chapter 16 heading to essos

A small man strode through the shadowy halls of Casterly Rock. His footsteps echoed faintly, but the guards stationed at the grand oak door ahead didn't stir. There were five men on each side, standing rigid and alert. Yet, when the small man approached, one guard instinctively opened the door, no questions asked. He passed through, entering a vast chamber where the flickering firelight cast long shadows on the stone walls.

Before him stood a towering figure, his back to the door, muscles rippling beneath a tapestry of scars. His long, dirty blonde hair cascaded over broad shoulders. As the giant turned, the full extent of the damage to his torso and arms became visible—fresh scars crisscrossing the old ones, marks of battle.

"Seems you've got new scars," the small man remarked dryly.

"Yes, Father," the giant rumbled, his voice a deep baritone. "A bandit camp sprang up near our lands. I took a hundred of my best men and... dealt with it." He grinned, the act of war barely a challenge for him.

Tyrion Lannister, standing just below his son's waist, looked up and nodded. "As long as you're safe," he said, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and pride. His son—eleven feet tall, weighing over five hundred pounds—was a monstrous figure by any account. Yet despite his size, the boy's face was handsome, almost noble. At just ten years old, he dwarfed even Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, making him a force no one dared challenge. Tyrion, once the laughingstock of noble society, now commanded respect—or rather, his son commanded it for him. Few dared disrespect the father of the "Bloody Giant" unless they wanted to meet an untimely end.

Tyrion remembered the last fool to mock him, a distant Lannister cousin who had decided to poke fun at the "Imp" during a banquet. Before the cousin could even finish his laugh at hjs own joke, his head had been smashed to a pulp by his son's fist. The memory brought a faint smile to Tyrion's lips.

"So, son," Tyrion asked, pulling his mind from the past. "Why have you called for me?"

The giant's eyes gleamed with purpose. "I'm heading to Essos."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Essos?"

"I'll be gone for a few years. I plan to start a mercenary company, raise forces of my own. And perhaps... take a city."

Tyrion's sharp mind immediately conjured a dozen potential dangers. "That's risky, even for you. Essos is filled with threats—unknowns that could outmaneuver even your strength."

His son knelt down, a hand the size of his head resting gently on Tyrion's head. "Don't worry, Father," he said with a smile that calmed the unease in Tyrion's chest. "I have a plan. I just need you to handle the business here while I'm gone. I'll be taking 25,000 men and one million gold with me to set things in motion."

Tyrion's brow furrowed. "A million in gold? What could you possibly need that much for?"

"You'll see. Everything will fall into place once I'm in Vaes Dothrak."

Tyrion's concern deepened. "Vaes Dothrak? You know the Dothraki—it's not a place of reason. And they do not follow easily."

His son's grin widened, feral and full of confidence. "I'll make them follow. And if I have to... I'll kill their khals."

Tyrion chuckled, a mixture of pride and dread swirling inside him. "You've already told your grandfather, I take it? I imagine he was less than pleased."

The giant laughed, a booming sound that shook the room. "He was furious. Tried to command me to stay, even threatened to lock me in the Rock. But I told him if he tried, I'd paint Casterly Rock with the blood of anyone who tried to stop me."

Tyrion couldn't help but join in the laughter. "Oh, I bet that turned his face Lannister red!"

Still chuckling, the son stood back to his full height. "I'll be taking Zeus as well. He's been lazy lately—he needs the adventure."

Tyrion nodded, more accepting now. "Just be careful. Essos is a different beast than Westeros."

"Don't worry, Father. I've already had new armor and weapons crafted. Supplies are ready, and everything else will be arranged when I arrive."

"Good," Tyrion said. "But before you leave, we will share one last meal. A feast worthy of Lannisters."

"Of course," his son said, his voice warm with affection.

Later that evening, a grand feast was laid out, though for the Bloody Giant, every meal was akin to a feast. The sheer amount of food he required to sustain his massive body would have bankrupted any common family, but as Tyrion watched his son tear into a whole pig with both hands, he felt nothing but relief that their wealth could support him.

Across the table, Tyrion sat with a goblet of wine in one hand, a few scantily-clad women feeding him grapes and meat. He was content, his mind slightly hazy from the drink. But his son sighed, his enormous frame too young to enjoy the more sensual pleasures. At ten, he knew he had years yet before his body matured in certain ways. Given his size, the thought crossed his mind—would he ever find someone who could match him? Would his bloodline end with him?

Shaking off the thought, he reminded himself of the world's mysteries. "other giants must exists," he mused. "There's always a way."

Ceasar lannister POV

My mind shifted back to my mission. My journey to Vaes Dothrak would begin by sailing to Jhogwin, a port city in Essos that wasnt their in the original book or series that i know but doesn't matter. From there, i could make my way to the Dothraki Sea without raising alarms. Marching 25,000 men into any major city would be dangerous and suspicious, but i will go myself on a small boat and talk to the city lord.

And once I've reached Vaes Dothrak, there would be only one way to bring the Dothraki under my command—by killing their khals and proving im the strongest among them i can try another way but why bother if it works i think to myself exited at the new skulls that will join my collection.