Snippet #1475479

"Never speak of it," Lionel snapped, cutting off his brother's profuse thanks. "I can't have this ruining my reputation." And what better way to get Rab to blab about this to Adelaide by forbidding him to speak of it? After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and ruffled Rab's hair, something he hadn't done since they were children. He would have attempted a warm smile, but that would have been stretching it. Regardless, he had his little brother won over completely now, which evened things at least a little against his father and mother. Because Rab is Mother's precious little treasure. Because Mother would do anything for Rab. And now…Rab's going to do anything and everything for me. "C'mon, Crowface, we're going to be late to the feast." And he stalked out of the throne room without a second glance.

The feast dragged on slowly- painfully, in Lionel's opinion. The cutlery was exquisite as always, the food incredible, but it all seemed bland to him. He ate mechanically, not even noticing as he filled his fork with both sugar plums and veal. His attempts at making conversation were equally forced; he said something vague about ships and sailing to Lord Greyhardt- perhaps he referenced the war galley they'd given him, he couldn't really remember- and then posed several half-hearted questions in Isabel's direction before he gave up entirely. They must have thought him awfully cold, but Lionel really didn't give a shit at the moment. There were more important matters to worry about…

…such as the nature of Jamie's gift. Lionel's mind had been racing to analyze the motives behind it since Jamie opened the sarcophagus, but it still felt like there was something he was missing, something he didn't quite understand. There's no way the Winslers actually want to make peace… Lionel's whispered exchange with Jamie had made that clear. If Jamie had really wanted to fool the royal family, then he should have watched his words. But as it were, Lionel had taken him by surprise. So now I've just got to figure out all the ways the armor could hurt me. First, there was obviously the concern that the armor was coated with wildfire. Lionel's father was rather famous for his alleged assassination of Ser Olyver so many years ago; it wouldn't be surprising that the Winslers might try to pull the same trick on House Damian. But that was a matter easily resolved, he would just have a servant put on the armor first…and should the longsword contain any traps, then Raban's death would be enough to alert them.

Second were the trickier, political concerns. The fact that the armor was fitted for me and not Father is particularly troubling. It was a well-whispered rumor among the nobles that Lionel's relationship with his father was not the best. House Winsler, knowing that, had presented the gift to Lionel, leading the King to believe that Lionel was attempting to overthrow him. The idea seemed rather pathetic to Lionel; he had no interest whatsoever in ruling. But of course the King refused to believe that…I need to watch what I say from now on. I don't need my own father trying to kill me in my sleep. Finally, Lionel knew of the dangers of possessing such magnificent armor. There was always danger in possessing items that other men coveted; it wasn't exactly a little-known lesson. Maester Syrus had warned him often enough not to go around parading his new weapons. Lionel had disobeyed him only once, and had stirred up the jealousy of several of his older cousins. It wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.

But those are all harms easily avoided…so why does Jamie Winsler look so satisfied with himself? Lionel ran his fingers through his hair, making a noise of frustration. Damnit, Jamie… At least the Winslers had been seated with the lesser houses. The look on Lord Winsler's face when he was informed of his seat location gave Lionel at least some degree of satisfaction. But looking at the Winslers only brought more troubling thoughts to Lionel's mind. Why didn't the other twin present a gift…? Perhaps he assumed that Jamie's armor would be enough, just as the Greyhardts collectively gave me a war galley? But that's different, I'm not exactly marrying one of the Winslers. And of course, the issue of Kervall Winsler could not be dismissed. Lionel was going to have to keep an eye on him. And his sister. He wouldn't be opposed to letting them marry, provided that it was strategic. But if it were more advantageous to hold Adelaide hostage, or to blackmail the two of them, then Lionel would do so without hesitation.

When the dancing started, Lionel stood up almost immediately, offering his hand to Isabel Greyhardt just as he was supposed to. Even if he wasn't particularly fond of dancing, any sort of movement would be a welcome relief after sitting there for an hour. And Lionel was a decent dancer, if not a happy one; he led Isabel on a series of slightly frenzied steps around the room, all the while staring over her left shoulder so as to avoid having to make conversation. It was almost unbearably awkward, but it was necessary, unless he wanted Father to kill him. After the dance with his betrothed ended, he had been planning to retreat to some quiet corner where he could drink and converse with the knights, but somehow he found himself forced to dance with the corpulent Harreina Renlough, the dewy-eyed but idiotic Ashlina Brookhaven, and just plain ugly Jorgine Umber before he could stumble away to catch a break.

By the Seven, I need to get out of here. He leaned against the wall, trying to look like he was occupied so that he would not be forced into another dance.

It didn't work.

"Would you like to dance, my Lord?" Lyssa Bennett dipped into a curtsy in front of him. Lionel raised an eyebrow. What was Lord Bennett thinking? Lyssa was only a maid of fourteen, and Lionel already betrothed- what could he possibly hope to gain?

Lionel resisted the urge to kick Lyssa in the face, and instead made up some half-hearted excuse. "I'd love to, Lady Lyssa, but I've actually got to…" His eyes roamed frantically around the room- and landed on Leliana Greyhardt. She didn't look like she wanted to be there any more than he did. But if he was going to suffer, then so should she. "I've actually promised a dance to Lady Leliana," he said, conjuring up an apologetic face. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

He looked slightly frazzled by the time he reached her at his seat, having been close to assaulted by more girls from the lesser houses. Lionel's nerve was at an end; barely contained rage was bubbling up inside of him again, and he was going to get out of here or he was going to lash out and kill someone. "Lady Greyhardt," he said, sounding slightly strained as he attempted to hide the irritation in his voice. Alright, calm down, she isn't the one you want to kill. "I've told at least five wenches now that I couldn't dance with them because I promised one to you, so if you'd please take me up on that offer…" He extended a hand, grinning slightly. "Anyhow, the courtyard outside is particularly refreshing at night..."