And so he spoke, and so he spoke

That Lord of Castamere

But now the rains weep o'er his hall

And not a soul to hear

- The Rains of Castamere

"I raise my cup in honor of King Jaime," Lord Luwyn Serrett proclaimed. "The savior of Westerland."

Kevan couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that comment. Lord Serrett seemed to have an ironic sense of humor. Yes, it was true that Jaime was the 'Savior of Westerland,' but wasn't it his madness that had plunged House Lannister into all this mess in the first place?

When the news of the Battle of Lannisport arrived, King Kevan was driving back Randyll Tarly's vanguard at Cornfield. The reports of the Iron Fleet burning and the use of wildfire had sent the Westerland lords into a state of shock. Everyone had the same question in mind—what was wildfire doing in Lannister hands? I wonder what my sworn lords would think if they knew I was the one who brought the barrels of wildfire to Lannisport, Kevan mused with a chuckle.

In truth, everything had started after the Maidenpool council. As Jaime was crowned king, Kevan, his Hand, had immediately sent observers to report on the state of the ruined city of King's Landing. Kevan knew that the other kingdoms were doing the same, and there was only one reason for that—the royal treasury.

Aerys the Wicked had been a terrible ruler in every way, but he had kept the treasury intact, barely touching it. Of course, this wasn't because he was a frugal king who cared about the kingdom's finances—it was simply that burning people alive with wildfire wasn't such an expensive hobby. As a result, the treasury had remained largely untouched and was still full. According to Kevan's late brother Tywin, the realm had at least two million gold dragons, and no matter how powerful wildfire was, it couldn't vaporize gold.

Two million gold dragons sat in the royal vaults beneath the Red Keep, waiting to be claimed in the midst of a ruined city, and the temptation was immense. Even House Lannister, in all its wealth, only had three million gold dragons at the moment.

That was why Kevan had sent observers to King's Landing—to see if there was any way for House Lannister to claim that treasure. Other kings had done the same, and they had all received the same answer as Kevan: a resounding no.

A few months had passed, and while the wildfire had burned out, the toxic green smoke still lingered in the city, sometimes carried by the wind to nearby settlements like Hayford, where it made the common folk sick.

With strict security measures, one could enter through the outer walls of the city, but going any further was impossible. The deeper one ventured into the city, the denser and deadlier the toxic fumes became. Anyone who tried to approach the Red Keep would suffocate and cough up blood within minutes. In short, accessing the treasury was impossible—at least until the smoke above the city dissipated, which, according to the observers' detailed reports, would take at least ten years.

Kevan had quickly abandoned all hope of seizing the royal treasury, but while reading the detailed report, he discovered something very interesting. It appeared that the Iron Gate and the surrounding buildings had not exploded—they remained intact. The people in that area had not burned to death; they had died from the poison.

Kevan found this detail fascinating. Truly fascinating. The Iron Gate sat right by the sea, and the main road through the city passed through it. Likewise, the Rosby Road also ran through it, making it one of the most frequently used gates in the city. If Aerys had planned the destruction of King's Landing in advance, it was impossible for him to have overlooked it.

This question had lingered in Kevan's mind for weeks until he finally came up with an answer—could it be that the wildfire buried beneath the Iron Gate had, for some reason, failed to detonate?

Kevan immediately began to review the documents left by his brother Tywin and, before long, found a map showing the city's sewer plans. He directed his men to the sewers beneath the Iron Gate, and it didn't take long for his discovery to be confirmed: the wildfire beneath the Iron Gate had not exploded.

Soon after, Kevan personally launched a large-scale operation. The wildfire beneath the city was secretly transported to Lannisport. It had been an incredibly expensive and risky project. Moving the wildfire without the watchful eyes of the extremely cautious Stannis Baratheon had added another layer of difficulty, but in the end, Kevan succeeded. Without a doubt, it was his greatest success during his time as Hand of the King.

Although Kevan had managed to transport the wildfire to Lannisport with great difficulty, he did not intend to use it. It would only be used as a last resort for the future of House Lannister in an unimaginably dire situation. The use of wildfire would undoubtedly tarnish House Lannister's reputation, but such wounds could be healed. Above all, the name of Lannister had to survive.

Well, at least that's what Kevan thought at the time. While transporting the wildfire, he had no idea about the grotesque incest between Cersei and Jaime.

Kevan took a deep sip from his cup. They have silver-gold hair, and we have golden hair. We commit incest like them, we are as arrogant as them, we use wildfire like them. Do you know who we resemble right now? Those damned Targaryens.

Kevan didn't blame Jaime for using wildfire against the Iron Fleet; he would have done the same. But if he were to do that, he would have made sure the Lannisport harbor didn't burn down. Damn it, the Lannisport harbor would have to be rebuilt from scratch. Doing so would be both costly and long-term, and the worst part was that the burning of Lannisport harbor wasn't Kevan's biggest problem at the time.

His nephew seemed to mix the grandeur of victory with tactical foolishness, as he had shown at the Battle of Tarbeck Hall.

Most of the Rock Kingdom's territory, as its name suggested, consisted of rocky land, but there were some exceptions. The kingdom's coastline was flat, and it had a well-maintained road called the Ocean Road, stretching from Old Oak to Lannisport. Kevan had managed to halt the Reach forces at Silverhill, and this success had split the Reach army. Some of them continued the assault on Silverhill, while the others took the Ocean Road. Taking the Ocean Road hadn't been their first choice because it was protected by strongholds like Crakehall and Tarbeck Hall.

While Jaime was burning the Iron Fleet in Lannisport, the Reach army had just taken Crakehall and was marching toward Tarbeck Hall. If they took that castle, the path to Casterly Rock would be open. However, the commander of Tarbeck Hall, Ilyn Payne, had shown remarkable skill in defense and had managed to hold the castle for several weeks. But it wouldn't last much longer, as Randyll Tarly had pulled his forces from Silverhill and joined the army in front of Tarbeck Hall. The entire Reach army was now focused on capturing the castle.

Soon after, Kevan received an urgent letter from Ilyn Payne, informing him that the castle's garrison had starved to death, and that the fall of Tarbeck Hall was inevitable. If Tarbeck Hall fell, the road to Lannisport would be open for the Reach army. Therefore, Kevan could not let that happen. He gathered his 30,000-strong army and immediately began his march toward the Reach forces waiting at Tarbeck Hall.

When Kevan arrived at Tarbeck Hall, Jaime was already there. His nephew had received the same letter from Kevan and had arrived before him. He had seen the Reach army, which was completely focused on attacking the castle, and had seized the opportunity to strike them from behind.

Jaime had played all his cards at once. It was something Tywin would never have done, something Kevan would only do as a last resort, and it had worked. At least at first.

The Reach army was stunned by the sudden attack, but under Randyll Tarly's unshakable leadership, they quickly regrouped and began to encircle Jaime's forces. Just at that moment, Kevan arrived.

Being attacked from behind twice would shake even the most solid of armies, and that's exactly what happened to the Reach. There were about 40,000 Westerland forces against 60,000 Reach soldiers. That day, without a doubt, House Lannister had been blessed by the gods. The first great stroke of luck was Kevan's timely arrival, seizing the opportunity, and launching an attack with his entire army. The second stroke of luck was that Randyll Tarly, the honorary leader of the army, was killed by Jaime himself right after Kevan's arrival. The third stroke of luck was the death of King Mace Tyrell's son, Garlan, on that battlefield.

After a brutal battle, the Reach army and the Reach lords scattered and fled like a headless chicken. Soon after returning to their castles, the lords took advantage of their poor position and began the long-awaited civil war within the Reach. Well, everyone had been expecting this war for a long time, but no one could have predicted it would start this way.

The credit for the victory was largely given to Jaime. People seemed to have forgotten that it was he who had initially started all this madness. Still, it made sense. To be honest, the victory and glory brought by the War of Golden Sigils were so immense that such a triumph would be rare even in the thousands of years of Westeros' history. It would continue to be a source of praise and inspiration for the people of the Westerlands for generations to come.

Still, Kevan saw not only the victory but also the price of it. The western coast of the Rock Kingdom had been ravaged, most of the fields that fed the country had been set alight, Lannisport had been completely burned down, Westerland's economy was shattered, and more than half of the army had been lost. The issues of incest and wildfire had irreparably damaged House Lannister's reputation, and even future generations would struggle to heal these wounds.

The war had been won—yes, an undeniable victory, one that would go down in history. Deep inside, Kevan took pride in this success, but if it had been up to him, he would have preferred that all this nonsense had never started in the first place. House Lannister had barely survived this war. If Kevan hadn't arrived just in time, Jaime's forces would have been crushed by Randyll Tarly.

And now, a far more terrifying enemy loomed on the horizon: the Three Kingdoms Alliance. If the alliance leaders believed that the Lannisters had the means to produce wildfire—and rumors of this were already spreading—they would not take it lightly. The rebels who had ended 300 years of Targaryen rule would now come for the Lannisters. These men were not fools or arrogant lords like those of the Reach. On the contrary, they were cautious and experienced warriors, superior to the golden lions in both military strength and resources. If they decided to wage war on the Rock Kingdom, Kevan would need not one, but ten miracles to defeat them. And the gods were certainly not that generous.

Kevan's first priority was ensuring that no more wars broke out. If necessary, he would personally visit the alliance leaders, explain the truth, and swear oaths to them.

Moreover, Westerland could not afford an internal war at this time. So, Kevan had a conversation with his nephew Jaime, and it ended more favorably than he had expected. The disasters of the War of Golden Sigils seemed to have opened Jaime's eyes, forcing him to come to his senses. Jaime would divorce Cersei and marry a proper Westerland lady, producing heirs with her. Cersei would join the Silent Sisters, and little Ceryse would be used as a bargaining tool for joining the Three Kingdoms Alliance. A marriage with Robb Stark, Jasper Arryn, or Argilac Baratheon was on the table. Kevan wasn't sure if the three kings would agree to marry their sons to an incest-born girl, but if it meant securing an alliance, he was ready to make great sacrifices. If necessary, he would even wed Ceryse to Ned Stark's bastard, Jon Snow. And if Jaime had any objections, he could fuck off. Kevan had little patience left for his nephew. If needed, he would attempt another assassination—and Kevan Lannister had never failed at something he had tried twice in his life.

Still, Jaime's situation gave Kevan some hope. He truly seemed to have come to his senses. Especially after the victory at Tarbeck Hall, Jaime's reputation within Westerland had soared to the heavens. People were stubbornly ignoring the fact that he had committed incest and that all this chaos had started because of his madness in the first place. And since that worked in Kevan's favor, he wasn't going to interfere. His nephew was not a true leader, but in every way, he appeared to be one. He knew when to be generous and when to be ruthless. He could easily win people's loyalty and make them forget that he had fucked his sister.

'So be it,' Kevan had said. His nephew would sit on the Rock Kingdom's throne, maintaining the morale of both the people and the nobility with his image of leadership. While Jaime put on a mummer's show for the realm, Kevan would be the one actually running the country and cleaning up the wreckage he had left behind. For the sake of a stronger Lannister legacy for future generations.

"Please, my lords, please," Jaime said generously, raising his hands. Beside him, Queen Cersei looked around with arrogant eyes. Very well, let her enjoy it while she can, Kevan thought.

"Today is not about me—we drink to the honor of the bride and groom. To Lord Tybolt Crakehall and his wife, Jeyne Farman!"

Kevan raised his cup along with everyone else and took a sip of his drink. The timing of the wedding was somewhat ironic, but Westerland needed a celebration now more than ever.

This marriage had only just come about, and to be honest, it was being rushed through. Still, the Farmans' seat, Fair Isle, was a fine match. Despite being recently raided by the Ironborn, it had a beautiful view. If Dorna were here, we could have enjoyed a few pleasant nights, Kevan thought with amusement.

"Thank you, my lords." Lord Benjamin Farman stood up. "I am deeply grateful that you traveled here to attend my daughter's wedding. I, too, would like to raise my cup—to House Lannister."

Kevan drank with the others, but Lord Farman had not finished speaking.

"About twenty or thirty years ago, when my father, Paul Farman, still lived and ruled our house," Lord Benjamin continued, "Lord Tywin had just inherited his title. He had already finished off the Reynes and the Tarbecks—quite the entrance, I must admit." Laughter echoed through the hall. "At that time, Fair Isle had been raided due to Lord Tytos Lannister's neglectful rule. Naturally, my father demanded compensation from the Lannisters—after all, what do they have more of than gold?"

Kevan raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Jaime. He knew this story. In fact, there was hardly anyone who didn't. But it was not exactly a tale of pride for House Farman. Why was Lord Farman bringing this up?

"But Lord Tywin did not grant compensation," Benjamin said. "No, what he did instead was send a bard to play 'The Rains of Castamere.' The Farmans had never defied the Lannisters like the Reynes had. We had never betrayed them. Yet for our loyalty, we were repaid with a death threat."

A deep unease spread through Kevan's body. His grip tightened around the fruit knife in his hand. Something was happening.

"And tell me, my lords—did House Farman break its loyalty after that insult? Of course not. We kept our vows. Then our great and mighty king Jaime came along, committed his incestuous abomination, and started a war that burned Westerland and Fair Isle alike. And when House Farman once again demanded compensation, we were insulted and denied. Again."

Kevan had been the one to reject the request on Jaime's behalf. They needed every last gold dragon for the kingdom's reconstruction.

"And so here we are once more, my lords," Benjamin said, voice growing sharper. "Standing in the very hall where Tywin Lannister had a bard play 'The Rains of Castamere' to threaten my family. But now, I have a new song for you. I hope you like it."

As the music changed abruptly, Kevan grabbed at the hem of Lord Roland Crakehall's trousers and tore at his shirt—revealing the armor underneath.

Betrayal.

"Oh, hear the tale of shattered pride,

Where banners fell and kinfolk cried.

The feast was set, the wine was red,

Yet none who drank now lift their head."

Kevan felt his stomach churn as he grabbed the fruit knife in his hand and swiftly slashed it toward Lord Crakehall. The blade barely missed the old lord's eye, and in that moment, Kevan realized his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

He watched as Cersei was dragged away by several women wearing Sevens medallions, their knives stabbing into her from a hundred different angles. Jaime let out a scream, leaping from his seat and rushing toward her—only to collapse moments later, coughing up blood.

The wine was poisoned, Kevan realized.

"The golden lions marched with might,

Their banners shining in the night.

Yet steel was strong and gates held fast,

Their roaring now a breathless past."

"Sorry, Kevan," Lord Crakehall shrugged. "But you shouldn't have handed the crown to that incestuous bastard."

At last, Kevan couldn't hold it in any longer—he doubled over and vomited blood onto the floor. But even then, he did not let go of the fruit knife clenched tightly in his hand.

Kevan was a Lannister. No matter what, he would fight to the bitter end. And then, a little longer.

"They came in pride, they came in force,

The banners high, the path was coarse.

But fate, it turned, the end was near,

And none were left to mourn or fear."

Kevan made another move toward Roland. The old Crakehall lord laughed mockingly at the weakness of the attack and reached out to grab the knife from Kevan's hand. But Kevan, with a cunning maneuver, shifted the knife from his right hand to his left and struck again at the eye.

This time, he succeeded.

Kevan had never failed more than twice in anything he had ever attempted in his life.

"And so he spoke, and so he fell,

The proud lion brought low.

Now the waves wash o'er their corpses,

And none remain to hear their roar."

Kevan laughed as he leaned against the table, then collapsed to the ground. With the last bit of energy left in his body, he looked around and saw the Westerland lords screaming and fighting. Some were being slaughtered like pigs, while others were being shackled and forcibly taken away. His brothers, Gerion and Tygett, were among the dead.

Kevan watched his nephew Jaime's throat slit by his old friend, Addam Marbrand. Why was Addam doing this? Once, he had been in love with Cersei and had wanted to marry her, but he had lost her to an opponent he never expected. Maybe that was why.

The betrayal ran deep, and I did not see it.

Tywin's voice echoed in his head. 'The gods forgive everything, but never stupidity.'

"Now the rain falls on their bones,

And none remain to hear their cries.

Their banners tattered, their names erased,

And none remain to hear their roar."

Roland Crakehall, clutching his wounded eye and screaming in agony, struck Kevan with a punch worthy of the wild boar on his house's sigil. Then, without hesitation, he yanked his blade free and pressed it against Kevan's throat.

Kevan closed his eyes and accepted his fate in silence. Death came the same way—silent, painless, merciful.

To Kevan, a man's last thoughts should always be of the woman he loved.

Dorna's hair was black, but it shimmered as if it were Lannister gold.

Kevan loved her hair dearly.

"Now the waves wash o'er their corpses,

And none remain to hear their roar."

---

In my eyes, House Lannister has always been excessively (and I mean really excessively) favored by the author GRRM. If even one event in the War of the Five Kings had taken a slightly different turn, the war could have ended with the downfall of the Lannister legacy.

This chapter is the ending I, as a writer, deem fitting for House Lannister.

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Last edited: Dec 11, 2025