asher

The mid-year sun was only just setting, its dying light painting the sky a deep shade of pink, and the last of its warmth mingled with the flames of countless candles until the very air he breathed seemed almost damp with sweat. Lyonel raised his cup, tipping it to his lip as ale flowed freely down his throat.

"Enjoying the festivities, my Lord?" The familiar voice of Lord Summerwood called from where he sat, further towards the end of the immense banqueting table, settled in comfortably in conversation with his lady wife.

"I have always known you to raise a good party, Lord Robin," He nodded, raising his drink. "Tonight has been no exception." If the Lord had replied to this, Lyonel took no notice, his gaze already scanning the hall, a passive overseer to the jubilations as he took a rare moment to catch his breath, heart still pumping hard in his chest from the night's exertions.

At the edge of the crowd, he noticed a small group of women huddled in conversation, and took another sip of ale as he watched on. The bride was not hard to spot, drowned in layers of sumptuous silver, pearls dripping from her thin, pale neck. The eldest was dressed all in blue and bronze, a chain of silver fishes embroidered along the hem of her overskirt and a little red-haired girl at her feet. Lyonel surveyed them without pause.

But at the third, his gaze stilled.

She nursed a glass of wine in one hand, the other propped against her hip as she spoke, brow furrowed and stubborn. Dark hair tumbled loosely down her back, and she wore a dress of purple silk, simple yet striking, tailored at the waist in a manner that certainly held its own appeal. Whatever she was saying, it clearly held little appeal for the eldest sister, whose frown seemed fixed in a decidedly sour expression, and it wasn't long before she abandoned the conversation altogether. Lord Velaryon swept in nearly as soon as she departed, uttering something that made the woman in purple tilt her head back in a boisterous laugh, unreserved and loud, cheeks blooming pinker with the effort.

All at once, he found himself aching to know what in the Seven Kingdoms could have possibly been so funny.

Ached to know how a woman like her could be made to smile like that. If only so he could do the same.

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"Well, I'm off to find our brother," Genna chuckled, the ghost of her laughter still etched in her cheeks.

Her sister smiled, slotting her palm into the crook of her new husband's elbow. "Be nice to him," Alannys warned.

Upturning her goblet, she swallowed the last of her wine, hands raised in mock surrender as she took a step back from the table. "I'm always nice!"

Genna drifted through the crowds with the practised precision of a woman used to going relatively unnoticed, her skirts rippling and catching the candlelight with each movement. The music was still going, fast and strong, and she took a firm step sideways as a couple spun past, momentarily braced against a possible collision. At the sight of her brother, she smiled, her path suddenly sure as she made a beeline towards him, only pausing briefly to accrue another goblet of wine.

Alester Summerwood had his back turned to her as she approached, his hands gesticulating as he animatedly discussed something or other with a huddle of young knights and noble sons. Scarcely a month had passed since his seventeenth name-day, but he was already half a head taller than his sister, and she had to propel herself upwards on the balls of her feet as she hooked an arm over his shoulder, making him stumble.

"What?" He groaned, brief moment of panic immediately subsiding as he recognised her presence. A hand came to wrap around her wrist, but he did not force her arm away, taking a few steps backwards in tandem with his sister. His doublet hung open, its shade matching her dress.

"Brought you a drink," Genna stated, holding out the cup. Alester took it without thinking, and she raised her free hand to his head, plucking at a strand. "You need a haircut. You look like a mushroom."

He shrugged her off in one movement, turning around with a frown.

"Mother said no more than three cups."

She blinked. "… So?"

"So, I'm already done for the night."

"Oh, you sweet boy," She laughed, exasperation tilting her brow. "This is the last free sister-wedding you're likely to get, so for once, don't listen to our mother."

"Seems you're forgetting a sister, there."

"My calculations are sound. D'you think the Sept of Baelor has any openings?"

Alester let out a guffaw, Genna's lips parting in a grin at the sound. "You would be the worst Septa since time began, you wouldn't make it past novicehood."

"We shall see my darling brother, we shall see," She beamed, taking a sip of his wine before handing it back to him. He looked down at the cup with a slight grimace.

"Well, Lord Baratheon's staring at you."

"Shut up," Genna smacked him in the shoulder.

"Ow! Fuck off, I'm just saying."

She turned her head to the side, peering as far as she could without being altogether too obvious. Lord Lyonel was looking down into his cup, pouring himself a generous helping of ale. His hair was a peppered mix of black and grey, loose curls brushing his temples as he dipped his head.

For a second, she almost smirked with self-satisfaction, catching her brother out on a lie.

Then brown eyes met her own, finding her across the hall without a moment's hesitation as if they had already long been trained upon her.

"Well. That's… interesting," Genna nodded, shooting a glare at her brother's smug grin.

"I'll leave you to it," Alester nodded, taking a few steps back, hands tucked behind his back, mischievous expression never fading.

Her eyes narrowed, posture straightening as she felt a new presence beside her.

"My Lord," She nodded in polite greeting, something withheld in her tone. Lyonel's cup had been freshly filled, yet he was already on his last sip, handing it off to a servant boy as he passed.

"Would you care to dance, my Lady?" He spoke, and she could feel him tracing her expression, assessing any twitch that could betray her.

Genna looked up at him, brow arching ever so slightly. "Not tired yet, my Lord?"

He blinked, a huff of laughter delayed a half-breath as he overcame the slight surprise. "Are you suggesting I'm old?"

"Just observing," She stated, shrugging as she cast her gaze across the swirling crowds. "I'm not certain Lord Connington appreciated either of your dances with his wife."

He considered this a moment, nodding. "… Lord Connington has a wife?"

She laughed then - a proper laugh, crease forming at the bridge of her nose, bending forward as it broke free from her chest. He had caught her off guard, her resolve taking a hard hit as colour bloomed across her cheeks.

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Lyonel grinned, eye fixed upon her face as she straightened, fixed upon the way her laugh lasted long after the melodious sound had ceased, traces of her smile etched in every crease at the corner of her eyes and each dimple in her cheek. He had wanted to make her laugh, and laugh she had. But something kept him rooted to the floor, kept his attention fixed, baited and waiting for her next word.

"One dance. One." Genna conceded, raising a hand.

"I would never presume for more, Lady," He beamed, his hand fitting around hers, her palm warm and soft against his. As they stepped into the fray, she rested her free hand upon his shoulder, his coming to press against her back, fingers flat upon the lacing of her dress. Had Lyonel known it would be their only dance, he might have waited for a slightly livelier tune, but he could work with this. Besides, she was surprisingly adept at this. That was welcome, indeed.

"You're good," He observed as he matched her footwork, hand sliding against smooth silk.

"Try not to sound quite so surprised," Genna teased, letting go of his shoulder to twirl in time with the other ladies. Pulling her back towards him, Lyonel tugged slightly closer than before, their fronts almost touching. If she had noticed, she hadn't uttered a word, but he could have sworn he noticed a smirk.

"I suppose I'd never considered what you ladies actually do all day."

"You mean aside from waiting around for a handsome Lord to notice us?" She tilted her head to one side, eyes alight with humour as his grin stretched even wider.

"You think I'm handsome, my Lady?"

"Hm," Genna shrugged, her nose scrunching. "Passably."

Lyonel laughed, the sound of it rising above the music, his nickname ringing loud and true. She moved to spin again, but before she could turn all the way, he drew her back, her spine pressed flush against his front. His arm encircled her, their hands still clutching one another's, palms growing warmer by the second. A bubble of amusement escaped her throat, posture relaxed against him. His cheek rested against her hair, inhaling the scent of cherry wine and nutmeg.

"How many Lord's wives have you pulled this one on?" She asked. He could hear the smirk dripping in her voice.

"You're not married, are you?"

"I'm not."

"Well then, none so far. That's rather good."

Digging a shoulder into his chest, Genna pushed herself away, breaking free from his embrace. They had fallen behind in the dance, and as Lyonel realised the time had come to exchange partners, his smile faltered. Hers, however, remained just as strong, a hint of ridicule in her expression as the next man came along, accepting his hand with ease.

"Second time's the charm, my Lord," She beamed, falling back into step as if they had never faltered at all.

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Genna could feel his eyes upon her as she was whirled away, as if once she'd noticed him staring, she couldn't un-notice. The thought made her begin to smirk. "Are you alright, my Lady?" Her partner asked, and it occurred to her that she hadn't even met his eye before now.

"Fine. Thank you, Ser," Genna nodded, flashing a polite smile and deciding to ignore it when he accidentally stepped on her foot, his face blooming crimson in mortification.

They turned about the room, her partner's footwork occasionally clumsy, teeth gnawing the inside of her cheek in an attempt not to show her boredom. She caught Lyonel's eye across the room. He was already watching her, much as she'd suspected, and the woman dancing in his arms had her brow furrowed tight with fury. An involuntary laugh escaped her.

"My Lady?"

Looking back at the man in front of her, Genna's grip on his hand loosened.

"I'm sorry, Ser, but I think-… I mean, I need to-… Ah, fuck it." Dropping any docility in her tone, she let go of him with both hands, taking a decisive step back and turning away from the dance, leaving him alone and dumbstruck.

The tension within her seemed to seep away as she walked, shoulders loose, movement fluid as she wove through the crowds. A serving boy passed by, a huge jug of wine in each hand. She cleared her throat, and he turned to look, eyes wide like a deer caught in a hunt.

"Are those fresh?"

"Y-yes, my Lady. Your father requested them."

"Wonderful, I'll take them. Thank you, dear," Genna flashed him a smile as she pried the jugs from his grip, the boy's face flushing crimson.

"You couldn't even last one dance, I see," A familiar voice spoke from behind her, words laced with humour. She moved to face Lyonel Baratheon, shrugging.

"He was a terrible dancer. Kept stomping on my toes."

"Ah. A terrible crime, indeed."

"We should see him hanged on the morrow."

A deep chuckle rose from his chest, more intimate than his usual guffaw. "I'll get right on that. And might I ask what you're doing with such a large quantity of wine?"

"You take one, here. It's um…" Genna paused, taking a sip from the spout and nodding with approval. "Oh, Arbor Gold. Excellent."

"Ah. Thank the Gods for Velaryon money," Lyonel declared, gladly accepting the jug.

"My sister's pretty face is good for something."

Faltering to chuckle again, he blinked as she turned her back, beginning to walk away. "My Lady-?"

"Just come on," She huffed, calling over her shoulder. "Do I have to tell you to do everything?"

The swish of her skirts was almost hypnotic as the distance between them grew, candlelight catching her hair in flashes of amber. Lyonel lifted his jug to his mouth, taking a heavy gulp.