#cersei x you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚'𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫, 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, triggers, violence, blood, death and swearing

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

🌿ISTP 🍁Slytherin or Hufflepuff - can be debated. 📜Chaotic Neutral 🔮Aries Sun, Taurus Moon, Scorpio Rising

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Nad Dunaem by DakhaBrakha

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

One Showing Kindness (You) x The Other Choosing To Become Kinder, As Redemption (Sandor)

Snarky Power Couple That Can, And Probably Will, Destroy You

“Shut Up” x “Make Me”

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔

Acts of Service. Likes to do things for you - making sure you’re fed and hydrated. Cuts up logs for the fire, and makes sure it’s always burning.

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Sansa specifically asked for the both of you to join her council right after her coronation

・Technically lowborn, your family had been loyal to House Stark for generations

・And when ... well when it all went to shit, you were forced to flee.

・For years you didn’t know what became of your family. But you did hold onto the knowledge that was passed down from generation to generation

・Not just about the physical world, but the spiritual, and the natural.

・Your family was initially so close to the Starks’ because of your usefulness, but over hundreds of years, your family proved their allegiance

・You grew up with the Stark children as your mother was a close companion of Cateyln’s (when she first came to Winterfell as a newlywed, she felt very lost. Your mother was the same age and showed her the ways of the North)

・Arya and Sansa were like sisters to you. But you were always caught in the middle of their bickering. You were the eldest of four siblings, having two other brothers and a younger sister. She was only a baby when Nedd Stark went to King’s Landing.

・It wasn’t easy, surviving all those years on your own. But you did it. You endured.

・After acquiring a job as a barmaid, you heard all the gossip and news the war

・You protected yourself with a hidden dagger underneath your skirts, and always wore a ring which held poison. Like a locket ring.

・In all honesty, no one fucked with you because of it. And your reputation grew.

・Women would come to you in the early hours of the morning, wanting an array of things. Herbs for birth control, poison for violent husbands, drafts to aid in sleep, ingredients to churn someone’s guts.

・Your boss didn’t mind at first, but he thought you were creating too much attention.

・But your boss’s wife liked you, and she helped you until one day a young Arya Stark trudged into the tavern with a tall scarred man.

・It didn’t take her long to recognise you, and within minutes she had knocked over a pitcher of ale and threw herself into your arms

・She demanded that you came with them, and the rest is history...

・The relationship between you and Sandor was rocky in the beginning. You thought he was too abrasive and harsh. Arya, already used to it, just shrugged her shoulders when you called him out on it

・Even though you knew his reputation, you didn’t care. You had packed your belongings and had your own set of weapons that could kill him.

・He knew that.

・And he was ... honestly impressed

・Arya loved the dynamic between you two. And although she would never admit it, she loved when you fussed over her - your big sister instincts kicking in.

・It took you a while to realise Sandor’s love languages. Arya had to point out when he was ‘being nice’.

・But you saw something in him that he didn’t see in himself. And you fell in love

・When Sansa asked you to be on her council, Sandor was really proud of you, but it took him a long time to accept his position. He didn’t think he was worthy of it.

・”We’ve all made mistakes,” Sansa told him one evening when the three of you were dining together. “You can atone by accepting my offer.”

・You don’t have an official title, as you dabble in many areas of Winterfell. But you’re the connection to the people, and also the natural world. An advisor, and Maester in training.

・Sandor’s official title is, ‘Master-at-Arms’ / ‘Commander’. He’s responsible for training soldiers, giving military advice and choosing the guards of Winterfell.

・Sansa also has a council of Bannermen, who are present when very important decisions are made. (Sandor hates nearly every single one of them.)

・You were going to have a little cottage somewhere warmer (because Sandor doesn’t like the cold), but the position was ... too perfect. Being with Sansa, living in Winterfell, it was home.

・If Sansa travels to King’s Landing, she wants you and Sandor to come with her. She feels safe when the pair of you are around her. Sansa has PTSD (although not known as that), and can get triggered when men get too physically close.

・You’ve taught Sansa about herbs, plants, poisions and cures. The old Sansa never listened, thought it was too boring. But now, she listens intently, and has endless questions.

・Sansa offered to rebuild your family home, but it hurt too much. Until ... two years later, when your youngest brother and sister found their way back home.

・Sandor was unsure of this reunion. He wanted to make sure they were who they said they were.

・But you knew.

・Yes, in your gut you knew. But your brother and sister had specific birth marks and physical oddities which set them aside since birth.

・Arya travelled back to Winterfell when she found out, as did Jon Snow. Even though he was labelled a bastard during your childhoods, your family was still lowborn as well.

・So on numerous occassions, your family had invited Jon Snow to sup with them.

・Sandor didn’t think his life would be like this. He didn’t think he would make it this far or that he deserved the love you gave him.

・And when your siblings came along, they too grew love for Sandor. He offered to train both your siblings (because he thought both men and women should know how to defend themsleves).

・You slowly found out the horrors that your siblings endured, and at nights you cried to Sandor.

・You became a family again.

・And like the generations before you, your family was once again faithful to the ruler in the North.

385 notes · View notes

bibiundtinaundzombies · 2 months

Text

lannicest is such a top tier ship though because they are the absolute originators of weird incest. no one does circular family trees quite like these two weirdos. all other incest ships are like “oh god, we shouldn’t do this, i can’t, oh god, you’re my brother!” and then they slip up and feel horrible about it or they don’t even know they’re related and find out later and are subsequently completely horrified and that’s all fine and dandy, to each their own, but you just gotta respect how nonchalant cersaime are about the inbreeding they’ve got going on. like yes, i’ll call you brother during sex and i’m gonna waterboard a nun while telling her how good it feels to have your genetically familiar dick inside of me. the fact that we’re twins makes it even better. we’re so fucked up that it’s rubbing off on pur younger brother who wants to fuck both of us. when you’re not around i’ll make do and sleep with our cousin because i can’t handle dick that isn’t at least on the adjacent branch of the family tree. you ask the woman you’re attracted to if she’s a lannister during one of your less unromantic interactions and while she interprets it as an insult, we both know what you mean. we’re what would have happened to the ashford twins if capcom had walked the mile and committed to making code veronica even more uncomfortable. they’re absolutely fucking unmatched in just how weird they are. no one does it like them. absolute hats off to grrm for committing to making them capital h horrible. i’d kill for both of them.

#cersei lannister #jaime lannister #cersei x jaime #lannicest #they’re so gross it’s actually iconic #brienne baby i’m so sorry you’re getting caught up in this shit #jaime and his weird i can fix her thing too #absolutely hilarious #cersei babe this isn’t you!!!🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭#like stop it you desperate manwhore that woman treats possible committable felonies like a grocery list #and we wouldn’t have it any other way

33 notes · View notes

queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

Text

not a request, I’m just fixating on Tywin Lannister <3 the timeline of this rather ignores canon, but as it is, Tywin is about 15 years older than !reader, Jaime and Cersei are about 8 years younger than !reader. Joanna died giving birth to the twins, so no Tyrion (sorry!), and there’s no Robert’s Rebellion, so no War of the Five Kings either. There’s allusion to a battle in the Capitol when Jaime and Cersei are toddlers, and i pretended this was to overthrow aerys in my head, though I gave zero details about it. Anyway, enjoy!

Edit: it’s nearly 6k words whoops

A Fool’s Errand

Tywin Lannister x fem!Reader

Loving Tywin Lannister was a fool’s errand, or so everyone said. But you, the sweet young daughter of the Warrior Lord Dumain, had never shied from a challenge yet. Not in our blood, your father would say. Warriors fight for what is right, and for what they want, my girl. And you wanted the Old Lion himself.

It had begun quite accidentally, and not even because of Lord Lannister, but his wife. She had hosted a tourney you’d gone to as a girl, and you thought her the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen (the portrait of your long dead mother non-withstanding). She had glided around the Rock, where the tourney was held, and her golden hair and dress had caught the eye of everyone, naturally.

The first day you’d followed her around, a girl of no more than eight having an easy time staying hidden in order to sate your curiosity. On the third day, Lady Joanna had spoken.

“Come out from there, my little shadow,” she hummed from her bench in the gardens. Shyly, you stepped out from behind an enormous pot and looked at your feet. Your father told you not to get in the way of anyone and to listen to your septa (who you’d managed to slip away from every day since your arrival). Your worry must’ve been evident, for she reached out a graceful hand and beckoned you closer. She must’ve tired easily from her round belly, which was too large to hold just one babe, you’d overheard your septa mention.

“You must be Lord Renhaal’s little girl,” her sweet voice said, pulling you from your childish musing.

“Yes, my lady,” you replied softly. She smiled, and you understood how people loved her instantly. You felt you’d do anything to keep her smiling at you.

“And what wonderful manners, forgetting all the spying, of course.” Though her words were chastisement, her face belied no displeasure.

“I wasn’t spying, my lady,” you defended, desperate to clear up the misunderstanding. “Father said, before we came here, that Lord Lannister was a serious man, and not to get in his way out of everyone here. And you’re so nice! I was only curious about what sort of lady would make a serious man happy… my lady.”

Drawing you closer so you were sat next to her on the bench, Lady Joanna began to impart knowledge you would never forget.

“My mother used to tell me that even the most stoic of men need a lady to love them. Because, little shadow, good women make good men better, and that makes a good man’s wife the best sort of woman. And I have always wanted to be the best I can.”

You nodded, understanding that love was important to men and women both, if what Lady Joanna was saying was true. Loving a man like Tywin Lannister was made to seem easy with this knowledge. And perhaps, that is where you’d gotten the lesson wrong.

“You will love a serious man one day, little lady.” The knowing glimmer in green eyes was lost on you.

“My little warrior,” your father started. Stood at the docks, twenty and one summers old, an accomplished archer and peerless sailor, you will always be your father’s little girl. “Do not be rash out there. I know you are excited and adventure is in our bones, but you surely cannot fault a father for worrying over his daughter.”

Smiling and stepping closer to him, his large body older but no less impressive, you reassure him that you were raised by the most battle-experienced man in the realm, and the most successful to boot. You would be fine, you told him, and he trusted your words enough to let you board your ship, one he’d had made just for you for your nameday two years earlier.

The Shadow Maiden was a fine ship made of Essosi ashwood, a dark, grey-stained wood with sails green as your family’s house colours, and a hooded maiden figurehead dark as the rest of the ship with golden accents in the dagger and map held in her hands. It was small, which meant fast, but solid from the heavier wood that comprised the ship. For where you were going, you’d be thankful for these qualities.

“There is no need to worry, father. I do not mean to break our streak of victories, and so I will not. I will return with what I seek, I assure you.”

“And you still won’t tell me what it is you endeavour to find?” You shake your head, eyes turning down lest he read your thoughts. “It hasn’t got anything to do with Lord Lannister, does it? I cannot force him to accept a marriage contract, even for all the treasure in the world, and neither can you, my dear.”

It was a sore topic of conversation, the two rejected marriage proposals that had been sent at your behest to Lord Lannister, one by raven and one by you in person. His wife had been gone for nearly a decade and a half, and somehow, in your limited interactions with the Old Lion, the late Lady Joanna’s words made more and more sense. You could see plain as day his desire to have his wife back, and though you ached to be able to give him this, the next best thing was you, yourself. A woman who understood and was understood by his late wife.

Shaking your thoughts away, you accept your father’s kiss upon your cheek and his tight embrace before embarking your ship, beginning the month long trip to Essos.

“My Lady,” you heard behind you. Turning to see Lord Kevan Lannister, you dipped into a perfect curtsy, and greeted him demurely. At twenty summers old, you were considered the fairest and most eligible of Westerosi nobility. Everyone could see this but Lord Lannister, whom you had come to convince a betrothal to. Lord Kevan was a gentleman, and a doting father and husband to his young son and pregnant wife.

“My Lord. What may I do for you?”

He frowned, the furrowing of brows a far cry from his usually pleasant expression.

“My Lady, I fear you will not be received well in your request. I only wish to impart some insight into my Lord brother, whom I know well, of course. He is not a kindly man, and nothing and no one could sway him once he’s made a decision. I only say this to warn you, but knowing your father, you are likely as determined as he in all things.”

Heart dropping but smile staying firm, you considered his words carefully before speaking.

“I am determined, yes, but mostly, your brother is the only man, save my father, who will do what needs to be done to carry on a legacy. Your brother has only one son, and I hear he is rather keen on the Knight’s Guild… And I confess, I do not wish him to be—“ lonely, was the word you would have used about anyone else, but to imply that would certainly offend, and that was the last thing you wanted to do. “—well, someone told me that even the most stoic of men need a lady, and I’m rather set on him. If he rejects me, I will graciously excuse myself and not bother him again. But I must try, or I’ll never forgive myself.”

Your skirts whispered as you slowly paced in the parlour you’d settled in. The gold was a bit much, you thought privately, but the large window overlooking the Sunset Sea was worth the ostentatiousness.

Lord Kevan looked at you for a long moment, as though he’d heard the words before himself, before nodding and offering his arm to escort you to Lord Lannister’s solar.

It had gone worse than you’d imagined, and you’d imagined the worst case scenario. The truth was, Tywin Lannister was not just serious. He was borderline cruel, sly as a fox and intimidating as his house’s sigil. He’d all but snarled at you when you finished your proposal.

“You wasted my time for that? I have already rejected your offer—twice now. I have better things to be doing,” he said, standing above you where you sat opposite him. “There is nothing marriageable to me about a slip of a woman who fancies herself a lady and an adventurer, a mere girl inexperienced in life and cavorting as though she is touched by the Maiden herself. Hear me now, girl,” he growled, green eyes spitting like wildfire, “even if you marched in here with Brightroar in your arms, I would not marry you.”

And of course, the sweet image of him even reluctantly agreeing and you supporting his lordship over his subjects for the rest of your days faded away like a dying sun. Face placid, hands steady and voice clear, you simply said, “that sounds like a challenge.” He didn’t have time to berate you for your insolence, for you were already out the door and making your way to your wheelhouse, insisting on leaving that instant.

The people of the Rock would no doubt think you a cowardess who tucked tail and ran in the face of the Lion’s roar. But they did not know you, did not know the sparkle in your eye was not tears, but determination.

Docking in Essos was made simpler by the permits your father had arranged for you, even if the dock master insisted you pay extra. Your men, men you’d known since they were capable of getting seasick still, had made promises to ensure your safety, but even twelve broad sailors were not enough to sway a man’s greed. It mattered little in the end, you would restock water and food as much as possible before circumnavigating the coast of Essos. Another sennight of sailing the coast, then a moon navigating open waters and finally, you’d made it to the ruins of Valyria.

The once great castle by the cliffside had mostly fallen into the sea, and the jagged protrusions of stone were less than ideal for a galleon, but your little ship was nimbler and sleeker than any hulking vessels that thought to shortcut through these waters.

“My Lady, we’re nearing the Ruins. Shall we anchor and rest through the night?” You agreed that was best, and though the anticipation thrummed through you all night, you were rested enough by dawn to begin what you’d spent over two months sailing for.

For two days you’d steered your ship through previously untraversable waters, before coming across what seemed yet another shipwreck. At first, it looked like every other one you’d passed: broken, rotted and empty. You’d nearly sailed right by it when you caught sight of a lioness figurehead.

In the history book that had found its way across Westeros to you (anonymously, though you suspected Lord Kevan would be the only one to have possession of such a tome) it said King Tommen of the Rock, First of His Name, had sailed the Vibrant Lionness named for his wife who had hair red as the setting sun. And here it was, you thought, anchoring and row-boating to the half-submerged wreckage. By the light of the midday sun, and your own willingness to get dirty (thank goodness you were among good men who wouldn’t think twice of you wearing breeches for the duration of the journey) you had begun searching for your boon.

And in what would’ve been the captain’s quarters, next to a curled up skeleton in rags, was a scabbard holding a sword. You held your breath, stepping cautiously to avoid the most rotten planks of wood on the uneven floor, before grabbing the sheath, and revealing Brightroar. The smile you wore as you rowed back to the Shadow Maiden was nothing short of radiant. Welcomed with a great cheer, you promised your men that weather and gods willing, you’d be home in six short weeks.

It was closer to being seven weeks, but finally being docked at the port by your father’s Keep, you were able to breathe. You’d done it. You’d retrieved what all of Westeros knew Tywin Lannister desired most. And though your heart panged, the desire to be his wife hardly diminishing even after being eviscerated by him, your pride won out. If anything, Lord Lannister would owe you a debt, even if you’d never collect on it.

“My girl!” your father roared as you disembarked the ship, arms wrapping around you and swinging you in a wide arc. It was nearing your nameday again, and he worried you wouldn’t be home in time to celebrate. “And dare I ask if you found what you were looking for?”

You smiled beatifically, and it was answer enough for you lord father. He insisted you stay for your nameday, which was a week after your return, and would go for a week at least. Being his only daughter, and one of only two surviving children of his, there would never be a year he didn’t revel in having you with him still.

During this fortnight, you’d learned that Jaime Lannister had in fact been selected by the Knight’s Guild as the youngest member in history, and would therefore not inherit his family’s seat. Jaime had been a sweet boy, and you’d doted on him on the many occasions you’d seen him in his childhood. Cersei, while a little cold at first, had followed her brother’s adoration of you after a time. You were happy to know Jaime was doing what he loved most, even if you felt a twinge of guilt at how it proved you right to the Old Lion after all.

Having made the arrangements with Lord Kevan (Lord Lannister would not even respond to any ravens from you, he’d mentioned in a letter once) to visit the Rock under the guise of the twins’ name day celebration, you set off once again to the far Westerlands.

Your skin had gotten some shades darker from the expedition to Valyria, and your hair had lightened at the ends slightly. You’d grown more lean, but stronger, your muscles toned as opposed to bulky, like your older brother’s. In short, you were more formidable in appearance than the last time you’d been to the Rock. Your dress, the same deep green as your family’s colour, flattered your waist and hips, the neckline revealing only the top of your collarbones and a small sliver of your shoulder with long, wide sleeves that fluttered around you as you walked up the steps and into the maw of the lion.

Most of Westeros had heard of your expedition and many at the Rock who’d travelled far and wide were certain you’d present Jaime and Cersei with a priceless gift. It was priceless, you thought, but not quite for the twins. For Jaime, you’d actually gotten a fine stallion, one bred by your father and brother personally some years ago, and for Cersei, a necklace of diamonds cut to appear as shards of sparking glass inlaid in Valyrian steel. You knew Cersei was jealous over the Valyrian steel dagger her brother had gotten some namedays ago, and thought this may be enough to settle that dissatisfaction she still carried.

Three days of celebration gave way to the dawn of the twins’ actual nameday, which would be the day you presented Jaime and Cersei their gifts, and a final gift for the House of Lannister as a whole.

A fine spread was laid out for everyone to break their fast, and per tradition (which began when the twins were much younger and far too impatient to wait until dinner to open gifts) presents were prepared to be opened during the feast. The gardens where the meal was held were expansive and bittersweet to sit in. They reminded you of the Golden Lady, who despite being noble of birth, had tended her own garden herself. Lord Lannister now paid a slew of gardeners to preserve it exactly as it had been left by its keeper.

“We saved yours for last,” Jaime whispered beside you with a mischievous grin. You had not sat far from the Lannister family, mostly due to the Lord’s children’s fondness of you, to his chagrin. He hadn’t looked at you once, pointedly ignoring your entire side of the table, even with the guests he didn’t despise surrounding you on either side.

“Yours are always the best ones,” Cersei added with a secret grin. You laughed at that, and called your men to escort the war horse for Jaime into the gardens. A hush fell over the table as the great Arabian horse, golden of coat, trotted to you at your whistle. He was enormous, as horses bred by your family were known to be, but this horse looked large next to large horses.

“Every great knight needs a steed attuned to him, one that will fight as much for him as with him. He will never listen to another, never let himself be mounted by another. Only you, my lord,” you explain to Jaime as he marvels at the hulking beast.

“I’m honoured, my lady, to receive such a prestigious gift… I shall never fear battle with a mount like this.”

“And with your lion’s heart,” you added fondly, watching as Jaime, as near to manhood a boy can be, gently stroked the horse’s nose before letting it be led to the stables. You felt a heavy gaze on you then, but refused to look at the exact pair of green eyes that had settled on you. “And for the young lionness,” you announce, revealing the fine necklace, “jewellery and dresses are a lady’s armour, and there is no finer necklace than this in all the lands. Made of Valyrian steel, with shards of diamond, it will cut through anything should you use it right. It may save your life one day, my lady, though I shall pray that you never find need of it for that.”

Cersei’s eyes widened slightly, and she hesitated for nary a second before lifting her elaborate braid from her neck and turning for you to fasten it. With her dress of pale gold (so like the image of her mother now that she’d grown) the necklace looked like it was made with the dress in mind.

“Your gifts, as usual, delight my children,” a low voice intoned from the head of the table, the gardens, still silent enough for it, seemed to echo his voice. And once again, you are reminded of what a powerful man he is. Though you are not the lady he desires help from, you delight in his attention nonetheless.

“I have one more gift, if it pleases you, my Lord? I travelled very far to acquire this treasure, and there is no one in Westeros but you who could accept it.” A murmur slithered through the guests, and many eyes were now glued to you in interest, surely anticipating the revelation for the reason of your expedition on the sea they’d all heard about.

“You are most generous,” he said tonelessly, pure disinterest coating each syllable. You nodded gracefully, and with the lessons in ladyhood that had been drilled into you, you curtsied and glided to Ser Romnack, who held a slender, rectangular box engraved with lions with rubies for eyes and golden fangs. Walking back to where Lord Lannister sat upon a dais at a grand table perpendicular to the others, you presented him with the fine box, not looking at him but at the table.

He took it, and with little fanfare, flicked the latch of the box and swung the lid open. His brow furrowed, you noticed from your periphery, but it melted away as fast as it manifested. Instead, Lord Tywin Lannister wore a look of true surprise, his lips parted and eyes fixed on the contents of the box. He stands, looking deeply at you, though you do not look at him. From the box, he revealed Brightroar, the ancestral sword lost to the Lannisters for nearly three centuries. And now it was home, thanks to you.

The crowd’s reaction was far more animated, and almost at once people were clapping and cheering for you, to your embarrassment. You demurely wave away the cheers, accept the grateful embrace from Cersei and the gentlemanly way Jaime held your hand for a few long moments, then returned to your seat to finish the rest of the feast. Shortly after, festivities began again, and it was easy to slip away from the crowd, even if everyone seemed to be seeking you out.

You’d been to the Rock many times before, so finding your way to the parlour you favoured in your visits was possibly as easy with your eyes closed. The parlour with the wide window that overlooked the sea, that was rarely frequented, or so Lord Kevan had mentioned. You settled into a plush settee and began to mentally plan out your return home.

You had promised your father that once you returned from the Rock, you’d marry a lord or heir of his choosing, since he had given you two attempts of your own and you’d used them both on the Lord of the Keep you were in. Perhaps you could admit to a preference for blonds, though your father hardly seemed the type to care about a superficial detail like that.

“I have not known you to shy away from a celebration, especially if my children are involved.”

You hummed, not moving to stand or curtsy, fatigued and uncaring of the consequences therein. “Ah, but you do not know me, my Lord.”

“No,” he agreed, stood by the other side of the settee. “I know little about you, especially if I am to believe you retrieved Brightroar yourself.”

“I had twelve men with me. Men who I trust and who trust me with their lives. It rather makes impossible expeditions that much easier. Trusting them, that is.”

He was silent for a moment, then he spoke once more.

“I told you I would not marry you, even if you had Brightroar in your arms.”

Turning to glare at him, you stood. “I did not travel for four months across seas to find a way to marry you, Lord Lannister,” you said firmly. “Jaime will be the finest knight Westeros has seen in centuries, and he deserves to fight with his family’s sword, as my brother does, as my father and all his fathers before him did.”

He glared fiercely at you, wildfire eyes attempting to burn you with their scorching anger. You returned the glare with an ice cold one of your own, one you’d steadily become known for.

“I suppose you expect this Lannister to pay you the debt you are owed,” he said as though bored. Your glare broke, expression turning neutral.

“I want nothing from you that you are unwilling to give, Lord Lannister. And I’m a woman with enough dignity to bestow my companionship with a man who might appreciate it someday. So, no. I do not expect any repayment. Good day, my Lord.”

The door had barely opened before a large hand flew passed your shoulder to slam it shut.

“Do not walk away from me, girl.”

“I am no girl. I have sailed across the Sunset Sea, traversed the Ruins of Valyria and lived to tell the tale. And beside that, I have honoured the name Lannister by bringing back your greatest desire. I am no more a girl than you are a coward.”

And with that, you’d wrenched the door open and walked speedily to your apartments where your handmaidens awaited you. You told them to arrange for an early departure, and they began packing immediately, sensing your irritation.

It was early evening, and nearing the time of your departure when Jaime and Cersei made to visit. Cersei was, in private, far more emotional than she ever let on in public, and her anger and sadness at you leaving was plain to you. You’d seen her as a little sister when you were younger, but now you wondered if she’d viewed as more of an aunt, or a godsmother. Either way, your long embrace and promises to write were just enough to pacify her. Jaime was more stoic, you’d noticed, trying to be strong for his sister but also leaning into his impression of how a good man acts. It had made you smile, and a little teary, to see them so grown. You’d known them since they were babes, of course, and had even visited frequently for long intervals when they were barely walking while your father fought and won battles in the Capitol with Lord Lannister.

“Don’t fret, my little lions,” you said, holding Cersei again and cupping Jaime’s cheek in your spare palm. “There is nowhere in the world I would not travel to see you both. Even if my future husband forbids me.”

“Husband!?” Cersei shrieked, and strange panic in her eyes as she shared a look with Jaime.

“But I thought you were going to speak to father about a betrothal?” she asked.

“I have made two proposals to your Lord Father, and both were rejected, my darling.”

“But you brought Brightroar home,” Cersei argued. “He’ll marry you now if you ask him! He owes you a debt, and Lannisters—“

“—always pay their debts, I know, Cersei,” you sigh tiredly. “I do not want any man to marry me because he feels indebted to me.”

“But you’ve been dedicated to father forever!”

None of you noticed another visitor silently enter, too closely embraced and focussed on each other to pay attention.

“I will find another man to dedicate myself to, and I will bear him sons as is my duty. I could no sooner force your father’s hand than I could bring harm to either of you. That is what love makes of us at times…” you trailed off.

“What’s that, my Lady?” Jaime asked.

“Fools, darling. And I have been a fool twice already for him. I will not disgrace myself or my family by asking a third time.”

“No,” the Old Lion said from behind you all, causing the three of you to turn and face him. “You will not. Children, leave us.”

Cersei’s grip around your waist tightened in impertinence. “Are you going to upset her? She was upset when we got here,” she says boldly to her father. He glared at his daughter, and a battle of wills that had no clear winner began and ended in a few seconds.

“Off you go, little lions. I will be fine,” you said, shooing them gently, even if Cersei looked unconvinced. With a final glare to her father and a tug from her twin, the young lions were gone, the door closed, you and Lord Lannister alone once again.

“What did they speak of,” he asked bluntly.

“Which part, my Lord,” you ask as you gathered a ring from your bedside that you’d taken off that morning and forgotten to put back on. An emerald ring, once belonging to your mother, that rarely left your hand.

“You are not scheduled to depart for another three days hence.”

“A change in circumstances, I’m afraid,” you answer.

“And what changes are those,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“It is past time I marry, my Lord. My Lord Father has allowed me my adventures, but I grow wearier every day of the spinster I am sure people think me to become.”

“The opinions of sheep matter not to lions,” he said, as though that explained everything.

“I am not a lion, my Lord.”

“Not yet,” he agreed.

You turned then, and looked at him. He had Brightroar fastened to his hip, and in the finery he wore for the celebrations, he made a striking image. Shoulders broad and chest puffed with the confidence of a Lord reunited with his family’s blade, you’d thought he never looked more handsome, though you knew better than to let the opinion show.

“I won’t marry one of your brothers, or a son of a vassal house. I am a lady of highest birth, and will find myself a husband fitting my status, my Lord,” you explained evenly, looking away to gather your shawl, the last of your personal effects in the room. You made to the door at that, and once again, Lord Lannister prevented you from leaving.

“That is twice you have walked away from me. The debt is repaid,” he purred beside your left ear. Goosebumps raised at his vicinity, and many questions at his comment. “Twice I have rejected you, and twice you have walked away from me. I have killed men for less. That debt is repaid.”

Thinking the interaction some sort of taunt, which he was not above in the slightest, you disregarded him and attempted to open the door with force. This time, however, he did lot let you walk out. He simply slammed the door again.

“Thrice, my Lady,” he said lowly. “And now you owe me a debt.”

A warrior’s daughter you may be, but even your heart could not protect itself from the cracks beginning to show. How foolish could you have been? It was a fool’s errand to love a man like Tywin Lannister, and gods, had you been a fool. You should never have followed the Lady Joanna around her own home. You’d known better even then, and you should not have sat with her, or listened to her, or decided to be a great lady like her. Why couldn’t you have just sat quietly at that tourney with your septa as you’d been told to? And you had risked your life and the lives of men you’d known all your life to give this man the only treasure he could not buy. All you’ve done, and only to owe him, as he said.

“Remove your hand, my Lord. I am leaving.”

“No. You owe me a debt and I intend to collect.”

“Then I suggest, my Lord,” you said cuttingly, “you allow me to return to my father so he can settle this perceived debt. Send him a raven with the sum of gold you don’t truly need, and let us be done here.”

He did not budge, and you felt the horrifying sting of frustrated tears burn your eyes.

“I’m afraid there is only one thing that could settle this debt. Your hand.”

Rage filled you.

“Then have the left,” you muttered angrily, turning and holding out your wrist. “Give your blade the blood of the hand that brought it back to you. That’s poetic, even for you.”

You expected to see that dark resolve you saw in your father’s eyes when he would sentence a man to death. That grim satisfaction and humanitarian dread combined. But his eyes were not angry, no wildfire spitting and flaring in his gaze. In fact, they rather resembled the rolling hills of lush green pastures and forests that surround the Rock. And for once, you noticed, his mouth was not held in a grim line, nor was his face set in stony dissatisfaction as it so often was. He looked softer, face relaxed and… almost open.

“I do not mean it quite so literally,” he said, bringing the hand by his side to gently hold the wrist you’d bared to him. It was the first time he had touched you, you realised.

And then his words untangled in your head and made a little more sense. Only, he could not mean to ask for your hand after rejecting it twice, could he?

“My late wife,” he began solemnly, “would say that a woman’s dedication is rarer than dragon eggs and infinitely more precious as well. She rejected my proposal to her twice, and on the third she agreed, because, she said, any man willing to make a fool of himself for her hand was a man she could be dedicated to.”

“I… I do not understand, my Lord,” you uttered quietly.

“I expected you to ask a third time, my lady. Expected you would return in a matter of weeks and insist on a betrothal. And I would have accepted then. But you did not,” he explained, voice low, meant to soothe rather than intimidate. “I was furious when I heard you’d left Westeros. I thought it was to sail east to find a husband, and had a mind to send a fleet after you. My brother insisted you’d return, and I trusted him. He was right.”

Mind working, you could only dumbly stare at him as he told a tale of how his twins had begged him to propose a betrothal to you when you’d been eight and ten, and how he knew you were not ready to be a wife, the call for adventure itching under your skin needed to be sated first. How he had rejected the first proposal easily, but the second one was much more difficult.

“I expected you to doggedly pursue your goals to be wedded to me as your father might’ve pursued his in battle, but for as similar as you are to him, you are not the same at all. And then I thought you would surely perish on your expedition, especially as the moons passed without word of your return. And now, here you are at my children’s nameday celebrations, the finest mount in the realm for my son, the finest jewels in the realm for my daughter, and my own greatest desire, second to one.”

You blinked, looking at him suspiciously, as though his brothers and guests might pour out of some alcove and laugh at your folly to half believe him.

“And the debt I owe you, my Lord? How is that to be paid.”

“I answered this already, my Lady. Your hand.”

“My hand.” You repeated.

“Since it is unlikely you will propose a betrothal with me a third time, I must insist upon it myself. It is the only way I shall consider the slight of walking away from the Lion of Casterly Rock repaid.”

He looked down at you, watching quietly for a turn in your expression, anything really. You were still as marble, and your hand felt as cold as it too. Then he saw it, that faint glimmer of hope that he’d seen in your gaze on at least two occasions prior. It was there again, barely, and tentatively. But it was there, and it was all he needed.

He swooped down to press a gentle kiss upon your soft mouth, holding himself back from kissing you as he wanted to. It took a short second for your brain to shut off and for your body to move as it wanted. You leaned forward into the kiss, bring your hand to his chest, the other still held in his large hand, thumb gently stroking over the pulse that sped up under the delicate skin.

“You have not answered me, my Lady,” Lord Lannister said, pulling his mouth from yours to trail kisses across your cheek to your ear, nibbling gently on your lobe and halting any clever answer you might’ve been able to give.

“What?” you asked dazedly. Lord Lannister’s lips quirked at your ineloquent reply.

“Will you give me your hand?”

He pulled back to look you in the eyes, and now his lips were not touching you, you could think a little clearer.

“Only if you will give me yours.”

Predatory though it was, the Old Lion grinned at his victory.

#tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #tywin x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #kevan lannister #brightroar #reader insert #not a request #let me know if you want a sequel #i can make it spicy

564 notes · View notes

norringtondeservestheworld · 11 months

Photo

Jaime + Looking at Brienne in “Oathkeeper”

#braime #jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #anti twincest #anti lannincest #anti jaime x cersei #look this is an experiment you all #I never did gifs that big of this format #tell me what you think please #hope it doesn't suck lol #nikolaj coster waldau

291 notes · View notes

hiatuswhore · 2 years

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 — ɢᴏᴛ

A/n: So I am watching Game of Thrones for the first time and I always knew it would be an emotional commitment but damn. The Red Wedding put me in SHAMBLES. I know I’m super late to this fandoms but I’m currently on season six and could not get this fic out of my head until I wrote it. FEEDBACK please! So I’m gonna go watch some more episodes and then email therapist, thanks:)

SUMMARY: Oh to be young and in love. Foolish really, in the Game of Thrones there’s no room for love. Only life and death.

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNING: Season 3 spoilers and Season 4 spoilers.

previous — Masterlist — next

The cries that leave her lips are unlike anything Jon has ever heard from her before. He grabs her arms, steadying her as her legs wobble beneath her weight. The cry of the twins drowns into nothing as Jon listens to her sobs in his arms. Samwell coos at the children to ease their sorrow, but they mimic their mother.

“(Y/n), you must gather yourself for your children,” Jon says as she buries herself into his shoulder.

“They have every reason to weep. If anyone learns who they are, who I am, Jon you know we will never be left in peace,” The room stills as Samwell calms the children. His smile falters at (Y/n)’s words, the giggling of the children filling the silence, “Jon?”

He says nothing as he waits for her to speak. Instead, she stares at the twins for several seconds. Eddard’s eyes twinkle as he giggles at the sight of his mother but not his sister. Raina stares as if she understands the news her mother receives, the blue of her eyes and the pull of her eyebrows reminding the world of her father.

“Where’s his body? Where is Catelyn’s body?” Jon inhales sharply, his body tensing as (Y/n) observes him. He tries to assure her that she does not want to know, “Please. I will never get closure if I do not know.”

“They—“He takes a deep breath, glancing at the twins again. Robb shines in his daughter’s eyes as his son wears his gentle stare. Jon’s gaze shifts to (Y/n), pulling her into a sudden hug before he speaks, “They stripped Catelyn naked and threw her body in the river. Robb was beheaded, and they sewed Grey Wind’s head onto his body.”

(Y/n)’ s eyes flutter shut as she grips Jon tightly. The two say nothing as they hold each other. After seconds? Minutes? Hours? (Y/n) pulls back, her voice thick with tears, “Robb always did say I have a pesky habit of being right.”

“(Y/n), you’re back!” Arya rushes to her side, nearly tackling the transient to the ground. “How long are you staying this time? I’ve been practicing what you showed me with shooting arrows. If my father says yes, will you teach me swordplay and hunting like you?”

“Arya, slow down, (Y/n) just arrived, and you crowd her,” The young Stark girl pouts as Robb cuts her short.

“Quite frankly, it is you who crowds me,” (Y/n) crosses her arms, joining Arya’s side, who grins devilishly. Robb closes the space between himself and (Y/n), ignoring his younger sister entirely.

“The seconds I take my eye off of you, you find yourself gone by the fortnight usually less,” Robb says, flicking your necklace holding a Stark sigil pendant, “Nothing has changed. I still intend to marry you.”

His face mere inches from her, she ignores how Arya stomps away, grumbling about her brother. (Y/n) studies his features as she wets her lips with her tongue. Robb watches with his mouth ajar as his eyes focus on her lips. She leans in painstakingly slow with a smirk tugging at her mouth. The moment their lips meet, hers take his own fervently, and she pulls away without warning.

She speaks in an enchanting whisper, with Robb clinging to her presence, “We will never wed, my wolf.”

“You were going to marry. Robb loved you more than anything,” Jon runs his hand down her arm before retreating entirely.

“It does not matter. We did not, and now I raise bastards that the crown will want dead. Descendants of a traitor and usurper,” Eddard calls out Mama holding up his hand to show nothing but slobber and dirt. A weak smile takes her lips at her children, but tired eyes plague her.

“They are Starks, and so are you. Smart and Resilient. The grandchildren of the honorable Eddard Stark, the hand of the King. Son and daughter of Robb Stark, King of the North,” He watches as her eyes do not leave her children. Raina’s unwavering stare, just as intense as her mother's. (Y/n) chuckles wryly, looking off at nothing—her mind elsewhere.

“Are you going to marry my brother?” Sansa asks the second her mother leaves the room. (Y/n) laughs asking if all the Starks await her answer.

“Of course we do. You are perfect for each other; you must be together!” The young girl exclaims, unaware of how cold the real world can be. (Y/n) smiles softly, stuck between pitying and envying the beautiful young Stark.

“You love, love stories, Sansa?” The question pulls an enthusiastic nod from the young girl, “That is the thing, Sansa, they are only stories. Marrying your brother and becoming a Stark is a big decision. Much larger than just love.”

“But one day, you’ll be the Lady of Winterfell. You’ll make little Stark Lords and Ladies. You’ll be happy here,” Sansa’s hopeful smile spreads like a contagion. (Y/n) offers a weak smile, requesting a moment alone in her chambers. At the shut of her door, she stands in front of her mirror, hand on her necklace, allowing a long sigh to pass through her.

“What am I to do, Mother? What would you do?” Her hand on her necklace, running her finger over the pendant she added a few years back.

"I should have heard the advice I tried to teach Sansa. Love stories are merely stories,” She runs her hands over her face as Jon mulls over the past few years. He frowns, unable to phantom the thought of all she must have endured leading up to their reunion at Craster’s Keep. Jon’s sure she was not alone with her children, as she claims.

“You’re wrong,” His voice is low and gruff with a hint of a matter-of-fact tone as Samwell lulls the twins to sleep. She narrows her eyes at the stoic man with skepticism in his eyes.

“Not a chance Jon Snow lectures me on love,” She says, failing to see how Samwell quietly listens in.

“The last time I spoke to Robb, he grinned ear to ear after announcing the betrothal. When we all thought Theon had killed you I sent out a raven but I never heard back from Robb. People say he was devastated. Just because it ended in tragedy does not change the fact your story was one of love.”

She peeks up at Robb as he leans on his elbow, carefully tracing a finger down her spine. The fire and furs keep the room warm as the two lay bare and tangled. Robbs' eyebrows pull together, focusing intently.

“What is on the wolf's mind?” His traces halt before he meets her gaze, a smile painting his lips at the sight of her. The firelight makes her eyes shine, only adding to the features he already finds mesmerizing.

“My father is the hand of the King, so I must assume the responsibilities of Lord of Winterfell,” Robb speaks in a low hum as he studies her face. A sardonic smile takes her lips as a glint shines in her eyes.

“Oh no, Lord of Winterfell! The horror!” (Y/n) rolls away, giggling as Robb playfully grabs her. She struggles beneath his weight until his hands pin her wrists above her head. The following pause consists of heavy panting as she smiles at him. Robb’s smile softens as he catches his breath. The look in his eyes far different than his usual longing stares.

“Sansa is set to marry the Prince. Arya will likely marry some high Lord, and Jon is taking the black. Things are changing (Y/n). I want this, us. Lord and Lady Stark. One day Warden and Wardeness of the North,” Robb loosens his grip on her wrists as he near begs. (Y/n) made sure to steer clear during the arrival of the King and his family. The King, Lord Stark, and the girls were set to leave for Kings Landing and Jon for Castle Black in the morning.

“Why are you so certain in us?” She speaks barely above a whisper as Robb joins her, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Because I know you, and I can make you happy. A simple life in Winterfell. Name a better match than us,” He challenges, saying his parents' names; the two of you chuckle quietly. The two falling quiet as she imagines the life Robb envisions for her in the North.

She does not dwell on the matter for long; staring up at the ceiling at his side, she cannot deny enjoying his presence. (Y/n) breaks the silence with amusement lacing her tone, “Your family is going to kill us for announcing this just before everyone leaves.”

Robb's head snaps in her direction as if she will disappear when he takes his eyes off her. She bites back her lower lip to reel in the giant smile that threatens her features. It takes Robb a few seconds to process her words before he cups her face. He grins like a madman as he captures her lips into a hasty kiss.

“Let’s marry with all your family in attendance,” She breathes in between kisses as he smothers her with his own lips.

“Our family,” He murmurs against her mouth as she places a gentle hand on his chest, pushing him back.

“You’re rather eager,” She teases; leaning close, he studies her thoroughly. Before holding a mocking tone and wide smile that glimmers in the low light, “We have a very serious responsibility of creating little Lords and Ladies of Winterfell.”

“Oh really?” Her playful smirk and soft chuckle erase all worries of the Starks heading to King's Landing.

“Of course, my Lady. When we have a girl, we shall name her Raina after your mother,” His words make her smile falter, her hand shooting to her necklace, “When she gets older, you can pass your necklace to her.”

“And if we have a boy?” Her eyes mist over as she covers with a gentle smile at his excitement.

“When we have a boy, little Robb Stark, will be second of his name!” Robb’s eyes twinkle as she rolls her own.

“Absolutely not,” She says, rolling to her opposite side, back facing the smirking Stark. He carefully kisses the crook of her neck, journeying up to the shell of her ear. His voice low and raspy, “I’m not done with you yet, Lady Stark.”

The door flying open makes the three rise to their feet. Ser Allister yells at Jon and Samwell that the Wildlings are coming. (Y/n) lifts the twins quickly, managing to not rouse them from their slumber, her sword dangling on her hip.

“Follow me. You can stay with Gilly and Little Sam,” Samwell says cheerily despite the circumstances as Robb exits the room first. Samwell follows behind Jon, and she walks behind them both. At the touch of the crisp North air, (Y/n) pulls the twins a little closer to her chest. She expertly navigates, walking downstairs, holding the two without looking down. At the bottom, Samwell turns left as Jon turns right, leaving (Y/n) to stare at Jon’s retreating figure. Her voice almost catches in her throat before she manages to call out his name. Jon halts, turning to find her staring with furrowed eyebrows and misty eyes.

“I—I can’t take another loss. Truly I am drained.” Her voice wavers as Raina snuggles further into her shoulder. She blinks back tears as Jon approaches her with a look she cannot figure out in his eyes.

“I’ll return to you soon. I promise,” Jon runs his hand gently over Eddard's face. The boy leans into the touch, blissfully unaware of the severity of the situation. (Y/n)’s face pales at his words as she fails to get insight on what the only other person she has left thinks.

“Robb made the same promise. I never saw him again,” Jon meets her weary gaze, sighing deeply at his promise. A promise that can very well be empty, one he cannot guarantee, at the sound of yelling from above marks the end of the conversation. Jon shakes off her words as ensuring she and her children not dying at the hand of Wildings becomes a top priority. Jon leaves her without another word, disregarding the haunted look in her eyes as she watches him walk away. Her eyes linger in his direction for several seconds before Samwell pulls her away.

(Y/n) sits with Brandon on his bed. Her days consist of helping Robb keep Winterfell afloat with both Lord and Lady Stark gone. Besides that, she spends her day keeping the little Lords company. The days seem almost ethereal as if (Y/n) and Robb hold all the happiness in the world.

Like a smokescreen before destruction, word of Lord Stark's arrest brings a halt to (Y/n) and Robb's domestic fantasy. She says nothing as Robb says goodbye to Brandon first. Waiting outside the door, she fidgets with her sleeve. Robb steps out of his brother’s room in full armor, appearing at ease.

“Let me come with you. You’ve seen me with a sword. You know I can handle myself,” (Y/n) pleas, stepping closer to him. He kisses her as if she’s made of glass taking her hands in his own. She sighs as he rubs patterns with his thumb on her palm.

“Exactly why I need you here with Bran and Rickon. In my absence, I gave word that my betrothed is the Lady of Winterfell to aid Bran. So when I return with my father and sisters, we will wed that very night,” The optimism in his tone does little to curb the uneasiness that boils in her chest. He moves to turn down the corridor, but she holds his hands a little tighter. A chuckle leaves his lips as he pulls her into another kiss, leaning his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” She mutters, and he smiles, saying the three words he has told her since they were small children.

“Don’t worry. I’ll return soon. I promise,” Robb says, walking with him to the gate. She lingers back as Robb and Theon speak. Grey Wind whines at her hand, begging her to pet his head which she obliges, muttering for the dire wolf to bring Robb home. At the sight of Robb climbing onto his horse, her mouth dries. Grey Wind runs toward the gates ahead of Robb, who slows and looks back. She wants to say something, anything really, but she does not. Robb flashes her a hopeful smile before riding off. She watches the gates long after Robb disappears from sight, unaware of what he takes with him and all he leaves behind.

373 notes · View notes