GO GIVE YOUR POWER STONES TO MY NEW STORY, IF YOU CAN. "A BLADEMASTER IN WESTEROS."
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For a moment I only stared at the girl-shaped nuclear bomb across the room from me.
Cersei Lannister looked like a perfect little doll sitting there. Blonde hair coiffed into elaborate curls that must have taken a servant hours to arrange. Skin porcelain white and pale, flawless in the way only children and the very wealthy—which she just so happened to be—could manage. She wore a skirted red dress with gold threading, the kind you'd see on a blank-faced mannequin in a shop window.
It was strangely uncanny, in a way. Like something so aesthetically perfect it bordered on inhuman.
I caught myself before my thoughts became too obvious on my face.
Behind her, almost invisible against the far wall, sat a septa in gray robes. Sewing something, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. Keeping watch. Of course Lord Tywin would have eyes on one of his most precious assets at all times, even inside his own tower.
"Lady Cersei," I said, inclining my head slightly.
A different gesture than the first time I'd met her back in the Rock's great hall. Though she was still my societal superior—daughter of a great lord and Hand versus heir to a middling house—I'd also built a name for myself beyond that of my father's. No need to overdo it on the bowing and scraping.
Even at eleven, she was sharp enough to notice the difference. Her lips formed a thin line, green eyes narrowing just slightly. But she'd had noble training her entire life. She still rose and dipped into a shallow curtsy, the movement graceful and practiced.
"Ser Galladon," she said. She had the lilting voice of an angel. Lucifer, perhaps. "Welcome to King's Landing."
I stepped further into the room, closing some of the distance between us. "This is a surprise. I did not expect to see you tonight."
She'd been opening her mouth to respond, but snapped it closed. Her features quickly twisted into a scowl that looked almost comical on such a young face. Almost.
"Why not?" She frowned. "My father is the Hand of the King. I would think myself well invited to the Tower of the Hand."
The shift in her demeanor made me pause. I wondered if she had a quicker temper than the Mountain. And despite his size, I knew she could do much more damage than that beast of a man. Might do, if history played out the way I remembered.
So I tried the same tactic I used on my sisters when trying to defuse situations. My most charming smile, followed by a small self-deprecating laugh.
A bit of red went to her cheeks. I counted that as a win.
Making an impression on her back at the tourney had been a small investment I'd hoped would pay off for as long as she had any influence in Westerosi politics. And given what I knew, that could be a hell of a long time.
"I simply did not expect to see you in the capital," I said smoothly. "It is, of course, a great pleasure to see you again after so long, my lady."
She sniffed, but seemed satisfied with my answer. "I expect that it is, considering I brought you so much luck last we met."
Laughable, but also adorable in its childish arrogance.
"Of course," I said indulgently.
Lifting her chin so high she was almost looking down at me despite being nearly two feet shorter, she offered me her hand. Palm down, fingers extended. The gesture of a queen, not a child.
Approaching, I gently took her palm and brushed my lips over the top of her hand.
"It's a shame the king is not currently hosting a tourney, then," I said, straightening but not releasing her hand quite yet. "With your favor, I'm sure I'd sweep the field even should the Warrior himself ride against me."
Her cheeks flushed properly now, pink spreading from her neck to her hairline. "Perhaps," she said, trying to maintain her haughty composure. "But you are not the only great warrior in the capital. Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, and the White Bull are all in the castle." She paused, watching my reaction. "And the Prince has only yesterday returned from his travels to Summerhall."
"Oh, I see I'd have fierce competition for your favor, then." I released her hand, letting my own fall to my side. "Beating out a prince would not be easy. Though I do believe I've done it once before."
She sputtered. "There'd be no competition." Then she seemed to realize how that sounded, and backtracked quickly. "I mean that—that I would not give out any favors so easily, ser. Even for you. I am a lioness of Lannister. Few knights are worthy of such an honor."
"Even the Prince?" I prodded, unable to help myself.
Her frown deepened, though I didn't think it was anger she was trying not to show. Something else flickered in her eyes. Hurt, maybe. Or embarrassment.
"The… the king has made his opinion known on that match." Her voice was quieter now. "As you well know, ser."
"Aye, I do well know."
We went quiet for a moment. I should not have teased over a public embarrassment that, for a medieval young lady, would be the equivalent of being rejected by the football team's captain in front of the whole school. Rejected by his father, actually, which might be even worse.
I could see her struggling with something, her small hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Then she mastered herself, smoothing out her expression.
I looked around the room properly now, taking in the details I'd missed in my initial assessment. Rich furnishings, yes, but also personal touches. A book lying open on a side table. A half-finished embroidery project. Evidence that Cersei actually lived here now, not just visited.
My eyes found the septa again, still sewing quietly in her corner. Silent witness to everything.
"Tell me," I said, turning back to Cersei, "is your brother not with you? I had thought twins such as yourselves always stayed together."
Her expression shifted again. Something almost like pain crossed her features before she buried it beneath indignation.
"He remains in Casterly Rock, the fool." The words came out sharper than I think she intended. "I told him he should come with me, but all he cares about now are his lessons with Maester Creylen and the master-at-arms." Her voice softened, just for a moment. Sadness creeping in around the edges. "We barely… barely see each other anymore."
Then, realizing what she'd revealed, her eyes suddenly hardened. "Not that I would want to. He's always stinking from his time in the yard."
The protest rang hollow. I'd seen enough siblings to recognize the ache of separation when I heard it.
Granted, keeping Cersei separated from her brother should be considered essential for national security reasons and for many other moral ones besides, but it was still her twin. For an eleven year old, it could not be easy.
"I understand that feeling," I said, keeping my voice gentle. "My sisters and I, these last two months—I have been away more than I have been home. There are days I think I have been too busy for them, and I am not sure they'd disagree." I let that sit. "It can make a person feel rather alone, even surrounded by people."
She looked at me with an earnestness I did not expect from her. As if I had said something she was not prepared to have said to her, and was now deciding what to do with it.
"What of your friends, then?" I spoke before she could make up her mind. "I remember seeing them following you around back in Casterly Rock."
This, it seemed, was a more comfortable topic for her.
"They were my bedmaids, not my friends," she said with a huff, tossing her hair back. "I would never bring them to King's Landing. Jeyne was ever so dull, and Melara was not much better. They went home before I left the Rock, of course."
The disdain in her voice was palpable, but I barely heard it.
Melara Hetherspoon. Alive. Living and breathing instead of drowned in a well after visiting Maggy the Frog.
For some reason, I felt a tiny itch that had been bothering me this whole time finally scratch itself away. I'd barely thought of the girl since Lannisport. It wasn't as if I'd had much free time between then and now. But I'd always felt for her tragic story.
And I'd take a win on a little girl going home alive and well to her family any day of the week in this shithole of a world.
"I see," I said. "What of friends in the city?
"Yes, I suppose." She looked out the window, her profile silhouetted against the fading light. "I have met many ladies at court already. And Queen Rhaella has called on me to walk the gardens together many times. She has been kind to me."
A certain twisting started in my chest at the mention of the queen's name.
I tried to think about Rhaella Targaryen as little as I could. Whatever grief I felt for Melara Hetherspoon's story couldn't compare to the depression-inducing last years of Queen Rhaella. Raped repeatedly by her brother-husband. Watching her children die. Fleeing across the sea pregnant and terrified, only to die in childbirth.
"I'm sure she has," I managed.
Despite knowing what Cersei could one day become, she was still a little girl caught in the ruthless world of royal politics and house rivalries. That deserved some measure of sympathy, at least.
"I'm glad you have been able to find some happiness here, my lady," I told her. And was even genuine about it.
She nodded, and this time, when she looked back at me, she had something fierce in her eyes. Determined. Almost desperate.
"Yes. My future is here," she said. "I know it in my heart."
That took me by surprise. Was she still so set on marrying the prince? Even after all that had happened back in Lannisport? After Aerys had publicly rejected the match and humiliated her father?
"And you've settled on your future despite being so young?" I raised an eyebrow.
I could see that she'd taken that as derision. Her spine stiffened, shoulders pulling back.
I continued before the nuclear bomb could detonate. "That is good to hear. Decisiveness is a good quality for a future lady to have."
She looked out the window again, down into the sprawling view of the Red Keep below. The battlements, the training yards, the sept.
"A lady… yes." She blinked, green eyes flickering back to mine. "My lord father said much of the same about you, ser. He said you dealt with that little Stormlander house quite decisively." She paused. "You should be honored. His approval is hard-won."
There was that Lannister arrogance. Though, in a way, I supposed I should indeed be honored. Tywin Lannister praising your destruction of a rival house was like the Pope personally complimenting your devotion to God. It was always good to get validation from the experts themselves.
"I will have to thank Lord Tywin for his words, then."
Footsteps approached from the hallway. Heavy boots, a confident stride. I turned to see Ser Gerion Lannister coming into the room.
He had a big smile on his face, arms spread in greeting. And, surprisingly, an eyepatch over his left eye.
"And what are you children speaking about?" he asked cheerfully.
Cersei snapped, "I'm not a child."
I smiled at Gerion, only to be immediately distracted by the eyepatch. Black leather, simple but well-made. Was this a fashion statement of some kind? Some new King's Landing trend I was too countryside-hick to understand?
"Ser Gerion," I said, trying not to stare too obviously at the leather patch. "It is good to see you up and walking."
"Not as good as it is to be out of that solar." He jerked a thumb back toward the hallway. "I think my brother likes to pretend he's the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch with how hot he keeps that room."
Gerion walked up to me, and when he was close enough, I extended an arm out to him in greeting.
I was roughly pulled into a bear hug instead.
Laughing, I slapped him on the back, returning the embrace. He felt thinner than I remembered, and there was a hesitation in his movements that hadn't been there before.
"By the gods," Gerion said, pushing me back to arm's length and staring up at me. "It's barely been a year and you've shot up like a siege tower they forgot to stop building. If you keep going, you'll end up tall enough to joust from the ground."
I grinned. I had almost half a foot on him now. "Better than shrinking. At least I won't need a stepstool to mount my horse."
Gerion barked out a laugh. "There's the wit I remember." He stepped back, looking between me and his niece. "I mean, look at the two of you. It's like little Cersei is a tiny dwarf compared to you."
The room temperature dropped about ten degrees.
Cersei's face turned red, twisted into absolute fury. Someone didn't like being called a dwarf, go figures.
I almost thought she was going to throw a haymaker at Gerion when she took a tiny step toward him, hands balling into fists. Then she let out a long breath through her nose and clicked her tongue.
"Aunt Genna said I would be wise to ignore your childish remarks, uncle," she said. Each word precisely enunciated, dripping with venom.
"Genna said, did she?" Gerion's grin widened.
Cersei nodded, all haughty arrogance again. Nose up in the air.
"And how wise could she be?" Gerion spread his hands. "Father above, the woman married a Frey."
I couldn't completely stifle my laughter. It burst out before I could stop it.
Cersei turned red with embarrassment, then excused herself in a swirl of skirts, marching over to complain to her septa on the other side of the room. The older woman set aside her sewing when she looked over, her stern face glaring at us.
Gerion shook his head as Cersei walked away, still chuckling. "Well then, that's my teasing duty as an uncle all done for the day." He turned back to me, expression warming. "That aside, it is truly good to see you, lad."
"Likewise, my friend." I gestured at his face. "What's with the eyepatch, then? Don't tell me you plan on taking up the pirate's life."
He cracked a smirk. "It would be quite the irony, wouldn't it? Alas, it is not for such a petty reason."
Reaching up, he grabbed the patch with two fingers and lifted the leather tab.
A milky white eye stared blankly back at me. Clouded over completely, the pupil barely visible beneath the film. Lifeless.
I flinched back like I'd been slapped. "How?" The answer came even as I asked. "The poison? But you seemed fine when last I saw you."
He let the patch drop back into place and nodded. "Aye, it crept up on me. At first I thought I must have just been dizzy or tired from the recovery. But it slowly got worse. Colors fading, shapes blurring." He touched the patch gently. "Oberyn and the maester tried their best, but the eye slowly lost its light."
"Gods." The word came out quiet. "I'm sorry, Gerion."
He shrugged and put on a brave face, but I could tell that's exactly what it was. And knowing how Tywin dealt with cripples, bastards, and broken things, I didn't think family support was an option here.
Clearing my throat, I forced some lightness back into my voice. "Well, at least it makes you look dashing, doesn't it? I'm sure the ladies are loving it."
I was dying to ask him about Princess Elia, but I wouldn't throw a gossip source under the wagon only a few minutes after acquiring it. I'd keep Ser Sarek's penchant for chitchat under lock and key.
Gerion's strained smirk curved up into a real smile. "Aye, that hasn't been so bad, I'd say. Not with the ladies. But in the yard?" His expression sobered. "By the time I had enough strength to get a sword back in my hand, I could barely swing it straight. Like I'd lost ten years of practice. Couldn't judge distances worth a damn."
I heard more footsteps coming down the hall. Heavier ones. The measured tread of powerful men. And their voice's too. Lord Steffon's booming laugh, Lord Tywin's measured tones.
If they were coming, dinner would be starting soon.
"Fret not, then." I gave Gerion a pat on the shoulder. "Your big strong savior is here to put you through your paces. Meet me in the yard tomorrow at dawn, ser. And every day while I'm here in the Red Keep. You'll hate me by the end, but one day, you'll thank me for it."
xxx
They started serving dinner after greetings were exchanged all around.
Lord Steffon had embraced me like family, slapping my back hard enough to rattle my teeth despite the fact we'd only been separated for a few hours. Lord Tywin had offered a nod and a firm handshake, his grip like iron, his eyes assessing.
Cersei had been summoned back from her corner to sit at the table properly, though she'd shot her uncle a final glare before taking her seat with perfect posture.
The food was exceptional, as expected. Course after course of dishes I couldn't have imagined back in my previous life. Oysters from Gulltown. Venison from the Kingswood. Sauces that must have required a dozen ingredients and hours of preparation.
At first, there was the typical small talk over dinner. Happenings at court and in the capital. Lord Tywin spoke of some dispute between two minor houses that had been brought before the king. Gerion mentioned brawls between smiths breaking up in the Street of Steel.
Later, Lord Steffon and I spoke of the ride from Storm's End, the state of the roads, the villages we'd passed through.
Then Lord Steffon turned to Gerion with a grin. "I've heard tell of your adventure with pirates in the Stepstones, Ser Gerion. But Galladon here has been too modest to speak of it properly."
I groaned internally.
"Oh, have you now?" Gerion's eye lit up. "Well, let me tell you how it really happened, my lord."
And what followed was a completely exaggerated retelling of the events that made me sound like the Warrior come again and Gerion a helpless princess in need of saving. He described himself cowering behind barrels and praying for a knight in shining armor to come and help him, all while I supposedly cut down a dozen pirates single-handedly. Claimed I'd leapt from ship to ship like some kind of acrobat.
Lord Steffon was roaring with laughter, pounding the table. Even Cersei was giggling behind her hand.
Lord Tywin was not quite so amused. I didn't think the man could comprehend self-deprecating humor to save his own life. It was simply not in him to make fun of himself. And to Tywin, Gerion making fun of himself also reflected poorly on the name of Lannister. That he could not have.
His frown got progressively worse as the story went on, his jaw tightening with each embellishment.
"We've heard enough of the japes, Gerion," Tywin said. His voice cut through the laughter like a searing knife.
"Oh, come now," Steffon said, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. His eyes were still twinkling. "He was just getting to the part where Galladon asks for his hand in marriage."
"I'm sure Ser Galladon does not appreciate this foolishness using his name, hm?" Tywin stared at me with those piercing gray eyes. Waiting.
Lord Steffon turned as well, lifting an expectant eyebrow. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason at all, I wanted the chair beneath me to swallow me like a venus flytrap. Putting me between the Hand of the King and my liege lord? Really, Tywin?
So I did all I could in the circumstance. Tactical retreat.
I put on my dumbest, most placid smile and nodded as if I'd just noticed something fascinating on my plate. "The mustard sauce on the pheasant is sublime, isn't it? Compliments to your chef, my lord."
Tywin stared at me hard for a good few seconds. I could feel the weight of that gaze trying to pin me down, force me to choose a side. Then he grunted in acknowledgment and returned to his meal as if the whole thing had never even happened.
Lord Steffon shot me a wink when I caught his eye. Well played, the gesture said. Gerion smirked at me from across the table.
Finally, after the fifth course was taken away and servants brought lemon cakes for the whole table, the other shoe dropped.
"Now, Galladon," Steffon said, wiping at his mouth. He set down his napkin with deliberate care. "Tywin and I were speaking of you earlier this evening."
"Oh." I kept my voice light. "Good things, I hope."
"Aye," Steffon said. "Despite your age, you've shown yourself to be a remarkable young man and a better knight besides. I know men twice your age who'd be glad to have half your accomplishments."
"I am honored, my lord," I told him. My heart was starting to beat faster, though I couldn't have said why.
Tywin nodded. "Indeed. A Lannister does not forget his debts. You have done Gerion, and thus my family, a great service."
"Aye," Gerion said, raising his cup toward me. "The Seven know I shan't ever forget it, Galladon."
I smiled at them and bowed my head in thanks, but deep down I felt like one of those birds being fattened for slaughter. A bead of sweat rolled down my spine.
Where were they going with this?
"Lord Lannister and I are old friends," Steffon said. "We have fought together, bled together. Stood beside each other through rebellion and war. We thought it would be fitting if our sons shared a similar bond."
Oh gods.
"After much discussion," Tywin continued, picking up the thread seamlessly, "we have decided that you would be the ideal knight for both young Stannis and Jaime to squire under."
There was a beat of silence in the room. Like the world had stopped turning for just a moment.
Then a silver fork clattered against a plate.
Cersei was staring at the wall, mouth agape. All that careful noble composure shattered in an instant.
I blinked. "You want Stannis Baratheon and Jaime Lannister to squire under me?" My voice came out strangled. Disbelieving.
This couldn't be happening. This wasn't part of the timeline. Jaime was supposed to squire for Lord Crakehall. Stannis... I couldn't even remember who Stannis squired for, if anyone. But his place was in Storm's End. Had to be, at least when the rebellion came.
Cersei snapped out of her shock, turning to her father. "You want Jaime to squire under him?"
Then Tywin was staring daggers at her, and Cersei's mouth snapped with a subdued click. On the other side, Steffon was smiling widely at me, clearly delighted by the whole thing. And Gerion, his one good eye dancing with amusement, was chuckling like an aging pirate behind his hand, eye-patch and all.
And I just sat there, lemon cake forgotten, trying to process the fact that I'd somehow become responsible for shaping two of the most important figures in Westerosi history.
The timeline wasn't just changing anymore. It was completely off the rails.
xxx
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