(121-03-24) Setting a Date
Log Title
Summary: Ser Dresden Reyne tracks down his betrothed to set a date. It's terribly romantic.
Date: 03/24/14

It's late afternoon at the Quill and Tankard, the time of day when an early supper isn't out of the question, and Valerity seems to be engaged in just that. Or she was. Supper sits before her on the table, barely touched, and now her attentions on a young page of Hightower, a lad who can't be more than eight, looking very aborably formal in his livery. "Thank you for your trouble," she says the the boy, tucking away the letter he delivered with a nod. "So," she holds up a coin, silver glinting in the late sun, "here's a stag for you…" she palms it in her right hand, turning both her left and right over, closed. "If you can guess where it is."

The boy blinks, looking a little vexed at the simplicity of the challenge. "There, of course," he says, pointing to her right.

Valerity raises her eyebrows, then opens her right hand — with no coin to be seen. Grinning at the boy's expression, she opens her left, revealing the coin. "Care to try again?" She palms the coin in her right, once more, and closes both hands.

It should be of no surprise that to find one Redwyne, that you would have to come through the Quill and Tankard. After all it is a favorite of nobles and smallfolk alike, so when the door and a knight spills in there's no real look or shifting about in seats. Grey haired and lean, the older man takes time to scan the room-before taking a cup of famous cider from a passing server girl.

Steps bring him further into the room before he is looking over to the poor boy who sticks out like a sore thumb, and Dresden Reyne tilts his head, almost amusedly before he comes closer.

"Care if I try?" comes his words, this passed to the young man, even if the words are for the woman who is vexing the poor page. "I have a mind for these games."

"Oh, my goodness, look who it is," says Valerity, in a merry mood. The page, for his part, stands up straight as straight and bows to Ser Dresden. "Of course, Ser. Please."

So Valerity turns toward the old lion, holding out her closed hands for him to choose. "By all means! Have a go."

"Surprised?" Dresden asks before he sits down, and there he looks back across the table to Valerity. A sip of his cider before he drapes in his chair. And there eyes read over the young woman before his hand slides over towards the right-before it switches and grabs the wrist at her left. A raise of his brows.

"If I win, and choose right. What do I get?"

Valerity startles, eyes shifting to her 'prisoned wrist and back to Dresden's eyes. "The coin, of course." A dimple indents her cheek. "Unless the good Ser has a prize he'd rather claim."

"I do." Dresden says before he is looking back to the wrist and there he squeezes softly, though enough to likely keep her attention. A smirk showing on his face. "I'd let the lad keep the coin, if I may take something of a more personal token from my betrothed." The Old Lion clearly still trying to read the woman across from him, before he is looking back to the page with them. "If you find that fair, boy?"

The page nods, eager and wide-eyed. "Oh, yes, Ser! Quite fair!"

Valerity smirks right back, lifting her chin a fraction. "Choose, then, old man."

"I choose then you." And his free hand comes up and points to her lips. "A kiss. And not some token passing of cheek to cheek, or demure raking of knuckles to hand-or whatever the fuck you want." Dresden banders out before he releases her wrist. And he leans back eyes drooping to his cup. "Did I pick wisely?"

"That depends on which you're asking about — your choice of hand, or choice of prize," says Valerity, cheeks ever so slightly the pinker. She opens both palms with a flourish — revealing nothing. No coin in either hand. "In the case, the first is poor and the second, irrelevant."

At the page's crestfallen look, Valerity wears a gentler smile and summons him closer. "Come here, boy… There's something behind your ear." At which point the coin appears from behind said ear, or at least she makes it appear so. "Hm. Well, Reyne, it seems the boy had it all along. I suppose he should keep it, then."

A smirk given, before Dresden is shrugging. "Alas, I chose poorly." he almost sounds old in his usuage there before he watches as the boy is given his coin. "If it was on him, law dictates he possesses it." And there he nods back to Valerity. Apparently a Silver Stag is easy to give. At least for the Reyne.

"I was firm in my choise of prize. I am sad, that I could not reap it." he allows before taking a drink from his mug. "As much as you may loathe it. I would ask you to set a date." he adds off handedly before glancing up.

"Then here you are, sweeting," Valerity tells the befuddled — and slightly dazzled — page. "Now get along back before they miss you."

The lad runs off, and the lady turns to regard the older knight. "You may be sad, if you like, but if you weep I'm leaving." Having laid down the law of behavior in her company, she lifts her goblet and drinks.

A medley of young men are drinking, laughing, and talking of more or less nothing not far off, but the calibre of their mirth seems to shift, as one of them - among the most youthful looking of that already fresh-faced, raucous crew - appears to be paying more and more attention to the strange assemblage of knight, lady and page. Hitherto in the forefront of the quips and exchanges, this lad has fallen quieter and let his deep blue eyes roam freely - without overmuch subtlety - upon the lady of Redwyne. He's handsomely dressed in blues and blacks, and that is the essence of his general appearance, too, though not (yet) from bruises! His dark hair hangs lank and unrestrained, while his almost feverish pallor augments the intensity of that cold azure stare. That stare still isn't sliding askance; he gazes on as if daring to entertain the notion that target may find him vaguely familiar.

"I'm not your mother, or an old woman with a cat." Dresden states with a faint smirk. A jab for jab there. "I'll just mourn privately." he tacts on before he is watching the page run off with a scamper, and just narrowly dodge the young Baratheon. The young man is regarded quietly, before he is looking back to Valerity

"Your answer?"

Valerity feels the eyes on her and glances aside, one dramatic eyebrow lifting in inquiry — the other following, a beat later, indeed in recognition. She flashes the young man in black and blue a dimpled, sidelong grin and casually acknowledges him with a lift of her cup in his direction. Then, blinking at Dresden, she asks, "What? Oh!" She shakes her head. "Whenever you like. I ask only a few weeks notice, in case I need to have a dress made or — something." She doesn't seem overly concerned with the details.

The Baratheon stripling smiles in turn, a gentle, courteous enough display, soon over, before he turns and speaks first to one of his companions, then to one of the serving girls - it seems he had an empty tankard of cider to rectify. This done, he raises it to return the controversial Reach maybe-maid's salute; conceding a broader expression of friendliness that this time includes the greyscaled knight and the page. Only, is there something a shade mocking in the Stormlander's eyes then? Surely not, for a moment later he exudes pure amiability. Must be something in the cider.

"That." Dresden is quick to pipe on before he is taking up his cup and swirling the contents therein. "Then, once the city calms we'll simply just go and do it." Meaning likely make a show to the Starry Sept and make it all the more simple. "Unless you'd prefer a party. I don't mind buying people drinks." he adds absently before motioning for another round. A look is given back towards Amadys and he offers his own look-amusement to whatever the speck in the man's eye may be. "Know him?"

"A party — so all the slander-tongues and lickspittles can wish me joy they don't mean?" Valerity takes a generous swallow from her cup. "I'd be delighted if that could be avoided, really. So — that's just as well. Once the pall of impending doom has lifted, we'll go to a septon." She glances back at Amadys, both corners of her mouth lifting in amused study of the young man. "In passing. A semi-Maester. Somebody Baratheon, I think."

Amadys breaks into a laugh again - but this time it's obviously not at any of the vapid quips of his fellow revellers, as his look has uncompromisingly kept its direction. He has heard more than his feigned half-attention might have suggested, it would seem.

"I figured you may have friends here, that might wish you well. I didn't think we would invite people we hated." He adds, before he is chuckling softly. New mug delievered, allows Dresden to nod to both waitress and Redwyne in one fell swoop. "Good, it'll be easier that way." he adds before he looks back towards Amadys, "A Semi-maester. Such a position to hold. I am sure his family is proud." he tacts on with a smirk.

"Someone Baratheon." Dresden calls out to Amadys. "Are you just going to stare? If so, may I offer the whimsy? At least there are better shows? If not-drink."

"Does that count as an invitation to your wedding, good ser?" the young man replies evenly, slipping down from his stool to stroll over. His voice is melodic enough, but so rich and wasted as to be reminiscent of a debauchee three times older. "A highborn maid advised me not long since to change my path in life, and become a septon…mayhaps I could even stagger through superintending your vows! My lady, good even. That monstrous Whoremaster proved us both great fools, for being the only ones to say what seemed such sober sense at the time…"

"How about you stick to drinking, Baratheon? I'll save my use of you till I need to confess. And we'll see if you keep me from damning fires." And there he looks back towards Valerity for a moment. "What do you think, Redwyne? Does he have the look of a Septon? One of the most Holy?" He'll allow for his betrothed to answer, before he is rising up. The Hightower page having returned to the door. "Allow me to see what this is about.." he adds as an aside to Valerity before he is excusing himself to step back out with the young man. Cue Exeunt by Dresden. Inn Door.

"And you surmised this based upon what? My winning personality? My unimpeachable reputation?" Valeirty asks, dryly. She looks back at Amadys again, snerking at Dresden's barbed observation. "Don't be unkind, Reyne. He's — " Then Amadys is inviting himself to the wedding, and Valerity laughs, flashing the younger man a wide grin. "I'm not a finnicky lady, Baratheon, but I'd prefer that the septon not puke on my shoes." She rolls her eyes at the bit about the dragon. "What kind of idiocy was that, faking her death — for what? So she could go off on her mad adventure unimpeded? The comedy of it all is no one was looking for her until then." She seems truly irritated that Visenya Targaryen's yet living. Probably more because it proved her wrong than any personal umbrage. "But in other news, have you met the man who thinks he wants to marry me?"

"…it seems I nearly had that honour," Amadys observes in a mock-pained tone accompanied by an immaculate smirk. "But your knight is swift to retire, weighed down though he may appear." A cheap shot, that, but not a deep one. Amadys shrugs on the question of the new dragon-rider, "As to the high and mighty Princess…not all ladies so fair as you can be so…worldly-wise, my lady of Redwyne. But it seems Visenya's high-flying notions…well…lived up to their nature. I admire her courage, if not, invariably, her other qualities…"

Her eyebrows loft at Dresden's swift exit. Huh. "Some other time, then. I suppose." Valerity looks dubious. "I'd call it courage in one sane enough to be afraid," she dismisses. "Otherwise, tis nothing but delusion. But now I seem to be without a tablemate. Will you fill in?"

"Will the furrier sell fur? Will the merchant breed gold? Will I take a seat beside you? Why, I think I shall, my lady," Amadys replies, unfurrowing a brow he'd barely bothered to wrinkle even in jest. "I would gladly learn much of you, my lady Valerity, nor do I greatly mind how much of it be true…"

Valerity laughs, charmed and amused by his doubtless well-practiced line. She doesn't mind. "Delightful. I'm glad of your company." She lounges in her chair, studying her new dinner partner, dimples on her cheeks. "I'm of two minds on that — but you'll find I'm of two minds on almost everything. Some part of me is rather piqued that you don't care to know anything true — but then, how interesting to have carte blanche to spin any tale I might devise.

As for Amadys, he looks as comfortably settled in his new position as a farm cat in a dairy. Or a fox in a henhouse? Or a stag in…well, at least, not rut, not quite yet. His laugh is let loose again, more briefly, "Perhaps care is too strong a word…but I do not mind much, either way. Lies, or fables, or pretty verses, all reveal truths of their own…while none of us know the cold truth of any matter anyway. Certainly not gallant young creatures such as you and I, unwizened as yet by years and maundering, unlike certain archmaesters…and knightly veterans." Glib words, these, no doubt bandied from acolyte to acolyte, but ready and pleasing enough…

She laughs again, lifting her drink to her lips. "Maundering," she muses, rolling the word off her tongue. "Words can be so clever. I do love it when people know just the right ones." She props her chin in her hand, languid and well into her wine. "So you're not afraid of my old lion, then?"

"Afraid?" Amadys repeats with genial scorn, as he leans a little closer with definite mischief in his eyes. "I am sure he means me no harm, my lady. I am beneath his notice. Or perhaps above it. In any case, safe and sound, fitting snugly under the legendary Ser Dresden Reyne's finely…sculpted…nose. In truth," he admits with a doleful tinge, "I have quite other fears…"

He tosses his head back in a display at least half meant to show off a fine neck and throat, much as a whore or a swan might do. "They may sing of my downfall in Storm's End, you know. The stag who sipped the poisoned wine…but it would be, I daresay, a sweet enough passing to risk all, and anything, my lady…"

Valerity snorts, dimples flashing deep at the effortless blarney. "Yes, yes, of course it would," she agrees, her tone clearly conveying, I bet you say that to all the ladies. She lifts an eyebrow, looking a bit more keen in her interest, though, as she asks, "So what other fears have you, sweeting?"

Nothing daunted by the equanimity of his new lady friend, who responds to his forwardness neither with modest recoil nor ardent passion, Amadys appears to slow down into gentle thoughtfulness. "They called me a craven when I squired far away in Stonehelm…and perchance they told it true, for indeed I have many fears. As must all who admit to bearing a human heart in their breast. The most pressing, here and now…that this cider will run dry. That the serving wenches will turn churl. That this livelong moment shall ever end." The gentleness has eased its way back towards action, and the acolyte takes the lady's left hand in his own, a light and insinuating touch.

Her dark blue eyes are intent on each passing expression, her head tilted just slightly, curious and alert as an inquisitive bird. "Surely you know, even with the seeds of a Maester's wisdom, that fears don't make a coward, nor their lack make a man brave. They're only the crucible in which we're tested." She glances down at her hand in his… and then turns them so fingers hook fingers, both their thumbs free on the top. "I declare a thumb war!" Her thumb rears up in an attempt to trap and pin his. "Have at thee!"

Unreadied for any such sudden slide from amorousness to dexterity, young Amadys is rapidly pinioned, …not to his obvious displeasure, though he is now the one to blush, in slightly sheepish confusion. "Well played, my lady Valerity. You have a gamesome spirit. It is a shame you were not born a Baratheon! A doubled shame, that you seem unlikely to become one…I'd plead for mercy," he adds innocently, "only I'm not sure it would be in my best interest. Sometimes a little punishment is healthful for a sinful soul like me!"

Valerity smirks and shakes her head, releasing his hand to reach for a morsel of pheasant from her almost-forgotten dinner. "Allow me to save you some time, sweet boy," she says, suckling gravy off a fingertip, "I'm not going to tie you up. Or down. Or stroke you with leather or anything else of the sort. I think I might like you, if we ever had a real conversation, but — " she takes a sip of wine, "you should seek a terrible mistress in some other lady."

"What shocking suppositions, my lady," Amadys exclaims. "I must do my best to remember them for later. But I'm certain we shall hardly stop conversing, as long as fate yokes us to this city of pedants and poltroons. I might have been something like you, had the gods cursed me with a maidenly form…and had you been a man, I'd swear you'd have risen more hells than I've ever dreamed of. We are destined…companions…whatever name, or station, fate obliges either of us to bear, my lady. But now, I fear I must rejoin companions of the undestined sort. They'll grow jealous." He drains his cider almost embarrassingly quickly, before, as smilingly as ever, taking his leave.


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