A Second Daughter

Hi. This is the first time I've attempted to write fiction, and certainly the first time I've written erotic... thingies. That. So I would really love if y'all could review for me and make suggestions for improvement. I'm kind of going for a close-to-canon writing style, and I want the situations to be believable in the SOIAF universe. This is going to be a very long story; if I'm going to do this, I'm doing it right. There won't be gratuitous sex until it's been set up properly, but don't worry, there will most certainly be gratuitous sex. Thank y'all in advance.

The scratching of pen on paper stopped. Tyrion looked from his numbers, a reproach on his tongue for the lazy dullards surrounding him. He noticed that all of the scribes' attention was directed to Brown Ben's corner of the tent. Tyrion turned his head, expecting to see a new prisoner, a new brother, or a thief to be punished. Instead he found himself gazing upon a puzzling figure.

She was clearly a woman, that fact was apparent despite her masculine stance and clothing. Her breasts were high and firm from what he could tell, though he couldn't see much as her shirt was large and unfitted. The garment, open to her collarbone, was a sheer, dusty red; he imagined the color came from the dust surrounding Meereen. It was tucked into her breeches, which were strangely cut. Where normal breeches were fastened quite high, the band of hers was below her waist. They'd clearly been tailored to her body. The boots she wore were soft and well-used. At her hip she wore a Dothraki whip and a long knife in a scabbard.

Despite how loose the pants were, he couldn't help but notice that her thighs were thick enough to nearly fill them. She was somewhat slim, her neck was thick and muscled, her shoulders wide. Her hands were wrapped in bloodstained linen.

“You beckoned, ser?”

Her voice startled him and brought his attention to her face. Her hair was her most appalling feature. Unlike other ladies, hers had been cut to her mid-back, and she wore it loose. It was a dark, dense waterfall of soft curls. It shone. Next he noted that her eyes, grey and cold, were shrouded by thick, black brows. Her nose was broken and crooked, her cheeks high, and her jaw square, strong. Her lips were obscenely full. When he looked at them he thought of how they'd look wrapped around his cock as her cold, grey eyes looked up at him. It was a strange, but not unwelcome, thought.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The captain threw a small, bright object at her. The throwing blade embedded itself in her shoulder. She flinched. The flower of blood that bloomed from the wound began to soak her shirt, blending into the red that already stained it. Not dust, Tyrion thought. Blood.

“He brought it upon himself. He's lucky he only lost his manhood after the damage he did to my face.” Tyrion wondered at her ability to remain so still and expressionless.

“You're working the foundry for the next month. Since you hold blades so dear, I'm certain you'll have no objections to forming them.”

“As you say, Captain.” When she turned to leave, she caught Tyrion's stare. She quirked an eyebrow and continued out.