chapter 36 the giants learns fear

Cersei POV

He's going to kill me.

The thought claws at my mind, relentless and unshakable. Caesar Lannister is a monster, one I cannot outwit, charm, or bribe. He killed Littlefinger—a man so slippery he thrived where others fell—and then the kings own hands cheating wife in a way that still makes my stomach churn. He smashed her and her bastard sons head like a fruit, in front of the King, the Small Council, the Kingsguard. No one dared intervene. Not even Robert, who laughed after the initial shock happy the whore and the bastard of the man that was robbing the realm blind. And Caesar just stood there, blood spattered over his face, daring anyone to challenge him.

No one did.

Littlefinger's secrets unraveled like old thread in Caesar's hands. Every shady deal, every betrayal, exposed for all to see before he executed him. What if he knows my secrets? What if he knows the truth about Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen? If he does...

I grip the arms of the chair so tightly my knuckles whiten. My guards won't defend me; they belong to him now, they werent even bought just intimidated into obedience they know his my fathers heir they fear him more then my father. Even Jaime—my Jaime, my golden lion—he couldn't stand against Caesar. I've seen what Caesar can do to a man.

I see it every time I close my eyes.

The boy—Littlefinger's bastard—had screamed as Caesar crushed his head with his bare hands. Blood and brain sprayed across the chamber. The King had turned away, the Small Council recoiled, but Caesar didn't stop. He grinned as if savoring the moment, then let the body drop like refuse. And then he looked at me. Just for a second.

I've barely slept since. I pace the floors of my chambers, unable to eat, unable to breathe. My hair is a wild tangle, my nails bitten down to nothing.

He's waiting.

That's the worst part. He hasn't moved against me yet. But he will. He'll come for me, for Jaime, for my children. I can't let him destroy my cubs. I'll kill him if I have to. But even as the thought forms, I know it's a lie. I am powerless i can't kill him it's impossible.

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Caesar POV

The blood on my hands is dry now, but I still feel its heat. Littlefinger begged for his life, choking out half-truths and bargains as I crushed his skull. His bastard son screamed louder and his whore watched and then followed soon after. They all died as they should—beneath my hands, their blood pooling at my feet.

It wasn't enough.

Killing them didn't bring me peace. The rage still burns. The fear lingers. I've been stronger than most men since I was a boy. No one could match me, not even the Mountain. But this world isn't ruled by strength alone. My scarred neck reminds me of that every time I see my reflection.

I almost died.

The assassin came in the night, faster than I expected, deadlier than I was prepared for. A blade to the throat, quick and clean—nearly my end. I survived because of my preparations, my experiments. The necklace saved me, sealing the wound before I bled out. But it was luck. Luck is a fool's crutch. I can't rely on it again.

I feel my mortality like a weight pressing on my chest. My rage stems from that. The knowledge that I can die like any other man, that someone, someday, might succeed where that assassin failed. I will not allow it. I'll make myself stronger, more than human. Magic exists in this world, hidden away by cowards like the Maesters and the alchamist guild and others i dont even know of. I'll bring it back by reviving the dragons and make it mine ill make sure i have the most knowledge and power and kill anyone that comes close to being near my level.

I grip the hilt of my sword, the veins in my arm bulging with the effort. My father was right—I've been too arrogant. Too careless. But not anymore.

"Hound. Drogo," I call out.

The door opens, and they enter, grim-faced and silent as ever.

"You called?" the Hound says, his voice a low growl.

"Yes. I'm done playing games. Send men to Visenya's Hill. Find the entrance to the Alchemist's Guild. Watch for anyone suspicious—don't engage until I say so. When you're certain, report back to me."

They nod, turning to leave, but before the door closes, my father enters. Tywin Lannister, the man who shaped me, who taught me the value of power and fear the best he could.

"Son," he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "You almost died."

The scar on my neck itches, but I don't flinch. "I survived."

"You were lucky," he snaps, his composure slipping. "Luck runs out, Caesar. From now on, if anyone poses even the slightest threat, you kill them. Immediately. No games. No second chances and hurry up and kill that assasin."

"I've already sent the assassin back alive," I reply. "He's carrying my message to his leaders. The Faceless Men will never be a threat again. They'll be an asset."

His eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. "You think they'll bend to you?"

"They will," I say, my voice hard.

Tywin steps closer, and I kneel, lowering myself to his eye level. He grips my clothes, his fingers digging into the the silk.

"I can't lose you," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "You're worth more than gold, more then whores and alcohol more than the Seven Kingdoms themselves. Don't make me bury my son."

"You won't," I swear, meeting his gaze. "As a Lannister, as your son, I promise—I will not die before you."

He stares at me for a moment longer, then straightens, his composure returning. "Good. See that you don't."

As he leaves, I rise to my feet, the weight of his words settling on me.

No more games. No more risks. I'll burn the Alchemists, the Maesters, and anyone else who stands in my way. Westeros will kneel before me, or it will burn.