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@snowing-willow
“How dare you.” He entered her chambers without knocking, striding in. “You come to my home, bringing me children you lied by omission about for years.” Tywin strode to where willow was sitting on the bed and took her by her pale throat, drawing her to her feet.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself or should I have you taken out and whipped in the streets for your lying, sneaking ways?”
@snowing-willow | continued from here
Winter bit at her nose and the tips of her fingers, ate away through the fleece of her bathrobe as she stepped onto the back porch, and shuddered. The sun peaked beneath the grey clouds, shafts of gold sprinkling the boards that creaked beneath her feet, and the twisted leaves and vines above. The ivy hung down, limp and covered in dew, dappling and brushing through her messy midnight tresses, as she shuffled forward to sit on a lone chair. Willow inhaled, taking in the smell of the sweet grass, made thick in the early morning mist, and the richness of the roses that were just starting to bloom, beautiful and blue. Autumn was in full swing, a nearly seven-year long winter upon them, if the reporters were anything to go by. One of the longest in a long time, they said, but she was of the North and welcomed it.
Willow eyed the greenhouse though, with its dirt smudged, and cracked windows, and moss growing along the roof. She’d need to wipe it clean, inside and out, stock up on herbs, potatoes, tomatoes, and… Lettuce would be a good idea. She started to make a list of vegetables in her head, the trees hissing as a breeze dashed by, and sent tendrils of steam over her hand. She cradled between her palms a plain, white, ceramic mug, though it bore a few scuffs and a crack or two. It had been her grandfather’s favorite… Willow sighed, taking a sip of bitter coffee, seasoned with cinnamon and two spoonfuls of cream. She’d missed the solit -
What the fuck was that?
There was a man, very clearly, walking quite naked across her yard. Willow stared, blinked, stood, dumped her coffee into the yard, and shuffled back inside.
Nope.
@snowing-willow
“Ramsay!” Roose called, peering off into the distance. “Come, Ramsay!”
When he saw the dog run out of the trees toward him, he turned back to the house. It had been an excellent idea, buying back Willow’s family property. And the negotiations had been . . . favorable for him. She agreed to marry him, and he purchased the property. The deed had both of their names on it, of course.
He’d had received enough money after Walda died to retire anyway, so he thought why not move to Willow’s family farm. No one around for miles, lots of time to get to know his new wife.
Roose reached the yard, Ramsay close on his heels, and there was Willow, drinking her coffee on the porch. Before he could wave in greeting, she dumped her mug in the shrubs and walked back in the house.
That was odd. And she was wearing so many clothes, too.
He found her in the kitchen, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Good morning, love. Ramsay and I had a good walk. Too cold for coffee on the porch?”
@snowing-willow | continued from here
Meryll felt bad asking Willow to come over so late at night, but she didn’t know who else to talk to. Marissa was completely self-absorbed and couldn’t see past her own perfect nose; Ami’s idea of a relationship was sex and pretty much just sex; and Walda was convinced that Meryll was still 5 years old and should be playing with dolls.
Willow never seemed to get too worked up over anything; she kept her cool in the midst of a storm. And that was what Meryll was looking for -- that voice of reason.
“So, um, things didn’t really work out with The Blackfish the other night...”
@snowing-willow (Fragmented)
“Good morning father,” Gerion greeted, never taking his attention off the book in his hand, as he took a bite of ham with the other. Adela yawned, running a hand through her messy, golden curls, and smiled at Tywin with a twinkle in her jade irises.
“Morning father!” She was rather chipper, though appeared tired, turning about to narrow her eyes, and smack the hand of her closest older brother, who barely paused in conversation with his twin to give the same greeting. Eamon didn’t even bother, merely an inclination of the head, and an acknowledgment with his eyes.
“Is mother still not up?” The youngest asked, from his place directly to the right of Tywin’s chair, still not looking up.
“I am, though only because your father found it adamant that the guard escort me down,” Willow replied, deadpan, and cast her husband a wry smirk. “What did we say about reading at the table, Gerion?” The boy sighed, placing down the tome, and took a bite of his eggs.
“Yes mother,” he grumbled, setting it off to the side. “You two know that Daenerys Stormborn won’t bend that easily.” He interjected into his brother’s conversation. “We might be able to make enough cannons, but I’ve already told you, they’re not accurate enough to strike one of those beasts out of the sky.”
“Gerion’s right you know,” Adela finally had enough mind to contribute, “a downed dragon might be a dead one, but you still have to hit it first.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Eamon groused, suddenly cutting them all short. “Gerion,” her turned his eyes on his brother, “didn’t you say your plans for the ballista were almost complete?” The younger nodded gravely.
“Our walls are the problem, even if the ballista shoot fast enough, and what I’ve come to gather about how far dragon fire travels is true… Well, our defenses have to handle the ground Unsullied forces.”
“Leave the defenses to me,” Ronin added. “They’re my strong suit, I’ll have our men ready and mobilized.”
Tywin sat and listened, nodded at everyone who said good morning to him, his head spinning as they called him father, what fresh hell was all of this?
The most hellish kind, it seemed, as they did not appear to be speaking in hypotheticals, it seemed there was an imminent attack coming. Danerys Stormborn and her dragons. He had heard tell of all of this, but it was always far away, and he wasn’t certain he believed half of the rumors. The dragons had been gone for centuries.
“Shouldn’t Tyrion be involved in this conversation as well?” Tywin ventured after a moment. He was uncertain if Tyrion even existed in this reality, and he was hoping, in the back of his mind, that they would look at him as if he were mad and ask who he was talking about.
Tywin when he finds out someone is carrying his child:
snowing-willow:
[text: Meryll]: -Laugh Emoji- I can’t breathe!
[text: Meryll]: Well, at least you still have better taste in men than I do…
[text: Meryll]: There, I’ve scared him off. You know I have two sons right?
[text: Meryll]: Well, Eamon doesn’t seem interested in any one, but Ronin is very sweet!
@snowing-willow
[Text: Willow] Willow! They’re still little boys!
[text] You’re so predictable and obnoxious. And it’s not only me who thinks so. (snowing-willow)
[text:Willow] How can being predictable make me obnoxious? Predictable is practically the same as dependable.
[text:Willow] And if you think so poorly of me, you’re welcome to crash at someone else’s house tonight.
"How To Care For" Instructions: Does this man really need taking care of? He did cut his own leg off after all, though if one thing must be said, let it be this: Don't take his food... And if you do, at least be sure to replace it. (Snowing-Willow)
caring for your new hector : accepting : @snowing-willow
Yes, please do feed him. Feed him lots. Look at him, he's bones. Put food in his face and don't steal what he has, okay. I bet his metabolism is through the roof, too. I'd honestly hate to see how much he can actually eat. It's probably a lot like owning a mastiff.
