Reign of the Fallen

A Game of Thrones Fanfiction

By Millie55

Delilah

Home. It was too far out of reach for Lady Deliah of House Gwhendel. In the mind of the young maiden, home was encompassed by the cold chill of a winter's breeze. Snow dusted the ground, and the warmth of furs would tickled sensitive skin. At home, in the gray stone walls of Fort Stryder, Delilah was surrounded by family. Taking long walks with her mother and sister, and laughing with her brothers. All of that was gone, left behind many days and nights away. And for what? To serve her Queen.

As a favor to her father, Delilah had been granted the honor of leaving the North for King's Landing. It had not been something the Lady of the North had a say in however. Her father's house, her house, had once been based in the Westerlands. Gwheniver was sworn to Casterly Rock. Sworn to House Lannister as it was under their rule. Gwheniver went to her Uncle Magnus, as her father took to the North where he would swear fealty to the Starks. It was a difficult choice to be made or so she was told. The blood of the Lion did course through her father's veins. It called to the South. To the warmth of summer. The lush gardens that lavishly decorated the Red Keep. This was what was to become Delilah's new home. A place for her to become a proper lady and to hopefully wed a Lord of noble upbringing. This was what her father expected of her, but how could she find a husband when she rested in the shadow of those she served?

Although it was shallow, Delilah was put at ease when Princess Myrcella Baratheon had been betrothed to the heir of Dorne. She was beautiful with her blonde mane and bright eyes. Women of such Andal beauty were well sought after in the South. Delilah did not inherit similar looks from her father and his bloodline. The golden strands of her father had been lost to the dark hair of the first men. The dark hair that had been passed on in the blood of House Stryder. Eyes had taken her father's amber hues, an unusual sight for both the North and the South. They were pools of liquid gold, but they did not seem to be the treasure people sought out after.

A highborn handmaiden, Delilah did have privileges others did not have the luxury of having. The expectations held over the young woman did not include emptying chamber pots or readying bath water. Delilah's duties rather were to offer company and companionship to the queen. Share her bed on nights the King had chosen to lay with painted whores, assist in the dressing of her queen in gorgeous gowns, and accompany to any event Cersei desired to have company. Since the passing of King Robert Baratheon, and the rise of King Joffery Baratheon, Cersei more often than not, had the Northern girl by her side.

A small council meeting was what was faced by the Northerner. It was not often that a woman of her status was granted permission to stand among those hand picked by the King to sit on his council. Cersei however, had insisted that the dark haired beauty remain as long as her mind did not rest in their business and that she served the council as they needed over the duration of their meeting. Few were in attendance this evening. Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, the pin resting proudly on his chest. Beside him, Grand Maester Pycelle dressed in his heavy black robes. It was a wonder to Delilah how a man so frail could manage to walker under such heavy drapery of fashion. It was across from the Grand Maester that Delilah stood in her silken gown behind her queen. She felt out of place her, but also privileged. How many could say they were in the company of people with such status? Within an arms reach was the Master of Whispers. Varys. A plump man from across the Narrow Sea. He was one of few Delilah found herself afraid of. There was nothing this man did not know. He would make or break one's world with a singke word as he was the eyes and ears of the Red Keep. The spider. There was one vacant seat at the table, it was not for her King. He was too pleased with himself to be able to sit. He was practically prancing around the room with Lannister pride.

The final seat was to be taken by Tyrion Lannister, former hand to King Joffery. Footsteps of his short strides echoed through the room as he was last to attend. The imp was what he was infamously known as. He stood up to her waist, and was further dwarfed by his bride Sansa. Moving from her Queen's side for just a moment, the handmaiden poured the last born Lannister a chalice of wine before offering it to him with a smile. She didn't hold eye contact with him to long out of respect for his Lady Sansa. She knew of the man's history. Often laying with whores before his joining with the Tully-haired Stark. The last thing she wanted as to give the Lord the wrong ideal. Delilah was an honorable woman. She had yet to lay with any man, and would not dare try to get between a Lord and his Lady.

Before the stubby fingers of the imp could take the cup, it was knocked from the delicate hands of the young maiden with the force of the Kings body colliding with her own. He was a young lion cub, high on excitement, with no control over his actions - or so it seemed to Delilah. It could also be that the king did not care who stood in his way.

"Show him. Come on, show him," the young king bellowed out and gave no mind to the wine stained silk Delilah was now forced to dawn. She after all, was just a handmaiden to him, therefore she was beneath him. Delilah did not dare speak up in regards to the humiliation she felt. This was her King. Speaking against him and his actions could earn grave punishment she was in no position to face. Instead, she just took a step back and let the king run his course.

From the shadows, Delilah watched as the old maester struggled to hand of a narrow roll of paper off to Lord Tyrion. It was not without struggle, the paper hitting the floor once before reaching the hands of the short Lord. It was there between fingers it was pulled apart and read from full lips; "Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding. Signed Walder Frey."

It had been the first time Delilah's ears had heard the message from the Twins, but it had caused her stomach to knot. From the last letters she had relayed with her mother, Delilah had learned that the Twins was where her father and brother were headed with Robb Stark and his army. Fighting the urge to vomit, she looked towards her king and awaited his interpretation of the message.

"Is this bad poetry, or is it supposed to mean something?" Tyrion sounded again, and the young woman sighed, relieved that she too did not completely understand the note.

"Robb Stark is dead," the young king celebrated, a cackle erupting from his throat. This was the opposite reaction of the young phoenix whom wept in the shadows. If the Starks had fallen, what happened to her family? What of them? Had they fallen victim to the wrath of Walder Frey and his men as well? "And his bitch mother," the foul brat continued to boast in all his glory, as if it was his hand that had taken their lives. It made Delilah sick, acid bile rising in her throat as she fought ever fiber of her being to to go off on her king. "Write back to Lord Frey. Thank him for his service and command him to send Robb Stark's head. I'm going to serve it to Sansa at my wedding feast."

It was then the brunette was ready to snap and moved from the darkness to stand behind Cersei, "My Queen-" she went to speak but was cut out by a growing argument lead by Joffery. The bloody bastard sure did know how to get in her way. Words were past between those in attendance. First Varys, then Cersei and her brother, finally Joffery himself until Lord Tywin put an end to the stubborn madness that had overtaken the room.

"Any man who must say, I am the king is no true king. I'll make sure you understand that when I've won your war for you," the words of Tywin however, only brought more childish screeching from the king. It practically made Delilah's ears bleed. Her youngest brother Stryder would be a better king, even if he was not yet capable of wielding a sword.

"My father won the real war. He killed Prince Rhaegar," Joffery took off on his high and mighty horse. If only he knew the rumors, the ones that suggested that he was not the true heir to the iron throne. The rumors in which his uncle was his true father. The young maiden had once heard those suggestions from the traitor Eddard Stark. They were words that had never left her. Yes, it called the honor of her Queen into question, but nothing seemed to make more sense. "He took the crown while you hid under Casterly Rock!"

"The king is tired," Delilah could not help but to snicker at the words of the Lannister Lord. He gave no care to the status of his grandson and was one of the few that cad the courage to put him in his place. This pleased Delilah greatly, and her pleasure brought great anger to her king.

"You find something funny do you?" Joffery taunted, taking a step forward to stand toe to toe with Delilah. She held her breath, his tall form looking down over her. She however did not look away from him as she did his uncle. She would not show her submission here. Her father taught her better than to cower away under threat, she imagined however that he would be displeased with the fact that she was challenging her king.

"No my Lord," the lie left her lips with ease, this seemed to anger him further as his features turned a pale shade of pink.

"You lying little cunt," he cursed, grasping a hand full of dark hair at the nape of her neck. The tension made the woman's head lean back further, or risk losing half her hair, "I will have your head on a fucking spike!"

"See him to his chambers!" The voice that erupted was not one Delilah had expected to come. She had half expected the room to watch Joffery beat her down, but Lord Tywin had found his way to his feet, challenging the king himself. The shock lessened the grasp on her hair, enabling the handmaiden to pull from her kings grasp and to moved towards the man who had spoken for her. As for that moment, he was her safety.

Delilah remained behind Lord Tywin until her Queen had managed to remove the flustered Joffery from the room. Taking a moment, she let out a heavy breath. "Thank you my Lord," she told him after a moment, her legs bending in a curtsy. "Now, if you would excuse me, I should ready the Queen's chambers for the night," Delilah told the Lannisters that remained but was further held up when Tywin pulled a letter from his coat. One that bare the sigil of her house, the phoenix. The wax had been broken, Delilah could only assume he had read it prior to letting it reach her hand. She could understand why. In his eyes the Stark's were traitors. Her father had once knelt to Eddard Stark, and had chosen to ride along side Robb in his war against Joffery for slaughtering his father. If it wasn't for their shared blood, and the claim that their loyalty to House Stark was purely strategic, Delilah's head would have been on a stake long ago.

"What does it read?" Delilah spoke out after a moment of chewing on her lower lip. It was a nervous habit since childhood. Her mother had once said it was what caused her full lips, and cautioned her to stop. Delilah however, knew that to be rubbish and continued what was considered an unladylike and rather whorish practice.

"A note from your father," Tywin spoke bringing relief to the young woman's form. The tension could no longer be seen in her shoulders, and a sigh of relaxation had taken her body. A letter from her father meant he was alive. "I must say child, it does not bare good news."

It was then that her heart dropped. An arm extended to her, the paper in her reach now. Hesitant fingers took hold of the parchment, her lean frame taking the seat her queen once sat upon. It was there she read the letter a raven had brought.

My Dearest Delilah,

I hate to deliver such news with the flight of the raven. The family has suffered a great loss. Zachariah has been slain. We may be many realms apart, but you do not stand alone-

Eyes blurred by tears, Delilah could not bare to read the remaining words written in her father's hand. They brought to much pain to her chest. The pressure making it far to hard to breath. Zachariah had been too good for the war. Too kind. A lover, not a fighter. He shouldn't have been on the battlefield. Delilah did not doubt he was trying to prove himself to their father, as well has his twin brother.

"Lady Delilah," it was the voice of Tyrion Lannister now. Delilah hadn't noticed the man raise to his feet and join her by her side. "I would like to offer my greatest condolences. Your brother and I, we had met once on my travels back from the Night's Watch. He was a great man, full of life, respected all and only wronged those who had done wrong to him. There need be more men like him in our many realms. Would have made a great lord-"

"Yes, he would have been," she caught the half-man off, her composure slipping. Tears burned the inner corners of her eyes, slowly dripping down over the height of her cheekbones. "I-" she started but her voice was cut with a breath of a sob, "I would like to return to Fort Stryder. To be with my family. I ask you, Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, Hand of the King to grant me permission to go home," he words had been ones of desperation. To be home in her mother's arms was the one thing she craved. To stand with her brothers and sister as the war raged on, and assure that she would not lose anyone else like she had Zachariah.

The room was left in silence, the old man in thought. He had to say yes, she thought. The stories told of Marcus' upbringing were ones Delilah had remembered well. Her grandmother, sister to Johanna Lannister had died in the birth of her daughter. Leaving the three children to be raised by Lord Gwhendell. It was a struggle for the lord, leading him to seek assistance from his late lady's family. Johanna had aided without thought. Raising the three children along side her own twins Jamie and Cersei. That was until the birth of Tyrion. With his birth, Marcus had been stripped of another mother figure. This hardened him, as did having two men forming him into the leader he had become. Tywin had to understand the bond of family. As those who suffered loss, knew the importance of keeping your blood close.

"My dear, that is not something I can permit," Tywin broke to her, his tone apologetic, "I promised your father that as handmaiden of Cersei you, would learn to be a proper lady. That I would find you a Lord to wed. With the raging of wars across the lands, there are not many who can be trusted. It is here, in King's Landing were you will be the safest. No harm can come to you here."

"Safe? You and I, were we not in the same room moments ago? When my king was seconds from laying harm upon me?" Delilah spoke out to him, her features over taken by disbelief, "explain to me how that is supposed to make me feel safe!"

"There are monsters greater than that boy beyond these walls," Tywin cautioned her, taking a step forward to place a hand on her arm, "in the days to follow you will come to understand. We cannot abandon all you have done for us here, how much you have grown and will continue to grow. This is your place. Not the north. Now, I recall that the Queen's bed must be readied for her."

There was no use in arguing with him now. Tywin was the Hand of the King after all. What he said was final, even if she did not like it. It was no reason for her to make a fool of herself as Joffery had prior. Instead, the tiny brunette just nodded her head, curtsied to the Lannister men out of respect and excused herself from the chamber.

Walking the corridors of the castle alone was a foreign feeling as she was almost always in the company of another handmaiden or the queen. Walking though the emptiness, Delilah was left with her thoughts. Oh, how they tormented her. Imagination running wild, she thought of her brother Zacharaiah. Had he died quickly? Painfully? Had he suffered? There was so much she had yet to learn of the events that had broken up her family. Living in the Red Keep, would she ever learn the truth? King's Landing was not a place for honesty after all. All that happened here, was survival.

The queen's chambers were the most lavish Delilah had ever set eyes on. Walls were draped in fine white silk. Candles stood high on their sticks, flames flickering, wax dripping down into gold. The bed had four posts, sweet suede casting a shadow across thin sheets where Delilah had half expected to find the queen asleep. She however, had yet to retire.

Taking this time alone, Delilah snuffed some of the candles to dim the room. She then pulled back the sheets and looked over the comfort in which she had spent many of her nights. Some of those were spent in slumber, other however they had talked until the sun found the sky once more. The relationship he had with Cersei was one Delilah had come to cherish. She was like the older sister she never had. A hand stroking the smooth cotton, Delilah wouldn't help but wonder if her queen was request her company for the night. The alternative would be to retire to her own chambers that had seemed to far at this hour.

Risking punishment, Delilah dressed down into the light robes she dawned to bed when she lay in the company of her queen. Thin fabric that left little to the imagination. It had been a gift from Cersei, claiming she had worn it before the birth of her children. Liking the way it fit on her frame and how it kept her cool on hot summer nights, Delilah kept the excuse for a night gown. Crawling into the bed, Delilah made sure room was kept for Cersei when she decided to wind down for the night. Although her head was loud with the yearning of being with her family, sleep took the young lady into her dreams with ease.