Work Text:
The sun stained the Sunset Sea in a pale gold, the waves roaring swollen with the whipping wind riding from the west. The fluttering tide swelled and rushed, slapped the tall leonine paws of the Rock, pouring into its mouth. The brackish, murky scent filled the carved caves, slithering deep into the heart of the Rock and glistering its walls with the briny reminder of its power.
Tywin sighed, sucking his lips, restlessly walking through the galleries and stairways.
His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest, feeling heavy and hulking.
He clenched his fist at his chest, pulling at his tunic, as if he could with his skin alleviate that damned oppressing drumming inside him. It was not like him, he wanted to think, but he had learnt to be more honest to himself when it concerned her.
Joanna had been so many exceptions in his life, he couldn’t ask himself coherence concerning how he behaved with her and anyone else.
When he was in King’s Landing, she had been the only confidant, the only peace.
The knot in his throat tightened – it was like she opened him bare, before he could even realize he had been suffering of his closure; it granted him strength, it allowed him to intimidate, and to think freely, without having to have intruders in his mind. But her, her… he wanted to tell her things, to hear about her point of view.
She was unlike anyone else, and just like him.
Tywin had not felt alone one day since she had walked again into his life since their childhood.
He found himself shamefully thinking about her smile and the way her pillowy, velvety lips looked as they widened in a laugh or a jest. Joanna was the only one whose jests he had found any amusing, there was a sharpness to them, a cut – that woman had more wit than all the rest of his fathers’ men combined.
He smiled, almost tender, swallowing.
And now, now that he had returned to the Rock, to that meek man of his father – always with his face buried in the bosom of that wet nurse he had fallen for – he had found himself needing her counsel, needing her presence. He couldn’t imagine anyone else next to him, anyone else allowed into his mind but her.
He cleared his voice, finding in himself an enamoured shyness, a wish to hold her and a fear she’d refuse. There had been rumours of her fancying the prince and…
Was he jealous?
Tywin shivered at the notion, clenched his throat, shaking his head. He was going to bring back prosperity and respect to House Lannister, he was not going to dwell in pitiful envy or such thoughts.
He knew Joanna wouldn’t have. She was ambitious and smart, only some naive woman like that wet nurse would have become a mistress and hope to be safe.
He arrived in the Stone Garden and rested on the border of one of the fountains, musing and biting his upper lip, glancing at the twisted weirwood tree, its smooth bone-white bark rode the sky in a twirled, sickening spiral, its leaves the dark red of blood.
He clenched his fists on his knees, feeling the nails sinking in the flesh of his palms.
Rumours, mocking, the derision: those were the tastes his father left in his mouth, those were the harpies taunting and haunting him.
“I admit, - a voice made him twitch up – I expected you to come greet me at my carriage, dear cousin.”
He turned, and there she was.
The sun shone behind her, igniting her hair with its raw light.
She was more than gold, she was the shine of day itself, the only dawn the West would have ever had.
She smiled proud, her eyebrows lifted and her eyes knowing, “I thought you’d be happy of my visit.”
Tywin swallowed, nodding, finding himself at a loss of words, his mouth dry.
“Joanna. - he was about to stand up, but she sat on the rock fountain next to him – Was the travel pleasant?”
She glanced at him.
“Manners and small talk are not like you. - she smiled, looking at him – What’s troubling you to the point you don’t come to greet me, after I asked princess Rhaella for a visit so desperately after your last letter?”
Tywin felt a pang of shame at her scolding, but then her hand moved to his, engulfing it, tenderly, her fingertips brushing his knuckles; he opened his fist and she looked at the nails in the skin and held his hand tightly. Tywin inhaled sharply, words heavy on his mouth.
“House Reyne and House Tarbeck are rebelling against my father.”
Joanna cocked a brow.
Oh, they liked Tytos quite enough.
It was the son they were rebelling against, it was power. Tytos had a name but no grip, that suited them quite too well.
She sighed, looking at the summer sun shining over them, bathing them in its sultry heat. Her fingertips brushed over the cold porous fountain stone.
The blue pool and the bright honey yellow water lilies in it, softly riding the tender ripples left by the wind, had something of nostalgic. Like a song they used to hear as children.
When things were easier…
“What do you plan to do?”
Tywin swallowed, the knot in his throat sharp and hurtful, “I don’t know yet… but I can’t allow this any longer.”
He turned to Joanna.
Perhaps, anyone else would have imagined from a woman begging for mercy or demanding for a call for peace, but Tywin didn’t – he knew her. She was his home.
She raised her chin, proud, and looked at him in the eyes.
“Come back whole. - her bottom lip seemed to quiver but she stood strong – Without you, there is no House Lannister left.”
He looked at her chin, at her pink lips, as she sucked them, before adverting her glance from his hand, their hands, still entwined.
His eyes caressed her, as he didn’t dare to.
He could be brave with everyone, albeit reserved, command armies and be as domineering and intimidating as he pleased with enemies; but when it came to Joanna, he wanted to be chosen, to be seen, to be picked. He wanted her to step towards him, to pose a kiss on his lips…
She was his closest friend, his only one perhaps.
And a part of him found himself puerile in craving her love, her desire – every part of her mind and heart being devoted to him, as his were to her.
But he was no poet, he had no taste for songs or pretty words. What should he have told her? That he wanted the world to fear him, but he would have bowed to her? That it was in the proud way she had always looked at him, even as children, even in King’s Landing, that he had found the strength to claim back their House’s honour? That without her he was not sure if he would have still known how to smile?
… did she even know he only smiled next to her?
Did she ever notice?
He felt silly and inane, thinking about such vapid matters.
“When we were in the godswood of the Red Keep, - Tywin cleared his throat, but his voice sounded stiff – I asked you if you had set your mind on a betrothed.”
Joanna squinted, curious where he was heading, but smiling, with a witty curl on her lips, “I recall.”
Tywin nodded, “I saw you… reject many offers over the years, now, your lord father has died and, before it’s my own to decide for you, I’d like to ask…”
“Tywin. - she looked at him, now clenching his hand close again, breathing in – Don’t dance around it, you’ve always been a less than gifted dancer.”
Tywin frowned, but didn’t seem to take it, instead he nodded, “Aye, perhaps…”
She held his fingers, his thumb brushed on her tapered knuckles.
“Whom do you think I’ve been waiting for? - she scoffed, almost amused, her eyes shining bright, a little tear coming to the edge of one, just to be rubbed away, and she smiled wider, before making a grimace, wrinkling her nose – Steffon Baratheon?”
Tywin sucked his lips in, but smiled at that, unable to deny her the amusement at mentally picturing such an ill match.
She gulped down, inhaling sharply.
“I’ve always known I wanted you. - she tilted her head – And that you wanted me.”
There she was!
He tormented himself over something and she already knew; always smarter than he was on such matters.
“So, be prudent. - she clenched harder – There are no men like you.”
And he knew, in that instant, she felt the same for real, that she had been alone too, in a world where she had to be silent and powerless, while her nature was pure, raw power.
She was more of a lion than lord Tytos could have ever hoped to be; she had always been.
His eyes shone and he nodded profoundly, “I’ll take care of the red lions, no matter how.”
Joanna looked at him, confident, not an inch of her trembling unconvinced, or doubting he could.
And that’s the only mirror he would trust: her eyes.
She had to be his, by merit. He wanted to be the man she saw in him, before he even could find it.
He wanted to be all she deserved and more.
*
“Close the entrances” was a good tactic to use.
“Deviate the stream” was an easy order to give.
Standing there, on horse, while the water found its way through stones and soil and rubble, into the mouth of Castamere, as muffled screams bubbled underground may not have been easy, but it was necessary.
They had the daring to ask for his brothers. For Tygett and Gerion. As hostages.
Hostages? From your Lord liege?
Had he heard it from someone else, it would have been a matter to snarl at, instead it was his family, his House, it was the disgrace his father brought upon them all. He, his playing with the lion’s tail, his enjoying wet nurses, weak and meek – he sold his Genna to that inept of Emmon Frey, he provoked this foolish revolt to not stand his ground… Joanna’s father too had to die for his shortcomings.
Tywin stared at the black ground, wet with water and death – a liquid tomb of screams and darkness for those rebels, for their women and their children too.
His father would have never understood, bent as he was on pleasing anyone except those he should have cared for. Genna would have reprimanded him, but without meaning it too much, perhaps. Kevan and, one day, Tygett or Gerion would have respected it, but not understood…
Only Joanna.
Only she would have welcomed him with her arms open and see how he had to.
For the family.
Nothing else mattered but that in their world.
By daybreak, the bellow of death had ended, the water had filled Castamere. Its empty walls would have welcomed rains of mud and screams enough for the whole Westerlands to learn from them, and think better before disobeying an order again.
They rode back, with the dawn covering them in the same gold Tywin remembered on Joanna’s curls.
Casterly Rock had never looked softer and kinder to his eyes than in the moments before their arrival, knowing she may have been still there, impatiently waiting for him.
A summer storm was breaking in, harsher and sharper than they had in years; the sea thundered inside The Lion’s Mouth, and all over the large terraces and courtyards. And yet, with the wind blowing through, shaking their heraldic flags and banners, making the horses neigh and grown men recoil, Tywin knew she was not going to be afraid of anything, as soon as she saw the army staining the horizon.
She had more bravery and backbone than anyone else he had ever met.
The men stopped along the castle, reaching their families, celebrating and singing. They’d dance and laugh and forget how they made Castamere drown.
Tywin was not allowed that luxury, because he would have had to grip and brandish that tale for years, for decades even. At every rebel, at every enemy, at every man who’d try to scorn them or think of them as toothless.
But he had no regrets.
He arrived in the Great Hall and found his father with his face deep in his mistress’ bosom, wine in hand, and a fool jumping and singing.
Anger trembled and thrummed through his veins, his blood boiling, but he stood there, frozen, furious – if his father had just listened to him and gave back that damn Walderan Tarbeck in three pieces or gutted, that revolt would have never even started to bloom, and instead… there he was, searching for pleasure, suffocating in it.
Lord Tytos turned to him and seemed even disapproving, again.
“You’re back.”, he observed.
“Yes, father.”
“Which are the terms you reached?”
Tywin’s tongue slipped out slightly and he moistened his lips, before breathing in, “I’ve annihilated House Reyne and Tarbeck, father.”
Silence fell over their heads and Lord Tytos’ jaw trembled, he looked like a fish, gasping to breathe out of water.
Tywin swallowed, for a moment doubtful, just for an instant; he met Joanna’s eyes, as she was sitting near sisters, staring at him, directly. She did not flinch in horror, she just looked at him.
She understood.
She always did.
He gulped down, “We buried Castamere, father. No vassal of yours will dare again doubt our power.”
His father nodded, weakly, but didn’t seem to digest it: he just nodded, his face pale, his eyes wide and horrified. He trembled, his hands clutching to his chair.
Tywin heard people whisper. In fear.
Fear was good.
Fear would have protected his family.
Joanna looked at him, then closed her eyes and reopened them again, like cats did, to show affection.
Tywin felt his heart swollen; as children they used to play with little cats at the Rock, Joanna insisted they were little lions, and she was not wrong, they’d play with them hours and see them roll and purr. Joanna used to put them in his lap and laugh when he looked unwieldy and clumsy with the kittens searching for cuddles from him.
But he never felt laughed at.
She was too sweet for her ways to be taken as ill-intended.
As lord Tytos returned to ignore his son and mumble at his mistress, though, Tywin felt his pride bruised and hurt once again, disappointment rippling through him.
He moved away from the room, walking through the stairways, searching for some peace in one of the many sea-carved caves, for a moment of silence, of rest.
He could hear the storming sea roaring louder and louder each step.
It was liquid, salted thunders.
“Tywin!”
He turned, slowly.
In the darkness of the stairs and caves, her hand kept firmly on the stone walls, her chest heavy with rushed breaths from having followed him, was Joanna. Her hair still shone even there.
His light…
He cleared his voice, “You didn’t have to follow me.”
His words echoed, and, upon hearing himself back, Tywin realized how false they sounded.
She stared at him, moving closer, now with a pace that was strong and determined but not rushed, until she was next to him. He could see her well, even in the dimly lit corridors.
Her green eyes gleamed, staring at him.
Her bosom trembled gently under her satin bodice, but her lips were firm and strong, and her glance didn’t budge.
“You did well.”
He nodded, slowly, before resting his back against one of the walls.
Nobody was around, except the sea and them.
He closed his eyes, breathing in, “I did what I had to do.”
“And what he couldn’t. - she put her hands to his cheeks and he looked back at her, her voice warm and raw – Nobody will doubt your teeth.”
“I… - his eyes lingered on her, then slid on her lips – I will have to return to court, soon.”
“Likewise. - she tried to smile, her fingers passed on his chest, feeling the texture of his armour, the sculpted lion coarse under her touch – Though I hope after we’re wed, the princess Rhaella will dismiss me.”
Tywin frowned, “You do?”
“Your prince is not as nice as you think.”, she confessed, not hiding a certain disgust.
His eyes were aflame, he placed his hands at her shoulders, shaking her almost, in fear, “Has he hurt you?”
She scoffed, shaking her head, “I never gave him the chance to. - she looked at Tywin and swallowed – I told you: I had my mind set on you.”
His bottom lip quivered and he nodded, moving his hands back from her.
“You… can touch me…”, she said, then.
Tywin’s throat let out a strangled sound. His face itched.
She seemed amused at that, sucking her lips and glancing at him with a certain teasing thorn, “You’re my betrothed. - she pointed out, walking towards him and closing him against the stone wall, then taking a hand and placing it on her waist, she smiled, seeing how his thumb caressed her corset, slowly, tentatively, tenderly – There is no ill in it.”
Tywin emitted some kind of groan and Joanna moved her hand to his arms, caressing them slowly.
He didn’t seem the same precise and unstoppable man he’s on the field, now, with her, his hands seemed to shiver – almost with possession, almost with adoration – and scrabble frantically over her, searching for her under the gown, searching for her warmth, searching to feel her his.
“Undo this.”, she seemed to order him, and well, to her, he’ll obey.
Only to her, though.
He took off what was left of his armour and she threw her hands to his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. She should be timid, she would have acted so had she been with anyone else. She would have avoided initiating anything and pretended to be passive, but with him? She didn’t need to.
Her mouth crashed against his, pulling him close, their tongues finding each other after centuries of yearning and longing. His skin was smouldering and sweaty still, hers had the scent of apricots and of the sea.
She was just as hungry for him, pulling his lips, moaning into his mouth.
She had been afraid too, though Tywin didn’t realize that yet – for his life, for him to never come back to her, come back home. And her heart couldn’t bear another second with their lips apart.
She kissed him hard and mad, kissed away the death she feared for him and the abyss she was afraid to have to live in without him by her side.
His fingers ran through her hair, as to capture her sunlight, and her breath tickled against him, while his stubble brushed her face. So new and yet so familiar.
The tide of desire made her hips roll, search for him, his hands then lifted her gown and she almost screamed, gasping, speechless, as he kneeled before her.
“I will not deflower you today. - his voice was betraying his hardness but she couldn’t protest, his lips near her thighs, and his hands running down on them – But I do want to leave you a seal of my pledge to you.”
He pulled her smallclothes apart and she sucked her lips, before closing her eyes and throwing her head back. Her hand shivered against the rock wall.
Tywin swallowed hard, not fully sure of what he was to do, but having enough initiative to guess, and too much crave to stop. He started to kiss her tender mound, her golden hairs curling and filled with her scent, so strong, stronger than anywhere else.
His hands parted her legs gently, just enough for him to place his head between them and then run his tongue down her aching slit, making her hips scoot and squirm. Joanna’s core shivered, her back arching.
Her other hand went to Tywin’s hair and caressed his head, while his mouth tasted her, diving between her pink folds, sliding inside her tightness, already wet for him.
He’d expect it to be almost foul, but was proven wrong and yes, he realized, none of her could be – nothing in her was less than perfect. He dove in, his tongue entering her and making her scream his name.
She pulled herself on her toes, her knees buckling, her fingers unwillingly twisting into his curly hair until her knuckles went white.
The thunders of the sea they belonged to roared harder.
And they muffled her moans, and they allowed the echo of her whimpers to go unnoticed, buried deep, as deep as Tywin’s tongue was inside of her. His stubble burned on her thighs, but in a way that was obscenely pleasant.
Joanna felt her hips threaten to abandon her, squirming, her womanhood drenched and on fire in the same instant.
She called his name more and more, and she was sure Tywin was smiling against her cunt while eating it.
At that, she smiled too, throwing her head back again and almost laughing, riding his mouth, her hips found the rhythm, the lustful tide finding its way into her muscles and rippling in every nerve.
Tywin’s tongue abandoned her entrance then, to a frustrated sob, and slid atop of it, gaining this time a wetter gasp. She shivered, as it twirled and skimmed over her pearl, lapping it devotedly, adoringly.
Joanna moaned louder, abandoning her composure, as her whole body melted for him.
He tasted her tenderness, teasing her sweet bud, taking it between his lips, then sucking it slowly.
Joanna was sure her heart was going to fail her, as she rolled her eyes back, Tywin’s tongue riding her pleasure, twisting and licking, dragging pleasure out of her, making her spill sounds all but dignified.
It was a whip of pure bliss and the friction on her pearl made her shiver against the voracious mouth.
Tywin’s hands were keeping her close, his fingers were trying not to hurt her, but the possessiveness showed – a lion, after all – and she felt the delicious pressure of his marks. His tongue slid into her again, then again on her aching tip, and she writhed, bliss rushing through her, white, hot and full.
The storm thrashed around the walls, the scent of the sea rushing through, but they couldn’t feel nor hear anything but each other.
Joanna’s voice was a twisted, delighted thrill, and Tywin licked her tenderly and eagerly, lapping at her wildly. She throbbed against him, tumid and swollen, and even as a maiden she perfectly knew what was about to crush upon her.
A knowledge much deeper and more primal than the one people gave in courts.
Tywin moaned against her, sucking her hard, and Joanna’s hips trembled, her legs gave in – he had to keep her up – while he worshipped her cunt, his greedy tongue labouring on her turgid pearl and then riding its tip, until she gave in.
A moan so hoarse it felt like ripped from her throat, a pure roar.
She peaked against him, his tongue dragging the delirious delight and making pleasure bloom out of her bud. It crashed through her and left her undone, eyes rolling back in ecstasy, and turning white.
And her honey stained his tongue and he licked her quivering, overwhelmed sex – afterglow riding her nerves and making her weak.
She was still panting, mouth agape and bottom lip red, when he moved from her, and searched for her eyes.
She fell to her knees and threw her arms at him again, kissing him deep and tasting herself in him; Tywin Lannister was still smiling, against her lips, wide and light.
Tywin Lannister would always smile with her.
Only with her.