A Night of Dancing and Revelations

"Shouldn't his next dance rather be with me?" a woman intoned from behind Alys.

Lyonel was curious to see what Robb Stark's wife of all people wanted to say to him, but one does not simply say no to the queen of the seven kingdoms. "Of course mother," Lyonel said, taking her delicate hand with his own. He shot an apologetic smile at Lady Alys, who smiled graciously, bowed to the queen and left.

Lyonel led his mother to the dance floor, where more and more couples were entering. Ideally, after the first dance with the newly betrothed ends, the children of the guest and host families should go to the dance floor, either with their spouses or if unmarried, with a person from the other family. That means Robb should be the first to come with Alys, but he was not where he is supposed to be. Looking around, Lyonel saw Robb hugging and talking with his brother Jon, whom he probably met after some time, while Alys gave them sulking glances. Instead, it was Bran who took the lead, asking Myrcella for a dance. A sliver of jealousy spiked through Lyonel upon seeing his beautiful sister dance with someone else, before rationality regained its ground. Bran was just a good natured kid doing his duty, and if what the ladies at the brothel said was true, it seems he has a... natural advantage over other men. Lyonel saw that as they were dancing, Myrcella was looking over Bran's shoulder to stare at him. When she saw that he had noticed, Myrcella stuck her tongue out. But that cost her attention, and she stumbled for a moment, causing Lyonel to laugh, earning a spiteful glare from his sister.

On the other side, Tommen has plucked his courage and stood up. He walked over to Arya, but with one look from her, he wilted. Instead he asked a dance from the much more kindhearted Alys, who accepted with a sisterly smile, and didn't even say anything when Tommen stepped on her toes frequently while dancing.

At his side, Cersei gave a soft cough. "Lyonel?"

Lyonel suddenly realized that they were at the center of the dance floor. With an apologetic look, he put his arms around his mother's slim waist and they began to sway. For the first time that night, Lyonel had the time to relax and appreciate his mother's beauty. She was wearing a dress of Lannister red and crimson (she never wore the Baratheon colours) made of a simple cut, with expensive material and intricate design. Around her neck was a chain of golden links, ending in a large emerald that nestled on her modest cleavage that Lyonel was doing his best not to look. On her shiny golden hair was a hair net embedded with emeralds that matched her green eyes. All in all, Cersei looked like she always does: a goddess.

Lyonel cleared his throat. "Ah. Forgive me mother. It's just... Tommen and Myrcella..."

"I know." Cersei said softly, with a small smile on her face. "I've been looking over them as well."

"Well they are on safe hands for now it seems," Lyonel said, spinning his mother a turn as the music increased its intensity. "Which means I can finally turn my attention to the most beautiful woman in the hall."

Cersei smiled, baring her white teeth. "Oh is that so? Shouldn't you be sparing such comments for your lady wife to be?" The queen grew pensive for a bit, and then spoke up softly. "It's very endearing, you know? You looking after your younger siblings, even when you were naught but a child."

Lyonel smiled gently. "Well mother, I might be wed to the Starks now, but I will always be a lion at heart. And lions always take care of their pride."

Cersei's sighed. "Your father never cared you know? For you? Yes, because you take after him so much. But never for them. You have been more of a father to them than Robert ever was." She stopped for a moment, her fingers running through Lyonel's black Baratheon locks. "And you really do look like him. Strong and tall, like the day we wed. But you are gentle of heart, and smart too, qualities your father never possessed."

An awkward silence lingered for a moment, before Lyonel spoke up. He knew what she wanted to hear, and he believes in what he was about to say too. "Mother. I know... that life with father has been far from easy to you."

Cersei scoffed lightly.

Lyonel continued. "And I'm not going to make any excuses for him either. But I just wants you to know that I appreciate everything you have gone through for us. We all do."

The dance was getting faster and faster, and all Lyonel could focus on was Cersei's emerald eyes, which seemed to glisten a bit after hearing those words. "All I want is for you three to be happy"

"We know mother," Lyonel said giving her his best charming smile to lift her mood up.

Sure enough, she smiled. "You'll be a better king than your father ever will be Lyonel. I know it."

Lyonel grinned again. "Well that doesn't inspire me with much confidence dear mother. Even Moonboy can be a better king than father."

Cersei threw back her head and laughed aloud as he spun her at the climax of the dance. Due to the circumstances of her life, Cersei rarely laughed genuinely, and it was still very pleasant to hear.

The dance ended, with an exchange of chaste kisses between all the dancers, whether on the lips, cheeks or hands.

"You should laugh more mother. Even if men will stop and gawp to listen to it. Can't really blame them."

Cersei smiled fondly at him, face flushed with laughter. It was clear that she wanted to kiss him too, but even though Cersei is very tall for a woman, she only reached up to his chest. And so the queen mother stood on her toes and put her arms on his waist to lean on him to give her son a gentle kiss.

As she leaned on him, Lyonel was aware of his mother's soft breasts smashing into his chest, causing a struggle in his pants, though Lyonel was able to stop himself from getting a full blown boner. Cersei stepped back, and noticed her son's half erect penis through his trousers, an outline of a bulge starting from the pelvis and reaching his mid thigh. Her eyes widened, but she subconsciously nodded her head as if conforming a suspicion. Lyonel noticed the interaction and suppressed his grin, pretending to not notice it, though he very much enjoyed her reaction.

"Well," his mother said, clearing her throat. Her face was red again, but this time it was not because of laughter. "I suppose I should go and see how your brother is faring."

"Please do," Lyonel said dryly. "I fear the Starks would never forgive us if Tommen keeps stampeding on Alys Karstark."

Cersei shot him that smile of fondness. "Be nice to your brother," she said, before sauntering over to her younger son, oblivious of the fact that her elder son's eyes being glued to her enticing backside.

Lyonel watched as Cersei met up with Tommen and Alys. They were too far away to be heard, but in general, Tommen seems to be glad that his next dance was with one of the two women in the world that he was comfortable with, while Alys seemed glad to not get trampled anymore. As Cersei and Tommen took their positions for the next dance, Tommen's hand at his mother's waist while his head barely reached her shoulder height, Alys' eyes fell on Lyonel and he beckoned her to come. Finally, he can learn what Robb Stark's wife needed of him.

However, as Alys began to cross the hall towards him, the sharp wailing of a baby pierced the hall. Alys gave one look at him, swore softly, and then ran towards her baby to console her.

Lyonel sighed. That would have to wait it seems. He scanned around the room, wondering who else he would dance with him.

As his betrothed, it's expected that Lyonel should have at least a few more dances with Sansa, but he noticed that she was helping Alys and the wet nurse to help calm the babe down. Lyonel glanced at the dais was surprised to see it almost empty: as feasting goes on, the social constraints gets more and more loose. Lyonel saw his father, sitting in the Umber table with Lord Stark, conversing with the men who fought alongside with him in the rebellion. The man has a charm that makes people loyal to him. All the others at the dais has left it too to enjoy the feast properly as well.

Well almost all. Arya Stark was still sitting in her original seat (the only one to do so), arms tightly strapped over her chest, looking down at what is unfolding before her in a look of both disdain and longing. Lyonel grinned and walked up to the dais.

"Lady Arya," he said, stretching out his hand, palm upwards. "Would you honour me with a dance?"

"I suppose," she said, feigning ****, though Lyonel knew the truth with how quickly she stood up and grabbed the arm he offered.

Lyonel took the younger Stark sister by her arm and led her to the dance floor, eyeing her discreetly at the same time. The clothes of the Northerners were reflected the practicality of the people over their appreciation of beauty, and Arya's dress was similarly built. While Sansa tried to incorporate some Southern designs into her dress, Arya's was conventionally Northern, or in other words, boring: coloured grey to match her eyes, going all the way up to her feet and wrists, revealing nothing. Still, it spoke volumes of Arya's looks to look so beautiful while wearing such dreadful clothes.

They arrived to the dance floor. Arya looked up to him, the short girl's head barely reaching his chest level. Lyonel put an arm around her waist. He knew that if his hand fell several inches lower, it would find Arya's bountiful ass, and it took all his strength to stop himself from grabbing it.

"Lady Stark," Lyonel said as they began to sway. "I'm surprised that no one has asked a woman as beautiful as you for a dance yet."

Arya bared her teeth, though it was more a rise to challenge than a smile. "I think my reputation has scared them all off."

"Huh," the prince mused. "I would have expected more... grit from you Northerners."

"Oh there was plenty of that in the first few years. Everyone wanted to compete and see which man would marry me, take away my weapons and my horses and my freedom and tame the wild she wolf of Winterfell." By Arya's hollow voice, it seems that this is a rather sore point for her. "Are you here to tame me as well, my prince?"

"Maybe," Lyonel said, giving her a boyish smile full of charm.

Arya's eyes narrowed and her grip tightened.

"What?" Lyonel asked grinning. "Sansa seems to enjoy the position rather well."

"Well that is because Sansa is stupid." Arya said, rather petulantly.

"Ah, but that depends on what you would call stupidity my lady," the prince said, smoothly gliding across the dance floor all the while. "One sister knows how the world functions, and is trying, rather successfully I might add, to carve out a privileged position for herself in that world. Another sister ignores the truth of the world and futilely fights against it, making a pariah of herself to everyone around her. So let me ask you, lady Arya, which sister is the idiot and which one is wise?"

For a few minutes, we danced in complete silence. Arya's mouth opened and closed, and then open and closed again, but no words came out. Eventually, she decided to change the topic. "The last person who decided he wanted to 'tame' me wanted to take away my bow and arrows. I challenged him to an archery competition, saying that if he won, he can have his way. He lost so badly and was so humiliated that his father could never again find a suitable match for him. Heard he married a merchant's daughter, the poor man. I would like to see you do a similar thing. It would be at least mildly amusing."

"I don't have to do such a thing. Any person should have a good hobby, and as long as it's not harmful for another, I have no problem with it. If you want to practice archery, do it. In fact, why don't you learn how to spar with a sword too? I can teach you if you want to."

Hearing the unexpected news, Arya stumbled. Lyonel caught her by the waist, gently but firmly, and gave her one of his signature smile. The Northerners have pale skin, and it was easy for Lyonel to see how inflamed Arya's cheeks were at this whole situation.

Arya quickly straightened up and their dance resumed. "What did you say?" she asked, voice hoarse.

"Sword fighting. People talk about your strong fighting spirit, but they always mention your archery skills and riding, but not your sword skills. I assume that you want to give it a try, but your parents forbid it. Well, King's Landing is my city, and once you are down there, it would be very easy for me to arrange some secret lessons for you. I know some places in the city where even the Spider's ears don't reach. And to lessen the chance of this news reaching your father's ears, I would teach you myself. It would be just you and me, with all the privacy you can want for."

For a moment, no words were exchanged between the two dancers. This is everything Arya desired: to learn a skill she equated with power ever since she was a child, without disappointing her loving father at the same time. Lyonel could see the longing, the greed in Arya's beautiful eyes, but also caution. She has seen the bait, and is trying to look for a trap.

"What is your plan here, Baratheon?" Arya asked, almost snarling. "You insinuate that you are here to supposedly tame me, but then you offer me something that would make me more ferocious than ever. It makes no bloody sense!"

Lyonel sighed. "Your limited scope of vision is disappointing, Lady Arya. But I suppose I understand it. In all your life, you have never known a true man, just small minded boys." As Lyonel spoke he gestured at a nearby table, where a young Dustin with a wispy moustache has passed out on a table. " Little boys like that are so insecure with themselves, they want to lessen the identity of their women to feel confident. That is not the case with true men. For example, say, I want you to be my woman. I don't have to act more than what I am or make you less than what you are to make it work. I don't have to make you unhappy or lesser to make you mine." With their backs now to the rest of the hall, Lyonel traced a finger up and down Arya's spine, making the girl tremble. He bent down to reach her ear. "I can have you the way you are right now. I quite prefer you like this."

When Lyonel drew back, Arya's face was as red as a berry, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Eventually she got her words back. "Why does any of this matter? You are to wed Sansa, not me."

"To be sure. I'm just musing on what would happen with us if I was to marry you instead of your sister. Every thing we discussed is purely theoretical." Lyonel said, with a smile that indicated anything but what he said. "Except for my offer. Once we are in King's Landing, whenever you feel comfortable to approach the matter, ask me and I'll be your teacher."

Lyonel could once again see the **** craving the grey eyes of Lady Stark. The dance ended, and Lyonel took Arya's hand to kiss it. Once it reached his mouth however, he gave a discreet nibble to one of her knuckles, causing the teenager to shiver once more.

When she spoke, her voice trembled a bit. "I will hold you to your promise, my prince."

"Very well. And in return, all I ask is that you give a thought to what we discussed here today."

Arya nodded curtly.

Before more words could be exchanged, a voice now familiar to Lyonel rose from behind him. "My apologies for the disturbance, my prince."

Upon looking back, Lyonel saw Catelyn, and behind her, Sansa, Bran and Rickon, all looking a bit embarrassed, and a woman in a septa's garb whom he assumed to be Septa Mordane, teacher and spiritual advisor to the Stark kids. Lyonel bowed respectfully to Lady Stark, nodded politely to the septa and the boys and gave a charming smile to Sansa. The girl had been looking at her sister with eyes full of suspicion, but when she saw the smile, she blushed to the roots of her hair.

The septa stepped forward. "Apologies your grace, but its time for the young lords and ladies to rest for tonight."

Lyonel then knew why all the Stark kids looked a bit embarrassed. The were being sent to the bed by their mother! However, looking around the hall, it made a lot of sense to Lyonel. Everyone is getting more and more drunk by the second. All the children has been sent out, and most of the women milling around the hall were maids. He even spotted the king and Lord Stark stumbling out of the hall, probably to talk in a place with more privacy. Very soon, this whole place will become a place of drunken fights and gropings.

Lyonel quickly looked around the hall to see where his younger brother and sister were, and sighed in relief when he couldn't see them. Cersei must have sent them to their beds. Good.

Lyonel suddenly remembered that the septa was still waiting for his permission. He cleared his throat. "Ah, of course, septa," Lyonel said and looked at Lady Arya. "It's been a pleasure my lady." He would have preferred to say more, but with an audience, that's all he could say. Arya curtsied politely, and the septa herded the Stark children - all of whom were grumbling- out of the hall.

Which left Lyonel alone with Catelyn Stark. Lyonel looked back to her, and noticed for the first time that the two top buttons of her dress were unbottoned, displaying a modest amount of cleavage. It would have raised some eyebrows from the more conservative Northerners at the beginning of the feast, but with the hall so humid no one would blame her, and with everyone so drunk no one would notice.

With Catelyn's back turned to the rest of the hall, she gave him a lewd smile. Then she curtsied, going far more lower than necessary. As she did so, she tugged her dress as far down as she could, giving him a good look at her cleavage. Lady Catelyn Stark looked up to him with her dark blue eyes, so much like Sansa's. "May I have this dance, my prince?"