350 AC
The golden sun rose over Casterly Rock at daybreak, the same as ever. Glimmers of light streamed into the quarters of the best sword in the Westerlands, casting a pink light through crimson drapes. A knock on the door awakened him from his slumber, as a Lannister servant entered his room bearing news.
"Ser Darius, your lord father orders you in the Great Hall by midday. Your squire will pack for your departure," said the servant.
Easy for you to say, you cheeky bastard, thought Ser Darius, I haven't had a squire in three years. Darius Hill dressed himself, as he had for two-and-twenty years prior. Highborn or not, a bastard was still a bastard, and Darius never prided himself with squires or pages. The only squire he'd had was the foolish boy Ander Jast, who had gotten himself killed during the Spicer Rebellion.
Darius donned himself in a crimson and gold doublet and plain padded armor, layered further with gilded steel colored blood red. He strapped his shield to his back, a wooded piece of junk weathered from many battles and tourneys, bearing the red lion of the Lannister bastards and the silver unicorn of Brax bastards, for his father Lord Tybolt and his mother Lady Cerenna. It was an ugly shield, but it earned him recognition, and soon every man and woman knew that the red and silver-cloaked horse meant defeat for anyone on the wrong side of his lance or sword. Finally, Darius donned his scabbard and placed his sword inside, a double-sided steel bastard sword with a silver hilt dotted with amethysts, a gift from his grandfather, Lord Jon Brax.
Ser Darius descended from his quarters in the upper castle into the deeper reaches of the Rock until only torchlight lit the way, and finally the dark halls opened up into the Great Hall. The hall was a marvel to behold, a network of intricate marble beams and golden ornaments, and in the center of it all was the golden throne of the Rock, carved out by Lord Corlos Casterly thousands of years ago.
"Darius, so wonderful of you to join us this fine morning," called out Lord Tybolt Lannister, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, and Lord of Casterly Rock.
Lord Tybolt was a stern and gruff, yet compassionate man, with battle scars and darkened eyes shielding his loving interior. Darius could remember all those times when his lady mother would dote on and on about how wonderful of a man Lord Tybolt was, and when he finally came to Casterly Rock at seven-and-ten, he surely found that out soon enough. His retinue was cold and calculating, however, and true to the Lannister name down to the bone. Beside the golden throne stood Lady Elna Foote, a strong woman who ruled with an iron fist when Lord Tybolt's shortcomings shone through. Though she always looked upon Darius in disdain, the knight could not deny that Lady Elna's policies had saved the Westerlands many a time. Next to her stood Maester Duran, a former seneschal of the Citadel, chosen to serve House Lannister after years of education in economics, astronomy, and history, though the maester had a reputation of low cunning, which put the Rock on alert. To Duran's side stood Ser Desmond Mallister, a war-hardened brute who served as Casterly Rock's master-at-arms, though the years had not been kind to the Riverlander, whose grey beard and sagging jowls showed that Desmond was not as dangerous as he once was. Next stood Ser Laurence Jaspar, a young landed knight from the Vale and captain of Lord Tybolt's household guard.
To the other side of Lord Tybolt's ornate throne stood his son and lawful heir, Lord Andrew Lannister, a fearsome and ferocious tactical commander, aged six-and-twenty, with the unfortunate curse of a damaged leg from a stone wall toppling onto him. Though not the greatest of Ser Darius's friends, the unknighted Lord Andrew could devise any strategy, and Darius could always carry it to fruition. The smallfolk japed that the Rains of Castamere became more about the red and gold lions of the two Lannister lordlings than any rebellion, since no man stood in the way of the Lannister forces. To Lord Andrew's left stood Lady Tyria, a scant girl aged four-and-ten, with a love for reading and intellectual pursuits. She was betrothed to Ser Harris Jast, an arrogant piece of slime not worthy of his father's name, but Tyria's hand in marriage came with a staunch ally and a thousand swords. No one was sure how House Jast became so powerful in the last half a century, but Lord Antario's marriage to Lady Lanna Lannister most definitely had something to do with it. Finally, the tiny Lord Jace, a boy of eight, with huge aspirations of knighthood and kingship and dragon-slaying, though his art was his most promising quality. Never had Ser Darius seen a boy draw such masterpieces, and Maester Duran suggested training him to be a painter, though Lady Elna insisted he was only a boy.
Coming back to reality, Ser Darius managed a response, "My lord, what have you called upon me for?"
"You all, you'll want to listen to this too. Over there, all of you…" Lord Tybolt motioned for those flanking his sides to face him. "As you all know, His Grace King Aemon is an old friend of mine, and he has called upon me for a monumental favor. His Grace has named me Hand of the King, and asks for the honor of my arrival in King's Landing at once."
Ser Darius sickened at the thought of that ruined and melted hovel. Any man with sense would have moved the capital city to somewhere less utterly disgusting than King's Landing, a ruined wasteland burned by dragonfire. The Second War of Conquest, the Second Dance, whatever the smallfolk were calling it now, had not been kind to the city.
"Lord Tybolt, you must needs choose a household guard for the capital," suggested Maester Duran.
"I will bring Ser Desmond with me, as well as twenty of his men. King Aemon assures me that the Gold Cloaks will be in good hands and able to protect all of us. I have also named Lord Jast the castellan of Casterly Rock to rule in my stead. I hope you serve him as well as you serve me, maester." Lord Tybolt looked sternly at his maester, a man whom he hesitated to call a friend. "Tyria and Jace will stay here with you, Ser Laurence, and Lord Jast, while Lady Elna and I will travel to King's Landing with Andrew and Darius."
"Yes, my lord," Maester Duran bowed. "When will you begin your travels?"
"Nightfall."
Ser Darius was hauling his saddlebag through the mountaintop courtyard when Lord Andrew caught his eye. "Evening Andrew," he called.
"Aye, evening Darius! Wonderful night for a ride…" He'd limp over, leaning on a brass cane he'd used since his accident. "Ser, I trust you know Father has plans for you in King's Landing."
"I would assume he has plans for all of us. Marriage proposals, courtyard courtesies… Paramount lordship must be a dreadful task, I'm not sure how you'll manage it."
"Darius, this is serious. You're a bastard. You know that, I know that, Lord Tybolt knows that, and every man from here to Sunspear knows that. You're my brother, and Father's son, and you'll always have a place in my heart and at my hearth, but the lords and ladies of Westeros will look down upon House Lannister if Ser Darius Hill is seated beside Lord Tybolt Lannister." The seasoned lordling looked at Ser Darius with a pained expression and a sharp eye. "Darius, I'm afraid that once we reach the capital, you may not be seeing us for a while."
As Lord Andrew limped away, the golden lion billowing behind him on a crimson cloak, Ser Darius felt indignant, but strangely grateful. If Darius walked through the gates of King's Landing, expecting a warm welcome, it would be surprising to be ripped away from his family. It was not unexpected either, as not all nobles were as fond of their bastards as Tybolt the Lion. But he also was enraged by his father's judgement, however sensible it was. Fuck the nobles, I'll show them what a bastard can do.
As Lord Tybolt's party edged against the open gates of the Rock, a septon bellowed blessings upon the host. Darius could make out "May the Warrior give them strength on the Gold Road" and "May the Stranger never exact his grasp," but he didn't believe a word of it. The septon finished, and the Lannister host was off, trotting slowly down the promontories that overlooked Lannisport. It took until the hour of the wolf to reach the gates of Lannisport, but from then it was a straight shot to the capital.