Game of Thrones One Shots

An Untamable Lady, (Tywin Lannister)

"You're taking the piss." The scoff fluttered from her rounded lips, perfectly accentuating the amount of disbelief that laced itself delicately through her words. She paused a brief moment, the unspoken expression upon her audiences faces telling all that needed to be told.

"Father, no. Absolutely not. You have to be speaking untruth." Her hands frantically tore the piece of parchment from her father's fingers. Eyes scanned the eloquently written word, wanting desperately to erase the midnight ink that drew its tangling tendrils across the paper. The words took hold, their flicks and tails shot through her body, gasping round her flushed face and quaking wrists. "He's old! I'm closer in age to his children!"

"But he shits gold!" A higher pitched voice squeaked through the room as her brother added his two cents. He was considerably younger, and his immaturity outshined any other trait he could potentially possess.

"Don't say that." Her mother shooed her brother with the wave of her dismissive hand, "he is your betrothed." She added, cutting through the demonic scrawl of letters as she stepped closer. "You shouldn't speak of him in such a way. You may get along well with Cersei. She's a fine lady and a lovely queen. You are only a few years younger than her brother Tyrion."

"Your mother speaks the truth." Her father added, trying his best to calm the storm that raged in his daughters darkened eyes. "We will depart for Casterly Rock on the morrow. Prepare what you can."

She had heard it all before; it was nothing new to her ears. Many had tried to solidify the idea that she was too brutish, too manly, and quite unladylike into her brain in a veiled attempt at pushing her in the right direction. But it never worked. She reveled in the idea that she was no typical lady, and she thrived most when others cast their disapproving gazes her way. For she was untamable, unconquerable, unreachable for even the strictest of lords.

Perhaps that is why she was now chosen as the new young wife of the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Word floated from the townsfolk who mingled about the square, spreading nonsense to one another of how it would be refreshing to see Lady Hamell of the Westerlands actually act like a lady for once. "Tywin Lannister will beat her into submission." A blacksmith belly laughed, already having a grudge against the young woman for reasons unknown. "Perhaps she'll learn to shut her mouth." A huntsman agreed, upset that she had bested him on a hunt once.

Despite what she insisted, she was stuck to sitting in the lavishly covered carriage of red and gold. It had arrived in the night along with a coachman and four knights who were to ride on all sides in addition to Hamell men. The seats were cushioned with heavy velvet that scratched against the callouses of her hands, callouses that her mother insisted would be removed before their departure.

Casterly Rock was, in her words, underwhelming. Yes, it was a sight to behold - a castle of white atop a great cliff, but castles were not the object of her eye. The great walls were topped with armed men, all standing stiffly with their heads locked forward, but their focuses wandering all over the party that approached the gates. Water rushed against the jagged stones below, the white scars of the waves had no time to heal before another blow came from the oceans magnificent force.

The welcome was grand in comparison to anything the Hamell family had done. It was lavish, and abundant. An audience of men and women were lined through the courtyard that was embellished with greenery and blooming flowers. Red symbols were plastered over every archway, golden vines were hand painted through every door. It was bustling with noblemen and women who had ventured from Lannisport below, excited to get a glimpse of the woman whose reputation was anything but pure.

A single golden tipped shoe slipped from the open carriage doors, and it took everything in her parents power to keep her mouth closed and her posture proper. Delicate hands swept back her hair, stylized in a way that was unfitting and abnormal to her. Silk dyed the deepest color of crimson red graced her soft skin, flowing elegantly through the wind. It was not as many had assumed her to come. Most expected a girl with ratted hair, adorned in a muddy tunic, sat atop a strong steed. Instead, they were in the presence of a true, appearing, Lady.