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Adrian Lannister
The city appeared on the horizon like something from a dream.
Adrian pressed his face against the carriage window, his breath fogging the glass. King's Landing sprawled before them, massive and sprawling, buildings piled on top of buildings, walls within walls, towers reaching toward the sky. It looked like someone had taken twenty castles and mashed them all together into one enormous mess.
"It's huge," Joy whispered beside him. She'd gone very still. "How many people live there?"
"Half a million," Tyrion said from across the carriage. He wasn't reading anymore. He was looking out the window too. "Give or take. Though the septons say it's closer to four hundred thousand. Either way, more people than you've ever seen in your life."
Adrian couldn't look away. The city kept getting bigger the closer they got. He could see the harbor now, full of ships, their masts like a forest of bare trees. And the walls. Seven hells, the walls were enormous. Taller than anything at Casterly Rock, thick as houses, with towers every hundred feet.
"I can see the Red Keep," Joy said, pointing. "It's really red! You were right, Tyrion!"
"I'm always right."
Adrian found it on top of the highest hill. Red stone, dark as blood in the afternoon sun. Even from this distance, he could see the seven massive towers, the curtain walls, the barbican. It looked like something built to keep out armies. Or dragons.
His stomach fluttered with excitement. Jaime was in there somewhere. And Queen Cersei. And Prince Joffrey.
The carriage began to slow.
Adrian sat back, expecting them to stop for another rest. But instead, there was a knock on the door.
The door swung open. Sandor stood there, his scarred face backlit by the sun. "Boy. Your father wants you up front."
Adrian blinked. "What?"
"Now."
Adrian realized. This wasn't a rest stop. This was the entrance. Father wanted him visible. Wanted House Lannister's heir to ride into the capital on horseback, not hidden in a carriage like a merchant's child.
Adrian grabbed Red Rain from where it leaned against the wall, the weight settling against his hip as he buckled the belt. The sword was still too long for him. The tip scraped the floor of the carriage as he stood.
Tyrion watched him with an expression Adrian couldn't quite read. "Remember what Aunt Genna said. Head up. Back straight. You're a Lannister."
"I know."
"And try not to fall off the horse."
Adrian smiled. "I'll try."
He climbed out of the carriage. The sun hit him full in the face, bright and hot. A servant was already there with a grey pony, not Moonbeam but similar enough. Adrian mounted carefully, his left hand still mostly useless, but he'd been practicing at the rest stops. He settled into the saddle and gathered the reins in his right hand.
Red Rain's scabbard scraped against the pony's flank. The pony's ear flicked back but it didn't spook.
"Good," Sandor said. He was mounted on his massive destrier, the horse so tall Adrian's pony looked like a child's toy next to it. "Follow me. And for the love of the Seven, keep that sword from poking the horse."
They rode forward. Past the other carriages, past the wagons of supplies, past the rows of Lannister guards in crimson cloaks. Other riders joined them. Uncle Tygett on a bay courser, grinning like this was the best day of his life. Uncle Kevan on a steady roan, his expression serious and focused. Aunt Genna in a smaller carriage with a window, so she could be seen but didn't have to ride.
And at the very front, on a black destrier that looked like it could kill a man by stepping on him, was Father.
Tywin Lannister sat his horse like he'd been born in the saddle. His crimson cloak fell perfectly down his back. His armor was polished to a mirror shine. Even his horse looked expensive, its tack decorated with golden lions.
Adrian rode up beside him. His pony looked ridiculous next to Father's destrier.
Father glanced down at him. His eyes went to Red Rain on Adrian's hip, and something like approval crossed his face. "Good. You brought the sword."
"Yes, Father."
"Keep your head up. Back straight. You represent House Lannister. Every eye will be on you."
Adrian straightened in the saddle, wincing as his ribs protested. "Yes, Father."
Father looked forward again. "We enter through the Lion Gate. Stay beside me. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not wave at the crowds. Do not smile like a fool. You are the heir to Casterly Rock. Act like it."
"Yes, Father."
The procession began to move again. Adrian kept pace beside Father's horse, his pony's shorter legs working harder to match the destrier's long stride.
They weren't alone on the road. Other groups traveled toward the city. A column of riders in green and white, House Tyrell's colors, with a golden rose on their banners. Further back, more Westerling banners, more Marbrands, more houses of the West coming for the tourney.
The city got closer. Adrian could see individual buildings now. The curve of streets. The massive dome of the Great Sept catching the sun like a second sun. And ahead, the walls, so tall they seemed to lean over the road.
The Lion Gate stood open. Two massive towers flanked it, with a portcullis raised and guards in golden cloaks standing watch. Adrian had never seen a gate so big. Ten men could ride through it side by side and still have room.
A captain of the city watch approached as they drew near. He bowed. "Lord Tywin. Welcome to King's Landing. The King awaits you at the Red Keep."
Father didn't dismount. He gestured, and a servant hurried forward with a purse. Coins clinked as they changed hands. The captain bowed again, deeper this time.
"Pass through, my lord. All of House Lannister is welcome."
The procession moved forward. Adrian's pony stepped through the gate, its hooves clopping on the cobblestones, and suddenly they were inside King's Landing.
The smell hit him first.
It was like someone had taken all the worst smells Adrian had ever encountered, mixed them together, and left them in the sun to rot. Sewage and sweat and rotting fish and something else, something sour and thick that made his throat close up.
Adrian's stomach lurched. He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gag. How did people live in this? How did they breathe?
But they did live in it. Hundreds of them. Thousands. They lined the streets, pressed against buildings, leaning out of windows. Watching.
Adrian kept his head up the way Father said. Kept his back straight. But his eyes moved, taking it all in.
The people were so close. Close enough to touch, if they wanted. Close enough that Adrian could see their faces. Thin faces. Dirty faces. Clothes that looked like they'd never been washed, patched and re-patched until there was more patch than original cloth.
Father had told him once that a Lion of House Lannister always wore the best. Always looked the part. These people wore the worst. They looked like they'd been forgotten.
And they were staring at the procession with expressions Adrian didn't like.
Some looked awed. Some looked curious. But others. Others looked angry. Like they were seeing something they hated. Like they wanted to do something about it.
A man near the front of the crowd spat. The glob of saliva hit the street just in front of Adrian's pony. The man's eyes met Adrian's, and there was nothing but contempt there.
Adrian's hand moved to Red Rain's hilt. His fingers closed around the leather grip. He was safe. Father was here. The whole Lannister family was here. Fifty guards in crimson cloaks surrounded them. He had a Valyrian steel sword.
But the crowd kept staring.
A woman shouted something. Adrian couldn't make out the words, but the tone was clear. More voices joined her. Not cheering. Not welcoming.
Sandor's horse moved closer to Adrian's pony. The Hound leaned down slightly, his voice low. "Don't look at them, boy. Keep your eyes ahead. Look at them and they'll think you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"Then stop gripping that sword. Look ahead. Ignore them."
Adrian forced his hand to relax. Forced his eyes to stay forward, fixed on Father's back. The voices faded into a dull roar behind them.
The street stretched on forever. Buildings pressed close on both sides, three and four stories tall, leaning over the street like they were trying to block out the sun. Laundry hung from windows. Children watched from doorways. The smell got worse, then better, then worse again. Adrian watched as a woman threw out the waste of the house from a window with a bucket, and the filth ran down on someone below. There was shouting and vomiting.
Finally, gradually, things began to change.
The buildings got nicer. The people got cleaner. The smell faded to something almost bearable. Adrian risked a glance to the side and saw a man in a fine doublet, a woman in a silk dress. These people didn't look angry. They looked curious. Interested.
The street widened into a square. The cobblestones here were actually clean. Adrian could breathe without wanting to vomit.
He'd never been so grateful for fresh air in his life.
"Sandor," he said quietly. "Why did those people look at us like that? Like they hated us?"
Sandor was quiet for a moment. Then: "It's not for me to say, boy."
Adrian frowned. He wanted to know the answer; he was no child. Why wasn't he told? He could order Sandor to tell him. He was Lord Adrian Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock. Sandor was his guard. He could give an order, and Sandor would have to obey.
But the thought felt wrong. Adrian didn't want to be that. He didn't want to use his name to force people to do things.
Sandor was his friend. Sort of. In a strange, scarred, terrifying way.
"Don't worry about what you can't change," Sandor said. "Focus on the sights. Plenty to see."
Adrian looked up. For the first time since entering the city.
And Sandor was right. There was plenty to see.
To the east, Rhaenys's Hill rose up, crowned with ruins. The Dragonpit. Adrian had read about it. The great dome where the Targaryens had kept their dragons, before the Dance, before everything went wrong. Now it was just broken stone and empty arches, like the skeleton of something that used to be alive.
He wondered what it had looked like when the dragons were there. If you could hear them roaring from the city below. If people had been scared or proud or both.
Near where they were riding, in the southeast, Visenya's Hill, and on top of it, the Great Sept of Baelor.
Adrian had thought the Sept in Casterly Rock was big. This made it look like a child's toy.
The Sept was massive. Seven crystal towers, one for each of the Seven, reaching into the sky. The great dome in the center was so large Adrian couldn't understand how it stayed up. The whole thing gleamed white and gold in the sun, like something from a story about gods.
"How many people built that?" Adrian asked, not really expecting an answer.
"Thousands," Tyrion's voice came from behind them. He'd ridden up on his pony, which was even smaller than Adrian's. "It took forty-one years. King Baelor started it and died before it was finished. They say he walked the streets barefoot while it was being built, praying for the souls of the workers."
"That's stupid," Adrian said with bitterness. He didn't understand why people gave so much thought to the faith. When Euron captured him and when he was imprisoned, and when the ugly man put his hands on him, the Faith didn't seem to care, the Seven did not stop the Greyjoys from attacking Lannisterport, they did not protect Miraand Mora, Adrian could still remember their faces, and RollanWesterling's father, he too died. Where was the Seven when Mira and More needed protection? Where was the Seven when he needed help from that cell? It wasn't the Seven who helped him that day; it was a fish bone, nothing more.
And ahead, at the end of the street, rising up on Aegon's Hill like a great red wound against the sky, was the Red Keep.
Aegon the Conqueror had built it from the pale red stone of the hills themselves, and the color had only deepened with age, as if the blood of the last centuries had turned the walls red, to remind everyone of the blood spilled in this place.
Seven massive drum towers rose from those walls, each one topped with iron spikes and crenellations sharp enough to impale a man. The Tower of the Hand. The Kitchen Keep. The Traitor's Walk. Between them, Adrian could make out the rookery, the royal sept with its pointed roof, the training yard where knights had learned to kill for nearly three centuries.
Murder holes gaped like dark mouths in the massive gatehouse. Arrow slits lined every surface. The battlements bristled with positions for scorpions and catapults, though the machinery had long since been removed or left to rust.
The Keep had seen Maegor the Cruel torture his own builders to keep its secrets. Had seen the Dance of Dragons tear the realm apart. Had seen Aerys the Mad burn men alive in its throne room. Had seen Robert Baratheon take it by right of conquest and Lannister gold.
And now it would see Adrian Lannister ride through its gates.
His pony kept walking. The procession climbed the hill, the red walls growing larger with every step, until the Keep filled Adrian's entire vision and blocked out the sky. The stone seemed to drink the light, holding onto it, burning with it.
"Cheerful place," Tyrion muttered from somewhere behind him.
Adrian couldn't look away. Jaime was in there. Queen Cersei was in there. The Iron Throne was in there, the throne Aegon the Conqueror had forged from the swords of his defeated enemies, melted by Balerion's black fire into a seat that cut anyone foolish enough to think ruling was easy.
And in a few minutes, Adrian would be in there too.
The gates stood open. Gold Cloaks lined the path, their spears held at attention. A herald stood at the entrance, his voice carrying across the courtyard.
"Lord Tywin Lannister! Warden of the West! Shield of Lannisport! Lord of Casterly Rock!"
Father rode through the gates.
"Ser Kevan Lannister! Castellan of Casterly Rock!"
Uncle Kevan followed.
"Ser Tygett Lannister! Ser Gerion Lannister!"
Adrian's uncles rode through.
"Lord Adrian Lannister! Heir to Casterly Rock!"
Adrian's heart jumped into his throat. He squeezed his legs. The pony walked forward.
Through the gates. Into the shadow of the Red Keep. Into King's Landing.
The courtyard was enormous.
Adrian had thought Casterly Rock's courtyard was big, but this made it look like a practice yard. White stone stretched in every direction, so clean. Servants in Baratheon colors moved between the arriving nobles like a carefully choreographed dance, taking horses, directing wagons, carrying messages.
Adrian stayed close to Father. His pony had been led away by a squire, and now he stood on his own two feet, Red Rain heavy at his hip.
A man approached from the keep's entrance. Old, older than anyone Adrian had ever seen. His hair was white as snow, his face lined with so many wrinkles it looked like someone had drawn a map on it. He wore grey robes, and on his chest there was a pin made of gold, looking like a hand with a circle around it, and a sharp end to stick into a cloth.
The Hand of the King.
Behind him walked two Gold Cloaks, their spears held at rest. And beside them, in white armor that caught the sun like a mirror, walked Jaime.
Adrian's heart jumped. Jaime looked exactly the same as he had at Pyke. Golden hair, easy smile, the white cloak of the Kingsguard flowing behind him. He looked like a hero from one of Tyrion's stories, like someone who could kill a dragon with one hand and save a princess with the other.
Adrian wanted to run to him. Wanted to grin and wave and ask if Jaime had been practicing for the tourney. Wanted to be just Adrian and just Jaime, the way they'd been on the ship.
But he couldn't.
He was Lord Adrian Lannister. Heir to Casterly Rock. Standing in front of the Hand of the King in the courtyard of the Red Keep with half the court watching.
He had to act like it.
So he stayed still. Kept his face calm. Kept his hands at his sides, even though his right hand wanted to wave and his left hand was starting to throb again.
It was annoying. Everything about this was annoying.
The old man stopped a few paces from Father. "Lord Tywin. Welcome to King's Landing. I trust your journey was pleasant."
"Lord Arryn." Father said. "The journey was adequate. We encountered no difficulties."
Jon Arryn. The man who'd helped Robert win the war.
Looking at him now, Adrian thought Tyrion might be right. The man looked tired. The kind of tired that sleep didn't fix. The kind that went bone-deep.
"Excellent." Jon Arryn's eyes moved across the assembled Lannisters. Uncle Kevan. Uncle Tygett. Aunt Genna climbing down from her carriage. Uncle Gerion with Joy on his shoulders. Tyrion on his pony, waiting for someone to help him down.
Then the Hand's eyes found Adrian.
Adrian met the gaze and held it. Never look away first. Never show weakness.
"Lord Adrian." The Hand inclined his head slightly. "I am glad to see you arrived safely. The King speaks of you often."
"Thank you, my lord." Adrian's voice came out steady. Good. "I am honored."
Jon Arryn's eyes dropped to Adrian's hip. To Red Rain. The Valyrian steel blade, its scabbard dark leather and silver fittings, nearly as long as Adrian was tall.
"That is quite the weapon for one so young."
"I earned it, my lord."
"Indeed....The tales of your escape are told in every tavern in the city."
Adrian said nothing. He didn't know what to say to that.
Father spoke instead. "My son defended himself when necessary. As any Lannister would."
"Of course." Jon Arryn turned back to Father. "Chambers have been prepared for your family. The best apartments in Maegor's Holdfast. You will find them suitable, I trust."
"I'm certain we will."
"The King and Queen await you in the throne room. Immediately, if you are able. His Grace is eager to welcome House Lannister formally."
Father's jaw tightened, just slightly. Adrian wondered why. "Of course. We are at His Grace's disposal."
"Excellent." Jon Arryn gestured toward the keep. "If you will follow me."
The procession reformed. Father at the front. Adrian beside him. Uncle Kevan and Uncle Tygett behind. Aunt Genna. Uncle Gerion with Joy now walking beside him instead of riding. And at the back, Tyrion, finally off his pony, walking with a slight roll to his gait.
Jaime fell into step beside Adrian as Jon Arryn led them toward the keep's entrance.
"Little brother." Jaime's voice was warm. He looked down at Adrian and smiled. "You look better than the last time I saw you. How's the hand?"
Adrian's chest loosened at hearing Jaime's voice. "It's healing. Maester Creylen says seven months now, maybe more."
"Seven months is nothing. You'll be swinging steel before you know it." Jaime's eyes flicked to Red Rain at Adrian's hip. "Still carrying that thing everywhere?"
"Father says I should. That people should see it."
"Father's right about that, at least." Jaime's smile turned slightly wicked. "Have you been practicing your forms? Or just letting it drag behind you like a very expensive walking stick?"
Adrian felt his face go hot. "I've been practicing. Uncle Tygett says my footwork is improving."
"Good. When your hand heals, we'll see about that." Jaime glanced ahead at the keep, then back down. "Have you been sleeping well?"
Adrian knew what Jaime was really asking.
"Well enough," Adrian said. It wasn't entirely a lie. Some nights were better than others.
Jaime nodded slowly, like he didn't quite believe it but wasn't going to push. "And the tourney? Have you been thinking about it?"
"You said you'd compete. You said you'd win."
"I did say that, didn't I?" Jaime's grin widened. "Well then. I suppose I'd better not disappoint you."
"Have you been training?"
"Me? Train?" Jaime laughed. "I'm Jaime Lannister. I don't need to train."
Adrian's face must have shown his disappointment because Jaime laughed again and ruffled his hair.
"I'm joking, little brother. Yes, I've been training. Just for you. Can't have you thinking your brother's all talk and no skill."
"I would never think that."
"Good." Jaime's hand rested briefly on Adrian's shoulder. Then he turned his attention ahead. "Tyrion. Is that really you, or did someone teach a wine barrel to walk?"
Tyrion's voice came from behind them, dry as sand. "Jaime. Still wearing that white cloak, I see. How does it feel to be the most celebrated guard in a building full of them?"
"Feels like standing around watching other people make decisions while I look decorative." Jaime slowed his pace until Tyrion caught up. "I heard you held Casterly Rock during the rebellion. Acting Lord Tyrion Lannister. How was it?"
"Surreal." Tyrion's mouth twitched. "I keep waiting to wake up and discover it was all a fever dream. Father trusting me with anything more important than a wine cellar inventory seems impossible."
"And yet he did."
"And yet he did." Tyrion's eyes met Jaime's. "Strange times we live in."
"Strange times," Jaime agreed. Then he looked past Tyrion to the others. "Uncle Kevan. Uncle Tygett. Uncle Gerion."
Kevan inclined his head. "Jaime. You look well."
"I look bored." Jaime's grin turned toward Tygett. "Uncle Tygett. I heard you were training Adrian. How's he doing?"
"Better than you were at his age." Tygett clapped Jaime on the shoulder. "Less cocky, more careful. Might actually keep all his limbs attached."
"I still have all my limbs."
"You're lucky, not skilled."
Jaime laughed and turned to Gerion. "Uncle Gerion. Still causing Father headaches, or have you found new and creative ways to disappoint him?"
"Why limit myself?" Gerion's casual smile was firmly in place. "I've perfected the art of being just useful enough to keep around and just troublesome enough to be interesting."
"Better you than me."
Jaime's eyes dropped to the small figure clutching Gerion's hand. Joy looked up at him with wide eyes, half-hiding behind her father's leg.
"And who's this?" Jaime crouched down slightly, bringing himself closer to her level. "Joy, isn't it? Adrian's told me about you. He says you're quite the artist."
Joy's face lit up. "I drew him seventy-three pictures!"
"Seventy-three? That's impressive. Did he keep them all?"
"He better have." Joy's grip on Gerion's hand loosened slightly. "I worked very hard on them."
"I'm sure you did." Jaime's smile was genuine. "Well, Lady Joy, welcome to King's Landing."
Finally, Jaime's eyes found Genna. "Aunt Genna. You look formidable as always."
"Don't try to charm me, boy. I changed your swaddling clothes." But her mouth softened. "You look thin. Are they feeding you in that tower of yours?"
"Only when I remember to show up for meals."
"Typical." Genna shook her head. "We'll fix that. A few weeks of proper food and you might remember what it's like to be a Lannister instead of a decorative sword rack."
Jaime's laugh followed them as they entered the Red Keep.
The corridors opened before them like a mouth.
Adrian had expected something like Casterly Rock. But this was different.
Everything was red.
Adrian walked through the corridors and felt. Like walking through a place he'd seen in a dream and forgotten until just now.
The corridors were massive. Twice as wide as Casterly Rock's, the ceilings twice as high.
They climbed stairs. Passed guards in Baratheon colors who straightened as the procession went by. Passed servants who pressed themselves against the walls and stared. Passed courtiers in expensive clothes who stopped their conversations and watched the Lannisters walk past.
Adrian kept his head up. Kept his hand away from his sword.
But the feeling persisted. That strange sense of familiarity.
He'd never been to King's Landing before. Never been to the Red Keep. Never walked these halls or climbed these stairs.
But something in him recognized them anyway.
Jaime walked beside him.
"What do you think?" Jaime asked quietly. "Impressive?"
"Yes." Adrian looked up at the vaulted ceiling. "It's. Big."
"That's one word for it." Jaime said with a teasing smile. "You'll get used to it. The Red Keep grows on you."
Tyrion snorted from behind them.
They turned a corner and the corridor opened into a wider passage. Columns lined the walls here. For a moment, there were dragon heads decorating the walls and the floors, but then, they were gone as he blinked. Instead, he saw deer decorating the walls, and paintings of them on the floor.
Adrian's foot hesitated for just a moment.
He knew this hallway.
No. That was impossible. He'd never been here. Never seen these columns or this floor or these carvings.
"Adrian?" Jaime's voice. Concerned. "You all right?"
"Yes." Adrian kept walking. Pushed the feeling down. "I'm fine."
Ahead, Jon Arryn stopped before a set of massive doors. Carved wood, reinforced with iron, with the crowned stag of House Baratheon worked into the metal. Two guards stood at attention on either side.
"The throne room," the Hand said. "I will announce you. Wait for the herald to finish before entering."
Father nodded once.
Jon Arryn pushed through the doors. They swung open silently, well-oiled hinges making no sound. Adrian caught a glimpse of the room beyond. Massive. So big Casterly Rock's great hall could fit inside it three times over.
The doors closed.
Adrian waited. His heart was beating too fast. His ribs ached. His left hand throbbed. Red Rain dragged slightly on the floor, and he shifted it higher on his hip.
That feeling was still there. Stronger now. Like something was pulling at him from the other side of those doors. Like something was waiting.
Jaime's hand settled on his shoulder.
"Just ceremony," Jaime said quietly. "Lots of standing and bowing and formal words. Don't let it rattle you."
Adrian nodded. Tried to swallow the tightness in his throat.
The herald's voice rang out from inside, loud enough to shake the doors. "Lord Tywin Lannister! Warden of the West! Shield of Lannisport! Lord of Casterly Rock!"
The doors began to open.
"Lord Adrian Lannister! Heir to Casterly Rock!"
Adrian's stomach flipped. The feeling in his chest pulled harder.
"Ser Kevan Lannister! Ser Tygett Lannister! Ser Gerion Lannister! Lady Genna Lannister!"
The doors swung wide.
And Adrian walked into the throne room.
He just kept his head up and followed his father into the hall.
If you want to Read 7 More Chapters Right Now. Search 'Drinor Patreon' on Google and click the First Patreon Link