"Your grace, are you even listening to me?" The master at arms borderline yelled, looking bewildered.

The prince just wanted to toss the sword away, the blazing heat not doing anything to soothe his frustration. He has been at it for hours and he absolutely despised it. These swingings, these steps, they made absolutely no sense! He did what the knight told him to do but all he ended up with are vicious bruises. Every time he tried landing a blow he was rapidly countered and the man made sure to state his disapproval. There was always something wrong; his reflexes, his footworks, his badly learned moves...

Durran's body ached all over. He has been having sparring lessons daily for over a month now and he hated it - he realized that Ser Aron Santagar's patience ran thin with him by the end of his deplorable displays. He wished he could have his old schedule back, where he would study with Master Dohryan from mid morning until late afternoon. The first day, he has asked for Ser Aron's opinion by the end, but the man only shook his head and admitted that the boy was probably the worst first timer he ever had. However he did say that there is time, and improvements would come with it, but Durran was not half as optimistic about it. The thought of wooden swords hitting him already caused him to flinch internally, let alone the thought of steel swords - even blunted ones.

The prince was aware that soon enough he might be referred to as craven. And that in a few years, his father would grow disappointed by him; the King wanted him to be a fierce warrior, but seeing today's performance it was very unlikely. A good swordsman is not necessarily a powerful man - Durran tried to comfort himself. After all, Lord Baelish was no fighter yet he started from nothing. Not even nobility and now he is master of coin.

"I know I will not be able to make anything brilliant out of you, but the least you can do is learn to defend yourself!" Ser Santagar finally said, shaking his head in dismay. "With sufficient training, you might become decent." He added after a while.

The prince simply glared at the wooden sword in his hand. If physical strength was the only thing that mattered, then any wildlings could easily become king. The soldiers are the ones dying, while the smarter men are the ones ruling - one does not need brawl to have smarts. No matter how good of a warrior my father is, does not make him a good monarch. More of a puppet in the hands of others... He steeled himself and tried to concentrate on the task at hand - since he was going to spend time learning this stupid skill he might just as well try.


The week long trip to Casterly Rock has been dull, and Durran was more than happy to leave the saddle. He was not used to riding for so long and that gave him a fair amount of discomfort. The Prince had always wanted to meet his grandfather since he was a toddler; he heard many tales of him. A man of great cunning and intelligent who brought great prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms while he was the Hand of the Mad King. He was therefore a very capable ruler - one Durran thinks his mother tries to emulate, albeit poorly. It took him days of constantly nagging his father to let him go, especially since the King was less than thrilled with his poor combat skills. He could see a glimmer of pride in his mother's eyes when she was told of his request, however he was not doing that for her.

The fact that little Joffrey resents him from even stealing a few minutes of the Queen's attention did nothing to improve his perception of her. She spoiled his younger brother and cares for him in ways she has never done with her firstborn.

His father considers the Lord of the Westerlands an ally, but does not truly trust him. Something Durran understood, considering how his grandfather waited until the last moment to join the rebellion. The prince cared little for this - what lies in the past is best left in the past.

They were soon there, and agreed to progress in a slow trot, giving time for a messenger to announce the prince's arrival beforehand. The child did not like the idea of a large travelling party, instead opting for his guards, master and a few Lannister cousins. Durran could see Lannisport down in the valley - the city, albeit smaller than King's Landing, was still a large settlement. However it looked much more clean and well run than the capitol, it's white stoned houses shining in the afternoon. The streets were neatly and geometrically structured, designed to facilitate an attack from the sea. There were four circles of stone ramparts, which got taller the closer it was to the surrounding mountains. The city was made to withstand an attack from the sea, where it was naturally the most vulnerable.

The shadow of the Rock shielded the town from the summer's sun, the fortress glistening as if it was made of gold. The child understood why Casterly Rock has never been breached - there was only one flight of stairs that led to the fortress, and it allowed a row of ten men to stand and fight. It's natural defences are further enhanced with large, thick stone walls. Durran could see many windows carved within the stony hill itself - the Lannisters weren't content with living in the manmade keep but underneath it too.

When they were at the fortress's gates, the prince climbed down from his horse in all the grace he could muster. In front of him stood his Lordly grandfather, his hair thinning and his emerald eyes piercing the child's own sapphire ones. His silhouette was stark against the sunlight, his shoulders broad, his stature strong and older man had a tight smile and Durran knew that he was not used to joyful facial expressions. It was expected of a Lord to greet a prince first, but the child knew that this won't do; He did aim for a much more personal relation with Lord Tywin. He decided to skip the formalities a Lord is owed, opting for the one a Grandsire should receive.

He bowed slightly, causing the older man's eyes to widen. Durran plastered a wide and warm grin on his face: "My Lord Grandfather."

The Lion did not expect Durran to salute him first, and opted to simply nod at him: "Your Grace."

The Prince couldn't help but let his grin widen when he realised that Lord Tywin resembled Uncle Stannis in more ways than one; the introverted no-nonsense type that cared more about propriety that he'd like to admit. No wonder why Lord Tyrion's behavior did not put him in his father's good graces. However, this meant that the boy would have great fun. He gracefully skidded towards the older man, his cloak billowing behind him in a trained manner. He held his grandfather's hands; "I do find it unnecessary to have my Grandsire address me in such a formal way." Durran smiled, gauging the man's reactions. "Unless such an early display of familiarity is bothersome to you?"

The boy had to admit that he found his grandfather's cool mask impressive; one would have to look into his eyes to notice a shift in expression. Warmth due to the prince immediately mentioning the family ties - Durran could only hope.

"No, I do not believe familiarity between a grandsire and a grandson is to be frowned upon." The man acquiesced stiffly, his gaze impenetrable.

"Then I insist that you call me by my name, Grandfather." Durran said, enthusiastically as he was led through the drawbridge, his little hand held by Lord Tywin's much larger one.

"I trust that the trip has not been too tiring?" The man asked. "I expected a larger group convoying you."

"I think my two guards are more than adequate to protect me. A larger group would've slowed us down, and it would've made me more of a burden to you." Durran explained. His Grandfather no longer concealed his appraisal, fully keeping his eyes on the child instead. "As for the trip, it has been dull, but I do believe I should be thankful for that."

"Oh?"

The Prince did not understand why his grandfather was surprised by his statement. He looked up to the man curiously; "Well that means we weren't attacked by bandits or anything of the sort, so yes."

"Most children would've complained about how utterly boring it is." Lord Tywin's tone was clipping. "It is a good thing that you manage to see beyond that."

Durran simply smiled at that. "I am glad."

They walked through the inner courtyard that led to a large iron gate. Durran could see how thick it was, and even if it was there for defensive purposes it was very richly decorated. It was double leafed and on each sides were vines carved in intricate patterns surrounding a large roaring lion, all tipped in gold. Several men were needed to open the door - the leafs swung backwards, revealing a wide corridor. The floor was tiled with white marble, reflecting the light from the large, ceiling reaching widows; it gave an impression of grandeur. While the Red Keep was richly and colourfully decorated, Casterly Rock was all in subtle whites, beige and golden hues. Many portraits were hung on the walls, all having a small brass plaque underneath indicating their names. So this was where all the Lannister Lords stood since Lann the clever. It was absolutely fascinating for Durran could notice the stylistic changes in the paintings as the years progressed.

"In all honesty I did not expect a visit from the crown prince on such a short notice." Lord Tywin interrupted the boy's observations.

"It took me a good while of nagging my parents to let me go." The prince couldn't help but flash a cheeky smile. "If mother had her way, she'd have me locked in a tower."

"So this was of your own initiative?" His grandfather's eyebrows rose, a smirk adorning his lips. "Impressive."

"I've always hoped to meet you. I heard many things of you." Durran spoke excitedly.

"Good things, I hope?"

"Great things."

A.N: He just can't be perfect...