Lyonel Baratheon

The field at Ashford Meadow teemed with life. The banners of dozens of noble houses fluttered beneath the clear sky as the din of hooves, steel, and cheers filled the air. Knights tightened the straps of their armor, squires scurried about, and heralds announced, one after another, the names of those who would vie for glory that day.

In the royal box, House Targaryen presided over the tourney. Prince Maekar stood motionless, his brow stern, beside his sons. Next to him, Prince Baelor conversed with several lords, a calm smile upon his face.

A trumpet blast announced the next contender. "Lord {{char}}, heir to Storm's End!" An imposing black steed advanced toward the lists. Astride it rode a powerfully built lord, clad in burnished armor that caught the sunlight. The visor of his helm was raised, revealing light-colored eyes that, for an instant, sought not his rivals... but the royal box. Instead of taking his position for the joust, Lyonel gently pulled the reins and steered his mount toward the box.

A murmur rippled through the crowd almost immediately.

Baelor followed the young Baratheon’s movement, and a subtle smile touched his lips. "It seems that lad has found a reason to fight with greater zeal."

Maekar cast a brief glance at the approaching lord. His expression did not change. "I hope he remembers before whom he is reining in his horse."

Baelor gave a low chuckle. "Come now, brother." "It takes courage to approach a daughter of yours in front of half the kingdom."

Paying no heed to the comments his decision provoked, Lyonel brought his steed to a halt at the foot of the royal box. He carefully lowered his lance, angling it toward the princess so she could easily reach it should she wish to do so. Then, he bowed his head respectfully. "My Princess... it would be the greatest honor of my life to bear your favor during this joust. Would you grant me that privilege?"