Tywin VII & Joanna VII
The council is not going well. But then, what council does?
Tywin suppresses a sigh. Stares at the reports before him. The numbers on the expense of the last few moons are making him want to slam his head against the table in front of him. The Master of the Coin was a fucking idiot- The allotted money for the maintenance of certain parts of the City had been shuffled instead to more frivolous activity. His gaze is blurring, even as his annoyance grows with the fact that the King had not followed his advice when it came to the expense of the upcoming Tourney in particular- calling it the Winter Tourney and offering a ridiculous amount for the melee, the archery, and the jousting portion. Tywin was in no mood for such revelry. Perhaps he could finish setting the damn thing up and flee West for a couple of weeks of leave-
"... And you, Tywin, what news of the West? Is Meria still making herself a nuisance in your Rock?" The King's voice was meant to be teasing, perhaps, but with the agitation over the latest issue, his aggravation came across as accusation in his voice. Tywin blinked.
He knew that King Aerys and Princess Meria did not get on. On most scores, Tywin linked himself with their King in most matters. Meria was an annoyance- But something of his tone made him bristle. As if her Courtly stay was not a diplomatic nessascity. As if it was just a nuisance. She was, a personal chore, but she was not in the West for just that. They were strengthening their ties and alleviating some of the strangleholds the Reach held on their food stores. He knew that- Aerys had raved about the upstart of Lady Tyrell's movements through her fool of a husband enough.
"So it seems, Your Grace," he returned, after a moment of simply raising a brow at the King.
A flush at the gesture. Hands clenching over the armrests of his chair.
Tywin does not remember when such comments started to fluster Aerys, instead of simply making him roll his eyes and give him a sardonic smile. His teeth, a touch yellow, bare at an attempt at of that once common smile. Tywin thinks that Aerys latest favored wine is starting to stain his teeth. Before his friend would have more cared for his general appearance. Or drunk less. Tywin himself had never encouraged such a thing. For his own lack of like of it, and because of his fool of his father. Steffon had indulged him, no doubt. The cousins always fed off each other in the most obnoxious way.
Tywin resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"What does she seem to want, to occupy your halls for so much time?" he asked.
Tywin felt his fingertips twitch. He almost drummed them against the table in impatience. What was of Aerys today that was chaffing against every action? Was he that upset over the Tourney expense? The King had done much worse with only a blink on Tywin's part.
"Diplomatic matters, your Grace," he gave a languid blink and flicked dismissive fingers, "Increased trade agreements. I might foster her girl. Perhaps Jaime will squire with Ser Dor. He did well enough at keeping Meria alive during the war."
The king narrowed his eyes. The light lilac color gleamed.
"So you call her Meria now? Tywin, do not tell me that you like the bitch now?"
Tywin frowned. He had always called the woman the Dornish princess… But if she was to have Jaime as a goodson he had to be at least have the pretense of being civil. He owned Joanna that much.
"I never said anything of the sort. She is simply the best way to ease Reach's influence on my food stores-"
"Boring shit," said Steffon with a snort.
Tywin gave his friend a lifted brow. He was grinning. His black brows wiggled, yet his blue eyes gleamed with a knowing sort of thing that made Tywin's shoulders slowly relax a faction. Because they flickered to Aerys, and Tywin saw something shift in his King's eyes. Steffon, the good man, was distracting the King. Easing whatever nonsense Aerys had come up with to be upset at Meria.
"This boring shit," said Aerys, with a glare, "Is what is keeping those lifted-up stewards in their place. Well done, Tywin, to have to muster the will to house that cunt for so long."
"I bet her entourage is a fucking sight. I saw the girl trailing after her daughter when I was in Dorne after the war. That Ladybright girl had an ass that just begged for something from a man."
Aerys snorts. Even as Tywin finally gives in to the urge to roll his eyes.
"Is it always about the flesh with you, Steffon?"
His friend laughed.
"Ass and tits, say it Tywin, ass, and tits!"
He snorts.
"You will have me sooner giving Meria a kiss than to utter such words."
Aerys' lips twitched, "Even the King can say ass and tits, Tywin."
Tywin smirked.
"Than I will leave such words to you, your grace."
The King snorted and went into a laughing fit that was easy and smooth. Tywin thought the rest the meeting went rather well, less strained, at least. Tywin didn't understand his friends at times- Tywin wondered if the strain of Kingship was getting to Aerys. He was certainly acting shorter with them all-
He tried not to think if it was grief.
Tywin always knew, knew, that Aerys had possibly harbored feelings for Joanna. Seven hells, he knew that the King had no real romantic affection for his own wife. Duty and godsdamn prophecy from some woodswitch from gods know where. Tywin's gaze hadn't been the only one to follow after Joanna's, and there had been a moment, a true moment, between Meria and Aerys, that Tywin had thought that he would pine after his fair cousin all of his wretched life. He had gained her love, however.
He tried not to dwell on it, as he left the council room with brisk, quick steps. He would not run off to the Grand Maester in order to see if his sister had anything to say about his children when a small voice stopped him.
"Lord… Lord Tywin? Lord Hand?"
He was missing his children, he knew. Delicate Cersei, so grief-stricken. Strong Jaime, so resolute to comfort and cling to his siblings… Areli, a sweet little thing with her voice that soothed down everything he was feeling. Maybe that's why he stopped at the timid voice of the crown prince as he made his way back to the Tower of the Hand. Because usually, he gave little mind to the future king. He turned. He was a handsome lad. Fairer then Aerys, at any rate, harboring none of the previous King's gauntness nor sickly parlor, as Aerys has. His indigo eyes were especially arresting. No lady would find this boy a hardship to marry once he was old enough for it. Tywin knew he would be a fair goodson. The young prince shifted. A frown on his face. He blinked. Slowly.
"... I'm sorry for Lady Joanna," his voice is soft.
Tywin expects to be furious at the reminder. Anything before his trip to the West had left him furious. But he remembers a song, he remembers a warm weight in his arms, he remembers his wife's and daughter's eyes. His eldest tears reminded him that he was not the only one that was left alone. He breathes. Looks down at the little prince, barely older then his eldest.
He breathes.
"Was she the first death you have experienced, my prince?" His voice is not soft. Even in comfort, save for his own children, he cannot bring himself to make it soft. He is not quite capable of it. But perhaps it is less stern, less cold.
A startled look. A blond head whips up fast. The little boy gaps. He had not expected Tywin to stop, to look at him. Tywin measured him carefully and was pleased when the boy straightened.
"No, my Lord Hand," he blinks quickly. Hands fisting in the material of his red doublet, he furrows his silver-gold brows, "I was born in the fires-"
Tywin raised a single brow. He waited for the boy's voice to trail off. He blinked quickly at him, mouth flattening in a straight line.
"You knew none who died that day. You knew none of the babes your mother lost. I ask again, my prince, is my Lady wife the first death of someone you have known?"
The boy blinked. His eyes were soft indigo, lashed heavily with dark silver strands. Tywin wondered if Areli's lashes would darken in such a way. It would look striking against her soft green eyes. Joanna would often darken her lashes, and complain of their golden paleness, but he had always thought them fetching in the morning sunlight before she put the black powder in them.
"Yes, my Lord Hand."
Tywin sighed.
"What has been told to you?"
The boy shifted.
"Father said it was a pity. Mother does not say much. She has only cried with any mention of her."
The boy looks to his feet, his sorrowful face shifting into a soft frown. Tywin grit his teeth. Locked his jaw to stop it. A fucking pity? Pity?! Is all your words of her beauty and your love of her only to leave with pity? Tywin realized he had found his anger after all. Never has he felt such insult from the fool of his King, and he had once dared to comment on the shape of his wife's teats. Now the idiot dared dismiss the loss of my wife, as if she is the same importance as a favored doublet being stained with wine? Fury. Fury so potent and sharp filled him. He felt like he could march back to the King and toss his chain of hands straight into his face.
"What do you feel of it?" he asked, after a moment, his teeth grinding.
"I… I know not, sir. Lady Joanna was one of the best people I have ever known."
The eyes that looked him were sorrowful. Despite himself, Tywin felt his furry ease. The boy was mourning his wife. This was the future King and by all accounts, the man that would become Cersei's future spouse. A boy that Joanna had praised, and by all accounts was an intelligent, dedicated boy.
Tywin breathed.
Just like Meria, I believe it is time to sow the seeds.
"It is a difficult thing, to realize you will not see another person again," whispered the prince.
Tywin breathed.
"Yes. Buy I see parts of her. In the eyes of my son. In the hair of daughter…. In the everything of my youngest girl."
The words slipped out. Gentle and wistful and mournful. He cursed himself for it, even as he watched the prince eagerly eat his words.
"So the people that go… They are never gone? They are with you?"
Tywin thought of an impossible voice that slipped into his heart like a thief. He thought of a fierce little lioness that screamed her sorrows to the world in his arms. He thinks of a strong son, holding all of his children together. All as his Joanna would have. Pieces of her, left for him to hold in his grief.
"No, my prince. They are never gone."
Her steps are wobbly.
She very carefully, precautiously, steps along the pace of the chaise. Despite the fact that her daughter had memories of another life, her limbs are indeed that of a child. They near-collapse underneath her. She stubbornly persists. Joanna is both admiring and exasperated by her stubbornness.
"You should do this with people in the room," Joanna told her softly.
She clicks her tongue. Areli looked up and raised a single pale brow.
"And have everyone laugh as I fall on my face? No, thank you," said Areli, firmly, her little pale ankles shaking with her effort, "I always make sure to use the carpet, and throw pillows. I never go past the chaise. I'm safe, mother. And this way I don't freak out people with my early walking."
Indeed, all the throw pillows of the chaise had been tossed to the ground. Ready to catch her if she should falter. She had done it herself. Joanna was mighty impressed.
And fretful for her actions. Fuck, Joanna thought with a slight sigh. She was after all, her mother. She was not fond of the thought of her being hurt, especially at such a young age. Little Tyrion was staring at her daughter and his sister with undisguised fascination. His foot was in his mouth.
She tsked.
"Areli, you're brother-"
"Ty-Ty!" called Areli.
The foot slipped out, and Tyrion clapped his hands, a giggle escaping his mouth.
Something warm settled in Joanna's chest at the sound.
"He'll learn eventually. Think he think's its fun when I call out to him," mentions Areli, a smile gently lifting on her face. She was lovely.
Joanna sighs.
"Let me worry."
"Speaking of worry, anything?"
Joanna smiles slightly.
"Emotions do seem to be the key," she gently says.
She looks over, to the assembled things on the chaise, adjacent to Tyrion. Her youngest is as intelligent as Areli had promised her, and does not disturb the toys set on the chaise. Joanna reaches. For both her contentness at the sight of her youngest children, whole and hale, and lifts a teething stone with her hands.
It wobbles. Tetters. Not quite stable. More then once, Joanna can feel it nearly slip from her hold and fall to the ground. But Joanna can touch the world of the living if she feels. Areli hums.
"It's stabler with negative emotions," she says, quietly.
Joanna hums.
"But I am not. I nearly lost myself to my disgust with the maid who lusts after your father, the young one."
Areli sighed.
"Fucking gross."
Joanna clicked her tongue. Gently, she tossed the teething stone at Alrei's hip.
"Language, child."
Areli fell back on her rump. Joanna giggled at her put-out face.
"I can swear when no one is in the room!"
"Tyrion is here."
Another sigh. Her daughter was full of sighs, Joanna found. She does not blame her, now, cannot cause her to temper her emotions when they are so delicate in youth. She had explained it some extent- Balances in the mind were not well done in youth, still being built and every so ready to switch back and forth. She explained 'developing brain chemistry' like a serious of channels, full to the brim of rushing water that was not quite settled nor built into their proper pools in which they were needed… Causing whims of the body to be subjected to the controller. Joanna had not understood quiet what her daughter had been trying to explain to her, but she had got the gist- she was subject to her body, and her body was a child even if mind wasn't quite one.
"And if he starts swearing, Father will dislike him more," said Areli, with a huff, before she stubbornly stood.
"Indeed… Just like he will dislike the fact that you have been left alone for so long," she said with a frown.
Areli shrugged.
"Aunt Genna is busy, the maid is lazy. They will figure it out eventually. In the mean time, I'm going to make sure that I use this time wisely."
"You should make pains to revise your speech. You do not sound like a Westerlander."
She hummed.
"Yeah. Italian family and Alaskan upbring doesn't really sound like the correct accent," said her daughter, amused.
"I will teach you the cadence of our speech."
"Like many things, Mother, I know you will."
Joanna felt her heart lift. And deliberately, she ran a careful hand on Tyrion's stomach, nearly bare by his rolled up shift.
Her youngest son giggled.
Giggled at her touch. Joanna felt like weeping in her joy.
"I will, Areli, I swear it."
AN: So, I APPRECIATE everyone's enthusiasm for my stories.
But I like to say here and now that asking, again and again, to update a work doesn't necessarily inspire much urge for one to write for something. I don't have a set schedule for Lion-Heart, or any of my other stories. I tried that model and honestly, it seemed to make me start to tire of my stories relatively quickly.
So in my old age wisdom of near ten years of writing fanfiction, I have decided to go where my muse takes me. No more attempting a set goal, because that shit triggers my anxiety to a degree that I hadn't realized until very recently.
Go figure.
I won't update anything in any timely manner unless I get a MASSIVE urge to write for it. I ask, please, please don't ask me in either PMS or in the comments when I'm going to update (insert story name here). The answer is I don't know, I'm working on it, please be patient.
If the story is still on my profile, it's still active.
If my story is pulled from the site, I will be putting it eventually on my AO3 story, 'Dead in the Water'.