The Wolf and the Star [Skade & Agnes]

[Agnes]

281 AC. Harrenhal, the Riverlands. Lord Whent's Great Tournament.

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The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was bustling with the festivities, truly befitting of its name. Lords from all across the seven kingdoms were in attendance, with the noticeable exception of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. Rumours had it that the Hand of the King had declined to attend after a fierce quarrel with King Aerys II Targaryen, who himself was in attendance, seated at the highest place of honour at the main table, along with all the other great lords of the realm. His father, Rickard Stark, was seated right next to the frail old king. Unlike his father, Eddard did not like to bask in glory and attention, and so the young man was seated near the very back of the hall, where nobles and commoners alike mingled and drank and laughed, and no one gave a rat's arse who he was.

Being the wallflower he was, Ned's eyes saw what many others didn't, lost in the revelry as they were. His closest friend Robert Baratheon was demanding the attention of many men at a nearby table, participating in a drinking competition with Ser Richard Lonmouth, one he seemed to be winning quite heartily. The table roared as the tall, muscular young lord slammed down the tankard in victory. "That's it, not one of you lot can beat me, eh! Ned!" The young Stark flinched as his friend's voice boomed across the room. "Quit sulking and come join us, ya bastard!" With an apologetic look, he waved and shook his head, eliciting disappointed groans from the crowd. "Sorry, Robert. Perhaps a bit later in the night? I don't want to lose my head too early." "Whatever you say, Stark," the Baratheon shrugged good-naturedly before he went back to entertaining the crowd.

His eyes then flicked to his siblings, Benjen and Lyanna, who were arguing after Lynna dumped a drink on Benjen's head when he laughed at her for crying at prince Rhaegar's singing. To be fair, he did think the silver-haired crown prince was a bit pretentious and pompous, but who was he to judge? Perhaps having luscious locks and a graceful singing voice and wearing an excessively jewelled tunic was the way to a maiden's heart. Rhaegar certainly had enjoyed more womanly affections than Eddard this evening. Not that he could blame the ladies for not taking an interest in him. He was shy and awkward, and sported a long face and cold grey eyes that barely betrayed his feelings. The Quiet Wolf, he heard someone call him. In contrast, his brother Brandon was loud and visible, more handsome and taller and certainly more sociable than his younger brother. The Wild Wolf. Ned was always destined to be in Brandon's shadow, and he was quite content with the fact.

And then, his eyes changed their subject again, going back to her. The woman he had been looking at for the umpteenth time tonight. Lady Ashara Dayne, sister of the great Ser Arthur Dayne, the deadliest of the Kingsguard, and lady-in-waiting to Princess Elia Martell. She was dancing with the Red Viper, Oberyn Martell, Elia's brother. It made sense that she would grant him her attention, he supposed. They twirled and circled each other in the large dancing space in the middle of the hall. His stormy grey eyes followed the swish of her midnight black hair, the flow of her dress, the subtle sway of her hips, the haunting violet eyes that seemed to stare into one's soul.

"Simply staring gets you nothing, brother," boomed his brother's voice beside him, seemingly appearing out of thin air and slapping him on the back, sending Ned stumbling a few steps forward. "Leave that stuff to the books. If you want her, you go talk to her. What, do you think she'll come to you just because you're looking at her from a corner?"

Ned gave Brandon a withering glare. "I'm just observing the way she dances. I have no intention of asking her."

"Of course you don't," Brandon snorted with a laugh, slapping his brother again on the back. This time, Ned was properly prepared. Sighing, he fixed his white tunic, lightly brushing over the direwolf sigil of his great house, and turned fully to Brandon.

"Besides, she has quite a few suitors lined up already. It would be rude of me to intervene."

"Good gods, Ned, don't be such a coward. I've seen you staring at her like a sad puppy since the feast started. I'm getting embarrassed on your behalf, truly. Now, go talk to her, and enjoy the fucking feast like it's meant to. No brother of mine will waste this night hiding away in a corner."

"But-"

"GO." Suddenly, Brandon was grabbing his shoulders, and Ned's grey eyes widened as he realised what he was about to do. "Bran, Bran, don't you dare-" Too late, as the stronger man pushed the lanky Ned with a tremendous force, sending him stumbling forward right onto the dance floor amidst the sea of moving bodies, his brown hair in disarray and looking an utter fool. Immediately, he caught his footing and swivelled around to face his brother with a glare, but Brandon seemed anything but threatened, and tiled this head to his side, signalling to go talk to Lady Ashara with his fingers. Pursing his lips and cursing his luck, he turned around and ran a hand through his hair, and froze on the spot as he came to face to face with Lady Ashara Dayne herself, looking at him with both amusement and perplexion.

"Oh! Lady Ashara. I, uhm... I was wondering if you'd like to... dance? With me?"

Did she even know who he was?

"I'm, err, Eddard Stark."

 

[Skade]

She quite liked parties like this. They were entertaining and lively. Food, drink, merriment, dancing, it was all here to enjoy, and she definitely did. Ashara Dayne spend most of the night so far on the dance floor, having been asked by several gentlemen. It was the kind of attention she enjoyed, but none of them ever struck in her any desire to stay. She was merely a pretty face to them, and that was usually all they were after. She blamed the drink for that, but didn't mind a single bit. People were here to enjoy themselves as far as she was concerned.

Amidst the crowd of dancers wearing deep to light neutral colors, Ashara moved in tandem with a knight of the kingsguard, her rich purple gown flowed with just as much grace as she waltzed and twirled. She was easy to see, and she knew it. All the better to attract dancing partners. After this dance was done, the knight returned her back to one of the tables where her sister, Allyria, was enjoying some wine. Allyria placed her goblet down and stood, the knight offered his hand to her. The younger sister looked at him, a light pink dusted her cheeks.

"Go on!" Ashara encouraged. She had asked this man to have a dance with her sister just moments before. She felt a little guilty for leaving her by her lonesome. Allyria managed to smile and took the man's hand before being lead back to dance with him. She sat in the chair her sister occupied just seconds ago and only then, realized that she was breathing a little heavily. As much as she loved the festivities, a moment to catch her breath was more than welcome. She helped herself to a lemon cake from one of the many platters and began to nibble on it. Of course, as she was half way through, another man approached her. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth as she chewed a slightly larger bite in order to hide the appitite she had built up. She set the rest of her dessert on the table and stood up, assuming that she'd be asked for a dance. The man, she recognized as Brandon Stark. The eldest son of Lord Rickard Stark. But that's all she knew.

Well, he asked for a dance, but not in the way she was expecting. He greeted her with a small, respectful bow.

"Hello, Lady Ashara," he said. She nodded to him. "Forgive me for being straightforward, but may I ask something of you? For my brother."

She swallowed and somewhat wiped the corner of her mouth with her fingertips, perhaps not the grandest gesture a lady should perform. Brandon gestured for her to look across the crowd of dancers moving throughout the lowered floor. And there, she saw him. The Quiet Wolf, as she knew him. She wasn't familiar with the family herself, though her brother had mentioned names before. She could see him sinking into the background, standing alone. He seemed to be doing it on purpose. Was he upset? Having a terrible time? That wasn't good.

"What do you ask of me, my lord?" she asked, now having caught her breath. "I do wish to see happy faces this evening!" Brandon put his hands behind his back and he turned up a small smile.

"He's afraid to ask you for a dance. Would you humor him? I'll give him a push."

Ashara's face fell for a moment and she glanced in the direction of the young man once again. If she could lift his spirits, she would certainly help. A gentle smile appeared on her face. "Alright, I'll humor him, as you say," the smile turned into a little more of a grin. She couldn't help it. A man was too shy to approach her. It made her a little giddy.

"Lord Brandon Stark, if you don't mind," a voice approached from behind and she turned some to see who it was. Oberyn Martell placed a hand on Ashara's upper back. "I was hoping to steal the lady for a dance." The Viper's hand trailed slightly down her back, but didn't wander further, Prince Oberyn was not really a man who took no for an answer. Brandon stepped back, but was clearly unfazed by Oberyn's presence. He nodded to Ashara and she was whisked off. Her hand snaked around his back and she repeated the action he had done to her. A delicate hand slid down the cloth of his tunic, but it left behind a streak of glaze and crumbs from the lemon cake she had been eating. She looked over her shoulder at Brandon with a mischievous grin before beginning another dance. Brandon wiped under his nose with a thumb and left.

The prince took her to an opening on the dance floor, other guests made room for them. Ashara was familiar with Oberyn and how he liked to handle women. She was closer to him than she would have wanted to be, and his hand held her firmly in place when he wasn't twirling her. She didn't make much small talk with him, but gave small hums in response to any softly spoken comments. For the duration of the dance, Ashara occasionally caught glimpses of Brandon Stark and his younger brother. The dance ended, and Ashara managed to back away from Oberyn before he could do much to stop her. He didn't follow, and had found another lady in no time.

She used the opportunity to slip away to the outskirts of the crowd toward the brothers, but stopped in her tracks as she watched Brandon shove the younger in her direction. She thought Brandon could have been a little more careful with his brother. Shoving him forward didn't seem to give the young man any more courage than he already had- which didn't seem like much. Ashara was a little surprised by this as she assumed he'd have just walked up to ask. Seems Brandon was serious when he said "I'll give him a push." She lifted a hand to her mouth to try and control herself. Ashara wanted to laugh, but she didn't want to embarrass him any further. It was rather endearing, in a way. Most every other man who approached her did so with their chests puffed out to make sure she knew how dominant they were, or on occasion, with princely grace. She just hoped he knew how to dance well enough.

With a small chuckle, she lowered her hand to hold it with her other. "A pleasure to meet you, Lord Eddard," she began, allowing him to compile himself a little more. "I'd love a dance with you." Ashara, rather than waiting for him to offer her a hand, offered hers instead. She placed a hand on his shoulder and took a step closer to him, and once he was ready, she slowly began to lead him, gradually moving into the circle to join the rest. Ashara glanced toward the spot Brandon had been standing and noticed him gone. Seemed he had gone back to, well, whatever he might have been doing before. She steadily lead her new dance partner through the current of dancers. Just a moment ago, he was tripping over his own two feet, but now he seemed aware of where he was stepping. But she thought he still felt a little tense.

"Why so nervous? It's only a dance," she teased, the soft smile never once left her lips.

 

[Agnes]

Ned had to blink a few times at the hand offered towards him.

He had thought Brandon had utterly ruined his chance of asking Lady Ashara, as he imagined she would prefer someone who approached her with the confidence of a wolf, not one who scampered around like a pup. He had imagined she would simply politely refuse and go on her way, or worse, laugh. Well, it seems she did laugh, albeit gracefully behind her other hand, but as she was not objecting to his presence, Ned assumed that he must be doing something right. Pulling himself up a little higher, he nodded with a small, nervous smile, breathing unevenly through his nose as his heart pounded in his chest. "Thank you, my Lady."

As it was painfully obvious, Ned wasn't the most socially apt lordling in the crowded hall, Luckily though, Ashara's hopes found merit, as even the most awkward lords had to learn the steps to the waltz, and although all the stark men would rather swing a sword in a training yard than twirl in a ballroom, Lady Lyarra Stark had made sure all her sons knew the etiquette of courtly affairs, including dancing. The pubescent Ned had cursed the woman for making him attend the lessons under the septa, but now he silently thanked her (and Brandon, albeit begrudgingly) as he gently took Ashara's warm, small hand in his.

To his surprise, it was she who led him into the dance, pulling him into the rapidly moving circle of bodies on the dance floor. Ned felt quite out of depth in the dance, as it was rare the woman led the dance, though to any onlooker it would seem he was doing the twirling and dipping, and also because he was dancing with Lady Ashara herself. The occasion still felt a little surreal in his mind, and it must've shown in the frigidness of his movements. Ned blushed a little as she teased him. "Ah. Well, ahem," He wracked his brain for an adequate answer and unfortunately came away with none. Thinking he had nothing to lose in the moment, he cracked a mirthful grin and shrugged. "Perhaps I'm simply distracted by your eyes."

Her eyes. They were beautiful - hauntingly so. The gleaming violet hue of her eyes was matched and accentuated by her flowing purple gown, and they seemed to pull him into a trance in their beauty, even as they shone with amusement. "And I must admit I was a little unprepared when I was, um, pushed towards you, but I'm glad I was." Of course, he would never say this to Brandon's face; the older Stark would never live it down. Steeling his nerves, he endeavoured to take the initiative in their waltz, grasping her hand turning her at an arm's length before pulling her back towards him, catching her expertly. Dancing was something akin to swordfighting, and Ned soon found a rhythm with his dance partner, which helped to embolden him greatly.

If Oberyn was a showman, Ned was a ghost. While the viper snaked his hands around her waist and held her with a callous grip, the quiet wolf simply hovered near her waist, not even truly touching her skin. Upon settling into the flow of the dance and gaining control over his nerves, Ned dared to further his advances, a hand softly grazing her waist, before his fingers curled to hold her, an action that was accompanied by a small, knowing smile. "You've been quite active tonight, my Lady," he started, looking to break the ice and start a conversation, lest he wastes his time with her scared and nervous without uttering a word. "I admire your ability to keep up with the festivities for so long. Oftentimes I get tired or drunk by the second hour. Sometimes both."

Only a moment after he had uttered the words, he felt someone collide into his back, sending him sprawling forward right into the fair lady, and in the harried moment, he grabbed hold of her and pulled her flush against his chest, preventing the two of them from tumbling onto the ground.

"Oh, apologies, my Lord," said a man's voice, and Ned turned around to see Prince Rhaegar, and in his hands, none other than his sister Lyanna, who looked positively enchanted as she stared up at the handsome, ashen-haired prince. She only noticed Ned after they had bumped into each other, and the girl gave him a wide, giddy smile. Ned narrowed his eyes. "There's no need, your Grace," he replied cordially, letting the pair go on their way. And then he turned back and realised that he was still holding Ashara in his arms. His eyes went wide, and immediately shuffled back and released her to give her some room to breathe. "Ah... I'm sorry. I didn't know I was holding you this close," he said sheepishly, though his lips held an embarrassed grin. Ashara had, for the duration of their dance, proven to be a fair and non-judgemental lady, and Ned felt comfortable in letting down some of his walls. After all, the momentary lapse of decorum wasn't his fault.

Clearing his throat and fixing his tunic, he offered his hand again. "I don't think my brother will do me the honour of pushing me a second time. Shall we?"