(121-03-22) The Wit of a Horse
The Wit of a Horse
Summary: Elinor and Amadys have a brief but strange encounter in the Maidenday Gardens
Date: 22/03/2014 (OOC date)
Related: None directly.

An oasis of tranquility amidst the bustle of Oldtown - such are the Maidenday Gardens. And on this wonderful hot and fair afternoon a Costayne lady has found her way here, already lost in contemplation of the flower beds that seem to flow over with various colours and varieties. A fine smile adorns the features of young Elinor, smoothening her characteristic features that have earned her the name 'horseface' by some, and she shoots her Septa a delighted glance, which is answered at once with a slightly amused nod. "Oh… it is so delightful here. I should come here more often… Just look at these wood anemones over there!", the Costayne exclaims, her eyes sparkling. Apart from the Septa there is an unobtrusive pair of guards present, yawning and casting an occasional glance about the place, which is not overly crowded at this hour.

Tranquil and not too crowded, perhaps, but still, the Costayne retinue does not have entire privacy in these fair environs. Laughter and conversation heralds the arrival at a short distance of five or six young men, strolling about at leisure, most of them dressed in the garish finery of lesser Reach nobility which Lady Elinor will recognise as the backdrop to most of her life to date. One, only, of this knot of mirthful visitors, the most youthful and the tallest, does not wear a sword; yet his doublet and cloak of black, gold, dark lapis blue and silver are of a higher calibre, more restrained but distinctly more costly. As the band draw nearer, there seems to be a disagreement of sorts among them. The dark-headed young fellow tosses his head, laughs shortly, and strides out of their company. Soon, as if quite by chance, he finds himself before the Costayne party.

The youth's bow is deep but rapid, and his dark blue eyes are bold as he rises back up. "Fair afternoon to you all…might I ask your fair lady's name, good men all…? For myself, I am Amadys Baratheon, presently studying at the Citadel."

Hazel brown eyes will shift from the study of lily-of-the-valley towards the Baratheon-of-Storm's-End, the enthusiasm within them dimming a touch as Elinor takes a tiny step backwards, instinctively. "Good afternoon to you as well, my lord of Baratheon," she will reply, lowering her slightly bewildered gaze at the sudden greeting, her voice a bit low maybe and shaky. Then, as she looks up after a moment and sees herself still being the focus of Amadys' attention, she will add: "Um… I am Elinor. Elinor Costayne. Study, you say?" A faint smile there. "So you are fond of books and such, my lord?" Certainly little intimidation can come from a bibliophile, so Elinor straightens a bit, and her shy smile becomes a little more friendly.

"Exceeding fond of some books, my lady," Amadys replies, his grin as freehearted as his words are careful. "But in fair climes like these…even reading must wait its turn, while we catch the best of the light, and give thanks to the gods our eyes are not ruined for it yet!" He gives the gardens dedicated to the Maiden a vague, benign gaze in the round, and goes on cheerfully, "…is this not a place rich, abundant in adornments? And you are not the least bright among them, my lady Elinor."

He pronounces the name as if it has innately beauteous qualities, like, say, the word 'queen', or 'dowry'.

Her right hand moves to the pendant she wears at the necklace about her neck, when Elinor smiles politely to the Baratheon's reply, and she starts toying with it as if the presence of such high born Stormlord were indeed causing her to get a touch nervous. Her brows will rise at the unexpected compliment and she will shoot him a bewildered glance, before her gaze flits downward. "Pray forgive me, but are you making fun of me, Lord Amadys?" The curve of her lips turning into a line, a light twitch about the corners there. Her hands folding before her now as she shoots her Septa a perturbed glance. Maybe not as susceptible to the tone of his praise to suspect possible intentions behind the Baratheon's words.

The youth's expression briefly appears wounded, his brow creasing near as dark as his hair, but soon the moment passes in a smile. "Mayhaps a little, my lady, but with no more malice than I make jest of all this bright world. To enjoy life properly, we must laugh at it, I think, though the Archmaesters I serve do not always agree. And it would please me greatly, lady Elinor, if you made fun of me in turn…"

Elinor's head turns and she looks at him, astonished. "Fun…? Of you? How could I?" She shakes her head incredulously, one hand moving to her pendant again, as she shrugs helplessly, in danger of despairing at the task he has given her. "You could as well ask the mouse to attack the eagle, my lord. Or the fly to destroy the spider and…" Her voice trails off, her brown eyes suddenly gaining a bit of clarity, and she turns away from Amadys, her arms wrapping about her. "You mean like… One hears a lot about your virtue, a true example, you must have failed your calling in studying at the Citadel, My lord, if you were far better advised,… to become a Septon?" Shooting him a glance over her shoulder, almost timid at how he will react. Yet it seems the Costayne has heard some rumors about the Baratheon acolyte already. Her lips curve faintly upwards as she lowers her gaze.

Judging by the young Baratheon's laugh - loud, rich, and hoarse enough fully to support any stray rumours of debauchery - Lady Elinor's shot has proved, after all, a bull's eye. "I am touched that you think so of me, my lady! Perchance I shall write, and advise my lord brother accordingly. You have a cruel and wicked wit, you know. I shall pray for you, when I begin the holy studies you recommend. Well, this has been a most…fascinating…encounter. I hope we shall meet again soon, though alas, my…studies…call me onward!"

With a quicker bow this time, Amadys lopes off to rejoin his former associates, and the young men wander off amid more laughter, and the faint clink of a purse being tossed from hand to hand.

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