The Dornish contingent entered the feasts late, but they made up for their tardiness with spectacle. Acrobats tumbled and gyrated along the party's path and minstrels sang song of Dornish glories as Myrwin, clad in his royal finery, marched slowly to the feasthall. Ladies fair (most of them stolen from Elia's handmaids and serving-girls), clad in Dornish gowns that could and did scandalize those with firmer notions of propriety and decorum flaunted themselves as they danced to the lively airs.
A solid core of twenty men, all of whom were dressed in court finery, ringed the stone-faced Prince of Dorne. Each man bore steel at his hip, although the steel was only a long dagger, and each man bore a face carved from flint, giving nothing away. The dancers and acrobats swirled around them, making merry and adding a raucous din to the proceedings.
"Brother!" Myrwin called out to William once he'd spotted the man at his high seat. "Share a cup with me." he asked with a warm smile.
Some men - all of whom were now dead - could describe that smile in great detail. He wore it just before they all died.