The Long Winter | Jaime Lannister X Stark OC | GOT/ASOIAF

Ours Is The Fury

Loreon Storm had never felt like a Lannister. Though he had been raised in Casterly Rock until he was eleven, his position as a bastard was always made painfully clear. Though he received a knight's training, sparring in the yard with the sons of lords, and was taught his letters and basic sums by the maester, he was not part of the family. At feasts, he sat on the benches amongst the guardsmen. His care as a child was largely left to a single elderly nursemaid. And Lord Tywin's eyes passed over him as though he was just another face in the rabble.

When he was a boy, he had lived for his mother's visits. Giana would come to see him a few times every year, or he would visit her and his trueborn siblings at the Banefort. She was bright and smiley and fun, and would spoil him, bringing him toys, but she was more of a sister than a mother. She had only been fourteen when she had Loreon, and it was as though that sense of childishness had remained with her, when it came to him. With her trueborn children, she acted like a mother, telling them off when they misbehaved and making sure they were neat and presentable. Giana was never like that with him.

Of course, growing up in Casterly Rock was hardly the worst life, and people throughout all Seven Kingdoms put up with far worse. He was friendly with many in his family; Uncle Kevan had always been kind to him, as well as his wife Dorna, whilst Tyrion was like an elder brother; they were only seven or eight years apart in age, the same gap as was between Tyrion and Jaime. But Loreon had seen the full maester's education his cousins were getting, seen that they were being equipped with the skills of a lord, a battle commander, not just those of a warrior. The thought of his entire future consisting of being a household knight in Casterly Rock was rather bleak.

He had always known he knew he could do so much better. Perhaps that was his Lannister side coming it. It was ungrateful, he knew - many smallfolk boys would kill for a life like his - but despite what Lord Tywin liked to pretend, Loreon was half a Lannister, and that ambition, which seemed to have skipped out his mother and Jaime, ran in his veins too.

When his father summoned him to court, he had been sullen and defensive; though he made friends easily, he also angered just as fast, learning early on in life to use his fists and size to deal with those mocking him. In Casterly Rock, he was simply Loreon, the bastard. People expected little of him. But in the Red Keep, he was the King's bastard. Cersei despised him - she always had - but his father had treated him like a shiny new toy. Here was a son he could be proud of, Robert Baratheon had loudly claimed after watching him beat his fellow squires in the training yard, or kill a stag in a hunt.

In the Red Keep, Loreon learned that being a friendly face, being charming - even to strangers and those he disliked - was the easiest way to get ahead. He had the King's favour, and considerable skill at arms, which would grant him some level of respect as it was, but that wasn't enough; people had to like him. More importantly, they had to need him. He had to be useful.

His closest friend had a different view. Renan Snow shared his mother's sharp tongue and cold manner, as well as being no less than deadly with a sword. But whilst Loreon had been in the spotlight the moment he arrived, with the big scandal surrounding the King bringing his baseborn son with the Queen's sister to court, Ren had been invisible at first, just some Northern boy. For a while, he had even been able to pass as a servant to those that didn't know him, though word soon spread of the young squire who could give grown knights a run for their money. And as half a Stark, King Robert had noticed him.

*

Loreon did not linger, as his father lay dying.

He knew Robert was not long for this world the moment the boar had squealed, tusks ripping awfully through the King's flesh. It was a sight that would haunt him for years to come, no doubt; the blood, the smell, his father's entrails hanging out as he gave a great roar and slew the beast anyway whilst raging drunk. No one survived a wound like that. It was miracle enough that he held onto life for the several days it took to return to King's Landing, along with another day after that.