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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl	By : White Glove Literature Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 27883 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I neither own Game of Thrones nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
The hours seemed to drudge by slower than a snail and he was becoming increasingly impatient. He longed to be rid of this dark and stinking cell and escape to freedom. He was tired of the dampness of the cell, the stench coming from both himself and the waste bucket in the corner and the darkness. Most of all he was tired of being alone. He desperately missed Cersei, his twin, and even his annoying brother, Tyrion. If Cersei could see him now, she would likely have a heart attack. Tyrion, however, would no doubt make some clever jape that they would later laugh over. It hurt to be so far from those he loved. He wondered how Cersei was dealing with his absence.
The only time he ever saw another human being was when the guard stopped by to deliver his meal for the day. He had tried on occasion to taunt the guard, to coax him into speaking in order to break up the never-ending monotony of his routine but the guard simply ignored him and left, leaving him alone once again with only his dark thoughts and the rats for company.
With a whine of frustration, Jaime kicked the bars of his cell and resumed his furious pacing, back and forth inside his cramped cell until finally the hour came and the cloaked figure appeared, calling quietly to him.
“Psst, it’s time. Are you ready?” the figure asked reaching inside his cloak for a set of keys on a heavy brass ring.
“What kind of stupid question was that? I have been ready to escape this wretched cell since I first entered it.” Jaime thought as he crossed the cell to the bars as the figure unlocked the gate.
Exiting the cell, Jaime shot one last contemptuous glare at the cell behind him before allowing the cloaked figure to lead him down the darkened corridor.
“Keep quiet and move quickly.” The cloaked stranger whispered as they moved through empty corridors and down along a secret staircase, leading outside to a skiff tethered to a small harbor. There was no moon tonight, so they would have to navigate by memory and the stars alone. They quickly climbed into the boat and the stranger untethered it before grabbing the oars and pushing off. Jaime settled comfortably into the small skiff as the figure began to quietly row them downstream, moving carefully as they passed sentries, making slowly for the Lannister camps in the distance.
Things were going smoothly when suddenly from behind, there were shouts, and torches being lit inside the castle. Their absence discovered the figure rowed harder, working quickly to escape before the inhabitants of Riverrun discovered their location. After about twenty minutes of furious rowing they reached the area downstream where the Lannister army was camped outside Riverrun.
Docking the boat, they waded ashore and were quickly apprehended by Lannister soldiers who dragged them to the Command tent where Ser Devan Lannister and Gregor Clegane were seated around a table, discussing plans for the battle.
The pair were ushered inside and one of the soldiers pulled the stranger’s cloak back revealing a weasel-like face. “A Frey,” Jaime realized with a start.
Walking forward, Ser Devan considered the pair before grinning and moved to embrace Jaime. “Cousin Jaime, gods above but you look like shit.” He laughed, stepping back.
Jaime cocked a grin and tilted his head. “It’s been some time, cousin. So, how have you been?” He asked feeling his old smugness returning.
Ser Devan shook his head, a smile on his face. “Oh well enough, I suppose. And yourself?” He asked.
Jaime smiled, crossing the room to sit in one of the wooden camp chairs and poured himself a glass of wine from the table beside him. “Eh, I can’t complain. Good wine, good health. Life is what it is.” He said.
“I suppose you’ll want to freshen up after you’ve finished your wine. I’ll have one of the men prepare a hot bath and layout clean clothes for you, then we’ll talk later once you’re recovered.” Ser Devan said, his nose wrinkling in distaste.
Jaime nodded his thanks and finished his wine, saying nothing.
“And you Ser Edwyn. Your father shall have his reward when the castle is taken. Now that Ser Jaime is safe we can begin the siege in earnest. And here’s your payment for your service. Five hundred gold dragons as promised,” Ser Devan said, handing the Frey a large fat purse.
Edwyn Frey took the purse gratefully and tucked it inside his cloak, bowing his head to each in turn. “My thanks, my lords. If I may be so bold, my father has requested that you cause as little damage to the castle as possible when you begin the siege in earnest. Out of respect for the services rendered by House Frey.” He said before being led from the tent by a Lannister soldier.
“Bothersome little weasels those Freys. Still, they have their uses,” Ser Devan said turning back to Jaime.
“So, House Frey has declared for the Crown has it?” Jaime asked, turning to face the pair.
“Robb Stark broke his promise to Walder Frey and married some peasant girl instead. The old man wanted to have him killed, but your father convinced him to betray him and help take him prisoner for the Crown instead.” Ser Gregor said, speaking for the first time.
Jaime who had always been wary of the giant of a man nodded to him but said little. A squire entered the tent and bowed. “My lord your bath is ready, and we have clean clothing laid out for you,” He said, eyes down.
Jaime nodded to Ser Devan, thanking him and stood, walking out into the cold night air as the squire led him to a tent that had been set aside for him. Upon entering the tent, Jaime dismissed the boy and stripped before climbing into the large steaming tub with a sigh as he picked up a bar of soap and a rag and began scrubbing himself.
After his bath, Jaime sat in a camp chair in front of a small mirror in his tent, shaving off the heavy growth of his beard with a straight razor. The tent was spartan, a small firepit, a cot with a heavy blanket, a desk, and two small wooden camp chairs. The tent was always heated by a fire which servants kept lit to ward off the winter chill and a few candles, placed on the table beside him.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
Arya woke earlier than usual the next morning, sitting up in bed. Beside her Tywin lay sleeping, his head resting on a pillow. Arya smiled, watching him sleep before getting up and crossing the room, stoking the fire and adding a few logs to keep it lit. She mused that Tywin would be horrified that she tended her own fire but attributed it to Southern foolishness. The Northerner in her reminded her that a life of wasteful luxury should be frowned upon. The warmth of the flames was refreshing in the morning chill and she leaned in closer, savoring the warmth and the scent of the pine logs crackling in the hearth, old and pleasant memories flashing through her mind. She was happy here with Tywin, enjoying her life with him and relishing in the affection he showered on her when they were alone but part of her longed for the comfort of her family. Her parents and brothers and the familiarity of Winterfell in the North. With a sigh, Arya wrapped a thick woolen robe, lined with rabbit fur around her shoulders and walked into the outer chambers. She rang a bell rope and one of Lord Tywin’s servants appeared quickly, bowing low.
“How may I be of service, my lady?” He asked.
“Go to the kitchens and fetch a bowl of fruit, some heated wine, bacon, and oatcakes,” She said looking at him.
“Right away, my lady.” He said as he straightened up and hurried away.
Arya crossed the room to the sofa and sat, picking up the book she had been reading the previous night and picked up where she had left off. A few minutes later she heard movement in the other room and looked up as her lord entered, dressed in a tunic and breeches. Evidently, he had the morning to himself for a change, she decided considering his attire. He crossed the room and sat beside her, leaning in and softly kissing her, his fingers carding through her hair.
“Morning, my love,” Tywin said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“Good morning yourself, Tywin. Sleep well?” Arya asked, smiling up at him.
Tywin was just about to answer when a knock sounded at the door and the pair broke apart.
“Enter,” Tywin called, looking towards the door.
The door opened, and the servant boy entered, carrying the tray of food and wine. He crossed the room, setting the tray on the coffee table, before bowing and backing out of the room again.
Tywin turned to face Arya, who smiled. “I thought you might be hungry after last night.” She replied, helping herself to a few grapes.
“Absolutely famished.” He replied, his hands pushing her back against the sofa.
“Are you never satisfied, my lord?” She giggled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
“Never, when it comes to you.” Tywin smiled, leaning in and capturing her lips.
Arya melted into his arms, kissing him back as his tongue pushed into her mouth, probing, teasing, wrestling with her own, his hands carding through her hair as he pinned her to the large sofa, his hips grinding against hers.
Tywin moaned softly into the kiss, the delicious friction driving his mind wild with lust. Shaking his head to clear it, he pulled back and lifted Arya up, into his lap as he brushed her dark hair to the side, his lips trailing butterfly kisses along the curve of her neck. Arya purred, running her small hands across his shoulders.
Tywin tugged at her robe, pulling it aside as he tugged at the hem of her nightdress, his hands moving to caress her pale thighs, his calloused fingers teasing her soft pink lips, making her moan as she buried her face in his shoulder.
Another knock at the door brought an angry hiss from Tywin. “Get out or I’ll kill you.” He roared over his shoulder, face livid, as the door opened, and his younger brother entered.
“I have urgent news, brother.” Kevan Lannister said, looking tense.
“I’m busy,” Tywin stated irritably.
“It’s an emergency,” Kevan replied.
“Come back when it’s a catastrophe.” Tywin snapped.
“Tywin…” Arya said, grinning as she pulled her robe closed, looking up at him from the sofa.
“Oh, very well. Out with it.” Tywin said, turning to face his younger brother as he pulled a throw pillow over his lap, causing Arya to giggle softly.
“It’s your grandson, Joffrey. He’s dead.” Kevan said, shoulders slumped.
Tywin jerked around on the sofa to face his younger brother, as Arya sat up, surprised and looked at them both, struggling to suppress a grin. She hated Joffrey with a passion, but he was Tywin’s blood and cheering at a time like this would be somewhat improper, even for her.
“Seven hells,” Tywin swore, before jumping up, all thoughts of his young lover driven from his mind. “How many people know about this?” He asked, sweeping a hand through his hair.
“Not many. We thought it best to tell you first, given the err…nature of his death.” Kevan replied with a grimace.
“How exactly did he die?” Tywin asked, worriedly.
“He was killed by a…whore in one of Baelish’s brothels. It seems he became a little too rough and she panicked.” Kevan said, glancing nervously at his elder brother.
Tywin’s face turned stony, his opinion of whores and brothels all too well known. “Where the hell was his Kingsguard?” He asked, voice cold as ice and eerily calm.
Arya backed away nervous. She had only seen her lord this angry once, back in Harrenhal, when he had caught her touching herself. He disapproved of lechery, debauchery, and drunkenness.
“Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount were assigned to watch him, but they were in a separate room, drinking and bedding whores as well. They didn’t arrive until after he was already gone. They found the girl trembling in the corner, bleeding and covered in bruises.” Kevan said, inching slowly towards his seething, elder brother. He reached out, gently placing a comforting hand on Tywin’s arm.
“Take them to the dungeons. Have the silent sisters tend to his body then have him transported to the Sept of Baelor. I’ll deliver the news to Cersei myself.” Tywin said quietly as they walked out of the room.
“And the whore, what of her?” Kevan asked.
“The same fate as our father’s whore,” Tywin said, walking away.
Kevan nodded and rushed to obey his brother’s order, all too eager to get away from Tywin when he was in this mood.
Tywin turned, walking down the corridor connecting the Tower of the Hand to the Red Keep. Striding through the halls he entered Cersei’s chambers. He didn’t bother knocking since she would most likely be asleep at such an early hour.
Walking into his daughter’s bedchambers he found her passed out on the bed and clutching an empty wine glass, several empty bottles of Arbor gold strewn about the floor of her chambers. Tywin seethed, seeing red as he turned and walked back to the door, opening and loudly slamming it.
Startled, Cersei bolted upright and looked around blearily, mind foggy with the aftereffects of the wine. Spotting her father standing in the doorway, she hastily brushed her hair out of her eyes and focused her gaze on her father.
“Father, w…what are you doing here?” She asked, nervous as he fixed a glare at her.
“I must say, you’re in fine form as usual. Between your lout of a husband and your recent behavior, it’s no wonder Joffrey turned out the way he did. I have some terrible news, Cersei. Your son is dead.” Tywin said.
“Dead…my son…what do you mean dead? What happened?” She said, the fog clearing as fear and panic set in.
“Your son Joffrey was murdered by a whore he had been fucking in one of Petyr Baelish’s brothels,” Tywin said an angry glare in his eyes as he gazed down at his daughter.
Cersei jumped out of bed, racing forward with tears in her eyes. “I…I have to go to him.” She said.
Tywin blocked her path, glaring. “You’ll do no such thing. If we don’t handle this situation correctly, it’ll be a disaster for us all. Not to mention the reaction of the Tyrells when they learn the manner of your son’s death.” He said.
“But he was my son. I must see him.” Cersei sobbed.
“He was a bastard born of incest between you and your brother. If the two of you weren’t my children, I’d run you both through myself. As it is, he was still the King.” Tywin said, shocking Cersei who backed up, the fear and panic in her eyes more than enough to confirm what he had just said, his worst fears coming true.
“Joffrey will be laid to rest in the crypts beneath the Sept of Baelor. After the funeral, Tommen will be crowned king and will join Sansa and Tyrion at Casterly Rock as their ward. Sansa will be a better mother to the child than you ever were. And you, Cersei, will proceed immediately to the Iron Islands to wed Balon Greyjoy.” Tywin finished speaking.
“W…what? N…no. I won’t. You can’t.” Cersei protested.
“If you’re not on the ship by sundown tonight, your body will be found in the slums of Flea Bottom come morning. I suggest you start packing.” Tywin said in a voice so terrifying Cersei felt as if all her worst nightmares had come true at the same time. Turning, he walked away heading towards the Tower of the Hand, to get a handle on things before everything blew up in his face.
TBC
Author’s note. I thought long and hard about this chapter as it would hold some key events. I still have a use for Tyrion, so I don’t want him fleeing to Essos. As for Joffrey, well his days were always numbered. I just thought this end suited him given how he treated the whores in the videos. The ending for Cersei, well she would never have gone away quietly after her son’s death. It was a bit harsh, I believe, but I never really liked her. Still, this is certainly not the last we will see of her. There will be more drama from her to come. As for Jaime, I haven’t decided yet. I have read the reviews and I do plan to do something productive with him. Just not sure what yet. I’ve received several requests for a marriage between Tywin and Arya. I do plan to have Tywin make a serious commitment to Arya, but I won’t tell you when or how it will come to pass.
- 7
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- 9
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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl