The feast in the Maidenvault—a site selected by Lady Barba, once a resident as a companion of the Targaryen princesses—has gone on for hours, and a number of the guests have stumbled their way out after copious amounts of food and drink, song and laughter. Even the hostess, the king’s own mistress, has departed, escorted by her lord father the Hand. Yet the king remains, apparently planning to see the sun rise, and so with him there are various hangers-on and companions and friends here and there, and those in their orbit, and those hoping to be in said orbit.
Pleading tiredness, a singer has retired, but another has been found—roused from their bed—and brought forth to perform for the remaining crowd, those basking in the king’s glory and those hoping to be remembered for seeming to do so. “Wine for the bard!” Aegon commands, and a haggard-looking servant comes forward to provide it. The bard takes the cup with a deep bow, and takes a swift drink, before setting the cup down on a half-vacant table and begins to strum their lute before they begin to boom:
“A bear there was
A bear, a bear
All black and brown
And covered in hair…”
Elyse has been drinking in moderation, and watering down her wine when the King isn’t looking to keep her head a little clear. Her husband, having made a cursory appearance, soaked in the admiration for his high placing in the Hand’s tourney before excusing himself. As the rolling song starts, she joins in with her high clear voice. Her gown is far more suited to the jolly air of this court than any of her older gowns from Baelor’s reign - cut low in blush colored silks with golden embroidery for birds on the vine for flair. Her dark curls hang over her shoulders with a single white rose behind her ear, though the flower is starting to wilt from being cut.
Roryn stands about enjoying the scene before him. His interactions with the new king have been limited yet he has quickly begun to see that this is no ordinary man or ordinary king… He playfully claps and sings along to the lovable tune being performed before him. “My lords, my ladies, his grace always outdoes himself.” He laughs. “I’m afraid I’m yet to see a scene such as this since I witnessed the nameday of my brother back on Saltcliffe.” He smiles and plays along with the crowd.
Such is the revel that one need not be present from the beginning to grow somewhat weary unless they are the merriest of courtiers. Lady Buckwell may not be counted in that number, despite her unwaveringly pleasant and furthermore kind, demeanour throughout her years at court; and after several spins in the centre of the hall that makes the dance floor, at the arms of her brothers, she now sits comfortably in her seat, nursing a cup of Arbor Red and occupying herself with chatter with nearby ladies. In between, she leans towards her lady-in-waiting, Joanna Mooton, sat beside her, and points here and there, no doubt still at work acquainting the girl with the swathes of courtiers one way or another.
Bedecked in a gown of pale green, with flower patterns in forest green, pearls dotting its neckline and rolled-back sleeves revealing dark green undersleeves, she also sports strands of pearl in her hair, intricately woven into her braids. She contents herself with tapping along as a new tune fills the hall, and offers the Saltcliffe heir a nod and smile in agreement with his words. “His Grace is generous with his court”, she offers softly.
One of these notable leftovers, a knight of recent prestige in the lists, Ser Durance Darklyn, appears well-sated on revels and feasting, having enjoyed his fill twice over. His attire, it should be noted, is once more suited for the occasion, and far from his typically martial attire. A richly made black doublet, finely embroidered silk and piped in cloth of gold along the seams, it rests snug upon his sturdy frame, as do his crimson britches, a fine linen, and like-wise well-fitted, tucked into high leather boots, supple and tanned black, but immaculate save for the bottoms. Even his groom can be pleased, for once, having been allowed to trim back the bristling beard and mess of hair so often coifed or shielded beneath a helm.
For all this effort in appearance, beyond making one for the sake of recent notoriety, the lingering Darklyn knight looks keen to be excused, pardoning himself from nearby company on account of the privy, or some other urgent matter that needs summon him on a whim before any can object.
As the rollicking “Bear and the Maiden Fair” goes on, the king—nearly alone at the high table, now that the Brackens have left—eyes the remaining revelers with an amused, slightly inebriated expression. The violet eyes rove here and there, between sips of wine… and his eye settles on one of the ladies of the court. A considering gaze, a swallow of wine, and then he turns his head to say something over his shoulder. A knight clad all in white—Ser Kenric of the Kingsguard—bows slightly from where he stands at attention behind the king, and moves to the crowd of festival goer at their trestle tables.
Elyse nods to Roryn and offers a smile. “Isn’t it, though? Were you at court when Baelor, of blessed memory, was King? I don’t recall seeing you then. It was a much more somber air. Septons and hymns instead of joyful noise and good cheer.” She pops a grape into her mouth and chuckles. “My husband is looking forward to more jousting matches and tourneys rather than once a year to celebrate the Warrior.”
“Lady Jannia,” Ser Kenric Darry says as he finds Lady Buckwell, “his grace the king invites you to have a cup of wine with him.”
“Of blessed memory indeed”, Jannia hums. “King Baelor, Seven grant his soul peace, had a gentle heart, devoted in its /entirety/ to the worship of the Gods. He was not much at ease, if I dare say such words, with earthly matters as these”. There is a tone of wistfulness as she speaks; though not zealous like him, Jannia was known to be genuinely fond of the King who fasted to death. “Currently we are striking a balance, however, are we no-”.
And then appears before them a knight of the Kingsguard. Jannia’s expression grows more serious as he speaks. “A great honour, Ser Kenric.” Quickly rising from her seat, Jannia turns to Elyse. “If I may entrust the lady Joanna to you briefly, my lady”. And then, upright and firm, she begins making her way to where the master of the land may be found, flanked by Ser Kenric. A deep curtsey as befits his rank. “Your Grace.”
Roryn observes the departure of the Darklyn man then turns. He nods and smiles once more at Jannia “My lady, I dare say you do appear a bit fatigued this evening. Have you been enjoying the night?” Roryn pauses and takes a swig of his wine, thinking momentarily. He then looks towards Elyse. “Ah, lady Elyse. I’m afraid I arrived after good king Baelor’s time was done in King’s Landing. I’m am quite sure it would have been lovely to witness though.” He takes another drink. “Your husband fought most impressively at the latest tourney, my lady. I was impressed with how well he did. I foresee he’ll have a long stary future in the times to come. I look forward to seeing more of his battles.” He smiles and claps.
Elyse ooohs as Jannia is summoned away. “What an honor,” she says with a smile, lifting her glass to the Buckwell lady. “I’ll be happy to mind Lady Joanna while you are in attendance,” she says with a smile to the lady in waiting. “Do sit with me, hm?” To Roryn she gives a soft chuckle. “He is a joy to watch. You should have seen me and how excited I was when I learned a famous tourney Knight would be my husband. Do you ride at all? Or what fancy strikes you?”
“Lady Jannia,” King Aegon says, eyes on her as she curtsies. “I hope the evening finds you well. Come, sit.” With a look, Ser Kenric moves to pull back the seat next to the king, holding it for Lady Buckwell to sit in. “What were you drinking? The Arbor gold, or one of the reds? I’ll have a servant prepare a fresh goblet.”
Roryn takes a seat with a smile, watching lady Buckwell’s visit to the king from the back. He looks towards Elyse. “You are too kind.” He straightens his robes and places his goblet on the table. “I’m afraid my skill comes with the bow. I’m not the biggest man or the strongest, but I can be quick and accurate on the right day.” He chuckles. “I would certainly be happy to ride in a tournament to come. It has been quite some time since I have even been on a horseback at all, however.” He pauses. “Maybe your husband could show me the way again, he is quite certainly no stranger to the saddle.” He smiles, taking another drink. “Did you enjoy all the festivities of the last tourney?”
“All but the end,” Elyse replies with a single laugh. “While the Dragonknight is formidable, I would have preferred he and my husband cross lances instead, of course.” She nods to Roryn and purses her painted lips at mention of archery. “I know which end an arrow is knocked, but not how to aim well enough to kill anything. Are you fond of hunting, then,” she inquires. “And I can certainly relay your request to Ser Joffrey. He holds a seat very well.”
Primly taking a seat and flashing a small, measured smile to the King, Jannia lets her hands rest on her lap. “A red, Your Grace, though you would not find me having peculiar tastes or demands regarding wine. Very fine as it is, it does not command more attention than the revel before us.” She lets her gaze wander, before periwinkle tentatively turns toward amethyst again. “The court most certainly will feel your absence, as much as the Riverlands will rejoice in hosting you.” There is a slight hint of colour in her cheeks, yet her torso is straight as an arrow.
Roryn says, “I am, my lady. Where I come from, there is little room for hunting game on the land, but I always enjoyed the chance. It is certainly one of the delights coming to the mainland. As for your skills in archery, just as the arrowhead itself, I am sure they are nothing that couldn’t be sharpened.”
As Ser Kenric steps back, the king listens to Lady Jannia and says, “In that case…” He turns to the servant at hand, giving him a glance to make sure he’s listening, and then says, “... you’ll want to try this spiced, honeyed wine Lord Lannister has sent. It will put warmth in your belly.” The servant hurries off to fetch just that particular wine, and a goblet to go with it. As to the rest, the king’
The lady of Caswell smiles again at Roryn. She seems to be in fine cheer as she slowly imbibes her drink. “I had a tutor in the skill of archery but it didn’t suit me. I’m far too fragile a woman for a strong draw on a bow. I’ll go hunting just for the company and to get air away from King’s Landing. Tell me, what of your home? Ser Joffrey and I are both of the Reach - my father’s lands border his father’s lands. Makes visiting the family quite easy.”
As Ser Kenric steps back, the king listens to Lady Jannia and says, “In that case…” He turns to the servant at hand, giving him a glance to make sure he’s listening, and then says, “... you’ll want to try this spiced, honeyed wine Lord Lannister has sent. It will put warmth in your belly.” The servant hurries off to fetch just that particular wine, and a goblet to go with it. As to the rest, the king’s smile turns into a grin. “No doubt the court will enjoy a little time to enjoy itself without being overly concerned about what the king may think. My dear cousin Baelor was a kindly soul, but he left the court a damned boring place, do you not think so?”
Roryn nods and thinks a moment. “I come from the Iron Islands. The most beautiful of course, Saltcliffe…” He pauses a moment and bursts into laughter. “I’m afraid my home isn’t a bad place, particularly if you enjoy the sea, but it is certainly very rocky and grey. Beautiful is no way to describe it. Nothing compared to the beauty of the reach, I’m sure of.” Roryn rests his head on his hand. “Although it is home. We all get used to what we know. I have done much sailing in my day. I do recall marveling at the beauty of the Shield Islands. Do tell me more of your home as well, I would love to visit deeper into the Reach.” He gives a warm grin.
Jannia nods calmly and manages another smile as the servant scurries away and returns just as quickly. She turns toward Aegon. “I would opine that as all in this keep surely aspire to be leal and able subjects, they may handle the topic of the king’s thoughts appropriately. As for His late Grace” she offers with a small intake of breath “well, he was not much given to earthly matters. Some souls are drawn to godly ones, some are not…some most fortunate strike a balance in navigating the world.”
Reaching then to receive her goblet, Jannia allows herself a small sip, and quickly purse her lips. Her cheeks flush and a hand briefly rests on her chest. “How lovely”. She lets out a soft laugh. “I ask your Grace’s permission to write to my lord father and share what our palates are treated to. I trust, in his eagerness to demonstrate hospitality befitting you and their Graces the royal family, should you choose to visit Riverrun which surely would cause great joy to House Tully, he would appreciate the knowledge”.
Elyse says, “I hail from Grassy Vale - from House Meadows. We are know for our fields, obviously, and for being on the Blueburn river routes. It’s vey lovely. So green in spring and summer. Our house colors are even flowers on a green field.” She smiles with pride. “My husband’s the heir to Bitterbridge, a trade town on the Rose Road which leads from here into Highgarden. It was the site of some horrible battles in the past, thus the name.”
Roryn says, “I would very much enjoy the opportunity to visit your home. The Reach certainly features some of the most beautiful countryside around. I am afraid I haven’t gotten to see enough green in my day. I’m far too used to salt, rock, and rain. The length of the Rose Road could be fun to travel for one with a liking for adventures.”
“Oh, by all means,” the king says at Lady Jannia’s request, as he watches her with interest. “I would be most displeased if any of _my_ leal lords failed to do their utmost in their duty as host.” He takes a swallow from his own cup then, and then casually grabs a few coins from a pile before him to toss them out negligently to the bard as “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” comes to an end. “Again!” he commands, and after the bard gathers up the stags he’s right back at it all over again.
“We’ll see Riverrun, I’m sure,” he then says. “Do you miss it, Lady Jannia? Or are the Antlers a reasonable substitute? A rather smaller seat, I believe.”
“The Reach makes all other lands pale in comparison, ” Elyse continues to Roryn. “A trip down to Highgarden is always a delight. Their orchards are magnificent, as is the city itself.” She pauses to only briefly frown as the song gets a repeat. It’s easily vanquished by a smile and it’s clear she’s trying to tune the singer out now.
Roryn stands and stretches, donning his black cloak in the process. “I shall one day love to return to it. My lady, you have been too kind to me this eve. I have truly enjoyed our conversation, but I’m afraid I must find a bed before the morrow arrives.” He adjusts his chair and looks towards the king at the high table, then back towards Elyse. “Do look after lady Jannia this evening, she seemed a bit… Worn to me. She’ll need her rest. Oh, and do tell Ser Joffrey of what we’ve discussed. I would be honored to learn from a rising tourney night such as himself!” He begins to shuffle out the door. “My lady, I bid you a good night. I’m sure we will meet again soon.” Roryn smiles and heads to his bedchamber.
“Duty is part of House Tully’s words. We have a good grasp of it, I assure you”, Jannia offers with a honeyed smile. “Now, comparing Riverrun to the Antlers…I would be lying were I to say I am not fond of my childhood home; I would be lying too if I were to say I have complaints regarding my husband’s seat. I dare say it is easy to feel at home in House Buckwell’s ranks. We are keenly aware of the values we ought to serve with Pride and Purpose.”
She dares a bigger gulp from her own drink -swallowing not too easily. “And you would hear hardly anyone mind the ability to quickly visit such a splendid court, these days, I trust.” She briefly hums along with the song, fingers toying with her cup.
Returning to catch the bard’s bellowing come to a brief interlude in the midst of raining stags, Ser Durance Darklyn finds a new place amongst those who still remain—without so much as a mention of his hasty departure or sudden reappearance, as the king crows for another round of The Bear and the Maiden Fair. He passes the iron islander, Roryn Saltcliffe, but offers little more than brief acknowledge as the heir looks ready to retire. Instead, taking up another cup from a passing servant, the Darklyn knight moves to fill the ironborn’s vacancy, finding it near to a familiar enough face in that of the lovely Elyse Caswell, who appears with an unfamiliar companion in tow. “The hour grows late, my lady. I trust all remains well?” Coarse, but casual, Durance is quick to place eyes upon Ser Kenric, revealing where his true concerns lay, but not without taking note of His Grace and the Lady Jannia at table nearby.
The groups code replaces the places and table code used on many other games. Rather than depending on pre-made places, it allows players to create all sorts of groupings on the fly, from tables in an inn to a gathering on a street corner. The code can be used both to hold more private conversations and to simulate virtual space within a room by breaking it up into smaller areas. A look in a room will sort people by which group they belong to, making this break-up readily evident.
Elyse gives Durance a bit of a frown as he joins her. A haughty sort of expression of displeasure. “The festivities remain as they ever did,” she replies, putting on a courtier’s small smile and softening her expression. “Full of drink, song, and feasting. Though I dare say everyone is quite past eating at this point and exclusively to song and wine. And dancing, of course. What good is music if one cannot fully enjoy it?”
The king considers what Lady Jannia says, as the bard drones on with “The Bear and the Maiden Fair”. Another swallow of wine, and he leans closer to remark over the bard’s singing, “‘
‘, is it? Well, you must surely ... your husband’s pride, Lady ... And ... he put you to good ...” The easy smile on his lips turns more sly, then, the violet eyes conspiratorial. “Though ... ... ... I see ... ... I ... if he does. ... is your purpose ... serve his ... ambitions ... ... ... court?”
Blood creeps up Jannia’s throat briefly; then she arches it. A hand extends slowly to retrieve her goblet. The lady lets her gaze wander through the room before it lands back on the King. “A Buckwell’s great pride, as well as ambition, Your Grace, is, per my experience, to do right by those they owe their protection, or allegiance to. That said, your take honours me.” A sip, a long one. “I dare offer that I am fortunate enough to be able to say I receive all due and proper treatment by my lord husband and measure that in time as well as other means; for there are duties to attend to as well, and Lord Jarmon is most keen on his duty. On my own part, I try my best to reciprocate that treatment as a wife must”. Her gaze now fully meets his. The trout braving the dragon?
A moment’s pause, perhaps to sip wine, perhaps to consider that answer as he surveys the crowd. “You ... a well-tutored tongue ... Lady Jannia; that was a fine response, and most ...” King Aegon says to her. And then with a dismissive smile, he says, “... here, ... see some others I ... to ... ... Ser Kenric will ... you back ... your place.” And with that, the Kingsguard knight who escorted her up to the king pulls back at her seat, so she may rise and return to the crowd.
Trimmed neatly, likely with a great deal of brushing, the honey brown hue of Ser Durance’s beard catches the hall’s glow with a slow incline of his chin—a gesture that suggests he can only observe—and yet, cannot disagree. It gives way to a wholesome chuckle into the beginnings of what would likely be his last cup, as it rises to be quenched.
“And Ser Joffrey?” The Darklyn knight turns his attention toward the remaining courtiers and the frolics that remain abound, mostly the bard and most notably away from the king and his company. “I pray he found the ransom a fair one.”
“Third place was well received, though I dare say it was nowhere near as princely as your own spoils, Ser Durance,” Elyse replies. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her grey eyes. “The other knights he unhorsed did pay a good purse for their arms back, but I suppose the true prize was to face the Dragonknight.” She pauses to see if the man in his white cloak is present. “His skill is to be admired.” And here she lowers her voice to add, “Even if I wish others would win against him more often. Just for variety’s sake.”
Without delay, on her lips a smile, Jannia leaves her goblet to the side and rises, glancing at Ser Kenric. She turns to the King. “I find…tutoring of tongues of little use when the subject speaks with their liege, when honest words ought to be offered; hence your compliments honour me greatly. As did your company. Safe travels, Your Grace.” Another long curtsey, before Lady Buckwell is on her way to mingle with the guests at the tables below.
This young daughter of the house Tully is a patient, kindly, and a respectful soul, who—more often than not—can seem a touch recluse. That is mainly because she finds her self frustrated by the ways of court, its pomp and ceremony grating against her practical nature. As such she is more comfortable with her books and those who share her passion for them. She also draws others into her circle, providing advice on the various topics she has read about over the years.
Her love of books over needlework and other ladylike pursuits mark her as odd among the ladies of her age, and her love of mystery whether it be tracking down some lost bit of lore in a dusty tome, or tugging on the threads of courtly gossip and scandal, has marked her further still, often making her seem a nosy busybody. Though when not on the trail of some mystery she presents herself as a kind friend, who is willing to share her good natured wit with those who can stand her oddness. That is, if a friend is what you are to her. Otherwise some find her rather cold, and unable to break her icy shell. It is now, unlike before, quite the feat. Though, some nobles who know her history, show the Tully girl sympathy and do not entirely blame her—some, not all.
She is, however, dutiful and loves both her house and home. She might come to words with some members of her house at times, but that does not change the fact that she will go to great lengths to aid them and make them happy if needs be. She is also fond of her homeland and is known to welcome most Riverlanders with an almost familial affection, or at least with the utmost respect. However, this kindness has its limits, and she will not brook disrespect to her house or those who treat her with courtesy below what is due a woman of her station.
It was once said that when she spoke too sharply, her desire and drive to please her family and act in a courtly manner, would compel her to make amends swiftly and completely. This is true still, for the most, and is often achieved through letters, as she does love the written word. Though, due to all the girl has been through, her old ability to dust off ill feelings and grudges has been notably harder to do. Even if she remains silent,—which more oft than not she does, even when she is displeased,—her now stoic demeanor speaks to a girl who has left childhood behind.
Hardened by the ways of court and more frank in her meanings. This bluntness for all that know her, is not meant in any harm, just a reaction to being compliant for so very long. Though still, what she says should never be taken too lightly, as any wise and worldly person would know. She is more ambitious now and it shows, she puts herself out in the social light that is court, and is struggling to make a name for herself, a name that her mother could be proud of—perhaps even taking a few notes from her mother’s book of life.
Clumsy as a child, she has made strides to perfect her poise and movement,—even to the point of taking a dance lesson or two,—but she still takes the odd stumble, a trait that has caused her to look down as she walks, watching her feet to avoid embarrassment.
While Ser Kenric leads Jannia away, the king’s roving eye wanders through the court, and it’s clear his interests run to the fairer half of his subjects. What draws his particular attention to any particular lady may be a mystery to outside observers, although what they all have in common is a certain youth; the older members of the court, wives of aged functionaries and the like, do not have the same draw. Eventually, he turns to the other Kingsguard knight attending him, Ser Sorin of Sevenstreams, and sends him down among the crowd.
“Lady Else, the king would have you join him for a time,” the former hedge knight says, his manner of speaking still marking him as lowborn. Before leaving, the knight offers a nod to Ser Durance. “Ser,” he says, in greeting; a mark of respect, for one who did so well in the Hand’s tourney.
“I shall assume so, then. My own blessings, or spoils, if you please, will go to Duskendale and further funding the Baelor’s great sept. As went with my winnings from Dorne,” Shrugging, more an act of indifference than sheer haughtiness, the Darklyn knight can only bow lightly for the lady. “As is your husband’s, to be sure. And his blessings, if I may, are well-established. The ransom, for a knight of his stature, is more a matter of honor… and aye,” Durance is quick to mark the pale approach of Ser Kenric with a simple nod and agrees with Elyse, albeit with some reluctance.“Ser Joffrey had the better seat to for it.”
Elyse nods to Durance. “You unseated him with honor and valor, Ser. And you rode through the rest of the tourney quite well. Perhaps you and Joffrey will meet again on the lists soon? As Jannia returns, she motions to the lady in waiting. “I return the damsel as well as I found her, Lady Buckwell,” she says with a chuckle. Her pale eyes flutter in surprise as she is approached by the Hedge-knight and she rises with a surprised expression, smoothing the wrinkles out of her blush colored silks. “His Grace does me an honor,” she replies to her companions. “If you will pardon my company?”
“For the life of me, my lady of Caswell, I could not pretend to be surprised”, Jannia responds with a soft chuckle of her own and a fond glance to Joanna. No longer has she spoken though that she becomes aware of Ser Sorin’s presence. The faintest of frowns flickers through her face as she glances at Elyse. “We shan’t let the king wait, of course”, she offers neutrally. Her gaze follows Elyse toward the high table, her hands clasped in front of her abdomen.
She resolves to return her attention to non-royal company and smiles at Ser Durance as she takes her seat by Joanna. “I see the battering of the lists has not prevented you from keeping us company. Congratulations on your feats, my lord of…Darklyn, I believe?”
Bowing to the approach of Lady Buckwell and her escort, Durance finally pieces together the odd companion out of Elyse’s entourage, seeing her returned to Jannia in exchange for a white cloak of her own to answer the king’s summons. “My lady,” the Darklyn knight both greets one and bids farewell to the other with practiced formality, even as his attention lingers upon the white brothers. “Not for lack of trying, Lady Buckwell, to be sure.” He claims with a thin smile, “Yes, I have the honor of being from that noble house.” Bowing, a bit deeper than before, “Ser Durance, if it please my lady.”
The music continues, as the bard moves on to other fare, beginning with a drinking song—“A Cask of Ale”—to continue livening up the mood. But the crowd is thinning further as the night wears on, and rosy-fingered dawn creeps ever nearer. The king, on the other hand, seems ready to continue, finding his entertainment where he can, drinking his wine and eating sweet morsels brought from the kitchens periodically.
Elyse brushes her hand over her skirts again as Ser Sorin escorts her towards the King’s table, a touch of anxiety playing over her features which she quickly tries to hide. “Your Grace,” she says smoothly as she dips a curtesy, head bowing. “You do my house an honor by inviting me,” she adds with a soft smile. She rises and goes round the table to join him.
“It does” Jannia offers, regarding him briefly, on her lips a small smile. She gestures to a seat. “You would be the lady Elrone’s brother perhaps? Together with Ser…Addison.” A hand weaves through the platters on the table to where a tray with goblets and a jug of water may be found, and Lady Buckwell treats herself eagerly. “It would hardly be a shock were that to be the case, but does training for the lists occupy the bulk of your time, good Ser? Or are there other endeavours receiving your attention at this court?”
The king watches the courtesy with particular attention, a lazy smile on his lips as he does so. “A seat for my lady of Meadows,” the king orders, and Ser Sorin belatedly moves to pull a seat out for her. “What will you drink, Lady Elyse? Some of the Arbor gold, mayhaps? Or something sweeter? There’s summerwine, if you do not mind Dornish vintages.”
Elyse doesn’t correct the King when he refers to her father’s house. She simply chuckles and tucks herself neatly into the chair. Her grey eyes sweep the dying revels across the hall and she seems to enjoy the view from her new seat. “The Arbor wines always are a favorite. I have little taste for the Dornish sweet wine, but if that is what Your Grace would prefer, I would not decline it.” She seems equal parts amused and nervous, a bit of anxious energy radiating off her.
“A fair amount, it would seem.” Durance makes no effort to conceal his disdain for this. That simple, easily offered smile fades into something of a scowl before his cup can rise in defense. “I have the honor of serving as an officer to the Warden of Crackclaw Point, when the crown has need of my sword, else wise—my only interests in King’s Landing and court are purely in the name of House Darklyn and have been, for quite some time.” Setting aside whatever remains of his cup, Durance looks to gather himself, perhaps finding the company of a Lord’s wife, or merely this lord’s wife, to be above his station, or simply near foreign to his normal engagements and he means to soon be away. “You have the right of it… they are kin to me, both elder brother and youngest sister. We are oft told to favor a resemblance to our father, unless it is our mother telling it. Born a Crakehall, and not one to be argued with either.”
“Oh, I would never call Dornish wine a _preference_,” Aegon says to that, with a chuckle. “I’ll drink most any wine with equal pleasure. Arbor wine it is, then.” The servant nearby, hearing that, is quick to see some poured into a new goblet for Lady Elyse, setting it before her as the king watches. “What news of Grassy Vale, I wonder? Your father remains in good health, I trust? He’s not managed to get any new brothers for you and your sisters, has he?”
Elyse lifts her glass to Aegon in toast. “To a long life and prosperous reign, Your Grace,” she says. Her smile curves around the goblet as she sips but she adds, “You recall my family well, Your Grace. The weather fares well, trade flows down the Blueburn, and my lord father continues in good health.” She hesitates a beat before adding, “My lady mother is beyond the years the Mother may grace a woman with sons, sadly.” Her smile is faint but sincere. “The issue of an heir continues to be a bit of an argument.”
King Aegon has a glint in his eye as he says, “An argument? I had no idea.” A slow swallow of wine, as he turns his gaze to the singer who’s now shifted to singing Flowers of Spring. “Mayhaps ... king could help resolve the matter. There’s much ... my ... to ... ... discovered.”
“I would have to go into much history, You Grace,” Elyse says with a laugh, sipping the lovely wine. “The eldest male of my father’s issue - not counting the disgraced Bulwers that is- is a young lad named Maynard. Born of my husband’s house Caswell. But my cousin Ronel, my uncle Otton’s son, also discusses a claim as eldest male of the Meadows line. So. It’s a matter of contention amongst my kinfolk.
As the king takes in the description of the travails of House Meadows, his attention is entirely undivided. It certainly does sound like a confusing tangle, and with the amount of wine he’s imbided, and the later hour, it’s a wonder Aegon makes sense of it. “These Bulwers—disgraced, you ... But ... as ... or would they cause any challenge ... passed over?”
The lady is indeed impressed at the King’s powers of recollection even as dawn starts to break. “I could not say, Your Grace,” she says. A faint color starts to rise into her cheeks as she drinks more of the fine wine. “But my sister Gelenna knows that it is unlikely Brus would be accepted as Lord of Grassy Vale after what his father Edwyd did. Although Brus also has a claim, as the eldest grandson. It’s not come to fisticuffs or a duel, but my father has yet to make a choice… he has time yet for that. We try not to discuss it when my sisters and I are in company of one another. I, of course, favor my Caswell nephew.” She grins a little at that, Elyse starting to chuckle.
And that last wins more interest from Aegon. “Do you indeed?” the king asks, with an easy smile. “And your lord husband, that would be his preference as well?”
Elyse gestures airily with her hand, rolling the free one while holding steady to her wine with the other. “Someday, he’ll be lord of Bitterbridge. And having his nephew the lord of neighboring Grassy Vale? Why wouldn’t he want that even stronger bond between our houses?” She laughs warmly as a smile overtakes her. “I hope I’m not boring you, Your Grace. I’m honored you do recall my family so well. And show interest in our little dilemma.”
“A king must care for his subjects, no?” Aegon remarks, though his gaze seems to be wandering. “I will think on it, during my progress, what I might do to assist. Though, of course, I could come to no decision without further consultation.” A long pause, a meaningful look, and a smirk follow that. “That shall have to wait, however.”
“A ... ... care for ... subjects, no?” Aegon remarks, though his gaze seems to be wandering. “... will ... on ... during ... progress, ... I might do ... ... ... of course, I ... come to no decision ... ... consultation.” A long pause, a meaningful look, and a smirk follow that. “... ... have ... wait, however.”