#got one-shot

King Robert Baratheon, his mercy guided by Tywin Lannister’s murmurs, decided against sending you to death as he would have any of your brothers, despite the abject crimes your name now carried. In all his bonhomie, he had made you a servant of his wife instead, perpetually condemned to following the Lannisters around and never quite catching up to them.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked Jaime one time, in hushed tones, aware that a servant caught talking to the Kingslayer with such familiarity would cause quite the scandal.

“Probably because he knows you were always a dear friend to Cersei and me.”

That was Jaime, as always; believing what he wanted to believe, and damned would be the one who’d change his mind. And to think he still thought, with a disconcerting assurance, that Cersei and you were still dear friends...

You hadn’t asked her why you were still alive. You knew she’d eye you for a moment, then order you to fetch her some water. She savored the sight of you in rugged clothes and immensely exhausted.

The only one who knew was Tyrion.

He always knew everything.

Even more so when it was about you.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked him one evening, in the quiet banquet hall, only illuminated by flickering candles. He had looked up from his chalice of wine and at you, clearing the last dishes from the grand supper, and he swore his heart ruptured. He loved nothing more than staying absurdly late after dinner so he could catch you alone, but when your misty eyes, still too pure and bright for a world so cold, asked such unfathomable questions...

“I don’t know,” he had muttered casually.

Neither of you believed it. There was nothing Tyrion didn’t know.

But how could he tell you it was Tywin’s sick little pleasure, to keep you in chains at an arm’s length from him, from his embarrassment of a son? How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

“Sometimes I wish he had not,” you had confessed with this outrageous beauty of yours, chin up and prosody of a dame despite the greasy plates in your elegant hands.

Tyrion had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. You were not the King’s prisoner, nor the castle’s, nor your family name’s; you were his, and he loved you so ardently, beyond all the words he knew, that he was utterly paralyzed.

The wine and hall were long cold by the time he went to sleep that night.

The following days, inexplicably, Tyrion was the first of the family to retire to his quarters after dinner. A pang of sullenness stung your throat when you brought the usual wine cup to an empty chair. Never before had he gone to bed without wishing you goodnight. Not since the night, so many years before, when you had run out on Cersei and Jaime to stay with their boring and lame little brother and talk the night away with his electric soul...

“Why didn’t Tyrion wait for you?” Jaime had whispered into your ear as you leaned over to pour him more wine.

You froze, almost long enough for Cersei to flair your discomfort. That was Jaime, as always; surprisingly perceptive when he allowed himself to be...

“I don’t know.”

You and Tyrion were so alike. You had the same inflection in the voice when you admitted to not knowing something... frustration and defeat.

“Maybe he’s not feeling well. You should check on him.”

“I’m certain he is f—”

“Y/N, go tend to my brother, please,” he cut, his voice a little louder.

You stopped, looking at Jaime, strong and tall and almost imperturbable. You were a servant of the Lannisters, but Jaime rarely bossed you around. You looked deep into his eyes, looking for a hint, a glimpse... and found it; a remnant of the boy you once knew, the childhood friend you sparred with wooden swords with. The boy with mischief and connivance.

“Yes, of course, my Lord.”

Your footsteps already echoed in the somber halls when you remembered you hadn’t even brought the wine pitcher back to the kitchens.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Tyrion’s closed door. Years before, you had run up and down all the castle halls in search of passageways and hiding spots with a giggling Cersei on tow; yet you had never felt as lost and out of place as you did then, knuckles hovering over the wooden panel.

“Lord Tyrion, your brother asks to see you,” you called in one breath after knocking sharply. Calling the twins by their titles was disturbing enough to you; but Tyrion, brilliant and dedicated Tyrion, Tyrion you'd find reading hidden in the library and who'd blush when you asked him what his book was about—Tyrion, a Lord of Casterly Rock?

“No, he does not.”

There was nothing he didn't know. Especially when it came to his brother... and you.

“I...,” you sighed, at a loss for words. So many untold truths jostled in your throat, none eloquent enough for his bright soul. “He insisted I check up on you, sir.”

“Well I'm fine, am I not? You can go now.”

His words echoed in your skull with the strength of a thousand storms. Taking a shaky breath, you prepared to turn around and leave him... but a sudden force rumbled deep in you like a menacing earthquake. You might have been stripped of your lands and rights, you might bear the name of a traitor and a criminal, but he had been a general before he was a corpse and you had been an eldest daughter before you were a plaything. Your foot grazed the door, almost with too much violence, when you turned to face it.

“Truth be told, I wanted to check up on you as well, and to tell you that I’m bewildered at your recent behavior towards me, and that I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this shift in your attitude, and that I esteem you dearly and dared to hope that it was the same for you, and that I am frankly hurt by your sudden coldness, and that if you will not deign to tell me whatever is happening, then I will merely wish you a pleasant night and disturb you no further. Sir.”

Catching your breath, you turned on your heels before you could regret any of the words you’d just said. It would be a miracle if Tyrion managed to catch any of them clearly with how fast you had hammered them; let alone answer to them... yet as you were about to leave, the door was unbolted, and there stood a seemingly somber and preoccupied Tyrion.

“Come on in. And please, we’re alone. Don’t give me any of that “sir” crap, I know you hate it.”

And like so many times, so many years before, you stepped into Tyrion’s quarters like inside a forbidden dungeon, but it all seemed twice as small and dark as it did when you were reckless children.

The both of you remained silent for long moments, even after he had motioned for you to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of his bed; the shadows from the fireplace projected onto his face made Tyrion’s unmoving silhouette all the more unreadable.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“Do you wish to know why the King didn’t have your head when your father rebelled? Well — why my father didn’t?”

Your eyes widened for a split second, but your irritation barely subsided. For some reason, despite your never-ending quest for answers, the subject of your family’s treason and fate always prompted you to defensiveness when it was mentioned by others... especially by your best friend. The one who knew too much.

“What does this have to do with anything, Tyrion?”

“Everything, Y/N. It has to do with everything.”

“Enlighten me, then. You always know better than everyone else.”

Tyrion took a deep, interminable breath before continuing. It was only then that you noticed how shaky his hands were; for the first time, you read a disconcerting uncertainty on his face.

“My father knows humiliation is far worse than death, especially among Lords... and he knows how to take the most pleasant acts of revenge on his enemies. Your last name... and myself.”

You kept quiet. The puzzle was starting to piece itself together, spurred by Tyrion’s voice, low and even, albeit a little unsteady — as though the charred logs and crackling fire were confiding in you themselves...

“He’s known you since you were an infant. You were always proud and righteous, a proper Lady and a treasure to your name, but still pure and kind... all the traits I adored in you when I first met you. He knew nothing would hurt you more than stripping you of everything you had - status, respect, poise, and dignity... and your friends. He’s burying your family’s legacy under grime and filth and savoring every second of it...”

His words became progressively spaced, as though he was choosing them carefully. You hadn’t yet noticed your own hands were shaking now, too.

“And he can screw me over as well. Any chance he gets, he takes.”

His shoulders were solid and unmoving, but his words came in ragged breaths and laborious swallowing. He took a step forward, finally breaking free from the backlighting of the fireplace; his eyes were fixated on you, resolute and, despite the nervousness, more tender than ever. You remembered the expression all too well; it was the one he had worn all through the night you had talked until daylight about anything and everything... and seeing the enamored child in the man before you, you started to understand it all.

“He’s always known how much I care about you. How your presence never fails to lighten my mood and ease my worries, or how I’ve always looked for excuses to talk to you alone and catch your eye at supper. Most of all, how you’ve always given me exactly what I wanted... a chance. And he always thought it was the ultimate example of my weakness. To kick you around like an animal when I can’t do anything about it and know it’s all partly because of me is his favorite game...”

You clasped your hands together on your lap to curb your agitation. He had taken another step towards you, and you couldn’t break away from his gaze. Each of his features held more love than you’d ever known; more than when your father would ruffle your hair, or when you’d share your family tart with your brothers and smeared all the jam on their cheeks; and you couldn’t fathom how long it had taken you to discover this warm and fuzzy feeling you got whenever Tyrion was around had a simple name: home.

“Tyrion,” you spoke before the tears invaded your eyes. “Are you saying you fancy me?”

“Ah, to hell with it.”

Eyes entirely bathed in light now, he responded almost immediately and clearer than before.

“I’m saying I love you, Y/N, and that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I first thought that I only liked your company, and admired your grace — that you were just the sister I wish I’d had, but I’ve had to face the fact that your face and voice set me afire in a way that nothing else can. I’m light and naive when you’re around... and you make me believe I have the strength they all won’t stop blabbering about. But I thought that if I could convince my father I saw nothing more in you than a whore like all the others, he would maybe let you go... maybe set you free.”

And the last confession seemed to hurt him more than everything else he had admitted that night, because it cut him right in his pride.

“I was wrong.”

An impossible soreness had taken over your throat during Tyrion's tirade, leaving you struck and mute. For a few seconds, all you could hear was the gentle hooting of the wind outside and the rapid and disjointed thumping of your heart... when you spoke eventually, it was but a hoarse whisper.

“All these years...”

“Yes.”

“And all those girls I had to see you with...”

“None of them mattered. None of them were you.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Tyrion?”

“Why would I?” he puffed with an acerbic laugh, gesturing at his frame, his scars, his cynicism and selfishness, and his wit and brilliant mind and feverish eloquence and golden eyes...

And suddenly your father's voice echoed in your head, unmistakable yet so distant, as he had spoken to you one day when you were little; he had said that angels existed in this world, closer than one might expect, and more often than not they took on unexpected forms, but once could always recognize them as they were the shiniest forces in the world around when everything was grim and black.

Maybe it was the dim lighting of the fire and moonlight that cast abstract shadows on the walls, or maybe your eyes and heart playing tricks on you, but you swore Tyrion was veiled by a pulsating halo, gold and black, that got even more radiant as he half-smiled.

When you leaned over and kissed him, you did not doubt that he truly was the angel your family tales had told you about, and maybe the only remaining angel in Westeros — because kissing him was like every star in the sky falling into place and forming new constellations, and when he grabbed your face to deepen the kiss, you were certain you felt his wings rustle.

“You have the most beautiful soul in this damn city, Tyrion,” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

Had he always looked at you with this unshakeable air of triumph and delight, or was it another trick of the light?

“If you knew how long I've waited to tell you how beautiful you are...”

“Tell me. Over and over.”

There was a smile on his face, the first genuine and devilishly charming one you'd seen in weeks when he stepped back and closed the velvet curtains.

He told you all night.

“Your brother would like to talk to you, Your Grace,” he announced, bowing slightly. Lyarra simply nodded and told the knight to let Jon inside, then wait for them outside. She recognised the worried looks Davos was giving her when he saw her uncombed hair and wrinkled gown, but she couldn’t bother thinking about it right now. However, Lyarra did start feeling uneasy once Jon closed the door behind himself and looked her up and down with slightly raised eyebrows.

“Are you here to tell me something important or to judge me again?” The Queen snapped and rubbed the bridge of her nose with eyes shut tightly. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, feeling like an actual mess.

Jon took a step closer with a worried expression on his face. He knew what it felt like to behead someone, though he had got quite used to the blood on his hands by now. However, his sister didn’t have as much experience and still wanted to appear strong, but Jon knew about her coping mechanisms and it worried him more and more, on a daily basis but every time he wanted to talk to Lyarra about it, all he got was annoyed groans and denial. His sister was definitely down on the wrong path, but he knew there was still a chance to pull her back.

Lyarra looked him in the eyes, and she couldn’t keep it anymore. All those weeks and months without touching anyone even in the most innocent way possible made her stone-cold and distant, but still starving for the feeling of a warm body against her seemingly frozen one. She knew that her title was turning her into something she had never wanted to become and that made her terrified and anxious, constantly on the edge, praying to the Gods to send someone who would help her get her real self back.

Lyarra suddenly collapsed into Jon’s strong arms and her brother held her as close as possible, reassuring his sister that she wasn’t alone in this fight. He ran his fingers through Lyarra’s hair and stroked her back gently, so she would calm down and feel at ease just again.

Once it happened, she pulled away from Jon and gave him a tiny smile.

“I’m sorry. It was harder than I thought it would be. And I can’t stop thinking about how much danger might be hiding among the walls of Winterfell. Among the walls of my home,” she said almost whispering while filling another glass with the cold water.

“We’ll work hard to secure the castle even more, Lyarra. After all that have happened, you’ll also need a guard constantly looking after you. And don’t even dare to say no. I know that you are the Queen but I’m your brother and want you safe and sound.” Jon looked at her with one of the most serious expressions Lyarra had ever seen on his face, and she knew it was no place for an argument right now. She simply lowered her eyes and tried to ignore the headache that didn’t want to go away. Eventually, she decided to change the topic. It was way too painful to talk about it right now.

“Does the Dragon Queen still want us to bend the knee?” she asked with a slightly disgusted face and Jon didn’t have to talk to answer her question; his long and deafening silence was enough.

Lyarra let out a chuckle and shook her head, taking another sip of the fresh water that she wished was a cup of great Arbor wine instead. She soon got ashamed of that thought.

“We cannot do that and she just wastes all of our time if she thinks otherwise,” Lyarra said, putting the empty cup down, all the while looking Jon dead in the eyes. Her brother lowered his head and sighed, knowing full well it would take an awful lot to convince his sister to think about other options. Jon saw the good in Daenerys, he saw the potential in her and genuinely thought it would be for the better to seek alliance with the Dragon Queen. However, Lyarra was just as stubborn as their father Ned and brother Robb, and she wasn’t convinced easily about anything, let alone such an important decision, which could influence the lives of thousands if not millions so easily.

Jon stepped closer cautiously, knowing full well how much his sister treasured her personal space. But as she stood there without her heavy crown and flawless gown, Jon realised how vulnerable Lyarra actually was. No matter what anyone said and thought, his sister was still a scared child at heart who had to grow up way too fast. And a part of Jon hated himself for not being there for her to protect her from all the harm that had reached Lyarra while they were apart, but he knew that his sister would be angry with him for saying it out loud, so he kept it all to himself.

Lyarra shook her head once again and forced herself to look the other way, so she wouldn’t see the worry in Jon’s eyes. It was the same bloody look every time they looked at each other, and she was getting tired of it. After all, she wasn’t the helpless little girl she was when her brother left for the Wall - she was the Queen in the North, a grown woman with ambition and cunning. A grown woman who had fought for survival for a big part of her life, who had already learned she was her only true ally.

So she despised that look in Jon’s eyes even though her brother meant no harm. Still, it took Lyarra back to dark places she never wanted to visit again, so it was easier to avoid eye-contact with her brother, even if it meant making him feel bad. After all, she had never learned how to confront an issue in a healthy way.

Finally, when the silence was getting too heavy for both of them, Jon sighed and pulled Lyarra into a tight hug. The girl was surprised at first, so she just stood there slightly shocked of the sudden display of affection from Jon. Then, slowly but surely, Lyarra let her muscles relax and leaned into her brother’s strong body, folding her own arms around Jon’s torso. She unconsciously buried her face in the boy’s chest and it made her feel safe and home. Oh, how dearly she had missed these feelings and finally, they were all there, lighting a fire inside of Lyarra – a fire that was ignited and kept alive by the feelings of love and safety. Just as this fire started had Lyarra realised how cold and icy she had become throughout the years spent alone or in the company of cruel people and traitors. She only needed a pair of safe arms to melt the ice and make her feel human again.

When they pulled away, Lyarra even flashed a weak smile at her brother, who was quick to return the gesture. However, their moment was soon ruined by Ser Davos, who informed Lyarra about the Dragon Queen’s desire to speak to her in private.

Lyarra took a quick glance at Jon, who lowered his eyes and was already holding his breath. He knew full well that his sister had a rather strong personality which not everyone was fond of and he had feared that Queen Daenerys would be too quick to judge Lyarra too without giving her time to warm up to her.

However, Daenerys was quite patient and understanding, some of her qualities which she only reserved for people she greatly loved or respected. As she stepped in the chambers of the Queen in the North, she had to try really hard to toughen up in front of her rival. Or, who seemed to be her rival. Daenerys had no idea what had happened to her and she tried to fool herself by telling herself it was the sweet wine she had had before visiting the Queen in the North. Of course, it was much more complicated than that and a part of her was aware of that.

Lyarra raised her eyebrows to let the Dragon Queen know that she was waiting for her response.

“I’m terribly sorry, I must have got lost in my thoughts. I simply wanted to visit you because we haven’t had the chance to get to know each other, I’m afraid. What you did yesterday- You’ve done it before, haven’t you, Lady Lyarra?” Daenerys cursed herself in her mind for letting such ramble roll off the tip of her tongue.

However, Lyarra cursed the Queen in secret for addressing her as a simple Lady instead of the Queen she was. Still, she managed to force a smile on her face and offered her a seat opposite of her by her desk before answering the Queen’s question.

“I haven’t had to behead too many people so far, if that’s what you’re curious about. But I have had my battles to fight, so I’ve learned to swing a sword the hard way.”

Daenerys suddenly didn’t know how to reply, but she was so desperate not to appear weak or ignorant in front of a possible ally, so she simply smiled and said how much she had always admired warrior queens at which Lyarra simply smirked and turned away, leaving Daenerys disappointed.

“I’m sure you’re already a legend, as well, Your Grace, so please, let’s skip the small talk to you telling me the actual reason you’re here,” Lyarra blurted out, staring deep into those violet eyes. I can’t lie, they’re beautiful, but beauty is lethal.

Daenerys couldn’t ignore the tone the Northern Queen used when saying Your Grace but she also knew she couldn’t let such petty little things get in the way. She had a goal to achieve here but it was getting difficult to keep her composure in the presence of Lyarra Stark. And it wasn’t the fact that it was her territory that intimidated Dany- it was something completely different, a feeling that she hadn’t been able to shake off since she first laid eyes on the Stark girl. As much as it annoyed her, it also made her scared. Scared that it might be the cause of her losing her place on the Iron Throne.

“You see right through me, my Lady. I am actually here to convince you to bend the knee and join forces with me to-,“ but she couldn’t continue without being cut off by Lyarra Stark.

“To help you get the Iron Throne where you could rule over my home? I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace, but I hope you can understand that I simply can’t do that. I can’t decide for thousands. And even if I could, my answer would still be no.”