The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Crag, situated on the western coast at the northern edge of the Westerlands, was the ancestral seat of House Westerling. Due to a chronic lack of funds, the castle had fallen into disrepair over the years and now looked more like a ruined fortress perched on the cliffs than a noble estate.

Morning. Inside the main keep. Study.

Lord Gawen Westerling sat motionless at his desk.

He had spent the entire night in the study. Though there was a small bed in the room, he hadn't slept a wink.

His brow was furrowed with worry, and his hair was disheveled. His thick black beard was equally unkempt, curling at the ends from neglect.

Before him sat a battered old desk with peeling paint. Atop it lay a faded ancestral map of the Westerling lands.

The map was marked in three colors: red for the outermost territories, blue for the middle areas, and black for the inner core surrounding Crag.

More than a dozen red blocks dotted the map, symbols of lands once held by his ancestors, now sold off by Gawen and his late father to cover household expenses.

Each time a piece of land was sold, Gawen and his father had marked it with red ink on the family map.

As he stared at the blotches of red, Gawen could only dream of the day he might restore his family's honor and wealth, perhaps even repurchasing the lands at a premium.

Behind the red blocks were nine blue ones, lands pledged as collateral to neighboring lords in exchange for loans. If Gawen couldn't redeem them within the agreed timeframe, they too would be marked red.

Gawen was still a man in his prime, around thirty, but the creases at the corners of his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead told a different story. Although finances were grim and money grew harder to come by, he remained determined to uphold the image and dignity of an old noble house. Not a single servant had been dismissed, and the family still dressed in the finest garments whenever they left the manor.

Staring at the map, quill in hand, Gawen hovered over a small plot of land with a bottle of red ink nearby. The family urgently needed money, and he had resolved to sell off yet another parcel, this time to House Marbrand of Ashmark, a hundred leagues to the south.

The current Lord Marbrand's younger sister had married Tygett Lannister, the second brother of Tywin Lannister. Tygett had been the most skilled warrior among the four Lannister brothers and was widely renowned across the Seven Kingdoms. Sadly, he had died a few years ago of greyscale. He had once been especially close with Tyrion, the youngest of the Lannister siblings.

With a heavy sigh, Gawen prepared to mark another red square on the map. Just as his quill was about to touch the page, 

Knock knock knock!

A courteous knock sounded at the door.

The Westerlings prided themselves on etiquette, and all the household servants were rigorously trained in proper decorum.

"Just a moment." Gawen called out.

"Yes, milord." came a soft, graceful voice from beyond the door.

Gawen stood and walked over to the dressing mirror. A few moments later, he had changed his clothes and carefully groomed his hair and beard. The man who now faced the mirror looked nothing like the disheveled, despairing figure from moments before, his noble bearing was fully restored.

"You may enter." he said, returning to his desk. The ancestral map had been rolled up and placed carefully back into a drawer.

A maid entered quietly, dressed immaculately and carrying herself with poise. She moved with silent steps and spoke with elegance.

"Milord, a letter from Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock."

"Hand it to me." Gawen replied with a smile.

Even when speaking to a servant, Gawen Westerling carried himself with the polished demeanor of a true noble.

"Yes, my lord." The maid delivered a rolled parchment into his hand.

Gawen didn't open the letter immediately. He waited until the maid had bowed and gently closed the door behind her.

Then, with deliberate care, he unsealed the scroll and began to read.

His eyes widened slightly in disbelief.

He closed them for a moment, took a breath, and then read it again, slower this time. As his gaze traveled down the page, a rare expression gradually returned to his face, a smile. A brilliant, long-lost smile.

...

After breakfast, a small convoy departed Crag. Eight guards and two servants on horseback escorted a stately carriage draped with fine silk curtains.

The carriage, pulled by four strong horses, was spacious and luxurious. Two finely dressed coachmen sat at the front, guiding the reins.

Inside sat two people, Lord Gawen Westerling and his dazzlingly beautiful daughter, Jeyne Westerling.

Jeyne was slim and elegantly curved, the very embodiment of beauty. To Gregor Clegane, the man from another world, she was far more alluring than any actress he had ever seen on TV. Her beauty was striking, and the figure hidden beneath her noble attire was curvaceous and seductive, perfectly matching the local ideals of female charm, as well as Gregor's own.

She had naturally wavy chestnut hair, a delicate heart-shaped face, and amber-colored eyes. What the noblemen of Westeros appreciated most, however, was her full, rounded hips, a sign of fertility, and a highly prized trait among young, unmarried women. Though in Gregor's eyes, it had less to do with childbearing and more to do with raw sensuality.

She wore a flowing silk gown imported from across the Narrow Sea, elegant and refined, every inch a noble lady. Yet no matter how modest the dress, a man's eyes could always see through the fabric to the beauty beneath.

"Father... I can't help but feel uneasy." Jeyne said softly, a slight furrow between her brows.

"Don't worry, child. Do you know how many young women across the Seven Kingdoms dream of being adopted by Lord Tywin Lannister?" Gawen beamed. For him, forging ties with the Lannisters was a lifelong dream.

"But… why would Lord Tywin suddenly want to adopt me?" Jeyne asked, her voice full of doubt. "Isn't there something more going on here that we don't know about?"

Gawen looked fondly at his radiant daughter. "My dear, even if there is more to it, what does it matter? Once you become Lord Tywin's daughter, what could you possibly have to fear? This is a blessing, a rare and golden opportunity. The adoption ceremony will take place in the Sept of the Seven in Casterly Rock, attended by septons, septas, Maester Botho, and all the knights and lords of the Rock. It will be a moment of great honor, a signal to all that our house is rising again."

"But I still don't understand, Father."

"Haha! My sweet girl, just think: after the ceremony, you'll be the daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister. Who is he? The richest man in all of Westeros! Even the royal treasury in King's Landing owes him millions in gold. And once you're his daughter, who would dare propose marriage unless they were of ducal status or higher? No common lord would even dare think of courting you. And Tywin will never let his daughter remain unmarried, no, no, my dear Jeyne. From this day forward, our family's rise begins, all thanks to you."

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