273 AC
Four moons had passed since the birth that had shaken Casterly Rock to its foundations. The twins stood before the nursery door, golden and perfect in the afternoon light that streamed through the narrow windows of the corridor. At eight years old, they were already striking, Jaime with his easy confidence, Cersei with her regal bearing that belied her youth.
"I don't see why we must visit the creature," Cersei said, her voice pitched low so the guards wouldn't hear. "Father barely acknowledges it. Why should we?"
Jaime shifted from one foot to the other, excitement barely contained in his small frame. "Because he's our brother, stupid. Don't you want to see him? Everyone's talking about him."
"That's precisely why we shouldn't," Cersei replied, tossing her golden curls. "Have you heard what they say? That he's a monster, with scales and a tail. That he devoured Mother from within."
Jaime frowned at her, suddenly serious. "You know that's not true. Mother died in childbirth. Aunt Genna said so."
Before Cersei could retort, the nursery door swung open. The wet nurse appeared, her round face flushing when she saw the Lannister twins standing there.
"My lord, my lady," she curtsied clumsily. "Have you come to see the little one?"
"We have," Jaime said firmly, cutting off whatever Cersei had been about to say. "Father gave permission."
This was not entirely true, Tywin had not expressly forbidden it, which Jaime had taken as tacit approval. The wet nurse hesitated only a moment before stepping aside to let them enter.
The nursery was warm and smelled of milk and clean linen. Sunlight poured through the windows, catching dust motes that danced in the air. In the center of the room stood an ornate cradle, carved with lions and gilded at the edges, a cradle fit for a Lannister heir, regardless of his form.
Jaime approached first, his steps eager yet cautious. Cersei hung back, her face a careful mask that didn't quite hide her distaste.
"He's awake," the wet nurse said softly. "He's always watching, this one. Smart as they come, for his age."
Jaime peered into the cradle, and his breath caught. A pair of eyes gazed up at him, one emerald green like his own, the other black as midnight. The babe was small, smaller than any child Jaime had seen before, with stubby limbs and an oversized head. But there were no scales, no tail, no cloven hooves as the whispers had claimed.
Just a baby. His brother.
The infant regarded him solemnly, then his tiny mouth curved into what might have been a smile. Without hesitation, Jaime reached down and offered his finger. The babe grasped it with surprising strength.
"Hello, Tyrion," Jaime said, the name feeling right on his tongue. "I'm your brother Jaime."
Something warm unfurled in Jaime's chest as the tiny fingers gripped his own. It was different from what he felt for Cersei, not the fierce, possessive love that bound him to his twin, but something protective and instantly certain.
"Cersei," he called, not taking his eyes off the babe. "Come see. He's not a monster at all."
Cersei approached reluctantly, her steps measured and graceful. She stood beside her twin and looked down into the cradle, her green eyes narrowing as she studied the infant.
She had expected worse, something truly monstrous, something that would explain why Mother had died, why Father had become cold as ice. The child before her was ugly, yes, with his misshapen head and too-short limbs. Strange, with those unsettling mismatched eyes. But not the demon from the stories.
"He's still an ugly little thing," she said, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment, as if she had been denied the satisfaction of true revulsion.
The wet nurse made a small sound of protest, but Jaime silenced her with a look that was remarkably like his father's.
"May I hold him?" Jaime asked, already reaching into the cradle.
"Careful with his head, my lord," the wet nurse instructed, helping to position Jaime's arms correctly.
The weight of the babe surprised him, heavier than his size would suggest. Tyrion squirmed a bit, then settled against his brother's chest, those strange eyes still fixed on Jaime's face.
"See, Cersei? He knows me," Jaime said proudly. "He knows I'm his brother."
Cersei's lip curled slightly. "He's a babe. He knows nothing." But she leaned closer despite herself, studying the infant's features. "His eyes are... peculiar."
"They're special," Jaime corrected. "No one else has eyes like that."
As if understanding the compliment, Tyrion made a gurgling sound that might have been laughter. His tiny hand reached up, grasping at the air between himself and Cersei.
"I think he wants you to hold him too," Jaime said, stepping closer to his twin.
Cersei backed away, shaking her head. "I don't want to."
But Jaime was already transferring the babe into her unwilling arms, and the wet nurse hurried forward to ensure the handoff went smoothly.
Cersei stood rigid as the small weight settled against her. The babe looked up at her, his mismatched eyes wide and curious. For a moment, she felt herself soften as she looked into his eyes..
Then Tyrion's face scrunched up, and he began to wail.
"Take him," she demanded, thrusting the crying infant back toward the wet nurse. "He doesn't like me."
"Nonsense," the wet nurse soothed, taking Tyrion and patting his back. "He's just hungry, that's all. It's nearly time for his feeding."
But Cersei had already turned away, her cheeks flushed. "We should go, Jaime. We've seen enough."
Jaime lingered, watching as the wet nurse settled into a chair with Tyrion. "Can we come back tomorrow?" he asked.
"Of course, my lord," the nurse replied with a warm smile. "The little one would like that, I'm sure."
Outside in the corridor, Cersei rounded on her twin. "Why would you want to see it again? It's just a deformed baby."
"He," Jaime corrected. "Not it. He's our brother, Cersei."
"Half-brother," she snapped. "And he killed Mother."
Jaime's face darkened. "That's not fair. He didn't choose to be born."
"But he was, and now Mother is dead." Cersei's voice cracked slightly. "Father can barely look at us anymore. Everything's changed because of him."
Jaime reached for her hand, but she pulled away. "I'm going to keep visiting him," he said firmly. "You don't have to come if you don't want to."
Something cold and jealous twisted in Cersei's stomach. Jaime had never before shown interest in anything that didn't include her. They were two halves of a whole, inseparable from birth. And now this... creature had captured a piece of her twin's attention.
"Fine," she said icily. "Waste your time with the dwarf. I don't care."
She stalked off down the corridor, her back rigid with anger. Jaime watched her go, torn between following his twin and returning to the nursery where his new brother lay.
For the first time in his life, Jaime felt pulled in two directions. He loved Cersei, would always love Cersei, but something about the small, solemn-eyed babe had reached inside him and taken hold. A fierce protectiveness, a determination that no matter what anyone else thought or said, he would be there for his little brother.
With one last glance toward Cersei's retreating form, Jaime turned and pushed open the nursery door once more.
The wet nurse looked up in surprise as he entered. "Did you forget something, my lord?"
"No," Jaime said, settling himself on a stool beside her. "I just thought I'd stay a while longer. If that's all right."
The woman smiled knowingly "Of course, my lord. Little Tyrion here seems to enjoy your company." She adjusted the babe in her arms, who had stopped fussing the moment Jaime returned. "He's quite the clever one, you know. Not even half a year old and already watching everything with those eyes of his."
Jaime leaned closer, fascinated by his little brother's solemn gaze. "What does he do all day?"
"Oh, he's not like other babes his age, milord," the wet nurse said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Most just sleep and cry, but this one, he watches. And those little hands of his, strong as anything." She beamed with pride, as if Tyrion's accomplishments were her own. "Just yesterday, I gave him some wooden blocks the carpenter made. Painted with lions and such. He loves playing with them, milord. Stacks them up higher than you'd think possible for one so small."
Jaime's eyes widened. "Can I see?
"I've never seen a babe his age do that," Jaime said, steadying Tyrion with gentle hands as the little one leaned forward to place another block.
"Nor I, milord, and I've nursed five children before him." The woman's face softened as she watched them. "It's good of you to visit. He has few enough who bother."
Jaime felt a pang at that. He picked up a block painted with a golden sun and offered it to Tyrion, who took it with a gurgle that might have been thanks.
"We're going to build the tallest tower in Casterly Rock," Jaime told his brother, selecting another block for himself. "Even taller than the Hightower in Oldtown."
Tyrion made a sound that Jaime decided was agreement and patted the growing stack of blocks with his palm.
They played like that for nearly an hour, Jaime chattering about knights and tournaments, describing the world outside the nursery walls that Tyrion would someday see. The babe seemed to listen, those strange eyes never leaving Jaime's face for long.
When their tower finally collapsed in a clatter of tumbling blocks, Tyrion let out a delighted laugh,a real laugh, not just a baby's gurgle. The sound struck Jaime like a physical blow. It was so unexpected, so genuinely joyful, that he couldn't help but laugh too.
"Did you hear that?" he asked the wet nurse excitedly. "He laughed!"
"Aye, he does that sometimes," she said, though her expression suggested it wasn't a common occurrence. "Only when he's truly pleased about something."
Tyrion reached for the blocks again, clearly wanting to rebuild their fallen tower. Jaime obliged, helping his little brother stack them once more.
"I'll teach you everything," he promised quietly as they worked. "How to ride, how to use a sword. Father won't be able to ignore you when you're the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms."
The wet nurse pretended not to hear, busying herself with folding linens. But her eyes, when they fell on the golden-haired boy playing so gently with his younger brother, held something like hope.
As the afternoon light began to wane, casting long shadows across the nursery floor, Jaime reluctantly rose to his feet. "I should go before dinner. Cersei will be looking for me."
Tyrion's face scrunched up, as if he understood Jaime was leaving and disapproved.
"I'll come back tomorrow," Jaime promised, carefully transferring his brother back to the wet nurse's arms. "Maybe we'll build an even taller tower."
As he turned to leave, the wet nurse called after him. "Thank you, milord. It does him good to have family visit."
Jaime nodded, suddenly solemn beyond his years. "He's a Lannister," he said, echoing words he'd heard his father use countless times. "And Lannisters stand together."
_____________________________________
Early 274AC
Six moons after Tyrion's birth, the banners of House Martell flew alongside the Lannister lion at Casterly Rock. Lady Myriah Martell of Sunspear had arrived with her children, Oberyn and Elia, for a diplomatic visit that had been planned long before Lady Joanna's passing.
The Rock buzzed with activity as servants prepared for the evening's feast. In the courtyard, Jaime watched the Martell siblings with curiosity. Oberyn, a youth of seventeen, moved with a fluid grace, while his sister Elia, a year his senior, possessed a gentle dignity.
"They say the Dornish eat snakes and can kill with a whisper," Cersei murmured beside him. "And that their women are all—"
"Cersei," Jaime hissed, elbowing his twin as the Martells approached.
Oberyn's dark eyes glittered with amusement. "Whatever she was about to say, I assure you the rumors about Dornishmen are vastly understated." His accent rolled pleasantly around the words, making them sound exotic to Jaime's ears.
Elia smiled softly. "You must forgive my brother. He delights in shocking people." She had a delicate beauty, her complexion olive and her eyes large and dark.
Formal introductions had been made earlier with their fathers present, but this was their first chance to speak alone. Jaime straightened his spine, remembering he was the heir to Casterly Rock.
"We hope you find your stay comfortable," he said, the courtesies his septa had drilled into him flowing automatically.
Oberyn waved a dismissive hand. "Comfortable, yes. Interesting remains to be seen." He leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. "I've heard fascinating tales about your younger brother. The... Imp, they call him in Sunspear."
Elia tugged at his sleeve. "Oberyn," she chastised softly, "that's unkind."
Jaime felt his face heat. "His name is Tyrion," he said firmly.
"Of course," Oberyn replied, unabashed. "May we see him? I confess I'm exceedingly curious."
Cersei's face twisted. "Why would you want to see that monster?"
"Because monsters are always the most interesting people," Oberyn replied with a grin that showed too many teeth.
Jaime shot Cersei a warning look before turning back to their guests. "Of course you can see him. He's my brother."
Cersei rolled her eyes. "Fine. But don't blame me when you have nightmares."
Jaime led them through the winding corridors of Casterly Rock, away from the bustle of the main halls where servants prepared for the evening's feast. The further they walked, the quieter it became, until they reached a secluded passage where a single guard stood watch.
"I'm showing our guests to see my brother," Jaime announced with all the authority an eight-year-old could muster.
The guard nodded, recognizing the young heir's regular visits. "He's awake, my lord. The nurse just left to fetch fresh linens."
Inside, the chamber was bathed in afternoon light. The windows had been opened to catch the sea breeze, and the room smelled of lavender and clean linen. In the center, not in his cradle but on a blanket spread across the floor, sat Tyrion.
At six moons old, he had grown, though not as much as a normal child might have. His head remained disproportionately large, and his limbs were short and somewhat bowed. But what caught the visitors' attention were his hands, deftly manipulating wooden blocks into an intricate structure that resembled a bridge, complete with arches and supporting columns.
Oberyn crouched down, disappointment evident in the slight downturn of his mouth. "I expected scales, perhaps. Claws. The septons in Oldtown speak of a demon born to the mighty Tywin Lannister."
Elia knelt beside her brother, her movements gentle as she studied the small child. "He's so tiny," she murmured, but without the disgust or pity Jaime had grown accustomed to hearing. "How old did you say he was?"
"Six moons," Jaime replied proudly. "The maester says he's very clever."
Tyrion looked up at his visitors, his mismatched eyes, one green, one black, regarding them with unmistakable intelligence. He made a soft sound, almost like a greeting, before returning his attention to his blocks.
"See?" Jaime said, sitting cross-legged beside his brother. "He's building a bridge. Yesterday it was a tower taller than my arm.
Cersei, who had remained by the door, sniffed dismissively. "He's still a monster. A dwarf who killed our mother."
"Cersei, stop it," Jaime snapped.
But Cersei was already moving forward, her face a mask of childish cruelty. Before anyone could react, she darted past Oberyn and pinched Tyrion's arm, hard.
"Monster," she hissed.
Jaime lunged forward, grabbing her wrist and yanking her away. "What is wrong with you?"
Tyrion made a surprised sound but didn't cry. Instead, he stared at Cersei with those mismatched eyes, before returning his attention to his blocks as if nothing had happened.
Oberyn's face darkened as he looked at Cersei. "How brave you are, tormenting a baby," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Truly, the courage of a lioness."
Cersei flushed scarlet, jerking her arm free from Jaime's grasp. "You know nothing," she spat, then turned and fled the room.
Elia had already moved to Tyrion, her slim fingers gently stroking the reddened spot on his arm. "Poor little one," she cooed. "Your sister has quite the temper, doesn't she?"
Tyrion regarded her solemnly, then, to Jaime's surprise, offered Elia one of his wooden blocks, a gesture he typically reserved for his brother alone.
"He likes you," Jaime said, relief washing over him. "He doesn't usually share his blocks with anyone but me."
Elia accepted the block with a warm smile. "I'm honored, Lord Tyrion." She placed it carefully atop his bridge, following his design. "You have quite the eye for architecture. Perhaps you'll rebuild the Sandship at Sunspear one day."
Oberyn had recovered from his disgust at Cersei and now watched his sister interact with the babe. "I've never seen one so young demonstrate such skill in building."
"He's very smart," Jaime said proudly, settling down cross-legged beside his little brother. "Watch this." He deliberately misplaced a block in Tyrion's carefully constructed bridge. The baby made a disgruntled noise, immediately removing the offending piece and repositioning it correctly.
"You're not what I expected, Tyrion Lannister," Oberyn said thoughtfully. "But then, the most interesting people rarely are."
Elia continued to coo over Tyrion, helping him place blocks where his short arms couldn't reach. "He has beautiful eyes," she remarked. "I've never seen mismatched ones before."
"I've heard people say it's a sign of the gods' disfavor," Jaime admitted quietly. "But I think they're special."
"In Dorne, we would call them kissed by fate," Elia said. "Two eyes that see different worlds."
Tyrion looked up at her words, as if he understood, and made a sound that might have been agreement.
The door opened, and the wet nurse entered with fresh linens. She stopped short at the sight of the visitors. "My lords, my lady, I didn't know—"
"It's all right," Jaime assured her. "They wanted to meet Tyrion."
The nurse relaxed slightly, though she cast a wary glance at the Dornish siblings. "It's nearly time for his feeding, my lord."
Elia rose gracefully. "We should prepare for the feast anyway." She bent to stroke Tyrion's blonde hair. "It was a pleasure to meet you, little lord."
Oberyn bowed with exaggerated courtliness to Tyrion, who watched him silently "Until we meet again, Lord Tyrion. Perhaps by then you'll have built an entire castle."
As they made their way back to the main halls, Elia walked beside Jaime, her steps measured and graceful. "Your brother is remarkable," she said softly. "Not what the rumors claimed at all."
"People say cruel things," Jaime replied, with a bitterness beyond his years. "They don't know him."
Oberyn, walking ahead, glanced back over his shoulder. "The world is rarely kind to those who are different, young Lannister. Remember that."
That evening, the Great Hall of Casterly Rock echoed with music and conversation as the feast honoring the Martell visitors commenced. Tywin Lannister sat at the high table, his face a mask of courteous attention as Lady Myriah spoke animatedly beside him. The twins were seated nearby, Jaime fidgeting in his formal attire while Cersei charmed those around her with practiced smiles.
"Your son is a credit to House Lannister," Lady Myriah remarked, gesturing toward Jaime. "And your daughter is already a beauty to rival her mother." A shadow passed across Tywin's face at the mention of Joanna, but the Dornishwoman continued, "It reminds me of why I came. Before her passing, Joanna and I had discussed certain arrangements for our children's futures."
Tywin's expression remained unchanged, though something hardened in his eyes. "Indeed?"
"Yes," Lady Myriah said, taking a delicate sip of wine. "We had thought perhaps Oberyn might make a suitable match for your Cersei. Or Elia for young Jaime. Perhaps both. Our houses united would be a formidable alliance."
The hall seemed to grow quieter, though the music continued and servants moved between tables with platters of roasted meats and fresh bread. Tywin set down his goblet with precise care.
"My daughter," he said, his voice carrying no further than Lady Myriah's ears, "will marry Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."
Lady Myriah's eyebrows rose slightly. "An ambitious match. Has King Aerys agreed to this?"
"He will," Tywin replied with absolute certainty. "As for my son Jaime, he is heir to Casterly Rock. His marriage will be decided when the time is appropriate."
"I see." Lady Myriah's voice cooled slightly. "Joanna had wished for our bloodlines to be joint together."
Tywin's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "If you seek a match for your daughter Elia, I could offer Tyrion."
The words hung in the air between them, their meaning unmistakable. Lady Myriah's dark eyes flashed, though her face remained composed. "How generous," she replied, her voice dripping with barely concealed disdain. "To offer a babe of six moons to my daughter of eighteen years. A disabled one, at that."
"The match would not take place immediately, of course," Tywin said, his tone suggesting this was a reasonable clarification.
"Of course not." Lady Myriah set down her goblet with a deliberate motion. "Lord Tywin, let us speak plainly. You insult House Martell with such an offer."
"It was not meant as an insult," Tywin replied coldly. "Merely a practical suggestion, since you seem eager to join our houses."
"Practical?" Lady Myriah's laugh held no humor. "To suggest my daughter wait sixteen years to wed a dwarf? I think not, my lord. Joanna would be ashamed of such a proposal."
At the mention of his late wife, Tywin's face whitened slightly, but his voice remained steady. "Joanna is no longer here to discuss the matter."
"No," Lady Myriah agreed, her eyes softening momentarily. "And perhaps that is why you fail to see the inappropriateness of your offer."
Silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken words. Around them, the feast continued, oblivious to the tension at the high table.
Finally, Lady Myriah spoke again, her voice carrying the warmth of the Dornish sun but with steel beneath. "We shall depart on the morrow, Lord Tywin. I thank you for your hospitality, brief though our stay has been."
Tywin inclined his head lightly. "As you wish."
The next morning dawned bright and clear as the Martell banners were prepared for departure. In the courtyard, Jaime watched as servants loaded the last of the trunks onto packhorses.
"Are you really leaving so soon?" he asked Elia, who stood nearby, her dark hair gleaming in the sunlight.
"I'm afraid so," she replied with a gentle smile. "Matters between our parents did not progress as hoped."
Oberyn appeared, adjusting his riding gloves. "That's putting it mildly, sister. Lord Tywin managed to insult us quite thoroughly." He glanced at Jaime. "No offense to you, young lion."
Jaime frowned. "What happened?"
"Politics," Elia said diplomatically. "Nothing for you to worry about."
But Oberyn was less circumspect. "Your father offered your infant brother as a husband for my sister. A babe of six moons for a woman of eighteen." His dark eyes glittered dangerously. "After refusing to consider you or your sister for matches with us."
"Oberyn," Elia chided softly.
Jaime's face flushed with confusion and embarrassment. "Father wouldn't do that. Not to Tyrion."
"Wouldn't he?" Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "He seems to hold little affection for his youngest son."
Before Jaime could respond, Lady Myriah approached, her traveling cloak fluttering in the morning breeze. "Come, children. It's time we were on our way."
Elia knelt before Jaime, her face level with his. "Take care of your little brother," she said softly. "He will need someone in his corner."
"I will," Jaime promised, his young face solemn.
Oberyn clapped him on the shoulder. "Perhaps we'll meet again under better circumstances, young Lannister."