(121-04-18) You Live and Learn. At Any Rate, You Live.
Log Title
Summary: Elionys is invited to the Hightower to speak with Lyonel Velaryon, and Princess Jaehaera, and then Prince Ryzael drops by.
Date: Date of play (18/04/2014)
Related: None
Players:
Jaehaera..Lyonel..Elionys..Ryzael..

A summer evening in the Hightower. Just after dinner, Lyonel sits with Princess Jaehaera at the long councillor's table, one across from the other, apparently engaged in conversation. The Velaryon lord is dressed in the colors of his house, trousers and high-collared jacket all in white with accents of seafoam green. The whole ensemble has a military feel to it. His chair is pushed slightly back from the table and he sits, one leg crossed over the other, some sort of missive in his right hand. He scans it while they speak, and his left hand rests atop a short stack of similar papers. There's a wineglass to hand that looks to have been forgotten. "…and so I supsect that the young lord is correct, and it is pirates. Quite possibly Ironborn ones." He frowns at the troublesome words, and at the paper they're writ on, before putting it on the table facing down, and sliding it beneath the stack.

Jaehaera's dressed rather imposingly today, a high fan collar extending out behind and above her head in impressively stiff black, rimmed with gold. Her dozens of heavily jewelled necklaces dangle about her neck, her many rings twined about fingers as always, and her chin, for once, free of the wrap of silk. It does leave on show the sag of ancient skin, and her wiry silver hair has been combed back from her face, making her look severe indeed. Her fingers are steepled upon the tabletop, her maids either side of her to fan, as usual. "Quite possibly," she scoffs, tilting her head and laying widened, dark violet eyes upon Lyonel. Really. Of course it's the Ironborn. It's always the Ironborn.

Elionys is not dressed imposingly, rather the opposite, with a loose fitting, sleeveless gown — the flowy sort that billows and flutters at the slightest breeze, they're terribly dramatic — in a pale blue shade. On her wrist is a silver bracelet with stones several shades darker than her gown, and earrings to match. She breezes into the Hightower today, rather less meek than the last time, and straight for the chamber with which that long table can be found, and those that are seated around it.

Lyonel takes up the next sheet in the stack, his pale violet eyes already scanning it before it is even fully in hand. If he notices Jaehaera's condescending look, he makes no show of it. So he must not notice it, elsewise he would surely wither. What he does notice, certainly, is Elionys' approach, and he stands at that. "Ah, Princess Elionys, good," he says, laying the paper aside. "I invited you here to share the news. I hope you are not offended, I have already told Princess Jaehaera. There was a raven today, from your father. He thanks me for my interest, and formally blesses my courtship." A tight half-smile pulls briefly at one corner of his mouth. Romantic.

He would surely wither, so perhaps it's better he doesn't notice it. The withering would likely be just as disappointing. Jaehaera, though she does glance away from the Velaryon counselor, does not stand at Elionys' approach. She's far to old to bother with such courtesies for little dragons. She does quip in rather typically dry tones, "Ah, there she is." There is nothing fond in the tilt of her head, the way she smiles at the girl. But it's as polite as Jaehaera gets. "Of course she doesn't mind, do you child?"

"Of course I am not offended, my Lord," Elionys assures him, smile slight, demure even, as she inclines her head to Jaehaera. "There isn't a person in the world that I would rather know before me." Is she being sarcastic? She might be. It's hard to say, she sounds terribly sweet and genuine as she says it. "The letter from my father did finally arrive, informing me of your coming and his blessing for the potential match. I am not surprised to hear of his further permission." She sounds polite, and sweet, and not terribly excited, though not resigned either. It just is.

"Ah, good," Lyonel says. He looks the young princess over in silence for a long moment, until it surely begins to grow uncomfortable, and his eyes drift toward the stack of letters on the table. "Well. I thank you for coming so promptly, then. I won't keep you." Putting both hands on the armrests of the chair he stood from, he settles back in and crosses his legs, reaching for the next paper in the stack.

Jaehaera sure thinks the little dragon is being sarcastic, and the narrow of the old biddy's eyes clearly conveys: stop that, you little bitch. She doesn't deign to voice the one and same, though, quirking a pleased frown — it's an expression few can master. She even allows a few moments to lapse, after Lyonel all but dismisses the girl, before lifting her hand to snap her fingers with a dry look. "Come, child," she bids.

Elionys maintains that innocent sweetness in the face of Jaehaera's bitch-face, but only just, and when she finds herself dismissed by Lyonel, it falls, replaced by momentary consternation. She is, rather completely, at a loss, and as such just begins to turn, preparing to go. It's only the call from Jaehaera stalls her departure, making the younger Targaryen turn on her heel to look back at the elder Princess. "Of course," she answers, moving towards Jaehaera's side of the table.

Lyonel looks up from the paper in his hand as Jaehaera invites Elionys to join them, and he does not look displeased. As she moves around the table to take a seat, he lifts the paper in his hand just slightly to tell her, "We were just speaking of pirates, and of Ironborn, and whether the two might indeed be one. I have in my hand a missive from House Mallister regretting that they cannot purse the pirates we speak of to their home waters due to an outdated treaty with House Lannister concerning the Northern approach to the Fair Isle." His tone is disapproving, to say the least.

"Sit," bids the old dragon again, waving her hand carelessly amongst the chairs. Choose a chair, any chair. (Better make it one next to the old hag, else she might take offense.) "You think he's bad, you'll likely serve Rhaenys once you're wed, dear. Now there's a bitch on wings." The way she intones, it's a compliment. Apparently. She smiles, devoid of warmth, and turns her gaze back to Lyonel. "And how do you intend to rectify the situation, child?" Because this is all his problem.

Sit, bids the old woman, and sit Elionys does, luckily selecting the seat right beside Jaehaera. "She is intimidating," she agrees, quietly, glancing over at the woman beside her. "Aevander and I spoke to her just after she arrived," she explains, then looks around to Lyonel. "If House Mallister won't help, what can be done about the problem?"

"It seems most efficient," Lyonel opines, "To attack the treaty. I've not seen any actual figures on it as yet," he admits reluctantly, "But I suspect that it is outdated, and no longer necessary. It might be that it could simply be nullified by an agreement of both Houses. Even if they are reluctant at first," he says, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he looks from Elionys to Jaehaera, "A nudge from a princess of Westeros might convince them it was for the common good."

"Poor children," Jaehaera opines dryly, of the Targaryens having words with Rhaenys. She's not at all serious, but who's to know when she is and isn't? She returns to steepling her fingers atop the table, leaning back instead of forwards as she does so, eyeing Lyonel exhaustedly. "I hope you mean your little bride to be, dear. I've little and less patience for those Lions, and she's surely in need of some… practice, asserting herself."

"If I can help, I will," Elionys assures Lyonel, offering the man another of those faint smiles, but as before, it dims after older woman comments. "I don't, I can assert myself when necessary. I simply don't go about shouting and making demands all of the time. We've plenty of other people that do that.

"There is an art to knowing when to 'shout and make demands' and when to simply offer a disapproving look," Lyonel says, nodding once. "We've experts on both, right here in the Hightower," he goes on without looking at anyone in particular. Without even implying anyone in particular. It's skillfully done. "If it please you, then, I shall draft something for your perusal."

Jaeahera's brows arch, mock-surprised, and she glances aside at Elionys. "Oh, my," she exclaims, her fingers still steepled. "Never fear, our little dragon has this in hand, dear." Is she skeptical? Of course she's skeptical, but she's skeptical with a smile — which, given how rare they are from the ancient woman, can only half-reliably be sincere. More likely, it's not. "Draft away, child," she tells the Velaryon with a nod, adding, "I shall see it only after your sweet young thing has given her opinion." No pressure, Elionys.

Elionys suddenly finds herself regretting selecting this chair, or perhaps staying altogether, but it's too late now, and it's after one wistful glance at the door that her gaze turns to Jaehaera. "I was not referring to you, there are plenty of other people, not including those inside this room, that go around throwing about their weight and name in fits of temper. That is what I hope to avoid." Even with that explained, she finds herself feeling rather like she's standing in what is only the beginning of the hole she's going to end up digging for herself. "I will be happy to look at whatever it is you draft, my lord." Now she sounds a bit resigned.

"She means Visenya," Lyonel says frankly, to Jaehaera. The noble knight, coming to his lady's defense, figuratively speaking. "It seems Princess Visenya has something of a reputation, in Oldtown, for being unmanageable." That words curls his lip, it's not one he's fond of. "A fine comparison to avoid, should you ask me. Which I suppose you did not," he concedes.

"Visenya?" Jaehaera spends a good, long moment trying to recollect who the name refers to — other than her grandfather's other wife. If she makes too long a show of it, perhaps it's to be dismissed for her age; certainly not addressed by her minors. "Oh," she says, quirking a brow sidelong to Elionys. "She drinks lemons, doesn't she? Bitter young girl. Doesn't fight, either. More's the pity — do you fight, child?" She may have asked the very same question to Elionys previously, as she's fond of asking it. Especially of Targaryens, but not always limited to their kin. She doesn't even bother to respond to Lyonel. No, dear. Nobody asked you.

This time, Elionys tries to restrain the smile that follows the comment from Lyonel. "Yes, I meant Visenya. She is a bitter creature. I don't know if she fights, she does with words, but I've never seen her do so physically." She glances over at Lyonel a moment, then up at Jaehaera. "If I must fight, I will. I'm not formally trained at it, but I am not afraid to if it's necessary."

"Mayhaps you ought to be formally trained," Lyonel suggests without looking up from his work. "House Targaryen has a proud tradition of women warriors, easily the equal of any man." He repeats the paper-shuffling, sliding this one beneath the pile as he takes up another, and goes on. "I'm certain that a suitable tutor could be found from among your household. There must be nearly a score of young Targaryens here, and a small army of servants and men-at-arms."

"She didn't strike me as unmanageable," Jaehaera quips quickly in the lemon-loving girl's defense, as much as in her own. Surely nobody doubts her authority, though — Visenya certainly didn't, last they met. She unsteeples her fingers to lay palms plain and flat along the table's surface, as if it's some cue to speak plainly. It seems to work, given Lyonel's issuing of opinion unwarranted. (But not unwelcome, mind.) Aside to Elionys, she issues, "I shall see to you myself, child, if you wish to learn. I was quite the warrior, in my day, and there's more than one or two of my men, I trained myself." That they're still alive in her twilight years speaks volumes, and with the offer comes some grudging acceptance of the little dragon as her own prodigy, likely a favour to Rhaenys. Or some other misguided notion, no doubt. NO ONE WILL EVER BE GOOD ENOUGH, BUT WE CAN TRY.

"I would like that," Elionys says first to Lyonel, expression brightening somewhat. "I had started looking, but the only suggestions of people who should teach me that came from the house was either Maelys, or Ser Osric, but— one is impossible now, and the other is unlikely for a good long while. Not with how he looked last time I was in there." The offer from Jaehaera is met first with a touch of uncertainty, but then a bright smile. "I would like that very much. Thank you, Princess Jaehaera."

Lyonel looks up from his work, looks away from the paper in his hand, and even allows it to drop into his lap. "Thank you, Princess," he tells Jaehaera at the offer, brisk but genuine. He listens through Elionys' story, and her acceptance, adding to it in only two places. "Dead, and dying," at the first and, "It is a great honor," at the last.

"They suggested a Dayne to teach you, child?" Jaehaera's thoroughly scandalised, certainly not sharing in the Dornish sentiment as some of her kin in Oldtown seem to. There are greater politics at play than these petty locals, of course. She nods graciously, to Lyonel at the first, before aside, more sympathetically to Elionys. "Of course, dear," she says, reaching out to lay a withered hand upon a supple young arm. "Your shortcomings are not your fault, child. The ways of the warrior have been cast upon men, as the generations cede further and further from the Conqueror and his kin. It is no shame for a woman to bear a sword, or a bow, an axe or mace. She is mighty, who assures her word with a weapon, especially in lieu of a dragon, dear."

"Yes, they suggested it, and he offered," Elionys tells Jaehaera, shoulders gathering in a slight shrug. "He was nice, and honorable, whatever your thoughts on other of the Dornish." When the talk turns to her shortcomings, she slumps back in her chair slightly, trying to hide her displeasure, and discomfort. "Whatever my shortcomings might be, we can do something to change it, and I would like to do just that."

"With work, our weaknesses become strengths," Lyonel says softly, reaching to tuck this paper too back under the pile. "Ser Osric certainly possessed that reputation," he says, nodding to Elionys as he takes up the next parchment. "Though it's a strange thing, really. I recall that he squired at King's Landing, at the same times as I did. Though he hardly seemed noteworthy, then."

"Don't slouch, child," Jaehaera commands quickly, upon sighting the girl's discomfort. "Shoulders back, be proud. Have you, yourself, done wrong?" Whilst she is so very arid, devoid of any maternal instinct herself, she is at least brutally honest. We did just blame someone else for your shortcomings, Elionys. Accept it. There is a nod as the little dragon brooks change, the slightest of softening in the old hag's expression. "You shall attend me then, child," she decides for them both, "Earlier than ever I shall rise. Aenor shall greet you in the uncomfortable hours of the morning, and you shall attempt to draw a bow until you've the strength to command other weapons. I shall come to oversee you both when the hour is acceptable, every day." A great burden, of course, but a necessity. Nobody else seems to care about training these young Targaryen girls in the martial pursuits, and Balerion only knows it's the least the great old crone can do. She turns a rare, approving nod Lyonel's way, for his words on the Dornish deceased. "Unlike yourself, Lyonel." Oh, so she does remember his name, after all! Well done, Velaryon. Well done, indeed.

The order to not slouch is answered with a sudden straightening of her spine as her shoulders go back. Elionys listens intently to the elder dragon, nodding every now and again. "I will do so," she promises, even sounding as though she's looking forward to it. For now. Once it starts to properly hurt, that may change. She looks back to Lyonel then, curious. "Was he not? I didn't know him well there, or his knight, if I am honest. His knight knew my father though, which is why I saw them sometimes, but I was young." Was. She still is young, but such is the ignorance of youth.

Lyonel shakes his head just slightly, his brow creasing. He just said that. It would be terribly inefficient to repeat himself. "Ser Errol Gaunt," he says instead, naming Osric's knight. "A formidable man, known perhaps more for his mind than for his sword. Which is not to say that Ser Errol was a scholar," he is quick to interject, raising one finger, "But a man with a keen insight into how wars are fought, and how fights are won." That raised finger falls then to trace beneath the words of the page in his hand as he begins reading again. "Neither did I know the young Osric well, of course. But that was my impression of him, shared by most, I think."

Jaehaera leans in again, this time far closer than could ever be considered comfortable for a wrinkly old being to be next to the poor, sweet girl sitting next to her. "You will command him, one day," she tells Elionys, with a nod Lyonel's way that honestly, he will be able to dechiper quite easily. You will thank her for it, Lyonel; the husbands of fierce Targaryen women have yet to register complaint in history's annals. "Every word my brother spoke as King was dictated by my sister Queen," she shares proudly, before lifting her chin to address the Velaryon directly. "Fear not, child, I shall impart the wisdoms you have not the time to spend on, to this dear little dragon of yours. You will bring before her every word suggested in the Kings name by your hand, and I will see it only after she does. We shall make a little Never-Queen of her, shall we?"

Ryzael enters the Hightower.
Ryzael has arrived.

There is something decidedly appealing at the notion of commanding him, apparently, enough that the corners of Elionys' mouth pull up into smile that she restrains from becoming a full blown grin. She doesn't say it outright, but it's obvious enough. At least for the one of them that doesn't have their eyes glued to parchment. That smile remains as she hears the rest, cheeks taking on a touch of color, but she looks no less pleased for it.

Lyonel sits with a parchment in hand, reading, but looks up from it at something Jaehaera says. "She is dear," he says softly, his tone serious — it's an appraisal, not a compliment. "That would, of course, be my distinct pleasure, Princess," he says more firmly. "To emulate the Queen that Never Was is a lofty goal, but I'm certain that if ever there were a mentor to lead a young woman toward such a mark, you are she." He says it with not hint of irony, nor a tone of flattery. Like so much of what he says, it is delivered very neutrally.

You know how long her brother-King reigned for, right Elionys? This could be a very fruitful relationship, keep you that rebellious streak under control. Jaehaera gives a most vacantly-placating look. It's easily bought into, especially by keen young whippersnappers — and given dear Lyonel's most grave agreeance, there's no inviting argument. You shall be she, after a time, dear girl, inasmuch as your station invites. Your betters assure it. The elder woman bestows another rare smile upon the Velaryon, who may just be coming used to them, given his form of late. Don't take it personally, Lyonel. She extends her withered hand, palm-up across the tabletop, for Elionys to take in formal acknowledgement of their agreement. It's all very ladylike, come to it.

Ryzael enters the chamber, hands clasped behind his back, and moving in an unhurried manner. He moves confidently however, coming towards the side of the table occupied by the Targaryen women with a thin smile for all present. "Good day." he offers mildly, inclining his head. He then seems to gather that those present are about some business, raising his brows and looking between those of his kin and Lyonel with some building curiousity. "Ah. I've a keen sense of timing it would appear, through no intention of mine own." he quips. A curious eye is then turned toward Lyonel, with a mein of weighing about his expression. "I don't believe we have met."

Elionys gaze moves around to Lyonel again, lingering there to watch him for a few moments, but it appears that at present Jaehaera is more interesting and soon her eyes return to the older woman. Whatever unspoken intimations there are, she seems solemn about it rather than flippant, and when that wizened hand is held out to her, she takes it gently within her own hand. Ryzael's arrival is the only thing that pulls her gaze away, looking up to the other Targaryen for a moment, then nodding and looking back to the woman beside her.

Jaehaera gives a wizened old squeeze to Elionys' hand, and that is how Ryzael will find them. "The Lord Lyonel Velaryon, Rhaenys our Never-Queen's loyal man," she introduces, keeping hold of the young girl's fingers for now. It's alright, dear, this is an honor. "Our physician, the lord Ryzael," she murmurs in kind for an introduction, wagging her bared chin as she must. She's clad most strikingly today, in a large black fanned collar, trimmed in gold to match her sister-Queen's jewelry. Elionys might feel the scrape of a ring or two in their entwined hands.

Lyonel stands when he is addressed, taking a moment to put the paper down neatly on his pile. "Indeed we have not, Prince Ryzael," he says with a shallow bow, "Though I have of course heard of you." He is colored and built like a Targaryen himself, but the white and sea green of his clothes make his next words no surprise. "Lord Lyonel Velaryon," he says, nodding at Jaehaera's introduction. "You flatter me, Princess." That done, he resumes his seat. His left hand reaches out to rest atop the stack of papers again, but he doesn't pick one up just yet.

Ryzael inclines his head towards Lyonel with a smile as the two are introduced. "I believe I recall you, here and there, from my time in King's Landing. Though I do not believe we ever had cause to interact. I was quite absorbed in my studies with the Guild in those days." he says, eyes going about the room and then lighting upon the gripped hands of the women in the room. His eyes linger there for a moment, before turning back towards Lyonel. "Well met, Lord Lyonel. And, ah, Wisdom if you please. It is the title I have that was hardest won." he says, some amusement in his eyes.

If Elionys is bothered that her hand is held, she at least has the grace enough to not let it show. "Good evening, Ryzael," she greets him finally, politely, and then falls quiet to observe the introduction between he and Lyonel.

"You may resume your papers," Jaehaera grants Lyonel with a gracious nod, granting him leave from even greeting the physician if he seeks it. She grasps Elionys' hand quite protectively now, truth be told, and will weather any criticising looks for the both of them. You may bring your objections to the Conqueror's granddaughter. She, too, will let the men work out their pecking order.

"Wisdom, then," Lyonel says. His eyebrows climb a bit, and his tone is bemused. He's quick to nod to Jaehaera though, and by her leave resumes skimming the paper at hand. "I was a squire there," he says as he reads, "In my youth." But he did not introduce himself as a knight, and does not seem to be a squire still.

Ryzael 's amusement lingers for some seconds longer, his eyes flicking then between Lyonel and Jaehaera. "I managed to escape that particular doom." he says, wryness in his tone. "I do not think it would have suited me, regardless." he continues. His hands slowly come to clasp behind his back as he walks nearer, looking down on Jaehaera and Elionys for a moment, back and forth. He quirks a brow towards the crone. "So unfriendly." he says, bemusement breaking his mein into a smile. "I don't know why I keep expecting something different from you, yet I do." he says almost as if to himself. Then his gaze comes back to Lyonel. "I understand you are staying in Oldtown then?" he says with some inquisitiveness in him. "Something you desire?"

"She is not unfriendly," Elionys' frowns up at Ryzael after that remark, even if her defense of the older woman is a complete lie. There are just some thing you don't say, at least in her mind, and that is one of them. She looks across the table at Lyonel as he is asked a question, waiting quietly for that to hear his answer.

"Me?" Unfriendly? Jaehaera seems surprised, giving Elionys' hand another squeeze for the young girl's defense. You go girl. She, too, looks to Lyonel, daring him to speak plainly. Go on, child.

Lyonel doesn't look up from his papers as he comes to Elionys' aid. "You've been too long among the Targaryens of Oldtown, Wisdom. You mistake unfrivolous for unfriendly." He frowns there, narrowing his eyes at something on the paper, but still doesn't look away as he answers the question that was directed at him. "I will be staying in Oldtown, indeed. I desire to do my duty, and that seems to be best served here. It also affords me a welcome chance to court the hand of Princess Elionys." All of this said while he frowns at a troublesome report, when he then slides to the bottom of the stack.

Ryzael continues to stand near the seated women, looking down on them. His amusement is unimpacted by their replies to him. "Quite. And after all the tonics I've made you for your 'aching this or that' over the years in King's Landing. Tsk. You would think I would grow accustomed." he says towards Jaehaera. A questioning look is given towards Elionys, before Lyonel's words bring his attention back towards the other man. "Diplomacy and casual niceties are hardly… frivolous, Lord Lyonel." he says, though his tone remains warm and friendly. He looks back and forth between Elionys and Lyonel then for a moment as he seems to absorb the import of the man's words. His expression betrays a mental weighing of that information, yet not the conclusion thereof. "A, ah, suitable match perhaps." he says, almost as if to himself. "There would be few grounds upon which to reasonably object, at this point." His tone is thoughtful, considering. "A prospect for the family that had not occured to me."

Elionys hollows her cheeks for a moment as she listens, fingers closing around Jaehaera's hand just a little tighter. "My father believes it a suitable match, and that is what matters," she replies, even if the comment wasnt precisely directed at her.

Jaehaera, for her part, simply stares openly and questioningly at Ryzael, given his response. She is most outwardly given to surprise, tutting in response to the young (by her standards) man, "Do you think you are the only one to ever have concocted a tonic to ease my bones, child? Barth, before you, was far kinder," she shares generously, embracing with further fervour the close of her hand about Elionys'. It's something of a Targaryen girls' tradition, the young lady might at best infer. She speaks for Lyonel, likely unwelcome, but done all the same: "Please, if you've any grounds to object, do, dear physician. The girl is most agreeable to the King's wont, and our Velaryon counselor favoured of dear Rhaenys."

Lyonel opens his mouth as if to respond, but his pale eyes flit to Jaehaera, and he closes that mouth with a nod her way. She has answered more adeptly than he would have, in his mind, and so those eyes fall back to his work. This letter he folds and puts to one side, patting it with one open palm before taking up another.

Ryzael quirks an arch brow towards Jaehaera, his bemusement seeming to slide away. "I am not a physician, though I have some skill with that art. But you know this." he says, a darker amusement passing over his mein in replacement of the old, warmer one. "And I just said I 'didn't' see any cause to object, didn't I? So why protest something I just said I didn't feel, unless you are looking for something to be scolding over, at any rate? What sense does that make? Though I despair of finding much of that in you, when you are in a mood." he murmers, shaking his head. His eyes turn back towards Lyonel. "I wish you luck in any such endeavor then, my Lord, if these two are tied at the hip the entire courtship."

Elionys' gaze lowers to the tabletop and lingers there as she listens, shoulders only just starting to sag, but she's quick to correct that and sit up straight again. "I don't know why you are being so unkind, Ryzael. You've no cause to be. Did you only come here to speak ill of Princess Jaehaera?"

"Why voice something you 'didn't' feel, child," enquires Jaehaera as charitably as she can, bearing no warmth in return for the colder turn of Ryzael's expression. The harsh squeeze of Elionys' hand at her speaking is surely meant to silence the girl. "Perhaps your thoughts simply find voice without your consent, dear," she provides, with a gentle — as far as gentle goes — smile. "It's a Targaryen trait, of course, no fault of your own." She is forgiving, so very briefly. "I myself have found myself bereft of comforts for your forgetfulness lately, see. I'm sure it won't happen again, young Prince." The inflection of hers is not kind, nor gentle, despite her previous concession; the old Princess, perhaps because of her age rather than despite it, does not invite argument, nor allowance here.

"If the Princess Jaehaera means to take Princess Elionys under her wing, and I am to court her, then one might argue that I already have luck," Lyonel suggests, looking up briefly from his work to meet Ryzael's eyes. He falls silent for the rest of the exchange. A well respected bannerman he may be, but he is a bannerman nonetheless, and this is mad Targaryen business. He makes no comment on it, though his eyes do search out Elionys', and he briefly offers her the very feintest of smiles.

Ryzael turns towards Elionys, frowning ever so slightly. "No, I didn't come here for that purpose at all. Yet you know me well enough to know, nor am I the sort to be casually slighted and bear it grinning." he says, shrugging a bit. "If she were kind to me, she would receive the same in return. When she is unkind to me, she will again receive the same in return." he says. A sniffs a bit, shaking his head with a sigh. "As I said before, I don't know why yet I keep expecting it will happen one day." Then he turns to face Jaehaera once again, frowning before his darker amusement breaks his mein with a smirk. "I said what I meant to say. And it was clear and plain enough. You just endeavor to twist it to your own ends. For that, I care not. And your comforts are not my affair. If you desire something of me, you may ask, and I 'may' grant your request. That is all. I am not your servant bound to comfort and pamper you at your whim, crone. I have provided treatments many times in the past, out of respect for our affiliation and common lineage. One might hope you would respect the same." For a moment then, he falls silent. A breath is taken in, and let out before he turns to speak towards Lyonel and Elionys in turn, or at once. "I have no desire to … negatively shadow your happiness. It seems most suitable. I think however our other company I find an ill sort, and will seek air fresher and less stale. I look forward to further conversations, my Lord. Princess." he says, inclining his head towards them both and seeming making ready to leave the chamber.

That sharper squeeze of Elionys' hand does silence her, so the youngest in the room merely sits and listens to the conversation taking place around her. The gaze that searches out her own is met, and a very small smile is given in return. The answer from Ryzael has her gaze snapping up now, a visible frown turning down the corners of her mouth, but she doesn't argue, or seek to defend the older woman at her side again. Not yet. Instead she just turns her gaze to Jaehaera.

Jaehaera endures the monologues of the younger Prince in response, deigning not to interrupt him and his solemn words. It is only when he seeks his leave that the old crone herself seeks to assert her word, lifting her chin rather regally. "It suits me better to see the heads of defiant little dragons as yourself, lopped off in the name of the King's Peace, boy. Any kindness I offer in your stead, for your ills, would be well taken and sought amends for. We will endure you no longer, you shall leave," she dismisses, with a glance between Targaryen and Velaryon in her privy just now. You two will speak no further in her stead, at her command.

Ryzael makes a mildly dismissive gesture towards Jaehaera, his expression betraying little more than disgust as he begins to walk away from the chamber. "The Crown has my respect Jaehaera. My deference and loyalty. You however are not intrinsically entitled to the same, as a matter of course. What nicety I make effort to give you, despite yourself, is a polite effort at family, blood, unity and respect. An effort I would expect from you as well. And have yet to see. And now, you threaten 'death' as if you have the High Justice, in response to umbrage at your own slights?" he says. He lays hand on the doorway leaving the chamber, pausing to nod towards Lyonel. "My Lord. Another time perhaps." he intones, as he pushes the door open.
You paged Jaehaera with 'Just skip me, Elionys is staying weeeeellll out of this one right now'
Long distance to Jaehaera: Elionys likes her head attached to her body tyvm

"As many maids before me," The Queen That Never Was in said number, "I pressed not my claim for the good of the Realm, sweet Prince," Jaehaera spits at the back of the man she's dismissed. She cares not for his disgust, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it to the table at large, finally bestowing uninhibited favor upon both Lyonel and Elionys, releasing the latter's hand. "You, of course, have my and your King's utmost blessing, and my personal favor for a long withstanding bond betwixt our houses," spews the old woman, likely for the benefit of those she cares not to speak to anymore. Her mother was a Velaryon. It's a well-entrenched custom.

Ryzael has left.

Elionys is silent as she listens to the exchange, holding her tongue well as the sharp words are passed back and forth, keeping her hand in Jaehaera's until it's released. "Thank you, Princess." The words are soft and genuine, hand slipping from the table and falling into her lap. She doesn't look up from some the table until Ryzael is gone, and then it's only to frown at the door.

"I don't care for him," Lyonel says, even as the door is closing. He even puts his work down for a moment to say it, looking from one princess to the other. So he must feel strongly about the subject. "I expect he will endeavor to make himself a nuisance, and at first blush he seems to have an aptitude for it." He frowns at the retreating prince/alchemist/physician, or at the door he left through, and wastes a moment considering him.

It's quite rare to see something so genuine in the ancient Princess's demeanour, but here she is, levelling rather frank looks between Velaryon and Targaryen. "He may be your first detractor," she warns, "But he will not be your last. Now is the time to draw about yourselves the true and the well-meaning, those ready to rise with you, as far as small lords do. You will find, that although many may name themselves allies of the King," and here she is undoubtedly more serious than ever, "Many still will find themselves overwrought with a jealousy for those who're unwittingly named closer. Our Never-Queen allows for you," and she in turn, allows for Lyonel. "You will the same faith in this old crone. Believe me, I endured many a nay-sayer in my time. But see how stubborn I am, hmm?"

Lyonel's smile at that may be brief, but it's no less genuine for that. "I am the youngest brother to the Lord of Driftmark," he muses quietly, "And a former squire who was never knighted. The leal man of a woman who might have been the greatest of her generation, but was denied the throne by fickle chance. I have had my share of detractors, Princess, though I thank you for your advice and will strive to heed the words and the spirit in which they were spoken. Your stubbornness will be an example to us. I daresay I am not easily bullied, and I fancy I see mettle in our young Elionys as well."

"He should not be one of our detractors, it is not as though he is not to wed my sister," Elionys frowns even more at that thought, though she tries to stop her ire from coming up too much. "Thank you for your support though, Princess. It means quite a lot to me."

"Mm," says Jaehaera, and that's all she says, though it's a decidedly approving mm, all the same. She pushes herself up from her chair with some trouble, waving a hand to dismiss the two younger in her company for the day. She's had quite enough here, for one day. "Go find yourselves a fountain to congregate around," she bids, wanting some privacy for her retreat. She is an old lady, after all!

"To us," Lyonel says, standing at Jaehaera's bidding and coming 'round the table to offer Elionys his hand in rising. His posture is stiff and formal, it's a polite gesture, not an intimate one. "We will take our leave, then, and call on you again soon. Good day, Princess."

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