Westeros

RE: Queenscrown Tourney - Feasting Antics (RP log)

QueenAlysanne — Fri, 03 Aug 2007 00:19:36 GMT

Trystan Lannister: "Oh she is, Lord Minas! I would be lost without her!" Morganna shot a quick but subtle look in his direction. That was a dangerous declaration to make. She would have to remind him not to advertise his weaknesses. "I love her very much." Trystan added. Morganna's expression softened. He truly was the sweetest boy..

Orrin Baratheon: Orrin chuckled, "My family's full of schemes. We've my father's sister, the Lady Keira Baratheon-Toyne, who is a murderess. Then we've my wife, the Princess Valerya." He winced, "Gods know she's up to no good!"

Cilarys Targaryen: "Don't be mopey, brother mine," she cajoled Viserys. "You must forgive him, your Grace, Viserys' moods are so fickle." As if she could talk.

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour realized several things in the moment that Ceren took his arm at the heels of Aerion's words. The first was the Aerion knew him not at all and, thus, by reputation alone. Mislead? Dark eyes swept the room, away from the prince to Ceren at their end note, and a bladed smile appeared on cue. "A princess need not apologize, Your Grace. A pleasure to be seeing you again." Thus did he incline head and shoulders in an abbreviated bow.

Aydin Martell: "His moods are not fickle," Aydin contradicts Cilarys amiably. "My sister's moods are fickle!"

Viserys Targaryen: "You will excuse me, Prince Aydin." Viserys instructed, as he rose. Cilarys he ignored entirely, as he swept away from the high table and descended the dais. It was fresh air he sought. Perhaps some silence. And certainly distance from Cilarys and Aydin.

Ceren Martell: "No, no," she contradicted, releasing him. "No, it was impulsive, I'm sorry -- did I pull you from anything?" She was, genuinely, apologetic, and a blush sifted to the surface of her caramel skin in an instant. "I'm a horrible princess, I think, but there are so many people that I don't know, all saying hello, and after that toast, they all know me, but I'm so wretched with liveries--" She was almost distraught, but rather than embarass herself further, she managed to just look sorry, very sorry. "--you were there, I shouldn't have grabbed your arm like that."

Aerion Targaryen: Unseen, his eyes followed her, desperate to interject. Why does he get to come to her rescue? But he was being childish and petulant and unchivalrous, and so he said nothing, and turned away to kick at a wall. In turning he glimpsed Viserys heading for the exit, in which he now stood. And so he slipped deeper into the shadow.

Minas Baratheon: "How dear you are, young Lord, to take such responsibly upon the death of your father, and without a mother. You truly are blessed to have your Aunt." Minas smiled at Morgana, and then approached her more closely. Minas leaned in and spoke softly, "I was hoping our two Houses could have a meeting. I fear House Baratheon has had little dealings with the lions of House Lannister. Perhaps we should get to know each other better?"

Jenner Lannister: "All families have plots, Lord Orrin, and internal struggles." Jenner acknowledged, "But some deign to conceal them. As for me, I appreciate your candor."

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour could not help it. Viserys caught his attention from the corner of his eye, and Aerion's turning away in the same aspect. The corner of his mouth dented in darkly, but an elegant, calloused hand extended to slip beneath Ceren's elbow in a claim -- or a grab, if she wished -- and tugged her gently near. "Mine is the golden rose upon an emerald field," he murmured to Ceren, "for now that is all you need to know. The sheilds of the Targaryen south know well how to sheild a princess of Dorne. Dance with me and all will be forgiven."

Trystan Lannister: Trystan nodded a sheepish thank you, and Morganna's lips curled into a smile as the Baratheon leader spoke. A sidelong glance assured her that Jenner was making headway with the future ruler. If House Lannister found favor with both Baratheon factions, progress would indeed be made. "I agree completely, Lord Minas. Perhaps our families might dine together at some point during the Tourney?"

Cilarys Targaryen: "Viserys!" She called after him sharply, then muttered, "impossible, woolbrained lout," which was not a very proper thing to say about the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, even if he was your brother and your fiance. "I'm so sorry, your grace."

Orrin Baratheon: Orrin chuckled, "It is hard to conceal the schemers in my family. One can easily gather Storm's End has been overrun by serpents, and when I'm Lord I plan to do away with the lot of them." Orrin picked at a piece of mutton, "So tell me, how fares the little Lord of Casterly Rock?" Orrin gazed at Lannister Lord with a smirk across his face. "He looks like a kitten, and not a lion, I'm afraid."

Viserys Targryen: Viserys paused in the doorway at the sound of Cilarys' voice, he turned his head to the side and seething hatred burned in his violet eyes. His body shook with rage, and somewhere Rekhor raised his head skyward and shrieked flames into the night sky. But the expression faded, and his eyes were upon a figure in the shadows watching him. He was self-conscious. He'd thought he was alone. "Who goes there?"

Ceren Martell: The smile she delivered Valcour Tyrell could've melted a man on even the coldest night at The Wall; here was not the arrogance of the Princess with a bow, here was the daughter of Dorne, graceful among strangers but terrified of them, and only the Tyrell looking into her face could've recognized the profound relief he'd given her. "I'll remember it," she told him. "And certainly give you a dance, though I may not be so graceful in this blasted Targaryen gown."

Minas Baratheon: Minas nodded, "Yes a dinner would be lovely." He wanted with these Lannisters, but he certainly had no intentions of becoming fast friends. He hoped a dinner would go unnoticed by the other families. "Although perhaps we should wait until after the tourney," Minas added. "There will be many feasts and parties, and I wouldn't want to intrude upon your socializing with the other Houses."

Jenner Lannister: "Runt of the litter, I'm afraid." Jenner agreed. "Rainier is hale and hearty, though. And an increasingly fine knight, to boot. Takes after his father, that one does."

Aerion Targaryen: Nothing was going according to plan. He hesitated, thought to flee - but he'd be seen and anyway it was cowardly. "Viserys," he said gently. "I'm leaving." He held his hands up as he stepped into semi-light, and backed towards the exit.

Morganna Lannister: "If you prefer." Morganna conceded, "But it is a sacrifice I am willing to make, if you change your mind."

Valcour Tyrell: A coin was taken from a pocket to be flipped the bard for a song to which to dance, and his chuckle spread gold dust against the air. Cilarys was in his view over the daughter of Dorne's shoulder, and he could still feel the shadows of Aerion and Viserys somewhere behind him on the threshold of entrance and exit. A shield of many fancies, he had no issue with making scene.. Until someone else managed to do so before him. Gold eyes met Ceren's, "My lady --" he said before releasing her to turn on his heel.

Viserys Targaryen: "Halt!" Viserys shrieked. "You are not here." He twitched; No, convulsed. "Why are you here, unless...-" Death. He felt a dagger in his heart, because that was the only reason Aerion could be here. Viserys collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

Orrin Baratheon: "Ha!" Orrin grunted and slapped Jenner across the back. "We shall see what stuff your boy's made of when I knock him around at the melee." Orrin laughed, "And I take it you'll be participating in the joust, as always? Anyone's ass in particular you wish to kick?"

Aerion Targaryen: He muttered a curse and was torn. He couldn't just leave him, but he couldn't rightly carry him into the hall, and deposit him unconscious in front of the queen. He backed away, pulling his hood over his head, eyes never leaving the boy's form, lest harm befall it. He grabbed a passing servant, gave a curt "See to his grace." And then he ran. Hard.

Jenner Lannister: "Well, I certainly wouldn't mind knocking that-..." His statement was interrupted by a scream from one of the doorways. He shot up to a standing position, finding the wine had gotten to his head a bit more than he'd realized. "What the devil is going on?" Trystan and Morganna, turned to the exit nearest them at the sound of a cry from the shadows there. Rainier drew his sword and bolted in front of them.

Valcour Tyrell: Three swift strides and Valcour had dropped into a corbie's crouch with a hiss to the retreating shadow of the disguised prince, and lifted the other -- Viserys -- safely into his arms.

Ceren Martell: Ceren glanced over Valcour's shoulder upon hearing the scream, and nodded as he retreated away from her, and towards the noise. Prince Aydin was up, out of his seat, and off the dais before the shriek had even finished itself.

Kieran Baratheon: Kieran was bored. Both Cilarys and Viserys had become distracted upon meeting the Martell Prince. He finished his glass of wine, and then turned to Cilarys. He was about to ask her to dance, when he heard a scream. "What was that?" Kieran stood and tried to see what was going on. It had come from the direction Viserys had wandered too. "Let's go see!" Kieran bade Cilarys to follow.

Kennedy Baratheon: Kennedy drew his sword, and joined Rainier to examine the source of the commotion, and to assure that his family was not in danger. Orrin, however, sat and watched with a glass of ale in hand.

Cilarys Targaryen: She was off before Kieran, heart pounding, because she knew that shout, she'd heard it before. "Viserys!" She shrieked, shoving past servants and knights alike, a slim silver dagger drawn and ready.

Rainier Lannister: Rainier saw someone tending to the Prince on the ground, and someone running. Viserys was being taken care of. His evident attacker was not. "This way!" He called, bolting after the shadowy attacker.

Ceren Martell: The Princess had been ushered backward by Hakan Sand and made to move aside, while the broad-shoulderd, Dornish knight assessed the situation.

Koray Martell: With so many necks craned and eyes strained in the direction of the Targaryen incident-in-progress, there were precious few amidst those who had slowed from the dance in order to mill who might have taken note of a new arrival in the room. Those who did make note were, inevitably, female.

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour turned and, by seeming accident, managed to sidestep into Rainier's path with Viserys in his arms. "My lord!" He said sharply, turning his shoulders as if the misstep had afeared him of Ranier's drawn sword: accidently brushing the prince.

Orrin Baratheon: "Hell, maybe someone has been knifed," Orrin calmly told Jenner. "Something of that nature is bound to happen, with all the Houses gathered in one place."

Jenner Lannister: "There's glory to be had." Jenner told Orrin as a means of excusing himself, and off he was running, after his son.

Alysanne Targaryen: The crowd did not attempt to stop the Queen, who brushed forward. "What is the meaning of all this?" She demanded. "Where is my grand -" She saw. "Aerion." And somewhere a dragon took flight.

Kennedy Baratheon: Kennedy charged after the attacker, following close behind Rainer. If only the young Baratheon had his bow…

Koray Martell: Somewhat more than uninterested in the flutter of goings-on that had magnetized whole flocks of feast-goers to the opposite side of the hall, the visitor wore an enigmatic close-lipped smile and tailored black leathers with a matched set of calf boots, the loose-laced chemise that hung from broad, raw-boned shoulders showing a shade or two paler than the sundrenched bronze of his complexion. He drifted the edge of the room, ostensibly sampling some of the ladies present with dry flickers of coal-dark eyes, but more to the point, keeping Hakan Sand on his periphery and certain the knight's back remained turned to him.

Rainier Lannister: "FUCK!" Rainier stumbled back and fell on his arse, as Jenner drew behind him. "Which way, Rainier?" The younger Lannister sat up and looked all around, but he was disoriented and the figure was out of sight. "I... I lost him, thanks to this buffoon!"

Ceren Martell: Ceren heard the Queen, and clinged to her composure, her expression schooled into concerned surprise. Aydin was moving toward her through the crowd, and Hakan Sand had made it to the door, but did not pursue the attacker further. It was not his place.

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour's mouth set into a grave line as he silently bidded a disguised prince godspeed and stepped around the Lanniser to cross, ignoring the crowd, to the nearest table. A kick of his bootheel cleared it of plates so that he could with great care lay Viserys out. Bending low, he tore a few black velvet petals from the flowr pinned to his sleeve to drop in a nearby goblet of wine.

Aerion Targaryen: The 'attacker' was fast, and frightened, and fleeing. He cursed himself for riding all the damned way to Queenscrown, and leaving Eingana back at Dragonstone. He changed his mind on that score when he heard a dragon's screech, and the moon was momentarily blotted. The disgraced prince angled away from the town and toward the cover of the woods.

Aydin Martell: Before Aydin had made it to Princess Ceren, however, he espied the quick dart and glance of a familiar face through the crowd, and blinked. "No," he hissed, and pressed quickly forward.

Valcour Tyrell: The petals were crushed into the wine and swirled as he heard from a distance the dragon's cry, eyes fixated on the pale prince's face. "Viserys," he murmured, bending low to pry open the prince's mouth and dribble the concoction down his throat. He felt more than saw the presence of Alatriste Bulwer making his way towards them through the press.

Kieran Baratheon: Kieran ran after Cilarys. Something had happened to poor Viserys. He saw that his cousin had her dagger drawn. He drew his sword, running to stand by her side.

Trystan Lannister: "Will the dragon avenge him, Auntie?" Trystan asked, after hearing a screech in the night. "I dare not venture a guess, Trystan. I do not pretend to know the trends of dragons."

Koray Martell: The subject of Prince Aydin's sudden notice did not fail to recognize himself as target, and lingered against an arch that would provide immediate exit on the adjacent loggia. A few slender, stray braids skimmed the bladelike cheekbones while he waited on Aydin's approach, the whole of that rich black hair plaited back and ribboned neatly at the nape of his neck.

Cilarys Targaryen: She reached the table to which her brother had been carried, literally clawing anyone who dared obsruct her passage. "Little brother," she murmured, surveying his body for injury, finding none. She watched his chest rise and fall once before she learned to breathe again herself. "Oh, little brother." A pale hand slipped into his, holding tight.

Ceren Martell: Ceren almost started towards the door, but Hakan Sand had returned and delivered her into warning glare as he passed in front of her again, and then proceeded to circle around her through the crowd, widely; in the ruckus, he was less preoccupied with the edges of the scene, and so did not notice the face that had Aydin hustling to get to his sister.

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour's hand almost absently delivered Cilary's a sharp smack to remove it from Viserys, and he propped the princes head and shoulders up with his arm while continuing to feed him the wine and petal brew.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys coughed, then gasped and his eyes shot wide open as Valcour's potion spilled down his chin and onto his clothes. Both of his hands were drawn sharply to his abdomen and he breathed quick, shallow breaths as his panicking violets darted everywhere. A look of utter horror overtook his face, and he pulled away from Valcour. He pressed his hands so hard against his abdomen. He had to stop the blood that wasn't really there.

Cilarys Targaryen: The princess just blinked up in shock, unable to comprehend what had just happened. She was still not quite certain that Valcour was real, mind.

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour ignored Cilarys as she was no longer touching her younger brother, and it would seem all his attention was on Viserys as he unburied a handkerchief to quickly mop up the spillage. He allowed the prince to pull away from him, but failed to move from his too close position, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket and his lips near the prince's ear. "Breathe," he advised easily. "He's gone."

Aydin Martell: Aydin was nearly to Ceren now, and Hakan Sand had vanished again, but the Prince of Dorne was only interested in getting to his sister, be the Bastard of Starfall damned.

Alysanne Targaryen: By this time all the Targaryens had gathered around their not-actually fallen heir. It was Jaehaerys that reached out first, to grip a slender shoulder with still-strong fingers. "What happened, Viserys?" He asked gently, but there was iron behind his tone. Alysanne suspected their son. He could feel it.

Kennedy Baratheon: Kennedy wondered what in the name of the gods was going on. He reentered the hall, sword still drawn. He looked around for familiar faced…all there save Aerion's. Where had the Prince have gone? He noticed the Queen seemed to be fuming. Had she seen Aerion. Had Aerion…Prince Viserys! A look of horror came across Kennedy's face as he saw the young Prince lying on a table.

Koray Martell: Humming beneath his breath -- a spontaneous variation on the musicians' fare prior to that abrupt halt of the dance -- the visiting Dornishman tapped long, eerily elegant fingers idly upon the pommel of the sword slung at one hip; the tune faltered and ebbed, however, as his coasting gaze was unable to relocate Hakan Sand. The Prince and Princess of Dorne, yes. Ceren's hypervigilant lapdog, no.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys' breathing slowed, and he looked down at his hands. There was no blood. "But he..." The prince looked crazed, but even he knew better than to speak on. He looked to Valcour, then to Cilarys, and all of those surrounding him. He felt very small. "Where is he? Was he stopped?"

Alysanne Targaryen: "Typhon will find him, my sweet," the Queen assured her grandson. But his mother said softly: "Mightn't you have imagined it, Viserys?"

Aydin Martell: Aydin's hands found Ceren's arms, and he pulled her gently, but urgently, toward the door. "We have to go," he murmured into her ear. "What?" she hissed. "Why?" He shook his head, pushing, but she dug in her heels. "I'm not leaving," she insisted. "Now," Aydin pressed. And then the two argued in fervent whispers.

Valcour Tyrell: Dark gold eyes rose from the Targaryen host where he stood, a shadow in the shadow of Viserys and silent as one, to watch Dorne's children. A hand rested loosely on the pommel of his sword as the king and queen spoke about him. The scent of nasturtium filled his mouth.

Viserys Targaryen: "Grandfather!" He squeezed the old King's hand, and pulled him closer. "I imagined nothing!" Except being stabbed and dying. "Even Maegor knew..." He said to his mother. "He can't be punished." He said to the Queen.

Koray Martell: For half a heartbeat, he met a familiar gaze across the room; another Sand, this one Khitar, faithful to him as his own brother remained blind. But Ceren's knight remained invisible, and the visitor edged his spine up against the stone corner of the loggia arch, watching Aydin and Ceren. It had been far too long.

Alatriste Bulwer: Alastriste Bulwer stood in the shadows behind the children of Dorne, silent and waiting, and met briefly Valcour's gaze. A faint nod and nothing further.

Aydin Martell: "I'm not going until I hear what happened," Ceren whispered to Aydin, whose mouth twisted in angry frown; he held her upper arm. "What on earth are you having a fit over?" But Aydin wouldn't answer; he shook his head, knew that if he told her who was present, that she'd do all in her power to find a bow and put an end to it.

Cilarys Targaryen: Cilarys, meantime had crawled up onto the table to hug her brother in sheer relief. She'd worried so! Alysanne arched a regal brow. She opened her mouth to speak, changed her mind. "Even Maegor knew," Jaehaerys echoed, looking to his little sister. Alysanne nodded, and was silent. None of the Targaryens seemed particularly keen on explaining things.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys hopped down from the table and put his arms around Jahaerys, laying his head against the king's chest. He quivered still. Just as he had when he awoke from his other famous fainting spell, and was informed that Rhaethys had been killed by Aerion.

Jaehaerys Targaryen: Jaehaerys patted his grandson's shoulder. "Well, that's quite enough excitement for one night, isn't it?"

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys nodded and withdrew.

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour, who had had quite enough, calmly and without saying a word, sunk his hands about the Princess Cilarys and extracted her from her brother and into his arms, skirts spilling and then slippered feet being lowered to the floor. "Your little brother requires air," he said simply. The shadow spoke.

Cilarys Targaryen: "Unhand me, rogue!" The princess glowered. How dare he? She seemed prepared to use that little silver dagger on him, mirrored eyes turning on him. "Cilarys," the queen interjected. "Go help your brother upstairs." The formidable woman turned to regard Valcour. "I thank you for aiding my grandson, Ser, but you will not manhandle my granddaughter."

Alatriste Bulwer: Alastriste observed the sharp steel of Hakan Sand so aptly weilded in secret, and remained impassive and watchful as a septon's statue from his place in the shadows of Dorne's children.

Viserys Targaryen: "No!" He looked to Valcour, whose face was the first he'd seen when his eyes opened. Whose eyes had offered nothing but comfort. "You come too." He wanted to know this man, and to thank him. There was something between them that he wanted to explore. He protected Viserys not only from Aerion and from mania... but also from Cilarys. There was an understanding. "Who are you?"

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour dropped to one knee as fluid as the summer wind, head bowing when the queen addressed him. Dark eyes lifted to the queen first, Cilarys second, Visery's finally to remain. "Valcour Tyrell, your grace, and I will gladly escort you. Perhaps the Princess Cilarys ought have an escort of her own of the kingsguard to her own quarters with the night's goings on?"

Targaryens: Pale arms crossed under smallish breasts, and Cilarys pouted. But Jaehaerys nodded to the man that had seemingly saved his grandson, and won his trust. And so the Targaryen men, for once, exercised their right of veto. "Ser Arryn will escort the girls upstairs. And Ser Lucamore will accompany you, ser Valcour, with my grandson." The white-cloaked knights moved to obey, and the girls too, Cilarys stumbling and staring over her shoulder as her other half went off in another direction. "I thank you," the king noted before Valcour departed, "for my grandson."

Alatriste Bulwer: "My lord," the guard cleared his throat quietly while stepping, cat's quiet, closer to Dorne's children. "My lady. Might I offer an escort?"

Valcour Tyrell: The king recieved but a silent and deep bow from the second Tyrell son, obviously a bow that would have been a genuflection had he not been hot on the heels of Viserys. Then it was on the prince's heel's he was, and finally at his side in a stride as casual as a stroll through the garden.

Aydin Martell: Aydin turned and thrust Princess Ceren into Ser Alatriste's arms. "Yes," the Prince of Dorne said vehemently. "Escort her somewhere safe."

Alatriste Bulwer: "Your Grace," the knight nodded to Aydin, the hazel green of Tyrell eyes he shared with the Highgarden heir falling upon the princess abruptly in his arms. A firm hand clasped her elbow, and he gave her a tight, wry smile. "If you'll do me the pleasure," he said, even while steering her firmly towards the door.

Queenscrown Tourney - Feasting Antics (RP log)

QueenAlysanne — Fri, 03 Aug 2007 00:17:04 GMT

(Wherein lives are threatened, betrothals speculated upon, and dragons are hunted and haunted by other dragons. The King ends the right of the First Night, his heir has a fainting fit, and a certain ghost appears very far away from his desert homeland. Warning: This is long.)

Jaehaerys Targaryen: Servants swarmed the Great Hall and Queenscrown Castle, serving rows upon rows of tables, course after sumptuous course. One thing was certain: The Good Queen had spared no expense. At the High Table, the old king Jaehaerys surveyed the crowd. He was pleased that so many of the greatest Westerosi lords had made it. Very pleased. For he had his own announcement to make tonight, one he and Alysanne hoped would change all Westeros for the better.

Edword Tully: While Edword seemed more than content with the dinner, and his company his brother Jarl sat slightly away from him watching for the most part. It wasn't shyness that kept him mute, so much as the fact that his brother talked enough for both of them. And mostly in longwinded jags that made Jarl wave for more wine.

Wyatt Tyrell: The heir of Highgarden was low conversation with a knight of the Flower guard, relaxed and laughing at this feast; but every so often he would cast a glance towards the entrance of the hall as if looking for someone, waiting for someone to appear whose absence he was concerned over.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Kaeryth rarely spoke to anyone, ever, so no one expected her to speak much now. She sat quietly, observing the various members of her family and the other guests that were gathered here.

Cilarys Targaryen: "Stop it!" Cilarys hissed to Aelinor, who was playing with the candles again. She was impossible, completely impossible. "I swear by the Mother, Aelinor, if you light the table on fire I'll murder you!" Aelinor just blinked up at her. "Aunt Kaeryth, will you please tell my sister not to play with the bloody candles!" Not very ladylike language, that.

Minas Baratheon: The old Lord Minas Baratheon sat with his lovely daughter Rhoswen to his right and with Orrin and Kennedy to his left. Kieran sat to next to Rhoswen, followed by his mother the Princess Valerya, who so desperately wished to be seated with the rest of the Targaryens. They were all, save for Valerya, in good spirits. Orrin was content with his ale, and Kennedy the food. Old Minas seemed quite pleased.

Aydin Martell: Prince Aydin Martell was engaged in conversation with one the other Targaryen bannermen, grinning and laughing and watching the room with those dark, impassive eyes of his. He wore the traditional leather armor of the desert, supple and black, and seemed perfectly happy to drink and chat all night.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Sighing softly, Kaeryth spoke to the two sisters. "Cilarys watch your language. And Aelinor, this is truly not the place for you to be doing that. You must remember we are supposed to be setting an example. Please behave."

Rhoswen Baratheon: Rhoswen, seeming to ignore the bountiful food and drink, was quietly eyeing the heir of Highgarden. She subtly, of course, tried to capture his attention with those stunning green eyes and pretty face.

Marysa Tully: Marysa had just put the children to bed, over endless wailing to be allowed to attend the feast. But it was late and they were small, and so Marysa had been insistant. By the time she arrived, most everyone was seated. She ought to have paid her respects to Aerion's parents, but instead slipped through the crowd to find her brothers. "Edword, Jarl," she called, and leaned in to hug them.

Ceren Martell: Princess Ceren Martell, however, was seated at the table with the Targaryens; she had been thatched and pinned into a Westerosi gown of beautiful sapphire, the dark curls of her hair pinned up and out of her face, and she sat poking her plate with her fork, boredly, and casting those lightless black eyes across the hall at her brother, enviously. She looked uncomfortable, stifled, and like she'd rather be drinking wine and dancing. Behind, and to the right of the Dornish Princess, the irascible figure of Hakan Sand stood watching.

Wyatt Tyrell: Wyatt was, once again, eyeing the door while Alatriste spoke of jests and wine-dampened tales; but as verdant eyes began their slow slide back to his companion, they paused on Rhoswyn Baratheon. After a beat a slow smile tripped itself up, and the black haired Tyrell brother made his excuses while rising from his chair.

Minas Baratheon: Minas noticed his daughter's demeanor. He leaned over and whispered, "What handsome Knight has caught your attention today my sweet?" He wore a long cape and a black and gold tunic adorned with the Baratheon crowned stag.

Aelinor Targaryen: Aelinor blinked up at Kaeryth, and then smiled darkly. She reached for the candle on the table and started making patterns on her plate with the wax. "Aelinor, stop now," Alysanne called from a few seats away. The voice of the queen stopped the girl, where sisters and aunts did not.

Rhoswen Baratheon: Rhoswen, wearing a stunning burgundy dress with gold trimming, her ebony hair falling over her shoulders, answered her father, "Not a mere Knight father, but the heir of Highgarden. Ser Wyatt of House Tyrell."

Wyatt Tyrell: Unlike his younger brother's habit of black, Wyatt was dressed in darkest green. The dusk-gold rose pinned to his sleeve marked him Tyrell as he pardoned and hello'd his way through the mire. A brush of his sleeve against Hakan Sand's elbow, and he paused in his path to tilt his regard down to the princess of Dorne.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Kaeryth bit her tongue to restrain herself from making a rather rude remark to her niece. Really she wondered what was wrong with the child. She was so...odd. She grabbed the candle from the child and put it back in it's proper place, glad that her mother at least seemed able to control her.

Cilarys Targaryen: "D'you see anyone pretty?" Cilarys leaned in to whisper to Ceren, then noting her ghost’s famous brother fast approaching. Her smile widened. "Why, hello, Lord Tyrell."

Ceren Martell: Hakan nodded politely to the heir of Tyrell, and even moved a bit out of his way to make room for his passage, but did not otherwise move his attention from the princess. "Pretty?" Ceren echoed absently, tilting her head some to peer at Cilarys. Shining obsidian eyes swept upward to Wyatt, however, as he arrived and Cilarys said hello.

Kennedy Baratheon: Meanwhile Kennedy, enjoying the tempting meats and pastries, was eyeing what would be his fiercest and most charming competition at the archery range. His bright, greenish eyes seemed fixed upon the figure of Ceren Martell. She was certainly as lovely as Aerion and others had told him.

Wyatt Tyrell: The greeting of a Targaryen princess, however, called for an immediate slip of attention to Cilarys; and Wyatt delivered her a perfect, deep bow and a charming smile on a typically grave face. "Your Grace," he murmured in a Southron drawl. "You are enjoying the feast, I hope? And Your Grace," a faint, easy jest on the many uses of the title as green eyes met the black of Dorne and he offered this princess a bow as deep as he had delivered the first. "A pleasure to see you north of the Marches."

Aerion Targaryen: Aerion had had a hard time of it, getting inside the feast hall. His face was not one that went easily unnoticed. From the arch of a doorway he glanced through the room, eyes inevitably drawn to the high table, the parents he had not laid eyes on in years. Father looked old, and mother... just the same. She smiled and laughed with her guests. Did he hate her? All that had passed was, at the bottom of it, at least partly her fault. Mostly, he wished he could speak with her. Violet orbs trailed inexorably to Ceren, looking astounding and royal in a proper gown, for once. And behind her... a Tyrell. He glowered.

Ceren Martell: Ceren smiled, the expression sudden and beautiful, full of light, helpless charm, despite that it was bestowed upon a Tyrell. "And you, my lord," she said amiably. "Everything seems less grave when it's so bloody cold out."

Minas Baratheon: The old Lord's lip curled to form a sly smile, "An excellent choice to gaze upon, my daughter." The Tyrells were a good breed, and perhaps Ser Wyatt would make a fitting husband for his precious Rhoswen.

Cilarys Targaryen: "Oh, quite," Cilarys agreed, though to what, she wasn't entirely sure. Her neck was prickling. "I met your brother this morning, Lord Tyrell," she noted. "He was masquerading as a ghost."

Wyatt Tyrell: "Princess Kaeryth," Wyatt offered, ever sharp to his manners and the princesses of the realm (or both realms, as it were), "Aelinor." A spin of shadows as Wyatt blinked, Cilarys words chilling him, but his smile failed to falter despite his quick glance darted towards the door. "You will learn, my lady, that my brother masquerades as many things. A highwayman, even, when we were small."

Rhoswen Baratheon: Rhoswen was now frowning. Wyatt had been distracted by that dark-skinned Princess, who fancied sports and such, and had been distracted. And now he was paying respects to that bratty Cilarys. Rhoswen let out a sigh.

Ceren Martell: "Excuse me," she said to both Cilarys and Ser Wyatt. "I'm going to go pester my brother." With that, she threw her linen carelessly onto her plate and rose with a whisper and rustle of satin and lace.

Wyatt Tyrell: Princesses everywhere, Wyatt wondered, and his brother nowhere to be found. Wyatt immediately pulled Ceren's chair back for her, a gesture automatic as breathing, and nodded.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Nodding her head in greeting, she smiled politely at the man who had greeted her before returning to her observations of the others in the room.

Cilarys Targaryen: "All right," Cilarys nodded to Ceren, as she drifted away. "A highwayman, truly? What fun," she went on, her attention quickly turning back to Wyatt and smalltalk.

Edword Tully: It usually took time for the brothers to reacquaint themselves with each other, but the best way was usually their sister who was greeted with a hug from Edword and an embrace from Jarl. He was never shy about affection for his family. "Marysa, come sit. Stop Edword from his endless prattling on." Edword smiled at Jarl. "It's not endless prattling. Why don't you go find a princess to annoy?"

Ceren Martell: Ceren smiled again to Wyatt Tyrell, warm but distant, sank into an abbreviated curtsey, and then she maneuvered around the chair and towards the end of the daise. Hakan Sand drifted behind her, like a ghost.

Orrin Baratheon: Orrin jabbed Kennedy, breaking his gazing at the Martell Princess. "Look who's here. It's your treacherous friend the Prince," Orrin sneered and pointed in the direction of Aerion, who had just entered the hall.

Valerya: Valerya leaned in to whisper to her son. "You ought to mingle," she chided him, and then caught her husband's comment. Only Kieran would note the look of shock and disdain that crossed her face.

Jarl Tully: "I don't annoy them, brother. Unlike you." Was the witty repost as he stood to help his sister into her chair.

Wyatt Tyrell: "Our lady mother failed to find it as amusing," Wyatt allowed, offering Cilarys a warm smile; but his eyes wandered, finding against Rhoswyn Baratheon seated amidst all her brothers and, of course, her lord father.

Ceren Martell: The Dornish Princess made her way down from the dais, cheeks flushed from the movement, and the corsette binding her ribs; how Westerosi women functioned in such a dress was beyond her. With a sigh, she crept onward, smiling and muttering hellos and good-evenings and being intercepted for small talk as she worked her way towards Aydin, at the other end of the hall.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Having just spotted her brother, a grin came to Kaeryth's face. It lasted only a moment, however, when she realized that he was actually here...in the same room as their parents. She stood, slipping away as quietly as possible, something she'd become quite adept at, and started making her way through the crowds toward Aerion.

Marysa Tully: "You two haven't changed. And Hali's home, so I will have to keep you from tearing one another apart." She settled onto a bench between them. "How have you been, Jarl? Is Winterfell treating you well?"

Jarl Tully: "Yes, I..." Not one for trailing off, ever Jarl had caught sight of Ceren and smiled to himself. She did not look comfortable. "Ah, yes, I've been well. And you? How has it been in King's Landing?" Edword gave a look at Jarl, but kept his words to himself for later. "Don't worry so Marysa. I have other company to attend to besides Jarl."

Wyatt Tyrell: "Your Grace, if you will excuse me? I must pay my father's respects." And with that Wyatt offered Cilarys a parting bow to turn on a heel and slip more than stride through a crowd of this sort. As he walked, he gave a frown to the door again, and tried to quell the niggling concerns growing wider within.

Kennedy Baratheon: "Yes Mother," Kennedy grumbled. He really was not in the mood for socializing. He noticed the Princess Cilarys sitting with the rest of the Royal Family. But where was Viserys?

Aerion Targaryen: Aerion was watching Ceren move, lost in the beauty of her, but then a flash of pale on approach caught his attention. Kaeryth, beelining for him. Not that he wasn't pleased to see her, just... Mother would know. He ducked back into shadow. She'd find him, but they'd be out of their parents' sight.

Ceren Martell: Ceren smiled uncomfortably to Jarl Tully; a hand was pressed subtly, refinedly, to her abdomen as she walked, graceful in spite of herself, through the crowd. She took a cup of wine from the tray of a passing waiter, and swallowed down a healthy sip.

Marysa Tully: "King's Landing is busy, as ever. Court is full of snakes and other poison creatures. I was thinking of coming home for a time, actually."

Wyatt Tyrell: "Lord Minas," Wyatt's amiable and reserved drawl gently intruded on the fringe of the Baratheon seats.

Kaeryth Targaryen: She knew he would move, and she was glad that he did. She slipped towards him, finally reaching him and embracing him tightly. "You shouldn't be here you know. Oh but I am so happy to see you. Have you been well?"

Kieran Baratheon: Kieran rose and slowly approached Cilarys. He brought two goblets of wine with him, and handed one to his cousin. "Hello Princess," he feigned a charming smile. "Lovely to see you again."

Lucas J Ward: Jarl looked down and away from Ceren at that smile, to return his attention to his sister. "Yes, well I suspect that Edword will have a fine time managing that mess without you. You should return home, and bring the family." He gave a soft smile for his sister. Her position was what happened when one tried to rise above their station. He would not like to find himself in the same boat. Edword seemed to find his silence as he too was watching a princess. It was hard to keep ones eyes on the place at hand with all this bustling.

Minas Baratheon: "Ser Tyrell," Minas beamed as he stood to greet the heir of Highgarden. "Please, have a seat at my table." He had a servant grab a chair, and placed it strategically between his own and Rhoswen's.

Aerion Targaryen: "Well enough. I've missed you as well, sweet sister." His smile was kind and genuine. "You look lovely this eve, as ever." Unromantic, that - they had never been so inclined, to their mother's dismay. "How have you been? How is father?"

Aydin Martell: Prince Aydin Martell had drifted on to chatting with a few of the Tyrell bannermen in attendance; had there been any animosity to speak of, it certainly didn't come from him. They laughed and drank, and the Prince of Dorne was apparently gifted with the telling of (often dirty) jokes, much to the entertainment of those around him.

Wyatt Tyrell: "My thanks. My lord father wishes to offer his regards," Wyatt's quiet smile deepened a bit as he waited until Minas was seated again before taking his own seat perforce a bow. "Lady Rhoswyn, how are you enjoying the feast?"

Cilarys Targaryen: "Why, hello, coz," she cooed. "Are you anxious for the Tourney? Do sit beside me, for a spell." She scooted to make room.

Ceren Martell: Ceren smiled to Edword as well, when their eyes met over shoulders and around elbows, and it seemed that she had plans to swing around again and greet the Tullys, but was waylaid by several of her own father's lords, who seemed eager to hear of her adventures in King's Landing. Hakan Sand, as always and like a rock, stood at a polite distance behind.

Kaeryth Targaryen: "He is...well, he's not the same Aerion. He hasn't been for some time now. Only Mother seems able to make him smile anymore. She is holding up, keeping busy to avoid it all I think. I am well. You know me, never one to be involved."

Edword Tully: Edword smiled at Ceren far more brightly than his brother and gave her a welcoming nod to their table if she was so inclined. However he stood from his chair quickly. "If you'll excuse me." He made his way through the crowd, cutting through several groups of people to drift closer to the princess in question.

Marysa Tully: "I do believe I shall," she decided. "Will you be staying at Winterfell much longer, Jarl? How this cold must trouble you." A small smile crept to her lips. "Or have you found someone with whom to keep warm?"

Ceren Martell: Just as Ceren had managed to disengage herself from conversation, she turned to find Edword approaching, and the smile she delivered him now was not uncomfortable, only pleasant. "Lord Tully," she greeted, dipping in a polite bow. "How are you?" With even that fractional drop of her head, a few sable curls writhed free to dust her throat and shoulder, and the circlet nestled into her hair glinted by candlelight.

Alatriste Bulwer: Alatriste Bulwer, Captain of the Flower Guard and fist cousin of the Tyrell heir, was listening to the Dornish prince with a broad smile; but his eyes drifted first to where Wyatt sat now with the Baratheon's, taking note of that, and then to the door. His heels were hot, he thought, and would grow hotter still given another ten minutes.

Rhoswen Baratheon: Rhoswen's bright, green eyes sparkled. "The feast is lovely, but I shall enjoy it so much more now that you have graced our table." She extended a hand towards handsome and chivalrous Wyatt, expecting a kiss.

Jarl Tully: His sister was among the few people that could get such a warm laugh from him, and it filled the space between them abruptly. "I've found I like the cold, when pressed. It's refreshing in a way. Very clean." He took a larger sip of his wine. "No, no one to share my bed with. I've been spending far too much time training. The Starks have taught me well." He said proudly.

Minas Baratheon: Minas, all the while smiling, had a servant bring them three full cups of wine. "I trust your father is well? We defenders of the southern marches should do well to keep up with one another, don't you think?"

Aerion Targaryen: "You were always the cleverest of us," he noted. Rhaethys was the dutiful eldest, Naerys the conciliator, Kaeryth the clever, learned one, and Aerion the wild youngest. "Do you still keep yourself locked away? Surely you've read every book in the library by now."

Edword Tully:"Your grace." He returned the bow to Ceren, and offered her another one of his smiles. "If you have the time, you should stop and meet my brother, Jarl." He offered no unkind words about his brother, though he may have thought them. "But if you'll excuse me, I'm off to prattle on endlessly as my brother says." He'd spotted Kaeryth while they'd been talking, though he didn't see who she was speaking with.

Wyatt Tyrell: "You flatter me unduly, lady," Wyatt whispered a kiss against Rhoswyn's knuckles, daring to offer the barest squeeze before he straightened to accept the goblet from Minas. "I am in complete agreement, my lord. Father is faring well and, I daresay, shall arrive by the morrow's nightfall. Some business kept him in Highgarden overlong." Some business, indeed.

Kieran Baratheon: He joined her and sat down, "Yes I am ready for the tourney. A bit nervous, actually. I hope I perform well in the melee." He took a sip of wine, "Where is Viserys? I thought to find him here with you."

Kaeryth Targaryen: Kaeryth smiled at the thought. "Well, I have certainly made progress. We do have a rather large library after all. And I've been gifted with new books to occupy my time." She smiled at the thought before continuing. "But yes, I still prefer to be there on my own." She glanced around before speaking again "I think I should return, before Mother notices I'm gone. I don't want her to get suspcious. Please promise me you'll be careful?"

Marysa Tully: "Of that I'm certain. You look so much older!" And stronger, and weathered. "But you must do more than train, to be well-rounded. Aerion spends all his time at practice, I think he spends more time with his squire than his son." Sadness, there.

Minas Baratheon: "Good," Minas patted the Tyrell on the shoulders. "I look forward to seeing him, for it has been quite some time. When you see him tomorrow, tell him I wish to have a meeting."

Aerion Targaryen: "Of course." He hugged her again, squeezed tight. "I'll be careful. Take care, sister."

Rhoswen Baratheon: Rhoswen wished her father would leave the two of them alone. She slyly touched his arm, hoping to seize his attention, "Are you ready for the tourney noble Ser? I hope to see you compete, and to cheer you on."

Jarl Tully: "I have no sons to spend my time with, or else I would have something more important than my training." It was perhaps, a slight to Aerion but he after all, had put their family through more grief than was necessary. "You should take them home, absence makes the heart grow fonder I've heard said." He did well to keep his tongue at bay.

Kaeryth Targaryen: She returned his hug before slipping off once more, out into a more open space where her mother would easily be able to locate her if she tried. She wanted no trouble here tonight, especially for Aerion.

Wyatt Tyrell: "Of course, my lord. He'll doubtless be delighted to learn of your presence so far North as well." The Southron lords were not known for caring overmuch for travel so far. Turning to Rhoswyn, bright eyes settled on her face, and he nodded. "I'm ready as I'll ever be, as they say. Do you tease, my lady, or shall you truely cheer for me?"

Ceren Martell: Ceren didn't bother to mention that she'd already met Ser Jarl Tully; she just nodded and watched Lord Edword drift away, and then repressed a sigh and a stifled huff, and continued through the reveling feasters.

Cilarys Targaryen: She frowned at mention of Viserys. "He doesn't feel well," she said, but it was clear that there had been a fight over this. "I hope he comes down later." Her smile brightened. "But you will dance with me if he does not, won't you?"

Edword Tully:Slipping through the crowd, he approached Kaeryth with a certain caution. But it was hard to be cautious when walking directly for someone.

Aydin Martell: Prince Aydin, however, was moving. He'd drawn his conversation to a close at one end of the room, and now traveled across it, towards the high table.

Kieran Baratheon: Kieran tried to mask his disappointment. For some odd reason, he would prefer to spend time with Viserys. He took another sip of wine, then nodded and smiled, "I would be delighted to dance with you if need be, dear coz." This was the first time he'd called her coz, and hoped she didn't mind. He looked to his grandparents, and smiled, "Good evening Your Graces," he called out.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Kaeryth bit her bottom lip slightly, looking for some reason not to return to the table. She was slightly relieved when she saw Lord Tully coming towards her. Smiling softly, she nodded slightly. "Why hello again."

Rhoswen Baratheon: Rhoswen chuckled lightly, "Of course I shall cheer for you, quite openly too. As long as you do not compete against my brothers or my nephew." A mischievous smirk fell upon her face, "But even then, I hope you will triumph." It was clear she favored Wyatt, with good reason obviously. She leaned in and whispered, "Our little secret, hmm?"

Jaehaerys Targaryen: The king pushed himself to his feet, in time. His violet eyes twinkled merrily, and his smile was almost impish. "Friends!" He called in a voice that demanded to be heard, and waited for the hubbub to die down.

Ceren Martell: Ceren grabbed her brother's arm as he went by and he stopped, blinking, and pulled her close to him through the crowd, being certain that her arm curled through his. Brother and sister paused, however, when the King spoke, and both turned to look at him. Ceren, however, hissed lowly, "I don't know how they breathe in these gowns." Aydin shushed her.

Alatriste Bulwer: Alatriste Bulwer frowned abruptly as the vibrant shadow of Highgarden's younger son spilled over the entrance. As the king rose, perhaps none would see how his eyes stripped down the young knight and back up again, nary a detail missed, before touching upon Wyatt. As for Valcour, he remained in the entrance, dark eyes crawling slowly over the feast to the king.

Edword Tully: "Hello again your grace." Though anything else he might have said was interupted as he took a look at the King. He did however, stop at her side and offer the smallest of bows.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Turning her attention to her father, she smiled, pleased to see him speaking to the crowds.

Wyatt Tyrell: A sunned finger touched Wyatt's mouth, not hiding the private smile he bore for Rhoswyn's words, or the pleasure in it. Thus did he miss Alastriste's glance of his brother's thunderingly silent arrival as he looked to the king.

Jaehaerys Targaryen: "I am pleased to see so many of you here, to celebrate with me and my wife this momentous occasion!" He drew deep breath. "I thank the Lord Stark, for hosting us this eve, and for his generosity with regards our purpose. The Night's Watch has defended our northern border since long before my grandfather Aegon landed on Westeros' fair shores. We Targaryens are pleased to join with the Starks to recognize what they have long known: none of us are safe from the ravages of the lands of ever-winter, without the service of those who take the black. My wise and lovely wife has therefore, with Lord Brandon Stark, arranged to double the lands belonging to the Watch. But that is not what I wished to tell you," And when, when would the old king ever stop talking? "I have come to another decision, with regards to the safety of the people of Westeros. For a long time, the lords of this land have enjoyed certain priviledges, called the right of the 'first night'. From this day forth, no such right exists. A woman, however common, will have the chance to go to her husband undefiled. This is the right and the good of it. Those who violate this edict will be dealt with swiftly and severely." Suddenly, he seemed to lose his train of thought. "Well. That is what I meant to say. Eat, eat!" And he sat down again.

Minas Baratheon: Minas Baratheon immediately raised his glass, "A noble and wise decision, Your Grace." He stood, "I propose a toast, in honor of our noble King, and to the Good Queen as well."

Edword Tully:His blink was significant, but not really bothered. It was an odd edict to give he thought, but then again his family had not been in power enough to be on the other end of this right. "Here here!" He said loudly and raised his glass. At least all of them weren't blathering idiots.

Aydin Martell: Prince Aydin twisted Ceren in his hands, spun her to face him, whispering, "Why aren't you at the high table?" She tried to pull her hand from his and, failing, said, "I was coming to you. I can't bear to simper and smile any--" but Aydin cut her off, grabbing a glass from a nearby servant and lifting it along with the others toasting the king. His glare at Ceren suggested she do the same, so she did.

Wyatt Tyrell: Wyatt immediately stood, unwinding to his height as a flower to the sun, to raise his glass with Lord Minas. It was thus that he met Alatriste's eyes and followed that knight's head-tilt to the entrance.

Jenner Lannister: Jenner Lannister pursed his lips, and quietly sipped at his wine, but he was flushed and seething. Rainier remained rather oblivious. Trystan's mind had wandered and his green eyes were following the trail a fly had been making around Jahaerys' head while he spoke.

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour ignored the passing tray, arms folding loosely across his chest as he slouched against a pillar. Head down, hawk's eyes up to observe the high table with particular intensity.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Watching her father for a moment, Kaeryth wasn't sure what to say. It didn't truly affect her, so her opinion on the matter was little. She glanced to Lord Tully, to see his reaction on this new announcement. He seemed to recover rather well and joined into the cheer. She grabbed a glass from a passing servant and raised it to her father, smiling at him softly, even though she doubted he'd see her. She worried for him sometimes.

Orrin Baratheon: Orrin Baratheon grudgingly raised his glass alongside his father. "Rubbish," he muttered. For 'first night' was a tradition thoroughly enjoyed by Orrin. His mood thereafter was quite sullen.

Aerion Targaryen: Aerion, from the entryway, watched his father speak. He hardly blinked. How old he looked. He might have pondered this, the implications, but then there was Valcour Tyrell, standing perhaps three feet away. He resisted, with some effort, the urge to stab the man in the ribs or challenge him to a duel then and there. Instead he meandered up behind him. "And how fares our secret Flower?" He inquired. "No feasting for the lost blossom of the Targaryen line?"

Edword Tully:He toasted the King before he returned his attentions to Kaeryth. "You look especially regal tonight, if I may say. And your father and mother are very hospitable with this feast. And their gifts."

Jarl Tully:He toasted, as was to be expected, but he was withdrawn again even with his sister seated next to him. He kept looking from group to group, trying to keep himself occupied.

Rhoswen Baratheon: Rhoswen turned once again to Wyatt, "So what events have you chosen to participate in at the tourney? The joust? The melee? Both?" She smiled, "You don't have the look of an archer."

Marysa Tully: "Are you all right, Jarl?" She asked, after sipping from the goblet that had been raised with the rest in toast.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys sat to Jahaerys' side, looking aloof and detached. In truth, he was exceedingly uncomfortable in a crowd of this size. He was very much on edge and it made him feel awkward, so he wore his default face which was a sour one. He didn't like crowds and he loathed tournaments. The last tournament he'd attended had ruined his life and set him on this grim course, after all.

Aydin Martell: "Get," Aydin murmured lowly to his sister. "up there." Ceren set her jaw and shook her head. "Later," she hissed at him, and then twisted her wrist and pulled it from his hand and, before the Prince or Dorne could catch her again, Ceren had vanished into the crowd. Aydin looked helplessly to Hakan Sand, who shrugged, as though he hadn't seen a thing.

Valcour Tyrell: "My sister is too wise to grace this feast with her presence, though those present would well be honored by it. Don't you agree?" That was a languid drawl from Valcour as he dragged his too sharp gaze from the high table to where the prince-in-disguise stood so near.

Cilarys Targaryen: "I have a toast!" She cried, and stood, beaming at the just-shoved Ceren, and Aydin behind her. "To our visitors from Dorne, and to peace in Westeros!"

Kaeryth Targaryen: Kaeryth tore her eyes away from her father and brought her attention back to Lord Tully. "Thank you, I am sure they would be pleased to hear that. Mother does try very hard to keep her guests entertained. I take it you are enjoying yourself then?"

Aydin Martell: Both Prince and Princess froze, when Cilarys spoke; Ceren looked startled, and Aydin looked...perfectly charming.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys glanced to Cilarys sharply. That was bold. He wasn't entirely sure he approved and so he watched his grandfather to gauge a reaction, before proffering one of his own.

Aerion Targaryen: "They ought to be," he conceded. "Come now, toast your fiancee." Oh, the bitterness in those few words.

Jarl Tully:Looking up at his sister he offered her a small smile. Though Cilarys drew his attention away. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine sister. Do not worry. I was just thinking of the tournament. Forgive me for being so distant." That was a glass tipped towards Ceren with a grin that read slight jest.

Wyatt Tyrell: "To Dorne!" It was Wyatt of the Tyrells who echoed supported the toast first, quiet but carrying before he drank deep. A look was given his captin of the guard before he graced Rhoswyn with a genuine smile. "All of the contests, truth told, however, I'm not a grand archer."

Jaehaerys Targaryen: The king raised his glass amicably, seeming happy that all the children were getting along. "To the lovely princess Ceren, who has been a very lovely houseguest," he nodded to her.

Morganna Lannister: Morganna pursed her lips. Peace in Westeros did not bode well for House Lannister or the debts it was owed. What progress had the Martell girl made in King's Landing? At least with one Princess, she seemed to have done better than House Lannister. Trystan raised his glass happily, and took a sip of his juice. Morganna lifted her glass only as far as her lips, as she took in a small sip of wine. She disliked being surprised and Cilarys' toast had surprised her.

Aydin Martell: Prince Aydin lifted his cup to the high table. "May peace reign in Westeros, as sure as the Targaryens." And he bowed quite deeply.

Edword Tully:"Only now, really. But it is a nice feast. Would you like to come and sit at our table? Or do you have other pressing matters to get to?"

Kieran Baratheon: Kieran stood quite soon after Cilarys. He raised his glass and toasted, "To peace and to Dorne," he murmured softly before drinking. He returned to sit beside the Targaryen Princess.

Valcour Tyrell: "I beg your pardon, your grace?" The lazy trip of words failed to silence the title he'd given the disguised Aerion, though he had given it too low for any to overhear in this mess. He had no glass and remained slouched against the wall, now studying Aerion with hawk's golden eyes and a small smile up to interpretation.

Jaehaerys Targaryen: The old king's nod to Prince Aydin acknowledged the honor done him. He might have bowed, if slightly, had he been younger and more spry.

Aydin Martell: Prince Aydin then sifted himself through the crowd and towards Princess Cilarys; he paused, however, and bowed to Lady Morganna. "My Lady," he greeted politely. Ceren, however, looked lost for a minute, clutching at her cup of wine.

Viserys Targaryen: "Dorne." Viserys lifted his glass and took a sip, wishing the wine were Dornish.

Rhoswen Baratheon: "So you're a jack of all trades? How marvelous!" She paused and drank to the toasts offered by the many gathered Lords, although she would have preferred not to toast to Dorne. What was that Cilarys thinking?

Aerion Targaryen: "Was I told falsely, that you are to be engaged to the Princess of Dorne?" He wondered, doing a slightly better job of seeming indifferent. Slightly.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Glancing at her niece for a moment, she couldn't help but wonder what Cilarys was up to now. She was just as odd as her sister, that one. Smiling, she nodded. "I would be happy to. I should expect no one truly has pressing matters to attend to on a night like tonight. Unless of course they are up to no good, which knowing this crowd wouldn't necessarily surprise me."

Valcour Tyrell: "That is a private matter, ser," Valcour said. Almost gently. Almost.

Aerion Targaryen: "Have you bothered to tell her yet?" It just burst forth, unwanted.

Wyatt Tyrell: He laughed abruptly, "No. More like I enjoy the fight. Why not compete in all for the learning experience it may offer, eh?"

Trystan Lannister: The little Lord of Casterly Rock leaned over to his aunt to whisper, "May I propose a toast, Aunt Morganna?" Without a glance in his direction she promptly replied, "Absolutely not."

Valcour Tyrell: "It is not my place to inform the princess of her father's considerations," Valcour replied easily, watching Aerion's face within the shadows of his hood most curiously.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys' eyes lingered upon Aydin Martell. They had yet to exchange words, but he recalled things Ceren had said of him. He'd been eager to meet him then. He was more eager now. He was downright staring. He didn't realize how piercing his gaze could be, nor how much attention he tended to garner given his status and his place at the table.

Cilarys Targaryen: The princess settled back into her seat happily, pleased that her toast had gone over so well. At least, she imagined that it had. "Have you ever had scorpion wine, Kieran?" She inquired. "One of the benefits of cultural exchange..." But she trailed off to follow her brother's eyes to the Prince of Dorne. My, but Ceren's brother was attractive. For a foreigner, of course.

Edword Tully:"Then please. My brother Jarl is there, as well as Marysa." He offered her his arm so better to lead the way.

Rhoswen Baratheon: "It is very gallant of you," she cooed. "But I'd rather see you develop your skill at jousting or the melee. I do not consider archery a noble sport, but one for boys and common folk." She sighed, "Unfortunately it is the favored sport of my brother Kennedy. He is quite good, considering he spend most of his days on the hunt. But I wish he were as good a fighter as my elder brothers."

Aydin Martell: Prince Aydin arrived at the high table and positioned himself somewhere between Princess Cilarys and Prince Viserys; he bowed, but couldn't repress the grin so often lancing across his mouth. It, like his sister's, spoke of mischief, but it had a soft bend to it, and his eyes held not so much trouble. All told, the Prince of Dorne was dashing and beautiful, but more refined and gallant that his younger sibling. "Your highnesses -- I have been told to introduce myself, straightaway, under threat by my sister. I am Prince Aydin Martell." His was darker than Ceren, truly, a black knight but brighter, somehow, for his personal darkness.

Jarl Tully:"Oh look, Edword has found his princess to annoy." He smiled at his sister before leaning in. "Who does he think he is?"

Aerion Targaryen: "It is a pity," he noted, quite coldly now, "that you will not be fighting in the tourney tomorrow, Ser Valcour. One ought to have some respect for the woman one is to wed, and if you cannot on your own, perhaps I could teach you."

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys' body tensed and his back straightened when Aydin moved nearby. His stomach felt strange, and he was overcome with nerves. He wasn't so sure he wished to speak with this man, after all. It was a different kind of anxiety than that which Aerion elicited. But it had common traits, as well. Fortunately an awkward twitch was not among them.

Wyatt Tyrell: "Common folk?" Wyatt chided Baratheon daughter gently, a quite smile on his face. "Lady, must I remind you that I am of Highgarden and the Marches where archery, thanks given to Dorne, is a skill to be cherished?"

Kaeryth Targaryen: Kaeryth accepted the arm he offered, allowing him to lead her to his table. She had been on friendly enough terms with Marysa, and considering she didn't usually have friends it was as much as could be expected from her. "I must say I've never met your brother. Is he similar to Marysa and yourself?"

Kieran Baratheon: Kieran shook his head, "No I've never tasted the wine of Dorne. Although I hear it is quite splendid. I am afraid we do not indulge in such foreign tastes at Storm's End." He suddenly noticed Viserys. Moreover, he noticed that the young Prince's gaze was fixed upon that of the Martell Prince. Kieran then gazed at the dark Prince as well. He was certainly- different looking. But really quite attractive.

Edword Tully:"My brother is night, and I am day. We meet only in sunsets and sunrises." It was a good assessment of their relationship, without giving too much away. Once they arrived at the table he spoke a bit louder. "Jarl, this is Princess Kaeryth." It was said as if he was a dullard. Jarl, for his part pulled himself back from Marysa to smile and stand. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance your grace."

Cilarys Targaryen: "Your grace, how lovely to meet you!" Cilarys exclaimed, beaming. For once she hardly noticed Viserys' attraction to another, for her own. So it was two sets of violet eyes that fixed rather hungrily upon the prince. "Your sister has said such wonderful things about you. I positively cannot wait to see you in the tourney."

Morganna Lannister: Morganna Lannister leaned over Trystan to whisper something to Jenner, who nodded and stood. He made his way around the table to where Orrin Baratheon was seated. "Lady Rhoswen is grown into such a buxom young lass." He crouched beside the lord's chair, "To whom is she betrothed?"

Kaeryth Targaryen: "The pleasure is shared I am sure. And Marysa, how good to see you again. The children are well after their journey I hope?"

Aydin Martell: "I hope not to disappoint your highness," Aydin said, his grin sharpening. "I fear I may be outdone by the weather and the mud, but I intend to do my best. Please bear in mind that my sister has a tendancy towards exaggeration -- especially if scorpion wine is involved." Prince Aydin, it seemed, knew his sister all too well. "We have much enjoyed our visit to the Northlands."

Edword Tully: Edword pulled a chair out next to his own, and waited until she was ready to be seated. Jarl gave a bow before responding. "You are too kind."

Marysa Tully: "Oh, indeed, your grace. They're sleeping now, of course."

Valcour Tyrell: The eyes that watched Aerion were dark as a tarnished Braavosi coin and his smile faded like a flower beneath winter's pull. "You wish to instruct me on how to honor a lady, Aerion?" The words were delicate, pointed, and had his brother heard their tone, he would have blanched.

Rhoswen Baratheon: Rhoswen sighed, "I suppose so. But I think of archery as a cowardly tactic, and quite unchivalrous." She then added, "But it is a powerful tactic, I must admit."

Jarl Tully:"If you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to." Jarl had no inention of sitting there while his brother bored the poor Princess to death. So he excused himself to make his way across the crowd to sit at a table that had been abandoned.

Kaeryth Targaryen: Kaeryth took to the seat gracefully, smiling softly at the girl. "Of course, I would expect no differently." She watched as Jarl moved away, raising an eyebrow slightly "Not a very pleasant person is he?"

Ceren Martell: Princess Ceren, meanwhile, found herself stuck between boasting Sers and, when she turned, she found herself standing before the Lannisters. Summoning up all Aydin had told her, she dropped into a curtsy before Lady Morganna and Lord Trystan. "Forgive me -- my brother has spoken highly of you both, I have to introduce myself. Lord Trystan, Lady Morganna -- I am Princess Ceren Martell."

Edword Tully:"I suspect he's grown tired of me already. Please don't think too ill of him." Edword shot a look to Jarl that should've killed him if his will were such. He helped her sit before he too retook his own seat.

Orrin Baratheon: Orrin nodded as Jenner Lannister approached him. It was good to see his old tourney buddy once again. The pair had quite a sullied reputation. "To no one as of yet," Orrin smirked. "But I'm sure she and father are scheming away." He said indicating with a nod his sister chatting away with the Tyrell heir.

Aerion Targaryen: The prince was, in that moment, nearly incapable of remembering Marysa Tully's existence. "One ought not to keep a secret like that from a woman like her," he warned. Hadn't she been lied to enough already?

Wyatt Tyrell: "One rethinks the benefits of chivalry when in the midst of battle, my lady," Wyatt said, but with much shared humor. He was oblivious to Alatriste making his way so swiftly through the crowd towards him as the whole of his attention was on Rhoswen.

Jarl Tully:"Yes, more wine thank you." He took two glasses from the tray that was presented and took a sip that turned into a drink.

Valcour Tyrell: "One ought not shove his nose, no matter how regal, into the affairs of a Tyrell, ser," Valcour retorted. This was none of the prince's affair, Val knew well, and so why did the prince care so much? That, perhaps, was what caused the sharp retort. In addition, of course, to the fact that Val knew more on the matter than this man.

Kaeryth Targaryen: "Oh I mean no disrespect to your brother of course," She knew, from experience, what it was like to have your own family insulted while you were there and that certainly hadn't been her intention. But even she, the loner that she was, could force herself to be social on a night such as tonight. Surely he could do the same?

Lannisters: Ser Rainier and Lord Trystan Lannister rose and bowed to the Princess. "Your Grace." Trystan said, in his soft immature, unchanged tenor. Morganna rose last and curtsied. "Your brother was a charming guest and a tribute to the reputation of your house and family." She smiled, "And you appear to have left an equally glowing impression upon at least one Targaryen Princess at King's Landing." She added, glancing Cilarys' way.

Edword Tully:"I'm sure he will make it up to you in full." Edword would make sure of it. "Oh, no no disrepsect. He's just been up here in the cold for so long, it seems to have affected his manners."

Orrin Baratheon: Orrin finished another glass of ale, and leaned in towards Jenner, "So did you hear that old King's announcement? No more 'first night' rights granted in all of Westeros. What rubbish!" He grabbed another glass.

Cilarys Targaryen: "Well, her own archery seems quite up to her boasting. Won't you share a drink with me, your grace?" Eyelashes were indeed batted. "We would be so happy for your company, for a time." Make that three sets of purple, teenaged eyes, now that Kieran too was admiring.

Jarl Tully:His eyes wandered to the head table, wondering why it was his brother hadn't been yet. Though, he supposed that answer was sitting right next to him. Another drink of wine was taken before he stood to make his way. Princess and Princes weren't so hard to deal with. Though, he suspected it was different than dealing with those he knew.

Ceren Martell: Ceren blushed a beautiful scarlet beneath rich, bronzed skin. "Princess Cilarys gives me far too much credit," she said, smiling. "But I'm glad you have enjoyed my brother's company, for he was well missed. He tells me my Lord Lannister has simply delicious pastries -- I shall have to come visit, as well, if only to taste them."

Jenner Lannister: "Just because he can't get his withered cock working, doesn't mean he has to punish the rest of us." Jenner whispered, "Your father isn't aiming to wed her to House Tyrell, is he?" That, Jenner well understood, would not do. He'd been alive to enjoy the company of the late Myranda Gardener-Lannister.

Rhoswen Baratheon: Rhoswen fiddled with the remnants of food left on her plate. She looked up at Wyatt smiling, "I grow tired of the feast. It's quite too noisy here for my taste. I don't like parties without a fair share of wine. Shall we step outside for a bit? Perhaps we could enjoy some fresh air. Besides, you need to relax before the tourney." She grabbed some wine and meat, "We'll bring the fest with us!"

Jarl Tully: He found himself at a crossroads as he stood looking over the great families of Westeros. It wasn't fear that kept him standing, and his tongue in the roof of his mouth but rather a hesitancy to approach. He would want a plan, that was to be sure. But could he really smile at some there and make small talk?

Aydin Martell: "I would love to spend a glass with my gracious hosts," Aydin agreed, nodding amiably, and he climbed gracefully up to the dais and drifted down it to where the Targaryens were seated.

Wyatt Tyrell: A grin blossomed over the young lord's face, and he rose to his feet swiftly so as to aid Rhoswyn to her own. "That is a most excellent idea, my lady."

Morganna Lannister: "And we long to experience the spices of Dorne." Morganna replied. "Your brother's descriptions of your cuisine were enough to whet my appetite for something exotic." Her emerald eyes glowed.

Aerion Targaryen: "I'll ask your pardon, then, Ser," he offered, a bit more mild. He couldn't start a duel, not here, not now. Ceren would shoot him, if his mother didn't first. "Consider it advice, then. You'll get nowhere with a princess of Dorne with lies and secrets." He was very earnest. He did, after all, want Ceren to be happy.

Orrin Baratheon: "Here here!" Orrin replied making a toast in jest to Jenner's comments regarding the King. He looked over at Wyatt and Rhoswen, "Apparently the two met just this morning. I don't know what they're planning. But it wouldn't surprise me if the two were wed. My father has a great respect for House Tyrell. I think them to be a bunch of pansies." Orrin suddenly laughed at his own joke, before downing another glass of ale.

Ceren Martell: Ceren laughed, not meanly, but amusedly. "Well, we'll certainly have to have you all to Sunspear -- for long days and particularly hot nights." Princess Ceren was as irreverent as her brother was charming; she grinned, more mischief in that curve than Aydin had shown them the whole duration of his time at Casterly Rock, and she curtseyed again. "Forgive me -- I see one of my father's bannerman. Enjoy the feast!"

Kaeryth Targaryen: "Oh, no worries, really." She smiled at Lord Tully reassuringly. She didn't mind because she knew Jarl's type. It was similar to her own. In fact, had she not been born into the royal family, she doubted she would have the ability to produce any form of small talk whatsoever. She wanted nothing more then to slip off to her room and had it not been for him she most likely would have done so already. "Siblings can be a hassle, but you love then nonetheless."

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys clasped his hands on his lap to keep them still. He wasn't sure what to say, for he didn't wish to embarrass himself. There was something intimidating about Prince Aydin. Ultimately he brooded in silence while his sister attempted to charm him with her disingenuous courtesies.

Valcour Tyrell: Valcour straightened long and lazy from his slump to step close to the hidden Targaryen prince, words so low as to hardly be audible. "You are making the mistake of assuming that my wish is to get anywhere with the princess of Dorne, ser; and this only causes me to wonder where it is, exactly, you have gotten and do not wish me to tread." A beat. "If this alleged betrothal cements itself, you will steer clear of her Grace.”

Edword Tully:"My brother was right about one thing, you are too kind." He grabbed his glass of wine up to take a drink. "Mm. Is your trip interesting enough yet? Or have I not fullfilled my end of our bargin?"

Jarl Tully:Deciding that being impulsive was not the way to go, Jarl turned back from the high table to lean against the wall, a new glass of wine in hand. This was not like combat, nothing was straight forward.

Lannisters: "And you, Your Grace." Lord Trystan bowed again, and returned to his seat. Rainier's eyes lingered on her rear as she sauntered away. "Mm." He shook his head and took a seat. "She'll push too hard or too far, one day." Morganna observed. "There is comfort to be taken in that." She smiled, looking from Ceren to Cilarys and, finally, to Trystan.

Wyatt Tyrell: Perhaps the heir of Highgarden had overheard the Lannister words at his expense, or perhaps he had not. The eyes that touched upon Orrin and Jenner were cool as juniper and equally as dismissive as he offered Lady Rhoswyn his arm.

Aydin Martell: Prince Aydin took a seat, conveniently, where his sister had left one. "I hope your graces are enjoying the feast," he said to Cilarys and Viserys. "And congratulations on getting my sister into a gown that suits her, and the present company." The feat was well worth a compliment.

Jenner Lannister: "Ha!" Jenner chuckled, "Pansies don't suit a rose." He glanced across the table toward his family, "And they drown in a storm." He tilted his head. "My son, Rainier, is not yet spoken for, Lord Orrin."

Kaeryth Targaryen: "Kind...perhaps." She didn't find that being truthful was kind all of the time. In fact, more often then not it was rather rude. But she had learned to curb her tongue over the years. She thought about his question for a moment before responding. "I must say it has been rather amusing. I find myself torn between being here and watching others, which in itself can be highly informative, or being in the solitary confinement of my own quiet room. Both options have their own sense of appeal.

Minas Baratheon: Minas frowned as he noticed the amount of ale his eldest son and heir was consuming. He would make a fool of himself at the tourney if he kept this up. The old Lord rose and approached the Lannisters.

Edword Tully:"Well I take it as an honor you choose to sit with me, rather than in your room alone." He paused for a second before he continued. "However, it is not my intention to bore you, so if you wish to go back to your room I would gladly escort you."

Viserys Targaryen: "I am very much enjoying the feast!" Viserys lied, and sounded very young in the doing. Too much excitement colored his voice. It wasn't excitement over the feast, to be sure. He clenched his eyes shut, mentally kicking himself. He cleared his throat and willed it to emit a voice befitting an adult, "Are you enjoying it, as well?" Ugh, nothing original to say, Viserys? At least Cilarys' disingenuous smalltalk was vaguely interesting. Viserys just wasn't good at it.

Orrin Baratheon: "Eh?" Orrin smiled, "What's this? A proposition?" Orrin looked at his old father who had just left the table. "My father is old, and his rule is crumbling. Soon I'll be the Lord of Storm's End. Perhaps then we can make a fitting marriage agreement between our two Houses."

Kaeryth Targaryen: "It's not so much that you are boring as that they," She waved a hand towards the crowd. "Are noisy." She didn't like crowds and she certainly didn't like noise. For someone who spent so much time on her own, being in a room full of people could be quite aggravating after a time.

Jarl Tully:If only some of the Starks were free, he would gladly mingle with them. But for the moment he found himself too entertained by watching the goings on. There was a pause on Aydin before he realized who it was. Dorne was a curious place to be sure.

Morganna Lannister: Morganna was the first to rise, this time. "My Lord of Baratheon!" A low curtsey. Lords Trystan and Rainier followed suit with deep bows. Trystan remembered something he'd learned in a dream.

Aydin Martell: "Absolutely -- I haven't been to a Tourney since I was a boy," Aydin told Viserys; if he noticed awkwardness, in the prince, it was impossible to tell. Instead, he regarded the crown prince like any other man – not as a boy, but as a man, as befit his station. "Does your grace enjoy Tourneys? I suspect you've much more on your mind. It is impossible, I confess, to spend too much energy on them when a kingdom swarms around you.”

Edword Tully:"Would you like to take a walk to clear your head?" He wasn't trying to be bold, but rather he wanted her to be comfortable. He was at home here as much as anyone else.

Jenner Lannister: Jenner smiled. "Then, if we are in agreement, there are several courses we may take. We may stall them, until such time as you become Lord of Storm's End, we may convince your father to find favor in our opinion, or... Something else."

Minas Baratheon: Minas smiled, his demeanor warm and friendly, "Lady Morganna, it has been too long." He performed a slight bow, and then turned to the young Trystan. My, he certainly was young for a Lord of the Rock. “And I presume you are the Lord Trystan Lannister." He bowed, "It is an honor to meet you. I was grieved to hear news of your father's death. How are things faring for you at Casterly Rock?"

Kaeryth Targaryen: Kaeryth glanced around the room for a moment, considering her options. She was an odd one herself, even if she didn't think so. She enjoyed watching people interact, enjoyed trying to figure out their agendas. But she could only take so much at once. "Yes, perhaps a walk would be a good idea."

Edword Tully:"It will give us a chance to explore the grounds, in the very least." He stood abandoning his plate and glass to help her up out of her chair.

Viserys Targaryen: "My uncle killed my father at the last Tourney I attended." He looked away, and remembered himself. "No, I do not care for Tourney's at all, Prince Aydin." There was a break in his voice. It sounded resolute, somehow, rather than weak. "My mind is a very busy place. Sometimes I wish I had as many conversations outside of my head as I do inside. Then maybe people would like me better." Okay, now he sounded weak. "Understand me, better, I mean really." He had no friends.

Alatriste Bulwer: Alatriste Bulwer stood with the realization that he had, perhaps, not enough eyes for this tourney. There was the heir, fortunately near the Princess of the Dorne, and there was Valcour, lost again in the crowd. He sipped his wine and eyed, then, the high table. Complex and intricate vines, he decided, were bothersome.

Kaeryth Targaryen: She stood as gracefully as she had been seated, nodding slightly at his words. "Yes, I suppose that is true. Best to go now before we have more toasts and people start shouting again."

Orrin Baratheon: "Hmmph," Orrin grunted. "I'm afraid my father will find nothing favorable with my opinion. Rhoswen is the true ruler of Storm's End, along with my queer brother Canice. They hold all the sway over the old fool." A malicious look came across Orrin's boorish face, "Yes, we may have other options- to speed up the process." He wondered if Jenner was considering similar schemes.

Aydin Martell: "Your highness," Aydin said gently, though not condescendingly; the Prince of Dorne was genuine, if he was anything. "It can be very difficult, growing up as one does." As they both had. "I suspect you will find your own footing, in time, and grow to treat a Tourney as its own beast, at your disposal. Conversation, or no conversation." Aydin was fit to be Prince of Dorne, that much was clear, but he had sympathy to offer the young Targaryen Prince, for he understand his life as no one else could, perhaps.

Trystan Lannister: "Fate has favored me well enough, thus far, My Lord." Trystan nodded. "It has not been long, but my challenges have been surmountable all."

Edword Tully:"That would probably be best." He offered his arm to her again before addressing Marysa. "If you'll excuse us." His tone lowered. "Perhaps you should see to Jarl?"

Jenner Lannister: "Oh thank the Seven you said it so I didn't have to!" Jenner sighed, and broke into a snicker. "I had a taste of your contempt, but I didn't want to press. One never knows how far such things extend within a family."

Aerion Targaryen: "I would not threaten her position," he vowed. "But should another mistreat her..." There was no need to finish. It wasn't clear that Valcour had done any such thing, of course. Perhaps anything he did might have been taken by the dragon as mistreatment.

Minas Baratheon: Minas nodded. A perfect answer had escaped the young Lord's lips. They almost seemed rehearsed. He looked to Morganna, "Well Lord Trystan, I am sure your aunt is an apt and wise advisor."

Ceren Martell: Princess Ceren set down her cup and looked around; there were so many people, so many new faces, and the bodice pressing into her ribs was near suffocating. Dark, lightless eyes surveyed the crowd, and then she espied the flower, pinned to a black sleeve, recognized it as Tyrell and prayed to all Seven Gods it was the right one. She reached out, impolitely and unceremoniously, and grabbed Ser Valcour's arm, pulling him back at least two steps so she could see who he was. "I'm so sorry," she hissed, apologetically, eyes lighting up when she saw she was right. "I just needed -- I needed someone I knew." She looked lost and overwhelmed and perfectly miserable. She, apparently, hadn't seen Aerion at all.

Valcour Tyrell: There was silence, dead and awful, in the wake of the disguised prince's words. Their insult was deep for a man who had met one half of the Tyrell secret but nights passed. "Mistreat?"

Kaeryth Targaryen: Accepting his arm once more, Kaeryth allowed the siblings to have a moment in private conversation, glancing around the room as they spoke. If she had given thought to how it would look, her leaving with the Lord when the party was not yet finished, she likely wouldn't have cared. In fact, it may have given her a thrill, the thought of giving the people that noticed something to talk about.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys' felt at a disadvantage now. "I appreciate your confidence." He said with a flatness in his voice that suggested that his appreciation was, in fact, tenuous. He sipped at his wine, and looked off. Anywhere but toward Aydin.

Aerion Targaryen: "You are misleading her, Ser -" But then the Ser was being pulled forward - by Ceren. Oh hell. He stood there looking guilty, wondering if she'd seen him.

Trystan Lannist

Queenscrown Tourney - Bloody Nose (RP log)

QueenAlysanne — Thu, 02 Aug 2007 06:56:24 GMT

Cilarys Targaryen: Cilarys was frantic. Two nights running, one Valcour Tyrell had slept in her brother's room - or so her spies told her, she could hardly believe it. She hadn't dared approach the place, not after he'd manhandled her in front of her grandparents and Viserys hadn't done a thing to stop him - indeed, he'd encouraged the wretch and now he was sleeping in his room. There were so many things about the situation to raise her ire that she hardly knew where to start. No, that wasn't true. She had to start with Viserys. Valour Tyrell frightened her, with his flower-crowns and personal questions. He'd looked at her as if she were purest poison. She'd rather fae Viserys' fear - at least that was a game she knew. So it was that she was waiting for him in his room directly after his daily practice with Ser Arryn, perched on that violated bed, arms crossed and seething.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys was actually smiling when he walked through the door, but Cilarys did away with that quickly enough. He felt as though his heart stopped, and he froze in the doorway.

"Cilarys..." He hadn't seen her in some time. He'd actually sort of forgotten about her. The only times he mentioned her anymore was to remind Valcour of his duties in protecting him. And it appeared, for the moment, Valcour was failing in those duties.
"...Good afternoon."

Cilarys Targaryen: She turned to regard him, lips pursed, eyes inexpressive. "Why is there a man sleeping in your room, little brother?" Her tone was dangerously calm.

Viserys Targaryen: "Aerion is about." Viserys replied quickly. He'd pondered how he might reply to this line of questioning, and so he was well-prepared. "He already tried to get at me and it was Valcour who helped me. He makes me feel... Safe." And a whole lot more. But not enough that he felt satisfied quite yet. There was something missing that he didn't understand.

Cilarys Targaryen: "You could have let Grandmother send Typhon for Aerion," she pointed out sharply. "You could have made him or half the bloody Kingsguard keep watch at your door. But he's in your room, Viserys. It's unacceptable." Violet mirrors narrowed, and she rose, stepping towards him menacingly. "What would people say of you, if they knew?"

Viserys Targaryen: "What do you mean?" Viserys frowned, "Aerion is smart and strong. What if he snuck into my room, like you did, and it was him waiting for me instead of you." He stayed near the still open door, as she drew closer; edging against the frame. "Why would people say anything about me?" He genuinely didn't seem to understand what she was driving at.

Cilarys Targaryen: "Idiot," she hissed. "The guards let me pass because I am me, and we are engaged. Or had you forgotten? If you keep having that man sleep in your room they'll think he's buggering you. Or is he, Viserys? Is that what's going on here?" Her hands were shaking, balled into little fists.

Viserys Targaryen: "What do you mean? No!" Viserys was utterly shocked. Did people really think such things? "No! He doesn't even touch me. He just talks to me and makes me feel safe. He doesn't-... no!" He was flushed and scared, now. Not scared of Cilarys like normally, but scared that his reputation was at stake. Well, a little nervous about Cilarys, too. She was clearly seething. But the open door made him feel secure. Surely Valcour was nearby. After all, Viserys needed him.

Cilarys Targaryen: The relief, at that, didn't show. She had another weapon now. A smile he alone would recognize, cruel and unyielding, tugged at the corners of her lips. "Poor princeling, hiding behind a flower," she teased. "Close the door, Viserys." It brooked no argument.

Viserys Targaryen: "I'm not hiding." Valcour was more of a shield than a mask. He shut the door, and walked a long arc to his bed, pointedly avoiding Cilarys. "Why are you so angry with me? I didn't do anything." He didn't even really know what buggering entailed. Only that it was awful and sacrilegious and that it hadn't be done to him. At least not by Valcour.

Cilarys Targaryen: "Aren't you?" She asked, moving to face him, the bed between them. "He makes me feel safe," she whined in near perfect imitation of him, only with a sarcastic edge. "Whether or not he's fucking you, people will think it. They'll say it. How weak do you mean to look, Viserys? Do you think that anything, anything at all that you do does not reflect back on me? We are sides of the same coin, brother. And you will not shame me, and you will not hide." From her, not from Aerion. She knew, and he would know that she knew. And after today, he would know that Valcour could not always be there, nor could he end their engagement.

Viserys Targaryen: Her venom stung. It didn't numb like the scorpion poison that laced his wine. "I don't care if people think me weak! There is wisdom in allowing oneself to be underestimated." Valcour had said so. It was a game he played expertly and one which Viserys would pretend he was playing. But his weakness was real, obvious and exploitable. "I'm not hiding! You know where I am. Everyone does. And they know where Valcour is. I'm not hiding anything. Do you want me to hide Valcour so people don't think he's... doing things to me," The thought of which gave him a pleasant chill, "Or do you want me not to hide?"

Cilarys Targaryen: While he spoke, she climbed up onto the bed, stood and traversed it lightly, and jumped down. "I don't want you to be weak, brother, but that can't be helped." Scorn, there, and derision. Little, strong fingers curled around the front of his tunic. "But I will not tolerate you being weak in front of a common daisy. And I will not have people believing our marriage is a farce." The other pale hand slipped over his trousers, insistant. "Because it won't be, will it? You love me. It's in your blood and your body. And I swear to all the Seven, Viserys, if you let a flower into your body I will have him murdered."

Viserys Targaryen: "No!" Viserys cried out, "No!" The second was a scream. "If you hurt him I will hate you forever! I told you he doesn't do that to me. He is not a knave. He is a knight, and a good vassal who wishes to protect the heir to his country. If you killed him you would be naught but a monster and I would loathe the very air that deigned to fill your wicked lungs with life."

Cilarys Targaryen: At his scream she froze, and jerked away, glancing to the door. It was probable that no one would dare interrput a fight between dragons - but what if another dragon was walking down the hall, or, worse, this Valcour character? Viserys was beautiful in his hatred, though, and she saw it clearly through her own fear. How she wished she could level such a stare at Valcour, or at Aerion. Surely they would tremble at such rage. But Cilarys was trapped behind her eyes, half-feeling, reaching for something that was so easy for everyone else -

Something akin to a glimmering of resentment flickered in those violet mirrors, and she punched him in the face.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys spun with the blow. He heard and felt a crack as his neck spun around, and when his eyes opened he was face down on the floor. There was blood there, and more was dripping from his nose. He pushed himself up with his hands and rolled onto his back, a bit of his light hair falling into the crimson puddle. Even that slight motion was enough to make him realize he was dizzy. He groaned. Her point had been made. He was scared, now, because she'd done something novel. She would have never left a mark on his face before. How was he to explain it to his grandparents? If they realized he'd been struck, they would assume it was Valcour who'd dealt the blow. Cilarys had never hit him before. They'd never believe she just started out of nowhere. Valcour, on the other hand, had just entered his life conveniently at the same time as his facial bleeding.

Cilarys Targaryen: Without a word, she stepped over his prone form to a polished copper washbasin, rinsing his blood off of her hand and staining the water pink. Her hands were shaking so badly it was difficult to even wash them, and her whole body felt as though it might blow away in a stiff breeze. She was certain, the whole time her back was to him, that he'd get up and make use of the dagger at his belt, or that she'd feel his hands at her throat. But after a few moments of shallow breathing, he had done no such thing. Shaking her hands dry, she turned to face him, meant to give an ultimatum. When she saw him, she wanted to cry and couldn't. She never could. "I love you," she told him, anguished attempt at explanation. "Please, Viserys. Don't shut me out." Because, went the unspoken threat, not even she knew what she might do.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys held his hand to his nose, and it was painted red by the time he moved it away. He started to cry. Cilarys was right. He was weak.

"I'm afraid of your love..." He dragged the sheets off of his bed and held them to his face, curling into a quivering ball on the floor. His white sheets slowly becoming crimson, served half as a bandage and half as a pillow for the sobbing prince.

Cilarys Targaryen: For a long time she watched him, and if he'd looked up he might have seen the faintest glimmer of envy in her expression. But surely she couldn't envy him, bleeding and sobbing. Finally, she knelt besite him and kissed his fair hair. "Don't shut me out," she told him again. She wanted to explain more, but the words wouldn't form and she was so frightened that the truth would make him loathe her even more. So she stood, and left him there.

RE: The Prince as Adolescent

Viserys Targaryen — Thu, 02 Aug 2007 06:32:07 GMT

"You are not so naive as to believe that all of us truly hope for sustained peace. Both of us in this room, perhaps. And even that is conditional... indefinite." When it came to politics and the politics of his family, Viserys seemed to have a voice all his own. It was bereft of the lace and caution that tempered most of his interactions with Valcour.

"You sell your father's intentions well enough for my ears, but I am not yet the king and my grandfather is old and difficult to dissuade from opinions already formed. It will not be easy, but I will endeavor to influence him to include your father on his council. But, I tell you as your friend, that I cannot promise my words will hold sway, nor that my family will look with favoring eyes upon the House of Tyrell if this marriage comes to pass. It is ill-advised." There really were a lot of valid reasons for him to be opposed to the idea. It just so happened he wasn't arguing for any of those reasons.

RE: The Prince as Adolescent

Coriander Tyrell — Thu, 02 Aug 2007 06:15:40 GMT

"My father would make a poor Hand of the King," Valcour smiled. It was an odd smile, but it was based on the fact of pride and appreciation for Visery's swift deducements. They were, almost surprisingly, right on target. This meant that, perhaps, his job here would not be nearly so difficult as he had begun to fear.

Why did Valcour believe is his father would make a poor Hand? It was quite simple, really. Coriander Tyrell was too much alike the reigning king. They would not foil eachother, nor would one be strong where the other was weak. They would think too much the same rather than offer the angles of the arguments standing opposite.

"Master of Laws or Master of Coins would wear on him well. He is nimble with bread and gold; but Master of Law suits his character most aptly." Just, Valcour thought, his father was ever just and, even more so, ever honorable. He was a man who saw the sun's rays and let the shadows fall until they shaded. Then he struck like high noon. Valcour realized he was mentally rambling, his mind too caught up and entangled within too many responsibilites.

He shook his head slightly to clear it, and downed more of his wine. "I shall trust in your decision on the matter of which, Viserys, as surely you would know better than I." Oddly, perhaps, he wasn't humoring. He was being perfectly serious. He was also hoping that, perhaps, Viserys would be capable of doing this in a well thought-out and grown up fashion. It was a test, of sorts, for Valcour to learn even more of the prince; and it was a gamble as well. Val had already accepted that. For inserting Coriander Tyrell into the Small Council the wrong way, well, could be potentially disasterous for his house.

An eyebrow quirked, and he barely stifled a grimace. "Your grandparents ought not look narrowingly upon the Reach," he said at length. "For they are right in considering Tyrell to be of their most loyal vassals. Tyrell is Warden of the South, Viserys, and Dorne is south of us. Westeros is at peacetime, and one all of us hope shall continue and prevail. What better way to ensure this than to align the second and least important son of the Defender of the Marches to a princess of Dorne? His father and older brother will always be on guard, and his wife and mayhaps one day his children will hold softer feelings for their northern neighbors. It is peace that is being secured, and if that fails.." Valcour did not complete the statement, the insuation quite clear with the smallest shrug of his shoulders. If peace failed, then the man who was friend to the heir of Westeros and son of the house that defended it's border was already present as envoy and spy.

Would he? Valcour? Maybe nobody knew him well enough yet to know.

RE: The Prince as Adolescent

Viserys Targaryen — Thu, 02 Aug 2007 05:57:47 GMT

He thought on that question for a moment and, to his surprise, realized that the annoying questions Ser Alistair always asked during training, actually helped him form a well-founded opinion.

"Well, I would think Master of Laws." Viserys replied, easily. "Or perhaps Master of Coins. He shall never be the Hand of the King, if you are betrothed to the Dornish Princess. Has your father truly considered the consequences in Westeros? King's Landing will be eying the Reach with more caution than we bear in gazing toward the Rock. Does my grandfather know, yet?" Or, more to the point, his grandmother? His family had always considered the Tyrell's to be among the most loyal of their subjects. After all, oughtn't they be? House Targaryen made them kings in all but name, when they had been only stewards before.

RE: The Prince as Adolescent

Coriander Tyrell — Thu, 02 Aug 2007 05:38:23 GMT

"I am your friend and your confident. Your defender, protector, tutor, advisor, and loyal vassal, Viserys." But not yours. Not yours alone and altogether. "And I will be married."

This was said in a firm sort of quiet. Valcour was trying, and trying so bloody hard. This was not an easy dance.

The Small Council. Matchstick lashes lowered briefly in a spin of shadows. His father on the Small Council. Grand Maester, of course not. Master of Ships? A Tyrell of Highgarden? Of course not. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard? Coriander was bloody well married. Master of Laws? King's Spider? Master of Coin? Hand of King? Possibilities, all of them, but Valcour knew best which his lord father would fit into. It was a matter, of course, of finding which was best to be fit.

"It is not a matter of what I would like, Viserys," he said eventually, "but at matter of what he would be best suited for and what would be easily suited to him." He met Visery's eyes and asked his counsel. "What do you think?"