#and against cersei who abused her

[the-daily-dreamer]

The targaryen ruled 130 years without dragons. And the most capable kings were all targaryen. After them it was a decline for the throne. Robert, joffrey, tommen, cercei were all sith ruler .

I see targ stans are investing in high quality air to fill their heads lol

But anyways. “The most capable kings were all targaryens”. You know who else were targaryens? The worst rulers of Westeros. Robert, Cersei, Joffrey, and Tommen aren’t even close to the worst kings and queen to rule. And bringing them up as evidence to show that the targaryens are good is so disingenuous.

Maegor the Cruel, Aegon the Unworthy, The Mad King Aerys, Rhaenyra (yes, I know that’s controversial), and Daenerys (yes, I know that’s even more controversial) are all far FAR worse than anyone you mentioned.

Maegor killed his wife and her entire family. He was a usurper (apparently it’s good when the targs you like do it lol), a kinslayer (also a thing only good when it’s targs you like doing it), raped and tortured many people, wiped out entire houses, killed any and everyone that he saw in any way as deserving, and created a huge war with the faith of the seven.

Aegon the unworthy was corrupt and lazy and legitimized his bastards leading to the blackfyre rebellions that led to endless bloodshed for 5 generations.

Aerys was so bad he had a rebellion staged against him that ended his family dynasty. He burned fathers and sons together. He tortured people and burned them alive. He abused and raped his wife when he would burn people alive. He wanted to kill the entire city of kings landing.

Rhaenyra (who like it or not went down in history as one of the worst rulers) known as maegor with teats taxed her people to starvation. She had daily executions. She had knights inquisitors hunt down and punish people.

Daenerys burnt down kings landing, was complicit in the rape and enslavement of hundreds, ruined city economies so badly slavery was a better option, then profited from said slavery, abandoned the people she conquered (no doubt ensuring they will be enslaved much more harshly after supporting her), raped a “free” slave that she admits still acted like a slave because that’s all she knew, oh yeah and again, SHE BURNT DOWN KINGS LANDING. And this is after the people you listed.

And this isn’t including non Targaryen rulers that ruined lives like the blackfyres. Or rulers that are bad but weirdly beloved like Aegon I who basically conquered people by threatening to kill them and everyone they loved, subjugating a country for hundreds of years.

The best rulers I admit were Targaryens. But that’s because they were the only rulers save for 4 people. Of those four, two were bad and two were incompetent. Not nearly the sadistic “mad” people I described above. And funnily enough, as soon as a Targaryen came back to power…things got worse again. Funny how that is.

Oh and by the way. Going with the histories of Westeros. Guess who is among the best rulers according to small folk Aegon II and Alicent. Seethe :)

[visenyaism]

I thought that last comment you got about Ned enabling Robert was really interesting and well-put! I was wondering, do you think after basically painting himself into a corner allowing Roberts behavior for years did Ned have any “good” options to deal with the information that Joffrey was illegitimate? Or like do you think because the “royal bloodline” thing is bullshit anyway Ned would’ve done better to just never tell anybody (since he’s clearly willing to take that kind of secret to the grave anyway)

as the only other person in the whole realm who is hiding a succession-disrupting bastard from robert I really think Ned is kind of talking to himself in a way during his conversation with cersei. it’s why he gets so frustrated at her for not having been a better wife to Robert, because NED was a pretty good wife to Robert, and yet neither of them can stop him from killing their children if he finds out the truth. There’s this direct parallel between being the hands of the king and dealing with an abusive monarch and being the queen and dealing with an abusive husband that I think is pretty interesting to explore.

Ned knows that Robert will just kill Cersei’s kids if he finds out the truth, because Ned knows he would not hesitate to kill Jon. Obviously, he would counsel against it, but Robert would do it, and Ned would disassociate and then go home. He’s trained himself to be a very passive figure in Roberts life while Robert just destroys everything around him so not think there’s anything he can do to stop that act of violence. in his head, he is doing the absolute most that he can by warning her to run. There is no situation in which Ned takes this to his grave. he is too loyal to robert and too society-brained. he copes with the Robert situation by blaming Cersei for Robert’s behavior.

ultimately, I think the commonality between Cersei and Joffrey, and Ned and Jon makes Ned sympathize with Cersei a bit but he’s never empathizing with her at any point. he would sell her out if Robert had lived.

[chaosfae-writes]

𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

premise: the lioness gnaws on her favored maiden.

pairing: yandere!cersei lannister x poc!reader

warnings: abuse of power, gender identity issues (slight, but this is cersei), wlw, dead dove smut.

ao3

a/n: although I love show cersei, she was watered down a bit. I wanted to see more of her delulu side, and exploration of her gender issues. Sansa Stark cameo! Sansa is just a baby that needs protecting! <3 anyways, enjoy! <3 do not repost my works!

Cersei Lannister doesn’t have companions.

An unruly child grew into a woman with a crude tongue. Where she lacks empathy with a blackened heart, she makes up for her beauty and charm—- that only extends so far.

Golden locks, and fair skin—- with a temper of a lion. Deludes herself that she has been deprived of her inheritance to Casterly Rock, and is the true queen majesty of all seven kingdoms.

Everything belongs to her.

Her kingdom, her brother, her children —- even you.

A possessive creature. Her love only extends to what she craves, and what she sees in herself. And whenever she senses a threat upon her possessions, that anyone could snatch away her toys —- the lioness becomes irate.

A small council, and a small flock of handmaidens. Only a handful of maids are entrusted in the queen’s space, but only one to bear witness the queen at her rawest.

You are punished by her unsought favor.

To clean her, to dress her, a vessel for her to unburden herself on you. Mistakenly you offered sympathies as a woman one day —- perhaps, too kindly.

Prior, you were just a handmaiden blending in within the palace.

The late king had struck Cersei, you catered to her. Cleaning her split lip, all you spoke was that a queen should be respected, no matter what she has uttered.

All you did was to perform your duty as the queen’s servant … no ill will. Perhaps it’s your shyness, or your taught obedience that caught Cersei’s meticulous eye.

Eventually, she demanded more of you. Requesting your presence for everything, and eventually more demanding—- more touchy.

Dressing you in her house’s colors—- gold and deep red. Adorning you with luxurious fabrics, and discreetly pinning a lion brotchee upon your shoulder. It brought a wave of embarrassment, for such clothing is above your station.

Showering you with such gifts as a king does so to his paramour. It became abhorrent at times to nearby eyes—- more than once, you caught her father’s cold glare.

Conversing with you—- or rather at you, rambling on about her fits of rage upon her father’s lack of respect, how she isn’t respected as queen, how the small folk should be kissing her feet—- or how her little brother should’ve died at the birthing bed.

Delusions of greed and arrogance woven with the silk of self-wallowing, and pity.

Always touching.

Grazing your skin by the fingertips, her breath upon the slope of your neck, gripping your mound tightly as if she possesses any ownership. Sending Bernadette —- against the maid’s growing irate —- to fetch for you almost every fortnight.

To the point where you don’t even sleep in your own chambers anymore.

-

The traitorous wolf is dead.

Long love the youthful stag.

A feast, a celebration held by the newly crowned king. As he cheers over the death of one of the noblest men to live. A cruel boy who immulates his mother’s strife. A feast of dancing, and platters of luxurious food, merry music and jesters.

Seated beside Cersei, as well as her other maidens Bernadette and Senelle. Carefully, your eyes float a peek at the little dove seated beside Joffrey. Sansa is now a shell of the young girl she once was. Pity dwells within you, a somber child, who’s eyes never leave her lap.

You were once that child, once hopeful, only for life to beat you as if you were nothing. Life doesn’t spare the young, age has no limits.

You’re picking at the fruits and meats on your plate, rather bored at the royal nonsense. Gossip among ladies, and redundant chatter of politics among the lords —- it doesn’t pertain to you.

Never has, never will.

As a young girl, it bothered you. How unfair it was that the town folks suffer, as the noble float above the clouds with fine clothing, unending platters of food, and spoiled beyond their dreams.

Now, it doesn’t matter. The bitterness doesn’t matter. Grief to spite, to then an achromatic sense of life. You learned that you are no different than these flocks —- we all are born, then we die all the same, buried in the same soil we go.

But fantasies of escaping to the East, to the land of your ancestors —- to start anew keeps you hopeful. Meet someone, have a babe or two. Live on a farm fruitful of crops.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t sense a presence looming nearby, ever so watching, gawking at its prey.

“May I have this dance?” A voice soaked in sultry warmth, beckoning and confident. Startling you to jump just a bit, turning over your shoulder, standing above you, is Jaime Lannister. Gold yellow hair, smooth and silky, and a confident smirk to match.

“Lord Commander.” You speak in a gasp, bowing your head respectfully. Jaime’s smile twitches, growing wider—- Lord Commander —- not many address him as such. It’s always Kingslayer , never an ounce to respect.

“May I have the pleasure of a dance?” Jaime’s tone is more smoother, his canines flashing as if he’s ready to bite.

Cersei’s eyes narrow, “Jaime, let her be.” She tries to keep her voice low. Jaime scuffs playfully, “ And why? All these squawking hens must be such a bore.” He turns to you with a boyish grin, making you laugh softly.

All it does is make Cersei more annoyed. She has been upset all evening—- rather all day. Cersei found you earlier in the morning tending to Sansa. The little girl was bruised and broken by the mongrel of Cersei’s beastly son.

Tending to Sansa felt wholesome, it filled a void inside you. Reminded you of how it felt to be a mother again.

It irritated something in Cersei, to see you so kind to another.

“Thank you, Ser,” You cautiously say, you can feel Cersei’s tension. Doe eyes flutter back to Jaime, “But there are more gracious ladies who are more suited for your hand.”

Jaime tsks at your rejection. “ Nonsense. These birds are not to my taste.” He out-stretches his hand, not taking no for an answer.

Hesitantly, you take his hand, his fingers curl around, no space for escape. Jaime guides you by the feet, feeling the heat of anxiety flood your flesh, as if you felt the thousands of gazes in your direction.

But—- the daggers lodging themselves in your back were from a pair of greens.

A clunky sway between four feet, it’s quite difficult to catch up to Jaime’s step. Unaware at first to steady yourself; Jaime takes this to his advantage, slithering his palm to the nape of your tailbone, luring you into him.

Muttering low, “Follow my lead.” Jaime whispers. Slowing his footfalls, you follow his pace. Clenching your jaw, rather upsetting to be in this position, in the hands of a noble —— in such a vulnerable display.

“I am afraid I won’t be much of a dancer,” Your eyes glued to your feet, a little flumpily. “I haven’t had lessons.” Not daring to glance upward at his intense eyes.

“And weren’t taught lessons on manners.” Jaime jests, earning your head to snap up swiftly, now eye to eye, with a frightened stare of a doe. “Have I offended you, Ser?” Your eyes wearily gaze down.

Jaime chuckles, “There it is again,” his finger curls under your chin, making you look at him in the eye. “Most of the dance, you have not addressed me with so much as a glance.”

You hum, eyes downcasted to the flooring. “My apologies, I am accustomed to not stare too long at the noble.” Swapping harshly, your throat clenching a little.

“Mousey little creature, you are.”

You breathe a titter, bowing your head still, “The bored lion plays with the mouse.” Shyly staring at your feet, careful not to step on his toes.

“Bored isn’t the word.” Jaime whispers, tilts his head closer, attempting to catch your eyes. He leans in your space, you can feel his warmth beat against your face. His nose is just inches from yours.

“Merely curious.” Jaime teases. “My sister has had many maidens, but never any has been beautiful.” He has always snuck glances.

Your eyes slowly gaze up, fully taking in his golden hue.

A natural skin of rich brown —- not many folk in the West possess such color, he can tell you are not of Andal birth. Your flesh shines as sun brown, and curly tresses brushed back to a gold thin lined headdress.

You hum low, not intrigued in his antics, your mind is too preoccupied by another twin —- one who is more meaner.

“You hide yourself in plain cloth, dare to deprive a man?” He chuckles, but his eyes are heavy with need. A simple dress of royal blue—- not the colors of the house you serve, it doesn’t shape your bodice, nor do you seek for it to.

“There is nothing beneath to be desired.” You snip softly. A ripple of fear shivers your flesh, sneaking glances over Jaime’s shoulders. Barely a glimpse at the royal table, a flash of angry green eyes burns you.

“I beg to differ.” His voice pulls you back, eye to eye now. Jaime swirls your bodice around, his open palm tight on your tailbone. Sending a shiver upon the curve of your spine, never been touched by a man.

“My sister has kept you all to herself, I’m envious.” Jaime holds you to his chest, heavy breathing collides. “You tend to her hand and foot—- is there any way you can tend to my needs?” A smirk curls on Jaime’s mouth, ready to sink his teeth.

“When I am cold in my grave.”

“A knight and a handmaiden,” Jaime’s shrugs his head, “A sight all too common.” Gesturing to this as it could be a casual affair. He enjoys your bite, so used to the familiarity of women throwing themselves at him, such easy prey to play with, but he rejects them all.

This is new, a fun game.

You admittedly enjoy his touch, Jaime is breath-taking. Golden honey hair, a strong beautiful sculpted nose, and beautiful green hues.

“I must behold my reputation.” You said in a hush, “I am a lady in your sister’s circle, it would be improper to entertain her brother—- a Lord Commander no less.” You hum low, a small twitch of a smile.

Before Jaime could speak, you catch a glimpse of an ornery glare from a distance, burning with fury. The boldness fades on your lips, but confidence still lingers.

“Doesn’t your oath forbid you of any intimacy?” You jest with him, but your mind is still wondering for Cersei, as well as making sure your feet are coordinated.

You’re nearly breathless, and frightened.

Jaime feigns shock. “My oath won’t be burdened nor broken, if it is kept a secret.” He twirls you again among the sea of dancing lords and ladies. “Secrets can be delicious.” He whispers a wisp into the shell of your ear.

“Even poison can be enticing.” You tilted your chin at him, Jaime smiles, his hands circle your waist even closer to himself. His thumb stroking against your waist.

The environment blurs for a moment, it feels nice. To be treated with kindness, and gracious banter. To not be touched so harshly. But simultaneously, it’s all too much. As if a foreigner in unknown land, touch such as this is—- new.

“How could anyone deny themselves pleasure? Even if it’s —- dangerous?”

You gasp, mouth agape, for once, you didn’t have a snip to his flirtations. Jaime hums a chuckle, “Why, has the mouse lost her tongue?”

“I—”

“The Queen is ready to retire for the evening.” Bernadette’s voice floats behind you, and you thank the Gods above for her —- for just a moment. To be freed from this burning grasp.

“A thousand apologies, Ser. I must tend to—”

“My sister… yes. ” There is a mirth to his tone, mischievous. His eyes stare as if he knows something, toying with it his tongue.

“Yes…” You nod with a timid smile. You bow your head to him, grabbing the skirt of your dress, “I am grateful for the honor of a dance, Commander.” Jaime’s mouth is agape, and genuinely it spreads to a wanton smile.

“ Jaime.”

You gasp a breath, eyes taken back. Jaime grabs your hand into his, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

“Please call me Jaime.” His eyes are pleading, almost glassy. You blink, a simper of appreciation. A royal has never been so amiable with you. Always ‘my lord’ this, and ‘my lady’ that.

“Thank you, Jaime.” You say, a human sensation of appreciation is twinkling like feathers in your belly. It feels nice.

A cough emits behind you. You close your eyes —- it’s time. Lashes blink back, “I must go.” Feet backpedals, hands slowly slip from the warmth of his fingers.

“Yes, you must go.” Jaime says coyly.

Oval nails slip back to your stitching, you twirl around to walk behind Bernadette. Duckling footfalls in line, as Bernadette walks with a hast stride, slinking through the dancing bodies.

“Our majesty is very impatient.” Bernadette’s voice is snarky, as if she chastises a child.

When has she ever not been?

All you can do is strum in agreement.

As you both reach the king’s high table, you catch Cersei’s eyes. Envy as green as her hues, mouth wrinkled. Immediately she stands from her chair, bidding her son a good evening —- all he does is give her a wave and a cantankerous smile, too busy boasting with low lords.

You immediately follow behind Cersei’s trail, biting your tongue, the edge of your jaw clenching in unbridled anger.

Bernadette is not far behind, trying to level at Cersei’s shoulders, but Cersei snappily dismisses her with a flick of her wrist.

Bernadette is sent away to her own rooms, much to her dismay.

-

The lioness is prowling.

Foaming at the maw.

Cersei walked with a firm gait. Her hands clasped over each other, her lips twitching; her brocade fabric sways against the flooring. Her brother —- her lover, and her maiden in such a display.

The walk back to her chambers is eerily quiet. Anxiously your fingers fiddle with your rings, as your belly is churning as slippery eels.

Hastily, you grasp the large oak brown door handles, opening it wide for her—- hopefully pleasantries can ease the tension.

Without a look at you, Cersei immediately walks into her chambers. Harsh fingers tugs at her dress collar, Cersei’s back to you. Routine is often instructed to undress her, but she isn’t thrilled to be touched yet.

“Prepare my bath.” She demands, without even looking at you. “Yes, your Majesty.” You speak in a strain. Rolling your sleeves up to the joints of your elbows.

In the washroom, you fill the tub with warm water that has been on flame for awhile. Carefully, you begin to pour in scented oils, put her bar of soaps on the dish tray, and a rag over your forearm.

Cersei strides to the room, only in a crimson robe, with golden threads. Her face is cold, frozen in disgust.

Ungraciously Cersei drops her robe, it glides down her arms. She steps out of the bundle of fabric, and into the steamy bath. The routine commences—- you have it ingrained on what she likes.

As you kneel, Cersei untangles your headdress uncouthly, letting it fling to the floor, your hair flows down your shoulders. You resume your duty, as if nothing happened.

You unclasp her hair from the gold clips, softly caressing her skull. Untangling her swirls, and unclipping her jewelry. Tenderly, you knead the nape of her neck, to the slope of her throat, to her collarbones.

Cersei moans, closes her eyes in content, but she won’t be manipulated by your touch.

Her eyes flicker open.

“Bring me wine.” Curt and sharp. A dismissive wave of her hand. You stand up from your knees, grabbing the wine jug, pouring the dry sweet Arbor wine into her cuppee.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Cersei asks, if possible, the heat of her jealousy can boil the bath. Hesitant, you cautiously say, “Yes, the Lord Commander is a gracious dancer.” You offer her the goblet.

“Formalities,” Cersei chuckles, her head bobs tipsily, “ Ser… Lord… ” Her laugh dies, with a frown, “—with how you were fondling him, might as well refer to him by his name.” Her voice is sharp. She snatches the cuppee from your hand.

“I wouldn’t dare to speak to him so formally.” You say, sinking into yourself more and more. You resume cleaning her, trying to get through the night.

“Is it men you seek for?” Cersei asks, twisting the cuppee between her fingertips. You shake your head, “No, your grace.”

“No?” Cersei’s voice rises in pitch, almost mockingly.

“I do not seek companionship.” You peek through your lashes, trying to keep your composure. As a fawn caught by the hands of a hunter.

A thread snaps in Cersei’s mind at those words.

“If I bore a cock, perhaps you would be enticed.” Cersei hissed, her milky fingers clenching her gold cuppee. Her voice slithers into an incoherent mumble, ‘If I was born a son, we would be wedded.’

Her drunken vulnerability turns sour once more.

An empty malicious thought plagues Cersei.

“The Mountain has a taste for sweet gentle creatures—-” Cersei whispers, fiddling with your sleeve. “He would eat you alive.” An airy laugh escapes her, head reclines. She’s rambling poison, trying to hurt you, as if you have pained her in return.

“Perhaps then your whorish behavior would then be satisfied.” Cersei growls into her drink.

You remain mute, not daring to speak in your defense. It’s better fitted to let her ramble in her delusions. Cersei’s eyes spark again, feline eyes stare at you.

“Remember what he did to our late Princess Elia Martell? That was just sport for him.” Her face morphed to a devilish grin, hazy eyes sharply baring into your wet doe ones. The threat is clear, but you don’t catch the bait.

“All of the realm recalls the tragedy.”

Cersei’s face falls a bit, her smile morphs to a frown, her eyes narrow spitefully. She hoists her slender leg up, splashing her bath water everywhere, even drizzling your fabric, and face; earning a flinch. Your eyes scrunches shut, from the swash.

“Scrub.”

Gently you resume washing Cersei. The wash cloth soaps her skin, avoiding her lower regions, not daring to touch her —- it will only spark her. You save that task for last.

Cersei gulped down her wine, the warm twang floods her blood, and her mean strike.

Cersei calms for a moment, her eyes staring yards away. Finally, her body is cleaned, and you cautiously dove your hand into the soapy water, scrubbing her mound. You can feel her pubic hair through the rag. Out of instinct, Cersei bucks her hips against your palm.

Cersei moans happily.

“My brother desires you.” Cersei slurs, just a little. Staring into her wine, her fingernail scraping against the gold engraving. She speaks in a manner as if she talks to herself. You ignore her, swallowing harshly. Cersei is bristling, you prepare yourself —- for the outburst.

Her wet hand reaches for your hair, waves of midnight brown. Her fingers fiddle with the tresses, coiling into a makeshift fist.

“Pretty little thing…” Cersei deadpans, her pink mouth purses. She tugs downward, causing you to wince. And without any hesitation, her back hand swacks your cheek, sending you to crash into the flooring.

That was Cersei at her gentlest.

Cersei stands from her tub, her tuft of hair in view, nose down at your pitiful state. Crumpled onto the floor, cheek swelling, wet moon eyes —- fragile and broken, just how Cersei likes it.

“My husband wasn’t so kind.” Cersei spits, “He didn’t grant me such mercy.” Cersei’s bare foot grazes against your belly, slightly pushing. Towering over you as if you were a mere worm.

The late king was a brute, harshly thrusting his drunken rage onto Cersei. His swollen belly crushed her, and to add salt to the wound, after violating her body, he would whisper Lyanna in her ear.

“Undress.” Cersei seethes.

Shakily, you untie your dress, one shoulder at a time. “If you dare lay with Jaime—- or with any man, I will cut that tongue out of your little head.” Cersei clicks her tongue, “But oh, that tongue of yours is too delicious. It would be a waste.”

You slip out of your dress, with only a simple white cotton undergarment. Cersei snags your cloth, tearing it to thin ripped shreds, ‘as so a man would’ , Cersei thinks.

Cersei kicks the cotton against the floor by her foot, as you stand shivering under her watchful gaze.

“Kneel.”

As you kneel onto the chilled flooring, Cersei waltz to the bedding, leaning onto her spine, her legs spreading as if she’s presenting a feast.

Crawling on all fours as a dog, head bowing, nose flaring to maintain a steady pace of breath. Closer and closer now, you can feel the heat from her thighs, a natural essence emits from her mound, damp and fresh with herbal water.

Cersei’s fingers sought through your hair, fondling your scalp; guiding you further into her.

Your nose goes against her pelvic bone, her blonde tuft of hair envelopes your entire mouth, tickling your skin. Cersei’s fingers interwoven with your curls, tugging against your scalp sharply now, tight at the roots.

You catch yourself voluntarily suckingly her clit into the cave of your mouth. Sloppily nibbling and licking her folds.

Suckling her mound, mouth latched onto her as if savoring a succulent fruit. Your nose pinned against her hair, all that can be heard is the echo of your tongue lapping. Cersei’s grip is woven tight, it feels like pricking needles against your skull.

Cersei hisses through her teeth, legs spreading wider, hips thrusting against your mouth. Completely at her mercy, her palms holding your head, struggling to breathe, as her cunt is spilt and soppy against your mouth.

Hair not as dark as Robert’s but thick as his once was in his youth, it stirs something in Cersei. As a pot boiling at the rim, she snaps.

“If I was born a son,” Cersei shouts, nearly at her peak, thrashing you off of her. Wiping your mouth by the back of your hand, it glistens with Cersei’s slick.

“Perhaps then, I would have my way with you, not in such a secret!” How dare Jaime try to sway you in his bed, although Cersei warms it herself.

“Fuck you on the hill of Casterly Rock!”

Cersei isn’t always this cruel. Sometimes, she can be kind, and gracious —- as much as she can. Find the humor and joys in her privileged life. When she isn’t drunk, when she can hold a conversation—- she is tolerable.

That Cersei is ‘sweet’ , and in those sparse moments, you can forget that you are merely a servant, and she is the Queen.

“On the bed.” Barking orders as if she is a commander on the battlefield. As you crawl onto the mattress on all fours, Cersei serves herself a handful of your ass, fingers digging.

A pregnant pause.

“Do you desire my brother?” Do you desire a man?

Your face wrinkles in a silent sob, shaking your head, “No, your grace.” Bowing your head down in-between your arms.

“Do you not find him attractive?” Cersei goads, her finger tracing between your cheeks. “No—” a whack against your backside, causing you to wince in pain.

“As children, many couldn’t tell Jaime and I apart.” Cersei says, as she relishes in the blooming heat of your ass. “We mirror each other in so many ways.”

Even both acquire the same appetites.

“You insult him, you insult me.”

“What do you most yearn for in this life?” Cersei asks, tracing your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I have no ambitions.” You tiredly say. Sucking in your lips into your mouth, tasting your tears. Blindly blinking with damp lashes. Cersei ignores it, humming low in her throat.

“Every little girl has dreams,” Cersei goades, hovering over your spine, her mouth edging near the shell of your ear. In a warm whisper, “to seek for a prince to whisk them away. Surely I did. ” Her pink tongue slithers, and kitten licks your ear, the warmth jolting a shiver to your mound.

Cersei’s mouth trails down from your cheek, to the slope of your neck, leaving behind open kisses. Scraping the skin of your shoulder with her teeth, nipping here and there —- as if an animalistic urge to tear you apart has overtaken her.

“To be Lady of Casterly Rock, is that what you want?” Cersei says, sitting up again, smacking your back, she hums at your whence.

“I do not yearn for a title,” You wail, speaking through choked tears. “I serve only you.” Wrinkling the satin sheets, bunched between your fingers. Strands of hair cling to your tear stained cheeks.

Cersei plunges her fingers into your cunt, making you cry out. “Does this cunt serve me as well?” Tight walls sucking her fingers in, velvety cave explored.

Intrusive thoughts plague her mind. Images of Jaime crawling and ravishing your body; kissing, biting, and licking. It drives her mad—- with lust. She yearns for it to be three of you.

He is hers, and you are hers.

But what if you two convalude with each other? To leave her behind? To have a life together? An intimacy she has no space to shoulder herself in.

“You plot against me—” Cersei yells, her chin wobbles. Any inkling of logical reason is dwindling now. “Where do you go at night?” She interrogates, nose flaring.

“You slip through the walls, parade yourself for the guards?” She spoke through the cage of her teeth.

“I do not conspire against you, Cersei.” You shrivel, trying to inch further into the bed. “I do not want a life as such with Jaime, I desire to stay here …” you swallow a sob, “in the Red Keep with you.”

That is not enough.

You are Robert, and she wants to hurt you—- sex is electric, or it can be painful. She will fuck you as Robert —- this is what men do. Powerful men take what they want, this is what her father would do —- take, take, take, take ! Power, fear! Take all that she desires, take what she loves—

Love?

Affection isn’t a foreign concept to Cersei, but it isn’t something she gives freely. Only threads of herself can feel her love.

Cersei exhales deeply, trying to organize her thoughts.

Her eyes open blankly, one closes lazily after the other.

“I can see it now,” Her voice is hushed. “A Lannister wedding. Lavish as it can be. Gold it shall be.” Cersei’s head glances down, with an unhinged smile.

“I take Jaime as my husband, and you as my paramour.” Her head is swimming, the wine has sunk her even deeper. “Or perhaps, you as my bride. Oh —- how my father would throw a fit.” Cersei slurs and chuckles as a child.

“If only I was a man,” Cersei leans her body down, engulfing your body into hers. “We would live here, as a man would not be questioned on how many mistresses he possesses.” Her slender fingers creepily slip near your ass.

Guiding the slope of your under thigh between her legs, resting her cunt on your kneecap. The soft tuft of blond hair tickles your bare skin, grinding herself.

Soft wet slick sounds fill your ears, as her fingers grip and tug on the meat of your ass. Her hips are thrashing a bit more harsher now.

Her milky hands slither up the hill of your navel, cupping the weight of your under breast; twirling your brown nipple between her fingertips, twisting.

You hiss at the sting, as she relishes in your distress. Cersei bows her head into your chest, swallowing your breast into her mouth. Her tongue lapping at your nipple, her ivories nibbling and tugging harshly against the skin.

Violently suckling your tit, as you twitch and gasp; worried she might bite it off by the teeth. Despite the astringent offense upon your body, the wave of pleasure cascades you.

Skin breaks into bruises, as you twitch. Sensations of pain and pleasure blur, confusion and ecstasy. Without thought, your fingers caress Cersei’s hair.

Cersei’s mouth releases your breast with a wet pop. A tint of burgundy against the brown of your skin, a reddish ring encircling your nipple. Her puss leaves your knee.

The tip of Cersei’s tongue glides down the path of your belly, down to your navel, to finally your pubic bone. Her warm breaths tickle you.

Raspy moans escape from Cersei, as she slowly licks your mound. Plump, and soft. Flickering with her pink tongue, teasing you.

Her green eyes watch you, as her tongue slips through your folds, tasting you. Delving deep, to your puckering hole. Fucking you with her tongue, no matter how much you fight yourself, the sensation of her mouth on you always sends sparks.

Wetness echoes, as her cheeks puff up against your mound. You move your hips down, fucking yourself on Cersei’s mouth. Slamming your hand against your bedding, gripping the sheets between your roving fingers, as undignified grunts leave your lips.

Cersei admires your heaving bare breasts.

The lioness is selfish—- her mouth leaves you. You whine, stiffly leaning back. Her mouth is damp with your essence. With a harsh slap on your cunt, and another. Cersei finds her enjoyment in your misery, as you mutter for more.

“Pathetic little mercies.” She taunts you.

Silently, Cersei kneels once more, twirling her legs. Lifting your knee upward, over her shoulder, along with your other leg underneath her.

Both of your puss connect, dripping with want. Panting, and sweating, only grunts are in conversation. Your hair is messy, damp baby hairs cling to your forehead.

Cersei’s milky fingers hold the flesh of your thigh, as she rides your cunt with hers. Spilt wet clits, dancing together. Electric sensation that pulls the silky moans from you, as Cersei rides you fast.

Your fingers daringly hold her jiggling ass, fondling her asshole. Toying with it. Cersei squeals at the intrusive touch. A primal surge takes hold of you, placing your fingers into the cave of your mouth, soaking in your saliva.

Your hand cups Cersei between her ass, fiddling the bridge between her asshole to her gaping pussy hole. Her head falls back, as you plunge your fingers inside of cunt.

Her golden hair is loose and disarrayed. Cascading down her face, a lion reduced to a whimpering kitten. Your leg twitches against her chest, Cersei bites at your calf dully.

Your toes curl and flex, as the pit of your belly is unfurling. A choppy high-pitched moan spews from you, your head digging back into the pillows.

Cersei shrills a yes , as her climax reaches itself to the heavens. Bruising your thigh under her fingers. Cumming together, Cersei grinds herself onto you, connecting together, with no space of separation.

Clits throbbing against each other, stinging pleasure. Riding your highs, gently thrashing her clit against yours, earning airy moans. The tuft of her pubic hair against yours fuels the sensation.

Cersei moans delightfully, satisfied with herself. Her body towers over yours, crawling into your heaving arms; not caring of the dewy sheen of sweat that covers your body.

Legs interlocking together, as she pulls you into her arms fully. Turning herself onto her side, her knuckles stroking your hip.

These are the sparse moments you enjoy with Cersei. When she is human, when she relishes in touch, rather than harshness.

“Jaime should not be burdened with duties of the King’s Guard.” Cersei whispers. “He needs a bride. Father is aging, and one day, Castlery Rock will be in need of a lord.” She is mumbling now, mostly to herself.

“That disease of my little brother will defile us with his whores.” Hate spills from her naturally, as it always does.

Her voice trails into silence, her fingers snagging onto your flesh, pulling you closer to her.

Sleep takes Cersei, sinking into the mattress. Paralyzed in her hold until slumber overtook you as well.

The morning sun shone through the windows, baring its light onto your eyes. Rubbing your eyes by the heels of your palms, sinking deeper into the blanket furs.

The hinges of the chamber doors creak, jolting you further into reality, eyes heavily leaning to shut closed. Clicks of heels follow, and a hum.

“It seems the morrow has escaped us.” Her voice is light, cheery even. Not an inch of maligne in her infliction. It’s eerie how the mask can slip on and off—- a performance.

Cersei leans, invading your space, seating upon the mattress. Her eyes lower, and darken. How easily eerie her charm and spite can transmute to one entity.

“If I were to find you in the arms of another,” Cersei says, her voice on edge, taking one step closer, her lips stretch into a gritted wolfish grin. “I will gladly brand your cunt with the sigil of my house.” Her green eyes unflinching, her lips smirking devilishly.

Silence prevails, your hair cascaded against your face. Barely hiding your shame, you subtly nod; submitting to her demanding presence.

Cersei smirks, “Good.” The lioness prowls around her chambers, licking your blood off her paws. A victorious slaughter, a fragile doe locked in her cave, with broken limbs—- and a broken spirit.

-

Peace and quiet.

You inhale a deep breath, as it floods your cavity. Solitude has finally granted itself upon you, away from the yaws of the lioness.

Flexed fingers stroke against the wall, basking in the brisk air. The balcony’s view is marvelous. Unclipping your cleavage, so the breeze can grace your breasts, and sweep against your scalp.

Cersei had taken her leave for a meeting with the king’s council. And surely, no mere maid is allowed in such a space.

Away from her suffocating touch, you can relax in your own skin. A thought comes to you, there are a handful of empty rooms to explore. Your feet carry you down the corridors.

Without thought, searching for an empty chamber, you find one. With the tug of the knobs, you walk freely inside—- only to be greeted with whisking reddish hair.

A gasp catches itself in your mouth, holding your stomach, kneeling legs curtsying in respect.

“Lady Sansa.” You bow your head dutifully. “A thousand apologies, I didn’t intend to intrude.” As your feet backpedal to the entrance, a soft whisper calls.

“Please stay.”

And just like that, her sweet child voice sweeps you.

“Oh, little wolf.” You pinch the fabric of your dress, lifting as you walk with haste. The instinct to hold Sansa over took you. Sitting on her mattress, engulfing her in your arms, quickly her red hair melts against the sapphire threading of your dress.

Sansa’s head is tucked in the crook of your shoulder. Quietly sobbing, her delicate fingers grip against the base of your back, as would a cub cling to its mother’s teat.

Caressing her hair, you shush her softly, rocking her back and forth. “I’m scared.” Sansa’s words are muffled, vibrating against you. “I want to go home.” She wails, mewling.

“My sweet girl, how I long for you to be safe.” You whisper, “I’m so sorry for what has happened.” You kiss her head, muttering apologies into her hair, hoping your kindness weaves itself into her hair, and stays for a rest.

The morrow stretches into noon, as you watch over Sansa. Comforting her in placid silence, brushing her hair. Humming a melody, as your fingers thread intricate braids within her auburn flaming hair.

This feels like home again.

Outside of these walls, both are prisoners within a castle. But here, in this moment, is a woman, and a child. Reliving memories past, as a mother, and as a daughter—- through each other.

To heal these wounds, as mother and daughter.

Just for a moment.

[hello-nichya-here]

Do you still like talking about ASOIAF? see you like SanSan and wanted to know your opinion about something I was reading. I was reading some discussions around Sandor's character and there seems to be a division of opinion about whether he is in fact a total bastard, but he met Sansa (who was the first to give him empathy and kindness) and so he does kind acts but only to her (or when she is near) OR he always had a "good side" somewhere inside him (still a bastard, but I think you get the ideia of what I mean?), but was too comfortable with his view of the world and become totally apathetic to the things around him (until he met Sansa and she kind of challenged his worldview). I thought I'd ask your opinion on this, if you don't mind, because I think you usually have interesting thoughts on things.

George R.R. Martin likes complex, messy characters that are very firmly in the grey area. The full on pure monsters in the story (like Ramsay and his dad) are not as large as the group of grey, or even good, characters, and they usually don't get as much attention. There's a reason we'll see the POV of Jaime, Cersei and Tyrion, but not Tywin - they have more humanity and vulnerability in them, so Martin has something more interesting to work with and develop. He even went as far as saying that even the iconic "A Targaryen is either great or mad" thing is a LIE, because ALL OF THEM did things that could make them look great or mad in people's eyes.

With Sandor in particular, lets get the most ridiculous "take" on the character out of the way: He is not kind ONLY to Sansa or ONLY when she's around. For fuck's sake, he goes out of his way to remind her of every awful thing he does/thinks in hopes she'll stop giving a damn about him and he can thus stop questioning his entire existence, and is repeatedly exasperated that nothing seems to do the trick.

And while he is kinder to her than to anyone else, he REPEATEDLY proves that he wants to stop being just a killer. We see in an Arya chapter that Sandor wanted to just live in a quiet, peaceful village until the end of his days, but he is kicked out because of his past and is clearly upset about it.

He kidnaps Arya because he wants to return her to the Starks in the hopes that they will take him in. And after the Red Wedding he still saves Arya, and after being VERY cruel to her in trying to get her to accept that her family is dead, he changes his tune literally overnight because, come on, she's a kid and what happened is horrible, he shouldn't have snapped at her and he knows it.

For fuck's sake, he CRIES confessing his sins Arya when he is "dying", and then changes his ways when he is rescued and taken to the Quiet Isle.

More important, during a public event in which his brother is trying to kill Loras for beating him in a duel, Sandor steps into to the rescue. It would have been THE perfect way to get his revenge on his abuser without any consequence - he'd just be defending himself and another person. No one could truly hold it against him if he had killed Gregor right then and there, not even Sansa. But instead, we are told this:

"Thrice Ned saw Ser Gregor aim savage blows at the hound’s-head helmet, yet not once did Sandor send a cut at his brother’s unprotected face."

George R.R. Martin went as far as creating an two distinct, very easy ways to highlight to the readers that this character has both a human side and a monstruous side - and that the human side would eventually win in this internal conflict.

The first is his identity as "The Hound." It represents his anger, his violent impulses, his willingness to obey unjust orders because it benefits him, his alcohol abuse, his tendency to snap at people for the smallest thing, and his refusal to accept that this behavior is not "just how the world works" and is in fact a problem he needs to work on.

Sandor struggles to let go of "The Hound" even though, as I like reminding people, no one hates that fucker more than Sandor himself does. He struggles because this bad behavior is a toxic coping mechanism. It was what allowed him to survive in a cruel, unjust world - in an Arya chapter, after WINNING a trial by combat and thus being forgiven for his own sins AND the sins of his brother, we have her describe him as looking like a frightened child after he gets burned. Sansa compares the kiss she's given by Sweet Robin, a little boy that latched onto her, to her imagined kiss with Sandor. The Hound is the mask a frightened, traumatized child that never matured in healthy way hides behind.

We even see Sansa herself adapt parts of "The Hound" into a healthy survival skill - righteous anger at her abusers and their enablers instead of just blind rage at every living thing, suspicion and caution around people until she's sure they can be trusted instead of believing EVERYONE is rotten to the core.

Sandor is called "The Hound" less and less as the books go on, until we reach the point of him being on the Quiet Isle, basically going through that world's equivalent of rehab and therapy, and then hear the very clear message of "The Hound is dead, Sandor Clegane is at rest." We even have an actual bad guy steal his hound helm and see how people are WRONG in assuming that Sandor Clegane is the monster running around raping and killing people because THAT IS NOT WHAT THIS MAN WANTS TO DO WITH HIS LIFE!

And that's despite him saying shit like "If you can't fight for yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can" - which brings us to the second way Martin used to highlight the duality of the character: his feelings on what it means to be a TRUE knight.

Sandor will constantly tell Sansa that true knights don't exist, that the very concept is ridiculous, that the world is awful and he's just honest about it, that knights are for killing and that killing is the sweetest thing there is.

Yet he refuses to take on the title when he joins the King's guard. Whether that refusal happens because Sandor doesn't think he deserves the title or because he is disgusted to be in the same class as people like Gregor, he is still letting the truth slip in the moment: deep down, he DOES care about honor, even if just a little. He DOES think there's something wrong with cruel, corrupt men being give praise and status for being "heroes" when they're actually monsters. He DOES have lines he doesn't cross and that nobody can make him change his mind on.

Now, obviously a true knight doesn't get "drunk as a dog", doesn't comment on a 12-year-old girl "having tits now" (especially not when that girl is noble AND the king's future queen), does work for corrupt lords, doesn't kill an innocent child because a spoiled prince threw a tantrum, and doesn't hold the 12-year-old he is trying to save at knife point during a PTSD episode.

But a true knight would prevent Sansa from killing Joffrey and being punished (and possibly killed) as a consequence, would give her advice on how to protect herself from the King's wrath and from potential manipulators, would scream in protest when she's being beaten and humiliated in public and then give her his cloak to cover herself up, would save her during a riot, would offer to try and get her back to her family - and would accept her refusing that offering - and he would remove his white cloak, the symbol of his honor, to demonstrate he is ashamed of having done something that goes against his code.

Sandor Clegane is a complex, deeply flawed man. He knows it. But he WANTS to be Sansa's knight in shinning armor because, deep down, he shares her beliefs. And she recognizes that, and Martin goes out of his way to show us that she prays for his soul.

"He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him.”

No matter how awful The Hound is, Sansa Stark is never gonna take it as proof that Sandor Clegane didn't deserve justice for what Gregor did to him - not even when she's saying, to his face, that if he doesn't change his ways the Gods will send him to hell. And she's going to call him "Ser" whether he likes it or not, and question why he lets people call him a dog, and will thank him and call him brave whenever he helps her out. He can complain all he wants, she's not gonna stop.

No matter how flawed of a protector he is, Sansa will always remember him as the closest she got to meeting a true knight - to the point that when she's about to be sexually assaulted in a later book and someone saves her, her first instinct is that her savior MUST be Sandor, even though she knows she's either half a continent away or full on dead by now.

And that kindness, understanding and faith in him is what Sandor had always, desperately longed for, but didn't think he would ever get or ever deserve. And for that, he feels he owes Sansa a debt he can never repay, so he is at his kindest to her, and steps up to protect her from Joffrey because he simply can't help himself.

Sandor is not putting on an act for Sansa or changing his behavior only towards her. She is the catalyst for his character arc. He gave her tools to survive, she gave him a REASON to survive.

It's why their last interaction has her wraping his cloak around herself, accepting him as her knight, after singing this song to him:

"Gentle Mother, font of mercy Save our sons from war, we pray Stay the swords and stay the arrows Let them know a better day Gentle Mother, strength of women Help our daughters through this fray Soothe the wrath and tame the furyTeach us all a kinder way"

Sansa's dynamic with with the Hound - not Sandor, the Hound - was pure "Kill them with kindness." Beauty killed the Beast. Sansa saved Sandor from the Hound, and now he feels it's his duty to protect her.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 10 | chapter 11

Rhaella Targaryen. Wife of the Mad King Aerys II. Mother of Queen Daenerys across the Narrow Sea. The Dragons.

You had read about her in scrolls and books when you were still young. Rhaella was unhappily married to her brother Aerys II. They were both forced into marriage due to a prophecy that came from a witch, making her resent being a Targaryen. The prophecy said they would give birth to a 'prince that was promised'. Through time when the King went mad, Rhaella had been abused endlessly, imprisoned in her own chambers. For all you knew, she was glad Targaryens were finally removed from existence.

It would explain how your father had insisted you to study the ancient language High Valyrian throughout your life, how he trained you to fight, how he encaged you as your own protection as if you were someone other than his daughter.

You listened to Oberyn share more about what happened when your mother brought you to him. You were still three years old when you first rode the Dornish ship. That was why you could remember slivers of memory being in the Citadel, the streets in the Capital, platinum white hair entangled through your fingers and the vast sea with huge waves when you were young.

Three years later spending under your father's care, you remembered Elia being murdered, her children killed as well.

Now as you faced the Mountain standing on the other side of the pit, the one who was ordered to kill Elia, made you grit your teeth from fury.

It only stopped when the Lannisters and Tyrells walked past through your side to give you good luck for the fight. Tywin nodded back at you, remembering your brief conversation with him earlier that morning together with Oberyn — offering Yronwood castle to set Cersei free from any arrangement.

"You're a fool," Cersei muttered as she intentionally left herself behind others. The crowd had already gathered on the stands around the pit, cheering and booing at Tyrion or The Mountain. You only bowed your head. "Tell me, Y/n. Why does my brother deserve this?"

"He didn't kill your son, Cersei," you said. "And I know terrible things have happened to you to make your heart forever cold, but it doesn't mean there's no kindness left in this world and your brother deserves it too. You deserve it as well."

She swallowed nervously before she abruptly pulled you into a tight embrace, making others look away.

"I . . . I can't lose you too, Y/n," Cersei whispered into your chest, rendering you speechless. She may had heard how loud your heart was beating from your chest.

When she pulled away, her eyes were red, glistening with tears. Does she really care for you or is it for the crowd, knowing you two are engaged?

You felt her hand tugging against your hips, realizing she was placing a small dagger in your belt. You doubted the small weapon could help you defeat The Mountain, but the gesture made you want to kiss the woman.

You looked at Cersei and see her hard gaze, the clutch she had on your hand felt like she didn't want to let you go. Even her father Tywin has already called for her. And she still hesitated. "I . . . I lo—"

The sound of the horn signaling the event made her pull away. "You better come back to me alive."

Your eyes followed Cersei as she walked away, longing for the fight to be over and finally talk to her. Ask her if she meant it. That you weren't just imagining it. That she had almost said she loved you too.

Shaking your head, you headed towards Tyrion near the pit. You could see Oberyn and Ellaria looking all worried from a distance.

"You know, if you die, Cersei will kill me herself," Tyrion said, making you laugh nervously. "Although, I know you Vipers are fast, so I think it's an advantage," he then glanced at you from head to foot, "Wait, you're only wearing that? No armor? Have you lost your mind when you were flirting with Cersei?"

"Armors are heavy, they make your actions slow," you said back, smiling at him.

This made Tyrion lose his balance as he almost fainted. "I'm going to die," he declared in a low voice, talking to no one in particular.

Ignoring Tyrion's ongoing monologues, you moved forward unto the pit while one of the Dornishmen soldiers approached you to provide you with your weapon — a long spear with a sharp steel point as a spearhead. Your very own weapon.

Your eyes trailed to Gregor, The Mountain, and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with his massive sword placed in the ground in front of him, a six-foot-long blade. His enormous hands with gauntlets was probably the reason why Tyrion was terrified for you.

The Mountain was completely covered with steel armor, you would need to figure out his weakest points. Whereas your outfit consisted only of leather and flowing silks, a trademark of Dorne.

Your eyes then darted towards the stands as a round steel shield was placed on your other arm.

You could see Cersei's troubled face sitting beside her son Tommen, holding his hand to keep herself grounded. And as if she knew you were looking, her eyes met yours in a longing stare you two didn't dare to look away until you had to.

When another horn was blown as a signal to start the fight, you moved forward swiftly, while The Mountain advanced towards you, his feet almost shaking the ground as he moved.

"Do you remember Elia Martell,  Princess of Dorne?" you began, moving to the side as he attempted to attack you with his sword.

"Some dead woman," he grunted.

The answer only made you upset as you thrusted your long spear forward. However, Gregor had deflected the point with his shield, pushing it aside, and charging at you once again with his sword.

You spun away unscathed. You lunged forward your weapon, but The Mountain slashed at it, causing you to pull it back and thrust once more. Metal shrieked against metal as the spearhead skidded off the Mountain's chest, cutting through the latter's coat, leaving a long scratch on the skin underneath.

"You raped her," you went on, watching the man hiss in pain. "You murdered her. Then you killed her children."

Gregor grunted as he made a slow, heavy charge to strike at your head, but you saw it coming as you easily evaded the attack.

You kept on circling, jabbing and then swiftly withdrawing, which made it hard for the larger man to foresee your next move. The Mountain struggled to keep sight of you so you skillfully took this advantage, leveraging both the reach of your spear and your own speed.

"You raped her," you said. "You murdered her. You killed her children."

"Did you come here to talk or to fight?" The Mountain groaned, as you managed to hit him again.

"I came to hear you confess."

The battle continued like this for what felt like an eternity. You moved back and forth across the yard, circling each other in spirals. Gregor swung his sword at the air while your spear struck his arms, legs, and even twice at his forehead. Gregor's large wooden shield took numerous hits. Yours didn't fare well, making you let it fall to the ground.

"You raped her!" You deflected a brutal swing with your spear and quickly thrusted the spearpoint towards The Mountain's eyes, causing the massive man to flinch. "You murdered her!" The spear then flicked sideways and downward, scraping against the Mountain's breastplate. "You killed her children!" With its length—two feet longer than Gregor's sword—the spear kept him at an awkward distance.

He swung at the spear shaft whenever you lunged, attempting to sever the spearhead, but it was as ineffective as you were faster than him.

Gregor charged straight into the spear's point, which drove into his right breast and then scraped aside with a terrible, screeching sound of metal. Now that the Mountain was close enough to strike, his massive sword flashed to strike towards you.

The crowd gasped. But you managed to dodge the first blow and released his grip on the spear, however the Mountain was already so close.

His hand shot up and seized you behind the knee. You swung at his sword wildly, but it was of no use as the sword was quickly abandoned. Gregor's grip tightened and twisted around your leg, pulling you down onto him. You both tumbled unto the ground, the shattered spear swaying back and forth.

"Stop it! Stop the fight!" you heard Cersei's voice overpowering from the crowd. Or maybe you were only imagining it.

The Mountain encircled you with one massive arm, pressing you close to his chest as though embracing you tenderly. And you couldn't breathe.

Then he threw you unto the ground like a doll before he punched your face so hard, you thought you'd blacked out, your head turning to the side where you could see The Lannisters against the dust. Cersei was on her feet, screaming in agony as she was being held back by the Kingsguard.

Gregor's hand wrapped around your neck, making you look back at your attacker.

As his grip tightened, everything flashed before you. Rhaella Targaryen. Doran. Cersei.

Cersei. And then you remembered the dagger she placed earlier into your belt. Your hand knowingly pulled out the weapon and used whatever was left from your energy to slash the blade against the skin of Gregor's throat, his blood spewing into your face.

The Mountain's grip loosened and his body fell limply unto you, heavy weight pressing unto your body. The crowd went silent as they witnessed the bloody scene.

You managed to lift your hand to the side and raise a thumbs up to the crowd, making them erupt in cheers.

And it was all black after that.

[melrosing]

Why do you think Jaime was so blind to Cersei's cruelty? How much of Cersei's actions did he know?

Cersei has kept Jaime out on a whole range of things for a whole range of reasons, e.g. Robert's abuse for fear that Jaime would retaliate, but also the valonqar prophecy because.....?? given that she hasn't even considered this could implicate Jaime as the valonqar, you'd think she'd let in the person she considers her other half, and who would defend her against anything - but nah. and this is reflected in her approach to politics and scheming as well. Cersei would sooner liaise with largely powerless outliers like Lancel, Qyburn, the Kettleblacks and Taena than the person she's closest to. i think that's bc she doesn't fully see them as people with agency of their own, rather just pawns who exist for her convenience. i think this speaks to habits formed pre-series, and is reflected in comments like '[Tyrion] has told you a thousand lies, and so have I'. I think it's only in AGOT post-Bran that Cersei thinks Jaime might do anything for her and requests that he maim/kill Arya - and the fact that Jaime looks on this as a unique low point in his own history and his relationship with Cersei suggests he's not been aware of all the other times she's put in requests for child murder.

as for why he's been so blind to it..... idk love lol. he's trapped serving as a glorified bodyguard to a man he despises and has no future outside the red keep. he will either die for robert or for a boy who will never know he is his father. jaime has fuck all to live for except the woman he joined the KG for. if he looks at her and sees her for how she truly is, then what. what has he got left to live for. etc etc

[atopvisenyashill]

that bit about joffrey is FASCINATING have you ever written about this in depth? I've always loved his character but I would never be able to like. Describe why exactly he is the way he is so I really appreciate your analysis of him loving BOTH parents and incorporating only their flaws - I always just assumed that he hates his dad and is annoyed by cersei (still loves her) but then the way we sexually humiliates and abuses sansa etc is so robert-coded like of course he emulates the bevavior of his father.

Also slightly off topic but i always forget that Joffrey is like canonically so good at all the proper princely things (thinking of that scene at Sansa and Tyrion's wedding when she's so upset that a monster like Joff could be so good at dancing) and - not to go on about GOT again - but I wish we had actually gotten to see that and him being charming etc. Huge props to the show for giving Joff the perfect wardrobe (the only thing they did right) but also f them for waiting all that potential

yes, they really said joff gets to have all the swag and then the moment he died they put cersei in that fuck ass bob and no one in the lannisters was allowed to serve again smh. and thank youuu i actually had to stop myself from rambling over him before haha, but i'll go into more detail here! so this was the comment from the other post-

joffrey is a kid just ruled by his first, most base instinct. his instincts, his core emotions, tell him to love and trust both robert and cersei, and imo he twists himself into a MONSTER to try to appeal to both of them. no one else matters - not his siblings, not his uncle, not his grandfather, not the realm. he needs to be the sort of vicious person they could both be proud of, he needs to be better than them both at violence, so he absorbs all of their faults and none of their virtues.

i definitely do see very often that people feel he only loves one or the other parent and while I do understand that reading, I don't think it's quite how Joffrey operates. I think he does love them both, and holds them both in high esteem. I do agree that he's annoyed by Cersei but that doesn't mean he doesn't value her opinion (as much as Joffrey puts value on anyone else's opinion, I mean).

Joffrey and Cersei

Joffrey relies on his mother more than almost any other male character we see in the series. We see him call for Cersei basically every time he's hurt, in trouble, or wanting to whine about something. Not only that, but you have everyone from Robert to Renly to Tywin himself saying that Joffrey is doted upon and inseparable from his mother. A few choice quotes:

"Fear is better than love, Mother says." Joffrey pointed at Sansa. "She fears me."

He takes Cersei's lessons to heart, however flawed they are. Her opinion matters to him, he wants her to see him as strong.

Nine cases out of ten seemed to bore him; those he allowed his council to handle, squirming restlessly while Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, or Queen Cersei resolved the matter. When he did choose to make a ruling, though, not even his queen mother could sway him.

It's Cersei he listens to the most. We know that if a little King, even with his mother as Regent, doesn't want to deal with her, he can simply ignore her - that's what Jaehaerys does with Alyssa, after all. But Joffrey doesn't do this; he'll fight with her, he'll insult her, and he's not shy about doing it in public but he never disregards her out of hand.

Joffrey lurched to his feet. "I'm king! Kill him! Kill him now! I command it." He chopped down with his hand, a furious, angry gesture . . . and screeched in pain when his arm brushed against one of the sharp metal fangs that surrounded him. The bright crimson samite of his sleeve turned a darker shade of red as his blood soaked through it. "Mother!" he wailed.

His instinct, every time, is to turn to her for help. He loves her. He adores her. She's the only person around who tells him he's strong and smart and will be a good king. He leans on her for guidance, for comfort, he talks to her about fucking whores. He shares everything with her because he doesn't have a single friend. She models anger and violence for him constantly, she excuses his disturbing proclivities, so he molds himself to be the person she wants him to be, the king she wants him to be. People - including Tyrion and Tywin! - are always wondering why Cersei is blind to his cruelty, but the reality is she knew he was cruel and loved him for it.

Tommen did as he was bid. His meekness troubled her. A king had to be strong. Joffrey would have argued. He was never easy to cow.

For Cersei, cruelty is strength and in her eyes, Joffrey is as strong as they come. This isn't by accident; just like his constant cries for her are reinforced by her rushing to coddle him, his cruelty is reinforced by a mother who sees it as strength. It's almost like what Coldhands says to Bran - Joffrey is a monster, yes, but in Cersei's eyes, Joffrey is her monster.

Joffrey and Robert

Joffrey had never had a close friend of his own age, that she recalled. The poor boy was always alone. I had Jaime when I was a child . . . and Melara, until she fell into the well. Joff had been fond of the Hound, to be sure, but that was not friendship. He was looking for the father he never found in Robert.

From Cersei's point of view, I think she knows very well that Joffrey is searching for love, acceptance, and himself in Robert. She doesn't like it, but she seems to accept that it's natural for Joffrey to search for some sort of father figure, and doesn't seem to begrudge him that - imo, I think because she knows Robert is always going to reject Joffrey for his cruelty.

“Why would he [care]? Robert ignored him. He would have beat him if I’d allowed it. That brute you made me marry once hit the boy so hard he knocked out two of his baby teeth, over some mischief with a cat. I told him I’d kill him in his sleep if he ever did it again, and he never did, but sometimes he would say things…”

Whenever they interact, the few times they do, there's violence. People always take this as Cersei not allowing Robert to "teach" or "properly discipline" Joffrey but, well...does the above seem like helpful discipline? Knocking out your child because he freaked you out? Punishing extreme violence with more extreme violence? And it's not just Cersei that this moment sticks with, because Stannis brings it up as well-

"Joffrey . . . I remember once, this kitchen cat . . . the cooks were wont to feed her scraps and fish heads. One told the boy that she had kittens in her belly, thinking he might want one. Joffrey opened up the poor thing with a dagger to see if it were true. When he found the kittens, he brought them to show to his father. Robert hit the boy so hard I thought he'd killed him."

Since Cersei says Robert would "say things" and we see him threatening Cersei (the "or I'll honor you again" line), I don't think it's a stretch to say that Robert threatened to beat Joffrey nearly to death several times over.

And yet...Joffrey compliments his father, especially in comparison to his other relatives.

He wrenched free of her. "Why should I? Everyone knows it's true. My father won all the battles. He killed Prince Rhaegar and took the crown, while your father was hiding under Casterly Rock." The boy gave his grandfather a defiant look. "A strong king acts boldly, he doesn't just talk."

And Cersei believes this came from Robert-

"Father, I am sorry," Cersei said, when the door was shut. "Joff has always been willful, I did warn you . . ." "There is a long league's worth of difference between willful and stupid. 'A strong king acts boldly?' Who told him that?" "Not me, I promise you," said Cersei. "Most like it was something he heard Robert say . . ."

And of course, Jaime is the one who pieces together why Joffrey sent the catspaw-

“Yes, I hoped the boy would die. So did you. Even Robert thought that would have been for the best. ‘We kill our horses when they break a leg, and our dogs when they go blind, but we are too weak to give the same mercy to crippled children’ he told me. He was blind himself at the time, from drink.” Robert? Jaime had guarded the king long enough to know that Robert Baratheon said things in his cups that he would have denied angrily the next day. “Were you alone when Robert said this?” “You don’t think he said it to Ned Stark, I hope? Of course we were alone. Us and the children.” Cersei removed her hairnet and draped it over a bedpost, then shook out her golden curls. “Perhaps Myrcella sent this man with the dagger, do you think so?” It was meant as mockery, but she’d cut right to the heart of it, Jaime saw at once. “Not Myrcella. Joffrey.” Cersei frowned. “Joffrey had no love for Robb Stark, but the younger boy was nothing to him. He was only a child himself .” “A child hungry for a pat on the head from that sot you let him believe was his father.”

When you put it all together, you have a child who is ignored by his father unless he's being threatened with a beating, who is constantly calling him a monster, who watches his father harm and humiliate his mother day in and day out, who has no other paternal figure around but this violent, angry man who he is supposed to model himself off of, and a mother who encourages his cruelty because she believes it's the only way to protect herself, to protect her son. He's not just emulating his mother's cruelty, he's emulating Robert's violence specifically when he humilates Sansa at court, when he openly talks shit about Cersei - it's what he's seen modeled for him as kingly behavior!

The Abuse And Jaime Of It All

King Joffrey's face hardened. "My mother tells me that it isn't fitting that a king should strike his wife. Ser Meryn."

He knows Robert is abusing Cersei and he takes her dislike of it seriously even as he doesn't make the connection that she means he shouldn't be striking his wife period. Whether it's because Cersei directly told him (which could make sense; she's purposefully hiding it from Jaime but perhaps she confided in Joffrey) or because he witnessed it himself, he's aware of the abuse enough that he takes his mother's comments about not personally striking Sansa to heart.

"No," [Robert] thundered in a voice that drowned out all other speech. Sansa was shocked to see the king on his feet, red of face, reeling. He had a goblet of wine in one hand, and he was drunk as a man could be. "You do not tell me what to do, woman," he screamed at Queen Cersei. "I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!" Everyone was staring. Sansa saw Ser Barristan, and the king's brother Renly, and the short man who had talked to her so oddly and touched her hair, but no one made a move to interfere. The queen's face was a mask, so bloodless that it might have been sculpted from snow. She rose from the table, gathered her skirts around her, and stormed off in silence, servants trailing behind. Jaime Lannister put a hand on the king's shoulder, but the king shoved him away hard. Lannister stumbled and fell. The king guffawed. "The great knight. I can still knock you in the dirt. Remember that, Kingslayer." He slapped his chest with the jeweled goblet, splashing wine all over his satin tunic. "Give me my hammer and not a man in the realm can stand before me!" Jaime Lannister rose and brushed himself off. "As you say, Your Grace." His voice was stiff. Lord Renly came forward, smiling. "You've spilled your wine, Robert. Let me bring you a fresh goblet." Sansa started as Joffrey laid his hand on her arm. "It grows late," the prince said. He had a queer look on his face, as if he were not seeing her at all. "Do you need an escort back to the castle?"

I think it's pretty clear that Joffrey is dissociating here which also explains his very detached way of looking at Robert's abuse of Cersei. It freaks him out enough that he uses Sansa as an excuse to leave (giving her the Hound, then running off himself) but he doesn't show it. He's not even particularly upset during this scene, not throwing a tantrum or making whiny remarks like he does when he's usually upset. He only has a "queer look" - the stress of trying to reconcile his adoration of Robert and his love of Cersei just makes him fully shut down instead of confronting it.

Joffrey gave a petulant shrug. "Your brother defeated my uncle Jaime. My mother says it was treachery and deceit. She wept when she heard. Women are all weak, even her, though she pretends she isn't. She says we need to stay in King's Landing in case my other uncles attack, but I don't care. After my name day feast, I'm going to raise a host and kill your brother myself. That's what I'll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother's head."

I think people often take his comments about how women are weak to mean he doesn't view his mother as a competent advisor. But you notice a pattern here - he gets shitty with her when it's about Jaime specifically.

"A great many people are sorry for that," Tyrion replied, "and before I am done, some may be a deal sorrier . . . yet I thank you for the sentiment. Joffrey, where might I find your mother?" "She's with my council," the king answered. "Your brother Jaime keeps losing battles."

"She's with my council" he says, because he sees no reason to not let Cersei run things without him, something Robert never lets her do. But "your brother Jaime" not "my uncle Jaime" which is a shift because he doesn't stop calling Renly or Stannis his uncles even after they rebel. He knows, he suspects, and what he resents is not Cersei fucking Jaime but Jaime fucking Cersei.

My read on this is that Joffrey sees his mother as weak for allowing herself to be seduced by Jaime, and sees Jaime as a lecherous seducer who is the cause of all his problems. If only Jaime hadn't seduced his mother, maybe his parents wouldn't hate each other. His claim wouldn't be under question. His mother should have just taken the abuse and bided her time instead of putting herself in danger and having bastards.

He loves his mother. He loves his father. And that's the human heart in conflict with itself that resides in Joffrey. Does he honor his mother, the only parent he has, or does he honor Robert, the patriarch he is supposed to emulate? If he has no other example of what strength looks like, is he even capable of figuring out a different path for himself?

[best-nun-tournament]

Grand Final

Krauss, Eva, Rudolf and Rosa Ushiromiya (Umineko) vs Cersei, Jaime and Tyrion Lannister (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Propaganda under break

Krauss, Eva, Rudolf and Rosa Ushiromiya

The four children of billionaire Kinzo Ushiromiya. Every year, they return home to Rokkenjima Island for a family conference. With Kinzo's health declining, to the point where he hardly ever leaves his room, the only topic on their minds is how to carve up his fortune.

Krauss is the eldest, and Kinzo's successor. Even if he's not the smartest of the siblings, his position as heir and imposing physique let him push them around. He even used to beat his younger siblings. Now, they suspect him of abusing his position as Kinzo's caregiver to embezzle their rightful share of the family fortune.

Eva is the second child, and incredibly resentful about it. She despises the fact that despite being so much more intelligent than Krauss, he's always above her just because he's older and a man. She's devoted her whole life to usurping Krauss' position, and then devoted her son's life to becoming the next heir instead of Krauss' daughter. When not scheming against her brother, she loves finding ways to torment and cruelly provoke her siblings, sister-in-law, and the servants.

Rudolf is the third, and with little hope of becoming heir, became a conman and a playboy (though he eventually settled down as a married man and white-collar criminal). Suffering from his sibling's bullying, he turned all their physical and emotional abuse on his sister Rosa. Though unlike Eva, he's stopped being cruel to her as an adult.

Rosa is the youngest sibling, and she's had a terrible life. Even as an adult, she's still terrified of Eva and acts dumb around her for fear of provoking her. But if she was given the opportunity, she could easily make them pay for what she's suffered.

Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion Lannister

Cersei HATES Tyrion. Hes not a big fan of her either on account of her absolutely hating him. Cersei (and her twin Jaime, who is actually a good brother to Tyrion) were born a few years earlier than Tyrion, and blames him for "killing their mother," because she died in childbirth. Everyone in their family (except Jaime) hates Tyrion because he has dwarfism, but Cersei hates him more than anyone else and has wanted him dead since childhood. (spoilers beyond this point for the books and show both) When Cersei's son is killed, her immediate instinct is to blame Tyrion and throw him in jail. She does everything in her power to have him killed.

------

The incest for starters. The fact that Cersei doesn’t see Tyrion as human. All the backstabbing. And that they made their own family problems everyone else’s tragic backstory and present out of their own lust for power

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here's a quote from one of tyrion's chapters: "When your sister cries, you were supposed to comfort her... but this was Cersei."

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Sansa Stark

Sansa Stark x daughter reader (platonic)

Warning: mentions of sexual abuse and trauma (to Sansa)

-From the moment she first meets you Sansa is fiercely protective. She knows girls are not kindly treated in this world. So the realities of this world are shown to you from a young age. Sansa has no interest at you being as naïve as as she had once been as a child. You are taught to be cunning and observe everyone. After all, no one can be too careful.

Y/n's little head rested on her mothers chest as Sansa walked through the quiet halls of Winterfell. Lights flickered in the hallway. Every step she took echoed through the ancient stone. Y/n stirred in her mothers arms, a small coo escaping her. Sansa's grip tightened. Even if she was a Queen there was no guarantee that Y/n was safe. Queen Cersei was a powerful Queen and all of her children were gone. Could she, still so young, succeed were Cersei failed? Sansa had always wanted a son. As a young girl it was to please her husband and continue his family line. Now as a woman grown, she feared to have a girl. She worried that her daughter would be burdened with the same worries she did. The night dragged on, the Queen's thoughts a blizzard of torment.

-Sansa will be a strict mother. As a child you would not understand why she labored over your upbringing, constantly tormented by a past you did not understand. She would always warn you of the dangers ahead. This does mean that while you know your mother loves you there is a wall. She is someone you don't fully understand. But you also admire her for being so strong. Sansa has always been a pillar of strength, she understands that her action will be an example to you. From the time you are old enough to, Sansa has you sit in on council meetings and affairs' of state. Because the world shows mercy to none, especially young girls.

Lady Karstark was arguing the case for her right to land against the Glovers. Both parties stood in front of the Queen who sat on her throne. On a seat beside her was Princess Y/n, wearing a newly forged circlet that would now be passed down to each heir. You took note of their arguments, the relationships between each person and the old alliances. You remembered the lands, having been to them on tours in the past. Beforehand, you had looked over documents, no matter how tedious they were. As future Queen you had learned that knowledge is power. Sansa put up her hand. Silence fell upon the crowd. You wondered if one day you would hold such power. The Queen looked to you. "And what does my daughter say?"

-There is still happiness in your relationship. When Sansa has a few hours away from the throne she spends time with you. She will tell you stories of the old Northern Kings, of the white walkers and the Old Gods. The two of you will gallop on horses for hours, the cold whipping your hair. There are times she will allow herself to enjoy things long left in the past. The two of you will sit by the warm fire, as a snowstorm rages outside. There isn't much talking, but that doesn't bother either of you. Warm lemon cakes sit on fancy plates, a delicacy the Queen rarely indulges in these days. She watches her daughter enjoy them, and although she wishes her daughter to grow up as hard as steel she can not bring herself to take this small joy from her.

The two of you found a hill. Breaking off from the party, Sansa made orders for the knights to keep an eye out. The two of you galloped to the top before dismounting. You stared in awe at the setting sun, casting its great light over the sky. The sent of trees and fresh running water overwhelmed you. For a while the two of you gazed out at the scene. Sansa walked back to her horse. "Are we leaving now?" You asked, disappointed. Sansa unclasped a pouch on her saddle. Out she pulled two things wrapped in cloth. You caught a sent and suddenly your tummy rumbled. Lemon cakes. Sansa gave her the lemon cake, and both mother and daughter sat and ate.

-Your betrothal and marriage will not be a happy occasion for Sansa. She knows what marriage means and what a man may take from her. Even if she can protect her Sansa knows that her power as a mother and Queen. Any guy who hopes to marry you had to go through the formidable woman that is Sansa Stark. Many a young man has cowered over the Queen's eyes. And you bet your butt that Sansa will have the boy's every footsteps observed.

"He is friends with Lady Karstark's eldest son. But he's a letcher." A small golden symbol of the boy's house bounced across the table. Sansa would be dead before she allowed her daughter to marry any such man. She critiqued each and every suitor whom desired to marry her. Beside her were stakes of paper. Anyone who married her daughter would have to agree to these terms. 1. Her daughter would be the sole occupant of the throne 2. If Y/n died without an heir, it would pass to the next Stark, not her husbands family Many more terms had been set. Y/n entered the room and everyone but the Queen bowed. "Come Y/n. We are looking to find you a husband." Having her daughters attention, Sansa made room. Y/n looked through the list of suitors before placing it down. "Well, do you see any that appeal?" "Not entirely, should we not look beyond our boarders. Perhaps any of the other six lands may have a second son to marry to me for an alliance?" Sansa gave a small smile. She was learning.

[dwellordream]

female adultery in ASOIAF and why it's not akin to modern day cheating

frequently fans insist on treating adultery within the world of ASOIAF as it it were the same as modern day infidelity. this, of course, ignores the fact that most marriages among the nobility of Westeros are arranged.

this does not mean every marriage is miserable, of course, but there is significantly less emotional attachment between the couple beforehand, unless they have known one another since childhood.

with that said, fans quite often do use this argument in defense of adultery- not for wives, but for husbands. a frequent claim put out is that men like Rhaegar, for example, don't owe their wives any loyalty because the marriage was not their choice. while technically, yes, no one is mandated to love their spouse or to respect an inherently broken marriage system, this ignores the fact that a woman like Elia is not free to carry on an affair the way her husband would be. women's bodies and sexualities are far more policed than men's in Westeros.

even with her husband's permission to take a lover on the side, most women would face extreme social ostracization and scorn if they were found out to be having affairs. and especially for the wives of princes and kings, this carries the weight of treason, because it puts into question the parentage of any royal heirs. Elia could have been outright killed if she was found to have a lover, regardless of Rhaegar's personal feelings on the matter.

the vague exception to this rule would be in the case of a woman like Genna Lannister, who is considered to have been forced to marry 'beneath her station', to a Frey, and thus, the jokes and insinuations that she may be cheating on Emmon do not carry quite the same weight. yet even so, I doubt Genna Lannister would ever openly announce she had a lover or directly discuss having an affair with her husband.

to go back to my original point, I am far more interested in female adultery than male. this is primarily because one of the few ways most Westerosi noblewomen can fight back against a forced or arranged match, or against an abusive or neglectful husband, is to secretly pursue their own pleasure and ambitions with a lover.

that is not to say that I think cheating is moral in these situations, but it is certainly not the same as a modern day woman having a fling while her husband is oblivious. a woman like Cersei, for example, did not choose to marry Robert. she was initially happy to become queen, but she quickly became disillusioned with her marriage, and Robert proved an extremely abusive and contemptuous husband.

Cersei cannot divorce or leave Robert, and even if she attempted to, would likely lose all contact with her children. nor does her family support the idea of her ending her marriage. given these parameters, Cersei cheating on Robert is simply not the same as it would be in a modern AU.

similarly, Rhaenyra is often bashed by the fandom for likely carrying on an affair with Harwin Strong during her marriage to Laenor. while there is zero indication in F&B or HOTD that Laenor was ever abusive or cruel to Rhaenyra, we know she did not freely choose to marry him. while HOTD presents the match as something Rhaenyra accepts and tries to use to her advantage, in F&B, Rhaenyra initially strongly protests the marriage until her father threatens to disown her if she does not accept Laenor as a husband.

in F&B, Laenor and Rhaenyra's marriage is depicted as stable but distant. the couple does not spend much time together and while Laenor appears to have tolerated Rhaenyra's relationship with Harwin, and to have had his own lovers, he obviously expected Rhaenyra to still have children who would be publicly presented as his offspring.

outside of any arguments over Rhaenyra's actions during the Dance or her time as reigning Queen, was Rhaenyra wrong to pursue a relationship outside her marriage, and to claim the children from that relationship as legitimate? I don't think so. 'legitimacy' is a construct of the feudal system in ASOIAF. while this doesn't mean it doesn't cause real trauma and pain, both to children raised knowing they are bastards, children who are accused of being bastards, and women who are expected to silently tolerate their husbands potentially pitting their own children against one another, it is not, actually 'real'.

Rhaenyra's sons are still her sons. her sexuality and personal autonomy shouldn't, outside of the context of the story, actually be something she is judged on. so it is strange to me when people insist that Rhaenyra having an affair or claiming her sons as legitimate is openly tyrannical or malevolent. there is plenty to criticize her character on- much as there is plenty to criticize Cersei on- but choosing to defy the institutions around her is not one of those critiques that should be valid.

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Of Roses and Snakes

pairing: Oberyn Martell x OC!Female!Tyrell

summary: Ella Tyrell gets told what her family had decided against her will. Maybe it was not so bad after all

Word count: 2,5K

Warnings: Angst, fluff, hurt-comfort

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Ella grumbled annoyed as she rolled over in her bed, the sun had been hitting her face for several minutes by then but she had no energy to move until this moment when a banging on her disturbed her peace even more.

"What?!" She called out harshly. She lifted her head as the doors opened to see who had entered her room. She sighed when she saw Margaery walk into the room already all dressed up and ready to conquer the day and make the boy-king fall for her charm.

"Is it not too early, sissy?" Ella asked, sitting up with a pillow clutched to her chest. Margaery gave Ella and wavering smile, almost looking like a wince. The future queen sat down on the bed beside Ella and reached over to grab her hand, the expression on her face was some sort of apologetic which raised alarms in Ella's head.

"What is it?" Ella questioned curiously, she was not one to fear easily. She laughed in the king's face when he suggested wiping her when she expressed her disgust at the wine they had, apparently that insulted the taste of the mother king. Cersei smirked at Ella seeing her son defend her only for the smirk to be wiped off when Ella burst out laughing, smoothly she recovered and mentioned that she was not one for wine anyways but prefered ale in its stead, that satisfied Joffrey but Cersei hated her guts for that.

"The Queen mother has somehow convinced father of something, sissy" Margaery finally spoke, Ella was half relieved that she was not the only one holding the conversation between the two of them. However the other part of her wondered what queen Cersei had up her sleeve.

"What could possibly be so bad that you had to wake me so early?" Ella pushed her duvet off herself as she spoke. She sighed when her feet touched the cold tiles and she moved to the table a couple of feet away in her room. Her eyes squinted as she looked out of the window where the sun was rising, it had been for several minutes before Margaery had entered.

"It involves you" Margaery uttered looking down at her hands in her lap. Ella picked up her chalice, filled it with the disgusting wine they had in King's Landing, and took a huge gulp in preparation for whatever Margaery had to say. She did not fear wiping, no she feared Cersei using her cunning mind to hurt her, she knew she had the power to, it was no secret that Cersei was happy to abuse the power she had.

"What could she possibly have convinced the idiot?" Ella rolled her eyes. She filled her cup again but took a small sip this time. Margaery squirmed almost uncomfortable while the seconds ticked by, she was trying to form the words in her head, wondering how she could break the news to her sister, her unsuspecting sister.

"They plan on giving your hand away" Margaery's words were hurried Ella nearly understood nothing of them. The chalice in Ella's hands cluttered down on the floor in shock and the wine spilled all over the tiled floor. Margaery jumped at the sound of the metal piece hitting the floor.

"What?" Ella cried out in disbelief, she knew her father was dumb however she did not think him dumb enough to make such a decision without at the very least asking for her consent.

"Calm down, please, sissy" Margaery stood up from the bed and walked over to where Ella stood, making sure to not step on the wine and ruin her dress or shoes. One of her arms wrapped around her younger sister in comfort snapping Ella out of her shock.

"When did you find out?" Ella allowed Margaery to detour her towards an ottoman where the two of them sat down. Margaery trapped Ella's hands in between her own, trying to push her comfort through their touching organs.

"Just now, I came immediately after I found out however I could not hear well and do not know who they have in mind" Margaery sighed. She was heartbroken for her younger sister, the fact that they were born merely eleven moons apart led them to be the closest of friends and they rarely left each other's sides as children and adults. Margaery could only hope that the match would be less violent than her own and Ella would end up with a pleasant man.

"Thank you for warning me" Ella took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. "I should have known her silence never meant peace" Ella laughed at how ridiculous she sounded, Cersei and peace were polar opposites and could never meet.

"Should I expect you when we break our fast?" Margaery asked, her hand tightening over her sister's. Ella and Margaery always broke their fast together, whether it was at home at Highgarden, or whether it was family or merely the two of them alone.

"We shall see" Ella smiled at Margaery not wanting to worry her older sister, although neither really acted their age difference, many thought them to be twins.

Ella paused in the middle of her sentence to her sister when suddenly the sound of someone clinking their knife against their glass echoed around the room. Everyone who was invited for supper with the royal family paused, unsurprisingly Cersei wished the entire council and all the royalty that had traveled for Margaery and Joffrey's wedding to attend the supper. So everyone and anyone in court was in attendance and more.

"I would like to begin this supper by thanking you all for making the journey to travel this way whether it was long or short, and we welcome you with open arms and hearts. The king and I are very happy with your presence for his upcoming wedding to Lady Margaery Tyrell" Cersei's voice echoed throughout the room with false happiness, Margaery had told Ella all about what was conspiring between her and Cersei. Ella turned to watch Cersei with her eyes squinted suspicious of the Queen mother.

"I would like to use this opportunity to announce on behalf of Lord Mace-" Cersei turned to look at Ella's father who nodded with a stupid smile on his face which made Ella wince, how in the world did her father last so long she had no idea and she could not wait for her elder brother Willas to take over the Lordship of Highgarden and they be done with their father. "-that on the morrow two weddings shall take place in stead of one, both his daughters shall marry" Cersei's eyes slid over the crowd analyzing their shocked expressions.

Margaery reached over to grasp Ella's hand in shock, the two girls' eyes widened, they had expected a betrothal but not for her to be married the next day alongside her sister. Ella turned to look at her grandmother who was shaking her head in disappointment meaning she had no idea either. There was rarely anything that Olenna Tyrell did not know so this was near a miracle.

"Lady Ella Tyrell shall be wedded to Prince Oberyn Martell on the morrow" Cersei announced pointing at the handsome prince sitting near where Ella was sat with only her grandmother in between. Ella had met the prince before along with his paramour who seemed not to be in presence at the supper.

"What?" Margaery whispered horrified. Her eyes trailed to Joffrey who was grinning evilly. Ella's heart dropped, all her dreams of falling in love and finding a loyal and respectable man were thrown out of the window with one sentence from Cersei's lips. She was being given to a man known for how lustful he was, he took his paramour with him wherever he went, and he was literally residing at a brothel.

Ella swallowed thickly fighting every urge in her body not to drop the smile from her face, indifference hardly maintained on her face. Her hand was holding Margaery's in a death grip and the other one was engulfed in her grandmother's warm hands. Ella turned to smile at her grandmother as the people around them broke into applause and cheers.

Oberyn was way older than Ella was, he had eight children already all from different whores and paramours while she was barely into her tenth and fifth nameday. Ella allowed her eyes to finally trail to Oberyn at her grandmother's other side to find him already looking at her analyzing her, trying to read her. She gulped and nodded at him before turning back to Margaery not seeing his reaction.

Margaery attempted to give Ella a reassuring smile but failed when her eyes trailed to look at Oberyn who was siping his wine with a neutral look on his face

"Excuse me, grandmother, I feel tired and wish to retire for the night" Ella whispered to Olenna. Olenna gave her granddaughter a small smile and patted her arm as Ella pushed back her chair and stood up. Ella breathed deeply to calm her racing heart before plastering a sweet smile. She moved away from the table and weaved her way through several tables accepting congratulations with a polite smile and a squeaky-sounding "thank yous".

Once outside the hall Ella could not help but take a second deep breath. she leaned against the wall trying to regain her composure. The cold stone walls felt like heaven against her heated and sweaty skin, she was shocked no one mentioned how flustered and ill-looking she must have looked.

She had dreams that were thrown out faster than a horse dump would have been. She had dreams of touring all seven kingdoms and meeting as many families and people as possible during her journey. She dreamed of reading as many books as she could, filling a library of her own, and maybe even writing her own book or books but those dreams were just demolished by Cersei Lannister.

"I never expected marrying me would be such a dreadful thought" Ella jumped when a gruff voice spoke a couple of feet away. She turned to find Oberyn standing a couple of feet away from her watching her, studying her and trying to see her reactions, her intentions.

"Your Grace, it is not like that" Ella almost tripped over her skirt while trying to curtsy, her cheeks were turning from embarrassment. The prince of Dorne just caught her sulking over marrying him. Too many things wrong with this one interaction, first and most important was that the Ladies did not sulk.

"I would be honoured to be called our wife" Ella's mask fell back in place once the shock had worn off. Oberyn however looked annoyed but to the horror of Ella, she did not wish to offend him, she did not wish to have a miserable life more than it already was.

"Do not sugar coat the situation, we both know we are not the partners we wished to have" Oberyn walked over to where she was still standing and leaned back against the same wall she was leaning on before he interrupted her panicked thoughts.

"Your Grace?" Ella turned to face, her face showed just a little bit of how truly shocked she was.

"Ella I am way older than you, I am not an idiot to think you wished to marry a man my age" Oberyn crossed his arms, his eyes roaming all over her face much to her shock. She had expected that a man with his reputation would be delighted to marry a young thing like her, she was awaiting to see his eyes roam her body and see her figure and probably make comments like she's heard other men do to their betrothed including Joffrey.

"My Prince-" Oberyn cut her off by raising his hand rendering her silent. The move irritated her beyond measure but before she could voice that Oberyn opened his mouth and what came out of it shocked her.

"Call me Oberyn, only Oberyn"

Ella was baffled, she knew men loved their women either calling them by title or a nickname, they loved to boast, they were small-minded like that.

"Oberyn, I do not mean to offend you-" Ella sighed. Her eyes were fighting not to water, they stung and hurt and she was sure they were turning red as well. Her hands fisted her dress to keep her composure but it seemed her moment of silence to get her thoughts and words straight yet again was interrupted by the prince standing in front of her.

"I do not intend to cage you little rose, your place is not in a cage but a garden" Oberyn raised his hand to touch her cheek, his fingers were gentle but rough to the touch, calloused with decades of training. He may be known as a master of poisons but he was a warrior still and no less than any guard in the palace, Ella knew that, she had seen him train in passing.

"Just know that as my wife you will be free, free of this court and their expectations. I will not expect you at my beck and call for you are no servant. I will not expect you to welcome me into your bed whenever I please for you are no whore. I do not expect you to be bred and bear me children even sons for you are no breeding mare" Tears weld in Ella's eyes as Oberyn spoke. One of those traitorous tears rolled down her cheek but his thumb was already prepared to wipe it off.

"You say that now but then the court will pressure us-" Oberyn raised his other hand and placed his forefinger over her pouting red lips. He wished to kiss them, taste them, just a small taste but he forced control over himself.

"I will not listen to them, I am not some weak-minded Lord. I am a Prince of Dorne and I shall take you there with me after the wedding" Oberyn promised. Ella took a deep breath to control herself before speaking again.

"There are many things we need to speak of but no time, tomorrow I will become your wife whether we like it or not" Ella took his hand in her own and started to rub small circles over his knuckles, she felt like she should comfort him too, after decades he was being forced to settle for her when he had voiced time and time again that he wished not to marry.

"I promise to care for you, little Rose" Oberyn promised, raising their intertwined hands and kissing her knuckles gently. Ella could not help the blush that crept up her neck and on the apple of her cheeks turning them into what they were called, blood red apples. His lips were soft and his moustache scratched her hand but she found herself not minding it. Her mind even wondered if she would get any beard burns from it if she were to let him in her bed and she found herself not minding this match as much as she did earlier.

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 2 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Two: Let The Dance With The Devil Begin

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Omfg. I took so long to write this I know T^T Thank you for being patient with me! I just decided to have a mini break bcs I was jet lagged from travelling and had to focus on my health for a little bit. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The Albatross by Taylor Swift

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RED KEEP, WESTEROS - 300 AC

You spent two decades carefully avoiding forming deep bonds, all the while meticulously plotting your revenge. You studied their weaknesses, habits, and relationships, patiently biding your time until you could strike from close range.

You had noticed the lingering glances between Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister, their whispered conversations turning into passionate encounters. So when Cersei bore a child, rumored to be the result of her incestuous relationship, and as you witnessed Joffrey Baratheon growing into a likeness of his parents, you recorded every detail in your leather-bound notebook. It contained all the information about those responsible for the death of Elia Martell, ensuring no detail escaped your scrutiny.

Serena, a girl you befriended in the bustling stables, is a steadfast ally in your quest for vengeance. Together, you both meticulously gather intelligence, weaving through the whispers of the kitchen staff and the secrets shared in the shadowy corners of brothels. With her keen eyes and your shared determination, you stalk those who have wronged you, laying the groundwork for your calculated retribution.

In the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, the struggle for power rages on. Joffrey Baratheon, seated upon the Iron Throne, wields authority backed by the formidable House Lannister. However, his claim faces challenge from his uncle Renly, who, bolstered by the might of House Tyrell, presses his own bid for kingship. In this turmoil, Tyrion Lannister arrives in King's Landing, aiming to assert control, only to find himself at odds with his conniving sister, Cersei, now entrenched as Queen Regent.

As autumn blankets the realm and whispers of an impending winter linger, Westeros braces for the bitter cold ahead. Yet, instead of preparing for the harsh season, the land remains conflicted. Renly Baratheon's sudden demise alters the tides of allegiance, leaving the political landscape in flux. Meanwhile, Joffrey, with the backing of House Tyrell, emerges victorious in a decisive clash against his uncle Stannis, solidifying his hold on power.

The fates of many hang precariously in the balance. In the labyrinthine corridors of King's Landing, both Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark navigate treacherous waters, their survival dependent on their ability to navigate the perilous currents of court intrigue.

You had served Sansa since the day she was first betrothed to King Joffrey. Back then, she had been full of dreams—visions of knighthood, love, and a golden crown. But those dreams quickly soured, turning into nightmares as the Lannisters’ hold over her tightened. What was once a promising union became a gilded cage. They kept her in the Red Keep, a prisoner beneath layers of silk and politeness. 

Sansa clung to her “lady-like” pursuits to distract from the harshness of her reality—sewing, embroidery, poetry, and music. Her stitches were always delicate, her voice soft, yet behind her graceful demeanor, you saw the cracks. You were there when Septa Mordane led her through the Red Keep’s throne room for a lesson in history. It was meant to be a glimpse into the glory of the Targaryens and the rulers of old, but instead, Sansa’s gaze lingered on the dark stain where her grandfather and uncle had been butchered by the Mad King. Her face paled, and she pressed her lips into a thin line, haunted by the ghosts of her own blood.

One evening, as she sat embroidering by the window, she confided in you. “Do you think I’ll be able to give Joffrey sons?” Her voice wavered. “What if… What if I’m only able to give him daughters, like Jeyne Poole’s mother?”

You tried to find reassuring words, though even Septa Mordane's attempts had done little to ease her fears. “You’re young, my lady. You will bear many children in time.”

Her blue eyes, wide with fear, met yours, but she said nothing more.

The Hand’s tournament arrived, and Sansa, despite everything, seemed to sparkle for a brief moment amidst the finery of the lords and knights. You stood in the shadows, watching her as she watched them. Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, was a towering presence, and you felt a chill run down your spine as he unseated Ser Hugh of the Vale, killing him in the dust of the joust. Littlefinger whispered dark stories to Sansa of the Hound’s past, tales of burned flesh and brutal lessons. You saw the way Sansa’s hands trembled as she absorbed the horrors hidden beneath the chivalry.

Yet, there were moments of fleeting happiness. Ser Loras Tyrell, the famed Knight of the Flowers, gave her a single rose before his tilt with Ser Gregor. She blushed under his attention, but you noticed how Loras’s gaze lingered not on her, but on Renly Baratheon, who stood just behind. That small act of kindness, hollow as it was, brought a rare smile to Sansa’s lips, even as the court applauded Sandor Clegane’s intervention to stop his brother’s rampage.

But that brief joy was drowned by the darkness that soon followed. When King Robert Baratheon died after a hunting “accident,” everything unraveled. Eddard Stark, honorable as always, tried to reveal the truth about Joffrey’s parentage, but it was too late. You weren’t surprised when Littlefinger betrayed him. You had seen the cunning in his eyes long before, the way he played everyone like pieces on a cyvasse board. 

Chaos erupted. Eddard’s men, loyal to the last, were slaughtered by Lannister guardsmen led by Sandor Clegane. You remembered Mordane’s voice trembling as she urged Sansa to lock herself in their chambers. But there was no hiding from the Lannisters. They took her.

You watched from a distance as Sansa was humiliated before the court, her innocence crushed beneath the weight of Cersei’s cold cruelty. She stood there, trembling, and you saw the beginning of a transformation. The girl who once dreamed of knights and love was slowly breaking, her innocence being stripped away by every sneer, every command, every cold laugh in the throne room.

You wished you could offer her comfort, but in King’s Landing, comfort was as fleeting as mercy.

The great Sept was filled with the hum of whispers, the heavy weight of tension hanging in the air as Eddard Stark stood before the court. His face, weathered by years of honor and battle, now looked hollow, beaten by betrayal. You stood in the shadows, where servants always stood, your eyes flicking between the high lords and the northern Warden. As the silence fell, Eddard knelt, acknowledging his so-called “crimes” and pledging loyalty to King Joffrey.

For a moment, it seemed the court might breathe again. Sansa stood nearby, her hands trembling. Hope flickered in her eyes—briefly. But Joffrey, perched on the Iron Throne like some twisted boy-king out of a nightmare, leaned forward with a smile sharp as a blade. His words fell like a thunderclap. “Bring me his head.”

Sansa's scream cut through the hall, raw and broken. She lunged forward, hysterical, her voice lost in a storm of pleading, but the gold cloaks restrained her, forcing her back. Her cries—“Please, mercy, mercy!”—rang in your ears, making your stomach turn. 

Ser Ilyn Payne stepped forward, cold and unfeeling as he drew Ice, the greatsword of House Stark. You could see the light catch the edge of the steel, and the last thing Sansa saw before she fainted was her father’s final, resigned glance.

You moved through the chaos as a shadow. Your duty to Sansa came first, so as the blood pooled on the Sept’s floor, you carried her from the carnage, her limp body heavy with grief. The days that followed were hollow. She barely spoke, her eyes vacant as you tended to her, making sure she ate, dressing her in the Lannisters' silks even as her soul remained buried in sorrow.

It was one of those somber evenings when she finally spoke, her voice so faint you almost missed it. “Do you… serve the Lannisters?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You paused, setting down the tray of untouched food, meeting her tired gaze. “Yes, my lady,” you answered softly.

Sansa’s eyes flickered with something—confusion, maybe anger. “Have they always been this cruel?” she asked, her words trembling with an innocent horror.

You weighed your response carefully, then nodded. “From what I’ve heard, unfortunately, yes.”

Her lips parted as she considered your answer, but it was her next question that cut deeper. “Then why do you serve them?”

You lowered your eyes, your hands folding over the fabric of her gown, the lie of your position hanging heavy on your shoulders. “It’s something I wager on,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the unease in your chest.

Sansa, always perceptive, frowned. “Is that the only kind of wager you make?”

For a moment, you froze. Then you let a faint smile tug at the corner of your lips, the words “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken” echoing in your heart, though unspoken. “There was one time I bet my entire life on something,” you confessed quietly.

She looked at you then, truly looked, her tear-streaked face searching yours. “Did you win?”

Your smile faltered, but you met her gaze with a spark of determination. “I’m planning to,” you said, with a quiet promise hanging between the two of you.

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP — 300 AC

The stone walls of the Red Keep felt colder that night, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the ancient stones. In a small, dimly lit chamber tucked away from the grand halls, you worked in silence, the weight of your plan pressing down like the calm before a storm. Every movement was deliberate, each thought sharper than the edge of a Valyrian blade. The game was already in motion, and you were setting the pieces in place.

You had long been underestimated—a mere servant, a shadow in the background of the powerful Lannisters, Tyrells, and Martells. Yet, you had seen the truth: the most dangerous players were often those who remained unseen. You were one of them, a silent force, blending into the background while carefully planting the seeds of destruction. The poison, subtle and undetectable, was your weapon.

A soft knock interrupted your focus. The door creaked open, and there stood Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger himself. His thin lips curved into a smile, but there was no warmth in it, only calculation.

“Ah, a quiet place for quiet minds,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, eyes darting around the chamber before settling on you.

You raised your head slowly, meeting his gaze with a calm that belied the storm brewing inside you. Littlefinger wasn’t a man easily intimidated, but neither were you. Two wolves circling, each looking for the other’s weakness.

“You seem to find yourself in many quiet places, Lord Baelish,” you replied, voice soft but pointed. “What brings you here?”

He moved closer, his steps light, like a predator stalking prey. “Just ensuring the right wheels keep turning, ensuring the chaos that follows serves the right cause.” His gaze lingered on your hands, noting the fine movements as you handled a small vial, the liquid within almost imperceptibly shifting.

You allowed a small, knowing smile. “Chaos... Chaos can be useful. But only if it’s controlled.”

His eyebrow raised, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Controlled chaos? Now, that’s an art.”

You carefully set the vial down, your voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “What if the chaos that’s already simmering were to boil over? What if, after Joffrey’s wedding, his reign came to an... unexpected end?”

Baelish didn’t blink, though you could see the subtle change in his posture, the slight narrowing of his eyes. You hadn’t suggested anything outright—it was the art of planting the idea, the delicate balance of nudging him without him realizing he’d been led.

He took a slow breath, his mind already racing. “And who, I wonder, would have the audacity to arrange such an unexpected end?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer directly, your silence speaking volumes. Instead, you moved the conversation forward, allowing the implication to sink in.

“The realm is already full of hungry wolves, my lord,” you said, your voice steady, your hands working deftly as you began to clear away your tools. “All it takes is a nudge in the right direction, and they’ll tear each other apart. No one will stop to notice who did the nudging.”

Littlefinger tilted his head, studying you for a moment longer. “Perhaps,” he mused, his tone as noncommittal as ever, “but wolves are tricky. You can never be sure which way they’ll turn.”

“That’s true,” you conceded, meeting his eyes directly. “But I’ve always been good at reading the pack.”

The silence that followed was heavy, each of you measuring the other, testing the boundaries. He wouldn’t act on your words immediately. Littlefinger was too careful, too meticulous for that. But you could see the spark in his eyes—the idea was there, planted, waiting to take root.

With a nod, he turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “You have a dangerous mind,” he remarked, half admiration, half warning. “Be careful. The pack bites back.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Only if they see the one holding the leash.”

Days passed, and as you moved through the grand halls of the Red Keep, you watched everything begin to fall into place. Like a silent puppeteer, you pulled the strings without ever needing to step into the light.

Varys had been busy, moving pieces on the board that even you hadn’t expected. Ros had whispered in his ear, and soon after, Lady Olenna Tyrell had been brought into the fold. The whispers of a marriage between Sansa Stark and Loras Tyrell spread through the castle like wildfire. You had always known Varys to be a man of schemes, but even you marveled at how quickly he moved.

In the gardens, you overheard the conversations as they unfolded—subtle, quiet, but filled with power. Lady Olenna, with her sharp wit and keen mind, was already orchestrating her plans, likely envisioning a future without Joffrey’s cruel reign.

You stood in the shadows as Littlefinger passed by, his expression unreadable. He had heard your suggestion, and though you were not directly involved, you knew the idea had taken root. He would set things in motion, ensuring the chaos that followed would serve him—and you would remain unseen, untouched by the blood that would soon spill.

RED KEEP, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The War of the Five Kings dragged on, but within the Red Keep, the battles were far subtler, fought with whispers and veiled threats. Your life as a servant under King Joffrey's reign had grown increasingly unbearable. Between the relentless demands of court life and the constant fear of his cruelty, you found little time to care for yourself.

Your headache throbbed—a reminder that you hadn’t eaten since dawn, and the long days had begun to blur into endless nights. It wasn’t uncommon for you to push through these spells, but this time felt different. The world around you grew heavier, your limbs sluggish, and the gardens seemed far away.

Basket in hand, filled with fruit from the kitchens, you trudged through the Red Keep's gardens. The bright afternoon light stabbed at your eyes, worsening the pounding in your head. You tried to focus on your task, but each step felt more labored, and a cold sweat broke out on your skin.

As you rounded a corner near the overgrown hedges, your vision blurred. The world tilted. The cobbled path beneath your feet shifted into an unforgiving blur of stone and soil, and with a muffled thud, everything went black.

In that hazy in-between of consciousness, a voice pulls you back—familiar, though distant. “He would have liked you,” Princess Elia’s voice echoes in your mind.

“Whom do you speak of, my lady?” you had once asked her, back when the Red Keep still buzzed with life and not dread.

“My brother. Oberyn. He’s trouble, but even so, I love him dearly.”

For a brief moment, you can almost feel her presence, and the weight of the past rushes over you like a cold wave. You blink, pulling yourself out of the memory just as a different voice fills your ears. A deeper one, full of curiosity and something unreadable.

You woke slowly, your senses coming back in fragments: the scent of crushed grass, the cool air against your skin, and the distant murmur of voices. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the filtered sunlight through the leaves overhead.

"Careful. Don’t rush."

The voice was deep, tinged with amusement. A hand—warm and strong—rested on your shoulder, gently holding you down. You blinked, focusing on the face above you, unfamiliar yet striking. Dark, sharp eyes, framed by lustrous and black with only a few silver streaks recede from his brow into a widow's peak. The emblem of a red sun pierced by a golden spear embroidered on his tunic caught your eye.

Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper of Dorne.

“Are you injured?” His voice held a soft curiosity as if you were some puzzle he intended to unravel.

You shook your head, still disoriented. "No, I... I must have fainted."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the basket of spilled fruit beside you. “It seems you’ve been overworking yourself. King Joffrey’s court, I assume? They’re not known for their kindness.”

A rush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks. You scrambled to sit up, but Oberyn’s hand remained firm.

“Take your time,” he said, his tone softening. “Even a servant deserves a moment to breathe.”

You weren’t used to kindness, especially not from someone of his stature. His reputation as a fierce and dangerous man preceded him, yet there was something else—an air of compassion, albeit hidden beneath his sharp edges.

“I’m... grateful,” you murmured, unsure of how to respond. “But I should get back to my duties. They won’t—”

Oberyn interrupted with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let them wait. The Lannisters have their claws in many, but even a viper can strike when the time is right.”

There was a pause, a subtle shift in the air between you and Oberyn Martell. His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, and though his words were casual, they held an undercurrent you couldn’t quite place. It was as though he saw something deeper in you, something more than just a servant tending to her duties. Fate, or perhaps something far more dangerous, had drawn his attention to you.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he stood upright, his dark eyes gleaming with a playful intensity. "You Dornish are known for our... passions," he said, his voice a low, deliberate purr. "But it seems fate has a way of placing beauty in my path, whether I ask for it or not."

You blink, unsure of how to respond, heat rising uncomfortably to your face. He stepped closer, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, lingering there a moment longer than propriety would allow. "Tell me," Oberyn continued, his tone playful yet edged with something deeper, "does a woman like you often find herself fainting at the feet of princes? Or is this a rare occasion?"

Your breath hitched, panic flaring inside you, though you did your best to suppress it. Affection—let alone attention—was something you were unaccustomed to. His flirtation was like a wildfire, threatening to burn through the careful walls you'd built around yourself.

"I... I don’t..." you stammered, trying to pull your thoughts together, your mind racing. You weren’t used to being noticed, not like this, not by someone like him.

Oberyn tilted his head, his smirk widening as if he could sense the flurry of emotions raging within you. "Don't be shy," he murmured, voice lowering as his eyes roamed over you with quiet curiosity. "I can see there's much more to you than meets the eye." 

The words felt like a tease, a challenge wrapped in silk, and your heart pounded in your chest, caught between the instinct to flee or stand frozen in place. Oberyn Martell's gaze seemed to strip away every defense you had carefully built over the years, as though he could see straight through the mask of servitude you wore.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, steadying your trembling nerves. This was not the time to panic, not in front of the Red Viper of Dorne. He was too sharp, too dangerous, and your heart fluttered at the way his presence seemed to unsettle the very air around you.

Without answering the prince’s flirtatious remark, you bent down to hurriedly gather the fallen fruit, your fingers clumsy as you fumbled with the basket. But even as you moved, you felt his eyes on you, watching every motion with an almost predatory amusement.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he crouched beside you, his hand brushing yours as he handed you one of the scattered apples. "You're in quite the hurry," he murmured, the smirk never leaving his face. His touch lingered, deliberately slow as he placed the fruit in your basket.

You rose quickly, trying to distance yourself, but Oberyn stood just as swiftly. Before you could retreat, he grasped your wrist, pulling it gently toward him. His movements were fluid, effortless, as if this were a dance he had long perfected. He raised your hand to his lips, his dark eyes locked on yours, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles—his lips soft, warm against your skin.

Your breath caught, panic fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird. Heat crept up your neck, your heart racing as you tried to pull yourself together, but his touch seemed to set your mind spinning.

Just then, Oberyn’s eyes shifted, narrowing as he caught sight of something—your scars, peeking out from beneath your long sleeves. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, curiosity flashing across his features. He tilted his head, about to speak.

But you jerked your hand away, the sudden movement sharp, almost frantic. "I should go," you blurted, the words tumbling out hastily. You gathered your things, your pulse still thrumming wildly as you turned on your heel, desperate to escape his piercing gaze.

As you hurried away, you could feel Oberyn's eyes lingering on your retreating form, his expression unreadable. Even in your rush, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the prince wasn’t done with you yet.

KING'S LANDING, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The sun hung high over King’s Landing, its golden light casting a deceptive warmth over the cool sea breeze that drifted in from Blackwater Bay. You stood with Marei at the edge of the courtyard, the bustle of the palace below and the hum of the city distant beneath the tranquil air. The garden was alive with color, a stark contrast to the heavy gloom that clung to those gathered at the banquet table.

Shae moved with a quiet urgency, filling a plate with food from the banquet spread. She placed it in front of Sansa, who sat still, pale and lifeless, her face void of any spark. Her slender hands rested on her lap, unmoving. It was as if she had already become a shadow, despite still breathing.

“You need to eat something,” Shae urged softly, her voice carrying both concern and exasperation.

Sansa did not stir. 

“Pigeon pie,” Shae offered, her tone gentler now, but Sansa’s pale lips barely moved as she whispered, “No, thank you.”

A sigh escaped Shae, but she quickly turned back to the table, scanning for something else. With a quick motion, she removed Sansa's untouched plate and placed a new offering in front of her. “Lemon cakes?” Shae asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice. Everyone knew Sansa's love for lemon cakes.

Sansa’s voice, barely a whisper, responded again. “No, thank you.”

Shae’s expression faltered. “You love lemon cakes.”

But Sansa remained unmoved, as if the world around her had lost all meaning. Shae’s shoulders slumped in frustration, her eyes flicking toward you and Marei before glancing at the entrance of the courtyard.

Tyrion Lannister entered the garden with deliberate steps, his short legs struggling to match the long strides of the men he was often compared to. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the scene with quick efficiency. Despite his stature, you had learned well enough that Lord Tyrion Lannister was not a man to be underestimated. His mind was his sharpest weapon.

“Tyrion,” Shae called out to him with a sigh of relief. “Tell her she needs to eat.”

Tyrion approached the table, offering a small, polite smile. “My lady, you do need to eat.”

Sansa’s gaze remained fixed somewhere in the distance, her hands limp in her lap. “I don’t need to eat,” she said softly, without even looking at him.

Tyrion hesitated for a moment, glancing between Shae, you, and Marei. His expression was measured, patient. “Could I have a moment alone with my wife?” he asked gently, though his tone held the firmness of a command.

You exchanged a quick look with Marei before bowing your head and stepping away. Shae, however, lingered, her eyes flashing with concern and defiance. She crossed her arms, unwilling to yield.

“She needs to eat,” Shae said stubbornly, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Tyrion and Sansa. 

Tyrion met her gaze, his expression imploring, but Shae’s frustration was palpable. With one last glance at Sansa, Shae reluctantly turned and left the garden.

Tyrion took a seat across from Sansa, his eyes softening as he reached out to take her hand. His grip was gentle, but firm enough to draw her from her daze. “I can’t let you starve, Sansa,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet compassion.

Sansa didn’t react. She stared past him, her blue eyes hollow, as if the world had dulled to nothing but gray. Shae, now at the far end of the garden, cast a furious glance back toward Tyrion, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KITCHEN KEEP, KING'S LANDING — DAY

The kitchen was a chaotic blend of sounds and smells, with servants rushing around, preparing the feast for the garden party. You focused on your tasks, slicing fruits and arranging them neatly, hoping the repetitive motions would calm the unease bubbling in your chest. The Lannisters' garden parties always came with tension—too many eyes, too many secrets.

Serena, ever observant, moved beside you with a conspiratorial smile. Her presence had always been a quiet comfort, an unspoken pact between two women wronged by the same family. She nudged your side playfully, her voice just loud enough for you to hear over the clattering pans and murmurs of other servants.

“Guess what I overheard in the gardens earlier,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of fresh gossip.

You glanced up, your curiosity piqued. “What is it now?”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping even lower. “Tyrion and Lord Varys were having one of their secret little chats. Something about Shae.” She gave a sly smile before recounting the conversation she’d overheard, her voice adopting a mocking impression of Tyrion's measured tone.

“Lord Varys. Breakfasting with the king?”

Your hands paused over the fruit, recognizing the weight of that simple greeting. Serena continued, now mimicking Varys’ smooth, ever-cautious reply.

“I’m afraid foreigners aren’t welcome at such exclusive affairs,” she quoted, barely concealing a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at your lips. Tyrion and Varys—always circling each other, testing the limits of loyalty and power. Serena’s impression was spot on, and the dry chuckle she added to Varys’ line brought the exchange to life.

“Oh, to be foreign,” she muttered in Tyrion’s voice before glancing around the bustling kitchen with exaggerated suspicion, mimicking Varys’ quiet amusement.

“Ahem,” she finished with a soft laugh.

The kitchen clamor drowned out any chance of someone overhearing, but you kept your gaze fixed on your hands, focusing on the fruit before you. "What did they say after that?" you asked in a low voice, not wanting to appear too interested but knowing that information like this was often a lifeline in King's Landing.

Serena's smile dimmed slightly as she continued, her tone more serious now. “They were talking about Shae. Varys warned Tyrion that she’s been noticed. That Sansa’s maid saw them together, and it’s only a matter of time before Cersei—and worse, Tywin—find out.”

Your breath hitched slightly. That was dangerous—too dangerous for a place like this.

You glanced up at Serena, who nodded grimly. “Varys told Tyrion his father has promised to hang the next whore he’s found with.”

Your stomach twisted, though you managed to keep your expression neutral. Information like this could be a weapon if used correctly. But it also carried its own risks, especially for someone like you, who lived in the shadows of these powerful people. You simply nodded and whispered, "Thank you."

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, DAY — 301 AC

The gardens of the Red Keep, beautiful though they were, could not ease the tension that clung to the air. The lush greenery and sea breeze seemed wasted on the gathering before you, where cruelty simmered beneath the surface. You moved silently among the servants, pouring wine, offering trays of food, your head low as your sharp eyes observed everything. No one here was truly safe—not even those who smiled and pretended otherwise.

You had learned long ago to watch, to listen, to see things others missed. And here, among the so-called lords and ladies, your simmering hatred boiled just beneath the surface. Revenge had a way of lurking in quiet moments like these, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

At the head of the table sat King Joffrey, his golden crown glinting in the sun like a mockery of all that was just. Around him, the key players of the realm gathered: Queen Cersei, her eyes sharp and watchful; Lord Tywin, stoic and commanding as always; Prince Tommen, innocent and ignorant of the malice around him; and Grand Maester Pycelle, old and leering.

But your attention flickered to Sansa Stark. Pale, withdrawn, her once-vibrant spirit all but crushed under the weight of her suffering. She sat beside her husband, Tyrion Lannister, who, despite his small stature, radiated an awareness far sharper than anyone gave him credit for. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken grief they both carried.

Your heart tightened as you watched, knowing Sansa's pain was not unlike your own. Like her, you had learned to survive in silence, though your silence was of a different kind. The Lannisters had taken too much from you. They were going to pay for it one day, one way or another.

Across the table, Lord Mace Tyrell puffed out his chest, carrying a gleaming goblet, his voice filled with a pride that bordered on foolishness.

“From House Tyrell and the people of the Reach, Your Grace, it is my honor to present you with this wedding cup.”

He placed the goblet before Joffrey, who barely looked at it, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“A handsome goblet, my lord. Or shall I call you Father?”

You noted how Mace Tyrell’s face flushed with both pride and unease. He bowed deeply. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

As Mace withdrew, Shae moved gracefully through the crowd, setting a tray before Sansa. You saw how her eyes flickered toward the young girl, but there was no response from Sansa, no recognition of the kindness that once might have been there.

Then, the sharp voice of Queen Cersei pierced the moment, her words venomous.

“She’s the whore I told you about. The dark-haired one.”

Your blood boiled as you saw Shae stiffen. The insult cut through the air like a blade, but Shae, ever composed, turned to leave without a word. You noticed how Tywin’s cold eyes followed her, narrowing as she walked away.

“Have her brought to the Tower of the Hand before the wedding,” Tywin ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion, yet as sharp as a death sentence.

Tyrion’s face darkened. You could see the concern etched into his features, his helplessness as he tried to control a situation slipping further out of his grasp. Your heart raced, knowing the precarious game being played here—and how dangerous it was for all involved.

Shae’s departure was barely noticed as Podrick stepped forward, carrying a large tome. He placed it carefully before Joffrey, and Tyrion followed, a strained smile on his face as he addressed the king.

“A book,” Joffrey said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Tyrion clasped his hands together, speaking with calm civility. “The Lives of Four Kings. Grand Maester Kaeth’s history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good. A book every king should read.”

For a brief moment, Joffrey hesitated. His sharp tongue seemed to fail him as the weight of the gift hovered in the air. But Tywin’s piercing gaze prodded him, and the boy-king forced a mocking smile.

“Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom,” Joffrey said, his voice laced with scorn. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Tyrion bowed, but the tension between them crackled like a hidden storm.

Before anyone could breathe, The Mountain lumbered forward, carrying a sword swathed in black cloth. He laid it before Joffrey with all the reverence of a knight presenting a sacred relic. Tywin rose, his voice steeped in gravitas as he spoke.

“One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the capital, Your Grace, freshly forged in your honor.”

Joffrey’s eyes gleamed with an almost childlike excitement as he tore the sword from its sheath, its blade gleaming ominously in the sunlight. You felt a ripple of unease roll through the gathered nobles as the blade sliced through the air.

“Careful, Your Grace,” Pycelle croaked from his seat. “Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel.”

But Joffrey’s wicked grin only widened. “So they say.”

In a sudden, violent movement, Joffrey swung the sword down, cleaving the book Tyrion had gifted him clean in half. The sound of tearing parchment and splintering leather echoed through the garden. A gasp rippled through the crowd, but Joffrey was delighted with himself.

“Such a great sword should have a name,” Joffrey declared, his eyes burning with cruel glee. “What shall I call her?”

The crowd murmured suggestions, none of which seemed to please the boy-king. But then, his lips curled into a malicious grin.

“Widow’s Wail. I like that. Every time I use it, it’ll be like cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You saw Sansa freeze beside him, her face drained of color, her entire body rigid with the memory of her father’s execution. Across the garden, Shae watched, her eyes narrowing with unspoken fury.

You kept your head down, but the seething rage inside you boiled hotter. One day, they would all pay for this. The Lannisters, their cruelty, their arrogance—it would all come crashing down. And you would make sure of it.

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, LATE AFTERNOON — 301 AC

The preparations for the royal wedding between Joffrey and Margaery were endless, consuming the days and nights of everyone within the Red Keep. But while others concerned themselves with the surface duties, your mind was preoccupied with a far more dangerous task.

The thought of the Strangler stones hidden within Sansa's necklace gnawed at you. The pieces were already in motion, each step methodically planned. Your hands moved through the flowers you were tasked with arranging, but your thoughts were elsewhere, carefully calculating the next move in your plot to bring down King Joffrey without implicating yourself. 

As you worked alone in the gardens, the late afternoon sun blazed overhead. The sweat clung to your skin, and the heat forced you to roll your sleeves up just enough to reveal the faint, jagged lines of scars that adorned your forearms. The burn scars, remnants of your brutal encounter with Ser Gregor Clegane, were still a reminder of what you endured—and survived. The pain was still fresh, but it fueled your resolve. Spite, after all, was a powerful motivator.

You barely noticed the approaching footsteps until a shadow fell across your path. Looking up, you were met with the sharp, knowing gaze of Oberyn Martell. His smirk was playful, as it often was, but there was something deeper there—an intensity that sent a ripple of unease through you. 

"You work too hard," he said smoothly, his voice like silk. "It’s a crime to see such beauty covered in dirt."

You straightened, brushing your hands on your apron, trying to keep the panic from showing. "I have my duties, my lord," you replied, keeping your tone even. The way Oberyn looked at you—intense, almost predatory—made your heart race, though you tried to remain composed.

He crouched beside you, plucking a flower from the arrangement and twirling it between his fingers. His eyes flicked briefly to the scars on your arm, scars you quickly moved to conceal by rolling down your sleeves. But it was too late—Oberyn’s gaze lingered on them for just a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. 

The way he studied you wasn’t merely out of curiosity, but recognition. His next words carried a weight that hung in the air between you both. 

"There are stories... of a servant who once attended to Princess Elia." Oberyn’s tone remained casual, but you could feel the shift, the tension creeping in as he spoke. "They say she escaped the Sack of King’s Landing with her life. Barely."

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to remain still. You had heard those stories too. After all, you had lived them.

Oberyn leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Some say she vanished, swallowed by the chaos. Others claim she survived through sheer will, fueled by spite." His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching. "I wonder… do you know of such tales?"

The question lingered in the air, heavy with suspicion. You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, but your face remained a mask of composure. "Many stories are told in King’s Landing, my lord. Few of them hold any truth."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a faint smile, but his eyes remained sharp, watching you carefully. "Perhaps," he murmured. "But then again, some tales are more dangerous than others." He stood up, still twirling the flower between his fingers, casting one last glance at your concealed scars. "Sometimes, survival speaks louder than words."

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. Ellaria Sand approached, her eyes already on you. There was a possessiveness in her gaze, though softened by intrigue.

“So this is the woman who has caught my prince’s eye,” Ellaria remarked, her voice a low purr as she moved closer, her hand brushing lightly against Oberyn’s shoulder.

You bowed your head, hiding the inner storm brewing within you. "My lady," you greeted, though the tension in the air was unmistakable.

Ellaria’s gaze flicked to Oberyn, then back to you. “She is different,” she said, her tone intrigued, but there was an edge of caution in her words. “I wonder what it is you see in her, my love?”

Oberyn chuckled softly, his attention still on you. “There’s something about her,” he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with deeper meaning. “Something familiar.”

Ellaria looped her arm through his, drawing him closer to her side. “Familiar or not, I trust you know where your loyalties lie.”

Oberyn’s smile deepened, but his gaze didn’t waver from you. "Always," he replied to Ellaria, but his words were aimed at you, and the unspoken suspicion between you both lingered in the air, unsaid but undeniable.

As the two of them moved off together, your heart pounded in your chest. Oberyn's words, the way he had looked at you—he was starting to piece it together. He suspected who you truly were, but for now, he remained silent, watching. You returned to your task, but the weight of his suspicion clung to you. 

Everything had only just begun, and you were already in far deeper than you had anticipated. But like the scars on your skin, the memories of your past had shaped you into what you were now. And just like that day long ago, you would survive.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen

[tweedfrog]

hater ask lannister sibs

Tyrion - this is like. Fraught and im unsure how to address it because it is well done from Tyrions pov but I hate that we never got a POV of at least one of the women he uses sexual violence and regular violence against. We can see from Tyrion's point of view that he is in a downward spiral and that he is disgusted with himself for things like having sex with the enslaved sex worker in Essos. But i think in particular something like a Shae pov would have fleshed out the character so much more and in turn made Tyrions chapters richer. It's easy for a lot of people to dismiss Shae as a gold digging harlot but i think stepping inside her mind and seeing Tyrion as a client she's providing a service for and is then in turn pressured to testify against would make this more difficult. It also would make Tyrions downward spiral more obvious because here's this guy who once had a soft spot for the cripples, bastards, and broken things - the outcasts of society - using and abusing someone lower on the pecking order. FROM the pov of the person being exploited. You can't get tyrions self justifications if you're in Shaes mind!!!!

Cersei - ok I understand why GRRM wrote it this way and it was super effective but I would pay 5 million dollars to have cersei internal monologue chapters covering 2 times - the time period between Ned telling Cersei he knows about the Incest and her successfully killing Robert. AND the dinner with Kevan post penance walk. I think it'd be some of her best work yet I NEED TO BE INSIDE HER MIND.

Jaime - actually I'm pausing the haterism here to ask YOU a question as a certified Jaime understander. It's not something I hate but it's always something that's bugged me that I don't know - when Jaime has his dream and Rhaegar says he left his wife and children in Jaime's hands and he says "I didn't know. I never thought he (Tywin) would hurt them". Was he trying to hide the truth from himself (he did know tywin would hurt them but he did a quick trolley problem in his head and the citizens of KL were a more pressing issue) OR was he actually ignorant as to the depths Tywin would reach?

Aside from that 2 things - I hate that Jaime's hair is probably growing out because i think him being bald is actually a great symbolic tool. And 2 - I hate that in book canon he isn't dyslexic because I actually think this was one of the few great show changes and i always forget it isn't book canon because it's really good.

[l4dy4edd0fc01dh4rt]

The propaganda of “Targaryen Madness”

No one will call the Lannister, Greyjoy and Bolton houses mad for their many atrocities towards the smallfolk and war crimes, not to mention the inbreeding in their houses too but for some reason it’s always “Targaryen madness.” The Greyjoys were notorious pirates who murdered, pillaged and raped and it’s considered part of the Ironborn culture. House Bolton flayed their victims and the Lannisters destroyed House Reyne, and Cersei’s ambitions and vengeful nature nearly destroyed the kingdoms; bringing shame to the Lannister name.

Some of the more known “mad” Targaryens like Maegor, Aerion, Aerys and his son Viserys were said to have gone through severe trauma. Maegor suffering a head injury and going into a coma for about a week, Aerys was held hostage in Dorne and Viserys being forced into exile with Daenerys after his father being killed and losing his mother in childbirth, and at the same time having to sell his mother’s crown and being forced to run and hide with Targaryen allies as kids most likely took a toll on Viserys’ mental health.

This isn’t to say that any of the abuses and atrocities that were committed by both kings and the prince were “ok” they are factors in why they became violent and paranoid. They are factors, not excuses.

Now Aerion was severely mentally ill and believed he was a dragon and Rhaegal had issues (running around the castle naked) and was said to be sickly, both men most likely had mental health issues, but Aerion harming animals and people wasn’t fine, he was a monster. Baelor was a religious nut who ordered all unmarried girls to wear chastity belts, locked his sisters in a tower, burned books that went against the religion of The Seven and starved himself to prove his faith and was mad.

Rhaegal’s daughter Aelora suffered from depression after causing an accident that killed her brother Aelor and committed suicide. Helaena suffered from depression after seeing her son Jaehaerys being murdered in front of her and her other son Maelor was murdered as well. Her daughter Jaehaera committed suicide years later after losing her entire family.

Daenerys in the books is a trauma survivor who suffered being beaten by her abusive brother, being hidden and shuffled around Essos to survive and being raped, people fearing she will end up becoming “mad” like her father.

There are debates whether or not Rhaenyra was “mad” for wanting the throne and going to war with her brother Aegon II for it, both were ambitious and power hungry during The Dance, but never “mad.” Aemond who was known to be violent and aggressive was never considered “mad” either, even after the murder of his nephew Lucerys, the ordered killings of House Strong, him taking Alys as a bed mate (debate on whether or not she was his new lover or a victim) and for allegedly saying “the crown looked better on him than Aegon.” Like his brother and Rhaenyra, Aemond was greedy, ambitious and power hungry, but not “mad.”

For almost 300 years with 17 Targaryen rulers, only 3 kings and 3 princes caused the most chaos and were considered dangerous to themselves and others. Only 3 had mental health issues due to injuries and trauma, and the other 3 had behavioral or mental health issues that caused the kingdom to fear them. While Rhaegal had problems he obviously needed help, Baelor wasn’t violent but his ideas of the faith were stupid and dangerous to the progress of the kingdom. Aerys lost his mind after being captured and most likely tortured in Dorne and Maegor had head trauma after his combat trial with the Faith Militant. Both men became paranoid and violent (again not an excuse but a factor) with no proper medical care or therapy in Westeros or knowledge that’s when the term “Targaryen Madness” became a thing.

The only Targaryens who I consider extremely dangerous were Aerys, Aerion and Baelor. Rhaegal had issues and Viserys’ is exempt due to living in exile and poverty as a child. Maegor was cruel but his decisions of going against the Faith Militant and the other uprisings were necessary to save House Targaryen; he was brutal and sadistic against his enemies, but in the end he saved his house when his brother Aenys was incompetent.

While Aerys was a trauma victim after being held hostage, he became obsessed with committing arson and wanted to take out the entire kingdom with wildfire during Robert’s Rebellion. His paranoia became out of control to the point he was harming his own council and having innocent people being murdered. Aerion was violent and disturbed, harming animals and other people, even thinking he was a dragon and having a creepy obsession with fire (he was completely delusional and unstable, there was no way anyone would let him sit on the throne) Baelor wasn’t a pyromaniac or violent, he had an obsession with faith to the point he was forcing it upon everyone, getting himself hurt with starving himself and getting bitten by snakes and outlawing sex work which caused hundreds if not thousands of workers being unable to provide for themselves and their families-ignoring the pleas and riots by just praying and then burning books because they didn’t agree with the faith’s teachings. Not just that but wanting tax exemptions if there was proof that families were putting chastity belts on their daughters.

That is just 3 kings who were mad out of the rest of the centuries of the Targaryen dynasty. The idea of “Targaryen Madness” is just anti-Targaryen propaganda and it’s ignoring facts.

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden pt.4

(Cersei x Fem Reader x Jaime. Sandor Clegane x Fem Reader)

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

WARNING: IMPLIED SA and Physical Abuse

The journey from that point was infinitely more pleasant. Not only because of the infinitely improved dynamic between yourself, your mistress, and her brother, but also because you'd finally mastered the basics of riding on your own.

"Ride by me today" Jaime advised you, acutely aware of the mounting tension between yourself and Clegane. "Sometimes it best to just steer clear of men like him"

It was stretching the bounds of protocol, a handmaid riding this close to the leader of the goldcloaks and member of the royal family, but you knew no one would question it if the queen approved.

It had been almost 3 weeks since you departed Kings Landing, and Winterfell was only a few days away by now. The North was beautiful country, much more sparsely populated than The South, and the inns grew farther and fewer between.

Some nights you camped out off the road and some nights you rode straight through without sleep.

By the final inn before reaching Winterfell, you were eager for sleep. You ate with the other servants in the dining hall that had been cleared for the royal party, but keep glancing up at the head table, constantly gauging if you were needed.

The king had been drinking far too much, growing loud and boisterous in a way that clearly embarrassed the queen, who took long drinks from her goblet with a deep frown.

When Cersei left the high table, you rose to follow her quickly.

"Shall l draw a bath, your grace?" You asked, knowing a hot bath was one of the best ways for you mistress to relax.

"No" she said shortly, "Just help me undress, we will be sleeping early tonight."

"Surely, Your Garce" you fumbled with the silken scarves and gown, more catching than undressing as her stripped with haste.

"Lock the door" she snapped. "Firmly"

You obeyed cooly, trying to maintain calm in the face of the Queen's obvious frustration.

You passed the evening in silence, the queen switching between pacing and sitting on the bed until the sun sank and the sky went black.

Before long, there was a heavy shuffling outside the door. It sounded as if someone was pressing their weight against the wall for support as they stumbled down the hall. Cersei stiffened and eyed the door cautiously.

"Your Grace?"

"Be quiet" she snapped in a harsh whisper.

The footsteps stopped outside the door and the door handle tried to turn, stopping firmly against the lock. There was another, harder turn followed by a violent jerking of the door against its hinges.

For a moment there was a heavy, tense silence before the room was full of the sound of cracking wood and squealing metal. You screamed at first, stumbling back in fear as King Robert ruefully examined the damage.

"Is that any kind of welcome for your king?" He rumbled, slurring his words.

"You're drunk" Cersei growled lowly. "Leave my room"

"No" Robert stumbled over to where she sat, leaning against whatever was available to steady himself. "Tonight, I will be with my wife"

You stared with large, frightened eyes at the exchange, but Cersei looked more annoyed than frightened.

"No, You've had too much too drink, there would be no point"

"You!" He wagged a sausage like finger in her direction "are my wife, and you will do a your King commands!"

Cersei looked him up and down a moment with disapproving eyes. "Y/N, leave us"

"But Your Grace!"

Her sharp green eyes flashed at you, "Did I say stand there and talk back? No, I said *Go*"

"Oh, let her stay if she wants" Robert half laughed, "Don't think I don't know you've been showing her your favors already"

Cersei drew in a long breath. "Out. Now"

You hesitated a moment before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind you.

To your surprise, you found Jaime stationed outside the door, face grim as a funeral. You stared at each other a moment before he sighed.

"This doesn't happen very often, not like it used to anyway" he assured you.

You frowned deeply, "It's not right"

"No" Jaime agreed, "it's not."

You waited dutifully beside him, trying to block out the sounds emanating from within the room. It did not last long, maybe 10 minutes.

When it was over, Robert came bumbling out and down the hall, not even noticing you or Jaime watching him go.

"Y/N" the voice that crawled it's way through the door was laced with venom. "Come. Here"

You swallowed hard but peered into the room before entering. Cersei was still clothed but her robe was rumpled, her golden locks a tousled mess in the back. Her face was drawn in tight, angry lines

"Your Grace."

Your head whipped to the side sharply, and then to the other side just as hard. Cercei's ringed fingers left red welts and small cuts across your cheeks as you began to tremble.

"Don't you *ever*, in your pathetic life, question me again." She grabbed a handful of your hair and shook you. The yelp you let out prompted Jaime to enter and blanched at the sight.

"I ought to have you lashed for your insolence, do you hear me?!"

"Yes, your grace." You sobbed, feeling some of the hairs at the back of your head begin to pull out of you scalp. "I'm so sorry, please I beg your forgiveness"

"Beg all you like." Cersei dropped you and watched as you scrambled backwards. "I want you out, I don't want to see your face or hear you voice until we reach Winterfell. Do you hear me?!"

You nodded in silence, fumbling to get to your feet and flee before you could face worse punishment.

Jaime watched you go with a blank expression before turning back to Cersei.

"That wasn't very nice."

"Shut up"

Jaime sighed, "it wasn't her fault, you know. She just didn't want to leave you alone."

"What she wants" Cersei growled. "Is irrelevant. She is here to serve *me* and obey *me*. If she can't do that, what is she good for?"

Jaime pulled an amused face and looked back at the door you fled through "I can think of a few things"

"Fine" Cersei spat at him, "take the little whore into your bed for the night, see if I care."

Meanwhile, in your flight you found yourself by the stables once again. You all but collapsed into an empty stall, trying to catch your breath and slow your racing thoughts.

She didn't mean that

Yes, yes she did. It was clear as the nose on her face.

No

You sobbed into your knees, hoping the hay you sat on would swallow you whole.

Jaime wandered out into the night, knowing better than to call out your name but at a loss wear to look first.

He followed the torch light from the stable and found Sandor Clegane sitting on a bench in front of one of the stall doors, sharpening his sword.

"Clegane" he called, "have you seen-?"

Clegane flashed him a look and raise a finger to his lips, jerking his head at the stall behind him.

Jaime peered over the door as he got closer and saw your curled up tightly in the straw, face still damp with tears.

"Cried herself out." Clegane grumbled. "Stupid girl didn't have the sense not to fall asleep where anyone could find her."

"I'll take her in" Jaime shook his head but Clegane jammed his foot again the stall door as the knight tried to open it.

"Why don't you just leave her be?" The Hound growled. "The both of you."

"What exactly are you implying?" Jaime jutted his jaw in indignation and The Hound stood up, towering over him.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He pushed but didn't elaborate further.

Jaime considered this a moment and smirked coldly. "Fine then. A good night to you both"

Clegane watched him go before sitting back down and returning to his blade, keeping a careful eye on each person who walked past the stable.

At dawn you rose when the sky was still grey and the sun was engulfed in clouds. A few souls stirred in the chilled morning air and you assessed where exactly you were. In a horse stall, thankfully a clean one.

A deep growl of a yawn pulled your attention and you sucked in a breath. Sandor Clegane had fallen asleep with his chin tucked into his chest, hand still wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

He blinked a moment, scanning this ground with his eyes before glancing at you and frowning.

"What kind of stupid girl falls a sleep out in the open like that?" Were the first words out of his mouth.

You flushed with embarrassment, both that he had found you and because he'd say up making sure no one else did.

"Thank you, ser"

"I'm not a ser, don't call me that" he yawned again, "Come here"

You stepped forward and flinched as he grasped your chin, running a thumb over your purplish swollen skin. The cuts had scabbed over but a few looked red and angry.

"I've seen worse" he sniffed "make yourself useful and fetch me some water will you?"

You moved to go but paused, replaying the events of last night in your mind.

"What is it?" Sandor rolled his eyes as you turned back to him.

"I- I think I got sacked last night" you said blankly. "I think the queen might have dismissed me?"

Sandor shrugged. "Good, that means you can help get the horses set."

You gaped at him a moment and he gave an exasperated sigh.

"Come on, if you're going to ride a horse you should know how to saddle one"

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 4 | chapter 5

Sleep was hard to get by after what happened with the Starks. You couldn't even talk to Sansa about it, console her that everything would be fine from that day on. Although, you doubted it would ever be. You knew nothing you'd say would bring comfort to the girl. So you chose not to talk about it. Even you avoided spending time with her husband, Tyrion.

The less involved you were, the safer Martells were from the Lannisters' wrath.

Somehow, the devastating news made you forget that Cersei was there. And there Cersei sat in the dining hall beside her evil son and she was still as beautiful and magnificent as ever. The Lannisters hosted a celebration, of course. Robb Stark's death meant a victory for the Capital. Deep down, you knew, even Oberyn, even Ellaria, that the Martells were supporting the wrong side.

As you headed outside the castle to get some fresh air, you didn't expect to see two familiar blondes in one dark corner. Cersei and Jaime.

You had found the couple in some compromising positions before yet it didn't deter you from your advances. But right now, when you could truly see them as what they truly were, all you could feel was rage inside of you.

Although this time, Cersei seemed to be pushing off Jaime, and Jaime persisted, taking advantage of what's to be taken advantage. Then she slapped his face when he didn't listen. The next thing he did was wrap his other hand around Cersei's neck as if to strangle her. And before you could stop him, Jaime stopped, pushed Cersei against the wall and hissed at her with threats you couldn't hear. You could see how uncomfortable Cersei looked, with tears in her eyes as Jaime finally left her.

You knew then where Joffrey had gotten most of his traits.

"He doesn't deserve you, Your Grace," you said, making your presence known. Cersei quickly wiped her tears with her hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"Ser Jaime," you replied, damn getting killed.

"What are you implying?" she hissed, nostrils flaring.

"I know the truth, Your Grace."

"You know nothing. You're just a lady from a foreign land who thought having a cock would give you a right to involve with such affairs!" Cersei spat. "Do not speak ill about this. I could give orders that would lead to your death-"

"Why haven't you, Your Grace? You've been making empty threats since the time I've annoyed you."

Cersei was fuming but you stood your guard. "Leave!"

You quickly bowed before leaving.

It wasn't the last time you saw the siblings' interaction. You wanted to fight for her. You wanted to save her. You wanted to protect her from Jaime. But how could you save someone who doesn't want to be saved?

You walked past Cersei crying one night. If walls could only talk, they'd mention how Jaime had abused and hurt the Queen and the Queen only let him. The moment she saw you, she quickly wiped away her tears.

You walked past her, deciding whether to get involved or not. But you paused and sighed, you couldn't just leave her alone. Not while looking like that.

Cersei glared at you when you approached her but her composure softened when you offered your handkerchief to her. Surprisingly, she accepted it after a moment of hesitation.

Then you walked away, knowing that staying would only trigger her anger.

It wasn't only Jaime who had seemed to always step on her. There was also her son Joffrey, of course. And her father Tywin, who seemed to always put pressure on her every now and then. Sometimes, you caught her holding off a snarky comment against her father's wishes when you dine with them at nights. But would then eventually and reluctantly agree to her father's demands as if she was the perfect daughter.

Although you knew she was far from it.

~~~

"I thought you were going to be engaged with that girl from Riverrun, what was her name?" Margaery asked you. Avoiding the Lannisters meant spending time with the Tyrells.

"I can't remember," you answered, chuckling, making Margaery laugh. "I swear father has been insisting for me to marry. And that I should do it soon."

"Well, I hope you'd meet someone special one day," she said. "It's quite sad growing old alone you know. Plus, it'd be amazing if there'd be kids around to take care of."

Smiling sadly, you couldn't help but worry about Margaery's future with Joffrey. You knew it wouldn't be a happy ever after kind of ending.

"Lady Margaery," you began. "I didn't mean to pry. But. . . there are times when we are conflicted on our own actions just to obtain that power you don't even need in the first place."

Margaery only fell silent as she sliced through the piece of steak before her.

"The King . . . strikes me as someone . . . you are not meant to grow old up with-"

"I know what I'm doing, Lady Y/n-"

"Do you? Does your grandmother Olenna know how cruel the King could be without him even trying? You know you don't have to marry him. You have a choice-"

"In a fortnight, I'm going to be a Queen and Joffrey will be my King."

You sighed. "Well wishes to you then, My Lady."

You decided to change the topic to eradicate the awkward silence.

~~~

It was some time later that night, when a knight had knocked on the door of your chambers. Thankfully, it wasn't Jaime.

"The Queen Regent would like to see you in her chambers, My Lady."

You took time to get dressed, thinking over whether you need to send a message to Oberyn or not. This could be the last time you'd be able to breathe.

Somehow, what little courage left inside of you brought you to Cersei's chambers that night.

You were left alone by the Knight, closing the door when you were inside the room.

The moment it was closed, Cersei in her white underdress and with her golden hair down, approached you. The glow from the candlelight in her room illuminated the Queen like a Goddess.

"You wish to see me, Your Grace?" you greeted.

A slap. The force rendered your face to turn to the side, the sting of the skin reverberated through your entire skull.

Confusion and hurt filled you as you controlled your temper.

There was only silence before she walked away.

"Sit," Cersei ordered.

And you didn't know if she meant the bed in the center of the room but then she slipped down her underdress, revealing her naked marvelous skin, and you had lost any coherent thoughts in your head.

Tales of her beauty were truly not exaggerated.

"Your Grace." You bowed your head to the floor, avoiding to look at her.

"I said sit!"

And you obediently walked towards the edge of her bed and sat.

Cersei immediately straddled you, pulling your chin to meet her gaze. And you could see right through her eyes something odd, something different, something innocent hidden under a mask.

She smelled of flowers - soft, delicate and powdery. And you felt your cheeks warm as your eyes quickly caught the sight of her nipples, all hard and rosy like unripe cherries.

Her eyes darted all over your face down to your waiting lips, her forefinger tracing from your cheek down to the outline of your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip, as if mesmerized by you.

And just in an instant, Cersei pushed you down on the bed harshly. She then began crawling until you could see her beautiful cunt, all slick, flushed and ready for you.

"Cersei. . ."

She fisted your hair, making you grunt. "You don't get to call me that."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Now, pleasure me," she demanded.

And you did as you were told.

Cersei let out a rather loud moan you didn't think you'd be able to hear. The sound awakened something carnal inside of you and you longed to hear more of it. She arched her back the moment your tongue touched her center, licking your way from her slit up to her aching bud. She almost lost her composure, her eyes shutting close as she began a slow grind on your face.

She could have killed you right there. For all you knew, she meant for you to run out of air to breathe. But alas, it would be a beautiful way to die.

You breathed her in. You drank her sweet nectar like you were a deprived beggar. You held her thighs firmly but gently as she squeezed her thighs around your head, her moans and whimpers filling the entire room.

The bed squeaked as the Queen moved with fervor. You could see how her perky breasts bounce with every movement and you moaned from the view.

Her movements became sloppy yet eager as she finally let go of your hair, her hand grasping the sheets of her bed instead, the other on the wooden headboard before her.

You thought she was mindlessly moaning, realizing she was muttering a name. Your name.

Feeling more slick coming down your mouth, you held up your tongue into her center and encouraged her to grind against it. You could see how the action affected her, her eyes shut tight and her mouth agape as she stiffened before her movements trembled.

"Y/n!"

And how amazing it was to finally hear her scream your name as she convulsed and came into your mouth, her other hand on your head again, as if terrified you'd stop and leave her hanging.

"Seven hells," she panted, chuckling breathlessly, as she slowly crawled down and climbed off you.

"See yourself out," Cersei ordered as she wore back her underdress and walked towards the table to take a glass of wine.

You were mad. You were confused. And worse, you were aroused. Incredibly aroused. It took you longer than necessary to gather your bearings and walk yourself to the door.

With your hand at the knob, you turned around to argue.

"That's it? I'm just some experiment for you to try?"

"What did you expect?" she asked.

You fell silent.

"That you would get to marry me?" she went on, her sadistic voice present. "I know, Y/n. I've seen you looked at me. And when I didn't reciprocate, you went after Margaery."

"I-"

"Don't fuss on explaining yourself. If power is what you want, this is not the place to look."

"I'm not after you being Queen!" you argued exasperatedly.

"Really? Because that's what anyone is always after."

"I. . . I adore you," you confessed silently. "I do adore you."

Cersei stiffened.

"I adore you not as a Queen but as someone who is kind inside but is too afraid to show it because you think it'd be seen weak, someone who cherishes her children no matter what kind of monster they are. As someone who puts the Kingdom first-"

"You think flattery will get you somewhere?"

You sighed. "It's not flattery. It's a fact."

Cersei exhaled as she placed the glass on top of the table. "Then I believe it wouldn't be hard for you to hear that what happened earlier is nothing more than just a one time thing. Do you think I'd ever have feelings for someone like you?"

"Someone like me?"

Cersei smiled, knowing she had hit a nerve.

There was silence after that.

You swallowed a lump in your threat, tasting the reminiscence of Cersei.

"Have a good night, Your Grace," was all you could reply.

You could see Cersei stiffen, her face suddenly looking concerned, conflicted, as if not expecting you to surrender that easily, expecting you to counter back at her. Maybe she hadn't realized how insulting her words were.

You bowed then immediately left her room.