Chapter Text
Joanna Lannister
“Does it not horrify you, my lady, what your betrothed did to the Reynes and the Tarbecks?”
What Joanna yearns to say is this: I would have done the same, in his place. They needed to be taught a lesson, the Reynes and the Tarbecks, and Tywin taught them and the whole of the westerlands a lesson they would never forget.
She knows better than to say this out loud, however. Men are allowed much and forgiven more; women are not.
She does not yearn to reform Tywin, to change him ‘for the better,’ to turn him into ‘a kinder, gentler soul.’ She sees him for what he is, knows him for what he is, loves him for what he is.
Her heart does not beat with the desire to be his salvation; it beats with the desire to be his true partner, a lifelong companion not only of the hearts and the bodies but also of the minds.
We are one, Tywin and I, in all things.
And oh what heights we could reach together!
Ellyn Reyne
Oh but she was furious! Fate had ill-served her time and time again, had cheated her twice over – no, thrice, now – each time stealing from Ellyn Reyne her rightful due, turning all her hard work into dust, into ashes.
Did they think it was easy, doing what needed to be done? She never had any such illusion, Lady Ellyn of House Reyne, sister to the Red Lion, widow to Ser Tion Lannister (formerly heir to Casterly Rock, currently heir to nothing at all.)
He struck her. How dare he? “I should have done that long ago,” her good-father bellowed. “I should have done that the first time you climbed into his bed and bewitched my poor Tion into breaking his betrothal with Lord Rowan’s daughter.”
“Your son did not need much convincing, if I recall, much less any bewitching.” The promise of her favor and merely the subtle hints of the delights and pleasures she would rain on him once they were married was enough to persuade Tion. She had not even needed to spread her legs, or to kiss him in places more indiscreet than his mouth, to convince him to set aside his betrothal and to wed her instead.
But then Tion was weak, weak-willed and pathetic, so very different from his golden twin. His dead golden twin. Even as Ellyn was rejoicing in her success at the time, she was already despising Tion for not being even half the man Tywald had been.
Tywald she had loved. Tywald she had wanted to wed for his own sake almost as much as for the sake of being the Lady of Casterly Rock. But Tywald the elder twin had died in battle alongside her father, and Ellyn had done what needed to be done.
Did they think it was easy, doing what needed to be done?
“Are my sons so interchangeable to you? Tywald, Tion and Tytos, all one and the same, as long as he still lives and will inherit Casterly Rock?”
It was not her fault that Tywald had died before their long betrothal had been sealed with marriage. It was not her fault that Tion had died only a year after their wedding. It was not her fault that Tion had the temerity to perish before his father, before he was Lord of Casterly Rock, before she was the Lady of Casterly Rock, before his seeds could take hold inside her, before she could give birth to the next heir to Casterly Rock.
And it was most definitely, absolutely, not her fault that Tytos Lannister, third son of Gerold Lannister, and current heir to Casterly Rock, proved to be a sniveling, whimpering weakling even more pathetic than his brother Tion had been.
He wept. Loudly and copiously, in Ellyn’s bed. Wept with regret and remorse about how much he had wronged his wife, Tytos claimed.
May the gods spare me from the regrets of men, Ellyn cursed. And from their appalling tears. Tywald would never have wept. Her brothers had never wept.
It was not regret, she knew that well enough. It was shame - shame and humiliation about his flaccid manhood, limp, floppy and useless - that had driven Tytos running and weeping from Ellyn’s bed into his wife’s embrace, “confessing” everything purportedly, but in truth putting almost all of the blame on his good-sister, and reserving very little for himself.
And that simpering Jeyne Marbrand had not waited long to brandish her claws, had paused only very briefly to wipe her husband’s tears before going straight to her good-father to tell all.
“Is nothing sacred to you? Not a betrothal, not even the vows of marriage?” Gerold Lannister was still droning on and on and on.
“Your son is weak,” Ellyn replied. “Too eager to please everyone, too afraid to offend anyone. And you know this as well as I do. When you are gone, Tytos will need a pair of strong hands to push him, to force him to be the strong lord that Casterly Rock deserves. That Casterly Rock needs. He is a lion whose claws need constant sharpening. And I am the only woman equal to that task.”
“His own wife is not equal to that task, I suppose?”
“Jeyne loves her husband. And that makes her useless in that regard.”
“Jeyne is his wife! They are married in the eyes of gods and men. And she has not done any wrong to her husband, or to our House.”
“Wives can be set aside. There are many precedents, as you well know. You must think of the good of Casterly Rock and the westerlands, and not allow softer feelings and sentiments to blind you to what needs to be done.”
Gerold laughed, bitterly. “Am I supposed to believe that your intentions are entirely selfless? It is all for the good of Casterly Rock,” Gerold mocked. “Do you take me for a fool?” he asked, scoffing.
“I will be the Lady that Casterly Rock deserves. The Lady that Casterly Rock needs.“
And she deserved it, Ellyn thought. She deserved to be the Lady of Casterly Rock. She had earned it, worked and struggled for it for so long, paid for it in more ways than she could count.
This old fool standing in front of her would never understand that.
“You will never be the Lady of Casterly Rock, not even after I’m long dead and rotting in my grave,” Gerold Lannister barked. “You will wed old Walderan Tarbeck, retire to his crumbling and disintegrating castle, and never set foot in Casterly Rock again. That is my command.” Disconcerted, and perhaps even disappointed by her lack of tears, he repeated, “That is my command!”
Did the old fool think it was easy, doing what needed to be done?
Ellyn Reyne always did what needed to be done. Always. She vowed, vowed that the Lannisters would soon discover to their peril and to their great detriment that the Lady Ellyn of House Reyne could not be declawed so easily, that she would never forgive or forget, and that in forcing her to become Lady Tarbeck and denying her Casterly Rock, they had sown the seed of their own destruction.
Cersei Lannister
“I came to Casterly Rock once. Do you remember?”
“Yes, Your Grace. With your lady mother and your brother Prince Oberyn.”
Your Grace. It should have been Cersei being called Your Grace, Cersei married to the Prince of Dragonstone, Cersei whose wedding was being celebrated with magnificent feasts and glorious tourneys.
You stole my life!
“We had hoped that you and your brother might visit Sunspear in return, but I suppose Lord Tywin was much too busy with his duties to spare you both.”
That the princess would throw Cersei’s father rejection in her face did not surprise Cersei in the least. Yes! Father rejected your brother because I was meant for the king’s heir, not the younger son of Dorne who would not be inheriting anything at all. And now you and the Martells are laughing in our faces.
“I would have liked to visit Sunspear, Your Grace. I hear the blood oranges are a sight to behold,” Cersei replied, silently congratulating herself on the gracious tone of her voice. You will never know how much I despise you. Not yet. Not until it is too late.
Elia smiled, a smile that would have seemed genuine to anyone else looking, but Cersei knew better. The princess was mocking her, mocking her father, mocking her beloved Jaime, mocking the Lannisters. Smile. Smile while you still can. I will have the last laugh when that smile is finally wiped off your face. The gods will not smile on you and on House Martell forever.
And yet, Cersei wondered if the gods had in fact been playing a cruel trick on both of them. Elia Martell was born in Dorne, where the eldest child would inherit, male or female, but she had not been born the eldest. Cersei was actually born the eldest - even if it was only moments before Jaime followed her into this world, his tiny fingers tightly clutching her leg - but Casterly Rock was where the eldest son ruled, not the eldest child.
She buried the thought, contemptuously. Elia Martell had stolen her rightful due. There was no reason for Cersei to feel any kind of bond with her, especially not the bond of thwarted dreams and ambitions.
Cersei Lannister
Robert was not Jaime, blood of her blood, flesh of her flesh, but he had swung his warhammer at Rhaegar Targaryen and vanquished the man who had humiliated Cersei and her father when he married the Dornish princess. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a head of hair as dark as coal, Robert was as much a maiden's fantasy as the silver prince. Robert was strong and powerful, and when the crowd cheered for him and his bride, Cersei silently cheered as well. She smiled and smiled until her mouth was hurting.
He is mine. Mine. All mine.
I am the Queen. Queen of the realm, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
The Dornish princess had only managed “wife of the overthrown Prince of Dragonstone” in her list of accomplishments, Cersei thought with relish.
Her smile faded slightly when Robert’s hands squeezed her breasts so forcefully the bruises would not fade for days afterwards. It faded even more when his teeth snapped shut on her nipples, and when he bit her lips so hard he drew blood as he clumsily tried to kiss her on the mouth, his breath smelling foully of wine.
“You are hurting me,” she told him, and he acted as if he had not heard her plea. Or perhaps he had heard her, and simply did not care.
Her smile disappeared completely when he whispered “Lyanna” as he entered her, entered her so brutally and forcefully she thought her insides would rupture.
She did not tell him that he was hurting her, this time.
Your precious Lyanna would be disgusted with the drunken oaf of a man that you are, she thought. Her own disgust was overwhelming; every touch, every contact, every gesture made her skin crawl, made her want to throw up copiously.
She scrubbed herself so hard in the bath the next morning she feared her skin might peel away. She wanted rid of every trace of Robert Baratheon. His skin, his blood, his flesh, his seed, she wanted none of it on her, or inside her.
When Jaime came to her, as he had always done from the start, she did not turn him away.
Tywin Lannister
“Are you ashamed of your father?” Aerys asks.
“I am angry. Shame has naught to do with it,” Tywin replies. Even to speak of shame would bring unpardonable shame to Lannister name and pride.
“I would be both, if it were my father. Angry and ashamed both,” Aerys continues.
“Why should you be ashamed at all?” Steffon asks.
What does Steffon know of shame? Nothing at all, Tywin thinks, irritated by Steffon’s question. His father struts in court, a trusted member of the king’s council and the king’s own good-son besides, while Tywin’s father makes such a botch of ruling his own lands such that the king has to send his knights to restore peace and order in the westerlands. And who does His Grace appoint to lead those knights if not his trusted good-son Lord Baratheon? A stag roaming the westerlands under the dragon banners, all because that slumbering lion in Casterly Rock Tywin has to call “my lord father” is toothless and clawless, weak and pride-less.
In his grandfather’s days, such a travesty would never have occurred. Gerold the Golden would never have brought such shame, ridicule and dishonor to House Lannister.
Steffon does not understand. He could never understand. He adores his father; too young to know any better, perhaps, but also by accident of birth fortunate enough to be spared the indignities of being the progeny of a father such as Lord Tytos.
Aerys pretends to understand. Aerys who claims to find his own father unsatisfactory in many ways.
“He’ll return safely, won’t he? My father,” Steffon frets, and he seems his real age for once, not the boy who is always trying to act and sound older than he is because his two closest companions are two and four years older, respectively.
“He’ll be safe enough. It’s not a real war,”Aerys says. “Only some outlaws and brigands.”
Outlaws and brigands have swords that can kill all the same, Tywin thinks. And young as he is, Steffon knows this too.
This is what comes of adoring, of loving. The fear of losing.
Tytos Lannister
His son speaks, and it is his father’s sharp, scolding voice Tytos hears.
His son stares, and it is his father’s piercing, penetrating gaze Tytos sees.
Who are you? What are you? Are you a ghost here to punish me, to haunt me to my death? This son of his, this fruit of his loins, his firstborn. Gerold the Golden come again, here to lecture Tytos on all the ways he has fallen far, far short of expectation. Here to deride him, to ridicule him, to diminish him in the eyes of the world.
You made yourself a figure of ridicule. Wrong, wrong, wrong. No, no, no. You should not have done that. You should have done this instead. Why are you such a fool? Why are you so lacking in sense? Why are you so insecure, so eager to please no matter the cost? Why are you so weak? Why are you not like your brothers? Why, why, why?
Why are you not like your father?
Why are you not like your son?
Why are you such a disappointment?
“Pray gods your heir will be a sturdier creature with more sense than his lord father.”
You cursed me, Father. How could you?
Oh how he pitied himself! What a fate, to be smothered and suffocated between these two. The mighty Tywin Lannister. Like the high and mighty Gerold Lannister.
I know your secret, Father. I know what you did, long ago, to make us lords of Casterly Rock.
You have been disappointing me for years, Father.
Tytos had never said it. He was too terrified of his lord father’s wrath to ever say those words aloud.
Say it. I know you’ve always wanted to. Say it, he dares his firstborn, but only silently, only in his head. He is too afraid of his own son to really dare him to do anything.
You have been disappointing me for years, Father.
Tywin would never say it. He thinks himself above saying it, as if it is already obvious to everyone how much of a disappointment his father has been.
Tytos & Tywin Lannister
Conditions in the west grew so bad that the Iron Throne felt compelled to take a hand. Thrice King Aegon V sent forth his knights to restore order to the westerlands, but each time the conflicts flared up once again as soon as the king’s men had taken their leave. (TWOIAF)
“Knights with dragon banners are keeping the peace in the westerlands, while the Laughing Lion slumbers in the lap of his son’s wet nurse, searching for his mislaid manhood between her legs. Tell me, Father, how proud do you think my grandsire would be of you?”
“Silence! You overreach yourself, boy.”
“I’m no boy. I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
“I should never have allowed you to go to court. You think yourself so grand, so high and mighty, just because the king’s grandsons are now your close companions. Your blood is still not royal, and I am still the Lord of Casterly Rock, despite all your presumptions and arrogance.”
“Why, Father, it was you who sent me to court to be the king’s cupbearer. It was you who sent me away from Casterly Rock, as my punishment for daring to speak out against your weak-willed impotence. Do you regret it now?”
“One day, you, too, will be a father. Pray gods you never have to suffer your own son speaking to you in this insolent manner. “
“When I am a father, I will never give my son cause to speak to me in any manner that is less than respectful. I will never give my son cause to be ashamed of me.”
“Perhaps your son will give you cause to be ashamed of him, and then you will finally understand how much you have made me suffer these many years.”
“You, ashamed of me, Father?” The Laughing Lion had never succeeded in making his eldest son laugh before, but today, he succeeded beyond his wildest imagination. It was a laugh completely devoid of mirth,
full of mockery and bitter derision.
Tywin Lannister
“It is done, my lord.”
“I heard. Both children?”
Gregor Clegane nodded. “The mother too,” he added.
Tywin Lannister turned his head almost imperceptibly. “The mother? I said nothing about the mother.”
Clegane met his gaze without flinching. “She was with the boy in the nursery, and refused to part with him. There was no way to get to the boy without –“
Tywin interrupted. “Yet you had time to have your way with her. Did you do that before or after you killed the boy?”
“Does it matter, my lord? Rhaegar Targaryen’s children are both dead, as you commanded.”
It would matter to Doran Martell and Dorne. That could prove to be an unwelcomed complication, Tywin thought. It had not occurred to him that he should have reminded Clegane not to rape Elia Martell. In hindsight, perhaps it should have. But what was done was done. He would have to try to make the best of the situation.
“And the girl? You did the deed yourself?”
Clegane suddenly looked ill-at-ease. Surely he did not rape the girl too? How old was she? Four, five? Clegane’s appetite could not have run that deviant, could it?
“Amory Lorch killed the girl, my lord,” Clegane replied.
“And?” Tywin persisted.
“Lorch went overboard and stabbed her over and over again.”
That would mean blood. A lot of blood. Another unwanted complication. “I told you to smother the children with pillows.” It was supposed to be done cleanly and efficiently. This was beginning to sound much too messy for his liking.
“The girl was hiding under her father’s bed, and she tried to run away when Lorch came into the room. A pillow was not a possibility, my lord,” Clegane replied.
“I suppose there was a lot of blood?”
Clegane looked surprised by the question, as if he had not expected Tywin Lannister to be the squeamish sort.
Tywin set the record straight immediately. “Robert Baratheon might object to the sight of bloodied children, even as he’s secretly relieved the threats to his throne have been so conveniently removed without him having to dirty his own hands. Wrap the bodies in crimson cloaks. It would hide the bloodstains, and at the same time remind Robert Baratheon that his throne was secured by House Lannister.”