Hi!
A few clearing before reading the story, sorry for the length of it.
—English isn't my native language or my mother tongue or even second or third language ;) So there can be grammar mistakes and everything related to that..
—I'm not knowledgeable about politics, whether feudalistic or modern systems, nor am I good at war strategies. My history knowledge are not any better than the first two. So forgive me if you find the characters act silly or sth, but you're welcome to give your opinion.
—There won't be a Tyrion in this story, sorry.
—I don't know where this story is going, the idea comes to me that one thing in the Lannister family is strange.
—Have you ever wondered why a man (Tywin Lannister) who respects his mother, defended his sister and even lets her enough leeway to be most of her time at the Rock and say whatever she likes, adores his wife and gives her all the reigns of his life, not being kind and respectful to his own flesh and blood, the daughter of his own making(Cersei), even long before she grows up.
So I put so many signs together and come to one conclusion; Joanna Lannister is behind the matter.
Are you familiar with Narcissistic Mothers, especially those traditional women who put their sons above their daughters, hating their own daughters even more than their sons' brides, in particular their own first-born child-daughter, who muddles the relationship between fathers and daughters?
I saw, read and heard enough of this particular narcissist behaviour in mothers that I'm sure this is the major reason for Tywin never getting close to his children, especially Cersei.
It's as clear as the day that Joanna makes Cersei look bad (as a person) before her father, to the point that even after her death, the bridge between father and daughter was so broken that it never gets fixed.
I wonder why Joanna, when knowing her husband aspires for a royal union, gives promises to her friend, – her first and only daughter to a second son that would not inherit anything. Or slapping only Cersei, not Jaime and putting guard before her bedroom door and again not Jaime, when catching them together. Or why Tywin promised secretly to Cersei that she shall be Queen. (I wonder if it's the fear of his wife throwing a tantrum that he hides from her.)
I wonder if one of the reasons that she was that, could be that she had had an older bastard sister.(Lynora)
So here's the story that stems from this concept.
Disclaimer: all is not mine
Feedback will be appreciated.
"On her way where?"
"Wherever whores go."
The crossbow in hands of Tyrion whangs just as Tywin starts to rise. The bolt slams into above his groin and an excruciating pain shoots through his body, making him sit back down and unfortunately then pain gets intensified as the quarrel sinks deep into his body.
He looks back at his son, at the bane of his existence, and says, "you shot me." He is still digesting that the little monster shot him while he has not done what he thinks he should have done years ago when the monster killed his wife.
The monster is saying something, but he can not focus on him when all his life is passing by before his eyes in a flash. He should have killed that monster.
"You … you are no … no son of mine."
"Now that's where you're wrong, Father. Why, I believe I'm you writ small. Do me a kindness now, and die quickly. I have a ship to catch."
Tywin bolts upright, breathing heavily. A sheen layer of cold sweat covering his face and body, he feels chilled to the bone. He reaches out to the table beside his bed and pours himself a generous amount of red, drinking and trying to distract himself for the time being by the tangy taste of wine.
When he is sure all his senses and emotions are under his control, thinks back to the rather strange dream that he has had.
His … his son killed him, of course it was in the dream and he is now in the dungeons and far away from him and Tywin shall be free of all the shame that the imp has brought upon him. His thoughts come back to the whore that was in his dream, not that girl, Tysha, the other one. He shudders from mulling over his nightmare that contained him sleeping with a whore. He, Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, Being Hand of more than one King, lowering himself so much as to touch the body of a whore.
No. Way.
And to think even after so many years betraying his Joanna, his dear golden wife.
It is even more impossible.
He is a man of so many things, but giving in to his base desires is not one of them.
It seems all his fears have been combined in one hell of a dream, a horrifying dream which he shall make sure to not come true.
His tunic is stuck onto his body, feeling the cold sweat still clinging to his skin, but drying with the air of the night and leaving him shivering in its wake. The night has not come to an end yet and is not even near the hour of the wolf. Nevertheless, knowing sleep shall not come to him after such a vivid, but fearsome dream, he slipped out of the bed and walked up to wear a clean and fresh attire for another excruciating day.
He is getting old or some would say he is already old and never has he envisioned himself in his old days spending time handling his children's mess, one after another. He had had many hopes and plans for his family, his legacy which part of it got buried with Joanna, another part turned to ashes by the hand of Aerys and now this.
For the umpteenth time he asks himself what he has done that everything has turned this or where he has gone wrong with his children, his beautiful golden fools, so them to act so spitefully, not to others, but to their own family, to their own father, being disloyal to him and disrespect everything that he holds dear.
Comes to his mind the dry sense of humour of his friend and enemy.
"Being a lonely dragon is a sad dragon, but do you know, my dear friend, What's the problem with dragons?"
Dragons alone or not are doomed for they are the enemy of themselves, they will tear eachother apart 'til one of them gets the reign over, the power and everything, then the other will be left with nothing. Well, It seems the lions are the same." He gave him a crooked smile and kept on, "My friend, what better way to bond over the likeness of our family and being happy we are not the same species."
Both laughed and toasted to being a dragon and a lion; the same and not the same.
There had been joy on his friend's face which he was sure was mirroring his own face, despite both being drunk and angry, for both their fathers had not been the father they should have been.
As of late he is looking back onto his past one too many times. Unfortunately, when the future is bleak and fruitless, he is forced to look back.
He presses the pad of his hands onto his eyes, tightly shutting them. At least his second grandson is not that mad and stupid as the first, although he is a weakling and is malleable and in danger of getting fooled by the fragrance and silkiness of roses.
The faces of his three grandchildren swim before him. Their features are all Lannisters, through and through. He saw the three children, knew, but did nothing to discipline, nothing to prevent the disaster they are now facing.
Joanna always reminded him that Cersei needs a firmer hand. Tywin wonders how much firmer he should have been.
Joanna persisted he was soft on their daughter, spoiling her. He was not. He is not. He pushed them, pushed and pushed, until the gap between them could not be closed.
She was not very happy for their daughter being a queen, and did not hide it from him, "she shall not fare well as the most powerful woman in Westeros, Tywin. She is better off to be with Oberyn, far away from our son."
Though he agrees with Joanna that Cersei is the one behind many of Jaime's follies, he had not wished her only daughter being anything less than a Queen, he had promised her. He did not heed his wife's advice on the future of their children, in particular, Cersei and now he has failed his family.
Looking around to shake off the remorseful feeling from his mind, feels his bedchamber is somewhat off putting and knows something or everything is wrong, but he can not put his finger on it.
He seats himself at his desk and reaches for his quill when seeing the missionary items on the desk and papers and letters are not like yesterday that he had abandoned them there to look through and answer them today. It is still organised, there is no doubt about that, but as if someone has gone through them, looking for something and then tyding them, unfortunately or rather fortunately for him, forgetting how they had been set on the desk so he knows someone had been in his chamber, someone who has not any right to be here without his permission, which are everyone. He does not even let chambermaids come in without his permission.
Only Joanna had such a privilege and nobody can replace her.
And when he leafs through the papers to know what the intruder has been looking for, he sees a cruel joke before him; all the letters and papers are about one of the pivotal moments of his life when Aerys, little by little undermined his Hand, more importantly, his friend's authority and showed the jealousy that he had been harbouring deep in his mind.
Hearing the creaking of the door, looking up in time to see a ghost before him, no not a ghost, more likely an imposter, whoever has planned out such a cruel, but laughable farce, definitely is the one behind whoever had sneaked into his room.
In an instant, he is at the woman's side and gets the woman's wrists in his hands. He does not care neither when she cries out in pain nor when she calls his name. He is only seeing red. How dare she disrespect the memory of his dear Joanna.
Shaking her violently, he asks, "Who are you? Answer me, whore, at once!"
Whoever has sent her to him, it does matter, and he shall find out, and when he does, he shall send the whore to wherever she deserves to be.
