(121-02-25) Wine and Pretty Fishies
Wine and Pretty Fishies
Summary: After the secret wedding, Garvin finds another cousin alone with a certain squire.
Date: Date of play (25 Feb 2014)
Related: …And a Feast to Come: http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:121-02-25-a-failure-to-elope

Garden Isle Manse

Here a grand manse stands on the center of a small island. Over a stone bridge wide enough for a vintner's wagon, a dark, two-story building rises, with two 60-foot-high towers at the northwest and southeast corners of the manor. High, arched windows have been secured with iron bars on the ground floor. Steps lead up to a small porch, guarded by two rampant griffins. Ten-foot-tall, five-foot-wide double doors of iron-banded oak provide entrance into the manse. In the center of each door is carved an enormous Tyrell rose, gilded and gleaming.

While the bridge connects to Sphinx Street, the front of the building faces Starry Street, giving a fine view of the domes and towers of the Starry Sept.

There's a pleasant walled garden in the back, viewed from the windows in the back wall. The upper stories have balconies to overlook it. Two centuries-old oaks dominate the area, their canopy offering shade, but there are also flowerbeds all around. Pansies of various colors dominate, but there are also marigolds, tulips, and of course, roses in white, red, and especially Tyrell gold.

It's one of those days that's both warm and off-and-on rainy, so there's a stickiness to the air in Oldtown. Kevyn's feeling it at present. He's sweating as he leads a patient, plodding old gray mare up the path toward the manse. On its back is a cask of what looks like spirits, and is marked with the name of a passing fine city brewer.

There are guards at the great, imposing double-doors, bound to the duty of gatekeeper. About half-way along, just on the manse side of the bridge's peak, there is a girl; her dark hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail, stray curls threatening to escape the long green ribbon that binds them near her nape. Her dress is a little simpler than usual, and she's with a fair-haired companion, both laughing as they lean over the edge of the bridge to gawp as the water of the Honeywine rushes past. "I saw it! There, did you see it!" Keyte's arm darts out to point.

Kevyn slows when he spots the guards, fumbling into his pockets with the hand that isn't holding the reins. He has something-or-other to present to them, and after some fishing manages to pluck out a piece of folded paper. It's when he's looking up that he spots Keyte, a wide smile spreading across his face. He raises a hand to wave. "Lady Keyte!" It's a bit more enthusiastic than is strictly dignified. He clears his throat and amends, "Uh, Lady Tyrell, that is. Hullo."

"It's not a dolphin," Keyte is telling this other girl, with a firm shake of her head. "I was bit by one, I'd know. Maybe it's —" She cuts herself off, head snapping around to the sound of a voice. "Kevyn!" Well, there's a slip. Not a beat later, she remembers herself, adding in a much more proper tone, "My lord. Good day!" Immediately, she's away from the wall of the bridge and approaching him and his horse. Curiosity is written plainly on her face as she peers at the mare, and the cask.

"Good day…err…Keyte," Kevyn echoes, apparently taking the familiarity as an excuse to slip himself. He tugs on the reins to hurry up to meet her. His horse snorts, but she's a steady, mild-mannered creature, and so doesn't bite him or anything to express her displeasure. She does plod along at roughly the same pace, though. As he's approaching he says, "Is Ser Quillian in residence here? My good Ser Viggo had asked a cask of good ale be delivered to him. To show merry feelings, even after my Ser beat him so handily in the swordplay contest." He says it with no small amount of pride.

There's that smile, large and warm. Keyte. She seems pleased! She eyes the mare warily as they approach, and the lady steps sidewards as she glances back over her shoulder toward the manse doors. "Oh, hmm. I've not… I don't think I've seen him yet today, but surely he will be about." When she turns her face back, she nods, bubbling enthusiasm. "Oh, t'were a fine thing, aye? I had to excuse myself from poor Lady Emilia's company for the moment, she must have been a-fire to see the Blackrood bested. Ser Viggo sports so well. You must be very pleased."

Kevyn's smile widens at the sight of Keyte's smile. He looks rather ridiculous, all in all. "Aye, I was very much. My brother had spoken of his prowess on the tourney field, in best of times, but I'd never witnessed it." He stands up a little taller and says, "He's teaching me the sword. Perhaps next year I'll compete myself." He tries to make that sound impressive. Mileage may vary on that. "Do you suppose I could leave it here? The cask, that is. My horse could use a rest, and some watering before we head back to the Quill and Tankard. If you'd be so kind."

"It was a fine thing, to see him best the lot," Keyte agrees, nodding again. She's still taking care to keep a healthy distance between the mare and herself. She does lift her brows, eyes widening obligingly at Kevyn's attempt to impress. Or maybe she's actually impressed. "Just next year? You must be a terribly quick learner," says she, admiringly, and adds, "Of course. Francys will see to him in the stables. Would you like to see the gardens?"

"I…umm…" Kevyn does not expand on how quickly he learns. "Yes!" The offer to see the gardens at least gives him an excuse not to answer. "Yes, my lady. I'm told the Tyrells keep one of the loveliest in the city. I thank you." He looks about for this Francys fellow, to hand his mare off to. He'll offer the paper as well. "Please see the Ser Quillian receives this. It comes with Ser Viggo's compliments."

This Francys fellow has a habit of just popping up when his name is called, it's very convenient. Perhaps the guards on the doors summonsed him, or Keyte's fair-haired companion. Either way, the lad sketches out a bow before accepting the horse's reins and that slip of paper, before leading her and her cargo off.

Keyte, meanwhile, her companion shadowing behind, latches onto Kevyn's arm once he's free, intending on leading (dragging) him straight through the manse. Through the doors, through the hall, weaving around the household's traffic as she chatters. "Oh yes," she gushes, on one of her favourite subjects. The gardens. "Just wait 'till you see! There are roses, so many roses, lilies and tulips and pansies, of course. And a pool, with colourful fishes just swimming around. They dart up close and stare at my feet when I dip them in, as if my toes were odd. My toes aren't odd, they're very pretty, as far as toes go. So I kick the fish." They deserve it, is the undercurrent of her tone.

Kevyn right beams when Keyte grabs his arm. Which momentarily dazes him, so he doesn't start walking right off, so she does have to drag him a couple steps. "Uh…whoa…err…sorry." He engages in some fumbly skipping, and gets into step next to her. "Fish? Oh. Fish sound lovely, my lady." He's enthusiastic about them, at least. "Have you lived here your whole life? In Oldtown, I mean. And, well, in this manse, I suppose."

Tug, tug. Keyte isn't shy about pulling Kevyn into step with her, that's for sure. It's not a quiet place, the Garden Isle, not in the daytime, at least. Several times their steps must halt as a maid scurries by, or a boy with a tray of this or that. She seems to have a knack for knowing when to pause, and it feels rather informal, the way that servants don't immediately scramble out of the way. "Oh no," says Keyte, with a firm shake of her head. "Not at all, no, no. We're so recently to Oldtown, it's why I'm always lost! We grew up in Highgarden. I do love it so, here in Oldtown, though. Don't you?"

Kevyn pauses occasionally to dip his head politely to a servant, so his pace is still kind of stop-and-drag by Keyte as she goes along. He lacks her grace with that sort of thing. "It's quite grand, my lady," he says, of Oldtown. "I've spent little time away from the Cockshaw lands, myself. I've never been to Highgarden, though my father and brother have. My brother's told me a little of it. He says it's a great city. Perhaps even greater than this, though I don't think I've asked him to compare."

"Oh, it's very grand," Keyte echoes, herself speaking of Highgarden and not Oldtown. "The walls are tiered, up and up and up," one hand still curled about Kevyn's arm, she gestures with her free one the scaling height of walls, "And there are fountains and greenery all over them. And music, music everywhere. And the fields of yellow, the roses what grow nearby, of course. But I never met a Shadowcat in Highgarden." That's another story she's itching to tell, apparently.

"Shadowcat?" This puzzles Kevyn. He's a very easy sort to ply with that kind of thing, when it comes to stories. "Do you mean a mountain cat, my lady? You shouldn't approach them, you know. Not without a brave swordsman at your side."

Keyte laughs, shaking her head. "Not a mountain cat, no. Have you seen one of those? Where? By Oldtown?" She is momentarily distracted by thoughts of hunting out mountain cats. What a grand (mis)adventure that would be. "Ah, but no. T'were a lady, or some sort of woman, person… thing. Gina spotted her first! Up on a rooftop."

Kevyn shakes his head. "Umm…no, I haven't, I admit. I've read about them, though. The tales from the Vale are full of them." He tries to move on quickly, lest she get disappointed about his lack of practical mountain cat experience. "A lady on a roof?" He laughs. "That does not sound like a lady, my lady. What was she doing up there? She didn't fall, I hope."

It is a little disappointing. Ever the optimist, Keyte shrugs it off with the vague notion that, "Perhaps we can go looking for one, sometime!" She untangles herself from Kevyn's arm as they approach the garden doors, intending to push them open her very self. "I think you're right, she was no lady! She had a hook to hoist herself up. All the way up, three stories or more! An urchin ran past and stole my precious beaded purse, and the Shadowcat leapt down and returned it while Orak was a-running after the little scamp. The Shadowcat, that's what she called herself. I wish I had a byname!"

"Perhaps we…! Umm…" Kevyn vacillates between how very inappropriate and dangerous that probably is, and the prospect of going off somewhere looking for 'shawdowcats' with the comely Tyrell. He shows a little disappointment when she untangles herself, but he moves in to see the gardens willingly enough. And her story really quite entertaining. "A hook?" His eyes widen at the idea. Both impressed and alarmed. "I hope you told the city watch. About the lad who stole from you, that is. And I hope you got it back. Your purse, I mean. She gave it back to you?" This sort of surprises him.

Far more dangerous than the lady realises, surely. But an adventure! She hauls open the doors with some effort, stepping out into the garden before Kevyn. "A hook!" Keyte is laughing as she repeats it, grabbing for Kevyn's hand to pull him along again. She's in a bit of a hurry now, wanting to skip over to the pool amidst the splendour; there really are flowers everywhere, and two large oak trees for shade, benches and other seating scattered about. There are towels, too, piled neatly to suggest that people swim in the three-foot-deep water that those fish reside in. "No, I didn't need a Watchman! I would have given him a coin, but Orak never caught him up. T'was only the purse I'd have missed. But yes! She just leapt right down, tossed it back at my feet, and hooked her way back up onto the roof. It was amazing."

Walled Garden - Garden Isle Manse

This large garden is a wonderland of splendor. Small trees and exotic flowers are in bloom, their aromas permeating the area. The entire garden is enclosed a high wall, covered in vines and ivy. There is an area where fresh herbs are growing, and another for roses of red, white, and of course, Tyrell gold. Other beds have daffodils, tulips, lilies, and pansies. Spread out and mingled amongst the rest of the plants are a variety of wildflowers. The two far corners are dominated by massive oak trees, which spread shade over the area. The luscious scents and beauty add to the natural feel of the atmosphere here.

Stone benches of polished marble surround a long pool, also of marble. There's a statue of a small dolphin above one end, spouting water from its snout. The pool isn't very deep, only about three feet, and small, colorful fish dart about playfully. Luxuriously soft towels are folded and placed on some of the benches. To one side is a lounging area, with outdoor furniture which comfortably seats six.

"How…" But Kevyn can find no better word than, "Amazing. Are you certain she wasn't…I mean…what honest sort of person would have reason to go about on rooftops with a hook?" Not long ago, Kevyn came by the manse with a cask of ale, to leave for Ser Quillian. But a servant has long ago taken care of seeing to that, so now he's wandering the garden with Keyte. She's just led him in, and is leading him over to have a look at the pool.

While the bride and groom head into the manse, Garvin enters the gardens through the postern gate nearest the stables, still flushed from the excitement of the wedding. One of the pages scurries at his heels, as there's been no sign of his squire (nor his valet, for that matter) in at least a week. "Wine," he tells the boy, waving him toward the kitchens, as he strides past flowerbeds and small fruit trees, making his way toward the pool in the garden's center.

"Oh, I don't think she's very honest at all," Keyte says airily, dragging Kevyn along by the hand. It seems to be a thing she quite enjoys doing. "But there was no harm done, aye? Poor Orak had no luck chasing down the ruffian, it must have been her roofclimbing that were trick. I wish I could climb a roof. Have you ever tried, Kevyn?" The look she turns on the Cockshaw squire is rather pleading. Please say you have. Out here in the garden, they must surely hear the procession arriving home, but Keyte seems more interested in the fish. "Look, see! I told you!"

Kevyn is quite enjoying being dragged around by the Tyrell woman, so it works. "Umm…yes, I suppose. No harm done. And it was very kind of her to help you with her…umm…hook." When she asks him if he's ever tried climbing like that, he briefly sputters, as if trying to think up something impressive on the spot. The sound of the procession, however, offers some distraction. "Are you expecting large company today?" Whether or not they are, here comes Garvin, with perhaps more information about what all that was. "My Lord Tyrell." He sketches a quick bow. Without letting go of Keyte's hand, or particularly noticing she's still holding it for dragging purposes.

Only when Kevyn greets him, does Keyte look away to the newly arrived. Perhaps she's used to comings and goings. Nevertheless, her smile is bright and sunny as she greets him, dragging Kevyn along in the middle of that bow. Sorry. "Garvin! Sweet cous, where have you been? I saw the largest fish out in the river just a moment ago. But it wasn't a dolphin. Have you seen our dear Blackrood about?"

Garvin stops in his tracks, the heavy simarre halfway off his shoulders, when he notices Keyte and the young Cockshaw squire. "Fish?" he says, head cocking to one side in confusion. "What sort of large fish, if not a dolphin? They're still here, aren't they? The dolphins, I mean. I've not seen them myself. Hello, Lord Cockshaw. Have you been protecting my sweet cousin from rogue dolphins again?" He grins, dropping the simarre onto a bench, as the page returns with a tray bearing a flagon and several goblets. "I've just come from the Starry Sept," Garvin goes on, taking one of the goblets. "Where Ser Thorn and his bethrothed were wed. It all happened so quickly, there was no time to alert anyone else."

"Hullo, my lord," Kevyn says politely to Garvin. "Lady Keyte was telling me about the fish in this garden. She says they're very large." That might have sounded a little weird. He clears his throat and moves on quickly. "The Starry Sept? Was there some grand service going on there today, or somesuch? I thought I heard…well, some sort of procession outside just now."

"No, colourful," Keyte corrects Kevyn patiently re: the fish, shaking her head. "The large fish are out in the river. Wait! What?! Wed?!" She drops the Cockshaw's hand abruptly to cover mouth agape in shock. "No. It can't be! Really and truly, cous? But what about… we didn't get to… oh, bother! Trust Laurent to be so rude. Where are they now? Is there to be a feast this eve?"

Garvin quirks a brow, looking into the pool. But then Keyte corrects Kevyn, and Garvin's smile returns. "They are colorful, aren't they? Like little flowers waving their delicate petals as they swim around." He sips his wine, as the page offers glasses to the other two. "Wed, indeed. Ser Laurent and Lady Angharad Tyrell, they are now. No feast tonight, there wasn't time to prepare one. Soon though, Laurent promised. I gave the happy couple the pair of snow-white palfreys I'd been saving for their wedding. They're upstairs now. No wait, I mean, the happy couple is upstairs now. The horses are in the stable. Wouldn't do to have it the other way 'round, would it?" He grins, taking another sip. "I suppose we could go upstairs and band on the door, shout encouragement, but somehow I doubt either of them need it."

"Oh. Right. Colorful." It's possible Kevyn wasn't listening in super close detail to Keyte's description of the fish inside her garden. He also looks quite surprised at this whole wedding thing, albeit less so than Keyte. "To the Northern lady, my lord? Locke. Well, congratulations, I should say. Was there…umm…I hope there's nothing the matter that caused the ceremony to be some…umm…abrupt."

Keyte blushes furiously at the suggestion of heading upstairs, quick to wave her hands to stay her cous. "Nonono," she flusters, palming at her cheeks. Kevyn's comments draw a wide-eyed stare from her, hands pressed to her chest, simply scandalized. "You don't think she's with child, do you?" She turns her horrified face on Garvin for some reassurance.

Garvin can't help but bark out a laugh, his eyes showing amusement. "Knowing our thorny cousin as I do," he says with a certain glee, "it's more likely they're both in a hurry to become with child, if you take my meaning." He winks and gives his brows a quick waggle, then gulps down more wine. "I'm just glad they were wed in the sept, like a proper couple, rather than in some dreary forest grove, surrounded by trees with leering faces carved into them." He shudders at the thought, looking Kevyn over again. "How have you been, lad? I don't know that I've had the chance to congratulate you on how well you did in the tirocinium. Second place, good show, lad."

"Umm…" Kevyn flushes at that suggestion from Keyte. "I'm…umm…sure…umm…she's…not…probably." That was pretty weak, though. He just seems reluctant to gossip about a lady being with such. He's clearly thinking it, though. He is glad to take the opportunity to move on, even if it is to the subject of the tirocinium. "Oh, um, thank you, my lord. I just got lucky in the lots, I figure. And ended up second to the Lady Mormont. And, umm…" He clears his throat. "…probably wasn't the best showing on the field that day, that match." Even if he seems loath to admit it in front of comely Keyte.

"Nonsense," Garvin says, waving his free hand dismissively. "You showed great courage and mettle that day. I've no doubt you'll be a knight before the year ends." He grins then, eyes lighting mischievously. "And then I suppose you'll begin thinking about taking a bride of your own. We'll all have to keep a close watch on our maiden cousins then, won't we?"

Kevyn is somewhat pumped up by that. "I don't know about that, my lord, but thank you for saying such. Maybe I shouldn't have yielded so quickly." He frowns. "Or yielded…differently. I don't know. I've never faced a woman in a fight like that before. What are you even supposed to do?" He's mildly scandalized, but mostly just very confused. As for taking a bride, he just flushes and shrugs and does not look at Keyte.

"Well, if you were me," Garvin says, waving his goblet-hand about, "you'd bleed. Quite a lot, actually." He grins then, shrugging one shoulder. "You yielded well enough. At least you didn't make a spectacle of yourself beforehand. I must say, I'm still a bit peeved that the judges let a lady enter in the first place. But to pair me with her at the first, that was simply insulting." He shrugs again, sipping some wine. "Ah well, it's all in the past now. Dwell not in the past, but look always toward the future, eh?"

Kevyn does frown at that. "It was a scandal, my lord, no question. It was chivalrous of you to show an easy hand with her." Because clearly that's the only reason Garvin lost. "Uh, aye, yes. The future." He seems happy enough not to discuss that particular fight anymore. "I was here to deliver a cask of ale from Ser Viggo to Ser Quillian. Ser Viggo beat him in the swordplay at the tourney, but wanted to assure they were still men who could drink together."

Garvin can't help but chuckle at Kevyn's words, nodding as he sips again. "That is the way of men, I suppose. One minute, they're beating one another's brains out with swords and axes, and the next, they're toasting one another with cups of warm ale and pinching the same wenches." He shakes his head, grinning still. "I understand Ser Griffyth Wylde bested my own Thorn, though I suspect there may have been some trickery involved. Laurent is an excellent swordsman, and Wylde…well, he is what he is." Garvin leaves it at that, biting back whatever he truly meant to say.

"T'were a spectacle, no doubt. And rotten luck, sweet cous," Keyte pipes up of Maera's swording, having apparently been shocked into quiet for a few moments. How about those fishes, huh? "Oh, but I'm sure there's no ill will, of course. Right, cous? The Blackrood's a soft heart, despite the rumours." As for the Wylde knight, she wrinkles her nose. "He is," she agrees firmly, looking to Kevyn for the same opinion.

Kevyn looks into the pool to try and see those fishes that there is such a fuss about. He even kneels, to get a better look at them. See how interested he is in your fish, Keyte? He frowns when Laurent's besting is mentioned. "We were all cheering for Ser Thorn, my lord, and I was quite sorry he didn't make it to the end. It would have been a fine match, him and Ser Viggo for the first place. Ser Viggo ended a up fighting the Riverlord, who was a better fighter than I'd have thought, I must say." The credit is given grudgingly, though. He's not Reach knight.

Garvin reaches up to remove his floppy hat, tossing his locks about a bit, then replacing the hat at a rouguish angle. "That is ever the problem with holding a tourney," he says mournfully. "Some upjumped knight from a distant land swoops in and steals the honors from the local lords. I must say, I was surprised the Maiden's Knight didn't make a better showing for himself. His valor is legendary, after all."

Admirably interested, Kevyn. Good job. Keyte rewards him with one of her winning smiles, and seats herself on the lip of the pool next to the squire, feet dangling. "It's funny how he wears the black about his eyes," she muses, watching the fishes dart about. "Mayhap Ser Daevon's a bit preoccupied? All the fuss with his sisters, after all. Ser Arros gave Kesha and I his flowers, when he won the jousting. Dornishmen are so strange." She's just gossiping idly along. "Kevyn, put your hand in, see if you catch one?"

"These are quite colorful, aren't they?" Kevyn notes. Apparently he accidentally is enjoying the fish. He sticks a finger into the water. Which they scatter from with a swishing of tails, of course. Looking back up he says, "The Maiden's Knight did grand in the joust. Even if he was…umm…well, there was that last tilt to the Dornishman." But he's reluctant to count that. Because, Dornish. He beams again when Keyte smiles at him. He's a simple enough lad for such things.

Garvin kneels beside the pool as well, holding his goblet to be refilled. "Ser Sand is…formidable, to be sure. Still, I'd rather have Ser Daevon win, or better yet, our own Ser Laurent. Ah well, there will be other tourneys. There always are and always will be." He grins, taking another sip of wine. "When is the feast to be, have either of you heard? I'm surprised Lord Hightower has not already announced it. The awards must be given to the victors, after all, and there's always a feast to end a tourney. I suppose this oversight is simply another example of lavish mismanagement on the acting Lord of Hightower." This causes him to giggle a bit, already feeling the effects of the strong Arbor wine.

Keyte flinches as the fish scatter, as if she hadn't expected it. She wrinkles her nose again, though that might be for Garvin's joke, which also prompts a snickering laugh from the lady. "I have not heard, no. I have purposely avoided attending the Lord Hightower's court, of late." Loyal, she is, speaking such with immense pride. "I shouldn't want to miss that feast, though. Unless it's been and gone and we simply weren't invited?" What scandal that would be!

Kevyn shakes his head. "I've not heard, my lord, though I expect Ser Viggo will get word when it's set. I'm sure he'd be invited. He's one of the victors." He sounds both surprised and glum about Keyte's tossed-off suggestion that it might've come and gone by them. He laughs at Garvin's joke about mismanagement, though it sounds a touch forced. "I've not met Ser Gwayne Hightower, though I saw him in the tournament. I think he lost in swordplay to the Ball bastard. Ser Wyl." He manages to say 'Ball bastard' with a straight face and everything.

Garvin's eyes flash at the mention of the Ball bastard, lips curling in a small grin. "Ah yes, Ser Wyl," he says, lowering his mirthful voice. "He of the sweaty Ball balls." This causes another fit of giggles. "He shared some mead with us after the grand melee. Quite a night, that was, what with Kai being arrested and all." He takes a long swallow of wine, then holds the goblet to be refilled once more. "I'm certain Ser Gwayne wouldn't be so bold as to forget to invite us. He is our banner man, after all. Our true and loyal banner man."

"Garvin!" Keyte squeaks, kicking her feet out in a flurry of cotton skirt. She's laughing along with him, though. "He's so tall," she says of the Ball bastard, disbelieving. "Nobody has any business being that tall." As the Pansy's goblet if refilled, she lifts a brow, and reaches out to snatch it away. "My turn," is the excuse! "Our true and loyal banner man, indeed." There may be a snort. It's not particularly ladylike.

Kevyn snorts a laugh. Teehee, sweaty balls. He looks puzzled, and curious, at mention of this Kai fellow, but doesn't ask. He's reluctant to ask about Keyte's snorting at the Hightowers, but that's the sort of gossip he can't really resist. "Have they troubled you much my lord, my lady? The Hightowers, that is. I've dealt with them little, as I said. Though I've a cousin in the City Watch, and she makes no complaints about them." Did he say she? He sort of mumbled it and maybe hopes no one will dwell.

Garvin huffs dramatically as his goblet is stolen, pouting out his lower lip, as the page offers him another. He offers one again to Kevyn as well. "Oh, no trouble," Garvin says with a playful grin, keeping the bitterness from his voice. "With poor Lord Ormund so deathly ill, it fell to me to sit on his little throne and listen to all those who would make petitions or complaints. A dreary business, that. Fortunately, Ser Gwayne was good enough to relieve me of that duty, after the matter of the oatcakes." He drinks deeply, a quick shiver running through him.

Keyte sips triumphantly from her pilfered goblet, offering it to Kevyn after. Communal cup. Sharing is caring. Etc, etc. She may look momentarily puzzled by the 'she', but glosses over it in favour of gossip. "He posted some dreadful notices about Garvin around the city," she informs the Cockshaw helpfully, unimpressed. "Never to be minding. You did a fine job, sweet cous, but better to be rid of that throne. It looked the most uncomfortable thing to sit upon!"

"Oatcakes?" Kevyn is puzzled by this. "The common folk seemed to like them." He takes the wine, drinks, and passes it back to Garvin. He is maybe no helping Keyte's strategy. As for the notices he clears his throat uncomfortable. "I…err…read them, I think. But, aye, you've been kind enough to me since coming to town, my lord." And that's what matters, really. "And, aye, better to be rid of it. It seems a great bother."

Garvin waves away the goblet, as he already has another. "Oh, most uncomfortable," he agrees, nodding gravely. "And the duties were so dreadfully dreary, men droning on and on, wanting this or that." He shakes his head then, taking another sip of wine. "To think, some men spend their lives, dreaming of sitting on a throne, fighting wars and slaying men, all so they can end up bored to tears by everyone around them. Ser Gwayne is welcome to it. I'd rather be sitting in a tavern, surrounded by laughter and merriment and excellent Arbor wine." He raises his goblet then, grinning. "To the Redwynes! May there grapes ever prosper and their wines ever flow!"

"That's the spirit," Keyte tells Garvin with no small amount of fondness in her smile. Having no cup, she slaps her knees instead, echoing gaily, "To the Redwynes!" A moment is allowed for the toast to settle, before she's piping right back up. "My charming and chivalrous lord Kevyn thought we might try and hunt down a mountain cat outside of town, cous. Wouldn't that be a marvelous thing?"

"Uh, yes, my lord. To the Redwynes!" Kevyn toasts with the communal cup of wine, before passing it back to Keyte. And easing to his feet, from his kneeling position by the pool. "I should be getting back to Ser Viggo, but I thank you for allowing me to enjoy your garden. It's very lovely. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Lord Garvin. And you, Lady Keyte." He beams some more at the latter.

Garvin wrinkles his nose at Keyte, looking mildly horrified and disgusted. "A mountain cat?" he asks, paling just a bit. "Why in the seven hells would you want to hunt such a creature? Are there no foxes around Oldtown? They're much more pleasant, though I prefer ducks and quails." He pushes himself to his feet as well, giving Kevyn a small bow. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Kevyn. Know that you are always welcome here at Garden Isle. You're a delight to be around, and I know my sweet cousin enjoys your company quite a bit." He grins at this, tossing Keyte a quick wink.

"A mountain cat would be far more exciting than a fox, Garvin," Keyte chides, clicking her tongue to tsk. She slides off the edge of the pool to her feet, and tries her best not to sound over-eager as she agrees, "Yes, please do visit again!" She blushes brightly as she's winked at, catching only out of the corner of her eye. She's all smiles for you, Kevyn.

"Umm, I'll see you both later," Kevyn says with another bow, getting out of there before Keyte can explain where she got these ideas about mountain cats.

Garvin watches the young Cockshaw beat a hasty retreat, grinning still. "Nice lad," he says, taking another sip of wine. "Good looking, too. I can see why you fancy him. I'd think stalking him would be far more exciting than chasing after some viscious mountain cat."

Keyte almost sputters some protest, but Kevyn's so quickly gone it dies on her tongue before she spits it out. She glances shyly down to the communal cup she's been passed back, smiling to herself. "Aye, he's very nice." It's a mumble, before she lifts her head again, a-grin. "I like the way he looks at me," she admits, drowning such a forward thought with the rest of that Arbor in her cup.

Garvin continues grinning, as he sits on one of the benches and allows his goblet to be refilled once more. "I like the way he looks at you as well," he admits, then suddenly tries to sound stern and guardian-like. "Just be sure all he does is look. At least until your wedding night." He giggles then, unable to maintain the responsible adult facade.

"Garvin!" Keyte is smiling depsite herself as she finishes that last swallow, cheeks aflame. "I don't want to be married," she rushes to insist, shaking her head. "I just like the way he looks at me. — Well, so, a feast shall be afoot for the newlyweds, then? I'm so disappointed I wasn't there to see it, I shall be so cross if I don't get to dance at their wedding feast."

Garvin giggles a few more times, head shaking. "There'll be dancing and music and a feast of seven courses," he says, eyes sparkling. "We must remember to invite Ser Viggo and his pretty squire. I wouldn't mind a bit if Ser Viggo looked at me the way Kevyn looks at you." He blushes suddenly, eyes widening as he realizes what he's said.

Moving to perch back upon the lip of the pool, Keyte holds her goblet out to the page. Refill time. "We must," she agrees, with just a little nod. Her brows lift in response to her cousin's wide-eyed look, and Keyte's laughter bubbles over again. "Oh, Garvin," she giggles. "Of course, hmm? He's handsome, aye. In a different sort of way to Kevyn. Wasn't he fierce on the field, aye? Always in his cups, you'd get along famously. It's any wonder he could swing that sword at all."

Garvin lifts his goblet in a salute, grinning his goofy grin. "Fierce indeed, and handsome too. But then, all men look good when they're in their element, hacking and slashing and beating back the enemy. I'm surprised I've not seen him more often at the tavern. Where are they staying, the Cockshaws? They're our banner men as well, we should have room for them here. I'm thinking, since Laurent and Lady Harry are wed now, I should open the third storey and give them one of the larger suites. There's a solar up there as well, I seem to recall, though it's not been used in years."

"Oh," Keyte hums, her brow creasing in thought. "The Quill, perhaps? I'm not entirely sure, it's… not a thing that comes up in conversation." Who has time to ask 'where are you staying' in between dolphin and mountain cat stories? "It's — ah. They will live here, as wed, then? If the lady is with child, she might rather be with her cousins." Her shoulders droop, clearly not fond of that idea.

Garvin frowns a bit at the idea as well. "Surely you don't think our dear goodcousin would allow herself to become with child before their wedding," he says, not quite believing the words himself. "But yes, of course, they'll live here. She's a Tyrell now, not a Locke or Mormont or Stark, or any other Northern name. This is where Tyrells live in Oldtown, has been for a hundred years or more. Where else would they live?" He drinks again, frowning still at the thought of Laurent being a father so soon.

"I hope not," says Keyte, sounding very worried. "But people will talk, their wedding having come and gone so quickly, and without fuss. It is rather odd, don't you think?" She pauses to ponder it, taking a sip of wine and then shaking her head to reassure. "Of course, we know Laurent, so ill-mannered and uncaring for the proper way of things. I'm sure it's just his… well, it's just him."

Garvin drains his goblet, then holds it out again for a refill. "It's just him," he agrees, words a bit slurred. "The thorny horn…no, the horny Thorn. Yes, that's it. If you ask me, that's why they were married so soon: Laurent couldn't wait any longer to bed his bride." He waves his goblet, eyes narrowed. "That is what love will get you, Cousin. Flashing eyes and a coy smile, maybe a hint of ankle now and then, and men will fall all over themselves to wed you. That is how men are, you see. Ruled by their…swords."

"Well I shall keep my ankles hid then," Keyte declares, lifting her cup to toast to that. "Katya was wed, and look how that turned out. I shall simply be a Tyrell forever, and keep my eyes down, and my cup full! — Or, empty. Keep it full? Or empty? I'm not sure which is better. One means you've a cup full of wine, the other a bellyful, I suppose."

Garvin can't help but giggle again, raising his goblet. "I prefer both to be full," he says gleefully, swallowing some more wine. "Poor Katya though, widowed so young. We really should set about finding her a new husband, don't you think?" His eyes go distant for a long moment. "I say, wasn't there some gossip about her late Lord Ball and Ser Viggo Cockshaw? It seems to me they were all very close, at one time. Perhaps he would consent to marry her?"

"Oh." Keyte is fair blinking now, glancing between her cup and Garvin's face with alarming speed. "Um. There were many rumours about Lord Brockholst's death. None of them kind. You ought to ask Katya before you say anything to the Ser, she might not want another husband, aye?" She shifts, wriggling in her place. Clearly a little uncomfortable talking about it.

Garvin gives his eyes a roll, waving his free hand dismissively. "Well, of course she wants a husband. What lady doesn't? Ser Viggo is handsome and brave, and the Cockshaws are loyal banner men. She could do worse, but I doubt she'd do much better. I'd give him a tumble or three myself, if I were a blushing maiden. And even if I weren't." Another bout of giggles, followed by another gulp of wine.

She can't help but to laugh again, her expression softening as the sound escapes her. "Oh, Garvin," sighs Keyte, all affection and warmth. Again, she pushes up from the pool's edge, coming to her feet. "Let's go inside and find something to eat, hmm? Come on." She'll lead the way.

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