(121-02-11) A Courteous Call
A Courteous Call
Summary: Amadys the Acolyte drops in on Lady Mormont, very casually, just before the dolphin procession begins elsewhere in the city. Eonn and Angharad loiter and flit, respectively.
Date: Date of play (11/02/2014)
Related: Only The Brave Deserve The Bear

Maera is standing near the open door to the Manse's gardens and eating a pear when a servant shows Amadys in. Maera will give the Acolyte a blank look before she sits down her pear on the table, and takes a step towards the man, "…My Lord Amadys." She looks uncertain, "What do we owe..ah, the pleasure?"

The young Baratheon acolyte is distinctly hesitant in his mien, too - and, furthermore, quite definitely sober. He makes an apologetic little inclination of the head, which somehow contrives to imply deeper respect than many a more sweeping bow. "My lady. What fine lodgings you have taken," he begins inconsequentially. "Was this house an offering of the Hightowers, or is it rented from some burgess? Most admirable, indeed." He is pacing in an obvious state of nerves, his long hands twiddling with each other, twisting alike his stag signet and his copper link, those contradictory hints of irreconcilable futures. "I do hope your sister is very well," he continues, not notably less lamely.

Eonn has just come out of the kitchen, with bread and two eggs. Whole eggs. He eats one, just popping it into his mouth. Crunch.

"I am far below the Hightower's notice, my Lord of Baratheon." Maera says smoothly as she sits down on the edge of her table, and picks up another piece of fruit from the bowl. This time it is a blood orange imported from Dorne. She begins to unpeel it with her fingers, and a bit of red juice runs out. She licks a finger before observing, "Won't you miss the Dolphin parade?"

If Amadys didn't look jumpy enough already, the advent of the mysterious Rills armsman seems to compound his state, so that he starts at nothing and at first just gasps, "Dolphins? …oh, …yes, that. Indeed. Well, ahm, I forget when that was due to commence, my lady, in truth. Are you interested in the spectacle yourself? I have been so dist…so hard at toil lately, that I confess it somewhat passed me by, but perhaps you would care for me to…accompany you thither?"

The whisper of silk and slippers on the stair signals Lady Angharad's arrival. She comes quickly down the stair, a little out of breath — perhaps in a hurry to greet the dolphins, herself. "Cous!" she cries, beaming at Maera and rushing over to the Mormont lady. "I'm going to — toss little fishes, I think, or whatever's festive. Do I look absolutely absurd? I feel naked." She has such a singular focus on eliciting Maera's opinion that everyone else is ignored for the moment.

Eonn leans against the frame to the kitchen door, eating a raw egg, shell and all. He swallows it and pops a second one into his mouth. Crunch.

"I had not planned on attending, I'm afraid." Maera finishes peeling the blood orange, and pulls the citrus fruit apart. She turns her head when Harry appears, and follows her cousin as she walks towards her. "You look lovely, cuz. I think if you put some flowers from the garden in your hair it would be a nice touch. You will go out on a boat with with Tyrell?" She smiles, and pops a segment of fruit into her mouth, chews, and regards Amadys again, "I'd offer you a glass of wine, but surely you don't want to miss the dolphins?"

Arrested in the midst of his inchoate and irrelevant prelude to conversation, Amadys finds himself looking about the room desperately…until his eyes find repose upon the newcomer. The dark-blue stare upon the second noblewoman's unpretentious, wholesome prettiness is open, friendly, and frankly admiring. "Lady Mormont. This fair maid is a kinswoman of yours? I should be honoured and grateful if you effected our introduction." For whatever reason, though, he appears to second Maera strongly on the matter of the procession.

"In truth, my lady, I have little relish for such a display if you do not. I have seen the interiors of many great fish, seen them leaping, too, in Shipbreaker Bay, and do not discern quite what can be so fascinating about some new variety of finned creature here in Oldtown. If I wanted to learn more, anyway, I'd converse with fishermen, not preened up knights-at-arms!"

Angharad swoops down on Maera and kisses both her cheeks. "Thank you! I needed the vote of confidence." She smooths a hand over the butterflies in her stomach. "Yes, I'll be out on a barge with the roses — and my lord thorn." She flashes a giddy smile. Then, looking around at the gentlemen, "Forgive me for banking my vanity then running away — but run I must!" She waves at Eonn — they've met, but — what is that he's eating? Her nose wrinkles a little. Yech. Then, blinking at Amadys, "Oh! My goodness — I'm Angharad. Harry. House Locke. Charmed and enchanted and late — so late! Goodbye!" She drops another curtsy, then flees like she's missing a glass slipper.

Eonn stays where he is. Having eaten his eggs, he moves on to the bread.

Eonn looks less shabby than usual, combed.

"Lady Angharad Locke, my cousin." Maera introduces Harry, and allow the kissing of the cheeks without actually returning it. "Angharad, this is Lord Amadys Baratheon. He is an Acolyte at the Citadel." Then Harry is gone, and she looks back to Amadys, "Well, I shall get you that cup of wine, then." She rises from the table, and pours wine into two goblets. "Is there any particular reason you've come? Or is this to be a social call?"

The young man's gaze absently follows the Locke maiden, as he mutters, equally vaguely and half under his breath, "Angharad Locke…where have I heard that name before…" Then he whirls round and snaps himself together, to attention. "Reason? My lady, I don't know what sort of life you lead…but I should imagine, since your sad losses, and the responsibilities that have fallen upon you…it is one perforce of far too much reason. Certainly, that can be said of an existence at the Citadel. So this eve…this visit…this place…this company…I have no reason. Certainly, I'd be grateful for a little wine, and mayhaps we might talk of this and that, even sing, perchance? I hear you have wild ballads indeed in your vast North."

Eonn smiles slightly at Maera, wise-eyed, and continues eating bread. He's not wearing his armour at the moment, though he has got his boots and swordbelt.

"Perhaps you have heard of her betrothal to Ser Laurent Tyrell?" Maera turns, and strides over to Amadys with both goblets in hand. She extends one for the maester-in-training to take. "Oh, you do not want to hear me sing, my Lord of Baratheon." She takes a swallow of her own wine, and motions towards the chairs in front of the empty hearth. "My sister Ulyka is the musical one, and I daresay you don't particularly care to see her."

"Ah." Amadys accepts the cup and drains off about half of it at once, "…that would be it. The one our…'acting' Voice of Oldtown…refers to as his 'Ser Leash'. Does this decision please your cousin?" he enquires with a small grin that at last reintroduces an element of his usual mischievousness. "As for your sister…" he joins his hostess, relaxing upon the seat beside her with a more lopsided smile, "…she's a true Mormont, and no mistake."

"That was an interesting choice for acting Lord of Oldtown, was it not?" Maera observes as she sits down in one of her chairs, and takes a little sip of her wine. "I do not think she minds. He is a Tyrell. It is a good match for her." She lets out an amused sound, "Aye, I suppose she is a True Mormont."

"No truer than you yourself, my lady," Amadys is quick to append. "The bear grows in many colours, runs in many gaits, lies in many dens. Variety, I should think, is as pleasing to she-bears as to mere women-folk." His light voice appears to be toying with the conceit in a frivolous spirit, yet his eyes remain bright with sincerity. "As for young Lord Garvin…he will need good counsellors, on a certain. Though I am obliged to obey my superiors all too often, in my hours of idleness I still have right of ingress to the Hightower. In such a strange circumstance as this…well, I shall look forward to exercising that right! You implied, my lady," he adds in a quieter, querulous tone, "that you have not visited within the Hightower, as yet? Surely that cannot be so. Your residence here has been long, and you are a ruling lady, none deny. Perhaps the highest Northern dignitary here, since Lord Stark seems to have taken ship for home."

Eonn stays silent, eating bread and watching. Just a guard, not really here. A too-casual guard.

"I have been to the Hightower." Maera says, ignoring Amadys' ramblings in regards to the nature of she-bears. "And spoken briefly to Lord Ormund. But, he is a busy man, and an important one considering his sister is Queen. Yet…yet Lord Garvin?" Her forehead scrunches slightly. "I assumed it would be Lord Ormund's younger brother who would handle such a responsibility. Still, the Hightowers are banner men to Tyrell, so it makes some sense."

"One of the more pliable of those climbing roses, I suspect," Amadys speculates with another judicious gulp of wine. "If you have any great desire to extract from the Voice of Oldtown, my lady, now would be, I fancy, the moment to ask it…though the gods only know…might be a taste of power could chance that sweet gambolling lad we thought we knew." He muses a space, and a few more gulps. "How did you find it, indeed, my lady? The taste of power? Is it all ashes and grief, or is there a certain bloody nourishment to it…?"

"I think rule will wear on Lord Garvin, and he shall drink and let his eyes linger where they ought not more often then he did before." Maera takes another small smallow from her goblet. "What power? I went and saw the man is all. You speak too readily in riddles, my Lord of Baratheon." She swirls her wine in the glass before looking at Amadys, "What can you tell me of Wylde?"

"I referred to your own inheritance, in such sad circumstances, my lady," Amadys explains with a solemnness that doesn't really suit him. Soon, though, he has disgarded it. "Wylde? You mean Ser Griff? He was a squire at Storm's End in my father's day. Brawny, boisterous, not unkind, nor, I should say, overintelligent. Why?" His own enquiry is unusually abrupt, even, maybe, just a little piqued.

Eonn smiles a little at that. He stays quiet. Then slips back into the kitchen.

"Ah. Well, I enjoy the freedom it affords me, but I would give that freedom up in an instant if it meant my brothers and father lived still." Maera listens to what Amadys says, and nods her head once to this. "The Wylde's in general, actually."

Though Amadys's mellow voice still does not sound entirely bereft of suspicion, he acquiesces to the question, "I see…House Wylde rules Rain House, my lady, across Shipbreaker Bay from Storm's End, and at the opposite edge of the Rainwood from Stonehelm, where I was fostered. I came to know the place fairly well when visiting my father, or returning thence; also Mistwood, Greenstone and Griffin's Roost. We always stayed clear of Crow's Nest; that's an inhospitable and unlucky place, rotten with madness and kinslaying. But the Wyldes never gave my father cause for complaint. As ever, I cannot speak for my…dear…brother!" He laughs with surprising easiness of manner for such a potentially serious topic. "Enough of Wyldes, my lady. It is good to be back at your side for this brief space, and let us speak of more amusing matters, over fresh goblets…"

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