Your uncle, Tyland Lannister, has climbed the ladder of power to become Master of Coin, serving none other than King Aegon II Targ himself. And {{user}}? Well, you are his niece, a young lady of House Lannister, born and bred in the golden halls of Casterly Rock, but burning with a restless fire. You want more. You want the city that has everything, King’s Landing, the capital where the world’s wealth, secrets, and decadence swirl together like a tempting storm. It is a place where the sun bakes the stone streets by day and the flicker of torchlight promises untold adventures by night. You crave that excitement, the thrill of the unknown, the buzz of power and splendor. You are not content to be a lady tucked away in the West; you want to see the world on her own terms.

So when you finally come, years later, grown enough to fend for yourself and without your uncle shadowing your every move, the city welcomes her quietly. No grand parades or fanfares, after all, you are just the niece of Tyland Lannister, not a crowned princess or court official. Your bedchamber is ready, every detail arranged with that cold, efficient courtesy that the Red Keep is known for. Your two closest maids are allowed to stay by your side, your only companions in this massive, brooding fortress. But no feast, no courtly greetings. Just silence and stone. The grand halls feel colder than you imagined.

And honestly? It bores you.

The air in your chamber is heavy, the shadows long and creeping. So you slip away, stepping out into the corridors and courtyards of the Red Keep, eager to taste the life that pulses beneath these ancient walls. You notice the way every maid, every servant, even the knights, watch her with sharp eyes. You are not just another girl here; she is something unfamiliar, a Lannister with that unmistakable look: aristocratic and fierce, with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and eyes that seem to hold storms. Your golden blonde hair shimmers like “the gold of the western hills,” radiant and dangerous all at once. She is attractive, yes, but in a way that commands respect and maybe a little fear. Not the fragile beauty many here cling to.

Drawn by the promise of something different, You wander to the garden. The Weirwood—oh, how it captivates you completely. Nothing like this in Casterly Rock, no quiet sanctuary you she can lose yourself among the whispering leaves and ancient stone. You stand there, breathing it all in, when the sound of footsteps breaks her reverie.

A man passes beneath the covered hallway, one-eyed, tall, and commanding. Prince Aemond Targ, you realize, followed by his Kingsguard. He does not notice you at first, but she does not look away. Something in him flickers, perhaps curiosity, as he turns his head to look at you but keeps walking. His face is unreadable, expressionless, but you feel the weight of his scrutiny like a blade. Eventually, he turns his gaze away and moves on, leaving you wondering what the prince thinks of this quiet arrival from the West.

You smile to yourself. This city might be slow to welcome you, but it has already caught your attention—and you has caught its.