291 AC – Lannisport
Lyonel's POV
Six moons had passed since I first rode beneath the Lion's Mouth.
Six moons of lessons that left my fingers cramped from quills, my head aching from ledgers and histories. Six moons of Tywin Lannister's cold, relentless tutelage.
But today was different.
Today Tywin had allowed me to go down to the Lannisport myself.
So I went.
Sandor Clegane walked on my right, massive and scarred, his burned face a mask of perpetual scowl. The Hound had been assigned to my personal guard the moment we arrived at the Rock six moons ago. I still remembered the day it happened clearly.
It had been my second week. Sandor had been waiting outside Tywin's solar to present himself before that I only saw him few times, and his brother Gregor "Mountain" Clegane had been there too, looming in the corridor like a slab of meat stuffed into armor.
When Sandor tried to step forward, Gregor had laughed a wet, ugly sound.
"Look at the little dog, already trying to lick the prince's feet."
Sandor's jaw had tightened, his hand moving toward his sword, but he'd said nothing.
I had stepped between them without thinking.
"How does it feel to live as a murderer, Mountain?" I asked, voice calm and childlike.
The corridor went silent. Gregor's laughter died in his throat. He looked down at me, eyes narrowing.
"I am a knight, brat. Call me Ser."
I smiled the innocent, sweet smile I had perfected for moments like this.
"If I were you, I'd start counting my days," I said softly as I brushed past him. "You never know what might happen…"
I paused at the door to Tywin's solar, turned my head just enough.
"…Ser."
Then I opened the door and walked inside. Sandor followed a heartbeat later, silent, but I caught the surprise and grim amusement.
From that day on, the Hound had been different around me. Not really soft Sandor Clegane would never be soft and I like that he says what he wants to say without biting his tongue. And when Tywin assigned him to my guard, Sandor had only grunted once and taken his place at my shoulder.
Now he walked beside me through the streets of Lannisport, silent and watchful.
Ser Arys Oakheart was on my left, white cloak pristine despite the crowds, hand never far from his sword. He was everything a Kingsguard should be skilled, loyal, courteous. I had liked him from the moment we met.
Ser Boros Blount trailed a few steps behind, red-faced and sweating even in the cool sea breeze. His eyes darted nervously at every shout from the dockworkers, every sudden movement in the crowd. I had learned quickly that Boros was not like Ser Arys. He was a coward wearing a white cloak, and I wondered not for the first time, how he had ever been chosen for the Kingsguard.
Lannisport was alive around us.
Merchants shouted prices from open stalls. Fishwives gutted their catch with quick, practiced strokes. Children ran between legs, laughing. Ships rocked gently at their moorings, sails furled, decks swarming with sailors unloading crates of spice and silk and wine.
I let myself breathe it in.
For once, there were no lessons and I could enjoy being able to take a break from my grandfather.
Sandor broke the silence first, voice low and rough.
"You're staring like you've never seen a port before, little prince."
I glanced up at him. "I've seen ports but not like this one."
Arys chuckled softly. "Lannisport is different, wealth drips from every stone.."
Sandor snorted. "Same thing in every city."
I smiled despite myself. Six moons had taught me that the Hound's humor was dry, but honest. He never lied to me nor flattered.
We turned down a narrower street toward the eastern docks. The crowd thickened sailors, porters, merchants arguing over cargo manifests.
That was when the first explosion came.
A dull boom rolled across the harbor, followed by a pillar of black smoke rising from the eastern docks. Screams followed a heartbeat later. Then another, closer. Fire bloomed along the wharves, leaping from ship to ship on tar-soaked timber and rope.
For one frozen second I simply stared.
Then the screaming became louder and panic began to spread even faster. People ran in every direction. A woman dropped her basket of fish and fled. A child wailed for his mother. The air filled with the stink of burning pitch and panic.
And in that moment six moons of nagging, half-remembered dread—it hit me.
Greyjoys.
The Ironborn rebellion. Balon Greyjoy's uprising and the burning of Lannisport.
How could I have forgotten?
It's a fucking Greyjoy rebellion. How could I forget something so important? I'm so stupid.
Sandor's hand clamped down on my shoulder, hard enough to hurt.
"You brat, we need to move!" he barked. "We need to get to the Rock you'll be safe there!"
Ser Arys grabbed my wrist and pulled me into a run. "Stay close, my Prince!"
I stumbled after them, heart hammering. Behind us, Boros's hands were visibly trembling as he tried to draw his sword, face pale and his eyes wide.
We pushed through the fleeing crowd. Smoke started to thicken and the flames roared higher. Another ship exploded someone must have hit a powder magazine. Splinters and burning canvas rained down.
Then they were on us.
Four men in salt-crusted leather and jerkins emblazoned with the kraken of House Greyjoy burst from an alley, axes and short swords in hand.
"Well, well," the leader grinned, showing blackened teeth. "What do we have here? Two white cloaks and a big ugly dog."
His eyes found me. Widened with recognition and greed.
"Ah. So you must be the crown prince. Our luck really is great today, lads. Balon will give us our weight in gold for this one."
They rushed us.
Sandor met the first one with a snarl, his massive blade cleaving through leather and bone in a single stroke. Arys moved like water quick, precise parrying an axe and driving his sword through the second man's throat.
I backed up, heart in my throat and as I was turning back I saw the third man already running in my direction.
Ser Boros also saw him.
For one heartbeat, Boros frozen eyes locked on the axe coming toward my back.
Then he turned.
And tried to ran.
He made two steps before Sandor's massive hand clamped around his arm and yanked him back so hard his feet left the ground.
"Are you trying to escape?" Sandor growled, voice low and lethal. "Why the hell there's even a coward like you in the Kingsguard?"
Boros whimpered, sword still sheathed, face white as snow.
Arys spun, saw the incoming attacker, and met him with one clean swing. The Ironborn's head hit the cobbles before his body did.
The fourth raider, seeing three companions dead in as many seconds, turned and fled back into the smoke.
Arys turned to me first, breathing hard.
"My prince are you all right?"
I nodded, numb.
Arys's gaze shifted to Boros, and his expression went cold.
"You useless coward. Not only did you fail to protect the prince you tried to desert. You will answer for that."
I took a step forward. My voice came out steady, though I felt anything but.
"I would already strip you of that cloak right now," I said, looking Boros in the eye, "but I want my father to know what you did. I want him to hear how his Kingsguard a man sworn to protect the royal family with his life tried to run and save his own skin instead."
I took another step closer.
"I'm sure he'll be very merciful when he hears that story, Ser Boros."
Boros whimpered again, knees buckling.
Sandor released him with a disgusted shove. Boros hit the ground hard and stayed there, sobbing.
"Move," the Hound snarled. "We're not done yet."
We ran.
Through smoke-choked streets and screaming crowds, past burning warehouses and overturned carts. The flames roared higher with every passing minute. The harbor was an inferno. Ships sank at their moorings, masts blazing like torches.
We reached the winding road up to Casterly Rock just as the first Ironborn longships appeared in the bay. Black sails, kraken prows, oars flashing like teeth.
Guards at the Lion's Mouth were already forming ranks.
We passed beneath the massive stone jaws without stopping.
Inside, the Rock was organized chaos. Soldiers running to their posts, servants carrying supplies. And in the center of it all, giving orders was Tywin Lannister.
He looked at me first eyes scanning for blood or injury then at Arys and Sandor.
"Report."
Arys stepped forward.
"We were attacked on the way back four raiders. We killed three and one managed to escape."
He paused, and then his voice went cold.
"Ser Boros attempted to flee. He abandoned his duty to protect the prince. He turned his back while an enemy was attacking Prince Lyonel."
Tywin's gaze shifted to Boros, who was still on his knees, trembling, his white cloak filthy.
The silence stretched for what felt like eternity.
Then Tywin spoke, with terrifying tone.
"Take him to the cells and chain him. He will remain there until the King comes and decides what to do with him."
Two guards moved forward immediately, hauling Boros to his feet and dragging him away. His sobs echoed through the hall until a door slammed shut, cutting them off.
Tywin turned back to me.
"Are you injured?"
"No, Grandfather."
"Good." He looked at Arys and Sandor. "You both did your duty, you have my thanks."
It was the highest praise Tywin Lannister ever gave, and both men straightened at the words.
Then Tywin's attention returned to me and explained
"The Rock is secure," he said. "The Ironborn cannot take it. They never have, and they never will. We have stores for years. Wells that cannot be poisoned. Defenses that have held for three thousand years. They will break themselves against these walls."
He turned to a waiting captain.
"Double the watch on every level. Seal the lower sea passages. Ready all scorpions and catapults. Any ship that comes within range is to be destroyed. No exceptions, understand?."
The captain saluted and ran.
Tywin looked back at me.
"I have also sent ravens to our allies and to King's Landing. When your father hears what has happened here today, he will not let it stand. The full might of the realm will fall on the Iron Islands."
He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought:
"Balon Greyjoy has made a grave mistake. He thinks the Seven Kingdoms under Robert's rule are unstable but he will soon find out how wrong he was. And he will pay for that reminder in dearly."
I looked up at my grandfather standing unmoved while the city burned below us and I understood, perhaps for the first time, why Tywin Lannister was the most dangerous man in Westeros.
Not because he was cruel, though he could be.
Not because he was ruthless, though he was.
But because he never panicked, never wavered and never showed fear.
The Rock was safe.
Lannisport was burning.
And somewhere across the Sunset Sea, Balon Greyjoy had just sealed his own doom.
I had completely forgotten this was coming.
But I would never forget any other events again.
Never.