Author's Notes: I'm back, and I bring tribute of my lengthiest chapter yet (by far). The pace of the story is a bit slow so far, but relentless action degrades its value, in my opinion. We're currently at the world-building and the character-development that will later lead to pay-offs. And as for the next wave of casting, here's it is for your convenience:
Tywin – Charles Dance
Genna – Emma Thompson
Kevan – Hugo Weaving
Tygett – Kevin McKidd
Gerion – Charlie Hunnam
Daven – Travis Fimmel
Cerenna – Amanda Seyfried
Myrielle – Cara Develigne
Addam Marbrand – Tom Hiddleston
I like these picks, the only one that could arguably be different (maybe even better) is Kevan. That being said, Kevan is Tywin's younger brother, and after Genna, the second oldest brother (for the sake of actors and similar ages, the only change I'm making to canon is the order being Tywin, Genna, Kevan, Tygett and Gerion). Beyond that, I'm pretty happy with my picks, and I'm sticking to them. Without further ado, enjoy the next chapter, and read the ending A/N for a more general update on the situation.
Lannisport
He was up, beads of sweat on his forehead. In a clear sky, with a thousand and one stars varying in size and color, it was easy to see the full moon setting. Wolf's Claw swung up and down two-handed and one-handed, each day a little easier. Every time he finished a set of swings, he'd look behind him and sigh. A pair of crimson guards watched over him, unmoving, just about as lively as the statues in the training yard. Small price to pay, I suppose. Lord Tywin's given me leave to continue with early training, a pair of his men were bound to be his compromise.
Far away from the North, on the edge of the Westerlands, his dreams were not hindered by the distance from the place from whence they came. While he continually dreamt of the growing direwolf pup and his expanding pack, there were still faint images of the land he knew not of, of the mercenaries he did not fight with. His nightly rests were still short lived, only in Casterly Rock he could not escape to practice before the rise of the sun so freely. He'd spent a few days that way, attempting to fall back asleep or finding ways to entertain himself. When those failed, he requested Lord Tywin directly for leave to train before the morning. The warden's look had given away nothing, and 'suggested' that he is not used to the Rock's winds. So, Geralt made a gamble and asked one thing of Tywin. He had no intentions in taking Essence of Nightshade and provide additional costs to the lord. His suggestion was to station a single guard by his door at night, and should he wake up and tell the guards for five nights before the moon was set on the horizon, he'd be allowed to train his sword-wielding in that time.
Poor rest begets false proficiency. If you are not able to do your tasks as you are expected, you will find a way to sleep with the rest of the castle. And that had been the gamble. Lord Tywin always held an intimidating presence, but on that discussion, Geralt had been especially confident. He'd dealt with little sleep for a good part of his life and carried on his day as others did. The first five nights had been slow, but true to his word, notified the pair of Lannister guards outside his door. On the fifth night, he was allowed to do as he wanted, though the pair explained they'd been commanded to keep watch of him. He shrugged it off, went about doing as he had on the road to the West, and at sunrise, left for the dining hall, where the golden lot were breaking their fast. That had led to a raised brow from the lord and a mild scowl. If you mean to train before the morn, then you will make time to wash yourself before breakfast. You can eat at the kennels with the rest of the hounds if you mean to look and smell like a dog. He'd nodded with a 'yes, my lord', and struggled to hide a grin. He might have been scolded by the lord, but he had won.
Genna had confirmed as much, proving to be more of Casterly Rock's lady than some guileless, misplaced sister. He'll never admit it, much less in front of you, but you've gained his interest, Geralt. Unless this is all some Northman's ruse, which he would have seen through from the start, few men and fewer boys still can look my brother in the eyes and speak their minds. You best do your duties impeccably now. He'll not accept anything short of the best from you if you've asked him for a favor so soon. He thanked her for the advice, to which she audaciously pinched his cheek and gave him a shrewd smile. Gerion had laughed when he found out, his words as free of care as his grin. You'll learn soon enough how oft my brother likes to threaten men with hounds. Hells, he even claimed I'd find my bed there if I ever slept in a brothel again. Don't let him frighten you, he's just making sure you don't lose your focus. And if within your chest lies a warm, beating heart beneath all the northman's ice, forgive Jaime and Cersei their shortcomings and ill disposition to you. They're as motherless as you, but Tywin Lannister is their father.
He sighed, finishing his training as the moon sat on the edge of the world, the ocean's mirage making it seem whole once more. Creeping pink arms of the dawn signaled his time to make his way back within the great halls. In Casterly Rock, he bathed every day, and though he loathed the excess oils and incenses they lathered their pools with, he found the coolness refreshing. He bathed perhaps five times every fortnight in Winterfell with the North's freezing cold keeping him from sweating. It was a frustrating change, realizing how much time he'd waste cleaning himself. He'd found a way to cheat that soon enough as well. The maids were shocked to catch him washing himself in the waters before they were heated. When they fretted of frostbite and sickness, he explained the baths in Winterfell were colder. A harmless lie. In Winterfell we had the springs keeping us warm, but in the South, why would I need that heat when the snows are already so scarce? Bathing became substantially faster, and he was able to train for a little while longer in the dark before the mornings.
When he was done, he dressed himself. He didn't much like the robes he'd soon be made to wear, preferring old skins and furs over finely woven cloths. Rickard had sent a fair amount of dragons so that he would dress as the westerners dressed. You'll never be the fanciest in Casterly Rock, Geralt, nor the richest. That worries me as little as you care for that fact. However, if you're to go and sit at Tywin's table, perhaps even his court, then you better look the part. Keep some of the North in you, aye, but be sure to look properly. In privacy, he'd asked Genna advice on that. She'd laughed heartily then. I'm afraid my time is enslaved by my duties, Geralt. But your initiative is admirable. Oh, what am I saying, it's in Lord Rickard's ears that my praises should land. Boys care too little for the like of clothes when they could spend their gold on armors and swords. Your father is far from a fool, to have had so many plans to have you well-placed in Casterly Rock. Keep your furs in the meantime, we'll be leaving for Lannisport in a fortnight. The twins' namedays comes soon, and Myrielle will certainly be eager to help you find a fitting wardrobe.
He was in his usual outfit when he was greeted with the early crowd. It was effortless being amongst the first to arrive when he'd been awake earlier than the rest of the castle. Only he had yet to get used to the awkwardness of sitting nearly by himself on his side of the table. Tywin, Jaime and Cersei were always there at the head of the table, though Geralt had no doubts that it was on the lord's commands that the two were always impeccably early. Of the adults at the table were all of the Great Lion's siblings save for Gerion, who often came later with hints of the previous night's drinks on his face. The children themselves took longer, still early by most standards, but usually the last to arrive. It left a gap between himself and Cersei three-chairs wide, and she was certainly the last to ever so much as direct a word to him.
Only once did she speak to him since his arrival, and it was when he accidentally bumped into the lady when crossing a hall. I'm Lord Tywin Lannister's daughter, you'd do well to mind your manners and keep to yourself you filthy, lumbering savage. Jaime was nearly as unpleasant, if only for his frequent jabs, barbing his words so they would crawl under Geralt's skin better than Cerenna's ever could. It's a shame your father cares so little for you that he'd send you here. Do you mean to claim my sister? Hardly a chance coming from a thirdborn son, and the North might be greater than the other six kingdoms together, but with what? A fifth of the people? Less? All of which are wildlings. Or are wildlings only the ones beyond the Wall? Imagine how pathetic it must be to be Westeros's Dothraki without the mastery of horse riding. It was hard to keep Gerion's words in mind in the few moments he was forced to share with the twins, but he tried to imagine his life under Tywin's rule. Loveless and bitter, I imagine, but I'd do fine in those conditions. Never thought of Winterfell being warmer than here, though.
"You mean to become a knight?" The tone was gruff in spite of the smoothness of his voice, and his gaze rose from his empty plate to the largest of the lions. Tygett had smiled as much as Tywin since his arrival, which was to say none, but there were traces of a strange, prickly softness to him that the elder brother lacked. Or at least, an apparent gentleness he tried to hide. Geralt raised his brow. "What do you mean, Ser Tygett?"
"You train every day before even roosters break their fast, and you train with a greatsword. At your age, such discipline and strength is a rarity. Do you mean to become a knight by honing your skills? Are you seeking mentoring under a war-master?" The wording mostly sounded like a captain commanding his soldier to answer his questions honestly, but Tygett's brows were not more furrowed than usual, and he was patient in his silence, waiting for Geralt to answer. He had brought the attention from his siblings and nephews, and suddenly all eyes were on him. Damn. Geralt mulled over the words in his mind before speaking. "I think not, Ser. Knights are good fighters, I don't deny that, but I doubt I'm fit to have a rank among them. If I could have my way, I'd sooner be the captain of a battalion, or better the commander of an army."
"You'd be without duty for the better parts of your years, then. Westeros has lived under a time of worthwhile peace, so commanders are refitted to be guards for their liege lords." Kevan had entered the conversation, an undeniable shrewdness to his tone that was prominent in the Lannister pride. Genna raised an interested brow and Tywin almost looked indifferent. With the intensity of the attention, Geralt breathed deep and answered. "Not in Essos, Ser Kevan. The Disputed Lands have yet to hold a master, and the Free Cities have problems with khalasars demanding tributes whenever they want more gold and diamonds and slaves. It isn't hard to live by the sword in this world."
"It's easier still to die by the sword if you mean to live on open battlefields. The Disputed Lands have always been contested because alliances between Lys, Tyrosh and Myr are short-lived and their leaders are cutthroats. And only fools would face the Dothraki hordes in an open field. Have you ever been taught of the Field of Crows?" Tywin's voice was hardly loud, yet it resonated through the hall. Neither Kevan nor Tygett tried to interrupt or add on to the lord's statement, and it was only Geralt that could end the uncomfortable silence. He clenched his jaw. "No, my lord, I haven't."
"At the North of Essos, east of Qohor, High King Mazor Alexi roused the Sarnori to the east to defeat the Khals threatening their cities. He brought a hundred thousand soldiers, twenty thousand mounted men and six thousand armed chariots. They slew Khal Haro, only to be trapped and ambushed by Khals Qano and Zhako with their eighty thousand horselords. A hundred thousand men died in the trap, Mazor and half a dozen lesser kings among them, and the rest of the Sarnori were enslaved. The proud Kingdom of Sarnor was destroyed in the span of a single battle. If you mean to act like a hedge knight and only live by the sword as mercenaries do, then you better know to pick your enemies well." It wasn't the severity of his tone that irked Geralt, but the condescension. He must live a hard life if he really believes he's surrounded by nothing but idiots. His face was ice, and he nodded respectfully. "I understand, my lord."
"See that you do. I said it the night of your arrival and I'll say it one last time. The Rock has no more room for boys. If you mean to become a man and do your duties by House Stark and the Seven Realms, then you'll dismiss childish notions and act the part." Geralt's stomach was boiling as Tywin finished speaking, and though he trusted himself to control his face, he was relieved that Tywin turned to Kevan and began speaking to him of matters he could not hear from the other side of the table. All he caught was Jaime's brief smirk past Cersei's golden locks, which disappeared before their father could catch on. Geralt was close to growling something out when swaggering steps caught the table's attention. Gerion walked in with Addam and the other three Lannister children in tow. "What's this about the lack of boys in the Rock? I didn't realize Jaime, Daven, Addam and Geralt had achieved manhood overnight. Not to mention little Tyrion, though I suspect he wouldn't grow much more by the time he becomes a man. It's a damn shame I missed it."
"Geralt Stark means to live by the sword without perceiving the risks of picking enemies like the Dothraki. I trust he's learned not to be swept by the madness of unadulterated ideas nor the stupidity of following them blindly. And next time you mean to enter a conversation, Gerion, you will arrive before the moment of its conception." The children looked on wide-eyed and took their seats on the table in silence. Gerion laughed, the paleness of his skin giving away the contents of his previous night's drinks. "With how long it takes to reach the core of a conversation, my lord? I'd sooner arrive once the heart of it is uncovered and left bare for the world to see. Now what madness and stupidity has Geralt conjured to insult the standing of House Stark? Facing the Dothraki? Aye, that's madness. Stupidity? I believe it's too soon to wager on that. A lack of maturity and experience at worst, but not stupidity. Thirty-nine noble families called the Targaryens mad and stupid for leaving the safety and power of High Valyria at the height of their empire when they did. Those families and even their dragons were burnt in the Doom, and the Targaryens rule Westeros to this day."
"And they have lost the dragons that won their wars since. An empire that spanned the greater part of Essos has been lost, and Westeros fails to fill that hole for every day that passes since its fall. Even when they brought the kingdoms to heel, they failed to bring Dorne to the fold, which had nothing more than spearmen and little cavalry to back their rulers. It took marriage to unite all kingdoms, and they retain the titles of princes and princesses to this day. Facing Dothraki in a battlefield means certain death. Few peoples in the world possess a mastery of horse-riding and archery on horseback as they do, and in their savagery they're like to cannibalize hordes of other Khals and add those men to their own easily. Killing their apparent commander is futile, they'll find another to take his place." Tywin's voice was stern, and Gerion raised his hands gently. "In a battle of wits, brother, it'll be my loss attempting to wear you down with whatever arguments I may conjure, I'm sure the Wall will melt first. I'll sooner concede this battle than die on this hill. Now, I'm hungry and it's about time we all had our fill of this banquet, wouldn't you agree, my lord?"
Geralt kept his surprise controlled watching the Great Lion barely just clench his jaw and looked at the servants. They moved diligently and brought plates of bacon burnt black, eggs fried in western oils, blood sausages and more. Before he could begin eating, he caught a look in Tygett's eyes. It's not pity, he hasn't been pitiful to anyone in the time I've seen him. Understanding, then? He cleared his throat. "There are sellswords in Essos, and it's the fool's task to trust a group of men that only serve gold in a world full of warring rich men. But even amongst mercenaries, a few names stand out throughout history. The Golden Company began from Bittersteel's will, and it's one of the greater bands to this day, both in military success and in reputation. You can gain ranks in a company like that, or even start one of your own. Westeros has been in peace, yes, but no peace lasts forever. To have strength of your own, swords of your own to add to House Stark is not a bad plan to have to strengthen your lands. Are the Karstarks not related to you by blood?"
"They are, Ser Tygett. Karlon Stark put down a rebellion singlehandedly with only a few thousand men and was granted lands and his own titles." Gerion laughed and gave a loud clap, bringing attention of the rest of the table to him. "And there you have it. House Gerstark does not sound quite as good as your ancient cousins' namesake, but I suppose that's the least of your worries. All you need is to become a hero of the North, have your own set of soldiers, and gain a boon from the king. Quite simple, not easy, but simple enough. Not such a bad idea, is it, my lord?"
Gerion winked at Geralt, turning to Tywin along with Tygett, the focus back on the lord. He was unreadable, but if Geralt could have guessed, he seemed unimpressed. Then again, he's always unimpressed. "How long ago was Karlon Stark given the title of Karstark and vassal lord of the North?"
"…About a thousand years ago." Geralt answered. Tywin looked at him directly now. "More than seven hundred years before the Targaryen conquest, then, when Starks were the Kings in the North and the lands of Westeros were divided by a dozen monarchs. What land is left in the North that requires lordship and the manning of an army?"
Geralt almost barked a cheeky answer out. Hold it, damn you, there's an answer to that question and I know it. He mulled over the thought, then a light came to his eyes. "The Gift has been left greatly unmanned by the Night's Watch. The last few commanders have been attempting to exchange the lands below their castle for more men, and they could use the soldiers to protect the villages where the Watch fails to reach in time. The Umbers could do with others upholding the mantle of shields of the North and ensuring no wildling attacks their people."
"The Gift is a large land with no castles save for those built by and for the Night's Watch. How would you mean to defend the villages from wildling raids if you have no place from which to command your men?" Geralt then realized he'd misread the lord. He's not attempting to humiliate or dismiss me, he's testing my knowledge and will. That had made him sit with his back straighter and his eyes hardened. "The same way men have done for thousands of years. Building a keep, maybe even a castle. I doubt I can match Winterfell, but something can be built hiring the right builders."
"With what? Building a castle requires men and time, and the time of men is paid in gold. Unless the Starks have kept secrets from the rest of Westeros, they lack gold, silver nor diamonds and rubies and sapphires to mine. At best, they have the silversmiths in White Harbor, who trade to acquire that silver. Wools, hides, furs and woods, even ironwood, are not enough to fund a strong new castle in a thousand fortnights." Geralt took a moment to think before answering. "The Iron Bank lends money, I could work as a sellsword for a few years to pay off the price of the castle."
"The Iron Bank lends money to Essosi Companies and Westerosi Houses, and not just any, but the most powerful and prosperous of their kind. House Stark has history and strength, but it lacks the funds. To fund a castle from scratch, it'll take the earnings of an entire mercenary company for several years before you can consider paying for part of that keep. The rest would be paid to the Iron Bank through trade for even more years, and that's if the king permits the reassignment of the lands from the Watch, and for what? To defend the North from wildling invaders? Only two Kings-Beyond-the-Wall have risen and gone south of the Wall since the Targaryen conquest. With any luck, you'll be an old man by the time the third dares enter your territory. Your men would be far removed from the rest of the North, and the time and resources spent on your endeavor would be wasted. Is that the end you mean to achieve?" Don't get mad. He's being a cunt, but there's something he's leading to. Geralt pondered in silence for a while longer, his expression blank. Long enough that the table assumed his defeat, he could see the looks in their eyes saying so. When Tygett turned to Tywin, mouth opened, Geralt cut him short.
"You're right, my lord, a castle in the Gift would be a waste." Kevan discretely nodded, Tygett turned quickly back to him, and Gemma and Gerion frowned. Cerenna put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, only for Myrielle to elbow her side. Jaime had a mocking smile, and Cersei finally deigned to look at him, matching her twin's expression. They don't matter. Tywin remained unmoving, but Geralt hadn't backed from the battle. "Building a castle from scratch is expensive enough and time consuming, I'd waste my life away waiting for it to be finished. I'd do better to do spend my efforts reinforcing a castle already within Stark territory."
The table was quiet at that, many with curious looks. For a shadow of a moment, he caught the light that flickered in Tywin's eyes, and Geralt smiled knowing he figured it out. "Moat Cailin is crucial for the defense of the North's only border, and it may have once been twenty, but three towers still remain. And those three are large and strong, more than enough to defend against any invasions from the South. Repairing and renovating the towers is far more feasible in terms of gold, men, and time, and with some luck more towers can be rebuilt to fortify it further."
"With the exception of the Targaryens who rode on the back of dragons, all invasions to the North failed to breach the lands past your moat. The fact that it has not been rebuilt to its former glory may be due to the floods that thinned the Neck, but complacency has let it rot since. If you mean to become the leader of your own house, then you must measure your opportunities better." His final tone was closer to a command than advice, but the conversation had finished surprisingly fruitful. Geralt nodded and answered, "Yes, my lord."
Tywin turned to his food and began eating without any more regard to the Stark. The rest of his siblings, by comparison, gave warmer signals. Kevan held a measure of approval in his eyes, but immediately mimicked the eldest and dug into his plate as well. Tygett gave him a deep, formal nod, Genna a shrewd smile and Gerion a final wink with a twinkle in his eyes. The table grew noisy again with normal conversation, Daven speaking up from the side of his two sisters. "Seven hells, Geralt, what kind of a boy are you to speak up to lord uncle like that?! Do northmen usually have such brazen gall?!"
He shrugged, swallowing a mix of eggs and meat in his mouth in a loud gulp. "I doubt it. Northmen are honest, but my father said I have a gift for being 'confoundingly willful'."
"A nice way of saying you're stubborn as a mule." Cerenna quipped. Myrielle rolled her eyes, but Geralt nodded. "You're not wrong, I've just also heard worse ways of saying it more often than not. Half of them involved the words 'mad little bastard'."
The haughty girl laughed loud, louder than the others. She immediately stopped, eyes going wide and cheeks flushing as she caught herself, digging into her plate and refusing to look at him again. The voice from his left him led him to look at the ginger. "I'm sure Lord Tywin has had his fair share of headstrong men in his time, and doubtless most of them were of foolish disposition. I think the surprise is the wit behind your reckless abandon."
"Addam's right. In Casterly Rock, and almost everywhere else in Westeros, our lord uncle gets the last word. But he rarely ever gives children the time of the day to humor them or speak to them as adults. His children come first, of course, and then those of us with more distant Lannister blood. The Marbrands have always been faithful to our house, and Lord Damon has been especially dependable, so Addam receives the treatment of a favored guest and even member of the Rock. But you, begging your pardon, are an outsider. That you've done so well with Lord Tywin for this long is something we didn't expect." Myrielle finished with a smile, green eyes looking directly into his. Geralt raised a brow. The time it took him to swallow his bite was enough for Genna to enter their conversation. "My brother is not such the tyrant as you all make him out to be. Harsh, yes, but fair, and he has an eye for potential. As it happens, us older Lannisters coincide in our interest of the brave, young Geralt Stark."
"Aye, a young lad training harder at swordsplay than most commanders do, every morn. Hells, it's a pain getting here in time for breakfast with morning sickness weighing me down, never mind your endeavors at training with a bloody greatsword before the sunrise. And most men reek of piss if stuck in talks with our elder brother, and only half of those that didn't have bargained successfully with him. Of course he's interesting, sweet sister, Lord Rickard Stark produced a son more wolf than man. I beg your pardon my lord, direwolf is what I meant." Gerion interjected, flashing a cheeky smile while reaching for a wooden jug of ale. Genna slapped the hand away before he could reach it and instead passed a cup full of water for the man. The younger gave a sly grin and she rolled her eyes while the children laughed. Tygett turned briefly to them, voice rumbling low. "Our brother is a hard man. If you want for something here or mean to do as you like in Casterly Rock, then you fight tooth and nail for it. Anything short of that, you'll be stuck doing nothing but following orders."
With that, the biggest of the lot turned away, returning his attention to the conversation Tywin continued with Kevan. For once, Jaime was not wasting time looking down on Geralt nor sending petty words his way. It was strange, Cersei was smiling while Jaime was frowning. He looked to be angry with their father, but one look from the man had the boy disarmed. It almost made Geralt smile again. He's begging. The hell would he mope about that would have his sister so pleased? From his short time there, he'd seen the two do everything together that didn't involve their duties, almost always matching in moods. When he tried to read the words they spoke, Daven leaned forwards into his line of sight. "Geralt! You ever been to a tourney?!"
"No, I–what? What do you mean?" His eyes grew almost as big as his smile. "You've never been to a tourney?! Hells, this is gonna be great! If you wanted to see the whole West into one place fighting to the last man, this is your chance!"
Geralt shook his head and Addam gently tapped his shoulder. "I don't know what your customs are in the North, but here in the Westerlands, all of the twins' namedays are celebrated with tourneys. The vassal houses loyal to House Lannister come and participate in jousts, melees, and archery in honor of their name. It's a good celebration for the week of their nameday, and even better for Lord Tywin to measure his liege lords and confirm their continued fealty."
"And to try their luck and see if they can't win any of the tournaments. A few dozen dragons never hurt anyone. Father says I can't right now, but I'll be winning those tourneys once I'm of age!" Daven boasted with a grin. Geralt nodded, asking, "Can a man fight on the tourney of his nameday?"
"If you mean to cross swords with cousin Jaime there, I'm afraid the youngest you must be to participate is at fifteen namedays. In the meantime, you can watch the show with us, learn the ways of the West before you join in on it." Myrielle offered with a smile. Geralt kept his lips thinly pressed together, but refrained from frowning. Damn, and I wanted to try my sword out against actual men. He nodded at her and asked the group, "So when do we leave?"
"Tomorrow, the twins' nameday will be the day after, and the tournaments start then." The conversation went on with a much milder tone without Tywin's watchful gaze weighing their spirits down. He maneuvered well enough in his talks with the southron lot, keeping in mind all the things he learnt along the way. For his initial harsh judgement of the man, even Ser Kevan approached him by the first nights since Ser Rodrik had left. Geralt, I know not of what they've taught you in the North. I know even less of what's been spoken of House Lannister where our ears don't reach, though I suppose it can't have been cruel enough if Lord Rickard would send his son here. Regardless of what you've heard, House Lannister is far more complex than stories would tell of us. And if you mean to get on and remain in my brother's good graces, do not bring Tyrion up in conversation with him. His story is a tragic one, and his life has left salted wounds on many of those who live in Casterly Rock. I've no doubt your father taught you this, but family matters are a private affair. It'll do you no good to intervene in any of it.
Since the talks, he had not so much as heard the little boy's name. He knew he wanted to ask and say more, but he was aware he was far too new to pry further. A question like that from the 'unruly savage' is bound to make House Stark look bad. But… perhaps with Gerion I can find some answers, he's the only one with the balls to mention him to Lord Tywin. Does the Great Lion loathe him for his condition or for his lady wife's death? Regardless, I would have thought dismissing your own blood was looked down upon in the West as much as the North. If there was one name Geralt had never heard and guessed he would never hear, it was Lord Tywin's late wife. On that, his father made it clear he could never blunder.
The meal had ended and the table had been dismissed, Tywin leaving with Kevan and Tygett immediately in tow. Genna bid her goodbyes and Gerion offered her his arm, which she snaked her own around. From farther away, he could see Jaime remained sulking where Cersei tried to speak soft words to him. Her smile had an edge, a hint of cruelty that brought a scowl from the pretty boy. He slapped her hand away and stormed off, leaving the girl shocked and holding her wrist. By the time he realized the others made sure not to look at the girl, she'd caught his observing gaze. Her scowl mimicked her twin's. "And what are you looking at?! Have you nothing better to do than to ogle at ladies?!"
"Just making sure you're not harmed, my lady." He replied calmly, almost uncaringly. She looked like she meant to curse him a hundred different ways. Instead, she spun on her heeled boots and stomped to another hall, away from where Jaime had gone. He could feel the gaze of the other four on him. "I think she likes me."
Daven cackled madly, Myrielle had a hand over her mouth and Cerenna a wicked smile. Addam's smile was small, and his words were measured. "She's Lord Tywin's daughter, and firstborn too. It should be of no surprise that she has the temper of a lioness."
"Hells, she roars like one too. It damn near scares me seeing her that angry. But the brazen Stark fears nothing, not the Great Lion and not his daughter!" Daven laughed, slapping Geralt on the shoulder. The gesture brought a smile from Geralt, but he kept his composure. "I've done nothing to them, and I'm not here to make enemies. That doesn't make me a lapdog either."
"No, you're too wild to be kept on a leash." He nodded at Cerenna's comment, and for once, it seemed like she didn't say it to mock him. Daven walked around and placed himself between Addam and Geralt. "My lords, what say you we practice on the training yard? Old Samson Lannett keeps talking about your madness, Geralt, and how you already have a greatsword at your age. You've been here a moon already, I'll be damned if we put off our spar any longer! We could even have a three-way fight between you, me and Addam!"
Without further words, the rowdy boy dragged the two to the yard. He struggled not to groan as the sisters laughed, slowly disappearing behind them. The enthusiasm Daven had shown was replaced by a measure of testiness when Geralt defeated him sword-to-sword on each of their spars. Between the strength of his swing and the fact that he was starting to wield Wolf's Claw well one-handed, the boy was outmatched. Even when he forced Addam to team up with him to defeat the 'Mad Wolf', Geralt prevailed. Snow bears make for good training. Addam yielded by the second fight, amicably ending the quarrel by saying he'd need to train more to match Geralt. Daven's storminess was gone as quick as it came, and mentioned that the only other boy to fight that well to defeat them so frequently was Jaime. Hells, you two should fight! That'd be a match to see! He had half a mind to agree with Daven, but the other half contemplated how terrible it would look to defeat the heir in his home, so close to his nameday.
The entertainment of the day had ended when their duties began, being sent off to the studies where Maester Creylen taught them the ways of tactics and strategies. He was older than he seemed, but his hairlessness hid his age. Even his brows were too thin to make out their true color. He was a man with peachy skin and dark, beady eyes that always scrutinized the people that 'bothered him'. It didn't take long for Geralt to figure out that anyone who spoke to the Maester bothered him. Like the authorities in the castle, he was not one for any nonsense, and answered any and all questions directly and concisely. Where Luwin had a great number of chains of led, tin, steel, red gold and copper, Creylen had yellow gold, iron, brass and steel amongst his most numerous links. Warfare and gold characterized Casterly Rock, and it showed in their teachings.
The night came late, later than in Winterfell, but eventually the southron sun hid beneath the waves of the Sunset Sea. It was after dinner that he'd caught the nicer one of the young lions he had become a companion to. When he placed his hand on her shoulder, Myrielle jumped in place, turning around with her hand on her chest. "Gods, Geralt, if you mean to speak to me, please call on my name first. It'll do you few favors to frighten ladies to death in the West."
"Oh, sorry, I just meant to catch you alone." At that, Myrielle giggled, gently twirling a stray strand of her hair with her finger. "And what ever could you want of me while we're alone?"
"Well, we only have furs in the North, not very fitting for the West. Can you help me find and buy southron clothes?" There was disappointment in the girl's eyes for a brief moment before she smiled curiously. "Oh? I thought you meant to keep your furs, being a Northman and all."
"Well, if I'm being hosted by Lord Tywin, I may as well dress the part of a 'proper' guest." He sighed. Myrielle giggled again, shining her bright green eyes on him. She put her hand on his arm. "I'd be delighted to help you find robes fitting for you. I'm honored that you would come to me for help, I can assure you I won't disappoint."
"Perfect, thanks Myrielle." He flashed a brief smile and put his hand on her shoulder before walking to his quarters. He could hear her walk her own way, and in the short seconds he took to look back, Geralt swore the girl was swaying her hips more. He raised a brow and shook his head. Good to know I'm not hated by all here. And thank the gods I'm here instead of Bran, or else he might actually be gelded. Almost in his room, he heard sounds coming from the room to the left of his. Ignoring Daven's snores, he walked quietly to the mysterious door by his hall. When he came close to it, he could hear high-pitched sobbing. What caught him off-guard was the voice inside. "I know it's not fair, and I promise you that next year will be better. I promise to bring you a wonder from Lannisport, a great book, I know you love great books, the ones where the Maester paint the great pictures. It'll be a boring ordeal anyway. You can't imagine how much of father's men argue and fight with each other just to kiss up to him. To be truthful, I envy you, I wish I could stay. Cheer up, Tyrion, we'll return soon enough."
Silence followed and Geralt's senses made him enter his own room and shut the door almost entirely. The neighboring door opened and the sobs had been reduced to whimpers. Jaime stepped out when a small child with a large head latched onto his leg. The boy looked sad, bending on one knee and hugging the mishappened child, kissing the top of his head. Geralt had a hard-enough time seeing the encounter through the small gap of the door, but between the child's long curls and how he buried his body in his brother's arms, he couldn't catch his face. He held the child for a while longer before he unwrapped his arms from him. "Go, little brother, you ought to get some rest. We'll be back soon enough, I promise."
The little dwarf nodded slowly and waddled to his room, head held low, silent sniffles almost drowned out by the bearish noises their cousin made. Jaime followed him to his room a little longer before stepping out and closing the door. He looked at the wood for a while longer with a downtrodden gaze, sighing deeply and walking away. When he couldn't hear the steps any longer, Geralt closed his door fully. So that answers why he looked crestfallen at breakfast. Does Cersei loathe Tyrion, then? She seemed too pleased at Lord Tywin's words. …It doesn't matter, nor does it concern me. I'll go to Lannisport, get my clothes, get the cunt twins their nameday gifts and carry on. Their imp brother is not my problem. As sleep consumed him, all he dreamt of was of a young, cursed boy, born from death, loathed by all of his mercenary company, his only family.
He awoke early, as he was wont to do, but for once the whole castle seemed to rouse with him. He packed briefly furs for the following week, but left the thicker cloaks behind. And they claim it's chilly here. Once he was ready, he saw a group of maids and servants ready to enter his room. He frowned, but let them in. It's a good thing Chitch is in the North and not here. I wonder how her flowers are now. I'm sure she's being a pain in the ass for Lyanna and Benjen to look after. The thoughts brought a smile from him. The door next to his slammed open, leading his eyes to see a greatly tired Daven dressed. Geralt made the choice not to tell him his doublet was on backwards. As the two went on in silence to where they would depart, he looked behind to see the third door, untouched and unmoving. All the maids and manservants going through his and Daven's rooms paid no mind to it, never even sparing it a look. He shook his head and moved forwards. It's not my problem. He's Tywin's dwarf, not mine.
That had been his final thoughts until he met up with the rest of the noble retinue, following Tywin's pale mare. The great lord looked only forwards, and only ever turned when Jaime's younger steed made its way to his right. While Cersei was on the wheelhouse along with Myrielle, Cerenna and the other ladies of the Rock, the boys were left to ride with the men. Better this way, I don't want to sit on some flowery cushion the whole ride. Especially with Cersei in the same damn thing. When the rest of Tywin's brothers made it, with him, Daven and Addam little ways behind, they began the march. Not once did Jaime turn back or even deign to look at him, and a few glimpses of his face from the side showed hurt and resentment. At least he won't be looking for me today, and it's not my problem. Now, what the hell am I supposed to gift him? There's nothing I can find or pay for that'll best whatever his father and uncles can give him, and my present can't be poor. I won't give my father misgivings over southron customs.
The ride was brisk, and Geralt felt too warm for his liking in his furs. He'd vowed to wear them for the rest of the day, however. It's the last of the North I'll be wearing for some time. A loud yawn to his side brought him to look at the waking boy, finally seeming to snap to attention. He smiled a toothy grin. "Geralt! You haven't met father yet, have you? He's a great man! A bit clueless next to our lord uncle, but a good man still, and a good fighter! By lord uncle's words, he's the head of the Lannisters of Lannisport!"
"Ser Stafford Lannister is both Lord Tywin's cousin and good-brother. He wed Lady Myranda Lefford, mother to our friend and his sisters." Addam whispered in his other ear. He nodded his thanks at the ginger and mulled the thoughts over in his mind. The only thing he didn't mention about Stafford was his sister. For a woman that's supposed to remain nameless, her ghost has more presence than half the lords of the Westerlands. The rest of the ride went on with the three talking, the sun chasing away the dark of the night, a mostly hollowed moon being the last of the remnants to hide behind the horizon. By the time the skies were a brighter blue than the seas, they had made it to the city gates. Before entering, Tygett turned once back and made a face, barking Daven to dress properly. The boy finally understood the source of his discomfort, and very quickly removed and properly placed his tunic again. Geralt was struggling not to laugh, and proper Addam looked no better. Under his breath, Daven cursed the two as they reached the city.
As the horses trotted through, they were greeted with the people, many awaiting by the gates. All gave enough room so their lot would move comfortably, but they bowed their heads respectfully and cheered regardless. Not enough to make a ruckus, but enough to show support. Neither silence nor full cheering, as expected for the city receiving Tywin Lannister. Many tossed roses their way, a few which were caught by the soldiers and thanked for. Even the harlots were properly dressed, going as far as looking like minor ladies than street whores. For their part, the soldiers were graceful in accepting the blessings, but never dared take the women while the lord led the stride. I thought there would be beggars all around, does Lannisport fare better than the other southron cities? Are they that fucking rich here?
The ride continued on through clean, bricked roads, the scent of the markets mixing with the strong aroma the sea blew into the city in steady waves. Winterfell was a beauty, of that, Geralt had no doubt, but he admittedly respected the impeccable state of the Lannister's city. Snow covers most of the dirtiness the North would have. Save for the occasional shitpile buried beneath, there's little to be cleaned there. I suppose steady rains here might help some too. They were at a keep before long. It was nothing close to it's greater like at the top of the mountain, but still a magnificent castle to behold. There at the gates stood a man with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. His smile was amiable and welcoming, but he bowed deeply once Tywin's mare galloped up to him. "My lord cousin, Reginald's Fort is yours."
"Stafford, I will see you in your solar. Kevan, with me. Tygett, see to the men and the preparations of the tourney. And Gerion, see that the guests are settled." With that, he deftly moved off the horse, the gallant mare trotting up to a short man tending to the horses, already prepared to be moved to the stable. Kevan followed quickly, Stafford barely just keeping up, and Tygett gave an ear-piercing whistle and led his great stallion where the others would follow. The only ones remaining were Gerion, the boys and the carriage. As they left their horses, Daven began walking to the door before a firm hand on his chest stopped him. Gerion laughed, "Now, now, boys. Didn't your fathers teach you lessons on proper courtesies? Nothing makes a lady drier than an uncaring, aloof lover. Best remember that if you mean to please a woman."
He swaggered to the carriage, opening the door and holding out his hand with a steady smile. Gemma received his, her savvy smirk on her face. Both looked their way with the same raised brow. Might as well get this over with. While Gemma walked down, Geralt walked forwards, keeping his face unreadable. As he offered his hand, he clenched his jaw at the disgusted face Cersei made. Jaime bumped into his shoulder and held out his hand with smug face, a look his twin mirrored, eagerly taking his hand. Geralt stepped aside as brother and sister walked forwards, disregarding the others. Alright you cunts, if you've patched things up between the two of you then you can leave me the fuck alone. Whatever face he made must not have been as discreet as he thought, because he heard giggling from within. He found Myrielle covering her mouth with her mouth properly, immediately composing herself and reaching her arm out to him. Geralt blinked before a short shove forwards he could only imagine was Gerion's doing reminded him of his 'courtly duties'. This time, his hand was taken and Myrielle snaked her arm around his not unlike the way Tywin's siblings had done.
"You're very gallant, ser. Wouldn't you honor a lady by escorting her to her quarters?" She spoke suavely, flashing him a pretty smile and blinking her blue and green eyes at him. Hells, is she teasing me? Here? Now? Cerenna's scoff in the back confirmed it, and Gerion placed a hand on his shoulder. "Indeed, what a gallant thing for a soon-to-be lord of his own house in the North to do, to escort a lady to her quarters and not within. I'm sure her knightly father would appreciate nothing short of a rigorously honorable man to protect his daughter's purity."
Gerion's grin reached both ears, where Myrielle had the decency to blush and look elsewhere, Geralt himself frowning at being the center of attention. As usual, it was Gemma slapping his arm with a roll of her eyes that came to his rescue. "Had we taught you as much, perhaps our brother's hair would not have thinned and my own withstood a few more years before gaining a few silver strands. If you mean to teach anyone in need of lessons in celibacy, Gerion, you'd do well to preach to a mirror."
"Sweet sister, you wound me so. Who better to teach the pure and the untainted than a sinner such as myself? I am prolific at making mistakes to save others from the disgrace and dishonor of committing them themselves. If anything, you should be thanking me for the service I've done to our house. Half the lessons the children are taught are thanks to my doings." Gemma laughed. "Dear brother, if you're so eager to be recognize to your teachings, we ought to send you to Oldtown and have you undergo the trials those withering, old crones are put through to get those links wrapped around their scrawny necks."
"And since when has a lion ever looked good in chains? I thank you for the offer, sweet sister, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline this one. I have too much to live for to answer to grouchy old Maesters whose balls scrape their heels." At that, Genna smiled and began their stride. "Then behave, dear brother, we're in Stafford's home now, and he could go without you spreading his maids' legs for one visit."
"They weren't all maids, one was the cook's daughter, and I paid him handsomely for all the dishes I was served." She sighed and Gerion laughed heartily, so much so it spread to his sister. The others laughed too, and Geralt was left standing in confusion. Myrielle cleared her throat and he stared at her, still mostly dumbfounded. She smiled an tilted her head at the fort. He remembered then the purpose of the entire show that played out and followed behind the elder Lannisters at a steady pace. From behind, he could see Addam gallantly offering his arm to Cerenna, who took it and dragged him forwards fast enough to pass him and her sister. From ahead of them, she gave them a smirk and stuck her tongue out. Myrielle sighed and Geralt laughed. "So that's how lions act when no one can see them. I guess I really was better off eating with the dogs."
Cerenna scowled and went as red as Addam's hair, turning around and holding her chin high. The boy sent them an apologetic look as he was dragged away by the fuming sister, and Geralt smiled in return. He was left with Myrielle and Daven. She turned to him. "Daven, dear brother, we're no doubt to leave for the city ourselves while the twins have their namedays planned. Would you be so kind as to go to Ser Tygett to request him for proper escort? I know you've been waiting to show Geralt Lannisport since we arrived."
"Good idea, Myrielle! I'll get Gerion to escort us, it'll be twice as fun with him around!" And with that, the boy took off, through ornamental hallways, past marble pillars. While Reginald's Fort could have very well fit within Casterly Rock, it was a steady second in beauty and marvel to the great castle. Hallways tall enough to stack three giants atop one another allowed for magnificent portraits and paintings to decorate the walls, with the occasional marble statue carved into the middle of the columns, be them armored men or standing lions. By the time he'd taken in the sights the manse offered, the hallway forked into three ways, and he realized he had no idea where he was going. "…If you'd like, I could show you the way, Geralt, on the promise that should I ever visit Winterfell, you'll offer the same."
"Deal. Now, is there any reason you didn't want your brother around while we spoke?" Myrielle giggled, gently tugging on his arm, leading the way through halls and great rooms. The occasional maid they would encounter would unfailingly curtsy and continue with her tasks, and the two fell into an affable stride. "Well, I didn't want to bring unwanted attention to our detour of the city later on. My brother without a doubt will take you to the best armorers in the city, and Addam has grown to love the coast, but neither is particularly eager when it comes to clothing. I wanted to speak of it to you here and spare you their jokes. I know how boys can be, and I certainly know Cerenna would demand we take her along as well."
"Ha, I owe you twice now, Myrielle. Actually, thrice. I'm sure they'll burn them as soon as they're out of sight, but I would appreciate your help in finding gifts for the twins." Myrielle laughed and let her other hand linger on his arm. Her fingers are soft. "I'd be glad to. In fact, I'm helping the others as well, so they can tag along for it."
"You´re collecting plenty of favors now. What are you scheming that you'd need so many?" Geralt jabbed playfully. Myrielle's smile was gone as he asked that. "I need you to assassinate Ser Harys Swyft. The blue cock took too long to repay all the debts he owed Lord Tywin, and the lords of the west must remember that a Lannister always pays his debts."
Geralt raised his brows at that. The two had stopped at a hallway, and Geralt looked around to make sure no one was there to listen. Myrielle's laughter immediately filled the corridor. If she laughs any louder, my father might just hear her. Much as he tried to keep a straight face, eventually he too caved in and joined her. Wiping a tear from her eye, she spoke. "Seven save us, Geralt, of course I won't have you assassinate anyone, much less one of Tywin's loyal men! He's as guileless as they come, but he sent his daughter to Casterly Rock as promise of repaying his debts long ago, and since then has become Ser Kevan's wife. I don't collect favors, Geralt, I collect people. People who are worth their lot, be it through gallantry, strength, wits or power, so that one day I may ask for favors without demands of repaying just as they have done with me. That being said, I may not be as gratuitous about my place as my sister is, but I am a lion, don't you forget that."
"Seven hells, remind me never to get on your bad side. And I was going to say it would take far more favors than those three to ask for my sword." At that, Myrielle raised her brows, half smile on her lips. When she realized Geralt wasn't laughing, she lowered her voice, "You mean that, Geralt?"
"I'm not a mercenary for hire, but if my sister asked me to slay the man who'd make a whore out of her in marriage, I'd swing the sword. I don't collect favors either, Myrielle. I'm loyal to the people that matter to me." She blinked owlishly, tugging his arm even more gently now. Fuck, did I say too much? As they climbed some stairs and walked up more pathways, she spoke again. "If that's the way of the Starks, then your family and mine are not so different. Lannisters are no moneygrubbers for the sake of counting every dragon. Our name was mocked during the time Lord Tywin's father ruled. Open insults, loans that were never repaid, even rebellions, Lord Tytos nearly dragged us to the ground. As such, Lord Tywin was harsh on the vassals that turned their backs on the golden lions, and ruthless to those who challenged our rule. He demanded hefty sums for those transgressions, and no man in the west rested properly until they were repaid."
They walked onwards, the halls with shorter ceilings, smaller yet more elaborate paintings, and golden chandeliers lighting the way. "But there were those who stood by Lord Tytos, those who immediately backed Lord Tywin when he rode out and acted in the name of House Lannister. Amongst those that stood by him since the moment he took the fate of the House into his hands are the Marbrands and the Crakehalls. And he has certainly not forgotten them. Addam's in Casterly Rock because those doors were open to the Marbrands should they need the help. Most Crakehalls are too proud to ask for it, but they are in the same good graces. Debts of gold are paid more easily than that of blood spent, be it by enemies or by allies, but those are the ones they remember us for…" As she trailed off, he couldn't help but remember his father's words. I suppose these are the stories no one talks about. They stopped before a portrait, edges gilded and preserved perfectly. In the last of the hallways, it sat alone, the center of attention.
She was undoubtedly beautiful. Her eyes were blue, her hair golden and curly. Her cheekbones were high, but her expression was kind, beautiful. She looked like Stafford, but where he was a handsome man, her beauty was unparalleled. The eyebrows, the nose… Like the twins'. He turned to Myrielle, who looked at the portrait. "Our aunt was as kind as she was beautiful. It is the one thing our lord uncle was not able to recover from. He was never a man who smiled oft, but aunt Joanna brought out the best from him. You're like to never hear her name in Casterly Rock, and it's best you never speak it as well. If the Gods were kinder, you would have met her and loved her as much as the West did. We weren't the true heirs of Reginald's Fort, but Lord Tywin awarded my father it for standing by him and his sister. He's a bit clueless sometimes, but he's still loyal. That's what he values most, I'd wager. If you mean to earn his respect, perhaps even his aid, your best bet is to serve him loyally. It'd take several years as the commander of a mercenary company to build your own castle, but I don't think it'd be out of question for him to loan you dragons if he knows you make good on your word. Or, if nothing else, he could put in a good word for you with the Iron Bank."
"…I'll keep it in mind. Thanks Myrielle. Uh, where's your room…?" She giggled again, leading him to the end of the hall. At the end of the hall was the fanciest set of doors he'd seen in the castle, and to its sides were the second best. She went to the first one on the right and grabbed the handle. She smiled at Geralt. "This would be the door to my room. As we haven't collected each other quite yet, consider one of the favors you owe me repaid. The stables are close to the gate you saw, I'm sure my brother waits for you there. I'll see you in Lannisport, Geralt."
She stood at the tip of her heeled boots and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Geralt blinked, nonplussed. She giggled again, "A favor repaid deserves a reward, don't you think? Now go, Uncle Gerion won't take long to notice our absence."
And with that, she closed the door. Geralt remained looking at the door dumbfounded. He looked to his left. If these are the best rooms in the fort, then those must be her father's, Daven's and Cerenna's. Best I don't stay here too long. He walked away quickly, trying to remember the way back. He asked a few maids for direction, and eventually made it back to the gates, where Daven and Addam waved at him.
Lannisport had been more impressive than Geralt would have liked to admit. Even the simplest of houses looked clean, with red-bricked rooftops well-kept and uniform throughout the city. Even the seagulls that shat along the coast were scared away fast enough, and by the time they walked by the same wharfs again, the white stains were gone. Much like Myrielle had guessed, the armorers had been their first visits. They were overworked, and the boys only ever got to go inside because the smiths recognized Daven. They were amicable, and Daven had a cheeriness to him that spread to the knights inside. Everyone's gearing for the tourney. He briefly shared the frustration Daven held over not participating. He brushed it off as fast as it came. Real combat's better. I'd rather let loose and not hold back against my opponents.
Myrielle had been hooded when he found her, Daven gushing over helmets of roosters, boars and one with a fist on its head. He told the others he'd meet them again on the wharfs and they bed their fair-wells. Conversation had been lighter in the city with Myrielle, and she made sure to take him to the finest dressers in Lannisport. He grimaced thinking about the price, but she reassured him that 'friends of the Lannisters' would get better prices. Much measuring was done, and for a brief moment, he was made to remove his doublet. Myrielle had the decency to walk to another part of the shop, but Geralt wasn't sure if she snuck a look when he wasn't looking. Doesn't matter. Measurements done, Myrielle asked that they be sent to her when they reached Casterly Rock. He asked why, and she answered, "Can't afford my brother thinking you've bought dresses."
Their stealth was repaid when they found Cerenna had joined the other two with a smiling Gerion watching over. With the party complete, they went on their way to pick out the gifts meant for the twins. For a brief moment, Geralt went his own way, a solid idea on what to give Jaime and Cersei for presents and paying each owner his due. Satisfied, the group went home, Geralt joking he had one less favor he owed Myrielle. Don't worry, you'll be asking for more soon enough. The two laughed, and Geralt left for his quarters as the night set in, choosing to sleep early.
Waking up the next day had been dull. While he knew when and where to practice with his sword in Casterly Rock, he was a guest in Reginald's Fort, and would be without Beast's Claw for the fortnight. He waited in silence, contemplating the fleeting remnants of the night as the sun began to rise, he attempted to see the world through the black wolf's eyes. He caught glimpses of an ox rich in blood and muscle, entrails ripped from its body. The black wolf had been the first to eat before the rest of the pack had their fill. By the time they began to move again, the manse grew alive with activity. Peeking from the hall, he found mostly the early staff to be out and about. Good enough for me.
Breakfast had been early, and the table drank honeyed wine in the name of the twins. Geralt did the same as all the others, and thankfully the two had no interest in him. All he had to do was wait to give them their gifts. We'll give it to them before the tourney starts, it's a very public affair. It's closer to a contest to see whose tributes can impress my brother more, a sad attempt at proving their wealth to the richest man in the world. Gerion had laughed, for once fully sober that morning. The feast had been exceptionally lavish, though Geralt learned that with the tourneys taking place for the better part of the day, it doubled for lunch as well.
The sun moved faster from that point on, until finally the lords had lined up with Jaime and Cersei at their father's sides. Geralt stood straight, just behind Addam, his gifts wrapped in laced silks. Hell, and I thought what father did for our namedays was too much. Finally it was his turn, and he bowed. "My lord, my lady, it's an honor to be your guest on your thirteenth nameday. With that honor, I would give you these gifts in the name of House Stark."
Tywin's eyes never left him, while Jaime and Cersei wore the same smirk. Geralt fumed, but his face was as telling as a stone wall. Walking to the table and offering the bundle, he set it gently in front of Tywin, who nodded and unwrapped it for them. At the top of the bundle was a small box, while the rest of it gave way to a book. Cersei was quick to snatch the box, and raised her brows when she opened it. One gold ring with a ruby at its center was at the center of the box, which she raised and looked at with severe scrutiny. It's my first year here, the gifts after this one don't need the same expenses. "It's real, my lady. I wouldn't gift you a false ruby."
"And where did you procure the money for such a gift?" Tywin asked, eyes now back on him. "It came from my savings, my lord, and some bargaining with the shopkeeper."
"No wonder it's so small." Cersei said sweetly. It's bigger than your damn brain. He could hear some restrained laughter from the back, but Tywin raised his gaze and all was silent again. He levelled the same look unto his daughter and she bit her lip. Her smile as elegant as her voice was poisonous. "It's a beautiful gift, lord Stark, it's our honor to have you in our celebrations."
He gave a taciturn half bow to that while Jaime grabbed the book. He squinted his eyes and furrowed his brows at the title, taking a moment before reading aloud, "The Gift of the Warrior… What Makes a True Swordsman."
He made a face and looked at him. Geralt answered, "It's a book on the lives of the best swordsmen in Westeros's history. Their lives and legends are a pain to read, but the good part are about their fighting styles and how they won battles with the better odds against them. There's even a chapter on Ser Arthur Dayne towards the end."
"The Sword of the Morning?" Jaime's question was fast, immediately raising his gaze at the mention of the name. "No, the Swords of the Morning. At least a tenth of the book is dedicated to House Dayne and Dawn, but they've got chapters on Duncan the Tall, the Dragonknight, Lyonel Baratheon and several others."
In fact, one of those knights sits next to you, but they only wrote about his deeds in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Oldtown might have burned otherwise. Jaime opened the book, the first page naming all of the chapters by knights, reading the names under his breath. Tywin cleared his throat and Jaime's cheeks flushed. "Right, uh, thank you Stark, your gift was well received."
Geralt bowed again and he turned around. Daven and Addam were nodding impressed, while some men averted their eyes. The ones who laughed. Don't worry, I'll remember you. The gifting went on, with the best ones saved for last by Genna and the other brothers. The dresses, jewels, and braids were splendorous, varying in crimson, green and gold. Jaime, in turn, had received a set of armor from Tygett and Gerion, while Kevan gave a shield. Tywin came last, with a magnificent short sword for Jaime and a golden tiara for Cersei. The two looked especially happy with their last gifts, but Geralt caught Cersei giving Jaime a look he hadn't seen before. It was gone before he could study it, but the resentment in her eyes was clear. Don't tell me… she's jealous? Tywin stood up.
"With the gifting done, we shall begin the tourney. Tygett, see to the arrangements." And with a crisp command, the ceremony ended. The way to the arena had been fast, and though they had been seated close, Geralt was grateful he was between Addam and Myrielle, far enough from the twins to be out of earshot. Spoiled cunts. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder. "Take a good look now, lad. If that ring hasn't left you a beggar, it has surely wounded your pockets regardless. You're three-and-ten, right? In two years, you can compete in these tourneys, and you can make the money back from your gambit and more if you manage to make it to the first three places. Perhaps even enough to start funding your new castle, if you win enough times. Or, you can spend it all on Lannisport's best brothel, I know I have."
Gerion winked at him, leather flask in hand as he returned to the conversation with his sister. Geralt raised a brow and shook his head. These damn lions are all mad. Daven called out to them from Addam's right. "Hey, it's starting! My dragon's on the one with the boar helmet! He must be a Crakehall, and those fuckers are built tough!"
He was a burly one, shorter than most men, maybe a little over five feet tall, but big enough to wield a greatsword two-handed. He was bulky to make up for it, but walked rather awkwardly. This one won't win, it looks like it's his first time. Addam shook his head. "Ser Tygett's in the melee, I don't think there's a fighter as fierce as him in the west. If I had to guess, he's going to be the victor."
If Tygett Lannister had been an impressive man to sit with in Casterly Rock, wearing steel lion's armor was the man's prime. Closer to six feet than seven with the boots and the roaring lion's helmet, his greatsword was bigger than the average. Most of the other contestants kept their distance. He's already won half the battle, they fear him. The only one that dared stand by him was the stout boar. Geralt crossed his arms and looked at the rest. He saw gold coins on a chequy, standing treecats, black lions' heads and more. Plenty seemed to be custom. Of course hedge knights wouldn't miss the chance to impress Tywin Lannister, nor the fat sum for winning. Myrielle's 'bet' had been on some guileless Swyft on the field, and when Geralt saw the blue rooster on his shield, the two laughed hard. The trumpet blared and the fighting began.
The fighting was intense, though some of the contestants were far less impressive than others. Four had surrounded Ser Tygett, and they fought on even odds with him. The short boar was swinging wildly, but surprisingly fast, enough to eliminate a couple of hedge knights. The fighting went on, and while the Lannister was taking out one at a time, more and more attempted to take him out. Deal with the biggest threat so the rest can be easy pickings. After the Swyft was promptly taken out by Tygett's gauntleted fist, two men attempted to strike him behind his back. The stout boar swung his greatsword hard against one, enough to drop his sword, and a blunt tackle left the assailant grounded. Tygett turned fast enough to take out the other one, and he and the boar shared a look hidden behind visors. With that, the two set out on an improvised alliance, with Tygett taking three men for every one that the boar fell. I have to give it to him, I didn't expect much from the short one. I thought he'd be out shortly after the weakest ones fell.
The clashing went on until Tygett and the boar were left. The boar was panting while Tygett looked more than ready. Out of what must have been respect, Tygett gave the boar time to catch his breath and plunge his sword into the ground, leaning on it. After a minute of panting, the boar gave a voice-cracking war cry and charged towards the lion. That's… not what I thought he would sound like. The boar gave one great swing of his greatsword against Tygett, who blocked it mostly easily. The lion gave a sturdy kick to the other's chest, bringing a yelp from the fallen one. Sword at his neck, the boar yielded, and the crowd cheered. Daven cursed and tossed Addam a gold coin, who smile and pocketed his earning. When the cheering died down, Tygett grabbed the boar's outreached hand and pulled him up fast.
"You fought well, and you defended me when I was ambushed from behind. Tell me your name." On the field, Tygett almost sounded as commanding as Tywin, and the boar immediately straightened his back. "Lyle, ser, Lyle Crakehall."
"Told you." He heard from Daven. Geralt looked on. His voice isn't as deep as it should be. Take off your helmet. The Lannister seemed to be of the same mind. His voice was harsher. "Lyle Crakehall, remove your helmet."
He nodded. When he did, the boar helmet seemed to be stuck, before he finally threw it off, falling to the ground a few feet away. His nose was freshly bleeding, his black, curly hair pasted on his face by his sweat. His nose was big, his eyebrows were thick, his mouth wide. There were faint patches of scruff on his cheeks that weren't connected, and he had an awkward look about his face. Hell, he's not an old man, he's our age. Tygett took of his own lion's helmet, giving him a severe glare and crossing his arms. "Lyle Crakehall, you are four-and-ten, are you not?"
"I am, ser." He was red-faced now. Hells, that one's gonna be big. No wonder Daven bet on him. Shame I couldn't fight him. Tygett growled, "And you know that the lowest age to enter is five-and-ten, do you not? That tourneys have, at their worst, brought about the death of some of their contestants?"
"I do, ser. I'm sorry, ser. My nameday's a moon away, and I wanted to prove my worth to House Lannister in my family's name." The redness spread to his ears and his neck, taking a knee before he Lannister, who looked down merciless at him. There was a brief moment were Tygett looked to Tywin, who did not move from his place. An almost imperceptible nod was given by the lord, and the knight barked, "Stand, Crakehall."
He jumped up, standing as upright as a freshly berated soldier. Tygett looked at him up and down, before nodding. More quietly, he asked. "Do you mean to become a knight?"
"Yes, ser, I do, ser!" Lyle shouted loudly. The man gave a sigh. "The Crakehalls have been faithful to House Lannister since the days we were Kings of the Westerlands. By the rules set up for the tourney, you are disqualified from the earnings. I will, however, take you as my squire in Casterly Rock."
"Thank you, ser! I won't disappoint you, ser!" He was on one knee again, sword on his leg. Tygett gave a huff Geralt almost swore passed as a laugh. "Then stand, Crakehall, there's little to be done on your knees. You have fought admirably today, I expect no less from you if it's knighthood you seek."
Guess we have a new addition now. The crowd cheered yet again, and Geralt mulled over the words. …He was offering me a place as his squire yesterday. Hells, I'm grateful Crakehall stuck his neck in. I don't want people to think I slighted Tywin's brother in my first year here. But then Tygett had also defended him when Tywin had probed him about his desires upon manhood. I can't read anyone here yet. He took his mind off by setting a bet on the jousters with Daven and Addam. He picked a Lefford he recognized from his journey to Casterly Rock. Daven picked another Crakehall and Addam picked a Brax. As luck would have it, Brax made it to the finals, but his horse was set off by the Lefford's mare. Daven grumbled and gave him a dragon while Addam laughed and gave him the one he took from the Lannister.
The rest of the two weeks were similar, though by the tenth day, the events had wrapped up. In that time, the twins had mostly avoided Geralt, for which he was grateful. Ser Stafford had proven to be a more welcoming host than the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, but he seemed to have a hard time keeping up with the conversations between Tywin and his brothers. He did offer plenty of smiles and encouraging words to his children at least. Their mother, Myranda Lefford, seemed to be the harsher one, having more in common with Tywin than his own good-brother. As he did in Casterly Rock, he answered the questions of the North, House Stark and the rumors the Westerlands seemed to foster for his people. Have none of you ever picked up a damn book on our history?
Soon enough, they were on the way back to Casterly Rock. From ahead, Jaime had a brighter look on his face than he had had on the way to the city, and with a new, bigger book in his hands. His thoughts went to the sniveling little boy and shook his head. He's not my burden. Having gotten to his room, he looked at the fresh batch of clothes. They were grey and dull white, the colors of his house, but he was surprised to have found his old furs fashioned into the shoulders of his cloaks. He found an elegantly written note next to them. Geralt, I hope you can forgive me for stealing your furs, but I thought this would be a good way to keep some of your home in your clothes. Myrielle. He smiled. At least I have one ally. I guess I owe her again.
He was at home again when he took the rest of the spare day to train with his sword, to the surprise of those in the training yard, including the Crakehall, who was still learning the paths of the Rock. More surprisingly, Jaime had not been there. The day had been good, and he was allowed to train until nightfall. The guards aren't here, might as well make the most of this. The stars kept appearing, until a full moon made its way to the center of the sky, a watchful eye keeping its gaze on him while the rest of the castle slept. Satisfied, he wiped sweat from his forehead and returned to his room. Getting to the hallway, he heard soft crying, finding a misshapen child curled up in front of his door, weeping into his little knees. Fuck.
The dwarf boy had not heard him yet, but Geralt knew he would not be able to walk to his room without the child noticing. He remembered Kevan's words. Just as he was about to leave and wait for the boy to either fall asleep or go back to his room, he remembered Benjen, who cried inconsolably when he learned why he didn't have a mother. …Damn it. He sighed and turned back around, walking slowly and silently towards the child. Once he was close enough, he whispered, "Hey… hey, you're Tyrion, right?"
A sharp gasp from the dwarf let him finally take a look at his face. …I thought it would be worse. The strangest thing about him was that one eye was green and the other black, but beyond that, he had a rather normal face, even for a dwarf. Hells, he looks better than plenty of normal people I've met. Sure as hell looks better than any Frey I've seen. He stood up immediately and turned around, hopping and trying to grasp the handle of his door. He was breathing fast, and Geralt took a step back. "Hey, you don't need to do that, I'm not here to hurt you."
Tyrion turned around again, and looked at him questioningly. He turned around and tried jumping again and again, the tips of his fingers grazing the handle that was so tantalizingly close. So that's how he got locked out. Geralt sighed and walked forwards. He was behind Tyrion and grabbed the handle, leading the little boy to look directly up at him. He opened the door gently and let it drift open. "There you go, you can get to your room now."
"Th-thank you." His voice was light and quivery, but no more so than Benjen's had been at that age. I half expected some demon spawn to be what Tywin was hiding. He's just a boy. Tyrion hesitated, sniffing and wiping a puffy, red nose with the sleeves of his little gown, standing by the open door and looking at him. Geralt bit his cheeks. Well, I've done what I needed to do. He can sleep in his room now. He walked to his room when he heard him speak again. "Y-you're Geralt Stark, third son of House Stark. You're from Winterfell. Your words are 'Winter is coming'."
"…Yeah, they are." He replied, hand on the door. Tyrion twiddled his hands together, pacing from one foot to the other. …Is that his way of saying hello? Do they keep him that locked up in here? "You're Tyrion Lannister, second son of House Lannister. Your words are 'Hear me roar'."
He nodded, but then he looked sad and glared at the floor. "But father didn't take me to Jaime's nameday. Father hates me. Cersei hates me. Everyone hates me."
Gods damn it all, I don't want to be a part of this. He took a deep breath, walking to the wall opposite of Tyrion and sitting across from him. "Not everyone hates you. Your brother doesn't hate you. He brought you a gift, didn't he?"
"H-he did. He gave me W-Wonders Made by Man. He doesn't hate me. Everyone else does." Geralt shook his head. "That's not true."
"It isn't?" He asked, eyes on him. Geralt nodded. "I doubt your cousins hate you, I've never heard them speak ill of you. I haven't heard your uncles nor your aunt speak ill of you either. I'm sure they don't hate you. I don't hate you."
"Y-you don't?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Why should I?"
"Because Cersei says so. Because I'm a dwarf. Because I killed mother. Because I'm cursed."
"My mother died when my youngest brother was born. He's not cursed, and if my mother was alive, I'm sure she'd give her life for him again. I'm sure your mother would have done the same with you."
"But everyone still hates me. I want to be with Jaime, but they made me stay here. They laugh at me. They don't know I hear them, but they laugh at me."
"Then stand, Tyrion. Stand tall. Never give others the chance to look down on you."
"But how? I'm a dwarf."
"And a Lannister as well. You think too little of that."
"But I'm not a knight, I'll never be a knight." The child sniffled, and Geralt reached into his right boot. He had Benjen's knife in his hands, and the boy grew silent. He held the pointed end delicately and directed the hilt at the child. Tyrion grabbed it carefully with both hands, laying it on his lap and caressing the shining blade with tiny fingers. He took the knife back gently, and before he placed it back, took off his boot. He let his bare foot onto the cold stone, and used the tip of the knife to tap at its back. "Do you know what this is, Tyrion?"
"Your foot?" He shook his head. "Not just my foot, Tyrion, the heel."
"The heel." He parroted. Geralt nodded. "Do you know why I'm showing you my heel, Tyrion?"
"Why?" He stuck the blade in his heel just enough to prick it, a single drop of blood clinging to the steel. "Cut a man's heels, cut him deep, and he'll never stand again. He'll be a cripple for the rest of his days. And you, Tyrion, may be a child and a dwarf, but you'll still be taller than a broken man on the flat of his back. You can wield a knife, you've proven it just now, so should someone ever threaten you, you know how to best him."
He placed his boot back on and sheathed the blade. Tyrion blinked owlishly. He remembered Benjen when Ned would tell him stories so the boy would sleep, awaiting the next words, eager for the next chapter. …That's enough for one night. He sighed and crossed his legs, looking at the boy. It'll do no good to lie to him. Not here, not with his House. "There will always be men that will hate you, Tyrion. Men that will judge you as a dwarf, an imp, and they may well judge you for the rest of their lives. Those men yearn to see you fall, to see you cower and cry. Never let them see weakness, Tyrion. Stand tall, even when they mock you. Laugh through the anger. And never let yourself fall. You're a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and that's enough for a little dwarf boy to cast a giant's shadow."
Tyrion nodded slowly, standing up on two stumpy legs and wiping the dust off his pants. He looked to where he saw his room. He looked back to Geralt and bit his lower lip. Geralt blinked when the boy threw himself on him, burying his large head on his chest and struggling to wrap his little arms around his body. He placed a calloused hand on the messy head of dirty blonde locks, ruffling it lightly. As fast as he jumped to hug him, Tyrion ran off, surprisingly quickly for a boy of his affliction. He shut the door of his room and Geralt was left in the hallway. Trained senses led his eyes to a figure far away, a faint shadow on the stairs that led to the hallway. He was gone as soon as he saw it, but he caught the mane of polished gold with the torchlight in that brief second.
He groaned, picking himself up now. Fuck if I understand this lot. I thought lion's pride was close enough to a wolf's pack to connect with them. He walked to his room, stripped and fell into his bed, letting the distant roars of the waves below lull him to sleep. His dreams returned to the cursed, mercenary child again. This time, he dreamed of the bitter commander giving him healing powder for a broken nose, of the other mercenaries cheering him on in his early training. He dreamed of the days when the child did not feel like a burden, and the band felt like his family.
Author's Notes: So that was the chapter. Originally it was going to be mainly Lannisport (where we get to meet Lyle and add one more to the boys of Casterly Rock) and the conversation with Tyrion at the end. As it happens, Tywin dictates more strongly how the chapter goes than my premature ideas, and the initial morning convo took up a surprisingly long part of the chapter. That being said, starting next chapter, things will be moving at a faster rate.
Now, as for the update: I just started working a 9-to-7 internships (with occassional weekends put into work), while the last months of last year were spent on my last semester of senior year (spoiler alert, I graduated). Point is, my time for writing is at a current all-time low, but my drive for writing has only increased, so do not consider this story abandoned by any means. If anything, it's just beginning. That being said, this story is going to be juggled with my first, original fanfic, so updates should not take six months, but they won't be perfectly frequent either. This is the way things go. If you want to stick around, I'm more than grateful. Hell, I'm surprised we're at over 400 followers. I'm sticking around for a good while, so I hope you're with me to see this story through with me. As usual, tell me what you enjoy and what you don't, and more importantly, why you do or don't (saying "dialogue sucks" without context helps nothing and I'm not gonna change anything).
The Almighty Afroduck,
All Hail
