Chapter Text
She meets Tywin Lannister. It's... an experience. His attention falls on the golden potato with curls who's supposed to be her brother first, which honestly, was exactly what she was expecting. She'd protest more about being relegated to second on acount of her gender even when she's the first born if she weren't so fucking glad that he isn't focusing on her.
There's a look on his not so surprisingly handsome face, the wonder of a new father, one she's seen a few times before, even if this time it very, very well hidden. There's pride, of course, it's Tywin Lannister, after all, but there's also scant traces of - dare she say it - love. It's mostly towards Joanna, who holds her, beaming with the brightness of a thousand suns that make her squint and think too bright my dude.
On the side, she notices a fat old bald man smelling faintly of alcohol gesturing to Joanna to hold her. Whomst the fuck you be, old geezer? Please, Joanna, the poster image or radiant motherhood, do not give your daughter to strange drunk men.
Nobody listens to her, of course. She just wants one life in which people fucking listen to her. Since when has that been so much to ask.
Her shoulder aches something fierce with the way the old geezer hold her, and she would snarl at him but apparently it just makes her look like a kitten sneezing, in yet another random golden haired Lannister boy's words (who she suspects is supposed to be her youngest uncle). Kittens sneezing are fucking cute, and she does not want to give this man the impression that she likes him or something.
He pet-talks her, lisping as if she's a baby (which she is, but let's not acknowledge that). He then extends his finger towards, probably thinking she'll suck on it or something. Joke's on the old bastard though, she's been teething earlier than normal and while her gums are killing her, the front two incisors are sharp.
Chomp chomp motherfucker.
Creepy geezer with a fondness for touching babies winces and pulls his finger, which, finally. And then he laughs, loud and booming, looking like the definite candidate for DC Joker with his papery pale skin, ruddy cheeks and crazy laugh.
What the actual fuck?
And then he says something that makes the alarm blare loudly in her head. Says, to Tywin Lannister of all people, "This is one is just like you, isn't she, son? Biting her grandfather. You were the same, gnawing at your grandfather Gerold Lannister's fingers, may the seven bless him."
This is supposed to be her grandfather - Tytos? It almost makes sense, a first for this world- he was one failure of a lord, wasn't he? Made Tywin Lannister despise laughter and looking like a fool, the reason why he was so obsessed with legacy? Great job, old geezer, you're going to die and leave this mess to us.
Joanna's husband - and isn't it easier to refer to him like that - hands her Jaime back as he holds her perfectly for a baby, cradling her head, neck and spine, and still fucking looking in her eyes.
"Yes", he says. "She is mine daughter, is she not?"
And while this makes her remember very vividly that Tywin Lannister definitely has control issues, his words sound far too much like an ominous prophetic declaration (with bold words for god's stamp on the decree) for her delicate tastes.
This life is a clusterfuck of issues she isn't equipped to deal with and tbh, she wants to go to sleep already.