(121-04-15) The Old, The True, The... Rest
The Old, The True, The… Rest
Summary: Lyonel Velaryon and Jaehaera Targaryen intercept a few visitors to the Hightower.
Date: (15/04/2014)
Related: There's probably some

The Hightower, Battle Island

The great tower is all of white stone, ancient and beautiful. This lowest tier is quite wide and grand enough for any palace. There are two stories of this widest and lowest one. The tower has a narrower tier above, and a circular balcony-garden on the roof-space left unoccupied.

The ground floor is dominated by this grand receiving hall, and the great main doors lead directly to it. High windows let in light that reflects off the white stone walls and makes the space airy and bright. It is here that the Lord of Hightower holds his local court, from a large chair on a tall wooden dais. Both chair and dais are carved with images of the tower itself, and with dolphins and sea-dragons. They are inlaid with stones of white and grey, and decorated with silver-leaf. There's space for the Lord's councillors to sit alongside him, but visitors seeking audience must stand.

Past this grand hall there is a wide gracious stone stairway allowing access to the higher levels. Hidden behind the wall behind it and to and on one side, ramps allow wagon-loads of firewood for the beacon to be hauled up.

The grand receiving hall of the Hightower is an odd place for an elderly Targaryen lady to dawdle, particularly if she's not planning on receiving anyone. Perhaps she's been out, and is steeling herself for the long climb to the grand chambers she's demanded her nemesis' family put her up in; perhaps she's just being nosy, quietly observing the comings and goings and noting just who these Hightowers are entertaining. At any rate, Jaehaera's in the long hall, having taken up one of the lord's councillor's chairs for herself, surrounded by smartly-dressed Targaryen men and her two faithful fan-maidens. Such, there's a gentle breeze surrounds her, small puffs of air tousling the exorbitant lengths of silk that have been sewn into her gown.

Lyonel Velaryon enters the scene from above, coming down the steps with purpose in his stride. He's a man who always seems to have a purpose — born with a knack for looking busy. He wears a high-collared jerkin and trousers in a vaguely military cut, in the sea green and white of his house, accented with a touch of fur for a more rough and rustic aesthetic. He holds a pair of black leather gloves in his left hand. When his pale eyes note the lady who is the room's sole occupant of any importance, his steps veer that way with a loud, rhythmic clack of bootheels. "Princess Jaehaera," he calls out to her, as soon as distance does not demand that he shout. "I regret that Oldtown has kept me so occupied since our arrival. I hope it has agreed with you."

Jaehaera turns her chin at the sound of those purposeful steps, dark violet eyes ready to rake an intimidatingly judgy look over whoever dares to enter. She hardly softens at the familiar face of Rhaenys' man, thin brows arcing high on her forehead only to lapse back down at his greeting. She watches, as he approaches, mouth set in a thin, grim, line. "Spare me the pleasantries, child. Nobody regrets keeping themselves out of my eye; not unless I've ordered it." Withered fingers interlace as she re-settles her hands in her lap. "I hear our little Never-Queen's leaving you behind, hmm?"

Lyonel's lips twitch into a ghost of a grin at Jaehaera's rough manners, but he inclines his head. Forthrightness is a sort of efficiency, and he values efficiency. "I'm to remain in Oldtown," he admits, "At the Princess' suggestion, perhaps, but of my own volition. There's much that needs doing, it seems, and an extra set of capable hands," with the emphasis on 'capable,' there, "Might be a valuable thing indeed just now. You're to stay as well, then?"

"Oh, your own volition," quips Jaehaera, amused. "How very assertive of you, dear. Commendable, indeed — I'm sure Rhaenys was impressed." That the formidable Princess might not have been seems to light a spark in the older woman's eyes, a few extra creases formed around them as her frown deepens. It's like an anti-smile. "Old bones like these aren't fit to flit about Westeros willy-nilly, child. And I'm quite enjoying presuming upon Otto's little tower with my ghastly demands." So: yes, she's staying for now. "Come, settle your arse in one of his councillor's chairs for a moment; they're very comfortable."

"I suppose one of them will be mine in short order," Lyonel muses as he eyes them, selecting one to settle into near the princess. There's no haughtiness in his voice, there. Only a sense of expectation, or perhaps entitlement. Once he has lowered himself into it, he takes a moment to settle from one side to the other, then nods his approval. "They are comfortable," he agrees, leaning back to cross one leg over the other. "So. Do you give any weight to the rumor that Lord Ormund's illness has robbed him of his will? I've not yet spoken to the man."

Jaehaera could be pleased to see her instructions carried out, lifting her chin to wag it down in a firm nod as Lyonel settles into a chair. "How very auspicious for you," she opines drily of his expectation of a place on the council. "My condolences, of course. As for Ormund's health — well. If he's anything like Otto, it's better for everyone if he's abed. Surely there's some little whippersnapper or other eyeing off his fancy chair?"
Elionys has arrived.

Lyonel and Jaehaera sit in a pair of the councillor's chairs in the great chamber, the princess attended by her staff — guards, and a pair of maids with fans. Lyonel seems quite comfortable in the chair, legs crossed, conversing with Jaehaera. "His son is but a boy," he says with a shrug. "But he has brothers, and an uncle, I'm told. I'll sort out who is who soon enough. It should be simple enough."

"Heaven forbid Otto scurry home to sit it himself," the old lady says wearily, unlacing her fingers to curl her arms over those of the chair she sits, instead. "Well, nevermind. With any luck, our dear Lord Orwell will make a miraculous recovery, and soon." She may have deliberately named him wrongly.

"Ah, no, Lord Hightower is thoroughly occupied making a mess of King's Landing, I'm sure," Lyonel allows with a slight raise of his eyebrows. "How they dragged the man so far from the Citadel I'll never work out," he muses, a thoughtful grin playing across his features. "I suppose you are correct, Princess. Lord Ormund will no doubt return to health, and rule his father's city himself, as cautiously as is his family's trademark."

It is only after being announced by some servant or another, and then told to go in, that a rather curious Elionys steps into the great chamber. She slows after only a few steps, gaze moving between the elder Targaryen and Lyonel. "I hope I do not interrupt, but I was told to come?"

"Or he won't, and some other idiot will clamber into the spot to do it for him," Jaehaera opines, weary again. She's about to continue when the younger Targaryen is announced, and sharp eyes flicker toward the door to watch her, wicked brows climbing on her wrinkled forehead. The old woman just watches the girl expectantly. It's likely very awkward.

"Not at all, Princess," Lyonel says, standing slowly. "I hope you don't mind, Princess Jaehaera. I had her summoned, not thinking we might be intruding." He offers a Elionys a polite bow, precisely as deep as etiquette demands, and introduces himself as he straightens. "I am Lyonel Velaryon. Your father made mention of you, Princess Elionys, and I thought to meet you in person before I wrote to him again."

Elionys' smile is a touch uncertain as Jaehaera's eyes come to rest, and remain on her. "I'm Elionys," she informs the elder woman, then adds, even more uncertainly, "Targaryen." You never know when old folks might need the extra help. She clears her throat and looks up to Lyonel, smiling at him politely. "I believe I've heard my father speak of you in the past," she remarks, steps carrying her further into the chamber. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jaehaera is old and petty, and she is most certainly not going to stand to greet a pretty young thing like Elionys. She bats a hand at Lyonel's words, dismissing the man as he stands up. "Yes, yes," she says, "Don't let me hinder your treating with the little dragons." She leans forward in her seat — one of the Lord Hightower's councilmen's that she's snatched for herself today — to tell the girl tartly: "I know, dear, your name's been mentioned thrice now since you arrived."

"And you, Princess," Lyonel says, drawing up a pace or two short of Elionys as his eyes examine her from head to toe, almost as a man might examine a bolt of cloth, or a well-bred horse, before its purchase. "What brought you to Oldtown, then? Your father failed to mention that detail. Did you come here simply to be nearer your sister? Or was there some other motivation?" He turns slightly to the side as he questions the young dragon. Perhaps to more readily include Jaehaera in the conversation, though it looks more likely that he means to begin pacing around her.

As a pair of figures, after consulting with the guards make their way up they become discernable. Both of them look as though their hair has been shorn bald. The one walking slightly in the lead is leaner and smaller, a raven-feathered cloak tossed about his shoulders above a black-and-red doublet. His hands dangle easily at his sides and he looks about cautiously as if expecting someone. For anyone catching the heraldry, the coat of arms he wears indicates that Riderch is one of House Blackwood from the Riverlands…blah blah blah. But of course, people have likely seen him before.

The figure behind him is a sworn man of some sort, given his looks of deference. That being said, his squire is a hulking sort by comparison, large and rough-hewn. Both have an air of bemusement.

Riderch sighs, stopping. "And Lord Hightower is /not/ holding court after all." He says, stopping dead in his tracks. His voice sounds more bored than disappointed.

"So it has," Elionys replies to Jaehaera with a small smile, but that's all the reply she gives on her little misstep. Instead her gaze is drawn back to the approaching Valaryon, brows knitting slightly as she resists the urge to retreat a step. "I'd not been here before, or much of anywhere outside of King's Landing, and I had cousins here that I wished to visit." If there is more to it, she's disinclined to share it at present. She twists around just enough to look at Riderch, smiling at him politely. "Ser Riderch, good evening."

"I've — already had the pleasure of becoming (briefly) accquainted with Princess Elionys." Riderch begins, his face flashing through a quick series of reactions as he processes the responses given to his arrival. And the named Elionys gets the first bow from the man. "But a second meeting is another pleasure." Either he's a really smooth operator, or it's abundantly clear there's less calculated ass-kissing than general reverence for the Royal family, whatever their relation is to whoever sits on the Iron Throne. The big man behind him follows with an even deeper bow. It's a Riverlands thing, maybe?

To the old woman. "Well — First it was Lord Garvin, then it was Lord Gwayne…Well, I'd say if you're holding court this is an elevation of affairs." It's a jest, but a polite one. "Princess Jaehaera." The bow remains. "And Lord Lyonel Velaryon." He finally straightens a few moments afterwards. "I was providing some updated documents that were shipped from home but were delayed and I had some inquiries about some shipping problems we had. I'd imagine these affairs aren't your problems. Fortunately for you."

The reverence is answered by a warm smile from Elionys, given as she turns for the moment to face Riderch. "It's lovely to see you again, Ser." The big man behind Riderch is given a curious look as further introductions take place, and in that time she dares only one or two glances at Jaehaera, lest she draw the elderly woman's attention again.

"It'll be a cold day in all Seven of the Holy Hells before Otto Hightower will have me oversee the affairs of his house, child," Jaehaera retorts, mildly amused at the thought. She allows Lyonel to introduce her, and even offers the Velaryon a short, precise nod for his efforts. Good work, dear. "Fortunately for us, indeed," she muses, nevertheless drawing her hand out from under her chin and wagging her fingers at Riderch. "Bring the documents here."

Lyonel turns from Elionys at that to cross the room with brisk steps, coming around to stand just behind Jaehaera's chair, and displacing a maid with a fan in so doing. He waits in silence with his hands clasped behind his back, no doubt to eye the documents over the princess' shoulder.

"And I am also extremely remiss." Riderch quips first and foremost, smirking a little at the Targaryen dowager's statement. "I am Ser Riderch Blackwood. Heir to Lord Derfel Blackwood of Raventree Hall." He turns to the big squire behind him. "This is my sworn man and squire, Tel." And then back to the old woman. "Well, that's disappointing, Princess. I suppose it was worth hoping. But —" Well, she ain't no Hightower, but she'll substitute just fine. He steps forward, producing the documents from a pouch hung at his side.

The Blackwood lord also smiles back at Elionys in the process. "It's pretty uncommon that I run across your kin. With the exception of Prince Daevon. Whom I'm doomed to accompany on every doomed expedition that leads nowhere, it seems." As he closest the distance to Jaehaera, he nods his head at Lyonel again.

Elionys' gaze follows Lyonel for a few moments before she turns to move closer to the table, but remains on the opposite side. The comment from Riderch gets another smile, this one far more amused. "Did you go on that trip with Daevon? I didn't hear much about it, but as I was led to understand, there wasn't much to tell."

Jaehaera's seated in one of the council's chairs, with Lyonel Velaryon just behind and a pair of maids to fan them — the one so recently displaced is adept at resettling herself where a cool breeze is most convenient to draught from. There are various Targaryen guards about, and the Princess Elionys, whom the ancient dragon now beckons into the chair beside her with a chiding, "Do come sit, child, you're making the place look untidy." As Riderch approaches her with the requested documents, she laughs. It's a dry thing, her laugh, and doesn't translate to any warmth in her face. "Riderch, son of Derfel, and his squire Tel. A pleasure, of course." She will snatch his offered papers, giving them but the briefest of glances before palming them off to Lyonel. "I'm sure these are of more interest to you than me, dear. The boy mentioned shipping problems?"

"Shipping problems," Lyonel repeats softly, thoughtfully. And if Jaehaera is dismissive, the Velaryon lord is by contrast very interested indeed. "Problems of what nature, Ser Riderch," he asks, though he's scanning the documents as he waits for the answer in an effort to work out the details himself. He takes a step away from the chair, then another, beginning to pace as he skims through the information.

As the rain lightly drizzles down from above, three carts filled to the brim with wood are pulled up before the Hightower, servants quickly get to unloading said carts as the men whom transported the wagons pull the horses free of the wagons and escort them off to the stables so that they may be cleaned and have some rest. Kai, whom walked in with the carts, helps the other servants unpack the wagons, which is quite natural, as he is dressed in the usual Hightower servant livery; albeit very wet Hightower livery.

Daemond enters with his two guards, and four hooded individuals, servants by the looks of things. He frowns lightly, looking around in a bored manner as he takes a bite of a partially eaten apple, his brows lowered as his guards simply look around in a grouchy manner. The hooded individuals seem to simply mutter amongst themselves, whilst observing their surroundings.

"Shipping problems." Riderch repeats, succintly, closing the gap and handing the paperwork over like he just relieved himself of a horrid burden. And his squire repeats — "Shipping problems." The big man's voice is a bit deeper as it booms, but his Lord continues as he addresses the Velaryon Counselor's inquiry. "Simply put, the shipping lanes between here and Seagard are fraught with — disruptions. Particularly when they go past the Westerlands, although the Westerlands aren't the culprit." What is present in the paperwork is a series of shipping logs, maps, and charts, that show evidence of one horrible fact — ship captains are having to take horrendous detours due to raiders and pirates.

"Now, the Mallisters are more than happy to kill these scum for us. Trust me, I should know.." Strangely, the two Riverlanders turn to each other for a semi-private chuckle and then Riderch suddenly stops, abashed. "Um, anyway — oh, right." Elionys' question is finally addressed as the Blackwood Lord turns to the younger Princess and seems happy for the topical diversion. "Oh, right. Aimless adventures that go nowhere. We went to Dorne together to find some killers, and a Blackmont Lady. And before that, we went to look for his dead sister who apparently turned out to be very much not dead, but you already knew that. So what I mean to say is, we've ridden around on horses a lot and talked about a lot of trivial things. The Prince is a very decent fellow."

When Elionys is beckoned by the elder Targaryen, she moves around the table to take the seat beside Jaehaera immediately, hands folding in her lap. The advantage to this order is that she can then lean in and look curiously at the papers, or she could, finding them soon handed off to Lyonel and beyond her view. Alas. She settles back in the chair as her gaze moves to Riderch, lips tugging up into another of those amused smiles. "I suppose that isn't so bad if you enjoy riding your horse a lot, and making smalltalk, but I imagine it isn't too very satisfying for a person who wishes to be productive."

Wagons outside are none of Jaehaera's concern, though her frown does tighten a bit for the added, if distant, ambient noise. She listens intently, interrupting Riderch to bid him to, "Speak up, boy," as he explains the 'shipping problems'. "Sounds like they could have used Meleys' help," quips the old hag, drawing in a sharp breath to sigh. She then turns to narrow her eyes toward the Blackwood again at his stories about her smaller kinsmen and women. To Elionys, she leans aside and murmurs, "My, you little dragons are an astoundingly dramatic bunch, aren't you," but her eyes are upon the entering Daemond. She sighs again, and raises her voice to query, "Come to impose on the Hightower's hospitality, have you?" Hopefully it makes Lyonel smile.

It does, and right on cue. Lyonel's eyes go toward the cluster of new arrivals over top of that sheaf of papers, and he grins a private grin. Conspiratorial, somehow. His words are for the Blackwood lord, though. "Pirates." He makes the word sound a curse. "If the Mallisters aren't equal to the task, Ser, no doubt there are other parties willing to see to it. I'll put a word in."

Kai continues to help the other servants unpack the wagons before smoothly excusing himself from the job, sparing a glance towards one of Daemond's hooded companions before quickly making his way into the Hightower with some other servants who are carting the firewood into the Hightower, and up to the higher levels via. the ramps behind the grand staircase. He walks alongside said servants, gaze firmly set on the ramps behind the stone stairway that leads to the higher levels, eager to do his duties so he can go and chat up some girls at the Quill and Tankard afterwards.

"I've seen Prince Maelys do what he does best." Riderch admits, frankly. "Unfortunately I do not now what sort of sailor he is. But also notice that we're not approaching House Greyjoy with this problem." Oh. There's a veiled jab there. Both Riverlanders linger for now, the big Squire and the smaller Lord, both bemused but very obviously treating the Targaryens like they're holding court themselves. And Lyonel too, as an extension of their authority. He's got the Valyrian connection down anyway, at the very least.

"It's not that the Mallisters aren't capable, Lord Lyonel. They just don't hve the jurisdiction and the resources to hunt these scum through Lannister-held waters and beyond."

The big squire sighs again before Riderch turns to give him a flat look, and the two men roll their eyes at each other. This is probably the sort of thing they do often. "Thank you." Finally Riderch shoots a glance back at Elionys and laughs heartily. "If I cared about being productive, Princess Elionys, I'd have been better at finding a way of getting out of being heir. And also a knight, for that matter. Hopeless causes are why men take up swords." He pauses a long beat. "This is all my last long gasp of getting out and seeing the world before duty calls me back to Raventree Hall where I spend the rest of my days wishing I was out in the field. We're probably the oldest house in the Riverlands — just maybe not as good as killing Harren the Black's spawn as the Tullys were, which is why Riverrun is where it is. But I'll fix this. Maybe your cousin's dragon could use a gift, the next time I find it a suitable Ironman."

Daemond shakes his head, chewing his apple as he hands it over to one of hise guards, "No, not quite," he says, with a raise of his brow, looking over to the elderly Targaryen, his pale violet eyes showing a bit of dragon within the lion, "Simply came here for the beautiful women and the even more beautiful city." He says, staring at her for a second. A glance that one may call passive from one looking on, but for one on the receiving end, it could easily be described as a cold, indifferent gaze. He breaks the contact though, shrugging as he carries along inside, "That sounds like a good idea too, I suppose."

Riderch belatedly stops a moment as he eyes the new arrivals, The sellsword and the lion in particular. He stops talking for the time being as he's done plenty of that already and roughly clears his throat,

"It depends upon the dragon," Elionys murmurs to Jaehaera as she leans in closer to the older woman. "I can't deny that some of us are more excitable than others." Though which ones are, she doesn't say. She shifts in her seat enough to slide a glance up at Lyonel, brief and curios, before her attention goes back to Riderch. "At least you are doing that, so it can't be all bad," she tells him with some cheer. "The dragon doesn't belong to Visenya, though I'm sure it would be pleased to get a gift if you find you've anything suitable. Just don't try to bring it yourself, I don't imagine that would go over too well. It's rather territorial." It's only now that she notices Daemond, gaze lifting to focus on the figure beyond Riderch for a moment.

You would smile, Lyonel, wouldn't you. Jaehaera's own anti-smile is more colloquially referred to as a frown, which just now tightens with some amusement at the corners. "Not Maelys, dear boy, though I do hear the exiled Prince's continued existence is a sore point for many. I meant Meleys, dear, our sweet Never-Queen's overgrown lizard friend." Rhaenys' dragon. For someone who once commanded one of the beasts herself, she's terribly disrespectful about it. On the receiving end of Daemond's cold, indifferent gaze, her sparse brows rise, but she refrains from scolding for now, continuing to lean aside and converse with her little dragon Elionys. "Boy has the look of a Lannister, poor dear. Do you know his name?"

Lyonel holds the papers in one hand as he listens to Riderch's explanation, raising a brow at Tel's contribution. But once it's all said, and a bit more, he slaps the handful of documents against his other hand, and nods. "It occurs to me that I might be able to make inroads here," he says to Jaehaera, rather than Riderch. "If you will excuse me, Princesses?" He looks from the elder to the younger, and back again. "I shall see about finding your Mallister ships license to sail the Lannister waters in search of your pirates. And should that prove impossible," he says, his tone skeptical, "I shall search you out to discuss the matter further." And with that, assuming the princesses' permission, he turns on one booted heel to march out of the chamber, documents in hand and seemingly intent on a solution.

Kai walks by the Grand Staircase, escorting the carts up the ramps to the next floor, he even goes so far as to help one of the smaller servants pull one of the carts, being the nice guy that he is.

"if you need proper context with the Mallister household, merely ask Nessa Blackwood." Riderch intones to Lyonel. The Riverlander is cclearly impressed with the Velaryon's handling of the situation, or at least his ability to spin things. This also illustrates his connection to the Mallister side of things right away. "This would be a good start. Although I don't think this is another case of random bandits at sea. Greater problems than that and — well. Let me abandon pretense. Ironborn." He practically spits the words.

"I stand corrected, Princess Jaehaera." He notes to the elder Princess. "This whole situation would be better solved with Meleys rather than Maelys. Should your travels ever take us through our lands, you'll have no confusion as to why your welcome would be universal from House to House. Our lands were purified by Dragonfire and every child in the Riverlands remembers that. Dragonfire would solve our current situation now, although I'm sure there'd be some pain in the —" Well, you know — "some person who'd wonder what happened to the Iron Islands in the process but did we ever really need them in the first place?"

Tel merely gives Riderch a gentle nudge in the shoulder and the lordling straightens a little."Princess Elionys, if I'm ever lucky enough to have a gift for one of your dragons, I'll be sure to ask your advice first, should you be gracious enough to provide it." The poor stupid lordling looks practically smitten. Or just trying to be extremely polite.

Not to be a spoil-sport, Riderch finally notes the arrival of a Lannister Lord and various semi-familiar sorts including one Sellsword. He raises his hand in the air. "Ho, Roaring Lion."

Daemond is offered back his apple, which he takes back with a nod, biting into it once more as his eyes travel along to Kai, before flicking over to Riderch, as he's prompted to raise his brow. Chewing his bit of apple he stares for a moment before swallowing, "Roar." He simply says, before taking a bite of the apple, staring at the man again before he shifts his gaze to Elionys, staring for a second or two as he stops chewing he looks over her with quirked brow, but ultimately trails his gaze off elsewhere, his chewing starting once again as the hooded figures passively mutter to eachother, seemingly in High Valyrian as the bored lord simply looks around again.

"I don't believe I've ever met him before, though he looks awfully grim," answers Elionys in a low tone after giving Daemond a brief study. She leans a touch closer to Jaehaera. "Shall we find out who he is? Aside from just a Lannister." She listens to the rest of the conversation politely, but it's not until Riderch addresses her directly again that she smiles. "You are more than welcome to seek me out for advice, Ser, about dragons or otherwise. I may have to ask someone else for the answer, but I should be glad to do so on your behalf."

"Yes, yes, run along," the ancient princess bids Lyonel, straightening to bat a withered old hand his way. "Poor lad was one of Rhaenys' favourites," she intones, this time to the Blackwood as the Velaryon lord disappears. "I can't half think why, hmm? And won't the Mallisters be pleased for his intervention." She seems to be indulging herself in some sort of joke, a smile gracing the creases around her eyes that never quite makes it to her frown-intent lips. "I'm sure the Conqueror is smiling in his grave to be remembered so fondly," the old crone adds. "Please, come join us in these most comfortable chairs my gracious host provides," she bids the Riverlander, before lifting her voice for Daemond once again. "Are you bored, dear? You look bored. It's not a terribly flattering look, mind." Is that — why yes, she turns her face aside and winks at Elionys.

"Every answer comes from somewhere, Princess. It's only the the fact that it's been obtained that matters." Riderch offers to Elionys as the Blackwood Lordling produces some low-rent wisdom here, nodding his head but once.

"Honestly, the Mallisters will be pleased at having to /not/ make decisions themselves that implicate their liege lords. But let's be honest here. Since the Conqueror arrived, we've had generations of peace. Surely the value of that should be self-evident?" He asks of the old woman rather frankly. "And that is, in a provberial nutshell, why a Targaryen's word carries so much weight where I am from. You are also seen as above our smallish concerns." He does, though, in fact, advance towards a proferred chair and settles into it while his hulking squire hulks about, flashing his huge and inapprorpriate grin.

Riderch eventually waves again to Daemond, with his apple. He lookks at his big squire and then asks, "Tel, you know those Dornish pastries you 'found?' See if our Lannister friend could use one."

The young Lannister lord looks back over, raising his brow to the princess, "Bored? Yes quite bored, but a little annoyed too, but I'd rather not bore you with why.." He says, glaring over to one of his guards who grumbles, looking off to the left, away from the lord. He looks back over to the three, starting off slowly in their direction as the guards and the four hooded servants nearby step off to the side, to do their own little thing. "My Princess, is it possible you are willing to help cease the bordem that conflict me? Perhaps get to know one another?" He asks, tilting his head over to the left as he lifts his apple, preparing to take another bite, "I'd very much love to get to know a cousin." He says, a slightly mischievous grin forming on his lips before he takes a bite out of the apple.

Elionys hides her smile behind her hand after the wink, gaze turning to regard Daemond again, if briefly. The answer from Riderch draws her attention away, and elicits another, gentler smile for the Riverlander. The smile dims somewhat, though precisely why is hard to say, and after a moment she's pushing back the chair, preparing to rise. "I fear I should be going," this is to those at the table, though her gaze then settles on Riderch. "We never get much time to speak, do we? We will have to remedy that, and I hope that it's soon." She pushes to her feet then, glancing around at Jaehaera. "And I'm sure I will see you again very soon as well." The elder Targaryen is given a small smile, and the Lannister, a polite nod, and then the youger Princess moves around the table and for the door.

"I was but a toddling child when the Conqueror died," Jaehaera tells Riderch as the man settles into one of the Hightower council chairs at her bidding. Her smile is no doubt borne as much of the pleasure of commanding little lords into Otto's kin's chairs, as of her fondness for her late Grandfather, whom she barely knew. "I vaguely remember my father speaking fondly of him, as did Jaehaerys. A gracious man, was Aegon, to hear them tell it — but a formidable enemy." It is rare to hear her wax so, the old woman's dark violet eyes slipped away for a moment as she recalls a past so distant. As Daemond answers her and approaches, she assumes his second address is for Elionys, and defers that way with a wrinkled old smirk — but the young girl's excusing herself, which only amuses this old lady more. "Of course, child," the elder allows, lifting a hand to shoo the younger off, as is her way.

"Well it's like you said — being productive. I'm not, in this city, so there are plenty of opportunities to remedy this." Riderch notes to Elionys languidly, but he does rise from his chair long enough to offer the younger Princess a bow. "If you ask about for me you'll get me." That much seems a certainty.

He does, though, also pay attention to the elder Princess's every word. "I'm sure plenty of men found reason to oppose Him. But time and distance have eroded those reasons. And the best of my kin didn't see him as an adversary, they saw him as an /opportunity./ Mind you, this is something I've learned more as I get older. Someone above you doesn't like someone else above you? Figure out whose side you're on an go from there." He starts fumbling in his pack, presumably for one of those 'Dornish treats.' But all he finds is a cloth-wrapped chicken leg. "Well /that/ won't do." He frowns. And now he's looking up at the newly-arrived Lannister Lord. "Boredom is a risk we all face, m'lord."

<FS3> Kai rolls Charm: Success.

Kai walks down the staircase, trailed by one of Daemond's hooded companions whom doesn't seem overly impressed with the 'servant' before her, the man doesn't seem to care however, as he goes to mingle with Daemond's men whom all seem rather unwelcoming, he shrugs their unwelcoming attitude off, however, putting his charming person to good use.

Daemond offers a friendly and polite nod to the princess as she passes by before looking back over towards Jaehaera as he continues makes his way over towards both Riderch and the older princess, seemingly have no interest in the younger targaryen as he turns his head, looking to Riderch, lightly chuckling as he nods in agreement, "Unfortunately so, though it is like a curse for me." He says, shrugging lightly as he progresses over towards the two, "Perhaps not enough fellow lions to pester." He says half-heartedly, though there's a hint of honesty in the statement as he closes the distance between himself and the lord and princess.

"Oh, plenty did, dear boy," Jaehaera responds to Riderch, rather uncharacteristically pleased with the man, who is stupidly young by her standards. "Your worldview is admirable, child. You understand this old dragon doesn't find cause for such a compliment very often." When she does flash her smile, it's horribly wrinkled and looks rather insincere, even though it isn't in this case. She turns her head again as Daemond continues to approach, lifting her thin brows again at the Lion. "Well my dear," she begins, "If it were fellow lions you were after, I think you're rather in the wrong town, don't you?"

<FS3> Kai rolls Charm: Success.

Kai continues to idly put the proverbial moves on Daemond's female (and some male) underlings, whom seem neither receptive nor unreceptive to his somewhat sarcastic advances, leaving many a mand and woman confused as to his true intentions.

Daemond shrugs lightly, grinning, "You'd be surprised, Princess, there are quite a bit of lions here than one would expect of the reach." he says, shifting his weight over to his right hand side, "May I have the pleasure of know your name, and history even, my princess? I never did get too many chances to meet with my cousins from my mothers too much."

Jaehaera eyes Daemond, one brow arched higher than the other. "I'd be surprised," she echoes, cynically. She disbelieves how easily he thinks her surprised, is clear. "I'm astonished you don't know my name, child," she chides. "Considering these little lords and ladies seem so eager to utter it. How good is your history, dear?"

Daemond shrugs, shifting his weight over to the left, "As much as my mother and father let it become. I'd say fairly good, I'm definitely no maester though." he says, tilting his head back to glance over his shoulder sharply with his pale violet eyes, "I'm more one to be interested of what's happening now." he says, but ends up looking back to the much older woman, "And it's not that I don't know it, I simply haven't been shown a face to associate the name with is all."

"I assure you boy," Jaehaera says with a lopsided frown, "I am not at all — happening now." She leans back in her chair, taking full advantage of the comfort it provides. "Let's test your education, shall we? My grandfather was the Conqueror, my grandmother his favored wife. My mother a Velaryon, and my brother and sister King and Queen. Who am I?"

Daemond the young lord waits for the seconds or so before he raises his right brow, scanning the older woman over casually before his eyes, "A surprise meeting you here, Princess Jaehaera, but a pleasure nonetheless I assure you.", he says. "Plus, you're alive aren't you? You certainly are something of now.. At least in my book you are, that is. Besides, I respect those of greater age than myself more than those of equal age not simply out of etiqeutte and common courtesy, but admiration of mere knowledge."

Jaehaera waits with one of the frowns she's famous for to see if the lordling can name her, hardly changing expression as he does. She does move her saggy old arms to clap her withered hands together just twice, applauding his efforts. "Now tell me your name, child, for there's no possible way I could remember those of all the little lords and ladies that have come after me and mine."

<FS3> Kai rolls Charm: Success.


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