Chapter Three
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"Will there be dancing? I would so love a dance with the Prince." Melara shook her head with a smile gracing her lips at Sansa's dreamy voice. She had gotten along well enough with Sansa over the years, but much preferred the company of the boy-ish Arya. I can't be around a boy, but a girl acting as one is often my company. The Gods are peculiar. Melara stood behind Sansa, brushing the flame colored locks. There was something about taking care of Arya and Sansa's grooming that calmed Melara. She had always assumed it was because the tasks did not require thinking but repetitive motions.
"I think there will be more drinking than dancing, Sansa. If the rumors of my uncle are correct, that is." Melara had not seen any of the Royal Party since the formal greeting that morning, opting instead to stay in Sansa's rooms and help the girl prepare herself for the evening's feast. I will only sit through the first course than feign ill. Or have Arya cause a distraction to get me away from…everyone. Continuing to brush Sasan's hair out, Melara's smile grew wider thinking of all of the distractions that Arya could provide. "But I'm sure that once my cousin sees you, he will demand a dance from the fairest maiden in the hall."
Sansa turned with excitement in her eyes and spoke much too rapidly for a Lady of her age. "Oh, Melara, do you truly think so? What if he doesn't like me? What if he prefers his Lady to have a different color of hair? What if he finds me ugly?"
"Then he is the stupidest Prince that ever lived." Catylen made her entrance into Sansa's room just to hear her eldest daughter speak her insecurities. Eldest daughter by blood. Melara will soon be my eldest daughter by marriage. Catelyn had been assuming Ned spoke with the King about Melara becoming betrothed to Robb. In reality, she hadn't had time alone with Ned since the Party had arrived to know how the conversation with the King went. "Melara, why aren't you dressed for the feast? It begins soon."
Melara looked at the blue dress she had put on just that morning then back to Catelyn. There were no stains or rips she could see, and the Southern style dress was more than proper enough for a feast. "Unless this is not suitable, I am dressed for the feast, Lady Catelyn."
Always the proper Lady. She will make a wonderful wife for Robb. Lady Stark walked to the girls, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. "Tonight will be a special night for both of you girls. There will be many suitors looking to dance with young maidens such as yourself. You represent the high-born girls of Winterfell. I want you both to look more beautiful than any other women in the Hall."
"More beautiful than even the Queen?" Sansa said it as if speaking those words were a treasonous act. Catelyn reassured her young daughter with a squeeze on her shoulder and a motherly smile.
"Especially the Queen."
Melara set down the brush she had been holding and stepped back to free herself from Catelyn's grip. I am no maiden. I will have no suitors try to dance with me this night. Not that I mind the men staying away, but what would be the point of preparing only to be disappointed? Melara did not want to disappoint Catelyn with her sad thoughts, so instead she put a false smile on her face before she spoke.
"Well, how am I to catch a young suitor's eye in this color? It matches the shade of Sansa's beautiful gown and they will be too busy looking at her to notice me. Please excuse me while I find another." Melara made her exit of the room, noticing that Lady Stark took up her vacated post behind Sansa. She will make it so every girl envies Sansa on this night. Would my mother have done the same for me if I would've been allowed to stay with my family?
Once Melara had returned to her own rooms, she began looking at every dress she owned to find the right one. If I don't put the effort in, Lady Stark will know. She found a light purple dress that she had not worn since Robb's last name-day. She noticed that stain on the right shoulder from the Dornish Red that Theon had spilt in his drunken haze. Running her hands over the stain, she thought more of Theon. He will corner me tonight. He will drink too much wine and spill on me once again. He may even try to kiss me. She did not want to be kissed by Theon, or any man for that matter. She just wanted to take Arya and Nymeria and leave the world where she was no better than a bastard child. She wanted to find a place where she could just live in peace and not have to face her fears each day. A sigh and a shake of her head and Melara resumed her task of looking for a dress. Choosing a soft pink Northern style dress, Melara made quick work of physically readying herself for the feast. She did not even try to ready herself mentally.
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Melara stayed in the shadows and allowed the Hall to fill before she made her way to stand before the closed doors. She heard Jon practicing with his sword in the distance and wished she could go to him. She pictured his half smile and kind eyes when he would notice her standing there in the moonlight. She pictured his body as he gracefully swung his swords left and right, his body thrusting up and down. Melara put a hand on the door to steady herself. That strange feeling I had before when thinking of Jon. It's back. This time, Melara also felt something new. It felt as though a weight had settled in her stomach. Did I swallow a rock? Melara placed her other hand on her stomach to try and settle the feelings. But the feelings only intensified at her touch.
"Are you alright, Melara?" Theon's slightly drunken voice put a halt to the strange feelings, like a bucket of water thrown onto a candle. She stood but did not turn to face him. This was the first time she had been near him since earlier in the day when he held her hand. Heaving a sigh, Theon put his hand on her arm and turned her. She was stiff under his hand, the opposite of earlier when she had molded at his touch. Why won't she just yield to me? Tonight may be the last chance I see her alone before she leaves for King's Landing.
"Yes, I'm fine, Theon." She tried to shrug his off hand, wanting to get away from the intoxicated young man, but his grip stayed like iron. "Please let go of me. I need to enter the feast. They are waiting for me." Instead of letting her arm go, Theon grabbed her other arm and pushed her the few inches backwards until she was stopped by the door. The noises from the Hall were loud. She could hear drunken laughter, singing and the clinking of silverware. "Theon. Let me go." The panic that coated her voice did nothing to discourage the Iron Islander. It almost seemed to have the opposite result an encourage him.
Melara was not handling this very well. She looked into his eyes, but unlike a few weeks ago she could not get lost in them. She could only see another man's eyes staring back at her, eyes that she saw in her nightmares. This was a pair of eyes so full of lust and hatred that they couldn't belong to a human. She tried to remind herself that the man in front of her was Theon Greyjoy, and not the demon who haunted her dreams. Breath, it's not the man who raped you. It's Theon. It's Theon,. It's Theon. Her panic came on fast, but when she opened her mouth to scream Theon's lips came down onto hers. Melara began to struggle the best she could being pinned. She went to bite his lips, but when she tried, his lips were gone. What must have been a few seconds, felt like hours. She stood against the door with her eyes pinned shut, and her breathing heavy. He let go. He's not holding me. Breath. In. Out. In. Out. She opened her eyes and didn't know whether to laugh, cry or scream at the sight before her.
Jaime Lannister stood, tall and proud like the lion he is, with a knife to Theon's throat. His much bigger form overwhelmed the boys, making Theon's struggles useless. Let him feel what she felt, Jaime thought to himself, suddenly enjoying the attention his damsel in distress was giving him. Such a lovely color for eyes.
"Let me down, Lannister." Theon didn't even have the brain to sound fearful or be respectful to the man that held a knife to him. Jaime was not impressed by the boy's bravery, too disgusted by the scene he had walked upon. She was definitely struggling against him. Jaime looked to the girl to see if she would say something. She just starred between him and the knife he held with wide, frightened eyes, not daring to make a sound.
"You owe the Lady an apology, boy. Do you agree, Lady Melara?" When Jaime said her name, it snapped her out of her daze. Everything that just happened seemed to slap her in the face. Jaime noticed the tears leaking from her eyes, and the shaking of her hands. He did not notice his grip on the knife become tighter. As if she has not suffered enough for ten lifetimes, this…boy…has to cause her more suffering because he can't get a whore to suck his cock.
"If you think it, Ser Jaime." Her timid voice and frightened appearance reminded Jaime of a doe the moment she realizes her death stood in front of her. She is the only Baratheon to hold no fury. Jaime snorted at his mocking thoughts. I will have to mention it to Robert. Jaime may not be able to strike the King down with a sword as he wanted to, but he found any and every way to mock him.
Before Jaime could make Theon apologize, the door was pushed open by a four drunken men. They paid no mind to the tension in the air as they stumbled past the trio. Melara had tried to sneak away into the Hall, but Jaime was not going to let her slip away from him a second time.
"I do think it, My Lady. Boy. Apologize." Jaime twisted one of Theon's arms to make a point, causing him to make a small cry of pain. The Kingslayer expected a protest from the gentle Lady at the rough treatment of her childhood companion, and looked to her when he heard none. She just stood, watching in fascination as Jaime restrained her friend. He saved me. I may not have been in much danger, but he still saved me.
"Alright! Sorry, Melara." The Lady opened her mouth to accept Theon's rushed apology when Jaime spoke.
"That is no way to apologize to a fine Lady such as her." A slight nod towards Melara indicated who Jaime meant. "Have you never apologized before? Or do they not teach proper manners on the rocks you call home?" The Lady looked to the boy she had lived with for the past nine years and saw the anger and embarrassment plain on his face. "Now. Let me help you, boy. Just repeat what I say. Can you manage that? Good." Jaime gave the boy no time to reply. Melara just stood in silence, not sure what she even should do. He could slice Theon's throat, then mine before I could even scream. Melara was surprised to find she felt no fear at the realization, but something closer to the safety she felt when around Jon Snow or Ned Stark.
"Simply say, 'My Lady, please accept my humble apology for my behavior. I should be flogged through the very streets for my near crime'." Jaime spoke the words almost too sincere to be believable, while Theon put forth no effort as he repeated the words. "Good boy. Now say,". Jaime whispered in Theon's ear so that Melara could not hear what was said until Theon spoke them aloud.
"Lady Melara, I am not worthy to stand in your presence. I will bother you no more this evening." Theon hesitated, but when Jaime didn't remove his arms, or the knife, Theon spoke the last words required. "You look more beautiful than the Queen herself tonight. There, Kingslayer. I've said my apology." Once Jaime released him, Theon made a hasty entrance into the Hall, not making eye contact with the stunned Lady at the door as he passed. Jaime came closer to Melara, putting away his knife as he walked, with smug satisfaction clear on his face. Melara watched him strut up to her as if he was the King, not the Kingslayer. His pompous attitude made her briefly forget her fear, having it be replaced with something along the lines of anger.
Does he expect a token for a reward? He really had no right to threaten Theon's life. He is just a little drunk, he would never have raped me. Melara was not used to feeling anger. She had grown up too fearful of someone striking her if she became angered with them. Something about the way Jaime was acting made her forget the years of being passive. She spoke to him, mistaking the sight anger she felt as confidence. "Thank you, Ser, but that apology was unnecessary. Theon just had a little too much wine, he would never truly hurt me."
"And the man that raped you? Did he just have a little too much wine?" With no venom to his tone, Jaime had expected a courtly response to his question. His voice was not accusing, but merely conversational. Her reaction was unexpected, but Jaime did not regret asking.
Melara had never had anyone bring up her trauma. Not one person in the nine years since had dared mention it, unless Melara addressed it first. Even then, the only people she spoke of it with were Maester Luwin and Lady Stark. The spark of anger she had felt drained from her.
"I—I do not know, Ser." Saying nothing more, she did the one thing that Jaime did not want to happen. She slipped through his fingers for the second time that day.
Well, I do enjoy a challenge. Jaime followed her retreating form into the Dining Hall. And this little fawn seems to be that challenge.