288 AC – The Red Keep, King's Landing
Lyonel was four years old when the world tilted on its axis.
He woke to sunlight slanting through the nursery shutters and something impossible hanging in the air before his eyes translucent blue text, floating like smoke caught in a beam of light.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED][Welcome, Lyonel Baratheon]
He sat bolt upright, heart slamming against his ribs. He blinked once, twice then rubbed his eyes with his small fists. The words stayed.
"A system," he whispered. "I have a fucking system."
The words tasted absurd coming out of a four-year-old's mouth. Then laughter bubbled up quiet at first, then uncontrollable, shaking his whole body until tears pricked his eyes. In his past life he had devoured web novels, grinded RPGs until dawn, dreamed of isekai cheats. Now one had landed in his lap. In Westeros. In this body.
He focused on the text. It responded instantly, expanding into a clean, glowing panel.
[SYSTEM ONLINE]
Host: Lyonel Baratheon
Age: 4
Bloodline: Baratheon / Lannister
Level: 1
Swordsmanship: - (not yet started)
Archery: - (not yet started)
Magic: Basic (latent)
Strength: 2 (Child)
Agility: 3 (Child)
Constitution: 2 (Child)
Intelligence: 16 (Advanced)
Charisma: 12 (Intermediate)
Skills: None
Experience: 0
Beginner Gift Package (Unopened)
Active Quests:
[Master the Blade] – Begin formal martial training (Not Started)
Tabs hovered at the edges: [Status], [Skills], [Quests], [Inventory] (Empty).
Lyonel spent the next hour experimenting in secret hiding under the covers, whispering commands, watching the interface shift and respond. He figured it later that he doesn't need to whisper to the system, it can read his thoughts and when he thinks of opening tab it automatically does it. Experience came from training, study, completing quests. Levels granted stat points to allocate. It was exactly like the games he had loved… and infinitely more dangerous.
Finally he focused on the gift package.
[Open Beginner Gift Package?]
His pulse thundered in his ears. He hesitated only a second.
[Yes]
Golden light flared behind his eyes warm, electric, pouring through every nerve. The system chimed once, softly.
[Beginner Gift Package Opened]
[Talent: Unparalleled Swordsmanship] – Innate genius with the blade. Coordination, muscle memory, spatial awareness, and edge control far beyond mortal limits. Progression speed tripled. Potential ceiling unknown.
[Talent: Supreme Martial Instinct] – Body reads combat like a living map. Reflexes, timing, feints, counters, and adaptation at a level unseen in the known world.
[Clue Fragment: The Black Scale] – A lost dragon egg of ancient lineage lies hidden. "Where shadow meets fire and stone drinks the sea." (Further clues unlocked through quests.) [Bonus: +2 All Physical Stats (Child Baseline Adjusted)]
Lyonel stared at the new lines under his stats.
Strength: 4 (Child+) Agility: 5 (Child+) Constitution: 4 (Child+)
His hands trembled. He flexed his fingers already the movements felt smoother, more precise, like his body had been recalibrated overnight. The swordsmanship talent wasn't just "good." It was monstrous. If he trained properly, he could move like a storm given form fluid, blinding, untouchable.
And the egg clue.. . *If I could get more clues and find that egg I can hatch my own dragon* Lyonel started to chuckle like a madman thinking of him riding his own dragon.
He closed the interface with a thought. The text vanished.
He lay back, staring at the canopy above his bed, breathing slowly.
This changes everything.
289 AC – The Red Keep Training Yard
Lyonel was five when he decided he couldn't wait any longer.
He stood at the railing of the training yard, gripping the wood so hard his knuckles went white, watching Jaime dismantle three sparring partners with that effortless, flowing style that made every other knight look like they were swinging tree branches. When the session ended, Jaime sent the others off with a lazy wave, wiped sweat from his face, and finally noticed the small figure staring at him like he was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
"Lyonel." Jaime sounded surprised but pleased. He walked over, white cloak swirling, and leaned one elbow on the railing. "Sneaking out of lessons again? Your mother will have my head if she finds out."
Lyonel swallowed hard, then blurted it out in one big rush.
"UncleJaimepleaseteachmehowtofightIreallyreallywanttolearnandIpromisewon'tbeabadstudentandI'llpracticeeverydayandIwon'tcomplainandpleasepleaseplease"
He ran out of air, cheeks flaming red, eyes huge and shining with desperate hope. Then, because apparently that wasn't embarrassing enough, he clasped his hands together in front of his chest like he was praying to the knight and actually bounced once on his toes.
"Pleaseee pretty please? I'll eat my vegetables for a whole month. Two months! I'll even stop hiding Joffrey's favorite toy under my bed!"
Jaime blinked. Once. Twice.
Then he burst out with genuine laughter , startled amusement that made his shoulders shake.
"Gods be good," he wheezed, running a hand through damp golden hair. "My dear nephew now take a deep breath and say that again slowly because i did not understand anything you said" He continued to laugh even more
Lyonel's face went from red to beet-red, but he didn't back down. He stuck his chin out, small fists clenched at his sides.
"I said," he said, voice cracking a little. "Uncle Jaime can you teach me how to fight pleasee i promise i won't complain and follow everything you tell me to, pleasee uncle I don't want to wait two more years. I want to start now. With you. Because… because you're my uncle and you're really good... no not really good the best! I know that with your lessons i could become really good too."
He took one shaky step closer, looking up with those big green eyes that were suddenly glistening dangerously close to tears the kind of tears that only come from a child who's terrified of being told no.
"Please, Uncle Jaime. I'll do anything. I'll clean your armor. I'll polish your boots. I'll even stop sneaking sweets from the kitchens if you say yes. Just… please teach me?"
Jaime's laughter faded. He stared down at the boy five years old, black curls messy from running here, cheeks flushed, hands still clasped like he was begging the gods themselves.
Something soft and unguarded flickered across Jaime's face. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost… helpless.
"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" he muttered. Then, quieter: "Seven hells. How am I supposed to say no to that face?"
Lyonel's eyes went impossibly wider. "Does that mean ?"
Jaime sighed dramatically, but the corners of his mouth were twitching upward.
"Wooden swords only. Footwork and balance first. We also will be training without sword so you won't be defenceless if you forget your weapon. No real blades until you're older much older. And if you ever slack off or whine, I stop. No second chances."
Lyonel let out a squeak that was halfway between a cheer and a sob of relief. He threw his arms around Jaime's leg in a clumsy hug, pressing his face against the white cloak.
"ThankyouthankyouthankyouUncleJaimeyou'rethebest!"
Jaime froze for half a second clearly not expecting the sudden tackle-hug then let out a soft, startled chuckle. One hand came down hesitantly and ruffled Lyonel's curls.
"Easy, little stag. You're going to strangle me before we even start."
He gently pried the boy off his leg and knelt down so they were eye-to-eye.
"You really want this?" Jaime asked, voice low now, serious. "It's not going to be fun every day. It'll hurt, you'll get bruises and you'll get frustrated so are you sure?"
Lyonel nodded so fast his curls bounced.
"I'm sure. I want to be strong and know how to defend myself. Like you."
Jaime looked at him for a long moment really looked and something in his expression softened completely.
"All right," he said quietly. "We start tomorrow at dawn. Don't be late."
Lyonel beamed so wide it looked painful.
"I won't! I promise!"
Jaime stood, offering his hand to help Lyonel up over the railing.
"Come on then. Let's at least see if you can hold a practice sword without dropping it on your foot."
As they walked toward the rack, Jaime muttered under his breath,
"You know your mother is going to murder me."
Lyonel grinned up at him.
"Don't worry I'll protect you."
Jaime snorted. "Gods help us both."
He handed Lyonel the smallest wooden sword. The boy took it with both hands, eyes shining like he'd been given Valyrian steel.
"First lesson," Jaime said, moving behind him to fix his grip. "A sword isn't a toy, it's part of you. Feel the balance, don't fight it."
Lyonel nodded, tiny face scrunched in concentration.
Jaime's voice dropped softer.
"Good. Now hold it steady. Count to ten for me."
As the sun climbed higher and their shadows stretched across the sand, uncle and nephew began.
And if Jaime's throat felt a little tight, if he had to blink once or twice when Lyonel looked up at him with pure, uncomplicated trust well, no one else was there to see it.
For now, it was enough.