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Chapter Text

The story of how Lan Lannister, famously known as Lan the Clever, became the powerful man he was is shrouded in rumours, tales and many variations.

The most notable is how he secretly entered Casterly Rock and drove the residing House of Casterly, forcing them to flee in terror.

Rival with it is also the version of him playing his card right and earning the hand of Lord's Casterly daughter in marriage, successfully inheriting everything and creating a House that would stand for generations.

But what if you were to be told that all those versions lacked one important detail? No matter which version might be true, one secret element remained stable...

Lan was not alone.

The roaming, clever man had a companion by his side, a peculiar woman with her gifts. A secret deal had aligned their interests, and supernatural forces ensured their generations would never be apart, honouring a silent deal.

Thus, the Lannisters became Kings and then Wardens, with each first male heir taking the mantle and having a peculiar woman by their side.

No one truly knew why, and while some dared to mock, this trusted ally became an advisor, a companion and even a friend.

The truth behind this odd coincidence was never revealed, so people came to call it by one common name.

The Lannister Secret

Tywin Lannister sat behind his desk—or at least what he could call a desk. It was a simple, small wooden table where he ate, studied maps, and wrote letters.

Long gone had been the comforts of his home, the once luxuries replaced with commoner conditions in the middle of a war.

Alone at the moment, Tywin let down the quill he was holding and pushed his chair back. He silently headed for the jug with fresh wine left on a stool nearby.

He had been sitting for more than an hour if his calculations were correct. For over an hour, he had been staring at a map and thinking of what to write back, or better say... to whom.

It hasn't been more than a few months since the War started, fuelled by the feud between his family and the Northern Wardens, the Starks.

His imp for a son was a prisoner of Lady Stark, accused of attempted murder against her paralysed, bedridden son. At the same time, her husband was held prisoner in King's Landing while Robb Stark riled up men and declared an open war.

So here he was, trying to deal with the idiot son-in-law who was slowly dying on his bed, a prideful daughter trying to rule in his stead and a volatile grandson who was a temporary King.

All he could think of was the troublesome and incompetent individuals he had to deal with.

Sometimes, he wished there was someone more reliable.

The sound of wine being poured filled the other silent tent, his goblet quickly being filled by the red alcoholic liquid he consumed rather often.

Tywin had taken a few sips before a soldier pushed the flaps of his tent, taking two steps inside and giving a deep bow.

"Excuse me, My Lord."

Tywin turned his body sideways, clearly unhappy and disturbed at that moment. "What is it?"

The soldier lifted his body up but seemed hesitant to answer directly. "We found someone near the campsite, requesting your presence."

Now, the old Lion was slightly intrigued but let none be shown. "Have this person given a name?"

"They have, my Lord."

"Well, what is it?" Tywin asked, slowly losing the patience he had. When the soldier did not reply immediately but hesitated once again, the Lion felt his jaw clench in annoyance. "Spill it out, already!"

The soldier could not refuse the order or remain there for long; his Lord's predatory gaze was too hard to handle.

"They claim to be... Lady Josephine, my Lord," he finally confessed, holding his breath.

Tywin did not reply, not immediately. He narrowed his golden-flecked green eyes and fully turned to face the soldier. His grip on the goblet increased as old memories flashed into his mind.

It had been years, decades even, since he last heard that name. That name was also followed by images of a woman across the years.

Starting from a young girl and growing up, a mane of reddish brown waves was currently framing a good-looking face. Her eyes were the shade of pure steel. Her tempting pink lips were forming victorious smirks.

But it had been too long ever since he witnessed all of this first-hand. This person must be a fluke, a fake, for there was no way the woman from his past had returned.

"Bring her in," The Old Lion ordered, tempted to prove his thoughts were correct.

After giving another bow, the soldier left, and Tywin headed for his desk, the goblet still in his war-branded hand. He placed it on the wooden furniture just as the tent flaps were moved once again.

Turning to the entrance, Tywin held his breath as the captured figure entered the tent.

The same hair shade was the first thing to be noticed, wildly framing the woman's face. Her eyes were the exact shade of grey steel, sharp and holding back true danger.

The years had been king to the woman, her complexion making her appear younger than her real age. Her clothing, as per usual, was more suited for the male gender instead.

She wore a green tunic and black leather pants, with matching boots and black leather sleeves to protect her against scratches and the weak cold. Belts and straps completed the outfit, connected small pouches, and held empty weapon cases.

"For a moment, I thought you wouldn't see me," the woman spoke, her voice slightly husky and mature.

The voice helped Tywin overcome his silent shock and focus on the ghost of his past that seemed to have returned.

"I was close, considering you an impostor," he replied, his tone indifferent and yet his beautiful eyes softened ever so faintly without his approval. "It is ridiculous to think of how you could have found me across the vast land of Westeros."

Josephine took a few steps forward, entering the tent deeper but keeping some distance between them. "It is not for us; do not pretend as if you had forgotten."

Had anyone else spoken to him that way, Tywin would have had them flogged for their attitude. But the woman before him was not just anyone, just the exception.

The Lion grabbed the goblet and took a few sips, his free hand clenching and unclenching into a fist, a habit of his when he was trying to keep his temper in check.

"I do not have to pretend after all those decades," he commented, again lowering the now empty goblet on the desk.

Something snapped within Josephine, the faint glow of gold flashing in front of her eyes, and she bravely took a few steps closer. "It was you who sent me away, Tywin." She reminded him, her tone masking the feelings of hurt and betrayal that never faded despite the passage of time.

The same scene flashed into their minds as if there was an invisible connection syncing them.

It was a cold night, the rain pouring hard outside while the whole of Westerlands was mourning. The beloved Joanna Lannister had perished at childbirth, the dwarf son having survived at the cost of her life.

Josephine had been in Tywin's personal study, voices being raised back and forth over the fate of the deformed baby and the fresh loss.

In a moment of clouded anger and grief, Tywin threw the goblet against the wall, the object shuttering as its red content stained the rocks.

"Then leave!" He had shouted amongst his rising emotions, grief and alcohol clouding his judgement. "Leave and do not come back; that's a command."

Josephine, younger then, looked at him with wide eyes. Betrayal stabbed her heart as the order settled in. She looked at him; her lips parted to say something, and one hand held the front of her dress, where her heart was.

"Tywin..."

"I better not see your face by the time the sun rises," the Lion of Casterly said and turned his back to her, indicating that they would be discussing this no more.

And so, Josephine had left by the next hour; cloaked by the pouring rain and the dark sky, no one ever spotted her.

By the following morning, Tywin had calmed down and realised his mistake. Yet he was too prideful to call her back and admit his error.

He narrowed his eyes, challenging her to react and try something. Standing at his full height, she was a head shorter than him, yet equally stubborn.

By now, they stood before one another, a single foot the distance between them.

"Yet here you are, back to me," he pointed out, his head tilted faintly to the side in slight mockery.

"You summoned me back."

He frowned. "I did not."

"The bond did," she explained briefly. "Your subconscious needed me back, now more than ever." He scoffed and rolled his eyes, taking a step back so he could lean against the desk. Josephine watched him but did not approach. "No Lannister has ever gone for battle alone."

He went to grab his goblet but was reminded that he had consumed all of the wine in it just a moment prior. He debated whether to refill it when his female companion acted for him.

She grabbed the empty goblet and headed for the jug. She easily poured the wine into it in a familiar manner before handing it back to Tywin.

He did not comment nor question how she knew. It used to be such a common thing in the past, and for a moment, Tywin felt as if the years had not passed apart between them.

Their fingers brushed faintly as he took the filled goblet from her, their eyes never looking away from one another.

"So now, what? You take back your rightful place?" He questioned, sipping some wine.

Josephine folded her hands in front of her chest. Leather arm guards protected her lower arms while her light green scarf remained around her neck.

"If you do not want me here, then do what you did back then and send me away." She said, her tone less cold than before.

Truthfully, Josephine had not returned to fight him, no matter how she wished she could. If he did wish her gone, she would respect his wishes and their bond and leave, like she did all those years ago.

For a moment, Tywin felt the need to comment and actually give that order. Yet the words never left his lips, and he sighed in defeat.

"No, I won't. I need capable hands and intelligence in this stupid war, something that, as you remember, is often lacking in many." He commented.

Her grey eyes softened faintly, and her hands dropped to the sides. "I do, and this is why you summoned me, even if it was subconsciously." She licked her lips faintly, all this time not once looking away. "I will be by your side during this war, and after, you can rest assured."

The weakest of smiles was forming upon his lips, barely visible under the light of candles and lanterns existing in the tent.

"I never doubted your loyalty and do not intend to start now," he admitted. "Welcome back, Josephine."

Chapter Text

After the reunion, Josephine became a primary part of Tywin's forces and council. While some younger soldiers and servants were confused by her presence, the elders educated them.

Despite the passing years, some of Tywin's men had been there while she was residing in Casterly Rock. They had been present when she stood by Tywin's side while the mines of Castamere filled with water.

And some, whose family loyalty ran across generations, knew she was the Partner every rightful male Lannister firstborn was fated to have, bound by ancient magic and forces of the beyond.

The word spread faintly, but Tywin was careful not to let it become gossip, and not yet. He needed his focus in the game, and in this raging war, not on the wrong opinions, others would scatter across Westeros.

Thankfully, Josephine's presence brought a favourable wind for the Mighty Lion. The enemy had yet to make a successful move, and the Lannister forces were slowly expanding and earning ground and strength.

Of course, while things slowly worked for him on the battlefield, the same could not be said about the Capital.

For it was one calm evening, he received news from King's Landing, his descent mood.

Tywin slammed his hand on the table and exhaled from his nose like an enraged animal about to charge.

"How dare her, ordering me like a common man to come back," He spat as he withdrew his hand, ignoring the faint annoyance coming from his skin after the forceful impact.

Josephine grabbed the small scroll and unrolled it, grey eyes scanning across the yellow parchment while reading the latest information that came from the capital.

Ever since she joined Tywin, a few things had changed.

One was the fact that Robert Baratheon had died from his latest hunting injuries.

Two, Ned Stark had been imprisoned and labelled as a traitor, believing him to be the one who had ended the Fat Stag.

Three, Joffrey became King but was counselled by his mother since he was still underage.

Fourth, Stannis and Renly Baratheon had also gathered forces and aimed the crown, calling Joffrey a bastard unfit to rule the Seven Kingdoms.

The latest threat coming from the Stag Brothers was the reason for this letter or, better say, order. Cersei Lannister had dared to demand her father's return to the Capital to protect the "rightful" heir and also his grandson.

"She is a mother, scared of her child,” Josephine commented, earning a sharp look from Tywin. He disagreed and liked her answer, but she was not done. “It is still stupid of her to call you back when your presence is needed on the battlefield.”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly the brightest of kids,” he commented, grabbing his goblet and sipping wine. “She thinks she is smart; that is the difference she does not see.”

Josephine lowered her hands, still holding onto the parchment and looked at Tywin. “I do not recall her being like that. I remember she was more intelligent for her age than her twin.”

The Old Lion lowered his goblet faintly and placed one hand on the back of his chair. “Things have changed, Josephine, and so have the children you had met,” he said, keeping his golden-flecked eyes on her. The plain desk was the only thing separating them at the moment.

The woman tilted her head ever so faintly. “Perhaps I wouldn’t have to be reminded of that if I had not been away for decades.”

Tywin rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Do you plan to bring this up every time you get a chance?” he asked rhetorically, though by the way the corner of her lips arched up, he knew the answer already.

“In private, yes.”

Truthfully, Josephine was not bitter about it, not anymore. It took her years, but she had come to peace with the order and Tywin’s decision back then. That, however, did not mean she would let him forget it.

Especially because deep down, she knew he was regretting it, at least partially. She also knew that he was a proud man and would not admit it anytime soon, if ever. She still was willing to try.

After all, none of them was getting any younger.

The Old Lion expected such an answer and, thus, chose not to comment. Instead, he sat on his chair and leaned back, eyes glancing at the map spread across the desk. He and Josephine had been discussing potential moves before they were interrupted by the messenger and Cersei’s stupid demand.

Josephine, who had been observing him all this time, could see the faintest of mental strain hidden behind his cold, calculated gaze. Her own gaze softened faintly, and she moved closer, going around the desk with slow, confident steps.

“There has been word of Jaime heading this way,” she said as she perched at the edge of the desk by his left.

Tywin’s golden-flecked eyes focused from the map at her. “After he realized he messed up the plan, he is coming with his tail tucked between his legs.”

When the war started, Tywin planned to draw Ned Stark out by burning the Riverlands and capture him when he came to offer assistance to his in-laws. Then, he would use him as leverage to get Tyrion back and end this war before it fully started.

However, Jaime had to encounter Ned before he could leave the capital and even injured him before he captured him. Now, imprisoned in a cell, he had only enraged the North and fuelled the current War.

“Perhaps,” Josephine partially agreed as she pushed some stray strands off her face. “But that does not mean he should be treated as a liability.”

He narrowed his eyes faintly, realizing that the female by his side had a plan in her cunning mind. “Oh really? And what should I do with him? Put him in charge of the army and send him to battle?” he asked sarcastically, but the look she gave him was enough of an answer. “No.”

“Think about it, Tywin,” Josephine argued. “He messed up, and he knows, which means he comes to you for reconciliation. He always did try to earn your approval since he was very little.”

Tywin scoffed. “At least that has not changed.”

“He wants to make you proud, obviously, and you need someone to take control part of the army. You both win in this situation in the long run,” she explained but got no direct answer from him. She sighed. “You have been complaining the past few days about whom to send to take Riverrun while you move the rest of the host towards Harrenhal.”

“I did not complain,” he argued back, but Josephine gave him a silent look that ultimately won her the argument. Tywin looked forward and scoffed faintly, having not missed these types of arguments with her over the decades. “I see your point, and I will think about it.” He said in the end, trying to win this conversation.

Of course, Josephine knew that, and she could see it as clearly as day. Glints of amusement flashed momentarily in her grey eyes, and in the end, she nodded faintly.

“Good enough for me.” She agreed, lifting her hands faintly up to indicate that she was done with this verbal fight.

She had made her point and knew Tywin would follow her advice. He always did—well, almost always. In the back of her mind, she could still remember the few times he didn’t, and it ended badly for both of them.

Tywin stretched his hand and grabbed his goblet, swirling the remnants of red wine left in it. “We will enter a fertile game area in the following days, and I need to let out some steam. You still enjoy the hunt like you used to?” he asked, emptying the remaining wine in his mouth.

As he lowered the goblet and his head, he looked at her and saw that devious, predatory smirk. “I never stopped,” she confirmed, earning his faintest smirks.

At least some things had remained the same, and both were glad about this. It helped keep their partnership smoother until they were back on track.

Per Tywin’s promise, the old Lion gathered a small hunting party consisting of his brother, two loyal soldiers who were part of his personal guard and Josephine. The hunt was rather successful, for they had encountered a rather big male stag not long after starting.

It was easy to wound, for Josephine had managed to easily corner the animal and lead it straight into Tywin’s crossbow range. While the first bolt was not lethal, Josephine’s attack and Kevan’s sword had finished the job.

Now, the once proud animal was brought back to the camp for Tywin to skin it alive, a hobby he had picked up from a young age and found a perfect task to keep his mind occupied and clear.

He also needed to inspect the animal and ensure Josephine had not marked the meat or ruined part of it. He truly hated it when she did that in the past, and they had plenty of talks about it until she perfected her technique.

And so, Tywin was left alone with the stag while she returned to his tent for a quick clean-up. Some fresh water from a nearby river and a plain cloth were enough for her to clean and wipe the blood remnants from her face and hands.

She never minded them, but she preferred them off her when it was unnecessary. Plus, she could not exactly stroll around the camp covered in stag blood. She was already giving odd impressions to most soldiers out there; she didn’t need to feed their rumours some more.

Just as she wiped her mouth and inspected her now clean skin on the water surface, Josephine heard the sound of the tent flaps and sensed she was no longer alone.

Considering this was Tywin’s personal tent, no one would so openly enter, and only a few ever had the right to do so. She turned her body sideways, her attention falling on a young man standing shocked by the entrance.

With golden blond hair and piercing green eyes, Josephine swore she almost saw a younger Tywin for a moment. However, the beautiful golden flecks were missing from those green orbs, and the shape of the man’s eyes was softer. The man reminded her of a sweet woman who was now a faint memory of her past.

“Little Jaime,” she greeted with a smile, having been looking forward to this reunion for quite a while.

Jaime remained frozen on the spot, muscles tense and eyes wide in surprise. When he had entered his father’s tent, he did not expect to find a woman in there. But what had truly caught him off guard was not the woman herself but the way she had just called him.

There had been only one person ever to call him that, and it had been around 3 decades since he last heard it.

Memories flashed into his mind of a woman with the same shade of reddish brown hair and striking grey eyes. There were memories of a woman holding him at night when he could not sleep and sitting by his side after his father had harshly scolded him.

There were memories of a woman with a secret long forgotten and a mischievous wink that held silent promises.

“Josie?” Jaime asked, feeling like a young 5-year-old boy once again.

The woman smiled and left the rag inside the bucket before walking his way. The years had changed and matured her, but there were still things that had remained the same. “Glad to know I am still remembered.”

When she was close enough, Jaime moved first for a hug, and Josephine returned the embrace as quickly as possible. A natural, sweet smile formed on her lips, and she had to tiptoe faintly due to his much taller frame.

She missed the time he was a child and was short, making such hugs much easier. However, now, she considered them karma, for he was usually the one having to stretch to reach her somehow.

After a moment, the two of them pulled back, and Josephine could see the glow in his green eyes at the reunion. He was just as happy to see her as she was to see him. For amongst the twins, Jaime was always the one she had a softer spot on.

She could never truly explain it, but there was something different about him, something more of Joanna than Tywin, compared to Cersei.

“Tough to forget you, no matter the years that passed,” Jaime commented. “You look quite well, I would say, and back to Father’s side, I see.”

She nodded faintly a few times. “He needed assistance, and I came back. You know how it works.”

It was his turn to nod. “I do. I remember the stories, always making me wish I was a firstborn instead of Cersei.”

Josephine chuckled. “You would have changed history if that was the case, you and your partner.”

“I didn’t expect you to come back. Father...” Jaime’s smile dropped as he remembered that fateful night. “He never told us where you went or why. I won’t lie, I thought you had abandoned us... at least, that’s what Cersei used to say.”

Her own smile disappeared, and her face turned serious. “I would never abandon you or your father, Jaime. I would have to be killed for this to happen,” she commented, then took a deep breath. “When Joanna died... some things changed, and your father no longer needed me at that moment. So, I did a few trips of my own.”

Josephine did not have to lie, and she could have easily called Tywin out, mentioning how he had ordered her to leave. But she was not that kind of woman, no matter what people might think.

She would not point fingers, no matter how much the pain of that rejection and betrayal had wounded her heart that day. It was better to keep the secret to herself, as she had been doing for 28 years.

If Jaime believed her or not, she was not sure.

Yet the young Lion did not continue this talk any further. It was a dark and hurtful moment in the family's past, one he did not want to relieve or ponder about.

“Well, I am glad you are back. Perhaps Father will be a little less grumpy with you around,“  he joked, earning a soft smile from her.

“I am unsure how much I can help with that, but I promise I will try.”

Jaime nodded and looked around the tent, surprised his father was not there. Usually, he would be found above a map, plotting and scheming.  “Where is he, anyway?”

“We just returned from a hunt, and he is in the Tent, skinning the freshly killed Stag,” Josephine informed him.

He felt the need to scoff in amusement, and in the end, he only shook his head. Of course, he is, Jaime thought, not fully surprised by the revelation.

“I will go find him. I am sure he has... scolding to do after what happened to the capital,” he sighed.

Josephine grabbed his upper arm. “Not only,” she corrected, earning his attention. “I believe he has something more in store for you... and it’s a good thing,” she added in the end, catching the quick, sharp inhale of air.

“Better not make him wait, then.” he offered her a small smile. “I will see you around, Josie.”

She smiled. “Yes, yes, you will.”

Chapter Text

Tywin did follow Josephine’s advice and gave Jaime half of his army, 30.000 loyal soldiers, to conquer Riverrun and strike a heavy blow on the Riverlands. At the same time, the Old Lion had to hold back and handle Robb’s host, who were coming closer and closer by the day.

Before the two armies would meet, the Lannister host had made camp at a little trademark Inn right on the borders between the North and the Riverlands. Ironically, it had been the same Inn from where Tyrion had been kidnapped, and Tywin had exacted his revenge on the guilty Innkeeper.

Now, with more provisions and a strategic camping point, it was time to rethink the upcoming fight since Robb’s army would have to pass through them in a few days. And while they were preparing for the Young Wolf, they never would expect a certain Lion to make a return.

The Lannister War Camp spread long and wide, with an endless sea of red tents, while the golden lion could be seen every few feet, and the flag proudly waving in the evening breeze. Soldiers sat around, talking or caring for their equipment; racks of the finest weapons were placed all over the camp.

The size of the camp and the army alone was quite impressive, and Tyrion had almost forgotten how big his father’s army could get. He was not the only one affected by it, for his latest companions seemed also to understand the message...

The Lannister Family was no joke.

Good, Tyrion thought as he faintly observed them.

The more impressed they were, and the more they realized the true power of his house, the better it was for him and his life, which had been temporarily spared.

Soldiers lifted their heads in curiosity and faint mistrust as he walked past. Though it was not directed at him but at his three companions, for the Tribe Leaders were standing out with their peculiar clothing and angry stares.

At least the soldiers recognised Tyrion, and one was decent enough to guide him towards the biggest tent, where his father was currently residing.

He climbed the few steps leading up, and he wished to go there alone, but his companions made it clear they did not trust him enough. Thus, Tyrion took a deep breath and reassured the guards that it was okay.

Getting the final approval, he marched into the tent.

When Tyrion first entered, he immediately scanned the spacious tent before his eyes fell on the man he was looking for. His mighty father sat behind the table, eyes locked on the map spread before him. His Lannister armour breastplate was decorated with Lion heads, a sign of his status amongst the army.

By his side was none other than his loyal brother, Kevan. Also dressed in armour, he was pointing something at the map, offering his advice to his older brother. Despite the years separating them, sometimes Kevan seemed to be the eldest by how unkind time had been on his face.

However, the third person in the tent had gotten Tyrion’s attention the most. This beautiful, mature woman was standing by Tywin’s left side. Her one hand held the back of his chair while she leaned forward, listening to what Kevan said.

Unlike the men, she wore simpler clothes but no sight of dress anywhere. Dressed like a man, she stood out due to the unique shade of her hair, and when all three heads were lifted, Tyrion took notice of steel grey eyes.

For a moment, the dwarf felt as if he had seen this woman before, and he swore there was at least one painting back in Casterly with her present. However, that painting was rather old, and it should have been impossible for her to be the very same person, untouched by the passage of time.

She couldn’t also be a prostitute, for his ‘noble’ father refused to bed another woman after his wife’s death. Not to mention, a woman of such occupation would not be found discussing battle plans with him.

“Tyrion,” Kevan exclaimed first, surprised to see him standing and not alone or even wounded.

“Uncle, Father,” he greeted his family, seeing how unimpressed Tywin was. “My Lady,” he greeted the unknown woman, purely out of manners.

He would have time to find out more about her later. For now, he had to focus on what was important, like how to break the news to his father.

“The rumours of your demise were unfounded,” Tywin said, irking his son, who tried to remain standing and not look away from his displeased stare.

“Sorry to disappoint you....” he said, although it was clear he did not truly mean it; it was his usual way to hide just how much his father’s words stabbed him in the heart.

After all those years, one would think he would be used to it but there was always a new way to feel the disappointment and the rejection from the man that was responsible for his creation.

Tywin glanced at his son’s latest companions, clearly irritated by their presence. They looked like savages in his eyes, dirty and uncivilised. He also did not take it kindly for the men to keep staring at Josephine in silence.

He was a man and knew what they were thinking or what that look meant. At that moment, it was the look that made the patience of the Old Lion run thin.

Josephine paid little to no mind at the stares, having gotten used of them by now. She had been at the other end of different stares and comments across the years, and even now, she was not fully safe from Lannister men.

At least their looks were silent; all it took was one of hers to make them look the other way and behave.

She did, though, eye each one of the Tribesmen carefully. A certain scent made her nose wrinkle faintly, but she remained unmoved, merely pushing to stand fully straight. Yet her gaze remained more on Tyrion, who she had seen last time as a mere infant, covered in his mother’s blood.

Sensing the tension rising, Kevan chose to comment next and hopefully prevent bloodshed. After all, Tywin did not really have to give Josephine any orders to take the ‘guests’ down.

 “Tyrion, who are these...companions of yours,” he asked, changing the subject.

The dwarf understood what he was doing, and he played along. “This is Shagga, Son of Dolf, Chieftain of the Stone Crows.” He started, trying to ignore the stare-down between him and his father. “Timett, Son of... Timett, ruler of the Burned Men.” Another staredown among the males. “This fair maid is Chella, daughter of Cheyk, leader of the Black Ears, and here we have Bronn, son of...”

Suddenly, the sword-for-hire interrupted. “You wouldn't know him.” He commented.

A small pause existed amongst everyone as Tywin kept staring down at each of his son’s companions.

Kevan looked uncertain at the whole scene and closed his eyes exasperatedly.

Josephine blinked faintly, silently impressed. Tyrion was supposed to be a prisoner of the Starks, locked somewhere and potentially starved. Yet here he was, a little unkempt and needing shaving but in one piece.

Plus, he seemed to have found allies to join him and even bring him to this father, allies that no one could have befriended or talked to.

He truly is Tywin’s son, she thought and silently glanced at Tywin.

The Old Lion did not talk about him, and she had to learn more from Kevan. He had admitted that ever since Joanna died, Tywin had been hating his dwarf son and blaming him for her death. His condition was the most prominent excuse for his hatred towards his own son, often overshadowing the intelligence the dwarf had.

Of course, Tyrion’s whoring and drinking was also not of the biggest help in proving his father wrong.

Tyrion, realizing no one would say anything, continued with the introductions. “May I present My Lord Father: Tywin, son of Tytos, of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.”

Once again, silence spread across the room. No one was willing to talk, and Tywin was staring back at the men, asserting his dominance as always. However, unlike weak-minded Lords with fragile egos, those Mountaineers could stand against his predatory gaze.

They were prideful and had come for a reason, refusing to show weakness to men who saw them as inferior because they did not belong to a House.

Kevan and Josephine exchanged silent looks, wondering if Tywin would order the soldiers outside just to imprison the Mountain Folks and end this. Or if insults would start to be thrown with how thin Tywin’s patience was running.

The Dwarf rolled his eyes at the drama, clearly finding it all of this rather unnecessary. And since no one was willing to talk, it looked like it was up to him to do it again.“Kind of you to go to war for me.”

He knew that Tywin would not really go to war for him specifically, and he was too embarrassed even to call him his own son sometimes. He would, however, grab the chance to spread his empire and grow the prowess of his House.

To battle the awkwardness and his thirst for some good wine, the dwarf reached for the glasses on the table, but his father snatched it away, putting it out of his son’s reach.

“You left us no choice,” the Old Lion replied, embarrassed by the situation but not showing it. “The honour of the House was at stake,” he did not hide his disgust. “Your brother would never have submitted to capture so meekly....”

“We have our differences, Jaime and I. He's braver. I'm better looking.” Tyrion said, trying to hide his irritation at being compared to his ‘perfect’ older brother.

Why did their father have to make everything a competition between his children? Especially between his two sons.

“He has been covering himself in glory!” Tywin informed him as his patience was running thin. “Jaime is leading a big amount of our army as we speak. He has already taken care of the Riverlords at the Golden Tooth and now lays siege to Riverrun, Caitlyn Stark's homeland.”

One could see the gears in Tyrion’s head turning as pieces fell into place. “And the Starks? Lord Eddard?” he could not help but ask since it would make no sense for so many successful attacks against the Riverlords and not once interference from the just crowned King of the North.

“Our hostage. He will lead no armies from his dungeon cell.”

“How did my sweet sister persuade the King to imprison his dear friend Ned?” Tyrion asked sarcastically.

“Robert Baratheon is dead. Joffrey rules in King's Landing.” Tywin finally said, clearly to him now, that his ‘son’ had not been informed of the latest events.

Indeed, he was unaware, for the shock was evident on his face. He even had to look at his uncle to confirm it was true, and his father was not in the mood for some twisted joke.

“My sister rules, you mean....?”

“Stark's son has called his banners. He moves south with a strong host.” Kevan added, speaking in silence after so long of watching.

Yet, his older brother dismissed the topic. “A green boy. One taste of battle, and he'll run back to Winterfell with his tail between his legs.”

“Maybe....though the boy does have a certain belligerence. You'd like him.” Tyrion said, earning a silent glare from his father and an arched eyebrow from Josephine. “While we're on the subject of war, I made promises to my friends here, and a Lannister always pays his debts. We shall require 3,000 helms and shields, plus swords, pikes, gorgets, maces...”

The list was something that truly tested Tywin’s patience, and his relatives were certain he would react. Thankfully, this ridiculous ransom list was interrupted when a messenger rushed into the tent.

Immediately, the young man got on one knee in front of Tywin. “If it please, my lord. Ser Addam bids me report that the Northmen have crossed the Neck.”

Kevan was surprised and stared at Josephine. “By the Warrior, you were right,” he muttered as the woman had a look of victory on her face.

Josephine kept that smirk and looked at Kevan, hands folded in front of her chest. “His mother’s home under siege? How can he not rush to defend it?” she questioned rhetorically. “He is on his way, right into the lion’s jaws, all in his attempt to try going from the fastest route possible."

This little revelation made Tyrion stare at the unnamed woman a little longer; lips parted faintly in silent surprise. He did not expect a woman to have made plans, war plans that the mighty Tywin Lannister listened to.

His intrigue and curiosity for this woman suddenly intensified. It did not help that there seemed to be a familiarity between her and the two Lion brothers, which struck Tyrion as odd.

Sure, he was a prisoner for some time and hadn’t learnt the latest power dynamic changes across Westeros, but he could not have missed that much. No, there was something more at play, and he was determined to find out.

Tywin suddenly stood up. “Yes, and we must not waste any more time.” He turned to face his brother. “Kevan, command the drummers' beat assembly. And send word to Jaime that I am moving against Robb Stark.”

His brother bowed his head. “At once, my lord.”

As he left, Josephine moved around the table slowly and mostly watched while Tywin approached the hill tribesmen before standing directly in front of Shagga. At the same time, Tyrion eyed the jug of wine while his father was not looking.

To his surprise, Josephine gently passed it over the table to be within his reach.

Yet when he looked at her, to give a silent ‘thank you’; he found her gaze frozen on Tywin. She moved again, clearly wishing not to have any obstacles between her and the potential threat, her muscles ready to sprint into action.

For a moment, it reminded Tyrion of a very well-trained hound keeping an eye on its master.

“It is said that the men of the Mountain clans are great warriors. Ride with me against my enemies, and you shall have all my son promised you and more.” Tywin told him.

“We already are to be paid what was promised,” he argued back, clearly testing the Old Lion’s patience.

Before Tywin could try something else, Josephine spoke. “Of course. You can be paid and return to your lands.” She said, slowly approaching. Tywin sent her a silent look, clearly not liking interfering. She paid little mind to it as she continued. “After all, even the bravest Lannister soldiers fear facing the Northerners. Logically, you are as well.”

The bait was set, and Shagga wasted no time falling for it, which was faster than any naive fish in the water. “The Burned Men fear nothing.”

Josephine smirked, the faintest of sharp canines barely visible as she entered a staring contest with Shagga. He felt insulted, wishing for actions to be taken, and she was messing with him and his ego, the same way a cat messed with her food.

“Then, I believe we have an agreement?” she asked, her slightly husky voice working like a charm. “You prove how mighty the Burned Men and the Tribes are, and you also get paid what was promised. Then, no one will ever date to question your fearsome reputation.”

He seemed pleased, trying to stare her down, but she was not one to be easily intimidated. He did, though, feel Tywin's sharp glare coming from the side due to the tribesman's close proximity to her.

“On one condition, the half-man fights with us. Until we hold the steel he pledged us, the little lion's life is ours.”

This caused Tyrion to glance over at the hill tribesmen nervously. He then made the mistake of looking at his father and saw the silent Lion glare he knew too well.

Startled, he turned to look forward again and said nothing else.

“It is a deal then,” Tywin said, partially surprising his son. “Let us prepare. We have a war to win. Come along, Josephine.” he told the woman, who stood almost by his side and motioned with his head for them to leave.

The name made Tyrion stop, the goblet inches away from touching his lips. He glanced at the prideful woman, the name ringing a bell. He had heard that name a couple of times growing up, a faint whisper of a person that could easily be considered a ghost.

Could it be? He wondered and stared at the retreating back of Josephine as she exited the tent right after Tywin.

Chapter Text

Once outside the tent, away from those savages and with enough distance between them, the Mighty Lion chose to address the topic.

“What you did was foolish,” he commented, glancing above his shoulder.

Josephine was always one step behind him, following suit and never leaving him off her gaze. She kept her head held high, and she was unbothered by his look or the displeased tone of his voice.

“What I did was help,” she argued, messing with his temper. “Expandable soldiers that can offer even the slightest difference in battle. The more they die, the fewer things will have to give them once it’s all done.”

Whether it was her tone or the fact that she was right, Tywin did not take it kindly. He came to a halt and turned to face her, his hands left by his sides, but the faintest twitch of his fingers indicated that he was on edge. Now on the edge to slap or choke her, he was not sure, but his patience was running thin.

“I do not talk about the plan, Josephine. That is something I could have thought of had you not interfered,” he argued, and she rolled her eyes, sometimes forgetting his ego.

“Then what got you all worked up?” she questioned, folding her hands before her chest.

He stared her down, stepping closer and entering her personal space. “You. Interfering. We do not deal with savages and lesser folk.”

She narrowed her eyes faintly and arched her neck, taking half a step closer. “It is this mentality that they know and expect of us, Tywin,” she argued. “They knew you think low of them and would have never agreed to fight unless you approached the topic differently.”

Once again, Josephine was right, but Tywin did not admit it. Instead, carried by the topic and unrecognised hidden feelings, he continued. “Now you are an expert on Tribesmen as well?”

“At least I have the experience dealing with them. Almost three decades of travelling helps give someone such skills,” she snapped back, their faces now closer than before.

"Your ability to irk me has not been missed," he commented, and, despite what he felt at that moment, he chose not to act.

Instead, he kept looking into her grey eyes, which almost glowed with the faintest of amusement. His attention went momentarily to her pink lips, where the smirk of personal victory almost mocked him.

"Too bad, but it won't go away anytime soon," she added. "Though, do not blame me; I am but a mere match of you."

Realizing this was becoming an endless topic to argue about and that some curious soldiers had started to stare a little longer than wanted... Tywin chose to be the first to end it.

"Let us go," he said as he turned on his heels and started to walk away.

Josephine kept smirking and followed suit, heart beating faster with excitement. It was rather hard to endure Tywin's stare or corner him in an argument, but she always had ways to prove him wrong, even though he would never admit it.

But this was them, and their relationship developed since they were children. It was a peculiar bond between two personalities that helped but also annoyed one another.

A full day came and went after Tyrion’s return, with no other incidents. The tribesmen remained out of the Lannister camp; the dwarf was given his tent and was even allowed to keep Bronn around.

The evening had arrived, the wind blowing in their favour, and the weather had yet to turn cold despite the incoming winter months. On top of a hill that overlooked the kingsroad from one side and the camp from the other, a long table draped with a golden cloth has been set up.

At the head of the table was Tywin, with Kevan by his right and Josephine by his left, a seat reserved just for her at the table.

The first week after her arrival, men had passively tried to argue with her presence in the war council, some rather clueless about whom she was or what she represented.

Yet no man dared to argue after receiving one too many scolding and hard glares from Tywin. And as the weeks passed, Josephine offered a unique insight when discussing battle.

Insight and ideas that bore fruits, making the men realize she had quite a few things to offer despite being a woman. For Josephine, it might have been all those years, but that did not mean she had just been sitting around.

For years, she honed her skills and mind, preparing herself for when Tywin needed to call her back. And all those years of hard work and study were finally paying off in more ways than once.

Chief knights and lord bannermen occupied the rest of the chairs. All who had gathered ate their evening meal and discussed the latest news on the battlefront.

Lannister soldiers were positioned around men, their spears and swords within reach, and they were watching for anything suspicious.

None was wearing armour, with Tywin choosing a golden cloak that he draped across one shoulder and over his chest, as he often did even when he wore armour. Josephine remained in the same clothes, having a few spares since she always travelled light.

Considering their current circumstances, it was also convenient to have clothes she could wear to battle or act in that would not stand in the way. Not that she possessed any dresses, for they were never needed during her travels.

“Our scouts tell us the Stark host has moved south from the Twins with Lord Frey's levies in tow. They're a day's march north,” Kevan informed as everyone slowly ate and listened to the report.

Tywin was thinking for a moment. “The boy may lack experience and sense, but he does have a certain mindless....provincial courage.”

Josephine listened carefully, her plate empty and her goblet filled with water. She chose not to drink, disliking wine and wishing to clear her mind.

"Bravery is nothing without experience and self-control. If he continues that way, the very same courage will have him killed sooner or later,” she commented, earning a nod from Tywin, who had similar thoughts.

Suddenly, Tyrion approached the table, as per usual, late. He wobbled and managed to sit on a chair as a servant quickly rushed to fill his goblet with wine.

His father did not seem pleased, but his mood changed upon seeing the imp join them at the table. “I will have you bury the dead if you arrive as late to battle as you do to the table,” he told him, making sure that his son knew he was not happy.

“I am sure a peasant or two could be found for me to kill,” he said sourly, not keen on battling or killing.

The army’s quartermaster, Lord Leo Lefford, scoffed. “I do hope your savages will be braver than you; otherwise, we've wasted good steel on them.” He said that since he was the one who had to supply the 300 tribesmen, he had not been happy when he received the order.

Kevan joined the discussion, equally displeased. “The great hairy one insisted he must have two battleaxes. Heavy black steel, double-sided.”

Yet, Tyrion merely drank some wine, not surprised. “Shagga likes axes,” he justified.

A new voice commented on the topic. “That's putting it mildly......” Ser Anthor Dayne said.

“Ah, the great Anthor Dayne, the twin brother to the Sword of the Morning. You're a long way from home, Ser; what brings you to the Riverlands?” Tyrion asked, deciding to mess with him.

However, Tywin would not let tensions rise and risk going off-topic. He barely had to glance at Josephine, who smacked her fist on the table with enough force to make all the plates and goblet shake.

The sudden move startled pretty much everyone, and once they turned towards her, they quickly saw Tywin's displeased, predatory gaze.

"We are getting out of topic here." He scolded them. He then turned to Tyrion. “When the battle commences, you and your wildlings will be in the vanguard.”

The news surprised the young lion, and he looked even a little apprehensive. “The vanguard? Me and the tribesmen, on the front lines?” he repeated, ensuring he had heard well.

Tywin gave a soft nod and seemed even to have a slight grin on his face, which only made Tyrion look even more apprehensive.

Kevan shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “They do seem rather ferocious.....”

Yet it was Ser Anthor that was in the mood to humiliate the Imp. “You have any experience in combat, Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion did not hide his annoyance. “Perhaps you'd be kind enough to join me.” He said, effectively stopping him from making any more comments. Then he turned to his uncle. “Ferocious is putting it mildly. A Moon Brother stabbed a Stone Crow over a sausage. Three Stone Crows seized the Moon Brother and opened his throat. Bronn manages to keep Shagga from chopping off the dead man's cock, which is fortunate, but even still, Ulf is demanding blood money, which Shagga and Gunthor refuse to pay.”

The story had many knights and commanders exchange a silent look, and even Josephine seemed to be silent, drinking some water silently. Tyrion was known for his language around the table, but his need to go into such details was truly unnecessary.

The only one who saw an opportunity was Tywin. He seemed amused, but not from the story but rather from what he had just gotten from it. “When soldiers lack discipline, the fault lies with their commander,” he said, openly insulting his son.

It was not uncommon that Jaime had the charisma and the air to make others follow him without much trouble. He was quite natural in that, having taken from his father, although the Old Lion did use more authority and fear than charisma.

Tyrion knew he could never be like them. Men never took him seriously, and he did not have the looks or title of a knight to help him either. The only way to ensure command was to use his brains, his family's power, and gold.

Everyone knew that, and many expected it, yet his father still chose to rub it in his face. Sometimes, he did not hide how much he wished he had gone; he openly tried to force him to leave.

Kevan commented, breaking the new silence that had started between them. “Perhaps because they have no discipline, they should not be in the Vanguard.”

Tywin seemed to think it through, mentally agreeing that it posed risks with this decision, but he did not wish to use his men since they had human fodder to spare. “Perhaps Tyrion should guard the baggage instead while someone else leads them. A more disciplined commander.”

Those words struck a nerve, and Tyrion almost stood up on his chair, literally. “I am and can be disciplined. Let me command the vanguard, and I will prove it to you,” he said, desperately trying to earn his father’s approval.

“You will be with your clansmen, but you will not command the Vanguard. Ser Gregor Clegane, will.”

This frustrated him to a new point. No matter what, Tyrion was a Lannister, and the mad dog was a soldier. There was no way he would be commanding him, the very own son of Tywin Lannister.

He looked around the table, seeing no arguments, not that he expected any. For a moment, he glanced at Josephine, who he had yet to confirm her identity fully.

She seemed rather silent, but Tyrion failed to suppress a shiver when their eyes met. There was something in her gaze, something he could not really explain.

Her gaze remained stable, Josephine barely blinking as if silently waiting for him to argue or not. For a moment, Tyrion felt as if she was silently telling him to obey and not cause any more trouble.

And for a moment, Tyrion felt like he should.

He didn't, though, for his wounded pride had taken too much insult and beating across the years. No longer fearful of the man he called father, Tyrion chose to act after the time he spent as a prisoner.

After all, he had managed to escape death. He gathered all those clans and united them as one. He had returned from imprisonment along with a small army.

He could have stood up to his father and changed his opinion if he had done all those things. “Father-“

Yet he was never given the chance. “There will be no more discussion of this topic,” the Old Lion said, his voice booming across the table.

There was this air of finality all around them, not a single sound breaking the new silence. Tywin had just put his foot down and had ended the discussion.

When he did that, he truly exerted his power on anyone present, even watching as a third party. His word was law and rule, unbroken and unquestionable. When he made it clear that he was done, no one dared to go against him.

Not his commanders, brother, children... and most of the time, not even Josephine.

In the end, Tyrion jumped off the chair while fuming with anger. “It appears I'm not hungry after all. Excuse me, my lords.”

He set his goblet down on the table and tossed the hunk of bread he was eating back on the plate before departing. His father watched him go with an annoyed expression while Josephine watched.

Her lips parted faintly before pressing against one another, forming a thin line. Although Tywin was always strict and could be rather commanding, she did not remember him showing so much hatred for someone of his own blood.

It was then she understood what Kevan had told her the day before.

"You were not there, Josephine. You were not there to see the darkness in his eyes. Perhaps sending you away was what had saved you, for I think not even you would be safe from him."

Joanna's death and her absence left a hole in his heart, and his children ended up suffering through it.

A kick beneath the table made her focus on the present. She glanced by her right where Tywin sat, his silent gaze a warning to behave.

Now it's not the time, his gaze said.

With nothing to argue, Josephine grabbed her goblet and drank some water, keeping any thoughts to herself.

Chapter Text

Night fell a few hours after the War Council meeting, and everyone left to be in the comfort of their tents.

Still bitter by the latest news and how his Father treated him, Tyrion had unexpectedly found comfort.

Bronn, his latest companion, had found a woman being paid and passed around the soldiers. For the woman's luck, he had not only taken her from some men but had brought her to Tyrion, who was willing to pay her more than enough for her company.

This is how he found himself drinking along with Bronn and Shae, narrating the story of his first wife and the way Tywin dealt with her.

"I would have killed the man who would have done that to me," Bronn commented, refilling his goblet.

"There is still time, and you know what they say... A Lannister always pays his debts." Tyrion added drunk, glancing at Shae for a moment. "We will make sure he never finds out about this so that you can rest assured."

"And what will he do? Doubt he will dare to act considering how he holds female company over," Bronn said, earning Tyrion’s attention. "Men talk of how he shares his tent with that hot woman that always follows him around."

"You mean Lady Josephine?" He questioned, realizing he could have actually spied on the soldiers and learned some more about this woman other than her name.

Bronn scoffed. "Didn't know whores were called Ladies here," he drank some wine and glanced at Shae. "No offence, of course.”

She waved her hand faintly, having taken no offence at his comment. "I have never heard anyone call us lady, not until now."

"That's because she is not a whore, Bronn. She had a place at his table during the war meeting. Not even noble ladies often get such treatment." Tyrion corrected him. "She is..." he paused for a moment.”Someone important to him, though I don't know whom... not yet."

"Want me to do some digging around? I am sure a few drunken mouths can tell us more," he suggested, partially interested in finding out who this woman was.

He had never seen a woman in men's clothing carrying various weapons, at least not a supposedly noblewoman. The tribeswomen did not count, for they looked far from delicate and beautiful like Josephine.

Tyrion twirled the wine in his goblet, thinking, "Perhaps you should... although I feel I should know who she is, I just can't pinpoint it yet."

She leaned more against the pillows, her upper body bare of any clothing, and each move drew the gaze of the two men. She knew and took notice, so her moves were so confident and purposeful.

Perhaps it was years of doing what she did that enabled her body to move independently; she was trained in certain ways of moving.

She enjoyed some of the rather good wine and looked at Tyrion. "Do you have any other stories, my Lord? Perhaps of your House?" She asked, showing an interest in stories.

It was not every day that she had the privilege of hearing stories. And considering she still did not fully know the world she was about to enter, she wished to know.

Especially of such an apparently rich and powerful house, capable of hosting an army of 30.000 men and going to open war while retaining luxuries no common folk would ever get.

The dwarf thought for a moment. "Stories, you say? Well, there are plenty. However, one always stood out to me. " He looked at his companions. "Have you ever heard of the Lannister Secret?"

She shook her head.

Bronn frowned momentarily. "Only briefly and not recently. "

"Well... it's no longer much of a secret, thanks to my Grandfather Tytos. But the story is still interesting... House Lannister was founded by none other than Lan the Clever, nicknamed that way for his quick thinking and planning that earned him Casterly Rock and the beginning of his very own house... the story goes, that Lan had a companion; a woman. He tricked that woman into a mystical deal, earning unnatural forces by his side that earned him riches, lands and victory over his enemies."

"He struck a deal with a witch?" Shae asked, now truly interested in this story.

Tyrion shook his head. "Not exactly... it is still unknown what she was, but she was not normal. No one knows what that woman truly was or what kind of deal was made, but... just like Lan the Clever, every male firstborn after him always had the same mysterious woman by their side. From when the Lannisters were Kings and even after, a woman was always seen by their side at times of peace and a Lioness at times of war."

"A lioness? Like a real lion?" Shae asked and he nodded. "Where is your father’s lion? He is at war now, isn't he?"

Suddenly, something seemed to click in his mind. Randomly scattered puzzle pieces were falling into their rightful places.

The shock was so great that Tyrion almost dropped his goblet while she stared at nothing. His brain lost control, and everything started to make sense.

"My Lord?" Shae asked, glancing a worried look at Bronn.

Tyrion groaned and felt the need to slap himself. "I am such an idiot sometimes."

Bronn shrugged. "If you want to insult yourself, I won't argue with you." He emptied his goblet.

"No, it's not that... every Lannister heir had someone, a woman. Growing up, I never saw my father having one, and my siblings did not really answer my questions. I thought he never had one, and here I find him with a woman in his war council."

"You say that this Lady Josephine... is...what exactly?" Shae asked, lifting her upper body and leaning it against some softer pillows.

"That... I don't know what she is, but she is that woman." He groaned. "This is all too confusing to be discussed drunk."

He leaned back on the pillows, finding his head hearing, but at that moment, he was unsure if it was due to the amount of wine he had consumed or a result of trying to make sense of, well... everything.

Around the same time, Tywin could be found in his tent, like pretty much anyone else. With the enemy army so close, it was a matter of time before they would meet on the battlefield.

For that, sleep could not come to him, and instead, he hunched over the map while faintly glancing at the almost fully melted candle, a vague answer of the late hour.

His bed, stuffed with fur and animal pelts, was one of the commodities that many people dreamt about. A luxury that followed him around was also something that someone else was currently occupying.

Josephine lay on top of the pelt blanket, the fresh hot coals placed not so long ago keeping everything warm. She would lie if she said she didn't mind such luxuries over the years.

Lying on her stomach, she lifted one hand and supported her head against her open palm while her gaze remained in the silent form of Tywin.

Her tent was placed right next to his, but she refused to sleep until he had. So here she was, watching him silently brood over the map, even after it had all been discussed and planned.

"Staring at it won't make the time speed up. But will end up landing you in battle, tired." She pointed out, his back turned on her.

"If I wanted obvious point-ups, I would have asked," he snapped back, but his eyes barely left the map. "If we are to face the Stark boy tomorrow and end him truly, we can change the outcome of the war and put an end to it."

Josephine sighed and slowly pushed herself up, always carrying an unusual feline grace behind her every move. She understood his thoughts and where his mind was heading, for this war had been ongoing for almost a year now.

It was tiresome, for starters, and she knew it was also putting a strain on the coffers, no matter how piles of gold they were. Plus, it was clear Tywin wished to end it, retire, and return to Casterly Rock, away from all that drama.

"And we will. We have the plan ready, the men know their places, and we have the land advantage," she reminded him, her voice softer.

She exited the bed and marched his way, her steps silent.

Yet he knew she was on the move, coming closer. He could feel her sharp gaze, and his body was reacting to her aura, her silent presence like that of a true predator stalking its prey.

"You remember your position?" He asked, glancing faintly at her above his shoulder.

"Stay up on the hill and keep watch. Do not make a move until Robb Stark and his precious pet show up," she repeated what had already been agreed. She placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tense muscles beneath and gently rubbing the sore spot. "You know, I always wanted to fight a Direwolf. A proper challenge, for once."

He felt the need to roll his eyes at her words, but he found her strong and nimble fingers working on a rather stiff spot. He closed his eyes and let her continue, only to feel her other hand working against the knots on his other shoulder.

"And finally, prove to Tygett what you said all those years ago?" he asked, vividly recalling the old memory.

Back then, Tyg was alive and well; Tywin was annoying beyond the point. He always questioned and commented and sometimes acted like a fool, even in front of guests.

And oh, did he love to butt heads with Josephine, often questioning her abilities and her strength, daring her to prove herself.

He had gone as far as to ask her if she would beat a Direwolf in battle. Of course, the prideful girl had said she would, but there has been no proof until now.

Josephine smiled softly. "You still remember," she pointed out, her gaze softening at the good times she had while growing up.

Not everything was ideal, and there were moments she wished she could forget... but there were some good times as well. More joyful times that truly made her feel like a kid.

"Hard to forget." He commented and straightened his back, forcing her to stop this little massage as he slowly turned to face her. "You and Tygett acted more like siblings than any of us."

She withdrew her hands and offered a tempting smirk. "Well, one of us had to argue with him. You had more important things to focus on; Kevan ignored him. Gerion left the room, and Genna was equally curious."

His gaze had the faintest shift, and those past memories flashed into his mind. There had been some good times in the storm of war, anger, and darkness, even though it took him years to consider them such.

Now, Gerion and Tyg had long passed, and Genna was back in Casterly. He and Kevan were not getting any younger, that was sure... and then there was her.

Ancient power ran through her veins, keeping her in better shape than most. The time had been kinder to her, though he had come to notice she had long lost that sparkle in her eyes... just like he had, ever since he made the mistake of sending her away.

A mistake he would forever regret but never admit.

Josephine's gaze softened, and she gently placed her hand against his chest, feeling that his body had yet to give up on him. Her focus and intentions, though, were not selfish.

"Let's get some rest, Tywin," she said, her tone having a rather caring nature. "You will need all your strength tomorrow to become the victor once again."

He grabbed her hand, his bigger one covering hers, but did not move to remove it. He did not let anyone, let alone a woman, touch him in any way.

But Josephine had always been the exception to everything and continued to be.

"That counts for both of us. Will need you by my side tomorrow for when Robb Stark makes a move."

Her smile remained, and she offered a gentle nod. "No Lannister heir has ever gone to battle unaccompanied. Tomorrow won't be any different."

She noticed how the edges of his lips turned up slightly, a smirk faintly forming for a minute, but it was more than enough to make her heart flatter.

No matter how many years pass or what their relationship will be, Tywin Lannister will always be the holder of her heart.

Even if he would never know it.

Chapter Text

The horns signalled the Northerners' approaching, and the scouts on patrol spotted them. Roose Bolton led the men from the North. He commanded less than half of the men Robb had carried his banners, and almost all were infantry.

The plan had been set the day before, and the disciplined Lannister soldiers quickly took their positions under their respective commanders.

Kevan commanded ten thousand men alone in the centre, with Lords Lefford, Lydden, and Serrett at his side, along with three hundred heavy horses. His foot archers were also arranged in three long lines east and west of the kingsroad. Between the archers were squares of pikemen, and behind them were ranks of men-at-arms wielding axes, swords, and spears.

On the right, Ser Addam Marbrand commanded four thousand knights and other heavy lancers, including Ser Flement Brax and members of Houses Crakehall, Swyft, and other families.

Ser Gregor Clegane commanded the vanguard on the right. At one thousand men, they were entirely mounted but consisted of free riders, sells-words, raw field hands and small folk from Lannisport. They also included Tyrion Lannister, Bronn, and his three hundred Vale mountain clansmen.

Tywin commanded the reserve of five thousand men from the high hilltop ground, half mounted, half afoot. Josephine stood next to his horse, watching as the battle was about to start.

One would look at Tyrion’s men and wonder why all those undisciplined men were placed there, but if one knew Tywin Lannister enough, they would already have an answer. Suspecting that it was young Robb leading the army against them, the Old Lion offered him a tempting bait of a weakened side.

The Stark boy would get the bait and charge straight there, exposing his sides. It was then when Kevan and his men would wheel to the left for a flank, driving them towards the Green Fork, straight on the heavily armoured and experienced knights under Ser Marbrand.

A simple attack on two fronts would trap the Northern army, giving them no chance to escape or fight back.

The battle started as the Northerners marched forward, only for Kevan's archers to fire volleys of arrows from the kingsroad.

At the same time, The Mountain led his men towards the shielded wall made mostly by spearmen from House Karstark. Breaking through due to his immense size and sheer force, he left an opening for the mountain men of Tyrion to pass through along with the rest of the vanguard.

The Northmen’s line began to crumble under the assault as Tyrion and Bronn joined the fight, with the short lion managing to defeat several enemies, including a close fight with a tall northerner whom Tyrion only overcame because his horse bit the man’s cheek, giving Tyrion the opening to kill him.

Yet his victory was short-lived when a knight with a morning star managed to wound him and throw him off his horse. Not wishing to kill the short man, the knight asked him to yield and be spared, but Tyrion was smarter than that.

Given the chance, he acted upon his first impulsive thought and used the spike on his helmet to eviscerate the horse, which fell on the knight, effectively disabling and trapping him. Then, Tyrion saw how the fight had moved past him, and he could witness the true massacre his father had planned.

The battle quickly heated up as the full force of the Lannister army met them in the little valley, with Tywin joining last but never missing the action or the chance to kill some Northerners.

Josephine watched from the top of the hill, having not moved even when Tywin and his men rushed into battle, passing right next to her on horse and foot alike.

She had to wait, like it was planned. Wait until Robb Stark and his Direwolf appear so she can make her own.

Yet as she kept watching from afar, she could not help but remember her very real taste of battle and the very first she had been part of all those years ago.

The year was 260AC, and she had barely passed her 11th nameday when the War of the Nine Penny Kings started. It took almost a year for the final battle to commence, where the notorious Blackfyre heir was to be finally met in combat.

Tywin was already a knight, and it did not matter that he had just passed his 14th name day; he had to participate along with his younger brothers.

Josephine had been told to stay out of this, for the battlefield was no place for a young girl who had yet to master her gift. Yet the stubborn girl felt that Tywin needed her, so she snuck out in secret, joining the last Royal Targaryen forces that had been sent as backup.

Then she saw a real battle—chaos and death mixed in one. The sound of men and horses falling, blades clashing, and the metallic scent of freshly spilt blood almost overwhelmed her senses with excitement and adrenaline.

Yet it was all forgotten upon catching the scent and view of her partner and friend fighting in the middle of chaos. His blade was coated red, but despite his good swordsmanship, he was still at a disadvantage due to his age.

A blocked attack managed to save his head from being cut off, but the following kick sent him to his back. His free hand went to his side, feeling the acute pain coming from his ribs, a former attack not so long ago having started it all.

Tywin's enemy lifted his blade, ready to end him, and the young knight was ready to try to defend himself... a third player joined.

The sound of a roar was the first thing they heard before a Lioness jumped out of nowhere. She was small for her size and nothing compared to what she would one day become, but she was big enough to land an attack.

Sharp jaws locked around the man's arm, thick sharp fangs piercing through his armour and drawing fresh blood.

The man screamed, the pain and shock making him drop his sword as he tried to punch the wild animal that was trying to eat his hand off.

He never managed to land an attack, for Tywin had snapped from the initial shock and moved fast. He pushed his blade right into the exposed neck of his enemy, successfully ending him.

With the man dead, the Lioness let the arm go and turned to look at Tywin. It was a teenager at most, the face still young but currently coated with fresh blood.

"You shouldn't be here," Tywin said through his teeth, one hand holding his bruised and perhaps fractured ribs.

He knew who the animal was, and a part of him was thankful to have her by his side during this madness. However, the risk of her getting hurt remained, and he knew he would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

The Lioness looked at him, a barely audible sound coming from her before they both had to refocus on the battle. Left with no choice, Tywin lifted his bloodied sword and moved to stand next to her, feeling a sudden surge of power keeping him up and capable of fighting more.

"Stay close," was all he warned and ordered before they met their next enemy.

By the time the battle ended, the ground and the river were filled with bodies, blood polluting the soil and the waters. The North suffered the most losses, as only a small number escaped along with Roose Bolton.

The rest had their bodies lying on dead mounts or the ground, having faced an enemy that, in the end, they could not win.

Tyrion looked around him as he leaned against a cart that was used to pile the dead bodies of Lannister men and allies. That morning star injured him, and yet he still stood, although he swore sometimes he felt like emptying the contents of his stomach.

Bronn was by his side, covered in blood, but he treated it like an everyday thing, more used to such conditions and situations.

The dwarf had no comment on the losses from the tribesmen's side as he tried to ignore the stench of dead men, animals and blood while the Lannister forces were busy rounding up important prisoners.

The sound of horses galloping made him focus forward again, and he saw his father riding their way in his mighty armour. The carved lion heads were a good indication of his superior rank, his golden cloak strapped across his chest diagonally while two bannermen rode by his side, all on three white horses.

They came to a halt close by, and Tyrion could feel the judging look of his father. Yet, he pushed himself to stand despite his injury to show his mighty father that he was still standing and had done just fine for the first time.

“You are injured,” was the first thing he told him.

“Good of you to notice. I see we won,” he replied, deciding not to test his luck now of all places.

To his surprise, his father scoffed. “The scouts were wrong. There were not 20.000 men; they were fewer,” he informed him, something he had realised upon hearing the numbers and connecting the dots from what he saw while he was on top of that hill.

“Did we get the Stark boy, at least?”

“He wasn't here.”

“Well, where was he?”

“With the rest of his men, obviously,” Tywin replied sarcastically, finding this game of questions and answers ridiculous.

Before any more questions could be asked, someone shouted. Turning their heads towards the source of the sound, they heard men fighting before a northern rider appeared on top of his horse.

Whether he had been hidden all this time or somehow managed to escape, it was not known, nor did it matter, considering how close he already was to Tywin and how close he was coming with each passing second.

Before the guards by his side could act to stop the enemy, someone else did.

A huge beast seemed to emerge from thin air, golden, almost fur reflecting the sunlight above as huge fangs quickly dug themselves into the neck of the horse. Huge paws with dangerous sharp claws held on the horse's body, drawing lines of blood and ripping flesh simultaneously.

The Horse tried to fight, but the weight and momentum of the Lioness made it stumble and fall, with strong jaws quickly ending the horse's life the moment it hit the ground.

At the same time, its unfortunate rider ended up with one leg trapped beneath the horse. His eyes opened wide, and a scream left his throat before the Lioness dug her teeth into his skin and let his blood water the ground beneath.

Everyone remained frozen, Tyrion looking with wide eyes at the sight. His heart was beating faster, and his stomach threatened to turn and empty its contents from the bloody image so close to them.

Bronn, by his side, was equally surprised, and his hand had gone to his sword, ready to defend himself if that animal wanted more taste of man.

The Lioness turned slowly, paws and mouth covered by fresh blood. Golden eyes looked at the small crowd around her, but her gaze locked on Tywin as she marched towards him.

Her muscles flexed, strong and reliable; they were a formidable weapon of personal use. Her size, alone, was bigger than that of a common lioness, and Tyrion could tell it was even taller than him, making him an even easier prey.

Tywin and his two guards had to tighten their grip on the reins to ensure their horses remained controlled. The sight of the predatory beast easily triggered their basic instincts, which had been dormant for years of training and battle.

"Well, you wanted a challenge. Not a Direwolf, but a horse seems to do," Tywin smirked, and for a moment, his son paled.

For a moment, Tyrion really thought his father had gone mad, talking to such a dangerous creature that way, taunting it as if it were a mere pet.

The Lioness let a faint growl, clearly displeased by the bitter humour. Yet, she made no further move and seemed to have no interest in anyone else around her.

"Return to the tent, Josephine. I will meet you there," he said next, making Tyrion and Bronn stare.

Both men remembered the tale told the night prior, with Tyrion the most shocked. Mismatched eyes watched as the Lioness moved and quickly retreated, realizing that the very same animal was none other than the woman he had seen by his father's side.

The story himself narrated last night was clear and fresh in his mind.

At least, now, he got the answer he was looking for... the confirmation of who Josephine truly was. Of course, he still had to learn what she was, but at least a part of the mystery was solved.

Chapter Text

Josephine had returned to the main tent first, and it took her mere seconds to stand in the empty space once again as a woman. No clothing had been moved or affected by whatever power she had been bestowed upon her during birth.

She grabbed a simple rag and dipping it into some water, she cleaned her face; the cloth quickly turning red from the blood that had been left on her face. The blood of this hopeful Northerner, who thought that he could get a hit on Tywin when it was least expected.

True, Tywin was guarded, and the attempt would have been prevented either way, but Josephine could not really help it. Battle always excited her, coming second to Hunting, though that was evident why it was the most exciting thing for her.

Plus, she did not always control her protective instincts regarding Tywin. She would not let any risks be taken if she could interfere and ensure nothing would harm him, which was what she did back then.

She was not going to lie. She was frustrated that Robb Stark had dodged the battle, choosing most likely to follow a different path and not meet them in combat. She kept believing, though, that she would get her match with his famous Direwolf and prove her point not only to the deceased Tyg but also to the rest of the world.

This was War, after all, and she was the true might of House Lannister.

Not long after, Tywin joined her, his armour having only flecks of blood, unlike his sword. He had not met many enemies, and those who did try to attack him had met their ends by the blades of his loyal knights that protected him.

The frown on his face was enough to tell Josephine that he was also displeased by the turn of events. He did look forward to facing Robb Stark, the latest thorn by his side. If he could get him out of the way, he could then focus on more important things like the Stag Brothers, who slowly stopped hiding in the shadows.

Until then...

Josephine handed him a goblet filled with wine as if she knew he needed a good drink when his temper flared. Silently, he took and enjoyed a few sips before his squire showed up and tried to help him get off his armour.

Of course, the boy proved too scared to do the job properly under Tywin’s judging stare and in the end, the mighty Lion kicked him out, muttering words like ‘useless’ under his breath.

This is how Josephine found herself helping him remove the straps of his chest armour. Despite the passing years, her fingers still remembered how to do it, an old and almost forgotten practice from when they were younger.

Yet as she worked, something was bothering her, which was evident by her faint brow frown whenever that was the case.

Tywin, of course, noticed. “Go ahead, say what’s in your mind before that frown becomes permanent,” he commented, watching her as she worked.

She glanced at him momentarily, clearly not sharing his amusement or his joke about the frown. Stubborn, as she was slightly petty about certain things, Josephine chose to do what he had asked her and voiced her thoughts.

“Your bad attempt at a joke was not really needed back then,” she told him as she managed to loosen the straps on his right side, allowing him already to feel the shift and change in the freedom of his movements.

Tywin’s first response was a scoff; his golden-flecked eyes fell upon her form. “Oh, so you are the only one allowed to make unfunny comments?” he asked rhetorically, partially displeased by her words and partially in the mood to annoy her.

It’s not as if she was the only one who could draw a reaction out of him. He could play her game, sometimes without even trying. For most of the time, Josephine was rather bad at keeping her temper or controlling how her thoughts got exposed by the facial expressions she pulled.

She also did not like losing, whether in a battle or an argument. Tywin knew this too well, often hearing from Genna and Kevan how similar Josephine’s particular trait was to his personality.

The Partner always matches the Heir.

Those were the words he had often heard and even read in private Lannister Journals written by his predecessors. However, it was still unknown just how much this similarity seemed to go. His father, Tytos, and his partner had little things in common; few things truly matched between them.

While Josephine seemed to share far more with Tywin.

Sometimes, both could see that they were the exceptions in their families, though there was never a true explanation behind it.

Josephine stopped momentarily, leaving him with the last strap before he could remove the breastplate. She rolled her eyes at his words and then lifted her face face him properly. This time, it was her entering his private space.

“Want me to call back that useless squire to deal with your armour?” she asked, eyes narrowing in a playful challenge.

A challenge Tywin easily picked up and felt the need to fight for, evident by the way he stared at her, tempted to open his mouth and go for a little bit of a harsher insult. He was rather close, just the perfect comeback to make her go silent... when they were interrupted.

The tent's flaps were pushed open, and Tyrion marched into the tent, clearly uninvited and equally unhappy.

He stopped in his tracks momentarily, looking at the peculiar sight before him.

His mighty father, still in armour and with a goblet in hand. That was a rather normal picture, or it would have been if he were alone. Yet he wasn’t; instead, Josephine was there, hands almost holding the straps of his breastplate.

Their faces were closer, and an ignorant fool would even dare to think that they were about to kiss, though that was clearly not the case. Or at least, Tyrion hoped that was not the case... No, he strongly believed it.

Tywin loved Joanna to the point that he ended up hating Tyrion and making his life miserable simply because it was his birth that took her away. It was Joanna’s death that played a role in Josephine’s absence all those years, and it was Joanna’s memory that Tywin refused to spoil by sleeping with another woman.

Or at least, that’s what he portrayed all the time, and that was the image he projected onto everyone else, including his own offspring and family members.

“Am I interrupting something?” he questioned after a moment of awkward silence from both parties.

Tyrion tried not to focus too much on the dried blood on Josephine’s hands, for he would be reminded of the ruthless image of the Lioness killing a horse and a man in cold blood, showing no mercy at that moment.

His father did not hide the scowl forming on his face. “What do you think? You should have figured it out if you are as smart as you claim to be.”

His harsh response did not sit well with Josephine, who pulled on the straps too suddenly and with more force than necessary, making him glare at her.

For a moment, this silent glaring started between them and lasted a few seconds, silent thoughts being exchanged and argued.

To Tyrion’s surprise, in the end, his father seemed to have lost the battle. He scoffed like a defeated child, and Josephine pulled back just as the Old lion looked at his son.

“Your clansmen fought well,” he told Tyrion as he emptied his goblet and headed for the nearby table to refill it.

“You sound surprised that they did. Although, I guess it is expected after you most likely sent them straight for butchering,” Tyrion said, showing that he became aware or started to be aware of his plan.

Tywin felt annoyance building up at the blunt accusations, not that they were a lie. “I did expect the left to collapse, hoping that Robb Stark would press into the breach where he would eventually get captured,” he confessed as he sat on a chair with Josephine leaning on the table's edge, watching the interaction between father and son.

She still had some blood left on her, but she would bother with it later. For now, she was curious to see the interaction and true relationship between Tywin and Tyrion, with no crowd forward to draw certain reactions.

The Old Lion did not hide his displeasure, and if he had not been sitting, he would have acted worse than just glaring as a warning. He had talked of his plan to use the men and his son as bait without truly any guilt because he felt none.

To him, it was war; it was a very well-thought-out plan, and casualties were always common.

The young lion felt angered at how his father treated all of that. “And why was I not informed?” he asked, his anger flaring slowly.

“A feigned rout is always less convincing. Through my years, Tyrion, I picked up the habit of not trusting men, who consorted with savages and sells-words,” he said.

The tension between the two men grew, but someone else showed up before they could attack one another, or Josephine could try to change the fatal outcome.

Ser Addam Marbrand entered the tent out of breath, clearly having been running despite the weight of his fancy good armour. “My Lord,” he started, catching his breath as he marched towards them. “We finally extracted the information from the prisoners.”

“And?” Tywin asked, arching one eyebrow.

For a moment, the knight hesitated and for a good reason. His next words made everyone’s blood run cold.

“Robb Stark has crossed with most of his horsed men at the Twins and is riding hard for Riverrun.”

One person was already stationed there, unaware of the enemy coming for him... Jaime.

After learning of Robb’s plans, Tywin set a gruelling pace back toward the Trident in an attempt to reach Riverrun before the Starks. With the speed at which he had put his armour on when the first battle horns were heard the morning of the same day, with the same speed, he had geared up and forced the army to move.

They left the bodies of the weak and the wounded in their wake every day, and it was all for nothing; Robb Stark had beaten them there by many days. When the news of Jaime’s capture finally arrived, it felt as if the sun had stopped moving across the sky.

The Stark had made their biggest mistake by capturing Jaime because Tywin felt the same rage he did back at Castamere. Those who knew him knew that sooner or later, their demise would come by his hand.

After learning of the news, everyone gathered at the military meeting at their last camp. Kevan was at his respective places; even Tyrion participated in the meeting. Josephine stood in the corner, pacing faintly up and down.

Tywin also refused to sit but merely stood beside his chair, trying to keep his temper in check. The thought of his heir and firstborn being captured was a hard pill to swallow, and it brought him memories of when Aerys made Jaime a Kingsguard so that he could ruin Tywin’s line of succession.

No matter how much of a disappointment Jaime could be, he was still his heir. His heir, whom Tywin often believed, would be persuaded enough to change his mind and take over Casterly Rock as the new Head of the House.

The men argued with one another on how the capture took place and what went wrong.

“I say it was Jaime’s decision to split his army into three camps that caused him to be open for the ambush,” Ser Harys Swyft said.

Yet, Kevan calmly argued since he understood the plan better. “Because of Riverrun’s position at the fork of the Tumblestone and the Red Fork, anyone wishing to besiege has to place one army north of the Tumblestone, one south of the Red Fork, and one between the two rivers to the west.”

“Ser Jaime’s army had no warning,g”, another knight pointed out. “Yet, if Ser Jaime had not gone rode out personally to lead with the raiding force in the Whispering Woods, he wouldn’t have been captured.”

Kevan said nothing because he had warned his nephew. He warned him to be wary of the mercenaries, but he did not listen and fell right into the trap.

“All is lost,” Ser Harry said, being the pessimist he was known to be. “Jaime’s host is all destroyed or put to flight, and the Starks and Tullys now stand astride their supply lines, cutting our own army off from supplies and our homeland. Robb Stark can even march on Casterly Rock if he wishes,” he pointed out, glancing at the stiff but unmoving turned back of Tywin. “We must sue for peace-“

He never finished his sentence because someone acted and stopped him.

As if sharing Tywin’s flaring temper, Josephine acted on a thought both had. Her fists found the wooden table, and its force made the goblets on it shake, wine threatening to be spilt, and two empty ones actually tipped over.

The unexpected move and brute force made everyone freeze and stare at the intimidating woman with wide, fearful eyes. Her eyes had changed to a golden hue, her gaze sharp and filled with danger, making some of the men shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Like the gaze of a dangerous animal and with word already of the Lioness that brought down a horse, the men around the table felt intimidated, except for Kevan and Tyrion. Well, the dwarf felt kind of fearful for a moment, but years of sharp and threatening gazes from Cersei made him quite tolerant and almost immune to it.

Though by the way, Josephine was staring at them, and how tight Tywin kept his jaw shut, Tyrion would not be surprised if the woman took the form of a Lioness and ate these stupid men on the spot for daring to speak in such a way.

“Anyone else care to continue with that sentence or share the blame?” she asked, daring each man to do so.

Josephine might not have been there for Jaime while he was growing up, and they had only met again just recently. However, she had been with him since he was a newborn, and she had grown attached to him.

Unlike his twin, Josephine found a special bond between her and Jaime: a need to protect and be there for him. She knew he would obtain a worthy partner if he had been firstborn.

While growing up, she was there for Jaime as much as possible. She held him and rocked him to sleep when Joanna was tired and sleepless during the first month after the twins' birth. She supported him and ensured his safety, guiding him when he roamed the castle grounds in search of Cersei or his mother.

And the idea of him a prisoner of the enemy, an enemy who would easily kill him to get even for the death of Ned Stark... it made her blood boil and her vision to turn red. Jaime was not just a prisoner to someone random, he was a prisoner of war to some people that had every right to execute him to get even.

For a full minute, no one dared to speak, but when it became evident they would not be killed on the spot, the courage returned slowly.

First to speak was none other than Lord Lefford, a distant cousin of Tywin. “We still have his sisters”, he reminded them. “The first order of business is ransoming Ser Jaime.”

Ser Marbrand scoffed. “Only an utter fool would exchange two girls for Jaime,”

“Well, we cannot offer them ransom either”, Tyrion pointed out. “If they need gold, all they have to do is melt my brother’s armour, and the issue will be solved.”

Ser Harys interfered. “No, the best option is to gather our allies and friends at court. Then we need to raise a new host at Casterly Rock-“

He never finished because the Lion finally snapped and roared. “They have my son!” he reminded them, his temper flaring to a new degree.

For a moment, he had many thoughts; Tywin would grab his sword and stab every single one of them. Ultimately, he stared everyone down so coldly that many believed they would face the Stranger with far more bravery.

“Get out, all of you,” he ordered, but then his eyes fell on Tyrion. “Not you.”

Everyone quickly and silently left until only Tywin, Kevan, Josephine, and Tyrion remained alone to sit down, at least Tywin and Josephine.

Chapter Text

At least those baboons were out of the room, and they could all focus, for the situation was delicate from all sides.

While they were waiting for Tywin to calm down, Tyrion moved to grab a cup for him to drink, but his father gave him his, untouched. There was a silent exchange between the other Lions since they knew that this was a big step.

It was a sign of...You earned it; take it. Tywin’s way of showing his approval is that he sees Tyrion differently.

He would rarely hear it from words, but certain actions were equivalent to it if one knew when to notice them.

“You were right about Eddard Stark. If he were alive, we could have used him to broker peace with Winterfell and Riverrun, which would have given us more time to deal with Robert's brothers. But now – madness...Madness and stupidity...I always thought you were a stunted fool. Perhaps l was wrong.”

Kevan and Josephine exchanged a subtle look, both surprised to hear those three words leaving Tywin’s mouth.

Tyrion accepted the praise but remained humble. “Half wrong. I am new to strategy, but unless we want to be surrounded by three armies, it appears we can't stay here.”

Josephine and Tywin exchanged a look for a few seconds, something that Tyrion remembered from back in the tent a few days ago. He wondered for a moment if this was a common occurrence and if, indeed, there was some supernatural communication between them.

If the woman could shift into a Lioness and back, who says there are more things she could do? After all, no one but the heir ever truly discovered the full details of this partnership, and even his weak grandfather did not reveal everything.

Eventually, Josephine stood up and headed to the corner of the room, where she found a folded map of the Westerosi continent. She brought it back to the table, and Kevan immediately moved the cups out of the way as she unrolled the map.

“No one will stay here”, she corrected him, voicing what Tywin had in mind.“Because the biggest threat is yet to come,” she explained and glanced at Tywin, who proceeded to explain.

“Reports claim that Renly Baratheon had wed Margaery Tyrell and declared himself king, with all the might of Highgarden and Storm's End behind him.” Tywin started, filling in briefly his son on what he had missed while a prisoner. “And Cersei has commanded me to march to defend King's Landing”, he added, sitting on his chair with less anger than before but still far from calm.

It was evident that he was not happy being commanded, let alone by his own daughter, who had taken far too much air in her time away and under the title of the ‘Queen’.

In addition, she had not told Joffrey of Renly’s claim, fearing her son would insist on leading the City Watch against Renly and leave the city undefended against Stannis Baratheon.

“What of Stannis Baratheon, then?” Tyrion asked, sipping some of his wine quietly.

“We did think Stannis, as the second in Line, would be the most dangerous, and yet he has done nothing. Varys has only heard whisperings that Stannis is building a fleet, hiring sell swords, and seeking the counsel of a shadow binder from Asshai.” Kevan answered.

“So, what do we do now?” Kevan asked.

Josephine grabbed a few tokens and placed them on the map as Tywin stood up to explain. She sat back in her chair and let him take the lead now that his head was clear and focused. “With Jaime’s defeat, we are in a bad situation. Roose Bolton’s remnants are to the north, enemies hold the Twins and Moat Cailin, and Robb Stark is to the west, so we cannot retreat to Lannisport without giving battle. At the same time, Jaime’s army has ceased to exist, and Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr plague our foraging parties.”

“Then there are Dragonstone, Storm’s End, and Highgarden to the south calling their banners. That makes us right in the centre of three different armies, none our allies and with our numbers decreased,” Josephine added right after, earning the faintest of nods from Tywin.

Although she joined the War late, she quickly absorbed what was happening. She studied what was happening, and she planned and discussed it with Tywin in secret. Although she was a woman, her mind was sharp, and she had trained it since childhood.

Even after she left, she kept training her mind and expanding her knowledge on multiple subjects, keeping her among the top players in this game and giving her an advantage that proved useful and could save her life in a dire situation.

It was something that Tywin’s council had found out rather soon, especially when sometimes her advice or plans got approval from Tywin himself, something rare to happen, especially to them.

“This is what we will do,” Tywin added, staring at the map again as he started to move the tokens. “Ser Gregor will head out with 500 riders and set the Riverlands on fire from God's Eye to the Red Fork. The rest of us will regroup at Harrenhal and face Robb Stark,” he informed and turned to his brother. “See that the order is issued.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said and stood up, leaving the rest alone in the room.

“What about the clansmen?” Tyrion asked.

“You better learn how to control them because I will not have King’s Landing pillaged,” Tywin answered, confusing the dwarf. Yet he made no comment but merely watched as his father made the mental decision to fully entrust Tyrion with the plan, “You will serve as Hand of the King in my stead and clean up the mess Cersei and the small council have created.”

“And what exactly did they create?” Tyrion asked, earning an annoyed look from his father. “Forgive me for not keeping up with the latest news through my network of spies,” he continued sarcastically.

“Janos Slynt’s rise into power,” Josephine started. “Then, we have the dishonouring of Ser Barristan Selmy and the appointment of the Hound to the Kingsguard.”

Tywin took a deep breath, those reminders not helping with his already flaring temper. “Your job is to bring that boy-king to heel and his mother too, if needs to be. And if you get as much as a whiff of treason from any of the rest – Baelish, Varys, Pycelle…”

He didn’t need to continue, for Tyrion knew where that sentence was leading. “...Heads, spikes, walls” he finished for him. Yet, as much pride that was, there was one thing that made him question. Why? “Why not my uncle? Why me?” he finally asked.

You're my son,” Tywin replied, making Tyrion look at him wide-eyed.

Those were the most words of approval he could ever ask for. Tywin Lannister finally acknowledged him as his own, out loud, even though he wished many were present, and he would do with what he had been given.

Feeling honoured, Tyrion wished not to ruin anything, and instead, he merely nodded his head before standing up. He had to bring the news to Shae, Bronn and the mountain tribes; the idea alone made his head hurt from all the things he would have to deal with.

But his father entrusted him for the first time, and Tyrion was not about to let such an opportunity go to waste. He would prove himself to his father, once and for all.

“One last thing,” Tywin said, stopping him from leaving. “You will not take that whore of yours to court.”

Hearing Shea being called a whore made his blood boil, memories of a woman of similar background sharing a horrific fate at the hands of the Old Lion. A woman who back then was nothing but a mere girl and yet subjected to a punishment that would make the mad King Aerys proud.

Instead, he remained quiet and chose to leave them be. His father could say all he wanted, but Tyrion would not let him be. No one would stop if he wished to bring Shea with him.

Josephine watched him go, lips pressed against one another.

She could tell that Tyrion was a unique young man, not just appearance-wise. Something about him was different, and she would not lie if she said she saw some Tywin traits with him, though just like Jaime, it seemed Joanna’s genes had won over.

Once he was gone, and it was just the two of them, she heard Tywin leave a heavy sigh. His anger, the complications of things, and the harsh, fast-paced journey were taking a toll on him.

“Do you really trust him to do that kind of job?” she asked, wishing to gain a little more insight into his thoughts and perhaps even help him see the good side of things, not just the dark ones that seemed to have multiplied overnight.

Tywin did not even glance at the tent exit; instead, he folded his hands and leaned against them, supported by the table. “I don’t have a choice, Josephine,” he said, his response a little harsher than necessary, but she did not take it personally. “I need someone to keep things under control in King’s Landing before things worsen. He might be a drunker fool and a whore lover, but if he has even the tiniest of my blood in him, he should be able to do just enough.”

She nodded and glanced at the map before stretching to grab a glass of wine. “I think he will do just fine, especially now that you trust him, “ she said and handed him the glass.

He looked at her, still not in the best mood. “Are you a people expert now?” he questioned as he took the goblet.

Josephine narrowed her eyes. She understood his harsh tone and lack of conversation, but she had a limit to how much she would accept from him. He was not the only one with pride in this room.

“Perhaps I see without being biased due to personal feelings and grudges,” she hissed, showing him that she was not pleased with his tone. She made no further move. “Let me know when we will be on the move again.”

Without another word, she stood up and headed for the entrance, leaving him alone with his thoughts and sour mood.

She glanced at him above her shoulder and sighed silently before exiting the tent, deciding to walk around the camp and clear her head. She needed to be focused and keep her temper in check if she wished to help.

For if there was one thing she remembered about Tywin since they were young, it was the fact that he always pushed himself too far and too harshly when locked on a target. And from the looks of it, he had not changed about that, which meant it was up to her again to ensure he would not drown in his thoughts and plans.

Chapter Text

The pace towards Harrenhal had been slow, and the weather of the Riverlands did not offer them much help. The ground was muddy, there was usually faint rain, and the troops were not as fast as they were in drier lands.

With each passing day, Tywin held meetings and kept tabs on the rest of the war, including the rest of his enemies, who were slow to make a move against him and his family. The only thing that never changed was Jaime; no news or changes from his capture, no ransom note or anything else.

And it was that lack of information that kept Tywin’s mind busy most nights.

Josephine could see the faint mental exhaustion behind his eyes, a sign that he did care for his son no matter what, even if he did not show it.

This was the Tywin Josephine had come to know, not the cold, ruthless widow one that the world had learnt to see the years she had been absent.

On one particular night, Josephine accompanied Tywin to his tent, mostly to keep an eye on him. When she needed to sleep, she would retreat to her own tent, which was right next to his.

But for now, she wished to be present to ensure he was okay. Tywin could be mentally strong and resilient, but he was still a man.

A man who was currently handling too much after already doing such work for years before ‘retiring’ when the Targaryen fell from power.

Josephine watched Tywin as he sat behind his desk, eyes locked on the map before him. He had not uttered a word for 30 minutes and had barely moved from his position. He did not even touch his wine glass; he merely sat there and let his mind think of possible scenarios and outcomes for both this war and his son.

She sighed and started walking toward him, her every step graceful and silent. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling his tense muscles from the stress and the position he was in.

Yet she did not massage it like last time, merely offering a comforting squeeze initially.

“I know what you are thinking right now, and I know you do not want my opinion, but...” she gently moved her hand across his shoulder blades. “This won’t change anything; it won’t bring news faster. It will only exhaust you more, and we have yet to reach Harrenhal.”

At first, Tywin remained silent. He barely moved his eyes to watch her but then focused forward again. He felt her touch, his muscles tensing momentarily before faintly relaxing while her words easily bypassed his raised-up walls.

At that moment, he knew that Josephine was right, but he would never admit it out loud. If he had had more energy at that moment, perhaps he would have commented something, but he didn’t.

Such moments brought him memories of when he was the Hand of Aerys, dealing with all kinds of damage control and being in charge of too many things at once: his House, the Realm and his family.

Back then, he had no one to stand by his side. Joanna had perished giving birth to that little monster, and he had made the mistake of ordering Josephine away, leaving him alone with the load.

Now, he was not really alone, but things were not changing that much either. Small little changes that paled to the sight of setbacks that had popped up lately, leaving him more frustrated than anything else.

Josephine had been watching him silently, his head tilted faintly to the side. No matter how hard she wished, she could not really peek at his thoughts, but she could get a sense of what was going on—of what he needed.

She moved to stand next to him and leaned slightly, supporting her frame against the desk.

“I know you are worried about him, but Jaime is your son. Your blood runs in his veins, and he is more than capable of surviving this and coming out victorious like his father,” she whispered, her voice comforting and caring.

Then, she brought her head closer to his profile and gently nudged him with her nose and forehead. Like an affectionate head bump, she gently laid there in a move that Tywin had not felt in decades.

If anyone else had said those words, Tywin would have scoffed and even mocked them, talking as if he did not know that. But Josephine was not anyone else. She was always the exception, the only one who could get away with saying things others wouldn’t even dare to think in his presence.

Her words made sense; they were things he deeply believed in, and he had no choice but to do so. Hearing them from someone else, at least, offered the faintest of comfort. A welcoming change compared to all the others who did not truly care for Jaime’s condition or well-being, treating him as just another casualty of war.

The move that followed made him tense. He had almost forgotten that she tended to do that. It was her silent way of offering some bodily comfort without having to hug or hold hands since Tywin did none of those things.

Her presence and her scent invaded his mind, and he found himself closing his eyes for a moment, trying to focus on his breathing and get control of his mind. Josephine’s presence relaxed him faintly, and he found no reason to push her way, so he didn’t.

His silent acceptance of this move made Josephine smile faintly, who partially expected him to react. After all, it had been almost three decades since the last time she did this, if not a little bit more.

With Joanna around, it was hard for her sometimes to be around Tywin the way she wanted. Tywin knew that, and on rare occasions, Josephine would catch a faint frown when he was reminded of the restraints that come with being married.

Restrains that, ironically, he never wanted, but Josephine forced him to accept and respect, even though it always hurt her inside knowing he was lying with another woman.

“We are close to Harrenhal; we should be there by tomorrow evening,” she reminded him, gently nudging his profile. “Let’s get some proper rest for a change. We will find a solution and win this war, getting Jaime back as well.”

After a moment of silence, Tywin opened his eyes slowly. With the tip of his eye, he barely caught a glimpse of Josephine until she pulled her face back but remained close. She was close enough to catch every detail on her face, noticing even the tiniest of freckles at the edges of her eyes, barely visible in the dim light.

Her steel grey eyes were deep in a way he could not explain, the silent gaze doing more than enough talk and passing messages without the need to use her lips. Tywin did dare to glance at them for a second, but he immediately turned his attention forward and pushed his chair back.

This little reaction did not go unnoticed by her, who hid any disappointment behind a plain mask. She pulled back and moved, allowing him to push his chair further back and stand his full height, surpassing her standing form with ease.

She craned her neck to look up at him, waiting in case more words were to be exchanged or perhaps moves were to be made.

To her mild surprise, they did come, though perhaps not to the extent her mind had thought or hoped for.

Tywin lifted his hand, gently tugging a stray strand behind her ear. “Let’s go get some rest. We have more distance to cover tomorrow,” he said, his fingers slowly being pulled back while his gaze never left hers.

All Josephine could do was part her lips faintly at that moment and suppress a shiver from the move, her body never forgetting the touches they once shared when younger and her heart never choosing to leave him behind and find some true inner peace.

She nodded her head, giving him a silent reply before forcing her body to move, leaving him alone in his tent while her heart beat faster.

And as she entered her tent, she could not help but replay what had happened just a moment ago. In perhaps a naive state of mind, she could not help but wonder if perhaps the flame they once shared had yet to die and if... it could be ignited once again.

Ever since she witnessed her father’s execution, Arya spent her days in disguise as Ary, the orphan boy. Following a group heading for the Wall, in the end, left her as a prisoner of the Lannisters, currently held at Harrenhal.

Due to the many prisoners, she and the group she was travelling with were held outside. Under the cloudy sky, they slept in the mud and often suffered from raindrops passing above them.

Every day, they would wake up and see The Mountain picking one of them to be interrogated.

The village folk did not dare to look at him, maybe hoping they would escape his attention. But there was no way to hide from him, no way to be safe. He just chose whomever he liked.

There was a girl he picked on the fourth day who had slept with a soldier three nights running, yet the soldier said nothing. There was an old man he picked on the fifth day, who had mended their clothing and declared so often that his son served in the City Watch and did all for Joffrey that the other prisoners had actually started calling him All-for-Joffrey.

They call the ordinarily looking man who did the questioning the Tickler. He was assisted by Chiswyck or by someone else, with Clegane just watching and listening until the prisoners died, which they invariably did.

The torture was a horrible one where they trapped a rat between a prisoner’s stomach and a bucket. Then, with the flames of a torch, they would heat one side of the bucket, causing the rat to try and escape. The only way to do so? The rat would tear apart the flesh of the man, biting on the skin and organs in an attempt to make a tunnel through his body.

Why did they do that? For answers, of course, although Arya never truly understood the reasons behind such questions.  

The questions always concerned valuables or food hidden in the village, the whereabouts of Beric Dondarrion and the size of his band, and who among the villagers had assisted them. The interrogations yielded a few valuables but only wildly inconsistent information about Dondarrion and his men. One day, things started the same, but eventually, they took a surprising turn.

It all started when the famous Mountain appeared, once again ready to pick random prisoners and let the Tickler torture them for information. This time, her friend Gendry was chosen with one more prisoner.

He was strapped to the chair, a rope around his neck, hands and feet to keep him there as the Tickler grabbed a rat. After that, he placed the rat in the bucket and trapped it on the boy’s body before repeating the same questions that Arya had memorized by now.

She watched in silence, her eyes eventually drifting to a Lannister soldier, who was put on guard and was also the man who had taken Needle from her. She was tempted to get it somehow and kill every one of them before escaping.

Before Gendry could be tortured, the sound of horse hooves galloping against the muddy ground reached their ears. A few seconds later, new faces had passed through the destroyed gates of Harrenhal, and Arya’s imprisonment was about to change forever.

Chapter Text

The first person Arya’s attention went to was the man leading the small group, riding a beautiful white stallion whose legs were almost black from all the mud on it. He wore the Lannister armour, which was far more detailed, with a red sash-like material spread diagonally across his chest.

He was of a certain age, definitely older than her father, but he seemed strong and fit even. That armour looked heavy, yet he rode perfectly fine with it while his sharp green eyes scanned the area around him.

Arya immediately knew who that person was...Tywin Lannister.

She had heard stories about the fearsome and ruthless Old Lion of Casterly Rock, whose name either aspired or terrified people.

But what had actually surprised her was the woman that seemed to have joined him. Riding on a brown mare, she stood out for her lack of armour but also the unfamiliarity of her face.

The Young Direwolf had never heard of a woman accompanying the Old Lion, let alone riding by his side. If she were to be some mistress, he certainly wouldn’t bring her into this war, and no prostitute would get such treatment.

What struck Arya as odd was the clothing the woman wore. She was dressed like a man, covered in leather and cotton, but she did not seem like a lady from afar. Her hair had this odd shade, a mixture of dark red and brown, and Arya did not remember meeting anyone with hair of such colour.

She did not seem to be the same age as Tywin, but she was not as young; her gaze was sharp, and her face even seemed a little threatening. That was something Arya found amusing, for it was perfect for the equally displeased and threatening look the Old Lion had.

A man in the background shouted for the knights to take the things of their Lord, which they rushed to do. The powerful duo did a quick scan on top of their horses before coming to a halt right in front of the pen the prisoners were kept in.

A squire quickly rushed to grab the rains of the powerful animals, allowing their riders to climb off. Tywin removed only one leg from the stirrup and climbed off more composedly while the mysterious woman jumped off with surprising grace.

Immediately, the Lannister guard forced all the prisoners to kneel as he also did, only that he rose once he had shown his respect to his master.

Yet, Arya refused to do that and merely kept looking at them through her dirty dark brown bangs, no fear in her brown eyes.

“What's this?” Tywin asked, taking full notice of the kneeling prisoners.

“We weren't expecting you till tomorrow, Lord Tywin,” the soldier said, bowing his head faintly.

His words amused Tywin, who chuckled, although his words were more mockery than amusement. “Evidently not”, he commented, earning a small, amused smile from his partner. “Why are these prisoners not in their cells?”

It was then that the famous Mountain stepped forward. “Cells are overflowing, My Lord,” he explained.

The Guard from before, Poliver, spoke next. “This lot won't be here long” he explained as Tywin walked side by side with the Mountain, eyeing the prisoners while the mysterious woman followed suit; always a step behind him.. “Don't need a permanent place. After we interrogate 'em, we usually just...“ his words, however, were cut by Josephine.

“You just what? Kill them, I presume?” she asked rhetorically, coming to a halt as her sharp eyes moved from the prisoners to the cocky guard. Perhaps it was not her place to speak about such things or judge situations, but at that moment, she could not control it.

She understood war, she understood the need for prisoners, but she also understood what civilians meant, what innocent bystanders meant. She might be Tywin’s partner, and once upon a time, she shared his cruelty, but things had changed... she had changed.

“Is the Lannister army so well-manned that it can afford to discard able young bodies and skilled labourers? Execute common folk that can offer provisions and loyalty?” she asked him next, once again rhetorically and with one eyebrow lifted.

Poliver was surprised to hear this foreign woman speak, having received no true information on who she was; she was accompanying Tywin and was apparently part of his counsel.

So when he was being asked such ridiculous questions, when she was trying to make a fool out of him, he did not like it. So, Poliver looked at the man in charge, who was watching silently.

When the soldier did not reply, Tywin rolled his eyes. “Well, aren’t you going to answer?” he asked, causing him to look to the ground in shame, having nothing to answer. At the same time, Tywin took notice of Gendry, who was still tied to the chair. ”You, do you have a trade?”

“Smith, My Lord,” he replied, pleasing the Old Lion, as his partner's point could not be more evident.

Poliver, on the other hand, noticed that Arya was staring at Tywin for far too long and was also standing. Immediately, he grabbed his sword. “What are you looking at? Kneel!” he ordered, but she did not obey him. “Kneel, or I'll carve your lungs out, boy.”

There was no response, and at that moment, the cocky Lannister soldier took a step forward and lifted his hand to harm her. Arya noticed Needle by his waist and wondered if she would be fast enough to grab it from him and kill him before he could.

However, someone else interfered.

As the blade was about to pierce her, a leathered, gloved hand grabbed the blade, stopping it from harming the young child. Soldiers and prisoners alike left small gasps as the owner of that hand was none other than Josephine.

She held the blade tightly in her arm, feeling the sharp edge threatening to pass through the leather of her glove, but she did not release it. She glared daggers at Poliver, threatening him to make a move, eyes almost flashing gold for a second, making him even more uneasy.

The sudden action and the supernatural gaze made the soldier freeze in place, and Arya swore she could see him shaking.

For a moment, Poliver thought of pulling the sword back, perhaps even questioning who she was to act in such a way, interfering with his work. But the sound of heavy steps made many glances at the other side, seeing Tywin taking a few steps towards him, with the Mountain right by his side.

Immediately, the cocky soldier dropped his blade and looked down, realizing he was trapped.

Getting tired of the soldier's unnecessary drama and incompetence, Tywin took a few steps closer and placed both his hands on the wooden pike of the pent. “This one's a girl, you idiot, dressed as a boy.” He pointed out something that his partner had already understood. Who better than a woman to recognise a girl disguised as one? “Why?” he asked the kid next as he leaned on that wooden pole.

“Safer to travel, My Lord,” Arya replied without hesitation.

Needless to say, the old Lion was impressed. “Smart,” he commented and glanced at Josephine, the two of them remaining silent for a few seconds. Then, they broke the intense eye contact, and Tywin focused on the soldier. “More than I can say for this lot. Get these prisoners to work and bring the girl; she will be my new cupbearer.”

His words surprised young Arya, who did not expect to be chosen in such a way, especially when she had done truly nothing. Yet she did not complain and merely lowered her head, showing the faintest of gratitude.

At least she would be away from the potential torture or the intense labour. Plus, who knew what kind of information she could get, perhaps enough to help her escape and return to Robb, bringing with her things that might change the outcome of the war?

As Arya lifted her head, she noticed that the beautiful woman was still there, watching her silently. Her lips formed the faintest of smiles when their eyes connected, and Arya held back the need to smile, glad to see a woman after being surrounded by men all this time.

“Come along, Josephine,” Tywin’s voice was heard as the Old Lion waited by the base of the main entrance, apparently waiting for her.

Another thing that Arya found odd. She did not have Tywin Lannister as a man who would wait on someone, especially a woman.

At least she got this woman's name, though it was so unfamiliar to Arya that it offered her no clue about who she truly was. Thankfully for her, she would have enough time to learn a few more things in the following weeks.

Harrenhal might have been fortified and big, but it was not friendly. The black stone walls, the constant cloudy skies and the number of piling fallen men were not helping with the mood either.

Josephine often stared outside as soldiers came and went, her head filled with endless plans, strategies and information. War Council meetings were held every day, sometimes twice a day, and she was present at all of them.

She found those days rather depressing: no inch of sun, nothing. The ground was always muddy, the rain never stopping, and the news from the battlefield barely changing.

The only thing that had changed over a week was that mysterious girl who served as Tywin’s Cupbearer. She silently did her work, always watching but never talking, like a quiet little mouse in the corner of the room.

The Lioness often watched her, curious about the quiet girl. There was an odd smell around her, one she could not exactly pinpoint, but as the days passed and the girls became a frequent presence, Josephine found herself getting used to that smell.

That did not mean she stopped being curious. There was something intelligent in those innocent brown eyes belonging to the little girl, and Josephine felt that some secret was hidden beneath the quiet image the girl portrayed.

Of course, she never voiced any such thoughts to Tywin. He was too busy with the war, with Jaime’s capture and now missing persona actually to care for a random servant. Plus, that was not his job; it was hers.

She was meant to keep an eye for things he could not see, for potential threats that could come for his head when the time was right. And that’s what she did, by keeping a close eye on all the servants but mostly on the quiet little girl.

Of course, with the war councils taking place daily; her attention was often divided, for she had to also listen to the men talking as if they knew what they were doing..

She had heard them talking but did not feel the need to comment, not yet at least. Even Tywin had started by being silent, but it was clear that his patience was running thin based on what he was listening to.

“The Starks have overextended their lines. Now that summer's over, they'll have a hard time keeping their men and horses fed,” Reginald pointed out.

His words made Josephine scoff, fingers drumming against the wooden table. She spoke only when all eyes were on her, for the men clearly wanted more insight into her reaction.

And she was about to give it to them.

“Winter does not choose sides. Both sides are meant to suffer as the cold season comes.” She said, reminding them of something of importance. “The only difference between them and us is the fact that they know how to survive it; we don’t.”

A different Lannister general, one not related to Tywin, chose to defend Reginald. “Our spies report growing discontent among the Northern lords. They want to return home and gather the harvest before the crops turn.”

“And they might if this War does not proceed any further,” Josephine commented, once again drawing the attention of the men around the table. “However, we must not underestimate the influence of Robb Stark has on them, his victories saying enough. In addition, we know the North is hard to forgive for betrayal, and at the moment, in their eyes, the blood of Ned Stark stains our hands.”

Tywin barely glanced at Arya as she placed a plate with food in front of him, looking with annoyance at Amory. “Josephine is right, and if you want to talk about discontent... then I'm sure if those same spies snuck into our encampments, they would report growing discontent amongst the Southern lords. This is war, no one's content. We've underestimated the Stark boy for too long. He has a good mind for warfare; his men worship him. And as long as he keeps winning battles, they'll believe he is King in the North. You've been waiting for him to fail. He is not going to fail, not without our help. So how do we stop him?”

There was no answer, and no one truly had it. Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back on the chair, eyeing the warm food placed in front of her, while Tywin felt as if he was about to stab every one of them for being so useless.

“We've worked through the night, my lord. Perhaps we'd profit from some sleep.” Reginald suggested.

“Yes, I think you would, Reginald. And because you're my cousin, I might even let you wake from that sleep. Go, I'm sure your wife must miss you.”

His words caused the younger Lannister to pale. “My wife's in Lannisport.” He pointed out.

“Well, then, you'd better start riding. Go before I change my mind and send her your head.” Tywin said, ending the discussion.

Reginald looked at his cousin in disbelief, even fear, as he slowly stood up. He was about to argue, saying something, but Josephine cleared her throat. When he looked at her and saw her arching one eyebrow, he knew it was his time to leave.

No one was sure whether that look was a warning not to test his luck or a silent challenge, asking him to continue talking and dare to argue, but no one questioned it either.

“If your name weren't Lannister, you'd be scrubbing out pots in the cook's tent. Go!” Tywin added, this time scaring him enough to leave the room.

Around the same time, Arya made her way with a jug to fill his glass with wine, but Josephine stopped her by placing her hand over his goblet. “Not wine; water is better. From the looks of it, we will be here for some time. Better remain sober,” she said, looking at the girl with a softer look than before.

Arya said nothing but nodded, understanding what she wanted. She then left and headed for the side table where the food and drinks were placed to replace the jug.

Tywin glanced at her, noticing how often she focused on the child. He commented nothing about it and neither for the decision to switch from wine to water. A part of him felt he needed some alcohol to handle those morons but then speculated it was better for everyone if their minds were clear.

However, this silent interest his partner had for the kid was something that was bothering him. Especially because Josephine was not so focused on anything unless something specifically pinned her interest. For her to find such focus on the child meant she was on to something.

Something that Tywin himself might have thought in the past, but the ongoing war had been prioritized in his mind.

With the chance, though, he decided to do his own research.

“Girl, where are you from?” he asked, making the kid stop and turn to face him.

“Maidenpool, my lord.” She replied, making Josephine arch an eyebrow at her accent and her way of speaking.

Common-born girls never said ‘My Lord’; that is what she knew too well. It was one of the most important things she learnt while travelling, trying to pass as a commoner and not expose her rather high-status upbringing.

Tywin seemed to have thoughts similar to hers. “And who are the Lords of Maidenpool? Remind me.”

“House Mooton, my Lord.”

“And what is their sigil?” he asked, but the girl did not answer, clearly not knowing.

Yet before Tywin could answer the question himself, Josephine did.

“Red salmon on white, over a white field with a golden treasure,” the woman said, earning a look from Tywin. Yet her response was a faint prideful smirk, for she knew she had caught him off guard.

Mostly because he did not expect her to know such little details, often forgetting that she had travelled for almost three decades, which made her knowledgeable about many things. And, of course, Josephine always enjoyed leaving him speechless, reminding him just how good she was.

At that moment, though, she focused back on the girl, and so did Tywin.

“You're a Northerner, aren't you?” the Old Lion asked, earning a silent nod from the girl.

“Thought I smelt something odd about you,” Josephine mumbled, yet her words were clear enough to be heard across the room. “You stink of pine trees and wolf, meaning you were close to Winterfell; am I right?”

Arya felt threatened for a moment, and her heart beat faster. She tried to hide how her eyes widened by keeping her head low, using her dirty brown bangs to obscure her reaction from the sharp gaze of Josephine.

She was not sure where this scent talk came from or how she could detect it on her, but Arya knew this woman was connecting the pieces. Somehow, this woman seemed to know more than she should, and for a moment, the Young Direwolf truly thought she would be exposed.

Lucky for her, luck seemed not to have abandoned her yet.

“One more time, where are you from?” Tywin asked her, now truly curious.

Thankfully, Arya’s sharp mind found the perfect coverage. “Barrowton, my lord, my lady. House Dustin. Two crossed long axes beneath a black crown,” she replied.

Barrowton was not that far from Winterfell, and Arya remembered it vividly, as she had visited a few years prior with her father. She was far younger back then, but she had faint glimpses of the town, the sigil existing on the flags, and how short the trip from home to that place was.

It worked, for Josephine did not comment further, and she bought the lie; Tywin definitely did.

“And what do they say of Robb Stark in the North?” the Old Lion asked next, still testing the waters with her.

Arya finally found the courage to lift her head and look at him while feeling the woman’s sharp gaze still on her short, thin form. “They call him the Young Wolf.”

“And?”

“They say he rides into battle on the back of a giant dire wolf. They say he can turn into a wolf himself when he wants. They say he can't be killed.”

“And do you believe them?”

“No, my lord.  Anyone can be killed.” The girl said, making Josephine smirk.

 “I like her,” she commented, earning an eye roll from Tywin.

Of course, she would like a girl who was as feisty and wordy as her. So, Tywin ignored her comment and focused on this unique cupbearer in front of him.

 “Fetch that water.”

Chapter Text

Since Tywin and Josephine chose to temporarily reside in Harrenhal, ten days if not more, had passed.

There had been no battles between the Lannisters and the Starks for days now, allowing both sides to gather men and prepare better. The weather was slowly becoming colder, and it was evident that winter was around the corner.

While the war continued between the two great houses, others moved from their place on the sidelines, mostly the two Stag Siblings. With Renly’s death, Stannis’ manpower increased, and it would be a matter of time before he made his move.

If he was smart enough, he would do it once the war ended and both armies had been weakened. Yet, due to the same war, he might choose to attack other more important and strategic points, knowing there were not many that could stop him.

During another war council, the powerful duo discovered that Ser Amory Lorch had delivered a letter to their enemies instead of their allies.

Tywin held the said letter in his hands, his expression hard to read, but everyone could feel his anger radiating. No one dared to speak or even breathe loudly, knowing very well that the Lion was about to prance upon them and rip their throats out with its powerful fangs.

Eventually, he spoke. “Can you read?” he asked the man sitting, who was at fault.

“My lord?” he exclaimed, clearly confused on the topic.

At the same time, Arya was about to serve some wine, but Tywin used his hand and gently moved her back so she wouldn’t obstruct his view of any of his war council members.

“Can you read?” Tywin asked again, and Lord Amory just stared blankly back at him. “This letter detailing our infantry movements was meant for Lord Damon of House Marbrand. It was sent to Lord Marlyn of House Dormand,” he explained, his voice stable despite the terrible mistake that endangered their army.

“My apologies, my lord. I must have-“ he never got to finish as Tywin focused on Arya.

“Girl, fetch me the History of the Greater and the Lesser Houses. It's the one on this-“ he did not have to continue explaining since the girl immediately picked up the right volume and brought it to the table.

This amused him to the point that he chuckled faintly at the whole scene while he stood up and opened the book.

Josephine was equally amused as she moved her goblet out of the way so there was space for the huge book. “Looks like a cupbearer can read better than you,” she commented, flushing the man in embarrassment and worry.

Tywin opened the book and found the right page, leaving it open for him to see. It was the page for House Dormand, its sigil drawn perfectly in the top middle of the page while history and information were written beneath it.

“To whom does House Dormand owe allegiance?” the Lion asked.

“My lord, I-“

The Old Lion of Casterly Rock smacked both his hands on the table out of nowhere. “To the Starks of Winterfell!!” he told him, his voice booming ever so slightly as he stared down at the incompetent man.

The sudden change and sound startled Arya, making the wine jug shake in her hands. Her grip loosened. Yet before it could fall further or spill wine, someone moved to catch it.

Josephine had been watching everything, and as if expecting such a reaction, she was already on the move. Her hands moved, and she grabbed the jug with equal grace and speed and saved it from being broken.

She then looked at the young girl, who for a moment was afraid she had missed it up. Tywin, though, was too busy to notice, and Josephine's gaze softened slightly.

She returned the jug and focused on the council, Tywin’s anger almost visible from his stance and powerful aura.

“Do I have to remind you that they have twenty thousand men and my son!” he continued, and if he could summon fire through his eyes, Lord Amory would long be a pile of ash by now. “I judged you might be good for something more than brutalizing peasants. I see I overestimated you. If you ever put my son's life at risk again, I'll...” he took a deep breath, realizing it was not worth it. “Leave us.”

Lord Amory said nothing else as he stood up, terrified and offended. Then, without saying anything else, he left the room while everyone else remained quiet.

Tywin, now slightly calmer but still irritated, turned to his cupbearer. “Put the book away, girl.” He ordered as Josephine closed the book and handed it to her. Tywin noticed, but amusement seemed to be more evident in his eyes than anything else. “Maybe you should devise our next battle plan while you're about it.” He continued.

“She would do a better job,” the Lioness commented.

As Arya turned and walked towards the table with the book, she could not help but chuckle silently in amusement and some pride. Tywin Lannister might be a powerful and strict man, but sometimes, he seemed to be something more.

Josephine was still a mystery. She gave this aura of constant danger, of a person you should never turn your back to... and yet, at the same time, she gave the idea that this was a woman who would keep you safe.

Her unique eyes seemed never to miss a single detail, yet they could carry warmth and care like no other. Josephine helped gather the plates more than once, making it easier for Arya to put them away.

Plus, Arya loved the way her mind worked. She offered a unique insight into plans, and Tywin seemed to respect it more than he respected the opinion of his own men.

She took advantage of this, commenting when necessary and putting those men in their place. No one dared to argue, intimidated by her and the man standing by her side.

Arya had yet to understand her relationship to the old Lion, but it was one she had never seen before.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door as a guard entered, but only a single step. “Lord Petyr Baelish.”

“Give us the room,” Tywin instructed, and everyone got up, quickly obeying as he moved towards the fireplace.

Josephine also stood up and marched his way, but she was clearly not happy about it. “Perhaps I should let you two talk," she said.

She didn't manage to take more than two steps before Tywin’s arm wrapped around hers, fingers holding her upper arm tightly. The sudden move made her look back at him, curious about his actions.

"You are to stay unless I say so," he reminded her, clearly unhappy with how quick she was to leave him with that pestering man. "Perhaps you can intimidate him into leaving sooner."

She held back a chuckle, but she showed her amusement by smirking. "Thought intimidating people were your thing," she cleverly argued back, always in the mood to test the waters.

"It gets tiring intimidating fools all the time. And I have bigger things to deal with," was his reply.

There was, though, one more thing that Tywin seemed to forget or not to bother truly. "People already talk. My presence has not been cleared out yet."

A part of her understood where gossip could lead and what it could do to a man’s reputation, remembering when she spent a few years at court when Tywin was still Hand to Aerys.

A different part of her, did not wish to expose more of the family secrets; the damage Tytos had done been more than enough.

And there was a small part of her that wished Tywin would acknowledge her as someone proper, whether as a companion, friend, or lover. For then, at least, she would know where she was stepping.

"Let them talk; they have already started either way. We have more important things to worry about than lady gossip."

In the end, Josephine had no choice but to obey. She nodded once and slowly, giving her final answer.

Tywin seemed pleased but took a few seconds more before releasing her. He then looked at the guard still waiting by the door, silently telling him to bring the Bird in.

He noticed Arya standing and motioned for the table with empty plates and goblets. “Clear all this.”

Just then, the man many called Littlefinger entered. His eyes went to the two hosts, a small fake smile on his lips.

“Lord Tywin," he greeted with a fake smile and approached them.

His eyes immediately fell on Josephine, who stood next to Tywin; her posture was straight, and her gaze was far from friendly.

That did not mean that Peter Baelish would be intimidated so easily. His eyes quickly scanned her from top to bottom, noticing her clothes and unique beauty.

His smile remained. "I have caught word that you have company in your travels, My Lord. Though they failed to mention the beauty behind it," he continued, daring to grab her hand and place a kiss on the back of her hand.

Her pupils narrowed faintly for a second, but she did not react. She let him place his kiss on her hand before she pulled it back.

"Baelish, this is Lady Josephine. An old acquaintance with important value in this war," Tywin introduced, though by the way his eyes locked on the man's form, it was evident he was unhappy at the moment.

"A pleasure, my lord," Josephine said through her teeth, doing her best to remain mannered. "Shall we discuss what brought you so suddenly?"

Petyr glanced between her and Tywin, curious and trying to understand what was happening between them. The fact that she was present in such discussions meant Tywin placed great trust in her, which only fuelled Petyr’s curiosity more.

"Of course," he said and headed for the chair by Tywin's right.

He sat down just as Tywin took his usual place by the head of the table, and Josephine sat by his left, right across from Peter.

“I travelled here directly from Renly Baratheon's camp,” Baelish started.

“Ah, the late King Renly. Rathe is a short reign. Murdered by a woman, I hear.” Tywin said, already showing that he knew of the accusations.

Many people were pointing the finger at either a female spy sent to kill him at night or the woman he held in his own personal King’s guard as a knight.

“So they say. There has been talk of other forces at work...dark forces.”

“Men love to blame demons when their grand plans unravel.” He said, returning to his guest.

“I believe that a moment of chaos affords opportunities lost soon after.”

The Lioness held back the need to scoff. “And from such opportunities you have benefited, haven’t you Lord Baelish?” she asked rhetorically, proving she had been educated enough on whom this man was.. “However, that is not of importance now. You say that as if you were the first man alive to think it. Yes, a crisis is an opportunity, one that wise people know how to take."

Tywin hid his smirk behind his goblet, and after taking a sip of his red wine, he decided to speak and save the mockingbird from the jaws of the Lion. “What other brilliant insights have you brought us today?”

“After the Lannisters and the Starks, the Tyrells command the largest host. Their lands are the most fertile in the Seven Kingdoms, feeding horses and soldiers.”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“The Tyrells have not yet declared for any of the surviving kings. Loras wants revenge. He blames Stannis for Renly's death. And Margaery-

“Wants to be queen,” Tywin finished for him, already seeing where he was leading the conversation.

“Yes, she does.”

“House Tyrell rebelled against the Iron Throne, against our grandson,”

It was not unknown that Margaery was married to Renly, which had ensured the younger Stag the support of the rich and powerful house. However, now that her husband is dead, she has left a widow but is still young and could marry another man.

“They did. And perhaps that treason should be punished one day after Stannis and Robb Stark are defeated,” Baelish said, earning their attention.

The Old Lion motioned with his hand towards Arya, who had been studying to the side. “More wine for Lord Baelish.”

The girl moved silently, head turned and bowed so that her brown bangs hid her face as much as possible.

“Lord Baelish,” Visenya said, drawing his attention to her and away from the girl. “You sound like you have a proposition?” she asked him.

Petyr smirked. “Very sharp mind, my lady,” he complimented. “If you will allow me to represent your family's interests, I believe that an advantageous agreement-“

“The Tyrell host has returned to Highgarden?” Tywin asked, interrupting him.

“They have.” He confirmed, but just then, Arya ended up spilling some wine on the table and his hand.

She immediately grabbed a cloth and tried to mop it in panic. “Pardon, my lord.”

Petyr did not seem to mind. “It's only wine,” he said, turning to the couple. “What have you done to the poor kid to scare them that way?” he joked, but he only received a glare from both of them.

Realizing that his joke was not appreciated, he turned to grab his goblet again and took a glance at Arya’s face. He tried to look better, but Josephine pulled his attention away as if sensing that the man had made the child uneasy.

“You would ride there yourself, Lord Baelish?” she asked him, already seeing where this discussion would lead.

He was forced to look at her. “Tonight, with Lord Tywin's leave.”

Tywin was silent for a moment. “I'll have an answer by nightfall.” He glanced at Arya, who had not herself since the Mockingbird had arrived. “That'll be all, girl.” He told her, passively dismissing her. She started to walk away, feeling Petyr’s eyes on her form all the way. “And what else?”

“On your son Tyrion's directive, I met with Catelyn Stark,” Petyr confessed.

“Why?”

“He had an interesting proposal for her concerning her daughters,” and the duo's look showed that they wanted him to keep talking.

So he did.

Chapter Text

Dusk had finally arrived once again above the gloomy Castle of Harrenhal. However, with the constant clouds above, no one could truly tell if it weren't for the burning candles and the temperature falling a few degrees.

Josephine and Tywin were alone inside the council chamber. The letter on the table sparked their deep thoughts.

'Marching ten thousand west to Lannisport through the Tooth. Estimate to reach you by week's end. Scouts report Robb Stark moving troops south by coast. Alert Serrett he should turn east at Silverhill.' The letter said.

They would have a new addition to their army, which was good for after the last battles; they truly needed all the extra men.

However, Robb Stark moving south was puzzling them. They were moving further away from them, and if they were to take the coast, they would eventually reach Lannisport, although first, they would have to pass through the Golden Tooth itself.

Unless they would try their way over Silverhill to avoid any true resistance from that narrow path, House Serrett was the lord of Silverhill, but they did not have the manpower to stop the full forces of Robb.

Since most of the army was sent their way and the others were left at King's Landing, it made them think about what their next plan should be.

Tywin had re-read the letter a few times, trying to decipher the rather puzzling moves of Robb Stark. However, he could not tell with certainty what the plan was, and with Jaime still a prisoner, every move had to be made with the utmost thought and care.

The War Meetings did not truly help since no true battle had occurred, not since the one at the Green Fork. The weather definitely played a role in what some might say the Lion’s sour mood, though some claimed he was always in such a state.

Thankfully, Josephine’s presence seemed to have lifted the weight and burden ever so slightly. It was mostly in private that Tywin had the tiniest bits of character changes, but even those were limited.

Tywin grabbed his goblet, eyeing the letter one last time. “We underestimated that boy long enough. We are not being taken for fools. Our next move should change the outcome for good.” He said, clearly talking to his companion. Though her gaze was placed outside, her mind clearly wandering, and he took notice. “Are you listening, Josephine?”

The foreign woman seemed to snap from her deep thoughts and blinked, her gaze focusing on the present. “I am sorry, my mind was elsewhere.” She apologized as she turned her body to fully face Tywin, her back facing the window.

Tywin arched an eyebrow and started to walk towards her, his steps confident like every time, yet his presence could never intimidate her. “Your mind has been travelling for a while now. This is unlike you.”

She held back the need to scoff, trying not to get insulted by his words. Her eyes, though, once again betrayed her thoughts. “I know that,” she snapped back and then sighed slowly. “There is something about this place... magic and blood, I can sense it, and it makes me uneasy,” Josephine confessed, glancing out the window again.

The longer they stayed in Harrenhal, the more uneasy her sleep became. She swore she caught glimpses of shadows at the edge of her eyes or heard the faint whispers of souls trapped there.

Now, Josephine had been to many places across the decades and had studied her family’s lineage deeply and the gift bestowed upon it. The only time she truly felt such a strong presence was during her stay at the Heart Tree, the ancient location where hundreds of Weirwood Trees and Children of the Forest perished centuries ago.

Tywin halted behind her and tilted his head faintly, his gaze fully on her. “Blood and magic...” he repeated, making it evident he was not a true believer in such a thing.

He did believe certain things, but even then, it was with the utmost suspicion. Sure, Dragons once upon a time were real, and his family had bound powerful women who could turn into Lionesses for their bidding, but there was a line he would always draw.

Especially after spending decades in the norm, away from anything extreme, unnatural and odd.

Josephine heard it in his voice and turned sharply, only to realize how close they were. Tywin had left little distance between them, and their height difference was not great, so their faces entered each other’s personal space.

“Daemon Targaryen resided within those walls and was said to have been plagued by dreams and haunted by ghosts,” she reminded him, history being one of her very best subjects.

“And it was also said to be the result of the witch that stayed in this place as well.” Tywin reminded her.

In the end, she sighed and closed her eyes momentarily. “You do not have to believe it, Tywin; you were always tough on the Unknown. " She opened her eyes and stared directly into his. “But it won’t hurt to be mindful of this place, even a little respectful.”

Her words truly tested Tywin’s self-composure, and for the sake of their relationship, he chose not to comment and bluntly ignored her statement. “If it will keep your head into the game...”

Finally, Josephine cracked a smirk. “My head is always in the game, my instincts even more.”

And to her success, Tywin returned her actions with a smirk of his own. “That’s what made you so formidable, and it is what I trust in you.” He brought the goblet towards his lips, emptying it in one go, or at least of what was left.

“Good,” Josephine commented and gently took the goblet from him; their fingers touched and brushed against one another for a mere second, but it was enough to cause a chill to roll down their spines.

Their gazes went to their fingers and back to one another before Josephine pulled the goblet away and headed for the little side table at the other side of the room. Her steps remained elegant and silent as she headed for a refill, which she always did out of habit.

As she walked, Tywin could not help but stare at her, now without feeling her sharp, captivating gaze fight his. His eyes remained on her body, and while her clothing was more suited for a man, it had a unique fit on her.

His fingers, where hers had touched them, felt faintly numb for a second as if the touch itself had caused something beneath his skin... and it did. This tingling sensation seemed to come only from her, and the Old Lion remembered the times such sensations had been fully explored.

When both were young and unbothered, those feelings started small but intensified when they would lie in bed, their hands starving to touch, hold, and grab one another during passionate nights.

Lips met lips and skin, and this unique sensation felt like fire ran through their veins. They tangled each other in the bed sheets and explored how far they could go, how many times they could reach the point of bliss before exhaustion took over.

Tywin did not realize how far his mind had gone or the sudden stiffness in his groin until the floorboards creaked, alarming him that someone had just entered the room. He and Josephine turned their heads towards the open door, only to see young Ary bowing before walking inside with two plates of food.

Josephine observed the child faintly before returning to Tywin, the goblet filled with fresh red wine. Her smirk had remained on her rosy lips, and there was this sparkle of mischief in her grey eyes, something Tywin had almost missed.

“Looks like I am not the only one whose mind wanders,” the woman pointed out, resulting in a scoff from him.

“On different things, I assure you,” Tywin quickly defended himself and took the goblet, careful not to let his hands linger more than necessary.

He then focused outside, hoping the gloomy weather and the passing soldiers would help take his mind and his body away from those sinful memories that had chosen to return with the worst timing ever.

“Like Jaime,” Josephine deciphered, head tilted faintly to the side as she moved to stand before him. “He will be fine, or else he will not be your son,” she continued, once again having this gentleness that one might not have her capable of. “If Tyrion could come back with a little army of savages, imagine what Jaime could do.”

As much as Tywin hated thinking about the Imp, he could not help but mentally agree with her. If someone as incompetent as the drunkard little monster he had for a son could escape captivity and find his way back, Jaime should not have a hard time at all to achieve the same.

Chapter Text

Arya had been listening to another war council, picking up all kinds of important information. After Baelish left, she had been a little more on edge, though, afraid that he had recognised her.

He hadn't exposed her, which was a good thing, but yet again, who knew what he would do with that information? Arya had met him only once, and she never liked him, always making her feel bad in her stomach.

During those times, she wished she had Nymeria with her to feel more secure and safe. Maybe even order her to attack the creepy man.

Thankfully, the days passed without an incident and no other visit or word from him, making Arya feel slightly more peaceful and fall back into the routine of the cupbearer.

That evening, she was heading towards the War Council Room, two plates of warm food ready for Tywin and Josephine. Yet, the little DireWolf did not directly enter the room. She caught the two adults talking, and the topic caught her interest.

The talk of magic, witches and dreams was something she did not often hear, even when she was residing in Winterfell. It was merely mentioned during bedtime stories told by their wet nurses, but no one believed it.

On the other hand, Arya always felt there was something more behind those stories, something true that was still out there.

Perhaps it was her naive young mind with the running imagination or those late dreams of her running through the woods, watching the world through the eyes of Nymeria. It was such little fragments of a dream that kept her busy most nights before she would go to sleep,

Could this place have caused her such dreams? Like it did to Daemon Targaryen?

She was unsure, but it was better to have a theory than no clue.

Focusing on the present, Arya reminded herself that she had to bring in the food. Yet, she took a moment longer before entering, snapping Tywin from his intense staring at Josephine.

“My lord,” Arya said, bowing faintly before walking inside and heading for the table.

She noticed the letter from the War Council Meeting, placed there for anyone brave enough to take a pick. She was tempted but waited, for she could feel the gaze of the two adults in her short form watching her.

That was something they often did, Josephine the most. Silently watching her, Arya often wondered if this peculiar woman could see through her disguise and get a glimpse of who truly was the Servant Ary.

After all, according to her, she seemed to have recognised her as a Northerner just by smell. Arya had yet to understand who this woman truly was or what she was capable of.

The plates were on the table, and Arya moved to fetch a clean goblet since Josephine seemed to have none present. Another odd thing that the young Direwolf found was how Josephine refused to drink wine.

As silent as possible, Arya cleared any stains and picked up leftover goblets from the War Council members who had already left. She would glance at Tywin and Josephine behind her dirty brown bangs as she did.

Now that their attention was on one another and not on her, Arya could study them again. It had become clear that Josephine was important to Tywin, as evidenced by her seat on the council and the fact that she would often be found alone with him.

The Old Lion would dismiss everyone but her, and Arya always saw them together. When she could only see Tywin, she somehow knew Josephine was nearby, never leaving him out of sight.

It was odd, but it kept her interested, as this relationship was unlike anything she had ever seen. Usually, women were either wives who stayed back or prostitutes who were paid to sleep with someone. None of the two would ever be found in the middle of War, advising and having such privileges.

Unless they were a direct relative to someone, like how her mother was to Robb.

Josephine was not a relative to Tywin, yet seemed to share the familiarity of one, giving the impression that those two went way back.

And they did.

As the two talked about patience and whispered something she could not truly hear, Arya eyed the letter nearby. She silently moved closer and started to read it, but a voice stopped her.

"Who taught you to read?" Tywin asked, making her jump slightly and turn to face him.

As the two looked at her, Arya could see curiosity in their eyes and the slightest of suspicion.

Did they leave the letter like that to test her? She didn't know but knew she had to find a way to excuse herself.

"My father, my lord." She replied, offering a white lie.

Technically, her wet nurse and mother taught her, but those were details she did not have to share.

"Hmm. I taught my son Jaime to read. The Maester came to me one day and told me he wasn't learning. He couldn't make sense of the letters. He reversed them in his head. The Maester said he'd heard of this affliction and that we must accept it. Ha! After that, I sat Jaime down for four hours every day until he learned. He hated me for it for a time. For a long time. But he learned," he said.

Josephine smiled faintly at the memory but said nothing. She had been present when this happened and had comforted Jaime too many times, asking him to be patient and trust the process.

Ultimately, it worked, though the wounds it caused in the relationship between Father and Son could have been avoided.

Josephine continued to help with the discussion and hoped to pray for more information on this peculiar but intelligent servant; Josephine continued for Tywin. “Where is your father? Is he alive? Who was he?"

The question surprised Arya. It made her reflect on another ending, one where her father was a common man, and he was alive. Would he let her go or return her to him? Would he keep her as his cupbearer since it was considered a great honour?

Since she was waiting for an answer, she gave one. "A stonemason."

"A stonemason who could read? Hmm."

"He taught himself."

"A smart man, then...It seems he passed that to you," she commented as she leaned against the windowsill, not once moving away from Tywin. "What killed him?"

Arya was surprised that they realised he was dead since she never answered that question,n but yet again, they must have suspected it. What would a northern girl do so south and a prisoner nonetheless?

In the end, Arya thought of a fitting answer. "Loyalty."

The answer caught them off guard, but the surprise was quickly replaced by faint pride, which clearly accepted the smart answer. And for a moment, Arya caught sight of them exchanging a look as if they were having some mental conversation with one another.

Then, the Old Lion turned his eyes on her. "You're a sharp little thing, aren't you?"

She didn’t comment on it, which was clearly a rhetorical question. "Did..." she started but stopped herself, realizing that perhaps she was crossing a line she shouldn’t; too risky after gaining their trust for so long.”Forgive me, my lord. I shouldn't ask questions."

He smirked. "No. But you've already begun."

"Did you know your father, my lord?" She finally asked.

The question lingered in the air for a little longer, no one answering. 

"I did. I grew up with him. I watched him grow old." He confessed and paced faintly, his grip on his goblet intensifying.

With both their attention diverted, mostly due to the seriousness of the question, the witty girl stole the letter that she was reading.

Josephine did not react and merely turned to look outside, wishing to find anything else to focus on than the remainder of Tytos Lannister. The Laughing Lion truly lived to his name, a walking embarrassment to the family and hers.

Tytos had not only ruined Tywin’s life, forcing him to take the mantle from a young age to ensure House Lannister would stand strong, but he had also created a rather dark childhood for her, the memories never to be forgotten.

She gripped the edge of the stone ledge, her jaw tight and her golden gaze glaring daggers at passing soldiers in the courtyard, even though they had done nothing wrong.

"He loved us. He was a good man but a weak man. A weak man who nearly destroyed our house and name," Tywin continued, his mood shifting at the dark memories while anger from the past slowly resurfaced along with bitterness. He glanced at Josephine as if their anger had fuelled one another. “He nearly destroyed all of us,” he added, barely glancing at the young servant girl. "I'm cold."

Arya understood what he was trying to do and played along, especially now that she had the letter. "I'll fetch more wood for the fire, my lord."

Only after she was gone did Tywin eyed the empty room again. His mind, too occupied to fight back dark memories of his past, failed to see the missing letter. It did not help to sense Josephine’s rage that was held back, for she had also suffered at the hands of Tytos.

“May he rot,” Josephine mumbled, doing her best to keep her temper under control.

Tywin scoffed in amusement and tossed his head back, emptying his goblet once again. “Oh, he is. He better be,” he commented and headed for the table, leaving the goblet and eye the food Ary had brought in. “Come eat; you barely touched any food the whole day.”

“I am not hungry,” Josephine said, feeling his displeased gaze burning on her turned back. “Give it to the girl; she looks like she needs it."

The Old Lion sat down, arching an eyebrow at her words. “The Servant Girl?” he questioned, glancing above his shoulder only to have the chair block his view of her. “Sit, Josephine. I won’t talk to plain air.”

His tone had this faintest of command behind, mixed with annoyance. Josephine knew better than to chase her luck when he used that tone, especially since the bitterness of the last topic was still around them. Thus, she silently walked towards the table and took her usual seat. She eyed the food but made no move to eat, standing by the fact that she was not hungry.

“Considering your War Council, you should be used to it by now,” Josephine commented, unable to help herself but throw at least a comment.

Truthfully, one would expect Tywin to be insulted and pissed off by her words. She openly accused and mocked his trusted men and council, though one could not truly blame her.

Sometimes, they were truly hopeless.

Yet, Tywin did not react harshly; he never did with her... except for that one time after Joanna died.

Thus, he merely rolled his eyes at the drama. “Careful there, Josephine. My patience is not what it used to be,” he warned her, just for the sake of mannerisms and to ensure peace between them. It was also a subtle warning that he was not in the mood to bicker with her and try to see who would have the last word between them. So, Tywin focused on something else that would take the sensitive topic. “Why the servant girl?”

Josephine took notice of the new goblet, filled with fresh water by Ary. She smiled faintly. “Is it that odd to take a liking to a servant?”

Tywin eyed her carefully as he grabbed a piece of bread. “You have taken more than just liking to her,” he pointed out, earning her full attention. “You have been watching her nonstop, observing her every move. Now you do that whether you consider someone a threat or...” he took a moment to chew and let her hang on his words. “When someone had gotten your interest.”

She grabbed the goblet and took a few sips of the cold water, earning time before replying. Sometimes, she truly hated how well Tywin knew her, just as he hated how well she knew him in return.

However, the point remained that he had noticed, and Josephine saw no reason for excuses. So, she chose to come out clean, and she did so by carefully choosing her words.

“She is a smart girl, perhaps a little too smart,” Josephine started, slowly lowering her goblet and glancing at her reflection on the still surface of the water. “She shouldn’t be in the heart of War, surrounded by men and death."

“Hmmm,” Tywin exclaimed as he studied her carefully. “It sounds to me as if you are getting attached,” he continued, earning a scoff from her, but he did not let her continue. “Children were always your weakness ever since we were younger.”

She left the goblet on the table and fully looked at him. “It’s a lioness' instincts; you know I cannot help it.”

“I do,” he agreed.

Because he knew she was not lying about that part, each partner had a strong instinct to protect the family and the heir from harm. Those instincts also extend to children, sometimes even if they are not part of the family.

It was one quality that had truly drawn Tywin since they were young, one certain quality of hers that made him think of her slightly differently. A woman with such strong instincts, let alone abilities, was a lethal mother, willing to go to the extremes to protect her children.

Which meant Josephine would be unstoppable when it came to protecting her children... their children.

It was in her blood to be loyal to the family and to put the legacy and the future of the House above her own well-being and needs. It was something Tywin admired and strived to have, even with Joanna. His dear cousin had tried and succeeded in living by such expectations as much as it was possible for her. He had also tried to pass it to his children, though none seemed that deep into it, sometimes truly making him as if they were his children.

Once upon a time, this would have been the outcome if things had been different. But things had changed, and new obstacles had been placed. Both had to be reminded of their place, whether they liked it or not.

Silence remained between them, Josephine having even picked a few pieces of bread to chew and keep her occupied, which pleased Tywin, who was almost done with his meal. There was no need for unnecessary talk, and he truly appreciated this ability to stay in silence with one another.

Suddenly, they noticed Amory by the door, but he collapsed before he could take another step. A poisoned dart was protruding from his neck, and Tywin immediately summoned his guards since this could be a clear hidden attack from Robb against them.

Chapter Text

The moment Amory fell to the ground, Tywin wasted no time to summon his guards as Josephine sprinted into action, checking the now dead man. Both she and Tywin rushed and took the lead, barking orders and ensuring no one would be able to leave.

There was a killer among them, and they had to find him as soon as possible.

Before anyone knew it, guards had started to grab and gather potential suspects or those that Lord Amory had talked to last.

The Mountain had taken it upon himself, the number of the bodies of suspects piling up in the main courtyard while others watched, a warning that such attempts would not go unpunished.

By the very next misty morning, men had been hanged, and an equal amount of them had been tortured.

Tywin looked outside the window at the prisoners, his face hard to read. He did not seem to be angry at the attempt, rather pleased by its findings and the fact that someone had tried to take him or Amory down with a single dart.

Josephine, who was leaning on the stone wall right next to the window, held the same dart. She was not pleased with the assassination attempt, let alone by the fact that they had yet to find the culprit.

However, Tywin forbade her from doing anything. So, all she could do was remain by his side if the assassin tried again.

“What do you make of it?” he asked her.

Josephine had been rather unique ever since she was a child. Considering her lineage, one expected it, but even then, she surprised many with her sharp senses. Not just instincts that led her life but all five basic senses heightened beyond human understanding.

She kept the dark between her fingers and brought it closer to her nose; her eyes closed as she inhaled. Slowly, she opened her eyes and glared daggers at the small object still in her possession.

“I smell poison; it is faint but there,” she thought momentarily, the gears working within her mind. “I suspect Wolfsbane by the scent, though I cannot be 100% certain. I had not been at the other end of it, thankfully.”

She handed Tywin the dart, who merely tossed it to the side, useless by now. Instead, he glanced at Josephine, more than glad she was by his side, for his men seemed to be even more incompetent than he had them capable of.

“What do you know about it?” he asked, curious to see if the trips she so often brought up had actually helped her learn something more.

To his mild surprise, they did. “It stops the heart and the lungs, paralyzes and leads to quick instant death.” She answered with ease, finally looking at him.

If Tywin was impressed by her answer or was expecting it, he did not show it. Knowing that a potential assassin was hiding beneath their noses, he was getting impatient.

“It's one thing to have enemies against ones, and it's completely different to have them under our roof,” he commented, mumbling a small curse under his breath.

Just then, the famous Mountain dared to enter the room. Based on the look on his ugly face and his silence, the duo knew he bore bad news for them.

The Mountain stood not too far away and waited until Tywin acknowledged him. “We hanged twenty men last night.”

Tywin was not happy. “I don't care if you hanged a hundred. A man tried to kill me. I want his name, and I want his head.” he said rather calmly as if his life had not been threatened a few hours ago.

At the same time, Arya was busy setting the table while listening to the conversation without being noticed.

Josephine took a step forward, standing next to the Old Lion. “Perhaps you should let me have a go with them. I am sure I can draw a confession,” she glanced at him, serious and deadly.

The Old Lion thought of it for a moment. “Hmm,” he exclaimed, glancing between his henchman and his partner. “Perhaps I should.”

Those words did not sit well with Ser Gregor, who dared to take a step forward. His huge frame and weight made the floorboards beneath him creak, struggling to remain intact.

“We are making progress, my Lord,” he argued, clearly not liking the idea that a woman would take over the investigation.

Ever since Josephine joined, it had become evident that the Mountain did not like her. He had often been caught glaring at her. One might say she had taken his place, as she was the one Tywin was most willing to trust with missions.

The fact that he was openly being threatened to be replaced by her in terms of torturing made his blood boil. This was his thing, and he was meant to spread terror, make men scream in pain and beg for the sweet relief of Death.

He took pleasure in it, and he would fight for it. “We think it was an infiltrator from the Brotherhood Without Banners.” He continued.

A small scoff drew the attention of the men on Josephine, who took another step forward, not intimidated by his ever-towering presence. “A band of outlaws with a pretentious name, that’s all they are. I truly doubt they would have the means or the minds to plan something so delicate and smart, and if they did, it only puts shame on your men who failed to stop an infiltration by the enemy truly.”

Tywin had moved towards his chair but had not taken a seat yet. He could sense the tension between Josephine and Ser Gregor but was in no mood to stop them. It’s not like they would go for each other’s throats, not without him ordering it, at least.

“Either way, we can't allow rebels behind our lines to harass us with impunity. We look like fools, and they look like heroes. That's how kings fall,” Tywin explained. He kept walking past his chair until he stopped right before him. “I want them dead, everyone.”

“Killing them isn't the problem. It's finding them.” The Mountain argued.

He was amused, mockery visible in his eyes and soon followed in his voice. “Have you gone soft, Clegane? I always thought you had a talent for violence.” Before the man could reply, his master continued. “Burn the villages, burn the farms. Let them know what it means to choose the wrong side... and if this task is too much trouble for you, I am sure Josephine would not mind taking over.”

The woman smirked, enjoying how hard the vicious, bloodthirsty hound tried not to tick by Tywin’s words. Her smirk was sensed, and he glared hard at her, clearly displeased, but did not dare to say anything else.

Instead, he offered a small nod and left the room, banging the door behind him in the process.

Josephine scoffed. “Someone is touchy,” she mocked, folding her hands before her chest.

Tywin glanced at her, but then the smell of freshly cooked meat reached his nose. His attention diverted to the food Ary had brought and gently placed it on the table. Two plates, one for him and one for Josephine.

“Mmm. Is that mutton?” he asked the servant girl.

Arya, standing in front of it, nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Don't like mutton.” He explained rather simply, earning a look from Josephine.

She did not hide her frown, and she even moved slightly to the side to be able to see him truly. Much to her dismay, he merely looked at Arya, who was caught off guard momentarily.

The girl was momentarily confused and kept looking forward even as Tywin moved closer to where she stood. “I'll bring something else.”

“Leave it.” He ordered and then glanced at his partner again, remembering their discussion before the assassination. “Are you hungry?” he asked the kid.

“No.”

A lie, both adult thoughts, but it was Tywin who kept talking.

“Of course you are. Eat.”

“I'll eat in the kitchen later.”

“The other servants won’t let you eat it in peace,” Josephine informed as she moved closer to the table. “You are small; they can take it from your hands and eat it themselves. Your chances are better here.”

Arya was puzzled by her words and dared to look her in the eye. The woman’s gaze had been softened, and even her words sounded like advice rather than an order.

Of course, the young Dire Wolf was still hesitant to obey, thinking this might be a trap or a test. However, Josephine’s words were true, as Arya had learnt the tough way servants lived and the hierarchy that separated them.

Needless to say, being not only a weak girl but also Tywin’s cupbearer made her an easy target, and the other servants did not hide their dislike towards her.

Arya looked between the two of them as they stood and stared her down like two parents trying to discipline their child during supper. It was an amusing but unsettling site, one that Arya was unsure how to feel.

Yet, with the smell of the freshly made food in front of her, she chose to obey. She hesitated at first, taking a small bite, but then slowly became a little more confident. She remained quiet and mannered, not remembering the last time she had a proper meal.

Tywin stared at her a little too long, a small, pleased expression on his face. “Josephine is right. You are too small for your age. I suppose you've been underfed your whole life.”

“I eat a lot.” The girl said, trying not to speak with her mouth full. “I just don't grow.”

Arya’s words amused Josephine, who watched as Tywin headed for the window. Grabbing the chance that his back was turned, she moved her water-filled goblet towards the child.

“You will when the time is right.” She said, glancing at the child momentarily.

Arya was surprised when Josephine handed her a goblet of water. Still, she gladly accepted it since fresh water was not truly available to the servants and was not given as often as it was to the high lords and generals.

“You sound as if you speak for yourself, my lady.”

Pleased by her keen mind, Josephine did not hide it, and she nodded. “I do, though things were different for me back then. But eventually, we all grow. Sometimes far more than we expect.”

She glanced at Tywin once again and then at the goblet he had left on the table, the wine barely touching. She grabbed it and headed for him, leaving Arya to eat without her constantly standing above her head.

That was something that the Stark girl had taken notice of. She always seemed to fill Tywin’s cup even when Arya was around and would often bring it to him. The surprise was the fact that Tywin never requested it but always accepted the gesture.

Sometimes, it made the young Northern girl wonder if he did it out of mannerism of this mysterious woman who could somehow read his thoughts and know what he wanted.

The weeks had passed, and Arya had yet to find out more about Josephine, though rumours circled among the servants that she was not entirely human and had been sent by the Seven to help Tywin win the war.

Others claimed to be someone from Tywin’s past, back then, when he was a young heir and not even a proper lord, and that she had come to his aid.

Some even dared to say she was a mistress that Tywin secretly kept around, masking their true relationship under the disguise of a mere acquaintance.

But even those rumours did not fill all the gaps on who this woman truly was. What Arya knew, though, was that she was not as cold-hearted as others and seemed to have taken a liking to her.

In addition, the young girl always enjoyed seeing her put men in their proper place and shame them by pointing out mistakes in their ideas.

Chapter Text

Tywin took the goblet from Josephine as he kept looking outside, his back turned to the servant girl eating his food. On the other hand, Josephine was pressing her shoulder against the wall by the window. Her body turned to face Tywin, giving her a full view of the room with her peripheral vision.

She could not risk having her back turned on the door, even if it was temporarily closed. The Assassin could still be around, and her instincts told her to be ready; feeling there was hostile energy close by, but she could not pinpoint from whom it was coming.

“Mmm. This will be my last war. Win or lose.” Tywin suddenly said, breaking the silence that seemed to have spread in the dark room.

“Have you ever lost before?” Arya questioned, finding this to be a chance to learn some more.

After all, the Old Lion did not seem to be the man she had heard stories about fully, perhaps because no one had ever been that close to him or had the chance to be present during calmer, everyday moments.

“Do you think I'd be in my position if I had lost a war?” he asked, glancing at her above his shoulder, testing her again.

“No, My lord,” she said after shaking her head.

He took a sip of his wine and focused outside the window again. “This will be my last war and one that I'll be remembered for... The War of the Five Kings, they're calling it. My legacy will be determined in the coming months.” He drank from his goblet, thinking for a moment before he continued. “Do you know what legacy means?”

“No, my Lord.”

Josephine watched the interaction with silent interest, noticing that she was not the only one liking the young girl. Tywin was also slowly getting interested, though, unlike most around him, he was mostly interested because the girl was smart.

“It's what you pass down to your children and your children's children. It's what remains of you when you're gone.” The woman answered for Tywin, earning a look from the Old Lion. “It’s not just a name but actions, lessons and results; never a mere place.”

Tywin glanced at her for a moment, and their gazes met. To Arya’s surprise, the Old Lion smirked, clearly pleased by Josephine’s words. He was pleased and proud, to hear her speak the same words he was about to; a proof that they still shared the same goals.

This understanding of the importance of legacy truly brought them closer back then. Their common goal was to ensure House Lannister did not sink into debt and shame. It was also one of the main things Tywin found attractive about her, and it still is, despite the passing decades they spent apart.

Realizing his mind threatened to leave him again for some fond old memories, Tywin cleared his throat and placed his hands behind his back. His golden-flecked green eyes scanned the room, and immediately, he found a different topic to discuss.

“She is right, you know. Think of Harren the Black, who thought this castle would be his legacy. The greatest fortress ever built.” Tywin started, slowly marching towards the fireplace.

Winter was coming, and the temperatures were falling with each passing day. Standing by the window long enough, he felt the chill through his clothing, so he chose to regain some of his warmth from the fires in the fireplace.

Josephine, on the other hand, did not move from her position. Unlike him, she never truly seemed to be affected by the cold. Even with thinner clothing, her skin was always warm.

“The tallest towers, the strongest walls. The Great Hall had thirty-five hearths. Thirty-five. Can you imagine? Look at it now. A blasted ruin.” He continued, and Arya looked around at the destroyed parts of the walls and their abandoned state. “Do you know what happened?”

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. She had an answer but was unsure until Tywin smirked in amusement. Yet he did not help her in any way and waited, for he could see the girl was smart and would be able to make the connection.

“Dragons?” the girl asked after connecting the dots.

He looked at her, pleased. “Yes. Dragons happened.” He answered and marched towards the table, pouring himself some more wine. “Harrenhal was built to withstand an attack from the land. A million men could have marched on these walls, and a million men would have been repelled. But an attack from the air with dragon fire, Mmm-mmm.” He sat down on his chair and took a sip. “Harren and all his sons roasted alive within these walls. Aegon Targaryen changed the rules. That's why every child alive still knows his name.”

It was evident by the way Tywin walked about Aegon that he had some respect for the Targaryen King due to his intelligence and smart thinking. As he had said, Aegon knew he had power no one else had ever encountered and used it, fighting the game with his own rules and winning.

“Aegon and his sisters.” Arya suddenly commented, making the duo focus on her.

“Mmm?” Tywin exclaimed.

“It wasn't just Aegon riding his dragon. It was Rhaenys and Visenya, too.” The girl explained, making Tywin smirk at her.

“Correct. A student of history, are you?”

“Rhaenys rode Meraxes. Visenya rode Vhagar. Visenya Targaryen was a great warrior and a leader. She burnt down her enemies and fought on the front lines. She had a Valyrian steel sword she called Dark Sister.” She continued, amusing the two adults.

“Hmm. She's a heroine of yours, I take it?” he pointed out, and Arya smiled to show her agreement.

This made Josephine smile, and she walked towards the table, taking in this unique moment. After all, when one would be able to see Tywin Lannister talking history with a child and even smirking ever so faintly.

No sign of anger or annoyance, no grumping... just simple, pleasant talk in the privacy of the room.

For a moment, Josephine wondered... such an image would not have been so rare if things had turned differently. If Josephine had not been ordered away or if Joanna had not died... perhaps this was the Tywin that could have been.

Perhaps... this was the Tywin that could have been if Joanna had never married him. If their original plan had gone through, and it was Josephine who birthed him heirs instead. Perhaps Tywin would have been found sitting and talking with their own children, similarly.

The image alone made Josephine feel warmth in her chest, but she also smiled bitterly at the memories and the future she had never had. Even then, some of her knew she would never get it.

Partners did not fall in love with Lannister heirs, and as hell, they did not get married to them. It was absurd and foreign, and no one had ever even thought about it until Josephine and Tywin met.

Tywin remained seated but could sense Josephine hovering close by. When she was more into his peripheral vision, he glanced at her, seeing how she stared at the eating child and him, her mind clearly thinking of something else.

Their eyes met, but no one exchanged a word, finding no need to do so. Tywin would not boldly ask her, and Josephine would not speak her thoughts unless he commanded her openly.

So, they both focused on the silent girl who had been eating and watching them. It was evident by hearing the child that was indeed intelligent; far too intelligent and well-read for a common girl.

“Aren't most girls more interested in the pretty maidens from the songs? Jonquil with the flowers in her hair?” he asked, as his partner was evidently not adding anything.

“Most girls are idiots.” A small chuckle came from Josephine, and a smile formed on her rosy lips.

“Yes, they can be, especially with how they are raised nowadays, " the woman said, earning a smile from Arya. She was glad someone else understood her.

Tywin observed and merely rolled his eyes at the unnecessary drama but smirked in amusement nonetheless. “Congratulations, you have found another you,” he commented, taking a sip from his goblet while Josephine sat across from the child.

“Where did you learn all this stuff about them and their Valyrian steel swords?” Josephine asked, now truly curious about this peculiar child who had truly gotten her interest.

“From my father.”

“He was a well-read stonemason,” Tywin said. “Can't say I've ever met a literate stonemason.”

“Have you met many stonemasons, my lord?” the girl asked, and Josephine could barely hide her snort at her comment.

Little to almost no ashamed at all, she placed her hand in front of her mouth as Tywin sent her a warning glare, not sharing her amusement or the rather evident snarky remark that could easily end up with the child hanging.

Grey eyes did not show genuine apology, and despite the hand, Tywin knew Josephine was still smirking.

Tywin ignored her for now and focused on the quick-mouthed kid. “Careful now, girl. I enjoy you, but be careful. Take that back to the kitchen. Eat what you want.” Without another word, the girl stood up and cleared the dishes. However, as she was walking away, he called her. “And, girl”, she came to a halt. "M'lord." He corrected her, making her turn and look at him confused. “Lowborn girls say "m’lord and “m’lady. If you're going to pose as a commoner, you should do it properly.”

Surprisingly, Arya was not concerned, nor did she let him corner her. “My mother served Lady Dustin for many years, my lord. She taught me how to speak properly.”

Her words pleased both of them, but it was the Lion who chose to continue speaking. “You're too smart for your good. Has anyone told you that?”

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

They watched the child go, and once the two adults were alone in the room, Josephine pulled her hand down. Her smirk had remained, and she offered a toothy smile at Tywin, responding to his displeased glare.

“I am sorry, but she got you there,” she said, not truly helping her situation.

Yet, like he had done all the other times, Tywin did nothing to react. Sure, he was displeased by her reaction and the fact that this little girl had replied in such a way, but he was not going to order them executed, especially Josephine.

The Seven knew she had said and done worse things that should have landed her at least in a dungeon, but she was always left untouched. She was the exception,n and for a good reason.

“Perhaps you should go join her in the kitchen then since you have yet to touch your food.” He pointed out, slowly getting into the mood to play her game.

Josephine accepted the challenge. “And leave you here alone to brood over the thirty-five hearths in this castle?”

Tywin narrowed his eyes, but the smirk and the faint glow in them contradicted him. It had been a while since they had this little talk, this game of theirs that had been developed since they were children.

“Eat,” he ordered and pushed the plate a little closer to her, trying to change the subject and avoid any more losses.

He would get back to her, eventually. He had to wait for the perfect opening, as any good strategist would.

The mood changed as both became rather serious.

“Only if we share. I will not eat while you starve yourself,” Josephine said, looking at him.

“I don’t like mutton, you know that.” He argued, trying to end this topic.

Sometimes, it truly annoyed him how stubborn she was and how she argued back every one of his orders, making him find other ways to win the arguments and make her obey,

Of course, he could say a single word and all of this would be over. A single word and Josephine would obey him without a remark... but he refused to. He made the mistake once, going back against his word to her, and he would not repeat it.

“Then eat the rest and leave the meat to me,” Josephine pointed out, pushing the plate so it was between them. She even turned it so the side dish was facing him, strongly conveying that she would not agree with him on this one.

Defeated, Tywin chose to eat something small, just enough to make her stop. Her pampering was something he had not missed. Back then, there would be days he would be drowning at work and refuse to eat.

Josephine did not like that and always went the extra mile, ensuring he had eaten at least something. She was so damn stubborn that Tywin was forced to eat, for it was the only way he would be able to return to work.

“I like this child, Ary,” Josephine said, watching him eat. She even took a bite of the mutton, enjoying the meaty flavour. “Mayhap, she can come with us when we depart from Harrenhal.”

Tywin looked at her but took a moment to chew and drink some wine before answering. “War is no place for a child.”

“Neither is this place, with all those men that are held back by the protection you currently offer her,” she argued, making him think for a moment. “She will be safer with us and...” she smirked, stabbing a piece of meat. “You enjoy her company. Where would you find such an interesting cupbearer?”

“I am not into this War to find a cupbearer; I am here to protect my family and get back my son,” he reminded her as they met on different grounds. “If you wish her to come with us, she can but she will be under your responsibility. I will not have a child run in the War Camps like a wild animal.”

Realizing this was all she would get, Josephine nodded. “You can rest assured, she will be held in line. “ she said and smiled at Tywin, her head faintly lowered. “Thank you,” she said, placing her hand on top of his in a sweet gesture.

The Old Lion could see the glow in her grey eyes and the sweetness behind her smile, evidence that he had made the right decision by giving in to her unusual demand. He could have always refused, but truthfully, he had been enjoying the smart child from time to time.

Upon seeing her smile, though, and the gratefulness in her eyes, Tywin mentally realized that he had also agreed for her. For the chance to give her what she wanted, for a change, and be honoured to see the special smile she usually reserved for him.

A smile that had been following him for years and haunting his dreams for decades while she was away. A smile that he found himself staring at, a little more than intended, before his self-control returned.

He was so focused on her smile that he barely registered the same electrifying sensation that came from when their skins touched. He barely focused on the warmth of her thinner hand placed above his war-branded one, the grip gentle, as if any amount of pressure would ruin the moment and make him pull away. 

Eventually, even her soft touch was noticed, and in combination with her smile, Tywin found his walls slowly crumbling. Yet, he did not let it happen for too long, quickly stopping himself from making a fatal mistake.

Tywin cleared his throat, freed his hand and pushed the plate a little closer towards her. “Eat.”

This time, Josephine obeyed silently, but her eyes often watched him, feeling pleased not only by his answer but by how he looked at her.

There was still hope, she told herself as silence spread in the big room.

Chapter Text

The days passed quickly, and Arya slowly started to lose count of the time she had spent in Harrenhal, let alone as Tywin’s cupbearer. The War seemed to have stopped, the time barely moving, making her wonder if something bigger was coming.

She could smell the cold wind in the air, a subtle warning that winter was just around the corner. She wondered if she could see the white snow again or if they would have moved before it reached them.

Dreams of Nymeria remained and were the only thing that changed: the attention the young girl received from Tywin and Josephine. The small talks were a little more often, and Arya had been left alone with them more than once.

Despite the descent treatment, she never forgot who Tywin was, what threat he posed to her family, and what threat all Lannisters posed. Often, she would observe him from the room corner and think of ways to stab him with a knife long forgotten on the table.

All it would take was one good slash on the neck, and the Old Lion would die; the war would turn victorious for the Starks. After all, Robb was not interested in the crown or Stannis and his growing army; he merely wanted his family back and revenge for their father’s execution.

There was one main problem, though.

One main problem kept Arya on her toes and prevented her from following her plans...Josephine.

The powerful woman was always by Tywin’s side, rarely the two of them been seen separately. She was always on her guard, and Arya noticed how she eyed everyone and everything, waiting for an enemy to pop up when they thought they would not expect them.

She might have a softer nature around Arya, but she still left little to no opening for someone to make a move on Tywin, something that had intensified since the death of Amory.

More than once, Arya had thought of asking her ‘friend’ and taking down Tywin but often felt the last name should be used properly, and there were still people she wished to see dead, like Joffrey and Cersei, to name a few.

On one particular day, Arya carried a bucket of water and headed for the kitchens. The servant's work was tiring, but the extra food she received when left alone with Tywin and Josephine allowed her to keep her strength and go.

Lost in her thoughts, the young Direwolf did not see where she was going, thinking her path was clear. And it was... until a soldier came to a halt and blocked her way.

It was too late for Arya to see him, and she bumped into him, water spilling on both of them, but mostly her, while the muddy ground made the girl slip and fall behind her.

“Watch it, you little rat!” the soldier shouted, glaring at the kid.

Tired from work, the moody weather, and lack of sleep, Arya’s mouth worked faster than her mind. “You were in my way, so you should be watching it!” she snapped, glaring back at the soldier.

She had truly started to despise the Red Lannister colour and golden Lion, seeing it everywhere for far too long.

Her words angered the soldier. “You dare speak back to me, you little cunt?!” he lifted his hand and grabbed Arya by the front of her tunic before lifting her.

His free hand was pulled back, and the young wolf awaited the attack, never looking away. It never came because someone had appeared just in the nick of time.

A hand had grabbed the soldier’s wrist, holding it back and preventing him from executing his idea. The soldier’s muscles shook faintly, trying to resist and release themselves from the grip but failing.

“And you dare to lift your hand on your Lord’s cupbearer?” Josephine asked, easily holding the man’s hand.

“Lady Josephine!” the young soldier exclaimed, being one that had travelled with them for the duration of the war, being part of the guard around her and Tywin’s horses during marching.

Familiarity or not, Josephine was far from happy. The corner of her lips had turned downwards, forming a threatening snarl, and her eyes were practically glaring daggers at him, challenging him to try anything.

“Release the girl,” the woman ordered, but the soldier was hesitant, looking between her and the kid. That was until Josephine pulled his hand back to the point his bone threatened to break, and his shoulder was pushed enough to be dislocated. “Now.”

Leaving a yell of pain, the man released Arya and fell to his knees. Once his hand was released, he brought it to his chest and tried not to wince at the sharp pain, feeling his muscles burning from the sudden strain and his arm barely responding.

By now, a few people had come out to watch; the inner courtyard was rather busy for that time of the day. The majority were servants and captives on their way to do their chores when the incident occurred.

Few Lannister soldiers were present, but none dared to make a move, as if fearing it would be their arms next. Worse, it would be their heads if they dared to attack and Lord Tywin found out about it.

Josephine looked at Arya, who was slowly getting up. There was faint mud on her cheek, and her clothes absorbed most of the water. Thankfully, they were thick enough to prevent her skin from touching it, and there was a pyre that was not so far away.

The Young Girl looked up at the taller woman, not expecting her to come to her aid again. Yet, here she was, almost breaking the arm of a Lannister soldier without remorse or second thought.

When she realised she had been staring for a little too long, Arya lowered her head faintly. “Thank you, my Lady.”

The woman’s gaze softened for a minute before coldness quickly replaced it, and a perfect ruthlessness mask slipped into place immediately after.

It was just in time, as two young boys rushed towards them. One was a chubby little boy that Josephine had seen in the kitchens. The other was a young man with the brightest blue eyes she had seen, remembering him from their first day when he declared himself a smith.

“Ary! Are you okay?” the chubbier one asked.

“Thank you for interfering, My Lady,” the taller boy said next, nudging his companion to behave before them.

“Careful with the soldiers, Ary. You never know what is going in their heads,” she advised, her voice lowered so only they could hear it. She then glanced at the two boys. “Keep an eye on her.”

The one noisy courtyard went silent before they could say anything else or even promise to look after their small companion. The strong presence of someone was felt by every single individual present, many cowering and trying to return to their chores.

The nearby soldiers quickly bowed their heads, with the wounded one not even daring to lift his head and remained on his knees.

Josephine remained the same and merely looked up and to the side, catching the eye of Tywin standing by a higher bridge. His hands were behind his back, and he seemed to have watched everything, yet he chose not to act.

It was practically impossible to know whether he was pleased with Josephine teaching his men some manners.

All Tywin did was stare a moment longer before turning and walking back inside. He didn’t have to say a word for Josephine to understand his desire.

The woman looked at the kid. “Bring fresh wine and water; we have a meeting to attend, " she told Ary. Without another word, she turned on her heels and headed for the closest stairs, leaving the three children to stare at her retreating form.

“Man, you certainly got lucky again, Ary. To be saved by Lady Josephine once again, “ Hot Pie said, a small, silly smile on her face. “She is rather nice, even though she looks terrifying.”

Gendry did not share his opinion. “She works for the Lannisters; she is not a friend. She is only nice when she wants to.”

Arya wanted to disagree with him and support Hot Pie’s opinion, but her mouth did not utter a single word. It was not that she did not wish to defend Josephine, but rather... how could she explain it?

Her friends did not know what was happening in the War Room, and she doubted soldiers even knew about it, especially when Arya was left alone with Tywin and Josephine. She knew they would not believe her even if the young wolf dared to speak.

So, she remained quiet and merely grabbed the fallen bucket. She had to rush to the kitchens and prepare for the next meeting. This time, there may be news from the battlefield and her brother.

After the latest raven reached them, Tywin wasted no time to have another war council. This time, the topic was not Robb Stark but Stannis Baratheon, who was ready to sail his army and head straight for King’s Landing.

With most Lannister soldiers either at Casterly Rock or across the Riverlands, the capital city did not have the numbers, and neither had the walls to defend itself against an army coming from the water.

And of course, the fact that Winterfell had fallen to Theon Greyjoy and had the two youngest Stark boys killed to secure his power and claim.

Tywin was, as usual, sitting as head of the table with Kevan by his right and Josephine on his left, while other Lannister generals and bannermen were present. Of course, Arya was there to attend to them by refilling their goblets with water while listening silently to their conversations.

“King's Landing will fall an hour after Stannis lands his force. It's not too late for King Joffrey, Cersei, and the court to ride west to safety.” Kevan suggested, from the few capable of speaking freely enough without worrying that their head would be put on a spike.

“Surrender the Iron Throne?” Tywin asked with a hint of mockery and annoyance.

“Better than seeing their heads mounted on the city gates. Stannis will execute them all.”

Tywin placed his goblet on the table with enough force that it echoed across the now quiet room. “No, a king who runs will not be king for long. He's a Lannister,” he reminded everyone by looking at them one at a time. “He'll stand and fight. Stannis is four days from the capital, and the wolf is at my doorstep.”

“The scouts assure us Robb Stark remains north of Ashemark.”

Josephine could not help but scoff. “Are those the same scouts that assured us of Stark's movement, only to be lured into a trap? If so, where did that lead us last time?” there was silence amongst the group, no one having the guts to say it aloud.

“My son as his prisoner,” Tywin said as he stood up, trying to control his temper.

This foolish war had dragged on too long; too many mistakes and traps had been set. Tywin had been put in a tough position, his side of the board with fewer available movement squares and fewer pieces while his opponent spread across the board.

He had to end this now, but the stakes were too high, the attacks coming on multiple fronts, and he had to narrow down which was more worthy of losing and which was not. The fact that incompetent men and scouts surrounded him did not help either; it made his job even harder to win that war.

“Too close to Casterly Rock.” He mumbled, one hand placed on the upper rock part that made up the light fireplace and leaned on it as he tried to think.

“He sent a splinter force to recapture Winterfell. The Greyjoys have done us a great favour. Stark won't risk marching on Casterly Rock until he's at full force.”

“He's a boy, and he's never lost a battle”, Josephine cut in. “He'll risk anything anytime because he doesn't know enough to be afraid.” She pointed out.

She felt a migraine forming, for this discussion was taking them nowhere. People forgot who Robb Stark was, which would cost them greatly unless someone did something. With having to face multiple fronts and key places under threat of an invasion...this real-life game of Cyvasse was becoming too much.

If they kept residing in Harrenhal, Robb Start would most likely attack Casterly Rock and none of the two Lannister leaders wanted to see that happening. While Casterly Rock had never fallen before, it did not mean Robb Stark would not try.

Even if he failed, he would have his hands upon their home, gold and port. They couldn’t let him have it.

However, they couldn’t just march back to Casterly Rock because King’s Landing was under attack. They needed to assist against Stannis, but that would leave them fully exposed to being taken down by another attack from Robb or losing certain key points for them.

Eventually, Tywin made a decision. “We'll ride at nightfall,” he informed as he moved and stopped behind her chair, placing both hands on it while staring down at his sitting council. “I want a full night's march before he knows we're on the move,” he then turned to his loyal mad dog. “Clegane, you'll maintain a garrison here at Harrenhal. Track down this brotherhood and destroy them,” he ordered, moving to take his usual seat until his eyes landed on Arya. He remembered what he had promised Josephine, but right now, there was a change of plan. “The girl has proven herself a good servant. She'll stay on with you.” He continued, feeling the glaring stare of his partner, but would deal with her later. He focused on the kid. “See that he doesn't get drunk in the evenings. He's poor company when he's sober, but he's better at his work.”

When the meeting was over, Josephine and Tywin did not immediately get up from the table. Instead, they remained sat, and anyone smart enough could see the tension rising between them.

Kevan did and silently instructed Arya also to leave the room before he closed the door behind him.

Tywin leaned back in his chair, his shoulder and neck stiff from stress and his expression sour. He held his empty goblet in one hand, the other resting on the arm of the chair.

“Go on, say it,” he said, glancing at her without fully turning his head to acknowledge her.

Josephine did not speak immediately, but she slowly stood up, unable to sit any longer. She was not furious but rather disappointed because Tywin was not a man who returned to his promise.

“You promised the girl would come with us. Why change your mind now?” she asked, wishing to know more.

She wanted to trust his decisions, and she did, but she still wanted answers. She could not unthinkingly follow his orders anymore.

She was not that young woman. She had been betrayed, hurt, captured and changed by the passing years she was away from him.

And he knew it.

This was why he went the extra mile with her, willing to explain his motives and plans, even when they involved a mere servant girl. He could have easily dismissed her, but he chose to answer her, for he needed her to be fully involved in this.

“Because I cannot have a weak girl into the upcoming battle. I need men, not child servants that have never tasted combat before,” Tywin glared at his goblet.

Josephine started to walk around the table slowly, a habit she had when things were in her mind and an exercise to ensure her anger did not get the best of her. It was a way to release some of the frustration and remain in control.

“I agreed she would be under my supervision. She wouldn’t have slowed us down,” she argued, standing by the other end of the table.

“Clegane will not harm her after knowing for so long she is my cupbearer,” he said and eventually looked up, connecting his eyes with hers. “Once we have stopped Stannis, you can have her back, but for now. I need you fully focused on this, for you will not hold back this time.”

Something about his words and how he spoke made Josephine realize that something was going on. A plan was in the back of his mind, one he had yet to share.

“You speak as if you plan something big,” she pointed out.

Tywin pushed himself to slowly stand up, hands firmly against the wooden table. “We will repeat the Tarbeck-Reyne Rebellion, and you will go full force on the enemy.”

His words made Josephine part her lips and stare faintly at the man, ensuring she had heard right. He was speaking about one of his most careless moves, one she thought he would never repeat.

Back then, when both were young, they had to take back the money other minor houses owed to House Lannister. House Tarbeck and Reyne were the only ones to refuse and had even gone into battle against them, or at least that’s what they had planned.

Tywin’s Lannister Army met them on the open battlefield, and the Lion himself participated, taking down any enemy he got on sight. But what made that battle different from the other was not just Tywin fighting but also Josephine.

He had given her the clear and had unleashed her into the heat of battle, letting her coat herself into the blood of innocent soldiers that perished beneath her attacks.

Josephine had lost number of how many throats she had ripped from fallen soldiers, how many limbs she tore from bodies and how much human flesh was ripped by her sharp claws.

It was the bloodiest battle she had ever taken part in, fully driven by Tywin’s own need for revenge and blood lust, truly making him a terrifying monster that helped terrify the enemy and the Westerlands.

After the Reynes were gone and they returned victorious, no more battles occurred until this war. But even then, Tywin had been holding back—had been holding her back, keeping her close to him, as he had done during the War of the Nine-Penny Kings.

The shock had left Josephine standing there, almost lost in memories. Yet, when she sensed Tywin’s presence, she focused and realized he was almost in front of her.

She craned her head slightly, looking into his eyes. She could see the famous darkness he was capable of, hidden and held back by pure restraint and mental control. It was the storm he had unleashed a few times, the casualties now a common song to act as a warning.

Josephine did not even think he still had it in him, but now she could see she was wrong. He was done holding back and willing to get his hands dirty and end this once and for all.

“No mercy, no survivors, no holding back,” he told her, the exact same words he had ordered her before the battle. “Do you understand now why I want you focused? Focus on the battle, focused on the enemy that threatens our family and the very same thing you are sworn to protect.”

The woman lowered her head until her eyes could only see his boots and the floor beneath them. “I understand,” she said, realizing why there was a change of plans.

She was bitter that they had to leave the girl behind, but she would plan to bring her back. For now, she had to prepare herself, for they had four days if not less, to reach King’s Landing and stop Stannis before he took the city.

Tywin took a deep breath and exhaled slightly, his neck muscles stiff from the constant pressure of this stupid war. He hated having no options and almost no choices, which forced him to act on things he did not fully agree with.

He knew what he was commanding and what he was demanding from Josephine, and he knew she would have no trouble living up to those demands. That did not mean he was happy to use her that way, let her take the risk by being in the middle of a heated battle, an easy prey for a lucky shot.

Back then, with the Tarbeck-Rayne Rebellion, he was fuelled by the shame his father had brought upon his house and the mockery of his vessels. He was driven by anger and the need to show everyone that House Lannister was not one to be messed up with.

That anger gave Josephine the order, letting her true bloodlust take control. For a few moments, she was more animal than human. This did bring them victory, but Josephine also got injured by a lance. The scar of the blade that pierced her shoulder was still visible on her human skin, currently hidden beneath layers of clothing.

Yet he had no other choice. It had to be done, or everything they fought for would go to ruin.

His hand was placed beneath her jaw, and he gently lifted her head back, pleased she would not fight him on this. It seemed she had returned from her travels more stubbornly than she had left.

“Prepare your things; we will ride for camp soon and leave with the men by nightfall, " he instructed, then let her go before leaving the room to order the servants to do the same.

They had to be on their horses, and soon, for matter, were of the essence.

Josephine did not watch him go; her gaze locked forward as the beast within was stirring awake. She would not let him or the family down; that was a promise.

Chapter Text

Being on the war for so long and on constant travel had made the servants rather fast at packing and preparing to go. Due to the urgency of this move, a lot of the recently acquired manpower in the form of hostages had to be left behind; and some injured men as well.

Only the strongest, fastest and readiest men would join them; thankfully, consisting of the biggest part of the army. Even young squires that could use a sword would come along, armour up if they had to.

As a servant prepared the horses for Tywin and Josephine, the Old Lion gave the final orders to his bloodthirsty hound; ensuring there would be no mishaps like last time. Holding Harrenhal was essential for now and he had no room for error.

At the same time, Josephine had slipped further away once she spotted Arya watching them from the crowd. The girl seemed hesitant, clearly debating something, but the woman could not tell—not at that moment.

Yet she made the effort to approach, the men moving out of her path as she headed for the young girl, who stood her ground.

“There is not much time, Ary,” Josephine said, stopping before the young girl. “Tywin might have given orders but never turn your back on any of those men, especially the Mountain.”

“I wasn’t planning to. I know what he does to people,” Arya commented, making her smirk.

“Smart girl,” the woman said before she grabbed a small, simple dagger and handed it to the child. “If anything goes wrong, aim for the neck or the heart. You are smart and small, use it wisely.”

Arya was surprised by this little gift but accepted the blade nonetheless, feeling how light it was in her hand. The size was perfect for her small hands, and the handle was wrapped with some dried-up leather, making it easier to grip.

She had been partially taught how to use her sword needle but never a dagger. That did not mean she would not accept it, for she knew Josephine made a valid point. Even Hot Pie and Gendry were restless, knowing that Tywin’s favouritism over Arya had upset many and the Old Lion would no longer be present to protect her.

Josephine nodded and gently touched Arya’s shoulder before standing her full height. She could feel Tywin’s sharp gaze on her back, and he did not have to say anything for her to understand.

Without wasting any more time, she headed for her horse and quickly climbed on the saddle; her horse was right next to Tywin's. The path was cleared, and the red tents of the army were visible in the distance, while the sun had yet to set.

This was their sign, that there was time to protect their family before it was too late.

They knew marching back home would not be easy, and they knew they would face resistance—just not that kind of resistance. As they were approaching Tumblestone, Lord Edmure Tully appeared with his army and blocked their way forward.

Despite their best efforts and tactics, the Tully Lord and his men did not allow them to continue forward, and both sides suffered casualties. Since they could not pass through like that, Tywin forced his army to retreat and recover while they made a quick plan to win eventually.

However, the idea was halted when riders from Bitterbridge reached them with news of a successful new alliance and a plan to stop Stannis before taking King’s Landing.

With the opportunity to take down the bigger fish and save the crown and their family, Tywin and Josephine moved the host south towards Tumbler's Falls; a town in the southern Riverlands that lay on the Blackwater Rush.

To their surprise, near the headwaters of the Blackwater Rush, they met Lords Mathis Rowan and Randyll Tarly; both men now in alliance with them thanks to the Tyrells. They had brought their men as well.

Glad to see more men and allies, the three Lords and the Lady had their formal greetings before forcing a march to Tumbler's Falls. When they finally arrived at the small town, they were greeted by Lord Mace Tyrell and his sons, who had been waiting with their huge host of more than 50.000 men and a fleet of barges.

They had to make a plan before setting sail for King’s Landing by taking the Blackwater Rush River.

Thus, they all met in the main tent of Lord Mace Tyrell; a man whom Josephine knew but he did not seem to know her.

Which was perhaps for the best, for she did not need Tywin’s interrogation on how she knew certain individuals and what she truly did while away.

Lord Mace and Tarly did not seem to mind her present, though she did catch their surprised looks between them when she showed up with Tywin. By now, word had spread of a woman in the Lion’s council but few truly believed it.

And those that did believe it, doubted everything was fully true.

They thought of arguing, of politely keeping her out of the meeting, but Tywin’s sharp words and gaze quickly made them drop any attempts. This action from the old Lion did draw curious looks from his new allies, but now it was not the time to question.

Now it was the time to plan and they had to do it fast. Each passing minute was a minute that Stannis was getting closer to King’s Landing.

Inside the tent were each of the great Lords, Lord Mace’s sons Garlan and Loras, Josephine and even Littlefinger; since he had been the one to make this alliance work by persuading the Tyrells to marry Margaery to Joffrey and crown her queen.

Once gathered around the war table, everyone looked at the map of the CrownLands where tokens had already been placed; Lord Mace had prepared in advance while waiting for them.

“Here is the final plan that I believe we all agree on,” he started, taking the lead since his ship and his men would play the biggest part in this relief party. “We sail down Blackwater Rush and we are to disembark here,” he pointed to a marked spot on the map. “It's only half a day away from King’s Landing and if we have no delays, we should be able to arrive before Stannis overpowers the troops left to protect the city.”

Everyone looked at the map, nodding heads and humming in agreement. Pieces to represent the vast army were placed next.

“What is the attack plan then? Who will command what?” Lords Mathis Rowan asked, wishing to go to the most important part of this plan.

“Lord Tywin, you can lead the right wing on the north side of the river while Lord Randyll Tarly will command the centre and I will take the left.”

Tywin looked over the map, visually imagining the battle position. “It is a good strategy, Lord Mace,” he started. While a prideful man, Tywin respected a good plan, especially one that would help him win this war faster and with as few obstacles as possible. “However, I do suspect we will meet resistance by Stannis’ army, especially the main centre and the vanguard.”

Josephine understood where Tywin was leading the conversation, so she nodded before adding her comment. ”If I may add something, my lords," she said. They exchanged a look, some uneasy and others unsure. Yet, Lord Mace gave her the faint nod to continue and she wasted no time sharing her thoughts. "The coast of Blackwater by King’s Landing is not as wide and we need to remember that Stannis will most likely have men waiting in their ships, leaving us open for a side attack while our forces will be narrowed due to the limited land.”

Her points made Lord Mace think deeply, passing a hand over his beard. He had not truly thought of that detail, but now he could not see it when his eyes were on the map. If her predictions were right, they would lose a significant number of soldiers.

They had more men than Stannis, but an ambush from the ships and the fact that they could not truly use their full force all at once could challenge them.

Littlefinger was the least likely member to interfere in a military plan. He chose the moment of deep thinking and mental questioning to propose an idea he had developed.

“We can still intimidate them if we plan our attack right,” Lord Tarly commented, breaking the silence. “They do not expect all of our armies combined, and if we hit them while they are busy with the city, we will have an advantage. Seeing them trapped between the walls of King’s Landing and us should be enough to make many to surrender or risk dying.”

“And what if they don’t get affected, hmm?” Tywin questioned, eyeing the said Lord. “Stannis is a man they consider God and have blindly followed him all this time. Bold of you to assume that they will get discouraged so easily.”

Lord Tarly disliked being questioned or argued, especially so openly. His displeasure was visible by his frown. “I don’t hear you suggesting something, Lord Tywin.”

A glaring contest was starting between the two seasoned Lords, who had their own war and battle experience. Both were prideful individuals, headstrong and dominant.

An old feud was also at risk of being awoken, for the Tarlys had remained a loyal vassal to the Tyrells and the Targaryens all this time. While Tywin had changed sides and helped take down the Dragon Lords when Robert started to win the war.

Josephine glanced between the two men, never seeing someone staring back at Tywin without flinching. It was impressive, and while she would have waited to see where this would lead, she knew they had no time.

“The plan can work, if we add something more to demolish their morals,” she suddenly suggested, earning the attention of the men around her. “Most of Stannis' Soldiers followed Renly once and changed sides when he was killed. So, we need to find a way to mess with their morals and make them question their places. It does not have to be something big, just enough to give the men a few second opportunity window to strike; meeting least resistance."

The men exchanged glances, sceptical about this plan but thinking about it. It was vague, and no one was sure how they could intimidate the enemy soldiers, but if they did, it would definitely increase their chances of winning properly and with fewer casualties.

“This is madness,” Loras Tyrell argued, his voice audible above the faint mumbles of the older lords.

Thankfully, help came from an unlikely ally.

“It would be, if we did not have Renly’s full armour with us,” Petyr Baelish commented, having been silent this whole time.

Loras looked at Renly with hatred and distrust, for the sneaky weasel was one of the few knowing of such a secret. The youngest of the Tyrell males had a relationship with the deceased Renly, and after the assassination, he had brought the armour with him, to fully bury it with his sword when the war was over.

“It is a mad plan...” Lord Tarly muttered. “Mad enough that it might actually work.”

Tywin nodded faintly, agreeing with him on this particular matter. He then glanced at Josephine, who remained standing, prideful by his side; showing her sharp and cunning mind that few could rival.

Pride was evident in his gaze and she could sense it, without looking at him. Josephine focused on the men with her, studying their reactions and hearing their comments. Though, by what Baelish had informed, seemed to have quieted most arguments on the plan.

“And who will wear the armour? Who will risk riding right at the very front of the vanguard?” Lord Mace asked, making everyone think once again.

However, this time, it did not last long as Garlan took a step forward. “I will do it. Let me wear the armour and lead the men.”

Dozens of barges sailed down Blackwater Rush during the early morning hours, the main one carrying the most important men and women of the upcoming battle.

Josephine was on one of them, currently away from the little cabin she could share with Tywin. She was busy standing by the end of the galley. The sun was slowly rising, the faintest rays visible on the far horizon.

The river's calm waters carried them across, earning them time and bringing them closer to the battle.

Josephine’s mind was busy at that time, and many thoughts were going through her head, preventing her from getting a rest. So, she chose to stand alone for a while; trying to prioritize her thoughts.

She had been thinking of this plan and her role in it, a role the others did not know. Many thoughts she would remain back or join some archers, but Tywin had discussed with her other plans once they were alone.

It had been so long since she was in real combat, not just at the end but right in the heat of it, where chaos and death walked hand in hand. Blood was everywhere, the screams of dying men and horses haunting one’s future sleeps and a second of hesitation could cost your life.

She rubbed her shoulder faintly, as if remembering the pain of that spear during the Tarbeck-Reynes Rebellion, the very first serious injury she had ever suffered. That had not stopped her from fighting, and she had healed fast after it, though the scar had remained and was refusing to fade.

Her mind also went to King’s Landing, a place she hadn’t seen in years; never daring to step into it despite the many chances she had. She had spent her time there, walking the halls of the Red Keep while Tywin was Hand to Mad King Aerys.

It had been a few unsettling years with the King’s reaction and vulgar comments, his whoring and drinking; even his parties. But she had been with Tywin and he had continuously stood his ground for her.

Now, they were to be back; in the middle of a siege and pray they arrived in time.

Once all this was over, Josephine would reunite with Cersei and Tyrion and meet the latest cubs named Joffrey and Tommen. Once all of this would be over, she would be with the Lannisters once again, and this was perhaps what she had been dreading the most.

A familiar presence approached her, and she turned to greet and acknowledge Tywin, who seemed to have been searching for her.

“Are you Ready for the battle that is to come?” she asked him, seeing that he was also puzzled and had a lot on his mind—well, more than usual.

He halted before her, hands behind his back as he looked at her. “Yes, are you?” he questioned, receiving a head nod as a silent reply. “You remember the plan?”

“Yes,” she answered, head tilting faintly to the side. “I will take my place and join you once the battle starts. Take as many men as I can, show no mercy and leave no prisoners.”

Tywin smirked, pleased to hear her words; a last minute reassurance that she was truly in the game. He needed her to be fully present, just as he commanded himself to be. There was no room for error, no place for mistakes.

They had to go in, they had to fight and they had to survive; no matter what.

“No matter what, Tywin, I will have your back.” She added soon after, her gaze softening. “Like last time.”

His smirk turned into a small smile and his hands relaxed faintly, as did the muscles across his back. “I know. That’s the one thing I always count on.”

Josephine gently grabbed his dominant hand, his skin rough from years of sword, war and work. It contrasted with hers, that had a softer tone and was smaller in size; but the moment their fingers interlocked, the differences mattered little.

“We will push Stannis and his men away and protect our family. After this, we will find a way to win this War and end it all,” she reassured him, gently caressing his skin with her thumb.

Perhaps it was a little risky to show such a physical act, when anyone could spot them, but Josephine sensed the turmoil within Tywin and she could not help it. She could sense the storm within his heart and mind, finding little to no peace even when asleep.

So she squeezed his hand, reminding him that he was not alone in this and he was going to succeed; just as he had done so many times. For Josephine might have been away for decades, but she kept up with all the achievements that Tywin had accomplished across the years, each one making her more proud of him than the last.

Tywin exhaled and squeezed back faintly, feeling the familiar sensation from where skin met skin. This electrifying feeling that was so subtle and yet so persistent, caused only when the two of them truly touched.

He focused on that feeling and her confident caring gaze, remembering how often she would give it to him when younger. When the world seemed against him and when his Father made everything worse, she would give him that look and remind him what he had achieved.

She was his second believer, right after himself, and remained no matter what happened between them. And in that moment of silence and dawn, Tywin was truly glad to have her by his side once again and vowed never to let her leave; unless the Stranger himself had come to collect her.

Chapter Text

Stannis brought his armada and his men towards King’s Landing, and he was ready by the time the sun set. He would attack from the city’s weakest point, the BlackWater Bay. There was enough room for his ships, enough ground for his men to disembark and little resistance from the royal family and the Lannister army.

He thought he had predicted everything, and the Red Priestess had assured him this was his future, but he failed to remember that there was one tricky Lion in the game, Tyrion.

They might have lacked the numbers, but as hell he was going to surrender the city like that. And so, the short Lion delivered an empowering speech to his defeated soldiers and planned for the biggest trap; Wildfire.

The green fire burned dozens of men and ships, its bright neon green flame illuminating the dim battleground as men met in the middle. Stag versus Lion, the battle was bloody, and the once-yellow sand was stained red by the blood of the fallen.

Inspired by the men's courage and the need to prove himself, Tyrion joined the fight and did his best to attack the enemy. This showed the world that the Lannister blood ran through his veins, as it did with his uncle, grandfather, and brother.

As the battle raged, Tyrion managed to wound another enemy soldier as one of his comrades finished him off. He turned and saw a Baratheon soldier ready to end him but before he could, he was tackled to the ground by a Lannister soldier.

He could not help but smile, happy to see that the men had his back until Ser Balon Swann pointed out to him where enemy soldiers were swarming off a broken galley smashed on a pier. That’s when he realized that if they were to destroy those pieces, Stannis' men would not be able to reach them; at least not that easily, and they could win enough time to handle the men that had made it on land,

With a war cry, he led some of his men to charge the invaders and stop them from reaching the sores; preventing them from trapping the Lannister forces between two fronts made of Baratheon Soldiers.

Somewhere in the battle, he lost his axe but found another weapon and fought on, climbing across the unstable wreckage with Balon and Mandon until rocks from the walls smashed the galleys apart, knocking him into the water.

Tyrion desperately climbed up the remains of a deck and, confusedly, observed fighting on the wrong side of the river. He then heard someone call for him and shouted for help.

Ser Mandon appeared and offered him a hand, but Tyrion sensed something wrong when he noticed it was the left hand while the Kingsguard was right-handed. At the last moment, he flung himself backwards just as Mandon tried to kill him with his sword.

The sword left a gash across his face, barely missing his eyes while the force made Tyrion fall into the shallow waters. He managed to pull himself up but stumbled, feeling the loss of blood and sudden attack affecting him while the sharp pain coming from his face made it hard for him to focus.

Thankfully for him, his young squire appeared and took down the Kingsguard; saving Tyrion’s life.

The brave boy pulled his lord further into the sand and tried to keep him safe with the help of Bronn as the battle raged on. They were losing and knew it was a matter of time before they had lost, but they remained; while Tyrion struggled to see.

Yet as he leaned against Podrick and fought to remain conscious, he saw something in the distance. Backup had arrived, endless horses and men charging while the Lannister Lion and the Tyrell Rose moved with the wind on their respective flags.

Ahead of the army, seemed to be Renly or his Ghost; sword raised to take down the men that betrayed him by changing sides when he died. Yet, Tyrion focused on someone else riding close by.

Only one man was riding that way, only one man with that unique armour... his father.

Tyrion could no longer remain conscious, and as his world slowly turned black; he swore he heard the loud roar of a Lion just as Tywin sliced his first enemy; the first of many that would follow.

Upon arriving on the mainland, Josephine escorted Tywin to a certain point but disappeared from view without anyone realizing it. She then took a different path and found herself with a better, higher view of Blackwater Bay.

The battle had already started, the two armies were meeting in the middle, and blood had already been drawn. The explosion and the bright green fire were what had helped her navigate towards the right spot, and then she chose to stay and watch.

The smell of fresh blood, the shouts of fallen men and horses.. she closed her eyes momentarily, her heart beat spiking at the sight as a familiar bloodlust threatened to take over.

She could not see details in the chaos and the dim light, but she swore she saw Tyrion for a moment; his short stature was the only thing making him stand out against the rest of the soldiers. Seeing him injured and weakened, almost made Josephine step in, but thankfully for her, help had just arrived.

The sight of Renly’s Ghost started to spread fear into the hearts of many, believers or not. In the heat of battle, where adrenaline and survival instincts controlled the mind, few were the ones to question, and many ended up staring terrified at the sight.

The Lannister-Tyrell army appeared through the smoke and mist, their numbers multiplying quickly as they all followed the Ghost that led them into battle.

Some men dared to take a stand, some loyal to Stannis dared to lift their swords and attack; some made the mistake of playing the hero by not running.

A loud animalistic roar echoed across the area, heard above the shouts and yells of men. It seemed to shake the ground and upset the wind, which started to rage, before the animal appeared from the cover of the night.

The horses on both sides started to become restless. Some almost threw their riders off, while a few brave men felt their bodies freeze in fright.

Golden fur and eyes glowed in the dim light, and the agile beast climbed down the rocks before joining the battle. Huge claws ripped into unsuspected men, teeth tearing their heads off before they could scream for help.

And while that beast started to take down many, so did the reinforcements; blades slicing on shocked soldiers overwhelmed by the sight.

Bronn had seen things, some of which he still questioned to this day, but nothing would compare to what he had witnessed in this battle. The Green volatile fire that made the bay glow as it devoured ship and men alike, was one thing.

Seeing the Lioness once again in battle, was something entirely different.

The roar had stunned him for a moment, really thinking it was a trick of mind or some god they had managed to piss off; before he heard some men shouting in the distance.

“It's a lion!”

“Watch out!”

“Someone help!”

The mercenary was too busy killing any enemy that approached and ensuring Podrick and Tyrion did not die, he still needed to get paid, and he would definitely ask the dwarf for more.

He did not have to question why the men were shouting, having been in the first row when Lady Josephine took down a horse like it was nothing. He was unsurprised to hear that she was present, though he could see Podrick paling.

A shadow moved from the corner of his vision and Bronn moved fast, blocking the blade of a Baratheon Soldier before pushing him back. While busy disarming and killing him, another soldier tried to end Tyrion; blade ready to take down the chubby boy protecting the dwarf.

That was until a beast jumped from the shadows, its huge body falling on the soldier. Claws created dents in the armour, and the man shouted for help as he tried to free the beast.

His blade got caught between sharp fangs and in the moment of struggle, he tried to pull the sword free; only to see it breaking in half. He looked with wide eyes at the bloodied Lioness, a mere second of pure fear before the very same teeth that broke his sword in half, attacked his face.

His screams were muffled, blood splattering everywhere before the Lioness pulled back. She stepped off the now dead body of the soldier, his face no longer recognizable with a good portion of his skin missing.

The beast turned halfway, panting faintly and covered in blood. She eyed Podrick with glowing yellow eyes reflecting a nearby wall torch, making the boy shake and kneel.

“Th-the Lannis-ster Li-lion,” he stuttered, remembering the tales he was told since childhood.

Of times when the Lannisters went into battle and a ferocious beast accompanied the worthy heirs, said to have come alive from the very same flag they proudly carried around.

By that time, Bronn had managed to kill the enemy and turned to the bloody creature. Covered in red and in the dim light of the night,  surely looked like a creature out of a nightmare and one he was glad he did not have —ght.

He heard Podrick stutter and he rolled his eyes at the squire. “Yes, it is, it's not going to eat your face off,” he pointed out, only to notice that the Lioness was fully focused on the unconscious Tyrion.

Podrick remained frozen on the spot as the Lioness moved closer to the unconscious dwarf, eyes scanning the wound and sniffing the still warm body. For a moment, the blood thirstiness of the battle seemed to disappear from the creature’s golden eyes as she gently nudged the short man’s side.

Bronn, who seemed to realize what was happening, chose to speak. “He is harmed but alive, for now. Better end this fucking battle if you want a Maester to look at him.”

The Lioness turned to look at him before the sound of a horse’s neigh reached them. Her head turned towards the source, seeing Tywin’s white stallion in the distance. In the very next second, she was gone; ready to help her partner into the battle.

Podrick fell back on his butt, feeling cold sweat going down his spine as he realized the stories were true. “It's all true... the Lannister Lion...” he glanced at the unconscious Tyrion, his heart beating faster. “She came for him, for master Tyrion.”

Bronn spit some blood and saliva to the ground next to him. “He wished he had a Lion to save his sorry ass. Then wouldn’t have to pay me to do it,” he commented, glancing at the battle; witnessing many of the Stags retreating. “His father summoned her into this mess, so be thankful.”

Tywin remained on his horse; the loyal and well trained stallion did not turn away and barely reacted to the powerful roar as Josephine joined the battle. Determined to end this and get to his family, the Old Lion wasted no time taking down one enemy after another; his blade coated in the blood of Baratheon soldiers.

At one point, a brave man tried to attack him from the side; aiming to take him down from his mighty steed. Before Tywin could react, Josephine did.

The powerful beast jumped on the man’s back, her size easily bringing him down before her teeth found the exposed spot of his neck. His death was quick but none the less painless, fear was the last thing he felt before the Stranger took him.

The Lioness looked up, her golden fur stained in red and so was her face. She looked like a ravaged beast, lethal and dangerous. It had been long since Tywin had seen her that way, a perfect representation of the Lannister Colours and a true sight of his might.

His eyes quickly scanned her for a second, seeing no open wounds though with all the blood on her; it was hard to pinpoint if any was hers or not.

“They are in!” someone shouted, snapping their attention.

Through the chaos of the battle, they still managed to spot the single door of the western wall being torn open. A few Lannister men that had stayed behind tried to keep out the Baratheon soldiers, but they were outnumbered.

The space between Tywin, Josephine and the small gate was not long, but there were too many obstacles. Yet that did not mean there would be an issue, as they shared a common thought.

“Clear the path!” he shouted above the noise of combat, glancing at the huge beast by his side.

By the very next second, Josephine had sprung into action. Strong muscles supported her agile body, and her roar put many real-life male lions to shame. The powerful noise stunned and scared enough soldiers to make a difference.

She attacked a Baratheon soldier that was close by, pinning him to the ground before going for his friend; quickly ending his life as well. Lannister soldiers quickly pulled back, many hesitant to strike the beast that seemed to be on their side.

An enemy soldier brought his spear and was ready to strike her when Tywin’s horse kicked him to the ground, the mighty animal stamping on his body with a quick move; breaking multiple bones in the process.

Two Lannister Soldiers quickly joined their Lord and started to take down any man they could, though most had now started to retreat or had already fallen victims to the bloodthirsty Josephine.

Eventually, a path of corpses was made, and Tywin wasted no time heading for the open gate. He left Josephine behind to ensure no enemy would try to stop him.

Cersei was in the Throne Room, Tommen on her lap. She had abandoned all the other ladies, hoping they would slow down the hungry soldiers coming for them. She knew the Throne Room would offer no true protection, but she preferred to be alone because of what she had planned.

As she heard the battle raging outside, she was unsure whether they were winning or losing. Her logical brain told her it was the latter, and her hand shook around the little flask she had brought with her, containing a certain poison she had secretly asked to be made.

The dosage was enough for her and the boy, enough to put them out of their misery before the soldiers would get to them.

As the sound of men fighting drew closer, she pulled the cap and pulled her son even closer, pressing his head so he would not look at the door.

Multiple armoured steps echoed in the stone hallways, getting closer and closer; until they were outside the huge doors.

Suddenly, the doors were pushed open, but two Lannister soldiers entered instead of the enemy. The familiar sight offered Cercei momentary relief. A third person joined, and the Queen never felt happier to see her father, his armour stained with blood, his helmet held beneath his arm.

“We have won,” he told his daughter, prideful as ever while his eyes glowed like a man half his age.

Cersei sighed in relief and smiled happily, hugging her son close as if her life depended on it.

An odd animalistic sound was heard from the corridor and for a moment, Cersei tensed until the source came into view. A bloodied Lioness bigger than any Cersei had ever seen, marched into the room; stopping next to Tywin.

The lion's golden eyes fell upon her form, and the Queen held her breath. She felt a sense of déjà vu for a moment, which remained as the Lioness took form. Where an animal once stood, now there was a familiar woman.

Her clothes and hands were stained with fresh blood, her face even, leaving little skin clear.

Yet Cersei would recognise those grey eyes and those auburn locks anywhere.

“Josephine,” she exclaimed, a mere whisper that she seemed to pick up; her signature smile forming on her face.

Chapter Text

The battle had ended, and the enemy had either retreated, been captured, or been killed before the green flames of wildfire could properly die. With the city saved, Tywin stayed back to ensure everything fell in order and allowed Josephine to retreat; the sight of her covered in blood would be hard to explain.

A kind soldier escorted her to the Hand’s room in the Red Keep, where she would wait for Tywin to finish arrangements. The man offered her a head nod and a smile as he opened the door for her, clearly aware of who she was and what she did for them during the battle.

Josephine graced him with a smile and headed into the room, grey eyes looking around at the familiar sight. Not a lot had been changed since her last time, with the addition of more Lannister Red than she recalled.

It was the main room for the Hand of the King, residing within the Red Keep; the same floor as the royal chambers. It was a room, mostly reserved for the Hand’s family; while the Hand himself had smaller and more private chambers up in the Tower, for when he wished to be closer to his work and also have the privacy he might need.

She noticed a small bucket with water and a cloth, already waiting for her, and Josephine smiled faintly, realizing Tywin was already behind it. However, she was still curious about how he managed to arrange that in such a short time.

Heading for the bucket, she wasted no time dipping her hands into the cold water before splashing her face; doing her best to use the cloth and remove as much blood as she could from her face.

Josephine was busy rubbing the blood from the side of her neck when she dared to look up and catch her reflection on the mirror next to her. Her hands fell to her sides, one still holding the bloody wet towel as she headed for the mirror, standing in front of it.

She looked at her reflection, clothes and face bloodied; barely any visible skin left clean. Her eyes were still wild, adrenaline coursing through her veins, and for a moment her irises flashed gold; as the animal within was awoken.

Her breathing became slow and she parted her lips faintly at the wild image before her, almost no sign of the woman others often saw.

Josephine thought back to a bitter memory of her past, the mocking laughter of men still audible to her as if they were currently present.

“So, is she more like a beast or a human?”

“Does she even count as human? Look at that look!”

“Look at that little freak.”

And then there were times where men did not laugh but looked at her with the same fear they would look at The Stranger.

“Monster!”

“Someone save me!”

“Stay away!”

She closed her eyes briefly and gripped the towel with enough force that her knuckles turned white as her breathing changed.

How many times had she heard those words? How often had she looked at the mirror, unsure of what she saw?

So many people judged her upon finding the truth, upon seeing her other side. Though, when she was covered in blood and ripped throats with her mouth; how could she blame them?

Josephine never truly let that bother her, and she always held her head high when she heard such comments, but deep down, it made her wonder. For when she saw herself covered in blood, even she sometimes could not see the woman she was supposed to be.

Only the creature she represented, the beast she shared a soul with.

If any of her family had been alive, she would have dared to ask them if they felt the same as she did or if she had done something wrong. But no one had survived across the years and when he mother perished, Josepine became the last in an ancient line that might end with her death as well. The Lannisters had been her family, Tywin's siblings the only ones that had truly seen her for whom she was and not what she was.

But most were gone now or spread apart, leaving her mostly alone to hide what others feared and pretend to be something she even had trouble believing in.

The sound of the door opening made her snap from her dark thoughts, and she wiped her head to look at the entrance. She should have sensed Tywin, but she missed it at that moment. Yet upon seeing him enter the room in his armour, her gaze softened, and her mind became quieter now that he was closer. It was as if his presence scared them away, like he would scare away any young man who had tried to pick on her when she was younger.

Her heart, though, started to beat faster as he marched into the room; in all his glory. Unfazed by the men he had killed, barely showing signs of exhaustion after the trip and the fight; he walked as if he owned the golden crown the King wore.

She observed him with a little more intensity than she wanted, tempting thoughts entering her mind at the sight, but she was quick to dig her nails into her palm. The acute pain helped her remain focused before her instincts took control.

“Everything done?” she asked as she turned to face him, dropping the towel into the bucket while approaching him.

She was unsure if Tywin had managed to peek at her thoughts, but he did not seem keen on bringing it up. They had pushed themselves to reach King’s Landing in time, and the trip had taken a toll on him; on both of them.

“Yes,” he answered her as he headed for the small desk. “Your room has been arranged and will be ready for you soon,” he continued, looking at her. “It is one door next to mine, like it used to be. “

When she heard of her room, Josephine considered arguing, but Tywin was faster at reassuring her and predicting her thoughts and arguments. This was quite common between them and not just one-sided.

“Good,” she replied as she reached him, before he gave her the silent approval to remove his armour. “The Red Keep or not, I want to ensure I am within reach if anything happens.”

Tywin scoffed faintly in amusement, holding back the faintest of chuckles. “Of course you want. It was quite bothersome in the beginning.”

This made her chuckle silently, remembering the frown of Young Tywin when Josephine demanded to have the room next to his. He was unhappy for quite some time, often finding it too bothersome and unnecessary.

But as they grew and their feelings changed, he even encouraged her by spending more time in his room, where they did not always focus on important matters and work.

Josephine wondered if this would ever change or return to the normality they once had. A hopeful part of her, kept saying yes, but the most realistic part said No. This was not Casterly Rock, where there was no fear of true gossip and sabotage, and they were not the young adults they once were.

He was a widow, once married and had adult children. She was a loner, having disappeared for three decades before appearing in the middle of war.

Things have changed a lot over the years, and one could not help but wonder if they will keep changing, this time for the better.

Tywin stood silent, watching her work as she removed the heavy armour, allowing his body to move more easily and removing the breastplate's unnecessary weight. He observed her, noting the blood that had dried on her clothes and skin.

She had tried to clean her face but had not finished, leaving traces of red on it.

Yet Tywin did not mind the sight, rather always found a silent fascination for it. The way she could stand, unbothered by the kills she had committed and the blood that was soaking her clothes.

In all her might, she stood fierce right after surviving a tough battle; eyes challenging anyone and silently telling them she was not done yet.

How often did the old Lion see women fuzz over small obstacles, scratches or passing colds? How often did he hear women talk of tears in their dresses and mud stains after a rainy day?

Unfortunately, even his deceased wife was not that different; though little more tolerant to certain things.

And then there was Josephine, who did not care about such trivial matters and would endure worse conditions to do what she had to do: protect her family with the true fierceness and resilience of a Lioness.

“Are you hurt?” Tywin asked, breaking the silence existing between them.

Josephine helped remove his last lower arm guard and place it on the desk, knowing a servant would take it in the morning to be cleaned and polished as it should. She glanced at him, for a moment surprised by his question.

She had been sensing his gaze, glued on her form; following her every move. Yet, she had refused to look up at him; fearing she would find her mind freezing. She knew her mind would do that, her thoughts always cloudy after a bloody battle; instincts threatening to take over.

When one was so close in meeting the Stranger, when one fought for their lives; it was common to rethink certain things about their life and feel the taunting impulse of certain feelings.

“No, no one managed to touch me,” she said with pride, her signature smirk forming on her lips as she lifted her head faintly; a bloody tipped strand of hair falling between her eyes.

He seemed to match it with his own. “Good,” he commented, pushing a bloody strand out of her face. “I have ordered the servants to prepare you a bath and the room should be ready by now. You should rest, for we have a lot of things to plan tomorrow morning.”

Upon sensing his hand, Josephine was forced to look at him. The gentle move was a mere act out of habit for him, yet it felt so much more for her. Their eyes met, and her pupils dilated faintly at their proximity. The feeling of his rough fingers left a ghost trail across her cheek before he pulled his hand back.

She almost grabbed his wrist, almost asking him to repeat that move. She wished to hold his hand where it was and feel the electrifying touch of his touch when their skins met. She almost blurted something she would never be able to take back, but she fought tooth and nail against reacting, fearing that she would make things worse if she did not fight her instincts.

“Thank you,” she said, averting her gaze toward the door before heading for it. Focusing on her steps rather than his presence, she said, “I will see you tomorrow morning.”

She did not dare to say anything else as she left the room, feeling Tywin’s hard gaze following her until she turned right and was out of his vision.

And the Old Lion watched her go, curious of her reaction and her sudden withdrawal. He could have easily stopped her; a mere word was all it could take, yet he watched her go; choosing not to say a word.

He glanced at his hand, the electrifying feeling almost sensible at the tips of his fingers; from where he dared to caress her cheek for a second. He closed it into a fist and inhaled sharply, finding his own tired mind over-thinking more than it should.

Ever since Josephine appeared, things had been more complicated between them than he remembered. Although things had changed, and so did they, some things seemed to stay the same.

The issue was that none of the two dared to act; they were unsure where they stood after all those years. What they once had was put on hold after Tywin married and it grew dormant as the years passed.

But now, Joanna had died and he was no longer bound to another woman; just as she was no longer obliged to stand back and respect the named Lady Lannister.

However, every move they made seemed to be regretted soon after, and none truly knew what to do next. There were there were too many things on their plate.

Sighing in annoyance, he headed for the jug with wine that had been left in the room; the only positive things Tyrion left behind. He needed a drink and some sleep, fix the damage his stupid son and daughter caused and focus on finding Jaime.

He should not stand there, questioning matters that should no longer bother him.

And that’s what he vowed to do, though a part of him mocked him for it knew; this would never be successful while Josephine was present. A bitter truth that Tywin refused to acknowledge

Josephine slept without any dreams that night, though her mind took a while to calm down. By the time the first rays of sun reached through the window, all the adrenaline from the night before had left her body, and her mind was clearer.

Trying not to think of the night before, she was about to dress normally when a young servant girl knocked on her door.

“Good morning, my lady,” the girl said, entering and quickly opening the window, allowing the faint scent of sea breeze to come inside. “Lord Hand has assigned me to you, my name is Pauline.”

Josephine needed a moment to focus on everything and once she did, she blinked as she looked at the young maid who could not be older than 20 name days old. “I do not require a maid or help.” She said, her tone perhaps a little harsher than she intended.

She never truly had a home, even when she was back at Casterly or even King’s Landing. The years on the road had taught her to be even more independent, and her clothing rarely required extra hands.

“Lord Hand’s orders, my lady. You will have to talk with him about it,” the girl said, rather stubborn for a maid.

Josephine arched an eyebrow, curious if the girl was indeed that stubborn and was chosen for that particular reason; or she was more afraid of Tywin’s reaction if he found that she did not do what she was ordered.

Defeated, Josephine sighed. “Very well,” she agreed, passing a hand through her hair, feeling the faint knots that had been formed while she was asleep.

She would have to talk with Tywin about it and she intended to do so, once she had gotten dressed.

Pauline smiled, pleased that she did not have to argue with her anymore. Lord Hand had also chosen a dress for you. Allow me to help you get into it.”

Those words made Josephine freeze on the spot, feet hanging by the edge of the bed. She looked at the maid, blinking twice to ensure she had heard things right. “A dress?”

Chapter Text

Tywin had risen early, like he always did, and wasted no time working on the events of the day, making sure no arrangement was left unchecked and without his approval. He would have, of course, told Josephine about it had she not chosen to show coldly leave his chambers the night before.

So, he simply ordered the servants and waited; knowing she would come to him.

By the time he was almost done with the buttons of his doubloon jacket, there was a knock on his chamber’s door, before Josephine appeared.

He turned from the mirror and let his golden-flecked eyes fall upon her form, quickly noticing how different and proper she looked when she was not wearing her hunting clothes.

The dress was dark maroon in shade, simple, and yet it passed a message on where she stood on the nobility ladder. Made from expensive materials, it hugged her body; a little too tight but this only made it look even better on her.

A simple silver belt in the form of a net design wrapped around her stomach and waist, stopping right beneath the revealing V neckline that highlighted her chest. Matching silver pads were placed on her shoulder, and a small golden necklace was around her neck, falling between her breasts.

He did not recall having given the servant one.

His eyes roamed, nevertheless, observing her form as she elegantly walked towards him, her hips swaying faintly with a feline grace that no woman could truly match. A smirk formed on his lips as he finally raised his gaze, looking into her beautiful grey eyes.

“A very fine choice. Red has always been your colour,” he commented as he walked towards her, meeting her halfway. “I see the maid has done its job. Though she should have focused on the hair as well.”

Josephine had felt his gaze on her since she first stepped into his chambers. She could see how his eyes roamed, enjoying the sight of her in a dress; he always preferred her in one and had voiced this preference many years ago.

She took pride in watching him stare, finally at peace to study his reactions without worrying about an attack or an assassination; for they were no longer in the battlefield. “I do wonder where exactly you found it or when you managed to arrange all of this.”

For a moment, she forgot why she had chosen to visit in the first place, but Tywin was kind enough to bring it up on his own.

She halted a few feet away from him, one hand resting by her hip. “You are aware I do not let anyone touch my hair,” she reminded him, her voice serious as she focused on the topic. “I also do not need a maid to help me get dressed.”

Tywin rolled his eyes faintly. “You used to let Genna for years,” he argued.

He knew why she barely changed her hair, but he still needed to comment, as if they had not been raised together. He needed to remind Josephine that he knew her as well as she knew him, perhaps more.

Years passed, some things did not change, and certain memories did not fade.

“You will get used to having one, from today. A noble lady such as yourself must have one, even if for the simple acts of putting on a dress,” he continued, leaning faintly on the desk that was close by.

His words made Josephine arch an eyebrow. “A noble lady? Since when?”

“Since today. You are to be introduced as a widow, whose husband was closely associated and a loyal ally to House Lannister,” he cleared his throat faintly. “For the rest of the story, you can add your details if you wish. People love good gossip, after all.”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes at his comment. “So, I am to play an act for the world to see. This was not how things were done when Aerys was around and you were once again Hand of the King.”

“Things are different, Josephine.” He reminded her, his tone sounding little harsher than necessary. “We have much damage control to do and need to change our tactics, including your appearance and current presence.”

It was evident to Tywin that she was not happy with the changes by the way she frowned faintly and pressed her lips until they formed a thin line. She was not pleased, to be more precise, and he was not either; if he were to be honest.

Pursuing all those plans and actions was too much trouble, but they both had to, for things had changed over the years.

Things had to change, especially with how ruined Robert left them and how bad Tyrion with Cersei had made it. Back then with Aerys, the court was stricter and simpler; no one was truly talking and the majority already knew who Josephine was or suspected.

But years had passed and she had disappeared, while the legend she represented was almost forgotten from memory. Now, few would truly know and recognise from the beginning; meaning they had to start with a new plan.

In the end, Josephine sighed and closed her eyes momentarily, signaling that she had given up the fighting and silently agreed with him.

“Which means more lady manners, fancy dresses and a maid to visit me twice a day,” she mumbled as she opened her eyes, looking at him.

A twinkle of mischief seemed to glow momentarily into his golden flecked emerald eyes. “Don’t recall you ever minding dresses or being spoilt by a servant,” he smirked.

The challenge was up and Josephine immediately picked it up. “The ones I choose to wear, yes. Not the fancy ones while I parade around the room like a fancy peacock.” She smirked in return. “That’s more of your style, after all. This is why you wear your formal attire.”

Her comment made his smirk disappear, and her words harmed his ego. He was that close in commenting, continuing this verbal game of theirs, but in the end, he did not.

Tywin saw the smirk and glow in her eyes, and her mood was shifting. So, the Cold-Hearted Lion clicked his tongue behind his teeth and let her have this victory—just for the sake of her mood.

“There will be a ceremony, coming soon. Joffrey will name me Saviour of the City and officially hand me the badge of the King’s Hand. After, a feast will be held in my honour to welcome the Tyrells as our latest allies,” he explained, walking towards her. “This is where you will put your best act and lift any suspicions off yourself.”

Josephine shook her head in amusement. “Sometimes I wonder when you all manage to plan things so quickly, let alone put them into place.”

His answer was his signature smirk as he halted before her. Yet his comments disappeared from his mind as his eyes fell upon the necklace she wore, now able to see it better.

A thin chain of pure gold held it, and the necklace itself was a bright red ruby, cut into a teardrop shape and surrounded by a thin golden frame.

Tywin parted his lips and lifted his hand, his fingers touching the familiar artefact before looking at her. “You still wear it,” he pointed out as she held her breath, before finally looking at him.

He gave her this gift when she passed her 16^th name day and was considered a woman in Westeros. It was a simple gift he had given her in private, and he had the honour of placing it around her delicate neck.

Josephine offered him a sweet smile, her gaze softening. “I never took it off and guarded it with my life while I was travelling,” she confessed, her tone much softer and quieter as she studied his face.

Their faces were closer once again, though the moods had changed this time and so had their attitudes. They were not in the middle of a verbal quarrel, but neither were they in the middle of an adrenaline rush after a dangerous battle.

They were calm, sharing bittersweet memories of their common past as faint layers of their raised walls were peeled away.

Tywin watched her, somehow her words and her confession warming the ice that had gathered around his heart across the years. He had never forgotten that gift, but he was certain she had gotten rid of it. He, also, did not question if she still had it on her; finding she would have no reason.

Yet here she was, proudly wearing it for the world to see.

Their gazes remained locked, their breaths almost falling into sync as time started to slow down around them.

Momentarily, they felt as if they were back at Casterly Rock, as if they were back to their younger selves, when feelings had started blooming and intimate boundaries were tested.

Back then, talks of a union were frequent, and plans were put down before they were all taken away.

Someone knocked on the door, making the duo snap from whatever trance they had put on one another. They both looked to the side, before focusing on the door as Tywin’s squire dared to enter.

By the Seven, Tywin truly was close in killing that kid.

“My Lord,” he greeted, quickly bowing deeply to avoid his deadly glare. “Your horse and armour are ready.”

This new piece of information intrigued Josephine, who looked back at him. “Armour and horse?” she questioned, unaware of such detail.

Tywin cleared his throat and took a step back. “Yes. Did you expect me to walk into the Throne Room after all I did to ensure that boy was still a King?”

His words made her chuckle. “No, or else that wouldn’t be you.”

He nodded, refusing to react to her chuckle since the squire was still present. “The event should start soon and I will find you at the feast,”

Josephine offered a light lady bow. “Yes, My Lord,” she said, doing a fine impression of a noble lady under the protection of a powerful Lord.

Good, Tywin thought, glad she was smart and quick to fall into her role.

 A role rather new for her, but he was certain she would excel all the same. After all, if things had been different, this would never have become an act, and she would truly own that title.

After Tywin left, Josephine remained in the familiar chambers for a little longer. She needed to think carefully about what she would have to do and prepare herself for the world she never truly liked but learned to navigate when she was younger.

It had been years since, but she knew she could still do it. Even though she knew it would be more trouble than she would have liked.

Before she could leave the chambers, someone else entered; without knocking. Josephine turned, curious to see who dared to enter Tywin’s room that way; until her eyes fell on Cersei.

Both seemed equally surprised to see one another but for different reasons.

Josephine did not expect Cersei to pay a visit to her father’s personal chambers, let alone walk right in. Even back then, Tywin was very strict about who could enter uninvited, and the only exceptions were Genna, Joanna, and Josephine.

On the other hand, Cersei did not expect to find Josephine alone in Tywin’s chambers. She walked inside, expecting her strict father but was yet faced with a ghost of the Lannister Past; casually chilling into the room of a man she was not married to.

For a moment, Cersei’s mind went to the possibility that Josephine had slept there the night prior; sharing a bed with Tywin. Yet as quickly as that thought came, equally quickly was it pushed away.

Tywin would not sleep with another woman. Cersei knew that, and she expected that. Plus, she had heard of one of Sansa’s maids being assigned to her; meaning she now had a room for herself.

“Cersei,” Josephine greeted with a small smile, choosing to be the first to break this awkward silence between them.

“Josephine,” Cersei all but spat the woman’s name, her lips turning down in displeasure of seeing her. “I see you have returned to my father, after you abandoned us for decades.” She continued, taking a few steps inside and looking around the room; realizing he was not present.

The older woman took a silent breath, feeling the silent attack behind Cersei’s poisoned words. It was evident that Tywin’s firstborn was rather bitter by her disappearance, not that she was ever truly happy to be around her.

Ever since Cersei was a child, young enough to understand, she always seemed to glare at Josephine. She refused to be around her, let alone be held by her. Her cold emerald eyes showed mistrust, as if Cersei saw her as a potential threat to her parents’ marriage.

Perhaps it was that or perhaps it was jealousy because Jaime adored being around Josephine and enjoyed her company.

Josephine never realized it and did not stick around long enough to find out eventually.

“I did not abandon you, I would never do that,” she corrected the Queen Reagent, her tone stricter. “After your mother’s passing, your father and I discussed certain things and I chose to retreat for a while. Your family was safe and there was no war for me to require my presence.”

Cersei scoffed. “Of course,” she said, clearly not believing that story, yet she let it pass; for now.

She was certain Josephine abandoned them when they needed her most, and Joanna’s loss and Josephine’s disappearance had made Tywin so sour and miserable. Perhaps had she been braver to stick around, her father would not have turned into the cold man he was today.

On the other hand, had she stayed around; she might have flirted and influenced Tywin into marriage. Cersei had Josephine capable of many things, especially after seeing her now dressed in all red.

Josephine sighed, never recalling having to try that hard to keep a conversation going. “I see you are Queen, like you always used to say as a child.” She pointed out, sounding proud of the beautiful woman Cersei had indeed grown up to be.

Yet the young Lioness did not seem to appreciate her words, wishing not to indulge in further discussion. So, she changed the topic to the primary reason she had entered these chambers.

“Where is Father?” he asked her.

“He left little before you arrived. He plans something requiring his armour and horse for the tilting ceremony.”

“How typical of him. Making a grand entrance,” Cersei rolled her eyes.

Josephine nodded faintly. “He is who is, that never changed,” she agreed, again earning the Queen’s attention. “Since you are present, would you be a graceful host and show me to the throne room? I suppose you of all people should not be late for such a grand event.”

Once again, Cersei frowned but silently nodded.

Chapter Text

The sun rose above King’s Landing and the Red Keep had been buzzing from early. First, it was the servants running to prepare everything, and then there were all kinds of nobilities, lords, ladies and soldiers as they all got prepared for the big event.

The Throne Room was filling rather quickly, and from early on, a few higher-class commoners could be seen among the rich nobles and powerful lords with their court ladies. Expensive dresses and fabrics, jewellery, and styled hair were everywhere, a clear difference from the poorer image existing outside those walls.

The King was the first to arrive but had yet to sit on the Iron Throne. Instead, he was by its base, discussing something with his mother. Important things had to happen, and he had certain things to fake to make it all work.

Various famous faces had already started to move towards their proper places at the front, including Lady Margaery Tyrell, her father Lord Mace Tyrell and her brother Loras, Lord Petyr Baelish and even the Master of Whispers, Varys.

Lady Sansa Stark and her ladies-in-waiting had also arrived but had made their way to their places on the upper seats, having a clear view of the whole room, a place for more private and honoured guests.

The court was alive, chatting amongst everyone almost as they all waited for the day to start and the ‘Saviour of the City’ to appear. Before him, however, someone else made an entrance first.

Queen Cersei entered the room with the same arrogant pride her son possessed, yet someone else drew the crowd's attention.

A beautiful woman followed right after the Queen, and soldiers escorted both women. At first, one might think this newcomer was a Lady in Waiting, but many would see the expensive fabric and golden chain around her neck, which said otherwise.

This woman walked with grace that put the Queen to shame, hips swaying faintly with each step. Her hair had a unique shade of auburn red, a colour Sansa did not expect to see again, let alone from someone not in her family.

The young direwolf tried to overhear any gossip from the ladies around her, but they seemed to be as clueless as she was on the woman's identity.

Their curiosity and Sansa's interest were piqued upon seeing the woman introduced straight to King Joffrey and his brother. She quickly and silently told everyone that she was in a position far above the average lady.

What surprised Sansa the most was simply the lack of a house sigil. She saw none on the woman and no other companion, whether a husband or a guard to indicate from which House she came from.

Plus, she was dressed in a dark red dress, and only the Queen had been seen sporting such colours; it was a tribute to her family's sigil, the Red Banner behind the Lannister Lion.

Whoever she was, she had made quite a first impression, and Sansa hoped this woman might be different from the others.

Deep down, the tortured and tired Direwolf hoped for a companion, even if their statuses were different, just for someone to treat her differently, as a human being and not the daughter of traitors.

Josephine followed Cersei towards the Throne room, remaining one step behind the Queen Reagent.

Her eyes glanced around the once familiar hallways, noticing little changes from the times she used to walk them without needing to hide her identity.

A few passing servants eyed her carefully, holding more curiosity than hostility. For a moment, Josephine wondered if she would find any servants from her time who were still working in the Red Keep and if they would remember her.

Eventually, they reached the Throne Room and walked inside; two guards quick to tail them as they entered.

People had already started gathering, many occupying the balconies on the upper half floor to get a bird' s-eye view of the place.

Others had moved to the sides, forming two lines, with the red carpet in the middle remaining unoccupied. Up ahead, the famous Throne of Swords was clearly visible.

Josephine remembered it from when Aerys used to rule, when the swords were longer and extended like a sea, lifting the famous seat higher in the air and showing a true might of power.

But Robert Baratheon had gotten rid of them and the Dragon Skulls that once stood as a reminder of the glorious Targaryen times. All the banners of the three-headed dragoon were gone, replaced by a mixture of the Baratheon Stag and the Lannister Lion.

Josephine kept observing the room as she followed, her back straight and her steps graceful.

The sound of whispers reached her sensitive ears, and she felt the number of eyes on her multiply. Many wondered who she was and why she was with the Queen.

The Lioness paid them no mind and kept walking until they reached the front rows, closer to the steps leading up the Iron Throne.

There, Josephine caught the eye of the two cubs she had heard about but had yet to meet. The youngest, Tommy and the eldest, Joffrey.

"Mother!" Tommen exclaimed, leaving his caretaker and rushing to her.

Despite her cold and often questionable nature, Cersei's emerald eyes softened at the sight of her boys—the kids who were part of her and had almost perished the night before.

The young boy quickly noticed Josephine, standing not that far away, and their gazes met.

"Mother, who is she?" The young boy asked.

Cersei's mood immediately changed as her son's attention averted to someone else. She forced a smile as she glanced at the older woman.

"Tommen, Joffrey. This is Josephine. She is... an acquaintance of the family and your grandfather," she explained, venom bout to drip from her words.

Josephine glanced from the eldest to the youngest before offering a small bow. "Your grace, young prince."

Her rosy lips formed a soft smile as she saw how Lannister the two boys looked, blond and green-eyed. Beautiful proud little lions, a sign and hope of the family's feature and survival.

Her smile remained, though her body started to feel ill, and instincts warned her of danger nearby. She didn't have to look far before her eyes connected with Joffrey's, seeing the look he gave her.

"What kind of acquaintance is a woman alone, without a husband?" He asked, eyeing her up and down. "A woman with such beauty."

Josephine pressed her lips to form a thin line. "A unique one, your grace. The families of the Westerlands are known, of course, for their loyalty to their Lord Liege."

Before the boy king could say anything more, people started to murmur and move to their respective places; a sign that the ceremony was about to start.

Josephine moved to the front of the crowd just as the Lannister Guards started to move, forming two rows on each side of the red carpet.

Joffrey took his place on the Iron Throne while a servant brought Cersei a chair, Tommen on her lap.

It did not take long for the Saviour of the City to appear, fully armed and riding his proud white stallion; reminding everyone how far more superior he was.

The Horse walked proudly, his rider guiding it with ease. The one blood stained armour was clean, and not a single speck of dirt or blood could be seen on it.

As Tywin rode his horse forward, the Lannister soldiers forming lines by his sides quickly bowed respectfully; some lords and ladies did the same.

Whispers were not unusual to be heard, though many were simple questions and smart observations.

"I heard he had a Lion accompanying him in battle."

"I feel as if the Lion is already in the room with us."

"Do you really think he has a Lion of his own?"

"Don't you remember the legend?"

Tywin stopped his horse at the proper spot, sitting proudly on top of the saddle and being at the same eye level as Joffrey. The boy king was clearly trying to remain strong and act as a King, but something in Tywin’s presence alone made him feel uneasy.

“I, Joffrey of the House Baratheon, first of my name, the rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm do hereby proclaim my grandfather, Tywin Lannister, the saviour of the city and the Hand of the King.” He said a speech his mother had made him memorize since the early hours of the morning.

A page rushed towards Joffrey and bowed as he presented a red pillow. The boy king placed the brooch of the Hand and let the servant take it to Tywin.

The Old Lion barely had to move as the cushion was lifted closer to him. He took the familiar brooch he wore for so many years in his youth and inspected it for a second. He then looked at his grandson and gave a small head bow out of mere courtesy.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He said, turning his stallion and leaving the throne room behind.

Yet as he did so, his golden flecked eyes glanced the room until they found Josephine. Their gazes met, and no words had to be exchanged; no move had to be made to know what that look meant.

Remembering the plan, Josephine gave a slow head bow to him; hiding her nod behind a simple act of formality.

Tywin focused forward and exited the room, leaving her standing as the show continued. He would change and prepare for the feast while she was meant to stand and hear.

Hear of all the young lords given praise and knighthood for their bravery in the Blackwater Bay. Hear the titles and lands given to lords who contributed greatly to this victory.

And of course, hear of this new arrangement between Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell; the former wife of Renly Baratheon. As well as the broken betrothal of the boy King to the young Direwolf.

Josephine observed and absorbed that and many more like a sponge. She memorized the latest game pieces, the important faces, and all the necessary information she would later tell Tywin as they discussed their next plan.

Chapter Text

After some court drama and a lot of knighting, the ceremony was over, and all the noble guests could finally leave, heading straight for the famous Red Keep gardens where the feast would take place.

Fresh fruits and little delights were served, as well as wine and cold water, as lords and ladies spread, quickly forming groups for discussion and gossip.

Josephine entered the gardens alone, passing amongst other nobles and feeling wandering eyes upon her form. A few Lords tried talking to her, some merely commenting, and she had to refuse more than once flowers from some men.

It was becoming rather tiresome, and she wondered how long she had to do this and where Tywin was. She had seen him faintly in the beginning, but he was surrounded by people, and so was she; though the interests of each group were very different.

She headed for one of the walls, the white stone having stood despite the centuries that passed after the castle’s creation.

She leaned faintly against it, feeling the warm sun rays against her skin. Momentarily, she closed her eyes, letting herself bathe in sunlight that she had not seen for months. The weather of the Riverlands was truly as depressing and sad as many said it was.

One could not even wonder why the River Lords were always on edge and seemed to lack a smile or a carefree attitude.

Despite the crowd in the open gardens, Josephine remained on her guard and her instincts warned her when someone chose to approach. Opening her eyes, she turned slowly as she spotted Lord Mace Tyrell & Mathis marching her way.

She had seen Lord Mathis in the tent, yet was rather quiet. Whenever a decision had to be made, he always looked at his Lord Siege and merely agreed with him. Now, it seemed he was following him behind like a lost puppy; a sight that internally amused the Lioness.

“My lords,” she greeted them with a small fake smile and a smaller bow.

Both men held a goblet of wine in their dominant hands, but Josephine had chosen not to drink anything, preferring to keep her hands free to act if necessary.

“Lady Josephine,” Lord Mace greeted her, arms spread faintly in an exaggerated greeting motion. We missed you in battle. We thought of the plan details you had planned, and we were sure you would join us.”

Josephine bit back any snappy remarks and kept the forced smile, reminding herself she needed to behave like a lady.

“You honour me, my lord,” she said, her sharp mind quickly forming a good excuse. “I am afraid battle is no place for a woman. I chose to reside back and let the real soldiers handle it, which I heard you did incredibly well.”

Lord Mace puffed his chest faintly, his belly following suit, as he took in all the praise. Even though Josephine knew, the man had barely lifted his sword in battle and had entered last. He was a coward for battle and she had smelt that on him since their first meeting in the War Tent.

Yet, she had to play along and she had come to learn that complimenting the vanity and ego of men, was the best way to brush suspicions of you and could even save your head from the executioner's block.

“Thank you, my lady.” He eyed her slowly, his gaze lingering a little too long on her cleavage. “You are a true beauty in a dress, my lady. Red is such a beautiful shade on you.”

“Careful of your words, my Lord. It sounds as if you are trying to court me,” she said, her words quickly being passed off as a joke.

A joke that Mace laughed at, Lord Mathis following suit. In the far distance, Josephine spotted Lord Randal Tarly standing not too far away; watching them with faint suspicion in his eyes.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be the only one.” He joked, drinking from his goblet. “I fear that Lord Tywin has a competition for your attention, my Lady.”

Immediately, Josephine spotted the chance and grabbed it like one would grab a bull by their horns. “I am afraid you are mistaken, my Lord. There is nothing of a personal nature between Lord Tywin and myself.”

Now, she had piqued the interest of both men. By the edge of her peripheral vision, she saw a few faces pretending to stand closer, eager for the gossip and the information she was about to deliver.

“You are not?”

“No, my lord. I am afraid our relationship is more... family related, for his deceased cousin was once my husband. A loyal man that perished little too early, I'm afraid and left me with his possessions,” she lied, her brain easily creating a feeble story. “I was passing through the Riverlands, after visiting a sick family member when I encountered Lord Tywin’s campsite. He offered me his protection in this war and ever since.”

She was not sure how Tywin would react to that, but he was the one who had given her the freedom to pick the story’s details. In her mind, the story sounded good enough to brush any suspicions of herself and perhaps even gain some sympathy.

The game in the court was not foreign to her, but unfortunately, she had never spent enough time in it to master it. Thus, she had to navigate the traitorous waters carefully or risk being attacked.

“So you are a widow, my lady,” Mace pointed out, raising his goblet slightly. “It is such a shame, a lady with your beauty having felt the lack of a husband so early. I am, a widow myself, and I would be more than honoured to accompany you if you ever need friendly company.”

The Lioness could easily see through his words and his intentions were rather clear, to the point that even Lord Mathis held back the need to roll his eyes. In the distance, she could see Lord Tarly shake his head faintly; not being able to hear them but suspecting the Head of House Tyrell was making a mess of himself, again.

“I will keep your offer in mind, my Lord,” Josephine said through her teeth, feeling the need to flee this pointless discussion and find some solace in a shady corner.

“You know, my Lady, my son Loras is a fine young man as you recall. Brave and strong, he is but a fine match as well.”

Now, Josephine truly felt the need to flee but had no true means of escaping; finding no safety in the sea of unfriendly foreign faces.

“I am afraid he is a little too young for me, my lord. But I am honoured by your guess at my age,” the forced smile made her cheeks hurt as her attention diverted from the chubby short lord to the world around her; looking for an excuse to leave.

Suddenly, Mace noticed two familiar faces approaching; Loras and his younger sister, Margaery.

The beautiful blossom of Highgarden stood out thanks to the Hightower cut of her expensive dress, which matched her unique beauty, consisting of dark brown hair and eyes.

Josephine was not the only attractive woman available to draw men's attention; Margaery seemed to fall into the same category.

Mace grabbed their hands as they passed by and quickly pulled them into their conversation, well, Margaery mostly; Loras was motioned to leave, and the young knight was more than happy to leave all this nonsense.

Margaery sent him a last look that spoke of silent betrayal before she focused on the adults around her; offering a gentle smile.

“Margaery, my dear, have you met Lady Josephine? She is an acquaintance of Lord Tywin and under his protection,” he introduced.

Immediately, the young flower was intrigued once she realized this woman's connections. After all, she had not been sent to King’s Landing and playing pretend with the other ladies and lords for nothing.

She was trained to win the biggest game of all and her dear grandmother waited for her to succeed, using all the ways she had taught her granddaughter while raising her.

“My Lady,” Margaery offered a gentle bow. “It is an honour to meet you finally, from close. I saw you by the War Camp two nights prior, but we were not introduced.”

“Lady Margaery, the honour and pleasure is all mine.” Josephine copied her, finding that at least talking to another woman was a pleasant small break. “Yes, I happened to be travelling under the protection of Lord Tywin and I was allowed to attend.”

Immediately, young Margaery went for the attack. “I am afraid I have not heard of many women participating in war councils, my lady.”

However, Josephine was more than ready to defend herself. “I do not offer advice to war councils, Lady Margaery. My late husband and father had both been trusted advisors to House Lannister, and I share their knowledge, which I rarely give when I am allowed to.”

Once again, the young flower was intrigued, but this time, not because of her titles but of her skills. Margaery could easily detect a strong woman in the crowd, with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue that could be used to tell.

And Josephine checked all those boxes, proving to the young Tyrell that perhaps there was a trusty ally she could obtain; a woman who could offer her a greater insight of a world she had not yet access to; the Lannister World.

“My apologies for your losses, my Lady.” Margaery added equally quick.

“Thank you but it has been quite a while since they took place.”

“So, you are alone my Lady? No heirs?”

Josephine narrowed her eyes faintly, recognising the cunning glow in Margaery’s brown eyes. The young woman was trying hard to gather information for herself, and she was asking just the right questions under the cover of innocent looks and interest.

"A lot of fine lords are and will be available for the time being, lots of future heirs too,” Mace commented, trying once again to bring himself or Loras into the picture. Josephine was unsure. “I am sure, Lady Josephine might find company before the years pass.”

The topic turning back to marriage quickly annoyed her and her fake smile started to fade, her face muscles too tired to carry it around any longer. She fought hard to keep her composure, her body trapped between the two gossiping Tyrells and the stone wall behind her.

Thankfully for her, her saviour came just in the nick of time.

Tywin joined the festivities as soon as they started. He had removed his armour and was now dressed in his fine black jacket and pants. The pin of the Hand of the King proudly sat on his jacket, which the world could see.

A goblet of wine was quickly served to him and the Lords flanked his sides as quickly as he was available, many congratulating him on his victories and being the Saviour of the City.

A few available ladies even tried their luck, their compliments far too targeted, but Tywin knew better than anyone that they were interested in his family’s power and gold.

And much to their misfortune, he was not interested in their fake smiles and overpriced beauty.

He hummed as others talked and commented very little, his emerald golden-flecked eyes looking around the open gardens that were filled with people and faint music. He found Josephine among the crowd, passing by men who sent her hungry and lustful looks as she did.

He was unfortunate enough to hear a few comments thrown between groups of men, their topic being none other than Josephine and her availability.

And while Tywin had been the one to push her into the open as a Noble Lady, did not mean he suddenly had no regrets. Mostly, he was annoyed by what he had heard and felt the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth.

His frown was evident on his lips and his gaze remained locked on wherever Josephine went, his gaze often turning to a deadly glare at men that whispered as she passed; as if she were fresh meat to be devoured by the fastest one.

Tywin found his grip on his goblet tightening subconsciously. The necessary attention Josephine was receiving was annoying him more than he wanted or expected. He even felt the need to mentally scold himself for reacting in such a way; as if Josephine was his Lady Wife.

Thankfully for him, the Lords around him quickly left as new ones took their place. Some had descent enough conversation to draw his attention but his gaze often lingered, searching for his partner.

When he saw her again, she was cornered by the two Tyrells; Mace and Margaery. From before, Lord Mace seemed to have a deep interest in her but he was the last lord Tywin would ever consider a threat.

Yet, it was the look Josephine had and the need to look around in need of escape; that truly stired him awake. His instincts to interfere and protect her kicked in, as if they were again trapped in a raging battle.

In battle, they always had an instinct to protect one another; a rather strong instinct that seemed to be awoken even when an imminent threat was nearby.

“If you will excuse me, my lords,” he said without waiting for any replies; he marched towards his partner.

On his way there, their eyes connected and Tywin saw relief flashing in front of her grey orbs; a ma. A faint smile slowly forming, a sight of her partner and literal saviour. He did not often receive this look but found himself more determined to interfere, with dormant instincts leading his actions.

“My Lords, My ladies,” he quickly said, joining into their conversation and earning few bows.

“Lord Tywin! What a great time for you to join us,” Lord Mace greeted as Margaery remained silent, merely studying the older lord.

“I am afraid you will have to excuse us, but Lady Josephine and I need to discuss a matter,” Tywin said, gently moving his free hand around her waist.

“Of course.”

Without another word, Tywin started to walk away and Josephine was more than happy to follow; quickly finding the chance to exhale the more distance they put between them and the Tyrells.

“You could have come a little sooner, it would not have hurt,” Josephine commented, making him scoff.

“Don’t tell me the mighty Lannister Lion was having a hard time,” he mocked, expecting a snarky remark from her.

To Tywin’s surprise, Josephine grabbed his goblet and emptied it in one go; leaving a second deep sigh before closing her eyes momentarily. “Bloody Tyrells,” she mumbled as they managed to find a more isolated and shady area to stand. She noticed how he was looking at her, one eye raising an eyebrow at her odd behaviour. “I apologize, but I could no longer play pretend and ignore advances.”

His mood for games was gone as quickly as a flame extinguished by strong winds. “Advances? Of what kind?” he asked, his tone rather calm, but his eyes hardened with hatred and annoyance.

Josephine looked at him and tilted her head faintly to the side. “You know of what kind. I do not recall men being so... lustful back then or so keen on offering themselves and their sons as potential suitors.”

Immediately, Tywin spotted a laughing Mace and glared at him. “Tyrells,” he spat, his hand itching to act for the fat man’s insolence.

If they were not a noble lord and their needed ally, Tywin would have acted in some way. But he knew he had to remain calm and keep both his acting and alliance intact.

“Margaery, of course, has other intentions in mind. She was keen on finding more bout me and my past, to be more precise;” Josephine said, earning his attention as a servant passed by. She left his empty one and quickly grabbed two more. “I added details to the story, as you asked. I was travelling through the Riverlands after visiting a sick family member when I fell upon your camp. My late husband is your cousin, and both he and my father were on your war councils, explaining my knowledge and presence in the Tyrell Tent two nights prior.”

Tywin accepted the goblet and kept looking at her, his mood shifting the more Josephine talked. His eyebrows shot up faintly, a smile and he looked silently surprised, wed by pride as he listened to what she had come up with.

When she was done, Tywin did not hide his reaction. “A very fine tale, one that will be believable enough to knock any suspicions off.” He commented, making her smile.

This time, her smile was true and not forced.

“Thank you. It was not easy and I do hope this...” she silently motioned for the small chaos of people. “Will not be a daily occurrence or you might have to practise excuses to help me escape.”

At her words, Tywin chuckled, quickly seeing her spirit and sharp tongue return now that she was away from the nobles. His chuckle was rather silent, but it was evident by the faint movement of his shoulders and the smirk on his lips.

“Never thought the Lioness would require saving from people in fancy clothing,” he mocked and Josephine was tempted, for a second, to show him her tongue as if they were teenagers once again.

“Well, considering your late interference, I suspect the old Lion of Casterly also had an issue with the same people in fancy clothing,” she commented, wiping that smirk off his face. “You did seem in a little tough place before when that group of ladies cornered you.”

“I believe I had it all handled; otherwise, you would have interfered, as it is your duty to do so.” He quickly defended himself, amusing her.

“Of course, for noble ladies interested in your hand and money are a serious threat that would require me to be present.”

She cornered him and he knew it.

“Drink your wine and we will depart soon,” he told her after a silent minute, indicating temporary defeat. “You better have spent your time gathering useful information than practising on your cold humour.”

Josephine flashed him a toothy smile. “Oh, I assure you. I do.”

While our heroes mingled with the crowd and acted their part, two pairs of eyes were watching them; most, focused on Josephine.

Petyr Baelish known as Littlefinger and Lord Varys, had spent the majority of this event just watching. Littlefinger was occasionally congratulated as the new lord of Harrenhal but he didn't bother joining the crowd.

From afar, he could better monitor things, and he did until Varys approached him. Then, attention turned to the latest court gossip: Josephine.

“Lady Josephine is an interesting woman, wouldn’t you say?” Varys asked, watching her as she talked with Lord Mace.

“Interesting is one thing to call her,” Petyr agreed, his eyes quickly finding her in the crowd. “She was present in Harrenhal when I visited and Lord Tywin even allowed her to remain present while I was introducing the plan."

“Well, little birds talk that she was with him for months while at war and seems to be his acquaintance; a widow, like him,” the Eunich said, his hands hidden within his big sleeves. “By the end of this day, I am sure we will have more light shed into her mysterious story.”

Even to Petyr, it was clear that Varys did not seem to buy what had been spoken so far, and he would not blindly trust any gossip about her. There was something more about her, he could sense it.

“You believe she is spreading lies? That she hides something?” Petyr asked, glancing at the shorter man.

Of course, his companion would not offer him a straight answer. “Do you recall the Lannister Legend, Lord Baelish?” he asked, glancing at him. “Soldiers mentioned a Lioness showing up in the Battle of Blackwater Bay, fighting by Lord Tywin’s side.”

Littlefinger scoffed. “It is a mere bedtime story that the Lannisters invented years ago to justify their rule over the Westerlands and ensure their minor lords would not try to upstage them,” he argued, both men looking forward as they caught sign of Tywin moving through the crowds. “Soldiers would believe anything they saw, many would still talk of Renly’s Ghost; claiming to be it a true event.”

“In the end, wasn’t the Ghost a man in disguise? What the soldiers talked about, they saw, and they did not make the story up.” Varys counter argued. “Perhaps the Lioness, was also someone physically present in the battle.”

“If you claim Lady Josephine to be part of this tale, then was there no mention of her up untnow? If the legend were said to be true, she should have been by Lord Tywin’s side for years now.”

The two men watched as Tywin guided Josephine away, the two of them talking in lowered tones as they moved to be further away from the group. They both mentally agree that the Lion’s interest in a woman is odd and unlike him.

But that was as far as they would agree on the subject, having little to no evidence to support their claims.

Or so, Petyr though because Varys had one last argument to drop.

“That is true, Lord Baelish. But one needs to remember that Lord Tywin was not into a real war until this one. His House was not threatened until Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime got captured.”

Littlefinger hummed as they both focused in the distance, the faint figures of Josephine and Tywin talking. If they focused really hard, they could also catch a glimpse of Tywin smirking and seemed to enjoying the conversation with his companion.

It was an odd sight, and from the looks of the duo, it was evident that many thought the same. Yet it still did not explain many, and the two men were not ones to leave things like that.

No, they needed answers, and they did not speak further to agree that research had to be done, in their own ways.

Chapter Text

The sun set early, and its morning rays awakened a sleeping Josephine, who was one of the few to wake up at that time, at least from the social circle she was supposed to be part of. Thankfully for her, servants woke up even earlier, which meant Pauline was at her service.

While still not needing the servant girl for everyday tasks, the Lioness needed her that morning for something else. Thus, the servant girl headed for the kitchen to prepare a tray with a rich breakfast while Josephine found something to wear.

A few new dresses had already been added to her trunk, orders of Tywin, of course. She feared more would come, and while she did not mind them, she became rather comfortable with her everyday clothes.

Plus, they were a little bit more special than normal ones; playing a role when she transformed.

They were no longer into combat, though, no longer into direct danger, and that meant she did not have to change at any given moment. She, also, did not want to argue with Tywin on the subject.

Thus, she chose one of the simpler dark dresses and wore that one; for a moment, observing herself in the mirror and being reminded of the good old times. Good old times when wearing dresses and being spoilt by Tywin was a regular thing, where she almost forgot the other side she possessed deep within.

A knock on the door startled her momentarily, but she quickly relaxed upon seeing the young maid, holding a silver tray with food in her two hands.

“It is all ready, my lady. Where shall I place it?” Pauline asked, glancing from her to the ground.

“I will take it; it is not for me,” Josephine explained as she gently took the silver tray for the shorter woman.

“Who is it for, my lady?” Pauline dared to ask, looking at her but quickly looking at the ground; in fear of her lady.

This might have softened them up a little bit to others, but Josephine was not like the rest. Her instincts warned her around the young maid, and those ‘mistakes’ and ‘fear’ she saw in the girl’s eyes did not persuade her.

She knew fear; she saw it in the faces of those she ripped their throats off. At that moment, Pauline did not truly show fear.

“Someone. I expect secrecy of this, Pauline,” Josephine said, strictness evident.

The maid bowed her head. “Of course, my lady.”

Josephine started to head for the door. “Good. You are dismissed.”

It did not take Josephine long to find a Lannister soldier, the face familiar to her. The kind knight openly guided her towards some more isolated chambers at the other end of the Red Keep; the new chambers for Tyrion.

She thanked the soldier and entered slowly, her steps silent as her grey eyes scanned the room. It was a small, dark room filled with items, making it rather stuffy. There was barely any light source, and she realized this was not Tyrion’s usual chamber.

No, this was his new chambers after Tywin gave the order. The realization made her sigh and close her eyes momentarily before she reminded herself why she had come.

With silent steps, she entered the room. The minimum light from a tall, small window was enough for her vision to work, enough for her to see where the little table was and leave the tray there.

Josephine heard the faint snoring, and she walked towards Tywin, barely having to take three steps to reach his short little bed. One might say it was fitting due to his dwarvish stature, but it remained degrading in the end, no matter how one saw it.

She bent her knees and hovered above the sleeping man, her eyes falling on the fresh scar decorating his face. The scar had been properly treated and seemed to heal, though a mark remained, serving as a reminder of that battle.

Her grey eyes softened. She wondered about a scenario in which they had arrived earlier and perhaps saved him from such injury.

The sound of steps against marble reached her sensitive ears, and she immediately straightened her back. Her head turned to face the door that was soon pushed open. The familiar face of Tyrion’s squire came into vision, the young boy standing by the door in surprise; not expecting anyone in the chambers of his lord.

“My-my lady,” he greeted her, offering a deep bow.

Josephine offered the boy a soft smile. “Podrick,” she called him by his name, surprising him again.

Podrick did not recall ever meeting a woman like her, let alone introducing himself to her. Plus, he was a young unknown and insignificant squire while she seemed to be of a certain class based on her expensive dress.

It was even odder for her to know his name, considering their position in the hierarchy of this place.

Josephine, knowing her time was up, started to head toward him. Her gentle smile remained even as he moved to the side and allowed her to pass. When she was by his side, she tapped his shoulder a few times.

“Thank you for protecting Tyrion in battle,” she told the boy. She continued walking, leaving him to stand there and stare.

When he gathered the courage to turn and ask her how she knew all this, he found her too far away and chose not to chase after her. Perhaps his Lord would know a little more, and he would ask him once he wakes up.

Not long after Josephine’s leave, Tyrion woke up. He groaned from the pain and the uncomfortable hard mattress he was forced to sleep on. Having Pycelle address his wound and mock him passively for this downgrade was enough to ruin his already foul mood.

As the old man left the room and Podrick entered, Tyrion noticed the tray with fresh food on the small table nearby. He blinked, trying to ensure this was real and not a piece of his imagination; or some twisted dream.

His mismatched eyes went to his standing squire. “You know, I appreciate the gesture but you did not have to bring me food; Podrick,” he told the boy. After all, who else but him would be kind enough to bring him breakfast? “I already owe you for saving my life back then and fully intend to pay you back, of course.”

The squire took a step forward. “You honour me, my Lord... but it was not me. A beautiful... beautiful lady visited you while you were asleep and brought it.” Podrick explained.

Tyrion thought of Shae. What other beautiful woman would go the extra mile and bring him proper food? Considering his downgrade, even what the servants brought him was downgraded compared to what he used to have.

Only the wine remained the same, though Tyrion swore that it had even been replaced with a lower grade.

“Beautiful lady?” he questioned and the boy nodded. “Describe her for me, will you? How did she look?”

The dwarf listened carefully, expecting to hear a description of his beautiful lover, but was instead met with opposite characteristics. Pale skin, copper-reddish hair and grey eyes; the boy did not have to say more for Tyrion to get a good glimpse of a familiar face in his mind.

Thankfully for him, not many women fit that description; let alone being considered kind and beautiful in the same sentence.

“Josephine,” he muttered and glanced at the food again, wondering why she did it.

They had barely exchanged words, even while he was in the camp with his father. She was always by Tywin’s side, and the Old Lion seemed to go the extra mile to ensure she did not bother with him.

She did not seem like the kindest person. Yet again, most of the time, she talked to insult the uselessness of the generals in Tywin’s war council.

However, Josephine had no reason to go the extra mile for him and bring him food. He was, of course, thankful but vowed to talk to her finally.

Since she was, whom she was supposed to be, Tyrion felt he might finally get a few clearer answers on certain topics; specifically relating to his father’s and family’s past.

If Tyrion thought his day had started weird, he had not expected his dear sister to visit him. As always, her motives were rather obvious and Tyrion could still feel the need to have his guard up, even after she left.

The fresh scar on his face was a reminder that someone not only wanted him dead but also went as far as to order his murder. The Kingsguard might be dead, but the person who ordered him was still out there.

Tyrion would not be surprised if his sister were actually behind it. After all, she had tried to take him down more than once while growing up, almost succeeding on one occasion.

Pushing that thought to the side for now, Tyrion chose to focus on something else; like his latest arrangements. This humiliation and downgrade had to change. Without his speech and plan, King’s Landing would have fallen long before reinforcements arrived.

The least he deserved was proper respect, not further humiliation. Thus, he mustered the courage to visit his father, who had been responsible for such changes.

That man could never give his son a break, could he?

Finishing his breakfast, Tyrion found Bronn and he left the swordsman to accompany him. Remember that thought of someone wanting him dead? Well, why make it easy for them?

Plus, having Bronn with him, Tyrion learned more about the Blackwater Bay Battle and how it turned in their favour when hope seemed to have disappeared.

“So, do soldiers talk about my latest war injury? Or have I already been forgotten?” Tyrion asked, as they headed for the Tower of the Hand.

Bronn casually walked by his side, his steps slow so the dwarf could catch up. “Some do, don’t think they have forgotten. But they are more interested in other things that happened, you know.”

“Like Renly’s ghost?”

Podrick had been kind enough to mention Renly’s ghost story, explaining it more like it after Tyrion had overheard men in the pub talking about it last night. Based on the joy of those men, he would not be surprised if someone made a song out of it in the end.

“Among other things. It's the Lioness that had surprised them. Unlike the ghost, she was an active participant in the battle.” Bronn explained.

Tyrion did not seem surprised to hear that Josephine had been out there. “Well, I guess one cannot blame them. I am not surprised, not anymore. It is her duty, after all, to accompany and protect my father into battle.”

“It is not just him, who she protected." This drew Tyrion’s gaze and interest. “She protected you and Podrick as well. Hadn’t been for her interfering, you two most likely would not be alive.”

Tyrion started to slow down, lips parted faintly. “Lady Josephine protected me?” he questioned, trying to wrap his head around it. “Why? She doesn’t even know me, let alone spoken to me.”

Bronn shrugged, clearly not that interested in the whole drama. “Cause you are a Lannister?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not how it works.”

She protected me into battle and brought me breakfast while I was asleep, he thought as his mind started to race. Why go in all that trouble and risk going against my father?

The dwarf winced as he felt a sharp migraine forming. His mind was too tired, and his body was still recovering to endure so much pressure. Josephine was making him question many things, and she was confusing him rather quickly. This left him frustrated and in mild pain as he tried to make sense of her mysterious and unexplained actions.

Chapter Text

Coming back from Tyrion’s room, Josephine had planned to go find Tywin; suspecting he was either eating alone or had moved to the Tower of the Hand. Thus, she was surprised when a soldier approached her; clearly looking for her.

With his small escort, Josephine made her way towards the familiar tower; easily climbing the multiple steps leading all the way up. She had never liked them before, and that had not changed, so she silently went up until she reached her destination.

Two Lannister soldiers stood on guard outside the wooden door, and they immediately opened the door for her to enter, expecting her to arrive.

Has Tywin mobilized all of his men trying to find me? She questioned, amusing herself as she entered the familiar space.

A few things had changed, she took notice, but the room had remained the same. In this room she spent countless hours helping Tywin with matters of the Kingdom when they were younger, even after he got married.

Joanna would reside in Casterly Rock, raising the twins while Josephine had the privilege to join Tywin in King’s Landing, which was her duty. Perhaps this had made Joanna slightly more sour against her as the years passed.

Though a part of Josephine, thought differently. She always suspected why Joanna gave her those silent looks, holding back her thoughts and words most of the time. The necklace around the Lioness’ neck was a silent proof of why.

She found Tywin by the window, staring outside with his hands behind his back. He heard the door and he knew she was in the room, but he did not turn to acknowledge her.

“I came by your chambers, only not to find you there,” he said, not gracing her with a look. “Where were you roaming so early in the morning, Josephine?”

The Lioness was unfazed by his tone or sudden interrogation. She held no true fear for Tywin, knowing he would never harm her in ways others expected when standing against him.

And so, she spoke the truth. “I went to visit Tyrion,” she answered him as she took a few steps closer. “I wished to check on his recovery and healing with his battle wound.”

Tywin’s lips formed a snarl, and his frown was evident by his reflection on the closed glass window. “An unnecessary visit. He is fine,” he commented.

“Unless I see it, I do not believe he is fine,” she argued, quickly going into the dwarf’s defence. “After what he did for the city, the least we could do is check up on him.” Tywin scoffed but she did not let him continue as she stepped even closer. “It was his wildfire plan that took down most of Stannis’ ships, his plan that earned us time to arrive and help. He went as Hand in your place, allowing you to go after Robb Stark yourself.”

She knew Tywin could hold grudges and was not exactly a nurturing or caring man, let alone father. But she could still not fully understand this intense hatred for the dwarf, who had truly proved he was his son in more ways than one.

She knew his appearance played a role, but Josephine wanted to know more, perhaps even help open Tywin’s eyes on his injustice.

Tywin remained unhappy with her reply, tiptoeing between annoyed and angry. Glaring at her through the glass's reflection, his jaw muscles were sore from grinding his teeth against one another.

Everything about him showed his reaction to her words.

Josephine made a valid point, and he knew it. He knew she was arguing based on facts, but he would not admit it or change his mind because she voiced the obvious out loud.

But there was one more reason to justify his reaction. Her sudden attention and interest in the dwarf. Deep down, this truly made him react and feel that way.

“Do not repeat this little trick. There are servants to check up on him and attend his needs, not yours,” he said, choosing to change the topic before he lost his temper.

Of course, Josephine was not so keen on following his lead. Her mind was set on something and she would chase it for as long as possible. That was one of the things that truly annoyed Tywin when it was not in his favour.

Josephine scoffed. “Servants which I am sure are also part of this ridiculous downgrade after all he did.” She dared to sassy him as she stood a single foot behind him, glaring at his back.

This was the tipping point, and Tywin literally chose to put his foot down. His step against the stone floor echoed in the silent room as he turned fast to face her. His glare would intimidate the most, and he stood before her and stared her down.

“This is enough, Josephine,” he said, his tone low... dangerously low. “This topic ends, now.”

Tywin did not have to give any commands or force her, the way he spoke was enough for her to understand the message. It was enough for her to understand just how deep his hatred for his own blood went.

It was enough to realize she had almost crossed the line. The last time she did, he acted, resulting in her ‘exile’. Her heart did not dare to risk such an outcome again, even though she wished to believe he would never go to that extreme again.

Defeated, she nodded her head faintly and looked to the side. She did not verbally show her submission, but the deep sigh she released and her avoidance of contact were enough for him.

Tywin sighed right after, his eyes closing momentarily as he almost felt his heart beating in his head from the sudden spike in his blood pressure. He did not like having to go to that length, not with her; as he was still haunted by that fateful night and the argument he would never stop regretting.

“We have a lot of work to do, come,” he said as he walked towards his desk; the wooden furniture covered by stacks of papers. “You still remember the job, don’t you?” he glanced at her as he sat down.

“Yes,” she replied in monosyllabic, moving to sit in one of the two chairs across from him.

Tywin and Josephine had lost track of the passing time, their heads buried into work. She read the letters for him, often suggesting a reply or a course of action. Tywin would either agree or discuss it, often pointing out little details she had missed before they made a final decision.

There was harmony between them, working on things they once used to do as if they had never taken a break from it. That was until there was a knock on the door, startling them momentarily since they did not expect anyone.

Just a moment later, the knocker entered, and Tywin glared at his Imp son before focusing on a letter he had started to write. On the other hand, Josephine kept looking at him, and she could see that he was surprised she was still present.

A part of Tyrion thought Josephine would have disappeared, since Tywin was no longer in the middle of a raging war. Yet here she was, apparently working with him on matters of the realm; the privilege no one else ever had.

“Father,” Tyrion spoke up, halting in the middle of the room. “I would like us to talk,” he continued, gathering all his courage at that moment.

Tywin did not answer, choosing to focus on the letter.

However, Josephine knew he would not speak with his son, so she stood up. “I will go find the servants, order them to prepare us the noon meal,” she explained, but before she left, she placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Behave,” she told Tywin, her voice now a whisper. “His efforts gave you what you have now, intact and unconquered.”

Her words made him frown, and she caught a glance at his passive stare before she turned to leave the room. Whatever comment he wanted to throw, he was not fast enough and merely glared at the paper before him.

The Lioness offered Tyrion a gentle smile before exiting the office, letting father and son talk.

Tyrion watched Josephine go before he gathered the courage to sit across his father, waiting to be acknowledged.

He looked around, finding how ironic it was to him. Just a few days ago, that huge study room was all his, and now it had been taken from him. The golden Lannister banners were still hung on the walls, but more papers and work could be piling up on the smallest tables close to the main desk.

The room was silent, with parts of it covered in darkness. The only light source was the sun, which came in through the few windows overlooking the outside. At that moment, the only sound was the quill, which was effortlessly pulled across the scroll.

Elegant letters formed words on it, and his father was always proudly sitting with his back straight and choosing not to acknowledge his son yet. He often did it to make them wait in silence and become uneasy.

It was his way of reminding them that he had the power and that the conversation would start when he chose to.

Eventually, he could no longer sit in the silence and tried to do something. His eyes fell upon the pin of the golden pin, the sign of the power of the Hand. Who would have thought that the mighty Lion of Casterly Rock would wear it again after 17 years of taking a break from it?

“The badge looks good on you,” he pointed out, hoping this would force his father to look at him finally and they could have this dreaded talk. His father kept writing, dipping his quill in the ink and not reacting. “Almost as good as it looked on me. Are you enjoying your new position?”

Finally, Tywin let the quill down and looked at his son. “Am I enjoying it?”

“I was very happy as Hand of the King.”

A small chuckle came from the mighty Lion but his amusement was not one to be taken lightly. “Yes. I heard how happy you were.” He started, blowing on his paper to dry the ink. He then placed the paper on the desk and folded it in the right places to seal it. “You brought a whore into my bed.” He said, Tyrion had to bite his tongue.

He was unsure how he had found out about Shae, although his mind quickly went to his sister. Considering her morning visit, she most likely had ratted him out.

“It wasn't your bed at the time,” Tyrion commented, chasing his luck.

Tywin looked at him momentarily, clearly not pleased with his attitude and comments. He grabbed the small container above the light candle, the red wax inside it smooth and liquid. “I sent you here to advise the king. I gave you real power and authority.” He carefully let some red wax fall to the folded edges in the middle of the letter. “You chose to spend your days as you always have, bedding harlots and drinking with thieves.” He pressed the signature ring of the Hand on the wax, sealing it.

“Occasionally I drank with the harlots.” Tyrion continued.

With a sigh, the mighty Lion of Casterly Rock stood up. “What do you want, Tyrion?” he asked as he walked to a nearby wooden desk with a jug and two goblets in case he ever had a visitor; well, a visitor that was not getting on his nerves like his failure of a son.

“Why does everyone assume I want something? Can't I visit my beloved father?” the dwarf asked as his father filled a goblet with wine and brought it to his lips. “My beloved father who somehow forgot to visit his wounded son after he fell on the battlefield.”

“Maester Pycelle assured me your wounds were not fatal. I had important matters of the realm to deal with, he drank some wine.

“Of course, you had. Lucky me, at least Lady Josephine chose to visit me and she was kind enough to bring me breakfast,” Tyrion said and noticed how Tywin’s grip on the goblet intensified, unhappy being reminded of that. “Imagine, someone that does not know me checking up on me when no one else in my family did.”

Tywin could handle many things and remain calm in some situations where many other men would fail. However, certain things challenged his self-control and almost always came from the disgraced dwarf he had to call a son. He hated blunt accusations, not truly caring whether those were true or not.

He was so close to throwing him out, make the guards carry and toss him from the tower’s stairs, but he held himself. He was reminded of what Josephine had told him, and for her sake alone, he would give one last chance to the little monster before him.

“I will ask one more time, Tyrion. What do you want?” he asked him, his voice having a small hint of warning.

Tyrion knew he was walking on thin ice but he did feel the courage to speak his mind. Seeing him about to snap when he brought up Josephine, he knew that his words had hit a spot.

However, he reminded himself why he had come in the first place. “I organized the defence of this city while you held court in the ruins of Harrenhal. I led the foray when the enemies were at the gate while your king and grandson quivered in fear behind the walls. I bled in the mud for our family. And as my reward, I was trundled off to some dark little cell. But what do I want?” he asked, always looking forward at his father’s empty chair before he knew he could never look him directly in the eyes and not be intimidated by him. “A little bloody gratitude would be a start.”

His father scoffed. “Jugglers, monkeys and singers require applause. You are a Lannister. Do you think I demanded a garland of roses every time I suffered a wound on a battlefield?” he asked rhetorically as he let his goblet on the small table. “Hmm? Now, I have seven kingdoms to look after, three of whom are in open rebellion. So tell me what you want.” He sat back on his chair.

“I want what is mine by right” Tyrion said, finally looking at his father in the eyes. “Jaime is your eldest son, heir to your lands and titles. But he is a Kingsguard, forbidden from marriage or inheritance. The day Jaime wore the white cloak, he gave up his claim to Casterly Rock. I am your son and lawful heir.”

His father did not say anything for half a moment, just staring at his son. “You want Casterly Rock?” he pointed out.

“It is mine by right.”

For a moment, Tywin was ready to kick him out or put him back in his place. He found it ridiculous that Tyrion had the guts to ask him of such things. And he would have every right to do so, after hearing of such bold claims.

Tyrion should be thankful he is still alive, free to waste Lannister gold on whores and wine when other men in Tywin’s place would have long killed him before he could reach adulthood. Now it was in those times he truly regretted not drowning the deformed boy in the waves when he was a baby.

Tywin was about to snap and speak his mind to remind Tyrion of his position. Yet, before words his mouth; he felt a familiar shiver go down his spine. His golden flecked green eyes darted to the door for a second, sensing Josephine standing behind the closed door and waiting; listening.

He could almost hear her thoughts and see her frown, an unhappy state because Tywin was about to go against her advice. In the end, Tywin let a silent groan and gave Tyrion one last chance.

It was not out of the goodness of his heart, but purely because he was not in the mood to get into another argument with Josephine. Things were already complicated enough, he did not need more on his plate than he already had,

He let out a sigh as he controlled his temper. “We'll find you accommodations more suited to your name and as a reward for your accomplishments during the battle of Blackwater Bay. And when the time is right, you will be given a position fit for your talents so that you can serve your family and protect our legacy. And if you serve faithfully, you will be rewarded with a suitable wife,” he said, but despite trying to be civil, Tywin felt the disrespect coming from the dwarf. He knew he had to remind him of his position as always. He was linear but he was still the head of the family. “Jaime is my rightful heir and the next Lord of Casterly Rock, whether you like it or not. ...And know that I would let myself be consumed by maggots before mocking the family name and making you heir to Casterly Rock.”

Tyrion stared back at his father, trying his best not to show how much his words cut him. Someone would think that after all those years, he would be more used to it, but every time his father seemed to be able to...find new ways to cut him with his words and not care at all.

“Why?” he finally found the courage to ask, sounding more like a child than a grown-up man.

“Why? You ask that?” he asked rhetorically, his voice raising an octave as his temper flared. “You, who killed your mother to come into the world?” he continued and stood up.

Perhaps it was childhood pettiness to hold Tyrion responsible for such crime, when Tywin had never truly felt intense feelings for Joanna. But it was not just her death that had scarred the Old Lion that day, it was also Josephine’s departure.

Their stupid argument that had started that fateful night, revolving around the fate of the deformed baby. Tywin never held him in his arms and thought of killing mere hours after his birth.  The same deformed baby that had grown up to be a thorn by his side, testing his patience.

If the child had been born normally and Tyrion had been more like his brother, Tywin would not have bothered as much. He may have been more linear, but knew he would never lose control and send Josephine away.

But that was not the case.

Tywin walked towards him, his shoulders tense and a hardened glare full of hatred visible in his green eyes. He came to a halt close to him, hands behind his back to prevent himself from slapping him. “You are an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning” he started, causing Tyrion to look ahead and not dare lift his head in defiance. “Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colours since I cannot prove that you are not mine. And to teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. But neither gods nor men and will ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse,” he finished, feeling no remorse or guilt. “

The short Lion did not even dare to look his father in the eye for he knew he would only see spite and hatred. His father never truly loved him, but after that talk in the tent, he thought he might finally gain some recognition or even the faintest hints of approval.

He did not ask for the moon and stars to begin with. He asked what was originally his and what he should get, especially after his mighty father took back his position as Hand and got all those rewards and credits from the world.

It was evident, though, that all of this would never happen. Tywin would never see him as his son and nothing more than the killer of his wife. A part of him knew all those things, all that gathered hatred, but he still was stupid enough to ask out loud and wonder, as if the answers were not already known to him.

The tension between father and son was intense, enough almost to be seen and be cut with a sword. The guards and Josephine were standing outside, sensing the anger radiating from them.

Whether Tyrion or Tywin felt the need to continue this argument or even dare to go physical, they never managed. Josephine opened the door sharply, stopping whatever word fight would occur had she remained outside.

The two men looked at her but her focus was mostly on Tywin, showing she was displeased by his reaction and his words towards his son. The Old Lion did not budge under her scolding gaze and merely returned to his chair, choosing not to fight the Imp any longer.

“Go, now. Speak no more of your rights to Casterly Rock,” When Tyrion hesitated, he commanded him. “Go.” Dejected and wounded, Tyrion got up from the chair and started to walk towards the door. He did not spare a single glance at his father but could feel his burning gaze on his back. “Oh, one more thing. The next whore I catch in your bed, I'll hang.”

Josephine kept glaring at Tywin, who returned to his papers. She stepped to the side and watched Tyrion go, seeing him fuming with anger and annoyance. She parted her lips to speak, to stop him and say something but Tywin beat her to it.

“Close the door, Josephine. We have work to do,” the Old Lion said, not needing to lift his head to expect her reaction and plans.

She pressed her lips to form a thin line and watched Tyrion go, before she was forced to close the door to the office; leaving only Tywin and her to remain inside.

With confident steps, Josephine walked towards Tywin; silent, but her face said it all. Her gaze was as sharp as his and Tywin could not ignore it for long before he was forced to look at her.

“Do not dare comment. I did what you suggested and nothing more,” he warned her, not in the mood to get into any arguments with her at the moment.

Josephine sighed and merely sat on the chair she occupied before. “The servants will bring food shortly here and we won’t be bothered,” she said as their gazes remained connected. Tywin wanted to argue but before he could truly part his lips, Josephine cut him off. “You won’t get far with work if you starve yourself. A break is needed to help the mind think clearer,” she reminded him, sounding more like his wife for a moment than his partner.

“Very well,” was Tywin’s sole response before he passed her a sealed letter.

There was time until the food would come and a lot of work to be done.

Chapter Text

It was a warm day for King’s Landing, and the bright sun rose in the sky for hours. Having reached a standstill, Tywin and Josephine agreed to a temporary break; wishing to meet soon with a clearer mind and find a solution to the latest problem.

While Tywin chose to remain in his office, Josephine felt the need for fresh air. Being in a four-walled room for hours on end made her uneasy and brought back bitter memories of her past.

She needed her freedom, and while she could not have what she used to in Casterly Rock, she was willing to compromise. Thus, she found herself roaming the empty Gardens of the Red Keep, smelling the fresh scent of flowers mixed with the smell of the sea right beside them.

She found a stone ledge and sat on it, her head looking up towards the sky. She closed her eyes and let her skin absorb the sun, warming her body and her core. She had always enjoyed the sun, ever since she was a child.

Tywin would often find her moving chairs or pillows to different spots across the room, only to be able to sit and even lie where the sun was hitting. It was one of her more unusual perks, which puzzled but also intrigued the Lannister heir.

The sound of armour and boots against rock first reached her, carried by the gentle afternoon breeze. Josephine opened her grey eyes and looked towards the source, seeing Joffrey approaching him with two guards in tow.

“Your Grace,” she greeted the boy king, bowing her head faintly out of pure manner, but there was no true respect for him.

Of course, the boy king did not notice; his smile unsettlingly frightened her, and she feared what would come next.

“Lady Josephine,” Joffrey said, his smile remaining as he came to a halt nearby. “I know who you are, now.”

Josephine arched an eyebrow. “Who I am, Your Grace?”

“My grandfather’s pet,” he called her out, taking mental joy in seeing her frown from being called like that. “The Lannister Lion, coming back when her master calls.”

Josephine carefully moved, climbing off the stone ledge. Her moves were slow and confident, her gaze sending a silent warning to the short, cocky boy that dared to insult her that way openly.

Her thoughts and annoyance became sensible by the two Kingsguards, their hands going to the hilt of their swords. She eyed them carefully, seeing how uncomfortable they quickly became under her gaze.

On the other hand, Joffrey seemed unfazed and totally clueless of the danger coming. He thought so highly of himself, his inflated ego and pride preventing him from seeing the grave mistake he was so close to making.

“I remember stories about it, the Lannister Secret,” he said, breaking the silence. “I am the next Lannister heir, so when will my partner show up?” a sadistic smirk formed on his lips. “Just imagine how perfect it would be, to have my own Lion around. No one would dare speak back to me and if they did, I would order the Lion to kill them in public eye; no traitor would be left unpunished”

Even the most clueless of people could see something wrong with the boy king. The sadistic smile and talk of pure murder, justifying it as joy and amusement...this was the wrong mindset for someone with so much power, let alone one who could have an even bigger weapon in their arsenal.

At that moment, she was thankful her departure had put the cycle of partner-heir on hold. For she feared what the world would be like had this dangerous kid gotten what he wanted.

Seeing that Joffrey was still waiting for answers and realizing he did not know all the details of how a partner came to be, Josephine grabbed the chance to lie. “Be patient, your grace. A partner shows up for the heir in times of danger and true need.” She answered, making him scoff. He was unhappy with her answer. “You are still young, Your Grace. Your chance to obtain your own partner will come, eventually.”

This seemed to please Joffrey enough to put a halt to his questions about the Lannister Secret. The boy was unable to see through her lies, his lack of knowledge and his ego playing a key role in that, and Josephine was thankful for that at that moment.

“It better not take too long. We are at war, after all,” Joffrey, eventually, said before he started to walk away; not sparing her a single glance.

She had amused him enough and answered his questions, but now he was bored again. So, he let her be and chose to find something else to keep him busy.

Josephine watched him go, and she felt a shiver go down her spine, the darkness of this kid’s heart residing in the air around her. It was at that moment that the Lioness saw the boy’s true colours, and she was far from pleased.

The meeting with Joffrey had left Josephine uneasy, but she did not share her worries with Tywin. He was busy with enough things, and something told her he already knew how Joffrey could be and how careful one needed to be around him.

It was, why Tywin had taken most of his power and acted the same way he did with Aerys; by ruling from the King’s Shadow and handling everything.

By the time night arrived, Tywin and Josephine had made enough progress and chose to retire, the hour being rather late. While the Lioness felt more active as the moon went up, Tywin always slowed down. She knew he could easily push himself, but she did not let him. Despite his stubborn arguments and looks, she was looking after him and his health.

They went their separate ways, Tywin having to use the private chambers while Josephine headed for her room, intending to change and perhaps read a book or spend some time gazing at the starry sky.

On her way there, she spotted someone coming from the other side of the corridor. Under the dim light of the wall torches, she recognised that someone was Tyrion. He was stumbling faintly, and the scent of wine reached her before he could.

“Tyrion,” she greeted him, watching him as he leaned against the stone wall and tried to support himself for it.

“Ah, Lady Josephine...Lady...Lion...” he mumbled as he finally acknowledged her, his vision faintly blurry due to the alcohol in his body. “I know... the breakfast, you brought it with you... to me.”

Sober, Tyrion could easily memorize speeches and speak them even better than they were originally written. He could be smart and show Tywin’s blood coursing through him. But when he was drunk, Tyrion was an embarrassing mess; yet Josephine could not blame him.

She sighed faintly, but her gaze softened as she approached, finding no repulse or annoyance at his drunken state. “Yes, I did. I suppose Podrick told you,” she commented as she placed her hand on his back and slowly started to guide him back where he had come from.

If Tyrion continued down that corridor, he would end up in Tywin’s chambers and she knew the Old Lion would be seen making an appearance. It would be disastrous for Tyrion if his father saw him being this kind of a mess, and Josephine would not just sit on the side and watch.

“He did... why?” Tyrion tried to look up at her but almost tripped. Josephine helped him remain steady on his feet. “Why do this to me?”

“Bring you breakfast? Well, someone should look after you as well,” she replied as she continued leading him away; momentarily glancing above her shoulder to ensure Tywin was not coming.

“Yes but why? You don’t know me... you were never there for me,” Tyrion brought up, making her take a deep breath as she felt the imaginary knife piercing her heart.

Thankfully for her, Podrick came from the corner of another corridor; frantic and worried. He had been looking for Tyrion ever since the imp had escaped his watch, leaving the poor boy thinking something had happened to him.

“Lord Tyrion!” he called the man’s name as he rushed towards them. He looked up at Josephine and bowed. "I am sorry if he caused you any trouble, my lady. We went out for a drink, and he overdid it.”

Josephine’s gaze remained softer and her lips formed a soft smile. “That is alright, Podrick. Just ensure he heads straight to his chambers and gets plenty of rest.”

Podrick nodded several times as he switched places with Josephine, gently nudging Tyrion towards the corridor leading to his chambers. “You can rest assured, my lady. I will look after him.”

She watched them go, seeing that the boy had a noble heart—a rare thing nowadays. She realized how fitting he was for Tyrion, who needed kind people in his life to counter all the hatred he had learnt to live with over the years.

His last words still made her heart ache, and she felt guilty for disappearing even though it was never her true choice.

“What a terrible Lannister I must be,” Tyrion mumbles as he walks. “A lioness helps my father be victorious in battle and has to help me find my room while drunk,” he continued, making a bad joke about himself.

“You are drunk, my lord. Please mind your step,” Podrick said, yet the dwarf’s words made him look back at Josephine, who was still watching them.

He could still remember the tale, of a woman lioness protecting the family and the male heir. He saw the lioness, and she saved him in battle. He knew she was real. He, now, wondered if he had just truly met the woman behind it like the tales said.

If a Lion was real in battle, who said the woman that could turn into it was not? Yet he never got the chance to ask as Tyrion tripped and Podrick had to focus his full attention on the short man to ensure he would not pass out on the cold stone floor.

Josephine remained silent about the meet-up with drunk Tyrion, not letting Tywin know, and he did not seem to suspect a thing. As things slowly started to fall into place, Tywin became more focused on his duties than his Imp Son, allowing Tyrion moments of peace.

The argument was still a bitter reminder for father and son, though none were keen on continuing it. This was for the best, allowing a temporary cease-fire between them, giving Josephine time to think and focus on her latest duties.

She had to balance her time helping Tywin, keeping up the facade and ensuring no gossiping eyes would see her spending too much time with him in the Tower. On top of that, she was often forced into small talk with the Young Lords and even older ones; all interested for one single reason: marriage.

Yet, there was one man that had been pulling away. There was one man who preferred watching her from the shadows. One man, whom she had started to be wary, upon noticing where his attention lingered or better say, to whom.

“Littlefinger,” Josephine suddenly says, interrupting Tywin from his small talk, where he was busy filling her in on the latest small council talks.

She could not be present, so he kept her up to date with everything that was going on. He needed her at her best, and that meant she needed to have the full picture of things.

“Hmm?” he exclaimed, stealing her a glance.

He was unhappy that she had so openly interrupted him, though he was used to it by now. It was something she did, thankfully, not often. Just random moments where her thoughts clicked, when something fell into place and she voiced it; without always caring if she was interrupting.

“Littlefinger,” she repeated the man’s name. “I have been watching him and he is a little too much around the young Stark girl, Sansa.”

Tywin grabbed his goblet, swirling the red wine inside. “They share a familiarity. Baelish is not a stupid man, to dare to do something to her. He might be an opportunist, thinking he belongs in this game, but that is all there is to him.”

Yet, Josephine disagreed. “Maybe not now, maybe not soon, but he is around her for a reason and currently Sansa is unwed, her betrothal broken... There is something about him, my instincts warn me about it.”

He observed her as he took a sip of his wine. The talk of instincts would sound ridiculous to anyone but not to Tywin, for a single reason, because he had seen them work first-hand and knew how to trust her around people.

She saved the Lannister House more than once when she correctly judged a guest’s motives. She even stopped a dire mistake from happening by Joanna when a widow from Lannisport had asked for refuge and help from Lady Lannister.

Josephine had a bad feeling about this ‘harmless’ old woman. She was wary around her, and due to the informality between her and Joanna, the Lioness dared to approach Lady Lannister in secret, telling her not to give too much freedom to the old woman.

Of course, the noble and kind Joanna Lannister felt offended by the demand, the idea alone sounding absurd. In her eyes, the old woman needed help, and it was her duty not only as Lady Lannister but also as a host to offer a safe space and food to her guests.

The small argument became volatile rather quickly, with both women stubborn about their beliefs. Joanna even tried to bring Tywin into the mix, asking him to choose between his first love and his wife.

The Lion watched and heard their demands but chose not to take a side, having more important things to deal with. Like Aerys already demanding him to return to King’s Landing, despite Joanna still recovering from the birth.

And so, Tywin chose to remain neutral, letting the two of them handle it.

Joanna put her foot down, and Josephine knew it was not wise to continue arguing. Thus, the Lioness retreated from the argument but kept watch for the old hag.

The following night, her instincts were proven correct when the mysterious old lady found her way into the chambers of the twins, a dagger in her hand. She tiptoed into the dark room, the light of the corridor torches casting enough illumination for her to see the cradle.

But the light was not enough for the hag to see the Lion waiting by the crib's base, lying on the floor in perfect coverage. Amber's eyes glowed in the dark; it was the last thing the woman had seen before Josephine pounced on her.

The animalistic roars and the woman’s screams alerted the twins, who started to cry. The sudden noise brought guards into the room along with Tywin and Joanna, and the Lord already had his sword in hand.

Their worries disappeared upon seeing Josephine standing above the dead body of the old lady, the dagger the woman tried to use was still clenched in her hand. The blade was coated red, having managed to create a nice slash on the Lioness’ front leg; blood coating the golden fur,

Joanna rushed into the room to check on the crying twins, sighing in relief and hugging both of them tightly. She was glad they were unharmed. She did not dare say anything, a little too proud to admit she was wrong about the mysterious woman.

She did go as far to say something, at least. “Thank you for protecting them,” she told Josephine as the Lioness walked out of the room, blood leaving stains on the marble floor from her superficial injury.

After that incident, neither Joanna nor Tywin doubted her again. The tale of Josephine’s actions spread equally fast, deterring others from trying similar tricks; now that they knew a true lion guarded the twin cubs.

“And what would you want me to have? Send him away?” he asked rhetorically, but the look she gave him was enough to answer him. “And where should I send him then? Since you so openly wish to see him gone?”

Surprisingly, Josephine already had an answer. “The vale,” she suggested it, earning his true interest. “They are from the few kingdoms still to choose a battle, and it will be a matter of time before Robb Stark sways them to his cause unless we get to them first.”

Tywin was not easily impressed by someone, other than himself. At that moment, though, it was evident that Josephine had done the impossible. Her cunning mind offered him a new path for their plans, one he would take full advantage of.

Of course, the Old Lion saw an opening in her plan; a factor she had not considered. “Say this happens and he is sent to the Vale, this will leave his position as Master of Coin open. You know better than anyone how crucial it is to have a Master of Coin now.”

It took Josephine a few seconds to think of an answer, her genius mind coming up with the perfect plan. “Then you appoint Tyrion as Master of Coin,” she suggested. “You did promise him a position worthy of his efforts and what better position than to control the spending of the Kingdom? Considering how much in debt the crown is, it is more of saving than anything else.”

Tywin took a few sips of his wine, not giving an immediate reaction. The fact that she brought Tyrion once again, threatened to ruin his mood. He saw no reason she tried so hard to justify him, to spoil him as if the child were her own.

She did make valid points, and he knew that giving Tyrion such a position would be enough to make him shut up for a while. The fact that there was debt to be handled would challenge the Imp, and Tywin would take pride when, in the end, Tyrion would give up and prove to everyone he was indeed a failure.

Of course, the prideful Tywin would not give it to her. He would not let her win so easily, let her ego rise higher. “I will think about it and mayhap bring it to the next small council,” he finally said after a momentarily pause.

This was enough for Josephine, who knew he would not openly agree with her on the topic merely because it had to do with Tyrion. She also knew that he would think about it and, in the end, follow it.

Tywin might be petty, but he was also a realist, and he knew this was one of the best options and replacements for Petyr Baelish; even though he disliked the dwarf, he never wished to call him a son again.

“That’s more than enough for me,” Josephine commented, voicing her reaction just to be sure.

Tywin put his empty goblet on the desk and grabbed an opened letter. “That's Good since this is done. We need to focus on our latest trouble,” he explained, handing her the scroll.

Josephine arched an eyebrow but accepted the small piece of parchment before reading its elegant letters. Her grey eyes scanned and followed each word as the message behind them became evident in her mind.

Olenna Tyrell was coming to King’s Landing.

“The Queen of Thorns is coming,” she mumbled as she looked at him, seeing him leaning slightly to the right. He arched an eyebrow, silently impressed she knew of that stupid nickname. “I travelled Tywin, I did not live in a cave. I kept an eye on what was happening,” she corrected him.

Tywin and Josephine had met Olenna a few times, consisting of the days she resided within Casterly Rock during a visit. She was the matriarch of House Tyrell, despite her husband being the prominent face.

She and her husband had resided for a few days in Casterly Rock before departing for King’s Landing. They knew that per Hospitality Laws, Tywin and Joanna could not turn them down; and they did not.

Joanna did not mind them being present, and neither did Tywin. Josephine also had the chance to meet the then-young Queen of Thorns, whose sharp tongue struck deeper pain than any Rose Thorn ever could. She had impressed Tywin with her smart arguments but had also annoyed him, for she was from the few openly going against him.

Genna, Josephine and Joanna were the sole other exceptions.

“You think she will remember me?” Josephine asked, locking her gaze with Tywin. “Word has already spread of my presence in this household and she is smart enough to connect the dots.”

“It has been years since that visit, I doubt it,” he commented. “Either way, we must be wary for her arrival is not a good sign and might halt our plans. I know she will try to spread her thorns into the royal line, get an advantage whenever possible.”

Josephine nodded, understanding his worries and mistrust. However, she made no comment on it, choosing to remain silent and merely change the topic.

A move Tywin took notice but did not bother at that moment, fully unaware what truly was going on in her mind and what secret she kept locked away

Chapter Text

The days passed and Olenna Tyrell finally arrived in King’s Landing, bringing with her more men and many provisions for the city's hungry people. With plans already in mind, the Queen of Thorns had come to spread her thorns and seeds like a true mastermind.

Yet, once her carriage stopped in front of the Red Keep, no one was there to formally greet her. Only a few servants attended to her needs and showed her the room she had been given.

Only her dear granddaughter had dared to show up, for even her father and brother were occupied by other tasks; none too keen in meeting the judging gaze of the Tyrell Matriarch.

A few hours after her arrival, Josephine and Tywin were busy in his office, handling the latest reports from the War. With the Karstarks out of the picture, Robb’s latest affair and the Northern men wishing to return for their crops; it seemed the war was finally turning in their favour.

Stannis had not shown up nor truly made an appearance. He was still licking his wound after that fateful battle while trying to recover whatever little remnants of his army were left. The fact that he still resided on Dragonstone remained an issue, but not a big one, given his current condition.

A knock on the wooden door snapped both adults from their reading. They looked towards the door as a young page boy entered.

His bow was deep and respectful. “Apologies for bothering you, Lord Hand. Lady Olenna Tyrell has invited Lady Josephine to her chambers for an afternoon meal.”

Josephine and Tywin exchanged a look, similar thoughts passing through their minds. A few days ago, they were discussing whether Olenna remembered Josephine. Now, they could see if they were right or wrong.

Tywin dismissed the page boy and turned to Josephine, who seemed to be deep in thoughts suddenly.

“She must remember me and who I am,” she said, looking at him.

The Old Lion did not agree with that idea. “It is very unlikely,” he dismissed her worries. “Like many, she is most likely curious of the woman under my protection.”

After the feast, the word spread fast, and everyone learned about Josephine’s past and current status. It had allowed her to navigate across lords and ladies without suspicion, and when she was sometimes seen with Tywin, it also did not let gossip rise.

Of course, it had also gotten her a lot of attention. Some dared approach her because she was an attractive, available woman, and others dared because she was connected to Tywin, wishing to reach him through her.

The matter remained, however, that the rumour and lie had spread far enough to reach the ears of the Queen of Thorns; who was always from the first to pick up a spreading gossip. Considering how inapproachable Tywin was, the Old Woman would try to investigate this woman under his protection.

At least, that’s how Tywin saw it; being less worried about the sudden invite.

On the other hand, Josephine had reasons to overthink this invite. A part of her past was still a secret to Tywin, a part of her past that was related to their latest guest.

“Only one way to find out,” Josephine said after a momentary silence before standing up, fixing her dress in the process.

Tywin did not move from his position but followed her with his eyes. “Be careful out there,” he started, but she quickly interrupted him.

“And gather as much Intel as I can to discuss it with you later on,” Josephine finished for him, already knowing what he wished to say.

The Old Lion did not reply but offered her a smirk, proud of her quick thinking and the fact that she knew what he expected from her. It made the two of them work so well, having a good understanding of how each other worked.

Most specifically, Josephine knew too well what Tywin wanted and how he wanted something before effectively doing what she must.

The walk to Olenna’s chambers was not long, and a guard followed her, remaining one step behind. It was unnecessary but also not, for she had certain appearances to keep up with as a noble lady.

Upon arriving, a servant boy was quick to announce her.

“Lady Josephine, present,” the boy said and moved to the side, allowing her to pass while her guard remained outside.

Josephine walked inside the fancy room, which had a view of the sea and colourful cushions on the expensive. Yet her grey eyes landed on a familiar face as Olenna stood to greet her.

A soft smile appeared on the older woman’s face. “My, my. You still look so far younger despite the years since we last saw one another.”

The Lioness smiled gently as she headed for the Queen of Thorns.”I should be returning the same compliment. Years have not touched you like they do to most women.”

Of course, the older woman saw right through it. “Oh, please. I know I look old, I am.” She dismissed Josephine’s efforts with a swing of her hand before eyeing her up and down. “You certainly look like a true lady now, clean and preventative. Though I believe the Tyrell Green looked far better on you.”

Josephine held back a comment and merely motioned for Olenna to sit on the couch, before she sat beside her. The soft cushions supported her back, and she eyed the small delicacies spread on the low table, which were a combination of fresh fruits and cheese.

She avoided the dairy altogether and merely picked a few green grapes, popping them into her mouth in a less ladylike manner. The sweet flavour of the fruit was a refreshing change, such unique treats having been brought straight from Highgarden.

“I do apologize for the lack of meat. I had not sent any servants to hunt before our arrival,” Olenna faked an apology, amusing Josephine.

“Fruit is fine as you recall,” she scoffed in amusement and took another grape to emphasize her point.

Olenna studied her momentarily, noticing how much brighter her eyes shone and how her humour had returned. She had seen this woman in her low and even after her recovery, but it was nothing compared to what she was now.

The Queen of Thorns had a good suspicion as to why, but she was willing to dig more into it before rushing to conclusions.

“Well, I see your humour is back and intact. Finally returning to that old Lion of yours must have played a role,” the old woman said, picking a small piece of cheese.

“I had to return because of the war. The house was facing dangers and it was my duty to show up,” Josephine reminded the old woman, trying to justify her actions.

Of course, the old woman would not just let her be. “Well, it certainly took you a while to join him,” she scoffed and grabbed her goblet.

“Westeros is a big place as you are well aware. It takes time to travel it, even for me,” Josephine argued. “And for your information, I joined before any major battles took place, as I should have.”

“Yes, and now you are Tywin’s ward, a widow accompanying him on his lazy days,” Olenna commented, becoming a little more aggressive as she changed the topic.

Josephine arched an eyebrow. “Is this how people see me now? Tywin’s ward?”

Olenna had drunk some wine, amused by the Lioness’ lack of knowledge on certain topics. Evidently, this idea was not something she had thought about, and she was not surprised either. Clearly, the Old Lion had gone the extra length to protect his reputation of a lonely independent man.

Now, the Queen of Thorns was even more intrigued and interested in why. Thankfully for her, she had someone right before her, who could enlighten her on this odd decision.

“This is how hierarchy works, Josephine. You are under a man’s protections and not just any man’s but a powerful Lord’s. This makes you his ward, whether you like it or not.”

The Lioness could not help but roll her eyes. “Do they really need to give everything a title? It's so unnecessary,” she mumbled, but the older woman heard her.

She chuckled at the sharp tongue of the redhead, who clearly had not changed since their last meeting. She was smart enough not to voice her thoughts too loudly, but her strong stand against the unnecessary complicated noble hierarchy and man-centred world remained.

Josephine let Olenna enjoy her for a moment longer before she turned her body sideways, facing the older woman better. “Now that we have caught up with one another, Lady Olenna. Why have you truly summoned me so openly?”

“Can’t an old woman just be happy to see an acquaintance after all those years?” Olenna questioned, trying to play it innocent and hide her true motives.

Her companion, of course, saw right through it. “We both know this is not the case, and I have not forgotten how we met. I remember that I still owe you for saving my life and I know you will want to reap that soon.”

The two women locked gazes like they had done a few times, and Olenna did not hide anything, dropping her fake smile. Cards were slowly placed on the table as the Lioness challenged the Rose openly.

The Older Woman kept looking at Josephine, her gaze complicated; many thoughts clashing in her aged but well-trained mind. She had the exact same look on her when they truly met one another after years.

Josephine’s travels had not always been smooth and easy. The weather and the conditions had been tough on her, but the men she encountered had been tougher. She had fought, lied, and been imprisoned more than once.

She would never forget the weight of the metallic collar around her neck and how humiliated she felt at that moment, captured but untamed. She was covered in dirt and blood, signs of her battle against her captors; a battle that she had eventually lost.

This battle led her to imprisonment until she saw a familiar face from the other side of her cage. A face that recognised her before she showed her human face, a face that looked at her with a variety of emotions before she set her free.

“I know you will repay me, eventually. After all, isn’t the Lannister’s word that they always pay their debts?” Olenna asked, snapping the younger woman from the dark memory her mind threatened to take her. “I won’t ask now, you can rest assured.” Josephine opened her mouth to argue but the older woman beat her to it. “I won’t force you to go against your oath, either. I might be mean to brainless idiots but I am not petty... well, not that petty.”

Josephine nodded, silently thanking Olenna for her understanding and promise. However, she still had to clear one thing up to ensure no openings were left that could eventually be taken advantage of.

“You couldn’t make me break the oath, either. I would rather kill myself on a blade than go against it,” Josephine said in a rather serious and even haunting tone.

Her tone, of course, did not phase the Queen of Thorns. Instead, the older woman rolled her eyes. “Always so dramatic, it's a wonder you are not a blood born Lannister,” she commented before she passed Josephine a chalice filled with water. “Now, stay and let us talk of something less morbid. I need to speak to someone closer to my age and with more brain than those airheaded flies that surround me but cower in fear.”

The talk with Olenna went rather well and the hours passed, until the sun had long set. Josephine shared dinner with the Queen of Thorns, since Margaery would dine with Joffrey and the older woman did not mind her company.

Once she was done, she reunited with Tywin, but both chose to speak in his chambers. Having gotten tired of the office, they spent hours locked within. If Josephine were not bothered by suitors and gossipy ladies, she would have left that dark room more often. Sitting for hours and staring at papers was not one of her strongest traits.

Now, she found comfort on Tywin’s carpet, sitting on it while facing the raging fire. The dancing flames kept her occupied, soothing the voices in her mind. Their warmth was something she always enjoyed; she often wished she could lay a blanket and just sleep in front of the fireplace.

She had done it a few times when younger, but things became more complicated as she grew older.

Josephine leaned to the side, supporting herself to the side of the red armchair that was currently unoccupied. “...so far, she seems just interested in my company. Of course, I won’t be surprised if she uses that and tries to pray answers from me.” She finished talking about her meeting with Olenna.

Of course, the Lioness had avoided any details giving away her past with the Queen of Thorns. Tywin did not need to know anything, especially how she ended up in that position.

She knew he would go crazy if he found out her darkest times or took notice of her latest scars that decorated her body, all obtained after his anger sent her away.

Tywin had been listening carefully as he refilled his goblet. He hummed a few times but did not interrupt Josephine until she was done. With his goblet filled, he headed for the armchair. “Good, keep your guard up. I do not trust her, and I know she has a bigger plan in mind. I won’t be surprised if she is trying to find Lannister secrets through you.” He commented before taking a seat, not minding where Josephine sat.

It was not uncommon to find her close to the fireplace or lying on a warm bed. In the past, he would find her asleep in a chair, enjoying the warm ways of a good summer day while in Casterly Rock.

Tygget often teased Josephine when she was younger, comparing some of her odd quirks to those of a cat. Of course, while such comments might be true, they did not mean the Lioness accepted them.

This was how the young lion had ended up supporting a black eye or a broken nose on more than one occasion.

Josephine was amused. “It will be easier for me to find out about her Tyrell plans than her finding anything from me,” she joked, glancing at him as he sat comfortably.

Tywin hummed and sipped some wine. “This is true and this is what you should do, actually,” he said, a plan quickly forming in his mind. “Since Olenna is so keen to keep you around for company, you can take advantage of that and fish out something from her.”

She kept looking at him. “What about Margaery? Thought you would want me to try my luck with her.”

“You won’t have to because Cercei is on it,” he explained, earning an arched eyebrow from her. “She visited me today, after you left. Tried to present herself as my heir, show that she was something more than to pop out babies and extend my legacy,” he swirled the wine in his goblet as he stared towards the fire. “Apparently, she had been keeping a tab on what the Young Rose does; keen to be the first and find what she wants.”

“Such as?”

“Being around the young Stark girl lately, making friendships with her. Cersei suspects that the Tyrells plan to snatch her away.”

It was Josephine’s turn to hum. “That does sound like something Olenna would think of. Sansa is the Key to the North and if Robb Stark perishes in battle, she will be his sole successor.”

“This is why she will be married to Tyrion before the moon is full,” Tywin said, glancing at her and studying her reaction. “A job worthy of his efforts and a wife of good status. This is what I promised him and this is what I have given him.”

Josephine does not comment and turns to focus on the fire, barely humming in response. She understood his plans and the importance of keeping Sansa Stark under their influence but she still felt sorry for the little Direwolf.

They did not have much chance to speak, Josephine was often busy helping Tywin or keeping suitors off her back. Yet, the Lioness had seen the lonely girl sitting with her ladies in waiting.

She had seen the pale scared girl, glancing down often and staring outside like a trapped bird in a cage. Only the Seven knew what she had been through while engaged to Joffrey, at the full mercy of the boy king and his mother.

Now, she would be forced to marry and Josephine knew Tyrion would not dare to consummate the marriage. He was too kind to do that to a young girl, who most likely had her first bleed not so long ago.

Josephine was always against marriages such as those, where younger girls had to be bedded too early by older men. She had protested along with Tywin when it happened to Genna, though the female Lannister was lucky enough to be wed years after her first bleed.

It was ironic, sometimes, because while Josephine stood her ground and had strong thoughts about such marriages, she did not personally follow them. She was a little older than Sansa when she slept with Tywin, and she had barely passed her 18th name day when she agreed to the idea of future potential marriage between her and the Lion heir.

Tywin noticed her silence and knew she was not fully agreeing with him, recalling her strong opinions on such topics. However, Josephine knew arguing would not change anything, and this was a necessary move they had to make to protect their house and their family.

So when she did not reply, he took it as a sign of her silent agreement and continued. “So, if Cersei wants to, she can keep spying on the young rose. Conversely, you can focus on the true mastermind behind the Tyrell plans.”

Josephine nodded and sighed, already tired of all this scheming. She leaned more against the armchair and his bent leg, her head pressed against it in some support. “You know, Tywin, I have not missed this. This whole... planning, doubting, and worrying of enemies behind friendly faces... This is not a life.”

“You are more than free to leave if you wish to,” Tywin joked, even though both knew this would not happen.

Josephine was not going to let her family alone in such dangerous times, but even if she dared to leave, Tywin would not let her. He had lost her once, but he was not going to let that happen again. He was, after all, a man who learned from his mistakes.

Josephine scoffed as she folded her legs close to her but made no further move. Her gaze remained on the dancing flames that slowly ate through the wood. “I never left you in the middle of a battle and I do not intend to now. This is no exception.”

Her words made him smirk, pleased with her stubborn answer. As the two of them relaxed as the topic changed, Tywin moved his hand from his leg to her head. His strong fingers gently passed through her thick auburn locks, massaging her head gently in an old but familiar fashion.

He was slightly surprised when Josephine leaned more on his touch, her eyes closing as her body relaxed. He had often done this to her in the past, whether she was sitting somewhere or lying next to him on the bed.

This was their thing, something both found themselves relaxing through. Yet, Tywin did not expect her sudden yearning for his touch after all those years or her quick need to surrender to his presence.

She had come back from her travels more stubborn than ever and seemed to go the extra mile to win their arguments. As the decades passed, she had changed, matured, and most likely interacted with other men.

She had every right to pull back when he moved but she did not. This was a sign to him, that she had not changed completely, and it pleased him.

“I do miss Casterly Rock sometimes,” Josephine said, snapping the sudden silence. She was smiling softly, her eyes still closed. “I miss how things were.”

Tywin hummed in agreement. “That makes two of us,” he whispered, drinking his wine. “However, we cannot leave. We have a lot of work to do here, a lot of damage control,”

Josephine opened her eyes but kept her gaze in the flames. “I know but I cannot help it. Don’t you ever wonder if the chance that we make things stable enough to be able to retire? To be able to return home?” he did not answer her directly and she grabbed the chance to continue, the massage on her head making her drop her guards and silence her mind. “I do not wish to leave my bones here, Tywin.” She whispered. “I want to be buried where I was born, in the land of my ancestors.”

“It won’t be here where our reign will end, I won’t allow that,” he mumbled, offering a silent promise to her.

She did not comment or continue the conversation. Instead, she closed her eyes again and leaned more against Tywin’s hand and leg. This cathartic talk helped her get a small weight off her chest, and she found it easier for her body to relax.

Tywin was no different. He glanced at her as she leaned more against him. He did not stop what he was doing, finding the old habit helping quiet his mind and offering a rare moment of peace—one he had long missed and only she seemed to truly offer.

And so, despite the sleep that threatened to take them; Lion and Lioness fought against it. They focused on this rare moment between them that they might not have again or anytime soon; so they cherished it as much as they could.

Chapter Text

Most of the time, Tywin did not truly interact with his children. He was busy cleaning up after them, handling the affairs of the realm, and pushing the Northerners back with his army that was still out there.

However, with the latest developments and plan changes, Tywin was forced to call them in, to ensure they were well informed of their latest roles. Thus, the Lannister family gathered in the Hand’s office for a Pride Meeting.

Jaime was still missing, having escaped the enemy but had yet to be found. Kevan was back in Casterly Rock, handling most issues in his brother’s place. Tommen was too young, Myrcella was already in Dorne and Joffrey... well, it was always better to leave the sadistic kid out of important matters.

This left Cersei and Tyrion as the only ones present, though it was enough for Tywin since what he needed to discuss revolved around the two of them.

His office was quiet, and barely anyone was talking while waiting. Tywin was sitting at the head of the table, as always, and Cersei had taken a seat by his left. On the other hand, Josephine had remained standing close to Tywin; feeling no need to sit.

“I still don’t see why she has to be present,” Cersei spat, glaring at Josephine. “This is a family meeting, isn’t it?”

Ever since that morning, Cersei and Josephine had not exchanged any talks. The Queen Reagent went the extra mile to avoid the Lioness, barely sending her glares from the distance but never approaching or talking to her.

Tywin gave her a passive side glare, his patience already thin. “She is part of this family just as you are, if not more,” he reminded her. "She will be present to what we have to discuss, and this will be the end of this.”

Cersei opened her mouth to argue when the sound of steps reached them. Delayed, as always, Tyrion walked into the room; earning everyone’s attention. He suppressed a shiver against the hostile glares coming from his sister and father.

Only Josephine’s seemed softer, though Tyrion swore there was quite a lot of guilt hidden behind her grey orbs.

“You are late,” his father pointed out, clearly displeased with his late arrival.

He was always punctual, and he did not like waiting for others, especially those who were, in his eyes, so far beneath him.

“What are they doing here?” he questioned since he had not been informed who would be present; he had just received an invite. Of course, seeing them all present, the smart dwarf started to suspect.

“Our business concerns them, too. It concerns all our family,” he said. “Sit.”

The Imp paled faintly but did not truly show it. Glancing at his sister made him realize this was not an ordinary meeting. This was a Pride Meeting and nothing good ever truly came from them, at least for the kids.

He ended up sitting across from his father at the other end of the table.” You'll be pleased to learn that after one conversation with Olenna Tyrell...” he started and opened the huge book he was carrying. “I've saved the crown hundreds of thousands on this wedding.”

“Never mind that now. We have something important to discuss.” His father told him.

“I'm Master of Coin. Saving money is important.” Tyrion argued back and then saw that smug look on Cersei’s face. She knew something more than he did. “Stop that. You're making me uncomfortable.”

“Your sister has learned that your new friends, the Tyrells, are plotting to marry Sansa Stark to Ser Loras,” he informed Cersei, making her crane her head faintly and push her chest in pride.

“Very well. She's a lovely girl. Missing some of Loras' favourite bits, but I'm sure they'll make do.” Tyrion said, attempting to joke only to earn an eye roll from Cersei, a glare from Tywin and a sigh from Josephine.

“Your jokes are not appreciated.” The Head of the Lannister family said.

“It wasn't my best, but-“

His father interrupted him. “I bring them into the royal fold, and this is how they repay me: by trying to steal the key to the North from under me.” He explained, partially voicing out his thoughts.

Tyrion exchanged a look with his sister, who seemed to be on the same page as he was. “Sansa is the key to the North? I seem to remember she has an older brother.”

This time, it was Josephine who talked. “The Karstarks have marched home,” she said, filling them in on the latest information. “The young wolf has lost half his army. His days are numbered. Theon Greyjoy murdered both his brothers. That makes Sansa Stark the heir to Winterfell,” she explained, standing with her hands behind her back as if she was in a military meeting.

Tywin nodded. “This is why I am not about to hand her over to the Tyrells.”

Tyrion understood where his parents were leading this conversation but he found himself pointing out a detail they might have chosen to forget. “The Tyrell army is helping us to win this war. Do you really think it's wise to refuse them?”

“There's nothing to refuse, Tyrion” Josephine answered him. “This is a plot. Plots are not public knowledge. And the Tyrells won't carry this one out until after Joffrey's wedding.”

“We need to act first and kill this union in its crib.” Her partner added, right after her as if they had rehearsed this conversation a dozen times before the family meeting.

“And how do we do that?”

“We find Sansa Stark a different husband.”

“Wonderful.”

Cersei was suddenly amused and gave Tyrion the same look she did before, again making him uncomfortable. “Yes, it is.” She said, her smile making him more uneasy than before.

Cold sweat went down the short spine of the Lion as he slowly started to understand. He looked from Cersei to Josephine, seeing two different looks: amusement and pity.

Last, he looked at his father, and then Tyrion had all the pieces together. “You can't mean it, " he commented, looking at them with disbelief.

“I can and I do.” Was his father’s only reply.

Tyrion, though, was not done arguing. “Joffrey has made this poor girl's life miserable since the day he took her father's head. Now she's finally free of him and you give her to me? That's cruel even for you.” “The girl will not be happy with me-“ Tyrion tried to argue, hoping to save her from a cursed fate bound to him, but his father would not have it.

“Do you intend on mistreating her?” He asked rhetorically. “The girl's happiness is not my concern, nor should it be yours.”

“She's a child!” the dwarf argued, raising his voice. “Come on, Lady Josephine, you have seen her. You can’t possibly agree!”

Josephine bit her bottom lip faintly, holding back any comments. She agreed with Tyrion, and she did not wish to see the already tortured girl forced into a forced wedding, no matter how kind Tyrion would be to her.

However, she knew she could not argue. Not only was Tywin’s gaze watching her, but also because she knew this was the best course. Her duty was around protecting her house, her family, and she had vowed to die trying.

Thus, she knew that if the Tyrells managed to snatch Sansa away and tie themselves to the North, it meant they could one day betray them or turn their backs on them. Sansa was far too important to the future of the Lions, and she had to agree with the plan that led to their success and future safety.

Tyrion did not take her silence kindly, as he had thought this woman would have sided with him. I mean, she did not know Tyrion and had barely talked to him, yet she protected him, sided with him against Tywin, and even brought him breakfast.

If she could be kind to a deformed man she never met, why could she not do the same to a tortured and orphan girl?

“Oh, leave her out of this. She can’t help you in any way,” Cersei said, getting tired of all this drama. “Sansa is flowered, I assure you. She and I have discussed it at length.”

“There, you see? You will wed her, bed her, and put a child in her. Surely you're capable of that.” Tywin said, his patience running thin.

“And if I refuse?”

“You wanted to be rewarded for your valour in battle. Sansa Stark is a finer reward than you could ever dare hope for. And it is past time you were wed.”

Something dark covered Tyrion’s face like a shadow. “I was wed... Or don't you remember?” he almost spat, haunting memories coming back and messing with his temper far bigger than his height.

Josephine was confused and surprised, daring to look at Tywin’s profile. She did not know nor had been informed that Tyrion had gotten married. And if he was, what happened to his wife?

Based on the glare the dwarf gave his father, she suspected the ending was not a good one. Had Tywin truly turned that cruel against his own son?

There was an uneasy silence as father and son glared at one another, neither backing down. Tywin’s jaw clenched, and so did his fist, his nostrils flaring just a bit. He also wished not to remember that embarrassing day.

Josephine, sensed the tension and could also sense Tywin’s rage slowly rising. She could almost feel it influencing her through their connection, but she took a deep breath and remained passive.

She merely moved to stand closer to him, her presence forcing Tywin to focus on her, passively ensuring he would not remain focused on Tyrion and eventually snap. Josephine even dared to place her hand on his shoulder. His muscles were tense already, but the Lion made no move to push it away.

Cersei quickly glared at the Lioness, who so openly dared to act that way; as if she was his wife and was trying to calm him down. She, who had disappeared when the family truly needed her, is now playing the part of a good companion and thinking she could change Tywin’s temper.

The Queen almost laughed at the idea, that a mere nobody would be able to stop Tywin from unleashing hell. No one had ever managed that, not even Kevan or Genna, his siblings, who were also the ones to know him better than anyone else.

To her surprise, Tywin took a deep breath, controlling his temper to save the table from another banging. He did not react, nor did he explode in anger, showing that Josephine’s presence played some role in that.

“Only too well.” Tywin finally said, disgust and hatred not going unnoticed.

“You should be thanking the gods for this. This is more than you deserve.” Cersei said a smug smirk on her face.

Oh, how much did she enjoy it when Tyrion was forced to do something he did not want to, put down by his father, and his opinion fully ignored? His suffering always fixed her mood, and she always took extra care to enjoy it when it occurred.

“Tyrion will do as he's bid. As will you.” Their father said, making her smirk slowly disappear as her attention focused on him.

“What do you mean?” she asked as a part of her was growing with dread as she had an idea of what he truly meant.

“You'll marry Ser Loras.”

“I will not.” She argued back, almost bearing her teeth like a feral animal.

“The boy is the most likely to be the next heir to Highgarden. Tyrion will secure the North, you will secure the Reach.” Tywin explained to her.

Still, Cersei refused to do it and did not care about the reasons behind it. “No, I won't do it.”

“Yes, you will. You're still fertile. You need to marry again and breed,” he said as if talking to some animal, not his only daughter.

“I am Queen Regent, not some broodmare.” She spat as she stood up, her chair falling back from the sudden force and power.

Tywin was getting tired of this stupid game and hearing their stupid arguments as if they ever truly had any say in the matter. After messing up that much, they should be thankful he was that linear with them.

He stood up equally fast, both hands slammed on the wooden table. “You're my daughter! You will do as I command,” he said, his voice booming across the room and almost made Cersei flinch.

Cersei’s hand was shaking, her full body almost as if she was on the verge of frustration and anger; tiptoeing across the line between those two emotions. “I have done a lot for this family, following your commands but no more!” she said through her teeth, glaring daggers at her father.

The Queen had never raised her tone that way or glared at her father for so long. She always gave in, at the end. She always did what he told her even when she did not want to.

But this time, she chose to take a stand.

She had ruined her body, birthing not one but three children for his stupid legacy. One of them was King! She had suffered through humiliation, cheating and rape at the hands of Robert while he resided in comfort back at Casterly Rock.

Her own son was now pushing her away, and the Rose Harlot was threatening to take him away, to steal her power and everything she held dear, just like Maggie the Frog had predicted all those years ago.

She was done being told what to do when she, as Queen, had done just fine while he was out there; fighting in this ridiculous war.

Tywin did not take her defiance well, and his eyes darkened, making Cersei struggle to maintain the glare. The Old Lion moved with confident steps towards her, danger radiating from him in almost visible ways, and Cersei took a single step back.

His dominant hand was shaking, and some would swear a vein had popped at the side of his temple due to his rising blood pressure.

Tywin did not fear violence or physical punishment, and more than once, his hand had been his disciplinary tool. Almost always, it was Jaime who took them for the sake of others, but Cersei was not clueless about them.

Her emerald eyes opened wide briefly as she predicted what would come.

Yet it never did.

Josephine appeared by Tywin’s right, quickly grabbing his raised hand by the wrist and stopping him from acting upon his anger. His hand shook in strain for a second, fighting against her resistance until she moved into his field of vision, blocking Cersei’s figure.

“Tywin, don’t,” Josephine said, her voice stable and commanding.

There was this motherly tone that came up, her voice deeper and with more power than before. Her instincts backed her up and boosted her confidence to pull tricks such as those.

Immediately, he stopped and pulled back slowly, and Josephine let his hand go but did not move from her new position.

Their eyes met, and silently, the two of them fought for dominance, wanting to force the other to submit or back down.

Step aside, his gaze warned her.

I won’t, hers replied defiantly.

Lion vs. Lioness, they mentally argued with one another, one wishing to discipline the other to protect.

Tyrion held his breath, fearing his father would react and slap Josephine instead. If not harm her, definitely push her away or order her to stand down; since he was in command. Heck, he would not be surprised if he just grabbed her from the neck and tossed her to the side.

It’s not like he did not have the height and strength advantage, or so Tyrion thought.

Cersei remained silent, watching from behind Josephine. She had not expected the Lioness to come to her aid, stop Tywin’s hand and stand as an obstacle between him and his daughter. She did not anticipate Tywin’s next move either.

None of the Lion Cubs did.

The Mighty Tywin Lannister, the Terrifying Lion of Casterly Rock; gave in. He growled ever so faintly and lowered his hand, before taking a step back and then one more. He silently gave up his need to discipline his daughter and actively chose not to fight Josephine, even though he had every power to do so and win.

Tywin took a deep breath, continuing to stare down at the shorter woman. It was clear he was displeased with her interference.

The Old Lion looked at Cersei above Josephine’s shoulder, seeing the Queen Reagent fighting hard to contain her emotions and stand strong. The fact that she almost got hit by her father had shaken her.

“You will marry Loras Tyrell and end the disgusting rumours about you once and for all,” he said, his voice calmer but his anger had yet to drop.

Yet, he remained civilised while refusing to look at his partner. Of course, he could sense her gaze locked on his face; studying him and silently reminding him that she would not let him act on impulse against Cersei.

Cersei looked at him like a wounded child, eyes wide; pleading with him. “Father, don't make me do it again, please.” She begged.

In everyone’s eyes, one could see the hope within her that there was even a single drop of fatherly love inside of him, but he merely looked at her, unaffected by her pleas or the begging tone of her voice.

“My children. You've disgraced the Lannister name for far too long.” He said and glanced at his partner. “Come Josephine, we have work to do and they have thinking to do as well.”

He wasted no time walking around the table, ignoring a still-standing Cersei as he headed for the door. He did not spare another glance to anyone; as he did so, his anger was still there like an active volcano, easily triggered to cause a devastating explosion.

Josephine watched him go before she focused on the two Lion cubs, one more shaken than the other. Her gaze softened, and finally, Cersei looked at her, defeated and hurt. She wanted to be angry, to curse her, but suddenly, she found no reason to do so.

She had actively protected her, even though she had every reason not to do so. After all, she was Tywin’s partner; she should follow his lead and commands, not openly go against him.

The Lioness parted her lips to say something but quickly pressed them together, stopping herself from doing so. She did not exactly have something to say, to comfort them and she did not have the time either.

She glanced at the open door, and she could feel Tywin waiting for her, silently demanding she catch up. And so, with silent, elegant steps, she left the room, sending one more apologetic glance at the two siblings.

Chapter Text

The arguments and the rather tense pride meeting left Tywin fuming and Josephine was not exactly calm. Since Tyrion and Cersei were still in the Small Council Meeting room, aka the Hand’s Office, Tywin chose to retreat to his chambers for a little while.

It would also offer them both some privacy to discuss what had taken place, specifically Josephine’s choice to stop him from teaching Cersei a lesson.

Tywin entered first, and Josephine followed suit. The guard silently closed the door once she was inside the chambers. She watched as the Old Lion entered deeper into the room, walking, helping him think and keep his temper better in check, releasing some of that sudden tension through physical movement.

Josephine watched him and dared approach, taking a few steps closer, but she did not speak first, sensing he was about to.

“What you did back there,” Tywin started, his back turned to her. Only his head had moved to the side, allowing him to keep an eye on her with his peripheral vision. “Never, do it again.” He continued, his warning clear as day.

Unfortunately for him, the topic was not one Josephine would just let go of and silently obey his command. No, it was more personal, and she would put her foot down, in her own way.

“I won’t, unless you dare to repeat that action; then I will interfere,” she argued, holding her head high.

His jaw tensed, cursing the day and time that she became so defiant with him. “They are spoilt, acting more like kids than the adults they are,” he argued. “They are to be taught a lesson, to learn their place.”

She took a step forward. “Lessons do not always have to revolve around violence. There are other ways, Tywin.”

Slowly, the Old Lion turned to face her. “You underestimate them, Josephine. You do not know them as much as you think you do.”

There was something about his tone, the little hint of mockery that she picked up. The way Tywin thought he knew better, when he clearly had been a rather lacking fatherly figure, and the fact that he dared to point such things out made her snap.

“Perhaps I would have if I had been present in their lives all those years,” she accused, faster than her mind could stop her.

She received a warning glare from Tywin, who was getting tired of hearing this subject on repeat.

He understood her point, and yes, had she been present, many things could have been different. Hell, they could have married one another after Joanna’s passing like they had always planned.

Tywin knew he made a mistake that day, and he never stopped regretting it, though most of the time, he accused Tyrion of it, even though his son was only a few hours old that day.

That left had cost him more than he would ever admit or let the world know, let her know. It did not mean, however, that he enjoyed being reminded of his past actions.

Josephine decided to continue with her point, seeing he would not comment further. “I might not have known them while growing up but I am starting to know them now. No matter that, violence is not the disciplinary tool they need.”

Tywin scoffed, hands behind his back. “You sound more like their mother than Joanna ever did,” he pointed out, catching her off guard.

Josephine was taken aback by such a statement, and it was evident by the way she parted her lips but found no words leaving her mouth. Her grey eyes had opened just a tad more, and she looked at him in surprise since this was a big statement, even for him.

The Old Lion expected such a response; it was what he was aiming for. He knew the topic would make her stop talking, and he counted it as a success, a personal victory in their little banter.

Now that she had stopped, he found the chance to exhale and try to relax some of the stiff muscles by the base of his neck. “What is done is done,” he said after a minute of silence, “As long as they learn their lesson and do their duty, things will be calm between me and them.”

She did not make a comment or choose to continue this topic since they had dragged it out long enough. Instead, she mentally prayed to the Old Gods that Cersei and Tyrion understood the severity of the situation and agreed to behave or truly face Tywin's violent discipline.

With that out of the way, Josephine addressed a different topic.

“Tyrion brought up that he was married before, is that true?” she dared to ask.

Immediately, she regretted it as she saw how quickly his mood darkened. She had seen that look in his eyes a few times, and only two people had ever caused such a reaction to him.

Lord Reyne when he made a foul sexual comment about Josephine during a formal feast in Casterly Rock and when Tytos announced Genna’s marriage to one of Lord Frey’s sons.

Tywin kept his hand behind him, fists clenched tightly in response. “It was barely a marriage. A drunken septon and an even drunken Tyrion,” he said through his teeth, the memory still a trigger in his mind. “Tyrion let his cock led his actions, bringing disgrace to this family.”

Josephine took one more step closer, reducing the distance between her and Tywin. “What happened to the girl?” she asked, fearful of the answer.

“I don’t remember,” he replied, rather quickly. “I merely sent her where all whore go.”

Of course, Tywin did not intentionally bring up the girl’s punishment at the hands of his men. He knew Josephine would snap if she ever found out, and he was no longer in the mood to argue with her over the disgraceful imp he had for a son.

Too often had Tyrion and his drama been the cause for their arguments, more often than anyone else before. It certainly did not help fix the image Tywin had for his son. Instead it made it worse.

If Josephine were ever to truly snap, he would merely command her to step down, but he had promised never to go that far. Last time, it sent her away, and he was not going to take the risk or break her trust.

After all, he had done it once and would not repeat his mistake.

Josephine closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing heavily. She did not like this answer but made no further comments on the drama, realizing this would lead nowhere.

The morning of the following day, Tywin openly invited Olenna for a meeting. Cersei, whether she liked it or not, would marry Loras. However, for that to happen, the Old Lion had to persuade the mastermind behind all family decisions regarding the Tyrells.

Tywin wanted Josephine to be present, but the Lioness quickly denied, reminding him she had to play a different role in the older woman’s eyes; to keep, she had to be absent from that meeting.

Even when she did not truly like it.

Proud of her smart thinking, Tywin dismissed her not long before the famous Queen of Thorns appeared in his office. The years had been kind to her, partially, but he could still see that annoying smartness in her blue eyes.

Years had not taken that away and the Old Lion knew better than anyone, how time often sharpened an already sharp mind; like a good wet-stone on a well-taken care and good sword.

And so, once he offered her a goblet of wine; Tywin wasted no time and cut straight to the chase.

Of course, the Queen of Thorns did not accept it immediately; he waited for her.

“Impossible,” Olenna commented as she sat on the chair across from his desk, a goblet with Arbour wine in her hand.

Tywin was also busy pouring one, but his body was half turned to keep her in his field of vision.

He did not truly like how quickly he rejected his offer. “Why?” he questioned as he chose to remain civil. He had to if he wanted his plan to work.

"My grandson is the pride of Highgarden and the one to inherit it soon,” she said, aware of his plans. After Loras' brother was killed during the battle of Blackwater Bay, he was the next in line since his older brother was physically ruined after a tourney accident and no Lord would marry his daughter ti him.” The most desirable bachelor in all seven kingdoms. Your daughter-“ she never managed to finish her sentence.

“Is rich, the most beautiful woman in all seven kingdoms and the king's mother.” Tywin interrupted her.

“Old.”

He turned to face her, his goblet at hand, and raised one eyebrow at her words. “Old?” he repeated.

“Old. I'm something of an expert on the subject. Her change will be upon her before long. I'll spare you the details of what will happen since you have no wife to be familiar with,” Olenna said as Tywin sat on his chair. “You men may have a stomach for bloodshed and slaughter, but this is another matter entirely.”

He merely glanced at the side towards the light coming from one of his windows. “The years punish us as well, all of us, I promise you that.” He turned to look at her again, sipping his wine. “My stomach remains quite strong, however. The only thing that might turn it is details of your grandson's nocturnal activities. Do you deny them?”

Olenna was not intimidated by his words and did not need to lie, since it was quite evident that certain things about Loras. “Oh, not at all. A sword swallower through and through,” She sipped some of her wine.

“And a boy with his affliction should be grateful for the opportunity to marry the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms and remove the stain from his name.”

“Well, I assure you the court does not think your daughter holds that title anymore. I am sure you know that the latest catch is none other than your ward, Lady Josephine. Now, she might be a woman I would marry Loras to.”

Olenna knew how to play her cards right and at that moment, she truly outshined herself by what she had just dropped. If Tywin were so keen on spreading his Lion seed and attaching strings into other houses, he would jump on that chance.

But the Old Lion remained quiet for a moment and his face did not hide the ugly jealousy that he was trying to hold at bay. Reminding him that Josephine was what men lusted for daily was one thing, but daring to pair her with a boy like Loras?

Tywin rarely felt so offended, and the image alone made his skin crawl to the point that he wished to rip it off his meat and bones. It took all his willpower and years under Aerys to maintain his composure.

“Lady Josephine is not available for marriage, let alone to a green boy like your grandson,” he said, his jaw still tense.

Amusement glimmered in Olenna’s blue eyes. “Oh, is she not? Are you sure, Lord Tywin? I do not recall you ever making such a statement, and she had not openly rejected any of the proposals she had been given.”

The look Tywin gave her would be one the Queen of Thorns would never forget. “What proposals?” he asked through his teeth, his temper flaring.

Why had Josephine not brought up anything to him? Why had she not mentioned them?

“Oh, she had not told you? I have heard quite a few lords had tried to ask for her hand. Trust me, I had to ensure my oaf for a son was not one of them.”

“I am her warden,” he snapped, his voice rising slightly. “They should have come to me directly.”

“Perhaps you scare them before they can speak, have you thought of that?” Olenna asked, toying with him some more. “And of course, if you think Loras is such a green boy; why waste your precious daughter to him?”

Olenna’s ego had been boosted by the way she had cornered Tywin and messed with him regarding Josephine. She had gained a lot of useful insight into his thoughts and maybe even his feelings towards the supernatural woman.

But she poked the lion a little too much and he finally reacted. “Loras might be a green boy but he remains an heir. He will need a young wife of equal status to bear him children and produce him heirs. Cersei is far beyond his status and a boy of his... tastes, should be thankful for such a chance."

Now that the topic had changed from Josephine to his daughter, Tywin managed to regain the ground he had lost. His emotions got the best of him momentarily, but his control was back, and he was ready to play her game.

“Did you grow up with boy cousins, Lord Tywin? Sons of your father's bannermen, squires, stable boys?” Olenna asked him as she tried again to turn the tables in her favour.

He sipped some wine. “Of course, " he said, although his voice was uncertain. He could not see where this discussion would lead them.

“And you never-

“No.”

She smirked in amusement, seeing him trying to remain serious and not react to the ‘offences’. “Not once? Not in any way?”

“Never.” He replied firmly, trying not to get insulted by such speculations about his youth.

“I congratulate you upon your restraint. But it's a natural thing, two boys having a go at each other beneath the sheets."

“Perhaps Highgarden has a high tolerance for unnatural behaviour,” he said, passively trying to undermine her family and home.

Olenna, of course, was not going to have it. “I wouldn't say that. True, we don't tie ourselves in knots over a discreet bit of buggery, but brothers and sisters...” she smirked upon seeing him clench his jaw. “...where I come from, that stain would be very difficult to wash out...”

“I will not breathe further life into a malicious lie by discussing it,” Tywin said, standing up rather suddenly, obviously offended.

He moved to pour himself some wine while she continued to prove her next point.

“Lie or not, you must admit many people find it quite convincing. Convincing enough to put swords in their hands and send them off to kill Lannisters and Tyrells thanks to our new affiliation,” She said as he walked towards her with his goblet in one hand and the wine jug in the other.

“I don't care what people believe. And neither do you,” He went to pour her some more wine but she placed her hand above her goblet to silently refuse his offer.

“As an authority on myself, I must disagree.”

“Now, if the rumours about my children were true,” he started, placing the jug back in its place before turning to face her, a few steps closer. “...then Joffrey is no king at all and House Tyrell is throwing its prized flower into the dirt.”

“And if Cersei is too old to give Loras children, we're throwing another prized flower into the dirt. It is a chance we simply cannot take.” She said, not intimidated by him or the fact that he was standing and trying to stare her down.

He smirked faintly, seeing right through her lies. “The uncertainty makes you uncomfortable. All right. I'll remove it for you.” He said, and then he went to sit back down behind his desk. “If you refuse to marry Loras to Cersei, I will name him to the Kingsguard. I'm sure you're familiar with the Kingsguard vows. He will never marry. He will never have children.”

The threat was clear, but Olenna tried to dismiss her. “Ah,” she exclaimed, as if she were not bothered by it.

“The Tyrell name will fade. And Highgarden will go to the children of Joffrey and Margaery.” He continued, staring back at her.

“You would have your grandson protected by someone who disgusts you?”

“I would have my grandson protected by a skilled warrior who takes his vows seriously.” He grabbed his quill and dipped it into the ink pot. “So, shall I draw up the order? Or do you consent to this marriage?” he asked her as his hand stayed a few inches away from the paper.

Olenna placed her goblet on the desk and stood up. “It's a rare enough thing,” she said and easily took the quill from him since he did not hold any resistance. “...a man who lives up to his reputation.” She continued and snapped the quill in half, her answer quite clear on the subject.

Tywin hid his smirk of triumph. “Then, I do suspect we will see each other again to discuss the details of the next marriage.”

Olenna did not say anything at first; she merely took a step back. She had pressed her lips into a thin line, clearly displeased, but then an idea popped into her mind. She refused to leave him without putting some salt on his wounds.

“Yes, we will,” she started as he leaned back on his chair. “Perhaps next time we can discuss your precious ward as well,” his eyes narrowed in warning, clearly not wishing to play that game again. “I mean, it has been so long since the world saw the famous Lannister Secret in the flesh. I am sure they would be interested in seeing the mighty lion your father so openly talked about, let alone parade it.”

Tywin’s face darkened and his relaxed hand quickly closed into a fist, the force behind it even making his knuckles crack as they turned white. “I do not see how the personal affairs of my house are anyone’s concerns,” he said, trying not to give too much away.

Olenna smirked. “Of course, but you know how the world here works. All it takes one little whisper and perhaps just a tiny enough accident for things to come into the light.”

The threat was quite clear, and he saw it without any trouble. He had cornered her into agreeing to this union, threatened him, but she also had a card up her sleeve. She made it clear that she would ruin both of them, especially Josephine, if she chose to, which meant that he had to tread this path carefully.

Chapter Text

The meeting with Olenna remained in Tywin’s thoughts, preventing him from doing his job as properly as he wanted to. Even after Josephine returned, he did not mention the old woman’s threat to expose the Lioness’ secret.

It did bother him, for he realized his partner was right and Olenna did remember who Josephine was. It was an unnecessary obstacle he would have to keep in mind while he made his next plans, making his work harder than he would like it to be.

Yet it was one more thing that Olenna had brought up that refused to leave his mind.

“Oh, she had not told you? I have heard quite a few lords had tried to ask for her hand. Trust me, I had to ensure my oaf for a son was not one of them.”

“Had you been given any marriage proposals?” Tywin suddenly asked, averting his gaze from the letter in his hand to her.

Josephine had moved to refill his goblet and was heading his way, steps elegant and graceful; her figure prominent beneath the expensive dresses he had tailored for her.

“Marriage proposals?” Josephine questioned, frowning faintly. “Are you seriously asking me that, Tywin?”

Her rhetoric question was meant to pass a faint joke, the seriousness of the situation not being detected by her. The question was so random and out of the blue that she even had to think for a moment to ensure she had not misheard something.

Tywin did not take her reaction lightly. The moment she had let the goblet on his desk, the next one he had wrapped his hand around her wrist. In a matter of seconds, he had shot up from his chair and moved to press Josephine against the desk; her wrist still trapped in his hand.

“Have you or have you not?” he asked through his teeth, eyes narrowing dangerously as a warning.

Josephine was taken aback by the sudden manhandling and held no resistance, until she felt the edge of the wooden desk against her lower back. Her muscles tensed to keep her up and not fall fully on the flat furniture, one hand trapped in his lethal grip.

Their faces were closer and the Lioness quickly picked up his most prominent emotion, which she had felt so many times when he was married; she immediately recognised it once their bond shared it.

Jealousy

He was jealous and defensive of her, and the thought of men courting her had drawn a reaction. It made her heart beat faster, hope flattering within her chest, as she realized his feelings for her were still present, just dormant.

Getting the attention of men was common, as was being asked for walks or getting dinner invites; who Josephine was quick to reject. After all, his plan was to be presented as a widow and available young woman, meaning men would eventually try to claim her for themselves.

“Aren’t you my warden?” she asked rhetorically. “Any marriage proposals come directly at you, why should I be the one to hear them first?”

Her question was logical, meant to bypass his blinding jealousy and head for the logical part of Tywin’s mind—the one that was controlling his actions, thoughts, and plans. It seemed to work as she sensed the turmoil within him quieting down slowly, and his grip on her wrist relaxed.

She offered him a soft smile and raised her free hand to touch his chest, the sudden contact giving him something else to focus on.

“Tywin, no marriage proposals have been given to me. I assure you, you would be the first to know if they had; after I had openly rejected them,” Josephine said, her voice soft as her fingers gently trailed his chest up and down above his jacket.

It was not the first time Josephine had seen his jealousy and been at the other end of its dramatic explosion. Because of this, she could react properly and quickly assure him, though the reaction helped ease some of her lingering worries about his emotions towards her.

“That better be a promise, Josephine. You know I do not deal well with those working behind my back,” he said as he regained his composure.

The Lioness nodded but did not comment, hiding the small moment of guilt that threatened to stab her with an imaginary knife. She had been working behind his back by hiding her true past with Olenna, but she had to.

So, she inhaled and freed her wrist from his grip. “Who told you such a lie?” she questioned, rubbing faintly the spot his fingers had wrapped around. Before he could answer, the answer came to her mind. “Olenna.”

Saying it out loud made Tywin connect the dots. Once he did, he groaned as he sat on his chair again; forced to take a deep breath. “Fucking Tyrells,” he mumbled beneath his breath as he realized he had been outsmarted.

Josephine held back a scoff of amusement, but he quickly noticed the smirk she was fighting to hide. “Casterly Rock all over again,” she commented, clearing her throat to maintain her composure.

His glare was enough answer and warning to drop it before he lost his temper again. He did not need her mockery on the fact that Olenna had managed to not only trick him but also get beneath his skin; for the second time.

The Queen of Thorns was truly the only one ever capable of such achievement. Olenna knew this too well, and the partners knew the old woman took silent pride in it.

When Tywin Lannister said he would rush the wedding, he was not joking, but then again, when did he truly make jokes?

Now, everyone had been gathered into the Great Sept for the grand ceremony; the Union of a Wolf and a Lion. Lords Paramount, their wives and many ladies of the Court, also showed up.

Yellow and blue dresses were the main thing one could distinguish in the room, as the main light source came from the candles and the huge windows shaped like the symbol of the 7. The crowd formed two main lines, creating a corridor between them for the bride to walk and be led towards the steps.

The Septon was at the very top of the steps, ready to say the words and unify the marriage. A step beneath him was Tyrion, standing next to a stool and wearing the Lannister cloak with which he would drape his new wife.

A few steps lower but still higher than the common folk, Cersei, Tywin and Josephine. As a Ward of the Hand and part of the Lannister Family, she had the chance to be next to the Hand of the King and the Queen Reagent.

While others had to stay back, she was right in the middle of everything; given chances and views that others would never be able to obtain in their current lifetime. Of course, that did not mean she was truly happy; especially when poor Sansa was walked towards the Sept by Joffrey.

The poor girl was pale from worry and fear, her eyes cast down in submission, and Josephine pitied the poor girl.

Tywin, sensing the sudden change of his emotions, cleared his throat faintly. It was a subtle move, barely audible, but it was noticeable enough for Josephine. The Lioness took a deep breath and lifted her head higher, silently showing him she was alright and would not do anything reckless.

Her hands grabbed the edges of her red dress to keep her focused, and she felt the soft material against her fingers.

Once again, she had been dressed according to her ‘status’ and in the famous Lannister Colours. This dress, unlike previous ones, did not have a revealing neckline. Instead, the material went up and wrapped around her neck while the sleeves were short, stopping little after her shoulders.

The dress hugged her body, showing her good bust and waist curves before effortlessly falling around her feet, stopping by the floor. The only downside Josephine found with this one was how restricted it felt and how limited her moves were, especially when it came to running or being quick on her feet.

However, Tywin’s approving stare when she walked into his chambers and the slight smirk on his tempting lips were enough for Josephine to bite her tongue and go with it. Evidently, he had chosen this one and personally asked someone to tailor it more to his ideal dress.

How did Josephine know that? The absence of the neckline helped keep prying eyes away from her chest.

Finally, Sansa reached Tyrion and noticed the stool he had been brought to be closer to her height. Unfortunately, Joffrey did too, and once he released her, he took the stool and joined his family.

He had a smug smirk on his face, pleased with what he had done, but it quickly disappeared. The moment he let the stool down and looked at his family, he received not one but two scolding looks.

Tywin and Josephine were not happy with his actions, and they made this clear by silently scolding and judging him, to the point that he felt uncomfortable and turned his back to them.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” The Septon said, starting with the first step of the wedding.

Sansa turned her back to Tyrion to help him place the red cloak around her shoulders, but he could not reach it. He did try to jump but failed miserably to reach her shoulders, creating a comical image that caused snickers from the ground.

Immediately, Lion and Lioness wiped their heads to different parts of the gathered crowd. They glared at the same time, silently daring anyone to make a comment or laugh at the embarrassing scene.

Their eyes showed something dangerous and dark, and the crowd picked up on it. Quickly, everyone stopped and some even bowed their heads in respect, fear and embarrassment. 

Once they were certain no one would interrupt again, the two Lions focused on the newlyweds.

Tyrion looked thankful and then focused on Sansa again, gathering his courage to say the next words. “Could you—“ he could not finish the sentence, but she understood.

She gracefully knelt and allowed him to place the cloak on her shoulder, being a little bit short since it was made mostly for Tyrion’s size one. Either way, she accepted it and then rose, earning a small ‘thank you’ from her husband-to-be.

The High Septon looked at the two, pitying Sansa, but he said nothing. Earning a warning glare from Tywin, he cleared his throat and focused on his words; officially starting the ceremony.

After the wedding was finished, everyone gathered for the festivities, mostly the feast that was planned. Music played, and couples danced or discussed with one another as they were placed at their respective tables.

The main three tables were in a Π formation. The main one was the one belonging to the bride and groom. The table to their right was for the Lannister family with Cersei the closest to them, followed by Joffrey, Tywin, and Josephine. Across from them, the Tyrells were placed due to Margaery soon marrying Joffrey and also to show how much the Lannisters ‘appreciated’ the alliance they had.

Tyrion kept filling his glass to the brim and then emptying it quickly, getting more drunk with each passing minute. Sansa was beside him, barely touching her drink or food while looking around uncomfortably.

She knew no one there truly and seeing Tyrion getting wasted was not helping.

The only one, who seemed to enjoy it all, was Olenna, who was busy explaining to her grandchildren the complicated family they were soon to be. “So their son will be your... nephew, after you're wed to Cersei, of course. And you will be the king's stepfather and brother-in-law,” she told Loras, who was so close to banging his head on the table. Olenna turned to Margaery, “When you marry the king, Joffrey's mother will become his sister-in-law and your son will be Loras' nephew? Grandson? I'm not sure. But your brother will become your father-in-law. That much is beyond dispute.” Eventually, Loras had enough and stood up, deciding to try and escape this madness.

Margaery watched him go but said nothing, her attention far too often on the Lion and Lioness across from them.

Josephine had been busy whispering something to Tywin occasionally, and it calmed the Old Lion a little bit, holding him at bay. She would often glance at a drunk Tyrion and sigh before she returned her attention to Tywin.

Due to the distance and the skilful moves of the Lioness, Margaery could not see with detail that Josephine had placed her hand on Tywin’s thigh; a subtle move to keep him on his chair and give him something else to focus on.

Tyrion grabbed an empty golden plate from the table and used it to check his teeth for any food remnants. When he was done, he tossed it to the side and grabbed his goblet, only to spill some of the wine on him before he could even make it reach his lips.

To make matters worse, he cleaned himself with the tablecloth, further embarrassing himself to a new degree.

Sansa, who could not bear to see this and sit next to him, snapped from her shock. “Will you pardon me, my lord?”

“Of course. Of course. En-enjoy.” He told her, trying not to slur his words.

She got up rather quickly but also gracefully enough and wasted no time leaving the room, needing to get away from everyone and everything, especially Tyrion. Unfortunately for her, she was noticed by Joffrey, who smirked as a sadistic idea came to his mind.

He had stood up almost fully when his mother steadied him with a touch to the hand. “Perhaps you could talk to your bride-to-be instead.” She advised him, glancing at the table across from where Margaery was.

Joffrey looked her way but was far more interested in his plaything. “I've got a lifetime for that.” He shook off her hand and left, leaving behind a shocked and mentally tired Cersei.

She let out a heavy sigh and got up to follow. When she saw her handmaiden that had started to trail after her, she stopped her with one single command. “Stay.”

At the same time, Tywin almost pushed his chair back and stood up. Josephine withdrew her hand quickly and stealthily, watching him as he marched towards his son, dark with hatred, disgust, and annoyance.

She barely managed to part her lips, hoping to stop him but knew it would be futile. She understood that Tyrion wished to get drunk to forget, similarly to the Tavern, but now he was crossing the line. Unfortunately for him, Tywin was not like her and was not one to easily forgive.

Josephine sighed and grabbed her goblet, which was filled with wine, before choosing to empty it in one go. She threw her head back in a not-so-ladylike manner. As she lowered her head, she made the mistake of looking at the table across from them.

Lord Tyrell was staring at her, cheeks a faint pink from the amount of alcohol he had consumed. He lifted his goblet for a silent toast, offering her a not so innocent smile and look.

It took Josephine a lot of self-control not to react wrongly, and she quickly chose to drown her thoughts in wine. She grabbed Tywin’s goblet and repeated the previous move, emptying all the sweet Arbour red wine into her mouth before swallowing.

As she lowered the goblet, she caught Olenna’s attention. She seemed annoyed by her son’s lustful gaze and shook her head faintly, having given up on him for the night. The only thing that amused her was seeing how flustered Josephine was as she forced smiles to any passing male that dared to stop in front of her table.

With Tywin gone, all the lords she had avoided for weeks had chosen to try their luck as they engaged her in stupid conversations. With no one else at the table but her, Josephine was truly cornered, and all she could do was offer a fake smile and play along, hoping Tywin would return soon.

“Just one dance, My Lady. It is a shame not to enjoy such a festive night,” one young married Lord said, trying for the past minute to persuade her to come with him or at least move from her seat.

Of course, Josephine knew that the table was the only physical obstacle between her and lustful suitors, so she chose wisely to stay. “I am afraid I am too tired, My Lord.” She excused herself, her cheeks hurting from the fake smile.

By now, she was on her third goblet and she could sense the wine that was threatening to control her thoughts. She was still in control, but she knew alcohol and she were not a good mix, blurring the lines between her two sides.

The young man was ready to open his mouth and try again but stopped halfway when he sensed a dark presence coming his way. He dared not to look towards it as a furious Tywin was done scolding his son and marching his way, fire threatening to shoot from his eyes as he glared at the lustful young lord.

“Always a pleasure to talk with you, My Lady,” he said, wisely retreated just as the Old Lion moved to take his seat by her side.

Once he was gone, Josephine dropped the fake smile and sighed. She could finally breathe and be free momentarily, having grown tired of those hungry men. She glanced at Tywin and passed him her filled goblet, knowing he needed it.

The Old Lion wiped his hand on a napkin, having stained it when he pulled Tyrion’s goblet away. Once it was clean, he accepted Josephine’s goblet and barely caught glimpse of two empty ones in front of her.

He moved his gaze towards her and she leaned back on the chair. “Do not comment on it. I needed to occupy myself and find an excuse to talk less to them,” she explained briefly, turning her head to look at him.

“I was not planning to,” he said, looking at his disappointment for a son. “As long as you don’t make a fool out of yourself, I won’t mind.”

Josephine leaned faintly, nudging him with her shoulder, earning his attention once again. “I am not Genna. I know when to stop, and the worst I had ever done was dance once,” she said, finding a natural smile forming on her lips at the sweet memory.

Tywin’s anger started to fade as he looked at her, and as he brought back that memory, his mind started to ignore the mess Tyrion had caused. “Yes and somehow you pulled me with you.”

At this, Josephine chuckled faintly. “Don’t say it like you didn’t enjoy it. I know Genna sure did.”

The Old Lion smirked in amusement and held back the faintest of chuckles. There was a change in his golden-flecked eyes. “I don’t dance, you know that.”

She smirked. “You danced for me, remember?” she batted her eyelashes faintly as she leaned slightly more, reducing the gap between them.

He rolled his eyes but he remained amused. “Only because I knew you would embarrass yourself if I had left you. You had no true practice when it came to dances.”

“But I did surprise you, didn’t I?” she reminded him, her gaze softening as the conversation continued; the sweet memory being one of the few that were truly happy and bright in their rather dark past. “I had Genna teach me during free time.”

“Of course you did. Though I have yet to figure out, why.”

She offered him an innocent look and tilted her head to the side, taunting him. Her eyelids dropped faintly as she stared at him, catching every little detail of his beautiful face and memorizing it.

And Tywin was not immune to her charming smile and soft voice. The more she talked to him, the more the world around him went mute. His brilliant mind travelled to that particular memory, one he had almost forgotten and locked away into the dark corners of his mind.

Lion and Lioness talked and looked at one another with a deep gaze, their smiles coming naturally, and Tywin’s anger seemed to have disappeared. They talked for a few more minutes, not noticing how quickly they drew attention to themselves.

After all, had someone seen Tywin having a casual talk and even smirking? When had they seen the Old Lion looking at someone, a woman, in such a way?

Olenna knew that the answer to those questions was never. She was now more intrigued as she started to see beyond what others saw and suspect the true connection between Josephine and Tywin.

Of course, all good things have to come to an end and this time; it happened with the only sadistic enough person in that room to cause it all.

Joffrey stood at the railing above the main wedding table, the doors leading to the hall's exit behind him. He clapped a few times, earning the attention of the crowd.

“It's Time for the bedding ceremony, " he said with a smile that would make any logical person uncomfortable.

Tyrion, still brooding and almost falling off his chair, spoke up. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

However, his words were not considered as he took Sansa’s hand and led her to the central banquet floor. “Where's your respect for tradition, Uncle?” he asked and stopped in front of the main table as the crowd got up and slowly started to get ready, with only two Lions remaining seated. “Come, everyone. Pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed. Get rid of her gown. She won't be needing it any longer,” he continued, making Sansa wrap her hands around her body in fear. “Ladies, attend to my uncle. He's not heavy.”

At the mention of it and seeing Sansa trying hard to remain strong, Josephine’s gaze darkened. She despised the bedding ceremony, and seeing how terrified Sansa was almost made her instincts kick in.

“There will be no bedding ceremony,” Tyrion repeated, glaring at his nephew.

Drunk or not, he was not going to let Sansa pass through that horrible experience; not after what she survived through when the common folk attacked and almost raped her. King or not, he did not care and would fight the tyrannical boy if he had to.

“There will be if I command it.”

As if expecting what would happen next, Josephine and Tywin exchanged a look only for the very same second to have discreetly stood up. While Tywin marched straight for the Boy King, who had started to get on his nerves, Josephine moved the other way.

Her steps, as always, were silent, and she quickly blended with the room's shadows, moving to a better angle and closer to the wedding table.

Suddenly, Tyrion stabbed his knife resoundingly into the table in front of him; shocking his nephew.  “Then you'll be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock.” He threatened openly.

Joffrey quickly passed over his shock. “What did you say?” he asked, challenging him to repeat his words. “I am King and if I say so, it will happen”

“No, you won’t” Tyrion argued back, leaning closer to the table and ready to jump on it and attack him.

Seeing that the Imp was about to humiliate him, Joffrey lifted his hand to smack him but froze in midair. His heart started to beat faster, and his breath almost stopped for a second, his body reacting to an approaching danger that made his survival instincts kick in.

With wide green eyes, he looked around him until his eyes caught sight of Josephine. She was standing in a shadow corner, barely noticeable unless someone was looking for her. She had lowered her head to the point that her eyes seemed to have been pushed deeper into her face, and those grey orbs were now flashing a bright amber.

Joffrey blinked and for a moment, Josephine’s figure was replaced by that of a huge Lion; ready to pounce on him and end him on the spot.

He felt a shiver going down his spine and his body froze momentarily, confusing many with his sudden action.

Thankfully, Tywin chose to speak as he had finally covered the ground between him and his sadistic grandson.

“Your uncle is clearly quite drunk, Your Grace,” he said, snapping the boy into the present. He, then, glared at Tyrion, who had almost gotten into a physical fight with the kid.

The dwarf started to sober up slowly. “A bad joke, Your Grace. Made out of envy of your own royal manhood. Mine is so small. My poor wife won't even know I'm there.” He said, used to making jokes that mocked him by now.

The excuse did not please Joffrey, who wanted the bedding ceremony to take place. However, upon being reminded of a lurking Josephine and a glaring Tywin; the Boy King knew he had to step down.

“Fine,” he mumbled under his breath and stomped his foot down like the spoilt child he was.

“My tiny drunk cock and I have a job to do,” Tyrion said as he stood up and walked around the table, almost bumping into his family’s. Sansa stood up slowly, her eyes falling on Joffrey but the boy king did not move. “Come, wife.”

Chapter Text

After the wedding feast, the crowd continued celebrating, even with Tyrion and Sansa gone. Tywin and Josephine had retreated soon after, having done enough damage control for the day.

They had earned their rest but were not ready to enjoy it yet.

Despite Tywin's conversation with Josephine, his Imp son's latest act had upset him once again. Thus, he found himself walking up and down in his chambers; ranting about the embarrassment Tyrion caused for his House.

“That little...” he did not continue with the adjectives he had in mind for the Imp. "I give him a wife far beyond his status, I give him chances to have some sort of power other than my family’s name, and yet he still dares to try and make me uncomfortable,” he spat, his eyes glaring at the flickering amber flames as he marched towards them.

Josephine was with him in the room, though she had chosen to sit upon his desk and merely watch him rant. She became a listener, yet she made no comment, her mind clearly going elsewhere as the wine was still in her system.

Tywin, realizing the room had been too quiet for too long, stopped marching and looked at her. He recognised that look on her, one that she had whenever her mind wandered to something else.

“You are not listening, aren’t you?” he asked rhetorically.

“I am sorry, Tywin. My mind is not present,” she confessed, sending him an apologetic look.

“I can see that,” He sighed, passing a hand through his hair. “What is on your mind, Josephine?”

Their gazes locked as Josephine found the wine loosening her tongue. Before she could stop herself, she spoke out loud her latest thoughts.

“Would you have stopped the bedding ceremony for me? If we had managed to get married?” she asked openly, placing her most sensitive feelings and secrets out in the open.

The question surprised Tywin, who turned to fully face her as he forgot all about his anger and hatred for Tyrion. He did not expect her to bring this topic up and did not hesitate to answer her.

“I would have,” he told her with certainty, not a moment of hesitation.

Josephine pressed her lips into a thin line. “You did not stop it for Joanna,” she reminded him.

When Tywin and Joanna married, they had faced a serious problem. Aerys declared the bedding ceremony, and men greedily grabbed Joanna before carrying her to her chambers.

Women had done the same to Tywin, who wished to be anywhere but there. As he got carried away, he first glared at a greedy Aerys, who had eyed his wife. Then, he looked at a scared Joanna as the men started to undress her in her expensive and fancy red gown.

Lastly, he had looked at a standing Josephine, who had remained back and merely watched. She had not spoken a word throughout the whole day, barely looking at him in the eyes as she became one with the shadows for most of the celebrations.

Tywin started to walk towards Josephine, pushing away the memory of his forced wedding to his cousin back then. He never wanted to marry Joanna, and if it were not for Josephine’s stubbornness and threats, he would never have.

He stopped in front of her, staring at her sitting form. He took a moment longer to speak but when he did, the Lioness forgot how to breathe.

“Because Joanna was not you,” he confessed, his voice low.

Josephine parted her lips in surprise, her eyes opening wider. She stared up at him, looking into his golden-flecked orbs in search of proof that he was lying when he said those words. But deep down, she knew she could sense that he was being honest with her.

Tywin surprised her once more as he boldly placed his hand on her cheek, the wine in his system helping him bypass most of his thoughts and raise walls. “If you were my wife, no man would ever be able to touch you... to look at you the wrong way or dare to comment, say anything about you.”

Tears prickled at the edge of Josephine’s grey eyes and she leaned her head against his warm bigger hand, not once looking away. For a single moment, Josephine dared to imagine a different life for herself.

A different life where she did not have to hide in the shadow of another woman, forced to be a mere observer to someone who lived the life she could have if fate had not intervened... if Tytos had kept his mouth shut.

This would be a life in which she would not be considered Tywin’s mistress and could truly be with him, having no need to hide their feelings for one another.

Tywin observed her as her walls started to crumble and fall. She silently stared at him as if he were one of the seven gods reincarnated. Tempted by her parted pink lips, he leaned forward and gently stole a kiss.

He closed his eyes as he was reminded how sweet her lips were, yet he fought his instincts to devour her by pulling back. Or that was his intention before Josephine gave in to her own instincts and kissed him back, openly inviting him to continue.

This was all Tywin needed to let go of any restraints. His kiss became more dominant and his free hand moved to wrap around her waist, pulling him closer to him. She parted her legs in response, reducing the space left between them as she balanced at the edge of the desk.

She opened her mouth, letting his tongue dominate the kiss and steal all the air she had in her lungs. Her one hand grabbed his jacket, and the other was pressed against his own, her head leaning against the hand placed on her cheek.

Neither of them wished to stop, wished to break the kiss, but when the lack of air became too much, they had to. They broke apart and pulled their heads just a tad back but not more, their noses touching.

Through hooded eyes, they looked at one another, silent pants helping them regain their needed oxygen. His hand on her waist remained tight, but she could feel his thumb caressing her above her tight red dress, tempted to rip it off her body and touch her warm, smooth skin.

After a moment of silence where they both tiptoed between control and carnal desires, Josephine found the courage to speak first.

“I better let you sleep,” she whispered, gently pressing her face against his. “It is rather late and we both had too much wine to drink.”

She intended to move and pull back, but Tywin anticipated her move. His grip increased and he pulled her harder against his body, where she could feel the tightness in his pants.

Josephine gasped at the rough and sudden move, holding back any other sound threatening to leave her mouth.

Tywin kept his grip on her cheek, fingers holding the edge of her jaw as he moved for the little part of her neck the dress left exposed. He left open kisses against her jaw and right beneath it, being so close in reaping that dress off and fully attack her skin with kisses and bites.

She arched her back in response, and one hand moved to the back of Tywin’s head. Sharp, pointy nails gently pressed against the skin of his neck as she suppressed a shiver. “Tywin,” she called out his name, her voice threatening to break.

She wanted nothing more than to give him the okay and let him take her to the desk until she could no longer walk. She dreamt of years to have him between her legs, his hands touching and grabbing her body, twisting it to the positions he favoured while his teeth left little marks for him to admire the following morning.

Yet Josephine knew that now was not the right time. Both were drunk and acting more on momentary desires than true feelings for one another. She did not want to cross the line and wake up the next day, only to see the regret in his eyes.

She simply could not risk it, not after fighting for years to return to his side. She had been through a lot, and now that she had him, she was not going to blindly follow her most selfish desires, no matter how much the Lioness within growled for his attention.

“Tywin,” she called his name again, sensing him how he stopped with his head buried to the crook of her neck.

The Lion growled faintly but slowly pulled his head back. His eyes were dark with desire, but he kept at bay his needs and thoughts. “Stay for the night,” he told her, his grip remaining tight, and their eyes locked again.

“I can’t,” she told him, pressing her forehead against his. “We don’t know where this will lead if I do.”

“Nothing will happen,” he confessed, answering faster than she expected him to. “You have my word.”

Tywin would have easily continued had she permitted him but she didn’t, so he stopped. He understood why she hesitated, and the following morning, his sober self would thank her for acting so smartly.

They were both affected not only by the wine but also by the talk of a wedding. They were reminded of the future they had planned together, and that was stolen away from them. All of this left a sore spot in Tywin’s heart.

They made him rethink certain things, and he did not wish to spend that particular night in a cold bed.

Josephine parted her lips to argue, hoping to change his mind but Tywin did not let her. The Lion pulled her face closer and slammed his lips against her, again stealing her breath. This time, he sucked and even gently bit her lips; making her gasp and moan faintly at the sudden rough treatment.

With much effort, Josephine managed to pull back. “Okay, I will stay,” she whispered as she tried to catch her breath.

This pleased the old Lion, who slowly let her go. He pulled her off the desk and allowed her to head for his big bed, his eyes following her every move. Yet all the things he wished to do to her remained nothing but mere thoughts in his mind.

He was a man of his word, and he was not going to go against it, especially when he gave his sacred word to Josephine.

The morning came quietly for Josephine, whose biological clock had synchronized with the world outside. The early rays of sun entered the room, the sky outside slowly fading from the deep and dark blue of the night to a lighter shade.

She blinked a few times and focused on her body, finding where she was currently lying. Somehow in the middle of the night, she had moved from her position on the bed and was now resting mostly on Tywin’s chest; his heart reaching her pressed ear in a slow and familiar lullaby.

Her red hair spread around her like a blanket, and her body was bare, except for the thin, short dress she had worn beneath her main one, which was a very simple piece of clothing that could barely count as anything.

Josephine’s mind started to focus, and she remembered the events of the night before, including the kiss that made her even more confused about where she and Tywin stood. Yet, she chose to push aside any questions she had and focused instead on her sleeping partner.

His eyes were closed, and he lay on his back, one hand placed behind his head. His breathing was even and quiet, and Josephine noticed how much calmer he looked.

Grey eyes softened at the sight and the Lioness stared at him like a lover would. She could not help but think how this unique sight could be a daily sight for her... how it used to be a daily sight for her when she was younger.

“It’s too early for you to stare,” Tywin suddenly mumbled, proving he was not as asleep as Josephine thought.

He opened his eyes, still hazy from sleep, before they focused on the beautiful face of his partner. Like her, he had removed most of the unnecessary clothing and was merely in a thin tunic and breeches.

Josephine offered Tywin a cheeky smirk as she moved her head, chin resting against his chest. “I cannot help it,” she excused herself, making him roll his eyes at her early mood for games.

The Lioness took a moment longer before she tried to move, knowing she could not reside for too long in his chambers. Yet, as she tried to get off him, she realized he had his other hand hooked around her waist.

His grip was tight, and he had years of sword-holding experience and had trained his muscles. He not only resisted her but managed to press her against him once again, sending the message that he was not going to let her go.

She could try and break free from him, but she was not in the mood to go into all that trouble and cause him any physical harm.

So, Josephine chose option two. “You know I have to get up. It will be seen as suspicious if my maid comes and I am not in my chambers,” she told him, trying to approach the more logical part of his brain.

Her attempt was successful as Tywin groaned in response, before he retreated his hand.

In return, she pecked his lips before she carefully lifted her body and crawled off him; not failing to sense his stiff manhood as she did. She tried not to focus on it and instead searched for her dress, finding it discarded on the stone floor not so far away.

Josephine thought she was smooth with how silently she opened her chamber doors after having ensured no servants were in the corridor. She did not look at the guard standing outside the doors, and he did not comment or make any move to stop her.

When the Lioness entered her chambers, she was surprised that Pauline was already there. It was unclear whether the servant girl had been waiting for long, but Josephine did notice the dress spread against her tidied-up, untouched bed.

Pauline bowed, and Josephine said nothing to the young maid and merely walked towards the dress. The maid understood what she wanted and quickly started helping her get dressed, as she had done every morning since her arrival in King’s Landing.

The fact that the servant girl did not speak, made Josephine feel slightly uneasy. She knew servants talked but had yet to figure out more about her servant. All she got from Tywin was the fact that the girl was responsible for Sansa before she was assigned to Josephine after the Blackwater Bay Battle.

“My lady,” Pauline finally said, breaking this tense silence between them. “Do you plan to break fast with Lord Hand?”

Josephine turned her back on the girl, allowing her to tie the strings that kept her dress in place. With the long golden laces, she created simple but fancy bows.

It was true that Josephine had been eating in the mornings with Tywin in his office, at least the last fortnight, if less. So, at first, the question seemed harmless. A simple question so Pauline could know whether to bring her Lady food or not.

But the Lioness’ instincts did not agree with this logic. She was always wary of the young girl who had been assigned to her.

“Nothing has been decided, yet,” Josephine answered the young maid. “Had anyone else demanded my presence this morning?” she asked, looking for useful information. Pauline opened her mouth to speak but the Lioness quickly corrected her initial question. “Do not include Lord Mace or any other available male Lord.”

It would not be the first time that Lords asked her for time for a walk or a meal. She graced some with a walk, just enough to try and get valuable information, but she often did not last long with their questions and looks.

The men, mostly close to her age, were less courteous and patient. Their hands wished to roam and Josephine truly despised it when someone did that, specifically when men did that to her.

The only male she had ever let hold her or place his hand on her was Tywin, at least in a more personal way. She had been held by men in general, mostly Tyg during their wrestling matches or Gerion when he would pick her up and carry her around Casterly Rock when he could not win an argument.

Kevan had been courteous enough to dance with her and hold her hand when a troublesome dress made it harder for her to climb on or off some stairs.

Pauline thought for a moment before she shook her head. “Then, no invites, my Lady,”

This pleased Josephine, who thought she could enjoy a morning walk or at least a peaceful garden stroll without having to worry about potential suitors trying to get under her dress.

Or so she thought.

Chapter Text

No man invited Josephine, for they never got the chance either. When a servant approached her, the Lioness had just started her morning stroll in the gardens to clear her head and enjoy the peace that existed in the early morning hours.

This is how Josephine found herself entering Cersei’s personal royal chambers. They were big and extravagant, filled with unlit candles and lots of gold. A huge balcony oversaw the luscious gardens while also offering a magnificent view of the sea.

The chambers were the definition of royalty, what a room worthy of a Queen should be. Yet there was this coldness in them, the lack of any physical comfort or warmth, as if the sun itself feared to light them.

Cersei noticed her arrival, as she had been leaning on the balcony railing of her room. Her back was turned to her guest, and she held a goblet filled with wine in her hand, her serious gaze locked on something outside.

For a moment, Josephine thought she saw Tywin from the familiarity of the stance and the judging aura that seemed to be coming from the Queen. It truly made the Lioness see how similar Cersei was to Tywin, lacking only in certain terms of character and personality.

At last, the Queen Reagent chose to grace Josephine with her attention; turning her still curved and wanted body to face the Lioness. Emerald eyes quickly scanned her guest, searching any exposed part of pale flesh for love marks.

She did not hide her disappointment when she found none and for a moment, she thought of more covered and private places where such marks could easily be hidden.

The Lioness stood in the middle of the room as she studied Cersei in return. “You summoned me,” she started, choosing to be the one to open a conversation topic. “I did not expect that, let alone in your chambers. You want something from me?”

Her voice was calm and subtle, and she held no hostility toward the younger woman. Sure, she did not truly like being summoned like a common house pet or servant, but she did not focus too much on it.

Considering how hard Cersei tried to avoid Josephine, the Lioness was more than willing to learn why the sudden change of heart. She doubted it had anything to do with friendliness, evident by how cold the Queen’s emerald eyes were.

No, she wanted something. Josephine could tell but she would not openly be rude and demand it. She had to play her role and cards carefully, already knowing how volatile and manipulative Cersei’s character was.

She was, after all, Tywin’s child. No matter how much she could look like Joanna, there was barely any trace of the deceased woman.

Cersei scoffed. “Is it wrong of me to wish for a private talk with you?” she asked, trying to dismiss the original question and play a more innocent role.

One she failed to do so as Josephine saw right through it.

“It is not, though it is unexpected. What do you wish to talk with me?”

Once again, Cersei avoided the topic directly. “You look rather well. I suspect you had a rather good night’s sleep,” she pointed out, leaving the balcony behind her as she slowly headed for the Lioness.

Josephine arched an eyebrow at the rather bad observation. She was smart enough to suspect where this conversation would lead but she would not be the one to take the topic there. If Cersei truly wanted to ask that question, she should have gathered the courage to do it without wasting time.

“It was an everyday night for me, actually,” the Lioness said, chasing her luck with Cersei’s temper.

Cersei clearly did not believe her, but she did not openly defy it. Instead, she headed for the small table where a jug with wine was placed, still filled from the night before. Perhaps it was too early to drink wine, but at that moment, she felt she truly needed it.

“You know, I was always curious about the whole Lannister Secret. I mean, hearing all those tales ever since I was a child, made me wonder about my Lioness,” she started, turning her back to Josephine as she poured wine into her empty goblet. “I remember asking my mother about it and she would always reassure me that one day, I would get my partner as it was my right.”

The Lioness watched her carefully, turning her body sideways to keep Cersei in her line of view. “You know it is more complicated than that,” she started, choosing to enlighten the young woman, though she suspected she already knew. “You are the first female to be born as an heir to the family, Cersei. The bond has so far only been connected to male heirs.”

Truthfully, even Josephine did not have all the answers about the Secret. She sometimes had questions about it, but even her travels had not helped shed a lot of light on it. There was always something tricky about deals and old magic, vague words, and little loopholes that no one specified.

For example, a male heir was meant to be partnered up. Based on logic and natural laws, an heir was considered the firstborn. But in Westerosi society, only a male could be an heir, and he did not always have to be the firstborn, as long as the child was the successor to the family and its legacy.

Whether Cersei had considered it or not, Josephine did not know, and she was not going to ask.

The Queen reagent held back a scoff as she placed the jug down. “Of course, that’s the answer... it is complicated,” she mocked, taking a deep sip.

Josephine started to get tired of this game of back and forth. Thus, she stopped playing with the female cub. “What do you want to ask me, Cersei truly? Go ahead and stop hitting around the bush so much.”

This seemed to snap her from her thoughts and the younger woman turned to face the older one. “The tale goes that a partner’s duty requires her to be next to the heir, helping him when he commanded,” she started, her grip on the goblet increasing with each passing second. “Does it also require you to spend whole nights in my father’s chambers?”

There it is, Josephine thought as Cersei stopped hiding and openly threw her accusation.

Of course, it was not said directly or simply, for the cub tried to mock and still chose a safer route to ask. She could not risk saying it out loud, the thought alone making her feel sick and furious.

She could not accept the idea that another woman was lying with Tywin, who seemed to have grown over the woman he married and vowed to protect under the watchful eye of the Seven.

The Lioness sighed. She feared this would not end well but was willing to try, hoping to save what she could from wrong conclusions. “This is not how things are, Cersei-“

Cersei did not let her continue. “Silly me, how could it be? After all, my father is too noble to do that, to cheat on his wife’s memory,” she mocked, her emotions getting the best of her.

“Cersei,” Josephine’s tone came as a warning.

The Queen Reagent did not care for it. “You know, I remember you since I was a child. The famous Lioness was babysitting us when the stupid Septas could not stand us. I remember how you were everywhere even though you were not family.” Cersei emptied her goblet in one go, tossing her head back. “When you are a child, you think this is normal. Just as Jaime was chosen as his heir, even though I was born first, you were chosen as a companion to help him with matters at hand...But growing up,” she shook her head faintly. “You see things differently, because you were always the one spending time with him. You spent more time with him than his own wife; going with him to King’s Landing while my mother stayed back; as if she valued nothing!”

Furious now, affected by her own words and emotions; Cersei marched towards the Lioness. She tried to intimidate the older woman, push her away from Tywin, and remind her that she could never be Joanna at the end of the day. No matter how hard she tried, even daring to protect her against Tywin's rage and physical disciplinary methods. 

Josephine was unaffected by her attempts; few things were ever capable of affecting her that way. Yet, her gaze softened as guilt started to wrap around her heart. She could see how hurt Cersei was, and she mentally blamed herself for that.

Ever since Joanna came into the picture, she has feared that the supernatural bond between her and Tywin would be too strong, that it would put too much weight on his marriage and family.

Tywin had often reassured her that nothing like this had happened, which was evident by how he even slept with Joanna a few times and had children with her. But deep down, Josephine somehow knew this was not enough.

Now, the Lioness could see the results and know she was right.

Yet, she remained calm and did not let her personal guilt get the best of her. “Are you done letting it out on me?” she dared to question, ending up pissing Cersei even more. She did not let the younger woman answer the rhetorical question. “You blame me, thinking I played a role but you seem to forget... Joanna’s death made Tywin take no other woman, even when his legacy was at risk with Jaime being assigned to the King’s guards.”

Cersei did not know how Josephine was aware of such detail and wondered if Tywin had told her that, in private. A more logical part of her narcissistic mind, however, told her that Josephine kept a tab on them or at least on Tywin; like a twisted stalking story masked under the disguise of worry and care.

“Your father hates Tyrion more than he hated his enemies, all because it was his birth that killed Joanna,” Josephine continued, reminding another valid fact. “I assure you, I am the last person he ever had in his mind, then and even now.”

Those words felt like a self attack on her heart, her hands betraying her by pushing the knife deeper. Josephine always feared that this would happen one day, that Tywin would replace her with Joanna, and if the woman had survived, perhaps the years would have led him to that.

Saying those words, out loud, made Josephine take a deep breath as her heart rate started to increase; each beat causing her pain. Those words were once Josephine’s thoughts, and as she travelled, she often wondered that.

There were dark days when she truly believed Tywin had stopped thinking about her, days when she swore the bond with him had disappeared by a twisted act of fate, leaving her truly alone in a hostile world.

Even now, with evidence of the night prior, she could not help but wonder. She believed it less but it was still in the back of her mind, a fear that would never go away.

Cersei tried to argue, to find something and use it against the Lioness but could not find the words. Something about Josephine’s tone and look made the Queen Reagent less suspicious of the obvious lie but not fully.

Her trust issues would never allow her to be outplayed so easily.

“Okay,” she muttered under her breath, stepping back and exiting Josephine’s personal space.

“How did you come to that conclusion, Cersei?” Josephine asked, changing the heavy and sensitive topic while wishing to get some answers of her own.

At her question, Cersei scoffed. “I am the Queen, don’t you forget that. There is nothing that can escape me,” she tried to dismiss a more direct answer and change the topic.

Unfortunately for her, Josephine had spent years studying and observing the people around her. She had practised keeping important details and naturally made connections when others failed.

It was why the Lioness got a true answer despite Cersei’s obviously fake answer.

Pauline, she thought as she remembered how odd the maid was acting this morning.

Technically, she had been acting odd since the first day she marched into Josephine’s chambers in a dress for the celebrations. Now, Josephine knew why her instincts were warning her all those days.

Unfortunately for the young woman, Josephine did not appreciate moles and traitors, regardless of gender or background.

It couldn’t have been more than three days since the marriage between Sansa and Tyrion, no more than three days since Josephine spent her night in Tywin’s arms.

In those three days, nothing took place but upon the night of the third day game; peace was disturbed.

In the hour of the Owl, handmaiden Pauline was found dead by a soldier on patrol. Close to the stables, her body lay; unmoving. Her wounds had been excessive, flesh ripped from her bones and her face had been damaged almost beyond recognition.

All signs pointed to a wild beast, and the city was quickly alerted to a roaming creature capable of death and potential destruction. The small folks became uneasy, and before the fourth day ended, everyone talked of the gossip, wondering if this was truly the work of a wild beast that had roamed into the city.

Or if it was just a stray dog that got a little too hungry upon meeting the silent handmaiden.

By the fifth day, the topic slowly faded as new gossip replaced it. That did not mean Tywin had not heard about it, and unlike others, he knew more about the attack.

“If you are in such a big need to hunt, I can arrange something,” Tywin said, his eyes not leaving the latest report about the Lannister Coffers.

As usual, he was in his office, and Josephine sat across from him. She was busy comparing notes left by Tyrion on his book as Master of Coin, helping Tywin discuss a peculiar shortage and how that could be handled; perhaps redirected to the ongoing War that kept bleeding all the lands dry, one by one.

“I do not need to hunt. I merely do not like running mouths,” she replied, choosing not to go into more detail or justify her actions.

Josephine knew that if Tywin found out about Cersei and her little spy in Pauline, he would be furious, and this time, Josephine might not be able to stop him in time. Thus, she remained quiet, knowing he would not bother too much with the life of a servant.

“Always going for the extreme reactions,” he grumbled beneath his breath but she heard him.

She looked from the book at him. “Well, I got it from you,” she reminded him, earning his attention.

The frown on his face told her he was not pleased with the comparison. He chose to be more extreme when the situation required it, when a strict hand was not enough. It was in times when his family could be in danger, his legacy could be threatened.

Not when a servant chose to open their mouths and spread fake stories across the castle. Or at least, that’s what he suspected the girl did. He did not question it, since Josephine handled the issue just fine and it would soon all be forgotten.

Of course, he did not intend to leave that foul comparison like that. Yet before he could speak, there was a knock on the door. A servant rushed into the room, bowing deeply when he was close to the desk.

“A letter from the Battlefield, my lord,” he said and Tywin extended his hand, letting the boy place the rolled scroll in it.

A mere nod of his head and the boy rushed out of the room, having silently been dismissed.

He unfolded the small scroll that had come with a messenger crow and started to read it, his expression changing slightly, but it was something that Josephine took notice of.

“What does it say?” she questioned, momentarily worrying that the news was unhappy and contained words of death or disaster.

Tywin did not respond and merely passed her the scroll. She shut the book and left it on the desk before taking the small piece of parchment. She started to read it, her expressions far more intense than his.

News of the battlefield had arrived in the form of two letters. One was from Lord Frey, a simple coded message that initially troubled her.

Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding.

Thankfully, a second scroll coming from Lord Roose Bolton explained everything a little better.

Robb Stark was officially dead. He had been killed in his wedding by Lord Frey. His mother, his wife and dozens of Northern Lords were slain in an event that would stain the Westerosi History and be remembered as... The Red Wedding.

Josephine was furious and tossed the scrolls on the desk, before she ripped them apart. “How dare he,” she spat, sharp fangs barely visible. “The Laws of Hospitality are sacred. One of the oldest traditions that existed since the time of the First Men and before,” she argued, hands shaking faintly and moving as she tried to prove her point.

Unlike her, Tywin remained rather calm and seemed unbothered by the means by which Robb’s death came. As long as that annoying Green Boy was out of his way, he could care less. Of course, he would have rather bested him in combat and intelligent planning than using such means.

“Do not be surprised, Josephine. We are talking about the Boltons and the Freys,” he told her, studying her reaction.

“Well, it’s not like I met them while travelling,” she commented.

“Trust me, it was for the wisest that you did not.”

This was not enough to calm down the Lioness. “They still did it, Tywin,” she reminded him, not surprised by his calm demeanour. “This was not the plan... by the seven, this was a mere idea. They moved it to a massacre!” she slammed her fist on her thigh, knowing if she dared to do it on Tywin’s desk, he would scold her,

She had done it too many times in the past and learnt her lesson.

Josephine was not upset by the idea but more by the actions, because things had been planned very differently.

Roose Bolton had sent them a message, wishing to switch his allegiance and join them, having grown tired of Robb Stark. He also needed help against Theon Greyjoy and his barbaric House while fighting to regain the North under his command.

“Well, if Roose Bolton truly wants us to take him seriously... he will have to prove his loyalty,” Josephine told Tywin as she sat by the open window, enjoying the sun that hit on that particular spot for 30 minutes each day.

Tywin grabbed his wine goblet and stood close by, leaning against the cool wall and allowing his long legs to stretch after so many hours of sitting on a chair. “The only way he could prove it, after all that took place, is by taking down Robb Stark and removing the obstacle for us.” He sipped some wine.

Josephine scoffed at the idea, amused by it. “And how do you think he will be able to do that? Backstab him in his uncle’s wedding?” she suggested woefully, since Roose had mentioned the marriage of Robb’s Stark to one of Lord Frey’s daughters; to make up for the betrothal he had broken up.

The Old Lion did not comment, clearly thinking about it for a moment longer. The plan sounded rather stupid, but perhaps it could be the thing that would make it all work. All it would take was a single arrow or a hidden dagger to take down the Young Wolf.

Then, a big part of the War would be over and the Lannister Coffers could take a breather from the strain they had been put through the past two years; ever since the War of the Five Kings had started.

Josephine had too late realized that Tywin thought of her idea a little more intensely and gave the instructions to Roose Bolton. The Northern Lord ignored the instructions and chose to act his own way.

Well, he and Lord Frey.

“What is done is done,” Tywin said, a sentence he seemed to favour a little more often. Josephine opened her mouth to argue, but he was faster than she was. “We move forward after this, without Robb Stark, the war is tipping in our favour and soon only Stannis will remain to end this war, for good.”

The Lioness closed her mouth, but she was still unhappy with the result. The just part of her was disgusted by such actions. If one House dared to go that far and break such sacred Law, then anyone else could now do it.

No longer would safe heaven and hospitality be sacred. No longer travelling, the Lords could sleep safely in another Lord’s castle without worrying about danger and death. It was a step towards anarchy and paranoia.

Tywin, who seemed to pick up her worries and thoughts, chose to speak again and help her escape this dilemma. “This is the first step in what we discussed before, Josephine. If you wish us to retire and return to Casterly Rock, this is the first step in the stability of the Realm. We handle this war and are closer to retiring when the time is right.”

Like the mastermind he was, Tywin did not hesitate to twist Josephine’s hopes for a quieter future between them; to ensure she remained focused on the game and did not let her personal feelings get the best of her.

He needed her at her 100%, now more than ever. He could not risk her sticking to little details and insignificant things, not when the biggest issues they needed to focus on were just around the corner.

Josephine looked at him as he spoke and the idea of a peaceful feature was too tempting to ignore. The sweet dream she had in her waking hours, of finally being with Tywin and without impending doom on the horizon; was what she chose to focus on.

She was still conflicted but chose to drop the subject, merely offering Tywin a nod; showing she understood his point. “When will you tell Joffrey and the others?” she asked, her voice and her temper much quieter now.

Tywin thought for a moment. “Soon, perhaps in the next Small Council Meeting.”

She nodded again and grabbed the book, choosing to continue what she was doing before her mind went to the Red Wedding again.

Chapter Text

It was barely a day since the news of Robb’s death spread across the Westerosi continent and beyond. Everyone talked, some more than others. There was fear about future noble visits now that the Law of Hospitality had been broken.

There was disgust against Lord Frey and his immoral actions, and there were talks of how severely the Seven would punish him for his crimes. And there was talk of Sansa being an orphan, the last of her family, and the only heir to the North.

It did not help Josephine’s temper, who was still bitter about the cruelty and how things had turned out. Yet, she made no further comment and instead focused on what was important to her, specifically Olenna.

The Queen of Thorns had summoned her yet again, under the guise of a friendly invite. Thus, Josephine found herself in a different part of the lavish Red Keep Gardens; following the laid stone path amongst the blades of green grass.

Up ahead, in a small gazebo-like structure made of old stone, a table, chairs, and pillows had been placed. A small feast of fresh fruits and Arbour wine had been served as the Matriarch of the Tyrell Family sat comfortably, enjoying the good weather.

“Well, you certainly took your time to come,” Olenna said, choosing to greet the Lioness in such manner.

Of course, Josephine was not affected but rather amused by her effort. “Perhaps age is slowly catching up to me. I am sure you know how this feels,” she talked back, gracefully sitting next to the older woman.

Olenna smirked, a quick shine in her eyes. She occasionally enjoyed a good banter, a more playful one that amused and helped time pass. Unfortunately for her, only Josephine seemed to be capable of such challenge.

“You know, I had a meeting with that Old Lion of yours,” she started as she passed Josephine a goblet filled with cold water. “I suppose you are aware of what is about?”

Josephine gladly accepted the goblet. “A marriage proposal between Cersei and Loras, if I am not mistaken,” she sipped some water.

“Then I, perhaps you also know the threats he used to persuade me into agreeing,” the Queen of Thorns said, popping a grape in her mouth.

The Lioness lowered her goblet faintly. “Threats?” she arched an eyebrow and then scoffed, amused. “I only know you giving out threats, never taking.”

“Oh, you laugh because you were not present. Mayhap you have been, he would not be so grumpy.”

She placed her goblet on the table. “Bold of you to assume my presence would make a difference to his mood.” She tried to dismiss the topic.

Unfortunately for her, Olenna had picked up many things lately from Tywin’s intense reaction and protectiveness over Josephine and the looks they gave one another during Sansa and Tyrion’s wedding.

“Don’t put yourself down like that; it’s embarrassing to your intelligence,” Olenna argued, surprising Josephine with the passive compliment. “It’s clear that the grumpy lord is more tolerant when you are around.” Josephine was about to argue but the Queen of Thorns did not let her. “I might be old but I am not blind. You might be the only reason he did not choke that dwarf son of his in his wedding.”

The Lioness forced her mouth to close shut and she pressed her lips against one another. She could see it was becoming futile to try and change Olenna’s mind or dismiss such observations, when all were true.

And they were not only true but also witnessed by a rather sharp and cunning mind like Olenna’s.

In the end, she sighed and grabbed a piece of bread. “I am his partner. I know how to talk to him before things become heated,” she confessed, trying not to give away any more reason why Tywin was different around her.

Of course, Olenna had already made a rather subtle connection, but for the sake of the conversation and this unusual friendship, she chose to drop it. Plus, she had enough footing to bring up her next subject.

And with the political smoothness only a female Tyrell could possess, she went for the next move. “I wonder how it would be had you also been his wife,” she threw one last comment and quickly changed the topic. “You would definitely be luckier than the poor woman Robb Stark broke his betrothal for. Look at what she got from it, death at her good uncle’s wedding.”

Josephine grabbed another piece of bread, earning a few extra seconds by chewing on it. “Yes, I have heard as the rest of the world has.”

Olenna grabbed her wine goblet. “Such a terrible thing to do. Kill someone in their own wedding, trick them under the fake comfort of hospitality. Who would even think of such an immoral thing?”

The Lioness picked up the woman’s plan but would not openly hand out information. “Lord Frey, from what I hear, and Lord Bolton. I don’t think we should be surprised,” she continued, effortlessly hiding her nerves around this topic.

The fact that she had suggested it, even randomly, and then it became a reality made her feel guilty. True, her idea was far different and did not involve such a massacre, but she played a role in bringing it to life.

And thus, her righteous consciousness did not let her forget it so easily or push it to the back of her mind.

If Olenna picked up on what was going on or suspected Josephine of hiding something, she made no comment. Instead, she went to the real topic, the one she wished to discuss with Josephine.

“True but who says others won’t try their luck? Who says weddings won’t become the next target for assassinations?” Olenna asked passively and Josephine arched an eyebrow, slowly picking up as she read between the lines. “We should definitely be wary and think of our security better, especially now with the upcoming wedding between Margaery and Joffrey.”

“Robb’s wedding was small and in more barbaric lands. Joffrey is the King of the 7 Kingdoms. No one would be foolish enough to try anything in his wedding,” Josephine passively talked back as they locked their gazes.

“Perhaps not foolish, but it's not like the King has no enemies that wish to see him dead. With his rather sadistic and often questionable nature, one could not really blame them.”

Josephine quickly went on the defensive as she started to connect the dots and read Olenna’s true intentions. “We still are talking about the King, and any attempt on his life will be met with strong resistance and lethal punishments upon getting caught.”

Someone else might have openly called out Olenna and rushed to the same conclusions as Josephine, even though nothing had been confirmed or told directly. Someone else might have failed to pick up what the Queen of Thorns suggested.

The Lioness was not like the others. If the person telling her this were none other than Olenna, her reaction would have been different. However, she still owed Olenna her life, and it was crucial for her to remain a good ally to the older woman if she wished to learn more about upcoming plans that might endanger the Lannister House.

And of course, the person they were talking about also played the biggest role. They did not speak of an innocent green boy like Robb or a sweet kid like Tommen. They spoke about a boy king with questionable morals, whose actions have reached Josephine’s ears and she feared that the same boy could become a second Aerys if he were given time to grow under the influence of power.

Of course, Olenna remained absolutely calm. She seemed pleased that Josephine picked up rather quickly, proving to the older woman that she was making the right choice by choosing her as a partner in this.

Without telling much, the Lioness got a good idea of the sinister plans the Queen of Thorns had in mind. However, she still needed a little nudge to go in the right direction to be fully persuaded.

“None of this would matter to the eyes of a mother,” the older woman commented, breaking the momentarily silence between them. “Think yourself like a mother, Josephine. If your child were in a dire situation, would you step back in fear of the consequences? Or do anything in your power to protect them?”

The Lioness did not answer directly, finding words stuck to her throat.

Think yourself like a mother.

It was something Josephine often did, when she would stare at children playing by pools of water or see happy families together. It was what she would think of while residing within the Red Keep, where perhaps she could have been a mother to the traumatized cubs raised under Tywin’s tough and strict parental love.

Deep down, Josephine knew that she would have gone against the Old and New Gods and even dragons if it meant protecting those she considered her own blood: her children. And if one were to be fair, sometimes one had to be the bigger evil to take down the smaller one.

Olenna studied the younger woman, who emptied her water rather quickly. Evidently, she was thinking about it, and that was what the Old Woman was counting for.

Josephine was not the only one able to read people, their intentions, and what made them tick. Olenna had mastered that long ago and had enough information on the Lioness to know how to approach her.

Tywin should even get a few lessons from her, if he can submerge his huge pride.

“You worry too much for things that have yet to come,” Olenna said, motioning for a servant nearby to come with the wine pitcher. “Let things fall into their rightful place. I have realised, Josephine, that all you have to do in life, sometimes, is keep an open eye and a sharp ear.”

The servant filled the two goblets with wine before Olenna dismissed him. The Queen of Thorns passed the goblet to Josephine, who reluctantly accepted it. She withdrew any further comments and instead let the sweet alcoholic drink fill her mouth and go down her throat; her mind realizing the position she suddenly found herself in.

The Gardens of the Red Keep were a nice touch of green in a rather cramped and isolated city. The colourful flowers offered a splash of joy into the rather mundane and grim castle that served as the seat for the Royal Family and the King.

Sansa had found that place to be her favourite, from the few areas she could be alone and in peace. Back at Winterfell, flowers were rare; especially when the winter was rather harsh. She found them mostly in the early summer days, when the ground would be softer.

Few dared to bloom, only the toughest ones capable of surviving on such bare lands. Yet Sansa would always admire them, daring to pluck a few and embroider them into her clothes as she grew.

The memories of her past felt so distant to the young Direwolf, who had only left her home for two years. It felt so much more and she tried her hardest to hold on to them, fearing they would disappear as the time passed by her.

The news of her brother’s and mother’s deaths was a heavy hit on her heart, and she had spent the previous day sobbing alone in her chambers, refusing to eat or see anyone. Tyrion had been courteous enough to leave her alone and not even sleep in their chambers; valuing her need to grieve.

Now, Sansa found solace in this solitude, and she started to realize she would have to get used to it. Her whole family was gone, and she had been married to a House that either did not bother with her existence or found pleasure in torturing her.

With no friends or allies in this dark and gloomy place, the young Direwolf truly felt the absence of her family and regretted all those times she said she wished to leave them and move to the capital.

Sure she had Margaery, but soon she would be Queen and would have little time to be with Sansa. She would have no reason to do so, with many important issues and people to deal with.

The sound of steps was barely audible but once Sansa picked them up, she turned rather startled; fearing Joffrey had come to torture her some more. Her blue eyes held fear until she realized no threat was coming her way.

Instead, Lady Josephine marched slowly towards the tired and scared girl. Her grey eyes held compassion and warmth, something Sansa had not seen in someone for quite a while.

She did not know that the Lioness had been observing her from afar, fearing for the girl’s sanity after such devastating news. The fact that she had played a role in orphaning an already tortured girl, did not help her guilt; another reason to check upon Sansa.

“Lady Josephine,” Sansa said as she wiped the tears gathered by the edge of her eyes. She offered a deep bow to the woman that had seen from afar but never talked to. “We haven’t met properly, I am Sansa Stark, my Lady.”

The Lioness stopped before the young girl, offering a soft smile. “I am aware who you are. I should apologise for taking so long to meet you officially, Sansa.”

Slowly, Sansa lifted her head and gazed, surprised to hear such words. She could quickly see, though, that the older woman was telling the truth and held no ill intentions. After spending so much time under Cersei, Sansa had learnt how to read a person or at least suspect when they did not have her well-being in mind.

“It’s not your fault, my lady. You had more important things to focus on than a young orphan girl like me.”

“Nonsense,” Josephine said, trying to keep her voice soft and not startle the already frightened girl. “I would have much preferred your company over those of men interested in my hand,” she threw a joke and found pride fill her chest upon seeing Sansa crack a faint smile. “Mind you accompanying me for a walk, Lady Sansa?”

The young Direwolf nodded and moved to stand next to the Lioness, before the two of them started to walk. She dared not say something but tried to glance and study the peculiar woman.

She was indeed very beautiful, rivalling almost Margaery and easily surpassing Cersei. She had this natural exotic beauty upon her, the shade of her hair making her stand out and reminding Sansa of her late mother.

Her hair was a darker shade of red, while Josephine’s had a more orangish tint, reminding Sansa of the shade of flames than the shade of blood.

There was something about how Josephine walked and moved, a supernatural grace and confidence behind its step. It made Sansa feel self-conscious about her walking, and her Septa often scolded her for being too stiff and lacking grace for a lady.

While Sansa stared at Josephine, the Lioness stole glances at the young wolf, giving her time to relax and be more open to a talk. She caught the girl’s scent a while back, but being this close allowed her to get a better image of it.

She was not surprised to find the mixture of oils and perfumes, flowers and sweets dominating her senses. Yet in the chaos of lady cosmetics, Josephine caught a faint sense of a wolf; she would have almost missed it.

It made her think back to Harrenhal and young Ary, who had a similar scent though far stronger and wilder.

After the Battle, Josephine and Tywin received a letter from the Mountain. Robb Stark had attacked the huge castle, or he intended to, so the few Lannister men under the mountain’s command fled.

But first they had killed every single one of the prisoners and burnt what they could, stealing anything worthy in silverware and provisions. Thankfully, young Ary had disappeared shortly after Josephine and Tywin departed from Harrenhal.

The young servant had left, and her whereabouts were unknown. This surprised Josephine but also offered her solace, knowing the child was smart enough to survive and that it was better for her to be away from the chaos of the war.

One day, they would meet again under better circumstances.

“How have you been handling everything, Sansa?” Josephine asked, choosing that enough time had passed. “Since the wedding?”

Immediately, the young Direwolf tensed faintly and avoided eye contact. Did she know that the marriage had not been consummated? That Tyrion had not laid to bed with her yet?

“I... I have been handling it, my lady. Everything is fine.” She tried to lie, failing to persuade the woman by her side.

Josephine sighed faintly. “It is never easy at first, for anyone... but Tyrion is a noble man and I know he won’t force you until you are ready.”

Sansa found the courage to look at her as they kept walking, now at a slower pace. “You sound so sure, my lady.”

The Lioness offered a smile. “Let’s just say that I am good at reading people, even when I don’t know them well.”

This made the young Direwolf smile faintly and nod, looking forward again. Her grip on the side of her skirt intensified as she slowly gathered her courage. She remembered what Margaery had told her and how she should not hesitate to ask for help or advice.

She was talking about herself, but it would not hurt if Sansa asked another woman, would it?

“My Lady...were you...” Josephine looked at Sansa, waiting for her question. “Were you very young when you got married?” Sansa asked, remembering that the woman by her side was a widow; living her life as she wished.

Well, almost.

Josephine looked forward again, in thought. Considering she had never been married, she had to make something up and found there was no need for pure lies. “I was around your age, no older than six and ten.”

It was a white lie, one she often preferred; finding them easier to remember and use in dire situations.

Truthfully, she had not been married, but she was around that age when Tywin brought up the idea of marriage between them. She was a year younger when he took her to bed, the very first time the Lioness within was truly on heat. He had sensed it through their bond and she had openly craved his touch, openly offering her consent; and he did not hesitate after that.

Ever since, she had been secretly sleeping with him for a full year, hence why the idea had been brought up.

“It was not easy for me, either,” she continued, earning the girl’s attention. “But I have come to realize, that any marriage can work out as long as both parties have a mutual understanding and respect for one another.”

Sansa nodded but was still uncomfortable with the idea of bedding Tyrion. It was not that he was a bad man, but his appearance did not help the teenage girl who had spent her years dreaming of beautiful princes and knights.

Josephine, realizing the girl was not so openly one to talk, chose to try and change the topic, maybe even crack a smile out of her. “At least you are no longer married to Joffrey. It's a burden less and with more freedom,” she tried, hoping to help her see a little brighter this forced marriage.

Unfortunately for her, Sansa was not as untamed as Josephine thought she was. She was not as intact and strong as she portrayed herself to be. Two years of abuse at the hands of Cersei and her sadistic son, kicked in.

“King Joffrey had been too kind to me. He should be relieved he is no longer married to the daughter of a traitor, like me.” Sansa said, her voice threatening to crack.

Josephine almost stopped walking, her lips parted in surprise at the sudden change. She had seen a lot of things in her life, but this was new to her. She had only then started to realize just how tortured the girl had been, brainwashed into submission and fear.

And at that moment, Josephine thought back to her discussion with Olenna just a day prior.

Think of yourself like a mother.

The Lioness did, and she realised the true danger that Joffrey hid behind his creepy smile and the blood on his hands, which no one ever saw or dared to speak of. She realized Olenna’s mindset and the Lioness made her decision; unsure if she would regret it in the distant future, lucky enough to live so many years.

This small talk between Lioness and Direwolf was interrupted, as someone had started approaching them up ahead in the distance.

Chapter Text

Tyrion had been watching them for a while, first from his balcony and then from a distance. Ever since learning of the Red Wedding and how his father orchestrated it, he questioned many things he knew.

However, it was not just the news of the Red Wedding or Sansa’s fragile state that had made him seek Josephine. It was what his father had confessed to him in a moment of passive aggressive argument once the Small Council had been dismissed.

His father had not only shown little guilt for the way Robb Stark died but had also dared to turn the topic to Tyrion’s latest marriage and his ‘failure’ in his duty towards the house. It had been mere days since the marriage, but the dwarf should not have been surprised with his father.

Yet, Tyrion was in the mood to argue. He defended Sansa against Joffrey and would defend her against his cold-hearted father. “And when do you imagine Sansa will be at her most fertile? Before or after I tell her how we murdered her mother and her brother?” he asked as he started to approach, venom dripping from every word that left his lips.

“One way or another, you will get that girl pregnant.” His father said as he turned to face him, leaning back on his desk.

His son immediately understood what he was talking about and he felt offended. “I will not rape her.”

“Shall I explain to you in one easy lesson how the world works?” Tywin asked, his anger flaring. He was getting tired of arguing with every small-minded individual who failed to see the bigger picture.

“Use small words. I'm not as bright as you.” Tyrion replied sarcastically.

“The house that puts family first will always defeat the house that puts the whims and wishes of its sons and daughters first. A good man does everything in his power to better his family's position regardless of his own selfish desires.” He said and noticed how Tyrion smirked in amusement. “Does that amuse you?”

He tried his best to remain serious but he could not wipe that smirk off his face, not when he suddenly had the chance; a chance he would not let go to waste.

“No, it's a very good lesson.” He said, managing to regain control of himself. “Only it's easy for you to preach utter devotion to family when you're making all the decisions.” He continued, sending a small glare at his father.

“Easy for me, is it?”

“When have you ever done something that wasn't in your interest but solely for the benefit of the family?” Tyrion asked.

In that moment, Tywin saw red. Being questioned was one thing but being openly accused was an entirely different matter. He wished to harm the cocky short man and he felt his hand tensing by his side, ready to be used and remind his ‘son’ what respect meant.

However, Josephine’s warning gaze from the last family meeting was still imprinted on his mind. The way she disapproved of his thoughts, the way she had stood protectively as if they were her children and not another woman’s...

For her sake alone, he did not harm his son; not physically. But he was not going to let him get away with it and thus, in order to come on top, he spoke more truth than he would ever say to his son.

“Marrying your mother,” was his answer, surprising Tyrion with such confession.”Did you really think it was my personal interest to marry my own cousin?”

Tyrion remained speechless, lips parted in surprise at the confession. He freaking loved Joanna, everyone knew that. Hell, it was the reason why he hated the Imp so much; because he killed his wife, his love.

For a moment, the short man looked at his father in the eyes, searching for a lie. This had to be a lie, one used to get back to him. Yet, there was pure honesty in those golden-flecked orbs, mixed with anger and hatred.

This time, Tyrion swore, the hatred was not directed at him. It was something new, for a change.

“Just like you, I married for the House’s future and did my job,” Tywin continued, closing this ridiculous and unnecessary discussion. “The same way I expect you will do and it better be soon.”

Without another word, the Old Lion left the room; leaving his dwarf son to get lost in his thoughts as he started questioning almost anything he knew.

Since then, Tyrion has been killing himself by reading every book he can find. He had been studying his father’s history for so long, he felt he would be sick if he read one more thing about him.

Of course, all this studying had paid off for a few things that started to fall into place. Stories narrating Tywin’s early years had been rather detailed, though what had gotten Tyrion’s attention was mostly one thing.

The Lioness.

From the battle against the Turbecks and the Raynes to the Rains of Castamere, maesters talked of how gallant Tywin was and how righteous he was and supported his claim as Lord Lannister for one single reason.

He fought side by side with a Lioness, who, at his command, tore down his enemies and coated herself in blood. Having a powerful Lion, big and capable like the one the stories mentioned, had been a thing of the past.

Tytos and his father before him had both weak partners, but then Tywin came and reminded many of the deceased Lords and House Heads of the Lannister Family—powerful men, wardens, and kings, with terrifying beasts by their side at all times.

It became evident to Tyrion that Josephine was present long before Tywin got married, long before Joanna perished giving birth to a deformed baby. The woman who had barely spoken a word to him but always seemed to look after him from the shadows, had been by Tywin’s side since he was young.

If there was someone, anyone, who could help shed some insight on what Tywin said, it was her.

This is how he found the courage to approach her, letting her for a moment longer to comfort Sansa and try to ease her mood. Once their eyes met, Josephine seemed to know that he wished them to speak.

“Lord Tyrion,” Sansa greeted first, offering a small bow to him.

Tyrion bowed his head in respect to his lady wife. “Lady Sansa. May I borrow Lady Josephine for a while?”

The Direwolf glanced at the taller woman and then at him. “Of course, My Lord. Thank you for the walk, my Lady.”

The two lions watched her go, trying to be elegant and hide her fast steps as she took the path leading her back to the Red Keep. Only after Sansa was gone from their line of vision, did the two of them look at each other.

“Come,” Josephine said, slowly walking towards a familiar Gazebo—the one she had met with Olenna not so long ago.

The tables and pillows had been gathered, too, but it offered a nice, secluded place for them to talk without having to stand out in the open.

“You seem as if you were expecting me,” Tyrion pointed out as he followed her, catching up with her thanks to her slow steps.

“We haven’t had the chance to properly talk about anything, if both of us are to be honest,” she started, entering the stone structure. “I saw the look in your eyes and I recognised it. Tywin has the same look when he wishes to speak with me.”

Tyrion held back the need to scoff, finding bile going up at the mere thought that he was anything like his father.

“I can assure you I am nothing like my tyrannical father, my lady,” Tyrion said as he joined her, standing a few feet away.

It was always easier to stand further away from taller people, so he did not have to over crane his neck and risk causing pain if the discussion would be long.

His words surprised Josephine. “Tyrannical?” she questioned, arching an eyebrow.

Now that was a new adjective for him that she had never heard before. Thinking back to the past month; she could see why someone would call him that.

“Yes,  you do not have to defend him; we both know who he is,” Tyrion continued, momentarily wishing he had a goblet of wine. “He is, of course, many other things. How else could one categorize the man behind the Red Wedding?”

Josephine turned her body sideways to face him, studying him. “So, you found out about it.” She pointed out.

“I did and based on your calm reaction, something tells me you knew as well.”

She took a deep breath and sighed, glancing forward for a moment. “I was aware of the plan, if this is what you want to say,” her attention averted to him again. “This is why I know this was not what Tywin had ordered. Lord Frey stepped over the line, too comfortable under an imaginary protection from House Lannister. The massacre was his own thing.”

Tyrion wished to believe her, because why would she lie? It was evident enough that Josephine was nothing like her partner. She was far kinder, looking after Tyrion even though she did not know him.

She stood between Cersei and Tywin, openly challenging him to strike her instead and protecting the Queen Reagent from her father's fury. Just now, the Lioness walked and kept company to young Sansa; even though she did not have to.

Heck, she most likely had more important things to do than bother with a scared teenager she had never acknowledged or even greeted properly.

And for that alone, Tyrion wanted to believe her. But then he was reminded of what Tywin said, how he instructed his own son to rape Sansa and impregnate her. He had ordered him the exact same thing with his first wife, after he had openly let his men rape the 14 year old girl.

If Tywin had no issue with rape, why would he have with killing a few dozen people in a wedding; including a defenceless pregnant woman and her unborn child?

And so, Tyrion refused to believe her. But he was not done talking to her. On the contrary, he had just started.

“Is this what you truly believe, my Lady? Or had my father commanded you to lie for him and cover his unspeakable crimes?” he dared to accuse. “I know who you are and you have been by my father’s side for years. You know better than anyone how capable he is of such things.”

This seemed to get Josephine’s full attention as she immediately felt the attack against her partner, and passively, herself. She turned to fully face Tyrion, her muscles stiff beneath her lavish maroon dress.

“Tywin... your father, would never do that to me,” she defended him. “He would never command me to act in such a way or in any way.”

Unfortunately for her, Tyrion was too stubborn to reconsider the possibility.

He scoffed. “Please, Lady Josephine. It’s my father we are talking about,” he argued in return. “He would not hesitate to command you to lie for him. I even have him capable of commanding you to warm his bed when he feels too lonely.”

Eyes glowed amber momentarily, narrowing in warning and making Tyrion flinch faintly. It became evident rather quickly that he had struck a nerve with what he said.

“Tywin has never commanded me and never would, especially in such a way,” she said, her voice lowered to add to the warning.

The dwarf remained rather courageous. Years of suffering the glares from the likes of Tywin, Cersei and Joffrey; had made him rather immune to them.

“You sound rather certain,” he pointed out.

“I am because he had vowed to me, never to abuse his power in such a way,” she confessed as she sighed, the golden glow in her eyes disappearing slowly. “He would never risk becoming his father.”

Now, Tyrion was intrigued, not expecting his grandfather to be brought into the picture and into this conversation. Hearing that Tywin would not do something because it would make him like his father was the only sensible thing Tyrion could see him doing.

Of course, after having just been given the tiniest taste of this secret, it was logical that he wished to know more. He sat down on the low stone bench built with the gazebo, the coldness of the stone making him shiver momentarily.

“I did not expect my grandfather to be brought into this discussion,” he confessed, never looking away from her. “Pray, what did my grandfather do to lead my father into such drastic promises?”

Josephine watched him sit and she bit her bottom lip for a few seconds, realizing she had spoken little more than she wished to. There were certain things it was better not to be known by anyone else, let alone those who held a vendetta against Tywin.

Yet, she felt that some people deserved to know. For years, the world had a certain image for Tywin, an image he had chosen to project that was not 100% accurate of his complex being. This image led people to openly accuse him, and it was one thing Josephine could never stand.

Being hated by strangers out there was one thing, but being accused openly by your own children was a different matter. They deserved to know the man their father once was and could have been, had things been different.

“Tytos did a lot of things wrong, not just with his House but his partner as well,” Josephine explained, choosing to take things from the beginning. “The Partner matches the Heir, have you heard about that, Tyrion?”

The dwarf nodded. “Briefly but yes.”

“Your grandfather was a weak and pathetic man, unfit to rule a house like ours... and unfortunately for my mother, she was made to match him. A mockery of a partner, of a true Lion,” her jaw tensed faintly and the hand by her side turned into a fist. “A mockery that the previous Lord Lannister encouraged, influenced by his fellow Lords to take what was a respectful partnership and turn it to a ridiculous amusement.”

Josephine would never forget those days forever vivid in her memory; torturing her whenever they were brought forward. She could never forget the laughter of drunk men and their pointy fat fingers at the sight.

Her mother had been openly commanded to show her prowess, shift between a naked woman and a normal Lioness; receiving applauds of encouragement from the men that had demanded this show.

And all those times, Josephine had watched from the shadows of open doors and small corridors. She watched angrily as her mother obeyed every command, acting more like a household pet than a powerful person from an almost extinct but powerful lineage.

“Do not think that I was safe from such treatment either,” Josephine continued, having taken a momentary stop to ensure her temper was in check. “Tytos gave his lords anything they desired, whether that be gold from the mines, family artefacts from the vaults or the entertainment they desired... I was lucky that he was not my partner and it was the only thing that kept me safe.”

After the War of the Nine Penny Kings, they had been hailed as heroes. Tywin was respected amongst his men, who were proud to have a strong and capable leader after years of tolerating Tytos’ weakness.

The fact that Josephine, in her young Lioness form, had fought and marched by their side, only boosted the great image young Tywin was forming for himself. Word spread of his achievements and his partner, one of the youngest to ever change and join combat.

This meant that the Lords who came for a visit, were bold enough to demand fresh entertainment, in other words, her.

“Come on Tytos, show us the latest Lion in your collection,”

“I heard she is already a mature beauty,”

“Untouched, that’s for sure. She must give one hell of a performance,”

And of course, the Laughing Lion had to give to such demands. How could he refuse his guests, how could he say No to them?

Unfortunately for the lustful Lords, Tywin was nothing like his father.

The Young Lion had stepped forward, pushing Josephine behind him as he glared down at their guests. “A Partner is not a jester to cure your boredom and make you forget your pathetic lives and depressing failed marriages,” he had said, his hand resting on the sword by his waist.

“Tywin!” his father scolded him. “How dare you speak that way to your guests? Apologize this instance.”

“I would rather die than apologize to the pigs you tolerate and shelter under our roof,” Tywin said, earning passive glares from them. One dared to move but the Young Heir had pulled his sword out, pointing it at him. “I killed dozens in the War, do not think I will hesitate killing you if you dare to open your mouth, Lord Tarbeck.” He then turned to his father, anger blazing in his golden flecked amber eyes. “Josephine is my partner and I will not allow you to humiliate her the way you do yours. Stay away from her or the Seven help me, your era will end rather suddenly.”

At the beginning, Josephine was tense; the reminder of her mother's humiliation was always a touchy subject. Her body was stiff, muscles flexed, and she had to turn her back to Tyrion to hide how her eyes glowed and prevent him from thinking she would attack him.

Yet, as she remembered how protective Tywin had been for her... as she remembered how he vowed to kill to keep her safe... she could not help but smile faintly, the reality feeling so bitter at the moment.

Her anger subsided and she glanced at Tyrion above her shoulder, seeing him deep in thought. Obviously, no one had told him of such things, few daring to go into details about what Tytos had done; even fewer dared to bring him up in a conversation, fearing Tywin's fury.

“I see my father had a habit of throwing insults at his own family members from a young age,” Tyrion commented, glancing at her.

He refrained from commenting about the threat against the guests, no matter how much he wished to bring up the Red Wedding. This was his only chance to learn something more about his family and his grandfather that no one talked about.

“Only to protect those he had to. A strong Lord protect his subjects and his family, he does not leave them alone to be taken advantage of by anyone lucky enough to be present,” she quoted, for a moment sounding little too much like Tywin yet at the same time, sounding like her own being.

“Of course,” he said, believing with only half his heart. “And my father is the epitome of such a good Lord, isn’t he?”

Josephine turned slowly. “If your father had been like his, then my mother would not have been the only one forced into a bed she did not want to,” she confessed, making Tyrion frown. “It is one thing to sleep with another woman after your wife’s passing and it is entirely different to command your loyal partner to warm your bed against her will.”

Now Tyrion was truly confused, which became evident by how his mismatched eyes looked at her.

Was she openly telling him that Tywin Lannister was against rape? The very same man who let Tysha suffer? Who ordered his own son to rape his frightened teenage wife?

“When your grandmother passed, your grandfather felt the loss with each passing night. To combat his grief, he commanded my mother to join his chambers almost every night,” she slowly turned to face him. “She had no choice but to obey as Tytos abused his power over her for a long period of time and I stood witness each time he called her, showing no respect or care for her well being.” Josephine took a momentary pause. “Tywin was aware of it, as were everyone in Casterly and maybe even beyond. Because of that, he promised never to abuse his power; never to become like the man that ruined House Lannister and disrespected the ancient pack that brought them victories and successes all those years.”

Tyrion hesitated to answer, finding it hard to understand the whole story truly. The man she described was so opposite, so different from the man he had come to meet. By the Seven, the man Josephine talked about could have become a great father and properly understood Lord.

If this was Tywin young, then what happened to lead him astray? What led him to go against his vows and turn his heart into stone? Replace his honour with cruelty?

Could it be Joanna’s death? Tyrion was rather certain, yet a small part of him questioned it. Perhaps it was something else, it told him as he studied Josephine.

“Forgive me for finding it hard to believe, lady Josephine,” Tyrion said after he had gathered most of his thoughts.

“The Tywin I knew, had openly called out his father for what he was doing multiple times; disgusted by such actions,” she said slowly. “It is clear you have met a different man, and I will not lie; the years have changed him in many ways. But I can say with certainty that he had not changed to his promise and would never go against his word; abuse his power and take advantage of the sacred pact between us.”

Tyrion nodded his head faintly, feeling a migraine forming. Perhaps Josephine was right and Tywin had been like that once upon a time. He was not the same man anymore, but hearing her certainty and admiration for him, made Tyrion wonder if what she said was true.

Suppose Tywin continued his promise, respecting Josephine and never forcing her against her will. He certainly had plenty of chances during the war, even when the Lioness defended Cersei, but he never did.

The dwarf rubbed his temples, needing a lot of wine and a good night’s sleep. He had a lot of thinking to do and he could not do it while remaining sober.

Chapter Text

After days of travelling, Jaime finally saw the familiar outer walls of King’s Landing. After all he had been through, it felt like a fever dream to him. He was happy to be back but also hesitant for his family to see him in this condition: dirty, skinnier, and with one hand missing.

When he looked at himself in the reflective surfaces of water bodies on his way to the Capital, he barely recognised himself. His hair had grown longer, and he had obtained a beard, while his clothes were those of common folk, second-hand and overused.

Soldiers by the Gate recognised him after they heard him, and soon they were allowed into the Red Keep. The common folk did not seem to recognise him, which he was thankful for, but he could hear them commenting on the latest news and mostly how much they hated Joffrey.

At last, he passed the Gate of the Red Keep, and his eyes fell on the familiar building he had called his home for many years. A few steps towards it, they came to a halt when the doors were pushed open and a familiar figure walked their way.

A familiar figure that made Jaime freeze for a moment in relief, for this was a true sign that he was home.

Josephine had exited the Red Keep, trying to hide her hope that her favourite Lion Cub had returned. Fearing that the men might have been mistaken, she prepared herself for disappointment; just in case the men were wrong.

Her steps became slower as she saw the man ahead. Despite his ragged appearance, peasant clothes, dirty short hair, and beard, Josephine knew within her that this was little Jaime.

He was alive, he was back and he was with her.

“Jaime,” she called out his name, eyes wide as she rushed her steps towards him.

For a moment, the once proud Lion froze and cast his eyes down in shame. He was not the man he used to be, the man she had said was proud of. He was half a man with a missing arm, dirty and defeated.

She had placed faith in him, she had bid him a safe campaign before he left with his new army; and he had failed her. He failed his father, he failed his men and even his torture was not enough to get rid of the guilt and shame he carried daily in his heart.

Yet Josephine did not seem to care for any of them. She approached him and, without wasting a single moment, embraced him tightly, tiptoeing to be as close to his height as possible.

The moment Jaime felt warm arms offer him the hug he so desperately needed, his walls crumbled. He did not care if his travelling companions saw him, and he could care less if his mighty father was watching him from his tall tower.

Jaime returned the hug with a subconscious need, his good arm wrapping around Josephine’s back and pulling her closer. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and inhaled her scent, like a kid would do to its mother when it needed comfort.

“Josie,” he mumbled, finally feeling he was back home.

So many nights, he dreamt he had returned to King’s Landing, to his family. Yet each morning, he would wake up a prisoner, realizing bitterly that it was all a dream and that he had never made it home.

But this felt different. This felt too real, and somehow, her presence soothed his fears and offered him reassurance that he was no longer dreaming of his return.

He had returned.

Josephine sensed the tension in his muscles, and she could practically hear the silent need for some comfort. She gladly gave it all, moving one hand to the back of his head and massaging his dirty blond locks as if soothing a crying child.

It was a move she had done to him a few times, when he would come all teary to her. Tywin would have been excruciating hard on him and his disability to study the alphabet properly and she would always be there to comfort him.

Because he knew, Tywin would never dare speak or harm him in her presence. She would never let him, and that was why Jaime always rushed to her—his safe heaven.

“It’s alright,” she whispered to his ear and let him slowly gather himself.

When she felt him pulling back, she did not hold any resistance. Her one hand moved to his cheek, feeling his freshly grown beard tickling her palm. She offered a sweet smile to him, and her grey eyes glowed with an abundance of emotions, equally overwhelmed by his return.

She had spent endless nights looking outside the window, imagining his return. When alone, she would spend her waking hours wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. She went to the mimicry of a Godstree, the Red Keep had and prayed to the Old Gods for his safe return.

For months, she thought of him, trusting that he would emerge victorious from his imprisonment. And he had, and she could not be prouder of him.

“Thank the Old Gods that they brought you back to us,” she continued, her thumb caressing his cheek. He leaned faintly on her touch, and then her grey eyes noticed his other hand, the one carried by a makeshift sling. Immediately, her smile disappeared. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

There was an unsettling calmness behind her words but her eyes raged harder than wildfire let loose in a green forest. She remained calm outside but one should never mistake her quiet demeanour for her true reaction.

For a moment, Jaime thought of his father, who had a similar way of projecting his anger. Calm words, hiding homicidal rage.

He suppressed a shiver and tried to change the topic, not wishing to cause a scene so out in the open. “I will tell you later, please Josie,” he begged.

Josephine took a deep breath and nodded a few times to control her temper. Then, she let her grey eyes fall on the travelling companions of her young cub. First, she noticed the short man in Maester’s robes, but her attention went to the tall woman with the sword, an unusual sight but one she welcomed.

She always respected females brave enough to learn the art of a weapon, carry it around, and not hesitate to use it when the time called for it.

“Jaime, your companions?” she questioned, her smile long gone but her eyes showed no hostility.

Despite none of them talking, despite never seeing them before, something was telling her that they were the reason her little Jaime had returned.

Jaime cleared his throat. “Josie, this is... This is Maester Qyburn and Lady Brienne of Tarth,” he said, his body turning slightly to look at them. This is Lady Josephine. She is...an acquaintance of my father and... a close family friend,” he said after hesitating, realizing he could never truly explain whom she was.

Well, he could but then they would think he had gone crazy after all those days on the road. I mean, he came damn close with his wound flaring up but Qyburn had somehow kept him present and rather sane.

Brienne did not believe that after everything they had been through, they had finally arrived at King’s Landing. She had only heard of the once Great City, read about it even, and did not truly expect to visit it soon, let alone in the situation she was now in.

The first thing that she could say about it was that it was dirty. There was this odour of human faeces and fish, and no one truly knew what else. Some parts looked poor and overcrowded, but as they walked towards the Red Keep, the houses and the streets changed.

They entered the Red Gate, and the big door of the Keep was pulled open before someone walked towards them at a fast pace. Jaime. Her maroon dress, its elegant designs, and the golden jewellery around her neck immediately convey the message that this woman was not of low birth.

Her focus remained on Jaime, who was leading the group a few steps ahead. The Kingslayer suddenly froze upon seeing the new person, and so did they; although they were more confused initially.

Their reactions to one another did not help shed any light on this mystery or give any clues about this woman.

But Brienne heard of how Jaime called her, using a nickname for the older woman. She saw how Jaime hugged her, with that childish need that was unlike him... and she saw how she hugged him, like a mother cradling her son.

If Brienne had not known some of Lannister's story, she would have thought this woman was Jaime’s mother. But she knew Lady Joanna had perished many years ago. Yet the sight before her warmed up her heart.

During that bath, when Jaime confessed to her why he killed the Mad King, she truly saw a more humane and humble side of him. Now, he could see it again; as the famous Kingslayer did not hesitate to show weakness and hug with need a woman who clearly meant a lot to him.

The two of them eventually broke apart and Brienne found the woman’s grey eyes on her form. Immediately, a shiver went down her spine as if her body was warning her of danger nearby.

It took her a second to realize this feeling came from the red-headed woman, whose aura gave the impression of terrifying danger held at bay by invisible chains and fake humane masks.

Brienne had met quite a lot of people in her life, but none seemed to carry such energy and stance. None had ever caused her to feel the need to grab her sword and defend herself. Thankfully, she stopped herself from making a hostile move.

And then, Jaime introduced them to one another. Of course, Brienne caught up with the momentary pause after giving the woman’s name, uncertain how to explain her to them.

For a moment, Brienne wondered if Lady Josephine was some nobility that had relations with Jaime but could never be openly admitted. It would not be the first time she would encounter such secrets.

“Thank you for your Service and escorting him back to us,” Lady Josephine said, her voice husky yet trained on point. She then looked behind her, as a Lannister Guard stood close by, obviously her escort. “Ser Cane, can we find servants to attend them and find them available chambers?”

It was odd to hear a noble woman asking a common soldier of such things, showing respect for the armoured man so far beneath her in the hierarchy.

The guard nodded his head. “Of course, Lady Josephine. I will spread the word once inside,” the man said, returning the same respect to her.

Jaime looked from the guard at her, finally mastering the courage to ask a very important question. “Where is my father? Will he agree to this?” he asked in a lowered tone, not wishing his companions to hear him.

Josephine looked at him, her gaze reassuring him without saying anything. “He is busy in his study and does not wish to be disturbed. I took the liberty of coming, ensuring it was truly you,” she slowly withdrew her hand, and Jaime found himself missing her warmth already. “Do not worry about it. I will talk to him, and we both know he can’t easily refuse me.”

Her confidence and her attempt at a joke seemed to work, for Jaime managed to crack a weak smile. He nodded, trusting her like he always did.

“My Lady,” Brienne called out, stopping them from stepping towards the Red Keep. "Catelyn Stark assigned me to return him to you to ensure the freedom and return of her two daughters,” she explained, unaware of the Red Wedding that had taken place just a day ago.

Yet, Josephine did not give anything away. “Of course. Please rest, and we will discuss the terms openly later with His Grace and His Hand,” she said, effortlessly lying.

The taller woman seemed hesitant, wishing to find the girls and return them to their mother. She understood that some things had to be done by the book, and thus, she offered a silent nod.

With that out of the way, Josephine started heading for the Red Keep. She did, though, seem to stop every few steps to ensure Jaime followed her; like how a mother Lioness would ensure her cub was right behind her.

A few hours later, the sun had started to set slowly, the sky above King’s Landing changing into beautiful hues of yellow, orange, pink, and red. It was the sign that this day was ending, and Josephine knew that, for a change, she would be able to sleep at peace, knowing that her little cub was back.

She chose to pay him a visit after having given him time to have a bath and perhaps get some rest; he would sleep in a comfortable bed after who knew how many months.

She found the chamber doors half open, and a guard stationed outside. She greeted him with a nod and entered, her steps silent as she did. The first thing Josephine noticed was this particular man, Qyburn.

He seemed to be applying some medicinal salve on Jaime’s wrist, where his hand had been cut off. She did not interrupt but merely watched, head tilted faintly to the side as he wrapped the wound.

The old man was dressed like a maester and seemed to know of one, yet he bore no chain. Now this had gotten her attention, but she chose to find more information about him from Jaime, when the time was right.

Realizing they had not heard her, Josephine gently cleared her throat; startling the two men. Qyburn stopped what he was doing for a moment, looking at her.

“Continue what you were doing,” she told him, making it evident that she wished to talk privately with the young Lion.

Qyburn nodded and took around one more minute before he stood up. “My Lady,” he said and headed for the door.

Josephine followed him with her eyes, watching him until he turned and was no longer in her line of view. She eyed the guard, and he was kind enough to close the door, offering her and Jaime full privacy.

“Josie,” Jaime greeted her with a soft smile, always happy to see her.

He made space on the bed, and she moved to sit by his side, noticing his appearance. All the dirt on him had been scrubbed off, and even his hair looked more blond than before, though it seemed the one golden locks had now grown dull.

He had been shaved, showing the good jawline that he had taken from his father, and he looked better kept that way.

Yet, his eyes held the biggest change that could not go away. Those bright emerald eyes she adored to look at as a child had grown duller and darker, and the weight of what he had been through was affecting him mentally.

“How are you holding up, Jaime?” she asked him, watching him with that motherly look only a few women had ever graced him with.

His eyes cast to the ground. “Better,” he lied but the Lioness did not seem to believe him.

A warm hand cupped his cheek and gently moved his head, leading him to look at her without shame or fear. Her grey eyes held understanding, and her thumb once again caressed his now clean-shaven cheek.

“You do not have to lie to me. I can see it in your eyes,” her voice soft and comforting. Her eyes did not hide the regret she felt upon seeing him that way. “I am sorry, Jaime. I failed to find you sooner when you needed me.”

Immediately, Jaime placed his bigger hand against her own. “Please, do not apologize,” he gently held her hand, pulling it to his lap as his finger wrapped carefully around hers. “There was not a lot you could have done.”

“You underestimate me,” she attempts to joke, hoping to help and perhaps shift his mood to something better.

Thankfully for her, he seemed to share her humour. “You would have to fight a Direwolf.”

Her smile turned into a small smirk. “We both know I would have easily won that battle.”

Jaime could not help but chuckle faintly, feeling the weight on his shoulders becoming slightly lighter. He increased his grip on her hand, fearing that if he let go, she would disappear and prove to him that this was all a good dream he would have to wake up from.

“You seem comfortable so far,” he pointed out, trying to change the subject.

He noticed the expensive dresses and the men following her. She looked like a true noble lady—like the noble lady she used to be.

“I know I will be, now that my little Jaime is back,” she said, placing her other hand on his.

That silly nickname she used to have for him made his heart squeeze, each beat causing pain within his chest. Yet, he could not help but feel tears forming at the edge of his eyes; reality settling in that he was home.

Josephine gently pulled him towards her, embracing him in a motherly hug he so desperately needed. She rubbed his back with one hand and let him lean on her, giving him time to process everything and catch up with what had happened and where he currently was.

None spoke for a few minutes, finding comfort in each other’s presence. Josephine continued to rub his back like she had when he was a child, and he was not in a rush to leave her warm embrace.

Eventually, once she was sure he was okay, she dared ask, “What happened to you?” Her voice was a mere whisper, trying not to scare him away.

Jaime tensed, feeling fear and shame creep up. He was thankful he was still hugging her, because he would not be able to control his face as the dark memories of his capture were resurfacing.

All those months, he fought everything with sheer will; no breaks. He hid his vulnerability and his fears behind his usual cockiness and sarcasm, remembering how his father told him never to show weakness to anyone; let alone the enemy.

He never got a chance to process it all, to say it out loud and get it off his chest; with the small exception of that Bath, with Brienne as his only witness.

And so, after hesitating long enough, he started to speak and Josephine listened. She listened and did not comment, offering him the most he needed. When he hesitated, she would squeeze his hand and give him time to find the proper words.

She stood by his side even after he was done confessing, while the Lioness inside roared for justice and revenge.

Chapter Text

After Jaime confessed what happened while he was imprisoned, Josephine ordered a servant to bring him food and then let him rest. She did not go to Tywin directly but chose to walk the long corridors of the Red Keep, wishing to calm down the rage within her.

It was never wise to harm anyone the Lioness saw as hers, because the beast within would be awoken. The man behind this hideous crime that cost Jaime his hand was out there, but she was determined to find him and make him pay; no matter what it would cost her.

When she was done gathering her thoughts, she visited Tywin in his chambers; only to find the room empty. Suspecting where he was, she followed the strong bond they shared since her birth and eventually entered his study.

The Old Lion was sitting behind his desk, dimly illuminated by dying candles, his only light source. He was busy writing a letter, focused on the content and not lifting his gaze to acknowledge her.

“It is pretty late, Tywin,” she told him as she marched into the office, the door closing behind her. “You should retire, let your mind rest.”

Stubbornly, the Old Lion refused. “I do not need it.”

Josephine sighed and headed for his desk. She knew Tywin well enough to know that he was clearly not willing to rest or think. He was trying to bury himself at work, to mute his thoughts about Jaime’s return and hand mutilation.

The Lioness sat by the edge of his desk, right next to him. This earned her a quick glance, but he focused on the letter. “You know it is okay to have feelings for your son. By the Old Gods you showed them quite often out there,” she told him, earning a grunt from him but no verbal response. “Have you paid him any visit?”

She knew he hadn’t, but she wished to bring it to his attention and remind him that he had to do that. Jaime was his son, heir and pride; no matter how often Tywin tried to say the opposite.

The boy deserved to be reminded that his father cared, even if it was differently and more coldly.

“I will when I have time,” Tywin responded as he sealed the letter, pressing the signature seal on the melting red wax.

“I know who harmed him,” Josephine said, finally earning his attention.

He leaned back on his chair. “Who?”

Their gazes locked. “Vargo Hoat.”

That name stirred fury within the Old Lion, and the disgusting face of the sellsword flashed into his mind. The traitor once worked for them, but upon finding convenience, he shifted his alliance with the Boltons.

It was true that men who lifted their swords for pay were unreliable, but acting in such a way was signing your death.

“That bastard!” Tywin exclaimed as he stood up suddenly, feeling the need to wake up every available soldier and send them out there.

He would put a high price on the man’s head and he would ask him to be brought back alive, so Tywin could have the pleasure of ordering his torture and punishment. No one harmed his son and lived to tell the tale.

Josephine, who could almost read his thoughts, acted before him. She lifted one leg, preventing Tywin from moving and leaving the desk, momentarily stopping him from acting impulsively.

“I know how you feel and I want the man to pay but the hour is late. There is not much we can do,” she reminded him, her voice firmer. “We do not even know his whereabouts but we will.”

Her words seemed heavy but worked, keeping him at bay. He extended one hand, holding her thigh, which was keeping him back, and he felt the thin material hitch higher with the sudden move, almost exposing her leg from the knee and above.

“He will be lucky to see the moon full,” he spat, squeezing her thigh as he tried to keep his temper in check.

“Yes, but like I said, now is not the time for it. Tomorrow we will plan everything and remind him that Lannisters always pay their debts.” She reassured him. “The Rains of Castamere are enough of proof.”

Finally, Tywin stopped glaring ahead and turned his head to face her. He still felt the flesh beneath his fingers, their skins separated by her thin summer maroon dress with the falling shoulder straps and exposed cleavage.

Their eyes meet again. Both are affected by the news and trying to remain logical and control their impulses.

Tywin started to massage her thigh before he moved in between her legs. With one quick move, he pushed her more against the desk; making her sit further on the wooden furniture, almost knocking down the quill holder.

She parted her lips to express herself but he silenced her by smashing his lips against hers. The kiss was dominant and needy, pressing her head further back as he moved deeper between her legs; to the point she could feel his stirring manhood pushing against the strains of his pants.

He sucks her lips with fervour, wishing to draw all the air she had within her lungs and she willingly parted her lips; giving it to him.

He wanted to forget the shitty reality and the thoughts of betrayal. He wanted to forget his weakness and loss of control after finding out what happened to his son. He wanted to silence his mind and she was right there.

She tempted him with her sweet pink lips and thin dress, sitting on his desk, open for the take. The way she arched her back and squeezed her thighs against his waist, made him more motivated to continue.

Josephine could tell why this sudden need and sexual desire, but she would be lying if she did not share it. Her mind was heavy from Jaime’s confession, her guilt and feelings of failure drowning her thoughts and heart.

Only his presence, his kiss and his touch seemed to be the antidote she needed: to breathe. The familiar electrifying sensation awakened so many emotions, prayers, and needs that she was unsure which one to voice first.

She tried to pull back, earn some much needed air into her lungs and attempted to call his name. She never got the chance as Tywin quickly moved to her neck, kisses eagerly sucking on her skin.

She closed her eyes, and one hand moved to the back of his head. She held back a groan, and he moved closer to her soft spot by the base of her neck. She felt the Lioness stirring within, demanding his attention and more.

And just like their first night, back at Casterly Rock, Josephine gave in.

Tywin, of course, shared her need and her arousal. He felt how her body stopped fighting him and he knew this was her silent consent to continue, which he did. His teeth grazed the skin of her neck before he placed a bite on her soft spot, leaving a small mark like he used to.

Josephine arched her back in return, a strained moan leaving her parted lips and she squeezed her legs tighter around his waist; his clothed stiff manhood pressed against her clothed entrance.

The Old Lion moved to suck on that spot before he pulled back, lips hovering inches away from her warm skin. His hands moved to the loose straps of her sleeveless dress, pushing them to slide down her skin as he intended to remove it from her body fully; ensure no barrier would stand in his way.

The Lioness craned her neck and in the heat of the moment, moved to help him; forgetting the scars she wished to hide from him. She was too late to realize as Tywin’s golden flecked emerald eyes noticed some of them; the rest hidden by her dress.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice husky from the intense love making as he pulled back to watch her.

Immediately, Josephine went to the defensive. “It’s nothing. Old wounds,” she tried to dismiss it.

He was not willing to follow her lead.

His hands that held her thighs, moved to snake around her waist. He had lifted her just enough and turned her sharply in one strong and well-calculated move.

Josephine spread her hands, trying to hold resistance and find stability against the wooden desk; feeling its blunt edge pressed against her stomach. Her back was turned to him, her ass rubbing against his erection and she tried to glance at him above her shoulder; red hair following the movement of her head.

Tywin paid her no mind as he trapped her between his body and the desk. His hands pulled on the dress with little more force than necessary, exposing more of her back. His gaze turned cold upon noticing the scars she did not have while residing with him.

Calloused fingers were pressed against them, following their patterns. Some he recognised as wounds from a blade, but there were some inconsistent ones. They had faded away, but a trained eye like his could still see them.

“Who did this to you?” he asked calmly, too calm for even her liking.

She managed to earn his gaze, her fear of his reaction still present but her survival instincts kicked in. “It does not matter. They have long been dead, regretting the chance they ever got to touch me.”

Josephine was not a woman who felt self-conscious about herself. Things like modesty, body dysmorphia, and size were irrelevant to her and never her primary concern.

Yet as she saw Tywin’s attention returning to her scars, she suppressed a shiver while his fingers traced them repeatedly; she could not help but feel self-conscious. She did not wish for him to see them, a grieving reminder of the times she failed to stand up to herself.

They were a bitter reminder of the battles she lost and the days she became a prisoner to men who wished to harm her; no matter whether she was a Lioness or a Woman when it all happened.

She tried to cover herself, to move from this rather heated position he had forced her to be; when he stopped her. He grabbed her wrists and forced them to hold on to the desk, his faint growl a sign that he was not going to let her.

“Don’t you dare hide them from me,” he said in a whispered tone, pressing her chest more against her back so he could whisper it to her ear.

Before she could comment, he moved and started to press hungry kisses on each scar; taking them by random turn.

Tywin was still furious, to know someone else had dared to lay their hand on her; to mark her skin as if they owned it. The mere idea of someone else touching her in any way, grabbing or trying to force themselves on her, made him see red.

If she were not pressed against him, if her intoxicating scent was not invading his senses; he would have snapped. Instead of doing so, he focused on claiming what he had let long time ago; no longer needing wine or anything to push him.

This was more than enough.

His kisses were rough and hungry, teeth grazing the scarred skin of her back and Josephine could not fight the shiver that climbed down her spine. She groaned and tightened her grip at the edge of the desk, her back arching as each kiss felt like fire was pressed against her.

Her eyes closed and she tossed her head back, her ass pressed harder against his manhood; to the point that the friction threatened to drive him mad.

Impatiently, Tywin released one hand to relieve his erection from the confinement of his pants and breeches; while his other hand held her waist and ensured she would not move. The same hand that moved his clothes to the floor was the same hand that ensured the already-wet small cloth of her dress was pushed to the side.

With nothing stopping him, he grabbed himself and took position. He leaned more against her back, his breath hot against her neck as he moved in; sharp and effectively.

A synchronized groan left their lips and Tywin started to kiss the untouched side of Josephine’s neck, muffling the rest of his grunts as he started to move. It would not be the first time he had taken her upon a desk but it sure had been a long time since he had the pleasure.

His hungry kisses sucked on her skin as his hand resting around her waist squeezed her pale skin, trying to keep a stable grip as each thrust pressed her harder against the desk,

Josephine moaned as he picked up speed, having almost forgotten the euphoric feeling that built up within her when she was with Tywin. The intimate and rather submissive position he had placed her only made the warmth within her core to increase and the Lioness within was awoken; craving the attention.

His kisses and gentle bites drove her crazy, eyes glowing golden but remained hidden beneath her dropped eyelashes. She was thankful for her strength as she gripped the wooden desk with enough force to feel it bending slightly, keeping resistance against his thrusts as he took her upon the desk.

“Tywin,” she whispered his name and she felt him pressing his chest more against her back.

Their moves started to sync, and so did their thrusts. His war-branded strong hand wrapped around her chest, dress pooling by her waist and exposing her breasts. Tywin eagerly grabbed one and squeezed as his pace changed, now chasing his release that was soon to come.

Josephine was on the same path, the tension within her stomach rising and her walls started to clench him; so close to tipping over and having her own release.

A few more thrusts and groans were all it took, before they both found the end at the same time. Tywin bit her shoulder with force, muffling any sounds he made as he filled her in. She squeezed her grip with all her might, nails leaving dents into the hard wood as it bent more against the sheer force.

She bit her lip to contain any sounds and once she started to calm down, she sensed the familiar metallic taste of blood filling her mouth; a sign that she had pierced her lips in the process.

Tywin leaned heavily on her, trying to catch his breath. He let go of her skin, pride growing within him upon seeing the mark that would remain and be visible by the following day and the days that would follow.

He rested his chin upon her unmarked shoulder and glanced at her profile, seeing the look of peace on her face as they both felt years of tension go away. Their hearts beat in sync with one another as if they were one organ instead of two separate ones, and their minds went silent, sharing a deep link that they could never explain.

He pressed his cheek against the side of her neck as his hands were placed next to hers, supporting his frame and stopping himself from crushing her more than he had to. “You stay for the night...” he inhaled her scent, eyes closed. “And every night that will follow. I won’t accept any arguments about it.”

A soft smile formed on her pink lips and her tongue darted out, licking the blood of her small fresh wound. Her eyes opened halfway, hazy from the white cloud of euphoria that she had waited so long to feel.

“I wasn’t going to,” she confessed, her voice a mere whisper but he heard her.

She turned her head to catch a glimpse of him and he pressed his lips against hers one last time, his tongue wiping any leftover traces of her blood; as that kiss sealed their deal and their promise to one another.

Chapter Text

Josephine and Tywin were awake the following morning before the sun started rising. Instead of moving or even bothering to get dressed, the two of them chose to lie there a little bit more; savouring as much time as they had with one another.

Like before, Josephine lay on his bare chest; both lacking any clothing. She leaned her chin on her hand, supported by his chest while her gaze remained on his; giving him the same lover’s look she did the last time she woke up in his arms.

Tywin folded his free hand behind his head, offering support. His other hand was busy tracing marks against Josephine’s scarred back, fingers drawing imaginary symbols as he kept watching her.

His golden-flecked eyes fell on the fresh bite marks decorating her neck. The flesh was still pink, and only one had turned much darker in size: the one by her shoulder, where he had marked her in the heat of passion.

Based on the pleased expression on his face, Josephine knew he felt pride rather than anything else.

At this, she rolled her eyes; getting a good glimpse of his thoughts. “You are so troublesome,” she mumbled, earning his attention back on her face.

Tywin arched an eyebrow. “Oh, am I now?” he challenged.

Josephine smirked and pecked his lips, pulling her body slightly higher. “Yes, forcing me to wear high collared dresses when you know I despise them,” she mumbled against his lips, her breath tickling his.

Accepting the challenge, the Lion moved his hand from her back and placed it behind her neck; quickly seizing control as his fingers pressed ever so faintly against the blood vessels at the sides of her neck.

“Keep complaining and perhaps I give you more, in different places,” he hinted, smirking with pride at his comeback.

She looked at him in the eyes, her head frozen in place since he had a good grip on her neck. She parted her lips to argue but saw how, from his look, that he was not entirely joking. She, also, had him more than capable of acting that way.

And so, she pressed her lips shut; silently telling him she was done arguing about the love marks he left on her.

Tywin smirked and let her go, feeling proud that he finally made her stop talking and won their little banter; for a change.

Upon being free from his grip, Josephine moved her head from left to right; ensuring no tense muscles were left. Her wild hair followed her every move and she looked at him once again.

“You are lucky my new maid does not come find me until I summon her first,” she reminded him, kissing his chest; not once looking away. “Or you would be in big trouble, my Lord.”

There was something about her warning and performance that not only amused Tywin but stirred him. His free hand cupped her jaw and pulled her closer, his return of stealing a kiss. That one stolen kiss, became two and then three; soon finding Josephine moving to ride him properly, giving one last round before both had to get up truly.

For the sake of their rather secretive relationships, Josephine was forced to wear a dress with a higher collar. While it did help cover her cleavage and reduce the number of wandering eyes on her form, it sure did not feel the most comfortable clothing she had.

She would try not to pull on the tight collar wrapping around her neck, often finding the sensation rather similar to the collar placed around her Lioness form when she got captured a few years back.

Thankfully, she had enough things in her schedule to keep her busy and make her forget the annoying tight dress. One of them was breaking fast with Tywin, conversing like normal as if they had not been moaning each other’s names just a few hours prior.

They discussed what needed to be done but would regroup a little later. Josephine expectedly lied that she wished for a small walk on her own.

Tywin did not suspect that she had plans in mind, not only because he trusted her but also because walks were not uncommon for Josephine. While he could spend hours behind his desk, just doing his work, his Lioness craved exercise.

The best way to keep her occupied was to let her roam; unfortunately, the Red Keep was no Casterly. There were no grand marble halls and balconies overlooking the Sunset Sea, no silent libraries with ancient tomes, and no Lannister Siblings to keep her company.

They were too busy to go hunting and there was no Lannisport to pay a quick daily visit.

Thus, all Josephine had were the gardens. Small, nothing compared to Casterly Rock's, but they had to suffice.

This was why Tywin did not question her when she asked to be dismissed or when she brought up the need for a walk.

Though this time, the Lioness did not go for the Gardens; not directly. Instead, she dismissed her guard and started roaming the Red Keep's ancient halls. The deeper she went, the less crowded the corridors were.

She followed a trail with a faint peculiar scent—a mixture of eastern body lotions and flowers. Only one person she had encountered so far had such a scent, making it easier for her to follow.

The trail was faint, and she started to doubt herself, but it all went away upon seeing him coming the opposite way, having the Old Gods know what kind of business he had so deep into the castle.

Varys slowed down his steps, his expression giving Josephine the feeling that he was expecting her. There was, though, mild surprise at how she had found him; let alone in such unfamiliar and rather bare parts of the Keep.

They both halt in the middle, standing before one another. While Josephine was not some super tall woman, she was taller than the bald eunuch whose ears seemed not to miss anything happening across the known and perhaps even unknown world.

“Lady Josephine,” he greeted and offered a small bow, his smile rather honest—just like him. "It is an honour to talk to you privately and finally officially introduce myself.”

Josephine nodded, returning the greeting. “Lord Varys,” she started, showing that she knew his name.

Varys, of course, already suspected that the woman before him also knew of his role, or, better say, his ability, so to speak. He was, of course, not going to show all of his cards in the first round; that would have been quite an unwise move.

“How can I be of help, my lady?” he asked, the acting easily coming to him after years of practice. “Perhaps help you find your way back to more... lively parts of the Red Keep.”

“I have heard of you, Lord Varys,” Josephine said, her gaze serious. “I have heard how you can find pretty much any information about anyone... I want to hire those services of yours.”

A quick glimmer of personal interest reflected in his eyes as he moved his hands and hid them in his huge sleeves. “And on whom do you wish to find information about?”

“A sellsword and a traitor named Vargo Hoat.” She instructed him. “I want to know his whereabouts, as accurately as possible.”

Varys kept that rather friendly smile. “I will do my best, my lady,” he said, looking faintly up. “I do feel it is right to remind you that I require payment for my services.”

This always unsettled others, but Josephine did not seem to mind the idea of payment. No, she was so determined to find the answers she sought that she did not care about the cost. She had been through enough hardships; few could truly startle or make her uneasy.

“What do you request, as payment?” she asked him, her voice not once flattering.

The eunuch kept his smile, though the friendliness behind it started to feel slightly creepier than before. The bald man, who had been silently studying and spying on Josephine, could ask for pretty much anything.

Yet, he chose not to rush with his opportunity. With Littlefinger out of the way, he could put his little birds into work. And oh, what work they did as they moved silently through the hidden passages built beneath and within the Keep.

Varys kept the information they were gathering closely private, taking his time to make his assumptions and form his own theories while waiting to see if they were correct.

“Do not worry yourself about it, my lady. When the time comes, I will come to collect,” he bowed one last time. “Until then, I will see what I can find.”

Without another word, Josephine watched Varys continue down the path, heading in the direction she was coming from.

She silently watched him go, and only after he was far enough did her brain settle everything in. She was currently owing to two different people, and she groaned in annoyance, pulling her hair faintly as a sign of gathering frustration.

Around the same time, on the other side of the red Keep, the two Lion brothers get their chance to be properly reunited. Tyrion had chosen to visit Jaime in the latter’s chambers; a perfect place to check on each other and talk.

Jaime and he took separate paths at the Northern Fork the last time they saw one another. Tyrion headed for the Wall and Jaime continued with the Royal Family, returning to King’s Landing.

Ever since then, the two brothers had been kept apart by different obstacles each time. Two years had passed, and it was evident that it had not been easy for any of them.

Long gone was their more childish and cocky nature, their eyes now sinking deeper into their heads as the weight of their personal torture threatened to make them bend. They both supported battle scars, some more severe than others.

Tyrion's face was prominently scarred, as if the world did not find him hideous enough. One should not mention how he almost lost his nose, and it was a miracle Pycelle actually managed to save him and his precious nose.

Jaime, on the other hand, had been humiliated and tortured; things that only Josephine and Brienne knew. Instead of sporting a fresh wound that would become a cool scar, he lost his full good arm; leaving him rather defenceless and well... useless.

Or he would have been, had his missing hand been replaced by a fake one; made of pure gold.

Tyrion noticed it and arched an eyebrow, looking at his older brother. “I suppose I should congratulate you on your new hand,” he said, swirling the wine in his goblet as he sat on a chair.

It was never too early for some wine, especially what Tyrion wished to discuss with his brother.

Jaime looks at it and presses his lips to form a thin line. “Was given to me this morning. A gift from Father,” he said bitterly.

Instead of visiting him, on checking on his well-being, Tywin just sent him a golden hand to replace his missing one. While the gesture could be taken as thoughtful, Jaime would have much preferred to see him in his chambers or at least be summoned by him to ask how he was doing.

He would not care about the staring or comments of disappointments he would get from him. At least he would see him.

“Of course,” Tyrion scoffed. “Because it is so much easier for our dear father to send a gift than to act as a proper parental figure for once.” He drank some wine, finding the situation ridiculous.

Let’s ignore Tyrion’s situation and how Tywin did not bother seeing him at all. Tyrion was well... the least favourite person for the Old Lion.

But Jaime...

Jaime was the heir, the Lion’s pride! Tywin burned the Riverlands once he had been taken and drove his men to exhaustion trying to reach him before Robb Stark did. Now, he has started to act as if he does not care.

Tyrion often found his strongest migraine attacks always came whenever he tried to decipher this unnecessarily complicated puzzle he had to call as his father.

Jaime sat by the edge of his bed, resting the rather heavy golden hand against his leg. Months in captivity and starvation had weakened his body, taken away most of his strength, and his low spirits did not help either.

“That’s okay. I expected it,” he confessed, glancing from the golden hand to his brother. “At least, Josie visited me.”

The dwarf lowered his goblet from his lips. “Josie? As If Lady Josephine?” he asked his brother, who nodded as an answer. “I am not even sure if I am surprised that you have a nickname for her. Does she know about it?”

Jaime offered a weak smile. “Yes and she remembers it rather clearly,” he glanced practically nowhere, remembering good memories of times when the world was far brighter and kinder. “I had trouble saying her full name as a child, so I settled for a nickname despite Father’s disapproval.”

Tyrion observed him carefully, seeing how his emerald eyes softened and his body relaxed; feeling the effects of the happy childhood memory. “You were raised with her then,” he pointed out. “I don’t think I was ever told of that.”

Jaime looked at his brother, again. “Well, for some years I did. From what I can remember... she was always present in our lives. As the stories say, she was present around our father when he was younger... she...” he shook his head faintly. “She would always be by his side but also ours. I don’t know how often she babysat us, stopping Cersei and I from roaming Casterly Rock unsupervised. I have been told that whenever she would return, she offered her help to our mother when we were being too much for her.”

The Imp tried to imagine this perfect image of a happy family: a loving, smiling mother who looked after them, a second motherly figure to support them, and who knows; perhaps Tywin was less of a strict warlord and more of a proper parental figure.

Yet as Jaime explained, there was something that caught Tyrion’s attention. “You said... when she would return? Return from where?”

“From King’s Landing. Whenever our Father returned here, Josephine would join him while our mother would remain in Casterly Rock; to avoid Aerys and his advances against her.”

Now that was something Tyrion did not expect to hear. Aerys having a rather interest in the mother of the Lion cubs? That was something even the most isolated hermits knew.

Joanna Lannister stayed back at Casterly alone while Josephine had the privilege of spending time with Tywin for months? Now why did that feel wrong to him?

“I doubt that was the only reason our father chose to leave his wife behind but take his partner instead,” Tyrion voiced his thoughts as he jumped off the chair, heading for the desk with the wine jug.

Jaime immediately stands up, rushing to the defence. “This is not what you think, Tyrion,” he said sternly, watching his brother refill his goblet. “The world knew whom she was and what their relationship was. They did not dare to run into assumptions.”

I do not think Father would ever let them live if they did, the dwarf thought as he placed the jug back on the desk.

He turned to face his brother fully but held back his comments, drowning them with the red wine.

Things did not make much sense to him. The more he dug around for answers, the more questions he received.

It looked like he would have to talk with Lady Josephine again, though this time, they would talk under better terms and in far more comfortable settings.

Question was, how could he get her without earning a full refusal from his father? Now, that was something he had to think of rather carefully.

Chapter Text

It was early evening of the same day when the Boy King requested Tywin’s presence. Left with no choice, the old Lion went to see what his grandson wanted; leaving Josephine alone to catch a break.

Thus, the Lioness started to roam the Red Keep once again; though this time she was not looking for anyone in particular. This time, she chose to explore and see how many small and narrow corridors she could find and how many disguised paths one could use to move subtly and quickly.

Now, why would she want to know that? Well, mostly to have a better idea where a threat could be hiding; whether that be human or not. But also, because she could use the same secret paths when she wished to move quickly and remain undetected.

Halfway through her rather successful mission, she found her path crossing with someone else’s; Tyrion. The dwarf seemed to be looking for someone and Josephine suspected he was looking for her.

After their small talk in the gardens and her confessing one of Tywin’s past secrets, they had not talked or met ever since. They were too busy with their own things, and their contact was mostly quick, with distant glances.

But now, there was time and the short man wished to take advantage of it. After all, he tried rather hard to persuade Joffrey to summon Tywin and allow him a small window of opportunity to approach the Lioness.

“Tyrion,” she greeted him first with a small smile.

“Lady Josephine, looks like I caught you just in time,” he said, making her arch an eyebrow. “I would like us to talk some more, in a more civilised manner than last time.” It was clear that Josephine was hesitating. “I promise you I have a really good wine in my chambers and we won’t be disturbed there.”

With a small defeated sigh, Josephine nodded. “Very well but it needs to remain short, as there are other duties I need to attend soon.”

As the two started to walk side by side, Tyrion could not help but scoff. “Yes, duties are now a different name for my Father from the looks of it.”

Josephine glanced at him sideways, but she made no comment, wishing to maintain as much as possible this civilised mood between them.

Tyrion’s chambers were fitting for his status and a sign that Tywin kept his promise. Of course, the room paled compared to others like Cersei’s, Jaime’s or Tywin’s.

Even Josephine’s chambers were bigger, better decorated and geared up.

She followed Tyrion deeper into the room, noticing the well-made bed that the dwarf never slept in, giving it all to Sansa. She also caught sight of the view outside his balcony, a rather good one.

“Care for some wine, Lady Josephine?” Tyrion asked, snapping the Lioness from her gaze.

She glanced at him, seeing him standing in front of a short wooden table; one hand holding the wine jug and the other holding a filled goblet.

She shook her head politely. “I am afraid I do not like wine,” she confessed to him.

Tyrion watched her momentarily as if she had suddenly grown a second head. “This is the first time I hear someone say they don’t like wine,” he commented, placing the jug on the table. “How are you even alive without it?”

His attempt for a joke was quickly noticed by her, who showed her amusement through a playful smirk. “The same way you are alive despite how much you consume of it daily.”

Her words made Tyrion smirk and lifted his goblet slightly for a silent toast, his mismatched eyes always watching her. He drank to her smart comeback and Josephine gave a small nod, her own way of offering a toast,

The dwarf thought of approaching and asking aloud the questions he had. As he drank some wine, he studied her for a moment longer; now with a clearer head and little more time ahead of them.

What struck him odd was her dress, which was very different from what she usually wore. This one covered her almost from neck to toes, leaving little to no skin visible for the eye to see. It suited her, giving her a more serious and respectable image, but Tyrion thought that something was not adding up.

“Aren’t you hot with that dress? I know Winter is supposed to come but it is rather warm, don’t you think?” he asked, swirling the wine in his goblet faintly.

Josephine grabbed a seat by the soft, low red couch, her moves always elegant and silent. She did not seem affected by his comment, nor did she panic, knowing that not only had she been discreet, but also that the dress was showing none of the marks.

Of course, being brought up in conversation made her focus on it for a moment longer. Being tight around her neck and body was certainly not a walk to the park, and what Tyrion was saying was unfortunately rather true.

It was a little too warm for such weather, and with Josephine’s natural body heat protecting her even against the chilliest of winds, it was becoming rather hot.

Her composure, though never faltered. “It is not too warm to choose a looser dress, not today at least,” she said, slowly leaning back against the couch. “I also prefer it. It helps prevent wandering eyes whenever I pass or meet with a lord.”

Tyrion moved and sat on a chair, facing her but with some distance between them. “I assure you, Lady Josephine... if a man’s eye wishes to wonder, no amount of clothing will stop him.”

She nodded faintly, smirking. “Rather wise when it comes to the mind of men, aren’t you?” Tyrion opened his mouth to speak but she did not give him the chance. “Either way, it reduces parts of what men can stare at me; I will take it for today, get a break from all of it.”

The Imp hid his smirk behind the rim of his goblet, not only for her smart remark but also... because the conversation was leading where he wanted it.

“Well, we cannot really blame them for being interested. After all, you have chosen to portray yourself as an available woman and they do what they know best with that.” Her smirk started fading, and he knew she was not pleased with that arrangement either. Which made him realize that it was never her decision to play such a role; it was Tywin’s. “But let's be honest with one another, Lady Josephine... why the lies? You can’t tell me the world doesn’t remember you. I mean, you were here like two decades ago.”

Josephine took a moment to gather her messy thoughts and plan them so they would make sense. Tyrion was asking the right questions, and she understood that this was why he had asked for her presence.

Thankfully, this time, the topic was not about Tywin specifically. It was about her, sort of. But that meant she could be more open with Tyrion, and she chose to grab the chance and tutor him, educating him on the truth.

He was one day old when she had left the Lannisters and he had been unborn while she and Tywin carved their names into the History of the Westerlands.

“Well, it was more than two decades but I accept your compliment for my age,” she commented, trying to lighten the mood before she dove into the topic. “Well, for starters, the men and even women who knew of me are most likely dead. It has been 35 years, if not more, since the Tarbeck-Reynes Rebellion; the very first battle the Lannister Secret came out to the world.”

Tyrion listened carefully, drinking silently as she gathered her thoughts and memories. He nodded faintly, showing he was listening and understood where she was leading; yet he still felt he needed to say something.

“It's not long enough time for them to die,” he pointed out.

Josephine offered him a smirk, pleased with his sharp and logical mind. “Yes, but three wars have taken place ever since. The chances of them surviving, let alone being present in the changed court... they are not that high.” She shook her head faintly. “Most Lords that try to court me, ironically, were not even born while I was fighting by your father’s side.”

“Fair point,” the dwarf mumbled.

The Lioness crossed one leg over the other, feeling the strain of her tight dress, which limited her movement but paid it little attention. She was more focused on the conversation, making sure that she not only had enough time to process everything but also ask his questions; for she knew he would have at least some by the time she was done.

“Then, we should consider Robert’s accession to the Throne,” she started once again, earning a rather familiar look from Tyrion. She rolled her eyes. “You Lannisters... I did not leave in a cave, I travelled. You think I wouldn’t know what was going on across Westeros and my family’s well being?”

Tyrion parted his lips to comment but then chose not to. Instead, he emptied his goblet and silently motioned for her to continue.

“Point remains, that Robert made sure many things from the Targaryen era were wiped out; of course, they were never discussed. Unfortunately for me, some of those things were Tywin’s time as Hand to Aerys and of course, my presence in court.” She remained still as she talked, yet there was this faint distant look in her grey eyes; her mind daring to travel to old memories of the life she once had. “The Targaryens are gone and they took with them the last connection to anything... unnatural, magical... you take your pick. This latest generation, unfortunately, does not believe in anything that is not logical; that is not bestowed to them by that pestering religion of the Seven.”

“Pestering religion?” Tyrion arched an eyebrow.

Josephine scoffed. “Yes, it was that religion that told everyone my family’s heritage and the existence of my kind; that we were a mere lie, a fake story told by the Lannisters to terrify opponents.”

“This all sounds absurd.” He commented. “You should have come clean, show the world you are not some... fake tale told to children to behave.”

This made the Lioness smile faintly. Hearing him passively defend her and her heritage against the lies told by the Seven made her heart warm up. “As much as I wish to, I cannot.”

“Yes, you can.” He argued. “I mean, come on Lady Josephine. Men literally saw you into battle, fighting in your Lion form. They speak stories of you, and I bet a pouch of gold that most soldiers know was you in that form and not some fragment of their imagination.”

Josephine straightened her back. It was true that many Lannister men knew whom she was, or they eventually found out. Gossip spread quickly among soldiers, and she was the biggest one yet.

Of course, that only seemed to grow their respect for her; as they had shown no signs of hostility against her, no signs of fear. She was the Lion on their banners, and they respected her for what she and her ancestors did for the Lannisters.

“You see Tyrion, if the truth were to come out, people would demand proof,” she started slowly, giving him the rather obvious answer he missed. “Say Tywin refuses to expose me, then he will be called a liar. The rest and control he has over other lords and many will stop fearing him, resulting in leaving him for a better opportunity.”

Tyrion had jumped off his chair and was refilling his goblet. He remained tuned, listening even when his attention went to the cup to ensure he would not spill anything.

The Lioness gave him time to finish what he was doing. “Now, let’s say Tywin agrees... he will be no different than his father, who as you recall exposed the family secret and used it for... cheap entertainment.”

Tyrion stood but nodded, remembering the shocking revelation during their last conversation. “And being like him, is the last thing Father want to,” he concluded.

She nodded. “I assure you, Tyrion; none of us like it, especially me,” Josephine sighed. “But we do not have a choice. It is what we must do to survive because the court has changed since the last time we were both part of it... our approach to it had to change, despite what we truly wanted.”

The short man did not comment, letting his mind process everything. It was definitely a lot to take in, and he would definitely need his time. However, he could already see that this was not a peachy plan—not for her.

He could see the mental exhaustion behind her grey eyes and the invisible weight she carried, forced to lie daily and pretend to be someone she was not. Honestly, he could not blame her for trying to avoid all those suitors.

In the next event, he could be of some help and pull her away. It was the least he could do after everything.

Tyrion marched towards her, extending his goblet, which he had not touched since he had refilled it. “I know you don’t like it, but I have a feeling you need some of it,” he offered a weak smile.

One that showed trust and sympathy for a change as the first step was taken to mend the huge gap left between them.

She accepted it without any arguments. “Thank you,” she said and took a few sips, letting the alcoholic beverage enter her system and help her fight all her thoughts and rather unsettled emotions.

The short man smiled upon seeing her, slowly softening up to her. “I am still surprised how you survive without it, especially now.”

She lowered the goblet, half of its content gone. “I try, but sometimes, I feel it's the only way out,” she answered honestly before handing him his goblet.

Her soft smile was a welcoming change for him, as he was used to so many people just glaring or frowning in his presence. It made his smile grow just a tad more, and the tension between them lessened as they started to be more honest and open-minded with one another.

Suddenly, Josephine’s smile disappeared, and she stared at what seemed like plane air for a few seconds before exhaling rather strongly.

“What is it?” Tyrion asked, finding her sudden change of behaviour to be odd.

Slowly, she stood up. “Your father is done and he is looking for me... well, sort of,” she said, realizing she could not explain it.

That did not mean the lion cub was not interested. “How the seven do you know that?” he arched an eyebrow, looking up at her.

She shook her head in amusement. “It's hard to explain... it's a... bond thing, so to speak.” She graced him with one last smile. “Sometimes, even I don’t understand it completely.”

“Well then, I guess I should offer you the best of luck with my father,” Tyrion said, taking a few steps back and walking her to the door.

“I can handle it, do not worry about it,” she opened the door and stepped outside. “Oh, and Tyrion...” she called out his name as she turned sideways. “You can come to me if you need someone to talk to. Or if you wish to know more about your family’s history, your company is enjoyable, no matter what others say.”

This made him smile again, and the proud cub looked down momentarily, feeling slightly embarrassed. However, he quickly regained control of his emotions and lifted his head to look at her one last time. “The same goes for you, my lady. It is not often I find myself in the mood to talk with someone who is not, as many had called it, a whore or a drunk sellsword.”

Josephine nodded and started to walk down the corridor, feeling her mind and her heart lighter, after talking to someone about it all. The fact that it was Tyrion and this was a chance to try and talk to him made it all even better.

It was one more night that Josephine spent in Tywin’s chambers. She always joined him later each night, ensuring no gossiping passerby would notice her. They had little fear of the guards, since they were completely loyal to them.

Plus, they tried to encourage this interaction. Even they could see small changes in their Lord, and they all happened because Josephine was around him more often, especially at night.

That particular night, the Lioness and Lion had chosen to talk and not engage in any late activities. They had been doing this often lately, as if wishing to catch up for all those years they were apart; in a way, that’s what they felt like doing.

Tywin had grown a little softer ever since, evident by his rather calmer demeanour. He still demanded fear and respect from anyone else, but those who were daily in his presence could see the small changes.

What had changed, though, was his protectiveness for Josephine. He went the extra mile to keep her occupied or in his presence, ordering Ser Cane to always be around her and ensure no man would try to touch her.

He was rather possessive and jealous when he saw men look at her, and he would send warning glares, reminding them not only to behave but also that they were far beneath her station, never having a single chance.

With the latest news arriving with a messenger crow, the duo felt the need for some peace and isolation.

Josephine had found her place by the floor like last time. She had folded her legs and was enjoying the warmth of the fire while leaning against Tywin’s leg. His fingers were stroking her hair and scalp, the repetitive movement helping both of them to calm down.

“The Martells coming was one thing but the Red Viper...” Tywin mumbled, bringing his free hand holding his goblet and taking a sip of sweet wine. “That bastard will stir up trouble and we already have Olenna to worry about.”

The Lioness leaned more on his hand, her eyes locked on the flames ahead. “Perhaps we won’t have to worry about him, if we knew what he planned.” She suggested an idea that came into mind. “I could do it... I am, after all, the latest talk between the lords for my available hand and he is known to go after beautiful women,” her courage led her to make a joke right after, even though she knew there could be consequences.

The consequences that came soon after, just as the last word left her rosy lips.

Tywin’s fingers stopped the gentle move and instead grabbed a handful of thick red locks before pulling up. The sudden move and force left an acute pain coming from Josephine’s head, her hair strained in the pull that dared to rip some of her strands right off the root.

By instinct alone, to combat the sudden grab; Josephine arched her neck and arched her back faintly. If any other man dared to try this with her, she would have ended their lives before they could rethink their decision.

But Tywin was no other man. He was hers and her instincts and character switched in his presence, silently submitting and not reacting to his rough moves. Because deep down, the Lioness knew he would never cause her true harm and would never be a threat.

Tywin leaned forward to the side, bringing his face closer to hers as their eyes met. There was darkness in his golden-flecked emerald orbs, a sign of ugly jealousy he had always had a hard time controlling.

“Do not. Try. Anything with him,” he commanded her passively, ensuring the message was passed without him needing to break his promise. “Do not forget, Josephine that I am still blamed for the rape and death of Princess Elia. He longs to see me dead and our family in ruins.”

Josephine remained calm as she stretched her body. He was still in control of her head and she watched him silently, both aroused and surprised. He was never one to manhandle her outside of sex or let his jealousy turn into such possessiveness.

Of course, she would be lying if she said she did not enjoy seeing it; or seeing his rougher side a little more.

Realizing he was waiting for an answer, the Lioness tried to nod but found it impossible with his grip on her hair. She went for option two.

“Okay, I won’t,” she told him, fighting to mask his lie against his warning.

She was truly grateful it was not a command, not only because of his promise but also because she did intend to visit the Dornish Prince. In secret, of course.

Tywin did not seem to suspect her plan or expect her to try and go behind his back, not after he had warned her twice. And so, once he was sure she understood her position, he let her hair free.

“I am being serious, Josephine. This is a game with him and he will be the biggest threat, right under our roof,” he sighed and leaned back on his armchair, already not in the mood to have a viper running free in the Red Keep.

Josephine, now free from his grip, had the chance to sit down again, properly. She moved her head faintly, releasing any tension from her neck as she looked at him. She turned her body to face him better, and she placed her hand on his lap, earning his attention.

“You worry too much,” she offered him a soft smile. “We will handle him together and he won’t be a problem.”

Tywin placed his bigger hand on top of hers, trapping her thin fingers in his grip. He did not truly smile but the tips of his lips curved up as his breathing calmed down. He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips in a much gentler move than before.

“Yes, we will,” he agreed and placed a few gentle kisses at the tips of her fingers, always careful of her sharp and slightly pointy nails that had marked his back more than once the past few nights.

Chapter Text

The day the Dornish Womanizer and Prince would arrive was rather usual. Josephine had been thinking for days about how she could leave the Red Keep and go find him, for she knew her guest would prefer the Brothels as his first visit.

Not that she blamed him. After all, it was in the very same Keep he would reside that his younger sister and children were killed.

With Tywin so close around her, Josephine had started to wonder if she would be able to visit Oberyn the day of his arrival; be quick to set down what she wished to do.

Something happened that day as if the Gods Old and New pitied or supported her. With the Ironborn attacking the Reach shores and the upcoming lords and ladies they would have to house, the Small Council was in for a rather long and tiresome meeting.

It did not help that it was also the day for the monthly check, something Tywin had brought into the council while younger to ensure there were no gaps or mistakes in reports and duties alike.

Thus, with this small window of opportunity, Josephine found her way out of the Red Keep. Unfortunately for her, Ser Cane insisted on joining her, not only due to Tywin’s orders but also due to personal respect for the Lioness.

Thankfully, the horse ride to the famous Chataya brothel was small, and their cloaks helped conceal them from wandering eyes. Well, her at least. Even in civilian clothes, Ser Cane stood out with his taller and rather muscular build.

“I still find this risky, My Lady,” the knight said as they dismounted.

Ser Cane had a unique beauty for a knight.

His chocolate brown hair was long enough to reach his chin, and sometimes, he would braid a few strands to keep them off his face, ensuring his vision beneath his visor had no obstacles.

In terms of appearance, he was well kept, with even his brown beard and mustache looking spotless. What made him stand out, though, was his complexion, which was a slightly darker shade and rather eastern-looking.

One day, he confided to her that he had a younger brother in Essos, who, like him, started as a sellsword for the Golden Company. However, the two siblings took different paths, with Ser Cane joining a different group before being hired by Tywin.

While his fellow paid soldiers left once Tywin withdrew to the Capital, Ser Cane wishes to stay and serve; having taken a personal liking to these lands and the good pay given to him by the Lannisters.

Thus, this respectful man became Josephine’s personal guard; the only one Tywin seemed to trust the most around her and not suspect of trying his luck with her. No one was certain why that was, but Josephine suspected he had judged and maybe even questioned the noble knight before offering him the position.

Josephine passed him the reins of her horse, ensuring her hood was up. She did not have much time to change from her dress, so she merely chose a slightly bigger black cloak to ensure she was as covered as possible.

“When have any of us done anything that was not risky, Ser Cane?” she asked him, a playful smile on her pink lips.

The knight offered her a small smile, his well-trimmed moustache shifting slightly as he did. “Fair point, my Lady. But I insist you should let me come with you,”

She placed her hand on his chest, stopping him from taking another step. “I know the Prince and I need to do this alone,” she told him, but he could see he was hesitating. “I assure you that no harm will come to me... unless, of course, you wish to come and check some of the men Chataya is so famous for.” She smirked.

Ser Cane cleared his throat and looked awkwardly to the side, maintaining his composure or trying. Unlike many men, Ser Cane was not interested in the female essence and like Loras, preferred the company of similar gender.

A fact that was well hidden behind his composure and discipline, and something Josephine knew when she smelt it on him; familiar enough with that after some... adventures of her own.

“Very well, my Lady. I will stand by the horses,” he mumbled in defeat.

“I promise I won’t take long,” Josephine reassured him and headed for the Brothel, dodging a drunk man as he exited the same building.

Once inside, Josephine was spotted by the famous Chataya; whose story of a simple whore to a Brothel Owner had been quite famous across Westeros. Many claimed her girls and boys were unrivalled by any other across the vast land, though some visitors from Essos disagreed; few truly capable of being compared to the famous Lys.

A sufficient amount was needed, and Chataya did not question the attractive woman hidden beneath a hood. She led her across the open and private rooms, heading for where she wished to be.

The scent of melted candle, sweat and human arousal was mixed with scented oils and perfumes; almost making Josephine dizzy. Moans of pleasure, gasps and whispered promises echoed across the two-storey building as many bare naked men and women moved from client to another.

“He is in here,” Chataya said with her accent, but before she could open the door, someone beat her to it.

From the inside, the door was pulled open and a naked satisfied woman left the room. She offered a small nod to her boss and teacher before being on her way, leaving the Dornish Guest to remain in the room.

“Thank you,” Josephine said as she entered the room.

Inside, the private room was one worthy of pay. It was big and luxurious, with a soft bed that could accommodate four people and perhaps more. A soft couch with colourful silked pillows occupied the other end of the room, and there were tables, two jugs of wine, and a lot of silk robes from the Eastern Cities.

The Dornish Prince adored one of those robes and turned his back to her, busy refilling his goblet. Yet the Lioness’s presence was not one to ignore, and he turned slowly, his dark eyes almost glowing with recognition and pleasure.

“Do not tell...” he started, heading her way. His robe was tied loosely, doing little to cover anything but his bare beneath; his muscled chest exposed for the eye to lust over. “A lion in a brothel... now, where have I seen this before?”

Josephine was not surprised to be recognised. She lowered her hood, finding no need for it in the private chambers. A playful smirk formed on her lips, and a passive challenge was set.

“Lionesses do not hunt in brothels, vipers on the other hand,” she replied with a faint playfulness that was unlike her.

Oberyn left his goblet on a nearby table and covered the remaining distance, chuckling at her remark. His eager hands wrapped around her waist but did not pull her towards him, merely chose to rest there and leave some space between them.

“Yet I have the feeling a certain Lioness is stalking a viper, again,” he bemused, offering her his signature flirty smirk.

Josephine placed her hands on top of his and slowly pulled them off her. “Last time it saved your life. Now, behave or it might be in danger again.” She warned.

Oberyn chuckled and withdrew his hands, heading for his wine goblet. “I am still amused to find you in King’s Landing, of all places. Though, when I heard of a woman by the side of the Old Lion, I wondered if it was you.”

The Dornish prince grabbed a second goblet that was left nearby and filled it with water before heading her way. His dominant hand held his own, and his other hand handed Josephine the clean, non-alcoholic drink, silently showing that he remembered such details about her.

The Lioness accepted the gesture but brought it closer to her nose first, sniffing it as if she expected it to be something else.

The sight amused Oberyn, who chuckled again. “I did not poison it, Lioness.”

Josephine eyed him carefully, yet her smirk was barely hidden behind the rim of her goblet. “One can never be too careful.”

He placed a hand across his bare chest, grey eyes following his every move and dared to stay a second longer than anticipated. “Do you think so low of me?”

She glanced up at him, her smirk remaining and that was all the answer he needed.

He took no offense and merely guided her to the comfortable couch. They had much to talk about since the last time they saw each other, six years ago.

Oberyn sat first and leaned back on the couch, placing one ankle over his knee; goblet still at hand. “What do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Lioness?” he asked, his smirk remaining; taunting. “I doubt it was just because you missed my sweet company.”

Unlike him, Josephine turned serious rather quickly. She gently placed her now empty goblet on the wooden table before sitting by his side. She kept her legs pressed and turned her body sideways to face him, always mindful of how difficult dresses could be.

“I wished to know of your personal visit to King’s Landing. Coming instead of your brother, to a city you told me wished never to see... makes one curious,” she started, not once breaking eye contact with him. “I know it is because of Tywin and your quest for revenge.”

The smirk he once had started to fade slowly as all the amusement and fun were replaced by sourness, anger, and grief. His dark eyes seemed to grow darker, pupil and iris merging into one, and his chiselled jaw tensed.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he questioned. “When was Tywin Lannister the one who gave the order? Whose dog murdered my sister and her children.”

Oberyn often humoured around, hiding insults under playful words and mischievous smiles. Even when discussing more serious topics, he always ensured the mood was right and never too dark or tense.

But there were times when all this disappeared, and the viper chose to show the sharp, venomous fangs it was famous for.

He did not shout or react harshly, he did not smash things or pick a fight. No, just like Tywin; Oberyn remained calm... too calm. Like a coiled snake preparing for the fatal strike, so was he when certain taboo subjects were brought up.

Even his men and family were unsettled when he did this, knowing the darkness of his thoughts would make the bravest men run away in fear and tears.

Josephine had seen that gaze a few times and could sense her hair standing up on end, her body mindful of the danger the man by her side radiated. Few could truly match her in such skill and Oberyn was one of them.

“Only that he didn’t,” she argued, her voice stable. “I have met the Mountain and seen first hand what he does. Raping and killing is what he takes pride on and everyone knows that. What he did, back then, was on his own accord.”

Oberyn kept his gaze pinned on her, silently challenging her to continue. Like an ancient rock, he stood against the waves and silently showed everyone he would not be moved. And with the same sheer stubbornness, the Red Viper would not have his mind changed so easily.

“You were not present, were you?” he asked rhetorically, his voice dropping an octave as the grip on his goblet increased. A passive reflex to contain his anger, to control the rage he harboured within for years. “Since you were not there, how would you know?”

Josephine moved to sit a little bit closer. Each move was made by tense muscles slowly and carefully, like a Lion assessing its opponent, moving with just enough speed to ensure no opening was left.

She did not bend under the sharp gaze of the Viper, but she kept her guard up in case the snake chose to strike. She knew he would never do it, but her instincts led her to dangerous places, and this was one of them.

“Because I know Tywin,” she argued, unyielding.

Oberyn scoffed as he reminded himself to breathe. He would have much preferred to have her as an ally but it was evident she was not planning to budge or change her mind.

Unfortunately for her, so wouldn’t he. He had made up his mind years ago, spending most of his free time perfecting his poisons and planning the perfect murder for the killers of his sister.

He moved his occupied hand and tried to bring the goblet to his lips, finding them rather dry as if the topic had taken away any life from them.

Josephine did not let him. With a sharp move, her elegant fingers wrapped around his wrist and prevented him from moving his hand. The sudden grab and resistance made the wine within the chalice move, some of it escaping its circular prison and spilling on their hands.

None seemed to care as Oberyn and Josephine challenged the other to back down first.

The Lioness was not going to. “Shall I remind you that you owe me your life?” she asked, bringing her body and face closer to his. “You would not be sitting here, plotting; had it not been for my intervention.”

Oberyn’s square jaw tensed as he squeezed, his white teeth pressed against one another to the point that the rest of his mouth started to feel numb. His eyes locked on hers, pooling with defiance and a new emotion—betrayal.

“If you dare use this to force me and stop me from going after my sister’s murderer, then you are just like the rest of the Lannisters,” he said, eyes shining with momentary hatred.

Josephine was not patient, though she could always try to be. She had found comfort in Oberyn’s presence, and she respected and valued his friendship. He was an unexpected ally who treated her like an equal and did not shy away from her true nature.

But even for him, she had limits. It was not the fact that she was called a Lannister that caused that sharp pain in her heart. It was the fact that he dared to think she would act so petty and use something as sacred as a life debt for that.

The Lioness within stirred and her eyes glowed golden, the animal threatening to surface and face him. She pulled his hand closer to him, her strength having increased to the point that the pull made Oberyn lean forward; fight to ensure he did not lose his balance and fall fully on her.

Now, their faces were far closer, but Josephine sat on her knees to make herself appear taller and bigger. She was now above him, his wrist still a prisoner of her hand, and her golden eyes stared him down, looking deep within his tortured soul.

“Do not ever insult me in such a way; consider me petty,” she warned him, her voice heavier; laced with promising danger and harm. “I am not that kind of a woman and for the sake of that day and the debt you owe me, I am merely asking you to wait. Wait and let me help you draw a confession from the Mountain, so I can prove to you that Tywin did not give that order.”

Oberyn was intrigued, finding arousal and pleasure in the sudden power dynamic changes. He kept his attention fully on her, memorizing the glow of her golden eyes and his hand itched to grab her; remind her that he could easily lift the tables, or at least try.

But her proposal, the certainty behind her words, kept him focused. “And what happens after we draw out a confession?” he asked, eyes glancing at her pink lips; unable to help himself.

“We kill him and put an end to his reign of terror, rape and murder,” was her answer, a promising whisper than lingered between them for a moment longer.

Their breaths reached one another, chest rising and falling in sync. For a moment, Josephine thought he would make a move; evident by his intense gaze and notorious nature.

But he didn’t. Oberyn lifted his free hand, signifying his surrender and silent agreement to her terms.

Satisfied with his cooperation, Josephine let him go.

The Red Viper glanced at his wrist, the red markings of thin fingers evident on his darker skin, barely. He smirked and merely continued what he had intended to do in the first place: enjoy the sweet Dornish Wine he had brought with him.

Westeros did not truly know what a good drink meant or how to make a proper wine.

“I do wonder,” he started, taking a few sips to hydrate his mouth. “Does this fierce need to defend that grumpy old Lion, is it pure duty or... something else?”

She did not give anything away. “Duty, as you remember me telling you.”

Of course, the Dornish Prince did not fully believe her. He was about to comment, perhaps tease now that the tension between them had lessened when someone entered.

Ellaria Sand, Oberyn’s latest paramour and a true Dornish Beauty, walked inside the private room in her birth suit. No shame and no fear of someone seeing her, her head was held high and her hips moved seductively with each move.

“Are you done, lover?” she asked him but stopped when she noticed who was in her companion's presence. A smile formed on her tempting lips, and she started to walk again, eager to reunite with a familiar face. “Josephine.”

The Lioness stood up, equally pleased seeing her. “Ellaria,” she called her out, letting her approach.

Grey eyes involuntarily roamed her naked female form, faint traces of sweat glowing on her skin as the smell of human arousal was all around her. Her face glowed after a good time spent with a rather talented young woman, but her dark eyes glowed in need for more.

Her arms wrapped around Josephine, hands holding the woman’s waist as fingers pressed slightly against her covered flesh.

“I was just talking about you,” the Dornish woman said, mischief and lust glimmering in her dark brown eyes. “Of your rather skilled lion tongue.”

Josephine rolled her eyes as her hands moved around Ellaria’s waist, feeling the warmth of her body and her pupils dilated faintly. Her composure, though, remained intact. “That was only once, Ellaria.”

The woman smirked. “Still unmatched.”

The Lioness did not comment directly but offered a smile, showing gratitude and familiarity in the presence of the seductive woman, for it had not been that long since she had first met them.

Her travels had led her to Dorne, where she had intended to stay for a little bit and return to the mainland. She wished to remain close to Tywin’s locations so he could call her back; he had to.

There, she ends up saving Oberyn’s life, though she gets injured. The Dornish Prince became her host, offering her a place to recover and reside while she remained upon his lands.

They grew accustomed to one another and found common interest and some... new ones.

Ironically enough, Oberyn had tried more than once when Josephine was close on heat. Yet, the Lioness remained firm and refused his advances. Her body did wish for the pleasures of the flesh and the sweet release she had starved herself for quite some time... but she could not let another man give it to her.

Only Tywin had earned that privilege; her body would flare for his hands, and her lips would surrender to his alone. And so, she refused any man she had met—but no woman.

The genius Ellaria had visited her chambers one night, dressed in a thin silk dress, nipples barely visible beneath the almost sheer through material. Her sweet lips started to speak before they met flesh, tempting kisses and whispered promises lingered in the air; drawing the Lioness out.

Ellaria Sand was a woman who knew how to please and be pleased, something Josephine found out rather fast once she gave in to the comfort of her touch. Their nights spent together were adventurous, hours of exploring and testing, and then even talking as their hearts started to slow down.

Eventually, Ellaria thought she had won her enough and invited her to a brother with Oberyn. The Lioness refused once again and instead sat there, watching the viper and his paramours enjoy the pleasures with one another.

“You sound as if you ask it again,” Josephine pointed out, tilting her head faintly to the side; a tease.

After her passing, her days at Dorne would be taken with her to the grave. She did not dare speak of them to Tywin, letting him know she found comfort in the arms of another woman. Josephine found nothing wrong with it, but like many on the mainland, he had certain views of such practices.

Of course, she doubted Tywin had remained loyal to Joanna and her and suspected he had found comfort in a paid woman's arms. Something that perhaps, deep down, was what had led her to accept Ellaria’s caresses and embrace a different lifestyle; for her time there.

Ellaria smirked at her words, hands moving faintly to grab and squeeze her ass. “Only if you offer,” she brushed her lips against Josephine’s cheeks before pulling away. “What are you doing here, though? This is not a place you would choose to reside.”

Oberyn smirked at the smart and cunning mind of his lover. “She is here to make us a deal,” he informed her, having enjoyed the sight of the two women to the point that he felt blood going down his groin. “She will help me find and end Elia’s murderer.”

Josephine turned her head to look at him. “To help you confirm that the Mountain acted on his own, breaking his basic orders and harming Elia and her children that way,” she corrected him.

The Dornish Beauty looked between the two of them, sighing faintly. She understood and supported Oberyn’s quest but had grown rather tired of this task, which had become an obsession. An obsession she feared would end him and let the Stranger take him from her.

She nodded faintly. “I do hope that with you present, he won’t act too reckless and risk it all.”

Josephine smirked, fingers drawing faint patterns against Ellaria’s back. “Rest assured, I won’t let him lose his head so easily.”

“I suddenly feel offended with how you talk about me,” Oberyn commented, making the two women chuckle faintly.

Chapter Text

King’s Landing was a strategic point, combining natural forces and beauty. Or at least, this was what many thought of it when they saw the Blackwater Bay by one side and the Kingswood forest on the other.

Locals, on the other hand, knew that the very same things others admired for beauty could be taken personal advantage of if one knew where to look.

For Jaime, the sea was his calling. Blackwater Bay was stretching far and if one dared to move further away from the western walls of the city, one would find more private and isolated parts that few knew to visit.

This privacy was what he needed to train, out of sight of anyone that would judge how useless he had become now that his good hand was gone. Even Bronn, who was paid to help him train, mocked him for his weakness; though partially it did help fuel Jaime’s determination to best him.

That evening, the two men were locked in combat or at least they tried. Bronn was a skilled swordman, capable of keeping his own in a battle, and Jaime was still getting used to his left hand.

Their swords clashed, the clinging sound of metal against metal mixing with the sound of crashing waves nearby. The two men thought they were alone but failed to realize they were not, as Josephine had easily tracked them down.

She stood further away, balancing on a rock as she watched the sparring come to an end. Once again, Jaime was disarmed and the Young Lion cursed; displeased with his loss.

It was then that she chose to make herself known by putting sound beneath her steps, earning their attention.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted them as she approached.

Jaime smiled faintly upon seeing her, though he wondered how long she had been watching him fail a simple sparing lesson. “Josie,” he greeted in return, still happy to see her.

Bronn arched an eyebrow at the sissy nickname butt did not comment. “My Lady,” he acknowledged her out of mere respect but his mouth quickly got the best of him. “How the fuck did you find us out here?” he sheathed his sword but then remembered who and what she was. “No offense on the curse word.”

Josephine placed one hand on her waist, halting a few feet away. “I tracked your scents,” she explained as if it was normal for someone to do so.

Bronn stared at her for a whole minute, thinking she was joking and would say how she found them. However, Josephine remained silent and he realized she was telling them the truth.

“Fucking creepy abilities,” he mumbled beneath his breath, shaking his head at the odd things he found himself surrounding him.

Green volatile flames, mentions of dragons, women turning into lionesses and having hound tracking abilities... he never signed out for all of this.

Jaime, who felt there was no need to continue with his training, grabbed a leather coin bag from nearby and tossed it at Bronn. “We are done for today,” he told the sellsword, who gladly took the money and left them.

The young Lion grabbed his fancy sword and sat by some rocks, Josephine sitting next to him soon after. “I see you got a new sword,” she pointed out, noticing the blade design. “Valyrian steel.”

Jaime sighed, resting his new sword on his lap. “A gift from father,” he explained, feeling the fancy blade mocking him by how unable he was to use it now properly. “Thought he could bribe me with it to return to Casterly Rock, since I am not the swordsman I used to be.”

Josephine listened and held back a sigh, lips pressing to form a thin line. She knew Tywin and was not surprised by the man’s stubbornness or unorthodox means of getting what he wanted, especially with Jaime as his heir.

Yet, she chose not to comment or bring him up; since it was clear that Jaime’s consciousness was still tortured by it.

“Sort ot. Tyrion thought he would be a good sparring partner, since I can pay him to be silent and help me... for we both know I would humiliate myself if others spotted how useless I am.”

Josephine’s gaze softened and she placed her hand on top of his good one, squeezing faintly. “Well, others wouldn’t have survived having their hand cut nor would have tried relearning everything using their other hand,” she pointed out, offering him a soft smile. “This is unique to you, Jaime and you should be proud of your Lannister resilience because few truly have it.”

He looked at her and smiled in return, hearing her words that offered the faintest comfort in his aching heart. No one had truly sat down with him or talked to him, trying to be supportive.

Even Brienne was avoiding him, trying to stay close to Sansa; now that the news of the Red Wedding had reached both of them.

At least, Jaime still had Josephine and his emerald eyes did not hide his gratitude for her presence.

Josephine glanced at the sea before them, the waves gently crushing against the rocks and the sandy shore. Droplets of sea water hanging in the air and the distinct smell of salt masked the unique and often displeasing human faeces odour revolving around King’s Landing.

“This almost reminds me of Casterly Rock,” she said, her smile remaining as her face softened. “The way we would always watch the sun set beneath the waves, the times and adventures spent in the secret cove,” Jaime could not help but smile and she noticed. “Even as a child, you were brave against fear; never could tell if you were stubborn or clueless about the dangers.”

Jaime could not help but chuckle, remembering those good times and one particular day, that truly showed how he was Tywin’s son, letting no fear take him down.

Back then, Jaime and Cersei had passed their sixth name day. Joanna was due to give birth in two full moon rotations, but she still tried to be active with them as much as she could with her blown stomach.

What the twins loved, especially Jaime, was swimming by the hidden alcove beneath Casterly Rock. With the sharp rocks further away, it was almost impossible for a ship to enter unless an experienced captain knew how to navigate the treacherous waters.

Thus, that little cave became a peaceful place for many Lannister kids to play and swim, a tradition that goes back to the time of dragons, when the twins Tyland and Jason were the heads of the Lannister family.

Cersei had remained closer to the shore, her small feet dipped into the cold but clean blue waters. She held her expensive red dress up, ensuring it did not get wet, and she would stare at the glimmering surface of the waters or her reflection; carrying unique beauty even at such a young age.

Jaime, on the other hand, always loved to swim. A strong swimmer from a young age, he would spend his time little deeper; even jumping from short rocks. The waters were not that deep by his favourite spot, an adult easily touching the bottom, but it was deep enough for a small adventure for a child as young as him.

Joanna remained by the shore, watching them play while her hands rubbed her swollen belly; planning to bring her third child here when Tywin was too busy with matters of the Lands.

Josephine was in her lion form, lying on the soft sand close by. Tywin did not need her at the moment, and she had chosen to look after Joanna and the children, knowing that her partner's wife had limited mobility due to the child growing within her.

Since they were in Casterly, Josephine did not have to hide and often connected with her ancestors when she embraced her other side. Plus, she was far stronger and faster in that form; capable of helping if things ever went south.

Like how it almost happened, an hour into the water play.

The Lioness suddenly stood up, muscles tense, and her gaze remained locked on the horizon. The open sea was barely visible in the distance from the alcove opening.

“What is it?” Joanna asked, realising that something was going on when Josephine took that stance.

Josephine did not reply but remained standing, ears focused on something incoming. Her upper lip was pulled inwards, exposing her pink gums and sharp upper canines as she sniffed the air; primal instincts far more in tune with the world.

Joanna could not tell what the Lioness was sensing, but she could speculate that it was not good. “Jaime, come back here!” she called out to her son, who was ready to climb on his favourite rock.

The boy looked at his mother, little bummed that his game was over but he obeyed; using his sword limps to swim towards the land. Just then, the weather changed and big waves entered the protected area.

Most of them were stopped by the rocks, but a few escaped, one hitting the young cub and pulling him beneath.

“Jaime!” Joanna shouted, ready to sprint into the waters.

Thankfully, Jaime managed to resurface with ease, but the change of currents was pulling him away from them and bringing him closer to more incoming waves.

The Lioness was quick to act, jumping high into the air and landing into the cold waters rather close to the young cub. The waters were shallow enough for her, and her bigger frame and strong limbs helped her remain up.

She grabbed Jaime by the back of his tunic, her front death locking the fabric between them before walking towards the shore. The waves had little chance to affect her, her huge paws offering her more and more stability the closer she was to the mainland.

She made it to the shore with little effort, and Joanna rushed towards her son. She dared to kneel despite the weight pulling her forward, hands placed against her son’s cheeks; checking for any injuries.

Cersei stood nearby, horrified momentarily, and rushed towards the boy when Josephine moved to stop her. Her huge body prevented the girl from interfering, letting Joanna inspect and ensure her child was safe.

Small hands grabbed on golden fur, both in worry and displeasure, but made no move to fight the larger animal, who had just saved her brother’s life.

To their surprise, Jaime was giggling. “I am fine, mother,” he told Joanna; showing no fear after the incident that could lead him to the bottom of the sea.

Lady Lannister sighed in defeat and shook her head faintly, leaning on the heels of her feet. “My son apparently does not know what fear or caution mean,” she commented.

Josephine watched and heard it all, silently proud of the young boy with the golden heart.

Jaime chuckled at the memory, remembering that day as it had happened a few years ago. It was from the last good memories he had with his mother before she was lost in labour.

By now, the sun had started to set slowly, indicating the passing of time. Of course, the sunset there paled to what they were used to back home, but it was enough for them.

Jaime took a deep breath, glancing at the setting sun. “I dreamt of her,” he confessed, making Josephine look at him.

“Dreamt of who?” she asked, her voice gentle.

“My mother...I... before I returned to save Brienne from the bear, I had a dream about her... she visited me, saying that I had forgotten her...” his voice trailed off, and his eyes were cast to the ground in shame.

Josephine wrapped one hand around his body, pulling him for a side hug. She kept him close, letting him lean and rest against her. “That was just a dream. It was not your mother.”

He leaned closer and accepted the side hug, finding her warmth and actions one of comfort; of motherly love. “You sound very certain of it,” he mumbled.

“Because I am and I knew your mother. Not only did she love you dearly, but she knew that you loved her back and you would never forget her.”

Jaime closed his eyes, taking a hasty breath. “I miss her, sometimes,” he confessed, showing no fear in doing so in her presence.

Others might have mocked him and his father as sure would not want to hear about it. Cersei never understood him properly and Tyrion... well, he never got to know her to miss her. So, often, Jaime held those thoughts and feeling locked within; masking them behind an arrogant smirk and a cocky attitude.

Josephine rubbed his hand and kissed his head, like a mother would do to her child. “It's normal you do, but remember she still watches over you, and no matter what, she remains proud of you.”

The Young Lion did not move or say anything else, letting time pass slowly as Josephine rubbed his arm. A weak smile formed on his lips, impacted by her soft words that offered him a glimmer of hope in this wild and dark storm he found himself trapped in.

For a moment, Jaime thought of his mother in memory but found her presence physically; the love of a mother offered to him by a woman who saw him as her own when she never had to.

It was a day before the biggest wedding yet, the very first union between a Lannister/Baratheon and a Tyrell. The money spent on it was insane, the list of guests endless, and it would be a wedding no one would ever forget—for a certain future reason.

Josephine found herself rather uneasy that day, her mind occupied by plans and promises she had made. All those talks and schemes would be put to work tomorrow, and there would be no room for error.

Conflicted by guilt and the lies she openly told Tywin, the Lioness found the need for some clearance and support. Thus, it was unsurprising for her to find her legs taking her to the Oak’s Tree.

Unlike the North or Casterly Rock, the Faced Tree was unlike the others. It was not the same species but had been carved and used to serve the same purpose, for those who still prayed to the Old Gods with the many faces.

Josephine approaches the base and kneels by the roots, having done it only once while hoping for Jaime’s safe return. She looks at the carved faces that watch everything and closes her eyes, letting her head hang slightly.

She stretched her dominant hand, her palm finding rough tree bark and she pressed her skin harder against it. She missed the one in Casterly Rock or even the one in High Heart.

“The Heart Tree sees it all, Lioness,” an old woman had told her. “The Old Gods see the past and the future, they hear all of the prayers and hopes-“

“And yet they never act,” a younger Josephine had said.

The old woman smirked, leaning on her black cane with both hands. “Or maybe they do but only for those who are deemed worthy in their eyes.”

The sound of steps against cobalt and stone made Josephine open her eyes, realizing someone was coming. Considering how everyone was a loyal follower of the Seven, she did not expect someone else to come to this place.

But as the visitor approached, she was reminded that one more person found comfort in the Old Gods than the New Ones.

Sansa’s steps slowed, and her hands held the front of her dress in hesitation. “I am sorry for interrupting you, my lady,” she said, her eyes cast downwards for a moment.

The Lioness held no hostility in her grey eyes. “It is okay. This place is not just for one person,” she told the tortured girl and then gently patted the space by her side.

Sansa hesitated but walked closer, eventually sitting close to the mysterious woman. As she looked up at the carved faces, she wondered, “Are you a follower of the Old Gods, my lady?”

Josephine looked at the faces and nodded faintly. “My family is quite old. The Old Gods were what they worshipped before the New Ones came with the Andals to take their places, but even after, they remained loyal to what they knew.

Curious, Sansa looks at the taller woman that kneels by her side. “Who is your family, my lady? I don’t think I have ever heard of your house... before you were married to the Lannisters.”

The Lioness offers a sad smile. “You wouldn’t know them even if you were told the name, little Direwolf,” she told her, looking at the tree once again. “They have been gone for a long time, I am afraid. Time passed and their numbers dropped until I was the only one left.”

And then the line will die with me once my end comes, she continued in her mind.

This was the bitter truth, and Josephine found it to be the hardest thing to accept. She could and could save the line but was unable to, unless she had agreed to sleep with men and try to get pregnant.

A more selfless person would do it, but she could not, for selfishly she could take no other man than Tywin.

Sansa observed Josephine, seeing the sad smile on her lips and the way her gaze remained on the three a little longer. Hearing how she was the last of her line and most likely the last one ever to exist considering she had no children made her sympathize with her.

No... She empathized, because she was just like her.

Her family was gone, including her parents and siblings. She was the last Stark left, the only one still standing from a proud line that had been ruling those lands since the times of the First Men.

Acting impulsively, Sansa grabbed Josephine’s hand; hoping to offer some support to her. Yet, when the Lioness took notice; the Direwolf lied. “This is how my mother and I used to pray. She used to say that holding hands offered a connection.”

The Lioness kept that smile. “My own mother used to tell me the same, when I was your age and younger. Though back then, as a child, I did not always appreciate it until I had grown older.”

“I know how you feel, my lady. I used to be the same, and now I feel guilty about how I used to behave and underestimate those moments. " Her voice trailed off.

Josephine squeezed Sansa’s hand, a silent understanding between them. They spoke no more words and turned their attention to the faces of their gods, silently thinking and praying under their watchful gaze.

Chapter Text

The big day had finally arrived, and already, the crowd had started to gather and head for Baelor’s September, where the official union between Margaery and Joffrey would take place. After that, a huge celebratory feast would follow, and everyone was aiming to outshine the other in one way or another.

Even Tywin had worn one of his more formal doublets; the soft red leather was decorated with golden lions. He was done with the last button when there was a knock on his chamber doors, followed by Josephine entering the room.

He watched her momentarily from the reflection of the mirror he was facing before catching his eye on her dress.

This was a big and formal event, one that required everyone to dress as finely as possible. Considering Tywin was quite busy with, well, everything, he had arranged for a tailor to take Josephine's measurements and prepare a dress for the wedding.

Thus, he was unaware of the liberties the tailor would take under mild encouragement from the Lioness.

She needed to look at her best for more than one reason, and thus, she settled for what she often ran away from.

It was about a week, if a little bit more, before Josephine was again summoned in Olenna’s presence. Marching through the gardens, the Lioness took notice of the Tyrell Matriarch sitting with a young lady, one of her many granddaughters.

The young girl was busy embroidering, a skill many noble women learnt from a young age; ironically, Josephine had tried to learn it out of curiosity and found herself failing dramatically.

“Do you like it, Nana?” the shy girl asked, showing the embroidery of a rose she had just made.

Olenna did not seem to approve. “Another golden rose. How original. I eat from plates stamped with roses. I sleep in sheets embroidered with roses. I have a golden rose painted on my chamber pot as if that makes it smell any better. Roses are boring, dear. 'Growing strong.' Ha! The dullest words of any house. 'Winter is coming!' Now that's memorable.  'We do not sow.' Strong. Strong.”

By then, Josephine had approached and chose to enter the conversation. “Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken,” she said, earning their attention. “I believe those are even more memorable words for a House.”

There was a glimmer of amusement in Olenna’s blue eyes, and her thin lips formed a smirk. She was pleased with her comment. “House Martell, now those are words to remember,” she commented in return.

“And they do live by their words. After all, no other House shot a dragon from the sky and kept resistance against Aegon and his dragons,” Josephine said as Olenna silently motioned for the girl to leave them be.

The Lioness took the girl’s place, sitting gracefully with her back straight.

“And what about your house words? Hmm?” The Queen of Thorns questioned. “Hear me Roar. How childish... though, I suspect your family was to blame for that, inspiring them.”

The challenge was laid, and Josephine was quick to rise to it.

“It is a reflection of the armies the Lannisters command. The brute force of the Westerlands gathered and armoured; ten of thousands of men leaving a war cry as they charge their enemies, terrifying their opponents just as a lion does when it roars,” she pointed out, making the woman smirk.

Olenna grabbed her wine and took a sip. “Men will be men; there is no need for us to join them on that as well,” she bemused her guest. And with that, the conversation shifted as the Older Woman went straight to the point of the summon. “Are you ready for the big day, Josephine? Your king is getting married.”

Josephine knew why Olenna was bringing it up and acknowledged how skilfully she covered it all, ensuring no spying birds and spiders could hear them. “I am, as is everyone from the looks of it. Though, I am unsure of my presence there,” the Lioness said, disguising her true question.

This made Olenna chuckle, mischief glowing in her aged eyes. “You worry too much. All you need to do is be pretty and use that female grace of yours like all the ladies do.”

The Lioness rolled her eyes. “Bold of you to assume it will work.”

Based on the plan at hand, Josephine gave instructions for the dress—vague but enough—and the final product was more than what she had in mind.

The dress was bright bloody red, its vibrant shade making it noticeable from afar.

It had an off-the-shoulder design with a deep neckline adorned with ornate gold embroidery in swirling patterns. The sleeves were long and flowing, and the skirt fell freely around her body, emphasizing her hips and curves.

A matching golden belt with intricate patterns cinched the waist, enhancing the gown's dramatic and luxurious feel. Her hair, as per usual, had been laid down, but a few strands had been braided into a loop and pinned to the back of her head, exposing more of her beautiful face and delicate neck.

Tywin turned to face her, pupils dilating as she walked towards him, hands placed elegantly in front of her stomach. Her rosy lips formed a smirk upon seeing his golden-flecked emerald eyes take in her form, ensuring they missed not a single detail.

Her neckline was rather deep, and the lack of shoulder straps exposed more skin and collarbone. The golden necklace he had gifted her all those years ago was the only piece of jewellery she wore.

She could tell that his gaze rested on her skin and neck a little bit more, tempted to scold, comment, or act. He was a man who took pride in showing his partner's beauty but also one who often felt jealousy when roaming eyes dared to stare at what was his.

“Cat got your tongue, my lord?” she asked playfully as she halted before him, arching her neck faintly to look at him.

His first response was to wrap his hands around her waist, pulling her closer to him until only their clothes remained the only barrier. “A cat, no, a queen, on the other hand,” he mumbled, staring her down.

Tywin always knew Josephine had a unique beauty, and that was why he had often tried to bring it forward, even after his marriage. He enjoyed watching her dress like royalty and showcase the blessings she had received to the world, but he only had them on full display for him in the privacy of their chambers.

Josephine smirked, one hand resting on top of his chest and the other wrapping gently around his neck. “You know I could have easily been one had I wanted.”

Her words made him smirk and roll his eyes, but it was evident he was enjoying their little talk and, of course, the fact that he could have her in his arms again. It did not matter that she had been trapped in his embrace the night prior; he had missed it already.

“What can I say? It is a Lannister trait,” she whispered against his lips, the hand on his chest slowly moving up and down, feeling the expensive leather against her palm.

Her teasing made him lose his composure, and he wasted no time kissing her. His kiss was demanding and needy, intending to take all the air she had within and numb her lips until she could no longer feel it.

The Lioness did not back down from it, and she kissed back, his hand around his neck, grabbing the back of his jacket, sharp nails threatening to pierce holes into the leather. She tilted her head faintly and parted her lips, letting his tongue dominate her mouth as he tilted her back faintly. His hands on her waist were the only thing keeping her standing.

A knock on the door interrupted them, making them pull back and slowly start regaining the air they had starved themselves of.

Tywin glared at the closed doors, hating the timing, but he focused on Josephine once again, sensing her warm hand against his cheek.

“They are not at fault. It is time for us to make an entrance,” she told him, pressing her forehead against his as he gently pulled her back on her feet.

“For now, but this will be continued later,” he told her, making her grip.

She pecked his lips, sealing the little promise before she took a step back, feeling the hesitation in his hands as he wished not to let her go.

The wedding was a big event, and the crowd clapped rather loudly when Joffrey kissed Margery and sealed their marriage. Of course, until they would sleep together, the marriage was nothing but a fancy title.

Josephine had been observing Margaery's awkwardness and how hard she tried to hide it behind a small fake smile. She knew of Joffrey’s nature but did not know that people were pulling strings in the background to save her and the realm from another mad king.

Once the wedding was over, the guests started to filter out and slowly make their way towards the place where the reception and the feast would take place. In this small moment of people walking like a coordinated pack of sheep, Josephine had found an opening and left Tywin’s side.

She found Olenna by the Gardens, staring ahead at the blue sea of Blackwater Bay. Their discussion was coded, their voice low, but they made it look as casual as both women stood by the edge of the path and looked ahead.

Their discussion was cut short when Tywin was seen approaching them. Immediately, Josephine turned to face him and greeted him formally. “My Lord,” she said, offering a small bow as she kept up with the role she had persuaded everyone else.

Of course, Olenna, being from the knew, knew the truth; she merely arched an eyebrow. Amusement was evident in her aged but wise blue eyes as she took joy in this fake charade that clearly was unnecessary.

“I do not believe I am interrupting,” Tywin said, motioning for them to keep walking as guests were coming their way.

Olenna waved her hand dismissively. “Of course not. We were talking about this beautiful wedding,” the old woman said as the two women walked side by side.

However, Tywin moved swiftly between them and forced the two ladies to distance themselves more. Olenna took notice and chuckled silently at the possessive and jealous nature of the Old Lion.

“Since you were discussing the wedding, a bit much, wouldn't you say?” he asked, deciding to join the discussion by having Olenna on his left and Josephine on his right.

“It feels proportionate,” Olenna commented.

“Proportionate to what?”

“The expected extravagance, of course”

“People who spend their money on this sort of nonsense tend not to have it for long.”

The Queen of Thorns rolled her eyes. “You ought to try enjoying something before you die, Tywin.” She said, being from the few to ever use his name so informally. “You might find it suits you, both of you.”

The two partners exchanged a silent look that lasted a few seconds. They were the definition of trying to enjoy things, knowing life was short and could be even shorter. If they did not follow that idea, those two would have never laid beneath the covers again.

Yet none dared to say anything, keeping their thoughts and anything else they did in secret. Olenna, as usual, noticed but chose to remain civil, knowing she would have plenty of time to poke the Old Lion.

The path ahead of them merged with another one that was mostly made up of steps. Lord Mace approached them with a smile, clearly intending to join them.

However, his mother was not in the mood for it. “Not now, Mace. Lord Tywin, Lady Josephine, and I are speaking,” he snapped back, making the older man press his lip to a forced thin smile and rear back. “Anyway, I don't know what you're complaining about. I'm paying my share.”

“Shall we stick golden roses in half the meat pies to commemorate your generosity?” Tywin commented, sarcasm flowing rather freely from his lips.

“No, your heartfelt thank you is its own reward,” Olenna snapped back, earning the tiniest of chuckles from Josephine, who was too slow to mute it completely.

Tywin noticed and sent her a look, clearly displeased. Like in Harrenhal, she kept a small smirk and glanced down momentarily, showing no shame for laughing or reacting.

Olenna noticed this small interaction, silently studying the two of them now that she had the chance since it was rare to do so out in the open. Tywin was always busy with his responsibilities, and so was she.

They would not truly be seen together other than at some formal events, and even then, their discussions or interactions were rather forced and fake for the sake of appearances.

She chose to continue and save the younger woman from the claws of the Lion, although she knew a Lioness never feared her male counterpart. “I would imagine I'd be hearing it again before long. Wars are rather expensive. "The Iron Bank will have its due." How they love to remind everyone. Almost as much as you Lannisters with your debts,” she said, throwing fire at their direction but mostly Tywin.

Yet the older Lion did not seem fazed by her words or was simply too good at hiding them. “I'm not worried about the Iron Bank, " he told her, but she could see right through it.

“All three of us know you're smarter than that. Come, Tywin, let us celebrate young love.” She said and turned to Josephine. “I do hope you will not mind if we share your Warden as an escort.”

Tywin arched an eyebrow, but before he could comment, he noticed the twinkle of mischief in Josephine’s eyes. “Not at all, Lady Olenna,” she said as the two women wrapped their hands around each of his.

The Old Lion did not comment, but he did send his partner a warning look, full of promises and punishments for her behaviour. Josephine did not react, though she felt the heat between her legs, knowing all this would be solved once the sun had set.

The feast was held in the Royal Gardens, where the Tyrells, Lannisters, and Baratheon banners hung everywhere. Musicians played famous songs, from Renly’s Ghost and the Rains of Castamere to older tales like Jenny of Old Stones and the Maiden and the Bear.

Everyone mingled with one another, enjoying different wines from Arbour to Dornish. Delicacies in the form of fresh fruits were placed everywhere, courtesy of the fertile Reach, which is famous for its products.

The married couple remained by the royal table while most of their relatives were busy exploring around before taking their places once the time was ready. Until then, they had the chance to do as they pleased, and some did.

Despite his frown, Josephine moved away from Tywin, reminding him that this was a role she had to play. Unfortunately for her, it was not long before familiar and unfamiliar faces circled her like vultures around a fresh corpse.

Men complimented her dress, their wandering eyes making her feel sick, yet she hid it all with a polite smile. Her once empty hand was now holding a goblet, finding the Dornish Wine just what she needed to make it through.

Thankfully for her, her saviour came when her patience was running thin. “Excuse me, my lords,” Tyrion’s voice reached them, and the dwarf tried to push between the taller men. “I am afraid I will have to steal Lady Josephine for a while.”

A few men tried to argue, but the imp paid them little to no mind at all. He knew how to ignore comments and displeased looks, having been doing so his entire life. Josephine followed him, exhaling rather loudly once the crowd of men was put more and more behind them.

“I appreciate the interference, Tyrion,” she said as she moved to walk by his side, taking slow steps to match his pace.

The dwarf took a sip of his wine and glanced up at her. “Well, I couldn’t really leave you all alone with them. The way they were going, I feared you or my father would attack them,”

She smiled at his words, clearly amused. “And Sansa?”

“She should be fine. She is by the table, and I thought to give her some space to breathe,” he explained as they navigated and moved from the more crowded areas. “And apparently, you needed the same.”

“I do, but it is not a luxury I can afford at the moment, and it will not last long.”

He hummed in understanding and merely kept walking by her side, giving warning glares to any man who thought of approaching her. For a short man, he could look quite threatening, the Lannister genes showing even more when he was truly trying to protect someone he cared about.

The Lion Instincts.

As they approached a table filled with cheese, bread, and fresh fruits, a familiar face was spotted picking from the grape pyramid. Josephine led them towards the Dornish Prince, confusing Tyrion, who followed along.

Oberyn sensed them, and he turned with a huge grin, his eyes staying on Josephine and her formal but eye-catching dress. “Lady Josephine,” he greeted, reminding himself that their past interactions and friendship were to remain a secret.

And the Red Viper was not one to put a woman into a tough position or go against her wishes. No, he respected them too much to do so, especially to one with a special place in his circle, like Josephine.

“Prince Oberyn,” she greeted him as they halted close by. “Have you met Tyrion?”

The Dornish Prince glanced down and kept the smirk. “We had, not so long ago. I see you enjoy the festivities, lord Tyrion?”

The dwarf was looking between Josephine and him, having the suspicion that this was not their first meeting. Considering Oberyn’s nature as a womanizer, he was surprised this had even taken place, knowing very well his father would recreate the Castamere Massacre if he dared to find out.

Unless he doesn’t know that his precious partner had already been introduced to his biggest hater, he thought and swirled the wine in his goblet.

“I do try. I shall congratulate your wine, Prince Oberyn. Dornish wine is exactly what a man needs to tolerate such events,” he emptied the cup.

Oberyn took pride in hearing it, which was evident by the faint puffiness of his chest. “In Dorne, we know how to make our wine. Perhaps one day you will visit and taste it fresh. You will certainly enjoy better parties than this boring one,” he said, making Josephine roll her eyes.

“Yes, and flirt with more women than you ever had until now,” she commented, though her gaze remained mostly on the Prince; her words passively hinted at him as well.

Tyrion took notice and realized that it was wiser to find his wife and ensure Cersei had not tried anything. “Well, it seems I am out of wine. Excuse me while I go find me a refill.”

He walked away, feeling that Josephine would be fine with Prince Oberyn. Despite being a womanizer, the Dornish Royalty was not as disrespectful as the other lords nor lustful to the point of being rude.

He respected boundaries and preferred sweet flirting over fake compliments and empty marriage promises. Plus, with him around Josephine, no other Lord would dare to approach her.

Josephine watched him go, and once he was further away, she turned to face Oberyn, finding he had taken a step closer. “Are you thinking I don’t pay attention to your moves, Oberyn?” she questioned with a small smirk, a faint warning not to try to step any closer.

Oberyn chuckled. “It does not hurt to test, Lioness. Who knows, perhaps the wine has already dulled your senses.”

She eyed the goblet in her hand, deciding to prove him a point. She tossed her head back and emptied the remnants of the wine in one go, lowering it slowly and never looking away from him.

“Do you think of me that light-headed? Perhaps you don’t know me at all,” she said, smirk tempting her companion.

There was a challenge in his dark eyes, pleasure from her antiques and this sexual tension that seemed to flare between them. Thankfully, Ellaria marched their way, her Dornish Dress leaving little to the imagination with the extremely low and scandalous cut.

“Lover, I was searching for you,” she told him as she placed her hands on his shoulder, earning a peck on his lips. “I see you are in the presence of our favourite Lioness once again.”

Josephine smiled, eyes inspecting Ellaria and her dress. “With you now here, I do not think my presence is needed.” She said, earning a smirk from both of them.

“Or you could join us. I think we are far better company than the men who have been eyeing you all day.”

“That is true; I won’t deny it,” she chuckled. She let a servant take her goblet but then refused to have another one.

For what she had to do and what would happen soon, she needed to have a clear mind—well, as clear as possible, which meant stopping before the wine controlled her.

Suddenly, Josephine noticed Olenna in the background. She wrapped her hand around Loras’ elbow and was guided towards the Royal Table. Even from a distance, Josephine caught Olenna’s quick and sharp gaze, a silent hint.

“I am afraid this will have to be postponed; the festivities are soon to start,” she told the clueless couple. “Would you like to walk with me until our tables?”

Oberyn smirked and quickly flanked her right side, Ellaria her left and the Lioness found herself trapped between the two familiar figures of her recent past. She smiled at their antiques, amused and unbothered.

Without another word, the two of them started to walk, their steps in sync.

Chapter Text

Tywin remained close to the Royal Table, having done a quick round and talked with a few lords, but that was enough for the day. His keen eyes had been scanning the area around, searching for Josephine, who had slipped from his attention at some point.

“You look wary, Father,” Cersei said, moving to stand by his side, goblet at hand. “You should be pleased. Your grandson is getting married, and the Lannister name will continue, the next rulers to the Iron Throne.”

The Old Lion looked at her momentarily. “Yes, well, if he behaves properly, perhaps there is hope for this family after all,” he commented, making Cersei look at him displeased. “If you think this will prevent you from marrying Loras, you are mistaken.”

The Queen Reagent moved to stand in front of her father, arching her neck to try and look him in the eyes. “Could you at least not ruin my mood on this day? It is already ruined enough with that Tyrell Whore being all over my son. I do not need your scolding or your teaching.” She spat, her gaze glowing with anger.

Tywin did not budge but stared her down, commanding in silence. His confidence in his stance and stern look were enough to convey his message and warning. His daughter could hold eye contact that long before she had to look to the side, the burning, unyielding gaze of her father too much.

Suddenly, the Old Lion noticed something in the distance.

Josephine walked between Oberyn and Ellaria, their steps in sync. She smiled, held back a chuckle, and clearly enjoyed their company—his company. His gaze turned cold and threatening, his jaw tensed, and a silent warning was sensed by those around him.

The Lioness seemed to pick up, and she bid her companions a temporary goodbye before continuing. A side glance was all she needed to see Tywin heading her way, keen to follow her and get some answers.

Cersei turned to follow her father, scoffing in annoyance at seeing him running after Josephine, his primary attention being the supernatural woman he had known since he was young. She glared daggers at the duo's retreating figure; her back turned on the royal table.

Unaware to many, the genius Olenna had been watching everything. Her smirk was faint and momentary, and the Queen of Thorns slowly stood up. With confident steps, she headed for a quiet Sansa at the other end of the table.

With Tywin gone and Cersei clouded by her emotions and jealousy, no one dared to suspect the friendly talk of the older woman towards the young Direwolf. No one would suspect the gentle caress that helped withdraw the poison she had stored in a pretty necklace.

And all because Olenna had thought of it so well, she had temporarily removed the biggest threat to her genius plan.

Tywin quickly caught up with Josephine, and his steps fell in sync with hers as they walked side by side, further away from the festivities and the crowd. They merely glanced at passing Lords and Ladies, with Tywin sending silent side glares towards her.

“I believe I warned you about the Dornish Prince,” he said, calm.

They finally moved far enough that there were no longer crowds to avoid or familiar faces to greet silently. “He approached me first, and we merely had a talk, " she responded, but Tywin was not pleased enough with that answer.

He suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a nearby Lannister tent, the force of the move pushing her further into the empty space. The only thing existing was a huge wooden table that was mostly covered with lavish gifts for the newlyweds.

Josephine turned to face him, her wrist now free. “You know I cannot avoid him, even at the wedding, especially at the wedding,” she reminded him sharply. “I have a role to play, including talking to him.”

Tywin took a deep breath as he moved closer, but he did not comment. He merely fought his restraint as he silently agreed with her answer. That, of course, did not mean he was happy with it or less suspicious.

Oberyn posed a threat to him, and Josephine knew it, seeing it even more clearly from his recent reaction. She took a silent breath and covered the distance between them, gently placing one hand on his chest.

“You worry too much about it,” she reassured him. “He stands no chance against you or me,” she smirked.

The Old Lion looked down at her, a smirk forming on his tempting lips; almost imagining Josephine taking down the cocky Prince in her beautiful and powerful lion form. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer before pressing his lips against her, demanding more.

His moves were those of a starved man, his lips savouring and mapping every inch of hers.

The Lioness could not tell no to his advances, feeling the familiar electrifying sensation from where their skin met. She kissed back, her free hand moving to his cheek to ensure he would not pull away too early.

He didn’t, and while he was busy trying to bruise her lips to satisfy his hunger, he also started to lead her back.

She obeyed him without question, and she took one step back after the other until she felt the edge of the wooden table pressing against her tailbone. The unexpected contact momentarily made her drop her guard and gasp faintly, allowing an opening for his tongue to dominate her mouth.

Tywin was not done as he easily grabbed her thighs and hosted her on the table, forcing her to let him go and push gifts to the side to have more stability and space. He spread her thighs and hitched her fancy dress up to her knees before he stepped between her legs.

He pulled back, both out of the air, and leaned closer to her, their breaths reaching each other's lips. Pupils had dilated with desire, and as their gazes connected under hooded eyelids, both knew what they wanted, not caring for the time or place.

The Lion moved, strong fingers finding the small cloth covering her sweet entrance. He pushed it to the side and let two of his fingers enter her sharply, earning a gasp from her and an arch of her back.

He smirked at her reaction, manly pride growing within, and he started to plan open kisses by the edge of her jaw, teeth so close in marking her sweet skin for the world to see. His fingers pumped within her in a steady rhythm until he sensed how wet she already seemed to be.

By instinct, he glanced down, pulling his fingers out of her, earning a silent whine from the tease. Only that Tywin did not tease and instead focused on the red coating his fingers, realization settling in by the following second.

Tywin looked at her. “You are still fertile,” he pointed out, not expecting it.

Women had a certain period window where they could become pregnant and give birth to babies. After that window closed, once they reached a certain age, there was no chance for them to carry a child within them.

By age alone, Josephine should have long stopped being fertile and capable of carrying a baby.

The Lioness locked her gaze with him, catching her breath and ignoring the stinging sensation between her legs, her body asking for his fingers and his attention to return.

She placed her hand on top of his wrist and nodded. “I am. We do not exactly ever stop being,” she confessed in a hushed whisper as if the revelation itself would push him away.

Yet it seemed to do the exact opposite.

Tywin could imagine it; his seed left within her night after night. Her belly all swollen up as she carried his children, his legacy. The thought alone made blood rush down harder, his pants feeling tight rather quickly.

He came to realize that there was still a chance for them. They still had a chance for her to have his babies, as they always talked about when she was younger, as they had planned before Tytos forced Joanna into the picture.

The Lion felt heat and madness clouding his mind, taking away all of his restraint, control, and logical thinking. He crashed his lips against hers, kissing her once again with more force and need than before.

He pushed her, forcing her to lay her back on the table, caring little of the gifts she had to push to the side or even lean against. She gasped, the sound muffled by the kiss and her hands found his forearms, holding for support.

Pulling back, Tywin stared her down as she remained sprawled beneath him, open for the take. He buried his mouth to the base of her collarbone, planting wet kisses and threatening to mark the exposed flesh.

He moved down to the exposed flesh between her breasts, licking and kissing without a care in the world. Her faint moans and mumbles worked as an encouragement to continue while making his erection feel too much.

His one hand remained pinned to the table to keep him up, and his other moved to his pants, hastily undoing the strings and freeing himself, the cool air making him hiss as he felt it against his erected manhood.

Josephine opened her legs wider before she wrapped them around his waist, looking at him with hunger and lust, a feeling that was mutually shared. She felt one hand grabbing her waist, keeping the dress out of the way and also ensuring she would not move as he entered her, caring little for the blood that would stain him in the process.

In one swift move, he was in, and he moved his kisses to her neck, groaning against her skin as he felt the tightness, the sensation driving him mad to the point he had to fight himself or start an unforgiving pace that would ruin her.

Her hands moved to his back, grabbing for support and encouraging him to continue, which he did without hesitation. His moves were strong and calculated, held back to ensure the pleasure was not chased too fast, wishing to last as much as he could.

The fact that those moments between them could result in her finally carrying his children made him move faster. The hand holding her waist tightened, strong fingers bruising her hip as he kept going, the table beneath creaking with each thrust.

Her nails dug into his leather jacket, and he could feel it all the way to his skin, making him groan. Moans of pleasure left her parted lips, a wasteless effort to keep herself quiet.

One of her hands moved to his cheek and pulled his face towards her, kissing him as he went, muffling their sounds and whispered curses as their moves became wilder, needier.

The results of their hot mating could be smelt in the private tent, a mixture of human odour, juices, blood and sweat. Both were satisfied by what had happened, their releases mixing within Josephine as Tywin helped her climb down the table.

Her legs felt wobbly for a few seconds, but as blood started to rush down, she regained her balance and stable step. She pushed some strands off her face, feeling them stick to her skin thanks to the sweat that had formed; the tent they had chosen made everything far hotter.

Tywin fixed his pants and jacket, his mask quickly taking its place, as if nothing had happened and he had not been whispering her name while he finished inside of her.

“One of us should leave first, then the other. We must not raise suspicion,” Josephine said, ensuring nothing had ruined her dress.

The Old Lion nodded, though he knew such secret activities would not last long once his seed had taken root within her and started doing its job.

“I will go first and meet you by the Royal Table,” he said, unaware of how much time had passed since they ‘walked’ away.

Considering that no one had come to find them, they suspected they were still within schedule.

Josephine nodded, watching him leave the tent first, composed and perfect. She waited before she chose to leave from the small opening each tent had in the back, making sure to fix her composure before taking a different path for the festivities.

Unfortunately for her, a few steps further away, a familiar person blocked her path. Ser Cane, in his armour and visor, approached her, clearly searching for the lady he was supposed to be a guard to.

“Ser Cane,” she greeted him, offering a friendly smile and pretending nothing had occurred.

He did not comment on the faint pink hue of her cheeks or the fact that he saw her exiting the back of a tent in secret. Of course, he seemed to suspect, and it was evident by the smirk that formed on his lips; his lifted visor did not hide it.

Josephine rolled her eyes but did not feel discouraged. She gently touched his arm and then motioned for him to follow her. “Come, I need to return to the Royal Table.”

Ser Cane nodded and started to follow, choosing not to speak. He did not have to. She did not want to, and he had no reason to do so. He was pleased to know both of them were better, happier with one another.

And if they wished to be bolder and act like the youngest in love, he would not stop them. He had done the same for once upon a time and knew how that felt and what it meant for two individuals in love.

It did not take long for Josephine to return to the Royal Table, Ser Cane choosing to stay back and watch from afar, having no place amongst the royals.

The Lioness walked as if nothing had happened but noticed that almost everyone had been seated. Only a few remained standing, but even they were heading for their assigned tables. It seemed she and Tywin had returned just in the nick of time.

The Old Lion was already in his seat, and there was an empty chair between him and Tyrion, which was reserved just for her.

Olenna, the cunning and ever-watching Sassy Queen, took notice and delayed her sitting. “Ah, Lady Josephine,” she called her over, her blue eyes scanning her up and down. "Come, keep me company for a moment.”

Joffrey and Margaery had yet to return from their walk around, talking to the guests. Loras sat by the edge of the table, brooding. Lord Mace was halfway drunk and unwilling to stop anytime soon.

“Had I known you were in so desperate need of company, Lady Olenna, I would have returned far sooner,” she said, clearly in the mood to try and poke the older woman.

The Queen of Thorns was not one to back down from a challenge. It was also never wise for someone to try and stir her because she knew how to snap. “Perhaps next time, I will let you know. I am sure, though, that you do not need my company around. Being missing for so long, I had found myself busy with other things.”

The Lioness was quick to read between the lines, realizing that the plan was done and it would soon be put into action.

“I am afraid I was kept rather busy, Lady Olenna. It is not easy for one to make a man stop talking of hunting and war,” she replied, continuing with the lie.

A smirk from the older woman proved she was pleased. Yet the glint of mischief in her eyes showed she was not done yet. “Yeah, well, some talks might be rather interesting to you... coming back to us, all better and relaxed; makes one old woman wonder who kept your attention for so long.”

None of the two women had to glance at Tywin to know his muscles stiffened faintly. He masked his reaction by calmly drinking from his goblet.

Josephine, however, was a better actor at that moment and would not give anything away. “Oh, this is just the feeling one gets when they are finally free to leave the monotonous one-way conversations and have a chance to breathe, further away from the commotion of the festivities.”

Olenna chuckled, showing pride in her aged eyes. She commented nothing more and allowed the younger woman to return to her seat, watching her as she went and sat next to Tywin, being the passive obstacle between him and his dwarf son.

She glanced at Tywin, who kept looking forward but could sense Olenna’s stare and imagine her devious smirk.

He brought his goblet closer to his lips once again. “Fucking Tyrells,” he mumbled and drank, letting only Josephine hear it and be amused by his reaction.

Chapter Text

The Lannisters had all been settled at their table. Theirs was by the left of the married couple Cersei close to Joffrey. By her left was Tommen, followed by Tywin, Josephine, Tyrion, and last was Sansa.

Across from them was the table of the Tyrells where Loras, Mace, and Olenna were seated, as well as, of course, the main Head Table, which was occupied only by Margaery and Joffrey.

Eventually, the boy-king stood up and knocked his fork a few times against his goblet, earning the audience's attention.

“Everyone, silence!” he shouted, earning everyone's attention. “Clear the floor. There's been too much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history. The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history.” He said and smirked, extending one hand towards the huge wooden Lion Head across from the three main tables. “My lords...” servants turned a lever, and the mouth of the lion opened. “My ladies...” a red carpet started to be unrolled from within the mouth of the lion. Tywin & Josephine exchanged a look, unaware of what would come next. “I give you. King Joffrey... Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy. The War of the Five Kings.”

Five dwarves came down from the lion's mouth, each dressed as one of the five kings. They run about, playing their roles with comic glee and earning the crowd's applause along with their laughter.

Many clapped, Tywin out of mannerism, but Josephine refused to. Her eyes narrowed in displeasure, clearly not enjoying how the war they fought was put up as a comic relief with dwarves nonetheless.

She glanced at Tyrion, who was far from pleased as Joffrey laughed and enjoyed the show.

The actors ran around between the tables; one dwarf with a prop even managed to hit Varys on the back of his head, displeasing the eunuch, who had to remain silent. By his side, Pycelle was enjoying the show.

The dwarf actor portraying Renly moved in front of the Head Table. “I'm the rightful king.” He said, earning passive glares from Loras from the Tyrell table, who did not enjoy seeing the mockery of his former lover.

“King in the North!” the dwarf playing Robb shouted. Around his body, the fake mount of a wolf was held by one hand so that it would not fall on the floor.

“Traitor. You're a traitor.” A dwarf dressed as Balon Greyjoy shouted.

“For the Seven Kingdoms!” Joffrey Dwarf shouted, and then they all lined up on the stage. Let the war begin.”

The crowd applauded, and the first actor to start was Renly, the pretender. He started to prance about the stage, ‘riding’ a doll meant to represent Loras.

“Renly, you're no king.” Dwarf Stannis shouted, riding the red priestess he had hired to work for him.

Balon dwarf, supposedly riding the Kraken, lifted his fake weapon. “Away, degenerate. Away. Away.”

Then ‘Stannis’ started to chase ‘Renly’ to the point that the fake younger Baratheon was shouting like a lady. The attacks were harmless but became overdramatic just for the laughter of the people.

“Ooh, careful.”

“Go on.”

“I want you to be my prince. Stannis!”

The acting continued, and if one looked at the three Royal tables, one would see that only Joffrey was enjoying the show. Even Cersei seemed to get tired of this mockery.

Josephine was not amused; one could dare say she was disgusted by the sight. Her lips had turned downwards, almost forming a snarl, but she remained quiet, even though she felt a strong need to end this ridiculous mockery.

Stannis, Loras, and Robb were their enemies but were respected opponents, not idiots to be mocked and humiliated. They gave them trouble, kept them on their toes, and deserved to be remembered that way.

The Lioness dared to look at the Tyrell table, curious what they thought. After all, this show was arranged by their good-son, and it was a clear sign of the mindset the boy-king carried.

She locked eyes with Olenna, who shifted uncomfortably on her chair. Even Lord Mace seemed not to enjoy it, having left his goblet on the table. One should not mention Margaery, who tried her best not to get up but wished she could.

Eventually, the older women looked at Loras. The two dwarves had started to feign some indecent acts, which caused him to stand up and leave, his face not hiding his disgust.

Olenna and Josephine looked at each other again with no hesitation in their eyes; instead, more determination seemed to exist. That ‘show’ unfolding in front of them was exactly what they needed to know: that they had to do what had to be done.

“Who's got the gold now, Stark?” Balon dwarf shouted and faced dwarf Robb in combat.

“I am the rightful king.” Fake Robb said.

“Challenge me, ruffian.”

“Take that.”

Eventually, dwarf Balon fell to the side. “I'm drowning. I'm drowning.”

“I am the King in the North!” the Robb dwarf shouted, not amusing Sansa or Tyrion.

Even Tywin seemed displeased by the mockery of his opponent that had made this war hard for him, but he still did not deserve such a ridiculous performance.

The crowd comprised royals, court ladies, Lords Paramount and everyone else who had no taste in combat or battle. They mostly knew the riches of their houses and the boring, simple lives they lived in their respective castles and houses.

They laughed and enjoyed the show, while even some Lannister soldiers like Ser Cane and Jaime looked annoyed or disgusted.

War was war, and it had no place for mockery, especially on such a large scale.

Joffrey Dwarf shot an arrow and hit Stannis Dwarf in the chest.

“Not wildfire!” fake Stannis shouted and ran off the stage, ‘crying’ while the crowd cheered and clapped.

Eventually, the only two dwarf kings left were Joffrey and Robb, who were about to have a standoff.

They ran past one another without landing a blow and repeated it twice. By the third charge, Joffrey Dwarf knocked Dwarf Robb’s wolf helmet off. However, beneath it, there was not a head but some costume to make it look like the head was missing.

“Your head!” Dwarf Joffrey shouted, the crowd cheering and laughing even more as the actor marched around the stage victorious.

Sansa watched, mortified, her skin paler. She stood there as a mere statue, barely blinking or moving.

Josephine was no exception. Her eye opened wider, and her lips parted in surprise. She did not expect such an act to be shown so openly, and guilt was quick to settle within her fast-beating heart.

She was reminded that she had been the one with the idea to take down Robb Stark and passively initiated the beginning of the Red Wedding. True, she had not ordered Robb’s Direwolf head to be sewn on his shoulders, but the fact remained.

She glanced at Sansa with guilt and worry, fearing the child would break down any moment now. How much more mental torture could the girl endure?

Her instincts started to ring, and Josephine was so close to standing up, at least to go check on the young Direwolf.

Thankfully for her, Tywin got a glimpse of her thoughts and placed his hand on her lap. His grip was firm, setting down a warning. If she dared to stand up, he would force her down.

This caused her to look from Sansa to him, seeing him glancing at her displeased. He was not happy with the incident, but now was not the time to act recklessly or impulsively.

Patience, his stern gaze told her.

Defeated, she pressed her lips against one another until they formed a thin line. She reminded herself to breathe and tried to look anywhere but the show.

Thankfully for her, Oberyn's table was placed across from the royal table. The Dornish Prince was first in line to this disgusting sight, and it was evident on his face that he did not take any joy in all of this.

Their eyes met, and something about focusing on the dark brown hues of his troubled and heavy gaze helped her control her breathing.

Finally, the show was over, and all the dwarves lined up to bow first to the crowd and then to their King and Queen.

Joffrey stood up, clearly enjoying the show to the point that he had to spit his wine while drinking it.

“Well fought. Well fought. Here you are. Champion's purse.” He said, holding a red velvet purse filled with coins. However, he did not throw it to the actors. “Though you're not the champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all the challengers. Surely, others out there still dare to challenge my reign.” He said. He looked around before his attention focused on Tyrion. “Uncle. How about you? I'm sure they have a spare costume.”

This caused the crowd to laugh, and Josephine, who had regained her focus, tightened her jaw but did not let anything else show.

Tyrion, who had seen enough, stood up. However, he did not move from his place or dare to see the motionless Sansa sitting by his side. The boy had crossed the line and was about to make it known, not caring how much his father would glare at him.

“One taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace. I would like to keep what remains of my face.” He started, making the crowd laugh at his words. “I think you should fight him. This was but a poor imitation of your bravery on the battlefield. I speak as a firsthand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrian sword and show everyone how a true king wins his throne,” he said with quite a passive face and such a serious tone that Joffrey had to look at Margaery subconsciously, thinking he heard things, but alas he wasn’t.

The crowd seemed to pay attention to Tyrion, some laughing as Joffrey stood and lost.

Yet, the uncle of the King was not done. “Be careful, though. This one is clearly mad with lust. It would be a tragedy for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night.” He said and sat down as the crowd started laughing again.

However, they all went quiet as the sharp gaze of the boy-king was thrown their way. He was mad, and it was evident, his tongue clicking behind his white teeth as his temper was getting the best of him. He grabbed his goblet and headed towards his dwarf uncle before pouring his wine all over his head.

The movement made Sansa unfreeze and look the other way while even Tommen looked at his lap, unsure what to do.

Josephine had remained quiet, barely moving her head to look at the sight, but she tried not to since she knew her temper would flare. She was not the only one; many from the crowd looked the other way, clearly not enjoying what was happening at the moment.

Tyrion remained calm and wiped some of the wine from his face before tasting it. “A fine vintage. Shame that it spilled.” He said, not giving Joffrey the satisfaction of reacting to his poor excuse for an insult.

“It did not spill,” Joffrey argued, clearly not having calmed his temper yet.

Margaery finally saw Joffrey’s true colours and chose to interfere. She extended one hand, waving it in a ‘come to me’ motion. “My love, come back to me.” She said in the most innocent voice, hiding signs of her displeasure, disgust, and anything else the performance and Joffrey’s character caused her. “It's time for my father's toast.”

Joffrey started to walk towards her, but he would not give it up since his uncle had insulted him so openly. At the same time, the dwarves started to walk back into the Lion’s mouth after the performance was done.

“Well, how does he expect me to toast without wine?” Joffrey asked his wine a rhetorical question, and an idea popped into his mind. “Uncle, you can be my cup-bearer, seeing as you're too cowardly to fight.”

“Your Grace does me a great honour,” Tyrion said, eyes looking forward while Sansa was passively glaring at the boy-king.

“It's not meant as an honour,” Joffrey miffed.

There was this half-minute staring contest between them, with the dwarf wishing his nephew dead, but none said anything else. Instead, Tyrion stood up and started to walk around the table and towards him.

However, Joffrey intentionally dropped the goblet a second before Tyrion could take it from him. Then, when his uncle bent to pick it up, he kicked it away and somehow, the goblet rolled under the table, close to Sansa’s feet.

“Bring me my goblet,” Joffrey ordered, enjoying humiliating him.

Left with no choice, Tyrion knelt and crawled beneath the table until Sansa had enough. She bent and picked it up before presenting it to Tyrion, who had noticed her movement under the table.

She said nothing as she handed him the goblet but could see the glances the rest of the Lions gave her. Cersei was glaring at her. Tywin was indifferent, but Josephine was thankful for her interference and her help, even if it was something this small.

Tyrion brought his goblet to Joffrey, but the boy king was not over yet.

“What good is an empty cup? Fill it.” He ordered, enjoying messing and ordering his uncle around.

The imp grabbed the jug placed in front of his sister, paying no mind to her smug expression since she was clearly enjoying the show. He filled the goblet with wine, extended his hand, and handed it to his ‘King’.

Of course, nothing was easy, and Joffrey was simply having too much fun to let it all end so subtly.

“Kneel, " he ordered, but Tyrion did not move. Instead, he looked up at him and silently glared. "Kneel before your king.” He did not budge and barely blinked as he passively challenged the boy to try and make him. “Kneel. I said... kneel!”

Josephine watched in silence, but her jaw was so tense that she could feel it getting numb and even feel a mild annoyance coming from her teeth pressed too tightly against one another. She glanced at the table and the empty plate before her, hiding how her eyes gleamed golden in response to her emotions.

She was about to act, legs trying to push herself off the chair and put an end to this. Tywin pressed her down, his fingers squeezing her thigh with such force that bruises would form by the following hour.

He turned his head to the side and glared her down. He did not have to say anything to convey his message, to warn her to stay put.

Josephine kept her head at an incline but glanced up at him, showing him her amber eyes as the Lioness within stirred. Tyrion was openly exposed and threatened, even though the boy-king could never cause any harm.

That did not mean she could just stay there and watch it all unfold, leave him out in the open to be tortured and humiliated in such a way.

Do something or I will, her serious expression told him, her hand placed on top of his.

Her fingers grabbed his hand but made no move, yet both knew her strength would outmatch his if she lost control.

Tywin was not affected and continued to try and push his dominant nature over hers, to use their bond to ensure she would not do something that could cost them all.

Do not chase your luck, his look was telling her.

He did not enjoy seeing a Lannister publicly humiliated like that, but it was Tyrion, and he chose to make an exception.

Their staring continued until, for the sake of peace amongst everyone, the next part of the wedding feast was about to take place.

Chapter Text

While this humiliation was going on, the two partners silently fought to see who would come out on top.

Even Jaime, dressed in his Kingsguard armour and watching from a distance, seemed ready to smack the boy but could not do anything about it. For a moment, he truly felt when he was younger and in the service of King Aerys.

The Mad Targaryen King accused, abused and harmed everyone he pleased, even his own wife. And Jaime, just like now, all he could do was watch. He had no power to stop him, no role to play or something to act.

Tension was rising, not only between uncle and nephew but also within the Lion family. Because of how intense and solid it felt, one could cut it with a knife; even some watchers from the crowd felt uneasy.

Thankfully, Margaery’s sharp eye noticed something, and she immediately rushed to save the day before anyone dropped dead, although by now, she would not mind seeing Joffrey among the corpses.

“Look, the pie.” She said and stood up, drawing most of the attention to her until she pointed in a certain direction.

Four servants started to approach, carrying this giant pie, and the crowd applauded since everyone would get to have a piece of the extravagant baked pie.

Joffrey snapped the goblet from Tyrion and went towards Margaery. At the same time, Tyrion moved to his usual place while everyone stood up for the cutting of the pie.

“My queen,” Joffrey said and unsheathed his new Valyrian Sword.

He then headed towards the pie as the servants left the huge tray on the floor. The pie had an extra piece in the shape of a crown at the top and a protruding part. Yet, Joffrey paid no mind to it as he used his sword and cut it in half.

To his surprise, doves were released from the pie, and everyone clapped. He looked triumphant.

“Wonderful. Wonderful. My hero.” Margaery faked with a huge smile as the boy-king walked her way.

The servant went to lift the cake and move it to the side, no one in the crowd noticing how a few doves rested dead inside, having been cut in half by Joffrey’s blade. The insides of the pie slowly absorbed their blood, and the pieces were quickly cut and served to the guests.

As plates started to be passed around, everyone was seated, and Josephine leaned back on the chair. She merely pushed her own plate with the pie away, clearly not in the mood to eat—at least not that disgusting pie.

At the same time, Margaery was busy feeding Joffrey pieces of the pie while he looked at her like a love-sick puppy. She had this fake smile that was quite believable, especially considering what she had to watch until now.

Yet only a few could truly see how fake that smile was, and few knew of her nature and past.

While this happened, Sansa and Tyrion tried to leave the table without drawing attention, but somehow, Joffrey seemed to sense it. Even with his back turned, he seemed to know what they were about to do and, of course, stopped them.

“Uncle.” He said as he chewed on the piece of pie and then turned to face his relative. “Where are you going? You're my cup-bearer, remember?” he asked, clearly not done with the humiliating act.

Even Tywin seemed tired of this, for he was sending a silent warning glare at the boy to drop it. The act and humiliation had become too much and needed to end.

However, Joffrey was too lost in his pride and psychopathic sickness to truly notice or care. After witnessing the show where he was the victor, after using his sword to cut that pie like it was made of paper, he felt powerful and reminded himself that, at the end of the day, he was the King.

“I thought I might change out of these wet clothes, Your Grace,” Tyrion said, hoping that would be enough to excuse him.

However, luck was not by his side that day. “No, no, no. No, you're perfect the way you are. Serve me my wine.” Tyrion looked at Sansa, sending an apologetic look before he walked towards the head table. “Well, hurry up. This pie is dry.”

The dwarf took the filled goblet and handed it to the King, who drank it deeply. As he did show, he failed to notice how Olenna’s lips twitched ever so faintly at the sight of him almost emptying the goblet in one go.

“If it pleases, Your Grace, Lady Sansa is very tired-“ Tyrion tried to say, but the boy would not listen.

“No,” he interrupted him and coughed. “No, you'll wait here... un...” he never finished his sentence as he grabbed his throat and started to choke.

“Your Grace?” Tyrion asked, walking his way now with worry.

“It's nothing.” Joffrey excused and turned to face his wife, only for his coughing to become worse.

He suddenly felt that he could not breathe, one hand holding his throat while his eyes were wide with fear.

“He's choking!” Margaery shouted in panic, seeing the signs and yet having no idea of the true cause behind it.

Those words made many stand up, including Mace, Olenna, Tywin, Josephine and Cersei. The Queen Reagent wasted no time rushing towards her son.

“Help the poor boy,” Olenna shouted, acting as if she was born to do so. Joffrey turned towards the crowd as he kept choking and staggering, but everyone had just stood up and watched, none truly helping. “Idiots, help your king,” Olenna shouted again as Jaime started to rush their way.

He pushed people out of the way and sprinted towards Joffrey, who had fallen on all four and had started to vomit the pieces of the pie he had consumed.

Cersei necessarily pushed Margaery out of the way and rushed to her son, who kept coughing. Blood had started to run from his nose, and his eyes were slowly becoming red as well.

Tommen stood up slowly, seeing faint glimpses of his older brother slowly dying. Josephine moved quickly and grabbed him by his wrist, turning him so he could bury his face into her dress.

One hand rubbed his back, and the other was placed behind the boy’s head, ensuring he would not try to look as the show continued, as his older brother was about to meet the Stranger.

She kept looking at the choking boy who was slowly dying, not an ounce of regret in her amber eyes, no panic...nothing. She did not seem to care, and she did not even seem surprised by the whole incident.

Cersei was crying, trying to help him but not knowing what to do, while Jaime was sitting across from her, equally lost. The look of pain and fear in his eyes was far too personal for someone against his King, at least in Josephine's mind.

Even Tywin, who once had ensured Tommen was alive since he was the spare, moved closer but made no attempts. Tywin watched as the face of his grandson was slowly turning purple; his eyes glazed while vomit was lining his cheeks. The boy's body started to spam as more blood started to stream out of his nose.

Margaery was pale as a ghost. Olenna had taken her hand and pulled her further away and closer to the Lioness and the little cub.

The two women exchanged a knowing look. None seemed phased by the events, horrified, or truly caring about what was going on. There was no remorse, no guilt, and even the fake worry Olenna had shown before was now long gone.

With panic, no one noticed how Sansa was about to be whisked away by someone working for her mysterious benefactor; her chance to leave now and be free and safe from what was about to be unleashed.

The ending was near, and nothing could be done to save Joffrey from the eminent death bestowed upon him. Cersei’s tears and whispers made Josephine’s heart ache at the sight but remained strong.

Now, it was not the time for guilt, she told herself.

Joffrey would die, per the plan, and then a manhunt would begin. A futile attempt to chase ghosts and an enemy that was not there. Perhaps an unfortunate fellow would be framed and killed to calm the spirits of the uneasy crowd.

At least, that was the plan Josephine had agreed upon.

Yet, neither so nor the smart Olenna had counted on a rather wild card in this game: Tyrion.

The dwarf could have remained where he stood, and he could have tried to leave... but no, he did something worse. He eyed the fallen goblet and went to grab it, suspecting that whatever was killing his psychopathic nephew was in it.

Josephine noticed too late. Her lips parted, but she did not have time to warn him, to tell him to drop the goblet and step back.

And thus, his fate was sealed.

Joffrey, despite the painful convulsions and the blood that was asphyxiating him, managed to lift his head faintly. With a weak shaking hand, he reached outwards towards the imp who had been opposing him ever since.

He did not manage to speak, but the point was enough, lasting a few seconds before the boy left his final breath.

“My son.” Cersei cried out loud as the boy left his final aching breath in her arms.

“He's gone. Our king is gone.” One man pointed out, raising panic and mumbling in the crowd.

Cersei saw red, and yet not a single tear escaped her eyes, although they were close. She did not let them. She kept holding her boy close to her chest, cuddling him like she did when he was younger, but her sharp gaze went to the one that Joffrey had pointed with his last breath—Tyrion.

“He did this. He poisoned my son, your king.” She spat as Tywin turned sharply, glaring at the dwarf and not once suspecting the woman standing not that far behind him. “Take him. Take him! Take him! Take him!” Cersei shouted practically to no one, her voice filled with pain, frustration and anger.

Two guards grabbed Tyrion, who still held on to the goblet, and glared at his sister, who had dared accuse him and have him arrested like some sort of criminal.

Cersei took notice that someone was missing. “Where is his wife? Where's Sansa?” she asked, not seeing her anywhere.

This revelation made Josephine look around them, only to realize that the Stark Girl was gone. A look of worry flashed across her face, without knowing where Sansa was or what had happened to her.

This was not part of the plan, Josephine thought, and she looked at Olenna, who smartly refused to look at her.

Tywin, though, was not happy with it, and everyone could see it. “Find her. Bar the gates of the city. Seize every ship in the harbour.” He ordered Lannister men, who were nearby and were simply busy watching their King die.

“Where is she?!” Cersei shouted, glaring at everyone around her as if they would give her the needed answer.

“No one leaves the capital! No one!”

As the rushing and shouting continued, as the soldiers pushed people and moved to obey their orders, Josephine looked around confused and tried to spot Sansa in the crowd, but she could not spot her.

Yet, despite all of that, a small sign of relief was barely evident in her eyes since she knew that the girl would be dead if she had remained.

However, there was one thing that did not settle well with her.

Who helped Sansa escape? And above all, how much did they know of the plan to kill Joffrey?

Chapter Text

The boy, King Joffrey Baratheon, was dead, murdered in his own wedding, allegedly by his own uncle, Tyrion. The realm was mourning, as everyone expected, while many common folk cheered in secrecy now that the tyrannical boy was long gone.

The Lannisters had mixed feelings about the subject, but some mourned more than others. Inside the Great Sept of Baelor, the body of the boy-king was laid on a table in the centre of the room.

It was customary for the body to be exhibited for a few days, allowing anyone to come to pay their respects before the burial. It was merely a day since the poisoning, and yet few truly visited him.

From his family, to pay their respects were Cersei, Tywin, Josephine and Tommen.

The Queen Reagent was grieving her son, her firstborn and the one she truly loved most among her three children. Having him die in her hands, his green eyes looking at her with fear and for help and yet she could do nothing but look at him as he choked and died soon after. She was sleepless, and she had not eaten anything, grieving the loss of her child.

Josephine stood close by, always mindful of Cersei's pitiful and weak state. She did not blame her, for the loss of a child was the hardest for the mother who had birthed it. She had not experienced it personally, but she knew it, and she had seen it in others.

She would have offered her some advice or company, but Cersei had been distant and aggressive. She did not want anyone’s pity, let alone Josephine’s.

And so, the Lioness chose to support someone else from the family, especially at that moment.

Little Tommen, a boy not even past his 14th name day, felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he was now the next king. Seeing his older brother die in front of him and then being chosen as his replacement was not an easy thing for a kid to process.

Considering Cersei’s grieving needs, Josephine stepped in to support the young boy. And thus, inside the Sept, she held his small hand as he stood by her side, doing his best to remain strong and proper like the prince he once was.

Joffrey had often tormented and bullied him, but Tommen never hated him because, in the end, they shared the same blood. He could not believe that he was dead, killed in such a horrific way and now just lying as a body in front of him.

He tightened his grip on Josephine’s hand, and she could feel her thumb caressing his skin, comforting both of them.

Tywin stood at the other side of the room, watching in silence for a moment. His face was impassive, back to the usual stoic one he was known for. Long gone was the one filled with rage as he ordered the soldiers to search for Sansa, green eyes blazing with fury and anger.

He glanced at Josephine, who had spent the rest of the previous day in Tommen's presence, her instincts guiding her to look after the youngest of the cubs. He observed the look she gave to the young boy and how she held his hand in hers as if she were his mother and not Cersei.

And there was the fact that Tommen had not known her prior. There were a few words but no true exchange, yet the boy was leaning and asking for her attention and comfort.

It was yet another reminder for the Old Lion of what a good mother Josephine could be... would be. Once all of this was settled, Tommen was crowned King, and Tyrion was out of the way; he would get back to work with her.

“Your brother is dead. Do you know what that means?” Tywin asked Tommen, walking towards them and coming to a halt at the other side of the table. The boy remained quiet, afraid it was a trick question. “I'm not trying to trick you.”

Another hesitation until Josephine squeezed his hand, encouraging him to answer.

“It means I'll become king.” The boy, who was barely 4 and 10, answered, his eyes not once leaving the corpse of his brother.

“Yes, you will become king. What kind of king do you think you'll be?”

Tommen thought for a moment. “A good king?” he asked softly, looking at Tywin briefly but then at Josephine.

The Lioness offered him a small smile and nodded. “Yes. A good King you will be,” she answered him.

“You've got the right temperament for it,” Tywin commented, making the boy look at him again. “But what makes a good king? Hmm? What is a good king's single most important quality?”

Cersei, who just wished to mourn, spoke up. “This is hardly the place or the time.”

Joffrey had just died less than a day ago, and they were already discussing the next King right above the boy’s body. She knew her father did not truly care for his grandchildren, but in her eyes, this was low even for him.

“Holiness?” the young Lion asked.

“Hmm. Baelor the Blessed was holy. And pious. He built this Sept.” his eyes scanned the inside of the room. “He also named a six-year-old boy High Septon because he thought the boy could work miracles. He ended up fasting himself into an early grave because food was of this world and this world was sinful.”

This caused Tommen to think, and he realized his previous answer was not the right one. He was rather smart, even for his age, and one could see his mind working to process his Grandfather’s question.

He was not sure why the sudden lesson and questioning occurred, but he did not argue; he merely went along. He felt a little uneasy, but then he focused on the warmth coming from Josephine's hand, which she did not move from his side nor pull away from.

“Justice.” The boy answered.

“Yeah. A good king must be just. Orys the First was just. Everyone applauded his reforms. Nobles and commoners alike. But he wasn't just for long,” Tywin explained. “Do you know what happened to him?”

Tommen shook his head since it was the first time he heard about this Orys.

“He was murdered in his sleep after less than a year by his brother.” Josephine enlightened him, surprising both males with her answer.

Tywin nodded his head soon after, pleased that she got it right and continued his lesson. “Was that truly just of him? To abandon his subjects to an evil that he was too gullible to recognize?”

Surprisingly, Tommen did not hesitate to answer. “No.

This was a test to see the character of the boy they were about to name King. So far, Tommen seemed to be gentler, more open-minded, willing to listen to his elders, and, above all, intelligent.

His green eyes showed that he was capable of a lot with the proper guidance—the guidance that they could give him and also ensure that Cersei did not try to spoil him the way she did with Joffrey.

“What about strength?” the boy asked, looking at the adults individually.

“Yes. Strength.” Tywin started to walk around the table, hands behind his back. “King Robert was strong. He won the rebellion and crushed the Targaryen dynasty,” he reminded Tommen. “And he attended three small council meetings in 17 years. He spent his time whoring and hunting and drinking until the last two killed him... So, we have a man who starves himself to death, a man who lets his brother murder him, and a man who thinks that winning and ruling are the same thing. What do they all lack?”

There was silence in the room as Tommen was busy thinking. He took his time, not that any of his grandparents minded. The fact that he took his time to think meant that he was thinking it well and was not rushing to say the first thing that came into his mind.

To their surprise, the boy got it right on his first try. “Wisdom.” He told them.

“Yes!” Tywin exclaimed, pride audible in the tone of his voice.

This made the young lion smile faintly, but he did not let that tone influence his ego and remained humble. He did, though, feel pride upon hearing his stone-cold grandfather pleased with his answer.

“Wisdom is what makes a good king.” He continued, and the boy looked at Josephine.

She seemed equally prideful, her grey eyes almost shining in the room's low lighting. She nodded again, her smile growing just a tad more as her thumb rubbed the skin of his hand again.

“Very good,” she told him, making his smile grow.

“But what is wisdom? Hmm?” Tywin asked, making his grandson look at him once again. “A house with great wealth and fertile lands asks you for your protection against another house with a strong Navy that could one day oppose you. How do you know which choice is wise and which isn't?” he continued asking, walking around the table with the body until he stood almost in front of Tommen. “You've any experience of treasuries and granaries or shipyards and soldiers?”

Tommen lowered his head faintly. “No”

“No. Of course not. A wise king knows what he knows and what he doesn't,” Tywin told him, explaining how his answer was the proper one and that he should not worry. “You're young. A wise young king listens to his counsellors and heeds their advice until he comes of age. And the wisest kings continue to listen to them long afterwards...” he glanced at Joffrey's body. “Your brother was not a wise king. Your brother was not a good king. If he had been, perhaps he'd still be alive.”

Josephine noticed Cersei trying hard not to react. She felt bad for her and realized Tywin was not going to bother much about it since there were more important things present, especially in his mind.

And once again, the Lioness stepped in for the young cubs that had no strength to talk for themselves.

She cleared her throat, earning the attention of all three parties involved. “Perhaps this conversation can continue outside, My Lord? Some fresh air as we go into further details of what is to come,” she said, her voice the normal one she always had.

Tywin looked at her and then glanced at Cersei. He seemed to get her point, and for her sake, he nodded. “Let us shall, then,” he commented and started to walk towards the steps leading upwards towards the exit doors.

“Come, Tommen,” Josephine said, wrapping her hand around his elbow as the two of them walked to catch up with Tywin, who eventually fell into sync with the other side of the boy.

She glanced above her shoulder towards Cersei. The Queen Reagent had turned to look at Josephine, and there were the faintest specs of gratitude in her emerald eyes. Of course, she was too prideful to say anything out loud and instead turned to stare at her deceased firstborn.

“Now, as the king, you will have to marry. Do you understand why?” Tywin asked him as they climbed slowly up the stairs.

Tommen nodded. “A king needs a queen.”

“Yes, but why?”

Josephine gave him the answer, helping the young boy, who had done surprisingly very well so far. “To further the family line and to help bring strong allies into his side.”

“Like the Tyrells?” Tommen asked, looking up at her.

She nodded. “Like the Tyrells, exactly.”

Tywin chose to comment. “Do you know how that happens?”

“Yes,” the boy replied.

“Yes, but has anyone explained the details to you?”

“I don't think so.” He confessed, remembering what his grandfather had told him just a minute ago.

A good king admits what he knows and what he doesn’t know.

“It's all relatively straightforward,” Tywin explained, and just as they reached the top of the stairs, Jaime entered.

His father offered a small smile out of courtesy, while Josephine offered a more welcoming one. She could see that he had also taken Joffrey’s death equally heavily, and she planned to visit him later, perhaps helping him take his mind off with some sword practice.

“How are you?” Jaime asked Tommen.

“I am all right.” The boy answered honestly.

“You are. You will be. I'll see to that.” he said, placing his good hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezing faintly.

"Cersei is inside if you also wish to see her," Josephine said, realizing that perhaps this was what the Queen Reagent needed.

Jaime stared at her momentarily, confused and surprised by her words; he did not comment and merely nodded in gratitude. Without another word, he entered the Sept to find his twin while the Lioness continued walking with Tywin and Tommen.

While the two men talked, Josephine merely thought, still processing everything happening.

Chapter Text

The evening of the same day, Josephine had excused herself from Tywin’s presence. The Old Lion had arched an eyebrow at her request but made no comment or attempt to stop her. He had a lot of work to do, now with all the chaos around them.

Thus, the Lioness left the Tower of the Hand and headed for the Royal Wing, where all the chambers of the Lannister Family existed. Ever since the incident at the Sept, Josephine had not stopped thinking about Cersei, and she felt guilty as well since she had played a role in the murder of her child.

She chose to visit the Queen Reagent and check up on her already fragile mentality.

Upon reaching her chambers, Josephine knocked on the door twice. She dared to push the door open and enter when she received no answer. The guard outside merely sent her a sympathetic look, for he had heard the chaos and shouts of the grieving mother in the past few hours.

Josephine closed the door behind her and noticed the chaotic chambers. Unlike the last time she visited them, there was no clean or tidy part. Candleholders had been tossed to the ground, and candles were scattered across the stone floor.

The covers of her bed were messed up, half of them lying on the ground. Goblets were thrown on the floor, and a small table turned; it was as if a battle had taken place.

In the middle of the chaos stood the one that caused it all.

Cersei sat on the floor, her back pressed against one leg of her bed. Her silky, perfect golden hair was a mess, and her hands had pulled on them with enough force to ruin their elegant hairstyles.

Emerald eyes were red and puffy from endless crying while one hand nestled a goblet within, the wine she consumed her only chance to drown and forget the pain Joffrey’s death had caused.

The Queen Reagent snapped her head towards Josephine, her glare far from welcoming. “What are you doing here?” she spat. “Shouldn’t you be chasing after my father like the good pet you are?”

It was evident that Cersei was mourning, and she was merely speaking out of anger and alcohol. She wished to be alone, though now that was the worst thing for her. She hoped insulting Josephine and being mean to her would make the Lioness leave her; it certainly walked with everyone else, even Jaime.

Josephine took no offence by the words of a grieving mother and walked deeper into the room before sitting right next to the young cub.

Cersei scoffed, finding her attempt for connection and support both pitiful and pathetic. She brought her goblet closer to her lips, having lost how many she had drank so far. She only knew that the jug was almost empty.

“That horny little monster,” she cursed Tyrion, glaring daggers at the plain air in front of her, imagining it was the cursed dwarf that had made her life miserable. “First she took our mother, and now my son...” her voice cracked. “My baby boy... he was so handsome when he was a baby, a reflection of me... of Jaime.”

By now, her voice was a mere whisper, and the alcohol in her system clouded her judgment. Unbeknownst to her, she had just confessed one of her biggest secrets but couldn't care less. She would not care even if Tywin were to find out, for she felt no longer fear against her father, no longer the need to please him.

Whether Josephine knew about this secret or not, she did not react or comment. Acting as if she had never heard it, she stood there and let her presence bring some silent comfort to the grieving mother.

She would glance at the mess Cersei was, the guilt within her threatening to choke her.

Josephine knew that Joffrey had issues and he would be a risk to the Kingdoms and everyone alive, but he still did not deserve to die in such a brutal way. Cersei did not deserve to feel the loss of a child so early and so strongly.

The Lioness looked forward but soon noticed exhaustion was finally catching up with Cersei.

The Queen Reagent felt her eyes heavier, her limbs made of lead, and her head leaning to the side, the rest of her body following. She let her head rest on Josephine’s shoulder.

Something about the warmth coming from her and her natural motherly presence made Cersei slowly drop some of her guards, just enough to act in such a way.

“He will pay.” She whispered as she tried to fight the sleep that would finally come to her after two days. “I will make sure of it.”

Josephine rubbed her back slowly, up and then down. She leaned her cheek against Cersei’s head, golden hair tickling her skin. “Let it go, Cersei... stop fighting,” she whispered to the grieving mother. “Close your eyes.”

Cersei tried to fight it and comment, but there seemed to be a spell on her suddenly. Josephine’s sweet voice bypassed all of her defences, reaching within her aching core and soothing her in a way Joanna would when Cersei was a mere child.

The arm rubbing her back did not help her fight, but soon enough, Cersei found her eyes closing and sleep catching up with her. She leaned more against Josephine, feeling safe in the Lioness’ arms, and Josephine chose not to move her anytime soon.

The sun had set by the time Tywin finished all the work. The Small Council meeting took longer than he wished for. Tyrion was the Master of Coin and was imprisoned for killing Joffrey.

Tommen had yet to be crowned King, meaning all responsibilities and decisions fell on Tywin. One of those responsibilities included preparing a crowning ceremony and also ensuring no chaos would erupt in the meantime/

At last, he was free that day and headed straight for his chambers, finding no need for dinner. He would much prefer to be alone, in peace, away from crowds, selfish council members, fake sympathies for the deceased King and paperwork.

If possible, Tywin would not mind taking a break and not having to pick up a quill for a few days.

He had not seen Josephine for a few hours, and he planned to summon her to his chambers, opting for the solace of her presence. After all, she seemed to be the only one capable enough.

She was the only one who could work with him properly and not leave him angry or with more work.

Plus, he would not mind if they became more active that night. He was still thinking of what he discovered at the wedding and what that meant for their future.

Tywin entered his chambers and was surprised to find them not empty. Josephine was present and seemed to have been waiting for him for quite some time. She sat on his armchair, having pulled the furniture closer to the raging flames.

It did not matter that the weather was getting warmer. She would still seek the light and warmth that few things could offer.

Josephine had tucked her legs beneath her while she leaned her body on the lavish furniture's right arm. Both hands were folded to support her body and cushion her chin, and her head rested on them.

Unbeknownst to him, she had been sitting like that for a while, staring at the door and waiting for him to arrive. Yet, sleep had taken over her before Tywin could escape his hectic schedule.

Spending time with a grieving Cersei and thinking of the imprisoned Tyrion had exhausted her mind; her body was soon to follow once she had felt the comfort of the flames, Tywin's scent lingering on the armchair.

The Old Lion walked in, careful not to make sharp sounds and wake her up. His expression softened, and so did his gaze, letting it settle on Josephine’s sleeping form. She looked so peaceful, with the dancing flames casting shadows on half her face.

Her reddish hair spread around her like an endless sea while her pink lips had the faintest of pouts, affected by whatever dream she had.

Josephine was not one to fall asleep easily or anywhere, not without Tywin close by. Unbeknownst to the Old Lion, this was still true, and during her travels, the Lioness took a long time to be able to get hours of peaceful sleep.

But now she had returned to him, their bond far stronger than it used to be. She knew he was close by, and at that moment, she found not only comfort but safety in his chambers, a place where his presence and scent lingered.

Tywin stopped next to her, and she moved faintly, a passive subconscious reaction to his presence. Even asleep, she was still alert when he was close by; supernatural forces tied them together in ways they would never explain.

He carefully moved his hands around her body, snaking them beneath her arm and bent knees. It was an effort to get her in his arms from that angle, but Tywin had yet to lose his upper arm strength, and he was far from letting time and age restrain his movements.

Once she was in his arms, he marched towards the huge bed. By instinct alone, her hands moved around his shoulders for support, nails threatening to pierce through his leather jacket.

He leaned her more against his chest and managed to balance her with one arm before pulling the covers downwards, exposing the silk bed sheets beneath. Gently, Tywin lowered her on the bed and watched her curl into a semi-ball.

Amused, he removed his jacket and pants, leaving himself with a simple cotton tunic and his breeches. It did not take him more than a few minutes, and once he returned to the bed, he saw that she had not moved at all.

He moved to lay next to her, facing her back and grabbed the covers to ensure none of them were exposed. He glanced at her sleeping form one last time and extinguished the candle by his bedside, trying to close his eyes and let sleep take him.

But sleep would not come anytime soon, his head active despite the hour growing late. That was until he would dare to hug Josephine from behind, press her back against his chest. Her scent would invade him, and he would wake up the following morning, his hands around her stomach and his face buried in the crook of her neck, never to realize when sleep took him or how up the sun had gone.

Josephine was surprised to wake up lying on Tywin’s bed. The last thing she remembered was her falling asleep in the armchair, waiting for him. Yet here she was, still in her simple dress, under the warm covers.

Realizing Tywin must had carried her, she could not help but smile softly; and almost daring she felt butterflies to her stomach. Ever since the kiss and the sex on the desk, the two of them had been... making up for what they lost.

Not that often, but when their presence did not involve talking or planning, those things would take place. And when they were done, both would fall asleep, only to wake up in the arms of one another.

But there hadn’t really been true moments of tenderness between them, of pure love and care, with Tywin still holding back after years of building this cold widower facade he showed everyone.

Josephine thought so until now when she realized that she was feeling something else on top of her stomach.

Tywin’s surprisingly firm arm was wrapped around her waist, palm pressed against her belly button, ensuring she did not move a single inch from him. His chest pressed her back, and she could feel his breath tickling the hair on the back of her neck.

She dared not to disturb this moment, memorizing every little detail and second of it, fearing and knowing it would not be repeated soon, if ever. Unfortunately for her, she suspected how late the time had grown... well, late for them.

Thus, she knew she had to be the first and initiate the awaking. She lowered the covers, feeling the morning breeze and change of temperature against her exposed arms, a faint trail of Goosebumps forming on her skin.

Josephine tried to move, but once again, Tywin’s hand seemed to have turned into stone, locking her in place. Of course, she could break free if she wished, but she did not want to go that far.

Thankfully, her attempts were enough to stir him awake.

Tywin groaned faintly, feeling sleep slowly leaving him. He took a moment to open his eyes, letting his vision and mind adjust to the present. He was reminded of the night before, the exhausting small council meeting, and finding Josephine asleep on the couch.

He recalled trying to fall asleep but failing and then having moved into spooning her, hoping and succeeding of actually sleeping. He inhaled her scent and seemed in no hurry to move them, finding an odd and forgotten comfort in having her in his arms like this.

Her body was perfectly moulded to fit into his, like two puzzle pieces. Her scent was the only thing he could focus on, and the faint sound of her heart beating in sync with his.

“Tywin,” Josephine called his name, a small smile of amusement on her lips. “Its late, we have to get up.”

The Lion hesitated to debate whether he should or not until he noticed the shadows across the wall. Their angle and height were a good indication of the sun’s position across the sky.

Defeated, Tywin removed his hand with some reluctance and slowly pulled back, allowing her also to lift her upper body and remain in a sitting position.

Pushing her hair out of her face, Josephine turned to look at her partner, who was still lying on the bed. His golden-flecked emerald eyes were locked on her form, taking in the sight of her as if he would not see her by the next hour to breakfast together.

“You did not have to carry me to bed. You could have woken me up,” she said as she slowly moved the covers off, suppressing a mild shiver and swung her body to hang from the side of the bed.

“There was no need. You needed that sleep from the looks of it,” he argued, moving his upper body and pressing his back against his pillow and the bed’s headboard.

Josephine chuckled. “Oh, really? Because I am the only one killing myself at work and attending small council meetings all day,” she dared to sass him. Despite his woken-up, non-amused expression, she could still see the faint glimmer in his eyes, a sign that he did enjoy a little bit of her sharp tongue.

“I slept, didn’t I?” he asked rhetorically, watching her stand up and pushing down her thin dress that had hitched up during the night. The Lioness rolled her eyes. “If you think I am killing myself at work, you are more than welcome to help me with it.”

Once done smoothing her dress, she looked at him. “I will, later during the day. But I need to do a few things first.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“You look after the Kingdom, but someone has to look after the pride,” she reminded him, one hand on her waist. “Joffrey was not just a boy king but a son and a nephew. Tyrion is still a brother and an uncle.” Josephine continued but did not dare to call him out more.

His reaction was enough for her, a clear sign that her message had passed.

A momentary pause from him. “Do not waste your whole day with them. We still have a lot of work to do, and I will need your presence today.”

Josephine gave a lady-like bow, clearly putting too much emphasis and mockery behind it. “As my Lord commands,” she smirked. She caught the sight of him rolling his eyes before she turned to leave his chambers, feeling a chuckle coming up at their little banter early in the morning.

Chapter Text

Early noon of the same day, merely a few hours since Josephine woke up spooned by Tywin, and she arranged a meeting with Jaime.

She waited for him by the place he favoured to train with Bronn, and the Noble Young Lion did not take too long to show up. When he did, he stopped suddenly upon noticing a sword strapped around Josephine’s waist.

The Lioness realized where his gaze was locked and chuckled. “I will be your opponent for today,” she told him with pride, turning to face him.

Jaime hesitated. “Josie, are you sure? I do not want to hurt you.”

His care and kindness made her smile, and she truly saw how unique he was and how much he was Joanna’s child, even though, in appearance, he looked a lot like Tywin. “Has Bronn trained you that well already that you will beat me?” she questioned him, making him frown and feel like taking back his words. I promise I will go easy on you.”

The young Lion felt conflicted for a few seconds. He did not truly wish to go up against her or risk hurting her. But he was also curious, for she spoke with such pride and bravery; he could not tell if he was bluffing or, indeed, she knew how to use a sword.

Frankly, he did not remember her ever using one, let alone if she could.

Josephine drew her sword, and Jaime found no choice but to copy her move, once again avoiding looking at the Valyrian Steel that mocked him for his inability and uselessness.

The Lioness attacked first, grabbing the chance he was distracted with his thoughts. She moved quickly forward, her steps light as she covered the distance between them. She aimed for a high attack, one which Jaime easily blocked, him being taller than her.

She pulled back and went for another, this one more sideways and slightly lower, but he blocked it as well. She tried repeatedly, but the pattern of her moves became simple and repetitive.

Jaime found himself following that pattern and blocking each one of her attempts. As she had planned, it helped boost his confidence, and he started to attack in return, slowly pushing her back.

He was still bad compared to how he used to be with his dominant hand, but he had improved since his first lesson. The fact that she had a certain need to repeat the cycle once she was done with the first set of moves also helped him.

Yet halfway through the spar, Josephine’s serious expression shifted to a smirk. It made him uneasy, and for a good reason, the Lioness changed her pattern. Her attacks started to come faster and sharper, at angles he had to turn his body halfway or change his footing to ensure he did not get hit.

She became smoother on her feet, lighter. She knew she could not stand for long against his heavier and stronger strikes, so she simply dodged them, slowly tiring Jaime.

Jaime could still block her or try to beat her, but his mind was not 100%, no matter how much he wished it to be. Thus, he eventually left a subconscious opening, and Josephine disarmed him, leaving him weaponless and with her sword pointed at him.

They both panted faintly; the heat coming from the sun above did not help, and they could feel sweat forming beneath their clothes. Josephine was glad she had changed to her usual outfit, which offered her not only movement but basic clothing that was light enough to combat such weather.

“Wow,” Jaime exclaimed, having not expected her to be that familiar with a blade, and a part of him wished to know when she started to learn and by whom.

However, more urgent thoughts and matters occupied his mind, taking away what little joy he felt at having managed to last longer against an opponent.

“You are distracted,” she pointed out as she sheathed the sword, pushing a few strands of red hair off her sweaty forehead.

“I just have a lot on my mind right now,” Jaime confessed and sat down, finding no need to retrieve his sword.

Josephine’s lips were pressed against one another, forming a thin line. She moved and sat by his side before looking at him. “You know that it is normal to grieve, right?” she asked him, her gaze soft and caring. “Especially a son. There is no bigger loss than that of a child to a parent, and you should not be holding it back.”

Her words made Jaime freeze and stare at her, shocked. He did not expect her to know, let alone drop it as a subject so easily.

His first instinct was to lie. “What are you talking about?” he asked, doing a bad job of containing his reaction. “Joffrey... Joffrey is...”

“Your son, yes.” She smirked. “Don’t try to question my skills, little Jaime. Just accept that I notice and know things.”

Defeated, Jaime sighed and gave up the theatrics. “I don’t know how you learn it, but... yes, Joffrey is... was, my son. Mine and Cersei’s... Myrcella and Tommen, too,” he looked ahead at the peaceful blue sea, unable to meet her gaze.

Josephine did the same, realizing he was feeling too self-conscious and ashamed under her gaze. She placed her hands on her lap and nodded. “I also suspected them, though I have not yet met Myrcella to be sure of her.”

“Should I fear to ask how?” he questioned, grabbing a small rock that was next to his foot and fidgeting with it.

“You and Cersei were really close ever since birth. Wearing each other’s clothes and trying to sleep together even when older...” She smiled at the bitter memories. “I had a fear where this would lead and I could still see it today, though not as much... but I do not blame you, Jaime nor I blame her.”

He finally looked at her. “Why?”

“Because I know how hard it is to stop when you get your first taste of love and when you finally find comfort in someone else's arms,” Josephine confessed, her voice almost a whisper as if fearing saying it aloud.

Jaime studied her as she kept her attention forward but nodded, accepting her answer. “Is this a personal view?” he asked next, roles switching as she turned to look at him with surprise. “I have seen the way you look at my father many times.”

She did not smile but did not try to hide it either. Instead, she took a deep breath and let out an even deeper sigh. “It is a complicated thing for us,” she started, glancing at the ocean once again. "With our positions now, our roles, we are meant to pay... and no matter what, it is a thing of the past, I am afraid.”

The last part was a white lie, for even Josephine did not know if they would manage to ignite what they had truly. They seemed close but lacked the freedom they possessed back then when there was no need for lies and actions.

In addition, Josephine did not want to confess everything. She feared Jaime would pull back and perhaps grow distant, for she could easily be seen as Joanna’s replacement when she was clearly not.

To her surprise, Jaime placed his good hand on top of hers and offered a comforting smile. She graced him with one of her own, and the two of them chose to stare at the ocean a little longer before returning to the Red Keep.

When the Red Keep was first built, a special request was made, and four levels of dungeons were created. As the years passed, cells were added to each level and were used to categorize and sort the prisoners.

On the upper level were cells with high, narrow windows where common criminals were confined together.

The second level had smaller, personal cells without windows for highborn captives and valuable hostages.

The Black Cells were the third level. Prisoners accused of treason and other high crimes were kept.

The fourth level was spoken of only in rumours. Once a man was said to be taken there, he never saw the light of day again and was subjected to the most painful torments. Stories said that only one man ever saw the inside of them, and that was Tyland Lannister, who was tortured and mutilated under Rhaenyra’s order to make him spill, where he hid all the Royal Gold.

He never confessed,d and he survived, living many years ahead to become Hand to her Son.

Tyrion was unlucky enough to belong to the third category; thus, the Black Cells became his latest residency. He had seen some things, he was not going to lie, but those cells had a charm and unique touch of their own.

Whether it was the dried-up blood on the walls and piss on the cell corners, the rats that had the freedom he most likely would never have to the human skeleton of an unfortunate fellow, Tyrion knew this was the lowest he had been.

At least he had been given food, though it was plain and stale; hunger was the only thing leading him to eat it. Water was given to him thrice a day, just enough to ensure he would not pass out from dehydration.

His only companions were the silent, ever-shifting guards not so far away and the furry rats that came and went as they pleased. No one dared to visit him yet.

The sound of steps heading in his direction drew his attention, and he was surprised to see the cell doors unlocking. A Lannister soldier he had not met or seen before pulled the door open, and a familiar figure took a step in.

“Just a few minutes, Ser Cane and I will call you,” Josephine told her personal guard, who had insisted on following her.

He claimed it was too dangerous, and his duty was to protect her. Plus, Tywin would have his head if something happened to her under his watch.

Thus, the Lioness let him come.

“I will be waiting by the corner, Lady Josephine,” he said. He closed the door but did not lock it in case she needed to make an escape.

Not that Tyrion would harm her. Ser Cane was rather good at judging characters by their first meeting and was rather accurate when analysing them. He could suspect and even tell when someone truly had darkness within their hearts and was capable of sinister acts.

Tyrion Lannister did not fit into that category. Although he experienced all the bullying, mockery, and disrespect daily, the knight was surprised by his calm demeanour and mild character.

Tyrion watched her enter, graceful as ever, dressed in Lannister Red and gold as if she was a true nobility. In a way, considering her family, she was or used to be.

“Catch,” she said and tossed him something.

He extended his sword, cuffed his hands, and caught something leathery and squishy. It took him a second to recognise it as a water pouch, and as he uncapped it and smelt it, his suspicions were correct.

“But how did you...” he questioned, since he was sure the guards would not let her just bring wine to the man who killed their King.

Josephine smirked faintly, trying not to focus too much on his condition and the fact that he was cuffed with chains like a criminal. “The soldiers do not only obey Tywin...well, most of them.”

Tyrion could not help but smirk before he took a big gulp of the nectar he had missed the past three days. As he lowered it, he looked at her with surprise. “This is Dornish,” he pointed out and earned a nod of confirmation from him.

“Gift from a friend who also believes in your innocence,” Josephine told him.

She leaned her back against the wall and then slowly lowered herself before sitting down next to Tyrion.

The dwarf looked at her. “I would not consider it wise. Pity to stain yourself with all the filth that exists in here.”

“I assure you, I have been through enough blood and mud in my life to last me to my next one. This is nothing to me,” she confessed, pressing the back of her head against the cold stone wall.

The cells were humid and cold, and there was no window or opening to shed some light into them. The only light source was a few distant torches that often felt too far away to be of use. She was glad Ser Cane had lit a torch next to the cell door and made a mental note to ensure it remained light, for she refused to let Tyrion sit in the darkness any longer.

“How have you been handling everything?” she dared to question, glancing at him.

At least when both sat down, their height difference was smaller, and it was easier to talk.

“Rather good, I would say, after the latest change in my sleeping quarters. Plus, the fact that I am accused of something I did not do,” his sarcasm turned into bitter anger, solitude, and darkness, having messed with his temper and maybe even part of his sanity.

“I believe you, Tyrion,” she turned her head to look at him. “I know you, and I know you are not a king or a kin slayer.”

“Good for you, but this is not how the others see me,” he bitterly reminded her.

“Which is why I managed to persuade and set a trial for you.”

The information shocked him, not expecting he would be given the chance to be trialled. “My sister would never allow it,” Tyrion pointed out.

Josephine smirked. “But it is not her who gives the orders around, is she? Your father does, and he has agreed to set a trial.”

Josephine was not one to rush when she needed to go somewhere. Her pace was always confident and stable. She always managed to be present at the right time, never risking being late. But when she discovered that Tyrion would be executed directly, she could not walk calmly.

With a hasty pace, she headed for the Tower of the Hand, going up the steps twice at a time. She expected that Tyrion’s fate would be tough to decide, but learning of his planned execution by a grumpy Mace and not Tywin himself... did not settle well with her.

The Lannister Guard saw her from afar, hearing her barely audible steps. Something in her gaze made him realize she was there to talk business and wasted no time standing to the side, allowing her to push the door open and march into the study.

Her sudden presence made Tywin look up since she was not one to march boldly into his study.

“Is it true?” she asked him, almost fearing to hear the answer.

Tywin arched an eyebrow. “What is?” he focused on the letter he was almost done writing.

“You will execute Tyrion just like that,” Josephine pointed out, taking a few steps closer to his desk.

The Lion did not look at her. “He killed his King,” he reminded her as he rested his quill into the ink jar.

The Lioness did not agree with him, and she literally put her foot down. “He is blamed to have killed the King, but there is no direct evidence,” she corrected him.

He was a patient man, or at least he tried to be when she was around, and Tywin had proved that too many times. But even he had his limits on certain things.

It was about time to get rid of the little monster that ruined his family’s name with his whoring and drinking. It was about time to have him out of the way, and he did not even have to try anything against him.

The Imp caused this, and all Tywin had to do was play the rightful judge and publicly execute him. Life would be better than way, at least for him. Perhaps Josephine would stop trying so hard to defend him in such a way, and she would be reminded that Tywin was her partner.

Now, though, Josephine seemed in the mood to mess with his descent mood and try to defend the little monster for reasons unknown. It was then that Tywin chose to stop being so nice and remind her of her place.

Suddenly, he stood up from his chair with enough force that the chair’s wooden feet scrapped against the stone floor. He glared at her in silent warning and started to walk his way, confidence radiating from his every step.

“And what would you want me to do, hmm?” he asked rhetorically as he covered the distance between them.

Josephine could see his anger that threatened to be unleashed with only one-foot distance separating them. She was poking the Lion, and he was close to showing him his teeth, but the Lioness also had claws to use against him.

She arched her neck and lifted her head, locking their gazes. “A trial.”

His scoff felt like a personal mockery, and he did not hide it either. “It won’t change much; it will lead to the same thing.”

Josephine, though, was rather stubborn. “He still deserves one. He is not just a criminal, but he is your son. He is a Lannister!” she defended Tyrion. “And if he were any other Lannister, I know you would rush for them to be properly trialled and judged.”

Tyrion was the man who killed Joanna, and it was his birth that caused Tywin and Josephine to argue. He was the reason why Tywin lost control and sent her away, and he was the reason why the twins grew up without a mother.

He was nothing but a curse, a leech attached to the proud Lion on the Lannister banners, bringing shame to his ancestors.

Yet Josephine not only kept defending him but also dared to call him a Lannister and say he was equal to anyone else with that name.

Her words might be right but his ego was wounded and his scarred self from the losses of that tragic day, could not accept it so easily.

Tywin narrowed his eyes, displeased with her words and took half a step forward. His dominant hand was fast to move and grab Josephine, strong fingers wrapping around her delicate neck and pressing against her pale skin.

He pulled her closer to him, and she had to balance on the edge of her toes to ensure she did not fall on him as he controlled her head and numbed her body simultaneously. Their faces were now closer, and Josephine could see that the lion had awoken.

“If it will calm you down, I will arrange a trial for him,” he said, his voice low. “But dare to step out of line, and I will arrange. Ser Illyn will finish the job before the trial ends.”

Josephine glared at him and did not dare to look away. For a moment, she searched his face and his eyes, checking to see if he was bluffing. But once she realized that Tywin was fully serious, she could not help but clench her jaw and nod in answer.

Or at least she tried to nod, for his hand on her neck allowed her limited head movement.

He let her go; the sudden release and push made her take a step back to ensure she stayed on her feet.

“I want to hear you say it, Josephine,” he commanded passively.

The Lioness rubbed her neck faintly, keeping her temper in check. It was not the first time Tywin had dared to choke her, but it was the first he had ever done it outside of sex. Realizing he still awaited an answer, she exhaled, the faintest of growls being heard from her.

She lowered her head to the form of a bow and let her eyes glare on the floor between them. “I will be mindful of my actions,” she told him, voice stable and strong.

This seemed to please him enough, and he took a deep breath to calm down his anger, which had been stirred by talking too much about the imp he had for a son. “I truly do not know where this defiance came from,” he commented and returned to his office.

He had more important things to deal with than disciplining a rather bratty Josephine. It was unlike her to be so defiant against him, stubborn and snappy. Even when she was in the mood and tried actively to taunt him and lure him into bed, even then, she was not that bratty.

Tywin sat down and glanced at her, seeing her standing where he had left her. “Let me remind you that they are not children, Josephine,” he said, leaning back on his chair. “Not Cersei, Jaime, or even Tyrion, whom you continue defending.”

Josephine lifted her head. “They are yours, though, and that’s enough for me. They are half of you,” she commented, holding back the last sentence she wished to say,

Just like ours would be, she wanted to say but changed her mind at the last second.

For once, Tywin Lannister had no further comments or replies or ended up with something to close a topic. For once, Tywin Lannister had second thoughts about a few things and doubts that he had never had before.

He did not try to say anything else or even change the topic. He simply turned back to his work, letting Josephine decide if she would stay and help him or leave and see him by nightfall.

Josephine did not tell the full story and held back most details. She did not need Tyrion to have an even worse image of his father, though the one he currently had was justifiable considering what he had been through.

Tyrion shook his head faintly. “I am not sure what this trial will do other than humiliate me more,” he confessed, emptying the wine pouch.

“Still, it's better than going straight for the axe,” Josephine commented. And the last trial you attended, you survived it.”

“Only because I asked for a trial by combat, and Bronn was more capable than the airheads at the vale,” he reminded her.

She offered him a small, cunning smirk. “Who says this can’t happen twice?”

Tyrion looked at her, clearly trying to decipher her enigmatic and rather certain words, questioning if she had a plan or was just extremely optimistic about his case.

Chapter Text

While people grieved or chased shadows for the murder of King Joffrey, Oberyn had chosen to spend his time enjoying himself. He had first chosen the brothel he had visited when he first arrived since there was a man and a woman there who had truly gotten his attention, as well as Ellaria.

He would eventually visit Chataya’s as well, but he would later. While he would remain in King’s Landing, he would make sure that none of the good brothels missed his presence much.

Currently, he and Ellaria were lying on a rather big and comfortable bed. Marei and her expert mouth treated her while he was busy making out with Olyvar. The smell of arousal and incense dominated the air, while the romantic light helped perfect the atmosphere.

Suddenly, Ellaria turned her attention to the boy, Olyvar. She grabbed him gently by the back of his neck and kissed him, pulling him faintly away from Oberyn, who watched with enjoyment and amusement.

“Greedy.” He joked as a comment.

Olyvar, however, did not return her ardour and soon pulled away from the rather deep kiss.

“No?” Ellaria asked him, looking into his eyes.

“I'm sorry. You're lovely; I just never acquired the taste.” Olyvar confessed.

This made the Dornish Prince frown. “You're calling my beauty an acquired taste?”

It was Ellaria’s turn to be amused. “That's quite all right, lover. It's more for you.” She said, turning her focus on Marei and her pleasuring skills.

Oberyn did not comment and moved his shirtless body to grab his goblet from a nearby table. He started to drink the sweet wine while Olyvar drew circles with his fingers across his chest.

“You like them both the same? Boys and girls?” he asked him.

“Does that surprise you?” Oberyn asked him with curiosity.

“Everyone has a preference.”

“Then everyone is missing half the world's pleasure. The gods made that, and it delights me. The gods made this, and it delights me” He slapped Olyvar’s ass. “When it comes to war, I fight for Dorne. When it comes to love, I don't choose sides.”

“I hope I have as much stamina when I'm your age.”

“What are you, 25?”

Ellaria heard that and chuckled. “Children.”

Her comment made Oberyn chuckle as well. “Someday, if you're lucky, you will wake up and realize you are old. That pretty ass of yours will sag. Your belly will grow soft, and your back will ache in the night, and grey hairs will sprout from your ears. No one will want you anymore. Make sure you fucked your fill before that day.”

“Did you?”

Ellaria smirked as she let her latest toy kiss another prostitute, and instead, she moved to straddle her lover. “He is a prince of Dorne. Girls and boys will line up to fuck him till the day he dies.”

This made him smirk as his hands held her waist. “Almost all of them”, he reminded her, and she bent forward, bringing her face closer to his.

“You sound jealous, lover,” Ellaria pointed out, laying a peck on his lips. “Are you jealous that I got through her?” her smirk was taunting enough for Oberyn to steal a kiss, hands holding her waist.

“Perhaps I should be,” he grinned and kissed her again.

However, just a moment later, the door to the private room was opened, and Tywin marched into the room with two soldiers standing guard by the door.

“Prince Oberyn,” Tywin said, standing a respectable distance with his hands behind his back.

Oberyn stopped kissing Ellaria and looked at him, slightly disappointed. When the doors opened, a part of him was someone else. “Lord Tywin,” he greeted back.

“May we have the room?”

The Dornish Prince let out a sigh and looked at his lover.

She seemed to understand and pecked his lips. “Call my name if you need me, lover.” She said and climbed off him.

She joined Olyvar, Marei and one more prostitute as they all started to walk out of the room, planning to continue on their own somewhere else.

Oberyn watched them go, enjoying the sight of their naked bodies. He glanced at the Old Lion, who surprisingly did not look at any of them even as the girls smiled and passed very close to him.

His eyes did not once advert to their exposed bodies, as was expected from almost every man in the room. This lack of reaction made him scoff, but his composure also intrigued him, making him wonder if it was all a play or if he had his eyes on someone else already.

“Would you like to sit?” Oberyn offered, pointing to the rest of the huge bed.

“No, thank you.” Was the Hand’s reply, hiding his disgust about the idea all too well as the guards left the room and closed the door behind them.

Oberyn rolled his eyes at the drama but moved nonetheless. “Some wine?

“No, thank you.”

He shrugged and merely tossed a plain material above his shoulders before making his way to the table, pouring himself some wine. “I'm sorry about your grandson.”

“Are you?” Tywin questioned him, standing at the same spot like a solid rock.

“I don't believe that a child is responsible for the sins of his father...Or his grandfather. An awful way to die.”

“Which way is that?”

This amused Oberyn, who saw right through the attempts of the Old Lion. “Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?” he asked as he lay back on the bed, his goblet in one hand.

“Some believe the king choked.”

“Some believe the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant. The king was poisoned.”

“I hear you studied poisons at the Citadel.”

“I did. This is why I know.”

“Your hatred for my family is rather well known. You arrive at the capital, an expert in poisoning, some days later my grandson dies of poisoning.”

“Rather suspicious. Why haven't you thrown me in a dungeon?”

“You spoke with Tyrion in this very brothel on the day that you arrived. What did you discuss?” Tywin asked, remaining as patient as ever, but he was clearly reaching his limit as well.

Oberyn could see that, and he enjoyed it. He took his time and tested the man’s patience. “You think we conspired together?” he pointed out, a stupid amused smile upon his lips.

This was too amusing for him. Tywin thought he might have conspired with his son, yet he had no idea that his partner had visited him not so long ago. He had no idea how his precious Lioness was hovering above the man he hated and made promises to save his puny life from the wrath of the Viper.

How, just a few years back, she moaned Ellaria’s name while Oberyn watched from a chair he had gotten comfortable for the show. A part of him felt like bringing it up, a chance to truly hurt Tywin and see this possessiveness that all men had within them.

After all, he made it clear at Joffrey's wedding that he wished to control Josephine and command her; otherwise, he would not have gone to the extra length to keep her seated while Tyrion was being humiliated.

“What did you discuss?” Tywin asked him again.

Oberyn started to get tired of this, so he stood up and walked towards the Lion. His amused smile was long gone, his expression serious and his gaze...deadly. “The death of my sister.” He said, standing now in front of the older man.

“For which you blame me.”

“She was raped and murdered by the Mountain. The Mountain follows your orders.” Oberyn reminded him, his eyes scanning him from toe to head. “Of course I blame you.” He continued, staring dead into his eyes.

The Red Viper could not truly see what the Lioness was seeing in this man, going so far as to work behind his back to protect him. He could see no charm or beauty, and he doubted a man his age could satisfy her in bed like she deserved.

He even doubted the grumpy and cold-hearted man would accept sleeping with her. Even if he did, somehow, Oberyn knew he would never be worthy of her.

Yet, Josephine was so willing to defend him and stand by his side. Oberyn could easily get rid of him for her and take her back to Dorne, but she would refuse.

“Here I stand unarmed, unguarded. Should I be concerned?” Tywin asked him with a rhetorical question and showed no fear of anything.

His cockiness had started to annoy the Dornish Prince. “You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that. I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today, I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow.”

“Men at war commit all kinds of crimes without their superiors' knowledge.”

“So you deny involvement in Elia's murder?”

“Categorically.”

Oberyn did not comment on that, nor did he say anything else. Instead, the Viper and the Lion stared at one another despite their height difference. There was intensity in their eyes, and both passively challenged the other to act, but neither made a move nor looked away.

They stood like that for a full minute, both at very close proximity that easily they could try to stab or harm one another without much trouble.

Truthfully, Oberyn was tempted but then remembered what Josephine had told him. He was not sure how she would help him get his revenge, but he was not going to wait for her if he could get his chance right now.

“I would like to speak with the Mountain,” Oberyn said as he walked towards the table to grab some grapes.

This amused Tywin, the idea alone being comical enough in his mind. “I'm sure he would enjoy speaking with you."

“He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks he would.” The Red Viper commented back, eating a grape.

At last, the Old Lion saw an opportunity and could stop this unnecessary chit-chat. “I could arrange for this meeting.” He said, drawing the attention and interest of the foreign Prince.

Of course, Oberyn was not an idiot and saw right through him. “But you want something in return.” He pointed out as he sat by the edge of the bed.

Tywin started to walk towards him but continued ahead while he explained the original plan of his visit. “There will be a trial for my son.” Oberyn arched an eyebrow, not expecting such linearity for Tyrion, who was accused of killing his King. “And as custom dictates, three judges will render a verdict. I will preside. Mace Tyrell will serve as the second judge. I would like you to be the third.”

“Why?”

The Lion turned to face him. “Not long ago, the Tyrells sided with Renly Baratheon. Declared themselves enemies of the throne. Now, they are our strongest allies.”

“Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen. Asking me to judge at your son's trial isn't quite as tempting.” Oberyn commented and stood up, walking towards the jug to drink more wine.

“I will also invite you to sit on the small council to serve as one of the new king's principal advisors.”

This amused the Dornish Prince. “I never realized you had such respect for Dorne, Lord Tywin.” He turned to look at him as Tywin closed the distance between them.

“We are not the Seven Kingdoms until Dorne returns to the fold. The king is dead. The Greyjoys are in open rebellion. A wildling army marches on the Wall. And in the East, a Targaryen girl has three dragons.” Tywin admitted, trying to ignore the bitter taste left on his tongue. He wished to discuss this with Josephine later after he had recruited the viper. They had to talk of Daenerys and the danger she posed without even being on Westerosi land. “Before long, she will turn her eyes to Westeros. Only the Dornish managed to resist Aegon Targaryen and his dragons.”

“So, you're saying you need us? “ Obreyn asked, waiting to hear the proud Lion saying those exact words. Of course, Tywin opened his mouth to argue, clearly not going to give him that satisfaction. “That must be hard for you to admit.”

Another twitch of his lips, this time he tried harder not to snap and keep his composure. The Dornish Prince was getting under his skin too easily and fast, something he did not like at all.

“We need each other.” He corrected him. “You help me serve justice to the king's assassins, and I will help you serve justice to Elia.” He extended his hand for a shake, a professional way to seal the deal.

Oberyn smirked. “You can expect my... assistance if you give me one more thing,” he started, getting new ideas and opportunities he could reap.

Tywin had a bad feeling about this, but he needed Dorne by his side. “What is it?” he dared ask.

The Red Viper smirked. “On the next wedding feast,” he started, discussing the eventual wedding between Margaery and Tommen. “I want a few dances with your ward, Lady Josephine.”

“No,” Tywin replied faster than even he expected. “She is not open for marriage.”

Oberyn’s smirk never left his face; if it could grow, it would. It was such a rare sight to see the stone-hearted so possessive over someone, a woman, nonetheless. There was something in the Lion’s eyes, and the Viper wondered what that particular emotion was.

Could the Old Lion of Casterly Rock have his own lustful feelings for the dangerous redhead? Or, perhaps, something more? After all, when given the chance, Josephine had proved rather good at charming both genders.

“You Westerners and your close-minded customs,” he mocked, heading to refill his goblet and turning his back on Tywin once again. “You think that everything will lead to a marriage. This is why you do not know how to enjoy life and sex,” he poured some sweet, Dornish wine before he turned to face him. “You can rest assured, I have no plans to ask for her hand...” he hid his smirk behind his goblet. “Unless she asks me herself.”

His last phrase was not taken kindly by Tywin, who had to remind himself that he could not harm the Dornish Prince. He took a deep breath and let his eyes do all the talking, sending silent, glaring warnings.

“I will see you at the Small Council Meetings and the trial,” he told the Red Viper and headed for the exit, having little patience left after all of this.

In less than a full day, Tyrion Lannister would be tried for the murder of Joffrey Baratheon, his king. Tensions had risen among guests and family members, and gossip spread like wildfire about the acts and the missing bride.

At least Tommen was crowned King, but the world had yet to recover from Joffrey’s tyranny. Thus, they were not happy seeing a young boy wearing the crown.

The war continued, with Stannis still posing a threat and now with two big players in the game. One was the Ironborn, who fought the Boltons and raised the shores of the reach, and the other was Daenerys Targaryen with her three dragons.

The work Josephine and Tywin had to deal with was growing and keeping them busy enough that even at night, they found little strength to act. Instead of doing anything but sleeping, they would be found lying in bed and trying to get a few hours of quiet.

But that particular day, with the stakes so high and the duties so piled, Tywin chose to take a break. He needed an hour or two to do something other than write letters, read and listen to reports.

Unfortunately, he could not go hunting, but he could do something else.

“I am planning to go fish,” Tywin told Josephine as they sat across from one another, his desk separating them. “Will you come or choose to stay?”

His question was unnecessary, especially after seeing the sparkle of life in her grey eyes.

The private shores Tywin had chosen were not unfamiliar to them. A small part of the Bay was closed off and accessed by a few. Smooth yellow sand right beneath the western-southern wall of King’s Landing.

The two of them had been there before, when far younger. Since hunting was not always available to them in King’s Landing, they had found a different way to take a break, one that both enjoyed just as much.

And so, with a simple fishing rod and a woven basket, they went for their little place.

Tywin had dodged his doublet, favouring a simply black tunic and pants. The weather was rather hot, and the sun was blazing above them that time of day. His black leather gloves offered him stability with the rod, and he had proven to be rather effective with his baits, fish falling for them rather quickly.

While he remained by the shore, Josephine had gone for the waters.

The majestic form of her Lioness was barely visible from time to time. The huge animal made sure not to head too deep but to have the rare chance to submerge herself into cold waters.

It offered a nice sense of freedom that she had missed and helped combat the heat.

But that was not all she did out there; she also got busy. Swimming was not enough for her; she needed more. And who said that big cats could not fish?

The Lioness slowly emerged from the water and moved towards the beach, the waters getting shallower as she approached. In her mouth, held between her fangs, was a live Mackerel.

The fish tried to move and flailed against her strong grasp to no avail. A sudden pressure from her strong jaws was enough to silence the scaled sea creature forever as the Lioness left the blue sea waters.

She dropped the fish into the basket to join the rest and moved towards a big rock close to the wall. She jumped on it and lay there, feeling both the warmth of the rock and the sun above.

Her fur, like every lion’s, was waterproof, and she did not have to lay for long to be fully dried up. Plus, it had been too long since she had been in her other form, and she had missed it, fearing she would forget the unique feeling of being something else.

The keen senses became sharper and better. The strong muscles moved with every step, and they could shoot her a dozen feet up to the sky or ahead.

Tywin sat in the warm sun, watching her for a while. He had not commented on anything and let her enjoy the sea while occasionally bringing back a fish. The last one she dropped for him got his attention.

Since his fishing rod was rather quiet and he had to wait until a fish fell for the bait, he chose to inspect her latest kill. He held the fish in his hand and inspected it, clearly looking for something.

“A fish your teeth did not ruin for a change,” he commented and looked at her.

The Lioness rested her head on her paws, eyes always on him. The sun's reflection on them seemed to glow brighter, and she lifted her head. Her mouth was slightly open, her way of regulating her rising body temperature.

Their gazes met, and an odd communicating sound seemed to come from Josephine, but the majority of her reactions were silent and, one might dare say, telepathic. It was an unexplained thing even for them, something they could never form into words, but somehow, they connected; they existed and knew one another.

Tywin smirked faintly and headed for his fishing rod, noticing the faint pull as a fish had caught the bait. Josephine lowered her head and watched him for a few seconds as he returned to his things.

Her gaze did not last long as her ears turned, and she picked up the faint sound of steps, growing louder with each passing second. She lifted her head, and Tywin took notice of her reaction. He glanced above his shoulder and spotted Pycelle struggling to walk and move fast.

He was coming their way, specifically towards Tywin.

Pycelle took the steps one at a time, hunching so forward it was a miracle he did not fall flat on his face. His eyes were on Tywin, and just as his feet touched the soft sand, he sensed the danger lurking nearby.

He froze on the spot as his aged eyes scanned the area, barely noticing Josephine in the beginning, with how easily her fur blended with the rock she was lying against. Their eyes met, and it took the old Maester all his concentration to focus on Tywin again, who had just dropped the last bait into the water.

“My apologies, my lord, for interrupting your time of leisure, but I only want to discuss a few matters with you privately in advance of today's council meeting.” Pycelle started to speak, stuttering faintly and sounding like an old man on his deathbed. “I often find that the council environment is less hospitable to the principles of good governance.”

Tywin double-checked the line, seeing it tight and suspecting a fish soon. “But you are no longer on the council. By official decree of the Hand of the King.” He reminded the old Maester.

However, Tyrion made this decision back then, not Tywin. Yet the Old Lion was not so keen to bring the old Maester back, choosing to focus on more important matters at the moment.

He did allow Pycelle to be part of some meetings, but most of the time, the old man was left out of them. Sure, his place had yet to be filled, but Tywin was in no hurry to do that, not when the realm's stability and the threat against his legacy were presenting matters.

“Your son did conspire to keep me from my rightful place in the chamber. As well as affecting my dignity in other-“ Pycelle tried to say, but Tywin did not let him.

“In my absence, my son was acting Hand.” He told the old man, from the few times calling Tyrion as his son.

It was not because of any personal feelings, however. It was simply because he wished to make a point and remind the old fool of his place.

“But you are the Hand now, my lord.”

The Lion was having his temper tested, and Josephine could sense that, having silently observed every little detail. She and Tywin had seen the old Maester glancing in her direction for a second before focusing on the man before him.

“But I have not revoked the acting Hand's decree, and I do not intend to,” Tywin said, changing his tone and showing how little patience he had left. He came out there to clear his head and not hear Pycelle talk like a spoilt child whose candy was taken away. “This is the end of it.”

Pycelle, however, was persistent. “Well, my lord, you cannot mean- I- I- I only-“ he mumbled and stuttered, doing his best to pass the image of a scared and weak man.

But unfortunately for him, Tywin was not a man you could fool with simple theatrics.

“Shut up!” Tywin commanded him, his temper flaring for a moment. Josephine got up. “Am I the only one to see through this performance? Is it possible that so many could be so stupid for so long?”

Pycelle straightened his back, realizing he could no longer act before him. “There are times when I have trouble believing it myself.”

Then, he made the mistake of daring to take a step closer to Tywin, thinking it would change anything. This was a grave mistake, as Josephine moved and approached him with her head lowered and her gaze locked on him as if he were her prey.

The rather threatening approach and Josephine’s huge size made Pycelle pale and take slow steps back, only to risk falling on his butt as his heel met the stone step. He glanced at it momentarily before looking forward again.

By now, Josephine had stopped right next to Tywin, and she seemed pleased with his reaction. Her partner did not hide his smirk, sharing the mutual feeling. She stood proudly by his side, her head stopping right by his elbow, and that was something, considering Tywin’s height.

“Do you still remember what happened the last time you openly tried to approach me in such a way?” he asked him rhetorically.

Years ago, when Aerys was a young ruler, and Pycelle was a freshly appointed royal maester, they had a similar meeting.

Tywin had wished to fish, and Josephine had joined him when Pycelle appeared and thought he could talk with the young Hand. He moved too fast and with too much comfort for Tywin’s liking.

Yet, he did not have to do anything as Josephine moved to stand between the two men and growled at Pycelle, frightening him enough that he fell on his back, terrified. Back then, the world knew who and what she was; no lies and no need for fake backstories.

Back then, Josephine was half the size she is now. One could truly think of her as a wild, simple lioness, but now... when she stood proudly by his side, she truly looked sure.

Old Man Pycelle nodded a few times. “I have, and I have learnt my lesson ever since,” he said, making Tywin assess him.

He then turned to his fishing rod and started pulling the line towards him, hoping his latest catch had not managed to escape while he was busy with the old fool who should have retired many years ago.

Josephine moved to be a physical obstacle and cover Tywin’s back, ensuring the unwanted guest would not think of approaching again.

“Tell me, Pycelle, why should I let you back on my council?” Tywin asked him as the line was all pulled back, and he observed the fish caught at the other end.

“The King's council, my lord.” The old man dared to say.

Tywin turned his body halfway to face him, the fish in his hand. “I could have you returned to the dirt this afternoon, if you like, " he commented, using one hand to kill the fish, stopping its useless flailing against his grip.

Pycelle eyed the dead fish in his hand for a moment. “Since the time I convinced the Mad King to open his gates to you, I have served the interests of the House of Lannister unfailingly.”

“What have I done to earn this touching loyalty?” he asked, wishing for him to cut right into the chase.

“You have built the strongest house.”

Tywin tossed the fish into the basket. “What happens when we are no longer the strongest house?”

“By that time, I will be rotting beneath the floor of the Sept of Baelor. If you deem my years of service worthy of that honour.”

“Well, in the future, you will serve me more actively. As befits a man of your vigour.” The Lion said, grabbing the basket with almost a dozen fish. It was a good catch for the limited amount of time they had been out there. He handed the basket to Pycelle. “Take those to the kitchen. Lady Josephine and I will have them for supper.”

Without waiting for a comment, Tywin headed and climbed the stairs, putting more distance between him and the shore. Josephine quickly followed, falling into synced steps by his side as they took a more private path so Josephine could return to human before someone saw her.

Chapter Text

The time for the trial had finally arrived, and the throne room was filled with people. Stands and chairs were placed on each side of the red carpet that crossed the room and led to the throne.

Everyone was present for the trial, and each had their respective places. Two chairs were placed on each side of the Iron Throne for the judges, and even a wooden podium with chains was placed at the base of the Throne Steps so the accused could stay while the trial was taking place.

Margaery, Loras and Olenna had been given chairs to sit at the right side of the throne, but after the height of the stairs and closer to the crowd.

Cersei and Josephine's chairs were closer to the throne, also on the right side. They had a better view of the room. They were all dressed in their finest, but each had a different expression on their face.

The Queen Reagent was uneasy, clearly wishing for the trial to end and hear Tyrion sentenced to death. She was still furious by the fact that her son was murdered by her brother, even though many told her it was not him who did it. She refused to believe them because she knew it was him deep down.

Josephine had tried her best to keep a passive face, having promised Tywin that she would behave if he allowed the trial to happen. And thus, she became the epitome of a noble lady, doing her best to squeeze the arms of her wooden chair whenever she felt frustration growing within her.

Tommen was sitting on the Iron Throne with Tywin by his right while Lord Mace and Oberyn were waiting by the sides.

Eventually, the grand doors of the Throne Room opened, and Jaime and Tyrion entered. The dwarf walked down the aisle through the crowd, flanked by two guards.

As he passed between the people, many called him a Kingslayer, but the proud, short Lion refused to bow his head or let their words affect him. He had survived threats, insults and bad jokes about his condition all his life.

People were fools if they thought he would bend under their words or even be affected by them. He was not going to give satisfaction to anyone, not them, not his family, not anyone.

He was left to the accused dais, and his wrists were finally freed from the chains he had been wearing all those days. Now trapped in the dais and unable to go anywhere, the guards and Jaime stepped away since there was no need to keep an eye on him.

Tywin glanced at Tommen and motioned for him to raise. The boy was not accustomed yet to what he had to do. However, he quickly obeyed and did as he had, thus making everyone in the hall copy him and stand as well.

He then looked at his uncle. “I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of my Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, Protector of the Realm, will sit as judge in my stead. And with him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. And if found guilty... May the gods punish the accused.”

After he finished his speech, which he had learnt rather quickly, he walked down the steps and towards the side. Jaime placed a hand on his back and escorted him to the side, where he could sit and observe the trial.

Tywin was the first to move and stand in front of the Iron Throne, and Oberyn and Mace also moved to their respective places. Then, the Old Lion sat first, and everyone followed him.

It had been too long since he had sat on the rather uncomfortable throne, but it brought back memories of his time when he ruled behind Aerys’ back. He looked at Tyrion, one hand clenching and unclenching his fist, a trait he had when he was usually frustrated and one that Cersei had inherited from him.

“Tyrion of the House Lannister, you stand accused by the Queen Regent of regicide. Did you kill King Joffrey?” he asked his son.

Tyrion, who remained standing and also chained to the dais, felt that this was ridiculous. “No.” His answer was as he turned his body slightly to the left and right.

“Did your wife, the Lady Sansa?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Not that I know of.”

“How would you say he died, then?”

“Choked on his pigeon pie.”

Tyrion’s answer earned a few gasps from the crowd and different reactions from his family.

Tywin tried his hardest to remain calm, but his fist did remain closed for a few seconds longer. Jaime looked at him with disbelief at his mood to be cocky and act this way when his own life was on the line.

Josephine let out a sigh and closed her eyes momentarily, knowing that the Trial had not even truly started, yet it was going downhill and rather fast.

“So you would blame the bakers?”

“Or the pigeons. Just leave me out of it.” Tyrion said, clearly wishing all of this to be over, while his tone and words earned some laughter from specific individuals in the crowd.

The Trial continued, and the witnesses came to the stand one by one. It was clear that they all had been paid by Cersei or personally hated Tyrion; thus, their answers were biased, as one expected.

One example was the knight and member of the Kingsguard, Ser Meryn Trant. He had been one of the most loyal guards to the boy-king and had committed certain acts when Joffrey had given the order.

Yet, none of those things were questioned at that moment as the knight brought up incidents where Tyrion had openly argued with the king and ‘threatened’ him.

“Once we'd got King Joffrey safely away from the mob, the Imp rounded on him. He slapped the king across the face and called him a vicious idiot and a fool. It wasn't the first time the Imp threatened Joffrey. Right here in this throne room, he marched up those steps and called our king a halfwit. Compared His Grace to the Mad King and suggested he'd meet the same fate. And when I spoke in the king's defence, he threatened to have me killed.”

Tyrion tried to argue despite his father ordering him to be silent, but he did not until he had said his part and reminded everyone of what Joffrey had done to Sansa.

“Silence! You will not speak unless called upon,“ Tywin said, internally fuming. “You're dismissed, Ser Meryn,” he said to the knight, whose statement could not be taken seriously after Tyrion had counter-argued it with facts.

In Josephine’s opinion, one of the more biased and fake witnesses was Pycelle. He had been called upon the stand and first had to answer the kind of poisons he had in his store. Of course, the old man did not know them by heart.

Instead, he had them all written on different pages and read them one by one, often stopping and bringing the papers even closer to his face, trying to read the letters that he no longer could due to his age.

“...Basilisk venom, widow's blood.., Wolfsbane, the essence of nightshade, sweet sleep...tears of Lys... demon's dance... blind eye—“

Josephine rolled her eyes, the sight being ridiculous, and she could see Tywin getting tired. She glanced at him again, curious if he had personally asked for Pycelle to testify after the talk by the beach or if it was all Cersei’s plan.

Her eyes went to Oberyn, who seemed to have the time of his life. He not only took everything as a joke but was enjoying the pitiful sight of the old Maester.

“I think you have made your point, Maester. You have a lot of poison in your store.” He said, earning a few chuckles from the audience.

“Had, Prince Oberyn. My stores were plundered.” Pycelle informed.

“By whom?” Tywin asked.

The Old Man turned to Tyrion. “By the accused, Tyrion Lannister, after he had me wrongfully imprisoned.” He said, clearly holding a personal grudge against Tyrion and more than willing to accuse him of the given chance.

Tywin found his chance. “Maester, you examined King Joffrey's corpse. Was it without question poison that killed him?”

“Without question.” The Maester said, causing the crowd to murmur in response.

Then, he pulled something from his sleeve, an item far too familiar to some people who were present. It was the same black hairnet that Sansa wore at the wedding.

Josephine’s expression changed faintly, and she sent a side glance at Olenna, meeting her gaze, who had managed to hide her reaction behind that of a fake shock.

“This was found on the body of Dontos Hollard, the king's fool. He was last seen spiriting Sansa Stark, the wife of the accused, away from the feast. She wore this hairnet the day of the wedding. The residue of a rarest and terrible poison was found inside these stones.”

“Was this one of the poisons stolen from your store?” Tywin asked, his eyes focusing on the hairnet for a moment too long.

“It was...The Strangler.” Pycelle explains, making the crowd gasp and murmur some more. “A poison few in the Seven Kingdoms possess. And used to strike down the noblest child the gods ever put on this good earth.”

The trial kept going, each witness digging Tyrion’s grave even deeper. For many, it would be obvious that everything was rigged, but the trial continued for one simple reason: Tywin.

He knew that his daughter had paid or terrified most witnesses to confess against Tyrion, and he had to continue with the trial to show the world that he personally did not rigged them, but it was someone else.

However, he had a more selfish reason at the back of his mind, one that his partner did not know of. With the trial continuing down that path, Tyrion would eventually go for the sword unless someone agreed to a certain deal.

Tywin knew Jaime would rush to protect Tyrion, having done so on multiple occasions growing up. It was all a matter of time before Jaime would come to him, agreeing to become his heir in exchange for Tyrion’s life to be spared.

It was a great plan, and it was the only reason he was so patient during this trial. However, when Cersei was on the stand and started to twist most of the events to victimize herself, he found his patience running thin.

It would also, in the end, prove to Josephine that this trial was more or less a stupid idea. He only went on with it for her sake, but Tywin wished for her to see that not everything she suggested would work.

He glanced at Josephine, seeing her just staring at Cersei with an unimpressed look. She was mentally tired from this ridiculous and rigged trial and was not in the mood for the unnecessary fake drama the Queen Reagent had chosen as her path of action.

However, she had remained poised and quiet, keeping up to her promise. The only signs of her displeasure were the nail marks left on the arms of the chair she was sitting in, a little trick to ensure she did not react or lose control.

"I will hurt you for this. A day will come when you think you are safe and happy, and your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you will know the debt is paid." Cersei said, repeating Tyrion’s words, fake tears in her eyes.

Lord Mace and the rest of the crowd seemed to believe it. “Your own brother said this to you?” he asked, not hiding his shock at the revelation.

Olenna rolled her eyes at how easily she could persuade her son, who had unfortunately inherited his father's intelligence — or rather, the lack of it. She could see right through the lies and fake tears, an act she expected from Cersei.

After all, she was a grieving mother, and that was the only role she could play if she wished to make Tyrion look more and more like the monster she thought he was.

“Shortly before the Battle of Blackwater Bay,” she said and deeply breathed. “I confronted him about his plans to put Joffrey on the front lines. As it turned out, when the attack came... Joff insisted on remaining at the battlements... He... believed his presence would inspire the troops.”

Oberyn was the most sceptical. Despite Cersei having approached him and trying to earn his favour to be fully against Tyrion, he was willing to try and make this rigged trial a little bit fairer. “Tyrion said, ‘and you will know the debt is paid.’ What debt?” he asked her.

“I discovered he'd been keeping whores in the Tower of the Hand,” she took another dramatic pause. “I asked him to confine his salacious acts to the brothel where such behaviour belongs. He wasn't pleased.”

Tyrion shook his head as he leaned to the side, too tired of this trial already. He was too tired of hearing everyone making him the monster in the story, while in reality, it was Joffrey all along.

He was not surprised by Cersei’s drama but was not in the mood to hear anything else at the moment.

“Thank you, Your Grace, for the courage of your testimony.” Lord Mace said, clearly having believed her every word.

Surprisingly, even Margaery sighed, knowing the truth but unable to do anything. Olenna shook her head at the drama and the stupidity of his son, who was always becoming ‘soft’ and ‘empathic’ at the worst moments.

At last, all the witnesses had passed, and the Trial was put on hold for an hour so everyone could think about what they had heard. The Throne room was quick to clear, but a few guards and Tyrion remained where they were.

Tywin had stood up from the Throne and was about to turn to Josephine when he caught a sign of her exiting the room; the only sight of her was a faint look of her reddish hair before she bolted to the door.

He had tried to bring her back, staring as she fled, ignoring his silent command to remain. He arched an eyebrow at her odd behaviour but did not choose to pursue or question it.

They had nightfall for him to question her and remind Josephine of her place.

Right now, he had other things to focus on, like going for a nice lunch and waiting for his kind-hearted son to come with a bargain. Sometimes, Jaime was far too predictable to be his son,

Josephine stopped when she was far enough from this asphyxiating room. She found herself on a small balcony, staring over the luscious green gardens she had taken shelter in during tough days.

A growl of frustration escaped her, and her hands gripped the stone railing with enough force for her knuckles to turn white. She closed her eyes and hung her head, doing her best to regulate her breathing.

All those lies and fake stories, the unnecessary drama—and for what? to make Tyrion look like the bad guy he clearly was not. The Lioness had come to accept how devious and petty the human mind could be, how far one would go to get what they wanted, but this...this was ridiculous even by their standards.

Upon hearing steps coming her way, Josephine lifted her head but did not turn to acknowledge the visitor, already knowing who it was.

“Well, that is certainly one way to react to this mockery of a trial,” Olenna said, slowly approaching.

“This was not what I meant,” Josephine mumbled, earning an arched eyebrow from her companion.

However, the gears in her head quickly worked, and empty spots in the puzzle were filled with the right pieces. A better view of things was before her, and she also got an answer to a rather recent question.

“You demanded from Tywin to trial Tyrion, didn’t you?" Olenna asked, and when Josephine did not give a verbal reply, she got her answer. “Why? Why go in all that trouble?”

The Lioness, at last, turned to face her slowly. “Because Tyrion did not kill Joffrey, and we both know it,” she said, her gaze rather dangerous as she was still on edge,

The Queen of Thorns waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it doesn’t matter, Josephine. With such plans, a scapegoat is always needed, and Tyrion’s imprisonment ensured no suspicions fell on us.”

Josephine disagreed, “This was not the original plan,” she argued.

Olenna sighed, approaching slightly more. Sometimes, the woman before her could be a force of nature, scheming like she was born to do it. Other times, she could be so blinded by her emotions and personal feelings that it truly embarrassed the woman she could truly become.

“Plans change all the time. I am sure you have heard that before,” the older woman said, deciding to do a quick tutoring session. "One must always adapt or watch those plans eventually fail when needed most.”

The Lioness scoffed, finding no need for a lesson on plans and the flexibility of mind one should have. She knew that quite well, having witnessed it first-hand and even used it herself. But that still felt unfair to her, and the fact that Tyrion’s life was on the line did not help.

The only reason she had not acted bolder was not because of her promise to Tywin but because she still had one last plan left, a last resort she hoped would work if things seemed to be going downhill.

Suddenly, the three bell sounds reached them, indicating that the break was over and they should all return for the trial.

Josephine was about to walk away, but Olenna wrapped a hand around her elbow to ensure they would be forced to walk together. “I advise you to control your temper, Josephine,” she said earnestly, from the few times she chose to share some wisdom and concern for someone who was not Margaery. “If you don’t, that old Lion of yours won’t be happy,” she smirked. “Well, more than he usually is.”

And somehow, this bad-timed joke seemed enough to crack Josephine’s rage, a small smirk of amusement crawling on her face.

Chapter Text

As the bell was heard, everyone from the crowd returned to their respective places. As the people walked into the room, one would hardly fail to notice Jaime in his Kingsguard armour as he walked over to his brother.

“Not going well, is it?” Tyrion asked.

“You're going to be found guilty,” Jaime said in a lowered tone as he leaned against the dais, but his brother heard him.

Tyrion scoffed in amusement. “Oh, you think so?”

Jaime did not share his humour. Instead, he leaned even closer to Tyrion. “When you are, you must enter a formal plea for mercy and ask to be sent to the Wall. Father has agreed to it. He'll spare your life and let you join the Night's Watch.”

“Ned Stark was promised the same thing, and we all know how this turned out,” Tyrion said in an equally low tone.

“Father is not Joffrey. He'll keep his word.” The oldest of the male lion siblings said with confidence.

“How do you know?”

Just then, the three judges entered the room, and everyone in the crowd stood up. Tywin even looked at where his two sons were, clearly displeased.

“Do you trust me?” Jaime asked. Tyrion nodded. “Keep your mouth shut. No more outbursts. This will all be over soon.”

With those words, Jaime walked away to take his place.

Josephine had entered simultaneously, and their gazes connected momentarily before the young noble Lion looked the other way. He could not bear to look her in the eyes, not now. He knew she would disagree with him and try to change his mind.

And Jaime did not want her feelings for Tywin to change or bring up another argument, which could risk a bad ending. Plus, it was his time to man up for the first time in his life; he would take one for the family.

He did not care how his siblings would curse, hit or hate him, for he did not regret it.

Jaime would return to Casterly Rock and get married, a small price of his freedom for the freedom of his little brother. Tyrion would be a free man by the Wall, and Cersei would not try so hard in her marriage against Loras.

Yes, Jaime had also learnt of that, and it had taken him time to comprehend and accept the situation.

“The crown may call its next witness,” Tywin said once everyone had settled down.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the room, and everyone turned towards the doors as the next witness walked forward. Tyrion did not turn immediately, but upon seeing his family's shocked expression, he turned and regretted it.

His lover, the woman he had been reassured was far away from King’s Landing to be safe from the claws of his father and sister, was back and was apparently a witness to his trial.

He looked at her like a lost puppy, so happy to see her but also so sad upon realizing why she had been summoned forward.

She did not spare him a single look; instead, she entered the witness box and looked down.

Josephine parted her lips, eyes wide in surprise. She recognised the foreign woman who had accompanied Tyrion in the Lannister camp. The Lioness had also seen her around Sansa, working as her maid and supporting the young girl.

She had smelt her perfume and oils on Tyrion multiple times, and she knew he was trying to be secretive with her in fear of what his father or sister would do. Unfortunately for him, they both found out rather early, and Josephine had even heard the father and daughter discuss their disappointment.

She dared glance at her partner and then at his daughter, curious who from the two dared bring her back. Josephine was sure Shae had left the capital once Tyrion had been arrested.

At least, that’s what Tyrion had told her back then.

“State your name,” Tywin demanded.

“Shae.” The woman replied after a moment of hesitation.

“Do you swear by all the gods that your testimony will be true and honest?”

There was another pause. Shae clearly felt uncomfortable under everyone's stares, but in the end, she answered, “I swear it.”

“Do you know this man?”

Shae looked at Tyrion, who looked like a beaten and hurt puppy, silently begging her not to betray and testify against him. The look almost seemed to work, but the woman finally looked forward again.

She kept trying to look at the judges, especially at Tywin, but his imposing presence made it hard. Instead, she kept casting her eyes downward. “Yes, Tyrion Lannister.”

“How do you know him?” Tywin asked, going by each question the ‘book’ told him to go through, but mostly did it to drag out the moment and watch Tyrion suffer more and more with each passing moment as reality settled in.

“I was handmaiden to his wife, Lady Sansa.”

“This man stands accused of murdering King Joffrey. What do you know of this?”

“I know that he's guilty.” She said, making the crowd gasp. “He and Sansa planned it together.”

This revelation awakened the crowd, whose murmurs and whispers could be heard all over the room.

The Old Lion, though, would not allow that in a trial where he was the main judge. “Silence!” he commanded, and in the next second, no one dared to speak, let alone breathe loudly. “Continue.”

Tyrion, at last, realized where this would lead and was forced to sit from the shock. His eyes not once left the body of his lover, who continued her speech and ensured that his head would meet the sword.

“She wanted revenge for her father, her mother, her brother. She blamed their deaths on the king. Tyrion was happy to help. He hated Joffrey. He hated the queen. He hated you, my lord.” The crowd once again started to murmur. “He stole poison from the Grand Maester's chamber to put in Joffrey's wine.”

A low, barely audible growl left Josephine’s lips, sharp nails dragging lines against the wooden arms of her chair. She stared at the lying woman with hatred, ignoring the silent side glare Tywin sent her, reminding her to behave.

And Josephine did behave, choosing not to act for the moment. But the Lioness within her roared in fury and demanded the whore’s blood.

Her sharp gaze remained on Shae, having no courage to look at Tyrion. She knew that if she dared to look at him, dared to look at his hurt expression, she would not be able to stand it.

While the crowd believed her, Oberyn saw the holes in her confession.

“How could you possibly know all this? Why would he reveal such plans to his wife's maid?” he asked, proving that he was not as easily biased or influenced as others.

“I wasn't just her maid.” She confessed, making Oberyn arch an eyebrow and lean slightly forward. “I was his whore.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mace exclaimed, shocked by the revelation and even the language. “You said you were his...” he could not say the word, and that only made Olenna roll her eyes from where she sat next to Margaery.

“His whore.” Shae repeated, and Josephine closed her eyes for a moment to hide their change of colour while also trying her best not to let any of her thoughts show upon her face.

“How did you come to be in his service?” Tywin asked, throwing more oil into the fire.

“He stole me. I was with another man, a knight in your lordship's army. But Tyrion sent one of his cutthroats into our tent when he arrived at the camp. He broke the knight's arm and brought me to Lord Tyrion. ‘You belong to me now,’ he said. ‘I want you to fuck me like it's my last night in this world.’

This caused the crowd to laugh and Tyrion to hang his head in shame. He had said those things to her, but in a far sweeter tone, in a different context, under different conditions.

“Silence. Silence!” Tywin ordered with his tone raised, repeating the word more than once for the crowd to stop laughing.

As much as this was important to him, he did not like the crowd interrupting and laughing, let alone laughing at the expense of Tyrion. At the end of the day, the dwarf was still a Lannister, and right now, it was the family name being disgraced and humiliated in such a way.

“And did you?” Oberyn asked her.

“Did I what?”

“Fuck him like it was his last night in this world.” He asked, earning a sharp warning glare from Josephine and Tywin.

He was not bothered by it. He knew that all of this was of embarrassment to Tywin as well, in a way, through his family name, and he was going to use it.

To the crowd’s surprise, Shae went into detail. “I did everything he wanted. Whatever he told me to do to him. Whatever he felt like doing to me. I kissed him where he wanted. I licked him where he wanted. I let him...put himself where he wanted... I was his property. I would wait in his chambers for hours so he could use me when he was bored. He ordered me to call him "my lion," so I did...I took his face in my hands and said, "I am yours, and you are mine."

Tyrion felt as if someone had stabbed him in his heart more than once, as if the blade was twisted left and right to make his pain even worse. He felt more hurt than when he found out that Tysa was a paid whore and never loved him. He felt all his powers, hopes for freedom, and even his wits to leave him.

“Shae.” He called her name, looking at her with such pleading, begging her to stop this torture and humiliation. “Please don't”

Yet, Shae was not going to feel sorry for him. “I am a whore...” she said, repeating the same words he had told her before he sent her away.  “Remember?” her voice cracked briefly, but she quickly regained her composure and looked to the judges. “That was before he married Sansa. After that, all he wanted was her. But she wouldn't let him into her bed. So he promised to kill King Joffrey for her.”

The crowd clamoured, and Tywin did not stop them this time, letting them all take in the latest information and conclude how they looked at Tyrion in their own minds.

He seemed rather pleased with how things were going, although humiliating his house was unnecessary. He could have avoided it if it weren’t for Oberyn, but he got the result he wanted.

He glanced to his right where his family was, seeing how Cersei was snarling and glaring at Tyrion, now that there was an official confession and her chance to prove to anyone that she was right and he had killed her son.

Josephine focused on the defeated Tyrion, her gaze soft upon seeing him so crushed and defeated. All her anger had subsided, and she fought against her instincts to remain where she was and not rush to comfort Tyrion.

Tywin sensed her inner battle, but he felt pleased when she did not react to her primary feelings. She could still behave like it was expected of her, and if she continued like this, he might offer her a reward.

Eventually, Tyrion seemed to have had enough. “Father, I wish to confess.” He said in a lowered tone, but almost no one heard him above the noise of the gossiping crowd. “I wish... to confess.” He repeated, this time louder.

This shocked Jaime and Josephine, who looked at him surprised by his words.

“You wish to confess?” Tywin asked him, ensuring that everyone heard it right.

Tyrion turned to the crowd. “I saved you. I saved this city and all your worthless lives,” he spat.

He had saved them more than once. It was his idea to form an alliance with the Tyrells and use the chain amongst the ships. He supervised the training of the spitfire crews to handle wildfires. He sent the hill tribes to harass Stannis' flanks and kill his scouts as they passed through the Kingswood.

After Jacelyn Bywater was killed and the Hound deserted, it was him, who took command over the soldiers and led them against Stannis' troops. Due to his outstanding bravery, the invading host was delayed long enough till Tywin and the reinforcements arrived.

And yet, is this how he is repaid?

After all he did to save them, the scar he received as he laid out his life for them, and is this how they look at him? So quick to judge, to point a finger in his direction and accuse him of murder

Tyrion kept glaring at the crowd with hatred. “I should have let Stannis kill you all.” he continued as he stood up again, glaring at everyone in the crowd and not caring about the reactions he caused.

“Tyrion.” Despite the crowd's noise, his father’s voice was heard, and the dwarf turned to look at him. “Do you wish to confess?”

“Yes, Father. I'm guilty. Guilty. Is that what you want to hear?”

“You admit you poisoned the king?”

“No, of that, I'm innocent. I'm guilty of a far more monstrous crime. I am guilty of being a dwarf.” Tyrion said.

Tywin clenched and unclenched his fist around one of the sword pommels of the iron throne, a futile attempt to contain his temper. He found this so ridiculous that his lips twitched to a smirk, one of annoyance and disgust.

Even after all this, Tyrion continued to test his patience.

“You are not on trial for being a dwarf.” He reminded him.

“Oh, yes, I am. I've been on trial for that my entire life.”

Getting tired of this mockery, Tywin leaned forward. “Have you nothing to say in your defence?”

“Nothing but this...” he turned to look toward Cersei. “I did not do it. I did not kill Joffrey, but I wish that I had.” He spat with so much hatred and venom that was unlike him. His eyes glowed dangerously but he was not done, he was far from it. “Watching your vicious bastard die gave me more relief than 1,000 lying whores.” He said, and he turned to them despite the crowd's reaction. “I wish I was the monster you think I am. I wish I had enough poison for the whole pack of you. I would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it.”

The crowd went wild. Some even stood up as they started to shout and curse Tyrion for his direct threat at them. None dared to come to a close, but they did not hide their reactions to his venomous words.

“Ser Meryn. Ser Meryn.” Tywin shouted for the Kingsguard, his voice barely heard above the crowd's noise. “Escort the prisoner back to his cell.”

Tyrion’s head snapped towards the direction of his father. “I will not give my life for Joffrey's murder. And I know I'll get no justice here. So, I will let the gods decide my fate. I demand a trial by combat.”

The crowd went wild, with many reactions to the whole scene and Tyrion’s demand.

Tywin narrowed his eyes at his son, staring him down with hatred, disgust and annoyance. Tyrion did not look away for the first time since his birth but kept glaring at his all-mighty Father, dead in the eyes.

Jaime sighed heavily and hung his head low, his plan ruined. He had told his brother, ‘No more outbursts,’ but did he listen? However, in his defence, their father bringing Shae into the game as a witness was a low blow, and it would have been almost impossible for Tyrion not to react.

Josephine felt her migraine worsen due to all the panic and chaos unfolding; she hated overcrowded and loud places. She had not expected such a reaction from Tyrion, but eventually, everyone broke under enough pressure. It was only a matter of time before he would as well.

She sensed someone’s eyes on her, and she turned her head to the left toward the judges. Oberyn was looking at her; his eyebrows arched up faintly, and a pleased expression on his face. As their eyes met, a common memory almost flashed into their minds.

Josephine did not always have much free time to do her things, especially without TTywin's knowledge. Considering all the extra work he had to deal with, she did not risk leaving him alone for long.

By nightfall, she would be in his chambers, but there was a window of opportunity before that.

Tywin had asked servants to prepare him a bath, and while he was busy with it, Josephine had some time free to visit someone else before returning to her partner, as she had never schemed behind his back.

Thankfully for her, the Red Keep was rather quiet at that time, and Oberyn had returned to his chambers with Ellaria, having once again spent most of his time visiting the brothels.

While Ellaria was soaking in the tub filled with warm water, Oberyn was busy rubbing scented oils on her wet, exposed skin, massaging her neck and shoulders before placing soft kisses.

Josephine sat by the bed, unaffected by the little personal moment between the two lovers. She had seen them fuck one another, this was nothing compared to it. The only thing that this scene caused was luring her mind into similar intimate moments she had with Tywin when she was younger.

She did not dare ask or approach with such ideas, especially now.

The Lioness had just finished explaining her basic plan, which she had thought through thoroughly to ensure nothing would ruin it. After all, there were so many players in the game and so many alliances she was part of; it was getting tiring to keep track of them.

“And how do you know Tyrion will ask for a Trial by Combat? You sound so sure that he will?” Oberyn asked, removing his lips from Ellaria’s neck, but he rubbed the oils on her shoulder, heading down to the rest of her arm.

“I will suggest it to him, but I know he will. He did it once and survived; he will try his luck again,” she explained, tapping one finger faintly on the ground.

She was on edge, knowing she had limited time, and she did not want Tywin to become suspicious. Sometimes, this situation was funny and ironic to her.

When younger, Josephine did not keep secrets from him, and he did not hide anything from her. Tywin would come to her to talk about something, confess, forget, or even ask for her advice.

On the other hand, she remained by his side and never once thought of going behind his back. She always told him everything she had learnt and everyone who dared to approach her or suggest anything, no matter how beneficial it sounded.

And now... here she was, conspiring behind his back already twice. She left in secret when he was occupied and made plans to bring his fury down on her if he ever found out.

“Say he does ask for that. How do you know the Queen Reagent will ask for the Mountain as her champion?”

Ellaria moved her head to look at Oberyn. “It is a bad idea, lover. It is too dangerous for you to go after the mountain.” She tried to change his mind, but the viper was stubborn and persistent.

“It is the only way I can bring justice to Elia and her children,” he reminded her, pecking her lips before looking at Josephine and waiting for her answer.

“Because he is the monster everyone fears, the man no one can defeat,” the Lioness reminded him. “She will want Tyrion to lose by any means necessary, and the only way to do that, to minimize the risk of him being found innocent, is to have a champion that can not be defeated.”

Oberyn smirked at her cunning manipulation. “You know, you would have done so well in Dorne. You move like a snake, you strike like one, and you have enough poison in your words to kill like one”, he commented, something glowing in his dark eyes.

She rolled her eyes at his drama but accepted the compliment nonetheless.

Ellaria grabbed the chance now that the topic had changed. “She would, and perhaps she still can,” she said, drawing their attention as her dark, hypnotizing eyes remained on Josephine. “How many more years will that Old Lion live? Once he is dead, she will no longer be bound by duty.”

The Lioness suppressed a shiver at the idea, feeling certain fear for this eventual future outcome. She had not really thought about it, and she did not want to think about it, either. It was too far, too dark, and it was the last thing she needed in her mind.

It was not uncommon for partners to outlive one another, often leaving her kind behind. Most remained with the family, ensuring the next generation was tutored and ready.

But she had heard stories that some dared to leave, disappearing into the thick forests of the Westerlands, never to be seen again. Villagers often had tales of finding the bodies of Lionesses in the middle of the wilderness.

The idea of dying alone, seeing Tywin’s corpse and knowing she could no longer be with him... it was too much.

Josephine jumped on her feet and took a deep breath, her heart rate going up and her mouth feeling dry. " It's too far to tell, and now's the time for it,” she said, making the two lovers exchange a look.

“I believe we are in agreement, Oberyn,” she looked at the Dornish Prince studying her.

It was evident that the Lioness had feelings for Tywin, something he had suspected before, but now it was becoming evident. She could blame it on duty and anything else she wished, but deep down, she knew it was more than just that.

He stood up slowly, offering his hand for Ellaria to leave the tab. “We are Lioness. If Tyrion asks for Combat, I will become his champion.”

Josephine nodded. “Thank you.”

Without another word, she bid them a subtle and almost whispered goodnight before leaving their chambers, always careful to ensure no one would see her.

Chapter Text

Josephine walked rather hastily towards Tywin’s chambers, still thinking about the upcoming combat, something she had prepared for and led towards. Not only would Tyrion’s fate be decided, but Oberyn’s life would be in the line, all because she had so confidently planned everything; as if the gods could not ruin everything if they were in the mood.

However, before she entered the Lion’s den, she took a deep breath to ease her worries and hide them from him.

He did not have to see her upset or unfocused.

A few deep breaths and she was ready, entering the room with silent yet graceful steps. Tywin had finished bathing and was dressed in a simple white tunic and black breeches, a casual outfit he preferred for sleep.

He seemed to have been busy thinking of something but put it to a halt once she entered.

Tywin’s keen eye caught the faintest pink on Josephine’s cheeks and the uneasiness in her eyes. She did a good job hiding it from everyone else, but she underestimated how observant he was... and how they were still connected, mind and soul.

“You look upset,” he pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

Josephine shook her head faintly. “I am okay, just a lot in my mind,” she confessed, heading for her side of the bed where her night-time dress was laid.

“I see some things have not changed,” she heard Tywin say as she turned her back on him and started to remove the straps of her dress.

“What are you talking about?” she questioned as the dress pooled at her feet, and she felt the cold night air against her exposed skin.

Her mind was still busy, trying to fight back those dark thoughts; in fear, she would invoke them and make them a reality far sooner. Her mind was so busy that she failed to truly sense when Tywin approached her until his presence was right behind her.

Strong arms wrapped around her naked body, hands interlocking in front of her stomach before she was gently pulled back. A single step back, she felt her back meeting Tywin’s chest, their bodies pressed against one another.

“This,” Tywin said, lowering his face and bringing his lips closer to her ear. “Blaming a busy mind when something is bothering you.”

Josephine felt his lips brush against the shell of her ear and place a gentle kiss behind her earlobe, making her shiver. She involuntarily closed her eyes and leaned more against him, his strong presence becoming her safe shelter, where even the loudest of thoughts did not dare to disturb them.

“Tywin,” she called out his name, head tilted faintly to the side, inviting him to go for her neck.

The Lion obeyed, his chuckle low. The vibrations were felt through his chest and passed to her body. “Am I wrong?” he questioned as he trailed a path of kisses, slowly reaching her arched neck.

“Perhaps my mind is just that busy. " She took a deep breath when he reached a key point, and one hand moved to the back of his neck, passively hinting at him to attend to that particular spot.

One of his hands moved towards her chest, cupping her breast and giving a faint squeeze. “Then, mayhap, we need to do something about it,” he said as she inhaled sharply and sucked on the soft spot she savoured.

His other hand moved from her stomach and headed south, trained fingers going lower until they felt the faint slickness between her legs. They rubbed her thighs in circles, always in sync with the hand massaging her breast.

Tywin continued the assault on her neck as both his hands worked together, causing Josephine to feel the pleasure all together in three different spots. Her moan was his encouragement to continue as his fingers left her soft thighs and headed for her entrance, two of them entering without trouble.

He felt her tense but also leaning more against him, trying to remain on her two feet as he continued to work on her body, playing her like a musician played an instrument. His hands knew the moves she desired and the ways she enjoyed them the most, and his mind never forgot them even as the years passed, and he feared he might never see her again.

And as she encouraged him with her body and her whispers, Tywin chose to go slightly harder and eventually watch her become undone before him; her body surrendering to his lips and hands the same way it surrendered to his cock.

For there was no more personal satisfaction than seeing her succumbing to him, giving all control and bowing to his touch, his words... his commands. There was no more personal satisfaction than feeling how her body worked and flared and came just for him, offering her releases no other man ever could.

The following morning, Josephine was slow to wake up. After Tywin had exhausted her three times the night prior, the Lioness had no strength to continue or remain awake. Her body was relaxed, the familiar bliss washing away all of her worries and leaving her heaving, her heartbeat echoing within her ears.

Tired, yet satisfied, she fell asleep rather quickly, and it was one of the most peaceful nights she had had in years. She did not even comprehend when the sun entered through the window or when night became day.

Someone else, though, did.

Tywin had been awake for quite some time now. His sleep had been equally peaceful, and he had gone to sleep pleased with himself, though the tightness in his pants proved a nuisance for a while before his eyes closed shut.

But he knew it was all worth it when he woke up and saw her in his arms.

Josephine had once again curled to his side, her head resting on his chest. One hand held the front of his tunic, fists clenched around it. Her other was folded close to her body, and she had pressed her body right on his, their thin clothing the only barrier.

She looked peaceful that particular morning. Her pink lips parted faintly, and her breathing was quiet. He could sense her heart beating steadily, its rhythm in sync with his, proof of their connection.

Tywin kept one hand around her waist, and the other moved to push a strand of red hair away from her beautiful face. His finger gently caressed her cheek, his move done with the utmost tenderness that was unlike him.

The more the Lion studied her, the more silent minutes he spent watching her lay in his arms; the more he realized how his feelings for her had never died. Years of loneliness had buried them deep within, locked them into a chest, and almost forgotten them.

But now, she was back—back to him. She slept in his arms like they used to, and she let her kisses roam his body, her taunting smirk challenging him to stop her as if they were alone.

His fear of losing her was still there, but it seemed to shrink at the feeling of having her. In a way, his other half was within her, and they both knew it. Tywin would not confess his love to her like he had done back to Casterly when they were teenagers, but he silently accepted his reborn feelings.

Josephine stirred, her lips forming a small, playful smirk. “Now, who is the one staring?” she asked, her voice groggy from sleep.

She opened her eyes slowly, and her smirk turned into a gentle smile when she saw them matched with Tywin’s golden-flecked emerald eyes.

Her snarky remark did not draw a reaction from him but merely a deep look, as if he were memorizing this rare silent moment between them—and he was.

His fingers continued to caress her cheek, and she leaned her head against them, not once looking away from him.

Josephine always had rather expressive eyes. Those steel-grey pools were capable of showing so many emotions and thoughts without the mouth ever needing to move or the eyes to tear up or glare.

And at that moment, those beautiful eyes did not hide her love for the man beneath her. The care she had all those years, never forgetting and never losing it, even as they remained apart.

In an overwhelmed moment, Tywin acted first and cupped her cheek before kissing her. He was gentle to pull her slightly up and towards him, his eyes closed as his other hand wrapped tighter around her waist.

Once again, Josephine let him take the lead as she kissed him back, using her free hand and pressing it against the mattress, allowing her to move her body higher up and deepen the sweet kiss that made all the others pale in comparison.

The little rocky beach had become a rather favourite and private spot for Jaime and Josephine. In a way, it became their spot where they could talk and train in peace and get a break from the chaos around them.

And, of course, talking about what was happening in their minds.

It surprised Josephine how easily she connected with the noble young lion compared to his siblings.

Jaime actually wanted her to be part of his life and trusted her enough to confess some of his deepest secrets to her. He enjoyed her company, and the Lioness found the feeling to be mutual.

It reminded her of her times with the Lannister siblings, specifically Kevan, to whom she often turned for advice when she did not know how to handle his brother. Both Lions, Jaime and Kevan, were of noble hearts, and she was happy to see them surviving in the rather fake and toxic world they were born into.

The Lioness was sitting by some rocks, further away from the gentle crushing waves ahead of them. She leaned her head on Jaime’s shoulder as they sat side by side, having decided to take their time instead of sparring.

Well, technically, Josephine came out there first, but Jaime joined her soon after. Both needed the same thing and did not mind sharing it.

“Can’t believe Tyrion acted that way,” Jaime commented, their latest topic being none other than his younger brother.

“Can you blame him? Shae was a low blow, and anyone would have reacted,” Josephine argued. “What if you were in his place and Cersei at Shae’s?”

“That’s...” he tried to find a counter argument. “That’s different, Josie... I...”

The Lioness glanced at his profile. “You would what? Keep your composure?”

In the end, the younger lion sighed. “No, most likely I wouldn’t,” he admitted, clicking his tongue behind his teeth. “But he should have detained himself. I told him specifically ‘no more outbursts’ and I would have saved him-“

Too quickly, the words left Jaime’s mouth, and equally quickly, he pressed his mouth shut, realizing he had said too much. Unfortunately for him, he was not subtle enough, and Josephine’s keen attention caught it.

Slowly, she lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him, turning her body slightly to the side. “Saved him?” she questioned, head tilting faintly to the right. “How could you save him from the trial?”

For a moment, Josephine thought he meant he would break him free and help him escape. Considering how much Jaime cared for his siblings, especially Tyrion, it would not be a stretch.

Jaime tried to keep his attention on the sea, hoping this would pass the message that he was not going to talk. But Josephine remained firm like an ancient rock and silently waited, demanding him to answer in detail.

He did not want to talk about it, to give his father and his pettiness away. Yet the burden of that decision, the secret deal he made behind everyone’s back, was slowly pulling him beneath the waves, and he could not swim forever.

Eventually, everyone grew tired of it and succumbed to the pull.

“Father... he approached me during the break and made me a deal...” Jaime started, eyes locked on the horizon. “If I were to leave the Kingsguard and take my place as heir back at Casterly, he would send Tyrion to the wall... which I know is not ideal, but it would be better out there than with his head cut off.”

Josephine inhaled and exhaled, her jaw tense, and she pulled back. Evidently, she was not happy with that news or that confession, and the faintest of growls was the primary indication.

Jaime finally dared to look at her. “Are you angry at him? At father?” his tone and look closer to that of an innocent child who tries to ensure his parents don’t argue or get separated.

Another deep breath. “I am more disappointed than angry, little Jaime,” the lioness reassured him, lips pressed to form a thin line. “Your father simply never knew when to stop pressuring you, even when you were a child...” she scoffed. “Ironically, this was always one of our biggest arguments between us, but also one of the few things Joanna and I agreed upon.”

Joanna, like Tywin, shared the vision of legacy and the importance of keeping House Lannister at the top. It was one of the few things the two of them agreed upon, and it was one of Joanna’s qualities that Tywin appreciated.

But unlike him, Joanna knew when to give the children a break and when she should stop pressuring them. But Tywin... was a man who demanded too much from everyone around him, especially his heir.

Jaime studied her carefully, slightly relieved that she would not march into Tywin’s study and point a finger at him. Yet, fear settled within him about one more thing... about one more person.

He hesitated. “Are you... Angry at me?”

“What?” Josephine exclaimed, turning her head to look at him. “No, of course not,” she placed her hand on his. “I could never be angry at you for that, little Jaime. What you did, the agreement to sacrifice your happiness for your brother... it was noble and only a man of kind heart, like you, could do it.”

Her words, once again, offered Jaime the reassurance he often felt he needed. But of course, because he was the cocky heir of Tywin and a Kingsguard; everyone thought he did not need support or a shoulder to lean on.

No one, not even Jaime, ever tried to see what he hid behind the mask and the acting. Only Josephine did and continued to do so, standing by his side like a mother would to her children.

He wished to place his hand on top of hers, but then he was reminded that his other hand was pure gold, a useless piece that served as decoration rather than functionality.

Josephine seemed to understand or suspect where his mind suddenly trailed at, as she saw his smile fading away and how he glanced at his fake hand for a second.

She was quick to change the subject and take his mind off that. “You know, I am not surprised you ever agreed upon such a deal,” she started, earning his attention. “It’s just like you, being kind and doing the right thing. Just like when you sent Brienne away, I suspect to go find Sansa.”

Once again, Jaime is left shocked and speechless, and Josephine seems to know of things that no one else does, as if she is in regular talk with Varys or spying on others without them knowing.

His expression amused the Lioness, who flashed him a charming smirk. “You seem to forget that soldiers talk, and I am rather good at hearing,” she teased him. “The master of whispers has nothing when it comes to me.”

Jaime could not maintain a serious face, and a gentle chuckle left his lips at her sudden boasting. It was a refreshing feeling, to chuckle and find some joy after all the shit and darkness he had been through.

His chuckle was music to Josephine’s ears. She felt pride grow within her upon seeing him react and flash a smile, even if it was a small one.

“Honestly, though, I simply observed you from a balcony as you bid her off. Didn’t take me long after that to realize why,” she confessed.

The young Lion did not lose his smile and merely shook his head at her words. “Guess what they say is true: a Lioness never misses anything.”

Josephine nudged him with her shoulder, the playful act making both of them chuckle and temporarily forget the events of the last dark month.

Chapter Text

The day of the Combat had finally arrived, and people were already busy gathering in the arena to get the best seats for the show. It had been too long since a true Trial by Combat had taken place, and many wished to see how this would go.

Oberyn would be representing Tyrion and fighting on his behalf. If he won, the dwarf would be found innocent before the eyes of the Seven, and no one could say otherwise.

The Mountain would be representing the crown and Cersei, the terrifying beast of man seeking his opponent's blood, having already spilt the one of Oberyn’s sister.

But before the combat would take place, the combatants had to make last-minute preparations. At the same time, the usual morning Small Council was set to take place, one that Oberyn did not have to attend since he had to prepare.

This allowed a window of opportunity for Josephine to slip away and visit the Dornish Prince, ensuring he would not lose.

Oberyn was in his chambers, enjoying a single goblet of wine. He was missing a shirt, but he would bother with that later. His armour was spread upon his bed, and his free hand tested a spear, his chosen weapon.

Josephine was sitting on a chair, watching him as if it was the two of them in the room. Ellaria had been in the brothel since the early hours of the morning, needing to forget this crazy idea as she feared for her lover’s safety.

The Lioness did not blame her; she also feared for Oberyn and wanted to trust his abilities. Plus, this was the only way to prove Tywin gave no order for Elia’s rape. The only way to ensure the Red Viper would not come after him.

“Is it wise to drink before combat?” Josephine asked him, watching him as he tested the balance of his weapon.

Oberyn looked at her and smirked. “Sounds like you are worried for me, Lioness. Next thing I know, you will offer me a good luck kiss.”

She rolled her eyes. “Forget that I asked.”

Josephine stood up and marched for the bed, eyes falling on the thin armour that he would wear. Made of Dornish Leather, it could offer enough protection against slashes and allowed him to move fast, but it provided no safety against stabbing.

And she had seen the monstrosity of a sword the Mountain carried.

“You will go for all leather?” she asked, watching him as he left his empty goblet on the table.

“The Mountain might be big, but he is slow. I, on the other hand, am fast.” Oberyn reminded her.

“And what is your plan? How will you draw a confession?”

The Dornish Prince approached her, spear in hand. “By doing what snakes do best and weaken him with my strikes.”

His rather poetic answer made Josephine arch an eyebrow until he passed her his weapon. She took it with both hands, familiar with it since Oberyn preferred it even when they were at Dorne.

An odd scent quickly reached her nose, and she dared to bring the sharp tip closer to her face, inhaling the air around it a few more times. The gears in her head turned as she processed the information and figured out his plan. “Poison.”

Oberyn smirked, proud of her sharp nose and quick thinking. “Very good, Lioness.”

She looked from the spear at him. “You plan to injure him? Infect him with poison?”

He nodded and gently returned the weapon before heading for the rack to place it on. “That’s the plan. I will not kill him, not until he confesses the name of my sister’s murderer.”

Josephine followed him. “The Mountain is a beast of a man, Oberyn,” she reminded him. “Ordinary poisons won’t work fast enough to stop  or even weaken him.”

“Who says I go for ordinary poisons?” he put the spear away and turned to face her. “You hurt me, Lioness, thinking so low of me.”

The Lioness did not seem to share his mood for jokes as she folded her hands in front of her chest.

This was a serious topic, and any mistakes could cost them gravely. If Oberyn died, not only would Tyrion be executed, but Dorne would turn against them. If not Dorne, his seven daughters would definitely want their heads cut off.

If the Mountain died before he could confess, Oberyn would not be satisfied, and Tywin would not be safe from his wrath. None of the Lions would be.

Josephine racked her mind for a moment, trying to think back to the lessons Oberyn had given her about poisons. It was his attempt to impress her, but he continued after seeing she had a true interest in them.

Something clicked in her mind. “Unless you have chosen to use manticore venom, no other poison comes to mind,” she said casually, but upon seeing that monetary glow in his dark eyes, she knew she was right. “You are kidding me.”

“You worry that ordinary poisons won’t work on the Mountain? Then I will go for a stronger one, simple as that.”

Josephine did not like being the pessimistic one, but between them, it felt someone should be. “What if it kills him before you make him confess? It is a rather fast-acting poison.”

“Ah, I see you still remember your lessons.” Oberyn flashed her his charming smirk. “Do not worry much about it, Lioness. I will get what I want before he hits the ground.” He winked.

The Lioness took a deep breath and silently prayed that the Old Gods would not let her down, not now.

By the base of the Red Keep, from the other side and with no view of the sea, one could easily find the Combat Arena. It was first designed for combats meant to impress the kings and make worthy knights stand out; now it served as the place for Trial by Combat.

The arena was circular and big, and a faint layer of sand covered the stone floor beneath it. Benches for the crowd were built all around it. The majority of the crowd were in the same space, held back by marble and stone railing while the ones with the best view were the royal box.

It was just a bit taller than the height of the arena, and anyone there had a full view of everything and shade from the sun. Six chairs were placed on the royal booth/stage, which was occupied by all the important members that day.

At the far left was Jaime, and at his right was Lord Mace. Next to the Tyrell Lord was Josephine, Tywin, Cersei, and last was Varys.

Each one had a different expression on their face, each with different theories on how this combat would go. Jaime was anxious, knowing that no man had ever defeated the Mountain before and thought Oberyn stood little chance.

Josephine tried to keep her thoughts private, but Tywin could sense the anxiety building up within her. She could have all the faith in the world placed upon Oberyn, but that did not help her calm down.

So many things could go wrong, and momentarily, she started questioning her plans and confidence when she put them down.

Had she chased her luck too much, and the gods were about to remind her that they were in control? Had she been so desperate to change things that she would lead two people close to her to losing their lives?

Cersei seemed to enjoy the moment, confident that her champion would end Oberyn and Tyrion would die for murdering her son.

Tywin did not seem that pleased with the arrangements, simply because he wished for the Mountain to be far away. He had ensured that until his stupid daughter summoned him as her champion.

Varys seemed equally nervous and did not hide it, sometimes glancing at the others in the booth with him. Compared to most, he appreciated Tyrion as an ally and as someone who could truly help the realm; he did not wish to see him die.

Pycelle was in the middle of the arena, giving the usual speech before every trial, but halfway through his speech, Tywin motioned for him to cut it short and let the combat finally begin.

At last, the combat was about to start.

The Mountain had a long sword, one specially made for his height and strength, but his opponent was equally prepared.

His squire tossed him his spear, and he moved around the arena, flipping and spinning with the weapon like a dance. He stopped before the royal booth and offered the crowd his signature smirk while receiving cheers and applause for his performance.

His eyes went to the Royal Booth and locked with Josephine’s, who had the faintest smiles of amusement from his cocky performance.

Tywin, of course, took notice, and his lips did not hide his frown, nor did he bother to hide his glare, directly sending it at the flirtiest Dornish Prince.

Of course, Oberyn was pleased to amuse her and piss Tywin off.

Having it in his grasp, he turned to face his opponent. “Have they told you who I am?” he asked the Mountain.

“Some dead man.” Ser Gregor replied and lunched forward for an attack.

His attacks were slow, but each strike had weight and strength behind it. If they found their target, it would be enough to break bones and cut limbs if the Dornish Prince was faster.

With his leather armour and the length of his weapon, he easily blocked the attacks, dodged, created a nice cut in the opening of the man’s steel armour and then moved a few steps back.

“I am the brother of Elia Martell,” He said as he started to circle the huge man. “Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city?” A dramatic pause. “For you.”

Oberyn charged his attacks fast and unpredictably. Ser Gregor barely managed to block them and received another slashing wound before his opponent withdrew back, dodging the long sword at the last second.

That close call caused Josephine to hold her breath momentarily but then release it upon seeing that the Dornish Prince was unharmed, too fast for the sword to reach him.

He started circling the Mountain again. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now, and we can make this quick.”

The only response he got from his opponent was an attempt to slice him, but Oberyn was quicker. He blocked, dodged and delivered another slashing strike, the poison in his blade spreading across the huge body of the Mountain faster now.

He kept attacking him with the spear, but Ser Gregor had enough battle experience to dodge the rest of his attacks. More than once, he came close enough to trap his weapon to the ground, but Oberyn always managed to set it free.

In one last attempt, he dodged under the huge arm of his opponent and smacked him on the back of his head. The force knocked the Mountain’s helmet off, and it rolled on the ground beneath.

“Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Oberyn repeated, now taunting his opponent.

He moved with the grace of a snake, dodging all of Ser Gregor’s attempts and even doing two different mid-air flips, as if participating in some elegant dance. This kept the crowd engaged, and Josephine held her breath, wishing for this to end before it could turn bad.

“You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children!” Oberyn shouted and stabbed the Mountain in the gut.

However, as he pulled the spear back, Ser Gregor attacked. In an attempt to dodge him, Oberyn received a kick to the stomach and was thrown back, falling to his back. This earned a few gasps from the crowd, Ellaria and silent, tiny reactions from Josephine.

Yet, the Red Viper quickly got on his feet and started to fight again. Ser Gregor had started to become slower with the attacks as the venom worked through his body. In the end, he did manage to break Oberyn’s spear by cutting it at the wooden part of it.

It forced Oberyn to jump back, but with a few side spins and impressive acrobatics, he avoided all of the sword attacks and put some distance between him and his opponent. His squire tossed him another spear.

They went at it again, but this time, the Dornish Prince was done playing nice as his anger and need for revenge took hold of his mind. He delivered another brutal stab in the guts and then a slice at the Mountain’s calf.

“You raped her! You murdered her!” he injured Gregor’s arm and then dodged his attack and sliced the back of the man’s heel, sending him to the ground. The Mountain tried to stand up but kneeled, unable to use his one leg now that the heel tendon had been severed. “You killed her children!” Oberyn shouted, and with a jump, he placed his spear blade through an opening in Ser Gregor’s armour, right beneath his ribcage.

The force made the monstrous man fall on his back; blood came from his mouth as the spear remained in his body.

The Dornish prince started to circle him. “Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet. You haven't confessed.” He said and pulled the spear, its tip a bloody red as the drops stained the floor beneath while he kept circling his opponent. “Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell.” He stopped to face the royal booth and pointed a finger at Tywin. “Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” When he received no reply, Oberyn turned to the Mountain. “Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

His anger had gotten the best of him, and the Red Viper made one critical mistake; he came too close.

The Mountain extended his hand and grabbed one of the man’s legs, pulling him to the ground with him.

Oberyn fell to his back, the shock making him lose the grip of his spear as the Mountain moved to almost straddle him. He placed his huge hands around Oberyn’s neck, keeping him pinned to the ground.

Ellaria gasped from shock and fear, her hands covering her mouth, and she almost fell, ready to collapse upon seeing her lover on the ground, about to die.

Josephine had moved from her chair, leaning forward to see better while her skin paled a few tones. She did not hide her worry or concern, taking all of her training and mental control to not move fully from her chair.

“Elia Martell. I killed her children.” Ser Gregor spat, ignoring how Oberyn was trying to loosen his deadly grip on his neck. “Then I raped her because I wanted it! Then I smashed her head in like this!”

The Mountain moved his hands towards Oberyn’s head, ready to show the world how he did it: repeat the actions and kill one more Martell.

For a moment, Oberyn’s vision turned black, and he felt his heart echoing in his head as the Mountain was about to put pressure on it. He could move, but he was not even sure how he could or what he could do to escape.

That was... until a memory flashed into his mind.

Back at Dorne, Oberyn had spent quite some time sparring with Josephine, testing and even helping her become better with a sword. She had the basics, but she lacked the technique, one he was more than willing to teach her.

The Lioness moved silently and quickly, a quirk she had for years, and Oberyn knew his style would be more suitable for her. And thus, they spent hours beneath the hot sun, perfecting her technique.

During one of those spars, Oberyn had chosen to play a little bit dirtier and increase the challenge. This was how Josephine found herself on the ground while he straddled her. The position while intimate was also one that angered her the most; finding it humiliating to be on the ground like a weak woman.

She had tried to push him off, but he had grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the sandy ground, ensuring she would not use them to gain an advantage. But Oberyn had not expected that Josephine was equally trained in using all four of her limbs.

With flexibility that would put most whores to shame, she managed to bend her knees and bring her legs closer to her chest; quickly passing her right leg to the left, taking advantage of the small space between their bodies.

At the very next second, she pressed them to his side and with a half spin, she managed to push him to the side while she also rolled to lay on her front, free from his grip.

The move made him roll on the ground, but once he came to a halt, he could not help but look at a panting Josephine.

“Now that is a move. You have to teach me, Lioness,” he mocked her as she slowly got up, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but he smirked.

In one last attempt to survive, Oberyn chose to try it.

Like Josephine had done, he brought his legs closer to his chest. The Mountain was huge and did not have to be pressed against him, offering a wider opening.

Oberyn’s knee found Ser Gregor’s jaw, the force causing pain to both of them. The Red Viper held back any sound of pain coming from his knee as he felt the huge hands slowly leaving his head.

Now, with that second long window of opportunity, Oberyn acted. He moved his legs to one side and tried to use all of his muscles and strength to push. It was a struggle due to the weight differences, but the Mountain was too weakened by the poison to continue resisting.

The force sent him to the side, where he crashed, his body falling with a loud thump before it stopped moving.

Everyone stopped breathing and waited to see if the Crown’s champion would move.

A full minute passed, and there was no movement, forcing Pycelle to approach and check for himself. Once he sensed no pulse, his old eyes opened wide, and he turned to the royal booth.

“He is dead. Prince Oberyn is the winner,” he announced, hating the way Tywin glared at him and Oberyn and everyone that dared to cheer.

The crowd shot up and started to clap, cheering and shouting for Oberyn and his victory.

The Dornish Prince struggled to stand, and he felt his knee aching, suspecting it would need some healing after his latest trick. Blood was coming from a small cut at the back of his head, a result of his rough impact with the ground before.

He lifted his hand in the air, making the crowd cheer more, and looked around him at his spectators.

Ellaria was on her knees, tears of joy and relief streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to rush and hug him, kiss him and scold him for almost dying on her, but she was too overwhelmed by the moment.

Tyrion was staring in disbelief, trying to process that he was a free man and his champion had won. His brother had a similar look on his face, though relief washed over him once he realized Tyrion would be safe.

Cersei was the most displeased knowing that her plan had failed and Tyrion would live. Tywin glared with hatred, for his best champion and soldier was now dead and that cocky ass viper had done it.

Only Josephine seemed to be the most enthusiastic, having stood up from the chair and clapping along with the others. Her smile was big, and her eyes shone with relief and joy, both because the Mountain proved Tywin’s innocence and because Oberyn did not die.

She ignored Tywin’s glares, more than happy that the plan worked and all those days of stressing and worrying were done.

Tywin stood up, and the crowd quickly went quiet. The Old Lion stared down at Obery, but everyone knew what he would say. “The gods have made their will known. Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, you are hereby proven innocent of all charges against you”

The crowd cheered again, and the dwarf felt the need to sit down. He was certain that with all that stress he got during the combat, most of his golden hair had turned white by now.

Chapter Text

Hours later, the sun set above King’s Landing, allowing the moon to rise in its place and the stars to accompany its night journey across the sky. The hour had grown late, and many had retreated into their chambers, the yellow glow of lanterns, torches and candles illuminating the city and the Red Keep.

Josephine had returned to Tywin’s chambers, being the first to arrive. She had just returned from checking on Oberyn, who would need some time to walk properly, let alone ride. Although, the Red Viper was more concerned over his ability to fuck than anything else.

The Lioness decided to serve herself a cup of wine, finding the need for the alcoholic beverage after all she had been through. All this planning, those lies, and fake smiles—it was not something she enjoyed, took pride in, or even trained to do.

It was something she had to do if she wished to protect those she cared about from harm, ironically by also putting some of them in harm’s way to succeed in what she wanted.

She perked upon the desk and closed her eyes, letting the red alcoholic drink go down her throat. Even though it was supposed to be the famous golden wine from the Redwyne Famous Vineyards, its taste was still bitter, and she was reminded why she did not favour it.

Suddenly, the door to the chambers was pushed open, and Tywin marched inside. His jaw was tense, and so were most of the muscles in his body. He spent the last hour listening to Pycelle and Qyburn talking about his dead champion and hearing Cersei whine about the unfair battle.

“What did the Maesters say?” Josephine asked, lowering the goblet.

Tywin closed the door behind him and put the bolt into place, ensuring no one would interrupt them. The move was made more forcefully than necessary, and the loud sound echoed in the quiet room.

“Poison. Prince Oberyn used poison-coated weapons to defeat the Mountain.” he almost spat as he walked towards her.

Josephine did not seem surprised and tried to hide her smirk behind the rim of her goblet. “The rules don’t say anything about not using poisons in battle,” she reminded him, swinging her legs in a faint, lazy manner.

His steps were slow, and he took notice of her reaction, sensing no surprise from her. “It should,” he argued.

She rolled her eyes and placed the now-empty goblet next to her. “It wouldn’t change anything. Had he not pulled the move he did last minute, he would have died before the Mountain.”

Tywin never liked when she countered argued him with logic and facts, things he could not fight against or try to prove them wrong. In fact, he hated it because it meant he could not win this discussion.

His displeasure at her words was evident by the way he frowned and went to grab a different goblet and pour himself some wine. His anger was practically radiating from his body in invisible waves, and she could sense it, feel it, and it took all her concentration not to react to it.

She did not, but she was affected by it, carried by their shared connection. “Are you so angry because Tyrion is a free man or because your plan to get Jaime to abandon the Kingsguard failed?”

Tywin had his back turned on her and froze upon hearing her words. Lowering the goblet after tasting only some wine, he turned his body halfway to look at her.

Their gazes met, and he could tell she was not bluffing; instead, she was disappointed by his petty attempt to force his son to give up his freedom.

“I did what was necessary of me,” he argued, his grip on his goblet increasing. “You of all should have been happy with my decision. Your precious Tyrion would be alive since you seem to favour him.”

She narrowed her eyes in challenge as she climbed off the desk. “The night’s watch is not a life, let alone for Tyrion. Jaime would be miserable in an arranged marriage, just like you were when you married Joanna.” She marched towards him, her words and steps radiating confidence and challenge.

Tywin glared at her, displeased that she had compared the two situations. He placed his goblet on the little table with more force than necessary and turned to face her.

“My legacy is at risk,” he reminded her. “The future of our house is at risk, and it will end with Jaime unless he does something.”

By his words, it was clear that Tywin had completely removed Tyrion from the picture. Whatever kids he would have would not be the successors Tywin wanted, nor would they be what he had in mind for his legacy.

Josephine understood better than anyone the pressure to ensure a line did not die, the importance of preserving what others had done for centuries, and the need to ensure it would continue to be preserved long after one's death.

Every day, she was reminded how she had failed in doing that by never giving Jaime a partner; her feelings for Tywin guided her own weakness. She had failed her family’s legacy, but she did not have to fail his.

“The legacy will survive through me,” she said, standing before him. “I will carry your children like we had talked all those years ago.”

The Lion turned fully to face her, staring her down with suspicion. Instead of being thrilled, he was cautious, for he did not expect to hear that reply.

“It won’t work,” he reminded her. “Born outside of marriage, they will be considered bastards, unable to lay claim.”

Josephine stepped forward and arched her neck due to their small height difference. “Do not remind me of the customs, Tywin, for I had not forgotten them,” she dared, tiptoeing between anger and annoyance. We can keep trying, and once I am with a child, we can marry.”

Those words hang heavily in the air, none daring to say anything or break eye contact.

The Lioness had long given up on marrying Tywin, knowing it was challenging and that there were too many eyes on them. Plus, it was considered surreal. Partners did not marry the heirs; those were the rules.

She would have much preferred to just carry his children since he still harbours feelings for her just as she does for him. If those stupid rules needed them to get married, she would, not caring what would come next.

If it meant Jaime and Tyrion would finally have a life and to have a new chance, she was more than willing to birth as many heirs as Tywin wanted.

Tywin eyed her carefully, tempted by the offer. He always wanted to marry her when he was younger, but there were still bitter old wounds that had never closed, bitter memories he had not got over.

“This is new of you,” he commented, scoffing at her offer. “Last time I recall, you were against it.”

Josephine knew what he was talking about, for that day had changed her and what they had... forever.

It was not long after Tytos had announced Tywin’s marriage to Joanna Lannister, his cousin. He had clearly taken notice of how Tywin looked at Josephine and whether he feared lords would talk or he personally did not want to break the rule; he arranged a marriage behind his son’s back.

Of course, Tywin was furious at first, and so was Josephine. But unlike him, the Lioness quickly settled into this agreement and accepted that what they had could not be continued.

Unfortunately for her, Tywin was too stubborn. He had dealt with the Reynes and the Tarbecks, brought House Lannister to its former glory, and was the youngest Hand of the King in History.

He was not going to accept a decision made by his weak father, one that had taken place behind his back.

“I will not accept it; that is final,” Tywin told Josephine as they were in his private chambers at Casterly Rock. The lion walked up and down like a caged animal, still furious at the news.

“You should,” Josephine said, her voice and demeanour much calmer and hesitant. This is the best for the family, for your legacy.”

Tywin stopped pacing and turned to face her, taken aback by her words. “No, it's not. You are the best for the family... for me.”

Her gaze softened, and it took all her willpower not to react, to agree with him. “No, I am not,” Josephine said, gently placing her hand upon his chest, the last time she would be able to do so. “Remember, partners don’t marry heirs. This is not our duty.”

Those words caused her pain, her heart feeling as if it would stop beating any moment, and she fought to keep her composure. Her mother had said those words hours before when they had talked.

Her mother knew her daughter was in love with Tywin, but she also knew she would get her heart broken if she continued down that path. Thus, she pulled her daughter to the side and talked to her, reminding her of her true duty.

She was meant to be a protector, a shield, and a companion, but never a wife. She was meant to stand by the shadows and ensure the family continued and the heir remained strong and safe. She was never meant to love him. That privilege had been taken away from them when their ancestor Nemea bound herself and her descendants to Lan the Clever and his family.

‘Think of what your marriage to him would do,’ her mother had also told her.

If she married Tywin instead of Joanna, people would talk. His image would be at risk, and he would risk losing connection with the branches of his houses and his close family members.

Tywin was not happy with her words, instead he was furious. He could not believe Josephine would say those things when she had so openly agreed to marry him not so long ago. He expected her to support him, not go against him.

In that moment, fuming with rage, Tywin chose to leave. He marched out of his chambers, not even bothering to close the door. Josephine watched him go, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she realized this was their end.

Josephine parted her lips, feeling betrayed. She could not believe that he would bring up that particular moment to counter-argue with her. By the Old Gods, he should have been happy, but he was still bitter about her decision.

Her anger started to rise. “And what would you have wanted me to do, Tywin?” she spat, her upper lip trembling in frustration. “I had no choice. It was the only way I could ensure you would remain loyal to Joanna, let alone put some effort into getting to know her.”

“Try to know her, Tywin,” she had told him the day of his marriage, just before they headed for the Great Sept of Baelor. “Talk to her, listen and accept her. You might not like her now, but she deserves to be treated properly.” She looked up at him, her hand on his cheek redirecting his distant gaze. “Treat her as you would treat me...”

Those were the words she had told him, despite the pain she felt with each one that left her lips. Despite his initial refusal, Tywin ended up honouring those words, and Josephine was witness to them all.

In a moment of tension and wounded past feelings, Tywin acted before he spoke, something unlike him. His hands grabbed her neck and pressed her against the close stone wall; the sudden impact made her gasp, and he took advantage to place his lips upon her.

His kiss was hungry, and she could taste the wine he had just consumed. Her hands grabbed his wrist for support as she kissed him in return, feeling his body pressing against her, trapping her between him and the wall.

Eventually, he pulled back in need for air and kept staring her down, looking like a madman and also in love. “I honestly don’t know where that odd behaviour of yours lately had come from or what has gotten into you,” he said as he slowly tried to catch his breath, his hand still tight around her neck.

Josephine offered him a tempting smirk, feeling heat pooling between her legs at his manhandling. “I simply do what I always did, protecting my family from injustice and giving them the best future possible.”

Tywin stared down at her, his fingers almost forming bruises on her pale skin. His breath was uneven, and his pants felt a size smaller, blood rushing to his head and his groin.

“You troublesome, stubborn, selfless woman,” he said before he kissed her again, this time with far more hunger than before.

He pressed her harder against the stone wall, and she wrapped her hands around his neck and shoulder. She let him take the lead on the kiss, let his tongue enter her mouth when he silently demanded it, and she mewled in encouragement, blinded by lust and need and unanswered questions she had tried and failed to bury properly.

The Lion moved his hand from her neck and grabbed her legs, taking a single move to hoist her up. By instinct, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he pressed her once again against the stone wall.

They pulled back from their kiss and Tywin buried his face on her collarbone, sucking on the tender spot where her collarbone met her neck; earning a small gasp from her, nails digging into his back.

He groaned at the familiar sensation, daring to leave a bite on her pale skin while his hands that held her thighs squeezed in response. One hand moved between her legs, and he had to pull his face back, look at her once he realized there was no small cloth this time.

She was ready in case he wanted her for the night, that much he could tell, and he felt the tightness in his pants too much by the revelation.

Josephine offered him a familiar smirk, her pupils blown with desire. Her hand behind his head pushed him forward for another kiss, one that spoke of desire between lovers. Her left hand left his shoulder, and she tried to help him undo his pants and remove any obstacle out of the way.

It took an effort from that position, but Tywin could not hold himself once he was free. He supported her against the wall and used one hand as a guide while she made sure to remain steady by keeping her legs around his waist.

Her slick folds embraced him in one go, and he had to bite at something to muffle his groan of pleasure. He went for the top of her cleavage, choosing one boob that threatened to escape the confidents of her dress.

She arched her back, strong, thin fingers holding the back of his neck and jacket collar as he went fully in. She gasped, arching her back and pressing her chest more against his mouth, head tossed back and eyes closed in pleasure.

Tywin did not let her catch her breath or prepare. Instead, he started at a rather unforgiving pace—one that stole her breath away each time gravity pulled her down and rubbed her back against the stone wall each time she was pushed up.

She openly embraced him, whispering his name and stealing kisses with whatever little air she could get, caring little for the dress they would ruin or the fact that the guard outside might hear her.

At that moment, all she could care about was him and him alone.

The Lion was no different. He ignored the strain of his arm muscles or the logical part of his brain telling him to take her to bed. He did not think but merely felt, following her lead and getting lost in the feelings of pleasure only she could ever evoke within him.

No paid whore and not even Joanna could draw such reactions from him, could make him go like a bull on heat or claim their bodies the way his teeth claimed Josephine’s.

She was unique, and she was his. From the very beginning, she belonged to him, and he was done letting others try to prove him the opposite.

Chapter Text

During the hour of Ghosts, few remained awake, many having fallen asleep long before its arrival. Even the guards keeping watch could feel the heaviness of their eyelids; the silence in the Red Keep was slowly lulling them to slumber.

The Tower of the Hand was void of life. The only ones ever awake were Josephine, Tywin, and the guard stationed right outside the chamber door.

The Lioness was currently on the bed, lying on her stomach like the feline creature she was; a thin red night dress stopped by the middle of her thighs and she had a furry, warm red Lannister robe draped over it; Tywin’s robe.

It was casually thrown over her shoulders, the golden strings tied to a knot so it wouldn’t slip off.

She rested her head on her hand and watched Tywin, who was currently seated behind the desk, wearing a simple red tunic and black pants.

Their love-making had lasted a while, first against the wall and then on the soft bed, before both of them felt they had released enough, for now. With the tensions being out of the way and having a better agreement on what awaited them soon after, they had chosen to rest.

Or at least, that’s what Josephine had in mind.

Instead, her partner and lover had returned to work, referring to a few last letters he had to prepare.

“In all honestly, only you would work so late,” she commented, her grey eyes never leaving his form.

There was something attractive about him being seen behind the desk and working. He was busy working, but not so long ago, he was buried deep within her and whispered her name. Now, he was back to being a professional, like it was a mask he had to wear.

Tywin glanced at her, his famous smirk playing upon his lips. “If you are so dissatisfied with my working hours, you are more than welcome to help.”

His mockery was a teasing challenge that excited her, and she flashed him a smirk of her own, ready to throw her answer... when she felt it.

Something was odd, and all the joy disappeared from her face. She started to look around the room before they both heard a faint thud right outside the door. Tywin pushed his chair back and stood up, but Josephine was already heading for the door.

Josephine opened the door just a tad and peeked outside before her grey eyes spotted the guard lying unconscious on the floor. She moved and bent one knee to be closer to his form, fingers pressed against his neck and was relieved to sense a pulse.

Yet the relief was short-lived, as her instincts warned her of danger, now far closer than before.

She rushed into the room, coming to a halt rather close to her partner only because she saw a masked assailant pointing his sword too close at Tywin’s chest. The sharp tip of the weapon reflected the candlelight, and none wanted to question if poison coated the sharp blade or not.

The assailant wore a black cloak, hood up, and thin material covering the lower half of his face. His body was turned sideways, and he glanced at Josephine with the tip of his dark eyes, just enough to ensure she was not coming any closer.

Her pupils shrunk almost to a slit upon seeing seeing Tywin in danger, and she could feel every muscle in her body tense, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“Stay where you are, woman, or I will kill him.” A faint accent was noticeable, indicating he was not from neighbouring lands.

Tywin did not feel threatened by the weapon pointed at him, but he did glance at Josephine, who was getting ready to pounce. “If you dare show up here and kill me, they must be paying you well,” he said, forever the diplomat and always remaining the man in control. “Whatever it is, I can double it.”

The assailant gave the impression that he was smirking behind his mask and moved the sword closer. “Money can’t buy everything. The Red God will have the name given.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and she stepped closer, as always remaining silent. The man, surprisingly, seemed to sense her approach because the tip of the sword was a mere inch away from Tywin’s tunic.

“Not another move, woman.”

Tywin eyed the sword and then her, their eyes connecting for a single second, but it was more than enough for him to catch a glimpse of her thoughts. The selfless and stubborn Lioness was getting ready to attack, risking injury by the sharp blade clearly intended for him.

But the Lion was not going to allow that.

“Leave the room, Josephine,” he told her, his voice calm, too calm.

Of course, the Lioness was not ready to obey. "No, I won't."

He was in danger, and she did not care for the warning of a masked attacker. All she needed was a good angle and timing; a single leap and the beast would be out, pinning the enemy to the ground.

Sure, that blade could easily be turned against her, but it was a small price to pay: her life for Tywin’s.

Unfortunately for her, Tywin would not let her plan happen. “I said leave, Josephine,” his tone changed, and the woman froze, one leg barely off the ground. She looked at him, surprised. “I command it.”

Her lips parted in surprise for the second time, and she gave Tywin the same look she had given him at Casterly, the night he sent her away. He had gone against his mental silent promise, and he dared to repeat the same mistake, alas, this time to save her life.

She lowered her leg slowly, her heart beating faster as she fought to obey. Her body almost trembled, and she lost her voice. All she could do was stare as she involuntarily took a step back, her own instincts fighting against the restraints of the order.

Tywin kept looking at her, his face impassive. The mask he wore perfectly hid all the regret he felt within. He had vowed never to force her, never to send her away, but he refused to let her lose her life for him.

He had lost her once, back at Casterly, never knowing if he would see her again. Now, he had her back and would not lose her for good.

The assailant gave them their time, but his was also limited. He prepared his attack, his sword pulled back while it aimed for Tywin’s heart; a single blow was all it would take to end the reign of the Old Lion.

Yet he never managed for someone stood in the way.

Josephine’s eyes glowed golden, and the ancient power of her family rushed through her veins. Yet, the Lioness did not come forward; this was pure her. She managed to tackle Tywin to the ground, the very same second the blade came down on him.

Her attempt was successful, and the blade found her thigh, the sharp tip passing through skin and muscles, quickly drawing blood in the process.

A growl of pain escaped her lips as she found herself on the ground, right in front of Tywin, who was in a similar position.

The Lion ignored the burning sensation from his side, the rough ground not really softening their landing. His attention went to Josephine, who used her free hand to grab the sword and prevent the assailant from pulling it back, forcing him to retreat weaponless.

Or at least he tried to pull out a different weapon to end the job now that Tywin was more exposed. Tywin glared at him, one hand around Josephine's waist as he was ready to make a move, ensuring she would not get more hurt than she already was.

The assassin's hand moved to grab something before a crossbow bolt passed through his side, its sharp tip coming out from the other side. He spit blood, staining the material masking his lower face, and a second bolt soon found its way to his neck, forever silencing him.

His body fell to the ground, blood pooling around him as Tywin and Josephine glanced at where the arrow came from.

Tyrion stood before a secret passage, his hands holding a crossbow, the same one whose bolts had taken down the killer. He seemed surprised at taking a life or perhaps at his aim, but he quickly looked at the couple, who could not help but question his rather odd timing.

The day of his Trial by Combat would be one Tyrion would never forget. So many things had taken place that even his mind felt like it could not handle it all. He was not sure what to focus on or what was really important.

He did not think of many things that day until the combat ended, and he was found innocent. Only then did he have his chance to straighten things up.

He would be released the day after, and that night was supposed to be the last one in his cell. He could survive with that, but he could not wait patiently until the rise of dawn either.

The very same morning of the combat, Jaime visited him. His brother thought Tyrion would be found guilty because what can a cocky man do against someone like the Mountain? Against someone that no man had ever managed even to make them kneel, let alone kill?

So, during his last visit, he confessed something to Tyrion, something that he wished he could erase from his memory. Tysha, his first wife...it was all a lie. Jaime had lied, per orders of their father, and said that Tysha was a paid prostitute and that she did not love him.

Tyrion believed it and continued with his life, knowing that the only woman who would ever truly love him was faking it from the start. Now, he came to find that the girl truly cared for him, yet his father made her suffer by giving her to his soldiers.

He could still remember her cries, her shouts of pain as each man took his turn with her, showing no mercy to a girl barely older than 4 & 10. He never forgot it and now he knew that an innocent girl was abused and raped by the order of his Father, all because that monstrous lion could not stand to see his own son happy.

That was a knife through the heart, one thing he never saw coming.

As Tyrion sat on his cell that night, he kept rethinking about that...about Shae, another woman that he loved, another victim of his family. He suspected that she was threatened by Cersei or his Father to say all those lies in court.

He wished to get out of those damn cells, to go find Shae and learn the truth. Then, he wished to see his father and ask him. He needed to hear him admitting to the horrible thing they had done all those years ago.

He would have to wait until the morning to do those things, or so he thought.

It was in the middle of the night when the Guard, who was supposed to keep watch, fell asleep rather deeply. A minute later, Varys came from some shadow corridor that Tyrion had barely acknowledged.

“Varys? What are you doing here?” Tyrion asked, surprised that the eunuch had visited him so late.

“I am to depart for Essos, My Lord, and I must urge you to join me,” Varys said, his voice a mere whisper in case a passing guard heard him.

Tyrion was sceptical. “Why?” he questioned. “Why should I leave with you in Essos?” Who do you plan to visit in Essos? He wanted to ask but chose that now was not the right time,

“You will be safer there, my lord. Your innocence might have been proven, but Queen Cersei still wants your head.”

The dwarf had to think momentarily because what Varys said was true. Cersei was still upset, believing unquestioningly that Tyrion had poisoned his son. It would not come as a surprise if she would arrange a way for him to die mysteriously.

Though, with their father around, that might prove tricky. Yet again, even Tywin might disregard her antiques if it meant his failure of a son would be off his hands.

On the other hand, Josephine would certainly try to protect him, having already tried to do so in her own way. But her duty was to Tywin, and she could not babysit both Lions.

Tyrion looked at Varys again, who seemed on edge and was clearly in a hurry. Slowly, the dwarf stood up, his decision made.

Tyrion followed Varys, the paths soon turning unfamiliar the lower they descended, the colder the hallways felt. An aura of mystery and magic surrounded them as they walked, their guiding light being Varys’ torch.

The dwarf suppressed a shiver, feeling as if ancient spirits and deceased Kings were watching him, reading his mind and his revengeful intentions. To try and ignore them, he chose to ask Varys something.

“Any news on Sansa? He asked the Master of Whispers.

Thoughts of the northern girl and her well-being had never truly left his mind. She had simply disappeared during the chaos, and Tyrion liked to think she was now somewhere safe, away from all those who wished to torture and harm her.

The Spider walked side by side with him. “I am afraid, my little birds are silent on the matter,” he confessed, shaking his head faintly.

They were now at the fourth level, where Maegor had built torture chambers, and Tyrion noticed a ladder. It stretched for ages, and the number of steps could not be determined.

Tyrion froze for a moment. “Where do those lead?” he asked Varys.

The eunuch came to a halt, turning to look at the stairs. “Maegor’s Holdfast if one takes it up for a few minutes and eventually, the Tower of the Hand,” he explained, but then he seemed to understand what the short man was thinking. “My Lord, I advise we hurry.”

The dwarf remained silent, weighing his options. If he were to flee, this could be his only chance to confront his father and find out the truth about Tysha.

“Is Shae in the Red Keep?” he asked next.

Varys paused before answering. “Yes, My Lord. She is taking residence at your former chambers.”

“I cannot leave yet, Varys. There is one more thing I need to do,” Tyrion said, looking at him.

The Spider nodded slowly. “I will await for you by the harbour, Lord Tyrion,” he said. “But if the sun arises or the bells ring, I must leave you behind.”

“We have a deal, then.”

Going up those steps was torture for Tyrion, his leg muscles feeling on fire as he progressed. If he had not been determined to find answers and the need for revenge had not fuelled him, he would have long returned from this mad plan.

As Varys had explained, halfway up, the stairs branched. A narrow corridor stretched before him, leading behind the many royal rooms in that particular castle area.

He stepped through and was thankful for his short stature as he could avoid the cobwebs that had formed on the ceiling.

Occasionally, he would find small holes and little gaps where light shone through. If he dared to peep through, he could see different rooms and even corridors that existed on the level.

It did not take him long to find his room and the little passage that seemed to be masked by the unlighted hearth.

Shae was sleeping peacefully on the bed as if she had not openly lied in court to frame him and exposed their most personal moments in front of everyone.

Yet, his love for her still in his heart made him want to wake her up and ask her. Perhaps she was blackmailed and threatened to arrive in King’s Landing to testify lies. It would not be something new if one could consider how low Cersei and Tywin could fall to get what they wanted.

He often thought it was the only trait Cersei had taken from their father, his cruelty.

His hand stopped inches from waking her up because she had turned in her sleep, and then he noticed what was around her neck.

It was a beautiful necklace made of pure gold, and Tyrion remembered seeing it once in Cersei’s room. It was a gift she never wore; she always preferred the lion pendant she shared identically with her daughter, Myrcella.

Cersei

Shae was no thief, and there was no way she would have managed to steal it from his sister's chambers without the Lioness knowing it. Which meant only one thing...Cersei used it to buy Shae’s cooperation.

Perhaps Shae was not one to budge under interrogation or threats or perhaps...she was simply a Whore and she would gladly side with anyone giving her gold and coin.

Tyrion felt the betrayal all over again, a sharp pain coming from his heart that almost prevented him from breathing for a minute. He moved even closer to Shae, his mound clouded with anger, grief, and a need for justice.

So far, he had been played twice; his feelings had been taken advantage of, his pride wounded, and his life threatened. He was done being everyone’s scapegoat and punching bag.

All it took for him was a few simple moves, and he had Shae choking on the necklace while he used the bed and his short height as leverage, continuing to add pressure by pulling.

She cried and fought, not knowing what was happening, and perhaps that was for the best.

He felt tears stinging the edge of his eyes as she heard her choking, but he did not let go, he did not stop, not even after she stopped fighting and the room was silent once again.

After the deed, he sat by the foot of the bed and stared at the floor ahead of him, flexing his sore fingers while processing what he had done.

Perhaps I am a monster. I curse those around me, and I take lives as well, he thought with some self-pity that almost made him laugh with mockery. How pathetic of me. Cersei would love to hear me right now, he thought.

Tyrion sighed heavily, and after a moment of self-pity, he stood up. It was then that his eyes fell upon the crossbow on the wall. It was even loaded, just with the safety on.

All those times, he thought it was a mere decoration, but as Tyrion managed to get it in his hands, he realized it was real. It was functioning, and an extra arrow was placed right next to it.

Would he truly use it against his father? He was not sure, but he did feel this inner need. A Lannister always pays his debts, he told himself and took off the safety.

He chose to take the crossbow and the second arrow with him before returning to the secret passage. After the little hatch door moved back in place, Tyrion headed back for the stairs.

But just as he reached it, Tyrion caught sight of a passing shadow and frowned, wondering if his tired mind was playing games with him. His short legs allowed him to be rather silent, and as he stood by the edge of the corridor, he saw that it was not his imagination.

A figure clad in black was heading up, clearly intending to go for the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion felt his stomach twisting, a feeling that this person had no good plans in mind.

He followed him, crossbow ready in case he needed to defend himself.

Just as he suspected, the figure entered a corridor that Tyrion had to copy. It was at the top of the stairs, a sign that they were in the Tower of the Hand, the tallest tower of the Red Keep.

A similar passage seemed to exist behind the fireplace in the private solar of the Hand, and the hired assassin had to lower himself to fit. Thankfully, Tyrion was just the right size, and from the few times he was thankful for it,

He stood hidden by the entrance and watched the show unfold before him. It was clear now that this mysterious person was hired to take down Tywin, and for a moment, Tyrion thought of letting him be.

True, this way he would never get his answers, but at least his father would be dead. Perhaps the murderer would let him die of blood loss, and Tyrion could get some answers from the dying man.

That was the plan, until Josephine came into the picture.

Tyrion was surprised to find her present, let alone dressed so lightly. He noticed his father's robe wrapped around her shoulders as if it were hers, and the golden ropes gently tied around her neck like a necklace, as if he had cloaked her in a marriage ceremony.

His mind did not take long to suspect that she was always spending her time in Tywin’s chambers. If not, all this did not seem to be a recent occurrence. He could not help but wonder when she started to warm his bed, to so openly lay with him as if her duty was just that and not be a loyal protector.

This may not be the first time to do so. Of course, the idea alone made Tyrion hold back a scoff. His noble father, who was apparently heartbroken by the death of his wife enough to blame his own son, was sharing his bed with another woman.

His finger on the crossbow’s trigger felt tense, itching to shoot that damn arrow and end the terror of the pretender; the liar Tywin Lannister that portrayed himself as a saint in front of others, when he was the biggest sinner of them all.

“Leave the room, Josephine,” Tywin said, surprising his hidden son.

The dwarf really thought the opposite would take place. Tywin had a powerhouse at his command, a literal lioness ready to be unleashed when he wished it. The hired killer would stand no chance if he let her do her job.

“No, I won’t,” Josephine stubbornly argued, eyes glowing gold as she was ready to attack, choosing not to wait for him and take the risk.

“I said leave, Josephine,” his tone changed, and the woman froze one leg barely off the ground. She looked at him, surprised. “I command it.”

Tyrion watched with his mouth open, the scene unfolding before him offering him answers and creating questions simultaneously. This was what Josephine had meant during their talk, the now-broken promise Tywin had made to her.

He watched as the supernatural woman felt betrayed and hurt, fighting her body as she stepped back. She clearly did not want to leave him, but the power he had over her was too much, a terrifying sight for those watching.

The dwarf could not understand why he sent her away, risking being alone with the killer. Tywin Lannister might know how to use a sword, but he was currently unarmed, making him an easy target.

Was he so willing to die if it meant she was out of harm’s way? This was not the man Tyrion knew, and he wondered if this was all staged, a prank to mess with his remaining sanity.

Nothing mattered next as the hired killer went to finish the job, clearly not wishing to wait any longer for the little love quarrel to be done. Yet he would never succeed as Josephine managed to break free from the command and made her move.

The wisest option would have been to change and tackle the killer, stopping him from harming Tywin. But she did not act wisely then; she acted out of heart.

She barely managed to push Tywin down, taking the silent hit, and Tyrion watched as the blade dug dip into her thigh.

His finger twitched again. Seeing her on the ground, wounded, awoke a new feeling within the short man. A need to protect and act started growing within his beating heart, and the feeling of revenge was forgotten.

The killer tried to pull the sword back, but she stubbornly grabbed the sharp blade, letting it cut into her skin and preventing him from attacking them again. Her eyes glowed golden, and she and Tywin were ready to move, just as the Killer was ready to grab a different weapon.

Click

The arrow left the crossbow before Tyrion could process it, and he blinked out of a trance once he saw it passing through the killer’s side, earning a gasp and a grunt of pain as blood started to escape the wound.

He did not wait before he loaded and sent the second arrow flying, this time right through the killer’s neck, forever silencing him.

Chapter Text

Tywin and Josephine needed a few seconds to process what had happened. The killer's appearance was one thing, but Tyrion's sudden heroic save was another.

The Lion helped her stand, and he glared daggers at his son, quickly taking notice of the moved hearth. The sign of a corridor was barely visible from that angle. It was evident the killer had come through there, catching them off guard.

Tyrion held the crossbow in his hand, empty but still a sign that he was armed. Worse was the fact that he still kept it pointed at his father as if he wished to shoot him, and he was tempted.

“Working with hired killers now, are we?” Tywin asked and let go of Josephine, who grabbed the desk for support. “An upgrade over mercenaries, barbarians and whores.”

The dwarf could never catch a break, could he?

He had just saved him from further injury and potential death, yet he was being accused again. This game of having everyone point a finger in his direction was starting to annoy him, and for a moment, he dared to eye the dead man, curious if he could grab one of those exposed daggers.

“I just saved your life, and this is how you thank me?” Tyrion spat, glaring back at him. “I even wonder why I wasted my bolts on him. I should have let him finish the job.”

Tywin took a few steps towards him, his dominant hand shaking; the need to strike and discipline his son rose faster than smoke during a big fire. “So you admit you conspired to kill me, hmm?”

He took a step forward. “I did not, but how you accuse me makes me wish I had.”

Josephine watched the two of them argue, and she feared things would escalate and turn bad. The guard outside might be down, but there were others in proximity, and that if Tywin did not try to harm Tyrion himself first.

She took a deep breath and suppressed a growl as she pulled the sword from the thigh, feeling the blood now come out faster, quickly rolling down her leg. She paid it no mind as she moved to stand between Father and Son, putting most of her weight on her uninjured leg.

“This is enough,” she almost hissed, standing as an obstacle in the middle.

Tywin did not take her interference kindly, and all his concern for her was masked by annoyance and rising anger. Now is not the time to defend this little monster, his intense gaze said.

Watch me for I will, her defiance replied.

“Step aside, Josephine,” he said, the warning evident in his calm tone. When she did not move, he went for the big guns. “That’s a command. Step. Aside.”

To his surprise, she did not; she was again fighting his influence and power over her. It exhausted her, but thankfully, the constant pain coming from her injured leg kept her concentrated.

She could feel the blood loss affecting her, but she stubbornly remained standing, now almost fully holding her bleeding leg up, like how an animal did when one limb was injured.

“You will have to harm me if you wish to harm him more than you already have,” she said in a tone full of challenge and equal threat.

Her eyes were constant amber, and ancient magic and power flowed within as the Lioness within stirred. These were two souls in one body, both in sync and standing for what they wanted.

A rare occurrence.

It was always one controlling the other, the instincts of one influencing the other, who would be in control, and who would lead this body or the other. Josephine was mostly in command, but the Lioness took control on rare occasions.

But now, they both seemed to agree, which made her utterly terrifying and dangerous.

Tywin’s fingers twitched, so close to grabbing her by the neck and forcing her into submission. If she had not crossed the line before, she sure was now.

“Why do you love going against me for the dwarf, hmm?” he asked through his teeth, his lips forming a rather animalistic snarl.

They were merely a foot apart, and she arched her head higher, showing she was not intimidated nor would she bow to his will. “Because Tyrion is mine,” she almost barked. “My cub.”

There was a certain depth in her voice that not even Tywin had ever heard. An ancient force spoke in sync with her; those words bypassed all defences and settled deep into his mind.

He could not help but look at her in disbelief, never expecting her to act in such a way. Their bond was flaring, and as thoughts and emotions connected, he started to understand how outnumbered he suddenly was.

Tyrion, who had been watching everything, dropped the crossbow in shock. He stared with his mouth open at what he had just heard. No one had ever defended him to that degree, especially against his father.

But Josephine did not just defend him wholeheartedly; she literally called him her son, right before Tywin. She did not know him; they barely exchanged a few words, but she stood up for him.

It was then that Tyrion realized he was not entirely alone in this world. There was still someone who cared for him, other than Jaime. Someone who saw him as their son, not caring about bad habits, deformities, or bad jokes.

Tywin’s nostrils flared at the challenge, and the two stared at one another, resembling real-life Lions in the wild. Their muscles tense, none daring to back down while their bodies and eyes did all the work.

But that was until Tywin took notice of a change in Josephine’s breathing, her chest heaving slightly more and her heart beating faster. Her skin seemed a tone paler, and despite the clouding anger, he dared to glance down only to see the blood that had coated her leg and almost formed a small pool beneath it.

Had he been so blinded by his anger for Tyrion that he failed to see her condition?

Josephine’s consciousness started to slip, and weakness from blood loss finally caught up with her. The golden glow in her eyes faded away, and she stumbled forward, Tywin barely catching her up in time before she crashed.

Stupid, selfless girl, Tywin thought as he supported her and glared at Tywin.

“What are you standing there for?” he snapped at him. “Go bring Pycelle at once!”

The lioness grabbed his bicep as she tried to remain conscious. “No... Qyburn...” she strained to say, and Tywin did not argue.

It did not take long for Qyburn to be summoned. He was surprised when the guard knocked on his door, but he quickly grabbed his supplies and rushed for the solar of the Hand. He had never been in this huge tower, but he chose to let the sightseeing for another day.

Now, he was busy attending to Josephine, who had to sit on the bed or risk passing out. Qyburn had her leg up, her calf against his thigh, as he was busy wrapping the herb-covered cloth.

Her hand had already been treated and wrapped, and the wound was superficial and did not need much attention.

Her leg, on the other hand...

The bleeding had stopped after he had so boldly cauterized the wound, stopping any more blood from escaping. To his surprise, Josephine barely made a sound and only hissed faintly, grabbing the bed sheets beneath her for dear life.

After that, a medicinal salve was applied, and she could smell the herbs and alcohol it had within. She did not know what exactly it was, and it burnt when he pressed it against her wound, but she did not fight him.

Then came the stitches, an equally painful procedure but nothing compared to the hot metal he used before.

“I must say, I am surprised you called for me, my lady,” Qyburn said, daring to look at her as he was almost done wrapping her leg.

She had been busy studying him, watching him as he worked, and observing what he did. Whether she did this out of curiosity or mistrust was not clear.

“You saved Jaime’s hand,” she started, inhaling sharply when she felt the stinging pain from her wound. “I would rather die than lose my leg over an old man’s medicinal ignorance.”

Her words amused Qyburn, who was done with the final stage of treatment. “You have lost a lot of blood, my lady, but I can already see quick healing with your wound. I advise you to take it easy for at least half a moon rotation. Do not put pressure on it or the stitches will rip.”

Josephine nodded in understanding. She suspected she would have to be more limited with her moves, and while it annoyed her, she knew she had to comply if she wished to return to her normal self.

“I will, thank you,” she told him as he stood up.

“I have left you some poppy milk to help fight the pain.”

Just then, Jaime entered the room, clearly out of breath. Worry was evident in his emerald eyes, fearing the worst.

Jaime had been awoken not so long ago by the sound of bells, signalling an intruder. A Lannister soldier quickly summarised it for him, speaking of a now-dead hired assassin and Josephine having been injured in the attack.

The last part was enough to make him put a tunic on and rush to find her, leaving behind his useless golden hand, barely registering that he did as his mind was on her.

He had never climbed up the Tower of the Hand steps so fast. He almost stumbled more than once but kept going, reaching his target almost fully out of breath.

The Lannister guard let him pass, and he saw Qyburn attending to Josephine’s leg.

His presence became known without him speaking, and Qyburn excused himself, leaving the two alone in the room.

Jaime walked towards her with hesitant steps, his emerald eyes checking her body for any other injuries. He found none other than her leg, and he exhaled in release.

“Josie...” he called her name.

The Lioness offered him a comforting smile and patted the side of the bed. “I am fine, Jaime. I had worse wounds in my life.”

Her words did not really help with his worries, but he obediently sat by her side, helping her move further into the bed without straining her leg. He did not even question why she was in his father’s chambers; the answer was quite clear.

“What of the killer?”

By now, the body of the assassin had been removed, and his blood had been washed from the stone walls. The servants had been quick and efficient, working while Josephine had her wound been attended.

“Tyrion killed him,” she informed him, seeing his eyes darting around the room. “He is with your father now, talking.”

Jaime nodded. “Do we at least know who he was? Or who sent him?”

Josephine shook her head. “I am afraid not. I suspect that someone paid them, thinking they could get an advantage with the latest chaos. The assassin was after Tywin, that was clear.”

“Of course he was...” the young lion took another deep breath. “I don’t think I ever heard someone daring to go after him.”

“Now, perhaps,” she corrected him, earning his attention. “When he was still an heir and then a young lord... he did face quite a few attempts, one riskier than the other.” Josephine could not help but chuckle at the memories. “That, of course, changed after we dealt with the Tarbecks and the Reynes. That was when he became truly fearsome and made my job much easier.”

Something in the way she narrated the past and her last comment made Jaime hold back a chuckle. He feared that if he dared laugh at that moment, his father would be summoned with that scolding look on his face.

“I mean, I would have thought after the massacre he would be a target. You know, need for revenge and all.”

Her mood changed. “You need to have survivors and people in need of revenge,” she reminded him. “There were none.”

Jaime suppressed a shiver, being reminded just how cruel his father truly could be, and that while he was still young when he had Josephine and later Joanna. He did not wish to know how much more he could be now, bitter and cold after years of loneliness and grief.

Tywin had taken Tyrion into the Hand’s study. The dwarf sat at the chair he had sat a month ago demanding Casterly Rock, watching as his father got to work.

“I want every ship anchored, every carriage checked, and every gate down,” he ordered the soldier. “I want to know of any suspicious activity, and I want the guards responsible for tonight’s watch to be brought to me at once.”

He was calm, the usual Tywin calm, but one should not be fooled by it. Behind his golden-flecked emerald eyes, there was storming rage, his temper matching that of an active volcano, ready to explode.

The soldier nodded and rushed outside, ready to relay the orders and get his men to work. The bells rang outside, waking everyone in the Red Keep and across King’s Landing.

Once the heavy door of the study was closed, the dwarf found himself alone in the room with his father.

He did not dare to speak or look at him until a goblet of wine was placed before him. Surprised, Tyrion looked up at his father.

“While unbelievable, you helped stop the killer. You earned it,” Tywin told his son, letting him take the goblet. “Perhaps you are not as big of a disappointment.”

The last phrase tiptoed between insult and compliment. Tyrion chooses to take the latter, wishing not to chase his luck. He showed his silent gratitude by taking a few deep sips of the arbour wine, feeling on edge as adrenaline still coursed through his body.

“Before you rush into conclusions,” he started, lowering the goblet and earning his father’s attention. “I did not know the killer or his plan. I merely spotted him in those secret corridors.”

Tywin arched an eyebrow as he leaned his back against the desk. “And why were you roaming them in the middle of the night?”

“I was escorted by Varys, actually,” Tyrion informed him. “The eunuch feared for my safety since my dear sister still wishes to see me dead, and he wanted me to join him in Essos.”

Perhaps it was a foul move to snitch on Varys that openly, but it was not as if the bald man did not have a head start. He himself had said that if he heard the bells ring, he would leave without Tyrion.

As things settled into his mind, Tyrion could not help but wonder. If he suspected the bells, did Varys hire this assassin? Did he wish to take down the man truly in control of the seven kingdoms?

Why save Tyrion, then? Perhaps he pitied the dwarf who would take the blame again.

“That’s convenient for you, isn’t it?” Tywin asked, still suspicious.

Tyrion sighed and chose to drink some wine before continuing. “Not really. It would still be unnecessarily complicated if I wish to arrange any of that to fall in your good graces. Plus,” he took another sip. “I believe we are past the point where I try to earn your approval like a good dog.”

If Tywin wanted to comment on that, he would not have done so. Instead, he lifted his head slightly higher and sized his son up and down, studying him and mentally debating whether he believed him.

“Since you were apparently following the killer, it does not explain why you were armed and, from the looks of it, heading for my chambers.”

“I merely came for a talk, or that was my initial point,” he stared back at his father, finally immune to his judging glare. “The crossbow was just a precaution in case you sent the guards after me.”

“And what did you intend of us to talk?”

Tyrion took a deep breath. This was it. “I want to ask about Tysha.”

Unsurprisingly, Tywin did not recognise the name. “Who?”

“The girl I married when I was a mere boy of 3 and 10,” the dwarf’s tone changed. “Did you know the truth about it?”

The Old Lion took a momentary pause before he answered. “I did know she was not a whore and yes I told Jaime to lie.”

“Why?” he asked, sounding slightly like a wounded and betrayed child. “Why couldn’t you let me stay happy?”

Tywin pressed his lips until they formed a thin line, his grip at the edge of the desk increasing. “Because despite everything, you are still a Lannister, and we do not settle for lowborn women with nothing to offer.” This left Tyrion speechless for a few seconds. “I do not care about your happiness in a marriage because there is none in them.”

That made Tyrion snap from his initial shock. “Right,” he scoffed, glancing at the goblet still in his hand. He took a few greedy sips.

“One way or another, you could still do our duty to your house even then, by marrying someone worthy enough like one of Lord Frey’s daughters.”

The dwarf suppressed a shiver. “One of Lord Frey’s daughters?” he asked in disbelief. “Would you really want to have that old horny pig as a bigger part of this family?”

The old Lion did not answer, yet his face said enough. The idea alone disgusted him, and he was bitterly reminded that Genna had been betrothed to a Frey, which gave the perverted old man a connection to House Lannister.

Tyrion studied his father with the tip of his eye and realized that he was mostly being theoretical, giving a rather bad example, but the Imp got the point.

Now, with all those things out of the way, the two men stayed silent for a solid minute.

Until the short man chose to break it. “So, what now? What is to become of me?” he swirled the remnants of his wine in the goblet.

“You are a free man, based on the combat results,” Tywin reminded him. “And since you are not as incompetent as others, you can regain your position as Master of Coin and your old chambers.”

Tyrion did not reply directly, fighting the urge to try his luck again. Now that he had so openly saved both his father and his partner, he could still ask for Casterly, but he stopped himself before repeating the same mistake.

Last time, it did not work for him last time, and he knew better than to chase his strained luck. So, he merely mumbled a simple ‘joy’ and drowned his bitter thoughts and sarcasm with the rest of the wine.

Chapter Text

It did not take long for Tywin to dismiss Tyrion and question the first report from the soldiers. Needless to say, he was not pleased and sent them back out, refusing to let it all pass.

Someone had hired an assassin and wished to take him down, and Tywin needed to know whom.

All of a sudden, he had a lot on his mind. The small peace he had was long gone, and his temper was flaring. Just one night of no drama—was it too much to ask?

With a heavy sigh, he left his study and checked on Josephine. Based on the number of fallen nails on the candle, he could tell that he had been missing for quite a while, and Qyburn should have long left.

He entered slowly, glancing around the room, expecting to find her awake. Surprisingly, she was not, and Tywin suspected that Qyburn must have given her extra poppy milk to ensure she would get proper rest.

Josephine curled up on the bed, doing her best to avoid straining her leg. She lay upon the furs that kept the bed warm, and Tywin’s robe pooled all around her, keeping her warm against the low temperatures of the night.

As Tywin closed the door, the Lioness opened her hooded eyes. Her gaze was faintly distant, sleep and medicine working against her, trying to put her to sleep.

The Lion noticed and shook his head faintly, marching towards the bed. “You should have been deep asleep by now and resting properly,” he pointed out.

“I cannot while you are absent,” she mumbled, holding back any word slur from her loose tongue, a side effect of the Milk of Poppy.

Tywin sighed, wishing she would be properly resting instead of being stubborn. “Get under the covers,” he instructed her.

Josephine’s eyes felt heavy. “I am fine. It's comfortable,” she mumbled, sounding more like a sick child than a grown-up woman.

Of course, Tywin was not going just to let her. She deserved proper sleep and rest if she wished to heal that leg of hers.

With some mumbled curses at her drugged behaviour, he moved to help her. Like last time, he lifted her in his arms and felt how quickly she clung to him, like a cat perched upon a tree.

Or at least she tried, her body weakened by the injury and the medicine.

Always careful of her leg, he gently laid her beneath the fur covers, and she reluctantly let him go.

Tywin joined her from the other side a few seconds later, pulling the warm covers up enough to reach his chest.

Of course, Josephine did not take long to move and cling to his side. She gently placed an arm on his chest as she pressed herself more against it. She moved her head on his chest and focused on the sound of his beating heart, finding his presence soothing.

He wrapped a hand around her waist. “You are a troublesome woman, do you know what?” he asked, staring ahead at the other end of the room. “You never do what you are ordered.”

By now, Josephine had trouble staying awake and kept her eyes half open. She stared ahead at the locked door but could sense his steady breathing and heartbeat, quickly in sync with hers.

“I did... when you sent me away,” she reminded him, the medicine making her braver and her tongue act faster than her logical thinking. “I wish I could have broken that order a long time ago and had returned to you sooner.”

Tywin took half a minute longer to answer as his hand moved from her waist, gently caressing the outer part of her arm in a familiar soothing manner, a trick he had learnt that made her fall asleep faster.

“I would have much preferred that as well,” he mumbled, barely audible to her.

The Lioness closed her eyes, his little trick working effectively. She tried and failed to suppress a yawn. “That old witch was right,” she mumbled, pressing her body closer to his. “Commands can be broken... when... one’s mate is in danger...”

Her words made Tywin blink, and he needed a few seconds to register what she had just said. Once he did, he glanced at her, wishing to ask her more, but she had already fallen asleep.

That word... mate... it made circles in his mind to the point he felt a migraine forming. Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and he could not hold back the sigh that followed.

Mate was an abstract word, long gone in her family's history. By his time, it was but a mere legend of her people. It was a bedtime story passed down across generations, talking of fated ones meant to spend their lives together.

In ancient times, that thing existed and was something almost anyone of her kind had. But Lan the clever and Nemea changed that, bonding the two families together and preventing her descendants from eventually finding their other half.

He decided to justify her words as a side effect of the poppy milk, for he knew he would find no sleep if he tried to dissect her words.

Tywin looked at her one last time and then gently kissed her head. He inhaled her scent and closed his eyes, letting her presence and quiet breathing guide him into a much-needed sleep.

Since she was on strict bed rest, Josephine could not attend to proper meals or go out. Instead, she had to do everything in Tywin’s chambers, which she did.

Thankfully for her, Tywin had ensured things remained discreet, and no loose gossip would dare leave outside Maegor’s fast. The last thing they needed was for rumours to spread when they had tried so hard to prevent them.

Thus, the following morning, Josephine found herself with a tray on top of her lap. Her latest maid had arranged a good variety and had brought it to her since she could not fast anywhere else for a few days.

Tywin had joined her, though he consumed little, as he did every morning. He had chosen to work from his chambers, occupying the desk he had, to ensure he was close to Josephine and passively kept her company.

He did fear the stubborn woman would try to get up if she wished, so it was better for him to keep an eye on her. He had not brought up what she mumbled in her sleep and chose not to, having more important topics that required their attention.

Like the assassin sent after them.

“A faceless assassin,” he pointed out, leaning back on his chair. “They are the only ones talking of the Red God in such a way and the only ones you cannot pay more to gain them on your side.”

Josephine had finished eating, but it was evident she was thinking about it carefully: “Could it be the Iron Bank? Due to the money we have yet to pay back?”

Due to the first two years of the War of the Five Kings, the Lannister coffers were strained. They kept producing gold, though the rate at which it was spent was bigger than it was mined. Plus, Robert’s bad council and over-spending had burdened the crown as well.

With Robb dead and the War now less intense, they had the chance to slowly repay their debt, but they needed time.

“They cannot risk me dying, for they know no one else would be able to pay the debt in time,” he reminded her, spinning the lion finger he wore on his index finger. “It could be Varys, that treacherous spider.”

The Lioness frowned. “No... we are missing something,” she commented, earning his attention. “The faceless men are silent assassins, one of the best there is. They wear the faces of their victims as masks, and they are not sloppy at their jobs. This one, he was the opposite of what they represent. Unplanned, sloppy... he should have killed you before I returned to the room, not wait for so long. He hesitated.”

“Then those words he said, you suspect it was a lie?”

She nodded. “Perhaps he told them so he could erase any suspicions or traces of who hired him.”

Tywin thought deeply for a moment. “Hmm, it still does not give us any clue who hired them,” he pointed out. “What we do know is that someone wants me dead, and they had planned it well enough to use the chaos of the trial and the combat to act.”

“The investigation needs to change, then. We need to search differently.”

He grabbed his wine goblet, taking a few deep sips. “It would be much easier if we actually had a master of whispers to do it for us,” he mumbled, mostly to himself.

Josephine heard him, and an idea flashed in her mind: “Then let’s appoint a new one, Olenna.”

The look Tywin gave her was rare. It was a mix of disbelief and lack of amusement at her words. “She is a Thorn by our side, one that does not need to be given more power and control,” he argued.

“She is currently an ally and the only one capable of stepping up for such position,” she argued. “By mere gossip alone, she is aware of so many things happening across Westeros, and she is among the few who won’t turn against us. Margaery is to be Queen, and no matter how much you despise one another, Olenna knows she can’t harm you without harming all she planned. This is how we know she won’t withhold any information she finds because her granddaughter's future is at stake; her family’s fate is now bound to ours.”

Tywin did not reply immediately, instead he weighted her arguments in his head. He clearly did not want to elevate Olenna’s power and influence, let alone inflate her ego... but perhaps there would be no other choice.

“I will think about it,” he replied after a momentary pause. “Why did you ask Qyburn to attend you last night?”

The sudden question and change of topic were unexpected to Josephine, who blinked and tilted her head to the side. “Because I trust his skills,” she answered him nonetheless. “He did help Jaime’s hand... and I do not trust Pycelle. His loyalty is ever-changing, and his skills are very backwards. The world progresses, but he does not.”

Her honesty was more than enough, for Tywin had similar points in his mind. He had been rethinking whether to restate the old man as Grand Maester or not. Pycelle’s pestering about it did not help make the final decision.

“I have been having similar thoughts as of recently,” he told her. “Mayhap it is time for him to retire and someone else take his place as Grand Maester.”

“Qyburn,” Josephine realized, earning a nod from him.

Chapter Text

As much as Tywin preferred Josephine’s company over anyone else’s, there were duties he had to attend to. More specifically, a small council meeting where he would propose the latest member changes and discuss what it is expected to happen next.

While he was away, Josephine was bored, but thankfully, Ser Cane was more than willing to keep her company. Of course, he had also received strict orders from Tywin to ensure she would not do anything stupid and try to move.

Midway through a discussion about Essos, Ser Cane’s land of origin, there was a knock at the door.

“Do not move, my lady,” Ser Cane said, standing up from the chair, heading for the heavy wooden door.

He opened it slowly, one hand on his sword in case he needed to defend himself and Josephine. Surprisingly, he was not met with an enemy but an unlikely ally.

“I see the old Lion left a dog at his place,” Oberyn commented, a smug smirk on his face as he eyed the tall knight. “One who must be feel rather bored locked in a room all day.”

Josephine, who heard his voice, could not help but roll her eyes. “Leave him alone, Oberyn.” Her voice was loud enough for the two men to hear her.

The Dornish Prince smirked in pride, a glimmer of mischief in his dark eyes. Ser Cane was hesitant, but he let him in. Unwontedly, eyes traveled his body before he felt a strong pair of eyes on him.

Looking up and ahead, he caught sight of Josephine, holding back a smirk. She clearly had caught him ‘enjoying’ the view, and he had to clear his throat to regain his composure.

“You can go get something to eat yourself, Ser Cane. I will be fine with Oberyn,” she told him, offering a small smile.

The knight was hesitant. “I will be back soon, my lady.”

Oberyn watched him leave, and once they were alone in the room, he walked towards the bed.

“Shouldn’t you also be in the Small Council Meeting?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

The Dornish Prince was using a temporary cane, a plane walking stick until his knee recovered from the heavy blow against the Mountain’s head. He leaned on it out of boredom, having no true trouble standing.

“Shouldn’t you be in your chambers, Lioness?” the sneaky prince questioned, making her hold back a chuckle.

“How is your leg?” she asked, finding it wiser to change the topic than try to explain to him. The smirk on his face was more than enough for her to know what ideas he already had in mind.

“It is not a preferable weapon or tool,” he glanced at the walking stick and then at her. “Women, though, feel sorry for me. They wish to help me.”

This time, Josephine could not hold back the chuckle. “Only you would think of it that way,” she commented, offering him a graceful smile. “At least now we match.”

Oberyn smirked, feeling pride at hearing her chuckle and seeing her smile. For far too many days, she had been quiet, serious, and even sad. Now, she was free of all that burden, and Oberyn took it upon himself to ensure she would not fall that low.

“How is your leg, Lioness? And how are you?” he asked with genuine concern.

“My leg is healing fast. I am good but annoyed by the confinements.”

The Dornish Prince moved closer and sat by the edge of the bed, his smile long gone. “I have men searching as well, Lioness. They will not leave a spot unchec, and I vow to help you find whoever hired the assassin.”

His words and vows made her look soft, and her smile weakened. True loyalty and friendship were rare in the world, and they were even rarer for her, whose whole world was the Lannisters.

Yet here she was, with an ally no one could ever replace; hearing of serious unbreakable vows for her well being.

“Thank you,” she told him, nodding faintly in gratitude. “But I feel I should remind you that the assassin was not for me but for Tywin. If you choose to help us, you will be helping him.”

Oberyn’s next words surprised her. “I know.” his maturity was a new thing for him. “I care less for him than I do for you. The assassin might have wanted Tywin, but you were harmed. That, I take it personally.”

“I know how stubborn you are, so I won’t try to fight you,” she offered him a smile.

A smile that Oberyn returned, mischief glowing in his eyes. “Next time, Lioness, let him get harmed a little bit. He could use a new scar... or two...”

“Oberyn,” she called his name, her tone a mixture of motherly scolding and amusement. “It is my duty to protect him; you know that.”

Her words did not seem to stop the Dornish Prince. “Duty, huh? Is this how people call love nowadays?” he stood up, smirking at her speechless expression. He winked. “I will visit you again, don't worry. Hopefully, in a better place than this boring room.”

Without another word, Oberyn started to walk towards the door. His smirk remained, and he flashed it with a flirty wink at Ser Cane, who had just returned and was standing outside the door.

The Lannister Knight hid his flustered expression by nodding with a low head and entering the Lion chambers, leaving Oberyn in a rather good mood.

It had been three days since the assassination attempt, and things had slowly been turning back to normal. There was still no clue of who wired him and no sighting of Varys, who must have reached Essos by then.

Tywin had placed a bounty, though not many had come forward to claim it. It did not help his mood, but with so many things going on across the realm, he had to prioritize.

In those three days, Josephine had remained in strict bed rest. Her leg was healing faster than normal, but Qyburn insisted she take it easy. With Tywin busy, the Lioness’ company was mostly Ser Cane and Jaime, with Oberyn sending her Dornish Wine while he also recovered.

Cersei had learnt of the attack but had not dared to pay a personal visit, clearly displeased that Josephine was currently residing in her father's chambers. She did, however, ensure that Josephine’s maid had essential oils and scented sticks in case the Lioness needed them.

Only Tyrion had yet to make an appearance, but Josephine did not rush him, knowing a lot had happened for him as well in a few days.

By the afternoon of the third day, Josephine found herself going crazy from her immobility. The beast within wished to be out, her sore muscles begging her for some movement, for some action.

She had sent Ser Cane away with the excuse of wishing to sleep, but she could not follow up on that attempt. Frustrated and annoyed, Josephine decided to chase her luck and move. She had just gotten up, and a knock on the closed chamber made her freeze.

A second later, an unexpected visitor entered.

Tyrion walked the familiar paths of the Red Keep, his steps barely audible. Servants passed by him, giving him a small nod before continuing to do what they had to. He spent the last three days either with the Small Council, buried behind books, or pulled into certain brothels by Oberyn.

The dwarf had not been fully over Shae, and much to the viper’s dismay, he found no pleasure in the women he paid to keep him company. Instead of thinking of their naked bodies or letting wine cloud his judgment, Tyrion was thinking of the incident that took place.

The man he had just killed was something he would eventually forget. It was what Josephine had said, how she had called him; that refused to leave his mind.

For hours, Tyrion would stare at the written notes containing the expenses of the Royal Family, while his mind replayed that scene in his head repeatedly.

He had not found the courage to approach her, fearing those words were a mere lie to protect him from Tywin. Plus, the Old Lion was spending too much time around Josephine, preventing anyone from being in her presence.

It was something that, in Tyrion’s opinion, came rather close to obsession. An emotion he did not have his father capable of showing, especially to another woman that was not his dead wife.

He also needed to come to terms with Josephine’s presence in his chambers that night and the fact that she had most likely been sleeping with Tywin for a while now.

His opportunity to get answers finally arose when Tommen needed help handling a few realm matters and open hearings, forcing Tywin to spend more time with the young King and away from his partner.

This allowed Tyrion to visit Josephine. He knocked on the closed door, trying to ignore the judgy look of the soldier standing guard.

He thought, 'Father does know how to pick them'  When he received no reply, he pushed the door open and entered.

A few steps in, he found Josephine standing, doing her best to keep her injured leg off the ground. She was holding the edge of the bed, and she seemed determined to find a way to walk, her gaze focused forward.

Immediately, Tyrion rushed in to help her, fearing she would pull open the stitches or fall while trying to walk.

“Lady Josephine,” he called her, coming closer. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Their eyes met, and the dwarf saw a familiar anger behind her grey eyes. “I can’t stand being bed trapped anymore, Tyrion,” she barked, growling faintly in frustration; showing him she was really seriously tired of her conditions.

“Then, how about we take it to the arm chairs?” Tyrion suggested, the idea popping in his mind.

Josephine eyed the red arm chairs not so far away and nodded. Anything would be better than lying on that bed.

Tyrion moved to her side and tried to help her, offering her support. She placed her hand on his shoulder as she gently placed the injured leg on the floor, making sure she applied as minimal pressure as possible.

With his help and support, they made it to the armchairs. She collapsed on Tywin’s chair, leaving a heavy sigh at the small change of scenery. She swore if she had remained a minute longer lying there, she would forget how to walk.

She offered Tyrion a thankful look and watched as the dwarf headed for the small table by the bed. He grabbed two goblets and filled them with wine before walking towards her.

Like a gentleman, he handed her one. “Based on your reaction, I say you need it,” he told her, realizing her hesitation. “Not to mention, it tastes far better than poppy milk. Trust me.”

Josephine looked at him, momentarily focusing on the scar across his face. He had been through the same thing, and he clearly wished to help her in the only way he knew.

“Thank you,” she said as she finally took it.

She watched him wobble to the other armchair and perch himself up before taking a sip as well. He tried to remain neutral, but his mismatched eyes often fell to her wrapped-up leg, now hidden beneath her dress.

Josephine, always watching, took notice. “I am fine, you know. This would have been worse if you had not been present at the right time.”

Tyrion nodded, slightly relieved to hear she was doing okay. But as the topic was brought up, as that specific night replayed in his mind, Tyrion was reminded why he had come in the first place.

He took a few sips to calm down his nerves and find his courage. “Did you mean what you said back then?” he asked, earning a faint head tilt from her. “Calling me your cub.”

The lioness’s gaze softened, and a gentle, motherly smile appeared on her face. “I did mean it, and I still do,” she explained to him, earning his full attention. I have realised this was the only way I could truly defend you, for last time,e it did not go so well.”

He lowered his goblet. “Last time?” he repeated, unable to understand what incident she was referring to.

“Your mother’s death,” she clarified, making Tyrion part his lips in silent surprise. “Your father, was heart broken by her passing and he was debating to send you away...or end you... “ she finally started to drink the wine, finding her mind drifting to the memories of that dark day.

Josephine had been present in both births, standing by Joanna’s side and offering encouragement. The two women might not have been at the best of terms, but Joanna appreciated her presence; knowing she would ensure the Maester did his job properly.

The birth of Tyrion had been a rather painful moment for Lady Lannister, the big head causing her complications and a lot of blood loss.

When the dwarf was out, Josephine was the first to hold him. She would have given him to Tywin, who stood by the door, when Joanna started to pale, and the Maester realized she could die.

As he rushed to help her, Josephine stepped b,ck; trying to calm down the cryng bloody baby. Chaos erupted in the room, with the maids trying to help stop the bleeding and save their lady while the Maester barked orders and demanded tools to help him with the procedure.

Tywin barely got a glimpse of all as Kevan managed to pull him out of the room, shielding him from the deformed baby and what would be the death of his wife.

Josephine slowly lowered the goblet from her lips, finding its bitter taste matching the liquid. “Tywin had stolen a glance at you and left the room, not knowing how to deal with everything.” She swirled the red liquid as she moved the goblet in a circular motion. “I peeked at his thoughts and realized his plans... I chose to intervene.”

She would never forget the look Tywin gave her when she stepped into the room, demanding to talk about baby Tyrion. The coldness in his eyes, pure hatred and anger, she had only seen once, and that had been directed at a lord who had dared to place his hand on her during a visit.

But even that look paled in comparison to what she was seeing now. Not even Tytos, Lord Reyne, and Lord Tarbeck had witnessed such hatred, which said a lot.

The way Tywin raised his voice and pushed all the desk items to the floor was a reaction he had never shown before. For a woman he did not wish to marry and had trouble falling in love with, he was mourning her deeply.

Josephine inhaled sharply, realizing Tyrion was waiting to hear more while processing everything she told him. It was the first time someone truly talked about his mother and what had happened that day.

“I approached your father in his study, wishing to talk to him about you and your future. But he was so overwhelmed by anger and grief, he did not want to listen to me. What was supposed to be a discussion, turned into a heated argument... my attempts to defend you and ensure your safety were bad timed with everything that happened... and so, blinded by rage... Tywin commanded me away.”

She stopped swirling the wine and merely took a few sips, keeping her attention forward to the Lannister Banner hanging above the fireplace. Her heart felt heavy as she was reminded of the pain she felt when he said those words, and the pain that would follow her for years the more she remained away from him and the family.

Tyrion was speechless, his lips parted in constant surprise. Everything Josephine had told him was being processed, and he was glad he was sitting, for he was sure he would have collapsed, losing the earth beneath his feet.

The dwarf finally understood why Tywin, his own father, hated him so much. It was not because of his deformity but because Tyrion had hurt him more than anyone else could. He had not only taken his wife in childbirth but was also the reason Tywin made the mistake of sending Josephine away.

He still felt annoyed and angry, for he was a mere newborn when all of this occurred, yet he would be blamed for years on end for things he could not control. But at least, now, he had a better idea of everything.

Now, he could see things for what they really were, and there was someone willing to tell him the truth rather than let him suffer in ignorance and silence.

“This... this is a lot to take in,” Tyrion said, tossing his head back and emptying his goblet in one go. “And I am not drunk enough.”

Josephine watched him jump off the chair before heading for a refill, feeling slightly better now that this was out of her chest.

As Tyrion returned with his goblet full, she lifted her in a silent salute to new beginnings.

Tyrion copied her. “Let me thank you, at least, for standing up for me even when I was a mere newborn.”

She offered him a gentle smile. “You have nothing to thank me for. We are family, even if we have our differences.”

Chapter Text

Margaery and Tommen's marriage would occur by the end of the week. Things had finally calmed down, everyone had healed, and it was about time to continue with the plan.

Guests would come once again- well, those who had chosen to leave after the last wedding, and no one blamed them for doing so. Among them, the Royal Family expected Genna and Kevan to make an appearance since they didn’t at the last wedding.

Plus, the siblings liked Tommen far more than they liked Joffrey.

They would come soon, but a different guest arrived in King’s Landing before them.

Willas Tyrell, the current heir of High Garden and the older brother of Margaery and Loras, had chosen to appear for, hopefully, the last marriage for his sister.

When he arrived in King’s Landing and later the Red Keep, he was welcomed by his dazzling, smiley sister, who was the happiest to see him. His grandmother had not been present, but Willas was informed that he expected him in her solar to catch up with.

Olenna’s solar was placed in one of the best areas of the Red Keep. It had plenty of sun, a stunning view of the Blackwater Sea, and a huge room with all the necessities she wished for. During that visit, she was not alone in the room, for she had a guest staying over.

Josephine was finally healed and going, having been invited for some fruits and wine. The two women had barely seen each other, with Olenna having been kept busy due to her new role in the Small Council and Josephine being confined inside Tywin’s chambers until she had healed.

But now, the two women could catch up and enjoy a nice break from the chaos that erupted in their lives from the night of the assassination. Little did the Lioness know that this was all intentional and perfectly timed, as the Queen of Thorns had one more plan and mind.

The said plan just happened to pass through the solar doors, his walking cane making a faint sound each time it met the stone floor beneath.

“Ah, Willas, my boy,” Olenna greeted as Josephine stood up. “I hope you had a good trip.”

Willas offered a charming smile. “It was a relatively pleasant and easy, grandmother.”

He was a young man who possessed the famous Tyrell beauty like his siblings. Currently, he is the heir, but if Loras were to get married first and have a son, Highgarden would be given to him.

It was not that Willas did not wish to get married, though he did find hunting and his horses far more interesting than women. It was that the young heir was a cripple, limping and using a walking cane; having been injured by Oberyn many years ago during a jousting tournament.

That alone made many women find him unattractive, and lords were unwilling to give him their daughters. Plus, Willas was smart and could tell when a woman was interested in him for his money and his fame rather than anything else about him.

His eyes went to Josephine, who offered a small courtesy and smile. “Lord Willas.”

“You remember Lady Josephine, don’t you, Willas? Olenna asked, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

He offered a charming smile. “Lady Josephine, of course,” he grabbed her hand and gently kissed the back of her palm. “How could I forget? I am glad to see you have been doing well, my lady.”

Josephine had little patience for most men and even less for men who chose to touch her. Considering what most men wanted from her, one could not blame her.

Yet, she did not react to Willas because she knew him and knew he was different. From the first moment they met, while she was a guest at Highgarden, he had made it clear why he was not like the rest.

This was why Josephine truly enjoyed her time back then.

Josephine’s travels had been harsh, for some part of them. Many times, she found herself in the middle of trouble or fighting, often having to fight to ensure she remained alive. But she did not always win the battles she bravely chose to take head-on.

In one of them, weakened by a poisoned dart and starvation, Josephine failed and ended up being captured by a group of travelling merchants. Still in her Lion Form, it was the only thing that had saved her, and she was smart enough not to change, knowing that as a woman, she would meet a harsher fate.

Chained and locked in a cage, she was part of a wild animal parade the men showed to rich lords, clearly taking high prices for the creatures they possessed. Josephine was no exception; lions were rare, especially in Reach.

She planned to get stronger and wait, grabbing the first chance she had of freedom to take down her hunters. Little did she know that chance came faster than she expected and from an unlikely ally.

The travelling group had entered Highgarden, attracting all kinds of people to watch. Considering the Tyrells' riches, the men had thought they could actually sell something and become rich.

They planned to approach Willas and his love for horses since the men had a beautiful white Sand Steed and a Zorse from Essos in their possessions. While the young lord was busy with the horses, his grandmother looked appalled and disgusted.

She found nothing useful or interesting in all of this and was about to turn away when she spotted a cage at the far end of the little camp. The old woman dared approach the cage, which was half covered by a blanket-like material.

Olenna halted close to the bars upon seeing the Lioness held inside. Old wounds decorated her body, golden fur covered in dirt and dried blood. The animal sensed her and opened her eyes, recognising the elderly woman on the other side of her cage.

“Impossible,” the Queen of Thorns muttered as her eyes connected with the yellow ones of the Lioness.

The lioness stood up slowly and approached. The faintest glow of gold caught Olenna’s gaze, and she noticed a familiar necklace smartly hidden in her fair. As she looked at the Lioness again, her suspicions were confirmed when the beast started withdrawing, and a naked woman took its place.

Josephine had aged, though not as much as Olenna, since the last time they saw each other. She was weakened and malnourished, clearly having faced tough days in the past.

At that moment, Olenna had many questions, but the shouting of men nearby reminded her she did not have the time for them. Thus, she formed a plan.

By nightfall of the same day, Josephine was awakened by an intruder. Yet, the paid assailant did not harm her and merely broke the chains holding her cage door closed. He did the same for the others and then slipped into the night just as the animals broke free and tried to escape.

Still holding grudges against her captors, Josephine chose to act before leaving. Her need for revenge led her to her animalistic instincts, and she took down every man who belonged to this group.

She ripped limbs and then necks, feeling the bones crushing beneath her sharp teeth as the sweet flavour of blood filled her mouth. The days of humiliation and the pain they had caused her were returned to them tenfold as she made sure to leave none alive or intact.

And when she was done, she slipped into the night and headed for the Main Keep. She managed to slip through the entrance without anyone noticing.

While some guards went to explore the commotion and the shouts of people, Josephine made her way towards the back. The darkness helped cover her intrusion, her lion gaze allowing her to see far better than humans, needing the small amount of light given to her by the torches on the walls.

At some point, she picked up a fresh, familiar scent and was soon led to a small door used mostly by servants. There, Olenna awaited with a cloak in hand.

“Took your blood back, didn’t you?” she questioned, amused at her bloodied sight.

Josephine approached before she shifted, letting the fur disappear deep within her body and human skin to take its place. In mere seconds, she was back in human form after almost a fortnight of pretending to be a mere Lioness and not something more.

Olenna handed her the cloak, helping cover her nudity before ushering her inside.

To Josephine’s luck, Lord Mace Tyrell was on his yearly tour of his vassals, a compulsory trip for the Lead House Lord. He would spend almost a month, if not more, visiting the smaller houses under his command and becoming their guests.

Margaery and Loras were also quite young, too young to remember Josephine years later. Only Willas was older, freshly crippled and yet charismatic as ever.

A lie is quickly built to ensure no one questions who Josephine is, thanks to Olenna’s cunning thinking. To everyone that asked, she was a noble lady travelling the lands when bandits attacked her.

Her two guards were killed trying to protect her, and Olenna Tyrell was more than gracious enough to offer her a place to stay until she recovered.

When she met Willas for the first time, it was on her second day in Highgarden. She had recovered, eaten well, and chosen to roam the Castle. Her mind drifted to Tywin and the Lannisters, wondering if she would see them anytime soon.

Her feet led her to the famous Highgarden stables, where the horses lived in luxuries many could not even dream of. Long, spacious, and royal, it was evident that each steed in there was treated like royalty, which justified the famous horses everyone talked about.

Josephine came to a halt, feeling the eyes of every creature on her form. Some were uneasy, ears back in warning, sensing the beast she had within. Others were slightly more indifferent, but one should not confuse their lack of reaction for friendliness.

The sound of steps made her turn slowly, trying to hide her alarm. She caught sight of Willas, making his way towards her, carrying a friendly smile.

“Lady Josephine,” he called her name. “I hope I am not disturbing you, my lady.”

“You do not, my lord. I was merely exploring,” she replied, remembering her manners.

“And how are you faring? After well... what you passed?”

Josephine always had a good instinct about people, able to tell many things about them from a single meeting. And she could tell that the young man before her had pure intentions, something rare lately.

“Better, thanks to your grandmother’s hospitality.”

This made Willas smile. “I am relieved to hear this. Allow me to offer you my condolences for your two guards.”

For a moment, the Lioness froze, almost forgetting what he was talking about. Thankfully, she was quick to recover and act her new role. “Thank you, my lord, but I did not know them personally. Merely paid to accompany in my travels.”

“And what a noble woman like yourself does out there, alone?”

Josephine had the chance to answer more truthfully for a change, and she did. “Exploring and travelling. Getting a glimpse of the world. “

Her words made Willas smile, and he messed with his walking cane for a few seconds, clearly wishing to bring something up but hesitating.

After a few seconds of silence, the young lord and heir looked at her again. “Have you ever gone hawking, my lady?” he asked, making her arch an eyebrow. “If not, would you like to join me? It is a great chance to explore the reach and its beauty.”

The idea alone and the honesty of his words made Josephine offer a small smile after months of frowning and glaring. “I would like that,” she agreed, making his smile even bigger, if that was even possible.

Chapter Text

Four days before the wedding, Kevan arrived with his wife, Dorna. Needless to say, Josephine was excited to see him again, and Dorna greeted her with a warm hug, remembering her from when they were younger.

Along with his arrival came news of a White Heart spotted in Kingswood, a rare sight and an omen.

Legend said that a king who saw the White Heart was said to be blessed by the Seven and be the rightful person to sit on the Iron Throne.

With that news, excitement rose among the guests; some were more than willing to join the hunt.

Poor Tommen, still remembering how his father died, was hesitant to go on a hunt, considering that he never found the same interest in it as his older brother.

Unfortunately for him, he had influences affecting his decision.

“Your Majesty, it is an omen!” Lord Mace argued.

“A white heart had not been spotted since the first Dragon Dance,” Pycelle reminded him.

“My King, this is your chance. This is a sign,” Margery had whispered in his ear.

Many more wished for him to go and see if the White Stag would appear to him.

“Perhaps it is for the wisest,” Tywin told him privately. “The small folk are restless after Joffrey’s ruling. This will ease their mind.”

And so, Tommen agreed to a small hunting party—just a few selected—that would join him for a single day in trying to spot the White Heart and perhaps return with a fresh kill or two.

Kingswood was a place Josephine had not often visited but had heard stories of. In the same woods, Jaime fought the bandits that terrorized the travellers and earned his title as a knight after his heroic endeavour.

Ironically, the young Lion had chosen to remain back and let three other Kingsguard join their King and future Queen. Ser Trant, thankfully, was forced to stay behind, and thus, the men around Tommen were far more skilful and reliable.

Along with Tommen and Margaery, the rest of the male Tyrells had chosen to join. Mace and Willas had the most interest in hunting, with Loras mostly coming for the ride and a chance to leave the stinky city behind.

Tywin and Kevan had also joined, both familiar with the woods and the crossbow. Of course, Josephine had accompanied the two men; the chance for a good hunt would always make her get up from her chair.

The hunt had been going well, and deer tracks had been spotted the deeper they entered the woods. The noises of the city had faded away, and there was a certain peace around them. The only noticeable sound was the hooves of their horses against the ground.

Josephine rode on a brown mare, the one Tywin had offered her when she first returned to him during the war. The animal was calm and quiet, easy to control, and did not seem to mind Josephine that much, though at first, she was a little uneasy.

She should be, and she was glad she could wear her normal clothes, finding them far more comfortable than the dresses she usually would find herself wearing. Plus, if they were meant to ride for so long; she did not wish for any blisters from that damn saddle.

The Lioness had moved slightly ahead of the group, letting the animal walk casually and enjoy a more leisurely walk. She, on the other hand, felt nothing of the calmness her horse did. Instead, she was agitated.

Every little sound was audible to her, from the quick flapping of bird wings to the rustling of leaves when the wind blew. She could hear the crickets hiding in the tall grass and smell the moisture on the leaves of nearby bushes.

Her heart rate increased, and her grip on the reins tightened as she felt a subconscious need to hunt. Perhaps it was a mistake that she had joined, but she refused to let Tywin and Kevan go on their own.

A few members of the group noticed Josephine’s odd behaviour.

Tywin could sense her emotions clearly and knew why she reacted that way, while Kevan suspected after years of growing up with her.

Mace barely noticed it, and Tommen was occupied by a talking Margaery, who had experience with hunting since both her grandfather and father lived for it.

Willas was a keen observer, and he led his horse to a faster pace, bringing his stallion next to her mare.

“Are you alright, my lady?” he asked out of pure concern, glancing at her.

Josephine inhaled and glanced at him, choosing to use him as a distraction until she regained full control. “I am just deep in thought,” she lied, finding it too easy after all those times she had to lie.

“For the little time I had come to know you, My Lady, you are often in deep thoughts,” he pointed out, making her hold back a faint chuckle.

A small smile formed on her lips. “Perhaps. And what are you mostly thinking about, Lord Willas?”

The young man offered a graceful smile. “I believe it is rather obvious, but my hawks, mostly and my horses,” he patted his stallion's neck. “Strong and loyal animals, bonded with their rider and following them without hesitation when trained properly.”

The topic gave Josephine an opportunity to talk, making her forget her primary instincts that were kicking in. “Indeed, but they have a disadvantage. They have strong instincts, and in the heat of battle, those can be awakened, and they will pose more threat than help, " she pointed out.

Willas was intrigued. “Perhaps, but with good training and a strong, solid bond between rider and horse, even the most basic survival instincts can be overridden.”

His words made her think and she glanced ahead, her gaze going to the passing ground beneath her feet. “Do you truly believe that? That instincts can fall weak and succumb when a strong bond is present?” She looked at him again.

The smile he offered her was that of an understanding. His nod was gentle. “I do. Although, I feel you are not talking about animal instincts by now.”

Josephine could not help but chuckle, finding that he had actually seen through her mask. Her amusement was shown through a bigger smile. “Perhaps. I am afraid my mind did wander,” she confessed as they continued riding next to each other.

At the same time, while the two were in deep conversation, the rest of the party noticed. Margaery hid her smirk like a champ, detailing everything in her mind to tell her grandmother once they would return.

Lord Mace, who had been riding next to Tywin and Kevan, felt amused by the sight. “Look at them, my lords,” he started, trying to hold back a chuckle. “It seems that Willas might be the one to get her in the end. A third marriage between our families, what a joy.”

Tywin did not appreciate his joke, and his glare was directly directed at Willas. His jaw tightened as his anger started to rise. His grip on the reins increased, and even his loyal stallion seemed to sense his anger, ears falling back and head moving against the reins.

His brother, Kevan, took notice and knew too well that his brother was as volatile as a pyre left unchecked in the middle of the woods. Thus, he quickly devised a plan to ensure no murder would take place.

“I think we are too slow, as a group,” he suggested, drawing the attention of the small party. “Perhaps it is wiser to ride separately, in small groups and see who will be the most successful.”

Immediately, Mace was intrigued. “Is this a competition you suggest, my lord?” he asked excitedly, a feeling his eldest son and daughter seemed to share.

“Oh yes, my King. A hunting competition, wouldn’t that be great?” Margaery asked Tommen, offering him her sweet, innocent eyes that the poor boy could not resist.

“What shall be the groups?” Tommen asked, feeling less uneasy by the confident woman by his side.

Willas glanced at Josephine, ready to ask her to join him when Tywin moved his horse closer, taking Josephine’s other side.

“I believe Houses could arrange this,” he said, clarifying that he would not let Willas and Josephine be together. “House Lannister will form a group.”

“It is on, my lord,” Mace exclaimed. “I have been going hunting with Loras and Willas since they were young. We will be a group.”

“I will actually stay with Margaery and the King,” Loras argued, moving his horse closer to the couple.

His father felt betrayed. Thankfully, Willas moved in to save the day. “Let him be, Father. You and I are good enough.”

Lord Mace nodded, defeated.

The groups had been set, and each took a different direction to search for some game. Josephine rode along with Tywin and Kevan for a few minutes, making sure they were far enough from the others.

Eventually, Tywin halted his horse and glanced at Josephine. “This should be clear enough,” he told her.

For a moment, Josephine was confused, but realization quickly settled in. Her lips parted in surprise. "Are you serious?" her innocent gaze asked, and his response was a rare smirk.

“My, my, Tywin. This might be considered cheating,” she told him, making her partner roll his eyes.

“Are you sure about this, my lord?” Kevan asked, finding it risky.

Tywin did not share his concerns. “It was becoming too obvious that she wished to hunt properly,” he pointed out.

Josephine smiled at him, bowing her head. “Thank you.” She jumped off her mare, handing the reins to Kevan. “Good thing I wore the proper clothes,” she commented, earning their attention. “What? You think for all my travels, I wouldn’t find a good witch to help me so I don’t have to rip my clothes all time?” she smirked.

Her words made Kevan feel uncomfortable, and he looked at his older brother, curious to see his reaction. After all, if there was someone who knew more, it would be him.

Unlike his brother, Tywin merely rolled his eyes, making it unclear if he truly believed her or suspected it was a bad joke she decided to throw around.

The redhead turned her back on them, feeling her heart rate spike as blood and adrenaline coursed faster through her veins. Her irises glowed golden, and she let herself fall forward, feeling her centre of gravity change.

Her limbs started to change, and her bones shifted from their respective places. As her anatomy changed, fur grew from the depths of her skin.

It was a momentary change, a couple of seconds for the huge Lioness to emerge. In the past, during her first shifts, Josephine suffered from sudden pains and numbness; the process was tough for the body, and she was far younger than normal when it happened to her.

But now, everything was smooth and painless to her, similar to the feeling of removing tight clothes and letting your body breathe.

A true sense of Freedom.

The horses became uneasy at the predatory beast, but the men quickly regained control.

The Lioness looked at them before she headed forward, letting the men follow her as they searched for tracks.

It did not take long for Josephine to find fresh tracks and pick up the scent of a deer nearby. She perked her head, upper lip curled inwards as she let the scent truly settle in. Once it did, she glanced at the two men, who understood what had happened.

When they were younger, they would often go out for a hunt. Tywin first started taking Kevan and Josephine, eventually having Gerion and Tygett join them when in the mood. The Lioness would always be their guide and ally, helping them take down any game they encountered.

It became a personal routine that all three enjoyed. Despite their silence, all three felt something as they relieved it, having lost track of the last time they had gone out for a hunt.

Kevan and Tywin climbed off their horses, tying all three animals to a sturdy tree before grabbing their crossbows. Then, they followed Josephine on foot since the animal was nearby.

It did not take long for them to spot a male deer far into the thicket, grazing on fresh morning grass, and not having heard them yet.

Josephine dropped lower and moved, going against the wind to ensure the aware animal did not pick up her scent. She circled, slowly moving closer to the Stag, her steps silent as the grass bent beneath each huge paw.

At the same time, Tywin and Kevan remained low and prepared their crossbows, waiting for the right moment.

When the Lioness finally chose to make herself known, a huge leap and a roar were enough to alarm the powerful Stag. Its instinct was to run the opposite way from where she came, and it did, unaware that it was being led straight to the two brothers.

Tywin aimed and shot first, successfully finding the animal's front right thigh.

The Stag stumbled and tried to remain on all four legs, still capable of running away. It never got the chance as Josephine pounced on him, her momentum and weight forcing the proud and mighty animal down.

Her paws pressed it to the ground, her size close to his, and the stag had trouble escaping. Her nails dug into flesh, just enough to help her keep her balance as the animal thrashed against her grip.

Kevan was ready to fire next, but his older brother chose to end the Stag—and he did. This time, the arrow found the animal’s head, silencing it quickly and taking it out of its misery.

The Stag was fairly big and heavy, something only Josephine could pull. She dragged it to a certain distance as Kevan brought the horses closer so they could mount the animal on her horse.

The two men successfully worked hard to get the animal onto the horse, and a few ropes ensured it would not fall off.

Josephine’s attention turned to one random direction just as they did that. Her ears perked forward, picking up a sound, and she pulled the same face, letting her sensory organ detect the scent.

All of a sudden, the Lioness started to run away from them without an explanation.

Tywin and Kevan exchanged looks, confused by her sudden behaviour. The eldest, knowing that his partner was not one to rush somewhere without proper warning or explanation, suspected something was odd.

He let his brother deal with the deer as he jumped on his loyal white stallion. Then, he wasted no time rushing after where Josephine disappeared into.

It did not take long for him to find her. The Lioness had come to a halt not that far away, and she seemed frozen, staring at something ahead. He stopped his horse and dismounted, feeling that it was wiser to approach on foot.

He had only taken a few steps ahead when Tywin also found himself halting, as now he had a clear view of what Josephine was staring at.

A beautiful white stag stood majestic and proud not so far away. Its blue beady eyes seemed wise and unreal, fully focused on the lioness, a silent exchange taking place without the need for sounds or words.

The stag sensed Tywin’s presence and turned its head to look at him. The animal did not seem to fear him and merely stared him down as if silently judging him.

And the Old Lion stared right back, in warning and pride; almost unaffected by the rare sight before him.

The sound of birds flying away from their trees snapped them from this silent exchange. The stag looked at them as they passed across the sky and then chose to leave, his sprint elegant and fast, quickly disappearing from their line of sight.

With it gone, Tywin approached Josephine, noticing the Lioness relaxing faintly. “I almost expected you to attack it,” he commented, whistling for his horse to approach him.

The Lioness looked at him before she shifted, letting a clothed Josephine out and in control again. She bent her neck to one side and the other, feeling the bones popping back into place.

“I would never do that,” she reminded him, staring him dead in the eyes. “The White Stag is sacred and noble; a curse befalls those who dare to take its life.”

Tywin rolled his eyes at her drama. He was never a strong believer in the supernatural or the stories she narrated for him—stories of her ancestors passed down from one generation to another.

“Hmmm,” he exclaimed as his stallion approached them. “Let us find Kevan and return to the others; the hour is growing late.”

Josephine nodded and watched him climb on top of his horse. She approached, and he extended his hand, helping her climb on the saddle before him. The ease of their moves and the synchronicity of their actions proved that they had done this before.

Unaware to both of them, the Stag had not just randomly appeared.

The White Heart had been busy staring at someone hidden behind nearby bushes before Josephine and, later, Tywin appeared.

Tommen, poor Tommen, had witnessed the white Heart and Josephine’s transformation. He stood there, frozen in place and speechless, as he saw the majestic lioness take the form of a familiar woman.

The young King knew of the stories, of the Lannister Secret his family was once so proud to possess. But as he grew up, it remained nothing but a story—a mere rumour that many believed was a fake lie used to make House Lannister seem more powerful.

But now... he did not know what to believe.

He remained hidden even as Tywin and Josephine rode away. He remained where he stood for a few minutes before the bushes nearby rustled, and Margaery appeared, clearly searching for him.

“My king,” she called him, snapping from whatever path his mind had taken. “Are you alright?” she noticed that the boy was shaken.

Tommen nodded, slowly gaining control. “I saw it... the White Heart,” he said, choosing not to bring up what else he saw.

Margaery smiled and hugged him, placing a gentle, loving peck on his cheek. “This was a sign, my King. A sign of your rule,” she told him, beaming with energy and light enough to make Tommen offer her a small smile in return.

His heart was still uneasy with what he saw and what he was not going to share with anyone... not yet.

Chapter Text

The last guest arrived a single day before the wedding, and it was none other than Genna Lannister. Her arrival had been subtle, a simple carriage for her and her sons, a few Lannister soldiers guarding and escorting her with safety.

Kevan was there to expect her and properly welcome her to King’s Landing after all those years. Tywin and Josephine were kept busy, but the mischievous woman expected it and planned accordingly.

Josephine had let Tywin gather the Small Council, giving her some free time. It had been quite some time since she last walked the gardens, and she felt she needed it to clear her head.

Things had been going well for a while, but something was odd.

Ever since the hunt, Tommen seemed to look at her differently, and Josephine could not realize the emotion he was projecting. Was it one of wariness or something else? And if it was the primer, why all of a sudden?

She was unsure but did not dare voice her thoughts to Tywin, feeling he would consider it an overreaction. Perhaps it was a mere thought she put too much effort into and read the room wrong.

Perhaps he is nervous about the wedding, she told herself more than once.

Josephine was so lost in her thoughts that she did not pay close attention to her surroundings until a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the side.

By instinct alone, Josephine tensed and was ready to free herself when she felt a pair of arms wrapping around her body, embracing her.

“How dare you return and not send me a single raven,” a familiar, female voice said.

The Lioness blinked as she processed everything. She caught sight of golden hair, and her eyes opened wide. “Genna!” she exclaimed with a big smile.

Genna pulled back so they could see each other, and she smirked at the surprised expression of her friend and almost-sister. “Who did you expect? I doubt anyone would dare to hug you like that.”

Grey eyes seemed to glow with life and joy. A silly, big smile remained, and soon, a chuckle followed. “Nowadays, no one,” she commented.

Josephine took a moment to study Genna, having missed her over the years she was away.

By now, Genna had changed and had lost the younger, more baby-faced face she used to have. The weight of her pregnancies had not fully left her but shaped her into a curvy and attractive woman with cunning emerald eyes and long hair the shade of gold.

“With that grumpy brother of mine, it makes sense,” Genna joked, grabbing Josephine’s hands. “You and I have a lot to talk about. Show me to your chambers.”

Josephine did not have the chance to argue or even agree as Genna started to pull her away, ironically towards the right direction.

The Lioness followed suit, holding back a chuckle at the familiar feeling. So many times in the past, Genna had randomly grabbed her wrist and pulled her away, not even letting Tywin stop her.

Just then, as those quick flashes of memory appeared in her mind, Josephine felt true joy and peace... she felt complete.

Josephine’s chambers were filled with chuckles and a far more joyful mood than usual, all because Genna Lannister was present. The female Lannister had a goblet of wine in one hand and the jug on a small table next to her armchair.

On the other armchair, Josephine had sat and turned her body sideways to have Genna in her field of view. A goblet of wine had also been served for her, though the Lioness was slow to drink it. She only accepted it because Genna forced it in her hand and guilt-tripped her into drinking it.

“So, how do you and Tywin handle it? Are you back to your pre-marriage... adventures?” Genna asked, smirking.

Josephine rolled her eyes. “You say it as if we did something wrong back then,” she argued.

“Honey, with the sexual tension that existed between the two of you, I'm thankful you were not a blood-born sibling of ours.”

The Lioness was lucky to be born and grow up with all the Lannister kids, some closer to her age than others. She was tutored along with them, trained, ate and was practically just another sibling in this big litter.

“Well, we are not. Those were just rumours,” Josephine reminded her.

When they were younger, rumours spread about Josephine’s parentage, specifically her father.

Tywin was the sole heir, which meant he needed a partner, and the years were passing. Josephine’s mother, Leona, should do what every partner is tasked with: become a child.

Usually, the females in her family would choose a strong knight to seduce for a single night, the fertile night. One should be enough; the next partner would be born months later, a future partner for the next Lannister heir.

The issue behind all those rumours was Tytos. At that time, the Toothless Lion had his wife pregnant with Genna and occasionally requested Leona to join him at night. Whether it was intentional or because other lords taunted him, Josephine was unsure.

Her mother never confessed to her, and Josephine wondered if the woman even knew. All Leona would tell her was not to worry, which, of course, did not help.

But as the Lioness approached Tywin, she started to believe more firmly that her mother had found another man before Tytos took her as an occasional mistress. There was no way she was a half-sister to Tywin, right?

Genna hummed and emptied her goblet. “Aren’t most things, nowadays?” she questioned and stretched her hand, grabbing the wine jug. “Speaking of rumours. You are supposedly his warden to the eyes of the world.”

Josephine swirled the wine in her goblet. “In a way, yes. A lie to justify my appearance and to erase any suspicions.”

“I am surprised you agreed,” she refilled her goblet and earned an arched eyebrow from her friend. “Come on, Josephine, I am not my brothers. You were smitten with him, to the point you agreed to marry him before your 18^th name day.”

The Lioness looked to the side, feeling ashamed of that memory. She was young and indeed crazy in love with Tywin, and he was with her. They wished to rush things, and if Genna had not talked some sense into both of them, perhaps they would have gotten married before Joanna entered their lives.

But Genna had been the voice of reason and made them wait, which gave Tytos an opening to arrange the betrothal between Tywin and his cousin, leaving Josephine out of the picture.

“Well, I didn’t have much of a choice,” Josephine admitted, tossing her head back and emptying the goblet in one go. “He suggested it, and it was safer for both of us, for now. The court... it is not as it used to be; we do not have the same freedom we had back then.”

“That hasn’t stopped the two of you from fucking one another, in secret,” Genna hid her smirk behind her goblet.

Josephine quickly whipped her head in her direction, and surprise was evident on her face. “How did you...” for a change, she was speechless.

Genna remained victorious, her smirk never fading. “He has that same face he did when he was younger, and it's one I never thought I would see anytime soon.”

The Lioness chose not to comment on it. Tywin’s sister had a rather unique insight on her older brothers, especially the eldest. She was the only one who seemed to be able to look beneath his mask, read between the lines, and even know when Tywin was hiding something.

Of course, she never had a filter on. She would openly say what she had in mind, even pointing a finger at her siblings and scolding them to behave.

And Tywin never stopped her, never raised his voice to her.

Genna, like Josephine, was the exception, though the partner had little more influence than the sister.

“Well, like you said... in secret, “ Josephine mumbled. “And even then, he holds back; I can sense it. He is uncertain and won’t show it publicly like he used to.”

Genna’s gaze softened, and she realized the conflict within her ‘sister’. Back then, Tywin went to great lengths for her and did not care if people knew. But then they had the argument, and Tywin married Joanna.

After that, the Lion slowly withdrew and started showing little public affection to his wife, especially after the twins were born. Then, both women left his life, leaving him miserable, grumpy, and cold.

He became a different man, burying himself at work and getting obsessed with legacy and the Lannister name.

“My brother might be a smart and capable man, but just like all men, he is a fool,” The female Lannister said, earning Josephine’s attention. “He doesn’t know what he has before him, and he will beat himself up once he loses you again.”

Josephine was quick to argue. “He won’t,” she sat little better on the armchair. “I don’t plan to leave him even if he commands me.”

“And it is that certainty that made him comfortable.” Genna rolled her eyes, sometimes forgetting how ignorant Josephine could be on certain things. “He doesn’t have to lose you physically. He must be reminded how to lose your heart to another man.”

The Lioness could not help but tilt her head to the side, blinking slowly as she tried to process the great mastermind plan Genna seemed to have come up with.

“Why do I fear you have something troublesome in mind?” she questioned, though the glint in Genna’s emerald eyes said enough.

“Oh, dear sister,” Genna started, calling her like that only when she had a plan she needed to be part of. A plan that often backfired on them when they were younger. “I don’t just have a plan. I have the perfect way to ensure my stupid brother will step up like he did back then.”

Josephine was uncertain, wishing not to let herself believe in fake hopes. For if this idea failed, the crash back to the harsh reality would be more painful than anything else. It happened to her once, she did not wish to relieve it; for she feared she would not be able to stand it.

Yet, she put her faith in the woman she was raised and shared a wet nurse with.

The day of the wedding, even the weather was perfect; as if the Gods themselves approved of this fine match.

Like the first time, everyone gathered at the Great Sept of Baelor for the union before the eyes of the Seven, and then moved for the celebratory feast.

Josephine, for the wedding, had a simpler dress chosen and a little more than a fancy cape; Genna’s idea was to keep her outfit minimal and simple. Of course, that was only for the formal event once everyone had started to return to the Red Keep; the female Lannister let her plan unfold.

She took Josephine into her chambers, and with her maid, they got to work. All the Lioness could do was remain silent and trust the process—just like she had done in the past, for it was not the first time Genna had pulled her for a make-over and some experimenting.

She was the only other woman her age and in her family, thus the only one she could drag and work on. The boys would never agree to her demands, even though they all sported long blond hair that put many ladies to shame.

The feast would take place in the Great Hall, a change from last time. This time, the celebration was smaller and simpler. Once everyone was done, the remaining food would be given to the small folk.

The crowd was smaller, but the most important families and allies were present at this joyous event. Arborr, Lannisport, and Dornish wine were passed around while the musicians earned their coins by their choices, keeping everyone entertained.

The royal table had been set in the middle of the far wall, deep into the room. Margaery sat with Tommen, their respective families on each side. Next to Margaery was Lord Mace, followed by Willas, Loras, and Olenna.

Next to Tommen were Cersei, Tywin, Kevan, Dorna, Tyrion and two empty chairs. Josephine and Genna had yet to arrive but they should soon, as everyone slowly started to go to their places; the food slowly being carried by servants.

“Where are they?” Tywin questioned, looking around the room and seeing no signs of the two women.

Of all the times Genna wished to pull her tricks, now it was the worst of them all.

The Old Lion was getting impatient, evident by the frown on his face, and his brother knew that his temper was slowly rising. Thankfully for the women’s sake, they chose to make an appearance soon after.

The crowd turned their attention towards them, not only because of their late entrance but also because of their clothing.

While Genna wore a beautiful, regal red gown with golden designs, Josephine changed her dress completely.

She was dressed in an elegant, flowing blue gown with a deep neckline and delicate off-the-shoulder sleeves, evoking a romantic and vintage aesthetic. The soft lighting of the candles and torches bathed her warmly, accentuating her poised expression and refined features.

Her hair, for a change, was not let down. Instead, they had been styled in an intricate updo, with loose curls framing her face. Tywin’s golden necklace was the only jewellery she possessed, the red gem resting in the middle of her chest.

The two women walked side by side, eyes focused forward. They did not react to the whispers or the lingering gazes, though Josephine did catch Ellaria and Oberyn eyeing her with interest.

Up ahead, even Tywin was taken off guard by her dress, and whether he was displeased or annoyed was hard to tell. His golden-flecked emerald eyes went to a smirking Genna, quickly realizing that his younger sister was behind all of this.

Yet the Old Lion would lie if he said he did not find Josephine attractive, with all that exposed skin and thin clothing; even he could not help but let his eyes roam.

“We apologize for the delay, your grace,” Genna said as the two women offered a deep bow, showing more of their cleavages.

“It is okay, Aunt Genna. I am glad you and Lady Josephine joined us,” Tommen said, offering a small smile.

He was clearly nervous, thinking of his first night with his new Queen, but Margaery had been holding his hand the entire time, her thumb caressing his skin in a comforting manner.

The young rose was intrigued and gave a faint nod of approval at Josephine’s dress, whose neckline could only be rivalled by hers, making her suspect that a Highgarden tailor was behind it.

Of course, Olenna was intrigued and smirked, as if already aware of what Genna had planned. Perhaps she was, or perhaps she simply could suspect what Josephine was trying to do, and she was there for the drama that would follow.

The straight Tyrell men both stared, with Mace not attempting to hide it until his mother found herself tired by his lust and lack of bodily control.

“Cover yourself, you oaf,” she told her son, who immediately shifted his sitting position, crossing one leg over the other and clearing his throat.

Cersei glared daggers at Josephine, finding her excuse of a dress one that whores would wear to seduce men. Considering how even the mighty Tywin was staring a little too hard, she knew the Lioness had her sight on him.

Plus, she felt betrayed that her aunt also seemed to favour Josephine more, clearly going the extra length to help her get dressed and be ready to unsettle the men.

Is there not someone in this family that doesn’t run after her? She wondered, unaware of the Lioness's strong sibling bond with the Lannisters.

The two women moved to their respective places, with Josephine taking the chair furthest away from the table, effectively putting more obstacles between her and Tywin—something that was also part of Genna’s elaborate plan.

The feast started after a small proposal; the King thanked his guests for their presence and support. Then, everyone started to eat; the servants constantly moved to refill wine jugs and goblets, and the alcoholic liquid was being served non-stop.

For the duration of the feast, Josephine remained out of Tywin’s reach, but she could sense his sharp gaze and feel his attempt to intrude on her mind. But even if he did succeed, he would not find much as Genna was smart enough to keep most of the plan’s details for herself.

Being with Kevan and Genna allowed Josephine to talk more, a natural smile forming on her pink lips as they talked, remembering the good old times. The talk turned even to Casterly Rock and a potential future visit, since Josephine had not seen it for 30 years.

The music in the room changed, now a little more festive and an open silent invite for people to dance. Because what kind of wedding feast did not have some dance? Definitely not a royal one.

With the amount of wine most of the guests consumed, the empty space in the middle of the room was quickly filled by couples. Some were married couples, drunk men pulling their wives along as if they were 20 years younger and newlyweds.

Others were widowers, maidens and single ladies that were under the influence of alcohol and found joy in dancing with the rhythm, exchanging partners as they went.

Even Margaery seemed intrigued, for Joffrey’s and Tyrion’s wedding had been bland and boring. But this almost reminded her of HighGarden, and the room's mood influenced her.

Tommen, on the other hand, remained seated. He was trying to remain regal like a proper king, but his mind kept wandering. He found the few sips of wine he was allowed to have, making his headache worse.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp glare on his profile and dared to turn his head to the side. His emerald eyes met Tywin’s golden-flecked ones as the Old Lion silently motioned for the dancing floor.

The young king, smart that he was, quickly understood the message. “My queen,” he said as he stood up, extending his hand towards Margaery. “Would you grace me with a dance?”

Margaery’s smile beamed of confidence and even adoration. “My king,” she said, placing her hand into his before standing up. “It would be my honour.”

Her positive response gave Tommen courage, and the newlywed couple slowly made their way to the middle of the room, joining the rest in a slightly slower dance.

It was a sweet and even slightly comical sight, considering young Tommen had yet to reach his full height and reach Margaery. Yet he danced like a proper royal, making sure his wife was happy, his smile innocent and caring.

Jaime watched from the side, standing guard like the other knights. Yet the sight warmed his heart, and a sad smile formed on his lips. He was glad that at least one of his kids was happy. He hoped Margaery would not be as much of a poisoned rose as Cersei claimed to be and that she would take care of his little boy.

The slower dance ended, and the music changed, now asking for a slightly faster pace.

With the chance given, Genna stood up and smirked, looking down at Josephine.

The Lioness tried to look forward, knowing that whatever had got Genna in a sudden good mood was not actually good for her. Unfortunately, the female Lannister could not accept a No for an answer and grabbed the Lioness’ upper arm.

“Let us dance, Josephine. Like we used to when we were growing up,” she told the Lioness, who was forced to give in.

Just like Tywin, there was almost nothing she could refuse when Genna asked. The two of them were truly like sisters, and Josephine had made sure to live up to that honour, even when sometimes things made her feel way out of her waters.

Their approach to the dance floor attracted attention, and many eligible men joined. Most focused on the seductive Josephine with that feline gaze. Genna’s curvier form and tight-fitting red dress also drew attention, and despite being married, some men seemed eager to dance with her.

Chapter Text

Despite the passing years, Josephine never forgot Genna’s dancing lessons, though their current situation had no real structure. The music carried and led everyone to move, swiftly exchanging partners every once in a while, letting everyone have a chance to dance with someone else.

Perhaps it was the wine she had drunk before or the festive mood around her. Still, Josephine enjoyed it even more when a familiar pair of hands took her off her latest dance partner and pulled her closer to another.

The familiar scent of exotic spice made her look up, only to see Oberyn smirking. “Where was this energy during our dances, Lioness?” he questioned as he took the lead.

Josephine offered him a charming smirk. “I don’t know; you will have to ask the past me.”

Oberyn chuckled and allowed her to do a full spin before pulling her towards him. He was careful with his moves, his hands not once going astray like those of other lords—a proper gentleman.

He was surprised by her humour, yet felt amused by it. “How much wine did you have to drink?” he asked as he brought his face closer to her ear while effectively keeping her away from the others.

The crowd could change partners as often as they liked, but the Dornish Prince was not going to let her leave his hands so quickly, no matter how some lords glared at him for taking his sweet time with her.

Josephine kept looking up at him, almost the same height, with her just a tad shorter. “Not that much, surprisingly. Unless Genna spiked my drink, which would not be the first time.”

Oberyn smirked. “Ah, yes, the female Lannister. Seems far more pleasant than the rest. I do have to meet her.”

“She is married, Oberyn, with sons.” She rolled her eyes, but her mood did not change. “And I do not think you are her type.”

“Lioness,” he started, pulling her even closer. “I am everyone’s type, men and women alike.”

His cockiness made her hold back a chuckle as they continued dancing, the crowd around them lessening as many were finally getting tired from all that moving, spinning and dancing.

Few remained, included them, and the music started to drop slower. “And then they call us prideful.” She smirked, making him grace her with one in return.

Genna had long retired from the dancing, clearly out of breath and yet satisfied. It had been too long since she had ‘let loose’ a little bit, but she would not repeat it. She was no longer the young, energetic girl that teased the squire boys and the sons of their guest lords.

Kevan had stood up to talk with Jaime while Tyrion remained seated. Genna found the chance to sit beside Tywin, taking advantage of the empty chair. And much to her luck, her brother had not touched his wine; so she chose to take it.

“Can’t remember when it was the last time I saw her having so much fun,” Genna said, both Lannisters looking as Oberyn moved in to take Josephine for a dance. “Except Kevan’s wedding, of course. Remember it, Tywin?”

The Old Lion did not answer before sipping his wine, eyes following Oberyn’s every move, distrusting him with Josephine.

Tyrion, who happened to hear their conversation, turned to his aunt. “Lady Josephine danced before?” he questioned, now his chance to find more about her.

From the moment they met until now, Josephine seemed more serious and dangerous, truly matching Tywin. Yet Tyrion had come to see a sweeter, more caring, motherly side that she hid well when others were present.

Still, he did not believe she was capable of dressing so seductively or dancing among lords, and he did question if that little powder he saw his aunt Genna put into her drink played a role.

“Of course she did. So many young lords wished to dance with her when we were young, but only your father ended up being the lucky one,” Genna informed, hiding her smirk behind the rim of her goblet.

Tywin did not comment, even though he could sense the surprised look his dwarf son was giving him. Instead, he downed his wine and kept his attention on Josephine, who seemed rather comfortable in Oberyn’s presence.

He remembered his sister's memory, the first dance he and Josephine shared, and the beginning of their more public relationship. Nothing big had truly happened between them back then but it had passed the message loud and clear to those horny young lords.

Josephine had danced with him with the same comfort she currently dances with Oberyn. Her grey eyes sparkled with joy, and she gave him the most grateful gaze she had ever had.

It was then that Tywin made a vow to keep her for good and never let any other man take her from him.

A vow he still intended to keep, though it was clear he was taking the long route in doing so.

Genna had been studying her brother, her smirk going unnoticed as his mind was occupied by memories of the past and Josephine. Yet she could still see that her plan was working, but the Lion needed just a push more.

So, she delivered. “You can brood all you want, brother,” she said as she leaned closer to him. “But by Westerosi standards, Josephine is an eligible woman, open for the take.” Tywin’s jaw clenched in reaction. “And you remember how it starts, hmm? All it takes is one dance before they make their move.”

For the first time in his life, the Mighty Tywin Lannister was not the manipulator but instead became the one who got manipulated.

Tywin left his goblet on the table and stood up, heading for the dance room and straight for Josephine and Oberyn. In the background, Genna leaned back on her chair and motioned for a servant to refill her goblet; the show was about to begin.

Josephine found herself relaxing and enjoying the dance with Oberyn, glad he was keeping other men away.

“So, Lioness,” he started, his voice low enough so only he could hear her. “The dress, the late entrance... it seems to me like you are trying to seduce someone.”

The dance continued, and Josephine never looked away from him. “It is all Genna’s plan, not mine.”

Oberyn chuckled, the song coming to an end. “I must say, I like how she thinks.”

The music ended, and a new one was about to begin. Josephine looked at Oberyn, who seemed in the mood to continue, but then a third person joined them.

Tywin appeared close by as if Josephine’s thoughts had summoned him out of the plain air. He sent a warning glare at Oberyn, and the Red Viper slowly withdrew his hands, yet his smirk remained.

“Everything alright?” Josephine asked her partner, suspecting that was the reason he had stood up from the table.

To her surprise, he did not answer but extended his hand for her, a silent invitation for a dance.

Her pink lips parted in surprise, and she had to look Tywin in the eyes to ensure she was not rushing to the wrong conclusions. Yet, the Lion did not move and merely waited, silently telling her to go with it.

The smile on Josephine’s lips was purer than the ones she had been giving to her dance partners. She placed her hand into his, feeling the familiar and addictive electrifying sensation coming to life between them.

She let him take the lead as the music continued, though it took them a moment longer, for they were busy staring at Tywin; none having him capable of dancing. But once they focused on their next piece, it became evident that this was what the old Lion would do.

Oberyn returned to Ellaria, feeling rather proud of himself even though he did not know Genna’s plan; he sure had managed to play a big role in it. His lover welcomed him with a kiss, having enjoyed seeing him dance with Josephine, but now she was more intrigued by what was unfolding before them.

A few couples remained to dance, but the majority had either retreated or stopped, surprised by the sight before them. Whispers and slow-spoken conversations started, and there was no expectation of seeing Tywin Lannister dancing, especially now.

Yet all those noises were drowned by the music, never to reach the ears of the powerful duo.

This dance was much slower, and the steps were more dominant and confident. Tywin delivered without hesitation, knowing every step and acting as if he did not have a reputation as a cold man or a crowd to watch him.

Josephine followed his lead, equally confident with each step. There was this synchronicity between them, not a second out of place. They moved while staring at one another, letting their bodies take the lead, creating a beautiful, harmonious sight that put many to shame.

Jaime had never heard of his father dancing, knowing fully well that he had not. Not even at his own marriage had he danced; in the past, the young Lion joked that his father did not know how to dance.

Yet here he was, standing and watching as everything he knew was proven false; the image he had of his father was shattering before his very eyes.

Kevan, who stood by his side, seemed to be one of the few unimpressed. He knew Tywin could dance, though he preferred not to. He stole a quick glance at Genna, their gazes meeting, and it was enough for him to know that she was the mastermind behind it.

“Can’t believe father is dancing,” Jaime commented, not hiding his surprise.

Kevan nodded faintly. “He does, and he had done it before, only for Josephine,” he informed his nephew, making him look. She was the only one who could ever draw him out like this.”

Jaime looked back at the dancing couple, who not once looked away. They danced as if the world around them did not exist, as if they were alone in an empty room, and Jaime swore he saw Tywin’s lips curl up slightly, a sign that he was taking at least some joy from it.

“Father looks... happier,” he pointed out, glancing at his uncle.

The older Lion nodded, nostalgia evident on his face. “Josephine was your father’s first, and he was hers. They even intended to marry.” He confessed.

The young Lion did not hide his confusion. “I thought my mother was that woman.”

His uncle shook his head faintly. “Joanna was an arranged match that your father did not want to agree upon. He only changed his mind when Josephine forced him, reminding him they could not be together since those were not her duties.”

Kevan would never forget that day. He had purely coincidentally been passing by when he heard Josephine and Tywin talking. He heard the argument and Josephine’s hurtful words, as she was the one to end what the two partners had.

He had watched his brother walk away in anger, while Josephine shed silent tears while accepting this new reality. Kevan slowly accepted it, too, knowing too well and fearing that his brother would forever change after this, and partially, he did.

Jaime looked at Josephine, who kept smiling at Tywin, looking at him as if he were her whole world—and he was.

He was surprised to hear of such secrets that no one talked about, but his heart ached for the caring woman. He realized that Josephine had given up on the man she loved to do the right thing and ensure Joanna had a loyal husband.

If Jaime had greatly respected Josephine before, it has increased dramatically. “My mother is gone,” he said, holding no sadness in his heart. “But they have one another again, and they should not let us stop them.”

His maturity made Kevan smile faintly, but the pride was evident in his emerald eyes. He feared Tywin’s children would react upon the truth, which was why none of the siblings had ever told them the truth.

Even now, he and Genna had agreed to be careful how much they blabbed to each other, for their reactions could be as explosive as their father's.

The dance continued, and Josephine moved her hands closer, one resting on Tywin’s shoulder and the other in his bigger hand. Respectively, Tywin’s other hand remained by her waist, his grip surprisingly gentle.

The world around them had gone mute, and Josephine felt as if she was 30 years younger, dancing with him at Kevan’s wedding.

Her smile said it all.” You know, you did not have to do this, Tywin,” she told him, not once looking away from his beautiful golden-flecked emerald eyes, the ones she had fallen in love with all those years ago.

Tywin’s lips curved slightly, the faintest of smiles. “Mayhap I wished to do it,” he confessed to her. “Mayhap I got tired of holding back.”

Josephine’s gaze softened. “Even though others might gossip?” she asked, not wishing to ruin this moment but needing to confirm, to protect her heart from another pain.

He tilted his head faintly to the side, bringing his face closer to hers to the point their noses touched. “The Lion does not concern himself with the opinion of the sheep.”

The Lioness parted her lips, looking at him with shimmering hope, her heart skipping. She looked at him the same way he had asked her to marry him many years ago. She looked at him the same way when he confessed that he would protect her from the bedding ceremony if she were his wife.

She looked at him as if he was everything she needed in the world, to breathe and to live.

It was a look that spoke far more than her mouth ever could, a look that made any words pale with the emotions they could never carry. And it was a look that told him that this was the right move.

Tywin moved his head closer, stealing a kiss from his partner, this time not caring about the world that was about to see.

Josephine stopped dancing as she kissed back, her hand moving from his shoulder to his cheek, feeling his well-trimmed beard against her palm. Her eyes closed as she melted into the sensation, the world around them melting away into nothingness.

For all that mattered was him and what they shared. One heart, one soul.

That night would forever be remembered, for the public kiss would not be forgotten anytime soon.

The crowd was shocked. Many gasped, and a few goblets were heard hitting the floor. People were stunned enough that they forgot the item they were holding.

Only Oberyn and Genna smirked at the sight, having long understood the true relationship between Lion and Lioness. Sure, the Red Viper did not have Tywin capable of publicly showing his feelings, but apparently, he was not as stone-hearted as he thought.

Kevan offered a gentle smile and glanced at his sitting wife, who seemed to share his thoughts. Jaime, on the other hand, merely stared, his expression one of disbelief and pride.

His twin, on the other hand, was fuming with rage at seeing his father kiss another woman. She stood up from her chair and chose to march away, daring to push a poor servant out of the way as she did so.

Tyrion remained frozen in place, his mouth open and the goblet he had in his hand long forgotten. A few drops of red wine stained his black pants, but he barely registered it, for his mind was busy comprehending the image before him: the image of his father openly kissing another woman for the world to see.

Olenna, unlike many others, was amused beyond the point. “I knew I should have agreed on that bet,” she commented, watching pleased at Cersei’s foolish reaction. She dared not look at her speechless son, who was clearly trying to process the sight.

Tywin was the first to pull back, his signature smirk almost making Josephine melt. He was still holding her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it before letting her go.

Without saying another word, he turned and retired for the night. He knew that she would join him in his chambers rather soon.

After the dance, Josephine took some minutes to focus and regain control of her body. The world around her whispered, but her mind was still occupied by what had taken place and what it meant for her and Tywin.

She had not sat down but merely grabbed Genna’s goblet, emptying it in one go. The lioness ignored the proud smirk of her ‘sister’ and Tyrion's speechless expression before she had also chosen to retire.

She marched down the halls of the Red Keep, heading straight for the Tower of the Hand. Her head was spinning faintly, a mixture of wine and explosive emotions causing it. Yet, her footing remained stable and balanced as she climbed up the stairs until she made it to the solar at the very top.

A gracious guard opened the door for her, and she walked right into the room, slightly out of breath.

Tywin had been waiting for her, a goblet of wine in one hand, while he was busy staring outside the window. He sensed her presence and turned, smirking at her slightly flustered expression and noticing the faint pink on her cheeks.

“Are you done dancing already?” he questioned in a playful challenge, leaving his goblet on his desk.

“Yes, I found myself rather done after the last one,” she told him, her tempting smirk playing on her lips as she walked towards him. “Not to mention, few would be foolish enough to dance with me after this.”

He smirked in pride. “Good, that was the point.”

Josephine stopped before him, one hand grabbing the front of his jacket. “You are insufferable,” she told him, bringing her face closer to his.

Tywin grabbed her wrist and tilted his head faintly to the side. “You are not far from it,” he whispered back, their noses touching. “Dressing like this to draw a reaction out of me.” his other hand grabbed one of the thin dress straps and pulled it up, passing his point.

“It worked, didn’t it?” She tilted her head the opposite way and could now feel his breath touching her lips.

“More than you could ever bargain for.” Tywin wasted no time kissing her again, this time with much more need and hunger than before, during the dance.

His grip on her wrist tightened, pulling her more against him, and the other hand pushed down the dress strap. Strong fingers grabbed her shoulder, feeling her warm skin against his coarse palm, and he dared to go down her back slowly, making her shiver against his burning touch.

Josephine pulled back for air, but she remained close, watching his eyes dark with desire and lust, holding himself from ripping that dress off her and taking her on the floor a couple of times.

“Let’s go make a baby,” she whispered against his lips, those five words hitting differently now.

Tywin’s pupils dilated, and he removed his hand from her back while letting go of her wrist. Instead, he used both to grab her waist and lift her while he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

The Lioness held back the faintest of chuckles at the move, feeling his trimmed beard tickling her skin as he carried her to the bed, now more determined than ever to continue with the deal.

Chapter Text

After the incident at the wedding feast, things changed in the court. Lords no longer approached Josephine, and even Mace would often glance at his feet when they were in the same room as if fearing Tywin’s wrath.

Though one could not blame them, what Tywin did was not random. This was not an act of confessing his feelings for her. No, this was a courting move to show the rest of the world that she was taken and that he had claimed her as his.

While being seen as an object to be claimed and possessed by someone felt odd, it also pleased Josephine, who found her life slightly easier after this. She could feel that Tywin still faced his inner demons on the subject.

The court did talk, of course, but it was more the fact that Tywin danced and kissed a woman than the actual relationship between the two adults. Still, Josephine’s nature remained a secret, with both agreeing it was too early for revelations.

Two days after the wedding feast, Oberyn left for Dorne, taking Ellaria with him. Of course, the Dornish Prince openly invited her to come whenever she wished, and Ellaria promised her a lot of good times if she took up that offer.

The rest of the guests were soon to leave, with Willas having to return to Highgarden and attend his duties. The goodbye with Josephine was simple, lingering on a talk of a future visit and some hawking if the weather was good.

The only remaining guests were Kevan, Dorna, and Genna. The Lannister family would remain together and then return to Casterly Rock for Cersei and Loras's wedding.

The Queen Regent had made it clear that she would only get married in the same Sept her mother did, thus in Lannisport. It did annoy Tywin, complicating his plans, but in the end, a plan was made.

Olenna, Mace, Jaime and Qyburn would remain behind to keep hold of the small council. Tywin would join his family but communicate with them via ravens, helping in the ruling of the Kingdoms until his return.

Tommen, wishing to be present at his mother’s wedding, would join the group, and Margaery would also come, for she had never seen the beauty of the Westerlands. Josephine, as expected, would follow Tywin and this time, Tyrion would join them as well, much to the Lion’s dismay.

The trip from King’s Landing to Lannisport lasted around 25 days with the carriages.

For most of the trip, Cersei remained in her carriage and stared out the window. She truly wished to get married close to home but also took the chance to delay the inevitable wedding, even if it was only for a full moon rotation.

Josephine had chosen to ride with Kevan and Tywin, while Genna and Dorna kept Cersei company in the carriage, along with Tommen and Margaery. Loras, the ever-brooding one, refused to share a carriage with Cersei, choosing to enjoy his last moments of freedom.

The sun would rise and then set, marking each day on this long journey. Yet, as the days passed, Josephine felt the excitement within her building up, tying her stomach into intricate naval knots and making her heart race.

At last, by the evening of the 25^th day, Casterly Rock started to be visible in the distance.

Josephine moved her horse a little forward, wishing to be as close as possible in front of the group. Her grip on the rein tightened, and she parted her lips, staring with nostalgia at the familiar sight.

From afar, it looked like a grand city built into a steep, rocky mountain.

The architecture was intricate and layered, with buildings rising in tiers along the rugged slopes. At the very top, a majestic palace was perched, standing tall and residing along with the Gods; its height one that almost nothing could rival.

She could not fully see it as they approached, but she could imagine the grand entrance they would have to pass through. The large stone bridge that allowed entrance was adorned with carved lion statues. It extended from the castle over a turbulent sea, where waves crashed against the rocky cliffs below, often sounding like the roar of a Lion.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she almost felt the need to pinch herself, fearing this was all a dream that she would wake up from.

Casterly Rock was her home, the place she grew up in. It became her shelter, the holder of all her memories—bitter and soft. She spent her childhood inside its walls, running down corridors and fighting with Tygett in the training grounds. In those hidden rooms, she would spend her days studying with Genna or playing Cyvase with Kevin.

Within Casterly Rock, she would learn to control her abilities, find love, and endure heartbreak. All her past had taken place there, and Josephine was at a loss for words.

For 30 years, she travelled the world, and no castle could ever compare with Casterly Rock. For 30 years, she went to sleep each night, dreaming of the place she had once called her home, her shelter.

And each day for 30 years, she would wake up, only to be reminded she was far from it. Each day, she yearned for the beautiful sunset on the Western Sea and the sound of seagulls down below.

Each day was spent wondering if she would ever see the white walls and elaborate marble lion statues that adorned them.

Until this point, Josephine had truly thought she would never see it again, yet here she was.

Tywin and Kevan reached her, their horses on each side of hers. Kevan looked at Josephine, his heart aching at her emotional state, realizing how much she had missed it. This was her home as much as it was theirs.

He looked at his brother, who kept his attention forward, but it was clear he was refusing to see Josephine. He did not need to see the tears she held back to sense her emotions; the sheer impact of seeing Casterly was an overwhelming sensation.

Kevan took the lead. “Welcome home, sister,” he offered her a gentle smile.

It was only then that Josephine blinked, realization slowly setting in.

She was finally home.

The little travelling group had been welcomed with happy smiles and the utmost respect, and the servants and household of Casterly Rock were genuinely pleased to have their lord back. Curious eyes looked at Josephine as she dismounted, and the Lioness hid her disappointment when she did not spot any familiar face in the crowd.

It made sense, though, that after 30 years, the people would have changed; many would be retiring or even leaving this plane early.

Yet, it was all soon forgotten as they were led inside, and Josephine truly got to experience the warm walls of her home once again.

In the following days, she would choose to roam the huge castle, finding the adrenaline of her excitement slowly fading after so many days riding. Thus, she let a servant lead her to her chambers and was surprised to find them as she had left them.

Josephine entered slowly, eyes scanning the familiar room. The Lannister banners hang from the walls and above the hearth. An oak bookcase was filled to the brim with books, and her old desk was neatly tied up as if she had never left it.

The hearth with the big furry rug on which she would often lie and stare at the flames was still there; the table and the couch were pushed further back so she always had more space to lie.

Lastly, her eyes went to her bed. It was a step taller than everything else, dark wood carved into elegant lion and hunting designs. It stood tall, four wooden pillars meeting to the top, red drapes held back by golden ropes, ready to be pulled down and offer some privacy for the sleeper.

She parted her lips in surprise and slowly walked towards it. There was not a single speck of dust, the room sparkling clean as if they were expecting her to return one day, and she finally did.

She spread her hand, fingers gently caressing the wooden bed structure, finding old scratch wounds from her younger years. Her hand moved on, gently passing above the soft furs of her bed covers, spotting the bloody red bed sheets hidden beneath.

Josephine noticed something on the small table by her usual sleeping side and walked closer to it. Her hands trembled as she picked up a wooden figurine, hand-carved to resemble a roaring lion.

She remembered when she had carved this, quite some time after Tywin’s marriage to Joanna. Something about using a knife to carve the wood soothed her emotions, the feelings of hurt and grief replaced by pride once she had managed to create something.

By now, the scars she had obtained by cutting her fingers while learning this difficult art had long faded, but the memory was there.

Suddenly, the door creaks, and she wipes her head towards it, only to see Tywin standing there and watching her.

While Tywin was away, Kevan and Genna were left responsible for Casterly Rock. But now that he was back, he found there was still some work to do and some ravens he had to send back to King’s Landing.

But first, before he could sit down and plan the days, he needed to check something.

His feet carried him with a subconscious memory, walking down the hallway where the main chambers could be found. It was in those chambers they had all grown up with, their belongings and beds upgrading as they aged.

Each chamber was built a certain distance from the other, providing much-needed privacy between the siblings. Yet, two existed closer to one another than anyone else, and one had already been opened.

Tywin walked towards the open door but halted by the entrance, daring not to enter. His attention caught Josephine, who slowly caressed different items in her room. She seemed lost in memory, her gaze soft and her actions even softer, as if she feared things would break with a sharp move.

Nostalgia was visible on her face, and Tywin did not need their bond to know how she felt. His eyes followed her as she moved towards the bed, yet choosing not to make a move.

Ever since they approached Casterly Rock, Tywin had barely talked to her. Her genuine expressions of relief and shock had hit him harder than anything else, making him realize the true impact of his actions back then.

He had not just sent Josephine away from him but away from everything she knew, even the place she called home.

Perhaps this was why he kept ordering the servants to keep the room clean despite the passing decades. Nothing was moved from its position, and no one but he dared to enter truly.

For some time, Tywin would find himself standing in the empty room, deep in thought. He would contemplate the past and relieve the regret of his actions and of his one true loss.

Josephine spotted the wooden figurine she had made, which she had gifted Tywin on his 32^nd name day. The Lion did not wish for gifts or crazy celebrations; he was too busy with his work.

And yet the Lioness had left this little trinket on his desk, for him to find; a silent gift with more meaning that he had originally thought.

Tywin stepped in, purposely pushing the door wide open to make a noise and alert her of his presence.

It worked, though it caused her a small scare before she realized she was not under attack. Tywin had come to notice that, especially a lot during their trip here.

Josephine was jumpier than she used to be, her instincts kicking in faster than common thought. For a single second, fear would often flash into her eyes before she covered it. Then, Tywin would remember her scars and how much of her past she refused to let him know, as if embarrassed or even scared to speak of what she had been through.

What she had been through because of him.

“Tywin,” she greeted him, her sweet smile almost contagious. She hastily left the wooden lion where she found it. “Everything alright?”

The Lion took a few steps in. “Yes. Checking to see if you settled yet.” He eyed the closed trunk with her belongings, getting his answer.

She turned to face him. “Slowly, I was going to. I just... got carried away.”

“I can see that.” he placed his hands behind his back as he walked deeper into the centre of the room. “You will find that your room has not been touched, though your nights will definitely not be spent here.” He gave her a side eye, silently studying her.

The Lioness was amused, slowly walking towards him, radiating the same amount of confidence he did. “And what if I choose to?” she questioned, passively accepting the challenge he laid before her like fresh prey.

His smirk was evident, and he turned his body halfway, hands still held back. “You will find no reason to do so.”

By now, she stood before him, head arched slightly to have him in her field of vision. “Is that so? I believe I can find plenty of reasons.”

His composure dropped first, and he moved to fully face her, hands wrapping around her waist and the side of her neck. “Name them,” he commanded her passively, pulling her closer to the point her body leaned against his.

Josephine’s composure followed, her smirk turning into a softer smile as her hand grabbed his wrist, feeling his strong fingers easily wrapping around her delicate neck. “I don’t think I have to. They pale before you,” she confessed.

Tywin wasted no time to claim a kiss, pulling her even more against him to the point she stood on the tippy toes. His kiss spoke of volume, passion and lust, a combination that Josephine found hard to fight, and she quickly gave in.

That one kiss turned into many, some slower and more intimate before they finally pulled back. She moved first, burying her face close to his chest, her head pressed directly beneath his chin.

“I have missed this,” she whispered, feeling his grip loosening up and the hand holding her waist became less gripping and more tender.

He did not say anything, hiding his guilt behind his silence. Tywin closed his eyes and inhaled, simply focusing on the moment she was pressed against him like she used to in the past, caring little for whomever would pass by and see them.

And a few curious servants actually did.

Chapter Text

The next day after their arrival, everyone broke fast in their own respective groups. Mace and Loras did it together, accompanied by Tommen and Myrcella.

Cersei, who still refused to be near her future husband, broke fast in her chambers, thinking of Jaime and wishing he were present.

Josephine broke the fast with the siblings, remembering the good old times when they would all dine together and the chaos that often followed for most of their growing-up years.

Unlike the rest, Tyrion was not in the mood to eat. Being back home felt odd to him, as it had been years since he had slept in his personal chambers. This place did not hold as many fond and warm memories for him, and he doubted any of his siblings ever did, especially after their mother’s passing.

Thus, it was not that early when Tyrion found himself walking aimlessly the familiar corridors, growing tired already of all the Lion status carved at the base of pillars. The primary colours within were the white stone walls, matching with the red and gold Lannister banners found within.

Architecture was the only thing that kept him interested. As he was older, he found an exciting feeling as he headed deeper into the ground; the light of the day was kept outside, and only torches illuminated his path.

He took a familiar corridor but eventually stopped as it branched. He could take the one to the right, continue his way and eventually find the hidden alcove and beach or take the one to the right, leading to the Lannister Hall of Glory.

Something about that hall often intimidated Tyrion when he was younger. The shame he felt in his dwarf stature and his father's constant disappointment did not help with his confidence either.

But now, he was a grown-up man who had stopped chasing after his father’s approval. Now, he was finally ready to face the judging eyes of his ancestors, whose history books claimed they were much holier than him when they were not.

The Lannister Hall of Glory extended as far as the eye could see. On one side, the walls were covered by huge family paintings leading all the way down. Across from them, the armours of all the heirs, Kings, Princes and Lords that served as Heads of House Lannister.

Tyrion started to follow the long red carpet spread across the room, and his mismatched eyes fell on the family portraits.

First was the famous Lan the Clever, the founder of what House Lannister would come to be. He stood tall and proud, a smirk as mischievous and sharp as his mind; drawn on his face. A slender woman with hair kissed by fire and bright grey eyes was by his side.

The next portrait featured King Loreon Lannister, "the Lion." He was the first known Lannister king, and he seemed to have a young red-haired woman by his side, while his wife was standing by his other side.

After him, there was King Tybolt Lannister, "the Thunderbolt". He was painted atop his black horse, sword in hand, and standing over a hill, watching a bloody massacre below. He ensured that the first Andal warlords in the westerlands met a bloody end. Next to his horse, yet another red-headed woman.

Tyrion continued walking, letting his gaze follow the next portrait. This one was of King Tyrion III Lannister, the man he was named after. He sat on a golden chair, surrounded by his family and wife, a proof of his achievement when he took the sons and daughters of the Andals for wards and fosterlings.

As the dwarf continued down the hall, and as the Kings of House Lannister became Lords, he noticed a pattern. Each one varied a little bit in physique, clothing, and the wife they had chosen, but they all had one thing in common.

A woman with hair kissed by fire stood either by their side or right behind their chair, a silent protector that stood out against the sea of golden hair and emerald eyes. And it was then that Tyrion realized just how similar those women looked to Josephine, before he connected the dots that they were the Partners before her, the Lionesses of her past.

His feet complained by the time he reached the ¾ of this long hallway, and his mismatched eyes finally fell on a portrait he had hoped to see. It was one he did not pay much attention to as a child, but now he had a reason to do so.

It was a family portrait of Tytos, his deceased Grandfather and the man known as the ‘Toothless Lion’. Like his predecessors, he was sitting on the famous golden throne and dressed in the fanciest clothing.

His family was positioned around him, including his wife Jayne and his partner Leona, who was positioned right behind him. Six children were total around him: Tywin and his siblings, with Josephine standing out in the sea of gold.

“I see I am not the only one in the mood for some history,” a voice suddenly said, startling Tyrion from his staring.

He placed one hand above his fast beating heart. “By the seven, aunt Genna; you scared the crap out of me.”

The curvy woman walked towards him, a slight feline smirk playing on her lips. “Didn’t think you had it in you to be scared, Tyrion.”

“Ha, ha,” he commented sarcastically. “Very amusing. Another dwarf joke.”

Genna reached him soon after, coming from the door at the other end of this narrow room. He halted by his side, eyes falling on the familiar portrait, and her gaze softened, as did her smirk.

Tyrion took notice and realized this was a happy but old memory for her, of a life that was much different from the one she was currently living. He pressed his lips to form a thin line and kicked himself mentally for what he wished to do next.

“This is you, isn’t it? When you were a child,” he pointed out, openly giving her the chance to talk about it.

She nodded. “Yes. By the seven was I skinny back then,” she bemused faintly.

Tyrion chose not to comment on it, having learnt rather young how women reacted if one dared to point out their body size and weight. A few slaps from women would do that to most men, as long as they were not foolish enough to repeat it.

“And this,” the dwarf pointed at the red-headed girl standing close to young Tywin. “Is Lady Josephine, isn’t she?”

Another nod from her aunt. “Yes, and her mother, Leona, your grandfather’s partner.” She motioned for the skinny woman standing behind Tytos.

There was something hollow in her gaze, something tired and dead. Her smile was weak and fake, a big contrast to Josephine's. Even her body seemed paler, weaker than one would expect from a partner, and very different from all the partners before her.

Tyrion reminded himself that the partner matches the heir, now suspecting that perhaps this was more literal than he had originally believed.

Tyrion studied the children in the painting. They all looked closer in age, a few years between them but nothing crazy. He took a moment, but then he realized something: the mysterious and unknown puzzle of his father’s past slowly had pieces falling into place. “She was raised with you,” he pointed out, feeling momentarily that he sounded rather stupid with that observation. Lady Josephine was raised with you all.”

His aunt smiled, the memories something she held close to her heart. “She was not just raised with us but between us. We considered her our sibling, even though we did not share common blood.”

She found no reason to bring the rumours, for she knew Tyrion was quick to judge and would often fall for the wrong conclusions. Plus, they were mere rumours; no true proof of what they spread was true.

Genna did not even have to think about them much as her emerald eyes fell on the portrait next to the one they were busy looking at. It was the second to the last, and it was a family one; having almost all of them, though the years had passed, they had all grown.

There was no Tytos present in this portrait, and neither was Jeyne or Leona.

The golden chair was occupied by none other than a young adult Tywin, the portrait drawn not long after he had claimed the official title as Lord of Casterly Rock. Ironically, this new title came a few moon rotations since the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion.

The suppression and total extinction of those two houses not only reminded the world that the Lannister Lions were a force to be feared but also motivated Tywin to take the title of Lord Lannister from his weak father.

He sat on that golden chair, showing how much he deserved it with his powerful stance and hard glare. It almost gave the feeling that he was truly born to do this, or as if this chair had been made for him, for his eventual ascension as head of his family.

His siblings were equally spread out, with Kevan and Genna standing by his right while Tygget and Gerion were by his left. All were dressed more properly, true royal adults of this rather powerful and ancient house.

Josephine was also by Tywin’s left, though her position differed from the other two male lions. As her place required, she had to stand behind the golden chair. But Josephine had moved more to the left and the front, coming closer into the rear and more front than any other partner before her.

What Tyrion noticed after a small observation was the fact that Josephine’s hands were not placed before her lap or left by her sides. Instead, her dominant hand had been extended and gently placed upon Tywin’s shoulder like a wife would to her Lord Husband.

A move Tyrion remembered having seen Josephine do at least once, when Tywin had first called them for a pride meeting and informed them of the arranged marriages.

None of the Lions smiled, but they all looked formidable and powerful—a true Lion Pride. Each carried something unique, and together, they were the definition of a strong family—one that no one should mess with.

And they were.

Despite the years separating them and their very different characters, arguments, and schemes, they all had a strong and loyal bond that few could question and even fewer could match.

The day their very first family portrait was taken was one that any of the Lion siblings would not easily forget. They all knew it was coming, and none were looking forward to it. Dressed in their finest clothes, they were expected to stand still for more than an hour as the artist drew them all to perfection.

It was a tradition that had started a few generations back and has remained so since.

Tywin was 13 at that time and also the eldest. His mature nature and passive hatred for his father's weakness had started years ago, but after his return from King’s Landing, they became more evident.

The ever-serious heir was sitting on a chair, a board of Cyvasse placed before him on the table. Across from him, Kevan, at age 11, was busy thinking his next move; still trying to learn and hopefully beat his brother one day,

Josephine had passed her 10^th nameday less than a full moon rotation ago. The young partner was sitting on the floor next to Tywin. Grey eyes were locked on the board, watching the two lions play; she slowly learned and memorised their tactics.

The atmosphere was calm, quiet even, and all three seemed to enjoy it. They knew soon a servant would call them to change and prepare for the family portrait, but until then, they chose to spend their free time wisely.

At least, the three of them did.

Suddenly, the door to the room was forced open as young 7-year-old Tyg entered. He was out of breath, and he looked above his shoulder in fear before he rushed to hide behind Tywin’s chair, as if the eldest would protect him from whatever was after him.

“Genna... she has lost it...” the young boy mumbled, trying to peek without giving away his position.

As if summoned by his words, a young Genna entered the room. No older than 10, the bossy blond was already dressed in a fine dress and held a hair brush in her dominant hand.

Bossy and commanding, the female Lannister had started early, showing her lion nature, which one of her siblings had come to anticipate and try to avoid.

Josephine, who realized why Tyg was running away, could not help but chuckle at his pain.

Her amusement at his personal struggle did not settle well with Tyg. “Why don’t you bother with Josephine?” he dared ask Genna, trying not to come out too much and remaining partially hidden by the chair. “She needs it more than I do!”

Genna looked at the young Lioness, whose reddish brown hair was a wild and fine mess. She had a bad habit of not brushing them, and it was from one of those days that they seemed more unkempt than usual.

She smirked as she marched deeper into the rim, her fingers wrapping around Josephine’s wrist before hurling her onto her feet.

Josephine let out a yelp of surprise, and as Genna started to pull her away, she looked at Tywin, hoping for his interference.

Yet the heir barely looked at her, more focused on his next move. On the other hand, Kevan sent her an apologetic look while Tyg smirked, pleased to have found someone else to take his place.

The Lioness glared at him. “Traitor,” she mouthed before being pulled out of the room.

The artist had finally arrived, the supplies had been prepared, and the Lannister family was slowly gathering for the portrait.

Tytos was already sitting on his fancy golden chair, his hands placed on its arms, fingers resting above the golden heads of lions carved on the golden surface. Jeyne Marbrand, his wife, was sitting by his side on a similar but plainer chair, with newborn Gerion sleeping in her arms.

Tytos’ loyal partner, Leona, stood right behind him, tall and proud like a true lion.

Tywin was also there, having taken his place by his father’s left, as it was meant for the heir and future Lord of Casterly Rock.

Kevan had just entered the room, dressed, groomed, and ready. His long golden hair was neatly brushed, and he looked as elegant and royal as the rest of his family.

The sound of steps against the marble floors reached their ears, and from afar, they could see Josephine and Genna trying to sprint, their hands holding up their dresses. Tyg was rushing after them, trying to keep up with his shorter legs.

Josephine, who was on the lead, managed to come to a screeching halt right behind Kevan, having missed falling on him by a single inch. Unfortunately for them, Genna was not as graceful.

She failed to stop properly and ended up falling on top of her. Tyg followed suit, resulting in Kevan and the two girls standing beside him.

Not what one would expect from the Lannister lions.

Tywin passively glared at his siblings, clearly displeased with not only their lateness but also their embarrassing mess. On the other hand, Leona sighed hopelessly at her daughter's wild nature, which seemed only to double the chaos of the other cubs rather than contain it.

Embarrassed, they all got up and quickly moved to their respective places. Kevan and Tyg sat cross-legged before their parents while Josephine moved to sit right before Tywin.

She turned her head to glance at him, and he looked down at her. Josephine offered him a soft smile, and one could see the corners of his lips curving up slightly. Then, the artist asked them all to look in his direction as the long and slow passing hour started for all of them.

Life was never boring inside Casterly Rock, not with six litters roaming around, each one more diverse and chaotic than the other. While Tywin and Kevan had matured and shown a more serious, proper nature, their siblings seemed to have not yet achieved that.

Yet, order could easily befall when the situation asked for it, or Tywin put his foot down, and everyone fell in line.

Despite not sharing common blood with the young Lions, Josephine had blended in, and they truly treated her as their sibling.

Genna could remember one such occasion during their earlier teenage years. Unlike her, Josephine had requested to learn how to handle a sword, finding the use of it a potential trait she could take advantage of in the future.

Plus, coming back not long ago from the War of the Nine Penny Kings was proof of why she needed it and that she could handle it.

Due to her lack of training, she would often spar with young Tyg, who was closer in age. Tyg was a preteen by then, yet he was already growing taller and stronger than her.

The Lioness, though, was more cunning and still faster.

Her wooden sword met his, and Josephine quickly delivered smooth, short attacks on his right and left sides, forcing Tygett to defend himself. She was quick on her feet, trying to step to the side and try a different angle, making her a challenge for her opponent.

Their instructor, Ser Medford, watched as he stood beside Kevan and Tywin. Pride could be seen in his dark brown eyes; he truly enjoyed the sight of Josephine’s skills and quick thinking.

Of course, that pride also disappointed Tygett, who was falling behind in his training lessons and often let his mouth run instead of his sword.

A sharp move from Josephine caused Tyg to loosen his grip on his wooden sword, and the next attack caused him to drop it. Thus, the young lion found the tip of her training sword pointing at his heart.

The Lioness smirked. “I win, again,” she mocked him with a rather theatrical bow.

There was always this rivalry between them, a need to challenge one another, prank, and cause trouble. They acted more like siblings than anyone else, a common joke his father shared with his rude guests.

Tygett glared at her, being a rather sore loser. He did not like that he was staying in his brother’s shadow, and he certainly did not take it lightly to be mocked by a teenage girl who was never meant to pick up a sword.

He charged at Josephine and bent forward, arms quickly grabbing her waist. Thanks to his momentum and passive anger, Tyg found the strength to lift the light and shorter girl, tossing her over his shoulder.

“Tyg!” she called out his name, surprised at first by his move. When he did not release her, she started to hit his back with her fists. “By the old gods, let me down, you coward!”

Yet, her ‘brother’ never obeyed and this move would become a habit of his; whenever he wanted to win an argument with her or piss her off. In the years that would follow, he would become even stronger, and her attempts to release herself would become more hopeless.

The childish show between them made Kevan and Tywin sigh simultaneously. They never understood the need for such theatrics and drama.

A few hours later, all the siblings found themselves standing before Tytos. He looked at them with a tired expression, truly missing his wife and how she could handle them with much more ease than him.

Tygett was sporting a fresh black eye, the skin already turning purple from the force of the hit.

“Do I want to know what happened this time?” he asked, from the few times one could see him acting more like a father and lord than a laughing stock and weak leader.

Genna, Kevan and Tywin passively looked at the two culprits, yet none talked of what happened. Tyg glared at Josephine, causing the Lioness to scoff and look the other way, head held high and having no regrets about what happened.

Yet not all years were as chaotic and childish. As the lions grew older, they all slowly started to change. Sure, some behaviours remained, but adulthood was slowly entering their lives.

Kevan had just passed his 17^th name day before he was allowed to get married. His new wife, Dorna, was only a year younger than he was. It was a normal age for a marriage, and both had known of this betrothal since their early teenage years.

After the wedding ceremony, the customs dictated a feast and a feast was delivered. Kevan was sitting on the wedding table, his family on one side and Dorna’s on the other.

The hour had passed since the feast started, and many had risen from their seats, choosing to dance or mingle with the crowd. Such occasions were perfect for arranging new betrothals and forming beneficial alliances, perhaps even friendships.

Tyg had the fine, mischievous idea to help Kevan’s nerves by passing him alcohol, and Josephine found herself carried away enough to assist. Of course, all three had to drink simultaneously, or else it wouldn’t be fair.

While Kevan had learnt to tolerate his drink and only ended up tipsy, a much younger Tyg quickly found himself drunk, head spinning and chin resting on the table, groaning beneath his breath.

Josephine was fighting and was a single step away from being tipsy, get she could feel the alcohol in her system; loosening her up as one would say it. She made sure to push the goblet away from her, a sign that she was done.

Genna had long left the table and was busy flirting with a young, eligible lord. Sure, she was betrothed to a Frey, but until her wedding, she would make sure to have her fun, as much fun as a noble lady of her status was allowed.

Tytos had long left the room with his mistress, and Gerion was too young to do much other than play with the food before him and wait for the chance to leave, perhaps even go to sleep.

Tywin watched his chaotic family with an indifferent face, used to their behaviour. Unlike them, he remained posed and serious, a true and proper picture of a powerful Lord.

The music changed, and more couples were invited to dance. Kevan wished to do so, yet as quickly as he stood up, he sat down equally quickly, finding the wine affecting his balance. He sent Dorna an apologetic look, but his lady wife tapped his hand, understanding his situation and showing she did not mind if she did not dance.

Genna was already dancing with the same young lord she had smitten, and Josephine had left her position, now standing slightly close to the dancing floor.

She was thinking of joining, but one could see the hesitation, feeling the alcohol she had consumed would not help. The last thing she needed was to cause a scene and embarrass her siblings and the family she was tasked to protect.

Tywin took notice, but despite having a clear knowledge of Josephine’s complex feelings, he did not react. That was, until young Gerion kicked him beneath the table.

The young boy had noticed nothing more interesting than old people dancing. He, the rather emotionally intelligent boy he was, had read the situation and chose to act. He kicked his older brother again, stopping only when Tywin turned to acknowledge him.

“Brother,” Gerion said, silently passing a message. His emerald eyes quickly darted to Josephine and then back to his older brother.

Tywin was annoyed by his behaviour and the audacity of a boy who had yet to pass his 7th nameday to command him in such a way. Yet, he stood up with the same confidence he always did before he used his strength to push and knock Gerion off his chair.

Then, he headed for Josephine, who did not immediately notice him. Thus, he cleared his throat to announce himself and draw her attention.

Once her grey eyes locked with his, Tywin extended his hand for her to take, a silent invitation for a dance.

Hesitant at first, Josephine accepted his offer and placed her hand in his. She did not expect that from him, yet she quickly thanked him for stepping in. Her gaze was sweet, her mile even sweeter.

As they danced, she looked at him with a deep and thankful look that managed to enchant the mighty young Tywin Lannister. True, the two of them had been intimate, but it was during that dance, after that look of love and gratitude, that Tywin came to realize this was the woman he wished to marry.

And by the seven he would, one way or another.

Chapter Text

The Lannisport Sept was neither as grand as the one in King’s Landing nor as big. Yet, it was a place of religion, one the locals strictly followed. When the wedding day arrived, many of the small folk stood outside their houses, and they could be found on their balconies, sailors climbing on the tall masts of their ships for a better view.

They watched as Cersei was escorted to the Sept. At least, unlike her marriage to Robert, this one was smaller and simpler. She was no longer that prideful girl who felt powerful because she would get to marry one of the fiercest warriors and also the King.

Back then, she truly wanted the world to know as she became Queen, as her power expanded far beyond theirs. But now, all she wanted was for this to be over, for this marriage to occur.

Because in the days they would follow, Loras and her would have to return to Highgarden. And oh, Cersei could not just wait to be surrounded by fake weak roses all day and night.

She was led down the steps and towards the Septon by her father. Just like back then, he escorted her as it was his duty. Cersei dared to look at him, hoping for once in his life Tywin would defend her, but his gaze remained the same serious one she always knew.

Loras was waiting ahead, as unhappy as she was to get married, perhaps the only common thing they would ever have.

Tywin finally let her go and was rather careful removing the bridal Lannister cloak from his daughter, the same one Joanna had worn and the same one Cersei had worn during her first marriage.

Then, the Lion moved to the side, standing next to Josephine. They exchanged looks, but neither spoke of words nor voiced their thoughts.

Cersei dared to look at Josephine one last time, and the Lioness met her gaze. There was a silent exchange until Loras placed his Tyrell cloak around her shoulders, forcing Cersei to look at him.

From a stag to a rose, yet none can compare to a Lion, she thought bitterly.

She looked at Josephine once again, a mixture of annoyance and hatred. She had been so keen to defend her from Tywin’s wrath, yet she chose to stand back in this ridiculous idea of a wedding match.

That alone unsettled Cersei, so he could no longer look at her. At least, while in Highgarden, he would not always have to see Josephine around Tywin. That was the only relief.

The wedding was a success, and the small folk cheered for the union, even though they had never personally learnt to care of Cersei. The woman had been absent from their lives for years, and gossip did travel across cities, letting them know how displeased their fellow small folk at King’s Landing were.

They all returned to Casterly Rock for a small feast, a final formal celebration of this union. The guests were few, local houses from the Reach and Westerlands; nothing much, for there was no need.

Music played, and people mingled within the grand halls, watched over by the carved golden Lions at the base of each pillar. The Lannister Lion banner could be found anywhere, and there was no sight of the Tyrell rose, a passive hint of the famous Lion pride.

Despite the houses' union, the Lions refused to let the banners of a rose be found within their dent.

Cersei and Loras sat by the wedding table, not even looking at one another. The kiss alone, they had to share in front of everyone, was more than enough contact for one day. They did not even wish to think of their wedding night.

“So, we agree, nothing is to happen,” Cersei told Loras, emptying yet another goblet of wine, the only stable and reliable thing in her life from the looks of it.

Loras, who sat by her side, kept his attention forward. “You sleep your side, I do mine. On Highgarden, we have separate chambers.” he sipped some wine.

Cersei hummed, letting a servant refill her glass. “Good, something we can agree on.” She swirled the wine faintly in a circular motion. “I suppose I don’t have to worry about bastards with you.”

Loras was unsure whether that passive attack was meant to be taken as a joke or an insult. His eyes followed a young knight from his household, who had travelled with them from King’s Landing.

“You don’t,” he agreed. “They will demand a child, you know. My grandmother and your father.”

She sent him a side glare. “Do we really have to discuss this now?” she passively scolded him, making him stand up.

“No,” was his reply as he chose to walk away, find something else to occupy his thoughts, letting Cersei brood from her seat at the table.

Meanwhile, while this was taking place, Tommen was being dragged around by Margaery. The bubbly, social and charming queen was keen on meeting the lords of the Westerlands and indulging in conversation with them.

Of course, she could not just do this alone. Thus, the young boy was gently tugged here and there; offering smiles and courtesies, listening to their talks.

When one lord brought up the future prince and the heirs for the royal line, Tommen felt his stomach unsettling him. It did not help that he had this odd feeling that someone was watching him.

“If you will excuse me,” he politely said and let go of Margaery, walking away.

Tommen was unsure where to go or what he wished to do, so he let his feet carry him further away from his lady wife. Now more than ever, he felt someone following him.

He did not pay close attention to where he was going until he bumped into someone. He turned to apologize, only to see that the person he had bumped into was none other than Josephine.

“Are you okay, your grace?” the Lioness asked, looking down at him with concern.

The boy king took a step back and nodded. “Yes, it's just...” he shook his head, unsure how to express his thoughts without sounding like a madman.

He dared to look up at her, yet he could not help but remember the scene by the King’s wood. By now, the shock had passed; though it still puzzled him. It puzzled him that the woman before him could take an animal form at mere will.

Josephine had been nothing but kind to him, supporting him during the first days of Joffrey’s death and even after. Tommen could always sense her in the crowd and during social gatherings, watching him from afar, ensuring he was okay.

Watching him...

That feeling came to him once again, and Tommen recalled the last time he ever felt that way being around Joffrey. Whenever his older brother held his crossbow or a knife, Tommen would always feel approaching danger.

Maester Pycelle always said he was more observant and keen than his siblings and better aware of the world around him. Perhaps that was it, and he was picking up something others purposely ignored.

Josephine bent faintly, placed her hand on his shoulder, and looked at him with motherly concern. “You don’t look alright, Tommen,” she told him. What’s wrong?”

Tommen hesitated, feeling the words stuck at the tip of his tongue, unable to leave his mouth and be voiced.

Suddenly, Josephine’s gaze became distant, and she looked up, her sharp eyes spotting something on one of the upper balconies of the Grand Hall. In seconds, he pushed Tommen to the side with her body, just as an arrow bolt had found the place the young king was standing just a moment ago.

The attack did not go unnoticed; some women screamed at the assailant, having found his way in by passing as a servant.

“Guards!” Tywin shouted, eyes quickly scanning the room for Tommen and Josephine.

He quickly spotted them further to the side of the hall, with Josephine placing a protecting hand on Tommen’s shoulder; her instinct was the only thing that saved the boy’s life.

Cersei stood up fast, looking for her son as two Lannister Guards moved quickly to cover her in case of another attack.

As the guards stormed into the room, a crossbow bolt from another direction came past, taking down one guard with relative ease. Another assailant, having found his way on high ground as well.

“For Lord Stannis!” someone shouted, and guests were pushed to the side as unfamiliar faces dressed in servant or fancy clothing grabbed hidden swords.

There were only three on the ground, but the two on the upper level offered coverage, making Josephine realize they had to be dealt with first.

“Ser Cane!” she called out for the loyal guard, finding him amongst the crowd.

The smart man nodded and grabbed a knife from his belt before he rushed to a more open space. With the bow, he aimed for the enemy, who was more exposed and had fewer people around him.

The knife went flying towards him, finding the man’s side and causing him to miss the last attack. His hand went to the knife stuck at his side, his legs quickly giving up on him from the shock, and he fell over the railing, plummeting to the white stone floor beneath.

Josephine was about to move Tommen out of the way and let the guards handle this small attack—that was, until she noticed that there was one more.

He had so cleverly remained under cover, mingling with the frightened crowd and getting closer to his target. The glimmer of a dagger was momentarily, but so was Josephine’s reaction.

She used one hand to push Tommen down as she jumped over him, the Lioness coming out in return. Her dress got ripped from her body, and the mighty animal found the man’s hand and dagger within her mouth.

Sharp jaws closed around it, blood quickly filling her mouth, and the man screamed from fright and pain, falling to his knees.

The sight shocked both parties until the man with the crossbow chose to aim, seeing Tommen prone to the ground and trying to recover.

He loaded and aimed until Josephine’s roar reached him. The Lioness moved towards a group of guests, who screamed and moved out of the way as she jumped. Strong and muscled legs pushed her big body up, nails digging into white stone before she ejected herself even higher.

The crossbow attacker missed his shot as the mighty animal found one of his hands, sharp claws digging into flesh while the heavy lioness pulled him over the balcony railing, making both of them fall to the ground.

The man landed on his side, bones crushed from the force, but he was alive; he and the one with the dagger were the only ones who were not killed. Josephine had trouble turning her body and was left with no choice but to change or risk crushing on her side as well.

Her change was smooth and fast, her body much lighter and graceful, allowing her to land on all four without making a sound, her back arched faintly like a true feline.

By now, the threat was taken care of; the majority of the attackers were lying dead before the guards.

“Take them,” Tywin ordered as he moved forward, glaring daggers at the two surviving men. “And found the Maester for his hand. I want him alive until I get what I want.”

He turned to look at a naked Josephine, who slowly rose. Thankfully for her, Ser Cane had already ripped his red Lannister cape and gently placed it over her shoulders, offering her some modesty against the many curious eyes of the crowd.

Cersei rushed to hug Tommen, checking him for any injuries and being one of the few unaffected by the supernatural sight. At the same time, Loras had been standing protectively in front of Margaery, a simple eating knife in his hand in case they were attacked.

On the other hand, his father had become one with the crowd, moving out of the way and out of danger, a true coward.

Now that the original threat was gone, the crowd could focus on the matter at hand.

“Witch!” a woman shouted as people dared to approach with hesitant steps, some choosing to remain back while eyeing Josephine with fear.

“A monster,” an elder Reach Lord exclaimed.

Josephine looked at them, seeing the familiar judging look of hatred and fear in their eyes, a sight she had not missed. There was fresh blood on her face and mouth, and even her teeth were stained faintly from when she stopped the attacker with the dagger.

There were blood splatters on her body, now hidden by the crimson red cloak, but her hands still had blood and skin beneath her nails from when she took down the crossbow attacker.

Even the two attackers, despite the pain they felt, screamed at her and called her a monster as they were dragged out of the room.

Lord Leyton Hightower was the first to break this long minute of silence. “What kind of cursed woman have you been protecting, Lord Tywin?” he asked, his hatred for the unnatural evident in his aged eyes. “The Seven will rage upon this.”

Some in the crowd mumbled and whispered, agreeing with his words, while others remained silent, still trying to process everything.

Lord Leyton dared to take a few steps forward, hand going for the knife he had in his belt but never bothered to take out during the small attack. Yet he was apprehended by Lannister soldiers merely after he took three steps forward.

Ser Cane had pushed Josephine behind him, and Tywin had moved to stand as an obstacle between Lord Leyton and her. Yet, it was the soldiers' spontaneous act that drew the most attention.

The guards moved closer, some drawing their swords in warning but never attacking. They glared daggers at the crowd, the golden Lannister Lion proudly worn and sewn on their clothes and carved on their armours.

They knew who Josephine was. Many fought with her during the War of the Five, and some owed her their lives. They knew what she represented, and they were ready to disobey orders if it meant defending her.

Surprisingly, Tywin made no move to stop them or tell them to withdraw their weapons, which sent the message that he sided with them.

“There is no monster or witch in this place, Lord Leyton,” Tywin said, his voice calm but laced with warning. "You are a guest in my house, and that is the only reason you are still standing, so mind your tongue, for I do not tolerate insults.”

The threat made the Hightower lord look at the Lion, surprised by his words and actions. “How do you explain this, Lord Tywin? This cursed creature that seemed to have put you under her charm.”

Tywin was a patient man. Years of working for others and working with less intelligent beings had taught him that. But even his patience had a limit, and Lord Leyton was so close to finding out what happened when that patience ran out.

“You fool old man. You think because you hide behind your dusty citadel books in your previous high tower that you know all?” Tywin questioned, choosing insults over threats. “Clearly, you have not been in the world for years to remember. None of you, by the looks of it,” he looked at the rest of the crowd.

The tension between the two men was rising, and some Tyrell soldiers had moved close by, just in case more weapons were about to be drawn and more blood would be shed.

Josephine looked at the crowd, her emotions in check, but it was evident she was looking for someone with a different reaction. Lord Mace had paled, and Lord Manthis supported him, ensuring the fat man would not faint.

Margaery was holding on Loras’ upper hand, still terrified by the revelation, and the Young Knight of Roses tightened his grip on the small knife.

Suddenly, a new voice joined in.

Chapter Text

“Everyone stop!” Tommen shouted, leaving his mother’s strong embrace and rushing to stand between the two groups.

“Your grace,” Tywin said, surprised by his outburst and courage, yet gave him the room to act.

“Lady Josephine is neither a witch nor a monster,” Tomemn said, standing his ground and slowly gathering his courage. He glanced at her above his shoulder, offering her a small, comforting smile. “She is the protector of House Lannister, the Secret every Lord of this House had guarded to their deaths.” He turned to look at the crowd. “She is nothing but blessed, courageous enough to put herself into harm’s way to protect us all, her house and those outside it.”

Lord Leyton wished to argue, with his blind faith to the seven and the old books supporting actions. “Your Grace, she-“

“She is to be treated with respect,” Tommen interrupted, his tone far more commanding and proper for a King. “Lord Leyton, Oldtown has one of the biggest libraries across Westeros, and you have been a keeper of it. Search your books, and you will find proof of what I say, for lady Josephine is not the first. Her family exists along with ours, and our relationship is built on respect. This is the only thing I ask of you all... You are under Lannister protection, under hers. Show your respect and do not fear her, for she is here as a protector and a guide, not a threat.”

There was something about his words and how Tommen talked: a mixture of childish innocence and trust, coupled with leading tones and powerful stances. At that moment, Tommen truly acted as a King, more than he had ever done before.

He took the initiative and did what a King must do: protect those beneath his crown and his care, stand up against injustice, and show the wisdom a king must possess, as his grandfather had told him.

Tywin looked down at the boy before him, a smirk of pride evident on his lips. He had not spent much time shaping him, training him to be a proper King, but he could see the boy had it in him.

Tommen, perhaps, had the skills to be a worthy King, one of the most suitable ones to wear that heavy crown.

He glanced at Josephine, who not once looked away from Tommen. Her lips had parted in surprise, hearing how fiercely he defended her when he had every right to fear her. Her heart beat faster, and the look of gratitude in her grey eyes would be one the boy would never see, but it was there.

“I believe the hour is late,” Tywin said, ending this performance. “I think it is wiser for everyone to retire; let nothing else occur tonight.”

The young King looked at his grandfather and nodded. “Yes, we should.”

Josephine was led away first, Ser Cane and two more Lannister guards following close by just in case. Tywin was by her side, his hand on her waist; barely touching but just enough to pass the message of her to follow him.

They headed for his chambers, and he opened the door, letting her walk inside first. Yet, he stopped momentarily and glanced to the side, finding Ser Cane coming to a halt a few feet away from him.

The Lion said nothing but merely nodded his head, a passive acknowledgement for his actions during the attack and covering her with his cloak when he clearly did not have to.

 The knight offered a deep bow of respect, letting his lord enter the chambers before he chose to stand guard.

Inside, Josephine headed deeper into the room, the adrenaline of the small event slowly leaving her body as the hour passed.

She glanced at Tywin, who approached, golden-flecked emerald eyes scanning her form from top to bottom, clearly looking for any injuries she might have caused herself.

“I am okay, Tywin. I am unharmed,” she told him, hoping to ease his consciousness.

Of course, the Old Lion was not done yet. She might have been unharmed, but she might as well not have been with what she did.

“You are lucky to be,” he commented, hands placed behind his back. “What you did was impulsive and reckless. You should have let the guards handle it, as is their job.”

Josephine knew that the scolding was his way of masking his worry, of trying to ensure she would not do something and he would end up losing her for good. He was never a man who said what he felt or wished; he merely passed them all with coded messages hidden within his words.

Yet the mental strain of what happened and something else was exhausting her faster than normal, as did her patience. Thus, she could not help but voice her part, knowing fully aware she was throwing oil into the fire.

“And it's my job to protect my family,” she argued, stubbornly glaring at him. “Tommen would be harmed if not dead, had I not reacted.”

She stepped closer, wishing to march right into his face, but she halted. A sharp inhale was the first thing to break her momentary temper, and then she closed her eyes, clearly holding something back.

Tywin, still not furious enough like in the tower to ignore her symptoms, took notice. “Something's wrong,” he pointed out, stepping closer.

Josephine exhaled and opened her eyes, looking up at him.

With hesitant moves, she pulled back the cloak, allowing Tywin to observe her naked body. It was not her unclothed sight that got his attention but the small protrusion of her belly.

If he suspected it, he did not voice it directly, not until the Lioness placed a hand over her stomach.

He got the message.

“You are with child,” he pointed out, all anger and hidden worry gone as reality settled in.

Her smile was soft, and so was her gaze. “I am,” she nodded, keeping her hand where it was. “Ever since that night.”

There was always something, a feeling, or something more that allowed her family to know when they carried or which day was fertile enough to create a child. This knowledge became vital when new partners had to be born into the family to accompany the latest heir.

And Josephine had known since Margaery and Tommen’s wedding, since the night of the dance.

The signs had been slow the first two weeks, but then they slowly started to rise as they travelled to Casterly Rock. Due to the nature of the trip, Josephine and Tywin did not participate in any night acts, thus preventing the Old Lion from noticing how her breasts had grown bigger or the small protrusion of her belly.

Tywin stopped before her and placed his bigger hand above hers, as if he could sense the child slowly growing within. They had talked of it many times, years back and even now, but it never seemed to happen.

He kept looking at her, all his previous emotions gone. “Then you should and will take it easy until labour. No crazy plans or reckless actions,” he told her, forever the serious lion he was.

His words amused Josephine, who could not help but chuckle. “I promise I will try,” she told him, not once looking away.

There was this glow in his golden-flecked eyes, this pride that was rarely seen nowadays. He moved his hand to cup her cheek, then kissed her head, a silent action with more meaning than anyone would ever think.

Tywin and Josephine decided not to share the news of her pregnancy yet; instead, they would wait until the first signs were visible. However, the Lion planned a small wedding the following days, ensuring it happened before they all left.

Until then, they all had one more thing planned for their stay: a visit to Lannisport.

Lannisport was a famous city of the Western lands whose trade lines rivalled those of King’s Landing. It was built right on beautiful Sunset Bay, with bright blue waters and various fish. The coastal city was home to many famous smiths, tailors, and spice traders; life there was pleasant and, one might even say, rich.

White stoned houses spread as far as the eye could see. Stands with local produce and many shops could be found all around. Some buildings were built into the rock, and others were created into simple but elegant designs.

The city bustled with life, showing just how prosperous it had remained thanks to the still-running mines of the Westerlands and the rather good governance of House Lannister.

Margaery was the most excited; her arm wrapped around Tommen’s elbow as they entered the city. She could smell the sea breeze carried by the gentle western wind and hear the seagulls flying above.

The sun shone brightly, and there was more colour and life around her, directly contrasting to the rather depressing and dirty King’s Landing.

“The place is beautiful, my King,” she told him with a smile as their steps fell in sync. “Can we visit it more often? It would also be nice for the kids to come here once they are of age.”

The idea of kids buffled the young King, who nodded and tried not to let the pink show on his cheeks. That sight of innocence amused Margaery, who was merely toying with him. To make up for it, she kissed his cheek, showing him she meant no harm.

Close to the couple walked the rest of the group, with Tywin and Josephine on the lead. The two walked side by side, though their attention was on different things.

While Josephine was falling in love with the city all over again, letting her eyes scan the colourful fabrics above that shielded them from the sun and the familiar city she would often visit while growing up...

Tywin was busy watching her. He kept his attention on his surroundings, but he often studied her. He observed her reactions, the happy smile on her pink lips, the sparkle in her grey eyes, and the energy behind her step.

Kevan, Cersei and Tyrion followed, the three walking slower than the rest.

Genna had chosen to remain back, having already gotten tired of the city.

Loras did not join them either, finding no reason to do so and instead hoping to spend some alone time with the squire he had been eyeing since the wedding two days ago.

As they all approached the city's heart, getting closer to the pier, people started to notice truly. If the Lannister soldiers were not enough to make them stand out, Tommen’s stag antler crown was.

The locals started to leave their houses and shops; others merely stopped what they were doing and watched.

Margaery waved at them like the true Queen she was, and Tommen copied her with slightly less confidence. Some people bowed their heads, showing basic respect for the royal couple, but others watched.

An older woman having a flower stand waved the couple over and offered Margaery a local wild lily.

“Is it beautiful, thank you. How much?” Margaery questioned, fingers gently caressing the white petals.

The Older woman shook her head. “No cost. A gift for the new Queen,” she said. “May you be happier than the previous ones before you.”

“Thank you so much,” Margaery said, holding the woman’s hands into hers. “I promise I will order more flowers from you. They all look beautiful.” She eyed the rest of the small bouquets and woven handmade baskets.

While this occurred, Josephine and Tywin caught up with the royal couple. They noticed what was happening, and the Lioness smirked, remembering what Olenna had told her some time ago.

“Margaery might be my granddaughter, but do not be fooled; she is not as petty as I am,” Olenna told her during yet another personal invite in the gardens.

Josephine was amused, drinking some water. “I doubt anyone is as petty as you, Lady Olenna.”

“You forget that old lion of yours,” she commented. “I will tell you one thing, though, Josephine. Margaery is ambitious, but her heart is in the right place. She knows the people's power and how to win them over.”

At that moment, Josephine truly sees just how good Margaery could be at that game. She lacked at the political, but she ruled the emotional and smallfolk one. A queen never had to be too empathic for the people, understand and respect what they need from her.

That was a trait that Cersei lacked, which she had copied from Tywin, who had a far more pragmatic relationship with the common folk. If it weren’t for Kevan and Genna, who had a tad more heart in them, perhaps Lannisport would be in a similar situation to King’s Landing.

The old lady selling flowers suddenly noticed Josephine, who had chosen to wear her usual clothes instead of a dress to hide that little bump and be more comfortable.

“Lioness,” the old woman exclaimed, eyes wide in surprise. “Lioness,” she repeated, lifting a skinny, wrinkled finger her way.

The incident at the feast had become fast-spreading gossip. The secret was finally revealed, and it would be a matter of time before it reached King’s Landing. Josephine and Tywin knew that things would once again change for them once they returned.

Josephine blinked a few times and took a few steps closer to the stand, feeling déjà vu when she heard the woman call her.

This did not go unnoticed by the people around them. Many common folk now truly stopped, and some dared to take a step closer.

“It’s her!”

“Is it true?”

“Can it be?”

As more people noticed, the Lannister guards felt uneasy. Yet Kevan and Tywin were quick to give them a look and a silent order, telling them not to act.

Josephine turned to the crowd, lips parted in surprise. Unlike the crowd at the feast, these people did not look at her with fear but admiration... and hope.

“It's the Lioness!” a young girl sitting on her father’s shoulders pointed out.

The little blond girl giggled and moved the stuffed animal she held, which had been sewn and tailored like a female lion.

“You have returned,” the old woman from before said, finally coming closer. “After 30 years, you are back to save us.”

Josephine was a little too stunned to speak. She merely watched as the people acknowledged her and welcomed her. The same old Lady grabbed a simple flower necklace and silently asked the Lioness to wear it.

The Lioness obeyed, lowering her head and bending forward so this old female seller could place the flower necklace around her.

Tywin had been watching everything; his chest puffed faintly in pride at the sight. He did not expect the common folk to recognise her so quickly, but he was pleased with their reaction, which showed they really acknowledged and respected her.

They knew her, either by legend or from the past; they remembered her as part of their culture and their history.

He let them approach a little more and waited for the old woman to give Josephine the flower necklace before he approached. Once he did, the old woman bowed to him in respect.

“Let us continue the tour,” he told her, loud enough for the royal couple to hear and nod.

The crowd did not stop them; they merely moved to the side and allowed them to pass. Yet, as Josephine walked alongside Tywin, the people of Lannisport bowed their heads. This time, it was not just for their liege lord but for the land’s protector, their good omen.

Kevan, Cersei and Tyrion had stayed behind than the rest, yet they also saw everything that took place.

Cersei, at first, rolled her eyes at Margaery's overly kind and fake sweetness, knowing all those were lies and that she was not as sweet and kind as she let others see. No one could ever be like that, she thought.

But then Josephine entered the picture, and her annoyance turned into anger. She did not comment but scoffed before marching ahead, wishing to get further away from this pitiful sight.

Her uncle and brother exchanged a look, not surprised by her tantrum. Cersei was always the one who reacted when things did not happen or when her ideas were turned down. The narcissist within her could never allow someone else to outshine and upstage her.

And this was happening not from one but from two different women.

When the small folk started bowing to Josephine, Tyrion was confused. At first, he thought the people were showing respect to Tywin, but upon closer notice, he saw that it was also for Josephine.

Later, he would even see the free gifts and samples shop owners would give her, thanking her for coming back, fully unaware that their mighty Lord had sent her away in the first place.

But for now, he turned to his uncle, who understood all this more deeply. After all, he grew up with her during the Targaryen rule, when apparently The Lannister Secret was not much of a Secret but a luxury.

“They do not respect her, alone,” his uncle said, having suspected what his question would be. “They respect her family and what she represents.”

“You mean the Lion on our banners?” Tyrion asked as he walked by his side.

“That Lion was chosen as honour to the first partner, Nymea; for her assistance in getting Lan the Clever, Casterly Rock. Her family lived in these lands long before us, and thanks to Lan and Nymea, they also benefited from a peaceful partnership,” Kevan explained, watching as two children had clumped on top of a few wooden crates and waved as Josephine passed, one even trying to mimic a lion roar. “They became the protectors of this land. No wolf ever harmed a farmer’s sheep, and no foreign army invaded without encountering them. For these lands were theirs as much as it is ours.”

The dwarf listened carefully, nodding faintly at some key points. “No wonder the people treat her as if she is the Mother in the flesh or Crone, I guess; it depends on how one sees it.”

“Her family were considered a good omen for many years and are honoured by the locals even now. She is the last to remain and was gone for thirty years, letting Lannisport and the Westerlands face Robert’s Rebellion, The Greyjoys and the War of the Five Kings. But now she is back, and they are tired and hopeful; her return will mean good days for them to come.”

Tyrion did not comment on anything else; he merely watched the smiling Josephine, who nodded her head at the people, rather humble for all the adoration they showered her with. Tyrion watched his father, who remained close by. His hands were held behind his back out of mannerism, but his gaze would often turn to her.

Chapter Text

While life continued rather happily and peacefully for those in Casterly Rock, the same could not be said for those left behind in the capital.

While Tywin was away, a new threat had started to develop from the inside—a single man who started it all and never gave away his name, just his title: High Sparrow.

He was the newly elected leader of the Sparrows, the poorest of those sworn to the Faith of the Seven. Because of the war, many men, women and children were killed as Faiths collided, food became sacred, and poverty increased.

This left many of the people riled up and demanding more. Joffrey had tortured them enough. The royals had starved them for decades now, with one king worse than the other. They had never truly rebelled until that one time when they tried to go after Joffrey but failed.

Now, they were more organized than just a random group of hungry civilians. They were growing in numbers as a big family with a common goal.

This...mysterious man had made no direct move against the royalty living behind the tall walls of the Red Keep. He had spent days on end giving speeches, talking about the true faith of the seven.

He talked of confessing your sins so the Seven would forgive you or each of the Seven gods would depending on what kind of sin you had committed. He talked of how material things were unnecessary and how everyone was equal in the eyes of the Seven.

His words enchanted the common folk, and the number of attendees only grew each day, with more and more believing in the High Sparrow and being motivated by his words.

This had started to become alarming to those in the Red Keep, who knew too well that if the common folk were to unite fully, they would out-win them by a lot because of the number difference.

No one could forget how the Faith Militant and its uprising came to be no more than 150 years ago.

The Small Council Chambers felt empty without Tywin, though Olenna had done a good job keeping everything under control. They kept the Old Lion informed of most things, but some, such as the latest religious threat, had yet to be known by him.

Jaime sat at his usual table as Captain of the King’s guard, staring across from Olenna. Qyburn was sitting close, rather quiet in most meetings unless he had something to add. Sometimes, he would work with Olenna and those little spies that Varys left behind, the only thing that had saved them so far.

The young lion tinkered with a golden coin held between calloused fingers while he heard the reports and discussed what would happen next. He always needed something to fidget with, to hold, as if this would help him focus more.

It was during the past month, if not more, that Jamie started to understand the heavy burden his father had been carrying for years; just like him, he did it alone.

“I am telling you that this High Sparrow, whomever he truly is, is gaining more followers than we can get enemies in this ongoing War”, Olenna commented after explaining the latest ‘public speech’ where the number of common folk present could even surpass 1000.

“I say we move the soldiers and stop him next time he tries to give a speech,” Jaime suggested, glancing from the coin towards her.

The woman scoffed. “You can’t take free speech away, boy. If we try to stop him using force, we will be the tyrants in the eyes of the people, and they will come after our heads much faster.”

“And what do you suggest we do? We can’t just sit here while he talks like that about us. People believe him more and more with each passing day. Who is to say he will not turn them against us one of those days?” Jaime asked, worried there would be troubles when Tommen and the others returned from Casterly Rock.

Olenna rolled her eyes. “This is the mind of a warrior talking. Right now, you need to think like a man and a lord with your mind, not your sword. May the Gods save us if you forget you possess that too.”

During the time half the family was away, Olenna took a sort of mentoring role during the Small Council Meetings. She did offer her advice to him, though it was always laced with some kind of insult and poison, as it was fit for her.

Yet the young lion never truly reacted to them, finding her words stuck with him even after the small council was over. Slowly, he was starting to see things differently, but he had a long way to go.