GOT: The Dangerous Traveler 7
Ashara Dayne II
Year 281 A.C. – Harrenhal
Ashara Dayne was completely alone. Her eyes, a deep purple like the colors of her house, observed the lively feast as she rested from the constant invasion of knights who, with friendly smiles and elegant gestures, had repeatedly invited her to dance. Her feet, clad in fine golden silk sandals, felt the weight of the night, already exhausted from the continuous steps of the dance. The cup of Dornish wine in her hands, filled with golden liquid, was her only solace at that moment.
Ashara was not a woman difficult to admire. Her beauty was such that some said it could rival the very stars in the sky. Her delicate face, with rosy cheeks and lips like rose petals, had the power to dazzle anyone who approached. But that same beauty often came with a burden: men saw her only for what her face could offer, not for what her mind or heart could contribute. That night, already fed up with the flatterers surrounding her, she had taken refuge in this corner where no one could harass her, at least for a while.
The wine was beginning to take effect, the warmth of the Dornish liquor seemed to soothe her tense mood, and as the music continued in the background, Ashara closed her eyes for a brief moment. But soon, the calm of her refuge was interrupted by a clear voice, full of confidence and a touch of arrogance and amusement.
"Has anyone ever told you that women like you should be on a pedestal, my lady?"
Lyn Corbray's voice reached the lady's ears before his figure did. Ashara opened her eyes and saw the young man approaching, with his sharp face and haughty bearing. His gaze, fixed on her, made no effort to hide his interest. More than once, he shamelessly glanced at her chest.
Ashara raised an eyebrow, not hiding her disdain but also not showing complete disinterest. The type of men who approached her that night, usually noble flatterers, exhausted her, but Corbray was different. Somehow, his boldness and attitude, though clearly egocentric, caught her attention.
"Lyn Corbray, not yet a Ser despite your skill with the sword," she replied calmly, not offering him a smile but not rejecting him outright. "I think this is the first time someone has said something so... unoriginal to me. Normally, you'd say something about the moon or the gods, but your words sound... too earthly."
Lyn leaned slightly toward her, approaching with the same confidence as always, and his eyes sparkled as he heard Ashara's response. He didn't seem bothered by the sarcastic tone but rather intrigued.
"What's the matter, my lady," Lyn said with an arrogant smile as his eyes roamed Ashara's body with a gaze that didn't try to hide his interest, shamelessly lingering on her chest for a couple of seconds, "is that women like you don't need embellishments. Your beauty doesn't need to be compared to the stars. It's obvious that anyone can see what you have..." He paused, as if savoring every word spoken in his mocking tone. "And don't talk to me about gods. I prefer to talk about what's real. What's in front of me. And what's in front of me is a fine pair of masterpieces."
Ashara couldn't help but make a slight grimace of disgust, but for a moment, before she could hide it, the expression was replaced by a glimmer of curiosity. She was used to men approaching her with sweet, poetic words, but the brutality of Lyn's honesty was disconcerting. His boldness, though repulsive in its form, somehow stood out among the other nobles who, it seemed, could talk of nothing but empty flattery.
"You're very direct, Ser Corbray," Ashara said, taking a sip of her wine calmly, not looking away from him. The "Ser" was pronounced with sarcasm. "Too direct, I'd say. But I warn you, I'm not a woman who enjoys conversations so... superficial."
Lyn didn't seem surprised or ashamed. In fact, his smile widened even more, as if her words had only piqued his interest further.
"That's what I like about you, my lady," Corbray lied. Both knew it was the first time they had spoken. "You're not like all those other women who are dazzled by pretty words and empty promises. I'm not offering you sweet words, Ashara. I'm offering you something much more real."
Lyn took a step toward her, coming close enough that his scent, something between leather and wine, reached her senses.
"Oh?"
"What I'm offering you is the chance to enjoy what's in front of you, without anyone telling you. Because I see what you really are. And I'm not satisfied with just looking at you to praise you."
Ashara let out a soft laugh. She was amused.
"I'm not interested in what you're offering, Ser Corbray," she said, but her tone was less sharp than before, showing a crack in her distant demeanor. "I'm not so easily tempted. I'm not Dacey Mormont."
Lyn watched her, as if evaluating her words. Instead of being offended, he seemed to enjoy the challenge. And as his gaze remained fixed on her, Ashara noticed, with a mix of discomfort and fascination, that his eyes reflected a much deeper, more possessive desire.
"Are you afraid Arthur Dayne will take Jorah Mormont's place?"
"He'd kick your ass," Ashara remarked with a smirk.
"I'm sure you thought the same about Barristan," Lyn replied, and Ashara's mood dampened a little. She had almost forgotten about Barristan's situation during this brief conversation. "But even if he did—even if your brother kicked my ass—it would be totally worth it," Lyn added, once again staring shamelessly at Ashara's bust.
"What intrigues me most, Ser Corbray," Ashara said, this time with a slight playful smile, though still with clear distance in her gaze, "is that you're so... easy to read. Those eyes of yours leave nothing to the imagination."
"I'm not a man who hides, my lady. And I've never needed to hide what I want. In fact, I'm a simple man. If I'm hungry, I eat. If I feel like dishonoring an innocent maiden, I take her to heaven. And if I want a new set of armor, I challenge a knight and then have his, now former, squire clean the blood off the plates."
"I believe you."
"Now," Lyn said, with a bold movement, extending his hand toward her. "Will you join me for a dance, or do you prefer to keep hiding behind that glass of wine?"
Ashara looked at his hand for a moment, as if weighing whether to accept or not. In her mind, the answer was clear: she would never agree to play by his rules. Lyn Corbray was still a bastard murderer and lunatic; but he was no longer the simpleton who lacked self-control and faced Jorah Mormont to see who had the bigger... ego. Ashara had a feeling; Lyn probably had more to offer than Jorah.
Despite all the warnings echoing in Ashara's head, a part of her, curious and drawn to Corbray's brutal honesty, hesitated. In the end, with a barely perceptible smile, she accepted his invitation—not because she yielded to his desire, but because, for once, she felt in control of the situation, as if she could play her own game.
"A dance, Lyn Corbray," she said, setting the wine glass on the table.
"A dance."