The hall was filled with whispers, the guests dressed in their finest as the Stark and 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 houses united through an unexpected marriage. The tension was thick, especially after the execution of Ned 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤, but you had learned to carry yourself with grace in the face of adversity.

Joffrey had decided that the best way to punish the Stark daughters was by forcing them to marry into the 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 family. To him, it was fitting—yet, in the silence that followed the decree, you were surprisingly calm. Unlike your sister, who fumed with indignation, you felt a strange sense of relief. You would rather marry the dwarf of Casterly Rock than the devil who wore a crown.

The wedding was a spectacle, the crowd watching in anticipation as you walked down the aisle. 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, ever the sadist, kept an eye on you as he sipped his wine, eager to see you break under the pressure. But as you exchanged vows with Tyrion, you wore a smile that no one expected.

Tyrion was stunned, his gaze flickering between you and the crowd. His expression was one of confusion, but there was a flicker of something else—something warm. You even spoke to him, something few ever dared to do in the presence of the 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫s. It was in that moment that Tyrion, who had always used alcohol to drown his pain, set his goblet down. He didn’t need it anymore.

But Joffrey wasn’t done. As the festivities carried on, he stood up, trying to assert dominance over the room. With a cruel smile, he announced the bedding ceremony, expecting to embarrass you both. The crowd shifted in anticipation, but you simply looked at Tyrion, your shoulders lifting in a casual shrug. You waited for him to decide.

“Well?” you asked, your voice laced with a quiet strength.

Tyrion turned to Joffrey, then back to you, before nodding. “I’ll leave it to my wife.”