...
..
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He was like a cat, a lion really. He could feel it in him, quiet and climbing to places others could never reach. He was a wolf too, fierce and powerful, unafraid of anything or anyone.
Jaime called him a gods-damned monkey, and for Rykar Lannister that animal was just as amazing as any lion or wolf, if only because his oldest brother thought him one. The boy smiled to himself as he shimmied along the highest rafters of the main archway to the outer bailey of Casterly Rock. He was pitched in shadows, moving with the ease of one too, observing and waiting. Jaime had shown him this spot high and away, tucked into the dark recess of the archway's ceiling. All of the Rock's daily traffic passed through there and Rykar could hide so easily, and scare girls whenever he wanted.
Although he was there, on that day, at that time, not to tease the laundry maids, but to talk to his father.
He could have visited Lord Tywin in his solar, but the little lion had no interest in scratching a quill on parchment or waiting in silence forever - and that was what you did in that room. Rykar much preferred swords and excitement, just like Jaime, and knew once he had to sit as the Lord of Winterfell his life would be nothing more than talking and writing.
He hated his letters. He hated his numbers. He hated having to stand with his father and be introduced to bannermen and other lords... and especially ladies. The ladies would always want to pet him and Tysan, touch them like they weren't even real. They were nothing like aunt Genna, at least she would lean in close and teach them a new curse word while pinching their cheeks.
Most ladies smelled bad too. Not like his mother, she smelled good, like home. Those others, their perfume would cover his tongue and taste bitter like eating soap. Even ladies his own age were boring; what use is a girl if her dress prevents her from running or climbing or doing anything fun?
Jaime said that he would like ladies just fine when he was older, but Rykar thought his brother had lost some of his mind along with his hand.
The last time the Lord Commander visited, Rykar had asked him when he could get a golden hand of his own, to which his oldest brother's eyes seemed to look far away and his face changed at the question. They had been laughing and teasing each other until Jaime's hand was mentioned, then he was no longer happy and smiling. It had been like watching a storm from way out on the sea roll into the coast - all dark and grey, sitting heavy on the world before the rain falls.
Rykar hadn't understood Jaime's switch of mood - he thought maybe his older brother just didn't want to share, but mother would have made him share anyway because that's what was fair - and when the boy went to touch the man, tug on the golden hand that played with his fascination, the elder recoiled as though the younger were something to fear.
Jaime had offered to spend the day with him, only him, when Ty was stuck doing writing and other boring things with Lord Tywin, and his mother was away in the Riverlands. It was more than a fair trade if you were to ask Rykar, his oldest brother had shared a secret passage that led straight up to the roof of the inland watch tower, and that's where they had stayed for most of the day.
His brother had divulged the best places to spy on those below without being seen, where to sit and be safe and warm in the sunlight, and also how to kneel low on the roofline in order to piss off the tiled edge... without it getting caught in the wind and coming back to hit you. That skill took more than one try to get the hang of, but Jaime said he would never tell anyone that the monkey had pissed in his own face - although he was trying very hard not to laugh when he made the promise - and Rykar trusted his brother implicitly to keep his secret.
His oldest brother was a knight - the Kingslayer!, the Golden Lion, the Lord Commander of the Kingsgaurd - and far more than merely a hero to the youngest lions of the family. It was that reality that caused Rykar to roar out his frustration and grab Jaime's golden hand anyway.
The prosthetic was cold and heavy, like gold should be, but there was absolutely no give in the way that it was fastened, cinched to his arm and far more restricted than the boy had anticipated. He twisted it and moved it without as much as a word from Jaime - he was still trapped somewhere in his head, his eyes looked lost.
"I don't wish this on anyone, monkey," Jaime had said.
His words knocked around his mouth like a stone in an empty cup. But that wasn't really Jaime, Rykar knew, his voice had gone the same distance as his eyes.
"I wouldn't either," was Rykar's distracted reply. He was still tugging and turning his brother's cumbersome hand as he continued excitedly, "I'd keep it all to myself!"
The little lion then climbed onto the lap of his brother to get a closer look, and couldn't help but notice Jaime coming back from wherever he had flown off to. It was like when Rykar and Tysan would see their mother become distracted at the oddest things, at the oddest times, then look almost like she was coming up for air from being underwater. That was the way Jaime had looked, like he was swimming back, and Rykar had been glad of it.
He loved his oldest brother and wanted to be just like him when he became a man... but he didn't want to go away like Jaime sometimes did.
"You don't need to hold a sword now." The little lion lifted then dropped the metal appendage, grinning at the solid thump-sound it made on the wooden planking they were sat perched. "It's a weapon all by itself." Rykar gasped out the words of his greatest inquiry, the most wonderful idea, "Have you hit anybody with it? That would hurt something awful. You think, Jaime?"
The younger smiled wide and excited at his older brother. It was the same smile and same excitement Jaime gave directly back - all the way out of the water now.
Everyone said he looked just like the Lord Commander did when he was six, with the exact same hunger for adventure too, just with different colored eyes. And Rykar liked being the same as his brother, but how he so wanted green eyes like Jaime, and like Tysan... like aunt Genna and uncle Kevan... just like his lord father.
The Maester told him he couldn't change them, but the old man was smiling when he said it so Rykar knew not to trust his answer. Father said never to trust a man that smiles, especially the first time you meet him. But he also said Jaime was the exception because he was family... and something of a fuckwit.
"The Tullys are known for their eye colour," Jaime had told the boy.
"But I don't want to be a fish!" Rykar had grouched in return.
"You have the mane like me though, and the eyes of your mother. You are the only Lannister with those traits Ry, it makes you a special lion. Just as Tysan's red hair makes him special, too."
Jaime pointed out to the wide expanse of the Westerlands, spread out before them, bathed in the sun that was now behind them. "See the sky? See where is meets the land?"
Rykar nodded.
"See how the sky is blue and the land is green?"
The boy gave a furious nod.
"That's you and Ty." Jaime chuckled at the absolute look of bewilderment on his baby brother's face. "What colour are your eyes, monkey?" he asked.
"Blue"
"And what colour are Ty's?"
"Green."
"Now look out to where the horizon is. You are the sky, monkey, and you will always be looking out over your brother."
The boy looked pensive, collecting his thoughts on the puzzle Jaime had given him. Like him, Rykar was a child that saw letters and numbers on parchment as a chore, but excelled when things happened around him. When they could see the problem they could understand and fix it, without writing it down.
Jaime had spoken to Sansa privately, vaguely alluding to his concern. She, just as subtly, reassured her understanding that the boys learned differently than each other. The conversation then had turned into a paradigm of could-have-been, and it made the Golden Lion miss his own mother horribly.
"And Tysan looks out for dirt?"
Jaime snapped out of his reverie and laughed at such a volume it echoed in cackles off the rooftop around them.
Rykar liked it when he laughed that way or smiled big with his teeth. Truth was, he just liked it when his brothers were happy.
"No, he looks out for you too, but like the land on the horizon he does it with a different perspective. It's good to have as many as you can."
The little lion's mouth dropped open a tiny amount as he hummed and nodded his comprehension, then asked, "What about when he's here and I'm freezing cold in the North?"
The Lord Commander kept a smile, but not as toothy as before, and his eyes squinted. "Does the North have a horizon?"
"I... I don't- maybe..."
"It does, monkey, I promise - I've seen it."
Jaime's face went serious then, and Rykar thought maybe he was going to drown inside his head again, but it was only his voice that changed - it was thick and scary, like when he would talk to the soldiers during sparring practice.
"No matter where you are, Rykar," he had said, "there will always be a horizon. And when you see it, it will always remind you that Tysan is looking out for you. Do you understand?"
The little lion pondered only for a moment. "And when he sees it, he'll know that I'm always looking out for him."
Jaime's eyes went from squinting to closed, his mouth curved up at the corners and he leaned his head back to enjoy the cooler breeze approaching dusk. Yet it was a small fierce voice that hooked onto that breeze and washed over the knight with the kind of sorcery he could only find in the company of a brother.
"You're the land at the horizon too, Jaime. I'll always look out for you too, you know."
The older Lannister opened his eyes and looked somber at the child sitting on his lap, leaning on his chest, and petting the hand that could not feel the attention. The same child that had his hair and his face. Jaime felt it in his heart then, the tight ache of loss and self pity, and pulled his baby brother into a frantic embrace. He hugged his monkey with the kind of desperation that adults recognize as a deep personal turmoil, that children interpret as love and affection.
Rykar wrapped his arms around the neck of his hero and hugged the man for everything he was worth. Life was good at that moment - on that day, perched on that roof - and the world seemed all right then… for both the monkey and the lion.
But Jaime had left to return to King's Landing not long after that day, and Lord Tywin was now, so many moons later, set to leave too.
Sometimes he and Tysan would accompany their father to King's Landing, for the times when he had to be the King's hands. Sometimes Rykar wondered if that was what happened to Jaime's hand - the king used it up - and now Lord Tywin went there because he had two of them.
Their mother would stay at the Rock most of those times, she only went to the capital when there was something big happening. His father said she was stronger anywhere but there, but Rykar didn't know if he agreed. His lady mother always had the look of being pulled underwater when they were in King's Landing, but it never made her look weak… just more serious, like Lord Tywin himself.
...and his father was strong wherever he went.
And now, more than anything, Rykar wanted to show his own strength - and go with his father to fight the dragons.
He wasn't supposed to know that was why his lord father was leaving, but Tysan talked when his dreams got bad and Rykar couldn't help but know that secret. He had crawled into his brother's bed, wooden sword and all, to protect him from the nightmares that were ripping him apart, but in the end there was no true weapon against the beasts in dreams, and Rykar could only lay there and listen; to watch helplessly as Tysan flinched in his sleep, fighting against what scared him.
Tysan had not been happy in the time his father started preparation to leave - a process that never used to take more than a fortnight before - and in the days leading up to Lord Tywin's departure, the older twin had stopped talking altogether. Except in his sleep. Rykar just wanted his brother to be his old self again - still quiet, but grinning too - to not be sad anymore. Amd the only way he knew to make Tysan better was to kill what it was that was hurting him.
Dragons flew, and Jaime said he was the sky. He would not let them near the ground, not near his brother, his brothers… or his father. So, lying balanced along the thick timber over the heads of unsuspecting passersby, the gods-damned monkey waited.
And waited.
The waiting was almost as boring as standing still next to his father's desk, but at least here he could watch people while he laid on his belly. When he tried that on the floor of the Lord's Solar, his lord father gave him a shove with his boot and told him that lions didn't do that. But Rykar had seen the real live lions kept at the castle, in their grand pens, and it was all they did! All day!
Rykar sighed into the scruffy wood he'd rested his cheek on and let his thoughts take him again. And they did. His daydreams danced the little boy through bouts of conquest and mayhem and fun. They sailed by fast and all at once, some made his heart race and others made him beam.
After a while that felt like days to a child, Rykar settled more firmly on a thought that made him smile. One when his father had taken him and Tysan to Lannisport to inspect a new galley. They had climbed all over that boat, and when Lord Tywin slipped through the hatch to the lower hold beneath the bottom rowing-level ahead of them, Rykar followed his brother into the lightless belly of the ship only for them to be left standing alone in the square shaft of light from their entryway.
The tiny lions never saw it, but their father emerged from the inky black and stuck only his face and head into that beam of brightness above them - and the old lion did roar. Loudly.
Both he and Tysan screamed the noises little baby pigs make and ran blindly into the darkness. He didn't know where his brother made it too, all Rykar knew was that he slammed full speed into the curved side of the boat, still sticky with whatever they used to pack the plank seams and dowel holes. And when he rolled so his back was against the wall, to look at the scene of terror, he saw Lord Tywin standing tall and completely enveloped in light. His father stood so big and powerful that he looked just like the statues in the sweaty, boring sept.
But this god, his father, was better than any statue in that moment if only because he was happy. He even laughed, smiling wide and everything! Tysan could be heard off in the murky shadows giggling and laughing along with the Great Lion, and the sound of both could not be fended off. Rykar felt the fits giggles coming upon him and they would not be denied, so he laughed too.
When he walked back toward the brightness, Tysan was already there, still giggling. The sound made him feel weightless. That the three of them were all laughing at the same time made him feel invincible. But when he stepped into the beam of light too, he was the only one left chuckling.
His brother was wide-eyed, and puzzled. His father was narrow-eyed and looked very close to annoyed - but not quite there.
He had looked back and forth, from father to brother, waiting for one of them to let him in on the secret. "What?" Rykar had pleaded.
It was Tysan who tugged his hands to the front of his face. Along the palms, just below where his fingers started were sticky black lines, and perfect circles nearing the centers of each hand.
"What's on me?" he breathed, both fascinated and horrified.
It was his father's voice that sounded above him, and Rykar had to look - the old lion still sounded like he was going to laugh. "Ran into the hull, did you?" Tywin scoffed. "You're striped in pine-pitch, boy."
What should have been a reprimand came out with a smile. Yet, when Rykar smiled back to his father he felt that same sticky resistance on his cheeks and near his ear. His fingertips confirmed it - his face was striped too.
He wanted his mouth and face to be pulled in a way to show disgust, but it must not have come out like that because Tysan fell into peals of laughter again. Looking to his father for sympathy was a mistake as well; the mouth of the old lion curled to a smile and his eyes looked bright like when he was laughing before.
Rykar let them have their fun… he knew how to pay a debt.
Once they had returned to Casterly Rock, Rykar was lifted from his mount by the knight he rode with and wandered hand-in-hand with Tysan to the stables. Standing silently a few paces away from their father, they waited for him to finish speaking with the horseman. As they did so Merik, a stable boy of about their age that they'd befriended, rounded into the stall and stopped cold when he saw Rykar's new appearance.
The other boy tried to quell the treacherous smile that was threatening to split his face in two, but when Rykar looked at his friend and roared his own laughter the boy couldn't stop himself. They were quickly followed by Tysan. The three of them were gasping for breath and doubled over at the sight of black lines that reached across not only Rykar's face, but his hair and clothes as well.
"You look like a tiger, not a lion," the stable boy near bellowed through his laughter. His brows were raised and his hands were wrapped over his aching belly.
What happened next was a blur of movement, of momentary chaos. Merik was no longer in front of him, and what he thought was a coaxing slap to the hide of a horse somewhere in the stable was rendered appallingly clear as the menacing slap of a man to the face of a child.
Rykar's mouth hung open at the sight of his father, his face red, his eyebrows pinched low and mean-looking. His vision flickered over to Merik, sprawled in the dirt and the hay, his upper body coming to rest against the slats of the stall. His friend wasn't bawling, but his eyes were watering from the sting of it, and his hand was rubbing the place of impact. Rykar could see the long, finger-shaped welts already forming around the chin and over the bridge of his nose, and a large wheal that defined where his father's palm had landed flush on the meat of the other boy's cheek.
"You are a Lannister,"Lord Tywin had seethed, unflinching in his arrogance. "No one laughs at you."
The golden-haired twin didn't know what his face looked like this time either, but he surely hoped it reflected his utter confusion. "But..." Rykar's eyes were fiery and sad all at the same time. "But I laughed first... And he's my friend."
Lord Tywin had looked down his nose at his son, his face hot with something hateful. The old lion was breathing hard, his nostrils were flared, and his hands were fighting his mind in their yearning to reach out and throttle his child for even thinking to question him publicly.
Both Tysan and Rykar were no strangers to their father's ire, nor were they unaware of the violence he was capable of in their presence. On remorseless whims, swift and brutal, the spill of blood that made a man still forever was not unknown to the boys. Though they had only seen it in context to prisoners - who were all bad men to begin with... so said their lord father.
But that cruelty had never pertained to them. Or children at all. Ever.
...That they knew of.
"He is not your friend." Lord Tywin leaned down to his youngest and sneered at him like he had only ever done with servants doing the wrong thing. "He is your property!"
The boy who was striped so comedically was bound in place and tilting with an unrivaled indignation, one that sparked and stabbed his guts.
Property.
But that doesn't even make sense! Screamed the mind of the child. That wasn't even a puzzle!
Rykar's mouth was dry, but ran with its own mind - a conscience altogether unaware of Lord Tywin and bent on a slight hinge of madness. "He's not a horse! He's a boy!"
He had never seen his father so undeniably furious than after those words. The Great Lion's fingers were curling and uncurling in front of him, like they were grabbing hold and strangling air. Rykar didn't care though, he was furious too!
From the side of his eye, Rykar could see Tysan move in quietly, like he always did, and help pick Merik up to his feet. Without a word, the older twin gently pushed the sniffling stable boy out of the stall and, before following, grabbed the younger's hand and tugged him back also.
"We're going to bathe, my lord. Rykar needs it."
Pulled a little harder, Rykar turned from the abominable scowl of the old lion and came face to face with the gentle kindness of his mother - in the features of Tysan. He was talking calmly, like nothing was wrong, no fear or anger either. Rykar knew then and there, at the tender age of almost-six, that just because Tysan didn't like climbing and jumping and the things that he liked, it did not paint him a coward. No, not even close. His brother was strong in other ways and having the power to control their father, a god!, was an unreal gift for anyone, let alone a child.
"Thank you for taking us with you, father," the Red Lion continued, still leading Rykar out, still looking only at the Great Lion. "We'll tell mother we're home."
When they had just about cleared the gate, Rykar looked back to his lord father, a preemptive flare of animosity already in place to rival that of the old lion, but the flare was doused as surely as if the sea were in that stall as well. His father, his god, was no longer enraged. The resentment of the man looked to have been washed away much like his own, and the face he wore was one the little lion could not easily recognize. It wasn't sadness, nor was it contentment… it was something out of place and in between. It looked like Jaime when he had talked about their other brother, Tyrion, and made the twins take an oath never to mention the name outside of the room they were sitting in.
Once free of the stable, the three boys linked hands and ran fast to the place they usually disappeared to on hot days.
Lower and lower into the Rock they ran, each knowing the way even if they closed their eyes. They only slowed when the stone underfoot perspired and made their steps unsure. They wound their way through caverns and had to feel along the walls for a distance before they reached the haven under the castle.
The pool in the cave was fed by a spring, not the Sunset Sea, and though the water was cold, it was not unbearable. The ceiling of the grotto reached so far up you couldn't see it, and although the hollow itself was formed well inside solid rock, there were notches and holes that dotted high on the walls - allowing for long spears of sunlight to illuminate what would have otherwise been nothing more than a black pit.
Rykar and Tysan found the pool all by themselves. It wasn't a tale from a servant or a hint from Jaime, this was their secret place. When Merik became their friend, it belonged to him too, because you share with those who are your friends.
Each boy stripped down to nothing and sat lounging in the shallow part of the pool that was always drenched in warm sunshine.
The stripes of pine-pitch were eventually scrubbed off his skin, but Rykar found the price of being free of thick black tar meant he had to endure the pink lines that were scoured in instead. It was fair, more than fair really, if only because his two companions thought he was the most hilarious vision.
They all laughed. They laughed because it was funny, and there was nothing that should have dampened that humour.
The humour of children.
Amongst the three boys, none of them mentioned the actions of Lord Tywin, that day or any day after; no apology was offered, no apology was asked for, it simply being a matter of what was. And to that degree, little boys were little boys and had far better things to worry about.
However, the incident did become a vivid lesson for both he and Tysan, a flicker of doubt festering into consideration, a building comprehension that the cool yet affectionate father they knew in their own lives was not the same man beyond the circle of family. That the same man who would talk to them and make them giggle and feel loved as they settled for bed, thought of other boys, their friends, as nothing more than livestock - kept for a purpose, trained for efficiency, whipped for behaviour...
...put down if they became lame?
Those thoughts made his head hurt. The possibilities made his heart hurt. So Rykar pushed them away, those memories of an eventful day, and let his mind regale the daydreams he loved more; the ones about him with a real sword, standing as tall as his father, swinging as strong as Jaime - slaying enemies and beasts alike - soldiering with Merik to protect King Tysan and, of course, his lady mother.
Rykar smiled then, letting the happy adventure take him while he set to wait once more, high up in the skeleton of the archway.
The little lion had been draped flat against the rough wooden beam for what must have been forever before he finally caught sight of his father walking through the sally port. The Great Lion always walked fast, in giant strides, and looked sullen. Though if he were in the company of his mother, his father's steps were smaller and his face didn't have so many jagged edges.
Luck was on the side of the monkey, in that the old lion was alone. All he had to do was wait for his father to be two beams away, then he could shimmy down the rigging - loudly, so as not to startle him. Rykar had discovered the hard way that his father was not the man to try and scare.
Six beams away… Five beams away… Four beam-
An arm struck out of the shadows and clasped onto Lord Tywin's bicep.
Rykar instantly pinched-up his face and opted to watch the scene play out through the squint of his eyes rather than witness the unleashing of his father's fury unimpeded unto the owner of the offending hand. But there was no loud voice, no sign of violence... nothing like that. Instead the one hand now had a mate, and they both grabbed at his father, tugging at him, pulling him into the dark black shadows they had emerged from.
For the briefest of moments Rykar feared for the old lion, but that fear turned to mystery when the deep frown on the lips of the man first flattened then rose at one corner, his brow matching the change.
Lord Tywin reached quickly into the murky nook and grabbed hold of his assailant. It was the sharp, playful squeal at had Rykar's own mouth grinning too - as hard as it could.
Mother.
There were no words between his parents, and the little lion found his smile waning the longer he watched them. They stood there, still like stone, just staring at each other. Their initial teasing melted away to the type of sober gravity both Rykar and Tysan had seen frequently since Lord Tywin announced his leave.
They touched all the time, his mother and father, that was not new. But, with the bouts of recent staring, they had seemed to be touching more as well. Aunt Genna said they were talking their own language, and at first he thought it odd that a language would have no words. But then he considered he and Tysan, and that they didn't need to speak in order to know what the other was saying, so it must be true.
The Great Lion had a hand on either side of his mother's face, looking so intense, and his mother, she... she just looked so beautiful. But when she brought her hands up to his father's waist and fisted them forcefully into his doublet, the strain and pull of the fabric easily recognized even at a distance, the little lion so desperately wanted to know what she was saying with her touch.
Lord Tywin must have known her words because he started leaning in, and his mother was reaching up higher to hug… No… No, not to hug...
With a snap of his head, Rykar turned to the side and squeezed his eyes shut until white dots could been seen under his lids, wearing a look of utter disgust.
They were kissing!
His lord father and lady mother... kissing! That sort of thing wasn't allowed outside, and they were doing it anyway! He wanted to groan and run away, like he did in the keep, but the perilous straddle he had on the cross-beam prevented him from moving. Prevented him from getting away from the breathing noises, the panting - like his parents were animals.
The disturbing sounds ended and, looking back at them again, Rykar saw that his father still held his lady mother the same way - his hands on her face - he was slouched close and his mother was speaking real words in a tone he could not hear.
When Lady Sansa wrapped her hands in a grip on Lord Tywin's forearms - looking now with a seriousness her children never liked to see because it ate away at the loving look she normally carried - she looked to be speaking some great confidence, something important. Whatever she said transformed his father, rid his face of everything mean and uncaring.
The Great Lion looked at his mother the same way Jaime looked at his sword - like it was the greatest thing in the world, but something he would never hold properly again.
There was a sadness in the monkey then, the kind that felt like trying to swallow rocks, and he had no idea where it came from.
Just as quick as his mother's hands had sprung out from nowhere, the interlude held by his parents ended. His lady mother stood tall on tip-toes and kissed his father again - fast this time so as not to be revolting - and watched him turn from her and leave.
But, no! His father was going the wrong way! That meant he would have to endure parchments and talking and waiting… His top lip snarled in dismay.
So caught up was he in the horrors of paperwork and patience, Rykar did not notice his mother carry on in the same direction his father had initially. Nor that she was stopped exactly one beam away and peering directly at him - like he was visible amongst the shade and gloom.
"Come down, please."
Her voice confused the little lion momentarily and he immediately looked around for the person she was talking to… Then realized she was talking to him alone. His lady mother was not smiling, but her intonation was gentle. She didn't like him climbing, and if she caught him at heights like rooftops and sheer cliffs, her eyes would hold a look that made Rykar's blood feel cold.
That hollow wash of northern iciness was worse than talking to lords, and the gods-damned monkey made every effort not to be caught.
Climbing down the knotted rigging slowly, showing his mother that he was being careful, Rykar tried to think of something that would explain him being up there to begin with, something perfect because his mother read thoughts like a seer. But he simply could not concentrate on both climbing safely and building the perfect excuse at the same time.
As he stepped to his mother, the monkey opted for an honest redirection. "Am I in trouble?"
Rykar had scrunched one side of his face as he peered up to his mother, knowing he was wearing the face she always grinned at. And it was working. He could see she was struggling to keep a serious look, but he didn't want to tell her he knew she was or else she'd try even harder.
"There will have to be some sort of punishment."
The young lion started to groan, then ate it because complaint meant more floors to scrub or stalls to muck or - he shivered - laundry… with girls. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate. "Yes, mother." He sounded so thoroughly put-out, exhaling the two words, stretching them longer than they had any right to be.
Rykar heard a light scoff that gained to an equally light laughter and immediately thought of the annoying laundry girls. Then realized the laughing was right in front of him, from his lady mother. He cracked one eye open, as though she were volatile and might suddenly explode, and felt warm in the grin he found on her instead.
Both little lions adored their mother's smile, would do most anything to see her wear it, and considered it something of a triumph when it lead to Lord Tywin wearing one of his own. His mother's smile made Rykar feel like both a fragile babe and a indestructible giant at the same time, and he could help but wonder if his lord father ever felt the same way when she smiled at him - and knew from how the old lion sometimes wore different eyes when he looked at her that yes, yes he did.
"I want to go with father," he babbled impatiently, his mother's warmth and that of his recollections shoving the truer intentions of the day into focus. "I want to kill the dragons!"
His excitement crumpled and died right there. She wasn't supposed to know that he knew… Rykar looked away quickly and teetered on his feet as though the words were no more than imagined.
Fingers brushed through his hair, tucking hanks of it behind his ears, and Rykar's eyes fluttered in contentment at his mother's touch. She was magic that way, could always cure his sadness or hurt or impatience with a brush of her fingers, or a few loving words, or the fiercest of hugs. Her love could fix anything, he found, and he was glad she was his. Even if he had to share her with Tysan.
Rykar then felt the soft skin of her fingertips gently tug his chin upward. Instead of her wearing an angry look, she was smiling in the small lopsided way that she always did when she told he and Ty a secret.
He was excited again.
"I have need of you elsewhere, ser... but... Oh, I don't know..." Her words trailed off into nothing. She looked away from him now, her face so serious and concerned.
This must be important...
"I'll go, mother! Where? Where do you need me to go?!" Rykar was nearly falling over himself to get the answer, stopping short of scaling her gown to get closer to that illusive order. His father told him he was too big now to do that, he said, "You're a Lannister, not an Arryn, you will not clamber over your mother like a milksop." Rykar didn't know what that meant, not really, but the look of repulsion on his lord father's face was enough to convince him he did not want to be one - whatever it was.
The little lion was fidgety until he felt his mother's magic again. Her fingers in his hair helped guide him into her embrace. Rykar hugged her back as hard as he could, then relaxed when her other hand started rubbing big circles on his back.
He liked that part. Both his mother and his father hugged with the circles, but more often it was his mother.
He felt her other hand move and gently rub the pads of her thumb and forefinger over the ridges of his ear, soothing him. He liked that too.
Mostly Rykar liked things fast. He liked to run and hated being still. Tysan had patience, where he did not, but when his mother showed him this particular affection, the world slowed down and was easy to understand. He could stop himself from feeling antsy, and actually wanted to listen to conversation.
Magic.
Sansa placed a hand on either shoulder of her son, placed him back a step with a tender nudge, and looked once more at his face. Rykar was a boy very much like how she remembered both Robb and Arya: quick to ignite their temper, unequivocally loyal, and frighteningly brave. He had her eyes, but his face was very much Lannister. His boyishly smug smile was Jaime's in miniature, his six-year-old fury was every bit Tywin - and had been known to send knights and lords scurrying.
"You are needed in the North, Rykar," she bargained. "Both you and your brother. They've sent most of their men south to defend the capital, and the West is secure-"
"I'm to be Lord, mother." He nodded with as much seriousness a little boy could muster, vowing, "I should protect them."
But... But his mother smiled in a way that was not true, sad even, but she spoke before he could even question it. And such are the fickle minds of babes; hesitation forgotten, Rykar once again bounced eagerly for this unknown quest.
"Of course, young ser," Sansa whispered, tucking another golden curl behind his ear.
"When do we leave, mother?" he asked, excitement all but flailing in the boy. "Will I get a real sword? I'll need a real one to fight."
"Perhaps soon," was all she said, pulling her child into her embrace once more.
Rykar was looking way up to his mother, his eyes expectant in their silent plea for an answer to his other question. She was serious again, this time all the way, and the little lion felt his hopes plummet - his eyes shutting seemingly in time to the descent of his wish.
"You will bring your request to your father, young ser. It will be his decision you have to win."
It was strange that his lids were still heavy, even under the renewal of hope, but his mouth was unaffected. The lion, the wolf, the monkey - it didn't matter the animal, the smile on the boy was genuine and true, a telling awe for the love of his mother.
Yet toothy and feral, a sly contradiction, for the love of adventure.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Lady Sansa stood looking over one of the lower battlements, watching the large procession marching up the lengthy incline, through the many portcullis, and streaming under the massive sally port that would eventually grant access to main yards of Casterly Rock.
Amongst the motley parade, motley banners flew sporting dragons and krakens and horses and golden fists, and were held above the hordes of men who had choked the coastline from Faircastle to the Shield Islands. Lannisport remained surrounded, besieged by a silent wall of impenetrable sea-fare moored as tight to the shore as possible.
There had been no attack. When the ships arrived and assembled their defense, Sansa ordered the evacuation of nonessentials from Lannisport - a decision agreed upon and planned for well before Tywin left for King's Landing.
"Why not fight on the water?" she had asked her husband.
"Why give them what they want?" he had replied. "Let them fight on land, through buildings," Tywin continued. "Lannisport's remaining levy is unmatched, and they will prove formidable on their own ground. This is your home, Sansa." Tywin had draped his fingers at the nape of her neck and drew her close into his warmth, into his stony voice, and said, "Let the bloody cravens come to you."
And come they had. They arrived in overwhelming numbers, but that was all they had done for more than a sennight. Until they had finally sent word to the castle.
The invaders were looking to treat.
"Who are they, do you know?" Sansa asked the man beside her without taking her eyes away from the lengthy approach of the new Queen's delegates.
Ser Daven Lannister stood to her right. Commander of Lannisport's conscripted men, he was the man Lord Tywin relied upon to lead their men and defend his home and family. He was also a man Sansa trusted and felt at ease in his rough presence. He was a large man, taller and broader than her husband, but he had a gentleness that reminded her of her father, and a humour that was more attuned to Lady Genna than the rest. She felt comfortable with him, a northern kind of comfort, the type Ser Daven seemed apt to reciprocate.
"The Imp-"
"Lord Tyrion," she corrected.
"Apologies, my lady. Lord Tyrion seems to lead them, and from what the ravens say there's a Greyjoy with him." He looked to his lady, smirked, then raised a brow, "The big bastard, they say."
Her face did not betray a thing, though her eyes gentled at the man's attempt to rile her. She simply nodded in acknowledgement and spoke the next question on her mind. "What of the rumours - the Brotherhood raids?"
"Seems the Lannister name has become something of a trophy, my lady. Some have taken to offering the usurpers our heads as appeasement." He shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "And that's talk from as close as Golden Grove."
Sansa turned to the man and spoke in a tone more befitting her husband, "Calm yourself, ser, lest you do the work for them."
Ser Daven smiled inwardly at her words. The power of influence and time were freely wrought on his lady. She sounded more like Lord Tywin as the years plodded on, but it was not until war was declared that she transitioned into her own lion completely. It was what the people of Lannisport, the people of the West needed, and it was what she gave. The same confidence, natural and uncompromised, that radiated from their other Great Lion.
The burly commander kept his eyes on the approaching caravan, raised a brow once more, and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I'm the pretty one, you know." He greased his charm and looked squarely to Lady Lannister. "Might be this head makes some heathen quite rich."
He tried to hold onto his seriousness, but it was no use. The look Lady Sansa painted herself with was somewhere amidst disbelief and outright consideration - her courtly compliments and learned indifference both fighting each other for rule. Then, in a span of barely a heartbeat and all at once, the Lady of Casterly Rock lost whatever instance of humour she had. Sinking back to, and refocusing on, her actuality.
Her children were gone, hidden away. Her home was under siege, at the precipice of battle. Her lord, her husband, had lost the capital, lost his freedom, and he would, as they had discussed prior to his leaving - huddled naked and close under covers, speaking to one another with lips upon skin in the dark of night when her fingers and toes would become cold despite the warmth of the room and the bed she shared - lose his life.
The truth of it all butchered the little bit of levity Ser Daven thought to give her, as he had since the nightmare began.
"Bring them to the hall, ser," Sansa intoned icily, turning on the ball of her foot to leave.
Daven Lannister recognized the change immediately and adjusted his attitude to meet her rigidity. He bowed to his liege, "Yes, my lady."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The dais in the main reception hall of Casterly Rock towered over the petitioners floor. It was no more than a deception created of angles, steps, and the enormity of furnishing, but the effect was always the same, that it allowed for instant leverage when those summoned to the hall stood in awe of such dynamics.
Tyrion entered the grand chamber without hesitation, his large, silent Greyjoy companion in tow. His footfalls stayed aimed at his destination and his eyes stayed aimed at his conversational target.
The Ironborn man, clad in dull black armour from head to toe, walked with a minute scuff, and though his eyes were pitched in shadows under his helm, one could clearly feel his gaze, and the directional momentum in which it was pitched.
At whom it was pitched.
Lady Sansa sat on the ornate golden chair, no less than a throne, that Lord Tywin had commissioned for his first wife. She wore a gown of deep grey, trimmed in crimson with bright gold embroidered accents that seemed make her and her surroundings shimmer as though she were perched upon the sun itself.
Tyrion had heard talk from traders and merchants over the years, those coming from Lannisport, all speaking of the Lady of the Rock and how she ruled the West. And as he approached his mother, in a hall known to rival that of King's Landing, he knew the room was no longer the attraction. A dais, stairs, multiple angles, and a chair had absolutely no claim on the astonishing power the mere presence this woman held. And when she spoke, any doubt of even the most level-minded nature was cast aside for its uselessness.
The environment of the large room changed as it filled with every manner of man, in every manner of dress: from fully plated soldiers to sailors and foreign warriors in no more than rags. The air curdled to that of sweat and stink, the funk found only when people live in close quarters. The concern, however, was in the sheer number of bodies that continued to pour through the heavy double doors.
She would not house and entertain an entire army.
Lady Sansa raised her hand and the Lannister men, the banner bearers edging the room, drummed the blunt pole-ends into the stone floor - a solid, steady thump until the chatter and bodily shifting ceased.
Sansa addressed only one man in a room full of them. "Your men are welcome to camp beyond the bailey, my lord, not in my hall."
"Apologies, Lady Sansa. Most are unfamiliar with the finer points of propriety." Tyrion hinted an air of genuine embarrassment
"Be that as it may," she answered coolly. "You will rectify the offense before I am prone to believe it deliberate."
Tyrion's mind reeled, Gods, she's turned into my father! But he also knew that with the game at hand and the rats underfoot, Lady Sansa had no other option than to shoulder into her thickest armour and wield her deadliest weapons with all the skill and agility she owned.
This was what Lord Tywin had prepared her for - and what flawless precision his father had crafted.
"As you wish, my lady," he said respectfully. Tyrion nodded once, then spun to speak to several men of varying garments, and after a momentary rumble of discourse, a great many of the men began their exit.
"I also have no intention of holding court." Lady Sansa addressed Tyrion directly as she stood and pressed on, "Choose your contingency, my lord, and we will commence in the Lord's Solar."
"Lady Sansa," Tyrion inquired with a smile, "I would request food, perhaps drink for my men, if it please you. The journey is a long one to the castle, as you must know."
There was no movement on her face, no hint of compassion or even disdain. "We were rationed for war, my lord. Then our ports were laid to siege." Sansa narrowed her eyes and spoke in a brisk tone of derision, "What makes you think I can spare you a meal?"
Tyrion lost his smile, lost the charisma he thought to bestow. The intimidation of both the woman and the hall combined into something restrictive, and he found it removed his words as well.
"Broth, bread, mead."
Lady Lannister was already turning to leave as her last words dropped heavily into the room. Her four guards flowed to trail in her wake, leaving Ser Daven to serve as intermediary once the Imp chose his men.
...
..
.
