290 AC – The Red Keep Training Yard
Lyonel's POV
I was up before the sun, already dressed in my practice tunic, small wooden sword tucked under my arm. Uncle Jaime met me at the door to my chambers, white cloak draped over his shoulder, golden hair still damp from his own morning wash.
"Early today, nephew," he said, that lazy grin flashing in the torchlight. "Trying to impress me?"
I grinned back "I'm just trying to beat you to the yard. Come on!"
We walked together through the quiet corridors, past snoring guards and flickering sconces, the Keep still wrapped in pre-dawn hush. Jaime moved with that effortless grace of his, every step silent, every motion economical. I tried to copy him, shortening my strides, keeping my shoulders loose. He noticed, of course.
"Copying already?" he teased. "Good. Remeber always watch the feet. You still bounce on your toes like a rabbit."
I stuck my tongue out, but kept the stride.
The training yard was empty when we arrived sand still cool underfoot. Jaime tossed his cloak over the railing and drew a practice blade, spinning it once in his hand.
"Since we were talking about footwork let's start with that first. Show me what you learned from yesterday's drill step, pivot, lunge, retreat. It better be flawless this time."
I took my stance, feet apart and balanced my weight. The wooden sword felt light, I smiled knowing this meant I am getting used to it. The gift i got from the system [Talent: Supreme Martial Instinct] made my lessons much easier. I quickly began to understand how to execute the instuctions uncle Jaime gave me. I could even try to copy others but it still isn't perfect yet. We began: step, pivot, lunge, retreat. Jaime circled me, correcting with a boot or sword tap and a stern word.
"Faster on the retreat. Don't drag the back foot this much you are just inviting your enemy to strike you."
Sweat beaded on my brow despite the chill. My eyes locked on his, mirroring every shift. The blade hummed under my skin, with the [Talent: Unparalleled Swordsmanship] i got I naturally knew when and how to swing the sword. It really was starting to feel like the sword is an extension of my arm. I was getting excited just thinking about days when my swordsmanship improves and it will say Advanced in the system stats, how will it feel then.
A shadow fell across the sand tall, silver-haired, white-armored. Ser Barristan Selmy had finished his own solitary drills at the far end of the yard and was wiping his longsword with a cloth. He paused, steady blue eyes taking in the scene: the Kingslayer and the crown prince, drilling before the sun rose.
"Ser Jaime," Barristan said, his voice calm and formal. "I did not expect to find the prince here at this hour."
Jaime straightened, sheathing his practice blade. "The boy begged me to start training him, Ser Barristan. Practically on his knees, even promised to polished my boots" Jaime smirked and chuckle at the memory "It was a whole performance. I finally gave in though I hadn't the heart to refuse. We've been at it for quite some time already. We have a deal he won't go near steel yet, not until I say otherwise and not before he's a bit older."
Barristan lips lifting and he smiled hearing the story then he's gaze shifted to me for a moment i felt like he wants to pierce me with his gaze. He then sheathed his sword with a soft metallic click.
"If it please my prince," he said, bowing slightly, "I would be excited to have the chance to train the crown prince as well. A boy of six namedays so eager for the blade. Most wait until they can lift a tourney lance without strain."
My heart gave a quick, excited thud. Barristan the Bold, slayer of Maelys the Monstrous, the living legend of the Kingsguard. I looked up at him, trying to keep my voice steady.
"It would be an honor if you joined us, Lord Commander. I know it's way earlier then when I should start my training so that's why i want to say thank you so much Ser Barristan."
Barristan smiled "If the crown prince wishes to learn the sword at six namedays, then it is my duty as a kingsguard to make sure my prince learn it well"
I nodded and after Jaime told Barristan about the training and what I was taught we resumed. Jaime led the drills, but Barristan stepped in with precise corrections.
"Higher guard, my prince. A low blade invites a high cut."
"Weight on the balls of the feet never the heels."
"Breath steady a man who holds his breath tires twice as fast."
I absorbed and corrected every time he gave an instruction. Barristan's eyes now and then flicked to Jaime thoughtful and wary. The quiet judgment for breaking his oath. Barristan is a man of honor and he still didn't forget his oath to the Targaryens something that needs to change. I must make sure to do everything to keep Ser Barristan as Lord Command but i also need to have Jaime tell his best kept secret to him so he will know the truth of that day and why Jaime killed the Mad King.
By the time the sun crested the walls, my arms burned and my legs trembled, but the system chimed silently in my mind.
[Constitution +1]
[Swordsmanship: Basic]
Jaime clapped me on the back. "Good work, lad. Same time tomorrow."
Barristan bowed slightly. "Your Grace shows diligence. The Seven favor those who strive."
I beamed. "Thank you, Ser Jaime, Ser Barristan. I won't let either of you down."
As I left the yard, wiping sweat from my black curls, I felt the web tightening. Jaime and Barristan two of the greatest living swordsmen but there's no trust between them. This needs to change soon
Later That Morning – Maegor's Holdfast
Lyonel's POV
Mother was sitting comfortably in her chair, belly round and heavy she was big now, the moon close, the maesters saying any day now. Joffrey, three namedays and already a whirlwind of golden curls, was on the rug with his wooden soldiers.
"Brother!" he shouted when he saw me, toddling over and throwing himself at my legs.
I knelt, grinning. "What battle are we going into today, Joff?"
"I don't know yet... but I'm the king!" he declared, waving a toy knight. "And you're the general! We fight the bad men!"
I ruffled his hair and joined him on the rug. We marched the soldiers, made up stories of heroic charges and evil defeats. Joffrey laughed when I made the "bad men" flee in dramatic voices, but I watched him closely. Even at three, there was a sharpness to his glee when the toys "died" a little too much delight in the fall. I'd change that. I'd be the brother he needed.
Mother watched from her chair, embroidering a lion on black silk, a soft smile on her lips despite the weight she carried.
"You're good with him, my sweet," she said quietly. "He'll look up to you always."
I looked up, emerald eyes meeting hers. "That's the idea, Mother. We're family and family always stick together."
She reached out, brushing a curl from my forehead. "My wise little lion."
I looked at her smiling "but mama I'm also a stag" I stuck my tongue out and giggled
She would roll her eyes and caress my hair "Of course you are my lion-stag"
We spent the afternoon like that me reading stories to Joffrey until he napped against my shoulder, Mother telling me tales of Casterly Rock, her hand warm on mine. These moments were peace in a court of storms. I cherished them.
290 AC – King's Landing
Tywin's POV
The city always smell the same, it stank of shit and then there were the brothels Robert favorite spot, oh what a great king he is... a whore king.
royal welcome awaited: Robert Baratheon, bloated and red-faced, flanked by Cersei with her belly swollen making it obvious she's heavy with child, kingsguard guarding the great king..
I dismounted smoothly, eyes sweeping the line. Cersei looked well i suppose, though exhaustion shadowed her eyes it spoke of Robert's neglect. Jaime stood golden and on guard, the white cloak a mockery of his broken oaths and honor.. Joffrey, three namedays, golden-haired and petulant. And then—
"Grandfather!"
The shout sliced through the air like an arrow. A small figure broke from the line black curls flying, emerald-green eyes bright with joy and crashed into my legs, arms wrapping around in a fierce, unhesitating hug.
Lyonel.
My mouth twitched unwillingly, uncontrollably. A crack in the stone. The boy was six namedays now, tall for his age, with Cersei's eyes and Robert's unruly hair. He looked up at me, grinning wide.
"Control yourself, grandson," I said, voice low, edged. "A prince does not embrace in public like a smallfolk child. Stand straight."
He looked at me and giggled "I missed you, Grandfather! Tell me about the Rock again? And the lions? And how you made the Rains of Castamere stop singing?"
I knelt stiffly, placing a hand on his shoulder. This one has fire and not the dull haze of his father. "All in good time, grandson. First, greetings."
He nodded seriously but didn't let go until I stood.
Then he turned, spotted Tyrion behind me, and launched himself again.
"Uncle Tyrion!"
Another collision. Tyrion staggered, laughing as he steadied himself.
My face tightened displeasure flickering across it. Lyonel should not be so friendly with him. He's a stain on the Lannister name, yet the boy ran to him without hesitation.
Tyrion's POV
The boy hit me like a charging stag small arms around my waist, face buried in my doublet.
"Uncle Tyrion!"
I chuckled, patting his back. Gods, he was growing already up to my chest at six namedays. Those emerald eyes sparkled up at me, black curls a mess.
"Easy, nephew. You'll knock me over one of these days."
Lyonel pulled back, grinning mischievously. "Look, Uncle soon I'll be taller than you!"
I smirked, tilting my head. "Ah, but height is overrated, my young prince. Giants fall hard, while dwarves learn to stand on their wits. Besides, if you grow any taller, you'll have to bend down to hug me and where's the fun in that?"
Lyonel laughed, bright and genuine. "You're my uncle. Taller or not, I'll always look up to you."
I felt a rare warmth untainted affection from a child who saw me as family, not monster. But before I could reply—
Robert's voice boomed across the courtyard, cold and mean.
Cersei stepped forward, hand resting on her swollen belly, face tight. She reached down, gently but firmly pulling Lyonel back by the shoulders.
"Come, sweetling," she said, voice soft but edged. "Let your uncle breathe."
Lyonel blinked up at her, confused, but obeyed.
Robert's voice boomed across the courtyard, cold and mean.
"So how long are you planning to stay, Lord Tywin?" the king asked, eyes narrow, tone dripping spite.
My father met Robert's gaze level.
"I do not yet know the precise length of my stay, Your Grace," Father replied, voice flat, carrying just enough ice to remind him who he addressed. "But I will remain here for a time. I wish to spend time with my daughter particularly now that she is close to giving birth. It is best I remain until the child comes and leave after. As I wrote in my letter, I intend to take Lyonel with me to Casterly Rock when I depart."
Lyonel's eyes sparked like green fire. "Really? You'll take me to the Rock? Really?"
He turned to Robert and Cersei, beaming. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Cersei managed a weak smile, hand resting on her swollen belly. "We wanted to surprise you, sweetling."
Robert's face darkened. He boomed, loud and harsh, "No, you won't take him anywhere! His place is here!" then he looked at Lyonel "Boy! you don't need to know everything! Go run along before I lose my temper."
Lyonel's smile faltered for half a heartbeat. The brightness in his eyes dimmed, not from the fear, but from caged anger like the first crack in ice underfoot. He didn't argue nor did he cry. He simply looked from his father to his mother, with his gaze steady, then gave the smallest nod.
Without a word he turned and walked away, small boots scuffing softly on the stone. The courtyard felt colder in his wake.
Cersei's hand tightened on her swollen belly, but she said nothing. Robert snorted, already turning back toward the hall, muttering something about "damn Lannisters and their schemes."
The silence that lingered was heavier than any shout.