"My brother once said that all dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes. I assure you, something was lost in translation..."
As far as the life of a bastard went, Robert Stone's hadn't been all that hard. He had never starved, never wanted for clothes or for a roof over his head, and his pockets always had some gold lining them. However, being the bastard of Tywin Lannister brought its own unique challenges.
As far as the rest of Westeros was concerned, there were no bastard Lannisters tainting the family name. To them, Robert was no more than a dull servant boy taken in by Tywin from an orphanage as an act of charity. To the family, though...if Tyrion had been a reminder for Cersei about her mothers death, Rob was a reminder that Tywin had taken another woman into his bed after the fact. As soon as she had become Queen, her first order was to assign him to the servants quarters in King's Landing, and promised to have his tongue cut out should she ever hear him speak a word in his presence. Jamie at the time had simply smirked, knowing Rob wouldn't dare defy his older sister. After all, if Jamie would kill his king, what would he do to the man who crossed the woman he loved?
And then there was Tyrion...Tyrion had always been...indifferent at best. Some nights, he would send for Rob and pour him a glass of wine before asking the same thing he asked everyone; "What do you want?" Rob of course would lie and say he was content scrubbing Cerseis chamber pot and fetching her dinner and polishing Jamie's sword and armor and sneaking Tyrion's whores in and out of the castle in the cover of darkness. Bastards weren't supposed to hope for more, afterall, but there was one advatage that came with never being permitted to speak. Eventually, people forgot that you were even there...
He was there for all of it, serving wine silently in the background while his siblings and father plotted and schemed and played the great Game of Thrones, and he was listening, learning, waiting for the time to be right. It was when Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard brought one of those...things, in front of all of them that he knew it was time to make his move. That night, he stole a set of armour he had never worn and a sword he had no idea how to weild from the smithy, a horse from the stable, and a Lannister sigil from his now dead father's belongings and rode from the city and turned his sights North. Lannister's always paid their debts, and there was quite the debt owed to the Starks. Bastards weren't supposed to have ambition, but the North was different. In the North, a bastard could be a king. Besides, when all of this was over, Casterly Rock would still need a Lord. One of the Maesters had once told him history was written by the victorious and as his darling sister had once said...
"When you play the game of thrones you either win, or you die."
Under Heavy Construction.
Literate - Multi Para Only
21+ due to mature themes
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