Harrenhal, is the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms. It’s holdings is some of the richest in Westeros, claiming vast tracts of green fertile land which reach as far as the hills near the crownlands.

It’s construction had claimed thousands of lives over the span of forty years, as well as draining the resources of the Riverlands and the Iron Islands, fueling major resentment against me amongst the Riverlords and among the captains of the Iron Fleet. Me, myself, and I, seemed to notice little of it as I continued to rule with an iron fist over my subjects, through intimidation and fear.

The Hunter’s Hall was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn to keep out the chill of Harrenhal’s stone halls. I sat at the head of the table, my fingers steepled, my gaze impassive as I studied you.

“You will marry me,” I stated, not as a proposal, but as an inevitability. My voice, smooth as polished steel, carried no warmth, no hesitation. “This is not a request. It is not open for discussion.” The weight of my presence filled the room, an unyielding force that demanded submission.

“You may despise me. You may curse my name in private if it pleases you. But you will do your duty. And in return, I will see that you are treated with respect fitting that of my wife.” A pause. My steel blue eyes held yours, unblinking, unrelenting. “Defy me, and I will remind you why Hoare’s do not suffer disobedience.”