The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Night.

Two guards from Casterly Rock stood at the door of Lady Jeyne's chambers.

Gregor approached, but the guards stepped forward and placed their hands on their sword hilts, blocking his path.

"Move." Gregor said, politely.

"Apologies, ser, but the lady has said she's not receiving any visitors."

"Move." Gregor repeated, this time through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing.

The guards hesitated. One of them said, "Ser, if you'll wait a moment, I'll go inside and, "

Gregor's hand shot out and grabbed the guard by the chest. With barely any effort, he lifted him clean off the ground, held him in the air, and growled, "I said move." His hot breath blew across the guard's face, and with a casual flick of his arm, he hurled him aside.

Thud!

The guard crashed to the ground several yards away. To Gregor, tossing him was no different than flinging aside a toy. Luckily, the man landed on his back and rear, right onto a patch of grass.

The other guard instinctively began to draw his sword, but Gregor only had to glare at him. That alone was enough, the blade froze halfway out of its sheath and wouldn't budge another inch.

"Don't draw your sword." Gregor said sincerely. "If you do, you might get it halfway out… and by then, I'll have killed you twice over."

The guard didn't respond. He stood frozen, stiff as stone.

The guard who had been thrown scrambled to his feet, dazed and dizzy. While airborne, he'd screamed, convinced he was about to die with his skull smashed open. But by some stroke of luck, he had landed on soft grass.

Gregor wasn't careless. He didn't kill Jeyne's guards without reason, and he went out of his way to avoid injuring them if he could help it.

After all, Jeyne was now his fiancée.

And a fiancé visiting his betrothed? Entirely reasonable.

He didn't have the self-restraint to play the gentleman and politely wait outside her door. He wasn't a courtly noble, he was a brute. And brutes didn't need justification to act… though in this case, he had it.

The engagement ceremony that afternoon had been a resounding success.

Gregor and Jeyne had sat side by side, received blessings from the septon, made offerings to the Seven, pigs, cattle, sheep, fruits, and had their brows anointed with holy oil, a symbol of sanctity. They'd been congratulated by lords both high and low and showered with gifts and promissory notes for even more to come.

Lord Tywin had invited nobles from across the realm to Casterly Rock, announcing only that he intended to take Jeyne as his daughter, not that she would be betrothed to Ser Gregor the very next day. Many had come unprepared with betrothal gifts, so they either presented what they had or left behind promissory notes, with plans to send gifts later.

And just like that, Jeyne became Gregor's lawful betrothed. In a month's time, on an auspicious day, he would return to Clegane's Keep with his beautiful bride in his arms.

But the moment the ceremony ended, Jeyne had claimed she wasn't feeling well and retired to her chambers alone, refusing to see anyone, not even her father, Lord Gawen.

In this world, women had no say in their marriages. Everything bowed to the interests of the family. Love was a luxury most people could never afford. Even princes and princesses, even kings, often had to sacrifice love for political gain.

In the face of politics, all else gave way.

For Lord Gawen and House Westerling, the greatest benefit was staying in Lord Tywin's favor. The greatest danger was falling from it.

So when Lord Tywin offered his daughter's hand to Gregor, no matter how distasteful it seemed, Lord Gawen couldn't refuse. And Jeyne had even less choice.

They couldn't afford to offend the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Tywin taking Jeyne as his daughter was already the highest honor and political boon House Westerling had ever received. By accepting that honor, they had to accept everything that came with it, especially the marriage. Refusing would be tantamount to betrayal.

On the surface, everyone seemed to win.

House Westerling won. Lord Tywin won. Ser Gregor won.

There was only one true loser: Jeyne Westerling.

Gregor ducked through the doorway to Jeyne's room, cradling an exquisite brocade box in his hands.

At the sight of him, Jeyne's delicate figure trembled. She was afraid.

She was only fifteen, a young girl. Gregor was in his thirties, nearly as old as her father. A grown man. A monster, some whispered.

In this world, men and women married young. There were no marriage licenses, just a trip to the sept to be wed by a high priest and recorded in the ledger. There were no population laws, no restrictions.

Gregor spoke softly. "Jeyne."

Even his gentleness made her flinch again.

"Can you do me a small favor?"

"W-what is it…?" Her voice was barely a whisper, frightened and pitiful.

She was a lamb before a snarling wolf.

"I just want to ask you… a small favor."

"…Okay." She nodded instinctively.

Even in fear, she was stunning. Fear couldn't dull her beauty, it only made it more fragile, more striking.

A flower soaked in dew beneath the morning sun or bathed in moonlight and silence, beauty took many forms, but it never disappeared.

Gregor crouched and placed the brocade box gently on her knees. Jeyne's lips had gone pale. She looked like a weeping pear blossom in the snow. The pressure of being alone in a room with a beast like Gregor was crushing, too much for even a strong man to bear.

"…Ser, if you want, I'll give you all the gifts. The gold, the pearls, the jewels, everything. Just… please… can you break off the engagement?"

Gregor looked at her, watched the fear in her eyes, the helplessness in her expression, the way her breathing quickened. He said quietly, "Jeyne, I don't need money. Ser Ado set up a public wager, mocking me for being poor. He thought he could humiliate me. I had one of Ser Kevan's knights deliver a message, and with just a word from Ser Kevan to vouch for me, I accepted Ado's entire bet. I won over three hundred gold dragons. Kevan earned fifty just for guaranteeing me. I don't need money. What I do need is a wife."

Silence.

After a moment, Jeyne whispered, "Ser Gregor… you placed that bet with Ado and asked Ser Kevan to vouch for you because you already knew the Lord would grant the marriage the next day. Ser Kevan is cautious by nature, but he still agreed, that means he knew too. This was all carefully planned. Maybe it began the moment the raven arrived at my home in Casterly Rock. You've always wanted to marry me, haven't you?"

Her words only made Gregor more determined. A woman this beautiful and this clever? He couldn't let her go, even if he was wrong to pursue her, he'd rather take the risk than regret forever.

"Lady Jeyne… maybe only the Seven know the truth. But right now, I care more about the cat in this box."

He opened the lid.

Inside was a pure white cat, spotless, not a single stray hair, its breed immaculate and rare.

Jeyne's eyes lit up. A spark of genuine joy shone through. It was instinctual, natural, uncontrolled by reason.

"A Lysian cat?" she gasped, delighted.

"Yes. But… it hasn't eaten in days. Jeyne, can you help me? Can you take care of this poor thing, nurse it back to health?"

"You like cats?" she asked in disbelief. She picked the cat up, and her heart melted the moment she looked into its amber eyes. "Oh no, it's burning up, we need to find medicine now!"

"I don't know what to do." Gregor admitted.

"I do! My mother once raised a cat. I even studied veterinary medicine just for it." Jeyne said, completely forgetting her fear. The dying white cat had seized her heart. "Ser Gregor, we need to go to the maester's tower immediately!"

"All right, Lady Jeyne. But Maester Harry doesn't know how to treat it, I've already asked."

"I know!" Her voice rose, filled with urgency.

Gregor scooped up both Jeyne and the cat in his arms. She was as light as a feather.

"Lady Jeyne, I'll carry you. I can move faster that way."

And with that, he strode from the room, each of his steps as long as three of a normal man's.

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