The Lion who was Promised (ASOIAF SI)

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

This is inspired by The Great Lion by LargeFarva, an excellent fanfiction which unfortunately seems to have ended. It will not be the same story, however, though I will borrow to some extent from it.

*****************

Ambrogio Spinola Doria, 1st Marquess of Balbases, stood lying in his deathbed outside of the town of Casale, a town on the banks of the Po he was besieging under the orders of his King, Philip IV. The old man - now past his sixtieth birthday - had served the Spanish monarchy three decades with undying devotion, putting his family's entire fortune on the line, and receiving nothing more than an empty title to prove it all. His most brilliant victory had come scarcely half a dozen years ago - when he broke through the Siege of Breda, bringing the crucial fortress into the realms of the Spanish Netherlands. The collapse of the finances of the realm, however, and the jealousy of the King's idiotic new favorite - the Count-Duke of Olivares - meant that he was sent south to Italy to fight for a meaningless little scrap of land.

The old man was in no position for such a harsh journey, and his health failed him, and so while his army waited to take yet another fortress before winter fell upon them, he welcomed the cold embrace of death - eagerly awaiting his invitation into the Kingdom of Heaven, for if he, the most valiant defender of the faith of his generation, didn't get past the gates, no mere man could hope to do the same. When the Marquess awoke, however, he was not in front of Saint Peter nor was he in the presence of his Lord - he was on a birthing bed, looking up at blond, broad-shouldered man thirty years his younger, his green eyes beaming with pride. He heard only the words "His name shall be Lancel. Lancel Lannister." from this portly man before falling asleep to a soft rocking motion.

*****************

The Fifth Day of the Eighth Moon of 289 AC

The last seven years had been so incredible it would be almost impossible to describe them. Spinola really was in the body and mind of a child, in a fantasy world called 'Westeros', as a member of the greatest noble house in the realm - the Lannisters. He quickly realized that they were this world's equivalents of the Habsburgs - not only did they sit on massive piles of Gold and Silver, they also had a propensity for keeping it in the family - his uncle Tywin had married his first cousin, a Lannister herself. They seemed, however, to be far more competent than their counterpart - especially his uncle. He saw as men squirmed under the Lord's withering gaze, his piercing green eyes bringing fear to the hearts of all that wronged or annoyed him. Having been educated by the Jesuits in his past life, the Genoese had a voracious appetite for learning, and quickly devoured through much of the library in Casterly Rock - the Castle which he resided in - discovering that the language of these lands was little more than a simplified bastardization of the Latin he had learned as a child in another life.

The studies which he was put to by his tutor, the Maester Volarik, were so easy as to barely require attendance, though his disobedience the few times he had attempted to not attend the classes was rewarded with birchings, so he made sure to attend the lessons. The Maester was a busy man, however, and they rarely lasted more than a few hours. While he had always considered himself an intelligent man, Spinola had never had this much ease with studying, nor the ability to read through books at this speed, in his past life, and so he assumed that whatever being had placed him here had boosted his intelligence. The same thing could be said for almost all of his attributes, as he was taller and stronger than all of the seven-year olds in the Rock, and equal to many two or three years his elder. His quick progress impressed his father, the venerable Ser Kevan Lannister, brother to Lord Tywin, who had taken to debating with him at night about what he read. Though he could in no way hope to defeat his father in a battle of wits, the young Lancel did show himself to be very advanced for a boy seven name-days old.

It was on his seventh name-day that his mother and father brought him into their room to talk with him privately, away from his mischievous younger brothers, the four name-days old twins Willem and Martyn. His mother seemed worried, but his father seemed proud, almost ecstatic. "My son, it is your seventh name-day," his father said. "Now that it has passed, you are ready to begin your formal training. I have found a Lord willing to take you on as his page." His father's eyes shone, the lights of the candles around the room reflecting in his emerald-coloured eyes, as he continued. "Your uncle, Lord Tywin."

The boy saw his gut twist as the full realisation of what was about to happen. His uncle was mayhaps the most feared man in all of Westeros, and for good reason - he had two entire houses wiped from the face of the earth following their rebellion against his father Tytos, and the grim event was still routinely celebrated in the Rock through the performance of the infamous song 'The Rains of Castamere'. The Old Lion did, however, have a reputation for being fiercely loyal to his family, and he was sure the only reason he was even being considered for this honour was that Tywin had heard, or been informed, of his… unnaturally swift progress.

As Lancel and his father walked towards Lord Tywin's solar, the usually talkative boy was as quiet as a silent sister. Even in his short time in this land, he had learnt not to mess with Tywin, and only all of his will kept his knees from buckling as his father opened the door. The room was nothing short of magnificent - lavishly decorated in great style, with intricate tapestries, opulent displays of wealth and large quantities of gold, ivory and marble. His uncle sat on a golden throne, being every part a King except for his lack of a crown. The stare which had brought men multiple times his elder to their knees soon met his eyes, causing the young Lancel to shrink at least an inch in height. He and his father both quickly bowed, before Kevan was sent back to his apartments, leaving a young boy all alone in a room with Tywin Lannister - not something he would wish on his worst enemy.

The Old Lion's stare quickly lost its intensity, however, and the boy was able to regain sure footing before his uncle started talking. "Tell me, nephew, do you know why my brother sent you here?".

"I am to be your page, my Lord," Lancel immediately replied, his tongue almost twisting from the stress, only barely not making a fool of himself in front of the all-powerful Warden of the West. Tywin fired back "and do you know what that means, boy?". His gaze seemed to slowly increase in intensity, as Lancel realised that his uncle was testing him, seeing how far he could be pushed before breaking. Having once been commander of tens of thousands of men, the victor of Breda himself, Spinola wanted to know that would never happen, but he was stuck in the body of a seven name-day old boy, after all. After thinking for a split second, Lancel replied, "I am to serve you to the best of my abilities, to do everything you require of me, my Lord. In exchange for this meagre service, I will be rewarded with lessons in combat and lordship, my Lord."

Lancel swore he could see his uncle cracking a smile - of course, that was impossible, as Tywin Lannister never smiled, but he still wanted to believe it true. His gaze did lose much of its intensity, however, as Tywin replied "It seems that the rumours of your intelligence hold some water. Your exploits in the library have reached my attention, and I know you can read. Fetch that book over there - 'The History of the Reyne-Tarbeck revolt'."

Lancel gulped, not knowing what his uncle intended, but knowing the story very well. Tywin Lannister was not yet twenty name-days old when he crushed the two most powerful houses in the Westerlands other than his own. They had risen against his weak father, Tytos, the Toothless Lion, but faced his son. Now, there were no Reynes or Tarbecks left - his uncle had made sure of that. He replied "Yes, my Lord" before moving towards the bookcase, having already located the hefty tome.

His uncle interrupted his movements, a hint of warmth present in his eyes for no more than the blink of an eye, and said "Nephew, when in private, you may call me uncle."

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

The Nineteenth Day of the Tenth Moon of 289 AC

The past five fortnights under his uncle's tutelage had been hard. That day where he first became his page had been spent with two hours of lecturing over what his duties, responsibilities and schedule would be. He was to be at the courtyard at dawn in order to train for two hours with the Master-at-Arms of Casterly Rock, Benedict Broom, before being granted one hour to bathe and break his fast. He would then spend five hours studying with the Maester and Septon, before being granted one hour to eat his dinner and tie any loose ends. Then, depending on the availability of Lord Tywin, the boy would either spend time with him or be free for the rest of the day. A pretty decent schedule, all things considered, and one more lenient than what he was expecting.

After the lecture, he had been released to his quarters to get started on reading the book, and Tywin was incredibly surprised to learn that the boy had read it in one day. He spent the entire afternoon grilling his page, wanting to make sure that he wasn't simply being lied to to avoid work. Tywin wasn't a forgiving man at the best of times, but he could never tolerate dishonesty or sloth, especially from his own family. Lancel had read the book, however, and was able to answer most of the questions. This surprised him - he expected his memory to have been improved as had his other characteristics - and by the end of it Tywin had ordered him to make copies of some fifty pages from the book, to have for his own perusal at any time. This taught him two lessons - never to overestimate his own capabilities, and to always read anything Lord Tywin gave to him at least twice, if not more, as it was far faster than to copy dozens of pages by hand.

His combat training had been going incredibly well. He had trained with sword and horse in his old life, and while he had never really practised with a longsword - such implements had been abandoned decades prior - he was an expert on horseback, having spent the good part of forty years of his life riding. He quickly impressed both himself as well as Ser Benedict, as he seemed born to wield a sword. His skill with the bow left less to be desired, though he was still competent at it. By the end of those five fortnights of training, he was able to defeat squires five name-days his elder - though he doubted they were the most competent Casterly Rock had to offer, and he was certainly unable of beating Jaime Lannister at that age - his cousin had won his first melee only thirteen name-days old. His father beamed with pride every time he sparred, and he quickly began hearing whispers that he, not the Imp, would be the heir to Casterly Rock. He certainly didn't know what to think of this, though like his uncle and cousin Cersei he despised the little beast, not because he killed his aunt, as she had died far before he was born, but because he was constantly drunk and sullen. He was not fit to be heir to the Old Lion, even if he hadn't been born a dwarf.

His education with the Maester and Septon continued rapidly, as he went leaps and bounds above what was provided of him. He had read the Seven Pointed Star and came to a quick realisation that it was nothing more than a misinterpretation of the Holy Bible - the Seven being a misunderstanding of the Trinity. They even had an institution parallel to His Holiness the Pope and the College of Cardinals with the High Septon and the Most Devout. He could work with this, especially as he had never memorised the scriptures and therefore could not hope to reform the faith. He continued to read everything put in front of him, and the poor Maester had to call for more books from the Citadel in order to keep up with the young man's speed at reading.

The past year had been happy, though the Greyjoy Rebellion did take place, with the Ironborn crushing the unprotected Lannister fleet at Lannisport. Though they were eventually beaten back - Balon being forced to bend the knee to Robert after the end of the siege of Pyke - it had come at a great cost, and the Lannister fleet had been wiped out of the face of the earth. Spinola had met Álvaro de Bazán - the greatest admiral in the history of the world - and had heard stories of his kinsman Andrea Doria, as well as of John of Austria, as well as experienced for himself what naval weakness could do to a campaign. He had learnt enough of naval warfare in his past life to come to the conclusion that the Westerosi were far behind his own world in this, as well as many other things, and so he decided to spend his free time drafting a proposal for the navy. He might have the brain of a sixty name-days old man, but he was still a seven name-days old boy, and so he had to make sure that everything was perfect before presenting it to his uncle. Little did he know, an opportunity to do so would soon come.

*****************

The Eighth Day of the Second Moon of 291 AC

Almost two years had passed, and while much had changed, much remained the same still. He continued to be a page for his uncle, and he and the variety of retainers that trained me kept pushing me to my hardest. A teacher was brought from Volantis to teach Lancel High Valyrian - it was hard, though he was able to become fluent in the language - while he learned so voraciously that his Maester remarked that he could have most likely already earnt his chain if he trained to be one. He continued to read on the most varied of subjects, including seafaring, engineering, metallurgy and more, in large part aimed at producing the designs for a potential future Lannister Fleet, still in the process of rebuilding after the disaster that was Euron Greyjoy's raid on Lannisport. The Imp had attained his majority in 289, and had requested to go on a tour of the Free Cities, though uncle forbade that of him, giving him the opportunity to prove himself worthy of the name Lannister by redesigning the sewage system of Casterly Rock. Lancel was privately annoyed - having that drunken whoremonger make a joke of the Lannister name throughout Essos would further serve to make him the only reasonable candidate to the throne - but the Imp had disappointed his father yet again, limiting himself to commanding the smallfolk to widen the pipes while he whored and drank his way through Lannisport. His position as the heir presumptive was getting stronger by the day, he knew it, but he needed to make sure nothing happened to harm that.

He continued to train with Ser Benedict and the other pages, though he towered over everyone his own age, being almost five feet tall and seven stone in weight - the average size of a young man of three-and-ten. He was quickly put to train with the squires, though he still easily dominated boys three or four name-days his senior, not only due to his previous life's experience with sword fighting, but also the fact that he was just a natural, perhaps even more so than his uncle had been at his age. He barely had to exert any effort in order to bring his foes to his feet, and, much to his consternation, Ser Benedict recognized this. Wanting to put the boy, not even ten name-days old yet, back in his place, called Sandor Clegane, better known as the Hound. While his brother Gregor was the better fighter, he was also dumb as a door and would almost certainly kill the little prick, which Tywin would have both of their heads for. Sandor was given strict orders to humiliate, but not severely harm, the Young Lion, as he was starting to be known around the Rock.

The following morning Lancel arrived expecting another easy day of running circles around squires. He was stupefied when Ser Benedict ordered him to spar against this man, more than twice as old as him, huge and heavily muscled. He steeled himself against the enemy, knowing that he was going to lose but not wanting to go out without a fight. While his brother was entirely brute force, Sandor was incredibly skilled, as well as being incredibly strong. The duel was never in question, and within a minute the Young Lion was lying on the floor bent over his stomach. The Young Lion then rose, and challenged the Hound to another duel, before being brought to the ground once again, though he held his ground for a bit longer at this point. So it continued onwards for an hour, with the last sparring match lasting over five minutes, but still ending with the Young Lion lying on the floor, bathed in his own sweat and with blood pooling in his mouth. Lancel pulled himself up by the Hound's arm, before limping to the maester.

Ser Benedict couldn't help but smile - the kid had been put in his place, but he had shown the determination to, after being kicked to the ground eleven times, come back to a twelfth. He would be a great Lord of Casterly Rock, though he dared say no such thing. Tywin had started to crack down on such ideas - still holding out hope for his golden boy Jaime - and the Master-at-Arms had no interest in making an enemy of his Lord Paramount.

 

[kaazmiz]

This looks promising, so lets see where it rolls.

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

The Tenth Day of the Third Moon of 291 AC

It took quite a while for Lancel to recover the injuries the Hound had unleashed upon him - though he healed quickly, to the surprise of the Maester - they were still heavy, and so he was only just returning to sparring at full strength when his uncle Gerion - his favourite by far - announced that he would be travelling to old Valyria in order to find and return with Brightroar, the lost ancestral Valyrian Steel sword of House Lannister. Everyone thought he was suicidal - none had ever gone into the Smoking Sea and survived, not even Aurion with his Dragons. Gerion, however, would hear none of it, and made it clear that he would be going, with or without the support of his family. Tywin reluctantly agreed, but Lancel would do everything in his power to make sure his favourite uncle survived this coming trial. Thankfully, his research over the past two years into naval matters had proven itself more than useful.

He requested a meeting with both Tywin and Gerion, and carried a large amount of drawings, designs, scrolls and other paperwork to Tywin's solar, where the meeting would take place. In order to do it in one trip, he had his two little brothers - Willem and Martyn - help him carry them. Tywin and Gerion were surprised at the amount of work he had done, and, when asked about it, he said that he was working on solutions for the Westerland's naval problems ever since the burning of the fleet at Lannisport. Tywin accepted his explanation, and motioned for him to explain everything which he had prepared. Much of it he had brought from his own experience on Earth, but he had also learnt a lot from the books which he read. He showed drawings and plans for compasses, hull copper plating as well as other modifications to Laughing Lion in order to make it more seaworthy, faster and capable of carrying more cargo. He had seen his fair share of Galleons, and these ignorant Westerosi used Galleys on the open sea. He spoke at length, explaining his designs and the justifications for them, not being interrupted other than for the odd question, primarily from Tywin.

Bringing his explanation to an end, he said that, if given a few weeks, he could work out an actual plan for Valyria, to make sure that Gerion did not die like every single other man that had gone to Valyria since the Century of Blood. Tywin was still apprehensive, but Gerion was thoroughly impressed, and agreed with his nephew. Tywin conceded, and offered him the necessary resources to make his plans a reality. Lancel met his father on the way back, the man brimming with pride at his son. If only he knew the truth.

*****************

Lancel went to the library and got to work almost immediately. He had made sure to get an exemption from training from Tywin for the duration of this program - he was already far better than any boy nine name-days old in recorded history, even his own cousin the Kingslayer. Going to Valyria proper was a death sentence - even before the Doom it was impossible to move from one building to another without a Dragon in most of the city, as rivers of lava from the Fourteen Fires. There were no maps of Valyria after the Doom - hard to map something impossible to go to - but there were plenty of maps prior to the Doom. Getting to Valyria proper by boat was impossible even prior to the Doom - there were multiple waterfalls between the sea and the Lake that served as the source of the river that passed closest to Valyria, and that's without ignoring the steep uphill climb by boat, through the water. Not exactly the best case scenario.

He quickly located Noros, a ruined city on the far southern shore of the Sea of Sighs, as the best target. The trading hub for the crops and other products grown in the Lands of the Long Summer, Noros was the focal point for the majority of the food trade in the Peninsula, and therefore overflowing with wealth. Five hundred miles north of Valyria, it probably survived the Doom relatively unscathed, though the presence of large layers of volcanic ash three hundred miles to the north of Noros meant that little survive, and, unlike other cities in the region such as Oros and Tyria, as far as anyone knew there wasn't any local population to worry about. The best part? One could sail, even with extreme care, from Volantis to Noros within a week, if one braved to sail through the Sea of Sighs. Of course, the Sea of Sighs was the least of the threats faced by the expedition, so we could ignore such a thing.

It's not the glorious story that Gerion was hoping for, but it was survivable, and even if he went to the safest of the Valyrian Cities, he would still be the first man in almost four centuries to go there and back. Lancel was confident that he could convince Gerion to take the safer path, if only because he loved his infant baseborn daughter, Joy Hill. With a realistic goal to prepare for, the hard work actually started. Lancel needed to provide his uncle with the best chance of survival possible, which meant preparing for everything. The land expedition would be the most dangerous. He created or adapted designs for navigation equipment, devices to prevent them falling to the noxious gases which infested the Smoking Sea and protective clothing. He wrote a series of recommended procedures within the city, the best ways to move between the buildings, how to handle anything of value and the like.

It was done two fortnights later - the Laughing Lion rebuilt, a series of compasses built and the entire plan written down to an inordinate level of detail. On the Tenth Day of the Fourth Moon of 291 AC, his uncle Gerion set sail aboard his ship, a crew of Westermen at his back, towards what everyone thought was his impending doom. Lancel was a bit more confident, though not by much, as he knew that, while his efforts would probably help, no other expedition had ever been successful. He bade his uncle farewell from the Rock itself - being prohibited from leaving it to go to Lannisport by Tywin - as the ship slipped out of port. His cousin, the Imp, had asked his father to go, but Tywin had wisely declined the halfman's request - he would be nothing but an anchor dragging down his uncle Gerion, and if the voyage succeeded it would grant him much undeserved and unwanted attention and prestige. Lancel hoped that Gerion would come back victorious, wielding Brightroar, but he knew that most likely he would die, like all others that came before him.

As he turned backwards, he looked at the face of Ser Benedict, a twisted smile strewn across his face, and Lancel's stomach dropped. He would be punished for not attending classes for the past two fortnights, independently of Lord Tywin himself having given him permission to do so. That night, he stumbled back to his family's apartments, barely able to go up the few flights of stairs separating it from the courtyard, and falling fast asleep before even reaching the bed. It appeared that the intensity of his training would continue to increase as time went on, until his limit was reached. He just hoped that he grew fast enough that he would always be one step ahead of his training, though it seemed less likely as every day went on.

*****************

The Fifth Day of the Eight Moon of 292 AC

The past year-and-a-half had been incredibly busy. For the first few months after Gerion's mission to Valyria we received semi-regular updates from Volantis, but it has been a year since the last message from him has arrived. By this point, we all believed he was dead, but Tywin refused to hold a funeral, still sure that his brother was alive somewhere else. Maybe he had some information we didn't, but there was nothing to suggest it - though there was nothing to suggest what the Old Lion knew or thought at any time. His bastard daughter, Joy Hill, continued to be treated as a member of the family, though she was still a child, no more than four name-days old. His brothers Martyn and Willem had been taken as Tywin's pages, and he spent many hours sparring and training with them - the twins almost enamoured with their older brother.

Lancel's studies proceeded at a much slower pace as much of what he read now was in High Valyrian, a tough language if there ever was one, and he spent more time than ever training for combat and, to some extent, rulership. His naval reforms had been implemented, funded with an influx of dragons from his uncle's coffers, and they were incredibly successful, allowing the Lannisters to compete with the Redwynes and the Ironborn with regards to fleet strength, though in quality, not numbers. The new ships, with their larger holds, longer longevity and better seaworthiness, were far more suitable to trading than their competitors and far more profitable in that activity, over time transforming Lannisport's merchant fleet into a strong competitor with that of the Arbor. Tywin received all the praise - he never specifically claimed it, but neither did anyone else, and nobody would believe a boy, not even nine name-days old, would have come up with those ideas.

His combat training was gruelling, tough and exhausting, as he routinely sparred against anointed knights and grown men, and lost almost every match. Though he was far stronger and more skilled than any boy his age ever seen previously, he was still in no way skilled enough to win against men twice his own age. Ser Benedict himself refrained from sparring with him - his primary sparring partner was the Hound, Sandor Clegane himself, and while Lancel was able to give him a good fight, there hadn't yet been a single sparring match that didn't end with the Young Lion on the floor, his adversary's hand extended for him to pull himself up. His skill with the bow still lagged behind - he considered it a peasant's weapon, not suitable for a man of his stature - but he continued to prove his skill with the horse, being known as one of the finest riders in the Rock, though there was little to improve - his natural skill and otherworldly experience meaning that only his young age limited his skill with the beasts. He was fascinated by Dragons in specific, as he initially considered them nothing more than a myth like back on Earth, he was surprised when the Maester himself - no friend of magic - said that not only there were once Dragons, but that their skulls resided deep in the Red Keep. He swore that he would go see them, but Tywin had refused to allow him to go to King's Landing, so that would have to wait.

The night of his tenth name-day celebrations he was called to his uncle Tywin's solar once more, his father behind him. He felt his stomach twist as it had for the first time three years prior - even though he was quickly growing to be almost as tall as the Old Lion, he still inspired utter fear in the boy, as he did in everyone in the Rock, and, as far as Lancel knew, everyone in Westeros.

 

[Felixx]

It's all just summarized, is it gonna continue going like this?

 

[Cabrio9f]

It's all just summarized, is it gonna continue going like this?

Click to shrink...

Yeah I have to agree with this dude

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

I'm going to try a different writing style.

The Nineteenth Day of the Eighth Moon of 292 AC

I still remembered the day, a fortnight prior, as I walked up the stairs to my uncle's solar. The meeting ended up being far more friendly than I had anticipated - I was simply confirmed as my uncle's squire. Lord Tywin had never taken a squire before, having sent his son Jamie to Crakehall when he turned eleven to squire under Lord Sumner. This excited me, filled my father with pride and enraged cousin Tyrion, who was finally convinced that his father would rob him of his birthright and appoint another Lannister, one not even of his blood, as Lord of Casterly Rock and his heir. Most everyone else in the Rock, and throughout Westeros as news arrived, thought the same, though the Old Lion made sure that no Lannister spoke about it - he still held out hope that the Kingslayer would cast down the white and return to his place as the rightful heir. He would never do such a thing - though for different reasons than most people thought at the time.

Being Tywin's squire was very different to being his page, though not as I expected it. I wasn't given the regular duties of a squire - I didn't clean my uncle's armor or take care of his horses as servants had done that forever - but instead was put under a much more closely supervised tutelage. Maester Volarik was all but eliminated from my studies - the old man wasn't the brightest and was busy elsewhere - though Tywin did not interrupt my studies with the Rock's Septon, pleasantly surprised at my devoutness. While not religious himself, he came to the conclusion that at least I wouldn't become a sullen, drunken whoremonger like the Imp. Tywin, pushing on sixty, was woefully unable to train me, his new squire, and Ser Benedict alone wasn't enough for who could very well become the next Lord of Casterly Rock, and so he called for… reinforcements. These were as following:

Ser Addam Marbrand, a childhood friend of Ser Jaime Lannister and son and heir of Lord Damon Marbrand of Ashemark. Gallant and charming, with dark copper hair, Ser Adam is a daring and charismatic commander and leader of men, as well as a member of one of the few houses in the Westerlands that are proud of their First Men ancestry. He was made responsible for teaching me military command and how to fight with a sword and shield, as well as horsemanship, though the latter was scarcely necessary.

Ser Lyle Crakehall, the Strongboar, the middle son of Lord Roland Crakehall of the namesake seat. Big and strong with a booming voice, he is considered by Jaime Lannister to be one of the strongest men living in Westeros, though slower and less savage than the Hound. Not exactly the smartest man in Casterly Rock, though, not that such a trait is required of a knight. He was made responsible for teaching me how to use maces and double-handed weapons, as well as to beat me to the ground while sparring.

Vogano Sorros, a Braavosi Bravos, or water dancer, a tall, graceful and slender man with dark olive-colored skin and warm, brown eyes. Quite the noticeable figure amongst the blondes of Casterly Rock, he is one of the finest swordsmen I have ever seen, though with a unique fighting style very different to that practiced in Westeros amongst the Knightly class, almost alike to fencing as practiced back in Europe. With a narrow, very light sword, the style depends on agility, swiftness and complete command of one's movements - perfectly suited to the superior abilities my new life had provided me.

Xalantar Soxos, an exile from the Summer Isles, dark as ebony and with an extravagant feather cape, was once the son of a Prince from the island of Walano, before his house was defeated and he was forced to flee. One of the greatest archers in the known world, he cost a fortune to hire, like the Braavosi, and was brought specifically to make sure that I learnt bowmanship - by far my poorest skill.

Finally, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, one of the fiercest fighters in the Westerlands and a permanent resident at Casterly Rock ever since his brother Gregor took over their Keep. As the first adult I fought against, and a constant fixture on the sparring ground ever since, he was kept to maintain some semblance of continuity, as well as simply because he was available, and a fierce soldier to boot. He had no specific specialization, and was simply there to spar and protect me when I left the Rock, which was finally happening, though uncle Tywin had prevented such an occurrence for very long.

My days had been spent studying with Tywin and training with his instructors, and every single day over this past fortnight I stumbled back into my family's apartments exhausted, mentally and physically. Almost all of the little free time I still had was spent with my family at the insistence of my mother, though on many occasions I simply wished to collapse on my bed and fall asleep as soon as I arrived from my training.

Today, however, was different. When I walked down to the training field, dreading what the day would offer, as it was a Strongboar morning, instead of finding the oafish giant, I instead found the Hound awaiting me. The man walked towards me and said "boy, your uncle wants to see you. Follow me." I dutifully obliged - I had not yet been able to defeat the youngest of the Clegane brothers, though every day I was coming closer to doing so. I honestly had no idea what had changed - the schedule was clear, and I was only to report to my uncle's Solar after I had trained, ate and bathed. Not really paying attention to my surroundings, I was surprised to find myself descending steps instead of ascending them - wasn't Tywin's solar on top of a tower?

As we went deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Rock, the air became notably stuffier and a healthy dosage of stress started to kick in - I had never been comfortable inside closed spaces, though I had no idea why. The hound stopped in front of a door, and I almost kept on going but was stopped by his extended arm, hitting me in the chest and forcing me to involuntarily exhale. The Hound opened the door, and motioned me inside, saying "your Lord uncle has requested to meet with you alone." I walked in, and the Hound locked the door behind me. I was still carrying my sword, and put my hand on it instinctively, as I walked down the long, narrow corridor, a torch showing a flickering shadow of who I could only assume to be my uncle at the end. I had no idea what was going on - even though Tywin had a reputation of making lesser men wet themselves, it was never through ploys but primarily through his imposing presence and withering gaze.

I arrived at the door at the end of the corridor and creaked it open, seeing my uncle sitting on a comfortable chair, facing to the left, an identical seat opposite with a short table in the middle. "Sit", my uncle said, "We have much to talk about". As I followed his command, I looked up from the seating arrangement, looking out at a mine in operation, carts carrying ore being pulled by ponies and men with pickaxes hacking at the walls. As I sat down, my uncle finished his cup of what I could only assume to be Arbor Gold, before looking straight at me, his piercing eyes causing discomfort that I could only assume was visible. Still with his gaze fixed upon me, he spoke, "Look to your left", I followed his command as he continued, "What do you see?". "I see a mine", I replied. "Yes, I know you're not blind. I also thought you were intelligent, though I may have judged you poorly", the Old Lion responded, his gaze increasing in intensity. Steeling my nerves, I responded, "I can only assume this is a gold mine - after all, Casterly Rock has the largest reserves in Westeros, if not the known world. This is where the true power of House Lannister comes from, the ability to mine the universally agreed means of exchange, filling our coffers and making us the wealthiest house in Westeros. There are mines throughout the Westerlands, though none other than Castamere challenge our dominance, and everyone knows what happened to them." Tywin looked at me inquisitively, before asking, "You used the phrase 'means of exchange' instead of money, or wealth, or anything else. Why?"

Having known that he would answer that question, I quickly responded, "Gold itself has no value other than the fact that we consider it beautiful - it is of no use in armour or weapons nor does it play any crucial role in agriculture or the production of any necessary goods. It serves for nothing other than for decorative purposes - plates and regalia and the like - or as currency. It is simply its rarity, natural purity and strength against decay that makes it a useful currency. If people didn't think that gold has value, we would be as poor as a pauper." Tywin looked almost confused, though he quickly returned to his resting face, one overflowing with seriousness, moral strength and confidence. "I do believe you are right, nephew, though don't tell anyone else what you just said, as you might just lead us into bankruptcy." I noted his use of the word us - I had never seen him have a propensity for considering the family fortune something that belonged to anyone other than himself, even if only in condominium. "All of it might be yours someday, you know?", he said, as I pushed myself into a straighter position, noticeably shocked. "Oh please, it's not as if you haven't heard the whispers." he continued, "Everyone but the Imp thinks I should make you my heir - Jaime is tied to the notion of being a glorified bodyguard, Cersei is the Queen and I would rather see it all destroyed rather than pass Casterly rock off to that halfman and watch him turn it into a whorehouse." Tywin took a deep breath, before continuing, "You're only barely ten name-days old, but you are the best this house has to offer - intelligent, honorable and perhaps better than even my own son was at your age with lance and sword."

I struggled to form coherent sentences, so awestruck was I - but he gave me the mercy of not waiting for an answer. "Go back upstairs", he said. "Speak a word of this to anyone and I swear on the Old Gods and the New that I will make you become a Maester." Tywin threatened as I passed through the door, closing it behind me. In the dimly lit corridor, I slumped to the ground, resting there as I collected my thoughts. Once I deemed myself in a mental state solid enough to pass for normal, I walked down the corridor, opening the door at the end to find the Hound sitting down resting against the wall opposite me. As he got up, he asked, "What did your uncle want to talk to you about?". Knowing better than to ignore his question, I lied "He just wanted to reflect on this past fortnight." I swore I heard the man's eyebrows tighten, but he said nothing, and the Hound walked me back to my family's apartments, saying that I was released from training for today.

That was not what I had been expecting, at all.

{Previous Version}

 

[Gracy]

It is a lot better than the previous chapters, a marked improvment!

 

[Felixx]

Yupp, this is a much better style, it has dialogue, and it isn't dry to read either, keep going.

 

[kaazmiz]

I still remembered the day, a fortnight prior, as I walked up the stairs to his uncle's solar.

Click to shrink...

This was a much better read than previous chapters.
You will need to change some 'his' to 'I'- there are a few more in the text.

 

[Venyr4434]

Noice. Gotta agree with the others here, your latest chapter is much better, maybe try to add more dialogue and action next time.

Are you going to make chapters from other characters PoV?

 

[Warmonger DragonJax]

I enjoyed "The Great Lion" by LargeFarva and am happy that you are writing some fiction in a similar vein even though it is eerily similar, borrowing whole cloth in certain places but I understand that you want to take that story in a different direction.

Plenty of readers have already indicated a very history textbook like retelling until your latest chapter but I'm happy with the change and can't wait for more.

My only wish is that you didn't stick so close to his trajectory like squiring for Tywin which I feel is not very useful but being his page does definitely work, having multiple instructors to round out his martial education makes Tywin look like he is creating a modern iteration of a super soldier and also sounds like a very modern notion of how a superhero rounds out his/her skills. A single, talented knight should be trained in most weapons and any esoteric skill the MC wants to pick up should be done on his own time and effort. Make him travel to Braavos and learn alongside the waterdancers because Westerosi knights do not respect their sword-play as much.
Technological uptick like designing ships and stuff seems really extreme. I think the MC inventing something should be a last resort and any technology raise should come from thieving knowledge from other countries like Myr for their crossbows and glass, summer islanders for their swanships, etc. Single-handedly bringing about a technological renaissance is full in my opinion.
Gerion's quest storyline- Please do something different from LargeFarva went about. I would have been really happy if you didn't go with the storyline at all but you've decided for it so I won't complain.

The MC seems to be just a bit too intelligent, creative and martially gifted at the same time. He is perfect and that takes away a lot from how he might potential navigate physical threats and politics. He stumps his Maester and has to get books shipped from the citadel seems really extreme to me but I do like the fact that the MC wants to take advantage of the faith for his own benefit.

You have a good command over your language and thus, I hope you deviate from his work a bit and make our MC a bit less perfect. But I must say, I like how you made him ambitious but also dislike how you made Tywin outright want to pass over Tyrion instead of debate it in his head, squeezing every advantage out of it like how LargeFarva did. Feels out of character for him to not be egotistical and close-minded, but rather so defeated. Tyrion's anger seems realistic for sure but would like to know how you might use him as a potential asset than alienate one of the smarter characters in the story and I'm looking forward to more chapters.

Please do not take any of my criticism to be a personal attack. I would love to read your story and just want to point out things I've observed and my desires in what I would like to see.

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

I enjoyed "The Great Lion" by LargeFarva and am happy that you are writing some fiction in a similar vein even though it is eerily similar, borrowing whole cloth in certain places but I understand that you want to take that story in a different direction.

Plenty of readers have already indicated a very history textbook like retelling until your latest chapter but I'm happy with the change and can't wait for more.

My only wish is that you didn't stick so close to his trajectory like squiring for Tywin which I feel is not very useful but being his page does definitely work, having multiple instructors to round out his martial education makes Tywin look like he is creating a modern iteration of a super soldier and also sounds like a very modern notion of how a superhero rounds out his/her skills. A single, talented knight should be trained in most weapons and any esoteric skill the MC wants to pick up should be done on his own time and effort. Make him travel to Braavos and learn alongside the waterdancers because Westerosi knights do not respect their sword-play as much.
Technological uptick like designing ships and stuff seems really extreme. I think the MC inventing something should be a last resort and any technology raise should come from thieving knowledge from other countries like Myr for their crossbows and glass, summer islanders for their swanships, etc. Single-handedly bringing about a technological renaissance is full in my opinion.
Gerion's quest storyline- Please do something different from LargeFarva went about. I would have been really happy if you didn't go with the storyline at all but you've decided for it so I won't complain.

The MC seems to be just a bit too intelligent, creative and martially gifted at the same time. He is perfect and that takes away a lot from how he might potential navigate physical threats and politics. He stumps his Maester and has to get books shipped from the citadel seems really extreme to me but I do like the fact that the MC wants to take advantage of the faith for his own benefit.

You have a good command over your language and thus, I hope you deviate from his work a bit and make our MC a bit less perfect. But I must say, I like how you made him ambitious but also dislike how you made Tywin outright want to pass over Tyrion instead of debate it in his head, squeezing every advantage out of it like how LargeFarva did. Feels out of character for him to not be egotistical and close-minded, but rather so defeated. Tyrion's anger seems realistic for sure but would like to know how you might use him as a potential asset than alienate one of the smarter characters in the story and I'm looking forward to more chapters.

Please do not take any of my criticism to be a personal attack. I would love to read your story and just want to point out things I've observed and my desires in what I would like to see.

Click to shrink...

I'll rewrite that last chapter. Thanks for the advice.

With regards to the navy, however, Spinola is Genoese. His family's entire fortune comes from maritime trade and while he himself was never an Admiral, many of his relatives were. He worked closely with the navy, was a colleague of Bazán's son Alvaro II and, while in the Netherlands, came to realize the crucial importance of maritime dominance. It's the only major thing that he'll do - memories of his past life will fade as time goes on.

I understand your apprehension at his OPness, and I'll tone it down. I guess he can squire for Addam Marbrand.

 

[kaazmiz]

I understand your apprehension at his OPness, and I'll tone it down. I guess he can squire for Addam Marbrand.

Click to shrink...

Considering his display of maritime knowledge (potentially indicating interest in the subject due to his notes for Gerion) I think that if he is to squire outside the main house, it should be to one of the houses along the shore- specifically ones with their own ports. Prester? Kenning? Farman?

House Prester seems to have been trusted enough by Tywin that its lord was in command of the Lanister armies in the Riverlands, so their martial skill is definitely up to expected standards, and their position would allow them to create a smaller secure fleet of newer ships that could shield Lanisport in case of future attacks.

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

As I walked up Tywin's solar, my father had his customary face of worry and pride at the same time - the one he sported when I was confirmed as uncle Tywin's page. I had only rarely met my uncle other than in passing since then, and never with my father by my side, so I had no idea what to expect. I had heard the whispers and the rumours - that I would be a far better heir to Casterly Rock than the Imp - but I doubted Tywin would make that choice. He had never taken a squire before, and to do so for me would be an admission that I was his heir, though not directly. I continued to mull over the implications of each possible decision, completely zoned out from the world and almost tripping over a step before coming back to my senses. As my father opened the door and directed me in, I saw Tywin sat on his throne, Ser Benedict to his right and Maester Volarik to his left.

As we - me and my father - bowed before him, Tywin spoke; "Ser Benedict Broom and Maester Volarik here have been informing me of your progress. Both say that you are an impressive student," Tywin looked to his right, and then to his left, before continuing, "Didn't you?". Ser Benedict cleared his throat, before responding, "Yes, my Lord. Lancel is very tall, strong and skilled for his age, able to defeat squires many name-days his elder and competently spar against grown men." Maester Volarik soon followed after Tywin, my father and I all looked at him. "Uh, yes, my Lord. Lancel is, uh, a, uh, joy to teach, my Lord." The Maester seemed to stumble over his words, his tongue tied, and Tywin glared at him with a gaze that could melt steel. My Uncle then turned his sights on me and my father, before speaking; "I have arranged for you to squire with Ser Addam Marbrand, the son and heir of Lord Damon Marbrand of Ashemark, at their castle. I have also arranged for his betrothal to my goodniece Cerenna, and both of you shall be escorted by Sers Stafford and Daven Lannister, her father and brother, respectively. They shall return as soon as the wedding occurs in one moon, but you shall remain."

I was stupefied. Ser Addam Marbrand was a personal friend of Jaime Lannister, yes, and had served as a page at Casterly Rock in his youth, but it couldn't have been orchestrated as an alliance - the Marbrands were one of the smaller of the Houses of the Westerlands, and that aforementioned friendship meant that their loyalty was never in question. It wasn't exactly a good omen with regards to my chances as Tywin's heir - it seemed like honours appropriate of the Lord Paramount's nephew, but he wouldn't have even remotely considered Ashemark as fit for Jaime, or even Tyrion - if uncle had chosen to foster him. Together with the marriage to a distant member of the family, it seemed like it was engineered to put an end to the rumours and whispers raging around the Rock that I, not the Kingslayer or the Imp, would be heir to Casterly Rock. I looked over at my father, who seemed in no way surprised - he must have been told prior to the fact - and then back at my uncle. Tywin was looking right at me, clearly expecting an answer, so I cleared my throat before responding; "Thank you for this opportunity, my Lord." I lied, doing my best to hold down my disappointment. Tywin's eyebrows tightened, his gaze growing with intensity, trying to pick out any hint of dishonesty. "Very well", he said, "Brother and Nephew, you may both return to your quarters."

*****************

Nineteenth Day of the Eighth Moon of 292 AC

The past fortnight passed in a haze. Ashemark wasn't famous for its library, to say the least, so I got permission from uncle Tywin to spend my time studying. I found my memories from my past life as a Genoese general in the service of the King of Spain to be slipping from me as every day passed by, and I truly became Lancel Lannister. I started to work compiling what little I still remembered, though it had become very basic, lacking crucial details and with significant gaps in knowledge. The instinctive bit - how to ride a horse, read Latin, among others, remained, but the memory of what I once knew by rote - crucial details with regards to the organisation, supply and complement of my armies, for example - had all but evaporated. My knowledge of my past life was condensed to no more than one hundred pages - that is what sixty years of adventure, command, happiness and tragedy had been reduced to. I ordered copies to be made of dozens of books which I had found important or were on my reading list - some of which were ready by the time I departed, but most would have to be delivered later.

I spent most of my time, however, with my family. Neither father nor mother wanted to watch me go - even Jaime had only been fostered at one-and-ten - but they realised that they didn't have a choice. Martyn and Willem, however, were a different story. Only six name-days old, the boys had grown to idolise their older brother, and were not yet mature enough to understand that none of us really had a choice in the whole thing. It took a stern disciplining session from father, as well as a promise from me that I would visit, to get them to calm down. Outside of that event, however, the time spent was pleasant, as they had started to replace his own family, which had been dead for decades and of whom he remembered less and less as time went by. Both Martyn and Willem promised me that they'd be as strong as me when I came back, to which I responded saying that I know they'll be stronger. When the day came, I bade farewell to my family before meeting with Sers Daven and Stafford, as well as Cerenna, who was a sight for sore eyes, and one of the fairest women I had ever seen. She was six years my elder and looked the part - Ser Addam Marbrand was a lucky man.

As I rode next to Ser Daven, I couldn't help but be impressed with the man. He was the complete opposite of his father - a blunt, outspoken and jovial man, incredibly capable with a sword and sporting a gigantic beard that reached all the way down to his chest. I couldn't stop observing him, and after a few minutes - we were well out of the gate by then - he noticed, and barked; "What are you looking at, boy?". I was pulled from my train of thought, coming to my senses before responding; "Nothing, Ser, it's just that you have a beard bigger than the Maester's." The Knight roared with laughter, before settling back down and answering; "Aye, it is. Haven't cut it in three years!". "Why?", I blurted, unable to prevent the question burning in my mind from jumping out that rashly. "I know you're expecting a good reason," he responded, "but I just like it this way. It gives me something to talk about, and I like cleaning it. Also, I look far older than six-and-ten, and the men take me seriously." Taking advantage that he was talking about his age, I inquired; "You are young for a Knight - even Jaime Lannister had only been Knighted for a year by your age. May I ask what you did to receive such an honour?". "Same as Daemon Blackfyre, I guess," the man responded, "won a Squire's tourney at Casterly Rock a year ago, and I was knighted by none other than Ser Lyle Crakehall, who I had been squiring for at the time. The big oaf probably got tired of my superior intellect, though compared to the Strongboar a door could become a Maester." He let out another roaring laugh, clearly having found his own joke supremely funny. If this guy makes the Strongboar look like an idiot, Lancel thought to himself, I can't even imagine how slow he must be.

*****************

As we rode through the gates of the Castle of Ashemark, we found Lord Damon and Ser Addam awaiting us. I, Ser Daven and Ser Stafford all dismounted, while Cerenna was helped by her handmaidens. Lord Damon Marbrand was an old man with white hair, while his son Addam was tall, with a mane of dark copper hair in the manner of House Marbrand. Both sported armour of bronze covered by a fur cloak - a way of honouring their First Men ancestry - while a household knight held a banner with their sigil just behind them. The greetings were swift and simple and it seemed that the Marbrands didn't have a propensity for formality, not that he was expecting it - none of them were directly related to Tywin, and the Marbrands were family friends, so they could get away with it. After a welcome feast far sparser than the ones I had experienced in Casterly Rock - Ashemark wasn't known for being a wealthy holding - I followed Ser Addam to my quarters. It consisted of a single room, sparsely furnished, attached to the armoury. "It seems that taking you as a squire is the cost for getting to wed and bed Cerenna," he grunted. "You will have all the responsibilities of a squire - you'll carry and take care of my equipment, help me put on and take off my armour, etcetera - and in exchange I'll make you worthy of Knighthood. From what I've heard, you're well along that path already. Lord Tywin has given you an allowance far greater than you need - it seems that he really does shit gold - but you are not to spend a single penny without my permission."

"Sleep", he commanded. "We'll start tomorrow."

 

[Dromuthra]

Thanks for the chapter, but Tywin's actions have me scratching my head. I understand wanting to put down rumors, but he doesn't seem the kind of man to not acknowledge that there's a strong chance he might need Lancel as an heir, and if so marrying him off early in such a way makes little sense. There are less costly/permanent ways to quiet rumors, and I don't think he'd sabotage a future marriage option, especially given what happened with his sister Gemma.

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

Thanks for the chapter, but Tywin's actions have me scratching my head. I understand wanting to put down rumors, but he doesn't seem the kind of man to not acknowledge that there's a strong chance he might need Lancel as an heir, and if so marrying him off early in such a way makes little sense. There are less costly/permanent ways to quiet rumors, and I don't think he'd sabotage a future marriage option, especially given what happened with his sister Gemma.

Click to shrink...

Cerenna, the daughter of Stafford (Joanna's brother) is the one being married, not Lancel. He couldn't be married even if Tywin wanted to do so - he's only ten. There aren't any Marbrands for him to marry anyway, we literally only know of Addam and Damon from the main branch.

 

[Mairimashita]

I'm going to try a different writing style.

The Nineteenth Day of the Eighth Moon of 292 AC

I still remembered the day, a fortnight prior, as I walked up the stairs to my uncle's solar. The meeting ended up being far more friendly than I had anticipated - I was simply confirmed as my uncle's squire. Lord Tywin had never taken a squire before, having sent his son Jamie to Crakehall when he turned eleven to squire under Lord Sumner. This excited me, filled my father with pride and enraged cousin Tyrion, who was finally convinced that his father would rob him of his birthright and appoint another Lannister, one not even of his blood, as Lord of Casterly Rock and his heir. Most everyone else in the Rock, and throughout Westeros as news arrived, thought the same, though the Old Lion made sure that no Lannister spoke about it - he still held out hope that the Kingslayer would cast down the white and return to his place as the rightful heir. He would never do such a thing - though for different reasons than most people thought at the time.

Being Tywin's squire was very different to being his page, though not as I expected it. I wasn't given the regular duties of a squire - I didn't clean my uncle's armor or take care of his horses as servants had done that forever - but instead was put under a much more closely supervised tutelage. Maester Volarik was all but eliminated from my studies - the old man wasn't the brightest and was busy elsewhere - though Tywin did not interrupt my studies with the Rock's Septon, pleasantly surprised at my devoutness. While not religious himself, he came to the conclusion that at least I wouldn't become a sullen, drunken whoremonger like the Imp. Tywin, pushing on sixty, was woefully unable to train me, his new squire, and Ser Benedict alone wasn't enough for who could very well become the next Lord of Casterly Rock, and so he called for… reinforcements. These were as following:

Ser Addam Marbrand, a childhood friend of Ser Jaime Lannister and son and heir of Lord Damon Marbrand of Ashemark. Gallant and charming, with dark copper hair, Ser Adam is a daring and charismatic commander and leader of men, as well as a member of one of the few houses in the Westerlands that are proud of their First Men ancestry. He was made responsible for teaching me military command and how to fight with a sword and shield, as well as horsemanship, though the latter was scarcely necessary.

Ser Lyle Crakehall, the Strongboar, the middle son of Lord Roland Crakehall of the namesake seat. Big and strong with a booming voice, he is considered by Jaime Lannister to be one of the strongest men living in Westeros, though slower and less savage than the Hound. Not exactly the smartest man in Casterly Rock, though, not that such a trait is required of a knight. He was made responsible for teaching me how to use maces and double-handed weapons, as well as to beat me to the ground while sparring.

Vogano Sorros, a Braavosi Bravos, or water dancer, a tall, graceful and slender man with dark olive-colored skin and warm, brown eyes. Quite the noticeable figure amongst the blondes of Casterly Rock, he is one of the finest swordsmen I have ever seen, though with a unique fighting style very different to that practiced in Westeros amongst the Knightly class, almost alike to fencing as practiced back in Europe. With a narrow, very light sword, the style depends on agility, swiftness and complete command of one's movements - perfectly suited to the superior abilities my new life had provided me.

Xalantar Soxos, an exile from the Summer Isles, dark as ebony and with an extravagant feather cape, was once the son of a Prince from the island of Walano, before his house was defeated and he was forced to flee. One of the greatest archers in the known world, he cost a fortune to hire, like the Braavosi, and was brought specifically to make sure that I learnt bowmanship - by far my poorest skill.

Finally, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, one of the fiercest fighters in the Westerlands and a permanent resident at Casterly Rock ever since his brother Gregor took over their Keep. As the first adult I fought against, and a constant fixture on the sparring ground ever since, he was kept to maintain some semblance of continuity, as well as simply because he was available, and a fierce soldier to boot. He had no specific specialization, and was simply there to spar and protect me when I left the Rock, which was finally happening, though uncle Tywin had prevented such an occurrence for very long.

My days had been spent studying with Tywin and training with his instructors, and every single day over this past fortnight I stumbled back into my family's apartments exhausted, mentally and physically. Almost all of the little free time I still had was spent with my family at the insistence of my mother, though on many occasions I simply wished to collapse on my bed and fall asleep as soon as I arrived from my training.

Today, however, was different. When I walked down to the training field, dreading what the day would offer, as it was a Strongboar morning, instead of finding the oafish giant, I instead found the Hound awaiting me. The man walked towards me and said "boy, your uncle wants to see you. Follow me." I dutifully obliged - I had not yet been able to defeat the youngest of the Clegane brothers, though every day I was coming closer to doing so. I honestly had no idea what had changed - the schedule was clear, and I was only to report to my uncle's Solar after I had trained, ate and bathed. Not really paying attention to my surroundings, I was surprised to find myself descending steps instead of ascending them - wasn't Tywin's solar on top of a tower?

As we went deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Rock, the air became notably stuffier and a healthy dosage of stress started to kick in - I had never been comfortable inside closed spaces, though I had no idea why. The hound stopped in front of a door, and I almost kept on going but was stopped by his extended arm, hitting me in the chest and forcing me to involuntarily exhale. The Hound opened the door, and motioned me inside, saying "your Lord uncle has requested to meet with you alone." I walked in, and the Hound locked the door behind me. I was still carrying my sword, and put my hand on it instinctively, as I walked down the long, narrow corridor, a torch showing a flickering shadow of who I could only assume to be my uncle at the end. I had no idea what was going on - even though Tywin had a reputation of making lesser men wet themselves, it was never through ploys but primarily through his imposing presence and withering gaze.

I arrived at the door at the end of the corridor and creaked it open, seeing my uncle sitting on a comfortable chair, facing to the left, an identical seat opposite with a short table in the middle. "Sit", my uncle said, "We have much to talk about". As I followed his command, I looked up from the seating arrangement, looking out at a mine in operation, carts carrying ore being pulled by ponies and men with pickaxes hacking at the walls. As I sat down, my uncle finished his cup of what I could only assume to be Arbor Gold, before looking straight at me, his piercing eyes causing discomfort that I could only assume was visible. Still with his gaze fixed upon me, he spoke, "Look to your left", I followed his command as he continued, "What do you see?". "I see a mine", I replied. "Yes, I know you're not blind. I also thought you were intelligent, though I may have judged you poorly", the Old Lion responded, his gaze increasing in intensity. Steeling my nerves, I responded, "I can only assume this is a gold mine - after all, Casterly Rock has the largest reserves in Westeros, if not the known world. This is where the true power of House Lannister comes from, the ability to mine the universally agreed means of exchange, filling our coffers and making us the wealthiest house in Westeros. There are mines throughout the Westerlands, though none other than Castamere challenge our dominance, and everyone knows what happened to them." Tywin looked at me inquisitively, before asking, "You used the phrase 'means of exchange' instead of money, or wealth, or anything else. Why?"

Having known that he would answer that question, I quickly responded, "Gold itself has no value other than the fact that we consider it beautiful - it is of no use in armour or weapons nor does it play any crucial role in agriculture or the production of any necessary goods. It serves for nothing other than for decorative purposes - plates and regalia and the like - or as currency. It is simply its rarity, natural purity and strength against decay that makes it a useful currency. If people didn't think that gold has value, we would be as poor as a pauper." Tywin looked almost confused, though he quickly returned to his resting face, one overflowing with seriousness, moral strength and confidence. "I do believe you are right, nephew, though don't tell anyone else what you just said, as you might just lead us into bankruptcy." I noted his use of the word us - I had never seen him have a propensity for considering the family fortune something that belonged to anyone other than himself, even if only in condominium. "All of it might be yours someday, you know?", he said, as I pushed myself into a straighter position, noticeably shocked. "Oh please, it's not as if you haven't heard the whispers." he continued, "Everyone but the Imp thinks I should make you my heir - Jaime is tied to the notion of being a glorified bodyguard, Cersei is the Queen and I would rather see it all destroyed rather than pass Casterly rock off to that halfman and watch him turn it into a whorehouse." Tywin took a deep breath, before continuing, "You're only barely ten name-days old, but you are the best this house has to offer - intelligent, honorable and perhaps better than even my own son was at your age with lance and sword."

I struggled to form coherent sentences, so awestruck was I - but he gave me the mercy of not waiting for an answer. "Go back upstairs", he said. "Speak a word of this to anyone and I swear on the Old Gods and the New that I will make you become a Maester." Tywin threatened as I passed through the door, closing it behind me. In the dimly lit corridor, I slumped to the ground, resting there as I collected my thoughts. Once I deemed myself in a mental state solid enough to pass for normal, I walked down the corridor, opening the door at the end to find the Hound sitting down resting against the wall opposite me. As he got up, he asked, "What did your uncle want to talk to you about?". Knowing better than to ignore his question, I lied "He just wanted to reflect on this past fortnight." I swore I heard the man's eyebrows tighten, but he said nothing, and the Hound walked me back to my family's apartments, saying that I was released from training for today.

That was not what I had been expecting, at all.

{Rewritten}

Click to shrink...

You forgot to threadmark

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

You forgot to threadmark

Click to shrink...

that's a previous version of chapter 4.

 

[iceknight90]

The focus on first person has vastly improved the story.

Again, like some of the others above, I do have concerns about his physical and mental superiority, especially since he doesn't have the Super Soldier serum that LargeFarva gave his Lancel.

Still, this seems entertaining.

I look forward to see where this goes.

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

The focus on first person has vastly improved the story.

Again, like some of the others above, I do have concerns about his physical and mental superiority, especially since he doesn't have the Super Soldier serum that LargeFarva gave his Lancel.

Still, this seems entertaining.

I look forward to see where this goes.

Click to shrink...

The premise is the same - only the character is different. He still got the super soldier serum, it's just that, as a guy from the 17th century, he has no idea it exists, and therefore he doesn't know why he's this strong.

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

First Day of the Third Moon of 293 AC

About six moons had passed since I arrived at Ashemark, and it was nothing like Casterly Rock. I had effectively no time dedicated to my studies, and, outside of what little free time I had, all of my days were spent training with or helping Ser Addam Marbrand with whatever it was that was required of him. The wedding of Ser Addam Marbrand and Cerenna Lannister had happened on 5/9/292 - a relatively austere event, though he had not witnessed any weddings before. The feast that followed it was also nothing too expensive - and he had seen his share of grand feasts back at the Rock. He found the bedding ceremony very similar to what he remembered from Europe, and Cerenna seemed almost infatuated with her new husband, and, so far at least, it has been a happy marriage.

Maester Criston, the one resident at Ashemark, was a very young fellow - no more than ten name-days my elder - and had just earned his chain a few moons ago, Ashemark being his first assignment. I thought that made sense - it wasn't exactly a seat that many Maesters would fight for, and competition would therefore be limited to those either young or with a bad reputation. The Maester was far more open to debate than Volarik had been, and had far more free time - other than sending and receiving letters, maintaining a small library and treating the odd wound or illness, there wasn't much for him to do. That was especially so after the books I had ordered from Casterly Rock started to arrive - they brought a lot of value to the Castle's library, and the Maester was supremely grateful. I quickly found it beneficial to stay in his good graces - he was intelligent, friendly and hadn't yet grown sullen as a result of age, and was therefore a pleasant person to be around, all things constant. I was also one of the very few people who respected his intelligence outside of when he was immediately useful, and as a result ended up quickly gaining the man's trust.

My uncle had given me an allowance far greater than what I could ever hope to expend on myself - even not counting the fact that wards don't receive allowances from home, as their new guardian is expected to take care of all their expenses. I quickly understood that there was yet another reason why I was sent to this little Castle in the middle of nowhere - to be able to experiment outside of the gaze of prying eyes. In the two weeks between the announcement that I would be coming to Ashemark and my departure, I had heard the whispers evaporate, and I could only assume that uncle Tywin thought it enough to allow me a bit of freedom - to allow me to grow into my own man. That time I spent in thought, mulling over the meaning of such a large amount of gold entering into my possession, ended up with a realization that this wasn't a statement that I would not be his heir, just that I needed to prove myself. I quickly understood as well that Ser Addam's queer statement about not spending from my allowance without his permission was less to prevent me from hiring servants to do my duties and more to prevent me from turning into yet another drunken whoremonger like Tyrion - it was evidently clear that uncle Tywin would not support another one of the vile creatures, especially one that was not his son.

I grew a fondness for hunting - unlike the grand, structured and thoroughly boring excursions practiced by the higher nobility, the hunts at Ashemark were far simpler, without large parties and sometimes alone. Ser Addam likes to hunt, and always takes me with him, but there are many times, whenever I am free and not in the mood for a spar of the wits with Maester Criston, when I simply saddle up and jump on my horse, canter out the gates of the castle and ride through the woods, rolling hills and valleys of the Western Mountains, hunting stags and other animals. While most hunts are done on foot, I have to say I have become quite competent at firing a bow on horseback - certainly not as good as the Dothraki or the Mongols of ages past, but competent enough to hit any stationary target, as well as slower beasts, like boars, if they are moving.

I had, over the past moons, grown a small fortune with the allowance provided to me by uncle Tywin. Prohibited from buying most things by Ser Addam, I instead made a few shrewd investments with excellent returns - finding out I had nuncle's mind for money - and my pile of gold grew steadily and exponentially. I was sure, however, that unless I used it to do something useful Tywin would stop giving it to me, and I couldn't allow that to happen. It's simply that I hadn't really had an opportunity - my knight still treats me like a child, which, in all fairness, I am, though that doesn't make it sting any less.

The real reason I am writing today, however, is that Addam has called me to his quarters - something he only does when there is something crucially important to discuss. I passed by Cerenna on the way there - the Maester confirmed that she was with child only a few days prior, and she was glowing - and exchanged pleasantries, before continuing on to meet the knight. I knocked on the door, requesting entry, and he waved me in, before speaking; "Lancel, you have served me loyally and faithfully for the past six moons. I was expecting a brat when I was 'offered' you as a ward during my negotiations to marry my wife, but you have proved yourself to be hard-working, competent and willing to get your hands dirty. You deserve a reward for your efforts, and as there is nothing material that I could give you which you cannot afford on your own, I instead give you freedom. You are hereby released from my service for a fortnight, but I expect you to return by the next half-moon." I had been waiting for an opportunity to go out into the wilderness and test my mettle against the beasts of the land and profusely thanked him, before asking; "Ser, am I still limited in my expenditures?". He smiled, before responding, "Lancel, for the next fortnight, in my eyes, you are a man grown. You may do as you wish. Do remember, however, that you will return at the end of that fortnight, and I will know what you spent that money on." It was a statement that stated in simple terms that he trusted me, though not completely. I was touched, but before I could thank him I was told to begone, as he had business to see to.

I immediately got to preparing my horse and baggage for the voyage to come, grinning from ear to ear. By this time, though I still had not yet had my eleventh name day, I was already the height of many men grown, had an extensive experience in hunting, and, in Ser Addam's words, was the finest fighter he had ever seen at my age - even better than my cousin Jaime. Now, there couldn't be a bigger compliment than that, especially from one of his personal friends. It had come right after an especially embarassing defeat on the sparring grounds against him, though, so it might have just been said to lift my spirits. I went to bed, and before the sun had dawned the following morning I was already out of the gates. There was no way I could have expected what was about to happen, however.

*****************

Thirteenth Day of the Third Moon of 293 AC

My time in the country surrounding Ashemark has been fantastic, almost similar to a dream. There is nothing my freeing, in my opinion, than to ride alone through the countryside upon your trusted steed, to sleep in a tent under the stars and to eat what you hunt yourself. Uncle Tywin had trained me to skin, treat and remove the pelt of animals - it was one of his favourite hobbies - and after eating them and disposing of their bones, I ordered and paid for the creation of a variety of fur products- cloaks, coats and the like - both for myself as well as to gift to Ser Addam, Cerenna and their unborn child. I wasn't an impressive hunter by any means - I had found a man only half a dozen name-days my elder who claimed, and then proved, that he could hit and kill a running deer with one shot from one hundred paces. I was quite the celebrity wherever I went - a clearly highborn boy, travelling through the woods alone, stopping at local markets to sell meat and buy food, as tall as a man but not yet eleven name-days old, was quite the sight - as well as the target for a few criminals, though they quickly learnt to avoid me after I sent a few to the stranger.

Today, however, I knew was different. I had woken up with a queer feeling - something that I had never felt before - almost ordering me to go in a very specific direction. Curious and finding it hard to disobey, I followed the voice deeper and deeper into the western hills, further and further away from the nearest settlements, before I reached the summit of one of the hills and, as I looked over the surrounding countryside, I found something that almost made me fell off my horse - a lion! Even the ones in captivity in the bowels of Casterly Rock had died out, and nobody still alive had ever seen one, but you couldn't mistake it for anything else - Its glorious mane and golden cloak were unique among all other animals. I judged the distance and found out I was too far to shoot accurately, and so decided to move to another hilltop which I felt was close enough. I rode slowly, deliberately and carefully, making sure to not alert the beast to my presence. I arrived at the hilltop, and got a clearer view at the Lion - he was lazily lying down under the shade of a tree, almost asleep - the sun was high and it was hot, and during the middle of the day lions liked to rest in the dark whenever possible. I dismounted, calmed my horse and then took out my bow, notched an arrow and aimed it at the magnificent animal, uttering a prayer under my breath, and let loose. The arrow flew, cutting through the air as it rushed towards its target, and struck true. The lion let out a bellowing roar that made my horse quite nervous, but was dead within seconds - I had struck its heart, even though I was not aiming for it.

I mounted my horse in one swift movement and galloped down the hillside, stopping just a few paces in front of the lion. I dismounted, sword in hand just in case he was still alive, but quickly confirmed that the beast was in fact dead. It seemed like this lion did not have a pride - otherwise the cubs would have been left behind - but I took no chances, and, after removing the beast's claws, hoisted it upon my horse's back, mounted myself and rode out of there, only stopping once I had found an isolated cabin. I was starving and had not hunted anything other than the lion, nor did I have any food, so I wanted to buy some food before going on my journey. I bid my horse to a stop a few paces away from its door, and found it to be far nicer than I had expected. It was not a hovel of any kind, probably just an isolated farmstead, perhaps once property of a priory. The family resident quickly ran out - it consisted of a father, a mother and five children, the eldest perhaps eight name-days old and the youngest still had not been weaned. I announced in a loud, clear voice; "I am Lancel of House Lannister, squire to Ser Addam Marbrand and nephew of Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock." "You are most welcome, m'lord. To what do we owe this honour?" The father of the family, his voice almost trembling, replied. "I have been hunting for the past dozen or so days in the wilderness, but today I have not been able to hunt anything that I can eat, and so I came to ask if you had any food you could sell me", I replied. The eldest of the children grew enough courage to open his mouth, asking; "M'lord, how did you spend a whole day hunting without hunting anything?". His mother quickly swatted him, but I smiled and replied - "Oh, I have hunted an animal, it's just that I can't eat it." The boy's burning curiosity to know what overpowered his fear of his mother - "What did you hunt that cannot be eaten, m'lord?", he inquired.

I jumped off my saddle and removed the lion's carcass from the back of my horse and showed it to them, though even before I had finished the movement their jaws had dropped. They might have heard stories, but as far as they knew lions had been extinct for a long time. The father was the first to come back to his senses, and went for it - "Of course, m'lord, we would be honoured to give you food. I would, however, humbly ask you to eat with us - we are just about to have dinner". The man gulped, not knowing what to expect, as it was understood that noblemen were not supposed to eat at the same table with the smallfolk. I couldn't bring myself to disappoint those little boys, who looked at me as if I was the warrior in human form, and the hunger must have messed with my mind, because I agreed. The food was simple - though I had been eating nothing more than bread and wildgame for over a week, so I was accustomed to it - but very well made. Initially the atmosphere was very tense - nobody wanted to do anything to slight such a powerful man - but as the meal went on they started to relax. They seemed like a happy, well adjusted family, and I found the oldest son, a boy named Gregor, to have a very sharp wit, though he was not very strong. After the meal, they helped me in skinning and preparing the animal's coat to be worn as a cape, and I gave them what remained of the carcass to cook and eat - dozens of pounds of meat which should set them for moons to come. I took a mental note to come back once I had become a man grown and to take Gregor with me - he would be useful. I had to return within one or two days to Ashemark anyway, and my quest for the lion had driven me well off my planned course, so I jumped up on my horse wearing the lion's coat and rode back to the castle. I would have a great story to tell.

 

[Zai9000]

Cerenna, the daughter of Stafford (Joanna's brother) is the one being married, not Lancel. He couldn't be married even if Tywin wanted to do so - he's only ten. There aren't any Marbrands for him to marry anyway, we literally only know of Addam and Damon from the main branch.

Click to shrink...

Also you got something wrong in this chapter Tywin is directly related to the Marbands his mother was from this house.

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

Also you got something wrong in this chapter Tywin is directly related to the Marbands his mother was from this house.

Click to shrink...

Tytos wasn't exactly known for making the most advantageous marriages. The heir to Ashemark has just enough stature to marry the first cousin once removed and goodniece of the Lord Paramount, but it's still a good deal for him.

 

[kaazmiz]

Today, however, I knew was different.

Click to shrink...

The segment that starts here needs to be broken up. Its a massive wall of text otherwise, and can be hard to read.

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

Fifteenth Day of the Third Moon of 293 AC

As I rode through the gates of the castle of Ashemark, on the morning of the fifteenth day of the third moon, I found Ser Addam Marbrand awaiting me. He had heard the stories of a man riding through the countryside wearing the pelt of a lion like Hercules, and quickly understood that it had to be me. Wanting to see for himself, as well as make sure of the veracity of the statements before sending word to Casterly Rock, he was standing at the top of the steps to the keep, looking at me as I entered the castle. I galloped to within half a dozen paces of the stairs, brought my steed to a stop and then dismounted in a single motion. I walked to the bottom of the steps and bowed. "Get up, boy, I'm not knighting you yet.", he said. I followed his order and stared at the knight, before he continued; "I cannot deny, however, that this is mighty impressive. Not only did you spend a fortnight on your own, you did what no man has done in decades and slayed a lion."

I went back to my horse, and retrieved a sack with the clothes I had ordered as gifts, before turning back to the knight. "You are most kind, Ser," I responded, before continuing, "I ordered these clothes, made from the furs of beasts I slayed myself, as gifts for you, your lady wife and your unborn child." Addam seemed visibly touched, took the gift and then ordered me back to my quarters. The first thing I did was take a very long bath - I hadn't had the opportunity for a fortnight, and was deeply in need of one - and then lay down. I hadn't slept on a bed in a fortnight, and I had no idea how much I missed that simple comfort. I quickly drifted to sleep, dozing through dinner and only awakening a few hours before supper, famished and a bit dizzy. I quickly returned to my senses, and looked at my new lion's pelt strewn over a chair, before getting dressed and going to the kitchen, where I ate a truly gigantic meal, and then moved to return to my quarters and get the first good night's sleep I'd had since the new moon. On the way there, however, I passed by Maester Criston, who stopped and said, "Welcome back, Lancel." He smiled, and I responded; "Thank you, Maester. If there's nothing else, I'd hope to be able to return to my quarters." The Maester took a letter from his pocket, and, as I opened it, spoke, "Lord Tywin, your uncle, has declared that a tourney will be held in honour of your slaying of the lion on your name day in five moons. It appears that His Grace the King's interest in meeting the first person to kill a Lion in decades was great enough to allow Her Grace the Queen to convince him to come to Casterly Rock." I was not too surprised with the tourney - nuncle had always been fond of honouring his family members, and through us the name Lannister - but I couldn't believe that the King himself was coming. That shock roused me out of my drowsiness, as did the realisation that I was in no shape to present myself before His Grace, or to impress him. Facing the lion had gained his attention, but it would not be enough to gain his respect.

I immediately raced towards Ser Addam's solar, knocking on the door before being welcomed in. I walked within a few paces of the sitting knight, before asking; "Ser, I have heard of Lord Tywin's tourney on my name-day, and I humbly request to be allowed leave to prepare for it. I wish to participate in it as a mystery knight, and request permission for such as well." My guardian raised his gaze and smiled, before responding; "Now, who am I to refuse the Young Lion? I accept your request, and the focus of your training is going to be to prepare for the joust henceforth. You'll have to use your own wealth." I was over the moon, and profusely thanked him, agreeing to the condition and then being ordered to leave.

*****************

Fifth Day of the Eighth Moon of 293 AC

The past six moons had been very eventful. I trained almost daily with Ser Addam Marbrand in the art of the joust, and proved immediately adept at it. It is said that jousting is three-quarters horsemanship, and I was a prodigy - thirty years of experience will do that to a man. It took a while for me to get used to the heavy armour and lance, as well as the impact, but when that was over I was able to routinely unhorse my guardian in only a few tilts. Eventually, Ser Addam needed to return to his duties, and even though it was incredibly boring to practise jousting, I continued. After having mastered the joust, I saw fit to purchase a new horse purely for the tourney, finding an obscenely expensive, well-bred and hotheaded stallion in his prime. It took weeks before I was able to bend the animal to my will completely, but once I had jousting with Ser Addam stopped being a competition, and he eventually stopped because it became a waste of both of our time. As the days, weeks and moons went by I spent less and less time practising the joust proper and instead focused on honing the individual skills and attributes that play a part in the competition - horsemanship, balance, fitness, etcetera. I also sent for a professional in Lannisport to treat my lion's pelt, aiming to prevent it from rotting or being damaged, to make it more lifelike and to allow me to use it as a cape, like Hercules did with the Nemean Lion's pelt. Ser Addam and Cerenna had their first child, a boy which they named Denys, healthy and strong, but doted on excessively by his mother, and, to some extent, his father.

By the beginning of the seventh moon of the year, I was almost ready to begin jousting. I had hit my growth spurt in stride, having grown four inches in the past few moons, getting ever closer to six feet and well on my way to overtaking even uncle Tywin who was known far and wide for his height. I will never get even remotely close to the mountain, however, who is said to be eight feet tall. I can't even imagine how ginormous such a man must be. Anyway, I had my measurements taken and sent to the finest armorsmith in King's Landing, ordering two suits of armour - one for combat and one for jousting - worthy of the heir to Casterly Rock, which I was not. I continued to train, though only to maintain my skill, until my new suits of armour arrived. They were truly magnificent - though only barely worth the fortune I spent on them - but it took until the new moon for me to completely adjust to the new armour, especially the one for jousting. When the morning of the first day of the eighth moon arrived we - Ser Addam, Cerenna, Denys, the servants and I - left for Casterly Rock. I spoke to no one during the trip, going well ahead of the caravan and mulling over the implications of what I was about to do. I had to do well - if I didn't at least get to the semi-finals, nobody would care who this mystery knight was, and so I needed to excel. I was tall enough to pass for a grown man, so if I didn't, I would probably be considered just another hedge knight. Showing myself would only serve to crush the myth that has been built around me, or at least so I think.

We arrived at Casterly Rock just before nightfall, and, having sent ravens in the morning, my father, mother and two brothers were there to greet me at the entrance. As soon as I dismounted Martyn and Willem ran at me, each hugging a leg - being in the middle of my growth spurt, I towered over the two, and was almost as tall as my father, who was significantly shorter than his brother. I looked at Ser Addam, and he gave me leave to be with my family - I hadn't seen them in a year, and missed them deeply, as did they. Martyn and Willem immediately demanded to see the lion pelt, and I gave it to them as soon as we arrived at our parent's apartments. They played with it for what seemed like hours as I talked with my parents, both extremely proud of their young lion. I went to bed in a room which hadn't changed one bit since I left and quickly dozed to sleep, dreaming of my childhood, which would soon be coming to an end.

I met uncle Tywin the next day - he had his customary stony demeanour but I swore I could see a flicker of pride in his eyes. I walked into his solar, and he motioned for me to sit, before starting; "It seems that His Grace is interested in you and your lion, at least enough to allow Cersei to convince him to come here. You will meet the King after the tournament." I was shocked - why would he not want me to see the King until after the joust? - until the realisation hit me. 'He knows that I want to joust!', I thought to myself, before remembering that this was Tywin Lannister I'm talking about - he knows everything. I tried my best to sound disappointed, though I doubt I concealed my excitement; "I understand, my Lord", I said. He motioned for me to leave, and I went back to my family's apartments. My parents were out, and a servant was keeping Willem and Martyn entertained. I asked her to leave us alone for a little while, and then I crouched, looking each of my brothers in the eye, before speaking in a hushed, faux-secretive tone; "I have a very important job for you two, but you can't tell this to anyone. Can you keep a secret?". Their eyes lit up, and they both said "Yes!" at the same time. I smiled and patted them both on the head, before telling them of my plan. "You've heard of the tournament, right?" - they nodded - "I'm going to join as a mystery knight. I want you two to serve as my squires and help me in the joust. Can you do that?" Eager to impress their older brother, they both nodded emphatically, and I talked them through everything that they would need to do, step by step.

I spent the next few days mostly around my brothers, teaching them what they would need to do, and practising it until they became suitably confident. The day before the tourney - and my name-day - right before nightfall, the King and his entourage arrived, being the last. I had been unseen by the Lords since they started to arrive, and both uncle Tywin and Ser Addam had to give a coordinated bullshit reason why I wasn't able to greet them. My little brothers and I watched as the King arrived, hidden, and I could see the King become visibly disappointed once he realised he would have to wait until the end of the tourney to see the lion-slayer. We slept in the quarters close to the stables in order to be able to get ready where none of the other knights would be able to see me, and I had my little brothers dressed in squire's attire in order to pass unnoticed. I had registered under the moniker 'Knight of the Hills' and I was up first against an irrelevant hedge knight. Martyn and Willem helped me get ready, putting on my armour, polishing my shield, collecting my lances and helping me get on my horse, as the announcer called on my name. Even though the slit was tiny I could see perfectly - it was truly a work of art - and facing me was nothing more than a joke - a stout fellow, barely fitting into his armour, on a poor horse and without a squire. We got to our positions, the horn was blown and we charged at one another. When we made contact, I hit centre mass, my lance shattering into a thousand pieces, while his slid off my shield. He flew backwards off his horse, falling with his back on the ground on the very first tilt. I returned whence I came and waited for my next chance.

My primary competitors were Sers Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy - perhaps the two finest jousters in the Seven Kingdoms. As I looked at the list of competitors and who would joust against whom, it appeared that they were both on the same side, and would meet in the semi-finals. It seemed like nuncle had all but made sure I reached the final. The jousts went as expected - I easily defeated the nobodies that were put against me, if not in one then in two tilts, as did Jaime and Barristan. After I defeated my semi-final competitor, the best of the dregs nuncle had put me up against, I was completely devoted to the match between those two greats. It was really something special - they were perhaps the two greatest living knights in Westeros, and it was always a pleasure to watch whenever they jousted. The first tilt came and went, both knights being thrown backwards until they almost laid horizontally upon their horses, before getting back up, both lances having shattered. The second tilt was much the same, but on the third and last tilt Barristan's horse lost a miniscule amount of balance right before the two knights met, but it was enough - the Lord Commander was lying flat on the ground, Jaime victorious. I would meet the Kingslayer in the final.

I could see Jaime smiling as we readied for our first tilt - the arrogant bastard was completely convinced that he would have no challenge for the victor's purse. The first tilt was nothing to scoff at - Jaime barely made an offensive effort, and I held my ground. On the second tilt, I was almost sent flying, only caught by my stirrups, but my stallion - the Seven bless his soul - came to an almost immediate stop, allowing me to get back up with little issue. I could see Jaime's overconfidence come back, and I readied my lance for what would be the tilt that would make it or break it. As soon as the horn was blown our horses ran at each other and I removed everything but the joust from my mind. I leaned slightly to my right just before impact, adding just that little bit more strength to my hit. I said a silent prayer, and we met in the middle of the field. I heard a collective gasp from the audience, and looked back to find Ser Jaime Lannister lying on the ground. I immediately dismounted and offered him a hand to hold on to - he wouldn't have taken it under any other circumstance, but he was in front of many of the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, and couldn't afford to be seen putting his pride over his honour. As soon as my cousin was on his feet, I looked at uncle Tywin, who seemed to be sporting the faintest smile. As I removed my helmet, Martyn ran in holding my lion pelt, and everything clicked for the audience. I climbed back up onto my horse, laying the pelt on its shoulders, and grabbed the crown of love and beauty. I had thought of giving it to my mother, but decided to instead get on the Queen's good graces, and, after bowing, offered it to her. I had just won my first tourney, at age one-and-ten.

 

[Zai9000]

Tytos wasn't exactly known for making the most advantageous marriages. The heir to Ashemark has just enough stature to marry the first cousin once removed and goodniece of the Lord Paramount, but it's still a good deal for him.

Click to shrink...

Sorry I didn't reply yesterday but i'm pretty sure Tytos and Jeyne got married when his older twin brothers were still alive.

 

[Warmonger DragonJax]

Sorry I didn't reply yesterday but i'm pretty sure Tytos and Jeyne got married when his older twin brothers were still alive.

Click to shrink...

Tytos married Jeyne only after the elder twin had died. It was a double wedding where both the heir and spare got married on the same day as well.

 

[Lord_Scaggydoo]

Ser Barristan quickly moved from the side of the jousting field, grabbing me by the shoulder and telling me; "Come, boy, His Grace is anxious to see you." With a nod of my head, I grabbed my horse by the reins and moved towards the viewing area, and we both bowed in the direction of King Robert. He got up and came down the stairs, where Ser Barristan took his sword out of the scabbard, held it by the blade and offered it to him, pommel first. The King took the sword from the Lord Commander's outstretched hand and turned towards me, grunting "Kneel, Lancel of House Lannister". I followed the order, and he laid his blade on my right pauldron. With a solemn voice, devoid of all humour, he began to speak, "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." The sword moved from my right shoulder and laid on my left. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." The sword steadily moved back to my right. "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent." The left shoulder. "In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women." The right shoulder. "In the name of the Smith, I charge you to maintain your strength." The left. "In the name of the Crone, I charge you to accept wise counsel." When he placed the sword on my right shoulder for the last time, he pressed down heavily on the blade. I bore the weight without complaint. "In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to uphold your honour till the end of your days." He lifted the sword from my shoulder, giving it back, pommel first, to Ser Barristan, and bellowed with a voice that could be heard all the way in Lannisport; "Arise, Lancel Lannister, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms!"

*****************

I found myself in a Lannister tent, Martyn and Willem helping me get out of my armour, both incredibly proud of themselves. I was now Ser Lancel Lannister, the youngest knight in the history of Westeros, having unhorsed the Kingslayer himself at one-and-ten. I allowed my mind to wander as to the implications of this. My victory in the joust, followed by being knighted by the King himself, would certainly change things with regards to the succession to Casterly Rock. I was the first man to slay a lion in decades, the youngest knight in the history of Westeros and had unhorsed Jaime Lannister in my first joust while my only real challenger - my cousin the Imp - was in no way respected either by nuncle or by the Lords of the Westerlands. Being a dwarf did not help his chances, of course, but, at least in my opinion, the primary reason was that he was a drunken whoremonger and a spiteful little creature incapable of putting in any effort on anything. If he ever came to sit on nuncle's throne, his reign would certainly be more disastrous than that of grandfather Tytos, and the memory of Castamere would no longer linger in the collective memory. When they had gotten me out of my armour, we walked back to our apartments, engaging in meaningless small-talk on the way. My parents were extremely proud of me, though I noticed that they - especially my father - started to treat me as an adult instead of a child. It was to be expected, of course, but, having done what no one else in the history of mankind had the opportunity to and relived my childhood, I was saddened that it had come to an end so soon.

I was fully ready well before the feast was due to start, so I decided to pace the gardens of the Rock in order to clear my mind and enjoy some privacy - I love my brothers, but they can be a bit much, especially as there are two of them. However, my alone time was cut short when I saw an elderly woman, already in her sixties, who I quickly determined was Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns and mother of Lord Mace of the Reach. Even though she is a small woman, barely taller than my brothers, and walks with a cane, she emanated an aura of confidence and authority almost as great as that of uncle Tywin. I made sure to slow down to allow her to come to my side, and then spoke; "Lady Olenna, it is a pleasure to meet you." "And why do you think I came to talk to you, boy?" she snapped, and I felt a smile forming at the corner of my mouth - she lived up to her reputation. "I'm sure you know who I am, My Lady", I responded. "Yes, yes, I know your name. Other than that, I know no more than rumours." "Then I'm afraid you might need some better sources, my Lady."

She tugged on my arm, forcing me to stop, before sitting at a nearby bench. Casterly Rock had those everywhere, especially these gardens, built in large part for notables to clear their heads and enjoy the cool winds and soft vegetation. I remained standing, and she responded; "Now, I was surprised to see Tywin sending you to Ashemark. I would have assumed he would keep the heir to Casterly Rock under his fingertips." I almost scoffed at the audacity of the woman - I was third in line as of now, at least officially, and I doubted uncle Tywin would be happy to hear his golden boy so blatantly thrown under the bus. "My Lady, I am not the heir to anything, much less Casterly Rock. I fear you may have me confused with my cousin the Imp." It felt good to spar with her, but the Queen of Thorns was thoroughly unamused. "Yes, yes, we all know that your uncle is leaving his throne to a dwarf. We're alone here, so speak plainly." I wasn't in the mood to continue this for too long, so I relented; "Very well, My Lady. Let's assume that what you are saying is in fact correct, and I am the heir to Casterly Rock, hypothetically, of course. What then?" The Queen of Thorns showed a slight smile and said "What do you think, my boy?".

"House Tyrell is the youngest of the Great Houses." I responded "Your house earned Highgarden because you were the ones who surrendered it to Aegon the Conqueror, not because you had the best claim." I could see her annoyance at this attack on the honour of her house, but continued, "House Hightower is wealthier while House Tarly has the best commander in all the Seven Kingdoms. Your house needs to prove to its bannermen that it is above them, and the way to do that is with a marriage alliance with one of the other Great Houses." "You are a clever boy, I'll say that." she responded, "Why do you spend so much time practising for these… games?" I wrinkled my nose in disapproval at her tone, but then quickly returned to a more stony demeanour, and responded "Tournaments and Jousts are the only way for a young man such as myself to gain respect and notoriety in this world of ours. Your son, Lord Mace, understands as such, it's why Willas and Garlan entered the field at a young age, and, correct me if I'm wrong, Loras will as well." She seemed hurt at my mentioning of her firstborn son and, indirectly, the accident that crippled him. "Very well" she said "Now, even if you are correct, why do you think I would be talking with you?". I waited a few seconds before responding, and ended up saying "The Martells are an impossibility for obvious reasons, the Baratheons still feel slighted at your support, even if only nominal, of the Targaryens during the Rebellion, while the others are either too weak - House Tully - too far away - House Stark - or have no candidates - House Arryn. House Lannister is the only potential candidate, even without considering that we are the wealthiest and most powerful House in Westeros, as well as the one closest and therefore most able to support you in case of a threat to your position as Lords Paramount of the Reach and Wardens of the South."

Lady Olenna smiled and got up, offering her arm. I complied, and as we walked down the paths, chattering along, she said "Now, tell me dear, have you met my granddaughter?"

*****************

{Tyrion I}

To say I was angry at my cousin would be an understatement. I thought him being packed up and sent to the middle of nowhere was going to put him in his place, but apparently the little shit had to go out of his way to humiliate me. He had never liked me - though I was not surprised as only Jaime had ever given even me an ounce of respect since the date of my birth - but I never expected that the son of Kevan Lannister of all people would become a challenger for the position of heir. I always knew I wasn't father's first choice - that had to be the Golden Boy - but I always assumed that, as my father would not remarry, I would be safe in my position as heir. Apparently not.

It was just my luck that he had not only found the first wild lion in generations, but was also able to kill it, Robert was weak enough to allow my dear sister to convince him to come to Casterly Rock, there was a tourney, he was allowed to enter, he got to the final and, by some miracle, won against the best jouster in all the Seven Kingdoms. As I paced from one side of my room to the other, I decided: I would not let my birthright get stolen by anyone, much less fucking Lancel Lannister. I looked at the pitcher of wine and the glass on my desk, and almost instinctively moved to have a drink, before I stopped myself. No matter how much I hated the thought of it, I would need to be sober for this to work. My first task: finding why the hell he was talking with Olenna Tyrell.

 

[Incidiff]

Hello, I just wanted to write to say that your store is good and that you should continue, while improving.​