286 AC, Castamere
Cerion POV
The massive gates of the Lion's Mouth groaned as they parted, allowing the mid-morning sun to glint off the armor of two hundred Lannister guards. I rode near the front, the weight of his brigandine familiar yet heavy on his shoulders. Beside him rode my uncle, Tygett Lannister. The man was a coiled spring of aggression, his eyes scanning the horizon as if daring a bandit to appear right then and there.
"Two hundred swords for a pack of rats," Tygett grunted, shifting in his saddle. He sounded bored, or perhaps just disappointed that the enemy wasn't worthy of a real war. "Tywin is wasting our time. I should be drilling the recruits, not playing exterminator in a graveyard."
I kept my gaze forward, the road to the northeast stretching out like a dusty ribbon. "It's not about the rats, Uncle," I replied smoothly, his voice carrying over the clatter of hooves. "It's about who owns the house. If we let bandits sit in the ruins of Castamere, people might forget what happened to the last occupants who defied us."
Tygett snorted, a sharp, ugly sound. "No one forgets Castamere, boy. The rains weep o'er their halls, remember?"
"Songs fade," I countered. "We're here to ensure the lesson doesn't."
They rode hard for two days, the landscape shifting from the manicured, golden fields of the Westerlands proper to the craggier, overgrown terrain that bordered the old Reyne lands. The "abandoned lands" were not truly empty; nature had reclaimed them with a vengeance. Thick briars choked the old roads, and the trees grew twisted and close together, casting long, spindly shadows even at noon.
As they neared the perimeter of the ruins, the air grew noticeably cooler. The chatter of the men behind them died down, replaced by the nervous creak of leather and the jingling of bridles. Castamere was a scar on the land, a place where Tywin Lannister had proven that he did not make idle threats.
"Scouts report smoke to the east," the captain of the guard announced, trotting up to them. "Near the surface vents of the old mines."
Tygett's eyes lit up. The boredom vanished, replaced by the hunger of a predator. "Smoke means fire. Fire means camp. And a camp means something to kill." He drew his sword, the steel singing a high note in the quiet air. "Well, Nephew? Do you want to plan a strategy, or shall we just ride them down?"
I looked at the smoke curling lazily into the sky. I knew the history of this place better than anyone here—not just from his life as a Lannister, but from the knowledge I carried from before. The bandits were likely using the upper tunnels, unaware that the lower levels were a flooded tomb.
"We don't just ride them down," I said, a cold smile touching his lips. "We block the exits. If they want to hide in the holes of dead lions, we'll make sure they stay there."
I turned to my guard captain Ser Benedict. "Split the men. Fifty with me to the main entrance. Uncle Tygett, take a hundred to the vents. The rest form a perimeter. No one leaves."
Tygett grinned, a feral expression that looked too much like a skull. "Now you sound like your father."
As the men fanned out, I spurred my horse forward toward the dark, gaping maw of the Castamere mines. I wasn't just here to kill bandits. I was here to see if the rumors were true—if there was anything left in the deep dark that the Reynes had hidden away before the waters took them.
"Let's see what you're hiding," I whispered to the ruins.
--------------
Hey guys if you like this chapter drop your review and some power stones.
You can read advance chapters on my Patreon.
patreon.com/Maddog46