Candlelight in Stoneheart Hall at Casterly Rock cast flickering shadows across the long oak table.
Lord Tywin Lannister's finger moved slowly over the map, tracing the Goldroad east from Casterly Rock before stopping at King's Landing.
"The Riverlands have been unsettled lately."
His voice was level. "Hoster Tully cannot control his vassals. There have been reports of bandits where the three rivers meet. The Goldroad may be fast, but it runs through that disorder."
Jaime stood beside his father, frowning at the map. "We can strengthen the escort. Fifty cavalrymen would be enough to deal with small bands of outlaws."
"It is not a question of numbers." Tywin looked up, his gaze passing over those present.
Cersei sat on the right, absently winding her golden hair around a finger.
Leon and Tyrion stood across the map.
Kevan studied the map, counting something on his fingers.
Maester Loomis stood quietly by the wall, like a gray shadow.
"I want King's Landing to see the orderly ranks and strict discipline of the Westerlands."
Tywin tapped the Goldroad on the map. "Jaime and Cersei will travel overland with me.
"Twenty carriages, a hundred cavalrymen, and a day's stop near Harrenhal. Tully has invited me to 'inspect the border defenses.' It is an opportunity to display our strength."
He cast a veiled glance at Jaime.
Leon knew Tywin was already considering a marriage between Jaime and House Tully.
Jaime's eyes lit up. "We will pass before all the lords of the Riverlands and make them remember the power of House Lannister."
"Precisely." Tywin turned his gaze to Leon and Tyrion. "You two, however, will travel by water."
Tyrion was visibly taken aback. "By water? But sailing means going around the southwestern tip of Westeros. At least a month..."
"Thirty-four days."
Tywin interrupted him. "You will depart from Lannisport, sail south along the Sunset Sea, round the southwestern corner of Westeros, enter the Mander River by way of the Shield Islands, and reach Highgarden. Then you will take the Roseroad north to King's Landing."
Tywin turned, holding an ornate letter of creamy white parchment with gilt edges, its wax seal bearing the golden rose of House Tyrell.
"An invitation from Highgarden."
Tywin set the letter on the table. "Written by Lord Mace Tyrell himself.
"The feast six months ago left a deep impression on him. He has specifically invited the Westerlands' 'miracle of beauty and ugliness' to Highgarden for the autumn harvest celebrations of the Reach."
Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "Specifically invited? Us?"
Tywin's gaze settled on Leon. "Lord Mace spared no praise for your appearance in his letter, calling it a masterpiece of art seldom seen in the Seven Kingdoms. He hopes you can lend a touch of extraordinary color to the gardens of the Reach during the celebrations."
Leon felt a wave of discomfort.
He remembered very clearly Mace's almost greedy stare at the feast.
"What about Lady Olenna?" Tyrion asked shrewdly. "Does she approve as well?"
Tywin's lips curved coldly. "The letter is in Lord Mace's hand and bears the seal of the Lord of Highgarden. The Queen of Thorns... added no separate message."
What that meant needed no explanation.
"This is an opportunity to observe."
Kevan took up the discussion, his voice steady. "Ever since House Tyrell miscalculated over Prince Rhaegar's marriage, they have been searching for a new political foothold. They are close to the royal family, but they are also watching and waiting.
"Lord Mace's interest in Leon... might merely be a superficial obsession, or there might be deeper calculations behind it."
"Such as?" Tyrion asked.
"Such as testing the Westerlands' response by praising and courting Lord Tywin's 'special' son."
"Or, more directly..." Maester Loomis interjected softly, "adding a 'beautiful collectible' to Highgarden's collection, thereby displaying the inclusiveness and glory of House Tyrell."
Leon's fingers tightened slightly.
A collectible.
"The itinerary is settled."
Tywin's voice brooked no argument. "You leave in one day, by sea. Gerion will escort you, with Melon, Alyn, and Rosso as guards. Maester Loomis will accompany you to continue your lessons."
He paused. "You have three tasks in Highgarden:
"First, observe the internal workings of House Tyrell, particularly the balance of power between Lord Mace and Lady Olenna.
"Second, assess the loyalties and inclinations of the lords of the Reach. Third..." Tywin looked at Leon.
"Take good care of that 'masterpiece of art seldom seen in the Seven Kingdoms' of yours. I do not wish Lannister property to be coveted, or even damaged, in someone else's garden."
"Yes," Leon said.
"Also," Tywin added, "Highgarden is one of the wealthiest places in the Seven Kingdoms. Pay attention to their industries.
"Porcelain, silk, wine, waterworks. The sources of wealth often reveal more about a house's ambitions and weaknesses than swords do."
Something stirred in Leon's mind.
Was this a hint to examine the economic side? Or...
Cersei suddenly spoke. "Why not let me go to Highgarden? I could do a better job of..."
"Your appearance in King's Landing and the Riverlands is more important."
Tywin cut her off, his tone allowing no argument. "Let the lords of the Crownlands and the Riverlands see what the daughter of House Lannister has grown into. It will be useful when considering future marriage alliances."
Cersei bit her lip and said no more. When she looked at Leon, a trace of resentment had joined the envy and hatred in her eyes.
"Enough. Go and prepare." Tywin waved a hand.
The others left the council chamber one after another.
Tyrion lowered his voice. "Property? Collectibles? Father certainly speaks plainly."
"He was simply stating facts," Leon said.
"Mace Tyrell..." Tyrion frowned. "I have read accounts of him. He loves luxury, honors, and all beautiful things, but lacks deep strategic cunning and is easily influenced by his mother, Olenna.
"If his interest in you is genuine, that could mean trouble. If it is false... even more trouble."
"Why?"
"Because that would mean someone cleverer... the Queen of Thorns, for instance, is pushing this from behind the scenes."
"And her aim," Tyrion said, "is never merely 'a beautiful collectible.'"
Leon reached over, drew a blank sheet from the stack of communal parchment at the edge of the table, picked up a quill, and pushed it across.
Tyrion raised an eyebrow and snatched up the quill.
He drew two lines side by side on the parchment, one straight, the other twisted, pressing so hard he nearly tore through it.
"This is what they think we are." He turned the parchment back toward Leon, his chin slightly raised.
Leon studied the two lines.
He picked up the quill and, rather than drawing new lines, added a few strokes to Tyrion's: slight curves and a few connecting points.
Then he turned the parchment toward Tyrion.
From Tyrion's angle, the twisted line neatly filled a gap in the straight one, forming an incomplete but faintly recognizable image...
A lion in profile.
Tyrion stared at the parchment, his pupils contracting slightly. "Hahahahaha!" An unspoken understanding spread between them.
He picked up the parchment in front of Leon. "How is your High Valyrian coming along? That stuff is harder than the stones at the bottom of a mine."
"Language is another kind of mine." Leon's fingers brushed the curved script on a nearby page. "There are things hidden inside it. Ancient vows, lost magic... buried beneath these words."
"Then what do you want to dig out?"
"An understanding of things no one knows how to speak of anymore, but which still affect the present."
Tyrion nodded thoughtfully and scratched his sparse hair. "I just want to know how those ancient dragonlords actually commanded dragons."
He paused, lowering his voice further. "And how to make keys that open locks."
"Locks?"
"All locks." Tyrion's fingers tapped unconsciously against the table, exactly like Tywin's.
"Gold is dug out of mines and turned into coins, taxes, and soldiers' pay, into the stones of castles... and finally into someone's power to say 'kneel.' I want to know every link in that chain."
His eyes shone in the dim light, their gleam too sharp for his age.
"Have you found it, then?" Leon asked. "That chain?"
Tyrion's smile turned somewhat rueful.
"I have found a few links. But the more I find, the more I realize that one end is clenched in our father's hand, while the other..." He mimed a tightening noose around his neck. "Is looped around a great many necks. Mine included."
The words were too blunt, too heavy.
Tyrion seemed to regret them once they were out. He cleared his throat and adopted a lighter tone. "Still, at least if we know how the chain is made, perhaps one day we can... forge ourselves a key to the lock."
Leon watched him.
In the slanting light, a golden flame stubbornly refused to die on Tyrion's face, the face the world had called "ugly."
"Perhaps," Leon said slowly, choosing the words in his mind, "we do not need a key to the lock."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then what do we need? My shield? Your twin swords to hack the chain apart? I would like that, but just the two of us?"
He gestured at their dwarfish bodies.
"Perhaps we need to learn," Leon said, "how to become part of the chain. To know which link we are, which link bears the greatest strain, and which is weakest. To know which way the whole chain will move if we move."
Tyrion froze. The teasing in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by genuine surprise and thought.
After a long while, he said softly, "You know, I have wanted to say this for a long time. You do not think like a seven-year-old."
"Neither do you. Even less so." Leon glanced sideways at him.
Not long after Leon returned to his quarters in the west tower.
There was a soft knock at the door.
Maester Loomis stood outside. He was not wearing his Citadel chain and carried only a plain leather satchel. His fingers unconsciously rubbed its strap... he was nervous.
"Young master," he said in a very low voice, "there are things you should know before you leave the Westerlands."
He motioned Leon onto the balcony, making sure the noise of the harbor would mask their conversation.
"About Lady Joanna," Loomis said, his voice dropping further. "About the king. About the year you were born."
Leon's heart skipped a beat.
"In 273, the year of your birth," Loomis said, "Lady Joanna accompanied Lord Tywin to King's Landing in her seventh month of pregnancy to attend King Aerys's Name Day celebrations. She stayed there for nearly two months."
The sea breeze suddenly grew cold.
"During that time, the king's interest in her... exceeded the bounds of proper courtesy."
Loomis chose his words with extreme care. "Several handmaids witnessed the king frequently summoning her alone after feasts.
"He asked about the Westerlands' houses' historical contact with foreign peoples, about Lady Joanna's family lineage, and even about the condition of the child in her womb."
He paused.
"Once, after drinking, the king said something that was taken as a jest at the time: 'Tywin's gold can buy anything in the Seven Kingdoms, but there are treasures even the golden lion cannot guard.'"
Leon's breathing all but stopped.
"You mean..."
"I have said nothing."
Loomis interrupted him, his gaze sharp. "I am merely stating certain objective facts recorded in a maester's diary.
"After your mother returned to Casterly Rock from King's Landing, her spirits were noticeably low, and her health began to deteriorate.
"During the birth... she lost too much blood. But more disturbing were her delirious words as she lay dying."
"What did she say?"
Loomis hesitated for a long time.
"'Golden and purple flames.' She said that over and over.
"And... 'The mirror is broken, but the reflection remains.'"
The maester's voice grew distant. "The old handmaid assisting with the birth thought it was fevered nonsense. But at the Citadel, I read certain texts concerning the bloodlines of Old Valyria... women with particular constitutions, under extreme conditions, might..."
He shook his head. "That does not matter. What matters, young master Leon, is that when you arrive in King's Landing, King Aerys will certainly see you. And when he sees your eyes..."
Loomis did not finish.
He handed Leon a rolled parchment sealed with wax. "Open it after you board the ship. It contains fragments of records about Valyrian bloodlines, about dragons, and about 'special constitutions.' Here, these things are too dangerous."
Leon took the roll. It felt heavy in his hand. "Maester, why are you helping me so much?"
Loomis was silent for a long time.
"Because your mother saved my life in King's Landing."
He finally spoke, his voice very soft. "Because I followed her to the Westerlands. Because I delivered you. And because..." He drew a deep breath.
"I believe Lord Tywin is playing a dangerous game, and you and Tyrion are the most unusual pieces on his board. Even pieces need to know the rules of the game if they are to avoid being sacrificed too soon."
With that, he inclined his head slightly, turned, and left.
Outside the window, the bells of Casterly Rock rang out, announcing the coming of night.
Leon stood on the balcony, clutching the rolled parchment. The sea breeze lifted his white-and-gold hair.
Farther south, in Highgarden's white castle, Lord Mace Tyrell stood before a silver mirror, trying on a new crown of golden roses.
His wife, Alerie, reminded him softly from beside him, "Mother said not to be too enthusiastic. It will make us look eager to please."
"Please?" Mace laughed, adjusting the angle of his crown. "No, my dear. This is a display.
"A display of Highgarden's generosity of spirit, of House Tyrell's appreciation of 'beauty.' That child... deserves the finest stage."
He turned to look at the roses blanketing the hills outside the window. "As for Tywin... he will understand. Some treasures are wasted in the stone towers of Casterly Rock."
Alerie started to speak, then stopped.
She recalled Olenna's cold warning. "Mace has been bewitched by beautiful things. But what lies behind that beauty? A conspiracy? Or something more troublesome? Watch him closely. Do not let his obsession ruin Highgarden."
But looking at her husband's excited face, Alerie ultimately said nothing.
She merely prayed in silence, hoping the twins from the Westerlands would bring more than a "miracle of beauty and ugliness."
Peace as well.