291 AC – The Red Keep – Lyonel's Chambers
Day after they returned Lyonel sat on the edge of his bed with elbows on his knees staring at the floor.
The room was quiet except for the distant clatter of servants in the hall and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.
But Lyonel's mind was elsewhere.
Tommen.
He had assumed too quickly that it was Lancel.
But Lancel is only around ten right now.
Lyonel groaned, dragging both hands down his face.
Lancel at this time is still a child.
So then who?
He stood up and walked to the window, staring out over the black waters of Blackwater Bay.
Could it be that he's actually trueborn as well?
The thought had been nagging at him since yesterday. He had only seen Tommen briefly and in that time he had his eyes closed so he wasn't able to notice the color they had. Maybe the hair was just Cersei's blood showing through and Robert really was the father. Maybe there was no secret at all.
He needed to confirm that.
Lyonel left his chambers and made his way through the corridors to the royal nursery.
The nursemaid looked up as he entered and immediately dropped into a curtsy.
"Your Grace "
Lyonel waved his hand quickly.
"No need," he said softly. "Just focus on tending to my little brother."
She bowed again, stepping aside.
Lyonel approached the cradle.
Tommen lay on his back, tiny fists curled beside his face, breathing slow and even. The golden curls were even brighter in the daylight, catching the sun like spun gold.
Lyonel leaned closer.
Tommen stirred, lashes fluttering.
Then his eyes opened wide, curious, and unmistakably green.
He clicked his tongue quietly.
So he's not trueborn. And he's not Uncle Jaime's… then who could it possibly be?
He turned and left the nursery without another word.
As he walked back to his chambers, his mind raced through every name he could think of.
Lancel Lannister? Not possible he's too young, only a few years older than me.
Some random knight? Too risky Cersei would never be that careless.
A servant? Impossible. Cersei would never lower herself.
One of the stableboys? No. The queen would be discovered instantly.
A visiting lord or his son? Possible but who?
He reached his chambers and closed the door behind him.
Who could it possibly be?
The question circled in his mind like a vulture.
He didn't have an answer.
Not yet.
293 AC – The Red Keep – Two Years Later
Lyonel had reached his ninth nameday and soon he will have his tenth nameday.
He had grown slightly taller and broader from daily training, his black curls longer and wilder. He moved through the Red Keep with more confidence now, already taller than most boys around his age and able to hold his own against squires much older.
One bright morning Robert summoned him to the training yard.
Lyonel found his father already there, sweat gleaming on his brow, warhammer resting against a rack of weapons. Robert's eyes lit at the sight of his son.
"There's my boy!" Robert roared, laughing. "Took you long enough to get here!"
Lyonel smiled sheepishly, stepping into the yard.
Robert picked up the warhammer and twirled it once with effortlessly.
"Well, now that you're here," Robert said, "let's start with training."
Lyonel raised an eyebrow. "Training, Father?"
Robert grinned. "Yes. Didn't I promise I'd teach you how to wield a warhammer once you grew up a little? And even though you're still not grown enough to hold a real one, I think it's the right time to start training you."
Lyonel looked down, suddenly uncertain.
Robert sighed, setting the hammer aside.
"I know you prefer swords, son," he said, voice gentler. "And that's okay. I don't expect you to wield a warhammer like me. Every man chooses his own weapon."
He stepped closer and patted Lyonel on the shoulder.
"But I want to teach you how to use one, knowing how to handle different weapons is a great skill in itself, don't you think?"
Lyonel beamed at that and nodded. "Yes, Father! I'd be happy to learn!"
Robert laughed again. "Good! Then let's begin!"
For the next month, Robert trained Lyonel personally.
Every morning they met in the yard. Robert taught him stance, grip, the proper way to swing without losing balance, how to turn the weight of the hammer into momentum rather than brute force. Lyonel's arms ached, his shoulders burned, but he never complained. He listened, watched and practiced until his hands blistered and bled.
Robert also stayed fit thanks to their daily training he had no time to drink. He trained his son, watched him train with Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan, and nodded in quiet satisfaction.
One afternoon, as Jaime and Barristan put Lyonel through sword forms, Robert leaned against a post and watched.
The boy moved with natural grace footwork clean, blade quick and his eyes focused. The sword seemed an extension of his arm, light and sure.
Robert's mouth curved in a slow, proud grin.
He had a thought that had been simmering since their victory with Ironborn and as he was looking at his training now he noticed Lyonel with the sword and how natural he looks with it, then the idea he had ever since returning from Iron Islands with those items became solidified.
When the session ended, Robert called Lyonel over.
"Wait here," he said, clapping his son on the shoulder. "I've got something for you."
Lyonel waited, curious.
Robert returned a few minutes later, holding something long under a heavy cloth.
"Ever since we got back from the Iron Islands," Robert said, "I wanted to give this to you. But I was thinking maybe wait a few more years. You proved to me yesterday I don't need to."
He handed the cloth-wrapped item to Lyonel.
"Seven hells, boy," Robert laughed. "Quit staring at it and unwrap it, it won't bite you!"
Lyonel peeled the cloth away.
There to his shock he saw Red Rain a Valyrian steel sword of House Drumm gleamed in the sunlight, its rippled blade dark and deadly, the hilt carved with sea-dragon motifs.
Lyonel's mouth fell open. He stared between his father and the sword, unable to speak.
Finally he swallowed and managed, "H-how do you even have that sword?"
Robert smirked. "Ser Barristan took it when he finished off the Lord of House Drumm. He presented it to me, and I immediately thought of giving it to you."
Then he added, voice dropping with pride, "We have one more Valyrian sword. Nightfall came with us too. I'm planning to give it to your brother when he grows up."
Lyonel's eyes went wide.
He took a few steps back, unsheathed Red Rain, and felt its perfect balance in his hands. He smiled, wide and genuine.
Robert watched, arms crossed.
"How does it feel?"
Lyonel sheathed the sword and fixed the scabbard to his belt. Then he stepped forward and hugged Robert as tightly as he could.
"Thank you so much, Father," he said, voice muffled against Robert's chest. "It's the best gift I could ever hope for."
Robert wrapped his arms around his son and patted the back of his head.
"You're welcome, lad. Now if I ever hear you slacking in your training, I'm taking the sword away. Got it?"
Lyonel chuckled. "Yes, Father."
Robert pulled back, grinning. "Good. Now come on our training with the warhammer still isn't done."
Two Weeks Later – The Corridors of The Red Keep
Lyonel was walking through the corridors when he spotted Stannis striding ahead his face set in its usual scowl.
Lyonel broke into a run.
"Uncle Stannis! Uncle Stannis please wait!"
Stannis grumbled under his breath but slowed and turned.
"What do you want now, nephew?"
Lyonel skidded to a stop in front of him, breathing hard.
"When are you going to Dragonstone, Uncle?" he asked, eyes bright. "And you'll be taking me, right? You promised you'd take me next time and you still haven't! Please take me!"
Stannis rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Ugh. Fine. Fine!" he said, exasperated. "I'm leaving for Dragonstone in two weeks. I'll take you with me then."
Lyonel's eyes lit up. He threw his arms around Stannis in a quick, impulsive hug.
"Thank you, Uncle!"
Stannis stiffened, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides, but he didn't push the boy away.
After a moment he cleared his throat.
"Enough of that," he muttered. "Go on. Run off somewhere."
Lyonel grinned, released him, and dashed away down the corridor.
Stannis watched him go, shaking his head.
"Brat," he muttered.
But the corner of his mouth slightly twitched.