Dara clutched tight to Lya's wrist with one hand and Brandon's with the other, willing both to remain where they were, to behave appropriately.

But what was appropriate, when a prince of the realm had crowned a woman not his wife, not the mother of his child, as his Queen of Love and Beauty? Princess Elia sat by Queen Rhaella's side, eyes wide but otherwise wholly composed, but Dara could not even begin to imagine how the Princess was feeling.

Her brother, Prince Oberyn of Dorne, was not so composed. His fury was plain to see, and Dara could not truly blame him - she was only relieved that he, like Brandon, like Robert, was directing his ire in the Prince's direction rather than in Lya's.

Brandon was all but vibrating with barely contained rage, but he held himself back, reaching across his body to cover her hand with his own - she was unsurprised to note that Ben, seated on Lya's other side, had taken their sister's other hand, and was relieved that Lya was as perturbed by the Prince's actions as she was herself.

Oh. Wait.

Lya had a tick, when she was lying - her left eyebrow rose of its own accord, tilting just slightly upwards, something Dara knew and doubted anyone else did, because Dara knew Lya and Ben better even than they knew themselves.

Lya's eyebrow was raised. Dara felt sick and wished she had not noticed it, because she could not possibly wish to know her sister less.

Dara was exhausted by reining in Brandon's temper and trying to puzzle out Lya's curious behaviour by the time the feast that night arrived, and the suspicious glares every man, woman and child seemed to throw their way did not help.

Nor did Elbert's presence at her side.

"Looking for your paramour, my lady?" he sneered after a cup too many of ale. Dara had spent the meal looking about the massive hall, upset by her siblings' quietude and not in the mood for Robert's boistrousness, his eagerness to monopolise Lya's attention when it was turned entirely inwards.

"I do not know what you mean, my lord," she said cooly, leaning away from the stink of his breath, "but I do know that you have had more than enough to drink."

It hurt Dara more than she would have ever admitted that Elbert could be so cruel to her when he was perfectly charming to every other person he met - he was more outgoing than Jon, his uncle, and they reminded her oddly of Father and Bran.

With a jolt, she wondered if she was Catelyn Tully in this ensemble, and if so, was there a Barbrey Ryswell tucked away somewhere in the Vale?

"I saw you dance with him," he snarled under his breath, following after her, his hand coming to rest heavily on the edge of her seat. "Again and again, all night long. Did you give him what you have refused me time and again, even though it is rightfully mine, Eddara?"

She recoiled further, leaning back against Bran's arm, drawing his attention.

"Did you spread your legs for Asric Dayne, Eddara?" Elbert hissed, pressing so close Dara could feel the heat of him. "Did you act the whore you looked while dancing with him, my lady?"

"How dare you!" she snapped, glad of the sudden warmth of Bran's hand on hers, of him turning to settle firmly against her back. "I am not the one who constantly dishonours our betrothal, Elbert! I am not the one who shames the other by blatantly taking lovers whenever the fancy takes me! Iam not the one rumoured to have fathered a child with a woman not mine to have!"

"Were you any but my lord uncle's ward," Elbert said, voice sharp and cold as the winds that wailed through the Eyrie, "I would strike you for speaking so to me, Eddara. I am to be your lord husband-"

"And she your lady wife," Bran said, and Elbert paled to realise that her brother had heard his every word. "If ever such a threat to my sister's person passes your lips again, Lord Elbert, I will have your life in recompense. That is a promise."

The following morning, as they were preparing to depart - in haste, for Bran had the good sense to realise that it would be unwise to tarry when the King would likely not hold them in any great esteem after the Prince's display the day before - Brandon and Elbert seemed fast friends again, but Dara saw a new wariness in the manner her brother regarded her betrothed, a wariness he had once reserved solely for Robert. It pleased her, on a petty sort of level, to have Bran worry for her like that.

She and Bran had long since given up worrying for one another - they had relied on one another for far too long for that - but still, it was nice to know that he did think of her as his little sister still, not just his friend and companion and partner in duty.

"I will miss you, Ned," Lya sighed, folding herself into Dara's arms and tucking her head neatly under her chin - it pleased Dara so much that they still fit together like this, and pleased her even more that Lya had never grown out of calling her Ned, as she had from she was barely more than a babe. "Winterfell is so lonely without you."

"You have Ben, little one," Bran reminded her with a grin, shoving her away gently and sweeping Dara into his arms - oh, she would miss Bran most of all, her wild, wilful Bran, and she clutched tight to him and wished she might simply ride home to Winterfell with them.

"Ben isn't Ned," Lya pouted, giggling when Ben pushed her aside to hug Dara goodbye - which near brought Dara to tears, because her little Benjy, he was two-and-twelve and near as tall as her, near grown! She had missed so much of them, of Lya and Ben, and it hurt her to know that she would miss still more, miss near everything more.

"Behave yourselves," she warned them as she stood between Robert and Elbert, as her brothers and sister mounted up to leave her behind. "I would not have Father write to me in despair, begging me to come home simply because he cannot control the pair of you."

"Then we shall behave terribly so you must come home, Ned," Lya laughed, reaching out to take Dara's hand one last time. "Do not be so long away again, Ned, I could not bear to be without you for such a long while again."

Nor I you, Dara did not say, but it was true, she did not know how she had managed such a long while away from home.

"Your sweet lady has departed, my friend," Oberyn said, spilled across a chair with a goblet dripping from his fingers. "And taken her unfortunately honoured sister with her, I hope."

"She is not my lady," Asric sighed, turning back to the window. He had not had a chance to dance with Eddara Stark again last night - none had dared approach the Starks at all, save for those bound to them by betrothals. "And she is for the Vale, not the North - she is Lord Arryn's foster-daughter, fool, as well you know."

"And betrothed to his heir," Oberyn said, rising fluidly and coming to stand at Asric's side, his arm sliding around his waist as a comfort. "A dangerous enemy to make, Asric - best you stay away from her."

"Aye," Asric agreed, shaking his head. "It would not do to follow the Prince's example, would it?"