The Iron Throne (One Shots/Reader Inserts)

Tywin Lannister X Reader (1/2)

You quietly rapped the knuckles of your right hand upon the heavy, oak door, holding a tray in the other.

"Come in," a deep voice welcomed you.

You unlatched the door and pushed it open as you entered the Lord Hand's chamber.

He was sat behind his desk, as usual, his quill flowing across a piece of parchment with ease, in its wake leaving beautiful, cursive handwriting.

"Forgive me, my Lord," he looked up as soon as he heard your voice. "You didn't come down for dinner, I just thought you might be hungry."

He set his quill back into its ink pot, something he very rarely did. He leaned back in his chair, a tired smile crossing his lips.

"Thank you," he said genuinely, after a moment. He was a little shocked that you had even noticed he wasn't present at dinner, let alone thought to bring him food. Even his own children wouldn't do that.

You walked over to his desk, setting the tray down as gently as you could, so you didn't spill the food you'd carried all the way from the kitchens to the tower.

You took the clean, empty glass from the tray, setting it in front of him before pouring him a cup of fresh wine.

"I can do all this," he gestured to the tray.

You looked him in the eye, "it's no trouble, my Lord." His eyes were old, of a man who'd seen many things, of a man who knew many things... A wise man's eyes.

"It's alright, Almia, I will do it," he nodded. His tone wasn't commanding, more reassuring.

You nodded to him and turned to leave. Suddenly, he felt as though he'd been too harsh on you, despite having absolutely no reason to.

"Would you join me?" He asked, words falling from his mouth before he could even think about them.

You paused for a second. Was he joking? As you turned around and cast your eyes upon his tired face, you realised that he wasn't.

"...If you'd like me to?" You were still unsure. He gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk.

"If I didnt want you to, I wouldn't have asked." He smiled, a little weakly.

You moved back to your previous position in front of his desk, before sitting down on the surprisingly comfortable, uncomfortable-looking chair.

He picked up his fork, lifting the lid from the plate of warm food.

"Have you eaten?" He asked.

You shook your head, "I'll get something from the kitchen later, my Lord." You rested your slightly shaking hands upon your lap.

He set down his fork. "Nonsense, have some of this," he pushed the plate towards you.

You began to protest his offer. He held up a hand to silence you.

"Eat," he pointed to the food again. You picked up the fork, slowly spearing a potato. He moved away and shuffled around a table in the corner, returning with an empty wine glass which he filled and set down next to you.

"Where are you from?" He asked out of genuine curiosity. You spoke well, you were well presented, you always minded your manners and you knew how to act. Most maids would spread rumours, or go and tattle on a royal to another royal... You weren't like that, and he suspected he knew why.

You were about to put the potato in your mouth when he asked. You froze. If he found out, he'd likely kill you. You set the fork down, resting your hands upon the table and staring at him.