Emmelyne was quiet as she dressed for the feast. Her mother had requested, well, pleaded with her to wear something that wasn't red. Emmelyne didn't want to fight, and she'd finally agreed. But that wouldn't stop her from wearing a pink dress, the closest she could get to red. She sighed a little looking at the ruby necklace in her hands. She knew her mother wouldn't like it if she wore the necklace for the feast. But, her mother didn't like much about her anyway. Emmelyne hesitated, then laid the necklace on her bedside table. She made sure her hair was neat, then looked at the door. "Time to go," she murmured to herself.
It didn't take her long to get to the great hall. Already it was filled with people, laughing and talking. She tried not to make a sound as she took a flagon of wine from a passing servant. The boy looked at her, but her stern glare seemed to catch him off guard. He attempted a smile, rushing off in the other direction. Emmelyne almost laughed. She had grown used to the servants fearing her. They'd been fearing her since she turned twelve and began to practice her religion more freely than Catelyn would ever allow. She leaned against a column, taking a long drink of wine. "Fuck me," she murmured.
She hadn't cursed like that in a long time, but now it felt the right time. The crowds made her nervous. Too many people could cause problems. As she said this, she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe later," a voice said.
She turned on her heel, eyes widening as she came face-to-face with Theon Greyjoy. His breath smelled of wine, and he was clearly drunk. "What do you want, Greyjoy?" she stated, pulling free of his grip.
"A night with you, Emmelyne. I think that's obvious. I want to see what you have under that pretty dress of yours," he chuckled, teetering unsteadily on his feet.
Emmelyne halfway smiled as she looked Theon over. His brown hair was a tousled mess, and his blue-green eyes were rimmed red from lack of sleep. "Tell me, Theon, do women or wine ease your troubles more?" she questioned.
His eyebrows knitted together with confusion. "What do you mean?" he demanded.
She chuckled, a low sound that made Theon shift uncomfortably. "You are the only living son and heir of Balon Greyjoy, yet you can do nothing about it. You were taken as a ward to my father when you were only eight. So, Theon. You spend your nights drowning your sorrows with whores and wine. Which one helps more?" she pressed.
He didn't know how to answer, so she decided to ask another question. "How long have been in love with that whore, Ros? I think that's her name, at least."
"How do you know that?" Theon questioned.
"The Lord of Light knows all. I am simply his messenger."
"You're a witch, that's what you are. There's a reason they call you a demon."
Theon turned quickly, nearly tripping over himself as he hurried back to his seat. Emmelyne looked around the great hall. People danced and laughed, and King Robert held a woman from the kitchens in his arms, dancing around with her. Emmelyne took another long drink from the flagon before she joined the crowd. She smoothed the skirt of her dress, plastering a smile on her face as she started to navigate her way toward a table. All around her people froze, watching her wearily. She managed to find a table with few people sat there. A group of kitchen servants were sat at the end, and they all stared nervously as she took a seat, drinking again from the flagon. "Emmelyne," one greeted hesitantly.
Emmelyne nodded her head in return. She watched the king kiss the kitchen woman. As he turned away, his gaze locked on her. She felt a flood of emotions, a deep sadness she had never experienced before.
There was a man, white haired and beautiful. He was dressed in armor, decorated with rubies in the shape of the Targaryen house sigil, a three headed dragon. Another man stood across from him, almost the polar opposite of the white haired. This man had dark hair and dark eyes, and somehow Emmelyne knew that this was Robert. With every swing of the white haired man's sword, Robert grew more and more angry. In his hands he held a warhammer, already covered in blood. The white haired man didn't speak as he backed into a river, eyeing Robert wearily. "You took her from me, you Targaryen bastard," Robert hissed.
He lunged, swinging the warhammer in a dangerous arc. It collided with the white haired man's chest, sending his sprawling into the river. The rubies freed themselves from his armor, scattering about the water. Robert stepped back, examing his handiwork. "Rhaegar Targaryen... is dead," he muttered.

Emmelyne blinked wildly, letting out a soft gasp. "What in the hells was that?" she murmured.
She was used to visions in her sleep, but she'd never had one while awake. Robert had begun to make his way toward Emmelyne. Panic began to overwhelm her as a surge of something... a mixture of anger and sadness washed over her. It felt like she were a different person, someone who had known Robert long before this day. He smiled a bit as he sat beside her at the table, his breath smelling of ale and his face even redder than before. "You look better in pink," he said.
Emmelyne chewed her lip. "Pardon me?"
"You look better in pink than you do in red. You're a red priestess, your father told me that. But I like pink better on you."
"Oh. Well, thank you, King Robert."
He smiled. "Lyanna never wore pink, at least when I saw her. Always blue or green. Your father told me she didn't like dresses, always wore leathers. You look just like her."
"Yes, Father tells me often."
"Do you know what happened to her?"
"It is well known what happened."
Robert scoffed. "She was stolen from me. Taken by that... Targaryen shit. She was beautiful. I'm the one who killed him, did you know that?"
Emmelyne nodded. "Yes."
"You're like her, not just the way you look. She was strong."
"I am not my aunt, King Robert."
"I know. But you're as close as I can get to having her back."
Emmelyne regretted her words the moment they left her lips. "She was never yours to begin with."
Anger flashed on King Robert's face. "You don't know what you're talking about, girl," he hissed.
"The Lord of Light knows all. I am his messenger, therefore I know things," Emmelyne responded, trying to keep her voice steady.
Robert stood up from his seat, his fingers clenched in tight fists. Emmelyne managed to keep herself sitting stiffly, staring at him with her gray eyes. She halfway smiled. "Are you going to hurt me, Robert?" she questioned, surprising him greatly with her boldness as to not use his title.
He didn't speak as he turned and walked away from the table, muttering curses under his breath. Emmelyne turned back to her wine, taking another drink. As she did so, footsteps sounded behind her. Thinking that King Robert had come back to punish her, Emmelyne went stiff in her seat, contemplating sticking her foot out to trip the oaf of a man. But she was pleasantly surprised when the small form of Tyrion Lannister moved to her side. He looked her over with a careful expression, then smiled. "I do hope that Robert wasn't bothering you," he said.
She chuckled. "It was I that bothered him, I think."
He nodded, sitting down on the bench. His eyes lingered on the flagon of wine. "May I?" he questioned.
"Do as you please, Imp," Emmelyne said simply, pushing the flagon in his direction.
She held no malice calling him that name, it was simply how most of the people Westeros referred to him. They might not have said it kindly, but somehow Tyrion knew that she had meant well. He took a drink from the flagon, looking her over one more time. "You're Emmelyne Stark," he said.
"Yes," she nodded.
"We should play a game, Demon."
It was a jest now, and Emmelyne smiled. "What kind of game?"
"A drinking game. I think you'll enjoy it."
"How do you play this game, Imp?"
"It's simple. I try to guess something about you, and if I'm right you drink. If I'm wrong, I drink. The same goes for you."
She rolled her gray eyes. "What is the point of this game?"
"I simply wish to get to know you, Demon."
"I'll play your game, Imp. You go first, then."
He thought for a moment. "You're a Red Priestess."
She laughed, taking a drink from the flagon. "That was an easy one. My turn now. Your family doesn't care for you very much."
He drank. "Lannisters are a proud family, and I am not something to be proud of. My turn. People fear you."
Another drink. "Many fear R'hllor. You were once married to a girl named Tysha."
Tyrion started to pick up the flagon, then froze. He tightened his grip, knuckles turning white. "How did you know that?"
Emmelyne halfway smiled. "R'hllor knows all, Imp. I can tell you things you would never want to remember. If you wished, I could tell you the entire story right now."
He took a slow drink from the flagon, nodding. "Tell me the story, then."
"When you were sixteen years old you and your brother Jaime encountered a girl who had almost been raped and was running away from her attackers. While Jaime chased the men off, you comforted the girl, who you learned was named Tysha. You two became lovers and were married by a drunken septon. Until your father found out. Jaime admitted that the girl had been a whore he'd hired to try and give you more confidence, and he hadn't expected you to marry her. Your father was enraged that you had married a commoner, and he had each of his men pay her a silver coin before they fucked her. You'd never tell anyone, but you participated as well, but you paid a golden coin. Lannisters are worth more. Now, Imp, do you see what things R'hllor can tell me?"
Tyrion nodded gravely, finishing off the flagon of wine. "You're an interesting girl, Emmelyne Stark. I hope I'll be seeing more of you."
He rose from the table, carrying the flagon with him as he walked off