# The Road to Lannisport, 290 AC
The royal carriage lurched over another rut in the road, and Myrcella let out a small squeak of alarm, clutching her patched doll tighter.
"It's alright, Cella," Hadrian said, reaching over to steady her. "Just a bump."
"I don't like traveling," she mumbled into her doll's fabric head. "It's bumpy and long and boring."
"We've only been on the road for three days," Percy pointed out from his seat by the window. "We have at least another week before we reach Lannisport."
"A whole week?" Myrcella's lower lip trembled. "That's forever!"
"It's seven days," Joffrey said with the kind of condescending patience that made Hadrian want to throw something at him. "Stop being such a baby about it."
"I'm not a baby!"
"You're acting like a baby—"
"Joffrey," Hadrian said quietly, and something in his tone made his younger brother subside into sullen silence.
The carriage fell quiet again, except for the sounds of wheels on packed dirt, horses' hooves, and the distant calls of outriders. Outside, the Westerlands rolled past—golden fields giving way to rocky hills, the landscape growing more prosperous the closer they got to the heart of Lannister power.
Across from them, Septa Mordane sat with baby Tommen on her lap, humming softly to keep him entertained. At nine months old, Tommen was just starting to recognize faces, and he kept reaching his chubby hands toward Myrcella's doll with single-minded determination.
"We're really meeting Grandfather Tywin," Percy said, still staring out the window. "Our actual grandfather. For the first time."
"Mother's met him before," Joffrey said, and there was something in his voice—nervousness mixed with pride. "Loads of times. She says he's the greatest man in Westeros."
"She would say that," Hadrian muttered. "He's her father."
"What's he like?" Myrcella asked, looking between her older brothers with wide green eyes. "Is he nice? Will he like us?"
Hadrian and Percy exchanged glances. They'd heard stories about Tywin Lannister—from servants' gossip, from overheard conversations, from the careful way people spoke his name like it was a curse or a prayer depending on their perspective.
Lord of Casterly Rock. Warden of the West. Hand of the King for over twenty years under the Mad King Aerys, until he resigned in disgust. The man who'd restored House Lannister from the laughingstock his father had made it into something feared and respected across the realm.
The man who'd sacked King's Landing at the end of the rebellion, presenting Robert with the bodies of Rhaegar's children wrapped in Lannister crimson cloaks.
The man who was meeting his grandchildren for the first time—and evaluating them.
"I don't think 'nice' is the word anyone would use to describe Lord Tywin," Percy said carefully.
"But he's our grandfather!" Myrcella protested. "Grandfathers are supposed to be nice! They're supposed to give presents and tell stories and—"
"Tywin Lannister isn't that kind of grandfather," Hadrian interrupted gently. "He's... powerful. Important. He measures people by what they can accomplish, what they're worth to the family."
"What are we worth?" Myrcella asked, with the innocent directness of a five-year-old.
It was a more complicated question than she knew.
Hadrian glanced at Joffrey, who'd gone very still, listening intently. The boy was always alert when discussions of worth and value came up—always measuring himself against some invisible standard he never quite met.
"You're his grandchildren," Hadrian said finally. "You're valuable because you're family. Because you carry Lannister blood."
"And Baratheon blood," Percy added, watching Joffrey's reaction. "We're all both. Lions and stags together."
"Mother says the lion is stronger," Joffrey said quietly. "She says Lannister blood is what makes us special."
"Mother would say that," Hadrian replied neutrally. "But Father would say Baratheon blood is what makes us legitimate heirs to the throne. Both matter."
"Will Grandfather care which one we look like?" Myrcella asked, touching her golden hair. "I look like Mother. Will that make him happy?"
*Yes*, Hadrian thought but didn't say. *He'll look at you and Joffrey and Tommen and see Lannisters. Pure Lannisters. And he'll look at Percy and me and see the King's heirs. Future power. Different kinds of valuable.*
"He'll care about what you can do," Percy said instead. "What you're good at. What you can bring to the family legacy."
"I'm good at singing!" Myrcella announced.
"That's... nice, Cella. But probably not what he means."
"What about me?" Joffrey asked suddenly, his voice tight. "What am I good at? What will Grandfather see when he looks at me?"
The carriage went quiet. Because it was a fair question, and none of them had a good answer.
Joffrey wasn't good at swordwork—weeks of training had proven that. He wasn't patient enough for scholarship. He wasn't kind enough for diplomacy. What he *was* good at was reading people, manipulation, saying what others wanted to hear. But those weren't exactly skills you advertised to your legendary grandfather on first meeting.
"You're his grandson," Hadrian said finally. "His first grandson, actually. Older than Tommen. That matters in families like the Lannisters."
"But I'm not the heir," Joffrey said bitterly. "You are. You're the future king. Percy's the future Lord of Storm's End. I'm just... spare to the spare."
"You could be Lord of Casterly Rock," Percy said suddenly.
Everyone turned to stare at him.
"What?" Myrcella asked.
Percy leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "Think about it. Grandfather has three children—Mother, Uncle Jaime, and Uncle Tyrion. Mother's the Queen, so she can't inherit Casterly Rock. Uncle Jaime is Kingsguard, so he can't inherit either—he swore away all lands and titles. That leaves Uncle Tyrion."
"Who Grandfather hates," Hadrian added, seeing where Percy was going with this.
"Exactly. Uncle Tyrion is a dwarf. Grandfather blames him for Grandmother Joanna's death. He'd do almost anything to avoid making Tyrion his heir." Percy looked at Joffrey directly. "But if there was another option—a golden-haired Lannister grandson, legitimate prince, Mother's oldest son—"
"Grandfather might prefer that," Hadrian finished. "Might want to name you his heir instead of Uncle Tyrion."
Joffrey's eyes had gone wide. "Me? Lord of Casterly Rock?"
"It's possible," Percy said carefully. "We don't know for certain. But it's the kind of thing Grandfather might consider. You're Lannister through and through—you look like them, you think like them. And you're not bound to the throne like we are."
"I'd be Lord of Casterly Rock," Joffrey repeated, like he was testing the words. "Warden of the West. One of the most powerful lords in Westeros."
"Maybe," Hadrian cautioned. "Don't get your hopes up. Grandfather hasn't even met us yet. He might have completely different plans."
But the damage—or benefit—was done. Joffrey sat up straighter, his expression transforming from sullen resentment to something like hope. Like ambition. Like purpose.
"I should make a good impression," he said, more to himself than to them. "Show him I'm worthy. Show him I'm a true Lannister."
"Just be yourself," Percy advised. "Well, your best self. Polite, respectful, clever. Show him you can think strategically."
"Strategic thinking is important to Grandfather," Hadrian added, remembering the stories they'd heard. "He values intelligence and ruthlessness. Not cruelty—ruthlessness. There's a difference."
"What's the difference?" Myrcella asked.
"Cruelty is hurting people because you enjoy it," Hadrian explained. "Ruthlessness is doing what needs to be done, even when it's hard, because it serves a greater purpose. Grandfather is ruthless, not cruel."
"I can be ruthless," Joffrey said, and there was something unsettling in his voice. Not quite understanding the distinction.
Percy and Hadrian exchanged quick glances.
*We might have just made this worse*, Percy's expression said.
*Or given him something to aspire to besides pure spite*, Hadrian's eyes replied.
"The important thing," Hadrian said aloud, "is that we all make good impressions. We're the royal grandchildren. We represent both House Baratheon and House Lannister. Grandfather will be evaluating all of us."
"Will he like you?" Myrcella asked. "You and Percy?"
"Probably," Hadrian admitted. "We're the King's legitimate heirs. That makes us valuable politically. I'll be king someday. Percy will be a great lord. Those are positions of power, and Grandfather respects power."
"But we're Baratheons," Percy added. "Dark hair, Stormlands blood. We're not Lannisters like you three. So he'll see us differently. Valuable, but... separate."
"Like allies instead of family?" Joffrey asked, and there was something calculating in his voice now.
"Maybe. We don't really know how he thinks about these things." Hadrian leaned back. "We'll find out soon enough."
The carriage rolled on, and the conversation shifted to safer topics—the tourney, what competitions there would be, whether Father would joust (he would, of course, drunk or not).
But Hadrian noticed Joffrey had gone quiet, staring out the window with an expression that was part hope, part determination, part something darker. The idea of being Lord of Casterly Rock had taken root in his mind, and Hadrian could practically see him planning, scheming, imagining futures where he wasn't just a spare prince but a great lord in his own right.
*We gave him purpose*, Hadrian thought. *Something to work toward besides just being cruel for its own sake. That's good, right?*
He caught Percy's eye and saw the same uncertainty reflected back.
*Maybe*, Percy's expression said. *Or maybe we just gave him a reason to become exactly what Mother fears—ambitious, ruthless, willing to do anything for power.*
*Too late now*, Hadrian thought. *The seed is planted. We'll see what grows.*
---
# Another Carriage - The Same Road
Cersei Lannister sat in her own carriage with her ladies-in-waiting, but her mind was miles ahead, already in Lannisport, already preparing for her father.
"Your Grace?" Lady Tanda Stokeworth ventured carefully. "Are you quite well? You've been staring at nothing for the past hour."
"I'm fine," Cersei said, her voice clipped. "Just thinking."
About her father. About seeing him for the first time in years. About presenting her children—all five of them—for his inspection and judgment.
Tywin Lannister had not attended her wedding to Robert. Had sent his regrets and a magnificent gift, but had made it clear through his absence what he thought of the match. A Lannister daughter married to a Baratheon king—it should have been triumph. A queen in the family, the most prestigious match in the realm.
And yet her father had stayed away. Because Robert wasn't Rhaegar. Because this marriage was a consolation prize, not a victory. Because Cersei had been meant for the crown prince, and instead she'd gotten the Baratheon usurper.
He'd visited King's Landing only twice in the seven years since. Both times, he'd stayed less than a week. Both times, he'd managed to make Cersei feel like a disappointing child rather than a queen.
But this time would be different. This time she was bringing him grandchildren. Five of them.
Two dark-haired princes—Hadrian and Perseus—who were Robert's sons in every way that mattered. Legitimate heirs. Future king and future great lord. They carried Baratheon blood, yes, but they were brilliant. Capable. Everything her father valued in legacy, even if they weren't golden.
And three golden children—Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen—who were Lannisters down to their bones. Her father would see himself in them. See her mother Joanna. See the legacy he'd built reflected back in perfect golden grandchildren.
*He'll approve of them*, she thought, allowing herself a moment of hope. *He has to. They're perfect. Beautiful. His blood.*
But beneath that hope was fear. Because her father saw everything. Noticed everything. And if he looked too closely at Joffrey, if he started comparing dates and features and asking questions—
No. She wouldn't think about that. Robert's seed was strong, everyone said so. The twins proved it. But Lannister blood was strong too. Her golden children simply took after her side of the family. That's all. That's all anyone needed to know.
"Your Grace," Lady Tanda ventured again. "Lord Tywin sent word about the feast. He wishes to meet the princes privately before the public celebrations. You, the King, and the children. A family dinner."
"Of course he does," Cersei muttered. "He'll want to evaluate them. Measure their worth. Decide which ones are valuable and which are... expendable."
"Your Grace!" Lady Tanda looked scandalized. "Surely he would never—"
"You don't know my father." Cersei's voice was flat. "He values people based on what they can do for House Lannister. Nothing more. Nothing less."
"But they're his grandchildren—"
"Which makes them either assets or liabilities. There's no middle ground with Tywin Lannister." Cersei closed her eyes. "Hadrian will be fine. He's the heir to the throne—Father will see value in that alliance, in having influence over the future king. Perseus too—a great lord, powerful position, useful."
"And your other children?"
"Joffrey..." Cersei's expression softened. "Joffrey is pure Lannister. Golden and beautiful and clever. If Father looks at him and sees potential—sees an heir for Casterly Rock—" She stopped. "That would solve so many problems."
"Prince Joffrey instead of Lord Tyrion?"
"Father despises Tyrion. Blames him for Mother's death. Would do anything to avoid making him heir." Cersei opened her eyes, and they were hard now. "Joffrey could be that alternative. Could be the golden grandson who takes over the Lannister legacy. It would give him purpose, position, power separate from the throne."
"Would the King allow it?"
"Robert barely remembers Joffrey exists. He won't care if Father wants to name him heir to Casterly Rock. One less son to worry about." Her voice dripped bitterness. "Robert only cares about Hadrian and Perseus anyway. His dark-haired heirs. His little Baratheons."
She fell silent, staring out the window at the passing landscape.
Her father was going to evaluate her children. Would see Hadrian and Perseus as valuable political pieces—useful, powerful, but Baratheon. Would see Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen as true Lannisters—his blood, his legacy, his family.
The question was whether he'd see them as assets or liabilities. Whether he'd embrace them or find them wanting.
*Please*, she thought, not quite a prayer. *Please let him love them. Please let him see their worth. Please don't let him see—*
She stopped that thought before it could form fully. Her father couldn't see what wasn't there to see. Her golden children were legitimate. Robert's sons and daughter. There was nothing to discover because there was nothing wrong.
She repeated that to herself like a mantra as the carriage rolled toward Lannisport and the meeting she'd been dreading for seven years.
---
# The King's Carriage - The Same Road
Robert Baratheon sprawled across cushioned seats, a wine skin in one hand, looking more relaxed than he'd been in years.
War agreed with him. The Greyjoy Rebellion had been short, decisive, and personally satisfying. He'd led charges, crushed enemies, won glory. He felt young again. Alive again.
"Your Grace," Jon Arryn said from his seat across the carriage. "We should discuss the meeting with Lord Tywin. He'll want to discuss—"
"Tywin wants to see my sons," Robert interrupted. "Wants to evaluate the heirs. Make sure Hadrian and Perseus are worthy of the throne they'll inherit."
"He is their grandfather—"
"He's the Lord of Casterly Rock evaluating future kings." Robert took a long drink. "Don't pretend this is about family affection, Jon. This is politics. Tywin wants to see if my boys are strong enough, smart enough, capable enough to rule. Wants to know if he can influence them, use them, mold them."
"You think he'll try to manipulate them?"
"I think he'll try to form alliances with them. They're seven years old—impressionable. If Tywin can present himself as the wise grandfather, the mentor, the guide—" Robert shrugged. "—he positions himself perfectly. Influence over the future king is worth more than any amount of gold."
Jon Arryn studied his king carefully. For a drunk, Robert could be surprisingly perceptive about politics when he bothered to pay attention.
"Will you allow it? If Lord Tywin wants to take a more active role in the princes' education?"
"Depends on what he offers." Robert leaned back. "Hadrian and Perseus are good boys. Smart. Too smart, probably. They already make me feel stupid half the time, and they're seven." He smiled slightly. "But they need to understand power. Real power. Not just honor and duty—that's Ned's influence through me. They need to understand how the game is actually played."
"And you think Tywin can teach them that?"
"Tywin Lannister is the most dangerous man in Westeros who isn't actively trying to kill me. He built House Lannister from a joke into a nightmare through pure ruthless brilliance. If he's willing to teach my boys how to think like that—how to be strategic, calculating, effective—" Robert paused. "Then I'm a fool to refuse."
"You'd trust him with your heirs?"
"I'd trust him to do what's best for House Lannister. Which, for once, aligns with what's best for my sons. They're going to rule someday. Better they learn from someone who actually knows how to wield power than from me, still mourning a dead girl and drowning in wine."
The bitterness in Robert's voice was palpable.
Jon Arryn chose his next words carefully. "And your other children? Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen? They're Tywin's grandchildren too."
"They're Lannisters," Robert said flatly. "Golden and beautiful and everything Cersei wanted. Tywin will love them. Probably want to claim Joffrey as his heir, make him Lord of Casterly Rock instead of the Imp."
"Would you allow that?"
"Why wouldn't I? Joffrey's my... third son. This in line for the throne after his brothers. If Tywin wants to make him a great lord instead, give him Casterly Rock and all that gold—" Robert shrugged. "That's better than he'd get from me. I'd probably make him Lord of Dragonstone or some other worthless rock."
"Prince Joffrey might become quite powerful if he inherits the Westerlands."
"Good. Let him be powerful. Let Tywin shape him into whatever he wants. As long as it keeps him away from the throne, I don't care." Robert's voice was cold now. "I've got two good heirs. The rest are spares. Let them find their own paths."
Jon Arryn sat back, troubled. Robert spoke about his children with such casual dismissal—the dark-haired twins with grudging respect, the golden children with outright indifference.
It wasn't healthy. Wasn't fair. But it was Robert.
"You should at least pretend to care," Jon said finally. "When you meet with Tywin. Show some paternal interest in all your children, not just the heirs."
"I'll be appropriately kingly," Robert promised, draining the wine skin. "I'll sit at the table, smile at my father-in-law, and let him evaluate my progeny like prize horses. And when he's done deciding which ones are valuable and which ones are merely decorative, I'll toast to family and go find a brothel."
"Your Grace—"
"Don't lecture me, Jon. Not today." Robert's voice was tired now. "I know I'm a terrible father. I know I'm a disappointing king. I know I'm everything Ned Stark probably thinks I am and worse. But at least my sons—my legitimate sons—are good boys. Smart boys. They'll be better than me."
"They already are," Jon said quietly.
"I know." Robert stared at nothing for a long moment. "I just wish I could care about that the way I should."
The carriage rolled on, carrying a king who'd won a war but lost himself, toward a meeting with a man who'd never lost anything he couldn't afford to sacrifice.
---
# That Evening - The Caravan's Camp
The royal caravan had stopped for the night, setting up an elaborate camp complete with pavilions and cook fires. The children had been released from their carriages and were now under the watchful eyes of guards and septas.
Hadrian and Percy stood at the edge of the camp, looking out at the Westerlands rolling away into darkness. Behind them, they could hear Myrcella singing, Joffrey giving orders to servants who were trying to set up his pavilion, and Tommen's happy gurgling as his wet nurse fed him.
"Tomorrow we reach Lannisport," Percy said quietly. "Tomorrow we meet the Lion of Casterly Rock."
"And get evaluated like breeding stock," Hadrian added. "Measured for worth. Assigned value."
"You heard what Father said to Jon earlier?" Percy asked. "About Tywin wanting to influence us?"
"I heard." Hadrian had excellent hearing—a gift from one life or another, he wasn't sure which. "Father thinks Grandfather will try to position himself as our mentor. Our guide. The wise elder teaching us how real power works."
"Is that bad?"
"I don't know." Hadrian crossed his arms. "On one hand, learning from Tywin Lannister—learning how to think strategically, how to wield power effectively—that could be valuable. Useful for when we're actually ruling."
"On the other hand?"
"On the other hand, Tywin Lannister drowned two entire Houses for defying him. His idea of 'effective leadership' might not align with our idea of 'not being a monster.'" Hadrian looked at his brother. "We'll have to be careful. Take what's useful, leave the rest. Don't let him shape us into something we're not."
"We've handled manipulative mentors before," Percy said grimly. "Dumbledore. Chiron. Even some of the gods. We can handle one mortal grandfather."
"One mortal grandfather who controls a third of the realm's gold and has more political power than anyone except Father." Hadrian smiled slightly. "But yeah. We can handle him."
They fell quiet, watching stars appear one by one.
"Harry?" Percy said, using his old name. "What about Joffrey? We planted the idea of Casterly Rock in his head. Was that smart?"
"I think it gave him ambition beyond just resenting us. That's good." Hadrian paused. "But ambition without guidance becomes dangerous. We need to make sure Grandfather doesn't just encourage Joffrey's worst impulses—his cruelty, his vindictiveness. Those aren't the same as ruthlessness."
"You think Tywin will see the difference?"
"I think Tywin will care about results, not methods. Which could be a problem." Hadrian turned back toward camp. "We need to watch carefully. See how Grandfather interacts with all of us. Make sure he doesn't turn Joffrey into something worse than he already is."
"That's a lot of responsibility."
"We've handled more. We've died for less." Hadrian managed a slight smile. "What's one family dinner with a legendary lord?"
"Famous last words," Percy muttered.
They walked back to camp, where Jaime was waiting for them by their pavilion.
"There you are," he said, looking relieved. "Your mother wants all the children presentable for dinner. Apparently Lord Tywin sent instructions about proper attire for tomorrow's arrival."
"Of course he did," Percy said. "Can't have his grandchildren arriving in wrinkled clothes. What would the lords think?"
"That we're children who've been traveling for days?" Hadrian offered.
"Tywin Lannister's grandchildren don't make excuses," Jaime said, but there was warmth in his voice. "They arrive immaculate, impressive, and impossible to ignore. At least, that's what your mother says he expects."
"Does Grandfather know about us?" Percy asked suddenly. "About how we are?"
"How you are?"
"That we're... advanced. Unusual. That we think like adults trapped in children's bodies." Percy's voice was careful. "Does he know we're strange?"
Jaime was quiet for a moment. "Your mother has written to him. Told him you're brilliant, gifted, remarkable. I don't know if she's mentioned just how remarkable." He paused. "But Tywin Lannister is perceptive. He'll figure it out within the first conversation."
"And then what?" Hadrian asked.
"Then he'll decide if you're assets or threats." Jaime's expression was serious now. "That's how he thinks. Everything is either useful or dangerous. There's no middle ground."
"So we need to be useful."
"You need to be yourselves. But carefully. Show him you're brilliant without threatening his authority. Show him you're capable without making him think you're uncontrollable." Jaime put a hand on each of their shoulders. "You're meeting one of the most powerful men in Westeros tomorrow. A man who's your grandfather by blood but who will evaluate you like potential investments. Be smart. Be strategic. And for the love of the gods, don't give him any reason to see you as problems."
"No pressure," Percy muttered.
"None at all," Jaime agreed with a slight smile. "Now come on. Your mother really does want you presentable. And you know how she gets when she's anxious about her father."
They followed him to their pavilion, where servants had already laid out formal clothing for tomorrow's arrival—black and gold for the princes, crimson and gold for the princesses.
Baratheon and Lannister colors, mixed together.
Like their family.
Like the lies that held everything together.
Tomorrow they'd meet Tywin Lannister. Tomorrow they'd be evaluated, measured, judged.
Tomorrow the real game would begin.
And two boys who'd died twice before prepared to play it better than anyone expected.
—
# Casterly Rock - The Night Before the Royal Arrival
The solar in Casterly Rock was carved from the living stone of the mountain itself, its walls gleaming with veins of gold that caught the firelight. A massive window overlooked Lannisport far below, where preparations for the tourney continued even after dark—torches burning, hammers ringing, the city transforming itself into a stage for royal celebration.
Tywin Lannister stood at that window, hands clasped behind his back, watching his city prepare. Behind him, his siblings had gathered at his summons—Kevan, steady and reliable as always; Tygett, still bitter about being denied his own command; and Genna, sharp-tongued and sharper-minded despite her marriage to that Frey fool.
"The King arrives tomorrow," Tywin said without turning. "With the Queen. And our grandchildren."
"Five of them," Genna said, settling into a chair with the comfortable authority of the only woman in the room. "Quite prolific, our Cersei. Though I hear only two take after their father."
"Genetics are unpredictable," Kevan said carefully. "Cersei was always golden. It's natural her children would favor Lannister coloring."
"Two out of five is hardly 'natural,'" Tygett muttered. "Especially given how strongly Baratheon traits breed. Every bastard Robert's ever sired has black hair and blue eyes. Yet somehow three of his legitimate children are golden?"
"Enough," Tywin said, his voice cutting through the speculation like a blade. "Whatever the truth of their parentage, they are my daughter's children. They are acknowledged by the King. That makes them legitimate in the eyes of the realm, and that is all that matters."
He turned from the window, his green eyes—so like Cersei's, so like all his children's—sweeping across his siblings.
"I did not summon you here to gossip like washerwomen. I summoned you to discuss how we handle the next fortnight. The King is celebrating his victory. We are hosting that celebration. And in the process, we will be meeting and evaluating five royal children who represent either tremendous opportunity or significant complication."
"Tell us about them," Genna said, leaning forward. "Your letters have been sparse. What do we actually know about these grandchildren?"
Tywin moved to his desk, where several letters lay arranged in neat piles—correspondence from Cersei, from various informants in King's Landing, from Lord Arryn himself.
"Hadrian and Perseus Baratheon," he began, picking up the first set of letters. "Twin sons, seven years old. Eldest heirs to the throne. Dark-haired, favoring their father's Baratheon coloring entirely."
"Are they simple boys?" Kevan asked. "Like Robert?"
"No." Tywin's voice was flat. "By all accounts, they are anything but simple. Lord Arryn describes them as the most gifted students he's ever taught. They read at twelve, think at twenty, and fight like trained soldiers despite their age. They offered military strategy during the Small Council meetings that proved instrumental in winning the rebellion."
Tygett's eyebrows rose. "Seven-year-olds gave military advice?"
"Seven-year-olds gave *effective* military advice. Naval chokepoint strategy that Stannis Baratheon implemented with devastating success. Floating siege platforms that allowed bombardment of Pyke from the sea." Tywin set down the letters. "These are not ordinary children."
"Unnatural," Tygett said. "Children that clever—there's something wrong with them."
"There's something *exceptional* about them," Tywin corrected coldly. "Which makes them valuable. Hadrian will be King. Perseus will likely be Lord of Storm's End and Warden of the Stormlands. Both positions of tremendous power. If they are as brilliant as reported, they represent an opportunity."
"What kind of opportunity?" Genna asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
"The kind where a wise grandfather positions himself as mentor and guide to future kings and lords." Tywin's expression was calculating. "Robert is a drunk. He won his throne through violence, not intelligence. He has no idea how to actually rule, how to wield power strategically. His sons, however—if they're as clever as described—they could be taught. Guided. Shown how real power works."
"By you," Kevan said.
"By me." Tywin moved back to the window. "I served as Hand to Aerys for twenty years. I know how kingdoms are actually governed, how the realm functions beneath its kings. If I can position myself as advisor to these boys, if I can shape how they think about power and legacy—"
"Then House Lannister gains influence over the throne for a generation," Genna finished. "Clever, brother. Very clever."
"It's practical," Tywin said. "The boys are Baratheon by blood, yes. But they're also my grandsons. Family. Teaching them benefits both houses."
"And the other three children?" Kevan asked. "Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen?"
Tywin's expression shifted slightly—not quite softening, but losing some of its calculating edge.
"Joffrey is four years old. Golden-haired. By Cersei's account, he's clever but undisciplined. Prone to cruelty, temperamental, difficult." He paused. "But he's also pure Lannister in appearance. And he's male. Old enough to begin training in earnest."
"You're thinking about Casterly Rock," Genna said quietly.
"I'm thinking," Tywin said carefully, "that I have three children. Cersei is Queen—she cannot inherit. Jaime is Kingsguard—he has foresworn all lands and titles. That leaves Tyrion."
The name hung in the air like poison.
"The dwarf killed Joanna," Tygett said flatly. "You can't seriously be considering—"
"I am considering," Tywin interrupted, his voice ice, "that I need an heir for Casterly Rock. That I would prefer that heir to be someone who embodies Lannister values, Lannister appearance, Lannister legacy." He looked at each of them in turn. "Joffrey is my grandson. He carries my blood. If he proves capable—if he can be trained, shaped, made into someone worthy—then perhaps there are alternatives to the unacceptable."
"Robert would never agree to it," Kevan said. "Joffrey is a prince. Third in line for the throne."
"Third in line is functionally irrelevant. And Robert barely acknowledges the boy exists." Tywin's voice was dismissive. "If I were to formally petition to make Joffrey my heir—to train him, prepare him to inherit the Westerlands—Robert would likely agree out of sheer indifference. One less son to worry about."
"You'd make a four-year-old your heir over Tyrion?" Genna's voice was sharp. "That's not just cruel, Tywin. It's foolish. You don't even know if the boy is capable."
"Which is why I need to meet him. Evaluate him. See if there's potential beneath the tantrums and cruelty." Tywin's jaw set. "If Joffrey can be molded into something worthy—a proper Lannister lord—then yes. I would name him heir over Tyrion without hesitation."
"And if he can't be molded?" Kevan asked.
"Then I continue searching for alternatives." Tywin's voice was final. "But I will not—I *will not*—leave Casterly Rock to the creature that killed my wife."
Silence fell across the solar. They all knew Tywin's hatred for Tyrion ran deep, ran irrational. But this was the first time he'd openly discussed circumventing the inheritance entirely.
"What about the girls?" Genna asked, deliberately changing the subject. "Myrcella and—what's the baby's name?"
"Tommen. Nine months old, still in swaddling." Tywin waved a dismissive hand. "Too young to evaluate. Myrcella is five—pretty, golden, reportedly sweet-natured. She'll make an excellent marriage alliance when she's older. Beyond that, she's ornamental."
"Harsh," Genna murmured.
"Accurate," Tywin corrected. "I deal in realities, not sentiment. The girls are valuable as marriage prospects. The boys are valuable as heirs and allies. That's how power works."
He turned back to face them fully, his expression commanding.
"Tomorrow, the royal family arrives. We will be gracious hosts. Respectful. Appropriate." His voice hardened. "But we will also be observant. We will evaluate these children—all of them. We will identify which ones represent opportunities and which ones represent complications. And we will act accordingly."
"What do you want from us?" Kevan asked.
"Watch them. Listen to them. Report back to me." Tywin's eyes were cold now. "I want to know everything. How the twins think, how they interact, whether they can be influenced. How Joffrey behaves when he thinks adults aren't watching. Whether he shows any capacity for discipline or strategic thinking. I want to know their strengths, their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities."
"You're going to manipulate children," Genna said flatly.
"I'm going to position my family for maximum advantage," Tywin corrected. "That's what lords do. What heads of houses do. I've spent forty years rebuilding the Lannister name from joke to juggernaut. I'm not going to waste this opportunity just because some of the players happen to be children."
He moved back to his desk, sitting down with the controlled grace of a man who'd spent decades commanding rooms just by existing in them.
"The tourney lasts a fortnight. That gives us two weeks to evaluate, to plan, to position ourselves. By the time the royal family leaves Lannisport, I want to know exactly how to proceed with each grandchild. Understood?"
"Understood," Kevan said immediately.
Tygett nodded, still looking uncomfortable with the whole enterprise.
Genna studied her brother for a long moment, then sighed. "You really hate Tyrion that much? That you'd pin your hopes on a four-year-old you've never met?"
"I hate," Tywin said precisely, "the idea of everything I've built going to someone unworthy. If Joffrey proves worthy, then my hatred of Tyrion is irrelevant. If he doesn't—" He shrugged. "Then I continue my search."
"And the twins?" Genna pressed. "What if they prove to be everything you hope? What if they're brilliant and strategic and everything a Lannister should be—but they're Baratheons?"
"Then I teach them anyway," Tywin said simply. "Because having influence over brilliant kings is better than having no influence over mediocre ones. I shaped the realm for twenty years as Hand. I can shape it for twenty more as a mentor to the next generation of rulers."
He looked at each of them again, his gaze heavy with expectation and calculation.
"We are Lannisters," he said quietly. "We plan. We position. We *win*. Tomorrow begins a new game. Make sure we play it well."
They filed out, leaving Tywin alone in his solar, staring at the letters from King's Landing, already planning his first moves in a game that involved five children who had no idea they were pieces on his board.
Outside, Lannisport burned with torchlight and celebration.
And in the mountain itself, in the heart of Lannister power, the Lion prepared to meet his grandchildren and decide their worth.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!