(121-03-04) Rumors of How to Find a Dragon
Rumors of How to Find a Dragon
Summary: When multiple people convene on the Market and involve a Targaryen, talk quickly turns to the fate of Visenya.
Date: 03/04/2014
Related: Silenced Stag, Taming Dragon

Abram is passing among the city's varied vendors, with the idle entertainment of one unfamiliar with the sights and sounds of Oldtown. He is peering with smiling suspicion at a Dornish merchant's offering of skewered meat with fiery peppers.

Daevon's searching the marketplace for something in particular. He's also skipping queues to speak directly to merchants in quiet urgency. "She isn't dead." He says yet again. Even the Maiden's Knight is afflicted by Targaryen madness it would seem. At a fabric stall he says. "I need a shirt for an extremely tall man."

Abram moves on with a chuckle, catching sight of the argent-haired Daevon as much for the crowd's movement around the Targaryen as for the fair young man's distinctiveness. Turning his path in that direction, the Florent affects a reserved smile and greets, "Ser Targaryen, is it?"

Another day, another handful of coins and a few hours wasted as a surprisingly chipper Riderch Blackwood has lifted a finger to do his own shopping. He's missing the ridiculous hat (and maybe hangover) from the night before and munches on an apple that he idly bought off a vendor. Crunch. Crunch.

The Riverlander is eyeballing a few bolts of brightly colored fabric at a tailor's shop. Don't do it, Blackwood! This exotic fashion does not at all suit you.

Daevon's once again informed that such shirts are not standard and he'll need to get someone to make one. He nods, distracted as he's greeted. "Ser Daevon Targaryen, I usually go by my first name. I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage?" He takes in the ring. "Ser Florent?" As coincidence would have it he's at the stall next to Riderch's.

They're standing near the fabric and other clothing items stalls, speaking.

Introducing himself as, "Ser Abram Florent," with a brief dip of the head and shoulders to Daevon. "From the wild Mormont event," he clarifies with a grin at the pun. It drops right away. "I'm but newly arrived in Oldtown and hadn't before heard of you family's search. My family may not have the Tyrell numbers, but what is here is at your service. Even if it's only another pair of eyes in the search. How might we help?"

Another day, another visit to the market. This time, Mariya has ventured further than a few streets down from where she has been staying with her sister. Walking along with Arros, she attempts to practically pull him along from one stall to the other. She takes in the sights quite happily, breathing in deeply the smell of cooking meats and different wares. "It's so busy!" she comments to Arros as they walk. "How does anyone get anything done? I can barely make anything out, there's so much. It's like it's a blur!"

Arros allows himself to be pulled around by Mariya in a good-natured sort of way. He is lightly armored, but the sword hanging at his hip serves as warning enough for those who would harass a Dornishwoman. "You'd be used to it, Princess, if you'd been in a city all of your life. Indeed, you'd probably find it dull."

"See the finest crimson, Ser? I see you prefer something of a more eye-catching hue." A broad-shouldered, balding Lyseni tailor with a grin as wide as his shoulders gestures towards one of the other bolts. "I see maybe you —" The smell of his perfumed hair wafts throughout the stall.

"Mmmm." Riderch mouths in response, holding in a deep breath as he gets a whiff. "I don't suppose you can find something silver? Detailing." He strains a bit as he idly people-watches, considering the purchase in his head. Where he coincidentally spies a familiar face. Daevon Targaryen, to be precise — Abram's maybe less familiar.

"Ah yes," Daevon says to Abram. "Thank you for that offer. I have been asking the newly arrived merchants if any of them have seen or heard anything of her whereabouts. And I've been trying to find out specifically information in regards to this body that was found. It's not hers. But truth, investigation is not my forte and any tracks there may have been will have been long since gone." He offers a distracted nod of greeting to Riderch.

Abram nods with Daevon's news. "Point me to the place, Ser, and I'll see what can be found. Any tracks left, I'll follow." With a shrug of one shoulder and an itch at one hear, Abram adds, "If nothing else, can take a ride through the hamlets. Smallfolk may not be very quick, but their eyes work just fine."

"Dull?" Mariya can't even imagine that. There are so many things to see and touch and experience that the very idea sounds preposterous. "I could spend weeks here!" And that's just the marketplace. Despite her insistence that it would take days to explore, she's moving through each stall quite rapidly, as if they all might be taken away any moment and she has to rush to see them all. It's not long before they're close to the vendors and fabrics where Abram, Daevon and Riderch stand. From there, the Dornishwoman's eyes immediately land on the silver-haired Targaryen. She stops dead in her tracks, startled. "Ser Daevon?"

Daevon nods at Abram. "That is a good idea. Thank you." And then he spots Mariya and he too stares, blinking in disbelief for all that he's been warned that she's here. "Mariya." He says, and that's clear delight.

"Silver? I believe so, m'lord." The Lyseni merchant lumbers on towards the back of the shop a few moments later. And rummages. "Still looking!" He yells. And it sounds like the wide man is tearing his own shop apart, muttering to himself in his own tongue.

Meanwhile, Riderch breathes out a sigh — maybe it's relief? He looks towards the back of the shop and just steps on away, figuring now may be a good time to escape. He takes another bite of the apple as he acknowledges the Dragon. "Ser Daevon — good to see you out and about in daylight." A nod too to Abram. "Do not want to interrupt. I have to —" He wheels about taking a few steps further spying the Dornish. It's clear he's trying to place Mariya in his head from somewhere, tapping his temple. "Princess!" Riderch's memory still apparently works. Smiling a little, he nods his head. Arros gets a more — burly sort of nod though. Probably the last time he witnessed this man was on the tourney field, that Joust was not a thing one forgets. "I think my squire's gotten lost and I need to go retrieve him. But I'm sure I'll run across you again."

Abram turns when Daevon does, belatedly taking note of Riderch and the newly arrived lady and her escort. A grin greets, "Blackwood, is it? Luck," he wishes the man in parting before easy smile and attention turn back to the Dornish.

"Weeks?" Arros grimaces in a joking sort of way, and then lets out a chuckle, "Weeks and weeks of shopping, Seven help me. I'd go mad." He doesn't seem particularly interested in the wares and only stopped to look in a tent that sold pendants made for women out of colored and decorated glass. Then Daevon is spotted, and he looks up briefly before he begins walking in the direction of the Maiden's Knight. After all, they will soon be heading that way anyways.

"Oh Arros, it must be such a trial for you to have to spend weeks in the company of a beautiful woman, waiting on her every need," Daevon smiles. "Such a burden of Knightly duties that. Ser Abram Florent, this is my dear friend, Ser Arros Sand, and my even dearer friend, Princess Mariya Martell."

Abram greets the pair with a genial manner, bowing to Mariya with the word, "Highness." Standing straight again he gives a brief grin to Arros with the word, "Ser."

It's not that Mariya doesn't see Riderch or Abram, but for the moment all that registers is the Targaryen knight. Arros is quite right, Mariya practically dashes toward Daveon, grinning. "Ser Daevon!" She stops just short of him, as if just barely remembering propriety and curtseys. "I was told you were in town. I'd hoped to visit you properly in a few days once I got settled." Still smiling, she curtseys to Abram, "A pleasure. Ser Arros has been kind enough to accompany me to the market for sightseeing. It's wonderful here."

"Even the most droll tasks are made more easy with the presence of a lovely face." Arros comments with a wry smile to Daevon, "Even shopping." He nods his head to Abram, "Ser Abram. A pleasure." That said, his attention drifts back to Daevon, "How are you holding up? Has there been any word?"

Daevon dips a bow to Mariya in return. "I have been busy, so it is good that we meet now. It is so very good to see you, Mariya. How have you been enjoying Oldtown?" He shakes his head at Arros. "I can tell that you enjoy it such. I've still had little luck with any leads, other than… well I suppose I'll do what must be done. It's possible that the girl they found had mugged my sister and stolen her identity. Or there was some sort of elaborate scam. So many different possibilities keep coming to me, but that helps no one. I think there's nothing to be done but to ride out there and see what can be discovered. I've exhausted all of the leads here. I have had many kind offers of help. They all seem to wish to be with me though, and I had hoped that spreading out would allow us to search more area."

Trystan enters the genral area, flanked by only one of his guards. He looks about at the various vendors, looking a tad bored with what they are trying to sell. His eyes then fall upon the group of knights and the pincess and he smiles. He heads on over to speak with them, his guard following along. "Ser Targaryan. Ser Sand." He nods to them both, then bows a bit to Mariya. "Your highness." Then a nod is given to Abram.

"Then we must spread out." Arros says in agreement. "However, I cannot ride alone." It would be a bad idea for Arros, who is swarthy skinned and rather distinctly Dornish looking, to go riding through smallfolk villages on his own in the Reach. "Why mug her and steal her identity when she'd make one of the finest ransoms in the whole Reach? If I were to put money on it I'd assume she was being held by unsavories for this purpose." He bows to Trystan, "Lord Banefort." Before looking back to Daevon, "We should get a map and these willing men, and divide into smaller groups."

Abram comments to the last, "Truth spoken, Ser. The more ground covered the better; and the sooner, the better as well. No reason to let a cold trail chill any further. No offense to the royal presence of course," he adds with a dry chuckle, "But I've no need to ride near you. Give me a direction and I can be off." Trystan is acknowledged briefly in return.

"It's good to see you, too." Mariya's grin quickly fades as talk turns serious. "What happened?" It's often that she's not up to current events and even more likely that her family has kept her out of the loop when it comes to sad news involving Daevon. "Someone mugged your sister?" Clasping her hands together and then holding them to her chest, her eyes widen. "Mother preserve, I hope she's alright." As Trystan approaches, she gives him a curtsey, absorbed in the news. "Ser."

Daevon shakes his head. "I doubt that she is being held for ransom. Already a random demand would have appeared but there has been no such word. You are right though. And it does me little good concocting wilder scenarios. We'll find her. Maps are not my forte, and organising such things are somewhat beyond my current skills. But if either of you would like to, I would appreciate it." He nods at Mariya. "My sister, Visenya's vanished." And then he has someone approaching him, delivering a message. He frowns. "I need to go, but we can speak again later."

Trystan smiles to Mariya, not wishing to correct her for the moment. When he hears that Visenya Targaryan has vanished, he turns serious. As Daevon leaves, he looks to the other knights. "I would ask to assist with the search for her. Many of my men know the lay of the land, we could help search." He turns to his guard. "Mallec, go inform the men to keep an eye out for anything that might give an idea as to where Lady Targaryan might have been last seen, and look for anythign that might help in finding her." The guard nods and heads off.

"Lord Trystan, if you could have your men search outside of the city in the villages and hamlets for any clues that would be very helpful, and greatly appreciated." Arros tells Trystan. Once Daevon is gone he says, "I heard the girl is dead. Ser Daevon doesn't believe it, but we must keep this in mind."

Turning toward Arros, Mariya's happy day has certainly been marred. "Poor Daevon." Her thoughts are, of course, immediately about Daevon as opposed to Visenya, whom she had never met. "How horrible." With the Maiden's Knight departed, her attention finally turns to Abram and Trystan. "I wish there was more I could do. I'm quite a good rider. I could help search. Don't you think, Ser Arros? I could go with you when you're—-" gasping, she shakes her head viciously at his words. "No, don't say such things, Ser. If Ser Daevon believes his sister alive, she must be."

Abram turns his eye to Arros as Daevon withdraws. He nods with a grimace. "No ransom demand? Doesn't bode well. Still, a day or two spent flushing the hedges can't hurt, can it?" To Mariya, he manages a half-smile. "With respects, Highness: at best some folk have snatched up a lady of royal birth. At worst, killed her. Doesn't seem wise to present another, to my eyes."

Trystan loosk to Mariya. "While more eyes would be helpful, your highness, I'd rather ensure you are kept safe. If something has happened to Lady Targaryan, best to keep it to only one person in trouble, no?" He gives her a small, reassuring smile. "We shall find her, don't worry. If you have any men, such as guards or the like, the help of their eyes would likely be much needed."

"I beg your pardon, Princess, but I am in no way saying we ought to give up on her. I am preparing anyone for the grim task of uncovering poor Lady Visenya in such a state. It is hard even on seasoned Knights to find an innocent so abused." Arros says flatly before sucking in a breath, and sweeping his gaze over Mariya, "And what shall I do if Lady Visenya was captured, and those same rogues set their eyes on you, Princess?"

Abram voices between Trystan and Arros, "Sers. I'm away to ready my horses for the search. If you've need of me, send word to the Roseroad gate." He manages a bow to Mariya in parting. "Highness."

"I'm not saying that you should!" Mariya is obviously distressed at the idea of finding Visenya's body as opposed to her being alive and well. "But, I wouldn't give up hope that the Lady is alive. You sounded so…sure of the worst." That certainly does not work with her world view. With everyone telling her she is only putting herself in danger to continue the search, she gives a determined shake of her head. "Ser Daevon saved my life. I won't…I can't just do nothing while he suffers."

"I mean no offense when I say this Princess, but…" Arros gives Mariya a soft sigh, "Do you really think it would be wise to put yourself in a position where you are vulnerable? Do you honestly believe that will be helpful to Ser Daevon in the slightest? Do you think it would be helpful to me to have to focus on making sure you are well when I ought to be focusing my attention on finding Lady Visenya?"

Trudging back through the market, a hulking, muscular bald man in boiled leather and a servicable black tunic idly strolls this way. He's munching on some large piece of meat on a stick, looking generally pleased with himself. Actually, no, he's not trudging, he's following someone. Riderch to be precise. The two exchange words between the big man's bites. If one's seen him around before one might recall this his squire. Took long enough, but Blackwood found the man. Judging by the enthusiasm he shows in tearing into his snack, it probably wasn't hard to figure out where to find him.

The closest thing to Mariya's expression would be a sulk. It's not that Arros' words are untrue. In fact, they are quite true and she knows it. But, she also hates the feeling of being useless when someone she cares for is in pain. Instead of verbally replying, she merely shakes her head once as an agreement of sorts. Not that she won't attempt to think of another way in order to help Daevon. As Riderch approaches with what must be his hungry squire, she makes no greeting.

Arros's dark indigo eyes focus on Mariya as she sulks. He doesn't quite seem satisfied with her half-hearted disagreement. "You could certainly try and solicit the help of others. We could put you in charge of helping coordinate the searches. After all, I cannot stay here to direct everyone." As the Riverlands Knight approaches again he offers the other man a distracted nod, but his attention remains on Mariya.

Trystan nods to Arros and Mariya. "My thoughts exactly. Surely you could get many more people to help by asking, Your Highness." When he sees Riderch, he gives the man a nod, but not much beyond that.

Sandy eyebrows go up on the part of Riderch as he rounds closer to the little group he just passed earlier. Plus Trystan who gets an acknowledgement, a slightly familiar nod. "Hmm. Forgive me for asking the most obvious of questions but what sort of help are you looking for here?" There's a glint in his eye. "Haven't had a lot to do in this city since the Tourney ended except watch Tel here — " he looks back over his shoulder to the big squire, helping himself to a fair amount of meat-on-a-stick "enrich the local meat trade." His squire looks a bit abashed. For a moment. As Riderch turns away the large man gives his Lord a slight narrowing of the eyes.

Arros' suggestion is what makes Mariya's frown begin to fade. Coordinating is better than sending others to help while she remains locked away at home. Gathering everyone's information and doing something is helpful. The more she thinks on it, the more she likes the idea. "Coordinate the searches. We could set up a meeting point." As she speaks, the ideas start to gather steam and she becomes more animated. They might not all work, and most them have must have already been thought of, but the important thing to her is that there's momentum. "We could have a map and color different sections so people know where everyone has already been. Perhaps link information so we could see if there's a trail that might have been missed out in the wilderness. That surely would be helpful, right?" Now she turns to Riderch to explain, "We're discussing the search plans to help Ser Daevon find his sister, Lady Visenya. If you'd like to help, I'm sure you would be most welcome to do so." She includes the squire in her appeal.

"Those are all good ideas, Princess. And I shall leave all of that in your capable hands." Arros says with a nod. "I am going to go back to the manse and get prepared to ride out. Your guards are here somewhere, yes?"

Fresh from the baths, Lady Valerity Redwyne makes her way through the square, followed by the scent of Dornish roses and a pair of guardsmen in Hightower livery. She pauses to examine the fine scarves and wraps offered by one of the vendors, listening with half an ear to the conversations nearby. Lady Visenya is certainly a name that gets her attention. She glances over her shoulder and raises a curious eyebrow.

Not as lost as he was yesterday, another person wanders into the square. Dressed more appropriately for the weather. One hand rests on the pommel of his sword as long and leisurely strides bring him further into the square. And thankfully, instead of the vacant stare of day previous, Ser Jaremy Strickland sports a smile, and his eyes dart about in a rather time honored tradition here in Oldtown. People watching.

Trystan nods to Mariya, smiling. "See? Helping already." He looks to Riderch. "Will you assist?" He hasn't noticed the other people in the square yet.

"Thank you," Mariya tells Arros warmly. Arranging the searches certainly gives her some way of helping that will hopefully not put her in the way. "Yes, of course. They're nearby and I'll be along shortly, I'm sure." She curtseys to the knight on his way out.

"Mmm. His /Sister?/" Riderch languidly stretches a hand behind his upper back and scratches at the nape of his neck, it looks like something of a nervous habit. Then his eyes widen a little. "So /that/ is what was going on. Hrm. Well," His blue eyes narrow sharply as he looks from Dornish Knight to Banefort Lord to Dornish Princess.

His big squire just merely arcs his head to one side, and stows his snack for the moment as if he suddenly realized that manners were an important thing here and simply looks at his Lord in askance.

Riderch Blackwood crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Is this something dangerous?" There's a slow, absent grin that blooms upon his face. This looks like a sign of interest, all right.

One hand moves to tuck hair behind his ear, as eyes squint in the shine of the sun. Jaremy is quiet for a moment, as he weaves past one a knight on his way out. As such Arros is given a look to his back, before he is turning towards a flower stall-but then is moving on to a smaller venture that allows for drink-and a cup that you buy. Thirst and interest piqued-

"Only insofar as chasing wild geese is dangerous," surmises Valerity. Though no one asked her. She turns to offer, "I'm told the lady is quite dead and her body en route to Dragonstone." She tchs, softly. "But I hear, as well, that her poor, sweet brother is very much in denial."

Trystan looks to Valerity. "Ser Sand had said that…" He sighs a tad. "Perhaps it's best to just let Ser Targaryan come to his own conclusion after a short search." He shrugs, looking the noblewoman over, then bowing to her. "M'lady." He smiles to her.

"I hope it isn't too dangerous, as I know many who will be on the search. Ser Arros believes it to be rogues and outlaws. There may be some danger if they have the lady and will not surrender her to the search party without a fight." Already, Mariya is concocting a fantastical story of what has happened and will happen when they find Viseyna and how they will rescue her. To her, that is the only possible ending to this tale.

Bristling slightly at Valerity's nonchalance at the tragedy and flagrant disregard for what must be true - that is that Visenya is alive and that Daevon is certainly not in denial, the young Dornishwoman stands up straighter. "I believe that should anyone have the most up to date information on Lady Visenya's predicament, it would be her brother. He's convinced that she is alive and that is good enough for me as, I'm sure, it will be good enough for the search party."

Trystan nods to Mariya, then turns as a man taps his shoulder. He listens to what the man says softly, then nods. "I must be off for the while, it seems. I hope I might return shortly, just a little problem at the manse." He bows to his company and takes his leave.

"I've lost a brother, myself, although the circumstances were probably — different." Riderch observes as he scratches at the back of his neck again. His eyes narrow and there is a certain foulness to his countenance. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone a Targaryen." There's an odd bit of deference to his tone as he states this. "If it's a simple errand as a gesture of goodwill, my lands haven't forgotten the Dragon's peace. If it's /not/ so simple —" He looks back at his squire behind him as they stand talking in the market and smiles ruefully. "Well. Isn't this the sort of thing that Knights are supposed to be for? I mean, other than the obvious. I have several days before I need to see anyone again." Oh, and then there's a bit of nonchalant, under-the-breath grumbling about politics and dallying.

She's coltish and fine-boned, deftly hewn and striking from high, clear brow to finely turned ankles. Long limbs and bony prominences, her body is a collection of sweeping lines and uncompromising angles, slender and pale. Her hair is chestnut brown, contrasting dramatically with her porcelain skin. Eyes of deep, velvet blue create further contrast, arresting and surrounded by lashes so thick they give the illusion of being lined with khol. Her nose is straight, her mouth expressuve, just barely a blush of rose, the lower lip fuller than that above. She has the look of a masterwork in stone, symmetrical and classicaly lovely, marred only by two small beauty marks: one on the right, just above the line of her jaw, the other on her left cheekbone.

She wears a dark blue gown of fine make, tailored long and slender to suit her particular form. The structured bodice flares out and up at the shoulders, baring them before narrowing to fitted sleeves, then flaring again about three-quartets of the way down to finally bell past her wrists. The narrow skirt sweeps down from almost boyish hips, her figure saved by a wasp waist that seems to need neither cinch nor stays. The hem flares once again into a myriad of ripples and gathers so, between it and the sleeves, she flutters and flows like ripples on dark water. Her dark hair is parted in the middle and pulled into a severe pair of chignon at the nape of her neck. She wears only one piece of jewelry, a seven-pointed star on a long chain, much as a septa might.

Valerity looks ever so slightly amused as she's bowed to, and just as amused to gamely dip a curtsy in return. Mariya's bristling prompts both elegant eyebrows to lift, though her expression remains mild. "The lady slipped her leash and disappeared from the Dragon den more than a week past. How is the Maiden's Knight to suddenly be the expert on her whereabouts when she's been missing all this while?" She folds her arms and shrugs. "Simple enough, I think," she asides to Riderch. "Goodwill is — good. Well and good. All loyal men should do as their lord pleases. However," she looks pointedly back at Mariya, "Let's not abandon reason."

Amadys Baratheon is, according to his wont and his preference when not mingling with his scholarly superiors, finely attired, with no hint of an acolyte's robe, and plenty of satin and miniver in gold and black, as he saunters into the market square. But there is a slight difference in his usual bearing - he's usually to be sighted leading a party of hell-raising young ne'er-do-wells, prentices, novices, squires and the like; but presently he stalks about looking isolated, meditative, and generally none too content. Nevertheless, he gravitates, as of right, towards the best company he can espy, and enters their midst without ceremony.

"My lord…ladies fair…what tidings from the Hightower and beyond?" he enquires in a tone that aims at offhandness, but somehow, and uncharacteristically, misses it. "Or what wisdom on counsel on dire tidings past, should I ask…?"

Mariya gives Riderch a grateful smile once he agrees to help in the search. "I am quite sorry to hear about your brother, Ser. You do your title justice in helping those in need." She quickly curtseys to the departing Trystan before settling her attention on Valerity. "It is not reason that I abandon, nor is it merely my goodwill that entreats me to help. Ser Daevon is a good man and true knight. Those who assist him do so because of that, not merely because they are loyal subjects to their lord." Nevermind that Riderch just said that he's partly helping because he owes the Targaryens, that's not the important bit.

"Of course he does not know her exact whereabouts, otherwise he'd be there to find her. However, if he - the leader of her search and her relative - believes his sister to be alive, who are any of us who know little of the situation to decide her fate?" That, certainly must be an answer to the tidings from Hightower and beyond that Amadys asks for. Mariya answered without even meaning to. After her little speech based on romanticism and ideals, she turns slightly toward the newcomer to their small gathering. There is a pause and she adds the obvious, "We were discussing Lady Visenya, my lord."

"If it weren't for the Great Roast at Harrenhall life in my home would be considerably different." The Riverlander Lord observes, dryly and not without a sardonic edge to Valerity. "I understand what you mean?" There's a hesitation as he attempts to place her and errs on the side of caution and propriety. "My lady. And it may seem trivial or unnecessary but if it demonstrates goodwill truly meant — it's not like I'd be taken away from more pressing duties." He breathes in a sigh.

"You said something about oatcakes, Ser?" The big man identified as his squire smiles broadly to Riderch from behind. Riderch at least doesn't respond to this except maybe let his smirk hang a bit longer than he would otherwise. Finally to Mariya though, Riderch notes. "Thank you — Princess." He's still getting the hang of how to refer to the Dornish girl and it shows. "I'm quite sorry too. But we're long past that, I'm afraid. We can only do what we can."

"I had surmised as much, my lady," Amadys admits with a slight inclination of his head and a grin that, while courteous enough, perhaps lacks something of proper respect. "Forgive me if I intervene, but I overheard some words as I passed by that suggested the case was still misunderstood. This lady here - " and he looks, almost shyly, in fact especially frankly, sidelong towards Valerity - "said something of the Targaryen maid fleeing the dragon's den. In fact, I happen to know she fled towards it."

The Baratheon acolyte coughs lightly in what would be a modest fashion, had he a drop of modesty in his character. "It seems to me a matter of the highest importance. Is Ser Daevon - are the nobility in general - aware that Lady Visenya left in search of the Whoremaster, looking to tame it for her own?"

"Be he good or terrible, we obey — he is our lord, in either case," opines Valerity, a dimple shadowing her cheek. She seems to be enjoying baiting the Dornish idealist — not very nice of her at all. "That he's a good man is lovely — we can all feel warm and fuzzy about helping a good man. But if it were for his virtue we were moved to help? There would be men in spurs all over the roads looking for the baker's and the tanner's sisters, wouldn't there?" Then, to Riderch, she corrects, "I would never call any service to House Targaryen trivial, Ser. Far from it. I am but honest in the whys and wherefores." Amadys and his declaration of Visenya's intent have all her attention in an instant, however. "Indeed? How came you by this, friend?"

Despite her inflamed passion of helping Daevon, Mariya can't help but give an amused smile to the squire who only seems to care about food. The smile finally rests on Riderch as stumbles on her title, but not out of mockery. It's so engrained in those of her household, it reminds her that she is outside of Dorne. "Yes, I agree. Some may only be helping out of duty, and if it finds the lady faster, then that is good. However, I don't believe that all who have come to search merely do so out of begrudging loyalty."

The very mention of 'whoremaster' makes Mariya blush a bright red, unaccustomed to such speech. "Sh-she-I beg your pardon? Why ever would she do that?" It is with a slight shaking of her constitution that she replies to Valerity. Though her resolve on the matter has not faltered, her voice is not quite as steady as it was before. "I believe a true knight will help all in need. Not just lords and ladies. There are stories that tell of those who have helped baker's daughters just as well as princesses."

"How do hawks come by woodcock, singers by ballads, spies by gossip or scholars by truths? I heard it, my lady, from a source I'm inclined to trust," Amadys insists with growing intensity, tossing his lank-haired dark head.

"Namely Lady Visenya herself. I do not know whether I was the last being she confided in ere she flew what it pleased you to call her den, looking for the lair of a direr beast indeed. Mayhaps I was but the dozenth-to-last. Certainly, I advised her to take further counsel of others ere she went on, wise men, maesters, …all those who might know of perilous and crucial facts of dragonkine. But I fear she paid me no heed. I only know this - a day or two, I'd place it, before the word of her disappearance broke …she was bent on taming the Whoremaster, and to be sure, no mere word of mine could gainsay her."

Seeing that his use of the dragon's colloquial Oldtown sobriquet is embarrassing the young Dornishwoman, Amadys turns in her direction with some contrition, but it not particularly sincere to behold, though his voice is apologetic enough. "She is a Targaryen if ever I saw one, my lady, and quite convinced she is destined to make that beast do her bidding."

Daevon's just happened back into the vicinity when he hears Amadys' words. He's immediately striding over in that direction. "Do you know where she's gone? Which direction she took?"

Valerity's brows draw down as the Dornish princess falters. Just like that, she's not having fun any more. Bugger. "I'm sure," she offers Mariya, a bit uncomfortably, "that… everything will turn out as it should." There, there. Buck up, little camper. She listens to Amadys with interest, and seems aboutt to comment — when Daevon arrives. And she, probably wisely, keeps her opinion to herself. For the moment.

"I really wonder who names these things." Riderch observes to no-one. Well, that's not quite true, he's looking at his squire who serves as a (generally) safe sounding board for these sorts of thought who very carefully guards a smirk. "I suppose maybe she decided that we got lucky and Harrenhall was just a 'good start.'" He suggests. It's a bit indelicate of a suggestion, were one to stop and think about it. "But I don't know if 'why' really matters in this case." He crosses his arms again and steps back, giving the Lady Redwyne and the Maester careful attention both as they speak. Meanwhile, the big man behind Riderch finishes his snack, discarding the stick somewhere (somewhat) appropriate.

Completely in the dark of local names and gossips, it takes Mariya a few beats to realize that Whoremaster is a dragon. So, Visenya went looking to train a dragon. Though those are all important revelations, all she can think to sputter is, "Wh-why would you call a dragon Whor-whor-that?" Then, it is a look of surprise and almost suspicion as Valerity stands down her argument. The woman certainly does not sound convinced. However, she takes the words at their value for the moment. "Yes, I believe they will. Ser Daevon will—" And like that he appears. It's evident that Mariya stands quite a bit straighter as the knight returns. She does not attempt to interrupt, but waits to hear what Amadys would reply.

Valerity raises both eyebrows, nonplussed, as Mariya stumbles over the dragon's pet name. But she says nothing, also relinquishing the floor to the Maiden's Knight and acolyte.

"Or…ought I to say…she was a Targaryen…" Amadys seems to be musing, half to himself, when the lady in question's twin - the very object of his original perambulation - sprouts from the ground. He swallows a little awkwardly, for such a habitually debonair fellow, and bows a little stiffly. "Ser Daevon. We are acquainted, if you recall. I have been searching for you since my last discourse with Maester Thane. Your sister spoke with me before she d…eparted. I do not know where she is gone, save this inn where some say she…perished; but I know why she is gone. She went to tame the dragon. You have my word on't, as an acolyte of the Citadel, …nay, more, as a stag of Storm's End."

"Sometimes people are crass," Daevon says to Mariya, gently. "They name the dragon for what it did, knowing only one thing of its behaviour. Quite likely it will gain other names too, or has had a previous one which we're as of yet unaware of." His eyes narrow in disapproval as Amadys claims was. "My sister is still alive. She is still a Targaryen, and quite likely will always be one." He nods at Amadys. "Yes, I remember you." It's vague though, as he tries to remmeber why he remembers. He's had a lot on his mind. "Yes, I had thought she had gone after the dragon. I do not think she has found it yet."

Trystan enters the square yet again, alone. He looks about and finds the princess and her now growing group of people speaking with her. He heads over there, bowing to everyone at the group, even the acolyte, not knowing him. He then turns to Daevon. "Ser Daevon, my men will scour the hamlets and lands in search for your sister. We will find her."

"Indeed. Hehheheh. Sometimes." Riderch observes, with the barest of smirks. "Ser — I'll happily join the search party when it ranges." He cuts in simply to Daevon as the Targaryen knight returns. "It'll do me good to get away for a bit. I'm not used to a city of this size." There was an overlong pause before he made this declaration though.

Amadys looks a little downcast that his great revelation has made so much less of an impact on its intended, than its accidental audience. He stands straighter, taller, and rather less comfortably as he replies. "Ser Daevon, if your twin indeed still lives, which is what we all hope, but seems to be denied by at least some eyewitness reports…since, they say, you are not like to wed her, and it is plain she is a masterful soul, in search of her own fate…then I hope she will one day have another name indeed, perhaps not as noble as Targaryen, but no shame upon her, either.

"For the moment, I would simply advise that you should seek her either at the inn…or wherever you…feel…the Who…the dragon may have gone. They say…I have even heard you say…", and the young Baratheon pauses, carefully indeed but not tactfully, "…that you yourself dream such things, in the manner of the first Aegon."

Daevon shakes his head at Amadys. "No. Visenya will always be a Targeryen. Our blood runs strong within her and she would settle for nothing else. There is no if about it, she still lives. I would know if she were dead. I would have dreamed if she were in trouble." He nods. "This inn then." He nods. "Yes, I have dreams. I have had none of this though."

Valerity grimaces a bit as Amadys uses the word 'if' to qualify Visenya's place among the living. She lifts a hand to her throat and twitches a finger across it — IXNAY ON THE OGICLAY. She clears her throat and shifts that hand to rub the back of her neck, looking about, just after. Pay her no mind.

Much like the optimist that she is, Mariya gives Amadys a narrowed look at his persistence on thinking Visenya dead. She will show up alive, mark her word. Not that she is speaking, but she made her point known earlier. As she watches the exchange between Daevon and Amadys, her heightened color from all the 'whoremaster' calling starts to return to normal.

Trystan looks to Amadys and Daevon, watching their interaction. He had never seen this man before, and finds him to be.. interesting, with how he isn't quite being tasteful in the Maiden Knight's presence.

"I passed by the sign of the Cockadrill on my way to the Citadel, last year," Amadys adds with his most helpful air, even his indefatigable self-regard perhaps being slightly bruised by the number of death-stares he seems to be getting for acknowledging the possibility, let alone likelihood, of death. "I would be happy to guide you there, and any company you cared for, Ser Daevon. If nothing else, it's a damn fine inn. A most welcoming hostess." He blushes, just the mildest tint, which rather suits his usually pallid cheeks.

"Thank you," Daevon says to Amadys. He notes that blush. "Is it one of /those/ sorts of inns?" He's not exactly disapproving, but he just wants things clarified. What with a name like Cockadrill and all.

Valerity, apparently herself incapable of such human foibles, rolls her eyes at the blushing. "I don't think those sorts of inns operate so far afield, milord," she offers to Daevon, dryly. "Geographically impractical."

"My lady might perchance be surprised, in certain…country ways," Amadys annunciates quietly but clearly. "But the Cockadrill is…just a fine inn, as I say. Hearty, adequate food. Plentiful brews and cider. Comfortable…bedding." The acolyte of the Citadel elaborates no further.

Daevon nods at what Valerity says, not really wishing to further this conversation. And then another nod is given to Amadys. "That is good news to hear."

Most of the innuendo seems to go over Mariya's head, though she can tell there are things being said in undertones that she's missing. She assumes it has more to do with 'whoremaster' things and decides to not pursue the topic. "I'm sure there are many who are ready to go search as soon as you wish, ser," she finally adds to the conversation. Trystan had said as much earlier. "Ser Arros suggested that I could stay behind and coordinate searches and information, if you think that would be helpful."

"An accommodating hostess does not a brothel make, friend," Valerity replies from the side of her mouth. "Supply occurs where it finds demand. Economics are universal." She doesn't seem as interested in the search for Dragons as she does in nit-picking about how many whores make a brothel. At least she's doing it sotto voce.

"Ask for Amadys Baratheon at any hour, then, my lord of Targaryen, and I shall wait upon your service. The prospect allures me rather more than mucking out the ravens again," Amadys confesses with slightly acidic candour. "Fair and noble ladies…" His dark blue eyes linger with definitely piqued interest on the worldly Valerity, and with more amused politesse on the Dornish princess, "I hope to be better acquainted with you both hereafter. For now, alas, I have duties ill-befitting a stag. Farewell!" And he strides off in a much more definite hurry than the pace at which he had arrived.

Trystan looks after the Baratheon, then just focuses on Daevon. "He's a bit of an odd one."

Daevon smiles. "Aren't we all odd in our ways? He is a man I would wish to know better." He smiles at Mariya. "Yes, that would be useful. Thank you."

Valerity sighs, watching Amadys depart and looking — strangely — as though she feels rather abandoned. Alas. She dips a curtsy to Daevon, her lashes properly low. "By your leave, my lord." It seems the lady Redwyne, as well, will be off now.

Mariya can't help but give a Valerity a confused glance at her treatise on brothel mathematics, unsure of what to make of such a statement. As she watches both the Baratheon and the Redwyne depart, she doesn't quite know what to make of the events she just witnessed. With absent curtseys to both Amadys and Valerity, she glances about, genuinely curious. "But, how many whores would make a brothel?" It's not anything she had ever thought of before.

"Probably life in the Citadel." Riderch finally intones after one of those long, long pauses. He looks over at his squire — as usual, the man has no answers either. "Well, I suppose we'd better go get ready."
<Public> Katya has connected.

"Farewell," Daevon says to Valerity. He looks at Mariya. "I do not know. I suppose we could always go find one and ask if you really wished to know."

Trystan bows to Valerity, then smiles to Mariya. "I'm sure the proptrietor of the Bawdy Bard would be able to give you a better answer than I, your Highness."

"Left. Right," Valerity summons her two guards, gesturing down the street. "Forward." She wiggles her fingers at the little gsathering and makes her exit.

With a shake of her head, Mariya gives both Trystan and Daevon a sheepish smile. "No. Pardon me. It was just not anything I had ever thought about. There are more important matters at hand."

Daevon nods at Mariya. "Well, if you do take it upon yourself to want to visit, it would be best to take an escort with you. They are not generally the sort of place a noblewoman would wish to go. I had once thought to rescue the women within one, but they were not in need of rescue." He confides the last, quietly.

Trystan chuckles and nods to Mariya. "Indeed. Best to focus on the task at hand, eh?:

There's a blink of surprise at Daevon's offer, but then a grateful smile. "I will keep that in mind. I don't believe I will attempt that research, however." His last quiet confession gets a warm look from Mariya. "Even if not, it was a noble attempt." A guard finally makes himself known and she gives him an absent nod. "I should head back." She reaches her hands out for Daevon for a reassuring squeeze of her hands. "Should you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask me." To Trystan, she curtseys. "It was lovely to see you again."

"Probably for the best," Daevon says. "I'll walk you back." He smiles as she offers that squeeze. "The same offer to you, if you need anything then please call. The door to the Dragon Door Manse is always open to you."

Trystan bows in return to Mariya. "As it was seeing you, your Highness. I do hope you stay well." he then looks to Daevon, nodding. "You stay well, too, Ser Targaryan. And if either of you should wish my council, my doors are open to the both of you."

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