Chapter Text
Tyrion
The hall echoed with a woman’s weeping.
There had been much of that as of late. Since word came of the Fall of King’s Landing. More since the return of Tywin Lannister’s host, and the body they had borne with them.
The Hall of Heroes was a large place. The hall was forty feet wide, and stretched on for hundreds more. It still hadn’t reached its final length; there was still room to mine, and whenever new space was required, it was made. Dark, tan-colored stone made up the walls, floor and ceiling. Gold and crimson adorned the various tombs built into the sides.
Tyrion was quiet as he walked along the Hall of Heroes. A boy of ten, he would have been easy to overlook even if he hadn’t been borne as he was. And he had learned to tread with a light foot in the passages of Casterly Rock. One never knows who is about, and here are some who are less nice to run into than others.
The most famed and worthy members of House Lannister were interred here. Some even had their arms and armor displayed, to better keep their memories alive in the minds of those present. Loren the Lion, Gerold the Great, Ser Tion and Ser Jason, Tyrion recalled as he walked down. Yet the greatest hero he knew was the one he sought now, at the end of the Hall.
Jaime’s tomb was a wonder to behold. The effigy on the top was well done, though Tyrion thought that no stone could truly reflect the life that had suffused his brother’s features. Jaime had been buried in the armor and cloak of his station, his blade rested on his chest. The coffin itself had been carved from stone the color of gold, with marble lions prancing along the edges.
To remind all of who lays here. Ser Jaime the White Lion, of House Lannister, Knight of the Kingsguard.
Tyrion was but a few feet away when he found the source of the grief he had heard from down the Hall. She was dressed warmly, as though to ward away the cold that had seeped into Casterly Rock these past days. He couldn’t see her face, though her hair had fallen from beneath her cloak, golden curls that caught the candlelight. I know that hair. Tyrion realized who was here with him, and began to turn when, alerted by instinct or simply to move away, she turned and saw him.
Even in tears she is beautiful, Tyrion thought. Her expression changed as if bewitched, shifting from grief to fear to rage and disgust so quickly it might have been a spell. His sister drew herself up before addressing him.
“What do you think you are doing here?” Cersei’s eyes were narrow, the green flashing in the light the small flames were casting about them. “Why can't you just go away? First Mother, now Jaime- he’s mine, do you understand?”
Her rage came off her in waves, fueled by the grief etched into her heart. Despite that, Tyrion stood firm. “He is my brother as well. And it is only proper that he be remembered as he was, a-"
“Don’t you dare tell me what he was! How could you possibly know? He was my other half, the better part of me, while you just wobbled after him like you were simple!”
“Everyone knows what Jaime was!” Tyrion’s eyes were stinging, his own anger and sorrow coming to the fore. “He was a hero! He saved the new queen and the king’s children! He-"
“HE WASN’T THEIRS! HE WAS THERE BECAUSE A MADMAN WANTED TO HURT US AND HE DID! NO ONE, NOT SER ARTHUR, NOT FATHER, NOT EVEN Rhaegar-"
Cersei’s screams stopped then. The tears were flowing freely now, on her cheeks and Tyrion’s. Her voice was a whisper now, but he could still make out the words.
“Rhaegar. I thought he could do it. He killed that traitorous bastard Baratheon. He was the perfect prince- admired, wise and strong, just and kind. I was supposed to be by his side, not that Dornish wisp. I could have kept him safe. I could have stood alongside Jaime, we would have triumphed, but she…”
Her voice trailed off. Cersei seemed to lose herself for a moment, then shook herself. Her gaze returned to Tyrion’s, taking in his tears for the first time. A sneer came to her face, but before any more venom could fly from her lips, footsteps began echoing from the other end of the hall.
Her gaze rose as Tyrion turned and beheld his father’s last remaining brother. “And what is happening here?” Ser Kevan had aged since King’s Landing, like most in Casterly Rock. Yet he showed no softness now, instead frowning at his niece and nephew. “A servant swore he heard someone screaming bloody murder, yet I see no blood. Is this how you honor your brother? By quarreling beside his tomb?”
Cersei flinched, but quickly resumed her fierce glare, her eyes dry as she faced her uncle. “I have more right to be here than anyone else, even Father. What makes you think Jaime would want this little monster near his place of rest?”
“He wouldn’t mind!” Tyrion declared. Why can’t she give me that much, at least? “Jaime was always kind to me! He knew I was his brother, not like y-”
“Enough, both of you!” Kevan sighed and rubbed his eyes. “As it happens, you cannot remain here, Tyrion. Tywin wants to speak with you, now.”
“What?” Father wants a word? He never speaks to me, except to scold me or warn me that I shall never do the things I wish to. Tyrion could not think of any reason why his father would wish to speak with him now.
Cersei was clearly of the same mind, an unheard-of occurrence. She looked confused and suspicious, but seemed to settle on haughtiness. “Good. Leave us be, you little monster.” And with that, she turned and knelt again before Jaime’s tomb, as if in prayer.
Kevan placed a hand on Tyrion’s shoulder. “Come. The hour grows late.” Tyrion let himself be turned and began walking with his uncle. As he did, he cast one final glance towards the tomb. Even she loved him, a fool can see that. Why? Why would the gods take him, and now of all times?
As they walked through the winding halls of Casterly Rock, Tyrion pondered all the rumors that had been circulating among the servants and guards. Reavers in the Reach. Dragonstone invested by Lord Redwyne. The siege of Storm’s End lifted. The wolf lord heading towards Dorne. And the new king, the new king above all else. This is a time for heroes. We need them now. And the only one House Lannister had is gone.
Some might call Tywin such, but Tyrion didn’t think so. His father was a legend, both here and throughout the Seven Kingdoms. But a hero and a legend were not the same thing, and Tywin himself had appraised his children of the difference. “A hero is a man all women want and all men want to be,” he had declared, “who will only do what is right and honorable, no matter the cost. A legend is a man whose legacy endures for centuries after they are dead, whose actions were guided by a vision of what could be, not by childish notions of virtue. A man of legend may be ignored, even vilified by those who come afterwards, but he will leave behind accomplishments that are tangible. A hero offers nothing but their name.”
“Now tell me, which is the better sort to be?”
Jaime had always rolled his eyes at the speeches their father would give. Cersei, on the other hand, would listen with rapt attention, like a faithful person listening to a septon. Tyrion had listened as well, but always thought that his father could have softened his words some, to better keep Jaime’s attention.
He doubted those were the kind of things his father would tell him now. Those were always meant for Jaime, or maybe Cersei, but never Tyrion. A dwarf son could never build a legacy, not when the golden twins were poised for greatness.
In truth, Tyrion did not begrudge them that. Being a great lord or lady had always seemed like a frightfully hard job to him. Even being a knight, whether a Kingsguard or hedge, had seemed terribly unappealing to him. He had been thinking of becoming a priest, or better yet a cartographer, sailing to all the wonders of the known world, and then to the unknown parts as well. He would name places and people and be remembered for his courage and wit. A legacy all my own. One even Father would acknowledge.
Not that that would ever happen. Lord Tywin had made his views of Tyrion’s notions clear from the start. “If you wish to act a fool,” he had told Tyrion once, “then I will dress you in motley and you can caper about Casterly Rock to your heart’s content.”
He and Kevan had finally reached the door to his father’s chambers, Tyrion realized. The oaken door was closed, as it always was. The lion’s head knocker stared at them challengingly. Kevan grasped it now, making their arrival known. “Enter.” His father’s voice commanded from within. Tyrion and his uncle did as they were bade.
The Lord of Casterly Rock’s chambers were magnificent by any standard. All about them were crimson silk and gold thread. Windows let golden sunlight pour in, illuminating the chambers. Lions roared and ran throughout the tapestries and sheets and curtains. It was behind the latter that the true lion now sat, writing in a quick and precise fashion as Kevan and Tyrion approached.
Tywin Lannister was an impressive man to look upon. His head was shaved, save for the sideburns that resembled the beast that graced his house’s sigil. In his forties, his back was as straight as it had been in his youth, and his broad shoulders belied a strength that was at odds with his slender body. He had a commanding presence which made people unknowingly straighten and more attentive. His face was hard, and the sharp gaze hid gold-flecked, green eyes always sent a jolt down Tyrion’s spine.
They did so again as they caught his mismatched eyes briefly, before looking up at Kevan. “Thank you, Kevan. You may leave us.”
“Of course, Tywin.” Kevan gave a quick, short bow before turning and leaving the chambers.
Now Tyrion was truly confused. Father wants to speak with me, and he wants to do so alone? What is this about?
Tywin sealed the letter he had been writing and placed it to the side, focusing his gaze on Tyrion. “I suppose you wish to know why you’re here.”
When in doubt, best to agree with him. “Yes, Father.”
Tyrion almost kicked himself then. How could he have forgotten? It’s my lord, always my lord, you fool.
If Tywin noticed, he did not mention it. Instead, he slid some parchment across the desk towards Tyrion. “I’m told you are quite a reader. Read that, then tell me what you make of it.”
Slowly, Tyrion reached out and picked up one of the parchments. He glanced down and scanned rapidly. Ships gathered at Lannisport, men ready to sail, coin needed for wages… He put it down and looked at his father. Tywin motioned to the other papers.
Tyrion quickly read them all. One was an account of a reaver attack on the Shields, another the small number of men House Marbrand had sent to join the Lannister host, and a third detailed the wealth mined from Ashemark under the watch of Lord Marbrand’s younger brother. After finishing, he looked at up at Tywin. “What does all of this mean?”
His father looked at him with a frown on his face. “Perhaps Kevan was wrong when he attested to your wit. If you cannot make sense of this, then leave me.”
Tyrion flushed. I will not suffer more insults, not after Cersei. He scanned the messages once more. “There are reavers moving down the coast. They aren’t attacking our shores, but…” His gaze turned towards the first letter. “You think that may still do so. So you’re gathering a fleet in Lannisport.”
Tywin’s expression hadn’t changed, yet his gaze held a renewed interest as he studied Tyrion. “But?”
“But?” Tyrion thought back to what he had read. Coin. Coin, of course. “The men on the ships, the captains, the dockworkers and shipbuilders- they’ll all need coin. So…” He trailed off then. House Marbrand. “You want Lord Marbrand to pay the coin. Rather than use Lannister gold.”
“Yes, though in a sense he will use Lannister gold.”
“What? How-?” Tyrion stopped, remembering the letter about Ashemark. “You think his brother hasn't been paying his share. And they didn’t send enough men to march to King’s Landing. This is punishment for both.”
“Well, well.” Tywin never smiled, but Tyrion could sense satisfaction coming off of him. “It appears Kevan may have been right. Perhaps this notion of his isn’t so fanciful.”
“What notion is that, my lord?” Tyrion asked, pleased to have succeeded yet still confused.
“To name you as heir to Casterly Rock.”
For a moment, all feeling dropped away. As did all thought, save for a single protest echoing in his mind. No, no, that is Jaime’s role, not mine!
“But…but…bu-“Tyrion stammered before he got the words out. “But I’m your younger son! Jaime is sup-”
“Don’t.” The satisfaction was gone, the cold restored with a vengeance. Tywin’s eyes had narrowed, much like Cersei’s, though where in hers he had seen fire, now Tyrion only saw ice. “Do not finish that sentence, or I swear to the gods that I will have you thrown into the sea.”
Tyrion swallowed and then looked down, blinking rapidly. Eventually, he heard his father sigh. “I suppose there is no avoiding the subject. Look at me, Tyrion.”
He used my name? Tyrion did as he was bid, tears once again flowing. Tywin grimaced to see them, but did not scold him. “Are those for you, or for you brother?”
“For Jaime, of course!”
“Good. Self-pity never did anyone any good.” Tywin shifted his gaze, gazing out the window, towards the Sunset Sea. “Jaime was the heir to Casterly Rock, white cloak be damned. It was never his fate to serve as a glorified bodyguard to any king, especially not that one. Yet no matter how many may wish it different, he is gone, forever a hero for maidens to swoon over and men to offer toasts to.”
“Now we must look to the future.” Tywin’s gaze was on him again. “I could try to name Cersei, but the western lords would never accept it, especially when I’m gone. Besides, she is fierce, and more than a little clever, but also reckless, unyielding, and easily enraged. Such traits might be stomached in a man, but in a woman? No, Cersei would only serve as Lady of Casterly Rock if she were wed and content to let herself be controlled, which will never happen.”
“But why me?” The question left Tyrion’s lips before he could think better. “Why not Kevan? Or Tygett? Or even Lancel? Why me?"
“You are my son.” Tywin said it simply, but they still struck Tyrion like an arrow.
He sighed and looked out the window once more. “It will not be easy. You’re condition will make you seem weak. Men will laugh at you in their cups, and some to your face. Lords will think you easily defied, and seek to pillage your lands with impunity. Yet Kevan thinks that you can be made ready to face that and still triumph.” Their eyes met once more. “So Tyrion, you will be my legacy, gods help us all. And when your time comes, you will forge one all your own. For Casterly Rock. For House Lannister.”
“Are you ready to begin?”
That wasn’t what Tyrion was thinking at all. But everything he was thinking, all his protests about Jaime and Cersei, about his uncles and aunt, and about him most of all, they all fell away. As he met his father’s gaze, he knew there was only one way to answer him.
He bowed his head. “Yes Father. I am.”
I may be a little lion, but I am still a lion.
And I will roar.