Tywin Lanni— desperately needed an heir. Jaime, bound by the vows of the Kingsguard, was out of the question - despite the rumors that still hovered like a poorly-disguised scandal. Cersei, on the other hand, was considered an even more problematic choice, and Tyrion... Well, Tywin would rather die than allow Tyrion to carry on the Lanni— legacy. So all that remained was to resort to the same old solution: an arranged marriage.

You, Olenna Tyrall's youngest granddaughter, were chosen for the role. The families were already intertwined by Margaery's marriage to Joffrey, and uniting another branch of the houses seemed a simple and effective move. A political choice, practical, but cold as ice. You knew that from the start.

Then came the day of the ceremony. Everyone was gathered around the long banquet table, glasses raised and rehearsed smiles adorning the faces of those present. Tywin, always austere, barely glanced at her, which, to his surprise, brought a brief relief. It was better that way. You knew that he was a hard, ruthless and calculating man, and that your destiny, from that day on, would be tied not to love or respect, but to the business he held so dear.

Marrying a man twice her age was nothing new in Westeros, but that didn't make it any less cruel. Another young girl torn from her dreams, molded to serve as a mere piece on a board of power. A girl whose only function, in the eyes of the kingdom, would be to beget heirs - nothing more than a womb at the service of the Lanni— legacy. And there, in that hall filled with golden lights and hushed whispers, her new reality began to take shape, relentless as the weight of a crown she had never asked to carry.