Chapter Text
She is part of Elia's ladies, most definitely the lowest on the totem pole, but one would never know it based on the way Elia and Ashara smile at and treat her, like an equal.
The same cannot be said for everyone else.
He wonders, again, how his niece talked him into attending her 'ladies party.' Something about using connections to gain credibility and prestige with the ladies of the court.
And knowing two members of the Kingsguard personally would do that, Elia had all but begged, especially if he and Arthur dropped by when they were off duty as though it was a regular thing they did.
Lewyn is just trying to figure out how to gracefully make an exit without hurting Elia's already fragile social standing when the mostly ignored Dornish girl sidles up next to him. "Parties in King's Landing are so terribly tame compared to the ones in Dorne."
He smiled at her, then couldn't help but stare. She was radiant- not solely because of her looks, though she was as gorgeous a girl as he'd seen outside of Dorne in many years, but the way she carried herself, poised, confident, like a night leopard along the Bone Mountains.
"I'm afraid they only get more boring, my lady." He admitted, mind running with a way to keep the girl's interest.
"Hmmm." She gave a noncommittal hum. "I miss the hedonism. King's Landing is certainly lacking for it."
Lewyn felt something in his throat- in his gut- lower twist and tug at her words.
"Do you know what the best part about being a bastard is, currently? Everyone thinks I'm a terrible person, but because I'm in favor with the future queen, they can't outright shun me. So they put me in a chamber in my own lonely hallway, a floor below everyone else."
The girl suddenly was in front of him, blocking the view of him from the room. The Kingsguard in him wanted to push her aside; the man in him was very, very curious as to what she was up to.
"Ser, would you like to accompany me to my lonely, lonely chambers, and see if we can find a cure for this lack of hedonism in our lovely Capitol?" She's bent over at such an angle to give a delicious glimpse of her firm cleavage.
Then, as if he needed convincing further- she glances around to make sure no one is watching them- and with a single touch, strokes his length to full hardness and lets her palm graze the whole of him.
Lewyn thanks every god he didn't wear his armor to this.
A large amount of air escapes his nose. He's lucky he didn't moan out like he wanted to.
It's been so long since someone touched him that wasn't paid to...
The girl has somehow managed to snag two wineskins of Dornish Sour, and she looks at him expectantly.
"Yes," he croaks, before clearing his voice in hopes of not sounding like a green boy any longer, "Yes. Where do I find you?"
"Go down the ivory railed stair case, walk past the bust of Good Queen Alysanne and turn left at the half-burnt tapestry of Daeron the First trying to invade Dorne. I'm the last door on the right, there's a portrait of Prince Duncan and Jenny of Oldstones right before my room." Her mouth puckers up queerly and all Lewyn wants is to kiss the wine stains off of her lips.
Lewyn nods, barely trusting his voice. "And who should I ask for, when I knock upon the last door on the right."
Her mouth curves in a way that once again reminds him of a cat.
"Ellaria." She says huskily. "Ellaria Sand."