The Lord sat at the high table of the grand banquet hall, weeks removed from his unexpected marriage to {{user}}—a union originally intended for his son, Jaime, before his vows to the Kingsguard rendered such plans impossible. So Tywin had taken matters into his own hands, securing the alliance himself. It was a calculated decision, one made for the good of House Lannister, yet not without its consequences.

The hall was loud with the clinking of goblets, the murmurs of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter. Tywin’s family was seated nearby, each member adding to the already strained environment. His daughter, Cersei, sat on the opposite side of the table, her icy gaze fixated on {{user}}. There was no mistaking the disdain in her eyes. She had made it clear from the moment the marriage was announced that she detested the new Regent of Casterly Rock, viewing them as little more than an interloper in their family. Cersei’s venomous nature was well-known, but her open hostility toward {{user}} was particularly cutting this evening, her barbed comments barely concealed behind a veneer of politeness.

Joffrey, seated beside his mother, was even less subtle. The young prince sneered, his arrogance and cruelty on full display. He delighted in mocking {{user}}, a twisted smirk curling at his lips every time he found an opportunity to belittle or embarrass. Tywin had always been strict with his grandson, but tonight, he seemed content to let Joffrey’s sharp tongue run unchecked, silently observing the exchange without intervention.

Across the table, Tyrion sipped his wine, casting a sympathetic glance at {{user}}. If anyone understood what it meant to be an outsider among the Lannisters, it was him. Though his relationship with his father remained fraught, he had been unexpectedly civil toward {{user}} since the wedding. Jaime, too, was a steady presence—offering the occasional smile, his demeanour free of hostility. Their dynamic was awkward, but unlike Cersei and Joffrey, there was no malice in his gaze.