(121-02-20) Unexpected
Summary: Mariya is arriving and Osric is greeting and Riderch is trading and Trystan is trading and Elys is… I'm not sure what Elys is doing.
Date: Date of play (20/02/2014)
Related: None?

Docks, Oldtown

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.

In the late afternoon, Ser Osric Dayne waits by the docks. A handful of workers accompany the knight, as well as a pair of carts. He is conspicuous, in burnished mail overlaid with a tabard in the vivid purple of House Dayne, bearing his purple arms. The hilt of a greatsword shows over his left shoulder, further testament to his identity. He paces slowly as the boarding plank is slid into place, unable to completely mask his eagerness to greet those on the ship.

On the deck of the ship sits many large trunks, barrels and cases. Those are probably not the cargo that Osric is waiting for so anxiously. Once the plank is down, however, the passengers start to disembark. The first ones down the plank is a dark haired woman carrying a young child. Her eyes don't scan the docks or her surroundings. Instead, they lock on to Ser Osric, quickly closing the gap between them with a wide smile. "Hello husband," she greets warmly. The child in her arms wriggles with excitement, arms searching for the Sword of the Morning.

Shortly off the boat after Ellia is Mariya, grasping onto the hand of a six year old to make sure the child doesn't fall into the water. Unlike her elder sister, she is gazing about every which way in order to take it all in. In fact, her excited and curious expression matches her charge's almost identically.

Once his family starts toward the dock, Osric moves to meet them. He stops a few short steps from the foot of the plank to let them stand clear of the foot traffic, and his violet eyes are lit with joy at the sight of them. "You're well," he tells his wife, as if she may not have known. "All of you," he adds, looking from Ellia and the babe in her arms to Mariya, and the young boy at her side. "Well." He reaches out quickly to take the squirming girl in his wife's arms, his calloused hands surprisingly gentle. "I've missed you." He lifts the girl above his head to stare at her, then tucks her comfortably close, cradled in one arm so that he can reach out to muss his son's hair. Then that free arm is offered his lady wife, and he turns to guide the small group away from the docks. "I trust the voyage was a smooth one?"

Supporting the young girl into Osric's arms, Ellia's smile widens to see her family reunited. "I've missed you, too. It was quite a smooth journey. Though, I must say, the trip seemed much shorter attempting to make sure no one fell into the sea, never to be heard from again."

Eyes still craned upward and about, Mariya absently replies, "It was not that bad. I helped."

Ellia's smile turns to a wry one. "It was not the babes I feared for," she confides to Osric.

Finally realizing that this is something like a family reunion and that the young boy is yanking at her hand, Mariya allows the child to slip away and run full tilt to grasp at his father's legs. She blinks, as if gathering her thoughts again and then smiles, almost bouncing on her toes. "Ser Osric! It's so good to see you! This place is amazing!"

Osric shares a knowing smile with his wife at the small jest, but manages to keep from laughing. "And you, My Lady," he replies with a nod of his head to Mariya. "I was pleased to hear that you would be accompanying us. I think Oldtown will suit you." His wife on one arm, a squirming babe in the other, Osric tries not to let his son entangle his legs as he continues to guide the small group toward the waiting carts. "The Princess Ashara Martell has asked that we join her household, here, and after some consideration I consented. In fact, Everett arrived slightly ahead of you. You'll find that many of our things are already there."

Ellia easily entwines her arm into Osric's. Now that they are together, she surveys the docks as the group continues their walk. Instead of the wonder and excitement, the elder Martell is more calculating, noting the differences and similarities to Dorne for later.

Before her sister can even remark on the decision, Mariya starts firing rapid fire questions at Osric. "That sounds wonderful! I like it here already. Is it a large household? Is it near the square? This is where the Maesters train, right? There must be a library - do you think it's open to visitors?" It's clear she's unable to contain her enthusiasm. Ellia gives him an apologetic smile.

Ser Osric Dayne strolls slowly through the commotion of several laborers unloading a ship of household goods. His lady wife is on one arm, and in the other arm he holds a squirming babe. There is a young boy underfoot, perhaps six hears old, and a pretty young woman walks along with the family. The Dornish knight's laugh is soft, indulgent, as he begins to answer his goodsister's questions. "The Princess' household is large," he concedes, "And has a library of its own. An impressive one. The Citadel, too, has a library of course." Guiding her gaze into the distance with a nod of his head he adds, "The Starry Sept is in Oldtown as well — a beautiful building, and heavy with history."

There's a bit of commotion and shouting on a mid-sized cargo ship that just recently moored along one of the docks normally used by visiting vessels. "No, you bloody walking pus-rag! If I hired you to think, I'd be just as stupid as you are." A coarse sailor's voice splutters as two hired hands awkwardly heft a large crate onto the pier. The ship bears a black-and-red standard. Following these two poor lads is a gruff sailor, who is apparently the source of said bollocking.

The sailor comes to a dead stop as two men, dressed obviously finer than their forebears stand on the dock and note the ongoing scene. One is a wiry man dressed in a red-and-black jack with a matching cloak. The other is a huge, shaven-headed bulk of a man who looks at the smaller one in askance. "Hmmm, M'lord. Do you suppose it's a bad time to —"

The smaller man, who may have been seen around town in recent days as a visiting lord from the Riverlands, waves a hand and immediately interjects. "Oh, come on, Tel. It's always a bad time. What did the Claw bring us today, hmm?" His expression is a bemused smirk at the two men hauling the huge crate and then hastily steps out of the way. "Oh, don't mind me."

Easily keeping pace with the rest of her family, Mariya goes back to greedily drinking in the sights. "There's a library?" The young woman's ears perk immediately. Ellia gives her husband an amused raised eyebrow as if to say, 'Good show, husband.' That will most likely be where Mariya will disappear for the next few days. "Do you think Ashara would mind if I borrowed some of the books? Is the Citadel library open? I know they have strange customs when it comes to women." It's possible that she didn't even hear about the Starry Sept, so occupied by the idea of the libraries is she. Curiously, she slows slightly to take in the commotion and shouting. It's all part of the local flavor and she's eager to be a part of it.

A young lord, his station easy to discern by the quality of his clothing, the sigil of House Banefort on his clothing, as well as the group of guards following him, comes to the docks, searching for anything that might interest him, coming in from elsewhere. When he sees the people of Dorne he smiles to them. Apparently, they interest him. But, when there's shouting and such about, he turns his attention to it, instead, waiting to see how it plays out.

Osric grins aside at his wife, seeming content to merely be in her presence. There's no need for words between them. "By her leave, I've already laid some aside for you, My Lady," the knight tells his young goodsister. "Grand Maester Kaeth's great work, the Lives of Four Kings, and two volumes by Grand Maester Munkun. I hope you'll enjoy them." His lips purse thoughtfully as he considers the Citadel, and he adds, "I'm not certain of the Citadel's lending rules, but I've no doubt that something can be arranged. Surely if nothing else, Everett-"

The sounds of sailors' voices went unnoticed, or at least unremarked, but when the coarse language catches Mariya's attention Osric lets his eyes wander that way as well. He slows as he hands the baby girl back to his lady wife, and pats his son on the back once his hands are free. "The children must be so very tired, Beloved. Gareth will see you home, if you'd like, while I stay and supervise the work here."

"Sorry, Ser. It seems that we had a little bit of a…/logistical/ issue. If you would like to inspect the contents yourself," the formerly foul-mouthed captain steps on to the edge of the vessel now and is suddenly rather abashed. Riderch, for his part, doesn't seem to have a care in the world. "No, no no, it's fine. I'm sure any mistakes that were made won't have a big impact. Now, if we could just take a peek, that would be —-" He doesn't even finish as he gestures to the deckhands to deposit the box at the very edge of the pier, towards the main thoroughfare. His big squire rolls his eyes and merely follows along, resigned to whatever banal misadventure his lord is dragging him into.

"Now — if we can just take a look," Riderch grabs a prybar from a rusty bucket of tools nearby and braces his boot against the huge crate rather inexpertly without asking for help — "Hrrm…I can think, Tel — a little help! F--—" His call for help to the squire is a little belated though, as the prybar slips out of his hand and goes spinning and flying in mid-air until it lands against a post with a huge, horrendous CLANG. Lord Blackwood is left standing here, looking rather sheepish. "I think it was a little greasy."

With an excited bounce, Mariya claps her hands together at the prospect of new books to read. "Thank you!" She'll be sure to thank her cousin when they find see each other as well.

Ellia nods to her husband, taking note of the babe starting to lean against Osric and flutter her eyes closed. Careful not to jostle the child much, she holds out her other hand for her son. "Yes, that might be best." Her gaze glances over toward the ruckus as the second reason as to why she and the children should move along.

"I'm going to stay with Ser Osric," Mariya tells her sister firmly. Ellia gives her an exasperated look. "It's just the docks! And I'm with the Sword of the Morning! There's nothing to be afr—" Then, the prybar slips and there's a loud, startling clang. The young Martell jumps with a yelp.

"Ser!" Osric's voice comes out perhaps more harshly than he attended, so it's with an apologetic mien that he makes his approach toward the Riverland lord. "Begging your pardon," he begins, calm but certainly firm in his tone, "But I hope you might ask your men to mind their tongues. My lady wife is unaccustomed to such coarse language, and my young goodsister's ears are innocent as well." His voice lowers as he draws nearer the small cluster of Riverlanders, though as he draws nearer he begins to keep a watchful eye on Mariya as well. The man is clearly protective of his goodsister.

Trystan smirks as the young Martell yelps, continuing to watch the scene play out before him. He leans on a post, simply observing the scene, finding the interaction between the Dornish and the people of the Riverlands to be intriguing.

This is why nobility has people to /do/ things for them. Sometimes a hands-on approach makes you look, well, less than noble. Too bad Riderch didn't take that lesson to heart. The look on his face only turns more, well, sheepish, as he momentarily looks back towards the captain of this ill-run vessel and says, boomingly, "You hear that, Captain — you've gone and half caused a diplomatic incident." There's a beat, as he turns to study Osric. "With a rather distinguished Knight, unless I'm mistaken." He notes, scoldingly, as his men scurry to continue to get the box open. Meanwhile, Riderch, to his credit, deftly lunges over to retrieve the lost prybar and then /bows/ towards the Dornish contingent. "But I digress. My apologies. And greater apologies to have flying — " he looks towards the prybar before chucking it gently in the bucket with a softer clang "tools in a place where they can cause harm. Had you or your wife, or your goodsister come to any harm I'd happily expose myself to harm myself in recompense." He hesitates a bit, looking back at the box. "Since nobody actually got harmed, I don't suppose I could display my deep regret with a gift?" There's something of a playful smile on his face, but the man is apparently — sincere.

Trusting her sister to be in good hands with her husband, Ellia departs with the children to settle in and rest from their long journey. She gives Mariya a warning and better behave look before departing.

Recovering from her startle, the youngest Martell gives a breathy and nervous laugh, as if to show that she really wasn't scared and how dare anyone think that! Though still obviously curious, she gives a glance around, noticing Trystan watching the scene before slowly approaching her goodbrother and the strange man.

Osric raises a hand, palm out, as he shakes his head at the offer of recompense. "None is necessary," Osric allows, pausing only briefly to look over Riderch and his companions before he adds, "Lord Blackwood. Your apologies are appreciated — the problem is entirely solved." He draws up before the Riverlander and his entourage, coming to a halt, and his expression is earnest. The matter is finished, in his mind. "Are you and yours just arriving in Oldtown as well, Ser?"

In response to this, Riderch having been thus identified lets his shoulders roll back a little as he adopts a more dignified pose and bows again in the departing younger Martell's faint direction. It's a good thing no gift is necessary, as the dockworkers behind him finally get the huge crate open and are greeted with an explosion of — well, feathers. Looks like they were used for packing. The men are noticably quiet here though, looking on warily as they scoop through the contents — looks like an assortment of bottles and dry goods.

"My father occasionally said that I was full of bad ideas, and I am relieved that not one of them involved challenging the Ser Osric Dayne with a prybar." A grin again, yes, he indeed has jokes. "Not exactly, Ser. My man Tel and I" He gestures towards the big squire who's not presently involved in manual labor "were coming down here to inspect a shipment that got delayed. Apparently there were extenuating circumstances for the delay. I hear there are /raiders/ at sea." 'Raiders' positively drips with malice. "I wanted to see to it myself, as mundane as it sounds."

Trystan smiles to the young Martell as she looks at him, then ends his leaning on the post and moves to get closer to the Dornish, intent on welcoming them to Oldtown. he always did like meeting people from other places, especially places as different from the Reach as Dorne!

Braids befitting a highborn lady have tamed Elys's rich auburn curls from her face, at odds with her roughspun-and-leather ensemble. She's wearing pants, of all things, laced and tucked into boots so heavy that her stomping can be heard for — well, not miles, but you get the picture. There's a sword belted most unladylike to her hips, and one hand rests lightly upon it as she strides along the docks with a crease on her brow. Her entourage are struggling to keep up.

Finally approaching Osric and Riderch, Mariya tilts her head when she hears the term 'Raiders.' It sounds like possibly part of some intriguing story. "Are raiders like smugglers and pirates?" She makes sure to stand behind the shoulder of Osric as she addresses Riderch, eyes wide with curiosity. As Trystan approaches, she attempts to make space for him in the small gathering. There are so many things happening at the docks, that she also watches Elys' approach, eyes flicking back and forth between all the people.

In a suit of burnished mail hung with a tabard in the vivid purple of House Dayne, Ser Osric stands next to his young goodsister Mariya, conversing with the obvious leader of a small contingent of Riverlanders. "If you're the same Lord of Blackwood as acquitted himself so well in the melee," the Dornish knight allows, with no hint of irony in his tone, "Then you may be a dangerous man indeed with that prybar." As he speaks, his violet eyes return to Mariya time and again, mindful of where she is and what she's doing. "Stay close, Goodsister," he tells her softly, finding her with his gaze. And then when she speaks, he nods his head to both Riderch and the approaching Trystan before announcing, "My Lords. My goodsister, the Princess Mariya of Dorne."

"I wasn't much compared to that Stormlord." Riderch notes, a wry edge to his voice. "Fighting three men at once nontheless. But yes, I am the —" There's a curious pause there, "Son of Lord Derfel Blackwood. And that was me there, side by side with Ser Laurent Tyrell." Catching Trystan's appearance, he arcs his head to one side in an unmistakable gesture of greeting. The introduction that Osric makes though snaps his attention back. "Princess! It is an honor and I'm sorry we didn't have our best foot forward today." He simply bows before the girl, again summoning a measure of cautious dignity reserved for people with famous names and probably lots of /power./

"But to answer your question — yes, raiders. Pirates. It comes from passing so close to the Iron Islands. Not exactly the sort of people you ever want to meet — ever." He pauses a beat as he strains, studying some random passers by with a slight arc of his brow, the random passers-by are maybe not so random — Elys and her group. His face wrinkles in an animated, suddenly surprised fashion. "And they aren't the only ones you'd wish to avoid."

Trystan returns the greeting to Riderch, then smiles and bows to all of the three gathered. "Trystan Banefort. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, m'lady." He smiles warmly to her in greeting. "It is not often that I am graced with the presence of the people of Dorne. Welcome to Oldtown."

Yes, Elys and her group. The other party of Riverlanders up in this. Surprise sweeps across the Bracken girl's features, plump lips almost pouting as her brows arch high. She sees you, son of Derfel Blackwood. Quickly putting to rest any thoughts of interrupting the Dornish Princess's introduction, she spins to face the harbour, feigning interest in the anchored ships as she pricks her ears. Juuuuust within earshot.

Mariya is, of course, mindful of Osric and gives him an absent nod at the mention of staying close. It doesn't look like she has any plans to give her goodbrother the slip and hide out at the docks. She's too curious about the goings on around Osric. At Riderch's bow, she makes an automatic curtsey - it's clear she's not even thinking about it as her mind is racing with the ideas of pirates and possibly pirate kings. "A pleasure, my lord. I doubt anyone could be on the wrong foot today. You were in a melee?" The young Dornishwoman certainly has a lot of questions.

At Trystan's approach, she curtseys again. All the bows and being called princess has brought about her more courteous side, giving her a slight shift away from starstruck teenager and more toward visiting lady. "Thank, Lord Banefort. I, myself, am rarely in the company of the lords and ladies of the north. However, I already love it here based solely on the word of my Goodbrother that there is a wonderful library that I may or may not be allowed to enter." She gives Osric a warm smile. For the moment, Elys and her group are forgotten with all the introductions and niceties to perform.

"One might think," Osric allows with a ghost of a frown, "That the more common trade routes could be kept free of such raiders. I'm glad your men came through it safely, Lord Blackwood." But when Mariya mentions him by title, his attention is drawn that way, and he nods his agreement. "The Citadel," he explains, looking from Riderch to Trystan and back. "Though I'm not certain of their lending policies. It is my hope that they can be persuaded to aid in the education of a Princess of Dorne."

"House Banefort. A pleasure." The Riverland lord makes a verbal note of Trystan there before addressing the Dornish again. "Yes, just this week. Better that than the joust. I'm more battlefield-trained. A melee's a different sort of affair." The less said about the joust with him, the better, considering his rather lame showing previous.

To Osric- "With a strong enough navy, they will always scurry to a dark place to hide. Like rats. Hiding in a horse-barn." There's a deliberate firmness to Riderch's choice of words there. "You know how tactics are though, Ser — an enemy you can't see always has the initial advantage. It pays to be prepared." Maybe he's not quite looking at the Dornish now, but again, at Elys' group. Oh, he is. Oh, wait, be polite, Ser. Be polite! Clearing his throat, he returns to the conversation at hand. "I'd always been curious about the Citadel. Maester Clellan probably saved me from a life of indolence when I was young."

Trystan smiles to Mariya. "Indeed. I'm certain they'd be more than happy to lend you some books. I have some in my own personal library as well. Perhaps I could lend some of my own books to you some time."

Over by the way, still just within earshot, Elys runs her tongue along her molar teeth, mouth quirking to show it. Perhaps she's listening? Her hand curls around the pommel of her sword, and she lifts her chin haughtily. "That didn't take long," she remarks aside to one of her attendants, rather more loudly than is necessary. They still don't seem in any hurry to approach.

"That sounds exciting! I'm sure you made a fine showing." Mariya is the type to think well of everyone, it seems. She has no knowledge of how Riderch performed and is quite willing to believe that he did splendidly and that the man is being modest. "I didn't hear of anything about Raider on our journey over," she says softly to Osric. At the mention of more books to borrow, she grins. "I'd incredibly grateful. My father used to tease me that I had read every book there was in Dorne and that there was nothing left to read. The very thought would make me cry."

Looking in Trystan's way, she notices a few of her trunks being moved off the docks. A smaller box on top teeters precariously before toppling to the ground. With a gasp, she quickly straightens. "Ser Osric, quick, my lute's in there!" This seems a horrible slight to the princess. "It was quite the pleasure to meet you both. I hope to see you again soon!" is her quick goodbye. With absent curtseys to those around her, she quickly tugs on her goodbrother's arm to help her retrieve her precious instrument before it is trampled or otherwise damaged.

"I'd imagine that would end badly. For /them/." Riderch's voice seems to be dripping with not-so-secret thoughts of doing horrible things to Ironborn pirates, but he tactfully omits the gory details. He looks at the boxes Mariya shows sudden concern over and shrugs a little at her and Osric and the Dornish party before he glances back over his shoulder at the box which has now been heavily unloaded by the men from the ship. There are chicken feathers everywhere. "Well, that went better than I expected." He says half to himself, and half to the Lord of House Banefort. Tapping his foot idly, he hesitates a bit, with another glance to his massive squire who seems a bit — tense. As does Riderch himself as he wheels about. "Been in the Reach long?"

Before Trystan can really have a chance to answer, the Blackwood lord glances off in the distance, again towards Elys. "Sorry, I think I think our supplies are a bit short. My /lady./ If you're here to buy."

Trystan goes to answer, then blinks ans turns to Elys. He raises an eyebrow at her, then shrugs, turning back to Riderch. "i've been here a good few months, now. Met my wife, built a home here, and now we are living here until the child comes."

Elys's head twists, whipping about to watch as Mariya squeaks about her luggage. Her attention lingers, the Bracken girl openly sizing up the remaining lords after the Dornish take their leave. When she moves, boots clomp and buckles jingle, and she bridges a few steps between herself, Trystan and Riderch. "Yes," she agrees with the latter, voice dripping with smug, "I should imagine they are, Ser." There's something in the emphasis on that title that isn't at all a nicety.

"Well, that's all right." Riderch notes as he bounds over towards the crate. "I suppose we can rustle up a chicken" Feathers fly everywhere. "Or —" reaching in to its contents, he pulls out a midnight blue woolen shawl. "Hrm. You know, it's not quite mourning-black, but it'll suffice, somewhat. Fitting, really." His voice is a bit icy here, as he turns to address the men on the ship. "Oh, the Dornish are gone, Captain, feel free to go back at ease." Turning back, he grins, impishly. After a moment's glance at Elys, while hefting the shawl, he glances again at Trystan. Clearly there's some kind of familiarity here between the auburn-haired lady and the Blackwood lord but nobody is elaborating.

"That's interesting. House Banefort — You're a Westerman, in the Reach, right?"

Trystan nods to the Blackwood lord. "That I am. A bit a ways away form Banefort, true, but I thought this would be a good place to actually get to know the other lords of the houses of Westeros, and not too many had really come to Banefort." He looks to Elys, nodding and bowing to her politely, but not saying anything to her.

"Oh," Elys's smile is tight, but it's there as she shakes her head at something the Blackwood knight says. "I'm not in mourning." It must be a taunt, the arc of just the one brow and skew of her mouth giving it away. She's not the kind to curtsy, but she does seem to latch on to the distraction that Trystan provides, bobbing her head in response to his bow. "I didn't mean any interruption, of course. Just… taking a stroll, seeing the sights. You know how it is."

"Hmm. There's an interesting idea." Riderch's sort of mercurial manner enables him to at least make an adequate attempt to balance two very different conversations with two (probably) very different sorts of people. "I suppose it is. My home's a bit out of the way. Although lately, like you just saw, I've seen almost as many Dornish as I have Reachmen here in the last month or so. I got sent here on business, you might say. It's good to get out, explore the world. I was half-expecting to get sent to the North, to be honest."

Tapping his foot, he still hefts the shawl, eyeing it in an idle manner. "Well, I suppose you're not, Lady Bracken. It's probably long past that point anyway. Anyway, I haven't seen you in a good while and at least you're looking well." Here, now he's being somewhat pleasant. Was that so hard?

"Mmm," Elys replies archly, "Long past." Aware that she's bordering on disrespect, the Bracken lady nevertheless makes no effort to feign an apology. "And you, Ser. Looking… well." The pleasantries do seem a little more strained, on her part. "Business brings you to the Reach, then?"

"I am sure you probably heard somewhere. This wasn't actually supposed to be my job, but — you know, grown men, grown men responsibilities." Riderch notes, in a lazy manner. "There's been a sharp increase in imported goods from places like the Reach in particular and we've decided to find ways to cut the price. As it turns out, so far Oldtown's taken well to Riverlands wool. No doubt you're here with something involving horses, Lady Elys?" It's the first time he's actually used her name. "I actually know a few men who are in the market."

He eyes Trystan, sidelong, to see if the Banefort Lord has anything to add, or (gods willing) cut the tension.

It doesn't take an archmaester to realize that Riderch, along with his squire, while a good bit outnumbered, is sizing up the men in Elys' entourage. And maybe there was a sidelong glance to the sword she was carrying too.

Trystan looks to Riderch. "I have been working to help set up more trade between the merchants who stop here and Banefort. Perhaps I could assist you with your work?" His own men seem to be sizing up the entourage of the two nobles of the Riverlands, not looking to be planning anything but just doing so out of boredom.

Oh, we are familiar now, are we? "Yes, I had heard, Lord Riderch." The way she spits his name in staccato syllables, it's just not… friendly, is it? Her men are all big enough, broad enough, armed well enough. Not the kind easily trifled with, but not the kind that might look so intimidating as to discourage said trifling with.

Elys makes a point of clearing her throat, trying to command the attention back to herself. "Oh do you, now. How very interesting." She doesn't seem overly keen to accept the Blackwood's help re: trade connections.

"Considering the proximity of the trade routes we've mapped out to the Westerlands, I think it was /very/ lucky I ran into you." Riderch notes hastily, maybe a bit too hastily, to Trystan. Some errant chicken feathers from he crate blow on the wind and one lands on the shoulder of his black cloak, there's a clasp shaped like a raven's head that unfortunately gets another feather stuck in it. He absently picks at it with his hand and tosses it in the air as it drifts nigh-weightlessly to the ground. Smirking a bit, he looks back at the aforementioned crate and claps his hands briefly. "Tel, Can you make sure there's a bottle of Stoneforest in there? Make sure there's enough for you too." He says to his hulking squire.

"I'm sure you're just dying to hear about my adventures. Lady." Now, to Elys. "Let me be clear about something. I have enough to occupy me here without upsetting the oxcart with troubles from back home that /some/ people are preoccupied with. I'm not looking for any quarrel with you, whatever history may suggest. I have a job to do."

Trystan nods to Riderch, then just looks between the two nobles. Such childish squabbling reminded him of the issue he has with another lady, one of the North, and makes him think.

Elys's eyes narrow, and she reflexively tightens her grip on the pommel of her sword as she steels her gaze on Riderch. A twitch of temper, mayhap? "Are you suggesting that I've nothing better to do than to pick a fight with you, Ser?" Her men make no such move, their eyes a-wander to avoid confrontation.

"Quite the contrary. You were a guest in my hall once and I thought highly of you. I wanted to address what they might say about /me/." Whoever 'they' are, Riderch notes, is accompanied by a dismissive swipe. "So here, take this. It's quite well-made and a gift." He hands over the shawl. His own hand strays from the sword at his side, shown to be visibly open. "If you will accept." He bows his head now, much like he did for the Dornish princess, which is silly really. Trystan got a sidelong glance there too in the process, but it's almost embarassed.

Trystan doesn't seem to react, save a very slight nod to Riderch.

She doesn't quite relax, taken aback at the Blackwood's response. Elys's chin tucks back toward her neck, and she frowns, glancing between the knight and the shawl, over to Trystan, back to the shawl, and to Riderch at last. "Is it poisoned?" As subtle as a punch in the face, is this Bracken. She doesn't seem willing to take the thing without reassurance.

"If it was, I'd already be afflicted myself." Riderch casually notes, with a little lopsided shrug. "I suppose I could try to breathe through it but that would be kind of uncouth and revolting."

Meanwhile, his squire produces several bottles of the aforementioned wine from the crate. The big man tucks them under his arm and puts them in a bucket. As he gets closer, the wind blows and the man's smell wafts on to the docks, it's a mixture of ale and rosewater (the latter is probably for coverup.). If he stays here any longer, Riderch's squire might develop a taste for perfume.

"Of course it's not. I wouldn't do such a thing. Not only is it dishonorable, it'd be tactically unsound. Two things I try to avoid." His grin is easy now, and a little goofy, but more or less genuine. He continues to hold the thing out — it really is a fine piece of weaving. Not fancy enough for a Targaryen of course, but there are no Targaryens here.

Trystan turns to the woman. "If it would help to put you at ease, I could put it on first to prove it's safe."

"Uncouth and revolting," Elys repeats, still eyeing Riderch warily. She clears her throat, and gestures one of her men to accept the shawl for her. Just in case. "Forgive my unease, Ser," she murmurs, still highly suspicious. "I'm sure you understand." It's not quite 'thankyou', but she's trying. Her attention flickers to Trystan at the man's offer, and finally, the Bracken woman cracks a smile. "Ah," she says, holding back a laugh. "It's — thankyou, but I'm… sure my lord Blackwood means me no ill. Very kind of you, though."

"I very much thought that myself." Riderch's interjection at the 'revolting' comment indicates wry amusment. And with that, he hands over the shawl to the Bracken retainer, who very much does not keel over from a horrible bout with an evenomed article of clothing. Relieving himself that light burden, he suddenly bursts out laughing at Trystan's offer. "I don't think it's really your color, but if you must…" Waving his hand dismissively now, he turns back towards Elys and his expression is more sober. "Oh, I understand completely. It's a small token, but I regrettably don't have an extra sword or something more fitting." He notes the blade strapped at the woman's side. "Indeed, that's the whole of it. Welcome to Oldtown, Lady Elys."

Trystan smiles, then looks to both of the Riverland nobles. "And allow me to welcome you both to Oldtown." He turns to Riderch. "If you wish, you can find my manse near Starry Street, and we can discuss how I may assist with your work there."

Elys takes a deep breath, switching her attention back to Riderch and… re-sizing up the man. "Unexpected," she comments, as her eyes flicker down and up. She's almost smiling, a dimple pressing one side of her face. "But… thankyou." The kindness has her off-kilter, it's clear, and as the Banefort continues, she mumbles a quick, "If you'll excuse me." The Brackens all make a hasty retreat, moving back toward the city, the lady fighting the urge to look over her shoulder.

"Thanks. Likewise, I can give you a few tips on how to deal with Lord Garvin on this matter — but I don't think you'll really need them. He's easy to impress with — facts." Riderch notes as an aside to Trystan. "And I would appreciate that. I'll bring the wine." He smiles a bit and gives the Western Lord a bow before returning his attention to Elys. He simply gives her an odd gesture, it's something of a salute. As one would a fellow warrior on the tourney grounds. Or maybe an opponent, it's hard to say.

Trystan smiles and nods. "I look forward to our meeting. For now, I must wish you good day." He bows to the lord, then makes his way off, his men following behind.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License