The feast is well under way, marked by a grand entry of King Aegon in rich, regal garb of cloth-and-gold and velvet, accompanied by the royal mistress Lady Barba in a matching gown, shaped to show the burgeoning swell of her belly; Queen Naerys has remained with her ladies and in her chambers for a goodly time, and few expected her to appear. As musicians played, the couple walked down the length of the hall to the high table where places were laid out for them, and a seat more for none other than the Hand, Lord Kennoth Bracken.
Once the king sat, the feast began properly, with great heaps of food delivered to the many trestle tables, and endless pouring of wine by the royal servants. Beneath the high table, many of the greater courtiers, functionaries, lords, ladies, and knights of the court and of the crownlands could be found, breaking bread, gossiping, casting careful glances to see the king and his mistress, or at the empty places at the table nearest to the high table where it was intended that some of the royal family would sit. The Prince of Dragonstone is here, to be sure, and Mariah of Dorne, and the pious Princess Rhaena… but neither Daena nor Elaena have appeared, whilst Prince Aemon is said to have taken the duty of guarding Queen Naerys into the small hours of the morning.
Ser Andard bites into a mouthful of pork belly and reminds himself to slow his feasting as much as possible. None could know how long he’d gone without proper food. None could suspect him of living meagrely; he, a Knight of Hornvale. His hunger had raged at him fiercely for a long while and this was, without question, the finest he’d eaten in weeks upon weeks. But none could know. Or he’d never eat at a better man’s table again. The court watched and judged always, he reminded himself, and he dreaded the moment when someone would point and say ‘That’s him! That’s the man who Hastwyk flung from his saddle so far you’d think he was a white raven heralding the next winter!’. He had to keep high and proper and convey nothing but the noble dignity of the knight he was still struggling to be.
Elyse’s joined the festivities without her jouster husband, which isn’t too surprising. Ser Joffrey isn’t known for being gregarious or prone to celebration without a tourney before hand to prove worthy of it. Dressed in the white and yellow silks of Bitterbridge, the Reachlady has a necklace of golden thorns with the meadowlark of her sigil nestled about her throat. Her dark curls are artfully arranged and even a hint of makeup highlights her pale cheeks to put some color back into them. She eats sparringly of the food, which isn’t surprising considering her petite form. Yet the drink she takes of more heartily even if she pours a little water into each cup.
Balon is sat with his Lady wife Sharon, somewhat near to the high table due to his position in the King’s household but far enough away to allow the favourites and those of more importance to be close to the King. He is not as finely dressed as other members of the gathered crowed, choosing instead to wear a tunic of rough-spun brown wool over a light coloured linen shirt and black doe-skin breeches, a small badge of the King’s sigil pinned to his upper left breast. He looks to his wife and smiles to her fondly, glancing for a moment at her growing belly and takes her hand to squeeze it fondly.
Among the guests in the feast are the Dornish knight, Ser Aidan Dayne, and his northron wife Aisling of House Ryswell. They dine and drink with all the rest, and speak with their companions at the table. At this particular moment, Ser Aidan is listening to a knight who had been part of the king’s progress discussing a tourney at Pinkmaiden Castle.
“He overthrew Longaxe and Balan Blackwood in succession, you say? Ser Quentyn should be most proud—better lances are rare indeed,” he tells the knight, a cup of wine in his hand. Somewhere among the feast-goers is that young, brash knight Ser Quentyn Ball, who won the prize at the tourney.
“Aye, Ser Quentyn should be proud if he managed to over throw both Balan and Longaxe.”
Lady Lynesse, in a lull of conversation, absentmindedly fiddles at a bowl of dates, touching each one and all but ensuring that she would be the only one to partake of that particular bowl. For once, she is clad in the colors of House Buckler—deep shades of indigo and three brass buckles laced around her middle render her as the very embodiment of her late husband’s sigil. She eyes the king, or perhaps Lady Barba, with a curious gaze which seems to indicate that she doesn’t know what to make of them, but her attention soon swivels to talk of the tourney she wasn’t able to attend.
Tensing himself, Ser Andard prepares himself for another attempt at getting into the right crowd, an endeavour he has likened, from his experience, to dipping one’s hand into a river full of Dornish snakes. He raises his cup and speaks to those beside him “Ser Aidan of House Dayne, I know I speak for all of Kings Landing and most of the Seven Kingdoms when I say that we are all thanking the Seven Gods that you are fit and well. I confess, I found Ser Morgil Hastwyk just as fearsome an opponent.” He turns with a smile “And Ser Balon, word has reached me that your esteemed wife is with child. There are none who doubt that it will be a strong and gallant issue, congratulations both of you.” And with that, he sits, hoping to the Seven that he hasn’t upset anyone somehow.
Lynesse raises a date to Ser Andard’s round of toasts, popping it in her mouth in a frolicsome mockery of table etiquette.
Elyse lifts her glass towards Sharon and Balon at Andard’s toast. “Indeed, Mother bless you, Lady Sharon, with a gentle course of pregnancy, and Father bless you Ser Balon with a son.” She adds, “Though daughters are also a great joy,” with a wink. “A shame my husband did not ride north to participate in the tourney. I’m sure he would have loved to have given the King and court a show.”
“I would not allow it to be otherwise, Ser Andard,” replies Lady Aisling, “though it took some effort to keep him confined to his bed for long enough afterwards.” A slight smile touches her lips, in keeping with the reserve that usually marks her demeanor in public. “Fortunately, with the King away on his progress, there were no tourneys to tempt him close to home.”
“Your well wishes are welcomed, Ser Andard.” The Selmy knight responds drily and reaches forward for a jug of water to pour into his wife’s cup. He leans back a little in his own chair after placing the jug down, his eyes wandering to the high table where his master sits. A small frown crosses his mouth at the sight of the woman before looking away again to take a drink from his own cup.
“More wine!” Aegon can be heard to shout from the high table, a goblet in hand. He has been sending gifts of choice cuts from the latest dishes brought before him, and the latest has been an elaborately-decorated roast swan. A cut from the breast he sends down with a servant, who has been directed to deliver it to one of the newest arrivals at court, Lord Butterwell, who has made himself something of a favorite of the king as he progressed through the riverlands.
Ser Morland looks to be almost mechanical in his movements. Every few moments, he seems to glance in the direction of the king and appears almost blind to the interactions of those around him. His small talk is polite and non-specific, and he has brought his cup to his lip enough times that he is either sipping very little or not in fact drinking at all. Occasionally he locks his eyes on Ser Balon or Ser Andard, but has otherwise been conspicuously inconspicuous througout the gathering.
Ser Andard coughs a little on his wine, swallowing a sip the wrong way at the Lady Aisling’s jest and clears his throat, his face rather more flushed than he’d prefer in such company but still wearing his smile as best he can “I fear, good lords and ladies of the court, the Lord and Lady Selmy are too kind to a foolish young knight such as myself.” He catches his breath and sighs “I must confess, when last I came home to Hornvale, my father looked sternly at me and then, most curiously, to the empty space at the side of me. I know what that means.” He gestures with an empty hand “Alas, play the pipes without much mirth, earnest players, for the bells toll gravely for Ser Andard the Unwed. His father awaits a marriage for his son and the Lord of Hornvale, as always, must not be disobeyed.” He chuckles at the end, as if inviting people not to take him seriously if such would better for both of them.
Elyse follows the cut of the ornate swan as it leaves the high table to Lord Butterwell. She notes this with a pursing of her lips and then turns back to her compatriots, sipping her wine smoothly. “Marriage is a duty for an heir. And not always an unpleasant one,” she adds with a small laugh. “My husband felt much the same until we were wed. Now he thanks his lord father for the wisdom in arranging our match.”
Lady Lynesse’s eyes brighten at Ser Andard’s insinuation. “A firstborn Brax, unwed? There will be songs if this goes on much longer!” she cries out shrilly, breezing past the self-effacing chuckle. “Had I the consent of the girl’s father, I might propose a match that would bring a smile to your lord father’s lips—my sweet niece Cerenna. A Hightower, to be sure… not a Buckler,” she cajoles airily, leaving both her sobriety and commitment to this proposal in question.
“You are most kind, Ser Andard,” Aidan says in response to the younger knight, a smile on his lips. “As my lady says, she made sure I was properly recuperated.” He lifts his cup in friendly salute, before taking a swallow of the wine, and then confides, It was so hard a fall that, I admit, I still don’t remember it, nor any of the tilt leading up to it. It is an odd feeling, to have lost time, and knowing one has lost it.”
Ser Andard tosses his hair boyishly and sighs again. “My Lady is too kind. In truth, I fear my father would simply wish his son be someone else’s problem. No doubt he pities the poor girl who may find herself my wife, though not near as much as I pity her. I am a ridiculous man, none know it better than I.” His hands reach for his cup but jolt suddenly at Lady Lynesse’s proposition “Oh, my lady, I beseech you do not offer me more than I could ever find it possible to do justice unto. A daughter of the noble House of Hightower deserves better than a lost young unicorn with its head in the clouds half the time, and the house of Buckler the same to be sure. I-I-I fear I would cause your families little but boredom and the occasional embarrassment. Mayhaps if ever the tilts were to favour me I could find myself the courage but, alas…” He sucks his teeth and massages his temple “I would have to be certain I could sufficiently honour any sort of prospect before I had the courage. It is ever a song for the singers that a knight should tread easier into battle than down a sept to say the vows. I…forgive me…I fumble for the right words.”
Elyse sips her wine to hide her amused smile. “My good-mother is a Hightower,” she comments idly as the cup is lowered. Her eyes glance up to the high table to the King and his favored mistress as if trying to study the pair for some hint of knowledge. She turns to Sharon and asks, “Has the midwife or maester given you a hint of when your babe will be born? How long,” she asks sweetly.
“Ser Andard is hardly the only bachelor here, if I am not mistaken,” Ser Aidan remarks, seeming amused by Brax’s self-effacing manner with Lady Lynesse. “Ser Osmon is unwed and unbetrothed, if I recall rightly.” He nods to the slender, slight knight, and then after a moment says, “Though… do I recall rightly, ser, that the Beesburys are vassals to Oldtown? The Hightowers have many relations here at court, it seems to me, when one thinks on it.” He means nothing by it, though from someone else, someone with a courtier’s ambition, it might carry meaning.
“Some months yet, Lady Elyse.” Sharon happily replies with a smile to Elyse and sips her water and runs a hand involuntarily over her belly. “I cannot wait until the day.”
“Oh?” Lady Lynesse breaks off her rapport with Ser Andard to consider Ser Aidan’s remark, eyeing the Beesbury knight with an unprecedented and certainly uncomfortable scrutiny. “I was not aware that we had unwed vassals in our midst,” she says towards him, whether a personal address or not.
A frown passes over Aisling’s face as her husband’s reply reminds her of the lingering effects of his fall, but then she finds herself distracted by the display of jittering nerves from Ser Andard and the amusement she hears in Aidan’s voice. “Are you playing at match-making now, my dear? I am not sure either of us has the credentials.”
Osmon chuckled, taking a swig of his water. “Aye, I am unwed and unbetrothed, that is true. And House Beesbury are vassals to Hightower.” He frowned as Lynesse eyed him.
Elyse chuckles at Aisling. “Match-making is a fun pass-time,” she says to the usually serious lady. “Which house would suit which house, which matches would make certain others fume… I was quite pleased to have a hand in my sister’s marriage into Prester.”
The Buckler dowager unabashedly flits her glance between Ser Andard and Ser Osmon, with nary a thought for either man’s ease of mind. “It is a terrific exercise in the art of statecraft,” she adds candidly, as though neither knight would take issue as long as a Hightower bride was in the bargain.
Ser Andard makes sure his relieved exhale is not noticeable as he gives a chuckle “You are a better match, to be sure, Ser Osmon, or indeed any bachelor here for the maidens of such high houses. I am not the heir to Hornvale and if I ever I were, my father would smite his own head against the castle walls in despair.” he shakes his head and looks wistfully at the tables meant for the rather more foreign guests of the royal court “Aye, perhaps such pathfinding would go better on ground yet untread, so to speak. True, we may not speak the same tongue but then again…” he gives another bashful chuckle “One conversation with me and they’ll be glad not to know what in the name of the Seven I’m meant to be saying.”
Osmon laughs at Andard’s jest. “I’d simply hope to be a good match. Though I do agree that this pathfinding would go better on ground yet untread, as you put it so elegantly.”
Ser Andard raises a hand “I would mean no disrespect to any of our noble guests, Ser Osmon. But I must say, the idea of exotic endeavours, that would be the stuff of songs would it not. To love and to learn, and every moment simply talking together, a lifetime in a far-off land.” He nods silently “Mayhaps I’ve simply been off the tilts too long but I do find myself intrigued. I pray, good lords and ladies, you have spent more time at court than I have and the court is thankful for it but I would be happy to know. The envoys from Yi Ti, they left a maiden at Kings Landing, some form of goodwill gesture. Is she still here? Does she remain a guest of the King? A cohort for the Queen perhaps? I suppose I’m just being a foolish young unicorn chasing memories but she was a most curious young woman and if the Seven were kind, I should like to know more of her and this mysterious Yi Ti.”
“No disrespect was taken, Ser Andard. I agree, learning about other cultures and far-off lands does seem like the stuff of songs.” Osmon took a swig of his drink. “Unfortunately, I am not sure if the maiden the envoys from Yi Ti sent is still here.”
Elyse glances around the crowd to see if she can spy the foreign maid. “A wonder if this was her choice or her masters. And is she a proper ambassador, or simply a visitor?” She shrugs and spears a piece of pork with a delicate knife before eating.
“I wonder if there will be any further surprises at Court.” The Selmy knight muses, sensing a time to divert the converstion. “Perhaps some new appointments or perhaps another tourney waits in the wings?” He leans forwards some and drains his cup, giving a reassuring squeeze of his wife’s hand.
Ser Balon’s attempt to divert the conversation seem to induce the opposite effect in Lady Lynesse, though talk of her niece seems to have been quelled. “Such endeavors should take precedence over matters of marriage,” she replies to Ser Andard with not a hint of reproach, “unless you might happen upon a lady wife who craves such adventure over the solemnity of stone walls. Though, you may find a maiden of Yi-Ti more disposed to such a life than any Westerosi bride. As it happens,” she starts offhandedly, “I made a close acquaintance of this maiden’s mistress during their stay here in the capital. It may be I have knowledge of this maiden beyond servile attentions…?” she suggests blithely.
Sharon smiles happily at her husband’s suggestion. “I would be glad to see you ride again dearest. You did cause quite the stir last time…” She speaks, only to be cut off as she feels her belly. “Oh. I felt something! A kick!”
The young Knight of Hornvale sighs and takes another swig himself “Heh, I suppose any excuse to spend more time at Kings Landing. My father shan’t fault me for it. Oh, just imagine if that truly became a prospect, a Knight of Hornvale in mysterious Yi Ti.” He laughs and holds his hands up theatrically “I can see it now, all happening at home ‘Yi Ti?’ My father will say ‘Truly? Then the Gods are good! He’s out of my hair at last! He can’t bother me now! Ho there, Emperor Whatever-Your-Name-Is, my son’s coming to your doorstep, by his incessant blundering shall ye know him, and I wish you the best of luck!’ Bells will ring in Hornvale to be sure.” Before he can speak more confidentially with Ser Balon, he is drawn to the commotion beside him.
“Hardly that, my lady,” says the Dornishman to his lady wife, and it’s plain Ser Aidan is very fond of her indeed. The conversation turns to other matters, but Balon’s remarks catch his attention. “I would expect a tourney to mark some happy occasion, such as a ... royal birth.” Meaning Queen Naerys’s babe, no doubt, but the Dornishman can’t help glancing up to the high table where Aegon and Barba are thick as thieves, presiding over the feast. “Appointments, however, must surely come sooner. The king will want to make changes, as is his right, and I’d guess he and Lord Bracken have discussed them at length.”
Elyse wags a finger at Andard. “Stop being so harsh on yourself. Surely your lord father thinks better of you than that,” she chides lightly. Sharon’s news is met with a squeal of girlish glee. “Oh how wonderful! Always a sign of good health when the babe kicks so.” A moment of attention is spent listeing to Aidan’s predictions but she then returns her grey gaze to the mother-to-be.
“I wouldn’t mind a chance to get back into the saddle, Ser Aidan. I don’t think I’ve faced you since the melee in Dorne some years past when I was much younger.” The Selmy replies, filling the wine cup and smiles a little at the irony of the last word.
“Do you need to leave?” Balon asks of Sharon with concern as he puts down the cup and leans to her, resting his own hand on top of hers.
Sharon shakes her head and clasps her other hand over her husband’s, holding it to their unborn child. “No no, I’m well. See if you can feel it.” She answers lightly.
Aisling follows her husband’s glance, a colder than usual look on her face. She likely has little fondness for either the King or his mistress, though it would not do to express such thoughts at court, of course. Instead, she opts for another sip of wine. In the wake of Balon’s remark to Aidan, she says, “Other than the weather, I find myself missing Dorne of late. But then again, not even King’s Landing sees a proper winter.”
“A babe’s kicks are as white ravens from the Gods,” Lynesse agrees with Elyse, “to herald a mother’s shifting seasons. My firstborn Kennald kicked up such a storm as to leave me in fits by day’s end, and now he rules over Bronzegate with as much faculty as his lord father! My secondborn, on the other hand…” she trails off, taking a deep swig of hippocras and never returning to the subject.
Ser Andard peers over and nods reassuringly at Ser Balon and Lady Sharon. “J-just a kick? Oh, my good lady, the Gods are kind to you both. You are quite right, Ser Balon, I should not be so afeared of marriage if I am unwittingly delaying such an adventure as this in itself.” Checking to make sure he does not appear capricious or unsympathetic to any party, he looks to Lady Hightower with a modicum of hope “You are a wise woman, Lady Hightower. In any event, I would be grateful for any aid in ambling my graceless good self around the court so that none may mistake me for a Castle Fool. Motley does not suit me, I find. I was not aware the maiden had been given to a mistress, have I had the honour of meeting her as yet? I confess I am terrible at knowing just who is doing what around the Red Keep these days.” He gives the side of his head a bashful tap.
“I wonder if our child will be as rowdy as Balon was?” Sharon giggles her reply to Lynesse, looking knowingly at her husband and then nods to Andard. “Just a kick or…” She pauses again and glances down a moment. “Three. It will be some months yet before our baby arrives.”
Elyse nods with Lynesse as the conversation is dropped. She takes the subtle hint and refills her own wine cup before adding a spot of water to the red to weaken it.
“It feels as if it has been long and long since there has been a melee of any note,” the Knight of the Twilight admits, musing on this fact. Ser Aidan grows quiet, listening to the joyous conversation between Sharon and Ser Balon, and then turns to his wife and wonders, “Shall we take ship for White Harbor, my lady, and pay a visit to the North? Your lord father would surely wish to meet our daughter. Though… she is of a tender age for such a journey.”
Josella come in attendance. Seemingly misliking the king’s sort of revelry, she’s kept a gown of more conservative tastes on display for his grace’s return, sporting a high-necked gown of lilac, with a few jewels to keep herself respectable. Her attention is more upon the party of the Prince of Dragonstone and those he is acquainted with: she gives a glance in their direction when they speak of visits abroad or to home, but does not say much, her own husband still across the sea.
Lady Lynesse laughs heartily at Ser Andard’s misnomer. “I have not been Lady Hightower in many a year, good ser… though I do not begrudge you for appealing to my better half,” she says, well-spirited. “As for motley, I fear you needn’t my help to convince anybody that it wouldn’t suit such a promising young man as yourself. I seem to recall a Qartheen girl in the service of Lady Xu… though if the girl in question were YiTish, she could have been any number of handmaids waiting on Lady Xu when I came calling… but—” she cuts herself off, possibly recognizing the vaguely unseemly nature of the subject, “We might confer on this matter at a later date, Ser Andard.”
Elyse raises a cup in greeting to Josella. Her gown is perhaps the opposite, worn low as many of the other court women have taken to in an attempt to be more favorable to the King’s wandering eye, if not entirely -too- favorable for the sake of propriety and her matrimonial state. “My lady, come, partake with us. The dishes have been exquisite. It’s as if the court chefs have been wintering during the past few years and have awoken with flavor budding like spring itself.”
Ser Andard nods, his head slightly lower and his gaze seeming slightly more alert than before “Of course. Simply in my own current interest in travel, to be sure. I thank you all the same, most kind Lady Lynesse and I wouldn’t wish to inconvenience you.” Turning, he notices an old friend approaching and raises a cup “My good Lady of Mallister. Welcome. Come, sit with us, the dishes are excellent and so much has gone on. Just look, the company of such noble lords and ladies and I have not yet made a ‘complete’ fool of myself, the Seven are good.” He chuckles again.
Sharon waves to her friend as she arrives. “Please, do come and join us Lady Josella.”
“Yes, good-niece!” Lynesse calls to Josella after the others.
“Thank you,” Josella bobs her head with a smile in the Caswell woman’s direction, sampling a little of what is available. “A true feast, fit for none less than the king. Very well-done, with all the appropriate spices,” she agrees, and takes a slight note of the conversation between Andard and her husband’s aunt, taking note to speak more about the distant arrivals that docked within the past year. “Ser. My lady,” she nods to Sharon. “Your time is nearing; I am pleased that you and Ser Balon seem as merry as can be.”
“Welcome, Lady Josella,” Ser Aidan says with a nod, as she joins the feast. It is, indeed, an excellent feast: enormous varieties of food are belching forth from the kitchens, and the wine seems to flow endlessly. Music plays, tumblers and mummers perform, dancers turn and twirl, and the sound in the hall is cacophonous with a chorus of voices—laughter, shouting, singing, and general good cheer in various measures.
The king seems to be enjoying himself just as well as his subjects, sending now cuts of a massive boar to various personages: Lord Ryger and Beron Buckwell of the small council, the fiery Ser Quentyn Ball at another table, and certain fair maids accompanied by their kin.
“Is there any finer sight than a merry king?” Lady Lynesse asks to nobody in particular, savoring these moments of conviviality.
Elyse can’t help but to sing along to some of the lively songs, laughing when the wine makes her forget a word or two or a verse throws her for a loop. “It’s quite the change of atmosphere, indeed my lady Lynesse,” she agrees. “Songs of the sept are lovely and refresh the soul, but do little for ones cheer. Even the ones I wrote, including one for Queen Naerys, are more for peace than for enjoyment.”
Ser Andard gives a hearty bray of laughter at the spectacle “Aye, I must confess, it has been too long since Kings Landing was a site of such merriment and jubilation, though not to say it was not well-led under Baelor and Viserys, Seven treasure their noble souls.” he tracks his words carefully “Even so, it is as if summer has set into the walls of the Red Keep before spring is fully done, a welcome portent I should think for the reign of our good and merry king.”
Josella considers the statement. “It’s all a balance, one supposes: the merriment, that is. I do not well remember King Aegon’s reign - the third of his name, that is - but it was less austere than Baelor, and yet slightly less opulent than we are now. The people of the realm do not enjoy misery, but one should be mindful of displaying wealth too often… merchant lords from across the narrow sea have been eaten alive by the commons,” she states, raising her voice to indicate some slight sense of humor. “Though of course, feasts are more often than not something pleasant for the good people of the city, as there are always leftovers from the kitchens to give away as alms.”
Lynesse chuckles along mordantly to Josella’s observation, and raises her goblet to her good-niece. “Then we should pray our worthy king, for his own sake of course, sees fit to stifle as many hungry mouths and hungry hearts as would betray our own loving commons,” she proclaims, downing the rest of her hippocras.