Blood of Dragons

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It is morning (about 9 am) of the 28th day in the 8th month. The season is
Autumn, in the 163rd year since Aegon’s Landing.
The last quarter moon is up. The tide is low and ebbing.
Fair weather clouds drift through the blue sky from the west. The wind is
gusty.
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[Reyna:] 
The day is another brilliant one. The sun is warm, though the wind is cold, and the autumn leaves seem to be ablaze in the sunlight. Courtiers idle about in the eastern yard, sprawled on the wide open lawns or chatting in the shelter of sunny walls. The clashing of swords is a distant, almost unheard thing on the far side of the Keep; here is only the chatter of people and the whisper of the wind through the Godswood trees.

Reyna Saltcliffe is here, sitting for once alone in a sunny grouping of stone benches with her head bent over some sewing. She looks up now and again to smile and answer a greeting, and once she rises to extract a key from the chatelaine on her girdle to give to another of Naerys’s ladies-in-waiting, but on the whole she seems content to sit and sew in the warmth of the sun.

[Kendros:]
The Longaxe walks with his usual air of confidence, his strides longer than normal for someone of his average stature and with a bit of a bounce to them. He seems at his ease, and having had his weekly scrub certainly smells like spring in the midst of autumn. He comes from the direction of the guest tower, a parchment rolled in his hand and with a ribbon.

[Jannia:] 
Periwinkle eyes switch their gaze between the ground and the people who walk around the yard. Jannia Tully’s awkward walking appearance has a sound purpose though, that is if she wishes to remain upright and not sprawled on the ground. The Tully maiden in a gown of rose silk over a heavy white linen, trips a little when her eyes venture upward and take notice of Lady Reyna. She takes a moment to look around to see if anyone noticed her folly and blushes the color of her gown when she notices some do. Her cloak sits upon her shoulders, sheltering her from whatever gust of wind may come her way.

Straightening her skirts and a few of her auburn curls, she heads towards Reyna with a beaming smile upon her face. Seeing she is working on some form of sewing she curtsies and speaks softly, “Lady Reyna.” she says as she rises.

[Reyna:] 
Reyna bends her head, smiling. “Hallo, Lady Jannia. Come to enjoy the sun?” She pats the empty space beside her on the bench. As the wind ruffles her skirts of green and rose-pink, she lifts her sewing, then smoothes it over her lap again. It is a panel of embroidery, and she is working a stylized rose into the heavy cream velvet, its thorny stem entwined by a serpent. She raises her free hand to Kendros as well, then uses it to settle the fitted veil more firmly around her head so the wind will not carry it away or expose her own honey curls.

[Brynden:]
Brynden Tully strides about the Keep, on no particular mission at all for the day. Cynical minds might suggest that perhaps he was intending to bask in the congratulations and good wishes of all who knew of his tournament victory. Indeed, he acknowledges these from people as he passes. He has changed back to his usual clothes: his red and blue arrasene-covered brigandine, trousers to match, knee-length cloak with the silver trout clasp. He notices someone who appears to be his sister and so moves in that direction.

[Kendros:]
He spies the wave from Reyna and walks in her direction. “Lady Reyna,” Longaxe greets. “Lady Jannia.”

At length he notices Brynden’s approach, and having waited an appropriate interval to register his opinion, offers a brief, curt: “Ser Brynden.”

[Jannia:] 
“That, and send a raven.” She says as she takes a seat next to the Saltcliffe lady. “I should say this weeks end has been more than favorable. A touch chilly, but otherwise pleasant.” Jannia turns her head in Kendros’ direction and smiles. “Ser Kendros, fine day is it not?” Noting her brother passing through, she cuts her greeting short and sends him a slight wave.

[Ammon:] Ammon Massey, called Blackhand by some, walks slowly into the yard, shielding his eyes and squinting from the sun’s glare. He is dressed in his usual, somber blacks; his face deathly pale causing a new, pink scar across his scalp to stand out all the more. Massey seems to have no specific destination in mind, save for the shade of a tree.

[Brynden:]
Brynden nods to all as he nears them. “Ser Kendros, good morning.” He has a smile for his sister. “Jannia.” Reyna is offered a bow as well, she is not his sister of course. “Lady. Forgive my intrusion.”

[Reyna:] 
Reyna is quiet for a moment, for she is frowning at a complicated bit of knotwork. When it is finished, she exhales and smiles. “There. I can only do this in bright sunlight; candlelight is too dim. Hallo, Ser Brynden, Ser Kendros.” She gestures to the other benches in the circle in invitation. “There is nothing to forgive, Ser,” she adds to the Tully knight.

“It is as fine as autumn days come; a brief respite before the onset of winter,” Kendros agrees. “At least I can go out of doors without a heavy cloak. Has anyone seen a maester rattling through the yards? I have a message for Goodbrook and there were none at the rookery. Mother enjoys hearing the results of tournaments for some reason.”

[Jannia:] 
Eyeing the piece Reyna is working on she nods, “I can only imagine my lady. If only I were that skilled I could truly sympathize. Instead, I end up with needles in my fingers instead of needles in the fabric.” She smiles softly with a bit of a blush turning her gaze from the fine embroidery to her approaching brother, “Out for a bit of compliment brother?” she smiles as she teases. “It is as the lady says, you do not intrude. I was just passing through and saw Lady Reyna, I was here but a moment until you came by.” She turns a smile up to Kendros, sending a wave to Ammon as she spots him walking by, “Indeed it is. I felt quite trapped as of late. One does not realize how stuffy their home is until they have to stay in it for a considerable amount of time no?” She listens to the man speak further before replying more. “She likes to hear of the tourneys? Then it is of no wonder why she is friends with my lady-mother.”

[Ammon:]
Ammon, still shielding his eyes, catches Jannia’s wave. He squints towards the crowd, looking from face to face. With a sigh, he approaches them. He does not smell so fresh as Longaxe; the faint scent of stale wine is on the wind.

“Seven, this sun is bright,” Ammon says by way of greeting.

[Brynden:]
Brynden smiles, then. “I fear I must admit that it concerns me when I see a collection of ladies discussing matters, generally that means that men should find somewhere else to be if they value their hides, but I think today there is no danger.” he says, good-naturedly. He looks to the Longaxe. “Not a one so far, but they cannot all hide forever. One should turn up soon. Perhaps there is some Citadel-business they were all called together to hear?” He looks back to Jannia, with a grin. “Yes, you do. I seem to remember a time when you were little, you put a needle all the way through the skin on the edge of a finger, you howled and thundered through the halls to find your pet maester.”

[Jannia:] 
“That it is, Ser Ammon.” A bright red hue rises in Jannia’s cheeks as her brother mentions one of her sewing mishaps. “Yes, Brynden, You have the right of it. I suppose that is one of the many reasons I stayed away from needlework.” She furrows her brow in Brynden’s direction, wiping it away with a shake of her head as soon as she notices she is doing it.

[Reyna:] 
“Perhaps she hopes to hear you’ve triumphed in one, Ser Kendros,” Reyna suggests to him, smiling amiably. She nods then at Brynden and indicates the serpent-entwined rose.

“Nothing of great import, have no fear. Though everyone else is speaking about the tourney. Speaking of which, I expect that is where you will find your missing maesters, tending all the aches and injuries. Hallo, Blackhand,” she adds, her greeting taking on a hint of gravity.

[Kendros:]
“Perhaps, but I did not even compete yesterday,” Kendros says, perplexed. “I saw a one-eyed dwarf this week; everyone knows that is an ill omen, so I wisely chose to forego the competition.”

He delivers that last with a sage nod of his head, and yet more puzzlement. “I am surprised not to have heard of anything going horribly wrong. Perhaps it is yet to come.”

[Luthor:]
Emerging from the Godswood, Luthor Rivers, clad in black sets out upon the path across the courtyard to take him back to the Kitchen Keep and home. Though wrapped in the cloak of his own thoughts as he is, he does note gathering and slows as he approaches it. “Good day,” he calls as he comes to a stop. “Is there some news?” he asks looking between the gathered nobles.

[Ammon:]
Ammon’s cheeks color at Reyna’s greeting but he does his best to observe the pleasantries. “Hello, Lady Reyna,” he says with a bow; “Lady Jannia,” another bow, if a bit less pronounced. The men get nods.

“Perhaps it was the one-eyed dwarf who strengthened Marbrand’s wine last night and cursed me with this aching head,” Ammon begins, sardonically “I’d half a mind to ride out of the city today, but could barely sit a ....”

Ammon stops, interrupted by his good-nephew. His back stiffens a bit; he pales even more, if that is possible. “Ser Luthor,” he says. “Lady Aurana told me—that is, congratulations to you and my niece.”

[Brynden:]
Brynden peers at the needlework from afar. “A deft hand, lady.” he says, as if he were an expert. “No doubt he shall win one soon, my good fortune will not last last forever, though I do hope that shall hold until after the wedding tournament.” He grins at Jannia again, perhaps he enjoys torturing her with stories of her past when she is trying to be a proper lady? He turns as the ex-Warden of the Kingswood arrives. “Ser Luthor.” he greets with warmth. Then finally to the last man. “Ser Ammon, is it? You are one of Ser Dagur’s deputies, are you not? Should you have time eventually I would be interested in discussing a matter with you.”

[Reyna:] 
“I have heard that before, the thing about one-eyed dwarves,” Reyna says, frowning. “But I should not have thought you prone to such superstitions, Ser Kendros. But perhaps it was an omen in Ser Brynden’s favor.” She looks around then and brightens to see Luthor. “Ser Luthor! I had no idea you’d returned, but you are well met. But what is this about congratulations?” She looks from Ammon to Luthor expectantly, her brown eyes bright with anticipation.

[Jannia:] 
“No more news that I know of than the beautiful day itself Ser Luthor. Also ser, I have the missive for my mother. I was on my way to the rookery when I saw lady Reyna, sitting prettied with her embroidery.” She looks to Reyna, “Come to think of it, I feel awful for intruding on your peace, my lady.”

If Jannia wouldn’t feel silly for doing it she would have slapped her forehead for calling Ammon “ser”, instead she gives an expression equal to that embarrassment. Brightening a smile though in Luthor and Ammon’s direction, “Indeed, Ammon. Congratulations are in order. Ser Luthor I had not let your news out. I thought it only fair for you or Pennei to say it.” she beams a smile at this and waits for reactions of the others when he tells it.

[Luthor:] “A one-eyed dwarf?” Luthor asks raising an eyebrow at the group. “I see.” His lips twitch with a barely contained mirth but he quickly moves on to his news. “Thank you, yes, it is good to be back at court, I missed it. As for my news, it is true, Pennei is with child, she has been for some months, but we kept it secret because she is of such frail health and there was concern the child might be lost. Though now she is well again and a healthy child seems likely.”

[Kendros:]
“I shall win one soon, is it? I suppose people know the name Longaxe throughout the Seven Kingdoms due to my wonderful singing voice,” the heir to Goodbrook coldly replies to Ser Brynden’s comment.

So irked, he turns to Reyna. “Superstition?” Kendros repeats, as though accosted. “It is no superstition to respect the signs placed in this world by the gods. “Ser Ammon. Ser Luthor,” he adds, though he does not look at them, choosing instead to cast an annoyed glance back at Brynden Tully.

[Ammon:]
Ammon regards the Tully knight first. He makes no mention of tourney triumph. Indeed, the look he gives Brynden is a quizzical one, as if Ammon is trying to place the man. “I am Ammon, yes, and my sword is Saltcliffe’s. I don’t know what business you’d have with me, Ser—Brynden?, but I’ll listen.”

And then he nods to Luthor. “I’ve yet to call on Pennei, ser. I wished to speak with you first.”

[Reyna:] 
“Oh, I do hope it shall be so,” Reyna says to Luthor, her smile softening. “I shall light a candle to the Mother in her name, that all will be well with her and the child.” She looks between Ammon and Brynden with rue shadowing her expression. “Forgive me, both of you. Ser Ammon Massey, this is Ser Brynden Tully. Ser Brynden, Ammon Blackhand of House Massey.” There is some import to the appellation she gives him, some significance unspoken but there every time she pronounces it.

She only clucks her tongue at Kendros. “We’re in a temper, aren’t we?” she says, gently chiding.

[Jannia:] 
Her beaming smile remains as Luthor tells his news, “It has been very hard to keep it secret ser, what a horrible thing to do to me.” Jannia snaps her attention to Kendros, “The only singing one presumes you do, ser, is the song of steel. There is no mistake about that. I feel Brynden was just being encouraging, nothing more. Though it is my brother so I can only presume so much.” meant in kindness her smile remains as she turns to Reyna. “As do we all my lady, I have spent many a vigil in the sept for the babe. It is a blessing truly.” She blushes again at her ill attention to the need for introductions as Reyna makes them for her.

[Brynden:]
“That and your lovely hair of course, ser Kendros.” Brynden says, and though he is mostly pleasant he no doubt understand that this will annoy the other knight more. He nods and looks back to Ammon as Reyna mentions his name. “I thought so. No need to speak of it now.” He motions with his her to indicate Reyna to Ammon. “It concerns the unpleasantness on…” but he doesn’t finish. “

[Luthor:]
Luthor turns his gaze to Ammon and nods. “Then we should speak, I know she would welcome a visit from you,” his gaze shifts to Reyna. “Just as I know she would be pleased to know you pray for her and our child, as I am,” he dips his chin in the lady’s direction, then smiling at Jannia he ammends. “That both of you pray for them. Before long the Mother will be hearing of nothing else.” Then when there are more jibes exchanged between Tully and Goodbrook, he flashes the pair a bemused look eyes rolling skyward.

[Kendros:]
“Well I feel your brother is being too clever by half, Lady Jannia,” Kendros replies. “And what’s more, he knows it. It’s his idea of revenge for having his head knocked about so many times in the yards.”

The Longaxe ignores Reyna’s chiding, folding his arms across his chest, as he pointedly turns to her. “Now you see what happens when they let one-eyed dwarves roam free. Lock them in the black cells, say I.”

[Reyna:] 
“She has heard Her share of prayers on my behalf, and never begrudge one from me for another mother,” Reyna says with a laugh at Luthor. But there is vexation in the frown she lets show when Brynden indicates her as if she were unable to bear anything that requires critical thought. “Which unpleasantness would this be, Ser Brynden?” she inquires. “The unpleasantness on Crackclaw Point with the pirates? Or the more recent unpleasantness with Quenton Rosby?”

She sounds cross now when she adds to Kendros: “Then go and detain yours, by all means. I received your letter, Lady Jannia. Come and see me whenever you like.”

[Ammon:]
Ammon’s eyes flick between Brynden Tully and the Silver Rose. “If you think my lady Reyna is some wilting rose to faint at the mention of ‘unpleasantness’, you are sadly mistaken, Ser Brynden. This is no sheltered lady,” he says, his gaze straying to Jannia for a moment. “But if you wish to speak of it later, then we shall speak of it later.”
And to Luthor: “We shall. We parted badly and I would remedy that.”

[Jannia:] 
“I can only imagine Ser Luthor, the child will be doubly blessed in any case.” Turning from Luthor to Kendros a slight chuckle emerges from Jannia’s lips. “Perhaps ser, though apparently you didn’t knock him around enough. I think Edmure got the most of your beatings, mayhaps you need to learn to share more equally.”
Calming the chuckle and looking to Reyna half ignoring her ire to her brother to try and move conversation forward. “How splendid, I believe you will be most pleased. I shall go to the jeweler soon to fetch my gifts. I will send a messenger when I have procured them.” an excited look forms on Jannia’s face, though quickly it turns queer when Ammon glances at her, “I fear -you- would be remiss in think I have had a sheltered life Ser Ammon. But yes, men talk is for the men, lest you wish me to put my input in.”

[Brynden:]
Brynden offers Reyna a small bow. “I hope you shall overlook my poor choice of words, lady. I had only hoped to spare your feelings on the matter. The pirates, I mean.” He looks back at Ammon. “So I see.” Then to his sister, he opens his mouth to say something to her, but thinks better of it for once.

[Luthor:]
Luthor recieves Reyna’s words with a smile. “Then I shall say no more on the matter and take the prayers as they are offered.” Then Ammon gets his attention. “As would I. It was a terrible time for us both and we did not part as we should have.” He looks to Bryden. “I believe it is safe to speak of what you will here. Say what you wish to say Ser and do not leave us in suspense.”

[Ammon:]
“Did I say I thought you sheltered, lady Jannia?” asks Ammon Blackhand with a mirthless smile. “It was not my intent and I apologize. I meant simply that my lady has seen worse than many of the gallant knights I’ve known.”
At mention of the pirates, though he knew it was coming, that it was inevitable, Ammon sighs. “As you will, ser. I’ve spent some months on Crackclaw seeking out information.”
At Luthor’s words, Ammon nods, his lips curling into a thin smile.

[Reyna:] 
Reyna bends her head in return to Brynden, though she looks oddly at Jannia, as if unsure whether to laugh or cry. “Indeed, men talk is for men,” she echoes faintly, turning back to her embroidery so that her veil hides her face for a moment. The creamy lace flutters where the wind stirs across her brow, and a honey-brown curl escapes the veil. “Good, Lady Jannia. Call at your leisure.”

[Kendros:]
“Pirates in Crackclaw, bandits in the Kingswood… and winter around the corner,” Kendros says, shaking his head. “Perhaps the plan is simply to let the cold deal with them,” he comments, little more than an idle thought as he yawns with a hand over his mouth.

[Jannia:] 
She puts a hand up to Ammon, “No worries, I only wished to let you know you may speak freely. I took no offense.” She looks to Reyna and bites her lip, “My apologies my lady, I must have lost my senses. I was insensitive to your involvement in Crackclaw Point, to that I am very sorry.” She sets a hand to the lady’s arm when she turns away, “I will be sure to call soon, perhaps on a gloomy day where needlework outside is not ideal and boredom threatens to overtake us.” She smiles warmly in the ladies direction.

[Ammon:]
“The Stranger would not be so cruel as to take Saan from me in such a way, Longaxe. Do the septons not say that the gods give each man only what he can bear? Well, if Saan were taken, then what is left for me?” Ammon asks, arms open and palms up. “No, it will not end so. It cannot.”

[Brynden:]
Brynden turns back to Ammon, then. “To be brief, my lady-mother has promises from Lord Mooton that Maidenpool would be more than willing to host a squadron meant to patrol for pirates in the Bay of Crabs and beyond, if it pleases the Throne. Unfortunately, my understanding is that they may need the assistance of the Hand or the Master of Ships to expand the docks and other facilities somewhat. I mean to speak to the Warden and I believe my kinsman Ser Harstyn may have had discussions with some as well. I mention it to you now as I believe that would be of interest to you should it come to pass.”

[Reyna:] 
Reyna’s narrow shoulders shake under her veil when Jannia apologizes. “No need,” she says in a strangely strangled voice. Is she laughing? When she looks up, she is smiling with a blank expression on her face. “No need to apologize at all. I am not bothered by casual mention of Saan or his pirates.”

She sobers swiftly and looks around at Ammon, her brown eyes wider than before, her mirth faded. She says nothing to him; whatever they share of the man they have both spoken of remains silent between them, and she looks away after a moment. “He is aware of your proposal, Ser Brynden, but it is quite beyond his authority as Warden to do anything about it.”

[Albyn:]
Although it’s known the Crane has a certain detest the weather of King’s Landing but the pleasures he has found at court have been enough to outweigh that discomfort. The gusty winds seems to be kept away from harming the wamrth of his clothing by a heavy cloak, edged with ermine fur. As he notices the small group on his path, a short frown decorates his face as he quickly identifies the protagonists of the upcoming play. Just within distance, he hears the comment of Brynden on the Hand but the wind seems to play with the rest of his words. As he arrives Albyn nods gently. ” My lords, ladies. I hope I do not interrupt, ser Brynden.” he asks politely. ” The Hand, you were saying?”

[Kendros:]
“Never doubt the cruelty of the Stranger, Ser,” Kendros replies, “‘lest you goad him.”

Turning from Ammon Massey, the Longaxe gives Ser Albyn a long look but does not greet him.

[Jannia:] 
Jannia is taken aback a bit by Reyna’s seemingly merry—albeit, oddly blank—appearance. Squeaking out a confused response, “Oh, alright then. I would be displeased with myself if I upset you unnecessarily…. But, seeing that is not the case, and no offense given. I am.. er.. pleased.” She all but misses Albyn’s arrival, when she sees him she inclines her head, “Ser Albyn.” she says in polite greeting.

[Luthor:]
Luthor nods to Ammon. “I pray you get your chance, ser.”
“As to the bandits, I know Ser Farin will soon have them in hand,” he says to Kendros before turning to Brynden. “I’d speak with the Hand and Ser Alyn, it seems as though they would be the ones with the power to make that plan come to fruition.” Albyn’s arrival earns a scornful look and little more.

[Ammon:]
“I shall remember that,” Ammon says Kendros; the look of greeting he gives to Crane is a mirror of Longaxe’s own.

But most of Blackhand’s attention is on Reyna. He meets her gaze, lets her silently break it. But to the Tully knight he says, “Speak to me when you’ve need of me, Tully. If I can help, I will.” And finally, to Luthor with ice in his eyes: “-We- will have our chance.”

[Brynden:]
Brynden nods again to Reyna. “Perhaps it is, lady. But he knows the situation in the Bay of Crabs and such better than Riverrun and so I would like to discuss matters with him and see what his thoughts are. I imagine such a squadron would be placed under his authority as well, so I thought to see what he feels is needed.” He looks to Albyn. “Crane.” He nods to Luthor in turn. “I know ravens have flown on the matter, with messages written by more exalted hands than mine, ser. I also have further matters to discuss with Ser Alyn, for I seek his advice as well.”

[Brynden:]
“On those other matters.” Brynden adds.

[Albyn:]
Ignoring both Luthor’s and Kendros’s obvious distaste for his presence, Albyn keeps up his soft smile saving a bright look of his blue eyes for Jannia. Dropping in on the subject, he nods to Luthor. ” The Hand has not forgotten the crimes of Saan, my lords. I’m sure, even with his great amount of responsibilities, his Grace is still keeping an eye on the matter of putting His Majesty’s justice on the pirates.

[Kendros:]
“Absolutely no one here thought he had, Ser,” Longaxe throws in. “Though considering the case of Quenton Rosby and the way Dorne turned out, I am not certain we are well served to bring the King’s Justice into this at all.”

[Ammon:]
“It is a funny thing,” Ammon muses, softly. He speaks to nobody, though his eyes flit once again to Reyna. “All this time, I knew talk of this sort was to come. I dreaded it: I thought it would make me feel a sadness so great that I would be unable to move; or an anger so terrible that I would lash out. But all I feel is—nothing.”
Blackhand’s gaze is for Albyn now, and Brynden. “But these words? These words are empty; a wind rustling the leaves of the Kingswood. When there is action—well, then there will be feeling.” At Longaxe’s mention of Rosby, Ammon frowns.

[Luthor:]
Luthor nods to Ammon. “Yes, our chance,” he says before his eyes flash to Kendros. “What do you mean about Quenton, he’s not to be spared is he?”

[Jannia:] 
Confusion is set in ernest on the Tully girl’s face, her mind is feverishly working—wondering more like—to make sense of the lady’s dismissal of her apology. She near misses Albyn’s glance, which leaves her doubly confused. Momentarily, Jannia shuts down to the conversation, obviously lost in thought; whether to the words said, or the looks given she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry herself.

[Reyna:] 
Reyna looks up at Ammon again, all her earlier mirth forgotten entirely. “It is a blessing of the Seven, the numbness,” she says in a low voice. “The anger will come when you need it most, I think. And the sadness when you do not.” Her smile is wan, her face a bit pale now. “But the Seven grant the numbness so we might carry on living.” The others might have disappeared for this one moment.

[Albyn:]
The Crane’s eyes narrow slightly at the lack of trust in the Hand’s organisation but remains silent. It might be smarter to keep the the subject of justice out of a conversation with two nobles who each had or hadn’t met it yet. ” I see.” he simply states to Ammon.

[Brynden:]
Brynden nods to Ammon. “Action has to be set in motion, and though it is my understand that the Riverlords would happily do more… this is what can be done for now.” He shrugs. “You may think it empty when I say it, but for my part I will be more than willing to be more direct if action allow itself.”

[Kendros:]
Seeing as he could not possibly have any idea about what Albyn could possibly be thinking, Kendros just stares at the Crane.

He holds that gaze for a few seconds before turning to Luthor. “No one knows. His Grace the King has apparently made some noise about how he is a sinner in need of the realm’s forgiveness. I think we can ascertain what that means.”

[Ryckon:]
Whatever serious or meaningful conversations going on in the yard are not known to Ryckon Westerling, who emerges from the guest tower dressed in his training armor, no doubt on his way to spar in the Western Yard. However, he spots the group of nobles with whom he has varying degrees of acquaintance, so he waves to them and takes a step in that direction, glancing between them to try to see what might be going on but not saying anything as of yet.

[Luthor:]
Luthor frowns. “I see,” he says of mercy that seems to be ready to be bestowed on Quenton Rosby. “Does Quenton still accuse my man of the crimes he comitted? If so I would gladly name Quenton a liar and prove the matter with steel.”

[Albyn:]
Trained to roam around court and hosts his whole life, Albyn is not impressed by the stare of Longaxe, only answering it with a glance of his already looking cold blue eyes. ” Aren’t we all… sinners, in our own way, ser.” He replies to Kendros, a wicked glance in his eyes before his shift his attention back to the subject of Rosby.

[Ammon:]
Ammon nods as Reyna speaks, his eyes far away. But when she has finished, it is to Ser Brynden he speaks. “I may hold you to that, Tully.”

Blackhand seems about to speak up on the matter of Rosby—but he remains silent.

[Kendros:]
“I could not say, Ser,” Longaxe replies. “All I have heard is that he is feverish from the pox, and I confess I have not taken much of an interest in the matter. I do not think he would be up to a fight at any rate.”

He casts a sharp glance at the Crane now, and something in the other’s eyes strikes a nerve. “Ser, we have gone over this before, I believe. If you have something you want to say to me, do not beat about the bush like a woman in her skirts. Say it or keep your mouth shut.”

[Luthor:]
“He wouldn’t need to fight, just hold a sword and die,” Luthor says with dark humor. “If he truly has the pox he might even welcome it,” he shrugs and lets the issue drop fiddling with the dagger at his belt whilst Albyn is taken to task.

[Jannia:] 
Jannia snaps out of her daze when Luthor mentions Hallen, “No Ser, Hallen was released. I saw to that personally, even wrote to the Hand in his defense. He was released not a day later.” She looks up to Luthor, “Where he is now though, I do not know. I have yet to find him.” Looking around though she sees much angst unfolding amongst the men and sighs lightly, “As for Quenton, he deserves no knights death, he deserves to hang nothing more, only perhaps less.” She does not blush for this view and not a hint of anything but seriousness can be read off Jannia’s face.

[Reyna:] 
“Prevarication is hardly the sole purview of women,” protests Reyna, sounding relieved to have the sober moment with Ammon past them. “Do not call it womanish, Ser Kendros, or I must take exception.” But she does look curiously around at Albyn, choosing, perhaps wisely, not to remark on Quenton Rosby for now.

[Albyn:]
” I have no idea what you’re talking about, ser.” Albyn replies politely, pulling up an innocent face. Although his smile as faded away to make place for his mummery, his blue eyes shine satisfied, if not amused.

[Brynden:]
Brynden looks to Ammon once more. “Have no doubt, my lord.” he says, wuite seriously. Then he goes on. “If it came to a trial, it will be my honor to fight any champion Rosby may produce. I had too many women here that he threatened.”

[Kendros:]
“True, it is not,” Kendros replies to Reyna. “I should not say it is womanish when such an example stands before me so. Very well, I amend my statement. For you, Lady Reyna.

“So you are a lackwit, I take it,” he returns to Albyn. “Because any time someone points out to you that you are a snake, you pretend not to know what is transpiring. I am insulting you now, in case you were unaware of it or I spoke too quickly.”

Scoffing, he turns to Brynden and Luthor. “I am quite certain there will be a queue of knights in case champions are called for, but we do not even know that it will come to that point yet.”

[Reyna:] 
Reyna is watching Albyn too, and is clearly not fooled, for she shakes her head in unveiled—though brief—digust, then rolls her eyes at Kendros. “Thank you, Ser Kendros.”

“His Grace would be best advised to execute him. How he has lived this long is beyond me.” Now her disgust is for the delay in ending Quenton Rosby’s life.

[Ammon:]
For his part, Ammon remains out of the budding altercation and of the criticism of His Grace’s policies. He looks to Brynde, nods and says to the group at large. “My lords and ladies, if you will excuse me, I must needs find something to clear this ache.” With a bow to Reyna and a nod to Luthor, Ammon strides from the yard.

[Jannia:] 
All to familiar with Albyn’s snakiest of ways Jannia was never fooled, is never fooled by the Crane. She grins at Kendros’ amendment, “Wise choice ser, I had thought you wished to pull thorns from your hands with the previous statement.” a light chuckle for he light jest, she nods to Ammon as he makes his leave, “Good day, Ammon. It is good to see you again.”

[Luthor:]
A look of relief crosses Luthor’s face. “Hallen has been set free? Good, I shall search him out,” he says looking up from his dagger. He nods his goodbye to Ammon. “I should go as well. I need find my wayward man, and see to other business. Though it was good to see-” a pause as his gaze falls upon Albyn. “-most of you again.”

[Kendros:]
“It would not be the first time a Targaryen had been queerly lenient,” Kendros remarks upon Reyna’s comment. “I do not know how much it would matter, though. With all the whores wandering the roads and the sort of men that they attract, the road between King’s Landing and Rosby could be a dangerous place if he is released and decides to return home.

“Have a good day, Ser Luthor.”

[Brynden:]
Brynden nods to Ammon and Luthor both. “Good morning, sers. I hope we shall speak again soon.” He looks between Goodbrook and Crane, then takes a step nearer his sister and the other lady. “I do not think the man will see the sun set on the day that Rosby is released, ser Kendros.”

[Albyn:]
At Kendros insults, Albyn smiles softly again. ” Ah yes. Now I remember, we have gone over this before.” he admits. ” I insult you of attacking harmless women, you reposte by calling me one. How convenient. Keep it up good man, soon you’ll be banished to Essos.” With a pleasant nod, Albyn ends his short presence and turns on his heels, leaving with a wicked smile on his face.

[Jannia:] 
A smile forms on Jannia’s face as she nods in Luthor’s direction, “I am glad his freedom pleases you, ser. Good day Ser Luthor, send word if you find him, I should like to speak to him.” She dips her head as he goes to leave.

Looking to Kendros Jannia nods, “I would have to agree ser, it would not bode well. But it is rumored the man has the pox, and I believe he would not be released anyhow, he would just not be executed.” She sighs, “In any case, the man will never set foot outside of the cells lest he were to be executed, he would not see daylight long enough to revel in it. I find peace in that, though I would find more peace if he were to hang. Perfectly sated even.”

[Kendros:]
“Clearly Red Lake is as far from the Dornish Marches as any place in the Reach. The Reachmen I know are not so quick to quail and flee,” Kendros says as Albyn leaves. “Good riddance.”

He looks to Brynden next. “And on that, we agree, ser. Justice must always be served.”

[Reyna:] 
“I never know what that man is talking about,” grouses Reyna, glowering at her embroidery in vexation. “I wish he would speak plainly or stop acting so smug and superior to everyone else.” She stabs her needle into her embroidery, then curses—a most unladylike curse, too—under her breath and starts to unknot the thread.

[Luthor:]
Luthor smiles as he watches Albyn flee then he shakes his head and turns to the Tullys. “I shall bring Hallen by your manse when I find him, that should give us a all a chance to talk,” he promises. Then nods are given to Reyna and Kendros. “Good day to you both,” he wishes them warmly before he carries on his way back to the Kitchen Keep.

[Kendros:]
“I had an aunt at Uplands who acted in a similar manner,” Longaxe muses, seemingly prompted by Reyna’s grousing. “When she died, the silent sisters found tumors in her head… I always wondered if they were the cause.”

He turns to Jannia then, “Well, I do not have as much trust that things will work out as you seem to have, my lady. Nothing in the world seems to make sense since the Young Dragon died.”

[Jannia:] 
Jannia shakes her head at Albyn and nods to Reyna’s words. At Luthor’s offer Jannia smiles, “My thanks, that would please me greatly.” she dips her head again as Luthor leaves, “Good day, ser.” Kendros catches Jannia’s attention, “I should say you are correct, but we must find peace where we can. Even if it is short lived. I am not naive enough to think that it will remain as such, but there is hope, it is a virtue gifted to us by the Seven is it not, hope?” She heaves a sigh, “The Young Dragon was much revered it is true, and the tales of his reign will live on for long and longer, ser. The Seven Kingdoms wept when he was taken by the Stranger.”

[Reyna:] 
“At least with King Daeron, we could rely on the laws that govern us all to be carried out in their fullest degree,” Reyna says, her voice low. “His Grace King Baelor is certainly godly, but…” she trails off, for to say any more would surely be treason. “There is uncertainty sometimes. It is troubling.”

[Kendros:]
Kendros frowns at the Tully girl speaking so. “Do not do that, my lady. Do not soften it with bland words. The Young Dragon was murdered under flag of parley by his own sworn subjects, and we did nothing. We did less than nothing: we sued for peace. We go along because the King is the King, but we still feel the shame of it.”

[Jannia:] 
Understanding Reyna’s words Jannia nods, “Yes, troubling indeed. His Grace, at the very least is kind and pious. Perhaps a bit misguided, but we must remember he is rather new. Perhaps better days will come.” She smiles lightly, turning to Kendros, “My words may be bland, but to those who did not go to war, they would ring more than true. It is awful what happened to him. War, as you know ser is war. All manner of unsavoriness happens, poor choices and even poorer actions. My apologies if you find offense, no matter how great or mild in my words. And you are indubitably right for I was not there.” She dips her head in submission, “Call it what you will, blame it on a soft heart as need be.”

[Reyna:] 
“The Dornish are villains,” Reyna bursts out, her voice unusually emotion-laden. “They murdered my poor stupid brother in his bed, and cut down our good king with a flag of truce. I wish we’d set fire to everything from the marches to the sea! They did not deserve the peace we gave them!” But in the next breath, Reyna claps a hand to her mouth and looks around as if she fears to see Baelor himself behind her.

[Kendros:]
“Reyna’s outburst prompts a look that can best be interpreted as a stunned surprise from Ser Kendros, and a few seconds elapse before he says anything. “Quite,” he finally ventures, seeing no reason to gainsay, but looking somewhat amused by this development.
“I knew you were one of us.”

[Jannia:] 
A look of shock crosses her face, “I… I am most sorry Lady Reyna, I… I had not known. I was far too young and secluded to know all of what happened. I… I only can go off of what others tell me. What I said is what my father spoke of, what my sister cried and dreamt of in her sleep as we mourned her lost husband….” Jannia trails off her words looking down to her hands that are placed in her lap, wringing them idly, cheeks as crimson as the reddest of roses.

[Reyna:] 
Reyna rises abruptly, giving Jannia a look of disgust. “You did not -know- that they murdered Lord Garvys Tyrell by pouring scorpions upon him? You did not -know- that Rhodry Martell drove the pole of the rainbow flag of truce through King Daeron’s heart in violation of the Seven’s own injunction against bloodshed in parley? For shame, Lady Jannia. Look to your history if you wish to be taken seriously. Ser Kendros…” She looks helplessly at the Goodbrook, then waves a hand. “I must go home. I’m sorry. Now you know.” And she turns on her heel, skirts of green and pale rose-pink swirling, to take her leave.

[Kendros:]
“And on that note, I am off to find the maesters,” Kendros says, bowing slightly to each. “Lady Reyna. Lady Jannia. May the gutters run red with Dornish blood.”

And appearing eminently cheered by the developments of this afternoon, the Longaxe turns to make his way towards the keep.

[Jannia:] 
Jannia’s mouth remains closed until she finishes, and quiet of a mouse she speaks, softly and without anger. “I was no more than five and ten, probably less…. how could I? What book could I gather such words from. Most written are of gallant actions, over glorified renditions of chivalry and decorum. What tome, pray, could I learn those histories from? I have read many and more… no knight wishes to speak of such things. You scold me for things I was to young to learn, perhaps you are right, or perhaps you should write such a tome my lady.” She rises in her rosy pink and walks off lost in thought giving an idle farewell. “Good day my lady Reyna, ser Kendros.” Jannia’s maids depart themselves from the walls of the Keep, the eldest wincing at her lady’s form following obediently in her wake.

[Reyna:] 
But Reyna is already gone, too far away to hear that a scion of a great house has no knowledge of the two most momentous events in recent history. There are any number of courtiers who do hear, however, and who have heard the lady’s outburst, as well. No doubt the tongue-wags will be very busy tonight, telling tales on one of the foremost ladies of the court.