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minsyal · 1 year

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Long May He Reign, Pt. III

Tywin x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: The Hand of the King spends years vying for the princess's affections. Only fate would have it that the two cannot be. As Aerys Targaryen II slowly descends into madness, can their love survive his instability and the war to come?

Warnings: General Game of Thrones violence later on, death and stuff, shitty characterizations, eh age differences, Ser Barristan being a lovely darling ✨

Masterlist

“He may enter.”

With granted permission the guard swung the door open to reveal Tywin dressed in a tunic of red and black. The leather was spotted with holes that revealed more fabric beneath holding a slick sheen to its texture. His hair was combed back without a single strand falling loose to frame his aristocratic physique. Upon spotting the princess in her chosen attire, he did not shroud the look of pride from his profile.

“The dress is fitting.” He tipped his head in an approving fashion, giving her a knowing look at her second choice of gowns. The alluring gaze he held on the definitions of her figure instinctively had her smoothing down the bodice once more. “Lannister red is quite flattering. Though, I am in disbelief that anything would look otherwise.”

An attractive rose tinged at the bridge of her nose and to the heights of her cheekbones as his words resonated in her system like the bass of a song. She brought a delicate finger up to tuck a loose strand of porcelain hair behind her flushing ear and peered at him through the curtains of her eyelashes. “Your words are most appreciated, my lord.” Playing with her fingers in front of her body she hesitated to speak in the presence of her guard, but did so anyway. “You look rather dashing yourself. After all, Lannister red suits a Lannister best.”

He allowed his eyes to linger a moment longer. Then, casting her an astute expression, Tywin nodded and outstretched his arm for her to take. “Come. The tournament waits.”

Made of a white-painted wood and designed to intricately display the Lannister wealth, the carriage waited for its passengers at the base of the Rock. For anyone else it would be vastly improper to sit concealed within the hiding walls of the cart, but as the Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock nobody would dare question his choices. That is, nobody except for the king.

Jostling back and forth as the wheels started turning, the two settled into their respective spots sitting opposite one another. Despite having the space for two more, they chose to sit knee-to-knee. Brushing against each other on occasion was no mistake as the princess situated herself on the edge of her cushion. They had all the secrecy they could ever hope for in such a public environment. Though the population looked on, none could truly tell what was happening within.

After entering the city on horseback, open for the world to see, it felt strange venturing out concealed by the plush walls of the cart. When they arrived, she was tired and not meant for any sort of outing. Her hair had been ditsy, unbraided and flying in all directions. She looked more like a land worker than a royal. Now she was bathed and fashioned in a more suiting way to uphold her title.

Lannisport’s energy was extravagant, too. The unbridled curiosity that bled from the villager’s prying eyes had melted away into a subdued and exotic buzz of anticipation and excitement for the day’s events. Reaching out into the air, the princess was sure she could feel it thick with suspense.

Leaning forward, she let herself fall into a trance as she watched the city pass by. As they ventured further into the heart of Lannisport, the smells and sounds marinated and held more depth. “I anticipate that Ser Arthur will be besting my brother in the joust today.” She commented offhandedly, folding her arms at her stomach as she turned her neck to look upward to an inquisitive Tywin.

A curious hum bombinated from his lips. Squared shoulders pressed into his backrest, heightening his stance even in his seated position. One could find it intimidating, but she was more so amused by his always-perfect posture. Rather than move his head to show he was granting her his full attention, his pose remained solid, but this attention was there nonetheless. “Why is that? Prince Rhaegar has garnished a reputation when it comes to his performance in jousts.”

An ardent laugh brought his chin tucking downward. “He wins because people fear that knocking a prince from his horse will put an end to their family line.” She nudged her knees against his. “Also, I asked Ser Arthur to win.”

“Is there a reason?”

Sitting to her full height, which was still considerably shorter than the towering man before her, she flitted with the draping of her skirts. “Rhaegar was not exaggerating when he said that my journey was full of complaints.”

“You are a princess.” Tywin argued in his remarkably calm tone. “Traveling by horseback is hardly an appropriate means.”

“And how do you presume I’ll return to King’s Landing, my lord? Shall I walk so as to not dishonor myself by riding?”

“I’ll be returning to court at the conclusion of the tournament.” Using the muscles in his stomach, he pushed himself from the backrest to lean closer to the princess. “There is an abundance of space in the Lannister wheelhouse.”

Gasping dramatically, she placed a hand over the exposed skin of her chest. “What will my father think, Lord Tywin?” She shook her head. “He already believes me to be conspiring against him. Should I be seen in your private quarters, I think that he will think you are a conspirator, too.” Her coy demeanor evanesced as she spoke the words out. They struck her harder than she expected, falling from the cliff tops of her mind and tumbling downward like the disturbed snow of an avalanche. Where a soft smile had once been planted, a strange intensity grew. “My father thinks that I am conspiring against him.” She admitted with slumping shoulders. “You must be aware of that saying regarding the Targaryens. A coin is to choose our fates. Madness or greatness. We are only afforded the two, there is no gray water to wade in.”

“The saying is commonspeak tripe.” Tywin cut her thought from the root. “It was a coping mechanism created to explain the complicated to the simple.”

“Still.” Her fingers rubbed at the smooth fabric that laid upon her legs. “I have done nothing warranted of greatness in my time, nor am I set for it. Does that mean that I am destined for the opposite side of the coin?”

Soothing warmth covered her chilled hands. “There is no coin that can determine your future. You are young. You have many years to pursue greatness.” Slipping her hand into his, he covered it comfortingly with the other. “Let us not focus on that today. Today, we worry not what others think of us.” Trying to lighten her mood, he batted at the clouds that formed over her head. “Today, we will watch Ser Arthur best the prince.”

~~~*~~~

The marketplace was astir with the ingredients of a lively tourney on the way. Bakers rushed from their bakeries to line the streets with fresh goods situated on cooling racks. Jewelers set up lush and vibrant canopies to attract the eye to their precious gemstones. Smiths of all kinds beckoned upon their soapboxes, loudly proclaiming that any highborn lord who wields their weaponry will be granted great strength in their future endeavors. All swarmed like flies to the list where the tourney was to take place.

Rolling to a stop, the carriage holding Tywin and the princess opened with a small army of guards from the city watch squaring the two in.

“What are we doing in the market?” Her head could not move fast enough as she tried to view everything in a single second.

“The list is not far from here. As the princess of the Seven Kingdoms, I think it appropriate that you see firsthand what one of its great cities offers.”

Happy to take any opportunity to see more of Westeros, she nodded as they made their way away from the cart. Although, some would question his true intentions with walking the princess down the market street. Some wondered whether the two were betrothed, deciding against it when they could not recall any formal announcement. Others thought it to be a display of the power he held over the ruling family. The majority were just happy to see their ruling lord walking the streets.

As they strolled down the textured cobblestone walkway, smoothed from years of activity, a crowd gathered on the sidelines to throw praise to Lord Tywin. “Seven blessings, m’lord!” One yelled from a balcony above, gathering her child as she pointed him out. “May the gods smile upon you, Lord Tywin!” Another hollered, this time from behind a growing host of onlookers. As word spread of the princess walking amongst the people, many more flocked to the streets to see if she was truly the “hag” her reclusivity had named her.

The princess was awestruck by the love and adoration the city seemed to hold in their hearts for Tywin. He continually nodded and waved to varying members of their audience, each time earning more kind words from those compelled by other’s displays.

While the princess was concerned with the people, Tywin’s true focus was solely on her. She primarily led the group as her eyes guided her from one side of the street to the other. Warm breads filled with cinnamon and ground cloves nipped at her nose, followed by strong scents of freshly baked apples and lemon zest. Fennel and cardamom wafted from a nearby tavern’s opened window. Purchasing an apple crisp from a trusted merchant who often supplied gourmet goods to the Lannister’s household, Tywin handed it to the princess only after one of the guards tested it.

A particularly interesting merchant caught her eye, situated just past the baker. Tucked between his steaming racks and another table sat a young boy, no older than seven. With smudges of dirt covering his rounded reddened cheeks, he appeared far underfed and weary from crafting his wares. His shoes were thin, likely not protecting his feet from the ground given the blisters and calluses that coated the bottoms. Blonde hair had turned brown with oil and sweat. His eyes were downcast almost appearing as though he were asleep.

When the shadow of her figure covered his face, he sat up and brushed his hands down his face, dragging the dirt further across his skin. He had a torn yellowed blanket at his feet. Frayed edges held years of memories as it was more than likely his nursing blanket from when he was born. Tiny wooden statues that could fit in the palm of one’s hand were meticulously laid out, lined in rows of five with three rows total. Each was different from the other despite some being the same animals, but all were equally charming. “Did you make these?” She asked with the welcoming tilt of her curious head.

“Yes!...” He sucked his bottom lip between his large bucked teeth and took a deep breath to calm his heart as it beat from his chest. “Yes, m’lady.” He corrected.

The grooves and edges of one of the carvings bit into her skin, but she paid it no mind. A small lion with a crooked nose was the focus of her interest. Its mane was lopsided, heavy and bushy on the right side but practically nonexistent on the left. In no way was it intimidating like the beautifully crafted Lannister lions that decorated the Rock. Nonetheless, she found herself charmed by his efforts as he clearly put time into each. As she flipped the statue around in her hand, the merchant to his right nudged his shoulder with her sandal and whispered something in his ear. At her news, he straightened his back more and went wide-eyed. “Y-you can have it, princess (Y/n)... m’lady… your grace! If you want it. Free of charge for the princess, m’lady.”

“Nonsense.” Tywin interjected, regarding the young boy who immediately recognized him and grew another foot. “A man should never sell himself short.”

Looking to the merchant next to him seeking guidance, the boy found none. “I-”

“I believe this should cover the cost.” Holding a silver stag with the likeness of Aerys II pressed into its surface, Tywin extended his hand out to the child who took it and examined its edges with the surface of his thumb.

“Thank you, m’Lord!” He exclaimed, pocketing the coin in a concealed flap on the interior of his pants.

“Have you eaten yet today?” The princess rubbed her finger over the lion’s nose as the boy shook his head. Unintentionally, his eyes flitted to the still-steaming bun in her other hand. “Here.” She lowered it to where he could reach. “Freshly baked. Enjoy it while it’s warm.”

The boy looked again to the merchant who he seemed to know. She nodded her head forward and beckoned the boy to take the offering from the princess. Examining it, his mouth watered at the sickeningly sweet sugar that frosted the exterior of the golden pastry. Looking upward to the princess, a wide childish smile spread from one side of his face to the other and he lurched forward to wrap his arms securely around her waist. His cheek pressed into her side, leaving a reminder of his presence in the form of a small tan smudge in the red and white fabric.

Unknowing of the boy’s intentions, the guards of the city watch stiffened and began to grasp at the child’s clothing. Bubbly laughs stopped them along with the halting of her hand. Instead of ripping him from her side, she embraced the boy and ruffled her fingers through the top of his head, uncaring of the sleek oil left behind.

“Thank you, m’princess!” He stepped backward and stumbled as the excitement jolted through his system like lightning.

Bidding him farewell, she and Tywin continued on with their progression toward the list. As they got closer, the street became more densely packed and louder than it was before. Tywin’s hand found permanent residence on her shoulder, ensuring to him that she was always with him even when his head was focused elsewhere.

“I cannot believe this is only one part of the city.” The princess excitedly placed her hand against Tywin’s bicep, gripping slightly as she channeled the innocent naivete that had been trapped within her since birth. Beyond the castle’s walls was an entire world to experience, and she had barely scratched its surface.

“If you wish to venture through the entirety of Lannisport, I will personally see it so.” Tywin mirrored her elation in a more refined approach.

The wall of armored guards parted as a young man approached. “Lord Tywin.” He called as he stopped with a jump in his step. “Princess.” From his attire, she could conclude that he was a squire. Young in age and unarmed, he was likely the child of a western lord. “The king has arrived. He waits in the viewing stands.”

Nearly the entire population of Lannisport that wasn’t taking advantage of heightened traffic were seated on platforms of sturdy wood or perched on any rooftop that would merit even the smallest glance at the action. Men and women, boys and girls, all flocked to the streets as the exhilaration invigorated the air. Young women swooned at the idea of catching a fleeting tick of the prince’s attention. Young men were dazed and could only hope to be like him.

The princess arrived with Lord Tywin, an unexpected move but one that was unavoidable as they had already been traveling together. Entering beneath a tented pitch of red velvet and golden tassels, he was announced loudly by the middle-aged bellman who rallied the joyous cries of his people for their lord. Tywin did not bask in the cheer like Aerys had when he entered previously. Instead he held his composure by nodding to a few, giving a curt wave, and then using his hand to sweep the attention back to the king. The princess sat nearest to the action, blocked from it by the waterfall blockade that protected the royalty and highborns within. She watched and listened in utter awe as the masses roared with intense acclaim for Tywin. Praises were sung on the highest of clouds as the moment seemed to slow. Women waved their scarves and men shouted loudly with boasts of their lord. Turning her attention from the field to her rear, she could see the clear upset on her father’s face.

They should cheer louder for me, Aerys thought selfishly as he gripped his fingers tightly against the wooden chair he slouched in. His focus flickered from the people to Tywin, then downward to where Cersei sat next to his daughter. Before he left King’s Landing he had been informed that she had left with Rhaegar, Ser Barristan, and Ser Arthur, but seeing her here with his own eyes made his blood boil over. She was to be kept within the Red Keep, sealed away from the public’s view, safe within its suffocating walls. Rhaella, his wife, was kept under lock and key. He wondered if she would have to meet the same fate. He forced a smile - one of the first fatherly actions he had made since returning from Duskendale. Returning the gesture, he noted the way she reclined into herself and tore her gaze from his to engage in conversation with Cersei. The two started laughing with Jeyne Farman at something Melara Hetherspoon had said before turning their attention to the entry of Prince Rhaegar.

The people’s welcome for the Lord of Casterly Rock was great, but far different from the welcome the crowned prince received as he rode onto the list adorned in full Targaryen armor. Black metal shone with the sunlight beating down upon his shoulders. Red accented steel whipped around the track as he prompted the crowd to continue with their cheers. Cersei grabbed at (Y/n)’s hand, holding it tightly as she watched adoringly. Exemplified screams came from each corner of Lannisport, all loudly rolling over the fields for miles around. It only got louder as he removed his pointed helmet and gave a haughty bow to his father who merely stared back with an emptied haze hovering over his head.

“You seem rather taken by my brother.” The princess lent over to whisper in the ear of Tywin’s daughter. Though she attempted to remain quiet, her words carried over the crowd to the ear of Melara who sat at Cersei’s other side. Dressed elegantly in a gown of muted yellow resembling that of aged gold, Melara was a thin young girl. She styled her hair simply on either side of her shoulders, allowing the cascading brunette locks to fall to her waist.

“He is quite handsome.” Melara earned herself a harsh glare from the side of Cersei’s eye. “He has not taken a wife yet, and…” she feigned shyness by the curtain of her lashes, “excuse my ignorance, but is it not tradition to marry siblings in the Targaryen house?”

She was bold, clearly bolder than Jeyne who shrunk into herself, and it could even be said that she was bolder than Cersei. “That is the tradition.” The princess folded her hands in her lap, covering the lion figurine, watching as Tygett Lannister came trotting out onto the list mounted on a pure white horse. “I do not know my father’s plans.”

Unbeknownst to her, Tygett was another potential suitor for the princess. In fact, Tygett and Gerion had both been considered at a time, but were dismissed as quickly as they were presented. The only one that the king had let weigh on the table was the proposition of Jaime Lannister, and eventually he too was denied. He rode out to the roar of the people.

“I think there are many men who vye for your hand in marriage, your grace.” Melara said loudly, catching Tywin’s ear. “You will be a beautiful bride.”

A breathy laughing exhale was pushed from the princess’s lungs as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear and relished in the newfound attention of a highborn lady. “You are most kind, lady Melara.”

At the sound of a horn, the riders were ready to start. Both men took a side of the list and prepared their lances beneath their arms. Each member of the audience lent forward in their seats as their steeds tore through the dirt with their furious hooves. In the matter of seconds, Rhaegar had defeated Tygett. Left with a broken lance and lowered enthusiasm for the sport, Tygett made his round, congratulated the prince, and left the list on horseback. Soonthereafter, he found himself joining the rest of the Lannister family beneath the covered tent.

Rhaegar defeated many others that day. Westerland knights fell in various fashions, some breaking lances and others simply being thrust from their saddles. Gerion followed in his younger brother’s footsteps after his match, sitting in the stands nearest to Tywin. Ser Barristan had the princess smiling as he made his round, throwing a wave high in the air. Though his spirits were high, his chances of winning when Rhaegar was on a roll were not. He, too, fell to the crowned prince.

It wasn’t until Ser Arthur rode out onto the list that Rhaegar’s streak was broken. Falling to Ser Arthur’s lance, Rhaegar found himself unhorsed and at a loss for the winning title he had been fighting for all day. The crowd cheered as Rhaegar stood and motioned to the winner, giving him an animated clap.

Excusing herself from Cersei and her friend’s company, the princess slipped from the tent before anyone else could notice. She had hoped to avoid her father’s audience, pleading and begging with the gods to allow her to slide by without notice. With a soft push of the curtain, she made her exit whilst her father engaged in conversation with Tywin.

Traipsing through the crowds of highborns, she traversed the mass audience of curious eyes. For most, this had been their first encounter with the princess. Many moved from her path, allowing her by. Others actively blocked her way, hoping to catch her for a conversation. Some were bold enough to propose betrothals with their sons, and others followed her as she went.

“Your grace!” One woman yelled from an unknown direction as the people grew dense. “Princess (Y/n)!” Another tried to get her attention. Bunching her skirts in her hands, she continued forward toward the tents where the knights had prepared earlier in the morning. “My lady!” A man, around her age, pushed through the crowd. Unruly hands pushed at her back as the composed lords lost their manners and began forcing their way through one another to get closer. Stumbling on the uneven surface, she would have lost her balance if not for the sturdy arms she fell upon.

The sunlight was eclipsed by a charming smile and soft eyes. “This is not how I envisioned our first meeting, your grace.” Copper hair hung to his shoulders and draped against the stiff shoulder pads of his gray tunic. “We have not been afforded an audience with one another.” Steadying her on her feet, he bowed deeply and took her hand gently in his. His lips pressed a chaste kiss to her flushing skin. “Addam Marbrand.”

“Of Ashemark.” She finished, retracting her hand politely and holding it in front of her body. “Tales of your gallantry are often told in Kings Landing.”

“I am honored to hear that my name has fallen on the ears of the most beautiful woman in the realm.” Blushing, the princess fidgeted with her fingers. Noticeably her figurine was missing. His kind eyes bore into her subdued features, taking in his first sight of the hidden princess. Upon catching her searching the ground, he followed suit, quickly finding the imperfect lion. “Charming.” He flipped it over in his hand before offering it back to her.

“A boy in the market was selling them.”

“And a supporter of the local economy, princess. The west is forever grateful.”

Flushing again, she timidly took the carving back. “Have you the chance to visit the capitol, Lord Addam?”

“I have,” he confirmed, finding his focus drawn to her rear where an approaching figure neared. “...many times. It seems that each visit I find myself leaving without having met you.” An airy chuckle outlined his next words. “I must say, I believe it was worth the wait. Your beauty is far beyond what my imagination could craft.”

Shyly looking elsewhere, she continued to grow redder by the second. “You flatter me. I-”

Feeling the presence of another, she turned her head to the side to find Tywin with his arms connected at the small of his back. “Princess.” His hand moved to press against her side. “Prince Rhaegar requests an audience in his tent.” Sliding from her waist to her shoulder, Tywin’s hand landed protectively over the loose-fitting fabric that covered her arm.

“I was on my way to see him when the crowd grew too dense.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Lord Addam saved me from a rather embarrassing fall to the dirt.”

Cutting back into the conversation, Addam spoke. “I would be most pleased to escort the princess, my lord.”

“That will not be necessary.” Tywin nonchalantly looked over his shoulder back toward the list. “Addam, your father was searching for you. You should see to it.”

Straightening his back, his shoulders set widely to display the strength in his upper body. “Of course.” Addam’s eyes met the princess’s. “I hope that we can meet again, my lady.” Then, without another word, he disappeared into the wall of people.

“What did Rhaegar want with me?” She wondered aloud as Tywin’s guiding hand maneuvered her through the maze of bumping shoulders.

Nearing the edge of the sea that seemed to swallow all those who entered, the faint whisper of green grass could be seen swimming amongst the pool of vibrant fabrics. Beyond that were stable boys guiding armored horses, waving flags atop high tents, and the low hum of conversations mixing into a concoction of a tourney’s delight.

Pacing their way toward Rhaegar’s quarters, she stalled as she considered Tywin’s silence as a very telling answer to her question. “Rhaegar did not summon me.” She concluded, finding a smug grin on her rose lips. “You simply did not enjoy watching me converse with Lord Marbrand.” Sliding past a group of competing knights, the two separated slightly.

“He is a fine young man.” Tywin defended. “Well respected in Ashemark and the west. He would make a fine suitor should your father deem him so.” Though the words fell from his lips, Tywin knew it not to be. Aerys already had plans in motion for his daughter.

“Fear not, my lord. Only one man has captured my eye.”

Fluttering playfully by, she attracted the focus of each man and boy. There was something intensely alluring about the Targaryens that no other house had. It was not in their Valyrian features. They shared the same colorless hair and lilac eyes with the Velaryons. The pull of their gravitational hold on others came from their resolve. Many Targaryen’s who achieved the famed “greatness” all shared traits that blended into a cocktail of pursuance in their climb for grandeur.

She, the princess, was a particularly notable royal. For she was more or less a blank slate. No glory came from tournaments like it did for Rhaegar. Madness nor prosperity had been bestowed upon her from her father. Her future was yet to be told, and something about that intrigued those who watched and waited to hear of what she planned to do with her canvas.

Tywin watched as she skirted past more men blissfully ignoring their gawking mouths and wandering eyes. Only when she disappeared through the drapes of Rhaegar’s tent did he adjust his shoulders back and return to his duties.

“Myles, a pleasure as always.” The princess walked through the curtained entrance of the tent where Rhaegar dressed. The room was spacious for its temporary structure; holding a stand for his armor, a desk with two tables, a chaise lounge covered in burgundy velvet, and a small closet for his normal attire.

Myles Mooton wandered about the room, focused on nothing in particular as he set about tidying and preparing Rhaegar’s clothing. As a younger man, he served as Rhaegar’s squire. Bold and brass, he had earned himself a positive place in the prince’s circle of friends. “Princess.” He regarded her with an over-the-top bow and sauntered out.

“The people really love you, brother.” Her skirts hooped as she swung around to face Rhaegar. Sitting on a padded bench, he forced his feet into his boots and tucked the excess cloth into the sides.“Is father as angered with my presence here as I assume him to be?”

His cotton undershirt matched the black tunic he often wore. “I avoided his eye.” Pressing his hands against his cheeks, he refocused himself. Fingers combed through his colorless hair, sweeping it backward to fall over his shoulders. Buttoning his dragon-embroidered outer coat, he patted the clasps and let out a sigh.

There was a clear tension in his build. Shoulders that often laid slack and relaxed were tight in an almost cringing fashion. A crinkle in his nose creased his skin like a page in a book. Something was on his mind, and it only weighed him down further with his sister standing in close proximity.

“We will talk later.”

Before she could say anything else, Rhaegar disappeared past the brush of the tapestry leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of sweat clinging to his armor.

~~~*~~~

“Lord Tyrion.”

Casterly Rock was a fairly difficult place to roam. Easily finding oneself at a crossroads with one direction leading upward and another to the sea, without a map the princess was lost. Ser Barristan had accompanied her, but found himself as lost as she as they humorously wandered aimlessly hoping to find a familiar area. Pushing past two great doors lined with jagged rock, they were surprised to have found a library.

Leather-bound books lined the walls. Some held notable titles easily recognizable to the princess and others were extremely foreign. Lit lanterns were ablaze, keeping the entirety of the room lit despite it having no exposed areas to the outside. Alone below a table sat the missing Lannister of whom she had not seen since her initial arrival at Casterly Rock: Tyrion Lannister.

Born five years after the twins, Tyrion’s entrance to the world was his mother’s exit. He was a notably lonely child, having spent much of his childhood thus far alone with no company from his immediate family. Aunts and uncles who ran Casterly Rock in Tywin’s absence did their best to entertain his whimsical thoughts and ideas, but nothing could fill the yearn for a comforting soul in his abysmal existence. Tales of Tyrion fastly spread upon his birth with some calling him a monster. Others feared that he was an omen of what was to come. Even the king disparaged the child by considering him to be a punishment for Tywin’s arrogance.

Though sitting on the floor surrounded by books and a burning candle, Tyrion looked no different than any other child.

“Princess.” Tyrion made to stand, but resituated himself as soon as she held a halting hand out to him.

“There is no need to rise.” The bounding skirts of her dress pooled around her as she lowered herself onto the frigid stone floor. “I am the one disturbing you, afterall.” Thumbing across his mountain of literature, she found many pertaining to Targaryens, and more concerning dragons. “Black Wings, Swift Words.” She tilted her head to read its title. “I quite like this one. Interesting notion, wasn’t it? Replacing ravens with doves. The skies would surely be more beautiful, but how would we be notified that winter is coming?” Leaning her elbows against her knees, she hovered just below the table’s top. “Maester Pycelle always made sure to show me the white raven sent from the Citadel to declare summer’s end. Do you enjoy reading?”

Tyrion was ambivalent about answering the princess. He had seen her with his father and his sister on multiple occasions in her short time visiting, but his thirst for knowledge and interest in the Targaryen’s eventually outweighed any skepticism. “I’m reading this one now.” Pushing the opened book toward the princess, he sat higher as she looked over the writing.

“The Rogue Prince. He lived quite the life, a true warrior of his time.”

“He wielded Dark Sister.” Tyrion adjusted the edges of the book to face him once more. “His dragon, Caraxes, was red.” His eyes twinkled with delight as he displayed his knowledge. “I’m not far yet, only to his second marriage. He lived in Pentos with Laena Velaryon and Vhagar.”

“That is very true.” She was gladdened by his enthusiasm. “You know so much about the Targaryens, I think you should have taught me lessons instead of my septa.”

“I want to write a book someday.” The remnants of a smile formed at his lips. “About the Targaryens… an entire history from Valyria to now.”

“I would love to read it… a great mind such as yours should not go to waste.” She pushed her hands against the floor to push herself to her knees. “I will be the first to request a copy in King’s Landing when it is completed.”

She and Ser Barristan continued to wander the halls, blissfully lost as they experienced Casterly Rock as it should be. Initially he had questioned why she didn’t ask Tyrion’s help, but as they turned corners and the twinkle in her eye burned brightly he understood.

Freedom was fleeting as her return to King’s Landing fastly approached.

She was simply enjoying herself.

Writers note: Happy New Year 🎆

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@issybee0611 @yellowbadgermole @ladysindar @usernameosv @thanyatargaryen @kishie8

#tywin lannister x reader #tywin x reader #tywin lannister #got x reader #game of thrones fanfic

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atopvisenyashill · 2 months

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Since I can't seem to figure out how to repost your tags- I am going to say that Arthur Dayne didn't think Ned Stark would hurt baby Jon simply for the reason he was at the Tower of Joy instead of hightailing it to Starfall with baby and the wetnurse Wylla in tow. Once Jon was born, the need to stay at the tower was defunct. Lyanna dying or not, had bluntly served her purpose. The fate of Rhaenys and Aegon made it crystal clear that any one with dragon blood was in danger from the new regime. Doubly so for a child of Rhaegar and Lyanna. If Arthur was really concern about the baby rather than his own personal honor, his purpose would be to get on a fast ship to reunite with the exiled Targaryens or pulling a Jon Con and raising the baby himself in secret. But that isn't as neat a ending as dying in battle serving an oath to a dead man.

Oh yeah, I was kinda writing off the cuff there bc i’m very tired today lmao BUT

I have seen the main argument for a more sympathetic look at Arthur, Oswell, and Gerold is that they feared for Jon’s life, and likely had some sort of affection for Jon and Lyanna. That is something I can absolutely believe - like you said, the brutal murder of Rhaenys and Aegon is more than enough evidence that Jon is not safe in Westeros. I can certainly understand why, even with the best of intentions, the Kingsguard would be wary of Ned. Even if Ned holds no anger at Lyanna, he could hold plenty towards baby Jon or transfer his anger at Rhaegar to baby Jon. It’s a real risk in attempting to confront the man seen as the number two face of this rebellion with the son of his number one enemy.

But I think from the surrounding events, what most likely was happening was that Rhaegar did not take the rebllion nor his father’s madness as seriously as he should have until after the Sack (I know Jaime and Barristan mention Rhaegar planning beforehand to get rid of his father, but like, clearly it wasn’t that much of a priority considering he abandons whatever plans he made at Harrenhal to chase after, kidnap, and impregnate Lyanna while the realm burned around him SO!). IF he married Lyanna, it was likely after he found out Elia and their children had been murdered, and he was probably panicked over the situation in KL, his alliance with Dorne, and what this means for his prophecy (a far cry from the happy little scene we get in the show), and did it to legitimize what he thinks is baby Visenya as a sort of last resort, but did not ever believe he was going to lose the Battle of the Trident. We have no idea what information was getting to Rhaegar prior to Oswell coming to fetch him, and no idea what Oswell told Rhaegar, or if Rhaegar was even in a proper state of mind to comprehend it. When Rhaegar goes to fight Robert, for all we know, he has no earthly idea that he and his father have lost basically all of Westeros except Dorne and ONLY because of Elia. Personally, I think it’s likely that it’s not until he shows up to command the Dornish forces that he realizes just how fucked he is. The Kingsguard probably felt the same, and when they got word Rhaegar died, just fully gave up, condemning themselves, Lyanna, and maybe even the baby to death alongside their fallen Great King Who Should Have Been, Rhaegar.

Because otherwise, like, what are they even still doing at the tower. They wave off Rhaella and Viserys but if what they wanted was to actually protect the last of Rhaegar’s blood, they should have been trying to link up with Rhaella!! Feels pretty relevant that Rhaella know Rhaegar has another potential heir but they just sit around at the Tower instead for WEEKS after the Trident. It only seems nonsensical on the surface; Willem Darry had not yet given up, had two terrified, very small children suddenly in his care, and did his absolute best to try to take care of them. He has more honor in his pinky toe than either of the those three who saw a 16 year old and a newborn in dire need of help and went “rhaegar was wrong and there’s no use in trying anymore” and rolled over and died. Same for JonCon raising a child that is not his; what those two do is put the life of a child before any other intangible oaths or ideals, acting quickly and decisively under really stressful circumstances. Contrast to the Tower of Joy, where Lyanna doesn’t even have a Maester present to help deliver the baby.

So yeah, I do think it’s likely they worried Ned was a danger, and had some sort of fondness for Lyanna and baby Jon. Doesn’t mean they made the right decisions, or that their affection and fear ultimately mattered in the grand scheme of things. It’s tragic sure, but far more tragic is that they never turned to the dying teenager in their care and ask what her opinion was on how her final days should go.

#asks #riana one #true knoghts #oaths and oath keeping #robert's rebellion

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acewithapencil · 2 years

Text

“The slippers the Butcher King had sent her had grown too uncomfortable. Dany kicked them off and sat with one foot tucked beneath her and the other swinging back and forth. It was not a very regal pose, but she was tired of being regal. The crown had given her a headache, and her buttocks had gone to sleep. ‘Ser Barristan,’ she called, ‘I know what quality a king needs most.’

‘Courage, Your Grace?’

‘Cheeks like iron,’ she teased. ‘All I do is sit.’

‘Your Grace takes too much on herself. You should allow your councillors to shoulder more of your burdens.’

‘I have too many councillors and too few cushions.’”

For @music-of-dragons! This has gotta be one of my favorite light-hearted moments in the whole series. Here’s to hoping Dany bans the “floppy ears,” though, both because of what they represent and because they are a nightmare to draw. Took some creative liberties with how the tokar is wound, because in my mind it’s worn so tight I’m not sure Dany could tuck her leg under her? But her non regal pose is so cute in this scene, so who cares.

Bonus!

“In the purple hall, Dany found her ebon bench piled high about with satin pillows. The sight brought a wan smile to her lips. Ser Barristan’s work, she knew.”

Bonus bonus just cause I thought it was funny:

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #my art #fan art #art requests #barristan selmy #Missandei #a dance with dragons #thanks for the request ❤️

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15-lizards · 1 year

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#I feel like I make a variation of this poll every week I’m sawry #my bad y’all I like my smelly sad secondary characters too much #lot of B names do I have a type #that’s a lie Edd is my favorite guy ever #ASOIAF shitposting

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darkestprompts · 11 months

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Here's something I haven't seen anyone post their thots on, what kind of voices/accents the heroes have! it would be crazy if at some point the dd2 devs added voice-overs to some of their lines. I think only being able to hear the ancestor's narration adds a sort of lonely vibe to the game which makes sense

Hmm I mentioned it before but personally I like that the game is mostly unvoiced. Wayne June's voice work is god-tier and even that tires me out sometimes. That being said, it's harmless to speculate, right?

Antiquarian: her voice has a bell-like quality, clear and tinny. Speaks a bit fast but enunciates every word, so it's not hard to understand even with her accent.

Man-at-Arms: rough from barking orders under cannonfire, also has that "aged" quality to it. Impressive lung capacity, his bellow qualifies as physical assault. Has a good, hearty belly laugh.

Plague Doctor: high, a bit nasaly, tries to speak at the same speed she's thinking, which makes her impossible to understand when she gets going (you can beatbox to her science rants).

Occultist: has a professor's vocal endurance. Projects his voice well without yelling, speaks clearly, pausedly and with emphasis, which may give the impression that he thinks people around him are too stupid to follow (he does).

Bounty Hunter: low voice, slightly rumbly. There's a Tardif Noise Dictionary of unknown authorship making the rounds. It's shockingly accurate.

Jester: to no one's surprise, the best vocal range in the group. It can be hard to pin down his real voice, since he's always doing bits: performing, mocking, mimicking. Even when he's just talking he often forces a nonchalant falsetto. It can be surprising when he gets serious and drops it, intentionally or not. In reality, he's at the lower side of a tenor.

Shieldbreaker: a smooth contralto. Good singing voice. Of the foreigners, she's the one with the most obvious accent due to her more recent arrival, not helped by the fact that she keeps to herself.

Leper: this guy was trained form birth to give speeches, debate publicly and lead official cerimonies. Plus, he's into poetry. Flawless diction (in more than one language too) and very pleasant to listen to. His rich baritone used to be smoother, lately it has become more gravely.

Abomination: between the constant anatomical changes and torture, Bigby's throat is all kind of fucked up. His voice sounds hoarse and often cracks. He tries not too speak too much or too loudly to preserve it, but the beast will ruin it anyway. Someone please give this guy some propolis.

Crusader: his voice isn't actually as low as you might expect from his size and age, but it's strong, bright and resonant, which is why he does well with rallies and encouraging speeches in general.

Grave Robber: does something similar to Sarmenti, where in social situations she will instinctively use a higher pitch and speak in a more affected manner, most people wouldn't recognize her "private" voice. When genuinely tickled, she'll let out a loud, uncontrolled cackle that has led Dismas to call her evil witch of the graves.

Vestal: the nuns of Saint Martha had a choir, so she actually has some vocal training, although she lacks the confidence for a solo outside of religious duties. I don't know how to describe it, but she has the Concerned Religious Lady voice. If you know, you know.

Flagellant: low, breathy, has a constant intensity to it even when he's speaking calmly that can be too much for most people. And then there's his... enthusiastic sounds when he's flagellating. We don't need to talk about those.

Highwayman: Dismas's neck has experienced too much first degree contact with knives, ropes and other dangerous items for his voice not to sound rough. It also has a strained quality to it, which may have a physical origin, or simply be a result of his hair-trigger.

Hellion: Barristan's buddy in the "voices that commit violence" category. Can produce enough guttural growls, high screams and low roars to make a black metal singer die of envy. Has absolutely no control over her volume. Good with folk and tavern songs.

Houndmaster: light, friendly, pleasant. The Marked for Death team often has to tell him to drop the "dog voice" when talking to people.

Arbalest: well in the middle of the feminine range (higher than Amani or Boudica, lower than Josephine or Audrey). Her voice has good body and energy, and she speaks in a open, approachable way. In medical emergencies her tone gets curt and flat, even snappish if the patient isn't helping (hi Damian).

Runaway: sounds younger than she actually is, making people think she's a teenager. Mumbles and slurs her words a lot.

#asks #anon #darkest dungeon #dd ensemble #dd lists

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 9 months

Text

From the Ashes Pt.11

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: none, changing povs, Selmy POV

Words: 1779

Summary: Barristan Selmy finds the most unlikely companion.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34

Barristan Selmy had to be careful as he made his way to Starfall. He knew that he would have to evade Rhaegar’s army on the way since he had to pass through the Reach and Stormlands. Not wanting to get caught up in any fights, Barristan moved fast and hidden by shrubbery and woods. He would’ve liked to see Prince Rhaegar in all honesty. But Varys had made it clear that this mission was of the utmost importance and had to be done immediately. Varys informed Selmy that he would tell Aerys that the King’s Guard knight was scouting around Rhaegar’s camps in the south and would send information to them about the enemy.

There was still confliction inside of him though. Conflicted because something about this didn’t feel right. He left the Guard to send a missive and a mysterious box to Rhaegar’s supposedly dead bride. He wasn’t even allowed to tell Rhaegar that the sweet girl he had taken as his queen was still alive in Volantis.

Deciding to take a rest, Barristan pulls his horse over and dismounts; leading her off the main road and back into the covered woods where the terrain was a little more difficult to travel through. The horse gave an annoyed snort and appeared hesitant on entering. With gentle coaxing though, he was able to make her relax and follow. Barristan could hear a nearby stream, possibly a sublet of the Mander River. From the path he had been on previously, he knew he would ultimately hit Tumbleton if he kept following it. He wanted to stay unseen for the most part of his journey.

Finding a nice tree to sit underneath and let his horse graze, Barristan retrieves his map and scans it. Clicking his teeth here and there. There was still a long way to go before he even reached Dorne. Leaning his back against the sturdy trunk, Selmy closes his tired eyes. He had ridden all night to get to where he was, it didn’t seem like much. Already in his late 40’s, Selmy was starting to realize that he couldn’t travel the way he used to when he was younger. His age was starting to catch up on him.

Unconsciously, his hand bumps against his travel sack which Varys’ mystery box lay hidden. Opening his eyes, he glances at the burlap bag. It was out of pure curiosity that he wanted to fiddle with the box to see if he could open. Varys claimed that he hadn’t been able to find a way. What could be in there that would aid (y/n)? What aid did she need exactly and for what?

Guess I’ll figure out when I get to Volantis. Selmy thinks to himself before remembering the first part of his task. Make it to Dorne. To Ashara Dayne in Starfall. Starfall was the perfect place to set sail to Essos. From there, the Summer Sea would grant them a straight passage to Volantis. Granting if the waters would be kind to them.

Out of nowhere there’s the sound of a scuffle, of a fight. Instinct had Selmy jumping onto his feet and grabbing his sword as his ears strained to figure out which direction it came from.

“Stay away from me!” Came the warning yell of a childish voice.

A cruel laugh replies “What do you think you’re going to do to us with that little dagger, dwarf?”

The sound of a sword swing and a surprised yelp. Whoever was being attacked was definitely a child. An unfair fight. Being the man that he was, Barristan heads to the direction of the struggle to find two men harassing a very small, oddly shaped, child. Nothing but basic thugs. There were many of them scattered throughout deserted woods of Westeros, waiting for the right victim.

They heard him coming, but that was alright. That wouldn’t give them the upper hand.

When the child lifted his face though. . .

He knew that face.

It was Tyrion Lannister

“What in the Mother’s name are you doing so far away from home?” Not taking the older knight long to dispatch the other men, Barristan took Tyrion back to camp. “And did you really think you could stop them with that little dagger?”

Quiet since his rescue, Tyrion’s different colored eyes are stuck on the ground. “No. Of course not. But I wasn’t going to go down without fighting. It wasn’t the first time I ran into someone threatening me. That’s why I’m going through the forest instead of through official roads and cities. You run into fewer obstacles that way.”

“You still haven’t answered my question of why you’re out here. Surely your father doesn’t know where you are.”

His small face twisted. “He wouldn’t even care. That’s why it doesn’t matter where I’m going.” Green and black turned to Barristan. “Thank you for saving me. I’ll be on my way now.”

Like he could let this kid go off into the wild by himself. Barristan put himself in Tyrion’s path, craning his neck down so he could meet the young boy’s gaze. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going back to Casterly Rock.”

That made the boy gawk in surprise. “How do you. . .”

“I’m a knight of the King’s Guard, boy. Barristan Selmy. You stayed at King’s Landing for your sister’s wedding.”

There was a bristle that ran around Tyrion’s frame. Unbridled and shaking as the dwarf now became apprehensive of the man in front of him. “I’m not going back to the Rock, ser.”

Crossing his arms, Selmy refused to budge. “A normal child can’t even make it in the wilderness.”

Equally resilient, Tyrion grounded his feet in place. “If you haven’t noticed ser, I made it this far all by myself. Do you know how many bloody mountains there were from Casterly Rock to here? A lot! Not to mention animals that are bigger than me. Yes, I know fully well I’m a dwarf and could be killed at any minute. But I know where I’m going and what I’m doing.” Sticking his hand into his small cloth bag, Tyrion pulled out a rolled up scroll then threw it at Selmy’s feet.

While keeping Tyrion in his line of sight, Barristan Selmy bends down to pick it up. Unrolling it revealed a rather detailed map of the region of the Reach to King’s Landing.

“You’re going to King’s Landing?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m going to meet up with Rhaegar’s army.”

“What for?”

“To ask him his favorite flavor of pudding. What do you think for?”

This kid had to be crazy. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

The fact that that didn’t seem to phase the boy much bothered Selmy greatly. He sighs, not knowing what to do, and rubs the back of his neck. He couldn’t let this boy go with good conscience. That was out of the question. And if the kid did happen to make it to Rhaegar, what then? Rhaegar had no use for a child, let alone a dwarf. Tyrion was both. He knew that back at King’s Landing, Rhaegar had a soft spot for his brother-in-law. Grief and war does horrible things to a person, and if rumors and Ser Dayne’s letter were true. . . A child should definitely not be present during those violent acts of war.

“And though Rhaegar acts his usual self, during battle. . . He turns into someone entirely else. He fights with a furocity that he never had before. As if his goal was to kill every last enemy all by himself.” He remembers Ser Arthur Dayne’s written words. Selmy didn’t want to think of him in that state.

Really, what reason was there to return Tyrion back to Tywin Lannister. There were so many cons. The boy would be miserable back there and return to being known as the Lannister Dwarf.

It wouldn’t hurt for him to come along for a little bit. More important things to attend to first, Selmy would return the boy when he was done. Plus the boy could see his sister. “Look, you’re not going to Rhaegar and I’m going to return you to Casterly Rock. But not right away. Thing is I have an urgent parcel to deliver in Essos. Utmost urgent that I can’t waste another minute. I’m going to take you along with me and return you once the parcel has been delivered.”

Immediately the boy’s eyes gleamed. “Essos?”

“Yes, have you ever been?”

A small shake of the head.

“Well now you’ll have something interesting to say when you go back home.” Finally relaxing, Barristan returns to his spot under the tree.

“Where are we porting from?” Tyrion eagerly inquired as he sat down next to Selmy as he spread out his own map.

His finger traces a line from where they were at down south. Stopping at the Red Mountains, he explains “From here we’ll go through the Torentine River. All the way to Starfall. That is where we’re leaving port from. Someone I know there will give us a ship to sail through the Summer Sea to Volantis. It’s a very delicate mission. We can’t be detected and no one must know our actual identity. Safer so no one catches wind that a King’s Guard knight and a child that looks a lot like a certain Lannister Lord’s son.”

“What is it that we’re even delivering? And why are you doing it? Like you said, you’re in the King’s Guard. Isn’t there something better you should be doing with your time?”

Selmy laughs and shows Tyrion the box. “Don’t even ask me what’s inside it. I don’t even know myself.”

For a moment, his small hands struggle to hold it but eventually gets used to the weight and examines it. Nails run along the seam. Thumping at the bulky metal latch that had no keyhole. “Odd.”

“It’s owner must know the inner mechanisms that unlock it.” Shrugging, Selmy puts away his map and starts packing his horse. “I was just told that it was incredibly important.”

The boy fantasized what could possibly be the important item inside. It wasn’t big enough to hold a sword, nor an axe or any other weapon that could be used in battle. Maybe there was a secret tome in there? Full of the incantations of magic.

“Be forewarned, this won’t be a two-day vacation. This could possibly be a month or two.”

“I don’t care. Not like I have anything to do at home anyway.”

Whatever it was, Tyrion held onto it tightly as he and Selmy got on his horse and rode off.

------

Taglist:

@boywivlove

@esposadomd

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istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Discarded Knight (Barristan II) [Chapter 59]

And the award for biggest piss baby chapter header goes to ...

All kneel for His Magnificence Hizdahr zo Loraq, Fourteenth of That Noble Name, King of Meereen, Scion of Ghis, Octarch of the Old Empire, Master of the Skahazadhan, Consort to Dragons and Blood of the Harpy," roared the herald.

Damn, his silly titles are way cooler.

Step it up, Daenerys.

+.+.+

Ser Barristan Selmy slipped a hand beneath the fold of his cloak and loosened his sword in its scabbard. No blades were allowed in the presence of the king save those of his protectors. It seemed as though he still counted amongst that number despite his dismissal. No one had tried to take his sword, at least.

In case you missed the last chapter, Barristan hates Hizdahr zo Loraq and refuses to acknowledge him as his king, but he's also offended Hizdahr isn't using him as a personal guard.

Barristan Selmy, ladies and gentlemen.

+.+.+

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony

Sorry, quick clarification -

He's referring to those rare times when she actually held court.

+.+.+

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony, smooth and simple, covered with the cushions that Ser Barristan had found to make her more comfortable. King Hizdahr had replaced the bench with two imposing thrones of gilded wood, their tall backs carved into the shape of dragons. The king seated himself in the right-hand throne with a golden crown upon his head and a jeweled sceptre in one pale hand. The second throne remained vacant.

The important throne, thought Ser Barristan. No dragon chair can replace a dragon no matter how elaborately it's carved.

Love when people look for any reason to be upset. Dragon thrones seem like a pretty clear indicator of who's in charge.

Pretty sure Hizdahr would love for Daenerys to be sitting in that seat right now, Barry.

+.+.+

The day was young and fresh, and yet he felt bone-tired, as if he'd fought all night. The older he got, the less sleep Ser Barristan seemed to need. As a squire he could sleep ten hours a night and still be yawning when he stumbled out onto the practice yard. At three-and-sixty he found that five hours a night was more than enough.

Makes sense, the effects of sleep deprivation on cognitive ability are well-documented.

+.+.+

On a bedside table he kept a beeswax candle and a small carving of the Warrior. Though he was not a pious man, the carving made him feel less alone here in this queer alien city, and it was to that he had turned in the black watches of night. Shield me from these doubts that gnaw at me, he had prayed, and give me the strength to do what is right. But neither prayer nor dawn had brought him certainty.

If you're plagued by uncertainty and doubt, maybe sit this one out.

+.+.+

In the Shavepate's place stood a fat man in a muscled breastplate and lion's mask, his heavy legs poking out beneath a skirt of leather straps: Marghaz zo Loraq, the king's cousin, new commander of the Brazen Beasts. Selmy had already formed a healthy contempt for the man. He had known his sort in King's Landing—fawning to his superiors, harsh to his inferiors, as blind as he was boastful and too proud by half.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

LMAO.

+.+.+

Skahaz could be in the hall as well, Selmy realized, that ugly face of his concealed behind a mask. Two score Brazen Beasts stood between the pillars, torchlight shining off the polished brass of their masks. The Shavepate could be any one of them.

How many times will George allude to this?

+.+.+

One woman began to wail about a brother who had died at Daznak's Pit, another of the damage to her palanquin. A fat man tore off his bandages to show the court his burned arm, where the flesh was still raw and oozing. And when a man in a blue-and-gold tokar began to speak of Harghaz the Hero, a freedman behind him shoved him to the floor. It took six Brazen Beasts to pull them apart and drag them from the hall.

It's not every day a freedman gets painted in a bad light.

+.+.+

Fox, hawk, seal, locust, lion, toad. Selmy wondered if the masks had meaning to the men who wore them.

That depends, is it a cat mask? A rat? A wolf? That would have meaning.

+.+.+

Did the same men wear the same masks every day, or did they choose new faces every morning?

She changes it every few weeks.

+.+.+

"Is it true?" a freedwoman shouted. "Is our mother dead?"

"No, no, no," Reznak screeched. "Queen Daenerys will return to Meereen in her own time in all her might and majesty. Until such time, His Worship King Hizdahr shall—"

"He is no king of mine," a freedman yelled.

Men began to shove at one another. "The queen is not dead," the seneschal proclaimed. "Her bloodriders have been dispatched across the Skahazadhan to find Her Grace and return her to her loving lord and loyal subjects. Each has ten picked riders, and each man has three swift horses, so they may travel fast and far. Queen Daenerys shall be found."

[...]

Ser Barristan let Reznak's oily words wash over him. His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing, especially useful when the speaker was intent on proving that words were truly wind.

What the hell? What did he even do? He said nothing wrong!

#JusticeForReznak

His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing

Boy, you aren't kidding.

+.+.+

Prince Quentyn was listening intently, at least. That one is his father's son. Short and stocky, plain-faced, he seemed a decent lad, sober, sensible, dutiful … but not the sort to make a young girl's heart beat faster. And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent. Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. She wants fire, and Dorne sent her mud.

It's hysterical how little credit he's giving Daenerys here. The people come first, unless it's a hot boy.

And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent.

Glad he's picked up on that. Not that it will change anything.

+.+.+

You could make a poultice out of mud to cool a fever. You could plant seeds in mud and grow a crop to feed your children. Mud would nourish you, where fire would only consume you, but fools and children and young girls would choose fire every time.

In her case, literally.

The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. - Daenerys X, AGOT

Daenerys plants no seeds in mud.

+.+.+

Behind the prince, Ser Gerris Drinkwater was whispering something to Yronwood. Ser Gerris was all his prince was not: tall and lean and comely, with a swordsman's grace and a courtier's wit. Selmy did not doubt that many a Dornish maiden had run her fingers through that sun-streaked hair and kissed that teasing smile off his lips. If this one had been the prince, things might have gone elsewise, he could not help but think … but there was something a bit too pleasant about Drinkwater for his taste. False coin, the old knight thought. He had known such men before.

Gerris is confident, I don't remember him being false. Does something come of this?

Again, this could not be more insulting to Daenerys. I love it.

+.+.+

Whatever he was whispering must have been amusing, for his big bald friend gave a sudden snort of laughter, loud enough so that the king himself turned his head toward the Dornishmen. When he saw the prince, Hizdahr zo Loraq frowned.

Ser Barristan did not like that frown. And when the king beckoned his cousin Marghaz closer, leaned down, and whispered in his ear, he liked that even less.

Providing context for later.

+.+.+

Martell was dancing in a vipers' nest, and he did not even see the snakes. His continued presence, even after Daenerys had given herself to another before the eyes of gods and men, would provoke any husband, and Quentyn no longer had the queen to shield him from Hizdahr's wroth.

I'm going to agree with Barry on this one. There's no reason for Quentyn to still be hanging around, and pursuing Daenerys. It's disrespectful to say the least.

With that being said, I've yet to see any evidence of Hizdahr being a wrathful man.

+.+.+

Although …

The thought hit him like a slap across the face. Quentyn had grown up amongst the courts of Dorne. Plots and poisons were no strangers to him. Nor was Prince Lewyn his only uncle. He is kin to the Red Viper. Daenerys had taken another for her consort, but if Hizdahr died, she would be free to wed again. Could the Shavepate have been wrong? Who can say that the locusts were meant for Daenerys? It was the king's own box. What if he was meant to be the victim all along? Hizdahr's death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war. Daenerys might have had no better choice than Quentyn and his marriage pact.

And they say Victarion is the dumbest point of view character. Quentyn doesn't have a single friend in Meereen, how could he achieve any of this?

Anyway, he did manage to consider a strong possibility: Hizdahr was the Shavepate's target.

Hizdahr's death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war.

Great point, Barry.

Quick question, what happens if he's arrested?

+.+.+

The Yunkishmen had come. Three Wise Masters led the procession from the Yellow City, each with his own armed retinue. One slaver wore a tokar of maroon silk fringed with gold, one a striped tokar of teal and orange, the third an ornate breastplate inlaid with erotic scenes done in jet and jade and mother-of-pearl. The sellsword captain Bloodbeard accompanied them with a leathern sack slung across one massive shoulder and a look of mirth and murder on his face.

No Tattered Prince, Selmy noted. No Brown Ben Plumm. Ser Barristan eyed Bloodbeard coolly. Give me half a reason to dance with you, and we will see who is laughing at the end.

Reznak mo Reznak wormed his way forward. "Wise Masters, you honor us. His Radiance King Hizdahr bids welcome to his friends from Yunkai. We understand—"

+.+.+

"Understand this." Bloodbeard pulled a severed head from his sack and flung it at the seneschal.

[...]

Gingerly, so gingerly, the seneschal approached the head, lifted it delicately by the hair. "Admiral Groleo."

I'm sorry, can we take a second to go over this man's story?

Captain Groleo is tasked with bringing Daenerys back to Pentos.

Instead, she renames all his ships to Targaryen dragons, and commands him to take her to Slaver's Bay, so she may buy a slave army.

Daenerys realizes she can't take Meereen without siege engines. She orders his ships destroyed for wood.

Groleo is then named admiral by Daenerys, but doesn't actually have a fleet, making it an empty title.

After the peace deal, he's handed over to the Yunkish commanders as a hostage.

Finally, he's beheaded because of Drogon.

Wow.

+.+.+

Ser Barristan glanced toward the throne. He had served so many kings, he could not help but imagine how they might have reacted to this provocation. Aerys would have flinched away in horror, likely cutting himself on the barbs of the Iron Throne, then shrieked at his swordsmen to cut the Yunkishmen to pieces. Robert would have shouted for his hammer to repay Bloodbeard in kind. Even Jaehaerys, reckoned weak by many, would have ordered the arrest of Bloodbeard and the Yunkish slavers.

If that's what two Targs and Robert Baratheon would have done, then surely there's a better option.

Can you see Bran doing any of the above? Keep in mind the Jaehaerys option instantly triggers war.

+.+.+

Hizdahr sat frozen, a man transfixed. Reznak set the head on a satin pillow at the king's feet, then scampered away, his mouth twisted up in a moue of distaste. Ser Barristan could smell the seneschal's heavy floral perfume from several yards away.

You're not fooling anyone, George.

Can't wait for the honourable Barristan Selmy to be happily standing next to Daenerys when she kills this poor man.

+.+.+

"This," King Hizdahr said at last, "this is not … we are not pleased, this … what is the meaning of this … this …"

Use your big boy king words, please.

+.+.+

The slaver in the maroon tokar produced a parchment. "I have the honor to bear this message from the council of masters." He unrolled the scroll. "It is here written, 'Seven entered Meereen to sign the peace accords and witness the celebratory games at the Pit of Daznak. As surety for their safety, seven hostages were tendered us. The Yellow City mourns its noble son Yurkhaz zo Yunzak, who perished cruelly whilst a guest of Meereen. Blood must pay for blood.'"

Groleo had a wife back in Pentos. Children, grandchildren. Why him, of all the hostages? Jhogo, Hero, and Daario Naharis all commanded fighting men, but Groleo had been an admiral without a fleet. Did they draw straws, or did they think Groleo the least valuable to us, the least likely to provoke reprisal? the knight asked himself … but it was easier to pose that question than to answer it. I have no skill at unraveling such knots.

I'm inclined to believe this. I can't find the quotes now, but it's been made clear Yunkai has no desire to test the dragons, regardless of all their threats of war.

I have no skill at unraveling such knots.

We can tell.

+.+.+

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan called out. "If it please you to recall, the noble Yurkhaz died by happenstance. He stumbled on the steps as he tried to flee the dragon and was crushed beneath the feet of his own slaves and companions. That, or his heart burst in terror. He was old."

Fair point.

Edit: I didn’t even notice he said grace again. Twat.

Thank you, @kadarakey!

+.+.+

Hizdahr zo Loraq could not seem to look away from the head. Only when Reznak whispered something in his ear did he finally bestir himself.

Is the newly developed sadist getting off on it or something?

+.+.+

"Yurkhaz zo Yunzak was your supreme commander," he said. "Which of you speaks for Yunkai now?"

"All of us," said the rabbit. "The council of masters."

King Hizdahr found some steel. "Then all of you bear the responsibility for this breach of our peace."

The Yunkishman in the breastplate gave answer. "Our peace has not been breached. Blood pays for blood, a life for a life. To show our good faith, we return three of your hostages." The iron ranks behind him parted. Three Meereenese were ushered forward, clutching at their tokars—two women and a man.

"Sister," said Hizdahr zo Loraq, stiffly. "Cousins."

Without more information, it's hard to say why they've chosen to return Hizdahr's family. Maybe they're avoiding further provocation. Maybe they're buying him off. Maybe they'd like him to look terrible. Maybe the author is baiting the reader, and making it seem like Hizdahr's in on the plot.

+.+.+

Reznak mo Reznak cleared his throat noisily. "Meaning no offense, yet it seems to me that Her Worship Queen Daenerys gave you … ah … seven hostages. The other three …"

"The others shall remain our guests," announced the Yunkish lord in the breastplate, "until the dragons have been destroyed."

Reznak's even speaking up for the other hostages!

+.+.+

A hush fell across the hall. Then came the murmurs and the mutters, whispered curses, whispered prayers, the hornets stirring in their hive. "The dragons …" said King Hizdahr.

"… are monsters, as all men saw in Daznak's Pit. No true peace is possible whilst they live."

Accurate.

+.+.+

Reznak replied. "Her Magnificence Queen Daenerys is Mother of Dragons. Only she can—"

Reznak, who rightfully hates the dragons, is objecting to them being killed without Daenerys agreeing.

#JusticeForReznak

+.+.+

Hizdahr zo Loraq rose slowly from his dragon throne. "I must consult my council. This court is done."

I'm okay with this decision.

+.+.+

"Prince Quentyn," Selmy called. "Might I beg a word?"

Quentyn Martell turned. "Ser Barristan. Of course. My chambers are one level down."

No. "It is not my place to counsel you, Prince Quentyn … but if I were you, I would not return to my chambers. You and your friends should go down the steps and leave."

[...]

"Swords can be replaced," said Ser Barristan. "I can provide you with coin enough for passage back to Dorne. Prince Quentyn, the king made note of you today. He frowned."

This is a -little- dramatic.

We've gone from Barristan believing Hizdahr is weak to Barristan believing Hizdahr is plotting to kill Quentyn in roughly 10 seconds.

+.+.+

Gerris Drinkwater laughed. "Should we be frightened of Hizdahr zo Loraq? You saw him just now. He quailed before the Yunkishmen. They sent him a head, and he did nothing."

Quentyn Martell nodded in agreement. "A prince does well to think before he acts. This king … I do not know what to think of him. The queen warned me against him as well, true, but …"

That can't possibly be the son of Doran Martell saying this.

Hizdahr elected to do exactly what Doran Martell would have done. Think it over.

+.+.+

"She warned you?" Selmy frowned. "Why are you still here?"

Prince Quentyn flushed. "The marriage pact—"

I feel for him, but this is beyond pathetic.

Go home, Quentyn. It's not your failure.

+.+.+

"—was made by two dead men and contained not a word about the queen or you. It promised your sister's hand to the queen's brother, another dead man. It has no force. Until you turned up here, Her Grace was ignorant of its existence. Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear. If the queen had known of this pact in Qarth, she might never have turned aside for Slaver's Bay, but you came too late. I have no wish to salt your wounds, but Her Grace has a new husband and an old paramour, and seems to prefer the both of them to you."

Anger flashed in the prince's dark eyes. "This Ghiscari lordling is no fit consort for the queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

I don't disagree, but he's one to talk. Ask his sister how King Quentyn sounds.

Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear.

I mean, yeah.

+.+.+

The shock was plain on Prince Quentyn's face. "Poison … meant for Daenerys?"

"Her or Hizdahr. Perhaps both. The box was his, though. His Grace made all the arrangements. If the poison was his doing … well, he will need a scapegoat. Who better than a rival from a distant land who has no friends at this court? Who better than a suitor the queen spurned?"

Quentyn Martell went pale. "Me? I would never … you cannot think I had any part in any …"

That was the truth, or he is a master mummer. "Others might," said Ser Barristan. "The Red Viper was your uncle. And you have good reason to want King Hizdahr dead."

Is that what poisoners do? Frame people? Imbecile.

Absolutely incredible this muffin isn't able to apply that same spurned suitor logic to another candidate.

Hizdahr zo Loraq might be worth a careful look. Sooner him than Skahaz. The Shavepate had offered to set aside his wife for her, but the notion made her shudder. Hizdahr at least knew how to smile. - Daenerys I, ADWD

If I wed Hizdahr, will that turn Skahaz against me? She trusted Skahaz more than she trusted Hizdahr, but the Shavepate would be a disaster as a king. He was too quick to anger, too slow to forgive. She saw no gain in wedding a man as hated as herself. Hizdahr was well respected, so far as she could see. - Daenerys IV, ADWD

At least he knows Quentyn's telling the truth. How low can this bar go.

+.+.+

"So do others," suggested Gerris Drinkwater. "Naharis, for one. The queen's …"

"… paramour," Ser Barristan finished, before the Dornish knight could say anything that might besmirch the queen's honor. "That is what you call them down in Dorne, is it not?" He did not wait for a reply. "Prince Lewyn was my Sworn Brother. In those days there were few secrets amongst the Kingsguard. I know he kept a paramour. He did not feel there was any shame in that."

Look at him bend himself into a pretzel trying to justify the queen's open love affair with a homicidal sellsword.

Is there any shame in Daenerys producing an heir we don't know Hizdahr fathered, Barry?

+.+.+

"Daario would kill Hizdahr in a heartbeat if he dared," Ser Barristan went on. "But not with poison. Never. And Daario was not there in any case. Hizdahr would be pleased to blame him for the locusts, all the same … but the king may yet have need of the Stormcrows, and he will lose them if he appears complicit in the death of their captain. No, my prince. If His Grace needs a poisoner, he will look to you." He had said all that he could safely say. In a few more days, if the gods smiled on them, Hizdahr zo Loraq would no longer rule Meereen … but no good would be served by having Prince Quentyn caught up in the bloodbath that was coming.

Do you understand that means war, you fucking muppet?

The man constantly asks himself what Daenerys would want ...

The Shavepate was not wrong. Daenerys would want her children protected. - The Queensguard, ADWD

What would Daenerys want? he asked himself. He thought he knew. - The Discarded Knight, ADWD

Was he doing what Daenerys would have wanted? I was not made for this. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

yet every action he takes further erodes her peace deal.

I want no war with Yunkai. How many times must I say it? - Daenerys VI, ADWD

+.+.+

"What name do you think they will give me, should I return to Dorne without Daenerys?" Prince Quentyn asked. "Quentyn the Cautious? Quentyn the Craven? Quentyn the Quail?"

The Prince Who Came Too Late, the old knight thought … but if a knight of the Kingsguard learns nothing else, he learns to guard his tongue. "Quentyn the Wise," he suggested. And hoped that it was true.

Final thoughts:

The only ending I will accept is him watching her bleed out, immediately followed by the least knightly death possible.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #the discarded knight #barristan ii

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coffee-in-veins · 1 year

Text

Face Your Failure and how to uproot all of character’s backstory and development in one model or less - a practical guide by RedHook

can anyone tell from that title that i’m salty yet?

so major spoilers ahead about which i couldn’t care less, but people love this game and i want to be polite, and as objective as i can be, so: please be warned, DD2 ending and boss moveset is discussed under Keep reading. if you want to experience the ending for yourself, spoiler free, do not read

Edit: you know, after contemplating about it, i realized - it’s not a bug, it’s a feature (tm.). this is distilled quintessence of everything wrong with this game. it shows you everything, places all cards down and punishes you one almost-last time if you cared or paid attention - the last time will be in the very last cutscene, if you pay attention to the lower part of it. if this, too, doesn’t bother you, you won’t have any issues with this game. if you did, this will be the last nail you needed to lean back and take time to contemplate your choices.

i think they shouldn’t fix this. because this is what Darkest Dungeon had become, and they should be honest about it and their attitude.

so. the big bad boss on the throne has a move called Face Your Failure - which, as the title suggests, summons what the chatacter you select (Come unto thy maker-style) thinks is his biggest failure in life. Para gets her zombie mentor, Barristan gets the spectre of his fallen comrades, Audrey... gets a zombie of the husband who tortured... and... abused her...? Including sexually...? Do you want to tell something by showing this, RH...? Something very, very dubious...?

But I digress. I’m here to show you that writing in DD2 makes no goddamn sense (tm.) by pointing to our beloved rateating highwayman:

Namely, pay close attention to the mob it summons for Dismas

it isn’t too obvious, and the arena is spun wide to see all of the tentacles and the iron crown, so here is a closeup:

notice anything interesting about its weapons? let me give you a hint.

this is the guard from the clown car the stagecoach that Dismas robbed in his backstory, in which the woman and child were. the ones he killed by his reflexes misfiring after the fight was over accidentally “in erratic gunfire”. the ones which spiked his guilt. the ones which pushed him into character development and coming to Hamlet and trying to find redemption. you know? that tiny miny plotpoint thing which was the culmination of his backstory and made him the character who we knew? that passing thing?

and this is the prison guard from his very first shrine:

do you notice the weapon choice? the stagecoach guards have swords while prison guards have batons. and the big bad boss summons a spectre of Dismas biggest failure. with a baton in hand. a prison guard.

I... genuinely dunno what to say, because the implication, unless I’ve lost my mind, is that Dismas’ biggest failure in life was getting out of prison. and this scene in the credits:

makes no goddamn sense (tm.) because this is not his biggest failure - prison is. the locket isn’t tormenting. it’s not shameful. it’s just there. it means nothing. because a cosmic deity which supposedly knows all of existence showed Dismas his biggest fear - and it had nothing to do with killing innocents.

i could’ve chalked it to cuts on model prices. but Audrey received a new model of her deceased husband. if Dis got a spectre of the woman he killed, the ghost of the child staring at him, anything - Reynauld’s corpse half-eaten by the Heart of Darkness for fuck’s sake! - it would’ve been better. but no. he has a prison guard. because who cares. it looks cool and that’s enough.

on a more personal note... i’m happy i didn’t have the money to buy early access. i genuinely am. i’m tired. i know i would never buy it, now. not after their eradication of Reynauld, not after how they butchered Dismas. if you can enjoy the game - more power to you. i’m not here to police your fun. but for me... DD2 got cancelled during development stage, and only thanks to Shibs’ vigilence we got to see the models and animations. but nothing else exists because accepting it is a far too tall of an ask.

now i crawl back into my cozy reymas saltmines.

#Grievings of the mountain || discussing DD2 #darkest dungeon 2 #dd highwayman #dismas #dd2 spoilers

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khalesci · 4 months

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♛ ⊱ @kronulv ⊱ ∗ 73﹕ sender and receiver stand in stunned silence after a fight . (Teaching how to fight 👀)

ㅤㅤㅤIT HAD BEEN HER INSISTANCE TO LEARN. Her life is in more danger with each passing day. Meereen has a Yunkish army marching to its doorstep, an alliance between Qarth and other slave cities has blockaded the sea, and her own consort may very well have her killed in her sleep before any of these invaders can get to her first. If she is to survive, she must be able to protect herself. Ser Barristan had taught her a few basics, but he would go no further; he dared not risk harm to the queen, no matter her insistence. Daario had shown her tricks with a dagger, but dismissed her when she asked for a sword. Both seemed to think the matter was futile. They look at her and see only a small woman, but was not Visenya Targaryen one of the greatest warriors of her time? That is the same blood that runs in her veins.

ㅤㅤㅤIt was a last resort to approach the Northern king, but now she thinks she should have gone to him first. The women in the North are fierce, and some are known to fight alongside the men. And Robb is a fair teacher. It's easy to lose hours at practice, once she's gotten used to finding herself in the dirt. But Daenerys never stays down for long, always back on her feet and ready to try again. It's more fun than she'd thought it would be. Her arms have adjusted to the weight of the practice sword, as tired and numb as they may feel after all this time spent sparring. The Targaryen is breathing heavily by the end of this latest round as her back meets one of the pillars of the training room, her weapon knocked from her hand as his own rests above her shoulder. She lost again, that's plain to see, yet neither moves away, the sound of panting breaths the only thing heard for a long moment. It's easier to stop and see him now, to truly see him. Even covered in sweat and dust he looks like a portrait. ❝ At least I didn't end up on the ground again, ❞ Dany breaks the silence, if only to stop herself from lingering upon thoughts she should not have. A smile spreads across her features, and she finally raises her hands to yield. ❝ What do you think? Am I getting better? ❞

#kronulv #♛ ic. ⊱ ❝ 𝘔𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘴. ❞#♛ verse ⊱ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 #I love how you enable me <3

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dtyfp2 · 26 days

Text

An Hour or Two

The Great War

“Why have we stopped? What’s the matter?” Jaime asks as the carriage is ordered to a stop.

“My legs tire of sitting uncle. I should like to ride, or walk, just for a while,” you answer as you get out and stretch your legs. You had been cramped in the carriage for a few hours now and you swore your legs had begun to cramp.

“Come Joffrey, switch places with me for a moment,” you call out, your younger brother circling around on his stead.

“Princes don’t sit in carriages with their mother,” Joffrey scoffs, glancing at Jaime, as if pleading to stay outside.

“Prince’s don’t have to remind other people that they are a Prince. You’ve never ridden this long before Joff, you must be tired, switch with me for an hour or two,” you insist, reminding your younger brother of his humility as you wave him off. With a nod from Jaime, Joffrey climbs off his horse to switch, at least having the decency to help you up before sitting in the carriage next to Myrcella.

You wait for the carriage to continue on before falling in step alongside Ser Barristan.

“It’ll be safer in the carriage, princess,” he reminds you, though he doesn’t seem opposed to the idea of your company.

“You’re right, it is,” you agree without arguement. Ser Barristan hides his smile as he looks on ahead.

“Tell me again what Ser Arthur Dayne like? Was he truly as great as the legends say he is?” you ask, making conversation as Jaime slows to ride alongside the other side of you.

“He was one of the greatest swordsmen I’ve ever seen. He was an artist, princess, almost as talented as you are with your needling,” Ser Barristan reminsces with a smile.

“Almost?” you muse with a laugh.

“Almost,” Ser Barristan chuckles.

“He was called the ‘Sword of the Morning,’ it takes a great man to wield a sword like that. I don’t think I could have. Everyone always thought his prowess came from his sword, the mighty valyrian Steel named Dawn, the ancestral sword of house Dayne. But he fought well without it,” he tells you.

“Once, in the midst of a duel, his opponent’s sword had been battered by Dawn. Ser Arthur, ever so honourable, allowed him reprieve to fetch another. When his opponent demanded Dawn, Ser Arthur simply handed it over to him and defeated him with a regular sword,” Jaime tells you. It’s a story you’ve heard many times over the years, but you enjoyed hearing it nonetheless.

“Dawn did not make Ser Arthur infamous, he made his sword so,” Barristan agrees. You ruminate on his words before laughing.

“He sounds handsome,” you sigh dreamily, forcing an unsuspecting laugh from Jaime and Barristan.

“Aye, well, I don’t think he had any trouble with women before becoming a sworn brother,” Ser Selmy chuckles.

“Even after he was sworn in, many a woman tried, many a woman failed,” Jaime admits.

“Have many a woman tried with you, Ser Barristan?” You ask teasingly. The older man stops laughing immediantly, and he stutters over his words for the first time in your memory. You share an amused look with Jaime at his sudden awkwardness.

“Uh…well, if they have tried, princess, I haven’t noticed,” he answers, his face so obviously red even despite the fact it was hiding under his helmet. You decide to stop teasing him (for now at least) and take a moment to admire the scnery around you.

“By the light, it sure is getting cold out here, isn’t it?” You say rhetorically after Jaime is called back to the main carriage by your mother.

“We are getting deeper north now, Princess, I’m afraid it’ll only get colder from here on out,” Ser Barristan tells you. Before you can ask one of the ladies nearby to fetch your coat, Ser Barristan is already unclipping cloak and reaching over to wrap it around you.

“You must not allow yourself to be cold, princess, I’ll worry if you catch a cold,” the older knight says softly as he resituates himself back on his horse.

“It is a shame you’ve sworn yourself into the brotherhood, Ser Selmy, I’m afraid you’ve cost some woman out there a most loving husband. But her loss is our gain, surely, you’re one of the finest men I have ever known,” you tell him as you wrap the cloak around yourself a bit tighter. It seems your promise of not teasing him was short lived, Ser Barristan smiles warmly at your honour.

“I was betrothed, princess, and she married my cousin after me. They are quite happy together,” Ser Barristan quips, much to your amusement. You hide a laugh behind your hand, but the sound still escapes.

“My, I had nearly forgotten about that,” you realize. It was strange to think of Ser Selmy betrothed, it was strange to think of him as a young man at all. You wonder what he was like when he was young. What dreams did he have? What games did he play as a boy? Had he ever made his parents so cross that they had to scold him? Was he a cheeky boy growing up? Ser Selmy had always been such a steady presence in your life growing up, the ever so loyal, stoic knight that has watched over you for nearly every day since your birth.

“Ser Selmy, have you always wanted to be a knight?” You ask him suddenly.

“Yes, princess,” he nods, without even thinking about it.

“Didn’t you want to be anything else growing up? Surely you could’ve been anything. How did you know knighthood was for you?” you press curiously.

“Growing up, I had always wanted to be a knight. I was raised hearing the songs and stories of the great knights before me. I entered a tourney when I was 10 but no man would face me. It wasn’t until Duncan Targaryen took pity on me and jousted me. He defeated me, of course, but from then on I knew one day I would be a great Knight and that I would defeat him one day,” Ser Barristan tells you.

“And you did,” you smile, recalling the story he has told you many times past whenever you asked how he was named ‘The Bold’.

“And I did,” he smiles proudly.

“What would you like to do one day, princess?” Ser Barristan asks you. You sigh and think. What else could you possibly be besides the princess?

“Loved,” you answer finally. You were quiet for so long that Ser Selmy was worried he had upset you.

“Loved?” He questions.

“I know one day I will be married, it’s what princesses do. But I hope to marry for love, father promised I could. I want to be loved like Jenny of Oldstones was by Duncan Targaryen,” you tell him. You loved your mother and your father, but you hoped and prayed your future marriage wouldn’t turn out like theirs.

“Do you think I will?” You ask him, unsure of the possibilities yourself.

“You already are loved, princess, by the people. Any man would be lucky you even glanced his way, let alone married him. To be loved…is a noble endevour,” Ser Barristan assures you.

“Besides, if your husband is ever uncalmly towards you, you should only ever need to write me one letter. I shall ride to wherever you are, no matter what anyone says, and I’ll kill him myself,” Ser Barristan promises.

You laugh out loud at the thought, but appreciate his sentiment nonetheless. It doesn’t even occur to you of how easily Ser Barristan speaks of betraying his vows, but he would, he would if you asked him.

“Thank you Ser Selmy, I knew I could count on you,” you chuckle. Your laughter draws the attention of your father who was riding ahead, near the front of the garrison.

“Helen, come ride alongside me,” your father calls. You say your goodbyes to Ser Selmy before riding faster, falling into step beside your father.

“Isn’t the fresh air lovely?” You ask your father, who always seemed to be in a jolly mood when outdoors. Your father was a mighty warrior, sometimes you thought he may have been better suited to remain one, to travel and find glory elsewhere. Alas, the Kingdom’s needed a King and he was the one to step up.

“It is,” he nods, glancing over at you. Sometimes, just sometimes in a certain light, you reminded him of his beloved Lyanna. To be honest, it had been so long that Robert had long forgotten what she even looked like, but he imagines she looked like you. Young and beautiful, dark hair being blown lightly by the breeze, pale skin matching the snow around you.

“It was a good idea, to come North. The Red Keep can be suffocating,” your father says, drawing your attention back to him.

“The Red Keep is beautiful, father, you only dislike the constant bustling around of men and women demanding your constant attention,” you correct him.

“Is that so? You know everything about me, don’t you?” Robert chuckles at his eldest daughters inquisition.

“Yes I do,” you nod your head, matter of factly.

“It is because I know everything, that I know you’re beginning to tire. Let’s make camp for the evening,” you suggest. Robert looks up at the sky, they should keep travelling for an hour or two more before stopping, but what was one or two hours against his daughters wish?Just as she knew him, he knew her. She tired of sitting in the carriage and now she began to feel sore from riding.

“Alright, little princess, we shall rest here for the night.”

#robb stark imagines #robb stark #game of thrones #game of thrones imagines

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inlovewithquotes · 9 months

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The slippers the Butcher King had sent her had grown too uncomfortable. Dany kicked them off and sat with one foot tucked beneath her and the other swinging back and forth. It was not a very regal pose, but she was tired of being regal. The crown had given her a headache, and her buttocks had gone to sleep. "Ser Barristan," she called, "I know what quality a king needs most."

"Courage, Your Grace?"

"Cheeks like iron," she teased. "All I do is sit."

-A Dance With Dragons

#quotes #book quotes #literature #books & libraries #life quotes #george rr martin #asoiaf quotes #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #a dance with dragons #adwd #daenerys targeryan #barristan selmy

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minsyal · 1 year

Text

Long May He Reign, Pt. II

Tywin Lannister x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: General Game of Thrones violence later on, death and stuff, shitty characterizations, eh age differences, Ser Barristan being a lovely darling ✨

Masterlist

“And what does our Master of Laws have to contribute to this discussion?” Tywin leaned back in his chair, seated at the head of the small council’s table.

Symond Staunton had been valiantly listening to the conversation, almost to the point of his interest being overwhelming. He squinted, drawing his bushy brows together as his slitted eyes scanned over the scroll of notes he had brought with him. A single finger raked over the paper; the tip of his uncut nail made a scratchy sound that had the princess cringing from her usual perch in the corner of the room.

Just because her father had become a recluse did not mean that she would stop fulfilling her assigned duties. She still attended lessons with her septa though they often proved to be useless nowadays, she attended court daily in the gallery, and she took strolls about the gardens to mingle with the other women. But of all her daily activities, she particularly enjoyed the start of the week the most. Whereas she used to dread council meetings, she now enjoyed them. With Lord Tywin leading the charge, discussion ended faster and afterward she would always be swept away to dine with him in the Tower of the Hand.

“Osbert has been found to have been adding sawdust to his bread again.”

Tywin drummed his fingers on the table and chewed at the inside of his mouth. “Ser Gerold, have your men confiscate all of Osbert’s baked goods and distribute them in Flea Bottom. Prohibit his sales for the next week and,” his cheeks hollowed as he suctioned his tongue to the back of his teeth, “fine him. 5 silver stags.”

“My Lord, would a fine as such be enough to deter others from committing the same crime?” Lord Qarlton, the Master of Coin, added.

“For a baker? Yes.” Tywin tapped the edge of his glass in thought, unrealizing that he had just inadvertently summoned the princess as she came to his side and refilled his goblet. He turned his head at the movement, having to conceal the smile that puckered his lips as he watched her walk away. “Ser Gerold, your report?”

From his spot at the edge of the table, standing as he always did, Ser Gerold stepped forward. “Dungeons are full. One of the crows is coming down from the Wall in the coming week to have his pick.”

“And the rest of them?”

“They’ll face the king.”

Tywin nodded, along with the rest of the table, knowing exactly what was going to happen to the men who were not chosen for the watch. “Have a second cart of supplies readied. There is always a need for more men at the Wall.”

The rest of the meeting carried on, lasting about another hour in duration before the men grew tired and prepared to leave to attend to the other activities on their plates. Once again the room cleared, leaving Tywin alone with the princess who tidied the table and stacked dishes for the maids to get later.

“Sawdust in bread.” The princess contemplated, listening as Tywin shuffled his papers. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

A quick exhale passed by his nose. She truly was a princess. “During a long winter, the people need to keep their stomachs full.”

“It must taste dreadful.” Finalizing her work, she turned to face Tywin. Her hands rested on the table behind her, propping herself leisurely against it. Today she wore a fine dress of another thick material. It was stiffer than what she normally dressed in, but the style suited her. The neckline was delicate against her soft skin, framing her chest in a portrait style. Belled sleeves hung loosely at her wrists, framed with an intricate embroidery of golden thread.

“It doesn’t add much to the taste.”

“Then why is it a crime?”

Tywin was looking more kingly as the days went on. It almost seemed like he had grown a few inches. Perhaps his renewed presence on the throne was the contributing matter. He was fit for the throne and the princess did not mind that he was the silent ruler of Westeros. Giving his stack of papers a final pat, he raised his head and took in the sight before him.

She had changed quite a bit over the past year since their first kiss. While still dutiful and perfect as could be, she had a new spark inside her. A subtle mischevy brewed in her soul that bubbled more and more each day. Rhaegar was definitely one of the reasons she was opening up more. He encouraged her to mingle with the women who walked the Red Keep on a daily basis and she did. But the main factor for her change was standing before her - Tywin Lannister.

“Principle.” Crossing the room to stand in front of her, his hand moved on instinct brushing a stray hair away from her face. “If we allow the common baker to slight the people, what will stop the people from slighting us?”

The doorway had been closed behind the last exiting member, but it did not put any ease on her racing heart. Every moment they shared in such close proximity, she feared that her father would come barreling into the room and call for their executions. Yet, she couldn’t resist the concentrated allure that drew her to him. “Such a brilliant mind for politics.” Combing her fingers through his slicked hair, she allowed her hand to find a resting place on the nape of his neck. “Why is it that you aren’t the king?”

They both knew the answer.

“A Targaryen male will always sit the throne over the united Kingdom’s.” His own hands had moved. One rested on her cheek. The other was placed on her arm, gently cradling it in her hold. “You need watch your words, Princess. Illyn Payne lost his tongue for similar vocalizations.”

“I know, but that is why I spoke it only to you.” She sighed, relaxing into his grasp. “The realm prospers under your oversight. That is not something that anyone denies.”

“Indeed,” he rubbed his thumb over the apple of her cheek, “it is, and someday your brother will sit the throne.”

“I’m well aware.”

“It was speculated that he would rise to power during your father’s stint in Duskendale. He will be a good king. When he does take his rightful place,” Tywin pushed her chin upward to lock their eyes, “where do you plan to be? If you speak against your father, it will only end in an early grave.”

“My plan…” The princess got lost in the sparkling emeralds of his gaze, practically drowning in the jeweling sea that flickered through his eyes. The two had often shared moments as such after their first. Rhaegar had been the only to know until recently when the princess tasked Ser Barristan with ensuring nobody searched for her in her chambers one evening. She trusted that they would not tell another living soul. “Perhaps, I’ll be at Casterly Rock?”

“Casterly Rock?” Tywin repeated with a knowing look. “What business would you have there?”

She pressed forward, standing on her toes to brush her nose against his. Her long lashes fluttered shut as a smile spread across her lips. “The business of being your wife.” Their lips met for a short kiss, relishing in one another’s touch. Pulling backward, Tywin could not help the smile that tugged at either side of his lips. “Would you like that?” Her tone was wishful and full of an unbridled hope that everyone held while they were young.

Tywin, having lived twenty one years longer than her, knew how the world worked. He knew that marriages of love were often only for the poor and downtrodden. Princesses and princes were to wed in arranged matches that usually led to both parties being unhappy. In his earlier years, he was lucky. He had wed his dearest, Joanna, only to have her torn away from him with the birth of his youngest. Before, it could be said that he was naive enough to believe that a pleasurable life was something within everyone’s grasp. The tunnel did have another side that brought light and cheer.

Now, though, he wasn’t sure. The world was cruel and unforgiving. Wars led to atrocities and atrocities led to war. Love would not last forever. The princess he truly cared for would be married off, sent away, and never to be seen again. He would lose another woman, and the hardest part would be that she would still be living. As much as he longed for Joanna, there was no place on the horizon for her return. If he were to lose (Y/n), she would still be out there. She would be with another man in his bed, in his arms, under his cloak of protection, and he wasn’t sure if he could live with that.

But for now, he would live with what he could have.

The beautiful princess of Westeros.

“I would.”

~~~*~~~

“No, Ser Barristan, it isn’t like that.”

The princess walked the gardens with her trusted knight. He held no particular feelings toward Tywin outside of the realm of respect. Both men had made good names for themselves and held high reputations for their respective works. Being in close proximity in age, they had known of one another for years, and would likely continue knowing one another for many more.

“He’s courting you, princess.” Ser Barristan noted, looking down at the girl he had always seen as a daughter.

“Perhaps, have you considered the notion that I want him to court me?” She said coquettishly, gripping at the front of her skirts as she swayed them back and forth.

The moon had risen some hours ago, casting the castle into dusk as the servants ran from torch to torch, lighting the outer walls with flames. She liked these times and often strolled through the gardens when the night was deep. Ser Barristan had taken to joining her, only finding out about her habit in the past months. He had nearly choked when he learned that she had been doing it for years.

“He is my age, princess. There are many younger that vye for your hand.” The moonlight danced across the shadows of his white cape, painting it in an arctic blue haze. “Mace Tyrell is your age, Lord of Highgarden. He would make a good match.”

“You and I both know that Mace Tyrell isn’t my type. He sent for my hand years ago and my father denied it just as he denied Brandon Stark, Robert Baratheon, and Jaime Lannister. All the children of the current lords are too young. I’ve got my eyes set on one man, and I intend on having him.

“You’ve grown bold.” He kicked his boots at the dirt, focusing on a particular rock that he had been keeping in front of his foot for the duration of their walk.

She exhaled, finding humor in his words. “Bold only to a select few… I don’t want an arranged marriage, I want a marriage of love.”

“You love him? Lord Tywin?”

Thinking for a moment, she stopped in her tracks and looked over the garden of flowering spring bushes. Even in the night, the garden glowed with an ethereal mist that exploded in a burst of whimsy. The plush petals of the gardenia flowers appeared in a powdery blue hue, pairing beautifully to the rose-pink azalea bushes that sprouted from the beds. As the spring-time vegetation grew, so did her heart. Never asking for anything she wanted, she had denied herself of her own wishes for many years. Walking the straight and narrow was simple whenever Tywin wasn’t involved, but the moment he made his presence clear to her she stumbled and couldn’t regain her footing. Thoughts of him jumbled in her mind, pushing all her past ideas and visions away to make room for the intense infatuation she held for the Lord Hand.

“I do.”

~~~*~~~

Another month carried on with the same form starting at dawn and ending at dusk. The population of King's Landing and the surrounding lands came to the Red Keep seeking an audience with Aerys II. Only, instead of the king, they would find Tywin Lannister sitting the throne. Not that the people complained. Tywin ran Westeros with a tight watch, he reigned in any defiance and kept things running neatly.

On the few occasions when king Aerys did emerge from his chambers, it would be to oversee the execution of thieves with the plethora of wildfire he had the pyromancers crafting day and night. His descent into madness was palpable, the speedy fall from his peak was noted by nobles and commoners alike. It was especially felt by his two children. In a year, they had seen their father go from a somewhat irritable man who had his good days and bad to a man who did not trust even his own kin enough to stand in his presence without a kingsguard to protect him.

Nine months after his return from Duskendale, Viserys Targaryen III was born. A healthy baby with rotund and soft features was brought into this world. The kingdom rejoiced, as he had been the first child to live through the night since Rhaegar was born nearly eight years prior. Celebrations were held and the news of a tournament fated to be held at Lannisport was on the ears of anyone that would listen. Most excited was Rhaegar, who was the shining star of the Targaryen household, the Dragon of Westeros and far beyond. He was rarely bested at tourneys and lived for the cheer and roars from the masses.

“You should go.” Rhaegar suggested as if it were that plain and simple. From the pocket of his silken tunic, he revealed a small scroll of parchment. “Your valiant Lord Tywin extended his invitation to the entire family.”

“Father won’t let me go, you know that.” She unraveled the paper, eyes falling upon the elegant ink that glided across the page. “The most I have been outside of the Red Keep was when we left for the evening and you pranced about in the streets.”

“It is called ‘fun,’ sister.” Rhaegar defended, snatching the scroll back in the most dramatic fashion. Tywin had been visiting home when Viserys was born and given the invitation he had sent, he intended on staying there until the event had passed. “You could still go.” When his sister gawked back at him with stricken features, he gave a wide smile and mimicked her expression. “What? Father never comes from his chambers. Do you believe he will attend? We can leave at dusk tonight and arrive at Casterly Rock in twenty days… likely less. Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur are attending, they are preparing the horses now.”

“I don’t know how to ride.”

“Then you can ride with me.”

The cooling air of the spring night breezed through their silver manes, flowing in a cloud of white as they rode past the gates and onto the Gold Road that span through the raging rapids of Blackwater Rush. New strange lands laid beyond the walls of Kings Landing. The air was lighter, not weighted heavily by the musk of a bustling city. She was taken by how foreign everything was. Bright city lights turned to the moon as it was the only thing providing guidance on their journey. She held tightly onto her brother’s waist, arms locked at his midsection on the front of his shirt. He particularly enjoyed bucking his horse or riding over rough patches, laughing heartily when she would slap at his shoulders and demand he stop acting like a fool.

They camped along the waters of the rush for a few days. Each man found a different amusement in the way the Princess was entirely in awe and wholly disgusted by the sheer uncleanliness that comes with a journey such as this. She cringed at the squish of her shoes as Rhaegar assisted her in her dismount. The mud on the ground soaked into the hem of her dress.

“Rhaegar.” She complained in an exhausted tone, quickly bunching the fabric in her hands as she raised it above her ankles.

“I told you to wear pants, sweet sister.” He sang in a musical tone. “But alas, it would be a crime for a lady such as yourself to be seen in such manly clothing.”

“Ser Arthur.” Calling out to the young knight who was guiding the horses to water. “Beat my brother in the tourney, would you?”

Ser Arthur scratched at the scruff of his jawline and nodded with an adolescent grin, “as my lady wishes.”

She slept uncomfortably on a bed roll brought only for her as Rhaegar anticipated her discontent with their traveling conditions. In the morning, they rode again. A week passed with the same routine. Only the landscape changed, shooting into mountains that burst from the grounds and caged in the settlements that relished the protection they provided. They stopped for a night at the Deep Den, seat of House Lydden, to refresh themselves and prepare for the final stretch of their travels.

Princess (Y/n) relaxed in the comfort of her first hot bath since the journey’s start, enjoying the steaming water as it wisped away the soreness in her legs from their relentless riding. Rose and lavender fragranced the air, washing away the earth that clung to her body. Their first temperate meal was a beef roast cooked in red wine and vinegar. Peppery arugula seeds worked together with a healthy dose of ginger to spice the dish, contrasted by the warmth of cinnamon and nutmeg. Everything was served on a bed of wild rice, seasoned with lemon and salt.

The evening of luxury quickly came to an end as the group retired for bed, woke in the morning, and raced for the foothills of Lannisport. At the first sight of the magnificent rock that soared into the air, Rhaegar slowed his pace and pointed with a gloved finger. “That’s Casterly Rock.” He announced, watching as his sister’s eyes lit up in anticipation. It was a powerful display compared to the bustling city below. White stones increased the height of the castle, carving its way into the sky and heavens above. The sunlight of a new day blinded them, leaving the great build in a blazing glory.

At the gates of the city, the group was greeted by men wearing the haloed helms of the Lannister army. Crimson capes hung from their shoulders, cascading down past the red steel breastplates and lion stamped armor. Paraded through the city center toward Casterly Rock, the princess did not bother to strap the false composure to her face. Instead, her curious eyes met those of the onlookers. She smiled at a group of children who beamed back at her, immediately running away to tell their parents that they had seen the princess.

Upon arriving in the grand courtyard of Casterly Rock, the group dismounted their steeds and watched as various stablehands ushered them away. Standing at the resplendent doors to his home, Lord Tywin Lannister stood with his sons and daughter. Immediately, she recognized them as Jaime, Tyrion, and Cersei. The twins were just five and ten at the time. Cersei’s hardened features were already beginning to show in the height of her cheekbones and softness in her golden hair. Jaime was the tallest of them all, and the pride of the Lannister household. He served as a squire to Lord Sumner of House Crakehall, but was called back to attend the event. Lastly was Tyrion. He was notoriously shorter than the rest of his family. Disliked heavily by his sister and father, he remained a relatively quiet boy. At one and ten, he spent the majority of his time reading and studying the rich history of Westeros.

The patriarch of the family took long strides with his hands locked behind his back. His chest puffed in a display of pride as he approached the two royals. Nothing was different about the Tywin that stood before them now and the Tywin who strolled about the halls of the Red Keep. He held his same dignified look as always. Only now they were on his territory and he ruled.

“Prince Rhaegar.” He greeted with the polite nod of his head. “Princess (Y/n).” His surprise was undetectable, but ever present. The princess was rarely allowed in the public eye. In truth, he had not expected her to attend. “Welcome.”

Rhaegar and Ser Arthur were fast to leave after being dismissed, wanting to explore the grounds. Ser Barristan stayed with the princess, pleased to walk at her rear as Tywin guided her throughout the halls. Her hand was placed gently on Tywin’s arm, his other covered hers, warming her to the touch. With the king’s apprehension to attend the tournament, Tywin had the chambers changed to accommodate the princess. Handmaidens rushed through the halls with full arms as they changed out the sheets and left gifts to please a young maiden.

“We did not expect you to attend, Princess.” Tywin stopped at a terraced walkway. Pillars of limestone held up the arched roof. Scalloped carvings were etched into the retaining wall. “I must ask,” he looked out upon the harbor that was filled with ships. “Would it be presumptuous to assume your presence here today is out of the realm of your father’s knowledge?”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, caught in an act of defiance. “I…” She stuttered, unable to hold her focus on anything in particular.

“It is merely a question.” His voice lightened as he let out a quick exhale in amusement. “I have no plans to return you home until the tournament’s end.”

Once her room was prepared, he bid her farewell until the evening feast. The room was lavish to say the least. A large bed sat at the back of the room, a golden divider decorated with a large dancing lion separated the two spaces. Beyond that was a balcony that stretched from the back of the room to the front where another door led outside. The floors were marbled with white stone and gold, covered with detailed rugs from merchants and craftsmen in Essos. A table suited for four was surrounded with chairs. Atop it was a silver tray containing pitchers of wine and water, and a bowl of fresh fruits. The bath was equipped with water that flowed in from a viaduct, heated as it moved through the castle by the warming of wood beneath its stone plates. Exquisite oils were set delicately on the edge of the bath, all contained in varying sized and shaped vials.

A knock at the door was answered by Ser Barristan who opened it to find a young woman with a rich dress draped over her extended arms. “For the princess.” He moved aside to allow her in.

When the dress was laid out upon the bed, she could see how luxurious the fabric and fit were. The burgundy neckline plunged to her upper breastbone. From the shoulders a sheer cape fell to the floor where it was bordered in extravagant gemstones and gold. The bodice of the dress was painstakingly covered in an intricate lace that matched that of the chiffon material. Within the designs were small jewels of diamond and ruby. “From Lord Tywin. He asked that you wear it for tonight’s feast.” Ser Barristan excused himself from the room as the handmaiden drew the princess a bath and assisted her in dressing in the garment.

The feast was extravagant but still fairly conservative for a noble event. Roast meats, stewed vegetables, fresh bread, every dessert imaginable, and a fine selection of wines and ales were served. Rhaegar gleefully toasted to the birth of his newest brother, joined jovially by the crowd of men and women who had ventured from their homes to bear witness to the tourney. As the guests of honor, the princess (Y/n) and prince Rhaegar were seated at the head of the table, centered perfectly with Tywin on one side of the young woman and Rhaegar on the other.

Concluding the meal and turning everyone out for the evening, Tywin raised his glass, bringing with it a wishing of good fortune to the king and his many years of ruling to come. “Princess (Y/n).” The man to her side rested his hand over the curvature of her arm.

“Lord Tywin.” She nodded back to him, having acknowledged him many times over the course of their meal. “This was a lovely welcome to Casterly Rock. My journey was well worth it.”

“Your journey was full of complaints, dear sister.” Rhaegar noted, practically leaning into her lap as he hung himself over the arm of his chair.

She rolled her eyes, pushing at his head as she plucked his goblet from his hand. “Perhaps it is time you took your leave.” It was not a suggestion, but a demand and Rhaegar knew it. While only three years apart in age, he often took the role of an older sibling. Seen as the heir to the Iron Throne, he was immediately thrust into a position of power and oversight. But on occasion, he would listen to his sister’s wishes and do as told.

“Perhaps it is.” Rhaegar sat to his full height and finished off his wine. “Lord Tywin.” He nodded. “I thank you for the grand welcome. I hope to not disappoint in the joust.”

“I cannot recall a time when anyone was disappointed with your performance.” Tywin answered, watching as the crowned prince let out a loud laugh, nodded to him and made his exit, followed by Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan. His head scanned around the room for another second. First focusing on Cersei whose heart had been stolen by the crowned prince; she followed after him, assuming nobody to be watching. Jaime was being entertained by Genna who looked to be annoying the boy as he cringed when her fingers pinched at his ear. Tyrion was missing, likely buried in a book somewhere. Applying the slightest bit of pressure to her arm, Tywin rejoined the conversation and looked to the woman at his side. “Would you be opposed to excusing ourselves for an evening stroll?”

“I’m still growing used to crowds.” She smiled. “I would love to get away for a moment.”

~~~*~~~

“An intense guilt fills me for even entertaining the thought, but I think I like Casterly Rock more than the Red Keep.” The princess shared her thoughts freely as the two walked in step with one another. She felt more relaxed, unfearing of any watchful eyes. Tywin’s home was more protected, closed off to the public in all areas. Only the nobles walked the grounds, and many of them actively avoided passing them by out of courtesy.

“Upkeep of the Rock is a daunting task.”

“You’ve done a lovely job, Lord Tywin.” They passed by the landing they had spoken on earlier in the day, stopping again to look down upon the city and port. “I only wish that I had been able to see it sooner.”

He swiped his tongue across the back of his teeth and retained his grip of her arm in his. “Lannisport is one of our great cities.” The flickering of fires that illuminated the streets reflected off of the swaying water. “I see no reason as to why you shouldn’t be able to see it.”

“Someone has eyes for the opposition.” She chided. “That is why I’m known as the realm’s hag.”

At the mention of it, he turned to examine her features, but he found no profound disgust. It was almost as if she believed their harsh words. Years of domestic exile within the confines of her porcelain cage had worn on her morale, and hearing the women of King’s Landing speak so freely about her assisted in its downfall.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the realm. The title of ‘hag’ is not befitting of a princess.”

“But if it is true…?”

Ser Barristan hovered behind them, trying his best to not notice the way Tywin’s fingers tightened around hers in their rather intimate stance. Tywin was ever-aware of the knight’s presence behind him, but there was one thing that united the two - the princess’s happiness. So, even as Tywin stood too close and locked her arm in his, Ser Barristan did not dare to separate them. He instead turned a blind eye, suddenly finding the marble flooring in the corridors more exciting than anything that was happening behind him.

“We needn’t concern ourselves with the opinions of the common people.” Tywin noted Ser Barristan’s back to them and brought his hand up to cup her cheek. “We only need concern ourselves with ourselves.” He drew himself close. “You are the most beautiful woman in the realm. Any man would fall on their swords to be by your side.” Hushing his voice, he practically whispered. “But it is I who gets that privilege.”

He pressed a thoughtful kiss to her cheek and sent waves of thrill down the princess’s spine as his hand softly touched her jaw and rested finally on the side of her neck. She stared up at him with the youthful doe-eyed look that captivated him at the start. Dancing purples and lilacs sung beautiful melodies to his vibrant greens, waltzing together in a complimentary fashion as they flowed amongst the midnight stars.

She was taken by him. Every ounce of him. He was the perfect lord in her eyes, a wonder of magnificence and regality that she bathed in each time they could steal a moment together. There was no doubt in her heart. Lord Tywin Lannister was the man she wanted.

Breaking the silence of their wordless conversation, Tywin spoke. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning?” She repeated.

“Before the tournament’s opening ceremony. I will come personally to collect you.”

Her evening was filled only with the intense thought of Tywin. The bed chambers she slept in were comfortably plush, filled with fabrics befitting of a princess that bunched cozily around her body. She laid upon her mattress with eyes wider than the moon. A soft sleep befell the Rock, drawing those who still wandered the grounds to bid their company farewell in favor of their sheets. Yet, she remained awake. Her mind wandered the halls, flowing freely about the beautifully bleached stones.

There were so many mysteries with Casterly Rock. She had lived in the Red Keep her entire life, never once resting anywhere except for within its suffocating walls. Now, she had slept under the stars, in a smaller Lord’s home, and in the fantastic chambers of Tywin’s residence. The puffy and arid comforter hugged her body, molding to the curves and edges that peaked and valleyed along the lines in her figure.

Rest did not come easy to the princess that night. For she was too busy theorizing what would happen when morning came.

Eventually, she found herself fast asleep, dreaming of nothing in particular but far more comfortable than she had ever been in her own room.

~~~*~~~

A knock at the door broke her shaky gaze in the bright mirrored glass, bringing her focus behind her where a voice resonated through the door. “My lady, Lord Tywin Lannister.” A guard positioned outside announced.

Smoothing down the front of her dress that had also been provided by the Lannister household, she replied. “He may enter.”

Tag List:

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#tywin lannister x reader #Tywin x reader #got x reader #Tywin Lannister #game of thrones fanfiction

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jonquilete · 9 months

Text

AGoT

“That night at the feast, Eddard Stark was more hopeful than he had been in a great while. Robert was in high good humor, the Lannisters were nowhere to be seen, and even his daughters were behaving. Jory brought Arya down to join them, and Sansa spoke to her sister pleasantly. "The tournament was magnificent," she sighed. "You should have come. How was your dancing?"

"I'm sore all over," Arya reported happily, proudly displaying a huge purple bruise on her leg.

"You must be a terrible dancer," Sansa said doubtfully.

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the "Dance of the Dragons," Ned inspected the bruise himself. "I hope Forel is not being too hard on you," he said.

Arya stood on one leg. She was getting much better at that of late. "Syrio says that every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better."

Ned frowned. The man Syrio Forel had come with an excellent reputation, and his flamboyant Braavosi style was well suited to Arya's slender blade, yet still . . . a few days ago, she had been wandering around with a swatch of black silk tied over her eyes. Syrio was teaching her to see with her ears and her nose and her skin, she told him. Before that, he had her doing spins and back flips. "Arya, are you certain you want to persist in this?"

She nodded. "Tomorrow we're going to catch cats."

"Cats." Ned sighed. "Perhaps it was a mistake to hire this Braavosi. If you like, I will ask Jory to take over your lessons. Or I might have a quiet word with Ser Barristan. He was the finest sword in the Seven Kingdoms in his youth."

"I don't want them," Arya said. "I want Syrio."

Ned ran his fingers through his hair. Any decent master-at-arms could give Arya the rudiments of slash-and-parry without this nonsense of blindfolds, cartwheels, and hopping about on one leg, but he knew his youngest daughter well enough to know there was no arguing with that stubborn jut of jaw. "As you wish," he said. Surely she would grow tired of this soon. "Try to be careful."

"I will," she promised solemnly as she hopped smoothly from her right leg to her left.

Much later, after he had taken the girls back through the city and seen them both safe in bed, Sansa with her dreams and Arya with her bruises, Ned ascended to his own chambers atop the Tower of the Hand. The day had been warm and the room was close and stuffy. Ned went to the window and unfastened the heavy shutters to let in the cool night air. Across the Great Yard, he noticed the flickering glow of candlelight from Littlefinger's windows. The hour was well past midnight. Down by the river, the revels were only now beginning to dwindle and die.”

possibly the best day they ever had in that court. i miss ned so much fr

#asoiaf #ned stark #arya stark #sansa stark #agot

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piduai · 9 months

Note

who are your favourite and least favourite asoiaf povs?

never get tired of and whose chapters i actively look forward to and they never get old: sansa, arya, daenerys, tyrion, arianne, melisandre

enjoy reading and seeing: cersei, jaime, brienne, samwell, ned

don't care. boring. a chore to get through: catelyn, jon, davos, barristan, connington

boring & a skip on a low spirit reread: bran, quentyn

feel like an active assault on my psyche: literally every single greyjoy (ESPECIALLY theon's first few chapters, but EXCEPT reek because i like reading about his suffering)

#anon

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samieree · 3 months

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Born in Flames || Game of Thrones

OC x ?😏

-> Chapter XVII ''Meereen''

Chapter XVIII ''Justice''

Now the people of Meereen also called her Mhysa, which only made her smile. They cheered when they saw her and waved their removed collars as she walked through the city streets. Everyone smiled back at her and she felt happy again, even though she couldn't call this city her home.

Those of the Masters who were still alive were gathered in front of her, surrounded by soldiers so that they could not escape or do anything to her. She looked at them in silence for a moment, wondering what she should do. She should do justice and punish them for their crimes. But she didn't want to do this now, deal with such unpleasant things, when she was happy again.

"For now, throw them into the dungeons." Visenya said to Ser Barristan before turning towards the Great Pyramid.

Once she was upstairs, on the huge balcony, she felt like a real ruler for the first time. At the same time, it reminded her of the times when she would go out on her balcony at Casterly Rock and admire the sea, or in King's Landing, where her room also overlooked the city. But there was no Targaryen sigil on the top of the building. She didn't rule there. There she looked at the endless sea or at a city that didn't know her or only gossiped about her. Here she ruled, everyone heard about her, they knew who she was, what she had done and what she could do. She wasn't an unwanted guest, she was a queen, it was her place.

From here everything seemed so peaceful... There was no noise of the city, no people in sight, and the blue sky stretched overhead. She would like to stay here for longer, but she couldn't. There were a lot of things to discuss. So she turned around, removing her hands from the stone railing, and returned to the interior of the chamber.

"So...?" she only said, signaling that they could start discussing the current situation.

"King Joffrey Baratheon is dead, Your Grace. Murdered at his own wedding."

She raised her eyebrows at the words coming from Ser Arthur's mouth.

Joffrey is dead. This bantling...

She still remembered how one day he decided to bully her, started pulling her hair, wanted to tear it out, and when she stopped him, he suggested that they could check if Targaryens are actually immune to fire. He'd be surprised...

And now he was gone. This meant that his younger brother, Tommen, will take the throne. She didn't know much about him, but she heard that he was the complete opposite of his older brother.

"And Second Sons took over the fleet of Meereen, my Queen." Daario stated, turning her thoughts away from Joffrey and his brother.

"Did someone ask you to do this?" she asked, clearly surprised that he did such a thing.

"No." he shrugged and, sitting next to the others at the table, reached for the dates lying on a plate in the middle of the counter. "But I heard you need ships."

Somehow she suppressed a sigh. On the one hand, she was upset that he did it without asking her permission, but on the other hand, it was a nice gesture in a way and she didn't want to be angry about it.

"How many ships?"

"Ninety-three." Ser Barristan replied.

"How many people can they carry?"

"Nine thousand three hundred, not counting the sailors."

"Would that be enough to take over King's Landing?" she asked with a dose of uncertainty in her voice, closing her eyes a little as she imagined it all.

These ships are enough to transport them to Westeros, Dragonstone, or even straight to King's Landing. Something that was once only a dream of hers now became a reality. She could return to the place from which she had once had to flee...

"The Lannisters have more soldiers." Ser Arthur said without hesitation.

"But they've been fighting Joffrey's war for several years now, and they're tired and scattered." Ser Barristan replied. "And their king is dead. Eight thousand Unsullied, two thousand Second Sons. If we sail into Blackwater Bay and attack the city gates without warning, that might be enough."

"But the city still needs to be held. What if the remaining Lords of Westeros turn against us? We may not defend ourselves." the two knights began to discuss various options among themselves, while Visenya listened.

"After living under Joffrey's rule, they will probably breathe a sigh of relief and accept a queen who is not mad and wants well for her subjects."

"You can't be sure of anything. Especially since no woman has ever sat on the Iron Throne."

"What about Rhaenyra Targaryen?" she interjected.

"Some houses ignored their oaths and preferred to support Aegon. You don't want to start a war you're not ready for."

This time she didn't hold back a sigh and after Ser Arthur's words, she turned her gaze out the window for a moment, to the still blue sky. It was so peaceful there, when here there were only problems with many solutions, but none of them was certain.

"There are also other news." she turned her gaze back to them when she heard Ser Arthur. "From Yunkai: When the Unsullied left the city, the Wise Lords regained control. They put people in chains again and swore revenge on you."

"Anything else?" she asked, although she wanted to say that she had enough of this news.

"From Astapor." he continued. "The council that was supposed to rule the city was overthrown by a butcher named Cleon, who proclaimed himself "His Imperial Highness" and now rules the city..."

"Enough." she blurted out before she could bite her tongue. There was silence for a moment until she spoke again. "Please, leave me alone." she watched as everyone got up from the table and started leaving. Looking at Ser Arthur, she added "You stay, ser." only then did she turn around and go back to the balcony, where she clearly felt better.

Ever since he helped her see a purpose in her life after Daenerys' death, she felt like she trusted him more than anyone else. When she became more confident, they started talking to each other a lot, especially during the travels. It also seemed like she was starting to see him as the father figure she never had. Thanks to him, she got to know her father from a different side, not in the usually bad light in which he was presented by the chroniclers paid by King Robert.

"The whole world looks good from here." she said, taking one last look at the view from the balcony, and then turned to the knight. "What am I doing wrong? In one city, a former slave took over, and in another, the Masters once again dominated the slaves. If I leave Meereen, one of these two will probably happen here too."

"It was certain from the beginning that most of the Masters would not accept being removed from their comfortable position."

"But an ordinary man who was once a slave now decided to elevate himself. I can't understand it..." she finished a little more quietly, lowering her eyes a bit, wondering why nothing went her way.

"You can always leave it all behind and sail to Westeros, Your Grace. On the throne sits a boy whom many consider a bastard. Their troops are devastated by the war, everyone is fighting among themselves, the Crown has never been so weak."

"Me too, I suppose." she admitted, although it sounded strange in the context of her whole story. "The Lannisters can't hold the Seven Kingdoms, and I can't hold three cities. I'm doing worse."

"Essos and Westeros are very different."

"Is that so? Here, the great families of the Masters exploit slaves from generation to generation, and in Westeros, the great houses also rule over others, forcing them to war, and they don't even know why they are fighting. It's not that different." she explained her point of view, leaning back against the balcony railing. "I will not allow those I freed to be put back in chains. We're not going to Westeros, we're staying here. And these Masters whom we now keep in the dungeons..." she hesitated for a moment. "They should be executed or nailed to the posts on which the slaves were previously hanging." she looked away, crossing her arms on her chest.

She didn't want to see his reaction to decisions she wasn't sure about. She knew she couldn't keep these people locked up forever, but would killing every last one of them be a good move? Perhaps this will scare away the Wise Lords of Yunkai or, on the contrary, they will want to take revenge on her even more.

"Are you sure?" she looked back at him, a bit surprised that he addressed her directly, but she didn't mind that.

"Are you questioning this decision?"

"Are you sure?" he repeated the question.

At first she wanted to lie, but she quickly gave up on that idea, he would see through her immediately, she knew she wouldn't be credible now.

"No." she replied truthfully. "But it will be justice. Life for life."

"Crucifying them will not be justice, but revenge." he noted, pointing out to her the thin line between these two values.

"If I spare their lives, the former slaves will not accept it, and the Masters will consider me weak."

"Some of the for sure. And some will think that they have been given a second chance and will do everything to avoid losing life. You should try to make everyone think this way. You won't change the world by murdering everyone who doesn't think like you, but by convincing them to your values. You just took over the city, set the law for them to follow. If they break it, then you will punish them."

She silently considered his words and felt that he was right. It was a pretty good way out of the situation and she couldn't think of any better solution anyway, and probably won't come up with one. There was only one thing left she had to ask.

"What about former slaves?"

"You liberated them, they will listen to you. The law applies to them too. You yourself said: You must be just, not cruel to some and kind to others."

A gentle smile graced her lips. She wanted to tell him at that moment how happy she was to have him by her side, but she didn't want to go beyond the rather professional nature of their relationship.

"Tomorrow, go with Daario to find the officials who dealt with the law in Meereen and bring them to me. I will review the laws with them and make any necessary changes. During this time, we will keep Masters in the dungeons, they will have time to think about their lives and choices they have made." when he nodded also with a slight smile, bowed slightly to her and moved to leave, she turned back to the beautiful sight before her.

Not only everything will look good from here, soon when walking through the city streets everything will be as beautiful as from this distance.

* * *

Robb hissed loudly, gritting his teeth as Sam cleaned another arrow wound for him. He saw Jon briefly before he left for Craster's Keep beyond the Wall, where the deserters were staying.

It may have been just a short moment, but it was the first time he finally felt something more than self-pity. Words couldn't express how much it meant to him that Jon was glad he didn't die at the Twins, even though such words went out into the world.

So they killed me before they actually killed me...

All in all, considering the situation he was in, it wasn't a bad move. He won't deny the rumors, because he will immediately reveal where he is, so he will sit quietly and let everyone think this way. One way or another, the Lannisters had won.

"You're lucky none of them got infected." Sam said as Robb grimaced badly again. He didn't even want to look at what his torso looked like now.

"Just when I want to die, the world keeps me alive, ironic..."he muttered, although it would have been better if he had remained silent, because this time he cursed the next time Sam touched the wound.

"I'm sorry." Sam muttered, seeing that he was causing a lot of pain while cleaning the wounds, and he was about to start sewing one of them...

"Don't apologize, it's my own fault..." he leaned his head back, trying to calm his breathing and breathe deeply. It didn't help that the images from that evening were flashing through his head again, bringing tears to his eyes. "I should rather apologize for the trouble and thank..."

"It's no trouble for me, and Jon's friend is my friend." he replied, smiling slightly at Robb, trying to cheer him up. "And now they won't disdain any extra pair of hands on the Wall, even if you are not and do not intend to be a brother. The wildlings are heaing to the Wall." he explained.

Robb would like to be able to forget about the world around him, at least for a moment, but even sleep wouldn't let him do that. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his mother having her throat cut, or a man stabbing Talisa's belly repeatedly with a knife, or other terrible scenes from the wedding. What happened to his uncle anyway? They killed him too? Are they holding him as a prisoner?

He would give everything he has - even though he currently has little - to turn back time. However, Lord Karstark was right, he lost the war on his wedding day. He could beat Tywin in every battle, but he couldn't force him to fight him when he retreated and looked for another way to get rid of him. As it turned out, he had so little honor in him that he decided to stab him in the back.

Damn honor, does anyone even care about it anymore? My father died because of it, I lacked it to keep my promise, but did it really matter that much? I wouldn't be betrayed either way?

That evening he closed his eyes, thinking that he won't find peace again. But to his surprise, he dreamed about something else.

A large, ruined room, and in front of him stood a silver-haired woman. He stood with his hand outstretched towards her. He asked her to dance?

-> Chapter XIX ''A dance'' -> general masterlist -> Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon masterlist

#game of thrones #robb stark #arthur dayne #barristan selmy #game of thrones fanfiction #Tywin Lannister #ser arthur dayne #gra o tron

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