The sun hung high over Harrenhal, casting a warm glow on the vast tourney grounds where knights from all corners of the realm gathered to prove their valor. The sounds of cheering spectators and the clash of lances filled the air, but amidst it all, Roselyn Baratheon stood, her sharp blue eyes scanning the crowd with impatience. Her thick black hair, wild and untamed as her spirit, was swept back. She had fought in the joust already, but it was Lyonel Stark, her betrothed, who consumed her thoughts.

"Where is he, Ned?" Roselyn’s voice rang out sharply as she sought her old friend, Eddard Stark, who had been standing near the pavilions, watching the matches.

Ned turned to meet her eyes, his brow furrowing in concern as she approached, her tall, imposing figure cutting through the crowd like a storm.

"Who, my lady?" Ned asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Lyonel, of course.” Roselyn snapped, her tone betraying her frustration. "Where is he?”

Ned sighed, his shoulders lowering in a tired motion. "You’ll probably find him in his tent."

Roselyn’s face brightened immediately, her usual fiery resolve returning. “Good. I'll go to him.”

Without another word, she turned and marched off, her heavy boots making a determined sound as they thudded against the earth. The rest of the tourney could wait; Lyonel Stark was the only one on her mind.