chapter 4 proving my strenths

Tywin Lannister's POV

It's been five years since my first grandson was born—courtesy of my wretched son Tyrion, the only worthwhile thing to come of him. The boy, unlike his father, possesses a sharpness that cannot be hidden from my eyes. With my guidance, he'll become a true player of the game—the only victor the progeny of house lannister. I've noticed he tries to mask his intelligence when we speak, but I see through him. His mind is a vast ocean, endlessly absorbing knowledge, and with me as his tutor, he'll be unstoppable.

Physically, he is even more remarkable. Unlike Tyrion's frail form, this boy is monstrous—a giant in the making. His muscles have grown as though sculpted by the gods themselves. I've watched him in secret, moving through the shadows, training when he thought no one would notice. His exercises are peculiar, but every day, his body transforms, growing stronger and more defined.

For two years now, Gregor Clegane has trained him. The Mountain has honed his brutality, his ruthlessness. Despite Tyrion's protests, I sent the boy to kill again whenever we got new criminals in the dungeons. Tyrion claimed the boy was too young, even when he was the one to ask me to send him in the first place but i knew better. The day he killed those three men without hesitation, I saw the truth—this child is extraordinary, not just in body, but in mind the calmness and ruthlessnes is the making of a lord.

At first, I had no intention of giving him the Lannister name. I would have used him and discarded him when he outlived his usefulness. But his potential is too great. He could cement the Lannister legacy as no one else could. With his strength, we could be the most powerful house in Westeros—not just the richest. Giants to kill dragons, should those Targaryen whelps ever return. They are distant being accross the narrow sea, but as long as they live, they remain a threat.

Now, the boy must be tested. His lessons have been too easy thus far.

"Send for my brother," I command, my voice echoing through the chamber.

"As you wish," the guard replies, bowing as he exits my study.

---

An hour later, Kevan Lannister arrives.

"You called, brother?" he asks.

"Yes. What is the state of our lands?" I inquire, keeping my tone measured.

"Minor disturbances—bandit camps here and there, a town recently burned. I was going to send knights to deal with it."

"No need," I respond, my voice calm and controlled. "I'll send the boy."

Kevan looks at me, stunned. "Your grandson? He's just a child."

"A child, perhaps, but a child the size of Gregor Clegane. He's five and a half years old, but already a giant."

Kevan shakes his head, still in disbelief. "Even so, mentally, he's still a child."

"You haven't met him properly," I reply, letting my cold smile surface. "Anyone who learns too much about his true nature… well, they're dealt with. His talents must remain secret for as long as possible."

Kevan frowns, clearly not happy. "Even from me?"

"You've been too busy to see it i havent hid him from you its you who has been blind," I answer. "He has the body of a giant, but the cunning of a true Lannister. It's time to create a legend."

"What do you need me to do?" Kevan asks, resigned to my decision.

"Send the blacksmith to measure him. Have the best armor and sword crafted for him. Once he's equipped, I will send him to rid our lands of these bandits—alone."

Kevan pales. "Brother, that's suicide. Even Gregor would struggle."

"Gregor is all brute strength. The boy is both strong and smart. If he fails, then he's unworthy of the Lannister name. Now, go."

---

Tyrion Lannister's POV

"I've received orders from your grandfather," I say, looking up at my son who towers over me. Already seven and a half feet tall, his body is as large and defined as the Mountain's. His eyes are sharp, dangerous, more mature than they should be for someone so young.

"You are to leave Casterly Rock and hunt down every bandit in our lands. Bring back their heads. If you succeed, your grandfather will strip away your bastardy and make you a true Lannister. If you fail, but survive, you'll be nothing more than a tool—a weapon, like the Mountain, forever bound to serve without rising above your station."

I pause, my heart heavy, searching his face. "But you are my son. I must ask—will you accept this challenge?"

A wicked grin stretches across his face, too demonic for a mere five-year-old, even one who looks like a grown man. His eyes gleam with a hunger I've never seen before.

"I will take up the challenge, Father. I will return stronger than ever."

A lump rises in my throat, but I force it down. I can't show weakness. He needs to believe I trust in him, even if my heart screams at me to stop him. He's still my boy. But this has to be done, no matter the risk.

"You leave in the morning," I say, handing him a heavy bag of gold—300 coins, maybe more. "Take this. You might need it."

He takes the bag without a word. "As you wish, Father," he says, turning to leave.

As he walks toward the door, I feel my resolve cracking. "Please," I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. "Just come back to me. I don't care if you succeed—just come back."

Without turning, he responds, his voice steady, cold. "Nothing will stop me from seeing you again. That is a Lannister's promise, Father."

The door closes behind him, and I'm left alone.

I pour myself a cup of wine, then another. It's the only way to calm the panic rising inside me. Since the day he was born, my son has been my reason for living. The hatred, the whispers, the scorn of the world—all of it fades because of him. He is my giant bear.

That night, I drink myself to sleep.