#why is his name kevan instead of kevin?

[im-a-king-baby]

I love ELYN, it was a wonderful read. 🪷

<333

Today's bonus scene is a post-epilogue snippet, because Kevan is one of my favourite characters who barely appeared in the actual fic XD

Under the cut for maaaajor ending spoilers! Go read ELYN first!

“The band should have arrived,” Simon checks his phone, for about the twentieth time since getting out the car that had picked them up at the airport. “Normally we’d meet in the bar, have a drink.” He looks across the lobby to the hotel bar, racks of liquor stretching up to the ceiling.

Wilhelm catches his hand. “The schedule I got said we were meeting for dinner,” he says. He’s pretty sure Simon knows that, but sometimes it helps to have someone else say it out loud. “So let’s check in, and you can have a shower while I ask Farima what time.”

“Right.” It takes Simon a second too long to drag his eyes away from the bottles. He keeps tugging on the straps of his backpack, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Wilhelm had asked widely around for advice on how he could support Simon going back to playing live shows but the consensus from everyone was just, ‘It’s going to be hard, but if he wants to tour again you have to start somewhere.’

“Hey! Si…imon!”

Wilhelm barely has a chance to jump before someone is bounding across the lobby. He’s a huge man with long black hair dressed in a leather jacket with silver studs and for an instant Wilhelm wonders if he should be throwing himself in front of Simon - where are the bodyguards when you need them?

Then he registers that Simon is laughing. “You can keep calling me Simme,” Simon says, stepping past Wilhelm so the man can pull him into what looks like a bonecrushing hug. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh thank god,” the man says, letting Simon go and stepping back. “Farima keeps sending emails about ‘Simon’ and I’m like ‘who?’ every single time.” He notices Wilhelm for the first time, slightly off to the side in his carefully nondescript jumper and jeans combo. “Let me guess, you’re the boyfriend formerly known as Prince?”

Simon snorts. “Kevan, this is Wilhelm. Wille, Kevan. He plays guitar.”

And now Wilhelm remembers him from the Faktory, standing off to the side of the stage with a red guitar. And the name, too. Kevan was the person Simon called in Bjarstad, the one who told Candace where to find them. Wilhelm’s first instinct would be to keep him far away from Simon, but he’s aware that - as much as he doesn’t like it - the Candace Issue is more complicated on Simon’s side.

Simon met her for coffee, when he was in L.A. and Wilhelm was stuck in class a million miles away, and Wilhelm’s phone left imprints in his palm he was gripping it so tight waiting for a phone call that didn’t come, just a text two hours later: she’s gone, all still standing and heading to the airport. See you soon xx

Here and now, Simon seems relaxed for the first time since they entered the lobby, flicking the studs on Kevan’s jacket and saying, “Did you listen to the EP?”

“I did. Not really my thing,” Kevan says, but with a grin as though this is some shared joke between them. “But we can add more guitar solos when you record the full album.”

Simon snorts a laugh, like he hasn’t been up all night for the last week worrying about The Full Album. “Let’s get through these shows first.”

“Speaking of, I did need to catch you.” Kevan’s smile drops. “There’s a problem with my schedule.”

Fuck. Wilhelm steps a bit closer to Simon as his laugh dies and he casts a desperate look towards the check-in desk and escape. “The schedule isn’t really my area,” Simon starts. “Can you talk to Farima about it?”

“No,” Kevan says. “I think I need you.” He’s already pulling out his phone. “See, I’ve got the dinner tonight, rehearsals tomorrow, shows Friday and Saturday, but in the middle I have something called a ‘day off’? I told them, this is a Simme tour we don’t do that here -”

The tension drops entirely out of Simon’s body. "Oh my god," he says, shoving at Kevan’s shoulder, the kind of easy roughhousing that he would've done with Ayub or Rosh back at school. “You’re such an asshole.”

Kevan uses his height advantage to ruffle Simon’s hair then takes off running before Simon can retaliate. Simon is laughing, but pauses to kiss Wilhelm’s cheek and shove his backpack into Wilhelm’s arms before chasing Kevan across the lobby, scattering guests and hotel staff in all directions.

Wilhelm slings Simon’s bag over his shoulder and heads to the desk, only glancing back every other second. “Simon Erikkson and Wilhelm Kassel, I think our bags have already been dropped off.”

She digs out some paperwork for him to sign - he’s still figuring out his signature, still forgetting to respond for a minute when he hears ‘Mr Kassel’ - and she’s coding up two keycards when Simon stumbles back up against the counter, breathing hard.

“Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to abandon you,” he says, and Wilhelm can’t blame him for it when he’s still smiling like that, lighting up his whole face.

He had kind of understood what Simon said about wanting to be back on stage - in that he could see it was something a person might want, even if the idea of doing it himself made him want to throw up - but he’d thought the touring was a necessary evil that went with that, not something that could possibly be enjoyed. When Simon had arranged these first shows for Spring Break so Wilhelm could come along, Wilhelm had just assumed it was so that he’d have someone other than Farima there to fall back on.

But as Kevan falls into step with them on the way to the elevator, talking about dinner plans like booking a table at a restaurant is the most outlandishly posh thing that any person has ever done, he realises maybe for Simon it was about showing Wilhelm this other side of his life. To show that he’s not alone out here.

“Di was asking if we need to dress for dinner,” Kevan says. “I said I didn’t think we should go naked but I’d check with you.”

Simon elbows him in the side. “I think we can be us,” he says. “It’s not -” he pauses as Wilhelm presses the button to call the lift, waits for the doors to open and them to step inside before he continues. “It’s just to keep it out of the bar, you know?” Wilhelm steps closer, so their knuckles touch and Simon gives him a sideways smile. “Things are going to be a bit different this time.

Wilhelm half expects Kevan to make another joke, but Kevan nods, like he gets it. “You let us know what you need, yeah? We’re all rooting for you here.”

[a-libra-writes]

Unexpected - Tywin x Reader

Hey yall! Im really sick with a cold, so I haven’t been able to get to the Imagines +Alphabets Instead I’ll post this requested fic, and I’ve got two more fics in the queue for the next few days while I recover.

This wasn’t exactly as requested, but I really enjoyed writing it! 

Incoming: Fighter!Reader and Tywin having their meet cute and bond over being sick of other people’s shit. 

Every inch of her body protested as she untied the dirty shirt and slipped it down to her arms. A squire had helped her out of her armor and padded gambeson, and she put on a strong face for that, but upon reaching the maester’s tent she nearly collapsed.

There were voices and scattered chaos outside, but she held her dizzying head and tried to focus on the maester’s instructions. Her strong facade finally fell when he gently pressed his fingers to the ugly black and purple bruises forming on her chest. 

“Not broken,” The haggard man said. He looked as worn as the men she saw leaving his tent. 

She hissed and cursed, but had no energy left to flinch away. Thank the gods, she assumed the worst when that blow knocked out all the wind she had in her lungs and toppled her backwards. Damned Northmen. She threw herself to her feet soon enough, but the pain wrenched a scream from her everytime she cut through a foe.

The maester began cleaning a more pressing wound on her arm. It wasn’t her dominant hand, another stroke of luck. 

The gods give and take, she thought bitterly. The cut on her arm did not trouble her near as much, nor did the slice on her leg. She carelessly tore her breeches for the maester so he could wrap it. Her modesty wasn’t even crossing her mind.

Instead, she asked the maester, “Have you tended to my lord father, or seen him? He is of House Lydden, our standard has the badger.”

The maester’s weary eyes only looked up from his work for a moment. “I have not, my lady. House Lydden is not amongst my patients.”

The bitterness and anxiety began to creep up her stomach, touching at her throat, becoming an uncomfortable bile. Of course not. She was the one who broke formation, who left her father and their knights. 

I thought the old man could handle himself. I would only be gone a few minutes, then I’d return to him -- stupid, reckless girl --

She could still see the way her father’s arm snapped backwards, as if he were in front of her again. She still heard his scream echoing through his helmet, and the way his strong body crumpled back. She was able to lunge forward, fight off his attacker, but the real fight was leaving his side. She couldn’t stay and help him, cry over him, hold him. She had to keep moving, it’s what he always told her. 

He would teach her the sword, her lord father said, but she had to learn to be hard. Soft hands and soft hearts made for softer blows.

The maester must have noticed her stormy thoughts. The fatigue on his face lessened as he gave her a soft smile. “Your lord father is a known knight, and fine warrior, my lady. Doubtless you will find him when the camp gathers.”

She nodded, but the dark thoughts continued. Even if I do, what condition will he be in? That was his sword arm. He may never hold one again.

She should have been there to watch his back, and their men. She should have, but … 

Kevin Lannister led their host, nearly 10,000 men strong and composed of other houses, not just her own. When the chaos of battle reached its height, the neat formations began to break, and she noticed her commander was surrounded. Even if she had lost her own horse, she threw herself into the defense, allowing him to ride to safety. 

She did the right thing, she knew, but the anxiety still twisted at her. She asked the maester, “May I leave now?”

“You would do well to rest here, my lady. You should not be walking with that wound.”

“I can make it to my own tent and rest there,” She said stubbornly, even though she wasn’t sure where her house had set up their war tents. The maester was ready to protest, but a commotion outside pulled away both of their attentions.

There was the noise of horses and clinking armor outside the tent, not the sound of wounded men groaning as they were carried in. A squire opened the tent flap, and a tall, armored man entered. 

The maester instantly bowed his head. She followed his gesture after a brief moment of shock. “My lord.”

When she looked up, the squire was taking his helmet. She found his eyes in an instant, a striking green that only looked bolder against his fine gold armor and the splash of blood that dried on his cheek.

“I understand it was you, Lady Y/N of House Lydden, who came to my brother’s defense.”

“Yes, my lord,” She said. She’d heard him speak before, but that was to crowds of people, swaths of armored men. In such a small tent, in close proximity, she could hear just how deep and commanding his voice was. She was determined to keep her own steady.

“300 armored men, yet a stray soldier was the one jumping to the task. He wanted to know your name.”

Her mind scrambled for a response. “You spoke it true, my lord, and you have honored me with a visit. Might I ask why?”

While the unwounded and surviving soldiers outside the tent were already beginning to celebrate victory, their liege lord’s manner was steady. Take the fanciful armor away, and you would never guess he was returning from battle, save for an unmistakable glow in his eyes. She was sure that wasn’t just the candle light.

“Your father has relinquished his command to you. He was one of my strategists, so in his place, you will join the war council tonight.” 

A wave of emotion washed over her, slowly ebbing away the pain but bringing in a new motley of feelings. Regardless, she nodded. “I understand. I will serve well, my lord, as he did.”

Lord Tywin’s eyes glanced up her body. He turned to his squire. “Find her proper clothes before the evening sets in.” 

The young squire hastily opened the tent flap for him and bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

When they departed and the tent clothes, she felt her body sag on instinct. All the warmth seemed to have left the room, replacing it with a comforting chill. She released a breath and instantly regretted it, wincing at the pain in her ribs.

Then she winced again as she flinched. Gods be good, nearly her whole upper body was exposed in front of her lord paramount. She hastily tied her shirt back. The damage was done, but at least she could keep herself covered in front of the camp.

“It seems you cannot stay here even if I wish it,” The maester said. She had almost forgotten he was in the room. 

“I’ll return if my wounds take a turn for the worst, I promise. Thank you for your help.” Her promise felt silly as she uneasily stood on her bad leg. The pain began to dissipate as she walked, not because it felt any better, but because her mind was spinning, replaying the conversation. 

It had been a short talk, but she kept going over what he said, the way he stood, the way he looked at her -- well, she was just imagining that last part. She hastily pushed aside her exposure and focused on finding her house’s tents.

As was commanded, a set of fine clothes were brought to her tent, in addition to her set of newly cleaned armor. She raised her eyebrow at the dress - presumably, what she was expected to wear. She sighed and put it on. On one hand, it was irksome that she couldn’t wear a doublet and breeches, on the other, she was grateful to not have to don the armor. Her body was still aching from the morning battle, and a skirt was easier on her wounded leg.

The wartent was just as impressive as it was the last time she saw it. The canvas was a bold crimson that was lit up from the inside, making it glow in the night, with embroidered gold lions on the side. Tywin’s squire recognized her and allowed her inside with a courteous “good evening, Lady Lydden”.

As expected, several of the lords gathered at the table stared pointedly at her. Some recognized her, most didn’t, and it was Kevan Lannister crossing the room that quieted any protest. He offered his hand. “I owe you a great deal of thanks, Lady Lydden.”

“I was merely doing my duty, Ser Kevan.” The gratitude was unexpected, but welcome. Kevan led her to an empty seat, only two seats down from Lord Tywin, she realized. Was this truly her father’s seat? She ignored the other lord’s gazes, but she could feel how confused and indignant they were.

Lord Tywin began the discussion. Even after a heated battle, a victory, he would not rest. The young wolf had surprised him. She listened to the talks and strategies the men threw out, interjecting when she felt the need to provide her own knowledge. Some lords ignored her, others gave her pointed retorts. It seems only Ser Kevan was responding to her favorably, and she had yet to have a chance to respond to Lord Tywin, until now.

“We will need a smaller host to stay in the center, and go where is needed,” Ser Kevan said, pointing to a map and moving several figures. Banners of various houses were attached to small stone-carved knights, representing their forces.

“They will need to be swift riders, with a keen awareness. Whichever side begins to crack under pressure, they’ll be there to relieve it.” Lord Tywin said. He looked around the table, expectantly.

She met those green eyes as she leaned forward. Close as she was, it was as though she were speaking directly to him, not addressing an entire war council. “My lord, I have some of the finest riders at my command. I can lead two or three hundred of them -- the rest will replenish whichever hosts have lost the most men.”

There was a loud scoff behind her. She turned sharply, recognizing the source at once. Of course, Ser Amory Lorch. “It is so … refreshing to see enthusiasm in a … lady such as yourself, but such an important task should be left to one with experience.”

Lord Leo Lefford leaned back in his seat and adopted a tone that was better suited to addressing a child. “I agree. I was at the center of today’s battle, my lady. Surely you understand our soldiers will not be eager to obey your commands, no matter what they may be.”

“They will listen,” She retorted hotly, the pain in her wounds and worry for her father creating a bite in her voice. “My orders would be coming from our liege, Lord Tywin. To disobey me is to disobey him... Surely they understand that?”

The men around the table did not immediately respond, falling into an uncomfortable silence that made some of them shift in their seats. Ser Amory obviously wanted to argue, but now it was a matter of what their commander would say.

Her father taught her to meet men’s gazes, to not demure and look away. Her mother taught her to straighten her posture and keep herself tall, never shrink and simper, even if they tried to make her feel small. Their lessons helped her become who she was, and she looked upon Tywin Lannister’s green eyes again. 

Just like at the maester’s tent, the room felt smaller and warmer than it had moments ago. It was foolish to say time crawled, because it didn’t. She just breathed a little slower.

“Lady Y/N’s host will lead in the center. They’ll be supplied with the best mounts, after the vanguard has had their pick.” Lord Tywin said, and gestured to his brother. Ser Kevan placed a figurine with House Lydden’s banner, and just like that, any room for argument was over.

It would be unseemly to smirk and gloat, so she’d do it in the privacy of her tent, or perhaps when the next battle was over. For the next hour, her contributions were received with noticeably less ice, save for Ser Amory. She became engrossed in the meeting, not noticing how the man sitting just two seats away was taking note of the certainty in her voice and the strength of her conviction.

Some ladies flourished in court, some in marriage, some in solitude. It was obvious where this one’s talents lied.

She hadn’t even noticed how the hours passed, especially once wine was poured. The council was dismissed and Y/N tried to subtly finish off her cup. She didn’t get fine vintages like this often, and her aching ribs thanked her for the alcohol.

She set it down once she realized she was being watched. “Pardon, my lord. I don’t often have the luxury.”

“I imagine you’ll need it to sleep.” Tywin said. His goblet was still half-full, and she wondered if it was still his first cup. She hadn’t been paying attention. “Most men would’ve yielded from that wound.”

She touched her chest, feeling pain from just the brush of her fingers. “My ribs are not broken, my lord, and besides, I’ve never yielded to any man.”

“Is that so? I believe it.”

Why was there amusement in his voice - was she imagining it, and the way his eyes looked lighter? Why couldn’t she stop looking at them? Desperate to look at anything else, she realized the other lords had shuffled out of the tent, even Ser Kevan. The only one left was a servant clearing the table.

She stood from the war table and slid her chair in. It would hurt less to curtsy, but she wouldn’t do such a thing. Perhaps if she were leaving her lord paramount at a feast or gala, but this was her commander. She bowed her head and kept her posture rigid, ignoring the pain that shot up her spine. “I’ll speak with you at the next council, my lord.”

“That you will, and louder than tonight. The likes of Ser Amory and Lord Kenning are hard of hearing, and not half as clever as they think. They need a reminder of what I expect in this army.”

His flippant tone brought a slight smile to her face. “I’ll gladly speak loudly and slowly for them. Rest well, my lord.”

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

at what point do you go from being a son of a major house to being a cadet house to just being some dude with a good name? if jaime had married and had children (purely for genealogical debate purposes), would they also be lannisters of casterly rock while tywin was still alive, prior to jaime becoming lord of the rock? what if tyrion married, had children, but did not inherit because jaime did? are his children lannisters of the rock? (1/2)

(2/2) if tyrion buys a tower and sets up home in it, is it a cadet house? is tyrion a lannister of the rock, but not his kids? if his kids wander out to be traveling knights, are they lannisters of his cadet house? if they go marry innkeepers and live from home, are THOSE kids then finally not lannisters of the rock but just bob and tom lannister? are there rules? thanks!

Hey! First of all, cadet houses are not originally an ASOIAF thing – they’re a real-world historical thing. See the wikipedia article for “cadet branch”, that should answer many of your questions. GRRM has put a few of his own twists on the concept, though, so let me explain.

A cadet house in Westeros is created when a younger son or junior branch, not in the direct line of inheritance, is granted or acquires his/their own lands and castle and forms a new branch of the main house. Some examples:

House Greystark: thousands of years back, a younger son of House Stark and his family were granted the Wolf’s Den on land that would eventually become White Harbor. The Greystarks were around for five hundred years before they joined with the Boltons to rebel against House Stark, which ended badly for them; they are now extinct.

House Karstark: founded a thousand years ago by Karlon Stark, who was granted lands for his valor and built the castle Karl’s Hold. The name of the castle eventually shifted to Karhold, and over time the Karhold Starks became Karstarks. Their motto, “the sun of winter”, is a punning reference to their originator, a son of House Stark.

House Lannister of Lannisport: founded thousands of years ago, when there were too many junior branch Lannisters to fit in Casterly Rock anymore. Instead of expanding the tunnels of the Rock, they moved into a village a mile away and turned it into a town, then a city. Note, the Lannisters of Lannisport are only distantly related to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock (though probably some younger sons have married into them within the past couple hundred years) and have no real claim to the Rock.

House Blackfyre: a cadet house of House Targaryen, founded about 120 years ago by a legitimized bastard of King Aegon IV, who was granted lands by the Blackwater by his half-brother King Daeron II in respect of their late father’s wishes. Soon rebelled against the Targaryens, leading to five Blackfyre Rebellions; were exiled from Westeros, and are extinct in the male line.

House Fossoway of New Barrel: founded about 100 years ago when a cousin from a younger branch of House Fossoway finally had enough of his main-line cousin’s assholery – he changed his sigil to a green apple instead of a red one, and at some point acquired his own lands and castle. In current Westeros, characters often distinguish between the red-apple or green-apple Fossoways.

House Royce of the Gates of the Moon: uncertain when they were founded (at least 50 years ago), but the lord of the junior branch of House Royce of Runestone has been serving as the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon (an Arryn castle) for some years now. (The Keepers are traditionally Arryn kinsmen, note.) Recently they were granted the title and the castle in perpetuity by the Lord Protector of the Vale.

House Baratheon of King’s Landing and House Baratheon of Dragonstone: founded after Robert’s Rebellion, when Robert Baratheon became king of Westeros, and granted the Baratheon lands and castle of Storm’s End to his youngest brother Renly, and the formerly Targaryen castle and lands of Dragonstone to his younger brother Stannis. As the eldest son of House Baratheon, Robert could have reserved both Storm’s End and Dragonstone for his own potential sons, and left his brothers to fend for themselves, but he was carelessly generous instead. Note, the King’s Landing Baratheons currently use a split Baratheon/Lannister sigil, and the Dragonstone Baratheons use a sigil of the heart of R’hllor with the Baratheon crowned stag inside.

House Frey of Riverrun: The family of Emmon Frey and Genna Lannister, granted Riverrun after the Tullys were attainted by the crown, as part of the rewards for the Frey participation in the Red Wedding. (Note this does not include lordship over the Riverlands; that belongs to House Baelish of Harrenhal.) See also House Bolton of Winterfell and House Lannister of Darry.

Regarding your specific questions:

If Jaime had married and had children, would they also be Lannisters of Casterly Rock while Tywin was still alive? Yes, certainly, especially since Jaime is the eldest son and heir of Tywin. (I’m assuming this is in a no Kingsguard Jaime AU of course.) Note that Tywin was a Lannister of Casterly Rock when his grandfather Gerold the Golden was still alive, and Tywin’s younger brother Kevan and his family are Lannisters of Casterly Rock, and Tywin’s uncle Jason’s descendants are Lannisters of Casterly Rock. There’s a lot of Lannisters of Casterly Rock. (This family tree may not even be all of them.) Casterly Rock is big. There’s plenty of room for Lannisters.

What if Tyrion married, had children, but did not inherit because Jaime did? Are his children Lannisters of the Rock? Yes, as long as they keep living in Casterly Rock, see the above question.

If Tyrion buys a tower and sets up home in it, is it a cadet house? You can’t just buy a tower in Westeros, this is feudalism, all lands and castles belong to some lordly or knightly house already, and they don’t get sold. (He could buy a house in a city, but cities are different - ask @racefortheironthrone​ for the reasons why.) But Tyrion could be granted a tower, mind you. Or a castle. Tywin, for example, wanted to give Tyrion Winterfell. (Or the chance to capture Winterfell, at least.) If that had succeeded, Tyrion and Sansa’s children would likely found the cadet House Lannister of Winterfell. (Yes, it’s possible to have cadet houses in different regions of Westeros – see House Kenning.) It would be similar if Tyrion were granted lands and a castle in the Westerlands, although Tywin wouldn’t be likely to give him any such thing. (Jaime might, if Jaime were lord; but if Jaime were lord, Tyrion probably wouldn’t want to move out of the Rock.)

Is Tyrion a Lannister of the Rock, but not his kids? Tyrion would likely always consider himself to be a Lannister of the Rock, even if he formed a cadet house, and his kids might as well. Cadet houses are sometimes formed over time – see the Karstarks, who possibly considered themselves Starks of Winterfell who happened to live in Karl’s Hold for the first generation or two. But if a major family division was what caused the cadet house (see the green-apple Fossoways), then the choice to be associated with the new castle would encourage the separation. In the case of the theorized Lannisters of Winterfell, see the Freys of Riverrun or the Lannisters of Darry – the association of the new cadet house with the castle is part of the conquering of that castle and lands, to show both dominance over it and a connection to its smallfolk.

If his kids wander out to be traveling knights, are they Lannisters of his cadet house? Yes. See Ser Lothor Brune, a freerider who is related to the knightly cadet branch House Brune of Brownhollow, not the lordly main branch House Brune of the Dyre Den. (His sigil is the Brune of Brownhollow bear paw, distinguished by the apple cores of the Fossoways he slew and captured at the Battle of the Blackwater, from which he gained his knighthood.)

If they go marry innkeepers and live from home, are THOSE kids then finally not Lannisters of the Rock but just Bob and Tom Lannister? If they go and marry innkeepers they’ve married into trade, the horror. But they’re still a cadet branch of House Lannister. See the Arryns of Gulltown, a cadet branch who married merchants and are rich, though they’re considered uncouth and nobody talks about them. You’ve got to really suffer defeats to lose your status of nobility but keep your name – though that can happen, see the Heddles, who are innkeepers and considered smallfolk or as close to middle class as Westeros gets, but who are the descendants of a landed knight. (BTW, you’re suggesting the names Bob and Tom Lannister as a joke, but this is a family with a Jason, Dave, Kevin, and Gerry, so it’s not that off.)

Are there rules? The rules are what you make of them. It’s a matter of custom and tradition and societal acceptance, not law as such.

I hope that helps!