Seven Years Later.
The royal gardens of the Red Keep were in full bloom. The air was thick with the scent of crushed mint, blooming blood roses, and the salty tang of the Blackwater Rush.
Beneath the sprawling, ancient branches of a massive oak tree, seven-year-old Yoriichi sat in perfect, motionless silence.
He had grown into a strikingly handsome, unnervingly quiet boy. His midnight-black hair, tipped in vibrant crimson, fell past his shoulders. He wore a simple, finely tailored tunic of dark Lannister red, devoid of the ostentatious gold jewelry Cersei usually forced upon her children. In his lap rested a heavy, leather-bound tome detailing the histories of the First Men, though he was not currently reading it. He was simply breathing.
Haaah... His eyes were closed, his chest expanding and contracting in a slow, rhythmic pattern that was entirely alien to the chaotic, hyperactive energy of normal children his age. To the casual observer, he looked like a boy taking a nap in the shade.
But a few paces away, standing in the shadow of a marble colonnade, Ser Jaime Lannister watched the boy, and he knew better.
Jaime leaned heavily against the cool stone pillar, his arms crossed over his white enameled breastplate. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. He watched as his golden daughters, Myrcella and Jenny, chased a small terrier across the manicured grass, their laughter ringing like silver bells.
But Cersei was not watching her daughters.
The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was sitting on a plush velvet blanket right beside Yoriichi. She held an ivory comb in her hand, meticulously, obsessively running it through the boy's dark, red-tipped hair. Her emerald eyes were fixed on the side of his face with a look of such profound, consuming devotion that it made Jaime physically nauseous.
It had been seven years since the night Cersei had bound him to the chair and broken his mind to extract the secret of the wildfire. Seven years since the chasm between them had cracked wide open.
Their relationship was now a labyrinth of toxic, unspoken rules.
Jaime was no longer her equal. He was a weapon, a guard dog, and a desperate addict. To maintain her absolute control over him, to ensure the Kingslayer never strayed, Cersei kept him on a carefully measured leash. Once a month, usually when the moon was dark and the castle was asleep, she would unlock the door to her bedchamber.
She would give him his "special treatment." She would allow him into her bed, using her body, her mouth, and her mastery over his desires to completely drain him of his frustration. She would whisper that she loved him, that he was her only true lion.
And like a starving man offered a crumb of bread, Jaime took it. He devoured those monthly encounters, letting the intense, mind-numbing pleasure convince him that they were still the golden twins, that they still belonged to each other.
But in the cold light of day, he knew the truth. He knew something was fundamentally broken, even if he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.
Jaime's green eyes narrowed, glaring at the seven-year-old boy.
As Yoriichi grew, Cersei's obsession had only intensified. She barely tolerated Jaime's presence during the day, dismissing him to patrol the walls while she spent every waking hour hovering over her marked son. She praised the boy's unnatural calmness.
She boasted to the court of his perfect, flawless posture and his eerie ability to read a room without speaking a word. She treated him not as a child, but as a slumbering god that only she had the privilege of tending to.
A hot, ugly spark of pure jealousy flared in Jaime's chest. It was a pathetic, emasculating feeling. He was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, one of the most handsome and lethal men alive, and he was fiercely jealous of a silent seven-year-old.
He is just a kid, Jaime mentally consoled himself, forcing his heart rate to slow. He gripped the pommel of his golden sword, needing the physical grounding of the weapon.
He is a strange, creepy little freak, but he is just a boy. She is just playing the doting mother to keep up appearances. Jaime swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, repeating the lie that kept him sane.
She loves me. When the doors close and the lights go out, I am the one she begs for. I am the one who knows her body. No one can pleasure my sister as I do. That boy is just a political tool. I am her soul.
Suddenly, the terrier that Jenny and Myrcella were chasing broke free. The small, energetic dog bounded across the grass, barking wildly, heading straight for the velvet blanket where Yoriichi sat.
Jenny, a fierce and bossy eight-year-old, ran after it. "Catch him, Yorion! Catch the beast!" she commanded, using the name the realm knew him by.
The terrier leaped, aiming to jump directly onto Yoriichi's lap.
Jaime tensed, expecting the boy to flinch, or for Cersei to scream at the filthy animal.
Instead, Yoriichi's eyes snapped open.
Without breaking his rhythmic breathing, and without a single wasted motion, the seven-year-old's hand shot out. It was a blur of movement, too fast for a child, too precise for a normal human. Yoriichi caught the terrier gently but firmly by the scruff of its neck in mid-air, bringing the frantic animal to a dead, immediate halt.
The dog didn't yelp or struggle. The moment Yoriichi's skin made contact with it, the animal instantly went entirely limp, its tail tucking between its legs, completely subdued by the overwhelming, invisible spiritual pressure the boy casually radiated.
Yoriichi calmly set the dog down on the grass beside him.
Jenny ran up, panting, and scooped the dog into her arms. "Good catch, little brother!" she praised, completely oblivious to the supernatural speed she had just witnessed.
Cersei beamed, her face glowing with pride as she stroked Yoriichi's shoulder. "Perfect reflexes, my sweet sun," she whispered.
From the shadows of the colonnade, Jaime felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. His knuckles turned white around the hilt of his sword. He had seen that speed. He had seen the absolute, terrifying stillness in the boy's eyes when he moved.
The vision of the bloody corpse mountain flashed behind Jaime's eyelids for a fraction of a second.
He is not just a kid, Jaime realized, the toxic copium momentarily failing him as the dark, primal terror crept back into his veins. And the Gods help us all when he finally picks up a sword.