The royal sept’s bells ring out, calling the end of the noon service, and out across the city the distant sound of more bells can be heard, joining in the song. From the sept streams various nobles, knights and ladies alike, into the hot, hazy day. A cloud, fleecy and slow, provides a moving shade across the yard, but some of the great lords and ladies choose to escape the open sky and its burning sun. A few, however, pause near the entrance of the sept—some speak with one another, other seem to be in revery as they think on the Seven, and others still… Well, who knows what keeps them.
Ser Aidan is amidst this last group, frowning vaguely as he glances about the yard, as if seeking someone, or something.
Leaving the Sept and making her way through courtyard, Desmera Hightower is out in the sunlight and the sky, for all its worth. The young woman moves as if she were a dancer or sorts fluidly.
Raynard enters the yard from the direction of the Godswood, muttering something to himself as he tries to reseat his sword in the frog attatched to his belt. He isn’t too intent on watching where he’s going, being a bit more focused on his scabbard than his surroundings.” to Reyna.
The Dornish knight mutters something under his breath; he is clearly irate. Robes fluttering at his feet, he moves towards the sept entrance one more, looking into the darkened space. Nothing. He comes back, and seeing Desmera, approaches her. “My pardon, Lady Desmera,” he calls, hoping she slows as he draws nearer. “I hope I do not keep you. Did you see a squire in the sept earlier? My squire, Danyll Toland, Dornish like me. He was there at the beginning, but after I took the septon’s blessing, he was gone. I thought, perhaps, he took ill and went out for air…”
A late departure from the Sept is Reyna Saltcliffe, who emerges with one of the septon’s at her elbow. He concludes their conversation by laying a fatherly hand on the top of her head, then retreats and leaves her to the sun.
She pauses just under the sept’s shadow, letting her eyes adjust to the light. She tucks a curling lock of hair behind her ear, then raises a hand in greeting to Raynard.
Desmera pauses. She turns eyeing the dornish knight with a considering glance. “You didn’t keep me at all. ” she speaks eloquently and slowly. The Dornish were still a bit of a sight for her. “You’re squire….” she thinks trying to remeber, names a faces sometimes merged. “I thought I had but unfortunately names and faces are sometimes hard to distinguish in the middle of blessing. Perhaps he was ill, as you suggestion. Perhaps…” she thinks.
Finally getting his sword seated in the frog, Raynard looks up and stops himself just short of bumping into one of the persons leaving the sept. After receiving a rather distasteful look, he looked about and saw Reyna raise her hand in his direction. He inclined his head to her, and began walking in her direction.
“... perhaps he’s run off to play, and shirk his duties to gods and men alike,” Ser Aidan sighs, shaking his head. “My cousin will be the end of me yet, and give me my first grey hair, I imagine.” His mouth quirks in a faint grimance, but he cannot linger on such thoughts in a lady’s presence, and turns it into a smile. “Did you think well of Septon Elwood’s sermon, my lady? I thought it was very fine on the subject of charity to those less fortunate.” His violet eyes smile, and slide then over to sneak another peek at the surroundings.
No Danyll. But his eyes linger over Reyna, and the approaching knight, before returning to the Hightower maiden.
“Good day, Ser Raynard,” Reyna says politely, brushing invisible dust from the skirts of her gown. “I trust you are well.” She catches Aidan’s gaze for that brief moment and bends her head to him, and beyond him to Desmera.
Raynard nods his head, his demeanor seeming unusually serious. “Well enough milady. How are ou this day?”
“Very well indeed,” Reyna replies, smoothing her sleeve and smiling vaguely. She looks toward the shady copse of trees beside the sept, and frowns at something she does or does not see. “It would seem my guards have found something else to do.”
Desmera thinks on the Sermon. “Interesting, true. Charity is important. I think we should want to help those who need it, whether they are the poorest of the poor or ‘better off’ .” she says slowly. “But there is a fine line between charity and just giving away good coin.” she takes a moment to achknowledge Reyna with a deeper bow of her head..
Raynard nods his head. “That is good to milady. I was concerned after your accident. I would’ve come by to see how you faring sooner, but i was unfortunately preoccupied.”
Aidan offers a general bow towards Reyna—with a smile added, bright with friendliness—and a nod towards the northern knight before replying to Desmera, “Yet it’s hard to know when an act of charity is a godly one rather than fruitless, don’t you think?” In the back of his head, perhaps, he’s thinking of his efforts to bring his squire to knighthood… “I’ve heard it said the Hightowers are famed for their charitable acts, so doubtless you’ve more experience, Lady Desmera, in judging such things. What would you consider a waste of coin, in such a case?”
“It is kind of you to recall it,” smiles Reyna to Raynard. “I was a bit distressed for a while, but most of the trouble has passed now. I fear I am rather more prone to headache than I was… but listen. They are having a very interesting conversation there. Do you know Ser Aidan Dayne, Ser Raynard?”
Raynard regarded the dornish knight for a moment before inclining his head to him and his companion. “No we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting i’m afraid.”
Desmera thinks on it. “We are… but a waste of coin?” she thinks. “It’s hard to think about what could be considered such. It depends on the situation, what looks like a hopeless situation to some might be a challenge to another. I am of the opinion that when helping someone of lower standing giving them to the tools to do well in light, trade apprenticeship.. would be the best than just giving them raw coin.”
“Or trying to make a knight out of him, if he’s otherwise fit,” Aidan says, with a wry smile. “Alas, sometimes those you show generosity to are not well-disposed to it.” Having found themselves near to Reyna and the Locke, the Knight of the Twilight turns his attention towards them as he greets them more formally. “Good day to you, my lady, ser! You’ve not seen a wayward Dornish boy about, have you? My squire, Danyll, has gone missing in the midst of the septon’s service.”
“Perhaps he’s gone drinking with my guards,” Reyna says wryly, shaking her head at Aidan. “Ser Aidan, please meet Ser Raynard Locke. Ser Raynard, Ser Aidan Dayne, a renowned swordsman of Dorne. And Lady Desmera Hightower.”
Her hand weaves a graceful dance in the air as she presents everyone to everyone else. “Ser Aidan, were you discussing the nature of charity? I thought I overheard—shameful of me to eavesdrop, I know, but I was very pleased to hear Septon Elwood speak on it. Septon Bronner is rather too fond of penance, and his sermons always speak of it.”
Desmera nods. “I much agree, I like the change of topic in a Sermon.” she says softly. “But I would like to think that perhaps your squire, Ser Aidan, might be cut out for something other than knight hood, perhaps it was duty or the thought of duty that lead him to want it. But if he is not ready for knight hood help him find his way.” she smiles. She offers a polite curtsey to the others. And smiles. “Sermons… Septons… and Septs.”
Raynard saluted the dornish knight, and bowed to the lady. “Can’t say as I have Ser Aidan, unless the dornish have begun taking to the Godswood, which I strongly doubt is the case.” He listened to them for a moment before interjecting his own opinion. “Indeed Charity can only do so much, one has to learn to stand on their own two feet eventually.”
Ser Aidan nods again to Raynard, “Well met, ser,” he says even as his expression turns quizzical for a moment at the mention of the godswood, and then smiles at the ladies. “Penance has his place, it’s true, but I always pray that I will not come to need it; a godly life will surely suffice for the Seven Above. I will have to remind Danyll of this, perhaps, and that dutifulness is as godly as cleanliness.” He becomes a trifle distracted when a dark-hairedlady of the court passes by, his gaze turning quickly to her ... and then, disappointed, he looks back. Clearing his throat, he says, “Now everyone who passes in the corner of my eye seems to be Danyll. I do hope you’re right, Lady Desmera, that he’s doing something worthy of a squire.”
“Will the sky fall if he is not found at once?” Reyna asks, her tone teasing. She is quiet for a moment, mulling over Raynard’s words. “Charity must then take the shape of teaching,” she replies. “One cannot support oneself if one knows not how to do so.”
Ser Aidan blushes at the teasing remark, a flush of color on his olive skin, and he clears his throat again. “No, no, you’re right Lady Reyna. Perhaps I should be ... more charitable to Danyll.” He doesn’t seem sure of that, but with a light shrug the Dornishman seems willing to push the matter out of his thoughts. He turns to other subjects. “What do you think of this matter of the Sealord’s visit? It’s all the talk. Will you be assisting with the preparations, Lady Reyna? I’ve heard you’ve made great efforts in helping Ser William with the wedding.”
Desmera smiles. “Weddings.” she says softly. “Oh how I wish my family had found someone worthy of marrying me.” she says firmly. “Marriage would be nice, I am starting to think my family might have put my prospects on the back burner.
Raynard inclines his head briefly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have preperations to make.”
With that the northman excuses himself and departs for the guest tower.
Reyna looks startled, first at Desmera’s change of topic and then at Raynard’s sudden departure. She gives the latter a wave, then smiles kindly at the girl. “You are young still, and there is time aplenty for your family to find you a husband. I would not worry about it so openly, my dear.” She gives a pointed but surreptitious gesture toward Aidan.
Then she turns to that man, her expression thoughtful. “I am not entirely sure what I think,” she says slowly. “This is politics on a level I am unfamiliar with, though it troubles me if the rumors are true, and the crown means to become indebted to the Iron Bank. But yes, I have contributed in some small part. The Tyrell are decorating the feast hall, and I am planning a lovely surprise for it.”
Desmera shrugs a little bit at Reyna. “I don’t know aout that, I am the oldest in my family. So I can’t really not be worried. I guess at seventeen I am stillyoung.” she says softly thinking about something. “I am sorry I mentioned it.” she “Politics… ” she exhales. “That’s realm I should be familar with.. but I am not.” she looks embaressed.
If Aidan is shocked by Desmera’s remarks, the Dornish hostage doesn’t show it. His fine features (save that beak of a nose) turn well to sympathy, and he remarks with chivalrous surprise, “Why, I should not think a daughter of such a great family will have any trouble making a match, Lady Desmera. Surely there must be any number of knights who would carry your favor, and if they do not ask, why—perhaps your kinsman intimidates them, or your beauty.” Courtesy comes easily to the knight from Starfall.
“A surprise? Oh, mentioning surprises merely leads to temptation,” Ser Aidan says. “I will not ask what the surprise is, to preserve it.” The debts of the crown to the famed Iron Bank doesn’t seem to interest him as much as the preparations. “I wonder if there’ll be a tourney… for the wedding, or to display for the Sealord. Surely, there would have to be.”
Reyna looks a long time at Desmera. “Do not be in so great a hurry,” she remarks. “I was wed at ten and six, and it was far too young. You do not want to seem desperate, you see; it brings the wrong sort out in droves.” She raises her brows for a moment, then addresses Aidan.
“I have no doubt there will be. I must pry my lord out of his armor and get it to Jyck for polishing and tending soon.”
Outside the royal sept, a Dornish knight converses with a pair of ladies of the court, after the afternoon service came to a close. The day is hot and hazy, relief coming only from the soft breeze from the bay, and the fat white clouds that slowly roll across the sky.
Desmera nods. “Thank you.” she says to Renya, at the peice of advice. “The advice is immserable.” she looks at her hands and then realizes. “Too young? I guess I don’t want to seem desperate, but love I suppose is something that does not mean marriage.”
Carmella has some shiny strips of cloth in her hands. While usually such tasks are done in the solars or quieter chambers, it seems the Dondarrion has decided a bit of fresh air might help at the task. Judging by the disarray of what might be meant to eventually become a weaving, the out of doors are of little help. She is trailed by the usual Ser Giles, though he’s at a slight distance. Perhaps he’s had one too many requests to help with a knot and might figure the farther out of Carmella’s sight he is, the better. Murmuring under her breath - perhaps even cursing - she only glances up from the wandering when she nearly bumps into someone passing through. “Oh! Apologies,” she offers and seems to finally take stock of where she is.
Reyna’s familiar voice tugs her attention, now that she’s her wits about her, and Carmella makes her way in that direction. “Lady Reyna,” she greets cheerfully and lets the mess of attempted weaving drop to her side. Her head tilts slightly and expression grows curious. “Talk of weddings? Careful. I’ve heard that Ser William seems fretful with each passing day with the plans for the royal one alone,” is noted with some vague amusement. She gives both Desmera and Aidan a kind dip of her head by way of greeting. Desmera’s words give her a moment of pause, though she quickly dons a forced smile. “Love oft has little to do with it, indeed.”
“He is fortunate to have such a caretaker,” Ser Aidan says, grinning. “I still have to see to my helm after Ser Madyn stoved it in. Perhaps best to hurry, rather than linger over it, I suppose. I’ve heard tell that Ser William had to send a missive to the Jousting Lord, demanding he not try and prepare a tourney at Rosby…” The phrase dwindles off, as he looks to Desmera, and considers her. “Sometimes one must wed where one’s family wills, it’s true. Yet love can grow even in the fallowest fields, as the singers tell it.” He sounds almost innocent, but then, he’s unwed so perhaps the singers are all he can depend on for such information.
Carmella’s arrival gives him leave to offer another courtly bow and greeting. “Well met, Lady Carmella. I hope the day finds you well?”
At that, Reyna laughs. “Some ladies are fortunate enough to make love matches,” she says, shaking her head as her smile fades. “But not the better nobles. If loves comes later, we are fortunate. Longing for love when you are a Hightower—or a Tyrell—is futile and you will only be disappointed.”
She is diverted by Carmella’s arrival, and she moves quickly to kiss the younger woman on the cheek. “What -are- you doing there, Carmella?” she asks, laughing at the knotted ribbon before sliding a glance at Aidan and blushing a very remarkable shade of crimson. “It does happen, or so I have heard,” she allows, smiling.
Desmera nods. “I know.” she tells Reyna. “I know, longing for love is silly and my first man I though handsome was a arm-crippled young lordling.” she says softly. “I miss him.” she exhales. “Though I think I wil get out of this heat now. Excuse me.” she offers a curtsey to all she had been speaking with. “Excuse me.”
“The day finds me well enough, Ser Aidan, thank you for inquiring,” Carmella replies kindly and slides the silk strips a bit farther behind her back. The slight flush is likely due to having the failings even on her person, though what could she have expected really? Wandering around with them. “Besides a dented helm, I hope it finds you similar?” That posed, she glances between the trio as the topic of love continues but adds nothing further for now.
Reyna’s warm greeting brings an equally warm smile to the Dondarrians face and she offers a touch of a laugh as well. “It’s…weaving,” she ventures and then pulls the piece back out, sighing dramatically. “I watched a young woman - Lady Valeria Blackmont? - last evening in the common room of the Dornish Tower. Not the most charming of women, perhaps, but anyhow…” There’s a small wave of her hand. “She made it look so easy, with the knotting and everything, so I thought I might fair better at it that with embroidery. Perhaps I was mistaken.” She holds up the piece for better inspection despite it’s obvious flaws. “More practice, do you think Lady Reyna? Maybe a few weeks?” Desmera’s intended departure tugs her attention to the other woman. “A fine day to you and I will hope it brightens some.”
“Oh, do rest, Lady Desmera. Fare well!” Ser Aidan says to the Hightower maiden, offering another bow and watching her go. Reyna’s remarks draws his attention to Carmella’s strips of cloth. “Ah, Lady Valeria…” He sounds vaguely ambivalent. “She’s very skilled with the loom,” he confirms with a nod, “but I do not know what she’s putting the skill to use on. Some tapestry, perhaps.”
“Maybe someone to teach you, though I should avoid that mad Blackmont chit. She’s as like to stab you with a needle as teach you anything. I will ask Gysa to look out for a teacher for your Septa to speak to.” Reyna makes a face at mention of the Blackmont girl, then leaves the topic behind to touch Desmera on the arm. “Fare well, Desmera.”
Carmella rubs her fingers over the strips of cloth and gives a few nods of her head toward Aidan. “Her greeting was less that kind, but I thought it best not to fuss terribly much about it. I think she almost smiled when I departed, but I suspect that likely do /to/ my departing,” is noted with a flicker of bemusement. “I will grant that she has fine skills for such things and as I noted, she made it look far easier than it is proving to be. Has she made other tapestries for the tower, do you know?”
Carmella finds an easy smile again at Reyna’s words. “That would be lovely. I think it /must/ be easier than embroidery and perhaps just some practice at it and I’ll be just as good as Lady Valeria. Better, perhaps. Septa Helane will likely roll her eyes, but will relent no doubt.” Lowering the cloth again, she then wonders, “Have either of you crossed paths with those from Braavos? I’m simply dying to corner any of their party and see if they might have some tales. Lord Cadan mentioned having spoken to one, though I wasn’t able to linger long to hear more.”
“I bought some of the green Myrish wine from one such,” Ser Aidan says. “When the merchants came with their goods to the keep, at the royal command. But these others, the emissaries preparing the way for the Sealord’s embassy…” He shakes his head, and shrugs. “They walk in higher circles than I. Perhaps Prince Cadan will feast the Sealord,” he adds, subtly emphasizing the princely title as he smiles at Carmella, “if the king and the Hand allow it. The prince is fond of feasts and frolics.”
“He must certainly be interesting,” Reyna muses, tapping her lips with a fingertip. “Maybe -I- will feast him; it is the thing to do, if he is of sufficient nobility to be a guest of the crown. And green Myrish wine, you say?” She looks at Aidan with interest. “I should like to try some of that, I think.”
Carmella purses her lips and grows briefly thoughtful, the failed weaving nearly forgotten for now. “Prince Cadan did mention having a friend of a friend or the like. Perhaps such a feast might be allowed, though I imagine that will depend on whatever truly has brought them here.” Drumming her free fingers lightly on cheek for a moment, she’s quiet only briefly while giving in to some apparent contemplations. “Well, I will hope for as much. Surely the prince is not alone in his fondness for feasts and frolics,” in finally offered as her smile returns quickly. “Oh, truly Lady Reyna? You should, absolutely. I could help, if you wished. Though green Myrish wine? That certainly sounds interesting.” With a head now full of thoughts and maybe even plans, Carmella offers a small dip of her head. “I think I will head back to my rooms and work on a few things. Maybe even this,” she notes and holds up the strips of cloth again, grinning. “A pleasant day to you both, I hope.”
And speaking of the Dornish Prince, a figure walks from the direction of that distant erection, a servant trailing in his wake. He is an unassuming figure garbed in cloths that mix Dornish color and styles and sandsilks with Westerosi velvets to provide warmth in this northern climate. A slim, beautiful blade is sheathed at his side, the blade of a Bravo, a Waterdancer’s blade. His hair has been slicked back and held back in a stern club at the nape of his neck, but for all that his expression his animated, expressive and open as he greets the lords and ladies he passes.
“Fare well,” Ser Aidan says, as Carmella takes her leave. The matter of the wine, of course, lets him turn to Reyna and says, “They call it nectar, the Myrish. I had heard tell of it—from Prince Cadan, in fact—and when the opportunity came to buy some, and me with the coin to afford it, I took the opportunity. I could not get a cask, but I did manage two bottles. Ser William bought the rest for the king’s cellars, I suppose.” He turns thoughtful, doubtless wondering if the wine will be served to the Free Cities potentate, before matters associated with that green nectar from Myr lead him to frown.
“It’s rather strong,” the Knight of the Twilight adds, glancing at the sept, perhaps fearing a hovering Septon Bronner about to lecture on drunkeness. “Too strong. My cousin did not take ... well to it.” He grimaces faintly, but then catches sight of Prince Cadan.
“Ah. Perhaps for the men, then,” Reyna temporizes. “My lord might fancy it.” She pauses there to kiss Carmella’s cheek again. “Fare well, my friend. Come and see me soon; I have news!” She smiles the conspiratorial smile of a woman to another before turning back to the Knight from Dorne.
“I have wanted to ask you, ser: have you heard from your lady sister? Garvys promised he would take the matter in hand, but I’ve not had a chance to see if it was resolved or not…”
She glances at Cadan, and her expression is difficult to read. It is just blank, neither like nor dislike writ there.
Dark dornish eyes sweep across the yard, and spotting Reyna Saltcliffe and the Knight of the Twilight, the Prince of Dorne makes for that direction. “Greetings, Ser Aidan,” he says, with an expression of quite pleasure in his eyes as well as on his face. “I had hoped I would come across you. I was hoping to have a quite get together later on, and hoped you might make an appearance.” Of course, when Cadan says quiet, it usually means boisterous by any other man’s standards. “I’ve come across a cadre of performers from the Free Cities that a friend recommended me to, whom I likely will patron if they impress tonight. I do hope you will attend.”
“And Lady Reyna, you should attend as well,” Cadan continues, glancing over to her with nothing but politeness in his tone and expression. “I do not believe you have yet to attend one of my gatherings, have you? We must remedy this. It is small, of course, as it is extremely short notice, but it promises to be pleasant, nonetheless.”
“Oh, you are kind to ask, Lady Reyna,” Ser Aidan says, smiling—but with unease now in his violet eyes. “Your lord brother did as you asked of him, and I thank you. I received a missive from Starfall, from my sister’s own hand. It was ... Well.” An uncomfortable pause. “I remain, as ever, grateful to your efforts in this,” he says, recovering and forcing a smile. “It was more than I could hope for, and if the news was not as I wished it, well, it was news, and from Lady Alia. Thank you.” There’s more to say on the subject, that’s plain, but he’s unwilling to speak it.
Instead, he returns to Cadan, and bows to the prince. “My lord prince! Good day to you.” The invitation makes him smile, and pushes dark thoughts out of the way. “I’d be pleased to attend. Might I bring Danyll as well? He enjoys mummers and the like as much as any youth. Though perhaps the scapegrace doesn’t deserve it; he’s snuck out of the septon’s service, and I’ve not seen him since.”
Reyna merely touches his arm sympathetically before turning to greet Cadan with a curtsy and a polite “My lord.” She schools her features to regret then. “I am afraid I must decline, my lord. I am living rather quietly for a while, and must retire early. I am sure you will understand.”
A wave of a dark-skinned, magnanimous hand is given as the Martell Prince smiles at the knight. “Why, of course your squire is welcome, if it pleases you to have him there. And judge him not so harshly. The sermons of these northern septons can be a bit… dry.” A pause, and he gives his fellow Dorne a conspiratal wink and a grin. “And perhaps the septons themselves, as well, hmm? Never trust a man who doesn’t like to at least wet his pallet now and again.”
His nearly-black eyes move to regard Reyna once more, and he inclines his head graviously towards her. “Of course, my lady. I would not want to interupt your peace of mind. But if you do find yourself restive, do know that my door is always open to you.” His smile that he gives her is nothing but gracious, as well. “And in your next missive to your brother, I would be beholden if you would send my warmest regards to your Lord brother. As I would be more then willing to do when I send word to my own brother, Prince Marrence, on your behalf, if you so wish it.” His eyes dance quietly, sparkling with possibly more then just the sunlight.
“The septons swear holy vows, my lord prince,” Ser Aidan gently reminds Cadan, his back straightening a little (hard to credit, but it’s true), but he doesn’t go any further in discussing Cadan’s views on such things. Instead he goes on to say, a little overly solicitous as if trying to distract his two companions, “What will the mummers entertain with, Prince Cadan? One of those curious plays from Braavos? Or more of a mummer’s farce?”
“If you like. I am sure Garvys will be pleased to receive them.” Reyna bobs an automatic sort of curtsy due the Prince’s station, then sighs. “It was an excellent sermon. I regret I cannot stay longer to talk about it, but I promised my lord I would tell him what was said. He dislikes missing service, but his position…” she trails off with a little shrug. Then she turns with a smiled “Farewell my lord, Ser Aidan,” and is gone across the yard. 5r
“Of course. Fairwell, my lady,” the Prince murmurs, that same sparkle still shining in his eyes as he watches the lady go.
“I told them to surprise me,” Cadan replies turning back to Aidan after a moment. “However, as I made it no secret to the man who introduced that I have a great liking for the new, I’m sure it will be some of the newer ones from Braavos and Lys, and perhaps even Myr if we’re lucky. I had a gathering with mummers from the Westerlands just last week, so I do believe I’m up to date on the newest ones from these lands. However, these are not just mummers, more is the luck,” he adds, his excitement obvious. “They’re leader had the idea to develope a cadre that could entertain every style in every way. They are dancers and singers, acters and acrobats. Why I even heard tell they may have a fellow who breaths fire. I saw one once in my travels, and I would greatly enjoy seeing that again, if it is true.”
“Breathing fire? Sounds more a dragon than a man,” the Knight of the Twilight says, laughing incredulously. “I envy your travels, my lord prince. Perhaps one day I’ll cross the narrow sea, and travel up the Rhoyne to see where Nymeria came from.” He sounds wistful, and yet doubtful. He shrugs, an eloquent gesture in this case, and gives another look around before glancing at the bright sun in the sky to judge the hour. “And still, alas, no sign of Danyll. Doubtless he’s with his siblings. I’ll have to find a servant to knock on their door and ask.” The falling out with Lady Tanyth, the fiercest of the elder Toland twins, still seems to be in effect.
“If that is your dream, and you persue it with passion, then I’ve no doubt you will achieve it. A man only has to believe in his dreams for them to come true, so long as he is willing to work towards them as well,” Prince Cadan says with an understanding smile, inclining his head to the Knight of the Twilight. “I will leave you to it, then. I fear I need to be on my way anyway, I need to see to some things myself, and prepare for tonight. I look forward to seeing you then.”
“Of course, my lord prince. Farewell,” Ser Aidan says, offering a bow. He considers how to approach the problem of Danyll, after that . . . and decides, for some reason, to head west to the outer yard, perhaps to check the lists and training field there, or the stables beyond…