AN:
Hey everyone,
I know a lot of you have been wondering what happened to the story, so I just want to explain everything clearly. I didn't delete it Webnovel automatically locked it.
The first issue was with the cover art. I actually got full permission from the artist to use it, but somehow, the system still flagged it as a duplicate or copyright problem. Then, when I tried republishing, it got marked as spam probably because I uploaded too many chapters at once and mentioned Patreon in the notes. After that, it got locked again two more times for the same reasons.
Honestly, it's been really frustrating and disheartening. I never meant to cause any problems, and I truly regret all the confusion and lost progress. Still, I'm not giving up. I'm fixing everything carefully this time so the story can stay up without any more issues.
Thank you all so much for standing by me through all this your patience, comments, and kind words mean the world to me. I really need your continued support now more than ever. Please keep sending power stones to help the fanfic grow and keep our progress moving forward.
...
( Kevan Lannister POV )
His nephews were unusual children. Not that he and his brothers had been particularly normal growing up, but he was sure it had been nowhere near to the level of Tywin's three sons. He rubbed his chin as he watched the yard from the open window of his study. Jaime and Callum were down there sparring, while little Tyrion, twisted and ugly, cheered them on from the side.
'Actually, maybe Tywin and Tygett were…' Tywin had always had this bitter energy in his youth, the ill spirit that made him such a dangerous lord, and Tygett had killed his first knight at ten by ripping the man's helmet off and plunging a dagger into his skull over and over and over again. Neither of them was particularly normal, but as far as Kevan was concerned, he and Gerion were perfectly typical examples of the Westerosi nobility.
None of the three boys below him were normal. Tyrion, obviously, but Jaime and Callum too. Jaime was the most talented fighter that Kevan had ever seen, better even than Tygett, though not as bloody-minded.
He hadn't been to the tourney at King's Landing, being left to hold down the fort at Casterly Rock as usual, but Kevan imagined it must have been a truly remarkable bout between him and the Tyrell heir. When Tywin had returned in a huff from King's Landing he had set about reshaping most of House Lannister's long-term political plans.
While Cersei was still set aside for Prince Rhaegar, or if that failed possibly the infant Viserys in a few years, all plans for Jaime to marry a Tully girl have been shifted aside. Instead, the scheme had pivoted to the Reach and House Tyrell.
Even now letters were flowing back and forth between King's Landing, the Rock, and Highgarden plotting out the exact details of Jaime's future. He would be sent to foster with and squire to Lord Luthor Tyrell, and if all went well betrothed to one of the man's daughters.
'All because Jaime and Mace Tyrell beat the seven-blessed shite out of each other on the tourney field in front of half the nobility in the kingdom.' Kevan snorted as the boy knocked his younger brother to the ground once again, sweeping Callum's legs out from under him. Yes, Jaime was turning out to be a remarkable child.
An ideal heir in terms of martial prowess, Kevan had yet to see anyone not significantly older than the boy land so much as a scratch on him. It was a good thing, but it was plainly obvious that Jaime was no ordinary child. Kevan would put money down that Jaime Lannister was going to grow up into one of the most fearsome knights in the Seven Kingdoms.
The middle brother, however, stood out most of all. Callum Lannister had already upturned the world, even at such a young age. While other men might look elsewhere, claim that someone else had invented his presses, that it was House Lannister behind him or even Maester Eomund, Kevan was far too close to the boy to have such excuses.
Callum had been tinkering up in that tower of his since he was five or six. Since before many children could even read or write, he had been working on the device that now stamped out tens of thousands of books that before would have taken three months to write for a skilled scribe.
A thousand-some-odd workmen and their families had rapidly spread out into a new town before the Lion's Mouth, stretching across the enclosed region between the Rock and Lannisport and basically connecting the castle directly to the city. Smoke billowed up every day from furnaces smelting lead into new type for the two hundred presses that filled the lower vaults with books.
Kevan had been down to visit them several times, and it reminded him of the Arsenal of Braavos, which he had seen from afar. Except that the Arsenal of Braavos had been the work of many geniuses, a generation of shipwrights all working in tandem to create the process by which a galleass or a dromond could be assembled in a day. Callum had written the plans for all of his great work on his lonesome, at no older than eight years, and with help from no one.
Kevan was not an especially religious man, he said his prayers to the seven but he didn't hold to them much outside the walls of the Sept. Despite that, he found it hard to dispel the notion that Callum was blessed by the Smith. It was simply too unbelievable otherwise, and what did that say for the rest of them, that they were living in a land where the Seven-Faced God worked through the hands of an infant?
Aye, Callum was more unusual than any child had the right to be. 'Still', Kevan couldn't help but chuckle as Jaime knocked him on his ass again, 'It's nice to see that he's not exceptional in everything.' Callum was no special talent at arms. Perhaps slightly above average in potential, but utterly unmotivated and thus slacking a bit behind where a boy his age ought to be.
If Kevan had to put words to it, then Callum just didn't have the instinct for battle, or the urge to chase after the shadow of the Warrior that many a young lord had. If the boy was otherwise unexceptional, it would doom him to a life of mediocrity, knighted late, and then cast off into some no-name house. But the boy was a Lannister, and with all his blessings and cleverness, Kevan didn't feel particularly worried about his prospects.
As the sparring seemed to wrap up (with Jaime victorious on all counts) Kevan turned back to his actual work, piling up on his desk like a tower. The affairs of the Lannister holdings in the Westerlands needed a careful hand to manage, though it was less demanding at least than before Tywin had instituted the Lord Tempor system, it was still plenty of work for the Castellan of Casterly Rock.
'And speaking of the Lord Tempors' He glanced over the letters his siblings had sent. Genna, Tygett, Gerion… which one did he care to open first? Genna was always lengthy, Tygett was always curt, and Gerion could go either way depending on his mood. Kevan shrugged and decided that Tygett first was the better way to get through them today. He cut open the letter with his knife and glanced over the note from his brother.
' Kevan,
I've been dealing with an uptick of reaving by Ironborn Fishermen from off Ironman's Bay. Since the investments of livestock and tools from further Ashemark have increased the harvest this last year, it has drawn some attention from the salty wretches. It's not all of them, most still keep the King's peace, but they protect their own, and it's hard to know which of the Ironmen are turning to their old ways.
At any rate, I ask that you send a letter to Lord Quellon Greyjoy asking him to reign in his countrymen. My understanding is that he prefers to keep good relationships with the mainland.
Regards,
Tygett Lannister, Lord Tempor of the North Coast.'
Kevan scratched his chin a little bit, considering that that this was Tygett, he suspected that the man was having difficulties indeed if he was asking for help like this. Tygett was a man who preferred to solve things with his sword, well-practiced in violence, and clever on the field. If these raiders were outmaneuvering him, then they were either befuddling him with their tactics, or he was simply not able to respond to them with the men he had on hand on the North Coast.
Kevan set the letter to the side. Demanding that Lord Greyjoy reign in his sharks was all well and good, but Kevan would send some reinforcements up to support Tygett as well. Not too many, that would make him feel like he was being looked down upon, but enough to help him drive off some overmighty Ironborn. Kevan would consult with Tywin before writing to lord Greyjoy at any rate.
Picking up the next letter from Gerion, Kevan scanned it quietly, sipping at a cup of diluted red wine he kept by him on his desk.
'Dear Brother Kevan!
All has been going well in the Silver Valley since I began showing the Lannister banner with more regularity, I must thank you for your advice. The Lion's roar sent the Serret peacocks running back to their little hovel at Silverhill, and I've been making great strides at establishing a new castle at Sparkling Brook.
The foundations for the keep are already down and the stone is being quarried out of the mountains all around. Good grey granite and a bit of sandstone for the floors, it's all coming along quite well. Running off the Serret men who'd been harassing the people at Lostglitter and Sparrowhill has also made me quite popular with the Tallowmen. I won't tell falsehoods, this 'Lord Tempor' arrangement is the best idea that Tywin's ever had! I'm considering even hosting a tourney once the castle's done of course.
There's quite a few Tallowmen hedge-knights about, and they're quite good with their bows across the board. Some of the old men here even say they fought with alongside Tywin and you in the Wars of the Ninepenny Kings! I think it'd be a fine idea to let them really show their skills in a pauper's tourney or two.
That said brother, I do have a rather more sensitive topic to address with you- and more plainly with Tywin. I've gotten a bit sweet on the daughter of one of the Headmen in Sparkling Brook, a girl named Loria. She's got the loveliest auburn hair and I think I'd like to marry her, but obviously, I'd need Tywin's approval to do it. I wanted to know if you had any advice on how to approach him about this.
I know she's below the status he'd probably look for for me, but I'm also not getting any younger. I doubt I'm a particularly important piece in Tywin's Civass game these days. At any rate, if you could tell me what you think, I'd like that.
Thanks as always Kevan,
Your brother, Gerion.'
Kevan smiled as he set Gerion's note aside, his youngest brother seemed as cheerful as ever, chasing love with a Yeoman's daughter out in the Silver Valley… Kevan would have to find a way to approach Tywin about that, carefully. He had been well enough willing to let Kevan marry Dorna, who was only a knight's daughter, but the Knights were House Swyft who were basically minor lords in their own right, and loyal servants of House Lannister besides.
It would be trickier for even Gerion, who was the furthest living male Lannister from the succession, to marry a town headman's daughter. Perhaps Kevan and Gerion could find a way to promote them to a knightly house in a reasonable amount of time. That might justify it.
He only skimmed Genna's letter. It was four pages long and mostly discussed her young children. She was adoring of Cleos and Lyonel, and already pregnant with a third child now that Emon and her were settled in with his Lord Temporship. Her letter gave few political details, beyond that the harvest was good and that Kevan could expect a moderate increase in incomes from Emon's territory.
Overall it was about the same as most letters from Genna these days. His sister was taking to being a mother with gusto, and while that was heartening, it was also making her political updates a bit less detailed. At this rate, he might actually have to converse with that old man Ser Emon.
Kevan set the several-page-long letter aside and sighed. Then he got to work writing the orders to send men north to help Tygett. The work he needed to get done today still towering over his desk like a grotesque.
'I should really try for children with Dorna again.' he grumbled as he dipped his quill into the inkpot, licking his lips as he began to write.
'Perhaps that would take my mind off of all this work.'
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