The seamstress shook while fixing the final pearl on Rhaella's dress. She grumbled softly, not quite audible to the queen, yet clear enough for the maid nearby to freeze. That garment? Huge, ugly, made of thick cloth: red from the Lannisters cut through with Targaryen black, draping heavily at Rhaella's ankles like spilled blood.
Out in the yard, people were whispering louder now, restless. A man showed up with a crooked jug of cheap wine, sharing it around among those just standing there watching. "D'you think he'll make her kneel before the vows?" one kid joked then got smacked by his old man. When the High Septon started speaking, his tone was rough, like paper dragged over rock.
Tywin stepped in quiet, no parade, no fancy banners hanging off him. His shoes barely dented the soft red carpet while he moved ahead to the front, eyes so heavy that nearby nobles squirmed a little. "Took your time," Rhaella muttered, glancing sideways to see tension twitch near his cheek.
"Tradition is for men who need permission," Tywin said. Not once did he extend his arm. Rather, he lifted her chin with two fingers, checking her out like a trader eyeing questionable goods under dim light. The red stones around her neck flashed, slicing his features with sharp bursts of color. "You look sufficiently conquered."
Rhaella's nose widened slightly, yet she stayed put her heartbeat quickened beneath his touch, giving her away. The High Septon coughed lightly, gripping his glass headpiece like it could guard him from the blasphemy playing out right there.
The vows came out like numbers on a page, flat, lifeless. Though he spoke, Tywin's mouth hardly shifted, his tone doing the bare minimum to keep things legal, ignoring any real feeling. As Rhaella echoed the words, she clutched the curved blade at her side, a flashy Dorne habit, likely hard enough that her fingers turned white. People saw it. Tywin acted blind.
Wedding celebrations used to mean loud drinking and chaos, but the Red Keep's Great Hall was quiet as a tomb that evening. Nobles picked at sweet fruits without joy, acting like they'd rather eat stones, while their ladies whispered behind golden wine. Oberyn Martell, though, looked amused, slouched low like a lazy panther, grinning each time Rhaella's lion-dragon crest flashed in firelight. Tywin noticed his stare, lifted his cup in fake respect. The man from Dorne answered with a fig held high.
Later, once the final grumbling guest had shuffled away, Rhaella snapped. "Did you really need to shame me in front of so many?" she spat, yanking the door shut so fast the candles flickered wildly. Tywin kept his eyes on the page one more cold note heading to Joanna, most likely.
"You weren't shamed," he said, lowering his pen slow. "You got shown." Fire snapped in the stone pit, tossing sparks on the woven floor cloth.
Rhaella's chuckle came out sharp, broken. "Shown? Like some boodmare being sold off?"
He placed the pen aside, watching her bare rage like it amused him from far away. "A broodmare with the power to raise armies," he replied calm. "They saw you kneel, yes. But they also saw the Crownlands muster under your orders yesterday without hesitation. You think they missed how the Riverlords scrambled to send wedding gifts after your last raven? You're a queen who still commands, Rhaella—just one who now does it with my name dripping from your lips."
The next day, the little meeting room reeked of lemons and hunger for power. Tywin slapped a map down on the wood, holding its edges with an old dagger from Valyria, a heavy lion trinket, and Rhaella's full cup of spiced wine she never drank. "Those broken islands," he muttered, jabbing at the scattered dots. "Raiders have strangled our ships way past due."
Lord Velaryon froze mid-sentence as Rhaella shifted closer, her rings tapping the table. "Tariffs from Gulltown will pay for the ships." She said, then added, "Tywin's got mercenaries lined up, hired them through back channels." Everyone at the table paused. For once, she didn't say 'the Hand' or 'Lord Lannister.' Just Tywin. That single word shut down every objection before it could start.
When the moon grew thin, things had clearly shifted. Vessels bearing the fresh split flag, golden lions twisted with red dragons torched outlaw dens until they sank into the sea. Over in King's Landing, Tywin's reforged city guards carried out Rhaella's orders without flinching; food stores piled high before cold months hit, brothel owners handed over dues, while traders who used to buy escapes suddenly couldn't bribe their way free. Locals murmured how the queen strolled slum alleys after dark, her dress stained with mud as she checked the public washrooms built where an old tannery caved in.
Oberyn sat back in a silken tent, eyes on the chaos below, glass twirling slow. He smirked, saying to Yronwood, half-laughing, "Those two? Pure nightmare fuel." Across the grounds, Rhaella heard it, raised her drink. Not a nod, just cold understanding in her gaze. Next to her, Tywin didn't smile wide but something sharp lit up behind his eyes. Everyone waited for drama. Instead, power took root.
Starting then, Westeros' Golden Age shone so bright no song could do it justice.
***
The fire slumped low in the hearth, stretching twisted shadows over the room's wall hangings, woven dragons facing off against lions without sound or motion. Near the window, Rhaella stayed still, outlined by pale light, the thin fabric clinging to her frame while her stiff posture gave everything away. From the bed's edge, Tywin studied her, running a thumb around the lip of a drained wine cup. "You're thinking too loudly," he said, voice like that deep southern vintage they'd drunk before. She kept staring out. "I'm calculating how many ways this ends with a knife in your back."
He moved the cup away, then got up his footsteps slow, steady on the rock floor. By the time he got to her, there was no contact at first. Just near enough for his breath to lift the stray hairs by her ear, glinting pale in the low glow. "You've had years to try." he said, tone soft but sharp. "Yet here I am." Then his palm grazed her side, spreading lightly across the shirt, catching how she tensed. "And here you are."
Rhaella spun around, eyes sharp, yet fury mixed with something deeper, wilder. Her palm hit his chest, not to shove, instead to catch the rhythm of his heart beneath skin. "You're a monster," she breathed. He grabbed her wrist, sliding it upward till her touch found his neck, where blood pulsed under her fingers. "And you married me." His free hand knotted into her hair, yanking gently so her face lifted, lips nearly brushing his. "So be monstrous with me."
The kiss hit hard. Not soft at all. Tywin slammed his mouth on hers like a battering ram in battle, sharp and unyielding, no space to pull away. She caught the tang of blood, sour wine, then something deeper; her lips gave way as he yanked her hair, tugging just enough for her breath to spill out between them.
She bent backward without thinking, her round breasts thick under the thin cloth pushed into his solid torso, the sharp tips of her nipples brushing over the stitched lions on his jacket.
Tywin didn't take time to remove her clothes right, he just pushed the loose shirt high above her hips, letting it twist around her middle, while his grip bit into her thigh skin as he yanked her closer to the windowsill's edge.
"Look at you," he said close to her mouth, voice low, heavier than just a joke, "a queen with her legs spread for a Lannister." One hand moved down, slipping through, touching her like he'd done it before. "Already wet," he pointed out, rubbing slow circles where it made her tense up. "Was this on your mind when you signed those marriage papers? Me inside you while you act like nothing's changed?"
Rhaella sucked in air, her hips twitching toward where he'd touched then nothing. Tywin yanked the belt loose, that smooth strip sliding out quiet and slick, while his fingers stayed locked on her leg, pressing deep.
"You asked for a crown," he said low, shoving her down on the edge, stone sharp against her flesh. "Now you'll take a lion instead." No warning, he drove in hard, one rough move, her body gripping tight as a gasp tore from her throat.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails piercing the thin cloth of his shirt while he moved fast, every thrust shoving her tighter into the edge behind. Moonlight lit the drops on his forehead, that sharp look in his gaze as he stared not blinking as if trying to crack her open using nothing but the steady drive of his body.
Rhaella gasped as the first wave struck, muscles clenching wild and sharp yet Tywin kept driving forward. He pounded into her without mercy, fingers digging into her legs to stop her twisting aside when bliss bled into raw sensation. "More," he growled, tone edged and unyielding and damn her soul, she responded. A fresh peak slammed into her like crashing waves, sight fading to blank as she bucked up off the rock, mouth pressed silent against his neck.
On the third thrust, she started crying no hurt involved, just pure intensity, her pussy twitching around his cock like it had its own wild pulse. Then Tywin lost his steady pace, breathing hard and short as he sensed her tightening on him, squeezing, which pulled a deep, rough noise out of his chest.
He pushed deep, his body jerking while he came into her, hot waves pouring in slow, steady surges.
He stayed inside. Then yanked her back from the edge, tossing her down on hands and knees where pelts covered the ground fingers digging hard into her hips. She hardly caught breath when he pushed in once more, his shaft wet with their shared release, gliding without resistance.
"I want to know," he demanded, his voice rough with exertion, "did Aerys ever fuck you like this?" His thrusts were slower now, deliberate, each one grinding deep enough to make her toes curl. "Did he ever make you cum so hard you forgot your own name?"
Rhaella's arms shook, her face against the cold fur while she gasped, trembling from what just happened. "No," she said roughly, like it slipped out before she could stop it. "He—he couldn't."
Tywin laughed - low, sharp. His fingers twisted in her hair, pulling hard, forcing her neck to stretch, skin taut under the open air.
"Good," he whispered near her ear, his teeth lightly touching its edge "Remember that the next time you think about betrayal."
One hand stayed loose at her side while the other moved slow across her hip, digging slightly into the warmth just below where a child might already grow, if Tywin wanted it. She sucked air sharp through her teeth, feeling herself tighten on him without thinking, so he pushed harder, chasing the heat with rougher thrusts.
"Fuck," he growled, barely holding it together, first crack in his cool all evening. "You're gonna take it all, right? Just like a real queen."
And she did. Rhaella stayed still even as every spurt pushed deep, his shaft jerking inside her while he came hard, almost too much. Her legs shook, wet from sweat and cum, yet she didn't move back. Not once he slipped out, fluid sliding down her thighs, leaving trails like smudged words on old paper. He stared at the mess, nearly awed, fingertips following the slick lines before pressing them across her mouth. "Taste it," he growled, breath ragged. "Taste what you are now."
She opened her mouth like he wanted, tasting the salt on his fingertips, his win, her surrender. Then his thumb pushed gently against her tongue while she closed her eyes, breathing uneven. That flavor earthy, sharp, totally him burnt deep, just like the marks forming on her skin.
Tywin drew back, letting out a low sound of approval, fingers tightening on her chin to lift her head. "That's right," he said softly, praise that sparked an unexpected tremor deep inside. His eyes dropped to where their bodies had just met, warmth still lingering there and something shadowed crossed his face.
"You'll bear my heir," he said, as if it were already decided. "A child with Targaryen blood and Lannister cunning."
He paused, his thumb stroking her lower lip. "Unless you'd prefer I fuck another child into you tonight?"
Rhaella smirked, fingers pressing hard into his forearm. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she said, tone rough. "To see me begging for it?"
Tywin's smile cut deep, like a blade ready to slash. He leaned in close, his lips brushed her temple, soft but dangerous, if danger wore gentleness as armor. "l already do," he murmured, voice low and steady. "But by all means, beg louder."
Rhaella breathed out slow, flames flickering across the damp skin at the base of her neck. It hit her quiet-like: she wasn't afraid of him. Not the way she'd been afraid of Aerys' erratic rages, not the way the court feared Tywin's infamous ruthlessness. This guy, the one who'd taken her hard against the pelts? Not a threat. He was a fact. Like gravity. Like death. Inevitability wrapped as man and still came like clockwork. A smirk tugged at her lips. All those years spent clutching daggers under her pillow, and the true danger had never been his cruelty, it was his competence.
Tywin watched her quietness like a scholar picking apart an old book. "You're thinking again," he thought out loud, running his finger along the bump of her back.
"That you're not half as clever as you think," She lied, yawning slow, twisting her spine just enough so her naked chest moved. He could assume her mind was empty, matching the show.
He laughed low, close to her neck while tugging her tighter his softening dick warm and damp where they touched. "No," he whispered through her hair, voice quiet but sharp, "You're thinking that you could slit my throat right now and no one would stop you." One hand slipped up her leg, two fingers wet from both of them sliding easily. "But you won't."
Rhaella stiffened, not from his hand, but from how dead-on it was. His thumb moved slow over her, careless-like, like he hadn't also trapped her spirit right there on the bed. "Why not?" she challenged, gasping a little even though she didn't mean to.
"Because you'd miss this," he said simply, pushing two fingers inside her with a twist that made her hips jerk. "And because you're smart enough to know I'd haunt you from the grave." His teeth grazed her earlobe. "Now cum for me one more time, and then we'll discuss which of the Free Cities we'll burn for insulting your last trade envoy."
She gasped, then she laughed, quick, surprised. Damn it all, he wasn't wrong. She didn't wish him gone; she needed him right there: buried in her, crawling beneath her thoughts, his plans and body both stuck tight. Pleasure crashed down out of nowhere, soaking through her like rain, while Tywin rumbled low by her neck as if sensing her capitulation at last.
Or victory.
She stopped keeping score a while back.