Tywin looked fearsome in armour. His red and gold, lion-encrusted plate was awe-inspiring on his tall frame. Atop a white destrier, he was something to behold. The first time Elsa saw him fully armoured sent a tingle down her spine. Just what that tingle was (lust, fear, awe), she didn't know.

Not long after their affair began, the Lord Hand rode out with a contingent of Red Cloaks to remind a certain group of lords and landed knights to whom they owed allegiance.

He returned late in the afternoon, unblooded, his presence enough to achieve his purpose. Elsa had watched him ride in from the Tower, and again felt that tingle run down her spine. This time though, she knew exactly what sort of sensation it was.

She made her way down to the armoury, arriving just as Tywin's squire began to unfasten The Hand's shoulder plates. His back to her, Tywin didn't see her silently motion the squire out and take his place. She finished with the fastenings and removed the plates. She'd watched this done before and was glad she'd paid attention.

Upon removing the plate over his back, she couldn't help running her hand over the firm muscles of his side, warm under the leather. He stiffened, and she remembered he was unaware it wasn't his squire behind him. She was a little insulted. Didn't he know her touch by now?

He turned, the beginnings of outrage on his face, which dispersed upon realising who it was taking liberties with his person.

She smiled, and something in her expression must have given her away, because he took her in his arms immediately.

His kisses were hungry and a little rough. Elsa didn't mind – she remembered how a man's blood would be up after battle, or the potential for it. She repaid him though, her right hand clenched in the short hair at the back of his neck.

He'd bunched her skirt at her hips and sent his hand to her cunt to press his thumb to her clit. She was already wet for him, and he groaned at this discovery, then pressed two skilful fingers inside.

Elsa's hands weren't idle: she'd unlaced his leathers to press her hands to his back and lower, and when he curled his fingers just so, she palmed his erection with a gentle squeeze.

By unspoken agreement, further foreplay was unnecessary, and this wasn't the place for a lingering encounter. Tywin helped his lover free his cock from his undergarments, and lifted her on to a bench covered in Lannister swords. He took her there, amongst castle-forged steel and blood-red cloaks.

Neither lasted long. Just as Elsa gasped and clenched around him, Tywin let out a low groan against his lady's throat. He stayed there a moment, breathing hotly against her neck as she held him, her head back and eyes closed.

He kissed her pulse as he withdrew, and helped her down from the bench. A strange awkwardness arose between them as they straightened fabric and retied laces. She went to leave, but he caught her arm. The look on his face was intense, but unreadable. The hand on her arm loosened, but he didn't release her. Instead, he ran his palm down the bare skin of her forearm to her hand. He held it, just barely for a moment, before letting her go.

Later, the memory of that rushed encounter would sustain Elsa through dark nights alone.