Save for the muffled hum of castle life filtering in through the heavy oak door, the war room was silent. The large, round table that took up the center of the room was barren of what should have cluttered its face: maps and scrolls detailing the realm and strategies. It shone in the flickering candlelight. Before the cold stone hearth stood Tywin Lannister, clad in crimson and gold, his back to the warmth, his eyes fixed on the flaming logs that danced in the grate. In his strong arms, he held a bundle of swaddling clothes. The child within was small, no more than a whisper of life, but to Tywin, it was a weighty burden.
His sister sat opposite him in a chair, her face a topography of astonishment among other things. Piercing green eyes, green as Tywin's, researched his, a searching for weakness, some breach in that unyielding armor he clung to so tenaciously. Though the fire burned bright, a chill had seeped into the room-a mute recognition of the truth that lay between. Remembered all too well that the revelation of any information with respect to their common child was a bombshell too great for their home to withstand should it come out.
The red priestess Melisandre stood offset a little aside, her ruby jewelry drinking in the candlelight. Her eyes were dark, not to be read, and yet it could be felt-the weight of unspoken words, of hidden meanings. Her presence reminded him of the prophecy that had stirred her to advise him in the first place.
"He is strong," Tywin whispered, his voice low as the rumble of distant thunder in the still room. "Stronger than any boy I have ever known. You must bring him up as your own trueborn son, Genna. Teach him the ways of the lion, that he may never forget who he is or what he was born for."
Genna looked up at her brother, shining eyes in her pale face begging a question. "And what of the truth, Tywin?" she whispered. "Can he ever know?"
With a great sad sigh, as though he was resigned to the burdens of the world, Tywin turned to her. "No," he said finally. "The truth will only bring danger to him and to us. Our house is built upon secrets and lies, and this is one more stone to add to the foundation. For now, let him be a bastard born of your loins, not of my ambition." He took a step closer to her, the child still protectively held against his broad chest. "When-and if-he ever proves himself worthy, we will tell him the truth of who fathered him. Until then, he is your trueborn son, and a Frey."
The fire crackled, the sound almost protesting against the duplicity being forged in its hallowed presence. Genna reached for the child, and a sudden trembling of her arms caught as the small form squirmed into her arms.
The babe looked up at her with the same emerald eyes which marked him a true Lannister, and for a moment, she felt a fierce love she knew she could never express. "I will do as you say," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "But I fear for his future, and for ours."
Melisandre stepped forward; her eyes shone with an unholy light. "You should not be afraid, Lady Genna," she hissed softly. "The Lord of Light has a grand design for this child. There is power in him, and the blood of the chosen. A great fate."
Genna's head jerked up and her eyes flashed as she glared at the priestess. "What purpose?" she spat. "What could be so important as to justify this... this deceit?
Small, inscrutable, the smile of Melisandre.
"Indeed, the Lord of Light's whispers are never quite clear, not even to such as I, yet I have seen this child in the flames and his fate is linked to those of fire and blood." She extended a hand towards the child, laying it upon his brow. A spark-something akin to awe-flared in her eyes.
He will play a crucial role in the great game yet to come-a pawn that no one suspects.
Genna's arms shut instinctively tighter about the baby, fierce protectiveness welling up inside. "And if he does not want to play?"
Tywin's face was unyielding. "We do not have the luxury of choice, sister. This child is the issue of necessity, not desire." He moved to her, laying a firm hand on her shoulder. "You are strong, Genna. Stronger than any woman I know. You will raise him to be a man who understands duty, loyalty, and the cost of power."
Genna met Tywin's gaze, her eyes flashing as determined as his own. "I will," she assured, and her voice was firm. "But I will not raise him in ignorance. He is bound to know one day."
Tywin's jaw clenched, and the muscles of his neck stood out like cords. "If it comes to that," he said, "you will tell him the truth. But only when the time is right. Until then, let him grow up as a Frey, loved and cared for. We cannot risk the schemes of men."
Genna nodded; her eyes never left the face of the baby. "What name have you given him?" Tywin asked; his voice was softer than before.
Her eyes finally rose to his, flashing a little defiance in their depths. "I have named him Tybastus," she said matter-of-factly.
A smile, seldom seen on Tywin's face, ghosted across his features. "A fine name," he agreed, his eyes crinkling slightly at their corners. "It suits him well." He stepped back, his hand on her shoulder lingering for a heartbeat before falling away.
"Now, I must prepare for the journey to King's Landing," Tywin announced, his voice once more steel-edged. Turning toward the door, the only sound in the silence was the echo of his boots. "Melisandre, you will go with me."
She inclined her head, all the while her gaze never leaving the child. "As my lord desires."
Genna pulled Tybastus close, taking the warmth of his small body against her. She almost whispered his name out as one might a prayer, and her heart swelled with that strong, fierce love she'd never known before. The child yawned, stretching out a small fist, and Genna felt a tear fall down her face. She would have to walk a thin line of dangers and deceptions in the future, but she would protect him with every ounce of her being.
His door creaked open, and with the weight of his decision weighing him down, Tywin stepped inside. The servants are busy in the room, placing his things inside with the efficient haste that spoke volumes of repetition done a hundredthfold. He watched the ongoing activity keenly, making sure nothing of importance got left behind.
But one person remained for Tywin to find-the one who held a piece of the puzzle that would either further strengthen their family's hold on the Iron Throne or tear it asunder. The person was none other than his cousin-wife, Joanna Lannister.
He rapped sternly upon the door to her chamber, the sound booming along the corridor like a warning shot. Joanna's maidservant peered out the crack, her eyes wide with wonder at the unexpected visit. "My lord," she gasped, executing a hasty curtsy. "Your lady is not expecting you."
"Tell her I would speak with her at once," Tywin ordered, leaving no doubt that he expected instantaneous obedience.
The serving woman inclined her head, her eyes flicking back inside before she slipped out of the room, gone for his bidding. A moment later in came Joanna, her eyes red-rimmed and her cheeks sanguine. Stepping aside, she allowed Tywin entrance into her chamber; the door closed heavy on his heel, cutting off the world without.
The fragrance of lavender permeated the room-perfectly opposite to the cold, calculated air of the war room he had just been in.
"Tywin," she said, her voice timid.
He clamped a bony hand across her mouth, his eyes roving over the room. "Leave us," he said brusquely, addressing the maidservant as he fixed Joanna with an unyielding stare.
The girl dropped another quick curtsy and scurried from the room; the door click-shut as she pulled it to. Her sudden absence expanded in the room until there was nothing but the crackling fire and the weighty silence between them. Joanna looked at him; her face a mixture of curiosity and fear.
"What is it, Tywin?" she asked, her voice fluttering faintly. "I must go to King's Landing," he said forthwith. "I am summoned to attend to King Aerys as Hand."
The eyes of Joanna wanted to find an emotion so seldom revealed by him. "It is… it is true?" she spoke, her tone no more than a whisper.
"Aye," he replied with undaunted determination. "It is. Prince Rhaegar was just born and the King needs a firm hand to protect his son. And that hand will be mine."
Joanne's eyes dropped, and her hand fluttered up to her neck, where the gold necklace lay nestled against skin. "And of us?" she whispered, the words low with all the weight of a thousand unspoken fears.
Tywin's finger came out, gentle, to tip her chin up, forcing her to look up at him. "Our bond will not break," he whispered softly, velvet-voiced, "my duty is to our House, to you and our future children." She hankered for the truth in words uttered, upon which she looked for his eyes. "And about your… other duties?" The stress in her voice was unmistakable.
"My betrayals serve an end, Joanna, you know this well enough." Tywin replied, never once breaking his stare. "They serve the greater good of our House. You are the only one who does know me, who truly understands what I do for us."
A gleam in her eyes hunted his, hunting in them the man she married, promising to love and protect her above all others. Yet all she could see was the face of a man cold, pitiless, bound by the game of thrones. "How can you say that, Tywin?" she choked, in a thick voice with unshed tears. "How can you?"
"Because you're a Lannister." He had stopped for a moment. "You're my wife."
The words hung in the air between them, a statement of duty and loyalty that she knew was as near to love as she would ever get from him. Joanna felt her heart in a vice, but knew better than to argue.
"I understand," she replied with her face lowered.
His expression softened to hint at something more. "Look at me, Joanna." She did, and then he continued with, "I know it is not easy, but you are a Lannister: resilient as strong, beautiful, with the spirit of a lioness to your mane." He swept a loose strand of her gold tresses behind her ear. "And I need you to be strong for me." Her eyes, a scour in his for that break in armor that she knew so well, seemed to whisper with quivering lips: "What if I cannot?"
"Then I shall help you," Tywin said, low and rumbling and deep in the pit of her belly.
He moved closer, and she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the scent of leather and sweat-the promise of power and passion.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she just melted into the embrace as her breasts pressed against the unyielding planes of his chest. The air grew thick as Joanna's breath caught in her throat, Tywin's hand slipping down into the small of her back, his fingertips grazing the soft skin just above her ass.
He drew her a little closer, and his mouth descended to claim hers in a kiss that was both possessive yet tender, wordless declaration of love for which even the best of words often sounded quite inadequate.
Their tongues danced in a familiar rhythm, one that was repeated many times in the marriage bed's shadows, a dance of longing and need.
His hands moved to the front-one cradled a breast through the material of her dress, his thumb dancing over the taut nipple straining against the material. Joanna gasped into his mouth, her hands tangling into his hair, arching her back, offering herself to him in a spasm of excitement.
Tywin broke the kiss, eyes aflame into hers. "Love me," he growled, rough with the command. A shiver ran down her spine.
Joanna nodded desperately, her eyes seeking his. This was what she was meant to do: she was his wife, and it was her duty to love him and bear his children and stand by him as he pursued power. She reached up, her trembling hands tracing the firm line of his jaw before drawing his mouth back to hers, sealing her lips in a wordless vow of her loyalty.
She growled low as Tywin swept her off her feet and her legs wrapped around his waist. He carried her to the bed, the mattress groaning under their combined weight as he laid her down. The fabric of her dress proved no barrier to his need, and he tore it away, baring her form to him like some treasure long denied.
Her breasts cascaded over, her pink areolas drawn tight around the hard hubs of her nipples. They stood erected. His eyes drank in the view of her, the swell of her hips, the round softness of her belly, the thatch of golden hair between her legs.
Whispers of "You are beautiful," with overtones of reverent and hungry, rumbled deep within him.
Sanguine color rising high in her cheeks under his regard, her gaze dropped down to his broad shoulders, the muscular breadth of his chest: Tywin's skin was a topography of power inscribed in every muscled definition, whittled through hard-won years of training and battle. His cock, so long and thick, was proudly erect between them, its tip beaded with precum. Joanna felt the thrill of desire racing in her veins, her body reacting to his every word, touch, and mere presence.
He settled between her legs; his big hands slid under her thighs to draw them up, spreading her open for him. A shiver of anticipation ran through Joanna. Her pussy was wet and ready for him. "I will always love you, Tywin," she whispered, her voice low in her breathlessness.
"I know," he returned, his voice low, commanding, as he fitted his cock to her opening. He thrust forward, allowing the sensation of his thickness to fill her. Joanne's eyes flashed open with her pleasure as her breath caught in her throat at the fit of him inside her.
"Ah, Tywin, " she panted, her nails digging into his back as he began to move in long, purposeful strokes. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure ripple through her, every pull back left her wanting more. His eyes bored into hers, the heat of his regard scorching her skin.
"So wet for me," he whispered, the low rumble in his voice making her quake. "You want to conceive a child?
Joanna nodded, her eyes clung to his. "Yes," she breathed, "with all the fibers of my soul."
Tywin leaned into her, his teeth scraping against her neck, and quickened. The strong hips slammed into her, jolting the bed frame with a force that seemed to shake.
Her breasts bounded with every thrust, her nipples hard and sensitive to the cool air of the room. He reached up, pinching one of her nipples lightly, and that made her gasp. The pleasure was so strong, increasing inside her with the force of each filling of his cock.
"Yes," Joanna panted, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Yes, Tywin. Like this." He didn't look away, his eyes locked on hers, hard, as he plunged into her, their forms pumping in perfect concert. The pistoning of his hips grew more urgent with every stroke hitting that sweet spot, sending waves crashing through her, headlight-bright. The hoarsening of her breath, her pussy clenching on him as she neared the edge of her climax.
"You're mine," he growled huskily, his voice full of longing. "Always and forever, you're mine."
Jo's eyes rolled back in her head; the feel of his cock inside of her too much to bear as she came. Her pussy clamped down on him, her walls pulsating as she rode out the waves of pleasure washing over her. "Oh gods, Tywin," she moaned aloud, her voice a keen wail of ecstasy.
Hooded eyes regarded her as, with his face a mask of concentration, her climax rippled through her. His strokes never faltered; his cock remained steadily pumping in and out of her in that tempo that was wilding her. "That's it," he whispered, low, the rumbling sound in her ear. "Let it go."
Jo's body arched off the bed as her back bowed with the pleasure that seized her. Her pussy spasmed around him and she could feel another orgasm building again. "Tywin," she gasped, the tips of her nails scoring his back. "I'm going to cum again."
He let out a low, dangerous chuckle, his own pleasure mirrored in the tautness of his muscles, the piercing of his eyes to hers. "Good," he growled, so thick with desire. "I want you to cum for me, Joanna. Show me you're mine."
And it was a challenge in his words that spurred her on, and she arched her back as her pussy clamped down on his cock, Tywin's eyes narrowing as he watched her. His strokes lengthened, his pace forceful, more demanding. "Again," he said, the word low and rumbling, seeming to vibrate through her very bones. "I want to feel you cum again."
Her eyes closed and Joanna concentrated on the sensation of his thick cock impaling her, the way his pelvis churned into hers with each thrust. Her hands drifted down to her own breasts, her thumbs licking around her erect nipples as she teased them up into even harder peaks. It was sweet, perfect pleasure, a symphony of sensations working their way toward a close.
Once more, Joanna's body tensed, her pussy clamping down on Tywin's cock like a velvet vice. Her breath caught in her throat, and she knew her orgasm was building in force, like an oncoming storm. "Now," she breathed, her voice a keening whine.
With one last, hard shove, Tywin came, too, his cock jerking inside her as he spent his seed within her. Joanna's eyes snapped open and she stared upwards at him as the waves crashed over and over again. "Yes," she moaned, the word no more than a breathy whisper. "Yes, Tywin."
He finally locked eyes with her again, and the power of their linkage gave fuel to their contorting bodies, the sum of their breaths mingling wordlessly in the silent room. Every spurt of his cum clutched at her pussy in an echoing contraction, prolonging her orgasm to a crescendo that seemed to never end.
When the aftershocks of her pleasure had finally subsided, Tywin leaned down and kissed her again, his lips light, unhurried. "Thank you," he murmured against her mouth, low.
Joanna's eyes looked for his own, exploring for just that sparkle of love that she knew was buried inside him somewhere. "For what?" she gasped. Her voice still shook from the power of their joining.
"For bearing me a son," Tywin whispered, his eyes falling to her still-heaving breasts. "For being the lioness that you are, for being by my side."
Tears of love and pain welling in her eyes, the honesty of his words cut into her soul, and she knew she was just a means to an end; yet all of a sudden, this did not matter. "I will always stand by you," she whispered huskily.
Tywin drew back, eyes gentling as he looked down on her face. "I know, my love," he whispered low, his voice a soothing caress. "Nor for long. I shall return before your time comes." He pressed a light kiss to her brow and rose from bed, a sculpture of power and grace in movement, to the wardrobe to draw out his clothes.
Joanna watched him get dressed, while her whole body was languid from their lovemaking. She knew what he would face, the battles, intrigues, dangers, but she knew him. "Be safe," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Always," he vowed, and his eyes locked into hers in the mirror. "I have much to protect, and much to return to." He clasped on his cloak, the crimson material settling upon wide shoulders like a second skin. Eyes held hers an eternity while he moved toward her, this man-his expression grave. "When your time shall come, I'll be here," Tywin promised, voice firmer, decisive. "I won't miss the birth of our child."
Joanna nodded, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to shed. "I know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The door to the chamber shut with a finality that seemed to echo within the cold stones of the castle. And with that, Tywin was gone, finally leaving her to her devices in dangerous waters, where political games crossed them. Yet, she was never to be alone. She had their unborn child, the promise of their love and the continuation of House Lannister.