world around them was fading into incoherence, and only the two of them were left. When she finally reached him, she took his hand and placed it over her heart. She wanted him to feel it racing from his touch, from his gaze. Then, she lowered herself until her eyes leveled with his as she sat on the cot’s blankets. With her hands, she cupped his face and poured all her love for her king from her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she sighed. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this…of pretending I don’t want you. But most of all…I’m so tired of pretending that I…that I don’t love you.”

It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders as (Y/N) finally confessed her love for her king, Robb Stark. The man she marched with from Winterfell when Joffery first imprisoned his father. The man whom she fought beside and watched mourn for every good man who fell fighting for him. The man she’s loved since before she knew what love meant.

(Y/N) let out a heavy sob. “Because I do, Robb. I do love you. Gods, I love you so much – not just as a soldier loves their king, but as a woman who loves a man.”

Robb hadn’t realized he was crying until (Y/N) wiped a tear with her thumb. He took his hand from her chest and pulled her face towards him until their lips met again. Wet laughter mixed with tears and kisses made for a strange sight for an outsider, but it was a moment filled with more love and happiness than these two dared to hope. The way their bodies moved and swayed before (Y/N) fell on her back underneath Robb Stark as he hovered above her looked more akin to an awkward entanglement of limbs than an impassioned embrace. But for the two lovers, kissing each other seemed as easy as breathing and soothing like a gently falling summer snow. (Y/N) marveled at how easy it was to kiss Robb. It almost felt organic, with how naturally drunk they became by the taste of the other.

Soon, the kiss became more heated as (Y/N) and Robb grew more hungry to explore more of each other’s bodies. The more heated Robb kissed her, the more eager (Y/N)’s hands grew to explore his strong, muscular body. Her hands caressed his warm skin, and her fingers softly traced the scars that made him all the more desirable. His lips trailed to her chin and traveled down her neck until he had just reached the tops of her breasts. Grinning at how hard she was breathing, he took one breast in his hand and twisted her nipple. A needy cry left her lips at his harsh tugging before turning into a high-pitched whine when he bit the other.

Pleasure coursed through (Y/N)’s body like blue-hot lightning as her back arched into his body, and her entire frame felt paralyzed from it. She felt her core leaking from arousal as Robb’s hard, throbbing member was pressed against her stomach. Deciding that if he waited any longer, then he would likely burst, Robb used one hand to roam down (Y/N)’s body until he settled in the special place between her legs. He then took the other breast and tugged its nipple between his teeth before using his other hand to tug and twist the one previously in his mouth. Meanwhile, (Y/N)’s mind was so clouded in lust that she could not feel Robb stroking her clit with one finger before sinking two fingers inside her walls.

“Fuck…your walls are so tight on my fingers,” he huskily groaned as (Y/N) wept in ecstasy. “Such a wicked girl…avoiding your king and keeping this sweet cunt away from me. Every time I laid with that whore, I had to fight the urge to call out your name when I spilled into her. But you won’t do that anymore, will you? You know better to run now, right?”

“I-I-I won’t run! I’m yours, Robb! I only belong to you!” She stammered as Robb began to rub tight circles with his now-soaked fingers on her clit. She thrashed against the covers, fisting the furs on his bed to somehow anchor her. Her core tightened, and no matter how much she wanted to close her legs, his hips prevented her from doing so. As a result, (Y/N) had to take it and continue drowning in the pleasure that was Robb Stark’s love.

“Good girl,” Robb darkly chuckled as he straightened his back and placed his hands on the back of her thighs to spread them wide. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed its leaking tip against her folds. “Are you ready for me to take you? Are you ready to know how a wolf breeds his mate?”

(Y/N) quickly nodded. She couldn’t take the waiting any longer. “Please, Robb,” she begged. “Please take me—make me yours!”

With a single thrust, Robb plunged his entire length inside until he bottomed out, and the tip of his manhood kissed the entrance of her womb. The stretch of his thick, hard member against her walls gave the most delicious burn that made (Y/N) peak from the feeling of how deep he was inside her.  Meanwhile, Robb’s face snarled at how warm and tight (Y/N)’s cunt felt around him. As her walls tightly clamped down on his length, he bit inside his cheek so hard that the coppery taste of blood coated his tongue to prevent him from erupting right then and there. His hand traveled to her hair and sharply tugged it back so that he could roughly kiss her. His blood only further aroused (Y/N)’s lust for the man inside her as she considered it another sign that she had tasted more of her king and another piece was inside her. Emboldened by this action, she wrapped her tights around his hips to further mold their bodies as one.

The way (Y/N)’s body was pressed against his inflamed Robb’s ardor as he pulled out until only the tip was still inside before roughly thrusting himself in fully. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in, she gave him a symphony of cries and begging that could be heard throughout the camp. The slapping of their skin from each thrust inside of (Y/N) made him grip her hips so tightly that she could already feel the bruises forming on her skin as a steady pace had been reached.

Sweat built on both the lovers’ bodies as (Y/N) began to dig her nails into Robb’s skin and claw long scratches down his back. The twinge of pain only made the young king want to sink deeper and deeper into her until they became one inseparable being. Robb tried to remind himself to go slower to avoid harm (Y/N), but one look in her eyes told him there was no need to hold back.

“Take me,” her eyes begged. “Make me completely yours from this day until my last days.”

Upon her request, it felt as if a dormant beast had taken over Robb, as all he could think about was how much he wanted to take her faster, harder, and rougher – until the only word she could say was his name. As he set off at a new pace, (Y/N)’s eyes rolled back as she began to babble out incoherent cries and moans. It felt like there was no part of her mind, body, and soul that wasn’t wholly drowning from waves of pleasure crashing into her.

She was sure the following day, she would do everything in her power to avoid everyone’s eyes, as they all likely heard her moaning for their king like a common whore. But for now, at this moment, she wanted to only exist for Robb and continue drowning in his love.

Soon, it wasn’t long before the familiar feeling of a knot tightening inside her began to coil more tautly as Robb continued to lavish her in his adoration. (Y/N) could feel her pleasure climbing higher and higher until the knot grew so tight that it snapped. It felt as if a dam had burst, and a heavy flood of pleasure crashed into every muscle of her body. The release had made her feel as if her body had reached new heights of pleasure so immense that it became almost painful as tears started to roll down her cheeks. (Y/N)’s eyes shot wide, and she opened her mouth as her back arched into him, but no sound was made. There was nothing that could adequately convey the

Feeling (Y/N) release on his cock, Robb growled as he felt the last vestiges of his sanity snap and lost all composure. He began to increase his pace until his thrusts became rough and frantic to chase his end. He pushed her thighs until they were pressed against her chest before wildly thrusting deeper inside her walls to feel more of her heat. He was able to fuck into her once, thrice, ten more times before his body went taut, and he spilled his seed into (Y/N)’s womb. Her soaked, vice walls gripped around him and tried to milk all of him in desperate want to carry his child.

As Robb felt the last of his cum leave him, a wave of exhaustion crashed into him, and his arms were no longer able to prevent his body from falling atop (Y/N). Panting for air and resting his head in the crook of her neck, Robb turned to rest on his side while making sure her body was still connected to his. His touch became soothing and gentle as he whispered his dreams and hopes for a child with her hair and his eyes to be borne from this night. She tiredly giggles as he delicately kisses her cheeks, nose, temple, and brow while he talks.

He wanted to weep tears of joy. He felt almost…blessed. After aimlessly wandering in a barren wasteland with no clear end, Robb felt as close to peace as the first time he shared a bed with (Y/N). Robb wraps his arms around her frame and brings furs to cover them as a chilling breeze enters the tent, and (Y/N) shivers from the chill. He tightens his embrace as sleep takes over him.

He whispers in her ear, “I love you, (Y/N). We will be so happy together. I know we will.”

She slightly hesitates before replying. “I am yours, Robb. I swear this to you.”

Her king was so lost in his bliss that he didn’t notice the sadness in her eyes and the tremble in her voice.

A gentle stream of light stirred Robb awake. He stretched his arms and blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Based on how loud it was outside his tent, it was late in the day. He reached out to hold you once more…when he felt your side of his bed feel cold. Immediately alarmed, Robb shot up and looked around his surroundings.

There was no sign of you anywhere.

Your clothes…your bag…your sword…even your bloody scent was gone!

Robb shot out of bed and hastily dressed himself in only his breeches and doublet to begin searching for you. But just as he was about to leave after putting on his boots, a small scroll had been placed in the middle of his desk. He dashed over and quickly opened it. The instant relief from recognizing your handwriting cruelly died as he read over your words, and he could feel his heart breaking.

Every word I said last night holds true – from this day to my last day. I am yours, Robb Stark. But you cannot be mine.

Also, I plan to make this a...3 part series? Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Please comment your thoughts and reblog if you think more people would like to read this!

Tagging: @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @llonelygoddess, @arcielee, @countrymusiclover, @yns-world, @axelsagewrites, @bre99, @katzoinks, @asongofrhaenyra, @rise-my-angel, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @anewpersonthatexists, @bogbutteronmycroissant, @sylasthegrim, @writingsofwesteros, @julessworldd , @dipperscavern

[motorway-south]

cersei loves jaime

the idea that jaime loves cersei in a genuine and true way while cersei only wants to take advantage of jaime and loves him as an extension of herself is completely misogynistic. cersei really does love jaime, expressly for the person he is. what makes the cersei/jaime affair toxic (especially in affc/adwd) is that jaime was given a list of names by tyrion of men cersei has slept with, and it completely destroys his trust in her

"Cersei is a lying whore, she's been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know..." - Jaime I, AFFC

Lancel and Ser Osmund and how many more? Was the part about Moon Boy just a gibe? - Jaime IV, AFFC

i shit you not, jaime thinks of this moment 10 times across his 7 chapters in AFFC. This wedge is further agitated by cersei's (rightful!!!) paranoia about the tyrells and tommen. it's in the moments where jaime is most flippant with tommen's safety that she is cruelest towards him. she isn't angry that her mini-me isn't doing exactly what she asks. she's angry that, days after their first child AND father's deaths, jaime shows callous disregard for their only remaining child's safety (with myrcella in dorne)

but it's completely ridiculous to say cersei doesn't love jaime. he's her first choice to be her new hand as regent:

"We are his heirs, Jaime," she whispered. "It will be up to us to finish his work. You must take Father's place as Hand. You see that now, surely. Tommen will need you . . ." - Cersei I, AFFC

ignore the lannister facsism my girl was lowkey drinking the kool aid. NEVERTHELESS him denying her here really does fuck with her head and become another in a long list of abandonments she deals with in AFFC

but wait! you say. she immediately says this to kevan afterwards:

"Jaime . . . Jaime has taken vows. Jaime never thinks, he laughs at everything and everyone and says whatever comes into his head. Jaime is a handsome fool." - Cersei II, AFFC

this line could be damning. it's not kind, and it's not entirely accurate (though it is accurate the the persona that jaime puts on). but it also comes at a crucial moment in the "breaking" of cersei, which is when she realizes that she is not tywin's heir. she married robert. she gave him grandchildren. she restored him to hand of the king. and yet.

"I shall set matters aright!" Cersei softened her tone. "With your help, Uncle. If you will serve me as faithfully as you served my father—" "You are not your father. And Tywin always regarded Jaime as his rightful heir." - Cersei II, AFFC

Though he was ten years her junior, he wanted her; Cersei could see it in the way he looked at her. Men had been looking at her that way since her breasts began to bud. Because I was so beautiful, they said, but Jaime was beautiful as well, and they never looked at him that way. When she was small she would sometimes don her brother's clothing as a lark. She was always startled by how differently men treated her when they thought that she was Jaime. Even Lord Tywin himself... - Cersei IV, AFFC

cersei isn't being cruel to jaime because he rejected her. she's being cruel because kevan and tywin have rejected her as a possible heir.

prophecy paranoia also gets to her

Jaime did not understand. No one understood. Only Melara had been in the tent to hear the old hag's croaking threats, and Melara was long dead. ... There is no one I can rely upon, not even Jaime, she realized grimly. - Cersei III, AFFC

but i promise you, under all of this, cersei still has a huge crush on jaime

she thinks of him very highly in regards to his tourney wins

No man will stand before him." Margaery Tyrell gave the queen a coy smile. "But I never knew that King Robert was so accomplished at the joust. Pray tell us, Your Grace, what tourneys did he win? What great knights did he unseat? I know the king should like to hear about his father's victories." A flush crept up Cersei's neck. The girl had caught her out. Robert Baratheon had been an indifferent jouster, in truth. During tourneys he had much preferred the mêlée, where he could beat men bloody with blunted axe or hammer. It had been Jaime she had been thinking of when she spoke. - Cersei V, AFFC

she frequently thinks back on his words

Jaime always said that the hardest part of any battle is just before, waiting for the carnage to begin. When she stepped outside, Cersei saw that the sky was grey and bleak. - Cersei X, AFFC

including some truly terrible jokes im sorry cersei but theres no defending this one

The dank and dismal fortnight Cersei spent at Greenstone, the seat of House Estermont, was the longest of her young life. Jaime dubbed the castle "Greenshit" at first sight, and soon had Cersei doing it too.  - Cersei V, AFFC

these little moments highlight that cersei does see jaime's personality, his jokes, his skill for battle and jousting, and they're not traits she envies for herself. we NEVER see cers wish she was funnier, and while she expresses a desire to be a man, she never really expresses a desire to wield a sword like the other warrior maids we meet in the series (brienne, arya, asha). she describes jaime as her sword arm, but that too is playing off of jaime's own projections of himself. cersei wants to be a great king, and jaime wants to be a great kingsguard.

the "extension of herself" theory only works if cersei is keeping jaime in a subservient position to her, which is countered by the fact he time and time again refuses power that would upset his position as kingsguard. it would also make sense if she only lauded jaime's traits that were similar to hers, which she obviously doesn't. cersei truly loves jaime, but that love becomes corrupted by the blood that is required for its sustanence (jon arryn, bran, ned, joffrey, etc.)

[blissfulphilospher]

if they adapt Robert's Rebellion

I don't want to give anyone ideas but if they ever make Robert Rebellion's tv or movie version then Robert Baratheon is going to be portrayed as the worst man ever who raped woman here and there and probably assaulted Lyanna.

And that's why she ran away with the tragic melancholic godly prince who was so noble and good but trapped in a marriage with either an unstable chronically ill brown woman or a scheming ambitious brown woman who doesn't love him at all and maybe cheats on him.

Tragic King Aerys who loves his family and wants to burn the whole city because he has a good cause!! Sacrifices will wake dragons! Dragons eggs could have hatched before Dany! Aerys' was a genius. And yes Rhaella supported him and Rhaegar with everything.

It was House Targaryen against the world.

Also, Tywin Lannister was best buddy of Aerys. He sent the Mountain and Amory Lorch to protect the royal family! Those noble knights who accidentally killed the little girl maybe because he couldn't identify whether the Princess was Targaryen or not? Maybe she wasn't.

The Mountain too had similar accidents because Aegon isn't the ptwp or he doesn't exist at all. Problem solved! Rhaegar had no son! This is true! Jon is his only son!!

And let's not forget how hard it was for the Mountain and other guy to climb the building, their struggle to get in Maegor's Holdfast!! They will show us that, than the Princess who is trapped helplessly in a tower with a drawbridge, drawn up and no way to escape with her children.

But no problem that those children died, they were nothing special no one mourns them or their mother. They deserved to be killed and forgotten. House Martell supports Targaryens! They will rise for Jon if they knew! True love of the prince Rhaegar already gave him the only son. Aegon 6th!!

And see a noble honourable Stark lord will raise because 'song ice and fire!' 'prophecy baby' and not because he is the last piece of his sister and that's what any uncle will do.

And… Jon Arryn? Who is Jon Arryn? Why does he want to rebel? He has no reason! (His heir was also murdered idk why people forget that!)

And yes the war was started by Littlefinger if you didn't know before he hyped up Brandon to march to KL. 😄

[marwyn]

Featured in but two chapters of George R.R. Martin’s multi-volume A Song of Ice and Fire, brutish Craster may seem a minor character, peripheral to the larger thematic concerns of Martin’s sweeping and bloody Game of Thrones. Indeed, entrenched in his ramshackle keep in the Haunted Forest, well north of the Wall that marks the end of Westerosi civilization, defined by a predatory incest that leaves him with nineteen daughter-wives and no living male heirs, Craster appears in every way a figure beyond the pale, the very antithesis to the more courtly domains of Starks and Lannisters. Yet even if he is, in the words of Dywen of the Night’s Watch, “a kinslayer, liar, raper, and craven,” such crimes fail to distinguish him from leaders of Westeros’s noble families. Lannisters, Freys, and Tullys do not balk at stratagems or kin-murder; cravens can be found in the white of the Kingsguard. Even in his incest, Craster breaks taboos wildlings acknowledge, only to emulate both Targaryen rulers who “married brother to sister” and the scandalous love of Jaime and Cersei Lannister, whose illegitimate fruits become the seeds of the Song’s protracted wars. It may well be true, then, as wildling Ygritte tells Jon Snow, that “Craster’s more your kind than ours.”

It is precisely this hypothesis I propose to take seriously here. Indeed, I maintain that Craster, far from being a minor addition to Martin’s formidable gallery of grotesques (on par, say, with Vargo Hoat), is a crucial cue to what the novels treat as the pathological self-regard of the Westerosi dynasties. In its endogamous self-reproduction and its dedication to cruel self-culling, the House of Craster discloses, I argue, the true economy of the Game of Thrones, highlighting how the great Houses’ insistence on purity and power sees them not only devouring their own, but reducing the realm to a feast for crows. Craster distils the truth of great seats like Riverrun or Casterly Rock, not just because his paternal incest evokes a fraternal form central to such great lines as Lannister or Targaryen. Rather, the Craster who takes all his female issue to wife and leaves the sons he sires on them to “[t]he white shadows,” reveals a deadly social narcissism that lies at the heart of Martin’s great families, one that establishes them as institutions at odds with themselves and as effective allies to the forces that threaten Westeros.

What lies at the heart of the Houses’ strife and the realm’s ruin, Craster’s example teaches, is not merely incest nor even the Oedipal strife of fathers and sons, but a foundational narcissism that can imagine both family and society as only the pure extension of self. Martin offers Craster as a stark illustration of this phenomenon so as to highlight how the whole of Westerosi society is rooted in and ravaged by this violent narcissism. It is not only Craster who refuses to brook any rival master, or libidinal agent, under his roof; it’s nor just he who enforces an identification of self with House, with society, through familial bloodshed. If the Targaryens wed their siblings, it was in service to purity of blood, after all, and if Tywin’s twins are pledged to one another, it is because, as Cersei says, “Jaime and I are ... one person in two bodies.” In both cases, love of kin only as self involves ready violence against both relations who thwart such identification and those alien to the bonds of blood: Dany must fear waking the dragon, and Bran’s fall is very long, indeed.

The narcissistic cast of familial ties and its tendency to ruin both Houses and the realm is, I argue, the very pith of the bloody Game of Thrones, a fact well delineated by three consequential instances: Samwell’s repudiation and near-murder at the hands of his father, Randyll Tarly; Tywin Lannister’s sadistic dissolution of Tyrion’s marriage to [Tysha]; and Hoster Tully’s destruction of his grandchild, Lysa’s unborn bastard, for the crime of having lowly Petyr Baelish as sire. In each case, a drive to purity tears Houses apart. Moreover, the latter two examples highlight how such narcissism stokes civil war and so abets the mortal threats of rising winter and the Others’ return.

D. Marcel DeCoste, “Beyond the Pale? Craster and the Pathological Reproduction of Houses in Westeros,” in Mastering the Game of Thrones: Essays on George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire (eds. Jes Bettis and Susan Johnston)

[daenystheedreamer]

joffmarge demon children

the thing with the kids names is margaery is a) sane and self-actualised and b) has a rabid guard dog who will kill that blonde bitch if he so much as pokes her. so if joffrey goes "i want to name our three demon children maegor rhaenyra and aerion" margaery can say no. and really cersei wouldn't even fight her on that even though she fights her on everything. she would convince herself it was her idea all along. so the kids do have to have normal names. theyre definitely having a set of insane twins tho. anyway guys under the cut

eldest child and daughter PRINCESS CERYSE BARATHEON. hightower targ-adjacent looks from alerie which i see as ash-blonde hair blue eyes. mini cersei and cersei's fave except after she turned 12 cersei started hating her.

eldest son PRINCE ROBERT BARATHEON. i think it would be funny if he had black hair and blue eyes because olenna stockpiled renly semen or found some random who looked baratheon enough. i want this to happen because it would drive cersei insane. because yes it makes it look like the robert genes just skipped a generation and joff IS legit but SHE knows thats not fucking true. otherwise brown hair brown eyes with a strong build. cersei hates this boy beyond measure. he hates her back def a little misogynist but obsessed with mommy marge

PRINCESS TYA BARATHEON dirty blonde hair green eyes. they were sure it would be a son and cersei marge were fighting over naming him after tywin or loras while joff was like maegor >:) anyway turns out to be a girl and cersei is like oh of course we should name her after ms loras and marge is like oh no we SHOULD honour lord tywin. this is also me referencing tya of tya and gowen fame. after cersei drops ceryse as favourite girlgrandchild she picks tya but its just to torment ceryse. tya hates ceryse because when ceryse was in her mean girl era she would bully tya.

PRINCE LORENT and PRINCESS ALICENT BARATHEON twinsies :3 brown hair brown eyes or brown hair green eyes. cersei sees some kind of a reflection in alicent (sad scared insecure little girl) or maybe its more like she sees a trembling mouse and wants to stomp on it. lorent is mentored by loras and the rest of the evil kingsguard so he's not normal.

PRINCE LYONEL BARATHEON, brown haired and brown eyed. gets sent off to myrcella and trystane in dorne and ends up astoundingly normal. meets his dad after not seeing him for eight years and is like man we should kill this guy. meets all his siblings and is like wow you are all insane

PRINCESS JOANNA BARATHEON fourth and final kid, brown haired and brown eyed. cersei thinks a brunette named for her mother is the greatest insult margaery could ever make. dies young maybe in a freak accident maybe due to the red keep's general evil and cersei WILL be making a scene at the funeral and tormenting marge over it. might be what makes marge snap and kill her. alternatively PRINCE CERION BARATHEON and he's cersei's fave in the style of joffrey and when he dies she goes apoplectic. marge thinks they'll bond over it but cersei in fact gets worse

anyway these are some guys i made up for them. is seven too many... i like it for the faith allusion but would marge bother on more pregnancies once she's pumped out a son and heir. if so pick and choose which ones are fun.

[feyhunter78]

John fic saving lives one day at a time!!! Can i be added to tag list :) Can’t wait for update

Of course you can!!! Also, here's that update for you <3

Chapter Eighteen - Battle is upon them, and lives will be lost on the battlefield and beyond.

CH 19

It is early, two hours past dawn, he stands beside Robb, and his father, the prisoners in shackles, lined up so that Lord Tywin can see his family as he approaches. The field is wide, the sun still low in the sky, a cool breeze drifting through. Jon and Robb are fitted with armor, breastplates bearing the Stark and Dayne sigils respectively, and he flexes and unflexes his fingers as they wait. Ghost and Grey Wind sit between them, waiting patiently.

The Lord of Casterly Rock arrives on a war horse, and despite his age he looks fearsome, the rising sun glinting off his golden armor, his sword hanging from his side, his men behind him, the crimson Lannister banners waving in the wind.

You stand behind Jon, Margaery’s hand in your own avoiding your grandfather’s searing gaze as it sweeps over those gathered, men of the North and Riverlands set even further back, weapons at the ready.

“Lord Lannister.” Robb calls, raising a hand in greeting, putting on an air of ease, as if Jon had not witnessed Robb’s nerves force him to empty his stomach behind a tree in the early hours of predawn.

“Young Lord Stark.” Lord Tywin says coolly, dismounting with a grace Jon did not think a man of his age could possess. “I have given your terms much thought.”

“They are fair terms considering what your family has done to King Stannis’, to the realm.” Robb says equality as cool, his tone even, his voice steady even as his hands trembled behind his back.

Jon saw Margaery shift forward, her free hand taking hold of Robb’s wrist, her thumb caressing the skin, and the trembling slowly came to a halt.

“My family has done nothing, Tommen is King Robert heir, as was Joffrey before him.” Lord Tywin says, his emerald eyes unflinching steel.

A snort comes from somewhere behind Jon, echoing in the quiet of the morn, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. All the realm knew the truth, the Tyrells had ensured that.

Robb keeps his face neutral. “Lord Lannister, the truth has spread throughout the seven kingdoms, it is best if you allow the rightful heir to take the throne, we do not wish for more bloodshed.”

“You would ask that I strip my grandson of his wife, his throne, and submit my house to the mercy of Stannis Baratheon over baseless rumors.”

“They are not baseless.” Ser Jaime’s voice strained and rough from his time exposed to the elements rises above the crowd.

Jon senses more than hears your sharp intake of breath, and he wishes he could turn and comfort you, but he cannot, he cannot risk betraying any sense of weakness to Lord Tywin.

“I guess you could say Prince Rhaegar made quite the impact on me Father.” Ser Jaime jests weakly.

Jon’s eyes dart between Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime, then he glances at Tommen who shakes where he stands, the color draining from his face as he clings to his mother’s skirts.

Tywin’s lips are set in a hard line, his men behind him shifting uncomfortably. “You need not lie to convince me to yield, my son.”

Robb glances at Jon, confusion in his Tully blue eyes, then he looks back at Lord Tywin. “You accuse your son of lying about incest, of lying about cuckholding his king?”

Tywin says nothing for a moment, then, “a son cares for his father, does he not?”

“We know the rumors are true, agree to the terms here and now, or declare yourselves traitors to the throne.” Robb says firmly, tired of Tywin’s games.

Tywin draws his sword. “The only traitors to the throne are those before me.”

It is as they feared, Tywin would not accept the terms, and he would launch an attack. Jon draws his sword, nodding to his father, who grabs you and Margaery by the arms, Smalljon corralling your remaining family. All of you rush off into the crowd as Robb's men surge forward, meeting the oncoming wave of Lannisters and whitecloaks.

The Lannisters are outnumbered, not expecting the Tyrell forces hiding behind the hills, and Jon feels a sense of pity as his sword slices clean through a man’s neck, his head flying in the opposite direction. Jon turns and plunges his sword into another man’s side, right between the chinks in his armor.

Arrows whiz by his head, and when they land true, Robb laughs, calling out congratulations to Theon before his sword bites into the flesh of a whitecloak.

Jon knew the man, he has spent most of his life in King’s Landing he knows every kingsguard, and he attempts to avoid facing them head on, not wanting their familiar faces to haunt his dreams. The sun rises and with it the temperature, sweat drips in his eyes, and he blinks them clear as he ducks, narrowly avoiding a sword swipe.

“Keep sharp, brother.” Robb calls, pulling his sword from a man’s stomach as Grey Wind lunges at the next one, his powerful jaws clamping down on the man’s throat.

Ghost has been his shadow, taking out any who come within his blind spot, growling at oncoming horses, making them rear up and throw their riders. It is chaos, but he knows it will soon end, and when Dacey Mormont brings her sword to Lord Tywin’s throat, her booted foot on his chest, he knows they have won.

A plume of smoke catches his eyes, blooming up into the sky from King’s Landing, growing wider and taller. They must have done it, must have breached the city, taken it as their own. Cheers and shouts ring out, and Dacey drags Tywin from the ground, smiling savagely. “Think I’ll get my own keep for this?”

Robb chuckles and claps her on the shoulder. “You can try.”

Jon buries his hand in Ghost’s fur, leaning on him as the adrenaline drains from his body leaving him thoroughly exhausted.

“Let us rest and regroup, then we will meet with our rightful king at the gates of the city.” Robb calls, waiting until he is sure all his men have heard him before he begins to make his way back to the camp.

Jon follows, Ghost trotting at his side, tail wagging, his pristine coat tinged with blood and gore. They will both need a bath before they return to you.

Standing beside his father while King Stannis hands down the sentencing of your family, Jon is reminded of the day his uncle was sentenced to die. How you held his arm, stood in front of him and pleaded with him not to do anything foolish.

“Cersei Lannister, for your crimes against the crown and the gods themselves, you shall lose your head.” King Stannis says, his eyes not necessarily cold, but steely, unflinching, unfeeling, his hands steady as he passes down the first verdict.

Tommen cries out clinging to his mother as she glares at King Stannis, even road weary and in tattered clothes, she looks a queen, no amount of dust, dirt, or shame can hide the regal air she possesses.

“Tywin Lannister, for your crimes against the crown, you shall join your daughter’s fate.”

Jon’s eyes flicker to you, but you are looking at your uncle, your hands buried in your skirts, eyes rimmed red. He wants to stand beside you, but he must remain at his father’s side. By order of the king, the two innocent Lannister must stand alone. Perhaps it is a warning to both you, your father and any others who might try and go against the king.

“Ser Jamie.” King Stannis says. “I have had many beg me to spare your life.”

Ser Jamie for his credit raises his head, and addresses King Stannis with respect. “My life is yours, My King, do with it what you will.”

King Stannis’ lips form a hard line, then he looks off towards his wife, Ser Davos. “You killed your king, helped cuckhold another, sullied your cloak with your sister, but…I am told you saved countless lives from the Mad King, saved the entire city if not realm from his madness. Your reward shall be not watching those you love die.”

A kingsguard approaches, sword drawn, and Tommen goes pale as he is yanked from his mother. Cersei cries out angrily, hissing that all shall pay for their crimes against her. But Jon cannot help but look at you and your father, at the way you stare at Ser Jaime, at the the way your father seems to be a moment away from cracking, dissolving into dust under the weight of his grief.

The king turns, addressing the final Lannister. “Tommen Lannister.” It feels as if the entire court holds their breath, Tommen’s large emerald eyes are wide and filled with tears. King Stannis’ voice softens a fraction for a moment. “I am a just man; you shall not watch your family die.”

Then Tommen is pulled to his feet and cast towards you and your father. You take him into your arms hurriedly, holding him with a death grip, keeping his head turned away from his mother and father.

The kingsguard raises his sword and Ser Jaime is pushed to his knees.

A sob escapes you, Jon can hear it, his sense so fine-tuned to your very being it is as if the small sound is as loud as thunder.

Ser Jamie looks to you and your father. “Tyrion, y/n, I must beg your forgiveness once more, for I have to leave you both far too soon, and can no longer watch over you.”

Jon feels his father’s hand on his arm, keeping him from going to you as press your hand to your heart, fingers gripping the rich fabric of your gown, with a weak heartbroken whimper of “Uncle Jaime…” 

Then all is silent until the blade sings, cutting through the air followed by the heavy thump of Ser Jaime’s head. A devastated cry leaves your lips, piercing him, and for a moment Jon is reminded of the tale of the death of Rhaenyra Targaryen. How her half-brother’s dragon burned her alive in front of her youngest son. How her screams and his echoed throughout the Keep, how one of Rhaenyra’s ladies clawed her own eyes out in her grief.

Then goes Cersei’s head, then Tywin’s until three golden heads lay in pools of crimson.

When King Stannis turns to Tommen again, you stiffen, a strangled sob escaping you, a torrent of tears.

Jon’s stomach drops, this is not right, Tommen was to be a ward of Winterfell, stripped of his name and titles, but alive, that is what he was told, what you were told.

“Please, he is just a boy.” You say, refusing to release your grip on Tommen, your face a portrait of anguish.

“He is, so I will not stain my rule by taking his life.” King Stannis jerks his head towards the gathering of Starks and Northmen. “Lord Stark will take the boy, he shall be no more than he truly is, a bastard, but he will live.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You say, curtsying best you can with Tommen stuck to you like a sticker burr and your vision blurred with tears.

The remaining sentencing of traitors is a blur, Jon cannot focus on anything but your anguished face, the tears that slide down your cheeks, the way your hands shake as they smooth down Tommen’s hair. It is not until his uncle nudges him, that Jon realizes court has been dismissed and everyone is filing out.

He goes to you instantly, mindful of the blood, and guides you out of the Great Hall, your father holding Tommen’s hand as the boy cries silently, the two of them trailing behind.

Jon tries to speak but you shake your head, weariness clear in your every movement. He will wait to speak, wait until you have slept and begun to grieve your family.

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain, @rebeccawinters, @taylorsfemalerage, @rax-raxus, @certainwonderlandperfection, @nymeriiiia, @burkgolden, @drewsivy

[ladystoneboobs]

[Sybell Westerling to Jaime:]"She would not give up the little crown the rebel gave her, and when I tried to take it from her head the willful child fought me." "It was mine." Jeyne sobbed. "You had no right. Robb had it made for me. I loved him." Her mother made to slap her, but Jaime stepped between them. [...]

Jaime had to canter past the Westerlings as he rode down the column on his way back to Riverrun. Lord Gawen nodded gravely as he passed, but Lady Sybell looked through him with eyes like chips of ice. Jeyne never saw him at all. The widow rode with downcast eyes, huddled beneath a hooded cloak. Underneath its heavy folds, her clothes were finely made, but torn. She ripped them herself, as a mark of mourning, Jaime realized. That could not have pleased her mother. 

[Jaime, to the Freys:]"Tell me, is Ser Raynald Westerling amongst these captives?" "The knight of seashells?" Edwyn sneered. "You'll find that one feeding the fish at the bottom of the Green Fork." "He was in the yard when our men came to put the direwolf down," said Walder Rivers. "Whalen demanded his sword and he gave it over meek enough, but when the crossbowmen began feathering the wolf he seized Whalen's axe and cut the monster loose of the net they'd thrown over him. Whalen says he took a quarrel in his shoulder and another in the gut, but still managed to reach the wallwalk and throw himself into the river." -Jaime VII, aFfC

And Robb. Robb who had been more a brother to Theon than any son born of Balon Greyjoy's loins. Murdered at the Red Wedding, butchered by the Freys. I should have been with him. Where was I? I should have died with him. -Theon I(/VII), aDwD

something just so endearing to me about the way robb finds love and friendship with the children of enemy families. their parents still consider him an enemy and work for his downfall, and it would be in their own interests not to get so emotionally involved over the guy who took their castle by force (in jeyne w. and her siblings' case) or the heir of a captor/would-be executioner (in theon's case). but it just keeps happening with robb anyway. he just replaces one enemy's offspring at his side with even more of them. sybell spicer westerling and her brother rolph were secretly still loyal to tywin, but all her kids just gladly transferred their loyalty to a new king with no apparent misgivings. well, almost all of them, we can only guess and assume in eleyna's case. (bc we don't really see her after their intro scene, jeyne's-hips-don't-lie conspiracy theorists! you will not take jeyne's best moments away from her!) robb's younger brother-in-law was so eager to squire for him he was disappointed not to join his last war march and wasn't even ready to leave robb alone with catelyn after he introduced them. jeyne refused to hide her widow's grief once robb was gone and her mother's true feelings were known to her, risking physical abuse from her mother to boldly make her true loyalty known to the lannister regime who murdered her husband and have responsibility for her future. and jeyne's other brother, raynald, he died for robb at the red wedding, no, to be precise, he died for grey wind at the red wedding. robb's direwolf may have distrusted sybell and rolph spicer, and made jeyne uneasy, pushing robb away from his lupine other half at riverrun, until only the lack of most of the westerlings got the wolf back at robb's side where he belonged on the way to the rw, but when the freys came to kill grey wind it was that westerling knight who fought to aid him. when grey wind died, possibly with robb's spirit also inside him, raynald westerling was the one there dying loyally with him.

and ofc, there's still theon too. theon, who, even after everything, after fighting against the starks at wf, so that robb spent his last months waiting to come home and kill him, after all that, he still idealizes robb as his only true brother, wishing he could have been able to die with him at the twins as raynald westerling did. (catelyn was more right than she knew when she thought jeyne's brothers were standing in for those robb had lost, theon included.) part of that is surely down to just how badly theon's conquest at wf worked out for him, earning him the enmity of all the northmen and ending in his prolonged torture by the son of robb's killer, a kingslayer who thanked theon for helping bring down the starks, all giving him cause to idealize his earlier captivity at wf (and feel guilt for his deeds there), but we know his brotherly affection for robb was not merely invented by trauma after the fact. the love was always there, even if it was hidden.

that's what made robb such a potentially good king if circumstance and youth had not been against him. his charisma was such that he not only won the undying loyalty of most of his bannermen but could also win the hearts and minds of those who should have only been enemies. sure, he couldn't change the minds of their parents, who were ultimately in charge, but that wasn't really his fault. and it doesn't nullify the love he did inspire in those children of his enemies, their love was real and it still mattered. it's true both of his sisters gained the protection of the hound, joffrey's dog, and that bran and rickon had the fierce loyalty of osha after she first met bran trying to rob him, and ofc jon snow had multiple wildling allies after he used to fight against them, but robb's the only starkling to gain the love of would-be enemies from two different enemy regions, isn't he? it's just all really indicative of robb's greatest inheritance from ned: ruling through getting to know all your people and making them care for you (with robb taking it further by extending this to hostages) as opposed to the lannister method of ruling only through fear. sansa was right that love is a surer route to people's loyalty than fear, it's just an unfortunate fact that not everyone can be won that way.

[melrosing]

So what affect do you think the Second Red Wedding will have on Jaime? Presumably his aunt, his cousin, his best friend Addam and his army will all be slaughtered and the ''peace'' he has brought to the Riverlands will have collapsed. What do you think that will do to him?

Sorry I keep seeing messages lately then forgetting about them and answering days later but basically. I think RW 2.0 would probably be Jaime’s motivation to head back to KL, from which he will then return north.

me n other Jaime fans are constantly trying to suss out if/when he goes back to KL, just based on a certainty that 1) he and Cersei will surely interact again whether he’s the valonqar or not and 2) that’s where widow’s wail is and Jaime will definitely wield it. and I’ve always said that whilst I basically support Jaime’s right to shun Cersei’s letter, I do think that his vanishing act basically represents one of House Lannisters final defences falling away.

and tbf there wasn’t really any defending house Lannister at this point, they’ve made too many enemies, and RW 2.0 was happening regardless of whether Jaime departed or not… but Jaime abandoning his post as Tywin’s heir can only hasten his house’s demise, bc the only figurehead left is Cersei. and I think he’ll end up with a great sense of guilt for what befalls them.

so I think Jaime escapes LSH with Brienne, goes on some side quest or what idk, then maybe 75% of the way through TWOW learns about RW 2.0, and the realisation that his house is getting picked off one by one and the fact that his children are inevitably next should send Jaime back to KL at that point. probably with some notion of getting Tommen and/or Myrcella out of there. I think particularly following what I assume will be some developments on the jb front, he is going to have to reckon with the true Cers for the first time - and then whatever happens there happens, which probably leaves the kids dead if not Cers as well, and Jaime’s going to have to reckon now w the fact that his name means very little now, house Lannister is gone, and he’s no longer a KG, he’s no longer anything - so what’s left etc.

anyway idk what exact shape any of this takes, but I do think that abandoning house Lannister and wrestling with what that then means for them and for him, will be a big thing for the last two books. hypothetically given idk when the fuck we’re getting those

[vivacissimx]

as a reader, conceptualizing Incest in westeros is interesting because all incestuous coupling formations outside of siblings or parent/child were legitimated pre-targaryens. not only were they legitimate but in many cases (as was true in certain historical contexts) the preference would have been that cousins married together and produced heirs most likely to smoothly transition into continued power. targcest uniquely referred to legitimized sibling incest within one family (the royal family, traditionally recipients of special privileges in real life as well). however, at some point 'targcest' became a blanket term for any intermarriage within the extended targaryen family (cousins, uncle/niece, etc) although said configurations were not considered to fall beneath the taboo against incest in pre-conquest society.

specifically I would cite rhaenyra targaryen's war banner, in support of this observation: a quartered affair with the sigils of houses targaryen, arryns, and velaryon. the velaryon intermarriage with house targaryen was well-known, rhaenyra had been married to her cousin laenor, her husband daemon had been married to their cousin laena, their children were betrothed such that the union of houses targaryen and velaryon would produce heirs for both houses (king jace/queen baela; lord lucerys/lady rhaena)—ergo velaryon power was publicly wed to rhaenyra's cause. the arryn sigil however pointed to rhaenyra's own mother, the half-targaryen queen aemma arryn. aemma arryn's marriage to her cousin viserys was not controversial for reasons of incest but when used as an argument in favor of rhaenyra's claim, the implication became that because both of her parents were targaryens, while her rival aegon II only had one targaryen parents, she was in that sense a more legitimate claimant— so cousin marriage was brought under the umbrella of targcest, though the doctrine of exceptionalism had not legalized cousin marriage of course, because it hadn't needed to.

and so, on to the interesting part: the idea of practicing interfamilial marriage became incestuous under the banner of the targaryen family specifically. the targaryens married one another to maintain power under their social & religious beliefs = targcest. daemon & rhaenyra, uncle & niece = targcest. mind you the noble families of westeros practiced every interfamilial configuration except sibling & parent/child incest themselves, but they could understand themselves as observing their social & religious beliefs in contrast to house targaryen because they avoided unions of sibling incest. they avoided 'targcest.' did they avoid marriages between uncles and nieces? no. but wasn't daemyra targcest for exactly this reason? well, yes. see above: they're targaryens.

specifically I would cite that for thousands of years the nobility of the north intermarried solely with fellow observers of the Old Gods, to preserve their social & religious beliefs, and that in order to consolidate the power of house stark we even see a union between uncle & niece, but this is not = starkcest (which isn't a Thing). readers do not identify a connection between tywin lannister marrying his first cousin and then producing two children who engage in sibling incest as readers might in the case of any multigenerational interfamilial marriage within targaryen branches. readers do not often identify the gothic incestuous themes out of house greyjoy as what they are, despite the repetition of it.

basically 'not committing Incest in Westeros' has become a get-out-of-jail free card for every noble house, even though they do practice what we today consider incest. and that's because Incest in Westeros has been reduced to targcest, while targcest has been expanded to incest. targcest is bad is therefore treated as a salient, anti-targaryen restoration argument when really it's got nothing to do with blood relations between couple—and all to do with which last name they happen to share.

[novaursa]

Legacy (sun over the capital)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Just a reminder how events and timeline of the story don't match the canon.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: bloodlines

- Next part: the night is long

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

The heavy wooden doors to Tywin’s private chambers in the Tower of the Hand were flung open with a force that made the guards stationed outside exchange wary glances. Cersei stormed in, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury, her voice sharp as she addressed her father.

“Father,” she spat, her tone filled with venom. “Is it true?”

Tywin didn’t bother looking up from the stack of documents on his desk, his face calm and collected, though his eyes flickered with a subtle hint of irritation. He set his quill down, folding his hands together as he finally regarded her.

“And what truth are you seeking, Cersei?” he asked, his voice even, though a trace of coldness lurked beneath the words.

Cersei’s nostrils flared as she glared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. “Pycelle has informed me that she—” Cersei’s voice dripped with contempt as she referred to you—“is with child. Your child. And yet, you saw fit not to tell any of us?”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, and a faint, dangerous glint sparked in his eyes at the mention of Pycelle. “I see I’ll need to have a conversation with Grand Maester Pycelle about the limits of his discretion,” he said icily, his voice carrying a warning that made even Cersei falter for a moment.

But Cersei’s fury was unrestrained, her temper flaring once more. “So it’s true, then? You’ve brought another child into this world, and you’ve kept it hidden from your own family! You think of nothing and no one but yourself, Father!”

Tywin rose slowly from his chair, his towering presence casting a long shadow in the low lit chamber. His expression was calm, controlled, but there was an unyielding authority in his gaze as he regarded his daughter.

“This child,” he said, his voice steady and sharp, “will be the future of House Lannister. Whether you approve or not, Cersei, this is a fact that will not change. I made this decision for the good of our family. You would do well to remember where your loyalties lie.”

Cersei’s face twisted with anger, her voice rising as she took a step toward him. “Our family? You mean your ambitions. This is all about your endless schemes, about the name Tywin Lannister—nothing more. And if it’s a boy, you’ll simply hand Casterly Rock to him, disregarding your own children?”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “If this child is born a son, he will indeed inherit Casterly Rock,” he replied with a note of finality. “He will carry the name of Lannister, a name that will live on long after I am gone. This child—my child—will be raised with the discipline and values that our house represents. And should he prove worthy, he will take his rightful place as Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Cersei’s eyes flashed with fury, and she let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “So you’ll set him above Jaime, above Tyrion, above me? Just because he’s the result of this… this alliance of yours?” Her voice dripped with scorn. “You’ll disregard your own blood—your true heirs—for a child born of convenience?”

Tywin’s voice remained firm, cutting through her tirade like steel. “This child is my blood, and I will not allow my legacy to falter because of your jealousy or pettiness, Cersei.” His eyes bore into hers, a silent warning in their depths. “You will treat this child with the respect befitting his place in this family. And you will not let your bitterness poison what I have built.”

Cersei’s mouth tightened, her eyes blazing as she struggled to contain her outrage. “And what of your daughter, then? What of your own children who have done everything for you, sacrificed everything for this family, only to be discarded when it suits you?”

Tywin’s expression did not soften, but there was a hint of impatience in his gaze, as though he were weary of her complaints. “This is not a matter of sentiment, Cersei. It is a matter of legacy. Every decision I make is for the strength of House Lannister, and I will not be questioned on this.” He took a step closer, his voice lowering but growing even more intense. “You would do well to remember your place, daughter, and to trust my judgment. There is no room for weakness in this family.”

Cersei’s face twisted with frustration, her voice low and dangerous. “You think this child will be some savior for our family? That he’ll be the one to carry your legacy?”

Tywin met her gaze with an unwavering stare. “If he is a son, he will have all that I offer—an inheritance, a legacy, and the guidance to become what I expect. And if he is a daughter, she will be treated with the same dignity. But I will not tolerate anything less than respect from you or anyone else in this family, Cersei.”

Cersei let out a humorless laugh, her voice tinged with bitterness. “So, we are all simply tools for your ambition, are we?”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, his voice cold and resolute. “I do what I must to ensure our house remains strong. I make the sacrifices no one else will. Do not forget, Cersei, that your position, your power, all stem from the strength I have built. If you truly care for our family, you will accept this and uphold our legacy.”

Cersei clenched her fists, her face flushed with anger, but she said nothing more. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, before she turned on her heel, storming out of his chambers, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Tywin watched her leave, his face unreadable, his gaze sharp and unyielding. After a long moment, he returned to his desk, picking up his quill once more, his expression composed and resolute.

The soft murmur of voices filled the chamber as you sat comfortably among Lady Olenna, Margaery, and Sansa. Servants moved gracefully around the room, bringing refreshments and tending to every detail, creating an air of quiet luxury.

Olenna leaned back in her chair, observing you with her sharp, discerning eyes, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. She had a presence that seemed to command the room effortlessly, every line on her face hinting at a life spent maneuvering through the treacherous waters of court. Margaery sat beside her, her gaze warm and attentive as she listened, and Sansa, ever poised but still shy, stole glances between you and Margaery with a mixture of admiration and quiet curiosity.

After a few minutes, Margaery turned to Sansa, her tone light but inviting. “Sansa, would you care to join me for a walk in the gardens? I’ve been meaning to talk with you about some of the arrangements for the upcoming festivities. I could use your input.”

Sansa’s face lit up with a smile, nodding eagerly. “Of course, Lady Margaery. I’d love to help.”

With a graceful rise, Margaery took Sansa’s hand, guiding her toward the doors. She cast a warm smile back at you and her grandmother before stepping out, leaving you alone with Olenna. The older woman’s gaze lingered on the door for a moment before settling back on you, her expression one of curious amusement.

“Well,” Olenna began, her voice dry and laced with humor, “I must say, Lady Y/N, the former princess turned Lady Lannister. Quite a title for one to carry in such interesting times.”

You returned her gaze with a steady smile, sensing the probing nature of her words but refusing to rise to any bait. “Times have indeed grown interesting, Lady Olenna,” you replied smoothly. “Titles change with the wind, as I’ve come to learn. One must adapt, after all.”

Olenna’s gaze sharpened, a glint of approval in her eyes as she observed you closely. “Adapt, yes,” she echoed. “But you have done more than adapt. I’ve seen how you’ve managed to earn favor with Lord Tywin himself, a man who’s hardly known for his warmth. That alone tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, though the weight of her words hung between you. “Lady Olenna, when survival depends on forging unlikely alliances, one learns quickly. Tywin and I both understand that much.”

Olenna’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Oh, my dear, it’s much more than survival. Don’t pretend otherwise. Tywin Lannister is many things, but sentimental is not one of them. He doesn’t hold people close unless there’s something worth keeping.” She leaned forward slightly, her tone taking on a more personal note. “And I daresay, it’s rare to see him so attentive to anyone.”

You felt the weight of her observation, her words cutting through the pleasantries and touching upon the truth you’d carefully guarded. Tywin’s attention had indeed been more than mere duty, and though he was hardly a man of outward affection, his loyalty and protective nature had shown in subtle ways.

“What Tywin values most,” you said slowly, carefully choosing your words, “is strength. I think he sees something of that in me, perhaps because we both know what it is to lose family, to survive by our wits.”

Olenna watched you intently, her gaze softened, though her sharpness remained. “Strength is one thing, but what you have is a gift for survival that goes beyond mere endurance. It’s an art form, the way you navigate this court.” She chuckled, a gleam of approval in her eyes. “A former princess of the blood, seated at Tywin’s side, holding his favor like a sword at her hip. It’s almost poetic.”

You allowed yourself a small, knowing smile. “Poetry, perhaps, but with a touch of tragedy, wouldn’t you say? Every choice is calculated, every alliance a delicate balance.” You paused, meeting her gaze with quiet resolve. “For Tywin and me, it’s as much about understanding each other’s strengths as it is about surviving the expectations placed on us.”

Olenna nodded, her expression contemplative. “Indeed. And in a place like King’s Landing, a partnership of that kind is as close to power as one can get. There are few who can claim such influence over the likes of Tywin Lannister.” She arched an eyebrow, her voice carrying a hint of respect. “Even fewer who can hold their own under his scrutiny.”

You laughed softly, a genuine sound that broke the formality of the moment. “Perhaps I should thank you for the compliment, Lady Olenna. But Tywin values loyalty and strength above all, and I value… survival, as we said.”

Olenna leaned back, studying you with a smile that hinted at admiration. “Oh, don’t mistake my words. I recognize a survivor when I see one, and you, my dear, are as skilled at the game as any queen who’s ever ruled from the shadows.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, a glimmer of satisfaction in her gaze. “But do not be fooled—what you have with Tywin is more than just survival. He wouldn’t waste his time or his protection if he didn’t see something valuable in you.”

You held her gaze, her words sinking in, and you knew Olenna spoke with the wisdom of someone who understood power intimately. “Perhaps he does,” you conceded softly. “But whatever he sees, it serves us both. And in a court like this one, such mutual interests are as precious as dragon’s gold.”

Olenna’s expression softened, her sharpness tempered by a rare warmth. “Well said, my dear. You’ve earned more than mere survival—you’ve earned a place of respect, even here, and that’s no small feat.” She paused, her voice lowering to a more personal tone. “But remember, in this game, allies are often as valuable as titles. And should you find yourself in need of friends… the Tyrells are not ones to turn away those with the strength to endure.”

You inclined your head, understanding the depth of her offer. “Thank you, Lady Olenna. I will remember that.” There was a subtle acknowledgment between you, a recognition that in the shifting sands of King’s Landing, allies could be the difference between survival and ruin.

Olenna’s gaze softened further, her voice holding a rare note of warmth. “Then let’s hope it’s a long-lasting friendship.” She lifted her cup in a small, quiet toast, her smile carrying a hint of respect, her eyes gleaming with something akin to approval.

The small, dimly lit room echoed with the clinking of glasses and soft laughter as Tyrion and Bronn sat together, sharing a rare moment of lighthearted drinking. The table before them was scattered with empty goblets, the dark red stains of Arbor wine smudged across the wood, a testament to the number of toasts they’d already raised.

As Bronn tipped his goblet back, the door opened with a quiet creak, and Varys entered, his footsteps light and his face calm but curious. Tyrion noticed him instantly, a grin stretching across his face as he raised his goblet in welcome.

“Ah, the Spider himself,” Tyrion greeted, gesturing grandly for Varys to join them. “Care to join us for a toast, Varys? It’s not often we have a cause for cheer in this dreary place.”

Varys inclined his head with a polite smile, stepping forward as Bronn slid over slightly, making room for him at the table. “A toast, is it? Now that does intrigue me,” Varys replied smoothly, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. “And what, may I ask, are we celebrating?”

Tyrion chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, Varys. I find it hard to believe that the master of whispers is unaware of any piece of news circulating within these walls.”

Varys’s lips curved in a mild smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “One could say I’m aware of… many things, my lord. But I do so enjoy hearing it from the source. It lends a certain charm to the information.”

Tyrion laughed, shaking his head before lifting his goblet to Varys. “Well then, let it be known that we are toasting to the newest addition to House Lannister… or at least, the one yet to be born.” He smirked, his voice laced with a hint of irony. “My dear stepmother is with child. And, as you can imagine, this has done wonders for my sister’s mood.”

Bronn snorted, raising his goblet to clink against Tyrion’s. “Aye, Cersei’s likely to drink the whole damn wine cellar dry by morning.”

Varys’s smile widened slightly, though his eyes remained calm and calculating as he glanced between them. “How… delightful. A new addition to the family, and one with such a distinguished lineage. Lord Tywin must be very pleased indeed.”

Tyrion’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took a sip of his wine, savoring it before setting the goblet down. “Oh, ‘pleased’ might be too soft a word. I’d wager he’s envisioning an heir that can finally inherit Casterly Rock, a son that he can shape in his image.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “And wouldn’t that just be the thing to push Cersei over the edge?”

Bronn chuckled, raising his goblet again. “Here’s to that—no one drives her mad quite like her own family.”

Tyrion laughed, lifting his own goblet to join Bronn’s. “Indeed. Here’s to us, the fine architects of Cersei’s impending descent into madness.”

Varys, watching the exchange with amusement, finally accepted the offer of a goblet from a passing servant, though he held it delicately, not yet raising it to his lips. “My, my,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of humor. “A child born of both lion and dragon. The realm will certainly find that interesting, though not nearly as interesting as the politics it will spark within the family itself.”

Tyrion glanced at Varys, his expression thoughtful as he swirled the wine in his goblet. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re not intrigued by it yourself, Varys. An heir with Targaryen blood under Tywin’s roof—that’s enough to set even the most controlled noble spinning.”

Varys tilted his head, a glint of something almost approving in his eyes. “It does present… unique possibilities,” he agreed. “Tywin Lannister is not a man to make alliances lightly, especially one of such lasting consequence. And if this child should indeed prove to be a son, well… the implications for House Lannister would be substantial.”

Bronn gave a low chuckle, tipping his goblet back. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. As long as the child doesn’t end up like Joffrey, Westeros should count itself lucky.”

Tyrion’s grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he raised his goblet to Varys. “Well said, Bronn. If this child inherits even an ounce of Tywin’s calculation and none of Joffrey’s malice, it might actually turn out to be the rare Lannister worth rooting for.”

Varys chuckled, swirling the wine in his goblet thoughtfully. “Let us hope, then, that this future heir finds the best qualities of both parents. Though, knowing Lord Tywin, I suspect the child will have little choice in the matter.”

Tyrion leaned back, his expression shifting into one of contemplation. “Yes, Tywin will no doubt be a forceful hand in the child’s upbringing. But… perhaps there’s a bit of Targaryen fire that might resist even him. I daresay my stepmother has shown herself more than capable of holding her own against the likes of Tywin.”

Bronn raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re actually rooting for her.”

Tyrion shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Perhaps I am. She’s proven herself a formidable woman, and not without a touch of compassion—something our family has always lacked. She might actually bring a bit of balance to the golden lion’s brood.” His gaze drifted to Varys, his tone turning thoughtful. “I’d say that makes her quite the wild card, wouldn’t you agree, Varys?”

Varys inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Indeed. In a family as tightly controlled as the Lannisters, a touch of unpredictability can be… refreshing.” His gaze turned contemplative, as if he were already calculating the potential outcomes of this new addition.

Tyrion gave him a knowing smile, clinking his goblet with Varys’s. “Then let’s drink to unpredictability. To dragons in lion’s dens and the chaos they bring.”

Varys lifted his goblet with a faint chuckle, finally taking a small sip, a spark of amusement lingering in his eyes. “To dragons in lion’s dens,” he echoed softly.

And as they drank, a quiet understanding passed between them—of the game, of the players, and of the thrilling unpredictability that even the most careful plans could not account for.

The heavy drapes were drawn to shut out the glare of the midday sun in the Queen's chambers. Cersei sat by the hearth, a goblet of wine clutched tightly in her hand, her face a mask of bitterness. She was nursing her frustration in silence when Joffrey burst into the room, his face twisted with a mixture of anxiety and anger.

“Mother,” he began, his voice urgent, “is it true? Is she… is she with child?”

Cersei didn’t look up immediately, her grip tightening on the goblet as she took a deep, steadying breath. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet her son’s, her eyes were sharp, her expression sour. “Yes, Joffrey,” she replied curtly, her tone laced with contempt. “Your dear grandfather’s new wife is with child. A Lannister-Targaryen child. Imagine that.”

Joffrey’s face paled, and he took a step closer, his eyes wide with a growing panic. “A child with Targaryen blood… and Lannister blood?” He swallowed, his voice a whisper as he processed the implications. “Doesn’t that mean… wouldn’t that mean it could have a better claim than me?”

Cersei’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile, though her eyes were cold. “Yes, that’s certainly what some might think, isn’t it?” She took a long sip from her goblet, the wine staining her lips a dark red. “A Targaryen child, born into the heart of House Lannister. Tywin’s pet project. A new legacy for him to fawn over. And you, my sweet boy, are expected to simply sit by and watch as it unfolds.”

Joffrey’s panic turned swiftly into anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “How can he do this?” he demanded, his voice rising. “How can you let him do this? This… this child could take everything that’s mine! My throne, my power!”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. “You think I don’t know that, Joffrey?” she hissed, her voice laced with venom. “You think I haven’t seen this coming from the moment he married her? This child is Tywin’s way of ensuring his legacy goes on, with or without us.”

Joffrey’s face twisted with fury, his eyes blazing. “He’ll be no better than Stannis, Renly, or Robb Stark,” he spat, pacing angrily. “Another usurper trying to take what belongs to me. And you—” he turned on Cersei, his voice accusatory—“you should be doing something about it!”

Cersei’s gaze hardened, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I am your mother, Joffrey. And I have done everything for you, to protect your throne, to protect your future. But Tywin… he doesn’t care about anything or anyone unless it serves his ambitions.”

“But you’re the Queen Regnant!” Joffrey snapped, his voice filled with a petulant fury. “You can stop him, you can make sure this child never sees the light of day!”

Cersei’s face twisted, her anger simmering just beneath the surface as she looked at her son. “And how would you suggest I do that, Joffrey? I am not the one who wields the power here. Tywin does, and he has made it very clear that this child will be the future of House Lannister.” Her voice softened, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “He is willing to cast aside all of us for the sake of this… this perfect heir he believes he’ll have.”

Joffrey’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to contain his frustration. “So we’re just supposed to sit back and watch as he creates another contender for the throne?” His voice was filled with disbelief, his eyes wide with anger and fear. “I’m the king, Mother! I won’t have anyone challenge me—not my uncles, not some… some child!”

Cersei took a measured sip of her wine, her gaze cool as she watched Joffrey’s reaction. “Then you’d better start acting like a king, Joffrey,” she said sharply. “This isn’t about whining or stamping your feet. This is about understanding who holds the real power—and learning how to play the game as they do.”

Joffrey’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Tywin thinks he can control everything. He thinks he can just replace us whenever it suits him.”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her eyes flashing with anger. “Believe me, I know exactly how Tywin operates. But for now, we have to be careful. This child isn’t here yet. And if it is born… well, there are ways to ensure it never becomes a threat.”

Joffrey’s expression shifted, his anger tempered by a glint of satisfaction at the thought of removing a rival before it could grow strong. “Then you’d better make sure it stays that way, Mother,” he said coldly. “I will not be replaced. I am the king. And anyone who tries to take that from me… will pay the price.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a thin smile, though her eyes were filled with bitterness. “Oh, my sweet Joffrey. I’ll make sure nothing takes your throne from you. But remember… in this world, it’s not always the strongest who survive. It’s the ones who know how to strike when the time is right.”

With that, she drained her goblet, her expression hardening as she met her son’s gaze. They both understood what needed to be done. And as they sat there, silent but resolute, a dark determination settled over them both—a shared desire to ensure that nothing, not even Tywin’s ambitions, would take away what they saw as rightfully theirs.

You lounged comfortably on a cushioned settee, Tywin seated across from you, deep in a stack of documents and letters. He seemed as immersed in the minutiae of the realm’s business as ever, though he’d allowed you this rare shared afternoon, a quiet moment that felt both peaceful and oddly domestic.

But the calm was interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and when Tywin inclined his head, a young servant stepped in, looking slightly flustered, his gaze shifting nervously between you and Tywin.

“Speak,” Tywin commanded, his tone cool and steady.

The servant cleared his throat, bowing his head respectfully before glancing quickly at you. “My lord, my lady… there is a visitor from Dorne in the city.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened, his brow barely lifting. “Go on.”

The servant shifted from foot to foot, visibly uneasy. “Prince Oberyn Martell, my lord. He arrived in King’s Landing earlier today and is… insistent on speaking with Lady Y/N.”

At the mention of Oberyn, a flicker of surprise danced across Tywin’s face, though he quickly masked it, his expression hardening. He cast a sidelong glance at you, studying your reaction.

You arched an eyebrow, meeting Tywin’s gaze before turning to the servant. “Prince Oberyn is here?” you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice. “Where is he staying?”

The servant hesitated, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he wrung his hands together. “Prince Oberyn is… currently at one of the city’s brothels, my lady. He was… most insistent that you be informed.”

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. Oberyn’s choice of accommodations was hardly surprising, but you sensed it wouldn’t sit well with Tywin. You glanced over at him, noting the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly against the table.

“Of course he is,” you murmured, a hint of amusement coloring your tone. “It seems Prince Oberyn hasn’t changed his ways.”

Tywin’s expression was as cold as winter steel, his gaze flicking to the servant with a dismissive nod. “You may leave,” he instructed, his voice low and controlled.

The servant quickly bowed and hurried from the room, leaving you alone with Tywin once more. He turned his gaze on you, his expression unreadable but his eyes reflecting a simmering irritation.

“Oberyn Martell,” he said, his voice like granite. “Trust a Martell to make his entrance at a brothel, of all places. Did he give any indication why he so wishes to see you?”

You shrugged, a faint smirk lingering. “Oberyn has never been one for propriety. I suspect he has his reasons, though what they are, I can only imagine.” You paused, a playful glint in your eye. “And I imagine they are as intriguing as he is.”

Tywin’s gaze grew colder, his jaw set in a hard line. “Oberyn’s intrigue is of little consequence,” he replied sharply. “The man revels in scandal as if it were a sport. If he seeks your company, it’s likely only to fan the flames of discontent and stir up trouble.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a calm confidence. “Perhaps. But Oberyn has never been one to seek out someone without purpose. He may revel in scandal, but he is not a fool.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. “He may be a prince, but Oberyn Martell is still a Martell—impulsive, driven by passions that often cloud his judgment. Do not mistake his presence here as a gesture of goodwill.”

You held his gaze, a hint of defiance in your expression. “I know Oberyn well enough to understand the complexities of his character, Tywin. And while he may be impulsive, he is also… refreshingly direct. I’d rather hear him out than speculate.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened further, though a glint of grudging respect flickered in his eyes. “You intend to meet with him, then?”

You nodded, your tone firm. “I do. Better to speak directly with Oberyn than leave questions unanswered. He’s come all this way, after all. It would be… impolite not to.”

A slight frown tugged at the corners of Tywin’s mouth, though he inclined his head slightly. “Very well,” he replied, though his tone remained clipped. “But I’ll not have him stirring up chaos in this city. And I trust you’ll remember where your loyalties lie.”

You offered him a calm smile, a touch of reassurance in your gaze. “My loyalties are clear, Tywin. But I cannot ignore a visitor from Dorne. I’ll meet with him, hear what he has to say… and return here.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of caution and an intensity that spoke of both his protectiveness and his mistrust of Oberyn. “See to it that Oberyn understands his place here. This city is not Dorne, and his actions will not go unobserved.”

You nodded, rising from the settee with a composed air. “I shall make that perfectly clear, my lord.” With a final glance at Tywin, you left the room, feeling his gaze follow you as you made your way down the corridors.

As you walked, thoughts of Oberyn filled your mind—his charm, his volatility, his relentless pursuit of justice. Whatever he wished to discuss, you had little doubt it would be laced with intrigue, perhaps even danger. But that was Oberyn’s way, and if there was one thing you knew about the Dornish prince, it was that he never did anything without purpose.

[dalekofchaos]

How Robb could've won the North's independence

Realistically, it would be impossible for Robb to win the War of the Five Kings unless he teamed up with Stannis or somehow got married to Margaery Tyrell(Robb goes to treat with Renly instead of Cat, Renly dies and Robb convinces the Tyrells to join forces, only condition:marry Margaery). But it would've been possible to win The North's Independence.

Before we get into the how he could win, let's look into how and why Robb lost.

Sending Theon to Pyke. The beginning of the end. On one level Robb was right to trust Theon, because we see from Theon's POV chapters that he intended to stay true to Robb's cause…. up until his father rejected him and sent him to reave the West coast and Moat Callin with the other Ironborn. It's only after Theon has been rejected by his father and forced to serve on a ship with another captain (putting the heir to the seastone chair lower in rank than a battle commander) that Theon cracks and decides to do something big to prove he is a worthy heir to Balon Greyjoy. But Cat is also right: because she expected that something could go wrong. Now, she expected that Theon would betray Robb from the off, because she has a nasty suspicious streak and really assumes the worst about everybody - think of all the times she bleats that Jon can't stay at Winterfell as he'll usurp Robb's rights, and ask yourself: has there been any indication that Jon would ever do this? No. Jon could have worked his way up to captain of the Winterfell guard as a Stark bastard, and Robb would have been better protected by his much loved brother than anyone else. But because Cat is so deeply entrenched in her belief that bastards are grasping stealers of birthright, she cannot allow that possibility to even be discussed. Same thing happens with Theon. Cat knows more about Ironborn culture than Robb, and she appreciates that Theon has been a Stark prisoner for years whereas Robb unfortunately thinks of Theon as another adopted brother. But she fails to adequately explain to Robb that her concerns about Theon are not about Theon's character per se, but about Ironborn culture. She anticipates that something could go wrong - she doesn't see exactly what happens to turn Theon against the Starks, but she had enough knowledge of the Ironborn to make a case to Theon and Robb that Balon Greyjoy was a cantankerous old prick who would not be willing to provide a naval fleet to a king he has no interest in pledging his loyalty to in any case.

Not Informing His Uncle of His Plans: Edmure threw back the Lannister forces at the Battle of the Fords. Because of this, Robb is unable to encircle Tywin's host, as he had hoped to surround and capture them further within the Riverlands. I'm not so sure that Robb actually had that "plan" in Riverrun. I think he hammered out the details of the trap somewhere in the West, and didn't think Edmure would interpret differently. As to the trap itself: oh no, Tywin's cause would have been lost for sure. If he delayed for even a few hours, he'd be late to the rescue of King's Landing - Lannister Plot ArmorTM struck again. And the thing is, if he crossed the Trident, he'd be caught between Robb, Edmure and Roose - you can forget about the Red Wedding then: Roose and Walder are dipshits for sure, but they're above all opportunistic dipshits. With Tywin caught between 3 different forces, at least one of which - Robb - is way, way better at guerilla hill-war that Tywin (who never seems to win anything unless he outnumbers his enemy at least 2:1), that's it for the Lannister army. Meanwhile, Stannis takes KL, but keeps pissing off everyone with his charming personality, so his reinforcements are dubious. But Stannis is a man of honor and of his word and he would've given the Starks Sansa. Dorne would be pleased that Tywin and the Mountain dies and extends an alliance with The North. The Tyrells just fuck off in Highgarden. The Ironborn are dealt with and would be at death's door until Euron returns. Stannis has Varys and Littlefinger executed and Lysa just sulks with Sweetrobin in The Eyrie. The Starks regain The North and the Starks reunite and most importantly Robb is the one who goes to the Wall and helps prepare the North for The Others.

Beheading Rickard Karstark: Karstark, feeling the need for vengeance due to his son's deaths, slaughters prisoners of war Tion Frey and Willem Lannister. Due to this act, Robb sentences Karstark to death and beheads him personally. This leads to the Karstark' abandoning ship and heading home. Rickard and the Karstarks had been some of, if not, his most loyal vassals. When Ned was imprisoned and Robb called his banners Rickard answered bringing as many men as he could unlike many other Northern Lords who held back men in reserve for their own interests. Or the Umbers who threatened to go home unless he got his way and had to be threatened to stay and help Robb free his father. When Winterfell was captured and Bran and Rickon's lives endangered the Karstarks were one of the few Northern Houses to send men despite the large distance to Winterfell. Despite all this, despite the fact that two of Rickards sons were killed as they were protecting Robb from Jaime Lannister, or his heir was captured being sent into a battle that Robb knew they were going to lose Robb still gave Rickard Karstark the harshest punishment he could instead of being lenient like his own advisers suggested and keeping him prisoner or sending him to the Wall. Now this move was especially stupid as the remnants of the 2,000 Karstark foot was with Roose. Robb was actually worried about them turning on Bolton, which was a real possibility, but instead they worked with Roose to take down Robb at the Red Wedding. Would Roose have had the confidence to act without those Karstark numbers? Being lenient with Rickard might have still lost those Karstark men but they would never have helped in the Red Wedding. Karstark sacrificed a lot and while killing those two Lannisters was bad, no one would have cared if it had been on the battlefield. Their age has little to do with it, both sides would have had casualties of similar ages in the battles.

Marrying Jeyne Westerling: Robb was betrothed to a daughter of Walder Frey; however, this act broke that vow, thus leading to the Frey's feeling betrayed and withdrawing home. This act of defiance towards the Frey's is later paid in kind via the Red Wedding.

With that out of the way, here is how Robb could've won The North's Independence.

If we’re looking at deposing Joffrey and extinguishing the Royal Branch of House Baratheon-Lannister, then no. Too many riches, lords, and men support them for the Stark/Tully coalition to mount an offensive. They’d be enveloped, surrounded and destroyed.

If we’re looking at the independence of the North, then its possible, but Robb is going to have to do some unpleasant/unhonorable things, because here’s the ultimate goal:

Getting behind Moat Calin and fortifying for the Winter.

If Robb can do that, then he’s pretty much untouchable.

So, how do we get there?

First things first, don’t tie the knot with Talisa/Westerling and marry Roslin Frey like he agreed to. That stupid marriage should never have happened in the first place.

Eddard Stark survived the stain of a “bastard.” Robb can too, which may not even be a problem since Westerling never became pregnant (probably due to her mother). Robb marrying for love was so out of character that we’re just setting aside the Talisa incident.

Next, its time to get the Northern Alliance some breathing room for their strategic retreat.

Robb needs to recognize that Edmere is an idiot and needs his uncle Blackfish to watch over his shoulder the whole time. If he does so, then Robb’s cannon plan in season 3 works. The Mountain and his Ravagers are drawn out of Harrenhal, surrounded and annihilated.

That not only deals a blow to Lannister prestige, but also wins them brownie points with the Brotherhood Without Banners. Enough so that maybe they let Robb know that they have his sister.

That with a nice sack of cash will firmly place the BWB on the Stark side, so long as Robb can keep his Northmen in line. They are going to be the Stark’s eyes and ears as well as turn the Riverlands into the Spanish Ulcer for the Lannisters.

Which brings us to Karstark.

At the beginning of season three, the Kingslayer is gone, so Karstark goes berserk as a result. Instead of beheading the man, Robb should parlay with him instead. Use his anger to help with the retreat, while at the same time, put him in overwhelming situations where a stray arrow or well-timed blade may get through his guard.

In other words, suicide by Lannister.

Karstark won’t notice, he’s too bloodmad, his focus will solely be on killing Lannisters. The problem will eventually resolve itself. And if not, mayhaps the BwB can help, for another sack of cash of course.

So now Robb has his space.

The BwB and Karstark are disrupting the Lannister/Tyrell logistics, inflicting lop-siding losses on demoralized and green Lannister/Tyrell levies (most of Lord Tywin’s professional force was either wiped out at the Whispering Woods or at Blackwater and the Tryrell “impressive” force of 80,000 are farmhands who’ve never seen a blade in their life).

Now comes the hard part, withdrawing the Riverlords and what’s left of their men behind the Moat.

After two years of war, the Riverlords have maybe 15–20 thousand men left. Add on to Robb’s own 15,000 Northmen, and Robb can command an impressive 30,000 battle hardened soldiers.

And every one of those men are needed in the North:

To remove the Ironborn.

To fortify the Moat, the White Knife, and the Stoney Shore.

To deal with the Wildlings, Stannis, and ultimately, the White Walkers.

But the Riverlords are stubborn. They don’t want to abandon their homes to the Lannisters. Who would? Moreover, to abandon their homes to fight a supposedly Northern problem? That’s adding insult to injury.

Hence why marrying Roslin is so important. It means that Robb can’t just pack up and go home. He is now permanently tied to the survival of the Riverlands.

The marriage carries a promise: that Robb will return. Just as Doug MacArthur returned to the Philippines.

Combine that with parting with 5000 men to garrison the strategic and symbolic castles throughout the Riverlands (Riverrun, Oldstones, The Crossroads, the Twins, and Seagard), Robb and the Tullys command the displayed area:

With all three forks of the Trident under the Stark Banner, the Starks can send constant supplies, provisions, and ferry BwB raiding parties. The long-ships they need to navigate the forks can easily be supplied by the ironwood of House Forrestor and designed by captured Ironborn in exchange for clemency.

In canon, The Blackfish claimed that Riverrun could hold out for two years, and that was with an unprepared Riverrun. With a proper strategic retreat, a proper supply route along the three forks, that time frame for Riverrun and all other hard nuts in this system could be raised to near indefinite, or at least until Winter hits.

Until Gunpowder came around, it was almost nearly impossible to take castles. The loss of life in an assault was just too much for farmhand levies. The only way to break a castle is through a siege, and well supplied Trident prevents such castles from starving out.

So, by leaving behind say 5000 men, using the Lannister plunder Robb acquired from his expedition west for payment and loyalty, maximizing the continued harassment and disruption by the BwB, and taking advantage of impetuous, but slow thinking lords looking for glory and blood, the Riverlands could hold out until at least Winter, at which points all sides would have to retire.

Its a stalling game, basically.

Now, with that secured, Robb will then take the remaining 10–15 thousand Rivermen with him North to deal with the Ironborn. Which is a piece of cake, since most already left for the Kingsmoot, and while being incredibly skilled sailors and marines, fighting on the Green Land makes them worthless.

Winterfell is secured (unfortunately still razed), the North is liberated, and the Southern choke points are fortified with the Rivermen:

The warmer climate is better suited for them.

It keeps them close to the Riverlands just in case the Lannisters/Tyrells attempt to make an incursion.

That will then allow Robb to use his reinforced 20,000 battle-harden Northern Banner Army to force Mance Rayder into submission.

Unlike Jon Snow, Robb will clearly explain to everyone that a potentially treacherous Wilding is infinitely superior to a definite enemy wight among the White Walker force.

As for the Wildlings, Robb uses Jon Snow and Mance Rayder to keep them in line as they in turn man the Wall and reap up the final harvest before Winter sets in.

As for Stannis, without a proper logistics network (The Nights Watch and the North will not help him), his mercenary army either dies or defects to Robb.

Stannis is imprisoned, Melisandre either stays to help Robb and Jon or runs away.

While the North digs in for the fight at the Wall, the events of the South happen as they do in cannon:

Joffrey is murdered.

Tyrion is blamed and flees.

Sansa disappears to the Vale.

Tywin is killed by his own son.

Cersei single handily destroys the Lannister/Tyrell Alliance.

The Faith Militant rises and imprisons everybody.

Euron wins the Salt Throne and begins ravaging the Reach.

FAegon invades and secures the Stormlands.

With the South in such chaos, the incursions into the Trident diminish, as Lannister, Tryrell, Dorne, Ironborn, and FAegon are too busy fighting each other.

The line of supply along the Trident is strengthened by the spoils of war that came with Stannis, and Stannis’ mercenaries are sent South to warmer climates and better opportunities for plunder.

Sansa, who by now has become a political player in her own right, tricks Sweet Robin into declaring for Robb, and rallies the Knights of the Vale to the Stark Banner.

Who knows, maybe even taking out Littlefinger in the process.

So now Robb’s dominion looks like this:

His army around Moat Calin and South now compose of:The ~5000 Garrison of Rivermen. The 10–15,000 Rivermen ready to march. The ~1000 Partisans of the Brotherhood. The fresh 40,000 Knights of the Vale. The 6000 mercenaries that abandoned Stannis.

Meanwhile up North, Robb with his 20,000, the 50,000 Wildlings, and remnants of the Night’s Watch are ready to fight a grueling war of attrition against the Walkers at the Wall.

And if Tycho Nestoris is aware of the White Walker threat, then Robb’s got Bravoos’ armory and the Iron Bank on his side as well.

Robb doesn’t need to beat the South into submission. Not anymore. Arya is safe in Winterfell. Rickon is safe at Skagos. Bran is missing, but NOT in the South, and Sansa now commands the Vale with Yohn Royce.

All he has to do is hold out, using Darry, Riverrun, and the Oldstones as choke points.

The Royal Navy was destroyed at Blackwater. The Iron Fleet and Redwyne Navy annihilated each other when Euron went South, so the choke points can’t be bypassed.

Robb has won defacto independence.

Assuming they survive the Long Night and the rest of Winter, then Robb can coalesce his forces and reclaim the God’s Eye Basin, thus maintaining his pledge and duty to the Riverlords and increasing his prestige.

And the South will still be too divided to mount a proper counter offensive.

A treaty is eventually signed with whoever is left and Robb wins his independence, and with the wealth of a restored Riverlands, and untouched Vale and revitalized North, becomes the most powerful man in Westeros.

And if Robb listens to Roose Bolton more, explains himself to him, and rewards him for his victories, it may be enough to dissuade him from betraying him. After all, Roose is a pragmatic man, and will always back the winning side.

Robb was no longer on the winning side when he married Jeyne Westerling, executed Karstark, and lost Winterfell, the seat of his authority. If he plays his cards right, and doesn’t restrict himself with his honor, he could avoid the first two and quickly rectify the third, thus snagging victory from defeat.

The South was unified with the marriage of Margarey/Joffrey and the iron hand of Lord Tywin. Kill the union and the Hand, and you kill the alliance. And then, the war looks a whole lot less hopeless for the Starks.

And since Robb is now the most powerful man in Westeros AND has married Roslin Frey, the Late Walder Frey may be hesitant with his blade.

Justice has been restored. The North, the Vale and the Riverlands stand united. The Red Wedding never happens. The Starks are reunited and they fight off the Long Night and bring peace to the realm.

THE KING IN THE NORTH!