lords table

Its the end of the session and the monk has only just been introduced to the game. After receiving help from the “country boy” barbarian who is in town to seek aid for his attacked village, the monk proceeds to wander off towards the Lord’s Manor which he’s been warned is Heavily Guarded. 

DM (Me): You begin to wander the gardens, which are strangely empty. After dodging a hedge maze or two your make your way to the manor. 

Monk: How many guards are there, are they patrolling in 2s, 3s, 4s? Are they in certain patterns?

DM: I don’t think you see Any guards.

Barbarian (ooc): Oh no, it’s a trap.

Monk (confused): Ok, I attempt to sneak inside. (Rolls a crit) 

DM: You successfully find a window that puts you directly outside the library.  

Monk: Can I listen to the door to see if I hear anyone?

DM: You can, you hear something, but you’re not sure what or how many. 

Monk: I crack the door to see if I can hear better. 

DM: you can hear one voice, its a ways back into the room but directly in line with the door. 

Monk: can I try to sneak in and get out of sight before I’m seen? (rolls a 6)
DM: You can try (Person inside rolls a natural 20) 

The monk attempts to sneak in and poorly hides behind a table. The Lord of the manor looks up from his book and over the heads of about 20 children and says “Are you here for story time too?”

  • Kishimoto, in every volume of Naruto: The shinobi system is immoral. The shinobi system turns people into tools. The shinobi system causes wars. The shinobi system destroys small countries. The shinobi system destroys the poor. The shinobi system must be changed to bring peace and Naruto will be the one to bring that peace.
  • Me: Oh boy Naruto is ending and I'm so jazzed for that shinobi system reform!
  • Kishimoto: um...
  • Me: hello? hello????
  • Ikemoto: new mangaka who dis

ok but you know what honestly confuses the hell out of me more than anything

this fuckin shit

there are SO many goddamn questions it raises
-why are/were there two titans in the west
-are we to infer that there may have been other titans in other areas too
-how much older than the other four is this one that it’s decomposed so much more
-does this imply that there have been TWO sets of titans that have roamed this world
-why is this one colored more like natural bone as opposed to the sort of metallic purple of the newer ones [could just be bleaching from decomp but…]
-what the fuck summoned/created this titan and when and why

just
???????????????

the only [very baseless and bullshit] theory i could come up with for this was that titans are…akin to dinosaurs in this world; powerful ancient creatures that once roamed the world, but then got wiped out or died off for whatever reason. the newer titans that’re landmarks in each of sectors [and presumably the ones seen in the opening] are simply recreations [maybe with upgrades] made in the southern labs using dna or some shit from this one
i don’t want to say hld is jurassic park but. listen my dudes i got nothing.

problem is, if titans were this whole like, species, we should’ve seen a LOT more remnants of them around… with it just being the one i’m led to think it’s closer in status to a deity, and oh BOY wouldn’t THAT have been a risky mission, to go about growing your own fucking GODS [AND MULTIPLE OF THEM AT THAT] in a lab…no wonder shit went south. 

anyway yeah i don’t particularly like that spec either, if you have any comments or views on this thing i’d love to hear them??

oh sweet neon boy with a halo of halogen light. it tastes good, doesn’t it? to dance like this in the haze of the bar, one drink down with his eyes on you all glittering dark. it feels good like this, to get lost, fixated on the way his painted fingernails tap and shift, watch the full curve of his bottom lip and that grin that reaches the crinkles around his eyes. isn’t he handsome like this? and your heart is beating like a kick drum, because damn if he isn’t brilliant. with his kohl rimmed eyes, the lord of the pool table, humming close to you like a fallen saint, backlit by fairy lights. he’s falling in love with you alec but you don’t know that yet. you’re just a boy with long fingers, the taste of beer thick at the back of your throat and he’s the most handsome thing you’ve ever seen. you want to learn how his name feels in your mouth when his fingers are lost in your hair, don’t you? and tonight? tonight you can’t find it in you to feel guilty about that. because tonight magnus bane is watching you like you’re made of something greater than carbon and you’re realizing you were made to play this game.

A Court of Night and Spring Pt. 1

Part 1| Part 2

My first ACOTAR fanfiction! 

Word count: 1016

Scene: Feyre wakes up in the Spring Court after last night…

I awoke, breathing hard, instantly ready to do what, I didn’t know, but I was ready. Once the initial bleariness had cleared from my eyes, I scanned the room frantically, trying to remember where I was, who I was.

Pale green, yellow and pink met my gaze. Exquisite vases, floral patterns and the largest jewellery box I had ever seen, filled with earrings and necklaces that, paired with the lacy, puffy number hanging on the outside of the wardrobe, would make me look like a living dress-up doll. The Spring Court.

Just the memories of all of the other times I had woken up in this room, afraid, panicked, made me want to run to the bathing room and hurl my guts up. It was a habit. I stood on shaking legs and tried to carry myself over to the toilet but they failed me and I fell uselessly beside the frilly sheets on the bed. What had I been dreaming about?

Flashes of hot lips on mine, rough hands roving through the countless layers of those horrible, constricting dresses flooded into my half-asleep mind. A strong body pushing me towards the bed, golden hair tangling in his shirt as he pulled it over his head. Golden hair.

Tamlin.

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The god and the bookworm

pairing: thor reader

Plot: after failing to find his soulmate in Asgard tony throws thor a party to cheer him up. After the party Thor tells the team that he wants to find his soulmate already and tells them that only his soulmate can lift his hammer. To see if any of them are his soulmate the team tries to lift the hammer. After everyone tries and fails the bookworm of the team aka the reader is pressured into trying and freaks out when she lifts it up like nothing.

A/n in this fic vision can’t lift Thor’s hammer.

Originally posted by thorduna

Originally posted by thejediavengeroftheinternet

The one thing Thor kept repeating throughout his life was that he was never got to get married yet marriage has been on Thor’s mind for the past year. Sure when he was younger he at the thought of meeting his soulmate made him sick. It was mainly because he knew that once he met them he wouldn’t be able to have sex with any woman he pleased. But now that he’s older he’s grown out of that mindset and wanted to settle down with his soulmate.

When he told his father he was ready to settle down with his soulmate he asked him how he could find them. “My boy you are holding the tool that will let you find your soulmate.” Thor looked down at his hammer confused “your mother charmed it so only two people can carry that hammer; you and your soulmate. So if you are serious about finding your soulmate I suggest you hold a assembly and have both men and women try to lift the hammer.”


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anonymous asked:

You can't leave Vietnam AU like that, we need to know the resst ;)

Vietnam AU

“This is the day the Lord has made,” Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser intoned from the lectern of St. Bride Church. “Let us rejoice and be glad.”

Jamie sat up a bit straighter at the end of the front pew, twining his fingers through Claire’s, exchanging a small smile with his godfather.

For as long as anyone could remember, every Sunday morning the Fraser-Murray clan had attended eight o’clock Mass at the church their forefathers had built at the turn of the nineteenth century. Just a ten minute drive from the Big House, it had originally served just the family and tenants of the Fraser estate. Jamie, Jenny, and Murtagh were the only Frasers remaining in the area – most of the extended family had moved to Asheville or Raleigh after World War II – but those three stubborn Frasers had held strong.

Jamie and Jenny’s parents had been married at St. Bride’s. The three Fraser children – including the eldest child, Willie, who had died of smallpox when Jamie was small – had been baptized there. Murtagh – who lived in his own cottage on the estate with his wife Suzette, who he had brought home from France after landing on the beaches of Normandy – ran the lector program. Jenny and Ian had been married there, and Young Jamie and Maggie in turn had been baptized there.

And as Claire rose with Jamie, watching Father Kenneth kiss the Word of God, smile out at the congregation, and begin reading from the Gospel of Luke – she saw herself and Jamie standing before the priest at the altar. And standing off to the side below the gorgeous stained glass window of Michael the Archangel, just behind the baptismal font, gently holding a fussy newborn while reciting the baptismal promises. And exchanging proud smiles with Jamie as a beautiful red-haired girl received her First Communion. And holding Jamie’s trembling hand as they watched a handsome red-haired boy be confirmed.

This was her place. He was her place.

“Thanks be to God,” she whispered. Serene.

“I was thinking of taking Claire up the mountain – to the old cabin. I can check on it, and maybe bring back a bottle or two for dinner?”

Murtagh chewed thoughtfully on his pancakes. “I haven’t been up there since the fall – would be good to make sure it’s gone through the winter without any major damage. Take note of what would need a repair, all right?”

Claire nodded her thanks as Suzette poured another cup of steaming coffee. “What’s the old cabin?”

“It’s the house that was built before this one – on the highest part of the Ridge.” Jenny wiped maple syrup off Young Jamie’s face with the corner of her blue-and-white striped napkin. “It’s just a few rooms – we haven’t updated it much over the years, except added a generator for electricity.”

“We stay there overnight sometimes when there’s a lot to do in the whisky caves,” Jamie added, serving Claire another slice of Mrs. Crook’s excellent bacon before nibbling on one himself. “It’s where we let the bottles age. We only take them out once a year, to sell them to the restaurants and bars in town – but I want to find a good one for us to enjoy tonight.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’ve got Jamie smiling again, Claire,” Ian said quietly from across the table. “And Lord knows, Jenny and Murtagh and Suzette and I have been trying to do that since he got back from ‘Nam.”

Claire dropped her eyes to her lap, cheeks flaming. Under the table, Jamie lay a gentle hand on her knee, squeezing softly.

Murtagh coughed.

“Well then. Can you pass the strawberry jam please, my dear nephew-in-law? These bannocks won’t eat themselves.”

Fresh air. Pine. The soft, damp smell of decaying leaves. Flashes of green as the first grasses and flowers shot up from the forest floor.

And Jamie – solid and quiet beside her, never letting go of her hand, silently savoring the stillness.

It had been about two hours since they’d left the house – Jamie toting a backpack full of snacks from Mrs. Crook, Claire wearing Jenny’s pre-pregnancy jeans and hiking boots. They hadn’t spoken very much on their journey – both lost in their thoughts, both afraid to pierce the quiet with the sound of their voices.

“It’s just up over the crest of this hill,” he said softly, after a while.

“How can you even tell where we are? It’s just trees and more trees,” she teased.

He flashed a brilliant smile. “My father started taking Jenny and Willie and I hiking in these woods as soon as I could walk. He’d take me up to the caves and let me play with the spare pieces of wood while he and Murtagh and my grandfather Simon sorted the bottles. Believe it or not, there are plenty of landmarks along the way – trees and rocks that you’ll recognize in time.”

In time.

For Claire would be coming back.

Right?

They hadn’t talked about it – hadn’t even broached the topic. But it was Sunday afternoon, and Claire’s plane ticket back to Boston was for tomorrow morning.

Panic surged.

Jamie – ever perceptive – stopped as they crested the hill.

There it was – a small cabin, simply shingled and with just a few windows. It was immediately clear why the first Frasers had chosen to build there – for the ground in front of the cabin gently sloped into a grassy clearing.

“There used to be a barn here as well, but it was gone even before my grandfather was a boy. This place – it’s always been a refuge. A – well. I knew a guy in the Marines whose parents were German, and he told me of something called a ‘fridstool.’ A private place where you can be alone with your thoughts.”

Claire turned to meet Jamie’s eyes. The one-o-clock sun streamed on his face, sparking his hair like fire.

“And you’re OK taking me here? To your private place?”

He sighed and settled his hands on her hips, turning her to face him. Licked his lips, and burned his eyes into hers.

“I want to share *everything* with you, Claire. Here – in my most private place. Where we can pretend we are the only man and woman in the world.”

Another surge – but this time of love. And want.

And need.

“Yes,” she replied to his unspoken question. “Of course. Yes.”

He swallowed, and smiled, and gently led her down the hill.

Long live...

Long live the legends
And long live his tale
Long live Sir Gwaine
Long live the taverns and the ale

Long live family
And long live brotherhood
Long live Sir Elyan
Long live the faithful and the good

Long live his strength
And long live his will
Long live Sir Percival
Who is protecting us still

Long live justice
And long live his pride
Long live Sir Leon
Who never simply stood aside

Long live love!
And long live music and dance
Long live Sir Lancelot
Who deserved another chance

Long live our Prince!
Long live our King!
Long live Arthur Pendragon!
About whose honour the bards even nowadays sing

And long live his servant!
And long live the myth!
Long live Merlin’s magic!
Or should we grant him death?
For his life has been tragic…

Learning to Read

Pairing: Tywin x (daughter) Reader, Tyrion x (sister) reader

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Warnings: None…but it’s my first and it’s a little long… Eh, Tywin may be a little OOC.  

Summary: You are the youngest Lannister daughter and are struggling with your reading, so you get help from your brother, Tyrion.  Reader is six years old.  Mostly fluff.

Word Count: 3,582

s����`%

Tywin

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, and previous Hand of the King sat in his study, pouring over documents and filling in signatures.  He hadn’t gotten any sleep the past few days, mainly because the fools of the Eyrie didn’t know how to strike a proper bargain.  Lord Tywin had never liked the Lady Arryn but while her husband, the true Lord of the Eyrie was away, he was forced to make political agreements and meet her terms.

There was a knock on the door, and he looked up, frowning.  Everyone knew not to disturb him when he worked on his documents.  It was either something important or a rather stupid servant.  He called for them to open the door.

The servant that stood before him was young and broad-chested.  He’d probably make a good soldier in a few years, but Tywin never took the time to learn his servants’ names.  This boy was no different.  He swallowed, and Tywin raised an eyebrow.

“My lord,” the servant began.  Then he stopped talking.

“Yes?” Tywin said, looking straight at him.  “You came into my study during a critical time, clearly you have something to tell me.”

Tywin could see the boy swallow away the lump in his throat.  His fingers drummed the desk, and he glanced at the tower of documents at the table.  

“My lord, it’s about your daughter,” the boy said, and Tywin’s attention was automatically caught. The boy couldn’t tell this though, for Tywin kept his same stoic expression.  “The Septas have been looking for her, but she seems to have disappeared.  They say she’s not doing well in her lessons and that she’s struggling with her reading.”

Tywin’s face hardened, remembering a similar experience with his eldest son, Jaime.  

“Very well, you are dismissed,” Lord Tywin said to the boy.

He nodded and fled the room. Tywin looked over at the documents. Y/N, his daughter, would have to wait until he finished the bulk of these.  He had a pretty good idea where she was hiding.  The girl had never been too good at keeping secrets.

As Tywin worked, he mused on his daughter.  He thought that his late wife was finished giving birth when she gave birth to Tyrion, but Y/N had come more than a decade later, a pleasant surprise for all of them. Tywin hadn’t expected to be a father again, and he worried for his wife, that her body couldn’t handle it, but she had given birth to a healthy daughter.  His wife had named her Y/N, though Tywin had wanted to name her after an ancestor.  Lady Joanna had insisted on Y/N though, so they went with that.

Tywin finished up his paperwork and left his office, ignoring the bowing servants and “milord”s as he walked through the stronghold.  He left the castle and went through the gardens.  Since he had told Y/N that her mother had loved the gardens, they had become her favorite place.  Sure enough, he saw her seated on a bench below one of the larger trees.

He cleared his throat loudly, and she turned to look at him with those striking emerald eyes –Joanna’s eyes.  His daughter was only six and as gentle as a hummingbird.  Her long golden hair splashed down her back.  Of all his children, she looked the most like her mother.

It was as if the child realized the danger she was in with her father’s arrival.  She jumped to her feet, smoothed her dress and curtsied before him.

“Good afternoon, father,” she said with all the bearing of a lady at court.  She knew her courtesies well.

“Why aren’t you in your lesson, Y/N?” he asked, cutting to the point.  It was true he was probably softer with her than his other children, but that was only because she hadn’t caused him nearly as much grief.  When a child misbehaved though, it was a father’s duty to correct that child.

“I don’t like the septa,” Y/N said.  “She’s boring.”

“I don’t care if you like the septa.  You’re learning to read.  Children outside these walls don’t get that opportunity.  Someday you will thank me for everything I’ve done for you,” he said. “Let go of your pride and do your lesson.  The house that puts the family’s name before its own selfish whims –“

“Will be the house that history remembers,” she finished for him.  She glared up at him.  “I just don’t like reading.  I’m not good at it, and I can’t do it.  No matter how hard I try, I don’t understand the letters.”

“You are not working hard enough,” he said.

“I spent two hours looking at the same page, and when the septa asked me to read aloud, I couldn’t do it,” she argued.  The girl definitely had spunk.  A Lannister needed that to get along in the world, but she needed to learn there were better times than others for it.  “All I do is stare at the page.  I know the letters.  I see the septa write them, and I can go through the alphabet.  The septa says my penmanship is wonderful, but when I have to read a word, the letters move around on the page and I can’t make any sense of them!”  

Tywin nodded, and she was quiet.  He had dealt with this before.

“Your brother Jaime was the same way,” he said.  “The maesters told me that he also mixed up the letters on the page.  Yes…I wondered if this would happen again.”

“And how did Jaime learn to read?” Y/N asked.  

A determined look flashed across Tywin’s face.

“I sat him down with the maester four hours each day,” he said.  “Which is exactly what I’ll do with you.”

“Father!” Y/N cried.

“Silence!” He cut her off. “Remember your courtesies, young lady. You will thank me for this.  A Lannister needs to know how to read! Jaime was angry with me too, but now he can read!”

“But four hours!” The girl looked close to tears, and for a rare moment, Tywin did feel something tear at his heart, but he was determined.

“A lady doesn’t say ‘but’,” he said.  It was something that Joanna used to say to Cersei when she argued with her.  “Go back to your lesson now.  I shall speak with your septa about the changes in your scholarly pursuits.”

Y/N’s pink lips quivered for a moment, and then she curtsied before her father and ran off.  Tywin watched her go, slightly amused, but slightly angry at her behavior.  Cersei had been much more rebellious, so he at least should have been grateful that he didn’t have to deal with that.  He didn’t particularly like upsetting his daughter, though.  She was the last thing of Joanna he had, and he was determined to give her the best life he could.

Being a father as well as a lord could be difficult at times.

Reader

At the end of your lesson, you were fuming at the septa.  Your head pounded and your eyes were sore from constantly staring at the page. You offered a short and stiff curtsy and then left as soon as the lesson ended.  You never wanted to see your septa ever again.  In fact, you would run away from the Rock and make your father miss you so much that he would find you.  That would really show him.

You loved your father like none other, but he could be stiff at times.  He was the proud lord lion of Casterly Rock, you reminded yourself.  He was held to different standards than the small folk.  Jaime supposedly had the same problem with words that you had, but Jaime got to run around and play with a sword, and then he got to be a knight.  Why did it matter if you could or couldn’t read?  Your father would wed you to a handsome lord when you were older, and you’d raise the babies while your lord husband signed important papers.

In your room, you tried to forget all about your lesson by combing through one of your dolls’ hair. The door opened and your father entered; the brush you used on the doll stopped halfway through its silk hair.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“The septa told me that you needed to study outside of your lessons,” he said firmly.  “Where are your books?”

“I just got out of my lesson!  I need a break!” You cried.

“Your mind is sharpest right after a lesson,” he said.  “Do you want to learn to read or not?”

“I don’t want to learn!” You snapped.

You had crossed a line, and you knew it.  Your father’s eyes narrowed dangerously.  

“You will read those books, Y/N, and I won’t ask you again,” he said in a low voice.

You shrunk back, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape your eyes.  You hated disappointing your father; he was your hero, but he just didn’t understand how hard it was for you to read!  You watched as he left the room.  You didn’t move for a moment, and when he was gone, you threw your doll against the wall.

You picked up the book and tried to read it, determined to show your father, but the more you looked at it, the worse your headache got and you found you just couldn’t do it.

You woke up with your face on the book.  You panicked slightly, aware that that was not proper for a lady.  By the sky outside your window, you knew it wasn’t time for supper yet.  You sighed with relief.  Then you picked up the book.  You didn’t want to visit the septa, but maybe if you just studied for many hours at once, she could get it all done and over with.  Hugging the book, you stomped past your broken doll and out the room.

Every step taken was tortuous.  You really, really did not want to see the septa.  What did that old lady know anyways?  Why couldn’t your father give you a fun teacher?  Maesters were always more fun than septas.

“Sister,” a deep voice suddenly rang in your ears.  “Does father know that you are wandering the Rock by yourself?”

Your heart stopped.  You turned and saw your older brother, Tyrion, standing there.  Even though he grinned at you, you felt a shiver pass up your spine.  She had always been more than a little frightened of him.

Tyrion wasn’t like Jaime or Cersei.  He was only slightly taller than you, but whereas you were six, he was a man.  His hair was as blonde as yours and his eyes as green, but his forehead was too big, and his arms and legs were too short. He wasn’t handsome in the least, and Cersei had told you that Tyrion had killed your mother.  Jaime had insisted it wasn’t true, but Cersei said that Tyrion had forced mother to care for him when he had a contagious illness, and she had died for it.  You hadn’t even been a year old, and because of that you didn’t have a mother.

“He’s a monster, Y/N, and monsters don’t show remorse,” Cersei had said to you.

You stared at your brother, fingers clutching the book.  You wanted to run, but you knew you needed to be brave.  He wasn’t really a monster.  He was frightening, but he was still your big brother.  Jaime got along with Tyrion after all.

“I’m going to the septa,” you said shortly.  “I’m learning to read.”

“Are you mixing up the letters on the page?” Tyrion asked in a dry tone.

“Um…” How did he know that was your problem?  “Yes…”

“Just like Jaime, or so I hear,” he said.  “Don’t go to the septa.  She’ll bore you to tears with her lessons.  It looks like she already has.”

“I have to learn to read so father will be happy,” you snapped, embarrassed.  

“Yes, we must keep father happy,” Tyrion said.

“I need to go,” you said.

When you turned away, Tyrion suddenly touched your arm.  You froze, remembering what Cersei had told you.  Tyrion looked kind of funny, but could he really be a monster?  What if you died because he touched you?  Maybe that’s why your mother had died!

“B-brother,” you stammered, voice squeaking.

“I’ll teach you to read,” he said.  “I’ve read a lot, and I’ve even stumbled on some of the histories of Casterly Rock that recorded other children with the same problems you were having.”

“Father wants me to study with the septa,” you replied weakly.

“Father wants you to learn how to read,” he said.  “Do you want to please father?”

You nodded meekly, and he smiled.

“Then follow me,” he said.

Your heart sank, and you imagined for a moment a maiden following a dragon into its lair.  Tyrion was no dragon; he was too small, but you couldn’t help but be scared regardless.  You frowned. Lannisters didn’t get scared.  You would learn how to read no matter what.

On the way to Tyrion’s chambers, he actually talked to you.

“Father rarely lets you see me,” he said.  “I remember when you were born.  I’ve never seen father smile like that before.  I suppose after me, you were everything he could have asked for.  You were a beautiful babe, and it looks to me like you’ve grown to be a beautiful girl.  You have mother’s features.”

How could he talk so easily of mother?  Didn’t he feel guilty?

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Father keeps me in lessons most the time.”

“And apart from the reading, how are those going?  Do you understand the laws of the land and the science?  I hated learning about the agriculture personally,” he said.

Before you could think, you said:  “I do too. I hate that part.”  You suddenly shut your mouth.  Had you just agreed with your brother?

“Ah, here we go,” Tyrion said.  “My room. We shouldn’t be in here too long, but I’ll teach you more than the septas will.”

“With magic?” You asked.

Tyrion snorted.

“What do you think I am? An imp with magical powers!  Is that what Cersei told you?” he asked. Cersei had never said that, but you couldn’t help but imagine it.  “No, if I knew magic, I’d make myself as tall as Jaime.  No, we’re going to learn the old fashioned way.”

“I won’t learn to read by supper?” You asked faintly.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “You’ll have to come back each day, but I promise you I will make it much more painless than the septa’s ramblings.  You’ll be reading in no time.”

And then he pulled out a seat for you at his desk and took the book from you.  He laid it on the table, and a devilish smirk appeared on his face.

“Let’s begin,” he said, and you sat down, feeling your hands and feet shake.

XXXXX

You had been visiting Tyrion in secret for a week.  You were never told to stay away from your brother, but father also made a point of keeping you as far away from him as possible.  With Tyrion as your teacher, you were able to see improvements you never thought possible.  Even the septa praised you when you actually read two sentences aloud and only had to pause a few times.  Tyrion didn’t use magic, but he may as well have.

What really confused you though was that you were actually starting to like your brother.  What would Cersei say?  Perhaps Jaime would be happy for you.  Tyrion was kind to you and very patient when you made mistakes.  He was constantly egging you on, but in a way that showed he really cared.

“You know this word,” he said as you hovered over the same word for over a minute.  “You can do it…”

“D…R…G… No, that’s not right.”  The letters were moving again.  “D…R…A….Dragon!”

Tyrion applauded you, and you blushed.  You then read the sentence aloud:

“Aegon I Targaryen rode on the dragon Balerion in the War of Conquest!” Your voice went up a notch at the end, and again Tyrion applauded you.

“Wonderful!” He said. “Wonderful!  Can you read the next sentence?”

“Aegon’s sister-wife…V…Vis…Visenya mounted Vhagar as her steed.”  You glanced up at Tyrion, praying you’d gotten the sentence right, and by his smile, you knew you had.  “I did it!  I’m learning to read, Tyrion!  You’re the best!”

You kept improving, and you actually sought out books to try and read.  Most of them you couldn’t, but you could understand a lot more than you could before.  Four days later, you were in yet another lesson with Tyrion.  He no longer frightened you, and Cersei’s words seem to fade.

You had finally reached the part in your heavy book that spoke of House Lannister.

“Lord Tytos Lannister was the eldest of four.  He was named heir in 236 AC of Casterly Rock…” your eyes skimmed the page.  Then you gasped.  “Jason Lannister!”

“Hmm?” Tyrion asked.

“Jason Lannister was Tytos’s younger brother.  Tytos was our grandfather!  Jason was our other grandfather!  He was mother’s father!” You cried.  “Mother and father were cousins?”

“I thought you knew that,” Tyrion said.  “Besides, cousins are one thing, but the Targaryens married their brothers and sisters for centuries.”

“It’s like how Cersei wants to marry Jaime,” you said.

“Y-Y/N …” Tyrion winced. “I don’t know how you know that, but you mustn’t say a word to father.”

You stared at the page and your finger found Lady Joanna’s name.

“What was mother like?” You whispered.

Tyrion froze and didn’t answer immediately.  Then he swallowed, and he smiled in a way that made him as handsome as Jaime.  

“She was beautiful,” Tyrion said.  “She was my best friend, my champion.  She was always encouraging me to be better, and when I cried, she held me.”  He looked out the window, and you watched him intently.  “When I learned that dragons had gone extinct, I was a mess.  I cried myself to sleep…but when I woke up, mother was holding me in her arms and telling me everything would be alright.  She had a beautiful voice too…”

“Cersei said mother died while taking care of you,” you whispered.

Tyrion looked down at his hands.

“That’s true,” he breathed. “I was probably old enough to not need my mommy, but I begged the maesters to let me see her, and she came right away and cared for me.  She stayed by my side all night…and then…it was all so sudden…she was gone.”

Tyrion was a man, but his lip trembled like a child’s.  He didn’t blink, like he was determined not to let the tears come.  He was always so carefree, sarcastic, and witty.  You had never seen this side of him before.

You reached under the table and held his stubby hand.

“Thank you for telling me about mother,” you whispered.  

XXXXX

You found yourself outside your father’s study.  He would be finished with his paperwork in any moment.  You waited there, going over again and again Tyrion’s cheers in your mind. The door opened, and Tywin stared down at you.  You drew yourself up as tall as could be, but he still towered over you.

“Do you need something, Y/N?” he asked.

You nodded, but didn’t answer.  Without a word, you strode right inside his study.  You heard you father sigh behind you and follow.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked you.  “Have you finished your studies today?”  You reached up and took the first bit of parchment off the stack.  “Careful, Y/N, those are important documents.  They can’t be lost –“

“Lord Randyll Tarly…Lord of House Tarly…To whom it may concern…We are in the process of building a bridge to help ensure our grains come quicker to the capital.”  You looked up from the sentence and hid your smile. Then you continued, and you read the entire letter out loud to your father.

When you finished, Tywin actually laughed, and you felt your cheeks go red.  You loved it when you pleased her father.  You had seen his smile more times than you could count, but you rarely heard a laugh.

“You see, Y/N?  You are a Lannister!  You always had it in you!” He said.  “You’ve got quite the attitude, but I’m proud of you.  Keep up the good work.”  He touched your face but didn’t embrace you.  He was still a lord after all.  “Come now, supper is waiting for us.”

You beamed at him, and they headed to the dining hall together.

After supper, you returned to Tyrion.  You still had much farther to go, and the letters still got jumbled, but you were determined to work hard.  You recounted the story to Tyrion, and he laughed first and then congratulated you.  Then he hugged you.

Once again you found yourself pouring over the book.  You finished reading the paragraph aloud and looked up at Tyrion.  He was absent-mindedly playing with an ink bottle.

“Um…I have a question,” you said.

“Ask away,” Tyrion urged you.

“Well, it’s just about something that Cersei said.  She said that you spent most your time in brothels and that you had…what were the words she used?  …An appetite for whores,” you began.  “Tyrion, what’s a brothel?  And what’s a whore?”

The ink bottle suddenly slipped from his fat fingers and shattered all over the floor.

Vimes was only half surprised when the doors to the Rats Chamber opened and there, sitting at the head of the table, was Lord Rust. The Patrician wasn’t there.
He was half surprised. That is, at a certain shallow level he thought, that’s odd, I thought you couldn’t budge the man with a siege weapon. But at a dark level, where the daylight seldom penetrated, he thought: of course. At a time like this men like Rust rise to the top. It’s like stirring a swamp with a stick. Really big bubbles are suddenly on the surface and there’s a bad smell about everything.

[…]

“You are removed from authority, commander. And the Watch will come under the direct command of this council. Is that understood?”
Rust turned to Carrot. “Captain Carrot, many of us here have heard… good reports about you, and by due authority I hereby appoint you acting Commander of the Watch–”
Vimes shut his eyes.
Carrot saluted smartly. “No! Sir!”
Vimes opened his eyes wide.
“Really?” Rust stared at Carrot for a few moments, and then gave a little shrug.
“Ah, well… loyalty is a fine thing. Sergeant Colon?”
“Sir!”
“In the circumstances, and since you are the most experienced noncommissioned officer and have an exemp– and have a military record, you will take command of the Watch for the duration of the… emergency.”
“Nossir!”
“That was an instruction, sergeant.”
Beads of sweat began to form on Colon’s brow. “Nossir!”
Sergeant!”
“You can put it where the sun does not shine, sir!” said Colon desperately.

– the Watch responds to Lord Rust | Terry Pratchett, Jingo