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Chapter 48

Chapter 48: The "Truth"
...
Richard POV

1 day later

It was a windy night at Casterly Rock, and I stood alone in the courtyard, feeling the chill air whip around me, cutting through the high quality linen and silk I'd worn for my ceremony for the final feast.

In my right hand, I held the document I'd fought and schemed for—the one that finally marked my place among the nobility of Westeros.

Less than an hour ago, I'd been in those halls, where nobles and ladies feasted, their laughter and voices filling the room.

I had sworn my oath of allegiance before Tywin Lannister, my words echoing through the great hall packed with lords, ladies, and the eyes of the realm's most powerful houses.

Under the gaze of men and women, who a week ago saw me as nothing more than a nameless squire, I had been raised to a knight and now to a minor lord with land and a title of my own.

Now, that weight settled on me, heavier even than the biting wind.

"Castamere," I whispered, my fingers brushing over the name inked on the parchment.

This ruin would be my seat—a place I'd heard of only in hushed tales and songs.

From my capos and scouts, I'd learned that the keep was in shambles, the mines sealed with rubble, the lower levels flooded.

The castle above was scarred, walls scorched and fallen, and the proud halls that once echoed with music now lay silent, buried under decades of dust and ghostly memories of the Reyne massacre.

But its ruin didn't matter—not when I had my Lionheart family and the wealth won from the tourney. I had the coin, the power, and the will.

Castamere would rise again under my watch.

The reason for my choice was the potential of Castamere. The castle is nestled near the western coast. To the east, its mountains fed fresh streams that ran through the land, a steady source of water.

The fields lay fallow, fertile and waiting, with the potential to yield more than enough to sustain my house and its people.

And the sea, not far from its walls, opened doors to trade routes, fresh fish and salt, and perhaps, someday, a port city of my own, like lannisport.

This place wasn't merely a ruin. It was a foundation—a broken one, yes, but waiting to be rebuilt.

As I stood there, with the wind's howl and the distant rumble of waves filling the night, something stirred deep within me. The feeling of happiness, pride, and contempt for now.

Moments later, I rolled up the document and slipped it into my leather pouch. The moment was over; I had finished my contemplation, ready now to put on my mask and return to the feast.

I sighed at the thought of entertaining the many nobles.

I didn't mind spending time in conversation with Gerion, Tygett, or Oberyn—each could be amusing in their own way.

But with my new moniker, "Galahad the Gallant," and the prestige of winning four events at the tourney, I knew tonight would demand a different kind of attention.

The lords and ladies would expect me to play the part of a celebrated knight, entertaining their endless curiosity.

As I thought this My focus went to a figure hiding behind a hedge in the garden. I smirked.

I knew it was Elia Martell.

Before I had arrived here She had followed me out of the hall and to the outside. I had sensed her presence the entire time I'd been in the courtyard.