The Lion's Den [Closed]

[Scriven]

Jaime smirked, the corners of his mouth rising. “Ah, well if you’ve allowed Tyrion the use of such a name, then it’s only fitting I use it as well. I’ve been of much more help to you than him, haven’t I? I won’t have people believing he’s your favored son-in-law.”


Jaime winced at his own joke. “I apologize. That was poorly timed. I do... hope that things can return to normal for us all though, and that this incident can be forgotten.”


He gave Amaia an abbreviated bow at the door and knocked from inside. “It’s Jaime-” he called through the heavy, oaken door. “Open up.” He gave Amaia one last brief, flickering smile, then disappeared, the door shut behind him.


“My Lord Hand.”


There was a heavy pounding at his door. The hour was late but Tywin sat up from his bed, instantly alert. He pushed back the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, calling for Varys, who he had heard on the other side of the door, to come in.


“My Lord, I’m sorry to have awakened you, but I thought you would like to know that Richter Plumm has confessed to putting Tears of Lys into Lady Amaia’s room.” Varys’s soft mouth drew downward into a frown. “Though... my lord, I’m not certain the confession can be believed. He was being tortured quite brutally. It’s possible he only said what he did to make the torture end.”


It was one of the dangers of torture. A man could be made to say anything, it seemed, given the proper motivation. Given the situation with the Plumms and House Hetherspoon, and Richter’s presence in King’s Landing, the confession seemed entirely plausible. It was the most damning evidence they were likely to get.


Tywin nodded, already striding toward the wardrobe to pull on a tunic and pants. He was glad Varys had woken him. He’d been considering the delicate situation concerning the Hetherspoons all day, and now that he had a more certain picture of Amaia's innocence, Tywin felt he knew the correct action to take.


“Have a messenger inform Lord Tybolt that a man has confessed to framing his daughter and that all suspicion has been lifted from them both,” he ordered. “Wake him up, if need be. I will take the news to Lady Amaia myself.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia’s smile strained at the mention of ‘son-in-law’, and Jaime winced a moment later. At least he realized it, too. “So do I, Jaime,”


Aemilia stepped away so that she would be no threat to the guards at the door, or perceived as one, anyway. Jaime announced himself so that he would be granted passage, and Aemilia watched him go. ‘Something done.’ More to do tomorrow. ‘You can’t think without sleep.’


The woman tried to convince herself of that, and she did blow out each candle, save one, to plunge herself into a darkness that should have taken her to sleep. She felt tired, mind and body, but her eyes kept drifting to that single, flickering flame. ‘It’d be a beheading, at least.’ Not fire. That was the last way Aemilia wanted to go. Stannis and his Red Priestess could keep their fire—neither of them had ever choked on smoke before.


Aemilia knew as she started to slip at last into sleep, that it would be followed by nightmares of the flames that burned Castamere.


Footsteps brought her right back to consciousness, before the slip to sleep was finished. ‘Who?’ She sat up on the bed, and strained to listen to see if it was just a shifting of the guards. She’d have to learn that schedule, too.


~***~


Tybolt was fast asleep, but Clifton couldn’t get comfortable on the stone ground. The fact he had no blankets or pillows didn’t help matters, and he dared not wake Tybolt to ask. The guards would be no help.


So, he was awake, and rather cranky, when someone pounded on the door. “Muh? What?” Tybolt was woken by the sound. His hands reached out to grasp for something to pull himself up to sitting.


“I’ve got it,” Clifton muttered, getting to his feet and stumbling to the door. One hand went to the small of his back. Stone was not good at all. He pulled the door opened and squinted at the man in the darkness.


“Can I speak to Lord Tybolt?”


“He is—”


“Come in,” Tybolt said, and the man with the candle stepped in. He didn’t shut the door behind him, and he inclined his head to Tybolt.


“Lord Tybolt, I’ve come to report that a Lord Richter Plumm has confessed to planting poison in Lady Hetherspoon’s room.”


“This was over poison?” Clifton found himself asking aloud, earning a queer look from the guard. He didn’t sound surprised enough. Clifton quickly tightened his lips under that look.


“Richter? Didn’t realize I upset him that much,” he remembered the Lord Plumm. He’d wanted to marry Aemilia, but Tybolt wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t want it for her, and she didn’t want it, either. “So that’s it, then? Where is Ami?”


“Lady Hetherspoon is in the Tower of the Hand presently, but she is unharmed,” so far as he knew.


“Good.” Tybolt intended to see her in the morning and see if she still wanted to go through with this. He doubted this scare actually changed her mind, but just in case…he could claim offense and cancel the deal, if she’d prefer that.


“Am I free to leave?”


“Oh, er, yes, Maester.”


“Good.” He pushed his way by the man, “Tybolt, I’ll be back when the sun is up, but I need a bed and food,” and his things, and out of the Red Keep, just in case things went bad again. He found himself muttering, "Not hers, right," grumbled, "Mithridatism no doubt...why not just say it?" Tears of Lys, too. Almost as dangerous to practice with as sweetsleep. He'd warned her a thousand times, but did she listen? No, of course she didn't, and he'd had to revive her a few times when she went too far. "Nothing but trouble."

 

[Scriven]

Amaia had been taken higher up in the tower, up almost to the top floor. Tywin, with a small lantern in one hand, climbed the steps. Outside, through the narrow slit windows, the moon and stars offered little light. The moon was only a sliver and the stars were nearly blocked out by lingering clouds in the charcoal sky. The corridors were dim, the shadows black. The candle within his lantern offered only a small path of illumination.


The two guards outside her door were alert. “Leave,” he ordered them curtly. “She may come and go as she likes now.”


The men nodded, bowed, then retreated down the stairs of the tower. Tywin raised his arm and knocked on her door.

 

[Lucyfer]

The voice that spoke was familiar enough for Aemilia to know who was there. The wood muffled the words, but she knew it was Tywin. ‘Has my fate been decided already?’ It seemed early to know if she was going to be beheaded, and she didn’t imagine the culprit had been found already.


There was a knock at the door. ‘No barging in?’ Tywin hadn’t been so courteous last time. Aemilia debated feigning sleep to see if he would, or if he would go away. However, curiosity got the best of her.


She slipped out from underneath the blanket and walked to where her candle was, then took it with her to the door, finding the handle and pulling the door open. She stepped back with it, allowing Tywin clear entry if he wanted it. “Lord Tywin,” she greeted him coolly, noting the guards were gone. “Should I dare to hope you have brought good news at this hour?” She didn't really believe it possible, and she would have rather waited till morning for bad news. At least that gave her the illusion she was getting one last night of sleep.

 

[Scriven]

Her tone was disbelieving. Whatever she thought he was here for, clearly she didn’t believe it was to deliver good news. “I’ve come to tell you that you are free to go, if you wish. Richter Plumm, who was seen earlier today in the Maidenvault, has confessed to putting the Tears of Lys in your room. He bore a grudge against you and your father after his proposal wasn’t entertained and says he sought to bring ruin to the Hetherspoons.”


Amaia had stepped back enough to allow him in. Tywin entered, setting the lantern in his hand down on the deep windowsill. “There is more. I wish to make a proposition.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Free to go. Aemilia couldn’t hide her confusion, and she even set down her candle on the table with the goblets as she gave Tywin a once over, reading his posture and his expression, to make sure this wasn’t a joke. ‘Plumm?’ That didn’t sound right. Sure, Richter had been upset with her and her father, but enough to do this?


Aemilia would have to see for herself later, assuming he was alive to see. He was lucky she didn’t actually have poisons with her, or he’d soon wish for death. The confusion didn't completely vanish from her face, but relief and consideration did take it over. “I see. I did not realize we had offended Lord Plumm so greatly."


The lantern was set down. ‘Shouldn’t you be asking Tybolt?’ Aemilia crossed her arms over her chest, not in irritation or anger, but certainly to show she wasn’t feeling up to granting favors right then. However, she was pleased he was asking her, rather than Tybolt. It was an interesting shift, considering everything else had been arranged through Tybolt. “What would this proposition be, Lord Tywin?” She would listen to it. She might ask to think on it until first light, if there was time for that.

 

[Scriven]

Amaia met his steady gaze, her relief riddled with confusion. She appeared softer than before, Tywin thought. Perhaps he had woken her, or maybe she was just too overwhelmed by it all to keep up the tight barricade she seemed to place around herself. Her hair was slightly rumpled, her eyes oddly luminous in the glow of the two candles.


“Tomorrow when my army marches, I want you to come. You’ve told me you have extensive knowledge of poison and medicine, which could be a great asset to me. I have enemies on all sides now. I want you to travel with me toward Casterly Rock so that I may use your knowledge.”


He could keep her near and marry her once they reached Casterly Rock. She knew enough about poison to handle Tears of Lys, so perhaps she would be able to detect if an enemy slipped some other form of poison into his food or wine. Amaia was also a practiced medic. He was getting too old to join men on the field, but would ride with the troops. Accidents happened all the time when traveling through war-torn lands. Her skills could be of great value.

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, though in the light it might have gone unnoticed. Hadn’t Tywin told her earlier that she was not a medic any longer? She was certain she’d heard that. Now he was asking this of her. She wasn’t inclined to refuse—after all, she’d come to enjoy the art of healing, even if it had started as an art of poison.


“All right.”


She let her arms slip to her sides, though one lifted again almost immediately to push back some of her hair. This had been the longest day she’d had to endure in a while. “I will come with you in the morning, my lord,” it couldn’t end as she’d hoped Robert’s Rebellion would, with Tywin dying of some poison. If anything, though, it would allow her position to be cemented.


No treachery here. No treachery until she was in the clear. “If I may, I would like to return to my room in the Maidenvault. I can prepare a bit better for the trip there,” clothing at least could be packed, and a few other things. She’d be able to see Tybolt before heading off as well. She might even catch an hour or two of sleep. This room was too tainted for that.

 

[Scriven]

Her easy agreement was met with surprise, though Tywin quickly hid it behind his usual stern facade. Perhaps he was just entirely too used to court and King’s Landing, but he had expected her to ask what was in it for her. She didn’t.


Amaia did ask to return to her room in the Maidenvault though, to which Tywin nodded. He picked up the lantern he had placed in the window, moving to the open doorway. “I will leave you to gather your things,” he told her. “We depart at first light.”

 

[Lucyfer]

There was a break in his expression that the shadows caught, playing on the lines in his face to soften some, and crease others. The surprise was short-lived, and Aemilia would have been amused to discover the reason was her easy agreement. It was wholly selfish to agree—after all, she had to fight for his good graces now.


“Thank you, my lord. I hope that you rest well,” Aemilia could see the stairwell had some lights. She briefly considered taking the candle, but in the end she blew it out and then, with a nod and a smile to Tywin, she walked by him and down the steps to return to the Maidenvault.


She passed Clifton on the way. He just gave her a dirty look, “Poison, Ami?” He hissed in the darkness.


“Not mine.”


“Uh huh,” his voice carried back to follow her, for neither stopped to converse.


She found her way back to the Red Keep, though she was waylaid by a pregnant cat when she got up the stairs—or distracted might have been a better term, for she fed the mewing thing attention until she remembered herself and quickly straightened up to return to her room. There were no guards posted, and she hesitated at her own door.


Then, she went to Tybolt’s, and softly rapped her knuckles against the wood. She didn’t want to wake him if he slept.


She heard his movements, and stepped back from the door just as he opened it. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her, and then reached for her. She stepped into the embrace, returning it, “Ami,” he breathed out. “You’re safe.” More than that, she looked unharmed. He had worried they’d taken her for questioning, and that could often mean torture.


“Yes,” she answered, squeezing him for a few seconds before releasing him, “Did you hear?”


“Yes. Poison? I thought you left everything—”


“I did,” she interrupted. “They say Plumm did it,” she started towards her room, and Tybolt followed.


“They say, eh?” He knew that turn of phrase. That meant she didn’t say. “I could see it,” he had heard that, he accepted it as truth. “Some men have egos the size of castles.”


Aemilia knew that to be true, and knew his reference immediately. She didn’t comment, but instead pushed open the door to her room. Her jaw fell open. Tybolt winced at her expression, “They…did a thorough search. I couldn’t stop’em, neither could Clifton. On the bright side, don’t think they found anything else.”


She took in a deep breath, and pushed it out slowly. “This is going to make packing difficult.”


“Eh? Is Tywin sending you away?”


“Quite the contrary,” she motioned him in, knowing she wouldn’t get rid of him now. “I’m going to Casterly Rock!”


Tybolt coughed, breath catching in his throat at that announcement.

 

[Scriven]

Tywin slept again, albeit briefly, rising when the moon still hung in the sky to prepare for their march. He could see from one of the windows in the tower that the troops were gathered outside the walls of King’s Landing, and almost endless sea of men on foot, horses, and carts full of supplies.


When Tyrion had been informed that he would once again be acting Hand, Tywin could have sworn his son seemed angry. It had been a flickering emotion through the short-statured man’s eyes though, hidden by a forced smile. It didn’t matter to Tywin if his son no longer desired the role though. There were things to be done and they all had to make sacrifices.


The fate of Richter Plumm would be decided in the coming days by Joffrey. Tywin suspected the man’s head would be severed from his body, possibly put on a spike for his grandson’s amusement. Tywin didn’t quite approve of such actions, but it was not so much of an issue that he would step in. The death of Richter Plumm and the embarrassment of the Plumms was a minor thing. It didn’t bear the same weight as the execution of Ned Stark.


The sky was beginning to lighten, black turning to sapphire above the city, the horizon warming to shades of red. Tywin sat atop a large white courser just outside the city. Thin but sturdy gold-plated armor adorned his chest. A red cloak hung from his shoulders, suspended by a pair of golden lions. The hem fluttered in the cool, morning breeze. Tywin gave a signal that was mirrored across the field, signalling the beginning of the march. The day began with a thunder of hooves.


Jaime’s expression was grim, his eyes bleak and defeated. He was leaving King’s Landing; leaving Cersei and Joffrey behind for this inane battle against the Marbrands. He pushed his heels into the sides of his horse, spurring it forward from his position near the rear.


A shock of red hair caught the dim light, drawing Jaime’s attention. He looked at the figure in surprise, urging his horse to a gallop to catch up to her.


“You’re... not in the Tower,” Jaime noted, confusion evident on his face. “You’re marching with us... I don’t understand.”


After he had left Ami’s room last night, he had gone to speak with Tyrion to ask for his assistance. He had also arranged for a note to be delivered to Lady Amaia later that day, telling her that her father was well but also being guarded under suspicion. The lad he’d paid to bring the note to Ami would find the task a difficult one to complete, considering she wasn’t there, Jaime realized.


“Perhaps I should have put more faith in my little brother.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Much of the night was spent packing, too much for Aemilia to consider catching a nap. The supplies were brought out to be added to the carts, and Tybolt did his best to follow along, though Aemilia could see he was more tired than she was. His age was no benefit, here.


Yet, he wouldn’t be turned away, not when Aemilia was going off to another war, with Tywin Lannister. He didn’t need to tell her to be careful, but he must have said the words at least ten times, if not more, before she was finally astride her own horse. It had brought them here from their home, attached to the carriage, but it was her own for solo riding all the same.


It was, naturally, crimson, although it had a black streak down its nose, and a black mane and tail. It was the offspring of the horse that had brought her to King’s Landing the first time around. She was in no dress—there would be no side saddle riding. Leather slacks covered her legs, and she wore a tunic with leather armor underneath, just in case they were attacked on the way. It wasn’t much, but it was certainly better than nothing. Her hair was held up in a high ponytail.


‘Last time, I had a dagger and all my supplies.’ Aemilia wasn’t sure if she’d be able to swing into her home to grab what she wanted, the dagger and the supplies. She doubted it—Casterly Rock was likely well stocked by its maester. A dagger would be completely unnecessary.


As she joined those leaving King’s Landing, she found her eyes searching for Tyrion in the crowd, but if he was there, he was obscured by the crowd of taller people, and she was unable to locate him, to let him know that she was all right.


The Lannister she found—or rather, the Lannister who found her—was Jaime. She gave him a smile as he came riding up besides her, and she let her own stallion match his pace. “Lord Tywin informed me last night that a Lord Plumm confessed to planting the Tears,” she told Jaime, added, “I was as confused as you are now,” if not more so, “then he asked me to come along, so, here I am.”


Whether it was Tyrion or another who had managed it, Aemilia didn’t know, but she gave a nod, “You should,” she’d let Tyrion have the credit for the moment, since she knew nothing else. “If he had a hand in getting Plumm’s confession so quickly, I’d say I need to put more faith in him as well.”

 

[Scriven]

Eyebrows lifting in surprise, Jaime let out a low whistle. “The tides change quickly, eh? Yesterday you were locked in a tower, suspected of plotting to murder my father, and this morning you march with his army. Why is it he’s taking you along?” he asked curiously.


He was relieved his blind faith in this woman hadn’t been misplaced. He considered himself a good judge of character, but he did barely know her.

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia nodded her consent to that idea, “One moment I’m going to marry your lord father, the next I’m under suspicion, and now I’m off to war. I haven’t had this much excitement in years,” quite accurate, of course. She couldn’t say she wanted this much excitement, though.


Jaime’s question had an easy answer. “I was a medic during Robert’s Rebellion. Lord Tywin wishes me to serve in that capacity again, against the Stark and Marbrand union,” there was likely some joke there about how now she was being trusted with lives after it was thought she was going to end lives.


Aemilia didn’t make it. Instead, she gave Jaime a once over, and asked, “What are you doing here? I thought you were a Kingsguard?” Though, she supposed, it could be debated who was actually king. Tywin was Hand, after all.

 

[Scriven]

“Or maybe he wants to keep a close watch on you,” Jaime told her with a significant look. “I mean, I’m sure the medic thing is great and all, but now he’s got to worry about keeping you safe on the field. You’re not just anyone- you’re heir to House Hetherspoon. Don’t you find it kind of odd that he’d take such a risk when there are so many other medics available?”


He was skeptical of his father’s intentions. Then again, he seemed to be late to the game when it came to information lately. What if, Jaime thought, it wasn’t his father’s intention to keep Amaia safe at all? What if he had reasons for bringing her right into the thick of battle? Would Tywin stand to gain anything if she died? “I’m sure I’m overthinking things,” he reassured Amaia, not wanting to frighten her.


She asked what he was doing there and his earlier irritation cropped up. It wasn’t directed at her, but his anger was evident on his face. “This issue is more important than my vows to protect my king,” Jaime told her tightly. “I’ll be leading the vanguard.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Perhaps it was odd that Aemilia didn’t find it odd. She’d been too tired to really question it earlier. Even when she started to, she came up with selfish reasons to go along with it, and didn’t take into consideration what Tywin stood to gain from her coming along. She frowned as Jaime planted that seed.


‘There are plenty of men who owe their lives to you.’ She reminded herself. Veterans, too, not young and fresh faces. They’d been young during Robert’s Rebellion. “I’ll try to be careful,” Aemilia told Jaime, rather than admit new worry.


Would Tywin be trying to get her killed? It was often an easier way to end engagements—but if he wanted that, he could have decided the testimony was false. Besides, Jaime’s anger was painted too plain on his face after she spoke those words. This wasn’t where he wanted to be at all. “I’ll see that you return to King’s Landing. Don’t worry too much yourself. We’ll keep the forces from getting near His Grace and the Queen Regent.”


Not that they were all that close now. It would be nice if things could be settled here, though.

 

[Scriven]

Jaime raised a blonde brow, turning an amused smile toward Ami. “Cocky,” he commented, replying to her comment. He usually shared the same sort of headstrong surety though. On the battlefield Jaime felt immortal, untouchable. This battle would be no different. It was for King’s Landing that he feared.


“Ser Jaime,” a man called, riding toward them. The man had a short, greying beard and chainmail over boiled leather. “Lord Tywin requests your presence at the front of the line.” He saw Ami but didn’t recognize her, giving her only the faintest acknowledgement- a bare bob of his chin in her direction.


“Alright, thank you,” he told the man, waiting till he’d ridden off. Jaime was in no hurry to fulfill his father’s ‘request’. He looked over Ami in her men’s garb, her red hair pulled up high off her neck. “You know he’s going to hate that, don’t you?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Cocky. That word fit her better, though Aemilia knew it was also too much. She’d have to tone it down, just a bit, even around Jaime. “Thank you,” she still said, despite it all. She was, after all. Family trait.


An older man joined the two of them, and Aemilia acknowledged him in a similar way, with a nod and a cooling smile. He was sent away soon enough, but Jaime didn’t jump to answer Tywin’s request.


“Why do you think I’m staying back here, Jaime?” Aemilia inquired, “I can change into something more…appropriate when I have to dismount. I’ve no inclination of getting myself killed by riding in a dress, though.” She wasn’t stupid. Tywin was going to learn that eventually, and likely be displeased with many things because of it. “You should go on ahead. If he needs to see me like this,” a chuckle, “you know how to find me.”


Otherwise, she’d ride on out of sight among the crowd, and chat with a few of her fellows now and then, until they reached their destination.

 

[Scriven]

Well, of course she was aware of what Tywin would think of her garb, Jaime realized. Any woman donning pants had to know what people would think of them. She’d likely be getting snide comments behind her back all day. He looked around to see if there were any other women dressed in breaches, but spotted only a handful of women in the crowd and all were in dresses. Amaia was apparently not one of the noble women who was overly concerned with appearances. He wished he could be a fly on the wall when Tywin saw her so he could know what his father’s reaction was.


“If we do come across another army, stay well back,” he told her. “It’s dishonorable to kill a woman, but if you get in the middle of the fray it would be dangerous.”


She suggested he go and Jaime sighed dramatically. “You were my only chance at having a pleasing day, you know. Now you hurry me off toward my father? You’ve condemned me to something either excruciatingly dull or unbearably frustrating.” He gave Ami a wounded expression and left, galloping to catch up with the front of the line.


Camp had been made. A sea of red tents belonging to House Lannister and green belonging to the Tyrells dotted the bleak hillside. Tywin’s tent- an immense crimson thing, was almost dead center, everything else radiating out from it.


Riders were scouting, keeping an eye out for the Northerners and the Marbrands. So far, the ones that had returned hadn’t reported seeing troops. They still had a long way to march before they reached the heart of the Westerlands though. Tywin could see the mountains rising in the east, marking the change in territory. They were grey-blue in the distance, but would become lush and green as they got closer.


Dinner had been set up in his tent, a wooden table set for two. He had requested Amaia’s presence that evening and was curious to see her method of testing for poison.

 

[Lucyfer]

Red and green were everywhere. Admittedly, Aemilia liked it, but it also reminded her of the hijacking the Lannisters had performed. Sure, crimson was one of their colors, but it was also the color of the Reynes. If Tybolt was to be trusted, then apparently red had become more visible among Lannisters after the Reynes were destroyed.


Aemilia managed to figure out the tent situation soon enough. She wouldn’t be sharing with any men, of course, and she was able to get out of the pants and into a dress before Tywin summoned her—though just barely. “Let Lord Tywin know I will be there shortly,” she called to the guard outside her tent, as she paced around her own lodgings, figuring out what was missing from her attire.


The dress was black and silver—a slight rebellion, the silver one of the Reyne colors, the black a Hetherspoon one. In all this red, a red dress of her own was hardly necessary. Her hair was brushed out and down. ‘Breathe.’ And so she paused, took in a breath, and looked around at the things that had been haphazardly thrown into the tent.


‘Shoes.’ Aemilia dug through her things to find a terribly inappropriate pair for the ground they were walking on, but what would be appropriate for a formal gathering.


Once those were slipped on her feet, she left her tent and needed no direction to find Tywin’s. She knew how these camps were set up, and knew that he’d be occupying the largest tent. Her own tent was not far from it, either, so the walk was mercifully short.


There were guards stationed outside, and Aemilia nodded to one of them, “Lord Tywin is expecting me,” she could have just waltzed in, but imagined warning and acceptance in were better. One guard gave her a nod, and walked in to announce her arrival to Tywin, and to gain the permission necessary to let her in.

 

[Scriven]

Tonight’s test was Essence of Nightshade. Into one of the goblets, Tywin had added three drops of the medicine, which could easily be used as a poison. Either she would recognize it or she would fall fast asleep during dinner. Tywin was sure to note the position of the goblet so he didn’t select the wrong cup at supper.


“Lord Hand, Lady Amaia Hetherspoon is here to see you.”


“Let her in then,” he told the man gruffly. People were standing sentry all around the camp, their job to monitor events taking place and to make sure spies didn’t infiltrate their lines and learn their secrets at the gathering fires. It was known to happen and was difficult to guard against.


On the table a roasted capon had been laid out, lying on a bed of sage and purple carrots. There was a loaf of crusty bread, a plate of cheese, and a bowl of small, tart apples. Tywin was standing, removing the cloak from his shoulders when Amaia entered. His eyes flicked over her for a moment, taking in the gown of black and silver and the waterfall of red hair that tumbled down past her shoulders. "I see that you've changed into something more appropriate," he told her with a sneer. He hadn't seen it himself, but he had heard about how she had ridden throughout the day in men's clothes. It made him think of Cersei in her youth, back when she was still young enough to pass for a boy. She had put on her brother's clothes and put on a good show of being a little boy, but Tywin had put an end to it. It didn't matter if she was tougher than her brother- Cersei was a female and that was never going to change. She had to accept the hand she had been dealt in life, he had told her, and play her cards as best she could.


Women, he believed, had their place in the world, but also their own strengths. He believed in playing to those strengths and fortunately his daughter had not only accepted the hard truth, but had also excelled in using her feminine wiles to her advantage. Amaia, he could see, had not learned the same lesson from her father. She was bold but foolhardy. It was a trait he would break.

 

[Lucyfer]

Aemilia did smile at the comment. She’d blame Jaime, but she was certain enough people had talked. “I did, my lord. I wore what was appropriate for riding in war time, as well,” perhaps it was unwise to challenge his assessment, but she’d like to see him try riding in a dress.


Actually, she might pay the entire wealth the Reynes once had to see that.


Tywin was standing, and so Aemilia did not move to sit. The table was set for only two, with food likely far better than what anyone else would be eating, save perhaps Jaime if he didn’t opt to eat with the knights and soldiers. 'This isn't Jaime. This isn't Tyrion.'


She should behave here; she was a guest, but in many other ways, she was still a prisoner. Her fate didn’t feel like it had been determined. ‘Not a conversationalist. Not someone who likes to be denied.' Aemilia should have apologized. Any number of reasons could have prompted the words. She hadn’t slept, after all, and she hadn’t ridden for so long in a while.


Yet, she did not apologize. However, she tempered her tongue and lowered her blue eyes, “I am afraid I do not have attire beyond pants for riding a horse. I’ve never found a good skirt for it,” she’d even tried her hand at making such a skirt before giving up in frustration. If someone had invented such a thing, she’d thank the Seven for their mind. "I do not suspect you wanted me here simply to chastise my fashion, though do correct me if I am wrong." She'd find it surprising if he was truly so bothered by such a miniscule thing.

 

[Scriven]

"I do not suspect you wanted me here simply to chastise my fashion, though do correct me if I am wrong,” Amaia told him after admitting that she had indeed donned men’s clothes and explaining why she felt justified in doing so.


“Do you find yourself amusing?” Tywin asked her, eyes as cold and hard as Valyrian steel. “Because I do not.” He gestured to one of the two chairs at the table. “Sit,” he commanded with a feeling of impatience, taking the other seat. When they married- no, if they married- he would prohibit such foolish behavior. The woman across from him had clearly been spoiled by her father and not taught the proper protocol of behaving like a noblewoman.


Perhaps she had been raised by her bastard mother, Tywin thought. “Who is your mother? Is she still living?”

 

[Lucyfer]

‘A little.’ Aemilia did not say as much, but gave a nod to his command and followed it as soon as it left his lips. She sat at the table and let her hands rest in her lap. Her eyes lifted to him, and found no warmth in his gaze. No, she didn't really suspect it from him after the poisoning incident, but it certainly made her wonder about where his sons got it.


It must have been their mother. ‘And mine?’ Twyin would bring it up.


“Dead, my lord.”


‘By you. Drowned, screaming, with my brother.’


Sybelle Reyne. A name she would never forget, even as she told Tywin, “My father has never told me the name of her, and I was too young to remember when I came under his care. His wife, Shella, raised me,” she would say grudgingly, but that hadn’t been the truth. “My father told me that she was a wash-woman,” unbeknownst to Aemilia, that was the story of Tybolt’s actual bastard. Fiction mixed with truth, to make the fiction seem truer.


He had never dared to give the name—any name.

 

[Scriven]

“Your father made his wife raise his bastard,” Tywin surmised with lifted brows. He couldn’t claim to understand women, but he knew few who would happily raise a child their husband had sired by another woman. “Did she give you a proper upbringing alongside her daughter, or were you treated like a servant?”


He was trying to figure out this woman he would probably marry- this woman who studied poison and rode her horse in men’s breeches. This woman was an anomaly to him and he didn’t like that. Tywin detested surprises and fought hard for control.