chapter 6 going back home

The sun's warmth settled on my face as I thought about the upcoming celebration—Prince Joffrey's seventh birthday. My cousin, the spoiled brat, always overindulged by his mother. Breaking him down would be a pleasure. The idea made me grin, my thoughts drifting to how I might make him squirm I think in my head as the cart reaches its destination.

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Tyrion's POV

It's been over a year since my son left for the wilderness, and in that time, rumors of his exploits have spread across the Westerlands like wildfire. Hundreds of bandits slain, their skulls collected and paraded through villages. When he ran out of bandits, he turned his wrath on rapists, murderers, and slavers, becoming a mercenary for towns and villages in need of protection. His fame has grown, a shadow looming over the land, and they call him "The bloody Giant ."

Songs have been written about him, most likely with a push from my father, but they didn't need much encouragement. Even mothers whisper tales to their children—telling them to behave or face my son. It's unsettling that such stories are about a boy not even ten namedays old, but they don't know the half of it.

I've heard of his love for torture, and I can't help but blame myself. I put a sword in his hand too young, and he's become the monster I made. Yet, despite it all, he's still my boy, my only son. He does what he must to secure his future, and though his birth was a stain upon house lannister well a small one compared to me being born, I don't regret it. I love him with all my heart.

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A knock at my chamber door breaks my thoughts. "My lord," a maid calls.

"Yes?" I snap, annoyed by the interruption.

"Your son has been spotted coming this way."

I drop my goblet of wine, my heart racing as I rush out of the room. I sprint to the gates of the keep, and when I arrive, breathless and trembling, I see him—my boy, my bear of a son. Tears fill my eyes as he smiles at me.

"Hello, Father," he says, his voice carrying a new depth.

"Hello, son. Welcome back."

He laughs at the sight of me with some tears in my eyes and snot coming from my nose, and it's a deep, booming sound that startles the guards and servants nearby. He walks up to me and, without hesitation, lifts me off the ground in a bear hug. Normally, I'd be furious at anyone for such an insult, but not him. Never him.

"You missed me, Father?" he asks, his voice light but still commanding.

"Of course, my boy, every day."

He wrinkles his nose. "You smell of wine and cheap whores."

I chuckle, brushing it off. "They weren't cheap, I'll have you know."

His laughter fills the courtyard, a sound so powerful it causes people to quake and cover their ears. As I take a closer look at him, I notice how much he's changed. His golden dirty blonde hair now flows down to his back like a lion's mane, and though his body is covered, the scars I can see tell a tale of countless battles fought and won.

Suddenly, a roar cuts through the air. I jump, turning to see a giant lion, easily twice my size, with muscles rippling beneath its tawny coat. A predator, through and through.

"Don't be afraid," my son says casually, "that's Zeus."

"Zeus? That's a strange name."

He shrugs. "It came to me in a dream."

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"Come, son, let's get you cleaned up. You smell of blood, and so does your... pet."

He laughs again. "You're right, it's been hard living in the wilderness, and baths are few and far between."

I order the servants to bring in his carts. "And make sure no one touches them unless they wish to become his lion's dinner," I warn. The servants scatter, their faces pale. I may be a dwarf, but I am still a Lannister. And soon, my son will be too.

We make our way to the mess hall, where we feast and talk for hours. His tales of battle, his mercenary work—it all fascinates me, but the time comes for him to rest. I send maids to draw his bath, but I can't shake the feeling of pride swelling within me. My boy, my warrior, has returned home.

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Later that evening, my father, Tywin, enters my chambers. "Where is my grandson?" he asks, his tone as cold as ever.

"You mean my bastard, the boy who isn't of your blood?" I reply, my words tinged with sarcasm.

His gaze hardens. "The boy has proven himself. He will be given the Lannister name."

"And?"

"And he will become my squire."

"And?"

"And nothing. That's more than enough."

I stand firm, knowing I now have the upper hand. "No, Father. He will receive land near the Rock and an allowance like every other Lannister. How about 100 gold a month?"

Tywin glares, his face growing red from the anger. "Are you mad?"

I smirk, taking a sip of wine. "No, not mad. You and I both know that my son is special. He has the strength of a hundred men and the cunning of the Lannisters. He will rise higher than any of us ever dreamed. If you refuse, I'll take him to Braavos, where his gold and strength will make him a leader. He will forge his own name, and the Lannisters will be left behind."

My father's fury radiates off him, but after a tense silence, he nods. "Fine. But he will follow me from now on and learn as I do."

"As you wish, Father. Good luck."

He turns on his heels, leaving me alone in my study. I pour myself another drink, the weight of the moment sinking in. I never expected to be in this position—to have a son, a giant of a boy, who is the key to a future none of us anticipated one where even i can rise and enjoy having an heir of my own something no one but a whore would give me.

I chuckle to myself, raising my glass. I just wanted to bed a whore, one with rumored giant's blood. Who knew those rumors were true but it's the best thing that could've ever happened i think chucking like a mad fool to myself as I drink more wine.