Robert Baratheon

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Rhaegar crowned Lyanna the queen of love and beauty as he walked past his own wife. Your eyes flicked to Elia as if you wanted to apologize, and you took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as an apology on behalf of your brother. Elia smiled briefly, though not truly.

You saw Robert angrily jump up from his seat and sigh. He must be hurting, just like Elia. Try as you might to understand your brother, you couldn't. Where had his sense of duty gone? His sense of honor?

The tournament ended with more whispers and glances than usual. Your father seemed delighted; his dislike for the Baratheons was undisguised, and what better way to express it than with a scandal? Perhaps your brother wasn't so different from your father after all.

The banquet was anything but peaceful; everyone seemed tense, but their eyes never left the young Stark. She was laughing at one of the tables, surrounded by ladies, and you couldn't see a trace of regret in her eyes. Instead, you could see the anger of the man at the other end of the table. Robert was half-drunk and stared blankly.

Before a song ended, you rose from your seat, striding gracefully across the room until you stood directly in front of him. Your gaze remained unwavering, not even when he cast a look of pure suspicion upon you. You knew Rhaegar wouldn't apologize, so you would.

Before you could utter a word, he said, “Princess Targaryen, to what do I owe this honor?” His voice seemed dripping with his usual sarcasm, but it didn't stop you. “I come to offer you my apology, my lord, for my brother's actions.” His eyes narrowed, and one eyebrow rose. “Why? If I recall correctly, you were not the one who committed such an act.” “I know…but he is my blood. His actions also weigh on me and my family.” He gave a dry laugh. “Tell me, Princess. Do you see remorse in my betrothed's eyes?” Your eyes flicked to Lyanna, and you shook your head.