Chapter Text
She wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Her back was aching already, but she couldn’t stop.
She leaned over the bed, collecting the linens as she did each morning. Her body should hardly ache as much as it did at her age. She truly wondered how long she could keep this up.
Being a servant in the Red Keep wasn’t the worst job she could have; she often told herself to be grateful. After all, her parents could have sold her into a whore house like many others did. No lords had even harmed her in any way whilst she had been here, and she retained her maidenhood.
Even with the cruelty of King Joffrey living in the very same castle she served in, he had never taken an interest in her.
She started to think no one ever noticed her. Her mother did say she had a plain and forgettable face. She thought that an insult at the time, but perhaps it worked out in her favour after all.
Before walking out, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the large mirror. Her long, wavy hair was messed from cleaning, and her plain dress was nothing special to look at. She sighed; she never really had any interest in boys, so perhaps she would just be alone for the rest of her life. It would be better than being cursed to marry a man like King Joffrey, though.
She walked out of the room with the linens, ready to pass them down to the next servant who washed them. After re-making the bed, she collected all of the dirtied cups on the table.
This room was that of Tyrion Lannister, uncle of King Joffrey; he often indulged in nights of drinking and entertaining whores. Despite that, he was a smart and kind man, to her at least. Unlike the rest of his family, or what she knew of them.
She then moved on to Lord Tywin’s room. He was the father of Tyrion, and grandfather and hand to King Joffrey. Everyone in the castle knew, however, that he was the brains behind the rulership. Joffrey was an insolent little brat who could not organise a fuck in a brothel, the other servants would sometimes say in the quiet confines of their sleeping quarters.
Tywin’s room was the grandest behind the King and Cersei, of course. It was spacious with huge windows and grand finishings. Despite that, the room was simply furnished and always tidy. She never knew him to entertain whores or indulge in partying like other high-born men.
Lord Tywin was older and had been without a wife for many years since she died in childbirth with their son, Tyrion. She knew that the entire family not so subtly hated Tyrion for this fact, even though he had no choice in the matter. Perhaps that was why he drank so much; she felt sorry for the small man.
“Who are you?” a deep voice came from behind her.
She almost jumped out of her skin, gasping as she turned to face him. Lord Tywin.
“Sorry, my lord, I thought you were attending a small council meeting, so I was changing your linens. I’ll come back,” she said, scurrying towards the door.
“What is your name?” he repeated, stopping her in the doorway.
“M-Maggie, my lord,” she stuttered.
He furrowed his brows, and a pit began to form in her stomach.
“How long have you been serving in the Red Keep?” he asked.
She wondered why he would be questioning her, and she became fearful of where this was heading. “Just a little while,” she replied.
He looked her over, and she felt herself becoming self-conscious.
“You look young,” he said. She debated whether it was a statement or question.
“I’m old enough,” she decided to reply. He seemed to take on her answer and gestured for her to leave.
Maggie took her opportunity and fled his room with haste. She looked back momentarily before walking down the hall, and she saw Tywin standing in his doorway, still looking her over. She felt a shiver down her spine.
She had only been here for two moons, but she always changed the linens when the noblemen were out of their quarters for the day.
This was the first time she had even spoken to or even been in the same room as Lord Tywin. She had snuck a few conversations in with Tyrion as he often slept in, hungover. She quite liked him; he was funny and quick-witted. She wasn’t sure how she felt about his father.
It was a few days until she saw Lord Tywin again; he passed her in the halls. She assumed he must have just come from another small council meeting. They were becoming more frequent lately. She had heard that the common folk weren’t happy with King Joffrey’s ruling. There were rumours he was a bastard. There were also talks of a Targaryen Dragon rider over the seas who planned to conquer Westeros. All rumours, of course.
“Maggie, isn’t it?” Tywin said, stopping her dead in her tracks in the darkened corridor.
She nodded hesitantly, “Yes, my Lord.”
“I would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience,” he said stoically.
Gods, what did Lord Tywin, hand and grandfather of the King, want with a lowly servant like her?
“Oh, I uh-“ she stumbled on her words, and his face melted into a slightly less stern expression. “I’m free now, my Lord….” she said softly.
He began walking down the hallway wordlessly towards his room. She assumed she was supposed to follow him, so she did, her heart racing with each step.
As they reached his room, he stopped, opening the door for her and gesturing for her to come in. She wondered if she should try to make a run for it. This can’t end well for her. As he closed the door behind them, he walked over to a desk within his room and poured a cup of wine from a decanter.
“Wine?” He asked, looking at her with raised eyebrows.
“No, thank you, my Lord. I have more work to do,” she said softly.
“Forget that,” he said, disregarding her words and pouring a second cup and handing it to her. He took a sip of his own, his eyes never leaving her. He gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs, so she did. He stayed standing.
Tywin obviously noticed she looked uncomfortable. She took a tiny sip of wine, not wanting to disappoint him.
“I know servants hear many things from both within the castle and out. I wanted to know something,” he said deeply.
“Oh, I just turn over the rooms, my Lord. Linens are my top priority,” she said sheepishly.
He smiled slightly. “You won’t get in trouble. What have you heard of King Joffrey amongst the servants?” Her blood went cold. She did not want to repeat what she had heard. It was treason, and she could be killed.
“Nothing, my Lord,” she said. Tywin took another sip of wine and walked over to her. He stood over her, but she oddly didn’t feel intimidated.
“I give you my word, no harm will come to you, whatever you tell me,” he said.
Maggie swallowed hard. She guessed she didn’t have a choice. “I have heard a few things, my Lord. King Joff-Joffrey” she stumbled on her words, “is not Robert Baratheon’s son. All false rumours, of course, m-my Lord”. She finally blurted out quickly, taking a sip of wine as if to cleanse her mouth from the gossip she just spoke.
To her surprise, Tywin didn’t look angry. He didn’t look anything really. He nodded, taking in her words and took a sip of his wine.
“Anything else?” He asked.
She felt slightly more at ease given his reaction. “I’ve heard that there’s a Targaryen Dragon rider across the seas who is saying she will claim the throne,” she said.
He nodded again. “And what are they saying about her?” he asked stoically.
“Some are saying they would support her, that she is the true heir.”
He took a few moments to take in her words before replying. Her throat felt dry with anticipation. “And what is your opinion, Maggie?” he asked.
The way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine. She wasn’t sure if it was pleasant or not. “I don’t believe gossip, my lord. The servants talk as our daily lives are quite dull, but I know it’s all false,” she managed to get out.
Tywin seemed to almost chuckle in amusement. He reached out a hand and cupped her chin. Her entire body froze at his action. “You’re so scared, you poor little thing. I won’t hurt you,” he said, almost sounding genuine. She forced a smile, looking up at him. He finally dropped his hand.
Maggie wondered if he had really brought her here to rape her. She had never heard anything about Tywin touching a servant without their consent, and he had never even been seen with whores as far as she knew. She wondered if an older man like him was even interested in that stuff anymore. Her heart beat quickly, and her hands began to sweat. Tywin must have sensed her impending dread.
“You can leave whenever you like. I’m not holding you prisoner,” he said, smirking slightly. “Oh, I-“ she started. He interrupted. “You might think me an evil man, but I’m not in the business of taking girls who do not wish to be taken,” he said, still looking her over.
She tried not to visibly sigh in relief. He finished with “as lovely as you are.” She felt heat rush to her cheeks and she bit her lip.
She gulped down the rest of the wine in her cup and stood. She took note of how much taller he was than her. “Thank you for the wine, my Lord,” she said, now making her way to the door.
“If you ever had any other information, I would always appreciate it, Maggie,” he said. She nodded and had to hold herself back from running down the halls away from his room.