(121-03-11) Preparations
Preparations
Summary: The Dornish make preparations in anticipation of the worst.
Date: 11/03/2014
Related: Fire and Circumstance, Unrest at Court
Players:
Gael..Mariya..Osric..Arros..Tameron..Ashara..Everett..

White Stone Manse

This grand manse faces the prestigious Starry Street. The first story is protected by narrow high windows that stop people from seeing inside, but the big windows on the back wall and the four upper stories make the manse bright and airy over all.
The first floor's main hall is brightly lit with lamps to make up for the shortcomings of the street-facing windows. The white walls and polished white marble floors add to the effect, making it seem airy and bright. There's a grand dining room separated from the entry hall by broad doorway. The house is richly decorated and well-appointed, with luxurious furnishings.
There are sitting rooms up in the floors above, as well as bedchambers. Like almost all of the houses in Oldtown, it shares two walls with its neighbors on either side, but the servants quarters, kitchens, and servant's stairs buffer the house proper from any noise that could possibly leak through the thick stone walls.
There's a pleasant walled garden in the back, viewed from the windows in the back wall. The upper stories have balconies to overlook it.


With the unrest in the city, Mariya's investigating and exploring has all but ceased. As if to make being cooped up inside more tolerable, the weather has turned to drizzle. The windowpanes are streaked and slightly fogged by the warm air. Instead, she retreats to what is familiar to her - books and stories. She plucked a few choice selections from Ashara's collection in the library, keeping those books piled on the floor next to the chair she has curled up in. With legs tucked underneath her skirts, she rests her back against the arm. It does not look like it would be incredibly comfortable, but she doesn't seem to be in any discomfort. The book she is currently engrossed in lies in her lap, the pages idly turned every few minutes.

The door opens ever so slightly and closes softly enough to likely not be noticed. With the World on it's head as it is right now, there is no time for comfort for someone who is to be minding the flock. The soft clinking of armor likely gives him away, but with the rain's tapping and the young Princess focused on a book, Gael might make it in without too much notice. Though, that is likely not his intent as he is clearing his throat.

"Princess." said, given her own minders that keep about. Normally a Mariya would just suffice, but the knight is being formal today. "I hope I am not interrupting you?"

The door opens ever so slightly and closes softly enough to likely not be noticed. With the World on it's head as it is right now, there is no time for comfort for someone who is to be minding the flock. The soft clinking of armor likely gives him away, but with the rain's tapping and the young Princess focused on a book, Gael might make it in without too much notice. Though, that is likely not his intent as he is clearing his throat.

"Princess." said, given her own minders that keep about. Normally a Mariya would just suffice, but the knight is being formal today. "I hope I am not interrupting you?"

Mariya is absorbed in the story enough that she misses the door open. However, the telltale sound of clinking armor and the cleared throat is hard to miss. Placing a hand on the pages of her book, she glances up at the knight. With a smile, she swings her feet to the floor. "Good afternoon, Ser. Not by much. There's not much else to do today, I fear. I can't even enjoy the garden due to the weather." At that, she glances toward the window. "Was there something you needed? I found a lovely collection of short stories if you were looking for something to occupy your time. Though, I'm sure, it is already occupied with the recent events."

Gael chuckles. "It is quite alright, my Princess." the words roll out warmly enough before he offers a smile to match. Eyes look over the young woman, before he takes his time to wind in her direction. "A moment of your time is all. As for my time being occupied.." There's a kiss of his tongue to his teeth, and already a shake of his head. "I would not worry about it..Things are but heightened right now. Tensions and all."

At that, Mariya slips a sliver of fabric between the pages of her book and then shuts it. Carefully, she places it atop the others and nods her head. "Of course. There seems plenty of it to spare today." Before placing her hands in her lap, she gestures for the knight to come closer. "Yes, I was at court with Princess Ashara the other day. Lord Gwayne offered us use of some of the City Watch. I hope they're not causing trouble."

A shrug and the knight is glancing over towards the windows. "Normally, you would be out-I am sorry that you've been caged like a bird." And then he is glancing back. His attention to her book, which he reaches out for. Plucking it up and looking it over before there's a glance spared in Mariya's direction. "They are not, but I do not think they will be substantial, should the city turn against us." Gael states, plainly enough before carefully setting the book back down. "I want you, to be prepared to leave here if a riot should happen. Though we have fine warriors in this house, and the Star of the Morning is here, there may come a time in which we must evacuate you and Princess Ashara." and with that he reaches into his armor, feeling for something. And ther it is produced a slender knight, sheathed in plain leather. This is offered towards the Princess. "And this, is for you."

"I do not think it should come that." Mariya watches as Gael takes up the book she recently put down. "I know there is unrest in the city, but I can't believe that it would come to forced evacuation." It feels like a similar conversation she had with Arros. Everyone seems so worried. "I know there are many who blame us, but I can't imagine all would without more proof. And we have many brave and competent fighters - even without the City Watch. Should a group bent on misguided revenge seek us out, I am sure you all would be more than adequate to quell them." As she is given the knife, she holds it gingerly. She was never one for violence. "Should it come to it that all have fallen, I do not believe that a knife would save me."

"A group of misguided people, yes. A city hell bent on blood? No." Gael states before he is releasing the knife in her care. "It will if you are moving- In so much you will be required to stab a man…Where it hurts. He will release you and give you time to run." Simple enough there. "Mariya-please." And there Gael switches to the more familiar name. "I know you think the City watch will keep us, or our small house could. In truth we could last for a few hours-no more in a serious riot. And in a serious riot, the City Watch will not be enough. And I must say, you underestimate the Westerosi ability to hate." Something the knight would have mor experience in.

What with the city full people mistrusting the Dornish and the rain, it is no surprise that Mariya would be in the library. Sitting with a pile of books next to her chair, she holds a leather sheathed knife, as if unsure of where to put it. After a moment, she rests it in her lap, holding on to it much like she were attempting to keep her place in a book. Ser Gael stands nearby - the presumed giver of the gift of a blade. "I doubt the whole city would turn against us, Ser Gael. Lord Gwayne himself preached temperance while we were at court. He told those gathered that more information must be gathered before anything could be done about justice. Ser Arros believes that there are those who are eager to start a war with Dorne, but they certainly could not be the entire city." With a frown, she adds, "Of course, I will follow and flee when you feel it is necessary, but I can't believe it will come to it."

Osric wears a look of concern as he appears in the doorway — perhaps he heard the discussion from the hall. If he sees the knife, he gives no sign of it. It's likely hidden from his view by a desk or a table. "Princess Mariya," he says softly, with a nod so deep that it's almost a bow itself. "And Ser Gael." His voice is pitched low and soft, but concern edges his tone. "We hope, of course, that the city does not turn against us. Indeed, believe it will not." He nods again at Mariya as he agrees with her sentiment, but adds, "But it is as Ser Gael says. We must be prepared in case it does. And in such an event, Princess, Ser Gael is the man to see to your safety." And for what it's worth, the Dornishman seems to mean it.

"If I am telling you to run, I will not be following." He states before shifting his weight. Indeed, if one were to come in, they would find Gael, standing above where the princess is seated, though his focus now seems to be more on the book she was reading. "I do not doubt that the city would riot. And Ser Gwayne Hightower is a foolish man, if he thinks preaching Temperence is enough to calm the city and the smallfolk. I have seen smallfolk riot, for many different reasons. If it is thought that Ser Gwayne is protecting murderers. They will do what they do." And there a sad smile is given back to Mariya as Gael looks over his shoulder. "There are things, I love about you Princess. And your fine belief in man is one of them. But this time, I need you to grasp what danger we are in. Or easily could be."

At the sound of Osric's voice Gael turns and offers the other man a bow. "Lord Ser Dayne." The Star of the Morning, is given a slight grin as he steps free-allowing for the blade to be spied likely in the princess' lap. He makes his way over to the other man. "Thank you for your vote of confidence in my abilities." And there he pauses. "Your squire is good-a bit green, but he is good." IN which way Tameron may be green he can elucidate further, but for now he is making for the door. "I will leave you both. I just needed to drop something off."

Soon after the Sword of the Morning darkens the doorframe, the resident Dayne bastard arrives in the library as well. He has taken to wearing a brigandine and keeping his sword at his side even inside of the manse since the troubles began. He doesn't enter the room fully just yet, but instead leans against the doorframe.

Speaking of green squires, the one thus dubbed by Ser Gael pokes his head into the library (and thusly around Arros). "Your pardon, ser," Tameron murmurs, stepping around the other Sand and into the library proper. Mariya, once spotted, gets a courteous bow before he looks to his knight. "What is the state of things, Ser?" he asks, "Any further news on the razing?"

"Ser Gael," Osric says, reaching out to clasp hands with the Allyrion knight as he passes. He steps aside to clear the doorway for the other man, and it's then that his violet eyes catch on the knife in Mariya's lap. A faint grin tugs at the edge of his lips — something wistful and heavy with regret. There's a fractional shake of his head, but rather than commenting on the knife he continues in the same soft tone. "I was about to send my man into town, Princess. If there is anything you need, he'll be glad to see to it."

Osric is a contrast to Arros, in sturdy trousers and a tunic accented with leather and links of chain that calls to mind a suit of mail, but offers no real protection. As ever, though, the greatsword Dawn is carried on a baldric slung crosswise over his body. He turns at the sound of Tameron's voice, and then notices Arros. First thing first, he offers his cousin a hand in greeting. "Ser Arros." And then to Tameron, a shake of his head. "None, I'm afraid. I've a mind to speak to the Hightowers on it myself, or perhaps the Tyrells. But until we have news, stay sharp. I've posted the watchmen all outside the walls, and will keep them there for the time being. If there is a riot, they're more likely to be a liability than a help, to my mind."

Arros will step fully inside of the room to let Tameron in. He nods his head to the lad before saying to Osric, "Ser Osric. The other Ser has a valid point. Smallfolk have rioted for much less. I think a plan to get the women and children safely out of the manse, and onto a ship for Dorne should be discussed, if it becomes a necessity." His grim words match the rather grim expression he wears. "I was at the Hightower when Princess Ashara spoke to Lord Gwayne. It is clear that they are more interested in watching our activities than keeping us safe."

"Ser." Mariya gives Osric a warm smile of welcome. It's likely that she doesn't notice Arros behind her goodbrother. "I understand. You act as if I don't realize that there is unrest in the city and that there are those that would harm me and Ashara. I do. If there is trouble, I am not like to make more of my own. I simply believe that the entire city will not attempt to murder us in our beds. And if some misguided men attempt it than others will come to our aid."

Mariya catches the glance Osric tosses the knife and that is, really, what drives her forward. Jerkily, she stands up, gripping the blade with more strength than is strictly necessary. As Arros and Tameron enter, they are given a stiff nod of her head. "I am not a warrior and I have no wish to be one. I am surrounded by knights and men of extraordinary courage and valor. If I cannot be protected by them, what am I to do with this, as I am more like to do more harm than good. " A pause and she shakes her head. "You exaggerate, Ser Arros. I was there as well. Lord Gwayne offered us the City Watch, it did not seem as if he had sinister intentions."

"Was that Ser Gael I saw departing here?" Tameron asks, a corner of his lip lifting in a very faint sneer as he voices the name. After Mariya speaks he notes, "A city watch posted around our quarters can as easily hold us prisoner as defend us, princess. Generosity is not always what it seems." Looking over at Ser Arros and Ser Osric, the lad nods. "I think having a plan of escape is wise, sers. Better to have it and not need it than the other way 'round."

"Regardless of Lord Gwayne's intentions," Osric says with a shake of his head that says he doesn't think that will be settled here, "The city watch is made up of men who have devoted their lives to serving their fellows," he goes on, eyes on Mariya as he pauses — then adds, "And of bullies. They're good enough men, Princess. But in a riot, I think we would find that in their hearts they are Reachmen first and watchmen second." He raises a hand to point at Tameron when the young squire agrees with Arros, and nods again. "I agree. I'll have Gareth arrange for a ship to be held at the docks, then. We can trust him, at the least.""

"Do I exaggerate, Princess?" Arros retorts with a sudden clenching of his jaw and a darkening of his indigo eyes. "How quickly you make those who think only of your safety and well-being into villains. But by all means, put your trust into the Hightowers instead of your countrymen." Clearly believing that he has just been insulted, Arros gives a crisp bow before he turns to walk out of the library.

"It was. He came by to give me this." Mariya indicates the knife she still holds. "I don't disagree, Ser Osric. But, by our very being here do we not also require protecting and become their fellows?" The idea of being shipped back to Dorne so soon after she arrived is distressing to Mariya, but she does not argue on the escape plan. Instead, she moves to speak again, but instead leaves her mouth open in a surprised 'o' at Arros' retort. "That is—" When he spins to leave, she is spurred forward in an attempt to stop his exit. She will follow him should he continue. "Please, Ser Arros, wait. You mistake my meaning. I do not trust the Hightowers over you nor any other. But, I believe we are quite opposite in our views of other people. You are trained to be on the guard for danger and you do so very well. I was at that same court and saw nothing insidious in Lord Gwayne's intentions. I believe my opinions are also valuable. I honestly meant no offense."

Tameron's brows lift a little as Arros tightens and a dark mood takes him. But he keeps his own mouth shut (for once), only smiling a little wryly and lifting a hand to rub it over the back of his neck.

"Let him go, Princess." Osric's voice is whisper-soft as Mariya passes him, his expression falling slightly as the young woman steps out after Arros. He meets Tameron's smile with a patient, neutral look, and speaks to his squire now in a hushed tone. "My cousin is a good man," he says. And it's not a desperate insistence, here, but a level statement. "If a proud one. He will settle just as quickly as he bristled, if left to cool." He seems about to say more, but shakes his head slightly. Holding his words for now, at least.

Arros is not left to cool. He turns his head as Mariya follows him out into the hallway, and stops to turn and face her. "As you say, Princess." He says in a tone that suggests he thinks it is quite the opposite. That said, he turns on his heel to go again.

Held back by Ser Osric's advice, Mariya abruptly halts in her pursuit of Arros. She does not attempt to block his exit any further. Her brow creases in worry as she looks back to Tameron and her goodbrother. "I truly did not mean to offend. I phrased myself poorly." With a sigh, she moves back to her chair and places the knife on top of her stack of books, determined to not have much to do with it. She will respect the wishes of Ser Gael and carry it with her, but she has little doubt that it will do no good. "I merely think that though there are those who would do evil, that shouldn't mean that everyone is so. That is what I meant."

"Ser Arros is a Sand, princess," Tameron replies once the knight takes his leave. "We are ever ready to be insulted, and it takes precious little to convince us we have been." His shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug. "Ser Osric has the right of it. All will be forgiven the next time you speak to him."

Osric grins at his squire, as if this were some long-standing jest between them, but nods his agreement. "Not all men are evil, Princess," he agrees. "Indeed, I think few truly are. The danger is that good men might be convinced that attacking our home is not an evil deed, but rather their duty as good Reachmen. In that case," he says grimly, "I fear we might see our brave watchmen turn the keys for the brethren. And then, I think, we will be glad we planned ahead."

It's not quite enough to wipe the frown from her face, but Mariya nods at both Tameron and Osric, assuming it is just something she will not understand. "I hope so. Ser Arros is a good man. I would not mean to insult him purposefully." Turning again, she watches her goodbrother and his squire. "But their duty is to their Lord, is it not? If he has told them we are not their enemy, then isn't it their duty as Reachmen to make sure no harm comes to us?"

Tameron loosely crosses his arms and studies a few of the books on the wall as Ser Osric voices his theory on the nature of man. If the squire own theory differs at all, he opts to keep it to himself. "There is duty and then there is fear, highness. It's my experience than the latter tends to outweigh the former."

Osric waves a hand toward his squire, clearly in agreement, even if he might have put it less bluntly. "It's a good man who chooses his duty over his fellows," he allows. "And a rare one. And these are not knights we're dealing with," as though that excused any failure in his mind, "But the simple men of the city watch, who must think first of their families — who will be called traitor, if those men are forced to raise their arms in our defense. We must hope that courage and level heads prevail, but be prepared in case they need our help."

Despite her own beliefs, Mariya does not wish to argue with Tameron or Osric, most likely believing that offending one knight this evening is enough. "I truly wish it will not come to that." And should it, that Ser Daevon were not still away on the search for his sister. "I have barely known Oldtown. How can I leave it so soon and under dark of night as if a criminal."

"If wishes were horses, all would ride," Tameron replies with a small shrug. He doesn't sound offended, just neutral, "but perhaps it won't. Perhaps the party sent out to search will come back with proof that it was someone else."

Osric nods at Tameron's words, frowning a moment, hesitant. But in the end, he's not the sort to hold back just because a subject is difficult. So he presses forward with, "If it was our countrymen," he holds up a hand here, to forestall interruption, "And I'm not saying it was, at this point. But if it was. Then we can be certain that they were acting without any sort of royal mandate, yes?" His eyebrows raise as he looks to Mariya for the answer, earnest even though he believes he knows. "So it is my thought that someone, perhaps I, should approach either the Cockshaws or the Tyrells and offer our condolences and, if need be, our assistance."

The frown turns to Tameron and Mariya replies, "Perhaps wishes are horses, but we have yet to learn to tame them all." She, also, does not sound offended, but is also not one to back down. At Osric's words, however, she looks shocked that the thought. "Of course not. She is, as ever, dedicated to the peace." Of course, her mother does not include her on many councils or much politicking, but she can assume. "Princess Ashara already brought our condolences to the Hightowers at court. It was then that Lord Gwayne promised us City Watchmen to help us." She still refuses to believe that he would do so to lock them in. "However, we have yet to go to the Cockshaws or the Tyrells." There's a pause. She was never much in to the politics of her brethren. "Shall I accompany you, to give our condolences? As I am my mother's daughter, I would bring the full weight of Dorne." Another pause. "Though, it may be better to bring Ashara. She is much better at this than I am and is also a Princess of Dorne."

For a moment, just a brief one, Mariya gets a look from Tameron that suggests the squire suddenly doubts the princess's mental faculties. But it's only an instant before he blinks, clears his throat and nods. "Perhaps so, highness," he defers politely. "As your mother's daughter, you would also make an ideal political hostage. I think it may be the safer course for Princess Ashara and Ser Osric to speak to the Tyrells."

Osric shakes his head, one hand coming up to rub at his chin. "You're right, both of you," he allows, thinking as he speaks. "Your presence would give it more weight, Princess, but it invites a certain danger that simply does not exist if…" He takes a deep breath, brow furrowing, then releases it slowly. "If I go alone." There's a glance to Tameron that makes it clear that 'alone' means 'with my squire,' but that's generally the way of things. Osric wants Tameron at his side the vast majority of the time. His deep violet eyes turn to Mariya then as he adds, "By your leave, of course, Princess." And that's a very genuine request, judging by his tone. Not at all for show.

The look may be quick and perhaps Mariya does not notice it, but there is a narrowing of the eyes before she turns her attention to Osric. The look may only be due to her inability to be of any use at any point while also being told at every moment how much danger she is in, for she replies with a sigh, "Perhaps I should have paid more attention to court in Sunspear." She cannot imagine her brothers and sisters being trapped inside of a house in Oldtown with only books to tide her over. However, she nods to Osric. "If that is what you think is best, Ser Osric. Of course you have my leave." The pointed glance to Tameron is noted and she adds, "You should also appoint a small party to accompany you, just in case."

Tameron meets his knight's gaze and offers a small nod. Of course 'alone' means 'with my squire' and of course said squire intends to be nowhere else but at Ser Osric's side. Looking back to Mariya, a corner of his mouth lifts in a faint smile. "Could teach you what to do with that fine dagger, if you have time to spare, highness."

"Many a highborn lady has been well served by knowing one end of a knife from the other," Osric allows, though without any real relish. "Princess, never imagine that your presence here is without a purpose," he goes on, perhaps guessing her mind. "Having you, your sister, and Princess Ashara present sends a message. That we are unafraid, that we are not guilty," he nods with each point, for emphasis. "And not taking you into their presence says that we are wary, which point will not be lost on them, I think." He looks from Mariya to Tameron here, to invite either one to find fault with the idea, or to add to it.

"I would warn you that I make a poor student of anything other than literature and music," Mariya tells Tameron. It is not a no, but neither is it a full yes. She's seen weapon's training and there is a lot of barking of orders, which she is not used to. "I would be wrong to argue with you in strategy and theory, Ser Osric," she tells him with a smile. "However, you can not begrudge me that it is hard to stay inside and do little when there is much I have yet to see outside."

"Well, just as you like, princess. I am not so hard to find," considering they're all a bit confined at the moment, "should you fancy a lesson." Tameron considers Ser Osric's words, one foot tapping lightly against the floor. "It still seems to me, ser, that anything we offered would have more weight if spoken by a Martell. Perhaps Princess Ashara should accompany you."

"It could be so," Osric allows with a ghost of a shrug. "If so, perhaps it should be Princess Mariya that accompanies us," he says with a questioning glance her way. "With no disrespect to Princess Ashara, Princess Mariya is a daughter of Her Royal Highness, Princess Amarei. And while Princess Ashara is a familiar face to some in Oldtown, it could be that a fresh face would serve better? The shock of it may still some tongues that would otherwise wag." This isn't his strength, he's brainstorming, and he looks from his squire to the young princess to see how the thoughts are received.

It is likely that given their circumstances Mariya will seek out Tameron to take him up on his offer. The young Martell has quite a bit of energy and being trapped inside a Manse will force her to find releases. She knows enough now to not find it in escaping for her own adventures. "Thank you, Tameron," she replies to the squire with a smile, a bit of her good humor restored. "I may do just that." As the talk turns around to possibly going along, the princess takes a moment to consider and offers her suggestions slowly. "As I said before, I know little of politics, but I know of gestures. As Ashara herself said at court, we are not guilty and so therefore we must strive not to act as such. Sending either myself or Ashara would be a gesture of sincerity, I believe. Princess Ashara has a residence here and is a part of Oldtown. She has a staked interest in going to the Tyrells to offer condolences. I am, however, the a daughter of the Princess of Dorne. I was introduced to Lord Gwayne at court shortly after the tragedy. If I were not to also introduce myself to the Tyrells, that could be seen as a slight."

Tameron listens, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considers. It's clear he doesn't adore the idea of sending Mariya, but at length, he offers a small nod. "If you both feel it best, I will not argue. Princess, perhaps you might speak with your cousin and take a lesson or two on politics, before then."

Osric still stands near the doorway to the library, looking from Tameron to Mariya. It's clear from the look in his eyes that he's a bit out of his depth, but he's not a man who is afraid to seek counsel when he feels he needs it. "If it's decided that we're to go, it's best done soon," he says, as if testing the idea out. "It's been said," Osric says, with a glance toward the door Arros stormed through, "That things will likely get worse rather than better."

Arros returns to the library. His hair is wet, as if he's dunked it in a bucket of water, and he's changed out of his brigandine into a black sandsilk robe. He will step around Osric with a curt nod before bowing to Mariya, "Please accept my apologies, Princess. I should not have snapped at you as I did."

"I am not to say that I feel my going is best." Mariya is surprised by Tameron's response. "I feel as if there is good in either of us going, but most likely not both. Princess Ashara lives here and it would be understandable for her to seek audience with the Tyrells. She could certainly speak for both of us. I would be glad to go if you believe it best. I merely thought that if I had introduced myself to the Hightowers, I should also do so to the Tyrells, as they are the ruling House." When Arros returns, Mariya gives him a smile and a curtsey. "It is I who should apologize. I spoke without thinking and did not mean to insult you. You should know that I value your opinion greatly."

Tameron nods again and then shrugs. "Perhaps you and your cousin can decide which would do best, then," he replies, glancing over as Arros returns. The man gets a nod in greeting. "Would it be better to go now or after the riders return? To go now might seem to be currying favor in anticipation of bad news. But to go after, if the news is bad, may be more dangerous."

"I'm hardly the one to decide," Osric allows with a chuckle, taking a step back to widen the small conversational circle when Arros arrives. "We were discussing approaching the Tyrells, Cousin," he says, catching Arros up. "Or perhaps the Cockshaws. To offer our condolences, and perhaps even our assistance, if the attack were perpetrated by Dornishmen — as we would know, then, that it was carried out without royal sanction."

"Who am I supposed to talk to?" Ashara asks as she steps into the library, shrugging out of a rather plain cloak. Even her dress is plain, and dark. Between that and the cloak, it seems likely she's been wandering out without an escort. Not that she looks the least bit ashamed of it. "I heard Lord Gwayne sent us a Stark. Do you think he meant a joke of it, or was he trying to choose someone with less of a grudge against us?"

"Thank you, Princess." Arros says with a humble dip of his head to Mariya. Once Osric catches him up he mentions, "I've met Lord Garvin several times, and he seems to like me well enough. I could escort Princess Ashara if that is her desire." And then Ashara materializes in the door. He'll give her plain garments a quick survey, and his eyes linger on her face briefly before he glances away, "I would rather have a Stark than a Reachman or Stormlord."

"Ashara!" Mariya greets Ashara's welcome gladly. Someone to help with the politics talk, which she feels quite useless at. "We were discussing visiting the Tyrells and the Cockshaws to send our condolences." It's a bit of a repeat of what Osric just replied, however she feels the need to ansewr. "There was talk of sending either you or me to put the weight of the crown behind it. With the both of us here now we should come to the right of it shortly." She turns her smile to Arros and nods. "If you are acquainted with Lord Garvin, it might be good to send familiar faces. Also, if Lord Gwayne sent us men who were not Reachmen, they would be more likely to hold against those of the city if they should turn on us."

Osric's eye, too, is critical of Ashara's dress. He knows what it means, and unlike Arros he's not one to hold his tongue. Ashara's station, though, means that his reproach is gentle. "We can hardly protect you, Princess, if you insist on wandering alone outside your manse." He steps back again, a silent invitation to Ashara to join the small conversational circle at his side. He turns back to Mariya then, nodding at her points, but countering — more for the sake of discussion than out of disagreement, "New faces, though, might be perceived as carrying more weight, even if in truth they do not. Familiarity goes hand in hand with comfort. Fresh faces might set them off guard."

Tameron leaves the debate to those of a higher station, now there are a pair of princesses to sort it out between themselves. His brows do lift a little, however, at Ashara's words. "A Stark?" he queries. "I didn't realize there were Starks in Oldtown."

"Oh, I've nothing against the Starks," Ashara shrugs lightly, hanging the cloak over a chair with a small smile for Osric's rebuke. "Though I'll confess, I'm curious what would press one to take service in Oldtown's guard," she nods to Tameron. She looks to each of the others as they speak, joining the circle with a more thoughtful expression. "There's certainly no harm in speaking with the Tyrells, though we ought to choose our target carefully to be taken seriously. A mix of old faces and new should suffice for familiarity and a bit of freedom from assumptions. How many guards do you think would be appropriate, Ser Osric?"

Osric's rebuff is one that Mariya is used to hearing for herself. However, as she has been good about staying on the premises, she's glad to see that someone else is taking advantage of it. With a smile to Ashara, she glances then to both Osric and Ashara. "As I said, I would be glad to be of help. If you think it would put them off guard to send the young princess, I will go and I will introduce myself and send my condolences." To Tameron, she nods. "I guess it is odd to see one from so far North in Oldtown, but I guess one would say it is just as odd to see Dornish in the city." After a pause, she adds, "Who would you recommend for the audience, Ashara?"

"I've met him," Osric says belatedly, of the Stark. "Ser Bastion, unless there's more than one," he says, raising an eyebrow as he looks from Ashara to his squire. To recap, though, he looks back to Ashara. "I've taken the liberty of posting the Oldtown watchmen outside the walls, Princess, if it please you. Should it come to a riot, I wouldn't like to count on their loyalty. Even good men might balk at the thought of defending the Dornish against their own neighbors." One hand comes up to rub at his chin as he considers Ashara's question, but he's fairly quick with his answer. "As few as we can, Princess. Perhaps only a pair of men-at-arms, four if Princess Mariya means to come as well, and myself? And Ser Arros, possibly? We should leave as many men as possible here, I should think."

"Sunspear is but a skip to Oldtown, compared to Winterfell," Tameron replies, his arms crossing as he frowns faintly. There is a nod as the Stark in question is named, and his arms drop back to his sides. "I agree with Ser Osric, highness. I think the fewer the better for appearance sake."

"If Mariya and myself go, then that leaves Ellia and the children here," Ashara muses, glancing back toward the hallway. "So of course it would be best if they were protected. Though I doubt anyone would purposefully plan anything for while we were away. And I would understand if you wanted to stay here with them, Ser Osric." Turning back to the group, she crosses one arm over her stomach, toying with the end of her hair. "Mariya and I can go. Arros should come with us," she smiles briefly to the knight, "And perhaps this Ser Bastion, to show we respect their choice of…assistance. If we could convince Ser Daevon to come as well, it might remind them that their lieges may not wish to be dragged into another conflict with Dorne."

"Yes, but apparently the Dornish are less welcome," Mariya smiles a Tameron. With a nod, she tends to agree once everyone is together and discussing strategy. As Ashara votes for them both going, she blinks in a bit of surprise and then nods. "We did both attend court together," she allows. "And while Ellia is here, there is still a Princess of Dorne under protection." As for Daevon, however, she replies quickly, "Ser Daevon is still searching for his sister, I believe." She may not know much about politics, but she apparently keeps ahead of the whereabouts of a certain Targaryen. "Do you think that safe, Ser Osric?"

"Ser Daevon will be more than willing to come." Arros says, "However, I heard there has been some friction between him and Ser Garvin?" He shrugs, as if to say he doesn't know for sure. "And yes. Ser Daevon is still searching for the Lady Visenya." He then mutters under his breath, "Seven pray she isn't as odd as the one I met."

"My place is at your side, Princess," Osric is quick to say, adding with a look toward Mariya, "Where I can do my utmost to keep you safe." One hand falls to tap at the scabbard of his greatsword, an unconscious gesture that he makes from time to time, before he goes on. "My family will be safe within these walls," he says, his jaw set as he briefly considers that they may not. "Nor would my wife — or my goodmother — appreciate my remaining here while Princess Mariya ventured out, I think." A wry grin tugs at his lips as he says this, imagining his wife's ire. "If it please you, I would accompany you."

Ashara's lips curve in a wry smile at Mariya's look of surprise. "No one can hold a grudge against you, Mariya," she points out. "You are quite possibly the least threatening person who could show up to meet them. And besides, you're Amarei's own daughter. I may have more experience with politics, but there's no guarantee they'll have any respect for me." She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, turning to pace a few steps as she thinks. "Arros, Osric, and Ser Bastion, then," she muses. "If we bring more, only one or two. And they should be…non-threatening. At least as far as appearance goes."

Tameron only offers another nod as he listens, though he does return Mariya smile for her quip on Starks and the Dornish.

Mariya glances between those in the library, nodding where she feels appropriate. "I would not deny you to come, as I already gave you leave to go do this very same task," she tells Osric with a small laugh. "I have no doubt that Ellia is in good hands here." And as Ellia is possibly more protective of her sister than any knight or guard this side of the border, it is quite likely she would order her husband to accompany them. Blushing slightly, she shakes her head. "Oh, I doubt that, Ashara. I am sure there are Tarly's that still think me evil." No matter what the truth of the matter is. "Of course they will have respect for you. You are Ashara Martell of Dorne. You know far more of politics than I. I will, of course, go, but I may put my foot in my mouth."

In the library, Osric stands talking to his squire Tameron, a pair of princesses, and Ser Arros. They're drawn into a tight circle, voices held fairly low as the discuss matters that must be of some import. There's been a good deal of back and forth, and even some wounded feelings along the way, but at the moment the conversation is low and level. "Everett, perhaps," Osric suggests. "He was born a Tyrell bannerman, and is a Septon no less. He may prove a calming presence."

Arros quips with a sardonic little quirk of the lips, "Non-threatening. Shall I change into my powder blue robes?" He jokes in an attempt to break the tension.

Speak of the Stranger and he shows himself. There's a creak of the door as the named Septon wanders in, by luck of all things. And given the look of surprise on his face, it seems it's the appropriate number of Dornish in this one room was unexpected. "You know." Says Septon Everett after a moment. "I often dream about this-though, it is usually one woman and in my chamber." A lovely joke to start things off as his hand smoothes over his robes.

"Where am I going?" he asks with a raise of brow.

"Is that an offer?" Ashara arches a brow to Arros with a smirk. "Septon Everett sounds perfect," she nods to Osric, absently brushing a bit of dust from her skirts before straightening. "It's settled, then. Mariya and I will meet with the Tyrells, and Arros and Osric will escort us, along with Ser Bastion and- ah, Septon," she turns toward the arrival with a warm smile. "To visit Tyrells. And offer condolences."

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