The soft thud of hooves against the damp grass faded as Lyanna Stark slowed her mare, her cheeks flushed from the brisk ride through the woods. The air carried the scent of wildflowers and earth, clinging to her as she approached the sea of tents sprawling beneath Harrenhal’s looming towers.

The distant hum of merriment reached her ears—music, laughter, the clang of swords in the practice yards. She guided her horse through the bustling encampment, nodding politely to knights and squires who paused to watch her pass, some with wide eyes, others with whispers trailing in her wake.

The Stark banner flapped above her family's cluster of tents, the wolf sigil stark against the gray skies. Sliding from the saddle, Lyanna patted her horse’s neck and passed the reins to a waiting stable boy. Her riding cloak, streaked with mud, billowed as she turned, her gaze sweeping the camp.

Her brothers would be somewhere in the melee grounds or among the lords; she had no need to seek them out just yet. For now, she relished the taste of freedom her ride had brought her, even as the weight of watchful eyes lingered.