Ten years. Maybe more. Tytos stopped count. His brother, Erwin died five back from a blade in the chest hunting down vagrants. Stupid crunt betrayed him, and for what? Because he pushed him around while he was younger? Wilbur amounted to nothing, throwing himself off the ledge at storms end. Tytos had married the Tyroshi he had met in the riverlands. A small ceremony, attended by maybe five people. Even Vaemond couldn’t be bothered to show up. No matter, Tytos had been sulking in his castle for years. When Tywin died Tytos had become drunk in anger. The man he vowed to protect, his shadow had died to poison. A weakling way of death, if they wanted Tywin dead they should have charged him with swords, at least Tytos could have died there. Then his namesake passed, and Tytos truly became reclusive. Stuck in his castle and his lands, not bothered to go out. He had popped out two whelps with his wife.

Gregor and Sandor. The daughter had died, and Tytos wasn’t sure how. A drunken rampage? A dog loose from his cage? He couldn’t remember and he couldn’t be bothered. He was awake these days, instead of milling about in his castle with no destination. He had actually started to read. Read letters and books for his own fun, fucking shameful really. What would Hugo have thought of him? His son, reading books? He was a protector of the Lannisters. He should have been out there, teaching Tybolt how to fight. How to be a man. He had Kevan, aye, a smart man. But not a strong man. Tytos closed an old parchment scroll, flinging it across the room in anger, a tear coming to his eye. He was alone.

No one had ever truly cared for the Clegane. He was a tool. A useful tool. It had always been easy to accept that. Even to his wife he was a tool, a place for her to sleep and go unwanted. Tytos pushed his chair back, standing strong and grabbing a horse roughly by the reins, throwing a saddle over her. A note was left for his wife on her bed stand as he approached the coming sunset in earnest. Freedom. Tytos was free of everything. Fatherhood. Training hounds. He was free of it now.

‘Titania, i’m gone for now. If you or the lads need me i’ll be at Casterly Rock. Boys need men to lead them. Tybolt needs me the most.

-Tytos’

Tytos paused halfway through his journey riding back, and dismounting, barging up the stairs in a mix of anticipation and buried down anger and sadness. He roughly grabbed Gregor by the neck, lifting his son up. “You’ll ride with me boy.”

Gregor glanced up at his father, rubbing his eyes. “What?” He asked slowly. His son lacked smarts, but he was an alright lad. “Ride with me, it’s time you see the world.” Tytos slung his son over his shoulder, tossing him in the front of his saddle, as Tytos secured his boy, riding forward, off to Casterly Rock once more. A man of dark days and a million thoughts stored in an empty space. Gregor clung on for his life as the cold wind hit his skin, chattering his teeth lightly.

After a few hours the dog arrived in the dead of night at the Rock’s gates, glancing up at the guards and gruffly speaking.

“Ser Tytos Clegane, and my son, Gregor, here to meet the boy lord.”