→emilie de ravin
Duncan doesn’t come to her wedding. Though the sept is crowded with people standing shoulder-to-shoulder, to Rhaelle, there is a gaping hole among the crowd where her brother should be.
He should be standing beside me. She thinks, glancing at her husband-to-be. He’s strong and large and handsome, all black hair and blue eyes, a true Baratheon. He’d be a good husband, or so her father said, and she’d be a good lady wife.
A lady wife. Not a queen. Not Duncan’s queen. Her whole life, everyone told her that she was meant for Duncan- meant to marry him, meant to rule with him, meant to love him.
No one ever told her what she was meant to do if Duncan loved someone else.
The heavy red and black cloak around her shoulders falls to the ground, replaced by an even heavier yellow one. Her father kisses her cheek as she passes by him on the way out of the sept, as do her two brothers.
Her third brother is outside with the smallfolk, standing under the statue of King Baelor with the woman he loved more than a crown. She sees him as soon as she steps outside the sept, her eyes drawn to him, just as they always have been. He smiles at her and blows her a kiss, and she cries all the way back to the Red Keep.