#got tywin

While your role within Casterly Rock was not accurately defined by any official parameter, it was common knowledge among both the servants and the nobles who sniffed around the great Lannister name that you were somehow more than just a simple handmaiden at the great Tywin Lannister's beck and call. The second daughter of a minor noble from the Westerlands, your work at Casterly Rock had evolved from maintaining the personal fashions of Lord Tywin himself into something much more complicated as one heated night of discussion had led to you awaking in bed with the old lion himself by your side.

Since then, things had settled into something steady. You conducted your assigned role with typical grace and spent your free time split between the library, gardens, and Lord Tywin’s presence when called for. More companion than whore, you often found yourself engaging in conversation with him as he sought a perspective different to his own. Not that the physicality between you was scarce, but it certainly was not his focus as you typically shared his space.

The keep, however, was not blind and the unspoken rule was clear. You were a handmaid, yes, and you were not to be disturbed in your duties, but it was known that Lord Tywin held some regard for your presence and that offered you a security which could not be bought. Time had shown that Lord Tywin’s unspoken rules were, at times, more solid than the swathes of gold he ruled over.

However, that common knowledge did not extend to new visitors to the stronghold and it was only those unfortunate moments which lead to situations in which that wicked temper which roiled deep within your gut had opportunity to truly assert itself.

To be fair to yourself, it was temper which only flared when men took liberties they were not entitled to.

The hand on your shoulder, you could forgive.

The insult to your honour, you would not.

Balding and stout, the fool who had dared to not only pull you close to his stew-stained frame but also to loudly snarl that you were an ungrateful whore as you recoiled away from the stench of wine on his breath widens his eyes comically as you hold the short, slightly-curved knife which lives within your skirts to his thick neck.

"Say it again." You hiss, delighting at the small bead of blood which swells at the very tip of your knife where it presses into his skin. "You will not finish the word before your blood coats this pretty dress which seems to fascinate you so."

"You mad bitch." The fool splutters, his voice somewhere between fear and rage as he remains as still as he can to prevent any further damage to his throat. "You pull a knife on me? Here at Casterly Rock? Lord Tywin will surely have you-"

A throat clears loudly behind you but you do not flinch as a familiar, deep voice rings out from its unseen owner.

"Is there a good reason why my handmaiden has a blade to the throat of one of my guests?"

As though delivered by the gods themselves, Lord Tywin Lannister makes his presence known with the calm security of a man who knows he holds the power in any situation.

Standing in a vivid burgundy tunic, the dark clasps which sit across the chest are perfectly secured as they lead down to dark pants which are a comfortable and familiar staple as he conducts business across the privacy of his own stronghold. His expression is void of anything but its typically stoic firmness, an expectation that an answer to his question will be provided both immediately and with sufficient detail.

"I apologise for the disruption, my lord." You grit out from between your teeth as you pull the knife free and turn to offer him a soft, appropriate curtsey before returning the blade to its hidden sheathe. "Your guest here gravely insulted my honour and my father would burn with his shame of me if I did not at least attempt to defend it."

"A grave insult, you say?"

Somehow sensing that this interaction was not one which would work out in his favour as you were not immediately and severely punished for threatening such violence, the mildly intoxicated fool is quick to backpedal on the situation as he glances at Lord Tywin with open fear.

"No insult meant, Lord Tywin. I misunderstood the purpose of this," he pauses for only a beat, "maid. I assumed she wa-"

"You dare to assume any of my servants are for any aspect of your personal use?" Tywin's expression locks in without hesitation, his brow furrowing slightly as his eyes narrow. "You would dare to assume control of anyone in this castle outside of the tasks which I have personally assigned them?"

Allowing the silence to hang heavily between the three of you, the only sound to exist is the uneven breathing of the drunken fool as his panic steadily grows in the quiet. You stand passively, content to allow Tywin to exert the control which he so easily commands as you smooth the front of your skirt and watch stern eyes flick between yourself and the drunkard whose name you did not even know.

“Leave us.” Tywin commands after a moment, dismissing the fool with a short, sharp nod. “Do not touch another of my servants or I will deal with the matter more personally.”

Bowing and spluttering out apologies as he makes a hasty retreat back to the main halls of Casterly Rock, you watch the idiot leave with a vague sense of disappointment as you regret not having given him a slightly longer cut to remember you by. Tywin also watches him leave and the sound of his retreating footsteps echoes in the stony hallway until they are nothing but a faint memory.

You turn back to Tywin with a slightly raised brow as you repeat his own threat back to him, “And how would you deal with the matter more personally?”

“My rooms. Now.” Barely sparing you a glance as his voice remains perfectly even, Tywin turns on himself as he makes long strides towards his own personal quarters and you follow him quickly, knowing that whatever conversation he wishes to hold is one which would be much better suited to a private setting.

Passing through the winding halls of the keep, you cross very few others and those who do walk your path show the appropriate amount of respect to their Lord before offering you a much more familiar nod of recognition as you smile back at them and attempt to keep up with Tywin’s long steps. Before too long, you arrive at the thick, armoured door which acts as a final line of defence against any intruders who wished to enter Tywin’s private chambers and you pause to catch your breath as Tywin pushes at the heavy wood.

Tywin holds the door open to allow you to pass by and you do so with a small muttering of thanks. Walking ahead of him into the spacious bedroom, you head straight towards the large bed which sits on the furthest side of the room as you listen to Tywin lock the doors behind you to ensure a moment of privacy.

The room is bathed in red and gold, Lannister colours seeping into every possible aspect of the design while lions glare at you from all directions. The familiar room is busy but not cluttered; books and various pots of ink and parchment decorating many of the side tables with those which Tywin revisited most often being kept closer to the bed than others. You glance at them as you take a soft position at the very end of the bed – perching on the edge as you cross your ankles.

Tywin comes to a stand before you after ensuring the door is locked, deliberately leaving a small distance which forces you to tilt your head up at him in order to hold his eye. His expression, as ever, is difficult to determine but you can’t sense any anger hiding within the handsome, lined face.

"Why did you pull your dagger on him?” Tywin asks, the words holding the faintest disappointment. “You realise that I may now have to answer questions on why I allow my personal maid to carry a blade."

"I like the fear in his eyes. I'll remember it every time he looks at me but, more importantly, so will he." You answer honestly, instinctively smoothing the plush blankets on the bed before sitting on the edge of them. "Besides, who is going to question you? Who would be brave enough to look the fierce Tywin Lannister in the eye and question how he runs his personal homestead?" The appeal to his pride never fails to net approval and you slip it within your reply like a small boon.

Tywin made a soft noise in his throat somewhere between approval and irritation as he stands by the end of his bed, gazing down at the unrepentant look which you are offering him.

"What would you have me do with him?"

"Nothing. I want him to live with the knowledge that he's earned your ire and that his debt will come due one day."

Sighing slightly, the amusement which sits subtly in Tywin’s expression refuses to shift, "You are a wicked, petty thing."

"I dare to think that you like that about me. Would you kill him if I asked?

"That depends. What insult did he hurl to inspire such ire?"

"He called me a mad and a whore."

Tywin coughs at that, hiding a soft laugh behind the much rougher sound as he replies to the confession with a considerate hum.

"You are a pretty young thing who is clearly well-kept and takes great pride in herself. The assumption on his behalf is a fair one."

"Then I’m surprised that the great Tywin Lannister would allow the common man to assume that he fucks whores. I thought he had a reputation to uphold?"

"Hm, you are mouthy tonight.” Tywin chastises with a soft growl, his hand dropping to grip at your chin firmly and force your head higher to meet his own tilted neck. “Careful, little one, or I'll take real offense to those smart tones."

"You like it when I'm mouthy.” You fire back gently. “Everyone else is too afraid of you to have any real fun."

"Good. They should be."

Tilting your head slightly, you allow a decidedly more wicked expression to touch at your features as your eyes widen and your mouth curls into an inviting smirk. You bring your hand up to wrap it around his own, feeling the calloused skin as you stroke your softer digits across the roughened patches.

"Would the old lion like to see how mouthy I can be?” You offer with a purr, bringing your other hand up to play softly with your hair as you glance pointedly between him and his groin. “He did intervene and save an innocent maiden from an untoward bastard. That's got to be worthy of a reward."

"Innocent." Tywin repeats with a scoff, his lined face disbelieving, "But have it your way. I know when a battle is not worth fighting."

Standing by the edge of the bed, Tywin makes no effort to move as you run your hands up his covered thighs and make short work of the clothing in your way to remove his cock from its confines. He’s already mostly hard, the limitations of age not quite having sunk their claws into him yet, and you tuck the burgundy material of his tunic flush to his stomach as you shift it out of the way of your prize.

His cock juts from his groin with a shameless pride, ringed by a healthy thick patch of mostly-greyed pubic hair which adds a certain dignity to things. He’s as clean as ever, his hygiene of those unspoken things which you greatly appreciated about his person, and you quickly wrap a hand around his shaft to pull gently at his foreskin and reveal the slightly darker skin which covers his cockhead.

“You will need to move closer if you want your reward, my lord.”

Tywin takes a solid step forward, his right hand coming to rest on the wooden post which sits at the corner of the bed as he steadies himself in position. You pump your hand along his cock for a moment, enjoying the velvety heat of it between your fingers as you maintain a gentle, teasing grip. He grows harder beneath your touch, reaching full arousal quickly as you bring the head of his cock closer to your lips and dampen it with your tongue.

He was not a vocal man and that had proven itself across the various pleasures which you had shared between you. Whether you pleased him by mouth or cunt, ridden or splayed, no variant of pleasure seemed enough to break the stoic control which he held over his reactions and it was a game you loved to indulge in as you learned what little things made him tick.

Dragging your tongue across the underside of his shaft nets you a familiar hiss of appreciation as his cock twitches within your grasp. Finally, you bring him within your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and taking the head of his cock between your lips as you use your tongue to pull him deeper.

“Vain temptress.” Tywin mutters, his eyes dark and predatory as he snaps his hips forward enough to force you to accept another two inches of his cock – the sudden fullness within your mouth taking a moment to acclimatise to as he continues. “I know the game you are playing and you will never win.”

“The gods reward those who try, my lord.” You hum into his cock, accepting him back into your mouth as you set to work on showing a proper appreciation for his intervention. Pleasing him just as he likes, you split your attention between your mouth and hand – using both to ensure that his length was never without a moments peace as you habitually glance up to meet his gaze.

As ever, his focus is relentless. Eyes sharp and filled with an intensity which makes you feel like a butterfly spread wide and pinned to a board for examination, the thrill of them sends a fresh wave of arousal through your neglected cunt as you feel the dampness pressing into your undergarments. As though sensing your distraction by your own need, Tywin drops his free hand to your hair as he uses it to sternly guide you along his cock.

Content to be used, you allow him to set your pace as you hollow your cheeks and steal small breaths where possible as he pulls free and has you service him with your tongue. Knowing his business for the evening is clearly complete, there is a high chance that he will be yours for the night and the thought of a decent fuck to come makes you extra willing to please.

Before too long, Tywin’s hand tightens against your scalp with his fingers firm and nails only just scraping your skin as he pulls your head close – burying his cock deep within your throat without hesitation as he chases his own release with a selfish delight. Practised and relaxed enough to accept him without the shameful need to retch being too strong, you feel the telltale pulse in his shaft just before a low, satisfied growl slips free of his lips and he spills his release deep within your throat. Having no other choice, you swallow down every drop as you dig your thumbs into the leathery fabric which encases his thighs and use your grip to focus on pleasuring him through his peak.

His gasping breaths are still surprisingly measured but you drink in the low groan of desire which escapes him as he slowly comes down from his release and pulls himself free of your mouth – your lips plump and buzzing with use. You gaze up at him with wicked eyes, delighted in how quickly he had spilled within your mouth and you watch him tuck his cock away with a small smile.

"Is the lord of Casterly Rock satisfied?” You ask, voice only a little hoarse from the firm use of your mouth. “Does he require any further services this evening?"

Remaining silent as he walks to one of the many tables which litter the side of his private chambers, Tywin picks up a soft, clean handkerchief and presents it to you with an unspoken invitation. Plucking it from his hand, you wipe at your mouth to clean off the little pockets of mess which have accumulated at the corners of your lips and just above your chin. Nodding to him in thanks, you keep the handkerchief in hand as you slip further up the bed to lie against one of the pillows which litter the upper half.

Tywin only answers your question as he finally slips around the other side of the bed and drops to the plush sheets, immediately reclining at a sitting position to allow him to gaze down at you with an expression which is vaguely amused and satiated in its wants as some of the firmer lines across his face seem less settled.

"He wishes nothing more than to enjoy some evening wine and perhaps the company of his handmaiden a little longer if she would be so kind?"

During another war council, it came to the attention of the powerful couple that Ser Amory Lorch delivered a letter to their enemies instead of their allies.

Tywin held the said letter in his hands, his expression hard to read but everyone could feel the anger radiating from him.

No one dared to speak or even breathe loudly, knowing very well that the Lion was about to prance upon them and rip their throats out with its powerful fangs.

Eventually, he spoke. “Can you read?” he asked the man sitting across from Visenya, who was at fault.

“My lord?” he exclaimed, clearly confused on the topic.

At the same time, Arya was about to serve some wine, but Tywin used his hand and gently moved her back, so she wouldn’t obstruct his view of any of his war council members.

The girl was confused for a moment until Visenya quietly motioned for her to approach. She grabbed her goblet and held it to the side, away from the table, so she could fill it without being in the way.

“Can you read?” Tywin asked again and Lord Amory just stared blankly back at him. “This letter detailing our infantry movements was meant for Lord Damon of House Marbrand. It was sent to Lord Marlyn of House Dormand” he explained, his voice stable despite the terrible mistake that endangered their army.

“My apologies, my lord. I must have-“ he never got to finish as Tywin focused on Arya.

“Girl, fetch me the History of the Greater and the Lesser Houses. It's the one on this-“ he did not have to continue explaining, since the girl picked up the right volume right away and brought it to the table.

This amused him to the point that he chuckled faintly at the whole scene while he stood up and opened the book.

Visenya was equally amused as she moved her goblet out of the way to make space for the huge book. “Looks like a cupbearer can read better than you, Lord Amory,” she commented, making the man flush in embarrassment but also worry.

Tywin opened the book and found the right page, leaving it open for him to see. It was the page for House Dormand, its sigil drawn perfectly at the top centre of the page, while history and information were written beneath it.

“To whom does House Dormand owe allegiance?” the Lion asked.

“My lord, I-“

The Old Lion of Casterly Rock smacked both his hands on the table out of nowhere. “To the Starks of Winterfell!” he told him, his voice booming ever so slightly as he stared down at the incompetent man.

The sudden change and the sound startled Arya, making the wine jug shake in her hands, and she would have dropped it if a warmer, bigger hand hadn’t been placed on top of hers.

She looked at the owner in shock, having been so long since someone had touched her, let alone with such care.

The owner of the hand was Visenya, who was busy looking at the terrified Ser Amory. She must have noticed or expected the girl to jump and her instincts kicked in, preventing the kid from dropping the jug.

The hand slowly retreated, amber eyes never leaving the incompetent and illiterate man and her husband, who was about to murder someone.

“Do I have to remind you that they have twenty thousand men and my son!” he continued, and if he could summon fire through his eyes, Lord Amory would long be a pile of ash by now. “I judged you might be good for something more than brutalising peasants. I see I overestimated you. If you ever put my son's life at risk again, I'll...” he took a deep breath, realising it was not worth it. “Leave us.”

Lord Amory said nothing else as he stood up, terrified and also offended. Without saying anything, he left the room while everyone else remained quiet.

Tywin, now slightly calmer but still irritated, turned to his cupbearer.

“Put the book away, girl.” He ordered as Visenya closed the book and handed it to her. Tywin noticed, but amusement seemed to be more evident in his eyes than anything else. “Maybe you should devise our next battle plan while you're about it.” He continued.

“She would do a better job than most I know”, the Dragoness commented.

As Arya turned and walked towards the table with the book, she could not help but chuckle silently in amusement and some pride. Tywin Lannister might be a powerful and strict man, but sometimes, he seemed to be something more.

Visenya, on the other hand, was much easier to be around, at least in Arya’s mind. Truth be told, the young Stark was learning a lot from the two of them and did not mind that much spending time under the wing of her role model.

She could see the mighty Dragoness that she had read about in all those books when she was younger. She was still powerful and intelligent, openly putting men in their place and leaving them with no room to argue.

She had a sarcastic side, throwing comments to humiliate or attack a man’s ego, but only when they truly deserved it.

Arya found to admire that, even silently enjoying and wondering how Visenya would be during battle or in full command.

Because until now, the one on top of the pyramid was Tywin. He was the one to start a conversation or a topic, and he was the one to end it; no one truly dared to go against him, for they knew the consequences.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door as a guard entered, but only a single step. “Lord Petyr Baelish.”

Neither the Lion nor the Dragoness seemed pleased to hear that name, the latter even leaving the quietest of groans under her breath.

“Give us the room,” Tywin instructed, and everyone got up, quickly obeying while he moved towards the fireplace.

Visenya also stood up and marched his way, but she was clearly not happy about it. “Perhaps I should let you two talk,” she commented, stopping next to her husband but being a step in front of him.

“I didn’t know the Dragon was intimidated by a mere mockingbird,” he said, clearly taunting her.

She looked him dead in the eyes and tilted her head just a little bit. “She is not, but she might be tempted to use the mockingbird as target practice”

Her words amused Arya, who chuckled silently and continued watching; not sure where to go or what to do. She had thought of leaving as well, but then heard their little conversation and chose to stay.

Visenya was about to walk away, but two steps later, Tywin grabbed her upper arm and pulled her just a tad back. “Behave, Visenya”, he warned her, his tone lowering an octave. “I am well aware of your dislike, but he is of use to us now. Act your role,” he reminded her, warnings clear as day in his words.

Taking a deep breath, the Dragoness finally took a step back. Once he had her released, she moved to stand by his side.

The Old Lion was pleased that she obeyed, since sometimes she did feel like doing her own thing. When he was not in the mood or when it was minor, he let her, but there were times his patience was thin, and he had to put his foot down.

They had long discussed the weasel of the Council, Visenya meeting him for the first time when he had arrived at Casterly Rock to discuss certain things and business with them.

The very same night, she had made it clear she did not trust him.

Truth to be told, Tywin did not trust him either. He could see through his fake smile and empty words, realising he was nothing but a man who came from nothing and played dirty to get the power he holds today.

He was dangerous because he was unpredictable, with his true allegiance being to none other than himself and his personal interests. However, he could be used as a temporary ally, especially when they were not present in King’s Landing.

Tywin noticed Arya just standing and motioned for the table that had empty plates and goblets on it. “Clear all this.”

Just then, the man many called Littlefinger entered. His eyes went to the two hosts, a small fake smile on his lips.

“Lord Tywin, Lady Visenya,” he greeted and approached them. Before the Dragoness could move, he had taken her hand and brought the back of it to his lips. “My Lady, you look as stunning as always. I can see the years have not touched you,” he continued, placing a quick peck on the back of her hand.

“Lord Baelish,” she said, trying her best not to pull away or show any signs of disgust.

That was another reason why Tywin did not trust the skinny man. He would always try to win with compliments and by coming too close to Visenya, merely to try to be charming, hiding it behind manners and politeness.

“Baelish,” Tywin called his name, standing right behind Visenya.

He was not amused, staring him down from above her shoulder, and Littlefinger was smart enough to get the warning. He pulled his hand back and moved towards the nearest chair while his hosts did the same.

Tywin sat at the head of the table, and unfortunately, Visenya had to sit by his right as his lady wife.

This put her in the middle of the two men, but the Old Lion had passively used his leg to pull her chair closer to him before she could sit, ensuring there was a bigger gap between her and the little weasel.

“What news from the capital do you bring, Lord Baelish?” Visenya asked as Arya grabbed a jug of wine to serve them while trying to prevent the man from recognising her.

“I travelled here directly from Renly Baratheon's camp,” Baelish informed.

“Ah, the late King Renly. Rather a short reign. Murdered by a woman, I hear.” Tywin said, already showing that he knew of the accusations.

Many people were pointing a finger at either a female spy sent to kill him at night or the woman he held in his own personal King’s guard as a knight.

“So they say. There has been talk of other forces at work...dark forces.”

There was a small, silent exchange between the married couple. Tywin was not the one to truly believe in such forces and magic, but considering his wife saw glimpses of the future, he had to be at least a little bit open-minded about them.

Of course, that did not mean he was going to expose any of this. No one knew of her dreams except him and it would remain that way until both of them were buried under the ground.

Visenya remained quiet but noticed how uncomfortable Arya was around their latest guest.

She filled his glass, and as she was about to walk away, Tywin stopped and handed her more goblets to clear.

“Men love to blame demons when their grand plans unravel.” He said, returning to his guest.

“It is my belief that a moment of chaos affords opportunities lost soon after.”

The Dragoness held back the need to scoff. “And from such opportunities you have benefited, haven’t you, Lord Baelish?” she asked rhetorically, making her husband hold back a smirk. “However, that is not of importance now. You say that as if you were the first man alive to think it. Yes, a crisis is an opportunity; one that wise people know how to take”

Her husband hid his smirk behind his goblet, and after taking a sip of his red wine, he decided to speak and save the mockingbird from the jaws of the Dragon. “What other brilliant insights have you brought us today?”

“After the Lannisters and the Starks, the Tyrells command the largest host. Their lands are the most fertile in the Seven Kingdoms, feeding horses and soldiers.”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“The Tyrells have not yet declared for any of the surviving kings. Loras wants revenge. He blames Stannis for Renly's death. And Margaery-

“Wants to be queen.” Tywin finished for him, already seeing where he was leading the conversation.

“Yes, she does.”

“House Tyrell rebelled against the Iron Throne, against our grandson”

It was not unknown that Margaery was married to Renly, and that had ensured the younger Stag the support of the rich and powerful house.

However, now that her husband is dead, she was left a widow, but was still young and could marry another man.

“They did. And perhaps that treason should be punished one day, after Stannis and Robb Stark are defeated,” Baelish said, earning their attention.

The Old Lion motioned with his hand towards Arya, who had been studying to the side. “More wine for Lord Baelish.”

The girl moved silently, her head turned and bowed in a way that her brown bangs hid her face as much as possible.

“Lord Baelish,” Visenya said, drawing his attention to her and away from the girl. “You sound as if you have a proposition for us?” she asked him.

Petyr smirked. “Sharp as ever, my lady”, he complimented. “If you will allow me to represent your family's interests, I believe that an advantageous agreement-“

 “The Tyrell host has returned to Highgarden?” Tywin asked, interrupting him.

“They have.” He confirmed, but just then, Arya ended up spilling some wine on the table and his hand.

She immediately grabbed a cloth and tried to mop it in panic. “Pardon, my lord.”

Petyr did not seem to mind. “It's only wine,” he said and turned to the couple. “What have you done to the poor kid to scare them that way?” he joked, but only received a glare from both of them.

Realising that his joke was not appreciated, he turned to grab his goblet again and took a glance at Arya’s face. He tried to look better, but Visenya pulled his attention away.

“You would ride there yourself, Lord Baelish?” she asked him, already seeing where this discussion would lead.

He was forced to look at her. “Tonight, with you and your Lord Husband’s leave.”

Tywin was silent for a moment. “I'll have an answer by nightfall.” He glanced at Arya, who had not herself since the Mockingbird had arrived. “That'll be all, girl.” He told her, passively dismissing her. She started to walk away, feeling Petyr’s eyes on her form all the way. “And what else?”

“On your son Tyrion's directive, I met with Catelyn Stark,” Petyr confessed.

“Why?”

The King was the first to arrive but had yet to sit on the Iron Throne.

Instead, he was by its base, discussing something with his mother. Important things had to happen, and he had to fake certain things to make it all work.

Various famous faces had already started to move towards their proper places at the front, including Lady Margaery Tyrell, her father Lord Mace Tyrell and her brother Loras, Lord Petyr Baelish and even the Master of Whispers, Varys.

Lady Sansa Stark and her ladies-in-waiting had also arrived but had made their way to their places on the upper seats, having a clear view of the whole room, a place for more private and honoured guests.

The court was alive, chatting amongst everyone, almost as if they all waited for the day to start and the ‘Saviour of the City’ to appear.

Before him, however, someone else made an entrance first.

Queen Cersei entered the room with the same arrogant pride her son possessed, yet someone else drew the crowd's attention.

A beautiful woman followed right after the Queen, and soldiers escorted both women.

At first, one might think this newcomer was a Lady in Waiting, but many would see the expensive fabric and golden chain around her neck, which said otherwise.

This woman walked with grace that put the Queen to shame, her hips swaying faintly with each step.

Her hair had a unique shade of auburn red, a colour Sansa did not expect to see again, let alone from someone not in her family.

The young direwolf tried to overhear any gossip from the ladies around her, but they seemed to be as clueless as she was about the woman's identity.

Their curiosity and Sansa's interest were piqued upon seeing the woman introduced straight to King Joffrey and his brother.

That quickly and silently told everyone she was in a position far above that of the average lady.

What surprised Sansa the most was simply the lack of a house sigil.

She saw none of the women and no other companion, whether a husband or a guard, to indicate from which House she came.

Plus, she was dressed in a dark red dress, and only the Queen had been seen sporting such colours; it was a tribute to her family's sigil, the Red Banner behind the Lannister Lion.

Whoever she was, she had made quite a first impression, and Sansa hoped this woman might be different from the others.

Deep down, the tortured and tired Direwolf hoped for a companion, even if their statuses were different, just for someone to treat her differently, as a human being and not the daughter of traitors.

Josephine followed Cersei towards the Throne room, remaining one step behind the Queen Reagent.

Her eyes glanced around the once familiar hallways, noticing little changes from the times she used to walk them without needing to hide her identity.

A few passing servants eyed her carefully, holding more curiosity than hostility.

For a moment, Josephine wondered if she would find any servants from her time who were still working in the Red Keep and if they would remember her.

Eventually, they reached the Throne Room and walked inside; two guards quickly followed them in.

People had already started gathering, many occupying the balconies on the upper half floor to get a bird' s-eye view of the place.

Others had moved to the sides, forming two lines, with the red carpet in the middle remaining unoccupied. Up ahead, the famous Throne of Swords was clearly visible.

Josephine remembered it from when Aerys used to rule, when the swords were longer and extended like a sea, lifting the famous seat higher into the air and showing true might.

But Robert Baratheon had gotten rid of them and the Dragon Skulls that once stood as a reminder of the glorious Targaryen times.

All the banners of the three-headed dragoon were gone, replaced by a mixture of the Baratheon Stag and the Lannister Lion.

Josephine kept observing the room as she followed, her back straight and her steps graceful.

The sound of whispers reached her sensitive ears, and she felt the number of eyes on her multiply. Many wondered who she was and why she was with the Queen.

The Lioness paid them no mind and kept walking until they reached the front rows, closer to the steps leading up to the Iron Throne.

There, Josephine caught the eye of the two cubs she had heard about but had yet to meet. The youngest, Tommy and the eldest, Joffrey.

"Mother!" Tommen exclaimed, leaving his caretaker and rushing to her.

Despite her cold and often questionable nature, Cersei's emerald eyes softened at the sight of her boys, the kids who were part of her and had almost perished the night before.

The young boy quickly noticed Josephine, standing not that far away, and their gazes met.

"Mother, who is she?" The young boy asked.

Cersei's mood immediately changed as her son's attention was diverted to someone else. She forced a smile as she glanced at the older woman.

"Tommen, Joffrey. This is Josephine. She is... an acquaintance of the family and your grandfather," she explained, venom bout to drip from her words.

Josephine glanced from the eldest to the youngest before offering a small bow. "Your grace, young prince."

Her rosy lips formed a soft smile as she saw how Lannister the two boys looked, blond and green-eyed. Beautiful, proud little lions, a sign and hope of the family's features and survival.

Her smile remained, though her body started to feel ill, and instincts warned her of danger nearby. She didn't have to look far before her eyes connected with Joffrey's, seeing the look he gave her.

"What kind of acquaintance is a woman alone, without a husband?" He asked, eyeing her up and down. "A woman with such beauty."

Josephine pressed her lips to form a thin line. "A unique one, your grace. The families of the Westerlands are known, of course, for their loyalty to their Lord Liege."

Before the boy king could say anything more, people started to murmur and move to their respective places; a sign that the ceremony was about to start.

Josephine moved to the front of the crowd just as the Lannister Guards started to move, forming two rows on each side of the red carpet.

Joffrey took his place on the Iron Throne while a servant brought Cersei a chair, Tommen on her lap.

It did not take long for the Saviour of the City to appear, fully armed and riding his proud white stallion, reminding everyone how far superior he was.

The Horse walked proudly, its rider guiding it with ease. The one blood-stained armour was clean, and not a single speck of dirt or blood could be seen on it.

As Tywin rode his horse forward, the Lannister soldiers forming lines by his sides quickly bowed respectfully; some lords and ladies did the same.

Whispers were not unusual to be heard, though many were simple questions and smart observations.

"I heard he had a Lion accompanying him in battle."

"I feel as if the Lion is already in the room with us."

"Do you really think he has a Lion of his own?"

"Don't you remember the legend?"

Tywin stopped his horse at the proper spot, sitting proudly on top of the saddle and being at the same eye level as Joffrey.

The boy king was clearly trying to remain strong and act as a King, but something in Tywin’s presence alone made him feel uneasy.

“I, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, first of my name, the rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby proclaim my grandfather, Tywin Lannister, the saviour of the city and the Hand of the King.” He said a speech his mother had made him memorise since the early hours of the morning.

A page rushed towards Joffrey and bowed as he presented a red pillow. The boy king placed the brooch of the Hand and let the servant take it to Tywin.

The Old Lion barely had to move as the cushion was lifted closer to him.

He took the familiar brooch he had worn for so many years in his youth and inspected it for a second. He then looked at his grandson and gave a slight bow of the head out of mere courtesy.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He said, turning his stallion and leaving the throne room behind.

Yet as he did so, his golden flecked eyes glanced around the room until they found Josephine.

Their gazes met, and no words had to be exchanged; no move had to be made to know what that look meant.

Remembering the plan, Josephine gave a slow head bow to him; hiding her nod behind a simple act of formality.

Tywin focused forward and exited the room, leaving her standing as the show continued. He would change and prepare for the feast while she was meant to stand and hear.

Hear of all the young lords given praise and knighthood for their bravery in the Blackwater Bay. Hear the titles and lands given to lords who contributed greatly to this victory.

And of course, hear of this new arrangement between Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell, the former wife of Renly Baratheon.

As well as the broken betrothal of the boy King to the young Direwolf.