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The sun was barely peeking over the walls of Casterly Rock when Adrian bounced on his toes in the main courtyard, watching servants load the last of the baggage wagons. Everything looked so fancy and important—golden banners with roaring lions, chests bound with iron that probably held Father's best clothes, and more guards than Adrian had ever seen in one place. It was like watching an army get ready, except instead of going to war, they were going to a party. A very big party.
"This is really happening," Adrian whispered to himself, feeling butterflies dancing in his stomach. His first real tourney! His first time representing House Lannister in front of everyone! Every single House of Westerlands. Sure, he had been in front of other Lords before, but this was different. This time, everyone would be there. Well, everyone who belonged to House Lannister.
"Adrian!"
He turned to see Joy running toward him, her golden curls bouncing. She looked sad, which made Adrian's chest feel tight as she stopped before him, almost colliding with him.
"I brought you something," Joy said, holding out a small wooden lion she'd carved herself. It was a bit lopsided, but Adrian thought it was perfect.
"Thank you," Adrian said, tucking it carefully into his belt pouch. "I promise I'll bring you back something amazing. Maybe a doll from Lannisport, or sweets, or—oh! Maybe a real seashell from the harbor!"
Joy's smile wobbled. "I wish I could come with you."
"Me too," Adrian said quietly. He wanted to say more, wanted to tell her it wasn't fair, but Father had explained the rules. Joy was a Hill, not a Lannister. Rules were rules, even stupid ones.
"Lord Adrian," Sandor's rough voice interrupted. The big man stood nearby, checking the straps on his horse's saddle for the third time. "Time to go. Your father doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Adrian hugged Joy quickly. "I'll be back soon. And I'll remember everything to tell you!"
As Joy waved goodbye, Adrian climbed onto his pony—a pretty grey mare named Moonbeam that Father had given him for his sixth name day. Sandor mounted his enormous black destrier, which made Adrian's pony look like a dog next to a lion.
"That horse is huge," Adrian observed. "Does it eat more than me?"
"Probably," Sandor grunted. "Definitely smarter conversation though."
Adrian giggled, then quickly stopped when he saw Father approaching. Tywin Lannister looked magnificent in his traveling clothes—red leather and gold thread that, under the sunlight, made him seem like a lord made of Gold. But there was something different about his face today. His jaw was tight, and his green eyes kept scanning the courtyard like he was looking for enemies.
"Is Father worried about something?" Adrian asked Tyrion, who had just ridden up on his specially made saddle.
"Father is always worried about something," Tyrion replied with a wry smile. "It's part of being Lord of Casterly Rock. Today he's probably worried you'll fall off your pony and embarrass the family name."
"I won't fall off!" Adrian protested. "I'm a good rider!"
"I know you are," Tyrion said. "I was joking."
Father finished speaking with Uncle Gerion and Uncle Kevan near the gate. Adrian couldn't hear what they were saying, but Uncle Gerion kept nodding seriously, and Uncle Kevan's face looked worried too.
"Gerion," Father's voice carried across the courtyard as he mounted his own horse, "remember what we discussed. Double the watch. Send ravens immediately if anything unusual occurs."
"Unusual how?" Adrian asked Tyrion.
"Shh," Tyrion warned. "Little lords should be seen and not heard when important people are talking."
Father rode over to them, his horse prancing slightly. "Adrian, you will ride between Tyrion and Clegane at all times. No wandering off, no stopping to look at interesting rocks or butterflies. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Father," Adrian said, sitting up straighter on Moonbeam.
"This is not a pleasure ride," Father continued. "You are representing House Lannister. Every person who sees you will form an opinion about our family's future. What kind of opinion do you want them to form?"
Adrian thought carefully. "That House Lannister is strong and smart and... and worthy of respect?"
"Good." Father's expression softened just a tiny bit. "Remember that."
The gates of Casterly Rock opened with a great groaning sound, and the procession began to move. Adrian had never seen so many people traveling together—guards in red cloaks and golden armor, servants leading pack horses, wagons full of supplies, and bannermen carrying the lion flags that snapped in the morning breeze.
"Look at all this," Adrian breathed, twisting in his saddle to see the long line behind them. "We look like kings!"
"We practically are kings," Tyrion said. "In the Westerlands, anyway."
As they rode down the winding road from the Rock, Adrian could see the ocean stretching out blue and endless. Somewhere out there was Lannisport, and the tourney, and all the important people he was going to meet.
"Tyrion," Adrian said as Moonbeam found her pace beside his brother's horse, "do you think the King will come to the tourney?"
Tyrion shook his head. "Robert's holding his own festivities in King's Landing. Bigger feast, bigger tourney. Kings usually don't travel to other people's parties."
Adrian's face fell a little. "Oh. I was hoping to meet him. And maybe..." He lowered his voice, "maybe Jaime and Cersei too?"
Something flickered across Tyrion's face—too quick for Adrian to understand. "You're not missing much when it comes to meeting Cersei, little brother."
"Why not?" Adrian asked, curious. "Is she mean?" He asked with a tiny voice, knowing it would look bad if others heard him talk like that about the Queen.
"She's..." Tyrion paused, choosing his words carefully. "Complicated. Beautiful, certainly. Everyone says she's the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. But beauty isn't everything."
"What about Jaime?" Adrian pressed. "You said he's the best swordsman alive!"
"Jaime is... different," Tyrion said. "Charming, golden, perfect at everything he touches. He's what everyone thinks a knight should be."
"That sounds wonderful!"
"Sometimes wonderful people are the most dangerous ones," Tyrion replied quietly.
Adrian frowned, not understanding. How could wonderful people be dangerous? Before he could ask, Sandor's gruff voice cut through his thoughts.
"Stop chattering and pay attention to your riding," Sandor said. "Road's getting steeper."
Adrian looked around and realized they were descending toward the coast now. The ocean was getting bigger, and he could see white sails dotting the water like tiny birds.
"Are those our ships?" Adrian asked, pointing.
"Some of them," Sandor replied, his grey eyes scanning the horizon. "Others belong to houses coming for the festival."
"How can you tell which is which?"
"You can't, from this distance," Sandor said. "That's why smart people pay attention to such things."
Adrian studied the ships more carefully, trying to see if he could spot any differences. They all looked the same to him—white sails and wooden hulls. But maybe if he watched long enough, he'd start to understand what Sandor meant.
"The harbor at Lannisport is one of the finest in Westeros," Tyrion said, following Adrian's gaze. "Father's spent years improving it. More ships means more trade, and more trade means more gold in Lannister coffers."
"Will I have to know about trade when I'm Lord of Casterly Rock?" Adrian asked.
"You'll have to know about everything," Tyrion replied. "Gold, ships, armies, politics, which lords can be trusted and which ones smile while they sharpen their knives."
That sounded complicated and scary and exciting all at once. Adrian was quiet for a while, watching the landscape change as they descended toward Lannisport. The road was busier now—other travelers heading to the festival, merchants with loaded carts, common folk dressed in their best clothes.
Some of them recognized the Lannister banners and called out greetings. "Long live Lord Tywin!" and "Hear me roar!" Adrian waved back, feeling important.
"They love Father," Adrian observed.
"They respect him," Tyrion corrected. "Sometimes that's better than love."
"Why?"
"Because respect lasts longer," Sandor said unexpectedly. "Love comes and goes like the weather. Respect you have to earn, and once you have it, people think twice before crossing you."
Adrian mulled this over as Moonbeam clip-clopped down the stone road. He wanted people to respect him when he was grown up, like they respected Father. But he thought it would be nice if they loved him too, just a little bit.
The morning sun climbed higher, warming Adrian's face as they approached Lannisport. Soon, he would see his first real city, meet children his own age from other houses, and represent his family at a grand festival.
As they rounded the last bend in the coastal road, Adrian's mouth fell open so wide that a fly could have buzzed right in. Lannisport stretched out below them like something from his picture books, but bigger and more alive than any drawing could ever be.
"Seven hells," he whispered, then quickly looked around to make sure Father hadn't heard him. Sandor made a sound that might have been a laugh.
The harbor was full of ships—so many that their masts looked like a forest of bare trees. Some had white sails, others red or blue or green, and they bobbed up and down on the water like toys in a puddle. The city itself sprawled around the harbor in circles, with houses climbing up the hills and smoke rising from a thousand chimneys.
"It's enormous!" Adrian said, standing up in his stirrups to see better. "Look at all those ships! There must be a hundred!"
"More than that," Tyrion said. "Lannisport is the biggest port in the Westerlands. Ships come here from all over the world—the Free Cities, the Summer Isles, even Yi Ti."
"Yi Ti? You mean the Golden City?" Adrian's eyes went wide. "Do they have golden dragons there?"
"No dragons," Tyrion replied with a smile. "But they have silk and spices and other exotic things. Perhaps we'll find something interesting for Joy in the markets."
Adrian bounced in his saddle with excitement. This was so much better than just reading about places in books. This was real, with real ships and real people from far-away lands.
"Look there," Tyrion pointed to a group of colorful banners flying from the harbor walls. "Can you tell me which houses those belong to?"
Adrian squinted, studying the distant flags. His tutors had made him memorize every sigil in the Westerlands, and he was proud of how well he remembered them.
"That's House Westerling," he said, pointing to a banner with white and brown stripes. "And that red one with the black tree is House Banefort. Oh! And there's House Serrett—the peacock one."
"Very good," Tyrion said approvingly. "What else do you remember about House Westerling?"
Adrian thought hard. "Lord Gawen Westerling was at the feast last year when Father was talking about... um... something important with grain shipments. He has a son about my age named Rollam, and he kept staring at me during dinner like I was going to sprout wings or something."
Tyrion chuckled. "That's because you're the heir to Casterly Rock. Other lords' children don't often meet someone in your position."
Before Adrian could say more, another rider approached from further back in the procession. Uncle Tygett cantered up on his fancy white horse, looking like he'd just stepped out of a song about handsome knights. His golden hair was perfectly styled despite the morning ride, and his smile was the kind that made serving girls giggle and trip over things.
"Well, well," Uncle Tygett said with that charming grin of his, "if it isn't my favorite nephew, getting his first look at the wider world."
"Uncle Tygett!" Adrian beamed. He loved Uncle Tygett, who always treated him like a grown-up and told the best stories about sword fighting and adventures.
"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Tygett gestured toward the city. "When I was your age, I thought Lannisport was the biggest place in the world. Then I went to King's Landing and realized how much bigger the world really is."
"Is King's Landing much bigger?" Adrian asked.
"Three times the size, at least. But don't worry—Lannisport has its own charms. Better wine, prettier women, and fewer people trying to stab you in dark alleys."
"Tygett," Tyrion warned with a meaningful look.
"What? The boy should know these things," Tygett said innocently. "Speaking of which, Adrian, we need to talk about how you'll behave once we reach the festival."
Adrian straightened up, trying to look serious and lordly. "Father already told me to be dignified and not embarrass the family."
"That's good advice," Tygett agreed, "but there's more to it than that. You'll be meeting children from other houses—boys and girls your age whose fathers serve your father. They'll be watching everything you do and say, then running back to their parents to report."
"Report what?" Adrian asked, alarmed.
"Everything," Tygett said. "What you eat, how you sit, whether you're polite or rude, if you seem strong or weak, how you take a shit, is it gold or not. Their parents will use that information to decide how to treat House Lannister in the future."
Adrian's stomach did a little flip.
"So what should I do?" he asked. "Should I act like you? You're always making ladies smile and turn red in the face." Adrian paused, thinking. "Though I'm not sure why their faces turn red. Are they sick?"
Tyrion burst out laughing so hard he nearly fell off his horse. Even Sandor made that sound that might have been a chuckle.
"Oh gods," Tyrion gasped between laughs, "please don't act like Uncle Tygett. Father would die on the spot. We'd have to carry him back to Casterly Rock in a box."
"What?" Adrian looked between his uncle and brother, confused. "What's wrong with acting like Uncle Tygett?"
"Nothing, nothing," Tygett said, but his cheeks were a bit pink...was he embarrassed? "Just... perhaps save that particular approach for when you're older. Much older."
"How much older?" Adrian asked.
"Twenty years older," Tyrion said firmly.
"Thirty," Sandor added.
Adrian frowned. Grown-ups were very confusing sometimes. Uncle Tygett was popular and charming and everyone liked him. Why wouldn't Father want Adrian to be like that?
"For now," Tygett said, getting serious again, "just be yourself. You're naturally polite and clever—that's good. Answer questions thoughtfully, show interest in what others have to say, and remember that you represent the richest, most powerful house in Westeros."
"No pressure," Tyrion muttered.
As they descended toward the city, the road became more crowded. Farmers with carts of vegetables, merchants with loaded wagons, and common folk dressed in their festival best all made way for the Lannister procession. Many of them called out greetings and blessings.
"Good fortune to House Lannister!"
"Long may Lord Tywin reign!"
"Gods bless the young lord!"
Adrian waved back politely, trying to look dignified like Father had taught him. But inside, he felt warm and excited. These people seemed genuinely happy to see them, not just scared or respectful.
"They like us," Adrian observed.
"They like our gold," Sandor said pragmatically. "Festivals bring trade, trade brings coin, coin buys food for their families."
"That's very cynical, Sandor," Tyrion said. "Some of them might actually like us for ourselves."
"Some of them might also believe in dragons and magic beans," Sandor replied.
"I believe in dragons," Adrian said. "They were real once. Tyrion showed me drawings."
"Aye, they were real," Sandor admitted. "And now they're dead. Everything dies eventually, boy. Best to remember that."
"You're cheerful today," Tygett commented dryly.
As they got closer to Lannisport, Adrian could smell the sea—salt and fish and something else he couldn't name but thought might be adventure. The ships in the harbor were getting bigger and more detailed. Some had carved figureheads, others flew banners from houses he didn't recognize.
"Are those foreign ships?" Adrian asked, pointing to vessels with strange designs.
"Probably," Tyrion said. "Traders from across the Narrow Sea, maybe even further. Lannisport attracts merchants from all over the known world."
"Could we visit one?" Adrian asked hopefully. "I'd love to see what's inside a ship from Yi Ti."
"Perhaps," Tygett said. "If you're very well-behaved during the formal events, we might arrange a visit to the harbor."
Adrian made a mental note to be the most well-behaved person in the history of well-behaved people. He wanted to see everything—the ships, the markets, the foreign traders with their exotic goods.
"Uncle Tygett," Adrian said thoughtfully, "when you said the other children will report back to their parents—what if I become friends with them? Real friends, not just pretend ones?"
Tygett's expression softened slightly. "That would be ideal, actually. True friendships between noble houses can last generations. Some of the boys and girls you meet here might serve alongside you when you're Lord of Casterly Rock."
The idea of having friends who might still be around when he was grown up made Adrian smile. He'd never really had friends his own age except for Joy, and she couldn't come to things like this because of the whole stupid rule. He wondered if King Robert had written that rule; if he could meet him, he would tell him to remove that rule. That is why he had hoped the King would come here.
"Just remember," Tyrion added gently, "even with friends, you can't let your guard down completely. Politics is complicated, and children often say things they don't mean to."
Adrian nodded solemnly. It was a lot to think about—being friendly but careful, charming but dignified, himself but also representing his whole family. Growing up was much more complicated than he'd expected.
Ahead of them, the gates of Lannisport grew larger and more impressive with each step. Soon he'd be inside his first real city, meeting new people and starting his first real adventure away from Casterly Rock.
He touched Joy's wooden lion in his pouch for luck and tried to imagine what stories he'd have to tell her when he got back home.
The gates of Lannisport were enormous—six or seven times as tall as Adrian and carved with roaring lions that looked like they might jump down and chase people around the square. But what made Adrian's eyes go really wide were all the people waiting for them.
There had to be hundreds! Maybe thousands! Common folk lined the streets wearing their best clothes, holding little lion banners and cheering. Noble lords and ladies stood on a raised platform near the biggest pavilion Adrian had ever seen, all dressed in silk and velvet that probably cost more than most people's houses.
"This is for us?" Adrian whispered to Tyrion as their procession slowed.
"This is for House Lannister," Tyrion replied. "Which includes you, little brother."
Adrian's stomach felt like it was full of jumping frogs. All these people were going to watch him, and judge him, and decide if he was worthy of being Father's heir. What if he tripped? What if he said something stupid? What if his voice squeaked when he tried to talk?
"Remember," Father's voice came from beside him as they dismounted, "dignity at all times."
"Yes, Father," Adrian said, trying to make his voice sound deep and lordly instead of squeaky and scared.
Sandor appeared at Adrian's shoulder, looking even more intimidating than usual in his polished armor. "Stay close, boy. Crowds can be unpredictable."
"Are they dangerous?" Adrian asked, looking at all the smiling faces.
"Everything's dangerous if you're not careful," Sandor replied, which wasn't very reassuring.
Father dismounted his horse, and immediately the crowd's cheering got louder. "Lord Tywin! Long live the Lannisters!!" Adrian tried to stand as straight and proud as Father did, but it was hard when his knees felt wobbly.
"Adrian," Father said quietly, "walk beside me. Wave to the people, but don't grin like a fool. A slight smile, dignified acknowledgment."
They began walking through the crowd, and Adrian tried to copy exactly how Father moved—shoulders back, head high, that little nod that said 'I see you and appreciate your loyalty but I'm also very important.' It was harder than it looked.
"Look at the young lord!" someone called out. "He's got the Lannister look about him!"
"Golden hair like his father!" added another voice.
Adrian felt a flush of pride. He did look like Father, didn't he? Well, his hair was maybe a bit lighter, more silver-gold than pure gold, but close enough. People were noticing, and they seemed pleased with what they saw.
The noble platform was even more impressive up close. Lords and ladies Adrian had only heard about in lessons stood waiting to greet them, wearing house colors that turned the platform into a rainbow of silk and banners.
"Lord Tywin," boomed a large man with a grey beard, stepping forward first. "Welcome to Lannisport. House Serrett is honored by your presence."
"Lord Serrett," Father replied with a formal nod. "Allow me to present my son and heir, Adrian Lannister."
Adrian gave his best bow—the formal one Maester Creylen had drilled into him for weeks. "It's an honor to meet you, my lord. I hope your journey to Lannisport was pleasant."
"Indeed it was, young lord. You have excellent manners for one so young."
"Thank you, my lord," Adrian replied, remembering to keep his voice steady.
More lords approached—Lord Banefort with his bushy red mustache, Lord Westerling with his nervous smile, Lord Kenning who smelled like he'd bathed in wine. Adrian greeted each one politely, trying to remember everything Tyrion had taught him about their lands and histories.
"Lord Banefort," Adrian said when the red-mustached lord bowed, "I hope the roads from the Banefort were safe. I've read that your castle has some of the strongest walls in the Westerlands."
Lord Banefort beamed. "That's quite right, young lord! Built to withstand any siege. Perhaps you'd like to visit someday and see them for yourself."
"I would be honored," Adrian replied, and meant it. He really did want to see a castle with unbreachable walls.
As the formal greetings continued, Adrian noticed children hovering near their parents, watching him with curious eyes. They looked nervous too, which made him feel a bit better about his own butterflies.
"Adrian," Lord Westerling said, stepping aside to reveal a boy about Adrian's height with brown hair and freckles. Adrian remembered him from last year, "this is my son Rollam. He's been quite excited to meet you."
Rollam Westerling looked like he wanted to hide behind his father's cloak, but he managed a wobbly bow. "H-hello, Lord Adrian."
"Just Adrian is fine," Adrian said with a smile, remembering what Uncle Tygett had said about being friendly. "How old are you, Rollam?"
"Seven," Rollam replied, standing up straighter. "My father says you're the smartest boy in the Westerlands."
Adrian felt his cheeks go pink. "I just like reading. Do you like reading?"
"Sometimes," Rollam said. "Mostly I like horses and swords."
"I'm learning to fight with swords too!" Adrian said, excited to find common ground. "It's harder than it looks in the stories."
Rollam's face lit up. "It really is! And the wooden swords hurt more than you'd think when someone hits you with them."
"Lord Banefort's daughters would like to meet you as well," Lord Banefort said, nudging forward two identical girls with dark hair and green eyes.
"I'm Mira," said one.
"I'm Mora," said the other.
"We're twins," they said together, then giggled.
Adrian blinked. They looked exactly the same to him. How was he supposed to tell them apart? "That's... very interesting. Do you ever pretend to be each other?"
The twins exchanged a look and grinned. "Sometimes," Mira said.
"But we won't tell you when," Mora added.
"That sounds like it could cause a lot of confusion," Adrian said seriously, which made both girls giggle again.
More children were introduced—sons and daughters of various Westerlander houses, all around his age, all looking at him like he was some exotic creature from across the Narrow Sea. Adrian tried to remember all their names and ask intelligent questions about their homes.
"Do you really live in a castle made of solid rock?" asked a girl named Cerenna Lannister from Lannisport.
"Casterly Rock isn't completely solid," Adrian explained. "It has tunnels and chambers carved into it, and the gold mines go down really deep. Sometimes you can hear the miners working even from the family chambers."
"That sounds amazing," breathed a boy named Lewys Lydden. "Is it true that House Lannister has more gold than the Iron Bank of Braavos?"
"Lewys!" his father hissed, looking embarrassed.
But Adrian just shrugged. "I don't know exactly how much gold we have. Father says a smart lord never reveals his true wealth. But we do have quite a lot."
The adults chuckled at his honesty, and Adrian felt pleased.
"Adrian, darling!"
He turned to see Aunt Genna approaching with her three sons trailing behind her like ducklings. The Frey boys—Cleos, Lyonel, and Tion—were all around his age but somehow managed to look both eager and sulky at the same time.
"You must meet your cousins properly," Aunt Genna announced loudly. "Boys, greet your cousin."
The three Frey boys mumbled greetings and gave sloppy bows. Adrian returned them politely, but something about their expressions reminded him of cats pretending to be friendly while planning to knock over your milk cup.
"We should all play together," Cleos said, pushing forward. "Since we're family."
"Of course," Adrian replied carefully. "Perhaps later we can all explore the festival together."
But he made sure to keep talking to the other children too, not just his Frey cousins. Somehow he sensed that Uncle Tygett's warning about children reporting back to their parents applied extra strongly to Aunt Genna's boys.
As the formal greetings continued, Adrian caught bits of conversation between the adults that weren't meant for children's ears.
"...more Ironborn ships than usual..." Lord Kenning was saying quietly to Father.
"...longships spotted off Fair Isle..." Lord Farman added, looking worried.
"...could be traders, but the timing..." Father's voice was too low to hear the rest.
Adrian pretended to be fascinated by Rollam's description of his new pony, but his ears were focused on the grown-up conversation. Ironborn ships? He knew the Iron Islands were somewhere to the north, and that the people there were supposed to be fierce warriors who lived on rocky islands and raided other people's coasts.
But why would that worry Father? The Ironborn hadn't bothered anyone for years, had they?
"Adrian," Tyrion appeared at his elbow, "would you like to see where we'll be staying? The pavilion is quite impressive."
Adrian nodded, but as they walked toward the enormous silk tent that would serve as their temporary home, he kept thinking about those whispered words. Ironborn ships. Worried lords. Father's tense expression.
Maybe this festival was going to be more exciting than anyone expected.
And maybe that wasn't entirely a good thing.
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