CHAPTER XII
A Gulp, a Grin, and Forbidden Fruits
The axe caught him hard in the ribs.
"Oww."
"Don't 'oww' me." Thoren didn't even flinch. "Stand up."
Caspian staggered up, grimacing as he clutched his side. His brigandine creaked, one of the plates straining against a rivet.
"You do realise I haven't exactly slept well, right?"
That was the wrong thing to say.
Thoren's head cocked. "Didn't sleep well, eh?"
There was a pause. Caspian blinked, realized too late what he'd stepped into.
"Oh, no-" he started.
But the old bear was already stepping in, axe swinging low with a thump of boots on stone. Caspian yelped, barely brought his own weapon up in time to catch the edge. The clash echoed through the narrow cliffside hollow.
Thoren barked a laugh. "Didn't sleep well," he repeated, mock-scandalized. "Seven bloody hells, boy- what were you doing? Or should I say, who?"
"It's not what you think," Caspian gritted out, bracing under the next blow.
"Is that right?"
"I was working!"
"Oh aye, working real hard I'll wager-"
"Uncle!- Stone shipments from Gulltown. Twenty crates off manifest. Then the east crane broke down, and the night shift tried to cook the ledgers. I was up all night sorting it… swear it on The Mother's name."
Thoren didn't answer. Just gave him that look… the one that said you think I was born yesterday?- and swung again, faster this time. Caspian parried, grunted, skidded back half a step on the slick stone.
The blow hadn't been meant to land. Not quite. But it was meant to remind him: he wasn't fooling anyone.
"You were flushed and humming when you walked in this morning."
"I was tired."
"Right..." That single syllable could've cut through plate.
They moved again...axe hafts clacking, boots grinding against the wet stone. The floor of the cove wasn't flat; it sloped just slightly toward the cliffside, where light spilled in through a jagged slit in the rock. If you knew where to look from the bay, you'd still miss it. No sailor would guess a training ground was tucked in here...hidden under the cliffs like a secret rotten tooth.
Caspian hated how much he liked the place.
He lunged, went high- Thoren caught the blade on his pauldron and shoved him back with a grunt.
Of course he thinks it's Myriah. Of course.
She was cleverer than him at hiding things. That smile of hers, that calm diplomacy in public...so hard to read if you didn't know her well. But Thoren had noticed. The glances across the feast hall. The way they'd moved during the dances. It was nothing illicit...on paper. Everyone shared dances. That was custom, but she kept coming back to him, and her fingers lingered just a second longer when she left.
He caught another blow. Axe flat, but enough to rattle his teeth.
"That's what happens when you get distracted," Thoren muttered, turning away for a moment to grab a cloth from a nearby rock. "Sloppy."
Caspian grunted, wincing as he felt something shift under his brigandine- seems one of the rivets had finally popped. Typical.
Thoren noticed, but Caspian shook his head before he could speak. "It's nothing."
Then, with a small sigh, he reached into one of his many pockets…empty- deliberately and pulled out an apple.
He bit into it. Crunch.
"You're eating," Thoren said flatly.
"Well, you bruised me," Caspian said, still chewing. "And besides, it's breakfast. Thought this was a civilized spar."
"I bruised your ribs, not your stomach."
Caspian gave him a grin. "Just need a breather. Why would you wound me so, Uncle? I thought this was bonding."
Thoren sat down with a grunt, dropping onto a low stone ledge like a sack of mail. The axe landed beside him with a dull clatter. He pulled his flagon from his belt and took a deep swig...not a sip, not a taste, but a proper chug.
"It is. I bond harder."
Caspian crunched into the apple again and settled beside him.
"If that was your idea of bonding," he said, wiping juice from his lip, "no wonder you're not married."
Thoren turned his head slowly. "Caspian."
"Yes, Uncle?"
"I'm going to shove that apple straight down your throat."
Caspian smirked. "Oh? A treasonous statement, uncle.' He wiggled his eyebrows- singsonged. "What have you to say for your defence o' honorable Ser?"
"Only that my nephew's been mouthing off more and more lately," Thoren grumbled. "And if he doesn't let me sit in peace, he's getting the pincer next time we spar."
Caspian shook his head, amused.
Outside the cave, the sea murmured against the stone. They sat in silence for a moment, the cliffs quiet, the wind off the bay cool on their necks. Far below, the water shimmered with the first silver of sunrise.
Caspian stared at the horizon. "Do you think Father's out there somewhere?"
Thoren didn't answer at first. Just drank. The wind shifted again. He finally spoke, voice lower.
"No, Cas. I mean... I hope he is. I'd like to think wherever he ended up, he's safe. Happy, even. But if we're speaking truth..." He exhaled, rubbed his jaw. "Your father was a reckless bastar- AHEM- He drank too much. Always thought he could fly without wings… Just like you."
The words should've stung, but they didn't. Not quite… for Caspian knew what he meant, what he feared.
Thoren's voice softened. "You're looking more like him these days. Hair, the jaw, the stubborn chin. But the eyes- those are your mother's."
Another pause. The waves crashed once, far below.
"I give you hell," Thoren said quietly. "I know I do. But I see what you're doing… I see what you're becoming. The stonework. The slums. The ledgers. The way you handle those fools at court- You're clever, and stubborn, and gods help me, you might even be good. I just wanted to say…"
He shook his head.
"-Sod it! I'm proud of you. And I think he would've been too."
Caspian looked sideways. Thoren was already back to drinking, staring out at the water with that same tired, half-worn stare he always had after a long day- the flagon tilted again, half-empty now.
"I know, Uncle," Caspian said softly.
Then, nudging him with an elbow: "But I'd rather not have you drunk before the sun's even clear of the water. We don't need two Jaremy's in my ranks, do we?"
Thoren snorted into the metal rim, then swore as wine went down wrong. They both sat there, coughing and laughing under their breath as the sun rose clean over Blackwater Bay.
For a moment, it almost felt like peace.
Tywin ground his teeth more and more these days.
Unseemly, for the heir to Casterly Rock.
A man ought to master his emotions.
Emotions were leaks...cracks in the face. They betrayed your intent before your mouth ever opened. Tywin was no cracked pot. He would not let himself rattle.
His thoughts broke apart like shattered glass as Steffon Baratheon slammed down the cyvasse board with a triumphant shout.
"YESSSSSS!"
Aerys laughed and ruffled his cousin's head. He only could 'cause Steffon was seated and he was standing...having just arrived fresh from his morning drills with the Bold.
He'd beaten Tywin. In cyvasse.
Again.
He had only started learning the game a few weeks ago.
Tywin stared at the board. The black pieces strewn like dead crows. Across from him, Steffon glared upward now at Aerys, swatting half-heartedly at the hand still mussing his hair.
At four-and-ten, he was the youngest of the three friends, but already built like a man grown. Fought like one too.
Tywin had once thought Lord Ormund harsh...until he saw the man train his heir.
He was a slavedriver, plain and simple.
It was like watching Lord Celtigar's stories of eastern atrocities come to life. The way he pushed Steffon… like a beast of burden- hurling knights and squires at him one after another, daring them to keep pace. Most couldn't.
The boy's mace was heavy, and he swung it like he'd been born with it in hand. Even knights… proper Stormlander stock, twice his age- went down hard.
It was enough to shake Aerys and Tywin out of their morning sloth. Cockcrow was no longer a nuisance, no, it was a warning. Steffon would be up, swinging that steel, and they'd be left behind if they didn't move twice as fast.
Even Aerys had started training harder. Something about Steffon's rise lit a fire under his royal arse.
Tywin allowed himself a chuckle.
And then there was Ser Barristan… already proving himself to be a spectacular knight. He had earned twice as many victories since that fateful day, unhorsing the Lord Commander himself all those years ago.
Barely five years older than Tywin, yet already walking a path toward greatness.
It made him feel… behind. Slightly.
Not lacking, no. Just aware.
Even now, Barristan's name rose more often in admiration than Tywin's.
And his position? A meagre lordship in the future as Steffon's vassal, nothing more. And yet Tywin could not deny that Ser Barristan would have made a better match for Genna- A more worthy husband than that weasel Frey.
He would not lie: there were nights he imagined it. Twisting the man's neck in front of every guest who'd raised a goblet at that wretched feast. Letting the wet crunch of cartilage echo over the long tables… letting them all see. Oh, how good it would feel-
No.
Tywin broke himself out of it. That was bloodlust. Undisciplined.
Getting his hands dirty with such things was not the way… not for a man of his stature.
No. He would have his recompense.
Sooner or later.
"How did you even beat Tywin?" Aerys asked, laughing. "I couldn't!"
Steffon shrugged, still flushed with victory. "It's just the way it is, I suppose. Fighting, tactics...it comes naturally."
"Oh, cousin," Aerys said grandly, hand to his heart. "You're too humble."
"Humble?" Steffon snorted. "Take that back!"
"Oh? Commanding your prince now, are you?" Aerys teased, eyes glinting.
Steffon stuck out his tongue.
"Fine. Then I won't make you my Master of War when I'm king."
"And that's how many decades from now?" Steffon shot back. "Bleh."
"Gods, you're still a child," Aerys groaned, flopping dramatically back against his chair, "I should never have let you return to Storm's End. They fed you something down there."
"Ooh," he grinned, "maybe some magic?"
"Shut up."
"Oh, how could I forget?" Aerys leaned in, sly. "How's my goodsister-to-be? What was her name again...Cassana?"
Steffon sat bolt upright. "No! I told you that in secret!"
"The betrothal hasn't been announced yet," he added, glancing around.
Aerys turned with a smirk. "Who else is here but Tywin?"
Tywin looked up at that. Cassana?He hadn't heard that name before. He raised an eyebrow, voice flat.
"Cassana?"
Aerys laughed. "Oh? You haven't told Tywin?"
"It's not like that," Steffon muttered.
Tywin had always known the two were closer...cousins, near brothers- but this he didn't mind hearing. Not now.
"It's no bother," Tywin said, sliding slightly closer. "I understand, Steffon."
He looked at him. "Cassana?"
"Aye," Steffon said, quieter now. "Estermont."
Aerys grinned wickedly. "The stag rutting a turtle...what a match!"
"Aerys!" Steffon's face puffed red.
"Just a jape, just a jape," Aerys said, waving his hands. "No insult meant to your lady's honor."
Steffon let it slide, but the look he gave Aerys said: only just.
"Seems you like her," Tywin said, level.
"No," Steffon said with a dreamy exhale. "I love her."
That silenced both of them for a beat.
"She's fun," Steffon went on. "Not like all those court girls, all poetry and stitching. She rides, laughs, says what she thinks. I think I could get her into hunting too, if I nudge her the right way."
Aerys stifled a laugh, but even Tywin felt something twist in his mouth...a faint smile, maybe. It was funny. Their friend had pined before, but never like this. And never for something not sweet and baked in sugar.
"So," Tywin said, "she was there when you visited?"
"Aye. Her father's kind enough. Her brother challenged me to a spar, I beat him. Think that earned their respect… but the best part was the falconry."
Aerys leaned forward. "What happened?"
"Oh, it was something. The septa nearly fell off her horse...only Ser Eldon's hand kept her upright. She already had a scowl, but that sealed it… set in stone."
He chuckled. "Cass rides too, you know. Has her own falcon...Sharpwind. No match for my Durran, of course. But still. She gets my japes. She's just... great."
"So," Aerys grinned again, "how was the kiss?"
Steffon's face dropped. "That septa," he muttered. "Stone, like I said. She never left Cassana's side. Maybe she saw us laughing too much, I don't know. But she made certain it didn't happen."
Aerys looked outraged. "How dare she-!"
"I get it," Tywin said, cutting in gently. "Still...congratulations are in order."
Steffon blinked. "For?"
Tywin met his eyes. "For being betrothed to someone you actually like. A rare thing for men like us. Lords don't marry for love. But it seems you're fortunate enough to have both."
Steffon looked away, just a little shy. "Not until I come of age."
"What, a year and a half?" Tywin asked. "You lucky ."
"Unlucky," Aerys muttered under his breath. "You haven't even had a kiss yet."
He straightened. "That settles it. You, me, and Tywin... we're going to the Street of Silk."
Steffon looked appalled. "Da would have my hide!"
"Bah, we'll sneak out. I've done it before. We'll be fine," Aerys said, already planning.
Steffon glanced nervously at Tywin. "What do you say?"
Tywin didn't answer.
His face had gone still- not the stillness of thought, but of ice.
Something passed through him. A flicker. A shadow.
A flash of red silk. Laughter through a door left ajar. His mother's necklace glinting where it should not have been. A solar that always reeked of sweetwine and cheap perfume. The gold to vassals that went unpaid… of them laughing behind closed doors-
He said nothing.
But Aerys saw the shift. The way the light caught Tywin's eyes and found no warmth.
"…Fine," Aerys muttered, glancing away. "You're both no fun."
The moment stalled. Only the birds in the garden dared make noise.
Even Steffon had gone quiet, absentmindedly fiddling with the horsepiece on the cyvasse board, knowing… too late- they'd stepped into something best left untouched.
Tywin's face held still, carved and unreadable. His eyes were somewhere else entirely. The silence stretched longer than it should have. And if there was one thing Aerys loathed, it was that kind of silence: awkward, heavy, humming with unsaid things.
So, true to form, it was he who broke it.
"Well, I'm not betrothed to anyone," he said with a dramatic huff. "I'm six-and-ten! Maybe in the olden days they'd have wed me off already. To Rhaella, even. But grandfather would never allow it."
He paused, quieter now. "Still believes all that rot about incest making us mad."
"I don't understand it," he went on. "We're Targaryens. Blood of Old Valyria. Dragonlords-"
"You were-"
"Careful, cousin," Aerys said, voice dipping low.
Steffon kept mum. So did Tywin. That was a topic best left untouched… too close to treason, too easy to ignite Aerys's temper. And none of them wanted to see that.
Aerys exhaled and leaned back. "I understand why you'd say that… but never mind. The marriage between the father and mother caused enough headaches for Grandfather, as it is now. I wouldn't want to add to it… not unless he makes me mad." He chuckled at his own jape.
Then his eyes cut sideways- towards Tywin.
"Maybe Joana, then?"
His grin was sharp. Testing.
Tywin didn't flinch. Aerys knew. He always knew. He liked to prod that sore spot, press the bruise, just enough to watch it change color… but it warmed his heart, in its own strange way, that he respected their friendship enough never to press too far.
Joanna would never-
She loved him. Or had. And even if she would have accepted a match with Aerys... it didn't matter.
There was no betrothal. No claim. Nothing binding. Nothing stopping it.
The lack of reaction on Tywin's face made Aerys let it go.
Steffon, oblivious or pretending to be, perked up. "What about Myriah?"
Aerys blinked. "What are you even saying, Steff- Myriah?"
Steffon grinned. "Why not? She mothers you enough. And she's beautiful."
"Steffon!"
"Aerys!" he mocked.
"She's a widow. Several years my senior. And I don't think the Reach would suffer such a slight- another Dornish marriage, ignoring all the fine maidens the realm has to offer?"
Tywin, ever smooth, offered a dry comment. "Not that it would matter. She seems smitten with someone else."
"Who?" Aerys asked, too fast.
He knew.
"That's just a foul rumor," he said quickly. "Spread by envious lords. Lord Caspian isn't fool enough to go sniffing after a widow. Not when she already has an heir. And the rumors about poison alone-"
He shook his head.
"No. He wouldn't do that."
"Lord Caspian," Steffon teased. "So much respect for your vassal."
"Why not?" Aerys said. "He's a man who's done what his forefathers never could. Pulled himself and his house up from dwindling, with nothing but grit and vision."
Tywin understood. Aerys saw himself in Caspian...that much was clear. He admired ambition in others, especially when it mirrored his own.
He even spoke of it openly. Once, to Myriah herself, he'd rambled on about building a canal through Dorne to bring water and life to the sands. She had nodded politely, clearly trying not to offend him, but Tywin had heard the edge in her silence… the rolling of her eyes.
Still… idealistic or not, maybe even a tad bit foolish- there was something admirable in it.
Then Aerys dropped his voice. "And Father... don't tell anyone, but I overheard him speaking to Uncle Dunk. Grandfather's thinking of betrothing Rhaella to him."
"Caspian?" Tywin asked.
"Aye. Something about 'if he falls in line.'"
"A royal marriage?" Tywin's brows rose.
"It would be the first," Aerys said. "There's never been a Targaryen-Celtigar match. Not in the whole history of the house. Not that I know of."
"They've been with us a long time," Steffon added.
"Since the Conquest," Aerys nodded. "Lord Crispian… Caspian's ancestor- served as Master of Coin for the Conqueror himself."
"Imagine," Steffon muttered. "All those centuries, and not a single royal marriage."
Then he snorted. "Crispian."
"What are you laughing- Ohh," Aerys realised then smirked. "Crispian."
Even Tywin let out a breath of amusement. They all shared a laugh.
"Couldn't take him seriously," Steffon said, "no matter how many miracles he pulled off. Not with a name like Crispian. Sounds like someone drunk tried to say Caspian and got confused with a Crispin."
Tywin smiled faintly.
"It makes sense, though," he said after a pause. "The Celtigars were always useful vassals...council members, coin masters...but never powerful or rich enough to be considered for royal blood."
"Aye," Aerys said. "Claw Isle's never been much. They boast a few relics...rumors of some horn that summons a kraken or leviathan…"
"Or was it both?" Steffon mused.
"Doesn't matter," Tywin replied. "A few treasures were never enough to merit a royal marriage."
"No," Aerys said, slowly. "Not until now."
"Not until now," they echoed.
"A testament to his competence, really," Steffon said. "My father may loathe his methods- 'his craven copper counting ways' but I know he respects him. One lord to another."
"Aye," Aerys said. "Imagine what Claw Isle must look like now."
"Why not just visit?" Steffon asked. "You're the prince."
"But your sister," Tywin added, cool as ever. "What would she think?"
"She should be lucky," Aerys said, with a careless shrug. "Hopefully, some of his virtues rub off on her."
"You're too harsh on her, cousin," Steffon said.
"I'm not," Aerys snapped. "You've seen her. Too much in her own head… that too, high in the clouds with the dreams and the sighs- I ought to tell Grandfather about her obsession with that tourney knight. A few nights in the black cells, and he'd remember his place."
He leaned forward, voice colder now. "Just because he won a few tilts at the joust doesn't mean he-"
Aerys cut himself off, drew a breath.
"I swear," he muttered, "if I see her give him her favor again, I'll cap his knees."
Tywin, for once, seemed to agree. "The man's barely noble. Less than a pebble's toss from a peasant. He has no repute, no command, no name fit for a princess...let alone a place in the royal guard."
Steffon, however, shook his head. "I met the man. Sparred with him, actually. He's good with a blade, I'll grant that. But I don't think he's entertaining any notions about Rhaella. If he was…" Steffon's eyes hardened, "-I'd have bashed his head in."
"But no," he went on, softer now, "it's just those damned fairy tales she's been reading. All the time now… lounging on her cushions, swooning at some knight in a story."
"And the septa?" Aerys asked, disgusted. "What's she doing? Nothing?"
"Clearly nothing," Steffon muttered.
"It'd do for me and her to have a talk," Aerys said, fingers drumming the table with barely restrained ire.
Tywin shook his head. "To forbid her from such things would only make it worse. The more forbidden the fruit, the sweeter the juice."
Aerys narrowed his eyes. "Wait a moment. Tywin… you too?"
"What?" Tywin asked, brows knitting.
"You've been reading those damned books, haven't you?"
"No," Tywin said- just a bit too fast.
"Don't you lie," Steffon grinned. "I heard Rhaella mention it during supper. Said you were arguing with her about the ending of The Knight of Mistwood Vale."
Tywin's jaw tightened.
"Aha!" Aerys pointed. "The Knight of Mistwood Vale! That's the one with the kiss in the rain and the secret vow under the weirwood!"
"Tywin," Steffon said solemnly, "is there something you want to confess?"
Both of them leaned in, wicked grins spreading across their faces, and somehow brave Tywin found himself shifting back… cracks forming in that proud, metaphorical pot he called a face.
The fuck was he even thinking?
The glow in their eyes was enough for it would not be a lie to say the Lion of Lannister…
GULPED.