At dawn, the first rays of light fell over Lannisport, making the roof tiles across the city gleam as though gilded with flowing gold.
An elegant two-story house stood along a street in the waterfront district.
An ornately carved oak window upstairs was flung open from within.
Lance leaned halfway out, the sunlight falling squarely on his face.
He narrowed his eyes and stretched luxuriantly into the sea breeze.
He felt his life could hardly have gone more smoothly.
He often thought he must be a favorite of the Seven to have been born into the lion's family.
He belonged only to a minor branch, one that no longer even bore the Lannister name.
Yet here in Lannisport, a head of golden hair like a lion's mane naturally placed him above everyone else.
Of course, there were at least tens of thousands of Lannister kinsmen with lion's blood flowing through their veins in Lannisport.
It was said that their common ancestor, Lann the Clever, had produced so many descendants that even Casterly Rock could not contain them all. Another town had to be built by the sea to house them, and it had slowly grown into the Lannisport of today.
As far as noble standing went, members of minor branches like his probably could not even set foot through the gates of Casterly Rock.
But that did not matter.
He might fall short of those above him, but he had plenty compared to those below. He took it all in stride.
At least here in Lannisport, no one blind enough to offend a golden-haired descendant of the lion had dared do so.
He turned and went back inside.
The maid had already prepared warm water and neatly pressed, luxurious clothes.
With her help, he washed and dressed, then straightened his