Being the Warden of the West was no easy feat. Tywin knew this well.

Though, taking a lover like you offered some reprieve from his stresses. He would bring you with him nearly everywhere. Allow you to spend his gold on market days. He even has a necklace wrapped in ermine awaiting you in the cellar.

Almost like you were a little pet to him.

But some days, he liked you to take care of him.

How you would personally sew up his shirts that had been worn down. Or sit upon his lap and toy with his face.

Tonight, you were rubbing at his aching back. A poor side effect of age. Your lord laid upon the bed, you astride his back, hands working into muscle.

You hummed to yourself, the Rains of Castamere, it was a song you heard often since becoming his lover.

"Such a lovely voice sweetling, you should sing it for me." Your lord mused, murmuring his words out almost lazily. "I'm sure I've told you of those days... how I sent houses Reyne and Tarbeck into extinction."

"You have, my lord." You nodded, working over a particularly stubborn knot. To which, he groaned.

"You are lucky I spoil you, girl." He warned. He always treated you like everyone else, a pawn in his own game, but he cared for you just a bit more.

It was an interesting relationship the two of you had.