291 AC – The Kingsroad
The road back to King's Landing was uneventful.
The royal party moved at a leisurely pace. Camp was made each night in fields or clearings beside the road. Fires burned low, men laughed, drank and sang.
Lyonel slept in his tent. The sounds of the camp distant laughter, the snort of horses, the crackle of dying fires faded as he drifted into sleep.
And then the dream came.
He was small again smaller than he was now. A very thin, dark-haired boy in a grey, rain-stained orphanage. They had given him a name Michael because every child needed something to write on the forms, something to call out when it was time for supper or prayers. But no one ever said it with warmth. It was always a name barked by nuns when they were impatient.
He had no mother's lullaby or father's rough hand on his shoulder. Just the echo of his own name in empty hallways, feeling less like a person and more like a placeholder.
Then there were the foster parents and they were even worse...
They came when he was twelve. A quiet man with neat hair and a neat shirt, a woman with soft brown curls and a polite smile. They looked like any other couple you might pass on the street normal, respectable, ordinary. They signed papers in the office and took him home.
At first it was small things shouts, slaps, nights without supper.
Then it became worse.
Hands that left bruises, words that cut deeper than any knife and his doors locked keeping him trapped inside.
The only light was the small screen in the corner of the living room and playing on it was Game of Thrones. He would sit on the threadbare carpet, knees drawn up, and disappear into it for hours.
Then finally before his fourteen birthday it all became too much and he decided to ran away.
The streets were very scary at night and hunger always clawed at his stomach. He was sleeping in doorways, under bridges or in abandoned lots. Eating scraps from bins when he could find them or stealing bread once and nearly getting caught.
Then one freezing and raining night he curled up behind a dumpster in an alley that smelled of piss and rotting food. He was just trying to fall asleep when rough hands grabbed him from behind.
A palm clamped over his mouth and a knife stabbed him.
Once. Twice. Three times.
All he felt was pain.
The hands rifled through his pockets, took the few coins he had, his thin jacket, even his shoes.
Then he head footsteps running away.
Blood pooling beneath him and darkness rising.
He woke gasping, drenched in sweat, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
The tent was dark. The camp outside was quiet now only the occasional snort of a horse, the crackle of a dying fire.
Lyonel pushed the blanket aside and stumbled out into the cool night air.
Across the clearing, near one of the larger fires, his father sat on a log surrounded by soldiers. Robert was laughing loud, booming, the sound carrying across the camp. A flagon in one hand, the other slapping a man's back. The firelight made his freshly shaved face look younger.
Robert's eyes found him.
The laughter died.
"Son?" Robert called, voice filled with concern. "Come here."
Lyonel walked over on unsteady legs.
Robert looked him up and down, saw the sweat on his face and the trembling hands.
"Why do you look like that?" Robert asked, setting the flagon down.
Lyonel swallowed. "Just a nightmare, Father."
Robert's face changed as he reached out and pulled Lyonel into a hug, one big arm around his shoulders, the other hand ruffling his hair.
"You're safe son." Robert muttered against his hair.
Lyonel leaned into the embrace.
They stayed like that for a long minute.
Then Robert pulled back, keeping both hands on Lyonel's shoulders.
"Come sit," he said. "No more nightmares tonight, you're staying with me."
Lyonel sat beside him on the log. The soldiers walked away leaving King and his heir alone with only the Kingsguard watching over them. Robert draped his cloak over Lyonel's shoulders it was too big for Lyonel but very warm.
They stayed by the fire until the embers died low, talking quietly. Lyonel listened, letting the sound of his father's voice chase the shadows away.
King's Landing – The Red Keep
The city gates opened to trumpets and cheers.
The royal party rode through streets lined with smallfolk waving banners and throwing flowers.
At the main gate of the Red Keep, Cersei waited.
Her eyes were fixed on the approaching column. The moment she saw Lyonel riding just behind Robert, black curls catching the wind her composure cracked.
"Lyonel!"
She ran forward, gown trailing behind her like spilled crimson silk.
Lyonel swung down from his horse just in time.
She crushed him in a hug so tight he couldn't breathe, arms locked around him as though he might vanish again if she let go.
"My boy," she whispered, over and over, voice breaking. "I'm so glad you're back home."
Robert watched from a few paces away, one hand still on his horse's reins. A low, rumbling laugh escaped him.
"Seven hells, woman," he called, voice carrying over the courtyard. "You're gonna crush him!"
Cersei didn't loosen her hold at first. Then slowly she lifted her head, still cradling Lyonel's face in her hands. Her eyes finally drifted past her son to Robert.
She straightened, smoothing her gown with one hand while keeping the other on Lyonel's shoulder. A small, genuine smile curved her lips.
"Husband," she said. "I'm glad you're back safely."
Robert's grin widened. He stepped closer, with a suprising warm voice.
"Well, I promised, didn't I?"
For a heartbeat, they simply looked at each other sharing a small smile.
Then Cersei turned back to Lyonel, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.
"You're taller," she said, half-laughing, half-crying. "And thinner. Have they been feeding you properly?"
Lyonel smiled. "Grandfather made sure of it."
Robert snorted, stepping up beside them. "Tywin feeds him like a Lannister prince. Boy's probably sick of venison and gold-plated bread by now."
Joffrey came next five namesday old. He hesitated at the edge of the crowd, then ran forward and threw his arms around Lyonel's waist.
"Big brother," he mumbled into Lyonel's tunic. "You're back."
Lyonel squeezed him tight with one arm while still holding Cersei with the other.
Then he looked down.
Myrcella now one namesday old was in a nursemaid's arms, her black hair bouncing slightly as she kicked her little legs. Lyonel reached for her gently. The nursemaid handed her over without a word.
He cradled his little sister against his chest. She stared up at him with big green eyes, tiny hand reaching for his face. Then she babbled happily "Lyo… Lyo!" grabbing at his collar with chubby fingers, her little voice trying to say his name.
Lyonel's heart squeezed. He chuckled and kissed her forehead softly.
Cersei gently disentangled herself from Lyonel and turned toward Robert. She reached for his hand, tugging him forward.
"Come, husband," she said. "You need to meet your youngest son."
Robert's brows lifted in surprise, then softened. He let her lead him a few steps to where the nursemaid stood holding Tommen.
The baby only one moon old was wrapped in soft white wool trimmed with gold thread. His face was still round with cheeks flushed pink. A tiny tuft of golden hair poked from beneath his cap.
Cersei lifted Tommen carefully from the nursemaid's arms and placed him in Robert's.
Robert stared down at the infant, big hands awkward but gentle. He shifted the baby against his chest, looking at the golden curls, the small features that were so unmistakably Lannister.
Tommen made a soft, sleepy sound and blinked up at his father.
Robert's expression flickered then he smiled, rough and genuine.
"Look at that," he said. "Already trying to crush my finger!"
Cersei's chuckled as Robert laughed boomed.
Lyonel trailed behind them wanting to see his new brother properly.
He stepped up beside Robert and looked down at Tommen.
Golden hair.
Lyonel's gaze flicked from the baby to Jaime standing nearby in his white cloak.
Jaime's shocked face when his eyes settled on Tommen's hair and his eyes widened the reaction dispelled all doubts.
Lyonel looked away knowing immedietly Tommen wasn't Jaime's.
Jaime had sworn his oath anew to him and Lyonel knew he meant every word. Lyonel had seen the sincerity in him and the resolve behind it. Also the relationship between Jaime and Cersei is no longer what it used to be since Cersei still somewhat blames Jaime for Myrcella not having golden hair as they do.
And if it is not Jaime… then there was only one other man in the Red Keep who had been close enough, trusted enough, and foolish enough to risk everything.
Lancel Lannister.
Lyonel's stomach twisted. He kept his face calm, kept walking beside his family, but inside the realization settled like cold iron.
Lyonel walked close beside Cersei and Robert, watching his father cradle the baby with surprising gentleness.
As the family moved through the gates toward the keep, Lyonel carried Myrcella in one arm, Joffrey clinging to his other hand, Cersei walking close beside him still holding onto his sleeve as though afraid to let go.
Robert fell in step on Lyonel's other side, shaking his head with a grin.
"Seven hells," he muttered again, mostly to himself. "I fight a war, come home a victor and my own wife barely notices me."
Cersei glanced over at him.
"You brought him back," she said simply. "That's all that matters."
Robert laughed deep and genuine and reached over to ruffle Lyonel's hair again.
"Aye," he said. "That's all that matters."
Inside his head, the words formed quietly, steady, certain:
In this life, at least, I have a family who cares for me. Even if it's not perfect—even if it's built on secrets and lies—they all care for me. And I care for them.
In this life, at least, I have a family who cares for me. Even if it's not perfect they all care for me and I care for them.
It was messy. It was broken in places.
But it was real and it was his.