The Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock take their places at the giant table in the Hall, and it is a study in sharp and soft, cool and warm, the gold of metal and the gold of sunlight.
Joanna looks down at the polished wood of the tabletop and watches her husband’s reflection as he handles the petitioners. Gilded, she thinks, never able to shake her admiration for his stoic, statuesque carriage.
When she announced her intention to wed their cousin, her brother had laughed, insisting that Tywin was no true Lannister, he lacked the passion and vigor and fire for which the family was known- “Cold-blooded, a serpent through and through,” Stafford had insisted. But that was wrong, so very wrong; Tywin’s was a cool fire, a simmering heat beneath the surface, and his ability control the burn was what drew her attention, what first led her to believe that she could love him.
For bombast and showy displays suit her not at all; Joanna’s nature calls for something more subtle, quieter but no less powerful. She observes her own reflection beside her husband’s, and her heart flutters with pleasure at the marriage of similarity and contrast; both are golden, both are beautiful, but Tywin’s face is angular where hers is round, Tywin is tall and lean where she is small and curved, his lips sit in a determined line while hers never seem to stop smiling.
She notices the flare right away; Tywin straightens his posture even further, his shoulders go tense, his voice grows quieter and more dangerous. And this is why she knows herself to be necessary. Just a light brush of her hand on his thigh, a gentle pressure of her fingertips, and he pauses, collects himself, lets the temper subside and sees again through the lens of reason.
This is their way, this wordless, seamless exchange. Everything precise and minute and intuitive- we burn the same, and we both know that even a cool burn needs a palliative.
Joanna generally keeps quiet during these sessions; it’s all different when Tywin is at court, of course, and the petitioning smallfolk know it well. But what her husband needs now is a calm and silent presence, the gentle to his harsh, the lady to his lord.
What he needs behind the closed doors of their bedchamber is something else entirely.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: Tywin/Joanna, dominance - "The Flint and the Flame"; NC-17 (Part One)
Date: 2012-03-06 05:45 pm (UTC)Joanna looks down at the polished wood of the tabletop and watches her husband’s reflection as he handles the petitioners. Gilded, she thinks, never able to shake her admiration for his stoic, statuesque carriage.
When she announced her intention to wed their cousin, her brother had laughed, insisting that Tywin was no true Lannister, he lacked the passion and vigor and fire for which the family was known- “Cold-blooded, a serpent through and through,” Stafford had insisted. But that was wrong, so very wrong; Tywin’s was a cool fire, a simmering heat beneath the surface, and his ability control the burn was what drew her attention, what first led her to believe that she could love him.
For bombast and showy displays suit her not at all; Joanna’s nature calls for something more subtle, quieter but no less powerful. She observes her own reflection beside her husband’s, and her heart flutters with pleasure at the marriage of similarity and contrast; both are golden, both are beautiful, but Tywin’s face is angular where hers is round, Tywin is tall and lean where she is small and curved, his lips sit in a determined line while hers never seem to stop smiling.
She notices the flare right away; Tywin straightens his posture even further, his shoulders go tense, his voice grows quieter and more dangerous. And this is why she knows herself to be necessary. Just a light brush of her hand on his thigh, a gentle pressure of her fingertips, and he pauses, collects himself, lets the temper subside and sees again through the lens of reason.
This is their way, this wordless, seamless exchange. Everything precise and minute and intuitive- we burn the same, and we both know that even a cool burn needs a palliative.
Joanna generally keeps quiet during these sessions; it’s all different when Tywin is at court, of course, and the petitioning smallfolk know it well. But what her husband needs now is a calm and silent presence, the gentle to his harsh, the lady to his lord.
What he needs behind the closed doors of their bedchamber is something else entirely.