Tywin returned to Casterly Rock beneath a cloudless sky.
There had been no winter to break, no spring to announce his arrival. The long summer continued as it had for years, and the Westerlands baked beneath a warm sun that turned the roads dusty and filled the slopes below the Rock with green.
That was another thing my old world had failed to prepare me for.
Seasons here did not obey calendars.
A summer could swallow years. A winter could outlive men.
People spoke of the seasons almost the way they spoke of kings—something powerful, unpredictable, and entirely beyond their control.
For now, though, summer held.
And my father had come home.
We knew three days before he arrived.
A raven came first, followed by riders bearing the lion of Lannister. After that, Casterly Rock seemed to rearrange itself around the knowledge that its lord was returning.
Servants scrubbed already-clean floors. Guards appeared in places I had never seen guards before. Lord Damon checked reports twice instead of once.
Even Ser Harys shortened my morning training.
By perhaps five minutes.
Generous man.
I stood in the outer courtyard when the gates opened.
Jaime waited beside me, practically vibrating with excitement. Cersei stood on my other side in a crimson dress she had complained about since breakfast.
The first riders entered.
Lannister guards.
Knights.
Servants.
Then Tywin.
He rode beneath a crimson banner, his expression exactly as I remembered it.
Months in King's Landing had not visibly changed him.
Of course they hadn't.
Tywin Lannister could probably survive a siege without wrinkling his clothes.
He dismounted and immediately began speaking with Lord Damon.
No celebration.
No dramatic homecoming.
Business first.
Always.
Jaime leaned toward me.
"Do you think he missed us?"
Cersei answered before I could.
"No."
Jaime frowned.
"He might have."
"He didn't."
"How do you know?"
"Because he's Father."
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Eventually, Tywin approached.
We straightened almost simultaneously.
His eyes went first to Jaime.
"Your instructors say you have begun sword training."
Jaime's entire face brightened.
"Ser Denys says I'm good."
Tywin looked toward the knight.
Ser Denys hesitated.
"For five, my lord."
Jaime somehow looked even prouder.
"Continue."
One word.
That was enough.
Then Tywin turned to Cersei.
"Septa Amabel has written concerning your behavior."
Cersei's confidence immediately became somewhat less impressive.
"She doesn't like me."
"That is irrelevant."
"She lies."
Behind us, Septa Amabel made a strangled sound.
I looked away.
Tywin did not.
"What has she lied about?"
Cersei paused.
Apparently she hadn't expected to reach this stage of the argument.
"Things."
"What things?"
"Different things."
Jaime snorted.
Cersei elbowed him.
Tywin's eyes finally settled on me.
"Tycen."
"Father."
He studied me for several seconds.
I'd grown since he'd left. Not greatly, but enough that my old tunics had begun feeling tight across the shoulders.
Training had changed me too.
There were calluses on my hands now.
Bruises beneath my sleeves.
A thin healing cut near my thumb.
"You've grown."
"A little."
"Children tend to."
There it was.
Normal Tywin had returned.
His eyes dropped briefly toward my hands.
"Ser Harys speaks highly of your ability."
That surprised me.
"Ser Harys?"
"Yes."
"Are you certain?"
Tywin's expression didn't move.
I decided against continuing.
"He also says you dislike correction."
That sounded more believable.
"I don't dislike correction."
Ser Harys coughed somewhere behind me.
Traitor.
Tywin ignored him.
"My solar. Before supper."
"Yes, Father."
He walked away.
Cersei leaned toward me.
"You're in trouble."
"I don't think so."
"You're always in trouble."
Jaime nodded seriously.
"You ask too many questions."
I stared at him.
"You ate a candle."
"Once."
Apparently he believed sufficient time had passed for that to stop being relevant.
It had not.
Tywin's solar smelled of parchment and wax when I entered later that day.
He had already filled the desk with reports.
My reports.
I recognized Lord Damon's handwriting.
Maester Creylen's.
Ser Denys's.
And, unfortunately, Ser Harys's.
Tywin motioned toward the chair.
"Sit."
I obeyed.
"You ordered compensation for injured miners."
"Lord Damon ordered it."
"At your suggestion."
"Yes."
"Why?"
I'd known this question would come eventually.
"They were injured working for us."
"So?"
Cold.
Simple.
Very Tywin.
I thought before answering.
"If their families starve because they served House Lannister, the other miners will remember."
Something changed in his eyes.
"And?"
"Experienced miners are useful. Keeping them loyal costs less than constantly replacing them."
Tywin leaned back slightly.
"Lord Damon believes compassion influenced your decision."
"It did."
"Compassion is not governance."
"No."
"Then why allow it to influence you?"
I thought about Harrold.
The miner who had died.
A name on parchment.
I had never met him.
But someone had.
He had probably had friends.
Maybe children.
"Because they're people."
Tywin's expression hardened slightly.
I continued.
"But being people doesn't make the numbers disappear."
Silence.
"Helping them costs something. Not helping them costs something too."
Tywin stared at me.
Then, unexpectedly, his eyes moved toward the window.
"Your mother understood that."
My thoughts stopped.
Tywin almost never mentioned Joanna.
"What did she say?"
His face closed immediately.
"Enough."
I wanted to push.
For once, I didn't.
There was something in the way he had looked toward the window.
Grief, perhaps.
Or memory.
With Tywin, the two were probably the same thing.
He picked up another parchment.
"Ser Harys believes your natural ability is exceptional."
I waited.
"He also believes that will become a weakness if you depend upon it."
"He tells me that frequently."
"Then listen."
"I do."
"Listening and obeying are different skills."
Fair.
Tywin placed the parchment down.
"Do you believe you are exceptional?"
Dangerous question.
"I think I'm better than most boys my age."
"Most?"
"I haven't fought all of them."
For half a second, I thought I saw amusement.
"Good."
I hadn't expected that.
Tywin folded his hands.
"Confidence supported by evidence is useful. Confidence without evidence is vanity."
That sounded like something worth remembering.
Then his expression became more serious.
"You will need confidence where we are going."
There it was.
King's Landing.
"We leave in twelve days."
My stomach tightened despite already knowing it was coming.
"How long?"
"Several months."
Longer than I expected.
"Only us?"
"You and I."
Cersei was going to react wonderfully to that.
Tywin continued.
"You will attend court. You will observe when I permit it. You will meet lords whose names Maester Creylen has taught you."
And people whose deaths I remembered.
Aerys.
Rhaegar.
Barristan Selmy.
Gerold Hightower.
Perhaps Steffon Baratheon.
Names from another life.
Soon faces.
"When will I meet the king?"
"When His Grace wishes it."
Something about Tywin's voice changed.
Barely.
But I heard it.
"Does he know I'm coming?"
"Yes."
That surprised me.
"What did he say?"
Tywin's eyes met mine.
"He expressed interest."
A cold feeling settled in my stomach.
Interest.
Aerys Targaryen was interested in meeting Tywin Lannister's eldest son.
Joanna's son.
Fragments of half-remembered lore stirred again.
Aerys and Joanna.
His fascination with her.
Comments.
Rumors.
Nothing clear enough to trust.
"Why?"
Tywin's face became impossible to read.
"I do not know."
That answer frightened me more than almost anything else he could have said.
Tywin hated not knowing.
He leaned forward.
"Remember something when you enter court. Interest from powerful men is not friendship. Praise is not loyalty. A smile is not kindness."
I nodded.
"And never reveal more than necessary."
"About what?"
"Anything."
That lesson I understood.
Tywin dismissed me.
I reached the door before he spoke again.
"Tycen."
I turned.
"You will not correct the king."
I stared at him.
"What makes you think I would?"
"Experience."
"With me?"
"With everyone."
Fair enough.
Cersei discovered the details of the journey before supper.
I had told no one.
Tywin probably hadn't either.
I was beginning to suspect she had established an intelligence network among the servants.
She stormed into my chambers.
"You are leaving for months."
I looked up from my book.
"Good evening."
"Months."
"So I've heard."
"Without me."
There it was.
"Father decided."
"I'll make him change his mind."
That almost made me laugh.
"You should tell me how that goes."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Why do you get to go?"
"Because I'm the heir."
Wrong answer.
Immediately.
Cersei's face tightened.
"So?"
"So Father wants me to learn court."
"I can learn."
"I know."
"You don't think I can."
"I literally just said you can."
"You said it wrong."
I stared at her.
That was impressive even by Cersei standards.
She crossed her arms.
"You get everything."
"No, I don't."
"You get swords."
"So does Jaime."
"You get Ser Harys."
"Believe me, you don't want Ser Harys."
"You get Father's meetings."
"They're mostly about roofs."
"And now King's Landing."
I closed the book.
This wasn't really about King's Landing.
"Come here."
"No."
"Cersei."
"No."
I waited.
Eventually, she came closer anyway.
I looked at her.
"What are you actually angry about?"
"I'm not angry."
That was almost funny.
"You're shouting."
"I'm angry because you're stupid."
"Obviously."
She looked away.
Then, quieter:
"What if you stay there?"
There it was.
Not anger.
Fear.
Joanna had disappeared from her life and never returned.
Tywin disappeared for months at a time.
Now I was leaving too.
"I won't."
"You don't know."
"I do."
"What if Father makes you?"
"I'll come back eventually."
"What if the king makes you stay?"
That was a surprisingly good question.
"I'll still come back."
She stared at me.
"Promise?"
Again.
Always that word.
"I promise."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Then she stepped forward and hugged me.
Quickly.
Hard.
I put an arm around her.
At five years old, Cersei's attachment to me wasn't complicated.
Not yet.
I was simply the person she trusted most.
Perhaps because I listened.
Perhaps because Joanna had asked me to protect her.
Perhaps because I was the older brother who always came back.
Whatever it was, I knew it mattered.
People were shaped.
I had learned that already.
So was she.
The door opened.
Jaime entered.
He stopped.
A grin spread across his face.
"You hugged him."
Cersei immediately jumped away.
"No."
"I saw you."
"You saw wrong."
"I have eyes."
"Bad ones."
I laughed.
Jaime walked farther inside.
"Father says you're meeting Prince Rhaegar."
"Probably."
"I'm going to fight him someday."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
Jaime shrugged.
"He's a prince."
Apparently that explained everything.
"Prince Rhaegar is older than you."
"I'll still win."
Cersei rolled her eyes.
"Tycen would."
Jaime's expression changed.
"I'll be better than Tycen."
"You're not."
"I'm five!"
"So?"
I rubbed my forehead.
This was becoming familiar.
"Can neither of you turn my sword training into a war?"
"No," Cersei said.
"Probably not," Jaime admitted.
At least he was honest.
The twelve days passed quickly.
Maester Creylen replaced much of my normal education with court etiquette.
I hated court etiquette.
"You address the king as Your Grace."
"I know."
"You bow."
"I know."
"You speak when addressed."
"I know."
"You do not interrupt."
"I know."
"You do not correct His Grace."
"What if he's wrong?"
Creylen slowly lowered the parchment in his hands.
"Especially then."
"That seems inefficient."
"Tycen."
"Fine."
He taught me the current Small Council.
The important courtiers.
The Kingsguard.
The noble families most often represented in the capital.
He also taught me something more useful.
Court had its own language.
A compliment could hide an insult.
A gift could create a debt.
An invitation could be a test.
A marriage could be more valuable than a castle.
That interested me far more.
Power at Casterly Rock was easy to see.
Gold.
Land.
Soldiers.
At court, power could be invisible.
Information.
Access.
Reputation.
A whispered word in the right ear.
Another kind of wealth.
Another resource.
I remembered my lesson with Creylen.
Gold.
Food.
Ships.
Men.
Land.
Information.
Time.
The list kept growing.
Maybe power was simply the ability to possess enough of those things that other people had to consider what you wanted.
I stored the thought away.
My final sword lesson before departure was different.
Ser Harys was waiting with another boy when I entered the yard.
Older than me.
Eleven, perhaps.
Tall.
Strong-looking.
"This is Martyn," Harys said.
Martyn nodded.
I looked between them.
"What am I doing?"
"Fighting him."
My pulse quickened.
Finally.
Ser Denys stood nearby.
Jaime and Cersei watched from the edge of the yard.
Of course they did.
"Wood," Harys said. "First clean strike. No face."
Martyn raised his sword.
I did the same.
"Begin."
He approached carefully.
Too carefully.
He was afraid of embarrassing himself against a seven-year-old.
That told me something.
He attacked.
I blocked.
Harder than Jaime.
Much softer than Ser Harys.
He struck again.
I gave ground.
Again.
Another step backward.
His confidence grew.
I could see it.
His shoulders loosened.
His attacks became larger.
He thought he had me.
I let him.
One more step.
He swung toward my shoulder.
Too far.
I moved inside.
My sword struck his ribs.
Crack.
Silence.
Jaime screamed.
"He won!"
Cersei smiled.
Martyn stared at me.
Ser Harys raised a hand.
"Enough."
I lowered my sword.
Harys approached.
"What did you see?"
"He started reaching."
"Why?"
"He thought I was scared."
"Were you?"
"A little."
That earned the smallest smile.
"Good."
I frowned.
"Good?"
"Fear keeps fools alive."
He pointed toward Martyn.
"Again."
The second fight was completely different.
Martyn respected me now.
That made him dangerous.
He stopped overcommitting.
Used his reach.
Forced me to move.
I avoided him for almost a minute.
Then he feinted high and struck my shoulder.
Hard.
"Enough."
Pain ran down my arm.
Martyn smiled.
I smiled back.
One each.
That felt right.
I was talented.
Very talented.
But talent did not erase years of size and training.
Not yet.
Ser Harys took the sword from me.
"When you return, we'll find someone better."
"You could say you're going to miss me."
"I won't."
"Ser Denys?"
"I intend to enjoy the silence."
Terrible people.
Jaime rushed toward Martyn.
"My turn."
"No," Ser Denys said.
"I can beat him."
"No."
"Tycen did."
"Tycen also lost."
Jaime looked toward me as though this were somehow my fault.
Cersei walked directly past him.
She came to me.
"You won."
"Then I lost."
"You won first."
I laughed.
"That's not how it works."
"It is."
Of course it was.
In Cersei's world, apparently my victories counted and my defeats were administrative errors.
I didn't mind.
We left Casterly Rock at sunrise.
The long summer morning was already warm.
The column waited beyond the gates.
Knights.
Men-at-arms.
Servants.
Wagons.
Crimson banners hanging almost still in the weak breeze.
I wore riding clothes and a light cloak.
At my hip hung a sword.
A real one.
Smaller than a knight's longsword, made for my size.
Tywin had given it to me the previous night.
I had barely slept afterward.
Jaime stared at it.
"When you get bigger, I get that one."
"No."
"I'm your brother."
"That doesn't make my things yours."
"It should."
Tyrion stood unsteadily beside Myrla.
I crouched.
"Come here."
He waddled toward me.
I caught him and lifted him.
He immediately grabbed my hair.
"That's mine."
He pulled harder.
"Apparently not."
Myrla rescued me.
I touched Tyrion's head.
"Don't learn too many words before I come back."
He responded with something that sounded suspiciously like an insult.
Good.
He was developing correctly.
Jaime hugged me next.
Fast.
Hard.
Then stepped away before anyone could comment.
"Bring me something."
"What?"
"A sword."
"No."
"Armor."
"No."
"A horse."
"Absolutely not."
He frowned.
"What are you bringing me?"
"I'll find something."
That satisfied him.
Then Cersei.
She hadn't said much.
She pulled a strip of crimson cloth from her sleeve.
Gold thread had been stitched into it.
A lion.
A very questionable lion.
"You made this?"
"Septa Amabel helped."
I suspected Septa Amabel had done most of the work.
Cersei pointed toward my sword.
"Put it there."
I tied the cloth around the scabbard.
She examined it carefully.
"Don't lose it."
"I won't."
"And don't give it away."
"Why would I?"
She shrugged.
"Just don't."
"I won't."
Her eyes met mine.
"You promised."
I knew what she meant.
"I remember."
Tywin called my name.
I mounted.
He was already on his horse.
Naturally.
Everyone else apparently operated several minutes behind Tywin Lannister.
The gates stood open.
Beyond them, the road descended from Casterly Rock and eventually turned east.
Toward the Riverlands.
Toward the Crownlands.
Toward King's Landing.
I looked back.
Jaime waved both arms.
Tyrion was trying to escape Myrla.
Cersei stood still.
Watching me.
I raised a hand.
She finally raised hers.
Then Tywin gave the order.
We moved.
Casterly Rock slowly began to fall behind us.
For seven years, it had been my entire world.
Now that world was opening.
Somewhere ahead sat Aerys Targaryen.
Not yet the monster history remembered.
Prince Rhaegar was still young.
Robert Baratheon had not raised his banners.
Ned Stark had not ridden south.
Jaime had never worn white.
Cersei had never worn a crown.
Tyrion had never been called the Imp.
The great disasters I remembered were still years away.
And summer still covered Westeros.
A long summer.
One that would eventually end.
They always did.
That thought carried a different meaning here.
I looked toward the eastern road.
I had spent years trying to decide whether knowing the future meant I should change it.
Joanna had taught me the cost of doing nothing.
Casterly Rock had taught me that every decision had a price.
Tywin was beginning to teach me how power worked.
And the sword was teaching me something simpler.
Wait.
Watch.
Move when the opening appears.
Perhaps the future was no different.
I wasn't riding east to save Westeros.
I wasn't riding toward a crown.
I was seven years old.
I was going to learn.
To watch.
To understand the people who would one day tear the Seven Kingdoms apart.
And when the time came to choose whether to interfere, I wanted to understand exactly what my choice would cost.
The crimson lion above us stirred in the summer wind.
I faced east.
And rode toward King's Landing.