When the commotion in the great hall had finally died down after Beson's departure, I took my seat beside Morgan once again; unmindful of the bloody mess in front of him, he had simply dragged his plate over it and begun to eat again. "I had no idea that you could dance," he told me, with obvious amusement. "My mother insisted that I be taught," I said, wryly, "since I was to have been my father's successor. My mother felt that a lord should be skilled in many areas; although, I really don't see the point in learning such a thing." "I have little use for it, I must admit," Morgan responded, before adding in a more reflective tone, "my own mother had very little say in what I learned. It was my father who taught me what skills he thought necessary for his heir to possess. Very few of those skills were social." "And what did he teach you?" I asked him, with casual interest and a slightly raised eyebrow. "He taught me that to allow an enemy to live was a disservice to my heritage and to myself; that to show mercy was to show weakness. It was a lesson that I learned very well." he said, unusually quiet. I wondered what his father had been like, and found myself glad that he was no longer alive. Morgan had fallen silent, and when he spoke again, it was on a different subject entirely. "It occurs to me that there is a service you might render me," he said, his former good humor returning, "Catherine complains that I do not dance with her." Seeing where this was going, I started to protest, but he cut me off. "It would please me if you would take my place." After a short pause, I reluctantly agreed to dance with her. I was puzzled about his motive for the request, especially since his wife's happiness did not exactly seem of utmost concern to him, but how could I refuse? Catherine, who had undoubtedly heard this brief exchange, rose quickly, pressing her hand to her forehead, and murmured that she had a terrible headache, and that Morgan must excuse her. Catching her by the arm, he informed her in no uncertain terms that as his wife, she would obey him without question, and if that meant dancing with Lucifer himself, then she would do that too. With a look of dignified resignation, she accepted my hand, and I led her away from the table, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. "If it were not for my husband's command, I would never lower myself to touch a butcher such as yourself, sir," she informed me, in a furious whisper. Without looking at her, I replied that if it were not for the friendship of her husband, I would never consent to so much as speak to a lady as haughty as herself. On this friendly note, I took her in my arms and commenced to dancing with her, impressed by her grace in spite of myself. As we executed the complex steps of the dance, I found myself uncomfortably aware of her nearness, the sweet perfume that was her own essence, distilled by her skin. I struggled to concentrate on the music and nothing else. The expression in her eyes as she glanced up at me belied the unfriendly silence between us, and I swore that I felt her body tremble slightly. I was relieved when the music ended, and, a little disturbed, I returned to the table, careful to keep my gaze from meeting hers. She did not rejoin us, however; she left the hall without a backward glance, her maid struggling to keep up. Morgan informed me matter-of-factly that she had a different maid-in-waiting now, because Genevieve, upon learning of the deaths of her parents, had thrown herself from the battlements. He then handed me a flagon of wine. (Story and images created in collaboration with Ravenscarred)