Ashara hide her gasp behind a well-placed palm. She could not believe the state of the room. Princess Shaena, far from paying any mind to her ladies, was busy murmuring to herself. What the girl said, no one knew. All that the Westerosi noble ladies could make out was that the young Princess was as mad as her father.
And the Dornishwoman could not help but agree. She'd been warned not to act the Princess' companion by more than one person. It served her right for not listening, Ashara supposed. With a small shake of her head, she picked up the Myrish eye off of the ground and wrapped the broken body in a length of cloth. Mayhap Arthur could fix it.
Cersei Lannister waved her over from the small table where she sat with Jeyne Tyrell and Jeyne Whent, the daughter of their host. The second Jeyne looked rather appalled and out of sorts at the same time. The first Jeyne had clasped her shoulder and was whispering something to her. The Lannister maiden shot her another look, this time laced with exasperation. Putting the Myrish eye out of her mind for the time being, Ashara walked to the table and sat down.
"What has happened?" she asked curiously of the Tyrell lady-in-waiting.
"I cannot say. We were perfectly well until Her Grace lost her temper," Jeyne replied. "I know not what possessed her to break the Myrish eye. And it was such a pretty piece as well."
"Never you mind that, I shall take care of it," Ashara promised. "Lady Jeyne," she addressed Jeyne Whent, "mayhap we should take a turn about the gardens. It is such a lovely day."
"But Her Grace," Jeyne, of House Whent, protested.
"I can keep an eye on her," Cersei offered, the corners of her mouth dropping. "I shall make certain she does not land us all in trouble."
The matter was that one needed to keep the Princess well occupied in order to keep her calm. Ashara, frankly, did not understand the sole daughter of the Crown. She had everything she could possibly wish for, she needn't worry about shelter or nourishment, she even had a brilliant match with the man who was to become king. If she was displeased and unhappy what should the rest of the Westerosi ladies do?
"If you are certain," Jeyne Tyrell allowed, although the way in which she leaned forth, as if in a hurry to leave, suggested that she more than wished it to be the case. "You needn't stay. She can keep her own company."
"Nay, nay. I shall stay." Cersei sat down taking a lemon cake. "Look at all these cakes. Someone has to take care of them." She bit into her treat. "Besides, I haven't seen a single flower in bloom. What use would going to the gardens be?"
As ladies-in-waiting went, Cersei was one of the better ones. She rarely allowed anything or anyone to make her uncomfortable and if need be she was more than pleased to argue her way out of most troubles. It was mayhap why, despite their many differences, the Lannister maiden was the closest to the Princess.
Jeyne Whent took her leave of the Princess along with Ashara and the other Jeyne. Shaena did not feel the need to acknowledge their departure, thus the three of them left the chamber in favour of the hallway.
Without, Ser Barristan Selmy kept watch. Ashara nodded her head towards the man, offering a small smile. She wondered if her own brother was yet keeping guard for the King or if he'd gone to rest. She hadn't been able to learn when he was to see to his duty and thus found it impossible to tell where he was. It made no matter, of course, as the Myrish eye had been left within the other chamber.
The three women found their way to the main path which led to the gardens. Lady Jeyne Whent led them about, pointing g out gates and towers, adding a bit of her own knowledge to the tales and generally regaining her earlier vivacity.
"Isn't that Ser Jaime Lannister?" the other Jeyne pointed towards another trio ahead of them.
It was indeed Jaime Lannister. Cersei's twin, who might have at some point looked to be her mirror, but now he stood a young man. Around his shoulder another man has slung an arm. Ashara could see blood painting the second man's face. The third was a young lady by her grab. She was rather short and dark-haired, clearly caught up in berating the blonde knight. Neither one of the three saw them.
But they made such an interesting sight that half the court yard was staring their way and whispering.
"Who do you suppose he is carrying?" the first Jeyne asked.
"Mayhap it the lady's brother," Ashara offered. One could not know for certain, but what else was there to think?
The peculiar sight came at an end as Ser Jaime and his companions headed towards the sea of tents that Ashara knew to be without. Left to their path, the three ladies finally entered the gate which led towards the gardens. Cersei had had the right of it. The flowers were not yet in bloom.
Such a pity, Ashara considered. She would have enjoyed to see a spot of colour besides the crude green. It was not to be, however.
"Is your brother competing in this tourney, Lady Ashara?" the hosts' daughter questioned gently, breaking Ashara away from her musing.
"Of course. I daresay there is very little my brother likes than unhorsing foes," she laughed in turn.
"I am quite curious to see if the Prince shall win against him," Jeyne Tyrell put forth. "I have heard that he wamnts to crown Princess Elia as the queen of love and beauty," she let slip before she could think any better of it. Ashara shot her a warning glance. "Apologies, Lady Jeyne, I did not mean–"
"'Tis well," Jeyne Whent assured the other. "The Prince may crown whomever she wishes if he is to win."
Meanwhile within the chamber of the Princess, Shaena was pacing the length of the floor with steady steps. "I do not know what to do, Cersei. I cannot wed him."
With a roll of her eyes the golden haired lioness pushed herself to her feet. "He is handsome, a skilled warrior and plays divinely. What more could you possibly want in a husband?"
There was the issue of him being her brother. Shaena grimaced. "You don't know him like I do." In fact, very few could see beyond her brother's façade. Maiden seemed more than pleased to keep their eyes closed to it, however. "But I shan't wed him. Even on pain of death. He is my brother."
Cersei pickled up another lemon cake, looked at it for a few moments then placed it back upon the tray. "Then find someone else to wed. Is it truly that complicated?"
"And who would you suggest?" Shaena snapped.
They could not possibly understand. She wanted no part in her brother's plans. If anything Shaena wanted to sail far, far away and never hear the name of Targaryen again. She did not wish to contribute anything at all to that prince of the prophecy and she was certainly not about to aid her brother in his scheme.
What he planned was madness. The King was their father. If Rhaegar wishes to dethrone the man and stain his hands with their sire's blood he would do well to use his own helpers and not try to rope her along.
That just begged the question of why she had never gone to father about the matter though. It was quite simple. Shaena did not love the man. She never had since she'd begun to understand how matters stood between the King and Queen. But that did not mean she wished to be painted with the brush of kinslayer. Someone braver might not have cared, but gods-fearing creature that she was, Shaena preferred to avoid conflict.
It was thus left to her to fin and escape. The only which one she could think of was marriage elsewhere, anywhere but with Rhaegar.
Still, she hadn't a certain lord or ser in mind. There were very few options for her. She could pursue at most a marriage with one of the houses the ruling class has allied themselves with before. "Well, Cersei, who should I take to husband?"
"There are no Arryns here, nor any Daynes that you might wed, Your Grace. I would suggest mine own brother, but I suspect the King would rather mount both our heads upon a wall than see such a union through." Her companion paused. "There are Starks." At that Shaena wrinkled her nose. "And Baratheons as well. I do believe Robert Baratheon shall participate in the melee."
"Baratheon," the Princess repeated slowly, allowing the name to roll off her tongue. A Baratheon would do. And they were kin of a sort by her father's aunt. It should work out well if she could time it.
"Although, Your Grace, I have heard that the oldest one hasn't eyes for any other maiden but the Stark girl." Her trusted adviser, Shaena thought.
"That is of no consequence." She waved her hand through the air as if to brush away her companion's worry. Cersei sat back down. "Show him to me at the feast."
"If Your Grace insists," Cersei agreed.
Truth be told, she had very little desire to aid Shaena in her schemes. But it might aid her. The Prince, she knew, had been entirely captured by that odious creature from the Dornish deserts. The lioness could not possibly understand what it was that the heir to the throne saw in Elia Martell.
Certainly the maiden was tall and, to some, pretty, with gentle dark eyes and a soft voice. But she never had anything to say to anyone but her brother. And that one was a fiend is princely clothes. Oberyn Martell was not a viper; he was something much, much worse.
It might well be that Cersei still carried some resentment from years past. The Martells had, after all, been guests in her home of Casterly Rock and she still remembered quite well their behaviour. There was little doubt in her mind that brother and sister had made it a point to be as insulting as they could be, given the circumstances.
Brushing away the unpleasant memory, Cersei focused her attention upon the Princess. "But if you do not wed Rhaegar, Your Grace, then who shall?" She hoped, for a moment that Shaena might look at her as if she were asking silly questions and assure her that, of course, it would be Cersei that did. After all, hadn't the cursed witch promised that she would be Queen?
But the Princess merely gave a snort. "That Dornishwoman can have him for all I care."
Rhaegar gave his brother a sideways glance. He could not figure out what it was or rather whim it was that Daeron watched with such rapture. The last thing anyone needed was his brother landing himself in trouble with some lady or another.
"You could just ask me instead of glaring at me like that," his brother finally said. "It is not that difficult of a feat."
"I would very much prefer not to have to ask you," the older Prince replied sharply. He glanced at Shaena who was lost in conversation with one of her ladies-in-waiting. "Daeron, are you waiting for a special invitation?"
"Not at all," came the answer. "If you must know, I am looking at the delightful maiden who is dancing with Ser Jaime Lannister. I was wondering if status alone might be enough of an excuse to steal her away."
Searching through the couples, Rhaegar strained his eye to catch the one his brother spoke of. Well, to be entirely truthful he looked for Jaime Lannister. The boy was quite tall and one had a better chance of finding him. And indeed he did find both of them, Jaime and his maiden.
Rising an eyebrow at his brother's peculiar description, Rhaegar studied the young woman for a few moments. Delightful she was not. There was something quite attractive about her smile and the way it shone a cordial light upon her features, but beyond that, the oldest Prince saw nothing commendable. Small and slender, slightly out of balance and with an air of disarray about her, the maiden did not present much of interest to him.
"I think your eyesight is getting poorer," he offered at a long last.
"Oh ho!" Daeron exclaimed unabashedly even as a few pairs of eyes turned towards them. "You have not met her, Rhaegar. I swear she is the most amusing creature. You should have heard her out in the courtyard sending me on my way."
That caught his attention. "What have you done, Daeron?" His brother and that dratted curiosity about the other sex. Rhaegar could not understand for the life of his why Daeron needed to keep in almost constant company with females.
"Nothing," his brother assured him. "She wanted to know how one might reach the stables. I offered to led her there and smart wench that she is, her refusal was immediate."
The matter was that Daeron, while he did enjoy spending time with those females that fell for his charm, found infinitely more to commend about the ones that refused him. Rhaegar sighed. It occurred to him that the girl, whoever she was, knew not her way about court very well.
Without meaning to, his eyes slipped to her once more. She had moved slightly closer to Ser Jaime and he was whispering something to her. She nodded and a small smile decorated her lips. In that moment, with the candlelight casting a warm glow upon her face, she could truly be considered beautiful.
Once the thought had sunken in, Rhaegar experienced a moment of slight panic. What was he thinking? Pretty, beautiful. He forged himself to look away from the couple and towards Princess Elia. The Dornishwoman was speaking to her brother, head bent close to his.
If there was a woman who was truly beautiful, then she was not that woman. There were fairer maidens, Cersei Lannister for one. Lord Lannister's daughter, a maiden of five-and-ten, would have been the perfect candidate were Rhaegar entirely free in his choice. But Tywin Lannister would come along with such a maiden and having one power-hungry madman to contend with was more than enough for Rhaegar. There was Ashara Dayne as well. But House Dayne was not very much involved in the running of the kingdoms and they were not likely to offer aid.
So Rhaegar had settled upon the most convenient choice. Elia Martell. Dorne was willing to part with a large sum of money for her dowry. That could pay for an army. Doran Martell might even take his seat upon the Small Council if all went well. Even more, Elia herself was not some silly girl with songs in her head. She would not need him to constantly hold her hand.
Given the circumstances, she was the very best that could be had.
"That look upon your face rather puts me in the mind of a hunt gone wrong. Must you grimace so?" Daeron chided him lightly by way of distraction. "I know how you love to dole out pity for this world we live in, but I thought your lady love might work to cheer you some."
"Daeron, I pray you, be silent." Looking away from Elia, Rhaegar took up his cup and down its contents. "I vow that if it were not to cause a stir, I would discipline you myself."
Much of the evening passed in the same veins, with Daeron trying to goad him and Rhaegar being as responsible as h ought to be at such an affair. Until, at long last, he was beseeched by the host to play his harp. It was a request that he could not refuse.
The low, mournful melody filled the cavernous hall, flittering about guest, tugging at hearts. But there was one heart in particular that the Prince wished to impress. He watched Elia from time to time, to gauge her reaction. She had dropped her conversation in favour of listening, but it seemed to him as he gazed at her that her mind was a thousand miles away. Still, he persevered. He carried through with the tune, putting all mastery to the art he'd learned into it.
And still, there was nothing, nothing in her eyes to suggest she had understood what he conveyed.
Cheers and admiring expressions met his performance. Rhaegar broke his gaze away from Elia to look over the gathering of lords, ladies and knights.
At one of the tables, the lady his brother had pointed out to him gingerly wiped at the wet tracks sliding down her cheeks. A younger boy, by the looks of him a brother, grinned widely and said something to which the maiden gasped and threw her wine cup at him.
Inwardly wincing, the Prince rose from his seat.
"I told you she was the most amusing creature," Daeron said when Rhaegar rejoined him at the high table.
"You lack taste as well as sight, I see." His response did nothing to diminish Daeron's reaction though. Nor his apparent enthusiasm for what had to be one of the most idiotic ideas Rhaegar had ever heard.
"Ask her to dance," the younger Prince suggested. "She is bound to make a better impression upon closer inspection."
"I shall do no such thing," Rhaegar swiftly refused. "If you intend to pester me all night long, I shall leave you on the morrow to serve as Shaena's page."
"Shaena has no need of a page. She has her ladies-in-waiting." Daeron raised his cup. "To your ever sour mood, Your Grace."