Keeping you while he went on one of his campaigns was not his brightest idea.

You were bored out of your mind, having nothing to do other than sit in Tywin's tent all day while he was out commanding his army.

It had been a fortnight already, and you did not know if this was just a battle, or a war. How long or how short. Anything.

You had embroidered nearly a thousand hoops by now. Mended several of your lover's shirts if he needed it. And memorized each stitch of the tent's fabric.

One night, Tywin came back after a particularly rough day in the field, the tent flaps swishing behind him dramatically.

He huffed and puffed, going for the jug of wine kept on the table, drinking straight out of it before setting it back down.

"My girl, come here." He spoke coldly, not bothering to look in your direction.

"Yes my lion?" You couldn't deny him.

He tugged you close to him, his nose going to your hair, holding onto you like he wasn't allowed to let go.

"This war will take far too long, my dear. Far too long for this old man." He nearly growled, Tywin did not once let his age stop him. But he was getting older.

The price to pay for being the Lion of Lannister.