"…the long summer of her childhood."
Summer was all Joanna had ever known.
Not a Dornish summer that scorched the breath in men's lungs. Not a Northern summer, either, of hard, grey skies, and snows that waited in the shade, whispering of winter. Not even a Crownlands summer, where the air was wet and heavy and hard to breathe.
A Westerlands summer was her life.
As much as the hot sun beat down over Westeros, its harsh heat never conquered Casterly Rock. Mild breezes off the Sunset Sea left the air cool and comfortable. Fog rolled in off the water every morning and lingered over Lannisport until midday. The surrounding hills wore the colors of gold and red and saffron, adorned with splashes of poppies. Only the distant mountains to the east retained the vaguest memory of winter, high up on their snow-capped peaks.
The Lannisters were a large family, and many children were born to them in the years of that long summer. In the warm afternoons, these newly minted lions and lionesses ran barefoot over the soft sand, collecting driftwood that washed up on the shore. They used it to build holdfasts and play an old game under a bright blue sky. The idea was to take another's castle by wits alone, but the requisite patience was rare. Open melees usually ensued, making the nearby sea lions bark at their noisy little cousins. On many evenings, lords and ladies would descend from the Rock and set fire to their children's castles. The crackling bonfires took the chill out of the air and filled it with the savory smell of roasting meat. These were the long and lazy summer days of Joanna's early childhood.
A moon's turn after her fifth nameday, Joanna won the game against her older brother. Stafford refused to yield to her, however.
"You pay your debts well," Joanna told him bitterly and left him there with his pile of wood and his stick that served as a sword. She climbed up to the cliffs, breathless by the time she reached the top, but the ocean view wasn't nearly as impressive as the one from her bedroom window, high above the water.
She looked around, to see if there was anything remarkable to make all her effort worthwhile. Behind her was a little trail, nearly overgrown. With no desire to rejoin Stafford on the beach, Joanna pushed the branches aside and started down it. She walked for a long time, leaving behind the crashing waves in exchange for the solemnity of a sept. The windswept cypress of the headlands gave way to taller and taller trees, their name unknown to her. She could barely comprehend their trunks. If all the children on the beach joined hands and tried to form a ring around one, they would not even circle half of it. She wanted to find the biggest one.
Near a tree that must have been as tall as Casterly Rock, or so it seemed to a five year old, Joanna stopped short. One of her cousins walked quietly around its base. He ran his hand over its reddish bark, deep in thought.
The lady of Casterly Rock had been looking for Tywin all day, insisting that the other children inform her when they found him. Stafford had asked what he had done. The woman frowned. "My son was born five years ago today. Honeyed duck, fish tarts, and strawberries in cream are all waiting for him, if I can ever find him."
Joanna watched him. Surely he knows it is his nameday.
For being the heir, Tywin did not look very different from anyone else, with his golden hair and Lannister features. More serious, perhaps. Certainly more demanding. More highly praised by his intimidating lady mother. More indulged by his always-smiling lord father.
But there was something else that was different, something Joanna had never noticed until now, standing under these great, tall trees.
He seemed at home among the giants.
Joanna left Tywin there undisturbed.