19 Ch. 19 Squire

When I woke the morning after Uncle Gerion's Feast, I strangely felt relieved. Almost like a heavyweight had been lifted from my shoulders. What I said to Tyrion may have been harsh, but every bit of it was the truth.

Tywin has attempted to negotiate a marriage for Tyrion, with nearly every house of suitable status for an heir to Casterly Rock. And he has been rejected by every single one. Even the lords with a daughter with an unbecoming reputation rejected the offer to have their daughter wed Tyrion.

Tywin could always 'persuade' one of his vassals to agree to a marriage between their daughter and Tyrion. Honestly, I don't think Tywin wants that. Tyrion's inability to be married would further add to a justification for disinheritance.

While this looks good for me, I would be more than welcoming if Tyrion wished to compete for the lordship of Casterly Rock. He has a long way to go, just to repair the years of damage he's already created, but I believe he would still offer a bit of a challenge. And if, by some twist of fate, Tyrion rises up to actually earn the right to be lord of Casterly Rock over me, then all the better for House Lannister.

Putting thoughts of last night aside, I got dressed and ate a hearty breakfast. Once finished, I grabbed Lionheart and made my way down to the training grounds. Alone on the training field, I begin to work through the sword forms and familiarize myself with my new sword.

Other than the weight difference, I immediately notice something peculiar about Lionheart. I've trained with swords made from many different types of metal, and they all felt the same. But as I'm moving through the sword forms, it feels like Lionheart is trying to aid me. As if it understands its purpose as a sword and is attempting to see that mission fulfilled. As cliche as it sounds, it felt magical.

After a couple hours of training by myself, I clean up the area and head to the castle forge. I want to replace Lionheart's worn-down hilt. A quick conversation with the head weaponsmith, and a drawing of Brightroar's pommel, and I set them to work on crafting my new hilt.

The only difference I made from Brightroar's hilt, other than the size, was a heart-shaped rain-guard. The smith said he would need three days to construct my hilt, and then I would need to bring Lionheart to the smith to be fitted with the hilt.

With my morning routine finished, I made my way to meet Tywin in his office. Upon entering the Lord's Solar, I noticed the two unopened chests Uncle Gerion brought, sitting behind Tywin's desk. I couldn't help wonder what was inside those chests.

Thoughts of sneaking a peek were pushed away when Lord Tywin spoke up. "I hear you and Tyrion had an interesting conversation last night about the future of Casterly Rock," Tywin said in his usual slow way of speaking.

"I wouldn't call it interesting, Uncle. It was more of a difference of opinion," I calmly reply. I have long grown used to remaining calm under Tywin's scrutinizing gaze.

After a long moment of staring at each other, Tywin spoke again. "Hypothetically speaking, what would be the first thing you would do, as Lord of Casterly Rock?" Tywin asked.

I only take a moment before I answer. "After I had all the lords of the Westerlands, hypothetically, swear fealty to me... I would order a thorough and detailed census to be conducted of all lands." I confidently answer.

A bit of curiosity, or maybe disappointment, entered into Tywin's eyes. "We receive an annual census at the end of harvest when we collect taxes," Tywin stated.

Nodding my head in agreement, I further explain my reasoning. "I'm not stating our vassals are purposely deceiving us of our rightful due. We should extend a bit of trust to our vassals, but we should occasionally verify to ensure accuracy and honesty. Besides, the census we receive is just an estimated number of total smallfolk by illiterate landed knights. It works for generating an 'estimated' amount of taxes owed, but nothing else." I said.

Understanding where I was going, Tywin asked, "And what do you have in mind?"

"The census Casterly Rock should conduct isn't designed solely for the purpose of accurate tax collection, for an economical and military purpose," I said with a coaxing voice. "Every five years, Casterly Rock sends out trained officials to conduct a formal census. They are to collect not only the total number, but the gender, age, region, and profession of everyone in the Westerlands.

"The age will be done in five-year increments, and include what professions are held by that age. Everyone forty-five and older will be listed in the same age category." I explain.

"What do you hope to gain with this information?" Tywin asked.

"Last year's tax census stated the Westerlands has a population of three million people. We can roughly estimate there to be one-and-a-half-million men in our lands. But we don't know how many of those men are fighting age, or where we have a concentration of skilled labor. This census will give us a better idea of how to dispense resources and have an accurate number of levies we can muster without affecting our economy more than necessary." I state.

Tywin sat silently for over a minute, contemplating what I just said. He's sharp enough to understand the benefits of this type of census.

"And how would you go about implementing your recommended changes to the army?" Tywin asked.

"I recommend establishing the War College I mentioned in 'The Art of War'. Regardless if we only take pieces or commit to a full change, it will be six months before we can see a noticeable difference." I confidently answer.

Like everything I've come up with, it's nothing new. All of my 'ideas' have just been using my past-life knowledge, mixing it with preexisting knowledge, and expanding on it or using it differently. I read plenty of books on tactics and strategies that had examples of what I remember from my past life. I just took that information and combined it with proven models.

I skillfully ignore Tywin's calculating gaze as he stares at me. I'm starting to wonder why he continues to use it on me. I learned a long time ago how to handle his subtle intimidation tactics.

Suddenly, Tywin stood up and assumed a regal appearance. "As of this day, I, Tywin of House Lannister, officially recognize you, Lance of House Lannister..."

My head becomes light, and my stomach sinks into my legs. I didn't think this would happen so soon!

"As my squire," Tywin finished.

It's thanks to sheer willpower that my mouth didn't drop open. That... That is not what I was expecting him to say! I thought Tywin was announcing me his heir!

As much of an honor as being the first squire to Lord Tywin Lannister is, it still feels like a kick in the nuts. The fact I am imaging Tywin smirking at me doesn't help.

Forcing my thoughts to the present, I respectfully bow as I attempt to sound formal. "I am honored Lord Tywin, and I will strive to prove myself worthy of such an honor." I ramble out. There isn't a formal ceremony to accept a squire. It is left to the knight to decide how he wishes to go about it.

After our little improvised ceremony, Tywin dismissed me for the day. While becoming Tywin's squire is not what was hoping for, it doesn't really surprise me. This is purely a political move.

Tywin has never accepted a squire before. To do so now, as a Lord Paramount, will be seen as his endorsement of me being his heir. The Westerlands' lords will be reassured of a competent successor to Tywin. The surrounding kingdoms will assume the Westerlands will be led by another generation of Tywin. And Tywin's name will be included beside mine on every bit of prestige I win.

Tywin is nearly sixty. I wonder who he will use to see to my martial training?

Twenty-Second Day of the Eighth Moon, of the year 293 A.C

I've not had a moment's rest these past five weeks.

Two days after becoming Tywin's squire, Tyrion approached me and apologized for his behavior after the feast. He was even sober! I didn't hold a grudge and wholeheartedly accepted his apology. As a show of no ill-will, I told Tyrion I would loyally serve House Lannister if Tyrion earns the lordship of Casterly Rock.

I couldn't help wishing for the best man to win. The arse-hole made a comment about me not being old enough to be called a man. He, kinda, laughed at my comment about him not being tall enough to be a man either.

After our little jibes were said, Tyrion asked me about some of my ideas for the water system. Since I was sure Tywin would associate me with any ideas Tyrion comes up with, I saw no point in not helping my cousin.

We spent two hours drawing and explaining 'my' ideas. I gave sketches for chain and hand pumps, bathhouses, portable showers, flush toilets, and clay pipes. I put a heavy emphasis on filtering the seawater used for the bathhouses and showers and draining the water daily. The point of a bathhouse was to allow a large number of people to quickly and easily get clean, not let them take a dip in bacteria-filled pools of water.

The same day I talked with Tyrion, Tywin announced a grand tourney being held at Casterly Rock in six weeks. I was expecting Tywin to host a tourney, given the prestige Uncle Gerion's return brought to House Lannister. Plus, Tywin would never miss an opportunity to display Lannister's superiority. So it wasn't a surprise when Tywin said he invited all the great houses and the royal family.

Regardless of what I was expecting when I became Tywin's squire, reality stepped in to throw me a curve-ball. As the first unfortunate soul to be named Tywin Lannister's squire, my duties did not consist of the typical work. I was not expected to tend to armor, fill wine glasses, or run menial errands. Those tasks are too unbecoming for the squire of the Lord Paramount of the West.

I was expected to be on the training grounds from an hour after sunrise till midday. Where I was trained in horsemanship, jousting, and getting my ass handed to me. I found the answer to my question about who Lord Tywin Lannister judged worthy enough to teach his squire.

Apparently, no one, because Tywin found me, five personal martial instructors. Ser Lyle Crakehall, the Strongboar, was a tall and muscular man that was incapable of talking in anything but a booming voice. The Strongboar was responsible for my lessons in two-handed weapons and maces.

Ser Addam Marbrand of Ashemark was a likable man with dark copper-colored hair, and one of the few people Jaime Lannister called a friend. He was responsible for teaching me horsemanship and how to fight with sword and shield, from the ground or on horseback. Turns out, jousting is three-quarters horsemanship, which explains why Lyanna Stark was able to do so well at the Tourney of Harrenhal.

Vogano Sorros, a water dancer, newly relocated from Braavos, was a slender man with olive-colored skin. His accent was as thick as the Strongboar's mustache, but he was quick to laugh. He was responsible for my footwork and teaching me the water dance style. A normal man would never be able to use the water dance style with a traditional longsword. I can't right now either, but that doesn't stop me from combining the Braavosi style footwork with my current sword forms. I was slowly creating a new sword style.

Colin Hill, of the Westerlands, was a bastard of an unknown lord or knight. He never gave the answer, and I never asked. I didn't really care if he was a bastard or not. Colin was one of the best archers I've seen. The man wasn't much of a shot past sixty meters, but he was able to shoot five arrows in the same time most archers took to fire two. I'm convinced the reason he can't hit anything past sixty meters is due to poor eye-sight.

And the last member of my little training cadre was none other than the mother fucking Mountain that Rides. Or I should say mother raping. Ser Gregor Clegane was nothing like the show made him out to be. He was monstrous in size and attitude. Gregor was just short of the famed eight-feet tall, but that still makes him a full foot taller than the actor from the show. He was also as broad as two men standing shoulder to shoulder.

The Mountain wasn't really there to teach me anything specific. We would joust or spar occasionally, which was painful but, Gregor was mostly there to intimidate anyone that tried to approach us. When I traveled outside of Casterly Rock's walls, for jousting lessons or to drill the soldiers, the Mountain would be my shadow. I didn't really want to talk to him, but he did offer a surprising bit of advice from time to time. Mostly, about the best way to kill a man or unhorse him. And then kill him.

The first few weeks in the training yard were rather painful, and if not for my quick healing, I'm sure I would have fractured several bones. Once my 'trainers' seen how quickly I learn and heal, they began stepping up my training.

To be honest, I thought I was rather good, despite my age. But while I may be able to give each of the knights a challenge, not once was I able to send them into the dirt. By the Seven, that wounded my pride!

On a side-note, I learned that Gregor suffers from constant migraines. He can tolerate them most the time, as long as you don't strike his helm while sparing. I did that once, and he hit my shield so hard I was sent flying across the training grounds. I'm not sure how my arm wasn't broken.

After that incident, I make him take a dose of milk of the poppy before we spar. He never uses his full strength against me, but keeping him doped up is the only way he can maintain control of his anger when one of my strikes does get past his guard. I pity the poor souls that have suffered as Gregor's squires... I don't think anyone has actually lived long enough for him to knight.

Once I'm finished getting smacked around by my 'training team', I move to get some sweet revenge. Tywin placed two-hundred soldiers, or Legionaries, under my command to torment. These were the men that would decide if a War College would be viable.

These two-hundred Legionaries would make up the lower-echelon commanders in the Legion. I had a vested interest in their training being a success. All of my military plans rest on my ability to train these men to the standard I stated in my writings.

I have been hammering them with physical exercise, precision drills, and marching. It took nearly a fortnight, but the Legionaries are finally able to march in step and in a uniform manner. It was reminiscent of the close order drill I conducted in the Marine Corps.

Once that was accomplished, we moved to create small unit tactics. With a bit of trial-and-error, we developed a generic fighting routine for multiple participants. It wasn't perfect, but it enabled a system of combat that allowed the Legionaries to properly assist each other in battle. It was simple but looked much better than the fight with the bandits. I was trying my best to avoid a Hollywood fight scene where a dozen men surround the hero and take turns getting their asses kicked.

It was hard work, and I made sure the men earned their money. But they were performing better each day, and each day I would push them a bit more. I can't prove it, but I'm sure my prediction came true. These men curse my name when they see me approach.

Of course, if they embarrass me today, they will be cursing their lives. They've spent hours practicing for the arrival of the Royal family, and I will be damned if they are seen as anything other than spectacular.