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The Lannister procession wound its way up the switchback path to Casterly Rock, crimson banners snapping in the salt-laden breeze. Tywin Lannister rode at its head, his white charger's hooves striking sparks from the stone path. Behind him followed thirty of his household guard, the enclosed carriage, and the baggage train—a modest retinue by Lannister standards, but Tywin had not wanted to draw undue attention on the journey from King's Landing.
Casterly Rock loomed above them, a mountain carved into a fortress, its stone face catching the late afternoon sun. Tywin regarded his ancestral seat with cold satisfaction. After months of warfare and the politics of King's Landing, he was returning home victorious—the realm secured, his daughter crowned queen, and his grandson hidden in plain sight.
The bundle in the carriage behind him stirred. Tywin had agreed to let the wet nurse Serra carry the boy for most of the journey, but now, as they approached the final stretch, he'd need to make a statement. Appearances mattered, especially today.
"My lord," Captain Daven called from behind him, "the household has assembled in the Lion's Mouth."
"As expected," Tywin replied. The Rock's main entrance, the Lion's Mouth, could fit thirty riders abreast. Today it would frame his return—and his announcement.
As they neared the massive cavern entrance, Tywin raised his gloved hand, halting the procession. He dismounted and strode to the carriage, where Serra waited with the child.
"Give him to me," Tywin commanded.
Serra bowed her head. "Yes, my lord." She passed the infant to him.
Tywin looked down at the sleeping child. Adrian's hair caught the sunlight—neither fully golden like a Lannister's nor silver like his true father's, but something between. His eyes, when open, were undeniably Lannister green. Cersei's eyes.
No one must ever know, Tywin thought. Not even you, little dragon. You will be a lion in all things.
"My lord?" Captain Daven's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Proceed," Tywin commanded, adjusting his hold on the infant.
The Lannister guardsmen formed two lines flanking Tywin as he strode toward the Lion's Mouth, the child cradled in one arm. As they entered the cavernous opening, the household of Casterly Rock came into view—nearly a hundred servants and officials lined up in precise order of rank and importance.
Maester Creylen stood at their head, his chain of many metals gleaming in the sunlight. Beside him waited Tywin's steward, master-at-arms, master of horse, and other high officials. Their faces betrayed nothing, though their eyes flickered momentarily to the bundle in Tywin's arms.
Tywin stopped before them, allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably long. The only sound was the distant crash of waves against the base of the Rock far below.
"My lord," Maester Creylen finally spoke, bowing deeply. "Casterly Rock welcomes your return."
"Is my brother here?" Tywin asked, ignoring the formality.
"Ser Kevan is expected by nightfall, my lord. He was attending to matters in Lannisport."
Tywin nodded once, then turned to address the assembled household. When he spoke, his voice echoed off the stone walls, cold and final as a death sentence.
"I present to you Adrian Lannister, my natural son, legitimized by royal decree. He is of House Lannister and will be accorded all respect due his station."
The shock that rippled through the assembly was palpable, though none dared show it openly. Maester Creylen recovered first, bowing again.
"We are honored to welcome young Lord Adrian to Casterly Rock," he said smoothly.
"Spare me your platitudes, Maester," Tywin replied. "I require actions, not words. Quarters have been prepared?"
"Yes, my lord. The west solar in the family wing has been converted to a nursery, as per your instructions."
"And the wet nurse's accommodations?"
"Adjacent to the nursery, my lord."
"Good." Tywin shifted his gaze to his steward. "Summon the household heads to my solar in one hour. I will give detailed instructions regarding the boy's care."
As if sensing he was being discussed, Adrian stirred in Tywin's arms, small fists waving in the air. His eyes opened—bright Lannister green, alert and almost unsettlingly focused for an infant so young.
Several of the servants gasped softly. The child's eyes were unmistakable.
"This is Serra," Tywin continued, gesturing to the wet nurse who had emerged from the carriage. "She has cared for my son since birth and will continue to do so here."
Serra curtsied deeply, her eyes downcast. "It's an honor to serve House Lannister, my lords and ladies."
Tywin surveyed the assembled staff, his cold gaze challenging anyone to question him. None did.
"You have your duties," he said dismissively. "See to them."
The household dispersed with practiced efficiency, though Tywin noted the whispers that began the moment servants thought themselves out of earshot. Let them whisper. Soon, the entire Westerlands would know that Tywin Lannister had legitimized his bastard son—and none would ever suspect the truth.
He turned to Maester Creylen, who lingered nearby. "Walk with me to the nursery. There are matters we must discuss."
"Of course, my lord."
As they moved deeper into Casterly Rock, Tywin felt Adrian's small hand grasp at the lion-head clasp of his cloak. The child's grip was surprisingly strong.
"Has there been any word from my daughter?" Tywin asked as they walked through the torchlit corridors.
"Queen Cersei sends her congratulations on your safe return," Creylen replied carefully.
"And my son?"
"Ser Jaime remains with the Kingsguard in King's Landing, as is his duty."
Tywin's jaw tightened imperceptibly. Jaime's "duty" was to Casterly Rock, not playing bodyguard. But that was a battle for another day.
"The boy will need a septa eventually," Tywin said, changing the subject. "And tutors as he grows. I have names in mind."
"So young, my lord?" Creylen asked, surprise momentarily breaking through his composure.
"It is never too early to plan a Lannister's education," Tywin replied coldly. "This one especially."
They reached the family wing, where golden lion sconces held torches that cast dancing shadows on the crimson wall hangings. Adrian watched the play of light with unusual interest for an infant.
"My lord," Creylen ventured hesitantly, "if I might ask... the child's mother?"
"Died in childbirth," Tywin answered flatly. "A servant of Lysene descent. That is all anyone needs to know."
"Of course, my lord." Creylen bowed his head. "And regarding Lord Tyrion—"
"My...son will be informed of his new half-brother upon my arrival," Tywin cut him off. "That is all."
They stopped before the door to the newly prepared nursery. Serra had been sent ahead and awaited them inside. Tywin looked down at Adrian once more, studying the child's features in the torchlight. The boy stared back, unblinking.
"Open the door," Tywin commanded the guard. "My son is home."
Tyrion Lannister
Tyrion Lannister's short legs dangled from the high library chair as he pretended to read a massive tome about dragons. He'd read it three times already, but the illustrations of Balerion the Black Dread still fascinated him. The book was propped open on the table, but his eyes kept darting to the door.
Father was back.
The whispers had reached him hours ago, carried by kitchen maids and stableboys who didn't realize how well he could hear them around corners. They said Father had brought something—or someone—back from King's Landing. A babe. A bastard.
Tyrion didn't know whether to believe it. Father having a bastard seemed as likely as Casterly Rock floating into the sky. Father was too... Father for that.
The library door creaked open, and Tyrion quickly looked down at his book, tracing the outline of the dragon's wing with one stubby finger.
"Lord Tyrion?" It was only Maester Creylen's apprentice, a gangly youth named Pate. "Your lord father has returned and has... requested your presence in the East Wing."
Requested. That meant commanded. Tyrion closed his book, trying to look unconcerned though his heart hammered in his chest.
"Is it true?" The words burst from him before he could stop them. "About the baby?"
Pate's eyes widened slightly. "It's not my place to—"
"Never mind." Tyrion slid off the chair, landing with a small thump. "I suppose I'll find out soon enough."
The corridors of Casterly Rock felt longer than usual as Tyrion made his way to the East Wing. Servants bustled past, too busy to snicker at him today. Their eyes were bright with gossip, their whispers following him like shadows.
"...his own bastard..." "...after all those years..." "...what does it mean for the Imp..."
Tyrion scowled at that last one. Father hated it when people called him the Imp, though Father himself never called Tyrion by name if he could help it.
As he approached the East Wing, Tyrion noticed Lannister guardsmen clustered outside one of the solar doors. They were speaking in hushed tones, but fell silent when they spotted him. One of them—Ser Addam Marbrand, he thought—straightened and knocked on the door.
"Lord Tyrion is here, my lord."
"Send him in," came Father's voice from within, cold and clear.
The guards parted to let Tyrion through, and he felt their eyes on his back as he waddled into the room. Inside, the afternoon sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating a scene Tyrion would never have imagined.
Father stood near the hearth, tall and imposing in his crimson doublet with gold threading, his expression as unyielding as ever. But in his arms was a small bundle wrapped in Lannister crimson. A woman Tyrion didn't recognize—plain-faced with brown hair—stood nervously to one side.
Tyrion's mouth went dry. So the rumors were true.
"Tyrion," Father said, not bothering with greetings. "This is Adrian Lannister. Your half-brother."
Tyrion's mind whirled. A brother. A real, trueborn brother—well, half-brother, and legitimized bastard, but still. Not like Cersei, who was perfect and golden and sixteen years older. Someone new. Someone who might not hate him on sight.
But no, that was a stupid thought. Once the babe grew up enough to understand, he'd hate Tyrion just like everyone else did.
"I..." Tyrion struggled to find words. "Where did he come from?" As soon as the question left his mouth, he realized how stupid it sounded.
Father's eyes narrowed slightly. "I would have thought even you would understand that much about life, Tyrion."
The woman—presumably the wet nurse—stifled what might have been a nervous laugh.
"I meant," Tyrion tried again, feeling heat rise in his cheeks, "who is his mother?"
"A servant girl of Lysene descent. She died in childbird." Father's tone made it clear that was all the information Tyrion would receive. "Adrian has been legitimized by royal decree. He is a Lannister."
Tyrion took a hesitant step forward, curiosity overcoming his nervousness. "May I see him?"
Father hesitated for a heartbeat, then inclined his head. Tyrion approached cautiously, aware of Father's gaze on him.
The infant was small—smaller than Tyrion had expected, though what did he know of babies? Adrian's face was slightly flushed, eyes closed in sleep. What struck Tyrion most was the child's hair—a curious shade that seemed neither fully golden like a Lannister's nor quite anything else Tyrion had seen before.
"How old is he?" Tyrion asked softly.
"Three months," Father replied.
Adrian's eyes fluttered open at the sound of voices, and Tyrion found himself staring into bright green eyes—Lannister eyes. The baby regarded him with what seemed like unusual focus, then his tiny mouth curved in what might have been a smile.
Something warm and unexpected bloomed in Tyrion's chest.
"Hello, Adrian," he said softly. "I'm your brother."
To everyone's surprise, Adrian reached out one tiny hand, fingers grasping at air. Without thinking, Tyrion extended his own hand, and the baby latched onto his index finger with surprising strength.
The room went very still. Even Father seemed momentarily frozen, watching this interaction with an unreadable expression.
"He has a strong grip," Tyrion said, to break the silence.
"Yes," Father replied, and Tyrion thought he detected a note of grudging approval. "He does."
Adrian made a small gurgling sound, still clutching Tyrion's finger. Tyrion found himself smiling—really smiling, not the sardonic smirk he'd learned to use as armor.
"Serra will be his wet nurse," Father said, nodding toward the woman. "You may visit him in the nursery, provided you do not disturb his routine."
The permission surprised Tyrion almost as much as the baby's existence. Father never encouraged him to do anything.
"Thank you, Father," he said, then looked back at Adrian. "I could read to him sometimes. Babies like voices, don't they?"
"I wouldn't know," Father replied dryly. "But you may do so if Serra approves."
The wet nurse bobbed a curtsy. "Reading would be fine, m'lord Tyrion. The little lord seems to like listening."
Tyrion gently withdrew his finger from Adrian's grasp. The baby frowned slightly, then yawned, his eyes drifting closed again.
"He'll need to rest now," Father said. "You may go, Tyrion."
Dismissed as always. But for once, Tyrion didn't mind. His mind was racing with thoughts of books to share with Adrian, of what it might be like to have someone who didn't look at him with disgust or pity.
As he turned to leave, another thought struck him—he was no longer the youngest Lannister. No longer the latest disappointment. Father would have someone new to focus on, someone without Tyrion's deformities, someone who might actually make Father proud.
The warm feeling in his chest twisted into something more complicated. He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or worried.
At the door, Tyrion paused and looked back. Father had moved to the window, Adrian still in his arms—one large, one very small. For a heartbeat, they looked like a portrait of what might have been, if Tyrion had been born different.
Will he love you? Tyrion wondered, watching the sleeping infant. Will he be proud of you in ways he never is of me?
Tyrion wasn't sure why the thought made his eyes sting as he slipped out the door, back into the hallway where the guards pretended not to notice the dwarf child walking past.
He had a new brother. A little brother who might need him.
Tywin Lannister
Tywin Lannister's footsteps echoed through the stone corridor as he led Serra to the nursery. Two guards fell into step behind them, their armor clinking softly in the silence. Adrian had fallen asleep after his meeting with Tyrion, his small head nestled against Tywin's shoulder.
The interaction between his sons—if one could call Tyrion that—had surprised him. He'd expected revulsion, perhaps fear from the child when faced with the dwarf. Instead, Adrian had seemed almost... drawn to Tyrion. A curious development, though likely meaningless. Infants had no judgment.
"The nursery is just ahead," Tywin said, breaking the silence. "It was my daughter's, once."
Serra kept her eyes lowered. "A great honor for the young lord, m' lord."
"Indeed."
They reached an ornate doorway carved with prancing lions. Tywin pushed it open, revealing a spacious chamber that had been hastily transformed. The room smelled of fresh paint and new fabrics—his orders to prepare suitable accommodations had clearly been followed to the letter.
Crimson draperies hung from tall windows that overlooked the Sunset Sea. A massive cradle dominated the center of the room, carved from dark wood and draped with red and gold silk. Lion motifs appeared everywhere—on the tapestries, carved into the furniture, painted on the ceiling in gold leaf. A second, smaller chamber connected to the main room—Serra's quarters, furnished simply but comfortably.
"This is... magnificent, my lord," Serra breathed, her eyes wide.
"It is adequate," Tywin replied. The nursery was undeniably lavish, but its true purpose was not comfort but indoctrination. Every aspect of the room reinforced what the boy must become—a Lannister, through and through.
Tywin crossed to the cradle and gently laid Adrian on the plush bedding. The infant stirred but did not wake.
"The boy's schedule," Tywin said, turning to Serra. "He will nurse when he wakes, again at midday, again at dusk, and once during the night. No more."
Serra nodded quickly. "Yes, m'lord. Though sometimes babies need—"
"No more," Tywin repeated, his tone brooking no argument. "He will learn discipline from the beginning. When he cries from hunger outside these times, you will soothe him without feeding him. Is that clear?"
"Yes, m'lord." Her voice was barely audible.
Tywin moved to a side table where several glass bottles stood in a row. "These tinctures will be added to your food daily. They will ensure your milk remains plentiful and healthful." He did not mention that the maester had also included herbs to prevent pregnancy—Serra's sole purpose was caring for Adrian, and Tywin would tolerate no distractions.
"Maester Creylen will examine the child weekly. You will report any changes in his behavior, appetite, or sleep immediately." Tywin fixed her with a cold stare. "And you will speak to no one about his mother or the circumstances of his birth."
Serra swallowed visibly. "I understand, m'lord."
"Do you?" Tywin stepped closer, towering over her. "If I learn you've been gossiping with the kitchen maids or sharing confidences with guardsmen, you will find yourself on a ship to Essos by nightfall—if you're fortunate. If you're not..."
"I would never betray your trust, my lord." Serra's voice trembled. "I swear it by the old gods and new."
"Gods have little to do with keeping secrets," Tywin said dismissively. "Fear is more reliable. Remember that."
Serra curtsied deeply. "May I prepare his bath for when he wakes, m'lord?"
Tywin nodded once. "Go."
When she had disappeared into the adjoining chamber, Tywin turned back to the cradle. He stood there a long moment, studying the sleeping infant. Without the distraction of others, he could see the subtle signs of the boy's true heritage—the slight silvery sheen to his hair in certain light, the shape of his nose and brow that echoed Rhaegar's.
"So much like your father," Tywin murmured, his voice barely audible even to himself. "But no one will ever know."
He brushed a finger against Adrian's cheek. The boy possessed a rare beauty already, a perfect blend of Lannister and Targaryen features masked by enough Lannister coloring to avoid suspicion.
"You were meant for a crown," Tywin said softly, "but perhaps that is not the grandest destiny after all. The Iron Throne is an ugly, uncomfortable seat. Casterly Rock will be yours instead, with all the power and wealth of House Lannister behind you."
Adrian's tiny hand closed around Tywin's finger in his sleep, the gesture oddly possessive. Tywin allowed it for a moment, feeling the strength in that small grip.
"You will be my legacy," he promised the sleeping child. "Not the dwarf. Not Jaime with his foolish honor. Not even Cersei with her crown. You will be a true lion, and the world will remember your name long after mine is forgotten."
He carefully extracted his finger from Adrian's grasp and straightened his doublet. By the time Serra returned to the room, Tywin's expression had resumed its customary cold mask.
"I will return tomorrow," he informed her. "Remember my instructions."
"Yes, Lord Tywin," Serra replied, curtsying again.
As Tywin strode from the nursery, he allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. The game had changed, but as always, House Lannister would emerge victorious.
Genna Lannister
Genna Lannister swept through the corridors of Casterly Rock like a ship in full sail, her crimson skirts billowing behind her. Two days of waiting for Tywin to summon her had been quite enough. If her lord brother thought she would simply accept the existence of his supposed bastard without question, he had another thing coming.
"Lady Genna," a servant girl squeaked, pressing herself against the wall as Genna rounded a corner. "Lord Tywin is in his solar with Maester Creylen—"
"Is he indeed?" Genna replied, not slowing her pace. "How fortunate for me."
Emmon had advised patience, of course. "Perhaps wait until he calls for you, my dear," he'd suggested in that reedy voice of his. Genna had silenced him with a look. Tywin might rule the Westerlands, but Genna would never let anyone, not even her dear brother, make her wait.
The guards outside Tywin's solar straightened as she approached. Neither dared question her right to enter, merely opening the door and announcing, "Lady Genna Frey, my lord."
"Lannister," she corrected sharply as she strode past them. "I was born a Lannister, I'll die a Lannister, and all the Freys in the world won't change that fact."
Inside, Tywin sat behind his massive desk, Maester Creylen beside him with a stack of parchments. Both men looked up at her entrance, Tywin's expression impassive as ever, the maester's more apprehensive.
"Sister," Tywin said coolly. "I had planned to send for you this afternoon."
"How convenient, then, that I've saved you the trouble." Genna gestured to Creylen. "Leave us."
The maester glanced at Tywin, who gave a slight nod. Creylen gathered his parchments and scurried out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Genna settled herself into the chair opposite Tywin, arranging her skirts deliberately before fixing her brother with a piercing stare.
"Two days," she said. "Two days you've been back, Tywin, with this... unexpected addition to our family, and not a word to me directly." She leaned forward slightly. "I never took you for the type to stray, brother."
Tywin's expression didn't change. "I assume you've heard the official account."
"Oh yes," Genna waved a bejeweled hand dismissively. "A servant girl of Lysene descent, died in childbirth. How convenient." She studied her brother's face for any reaction. "And I assume this official account is what we'll tell anyone who asks?"
"It is not an account, Genna. It is what happened." Tywin's voice was measured, his green-gold eyes unwavering.
Genna had spent a lifetime reading her brother's moods and tells. There was something in his voice—not quite a lie, but not the full truth either.
"And you legitimized him," she pressed. "Robert Baratheon granted this boon?"
"He did. Adrian is a Lannister in name and law."
"Adrian." Genna tested the name. "Not very Lannister, is it?"
"It's a strong name," Tywin replied. "Distinctive enough to be remembered, common enough not to raise eyebrows."
Genna tapped her fingers on the armrest of her chair. "You've thought this through thoroughly, as always. But what I cannot understand, Tywin, is why. Why acknowledge this child? Why bring him here? Why legitimize him? You, who has always been so concerned with the purity of the Lannister name and legacy."
For a moment, Tywin was silent, his fingers steepled before him. "Jaime has made his choice," he said finally. "He remains in the Kingsguard, renouncing his birthright."
"And Tyrion—"
"Is not my heir," Tywin cut her off sharply. "He never will be."
Genna sighed. This old argument again. "The boy is your son, Tywin. Your blood. And he's clever, far cleverer than—"
"This is not a discussion," Tywin interrupted. "With Jaime's stubbornness, I required another option. The gods have provided one."
"The gods," Genna repeated skeptically. "Or your own appetites?"
Tywin's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Do you wish to see him?"
The abrupt change of subject confirmed Genna's suspicions that there was more to this tale than Tywin was sharing. She nodded. "Yes, I would like that very much."
They walked in silence through the corridors toward the family wing. Servants and guards bowed as they passed, eyes carefully averted but ears no doubt straining to catch any scrap of conversation. Gossip about the child had spread through the Rock like wildfire.
"The nursery has been prepared adequately?" Genna asked as they approached the familiar lion-carved doors.
"It has. Cersei's old rooms."
Genna raised an eyebrow at that. Sentimental was not a word she would ever associate with her brother. Calculating, yes. There was always a reason behind Tywin's choices.
The nursery was sunlit and warm, dominated by Lannister colors. A plain-faced woman—presumably the wet nurse—sat near the window with embroidery. She jumped to her feet and curtsied deeply as they entered.
"M'lord. M'lady."
"Where is he?" Tywin asked.
"Sleeping, m'lord. Just nodded off." The woman gestured to the ornate cradle.
Genna moved toward it without waiting for an invitation. The child within was indeed sleeping peacefully, one tiny fist curled beside his head. His hair caught the sunlight—a peculiar color, neither fully gold nor silver, but something in between. His features were delicate, beautiful even in sleep.
"He's a handsome boy," Genna said softly. Then, more pointedly, "He doesn't look much like you, brother."
"He has Lannister eyes," Tywin replied. "And some say he has Joanna's mouth."
Genna shot him a sharp look. The mention of Joanna was unexpected and uncharacteristic. Tywin rarely spoke their sister-by-law's name.
"May I?" Genna asked, gesturing to the baby.
At Tywin's nod, she carefully lifted Adrian from his cradle. The child stirred but didn't wake, settling against her ample bosom with a small sigh.
Genna studied him closely—the sweep of his brow, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips. There was something familiar there, something that tugged at her memory, but she couldn't quite place it.
"He has a look of her," she said finally. "Around the eyes, perhaps. But the hair—" She looked up at Tywin. "The Lysene mother must have been quite striking."
"She was," Tywin said flatly.
"And her name?" Genna pressed. "Surely you remember the name of the woman who bore your son?"
A flicker of annoyance crossed Tywin's face. "Serra. Her name was Serra."
"Like the wet nurse. How convenient for your memory."
"A coincidence. Nothing more."
Genna bounced Adrian gently as she walked to the window. "And what role do you expect me to play in all this, Tywin? Surely you didn't just bring him here and expect me to ignore him."
"You will help oversee his upbringing," Tywin said. "The wet nurse is suitable for now, but the boy will need proper guidance as he grows. A woman's influence."
"A mother's influence, you mean," Genna corrected, turning to face him. "Though I have four sons of my own who require my attention."
"Your sons are nearly grown. This one needs you more." Tywin's tone made it clear this was not a request.
Genna looked down at Adrian, who slept on, blissfully unaware of the machinations swirling around him. A pawn in Tywin's great game, just as they all were. But a pawn that could become a Lord, if moved correctly.
"And what of Tyrion?" she asked softly. "Have you considered what this means for him?"
"Tyrion remains my son," Tywin said. "That has not changed."
"But no longer your youngest. No longer your last hope for an heir after Jaime." Genna fixed her brother with a level stare. "Children notice such things, Tywin. They feel when they are being replaced."
"Tyrion is not being replaced. He is simply not my heir. He never was."
Genna sighed, returning Adrian to his cradle with gentle hands. "You're making a mistake with Tyrion. I've told you before—he's the most like you of all your children."
A flash of anger crossed Tywin's face. "He is nothing like me."
"He has your mind," Genna insisted. "Your cunning. And now you bring in this child, legitimize him, and make your preference clear. What do you think that will do to the boy?"
"It will teach him the realities of the world," Tywin replied coldly. "Better he learn it now than later."
Genna smoothed Adrian's blanket. "I will help with the child," she said finally. "Not because you command it, but because he deserves better than to be a mere piece in your game." She straightened and faced her brother. "But remember, Tywin—a child is not a sword you can forge exactly to your specifications. They have their own natures, their own wills. This one, too, will surprise you someday."
"Perhaps," Tywin conceded. "But he will be raised properly, as a true Lannister. That is what matters."
Genna studied her brother's face, the face she had known since childhood. There was something he wasn't telling her—she was certain of it. The timing, the child's unusual features, Tywin's uncharacteristic actions... none of it quite fit.
"Very well," she said. "I'll watch over him, teach him, love him as my own. But I warn you, brother—secrets have a way of emerging when least expected. Whatever game you're playing with this child, I hope you've considered all the possible outcomes."
Tywin's expression remained impassive, but Genna knew her words had struck home. "There is no game," he said. "Only family. Only legacy."
"Of course," Genna replied, not believing him for a moment. "Only legacy. It always is with you."
As they left the nursery together, Genna cast one last glance at the sleeping infant. Whatever the truth of his parentage, the boy was a Lannister now. And Lannisters protected their own—even from each other, if necessary.
One Month Later
A month passed at Casterly Rock, and routines settled into place like dust on ancient stone. The days took on a rhythm—the changing of guards, the preparation of meals, the quiet bustle of servants moving through corridors. And now, worked into the ancient patterns of the fortress, came the care of its newest and smallest resident.
Serra moved through the nursery with efficiency, folding tiny garments of the finest cloth. Adrian lay on a plush blanket nearby, silent but watchful, his eyes following her movements with an intensity unusual for a child so young.
"Even when you're quiet, you're loud in your own way, aren't you, little lord?" Serra murmured, smiling at the baby. "Those eyes of yours notice everything."
Adrian kicked his legs in response, tiny fists waving. Unlike other babies Serra had cared for, he rarely cried without cause. He seemed content to observe, to absorb, as if the world itself was a lesson he was determined to learn.
The nursery door opened, and Maester Creylen entered, chain clinking softly against his gray robes.
"Good morning, Serra. Time for the little lord's examination."
Serra curtsied. "Of course, Maester. He's just been changed and fed."
Creylen set his bag of instruments on a nearby table and approached the infant. Adrian's eyes fixed on the gleaming chain around the maester's neck, his gaze steady and curious.
"Quite alert today, isn't he?" Creylen observed, gently lifting the baby to examine him.
"Always is," Serra replied. "Never seen a babe so aware. Watches everything like a little hawk."
Creylen checked Adrian's reflexes, his breathing, the clarity of his eyes. The baby submitted to the examination with unusual patience, only fussing when the maester's cold hands touched his bare skin.
"Excellent health," Creylen pronounced finally. "Strong lungs, good muscle tone."
"Lord Tywin will be pleased to hear it," Serra said, taking Adrian back into her arms.
Creylen packed away his instruments. "The lord asks for daily reports on his son's progress. Most unusual for a father." He glanced at Serra. "But then, this is no ordinary child, is it?"
Outside in the corridor, two serving girls passed with fresh linens, their voices dropping to whispers as they neared the nursery.
"Did you see the hair?" one murmured.
"Lyseni blood, they say," the other replied. "Though I've never seen a Lyseni with quite that shade."
"Nor eyes so green," the first added. "Pure Lannister, those are."
"Hush," her companion warned. "Remember what happened to Marly when she was caught gossiping about the babe?"
"What happened?"
"Gone the next day. No one's seen her since."
Their voices faded as they continued down the hall, unaware that their words had been overheard by a small figure lurking in an alcove nearby.
Tyrion Lannister emerged from his hiding place once the servants had passed, clutching a small wooden toy in his hand. He'd carved it himself—a dragon with articulated wings that could move up and down. It had taken him three days, and he'd cut his fingers twice in the process.
He approached the nursery cautiously, checking for guards. Finding none immediately present, he slipped inside.
"Lord Tyrion," Serra said, not entirely surprised. This was his fourth visit this week. "Come to see your brother again?"
"If it's not inconvenient," Tyrion replied with unusual formality for a ten-year-old. His mismatched eyes went immediately to Adrian.
"Not at all. He just woke from his nap." Serra placed Adrian back on his blanket. "I'll just step out to fetch fresh water. You'll watch him for a moment?"
Tyrion nodded eagerly, already lowering himself to sit cross-legged beside the baby. Serra smiled and slipped out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
"Hello, Adrian," Tyrion said softly. "I brought you something."
He held up the wooden dragon, making the wings flap gently. Adrian's eyes widened, and a delighted gurgle escaped him. His tiny hands reached toward the toy.
"Careful, it's delicate," Tyrion cautioned, though of course the baby couldn't understand. He moved the dragon in small circles above Adrian, who followed it with his gaze, another happy sound bubbling from his throat.
"You like dragons? I do too," Tyrion continued conversationally. "I've read all about them. The Targaryens had the last ones, you know. Great beasts with wings that could shadow a town."
Adrian kicked his legs excitedly, making Tyrion laugh.
"When you're older, I'll read you the books. You'll like them—lots of pictures."
Outside in the corridor, unnoticed by either boy, Tywin Lannister stood in the shadow of the doorway, listening. He'd intended to visit his supposed son when a servant had informed him that Tyrion was making his daily pilgrimage to the nursery.
"The Imp's there again, m'lord," the servant had reported. "Brings toys each time. Carved them himself, he claims."
Now, Tywin watched silently as Tyrion carefully placed the wooden dragon in Adrian's hand, guiding the infant's fingers to feel the smooth wood.
"You should have been named something stronger," Tyrion was saying. "Something like Tybolt or Gerold. Good Lannister names from the histories. But Adrian isn't bad. We can make it grand."
Adrian made another happy sound, and Tyrion beamed.
"You're the only one who doesn't look at me strangely," the dwarf boy continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Everyone else stares. Not you though."
Tywin's expression remained impassive as he observed this unexpected bond. Part of him wanted to intervene, to separate his dwarf son from the boy who would one day inherit everything Tyrion coveted. Such attachment could lead to complications, perhaps even threats to his plans.
But another part—a calculating, coldly rational part—recognized the potential value. Tyrion's intellect was undeniable, even at ten. If the boy directed his considerable mental faculties toward Adrian's benefit rather than his own advancement...
Tywin withdrew silently from the doorway just as Serra returned with fresh water. He would allow these visits to continue, for now. Like everything in Tywin Lannister's world, even this brotherly affection would serve a purpose in the great game of legacy.
Inside the nursery, unaware of their observer, Tyrion gently moved the dragon's wings for his entranced half-brother.
"Watch closely, Adrian," he said with all the seriousness of a maester instructing his student. "This is how dragons fly."
Tywin Lannister
The midnight oil burned low in Tywin Lannister's solar, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Outside, rain lashed against the windows, a fitting accompaniment to the late hour. Tywin's quill scratched steadily across parchment, the only sound in the otherwise silent chamber. He paused occasionally to dip the nib in ink.
Three letters to the finest swordmasters in the Seven Kingdoms. One to a noted scholar in the Citadel, inquiring about tutors proficient in history and politics. Another to the master of horse at Highgarden, who bred the finest destriers in the realm. All for a child who could not yet walk.
Never too early to secure the best, Tywin thought. Adrian will have every advantage I can provide.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," Tywin commanded, not looking up from his writing.
Kevan Lannister stepped into the solar, rainwater still dotting his traveling cloak. His brother's face looked drawn from the journey, but his eyes were alert as ever.
"Brother," Kevan greeted him, removing his damp cloak. "I see you're still at work despite the hour."
"There's much to be done," Tywin replied, setting aside his quill and reaching for the wax to seal his correspondence. "You've just returned from King's Landing?"
Kevan nodded, settling into the chair opposite Tywin's desk. "I have. The roads were miserable with the rain."
"And Cersei?" Tywin asked, pressing his seal into the molten wax. "How does she fare as queen?"
"She plays the part well," Kevan replied carefully. "The court responds to her beauty and authority. Though Robert..." He hesitated.
"Speak plainly," Tywin commanded. "I have no patience for delicate sensibilities at this hour."
"Robert has started drinking a little too much, and after you left, he went to hunt twice within two weeks," Kevan said bluntly. "He leaves the governance to Jon Arryn while he wenches and wines. Cersei is... displeased with his behavior."
Tywin's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "She will learn to manage him. Queens have done so since the Dawn Age." He stacked the letters neatly in the corner of his desk. "And the court? How do they receive her?"
"With proper deference, though the Stark contingent remains cool. The North and Dorne hasn't forgotten Elia Martell's Targaryen children, especially Jon Arryn, who still protects the girl."
"Stark's sister's still not married," Tywin observed. "Could the King be waiting for her to change her mind?"
"I doubt it. Her brother guards her jealously in Winterfell. Besides, Robert is finally accepting what happened in the Rebellion, with his brothers by his side now. Stannis has taken Dragonstone, and Renly remains at court."
Tywin nodded, satisfied with this intelligence. "And our finances?"
"The crown owes the Rock nearly one million gold dragons, thanks to your loans during the Rebellion," Kevan reported. "Jon Arryn has promised repayment."
"Let them remain in our debt for now," Tywin said. "It gives us leverage."
Kevan helped himself to wine from the decanter on Tywin's desk, studying his brother over the rim of his cup. "And how fares your... son?"
The slight pause before "son" did not escape Tywin's notice. He met Kevan's gaze steadily. "Adrian thrives. Maester Creylen reports he is advanced for his age in all respects."
"I'm not surprised," Kevan replied neutrally. "And the household? Have they adjusted to his presence?"
"They have little choice in the matter," Tywin said coldly. "Though Genna has taken to him. She oversees his care when her duties permit."
"And Tyrion?"
Tywin's green-gold eyes narrowed slightly. "What of him?"
"I heard he visits the nursery often."
"He does," Tywin confirmed, his tone revealing nothing of his thoughts on the matter. "The arrangement serves its purpose for now."
Kevan gestured toward the stack of letters. "Correspondence regarding the boy?"
"Preparation for his education," Tywin confirmed. "I've written to Ser Belon Marr in Lannisport about future sword training. The man trained Jaime in his early years—he'll be suitable for Adrian as well."
"Sword training?" Kevan raised an eyebrow. "The child can't even walk yet."
"He will walk soon enough," Tywin replied dismissively. "And when he does, every aspect of his education must be ready. I've also contacted Master Belenus at the Citadel regarding tutors in history, mathematics, and languages."
"Languages?" Kevan set down his wine cup. "Which ones?"
"High Valyrian, naturally. The tongue of diplomacy. And the dialects of the Free Cities—Braavosi at minimum. A man who cannot speak to foreign merchants in their own tongue is at a disadvantage in negotiations."
Kevan leaned back in his chair, regarding his brother with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. "The boy has been here only a month, and already you plan his entire life."
"Not his life," Tywin corrected. "His preparation. What he does with that preparation will be up to him, though I will ensure he understands his duty to House Lannister."
"And what of his... unusual circumstances?" Kevan asked carefully. "Children ask questions as they grow. About their mothers. Their origins."
Tywin's expression hardened. "He will be told what he needs to know. That his mother was of Lysene descent and died bringing him into the world. That he is a legitimized Lannister with all the responsibilities that entails."
"And when others question? The other houses will wonder."
"Let them wonder," Tywin said dismissively. "Speculation without evidence is merely wind. It passes and is forgotten."
Kevan studied his brother's face, searching for any crack in the implacable mask. "There's something you're not telling me about this child."
Tywin met his gaze without flinching. "There are many things I don't tell you, brother. Not from lack of trust, but because knowledge can be a burden as easily as a weapon."
"Is he truly yours?" Kevan asked directly, his voice low.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of rain against the windows. Tywin's face revealed nothing.
"He is a Lannister," Tywin said finally. "That is all that matters. That is all that will ever matter."
Kevan nodded slowly, accepting the non-answer with the loyalty that had always defined their relationship. "Very well. What do you require of me regarding the boy?"
"For now, nothing beyond discretion," Tywin replied. "Though in time, you will help oversee aspects of his martial training. Your experience commanding men will be valuable to him."
"And your other children? Jaime and Cersei? What have you told them about their new... brother?"
"Cersei knows what she needs to know," Tywin said, his tone making it clear the subject was closed. "Jaime knows of his existence."
Kevan finished his wine and set the cup down with a soft click against the wood. "You think generations ahead, always. It's what has restored House Lannister to greatness."
"I think of legacy," Tywin corrected. "The individual is nothing. The family is everything. Adrian will understand that, even if my other children do not."
"And if he disappoints you?" Kevan asked quietly. "Children rarely grow precisely as we intend."
Tywin's expression darkened momentarily. "He won't disappoint me. I won't allow it."
Kevan said nothing more. Some battles could not be won, and changing Tywin's mind once set was chief among them. Instead, he rose to his feet. "I should retire. The journey was long."
Tywin nodded. "We'll speak more tomorrow. There are matters regarding Lannisport that require your attention."
As Kevan reached the door, Tywin spoke again. "Brother."
Kevan turned. "Yes?"
"Your loyalty has always been House Lannister's greatest asset. Remember that in the years to come."
It was as close to gratitude as Tywin ever expressed, and Kevan accepted it with a simple nod before departing, leaving Tywin alone with his letters and his schemes.
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