(121-03-03) Mormont-Wylde Betrothal Party
Mormont-Wylde Betrothal Party
Summary: Friends, family, and strangers gather to celebrate the future union of Lady Mormont and Ser Griffyth … but not everyone comes bearing well-wishes.
Date: 03/03/2014
Related: The Problem With Ironmen follows.
Players:
Maera..Griffyth..Eonn..Hellan..Leof..Daevon..Elys..Riderch..Laurent..Angharad..Kevyn..Garvin..Valnod..Abram..Quill..Emilia..Riker..Peri..

Terrace - Quill and Tankard

The Quill and Tankard's terrace occupies the area of of the little island that is not filled by the tall, timbered, southward-leaning building itself. There are ragged little stacks of stone sticking up from the Earth around the island's banks, the remains of a wall that once kept drunkards from falling into the river but has now been knocked down and robbed of its stones enough that it better serves to trip them and make sure that they fall headlong into the Honeywine instead of merely walking in. They are rather picturesque. Tall torches stand along the ruined wall. They're lit at night, and in foggy weather.

There's a single, ancient apple tree in the middle of this area. The rest is grass, made sparse by the passage of too many feet, flagstone footpaths that help keep the guests from muddying their feet when it rains, and weathered tables and benches. Tall torches surround some, but not all, of the larger tables.


It is a clear, crisp summer evening on the Terrace of the Quill and Tankard. More lanterns than usual have been lit and hung from the apple trees to provide light. Extra tables and chairs have been brought out, and are laden with many candles strewn about such delicacies as roast suckling pig, fish in cream sauce, and various breads, cheeses, and vegetables. Servants are generous with the Quill and Tankard's famous cider, refilling cups whenever the request is made A lute player and drummer plays music near a cleared spot of grass near the Honeywine, and guests dance circle dances and other coordinated court dances while they wait.

Maera is late for her own party. Dressed in a gown of dark green silk, and her hair left loose about her shoulders, she seems a different woman from the sword-wielding She-Bear that most know her as. She is flanked by her man-at-arms, Eonn of the Rills.

Eonn stays at Maera's side, one step behind her. He's combed his hair. And woven a couple of tiny white flowers into the edge of his beard, in fact, though nothing so outrageous as he was doing during the Dolphin Festival. He looks neat, more or less, though still shabby with his piecemeal armour.

Griffyth isn't late, but that's because Griffyth is intent on enjoying the alcohol and food before he's required for any real human interaction. He bears no armor and makes do instead with softer, finer leather breeches, riding boots, and a doublet of dark blue only lightly embroidered at the collar in green-blue maelstroms. By the time Maera arrives, there's already a faint flush to Griffyth's complexion, and a smile comes all too readily to his face, lounging as he is while eating several select sweetmeats. As soon as the She-Bear arrives, Griffyth parts himself from that particular table, strides across the short distance separating them. "I'd thought you'd run back to the North, Lady Mormont."

Leof is quiet, coming in from off the river in her favorite gown with its bright orange embroidery and undergown. Her fingers adjust her hair a bit, the messy short blonde strands going everywhich way. She has a basket with a bow on it - a gift more than likely full of a variety of feathers and a few dried flowers from the riverlands decorating the gift. A humble gift overall. Because it is a celebration the Banefort is appropriately sober and calm.

The bethrothed Mormont's aunt, Lady Hellan Stark is in attendance, recently arrived just ahead; a new, rare, and mostly unknown face to such crowds. Her presence is rather strong, all the same; the woman holds herself with the poise of someone of importance, regardless of context. She rises from a seat only just taken, clutching the slightly finer than usual grey fabric of her long, high-collared, lightly decoratively embroidered gown to give Maera a smile warmed by the twinkle of lanterns that then extends to Griffyth with an upward tip of her chin. "Are you the infamous Ser Griffyth then."

Daevon's on time, in so much as he arrives after Maera and Eonn do, fashionably late some might say. He is lacking in any sort of gift save for his own presence.

Not engaged in any of the courtly dances, Elys Bracken prefers to keep her unremarkable self as clear of the socialising as possible. At least she's managed to find a dress to wear today, even if it is a rather plain, practical thing; folds of a light fabric wrapped about her, belted under her bust to allow freedom of movement with long empire skirts. As she chomps on a large piece of cheese, she scans the crowd quietly, her features knit into an accidental scowl.

Maera murmurs to Griffyth with a sly little smile, "You wouldn't believe the bothers women must put up with to actually look as if they are trying. No wonder your ladies of the Reach are always so occupied." She begins making a note of who is where, and leans over to suggest to Griffyth, "I suggest we go around to them. Saves more time for the actual entertainment." She returns Hellan's smile with her typical half-hearted smile, "Ser Griffyth, this is my Aunt Lady Hellan Stark. She was my father's sister."

It's said that the proper name being spoken opens many doors. That and coin in the help's pocket. The terrace is about to receive another visitor — a lean, animated Riverlander lordling with carefully applied fine black stenciling painted on beneath his blue eyes. Leof's dried flowers weren't the only Riverland import to end up at this party.

Riderch Blackwood has cleared the gate into the festivities now — he is wearing a fine, neat black-and-red tunic with a tiny emblem bearing his house's coat of arms upon his breast, an oiled leather belt, breeches and boots which bear a set of large silver buckles. A black cloak with a fringe of what appear to be raven feathers held together by a silver clasp of a raven's head — and a large, floppy black hat with with another raven's feather adorning it that hangs upon his head at an angle. The thing looks slightly ridiculous, but looks well made. You know, it's one of those hats that foreigners wear because locals told them it is expensive and fashionable.

"Well." He notes, dusting himself off. He carries with him a fine velvet travelling bag of sorts. Presumably it was searched before entering.

Eonn stays at Maera's side, just behind her. He offers Hellan a smile, though, a somewhat secret, short-lived, and respectful one.

The newly Northern-by-association Ser Laurent Tyrell arrives with his wife, the lady Angharad, and his cousin Lord Garvin Tyrell. Dressed for the occasion in a dark green brocade jacket and sturdy black breeches, his boots and baldric are of matching black leather, and his sword is cinched into the scabbard with a length of purple ribbon from which hangs an intricate brass favor. His short hair is unruly, giving him the look of a man who has just taken off a helmet. A small troop of purple cloaked men-at-arms accompany the trio, though they remain in the inn's common room while the Tyrell party proper emerges onto the Terrace. He surveys the crowd with a thoughtful frown, nodding when he meets the eyes of someone he recognizes, though his expression doesn't improve.

Kevyn resides at the Quill, along with his cousin, so he didn't have far to come to this particular party. He shows up shaved and in a well-made but unremarkable tunic and trousers, and Cockshaw colors. They're in better repair than his typical squire wear, though. He passes the gate into the party with a quick inclination of his head to the attendants.

Daevon picks up some cider first, and not wishing to crowd the happy couple he remains at a distance, looking over the various other guests. His gaze rests on Elys for a few moments, a touch curiously. A greeting's nodded to Riderch. Another to Eonn. He seems content, for the time being, to just stand where he is and sip his drink. And then he spots Laurent and Angharad, amongst the crowds and he begins to walk over. "I heard you got married. Are congratulations in order?"

That ridiculous hat is hard to miss. Elys makes a point of turning her head away from the other Riverlander as she spies him, favoring surreptitious side-glances instead. Only, she's not very good at being surreptitious. Her hand moves to rest on the pommel of — oh, wait. She's in a dress. It's with a huff of irritation that her attention is drawn down to her unadorned hips, and she steps back to try and hide behind the nearest noble so she can spy some more.

"You do our Ladies an injustice, Lady Mormont," Griffyth replies smoothly. "They're so practiced that I doubt it takes them a week and a half to prepare as it takes you to comb the twigs from your hair and scrub the grit from your hands." That's offered more softly with a rakish grin, his tone teasingly playful. "But yes, let's go have a…" Griffyth's voice trails at Hellan's voice, and the Wylde knight straightens, studying the woman. "Lady Stark." Suddenly, the man is all business, even if he can't entirely part company with his wolfish grin. "Let's go harp at our guests or else they'll think they're ignored." Inclining his head deeply towards Hellan, Griffyth starts away—deliberately towards the Tyrells, albeit a little stiffly. Bruises are still healing, after all.

Garvin's first stop is for booze, of course, and he snags the largest tankard of cider he can find, taking a good, long swallow. He sticks close to Laurent and Angharad though, looking around suspiciously. "Don't leave me alone," he murmurs to the Thorn. "Especially don't leave me alone with…him." When Daevon approaches, he brightens a little, giving a small nod. "Good to see you, Ser Dae. How have you been?"

Eonn frowns faintly at Griffyth's comment, his eyes cold. Then again, they almost always are, so perhaps it means nothing.

Hellan's eye wanders to Eonn, and he too earns a polite smile — if somber, and faintly considering, until a funny quirk strikes the corners of her lips when she sees the little flowers worked into his beard. This expression fades through an accepting pause of Griffyth's study and greeting of her. She nods her head respectfully to him. "Quite so," she says and, ducking a dark eyebrow down, gives him a small but pointed look of warning, as if to say I have my eye on you, in jest — perhaps in jest; her face is after all rather serious, perhaps it runs in the family — careens toward the noble party crowd. She even recognizes a few. Those very Tyrells.

Leof is quiet, approaching Maera and Griffyth, staying still and polite until addressed. The pale, shortish woman has a small piece of parchment in hand with something written on it - etiquette notes of course, which she double checks before depositing the gift on the table designated for them before reapproaching, hands folding over her belly, Eonn is eyed, and she takes out a small parcel for him, offering it palms up while she waits. A small awkwardly stitched linen pouch of cat mint, likely meant as a gift and good will gesture.

Angharad Tyrell, nee Locke, releases her lord's arm as Daevon approaches, her expression swiftly shifting from initial, glad greeting to deep concern. "Never mind us," she says to the Maiden's Knight, putting a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?" She shakes her head, words seeming hopelessly inadequate to convey the proper sympathy. "Are you certain you're up to being here?"

One floppy-hatted bull (or maybe a raven in a potter's shop, Riderch bounds forward a few steps. He may or may not have noticed Elys. A sandy eyebrow is arched — so observation would favor 'did' notice her. However, there is no further reaction from the man at her presence, as he does wheel about, taking stock of so — many — guests. Daevon is first to receive a bow. "Evening, Ser. The night is always a little less dark with the Dragon's presence." Oh, Lord-heir is practicing this whole 'politics' thing. Smiling tightly, he spies Laurent and Angharad both. "Hail." He begins. "Ser Laurent Tyrell." And his Northern bride. "Evening, m'lady."

"Ser Daevon," Laurent says, with a nod to the Maiden's Knight. "We did," he admits, "And they are." Though his tone might suggest otherwise — it's not terribly enthusiastic. He glances aside at his wife, but she does sympathy much better than he does, and so he leaves the Targaryen knight to her. He doesn't acknowledge anything Garvin has said aloud, but he doesn't stray from his cousin's side, either. He offers a nod at the greeting from Riderch, and responds with a similar nod. "Ser Riderch Blackwood," his tone isn't precisely friendly, but… Respectful. Perhaps even comradely.

Eonn nods to Leof, and bows slightly to accept the little pouch from her hand. He's silent, but it's a grateful nod. Then he sniffs at the bag of catnip, curiously.

Daevon doesn't have any smiles for Garvin. "I have been better." He states. "And yourself?" In fact he's no smiles at all, looking rather troubled in fact. He nods at Angharad. "I had thought I would at least put in an appearance for politeness sake, and to offer my good wishes, although I do not think I will remain long." Then conviction rings clear in his tone. "She is not dead. I would know it if she were." So focused is he on this that Riderch barely gets more than another slight nod at his words, and another distracted one to Laurent.

Maera puts her hand lightly on Griffyth's arm, and walks with him towards the Tyrell's. As they walk she comments, "Be nice to me or I'll knock you over and fill your mouth up with grit. I suspect you didn't have enough girls doing that to you when you were a lad, and that is why you are so cocky."

"Ser Laurent, Ser Daevon." Maera says names as if she were checking them off a checklist, "Lord Garvin." She smiles finally as she says, "Harry." Her cousin's sympathetic words to Daevon gain her attention, "…Has something happened?"

"Ser Riderch," Garvin says in greeting, then puts on a smile when Maera and Griffyth approach. "Lady Mormont, my congratulations," he says softly, offering a small bow. He frowns in Daevon's direction then, brows drawn together. "Who isn't dead?" he asks, suddenly concerned.

Stopping just off to the side and behind Maera and Griffyth, Hellan's respectful acknowledgment reaches out, albeit only silently thus far, to recognized faces, the newlyweds and Lord Garvin; then her eye finds the man in the floppy hat and blackened eyes and does not know what to make of him. Thus, settles a narrow stare outright on Riderch, passingly listening to the greetings and queries going on around her.

"Wait, wait, Lady Mormont. Are you a girl?" There's a soft, dramatic gasp from Griffyth as he trades quips with Maera in an amused undertone. His hand falls atop Maera's hand, offers it a supportive squeeze once they've properly 'cornered' the Tyrells. "Lords Tyrell!" Griffyth's grin warms noticeably, drawing away the sharp edges of a predator. "Thorn, you fight like a raging bull. Lord Garvin, it's been much too long, but I hope you're fairing well." There's a bow offered the Tyrell party, Griffyth straightening to cast a look of mild concern in the long Targaryen's way. "Are you well, Ser?"

Angharad wraps her arms around Daevon as though he were her own brother, not a dragon at all, and smooths a hand over his hair. "I remember," she murmurs, very softly, "feeling the same way. When my brother died. I thought… it was impossible that someone so dear should leave the world, and I not feel it happen. How can one not feel one's own world rent assunder, in the very moment?" She doesn't offer any explanation to those around them, her attention entirely on the Targaryen lord.

"I'm sore as if I'd been trampled by one," Laurent says with a shake of his head. "The warrior's swinging cod, but you've a swordarm, Ser." It's not said with the friendly, self-deprecating tone one might expect, either. It's grudging — Laurent clearly doesn't like losing. He seems about to say something else, but then his eyes go to his wife, and his head follows. And now, instead of making words, his mouth just hangs agape.

"Lord Garvin." Riderch rapid-fires through the niceties, bowing towards the man. "I have to thank you for your hospitality when I met you last." It's clear he doesn't quite know what's up with Daevon or is pretending not to know. There's a certain eerie, godlike reverence he directs towards Targaryens, or at least this Targaryen that could be for a variety of reasons.

As he wheels about, it is quite possible that he just caught Hellan's glance. The hat slumps to one side as he inclines his head as he takes a few steps forward.

"My sister, Visenya, has gone missing," Daevon says. "There was talk of a body found, but it is not hers. I would know if she were in trouble, or dead. Quite likely she'll be flying over, any day now, on the back of a dragon." Those Targaryen's can be delusional, can't they? "But I do not wish to bring a dark cloud to your betrothal, Lady Mormont. I came to offer you, and Ser Griffyth my congratulations. I hope your union is a fruitful one." He is embraced by Angharad, stiff within her arms. "I am a Dragon. She is my twin. I would know if she were dead. I would have dreamed it and I have not. I would feel as if half myself were missing, and I do not."

Leof finds a seat, her weight settling in to rest, eyes closed as she listens to the gossip. Another woman with blonde hair sits beside her as she gossips quietly, just observing the party and being overall polite.

Still skulking in the background, Elys cranes her neck to try and peer out from behind some rotund Redwyne. Somewhere in between ducking out of sight and reaching for her absent sword, she's lost sight of her target.

Garvin's expression becomes one of shock, and he stares at Daevon for a long moment. "Something's happened to Lady Visenya? You must alert the City Watch to begin searching for her. I'm sure she's well, but it won't hurt to take the proper steps to find her." When Griffyth addresses him, Garvin gives him a curious sort of look. "Your concern for my well-being is touching, Ser Wylde. May I offer you my congratulations?"

Angharad looks… slightly taken aback at the depth of Daevon's denial. Grief she seems confident she can soothe, but this — she's at a loss. She releases him, still studying him with intense concern a moment before finally stepping back. "I will pray for her, milord," she says, finally. That she can do, for the living or the dead. "And for you."

Hellan's attention wandered to Ser Daevon, hearing such dire words encircle him, but her visual critique of the— yes, surely Targaryen— man fades. Turning slightly as if to find her own way through the terrace crowd, she finds herself met with Riderch, to whom she nods at this time rather than stares, after which her head is raised tall. "Lord Riderch … Blackwood, did I hear?" she addresses in her strong, straight-talking voice.

"Thank you, Lord Garvin. Your congratulations warm my heart." This is delivered in Maera's typically flat voice, and it's very hard to tell if she's being sincere or not. At the news of Daevon's twin, she does not rush forward to embrace Daevon. Instead, she offers him a stern and understanding nod. "Thank you for coming, Ser Daevon. Your presence honors us. Even more so knowing your hardships. I'm sure she'll turn up."

Maera offers Riderch a polite smile that lacks much expression to it, "Ser. I do not think we have been formally introduced, but I've heard you keep the Faith of the Old Gods? It is pleasant to run into likeminded individuals. Thank you for coming."

Eonn looks to Daevon. He speaks, finally, saying softly to the Targaryen, "She is not dead." Perhaps too softly.

"Gods blood, Ser Targaryen." Brows lift, and Griffyth's smile is stolen from his lips. "I'll trust as you say, my Lord, but I'll pray for your sister and you, even so," Griffyth tells the Targaryen knight with a deadly seriousness. Clearing his throat and giving a small shake of his head, Griffyth turns to survey Garvin's expression, his smile a quizzical one. "Is it, Lord Tyrell? Of course I'm concerned for your welfare, as I am still your friendor so I view you, nevertheless. My thanks, Garvin. I suspect the Lady Mormont was growing desperate, scraping the bottom of the barrel, by all accounts," Griffyth laughs softly, shaking his head. "Now" Blackwood is to be studied, rather thoroughly.

Valnod enters from the stables, brushing his hands off on his leather trousers as he prepares for polite company. The young giant sniffs the air, wrinkling it with a brief unpleasant grimace at the stink of perfume, before he drifts through the crowd. The half-naked wildling brushes past lords and ladies carelessly, slipping through the crowd to stand near where the Targaryen lord is, hovering around quietly and protectively.

Eonn's jaw clenches.

And just like that, it's all in a name. Riderch snaps to, and the silly hat slides off to one side, he grumbles wordlessly and clutches it at his side, recovering with a slightly wolfish grin which would make a Stark proud. Tucking it under his arm, he eyeballs the Northerners — Maera Mormont, and Hellan Stark, both in turn. "You heard correctly, m'lady — and my family does." He begins to Hellan, before addressing Maera. "Indeed. I came bearing something — I heard of this event and was hoping to meet you." Hellan also gets a brief glance. "I want to remind our friends in the North that they will always have friends in the Riverlands." He works at the velvet travelling bag now after setting it on an adjacent table, tossing the hat next to it in frustration.

Riderch belatedly studies Griffyth and gives him a bow of recognition as he works on the bag.

"Thank you," Daevon says to Angharad. "I am sorry for your own loss." His words touched with sympathy. He nods at Garvin. "The watch have been informed of her disapperance. No ransom demands have been made. I think it likely she left of her own accord to go seek out the Dragon. She had been speaking of doing such previously." To Eonn, there's a flash of hope. "She is not. Have you heard anything more?" To Maera and Griffyth he nods. "She will." And then. "Thank you." He does choke out a laugh at Griffyth's words. "I hope that it will be a prosperous match." He's yet to notice Valnod's return, or for that matter his semi-clad state.

Angharad's gaze flickers rather sharply to Griffyth, one eyebrow lifting in an icy arch. Desperate, indeed. "One need only look upon my cousin, Ser, to see she has scarce an equal in beauty or strength. Are you sure she took you for other than pity?"

Elys slips past the Redwyne lord just as he's turning to see who she is and why she's peeping past his shoulder. Snaring a goblet of wine from a passing server, she mingles her way amongst the assembled to a better vantage point — from which to eye that velvet bag. Still out of earshot, she lingers a little away from the betrothed couple and their attendants, clutching her goblet next to her cheek.

"Do you?" Garvin says to Ser Griffyth, one brow arching high. "Curious." He turns to Eonn then with a smile. "Eonn of the Rills, how good it is to see you. I will not ask how you fare tonight, for I'm sure I know precisely what you feel. Will you join me in a drink?" He lifts his tankard to his lips, glancing around for a server with a tray. Instead, his eyes fall upon the wildling, and Lord Pansy's jaw drops open. "Seven help me," he whispers, a shiver running through him.

Eonn grinds his teeth a little, then relaxes, slowly. He steps away from Maera's side and moves to whisper to Daevon.

Maera takes a step away from the throng of people, and towards Hellan and Riderch. As she steps she notices Leof, "Lady Banefort. How lovely of you to have come. How are you?" Her eyes drift towards the crowd, careful to keep a tab on the conversation, before she lets it drift back to Leof as she waits for Riderch to return.

Laurent's eyes are drawn from his lady wife to a wildling, of all things. A half-clothed wildling. He scowls as his left hand falls to rest on the hilt of his sword — not grasping it, but taking comfort from its presence. Perhaps regretting the wire and ribbon used to peace-bond the weapon.

Leof smiles at Maera when approached "I am well enough. Newlywed life has its ups and down. I'll confess I wish to talk to the Targaryen lord I've not properly met, but do not wish to brave the crowd. I'll stare down a shadowcat but that? Too much." she offers with a smile. "How is the day finding you?" she asks, curiously, taking a hankerchief to daub her own nose a bit.

There is no lingering smile, now. "Of course I do," Griffyth tells Garvin, mild surprise filtering through his naturally husky voice. There's a long pause, a longer stare, yet Garvin's attention drifts rapidly towards the ill-clothed Valnod. The disapproval is palpably stifling between Eonn's aggravation and Anghara'd tone. Griffyth turns his attention upon Angharad and gives a minute shake of his head. "My Lady, I hale from the Stormlands—perhaps our sense of humor differs from the North, as I mean no offense to Lady Mormont. Be certain that if she knew I was anything but jesting, she'd likely try and skewer me upon her Valyrian steel. No, I am very fond of the She-Bear and consider her both a friend and a more than worthy match for myself."

And Riderch returns — simple enough. Two carefully wrapped bundles — it looks like wool. Fine in texture, strong, and light. One green, one blue, with polished silver clasps. One fashioned in the manner of a bear's head, and one in a spiral. He sets them on the table closest to Maera and Griffyth. "I've been busy leveraging imports but when I heard of this celebration I realized I could do something special."

Oh yes, Elys, the bag is left unguarded. The Blackwood has let his guard down.

Valnod doesn't seem to be waiting on or expecting any recognition from the Maiden's Knight, the black-haired wildling hovering like a protective shadow. A giant protective shadow that doesn't much go in for shirts. He does look at Garvin with a trace of concern at the strange noise, however, but determines that he's probably alright after all.

"Well met then Ser Riderch," Hellan says, introducing herself without flourish, "Lady Hellan Stark. You honour my niece." Another of her perhaps expressions. She regards the man's effort with the bag in barely withheld judgment more than thanks, until the reveal of the artful pieces sets her at ease. When the server than happens past Elys makes it closer to her, she stretches out a long arm to firmly ensnare a goblet for herself as well — in doing, she too catches glimpse of the giant, semi-clad man, so very out of place, and her pale hand freezes around her wine halfway back to her. "Do they truly let anyone onto this island?"

Angharad considers Griffyth at length, carefully weighing his words. "Well. Marriages have been made on less, that's certain." She offers her cousin's betrothed her hand and a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Welcome to the family, cousin."

Daevon's distracted somewhat by all the goings on. But when Eonn whispers to him, he nods and speaks quietly back. "Thank you. I will take you up on that offer."

Eonn nods to Daevon, then returns to his place at Maera's side and a step behind her.

Garvin continues to stare at Valnod, though eventually he manages to shut his mouth. His eyes remain wide, however, unable to move away from the bare-chested man, his cheeks flushing just a bit. Probably the cider, right? Oh right, he has cider. In a vain attempt to distract himself, he guzzles at his tankard, draining half its contents. Finally, he finds his voice again. "Ser Dae, who is your…friend?"

"Ser Daevon is as courteous as he is Knightly, and I'm sure he'd receive you well." Maera says to Leof before she offers her a smile, "If you approached him I'm sure he'd be kind. Excuse me-."

That said, Maera takes a step towards the cloaks. She turns her head slightly to catch sight of Eonn, and offers him a little smile before she looks down on them. "How lovely." She comments with a stroke of her hand across the wool, "Friends..ah, are very nice, indeed." She looks up to give the Blackwood an ambiguous smile, "And necessary. We ought to have dinner soon, Ser."

Laurent's eyes don't leave the half-clothed wildling either. He reaches out to rest his right hand at Angharad's lower back, halving the small distance between them with a short step toward her. He continues to scowl at… Everything, really. The world in general seems to irritate Ser Laurent Tyrell.

Abram had entered the revel a short while before, idly observing the flow of the gathering, before a smile bends his expression and the gentleman steps toward the table nearest the (presumably) happy couple, the table already bearing several gifts. He sets out a pair of winter-white stoat furs on the table, complete with the black tail tips. "I won't cut in for long," he voices jovially toward the nobles of the hour, "But a belated welcome to the Reach, my Lady. M'lord. From House Florent, the best of luck to you both." An easy grin, and the knight bows briefly, before withdrawing a few steps.

"Lord Garvin Tyrell, this is Valnod," Daevon introduces. "He is currently in my employ, and as such my protection extends to him." His gaze trails after Eonn as the man walks away, then back to his current conversation.

Garvin looks Valnod up and down and back up again, forcing himself to make eye contact. "A pleasure to meet you, Valnod," he says, voice trembling just a bit. "Protection? I can't imagine who you'd need protection from."

Eonn glances back at the fuss around Valnod. He seems sort of annoyed about it.

Valnod's attention turns back to the praying-knight. The wildling breaks from his stoic bodyguard routine, a youthful smile curling on his lips as he offers a nod. "Lord Gav- Garvin Turll." He squints, trying to get the pronunciation right. "Is good meet friend Dae-chief."

To this, there's a mere shrug on the part of Riderch as the cloaks are handed off. "That would be an honor. " He offers to Maera first, but Hellan's greeting did not go unnoticed. "Lady Stark." He appears, for a split-second, taken aback. It's clear he's bought into all these tales of the First Men and the great houses they still represent may be figures from the Age of Heroes come to life. Or maybe he is just flamboyantly polite. Now that he's shed the ridiculous hat, he doesn't appear that bizarre at all — save for the eye makeup. Maybe it's a regional thing.

"I wanted to pay my respects to those who keep the Old Ways is all."

For now, he pauses a little and glances back over his shoulder to see the man Hellan is eyeballing. The sort-of-maybe-possibly Wildling. "I was making the assumption that he was part of a prank, m'lady."

In due time everyone seems to show to these things. So it should not be a surprise that one sour looking knight, and his lady also doth appear. Dressed in a blacks and greens, Ser Quillian Oakheart does not stand out too terribly much. There is even a small smirk raised on the knight's face as he comes in arm and arm with a woman of a far more swarthier complexion than himself. A slight turn and tilt of his head in her direction as his eyes scan the assembled nobility.

"Who would have thought a bear and a storm lord would throw such a party. It seems like all the finest people are here." And there he is pointing. "There is the Maiden's knight." a snort at that moniker, not that his own is better. Rather Daevon's is likely more complimentary-than infamous. "Oh Look, there is Ser Thorn-and our newest cousin." A motion made towards Laurent and Angharad. "If such rumors are to be believed. I've not asked Laurent-you know. I believe that doesn't do us any good on the practice field. It'd be as if he asked me if I got you with child yet. Imagine that: Have you lain her?" A sniff and he leads his Lady wife further in.

"Who shall we say hello to first?" Quill asks of the woman he is escorting.

Angharad takes notice of the wildling at last, hardly able to help it with all the attention the fellow's garnering. She blinks several times. Ahem. "What an… interesting retainer, Ser Daevon!" She looks at a bit of a loss. "What does he do?"

Griffyth is more than happy to 'fade' into the background of a sort, fetching himself a wood-carved cup of a more common variety of ale. There are exquisite wines available, but he's drinking ale, because why not? As Eonn returns to Maera's side, Griffyth falls into the man's wake, lingering nearby while he observes the surrounding crowd. "Would you care for a drink, Eonn? You look prepared to chew blades," the Stormlander observes more quietly while he drinks deep gulps from his cup.
Jaremy pages: Hello! I can page you on Eva if you prefer!

Leof watches Daevon, moving towards him quietly, her weight moving as she bows her head, politely, watching the crowd. Valnod is regarded and given a bow of her head politely. She smoothes her fingers over her over dress self conciously. She curtsies to the Lords and Ladies present and smiles at Daevon, offering a faint smile.
You paged Jaremy with 'Hi! Please, yes, haha. So many poses.'

"Thank you, my Lord," says Eonn to Griffyth, nodding. "It would improve things, I am sure."

Laurent hovers protectively between his wife and Garvin, his hand at Angharad's back. The tension in him eases somewhat at something Daevon says, and his attention wanders from Valnod again to take in the crowd. He nods to the Blackrood when he notices his arrival, and to his lady as well. Neither relaxes his scowl though — large public events always bring out Laurent's surly side.

"He takes care of my horses," Daevon says to Angharad. "He is very good with them." Clearly there are no horses at the party though. He offers Leof a nod of greeting. "Greetings, Mi'lady."

"When they celebrate they do so most assiduously, love." Emilia will note with a bemused smile, the entire crowd indeed impressive, her dark gaze shifting from this person to those, there to here, a laughing swat given to her husbands side with her free hand as she leans into him, "I would not put it past you to ask the question besides, husband. Let us greet the bear and stormlord first and give them proper due then continue on from there."

"It is a lovely and fine gift." Maera says to Riderch. Then someone is laying out furs on the table, and her attention turns to the unknown Knight. "These are exceptional. House Florent has my thanks for such a lovely gift. We shall surely make use of these when winter comes." She offers Abram a polite smile that has the strained look of one who is not so used to so much attention. "Again, my thanks…"

Leof gives a curtsy and smiles to Daevon, She watches Laurent and Garvin, quietly for a moment with a slight frown before returning to whisper to Daevon, voice soft and careful. Her fingertips smoothing over her skirt lightly, nervously.

Abram inclines his head to Maera's gratitude with a light chuckle. "When winter comes, aye. I hear in the North they say those seasons have a habit of coming around from time to time. Again, my congratulations…" he ends, mimicing Maera's last words before keeping his earlier promise to be brief, and stepping back to give the next well-wisher room.

Whether the wildling man is part of a prank or not, Hellan has no taste for his presence — expressed by the roll of her grey eyes away from the man, her offended gaze going straight into her goblet instead as it's raised for a full sip. "I for one am going to find a seat to enjoy all of this food and drink," she says flatly with a gracious if stiff nod to her niece and Ser Riderch, stepping to the side slightly away from the betrothed's growing collection of gifts, ambiguous between polite exit and invite.

"A small thing. When the burden of being Lord of Raventree falls upon my shoulders I'm going to want for familiar faces at feasts." Riderch looks over his shoulder again for something. Someone. Somewhere. He doesn't find whoever he's looking for. It is interesting to note that he placed a particular weight on the word 'burden.'

"That is — an excellent idea, Lady Hellan." He offers, congenially. "I have to offer goodwill to a few more here but if you wouldn't mind the burden of my company I would be honored to join you. There's a stew here, made with ale and stuffed with meat and some kind of Dornish pepper concoction I can't name that is one of the best things you'll ever eat in Westeros. That I will stand by."

Garvin can't help but look the wildling up and down again, another quick shiver running up his spine. "Please, call me Lord Pansy," he says, giving Valnod a goofy sort of grin, then sucking down more of his cider. "You're good with horses, are you? Do you…ride often?"

"Thank you," Daevon speaks quietly in respone to Leof. He doesn't whisper though. "That is a very kind offer and if you would see if you can find any trace of her it would be appreciated."

A glance is given Emilia, before he is nodding. "Right, and we did not bring gifts to just lout about. And it'd be rude to drink and only snipe with family." And so he gives his wife a kiss to the cheek, before he is nodding in the direction. A gentle tug of his arm, brings Emilia along with, and soon enough the two Oakhearts have managed to slide into the line of well wishers. As such Quillian only catches the back of Abram's head, before he is giving a bow of his head to Maera as cups are produced. Silver and of Dornish design-likely some agreed upon gift. Toasting glasses, as every Noble needs a pair-or seven.

"Ser Quillian Oakheart- We would like to extend our congratulations and well wishes, Lady Mormont.." And there eyes narrow as he studies Maera. "And Ser Wylde." The later is given a stare briefly before he is clearing his throat. "And may your first child be a masculine one." Whether or not it is welcomed. And there he turns and gestures to Emilia. "My Wife. Emilia Oakheart.." Lady of course. He'll allow her to say her own piece.

Abram had stepped smoothly back from the party's center, only to turn a surprised look back over his shoulder as the next well-wisher names himself and his wife. While he doesn't interrupt, the Florent knight only smiles widers, raising a fist to help him restrain an audible chuckle at Quill's words to the bride-to-be. Ahem! Decorum, decorum. He waits silently, within earshot for the niceties to be properly exchanged before speaking.

Leof gives Daevon a smile "I live in the Watercliff Manse, I request you go out with me if I aid you." she gives a small, gracious smile "I'm Leof Banefort, nee Elesham, lovely to meet you." she extends her hand to Daevon. Despite being in a dress, the signs of martial practice show - she's toned over soft, and suprisingly or not very compact. "It is a shame my husband is off on business, isn't it?"

Valnod looks mildly unsettled by all the glances thrown his way, the lanky giant shifting but shrugging it off with a grin, nodding to Dae-chief's description as his attention returns to Gavrin. "Yes. Lord-Pansy." He repeats. At least this one's easier. He laughs a bit. "No, do not ride. Horse at home rare, small." He holds his hand lower to indicate a rugged little mountain pony that would obviously be an akward fit for the man. "And no ride chief's horse without him say. Just clean, talk to. Dae-chief great chief, have lots horses. Very big." He holds his hand up to about Daevon's destrier level.

"Lady Mormont. Ser Wylde, our congratulations indeed, most warmly to you both for your union." Emilia will greet earnestly, glazing over her husbands look and stare as she glances between the two, though his words about the masculine child do trip her up a bit, a sidelong look given to her husband as a wickedly slanted smile will just barely touch the outer edges of her lips as she eyes him a moment. The things that come out of his mouth still manage to surprise, and in this case, delight her, after all these years.

Garvin nods slowly, tongue playing unconsciously over his lips. "Yes, Ser Daevon is indeed a great knight. Renowned across the Seven Kingdoms for his valour and gallantry. Wherever did he find you, if I might ask?"

Daevon's a little surprised by the extended hand, but he takes it none the less raises it to his lips and kisses her knuckles, as is polite. "A pleasure. I will keep that in mind. I do have my own leads that I am following and I had thought that not searching as one large group might be more successful." He nods. "It is a shame."

"Ah, thank you…?" Maera says with a blink at Quill's well-wish regarding the gender of her first child, and a little tilt of her head. "It is a pleasure to meet you Ser Quillian. Lady Emilia. Thank you for the lovely gifts." Her flat, somewhat droning tone indicates that she may have almost memorized or drilled this part into her head from repetition. She reaches out to snag a drink off of the tray of a passing server, and takes a healthy swallow to take the edge off of making so many acquaintances in such a short time.

"I will seek it out," Hellan assures the Riverlander, "and you, when you have made your rounds." With little congeniality in her tone, she might as well mean to hunt him down, but her polite smile graces the bold features of her face to properly reassure before she finds a seat at a suiting table, choosing to sit directed at the majority of the terrace to keep astride of the gathering. A meal is not her first priority, however; the lady favours her drink, pressing her hand slightly to the neck of her gown as she sits in her quiet.

"Mmm. Understood, m'lady." The Blackwood responds to Hellan clearly regarding her as the wolf her House declares her to be — wary respect mixed with distance. He wheels about after ducking over to a table to retrieve his horrible, ridiculous hat but does not put it on, thankfully. "Ser Quillian Oakheart." Riderch notes, alongside the approaching couple. "Lady Emilia." He's been taking notes. Somewhere along the line he accquired a flagon too. Quill does get Riderch's attention a moment longer. "I am sorry I wasn't able to encounter you in the tourney — I've seen and heard enough about your fighting style to be very interested. Perhaps one day we could spar?"

Leof blushes brightly and laughs "I am known to the watch to have very good eyes and shoot true when hunting, and more eyes following the same leads as long as they are quiet on the trail do better than a lonely set. Could I interest you in some soothing chamomile tea?" she suggests, weight stretching just slightly as she pats Daevon's arm "I will help you in any way I am capable, do not let your faith get exhausted." she offers with a soft smile.

Eonn watches Griffyth, his expression flat.

It's there that Quill's attention is diverted briefly from Lady Maera. Clearly of social graces-Emilia has been gifted with the majority for the couple. And there he gives the Blackwood man a glance and a nod. "Ser Riderch Blackwood, I presume? I saw you fight in the tournaments. Indeed, it was a pity that we did not clash blades. I would have enjoyed that immensely. I believe you ended up facing my friend, Ser Viggo Cockshaw?" A tilt there before he is pushing on. "I would like that Ser-" meaning the sparring. "I prefer a single blade-though I have been known to use a board with my sword. It deepends I guess on the conflict. But yes-Sparring. Drinking. It can be done." He'd look briefly to his wife so as to let her know he was making friends. Even if he wasn't the most gracious gift giver.

Abram steps unhurried toward Quill, Emilia, and Riderch invoking aloud to catch the Reach knight's ear, "Heart of Oak, Heart of Iron. Quillian Oakheart, as I live and breathe." A brief chuckle stirs in his throat as a hand is offered to Quill for a friendly clasp. "And this must be your lovely Dornish wife! And the both of you still alive? I owe you thanks, m'Lady," he notes turning his eye, smile, and short bow to Emilia, "You've just won me a two-year old bet."

Valnod seems pretty enthusiastic about the topic of how great Daevon is, not really noticing the knight's gaze as he answers Garvin. "Am in village north from here. Maybe three day walk?" He squints, "Get into trouble with bad men. They rough up." He grimaces, mimes punching and cutting himself with his hands, then grins. "Cut very bad. Dae-chief ride up, put stop to. Very big owe, yes?" His voice lowers a bit, however, as he glances over to his chief, catching most of the other conversation and becoming somber again.

Garvin's eyes begin to glaze over as Valnod attempts to tell his tale, clearly not entirely following it. But at the end, he gives a brilliant grin and nods. "Oh yes, I would say so." His eyes dart down and up again. "Very big indeed. Ser Daevon shouldn't keep you hidden away though. How long have you been in his employ?"

Daevon shakes his head. "No thank you." He says to the offer of the tea. "Although your assistance is much appreciated. I will call upon you if I need your services." He frowns over at Garvin. "Lord Garvin, I would thank you kindly not to try poaching my employees. They are hard enough to come by as it is."

Emilia's attention is thusly grabbed and snagged away as the Dornish woman moves out of the way of the receiving line, only too happy to engage in a conversation elsewhere. Though she will remain but a moment silent, waiting on her husband to procure the name from the Knight, which he does in a most quick fashion, Emilia holding to her husbands arm as she presses her cheek into his shoulder, smiling warmly to Riderch, "Ser Blackwood. When you two decide to spar, I'd like to be there to watch, I don't oft get to see my husbands skill in action."

Then Abram is in the picture, Emilia blinking towards the man with a lopsided smile of sorts, not quite sure who he is though she will allow it to blossom once more into a warmer set, head tilting up as she glances to her husband, "What bet have I helped to win, and more importantly, what is my share of the prize?" Last to Abram, her voice lilting with light laughter.

Hellan, meanwhile, is having her goblet refilled already, and at her rate it will be again soon — a swift but clean drinker, this Northern lady. She arranges food in front of her while glancing here and there in slow, steady, critical studies of the gathered. She appears rather unapproachable but content on her own — as content as her stoic countenance will allow. In between partaking in food and drink, she does a spectacular impression of a fine statue, basking in the shadows of her own defenses — all judgmental gazes and cheekbones.

Finally left alone by her guests, Maera walks around the table to stand near Eonn. She watches those assembled with a weary look, and murmurs to the sellsword softly.

All this time, she's been hiding behind her goblet. Maybe Elys is better at surreptitious than first was thought! The Bracken woman appears behind Quillian now, her back to the Blackrood and those gathered around him. Her ears are pricked.

"I had too much Cockshaw. I'm ashamed to admit. That man is bloody fast." Riderch intones enthusiastically to Quill. "The most impressive part was how he hid it." If the Blackwood lord seems sore about the loss it's clearly well-hidden, and it's more likely he's just honoring the man who isn't even present. Probably just as well, Riderch's 'illustration' wasn't quite as lurid as the victor in that fight.

"I will make sure you are invited, Lady Emilia." He snaps to Quillian's Dornish wife with only a moment's hesitation.

Valnod can tell he's not doing a very good job of communicating, frowning a bit in frustration before he grins at the Tyrell lord. "Is ah… two weeks serving. Plus two, three asleep, healing." He grins. "Lord-Pansy friend with Dae-chief, how long?"

Abram Florent is given a glance, before he is blinking. His own smile showing finally as a wave of memory floods over. "Fucking ears. Abram Florent as I live and breath. I swore you'd end up dead in a ditch- or commanding your own column." And there he grins back to the other knight. His hand comes out in the way a comrade in arms would naturally greet another brother. "What are you doing these days, Ser?" Clearly Quill knows the man, and well. "You've grown I see." And there he motions to Lady Emilia. "Yes, my wife. and we've been lucky enough to survive one another for some time." As for the bet he will allow Abram to answer, before he is looking to

Riderch is given a laugh. "There are some men, and women who would be jealous of that claim. Too much Cockshaw can be bad for your health." he quips before he is chuckling. "Yes well. Not all cockshaws are the same. Some are showier than others." Zing.

Garvin shoots a glance toward Daevon, a pouty sort of frown, then grins again to Valnod. "A month or so," he says, taking another sip from his tankard. "I'm sure the Maiden's Knight keeps you far too busy to do any socializing. He has so many horses, after all. 'Tis a pity, really. Don't you like cider?"

Daevon's being all disapproving. He's frowning in fact, even worse than when there was the talk of his sister's death.

Eonn moves to whisper to Maera, bowing his head a bit.

Leof watches Daevon "Did I offend, my lord?" she asks, eying Garvin before returning her gaze upwards and starting to shrink backwards, fingers adjusting her long hair before adjusting her necklace to make sure her scar is covered self conciously.

"I didn't want to be the one who said it." Riderch's voice utters, wryly, as he hefts his goblet. Clearing his throat. Pointedly. "But some burdens are worth undertaking, I suppose."

"Cider is, what?" The wildling looks curiously to Garvin, then catches Daevon's disapproving look, giving him a confused and questioning glance. "Is cider bad?"

Abram smiles enough to draw crow's feet to his eyes as he quips back to Quill, "Dead drunk, more than once, but all the columns have roses for head-pieces in the Reach, Ser." Glancing jovially back to Emilia, "I fought with your husband in Dorne, lady. On the day the Tyrell herald brought word of your betrothal, Garth Wythers turned to me and said 'A dragon says he'll kill her within the year'." Hands are held up with the still-broad smile to include the both of them in his mirth, "But here you are! And as soon as I can track down old Garth, you're welcome to a hundred of the stags for biding your time."

Maera takes a healthy swallow from her cup, and nods her head to Eonn. "I've never been one to enjoy social settings. Even less when I am the focus of it. But, it was nessecary."

Behind Quill, Elys's shoulders twitch as Riderch clears his throat. She ducks her head down a bit, as people tend to when they're trying not to be noticed. She slurps a little as she attempts to draw a sip of cider from her cup without lifting her head.

Hellan's regard of the party levels out, settling only on a few figures; Maera and her man-at-arms are of particular interest, and occasionally the Targaryen and the wildling, which earns a subtle scowl — in turn amended by a drink of wine, a cycle that repeats several times over in a rather short period.

Garvin looks at Daevon again, then lets out a sigh, head shaking. "No, cider isn't bad, but I suspect Ser Dae disapproves, so perhaps it would be better if you simply went thirsty." He glances again to the Targaryen knight. "Actually, it's probably me he disapproves of, so perhaps I should take my leave. It was a pleasure to meet you, Valnod. I wish we could get to know one another better, but alas, it's not to be."

"Drink more," Eonn suggests to Maera, quietly. "And pick a fight." That last comes with a smile.

Daevon shakes his head at Leof. "No. Why would you think such a thing? I do appreciate your offer. I am just troubled by my sister's absence. I should likely leave, I am not good company this eve." He shakes his head at Valnod. "Cider is fermented apple juice." He offers his own cup over. "It is very good here." He overhears a comment made. "You and me both, Lady Mormont." He frowns at Garvin's words. "You think so ill of me?"

There's a swill of ale as Riderch turns, and tips his head back, flagon going a bit in the air — and then there's a horrible HURRRRRRRRRRRRK sound as it goes down the wrong pipe. Looks like Riderch Blackwood caught a glance of a certain auburn-haired Riverlander, and coughs a bit more, before bringing his eyes back up towards the figure that might be Elys. But maybe it's not. Hrm…

Leof 's face visibly tenses, showing severe disapproval on it. "Apple Cider is good if you do not over indulge." she offers to the wildling "Like everything else." She watches Daevon and squeezes his hand, pulling to find a place to sit back down, propping her feet on a chair beside her, rubbing her right arm, absently. "Hey I didn't puke first!" she half cheers.

Normally such a jest would have Emilia's hackles raising, even after the promise from Riderch to allow her to watch them, something which she quite enjoys. Indeed, the best does give her a rather hard pause though she's soon laughing, perhaps a bit forced at first, "A hundred of the stags? How fortunate for us, dear husband, that you've not yet killed me, nor I you." She's playing nice, see. Where her claws would like to find purchase perhaps in an eye, recent events have cooled the fires she stokes within her and all are spared. Then Riderich makes that ungodly noise and Emilia is recoiling back in disgust, a grimace upon her lips, "I've need of wine, husband, what shall I get you."

Maera does drink more. In fact, she drains whatever is left in her cup. Eonn's words earn a rueful smile from her, and she murmurs, "I am trying to avoid controversy tonight. Ah, come. We will go to the Maiden Knight's rescue." That said, she straightens up and walks around the table to stand near Daevon. When he exchanges words with Garvin she gives the Tyrell a slight lift of a brow, but says nothing yet.

"Pity," says Eonn, taking up a cup as he follows after Maera. "We could both do with a fight, I think." He falls silent when they join the little group around Daevon.

Garvin smiles to Daevon, giving his head a small shake. "You mistake me, Ser. It is you who think so ill of me. Now if you'll pardon me, I should like to take my leave, before I offend you further."

Valnod, frowning a bit at the tension in the air, takes the offered cup from the Targaryen lord, the wildling taking a gulp of the liquid. He grins. "Is sweet, good. Taste like, ah." He searches for the word. "Fruit wine? We make." He waves vaguely north, voice lowering as he looks to Garvin with a reassuring grin. The youth's attention remains mainly on Daevon though. "Dae-chief want return? I go get… horse…" He trails off, frowning.

"Ahem." Riderch recovers shortly thereafter from the choking. It was not dignified. But he was doing — so well.

Is it Elys?

(Yes, it's Elys.)

Elys fair freezes mid-slurp as an ungodly sound erupts behind her. Her bright blue eyes dart right and left and right again, as she considers her options. Eventually, after what seems like an eternity but is barely a breath, she lets go of a long-winded sigh and turns around, smile tight. One foot sneaks out as she aims to step around the Blackrood, and in a fairly contrived manner she neatly trips on her skirt and flings cider Blackwood-ward with a yelp as she goes down. Enjoy.

As to Emilia's reaction there is a tic under one eye. Before this would be the start of a fight with them. Blood rising and the rest. Still The tic is enough to show that Abram, might have rubbed a raw spot. A smirk follows before he turns and regards his wife for a moment. His pause is hard and long before he nods. "I say get me whatever else the other men are drinking. I've no particular tongue tonight." And likely would give her excuse to mingle further. He can always steal a drink off someone else. And so he turns after a brief look to Riderch, his own chuckle rippling along darkly.

"Well, Garth Wythers likely would have need of those stags to pay a whore to lie with him, but if I can get them from him, the better." And so he reaches over to slap at the knight's shoulder. Hard, but not enough that would be taken amiss. "Ah. It's the usual Ser. I am sure they will find a place for you. They did for me." Indeed he has the distinct honor of being a knight here with Laurent Tyrell, which is something. "You don't always kill the pretty ones. If I can give you advice."

Daevon's angry. It's a cold glint within his amethyst eyes. "Lord Garvin. My sister, your betrothed, is missing. Yet not only do you not know of this news, as most of the city does, but you are also unconcered. Why this Lady, who I have never met before today, has offered me more aid than you had thought to." He gestures to Leof. "Instead you stand there, throwing accusations at me for my mood is not as sunny and bright as it should be." He doesn't answer anyone else, doesn't acknowledge them, as busy as he is glaring at Garvin.

Sploosh. As the droplets of the goblet decorate Riderch's tunic (thank the Gods for House colors) , he just stands there, agape for a second, as he sees the tumbled, auburn-haired woman take a dive. Wearing her drink. He stands there, sandy eyebrows knit for a second before he does the only thing appropriate for him to do in this situation.

He sighs heavily like he has a divine burden upon his shoulders and laughs, a sudden, heady laugh, and extends his hand as he steps towards the figure of Elys. "Need a hand my lady?"

Garvin's eyes suddenly become cold as well, and his voice lowers darkly. "It is clear that you are not yourself tonight, beset as you are with sorrow for your sister. Therefore, I shall forgive your words, and we shall remain friends. Good night now, Ser Daevon." He tips back his tankard and finishes off the cider, then turns to depart.

Eonn sighs, near silently. He drinks deeply from his own cup. A cat climbs down one of the Quill and Tankard's timbers.

Maera remains quiet at the exchange between Daevon and Garvin. At Garvin's departure she does roll her eyes lightly before turning her head to look to Daevon, "Ser, your sister is a maid of very high birth. I would recommend speaking to Lord Gwayne Hightower himself. Surely a more thorough search can be conducted for her?"

Abram dips his head to Emilia as she politely forces laughter and excuses herself, the Florent giving no impression of finding anything amiss in her manner. When Quill claps him firmly on the shoulder, he chuckles anew. "He would at that," the Florent assents to talk of Garth and his coin, adding, "Spare the pretty ones; a fair piexce of advice." He draws a breath to speak on before Riderch has his nearby mishap. A fresh, albeit short-lived grin warms his expression and he again draws the breath, asiding to the Oakheart with a glance about the room, "Is this.. normal for Oldtown?"

Daevon's fists clench. It's a good thing he handed Valnod his tankard. As things stand he's clearly furious. He turns markedly away. "Lady Mormont, I suppose it would not be fit to offer a display of swordsmanship at your party?" He nods at Maera. "Yes, certainly. That is a wise idea, while the Watch has been notified I have been too busy searching for her myself to find out the details of their investigation."

Valnod frowns as the altercation grows, the wildling shifting to stand behind the Targaryen lord protectively, holding onto his chief's cup.

Let it not be said that Elys is a graceful creature; her tumble is less art and more mess, not a hint of ladylike to be seen. There are surely grass stains on the tawny fabric of her gown, landing on her hands and knees with her curls afrizz. One brow arches, eyes like daggers as she tosses her head back to glare at Riderch, teeth gritted. "My lord is too kind," she says, each word a slow, pained thing. She walks her hands backwards toward her knees, intent on getting up without help. After she's brushed blades of grass from the heels of her palms all down her front, anyway.

A most public fight, for indeed, Emilia's passions would get the best of her and she'd start a brawl right here and now, her husband bearing claim to the first of the fisticuffs from the lady with Abram to follow for merely uttering the words. As her husband regards her he will see that there is barely contained anger within those dark eyes of hers, but they're tempered. Indeed, she will lift a hand up to grace palm against his cheek firmly, withdrawing it with a nod to Abram and she's drifting off through the crowd, pressing by people to find her way to a drink.

Maera's eyes turn to look Daevon in the face, "You know I would never object to a display of swordsmanship, especially not from as skilled a Knight as you."

"Hardly. If you knew me you would hate me." Riderch assures Elys, but even still, the hand remains steady. He's in high spirits. "You lost your drink." He notes, looking over to the vessel in his other hand. His own smile may be forced, but it's there. Kill 'em with kindness, the smallfolk say.

Riderch finally retracts his proferred hand, shrugging.

The cat trots up to rub against Eonn's ankles. Eonn looks about, his gaze searching for Hellan.

Garvin wanders around the terrace, trying to locate Laurent and Angharad, silently seething.

Leof seems to think, and just takes a moment to take a glass of wine, taking a sip, taking it slow with the alcohol. Her fingers crack her back. "I think I should like to see you use your sword, My lord. I was ill for the tournament - I wanted to watch all of the events." she admits, chipperly.

Daevon smiles at Maera, it's a smile that doesn't quite touch his eyes. "I don't suppose you'd be willing, or able to engage in the demonstration?" He asks. They're hardly appropriately attired mind you. "Or perhaps your husband to be?" He looks around to see where Griffyth has got to. He offers Leof a smile.

Quill snorts back towards Abram, before he is turning to give a good glance of the room. His jaw tightens slightly, before he is kissing his teeth. "This…As in this party or all these people?" And there it gets a laugh. "I tell you, my friend. Oldtown is an interesting place. A melting pot of cultures and not all of them good." Read: Dornish, Ironborn. Obviously, Emilia does not count.

"Or do you mean the poncery mixed with all this? It is a Hightower's land, Ser. And here everyone wants the largest tower-the best prestige." Except for himself, and likely other Tyrell men. "So yes-this is fucking normal."

Eonn's gaze finds Hellan sitting in the same spot — she looks distant, staring off toward the door into the Quill and Tankard in some faintly troubling contemplation, which dissipates as she comes back to the world. She sees a cat before she sees Eonn, giving the animal a peculiar eyeing from far away before acknowding the object of its attention with a look. Idle, as she happens to rise from her table with a cup of cider in hand instead of wine and sets her destination on a vague point.

Abram answers Quill discreetly, as he regards Daevon and Maera's exchange, "I meant in particular the talk of swordplay. The poncery I expected," he adds dryly.

"Ser, I find that sometimes a slight irritation that is not addressed in time can grow to be a great boil." Maera is, hopefully, speaking in metaphorical terms. "And the only way to cure it is to lance it to drain the poison out. I do not think exchanging friendly blows with Ser Griffyth or I will satisfy you."

"You don't know the half of it, Ser." Riderch shoots back over his shoulder towards Quill, waggling his eyebrows. Still looking at Elys as if she were either some sort of unicorn, or poisonous manticore. The smile never leaves his lips, however.

"I'm sure," Elys can agree easily enough with that sentiment, though her words are still clipped. With green stains all over her dress, she scrambles back to her feet without accepting the Blackwood's assistance. "You wear it well," she sneers about her drink, making a show of looking Riderch up and down. And maybe the tug of a smile at the corners of her mouth bears some sincerity; slightly smug, she is.

In walks Riker. His usual elaborate garb in place. Black. He seems in descent spirits himself till he almost steps on a cat. Growling down he makes ready to kick the thing and thinks better when he realises there are a good number of folks about and the kitty goes slinking to Eonn. Nodding in the mans direction he will see Maera as well. A nasty smirk takes hold and he says, "Lady." The word coming out unpracticed, "You look well tonight." He says nothing else though, instead grabs a nearby serving girl to bark orders for drink. Though, he snorts at Maera's words on boils and lancing. A shake of his head given.

"Ah." Quiet there as Quill looks back towards Daevon and Maera. "Oh that. Well yes and no. I think you'll find bravos here though we're not braavosi." And there he grins back to Riderch. "I doubt, I do. But it is entertaining.." And there he blinks at Elys. "Oh, it's the lady with the shit cakes.." more of a notation than anything.

Eonn nods to Hellan, then bends to pick up the cat, something he almost never does, he usually ignores them. Perhaps it's because he noticed Riker — he does glance at the man. "Perhaps unfriendly blows are in order, then," he says, quietly. "Though clearly the tavern will not do."

"Mmmm." Having retrieved his hand, Riderch spies the Riverlander lady. "Welcome to the party in any case. I hope you found the cheese. It's not hardened in goat piss which is a relief. And I —" something has suddenly cut off the Riverlander's speech, and it's not Elys. "Well. Life just got bloody complicated, didn't it."

Abram half-hears, "Hmm? Shit-cakes?" as his attention is occupied more fully by whether or not the party is about to be treated to a duel. Arms crossing casually, a glass of wine dangling from the fingers of his lower hand, the Florent's expression is one of visible interest.

"I have discovered that such is a futile endeavour," Daevon says. "Still, likely you are right. That he has not even thought to offer the aid of the Tyrell's, and suggested that I was lax enough to not even consult the city watch. That I would over-work those in my employ and forbid them from doing anything but my bidding. I had thought he was a friend. If I was less Knightly, I would have…" the anger's still there and he tries to release some with a sigh. "I will take my leave, and apologies for not being in the best of spirits."

Elys snaps her head aside to retort to Quillian, "Ah, the lord with the shit…" Shit what? She didn't think that one through. "… tastebuds. Ugh." The Bracken woman is clearly annoyed with herself for the way that remark went. "My thanks, my lord," she might as well spit at Riderch, but as he cuts off she quirks her brows again. "I could fetch you another for your hair, if you like?"

Valnod places a hand on the Targaryen lord's shoulder, returning his tankard and offering an optimistic grin. "Will get mount. Dae-chief rest, yes?" The wildling slips through the crowd, heading to the stables.

"I should hate to see you leave, Ser Daevon, when you are clearly not in the wrong." Maera says this loud enough to be overheard by most in the party. "And you are a friend to me. I do not blame you for your mood. Here we are here celebrating, and your sister is out…somewhere." She gives him a sympathetic look, "I understand that revelry is not in your heart, but do not go because you think we don't want you here. That's not true at all."

Eonn tucks the cat under one arm, lying against his chest. Evidently the little beast feels safe. It certainly appears pleased about it. And the arrangement leaves Eonn free to drink. He smiles at Riker with one side of his mouth, a look that is not friendly, but not without humour.

"Ah, thank you Lady Mormont," Daevon does actually smile a touch, rather fondly. "In truth it is not my kind of celebration, although certainly it is preferably to the even more formal affairs, and your hospitality is very fine."

Daevon nods at Valnod. "Yes please."

"Just leave some coin with the servants. I've had worse problems." Riderch smiles easily enough at Elys. "I maintain that the stew is the best thing here. The cook knows what she's bloody doing." Tucking his hand in his belt, he takes a step away from the auburn-haired woman, just in case.

The ironborn man is given his drink now and he eyes the back of the woman as she leaves. Overhearing Eonn's words he says, "Tavern did nice last time." His words are certainly with humor as well, and lacking kindness for their part too. He drinks deep though and eyes the Tyrell as he speaks with Maera. The cat gets nasty looks too!

Quill glances from Elys over to where the Ironborn fellow is. There's a brief glance before he looks back towards Abram. "Yes, she tried to make oatcakes for the Dolphin Festival's eatery contest. Tried is too kind of a word." He adds, before he is looking back towards the Northerners and the others. Well.

"Goodnight, Ser Daevon. If I can aid you in any way please let me know." That said, Maera turns her attention back on Riker, "Ugh. Who let you in?" This is said only half-heartedly, like it's a joke. Sort of.

Emilia has found booze! And plenty of interesting conversation to hone in on now, hovering near this group, then that group, wine in one hand, ale with a shot of whisky in the other, drinking from her cup as she sways her hips to the left, then to the right, winding in around people, a little hip bump here and there before she's sliding back in along side her husband with a dip under his arm, ale raised up in front of her chest as she listens in, "Oh, weren't those used as projectiles?" Sliding right in on the conversation between Quill and Abram.

Eonn bows his head to touch the top of the cat's head with his nose, for some reason, watching Daevon as he does so. He looks worried.

"Thank you," Daevon says to Maera. "If you could lend me Eonn's services perhaps? That should suffice. I hope the rest of the party goes well." And then he turns and heads out after Valnod.

Valnod is gone just long enough to bring up a regal destrier, guiding the horse with a rub of its powerful neck, and guiding Daevon, a bit hovering, actually, a look of worry on the wildling's face.

With a healthy drink and the mead running down Rikers beard he sucks the suds from the mustache part of his unkempt beard. "Huh? No one 'let' me anywhere. I go's where I pelase…Thought you knew that!" He laughs loudly for some reason now and shakes his head. When he spies Eonn with the cat he frowns, "Ya' birth that thing yerself'?" He asks now with anotherr healthy chug on his tankard.

Elys glances down at herself as Riderch takes his step back, as if she's confused. She is rather grubby, which prompts one of her deep frowns. Or maybe it's all the talk about her cooking (lack of) prowess that's got her frowning; either way, there's a sharp line drawn between her brows, and she turns her dark look between the Blackrood and the Blackwood. Because really. "May I borrow your drink, Ser?" This, to her fellow Riverlander.

"If so, the even the worst cakes have their use," Abram notes to the returning Emilia with a sidelong smile. Of any within immediate earshot, he wonders, "Who's the young one with the angry eyes?" indicating Daevon.

On the move, Hellan weaves and cuts her way through the party — and pauses, with gradually slowing steps, to look the way of the gathering around Maera, perhaps sensing a disturbance … distracted, she starts to drift off in the opposite direction from any familiar faces— but the woman barely has her back turned before she does a turnabout, striding back toward her niece and Eonn. She speaks quietly just behind his shoulder. "Did you bring your friends?" Though it's those gathered she eyes — particularly Riker, through sense, rather than knowledge of his heritage — she does mean the feline variety.

"Of course." Maera says to Daevon. She rolls her eyes at Riker, "Don't be a twat. It'll make all of the men here throw you in the river, and I'll not even need to dirty my hands." She takes a few steps towards Eonn, "You'll help Ser Daevon with his sister." It's a statement not a question. Her voice lowers, "Do you think she lives still?"

"I am not sure I've ever seen it before," Eonn tells Riker, "But regardless, my lord, I might prefer to take out your liver than pluck a hair from it." He looks over to Hellan, smiles, and says, "My Lady Hellan, do not be troubled."

"Mmmm." Riderch's drink is slammed back against his throat before he reaches for another. "I suppose the world is not perfect. After all." "I don't know about 'borrowing' but I'm sure we can do better than that." He makes his way to a decanter an an empty goblet. "See — I'm drinking from this myself." He assures Elys, with a vulpine grin. With a glance over his shoulder at Riker, he returns his focus to Elys. "I'm drinking out of this myself."

"I do not know." Answers Quill, before he is turning from Abram and Emilia. Now the Blackrood is off in search of a drink. Hopefully he will find one before they run out-or an amusing fight happens. He hates it when he misses those.

Leof eyelash flutters and comes back to the waking land. "oh gosh. I should get home." she mumbers, rubbing her eyes a little bit. She seems confused by Riker.

Emilia had a drink for him! Lofted up though it's soon tilted towards Abram, "To hard cakes and stags, hmmm?" Said with a smirk as she brings her wine glass to her lips to drink of it deeply, glancing about.

The Bracken woman seems a bit twitchy, enduring Riderch's incessant babble with a put-upon sigh. "It's not for me," she hisses, having followed along to fetch said drink. Elys is, momentarily, distracted as she follows that glance over his shoulder and long groan escapes her as she spies Riker. "Quick, give me that," she snaps, snatching at the cup in Riderch's hand as she twists a look back to where Quillian was last seen.

Most folks are not noticed by the Blaktyde, though MAera is adressed. "Ahhh! Yes! Twat…Good one, Lady." He raises the mock toast and drinks deeply, Eonn addressed next. "I think its hair is o' comin' out yer' hand now. And my liver, though worse for the wear, feels intact." The words clearly stated in a challenging way. He shakes his head and turns back to Maera, "Keep yer' cat on o' leash."

Eonn looks a little baffled, glancing from Riker's face to the back of his own hand. He shrugs and drinks more.

"Troubled," Hellan repeats, putting particular emphasis on the word, as though it is quite foreign, and smiles — while it doesn't stretch to fully sincere levels, particularly as she continues to regard the others, there's a twinkle to her eye that wasn't there before, though it darkens on her assessment of Riker. "I am not troubled," she goes on replying to Eonn,"Though I am curious as to who might be thrown in the river — I was hoping someone would fall into the Honeywine." She gives a quick exaggerated pause and lifts her cup, "Did I say that out-loud?"

"Oh, of course." Riderch provides another cup to Elys, but only half paying attention to her as he takes a couple strides away. Funnily enough, he looks almost all right with the woman at this point. There's a foul look on the Blackwood's face for a moment but he's truly not looking at anyone.

"To hard cakes and hard silvers," Abram mostly echoes Emilia, chuckling quietly in the back of this throat as he drinks to the toast. "Don't mean to distract you from the goings-on, but just realized I don't know your name, Lady. Well, except for the 'Oakheart' part. Ser Abram Florent, I am." His own attention is divided between the Dornish lady and the verbal sparring underway elsewhere in the room.

Maera looks from Riker to Eonn and just nods. It's a permissive little motion.

Emilia exhales out with a chuckle, eyebrows raising, "Truly then? Lady Emilia Oakheart, a pleasure, Ser Abram Florent." Said with a glance spared to Abram, "How long have you known my husband?" She'll ask with some interest, watching the goingons across the room as well.

"He can swim," Eonn tells Hellan, his tone amused, mock-regretful.

"Friggin' Blackwoods," Elys mutters as she turns from Riderch, having finally secured a cup. But what now? She looks rather dismayed to find the Blackrood not where he was before, and she casts a quick glance about to locate him. Now she's stuck with a stupid cup of cider, and she stalks a few steps in Emilia and Abram's direction, clearly intent on waiting for her target to return.

Riker is muttering and cursing in his mug as he drinks and watches the interactions betwenn Eoon and the Mormont bride to be. Shaking his head now he says, "The question we all has'…Is can ya'?" He asks Eonn now. He takes little notice of Hellan as he is a stupid and easily offeneded man, his sole concentration earned by Maera's guard.

"Yes," says Eonn, mildly. He nuzzles the cat's fur again.

"Oh admit it. You love us. To death." Riderch launches this barb towards Elys over his shoulder, as he ambles his way to a chair, shaking his head in a vigorous manner of denial, sprawling in it.

"A pleasure," Abram echoes Emilia easily. "Oh…" he considers her question, "Some years now. Met him first among the outriders in one of the Dornish border wars. It were- Well, I'm sure you know which one," he cuts off more detail with a chuckle. "Knew him before his brother were killed, and rode with him after." He drinks again from his glass, glancing from Emilia to the demi-standoff over the rim of the vessel.

Leof is quiet, leaving quietly, likely exhausted. Her tiny frame bounces off to rest. Her hands resting her chest. Her frame, is relaxed and headed off with escort.

Maera moves to stand next to Hellan, and crosses her arms over her chest. "He can." She says with a light smirk before she turns her head to look at Hellan. "Ironmen." Her nose wrinkles with disgust.

"As well as those cats?" Riker asks now. A nasty smirk forming as he eyes all three of them, four with the cat.

Hellan's downturned mouth is not-so-mock regret, her suspicions quite cemented even before Maera's complaint. She can recognize an ironborn's voice when she hears it. The same disgust paints her face, hollowing out her sharp sheeks. Her own voice is ice. "I think you have swam up the wrong river this time, Ironman."

"Ironmen." Riderch's voice echoes in the distance. It's not — disgust exactly. It's something duller than that. In comparison, the Blackwood Lord's estimation of Elys was positively…warm.

"Oh, cats can swim," says Eonn. "They just don't like to. Me, I like to." He smiles. "Why did you come here?"

It's an odd sort of look that Elys shoots over her shoulder. Curious. Vaguely guilty. Possibly a little worried. But all of that only fleetingly shot at Riderch, because she has a drink to launch, if she can only find a target for her temper. It's as if she's only just become aware of the growing tension amongst certain partygoers, and like many, she echoes in her own grudging snarl, "Ironmen."

Peri is quiet, following rowdy voices, "Oh you moron." she mumbles, headed for Riker. The tall tawny woman looks annoyed "Of all the parties to crash you chose this one? Really?" She asks, hands on her hips, giving Riker a 'mom glare' "I was making your favorite dinner!" she scolds softly. She eyes Maera and curtsies, politely, "I apologize for invading without invite, forgiveness, Lady Mormont." She offers, returning her attention back on Riker.

The Blaktyde narrows an eye at Hellan now, but his ire is turned to Eonn. "Because I fuckin' can." The only words he speaks. "And I know they can. I am still unsure abou you." Another outburst of his demonym gets him snarling about. Obviously he is not hip to the noble party he walked into but far from fleeing. Peri's arrival does very little to get him turning or considering leaving. Instead, the serving girl is flagged again. "Drinks around, I will have these cunts watered thouroughly." He grins at the whole bunch, the 'ball is in their court' sorto' speak but that cat is still getting the stink-eye!

Maera ignores Peri. Instead, she looks to Hellan with a bit of a glint in her eye before calling out to the guests, "My Lords, there is an Ironman amongst us, and he smells like he hasn't bathed in fresh water in nearly a year. Who will help him find his bath?!"

Eonn smiles faintly. He crouches to set the cat down on the flagstone path.

"So, this is usually the time I like to make my leave and hear of the aftermath from my husband." Emilia will murmur to Abram, "as much as she wished to stay she knows when a good time to leave is. Though how amused she is! A nudge to Abram and she will slip away, "Ensure my husband doesn't get into the thick of this, hmm? He's wearing a sweater I particularly adore."

The look that Riderch shoots Elys is practically worth a million an one Golden Dragons. "You said it, Lady." He murmurs. If there were any signs that Blackwoods and Brackens did not have as many things in common as they did at odds, they were all shown here tonight. Bounding from the seat he was perched in, he retrives his ridiculous floppy hat in short order. "Hmm. I think it's time for mutton pie. Far away from here."

The woman who approaches Riker gets more or less the exact same dangerous stare from Hellan, whose hate for all things ironmen is truly quite boundless, easily searing. She shares the glint with Maera before turning her ire back on Riker, delivering coldly, "I would lift him myself but I prefer not to dirty my hands on ironmen unless it is with their blood."

Abram turns a lobsided grin back sidelong to Emilia, "Won't be the first time, Lady." Glass raised again in brief toast, he drains the last of the drink, and sets the glass aside, turning his eye about to spot where Quillian has placed himself.

Riker snorts. A look to Peri, she does not have to allign herself with this. Turning to Eonn he says, "Perhaps it is time you leashed her then?" He shrugs, not caring and ready for anything. The girl who brings his new drink is quite shaken but the mug is ripped from her hands and she dissapears. Riker drinks. "Well?" He does not seem to care one way or the other but a hand does linger near his belt. "Maybe we should finger dance." Those words surely not meant to be called on.

"Nor the last." Emilia will retort before taking her leave.

"Leashed whom?" asks Eonn. The cat rubs against his ankles. "No finger dancing, I'm afraid it is entirely too stupid."

It's surely one thing they can agree on. There is only the quickest flash of her smile, such a rare thing as it is for Elys. She seems almost embarrassed to have relented from her deep, dark hatred, free hand reaching up to scratch nervously at the back of her neck in lieu of a sword to reach for. She makes a concerted effort to return to frowning, and in frustration empties her cup onto the grass in a huff before searching for a different exit than the one Riderch's taking.

Peri eyes Eonn "Its stupid but if you aren't as drunk as them, survivable." She wiggles her fingers. She sighs a bit, moving towards Eonn "To Rescue him or not to, If I save him, he'll be angry and so will everyone else. If I don't he'll be angry and bruised up." she offers, adjusting her fingers through her long hair, green silk dress swishing as she moves "Riker, why in a thousand hells did you crash Lady Mormont's engagement party?" she asks with a sigh, adjusting her belt.

Returning from only the Seven knows where (really, you have to heed Nature's call), Griffyth isn't looking the worse for wear. Having refilled his cup, well watering the ale, his reappearance is marked by a certain curiousity when it comes to a certain Captain's presence. Regrouping, the Wylde knight quietly rejoins Maera's company, cocking his head while he whets his thirst yet again. "What in the hells is going on?" He purposefully pitches his voice low, brow furrowed.

"On old Wyk it was called brave." Riker states to Eonn, stupidly. "And her of course. I will not have her calling for me thrown in the drink again. Someone will be thrown in dead next time." He shakes his head now, again. To Maera he does say. "Pftt." He is answering Peri now as well, "I don't know of your damn partys. I will be outside. Any who wish to learn to swim on their own may come find me. I won't be far." The last part directed more at Eonn and Griffyth (since he just came back) as the Ironborn turns and leaves.

"A thousand blessings, lady Wolf!" Riderch's departure is not without a loud blessing in Hellan's general direction. Still, though, he excuses himself and meanders towards the exit gate. He still looks at Elys, but doesn't comment further. He doesn't really need to, as everything that was ever needed said between these two was said long ago. Probably before they were born.

"I've wiped his face across the floor before, but I'm wearing my good gown." Maera says to Hellan with a lazy shrug, "There are all these men here who profess to be such skilled warriors. Let them deal with it." She turns her head to look back at Griffyth, "Blacktyde showed up." There's a brief pause, "You should toss his arse in the water."

Eonn is more or less between Maera and Riker, gazing at the latter with a cold lack of fear, thought he Ironman surely has his attention. He doesn't look to Peri, but replies to her, "Stupid is stupid," he says. Or maybe he meant it in reply to Riker's comment about Old Wyk.

"Crashing blindly at shores that do not belong to him?" Hellan replies sharply, though it can hardly be said to be directed at Peri, as she doesn't take her eyes off Riker, even as the view becomes his back.

At Riker's bluster, Griffyth swallows the rest of his drink. "I see. I'll go and have a word." There's a wry smile about his lips, and then unarmed knight dips a low bow before the Lady Mormont. Turning away, Griffyth sets the emptied cup aside, offers Peri a small nod, and starts for the door. There's no hurry or fear, but Griffyth has no intention of dragging his feet. Nor does he send his black-haired, green-eyed squire scrambling for a blade.

Eonn casts a questioning glance to Maera.

There is no other exit? Elys just awkwards about, especially as Riker seeks his way through the tavern as well. Better to give those departed some space, eh? Her cup is empty now, and she glances down to it mournfully. "Shouldn't have tipped that out," she grunts, mostly to herself.

"Let's go." Maera says to Eonn and Hellan without hesitation.

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