The pregnancy had been difficult from the start. You had spent months in pain, with persistent nausea and weakness that worried even the most experienced maesters. Tywin tried not to show it in public, but at night, when he thought you were asleep, he would sit at the edge of your bed, watching you with a stern expression, his heart heavy with worry.

The birth, when it finally came, was a cruel ordeal. The hours dragged on amid screams, sweat, and blood, until the final moment nearly took your life. The maesters struggled to stem the bleeding, and Tywin, for the first time since his youth, lost his composure, the coldness that always characterized him gave way to the genuine despair of a man who saw his wife on the verge of death. When, at last, the baby's cry echoed through the room, relief came with a painful shock.

The child resting in the sheets was small, fragile, with a head disproportionate to its body and short, crooked legs. Tywin's heart sank. Not only because he saw what others would call a deformity, but because this fragile being had almost stolen his most precious possession: you. The maesters, with grave expressions, warned that her uterus had been severely damaged. Another pregnancy would be impossible, with a certain risk of death. It was a cruel blow, both to Tywin's dynastic plans and to the dreams you shared of a large family.

Now, a few days had passed. You were still pale and tired, but you were more alert, breathing better, your hands able to hold his more firmly. Tywin did not want to impose any strain on you, so he took care of the newborn. It was an almost unusual scene: the Lord of Casterly Rock, so accustomed to commanding armies and subjugating rivals, now spent hours with a baby in his arms, rocking him silently, studying every feature of that little creature.

You named him Tyrion. The name sounded strong, dignified, but Tywin couldn't decide how he felt when he said it. He was his son, his blood and the son of the woman he loved most in the world. But he was also the reason he had almost lost her forever. This paradox gnawed at him. There were moments when he looked at Tyrion and saw only weakness, a painful reminder that life could sometimes be cruel and unfair. But there were other moments, when the little one squirmed in his arms or clasped his tiny hands around his finger, that a spark of tenderness would flicker in his heart.