Early morning.
Just as Leon was considering his next steps, the sound of the lock turning interrupted his thoughts.
Genna Lannister swept in, a brand-new crimson formal outfit draped over her arm and a deliberately exaggerated smile on her face.
"My beautiful nephew! Look what your aunt brought you!"
Thea Marbrand followed her with a tray, her eyes slightly red, though she tried hard to smile.
Leon stood, his movements a little slow. This body's strength could never keep pace with the clarity of his mind.
"Aunt Genna, Thea, good day."
"Good day? Oh, my darling, today is far more than a good day!"
Genna strode over, shook out the outfit, and began putting it on Leon without taking no for an answer. "Today is your Name Day, yours and that little bastard's! And an important Name Day at that.
"My elder brother has agreed to enter you both in the family genealogy for now! There's a grand feast today. The lord of House Tyrell is coming to visit..."
She spoke rapidly as she deftly dressed him.
A crimson velvet coat embroidered with miniature golden lion crests, black trousers, and short leather boots.
Typical Lannister colors.
Leon obediently raised his arms, but his gaze rested on his reflection in the mirror.
This gift... was also a mark.
From the moment he entered the genealogy, he would be assessed, classified, and assigned a purpose.
"And this..." Thea set the tray on the table, her voice gentle. "Lady Genna and I made it together."
It was a small cake, with a thin layer of ocher-colored cream and a few red berries on top.
Crude, but for Leon, it was the first treat he had received for his Name Day in seven years.
He picked up a small silver fork, cut off a piece, and put it in his mouth.
"This really is..."
He chewed slowly, swallowed, then looked up and gave the two women a perfectly measured smile. "Delicious.
"Aunt Genna, Thea, being a child you cherish is the greatest happiness in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Young master..." Thea's eyes reddened, her voice trembling. "You... you needn't say that..."
"Seven above!" Only then did Genna react, seizing Thea's arm in excitement.
"Listen! His voice... his tone, his phrasing... My darling, your choice of words and your pronunciation are the most refined I've ever heard."
Watching their excitement, Leon felt something in a corner of his heart gently loosen.
"Please don't get so excited," he said steadily, with an age-appropriate reserve but extraordinary clarity. "This should be quite normal, thanks to your patient teaching and Maester Loomis's."
The golden evening glow draped every contour of Casterly Rock.
The moment Leon Lannister stepped into the banquet hall, the candlelight seemed to linger on his face.
He wore crimson velvet formal attire, a miniature golden lion embroidered at the collar, his white-and-gold hair combed back to reveal that excessively exquisite face.
Then silence, like a tangible tide, spread from the nearest long table and swiftly engulfed the entire hall.
Representatives of Lannisport's merchant community sat at the nearest table.
The corpulent Lord Hesp Baan had been holding up his cup and discoursing at length. His cup hung in midair, his words caught in his throat, and he stared straight at the doorway with his mouth open.
A silver fork stopped beside a pair of lips. They belonged to the Countess of House Crakehall from Crakehall. Her freckled daughter, about ten years old, tugged gently at her sleeve and murmured something.
The countess did not respond. Her mouth merely fell slightly open.
Farther away, a maester from Oldtown, whose chain indicated a specialization in art and aesthetics, accidentally knocked over his wine cup.
Dark red wine spread across the white tablecloth, but he remained oblivious, staring blankly at Leon. "Proportion... perfect proportion... This cannot exist in flesh and blood..."
Leon walked steadily, his eyes facing forward, as though unaware of the hundreds of gazes clinging to him.
But he knew.
The Eye of Insight had activated automatically the instant he entered the hall, gathering fragments of information with restraint:
"Seven above..."
"Is he real?"
"Lady Joanna... He's a perfect reproduction of her beauty, yet somehow different..."
"Those eyes... Did you see them? That shade of purple..."
"But he's so small... A dwarf? Gods, how is that possible..."
Wonder, bewilderment, morbid curiosity, and a trace of barely perceptible fear...
Those emotions mingled with the whispers, winding around him like invisible threads.
Leon walked toward the small table prepared for him beside the dais.
As he passed certain tables, the younger girls blushed and whispered to one another, their gazes flickering as they could not resist stealing looks.
On the dais, Lord Tywin took it all in.
His face remained expressionless, but his green eyes swept keenly across the hall, assessing everyone's reaction.
He saw amazement in some eyes, and calculation flashing in others.
He could not help wondering whether even a dwarf might have some value in a political marriage.
Or, at the very least, as a collectible worth displaying?
Mace Tyrell-the Lord of Highgarden and leader of the visiting delegation from the Reach-sat some distance to Tywin's right.
The lord, renowned for his love of luxury and honors, was leaning slightly forward, his hazel eyes wide and his gaze fixed firmly on Leon.
His fingers unconsciously rubbed the rim of his wine cup, his lips slightly parted, as though he had discovered a treasure beyond his expectations.
His gaze held none of House Tyrell's customary subtle appraisal, but rather an almost undisguised, possessive appreciation of "beautiful things."
Cersei sat to Tywin's left.
When Leon entered, she had been elegantly sipping her wine.
When silence fell, she stopped.
She watched Leon cross the hall, watched how those gazes were drawn to him, how undisguised wonder appeared on every face.
Her fingers slowly tightened around her wine cup.
Leon took his seat beside Tyrion, off to one side below the dais.
He adjusted his cuffs slightly, his movements composed, as though he could not feel the weight of those hundreds of gazes.
"You've become tonight's exhibit."
Tyrion's voice came from beside him, lowered to a murmur and tinged with a mocking smile. "Congratulations. You're doing better than me. I'm just 'that ugly thing.' You're 'that pretty little object.'"
Leon did not turn, merely answering just as quietly, "Mind your shield."
"What?"
"The silver plate," Leon said. "If there's trouble later, use it."
For when he had just seen Cersei's orb of emotion, an image had flashed past.
Tyrion mouthed an exaggerated "wow," then rolled his eyes.
This was Tyrion's own kind of comfort, using mockery to defuse embarrassment and resist the world's stares.
Halfway through the feast, as a bard began playing a lively southern dance tune, Cersei stood.
She took a fresh cup of wine from an attendant's tray and swayed gracefully down from the dais, heading straight for Tyrion's small table.
"My dear little brother," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet, glancing at Leon as the noise in the hall subsided a little. "I hear you've been spending all your time in the maester's tower lately. What, have you finally realized you need knowledge to compensate for... your other shortcomings?"
Several nearby nobles gave muffled chuckles.
Tyrion's face instantly flushed red. He looked at Leon, only to see Leon's hand pointing toward his legs...
Tyrion understood at once. He raised his head and answered with an equally brilliant, false smile:
"My dear sister, I'm merely learning how to be like you: filling the most conversation time with the least physical demonstration. It certainly requires study."
Cersei's smile stiffened.
She sipped her wine, her gaze roaming like a venomous snake before finally settling on Leon.
She bent down and studied his face closely, near enough for Leon to smell her strong rose perfume and the wine on her breath.
She spoke softly, but loudly enough for the surrounding tables to hear. "This face... It's an insult to all of us. Especially to certain people..."
She looked at Tyrion. "The comparison is too cruel, isn't it?"
"You!" Tyrion immediately flared with anger, but the hand beside him stopped him.
The hall fell utterly silent.
Leon raised his head and met Cersei's gaze.
There was intense jealousy deep in Cersei's pupils, an unnatural tightness in the muscles around her mouth. He saw the way her fingers held the wine cup, the preparatory movement before throwing its contents.
But Leon chose not to respond.
He merely watched her calmly, his pale purple eyes devoid of emotion... holding only a profound, almost unsettling stillness.
But that stillness enraged Cersei.
"Nothing to say?" she sneered. "It seems they gave you nothing beyond that face."
"Cersei." Jaime's voice came from the dais, carrying a warning. He had already risen.
But Tyrion moved faster.
He climbed onto his chair somewhat clumsily, but with tremendous force of presence.
He glared up at Cersei, his voice sharp as a knife. "At least he has a face worth looking at and a clever mind! All you have is a...
"Thing that has to stay silent for people not to notice how empty it is inside!"
Gasps sounded throughout the hall.
All color instantly drained from Cersei's face, only to be replaced by a terrible flush.
She raised her hand, not to strike Tyrion, but to fling the wine she held-that bright red, bloodlike wine-into the brothers' faces.
Just as her wrist turned...
Whoosh!
A dazzling patch of light suddenly flashed across Cersei's eyes.
She instinctively shut her eyes and turned her head. Her movement was interrupted, and the wine splashed onto the tablecloth before Leon rather than his face.
Tyrion casually held up the silver plate, tilting it toward the candlelight.
At precisely that angle, the light reflected from the plate struck Cersei directly in the eyes.
"Wow! Sorry, sister."
Looking utterly innocent, Tyrion waved the plate in his hand. "I'm practicing my table manners. You know, a dwarf has to find something to do. Such as... protecting himself with a shield?"
Gasps sounded throughout the hall.
All color instantly drained from Cersei's face, only to be replaced by a terrible flush.
She abruptly raised her other hand-
"Enough."
Lord Tywin's voice rang out, quiet, but like a cold wind sweeping down from the North, instantly freezing everything.
He did not leave his seat, but everyone in the hall involuntarily held their breath.
"Return to your seat, Cersei," Tywin said. "Tyrion, Leon, sit down. Let the feast continue."
Cersei's hand froze in midair. She glared fiercely at Tyrion, the venom in her eyes almost spilling over, then turned toward Leon...
This time, alongside jealousy, something deeper and darker had entered her gaze.
Head held high and shoulders rigid, she walked back to the dais. At last, she discarded the broken wine cup on a passing servant's tray with a sharp clink.
The music resumed, but the atmosphere had changed.
Leon settled back into his chair, feeling a wave of weariness.
He looked at Tyrion, who was making an exaggerated, triumphant face at him, but Leon could see his hand trembling slightly beneath the table.
The feast finally ended amid a strained, false merriment.
Leon and Thea had barely left the banquet hall and reached a relatively secluded corridor when Jaime stopped them.
His golden-haired elder brother looked exhausted, his robe stained with wine, perhaps spilled when he had risen so hastily earlier.
He lowered his voice. "Listen, Cersei... She didn't mean it. She was just..."
"She meant it, Jaime."
Leon gently interrupted him. "But I understand. After all, the mother she loved most died because of us. And there's that prophecy..."
Just the right amount of sorrow showed in his eyes.
Jaime froze.
Looking at his young brother, he suddenly discovered an understanding in those eyes far beyond that of a seven-year-old.
"I'm only protecting you, and Tyrion..." Jaime said at last, frustration in his voice. "Both of you."
"I know."
Leon even attempted a small smile as he spoke. "But sometimes, protecting us may require you to... make harder choices. And I know how difficult that is for you."
Jaime opened his mouth but could say nothing. In the end, he merely ruffled Leon's hair...
A somewhat awkward, brotherly gesture, before he turned heavily and left.
Thea softly urged Leon to return to the west tower.
Just as they were about to leave, a tall figure stepped out from the shadow of a column.
Kevan Lannister.
Tywin's younger brother and Leon's uncle usually spoke little, like a quiet shadow, yet now he had appeared before them of his own accord.
Kevan looked at Leon. The man known for his caution spoke in a barely audible voice. "Be careful, my nephew."
His gaze seemed particularly deep in the dim corridor. "Tonight, you became a mirror for many people. Some saw their own mediocrity reflected in you. Others saw their desires..."
He paused, his voice growing softer. "Lord Mace didn't look at you as though you were a child. It was more like he was appraising a treasure about to be auctioned. And Cersei... You showed her something she cannot control."
Kevan took half a step forward, his shadow almost completely enveloping Leon's small body.
"From tonight onward, whether you wish it or not, you are no longer merely a 'cursed child.' You are a symbol. Symbols can be useful, but they can also be very, very dangerous."
He inclined his head slightly, as though he had said something inconsequential. "Look after yourself."
With that, he turned and vanished down the far end of the corridor, as though merging into the darkness.
Leon stood where he was, as though the chill of Kevan's words still lingered in his chest.
A symbol.
A mirror.
A prized piece.
He looked up toward the light and music still spilling from the banquet hall at the end of the corridor.
There, people were still laughing falsely, conversing, and scheming, while in the corridor, a silent appraisal had already set a price.
Thea lightly touched his arm. "Young master, it's time to go."
Leon nodded and took one last look in the direction Kevan had disappeared.
The night was still long.
And some exhibitions, once begun, could never have their exhibits removed.