The Royal Apartments continue here, north to south; along a richly carpeted hall brass doors lead to individual quarters where members of the King’s family are in residence. The high vaulted ceiling and the russet walls are illuminated by lamps of gold and silver, which add their light to candelabra along the hallway. Tapestries upon the walls show famous events in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, including battles, hunts, celebrations and legends.
North, at the end of the hall, the magnificent golden doors to the King’s Suite are always guarded, no matter what the hour; east and west, the doors to the apartments muffle all sound behind them.
The door into the king’s chamber is opened by Ser Osbert, who pulls it closed once more behind the Lannister heir to leave him alone with his grace, Daeron the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm, and so on. And also, Prince Viserys, the Hand of the King. And, too, the old warhorse of a knight, Reynard Caron, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The king stands, a finely worked goblet in hand as he looks out a window to one of the inner wards of the castle. The Hand and the Lord Commander sit, waiting patiently, expression unreadable.
Eyes turn at the new presence. It’s for Daeron to speak first, however. “Welcome, Ser Jaesin,” he offers with a flash of an easy smile on that handsome, Valyrian face. “You’re well, I trust? You were not in the lists.”
Possessed as ever of that smooth self-possession that seems as much the man’s birthright as his golden mane, his arms, or his name itself, Ser Jaesin sketches a bow before the King. Smiling his casual smile as he rises, his answer shows no care or forethought—from the heart and unrehearsed, as usual.
“I saw no value in it, Your Majesty,” the Lannister admits. “I matched lances with the realm’s finest knight for seven tilts. After Prince Aemon, any other competition seemed… lacking, frankly.”
“Indeed? There were some fine displays in the lists, none can deny it.” says Daeron, after Viserys and Reynard offer their courteous greetings. “But my cousin had no great interest, as well. He did not mount for the joust for love, until asked. And then .... well, the usual from good Prince Aemon.” Another flash of a smile, “You know what Aemon can do. Better than most, I’d wager.”
A swallow of wine and then, as if having forgotten himself, Daeron asks, “Would you have some iced wine, ser? Or a seat? No need to have you standing about uselessly. I was merely watching some squires at practice—I think your brother Mathin is one of them.” He moves back to the window, and glances away. “That must be Aemon himself, tutoring them.”
The mention of Mathin brings a proud smile to Ser Jaesin’s face; there is no denying that. Accepting the offer of a seat by action—settling into one across from the King—he politely declines the wine. “My brother will make a fine knight, I have always hoped,” he says, “and with your cousin’s tutelage I am assured of it, Sire.”
He pauses a moment, as if thinking, then further admits: “I should have liked to joust for love, but my thoughts on the matter are decidedly… mixed. No, I rode merely to test myself against Prince Aemon, and having found him my better, retired from the field. I might have liked to try the Dornishman, I suppose.” He shrugs, as if dismissing the others out of hand.
“The Dornishman? Oh, Ser Aidan,” the king says, goblet hovering near his lips. “A tourney knight. He did some deeds of note in Dorne, I’ve been told, but he lacks the qualities that would make him the sort of man I’d want beside me in battle.” A sip. “My lord the Hand suggested that I bring the contest to a close. As a symbol, more than anything I had no fear that Aemon would not best him.” He glances over to the prince, and Viserys clears his throat.
“As you say, your grace. Prince Aemon is more than well-versed in fighting with dagger and with his bare hands if needs be,” the man says of his son with a certain impersonal air. “The sort of man one would want beside you admist the spears and arrows, none can doubt it.”
“No man would gainsay it, Your Grace,” agrees Ser Jaesin, glancing curiously from the Hand to the King, and back again. He steeples his fingers, too polite to inquire further regarding the conversation’s turn, but at the same time unwilling to steer it himself.
If the king is disappointed by the apparent lack of curiosity, only a brief furrow of his pale brows show it. Another swallow of wine, and he comes away from the window, moving to join Prince Viserys and Ser Reynard in sitting. His own chair is notably grander, the sort of chair a king should sit on. “You keep your own counsel, ser,” he offers with a grin, a flash of even white teeth showing. “Another good quality, I’ve thought.”
Now the Lord Commander speaks up. “If I may, Your Grace?” he asks of the younger man, with full deference. The king hesitates, looks to Viserys for an opinion, and then he assents.
Ser Reynard Caron is not a man of many words, his knighthood and fame having been forged in the crucible that was the Dance of the Dragons; he’s seen enough of war to last five lifetimes over. “Ser Jaesin, to put it bluntly, it is our thought you’re another man His Grace should have beside him, in battle. He has consulted me, and I have agreed, you’re a man worthy of the white cloak of the Kingsguard.” He doesn’t quite extend the offer, but it’s mostly there.
The heir to Casterly Rock is taken aback—that much is clear. His azure eyes widen in surprise, and his dark-golden eyebrows rise to match them; his handsome face drains of color. “Your Majesty,” he murmurs, glancing to the King—
Then back to Caron, his mouth clamping shut. One can almost see the currents of thought racing across his mind, so sharp, so clear are his eyes. He is silent a long moment, until he swings his regard back to the young targaryen monarch.
“I am your man if you wish it, my King.”
King Daeron’s grin is unforced at that. “I’ve always known it, ser,” the youthful king says. “No one can question your loyalty, or your devotion. I had thought to invest you in the Kingsguard at the feast, near the beginning.” He pauses there, lips pressing briefly together, then turns to look to Ser Reynard and Prince Viserys. “If there are no objections as to the occasion, or the haste…?”
“None, Your Grace,” says the grey-haired Lord Commander. And Viserys…
“I would only wonder,” the prince says, shrewd eyes studying the heir to Casterly Rock, “whether Ser Jaesin should have more time to consider the matter. To consult, perhaps, with his lord father. It is no small thing, becoming a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. When Lord Loren passes, Casterly Rock would be yours, ser. Have you thought on that?”
To the Hand’s question, Ser Jaesin offers a blunt reply. “Casterly Rock is my home, and the folk of Lannisport love me; I owe them my service and my protection. Yet I think in taking up the cloak of a Kingsguard, they would share in my honor and applaud it. My father…” Here he sighs.
“I have been raised to inherit the Rock, my lords, but I have always been a knight-errant first and foremost. I do not love the duties of the liege-lord, and have lain awake knights troubled by the knowledge that I would make a poor and disinterested one. My father’s bannermen and his commons alike deserve better.”
Viserys’s mouth tightens slightly, for just a moment, towards the end. He says nothing, looking to the king. So too does the Lord Commander.
“Well, then. It’s settled,” Daeron says as if it’s a routine decision, and not the momentous one it must seem from the other perspective. “Do not say anything to Prince Aemon, ser; he does not know, and we thought it might be a surprise for him, to find you his Sworn Brother. If you wish to tell your lord father, you might do so, but it should not go beyond him. I am sure he will understand, and in the end see the honor of it. What father would not want his son to earn the glory he dreams of?”
With that, the king sets down the goblet on the arm of his chair, and stands. The Lord Commander follows suit, and the Hand.
Ser Jaesin stands in turn, more slowly perhaps than the others; he is still somewhat shocked, and no dissembler, so his expression retains the telltale signs of surprise and vague uncertainty. Still, a calm has begun to settle on him, and a return to his more typical resolve. He smiles confidently.
“As you will, my King,” the Lannister acquiesces at last. “Do not concern yourself with my father’s reaction. I love him, but I know where I stand with him.”
He does not explain this final comment, vague as it is.
Words are insufficient to describe the stupendous scope and awesome sight of the Royal Throne Room. Impossibly high vaulted ceilings loom over a chamber large enough to accommodate the hundreds of lords both great and small who customarily wait upon the King. And gazing down with sightless malevolence are nineteen dragon skulls as black as onyx, polished smooth so the bone seems to shimmer. Three thousand years old and monstrous enough to swallow an aurochs whole, their curving teeth like black diamonds are eternally bared.
Through the high narrow windows, the light of day spills across the floor, laying dark red stripes upon the walls where the King rules from his Iron Throne and the heads of dragons hang. The throne itself is a monstrosity of spikes, jagged edges and twisted metal, made of a thousand blades of conquered foes and heated in dragonfire. Tales tell that the throne was fifty-nine days in the hammering, and that it has killed more than one man. Aegon the Conqueror had it made, saying that a king should never sit easy, and it seems unlikely one ever will.
There are no benches for the King’s court and petitioners. Save the council, all are expected to stand respectfully, or to kneel before the Iron Throne. The seat of the King sits upon a high iron dais, with steep and narrow steps leading up to it. The marble floors of the chamber are arranged in elaborate mosaics, and a single crimson carpet divides the massive room. Two galleries for smallfolk, merchants and lesser lords overlook the Throne Room upon east and west, and are accessed by spiral staircases of iron. To the rear are a pair of tall wooden doors leading to private chambers. Southward are the great entry doors, oak and bronze, guarded at all times.
The throne room is awash with knights and ladies of the realm, from a great number of the highest all the way down to some of the very least; yet all are aware they are being seen, and watched, and judged. No expense has been spared, not least for the feast itself. The trestle tables are laid out in row after row from one long end of the hall towards the other, where only the long royal table upon its raised dais stretches half the width of the hall. In the galleries there are musicians, with pipes and horns, harps and drums, played with skill to entertain. So too are there other entertainers, ready to rove the hall: tumblers, jugglers, masters of sleight of hand, mummers with their pranks and jests. It does not quite match the grandeur of the king’s first feast on returning from Dorne, but none can doubt it is near to it.
The king himself, and all of his kin, are present and mostly they are seated; Prince Aemon stand guard at the king’s right hand. The lords of the small council are there, and Lord Loren of Casterly Rock is only a few seats down from his grace after the royal kin are seated in an array to left and right.
Accompanied only by his squire, Alaric Lantell, and—curiously—his youngest brother Mathin, Ser Jaesin Lannister comes late to the Throne Room in a stately flurry of Lannister crimson and gold. The knight looks neither left nor right as he strides down the center of the room, dragon skulls to either side above him. The lads move swiftly in his wake.
Mathin Lannister, clad in the sable livery of House Targaryen, looks as though he has hastily groomed himself after some sort of physical labor, and the pace suits him. For his own sake, Ser Jaesin projects confidence and his family’s leonine pride. He takes a seat at his brother’s table, some ten paces below the dais, and off to the right. Mathin moves on to join the other Targaryen squires.
There are Tyrells, though not many, still present; several departed with the dawn on the ship that bore Ser Ardon Tyrell away back to Dorne and Lord Tyrell’s service. But Reyna remains, as always, to sit beneath the green and gold banners in the family colors. Beside her on one side is her husband, Ser Dagur Saltcliffe; on her other, an empty chair in honor of the absent Lord. A golden rose lies across his plate.
The Stark contingent is, as usual, made up of more attendants than actual members of the family. The strain of the last few days shows on Lady Marian - rumor has it that she has spent most of her time at the hospice. Her two ladies-in-waiting are on either side of her, Elyn Ryswell looking similarly distracted, and Ryssa Waters…well, she is slightly distracted as well, but not with any of the unhappy thoughts that seem to preoccupy her companions. Ryssa is chatting away, her smile resolutely bright in her effort to pull up Elyn and Marian’s moods, and her gaze skips over the crowd, eagerly taking in the finery of the assembled noble guests.
Black Jonn Lannister is seated at the table, dressed in the finest raiments he possesses. Gone is the beard. His face is bare now, and it is with an inscrutable expression that he monitors his brother’s sweeping progress within. A hint of a smile flickers at the corner of his lips as he turns his head to look upon his wife, moving to place a hand upon her thigh—
Then his eyes go toward his Lord father, and he stares upon the Lord of Casterly Rock for a long, silent moment before welcoming his brother to the table in muted tones.
One must wonder if Carmella and Jyana are every anywhere without the other for they certainly do seem to spend a great deal of time together. They are seated side by side with the rest of Daena’s ladies, gossiping as they sip wine and watch the arrivals as well as those already seated. They certainly are not alone, the room is filled with that buzz od conversation and they only add to it. There is the occasional gesture in this direction or that, no doubt commenting on attire or appearance or how someone did in the tourney. Occasionally Carmella allows her gaze to stray towards Daena and her expression looks a little concerned and the smile she had been sharing with Jyana dims somewhat.
An army of servants work to keep food on the table and drink flowing .The hall is warm—with Summer, yes, and the press of warm bodies draped in fine garments of velvet and heavy silk—and not a few pull at their collars, and there are ladies with simple fans to hand to try and cool their faces. The noise is loud: laughter, boasts, arguments, the usual endless buzz of conviviality.
Near the entrance of the great Throne room, Ammena Piper sits a good distance from the Royal Table and the Great Houses. To her right sits her Septa. A lanky guard in Piper blue stands a few paces behind the two. Despite her gown, the jewels, the freshly coifed hair, the Piper maid is quiet today, not even sharing words with her Septa or those nearby. That said, those nearby hardly share a word with her either. In fact, a few Riverlanders seem to be ignoring her. Her gaze is fixed demurely at the tabletop. All lady and manners today it seems.
Seated with her step-sister Sylvina, and thus with the Ryger contingent, Aisling finds herself a good deal closer to the royal table than where she would have been seated as Lord Ryswell’s daughter. It may allow her a better opportunity to glance over at the King and his kin now and then, but it also means more attention directed her way, and that she could most certainly have done without. More or less forced pleasantries are exchanged with the various people seated nearby, and occasionally she turns from one conversation to find curious glances cast in her direction by someone else. Those seem to have increased a little since the tourney, and her expression makes it plain what she thinks of that; not well at all.
Taking his seat across the table from Jonn and Kellyn, and beside the always green-clad (and often loud) Ser Galan, Ser Jaesin seems briefly to allow a hint of sadness to haunt his smile of greeting—but it is quickly gone, replaced by a far more characteristic brash grin.
“Well now,” Ser Jaesin laughs, taking up a goblet of wine. “It seems we’re all here but Mother, back at the Rock. Though doesn’t it feel odd to have Father looking over your shoulder at dinner again, after all these years?”
Kellyn is most certainly seated, remaining so as much as possible unless etiquette demands she rise for a curtsey, in which case she accepts just a little help from her husband. To anyone who didn’t see her twirling about and lisping the previous evening away, it’s likely not terribly obvious. If anything, though, it seems to have left her in a good mood for once. The uptight rigidity has softened and she watches Jaesin’s approach with a warm smile. “Quite the imposing figure you cut today.” The comment about the Rock makes her chuckle as she picks up a piece of fruit. “I do keep half expecting my mother to walk by and slap my hand for the slightest slip up,” she admits.
Taking her place as the representative of the Lord of the North, Marian appears to regain her good spirits, laughing merrily at a comment from Ryssa. She flashes a brief but broad smile in the direction of Daena and her attendants, before bending her neck to resume her somewhat conspiratorial conversation with her own ladies in waiting.
A pleasant smile greets any who happen to see Alyce arrive. Blue eyes scan the hall and she takes the few graceful steps necessary to arrive at her table, taking note of those in attendence. She sweeps her skirts aside and slides down into her seat with ease, resting her hands in her lap, resuming her quiet observance.
Ryssa looks up, her smile brightening as she catches sight of her cousin Alyce among those entering the hall. She cranes her neck up, trying to catch the older girl’s eye from across the room, before glancing back down to continue the conversation at her table.
Raising a winecup to his lips, Jonn takes but the smallest sup before gently placing it back down. “All that lacks now is Kennet Crakehall counting coppers and lecturing us about the vagaries of harbour fees,” he says with a grin. He rubs one cheek with a finger and asks his brother, with jerking his head at the Lannister Lord. “Does he still frighten you, even now? He does me.”
“What’s wrong?” Jyana inquires softly - as always, the question is posed in a straightforward manner, following Carmella’s eyes towards the princess. But she doesn’t seem to know what it is about, which is odd enough in itself. She takes a sip of her wine, but she sets the cup down immediately.
Carmella glances back at Jyana as the Jewel catches her looking in the princess’ direction. She laughs a little and plays with her glass before finally taking a sip. “Nothing, nothing,” she says absently, waving away the question. “Maybe I’m just getting tired, it’s been a long week,” she admits, renewing her smile for Jyana’s benefit. “Who is that, over there,” she gestures as she changes the conversation topic. “That large woman in that frightful gown?”
Jaesin laughs, a good-natured sound that conveys well his ease with the situation. It does not prevent him casting a look over his shoulder, up toward the dais—their father, indeed. He turns back to his brother and good-sister, grinning. “I suspect he’ll still frighten me when he’s entombed in the under-crypts,” Jaesin quips. “You’re more like him than I am, though. Sanford—you know, the groom? He seems to think Father lost wagered gold on me than you did.”
Stewards quietly move to intercept Balian Blackwood and Gueren Waters, together with their lady wives, as the recent champions and queens of love and beauty enter the great chamber. After politely delivering messages, the four are escorted up to the section of the hall reserved for the Great Houses - where Marian Stark, attempting without a great deal of success to avoid looking delighted, smirks briefly at Ryssa. “I told you I had a surprise.” Rising to her feet, she warmly welcomes them to her table, stewards ushering the warriors and their ladies to their seats before pouring drinks for all.
Ser Aidan Dayne, seated among a number of other Dornish hostages, is dressed in what likely are his finest robes; certainly, those with long memories will remember them. He’s in an animated conversation with another of the hostages. “I don’t know what I could have done more, when I had my chance, ser,” he tells the man. “It’s well and good to say ‘aim for the chest’. The space to do that in is small, the horse’s closing… You know what I speak of, you’ve been in the lists enough time…” The conversation is drowned in a few laughs and shouts, and then a constant traffic of people moving from one table to another, servants with more food and drink, knights and lords greeting acquaintances.
Barely touching his goblet—in stark contrast to the previous night—Dagur listens with bent head to whatever one of his wife’s kinsmen seems to be telling him. A brief reply satisfies the other man who sits back with a nod and the ironman takes the chance to glance around the hall.
“Two days now since I saw Seth,” he notes to Reyna. A quiet word sends another knight at hand—one who might almost be mistaken for a poorer Lannister kinsman with his fair hair, green eyes and plain garb—towards the Stark table where Marian has risen to greet Balian.
Kellyn lifts her gaze to the dais after Jaesin and Jonn talking about their father, smiling at the old man even as the men talk about him being freightening. “I think it may be easier for me. So long as I mind my manners and have healthy children, I do not get too many stern looks.” She peeks at Jonn, smirking just a bit at mention of her father. “Oh I learned a great deal from him! You’ll be glad someone listened to those lectures eventually.”
Ryssa does not even come close to following her lady’s attempt at restraint - a bright smile immediately lights her face at the sight of her parents. She rises swiftly from her seat and hurries to greet them, rising up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on each parental cheek, then returns to her seat, eyes still shining with pride. “Thank you, my lady,” she murmurs, flashing a warm smile at Marian.
Reyna too watches Balian enter and pass to the Stark table. “Odd,” she says, looking down and away without further comment. “I hope that Seth is alright. Perhaps it is a case of no news being good news.”
Alyce’s eyes alight and she smiles over at Ryssa, giving her a nod and then a grin, the sort shared by close friends. She touches at her own gown and mouthes, “Lovely” to Ryssa, indicating her cousin’s choice of the day then she sees Ryssa’s parents arrive and gives them a soft smile before turning back to the hall at large.
“Did he now?” says Jonn with flashing eyes. “If I’d have known that, I might have wagered against you. But then he might have disowned me.” His head turns slightly to share a wink with his wife. “You look very…” he pauses, searching for the word. He decides only to grin broadly at her instead of finishing the thought.
Having just held a chair for Lady Jeyna Waters to seat herself at the Stark table, one of the stewards spots the Castellan of the Antlers and moves to intercept him, walking with the awkward gait of someone trying to seem as if they are not in a rush. Upon reaching the knight, he bows deeply and delivers a sotto voce message, gesturing slightly towards the table he just left.
For her part, Marian remains on her feet until her first four guests are seated - then shoots a quizzical glance at the knightly emissary from Dagur. The man receives a slight smile, and a polite curtsey by way of greeting.
“A broken bone or two, perhaps,” the ironman replies, not sounding greatly concerned. “Almer gave him a hard fall.”
Still, he watches the Vikary knight approach Balian and Marian and speak with them.
Looking away, finally, he turns his attention to his wife, “What sent your brother off in such a hurry? The man barely waited for the sun to rise.”
Smiling wryly to himself, Ser Jaesin leaves his brother and the Lady Kellyn to their flirting. Quietly excusing himself from their table, he stands and steps back from the bench, goblet in hand; turning halfway about, he scans the hall with narrowed blue eyes, as if searching for someone—or no one in particular.
The musicians bang their drums and play their pipes and lutes, a pair of singers interweaving their voices with the notes. But the music draws to an end, leaving the first space of silence that the musicians have given since the guests began to arrive. And the servants begin to be less common as they move about the tables, perhaps departing away to the kitchens to fetch fresh stuff. It’s the noise of the nobles that keeps the hall throbbing with sound, the constant clatter of dishes and trenches, cups and goblets, and endless conversation.
Until a trumpeter steps forward, and sounds the instrument with a royal fanfare commanding attention.
Bending an ear to the steward’s words, Ser Bonifer takes a quick survey of the room before looking back to the man and waving him on and following along behind him.
Arriving at the Starks’ table, he offers Lady Marian a deep bow, “An honor, my lady of Stark.” before taking a seat next to Lady Elyn.
“The Captain sent round dawn to say that he meant to depart a day early, since his cargo was all loaded and his men idle. It was either that or idle about himself until another ship was bound for Dorne.” Reyna looks unhappy to have had so little time with her brother, but she shrugs philosophically. “He never could sit still, Ardon.” She opens her mouth to say more, but the fanfare sounds and she turns instead toward the High Table, attentive.
“Thank you,” Ammena says to a servant who brings a goblet to the table. She waits until her Septa is served a goblet of red wine before taking her own in turn. With a soft sip, she looks up from the tabletop towards the Royal Tables, the Great Houses and the Dornish contingent. Satisfied, she lowers her goblet and folds her fingers upon her lap at the sound of the trumpeting fanfare.
Ryssa inclines her head respectfully to Ser Bonifer, and opens her mouth to start a greeting - but then the fanfare sounds, and she is instantly silent, turning to look with eager attention towards the royal table.
Smirking to himself, Ser Jaesin settles back into his seat in the wake of the herald-trumpet, though he doesn’t turn fully back to the table; his attention remains fixed on the dais above.
Having added her own greetings to the guests at their table, Elyn had fallen silent again, although there was no dimming of the smile on her face. The expression only brightens, however, as Bonifer takes a seat next to her. Any greeting she might have made is drowned out by the fanfare, however, and she swivels her gaze around curiously.
Kellyn looks up at Jonn quizzically as he cuts off his statement, her head tilting a bit to the side. It is a reminder of how much she drank last night to feel the blood rush, though, so she quickly straightens, blinking a time or two. “What is it? Do I have something in my teeth?” A bit anxious suddenly, she begins smoothing her sleeves, trying to make sure everything is just so. Except then Jaesin is rising - only to sit back down again. “Quick journey,” she teases her good-brother lightly before going silent and looking towards the dais as well.
Marian’s greeting to Bonifer is also cut short, having turned to him after a brief but clearly happy conversation with Ser Osric Vikary. Flashing a last grateful smile at him, she reclaims her seat and focuses upon the royal dais.
he redheaded Bar Emmon lady turns her gaze to the musicians at their silence then smiles a bit, looking to the royal table, chin held just so, an attentive expression on her face.
At the sound, Jyana turns her eyes away from Carmella to pay attention. However she does sneak a glance at the other woman’s profile now and then. The look on her face says it all: She isn’t convinced. Still, it wouldn’t be appropriate to press, especially in a public function held by the royals, and so she looks forward. Her head tilts slightly, however, her eyes moving to another side of the room.
A shake of his head and Ser Jonn darts in swiftly to give his wife a chaste kiss on the cheek before turning just enough in his chair to get a fuller view of the dais as the royal trumpeter gives the call.
“Pity,” Dagur replies, nearly drowned out by the fanfare, then adds drily, “I knew him to be a good man to ride with, in Dorne. I didn’t expect him to make a good taproom companion as well. Not as stiff-necked as Lord Tyrell, Ardon.”
Turning to the royal dais, he waits for whatever might come. The Vikary knight, meanwhile, stranded in no-man’s land by the herald, swiftly returns and takes his seat again, leaning forward to speak with his captain.
“I’m fast on my feet, or hadn’t you heard,” remarks Ser Jaesin dryly, shooting a grin at his brother’s wife. “Now let’s listen closely. Perhaps the herald’s here to tell us that as his next move up, Dagur Saltcliffe has divorced his wife and agreed to marry Princess Daena.” Around him, a number of Lannisters and their supporters enjoy a good (if rather subdued) laugh.
In the silence where the tables of great houses are close to one another, it is no surprise that Jaesin Lannister’s insensitive words reach the Tyrells. Yet strangely, or perhaps not, there is no reaction. None at all. No one speaks to interrupt the silence, into which someone from the High Table is surely going to speak.
As people hurriedly sit, or grow quiet, or at least offer some modicum of attention, the king can be seen to rise up from his seat. Dressed in black and red, with golden suns embroidered all along the broad doublet sleeves, he looks every inch a young conqueror, self-confident and assued, able to catch the eye and hold it. He puts that to work now.
“My lords, my ladies! Eight days of jousting have been completed, a feat not seen since the days of my ancestor the Old King, Jahaerys the First of His Name. We have seen unheralded knights win glory and renown, and renowned knights defeated by those who strove for praise. Great deeds have been done,” King Daeron says, “as great deeds were done in distant Dorne. The best were there, as they were here. The chivalry of the Seven Kingdoms has been proved time and again; let those who would challenge it think twice! Great days are before us, days of peace and days of victory, with the land united from the Wall in the distant North to the very shore of the Summer Sea!”
Leading the response are many at the royal table, councillors and lords who hold close counsel with the king, banging knife hilts against the table and shouting their support.
Sparing a smile for Lady Ryssa that grows into a warm grin for Lady Elyn, Ser Bonifer turns his attention to the King’s speech and follows suit with those at his table, rapping his knuckles atop the table.
Well will wonders never cease? Kellyn blinks up at her husband in surprise, almost missing Jaesin’s commentary. But then the table is erupting into a clattering of knives and all three Lannisters join in. It may take the king himself, but all three are actually working in unison for at least a moment.
Darting a sidelong glance at Elyn, Marian delays a moment before adding polite applause, rather than loud acclaim, to the response to the king’s speech.
Freeing his belt-knife from the healthy side of meat it is buried in, the Iron Serpent follows suit, rapping its hilt against the table. But his attention is split between the Young Dragon and the Dornish table; he seems to be watching the hostages’ reaction.
Ammena raises her goblet at the Young Dragon’s declaration as shouts and the rumbling of tabletops echo to the dragon skulls above.
Reyna raps her knuckles lightly beside her plate, reaching for her wine with her other hand and drinking.
Carmella watches the king as the more he speaks the larger her smile. She glances quickly to her friend and whispers a few words into her ear as those around them join in with the cheering and shouting.
Alyce applauds somewhat quietly compared to the din of noise that rises around her, but her eyes remain locked on the King in rapt attention.
The king raises a hand, waiting for a little silence to be restored, and he raises up his voice, “We have seen champions, men who by the grace of gods took the prize offered them. Seven champions naming seven queens of love and beauty, seven champions who fought in my name on the final day. What wonders did we see there? Seven champions fought at the end, displaying their prowess before the realm! Seven champions ...” He pauses, and looks out across the hall, the sea of nobility before him.
“Seven champions! It has always been thus, in ancient days, and in the days of Aegon the Dragon. The Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard from the very first were no more than seven knights, each of them the best: strong of body, brave and noble. So did the Conqueror say to the realm, and to all those who looked towards it: ‘Here! Seven knights, bound by their oaths: to serve, to protect, to chivalry. Bound to serve the realm, to show what knighthood means. Strive to be as they are.’”
Jyana nods quietly, her eyes fixed on the king even as she leans in to hear Carmella a little more clearly.
If the first part of the king’s speech did not quite capture Aisling’s attention, the second does better at it, as she sets her cup down and turns enough in her seat to clearly see King Daeron as well as his Kingsguard.
“But the Sworn Brothers have been six,” the king says then, turning with easy grace to where those glorious knights are arrayed behind his seat and to one side, all in their fine white armor and fine white cloaks. He gestures towards them all: Ser Osbert with his fierce whiskers, muscular Ser Halbert, bold Ser Olyvar, bright-smiling Ser Aleyn, noble Prince Aemon, and last the grave, lined face of Lord Commander Reynard. “Ser Fulk Staedmon fell in Dorne, fighting in battle in my name,” Daeron the Young Dragon announces, turning back. “We honor him for it, and always shall. He was not the first to die in the good cause, but he is first in our thoughts. But mourning must pass, and the day has come. The White Swords shall have a new brother.”
How do the sworn brothers take it? Most, impassively, a flicker of eyes showing surprise and nothing more—they were unaware, but it was time, maybe. Ser Reynard Caron shows no surprise at all, upon the other hand; he knew, as one would expect. And others knew, too. A rustle, and a page comes bearing a heavy square of pure white cloth, folded several times over.
The affect of this announcement, while surely no surprise to anyone, for there must be seven, is strange on Reyna Saltcliffe’s face. She starts, and there is something like grief in her eyes as beneath the table she slips her hand into Dagur’s. All while the rest of her face is a mask of interest, her eyes affecting to follow the cloak’s progress with great interest.
Cobalt eyes widen and Alyce tilts her head just a touch, otherwise still and silent, awaiting the remainder of the announcement.
For his part, Jonn Lannister looks bored.
There’s a held silence, for the most part, as if in anticipation. But someone cannot help it, anticipating. They shift in their seats, exchange glances, look about, and whisper..
“... gods be good, a Dornishman…”
“Stormbreaker, where is he? It must—”
“...Connington, Connington has the favor…”
“...fred’s son, the Blackbolt, sworn shield for B…”
Dark eyes widen as Carmella sits up a little straighter to watch the Kingsguard. There is some surprise on her face that immediately transfers to curiosity as she looks out over the large crowd filling the throne room.
Jonn whispers to Kellyn, “If ... Saltcliffe, sister ... if ... ...”
Ammena turns her gaze to the six assembled men in white cloaks, taking in each visage. She cannot help but glance in curious wonderment across the faces of the many gathered nobility before returning her gaze to the King. With shallow breath, she watches and waits.
Ryssa’s eyes shine with the wonder of the spectacle as she watches the king speak, and she leans forward - not daring to join the whispers herself, but straining to hear the murmured speculation from the other tables.
Kellyn very gently, and very surreptitiously, nudges Jonn in the ribs when she catches sight of his expression out of the corner of her eye. The whisper sees her pressing her lips very firmly together and elbowing him again, just a little harder.
The whispered speculations, at least some of them, reach Aisling’s ears too, and briefly she glances over to where the Dornish hostages are seated. Certainly, the king’s decision at the tourney yesterday might seem interesting in light of these news.
It is Lord Commander Reynard Caron who speaks then, stepping forward. Drawn from his scabbard is his sword, the bare steel gleaming in the light.
“Ser Jaesin of House Lannister,” he announces aloud into the fitful silence. “Your king calls on you.”
Jonn stares at his…
...brother?
What is contained within only the Stranger can guess.
Thankfully, Jyana chose not to take a sip of her wine during the announcement, unlike last time. Instead, her eyes round just a bit from where she is. Lifting a hand to absently rub the back of her neck, she uses that as a subtle ruse to cast a sidelong glance at Lord Loren Lannister, whose son has just been plucked away from his line of succession. Inwardly, though it doesn’t show on her face, she’s bracing herself.
As the king speaks his name, Ser Jaesin Lannister sits stock-still. Only as the pronouncement echoes from the walls, through the gaping maws of dragons long-dead, from the bent and twisted blades of the Iron Throne—only then does he stand to face a thousand gazes. A look of sheer joy—as a little boy’s face at his first tourney—overtakes him.
And so does Jaesin Lannister step forward, beginning his last slow march as the heir to Casterly Rock.
And so, many wonder, what of the Lord of Casterly Rock? For Ser Jaesin is his heir, his golden child….
But himself seated at the King’s table, Lord Lannister lifts his goblet in praise of his noble and decorated son, now named to the realm’s most honored—and most discriminate—brotherhood. If he begrudges the Targaryen king this theft of his golden heir, he does not show it. Instead there is pride, fierce pride and nothing more.
Marian half-stifles a cough, turning her gaze to the nearest dragon skull, taking a long sip of her wine before beckoning a servant forward to refill her goblet.
For his part, from the moment the white cloak is brought forward, the ironman is stone-faced. Leaning back, he reaches for his goblet with his free hand.
But he pauses as the Lannister heir is named—and then finishes picking it up. He sets Reyna’s hand aside with a gentleness that speaks of iron restraint. And, shoulders stiff, he cups the wine between his hands, staring into its crimson depths.
The name rings through the hall for an instant or two before the lions of Lannister erupt with a roar of approval for their ... heir. Being named to the Kingsguard. It will take them a moment or two to process that, perhaps, and to quiet themselves down .
While the king’s speech might have drawn Carmella’s attention away from her friend, the calling of the Lannister’s name draws Carmella’s eyes not towards Jaesin but towards Jyana. Rather than watching the knight’s procession she eyes the Jewel. No longer able to restrain herself she leans in again and speaks quiet words to the lady beside her. Only them does her gaze wander, taking in the Lannister knight.
Carmella whispers to Jyana, “... of know??”
Alyce shifts her gaze a bit and takes in the reactions of others then her attention returns to the man walking his dutiful and proud path.
Someone who processes the news very quickly is Kellyn. Oh, she takes a second or two to cheer for Jaesin, even tearing up a bit at the look of pure joy on his face. But it isn’t more than a heartbeat or two more before she leans towards her husband and takes up a very hasty and very quiet whispering.
Reyna smiles. She smiles as her hand is put back, and as her husband loses himself in the mysteries all men seek at the bottom of a wine cup. She smiles, and she makes every show of being pleased. Only those nearest to her would even notice the tears the gleam unshed on her lashes. or note the lines on her skin that mark her control as steely as her ironborn husband’s. She is so happy for Jaesin Lannister she could break from smiling.
The air catches in her throat as Ammena hears the Lord Commander’s announcement. She softly exhales, places a hand upon the table, takes in a smooth breath and watches the proceedings.
When the Dondarrion lady leans to her to whisper, Jyana takes a quiet sip of her wine, and blinks a little bit at the young woman’s words. She looks over at him, and she smiles cheerfully, shaking her head and gestures a little bit to the side as she returns the murmur to one of her own. Her eyes wander over to Jaesin for the moment, but they soon return to Carmella to fully explain….what needs to be explaining.
The new member of the Kingsguard is not who Ser Bonifer might’ve guessed him to be, but he applauds politely. He also takes draws a stout amount of wine from his goblet and gestures for a refill. He probably needs it fore those ribs Oakshanks broke. Probably.
All the lions roar… save one.
The golden flecks in the depths of Jonn’s eyes flicker and dance. One traverses across the verdant liquid span and coalesces into a tear. Slowly it leaks from his eye and runs down the side of a bare cheek. He does not bother to wipe it away.
He turns to face his wife and his lips form a single word.
Ryssa’s hands move, for she joins the general applause, but her eyes are curious now rather than spellbound. Her sharp gaze flickers around the room, carefully noting all of the shifting moods and reactions that greet the announcement - and she cannot fail to notice Marian’s reaction, and leans over towards her lady to whisper quietly.
Jonn whispers to Kellyn.
The knight comes before the king and the Kingsguard. They are ready.
“Kneel, ser,” Ser Reynard commands. Ser Olyvar the Green Oak, the newest and youngest of the Sworn Brothers, named in the field in the midst of the Dornish invasion, has taken the square of the white silk cloak, and begun to unfold it. It flows in pristine white waves, skirting the ground as he awaits. Perhaps unnoticed by many, but perhaps not, a figure in white vestments trimmed in rainbow hues comes, a short cane and attendants assisting him. Upon his head is a crown of crystal and gold, throwing sparks and beams of rainbow light about him as he approaches. It is the High Septon.
Kellyn whispers to Jonn.
Like the others around her, Elyn joins in the polite applause. And like others, perhaps, she lifts her chin to better see what is transpiring. But no emotions play upon the snow’s pallor of her visage.
Oblivious to any and all reactions, the praise of friends and the judgement of would-be rivals—save two, and both of those belonging to men on the dais above him—Ser Jaesin has ascended the path to the King and the Lord Commander. In the instant before he kneels, his eyes flicker from Daeron Targaryen to his father—the look they share will be theirs alone to eternity.
And then the Young Lion takes a knee, bowing his head in reverent silence before Ser Reynard and Ser Olyvar as they await the High Septon.
Marian’s gaze is drawn to the High Septon, expression clearly conveying curiosity, while she murmurs a sotto voce response to the words of her lady in waiting.
As a rainbow shines in the room and dances across the faces of gathered nobility and the watching skulls high above, Ammena, without regard to those around her, instinctively rises to her feet in respect. The sturdy Septa at her side does the same. The solemn proceeding begins and the Seven are watching.
The High Septon’s attendants carry a golden dish, and upon it are seven pure silver bowls. Once the High Septon is there, the king kneels and kisses his ring, before standing and moving aside so that he now becomes the focus of the room. Though old, his voice is strong as he looks down with kindly eyes upon the young knight. He pauses a moment, turning his gaze and a hand towards his attendants. He dips a finger in the first of the bowls, and then holds it poised.
“Knight, do you swear to put aside all property?”
The Bar Emmon lady watches with an expression akin to awe as the Lannister knight is called to kneel. She barely breathes at the ceremoney begins, the air thick with emotion of all kinds, if not her own, others certainly.
The High Septon has come. The Seven Oils are present. Reyna silently takes the rose from her absent Lord brother’s plate and clasps it in her hands as she bows her head in prayer. Or perhaps she only wishes to weep unseen. Perhaps both.
Gazing upward at the High Septon, humble before the glory of the Seven personified in this one, holy old man, Ser Jaesin Lannister says simply, “I so swear it.”
Kellyn’s cheeks are flushed when she turns her attention back to Jaesin, having to regather herself after the surprising news. She keeps a hand on her husband’s to steady herself somewhat. Once she becomes fully aware of the ceremony taking place, though, she is quick to attempt to compose herself. Reverent silence (or dazed silence) takes over any whispering as she watches intently.
And with that, the High Septon’s finger touches the forehead of the kneeling knight, and draws a short line. An attendant takes a square of white silk, and wipes the High Septon’s finger dry, before he touches it to the second bowl of holy oil.
“Knight, do you swear to give up all titles and offices that are not from the king?” And when the knight swears, another short line, connecting to the first.
“
Knight, do you swear to father no children?” And then when that one is agreed to, the third holy oil, and it connects again in a short line. A star begins to form on his head, with each point dedicated to one of the gods.
After a moment, Jonn goes deathly pale. Taking a swallow, he gently reaches down and moves something. He seems to fare better after that, though he still seems a touch woozy as he watches his once brother put on the last suit he’ll ever wear.
As the vows go on the reality of it hits Carmella and the smile instantly disappears and she looks ... ill? With a few more hurried words with Jyana she’s reaching for her glass and drinking far more than a little sip.
To each of these questions from the High Septon’s lips, Jaesin Lannister speaks the same answer: “I so swear it.”
The words are clear are crisp, wrought with emotion and the power of memory, of faith and most of all—most of all, of fallen friends. Those who have known him all the long years—the Westermen understand.
The star forms, each point binding the knight to his vow.
“Knight, do you swear to obey the king?”
“Knight, do you swear to keep the king’s secrets?”
“Knight, do you swear to ward the king with all your strength?”
And then the last, the seventh vow.“Knight, do you swear to spill your life’s blood in defense of the king and the realm?”
While the presence of the High Septon and the ceremony’s religious aspects may not be of great importance to Aisling, the solemn occasion certainly has captured the northern lady’s attention. She watches intently, though from time to time her gaze moves to the remaining Kingsguard, waiting all in white for their new Sworn Brother.
Again, and again, and again in turn: “I so swear it.” Until the final question. And there in the space between moments, the oath is made binding, the blood-oath, the life sworn over… it seems almost a small thing then, to swear the body thus, after mind and heart and even the soul have already been given….
“I so swear it,” Jaesin Lannister echoes a seventh time.
The High Septon sketches the last point of the holy seven-pointed star on the knight’s brow, and with that he steps aside for King Daeron. Ser Olyvar brings the cloak over Jaesin’s back ... but it is for the king to lower it, settling the heavy silk upon the knight’s shoulders, and then fastening the golden clasps that will keep it in place. The king steps back, and the Lord Commander takes his place.
A pause, and then: “Rise, Ser Jaesin, Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard.” Ser Reynard offers both hands to the knight, to help him back onto his feet to meet the acclaim of the gathered nobility.
Taking Ser Reynard’s proffered hands in his own, Ser Jaesin Lannister rises at the call of the Lord Commander. The sheer white silk of his newfound garment falls in snowy waves from his broad shoulders, enfolding the crimson and gold of his daily dress in innocence and newfound purpose.
Off down the length of the dais, Lord Loren Lannister nods, slowly.
And acclaim there is. The seats at the Lannister table are nearly emptied as their cheers ring out again. There are a few tense, uncertain faces, but any in their midst who knew Jaesin well can not help but voice their joy for the great honor given him. There is a bit of weeping amongst the womenfolk, pride and a tiny sense of loss mingling as they see their golden boy joined with his new brothers.
A roar from the nobles, and cheers, and pounding on the table in acclaimation. “Ser Jaesin! Ser Jaesin! Casterly Rock!” Each of Ser Jaesin’s sworn brothers greet him in turn, a clasp of hands binding them in brotherhood. Last of all to come before him in this wise is Prince Aemon Targaryen, the Dragonknight, son of the Hand, cousin of the king, and friend to this new Sworn Brother of his.
For a moment Jonn Lannister remains seated. He stares only at his father, then, mirroring the Lord of the Rock, nods, and stands. Then his cheers are the loudest of all.
Reyna rises now, laying her personal sorrow aside with the golden rose, and joins in the cheering. A daughter of Highgarden would never betray an unhappiness, so it does not show on her face, not so much as a red-rimmed eye, as she joins in the general acclaim. And this time the smile reaches her eyes.
Carmella empties her cup and sets it aside, only then does she join in with the applause for the new brother of the Kingsguard. She even starts to smile again as she rises to her feet and shares another brief whisper with the Jewel.
The Tyrell cheer as well; few men are privileged to witness such an occasion. And at the center of their table, the Iron Serpent finally looks up. As opaque as a man may be, he sets the goblet aside and rises, bowing his head in reverence to the High Septon.
Handed down the line of Sworn Brothers, from firm handshake to firm handshake, Ser Jaesin at last comes before his friend, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. His face is turned away from the crowd; none can read it but his newfound fellows. So it is that one can only imagine the look upon his face when he clasps hands with that most esteemed of champions, and is swiftly drawn into a fierce fraternal embrace.
Eyes tracking the dancing of a multi-coloured shimmer across a dragon skull, Marian spares a lingering glance for the dais when the irruption of noise announces the end of the ceremony. Long face set once more in its customary solemnity, she applauds politely, gaze drifting back to the shifting gleam of the light refracting through the High Septon’s crown as she claps her hands.
Kellyn tucks her arm around Jonn’s waist as he stands, her free hand clasped over her heart as the little Lannister Lady calls out her huzzahs. All the remnants of drunkenness seem to have fled only to be replaced by an open happiness on her features.
The entrance and undercroft to the White Sword Tower of the Kingsguard is bereft of flourish and ornamentation; austere, clean and utilitarian, it speaks to the devotion and single-mindedness of that august order. The ground floor of the tower is oft called the Round Room, its walls of whitewashed stone hung with white woolen tapestries. Tall windows of plain glass admit the light of day, and aiding in the illumination are several oil lamps upon stands of silver. Lining the argent stone walls in neat rows are rack after rack of weapons; glittering swords, wicked axes, spiked morningstars and heavy warhammers. A cluster of lances and polearms are intricately stacked against the southern wall, standing like a sheaf of deadly wheat at some warlike harvest. Upon the north wall is a hearth and mantle of simple white marble; above it are hung a plain white shield and two crossed longswords.
Central to the tower is a table of old weirwood, pale as bone, carved in the shape of a huge shield supported by three white stallions. Around the white table are chairs of the same wood, fitted with gold and their seats wrought of argent leather. Upon the table sits the massive White Book of the Brothers; two feet tall and a foot and a half wide, a thousand leaves thick, it is made of fine white vellum bound between covers of bleached white leather with gold hinges and fastenings. The massive white door which leads out of the sanctum is wrought with silver filigree, and at the eastern side of the first floor a winding staircase of stone leads to the next level of the tower.
Red Keep: White Sword Tower
The second tier of the White Sword Tower consists of the small spare sleeping cells of the Kingsguard’s Sworn Brothers. The staircase pauses upon a landing at the head of a long hall, where oppressive gloom darkens all in sight. Unlit torches are arrayed in silver sconces along the walls.
At the terminus of the windowless hall is a diminutive foyer, containing several austere white wooden chairs and a bench. The walls are hung with white woolen tapestries, displaying famous deeds of the Kingsguard in silver thread. The staircase continues upward to the Lord Commander’s private apartments, and downward to the Round Room at ground level.
Alyce’s applause joins everyone else’s and she smiles, her eyes sparkle and her cheeks flush with warmth at having had the fortune to observe such an occasion.
Ammena cheers with the noble gathering. As the crowd rises to their feet, she loses sight of the now -seven- knights in pristine white cloaks. She softly closes her eyes and whispers a prayer to the Seven.
Seven knights stand with the king, in their pure white cloaks. The cheers eventually begin to die, as they can see the king does not resume his seat, nor do the servants all rush out bearing more wine to celebrate with.
“It is well that we have seven Sworn Brothers, now, and that the newest is eager for service,” the Young Dragon declares at last. Turning to Jaesin, he says aloud, “My first command to you, ser, is to serve as the sworn shield to Princess Daena. She is well-loved of the realm, and precious, and deserves a personal guard from the White Swords.” The princess sits not far from Daeron’s seat, young and beautiful and full of life.
A lingering look is finally shifted away from the Kingsguard, now seven once more, as Aisling takes up the long-forgotten cup of wine and drinks from it. Her expression is thoughtful, her eyes dark behind black lashes. At her side, Sylvina takes up an interrupted conversation with a young knight, the subject of course Ser Jaesin’s recent change in status, though soon enough the King speaks up yet again, drawing her attention back to the royal table.
Something, however, sets a small crease in Alyce’s brow and she swallows, eyes no longer focused on the dais, the knights, or the King but set distantly at nothing, gazing at no one thing in particular but everything at once. Taking advantage of the cheering and commotion she weaves a quiet path to the door and slips out of the hall leaving only her empty chair and a purse on her table.
This news seems to please Ser Jaesin, who accepts it with a grateful bow of his head to first the King, and then to the beautiful Princess Daena some distance beyond him. A murmur rises and falls through the hall—many are present who remember the last tourney in King’s Landing, and the Lannister gallantly naming the very same Princess as Queen of Love and Beauty when she was but a girl of eleven.
This Reyna applauds sincerely, looking on her one-time mistress fondly and cheering with the crowd. She smiles, however, most brightly on Naerys as her gaze sweeps the royal table, bobbing a curtsy in place as she catches that lady’s eye.
Black Jonn regains his seat and a far away look enters his eyes. He withdraws within himself and stares straight ahead—though it is not the participants in this feast that fly across the serpentine ways of his mind.
Carmella smiles warmly in the princess’ direction as she resumes her seat and gestures for her glass to be filled again. She finally takes a moment to look over those gathered and as she looks towards the Lannisters she finds herself reaching again for her cup.
Anders is sitting somewhere in the back of the hall, bandaged up and all and is enjoying one or two or maybe three goblets of wine from the Arbor.
“Precious, I said,” the king repeats. “And more so than ever. For I have heard my councillors, and the Hand. They have spoken often of the need for the line to continue, to be secure against all the troubles that might be visited upon us.” He says it easily, as if those troubles are an idea, nothing more; not a threat, not a danger, but some distant conception of something that might happen, perhaps, maybe. “My lord uncle the Prince Viserys has two strong sons and a daughter, and a grandson beside.” That is for little Daeron, seated away down the table, looking as thoughtful as a boy of five years can. “I have my sweet sisters, a blessing for the realm, and my good brother. We are blessed. But even so, my councillors press, and when they give good council, I must accede.”
Marian tears her attention away from the dancing of coloured light on old bone, taking a long sip from her goblet as she refocuses with some curiosity upon the king.
There is a small frown line forming between Elyn’s brows, but that is the only other expression on her face, which remains turned towards the dais, lips pressed tightly together.
“And so,” Daeron says, as Daena smiles, and the court looks expectantly. A cup of wine is in his hand. He lifts it. “And so, let us all raise a cup in honor of Princess Daena, on the day of her betrothal to the Prince of Dragonstone, Baelor! They shall wed when they are nearer to age, and may the Mother bless them!”
There’s ... a sense of surprise. More than a sense of surprise, in some quarters. Daena ... to Baelor? Not to Daeron, the eldest, the king, the valiant king who’s like as not to go to war? But they cheer, and lift their cups just the same. “Huzzah! Huzzah! Baelor and Daena!”
Carmella twists the cup in her hand, watching the smiling princess but her face reveals none of the shock that is wandering around the throne room at the moment. She doesn’t even look out to judge the reaction, her gaze remains solely on the princess. Slowly, ever so slowly, she forces out a smile and lifts her cup to toast the announcement.
Marian blinks in surprise, momentarily frowning in consernation as if uncertain of whether she might trust her ears before she, too, finds a smile and lifts her goblet in acknowledgement of the announcement.
There is a sadness in Reyna’s eyes as she smiles and raises her cup in toast, calling out “to Baelor and Daena!” obediently. But she looks from the strong-willed princess to the pious prince, and smiles.
Jonn raises his cup absently. All the forms must be observed.
Ryssa has been watching in rapt silence as the newest member of the Kingsguard is sworn in, intent on the pageantry of the ceremony - but this breaks the spell. She blinks, eyes fluttering wider in astonishment even as she lifts her goblet to toast the royal betrothal with everyone else. She looks first to Carmella and Jyana, checking the reactions of the people she knows who are closest to the princess, and then back at Marian, exchanging a similarly uncertain look at her lady.
Surprise registers on Aisling’s face too; from what she has learned of Daena—not the least during this tourney—and of her brother, Baelor, they are—for all that they are brother and sister—about as different as they come. For one thing, Daena’s fondness for her elder brother has always been apparent, and why he would pass her onto Prince Baelor instead is hard to understand.
Surprise holds the ironman’s companions silent for a moment before they erupt into cheers again—if faintly bemused ones, accompanied by many a curious glance at the two newly-betrothed Targaryen.
As for Dagur himself, he yet wears his mask. Yet, his pause mirrors that of his wife’s kinsmen and in that his surprise as well can be read. Still, it lasts only a moment, and then he raises his goblet in salute as do those around him.
Ammena picks up her goblet and joins in the cheer. For the most part, her expression is one of joy, but her eyes betray a hint of puzzlement. Yet still, as the King commands, so it should be. And so, she cheers along with the noble gathering.
Anders raises his goblet and joins in the cheers, as all are. His face seems utter joy and fun.
With a momentary glance sidelong to Marian and Ryssa, Elyn mirrors those around her and lifts the untouched goblet before her to add her congratulations.
Baelor’s eyes are shut, and a pale hand is wrapped about the faceted crystal upon a plain leather thong. Does he pray? In thanksgiving, perhaps, for such a beautiful bride? It’s between him and the gods.
The Hand looks unsurprised, and stands to give his toast. So too do others of the royal family, such as Aegon, who laughs aloud with the joy of it all, and near drains his cough in one go, and then laughs rather more. It’s a joyous occasion, obviously.
And as others look to see, to wonder who knew and who didn’t, there away to one side if Lord Barent, and Lord Terin, small councillors—they were not caught unawares. Cheers go up, and more calls for Daeana and Baelor, while the little princesses clap their hands happily.
As the cheering over the betrothal begins to quiet down Princess Daena rises to her feet and smooths out her gown as servants step forward, each bearing a black pillow. Those closest might notice glints of gold against the cushions. The newly-betrothed princess smiles at her brother and then makes a move forward as the herald steps forward as well.
“Princess Daena Targaryen would ask that the following knights and ladies please come forward.” He gestures towards the space before the dais, but neither he nor Daena say just why these people are called forward.
“Lady Marian Stark. Lady Elyn Ryswell. Lady Ryssa Waters. Lady Reyna Saltcliffe. Lady Kellyn Lannister. Ser Almer Connington. Ser Bonifer Buckwell. Seth Blackwood. Ser Bryon Waynwood.” The herald’s voice is sharp and clear as he reads off the names on his list, a list that sounds as if it might have been written before the tourney, for most know of the Blackwood’s condition.
Ryssa lets out a faint gasp as her name is called - but her surprise is nothing compared to her parents’. Both senior Waters’ heads turn towards their daughter - and Ryssa can only offer a weak, hopeful smile. Recognition dawns halfway through the list of names, bringing strength to Ryssa’s smile, and it flashes brighter as she turns back to look at Elyn and Marian. She rises with eager swiftness, but then catches herself and hangs back, letting her lady lead the way up to the dais.
Ser Bryon rises from his seat near the back of the hall, having remained uncharacteristically quiet during the proceedings. He comes forward as he is summoned, bowing when he comes before the dias.
Pale eyes widening in surprise, Elyn turns first to look at Ryssa and Marian on her one side, and then Bonifer on her other. Shadowing the actions of those around her, she rises, but awaits Marian to precede her.
Kellyn turns from whatever whisperings and murmurings might have been occurring with her huband upon hearing her name. What? Is it still her birthday? A few seconds of confusion pass before she takes note of the other names and smiles as she rises, looking towards a pair of maids dancing attendance on the assembled lions. She steps forward to curtsey before those on the Dais, and smiling at the others stepping forward. Yes. She’s doing a lot of smiling.
Sitting still beside Dagur, Reyna looks unsurprised to hear the first names called; it is hearing her own that gives her pause. She frowns as she rises, and joins her cousin Almer as he passes by her table. The two of them come to stand before Princess Daena, where Reyna sweeps into a very low curtsy, and Almer bows low.
Eyebrows raised, Dagur shares a quiet word with his wife as she passes him. Whatever she says, he nods and settles back, awaiting whatever might come next.
Jonn’s reverie is broken as he hears the name of his wife called. She is not so quick that she can escape a squeeze of his hand ere she passes him by. He smiles as well as he watches her—though his is a touch more restrained.
Like those at his table, Bonifer is perhaps surprised, but he, too, rises and moves forward to the dais with alacrity to offer a deep bow.
Daena waits as patiently as she can as those called come forward. Her fingers brush often at her gown and she glances back at her assembled family, but that smile never wavers. Once those called have assembled - apart from Seth Blackwood of course - the young princess speaks, lifting her voice so that all can hear.
“Two months back a unique treasure was brought to us, a carving of a black dragon and a diary. The dragon had belonged to Rhaenyra Targaryen, the diary to a septon loyal to her.” Should there be any grumbling over the mention of Rhaenyra, the princess ignores it.
“These two items were brought to use by Lady Reyna Saltcliffe and we are grateful for her honesty.” Daena smiles at Reyna as a servant steps forward with one of the pillows and presents the object on it to the Saltcliffe lady.
“But the diary spoke of more things lost, more treasures of the Targaryens that had been secreted away,” Daena continues. “The diary was presented to all and I am pleased to announce that each item was not only found, but was returned to us.”
“Your Grace is far too kind,” Reyna protests, taking the object from the pillow and again giving the princess a low curtsy. Without taking time to examine it, she stands once more to give the princess her attention.
More servants step forward as Daena speaks of each person in turn. The gifts are gold dragon brooches, suitable for wearing on a cloak. The eye of each dragon is fitted with a stone matching the color of the recipient’s house. Daena watches briefly as the first is gifted to Lady Reyna and then she lifts her voice again.
“Lady Marian Stark, Lady Ryssa Waters, and Seth Blackwood brought back to us a large illustrated tome of the history of Targaryen dragons as well as a jeweled hand meant for the Hand,” she says as the servants pass on the rewards to Marian and Ryssa. Daena looks to the Stark woman. “Seth Blackwood rode well and we all feel pain for his injuries. I do hope you will pass on my words to him and accept the gift in his name.”
Having flashed a happy smile sidelong at Reyna, Marian sinks into a curtsey once again, inclining her head in gratitude and acknowledgement of Daena’s words regarding Seth. She looks up to smile at the princess. “I shall, your highness. With pleasure and gratitude. We are honoured by your kindness.”
Ryssa dips into a second deep curtsey at the mention of her name, head bent demurely down, but her eyes dart up, eager and curious, to see what the servants are carrying before they reach her. She exchanges a quick, bright smile with Marian, and then reaches out to take the brooch in one reverent hand. “Thank you, Your Highness,” Ryssa murmurs. “We were honored to do you service.” Ryssa turns the brooch gently to and fro in the light, gazing down at it with a wondering smile.
“Ser Bryon Waynwood,” Daena begins again once the three have received their gifts, “brought no treasure to us, but rather we have learned that he strove to keep those treasures here with us, rather than sent across the Narrow Sea. We are extremely grateful to know that such men live and serve in this realm, those that would act for their King without being told or asked to so so. You have our gratitude, Ser Bryon.” Daena’s smile turns a little playful as she looks to the Waynwood knight.
Ser Bryon bows deeply, his face flushed with a shy smile. “It is an honor to serve, Your Highness.”
Ryssa’s head is still bent reverently, but she steals a sidelong glance down the row of people towards Bryon, flashing a quick, proud smile down at him.
Ser Bonifer holds a reverent silence, eyes downcast as he stands before the princess. His stance is uneasy, though, as he begins to sweat and his breathing becomes shallower. He shifts almost imperceptably, trying to ease the pain emanating from a trio of broken ribs on his left side.
The princess waits as the rewards are presented, smiling at each as they are given their gift. Her violet eyes to to the Griffin Knight and once more she raises her voice. “Ser Almer has brought to us the smallest of dragons, a dragonfly perfectly preserved in a stone of amber. Even the smallest of things has great beauty and we are told that such items are quite rare. We are grateful to you, Ser Almer.”
As the servants steps forward to present the gift to Ser Almer Daena continues on. “Ser Bonifer returned to us a beautiful dagger of Valyerian steel. Certainly a treasure, especially to any knight who would wish claim a rarity. But he has returned it to us and for that we are grateful.” Another servant approaches Ser Bonifer and his dragon brooch is given to him.
“Lady Elyn, I hear tell, had some help from a clever little beast of hers,” Daena says with a bit of a laugh. “And returned to us was a magnificent dragon’s egg shell. It is like no shell of an ordinary farm animal, but like a jewel itself and in a world where we no longer have such beautiful creatures, we are pleased for this small memory.”
The amusement of the princess is enough to draw an answering smile to Elyn’s humbly downcast face. “I will tell him so. Thank you, your grace.” The Northern girl says, reaching out to carefully take the offered brooch.
Red Keep: Throne Room
Outside the grey of the clouds begins to darken, and the temperature drops slightly. It’s warm and still.
Also tilting forward in an effort to bow, the Buckwell bends a knee as he stiffens suddenly. He regains his feet easily enough, holding the brooch behind his back where his hands join together, “An honor, your grace.” he says quietly, to the point.
Finally there is only Kellyn remaining and the princess’s violet eyes turn to her. “Lady Kellyn, step forward,” she asks and then looks out over those gathered. “It was two serving women in Lady Kellyn’s household that joined in the hunt and found a gold ring set with a large garnet,” Daena explains. “Truly any servant could live well on the sale of such a treasure but these women in the Lannister employ sought out Lady Kellyn and asked that it be returned. It speaks well of the lady that she gave the true tale of the search when she could have simply claimed the item in her name and returned it.” The servant steps forward and three items are presented to the Lannister woman. “Please see that the women responsible for the find are presented their gifts and offered our thanks for their loyalty,” Daena tells Kellyn.
Kellyn curtsies before the princess and then rises to accept the prizes. “I, and the women in question, are most honored Your Grace.” She tries to sound solemn as she speaks, but there’s still a slight undertone of giddiness in her voice. She turns to look at the two maids, one standing stark upright and looking right at the event with a proud expression, the other a slight blonde who seems to be trying to sink into the floor and inclines her head to them as well.
The gifts given, the servants retreat, leaving Daena alone before the group. “Again, House Targaryen thanks you all for your honesty and your hard work. Your names will not be forgotten.” There’s a bit of a nervous smile as she nods to them, signalling that they might return to there seats as she makes her way back to hers.
A last curtsy, three steps back, and Reyna turns to return to her table. Once she is seated, she drinks deeply of her wine and lays the brooch between her plate and Dagur’s for him to look at, it’s emerald eye winking in the torchlight. 5r
Marian sinks into another deep curtsey, smiling happily at Daena as she does so. Carefully cradling her gift in her hands, she moves back to her seat - flashing rather giddy looks at the others so honoured as she does so.
One more deep curtsey, and one more smile of excited brilliance, and Ryssa turns to follow Marian and Elyn back to their seats, the precious brooch clutched tightly in her hand. It is only with the greatest of effort that Ryssa keeps from skipping as she makes her way down the aisle and back to the table where her parents wait. Her mother reaches out to fold her in a proud embrace, and pulls Ryssa back into her seat, where she eagerly leans forward to explain everything to her parents.
Sitting with the Lannisters, Rosalind gives her cousin’s wife a happy smile and directs another toward Marian Stark and her ladies. She continues sipping at her wine, enjoying the festivities.
Curtseying with lithe grace, Elyn finally lifts her smiling visage to turn and make her way back to her seat, the brooch pressed by tight fingers. Her other hand reaches out discreetly to assist Bonifer back to his seat, the knight finding such progress difficult under the growing pain of his broken ribs.
Kellyn returns to her seat next to Jonn, briefly turning in the chair to gesture the two maids over for a brief, quiet discussion and perhaps a transfer of bright shiny objects.
Ammena happily applauds the Princess and her favor toward the nobles now returning to their places.
The brooch glitters briefly in the ironman’s palm as he inspects it; returning it to its place beside her plate, then, he again shares a quiet word with her.
His kinsmen-by-marriage are not so circumspect, however, free with their congratulations and japing.
There are cheers from knots and groups of the crowd at the tables, though for some the matter was a curiosity, or even an oddity. But princesses will be princesses, and Daena is as fine a one as one might hope (except perhaps for Rhaena, who is all sweetness and decorum, perhaps). And then it’s time to drink the health of various personages, as the servants go ‘round filling cups and delivering trenchers of bread with savory meats and stews poured into them. The musicans strike up a tune, a cheery song of love, drums beating the rhythm that the pipes lustily take up and embroider for the singers.
“Here’s to Daena and Baelor! Long may they live!”
“To the king!”
“The Kingsguard!”
Jyana toasts with the rest, but her eyes fall on Daena, and then at Prince Baelor, who she saw clutching at his crystal earlier. A look of concern is on her features for both. While there is a smile on her lips, it isn’t as bright as how the Jewel usually smiles in such revelry.
Reyna smiles at Dagur and murmurs some small reply, then turns and looks expectantly toward the high table. When it seems there is nothing else forthcoming, she bends her head again to Naerys, then sighs as she turns her attention solely to her kinsmen, joining in every toast they pose to the health of every Targaryen since the first landing.
Kellyn puts a hand on Jonn’s shoulder as the music rings out again and the cheers are lifted. She leans up to speak softly (well, considering the volume) in his ear. And the the celebrations are all around to partake in.
Kellyn whispers to Jonn, “To the future ...”
Ammena joins the cheer that reverberates about the Throne Room. The pomp of ceremony now seemingly over, she relaxes and takes a sip of wine. She heartily takes to the offered food and drink as she listens to the pipes weave their tune with the drums.
Rosalind raises her glass with the toasts, taking a sip of wine with each of them. She leans over to murmur something to her cousin, Galan Lannister, her soft voice lost in the ambient noise of the room.
After returning to her table and acknowleding the toasts, Marian puts her head together with Ryssa and Elyn to admire their brooches - before passing them around the others present, settling into light-hearted laughter and as the music resumes.
As a familiar tune on the pipes rains down from the gallery of musicians, Ammena Piper glances from one side of her table to another. Catching the eye of some of the younger ladies seated at these distant tables, she leads a small group of three Riverland maidens to an open space by the entrance of the Throne Room. Whatever earlier misgivings the Riverlanders had towards Ammena, it seems she cares not as a smile graces her face and those of the accompanying ladies. The hustle and bustle of the crowds and feasting is so overwhelming, that these four ladies are easily missed if one is otherwise occupied.
Smiling softly to the three ladies, Ammena steps forward and takes the lead. One lady steps to just right and behind her, another mirroring to the left, and the last takes the rear. The four form an easy diamond.
The Riverlanders about the standing maidens begin a happy jaunting clap to accompany the pipes overhead as they weave in and out with the merry beating of the drums. Ammena makes the first move, the others mirroring in kind…
The Westermen celebrate for all they are worth. A Westerlord in the Kingsguard! Huzzah. Yet the table of Lannisters itself remains still sedated, as they consider the passed events of the day with a hand upon burgeoning bellies.
Even Jonn Lannister, who today lost a brother but gained a castle, seems less effusive than any would expect. He smiles and laughs easily at jokes that are shared, but there is a hint of sobreity about him that seems so very… unnatural.
The Tyrell are their usual raucous selves, with congratulations tendered to the Lannisters in good will and sincerity. But the Saltcliffes are quiet and subdued, and soon after dinner was finished, Ser Dagur rose and excused himself to the sept, leaving Reyna alone with her kinsmen. So she has been picking quietly at her trencher with a spoon, stirring stew around long after most have been cleared away.
Ryssa’s head pops up from her conversation at the sound of the familiar dance tune, and she brightens when she sees that other ladies are already taking up the dance. “This is one of my favorites!” she says, looking eagerly back to the table. “If I may be excused, I’d like to join? And if anyone else wishes to join as well…?” Ryssa leaves the question unfinished save for another smile. Her dragon brooch left safely in the hands of her mother, Ryssa rises from the table and starts to head towards the corner of the room where the Riverlands maidens dance.
Cradling her arms in a large circle over her left hip, Ammena steps lightly forward… then hop… step… then hop. It is a spring harvest dance. A gathering of flowers. A celebration of future life to come.
The four maidens continue in their dance, lightly stepping in time to the pipes jaunty rhythm.
First to the east and the rising sun. Then to the west and the day’s rest… to the north for the blessing of rains.. then to the south for the blessing of warmth.
Looking up from an animated conversation with her cousin the lady Dalonne, Marian quirks a swift smile at Ryssa. “Perhaps for a more sedate measure”, she calls laughingly to her friend.
Ammena continues the dance in repeated measure. It’s a simple jaunt, nothing fancy, yet full of hope and dreams. The four bright gowns bounce and whirl in modified unison to the flitter and flight of the pipes overhead.
It is near the table of the Westerlanders that Ser Almer Connington can be seen. The champion of growing fame lingers there for a moment, exchanging friendly banter with several of the knights that are known to him, along with their ladies. A jest makes several laugh, for Almer’s easy charm is becoming known, and the tall young knight moves around the table, making his way toward his cousin Jonn Lannister.
“Congratulations, Jonn,” Almer says over the music. “I know Jaesin always aspired to…” The Black Lion’s dark look gives him pause, and he arches a brow, curious.
Smiling brightly, all look of solemnity gone, Ammena leads the ladies yet again as the pipes and drums.. the stomps and claps… the sounds of conversation and laughter… all harmonize and lift the sound as it echoes up to the Dragon skulls watching in silent testimony.
Ryssa lets out a sigh of exaggerated, laughing disappointment. “All right,” she says, offering another smile to her lady before threading her way through the tables to the corner where the dancing is taking place.
For a few moments, Ryssa hovers on the edge of the line of tables, one finger lightly tapping against her leg in rhythm with the music as she watches. Up and down, around and across, she watches the dancers twirl - and then steps forward to take her place among them.
Five maidens now sway where once there were four, another deep-blue gown added to the bright swirl of colors and floating skirts. Gracefully dipping in perfect time with the music, Ryssa glances to the side, checking her movements against those of the other girls, and her smile brightens to see that she has matched them. And then it brightens even more, as she begins to get caught up in the joy of the dance.
The maidens’ dance has found favor from the Rose of Highgarden, at the very least; they were dancing very near where she sits, and where she now applauds with a smile. “Beautifully done, Lady Ammena,” she calls, waving.
Kellyn turns her head at the sound of an approaching voice, her expression as bright as Jonn’s is dark. “Ser Almer. You are quite right. To see Ser Jaesin’s face today as he approached to take his place in the Kingsguard - I do not know if I have seen such undiulted joy before!” As she speaks, she casually reaches over to put a hand on Jonn’s. Her cheeks are going to hurt from smiling in the morning
“It was ever his dream,” says the Lannister with a sad smile. “Ever since he could speak. Kingsguard this, Kingsguard that. I asked if he expected I should be the Lord of Casterly Rock in his place.”
His smile brightens. “Do you know what he said to me?”
Rosalind alternately watches the dancing Riverlander maidens and listens to the conversations of her kin. She gives Ser Almer a little smile of greeting.
Ammena smiles happily towards the Rose of Highgarden and briefly nods in acknowledment to the compliment. Laughing lightly, she smiles towards the new company. Chuckling she says, “Five a good number!” As the diamond now evolves into a pentagon.
Indeed, my lady,” Almer replies to Kellyn with a courteous smile. “Jaesin is a worthy choice, and I know that Prince Aemon will be pleased to have him as a Sworn Brother.”
The Griffin Knight glances back at Jonn again, marking the strange mood on the man. “I’ve no idea.”
Black Jonn laughs.
“Nothing!” he says, his black mood vanishing in thin air. “We didn’t talk much, really. It was mostly pushing each other down flights of stairs. But I had you fooled, didn’t I?”
He turns his grin then upon his lady wife.
Ryssa dips in rhythm with the music, her smile flashing brighter as she hears Reyna’s compliment. “Thank you, my lady!” she calls back. In response to Ammena’s comment, Ryssa tosses back, “Seven is more auspicious,” with a bright laugh. “But I am happy to make it five.”
The quintet of maidens spins outward, their arms lifting up to form graceful arches, like the branches of trees in bloom. The music quickens, and the ladies’ steps match the new tempo, swirling in rhythm, faster and faster - until with a thump of drums, the song ends. For a moment, there is silence, and in the quiet space, Ryssa stands still, holding the last pose, her breathing quick from the exertion of the dance, and her smile bright as she looks over to Ammena.
The musicians start up again after a moment - a more stately tune to balance the sprightly pace of the one before. This is a line dance, measured and slow.
Kellyn shakes her head at Jonn’s joke, lips sill twitching towards a smile. “You tease, Jonn. But there is your laugh again, just what we needed!” For Almer she nods. “To watch them there, brothers in the Guard ... well it was inspiring. But here - there i music and I do hope we do not keep you from revels!”
As promised, Marian responds to the change in pace by politely disengaging herself from conversation with her cousin Dalonne, and rising to pace out onto the floor. Taking up a place beside Ryssa, she smiles down at the smaller girl, then flows smoothly into the gentle motions of the dance.
Reyna rests her cheek on her hand and watches the dance, giving up all pretense of eating; her trencher is taken away at last, all but untouched. Presently she picks up the brooch from Daena, hardly touched until now, and gives it a close inspection.
Eyeing Jonn as if the man’s wits have been rattled loose, Almer’s mouth quirks. “No, not really. But you have my congratulations nonetheless.” He turns from the couple, giving the Lady Kellyn a strangely sympathetic half-smile. “There is music indeed, my lady, and I without my lady tonight.”
The tall knight bows, then begins making his way back across the hall. He nods in reply to a friendly called greeting, then begins sizing up available dance partners with a critical eye.
Catching her breath amidst bright laughter, Ammena smiles towards Ryssa and comments, “You step well!” With a quick curtsey she adds, “You are Ser Gueren’s daughter yes? Ammena Piper here. Glad to make your acquaintance.” And then the changing music takes her ear. “Ah… a chance to catch a breath.”
Emerging from a group of ladies talking near the royal dais, Carmella takes a cup of wine from a servant and watches the dancing for a few moment, her toes tapping in tune to the music. Smiling a little she begins to make a slow circle of the large room, not looking intent on any particular destination right now.
“He’s lying,” Jonn informs his wife as soon as his cousin turns his back.
“All the Lannisters and the even more halves and quarters and eighths, and the Gods gave me all the wits AND the good looks? It hardly seems fair, does it.”
He stands then and throws back a cup of wine. “Ah, what do you care anyway? Let’s have a dance!” Without awaiting a proper response, he lifts Kellyn from her feet and swings her toward the dance floor. His smile is brighter than the midday sun.
“As do you, my lady,” Ryssa replies, returning the compliment with a dip of her head and a breathless laugh. “Thank you for letting me join. Yes, I am Ryssa Waters,” she adds, her smile brightening with pride at the mention of her father’s name, and she glances across the room to where he still sits at their table. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ammena.”
Ryssa tilts her head up again as she catches sight of Marian heading towards them, and offers a warm smile to her lady. She steps back into the line next to the older girl, and the dance begins.
It is a a slow, stately dance, the rhythm of each step marked out with a firm drumbeat. There are two parallel lines, and each person is partnered with someone from the opposite line, matching their steps and raising their hands to meet when they step towards the middle. But once the pattern of steps is completed, the person at the head of one line and the tail of the other exchange places, so that the lines are constantly rotating, and each person eventually gets to dance with everyone else.
Day 22 of Month 6, 159 AL.
Day As the first light of dawn broke, the Joust of Love commenced at the Tourney Grounds. A mystery knight in sable, calling himself the Black Lion and bearing the golden cloth favor of Lady Kellyn Lannister, rode out to make the first challenge of the day, Ser ALMER Connington of Griffin’s Roost. The first day’s champion, who wore the ivory and pearl sandsilk favor of Lady Keira Sand, accepted the mystery knight’s challenge. Their confrontation was sudden and violent, and as the Griffin Knight’s lance shattered, the Black Lion was ripped from the saddle. The crowd saw the Black Lion rise, however, and the two knights exchange courteous words after, with Ser Almer saluting both Keira and KELLYN.
Prince CADAN Martell of Dorne, bearing a mysterious blue and white favor, then challenged the young lancer SETH Blackwood, who wore the favor of Lady MARIAN Stark. After saluting each other courteously, the two riders clashed. Though bruised from earlier matches, Prince Cadan seemed to get the better of the first pass, though the Blackwood held his seat with skill, and both broke lances. On their second pass, Seth delivered a strong blow to the Prince, breaking a second lance and unhorsing the Martell. Both men were cheered for their good showing.
And then the crowd had mor reason to roar, as
And then the crowd had mor reason to roar, as
Following this victory, Seth Blackwood courteously challenged Ser Almer Connington to a tilt, and the Griffin accepted the lancer’s challenge with equal courtesy. The two riders faced off, and whilst both broke lances, Seth was knocked from the saddle by the knight. Already battered from previous jousts, Seth fell hard, though he was aided in rising by Ser Almer, who clearly admired the man’s courage. They exchanged more courteous words, to the crowd’s pleasure, and once again the Connington saluted both his lady and the lady of his opponent.
Cadan next challenged the Black Lion, though both knights appeared to be the worse for wear after their previous tilts. Though both shattered their lances, the mystery knight was hammered from the saddle by the Prince, and this time he lay unmoving. After a time, several Lannister retainers were forced to remove the Black Lion on a gurney, much to the alarm of the Lady Kellyn and other ladies in the stands.
Prince Cadan Martell then challenged Ser Almer Connington. The Prince cracked a lance, but the Griffin shattered his, and the Martell was struck from the saddle as if by a hammerblow, tumbling to the hard earth. The crowd cheered the bout, and the Stormlanders in particular, who seemed to savor the win as revenge for the Prince’s prior defeat of their Stormbreaker. Ser Almer, concerned, dismounted to help the senseless Prince up; he was politely rebuffed, however, and Dornish attendants helped Cadan back to his pavilion.
With all immediate challengers vanquished, Ser Almer prepared to retire from the field, until a latecomer, Ser BONIFER Buckwell of the Antlers, who bore the favor of Lady ELYN Ryswell, issued a challenge to his cousin. Ser Almer, who by virtue of his victory on the first day was precluded from winning the Joust of Love, nevertheless accepted. On the first pass Ser Bonifer broke a lance, whilst Ser Almer shattered his, and Ser Bonifer held his seat, the first knight of the tourney to survive a pass with the Griffin! The crowd erupted, and Ser Almer, in deference to the Buckwell’s feat, gallantly forfeited, leaving Ser Bonifer in possession of the field!
Joining the line of lords, knights and squires, Almer raises an eyebrow or two with his presence in the courtly display. Apparently the tutors of Highgarden taught him well during his fosterage there, though, for he takes up the steps with natural grace, along with a withering look at one of the more ribald comments from some of his knightly companions.
Other contests ensued, including that between Ser Osbert Bettley, the Breaker of Yronwood, against the mysterious Weeping Knight. Known for his fierceness in battle, Ser Osbert was unhorsed by the mysterious, unknown knight. And then, it was noticed that without much fanfare, the Jousting Lord had been industriously challenging knights, particularly when he put Ser Bonifer Buckwell to the challenge, and promptly unhorsed him; it seemed Lord Whalon Rosby had determined to perform a feat of arms, namely outdoing Ser Jace Rollingford’s mark of twenty-five jousts. It was noted by many that Rollingford was thirty years Rosby’s junior, yet that did not seem to tell with him. From Buckwell, he challenged the Weeping Knight, who unhorsed him after three well-fought passes, In the meantime, Seth Blackwood challenge Ser Bonifer Buckwell, and was unhorsed by a hammerblow that rendered him incapable of challenging further. After all the wounds he had taken in previous jousts, the onlookers were amazed he managed so many challenges, giving his best on behalf of Lady Marian.
And then some harsh words, and it became less of a matter of love, as the Black Lion—having returned much refreshed from his earlier defeats—spoke crudely to him when Rosby challenged him. Alas, the mystery knight defeated Lord Whalon in the first course, but the old lord gamely got up again to take a rest and then find some new foes as he climbed towards the mark he was aiming for. And then there was the matter of Ser DAGUR Saltcliffe, who in being insulted with crude remarks regarding his lady set out to defeat all the foes he could. Great knights were challenged—Ser Osbert, defeated; the Black Lion, after a pair of courses, also defeated; Lord Whalon, defeated in a course, and still the ironman sought to assuage his rage. Next he set his eyes on the Weeping Knight ... and was unhorsed in the first pass, dampening his rage.
Others still jousted, from Ser Bonifer trading two courses with TRISTON Templeton until the young Vale knight defeated him. At this point, arriving quite late in the day, Ser AIDAN Dayne, the Knight of the Twilight, appeared with the Lady AISLING Ryswell leading his horse behind her. About his arm was a favor, clearly belonging to the lady, and curiosity was aroused from some—not least her step-sister Sylvina, and her bastard uncle Henly Snow. Ser Aidan promptly declared himself, offering to joust any man who wished to challenge him for love of his lady, but none took him up on that. He also declared a feat of arms that he wished to pursue, to joust no more than three courses with each knight who had defeated him in the previous days. The first to satisfy the Dornishman was Ser Almer Connington, and the two knights showed great prowess as they rode three courses to no result. Even as this joust began, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, who had not armed as if to take part, proceeded to do so—likely to chivalrously assist Ser Aidan in completing his feat of arms.
But all this would be overshadowed by Ser Bonifer Buckwell’s challenge of the Weeping Knight, who was unhorsed in the first course. Buckwell dismounted and drew his sword, but left it up to his lady, Elyn Ryswell, to determine what he should do—force him to unmask, let him keep his identity, or give the mystery knight the chance to fight on on foot. Elyn, proud of her would-be suitor and eager to see him gain renown, had the two knights cross swords. For long they seemed well matched, and all the while other knights still jousted, beginning with Prince Cadan’s challenge of the Dragonknight, who promptly unhorsed him.
Another late arrival, appearing with great pomp and pageantry, was Prince Aegon, bearing the favor of his mistress, Cassella Vaith. Soon there was a challenge with Ser Victor Reyne, which proved a hard fought match until the Targaryen prince managed to unhorse him after several courses. And then Whalon Rosby followed Victor, challenging the Targaryen prince, giving him the honor of being his twenty-sixth challenge. The crowd cheered the Jousting Lord as he gave the younger man a hard fought match lasting four courses with six lances broken between. Lord Whalon lost a tooth in his fall, and needed help from three men to get off from the field, but he grinned to the crowd and won their approval.
Kellyn has ... absolutely no control over where she and Jonn are going on the dance floor. “Well, you might have to share the w… Whee!” She is swept up and carried out to the dance floor, legs flopping like a doll’s. She tries to get her arms in some semblance of order and then looks up at him. “Jonn - just so you know, I think the deduct points if you knock other dancers down ...” But it’s said with an utter lack of a straight face as she laughs.
Spotting Reyna still seated Carmella moves over in that direction, taking a seat next to her friend. “A lovely gift,” Carmella notes with a nod towards the brooch given by the princess. “But you hardly look the sort that has just been offered thanks by the royal family,” she adds, noting the reason she moved over here in the first place.
Reyna looks up in surprise, then smiles ruefully at Carmella. “My past has come back to haunt me tonight,” she says, shrugging a little. She gestures out to where Jonn and Kellyn dance. “-His- star is rising. It hardly seems fair sometimes.”
For those who have been upon a ship in turbulent waters… well, the ride that the heir of Casterly Rock gives his lady is nothing at all like that. But it is close enough, and so the metaphor shall remain.
“Are there any you should like to knock over, my lady?” the grinning lion asks of his laughing lady. “I am but a vessel and you are my pilot!”
Carmella looks out again and this time picks out the Lannisters in the group and her expression looks confused. “Heir to Lannister,” she says to Reyna with a shake of her head. “I never imagined, I always assumed that Jaesin would find a wife and…” Carmella shrugs and turns back to Reyna, offering a supportive smile. “Has your lord husband departing for the evening already?”
Ammena catches her breath and finds herself at the head of the line facing the Griffin. A momentary pause and a quick “Good eve Ser. Fine performance in the Tourney.” before the music begins.
“To the sept for a while,” Reyna says, picking up her goblet and eyeing the contents speculatively. “He wanted a white cloak, you know. Until I happened along and ruined it for him. It was difficult to watch, for all I’m happy for Ser Jaesin.”
A bow and smile are Ser Almer’s reply to the Piper maiden. “You are kind, my l…” The ensemble plays, drowning out the rest of his words. He joins the dance, stepping in time to Ammena’s movements and letting natural ability make up for lack of practice, as much as he can. When the lines meet along with their hands, he leans in to speak again. “I saw you in the stands, my lady. Very lovely.”
Kellyn leans her head close to her husband’s, whispering something reckless in his ear before tilting her head back so she can grin at him - hoping that whatever will said will make him laugh again. It seems every time she tries to compose herself to her usual prim and demure ways this evening, it fails utterly. “Let us try to sail peacefully around the rocks, my lord. At least for this evening!”
Kellyn whispers to Jonn, “... ... that ... ... its ... ... ... ... ...”
“Well now that he could have almost -everything- he could ask for, then maybe I can get my token back,” says a laughing voice behind Carmella and Reyna, Jyana emerging from the crowd and carrying a cup of .....iced, honeyed milk. No more hangovers for her. She takes a quiet sip of her refreshment before tilting her head to both of her lady-friends and gifts them a beaming smile. There’s a rosy flush to her cheeks. As always, the young woman is having the time of her life in her very first tourney. “I suppose I should start loaning it out to my other friends so their wishes can come true as well. But I’ll be glad to have it back….my neck feels naked without it.”
“Oh,” is Carmella’s first response and it makes all of this a lot clearer. “I’m sorry,” is offered but it isn’t very much, for what can one say? “I hope some time with the Seven will help,” Carmella offers, again not sounding entirely hopeful, but then again she barely knows the man. “And he still will not allow a dance?”
Ryssa steps up to take her place next to her partner for this turn of the dance, one of the young squires newly knighted by the king. His steps are more enthusiastic than graceful - he is a broadly built man, known for his strength in fighting rather than his finesse. Still, he gamely follows along, and even accepts some of Ryssa’s murmured instructions as she gently attempts to coach him through the dance.
Beside Ryssa, Marian is partnered with another recently-dubbed young man - this one sporting a russet beard in an effort to mature his features. Matched in height by the lady and performing the steps at the royal court for the first time in his life, he seems a little unsure - but manages to avoid any dire mistakes during the first phase of the dance, at least.
The Lannister ship, such as it is, veers closer to the Tyrell table, but only just for a moment before Jonn steers himself back away from any group of people. Clearly he is not the most skilled dancer, but his boyish jubilance more than makes up for it.
“I think I may love you more today than I did last night,” he informs his wife with extreme ebullience. Then he leans in and whispers something more.
Jonn whispers to Kellyn.
The music is stately and elegant, the best to show off poise and stature. Seven maidens and Seven men step easily in a gentle display of grace. The ebb and flow of the two lines facing each other is only heightened by the smooth and sweetly melancholic nature of the music accompanying.
Ammena takes a turn around the Griffin, leaning in to say, “I thank you Ser. You as well. Not ‘lovely’ that is, I mean, but…” and the musical phrase reaches its end.
With a soft curtsey, Ammena turns the corner, walks outside the line and takes her place as the seventh lady.
“Not a one,” Reyna replies, looking away from the dancers. “Keep me far from temptation, after all. Never know what I might do.” But she isn’t serious; her smile is a sad one, but it is a smile. “I miss Ardon as well, it’s not all the other. He could only stay to the end of the jousting.”
Without missing a beat - unlike her less rhythmically-inclined partner - Ryssa moves one step down the line and into place to start the next set with Almer. “Good evening, my lord,” she murmurs, dipping her head in time with the music. Her hand reaches high up to meet the tall knight’s, and her feet move more quickly as she tries to match the pace of his much-longer steps. “I do not believe I have gotten a chance to congratulate you properly on your win.”
The Lannisters just need a night or two to bubble over, perhaps, before things return to normal. Kellyn’s dance skills are well masked by the fact that she really doesn’t have to do anything more than hold on at the moment. His words brighten her cheeks, but only wides her grin. Their passage shows her a whirl of colors, of Jewel and Rose and Carmella, and she starts to call out a greeting, “Good eve -Eee!” A quick veer and they are off again before she murmurs back to him.’
Kellyn whispers to Jonn, “I ... no ... ... ... ... watch us ...”
Carmella glances up at the cheerful greeting from Jyana and gives her best friend a warm smile. “You’re looking wonderful as ever, Jyana,” Carmella says, hoping that cheerful tone might help Reyna’s mood. Of course Jyana doesn’t arrive without some mystery of her own. “Token? Jyana, we said we were not giving anyone favors, who in the world was wearing a token of yours?” Carmella scolds Jyana but there’s no force behind it and since Carmella is smiling it makes the curses seem even less serious.
Marian’s height at least helps her with her new partner, permitting longer strides without loss of grace even when her new companion misjudges timing or distance. She murmurs quietly to him, perhaps continuing Ryssa’s gentle coaching.
“It wasn’t a favor,” Jyana says with a laugh. “It was a loan. And I -mean- to have it back or the man will face dire consequences. I just didn’t want him to catch a lance to the face with the way he was going on and on about thwarting those who opposed him.” She curls an arm around her friend, and murmurs something to her. Finally, she steps back, and she laughs. “And it worked better than I thought.”
Startled, Reyna looks around. “Oh, Jyana! You gave me a start.” She smiles a bit more cheerfully and pats Dagur’s abandoned chair.
Something the auburn-tressed Piper lady says to Almer in parting makes him laugh; he nods an acknowledgment to her, and then looks to the next lady in line. Ryssa speaks, and the knight smiles in answer. “You’re very kind, Lady Ryssa,” he says when they are near enough to exchange words. “And I congratulate you as well. Your father and brother both rode brilliantly.”
His steps are less sure than the practiced dancing of the diminutive lady, but he manages to compensate for his longer stride without too much trouble, though it is a near thing, once, when his toe almost catches the hem of her gown.
“Ha!” Black Jonn crows, laughing as he moves. Clearly something said to him was amusing, or perhaps he is still amused by the transitory nature of life. Who knows? Who cares! At least, that is what his entire attitude all but screams.
He stops and says, “Go on then, talk to your friends. One of them in particular looks a little green around the withers!” but not before whispering something to his wife. After all the talking is done, he is laughing once more as some of the Westermen make a highly colorful joke about his dancing ability. He retorts and the table of Westerlords dissolves into uproarious laughter.
Ammena finds herself opposite a plump squat older knight with a sweaty brow. Smiling gently she takes to step. The surprise on her face is unmistakable as the rather nimble fellow smoothly matches step for step to the Riverlander.
Jonn whispers to Kellyn.
“Thank you, my lord,” Ryssa says, her smile brightening. “I was - ” And then the dance takes her backwards, out of easy speaking range - but her skirt is nearly trapped. With a gesture swift enough to save it, but not quite graceful enough to pass as part of the dance, Ryssa snatches up her gown, sweeping it hastily out of the way. Her feet hardly miss a beat, though, and her smile is in place as firmly as ever when she steps back in to meet Almer again. “I was proud of their performance,” she finishes, just as smoothly as before. “And my father spoke well of yours, as well.”
At last it was the final contest, and due to his many challenges Ser Aemon was allowed to sit out the initial contests. Ser Bonifer faced Oakshanks, and was hammered from the saddle by such a blow that it is said ribs were seriously bruised, or perhaps even cracked. Ser Triston and Ser Janden traded courses, until at last Ser Janden had the better of his fellow valelord and pushed him to the ground. And Ser Aidan Dayne fought a close contest against the Bastard of Three Towers, ultimately defeating him.
When Oakshanks faced the Dragonknight, however, it proved a different story for him, and he was soon defeated. The Knight of the Twilight faced the bold Melcolm knight, who strived to at least match his performance on the first day, but nothing came of it as he was defeated. This left a last contest, between the Dornish jousting prodigy and the man considered by many to be the finest knight in the realm. Prince Aemon and Ser Aidan saluted one another before charging down the lists ... and they both unhorsed one another with the force of the blows!
There was a delay, as King Daeron and the herald hurriedly conversed, and then the herald called on the men to lay on with tourney blades to decide the outcome. They set to with great courage and prowess, but from Dayne’s tactics it was clear he doubted he could match Prince Aemon blow for blow. Instead, reversing his tactics from some tourneys before when he fought the Iron Serpent on foot, he forced the Dragonknight to chase him until he was near one of the barriers, and then lured him into flinging a decisive blow that ended with the tourney blade embedded in a barrier, the new wood and layers of whitewash sticking it fast. Ser Aidan flung away his shield and attempted to hammer the prince down as he struggled to remove the sword, but Aemon abandoned it and defended himself with his shield before the Dornishman’s withering, desperate attempt to take the victory.
One of the last contests of the day was for Ser Dagur Saltcliffe, who had been in fine form after overthrowing Ser Almer. But it was Ser Janden Melcolm who proved his undoing. The valeknight was not widely known, but had been the second place knight on the first day, and h e proved it was no fluke when he forced the Iron Serpent from the saddle and took the champion’s place. Ser Bonifer also faced a late challenger, Ser Eben Booling of the City Watch of King’s Landing, but had better luck holding the knight off, defeating him after a pair of courses.
And then shortly after, there were no more knights to challenge. No less than four knights had kept their places as champions throughout the day, and all of them fought at least ten challenges in the process, with some significantly more, such as the Dragonknight.
Carmella takes another drink of her wine (right after the Lannisters swing quickly by, oddly enough) and shakes her head at Jyana. “Just who did you give a secret…” ANd then there’s the whispering, cutting away all doubt. She looks up at Jyana and laughs, shaking her head. “I should have guessed,” she teases. “But yes, you must get that back from him and soon. Others could use your luck, I imagine.”
Other notable contests included Ser Gueren, who had ridden brilliantly up to that point, facing the famed Ser Roger Ryger, who managed to unseat the crownlands favorite and take his place. So, too, did Ser Almer fall to his rival, Ser DAGUR Saltcliffe. Balian Blackwood faced many challengers as well, the lone lance who was not a knight among the champions, and he acquitted himself well as he defeated Ser Benedict Rogers and several other notable knights before the Bastard of Three Towers, Ser Endran Flowers, knocked upon his shield and soon unhorsed him to take his place.
Prince Aemon the Dragonknight rode as brilliantly, all agreed, and had more luck, defeating among others Ser ANDERS Dondarrion—who gave the Dragonknight several hard-fought passes before succumbing—and Ser Ingram Swyft, called Bluespurs, the Knight of Cornfield. Ser Aidan rode well as well, though he received fewer challengers than some, perhaps because few would find any great honor in defeating a Dornishman. Yet Ser Ardon Tyrell discharged his oath to seek Ser Aidan out, and was driven from the saddle in the first past, which he appeared to accept with equanimity, and then not long ater Ser Kavan Paege the Young, tried his luck. In two courses, all the lances were broken, but Ser Aidan’s placement was the better and he forced Ser Kavan from his saddle.
Ser Endran did not rest on his laurels, nor did Ser Roger, as they fought a number of challengers. Some would say the Bastard of Three Towers had the harder contests, facing the likes of Ser Walder and Ser Halder Frey, the Twins of the Crossing, in succession and unhorsing them both in the first pass. The crowd cheered him on, as he seemed to be in the finest possible form. Then Lord Hugo Smallwood, known as Oakshanks for his size and might, came and challenged Ser Roger Ryger. After four courses with all but one lance shattered, the muscular Lord Smallwood hammered Ser Roger to the earth, and roared his victory as he took possession of the champion’s place.
Marian darts a cheerful glance across at Ryssa, trying to catch her friend’s eye to grin at her, before rather hastily refocusing her attention upon her earnest but slightly out of his depth partner.
It was his vigor that seemed like to prove his undoing. Hacking and slashing at the shield, at one point it split the shield part way down its length, and before he could withdraw it from the near-ruined shield, the Dragonknight gave a heave. The sword was ripped from the Knight of the Twilight’s hand, and Prince Aemon flung sword and shield both away. Then unarmed, for a moment they stared at one another ... and hunger for glory and victory, before took up the long narrow daggers at their belts, a standard part of a knights’ equipment which is rarely used on the tourney field and is thus never replaced with a blunted one. At that moment, the king’s voice roared out as he called for a halt. After further consultation with the herald and Prince Viserys, the king determined that both men had proved their prowess equally well, and if the gods could not decide between them with either lance or sword, it would be called a draw and they would share in the prize purse. Both knights agreed to the king’s decision, naming it just, and upheld the right of Daena to wear the crown of Queen of Love and Beauty. Such a contest, and such a result, was surpassingly strange, and few knew how to take it. Some thought the king was kind to the Dornishman, perhaps even favoring the man as some accused him of favoring the Dornishmen in general. Others merely thought it good sense, to stop the contest before blood would be spilled in their eagerness to gain renown. The original first prize was no less than twenty thousand dragons.
Kellyn finds herself somewhat wobbly on her feet when Jonn puts her down. She curtsies to the future Lord Lannister before stepping forward to murmur back. The words done, she sets her hand to her abdomen to catch her breath and then turns, strolling over towards the Tyrell gathering. “Miladies - how fare you? Lady Reyna, aren’t those brooches charming? What lovely thank yous from the Princess!” Her smile does manage to be a bit more subdued, but she shares it with Jyana and Carmella as well.
Kellyn whispers to Jonn, “... ... to ... ... ... ... behave!”
“I am but a tiny package full of surprises,” Jyana jests to the Rose. “I’m sorry for startling you, darling,” she says in apology soon after, pecking Reyna’s cheek gently in greeting and taking a seat. She takes another sip of her cup, and she looks over at Carmella with a hint of a wink. “Maybe I should loan it to you if it’s so lucky. Hello Kellyn, and yes indeed. Carmella and I had a lot of fun devising the game.” She greets Kellyn with a kiss on the cheek, surveying the dance floor. Her eyes widen. “Is that Almer -dancing-? I didn’t think he was the sort!”
Ammena, enjoying the turn with the older knight, smiles softly even as a bead of sweat hits her cheek. She momentarily blinks, but then is all smiles once more.
“Kellyn, how proud you and your family must be for Ser Jaesin,” Carmella says in way of greeting. She’s all smiles now, but perhaps the amount of wine she’s been consuming has something to do with that as well. “Please, come and…” Eyes go wide and her jaw drops to the floor as Jyana speaks. The Dondarrion nearly spills her wine as she leans over to whisper in Jyana’s ear, looking positively frantic while doing so.
Carmella whispers to Jyana, “... ... ... princess ... ... know it ...”
The Waters maiden’s courteous save makes Almer’s eyes widen in surprise, and he laughs at the near-disaster. “Well-done. Perhaps I need more practice,” he manages, amidst the swells and strains of the music. His brow slightly furrowed in concentration, the knight makes a false step or two, but does not embarrass himself completely.
Now Black Jonn ascends a chair in the midst of the Westerlords, and begins regaling the assemblage with tales of each. A Prester knight who was found ass-over-elbows with a Dornish camp-follower, only it was a man. A Crakehall knight, may the Stranger be kind to him, who… oh, surely, the tales will have an end soon?
It appears not, for soon the Westermen turn their assembled wit upon their once commander and future Warden. Whatever else might be said of Black Jonn, let no man say that he gives better than he takes—for he does both equally well.
“Yes, they are lovely,” Reyna says, smiling up at Kellyn. “I never expected to receive one, for I did what any one would do in the same situation. But such joy! Lady Kellyn, you must all be bursting with pride for Ser Jaesin. I know he had held very high hopes for it, and it must be sweet indeed to see them fulfilled.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Ryssa murmurs, flashing a quick smile back at Ser Almer. “It is entirely understandable if your time has been - ” and once again she steps back in time with the dance, this time more discreetly drawing her skirt along with her and out of the way of Almer’s feet - “put to other uses in recent days, other than practicing dancing.” The set ends, and Ryssa gives her partner a courteous nod, and one more smile, before she moves off to the end of the line.
Kellyn holds up a hand to Carmella and grins. “I had guessed,” she reminds the Dondarrion. “But I promise not to tell beyond these few ears.” She returns Jyana’s kiss on the cheek. But then she steps back so she can take all three of them in and converse more easily. It has been some while since the former tea party companions have gathered together. “I have said it before tonight. This day I have seen the face of joy. My goodbrother looked positively blessed in his happiness to be called to serve. He will bring only honor to the guard, and even if we must share him with six more brothers now - it is a small sacrifice for his happiness.”
She leans to Carmella, murmuring softly to her and looking apologetic. Jyana’s eyes are still on the dance floor, and she furrows her brows at her. And then down at her cup. That was odd. She wasn’t usually this careless. Was something bothering her? “Huh…” she says softly, tucking a lock of hair away and behind her ear. She looks a little preoccupied for the moment, though when Kellyn speaks on, she laughs. “Well certainly good cousin, you are one to be trusted with my own heart should I deign to give it.” She smiles and toys with her cup. “But it is wonderful for Jaesin. I remember he wasn’t certain where he was going, at first, but I’m glad he finally made a decision.”
Ser Bryon Waynwood, The Knight of Ironoaks and Ser Triston Templeton, the heir of Ninestars enter the hall, taking in the sight of the dancers before them. Ser Bryon wears a smile as wide as the sky as he nudges Ser Triston, pointing at some dancer or the other in the crowd. He notices Lady Ryssa and says a quick word to his friend before heading over to speak to her.
Marian nods polite thanks to her partner, then steps smoothly across to take her place opposite Almer. Even she has to lift her chin to meet his gaze, though she is a nearer match for his own height than any other lady present. “For someone who has had so many lances broken upon him, you move remarkably gracefully, Ser”, she says with a slight smile. “Perhaps there is some secret to avoiding injury that you might be induced to teach other entrants to the lists.”
Ryssa spins gracefully into her place for the next set of the dance - and when she turns around, Bryon is there. Her smile lights swiftly, and her cheeks, already pink from exertion, brighten a little more. “Ser Bryon - it is good to see you back at the feast.” She glances worriedly down at the ankle that had been bandaged after his fall a few days before, but does not miss a step in the rhythm of her own dance. The elderly knight who had found himself across from Ryssa for this round of the dance watches the interaction between the two young people, and lets out a tolerant sigh.
“Just don’t spend the /whole/ night talking to her, she’s had her time and tonight it’s my turn!” calls the Templeton to Waynwood. Some give the two knights sudden, strange looks, though Triston doesn’t notice.
With his unbandaged arm, he waves and smiles warmly in Ryssa’s direction. He turns away to find his own company.
Reyna sends a queer look at Carmella and Jyana, as if wondering what is going on between them, but she says nothing. Instead she sends a look to the dancers that is decidedly wistful—of all she has lost for herself, this is clearly the most missed. But she fixes the smile to her face and looks back at Kellyn again. “It was a very moving ritual. And now you will fill the place you have already held unofficially as the future Lady Lannister. I truly am happy for you.” And it seems she is entirely sincere.
As the music signals the end of the set, Ammena nods a quick curtsey to the old knight and steps to meet her next match… Eyes gently widen and she takes in her breath as she stands opposite a tall trim fellow with rather -dangerous- eyes. His smooth baritone vibrates in greeting as he oh so dashedly takes a bow. She curls the edges of her lips, looks down the list of dancers, and takes a step.
Carmella laughs a little and brushes a kiss to Jyana’s cheek to say that all is forgiven. She does not look prepared to stay mad at anyone for very long. “But Reyna, some might have simply kept it or sold it. Not everyone has your sense of right and wrong, but it did my heart good to see everything returned.” A steward passes and Carmella takes the opportunity to have some more wine. How many has that been now?
“My lady,” Almer replies to Marian, simply. “I suppose dancing is a bit like riding a horse,” he ventures, finding his tall partner somewhat easier to match steps with. “Once you learn, you never completely forget.” Even as he speaks, the naturally graceful knight missteps; he sighs, grey eyes losing some of their customary ice as he laughs.
He leaves off conversation, however, to concentrate on not embarrassing himself, save only to compliment the Stark lady’s appearance.
Kellyn finally manages to ditch some of the face stretching brightness of her grin as she watches Jyana’s expression, slowly becoming a bit more serious. She reaches out briefly, touching her arm once and giving a more temperate smile before lowering her hand again. “I have a fine example to live up to should the day come when I am called to that title, and I hope I shall perform my function well.” She allows the tiniest hint of nervousness to show, biting her lower lip once before grinning again, relaxing back into her natural giddiness for the evening.
Ser Bryon waves distractedly to his friend and bows low to Lady Ryssa. “May I?” he inquires of the aging knight. At the man’s nod, Ser Bryon gives the man a courteous “Thank you, ser.” and steps into the man’s place.
He takes his lady’s hand and leads her into the dance, as if he had always been her dance partner. “I hope you don’t mind dancing with a clumsy oaf like me. I will try to keep up.” He winks rakishly at Ryssa and begins a turn, showing a fair skill at dancing despite his wounded ankle.