Resting against a stone column large enough five men couldn't wrap their arms around it, I sipped on a chalice of mulled wine, watching as noblemen and noblewomen from across the land danced to a jaunty tune in the marbled main hall of the Rock.
I'd been there with them for the past hour, making raucous conversation with lordlings and charming ladies with witty remarks and quick, dancing feet.
It was fun for the first few minutes, though I couldn't comprehend how so many rich and powerful nobles could live off a life of unending drinking and feasting.
Though necessary, there was no thrill in this inane sort of politicking. No physical strife to overcome. It was so incredibly dull and repetitive.
Or perhaps that was the inherent struggle of the whole thing?
I shook myself, eased the frown that had knotted my brow and took another sip. Boredom often brought out the dumb philosopher in me.
Besides, even in a situation like this, I knew there were always ways to make life interesting. And what I wanted to start tonight would certainly—and hopefully—make the next few decades of my life endlessly entertaining, if nothing else.
I scanned the hall again, looking for a certain head of yellow-hair. We were well past dinner at this point, though it wasn't late enough that propriety had begun to slip away.
The dancing was still mainly choreographed and well-organized; Tywin and the King still sat at their places on the high-table, observing the proceedings with the casual disinterest typical of the overly-powerful, and children as young as eight years old still zig-zagged like tireless ants around the adults' legs.
That boded well for me, and I soon spotted the blonde I was looking for on the other side of the hall by a clump of Westerland ladies.
She sat down after dancing with a young boy dressed in a copper-colored surcoat stitched with a purple unicorn. She dismissed him with a picture-perfect and station-appropriate curtsy, though the half sneer that flashed across her face belied her mood.
Even as a ten-year-old, Cersei Lannister had already mastered the art of arrogance.
I wondered if that was an inheritable Lannister trait. Did they cry when they were born like everyone else, or did they all pop out of their mothers with a scoff and a middle-finger to the midwife?
Still, her disposition worked all the best for my designs. I pushed off the column and snaked my way to where she sat, skirting the chaotic dance floor and dodging a serving maid with a full tray of ale mugs balanced precariously but skillfully on her hands.
I wouldn't want to be the cause of a servant making a mess in Tywin Lannister's hall. I didn't want their blood on my hands.
Cersei's ladies noticed my approach before she did. I stopped in front of them, my best smile drawing giggles and hushed whispers behind gloved hands.
"Lady Cersei," I said, offering up my hand. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me for a dance?"
Her hand twitched as if to grasp mine, but she stopped herself. Cersei's eyes flitted to the quartered sun and moon of House Tarth on my jacket, and she frowned.
"And who might you be, ser?" she asked. Her voice was that of a child straining to sound like a grown up.
It was adorable, like a toddler imitating her parents, and I had to remind myself this was Cersei Lannister, who even at this age would not hesitate to throw her friend down a well after a visit to a woods' witch.
I had kept an eye on Melara Hetherspoon during the tournament, and seeing as she stood not five feet from me now, the girl was still very much alive.
"Not a knight yet, I'm afraid. Hopefully soon." I tilted my head slightly. "My name is Galadon Tarth, my lady, from the Stormlands. We're a small island in Shipbreaker Bay, known for its sapphire waters and its abundance of sheep."
I gave her another charming grin even as I knew my description of Tarth would only sour her view of me. Her green eyes narrowed, and I could see the moment any prospect of dancing with me died a gruesome death in her mind.
Her tone was decidedly less cordial when she spoke now. "Perhaps on another occasion, Tarth, I'm feeling quite indisposed right now."
I didn't miss a beat and bowed slightly. "Of course, I would not wish to impose any hardship on your ladyship."
Naturally, she was already turning away with her nose up, dismissing me with a mere wave of the hand. And as if to add insult to injury, she went up to a boy slightly younger than me, one of her father's bannerman, and pulled him to the dance floor.
Some of the ladies around her chuckled behind their hands, while others gave me looks of pity, like I was a cute dog being left by the side of the road. That would've ruined any young heir's night had it not been my preferred outcome. And not completely unexpected either.
I had the right looks for it, I knew, and the reaction of most of her ladies as I was coming up, who were closer to my age than to her, was positive enough.
But blood and rank still ruled here, and in Cersei's world, a boy who lorded over sheep could never be an appropriate dancing partner to a lioness of Lannister.
My back straight and chin up, I left the dancing floor behind me with the little dignity I had left. No doubt, with what I knew of her character even at this early age, Cersei would have enjoyed humiliating some small-time lord, at least for a while, but she would forget it soon enough if nothing else came of it.
But when I won the tourney in a couple of days, Cersei would be expected to dance with me as the daughter of the hosting lord, and if my meeting went right with her father went as I wanted, and I played my trump card right, I expected she would even be glad to be my dancing partner then.
Granted, Tarth wasn't exactly as insignificant a lordship as I made it out to be, but the girl likely only heard of our island in some boring lesson about the principal houses of the stormlands. It was nothing to concern the daughter of Tywin Lannister.
In her mind, I would be the boy she once spurned, only to turn out to be the mystery knight that swept the greatest tourney ever hosted in Lannister lands. And not so small-time of a lord after all, it would turn out.
It wasn't much. But making an impression on who would one day be the queen of the seven kingdoms could not be a bad thing, and I didn't expect to have any interaction with her again for many years. I had to use the chances I could get, even for the smallest things.
xxx
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