Being heir to Casterly Rock was considerably less exciting than it sounded.
There were no crowns.
No armies waiting for my command.
No dramatic speeches from balconies.
There were ledgers.
Endless ledgers.
"Again."
I stared at the parchment in front of me.
"Three thousand four hundred and twenty-seven golden dragons."
Lord Damon shook his head.
"Three thousand six hundred and twenty-seven."
I looked down again.
"That's what I said."
"It was not."
"It was close."
"The difference is two hundred dragons."
"When you have as much gold as we do, is that really important?"
Lord Damon stared at me.
I already knew I'd made a mistake.
"Your father would have you flogged for saying that."
"My father wouldn't flog me."
"No."
He considered it.
"He would make you count every coin personally."
I grimaced.
"That's worse."
Lord Damon smiled.
It had been nearly two months since Tywin left for King's Landing, and the castellan had taken my father's instructions far too seriously.
Twice each week, I attended meetings concerning the running of Casterly Rock.
At first, I had simply listened.
Then Lord Damon started asking questions.
Then he started giving me problems.
A collapsed mine tunnel.
A merchant refusing to pay port duties.
Two villages arguing over grazing rights.
A damaged bridge needed before the spring rains.
Nothing important enough to become a song.
Everything important enough to matter to the people living here.
I had expected ruling to mean making great decisions.
Instead, most of it seemed to involve preventing small problems from becoming large ones.
That lesson was beginning to sink in.
Lord Damon pushed another parchment toward me.
"Read."
I looked at it.
A report from one of the mines beneath the eastern section of the Rock.
Production had fallen.
"Why?"
"That is what I am asking you."
I read again.
Fewer carts.
Two damaged lifts.
Seven injured miners.
One dead.
My attention stopped there.
One dead.
A name followed.
Harrold.
I didn't know him.
That somehow made it worse.
"One of the lifts broke."
"Yes."
"So repair it."
Lord Damon leaned back.
"With what?"
I frowned.
"Wood."
"From where?"
"The stores."
"Those stores are being used for the western roof repairs."
I hated this game.
"Buy more."
"From whom?"
"Lannisport."
"The merchants raised prices after the winter storms."
I looked at him.
He waited patiently.
This was what he always did.
Every simple answer led to another problem.
I studied the report again.
"What happens if we don't repair the lift?"
"Production remains lower."
"How much lower?"
"Perhaps a tenth from that section."
That was substantial.
"And the roof?"
"Can survive until summer."
I looked up.
"Delay the roof."
Lord Damon nodded once.
"Why?"
"Because the mine produces gold. The roof doesn't."
A smile appeared.
Then disappeared.
"And the men?"
I paused.
"What men?"
"The seven injured."
I had forgotten about them.
That irritated me.
Not because Lord Damon had caught me.
Because I genuinely had forgotten.
"Are their families being paid?"
"Not currently."
"Why?"
"Tradition."
I stared at him.
"That's a stupid reason."
His eyebrow rose.
"Careful."
"They were injured working our mine."
"They were."
"So pay them."
"How much?"
There it was again.
Always another question.
I thought about it.
"Enough that their families don't starve until they can work again."
Lord Damon watched me for several seconds.
Then wrote something on the parchment.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You wrote something."
"I often do."
"About me?"
"Perhaps."
I leaned over.
He covered the page.
"That's cheating."
"I am the castellan."
Apparently that allowed cheating.
I sat back.
Lord Damon gathered the reports.
"You learn quickly."
"I have good teachers."
"Your father will be pleased."
I wasn't sure whether that was true.
Tywin didn't seem to experience pleasure in the conventional sense.
"Satisfied, perhaps," I said.
Lord Damon laughed.
"Yes. Satisfied."
That sounded much more likely.
My mornings still belonged to the sword.
Ser Denys had found the "better" instructor Tywin requested.
I disliked him immediately.
His name was Ser Harys Kenning.
He arrived from Kayce with six men, two horses, a scar running from his left eyebrow to his cheek, and absolutely no interest in being friendly.
He watched me train for nearly half an hour before saying anything.
Ser Denys finally lowered his sword.
"Well?"
Ser Harys crossed his arms.
"He's quick."
I waited.
That was apparently all I was getting.
Ser Denys looked annoyed.
"Quick?"
"For seven."
"He read three of my feints."
"For seven."
"I've trained men who couldn't."
"Bad men."
I liked Ser Harys less with every sentence.
Ser Denys handed him the practice sword.
"Try him."
Ser Harys looked at me.
"No."
That was unexpected.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because you're seven."
There was that phrase again.
"Everyone keeps telling me."
"Perhaps because you keep forgetting."
Jaime laughed from the side of the yard.
Traitor.
Ser Harys picked up my wooden sword instead.
"Show me your guard."
I did.
He walked around me.
Then kicked the inside of my rear foot.
Not hard.
Just enough to shift it.
"Too narrow."
Ser Denys frowned.
"It allows him to move faster."
"It also lets a stronger man knock him over."
"He shouldn't be meeting a stronger man head-on."
"He won't always get to choose."
The two men looked at each other.
I began to understand why Tywin had wanted another instructor.
Not because Ser Denys was poor.
Because different men saw different weaknesses.
Ser Harys moved my sword slightly higher.
"Again."
I returned to position.
He moved it back.
"Again."
After the sixth time, I was becoming irritated.
"When do I fight?"
"When you can stand properly."
"I can stand."
He shoved me.
I stumbled backward.
Jaime laughed again.
I made a mental note to hit him harder later.
Ser Harys stared at me.
"Your talent is going to make you lazy."
That killed my irritation.
"What?"
"You're faster than the other boys. You see things sooner. So mistakes don't punish you as often."
I looked toward Ser Denys.
He wasn't smiling.
Ser Harys continued.
"That works until you meet someone faster."
He picked up another wooden sword.
"Or stronger."
He stepped closer.
"Or better."
Then he attacked.
I barely blocked.
The impact nearly tore the weapon from my hand.
He attacked again.
I moved aside.
The next strike stopped a finger from my neck.
I froze.
"Dead."
He stepped away.
It had lasted perhaps three seconds.
I hated him.
More importantly, I wanted another try.
"Again."
For the first time since arriving, Ser Harys smiled.
Very slightly.
"Good."
The second attempt lasted longer.
Five seconds.
The third perhaps ten.
On the fourth, I managed to avoid his first four attacks before he swept my legs from beneath me.
I hit the dirt.
Hard.
The sky spun above me.
Ser Harys looked down.
"What did you learn?"
"That I don't like you."
Jaime burst out laughing.
Even Ser Denys smiled.
Ser Harys did not.
"What else?"
I sat up.
I thought about the exchanges.
He had known exactly where I wanted to move.
Every time I thought I had created distance, he had already closed it.
"You weren't attacking my sword."
His expression changed.
"No."
"You were making me move."
"Where?"
"Where you wanted."
He nodded.
"Good."
He offered me a hand.
I took it.
That was the beginning of my lessons with Ser Harys.
I still trained with Ser Denys most days.
Denys taught me technique.
Harys taught me how technique could be used against me.
Between them, I started improving even faster.
And Jaime watched everything.
That concerned Ser Denys.
It delighted Jaime.
Within days he began copying parts of my footwork.
Badly.
But not for long.
Jaime's talent was different from mine.
I studied.
He acted.
I waited for openings.
Jaime created them by attacking until something broke.
He was only five, but sometimes I caught glimpses of the man he might become.
Watching him was strange.
The Jaime I remembered had been arrogant because he was brilliant.
This Jaime hadn't become arrogant yet.
Not fully.
He simply loved fighting.
And he loved me.
That made things complicated.
Because part of me wanted Jaime to become everything he could be.
Another part remembered a white cloak.
A murdered king.
A tower.
Cersei.
Some futures were easier to think about than others.
Tyrion had begun walking.
Poorly.
Very poorly.
He waddled through the nursery on short legs while his nurse followed close behind, ready to catch him.
Cersei found this incredibly entertaining.
"He walks like a duck."
Tyrion ignored her.
He was far more interested in reaching the wooden lion I held in my hand.
"Come on," I said.
He took another step.
Then another.
His balance went.
I caught him before he hit the floor.
Tyrion laughed.
It was a surprisingly loud sound for someone so small.
"Again," Jaime said.
Apparently every activity in the family now involved that word.
I put Tyrion back on his feet.
Cersei sat beside me.
"Why do you always play with him?"
"Because he's our brother."
She frowned.
"He looks strange."
There was no cruelty in her voice.
Not yet.
Just the brutal honesty of a child.
"So?"
"People say he's a monster."
My smile disappeared.
"Who?"
Cersei immediately realized she'd said something she shouldn't have.
"I don't know."
"Cersei."
"Servants."
"Which servants?"
She shrugged.
I knew that shrug.
It meant she absolutely knew.
I looked at Tyrion.
He had fallen again and was now trying to chew the wooden lion's tail.
The future moved through my head.
Imp.
Halfman.
Demon monkey.
Every insult he would one day hear.
Tywin despising him.
Cersei hating him.
Tyrion learning to use humor as armor because everything else hurt too much.
Maybe that didn't have to happen.
I picked him up.
"He's not a monster."
Cersei rolled her eyes.
"I didn't say he was."
"You repeated it."
"That's different."
"It's not."
Her expression hardened.
Normally I might have let it go.
I didn't.
"Don't call him that."
"I didn't!"
"And don't let other people call him that around you."
"Why?"
"Because he's a Lannister."
That caught her.
Tywin had said almost the same thing to me once.
He is a Lannister.
I had heard contempt in my father's words.
I chose to mean something else.
Cersei looked at Tyrion.
Then at me.
"If someone calls him a monster, I should stop them?"
"Yes."
"What if they're bigger than me?"
"Tell me."
Her expression brightened slightly.
"And you'll punish them?"
I should have known that would be the part she liked.
"I'll speak to them."
"That's boring."
"I'll speak to them very sternly."
She considered this.
"Can I watch?"
"No."
She frowned.
Jaime came over.
"If someone says it, I'll hit them."
Cersei smiled.
"See? Jaime understands."
"Neither of you is hitting servants."
"What if they deserve it?" Jaime asked.
"No."
"What if—"
"No."
Being the eldest sibling was exhausting.
Tyrion grabbed my nose.
I pulled his hand away.
He laughed again.
Cersei watched us.
Then she reached toward him.
For one worrying second, I thought she might pinch him.
Instead, she offered him one finger.
Tyrion grabbed it.
Cersei stared.
"He has strong hands."
"For a monster?"
She glared at me.
"I didn't say that."
This time I smiled.
"No. You didn't."
It was small.
Almost nothing.
But small things mattered.
I was learning that.
Spring came slowly to the Westerlands.
The rains softened the roads.
Ships returned to Lannisport in greater numbers.
Casterly Rock became busier.
And ravens continued arriving from King's Landing.
Tywin's letters were never personal.
Not really.
He wrote about mine output.
Taxes.
Military readiness.
The performance of his bannermen.
Occasionally, there was a sentence concerning us.
Jaime's swordsmanship pleased him.
Cersei required greater discipline.
Tyrion was almost never mentioned.
My own reports received more attention.
One evening, Lord Damon handed me a small piece of parchment.
"For you."
My father's seal.
I broke it.
The letter was brief.
Your progress in administration is satisfactory. Ser Harys reports that you learn quickly and accept correction poorly. Correct the latter.
I stared at the sentence.
Lord Damon tried very hard not to smile.
I continued.
You will accompany me to King's Landing when I next return to Casterly Rock. A future Lord of the Westerlands cannot remain hidden inside his mountain forever.
My heartbeat changed.
I read it again.
King's Landing.
Not someday.
Not when I was grown.
Soon.
A strange mixture of excitement and dread settled over me.
I'd spent seven years knowing the capital existed.
Knowing the Iron Throne was there.
Knowing Aerys sat upon it.
Knowing Rhaegar walked its halls.
But distance had made them almost unreal.
Characters separated from me by hundreds of leagues.
That was about to end.
"What does it say?"
Cersei.
I hadn't heard her enter.
I folded the letter.
"Father's taking me to King's Landing."
Her face changed immediately.
"When?"
"I don't know."
"I'm coming."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because Father didn't invite you."
"He will."
"I wouldn't count on it."
She crossed her arms.
"Then I will ask him."
That almost made me pity Tywin.
Almost.
Jaime appeared behind her.
"You're going to King's Landing?"
Apparently privacy had died.
"Eventually."
"I want to come."
"So does Cersei."
"Then we'll all go."
"That's not how Father works."
Cersei walked closer.
"How long will you be gone?"
There was something familiar in the question.
The same thing she'd asked when Tywin left.
"I don't know."
She didn't like that answer any more now.
"What if you stay there?"
"I won't."
"You might."
"Cersei."
"What?"
I looked at her.
Five years old.
Golden hair.
Green eyes.
Stubborn expression.
For all her confidence, Joanna's death still lived inside her.
Of course it did.
It lived inside all of us.
I reached out and tapped her forehead lightly.
"I'll come back."
She slapped my hand away.
"Stop doing that."
"You'll miss it when I'm gone."
"I won't miss you."
Jaime laughed.
"You cried when he went riding for one day."
Cersei spun toward him.
"I did not!"
"You did."
"I was four!"
"You're five."
Cersei launched herself at him.
Jaime ran.
They disappeared into the corridor shouting.
I watched them go.
Then looked back at Tywin's letter.
King's Landing.
I knew what waited there.
Or at least I thought I did.
The Red Keep.
The Iron Throne.
A king slowly losing himself.
A prince obsessed with things I did not fully understand.
A court filled with men who smiled while measuring each other's throats.
And somewhere within those halls were echoes of my mother.
Joanna had lived there once.
She had known the queen.
She had known Aerys.
That thought still bothered me in a way I couldn't explain.
Perhaps because I remembered rumors.
Perhaps because every time I tried to recall them clearly, my memories refused to cooperate.
My previous life had given me knowledge.
But not perfect knowledge.
Details blurred.
Dates slipped away.
Some things I had learned from the show.
Others from books, videos, arguments online.
Years later, those fragments were becoming harder to separate.
Maybe King's Landing would answer some questions.
Maybe it would create more.
I folded the letter carefully.
Outside the window, the Sunset Sea burned orange beneath the dying sun.
My world had been Casterly Rock for seven years.
Soon, for the first time, it would become larger.
And somewhere far to the east, the Iron Throne was waiting.