AN:
This was written in response to a prompt messaged to me over on Tumblr. I DO NOT OWN A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE. Hope you like!
It wouldn't be long now, thought the Lord of Casterly Rock, as he surveyed his lady wife from across their chamber.
Tywin Lannister was a man of morals, even if his morals weren't often understood by others. Those morals had kept him in good stead and kept him well. Always look to preserve the honour of the house, never make a fool of yourself, never allow yourself to be ridiculed, marry well and produce heirs.
Heirs.
Plural.
That had always been his intention. An heir and a spare, no matter how grotesque to even Tywin Lannister the thought of his son's early passing may be. With times such as these, a King such as this, and a name such as his, Jaime Lannister would not have the safest of lives. Yes, a spare had always been part of the plan. That was, until after Jaime and Cersei's birth. The attending maester had, though shakily, told his lord with the utmost fervency that there were to be no. more. children.
Tywin being Tywin, practical Tywin, this had hit him hard. But his practicality had shown him that he had a son. And he had a daughter. He had children. Plural. He only had one wife. All the plans and practicality in the world would not convince him to endanger Joanna.
He had not, however, taken into account the lioness he had married. Weeks after escaping the birthing bed, she had continued to growl about the maester's 'unreasonable demands'. But he would hear none of it. There came a time when Tywin, strong, unflappable Tywin Lannister, had sat his lady wife down and said, though not in so many words, and more with his eyes than any utterance: We will have no more children, because if we have more, there will be no more you. She had argued less after that. Less. She would never be entirely silent. That was not his lady's way.
Moon tea had been brewed and drank, and brewed, and drank, and so it continued, for eight years or more. Busy in the capital after a short stay at the Rock, Tywin had not known of their error until a month or more had passed. The maester had sent him a letter, full of that which his wife had deigned to neglect. Work or no work, realm to rule or none, he had ridden home faster than he could ever remember riding, to face his lioness alone.
He could barely remember what had passed between them then, except that he most likely still bore the scars of her nails on his back, and that there was a vivid memory of a slap somewhere amidst the fray and the roars. She had won. Joanna had won simply because she refused to listen: No child of mine will be cast from me, husband, she had said. She had never spat her words at him so vehemently before. Not ever. Not on the word of that traitorous Maester. And not on yours. This is my side of the marriage, this is my choice. Never yours.
And so here they were. And if Tywin Lannister had ever admitted to feeling fear, to saying please, he might have recollected feeling it and saying it in the heat following their battle. But her mind had been made up then, over half a year ago, and his Joanna was too strong to be tamed.
'Are you going to stare all night?' He knew without focusing his eyes that she was smiling. She was by no means soft, but she smiled enough for the both of them. Happiness doesn't equal softness, husband. She'd said it to him often enough. He still hadn't answered, and, now clothed in her nightdress, she moved to him in the dying light of the fire.
If he prayed to any gods, he'd swear by them that she was the most beautiful thing on Earth. Of course, he never told her this. Tywin Lannister was not a man for many words when a simple look would do. The expression on his lioness' face showed she had seen his thought in his eyes.
'Well?' she said, seating herself as daintily as she could manage on his knee. He cleared his throat.
'Well?' he answered back.
She raised one bright eyebrow at him, derisively.
'Well, are you going to stop staring, and come to bed?'
It took another minute for him to answer.
'Yes.'
'Very good,' she said, jumping up rather well considering her figure these days. Then when he didn't move and continued to look pensive, she came back. At first she looked at him, irritated and questioning, and then, the longer he sat there, her face lost its annoyance. Eventually, she placed one careful hand on his, and his green Lannister eyes met hers.
'What is it?' she said, in the voice of the private Joanna. Not Joanna the Lannister, or Joanna, Lady of the Rock. Not even Joanna the daughter or sister, cousin, niece…mother. Joanna the wife, lover and partner. The voice for Tywin.
'Nothing. Nothing. To bed, shall we?' He made to move, but her long-fingered hand on his chest stopped him.
'Since when do you lie to me, Tywin Lannister?'
'Since you so cleverly lied to me, my lady.' He is not a man to regret, but the sharp look in her formerly soft face makes him come close. Then the sharpness dies just as quickly as it came, and he's looking at her softest of expressions, usually reserved for when Jaime has a night terror or when Cersei skins her knee.
'Must we?'
He sighs.
'No,' he says, catching her hand and pressing a quick kiss to her palm. 'No.'
'What is it? Truly?'
'Old fears. Nothing we have to concern ourselves with. Come, bed now.'
'Tywin? Are you still – are you worried?'
He flinches at the word, but he can't keep secrets from Joanna.
'Tywin,' she sighs, catching his hand again, forcing his gaze to hers. 'We've had this conversation too many times. What's done is done, what happens, happens. But this is –'
'Your choice,' he finishes, only slightly terse.
'Yes. But that wasn't what I was going to say. What I was going to say was, yes, this might be my choice, and all those other things I said, or screamed, that we shan't talk about now. But – this is our child. Whatever happens, that's still true.'
There was nothing he could say. The mighty Tywin Lannister, cowed in the face of his wife's honest truth. A truth that might soon kill her. And him. Whether Gods existed or not, his last thought that night before he drifted to sleep beside his wife was that, if they did exist, they save her, and him, and the goddamn child if it would please her. But Gods, her. Always her.
The next day was when he knew for a fact the Gods existed. They existed because they had listened to his command and not answered. They had twisted his every wish on its head.
The Gods existed. But they were cruel.
The Gods have no mercy, that's why they're Gods. My father told me that when he caught me praying. My mother had just died you see, I didn't really understand the concept of death, the finality of it. I thought that if I prayed very, very hard, the Gods would return my mother to me. I was nine.
Your father doesn't believe in the Gods?
He believes in them, he just doesn't like them very much.