“Hurry up, Rhodry, it’s indecent,” the war mongering Prince’s more peacefully minded brother calls out, from some paces away. “Half the damned city readying to march, and you can’t stop playing with yourself in public,” Cadan adds, his tone more amused than chiding, though he follows it up with a tsk or two.
“Good!” Liane encourages. “Good, princess. Better!” she says as Ariana hits the target. “You are growing stronger, always stronger.” If Liane has preparations to make, either she has already finished them or she cannot resist the princess’ request to attend her for a lesson in archery.
Stopping a bit behind the more peaceful-minded Prince Cadan is his oldest companion, Ser Corrent Gargalen. With a halting hand in the air, Corrent says over his shoulder to one of the younger companions in tow, “Prince Rhodry is relieving himself, so one of you clean up the mess if it runs into the pathway, just use your boot like you’d do for yourself.” The cockatrice knight moves up to beside his Prince with a grin, “I’ve used that spot in the dark of night my Prince…”
It takes a moment or two, but the younger prince does, indeed, finish. He’s watered the hard-packed sand beneath the wall, for all the good it’ll do. Rhodry turns (but not before setting his robes back in order, as it were) as he responds, “One takes one’s pleasures where one can, brother. As you well know, having made an art of it.” The black-eyed gaze is cruel in its amusement, as is the turn of his thin-lipped mouth. He turns those eyes towards Liane Uller then, perhaps drawn by her praise at the archery butts, and then back to Cadan. “After all, what else will you have to do here in the lonely Old Palace, while we’re off to give Lady Yronwood a sharp lesson?”
Though hardly the sort of man that is preparing to march off to war, Griffin Gargalen finds himself in the outer yards all the same. It takes all of the young man’s attention to not find himself suddenly overrun by some careless knight or to wander into the sights of some archer at practice as he limps along. Eventually, he spies some nobles that -aren’t- practicing their training nor seeming to be preparing for the war. The princes, it would seem, by the ornate outfits they wear and the company they keep. Griffin smiles a little smile and begins to hobble his way over. Though he strikes quite an innocuous figure, with those dusty brown robes of his and plain linen sash, the badge he wears, depicting House Gargalen, marks him as a nobleman. Though the young man walks with an ironwood cane, there is a certain cunning behind those dark green eyes of his, marking him as potentially dangerous as any knight, though in a far different way. For now, he keeps quiet, not knowing one prince, and barely knowing the other. Even the presence of a kinsman does not spark the desire to speak just yet. No, instead, Griffin Gargalen stays silent and listens, awaiting an opportunity…
“All of the dutuies you would rather go to war than stay about and see to yourself,” Cadan chuckles, utterly unperturbed by his younger brother’s menacing gaze (having been exposed to it with far more regularity than most). “...and I suppose, a bit of taking my pleasure. /Do/ make certain to take your time with the Lady, won’t you? I just know I’ll hate having to give the palace back,” he adds truthfully enough, though not without the usual pleasant courtly tone. Then he is turning away, tossing Corrent a smile. “Oh, you needn’t look after my little brother so, Corrent. Let him clean his own piss a time or two every so often.”
The princess turns to Lady Liane, a rueful grin twisting its way onto her face as she reaches up to rub her shoulder with a free hand. “Perhaps I am, my lady…but when will I begin to feel less pain while getting stronger, as you promised?” She raises an eyebrow, and seems about to say something else, but then she catches sight of both her brothers past Liane’s shoulder.
Her bow drops to her side, and she looks almost embarrassed, like she’s been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be, even though they give no indication that they’ve seen her yet. “Ah, perhaps we should finish here,” she begins, slowly moving to place the bow onto the ground, “I find that I am growing tired, my lady.”
Corrent waves off the younger companions and shrugs as one of them was probably going to do just what the older knight had said. “My Prince, I guess it might be a learning experience for the smell of piss to enter into the nostrils of some of these boys. War does tend to bring it out after all…” Corrent shrugs to himself as he stands beside Prince Cadan.
“Perhaps when you pull with more than just your shoulder, as I’ve suggested, princess. I…” Liane begins, turning to follow Ariana’s gaze. “Hmm, as you will, princess.” she says. “Still, I hope you will continue while I am away. Perhaps my uncle Ser Ulwyn could find you a tutor, or act so himself?” Liane suggests, a bit quieter. She notes Rhodry’s look and she offers her unrefined bobbing curtsey.
“Oh, Gargalen has the right idea, I think. What else are the young bootlicks good for?” Reckless in most all things, is what they say of Rhodry, and he seems to be living up to that. But as quickly as he throws out insults, he also asks Ser Corrent, “And you, Gargalen? Are you stuck here, a wagging tail firmly attached to my brother’s rump? You’re a better man than most with a spear—not as a good as me, mayhaps, but still—and with any luck, there’ll be a chance to get it wet at Yronwood. Not a thing to be missed, ser, if you’re any kind of knight.”
Well… there may be an insult there, too, after all.
“Pray, if my brother’s offer entices you so, Corrent, then by all means, go and wet your spear,” Cadan smiles. “An awful lot of them will need to be wet, if his back is to be watched. He boasts of his skill, but every man meets his better some day -” he pauses, rediecting his speech to Rhodry, “-which does make me curious as to why you’re always so /eager/ to rush that day along.”
Not too surprised by the younger Prince’s remark Corrent’s eye shifts from Cadan back to Rhodry, saying, “Thank you Prince Cadan, I had planned on discussing that with out tonight. Attending to Lady Yronwood’s poor judgement carrying my family’s banner will be an honor considering my lord father’s poor health.” Corrent smirks and then with a bit of wonder in his voice he says, “I hope to see your spear in action my prince, I missed it the last time around….”
The wind doesn’t seem to trouble Caitrin Dalt as she moves across the yard in unhurried fashion. Her hair is braided neatly and her black and yellow robes swish, but she seems to have enough purpose to leave her unbothered. Indeed, she is smiling very smugly as she goes.
Liane gives a glance to her men nearby and one collects the bows and quivers while the other goes about collecting arrows and such. That begun, she looks back towards the princes and their hangers-on. They are yet too far away to speak to anyone without being rather loud, so she watches for now.
Cadan’s remark gives Rhodry pause, and makes the smirk curdle on his face. A look, and then he shakes his head dismissively and addresses Gargalen instead, “Good man,” replies Prince Rhodry, a flash of teeth in his smile that make it look more predatory than congratulatory. “And you, bootlicks?” he then asks, addressing the younger men in Cadan’s train… before waving a hand and saying, “Why do I ask?” And with that, he turns away, leaving them to contemplate his piss trickling down the wall if they please, moving past lame Griffin Gargalen with a barely-concealed sneer to find Liane Uller.
“Still planning on coming, Lady Liane?” he asks, as if he’s interested. His dark-eyed gaze turns then, taking in the crowd, and seeing… a smug Caitrin Dalt. His eyes narrow, and then he chuckles at that. “I’ll wager she has her dog lapping out of her hand. She has the look.” And so he shouts to her, a hand raised to his mouth so she can hear his question—without any preamble—through the noise of the crowded yard, “Isn’t that so, Lady Caitrin?”
Cadan himself acquires a look not unlike Lady Caitrin’s as Rhodry moves away. “It’s not my spear you should want to see, Corrent, it’s my sword. But that’s neither here nor there. Bring back some pride with you for us to share, hm? And do watch out for Rhodry. He’s a right pain, but it would sadden Marence if he passed. I think,” he adds, clapping his Companion on the shoulder, and then addresses the others. “
“The rest of you lot, you’ll be at practice the whole time they’re at war. /One/ of you better be able to stuff my brother’s words back down his throat by the time he comes back…”
Liane smirks, but offers another curtsey for the bloody prince. “Indeed I am, my prince. If the Lady Yronwood has not gone totally mad, or at least still has a spark of love for her dead brother, she will hear me and yield. If not, well… I hope she will at least deliver a message to Ser Berec for me.” Liane looks towards Caitrin as well. “Hmm. With that look I would guess she has managed a berth on this voyage as well.” she says, not indending her voice to carry farther than to Rhodry’s ear.
Not sure what to think of the younger prince Corrent merely nods and turns to Cadan, saying, “Prince Cadan, I appreciate the chance to go on the expedition. My family was expecting it but I knew I needed your leave…I waited until the last. Thank you.” Corrent bows his head to the Prince and looks on as the younger prince stalks off.
Caitrin looks around and raises a hand to the princes as she turns her steps. Only when she is close enough, and has rendered them a polite curtsy, does she say: “Probably, my prince. But pray, indulge me by telling me what you are right about.”
And so Griffin’s sharp eyes manage to catch one of the prince’s own, if only for a bit. It seems to amuse the young man that the prince does not even deign to ask if he shall accompany, though he likely saved his breath in not doing so anyways. The fact that Liane is to accompany surprises Griffin more, and he looks to her consideringly. It takes him a moment or two, but eventually he decides to dismiss the matter, instead approaching the elder of the two Martells, and more specifically the man’s companion. Smiling a sly smile to his kinsman, Griffin bows his head to the two men, greeting them, “Evening, my Prince, cousin. How has the day found you both? Armed and ready for this war I have heard of?”
“Lady Liane believes you’ve convinced the Sand Dog to bring you with him to war,” Rhodry says to Caitrin, almost amiably. “You looked pleased with yourself. But perhaps there’s some other cause to that.”
“My companion is,” Prince Cadan remarks to man on the cane. “I myself will be remaining behind. Why send all three Martells to war, when two can go and one can keep the castle, as it were? But you Gargalens have a reason to fight, so I send my Companion in my stead,” Cadan shrugs, his tone perfectly amiable to all subjects, as always.
“No, Lady Liane is quite right. I -have- managed to convince him.” Caitrin smiles at Liane for a moment before turning her attention to the others. “My prince,” she says to Cadan, her tone measurably warmer than when she addressed Rhodry. “You are staying behind? I’m sorry to hear it.” She gives a nod to Corrent and another to Griffin before looking back to the princes.
Corrent smiles as his older cousin greets him, and waiting for Prince Cadan to answer first, Corrent follows with, “I’m doing well, just waiting for the fun to begin.” Corrent pats the hilt of his sword and then looks to Prince Cadan with a smile, very thankful.
From the direction of the tower, Senara walks towards the group gathered. She is accompanied only by a guard, whom she speaks to in low tones, her head tubing and eyes falling downward as they exchange words. The woman’s expression changes slightly as she approaches, coming up beside her husband, her usually severity growing gentler, albeit only slightly. She pauses to listen to the conversation, dark eyes following rag speaker.
“Is that so?” Griffin rhetorically replies, tilting his head inquiringly. He smiles to the Prince, continuing, “How very prudent of you, my Prince. We would not want Sunspear to fall into disorder in our Prince’s absence.” At the mention of the Gargalens having reason to fight, Griffin seems ready to inquire into that, but soon finds another to arrive. He gives a polite nod toward Caitrin, then shifts closer to Corrent. His already whispery voice drops more quiet as he leans in to ask the knight a question.
“... ... ... ...” Griffin again cants his head, seeming curious, “... ... me ... ... I ... my ... in ... ... have made ... forget.” He gives a sliver of a smile, then adding, “... ... known to ... cannot ... but think ... ... may ... ... far more recent than ... ...”
“Lady Caitrin is a hero of the war.” Liane says matter-of-factly, with not even a touch of sarcasm. “It may seem ridiculous, but perhaps Prince Marence will find a different voice useful if he wishes it. As I remember, the lady is a fine shot with her bow, or with the heads of northerners’ heads in a trebuchet.” she says, grinning. “That has to be useful, if nothing else.” She laughs, but it is not mocking.
The Fowler girl walks warily into the yard, keeping her footfalls light -her anklets too-. So many peoples of high noble if not royal birth, it is wise to tread carefully. Though noting the lady Caitrin, and Griffin to tones down her concern, choosing to skirt the crowd in her dark and light blue robes with hair to her waist.
Tamara’s icy gaze flits from this person to that, not settling in a singular place for long, as there is much going on, and she has not enough eyes to watch it. A small sigh escapes her lips as she notes the Gagalen man whispering to one of the knights. Her eyebrow quirks up at the sound of lady Liane mentions the accolades of the lady Caitrin, “I should say so,” she says to no one in particular.
“I imagine we may have to make use of trebuchets, against the walls of Yronwood,” Rhodry admits, though it seems he doesn’t relish that particular aspect of war: the long, drawn-out siege. He shrugs his shoulders and tells Caitrin, “At least you’ll see to it that Ser Laurent’s in a good temper. My brother would disapprove if Laurent went onto the battlefield in a bad mood, given the bodies that tend to follow it. A few light skirmishes, followed by a kissed arse or two, and we’ll be back home, like as not; or that’s how Marence dreams it, when he’s not dreaming of books and the slow passage of days.”
Away in the yard, a voice calls for Prince Rhodry—one of the palace guard, presently holding on with both hands to the reins of a hot-blooded sand steed that he’s bucking and tossing its mane angrily. A sigh, and the prince takes his leave without the courtesy of saying farewell, on to shout at the man for being a fool with his new destrier.
Corrent leans to his cousin and says in a whisper, “It’s not a big deal, Mavros is the castellan of sandstone and my father has been close to the Qorgyle family since before I was born. Ser Balan, the heir of sandstone was who knighted me.” Corrent leans back and speaks a little louder saying, “It’s all a matter of family and who’s connected.”