Suleiman's mouth fell open. Lymond Lychester's voice echoed through the hall, carrying a strange sincerity.
"Will you be my son?"
The expression on Suleiman's face froze. An absurd thought flashed through his mind, so ridiculous he almost laughed. I thought of you as a temporary benefactor, and you want to be my father.
But...
He quickly thought back over this world's inheritance laws. Bloodline was the foundation on which everything rested here. Some minor houses might change their names to inherit the lands of a great house whose line had died out, but even then, they had to find some tenuous link, however distant, to establish their legitimacy.
As for inheriting an ancient house through adoption, with no blood ties whatsoever, it was unheard of in Westeros.
After considering it carefully, Suleiman still rose and bowed, though the offer was very tempting. "My lord, I can never repay your kindness...
"But there is no blood connection between my family and House Lychester."
Deep disappointment filled Lymond's clouded eyes. He had heard the refusal in Suleiman's words. His dry lips trembled as he spoke, his voice tinged with sorrow.
"My sons... Some died for the Targaryens, others for Robert Baratheon. Not one of them came back."
The old man's stooped figure looked especially forlorn in the flickering firelight.
"House Lychester will die with me."
"Who knows who'll inherit my title after I'm dead? Blood ties? Perhaps it'll just be some bastard that family dug up from a brothel."
"All for the sake of my lands and wealth, through one scheme or another."
He looked at Suleiman again, a strange light kindling in his eyes. His dead sons had told him that one day, the young man before him would raise his family name to heights he had never dared dream of.