Lucien Lannister had spent the past year focused on three things:
Learning (everything from High Valyrian to ledger-keeping). Training (swordsmanship, though he preferred his mind as a weapon). Observing (because in the Game of Thrones, the quietest players were often the most dangerous).
Right now, he was observing his brother Tyrion with the intensity of a maester dissecting a corpse.
Tyrion smirked over his goblet of Dornish red. "You're staring, little brother. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were plotting something."
"Plotting? Me?" Lucien widened his eyes in mock innocence. "I'm ten. I barely know how to tie my own shoes."
Tyrion barked a laugh. "You're a Lannister. We're born knowing how to lie."
Lucien grinned and took a sip of watered wine. Good. He doesn't suspect a thing.
Two nights later, Lucien slipped into the Rock's library—a cavernous hall of dust and forgotten scrolls. His target? A moldering tome titled The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of Westeros.
If I'm going to change things, I need proof.
He flipped to the section on House Targaryen, fingers tracing the ink.
Rhaegar Targaryen. Married Elia Martell. Two children: Rhaenys and Aegon.
No mention of Lyanna Stark. No annulment. No secret marriage.
Just as I thought. This is the book timeline.
A floorboard creaked.
"Reading above your age again, Lucien?" Maester Creylen stood in the doorway, his chain glinting in the candlelight. The man was loyal to Tywin—which meant he was a threat.
Lucien smiled. "Just looking at the pictures."
Creylen's eyes narrowed. "Your lord father expects you at the training yard at dawn."
"Of course." Lucien closed the book. But not for the reasons you think.
Tywin Lannister did not ask for reports on his children. He received them.
When Maester Creylen mentioned Lucien's "unnatural interest in history," Tywin summoned his youngest son to the solar.
"Explain," Tywin said, steepling his fingers.
Lucien didn't flinch. "A lion should know the land he rules. The past tells us who to trust—and who to destroy."
A pause. Then—
"Hmph." Tywin slid a book across the table. "Read this. We'll discuss it next week."
Lucien glanced at the title: The Conquest of Dorne.
Not a punishment. A test.
He hid his smile. Checkmate.
That evening, Tyrion found him on the battlements.
"Father's impressed," he said. "Which means you're either very clever or very doomed."
Lucien tossed a pebble over the edge, watching it vanish into the sunset. "Why not both?"
Tyrion studied him. "What do you want, Lucien?"
"The same as you," Lucien said softly. "Respect. Power. A legacy that isn't just 'the other Lannister.'"
A slow grin spread across Tyrion's face. "Well then, little brother. Let's play."