Tywin II & Joanna II

The dress is all sorts of ridiculous for a baby that is less than a year old, he knows it, the second he places it upon the child.

She gives him a truly unimpressed look, a frown on her pale, plump lips, an all-together stern look that was emphasized by her pale brows forced together. Has my gaze indeed. How you would have laughed at such a look, Joanna. It was as if she agreed with him, and all that was missing was for the infant to cross her arms. But she restrained herself, careful of the bell, voluminous structure of the sleeves. She was incredibly careful, not moving in a fuss with the material, almost immobile, as if she too, knew the importance of her clothing. Or perhaps she knows my mood to not make a mess of it.

Her green eyes, did, however, follow him, as he went about arranging the gown. It was as if his daughter too, knew how ridiculous such ornamentation was and was displeased with it as a result. Areli, sitting as she is upon his desk, just a few feet away from the stain she had made the night before, looked highly uncomfortable, and altogether dissatisfied. She is remarkably expressive, for such a young child, managing to look annoyed even around the copious roundness of her face.

She does not cry, as he had seen Jaime or Cersei do at that age, does not fuss or tug at the material. She just looks displeased, leaning against the cushion as he arranges the fabric of the dress that had once belonged to Joanna, and then Cersei, as infants. He had scoffed at such sentimentality on Joanna's part, having told her that any gown she had wanted made for their children was more appropriate. Something newer. Something more fashionable than a dress one and seven years out of date. She had laughed at him. Laughed at it him in a way no other person could get away with, a mirthful thing that was as lovely as a song and with no malice-

"It's not about it being frugal, my Lord," she had said with that smile of hers, it was bright and beautiful, but there was something else there- A kindness that in others he saw as weakness, but in her he had never seen it as so,"It's about giving something to my child that had been mine. There's a difference, I believe. You are to give Jaime your sword, or your grand legacy of the Lord of the Rock- My legacy to Cersei will be to give her my dresses, made by my hand or by my mother's. Not quite as grand, I give you, but what else is a Lady to give?"

"Ridiculous. If you were any other woman, I would suspect this a ploy to ask for a larger budget for cloth or lace," he told her, raising a brow.

Joanna smiled again, smiled as she always did, something soft and expressive. But there was a sort of tilt to her full lips, a brightness in her green eyes. A mischief.

"Oh? If I were any other woman, I believe I would be insulted on the part of my sex."

"Suffice, it is, my Lady that you are not any other woman."

"You flatter me, my Lord."

"I do not such thing. I find my patience for such things to be all but none. I only tell the truth."

Joanna laughed. Musical and full, her cheeks flushing the softest pink across her golden skin…

He is pulled from his memories, not from his volition, but rather instead by his daughter's gentle tug on the fur cuff of his doublet. He blinks, looks down at his daughter, in her finery. As if she reads his mind, she drops her hand from his cuff, but not after soothing the fur to prevent creases. She drops her hand to his hand, squeezing his smallest finger with the gentleness of pressure. Her hand lingers on the digit for but a moment, before she drops it once again to her side. She looks up at him, with her light eyes, just like her mother's-

For the first time in many moons, what felt like a decade, Tywin feels a small smile on his face.

Green eyes blink.

It is fine dress, one he admires more without Joanna, sees its merit much clearer, much to his dislike. If I could but tell her I understand now as I didn't then. He carefully smoothes down the impossibly thin golden lace and the red velvet threaded with rubies and garnets, alongside careful embroidery of several fine, roaring, golden lions along the golden dyed fur hem, done by his good-mother so many years ago, retouched by his wife's own hand but a few moons ago, in case their latest child was female. A lady's legacy… Hear me Roar, is that not right Joanna?

She looked, like some strange doll, stuffed into the fine dress, so wide, with wool petticoats that made her look like a fine cushion. Tywin gives her a raised brow, pressing down her pale, starlight ringlet curls, careful of arranging her hair back and away from her face. He dare not attempt to braid it, as he had much more practice undoing the more complex braids his wife had favored. How I admired the gold of your hair, Joanna, how I would run it through my fingers and think it the finest spun silk in all existence. He added the matching ribbon, made of the same velvet, golden lace and fur as her dress over her head, tying the ribbon tightly behind her curls, already reaching past her tiny shoulders.

Despite his dislike of the pale color, tongues will fly, I have no distrust of you, wife. I would never believe you to be such a fool. Does Tygett not have such pale curls as well, with a few darker strands? He found he could not dare cut the curls and would let them grow to a respectable length. Perhaps to her waist- longer if the child would support it. Joanna had set a fashion in the Royal Court by having it nearly to her knees, always elaborately made in handsome braids that many tried to imitate to a lesser degree.

Now, he cannot help but admired the effect her daughter's look would have on anyone who saw her, and despite the paleness of her skin, she manages to look quite well and an attractive little thing in her Winter finery.

The young girl stares at him, still frowning, before she places her hand gently on the ribbon band in her hair. A question, he is sure, for him to take it off. With her expression, he knows that it is what especially bothered her. Tywin doesn't quite tsk at her, but he does make a clicking sound with his tongue to the general air, then he places one hand on her smaller one, dragging it away from her hair to place it firmly by her side. A silent command that she follows with a slight huff, but no other protest. Her hands settling calmly at her side, making no more motion to undo the ribbon. Intelligent. He cups her cheek, with a most careful hand. Checking for any remaining stains of the red ink(it had taken several baths to remove it from her skin), moving her head back and forth before he nods.

He, like her, is dressed in his best, velvet doublet, lined with fur for the chilly Winter air, red of course, with a little more… Flamboyancy than his typical everyday wear, his facial hair and his hair recently trimmed and shaved. He picks her up, settles her in the crook of his arm, and knows, a few floors below him, the same is being down for his three other children, rounded up by Genna who had volunteered for his children, and would proceed to round up an unruly Gerion. Tygett was already downstairs, there to oversee the preparation for the Harbor and docks, the tent to protect the table of salt and bread for the arrival of the Dornish ship that carried the Princess and her party.

"Pageantry," muttered the Lannister Lord, carefully, of the babe as he adjusted his more ornamental sword on his hip, a large, glidden golden lion's head on its pommel, with garnets for eyes, and with diamonds for its fangs, "A necessary function of wealth. Ridiculous, but we are nothing but prosperous. Our words, Hear me Roar, tell us how we must show the world who we are, Areli. Distasteful, some would say. Wasteful others will say. But we will be spoken about, be seen with awe, envy, and rightful respect regardless."

He feels all sorts of ridiculous, speaking to her. Or, perhaps, he should feel all sorts of ridiculous. She is barely old enough to sit up by her own accord. But. There is something. Something to saying things to such young a child, to the air around her. She reacts to each word, leans against him, presses her small palms and fingertips into his hands, into his velvet coat at the sound of his voice. She appears to like his voice, always pressing herself into him if he is within reach, small fingertips curling around fingers and fists, around velvet and silk shirts. She likes it. And while she may not comprehend him, she will, and the words will mean more and more to her as she grew.

He himself… Appreciates her voice, however rare it is at this point. She mostly hums, this babe, hums her moods in soft warbles that cause shivers to go down his spine. Little chirps of melody, soft and strange, compositions complex and unfamiliar. Her singing is what had him bringing her to his Solar in the first place. On occasion, her voice would ring something familiar, the song, one he suspects was sung by Jaime in his escapes to see her and the other child, but it was ever rare an occasion. It was her mannerism, that compelled him to make it a ritual. The way she reacted to him, the way she seemed to reach for him. A comfort, indeed. He could not explain it if he ever were to bother with such idiocy. He explained himself to no one. He had no need, not to anyone but himself.

"I have no care for it myself," he tells her, truthfully. He found it a bore, thought it ridiculous despite the necessity.

The girl hums as if in agreement, her hand trails across the embroidered lions on the hem of her dress. She looks up at him, eyes on his face. He looks towards her. Gives her a raised brow.

"But I know its value. It's purpose. Frivolous as it may seem. We are wealth. We are power. We are not just highly ornamental. We are Lannisters. We stand in gold and crimson, in riches of the earth. We are proud and no one's jest."

Her hands tighten on his shirt, no doubt sensing the shift in his voice. The darkening in tone at the brief remembrance of the mockery of the dunce of his father had made of them. He could almost smile again in that moment. Almost, because he remembers his wife, remembers how she would not demand he 'lighten up', nor that he be content with the recognition he had forcefully brought to their fallen House the second the fool stopped breathing. But instead had always touched his arm in quiet acceptance, and perhaps given it a squeeze if his mood turned too ill.

"We are what we are Areli."

He girl hums again, just a touch of a softer sound.

He walked the rest of the way out of the Rock in silence, allowing himself to bounce the humming child as he made his way. No one was there to see. He opted to take the outer road to the Harbor, rather than the internal stairs and ramps tunnels below the Keep proper, as there was no doubt there was to be less foot traffic in the open air. Areli proved her gentle temperament again by hardly reacting to the sway of the horse as they made their way to the bottom of the cliffs, to the harbor proper. Even the grand height of a two-thousand and a hundred feet, and the winding slope carved into the rock about as large as one wheel cart wide, barely got a reaction from the babe. She only learned forward curiously, but not alarmingly out of his arms, towards the great vestige of the Sunset Sea in the early morning hours. For the first time, Tywin realized, the girl was seeing the sun and the sea, the first time beneath the sky without the roof of the Rock above her.

If he had been a more sentimental man, he would have remarked upon out loud, and despite the fact that he liked to speak to the child who didn't truly understand him-

He wasn't sentimental.

At least I didn't used to be. Joanna, I suppose your… Absence has left me wanting.

"That is the Sunset Sea."

Areli gave a cheerful gurgle, leaning forward once again. He held her carefully in front of him, making her lean back to press into his lap and chest.

"People say that our mines are our most prosperous aspect- Those people are fools. The mines provide us with gold, of course, but it is the sea and our trade that truly allow us to prosper. From the Lion's Harbor to Lannisport, the Westerlands is a trading hub that is only rivaled by King's Landing."

The carved road was all but empty, as he calmly explained the intricacy of the sea trade and inner trade in his lands. The only sounds for the hour-long ride is his voice, the gentle hums of his daughter, the sounds of the horse's breath, the breeze of cool air against their skin, and the faint roar of the sea bellow. He kept the gentlest pace to the opening of the Lion's Harbor. It was, sometimes referred to, infuriatingly as the Lion's Ass(thought no one dared in his presence), just as the grand frontal gate that was the only access to the bridge connecting the Rock to the mainland, was called the Lion's Maw.

The Lion's Harbor was at the base of the cliff island that housed Casterly Rock, only accessible through the Keep, by the inner tunnels or the widening road, or from the sea. It was an enormous cavern beneath the Rock nearly four-hundred foot high at the highest point and nearly two leagues deep, both natural and half carved by the holders of the Rock through the centuries. The entrance of it was a nearly clear view of the horizon, wide enough for six larger ships to pass through side by side.

Like teeth, enormous iron gates could be lowered in an event of a siege, and Tywin had only seen it done such during the War of Ninepenny Kings, as he increasingly heard it called. Has it already been six years since its end? He remembers how his father had foolishly increased foot traffic during the War, and nearly shut down the sea trade to the Rock proper. It had been a miracle the Rock had not been infiltrated in his incompetence. It served as a shipyard to his most impressive ships, about twenty in number, with the other forty stationed in Lannisport. It was lit by so many torches and brazen fire pits, as well as the large entrance that hardly any darkness showed in the half-natural cave.

Joanna herself had the tent commissioned to await any delegation that came to their gates or harbor, an enormous thing of the crimson dyed canvas, their sigil and words painted meticulously in the golden dye, emphasized by grand embroidery that was threaded with gold thread. It was as tall as three men, as wide as the arm span of twenty. It was cavernous, stark against the pale gold of the natural rock that Casterly Rock had been built upon. It was made to be a fine sight against the Rock or the Lion's Harbor's walls, to impress and demonstrate the wealth of them. Tywin had approved of the design, had given his wife that rare smile as she demonstrated her rough sketch. He had even allowed her to commission the furniture that was always adorned the tent.

Chairs, more thrones then anything, with the seat of the lord being the largest and in the center, as was his right. The table was wide and long, fitting from one end of the tent to the other in a seamless appearance, a deep red-hued wood he had imported from Essos. He noted, that the portable crib that he had left in the nursery had been set on the table amongst platters of fine dried meats, fresh fruits, cheese, wine, and bread. It was empty, save for blankets and what looked like a soft cloth toy that Tywin knew he had not placed there.

"Good morning, my Lord," called Tygett, voice calm. He gave a brief if strained smile.

"Ser Tygett," he replied. He did not bother with a smile. He was always formal to this brother as if there was any among them that had been found of their father, it was him.

Perhaps it was because he was not wise enough to understand what a fool he had been. The dismissal of the Whore had upset the boy, who had seen her as a mother figure. He did not think that Tygett had ever forgiven him, and his prominent position as Hand of the King left him with little interaction with his second-youngest brother. The younger man, barely a man of six and ten years looked at him with the gaze of not contempt- Tywin would have beat that out of him if he dared- but a strong dislike that Tywin doubted would ever dispel. He did not care one way or another, as long as he gave him respect and obeyed him. He wore armor- something that was some attempt to differ himself from the rest of his brothers, no doubt- a plain thing that was barely gilded with gold set in swirls, with no jewels and polished to a modest sheen, his cloak a cotton instead of a velvet, not lined with dyed fur, but instead a simple black.

He had bought all of his own armor, no doubt, with whatever money he could muster from Tourneys and the like.

Tywin frowned.

"Dress yourself more appropriately. If you insist on armor, there is the set I commissioned for you in the armory with a better cloak. Have your squire help you dress."

He watched a muscle work out against his square jaw.

"I thought the amour I wore regularly would suffice."

"It does not."

He watched those blue eyes that he remembers belonging to their mother, flicker to the babe in his arms.

"Alright, I'll go change, my Lord," Tygett voice was polite, if a tad resigned, "But I wished to inform you that all preparations are complete here at the Harbor. In accordance with the raven, the Princess should arrive sometime around midday, if the weather will hold. It looks like it has… The cradle is there, for the child if you wish to unburden-"

"Go dress," he said, voice hard.

Tygrett frowned, but gave him a polite bow, and made his leave. Tywin settled himself on the central chair, ignoring the crib to drape his daughter across his chest. He did take the time to remove a wool blanket and settle it around the child. He would remove it and demand the crib to be taken from the table the second he saw the Dornish ships. And they call the Lannisters overly demonstrative when Princess Meria decided to take the long route to the Rock by sea, with a small fleet of three ships to carry her entire party and whatever gifts she thinks appropriate. He signals for some mild, warmed mead and sipped it leisurely as he waited for the rest of the core family members to appear. Areli fell asleep after he fed her a few sips of honey oatmeal, a soft, warm sensation of her heavy breaths against the crook of his neck.

Kevan, like many times, was the first to appear, his new wife, Dorna Swift, at his side. She was nervous. Constantly nervous in his presence, due no doubt to her captivity after his father's death. He finds it tedious to deal with her, as it may have been by his command, but it was her lord husband who had been her jailer, and she seems to like him enough to ask her father to wed her to him. She dipped into a deep and respectful curtsy but said not a word before following her husband to sit at his right side. Tywin felt his jaw clench at the sight of his brother but gave him a sharp nod of greeting.

"Good morning."

Tywin did not bother to respond, in no mood to observe niceties. He heard Kevan sigh, but Tywin did not acknowledge the sound by even glancing in his direction.

"I overstepped last night, my Lord."

Again, Tywin did not respond.

"I ask for your forgiveness for my behavior."

At that, Tywin had to respond.

"I care not to give it to you. Just never presume to demand such a thing of me again."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as his brother closed his eyes and heaved another apologetic sigh.

"Of course, my lord," Then a curious expression crossed his face, "Why was Tygett stomping his way up the ramps to the armory?"

Tywin almost smiled. Had he and Kevan not fought so the night before, he would have at least given the man a smirk.

"He is ill-dressed to receive the Princess," he replied, dryly, voice cool.

Kevan did smile, while Dorna gave a soft and high giggle that was grating.

"I see. A habit of our brother, I see."

"Of both of them. If I recall, Gerion was once determined to meet the King in nothing but his small clothes," said Genna, loudly, holding a bundle of blankets that was no doubt the Imp.

"I was four namedays!" said Gerion, hotly, crossing his arms. The boy of one and ten was just starting his progression into manhood, seemingly growing two feet since Tywin had seen him last.

His elder twins, holding hands and near identical if not for Cersei's large skirt, giggled behind his youngest brother. They take their seats and begin what is sure to be a somewhat long wait for the Dornish to arrive. The day is spent pleasantly if tediously in the tent, with small refreshments provided and easy conversation after the initial tension, music gentle and provided by a small band that was typical to them.

The general good mood, so little enjoyed for Tywin with Joanna gone, is broken entirely when Areli gives a startled shriek.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Joanna realizes within seconds of her vague wish of wanting to follow her youngest from her brief dream, that she is not bound by the shared realm that had become her mind.

She realizes it because she is, without real form or logical pull, she is quite suddenly in front of Areli in the waking world, so close she could reach out to touch her as she does within the dream realm. Dreams are but a different realm, the world of the living seems to be no different. She stares, perplexed and something akin to panic within her at the sight of the people she had left behind. Tywin sits upon a chair, as if it is a throne, proud, gallant man, so thin, but flawlessly dressed, holding their youngest babe in his arms. Kevan holds her second-born son in his arms, he too dressed in an altered frock that had once belonged to Jaime, golden to Areli's prominent crimson, on Tywin's right. My place. Cersei resplendent in gold is moving in her seat and is constantly and restlessly looking toward Tywin, eyes narrowed and on the bundle of velvet and lace that is her sister. Jaime is simply bouncing up and down in his red velvet, eyes on the horizon.

She also realizes as no one reacts, that they cannot see her.

Or.

Well.

They cannot see her. Their eyes are still on the horizon, or on whoever they are speaking with. They look past her, not even flinching at the sudden appearance of a dead woman in front of them. But Areli can. She goes stock still in Tywin's arms, green eyes going frightfully large. She shrieks. A distressed warble that even makes her husband jump, looking down to the babe in his arms with a look of surprise.

"Shhh. Sweetling, I am just as surprised as you are."

Areli cannot speak back to her, not outside of her dreams where the realm is so vividly attuned to what her spirit is. Not without giving the people around her an indication of her intelligence and unnatural sentience. Cautious, wise girl. Tywin would be alarmed. He is not one for fantasy or magic. Areli can only stare at her, and even in her semi-mute state, even in her infant face, Joanna can see her genuine fright her. My babe, so frightened of me. But only for the reasons I know to be reasonable, no matter how much it hurts me. I am the one to coax her into forgoing the life she had before she quickened within my womb.

Shh, little Strangerling, shhh sweet girl that came to me.

"I wished to see you, little lioness," she gives her voice as a prim, warm thing, thinly disguising the fact that she has no need to explain herself, even to her daughter. She tries to ignore her voice, not what it was in life, but even to her instead but a whisper on the winds blowing into the Lion's Harbor, "And I found in the process that we are more closely bound that I could predict. It appears that realms of your dreams are not the only place I can find you in."

Areli cannot answer, and for that Joanna uses to her advantage. She extends her hands, only pauses for a moment at their transparency, before she presses them to both Areli's cheeks. Her little cub's eyes narrow, but she does not make another cry of distress. Tywin, oh how thin you have grown my love, shifts, his dark eyes unseeing, flickering away from her face as if nothing was there before they turn on their youngest daughter. He does not soothe her. That is not his way, not in public, not to anyone but Joanna. He only instead presses a hand on her stomach, a silent, gentle act that is meant to remind the babe that he is present. Areli reacts, automatic, as the gesture is familiar- How that gladdens me- curling her hands around Tywin's thumb and forefinger. Tywin relaxes at the gesture, a slow rumble of a breath that passes in a fraction of a second. He too likes the gesture. She watches with keen, knowing eyes as whatever tension that had come to him from Areli's shriek leaves the proud hold of his shoulders.

Good. I suppose your yearning for gentleness has not died with my body, Tywin. Areli would give it as I had before, and you seem ready to receive it yet, my love.

"What's wrong with it?" and that's her little Cersei, voice high, curious, but unhappy.

Joanna can only suck in a breath at the innocent question that her eldest gives. If she is to be the Queen that Tywin wishes her to be, she must learn to control her impulses. What have I told you a million times, my little love, of holding your tongue?

"Cersei," the voice that Tywin gives is of pure coolness, displeasure clear enough that Cersei's delicate shoulders draw slightly inward, "She is not an it. Do not refer to your sister as such."

Cersei's little fist clenches.

"I do not have a sister."

Joanna cannot, despite the dangerous territory that her eldest is blundering through, cannot help but find a parallel.

"It looks like you and your sister are in agreement, Areli."

The look that Areli gives her is the sternest, most unimpressed thing. What a look- You make your father proud if you are so ready to give your disapproval!

"You have one. Two brothers and one younger sister."

"I do no-"

"The House of Lannister has been blessed with four children. The heir, Jaime, the… The second son, Tyrion, the eldest Cersei, and the youngest, Areli. Recite it."

"But Father-"

"Cersei, repeat what I have recited to you."

"NO-"

"Repeat it or you will be escorted to your quarters where you will remain until I deem it acceptable to leave them. Perhaps you are not interested in seeing the Dornish Princess. I see you do not wish to present yourself to our esteemed guests. "

"But Mother always spoke of the Princess-"

"I do not repeat orders."

Cersei's lower lip trembled, but as Tywin lifted a hand to gesture to one of the many maids standing, she gave a breathless gasp.

"The House of Lannister has been blessed with four children. The heir, Jaime, the second son, Tyrion, the eldest Cersei, and the youngest, Areli."

Tywin looked to Cersei. His jaw was tight.

"Again."

"But I-"

Tywin went to lift his hand again. Cersei quickly began the phrase again, and again. Tywin looked away from their eldest child and only said, "Again." At each time the girl finished the phrase. Joanna watched as Tywin made their eldest repeat the phrase, with a tired sigh. Cersei's voice went hoarse as the early morning changed to mid-morning. When she reached for a chalice for some sort of refreshment, Joanna was not surprised that Tywin made the servants remove it from the table in front of Cersei. Looking close to furious tears, Cersei could only swallow with a dry throat and begin the phrase again.

If I could speak to you I would be upset at you, Tywin. Upset… But knowing of the lesson you are trying to instill.

Cersei said the words again and again until bright orange sails were seen on the horizon. Tywin lifted a hand before he commanded that a single glass of lukewarm water was given to their eldest daughter. With a trembling hand, and under Tywin's gaze, Cersei drank the goblet. She drank carefully, mindful and as perfectly as Joanna could expect of a child of four name days.

"Let you remember this Cersei," Tywin said, calmly, drinking at his preferred wine. The goblet he was using shined in the sunlight, gems twinkling, "A Lannister does not deny other Lannisters. If I am to hear such things from you again, you will not have a drop to drink, to make you hold your tongue. You will go mute before you deny your siblings again. Am I understood?"

"Yes, father," croaked Cersei. Despite how high her voice was, she sounded akin to an old woman.

Tywin gives a nod, before looking away from their eldest to once again look at the ever approaching ships. Joanna wanted- Joanna wanted to touch her daughter. She wanted to press her hands to the small tears in her eyes, wanted to soothe those golden curls. But she did not dare. Cersei would not feel it. She is not touched by the Stranger, she is too much like Tywin to even begin to understand how life and death are much more similar than she could know. Joanna looks to her youngest, looks at her youngest and sees the faint horror and disgust in her young face.

"He is not a monster," she tells her, and what else could she say?

Green eyes look to her, and Areli frowns. Joanna gives her a sad smile.

"He did it to defend you, to show that you are truly a Lannister. Cersei is so stubborn- So hurt over my death. You must be glad that your father defends you and Tyrion. It is the only way for her to understand."

Areli's face twists and she seems to be holding back tears.

"Understand him truly before you cast judgment. He is a great man."

Areli twists sharply in Tywin's arms. Tywin, surprised, but quick to react, holds his hand to her stomach once again. Areli bares a toothless snarl, moving violently in her father's arms with a determination. A stubbornness.

"You'll hurt yourself."

"Calm yourself," says Tywin, a note of displeasure coming into his voice, something almost akin to distress also in there.

"Areli- Sto-"

Areli gives a wordless cry of defiance, leaning forward and glaring directly at Joanna in what- In what looks like true hate.

"Is she alright?" and Jaime, and he jumps from his place, crawling over the laps of his uncles and aunt, over Cersei to reach for his younger sister.

As if sensing his twin's distress, or perhaps just hearing her enraged shrieks, Tyrion starts to cry. Cersei looks on with narrowed, hurt eyes.

"Calm yourself," Tywin says, voice no louder than before, but much more dangerous.

"Areli I beg you to STOP!"

By some miracle, she does. Or perhaps she realizes that her point is made. You will try and defy who you are, then? Even after all these moons? She looks at her with a heaving chest, her gums still barred. Joanna can see the defiance in her eyes. Joanna feels her jaw clench, had she been alive, flesh, the pressure would no doubt be enough to give her a headache. But she still reaches for her youngest daughter, hands out in a soothing gesture. Areli shakes her head- once, twice. A clear indicator that she does not wish for her touch. In the world of the living, Joanna decided to follow her choice- cannot help but do it in the wake of Areli obvious power to distress her family. Choose your battles. You think you have won, my Strangeling? You think this is enough to make me stop?

"Please," the breathless whisper of her voice is a tool, a weapon against this undecided child that is in a position to do so much for their family, "Please do not hurt yourself."

"Calm yourself," repeats Tywin, softer, and uncharacteristically revealed.

Tyrion cries are settled much swifter, Genna bouncing the squawking child in easy movements.

"You should not be so unruly, Areli," he says, voice turning colder.

Areli shivers, looking up at Tywin with contempt, that wavers at the look he is giving her. Stern, yes, but his eyes speak of so much more. Worry. Affection. Good, my love. She knows she is cared for. She knows that Tywin is very close to almost adoring her, in that distance, but a palpable way of his. Joanna gives her a sad, gentle smile.

"And remember little lioness… You are where you belong."

AN:

Okay, I rarely leave an author's note for Lion-Heart, so I ended up making a novel-length one for this chapter:

It made my skin crawl the thought of a small child being denied anything to drink, for hours, and forced to speak around their parched throat. It may seem like a light punishment, but being dehydrated is no goddamn joke, especially for a child that young. It's not because Tywin is not capable. Let me make it clear in this moment that my goal is not to make Tywin all sunshine and rainbows and goodness and sugar drops.

That is never been my goal in this, with any of the Lannisters, but especially with him.

Tywin, in my eyes, is still a goddamn monster. However, I am humanizing him. Even the most monstrous of people can show kindness, can show affection to specific people. Areli is stuck in the middle of a place where our moderns standards of humanity and morality just do not apply. That doesn't justify Tywin's past and future actions, but it does, however, change their context and how she has to interpret them. She's between a rock and a hard place, and Joanna whispering in her ear has her all types of confused, especially because Areli is compassionate and in a lot of grief at the moment. But as shown in the chapter, she won't be so easily swayed but will be confused.

Abuse wise, I wanted to mention that early sexual activity/acts is a common sign of abuse or neglect in children. Cersei and Jaime were supposed to have been caught by Joanna doing something sexual. They would have been very young, and that is not normal behavior for children. I've taken that and generally thought about Tysha as a springboard on how harshly Tywin disciplines all of his children. Even in the books and the show, the adult Lannisters show a certain amount of cowness to their father that is more than a warranted reaction to his domineering personality.

In regards to Cersei in general, I've been getting two different type comments that made me want to address her: She appears to be a tad cartoonish or, conversely, to essentially kill off the character as soon as possible. She will not be fully fleshed out until all of the children are a little older. Cersei, in both the books and in the show, is a grown woman. A grown woman that is not a good person, not even remotely, due to the circumstances of her childhood, her marriage, etc. She is cruel, vindictive and paranoid. She has made monstrous decisions that have at the very least, killed a lot of people via civil war, or straight up murdered babies in their mother's arms(Robert's children).

In Lion-Heart, as of now, she is four-years-old. Four. She's a brat, plain and simple, a brat who has recently lost her mother, and she is lashing out as a four-year-old does. I'm not saying that she is initially a good person. At the earliest, there is a possibility that Cersei has murdered someone at the age of eleven. If not, she was somehow involved. I'm willing to bet the former rather than the later, not because I don't think her capable. It's just rare for a child to actively kill someone. In the way it's phrased in canon, it is left fairly ambiguous for the viewer/reader to interpret.

She isn't evil, however, not at that moment. Not a lot of four-year-olds are evil. But I feel, much like Jaime, that had Cersei never fallen into a relationship with her twin, never married Robert, she would have been an infinitely better person. Not necessarily good, but perhaps better. Lion-Heart is an exploration of that, of all the Lannisters having their fate changed. The Lannisters are fascinating to me as characters, hence my choice for placing my OC in their family. Areli is a stone dropped into a still pond(I'm funny because that's a pun on how she died)- she unsettles the water, rings starting small but growing larger and larger as time goes on.

On the subject of a time skip: it will occur the second the Dornish delegation is set to leave. After that, I will have a brief 'intermission' chapter of Areli's cornerstones of development from ages one to three, and the chapter after that will be a skip straight to Areli and Tyrion's presentation at the Royal Court, with them being around four, and then another intermission chapter until the Tourney that took place at Lannisport after Viserys' birth. I know Areli being a baby can be a tad boring to some, but a lot of things were happening around the time that Tyrion was born, and it was too interesting to skip out on. Not to mention I want to set up the dynamics of the family. So, just bare with me for a little bit.

Happy Reading,

Moon Witch '96