Prologue

"Now get up!"

He is on the floor now. Knocked silent, across the full length of the cobble stone floor. Lying dazed, he turns his head sideways; from out of one eye he can still see the gate. If someone can walk out and see him they would help. They'd see his blonde hair and crimson and gold robes and know who he is. They would help.

Another kick hits him in his ribs. One blow in the right place, with the right amount of force, could kill him. He knows that now. Blood empties from the gash across his forehead and trickles right across the rest of his bloodied self. That had been Ser Amory's first effort on him. From out of his left eye he can see nothing, but he can still see out of the right. He sees that the knights boot is unravelling.

"So now get up!" Amory Lorch is raging down at him, his piggy eyes already looking for where he can strike next. After lifting his head an inch off the ground he uses the weight of it to put him on his belly, but this exposes his hands which Amory only tramples on. The fingers are broken surely but the knight would not relent. Lorch's enjoying himself so much he is laughing down at him.

"What are you a slug?" Asks the man sworn to his father. "I thought all Lannisters were lions." His attacker pulls back. For a moment it's all over, but Lorch comes back as fast as his piggish body can allow and delivers the next kick to his head while running.

The air is knocked from him again, and some teeth fly out from his mouth. His head hits the ground again, with a crack that splinters the rest of his teeth. Nothing hurts though, that's what worries him. Or mayhaps everything hurts and he can't notice because it's so unbearable.

Ser Amory Lorch is bellowing about his burst boot now. He doesn't care, he's trying to keep breathing. The blood has clotted up his entire noes, so his mouth is how he keeps the shattered lungs going. Inch by inch he is crawling forward. Amory notices this and comes back around just as he has started puking his guts up. "That's right," Lorch is yelling, "Spew everywhere. I'll pick through it for gold once you're done."

He turns his head sideways again and rests on the sick. His hair is full of the stuff, he can feel, and the dirt from the cobbles. No one will recognize it, even if they're bold enough to come close to the knight. He's just brutalizing another peasant, his father's men will think because that's what Ser Amory Lorch does. And when they tell Lord Tywin that they'll be hanged if they're lucky. A Lannister always pays his debts. But will Amory Lorch hang? He killed the three-year old Princess Rhaenys Targaryen and was rewarded for it. Cersei would give him a lordship once she hears that Amory has killed her brother, but she'll be disappointed to hear that it wasn't the dwarf one.

In the distance he can hear shouting that isn't Ser Amory's. Dogs are barking somewhere and he wonders if Clegane has come to help finish the job, beat his head off the floor as though he were the baby Aegon. At least he doesn't have a mother to be raped as well. He lets out a final gasp of air and feels that ground give out beneath him.

The sensation of movement hurts him, right down to the bones that haven't broken yet. It feels that the ground has turned into the waters off of Lannisport. They sway and fold beneath him. Noise hits his ear without mercy, there's more shouting now. But he closes his ears, or the Mother had taken mercy on his plight and closed them for him. Now he waits for the Stranger to come and the waters pull him on a tide into blackness.

The next thing he knows it is close to dark and he's propping himself up on the doors to the Lion's Mouth, inside of Casterly Rock. He is lucky; it's Aunt Genna who finds him first, and not Lord Tywin. Her mouth opens wide in astonishment. "Look at you!"
He tries asking her not to shout but he knows he can't talk, everywhere is still hurting. The sight of her nephew close to death nocks the kindness out of her. "Fighting again?"

Yes, he wants to shout at her so loud that Jaime he can hear him from King's Landing, but I didn't loose again, that's not why I'm like this. Instead he nods and blood from his mouth and nose flies everywhere. Can you not see that Amory Lorch has been hear, he seems to be indicating.

Aunt Genna takes him into a room, one of the halls close by, and quietly summons for a basin full of water, for cloth, for the Father above to rise up and rip out the heart of man who has done this to her nephew. She sits him on a bench in the hall, but he fights her all the way. I've just gotten up, please don't make me go back down, please don't let father see me so weak. Please. Please, mother, stop the hurting.

"Sit. Don't talk." Genna says.

When the basin comes, she stands over him and dabs the eye with wet cloth. She works small circles around his eye and hair line. No maester is called for, Genna knows that will not help for his father to find out before someone can explain what has happened to his second son. She swears under her breath and keeps a hand on his shoulder. Sometimes she lets the tears slip from her eyes and rubs his back.

"There, there, hush hush." She whispers to him, as though he were crying. He isn't, it's just blood, and the everywhere that is hurting. He wants to rest on her and wrap his arms round her. But he doesn't want to mess her up and get the blood on her crimson gown. Even blood can be seen through the crimson of House Lannister, he knows that better than most. So do the Targaryens, and the Martells, and the Reyenes. Who could forget the Reyenes? The singers of Lannisport never cease to sing about the Reyenes of Castamere.

When the doors to the hall opens again he is afraid. It's father, he knows, and he shut his ears again. But again he is luck, it is not Lord Tywin but instead his brother, Gerion. He stands by his sister looking down at him. without words and, for once, without a laugh. A fist is made. "That!" He shouts, shaking his fist in the air. "That's what he'll get from me! From me! Tywin can have what's left," he shakes his fist again, "but this is what he'll get from me."

Only after his face has turned as red as his jacket does Gerion think to inquire who 'he' is. But before an answer can be given, Genna is waving him off. "Just stand back," she advises. "Do you want bits of Tybolt all over yourself?"

He doesn't, and backs off. "I wouldn't care, but look at him, Genna. It can't of been a fair fight. Even our Jaime couldn't do that to him."

"No fairer a fight than he gave back," Genna says. "What did you have to fight him with?" My fists, I wasn't trying to kill him. He shakes his head, but more blood flows from the cuts on his head. "Don't do that!" Genna snaps at him when the blood is running free again. With her hand she wipes it away. It's everywhere: her hands, her gown, her hair and his.

The interrogation goes on from Uncle Gerion. Lord Tywin's brother settles that the first thing he was hit with was a hard, heavy, sharp object right across his brow. He hears this theory and tries to tell them about Armory Lorch's boot, but the effort of moving his mouth is too big a strain. However, by the large Gerion's theory is correct.

Once that was established, Genna set about deducing the cause. "What were you doing to set him off, Tyb," They still haven't found out who has done this to him. That might be left for Lord Tywin to discover on his own.

"Fighting..." He splutters. "Son... killed... I..." He trails off and coughs up and a hell of a lot more blood. It hits Gerion in tha face and bits of his teeth bounce off of Genna's gown, a shower of blood following each piece. They decide it's best not to know the rest.

Who he was fighting, and the name and reason are gone, all but one; Gregory Lorch, Armory's son. His crime; being Lorch's son and for laughing about his father and Princess Rhaenys. Tyb had almost caved the lads head in, everything else had been the boys that had tried to back Lorch up. Or at least that's what he think happened.

Genna and Gerion turn there backs on him and start to squabble about what they should do next. Gerion says that some of the servants had seen him walk in the keep and that Lord Tywin would be looking for him soon, if he already wasn't. Their talking disipates because everywhere is still hurting. A tear slips out. Mother, he wants to cry, make it stop. Instead he moans: tries to do it without interupting.

Genna notices. "There, there, there," She whispers. "You'd better stay hear for a while." She turns back to her brother and they speak as though he couldn't hear. "It can't go on like this. If he keeps coming back from Lannisport all bloodied, Tywin will wash the streets out with the stuff."

"He could go to the capital," Gerion offers, "Jaime and Cersei had been before Tyb was this old." I've been to King's Landing, he wants to say. With father and his army. With fire and sword. With Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane.

"He won't... like it." Was what he mumbled out, and there was no doubt about who 'he' was this time.

Genna shushes him. "You leave your father to us, Tybolt." She tells him, before turning back to Gerion. "What about you? You're going to Essos aren't you? The sea air alone could be good for him."

Gerion is turning pale. He's more concered about having to convince his brother to do anything. "I'll think about it." He says, glancing at his nephew. Gerion demonstrates his fist again. His little nervy punch.

It was dark before they moved from the hall, and with luck they have not been found. Gerion and Genna manage to sneak him up to his quaters, underneath the darkness. Outside they can hear men shouting. They're looking for him. With each statue they pass, the heavier they stare at him. Lions and empty suits of armour, it doesn't matter; they all stare at him with Lord Tywin's eyes. His father's eyes.

Again, he is lucky. Only once he is with in his room, and Genna and Gerion had just closed it on themselves as they left, were they caught. He doesn't care. He knows that they won't enter here if Aunt Genna can help it, Gerion he has less faith in. Outside, the rise and fall of voices can be heard. He can't pick out every word but the one who has caught them is almost certain.

His father. Or if not his uncle Kevan, in which case Lord Tywin will not be far behind. They can be heard through the door. Gerion is nervous, talking about the theory of events that led them here. Genna is repenting her suggestion of sending him to the capital, or across the see with uncle Gerion.

He lies on his bed, thinking. The resolve in his head is certain. I am not staying here. Partly, that's because the memory of the fight is coming back to him, about the events of the morning. There had been a knife sprung up somewhere, but whoever it had been stuck wasn't him. So... had he stuck it in someone else. Gregory, he thinks, and then Armory found him on the road and almost left him for dead. He can't stay here anyway, Lord Tywin has become an undeniably big cunt of late; and it is he and Tyrion, poor, small, sweet Tyrion, who suffers for it.

Only once the shouting stops does sleep find him, and for that at least he is gratefull. Once the mornig comes however he is not gratefull. Gerion comes for him, with clothes and water to wash with. There is a maester as well, to bandage his wounds. Nothing is said though, that bothers him. Gerion, he thinks, did not have an easy nights sleep if he did get any at all.

Once the bandages are in place and he is fully dressed, Gerion leads him from his quarters and there is no doubt as to where he is being led. When they enter the solar Gerion hangs back while he goes in alone. Inside, his father is speaking with Ser Kevan but once they notice him they stop. With an unblinking nod Uncle Kevan is dismissed and joins his brother outside leaving the father and son alone.

Lord Tywin is taller than him, just like Jaime, however Aunt Genna tells hi that he'll outgrow both before long. But not yet. So instead he has to look up at his father as any good son should. The gaze of his father is relentless and unforgiving, like the look he gives Tyrion whenever they are in the same room together.

"Tybolt," is the only greeting given.

He scowls at his father, who scowls back at him. He knows. Everything. The fight, the knife, Ser Armory on the road, Genna and Gerion's plan about sending him away. So now he waits for an accord to be reached, for the Father above and below both to pass judgement on him.

"There is no easy way out of this for you." His father tells him, "You know that."

He nods. "I'll be on my way, then." Though whether it is the Wall, the road to King's Landing or the hangman's noose that awaits him he does not know.

His father sighs. "Yes, you'd better." Lord Tywin looks out the window, out to the sea and horizon beyond. "Your uncle, Gerion, means to sail for Essos. Perhaps abroad is the best place for you."

A pause.

"For how long, must I stay away?" It's the first time he has spoken all day, his voice is brittle like frosted glass.

"A while."

Or forever. He thinks he wouldn't mind that, leaving Casterly Rock and Lannisport behund him. The Free Cities are were boys go to be men, or so he heard Uncle Kevan say. "When will we leave?"

"Today. Given that you're fit enough to walk, I have sent men to ready your uncle's ship for the journey. Ser Addam promised me it will be ready before nightfall. You have until then to make your farewells and gather your things."

That is cruel. To send him away so soon, so coldly, so unfeeling. Less than a day. To most that would be long enough, but not him. Not when you have a little brother like Tyrion to say goodbye to, and make sure he won't cry when you wave goodbye to each other, else father will have him dragged back inside and not let the dwarf see daylight for another year or more.

Then there was Jaime, in King's Landing protecting King Robert and Cersei, to think of. He'll have to write to them. But what will he say? Sorry brother, but we might not see each other again, love Tybolt. He might as well not write at all. By the time Jaime gets the letter he will be long gone.

Father looks at him, and for a moment at least, he is sorry. But the moment is fleeting and then he is not. He nods at the door. "Go," he says and his son does as he is bid.

The weather is cold but the see is flat. For that he is thankful. Even though everywhere still hurts it only does when he moves. Gerion is away on the top deck of the ship, talking with the captain. Meanwhile he, Tybolt, stands steady looking to see Lannisport retreat into the distance. As his home disappears, he fingers the medal that Tyrion had given him to wear.

It's slung about his neck with a cord. The chill against his throat unnerves him. He unloops it, touches it to his lips for luck and drops it. The sea consumes it without a second thought. This sight he will remember: the open sea. A vast grey wrinkled entity, stretching from his feet to the horizon, like the memories of a childhood dream.