chapter 2 meeting my grandfather

In the solar of Casterly Rock, Tyrion Lannister stood before his father, Tywin Lannister—the wealthiest man in the realm, his harshest critic, and a man who would never accept him. Tyrion had been reminded his entire life of how he was worthless, unwanted by his family for being born a dwarf and for causing the death of his mother, Tywin's beloved wife.

But Tyrion vowed that his own son would not endure the same fate.

He looked down at the giant baby in his arms, Caesar Lannister, who stared back at him as if he understood everything, though he was just a babe. Tyrion then raised his eyes to his father's. Tywin's piercing gaze was unreadable, his mind an impenetrable fortress, but Tyrion knew one thing—he would not let his father harm his child.

Tywin's voice, calm and devoid of emotion, cut through the tension. "What is the boy's name?"

"I have named him Caesar Lannister."

Tywin's expression tightened. In a cold, controlled tone, he replied, "That boy is not a Lannister. He is the son of a whore and has no claim to this house."

Tyrion's jaw clenched, but he kept his voice steady. "He is my son. I am your only male heir, father. Jaime is bound to the Kingsguard, and no matter what you offer the king, that won't change. That makes me your only son, and since you refuse to put a dwarf as the Lord of Casterly Rock, then put my son."

Tywin's voice remained icy. "So, instead of a dwarf, you would have me name a bastard as my heir?"

Tyrion's eyes burned with determination. "We are all bastards till we gain strenght, father. Our ancestors were commoners until they found gold in these hills. With their wits and wealth, they built this house, a legacy that has endured for over two thousand years. My son has Lannister blood, and the blood of giants. He'll be strong—stronger than the Mountain—and he'll have the brains of a Lannister. Even you cannot throw that away because of your hatred for me."

Tywin's gaze remained unmoved, but there was a flicker of thought behind his cold eyes. "I won't throw the boy away, but I will not make him my heir."

Tyrion breathed a small sigh of relief, though a part of him still ached. His father wasn't rejecting the child outright—but he wasn't accepting him either.

Tywin's voice broke the silence. "Once the boy grows, he shall be tested. If he proves himself, he will earn the name of Lannister. If he survives, that is. The trials will be near impossible and deadly. Until then, he shall be known as Caesar Hill."

Tyrion's heart sank, but he knew better than to argue. "Yes, father. I will take my leave now and return to my quarters. I'll find a maid to care for the child."

Tywin looked at the papers on his desk and said to his son. "Find him a wet nurse with large breasts. He mustn't go hungry. If he doesn't grow, he will be useless."

Tyrion nodded and turned away, carrying his son out of the solar. As he left, a strange weight lifted off his shoulders. He had feared Tywin might kill the boy outright, but now things were different. The old man would make things difficult, but that didn't matter. Tyrion could work around that. If Tywin didn't give Caesar the West, then accidents would begin to happen. One by one, until his son sat in the seat of power as is his birth right.

A sly grin crossed the infant's face as if he could tell what his father was planning, though it appeared as an innocent smile to his father.

Tyrion brought Caesar to a large room, where a cradle waited near the fire. A maid stood ready, and Tyrion handed the baby to her.

"Feed him, put him to sleep, and if he dirties himself, clean him. If anything happens to the boy, I'll have your head on a spike. Understood?"

The maid nodded, eyes wide. "Yes, my lord."

Tyrion gave one final glance at his son before leaving the room.

---

Two months passed in the blink of an eye. As Caesar, there wasn't much to do except listen. From what he could gather, the queen was pregnant with her first incest baby. It was amusing, but otherwise, the days were long. Eat, sleep, and...more of the same. To keep his mind sharp, Caesar practiced a breathing technique he remembered from his past life when he was a diver—inhale for four seconds, hold for two, exhale for ten, then hold for two again. He ran through numbers in his head, doing calculations to pass the time.

Five months later, Tyrion held his son at breakfast, eating with one hand and cradling Caesar with the other. Tywin, seated at the head of the table, observed them both silently.

Caesar decided it was time to show off.

"Da," he said.

Tyrion looked up from his breaking of fast, surprised. "Say that again."

"Da...da."

Tyrion's eyes lit up with joy. "Yes! Yes, I'm your da! Say it again."

"Da da," Caesar repeated.

Tyrion laughed, delighted. "A genius! My son, my little giant, speaking at seven moons old."

Tywin, however, remained cold. "The boy is growing quickly."

"Yes, father," Tyrion replied, "he's strong and clearly smart."

"It's just a word repeated twice."

Tyrion grinned, unbothered by his father's dismissal. "Perhaps, but at seven moons, he'll already be known as the genius grandson of Tywin Lannister."

Tywin's eyes narrowed. "The septas will call him a cursed child from a northern whore, and someone will try to have his throat slit."

Caesar felt a shiver run down his spine realizing these people were so backward that they would kill a baby they thought was cursed or possesed.

Tyrion's face grew serious. "Father."

Tywin interrupted him, his tone final. "The boy will be given two guards at all times. They will protect him."

Tyrion exhaled. "Thank you, father."

"You'll earn his protection," Tywin added. "Casterly Rock needs a new drainage system for its waste. I'm putting you in charge."

Tyrion grimaced at the thought of overseeing the castle's sewers but forced a smile. "It shall be done, Lord Father."