The Golden Tooth is the gateway to the Westerlands, nestled in a mountain pass flanked by steep peaks.
Not only is it a natural choke point, easy to defend and hard to attack, but it also sits on rich veins of gold.
Of course, the gold mines of the Golden Tooth belong to the Lannisters. Their reserves are even greater than those beneath Casterly Rock itself.
Between the mines at the Golden Tooth, the mines beneath Casterly Rock, and the Castamere mines seized from the extinct House Reyne, the Lannisters controlled immense wealth.
The Golden Tooth was a formidable fortress, garrisoned by thousands of troops. But Tywin didn't linger there. He quickly organized the defenses, appointed a commander, and then pressed on with the remnants of his army—survivors of the flight from King's Landing—straight for Casterly Rock.
He knew where he was needed most: the heart of the Westerlands.
Only from Casterly Rock could he command the entire region, organize a defense line, and resist foreign invaders.
Leaving the Golden Tooth and the hills behind, the colossal stone mass of Casterly Rock soon came into view, rising like a lonely mountain.
This stone titan, soaring two thousand feet into the air, sat on the shores of the Sunset Sea. It dominated the flat coastline like a piece placed by the Gods themselves on a game board—a massive, natural fortress.
Beneath the Rock lay a sea cavern large enough to serve as a dock. The Lannisters could hide their entire fleet inside the mountain, completely safe from storms.
If the Targaryens had possessed such a fortress, their fleet might not have been destroyed by storms, and perhaps their dynasty wouldn't have been extinguished so completely.
Seeing the Rock, Tywin finally let out a breath. The lion had returned to his den, a place where he could safely lick his wounds.
"Addam," Tywin called out to the bastard.
"My lord."
"How many men do we have left?"
"Just over fourteen hundred, my lord."
"And the wounded?"
"My lord, there are no wounded. They all volunteered to stay behind at Stony Sept to cover our retreat."
Hearing this, Tywin's gaze sharpened. He turned to look at the blonde bastard. "Volunteered? How many of them truly volunteered?"
Caught in his lie, Addam's heart pounded. He stammered, "My lord... honestly, some of them couldn't even ride anymore. I..."
"Enough," Tywin cut him off. "You did the right thing. I don't blame you."
"My lord, I accept any punishment..."
Tywin waved a hand. "Go tally the survivors. When we enter Casterly Rock, I will personally reward them."
"At once, my lord." Relieved, Addam hurried off to carry out the order.
Tywin hadn't lied; leaving the wounded behind was the only logical choice.
Yet, a sense of sorrow gnawed at him. An army of over twenty thousand, combined with Jaime's forces, had totaled nearly forty thousand men. Now, fewer than two thousand remained. His heart bled for the loss.
Two days later, as they traveled deeper into the West, Tywin saw ravaged villages and bodies left by the roadside for wild dogs.
For a moment, he thought he was back in the Riverlands.
The atrocities he had inflicted on the Riverlands were now being visited upon his own people. The irony was bitter.
Tywin clutched his chest, wondering if he was getting old and soft.
No, it wasn't just that. His three children were all in enemy hands. The Lord of Casterly Rock was facing the prospect of his line ending with him.
Soon, Tywin's army arrived at a sizable town. Just as Winterfell had its Winter Town, major fortresses naturally attracted settlements.
And for a lord as wealthy and powerful as a Lannister, the surrounding towns were substantial.
Most of the soldiers Tywin had led out of the West had been recruited from towns and farms like these.
As Tywin led his battered column through the streets, a crowd of commoners gathered. Their clothes were clean, but their faces were etched with grief.
They were a stark reminder that this was no triumphant return.
Suddenly, a child's voice pierced the air. "Mother! Where's big brother? Why don't I see him?"
The voice was clear as a bell, shattering the silence like glass.
Tywin almost turned to look but forced himself to stare straight ahead.
He saw more commoners scanning the ranks, searching for sons, brothers, fathers.
Soon, the questions started coming.
"My lord, is my son alive? Is he further back in the line?"
"My lord, what about my husband? Is he hurt?"
"My lord, my brother is a spearman, good with a bow too. He said you praised him once. Is he..."
"My lord..."
With every question, Tywin felt another brick added to the weight on his shoulders. Brick by brick, the invisible wall grew heavier until his spine felt ready to snap.
Then, a voice called out from the ranks.
"Mother! I'm here!"
A young soldier's cry made countless mothers crane their necks in hope. But only one mother found what she was looking for.
Tywin glanced quickly at the tearful reunion. He thought of his brother, Kevan.
They had been brothers for a lifetime. Kevan's wife, Dorna, was likely at Casterly Rock right now. How was he supposed to face her?
Finally, Tywin could no longer maintain his lordly composure. He kicked his horse into a gallop, speeding toward Casterly Rock.
By the time Tywin reached the base of the Rock, it was already afternoon.
The acting castellan, Damion Lannister, had prepared a welcome ceremony for the true Lord of the Rock.
Damion was a distant cousin, about ten years younger than Tywin, and looked capable and sharp.
Defending the castle alongside him was Davon Lannister, the son of Tywin's late cousin Stafford.
Davon had grown a thick golden beard, swearing not to shave until he avenged his father, who had died in the Riverlands.
There was also Damon Lannister.
House Lannister was vast. Unlike the Starks or Arryns, they didn't need to entrust key positions like Castellan or Captain of the Guards to outsiders.
At Casterly Rock, the leadership was a sea of golden hair.
Looking at his kin, Tywin's face grew even sterner. Take Davon—he had lost his father, and his two brothers were currently rotting in the dungeons of Riverrun.
Led by Damion, the group bowed to Tywin. Damion then looked up and said, "My lord, lead us! Let House Lannister weather this storm! We will make the Starks and the Ironborn pay for this blood debt!"
"Lead us to vengeance, my lord!" Davon stepped forward.
"Lead us!"
The lions bowed to the Lion Lord.
Seeing their resolve, Tywin felt strength returning to his limbs. He rested his hand on his sword hilt and addressed the sea of blonde heads. "Casterly Rock will never fall! Let us go home!"
The Lannisters began the ascent into the Rock.
As mentioned, Casterly Rock was a fortress carved directly into the mountain.
The path up was lined with arrow slits at devious angles. In steep sections, the Lannisters of old had carved away the rock to create sheer drops that could only be crossed when drawbridges were lowered.
Such drawbridges appeared every few steps.
A fortress like this had almost no weaknesses. The only flaw was that the rock was too high to dig wells.
But situated on the coast, frequent rains filled the cisterns, solving the water problem.
The Lannisters loved to boast that Visenya Targaryen, upon seeing Casterly Rock, had thanked the Gods that the King of the Rock surrendered. She supposedly claimed that even dragonfire would have been useless against such a fortress. It was a story told to prove the Rock was impregnable.
Whether it was true or not, no one knew.
Finally, they reached a relatively flat plateau.
Tywin saw the wide steps and the Lion's Mouth Gate—a massive entrance carved in the shape of a roaring lion.
They had to walk into the lion's mouth to enter the castle.
This gate had been remodeled some two hundred years ago, perhaps by a Lannister ancestor who visited Dragonstone and wanted to mimic the Targaryen style.
Tywin looked up at the azure sky. Compared to King's Landing, being home felt infinitely better.
The air was fresh, the ground clean, and everywhere he looked, there was gold.
They passed through the Golden Gallery, a corridor genuinely plated in gold leaf.
The reliefs on the walls depicted the glorious history of House Lannister.
From their ancestor Lann the Clever swindling the Casterlys out of the Rock, to thousands of years of history.
The gold spent on this hallway alone equaled a year's tax revenue for the city.
They continued to the Hall of Heroes.
Inside, hundreds of suits of armor stood in perfect formation. Where they were damaged, they had been repaired with gold.
These were the armors worn by Lannister ancestors, suggesting that liquid gold flowed in their veins.
Tywin chose to hold his war council here, hoping for the blessings of his forebears.
"Speak. How does House Lannister survive this crisis?" Tywin asked the gathered kin.
Damion, the acting castellan, stepped forward. "My lord, the Lannisters have thrived in the West for thousands of years. The West knows only us. Stannis succeeded by luck and that bastard, but his forces are depleted. Perhaps we can pay a ransom in gold for our family members and forgive the crown's debt. Stannis might accept peace."
Seeing Damon about to object, Damion added quickly, "Of course, my lord, that is the bloodless option. To a Lannister, gold is as precious as blood. But if we must fight, we are ready! The Golden Tooth is formidable, and Casterly Rock is impregnable. Stannis can never break in!"
Damion laid out the options for peace and war sensibly.
Then Davon spoke up. "My lord, Stannis is exhausted too. But peace isn't begged for; it's won with iron and blood. We should raise more troops and fight them!
"We need to show them that we didn't lose—we just haven't won yet!"
"Right! We just haven't won yet!" The others chorused in agreement.
Despite the crushing defeat and heavy losses, the Lannisters remained confident.
The geography of the West and the impregnability of Casterly Rock gave them a high floor for failure. The North and Riverlands were exhausted after fighting for half a year.
Stannis's Stormlands had taken heavy losses, and his fleet was ashes.
Even if the Tyrells made peace with the crown, they wouldn't commit troops enthusiastically.
In their eyes, the worst-case scenario was just locking the doors and waiting it out. There was nothing to fear.
Seeing that his family had no intention of surrendering, Tywin's resolve hardened. "Damon, immediately recruit and train another ten thousand men. Offer double pay to every sellsword and freerider you can find."
"Yes, my lord."
"Damion, summon the bannermen. Order a second levy and training. Send a third of the new troops to the Golden Tooth and a third here to the Rock."
"Yes, my lord."
"Davon, gather supplies—gold and grain. Order all our mines to increase production. I want gold output doubled in the coming months!"
"Yes, my lord!"
With orders flying, Tywin felt like the Lord of Casterly Rock again.
After everyone left, he returned to his chambers. Through the window, he could see the Sunset Sea. The golden sun was sinking into the water, casting dappled light across the waves.
"Beautiful," Tywin murmured.
Watching the seagulls wheeling in the air, he suddenly thought of his wife, Joanna.
Then, Tywin let out a dry laugh.
His father, Tytos, was called the "Laughing Lion." He never got angry, no matter the insult, and made foolish investments that lost everything.
Joanna, look at me now. I'm doing worse than my father. Three million gold dragons thrown into the sea, and our three children...
Three million dragons. Thirty thousand men. Three children. The cold numbers mocked Tywin's competence.
But the old lion quickly composed himself. He looked out the window at the curved horizon of the sea—a view only possible from such a great height.
From a normal castle, the horizon would just be a flat line.
The mountain beneath Casterly Rock was the foundation of his confidence that the castle would never fall.