Castamere: The Story of Tywin and Joanna Lannister

by GilraenDernhelm

Part 7 of 'Be The Lightning In Me.' Having spent a bit of time inside Tywin Lannister's head during the course of this series (and having rather enjoyed how fiendishly difficult he is to write), I've decided to write a prequel to parts 1 to 6 about Tywin and Joanna, to see what sort of person he was before her death and to take a look at what their relationship might have been.

15. Chapter 15

Epilogue

It was raining. The sea swirled about his knees like molten glass, transparent in his grief, boiling like the tears of the twisted, gnarled child in his arms who screamed out his existence to the heavens, mocking him like a curse from the gods. Somewhere in the castle above him, Joanna lay dead, and he felt so cold, so cold that he could hardly feel his legs; but he hurt, he hurt so badly, he burned. He fought against the pain, more out of instinct than anything else, and his blood froze and transfigured into shards of ice that grazed the walls of his veins as they passed through him, every heartbeat an agony.

It was barely midday, and yet the skies grew darker and darker; thunder echoing far out to sea; Nature itself rebelling against the entry of this child into the world, a child born a kinslayer and a murderer, a defiler of innocence and beauty.

Tywin smirked. He had done such things. He had spilled so much blood. Thousands of smallfolk still refused to meet his eyes for fear of being struck dead by them. Yet after all this, in spite of all this, Joanna, his wife, his love, his only friend, had been taken from him by nothing more threatening than a stunted, helpless little creature that could not even hold a knife.

Tywin stared down into the water.

The boy is a Lannister. Honour demands that he live.

But he gripped the child around its middle and neck and listened to it scream as he prepared to give it the waves.

Avenging her is more important to me than honour.

He did not find the idea of killing a child any more repugnant than the previous time he had done it, eight long years ago, at Castamere. Only this time, his heart and his blood said nothing to him as he lowered the child to the water and imagined the sea flooding into the howling mouth, swallowing it up and silencing it forever.

'Don't kill him! Please! Please don't!'

Tywin cried out, and almost lost his balance, the waves becoming the sky as he struggled, the sky becoming the place he stood.

But he was standing exactly where he had been, the sea swirling around his knees, a screaming abomination in his arms and a small, high sound from long ago calling to him; a sound in which he heard iron and steel, but also compassion, the voice of one born to command.

And though he knew that it could not be; that she was gone and could never return; he whirled around with hope in his chest, and ridicule at himself that he dared to hope at all.

A small, pale figure stood on the beach looking out at him, its arms folded tightly against the cold, its hair falling into its eyes in ribbons and ribbons of thick spun gold, beautiful despite the rain.

It was Jaime.

The boy's clothes were drenched, and he was shivering visibly. But he fiercely persisted in ignoring his own wretchedness, and shouted once again to his father.

'Don't kill him! Please! Please don't!'

Tywin turned once again to the horizon, and looked down into the child's face for the first time since its birth. Its eyes were mismatched, one green and one black. And yet they were Joanna's: large, bright, and almond-shaped, their irises the texture of rain and fresh leaves, with a softness that could he not define or explain, and a mischief about them that seemed to glitter already, as Joanna's eyes always did when she felt like a good fight.

The child is half an hour old. You are talking nonsense.

Starting at the sudden feeling of a powerful grip on his arm, Tywin looked to his side, then downwards in surprise as he saw that it was only Jaime, holding onto him with the strength of a grown man. His son stood waist-deep in the water beside him, his lips turning blue from cold, but his green eyes were like wildfire; angry, and pleading.

'Father, p-p-p-p-please,' Jaime managed to say through trembling lips, 'p-p-p-please don't kill him. Please don't.'

And suddenly Tywin's knees were buckling beneath him, and Jaime was squealing in alarm and seizing him as he fell to his knees in the water, holding him tightly as the baby howled between them, louder even than the wind.

'Don't kill him,' Tywin heard Jaime plead once more, 'please, Father, please don't.'

'I won't,' Tywin murmured against Jaime's shoulder, 'I won't. I can't.'

Notes

That's all, folks! Thank you so much for the reviews and the encouragement; they have made things much more awesome. Love you all!