My father left Casterly Rock before the first snows reached the Westerlands.
I had always known he would.
That was one of the strange things about living inside a history I remembered. Events could surprise me in the moment, but there were certain movements in the world that felt inevitable. Rivers running toward the sea. Winter following autumn.
Tywin Lannister returning to King's Landing was one of them.
He was not merely Lord of Casterly Rock.
He was Hand of the King.
In my earliest years, that title had meant little to me. Tywin came and went often enough that I had simply accepted his absences as part of life. Sometimes he spent weeks at the Rock. Sometimes months passed with only ravens and riders bringing his instructions west.
As I grew older, I began to understand what it actually meant.
My father was helping rule Westeros.
And the man sitting on the Iron Throne was Aerys Targaryen.
That name alone was enough to make the future feel closer.
I stood in the courtyard as preparations for Tywin's departure filled Casterly Rock with controlled chaos. Horses stamped against the stone. Servants strapped chests onto carts. Men-at-arms checked saddles and weapons while Lannister banners snapped in the cold wind.
Tywin stood near the gate speaking with the castellan.
Even dressed for travel, he looked as though he belonged behind a throne rather than on a horse.
Jaime stood beside me, staring at the column of knights.
"I want to go."
"You always want to go somewhere."
"I've never seen King's Landing."
"Neither have I."
That apparently surprised him.
He looked at me.
"You know everything about it."
Not everything.
Only how it burned.
"I've read about it."
Cersei stood on my other side.
She was unusually quiet.
"Is Father coming back?"
"Of course."
"When?"
"I don't know."
She frowned.
Cersei disliked answers that contained uncertainty.
Tywin finished with the castellan and walked toward us.
The three of us immediately straightened.
It was almost instinctive.
His eyes went to Jaime first.
"You will obey your instructors."
Jaime nodded.
"Yes, Father."
Then Cersei.
"Your septa has written to me twice concerning your behavior."
I turned my face away before Cersei could see me smile.
She noticed anyway.
"I hate Septa Amabel."
Tywin's expression didn't change.
"That is irrelevant."
"She hates me."
"Then give her less reason to."
Cersei looked as though she had several responses prepared and valued her life enough to use none of them.
Then Tywin looked at me.
"You will continue your studies."
"Yes, Father."
"Ser Denys will send reports concerning your progress."
I should have expected that.
"And Maester Creylen?"
"Him as well."
Wonderful.
There would apparently be nowhere to hide.
Tywin studied me for a moment.
"You will begin attending the castellan's meetings twice each week."
That caught me off guard.
"I'm seven."
"I am aware."
Jaime looked at me with open jealousy.
Meetings apparently sounded far more exciting when you weren't required to attend them.
"What am I supposed to do there?"
"Listen."
"That's all?"
"For now."
There was something deliberate in the way he said it.
I nodded.
Tywin turned away.
Then stopped.
"Tycen."
"Father?"
"When I return, I expect improvement."
There was perhaps no sentence more Tywin Lannister than that.
"Yes, Father."
He mounted his horse.
Within minutes, the gates opened and the column began moving.
Gold cloaks and crimson banners disappeared gradually down the road from the Rock until only the distant sound of hooves remained.
Jaime sighed.
"I still think we should have gone."
"You would last three days."
"Why?"
"No candle wax in King's Landing."
He punched me in the arm.
Cersei laughed.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
But I kept staring toward the empty road.
King's Landing.
Aerys.
Tywin.
I knew enough history to understand that something important was already happening there.
A friendship was dying.
Later that afternoon, I found Maester Creylen in the library.
He was surrounded by parchment as usual, which made me suspect maesters reproduced by burying themselves beneath enough books.
I sat opposite him.
"Tell me about King Aerys."
His quill stopped.
That was interesting.
"What would you like to know?"
"What he's like."
Creylen placed the quill down.
"The king is the king."
A very safe answer.
"I know."
"Then what precisely are you asking?"
I leaned back.
"Father serves him."
"He does."
"Do they like each other?"
The maester looked at me for a long moment.
That was answer enough.
"Your father and His Grace have known one another since they were young men," he finally said.
I remembered that.
Aerys Targaryen and Tywin Lannister had once been friends.
Tywin had served as his Hand from the beginning of Aerys's reign. The realm prospered. Debts were paid. Roads improved. Lords learned very quickly that the young Hand of the King was considerably more competent than many men twice his age.
And that had become the problem.
Tywin received the praise.
Aerys wore the crown.
Jealousy had done the rest.
"What about Prince Rhaegar?"
That earned me another look.
"The prince?"
"He's going to be king someday."
"Presumably."
That word almost made me laugh.
Presumably.
If only he knew.
"What is he like?"
Creylen leaned back.
"Serious, by all accounts. Studious. More interested in books than other boys his age."
That matched what I remembered.
Rhaegar Targaryen.
The prince whose decisions would eventually help tear the Seven Kingdoms apart.
A man some remembered as noble, others as a kidnapper, and almost everyone remembered as dead.
Robert Baratheon's hammer would see to that.
But not for many years.
Right now, Rhaegar was simply a boy.
That realization was strange.
Robert was a boy too.
So was Ned Stark.
So were dozens of people who would one day command armies and decide the fate of kingdoms.
Somewhere in the Vale, perhaps Robert was already swinging a wooden hammer at someone.
Somewhere in the North, Eddard Stark was growing beneath the shadow of Winterfell.
Far across the Narrow Sea, no Daenerys existed yet.
Neither did Jon Snow.
The world I remembered had not begun.
Not truly.
The pieces were still being made.
"Why are you asking?" Creylen said.
I looked back at him.
"No reason."
He clearly didn't believe me.
Fortunately, he'd learned by then that I rarely answered that question properly.
He pulled a map toward us.
"If you're so interested in the royal family, perhaps your time would be better spent learning who surrounds them."
That caught my attention.
He pointed to the Crownlands.
"Power does not end with the king."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Probably more than he thought.
But I let him teach.
The lesson lasted nearly two hours.
He spoke of the great houses.
Baratheon.
Stark.
Arryn.
Tully.
Tyrell.
Martell.
Greyjoy.
And our own.
He explained marriages and old rivalries, blood ties and grudges that had lasted longer than most men.
This time I listened differently.
Before, they had been names from a story.
Now I began seeing the web.
House Baratheon carried Targaryen blood.
The Starks ruled a kingdom in all but name.
The Vale was protected by mountains.
The Riverlands sat exposed between stronger neighbors.
The Reach could feed armies.
Dorne had resisted dragons.
The Iron Islands remembered independence.
And House Lannister had gold.
Lots of it.
But gold alone wasn't enough.
That lesson had already sunk in.
"What is the strongest house?" I asked.
Creylen smiled faintly.
"An excellent way to begin an argument."
"Besides us."
"An even better way."
I waited.
He considered it.
"Strength depends on circumstance. House Tyrell commands fertile lands and many bannermen. House Stark rules the largest territory. House Arryn possesses one of the most defensible regions in Westeros. House Baratheon has royal blood and formidable warriors. House Martell has survived enemies others could not."
"And the Targaryens?"
"They have the throne."
I looked toward the map.
"That's not the same thing."
Creylen's eyes sharpened.
"No."
That answer stayed with me.
Having the throne was not the same as being strongest.
I already knew how true that was.
Aerys would discover it eventually.
Two weeks after Tywin's departure, I attended my first council meeting at Casterly Rock.
It was spectacularly boring.
I had expected maps.
Military discussions.
Perhaps secret reports from spies.
Instead, three grown men argued for nearly twenty minutes about roof repairs.
I sat beside the castellan and tried not to fall asleep.
A steward complained about grain spoiled by moisture.
Another spoke about mine output.
A merchant from Lannisport wanted lower fees for bringing timber into the port.
Then they discussed road maintenance.
Then cattle.
So many cattle.
By the end of the second hour, I had begun reconsidering my desire to rule anything.
Afterward, the castellan stopped me.
Lord Damon Lannister was a distant cousin, gray-haired and broad around the waist.
"What did you learn, my lord?"
"Roofs are expensive."
He stared at me.
Then laughed.
"Anything else?"
I thought about it.
The meeting had seemed meaningless.
But perhaps that was wrong.
"Everything costs something."
His smile faded slightly.
"Go on."
"The roof needs timber. Timber needs carts. Carts need horses. Horses need food. Repairing one thing means spending less somewhere else."
Lord Damon watched me more carefully now.
"And?"
I remembered my father's lessons without him ever actually teaching them.
"You can't just decide what you want. You have to decide what matters most."
The castellan nodded.
"Your father learned that lesson young."
Of course he did.
I wondered whether that was praise or warning.
Probably both.
My sword training continued.
Ser Denys had apparently taken Tywin's instruction to find someone better as a personal insult.
He became unbearable.
"Again."
Steel struck steel.
I turned his blade aside.
"Again."
He attacked low.
I jumped back.
"Again."
"Do you know another word?"
"Again."
I hated him.
I was also getting better frighteningly fast.
Not strong.
Not yet.
I was still seven.
A grown man could overpower me simply by putting enough force behind a strike.
So Ser Denys forced me to stop trying to meet strength with strength.
Footwork.
Angles.
Timing.
"If he's stronger, don't be where his strength is."
He swung.
I moved.
"If he's faster?"
"Make him move where I want."
"Better."
Again.
Every lesson became a puzzle.
I loved it.
Jaime started training more seriously too.
He had talent.
Real talent.
I recognized it almost immediately.
Where I watched opponents carefully, Jaime attacked with fearless instinct. He committed completely to movements I might have hesitated over.
Ser Denys noticed as well.
"Gods help me," he muttered one afternoon. "There are two of you."
Jaime grinned.
I didn't.
That was another part of history remaining intact.
Jaime Lannister was still gifted with a sword.
My existence hadn't taken that from him.
I was simply ahead.
For now.
Cersei continued appearing during our lessons, although she had no interest in learning swordsmanship herself.
She claimed she came because there was nothing else to do.
I didn't believe her.
One afternoon, Jaime managed to strike me across the thigh.
Not hard.
But enough.
He stared at me in disbelief.
"I got you."
I looked down.
Apparently he had.
Ser Denys smiled.
"Good."
Jaime looked happier than if someone had handed him Casterly Rock.
"I got you!"
"Yes, I noticed."
Cersei frowned.
"It was luck."
Jaime spun toward her.
"It wasn't!"
"It was."
"I beat him."
"You hit him once."
"That's beating him."
"Then Tycen beats Ser Denys every day."
Ser Denys looked offended.
"I would like it remembered that this is not how swordsmanship works."
Nobody listened.
Jaime continued arguing.
I watched Cersei instead.
She wasn't really angry because Jaime had succeeded.
She was angry because he'd succeeded against me.
It was subtle.
Small.
Probably meaningless.
But I remembered it.
Cersei had always attached herself fiercely to people and ideas in the story I knew.
Jaime most of all.
Yet things were already different here.
Jaime still adored her.
She still loved him.
But she watched me in a way she didn't watch Jaime.
Not romantically.
We were children.
It was admiration.
Possessiveness, perhaps.
A need to have my attention.
Joanna's death had probably made it stronger.
I didn't yet understand what that might become.
And I had far larger concerns.
A raven arrived from King's Landing that evening.
It bore my father's seal.
Most of the message concerned governance.
Instructions for the castellan.
Numbers.
Taxes.
Shipments.
At the bottom was a smaller piece addressed to me.
Only three lines.
I read them twice.
Your instructors report satisfactory progress. Continue. A Lannister heir must understand courts as well as castles. When I judge you ready, you will come to King's Landing.
I stared at the parchment.
King's Landing.
I should have been excited.
Instead, cold crept through my stomach.
Because suddenly the people from the story no longer seemed distant.
Aerys Targaryen.
Rhaegar.
The Iron Throne.
The court that would one day become a nest of suspicion, madness, ambition, and blood.
Sooner or later, I would meet them.
And another thought followed.
My mother had once spent time at court too.
Joanna had served Queen Rhaella.
Aerys had known her.
There were stories about that.
Rumors.
Things I remembered only vaguely from my previous life.
Comments the Mad King had made.
Insults.
Interest that went beyond courtesy.
I pushed the thought aside.
Joanna was dead.
Whatever had happened years ago no longer mattered.
At least, that was what I believed then.
I folded Tywin's letter and placed it beside my bed.
Outside, waves struck the cliffs beneath Casterly Rock.
Far to the east, my father served a king who would eventually become his enemy.
Prince Rhaegar was growing older.
Robert Baratheon was somewhere becoming the man who would kill him.
The pieces were moving.
Slowly.
Almost invisibly.
And for the first time since my rebirth, I felt as though the wider world was beginning to move toward me too.