Marriage wasn’t the initial thing you’d wanted to do, nor was it an idea that you had at all, yet with the way the world was, it was necessary, politically.

Especially as the Commander of the Deithoses, a unification of thirteen clans made as one, you were supposed to marry another man, it was an entire political standpoint— if you married him, you’d be giving your warriors as a support to push him to the throne that’d been under the Lannister rule for a few decades now that the King had died, and his bastard son who was a mere insolent, spoiled child had taken the spot, it was unrighteous, unlawful, and you’d be his Queen.

Your arranged fiance was to none other than Viserys, a arrogant, abrasive, petulant man. Who’d been nothing upstute of a complete and entire arse.