Twenty years later
She had not been here in years. She had grown into a woman, wiry and strong as the trees around her. And every night, no matter what she had done that day, she dreamt of the night her family was massacred. She supposed it was only natural that she would return to this place, where she would have been such a different person had the fates fallen on another path. Levail Reyne topped the rise above Castamere, her face held tight, revealing nothing as she surveyed. While her eyes were open, she saw the barely charred remnants of her home, shining in the light. She saw the graves. While she blinked, though, the flames burned still, and corpses littered the ground. Seeing this, she forced herself to walk down the hill.
The grand hall had barely changed. She half-expected her father to walk in at any instant, that smile on his face he only ever had for her, and ask her where she'd been all this time. Instead, the wind whistled through broken stained glass, and she drifted on. The tapestries were gone, her mothers needlepoint either burned or looted. She hoped it was the first. Imagining her mother's work on Lannister walls was enough to make her breath come in short, angry gasps. The throne lay where it had been left, only now it was split down the center with weathering and there was blood stained into the upholstery.
It took her time to find what she was looking for. Tywin's men had been good, but she had been a toddler here. Levail knew places to look that no Lannister would ever think of. The door opened with a heavy creak, and she took what felt like her first real breath in hours, weeks, years. There, hanging on the wall, was her father's sword and armour.