Character: Owena Antirran
House: House Antirran
Kingdom: The Reach


Sun beamed down into the small courtyard, warming Owena's arms. She lounged in one of the wicker chairs with a cup of strong tea, running her fingers over a smooth piece of parchment in her hands. Her lips curled in a smile and she hummed to herself. The Septa's Palm's one saving grace was the breezy courtyard, and Owena had wanted to spend time here for the past few days, but was otherwise occupied with keeping up appearances at the jousting tournament. Sparrows twittered from the sprays of flowering trumpet vine growing up the plaster walls, and a slight breeze kept the air from becoming too still or stifling.

Owena continued to study the few lines scratched onto the parchment. She breathed a sigh of contemplation as she dangled a slipper off of her foot.

"House Vitarrion seeks an ally in House Antirran."

Everard's letter, slipped through the iron grates of the courtyard this morning, had not been exactly what she expected. It seemed as if Sir Everard was very serious about his intentions with her, and not only that, but he intended to form an understanding between the two houses by talking to Lord Marcus. Despite a seed of worry that had taken root in the pit of her stomach, she could not stop the rapid fluttering of her heart at his concern for her situation.

As she continued to mull over the outcomes of such actions, she heard a shuffling of feet approach over the cobbles.

"There is someone your parents would like you to meet."

Those words brought a cold dread biting through her veins. How many times had she heard them? How many suitors had she turned away with wiles or bribery? Now, the stakes were so much higher - she had found the man she wished to be with. There was no way that she could let this opportunity slip through her fingers.

"Alector," Owena greeted evenly, tucking away the letter and turning to face her mentor. "So my parents have taken an interest in my social life once again. Let's get it over with." She stood up and slid on her silk shoes.

Alector's eyes were ringed with dark circles and stubble covered his jaw. He looked awful - but then again, after having to babysit her irresponsible father through his blunders and illness, it seemed justified. As she approached him, he frowned apologetically. Owena could not find it in her heart to forgive him this time - he always had the option to advise against these matches - he knew how she felt! - and he never did.

Owena allowed herself to be led into the sitting room, steeling herself for what was to come. She prepared for battle, her weapon a smile and her shield her charm.

The sitting room was bustling with activity. The entire Antirran household was present except for her father. Several servants bustled about and brought in lemon cakes, fresh eggs, bread and fruit for brunch. Lady Shannyn was looking rather anxious in the corner, already sipping at a cup of white wine and occasionally snapping at Hanni to do something for her.

Owena scanned the room shrewdly, trying to figure out who would be vying for her hand. There were a few minor houses here and friends of the family, yet --

"Lady Owena Antirran," Alector announced, "this is Clayce Wyne of the Wynes."

Before her stood Lord Clarence and Lady Amoretta Wyne. Her stomach sunk as she lowered her gaze to the reason she was here. Between Clarence and Amoretta was their son, the young Clayce Wyne, a boy of seven years old and apparently a suitable prospective husband in the eyes of her father. His face was ruddy and his stringy blonde hair fell in curls around his plump cheeks. He clutched a half-eaten lemon cake in one fist, looking quite confused. As she watched, his mother scolded him quietly and brushed a crumb from his jacket.

Owena's veins burned with fury and her vision tinged red. All of her plans for not causing a scene went out the window in a single heartbeat.

“Is he here for a play date with Darus?” She sneered, looking down her nose at the young lordling. “If you want, Alector, I can go fetch him so the two boys can play.” She ignored the look of confusion and surprise on the young boy's face and crossed her arms haughtily over her chest. Nonplussed, she stared Lord Clarence Wyne directly in the eye. Her rage was hidden behind a mask of indifference, but she prayed that her eyes belied her disgust.

“Lady Owena,” Alector hissed in her ear, tugging on her arm almost painfully. “I understand if you don't want to meet him, but in the name of the Seven do not insult the Wynes.” Owena was beyond the point of caring about what Alector had to say. A shame that his advice was ignored so often these days.

Owena refused to acknowledge Alector's presence and chose to keep smiling at the little blonde boy's father. How dare he send his son for her hand in marriage? The boy was probably still using wooden practice swords! Still learning his letters, even!

Lord Baelish has arrived!” Came a cry from the foyer. Alector jumped and hastily excused himself to see the newcomer in. Hopefully the Master of Coin wasn't yet another suitor… Owena huffed and, with a twirl of her skirts, curtsied stiffly and extricated herself from the Wyne family.

Littlefinger, Alector, and Gavin began to chat at the brunch table as Owena found as isolated a seat as she could, which ended up being next to Hanni, her stepmother's beautiful and haughty lady-in-waiting. Owena could swear she heard Hanni sniff in disgust as she sat down next to her. The hairs on the back of her neck raised. Did everyone think that she was a harlot just because an honorable knight escorted her back to her family last night?

There was some sort of political mess going on near Alector, Gavin, and Lord Baelish as voices rose and Alector attempted to keep all parties calm. Owena could not bring herself out of her rage enough to pay attention. Viciously, she stabbed her fork into a honey cake and brought it to her plate.

Owena's heart lurched in anger as she thought about her father. The fool had continued to attempt to wed her off like a lame dairy cow, and he had abandoned his duties to Merlot - the town he was supposed to protect. Now it was under siege by bandits, and the townsfolk who had been more of family than her own were in danger. Despite the sweetness of honey cake on her tongue, bitterness was all she could taste.

Merlot could have been burned to the ground last night, and here he was, trying to marry her off again.

To a seven-year-old.

Things were about to change. Owena would not stand to be treated like a commodity, and she would not allow Merlot to be abandoned by her father. The time had come for swift and decisive action.

In Owena's heart, a storm was brewing.