The Eminence in GOT-Chapter 32: The Harrenhal Tournament (Part 2) Feast of the She-Wolf

Ever since I was a child, I played and studied with my brothers, never mind being a "lady." I was taught archery, sword and spear fighting, literacy, geography, law, and numeracy just as much as my brothers (though they didn't forget about the hated lessons of the southern ladies). Sometimes Maester Luwin even held me up as an example to Brandon and Benjen, saying that if I were a man, I would easily make a fine maester. If only...

But I didn't take offense to that, for I had another passion: riding.

For there is nothing better than galloping across the vast plains and hills of my native North, while wild gusts of wind blow through your hair and body, trying to throw you off your horse. It is an incredible and inexpressible feeling of competition and battle with the elements themselves. I could go hours or days without returning to Winterfell, sleeping in the open skies of the Wolfswood, where the fir trees often obscured the sky with their mossy branches, or in the hidden floodplains of the White Knife, where fishermen I'd known from childhood made delicious soup from nearby fish and wild lake herbs.

"How is Zvezdochka doing while I'm away?" - A thought flashed through my head, making my mood even worse. I loved my horse and missed her dearly on this trip south. - "Stupid rules that you can't let a lady ride!"

Of course, when I returned home, I received a severe reprimand from my mother and father, who worried about me greatly and more than once promised to forbid me to even go near the stables. But in time, under the influence of my and my brothers' requests, they gave in, and I was once again lightning along such native places, inhaling such cold and inexpressibly intoxicating air of the North.

But soon it all turned to dust.

For my parents had decided everything for me.

The engagement.

My fiancé, Robert Baratheon, was a close friend of my middle brother, Eddard, and the man I despised most in the world. Lascivious, drunk, hypocritical, loud... He represented to me the traits of everything I hated so much about men. Every time I met him, he swore to me that he loved me immensely, but he didn't hesitate to sleep with other women and flirted with many in front of me.

"I never understood how my brother became friends with him?" - I thought, looking at the only brown-haired man in our family. - "They're completely different. Eddard is quiet, intelligent, honorable, and gallant. And this one..." - I couldn't help but look in the direction of my fiancé, who at that moment was drinking with some knight in a yellow cloak on a bet, and thought. - "... He looks more like a big muscular pig mistaken for a human than a noble and graceful stag!"

As I turned my head back to avoid giving Benjen something to joke about, I noticed two people standing near the entrance. They were acting strangely enough. The first, a black-haired man, as tall and broad-shouldered as Robert, was staring at our family and the vassals sitting around him. His bright green eyes slid slowly over me, my father, my mother, my brothers, and the others, as if noting some important detail.

The second, judging by his height and very similar features, was a relative of the black-haired man. A brother or cousin. Only his figure was thinner and his hair was blond, like my middle brother's. But unlike the brown-haired man, his eyes were fixed on the crowd celebrating and drinking nearby, with an obvious desire to join in.

Suddenly there was a dialog between the two, after which the "other" waved his blue cloak with four white snowflakes (I'd never seen such a crest) and walked off toward the other lords, while the black-haired man walked toward us, drawing the attention of the other people sitting at our table.

"What does he want here?" - I thought, inwardly wary. Everyone in the North had told me not to trust southerners, and his slight resemblance to Robert reinforced that feeling. Still, his actions threw many into a mild stupor.

«Howland, long time no see. How is Lord Ailis? - He turned to Howland Reed, our Reed vassal whom I'd met today and helped fight off the stinking ferrets and their lackeys. He only turned and stared at the stranger with his piercing eyes, the color of mud that only swamp dwellers have. As old Ann, our nanny, used to say, Reed's eyes could scare a lion cub, and I readily agreed-not everyone could withstand Howland's stare. But the brown-haired man didn't even move, still smiling welcomingly, and his emerald eyes grew even brighter, as bright as the northern lights that sometimes appeared far to the north of our domain, near the Wall.

«A long time ago indeed, Lord Temper. He died six months ago. - Howland was the first to break the duel of glances, and turned and tipped back half a goblet of wine. It was as if a rod had been removed from the brown man called Lord Temper. His eyes grew sharply dimmer, his hands drooped, and his face became regretful and sad very quickly.

«This is very bad news. He was a fine man. - He said, bowing slightly towards Reid and putting his hand to his chest. - Why wasn't I told such sad news? We weren't good friends though, but I always thought I had a pretty good relationship with Ailis to attend the funeral.

«Because they hadn't happened yet. - Replied Howland, turning and looking at this Temper with a sad and apathetic look. - I've been on the Isle of Leeks for a year, and it is the tradition of our house that only a son may bury his father. So until I return to the Watch-in-the-Serowater, no invitations to the funeral will be sent out.

«The journey across the Riverlands is not easy. Let me take you home. I was just about to show my son the Isthmus. It will be a good experience for him. - I was becoming more and more confused about what was going on here. Who is this man? Why is Howland, who never said ten words to me, talking to him so much? How are they connected? And why is it only now that everyone knows Lord Ailis is dead? From the looks on Father's and Brothers' faces, this conversation was full of revelations for them as well.

«Thank you, Lord Temper. The sooner I am home, the better. - Reed stood up and shook the hand that looked like a bear's paw against the lake man's small hand.

«Then I'll be off. There are a few things I need to take care of. If you need anything, feel free to contact me. - He turned and walked away, giving me a chance to look at his cloak with the coat of arms on the back. A bright yellow sun, with a purple flame blazing in the center.

"I remember." - I thought, shifting my gaze to Howland, who had found himself the center of attention of the other Northerners and was greatly embarrassed, as if becoming smaller. - "The Tempers. A young and very wealthy first generation Dornish family. Former traders doing business with the Boltons, Mormonts, and the Night's Watch." - Looking at Old Bear and Lord Ruse Bolton (b-r-r...very unpleasant man), I noticed they weren't too surprised. So they knew. - "The head is Felix Temper. And he just turned twenty... I wonder."

All my further thoughts were interrupted by a clamor coming from the stairs leading to the second floor. Raising my head and looking in that direction, it became clear to me what had happened. The princess had appeared.

Elia Martell was the first Dornish woman I had ever seen. Thick black hair, a little darkish, bronze skin, correct, though a little dull facial features, very favorably highlighted by beautiful makeup in the form of suns. Pretty and very slender.

"If she had whiter skin and didn't have that weird coloring, she'd pass for a northerner." - I thought, immediately noticing one oddity. Most of the people present weren't looking at the princess. Looking up, past a few unremarkable maids of honor quietly following their mistress, I found the reason.

A tall girl, with black hair as thick as the princess', followed quietly at the end of the procession, intercepting all attention from the princess. She was better than her mistress in every way - softer and gentler facial features, Valyrian-like violet eyes, graceful gait and manners, and a more "voluminous" figure. Glimpsing a glimpse of my fiancé and seeing where he was looking, only one word twisted on my tongue.

"Dog."

And looking at the rest of the men, I realized they could be put in that category as well. Even my brother Eddard, who had never fallen for a woman's charms, was staring at the violet-eyed maid of honor, even forgetting about the mug he held to his mouth. There were only two exceptions - Prince Rhaegar, who came up to his wife and took her under his arm and led her to the chair reserved for her, and Temper, who ignored the other girls, coming up to one of the inconspicuous maids of honor and embracing her tenderly. Judging by the copy of the maid of honor and the russet-haired man with the snowflakes on his cloak, and by their resemblance in appearance, it was his sister or cousin.

"But it's still strange-why didn't he pay attention to the purple-eyed girl?". - And looking at Reed sitting not far away I decided that after the banquet I would ask him a good question about this merchant. He might be able to help me with my idea.

The feast was gaining momentum. Wine flowed, beer poured by the gallons, piglets, steers, and lambs were nibbled to the bone in minutes, and I was more and more amazed that people could eat so much. In the North, cold and inhospitable as it was, such feasts were not held even in honor of the birth of the heirs of the Great House, but here it was the usual evening before a tournament. And the more people drank and partied, the more the boundaries blurred for them. By now a few northerners were already yelling drunken songs with rivermen and westerners, and by some miracle a few Dornish and Stormborn had appeared at our table.

«My prince! - The loud voice of a stout older man with a slight graying of his hair carried through the vaults of the dormitory. If my memory serves me correctly, it was the tournament organizer, Lord Walter Went. - Would you do us the honor of playing something? We've all heard of your marvelous musical talent, making all bards weep tears of envy. Please do us the favor!

The loud roar of approval from the lords and their ladies, who I think were already out of their minds from the hops in their blood, was the most understandable way of approval.

"Though I'd like to hear it too." - I thought and, standing up a little, looked toward the platform where the prince was sitting - the most handsome and gallant man I had seen in my whole life.

«With pleasure, my dear friend. - The sadly smiling Silver Dragon replied, quietly striking the strings of the silver harp with his fingers. The first notes stirred something in my soul, making me immediately sit up and listen to every sound of this beautiful melody.

Soon the dragon was singing. This song, so simple and yet so complex, about the forbidden love of a young knight and a lovely lady, touched every fiber of my soul. All the sadness, all the pain, all the doom that the heir to the Iron Throne put into this melody, I felt it on me. It was as if I had to become that lady myself, in love with a smart, handsome and simply wonderful knight, but fate had forced me to marry an ignorant monster, mistakenly called a man. And looking at Robert, who even during such a beautiful song would not let go of his wine goblet, it was clear to me that this was so.

Another realization that soon I would have to leave everything, leave my native North and move to the wet and unfriendly Storm's Edge, where my hated husband and his vassals were waiting for me, who considered all northerners to be uncouth barbarians, made me feel even worse. By the end of the song, tears were streaming from my eyes, and I couldn't stop them.

«Sis, why are you crying? - Benjen's voice came over my ear, full of mockery. - Who told me back home that no Southern bard could ever make you smile? Liar, liar, liar, liar...

I don't know why, but it was those very words that helped me come to my senses.

"I'm still at home and not married to this male dog." - I thought, pouring a full jug of wine over my little brother's head, causing his cries of displeasure to be heard by the whole room. - "Nothing's decided yet - northern women don't give up that easily!"

After the prince's stunning performance, at the sign of the castle master, musicians appeared on the upper galleries, heralding the beginning of the dance.

Morris, basse, alman, northern roundels, pavana... most of these dances I knew, so I happily responded to the invitations of my brothers and vassals and twirled happily in the center of the hall. Of course, I glanced at the dancers.

Here was a beautiful girl with cheerful violet eyes (as I learned her name was Eshara Dane) dancing with a tall man with the same eyes and a white cloak of a royal guard. Here's Oberyn Martell, the Red Serpent and second prince of Dorne, twirling merrily in a dance with one of the black-haired twin maids of honor. The pairing of Princess Elia and the very same Temper slipping in next to each other put me in a slight stupor for a moment, only to pass when I noticed Prince Rhaegar dancing nearby with Aleria Hightower. I didn't expect to see Eddard with Catelyn Tully, though.

"Could it be..." - I thought and turned around to see a picture that almost made me vomit on Jorah Mormont, who was now my partner.

My older brother Brandon was chatting merrily with my fiancé while tapping one of the maids and sipping wine. The stag kept up with him.

"What in the Old Gods' name is he thinking!". - I thought, making one last pas and stepping away from the slightly out of breath bear. - "If Lord Hoster sees this then...". - Throwing a glance in the direction where Master Rivveran was supposed to be sitting, it became clear to me why my brother was so relaxed. Father and Hoster Tully were busy doing the same thing that the chief pig stag had done at the beginning of the feast - competing to see who could drink the most from a strange barrel, with a symbol of the sun and burning flames.

«My dear guests! - Walter Went's voice, despite the amount he drank (and the master of Harrenhal did not restrain himself - several times I passed by and saw how much he drank), was loud and firm, instantly attracting most of the attention. - At Prince Oberyn's request... - He pointed to the nearby and smiling Dornishman that had recently danced with Eshara Dane. - ...the dance famous in Essos and Dorne will now be performed! All who can dance it, come to the center! Show us your mastery of the Haggai dance!

Judging by how quickly the southern lords parted and made a small circle in the center of the Wormhole, they knew what this dance was. I was immediately curious, so, working my elbows and slipping into the small gaps between people, I was soon in the front rows, where I was surprised to find Eddard.

There were already nine people standing in the center. Three men - Oberyn Martell, the man who had offered it all; Erthur Dane, a Kingsguard and, according to the others, the strongest swordsman of this generation; and Felix Temper, smiling merrily and shining with a white-toothed smile; and six girls - the same Eshara and five Dornishwomen unknown to me. I recognized a few of the crests stitched on their clothes, though. They were all kneeling in the form of two circles-a small circle of lords inside a larger circle of ladies.

The dance began abruptly. The low whistle of the whistle, at first drowned out by the murmurs of the disinterested part of the guests, grew until it became a light whistle audible to all.

Slowly the noise began to increase, as if someone was beating his hands on something hollow, and the dancers, in time with it, began to rise, swaying quietly, creating the sensation of waves passing through them.

«Bob-bob-bob-bob-bob....

Very abruptly the beats became stronger, and the music was joined by violin, flute, some strange rattles and other musical instruments. The musicians themselves seemed to be off the chain. Their movements, performed in time with the music, were sharp and explosive, accompanied by light clapping and stomping.

«He-hey!....

Suddenly they shouted sharply, speeding up even more, starting to make movements that were simply marvelous. Eshara and two other Dornish women bent sharply, showing off their... figures, and almost fell to the floor before they were picked up by the men and carried over themselves.

«Hee-hee!....

After a moment it was already clear that the Dornish women were the main ones in the dance. They performed a variety of movements and pirouettes, sometimes bending and exposing their bodies so much that many of the lords present (even the old ones) blushed as if they were seeing a girl for the first time.

«Hee hee!....

Oberyn, Dane, and Temper served as backup, helping and carrying the dornike in time, remaining an inconspicuous but very important part of the dance.

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«Hehehe!....

The dance itself was beautiful even without the dornieks, in the process exposing their arms and shoulders. Soft and smooth movements, together with the music changing into sharp and intermittent movements... Together they formed a beautiful picture that could be watched forever.

«Haggal eagle Roine. - Said next to me, some man, whom I did not even look at, not wanting to break away from the contemplation of the dance. - The way of life of a Roynar. And any Dornish.

«Heh-heh!

«Live like a fire, growing bigger and bigger. Burn, burn like a candle in the night. - The unknown man continued to speak as the dance gained more and more momentum. So much so that the bodies of the Dornish were already visible, completely soaked in their own sweat. The dance was coming to a close. - So that later, in a moment....

«Hee-hee!....

The dance ended abruptly, just as it had begun. Just at one moment the dancers stopped, falling to their knees, along with the silenced music.

«Fading away, having completed their earthly journey.

Turning my head slightly and looking to the side, I was able to make out that the man who spoke was a Dornish man in his years, with a short beard and warm brown eyes. But the most important thing was his clothing - only seven people in the Seven Kingdoms could wear the white cloak of the royal guard.

The applause that followed the end of the dance almost deafened me, bringing me out of my stupor. So did my brother Eddard, who stared at the lily-eyed beauty the entire dance.

It was amazing.

I'd forgotten how to breathe, frozen in one pose, hesitant to make a single movement for fear of disturbing the dancers. And from the look on Eddard's face and the aristocrats around me, they felt the same way.

"So much energy... So much life... So much warmth... I wish I could dance like this." - I thought, looking at the Dornish women who had gathered in a group and dashed off outside the Hall - they all needed to change their sweat-soaked clothes, as did the men. - "I'll have to ask someone the meaning of this dance."

As much as I would have liked to be here after these performances, the feast was nearing its end - most of the southerners and northerners were lying in a drunken stupor under the tables like my fiancé and older brother, and those who could still stand were retiring to their chambers to the sweet embrace of sleep... or someone else.

"Wait! I had to talk to Temper!" - I remembered my thought, grabbing Howland under the elbow and whispering for him to take me to the right tent. Reed resisted, saying it was not customary for an unmarried girl to go into other people's tents late at night, but seeing my determined look, he soon gave in. - "That's why I like him so much - he knows when to back off."

It took a few minutes to slip through the drunken guards and my father's guardsmen with my deep hooded cloak, and soon Howland and I were in the camp outside the castle, where the festivities were still going on. There were men and women laughing everywhere, drunken and vomiting soldiers, half-naked maidens popping out of tents, and cauldrons of all sorts boiling over fires. In one of these I was surprised to recognize the sister's chowder, which I had tasted when our family had been guests at Manderley's.

"This is where Robert belongs, among drunks and whores." - I thought as I watched another prostitute pop out of the tent, sending an air kiss there. - "And not among well-mannered and noble aristocrats."

It was a long walk to Temper's tent-almost a full mile. He lived not far from the shore of God's Eye, near a small ship's anchorage, where, besides the usual fishing boats, there were three elegant warships, judging by the flags belonging to the lord I was looking for, not to the locals. I could say that there was a separate small camp for twenty tents, separated from the other tents by a small fence and a moat connected to the lake.

There were sober guards here, unlike in the rest of the camp, and when they knew who had come to them, they warned their lord and led him to his tent. I, thank the Old Gods, was not asked to show my face, otherwise there would have been too many problems with rumors.

Felix Temper was sitting at a huge table covered with a white linen cloth, looking over some papers, sometimes making notes on different sheets. At this moment he was very much like his father, who also sat for hours in his solarium, signing various papers that would decide the fate of the North.

"I wonder who a petty Dornish lord could be writing to?" - I thought as I watched a steady hand trace smooth lines of words on a sheet of paper. Wait... A firm one! - "Is he sober?!"

Even I, who hardly drank any wine and had asked Howland to do the same, had to strain a bit to keep from starting to stagger and speak normally. And he... didn't drink at all?

«Howland! - Having finished with the papers and finally paying attention to us, Temper said, getting up from the table. - Is something the matter? Frankly, I'm puzzled-what business do you need me for at this late hour?

«Do you have no questions about me, Lord Temper? - I asked, a little angry that he wasn't paying attention to me at all.

«Lady Lianna, you've come with Howland, so surely this will have something to do with him. - The tent master's words made me fall into a slight stupor.

"How?" - Coursed through my mind as my gaze wandered uncontrollably around the tent. - "I didn't take off my hood, the cloak completely concealed my clothes. The most he could have done was guess that I was a woman."

«How did you guess? - I asked, pulling off my hood and scattering my hidden hair behind my back. It's a small thing, but it has an instant effect on men.

«The fibula, Lady Stark. - But it had no effect on him. Those green eyes still continued to look at me with a slight chuckle, as if...at a little girl! - Only your house can wear jewelry in the shape of a direwolf's head.

My cheeks flared and my hands tore at the fibula, only to be stopped by an extreme effort of will.

"This is embarrassing!" - I thought, regaining my composure and remembering the purpose of my coming here. - Okay, you've exposed me. So why don't you listen to why we're here?

«Sure, lady. - Temper replied, folding his arms across his chest and smiling kindly. - I'm all ears. I confess I'm curious as to what I, a mere Dornish lord, could possibly want with the only daughter of House Stark.

"It's too late to retreat, but this is the only chance to avenge Howland." - Gathering all my resolve and will into a fist, I finally uttered the phrase I'd prepared at the feast. - Can you find me some armor for the tournament?

Howland's dumbfounded look didn't surprise me, because I hadn't told him about my plan, but Temper's reaction surprised me a lot - his good-natured smile turned into a slight grin, and a light and feverish gleam appeared in his green eyes.

«Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

And soon he laughed. Loud and booming, like a man who had heard a very good joke. I was about to turn around and leave in anger when the laughter stopped abruptly.

«Now, can you be more specific? - Temper asked, staring at me with his bright green eyes.

***

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