"Wake up, you bloody fool," a gruff voice boomed across the darkness. "You're going to miss your own wedding."
He stirred groggily in the bed, unfamiliar, his head pounding as if a thousand sledgehammers were compressing it. The room was cast in shadows around him, while the heavy velvet curtains parted with the light of the candle. There was a figure looming over him, but because of the flame that was dancing in blazes, it could not make out the features of it.
"What wedding?" he croaked; there was a parched tickle in his throat, and the words came out hoarse and barely audible.
"Your wedding, to Lady Joanna Lannister," was the response, chafing impatience into each syllable.
He blinked, trying to put a face to the name. Joanna… Lannister. His head was a fog, chaos of half-remembered images and names that seemed to fit no one. He sat up; the fur-lined blankets slipped from his shoulders. His reflection across the room was that of a stranger: a man with a hard-featured, chiseled face, a head full of gold hair. He reached up to touch his own face, the rough stubble and cold, unyielding skin beneath his fingers alien to him.
The candle-bearer stepped into the light, and promptly the man felt his stomach drop. It was a face from a T.V. show he used to watch, a face that he had seen from the books of ASOIAF for years. He could not believe his eyes. The man looked into the mirror again and realized with dawning horror that it was his own reflection, but not his face; it was Tywin Lannister's.
Panic clawed at him, a beast in his chest threatening to tear its way out. He was not Tywin Lannister, for God's sake; he was a 21st-century college professor of history. He had to be dreaming, he had to be. But then, as he looked around the room, the tapestries of lions and the heavy scent of burning wax, he knew otherwise. He had somehow been propelled into the body of that feared and reverenced man right at the instance his story was about to kick off.
He read of Tywin's legendary tactical mind, his cold calculating nature, his iron will. The man whom he studied and criticized, whom he analyzed in every way possible, his favorite character, was now his flesh and blood. His head spun, trying to put the pieces together of how this could have occurred. It had to be some sort of bent in time-a wrinkle in reality. However, as he felt the flood of Tywin's memories pour in upon him, he realized the gravitas of his situation-he was Tywin, and the part needed to be played.
Before him loomed the wedding, a political union that would seal his family's power. He needed to get ready, to face the world as this man. He needed to marry Joanna-a girl he knew nothing about, except from within the pages of a fantasy novel. His new existence weighed upon him like a mountain, crushing him beneath the knowledge that he would live and die by the sword and not by his words.
His hands were shaking as he started to dress in the most elaborate attire laid out before him-heavy material and complicated fastenings alien to his modern mind. Every garment held a memory of Tywin's, a time in the life of the man whose skin he was now wearing. Never had he felt the weight of its history, all its pride and sins, as when he had wrapped himself in that scarlet cloak of House Lannister. A wedding-no more than a formality within the great tapestry of Westeros-but to him, it was the first step into a strange world where every movement could be a sentence of life or death.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the role he must now play. His last look in the mirror before turning to leave the chamber showed him, not the historian he had been, but the lord he had become. The candlelight danced in his eyes, reflecting a hard determination there that had not been. He would survive this, he would thrive in it. He had to. For now, he was Tywin Lannister, and the game of thrones awaited him.
The castle was abuzz, the air thick with roasting meats and newly baked bread. Servants scurried about, faces averted, whispering of the impending union. Tywin recognized some faces from his studies: his future bannermen and enemies, all under one roof. He knew he had to be very careful: observe and learn-to hide his secret.
When he finally saw Joanna, she was like something out of a dream-beautiful, the kind of beautiful that seemed almost otherworldly. Her wild blonde hair cascaded in riotous waves around her pale, perfect face, and her eyes glittered with a quickness, an intelligence, a wit that stopped his heart. But to him, she had never been just a political pawn-she was the mother of his future children, the woman who would share his bed, the key to his legacy. And as he approached her, he saw the same shock mirrored in the gaze that met his own.
"My lord Tywin," she greeted, sounding like the tinkling of a silver bell. "I daresay, you rested well."
"Indeed, Lady Joanna," he said, trying to keep his voice even as his insides roiled. "Though I fear I am unworthy of such beauty."
She laughed, a real laugh, and he felt some strange warmth spread through him. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she teased.
He watched her-the carriage of her, the speech-so much more than he could have read in the books. A realization sprouted in his mind: he knew nothing, nothing of the woman he was to wed, nothing of the life they were to share. The original Tywin at least loved her deeply, that much he knew. Why? Because of some political ambition, or because of something more?
And then the ceremony started, and he knew well that the eyes of the realm, hard as stone, had set on him, watching each and every one of his actions. The high septon of the Sept droned on loudly and freely about marriage inviolability and the conjunction of houses, but all Tywin was thinking about was the times to come: how was he to conduct himself in this world, now knowing what would happen? Was he able to change the course of history, or was he doomed to follow the same tragic paths?
First the vows, then the rings, and with a kiss, they were man and wife. The crowd was cheering riotously in his ears as he looked into Joanna's eyes searching for answers she could never give him. And yet, as their palms touched, a dart of hope shivered through him. Maybe-together-they could write a new story, one unmarred by the sins of their ancestors.
The feast that followed was a blur of faces and names, a dance of alliances and veiled threats. Tywin moved through it all, playing the part of the lord he was expected to be. Yet every moment seemed taut with tension, each smile like a dagger at his back. He knew he could not fully trust-not his friends, not his allies, not even his family. It was not until he found himself sitting next to Joanna, talking in hushed tones and swapping quiet jokes, that he allowed himself, for the first time in his life, to feel that maybe-just maybe-he could hope for happiness in this weird, cruel world.
The night was deep, and the torches of the Great Hall danced in shadow. The music was softer now, the conversations more private. As the guests began to dismiss themselves, Tywin felt a gentle tug upon his arm. Joanna's eyes were a curious concern.
"What is it, my love?" he asked, the endearment sounding strange upon his tongue.
"I know you are not who you seem," she said softly. "But I do not fear you. Tell me your truth."
He hedged-the risks and rewards of being truthful racing in his mind. He decided to take a chance, the words tumbling forth in an ambiguous answer: "My truth is as big a mystery to me as it is to you," he said. "But I promise to do right by you, our children, and this house."
* * *
The heavy oak door to the chamber groaned shut, shutting Tywin Lannister and his new bride, Joanna, into their private sanctum. The air had a heavy scent of candle wax and a trace element of lavender, contrasting so harshly from the tension built up through the night between them. Tywin's eyes scanned down Joanna's body, latched onto her heaving chest as her ample breasts seemed to threaten to spill out of the confines of her intricate silk wedding gown. Her pert nipples, the size of silver coins, had grown hard as they pressed against the fabric, betraying her own anticipation of what was to come.
"My lord," she whispered, her voice a soft caress in the quiet room.
"Wife," he replied, and his voice was like a low rumble. He advanced on her, his own body responding to what she threatened. His cock, thick and long, began to engorge inside his breeches; this prefigured the violence he was going to wreak upon her.
Joanna's eyes dropped to his crotch, a smudge of colour across her cheeks. "I-I've heard stories," she stuttered, her voice not quite so firm.
"Stories of what, my dear?" Tywin replied, amused yet challenging. He knew full well what she had in mind, for his prowess in bed was nothing short of legend, earning him the reputation he held as a lion among men.
"Of how… how it feels," she returned, her gaze flickering up to meet his.
"Ah," he said, a knowing smile curling at his lips. "Fear not. I shall be gentle." Yet, his eyes roved on her lithe form - the generous curve of her hip, the inviting plumpness of her arse. The tightness of her maidenhead was a prize he would win with consideration. Yet, he could not deny that he wanted to plunge into her with the ferocity of a warrior claiming victory.
He leaned forward, cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking the fullness of her bottom lip. "Tell me, Joanna, have you ever felt the touch of a man before this night?"
Joanna's pulse pounded with Tywin's touch. She had heard whispers of his conquests, his insatiable appetite for the fairer sex, and his unmatched skill in the art of love. Yet, she could not help but feel a thrill of excitement, a dark yearning to be the one who tamed the beast within him. Her own body was a canvas of unexplored sensations, her pussy a secret garden that had yet to be plucked, her tight ass hole an untouched treasure.
"No, my lord," she replied with eyes wide and innocent. "I am untouched."
"Good," he rasped, his voice low and rough. "Then you shall know only the pleasure that a Lannister can give."
He started to undo the laces of her dress, each loosened knot revealing more and more of her creamy skin. The gown fell away, pooling at her feet and leaving her naked before him. Her breasts were large and round, the nipples standing at attention and begging for his touch. Her stomach was flat, leading down to the soft mound of her Venus, already glistening with the evidence of her arousal.
"You are beautiful," Tywin said huskily, desire in each word. He reached out and traced the line of her collarbone with his index finger, watching as she shivered beneath his touch.
"Thank you," Joanna whispered, her voice a mere whisper now. She felt his gaze weigh upon her as he swept down the length of her, coming to rest on the wet spot between her thighs. She rushed to cover her mound with her hand, but Tywin caught her wrist in a firm yet gentle vice.
"No modesty now, wife," he told her, hot flame dancing in his eyes. "You are mine to see."
He led her to the big, four-poster bed; the velvet coverlets were a sumptuous crimson, matching the color of his passion. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat on the edge, his hand outstretched for her to join him. Joanna stepped forward, legs wobbly with fear and excitement mingled. She could feel his heat as she drew near to him, her body responding to a hunger she'd never known before.
"Lie down," Tywin said, his voice soft, yet a command.
Obedient, Joanna flung herself across the bed, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath she took. Standing before her, Tywin let his cock free from its constraint to stand tall and proud. It was a beastly thing, thick and veined, the head a dark, angry shade of purple promising an intensity of pleasure she had never dreamed of.
"Your body is a treasure," he whispered, his hand stroking the softness of her inner thigh. "One I shall savor."
He climbed onto the bed, his weight depressing the mattress beside her. His hand trailed up her leg, his thumb brushing her outer lips before delving into the slick warmth of her folds. She gasped as he found her clit-a sensitive bud that swelled under his touch.
"Does that feel good?" he growled, low, circling the bundle of nerves.
"Y-yes," she stuttered, her hips bucking involuntarily.
"Tell me what you want," he said hoarsely; his eyes reflected his strong desire.
"I-I want you," she said, shaking her voice with need.
Tywin leaned down, a predatory smile spreading across his face as he captured her mouth in a bruising kiss. His tongue invaded the wet cavern of her mouth, claiming her as surely as his cock would soon be claiming her virginity. He tasted of wine and power, and she moaned into his mouth, her hands fisting in the bedcovers.
Breaking the kiss, he moved lower, his mouth worshipping her neck, her breasts, each nipple receiving its due attention. He took one in his mouth, rolling it with his tongue before nipping it gently. Joanna arched her back, a keening cry escaping her as pleasure shot through her like a bolt of lightning.
"More," she begged, her voice a desperate whine.
Tywin chuckled, the rumble coursing another shiver through her body. Down further he kissed and nipped at her stomach, his beard tickling the sensitive skin. He reached her mound, his hot breath blowing upon it. She felt his tongue flick out, tasting her, and she about came undone.
"Please," she panted, her legs spreading wider. "Take me now."
"Patience, my sweet," he whispered against her skin. "We have all night."
His mouth found her clit once more, but this time, he didn't show mercy. He sucked and licked, moving her closer and closer until she was writhing beneath him. Joanna had never felt such a deep, strong ache, and only he could fill it.
"Now, Tywin," she begged, her voice a sob. "Now."
With a final, lingering kiss, he positioned himself over her, his cock nudging at her entrance. A moment of fear at his size gave way almost immediately to the need to have him fill her completely. He pushed inside, slow and steady, stretching her tightness until she thought she might break.
"Relax," he soothed, his voice a gentle rumble. "Let me in."
Joanna took a deep breath, focused on the feel of him pushing into her. It hurt, but it was a pain she welcomed-a pain promising an even greater pleasure. With one final thrust, he broke through her maidenhood and she screamed out his name.
"There," he said, his voice strained from his own effort. "Now we truly are one."
He started to move, hips a piston driving into her softness. Joanna's eyes rolled back in her head, her body a tapestry of sensation. Each stroke brought a new wave of pleasure, every retreat leaving her begging for more. His cock was a marvel, thick and unyielding, filling her completely. She could feel every inch of him, the ridge of his head rubbing against her inner walls, the base of his shaft grinding on her swollen clit with every thrust.
"H-harder," she moaned, her body desperate for that release hovering just out of reach.
"As you wish," Tywin growled low, his desire growing with every moment passed. He quickened his rhythm, his hips slapping against her ass, the sound echoing within the chamber. Joanna's breasts bounced with each stroke, her nipples hard and begging his mouth's caress.
"Take it," he said roughly, his voice commanding. "Take it all."
Her hands found her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples as he fucked her. The dual sensations of his cock buried inside her and her touching her breasts sent her flying, her cries filling the room.
Tywin's movements suddenly went jerky, his breathing coming hard and harsh. "I'm going to cum," he warned, eyes burning into hers.
"Yes," Joanna whispered, her own climax crested. "Inside me. Make me yours."
With a final roar, he let go of his seed, filling her to the hilt. The feel of his hot cum flooding her was more than she could stand, and she shattered around him, her body bucking with the force of her climax. They lay there, entwined in the aftermath, bodies slick with sweat and passion.
"Again," Tywin muttered, his hand slipping down to cup her ass, his thumb circling her tight hole. "I want all of you."
Joanna's eyes widened, in both surprise and excitement. "But my lord," she protested weakly, "are you not sated?"
"Never," he said, the word a dark promise. "Where you are concerned, I shall never be sated."
With a devilish grin, he flipped her over, her ass cheeks parting to reveal her tight, virgin rosebud. He leaned down and gently kissed it, his tongue darting out to taste her. Joanna gasped at the sensation as her body shuddered with anticipation of what was still in store. He opened her cheeks wider, cock still hard and demanding.
"Relax," he whispered again, the huskiness lacing his persuasive voice. "Take me, all of me."
He pressed into her, slow and torturously so, the pressure strong and unyielding. Joanna's eyes watered; her breathing took on a ragged cadence. Yet she took him-all of him-her body stretching to accommodate his girth. The pain blended with pleasure until she could no longer tell where one began and the other ended.
"Oh, gods," she whispered, the words barely audible. "It's too much."
"You can take it," Tywin said, his voice soft, though his eyes were hard as flint. "You were made for this."
He started again, his strokes shallow, giving her body time to adjust to the invasion. She could feel herself stretching, opening up to him, and welcoming the new sensation inside her. As he caught his rhythm, she began thrusting back at him, meeting each successive thrust with her own, her body undulating to some timeless dance.
"Fuck me," she moaned, her voice barely audible over her gasps of lust. "Fuck me like the animal you are."
Tywin's eyes flashed with a snarl, and he plunged into her depths. He pounded into her with a ferocity that made them both gasp for air. Her ass accepted him like it was made to mold around him, clenched about him with every thrust, milking him for every drop of pleasure he had to give.
The room spun around them, the candles' shadows dancing across the wall as they moved together. Their bodies were a blur of passion as Joanna felt another orgasm building, her body tightening around him like a vice.
"Oh, Tywin," she gasped out, her voice a desperate plea. "I-I'm going to cum again."
"Do it," he urged, his voice a snarl in her ear. "Cum for me."
Her body listened, her muscles clenching around his cock as she came, her juices wetting the sheets beneath her. Tywin groaned, his own release imminent. With one final powerful thrust, he spilled himself inside her, his cum mingling with her own juices as he marked her as his.
When the pleasure waves ceased, Tywin pulled out; his cock was dripping with their mutual fluids. He flipped her over; his eyes had gone dark with lust as he took in her swollen pussy and gaping ass.
"Your body is a work of art," he whispered, his hand tracing down the curves of her waist and into her hips.
"Thank you, my lord," Joanna said, her voice still trembling with need. "I-I never knew it could feel like this."
"There is so much more I will teach you," he promised, bending to kiss her.
"I-I look forward to it," Joanna whispered, her cheeks flushed with arousal.
Tywin chuckled, the sound rich and full of mirth. "Indeed, you shall. Now, let us rest."
He pulled her into his arms, her body soft and willing warmth against his own. Joanna snuggled closer, the sticky warmth of their combined juices warm between her thighs, reminding her of how passionate it had just been. As she drifted off to sleep, she felt a sense of belonging that she'd never really known before. This was her fate-to become Tywin Lannister's bride, to give birth to his children, to slate his lusts. And she would acquiesce to all of it, with pleasure.
* * *
"Joanna," the maidservant hollered as she entered the chill corridor of the keep, "A letter has come for you, milady."
Joanna raised her head from her embroidery, a curious expression setting on her face as she put aside the needle and thread. "From whom?" she asked, her eyes already sparkling with anticipation in the prospect of breaking the monotony of the day.
"It bears the seal of the Queen, milady," replied the servant, slightly bowing her head.
The young woman's heart stuttered a beat. Queen Rhaella did not write letters to be treated like some trivial matter. Joanna's slender fingers shook as she broke the seal of crimson wax and unfolded the parchment, her eyes scanning the delicate script. The words were formal, yet filled with a warmth that surprised her.
"Dear Joanna," the latter opened, "As the sun sets on your days of youth, it is with the pride of a mother that I realize with each passing day the important part you have grown to play in our world. Your grace and dignity have gone long unnoticed, and it is with great joy that I hereby release you from your duties as Lady-in-Waiting unto yourself, to focus on your new bond with Lord Tywin."
Joanna read the words again, trying to fathom what was going through her mind. The Queen had noticed her; she'd comprehended just how grave a marriage between herself and the powerful, mysterious Tywin had been. A soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she realized the wisdom behind the Queen's decision in keeping her close. Yet, there was something that didn't make sense with this sudden dismissal. Was there something more behind this than meets the eye?
She would hasten to tell Tywin who was waiting in his solar, deep in work. She knew this would be music to his ears, an undeniable sign that the Queen appreciated the value of their alliance. She entered; heavy oak groaned as the door swung open, releasing the scent of parchment and ink into the air. Tywin raised his gaze from his maps and ledgers, meeting hers sharp.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice brisk without being unkind.
"I have a letter from Queen Rhaella," Joanna said, her voice full of excitement and uncertainty. She gave him the parchment; he read the words without showing anything on his face.
A moment passed, and then Tywin looked up, a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. "It would appear the Queen has seen wisdom in our union," he said, his tone ecstatic with an edge of satisfaction. "You are no longer needed at her side, my dear. Your place is here with me."
The words echoed through the room, and a weight seemed to lift itself from Joanna's shoulders. She had always been torn between her duty to the Queen and her new life as Tywin's wife. Now it seemed she might fully enjoy being Lady of Casterly Rock without feeling any guilt or preoccupation.
"This is… unexpected," Joanna whispered, her mind still reeling at the Queen's message. "But I'm glad. I can now focus on our home and family."
Tywin nodded, a flicker in his eyes that was so rarely soft for anything. "Indeed. Our alliance is strong, and the Queen knows your worth here. She is wise in understanding that your duties as wife and mother come before all else."
The sound of laughter from the great hall was suddenly in their ears. Joanna felt a surge of love for her husband; she was looking forward to their life together. Still, there was a niggle of doubt-a question unasked hung in the air between them.
"But why, Tywin?" she pressed. "Why would she do this?"
He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "Perhaps she senses the changing tides of our world. Or perhaps she simply wishes to honor our bond. Whatever her reason, it is a respect to us both."