Micheal Hetherspoon dies with a swift swipe of Oak Spoon.
Ser Tygett Lannister nearly bisects him at the waist. He gurgles and screams. Claws as his innards spill across the Westerland limestone below him. Oak Spoon gleams a wicked splatter of vicious red blood. There are cries in the crowd. Melara Hetherspoon only feels a swift and quick vindication as Jeyne the Maid's sobs ring out into the deadly silence that follows, and Micheal Hetherspoon dies in a series of agonized yells that pitter off into weak gurgles as his lungs fill with blood.
Melara learns something that day.
Lannisters are dramatic as fucking all hell.
Because Ser Tygett lifts Oak Spoon above his head, a bellow of pure emotion leaving him.
"THE OLD AND NEW GODS HAVE SPOKEN! THIS MAN HAS BEEN EXECUTED ON BEHALF OF MELARA HETHERSPOON!"
Melara resists the urge to fucking giggle.
Because really brick-house?!
Tygett Lannister marches to the dais and places the sword at her feet. She breathes in sharply because the gesture- the gesture- He's on adrenaline high he doesn't mean-
"I will shield your back, and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new," said Ser Tygett, dual-colored gaze locked on her.
He does fucking mean it.
Melara felt her heart nearly stop.
Holy mother fucking shit.
Ser Tygett had just offered his services as her swornshield in front of most of fucking Westeros. Including his domineering older brother and his psycho fucking niece.
Fuck.
She lifted the blood-soaked blade.
It dripped.
The woman in the TARDIS scarf would have been terrified to even look at the blade. The woman in the TARDIS scarf wouldn't have asked for the death of her tormentors.
That woman is dead.
Esta en la tierra, she thought, as she lifted the sword and tapped each of Tygett's shoulders , y los gusanos me comeneron. But I am here, in Westeros. I am standing uneaten by worms here yet. She blinked quickly.
Blood dripped down his golden armor, past the impressed lions of his pauldrons and chest plates. Red and gold. Oak Spoon gleamed in the viscera and in the winter sun. She made a decision because she had no other course. To reject Tygett would humiliate him before the Realm. He had done her a good turn as her champion in the trial by combat, she did not want to hurt her defender even if he was simply using her as a means to escape his brother. And while she doubts Tywin likes the thought of his brother becoming her bodyguard or in her service... For a mere heiress of a small house to reject a son of House Lannister, even a thirdborn son, would not be acceptable either.
Rock and hard place. Fuck. Fuck.
"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my heart and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise, Ser Tygett," she replies, blinking quickly, even as her voice projected across the courtyard.
Tygett beamed at her as he rose. And she felt her knees knock together for a moment. What did she know of Tygett Lannister? He was not in Games of Thrones, show, or A Song of Ice and Fire, books. At least not as a character, he was mentioned in passing, if she remembers right. And he was dead by the time the series time starts. He had a son, she thinks? But the man in front of her, her fucking swornshield, was a single man. Third child of Tytos Lannister, brother of Tywin Lannister, someone who spent most of his time flitting between Tourneys across the Realm to escape the shadow cast by his brutal older brother.
And now he is my service.
"You honor me, Ser Tygett," she said softly.
He nods, almost shyly.
"The honor is mine, My Lady," he replied, voice thick with emotion.
She feels bad. For doubting him even as she looks at his obvious happiness or emotional warmth, but definitely for whatever the consequences of these actions would bring on either of their heads. She watched as he gently cleaned the blood from Oak Spoon with his crimson Lannister cloak.
She looks at Lord Tywin.
And she holds back a flinch. She holds her breath for a moment before she swallows thickly and squares her shoulders.
Let it be known that the words of House Hetherspoon are 'We Find Strength ', but much like House Lannisters, she's gonna add another. ' FAKE IT UNTIL WE MAKE IT. '
"I am honored," she cried out, projecting, eyes intent on Lord Tywin's stone-like expression, "That House Lannister holds such honor, and integrity! I have found friendship in its ranks when I was frighted and in the power of monsters! I have found justice with its Lady's compassion and it's Lord's acumen! And on leave of its third son, I have now found a permanent protector!"
Licking boots, oh kissing ass~ she thought with some grim amusement.
Especially when the Lords and Ladies of the Realm fucking went apeshit in their approval in a giant cacophony of approval.
They roared.
Fitting in their response to House Lannister. Melara hoped it was enough, as she stared at Lord Tywin and pleaded for mercy with her eyes.
She frowned at him, carefully. He blinked and lifted a brow. And turned to the crowd.
"The woman Jeyne Hetherspoon will suffer two hundred lashes for her actions, and then be beheaded by Lady Melara's swornshield, Ser Tygett."
The crowd roared louder. Melara nearly sighed out in relief at his public acceptance, as reluctant as she could tell it was. Another knight, one she did not know, began the count of Jeyne's punishment. Each whip strike caused her to shriek.
Each shriek was drowned by the roar of the crowd.
She lost her head before the sun completely set, hours later.