A Lioness Still Has Claws | Female Tywin Lannister | ASOIAF/GOT

The Disdainful Bride

EDITED: 7th Jan 2022

256 AC

A wedding was a joyous occasion, all agreed. Even if the bride's face was like thunder the whole day.

Tya felt nothing but disdain towards her soon-to-be husband. Emmon Frey couldn't have weighed more than ten stone, a weed in silk and satin. He was a man of eight-and-ten, four years older than she was, but nervous, twitchy and sullen, especially around her.

That he was scared of her was a good thing, she supposed. Better that than the other way around. She had learned that morning that Emmon was so anxious around her that her father had weakly made the suggestion of betrothing him to Genna instead, only for Lord Walder to be insistent that his son marry the eldest daughter. On your head be it.

She had spent the morning being prepared for the ceremony by Rhaella and a few other ladies, though the princess was the only one of them she deigned to speak to. Genna was there as well, making constant snide jests about Emmon and his family, but Tya was hardly going to smile that morning.

Her mother was not there of course. Part of her was almost glad for it, that she wouldn't have to see her eldest daughter married to a Frey.

Tya was very surprised when, after everyone else had left at her request for a minute alone before they had to go downstairs, her cousin Jason entered the room with a strange look on his face.

"Have you come to gloat?" She turned to glare at him as he came to stand beside her.

"Yes," He replied, though didn't seem eager to. He had only ever laughed at her expense whenever her betrothal was brought up, but now even his sly smile was gone. "You look... nice,"

Tya raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic compliment. Although she would admit that she did look nice, as she stared at herself in the looking glass. She looked powerful. Her dress was red and gold, her hair braided atop her head. Yet the jewels she wore were her own, not her mother's, much to her anger. Her mother's jewels were back at Casterly Rock, around the neck of her father's little mistress.

Her eyes darkened at the thought of the girl. A candlemaker's daughter who thought herself a princess the way she ordered around the servants and whispered poison in her father's ears about Tya. Her father hadn't even protested when the whore put her thieving paws all over Lady Jeyne's jewels.

"That doesn't matter," She replied to her cousin. Because it didn't. No matter how nice she looked, her father would still give her away to a Frey. "Shouldn't you be downstairs?" Her tone lacked its usual venom.

"Yes," He said again, then all his words seemed to come out at once. "You shouldn't be marrying a Frey. I'm sure you'll make his life hell,"

She actually smiled faintly at that, perhaps the first time he'd made her do so other than out of spite or vindication.

"Only for a short time,"

His eyes widened; gods, she'd hoped he wouldn't catch her true meaning. Then his face lit up wickedly.

"Truly?"

Tya grimaced slightly at the idea of admitting it, to him of all people, but he knew already. She nodded. Her cousin laughed.

"You always were a vicious bitch," He said, and without thinking, she went to elbow him in the ribs, as she would've done when they were little. He caught her arm, however, his reflexes quick from time in the training yard, and linked his own with hers tightly to stop her doing it again.

For whatever reason, she did not yank her arm away or make any kind of protest. Neither did he let go, instead just staring at them both in the mirror, her in her wedding dress. Both tall, golden and beautiful.