(121-04-13) The Promise of Anguish to Come
Log Title
Summary: What begins as a meeting between strangers, devolves into a fight between a Targaryen and an Oakheart (or two), and then a sassy old broad shows up.
Date: 13-04-2014
Related: In Blood, Truth
Players:
Ludvik..Johanna..Rem..Ryzael..Sapphyra..Aevander..Tellur..Garvin..Arion..Jaehaera..

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Hightower Square

This is a broad cobblestoned square, ringed by grand buildings hewn from stone. A massive fountain, also hewn from the same strong grey stone, stands in its center. It is wrought in the form of the Hightower in miniature. A tiny flame burns at its peak, and crystal waters pour from its base, pouring down the stony pedestal into the mirror-smooth pond below.

Stone benches offer places to sit, vendors cry their many wares, merchants ply their trade, and all around one can see the finely-dressed Oldtown wealthy meandering about. There is a pleasant smell of cooking food in the air, tingeing the ever-present smell of the salt sea, and a hint of perfumes and spices.

To the West, the Hightower street leads away. To the South, the archway to the Beacon Boulevard rises. To the North, with the Watch House standing alongside, is a stretch of street leading to the Beacon Gate and out to the Roseroad beyond. The cobblestone market square is quite clean and fresh, with nary a sign of any beggars, street rats, or grimy peddlers hawking stolen goods. The buildings here are in pristine condition.


Having decided that it was a good day to give his horse some exercise, Ludvik is only now returning to the town, leading his horse back along the square as he looks around. Both knight and horse look relaxed at the moment as they make their way further into the town, the Lannister whistling a little to himself.

Though it may not be the nicest of days, Johanna has apparently decided it will do well enough to be out for a walk, a guard trailing her at a short distance. Her path carries her along the same path as Ludvik, but in the opposite direction, pausing to glance up at the man and his horse before stepping out of the way.

Pausing for a few moments as he spots the ladyy out for a walk, and makes sure to guide the horse out of the way. "My lady," he greets the woman, offering a polite nod at the moment. "I hope you are well today?"

Johanna's dark brows twitch up a touch at the greeting, but after one tentative moment spent giving him a careful look, she smiles. "I am, thank you. Getting some fresh air after a long night," she answers. "I don't believe we've met before, have we?"

Ludvik offers a brief smile, nodding a little now. "Getting some fresh air is a good thing, I believe. That was more or less what I have been doing too." A brief pause, before he shakes his head, "I do not believe we have met. I am sure I would have remembered. I am Ser Ludvik Lannister, My Lady. A pleasure to meet you."

"It is good to know I am so memorable," Johanna replies wit a trace of amusement as she inclines her head. "A pleasure to meet you as well, ser. I am Johanna Oakheart." Sister of the Blackrood and all that. She tilts her head back slightly, looking up at the rather dreary skies, then lowers her gaze to the Lannister before her. "Have you been in Oldtown very long?"

"Not very long, My Lady," Ludvik replies. "I arrived a bit over a week ago, and has spent most of the time getting to know Oldtown. After all, one of the first things I learned as a squire was the importance of knowing your surroundings. It is a quite lovely town."

"Yes, I can see how knowing where you are, and where to go, or not go in some cases, is good to know," Johanna remarks, laughing as she allows her gaze to sweep the square. "I should learn that as well, at least better than I already have. I am enjoying the city though."

Ludvik nods a little as he hears that, offering a smile now. "May I ask how long you have been here yourself, Lady Johanna?" He looks around very briefly, then back to the lady.

"Oh, somewhere around six weeks now," Johanna answers after a moment to calculate. "It's been an interesting six weeks though, and that somehow makes it feel as though it's been longer. So not too very much loner than you, I'm afraid."

Ludvik nods a little as he hears that, "I heard there was some kind of border problems having happened lately, although I never managed to find out too much about that business." A brief pause, before he adds, "But I heard there was some issues that was resolved through a Trial or something?"

Rem comes from Hightower Street.
Rem has arrived.

"Yes, the Gods decided to favor the Reachmen and so the accusation against them was proved false," Johanna answers with a smile, looking entirely pleased with this particular outcome. "Hopefuly that puts the matter to rest, though if I were to guess by the behavior of the Dornish afterward, this fight will go on." She doesn't seem terribly bothered by this either.

Rem ambles along speaking with another young man, "No sign of beggars, street rats, or even a grimy peddler hawking stolen goods. I'm both impressed with the watch and fantastically disappointed in the city." He lifts his hat and runs a hand through his silken silver hair, tucking it back behind his ears before pushing the broad-brim back down to secure it in place. "I suppose tales of cities, much like fish tails from its head, or tale of man's head to navel, grow longer the less likely the listener is to see it. Run along and see if our room is ready yet, I'll tarry here and see if I've overlooked anything interesting." He makes a limp-wristed shooing mostion sending the young man off at a run.

Ludvik nods as he hears that. "And if I may say so, you seem quite happy with that outcome, My Lady." The observation is offered a bit lightly, and with a smile, before he adds, "But while this particular matter might be resolved, there are probably other issues that will come up and keep the fight from stopping." Looking around, he pauses for a few moments as he spots Rem, studying the man for a few moments, before he looks back to Johanna now.

"As one of the Dornishmen have promised to murder my brother for it, I expect more will come of it, even if this particular matter is resolved," Johanna answers, and to this she sounds serious, almost grave. "I am pleased with the outcome, how could I not be?" Her gaze is drawn to Rem a moment, brows lifting. "There are beggars, you're simply in the wrong part of the city to see too many."

Rem has his attention directed at a rain barrel and has gathered up the edges of his cape when he is addressed. He turns about his gaze flitting from one face to the next until he finds the likely speaker. "I've no wish to see too many, that would be excessive, just enough to satisfy the stories that have been told." He looses his grip on the edges of his cape. "Who do I have the possible pleasure of being addressed by. I do not have to bow often, but I hate getting chided those times when I should and miss my cue."

"Ah… What was done about that Dornishman, if I may ask?" Ludvik asks, before he looks over at Rem as Johanna addresses him. "What kind of stories would that be, if I may ask?" the Lannister knight offers to the young man.

"Nothing as of yet, Ser, but should he continue to be driven so by anger, I imagine something will need be done in the future," Johanna remarks, shaking her head slightly. "Yes, what stories have you heard? I'm curious to know as well."

Rem waves his hand, "The usual sort one hears from men of the sea. That the women are more beautiful than to be found elsewhere, which I had doubted until my solitude was broken a moment ago, and that rare and curious items abound to be bought, bartered or found." He takes hold of the edge of his cape again rolling it and pushing it over his shoulder and tying it in place with a strap that seems designed for that purpose. "I'd not heard that introductions were a lost artform, perhaps if I start?" He reaches up for his hat and removes it from his head, sweeping it down and around as his silver hair cascades forward and he dips his head slightly. "Lord Rem Velaryon." He fixes his hair and replaces his hat looking between the man and woman once he is done.

Ryzael comes from Beacon Boulevard.
Ryzael has arrived.

Unable to hold back a brief grin now, Ludvik nods at Rem's words. "Sounds like we have heard similar stories, then." A chuckle is added, before he smiles, "Well met, Lord Rem. The Lady is Lady Johanna Oakheart, and I am Ser Ludvik Lannister. It is a pleasure to meet you," he offers. Nodding a bit at Johanna's words. "Let us hope he was only unable to contain his words there and then, and that he will not act upon them."

The rebuke from Rem earns him a look from Johanna, a cool sort of amusement that dims as she looks back to Ludvik. "Let us hope that is the case, but if he does, I have no doubt that my brother will be able to handle the matter. He is known for that." Only now does she look back to Rem, inclining her head slightly. "A pleasure, I'm sure, Lord Rem."

Rem tilts his head to the side, "You are easily pleased or quite the optimists, whichever it might be I wish you both a good day, so long as your good day does not impact negatively on mine." With his head tilted, his grin is level, but as he rights his head his grin tilts rakishly. "A conditional farewell to both of you then." He then turns to look in the direction the other young man had run off towards and starts moving away.

Ryzael comes along the street, walking unhurriedly with an easy stroll. His manner might give one to think he is taking in the sights, as he pauses here and there to inspect buildings and such as he goes.

Pausing a bit as he hears Rem's words, studying the Velaryon for a few moments, before he offers a grin. "You as well, My Lord," Ludvik remarks, a bit lightly. Looking around again, he spots Ryzael, offering the man a nod as well now.

"This, coming from a man who scolds us on the art of introduction?" asks Johanna with her gaze remaining on Rem, seeming far more amused than she is annoyed. "And what would you have me say instead, Lord? It is a distinct uncertainty to meet you, I shall send you formal notice later on whether or not it was a pleasure, or a sore disappointment?" Whether he remains, or leaves, she shakes her head, glancing at Ryzael as he inspects a nearby building.

Ryzael quirks a brow, pausing for a moment before nodding in return to Ludvik. "Good Eve." he says lightly. His eyes start to follow the byplay amongst those present, seeming to take things in with a natural inquisitiveness. "More than one first meeting here, then." he says, briefly smiling. "I suppose the street is a place for it."

Rem heads Northeast up the short stretch of road leading to the Beacon Gate, and leaves the city.
Rem has left.

"Good eve," Ludvik's reply comes to Ryzael, although he keeps most of his attention on the exchange between Johanna and Rem, at least until the Velaryon heads off. He looks back to Ryzael now, nodding a little. "That is quite true. It seems to be a street for meeting people for the first time, this one. I am Ser Ludvik Lannister." That offered to the man now.

"Yes, it does appear that way, but we've just been informed that saying it is a pleasure to meet someone has gone out of fashion, so be wary," Johanna informs Ryzael with a feigned seriousness. After Ludvik's introduction, she makes a small gesture to herself. "And I am Johanna Oakheart."

Ryzael's eyes settle more firmly on Ludvik, giving the man a more intense look of newfound appraisal. "A pleasure." he says, inclining his head slightly. "Wisdom Ryzael Targaryen." he says, giving another brief smile. "Lannister you say? Somewhat far from you lands then, Ser? Business? Pleasure? Both are found in abundance in Oldtown. So I suppose you really needn't choose." Then he shifts on his feet to face Johanna, a curious expression crossing his features. "Out of fashion?" he says, slightly puzzled. "I didn't think etiquette was a matter of fashion so much as propriety. The two are rarely connected."

Ludvik smiles as he nods, "Far away from home, and I believe it is something between business and pleasure. Most of the last, so far, I would say." A smile is offered at the other man's reaction to Johanna's words. "I think she was referring to the rather odd young man that just left."

"I'm sure that there is some measure of fashion that mixes with tradition," Johanna muses out loud, but it's followed by a smile and nod to Ludvik's reply. "Yes, I fear it was a jest, and so I will say that it is, in fact, a pleasure to meet you, and live with the risk of being proven wrong."

Ryzael's mouth quirks in a wry smile. "Well, I can't speak for another gentleman's opinion, yet I find the two are often in fact contradictory." he says. Towards Johanna he offers a slight bow. "And, I suppose, if it were not true… I'd rather not know. Especially from a lovely lady."

There's a chuckle as he listens to what's being said, and Ludvik nods a bit now. "That is probably all depending on the point of view," he offers to Ryzael, before he nods at the Targaryen's words to Johanna, although he keeps quiet for now.

"But they're not always, there are entire books on the progression of traditions over the years and how it can be compared to the mindset of the times," Johanna tells Ryzael, grinning briefly at him. "Of course, these things take time and the change is rarely intentional." She makes a dismissive wave with one hand that soon drops, amusement bright in her eyes. "If I discover that it is anything but a pleasure, I will be sure to take that secret to my grave."

Ryzael shifts on his feet, back and forth, just a bit. "Just because someone has an idea and writes it down, doesn't mean I needs must agree with i. I find fashion tends to be largely illusory. Faddish. Very often lacking in any real substance. Propriety is something else entirely. Fashion usually rebels against it, in an attempt to be … innovative. Or fetching. Yet convention only changes when the idea of propriety that a people has changes." he says. A slight shrugging on his shoulders then as he pauses. His attention turns towards Ludvik. "Well then, you have been well recieved in Oldtown then? I am a recent arrival myself. We shall have to get to know the town together."

As evening slowly creeps in, and the sun begins to lower in the sky, the warm rays are exhausting for some. However, a pale Targaryen prospers in it, unfortunately for Sapphyra's guards. As she enters the area her purpose seems to be the Cake House, but upon spying a familiar face she changes direction, her smile a ghostly version of it's normally warm self as she dips her head respectfully in Ryzael's direction. "Your Grace," she says with a softness that must come naturally to her. Silver-violet eyes then fall on Johanna and Ludvik, appraising and warm, "Good evening."

"I have been received very well in Oldtown so far," Ludvik replies, before he pauses at the new arrival. "Good evening." Studying the woman in return now, there is a brief smile, before he looks between the other two again now.

Ryzael shifts on his feet to face Sapphyra, his smile broadening and warming. "My dearest Lady." he says, giving a half bow. "How very nice to see you." Then he turns and indicates Ludvik with one hand. "Ser Ludvik Lannister. A new arrival to Oldtown, like us both. What do you think, Princess? Is he someone we should get to know?"

Sapphyra's smile warms, her head dipping Ludvik's way, "Well met, Ser Ludvik." That same warm smile is then shined Ryzael's way, "What an odd question, and in front of Ser Ludvik." There's an impish smile offered her betrothed, a soft playful tsking after before she turns her attention Ludvik's way again. "Of course, I would be delighted to get to know you, Ser Ludvik."

"But that is not wholly true," Johanna replies with a smile. "Some traditions change because of the pressures of fashion, which often speak of the state of the culture at the time. But you are set in your mind, and I in mine, and I will gladly leave it that way." She draws back a step then, glancing at Sapphyra with a polite smile. "I fear I should be going, I need to check on my brother, but it was a pleasure to meet you all." With that she turns to head off, down the road.

Ludvik smiles as he listens now, unable to hold back a chuckle as he hears Ryael's words, before he bows his head a little to Sapphyra. "That would be both a pleasure and an honor," he offers in return, before he looks over to Johanna again. "Of course, Lady Johanna. It was a pleasure to meet you," he offers, with a quiet smile.

Ryzael makes a slightly dismissive gesture towards Johanna, nodding. "Good eve to you then. You may go, of course." Most of his attention remains between Ludvik and Sapphyra. "Then, Ser Ludvik, this is Princess Sapphyra Targaryen. My betrothed." he says, his smile lingering as he turns back towards her. "I agree. We should have him for dinner, I think. At the Manse. Perhaps make a thing of it. Invite a few other new friends."

Sapphyra pale violet eyes sparkle with amusement, her head dipping Johanna's way, a questioning look shot towards Ryzael as he dismisses her before her attention returns to the two men. "What a lovely idea. Perhaps when uncle is feeling better?" Her bottom lip bitten she smiles a little less comfortably. "There are some in our family that are grieving at the Manse, a gathering of that nature might seem a little …" she trails off as the tries to think up the word before coming up with, ".. unfeeling."

It's the dismissal from Ryzael that has Johanna stop and stare at him for a moment. "Oh, may I?" A chuckle follows the question that must have been rhetorical, because she doesn't wait for a reply before continuing on with the guard nearby in tow.

Ludvik smiles as he listens to the introductions now. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Sapphyra," he offers, before he looks to Ryzael. "It would seem, at least from the brief moments I have talked with the two of you,, that you are a very lucky man." Listening now, he pauses for a few moments. "Your uncle is not well?" he asks, after a few moments. Looking towards Johanna for a few moments as she departs now.

Ryzael nods slowly towards Sapphyra, his expression dimming in enthusiasm visibly. "Ah, yes. And I will be quite busy with various stages of his care until then besides." he says. Then he turns towards Johanna, some mild puzzlement on his features. Ludvik brings his attention back to the conversation when he speaks. "Ah? No. He has been wounded. More than that, he has been wounded many times over, some quite severe. He is Ser Maelys Targaryen. An uncle of which we are both quite fond." he says mildly, his manner turning more severe. "He fought in a trial recently. A trial of the seven. I was worried he would be slain at one point." he says, frowning rather darkly for a moment. "Justice seems ill served by the outcome, yet… I suppose we are not meant to understand the will of the Gods at times."

There's a gentle touch of Sapphyra's hand on Ryzael's arm at Johanna's retort, a smile offered the woman's way, before her attention returns to Ludvik. There's a little impish twist as she adds on to his remark about Maelys being someone they're quite fond of with, ".. fond and wary all wrapped up in the same package, Ser Ludvik." His kind words on Ryzael being lucky earn him a smile that produces the rare showing of a single dimple in her cheek as she smiles at him. "Thank you, Ser, that was very kind of you to say."

That retreat only takes her away so many steps before Johanna stops again, turning in place to look back at Ryzael and the rest, though it's the alchemist that is the focus of her attention. "You are dissatisfied with the outcome of the trial?" Where she was playful before, now there is visible anger writ across her face. "Your disgraced Uncle should have been slain for the monstrous things he's done, but let us forget about them for just a moment. He sided with Dorne against the men of the Reach, and that is what was ill done, and that fact is made all the more apparent with their crushing victory over the Dornish. What a shame that the Princes of the realm seem incapable of comprehending this."

"Who can speak for the will of the Gods," Ludvik remarks, before he pauses as he hears what's being said, and Johanna's reaction now. Wincing momentarily as he hears what's said, he listens in quiet for now.

Ryzael blinks, shifting his attention towards Sapphyra then. "Ah, Yes. Very lucky indeed." he says, giving her a warm smile. "I've thought so since the moment we met. I received her ship, down at the harbor. You know how these arranged things can be. I was given a small portrait of her before then, some years before. Yet it did her beauty little justice. When she came up the quay and I met her, I was enchanted at once." he says, his eyes warm. Until Johanna gives her words about the trial and Princes in general. He turns then on heel to face the woman, his frown and general mein growing if anything dark. His temper seems aroused, yet contained. "You were dismissed." he says, quirking a brow and advancing some steps as his lips curl his frown into an equally dark smile. "And what would you know of him or his deeds? One who, I in accompaniment, has brought armies against city-states and layed them low?" he exclaims, holding up his own hands next as if in evidence, palms upturned. "This is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, here, before you in the flesh. The same in his, mine uncle's, veins. And if anything he has lived that legacy more than most of his line could ever hope to. What is your hatred, your fear, before the Dragon that is Maelys? Or Ryzael? You would dare to attempt to 'shame' me? Or him? I do believe you are equiped to understand, even remotely, what it is that could make me feel shame." he exclaims, shaking his head in apparent disgust. "Begone, I'll not endure your wagging cunt's tongue any further."

Sapphyra's attention lowers as Johanna begins to snark at them a faint sigh raising her shoulders before her eyes lift to Ludvik again. There's a faint smile for him, almost apologetic, before her pale gaze is turned on Ryzael. Her hand on his arm squeezes just a little more tightly, and at the last of his words there's a small grimace before she herself addresses Johanna. "I hope that none in your family ever does anything questionable so that you can continue to remain so haughty towards those you know nothing about, …. " her eyes squint, "I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name?"

"What would I know? Perhaps it is you that need be informed of all his deeds, though no doubt you would attempt to twist them into heroic feats," Johanna replies, arms folding across her stomach as she remains right where she is, regardless of how many times she's dismissed. "And what shame you bring to the name you invoke, touting your unknown deeds as though they are something to brag on. You begone," she spits right back. "I am suddenly perfectly happy right where I am." She's an Oakheart, she knows how to root. Her eyes move to Sapphyra, brows lifting. "Johanna Oakheart, sister to Quillian Oakheart." Otherwise known as the Blackrood, and the guy that killed Osric Dayne. This can't be much of a surprise.

Ludvik keeps quiet as he listens for the moment, just looking between the others for the moment. Letting out a bit of a sigh now, as he didn't really plan to be a part of any confrontation on this evening.

There is a light 'clip clop' noise in the warm, damp evening. Tellur is making his way up the road on his horribly ugly horse, the ill-favoured yellow thing way too young to look like such a nag.
Ludvik has partially disconnected.

Ryzael begins to stride forward, eyes now enflamed. His path would bring him directly towards Johanna, even as he raises a hand in a somewhat obvious preparation to strike the woman. As his arm rears back for the strike however Sapphyra's hands dart forward and clutch it. His attention then whirls towards her, and for a brief moment is just as heated… then starts to cool.

Sapphyra listens to the pair, and when Ryzael's anger rears up she takes the brunt of his seething glare as if he'd been smiling sweetly at her the whole time; completely unflinching. As he begins to cool again, the Princess' attention returns to Johanna. "I think we are all still dealing with the trial, with deaths and injuries, Lady Johanna. Now is hardly the time for such debates when wounds, some literal, are still fresh, wouldn't you agree?" There's a glance back towards Ryzael, her brows furrowing a moment before she turns back towards Ludvik. "You are new to the city, Ser? Is there a spot in it that you enjoyed particularly as of yet?"

Johanna doesn't move back, not an inch, not so much as a flinch as she watches that hand rear back to hit her, her own hands bunching into fists as she readies for it. Her guard, however, abruptly strides forward to try and insert himself between the Lady and the Prince that would assault her, luckily it proves unnecessary as Sapphyra grabs Ryzael's arm before he can. "And now we see how the coin has landed for you, Prince," she tells Ryzael, teeth clenching behind a smile that doesn't touch her eyes. "Do you think so, Princess? Perhaps your Prince here ought not bemoan the outcome as being ill because it did not fall in his favor."

Ludvik winces as he sees Ryzael's reaction, before he lets out a breath as he sees Sapphyra's action. Looking a little relieved for a few moments. "The Seven acted, through each and every man who took to the field," he points out. "Who are we to question their will?" A brief pause, before he offers a smile to Sapphyra now. "So far, there has been a few places I have liked quite well. The Inn, what's its name again? As well as those baths. I am still getting to know the city better, though."

And Tellur's horse comes to a stop as the man atop it sits back in the saddle, a shadowy figure in the wet evening to look at the fracas going on. His eyes widen a little with 'Princess' and 'Prince'.

It's a fine enough evening to be out and about, if one doesn't mind the heat. Fortunately, Targaryen blood lends a slightly superior tolerance to muggy, overcast summer eves, so Aevander makes his way towards Hightower Square looking perfectly comfortable. At least until he takes note of a guard standing between Johanna Oakheart and one of his own kin. Brows lifting in surprise, he makes his way towards Ryzael, Sapphyra, Johanna, Ludvik, et al. "A fine evening, isn't it?" he interjects, though it's beginning to look rather less so, "though the summer heat does seem to cause a rush of temper when the air is still. What's afoot here then, cousins? Lady Johanna?"

Ryzael 's eyes smolder once again, and he whirls back to face Johanna. His eyes then firmly fix on the guardsman who has interposed himself between Johanna and himself, a sneer on his lips. "You would dare?" he says incredulously. "How very brave. I'll remember your face, for as briefly as it may last." he says. Then towards Johanna. "I decry the result because it fell on the ill side of justice. Not on any side of 'mine'. I had no interest at stake, other than mine Uncle." he says, his disgust plain. "Yet now I think I have a new cause. You will regret giving it to me. In tears and blood and anguish." he says, his features settling into a calm that is betrayed only by the vibrance behind his eyes. He turns away then, beginning to depart. "Ser Ludvik. Once this affair is all settled, I'll be sure to send you an invitation, as we discussed. Good Eve." Then to Sapphyra. "Excuse me, my beloved. I think it best I turn in just now."

Tellur glances up from his mount. Hey. Commoners looking at nobles behaving, well. Nobly. News about this is going to get around.

Johanna's venom still spitting in her direction causes Sapphyra to lift another ghost of a smile, but she says nothing releasing Ryzael's arm as he turns on the guard that slides between Johanna and the Prince. She doesn't try to stop him now as he speaks of regret to Johanna, then tears and blood. Her shoulders lift as she inhales a deep sigh, and when Aevander wanders in he's offered a weak smile. "It seems Lady Johanna is irked that Prince Ryzael was upset about our uncle being seriously wounded." There's a faint smile offered Ryzael as he makes his way out before she turns, somewhat uncomfortably towards Ludvik, "The bath house, you say? I've beard a bit about it, but needn't visit myself."

"It does not take much to give you cause, but so be it," Johanna will tell Ryzael as he turns to go, but then her fierce, blue eyes turn on Sapphyra. "If you are going to lie about it, it would be wise to lie when I am not here." The guard remains there standing before her, watching the retreating Prince without so much as offering a reply. "What truly happened, Ser Aevander, is that Prince Ryzael was bemoaning about how the outcome of the trial was ill, and did not serve justice. The gods dictated what justice was, and it was served, though I do not deny that I made comments on your Prince of Ashes, nor do I attempt to hide my intense dislike of the man. There is a reason he was exiled, and I am fair sure it wasn't because he was so beloved by the court."

Such an important member of House Targaryen as Jaehaera rarely walks anywhere, and today is no exception. A ridiculously lavish carriage rolls into the square — she could be coming from or going to the Hightower — but the old biddy waylays herself, the horses drawn up at merely a word from her within. Footmen and guards alike see to her disembarking, maids preceding her in a flurry of pomp. The luxuries, hmm? Emerging, straight-backed and tall despite her age, she surveys the place with an air of distaste, as is her wont.

Ludvik takes a few moments to let out a breath as he listens now. "Justice must have been served, the way the laws and customs decree it. It is, of course, unfortunate that someone has to be wounded in it, but that is how it is." A brief pause as he looks between Sapphyra and Johanna at the moment now. "It would seem that tempers are flaring a bit here," he notes to Aevander, before he sighs, "As I understand it, the ladies both had relatives taking part, and perhaps such is to be expected under the circumstances, and with so little time having passed since the event."

And now that…some things have calmed down a little, Tellur urges his ill-favoured horse closer to the small group. The Northerner is currently wearing Southern fashions, light cotton, as light as he can get away with given the unpleasant muggy heat. He calls out, quietly "Good evening."

Arion comes from Beacon Boulevard.
Arion has arrived.

Garvin has arrived.

With a maid on either side of her waving oversized fans to keep their dragon mistress cool, slow, deliberate steps carry Jaehaera along. She may be old, but she is not frail; well, she'll never let on that she can't walk any faster, anyway. Her mouth is set in a thin frown, and her eyes, dark and violet, might have shot lasers in another fantasy genre's story. As it is, they flit, unimpressed, over the assembled, raking down and up in judgy judgement. "What's this about the Prince of Ashes," she demands, sounding irritated.

Aevander's brows jump a little higher at Ryzael's vitriol before he heads off, and he blinks slowly as he listens to Sapphyra and then Johanna. He glances over at Jaehaera and replies, "It sounds as if Maelys was the cause of some heated debate here, though I've yet to fully understand the sides. At first tell, it appears as if Prince Ryzael was contesting the justice of the duel?" His brows lift in query as he looks from Sapphyra to Johanna. "But I am sure that cannot be right, as I recall Ryzael's presence in the stands when the Princess Rhaenys declared the outcome of the trial just and the matter concluded, and my fine cousin is much too wise to slander his own kin in public."

"But that it were so, Ser," Johanna replies, gaze moving curiously to the elderly woman with her carriage. She may not know the woman, but there is some respect for another clearly formidable person, offering Jaehaera a respectful incline of her head. "There has been a disagreement as to whether or not the Prince of Ashes is an honorable man. I fear I land upon the side that says he is not." Her gaze then moves to Aevander once more. "He did, in fact, say that justice was not served, then proceeded to threaten me, and had it not been for the Princess here taking hold of his arm, he would have struck me as well."

Tellur is sitting up on Loathely - a straw-yellow (_not_ golden) shaggy Northern horse. All raw-boned, with a white blaze face, wall-eyed and ill favoured. A horse only a mother could love. He looks a little confused, it has to be said - whatever has happened, apparently he missed it. Duel, eh? Oh, and hello Arion and Garvin - Tellur is actually wearing his brand new clothes, the cotton a lot lighter in the heat.

Sapphyra's sigh is audible; her pleasant evening turned in to a screaming match. Her eyes roll ever-so-slightly as Johanna calls her a liar, "I summed it up poorly," she tells Johanna, "though I would hardly call it a lie," there's another faint smile as she turns her pale-eyed attention Ludvik's way. There's a tilt of her head as she examines the Knight a moment before she turns at the rumble of carriage to find her elder kin departing from it. She dips her head Jaejaera's way, sliding away from Johanna and closer to Aevander, whom she speaks with lowly.

Jaehaera hears Aevander out as he responds, though she's quick to scoff at his assessment of Ryzael. A puff of air whiffs past her frown, and she rolls her eyes. Without the grace for courtly explanations such as her younger counterparts, she swiftly answers Johanna: "Prince Maelys may be an arsehole, child, but that's not for you say. Didn't your mothers or septas or Gods-unforsaken maesters ever teach you that squabbling was beneath you?" She includes Sapphyra in that question, sharp gaze sliding to her kinswoman pointedly.

Garvin emerges from Good Queen's Cake House with Arion, looking bright and cheerful. "The little dainty cakes were tasty, I agree, but I still think they should serve mead. The wine they have here is simply too weak and watered down for my tastes. Shall we stroll down to the Quill and Tankard for a…." His voice drifts off when he hears somewhat raised voices, turning his attention toward the small party in the square. "Oh look," Garvin says softly. "Dragons."

Ludvik lets out a sigh as he listens, nodding politely to Jahaera. There is a brief pause, before he looks over towards his horse, that he left nearby. "I should probably get going, I fear. I will need to bring my friend here back to his stable." A polite nod to the assembled group. "It was a pleasure to meet you, all of you, and I hope we will meet again."

Aevander's brows want to shoot upwards again as Johanna continues with her complaints and then Sapphyra confirms that they are, indeed, true enough. He cants his head to listen to his cousin's murmured words and then regards the princess Jaehaera. A corner of his mouth quirks gently for the older woman's opinions. "Ah, princess, if only that lesson were learned by more…" Sapphyra's murmured words get a small nod before Aevander straightens and looks to Johanna. "My lady, I am sorry your trip to the market has turned unpleasant. On behalf of my family I offer my sincerest apologies for cousin Ryzael's… outburst."

A single brow quirks as Jaehaera's eyes turn her way, including her in the scolding, and Sapphyra's head dips again. "Not even Lady Johanna can have thought I was arguing with her. My purpose has been to minimize such things." To Ludvik, as he begins to depart, there's another apologetic smile. "I hope to meet you under calmer circumstances, Ser Ludvik." With a dip her head her attention returns to those of her family lingering. Both brows lift at Aevander, as he proceeds in further, apologizing for Ryzael, but she says nothing more.

"I fear the answer to that question is, quite obviously, no," Johanna remarks to Jaehaera, and for this woman, the tone is respectful, if not precisely warmer. A quiet laugh follows, though the sound lacks in any true humor as she looks first to Sapphyra. "You are not innocent in this either, Princess, though I will admit that your words were more gently put than that of the Prince." In the midst of this, the words from Ludvik slip through, and the man gets a brief, if weary smile. "It was nice to meet you, Ser. I hope to do so again on a happier occasion than this has become." She folds her hands neatly before her, listening to Aevander, and though he gets a smile, it's fainter than the one before it. "Ser, I thank you for your words, but it is not you that need issue an apology, you did not insult, nor threaten to strike me. The Prince Ryzael is a grown man, and can own his words and apologize, or stand by them."

Tellur, Garvin and Arion are all noted, but the Oakhart Lady seems far too invested in this fight to do more than glance, and then look away.

Arion looks to be in excellent spirits walking beside Garvin with a grin on his lips. He laughs softly at Garvin's comment nodding his head once in agreement. "Indeed I too prefer stronger wines..but the cake is very much worth it!" He looks to the crowd in confusion and riases a brow looking to his companion and whispering softly. "Do you have any idea what is going on here?"

Realising that no one has responded, or intends to, Tellur hesitates, then draws away.

"Mmm," offers the ancient Targaryen to Ludvik, not inclined to hamper his running along. She lifts one of her wrinkled, withered hands to stay Sapphyra's backchat, balling a fist and sharing an amused look with Aevander for his apology. Such pretty words. "Ha!" She leans, not in the way old ladies do before they're about to fall, but instead to share a pearl of wisdom with Johanna in a quieted, mock-comforting tone. "Prince Ryzael might be an arsehole, too, dear," she shares, her smile insincere. "Brilliant men are rarely social butterflies. Be thankful he didn't strike your pretty face, child." She straightens as Tellur wanders away, noting his absence with a Look to the Oakheart girl. See what you're doing?

Garvin gives his head a shake, as six of his Purple Cloaks follow him and Arion from the cake shop, forming a loose formation around the pair. "Not a clue. Though I believe I see Lady Johanna with them. I didn't realize she was on friendly terms with the Targaryens." He pauses, squinting a little. "I believe I only recognize one of them. Ser Aevander, the Maiden's Knight's brother." His lips curl in a grin, as he glances to Arion. "He is just a courteous as his more famous brother, I assure you."

If Aevander has an opinion of the maturity of a man who threatens a lady's guard for doing the job for which he was hired and then the lady in question with 'tears, blood and anguish,' he is politic enough to keep it to himself. A corner of his mouth quirks, however, as the Princess Jaehaera offers her own thoughts on the fellow. "I am thankful for it. I would rather not have another duel of honor so soon after the conclusion of the last one."

Sapphyra dutifully folds her hands before her, her lips pursing a moment as her eyes flick towards Arion and Garvin, a slow smile curling her lips for the pair. Her hand lifts in a little wave for Arion, before her attention returns to the group. Johanna's retort to her own words seems to be accepted, at least for the most part, and whatever the case may be, she leaves it go without further comment.

Nodding politely to the others at the moment, Ludvik leads his horse along, and is soon out of sight now.

Arion returns Sapphyra's wave with his own and gives the woman a warm smile before glancing to Garvin and smiling for him as well. "I have spoken with Ser Daevon and Princess Sapphyra as well. Ser Daevon I think was considering taking me as his squire before Abram made his offer." He looks back to the Targaryen crowd curiously.

When Jaehaera leans in, Johanna mirrors the move, listening to the wisdom offered and answering it in a small, taut smile. "Though I am grateful that he did not damage my face, if his brilliance hampers his ability to function among the public, perhaps he ought not be permitted out." She glances at Aevander, both hands making a helpless motion. "I cannot say what the outcome of this will be, though I imagine my brother will be none too pleased to hear of the incident." Not that Quill is ever too pleased by much, but that's a little tidbit she'll just fail to mention.

Garvin frowns a touch, his eyes narrowing again. "Hold a moment, that doesn't look like such a friendly conversation after all. Lady Johanna is a distant cousin, House Oakheart, you know. Perhaps we should join her." As he starts that direction, he glances at Arion again. "Which is Princess Sapphyra? I don't believe I've met her. Thank the Seven Abram made his offer, or you and I would never see one another again. The Maiden's Knight and I were once more friendly than we are now, but things have been rather tense between us of late. Come to think of it, since I became betrothed to his sisters."

"One can only hope his displeasure will be tempered by his various injuries and the need to lie still and recuperate," Aevander opines of Quillian and his possible ire. He glances over in the direction of Arion and Garvin when Sapphyra waves to them, and he offers a small nod to the little group if he finds they're all regarding each other at the same time.
Ludvik has connected.

"Which one are you?" It's a question the Targaryens of Oldtown are going to have to get used to, if Jaehaera's sticking around long. She's asking it of Aevander, on the heels of his thanks voiced; that she cares to know is probably a compliment. (Whether she will remember, another matter entirely.) "Ah, yes," the elderly Princess responds to Johanna, fixing the girl with an almost fond look for her barb. "Child," she says, extending the curve of her arm for the Oakheart, "Walk with me a step or two." Pros: Targaryen servants will fan you. Cons: She may smell like old lady under all that heavily perfumed oil.

"You know my brother, he doesn't allow much to stop him when he sets his mind to something," Johanna replies, a faint smile given to Aevander at that. The offer of a stroll is accepted, gratefully stepping into the gentle breeze generated by those fanning servants, even if it comes with old lady smell.

"I am Ser Aevander, Princess Jaehaera," he so named offers the older Targaryen. As she collects Lady Johanna and heads for a stroll towards… somewhere he offers a bow and a "good eve to you both, then." With a glance at the encroaching Tryells (and Florents) Aevander says to Sapphyra, "Well, that may be enough summer air for me for one evening. Would you like an escort back to the manse, cousin?"

As her family begins to descend upon Johanna, curious violet eyes linger on both Arion and Garvin as Sapphyra watches them. Watches them, watching the group. Aevander's voice draws her attention that way, brows lifting as she's snapped from her thoughts. "Hm?" The conversation comes swirling around to hit her in the head, and his words finally register. "I would actually, yes." There's something of a relieved smile offered, and the guards that have been watching her fall in to step as she takes Aevander's arm, leaning to murmur something to to him, a smile curling her lips.

Arion gestures to the younger Targaryen woman. "That is her the one that waved to us. She seemed very nice when we spoke..a bit playful even." The Florent speaks quietly to Garvin as they walk in the direction of Johanna and the Dragons. The blond lord's eyes widen as garvin mentions betrothal. "You are betrothed then?" He looks a bit surprised by this shocked even.

Garvin slows his steps when he sees Johanna stepping aside with one of the Targaryens, frowning again. "Hmm? Oh, seven heavens, no! She broke our betrothal some time ago, though there has been no official announcement. Yet." He watches Johanna and the elder princess for a moment, then asks, "Would you introduce me to Princess Sapphyra then? Lady Johanna seems to be all right after all, at least for the moment." His men-at-arms eye the Targaryen guards warily, staying in a loose formation around Lord Pansy and the young Fox squire.

"Ser Aevander," Jaehaera repeats, giving the illusion, at least, that she's committing it to memory. She nods, just the once. "You shall call on me at the Hightower, child," she requests, though there's no inflection to show that much. "At your convenience, of course. Don't come in the evenings; and not too early in the morning. We old hags don't tumble out of bed before the sun is high." That last she intones more to Johanna on her arm, patting the girl's hand with her own, delicate-skinned one. She is alarmingly old, after all. "Do you hunt, dear? Can you draw a bow?" Heaven only knows what the significance of that question to the Oakheart is.

Aevander chuckles at whatever Sapphyra murmurs to him and then offers her his arm. To Jaehaera he smiles warmly and nods. "I shall be honored to, Princess." The pair of Targaryens begin making their way in the opposite direction of Lady Johanna and Princess Jaehaera (try saying that five times fast), heading back to the Dragon Door's Manse.

Arion offers Garvin a smile nodding his head slowly at the answer. "Ah I see. Well I would be happy to introduce you but it seems they are leaving now…perhaps another time?" He watches the pair of Targaryen's go breifly before he looks back to Garvin with an apologetic look.

"You go on without me, Aevander, I'll catch up in a moment." Sapphyra says, her smile warm before she lightly kisses his cheek. Her guards, of course, remain as she turns her smile on Arion. "Lord Arion, we meet again. Are you training with my cousin?" She asks this to Arion, but her attention flickers between he and Garvin.

Garvin frowns a touch as he watches Aevander heading away, then gives a small shrug of one shoulder. "No matter. Oldtown isn't that large a city, I'm sure there will be another opportunity to meet her. Truth be told, I wasn't looking forward to Ser Aevander anyway. As I said, he's just as courteous to me as his pristine brother. And his sister, for that matter." He lets out a small but long-suffering sigh. "I fear I'm not a favorite among any of the Dragons. Which suits me just fine, as they are a little too friendly with the Dornish for my tastes. Shall we sit for a moment at the fountain?" He keeps an eye on Johanna, then falls silent when Jaehaera approaches.

"Draw a bow?" asks Johanna with some curiosity, then nodding slightly. "I have had some practice at it, but I am no great skill at it. I have been hunting though, just not often. My brothers enjoyed going and didn't usually wish for their sister to come along."

There are a great many guards along with Jaehaera and Johanna for Garvin and his men to frown at, each of the uniformed in startling black and red, golden accents on their arms and armor. Her maids dress like highborn ladies, though no highborn lady would fan an old fart the way her girls do. (Or would they? Highborn ladies may apply within for said duty.) "More fool your brothers," snips the old crone to the Oakheart, continuing on more fondly, "I used to hunt when I was your age, with my sister Alysanne. What's your name, child?"

For all that has taken place this evening, Johanna's guard is keeping a wary eye on the Lady, though he is rather less on edge now than earlier. "I can make no claim of great intelligence among them, I fear," she remarks, more a jest than truth. Well, probably not a lot of truth. "I am Johanna Oakheart, Princess," she replies, glancing to the side at the elderly woman with whom she strolls.

Arion looks thoughtful a moment at Garvin's words and steps in the direction of the fountian beside the Tyrell. "There will always be people we find disagreeable I fear…tolerence is good but can only be stretched so far. I try to be tolerent of others as I would want then to treat me with that same tolerence…it doesn't always work though." Arion smiles softly and sits down on the edge of the fountain.

Garvin takes a seat on the fountain's edge, smiling to Arion. "Some people are just…intolerant, I suppose. Like some people are left-handed or have red hair, it isn't really something they can control." He shrugs then, as his men fan out to give the pair the illusion of privacy. Garvin looks over to Johanna and the unknown Targaryen again. "So have you had any more trouble from your cousins? How is Abram after yesterday's Trial?"

"Johanna," muses the old woman, much the same as she earlier did with Aevander's name. Comitting it to memory. (Maybe.) "And an Oakheart, you say. Your roots go deep, hmm?" Jaehaera's steps must be awkward to keep time with, slow and old as she is. "With a particular distaste for an exiled Targaryen, no less."

"Those are our words," Johanna agrees with a wry twist of her lips, managing the slow pace with the elderly Targaryen without too much trouble, save for the desire that she toddle a little faster. But when one is being fanned, one makes do. "Yes, I think at this point it would be futile for me to deny my distaste for the Prince of Ashes. Just as he's made no secret of his distaste, and rather murderous intend against my distant relations. Distant they may be, but I am not overly fond of how he removes their heads from their bodies. Or tries to in some cases."

"I daresay neither are they, child," the Princess responds drily, batting thin and sparse lashes at Johanna as she smiles. It's not a pleasant thing, her smile, though likely once upon a time it was; now it simply adds a new set of lines to the ones already present on her face, and bears little warmth. "Of course, I could offer recompense, but that's as stupid a notion as the one that menfolk would heed such a thing, hmm? Not to worry. I'm sure Maelys is writhing in pain as we speak." And isn't that a delightful thought, says the lift of her brows?

Arion considers Garvin's words a moment. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps some simply have intolerance in thier nature but we can always fight against our nature if we choose too…we may not always win but it is a choice we can make." He smiles faintly at the question about his family. "They are fine they have give me no more trouble. I have not seen Abram since I left him to rest…I must check on him soon and make sure he isn't too badly hurt..I was so nervous Garvin…I may not agree with him at times but I'm starting to see that doesn't matter. He is family and he wants the best for me so I must support him as I can. Even if he makes me angry at times…You know I really admired his fighting in the trial…he was so brave and thats something I sorely lack I think.."

"I cannot imagine they are," Johanna replies in a tone that is near as dry as Jaehaera's. "Of course, lacking a head does tend to get in the way of that sort of thing." She shoots a glance the way of her cousin and his cluster of guards, though her attention is quick to return to the Targaryen at her side. "I doubt there is much in the way of recompense that could be sent to tend these wounds, though you are welcome to address Ser Laurent on the matter of it should you be so inspired." Though she doesn't say that she's pleased at the notion of Maelys suffering, she does smile. A delightful thought, indeed.

Garvin smiles to Arion, placing a hand briefly on the man's thigh. "You're brave as well, I assure you. It takes great courage to stand up to your family, as you have." He quickly moves his hand away again, cheeks blushing just a bit. "Ser Abram must be a good man, or Laurent wouldn't be on such friendly terms with him. They both fought very valiantly yesterday, and I hope this will be an end to the matter. Though I know it won't. Those wounds are very old and very deep. I fear we've not seen the last slaughter by the Dornish." His eyes flick over to the princess and her ladies again. "Just as I fear the Thorn and Prince Maelys will come to blows again, sooner rather than later." He sighs and shakes his head. "Family's are rather complicated, aren't they?"

"I'm glad you think so though the thought of blood on me or my clothing still makes me a bit queasy." Arion smiles playfully at Garvin and frowns nodding slowly. "They likely will clash again yes and I will pray your cousin does even better than he did at the trial. He fought very well as did Abram." Arion looks proud of this. "You know…my family has always seemed to hold a grudge against yours but we are such good friends and even Abram and Laurent seem to get along….perhaps the rift can be mended even further?" He looks thoughtful and smiles softly. "Yes family is complicated but its also something important….I used to think it was the most important thing but now I'm not entirely certain. Important yes but there are other things worth fight for too." He looks at Garvin with warm friendly eyes.

Jaehaera pats Johanna's arm in hers for their shared approval of suffering. She is not a nice old lady. "Oh, I'll never remember his name, child. Better you to direct him to the Hightower, if he's so inclined. But if we're being frank, dear," and with eyes widened, she surely presumes they're being frank, "It might be better he simply buried his sword in the Prince and be done with it." She's not smiling anymore, and affects sort of displeased air as she turns her attentions toward the fountain, wishing to be done with the talk of Maelys. "How quaint," she observes, of the lads over that way.

Garvin gives Arion a smile of genuine affection, though he's (just) smart enough to keep a discrete distance between them, as they sit on the edge of the fountain. "Very worth fighting for," he agrees, glancing over toward the knot of women and guards again. "As for the Prince of Ashes, I can only hope that he returns to…wherever he's been the last twenty years or so, before Laurent does something incredibly stupid. I mean, the man lobbed off my uncle's head and carried it off. Laurent's father, you understand, my lord father's own brother. Keeping Laurent from challenging him the moment he arrived in Oldtown was no easy task, and the way they went at each other yesterday made my blood run cold. I know it's the only reason the Prince fought for the Dornish, to get a chance at killing the Thorn."

The mutual enjoyment in another's suffering. It's certainly one way to bond. "I will be sure to send him your way should he be so inclined, though I cannot imagine he is," Johanna remarks mildly, eyes on the elder Targaryen at the last. She nods, and that is all the answer she gives, gaze moving ahead, rather than turning to look at Garvin and Arion. "Yes, aren't they."

"Nobody's inclined to call on an old bitch like me unless I command them to, dear," Jaehaera quips, brutally honest, to Johanna with a wicked smile. "Who are they?" If the Oakheart can't answer, her men or her maids know to head over and inquire.

"I cannot imagine why," comes Johanna's swift retort, and where Jaehaera's is brutal honesty, the Oakhart's is sharp humor. Her gaze is drawn finally to the two men, watching the pair for a beat. "That one, with the dark hair," she makes a motion in Garvin's direction, "is Lord Garvin Tyrell." And then the gesture shifts and angles Arion's way. "And the blond is Lord Arion Florent."

There is also affection in Arion's eyes as he looks upon Garvin. He nods slowly his expression turning thoughtful once more before he goes pale and wide eyed at the story of Garvin's uncles death. "That is…awful! I understand why Laurent seemed so angry with the Prince now…it doesn't seem like they will stop fighting though…Laurent is driven by his rage, greif, and desire to avenge his father and and I'm not certain what drives the Prince but it is likely nothing good." Arion frowns. "I have hope that your cousin will survive though…he seems like a strong man." Arion places a gentle comforting hand on Garvin's shoulder for a breif moment.

Garvin leans a fraction closer to Arion, shivering at the touch on his shoulder. "He killed another of our uncles, too. Twenty years ago, in a tourney. Of course, they say it was an accident, but…." He shrugs then. "It was before I was born, so I only know what my father and uncle said over the years. They both swore vengence against the Prince of Ashes many times, but it was my uncle who found him first, only a few weeks ago. It was Princess Visenya who was kind enough to return his head. Mad as a spring hare she may be, but she has more honor at least than her kinsman." He sighs again, glancing over toward the others and, seeing their attention on him, he smiles and gives Johanna a small wave. "Families are indeed complicated."

"A Florent and a Tyrell walked into an Inn," begins Jaehaera, glancing from the boys to Johanna and concluding, "Said nobody ever. It has been a pleasure, child, but I'm afraid this old bitch has done all the walking her knees will consent to, today. Please allow my maids to escort you wherever you were off to before that arse physician raised his hand so unjustly." And so, Johanna shall be fanned until she dismisses the two luxuriously dressed girls. Jaehaera steals her saggy arm back from the pretty young thing, and offers a curt nod to the Oakheart before turning — slowly, but deliberately — to stalk back to her carriage.

The joke, such as it is, still makes Johanna laugh with quiet amusement. "It has been a pleasure to meet you too, Princess. I will be sure to call upon you again soon, but not too late, nor too early." She inclines her head respectfully to Jaehaera and then steps back, rather pleased by the notion of the fan carrying maids going with her. She may need to hire herself some more maids. A hand lifts to give her cousin a wave, and then she too turns to make her way off, rather less slowly and carefully, to return to the manse.

"It sounds like the hatred runs deep then." Arion admits with a frown. His hand brushs Garvin's neck lightly almost as if on accident before it withdraws. He looks over to Johanna and offers her a small smile and wave as well. He turns back to Garvin and sighs softly looking thoughtful. "I should likely return home to check on Abram…To make certain he is healing up alright and doesn't scar anywhere. You know he told me the other day that scars make men more attractive to women but I'm fairly certain he was teasing me."

Garvin's smile turns into a frown when he sees Johanna parting ways with the Princess, but instead of heading toward him, she makes her way back down the street. He rises then, dusting off his hose a bit. "Oh, you're leaving, too?" he asks Arion, sounding a little disappointed. "I understand though, your cousin's health is important, and as his squire, you have a duty to look after him and whatnot. Shall I see you on the morrow then? At the playhouse, I mean. I should go escort Lady Johanna home."

Arion looks to garvin with regret but then the offer to see him tomorrow has the Florent smiling happily. "Yes you will see me tomorrow. We must rehearse for the play after all." He smirks and stands up from his seat. He gives the Tyrell Lord a gentle pat on the shoulder before heading off down the street.

Garvin watches Arion walking away with a dreamy, lovesick sort of expression, though his men moving into a tigher formation around him snaps him out of it. Coughing softly, he nods to the Purple Cloaks and heads off after Johanna, sparing Arion a last, lingering look on his way.

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