chapter 12 a grand feast

I sat at the grand table, the weight of stares heavy on my shoulders. To my right sat the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms—King Robert Baratheon, large and loud, his every move commanding attention. To my left, my father Tyrion Lannister, sipping his wine with a sly smile, enjoying the curious tension that hung in the air.

Robert wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes fixed on me. "Tell me, kid, how in the Seven Hells are you so big for a boy of eight namedays?" He shot a glance down the table at his wife, Queen Cersei, holding Tommen's in her hand as a young boy clutched her skirt like a lifeline. Joffrey sat beside her, sneering like a brat that thought he ruled the room. "My boy's seven and still won't let go of his mother's damn skirts."

I chuckled, glancing at my father. "You'll have to ask my father that, Your Grace."

Robert turned his gaze to Tyrion, but this time it wasn't the mocking stare he usually reserved for the dwarf. There was a begrudging respect in his eyes, one my father usually had to earn by cutting down insults with wit or wine. Since our last... encounter, Robert knew I could kill him if pushed. That changes how men look at you, even kings.

"Tyrion," the king said, this time with the weight of a question behind it.

"Yes, Your Grace?" my father replied, his smile a touch too pleased. He enjoyed this, the shift in the winds of respect.

"How in the bloody world did you make this one? No offense, but you're not exactly... well, let's just say, you're not built like the Mountain."

Tyrion chuckled, swirling his wine. "None taken, my liege. The credit goes to his mother." He paused for effect, eyes glinting mischievously. "Rumor had it, there was a whore up North with giant's blood. Well, you know me—I had to confirm such tales." He smirked as Robert's eyes gleamed with interest. "So I went north, bedded her for months. It felt like conquering the world."

The table erupted in laughter, save for one. Grandfather Tywin sat at the far end, his face carved in stone, eyes sharp as ever. He didn't appreciate stories of my heritage being leaked.

"And after nine moons," Tyrion continued, "out came my greatest treasure. Though, sadly, his mother didn't survive the ordeal." He glanced at me, watching for any sign of sadness. I met his gaze with a smile, all innocence and no care for the loss of a woman I never knew.

Robert wiped a tear of laughter from his eye, but his curiosity lingered. "This boy of yours was born... massive?"

"Oh, aye," Tyrion nodded. "We had to stop on the road to Casterly Rock more than once because the lad was drinking every wet nurse we found dry. Any jerky i bought was gone within days."

The queen, Cersei, stiffened at this. "He could eat, as a newborn?" Her voice was thin, like a thread about to snap not believing her brother.

"Yes, dear sister," Tyrion said with a grin. "Born with teeth."

Maester Pycelle, ever the opportunist to insert himself and show his knowledge, stroked his beard. "That is rare, but not unheard of. Strong children, born to strong parents. Such children often grow to be fierce warriors."

My father looked at the king and said "Then I suppose I must be stronger than I look i suppose."

The king roared with laughter again, but this time, Cersei's eyes burned holes into my father. If looks could kill, he would have been dead before the wine even touched his lips. I caught her gaze and held it, unflinching, letting her know she wasn't the only one capable of venomous stares.

Robert leaned forward, eager as ever. "Tell me about this bandit hunting I've heard so much about. Is it true you carried back carts full of skulls?"

The queen, who'd been silent till now, spoke up, "My king, that's just—"

"It's true," Tyrion cut in, raising his cup to me. "And my son can tell it better."

I nodded, watching as the eyes of nobles, soldiers, and servants around the table settled on me. "The rumors don't do it justice, Your Grace. I killed so many, my grandfather had to send more men just to handle the skulls."

The room stilled. Even Robert, usually the loudest man in any space, was quiet, his eyes narrowing as he sized me up. "You've got the makings of a conqueror, lad."

I smiled. "Perhaps. But now, those skulls line my lands—my grandfather saw fit to gift me some property after my victories. We've even started producing a new drink there."

That caught Robert's attention more than the skulls. "New drink? What's it called?"

"Vodka is one your grace another is mead, Your Grace. And I've brought some with me."

Tyrion blinked, surprised. Even he hadn't known. I reached into my sack that i brought with me and pulled out a flask, pouring a generous portion for the king, my father, and my grandfather, Tywin.

Robert tossed it back like a common ale, while my father savored it with raised brows. Grandfather sipped carefully, already seeing beyond the taste to its true value.

The king gasped, pounding the table with his fist. "Gods, this is strong!"

"Indeed," Tyrion muttered, staring at his cup as if it held a dragon.

Tywin gave me a long, calculating look, one I recognized from years of watching him dissect strategies. He knew what I had, and he knew its worth.

"This will sell well in the North," Robert declared, his voice thick with approval. "It'll keep the men warm during the long winters."

"Indeed," I replied. "Though it'll take time before I can distribute it widely."

Robert slammed his hand down. "Then speed it up! Sell me a few barrels to start."

I feigned reluctance. "It's still early, Your Grace. Besides, I've got plans that need handling first. I need a small personal army to deal with the bandits still roaming all over the realm. That requires the Small Council's approval and the approval of the lords and nobels, and you know how long that will take."

"No need," Robert boomed, waving his hand. "I order it! Raise your force, kill the bastards. Just keep the vodka coming."

"As you command, Your Grace."

"And what's this about mead?" Robert's eyes narrowed, intrigued.

"A new drink, better than wheat beer or wine. But again, it'll take time to build ships to distribute them properly if i dont build them ill have to pay someone else and lose out on profit so id rather wait a few years."

Tywin's gaze sharpened realizing where i was going with this. Robert glanced down the table. "Tywin, let the boy build his ships. That's an order."

Tywin's jaw tightened, but he nodded, hiding his displeasure behind a mask of indifference. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Robert clapped his hands together. "Good. Now, Tyrion, pour us another round. Your son may be too young to drink, but we've got enough for us!"

Tyrion grinned. "As you say, my king."