12th Day of the Twelfth Moon, 281 AC – Casterly Rock & King's Landing
The waves crashed against the cliffs below Casterly Rock, their thunder echoing through the golden halls. Tywin Lannister sat in his solar, the firelight painting his features sharp and cold. He held a letter in his hand, its seal broken, its words read thrice already.
The rebellion spread like fire in dry fields. Robert's victories in the south, the Stark host marching through the Riverlands, Jon Arryn holding the Vale against the king's commands. The dragon bled.
And yet Tywin did not move. His bannermen pressed him for word, begged for guidance, but he gave them silence.
For silence was sharper than any roar.
Kevan Lannister stood before him now, restless. "Brother, we cannot wait forever. The wolves march, the stags triumph, the falcons defy. The king raves. And still you do nothing. The realm will remember silence as treason if the rebels win."
Tywin's golden eyes lifted, cool and unblinking. "And if the rebels lose? Will the realm remember silence then? Or will it remember the lions who held their fangs until the moment was ripe?"
Kevan frowned. "And when will that moment come?"
Tywin rose, his tall frame casting long shadow. He walked to the great window, gazing out at the waves crashing below. "When the dragons are weakest. When the wolves and stags bleed enough to soften their howl. When the crown can be taken without lifting a single sword. That is when lions strike."
Kevan's brow furrowed. "And until then?"
Tywin's gaze was steady, cold. "Until then, we wait. Silence is a roar the wise hear."
---
Far to the east, the Red Keep burned with whispers. King Aerys raved louder each day, his eyes wild, his fingers bleeding where he clawed the Iron Throne. He demanded wildfire, demanded heads, demanded fire to consume all who defied him.
And in her chambers, Elia Martell sat alone with her children. Rhaenys curled at her side, whispering questions in her mother's ear, too sharp for her tender years. Baby Aegon slept in her arms, his breath soft, his face unmarked by the shadow that loomed above them all.
Elia's body ached with weariness. Her health had never been strong, and each day in the Red Keep drained her more. The air stank of wildfire, the walls of ash. The laughter of her children was the only thing that kept her from breaking.
She looked out her window, her eyes on the city below. She remembered Harrenhal, the roses, the moment when fire had been defied not by a prince, not by a king, but by a stranger with calm eyes and a staff of wood.
Where are you now, Shield? she thought. Do you walk still, or did the fire take you too?
She pressed her lips to Aegon's brow, her tears dampening his hair. "Shield him," she whispered. "If not me, then shield him."
Rhaenys stirred beside her, her small hand gripping Elia's gown. "Mother? Will the dragons win?"
Elia's heart broke at the question. She forced a smile, brushing her daughter's dark hair. "The dragons will keep you safe, my sweet. Sleep now."
But in her heart, she prayed not to dragons. She prayed to a nameless man who had stood where no one else dared.
---
At Casterly Rock, Tywin's halls echoed with the murmurs of his bannermen. Some urged him to march for the king, others for the rebels. All feared silence.
But Tywin waited still, his mind weighing gold against blood. He thought of Aerys, mad and shrill, burning his own realm to ash. He thought of Robert, fierce and reckless, breaking all before him but leaving ruin in his wake. He thought of Rhaegar, missing still, and what his return might mean.
And he thought of whispers — whispers of a stranger who walked with wolves, who bent fire and shielded the weak. Whispers that spread even to the golden halls of Casterly Rock.
Tywin's lips curved faintly, though his eyes were cold. "A shield," he murmured. "Shields break. Crowns endure."
---
In King's Landing, Elia dreamed.
She dreamed of fire consuming the city, of screams rising, of her children torn from her arms. She dreamed of green flame bursting from the ground, swallowing all. And in the dream, she stood alone — until a figure stepped from the smoke, staff in hand, eyes calm as stone.
He lifted his staff, and the fire bent aside, the screams silenced. He looked at her, and in his gaze she felt not the love of a husband, nor the lust of a prince, but the steady weight of a vow.
I will shield you.
She woke with tears on her cheeks, her children still beside her. She held them close, whispering through her sobs. "Shield us. Shield us still."
---
At Casterly Rock, Tywin stood at his window still, the sea crashing below. He thought of kings and crowns, of fire and gold. He thought of the moment yet to come, when lions would strike and the realm would tremble.
In King's Landing, Elia sat in silence, her body frail, her children warm in her arms. She thought of fire, of fear, of hope. She thought of the Shield.
And though they were far apart, both lion and sun moved in the same shadow: the shadow of a rebellion that grew brighter with each passing day.
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