The road to King's Landing taught me that maps lied.
Not deliberately. They simply made everything look closer.
On Maester Creylen's maps, Casterly Rock and King's Landing were separated by the width of my hand. In reality, that distance contained villages, forests, rivers, crowded inns, broken wheels, aching legs, dust, and more horse shit than any mapmaker had apparently considered worth recording.
After the first few days, the excitement of leaving home faded.
My backside hurt.
I missed my bed.
And Tywin was terrible company.
We rode near the front of the column most mornings, beneath the same long summer that had covered Westeros for years. The days were warm and often clear, though rain occasionally turned stretches of road into mud.
Tywin could spend hours on horseback without speaking.
I could not.
"How many times have you made this journey?"
"Many."
"How many?"
"I have never counted."
"How long until King's Landing?"
"Several weeks."
"You said that yesterday."
"The distance has not changed because you asked again."
I looked ahead.
"Jaime would have complained more."
"Which is one reason Jaime remained at Casterly Rock."
That kept me quiet.
For perhaps another ten minutes.
Travel did have advantages.
For the first time, I saw the people who existed beneath all the great houses Maester Creylen had taught me about.
Farmers worked fields beneath the summer sun. Villages clustered around wells, streams and wooden septs. Merchants moved along the roads with wool, grain, timber and iron.
Children stopped playing to watch our crimson banners pass.
Some people bowed.
Others stared.
Everyone recognized the lion.
At one inn, the owner nearly tripped over himself when Tywin entered.
"My lord Hand. An honor."
"Rooms," Tywin said.
"Of course. The best."
"We require twelve."
The man's face fell for half a heartbeat before the smile returned.
"Of course."
Tywin walked past him.
I remained behind just long enough to see the smile disappear again.
Fear.
That was what I saw.
Not loyalty.
Not admiration.
Fear.
I followed my father upstairs wondering how much difference there really was between the three when you were powerful enough.
By the time we entered the Riverlands, Tywin had turned the journey into another lesson.
One afternoon, he slowed his horse beside mine.
"What do you see?"
I looked around.
"Fields."
His expression told me I had failed immediately.
"Look again."
I did.
A village stood in the distance. Wheat fields surrounded it. A stream ran nearby. The road passed between two low hills before continuing east.
"Good farmland."
"Obvious."
"Water."
"Also obvious."
I frowned.
Then I looked at the road again.
"It's narrow between the hills."
Tywin waited.
"An army would have to compress there."
"Unless?"
"They left the road."
"And?"
"The fields would slow wagons. Especially after rain."
A small nod.
I continued.
"The village has food. The stream has water. If someone controlled those hills, they could make moving through here difficult."
"Better."
I smiled.
"Do not look pleased with yourself for noticing what any competent commander should notice."
There went that.
We continued.
A few moments later, Tywin spoke again.
"You noticed quickly."
From my father, that was practically affection.
I remembered something then.
The lessons at Casterly Rock.
Gold wasn't simply gold.
Power wasn't simply soldiers.
A road could be power.
A hill could be power.
Food could be power.
Information could be power.
Everything depended on whether you understood its value before someone else did.
The lesson felt strangely similar to swordsmanship.
Ser Harys had taught me to watch feet and shoulders instead of the blade.
Tywin was teaching me to look past castles and banners.
Maybe power, like fighting, was mostly about seeing what everyone else missed.
One evening, there was shouting outside our inn.
Then the unmistakable sound of steel leaving a sheath.
I stood immediately.
Tywin continued eating.
Two Lannister guards moved toward the door. One returned shortly afterward.
"Drunken men, my lord. One drew a knife."
"Whose men?"
"No colors."
"Deal with it."
The guard bowed.
I glanced toward the door.
"You aren't going to see?"
"No."
"Someone drew a weapon."
"And I have men whose purpose is dealing with men who draw weapons."
I sat again.
Tywin looked at me.
"You are disappointed."
"A little."
"Why?"
"Ser Harys says I need experience."
Tywin slowly put down his knife.
"Experience."
"When you repeat it like that, it sounds stupid."
"It sounded stupid the first time."
I sighed.
"A sword is a tool, Tycen."
"I know."
"No. You enjoy it."
That silenced me.
"That is not the same as understanding it. Men who become skilled at killing often begin searching for reasons to demonstrate that skill."
"I wasn't going to kill anyone."
"Today."
His eyes stayed on mine.
"Your ability will attract praise. Praise produces vanity if you allow it. Vanity produces dead men."
I thought about Ser Harys telling me almost the same thing in a different way.
Talent could make me lazy.
Tywin was warning that it could make me stupid too.
"The best fight," he continued, "is one another man wins for you."
"Then why train me?"
His answer came immediately.
"Because sometimes there is no other man."
I remembered that.
We finally saw King's Landing from the crest of a hill.
I knew it before anyone spoke.
For several seconds, all my complaints about the journey disappeared.
The city stretched ahead beneath the summer sun, larger and uglier and more impressive than anything I'd imagined.
Walls surrounded a maze of buildings spread across three hills. Smoke rose from countless chimneys. The Blackwater glittered beyond them, crowded with ships.
And above everything stood the Red Keep.
My stomach tightened.
King's Landing.
Actually King's Landing.
Not a television set.
Not an illustration.
Not words on a page.
Real.
The closer we came, the busier the road became.
Farmers.
Merchants.
Beggars.
Gold cloaks.
Nobles.
Carts fighting for space.
People noticed the Lannister banners.
"The Hand."
"Lord Tywin."
"Lannisters."
Then:
"His son."
I kept looking forward.
"That's the heir?"
"He doesn't look quite like the twins."
"His gold is darker."
That made more sense.
My hair was unmistakably golden, but it wasn't the bright, almost pale Lannister gold Jaime and Cersei shared.
Mine was a deeper shade.
Dark gold.
In shadow it could look almost bronze, but beneath the summer sun the gold showed clearly. Lighter strands ran naturally through it here and there, catching the light whenever I moved.
It was unusual.
But still Lannister.
Joanna had always liked it.
I remembered her fingers running through those lighter strands when I was small.
My little lion.
The memory hurt less than it once had.
Not because I missed her less.
Because I was beginning to learn how to carry it.
Then we reached the gates.
King's Landing swallowed us.
And the smell hit me.
"Gods."
Tywin looked at me.
"The smell."
"You become accustomed to it."
"I don't think I want to."
He ignored me.
The city was chaos.
Hammering.
Shouting.
Animals.
Wheels grinding against stone.
Street sellers screamed prices at anyone passing.
Barefoot children ran beside wagons while richly dressed merchants rode past without looking at them.
Casterly Rock had taught me wealth.
King's Landing showed me inequality.
The richest and poorest people I had ever seen lived streets apart.
I tried remembering the city from my old life.
Useless.
The real King's Landing was too large.
Too alive.
Too messy.
Then I looked upward.
The Red Keep waited above us.
Tywin changed as we climbed Aegon's High Hill.
Not visibly.
Anyone else might have missed it.
I didn't.
At Casterly Rock, my father owned every room he entered.
Here, he was still Hand of the King.
One of the most powerful men alive.
But there was someone above him.
And Tywin Lannister did not enjoy being beneath anyone.
We passed through the gates of the Red Keep.
Courtiers appeared almost immediately.
"My lord Hand."
"Lord Tywin."
"Welcome back."
A thin lord complimented Tywin's administration.
Another asked about Casterly Rock.
A knight I'd never met smiled at me.
"So this is the young lion."
Apparently I had become a species of attraction.
"Tycen," Tywin said, "Lord Merryweather."
I bowed.
"My lord."
He smiled.
"Your father has kept you hidden in the west."
"I've been told I required improvement."
The lord laughed.
Tywin did not.
I decided I should probably stop making jokes around him.
Then I saw white.
A white cloak.
White armor.
The man wearing them was still relatively young, broad-shouldered and calm in a way that made the sword at his side seem almost unnecessary.
Tywin greeted him.
"Ser Barristan."
My heart jumped.
Barristan Selmy.
Barristan the Bold.
One of the greatest knights in the history of Westeros.
The man who would one day rescue Aerys from Duskendale.
The man who would serve Robert Baratheon.
The man who would eventually cross the Narrow Sea and kneel before Daenerys Targaryen.
Right now, none of that had happened.
He was simply a Kingsguard knight standing ten feet from me.
His eyes moved toward me.
"So this is your heir."
"It is."
Barristan smiled.
"Tycen?"
"Ser Barristan."
I bowed.
"I hear you've taken to the sword."
Apparently Ser Harys's reports had somehow conquered the Seven Kingdoms before I had.
"I'm learning."
"Good answer."
He glanced at Tywin.
"Most boys would have told me they were already better than half the knights in the realm."
"Most boys haven't trained with Ser Harys."
Barristan laughed.
"Perhaps I'll see what he has taught you someday."
Every part of me wanted to say yes immediately.
Instead:
"I'd like that."
"Then keep practicing."
He moved on.
I watched him disappear down the corridor.
"Was that really Barristan Selmy?"
Tywin looked at me.
"You just spoke to him."
"I know."
"Then why ask?"
I had no answer that wouldn't sound insane.
I expected to have time to settle into my chambers.
I received perhaps an hour.
Then a servant arrived.
"Lord Tywin requests your presence."
I followed him through the Red Keep.
Not toward my father's chambers.
Toward the throne room.
My heartbeat grew louder.
The doors opened.
I had seen the Iron Throne before.
Or thought I had.
Nothing prepared me for the real thing.
It rose above the hall like a mountain of black steel, twisted swords climbing over one another into something that looked deliberately uncomfortable.
A throne made from conquered enemies.
A warning disguised as furniture.
And seated upon it was Aerys Targaryen.
He wasn't the man I remembered from stories of the rebellion.
Not yet.
His hair immediately marked him as something different from every Lannister I had ever known.
It was extraordinarily pale—silver-gold in the Targaryen fashion, so light that beneath the hall's daylight it looked almost white.
Where my own hair carried the darker gold of a lion, Aerys's looked like silver touched by the faintest hint of gold.
His face remained handsome, though narrower than I expected.
And then there were his eyes.
Purple.
Real purple.
I'd never seen eyes like them.
They moved constantly.
Restless.
Searching.
Tywin stood ahead of me.
I took my place beside him.
"Your Grace," he said.
We bowed.
Aerys barely looked at my father.
He was staring at me.
"So."
His voice carried easily through the hall.
"The young lion finally leaves his den."
A few courtiers laughed.
I kept my head lowered.
"Look at me."
I did.
The king studied my face.
My eyes.
Then my hair.
His pale Targaryen coloring made the contrast impossible to miss.
My hair was dark gold, streaked naturally with lighter gold.
His was silver-gold, almost white.
There was nothing similar about them.
Still, something changed in Aerys's expression as he looked at me.
"Come closer."
I hesitated only a moment.
Tywin said nothing.
So I obeyed.
Aerys leaned forward.
"Seven?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Gods."
He looked toward Tywin.
"You waste no time, do you? Seven years old and already you have him studying ledgers and beating squires."
"An heir should be prepared."
"An heir should be allowed to be a boy."
There was something almost mocking in the way Aerys said it.
Tywin remained expressionless.
The king looked back at me.
"Do you enjoy swords?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Books?"
"Some."
That made him laugh.
"Some. Good. At least he isn't entirely his father."
A few people laughed again.
Tywin didn't.
Aerys's eyes returned to me.
Not to any resemblance between us.
To something else.
Something remembered.
"Your hair," he said.
I waited.
"The gold is darker than your father's."
"My mother's was darker, Your Grace."
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
Aerys smiled faintly.
"I remember."
Silence.
Something in Tywin changed beside me.
Not movement.
The absence of it.
Absolute stillness.
The king continued.
"Joanna had beautiful hair."
My mother's name sounded wrong in his mouth.
"She was a beautiful woman."
Tywin spoke.
"She was."
Two words.
Cold.
Aerys looked toward him.
For a moment, the throne room seemed to disappear.
There was only the king and his Hand.
Old friends.
Old rivals.
Two men carrying a history I did not understand.
Then Aerys looked at me again.
"You have something of her about the eyes as well."
There was nothing impossible about that.
Joanna was my mother.
Of course I resembled her.
Yet fragments of half-remembered lore stirred in my mind.
Aerys and Joanna.
His interest in her.
Comments he'd made.
Rumors.
Nothing clear enough to trust.
My knowledge of this world had once felt like a weapon.
Now it increasingly felt like a book with half its pages missing.
Aerys leaned back against the Iron Throne.
"Does he have your discipline, Tywin?"
"He is learning."
"And your ambition?"
"That remains to be seen."
The king looked at me.
"What do you want, boy?"
A dangerous question.
Casterly Rock appeared in my mind.
Jaime.
Cersei.
Tyrion.
Joanna telling me I was their shield.
The wars ahead.
The dead.
No crown appeared in those thoughts.
Not yet.
"To learn, Your Grace."
Aerys smiled.
"How dull."
I nearly smiled too.
Tywin's presence stopped me.
Then the king's expression changed.
A thought had occurred to him.
That worried me immediately.
"Perhaps we can help with that."
Tywin looked at him.
"Your Grace?"
"The boy wishes to learn."
Aerys tapped one finger against the Iron Throne.
"Then let him."
He looked directly at me.
"How would you like to serve your king, young lion?"
There was only one possible answer.
"It would be an honor, Your Grace."
"Good."
Aerys looked toward one of his attendants.
"Have him serve as my cupbearer when the council meets."
My heart stopped.
Tywin's face did not change.
That was how I knew he hated the idea.
"Your Grace," he said carefully, "my son has his own studies."
"And now he shall have another."
Aerys's tone remained light.
The decision wasn't.
"Noble boys learn by listening to noble men."
Tywin said nothing.
Aerys smiled at him.
"Surely the great Lord Tywin does not fear his heir hearing how the realm is governed."
There it was.
A challenge.
Small.
Polite.
Impossible to refuse without giving Aerys exactly what he wanted.
Tywin's eyes met mine for half a second.
I understood.
Say nothing.
So I didn't.
Finally:
"Of course not, Your Grace."
"Excellent."
Aerys looked delighted.
I wasn't certain whether he cared about educating me at all.
Perhaps he was interested because I was Joanna's son.
Perhaps he simply enjoyed placing Tywin's heir at his service.
Perhaps both were true.
Whatever the reason, I had become another piece in whatever game existed between the king and his Hand.
"Tomorrow," Aerys said. "You may begin tomorrow."
I bowed.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
"The young lion pouring wine for the dragon."
His smile widened.
"I think that will suit us nicely."
Tywin did not smile.
My father didn't speak until we were well away from the throne room.
His steps echoed through the corridor.
I followed.
Finally:
"Father."
"No."
"I haven't asked anything."
"You were about to."
He knew me too well.
"Do you not want me to be his cupbearer?"
Tywin stopped.
I nearly walked into him.
"You will do exactly as the king commands."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know."
There was my answer.
"Why did he choose me?"
"Because he can."
"That's not a reason."
"To a king, it often is."
He started walking again.
I followed.
"What am I supposed to do during the meetings?"
"Pour wine."
"That's all?"
"No."
He stopped outside my chambers.
"Listen."
The same word he'd used when he first sent me into Lord Damon's meetings.
I understood immediately.
"Remember."
I nodded.
"And speak only when spoken to."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Maester Creylen spent twelve days explaining it."
"He should have spent twenty-four."
I ignored that.
"What should I listen for?"
Tywin looked at me.
"Everything."
Then he leaned slightly closer.
"Who agrees with whom. Who remains silent. Which subjects anger the king. Which subjects frighten him. Who speaks before thinking and who thinks before speaking."
That sounded far more interesting than pouring wine.
"And what they want?"
Something shifted in his expression.
He remembered his own lesson.
"Especially that."
I nodded.
Tywin turned away.
"Father."
He stopped.
I almost asked about Joanna.
About Aerys.
About how quickly the king had remembered the exact shade of my mother's hair.
Instead:
"Did Mother like it here?"
Silence.
For several seconds, Tywin faced away from me.
"No."
"Why?"
His shoulders stiffened.
"Your mother is dead, Tycen."
The words hurt.
"I know."
"Then let the dead rest."
He walked away.
I watched him disappear down the corridor.
He hadn't answered.
That mattered.
That night, sleep refused to come.
I stood at the window.
King's Landing glittered beneath me.
Thousands of lights.
Thousands of people.
Somewhere in the Red Keep was Prince Rhaegar, still only a boy and not yet the man whose choices would help destroy a dynasty.
Somewhere else was Aerys.
The king with nearly white silver-gold hair and violet eyes.
The king who had looked at my dark golden hair and remembered my mother.
And beginning tomorrow, I would stand near him.
Not as an adviser.
Not as an equal.
A cupbearer.
A seven-year-old boy pouring wine.
Almost invisible.
I smiled.
Aerys might have intended to irritate Tywin.
Perhaps he had.
But without realizing it, the king had given me something enormously valuable.
Access.
Maester Creylen had taught me that information was a kind of wealth.
Tywin had taught me to understand what people wanted.
Ser Harys had taught me to watch an opponent before committing to an attack.
Now Aerys had given me a place where I could practice all three.
The red cloth Cersei had made was still tied around my sword.
I touched it.
Home.
That was still the reason for everything.
Joanna's last words.
Their shield.
Jaime had a future I wanted to change.
Cersei had one too.
Tyrion perhaps most of all.
And somewhere farther ahead were wars that would destroy families far beyond mine.
I wasn't strong enough to stop any of them.
I wasn't wise enough either.
That was becoming increasingly obvious.
But I could learn.
Tomorrow I would stand behind a king.
I would pour his wine.
I would listen to the men who ruled the Seven Kingdoms.
And perhaps, if I paid close enough attention, I would begin to understand how a realm broke long before the first sword was drawn.
For years, I had thought my greatest advantage was knowing what would happen.
I was beginning to understand that might not be true.
Knowing the future told me where the blade might fall.
Understanding people might teach me how to move it.
Tomorrow, my education would begin again.