Chapter 15

Chapter 15: The False Lion

…

Third POV

In the training grounds of Casterly Rock, just outside the towering gates, Galahad moved with two training swords in hand, his movements fluid and precise. He face off against Ser andros of house Brax.

Every swing of Ser Andros Brax's blade was met with quick parries and clever footwork.

Andros, a seasoned knight and one of Tywin Lannister's trusted men, had expected to overpower the young squire. But today was different. Galahad, barely sixteen, was faster than Andros anticipated, each movement sharp, his instincts honed.

The sun glinted off their wooden swords, creating brief flashes with each clash. 

"Come now, boy!" Andros barked, breath ragged, sweat running down his temples. "You'll need more than fancy footwork to impress anyone!"

Galahad smiled, heart pounding. "Just getting started, Ser," he replied, the words light but brimming with confidence.

With a swift burst of speed, Galahad closed the gap, unleashing a flurry of strikes. Andros staggered, surprised by the sudden aggression. Galahad's footwork was flawless, dancing around the knight's defenses. 

The wooden blades moved in perfect harmony, the squire's attacks relentless.

The other knights and squires gradually fell silent, their casual conversations fading as they turned their attention to the duel. It was not a common sight to see a squire, especially one so young, dominate a seasoned knight like Ser Andros Brax. The air around the training grounds thickened with anticipation as Galahad's movements captivated the onlookers.

What struck them most was not just his speed but the mastery with which he wielded the two wooden swords. Each blade moved in perfect synchrony, a blur of motion that left Andros struggling to keep up. Every time the knight blocked one strike, the other sword would land, knocking him further off balance. Galahad was relentless, his footwork precise, his attacks unyielding.

A final series of quick, decisive strikes pushed Andros back, and in an instant, Galahad seized the advantage. Andros staggered, his feet slipping on the training ground dirt, and with a heavy thud, he crashed to the ground. Before he could recover, he felt the sharp, unmistakable pressure of two wooden swords at his throat.

The courtyard was still, the only sound the labored breathing of Andros and the hushed murmurs of the onlookers.

"Do you yield?" Galahad asked, his breathing steady, eyes locked on the knight beneath him.

Andros exhaled heavily, the fight clearly over. "I yield," he muttered, the words reluctant but respectful.

Galahad stepped back, lowering his swords. A grin spread across his face as the onlookers erupted into cheers, their admiration clear.

Still on the ground, Andros flexed his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. The strength behind Galahad's strikes had been incredible. He'd never fought a boy with such power—or skill. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his breath still coming in heavy gasps.

How is this lad still a squire? Andros thought, unable to wrap his mind around it. In all his years of battle, he'd never seen anything quite like Galahad. The boy fought with the raw ability of a knight—no, better than that. There was something else in him, something more.

Rising to his feet, Andros brushed the dirt from his leathers, a tired grin spreading across his face despite the sting of defeat. "Well fought, Galahad," he said, offering his hand. "You're destined for more than being a squire."

Galahad gripped his hand, smiling warmly. "Thank you, Ser. But I've still got a lot to learn," he said modestly.

Andros nodded, respect in his eyes. "Aye, perhaps. But today… you fought like a knight." 

Ser Andros had heard the stories about Galahad—how he was the son of a whore, a street urchin from the alleys of Lannisport. Before their match, he had held no respect for the boy. He had expected an easy victory, confident that his years of knighthood would easily overwhelm the young squire. But now, after facing him in combat, Andros felt a shift. The boy had earned his respect the hard way, through skill and tenacity, not by birthright.

In the distance, Kevan Lannister watched the match with a broad grin on his face, unable to contain his amusement. "Haha! Pay up, Tygett, Gerion!" Kevan called out loudly, stretching out his hand with a smug expression.

Tygett and Gerion Lannister exchanged annoyed glances, both clearly unhappy with the outcome. With a sigh, Tygett reached into his pouch, pulling out a handful of coins, while Gerion, scowling in frustration, tossed his own pouch at Kevan.

"Damn it, how in the seven hells did he beat a knight?" Gerion muttered, disbelief clear in his voice. "Where in the world did you find this boy?" He sounded almost mournful, as those coins had been intended for his usual pleasures in the brothels of Lannisport.

Kevan chuckled, catching the pouch mid-air. "Maybe I've got a good eye for talent," he said with a teasing tone, though the truth behind Galahad's origins was something he wasn't ready to share. He had struck a deal with the hooded man, but only he, Tywin, the hooded figure, and Galahad himself knew the full story.

Tygett crossed his arms, his gaze narrowing as he stared toward the training grounds where Galahad had now started sparring with another knight. "Tell me, Kevan, where did you really find him? Is he your bastard? Or perhaps our father's?" There was an intensity in Tygett's voice, his eyes never leaving Galahad's golden hair and Lannister-like features.

Kevan's expression remained unreadable as he addressed his brothers' suspicions. "I found him in the streets of Lannisport," he said smoothly, his voice steady. "Fought off a dozen ruffians by himself."

Tygett and Gerion exchanged glances, their disbelief apparent, but Kevan continued before they could question him. "As for his origin, I do not know. He may as well be our father's bastard, but he's not mine." 

The first part was a lie—Galahad wasn't simply a street orphan Kevan had happened upon. But the rest was true enough; even Kevan had little clue about the boy's true lineage.

The boy's resemblance to a Lannister, with his striking golden hair and green eyes, had not gone unnoticed. Kevan knew the rumors were already swirling—too many found it difficult to ignore the late Lord Tytos' reputation for indulging in the company of brothel women.

Tygett narrowed his eyes. "He looks too much like one of us," he muttered, his tone carrying suspicion. "You're telling me you know nothing of his parentage?"

Tygett's frown deepened, but Kevan raised a hand to cut him off before he could voice more suspicions. "There's no need to worry. Galahad knows his place. He's loyal, he's dutiful, and he's never disobeyed me." Kevan's tone grew firm, his eyes resolute. He was confident in the boy's loyalty, even if his origins were murky.

His brothers exchanged uncertain glances, but they nodded, choosing to trust Kevan's judgment for now.

Kevan's grin returned. "That's why I'm planning to knight him."

"What?!" Tygett and Gerion exclaimed in unison, their surprise palpable.

Kevan leaned in slightly, his voice lower but brimming with excitement. "After Joanna gives birth, Tywin and I plan to host a tourney in Lannisport to celebrate. When Galahad wins the squire melee, I'll knight him there, before everyone."

Tygett's brow furrowed further, but he said nothing. Gerion let out a long breath, still processing the idea. Kevan, however, stood tall, his mind already set. He had seen what Galahad could do, and he knew the boy had a bright future. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the world saw it too.

…

Tywin POV

I sat in my solar in Casterly Rock once again, feeling a rare sense of calm. Here, I could speak freely, think without the watchful eyes of spies or the relentless scheming of the game's other players. My sanctuary. The thick stone walls shielded me from the world's demands, but my mind wandered beyond them, to Lannisport.

Kevan had told me how the city had flourished in the past moons, to the point that the slums had all but disappeared. A city bustling with trade, merchants filling the streets, the docks brimming with ships from Essos and beyond. The transformation seemed almost miraculous. I had asked Kevan how such a change came about, and he spoke of the hooded man.

The name alone stirred a reaction in me. Kevan had told me of the organization this man created—the Lionheart family. At first, I had been furious. How could my brother allow some unknown figure to rise to such power under our very noses? But when Kevan explained the extent of the taxes the Lionheart family paid, I found myself… intrigued.

Twenty-five thousand gold coins in taxes in 5 moons. More than all the merchants of Lannisport had contributed over the past five years. If this continued, we would have a steady source of wealth, more than even I had anticipated.

Kevan had struck a deal with the hooded man. The terms were simple: the Lionheart family would take control of Lannisport's criminal underworld but promised to operate within the bounds of legality. In return, they would pay thirty thousand gold dragons annually to House Lannister. Not a bad arrangement. Yet, I couldn't help but feel a lingering unease.

And then there was Galahad.

Kevan had mentioned him, the young squire with Lannister features, a rising star on the training grounds. But why would the hooded man place one of his own so close to us? What was his game? Galahad's golden hair and striking eyes—he could easily pass for one of our blood. 

I couldn't shake the feeling that this was no coincidence. Was the hooded man trying to insert his influence even further into our house? Or was there something more, something I hadn't yet seen?

As I mulled over these thoughts, a knock came at the door, pulling me from my reverie. My curiosity was about to be satisfied.

"Enter," I called, turning away from the window.

Today, I would finally get some answers.

As Galahad entered, accompanied by Kevan, I could see the nervousness in the boy's eyes. Kevan, on the other hand, maintained his usual composed demeanor. I gestured for them to sit, and once they were settled, I signaled to my knights to close the door. The sound of the heavy door shutting echoed through the room, sealing us in for a private conversation.

"So, you're Galahad," I began, my voice low and probing. I watched the boy closely, gauging his reaction.

"Yes, milord," Galahad replied, his voice shaky. The boy was clearly intimidated, but I had no patience for timidity today.

"I want to hear your story," I pressed, leaning forward slightly. "Where were you born? How did you come to meet the hooded man, and how did you end up as my brother's squire?" My tone was sharp, but I needed answers. There was more to this boy than met the eye, and his connection to the hooded man piqued my curiosity.

Galahad hesitated, clearly weighing his words. "I was the son of a whore, milord. From a brothel in the wealthy end. But my mother disowned me, saying my father no longer cared for us. In my lowest moments on the streets eight moons ago, the hooded man found me and took me in…" He trailed off, his uncertainty hanging in the air as he glanced at me, waiting for a reaction.

I remained unmoved, my face betraying nothing. I was listening intently, piecing together the fragments of this boy's tale.

"Four moons ago," Galahad continued, "the hooded man, told me he would reunite me with one of my family. He made a deal with Kevan to make me his squire."

Kevan, caught off guard by this revelation, blurted out, "What? It can't be!"

But I, on the other hand, was already considering the implications. There were many possibilities running through my mind, and I couldn't ignore the boy's resemblance to our family. I mulled over his origins, asking myself if he could be Kevan's bastard—or worse, our father's.

"Is he your bastard?" I turned to Kevan, my eyes narrowing.

Kevan shook his head firmly. I believed him—Kevan wasn't the type to lie about such matters, at least not to me.

"Then he may be our father's bastard," I said, voicing the thought that had been gnawing at me. "Our bastard brother."

Galahad lowered his head, clearly conflicted. The poor boy was being used, likely a pawn in the hooded man's larger scheme. A tool, nothing more.

I walked up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You will not speak of this to anyone. Do you understand?" My gaze was fierce, and the boy nodded quickly, fear evident in his eyes.

I could've had him killed. It wouldn't have been difficult, but for now, he was more useful alive. His life was part of Kevan's deal with the hooded man, and that gave him some protection. Galahad was just a pawn, but pawns could be valuable if played right. Maybe I could earn his loyalty, use him against the Lionheart family when the time came.

I stepped back, watching him closely. There was something more going on here. What was the hooded man really after? Why plant a boy with Lannister looks so close to us? Could this boy be my bastard brother? This wasn't just about a squire or a simple deal—there was a bigger game being played, and I intended to find out exactly what it was.

As I looked out over Lannisport, bustling in the distance, I realized that the city was no longer just a backdrop to my rule. The Lionheart family had changed things, and I'd underestimated them. The hooded man wasn't just another criminal, and Galahad wasn't just some orphan picked up off the street.

My time here wouldn't be as dull as I'd thought.