#i must return again soon to recover the queue proper

[elbowreveal]

ok i put some more things into the queueee wahoo!

[a-libra-writes]

Unexpected - Tywin x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so? I believe it.”

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

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

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

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