The ruins of Castamere were quiet. Too quiet.
Stone walls, once polished and proud, now slumped like broken teeth against the earth. Ash had long since faded to dust, yet the smell of fire seemed woven into the very stone. The river that once fed the mines trickled faintly below, echoing against the cavernous halls. It was a graveyard — and a warning.
To my father, Tywin Lannister, that warning was everything. His victory over the Reynes and the Tarbecks had cemented his rule over the Westerlands, proving him ruthless, unyielding, and above all — feared.
But to me, his second son, it was something else entirely.
I stood at the shattered gates, boots crunching over rubble. My cloak — crimson, lined with gold — dragged faintly across the dust. A boy might have been frightened by the emptiness. But I was not a boy. Not truly. I was something else.
I remembered. I remembered what was to come: kings and pretenders, dragons and wolves, fire and death. I remembered battles not yet fought, betrayals not yet made. Westeros was a game that devoured the careless, the weak, and the unlucky. And I, reborn into this dangerous world, refused to be any of those things.
Jaime would inherit Casterly Rock. Tyrion would be scorned and mocked. Cersei would scheme her way into a crown. And me? My place in the story was unwritten. Forgotten by history. That suited me well enough.
Because I would write it myself.
"Castamere…" I murmured, running my hand along the cold stone. "You were drowned in blood and song. But you will rise again, through me."
A voice behind me cut through the silence.
"Your words border on insolence."
I turned. Tywin Lannister rode forward on his horse, armored men following at his back. His eyes, cold and sharp, swept over the ruins before settling on me. He was a man forged of iron and pride, and even here — in a place that stank of death — he looked like a conqueror.
"Father," I greeted, calm but not submissive.
He dismounted, his boots striking hard against the stone. "You asked to see Castamere. Now you have seen it. Do you understand why no house dares rise against us?"
I held his gaze. "I understand. But I see more than fear here. I see land, mines, strong walls that can be rebuilt. I see opportunity."
Tywin's jaw tightened. "Opportunity for what?"
"For me," I said plainly.
The silence stretched, heavy as a blade at my throat. His men shifted uneasily. To speak of oneself before Tywin Lannister was no small thing.
But I did not falter. My heart was steady, my pride unshaken. "I am your second son, Father. Jaime is your heir. Tyrion is… tolerated. Cersei will be married off. But me? I would not waste my life as a pawn in another man's court. Castamere lies empty. Give it to me, and I will raise it again — as a fortress for House Lannister."
For a long moment, Tywin said nothing. His golden eyes searched me, weighing every word, every breath. Then, at last, he spoke.
"You speak boldly for one so young. Boldness can win much. But it can also cost everything."
I bowed my head slightly, just enough to show respect, not submission. "I will take that risk."
Another silence. Then, faintly — the ghost of something not quite a smile. "We shall see."
Tywin turned, mounting his horse again. His men followed. I lingered at the gate, staring into the ruins.
The rains of Castamere had washed this place into dust. But from dust, I would build again.
Not as a pawn.
Not as a shadow.
But as a lord.
And when the game of thrones began, I would have a seat at the table — not as a victim of history, but as its author.