The early morning sun cast a warm glow across the room, painting the stone walls with shades of gold. The heavy velvet curtains fluttered gently with the breeze that carried the faint scent of blooming lemon trees from the garden outside. Tywin Lannister, metaphorical Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, stirred beneath the silken sheets, feeling the residual warmth of the night's conquest cling to his skin. His eyes opened to the sight of Seraphine Martell, her silver hair fanned out across the pillow like a dove's wing, her chest rising and falling with each deep, contented breath. He had come to Dorne under the guise of diplomacy, but the true purpose of his visit was to ensure that the sands of Dorne did not stir with the winds of rebellion.
He slipped out of the bed, his movements silent as a cat's, not wanting to disturb her. The marble floor was cool under his bare feet, a stark contrast to the heat of the Dornish night that still lingered in the room. Tywin knew that he had to begin his day early, as there was much to be done before the sun reached its zenith. He dressed quickly, donning his crimson and gold armor, the lion's head of House Lannister gleaming in the early light. He paused at the door, looking back at the woman who had given herself so completely to him the night before. A twinge of something akin to admiration passed through him. Her fiery spirit and cunning intellect had been an unexpected delight, one that he would not soon forget.
"Seraphine," he whispered, his voice barely audible. She stirred, her eyes opening to reveal the piercing darkness. She sat up, the sheet falling away to reveal her naked form, unabashedly displaying the marks of their passion.
"My lord," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.
"We must rise," Tywin said, his tone firm but not unkind. "The day waits for no man, nor does the business of the realm."
Seraphine nodded, a hint of disappointment flashing across her face, but she knew the gravity of the situation. Her devotion to Tywin was not merely a matter of physical desire; she had come to respect his strategic mind and the power he wielded in more ways than one. She slipped from the bed, the sheet pooling at her feet, and began to dress in a simple, yet elegant Dornish gown. Tywin watched her, his gaze lingering on her curves, before turning to the window.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, the two of them sitting opposite each other at a small table set with plates of figs, dates, and spiced meats. The air was thick with the scent of hot bread and freshly squeezed pomegranate juice. They ate in a companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, the tension of the night's revelations lying heavy between them.
"Doran Martell," Tywin said finally, breaking the silence as he sliced through a piece of fruit with surgical precision. "He is a man who plays a deep game, is he not?"
Seraphine's eyes snapped to meet his, a spark of interest lighting her gaze. "Deeper than most realize," she replied, her tone measured. "But what do you know of Dorne, my lord?"
Tywin took a sip of his wine, the rich red liquid staining his lips. "I know that Dorne is a land of heat and passion, much like its people. And I know that Doran Martell is not one to be underestimated." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. "What is it about him that makes him so... elusive?"
Seraphine's eyes searched his, trying to gauge his intentions. "Elusive?" she echoed. "He is a man who values his people above all else. He is patient, calculating, and fiercely loyal to House Martell. His strategies are as unpredictable as the sands of Dorne."
Tywin never did touch upon Dorne in his past life. He just knew about Dorne from Oberyn Martell and Elia, and many more pivotal characters from Dorne. Even now as Tywin Lannister, Dorne was never a concern to him. Too far to care about.
But here he was, in Dorne, with the sun's early kiss upon his face, having breakfast with Seraphine, one of Dorne's most prominent figures, and Doran Martell's mother.
"You speak of him as if he's a force of nature," Tywin said, his voice low and contemplative.
Seraphine's dark eyes narrowed slightly. "He is. Doran is a man who knows the value of time and the power of patience. He waits for his enemies to make the first move, then strikes with the speed of a viper. His mind is a labyrinth, full of traps for the unwary."
Doran did sound like quite the man that Tywin knew he was going to have to battle in the future, if he let it get that far.
Eventually Breakfast is finished, and Tywin and Seraphine move to the balcony overlooking the lush gardens of the Water Gardens of Dorne.
"I must admit," Tywin began, his eyes sweeping over the landscape, "I have underestimated Dorne. Its beauty is as deceptive as its politics."
Seraphine chuckled softly, her hand resting on the cool stone of the balcony. "You speak the truth, my lord. Dorne is not a place for the faint of heart or the quick to anger."
"And yet," Tywin mused, "you have chosen to share your bed with a lion of the west."
Seraphine's smile was knowing. "I have chosen to share my bed with a man who understands the value of alliances, both in the bedchamber and the council chambers."
"And what do you believe Doran will make of this... alliance?" Tywin asked, his eyes never leaving hers.
Seraphine's smile grew. "Ah, there is the question of the hour." She leaned against the balustrade, the morning light casting intricate patterns on her skin. "Doran is a pragmatist. He will see the strength in an alliance with the Lannisters. House Martell has always been a force to be reckoned with, and underestimating our capabilities has been the downfall of many a would-be conqueror."
Her words were like a challenge, and Tywin knew she was testing him, gauging his intentions. He took a moment to consider his response before speaking. "I do not wish to conquer, Seraphine," he said, his voice sincere. "I wish to understand. To ensure that Dorne remains a part of the Seven Kingdoms."
Seraphine seems to have accepted his words, but the air remained thick with the unspoken. "Very well," she said, her gaze drifting over the lush gardens. "You wish to understand Dorne, and I shall help you."
With that, they descended the grand staircase, the coolness of the marble a stark contrast to the heat outside. The hallways of the Water Gardens were bustling with the early morning activities of the household staff, but all fell silent as Tywin passed, his presence a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play. They reached the courtyard where his men-at-arms, clad in Lannister crimson and gold, were busy with their morning drills. Tywin felt a sense of pride and purpose as he walked among them, his eyes sharp and assessing. He knew that to truly understand Dorne, he had to understand its people, and that meant beginning with his own men.
"Sergeant," Tywin called out to the man in charge of the training. The man snapped to attention, his sweat-soaked brow a testament to the Dornish sun already beating down upon them. "How fare your men?"
"They are well, my lord," the sergeant replied, his voice gruff but respectful. "They are eager to prove their mettle in the sands of Dorne."
"There will be nothing to prove." Tywin said with a hint of a smile, "We are not here to fight. But to keep our swords sharp, yes, that is something we must do." He strode over to where a group of knights were practicing their swordplay. The clang of steel against steel echoed through the courtyard, a rhythm that seemed almost musical to the trained ears of the Lannister lord.
The knights paused at his approach, their eyes wary. They knew his reputation for demanding excellence, for expecting nothing but the best from those who served under his command. "Continue," Tywin ordered, his gaze sweeping over the group. The youngest of them, a squire with a lion's crest on his surcoat, stumbled in his haste to obey. Tywin's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. For now.
He watched as they sparred, their movements fluid and precise. The Dornish heat was already taking its toll, beads of sweat rolling down their faces and staining their armor. Yet they pushed on, driven by a mix of discipline and fear. "You fight well," Tywin said to one of the knights.
"Now one of you fight me." Tywin's voice rang out, the challenge in his tone unmistakable. The knights, a burly man with a thick beard, stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. The other men parted, creating a clear space in the courtyard for the impromptu spar. Tywin nodded his head in a silent signal for the knight to begin.
The knight, eager to impress, lunged first, his sword a silver blur. Tywin blocked the attack with ease, his movements so swift that they seemed almost lazy. The clang of steel filled the air, and the knight's face grew redder with each parry. Sweat began to trickle down his forehead as he threw everything he had at Tywin, who met each blow with calculated precision. "Faster," Tywin said, his voice a cool whisper that seemed to carry the weight of the entire realm.
The knight's breath grew ragged, his strokes becoming more desperate. Tywin stepped aside, his own blade a whirlwind of motion. The knight stumbled, and Tywin's sword point hovered at his throat. "Enough," Tywin said, his voice calm and measured. The knight dropped to one knee, panting heavily. "You fight with honor, Ser," Tywin said, sheathing his sword, "but you must learn to fight smarter, not harder."
The men looked at their lord, some with admiration, others with fear. Tywin knew that fear was a powerful tool, but so was respect. He offered the knight his hand, and the man took it gratefully, rising to his feet. "We are not in the Westerlands now," Tywin said to the group. "Here, the sun is your enemy, and the sand your battlefield. Adapt."
He turned to Seraphine, who had been watching the display with an unreadable expression. "If I am to truly understand Dorne," Tywin began, "I must see its heart."
"And what does that entail?" she asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
"It means seeing your people," Tywin replied.
Seraphine's expression remained unchanged, but Tywin could see the flicker of surprise in her eyes. "My people?"
"Yes, your people." Tywin nodded. "The Dornish people."
Seraphine looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before she spoke. "Very well, my lord. If you want to understand the heart of Dorne, we will visit its people." She motioned for him to follow her. They walked through the lively streets of Sunspear, the capital of Dorne. The air was filled with the aromas of spiced meat and roasting peppers, blending with the scent of the sea. The people they passed shot curious glances their way, whispering among themselves in the Dornish language. Some offered respectful nods to Tywin, while others, more openly hostile, sneered at the sight of a Lannister among them.
Their first stop was the local marketplace, a lively center of activity where the bright hues of Dornish silks and spices formed a stunning display. Merchants shouted in animated voices, showcasing their goods on beautifully carved wooden stalls. The crowd's chatter was as diverse as the items for sale, a rich blend of dialects and accents that Tywin had never encountered before. The sun beat down fiercely, yet the people of Dorne moved with a natural elegance, as if they were born to sway with the desert's warm embrace.
Seraphine guided him through the twisting alleys, her steps light despite the heavy Dornish attire she wore. The locals, with their dark skin and almond-shaped eyes, observed them with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Tywin felt the weight of their stares, but he kept his gaze keen, absorbing every detail. Children dashed around their elders, playing tag, their laughter a bright contrast to the serious expressions of those watching the Lannister lord pass by.
A thought struck Tywin that should have been obvious. "Shouldn't we have guards with us?" he inquired of Seraphine.
Her smile felt like a shared secret between allies. "In Dorne, my lord, we are the guard." She gestured to the smallswords at her sides, their curved blades shimmering in the sunlight.
As they moved further into the market, the aromas intensified, and the voices grew louder. Tywin observed that despite the palpable tension between the locals and the Lannister group, there was also a hint of reluctant respect in their eyes. It was evident that Seraphine was a cherished figure here, and her presence eased the animosity directed at him. They paused at a stall where a frail old woman offered pungent cheeses and spiced wines. The woman looked up, her gaze sharp as she recognized the Lannister lion emblazoned on Tywin's tunic.
"Do you wish to sample the fruits of Dorne, my lord?" she inquired, her Dornish accent thick and unmistakable.
"Indeed," Tywin replied, surveying the displayed goods with interest. He picked up a piece of cheese and took a bite, the sharpness of the flavor surprising his Westerosi palate. He nodded in approval.
"Ah, you have good taste," the old woman cackled, revealing a gap-toothed smile. "Our cheese is aged in the caves of the Red Mountains, where it absorbs the very essence of Dorne."
"Indeed," Tywin said, nodding as he swallowed the cheese. "The flavor is quite... robust."
The old woman cackled again, delighted by his response. "You must try our wine as well, my lord. It's made from the blood of the dragons themselves."
Tywin had no intention of drinking wine, fearing it might be poisoned. But he nodded politely. "Perhaps another time," he said.
They continued on, soon arriving at the grand hall of Sunspear, where Tywin suspected Doran Martell would be found. The hall was cool and dim, a welcome relief from the blazing sun outside. The walls were adorned with ancient tapestries depicting battles and feasts long past, their colors faded by time yet their stories still vivid. The floor was tiled with intricate patterns that spoke of Dorne's rich history and its ties to the Rhoynar.
As they entered, Tywin felt the eyes of the Dornish nobility upon him, a mix of curiosity and hostility. It was a sensation he had grown quite accustomed to but in here it felt different. It was a challenge, one he intended to meet with the same cold, calculated confidence that had brought him victory time and time again.
Doran Martell sat in his high chair, his gaze sharp like a sword's edge, his skin a testament to the deserts he ruled. He was a man of experience, revealing little, with eyes as dark as the night sky that had swallowed many unsuspecting travelers.
"Welcome to Sunspear, Lord Tywin," Doran said, his voice smooth like the sands of Dorne. "I was curious when we would finally meet."
Tywin accepted the offered seat, his eyes fixed on Doran. "I had the same thought, Prince Doran."
Doran's gaze was intense, his expression inscrutable. "You've traveled far from Casterly Rock," he remarked, his voice carrying the dryness of the Dornish sands. "What brings you to my sun-drenched lands?"
"Diplomacy," Tywin replied, his tone steady as the scales of justice. "To strengthen the ties between our houses and ensure Dorne remains a loyal ally within the Seven Kingdoms."
Doran's eyes searched Tywin's, probing for the truth behind his words. "Dorne has always been its own stronghold," he said slowly. "Our sands are not easily claimed by outsiders."
"Mhm." Tywin nodded, maintaining his gaze on Doran. "Yet, the realm is unpredictable. Alliances shift, houses crumble. I want to ensure that Dorne stands with the Seven Kingdoms and House Lannister for all time."
Doran's gaze remained steady. "And what does House Lannister provide that Dorne cannot find within its own borders?"
"For one, your mother has agreed to this alliance, so you don't have much of a choice." Seraphine's voice was light, but the steel behind it was clear. Doran's eyes flicked to his mother and then back to Tywin, his expression still unreadable.
"And I believe," Tywin interrupted, "you've already made your choice to side with me. You just haven't realized it yet." He smirked, his confidence unwavering.
Doran's gaze remained steady. "My mind is not easily changed, Lord Tywin," he replied. "But I am open to hearing your proposal."
The tension in the room thickened, mirroring the heat outside. Tywin leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled before him. "Very well, Prince Doran. I extend the hand of friendship and the support of House Lannister against any threats to your borders. In return, Dorne will stand with us in future conflicts, ensuring the realm's stability and unity."
Doran's eyes narrowed, his thoughts racing. "And what of our independence?"
"Your independence will remain intact," Tywin assured him, his voice calm. "But in troubled times, having a strong ally is wise."
Doran stroked his beard, pondering Tywin's words. The silence stretched, filled only with the distant sounds of the bustling city beyond the castle walls. "What would such an alliance involve?" he finally asked.
"It would mean that if Dorne faces any threat, House Lannister would stand by you," Tywin said, his gaze fixed on Doran, a bit irritated he was repeating himself. "We would share our resources, armies, and strategic knowledge. Together, we could ensure that Dorne remains untouched by the wars of the Seven Kingdoms, just as it has been since the Targaryen conquest."
Doran's expression stayed neutral, but the flicker of interest in his eyes indicated that Tywin's words had struck a chord. "And what of marriage?" he asked, his voice like a desert breeze carrying whispers of secrets. "Would you offer a Lannister to solidify this alliance?"
Tywin considered his future children yet to be born and made his decision. "I will offer you a union that would bind our houses for generations, yes," he said, his voice steady and resolute.
Doran finally accepted the Lannister alliance. "Very well, Lord Tywin. We shall have our bannermen draft the terms of this alliance," he said, nodding slowly. The tension in the grand hall eased a bit, and a murmur of surprise spread among the gathered nobility.
Seraphine, standing to the side, gave Tywin a subtle smile of approval. She recognized the cunning in her son's eyes and understood that he grasped the significance of this union. The conversation shifted to the details of the agreement, the air thick with the promise of a united front against anyone who might threaten Dorne's sovereignty.
As the meeting wrapped up, Tywin realized it was time to prepare for his journey back to King's Landing. Dorne was not going to betray House Lannister anytime soon, and since House Lannister would remain loyal to the Iron Throne, Dorne would not betray the Iron Throne either.
The next day, Tywin was in his chamber packing his belongings, his mind racing with potential strategies. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. It was Seraphine, her eyes shining with an unspoken need.
"My lord, so it's finally time for you to go." she murmured, her voice low and sultry. Tywin merely nodded before he continued his ministries but Seraphine was not done. "Before you leave, I wish to offer you one final... token of my esteem."
Tywin felt a spark of intrigue at the suggestive tone in her voice. "And what might that be?"
Seraphine closed the distance between them, her hand sliding down to the bulge in his trousers. "I believe you know what I mean, my lord."
Tywin's eyes sparkled with understanding, a hint of amusement dancing on his lips. "Ah, a... parting gift."
Seraphine nodded, her hand moving to unbuckle his belt. "I wish to show you the full extent of Dorne's hospitality."
Tywin's gaze swept over her, lingering on the fullness of her breasts, which were substantial and firm. Though her figure was mostly concealed by her Dornish attire, he could tell her ass was round and plump, just as enticing as the rest of her.
"As you wish, my lady," he said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek.
Without another word, Seraphine sank to her knees, her eyes locked on Tywin's. She understood his desires and was more than willing to fulfill them. She had felt the power in his touch the night before, how he had dominated her body, leaving her trembling with pleasure. Now, it was her turn to serve him, to demonstrate her loyalty and her own cunning.
Her nimble fingers worked at his breeches, unlacing them with a speed that spoke of experience. Tywin's cock, already half-hard at the thought of what was to come, sprang free, standing tall and proud against his muscular thighs. She took in the sight of him, the length and girth that had filled her so completely the night before, and her mouth watered.
"Suck it," Tywin commanded, his voice a soft rumble of authority.
Seraphine eagerly complied, her full, red lips parting to envelop the head of his cock. She took him in inch by inch, her tongue swirling around his shaft as she descended. Tywin's eyes rolled back in his head, his fingers tangling in her silver hair as he guided her movements. Her mouth was warm and wet, a heavenly contrast to the coolness of the marble floor beneath her knees.
"Mm, yes," Tywin groaned, his voice deep and rough. "Just like that."
Seraphine took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing with the effort as she sucked hard. Tywin's cock was large and thick, a testament to his Lannister heritage, and she was determined to showcase her skills. She understood that in the bedchamber, much like in politics, the art of seduction lay in the details—the subtle gestures and movements that conveyed more than words ever could. She swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock, feeling him pulse in response. His hand tightened in her hair, guiding her motions, his hips bucking slightly as she found a rhythm that satisfied him.
"Keep going." he murmured, his eyes closed in pleasure.
Seraphine complied, her throat stretching to accommodate his length. She could feel the muscles in her neck straining, but she didn't mind. This was her power, her way of ensuring that Tywin Lannister left Dorne knowing he had been thoroughly conquered by a Martell though Tywin would beg to differ. She reached up with one hand to cup his heavy balls, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin beneath. Tywin's breath hitched, and she realized she had found a weakness to exploit. She began to massage them gently, feeling them tighten in her grip.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his hips moving more urgently now. "Suck my balls, Seraphine."
Obediently, she pulled away from his cock, her mouth watering as she descended to take one of his testicles into her mouth. She rolled it around with her tongue, savoring the musky scent of his desire. Tywin's hand in her hair became more insistent, his other hand bracing against the bedpost as she worked him over. The tension in his body grew, his muscles tightening as he neared climax.
Seraphine gazed up at him, her eyes filled with desire. "You enjoy this, don't you, my lord?"
"Mm, yes," he replied, his voice strained. "Don't stop."
The sight of her mouth on him was overwhelming for Tywin. He felt the pressure building, a primal urge to possess her completely. He reached down, guiding her back, positioning himself at her lips.
Without a moment's hesitation, Seraphine enveloped him with her mouth, her throat adjusting to his size. She sensed him swell, the heat of his climax approaching. Her own desire intensified, her body aching with need. She understood that once he was finished, she would seek her own release, but for now, her focus was solely on his pleasure, on creating a memory that would linger long after he returned to his tireless work at King's Landing.
"I'm about to cum," Tywin warned her, his voice taut with urgency.
Seraphine nodded, her gaze locked with his, waiting for the moment. It arrived quickly, his body pulsing as he released himself into her mouth. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, savoring every drop, relishing the taste of his power and triumph.
As he finished, she pulled back, her mouth messy with saliva and his release, her makeup smudged from her earlier enthusiasm. She looked up at Tywin, her chin glistening. He looked down at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
"Thank you, my lady," he said, his voice a low growl.
Seraphine rose gracefully, her knees slightly unsteady from the exertion. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a trace of his release still on her cheek. "It was my pleasure, my lord."
They locked eyes for a moment, the atmosphere charged with the scent of desire and dominance. Then Tywin leaned in, kissing her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth as if to savor the taste of himself. It was a possessive kiss, one that made it clear she was his.
When they finally pulled away, Tywin turned to the mirror, adjusting his attire with a nonchalant grace that masked the intensity of their encounter. "We will talk again, Seraphine," he said, his gaze meeting hers in the reflection. "But for now, I must depart from Dorne."
Seraphine watched him leave, her body still tingling from the remnants of their passion. As the door clicked shut behind him, she reached up to touch her face, feeling the lingering warmth of his essence. She licked her lips, relishing the taste, and realized she had played her role in the game of thrones. For now, she had Tywin Lannister exactly where she wanted him.
The sun blazed overhead as Tywin and his entourage rode out of the city, the heat of the day sharply contrasting with the cool shadows they had just left behind.