Chapter 4
That night he dreamt of a burned castle town. Of a redead's scream and of the horrors at the bottom of the well. In a cavern with skulls lining the walls and bones piling on the floor.
Of a Dead Hand creeping closer and closer, its arms grasping him tight with long and bloody fingernails. The Dead Hand's eyeless sockets peered right into his soul and its mouth opened impossibly wide, trying to take a bite.
It ended like all the others of its kind did.
With his death.
He wanted to go back to the Rock already.
King's Landing was spread across Blackwater Bay like an infection covering the shore as far as he could see with merchant stalls and granaries, almshouses and orphanages, taverns and brothels all packed on top of each other on its narrow and unorganised streets, corrupting the Blackwater with its rot. Visenya's hill was crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers. Across the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors closed now for a century. The Street of the Sisters ran between them, straight as an arrow. The city walls loomed above them, high and foreboding, nigh on twice the size of Lannisport's deep red walls.
On Aegon's High Hill, the Red Keep sat. One of Maester Creylen's many lectures came back to him as he marvelled upon the seven colossal drum towers topped with iron ramparts, the vaulted halls and massive curtain walls. "Maegor's reign was wicked, but his life was one of luxury." The maester's words rang true as Link looked upon the pale red stone fortress, the seat of King's.
For all the Red Keep's majesty, the city itself was a travesty; the scent of shit and squalor assaulted his nose long before the city came into view and the sight of half starved, resentful smallfolk shamed Link for wearing the golden lion of Lannister. No doubt they remembered the brutality of the Sack at the end of the Rebellion when Link was just barely more than a babe.
But the biggest disappointment that King's Landing had to offer was the Royal Family, his family. He didn't even know how it went that wrong.
The Red Keep was certainly an imposing place. Whilst not nearly as big as Casterly Rock, it still represented power. It was the very heart of the Seven Kingdoms and the King's power.
They were welcomed into the Red Keep by several servants with the ancient guest right of bread and salt and a man who donned armour of gilded gold and a stainless white cape, with cutting jade eyes and hair of liquid sunlight. This must be his brother Jamie, the infamous Kingslayer, what other Lannister had the white cloak of a Kingsguard after all.
"Father." Jamie said, nodding his head.
Never one to beat around the bush, their father asked, "Where is your sister?"
"The Queen holds court, father." Tywin's eyes brimmed with a cool fury as he stalked off with only a nod to Jamie and sympathy welled within Link for his sister. Tywin Lannister was not a man who appreciated taking orders; especially from his own children.
As his father walked off, Jaime turned towards Tyrion, and started to greet him, his earlier arrogant demeanour gone. Anxiety clawed in Link's stomach as Jaime turned towards him to appraise him. Will he hold Mother's death against me? Tyrion had told him tales of Jamie since he was but a babe, how he had fought alongside the Sword of The Morning and Ser Barristan the Bold against the Kingswood Brotherhood. Will he be everything Tyrion says, or is he like Father; cold and callous?
Suddenly, Jaime broke out into a wide grin "Last time I saw you, little brother, you were but a babe in my arms, look how you've grown."
"It's an honour to meet you at last, Jamie. Uncle Gerion often says that I look akin to you at my age, whilst Ser Benedict Broom says I wield the sword as you did." Link said and Jamie's cutting smirk widened. The old master-at-arms was a gruelling task master, but fair. Ser Broom had been a friend of Gerion's and Link could recall many a night where both men had regaled Link and his younger cousin Tyrek with tales of Jaime's prowess as a boy before he had squired for Lord Crakehall.
Gerion hadn't been wrong, they were the spitting image of each other, the only notable differences were that where Jaime's golden hair was curled, Link's fell flat and straight on his head and where Jaime's cat-like eyes were dark like the emerald in his Aunt Genna's jewellery, Link had their Father's eyes, bright green and flecked with gold.
"We will have to test Old Broom's words in the training yards later, Link. How is my favourite Uncle?" Jaime asked with a cocky smile.
Tyrion shook his malformed head with amusement, "gone in his quest to reclaim Brightroar from Valyria."
Jaime raised one golden slender brow but otherwise let the matter drop. Tywin Lannister had called his brother's journey a 'fool's quest', and Link had no doubt that Jamie was inclined to believe their father.
"Come Brothers, we don't want father biting our heads off for dallying." Jaime said.
The Great Hall was huge, bigger than any of the golden halls in Casterly Rock. Tapestries of great hunts and banners of the crowned stag of the royal House of Baratheon hung from the walls. Even with nigh on a hundred Lords and Ladies in attendance, the cavernous hall seemed near empty. A long plush carpet stretched from the doors of oak banded with bronze to the most converted seat in all of Westeros.
The Iron Throne.
The greatest symbol of power in all of Westeros. It was an asymmetric monstrosity made up of twisted metal, jagged edges and spikes. Steep metal steps led up to the throne forged from the blades of Aegon's enemies. It was a huge and ugly thing, and sat upon it was the Demon of the Trident himself.
He was near as imposing as the throne itself, with his bright stormy blue eyes and body of corded muscle. The King's crown of obsidian and gold seemed to rest uneasily on his head of wild dark hair. Robert Baratheon's cheeks were flushed a ruddy red as he took a long drought from his jewelled goblet whilst he listened to the proceedings of the court with an air of frustration and disinterest. Is the King… drunk?
The woman who he assumed was his Queenly sister was surrounded by the women of the court with a goblet of wine in hand, talking to their father. She was as beautiful as the bards said, but her beauty was marred for a moment when an ugly scowl flashed across her face.
As propriety dictated the three of them, Link, Tyrion and their father, Jamie having gone to the side to guard the entrance when they arrived in the Great Hall, kneeled before the King only rising when he motioned them to do so. The King then dismissed them, muttering about "fucking Lannisters" .
Their father walked off to speak with someone or the other, planning something that would make children become orphans no doubt, and so Tyrion led them to their sister Cersei.
"Ahhh sweet sister, it's been too long no? May I introduce you to our youngest brother Link, the pride of Casterly Rock and a prodigy with the blade, if Jaime isn't careful, another Lannister will replace him on the Kingsguard." Tyrion said, as if making some grand big jape that only he and Cersei understood.
Cersei moved her eyes, which at this point were looking at Tyrion with disdain, over to him. If Jaime's appraising had made him nervous, this made him feel like an ant under a giant of old's boot.
"Your grace, it is an honour to meet you. I fear I was too young to recall our last meeting" Link said with a bow, for once thankful of his septa and her constant droning of courtesies. Cersei looked at him with such derision, he thought she might order the guards to take him away to the Black cells, but suddenly, the scorn was gone, replaced by a false happiness.
"Hello dear brother, It is a pleasure to meet you, I have thought of you often and I'm sure you are doing our family proud." Cersei said with a smile, a false-hearted smile, whilst holding out her hand, waiting for it to be kissed, like she had done with Tyrion just a second ago. He complied, and as he pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles, she grimaced slightly.
He was sure that if they were in private, Cersei would be nowhere near this pleasant towards him, for the same reason that his father was so cold towards him he was sure, the death of Joanna Lannister.
"Your Grace, if you will excuse me, I am eager to rid myself of the dust from the road." Link said with a bow to a disinterested Cersei, he had no doubt slighted her without him even knowing it. Din damn them, he hadn't even been in King's Landing an hour and already he loathed the false pleasantries of courtly politics and being forced to endure it made him itch for a fight. He knew his father would no doubt be displeased if he headed to the training yard straight away for one reason or another, so he decided to do what calmed him in the Rock, take a walk in the godswood. His mother was said to have loved the godswood in the Rock, or so Gerion said, and they reminded him of the Lost Woods, of a home long since torn from his grasp.
As he walked in the general direction he had found the godswood to be in he heard the laughter of children, when he investigated further he found it to be a group of eight highborn boys in a circle, covering his view of what was in the middle of the circle. Each boy looked to be about six name days old, and on further inspection only two boys were laughing, the others were a chalky white colour.
Unexpectedly, one of the boys broke away from the circle and ran into the bushes, making the recognisable sound of retching. He was about to follow to see if he was alright, but he now had a perfect view of the middle of the circle, and what he saw caused the acidic taste of bile to rise in his throat.
It was a pup, most likely only a few days old, being tortured, its tiny legs were broken and twisted in different directions, with needles impaling it. White hot fury coursed through him at the sight of it and he quickly pushed through the other boys and grabbed the boy who was torturing the poor pup.
"What are you doing!" Link shouted, incensed. "You're torturing the poor creature! Don't you see how much you're hurting it, you wretched fool?" The ringleader's eye's had widened in disbelief and his pale. Thin cheeks had flushed bright red with fury. With his golden curls in disarray, the cruel child looked similar to how cousin Lancel had reacted when Tyrek had thrown flour over him.
"I am your future King, unhand me at once!" the petulant child commanded. "Ser Barristan!" the boy shouted.
A man with greying blonde hair outfitted in the enamel plate and pristine cape of the Kingsguard came running through the trees of the godswood, sword drawn. When he saw the scene before him, he faltered. Then he spoke in a commanding, but not unkind voice, "put the prince down, boy."
Link dropped the child with a terrible feeling of foreboding blooming low in his stomach, like he had just committed a grave mistake. It would just be my luck to assault a prince.
"I want his hand Ser! It is the law!" Prince Joffrey called out in his reedy, childish voice.
Link glared at the stupid child and resisted the urge to punch the blighted prince, Link doubted that his father would be pleased. To use his family name against Lord Lydden's mistress had made him uneasy, but against Joffrey it nearly felt right.
"I apologise, your grace, that was… unseemly of me, but to maim me would be to harm your kin. I am Lord Link, son of Tywin Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock, and your uncle, my prince."
Joffrey's cruel smirk turned to a petulant pout. "Mother will hear of this!" He called before scurrying off, Ser Barristan and the rest of the noble boys in tow.
As Link set to burying the poor pup who had died from the Crown Prince and the other boys' abuse, he knew that he was screwed.
I edited this chapter, because by God was it bad before. I'm still not too happy with it, but I'd need to completely rewrite it and I simply don't have the time.
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