Wow, 600 reviews; never thought I'd get this far when I first conceived of the story. Just to clarify from someone of the comments, Matthew is an OC, not a Self-insert. He's survived a lot longer than I would have under the same circumstances.
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Tyrion stared at Tysha, legs frozen to the floor, uncertain of what to do. Even after believing she'd been a whore, he'd nonetheless dreamed of this moment his entire life. His feelings for her had never entirely disappeared, despite Tyrion's efforts to drown them in wine and whores.
His strength returning, Tyrion sprinted to hold her in his arms once more, only for Tysha to hold him back. "Don't you ever touch me again, Tyrion." Tysha spoke in a tone he'd never imagined she would use to him.
"I. . . do you know how long I've thought about seeing you again?" Tyrion didn't mention some of those moments were a desire for revenge. "I love you, Tysha. I've never stopped, even when I thought we'd never meet again."
"I wish I'd never met you, Tyrion." Tysha's eyes narrowed. "How could you possibly think I'd be happy to see you again, after what you did to me?" Each word she spoke was a dagger through Tyrion's heart.
"How. . . how did you end up here?" Tyrion forced himself to stay calm. It had been half a lifetime; that had to have been why.
"After your father decided to teach me a lesson, he gave me to one of his bannermen." Tysha looked through the establishment, eyes narrowed. "Lord Clifton then sold me across the Narrow Sea to Slaver's Bay. And I was stupid enough to believe Westeros didn't enslave others."
"Tysha, I can't imagine. . ." Tyrion stammered.
"Shut up." Tysha cut him off and Tyrion could do nothing but obey. "I nearly died during the voyage, since those on board decided to use me as well. Why not? I was a whore, good for nothing else. I stopped keeping count after the first two days. I prayed to the Gods, not for rescue, but for death.
"Then I was sold on the block to a pleasure house in Meereen. In time, I won the trust of my father, managed to make things a little easier on me. Drank enough moon tea to ensure I'd never have children." Tears poured down Tysha's eyes. Tyrion wished to reassure her, but was at a loss of what to say. He only wished he'd been able to watch Tywin die. "Don't ask me to describe what that time was like for me, dwarf. There are no words." Tysha showed the slave tattoo above her right eye.
"How did you survive?" Of all the fates he'd imagined for Tysha, Tyrion still couldn't comprehend her suffering. He made a mental promise to repay everyone who mistreated her, however long a list it was likely to be.
"Tysha's dead, dwarf. I'm all that's left of her, the part that didn't die when her soul did. My master eventually freed me, but where could I go? My parents and brothers were killed due to your father, as was the Septon who married us. There was nothing to go back to in Westeros, even if I could get passage. Two years ago, my master died, and this brothel passed to me. I can at least prevent the women here from enduring more than necessary."
Tyrion had not cried since witnessing Tysha's treatment for himself. But now he could no longer hold them back. "I'll make them pay for this, I promise. Tywin's dead, choking on his own blood, and I can hunt down the others as well." Tyrion didn't know how far his influence still spread, but he'd use it.
"It makes no difference now. I dreamed of revenge for so many years, but do you think it'll remove the memories, the degradation? I don't feel anything anymore, not a thing. At least until I saw you."
"Tysha," Tyrion approached her, hands out, hoping for forgiveness.
"The faces, the men, all blurred together over time. There are too many incidents to keep track of, but one of the rapists have never left my brain."
"Who?" Tyrion swore to make him die slow.
"You."
"What do you. . ." Tyrion's last hopes of a joyful reunion burned away at that word.
"Did you think I would forget? The man I loved, that I believed was a good man, a decent man, violated me with blood pouring down my legs."
Tyrion shuddered at the memory. He had screamed, he had protested, pleaded with his father, but in the end, he had obeyed. Tyrion was barely able to perform, crying the entire time, praying for forgiveness. It was the last time he had ever done so.
"I. . . never wished to harm you."
"Yet you did. I expected nothing different from them, but I believed you were different. You raped me at your father's orders."
Tyrion struggled to speak, for her words were true. How could he make her understand? No one had the strength to defy Tywin Lannister. Not even his brother, the most legendary swordsman in Westeros, could do so. "I begged him not to, told him. . ."
"You had a choice, Tyrion, and you made it. For that, you will never have my forgiveness. I curse the day I ever met you!" Tysha extended her hands, looking ready to strangle him. Tyrion backed away, lacking the strength to fight back against his former love.
"Tywin was responsible for all of this, not me." Tyrion reached for her hand but she pulled away. "He paid for what he did, and so will everyone else. I can take you from this place. You'll never have to work in a brothel again, never lay down with another man. I. . . won't touch you until you're ready."
"You are still incapable of listening. You're no less responsible, dwarf, and if you touch me, I'll cut your cock off." Tysha displayed a knife, pointing it at him. "Disgusting little man. Because of the love I once felt for you, Tyrion, I'll let you live. This once. But if I ever see you again, I'll gut you and strangle you with your own intestines."
Tyrion stared into her eyes, seeing no hesitation in her gaze. The only woman who once loved him, the only person who'd ever loved him. . . hated him no less than the rest of the world. "Fine, I'll respect your wishes." He had no strength for a witty remark.
He'd anticipated it would take time to rebuild their past marriage, but never believed Tysha could hold such hatred for him. And what did you expect? You are a dwarf, and that is all the world will see. His family had been no different. Neither was whoever inhabited Joffrey's body.
Tyrion left the brothel without another word. Tysha forced a smile on her face and welcomed the new customers. A couple shouted lewd suggestions at him, but he ignored them. The Gods saw fit to take everything from him.
He marched closer to the Great Pyramid, hatred burning in his heart. Had Tyrion the power, he would have burned everything in his path. Daenerys is likely to do that for me. However slim the chance, Tyrion fantasized about what he could do on the back of a dragon. He tightened his hood and continued the march.
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Jon fiddled around with the dragon egg during one of his rare moments alone. It radiated heat whenever he touched it, for reasons he couldn't begin to understand. Targaryens had always kept how dragons were ridden secret, and even touching an egg was punishable by death.
Was my Aunt Lyanna a Targaryen? It sounded like lunacy, but no more so than other theories Jon had mused over during his free time. There were many possibilities: Lyanna had stolen an egg, his father left it there as a reminder, a gift from Rheagar. . .
Jon knew the story: his aunt had been abducted and raped by Rheagar Targaryen, sparking Robert to start a war to save his love. He'd asked his father about it many times, but Ned had always refused to give any details. At the time, he'd assumed it was because the topic was a painful one.
If Jon didn't know any better, there was a living dragon inside despite dragons being extinct for over 150 years. There were stories after that, rumors, but never anything confirmed. And why would Lyanna have one?
"Stop sulking in your room." Arya barged in, slamming the door against the wall. "Don't you have duties to perform?" She cringed at the word.
"Tactful as ever." With his sister back, Jon didn't know how he'd survived without her in the first place. Bran and Rickon's fate was unknown, though he feared the worst. Neither he nor Arya had ever brought up their worry, however. "But I suppose you're correct."
"I'll come along. Someone needs to look after you." Arya gestured to Needle.
"Thanks, Arya." Jon refrained from saying Arya was the one in real danger. Many of his black brothers were thieves, rapists, and murderers, nor had he forgotten the story of Brave Danny Flint. As most of the Northern bannermen had gone home, there was little standing in the way between them, his less trustworthy comrades, and the wildlings.
Surviving the winter won't be easy even without the threat from beyond the Wall. Jon mused. A few of his bannermen had asked for Jon to leave his duties and take up arms against Bolton but he had declined. However tempting the offer was, he still had duties on the Wall and had not given up hope on Robb's survival.
Tormund Giantsbane stared at him with mild disappointment. Though Jon's loyalty was to the Watch, he had come to understand the Free Folk were more than mindless bandits. "A shame you decided to stay with the Watch. Crows don't allow men to have any freedom." He looked down at Arya. "She'd be a fine addition."
"I've heard that said about my younger sister." Jon kept his tone cautious. Tormund was friendlier than most, but they had been on opposite sides not long ago.
"Is it true women are allowed to fight as well?" Arya looked over at the spearwives.
"We're not like you kneelers. Anyone who can carry a spear is allowed to fight and raid and even love." Jon blushed at the memory of Ygritte. "I've seen the way you Crows stare at them."
"Have there been any problems?" A single incident would be all it took to start a massacre. He'd ordered what remained of the Northern bannermen to look after them, but centuries of fighting was not easily forgotten.
"Crow, our women aren't like yours. Any of your brothers try and rape them, they'll have their throats cut in the middle of the night." Tormund smiled at Arya. "The way you did during your escape. Mind if I take a look at your sword?"
Arya drew Needle but would not let him touch it. She was still not used to the wildlings, who were considered little more than beasts among Northerners. "That's a fine blade." Tormund complimented.
Jon wrapped his coat tighter around him. Even two layers was beginning to be insufficient for the cold. It scarcely bothered the wildings, but many men of the Watch did little more than shiver. Rations were steady for now, although the time would soon come where they would have to be decreased. Wildings and Black Brothers alike hunted in the Gift, which Jon hoped would build some comradeship.
After Mormont's death, they had still yet to select a new Lord Commander. Jon had put his name forward, as had several others, but no one had yet achieved a majority. Some feared Jon had thrown his lot in with the wildlings or would forsake his vows to fight his family's war.
Half a dozen travelers entered Castle Black, all of them with wicked stares that made Jon's hair stand on end. None of them appeared familiar and Jon wished those above him had more sense. Not everyone could be trusted, not with the North in chaos.
All made a beeline toward Jon. Tormund and Arya moved to flank him, Jon raising an eyebrow at the wildling willing to defend him. "You Jon Snow?" The man grinned. He was an ugly individual, with bulk that would turn to fat, provided he lived long enough. But what unsettled Jon was his cold black eyes, devoid of feeling.
Arya shouted a warning but Jon saw the dagger in the man's hand. He jumped back, the blade brushing against his tunic. Tormund delivered an axe into one of the attacker's skulls while Arya dueled with a man with yellow teeth.
Jon drew Longclaw, uncertain who his enemy was. "Been looking for you, bastard." He swung his sword like a butcher's cleaver. Jon deflected his blows with little effort, ducking underneath a swing. The man left his entire body open, allowing Jon to thrust Longclaw through the chain mail.
While the attacker's armor could withstand normal swords, it shattered against Valyrian Steel. He collapsed to the ground without a word, clutching the wound. Jon beheaded him in a single blow, trusting his companions to deal with the man's cutthroats.
"That's Ramsey Bolton." Arya spat, recognizing him. "Came here to kill us both, killed Bran and Rickon. . ." She kneeled down and buried her dagger in the man's corpse, not noticing or caring that few penetrated the chain mail.
The Bastard of Bolton. Jon sheathed his sword and looked down at Ramsey's corpse. If even a tenth of the stories about him were true, he'd richly earned his death.
"Thought he'd be a better fighter than that," Arya remarked, refusing to withdraw her own weapon. Jon privately agreed, having expected a son of Roose Bolton to possess more skill.
He won't trouble us any longer. Roose, however, had broken the Watch's neutrality, and there would be consequences.
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"You are letting Margaery's words poison you," Stannis voiced his objections to Matthew's decision.
"And you're letting your hatred of them blind you." Matthew countered. Reluctantly, he agreed to send the blueprints to Highgarden, tempted as he was to sabotage the design. Expect it's another decision that'll blow up in my face soon. "We need this alliance if we want any chance of survival."
"The Tyrells cannot be trusted and you have strengthen them. Robert let them off with paying a small debt, as have you. I'm witnessing the same mistake made again and again. The family wants power and will stop at nothing to get it."
"This is why you'll never be King. You have no understanding of politics." Matthew ignored his own hypocrisy. "Something I do know about the Tyrells. They don't want the Throne. They want to be the power behind the Throne. Highgarden supported Renly because he was charming and pliable. Margaery sees me in the same light."
"If your fortune changes, the Tyrells will shove a knife in your back, and you've given them the perfect weapon."
"Enough, Stannis." Matthew put his foot down, attempting to ignore his own doubts. "How goes the hunt for corruption?"
"The crown's expenses have fallen eleven percent, due to fear of the consequences of embezzlement. Even I had not realized it ran so deep. Some of your plans may yet be possible."
"Assuming Daenerys doesn't burn the city, at any rate. Now that Tywin's dead, there is no reason why you cannot formally join the Small Council." Matthew kept it from being an order, mindful of Melisandre watching the two. Of everyone in Westeros, she frightened him the most.
"I will not work alongside any Lannister, as I've told you many times. I warned my brother not to trust them, but. . ."
"All right, I get it." Matthew cut him off. His rambling of the slights he'd endured had long since become tiring. "I can recite what you're about to say by heart. Do you have anything else I need to know?" Things appeared calm on the surface but he knew that was an illusion.
"The false believers are preaching violence against those who follow the one true faith," Melisandre stared into him. "You have done little to prevent it, content with allowing them to spread their heresy."
"My goal is to prevent mass religious bloodshed in King's Landing and elsewhere." Matthew reluctantly met her gaze. "I have made my orders clear for you and followers of the Seven. I will not force individuals to convert, nor will I allow you to give anyone the impression I will do so."
"There is a man in the streets, much more dangerous and clever than he appears. Most know him as the High Sparrow. He will not listen to your orders."
"So I'm aware." Matthew considered assassinating him not worth the consequences. So far, he'd contented himself with giving food to the poor. Long as Cersei could be kept in check about rearming the Faith Militant, the High Sparrow would be a manageable problem. If.
"At least Joffrey has not regained control," Stannis admitted. "All blunders aside, you have at least some understanding of what your duty is supposed to be. My brother attended three Small Council meetings in his entire reign."
"And left me to pick up the mess, yes. Ser Seaworth is at least reasonably competent at his job as Master of Ships." A rare honest man in Westeros, which made Matthew wonder how long he'd survive in King's Landing. He did what he could to keep things steady, but was far from omnipotent. "How is production of the new weapons coming along?"
"You will not be able to equip your army with them before winter comes." Matthew had left Stannis in charge of production after the Braavosi delegation left. "Many of the weapons do not work properly and have to be discarded. A couple have blown up upon testing, and four people have been maimed so far."
"And everyone's likely to try coping them." Matthew knew no way to prevent it and build the weapons at the same time. "At the present time, how many muskets do I possess?"
"At the time of our conversation, 1,749. We're building a dozen a day, not counting ones that have to be discarded and redone. You ask a lot of me, Matthew, and with little respect in return."
"I've repeatedly offered you the Hand of the King job." Matthew considered Stannis better at administration than being King. "You've chosen not to take it, for your own reasons."
"Tywin may be dead, but Cersei has his brutality with none of his sense. I do not intend to let her have any power over me. The woman cannot rule and her abominations will destroy Westeros. I will not be a part of it."
Matthew knew he was one of those "abominations." Joffrey, at least, didn't speak much anymore. He'd learned ignoring him produced better results than responding. He's going to be hard to control. Who Melisandre would side with in a conflict, Matthew didn't know and prayed he wouldn't find out. "Then you can hardly complain about the lack of gratitude. You know as well as I what the stakes are."
"There is little time to prepare," Melisandre cautioned. "Beyond the Wall, the great enemy gathers his strength, waiting for winter to arrive. Even with everything you've done, it is not enough." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "At least not without the Lord of Light to protect."
"God helps those who help themselves." So Ben Franklin had said, at any rate. "I'm aware no one's going to believe any such thing, and the only people who might are bitter enemies of ours." Matthew expressed a bitter laugh. "Every time I have a solution, I run into two more problems."
The trio continued discussing reducing the level or corruption, improving the welfare of King's Landing, and the coming conflicts. "No, I am not going to ban brothels, however much you dislike them." Matthew felt like smacking him whenever Stannis brought it up. He was beginning to sympathize with Robert's complaints.
He left the room before Stannis could respond. Matthew expected the dour man was asexual, but the most he could hope for was to curtail abuses going on inside them. Those at court stood at attention, hoping to gain his favor. Matthew refused to fall for the false smiles. Many would happily shove a knife in his back if they thought they'd have any chance of success.
Horrible as it sounds, I'd go home in an instant if there was a way to do. Let all these bastards deal with the coming disaster themselves. Matthew had mostly accepted there was likely no coming back from Westeros, but still pined for what he'd left behind. While he was King, though, he'd do what he could to keep the continent functioning.
According to the latest reports, Kevan Lannister had succeeded in duplicating Matthew's weapons as well. How effective they'd be against dragons and Walkers. . . he'd find out when the time came.
A shudder emitted from everyone in the Red Keep at the passing of Gregor Clegane, who Matthew had originally intended to give to the Dornish. Jaime and Barristan stood ready, sensing his trepidation. He didn't think a single man on earth was the size of Clegane. Even Sandor stayed away from his older brother.
In King's Landing, I can keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't participate in his usual entertainment. It was a hollow justification and Matthew knew it, but Clegane had his uses. Not for the first time, he missed Tywin's presence. Matthew's job had become far more difficult without him.
That night, he slept with Margaery, as Matthew had every night. The sooner he had an heir, preferably a male, the more secure their alliance would be. For her part, Margaery responded with enthusiasm, which he did not believe was fake. Though she's a convincing actor. Matthew mused when their lovemaking was over. She'd have to be.
"The way you behave, I'd think we haven't seen each other for a moon's turn." Margaery teased, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
"In the bedchambers, at least, we can be ourselves, free from prying eyes." Both knew the statement wasn't true, but Matthew said the words anyway.
"I've heard stories, you know, of women married to beasts." Margaery wrapped herself tighter around him. "When my father told me I was to marry you, there was a certain. . . concern."
"You did most of the arrangement yourself." Matthew traced a finger against her bare skin. She was no replacement for Emily, though they at least did not have the hostility Robert and Cersei had. "I don't believe you would have done so had I been a monster." Or she'd have killed him and gone on to marry Tommen. Boy needs to grow a spine.
"Serving the interests of my family. But you have shown great kindness despite once being enemies. Not to mention certain other talents." Margaery teased, hand going between his legs.
"This is beneficial to both of us, as most marriages are intended to be. Sansa's parents started out as strangers, but grew to love one another. We can do the same." Margaery would never replace Emily, however.
"Do you truly believe this is only the beginning?" Margaery threw the sheets off her, heedless of her nakedness. "The war is over, save for a few minor conflicts. Yet you behave as if much worse is coming."
"I've learned to trust my instincts." Matthew evaded with a half-truth. They saved him during the war on Earth, but how to explain his foresight? He doubted Margaery would believe it came from the Gods. "At a minimum, Daenerys intended to retake her father's throne and she possesses three dragons. Winter is already beginning to impact us and after a decade of summer, we're left unprepared."
"Very different from how most behave," Margaery mused. "Those at court fear you most of all, not distant enemies. Even for Kings, authority is not absolute."
"I knew the risk when I rose to the Iron Throne. So did you when you became Queen." Matthew reminded Margaery their fates were tied. There were many he kept an eye on through his spies, though he could not watch everyone at once. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss with me?"
"No, merely a few observations." Matthew knew she was lying. "Many rulers have failed due to their arrogance. I don't intend to be one of them." He got up from the bed and hugged her from behind. "And with you at my side, we'll be able to accomplish a great deal."
"I pray every day for a son, Joffrey." Margaery turned around. "Perhaps we should resume our duty between the bedchambers."
"Shame; I was hoping to hear it was a pleasure." Matthew teased. Neither slept much that night, but had a wonderful time anyway.
The next day, Matthew met with representatives from the Riverlands fearing possible famine and begging for support. No Tully relatives but many of their major bannermen. Matthew pointed them toward the newly founded Bank of Casterly Rock, which would allow them loans to purchase their food with. It would give him a hold on the River Lords should they attempt another rebellion.
However much he tried, Matthew doubted famine would be averted, considering the devastation. The Westerlands hadn't fully recovered, but the Riverlands had gotten the worst of it. From his limited knowledge of Westeros demographics, winter resulted in a contraction of the population or a straight line, in the case of a mild winter.
Considering what brews beyond the Wall, I doubt it's going to be a mild winter. Even in King's Landing, fires were beginning to burn in the daytime. Matthew ordered flames to be kept away from the gunpowder, or else half of the Red Keep would be blown to bits.
Margaery marched into the Red Keep in a near panic, her face flushed and chest heaving. Matthew put a hand on his sword, unaccustomed to seeing his new wife so rattled. "What has happened, my Queen?" His protective instincts activated. For all the protection she had, no one in King's Landing was invulnerable.
"Your Grace, it seems your fear has come to pass." Margaery composed herself for the audience, although few had any trouble making out her worry. "The Faith Militant. . . somehow, they've managed to get their hands on weapons. They're taking over Septs, even killed the High Septon!"
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I know Ramsey's death was abrupt, but despite what the show portrayed, he wasn't a very competent swordsman. He's only a threat to those he catches off-guard or peasants who can't fight back. Plus, I felt a man like that didn't deserve a memorable death scene.