Meghaera Whent and Emma Velaryon made an odd pair, sitting side by side. Emma with her perfectly middling grey hair and violet eyes so pale they almost seemed to border on pink, Meghaera with her golden blonde curls and light, grey eyes. Still, they shared a reputation; neither of them considered beauties among their siblings, but both handsome enough and proper enough to have their share of admirers. Unfortunately for those admirers, there was one other trait they shared, and that was a shrewd gaze that saw men as amusing children at best. There was something about the way they were huddled together, chatting merrily, that made it clear they had much better things to think about.
There were, of course, those who didn’t know any better, and no one had ever accused Axton Manwoody of knowing his place. The eldest son of the Manwoody family could be described as good-looking, with sleek black hair framing a strong facial lines and lightly rounded features, a burnished sort of glow to his skin that he had inherited from his mother, but there was very good reason he was still unmarried at 24. He’d caught sight of the two girls sitting in a chaise lounge across the ballroom, and those who knew him would’ve been alarmed to note that his hooded gaze had not left them for several minutes, apparently oblivious to the other participants of the ball dancing through his line of sight.
The minute the current dance finished, he made a beeline for them, and when he approached them, he didn’t seem to notice or care that he was a little too close for comfort, towering over them in an almost intimidating fashion as they sat. It was now apparent that his attention was focused on Meghaera, the smaller of the two girls. Neither of them turned to acknowledge his presence, so he coughed loudly, and said in his dark, smooth voice, “Ladies. Might I have an introduction?”
Both Emma and Meghaera turned to look at him with largely blank expressions, neither seeming particularly perturbed by his intrusion. He was a stocky man by most standards, but lacked the height and clear athleticism of the average Velaryon man. Emma seemed to recognize him, and a hint of scorn curled her lip, as if a wet rat had crawled into her vision to beg for scraps, but Meghaera tilted her head, almost curiously. She was not the one to speak.
“It is customary to ask a mutual acquaintance to introduce you to a woman you do not know, and at least polite to offer a greeting before asking to be acquainted, if that cannot be secured.” Emma said, in a tone that was not so much lecturing as dismissive.
Anger flashed in his dark eyes for a moment, but Meghaera interjected, “Might you be so good as to introduce yourself first, my lord, so we might have no cause to take offense at your lack of manners?”
He smiled slightly, apparently missing the fact that she had outright called him rude. He bowed at them in a showy way. “I am Axton Manwoody, first son of Barlay Manwoody and heir of Kingsgrave. Now, who might you be?”
“You did not know when you approached us?” Emma asked, archly, tickling Axton’s anger again.
But Meghaera sighed, and offered, “My name is Meghaera Whent, and this is Emma Velaryon. Do you have some business with us, my lord?”
“Yes,” He said, sounding almost sinister. “I came to ask you for a dance, miss.” He bowed at Meghaera.
Emma immediately snapped, “That’s Lady Meghaera to you. And if you haven’t noticed, the next dance has already started.” So it had, over the course of their verbal chest beating.
“There’s still the next one.” Axton replied, undeterred and now failing to look at Emma at all.
Meghaera continued to meet his gaze evenly, but the curiosity had now faded to indifference. She didn’t say anything for a moment, but it was generally rude to decline an invitation to dance without a proper excuse, and the “I kind of don’t feel like it” written on her face didn’t normally qualify. “If you insist, Lord Axton.” She finally said, voice calm.
He grinned triumphantly, and Emma outright scowled at him. “I do. The next dance, then. I will see you again soon.” And he snatched up her hand and kissed it.
Meghaera wiped it off nonchalantly and turned back to Emma. “What were we talking about, again?”
“Meghaera!” Emma hissed, emphatically. “Why did you accept?”
“Well, what was I supposed to do? Rudely turn him down because he was being a nuisance?” Meghaera laughed. “It’s only a dance anyways. And I don’t see why you were so bent on provoking him either. What’s the point of aggravating someone too stupid to realize they’re being insulted? I’d feel like I’d kicked a toddler.”
Emma sniffed and turned her nose up in his general direction. “It is perfectly acceptable to refuse courtesy to someone who did not extend it to you. Especially when he looked at you like that. I had half a mind to stab him in the eye so he’d stop staring like he wanted to swallow you whole.”
Meghaera laughed again. “Careful, Emma. When you say it, I almost believe you would.” Emma sniffed again, holding in the urge to declare she absolutely would if it came to that. Meghaera sighed again, and tried, “Well, I’ll give him this one dance, and then take my leave of him and that’ll be the end of it.” But Emma did not seem placated, mood thoroughly ruined through the rest of the number.
When Axton came to fetch Meghaera for the next dance, Emma glared at him, but he ignored her entirely, taking Meghaera’s hand roughly and drawing her across the ballroom and well away from Emma. Meghaera saw Emma jump up from the chaise lounge and hastily make her way elsewhere, but that was all the glance she managed before she found herself dragged into Axton’s arms and into the dance. She looked up at him with a bit of a grimace at his choice of dancing style. She’d danced with some of her larger cousins before, but she’d never gotten this weird sense that they were trying to engulf her in their bulk. But when she met his eyes, she found herself uncomfortable. True, he’d been openly staring at her before, but now those dark eyes of his were quite close, and leering down at her with a viciously pleased intensity. She looked away, but found herself growing dizzy, as he swung her around and around with the same roughness he’d used to pull her into his arms, forcing her into spins he didn’t have to execute himself. She scrunched up her face, and trained her eyes on one of his shoulders, trying to minimize the image of the ballroom spinning around and around her.
Perhaps Emma had been right. He was dancing like an unpleasant oaf, and she would’ve preferred to be found rude than deal with it. He stepped on her toes, and she yelped and pulled her foot back hastily, almost stumbling, and he pulled her closer against him, much more so than was polite. “Steady.” He said, almost breathing into her ear. “You wouldn’t want to fall.”
She frowned at his ear, and for the first time felt the same animosity towards him Emma had displayed from the start. He’d done that on purpose. She was almost certain of it. She had made a mistake after all. She’d let down her guard because she’d assumed he was a dullard, and while he might not have any stunning wit, it was now clear he was cleverer than she’d given him credit for.
Meghaera leaned away from him slightly, listening keenly for signs that the music was ending, while still trying not to get too dizzy. She didn’t let him step on her toes again, though he tried once when she pulled a little too far away. It appeared he hadn’t heard that every single one of the Whent children was an accomplished dancer, and by the end of the dance, she was rather satisfied that she’d reduced the effects of his roughhousing, and managed to get a little distance between them. The music ended, and she immediately attempted to remove herself from his grasp, but Axton held her waist in a tight grip, taking her off the ballroom floor without allowing her any extra space, as if they were intimate somehow.
Meghaera glared at him. “Unhand me, my lord.” She said, normally cheerful voice flat.
He dragged her around one last corner and finally let go of her waist, but not her other hand. “Did you enjoy the dance?” He asked, looking pleased with himself.
“No.” She said, realizing that he’d managed to get her towards a more secluded area, behind a pillar with long shadows. “Let go of me.”
He laughed, and it would have been a pleasant sound with his low, smooth voice, except it sounded so condescending. “Well, I enjoyed it.” He took a step closer again, hand still gripping hers, as his face came uncomfortably close. “I rather like holding you in my arms, and making you dance to my whims.”
So that was how he’d perceived their dance, when she’d been doing most of the subtle manipulating. If this man wasn’t a dullard, she didn’t know who was. Meghaera shoved him with all her might, raising her voice. “Get away from me, and let go!” But he simply used the opportunity to grab both her wrists in one of his hands and crush them against the pillar behind her. She winced as the rough stone dug into her skin, and then realized his face was coming closer and closer to her chest, as if he planned to bury it in her breasts. She opened her mouth to scream, and for half a second a sweaty hand covered her lips, but then there was a howl of pain in front of her, and she was let go quite suddenly.
“That’s quite enough of that.” Everan Whent declared, blood dripping from the tip of his sword. Meghaera took a couple steps away, heart hammering in her chest, relieved to see both Everan and Wyllem there. Both had swords drawn, and they looked madder than that time Evvin had ripped their favorite tapestry. Emma was also standing there. She hadn’t brought a sword with her, but her arms were crossed over her chest, and she was evaluating Axton coldly. Her planning face, as it were.
Wyllem, wrapped an arm around Meghaera’s shoulders. “You alright?” He asked her, gently.
She opened her mouth to say, “Perfectly.” But instead, tears started dripping down her face, and she found herself sobbing into his shoulder.
Another howl came from Axton, and Meghaera peered through her tears to see him on the floor, blood pouring from his leg. “How dare you.” He snarled, apparently having gotten over his initial shock, and glaring at someone else entirely.
She followed his gaze up to see Violette Velaryon standing above him. Her pale grey eyes were wide with a cold fury, and irises nearly looking white in the dim lighting. She raised her sword for a second blow. “Say another word and I’ll cut off your mouth.”
He scrambled to his feet, not putting any pressure on his injured leg, but taking a couple steps away. “Who in-“
Violette jerked forward with her sword, closing the distance in seconds, but was stopped as Aenor Velaryon jumped out of the shadows and grabbed her arm. He shook his head. “Vi. Don’t. It’ll just cause trouble for Meghaera. Why do you think Everan and Wyllem are holding back.” It was then that Meghaera realized her brothers were both shaking with rage. Everan had his fist clenched, but they hadn’t made a move to attack Axton again. Beyond their relations with the Starks and Velaryons, the Whents held no particular status above a house that guarded the Prince’s Pass, and killing or permanently maiming the heir over an attempted assault would cause many troubles indeed.
Violette stood there for a second, still looking ready to turn Axton into a mute, but then she howled her frustration, sheathed her sword and punched Aenor in the gut. Whirling to face Axton again, she declared, “You’re dead. Got it? You look at Meghaera again, and I don’t care who you are, I’ll hang your head from your father’s castle walls.” She shoved Aenor to the side and stormed off.
Axton opened his mouth, most likely to say something stupid and angry, but he was interrupted by Emma. She no longer sounded annoyed and stiff as before, instead her voice had turned to a honey sweet, a smile on her lips not reaching her eyes. “You’re dead anyways, Axton Manwoody. You’ve just made an enemy of House Whent, House Velaryon, and House Baratheon. That very angry woman is to marry Lord Willem Baratheon at the end of the year.”
“Bah.” Axton snapped. “What do Dornishmen care of what northerners think?”
Emma then stepped forward, and kicked him in his injured leg. He fell with another yell of pain, and she kept one dainty slipper pressed hard against the injury, expression frosty. “Poor Lord Manwoody to have a half-wit for an heir. We “northerners” as you call us, can make life quite difficult for you quite easily, my lord. I did hear rumors you liked to debase young women. In fact, I heard you’ve even laid hands on one of your sisters. Now if that becomes more than a rumor, I wonder what would happen to you, Lord Axton. If invitations to festivities such as these would come at all. If other houses would deign to do business with a house whose heir has made so many enemies. Or what would Prince Kassian Martell have to say about the matter?”
The name gave Axton pause, and through his whimpers of pain, he growled, “What are you talking about, bitch?”
“The prince and I were acquainted last year and have… corresponded here and here since then. I’d even say we’re friends enough for him to consider my opinion of you quite seriously, since you’ve so boldly attacked my cousin.” Emma said, leaning a little harder on his leg.
“Get off of me, you ugly hag. What would a Prince of Dorne care about-“
“Axton?” A boy’s voice said. Everyone turned to see an incredibly tall boy, clearly just having filled out his large frame. He had a sort of reddish-gold hair, and blue-grey eyes that looked as though they were looking down on the world. “Oh.” He said, when he caught sight of the congregation.
“Kyne, you ass. Help me.” Axton demanded. “Get this woman off me.”
Wyllem pulled Meghaera a little farther away from the new man, but the other boy just folded his arms across his chest, and said, “No. I’m happy to share the duty of thrashing you so you keep your hands off what’s not yours.” He gestured at Emma. “I’m happy to let you continue, but if not, I can take him home and beat him myself, if you’d like.”
Emma felt Axton flinch under her foot and looked down. So, the other boy probably wasn’t joking about beating him up on the regular. She stepped off of him, and backed up. “He’s all yours.”
“Unfortunately.” This Kyne said, as he tromped forward and slung Axton over his shoulder. He turned to look specifically at Meghaera and declared, “Whatever he’s done, I apologize, and I hope you don’t forgive him.” And then he dragged his bleeding brother off to be patched up by maids and prepared for a beating later.