Author's Note: An astute knowledge of The Song of Ice and Fire is not required to follow this fan fiction. This story mostly focuses around Lannister characters briefly mentioned in the books, of which were never introduced in the HBO series, Game of Thrones. Cersei and Jaime Lannister make a brief appearance, but their back-story is not necessarily to follow this tale.

If you are caught up with the HBO series, there will be no spoilers. If you are currently reading the books, only those of you who have not read up to book five, A Dance with Dragons, will need to be concerned. If you proceed, you will encounter two or three spoilers.

If you have zero knowledge of this series, you can still enjoy this story. Set in an age of swords and magic, the only thing you need to know is that the Lannisters currently rule Westeros, a land of seven kingdoms.

Eryck Leder, our protagonist, is an original character who you will follow as he becomes entangled with the Lannister family.

The siblings Daven, Cerenna, and Myrielle Lannister live in the family castle known as Casterly Rock, located in the Westerlands, a hard day's ride from the capital of King's Landing. At this point in the story, Daven has just been appointed The Warden of the West by his cousin, Queen Cersei. The sisters, beautiful and of age, have remained unmarried, though strategic arranged marriages are likely in their future.

The widowed Queen, Cersei Baratheon (Lannister by birth), is a devoted mother who fiercely guards her children. As she mourns two recent deaths in her family (but not her husband's), she continues to govern the Seven Kingdoms as Queen Regent. Later, when her son comes of age and is crowned king, she will lose her title.

Her brother Ser Jaime, the Commander of the Kingsguard, has spent his life serving the Iron Throne, his sword dutifully at the ready—especially for his sister.

4/20/15 UPDATE: With the story complete, I've made Kindle friendly and other ebook versions available for free on my website www dot stuartpidasso dot com

Here begins The Princess and the Fool.

01 The Books

Standing before a pool of cold toxic water, Eryck Leder gazed down at the raw horsehide soaking in a lime bath. Built into the floor of the tannery workshop, the shallow concrete tank, the size of two bathtubs side by side, held the foul mixture that aided the turning of animal hides into leather, a mixture that reminded the young tanner of a stagnant swamp.

Swallowing back the bile taste that frequently sullied his throat, Eryck patiently waited for his friend Tobin to assist him with the pulling of the heavy, water-soaked hide from the grey water. As he prepared himself, Eryck caught another whiff of foul air rising from the tank as the outside winds lessoned, halting the breeze that normally ventilated the straw thatched building through an open set of large double doors.

Tobin noticed Eryck displeasure as he approached and chuckled. "Ah, come on. That's the smell of money."

"That's the smell of death," replied Eryck. "No. It's worse than death. Only man could go out his way to make death smell worse."

Rolling up his sleeves to keep them dry, Tobin prepared himself to help Eryck. "I don't even smell it anymore."

"I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" asked Tobin.

"Not become sick from it," replied Eryck.

The large man shrugged. "Not skipping your midday meal for one. An empty stomach will only worsen your nausea."

"I do normally eat on our break, but I skipped eating today since I have to deliver the finished goatskins to the bookbinder later this afternoon. It's preferable to eat my food while I walk, away from here, in the fresh air."

Tobin stepped to the nearest wall to retrieved two short metal hooks, passing one to Eryck. "Well, let's get this over with. We don't want you walking home in the dark."

The two young men each took a hook and began probing in the cold lime bath until each had found a corner of the large horsehide. Making sure that the hair side would be up, the men prepared themselves for the heavy pull. After a nod from Tobin, they pulled the water soaked hide, weighing as much as two grown men, out of the water. Once enough of the hide had surfaced, the men used their bare hands to pull the hide the short distance onto a rounded wood stump, which stood at a forty-five degree slope. Grunting from the effort, they pulled the horsehide up onto the work surface until the leading edge reached the top of the stump.

Tobin slapped Eryck on the shoulder, leaving a limewater imprint on his friend's shirt. "There you go buddy. Give me a holler once you finish the dehairing."

"Right, thank you," said Eryck as he inspected his shoulder.

Tobin took a quick look at the underside of the hide. "Scudding the fat side should be easy, being this horse."

Eryck bent over to inspect the fatty side of the hide. "I hope so, but this was one of our lordship's horses and was fed better. It's not as lean as the other horse hides we get."

"Still easier than cowhide," commented Tobin. "Plus, you can put your weight more into it."

"True." Eryck picked up his dehairing tool, a dull, curved blade with handles on both ends.

As his friend returned to his own work, Eryck began scrubbing the hairs from the hide by pushing his tool down and away over the flesh. Working meticulously, he made sure that all the hairs had been removed before calling for his other friend, Ryver, to help him position the hide with the fatty side up over the rounded stump.

Using a different tool that looked similar—only sharper, Eryck proceeded to scrape the fat and other loose tissue from the hide. This was the true reason he skipped his midday meal, for the smell of the congealing fat that stuck to the scraping blade caused him to occasionally pause and retch dryly, an act now so common to him and Ryver that there was no second thought to their sickly environment.

Once the horsehide had been dehaired and the fat scudded, which pressed out the lime water to drain back into the liming pool, Eryck dragged the hide across the room to the two foot by five foot bating tank at the end of the room—skin side up so not to scratch the finished surface.

When Eryck lifted the wood cover to the heated tank of slurry, he retched dryly from the fumes. Holding his breath, he quickly lifted the horsehide into the concrete bating tank. This mixture of heated water and various animal manures delimed and softened the animal hide—a recipe passed down through generations sworn to by his employer, which produced the finest leather in all of Westeros. Replacing the wood cover, Eryck proceeded outside to add a couple logs to the furnace, which heated the slurry tank through concrete air passages underneath.

With the most offensive work completed, Eryck washed up behind the tannery using cold water and lye soap. He dressed in his second set of clothes that were washed and hung the day before. Finally, he donned a pair of simple leather sandals that would not carry the foul smell of the tannery through the town of Lannisport—which was more noticeable when he wore his work boots. Collecting the leathered goatskins, he bundled the lot together before tossing them over his shoulder.

Eryck began his trek to the bookbinder, which took him upwind towards town, but soon slipped off the road into the nearby forest. He traveled along a faint trail that took him over a hill, out of sight of the main road. Here, he entered his makeshift shelter that he called home.

Unlike the two other tannery apprentices, Tobin and Ryver, who shared a hut on the tannery grounds, Eryck preferred the seclusion of the forest. Though the woods were feared for bandits—and anything else that liked to lurk in the shadows, Eryck gave little worry to these since his shack had remained undiscovered by anyone—or anything—for the past six years. Unconcerned with shadows, Eryck would simply smile when people in the taverns shared their 'ghost stories' over meals. He did not believe in their ghostly tales—or magic, for he knew that monsters only lived in the hearts of men.

Inside his shack, Eryck opened a waterproof leather pouch and removed two leather bound books. He flipped through the pages of one of the books and smiled, remembering the many tales within documented by various ship captains. This book was an accumulation of recent discoveries, bound yearly to keep the queen and various lords informed about the world in general. The other book contained the latest observations and drawing of human anatomy. Both splendid texts destined for Casterly Rock's growing library.

Inserting both books into a large satchel hung over his shoulder, Eryck slipped back onto the main road and proceeded to the castle. Known by the guards, Eryck passed through a small servant gate and proceeded to a side entrance where the castle steward, Mr. Spyre, greeted him.

As Eryck pulled out the heavy books from the satchel, he noticed that the steward needed the assistance of a walking stick. "I have two books for delivery."

The steward wrinkled his nose and said. "Thank you, Mr. Leder. I'll make sure these get to the library with all the others."

"Did you hurt your leg, Mr. Spyre?"

"Hmm, yes. Not that it is any of your concern."

"If you'd like, I could carry them to the library for you."

Staring blankly at Eryck, the older man calmly raised one brow and said, "You?"

"The books are heavy. Just thought that I'd offer my assistance." Eryck glanced past the man and inhaled deeply when his nose detected roasting pig wafting from the nearby kitchen. "Your kitchen smells wonderful."

"If the kitchen is to continue smelling wonderful, I shan't let you inside."

"What? Do I smell that bad?" asked Eryck with a wry smile. "Tanning is a smelly business; don't you know."

The steward frowned. "Yes, we do know. You've been trying to enter this castle for years. What makes you think today is the day I let you into our lordship's castle?"

"I don't, but it doesn't hurt to keep trying."

"I'm curious. If I should lose my wits and actually invite you inside, what do you hope to find?"

Eryck shrugged. "I don't know. I suspect bountiful art and other various craftsmanship. If I knew, I would not ask; would I?"

The steward sighed his disapproval through his nose. Tightening his grip around the two books, he took a hobbled step back and said, "Good day to you, Mr. Leder."

"Good day to—," replied Eryck as the door closed in his face. Tossing his bundled goatskins over his shoulder, he turned to leave when he spotted the castle's cook sitting outside on a stool as she prepared various vegetables. "Hello, Bessie," he called out.

"Hi, Eryck."

The young tanner stepped closer. "Still preparing for dinner?"

"I'm always preparing," replied Bessie, sounding terse. "If I'm not preparing for an upcoming meal, I'm preparing for the meal after that."

"Your cooking smells wonderful as always."

Bessie smiled. "Thank you. If only you would come a little later each week, I could sneak you a plate."

"Don't fret. I don't want to be a bother."

Glancing about for onlookers, the cook took a couple washed carrots and shoved them into one of Eryck's side pockets. "A little something for your journey."

"Don't get yourself into trouble."

"Don't fret, my boy. These you found on the road. They must have fallen from a small garden wagon."

"Garden wagons do bounce around a lot," said a smiling Eryck as he made sure the carrots sunk deep into his pocket, out of sight. "Bessie, how bad do I smell?"

"No worse than some of the farmers. Why?"

"Every time I drop off books, the steward goes out of his way to prevent me from stepping inside the castle."

"Ah, don't take it personal. He's more worried that Ser Damion or Ser Daven will show up, and he'd have to explain your presence. If it were up to me, I'd find a way to give you a tour. But as things stand, the most you could expect from me is a tour of my kitchen, and even that isn't all that exciting."

"It smells exciting." Eryck winked at the castle cook.

"Go on with ya now," said the blushing Bessie, shaking her head.

When Eryck cleared the castle walls, out of sight of the towers, he pulled one of the carrots from his pocket and began to take small bites as he continued along the outskirts of the city. Preferring the scenic route to avoid the crowds at the market, he walked along the fringe of Lannisport as he neared the bookbinder's shoppe.

Finishing the first carrot, he prepared to toss the stalk into a small clump of trees when something unusual caught his eye.

Up in the tree, a white owl sat calmly on a branch. The creature appeared to be watching him, and this brought Eryck to a stop as he began to stare back inquisitively, for the bird lacked the traditional markings of a spotted snow owl. When Eryck stepped forward for a closer look, the owl shifted on the branch, cuing its displeasure as its focus remained on Eryck. The bird's eyes did not appear normal as they smoldered a faint red—much like the eyes of the white rats he would see at a tiny traveling carnival. In the hope of seeing the bird's extended wing markings, the young man tossed the remaining carrot stalk up at the bird, but the bird stoically remained on its perch, simply hooting its displeasure. Seconds later—as if on its own terms, the owl hooted once more and took flight, its wings as white as snow.

"Huh," said Eryck in wonder.

With the sun still visible above the horizon, Eryck entered the bookbinding shoppe.

Inside, Master Bookbinder Ayrn Foryst gave his young friend a warm welcome. "Eryck, how are you?"

"Good. You're looking better."

"Aye, my joints have loosened up. I think it's the weather."

Gazing at the various unfinished books scattered about Ayrn's workshop, Eryck set down his bundle of goatskins as the binder retrieved the coinage for the new leather. "I delivered two books to the castle this morning."

Ayrn handed Eryck the coins. "Tell your master thank you for me."

"I will." Eryck tucked the money into a small pocket in his empty satchel. "I still have the other three books from last week. I'm enjoying the book about various birds."

Inspecting his new goatskins, the binder gave an approving nod for the leather, smiling as he recalled the book. "That was a very good book. It's refreshing when I get to bind something other than religious text."

Eryck took a seat on a stool. "Did the priest who wrote the bird journal live around here?"

"No. He's a priest of the north."

"Do you know who did the drawings," asked Eryck.

"If I remember correctly, the priest's sister was the artist."

"Don't they have bookbinders in the north?"

Ayrn smiled with pride. "They do, but they use inferior leather. Because of this, the Lannisters often have me rebind their new books whenever the binding doesn't meet their standards. The castle steward once told me that the late Lord Tywin would sometimes pull a book off the shelf for rebinding just by the look of the spine. He didn't like it when a worn leather binding stuck out like a sore thumb." The bookbinder pointed to a stack of old books on far counter. "The Lannisters want all those rebounded."

"Anything good in there?"

"Not sure. I haven't had time to look." The old man moved to a cluttered table, gathering two newly finished bound books. "Here, you can deliver these two books to the castle in a couple weeks. One is a mason's book about architecture. I enjoyed it immensely. Took me three extra days just to bind it." With a wink and a nod, he passed the books to the young man.

Eryck's eyes widened as he received the texts. Opening the mason's book, he smiled as soon as his eyes beheld the words. Skimming the pages, the lad's smile faded before he turned to his old friend. "Doesn't the steward ever ask you why it takes so long to bind a book? You've told me it only takes a few days."

The old man reached for two mugs as he began the preparation for tea. "I just tell them that I'm thorough with my work. They need not know that my thoroughness includes their reading."

Eryck carefully inserted the two books into his satchel. "Shame that these books will never be read again. Do you think anyone in the castle ever reads them?"

"Hard to say. I believe that Cerenna Lannister is an avid reader. Her handmaiden brings me her books for rebinding quite often."

"Poetry and love stories?"

Ayrn paused in reflective thought. "Uh, no. She likes books about medicine and those from foreign lands, sometimes alchemy."

"Really?" Eryck stood to retrieve the steaming pot of water from the small hearth.

After adding tea to each mug, the old man returned to his stool. "Yes. I believe she has quite a library of her own."

Eryck carefully began pouring water into the two mugs. "What about her sister, Myrielle? Has she sent you any books?"

"Not that I can recall, but they share the same handmaiden, so perhaps some of those books were hers."

Hopping onto his stool, Eryck began adding honey to his tea. "I hope to someday visit the Lannister library. If I was the lord of Casterly Rock, I'd open the library to the entire village. Books should be read, not rotting on shelves."

Amused by the lad's comment, the old man nearly chuckled. "Would you now. The books would still go unread. Very few can read. Most knights don't even know how to read."

Stirring his tea, Eryck frowned, recalling his past encounters with knights. "That doesn't surprise me. Thugs most of them."

"Most people would use the books to level their tables," said the old man raising his tea for a sip.

"I bet many would learn to read. I did."

"Perhaps," commented the cheery old man, appeasing his young friend.

Eryck began glancing about the workshop. "What are you binding next?"

With a crooked finger, Ayrn pointed to a pile of yellowing scrolls. "Our late lordship's brother, Kevan, has sent those scrolls for binding."

"How do you bind scrolls?"

"You don't." Ayrn gestured to the stacks of folded parchment stacked next to the scrolls. "I have a copyist transcribe them to new paper. He requested that three copies of each book to be made. The copyist should be bringing me the next set in a day or two."

"Anything good?" Eryck sipped his tea.

"Actually, yes." The binder wrapped his sore fingers tightly around his hot mug. "They are filled with tales about the last murderous winter of many years ago. They tell of many forgotten myths and legends."

Eryck starred with excitement at the stack. "Really? Can I look?"

The old man nodded.

Opening the top bundle of folded paper to a random page, Eryck began reading about a red priestess. When his eyes drifted over a paragraph proclaiming the significance of trees whose sap resembled blood, the lad's face lit up. He turned to his old friend. "I love fantasies like this. I hope this is next to be bound."

"It is," said the binder. "You should be able to pick it up for delivery next week."

"Do these scrolls tell of the great war that occurred during the long winter?"

"I believe so. The section I'm reading now tells of the various animals from the north and their meaning."

Eryck returned to his stool, reaching for his mug of tea. "Do they mention white owls?"

"It does." Ayrn sipped his tea.

"I saw one on the way here today."

"The spotted snow owls occasionally make their way south. I used to see them often when I was a lad."

"Ya, but this one had no spots."

Setting down his tea, the binder's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Sensing his friend's concern, Eryck straightened on his stool. "I looked for spots, but saw none. The bird's eyes looked different too."

"Blue, like glowing ice?" asked Ayrn.

"No. Kind of red. Like those white rats we'd occasionally see at the traveling carnival.

Falling silent, Aryan's gaze drifted down to the table as he tried to recall his readings.

Clearing his throat, Eryck then asked, "Doesn't folklore say that if you are visited by an owl that someone close to you will soon perish?"

"Yes," replied the bookbinder with a worried tone, "but that legend is tied to the great horned owl."

"Is it different for snow owls?"

"Yes." The old man looked gravely at his friend. "The scrolls say that those spotless white owls foretell the death of many."

Eryck smiled. "It's just folklore, like the tales of the dead rising. What do they call them…the others? You don't believe the legends, do ya?"

Hemming, the old man scratched his stubble face. "Beasts of burden taken by the others usually have blue or blacken eyes. Animals whose eyes have turned red might be under the influence of the Red God."

Eryck had fallen mute, enjoying what he thought to be new folktales of a grand nature.

Looking to the door—as if fearful that someone should enter, Ayrn whispered, "Ser Daven's hunting party killed an albino deer last week. What if it wasn't an albino?"

Eryck gave a light chuckle. "Next you're going to tell me that you believe in magic."

The binder eyed his friend. "You don't?"

"Of course not, the closest thing to magic is the con men and their shell games at the market."

Sipping his tea, the old man continued to eye his friend. "What about a newborn baby? Or a sunrise? Are they not magic?"

Frowning, Eryck peered into his mug of tea. "Those things are life, not magic. I'm sure science will someday have an explanation for everything."

"That would be a sad day if science ever explained away magic."

Unable to hide his frustration, Eryck took a large gulp of tea, ignoring the burning sensation in his throat. "Besides, babies are more of a burden than anything."

"If it was your baby, you'd think its existence was magic."

Eryck finished the last of his tea without a word.

Sensing his friend's frustration, Ayrn smiled reassuringly. "Perhaps you need a girl to help you discover magic. You'll be surprised at how much magic is out there once you know how to look for it."

"There are no available girls, or at least ones who could put up with my tannery smell. I'll probably smell better dead."

"You're no worse than other tradesmen," said the binder. "Find yourself a farmer's daughter. They have strong noses, not to mention firm backsides."

"There are no viable girls, farmer's daughters or otherwise."

"Your standards are unreasonable."

Rising from his stool, Eryck shouldered his satchel. "Is it too much to ask for a girl that can read?"

"You could find someone and teach her to read," retorted the binder. "Remember, you only learned to read a few years ago."

Eryck hemmed, his eyes flitting away. "I better go. I want to get some reading done before nightfall. If I go now, I won't have to use my last remaining candle."

"Alright." The binder rose from his stool. "Enjoy the books."

"Thank you as always for the tea."

"You're welcome." With a concerned, nurturing look, the old man straighten as he turned to the young man. "Eryck, can you do something for me?"

"Sure."

"Open your eyes. You've learned to read books, but now, you need to start reading the world around you. Like books, if you open your mind to what you cannot explain, the simplest things that had previously gone unnoticed may surprise you: wondrous things that were right under your nose. You might even find a girl." The old man smiled as he touched his own prominent proboscis.

Eryck returned his smile. "My father used to say that we do not know what we don't know, and not knowing is for the best, for it's hard to forget bad things."

Ayrn nodded. "That's true too. Ignorance is the chosen path of many, but that is for you to decide."

Eryck's brow knitted with confusion. "I read as much as I can."

"Ah," said the man, clasping his hands together, "But that isn't knowledge. It is how you interpret your readings. There is much propaganda in the written word, even in texts that claim to be factual, and you must be able to separate the wheat from the chaff to free yourself truly from ignorance. The same can be said for the world around you."

Pausing briefly, Eryck gave a parting nod and exited the shoppe. During his journey home, he wondered what, if anything, he was not seeing.