The cliffs of Casterly Rock rose above the Sunset Sea. A cold wind swept through the fortress, carrying the salty smell of waves crashing below.
In the large courtyard, a low, slow toll of bells echoed off the old stone walls. Torches burned around the edge, their flames flickering in the wind, and a crowd of mourners gathered to say goodbye to Joanna Lannister.
At the center of the courtyard stood a dark oak bier, its smooth surface carved with roaring lions. Joanna lay on it, covered by a red silk shroud trimmed with gold; the colors of House Lannister. Her golden hair spread over the sides, framing a peaceful, still face. White lilies and sprigs of goldenrod were scattered around the bier, their scents mingling with the faint aroma of incense from nearby braziers.
The Lannister family formed a solemn circle around the bier. Lord Tywin Lannister stood at the head, his black cloak billowing slightly and a golden lion clasp shining at his throat. His face was unreadable, his green eyes fixed on his wife's motionless form, his jaw barely clenching.
Beside him, his children stood: young Cersei, with her golden curls and tear-stained face, and Jaime, who kept his small fists clenched as he stared down.
Nearby, the infant Tyrion lay in the arms of a wet nurse, his green eyes blinking at the light.
Other family members gathered close. Ser Kevan Lannister, Tywin's younger brother, stood in a dark jacket and rested a hand on his wife Dorna Swyft's shoulder.
Genna Lannister, their sharp-tongued sister, adjusted her heavy velvet cloak, her eyes red but steady. Her husband, Emmon Frey, stayed close by.
Tygett Lannister paced a little, his hand near his sword, while Gerion Lannister, the youngest brother stood quiet, his mouth a straight line. More cousins and relatives spread out behind them, all in black and red clothes.
Outside the immediate family, House Lannister's bannermen formed a vast, solemn group, their banners flapping in the wind.
Lord Sumner Crakehall, broad and imposing, stood at the front with his red boar sigil on a gray cloak.
Lady Alys Marbrand clutched a burning tree banner, her fiery hair hidden under a hood, and Lord Quenten Banefort bowed his head.
Ser Damion Lefford, with the golden symbol of his house, shifted his weight, while the purple unicorn of House Brax fluttered near Lord Andros Brax.
The three black dogs of House Clegane loomed behind Ser Gregor, and Lords Payne, Prester, and Swyft, along with many others, filled the crowd, showing the strength of the Westerlands.
A septon stepped forward, his white robes contrasting with the dark stone, a crystal pendant shining at his chest. He raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent. His clear voice rang out, "We commend Joanna Lannister to the Seven. Wife to Tywin, mother to Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion, she was a beacon of grace and strength. May the Mother cradle her soul, and the Father grant her peace."
The wet nurse held Tyrion closer as the septon's words washed over him. The sound resonated softly, stirring a faint memory in the infant's mind. The cool air mixed with the smells of smoke and flowers, and he kicked feebly, comforted only slightly by the warmth of the nurse's arms.
The septon stepped back, and a hush fell over the courtyard. Tywin moved forward, each step deliberate, the sound of his boots on the stone ringing out.
He paused beside the bier and placed a hand on the shroud, his fingers resting there for a heartbeat longer than anyone expected. The boy, jostled slightly in the wet nurse's arms, saw the tall man's jaw tighten, his green eyes glinting with something fierce.
Tywin withdrew his hand and stepped back, his expression locking into its usual impenetrable mask. The crowd watched, breaths held, as if waiting for more, but he gave them nothing else.
Tywin raised a hand, and two knights in crimson cloaks stepped forward with torches. They set the bier alight, and flames leapt up, quickly engulfing the wood and shroud in a burst of heat and light.
The crowd gasped as the fire grew, its crackling mixing with the wind's howl. Cersei cried out, burying her face in Jaime's shoulder.
Jaime trembled, but he did not turn away from the flames. Genna muttered quietly, and Kevan bowed his head in silent prayer.
One by one, the bannermen approached to offer their respects. Lord Crakehall knelt before Tywin, saying in a deep voice, "My lord, House Crakehall mourns with you. She was a lady without equal."
Lady Marbrand added, "Her loss wounds us all, Lord Tywin. Our swords remain with you." Lord Payne, his gray hair catching the firelight, grasped Tywin's arm, "Her memory only makes House Lannister stronger."
Tywin nodded to each, his voice calm, "Your loyalty is noted. House Lannister endures."
As the flames died down to glowing embers, a chorus of mournful voices rose from the crowd; a deep, layered hymn of grief and resolve that seemed to shake the stone itself. The wet nurse rocked Tyrion gently as the song peaked, while the infant stared blankly, his small hands reaching out as if trying to grasp something.
The warmth of the fading fire met his face, the tolling bells filled his ears, and an unseen weight pressed on him; whispers of curse and monster threading through the crowd, too soft for him to hear.
Tywin stayed by the bier as the mourners slowly dispersed, a lone figure against the fading fire. The wind tugged at his cloak, yet he remained still, a pillar of strength amid sorrow. Behind him, the Lannisters and their bannermen retreated into the halls of Casterly Rock, their steps echoing softly. The infant Tyrion, carried away in the nurse's arms, absorbed the echoes of the day; a grand farewell he could not yet comprehend, a loss that would shape him in ways he could not imagine.