Part 26: Willem Lannister

Willem Lannister had been to Casterly Rock many times, but he had not had the misfortune of ever living there. Lannisport was his home, or had been, until he had been made a squire. Home was his gentle, devout, mother; a kind and homely woman whom enjoyed needlework and ensured she went to the Sept seven times a day to pray. Home was Lancel, singing, and Martyn, chasing after bugs and crawling things to make the maids scream. But none of that fit in with Uncle Tywin's would-be legacy.

So Tywin had Lancel sent away to squire at Crakehall when Martyn and Willem were still young, and Lancel didn't sing when he came back to visit. Then Tywin split the twins asunder, sending Martyn to the arrogant Serrett's of Silverhill, peacocks all, showy and flightless. Willem was sent to the 'Tooth' (The Golden Tooth) right up against the boarder of the Riverlands, to squire for Lord Leo Lefford himself. A sour man, but fair… still, very sour, and very proud. Willem had not even been permitted to return home when his baby sister was born.

And so days turned to years, and brothers became strangers; all lost, and wilting under the shadow of their older cousin, Jaime. Jaime whom had a natural talent for the sword. Jaime whom had been knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne, knighted so young! Jaime, Tywin's golden heir. Jaime who'd given up his inheritance and joined the Kingsguard behind Lord Tywin's back. Jaime who'd escaped! Jaime the Kingslayer – oath breaker – yet oath maker again to the new king. Jaime – the only Lannister brave (or foolish) enough to thwart Tywin at every turn.

Years later Tyrion had somewhat escaped as well, but Tyrion was unwanted and his escape was without forfeit, save of income. Tyrion was still legally Tywin's heir… legally. Not that Tywin had any intention of ever letting Tyrion claim the Rock. Rumour had it that Tywin still held some vain hope of winning Jaime back. And yet… and yet… other rumours had it that Tywin intended to pass Casterly Rock onto his brother instead, and in turn to Lancel. And if that rumour ever bore fruit then the charge of Lannisport would go to Willem himself, not that he wanted it… not that he had a choice.

Sometimes Willem fantasised that if this all played out he'd take a Septon's vows and give it all to Martyn instead. His mother would be proud of that. Willem didn't actually want to be a squire, or a knight, or any of it. Not that he'd ever dare ever telling Tywin Lannister such a thing, he wasn't that brave or stupid. He wasn't Jaime.

Willem was no golden lion; his hair was on the brown side of blonde, a couple of shades darker than his younger twin, Martyn, and many shades darker than his older brother, Lancel. Yet far lighter than little Janei's hair. Janei took after their Swyft mother in looks, although she was blessed with the Lannister chin. Her eyes were a light brown, like warm honey, their mother's eyes. Lancel, Willem, and Martyn were cursed with those damned green eyes. Yet if Willem was no lion Lancel wasn't much of one either. Oh, Lancel might look like a young Jaime Lannister, but Lancel was no Jaime, even being forced to squire at Crakehall hadn't changed that. The Lord of Crakehall had eventually sent Lancel back, claiming no knight could be made of him, and sending Tywin into a fit of rage. Tywin had demanded that Lancel be sent to him, claiming that Lancel would become a knight, or die trying.

The next time Willem saw his older brother the young man not only did not sing, but hardly spoke. Lancel's bright eyes were afire with hatred now. He carried himself stiffly, as if he had been beaten, and yellowing bruises around the neck of his tunic suggested this to be truth. Willem could not clearly recall the reason why he had been called back to the Rock. Did not recall the point of the feast. But he did recall how Lancel's hands trembled as he poured Tywin's wine, how even their own father pretended not to notice. That was the day that Willem truly understood that his father was a coward. Ironically that became the turning point in Willem's training, for he suddenly realised (as Jaime had oh so many years ago) that a knighthood was his only chance of escape.

So the years passed and Willem focused on his training. Lord Lefford, in his vanity, took Willem's progress as his own success and placed an Iron sword in his hands. And then – scant moons after Willem's fourteenth name day – the news came. Jaime and Cersei dead, Cersei at a bastard's hand no less – and the bastard remained free! The heir apparent murdered in a Winterfell courtyard for all to witness, and the king deemed this good? Some merchant had been bold enough to claim that it had been the little Stark girl that had ended the golden prince, impaling him with a simple move, as if he had run onto her blade. (The idea that she even had a blade sounded like nonsense.) The merchant, of course, had not lived to see morning, and his lies had gone no further.

Yet it seemed that Jaime, Cersei, and Joffrey were dead, Tywin's other grandchildren missing. Tywin demanded satisfaction and King Robert responded with insult. Terrible claims. Terrible lies! Tywin denied the claims, of course. Incest? Not his children. THEY WOULDN'T DARE! And yet… Jaime had thwarted Tywin in every way he could. Willem had to wonder, would Jaime really go so far as to cock-block the king? Would he really sleep with his own sister? Willem suspected that Jaime would. It didn't change anything though, war was coming.

Lord Lefford wanted to ride to Tywin's side and fight for glory, yet a man that rules by fear has few friends and Tywin found no allies in the Riverlands nor the Reach. If Tywin was going to send an army on the Crownlands he needed to watch his flanks. So Lefford was ordered to stay home. The small, but sturdy, castle commanded the hill road that was the only viable way to bring an army between the Westerlands and the Riverlands, and Lefford's duty was to hold the eastern boarder at any cost. And so Tywin's rebellion began.

Willem heard scant news of what happened on the other fronts, he asked no questions and was given less answers. His only focus was on escape. He had to escape Tywin's 'Legacy' by any means he could. Five moons after his fourteenth name day Riverland troops launched a siege on the Tooth. Six moons after his fourteenth nameday he was given the news that his brother, Lancel was dead. Tywin had been true to his word, Lancel had died trying to become a knight. Seven moons after his fourteenth nameday, with shaking hands, Willem re-read the note that some nameless servant boy had silently shoved into his hands. A note in Tyrion's handwriting. How it had managed to arrive, to a sealed Keep under siege, Willem did not ask. He read the note again then burnt it. Seven and a half moons after his fourteenth nameday, in the dead of night and with no moon to see, Willem quietly breached the Tooth's defences, letting a small force of Riverland forces in through a small secret door and surrendering himself willingly as a hostage. The Westerlands had to fall, it was his only chance of escape, he only prayed that his mother and little Janei would be safe at Lannisport. That Martyn would be safe wherever he was.

~~/~~

The big woman, the lady knight, was kind but firm, and suddenly the idea of an angry little Stark girl with a sword did not seem so strange. Ser Brienne Tarth Tully. Willem envied her pale yellow hair, yet the woman did not have a pretty face. Most thought Willem's mother not pretty, but Dorna Swyft Lannister had a pretty heart, and so did Ser Brienne. He was taken back to Riverrun, and (despite the reassurances in Tyrion's letters) he was afraid. Yet young Lord Edmure greeted him kindly.

The Lord of Riverrun had recently lost his father, and seemed in much need of a friend. Willem was treated more like a ward than a prisoner. There was no escape, he was guarded closely, but given relative freedom. (Somehow Tyrion's letters still reached him here.) And so it was, on a sunny afternoon, as Willem watched seven year old Axel and Edwyle Tully play in Minisa's garden (and prayed to the Seven that their father was wise enough not to send them away to squire) that Edmure approached him with heavy steps and a solemn expression.

Willem moved to stand, but Edmure shook his head, instead joining Willem where he sat on the grass. Edmure offered him a sad smile then turned to watch the boys play. "I sometimes forget that you're a twin." Edmure whispered softly. "Do you miss him? Martyn?"

Willem nodded. "Terribly." He replied with the raw honesty that Edmure's kindness had earned him. "I… we…" Willem shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. "We weren't much older than them when we were sent to squire." Edmure seemed to study him carefully, he picked at a blade of grass absently then turned to watch the boys again, observing Edmure only from the corner of his eye. The boys seemed to have no clue that a war was going on around them.

A number of emotions seemed to flicker across Edmure's still young face before he settled on a thoughtful expression. "I was never sent to squire… Father had lost sons before me – and sent both daughters away." There was a bitterness to his words at the mention of his sisters. He shook his head then continued. "I gained my knighthood within the safety of these walls. Many suggest that I do not deserve it."

"Nonsense!" Willem blurted out the word before he could even think. "If you did not deserve a knighthood then the man that knighted you did not deserve one, nor the man that knighted him. Either you earned it or you didn't. To earn it with family around you is not a bad thing."

Edmure chuckled lightly, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "I was knighted by my Uncle Brynden, the Blackfish." He raised a careful eyebrow. "You've heard of him, I assume. Others trained me, but he deemed me worthy."

Willem turned back to look at Edmure. "And are you fool enough to think him wrong?" He was rewarded with a real smile for that.

"No." Edmure agreed. "Thank you." A frown wrinkled his usually smooth brow. "Your father-"

"Is a coward." Willem cut him off with venom. Seven it felt good to actually say the words!

"I… what?" Edmure answered, clearly stunned by Willem's reply.

"My father is a coward." Willem replied strongly. "What ever Tywin commands Kevan does, no questions. Tywin said Lancel had to go to Crakehall and so Lancel went to Crakehall and they stole all of his joy, then deemed him untrainable and sent him away. Tywin then demanded Lancel be sent to him. Demanded Lancel would become a knight or die trying. Well he died trying alright! He died bruised and scared and trying!" Willem fought back the tears. "Lancel used to sing when we were little, he had such a beautiful voice. They beat that out of him."

"I've never really cared for bards." Edmure muttered quietly.

Willem choked back a sob. "Do you care for your sons?"

"Yes."

"Then don't send them away!" Willem couldn't choke back the tears any more. "Please don't send them away. They'll never forgive you."

Edmure studied him carefully. "Will you never forgive your father? Even in death?"

It was a strange question, but perhaps not so strange for a man that had recently lost his own father. Willem considered the question carefully. He regained control of his ragged breathing, but all he could see was Lancel's trembling hand as Tywin's wine was poured, the bruises at Lancel's neck, the rage in his eyes. "Let him die." Willem spat. "Let him linger in the Stranger's embrace and pull Tywin into the grave behind him." Another sob. No, he was not in control of his breathing. His gaze again returned to the twin seven year old boys.

"He has." Edmure whispered the words so softly that they almost didn't register to Willem at first. Willem watched mutely as his host, his captor, reached into a pocket and pulled out a small raven of parchment. "Tywin and Kevan Lannister are dead. The back of Tywin's rebellion is broken and your cousin, Tyrion, negotiates for what remains."

"And the Tooth?" Willem might not be fond of Lord Lefford, but the Golden Tooth had been his home for near half his life.

Edmure regarded him with surprise at the question, then shrugged. "I'll let Lady Alysane Lefford keep her lands and her House, but not her loyalties. I will permit her to marry any Riverlands lesser son as long as she swears her oaths to me. Walder Frey has offered her a dozen of his lesser sons and grandsons to choose from, but I think her more likely to choose one of the younger Vance brothers." He chuckled mirthlessly. "The tooth bites the lion now. You should know that Silverhill is now part of the Reach. I'm told that Martyn is safe." Edmure frowned again. "I hope it's true." His gaze flickered to his own twin sons again. "Selwyn is trying to force my hand to send little Eddy to him once the war is truly done. Edwyle is his heir after all."

"Don't do it." Willem pleaded.

"I won't." Edmure reassured. "Thank you for our talk. I am sorry for your loss, you can be angry at somebody and still grieve them – still love them – trust me, I have much anger towards my own father." Edmure stood up and brushed the loose grass off of his pants. "Thank you for our conversation, you have given me much to contemplate."

~~/~~

It was with trepidation that Willem learnt that his time at Riverrun was to end. A moon before his fifteenth name day a Baratheon guard arrive to escort him to Kings Landing. The Baratheon guards sent to escort him did not shackle him as he was led out of the Keep. Yet, having asked no questions, he knew little of what to expect. The lack of chains did not make him any less of a prisoner, the numerous guards assured that there was no chance of escape. (And where would he go even if he did escape? Where did he have to go?) They travelled at a gentle pace, the guards seeming to be in no hurry. At the Inns he was never left to sleep alone, at least two guards in the room with him and two more at the door. He never thought to raise a fuss, what good would come of that?

As the walls of Kings Landing drew closer Willem drew further and further into himself, he barely noticed as they passed through the gate and into the city beyond. His eyes did not see as the carriage and its guard made their way up dirty, crowed streets. He took no head as they entered the Red Keep itself, and had to be prodded (as if from slumber) to exit the carriage once it had stopped. When he finally raised his head to assess his fate it was with little hope in his heart. Edmure had petitioned to take him as a ward, but that petition had been refused. What now then? An offer of exile? A public execution? The 'choice' to take the Black?

And yet, there stood Tyrion, grinning up at him as if the world still headed Lannister gold. "Your hair has gotten long, cousin, I hope the journey from Riverrun sees you well enough. How kind of House Tully to hold you safe, and protect you against my father's folly, House Tyrell was equally kind to Martyn. I am sorrowed for the loss of your father." Tyrion shrugged in a way that suggested he was not truly sorry. "But Uncle Kevan did follow my father's footsteps everywhere, it makes much sense that he should follow Tywin into the grave. Lancel…" Here Tyrion's expression did show remorse. "Well, I did not want that. Your grandfather assures that your mother and sister are safe however."

"Tyrion." Willem whispered the name in utter confusion. Something Edmure had said in the peace of Minisa's Garden returned to him. '…Tyrion, negotiates for what remains.'

Tyrion ambled forward, in that unavoidable waddle of his, and took Willem by the arm. "Yes, yes. I am Tyrion, you are Willem, and we are both free – as long as we are careful." Tyrion patted Willem's arm reassuringly and then gave it a gentle tug, attempting to lead him inside. "Come, come, there is much to explain. Martyn and wine are upstairs. Have you eaten?"

"I…" Willem blinked once, twice. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, none of this made any sense. No sense at all. He latched onto some of what Tyrion had said, yet his numb mind seemed unable to process the rest. "We're… free?"

"Yes, yes," Tyrion patted Willem's arm on each yes and bobbed his own head reassuringly. "As long as we are careful. Nobel Eddard Stark does not abide the murders of women and children – and you are not a man yet." He chuckled, although it did not meet his eyes. "And I stand no taller than a child. Come, come. Martyn and wine are upstairs, as I have said. There is much to explain, but best done on a full stomach. Have you eaten?"

Willem's thoughts were sluggish, of all the things he might have expected it was not this. He frowned, then focused on his cousin's last question. "I… breakfast." He finally managed to reply.

Tyrion shook his head disapprovingly and tugged on Willem's arm again, finally Willem obliged, allowing Tyrion to lead him inside. "It's nigh past noon," Tyrion responded in disapproval. "Nigh past time for afternoon indulgence even. Why, it's near time for supper pre-drinks. Come, come. Let us get you cleaned up and get you some food, or get you some food then get you cleaned up. Yes, yes, that sounds better. Do you drink, Willem? Martyn tries, can't hold his wine, it seems. I'm sure at fifteen I could drink far better than him."

Willem's frown deepened. "We're not fifteen for another ten days," He corrected.

Tyrion patted Willem's arm reassuringly and tugged him towards a flight of stairs. "Yes, yes. And what a brilliant nameday it will be. We'll have a big party. Well... a small party. Maybe not a party so much, but a nice dinner. Ten days, I can work out something. Best not draw too much attention, but something small and nice. It will be the first nameday you've shared with your brother in a while, yes?"

"Yes." Willem agreed. He was soon lost in the maze of stairs and corridors, he let his mind wander, going over the little that Tyrion had said. They were free, FREE, but how? Why? Finally his mind crystalized into one clear question. A question so important that it caused his feet to stop, and Tyrion to nearly topple over at the suddenness of it. "Who controls the Rock?"

Tyrion allowed his arm to drop and turned to face Willem completely. The dwarf of a man looked up at Willem with unusual seriousness. "I do." He finally replied. "As long as I am cautious, and clever, and loyal to our king. I control the Rock, but not much more, half of our vessals have been stripped. I believe the Westerlands will be no more by your sixteenth nameday. The only question that remains is are we to become part of the Riverlands or the Reach? And can we get there without another war?"

Tyrion shrugged. "That's two questions I suppose. We are free, not safe, I aim to make us safe, Willem, safe. Do you understand me, cousin? Things are far more dangerous for you now that you are free than they ever were when you were the Tully's prisoner. Renly Baratheon himself negotiated your passage here, and Martyn's, that puts me in great debt, one of many I'm afraid."

Tyrion shook his head. "He plays the happy fool, but he plays it so cleverly, it worries me. I would get you safely absconded to our quarters before he should choose to collect. I'm happy to play the game, I just need to study the lay of the board first. You are currently my heir, and Lannisport is certainly yours at the least, though I've put your Swyft grandfather in charge of it for now. Much would have somewhat to gain from small kindnesses to you, many would seek more. Now, please, come."

~~/~~