Monster, too oft youngest cub of Casterly Rock lay referred to as. Recollection of years prior, of whisperings - even in first moments breathing in, they’d been disgusted. Yet from first moment the golden heir himself had borne witness towards younger sibling, expecting what all assured him was a beast, had he seen naught save a baby. One of whom would ne’er know mother’s warm embrace, her comfort, her scent. One of whom would not experience kind words nor care from their sister or father... Jaime himself had been naught more than a boy, still bearing cherubic characteristics in his face and golden tresses of which framed regal visage. Yet he’d sworn, there, in that moment.. I’ll keep you safe.
- - -
Few, the years till he’d discover himself sent away from the Rock to serve as squire to Lord Sumner, yet within that expanse of time the child witnessed his brother live. Many had believed Tyrion would die, that such was the will of The Seven... yet he thrived, growing cleverer each day. Some words would be uttered past those lips, as mismatched eyes gazed upon Jaime with delight.. yet how would he fare when the time came for their parting? Still yet, his brother didn’t walk, or rather, wouldn’t. And father doesn’t care, nor would he. He hates him. Small lips frowned in frustration as the child’s mind ran circles about itself, at last assigning himself the duty of instructor, of mentor in this regard. His recklessness and impatience tempered with all the restraint he might muster, he made a point of easing Tyrion into the action.
The babe too oft would cry, worrying Jaime endlessly. For the sake of the dwarf, and who might come running should they overhear his cries. The wetnurse of whom remained within service despite his no longer needing to nurse, and who treated him with scorn - yet it was understandable, for the toddler to weep. For weight to be put unto his stunted legs.. muscles screamed, not yet built enough. Will he ever be able to walk? Most of his brother’s weight Jaime bore himself till his arms ached, yet still he did not cease in his attempts, each step Tyrion might take of own accord further inspiring the other to continue. Each day, he’d continue, repeat the actions. massaging younger cub’s legs when further tears would well up within large eyes.
‘Come on, you can do it!’
Encouraging words uttered as his grip loosened e’er slight on Tyrion’s small form, allowing his brother to rely more upon own strength - yet still protectively he loomed, ever the lion. Ever the knight. Ever the silent protector of whom had sworn solemn vow within his heart, one he meant to keep, no matter age he’d lain at time of oath. ‘There you go, you’ve got it.’ Each difficulty, each hurdle of which had lain within their path seemed utterly minute, their father’s harsh words naught. Tywin might still look upon Tyrion with scorn, as Cersei would gaze upon him with hate - but together had the brother’s brought Tyrion to his feet. For if they might conquer this, what else could stand against the two of them? Only one hand now, rest upon the younger cub, to guide, to catch should he stumble and fall. ‘You’re doing it!’
The gleam of delight within Tyrion’s gaze eclipsed slight pain of which yet lingered. Freedom now within his grasp, the ability to do as he desired when the time came. Too young yet, to make such decisions of his own, but the time for that would come - as would much else.
- - -
Years later, memories of their initial conquering of a hurdle drove the brother’s to seek out a new adventure, a new means of granting Tyrion the ability to take life into his own hands. He’s too small and misshapen to be able to ride, the maester had argued, convinced all efforts were futile, that Jaime was wasting entirely his limited time at the Rock. It is no waste, to ensure he has the highest quality of life available to him in my absence. The stablemaster had acquiesced to his demands easily enough, providing an elderly pony for initial trial, one of which bore a sweet nature and was not like to buck.
Gilded youth believed himself skilled in the art of riding, having perfected own abilities as he had with the steel. No craftsman was he, preferring to use ordinary saddle with minor adjustments to account for his brother’s height - a child’s saddle, well and true. In later years would Tyrion himself make the required adjustments, yet this first step.. another memory they would share. Alongside one another would the lions ride, defying all of whom sought to stand in their way.
