(121-02-03) From the Sept to the Docks
From the Sept to the Docks
Summary: Kevyn and Keyte meet in the Sept. He offers to accompany her home and they end up on the docks (innocently!), where they encounter a Blackrood and Riverlander.
Date: 03/02/2014
Related: None

Starry Sept

The Starry Sept is the seat of the Faith of the Seven. The High Septon resides here, as do any number of clergy who study here or attend him and the faithful. Seven domes and seven towers make up the structure, all of them richly decorated with seven-pointed stars, carved or inlaid or painted, or in mosaics of tiles.

The largest dome, the worship area, is a heptagon like all the others, but much wider. The seven-pointed star is inlaid into the white marble floor in massive slices of highly polished semi-precious stones: amethyst and rosy quartz, jade and lapis, onyx, cat-eye and garnet. The soaring domed roof is painted a deep blue with glittering sparkles of mica mixed in, and hundreds of seven-pointed stars picked out in gold and silver leaf.

Each of the seven walls holds a statue, larger than life, of one of the gods. The Father, The Mother, The Warrior, The Maiden, The Smith, The Crone, The Stranger. They are painted wood, beautifully and realistically carved by artists of great skill. Their gowns and robes are leafed in gold and set with jewels, and their eyes are alabaster and jet, with irises of sapphire or emerald or deep brown citrine. The exception is The Stranger. His or her statue is plain, almost stylized, the face hooded and the robes painted glossy black with minute flecks of black dragonglass that make it glitter very faintly, like the most distant of stars.

There is an ornately carved and inlaid altar before each statue, for the faithful to pray, and light their candles.

The Starry Sept is quiet, but far from empty. Pilgrims and penitents from all over the city come to offer their prayers to the Seven, and today is no different. Kevyn is among them today. He's just shifted his way through the entrance. He tries to stride as quietly as possible, though he's only moderately successful. Though he's not a terribly bulky young man, he's not tiny either, and his footfalls make some noise on the floor of the hallowed place.

Lady Keyte's attendants have seen fit to wait at the door, themselves not as pious as the Tyrell. Not today, anyway. There are enough people bending knee to the Mother, Warrior and Father even today — some oddball is kneeling at the Stranger's altar, too. But it's from the feet of the Maiden that the dark-haired lady is distracted by Kevyn's footsteps, silky waves bouncing over her shoulders as she sneaks a look over her shoulder at the latest arrival.

Kevyn has no attendants, though his clothing suggests some attachment to nobility. And he wears the colors of House Cockshaw, if one looks for things like that. It's the Mother he approaches, though he stops when he sees Keyte looking his way. And flushes, stopping for a moment. He then remembers to bow, which he does with some degree of competence. Even if it's the awkward kind of competence. "Sorry to disturb you, my Lady."

Keyte, on her knees still with her hands clasped in prayer as she gawps at Kevyn, breaks into an easy smile. She's probably identifiable as a Tyrell by the colour and cut of her dress, her spine on show beneath a gown that's cut high at the front, low at the back. "It's quite alright," she practically whispers, darting a quick look about before admitting in an even more hushed tone: "I'm not quite sure what to pray for." That said, she sweeps up to her feet quickly, hanging an admiring glance on the candle she's just lit. "Aren't they pretty? — The monuments, that is. I suppose the candles are pretty too."

"Why have you come here, my Lady, if you don't know what to pray for?" Kevyn asks as he straightens. "If…if you don't mind my asing." His hazel eyes give a long, thoughtful look around the the little lights in front of the grand statues. "Aye, my Lady. They're very fine. Save that one." He sneaks a look toward the Stranger, then quickly looks away when he catches sight of the oddball. "I…I wonder what the fellow over there came to pray for."

"All good ladies come to the Sept on occasion," Keyte responds, looking mildly affronted in a joking sort of way. She can't help but to grin. "I thought to light a candle and see if something came to me, my lord." She shrugs, because: nothing did. Her gaze naturally follows Kevyn's about, and her shoulders twitch again as she switches her attention swiftly from oddball to lord once more. "Gracious, who knows. Do you think he's someone sinister? Maybe praying for his enemies." She seems amused by the prospect of such scandal.

"Of-Of course they do, my Lady, I didn't mean…" Kevyn stutters a hasty apology before he realizes she's joking. He clears his throat, to regain some non-stuttering ability, before he replies about the oddball. He voice drops before doing so. "Sinister? Perhaps, my lady. I can't imagine any wholesome soul would have words to exchange with the Stranger." The idea of this possibly sinister force seems to unsettle him. "Are your guards nearby? I could escort you through your prayers, if you like."

There's a tinkle of laughter held behind her lips pressed tightly together, as Kevyn stutters and Keyte attempts not to disturb the whole Sept with her mirth. Oops. "How ghastly," she murmurs, of master oddball and his less-than-wholesome soul. She tilts her head to gesture, unflinching as she informs, "They're by the door, with my maids. I should be most delighted for your escort, my lord of…" Eyes narrow. "Cockshaw, is it? How kind you are."

"Cockshaw, my Lady, aye." Kevyn straightens his posture a notch as he's recognized. Sort of. "I am Lord Kevyn Cockshaw. Son of Ser Henrik Cockshaw." His father is not important in any way within the family, so Keyte has probably never heard of him. "And may I ask your name? You have the look of a Tyrell. If…if you don't mind my saying."

Nevertheless, she pretends she has with the loft of brows in recognition and a sharp breath in. (She probably hasn't.) "Oh, my pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord Kevyn of Cockshaw. I am the Lady Keyte of House Tyrell." Within the sept, she deems it safe enough to offer her hand to the lord palm-down, dipping the tiniest of curtsies to punctuate their pleasantries.

Kevyn takes Keyte's hand she curtsies, holding it politely until she's risen again. "A pleasure, my Lady Tyrell. Your family seems to rule most kindly over this land. I met your cousin, Lord Garvin, the last evening at a local establishment. He was good enough to let me share his table and a tankard, before I had to return to my Ser." He adds, "I am squired to my cousin, Ser Viggo Cockshaw. He hopes to earn his fortune in Oldtown, and I shall aid him in it."

"Ah," says Keyte, taking her hand back and burying both of them in her skirts for a girlish swish. "My fair cous is so generous, is he not? A sweet soul, indeed. How fortunate for you to make his acquaintance." She takes a step back from the Maiden's monument, smile dimpling. "My, that sounds ever so dashing and daring, my lord. Is your knight here to tourney?"

"He is, my Lady. He seems to have taken on some poor smallfolk lad who's not quite right in the head, which shows great charity." Kevyn follows her to stand before the Maiden. He stands, head bowed respectfully, though he offers no prayers to this one. "He will certainly be in the tilt, my Lady. He wouldn't miss it, and shall do House Cockshaw proud. I…I have not yet earned my spurs, so I shall likely not ride this time, but I'm looking forward to seeing it."

"He sounds a very gracious man," Keyte observes, then bows her her head in silence for a brief moment. Only a brief one. "Oh, but you'll be able to watch the sporting, my lord? When your Ser isn't in need of of you, of course."

Kevyn wanders over to the statue of the Mother while Keyte bows her head to the Maiden. Here he kneels, and lights a candle. He doesn't linger long, but he's not quite done when her attention is back on him. He looks up and over his shoulder. "Hmm? Oh. Yes, my Lady. I'm sure I'll get to watch much. My Ser expects me to learn to be a proper knight from such things." He sounds ambivalent about that prospect.

Keyte probably isn't oblivious to the fact that she's interrupting, but she doesn't seem to much care. She toddles over to stand behind Kevyn, giving the appearance of piety by bowing her head whilst she continues to chatter in her hushed sept tones. "You don't sound particularly enthusiastic, my lord," she whispers with a crease on her brow, leaning in a little as though sharing in a secret.

Kevyn quickly shakes his head as he rises to his feet again. "No, my Lady. To be a knight is a fine, high calling, and it honors me to serve my family in it." A pause, and he has to add, "Was my brother who had the true skill for it but…the Seven didn't will it. And there's a duty to be done."

Her forehead uncreasing, Keyte smiles gently, head tilting with some sort of sympathy given the squire's last admission. She snakes a hand out to brush a friendly (and slightly overfamiliar) pat at Kevyn's shoulder. "I am certain you will make a most admirable knight, my lord. Perhaps sometime you ought to join us at the Garden Isle, if I may be so bold? There are so many of us inclined to indulge in the less sporting pursuits, and my fair cous has taken in the most entertaining foreigner for a retainer. She bakes such wonderful cake."


The docks are lined with a vast array of wood-and-stone piers, cranes, and winches dedicated to the unloading and loading of cargo and passengers alike. Here, Oldtown's life-blood of food, medicine, and other necessary goods are brought into the city in large quantities, from every kind of ship imaginable.

Day and night, the docks are abuzz with activity, packed with throngs of stevedores, sailors, passengers, rivermen, fishermen, peddlers, and the veritable fleet of ships arriving and departing. There is a distinct smell of salt, rotting timbers, and fish here.

Oldtown's mighty fleet of warships sit at anchor here, some leaving, or arriving, from patrol duties. They announce their presence with the clamor of sailors' voices aboard, and the deep throb of the drum beating time for the oarsmen aboard.

Kevyn offered to help escort Keyte home after they left the Sept. Not that her guards aren't more qualified for that sort of thing. Still, he seems a well-meaning lad. He follows along with her retinue, trying not to gawk too much at the ships on the docks. But he does gawk a little. He's plainly a stranger to the city, and still soaking it in.

It's the scenic route home, really, walking the opposite way to where she's supposed to be going, but being out and about has never bothered Keyte. "Isn't it a splendid sight," she gushes enthusiastically, mostly to Kevyn, though her handmaid bobs a nod to agree. "Too bad it smells like fish. Oh, look at the sails on that one!"

No stranger to boats, or the sort-it should be of no surprise that with the various taverns and bawdy houses that line the docks with arms open-that all manner of characters wouldn't be trolling around here. As it is, as the young couple continues their ambling-from one of the doors a knight clad in blacks and greens comes spilling out into the street. One hand is raised before he is waving off something that was on his cloak "Bloody fuck.." murmured or slurred through lips as he rights himself.

Ser Quillian doesn't notice the pair just yet, instead he is checking his coin purse and grunting as belt is adjusted and sword griped for a bit of familiarity.

"It's quite grand, my Lady," Kevyn says, unable to keep from grinning as he looks out on the water, to the ship Keyte indicated. "I've sailed very little, but I'll admit I'd like to see what's beyond the Narrow Sea one day. The Free Cities and the like. Have you ever sailed to…?" He trails off as he hears Quillian, and turns his gawking in that direction.

"Oh, that sounds like a grand adventure," Keyte agrees, a little spring in her step to match her grin. "I've never sailed, no. I'd love to, though! On a grand ship, like that one, perhaps." She'll take the opportunity as the Cockshaw squire cuts his sentence to babble on herself, before following his gaze over toward… "Oh, my."

There's a glance back in the direction of the gawking young man. A look to the Tavern as if he is trying to figure his destination, before he is back to eyeing the squire in return. Squaring his shoulders the knight begins now in earnest towards to the couple, his hand sliding to the hilt of his sword. As he comes closer, the gait which could have been described as a cock sure swagger can easily see it has the fuel of wine or something else behind it. Though, graceful as he is, the knight is not staggering over himself.

"Something wrong with your eyes lad? Or your slack jaw?" Yokel is held back as eyes go to the lass that Kevyn is moving along-and there is but a brief pause as Quill squints in recognition. Given his cups and the amount he is in, the name is stuck somewhere along the back of his cranium.

"Umm…" is Kevyn's immediate response to Quill. Which doesn't exactly refute the 'slack jawed' accusation. "No. No, I'm not my….lord….?" He kind of draws it out like he's not at all sure it's the correct form of address. He's lacking in a sword of his own, which he suddenly seems very aware of.

It's quite alright, Keyte is good with names, and she latches onto Kevyn's arm in that overfamiliar way, calling to the drunken knight: "Aye, gentle cous! Mind your tongue for my escort, if you please, Ser. This is my charming and chivalrous lord Kevyn of House Cockshaw, squire to Ser Viggo." She flashes her best smile to the squire as she asides, "Some days I think I ought to have been born a herald, don't you agree? — And my lord, my gentle," Now that seems a stretch, and could be spoken in jest given her smirk, "Cousin, lord Ser Quillian, the Blackrood, of House Oakheart."

"Oh you caught a Cockshaw?" And there the knight seems to relax bait as he looks towards Kevyn, before he is giving a bit of a nod. Even as Keyte gives his full title, his smarmy assed smile doesn't creep away. Instead it almost seems to dull there, but remain none the less. A glance between the two before he offers his own bow of head in Kevyn's direction. "Well met young Cockshaw. I do not know your knight well-though I imagine we've run into one another at some point in time." Coughing lightly, Quillian seeks to clear his throat.

"Might I ask, dear Coz, why the good Kevyn here has brought you by the docks? As you can see it is clearly not for a lady of your character." Which would explain why he was prowling along here, as opposed being back with the other Tyrell sworn-and likely his poor wife.

Kevyn's turns very wide eyes to Keyte when she grabs his arm. Unsure how to respond to that, save with another "Umm…" The wide eyes blink back at Quill when she calls the drunkard 'cous.' "…your cousin?" He tries not to sound too surprised. It's not entirely successful. "It's…pardon me, my Lord. It's a pleasure. And I…I didn't bring her anywhere!" He is quite firm about this. "I offered to aid in seeing her home, though I can't say I know the city well, but I think we're headed in that direction more or less, and…" He rather fumbles for more words.

Keyte just laughs, less intimidated by her cousin than a) she well ought to be and b) than Kevyn apparently is. "My cousin," she confirms, untangling herself from the squire's arm. "I didn't catch him, my lord, I found him in the sept! We have guards and maids to accompany us, dear cous, and yet I do believe we're well and truly and thoroughly lost." And delighted to be so, in her case. "But aren't the ships magnificent! I was thinking perhaps to find a captain good enough to let me stow away, and sail all the way to Essos. My lord Kevyn thinks it a marvellous idea, what do you think?"

"Clearly." responds Quillian with an amused look before he is raising one hand and pointing a finger behind the two. "Tyrell quarters are in the other direction." Unless of course Keyte is staying elsewhere? He hasn't asked and likely has no need to. There's a brief glance back towards the ships, as shoulders roll. A push of air from nostrils and the Blackrood is focused back on Kevyn. "Oh tuck up boy, and find your balls. Where are you taking her-more or less?" An easy enough question. Luckily though for Kevyn Quillian adores his family (that's not dornish) And so as she untangles he moves to come closer.

"A sept in a queer place to be lost in, I will warrant you that." A chuckle before he is looking back to her minders for a moment. There's a turn back to the ships and he is offering his own snort. "Essos? My dear. I believe if you were to sail anywhere-go somewhere interesting." Which Essos is in a way. "Go to Bravos, or Maybe go see the Iron Islands..Remind you of the splendor you have here at home."

"I was following her," Kevyn mutters defensively when the word 'lost' is mentioned. "I'm lost everywhere in this city…And we didn't get lost in the Sept just…once we left it…" He frowns when told to 'tuck up.' Though he does try, making an attempt to stand up straighter. "Have you truly been to Bravos, my Lord? And the Iron Islands?" He sounds impressed, in spite of himself.

Dockside, a Tyrell, a Cockshaw and the Blackrood are to be found amongst the comers and goers, along with a small party of guards and maids. Keyte's jaw slacks open, and she stares for a moment, wide-eyed at Kevyn. "My lord blames me for our lostness? Oh, the slight!" Life might just be one big joke, to this lady Tyrell. She is laughing again, for sure. "Gentle cous, I fear I wouldn't fit in, in the Iron Islands. All that salt would ruin my slippers, aye. But the sailing, that I could bear. Perhaps I shall sail for sailing's sake."

There's another snort, before the knight is shaking his head. "No." Quillian responds with a look back to Kevyn. "I've seen enough Braavosi since being here though. I imagine it is a fine place." And there's a kiss of his teeth. "No, I have only been to Dorne my boy, if you count that wretched place part of our kingdom." A shrug before he is looking back to his Cousin, fringing back. "Aye, perhaps, but you could easily take the islands over with your sheer tenacity." And mirth. Quillian offers another grin before he is shaking his head. "Squire Kevyn, I pray you bring her home safe and sound. I'd hate to be roused to come looking for you-knowing how lost you get now."

"If this is what life in Braavos is like, buy me /passage/." There's a thick Riverlander wilt to the speech of one auburn-haired traveler in the Docks. As his bootsteps leave quiet thumps into the stone, Riderch's gaze at the Braavosi ship's interesting, err, carvings, clearly catch his eye. His hands dangle at his sides as he makes his way on. The man's gaze whips about the comings-and-goings of the docks.

"No no no…!" Kevyn says quickly. "I mean, I did offer to escort you, my Lady, so I did figure…but I wasn't blaming you." Except in the ways he was. "I don't suppose you know the way back to her manor, my Lord?" He sounds quite sheepish, but he clearly has to ask. At mention of Dorne, "My father's been over the border a fair few times, but I don't know that he's ever stayed long. He leads men to patrol is. Maintain it from whatever tricks the Dornish might want to try. Has spent most of his days there for many this last year." His eyes also wander back to the water, and the carvings on tat Braavosi ship that's attracted the stranger Riverlander's attention.

"Oh, Seven bless," gushes Keyte at Kevyn's response to her dramatics. She just can't stop giggling, save for to offer Quillian a briefly perplexed look. "That-a-ways, did you say, dear cous? Hmm. I was sure it were the other…" She gestures, of course, in quite a deliberate manner in the wrong direction.

"Keyte, my dear you are going to eat this poor boy alive. Or bring him to an early grave." It's then that the Knight steps over before he is reaching out to pound Kevyn in the shoulder with a cuffed fist. "Don't let her ride you like that. She will eat any advantage you give her." As for directions, there is a brief nod. "Aye, you go back the way you came and then go North from the Sept." he quickly replies.

There the Blackrood gives Keyte a look and chuckles. "Quite. Take care of him Coz..I sadly must be going.." The Riverlander does catch Quill's attention-briefly. "..I have some other places to waste coin at before I tumble home. Ta.." a wave of fingers and he is soon striding on.

"She's not…I was just…" Kevyn starts and stops saying various things, before thinking the better of it. "It was…umm…a pleasure to meet you, Ser Quillian." It seems the polite thing to say, and it wasn't exactly a displeasure. To Keyte he says, "Umm…you really should be getting home. Surely your guards know where it is?" He hopes.

"Oh. Don't mind — me." Riderch intones, wryly as he passes by the exchange, his arms hanging gently at his sides. "This entire city is one big trap for coin." Having offered his opinion where it wasn't requested, he tilts his head towards Quillian a moment, his pale eyes narrowing. "Hmmm."

"Nonsense, my lord of Cockshaw can't possibly find me anything less than captivating and pleasant company," Keyte insists to Quillian, seeing him off with the addition of, "Seven keep you, cous!" She turns, not that much turning is required, to raise a brow at Kevyn. "My apologies, my lord, I have kept you all this while and I am sure you've a thousand important things to do. We shall find our way, of course." In due time. For the nearby Riverlander, she lifts her chin, and echoes back to him in brighter tones: "Hmmm?"

"Not a thing. He just looked — familiar." The lean Riverlander notes, flashing his teeth quickly in the semblance of a grin. "Which is probably my mistake." He looks between the two. "Please, don't let me be interrupting your evening. I have some bad habits, you see."

"I don't, particularly," Kevyn admits under his breath, about his important things. He sketches a bow to the Riverlander. Though he says a bit stiffly, "The Lady is a Tyrell, my lord, and so has the look of the rulers of the realm. And who might you be? You don't sound a Reach man, if I may say."

Rhaen leaves, heading towards the Harbourfront [W].

"You don't find me captivating?" Keyte pouts, her shoulders drooping. "Well, never to be minding, a lady can't win every heart in the Kingdoms." She dismisses that business quickly enough, to enquire of Riderch, "Bad habits, you say?" Behind her, one of her guards steps up a little closer, though his hands remain by his side in a mostly non-threatening manner. The lady is rather oblivious to all that, though.

"To my detriment — no." Riderch's odd smile erupts on his face, with another quick flashing of teeth. "And even further to my detriment I have /yet/ to meet a Tyrell. If /you/ are the first, I suppose I am blessed." He whips his head about to study Keyte for a moment, bowing his head. He raises it a moment, studying the guards in her wake. "I am a supplicant to this place, so I suppose you will will be burdened with seeing more of me. I am Ser Riderch of House Blackwood, Heir to Raventree Hall. And whatever goes with /that/."

"No, I do very much, Lady Keyte, it's just…" Kevyn trails off and flushes, which seems to be his default mode much of the time. "…all I meant was I didn't have anything important to do…" Not that that sounds any better. He sighs, and turns to talk to the Riverlander. Which seems the best thing he can do right now. "Blackwood?" It takes Kevyn a beat to place the House's name, but he does it. "You're a Riverlander, then. You are far from home, my lord, if I may say. What brings you to the Reach?"

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord Ser of Blackwood!" Probably much to Kevyn's relief, Keyte leaves his poor bumbling compliments well enough alone to greet Riderch properly instead, offering her hand for him to take as she curtsies. "I am the Lady Keyte of House Tyrell, and this is the charming and chivalrous lord Kevyn of House Cockshaw."

"So I will avoid making a bloody /fool/ of myself then by admitting I am blessed by your presences." The wheels in Riderch's head are clearly turning here, as the man's lean face contorts into something resembling a more sincere smile. He takes the proferred hand and bows his head, before shifting to Kevyn. "And you as well, sir. I was merely checking the supply line out here as I'm — well, suffice to say I'm here for a trade agreement, but might stay for a few other things."

Kevyn inclines his head to Riderch, as he's already bowed. "Lord Kevyn Cockshaw, ser, as she says. My father's Ser Henrik Cockshaw." Most would not have heard of him. "I'm squired to my cousin, Ser Viggo. He's come to Oldtown for glory on the fields, and I with him." He nods along as the Riverlander speaks of trade agreements. Trying to look like he follows it all. Unclear if he actually does. "You'll find no finer market than the Reach in summer, then, if I may say. Welcome."

Keyte will have her hand back in short order, thank you, but she does bear a smile for Riderch's acceptance. She's such a funny thing. "Ser Viggo is going to ride in the tourney upcoming, Ser Riderch. Perhaps you ought to join him and tilt, if you're so inclined? And aye, welcome to the Reach!"

"I don't have a lot to prove." Riderch notes, with no shortage of wryness shading his tone. And whether or not he's heard of Kevyn's father or not, he nods to the man. "At least, not on the tourney field. But I am here, and so, duty takes me where it does — you know how it is." He says in a tone of exaggarated annoyance. "And thank you for the welcome, m'lady. I was saying I would rather be back home, but I am not sure I am so provincial anymore, all things considered. You will both be there, right?"

"I shall, my lord, I do think," Kevyn replies to Riderch. "Nothing wrong with going a bit far from home, to my mind. Walls close in sometimes." He shrugs. "And hard to trade if one never leaves their own spot, I suppose. Aye, as the lady says, welcome. Hope you find good fortune. I'd like to see what goods come from the Riverlands, myself."

"O-ho," retorts Keyte, to Riderch's wryness. Not a lot to prove, eh? "You are most welcome for the welcome, my lord, and now we find ourselves talking in circles. Such are pleasantries, I suppose! I should not miss this tourney for anything less than… sailing for sailing's sake, my lord. And that's about as likely as my missing the tourney, I should say." The trade doesn't seem to interest her as it does Lord Cockshaw, apparently.

"I hope I don't trade an ass for an oxen." Riderch's hand waves dismissively. "Beyond that, the things that go on in my little corner of the world probably wouldn't make a dent in the sensibilities of the Reach's finest." A bit of mulling there as he ponders that great Braavosi ship behind him. "And that is probably for the best. So I'm sure you'll be seeing me soon." He again nods towards one of Keyte's bodyguards in acknowledgement. It's a total 'I know you're here, you know I'm here, hey are you cool' gesture. "And with that, I have a very long night ahead of me before I can sleep. but I'll be present at court here." With that, the lanky Riverlander turns on his heel and parades off.

(feel free to tag the log with character names of those involved!)

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