Chapter Text
No one would say that his grandfather was a nice man. Tommen had no illusions about the man who wore the Hand’s badge on his breast – just like the young prince had no more illusions about the true nature of his family.
He was the second-born son, the spare, the small little fawn whom everyone ignored. Tommen wasn’t the King, he wasn’t as forceful and attention-seeking and privileged as his elder brother. He wasn’t even the middle child, the beautiful princess who would marry a prince and live away from the horrible place that was King’s Landing. He was the third child, the weak, pitiable boy who was overlooked as if he wasn’t even in the room. He had overheard a lot of things – more than they wanted him to know. More than he wanted to know. And still… still, he was invisible.
But his grandfather had noticed him.
Tommen took a deep breath and dared to knock at his grandfather’s door. The guards were eyeing him curiously but let him stand there until he heard from the other side, “Come in.”
Lord Tywin was sitting behind his desk, writing. He often seemed to be writing, or reading, or doing what the Hand of the King usually did. Tommen waited patiently for several minutes, just standing in front of the desk, hands nervously wringing together.
“So, my prince,” the Lord Hand started and put his quill away. “How long have you seen colors?”
For a moment, Tommen didn’t know what to say. He looked at his grandfather and tried to come up with an answer that would not give away his deepest and most treasured secret. He couldn’t think of one – Tommen wasn’t a very good liar. That seemed to be yet another thing that marked him as the odd one in his family. Everyone else was good at it.
“For two years, I think,” he answered finally. Almost three.
Lord Tywin hummed and nodded. He rose up from his seat, rounded the table and then leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. He was now towering over the prince and Tommen had to take a step back and crane his neck to see his grandfather’s face.
One day, he hoped to be as tall as him. Perhaps people would not overlook him so easily if he would be so tall and intimidating.
“Have you ever told anyone?” he asked next.
Tommen shook his head. There was no one to tell. He knew he couldn’t.
“How…” He voiced died away. “Forgive me, Grandfather. I shouldn’t ask questions.”
“On the contrary, that’s exactly what you should do. How do you expect to learn anything?”
“Mother doesn’t like it if I ask her questions.”
“Of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t like to be questioned in any way but I expect you to learn as much as you can. Ask.”
The prince bit his lip and wrung his hands some more. “How did you know?”
He had been so careful. He never talked about colors, never commented on how pretty things were or were not. He remembered what it had been like to see his surroundings in black and white and it wasn’t difficult to pretend that it hadn’t changed. In a certain way, his world was even more devoid of beauty since he had started to see colors.
To his surprise, his grandfather smirked and moved to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk, motioning for Tommen to sit in the other one. Once the prince did that, he answered, “You did quite well in hiding it, I doubt that anyone other than me could notice. You were, however, not careful enough. Not everyone in this castle is not paying attention to whom you pay attention.”
Sansa! Tommen sat up straighter, a panicked expression on his face, and he cried out, “Oh, no! Grandfather, please, don’t hurt her!”
“Hurt her?” he repeated slowly, eyebrows raised. “Can you give me three reasons why I should not?”
Tommen swallowed and slumped back into the seat. He moved all the way back to the backrest and his legs weren’t long enough for him to touch his feet to the ground. He swung them and stared at his grandfather. Lord Lannister was waiting for the reply, observing the prince with assessing eyes. Tommen felt like everything was at stake now, that this was the moment his future would be decided. In the game of thrones, you won or you died. Mother liked to mutter it under her breath often when she thought no one was near. The prince wasn’t interested in the game of thrones but he understood that he had to learn to play it if he wanted to remain alive.
He didn’t want to end up like his fathe-King Robert, or Sansa’s father and her younger brothers, or his Unc-Lord Renly. He didn’t want her to end up dead even more.
“She is a Stark,” he said slowly.
“Alright, that’s a start.” Lord Lannister nodded once. “Elaborate on this one.”
“As the only other Stark, she is the heir to Winterfell,” Tommen continued, his wide green eyes glued to his grandfathers. He had only rarely been the absolute center of someone’s attention. When Tommen had been much younger, his mother would often cuddle him but then she had focused more and more on Joffrey or Myrcella and hadn’t simply had enough time to pay any attention to her second son.
“Good. What does that currently mean? Being the heir to Winterfell?”
“Winterfell doesn’t have a lord… Winterfell has a king… if something happened to her brother… she would be a queen. The Queen in the North.”
Lord Lannister narrowed his eyes and leaned closer over the gap between their chairs. Tommen did his best not to shrink away.
“So, your first reason why I should not hurt Lady Sansa is that she is the heir to the Northern crown, correct?”
Tommen nodded and blinked. He needed to come up with two others and pray that his grandfather would not decide to hurt her anyway. It was Tommen’s duty to protect the lady – it was his fault that Lord Tywin had noticed in the first place.
“The Northerners will never stop fighting or at least they will never surrender if something happens to the last Starks… they…” Tommen blinked at the sparks that suddenly flared up in his grandfather’s gaze. “They would probably select a new king among the houses who could claim Stark blood and the fight would continue. They’ll never bend the knee to an outsider. If Sansa is unharmed and here and her brother dies, they will not select a new king and there is a chance for a resolution.”
“What do you think would be the best resolution in this situation, then?” prodded the Lord Hand.
Tommen’s breath hitched and he sat down on his hands to stop himself from any more wringing. He didn’t want to say it but he took a deep breath and forced the words out, “Sue for peace with the North and give them their Queen… but… but marry her first to someone who the North would think is an acceptable choice – so not my brother … Someone else who is also loyal to the Iron Throne and would not take up arms again.”
“You would let them keep their independence?”
“For now... The North remembers and the current lords will never accept anything else. In two or three decades, they will be more willing to listen.”
“You would make an excellent heir to Casterly Rock, my prince.” Lord Lannister stood from his chair and moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back. “That was very well thought out. I only regret that your elder brother and the rest of these fools we are surrounded with do not see what’s right in front of their noses.”
“Heir to the Rock, my lord?” Tommen was stunned. He never knew he had been even considered for that position – his Unc-his fathe- Ser Jaime was unable to inherit, that was true, but there was still Uncle Tyrion. Of course, Uncle Tyrion had been seriously wounded in the battle. Stupid Tommen.
“Never mind that. Tell me three reasons why this war needs to end as soon as possible.”
That was easy, Tommen had no problems to rapidly fire off his answers, “War costs money and people and the longer it continues, the worse we all will be in the future. The winter is coming and the North is best suited to survive it – they have lots of forests and lumber-mills and sheep – firewood and wool – and we’ll need to start trading with them our crops. Then there are the dragons. The last Targaryen will eventually cross the sea and…” Tommed fell silent when he noticed that his grandfather had turned and was piercing him with his glare. He seemed angry. What had Tommen said?
“You are a sharp boy. How is it possible that no one has ever noticed before?”
“No one pays me any attention, my lord.”
“Hmm.”
Tommen had the unpleasant suspicion that those times had just ended. It seemed that he had attracted Lord Tywin’s attention and the Lord Hand would keep the prince under close scrutiny.
“Stand up, my prince, and let me have a proper look at you.”
Tommen hurried to stand and then fidgeted slightly as he waited, motionless. His grandfather looked Tommen up and down and a frown formed between his eyebrows. He was obviously displeased.
“How old are you, precisely?”
“Twelve, almost thirteen.”
“Hmff.”
That sound didn’t bode well for him, the prince thought and bowed his head. He knew what his grandfather was thinking right now. Tommen was a plump boy, short for his age, soft and meek and useless. His only real redeeming quality was that he could stay out of sight, he supposed.
“What do you like to study with the maester the most, my prince?”
He looked up, confused. “I don’t have any lessons with a maester.”
Lord Tywin’s jaw clenched and he took a slow step toward the prince. “You don’t? Never have?”
“No, I had lessons,” Tommen was quick to assure him. He didn’t want his grandfather to think that he was that stupid. “With Myrcella and Joffrey… But they stopped when Joff was c-crowned and then Myrcella focused more at the t-training with her septa and…”
“You mean to tell me that your education ended almost two years ago when your brother ascended the throne because no one bothered to continue it?”
“Yes?”
“Is that a question or an answer, my prince?”
“A-an answer.” This time, Tommen made sure to have his intonation right.
“What did you like to study, then?” The Lord Hand moved behind his desk again, sat gracefully and reached for his quill and fresh parchment. He didn’t look up at Tommen as he started to write.
“History.”
“What about strategy?”
“Joff didn’t like it, so we never covered it much.”
His grandfather looked up sharply and forced a short breath through his nose out before he gritted through clenched teeth, “The King allowed it?”
“Mother let Joffrey pick our maester and he picked the one who taught us what Joff liked…”
They looked at each other in silence. Tommen could see that his grandfather was angry but the prince didn’t think that the anger was directed at him – more on King Robert, Mother, and Joff.
“Your weapon training then, Prince Tommen. What’s your favorite weapon?”
Tommen’s eyes closed and he lowered his head, wishing the ground would swallow him. He had played with wooden swords when he had been younger but… He wasn’t as good as Joffrey and King Robert had said that training Tommen would be a waste of time. Since then, Tommen had not stepped a foot into the training grounds. He bet that his grandfather was regretting saying that Tommen would have been a good heir to Casterly Rock. The silence became deafening as Lord Tywin stopped writing.
“I see,” he growled. “You have only a partial education, no training in combat and are mainly ignored by anyone and everyone in this court and it has always been so, am I correct, my prince?”
Had it always been so? No, not always but Tommen wasn’t really sure when it had begun. Long before King Robert died, for sure.
“Look at me,” said his grandfather coldly and Tommen almost flinched when he saw the furious expression on the man’s face. “I will not stand for any more of your meekness, boy.”
The prince blinked and suppressed the urge to tremble before his grandfather. He had angered him for being useless and stupid, hadn’t he?
“Straighten up, hold your head high, always look people in their eyes when you talk to them,” he commanded. “Don’t flinch, don’t stutter, don’t fidget. Can you do that?”
Tommen opened his mouth in surprise and then closed it quickly. He drew up his shoulders and nodded, looking at his grandfather – not into his eyes, but at his face. “I think so.”
“Good.” Lord Tywin blew at the parchment and then proceeded to fold it and stamp it. “You have a choice, my prince. You either stay the timid fawn everyone thinks that’s all you’ll ever going to be or you grow into a lion. I know what I’d prefer to be. What about you?”
“I don’t know how to be a lion, Grandfather,” whispered Tommen and was lowering his head. Then he remembered not to and stopped. He didn’t know where to look – he was afraid to see the expression on Lord Tywin’s face. Tommen was nothing like the men in their family. He wasn’t a brilliant strategist and battle commander like Lord Tywin. He wasn’t the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms like Ser Jaime. He wasn’t intelligent and funny like Uncle Tyrion.
“Through no fault of yours. What has been my daughter thinking? You should have been fostered at the Rock, you should have been raised to be a leader. Casterly Rock could also still be yours by rights, I haven’t named an heir yet. But most importantly, you are the heir to the throne. Do you realize that?”
“I don’t think I want the throne,” Tommen said.
“This is not about what you want. It might be your responsibility one day.” His grandfather leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on the desk, observing him, assessing him. Tommen focused his eyes on the large lion ring on one of Lord Tywin’s fingers. The prince didn’t think he could be a lion. He wasn’t, he knew he wasn’t.
“You still haven’t given me three reasons why I should not hurt Lady Sansa.”
The prince almost sprang up from his seat and gulped, staring at his grandfather in complete shock. He thought he had when Lord Tywin changed topics and asked the other questions. Everything else didn’t matter as much as keeping Sansa safe… Well, as safe as she could be in King’s Landing.
“She’s a highborn lady and it’s bad manners to hurt a lady.”
“It didn’t stop your brother.” The Lord Hand dismissed it.
Tommen wanted to point out that Lord Lannister was nothing like King Joffrey but he knew that saying that would not help him. His grandfather wanted a reason. There really wasn’t anything else he could think of.
“She’s my soulmate,” he whispered softly.
“And what would you do to keep your soulmate out of harm’s way?”
That was a good question. Tommen knew that he couldn’t do much. This situation proved it. Sansa deserved someone stronger and braver who could protect her and keep her safe and be her friend and even a lover and a husband. She was two years older than Tommen, she was almost a woman. And what had she gotten? Him. The only thing Tommen could offer was his devotion.
“Well?”
“I’d do anything,” the young prince decided. “I’d take her place to spare her any hurt.”
“How would you explain it, my prince? Would you come to stand in front of the whole court and tell them the truth? That she brought you colors and that you would bear any punishment in her place? Are you brave enough to face them all – the Kingsguard, the courtiers, your brother, and mother?”
Tommen swallowed. He hadn’t been brave enough, before. He had been scared and couldn’t look s they had hurt her. He had later cried, away from everyone, and wished to be a better man who was not afraid of so many things. “Yes.”
“Well, then,” said his grandfather and Tommen was surprised to hear a smile in his voice. He looked up and saw the Lord Hand nod in approval. “You said you didn’t know how to be a lion. Think about your soulmate and there you have your answer. Do what it takes to protect what’s yours and don’t ever concern yourself with the opinions of mindless sheep. That’s what lions do.”
It sounded so easy and for his grandfather, it probably was. Tommen couldn’t imagine anyone saying no to Lord Tywin, anyone disrespecting him, or mocking him, or overlooking him. His grandfather was clever, cunning and dangerous. For a man like him, it was easy to be a lion.
“What do you want most in the world, my prince?” he asked next.
That was a stupid question and Tommen wasn’t sure why his grandfather had asked. Wasn’t it obvious? Tommen wanted what all people seeing colors wanted but he knew he would never get it. He wasn’t enough for his own family to treat him like he mattered, why would Sansa? She probably didn’t even know that he brought her colors. She had met Joffrey at the same time and had been in love with his awful brother ever since. She told it to everyone who was willing to listen. King Joffrey is my one true love. Not Tommen. Joff.
“You know the answer,” he said, slightly irritated that his grandfather was making fun of him.
“Careful now, your claws are showing, little cub,” murmured Lord Tywin and the prince glanced up at him, surprised.
“There is Lannister blood in your veins,” he continued and pinned Tommen with his gaze. “Your lessons with a maester of my selection and your training with my Master-at-Arms starts tomorrow. There won’t be an hour of your time when you won’t be hard at work. You’ll hate me for it but you’ll learn. Show me you can roar and I’ll give you what you want, my prince. If you prove to be a man capable of holding the North together, you’ll marry Sansa Stark.”
Tommen’s mouth was hanging open at the end of Lord Tywin’s speech and he looked at his grandfather blankly. Did he really mean? Did he think that Tommen could be the man to pacify the North as Sansa’s husband if something happened to King Robb? But… Of course, something was going to happen to the King in the North. The Stark King had evoked the fury of Tommen’s grandfather and Lannisters always paid their debts. The King in the North would die and Sansa would marry and… Tommen had to make sure that she would marry him. There wasn’t any other way to protect her, was there?
He closed his mouth. Grandfather had been right. There was Lannister blood in his veins – he wasn’t a Baratheon, he knew that he was a full Lannister. A lion. And he had a purpose.
Tommen was going to learn to roar.