(121-04-19) On Songbirds and Funerals
On Songbirds and Funerals
Summary: Loryn Tyrell talks Carolis Stark out of his self-imposed silence. Angharad Tyrell (neé Locke) and Tellur Snow sit in as founding members of the Oldtown Chapter of the All Things North Admiration Society.
Date: Date of play (19/04/2014)
Related: None

Garden Isle Manse
Sphinx Street

The first floor's main hall is grand, open room dominated by a massive fireplace and high-arched windows facing the street, protected by heavy iron bars. The white walls and polished white marble floors make it seem airy and bright. The starkness of the walls is softened by three long tapestries, depicting fantastical hunting scenes, while the marble floor is cushioned by rich Myrish rugs.

Down the center of the hall is a long, wide dining table, able to seat thirty comfortably. At the head of the table is an enormous chair of elaborately carved rosewood, with a door behind flanked by two high windows, giving a view of the sunlight gardens. Near the fireplace are smaller chairs, cushioned benches, and small tables for more intimate conversations.

Alcoves and doors at either side of the great hall lead to servants quarters, kitchens, and smaller sitting rooms. At the northwest and southeast corners of the building are square towers holding the stairs up to the floor above, where the bedchambers and other sitting rooms are found.

The young Lord Stark has, for the most part, moved into Weirwood Manse so that it will be lived in. That doesn't mean the Tyrells are rid of him entirely. He comes calling for Garvin, and he drags Tellur along with him. He's a known face. Surely they will let him in. He hasn't pawned the silver so far. "I have no idea what the hold up is," he tells his servant as he is seen in. "The message was vague. Something about escorting a visitor back to White Harbor." He shakes his head. Gossip from the North. Serious stuff.

Tellur accompanies Carolis with his tame raven on his shoulder, the spoiled creature peering around excitedly. The Northman has a thoughtful look on his face, and then he rolls his shoulders back, and says "I wasn't given any more details, milord." Then again - would he tell Carolis if he was?

There is no sight of Garvin. No points for guessing where young man is hanging out (probably). But his younger cousin Loryn is at home, having not much to do at all and no money for the things he'd like to be doing. When a servant informs him that young Lord Stark is there, he sets his book aside, unfolds himself from the armchair he's been lounging in by an open window and heads for the Great Hall. "Gentlemen, what brings you here?", he asks curiously, "Can I help you?"

Carolis gives Tellur a noncommittal sound. "It's all the same to me. I hardly need a keeper," he says. Alas for no Garvin, but he greets Loryn with a warm smile, as though they were old friends rather than having met just the once. "Lord Loryn," he says, and he steps forward, bows, and says, "Garden Isle is so close to the Citadel, it seems like a crime not to stop in and say hello on the way back to Weirwood. You've met Tellur Storm?" He indicates the bastard in question with a gesture.

Tellur says, his voice sneaking into a certain, odd amusement "We have met, yes, Milord Carolis. Lord Loryn was…telling me of his life as a Knight. And how to relax. He also had some interest in the ladies - he was telling us all about how successful he is with them."

"Of course, you are welcome here.", Loryn assures them both, "Why don't you join me on the verandah for a cold beverage? I'm sure that a block of ice can be found for you.", he adds for Tellur with a knowing grin, remembering their last encounter at the tavern as well. "Ladies are fine creatures, are they not?", he asks innocently as he leads them through the great hall to a smaller, more familiar enclosure that opens up to the fine gardens and where a light draught creates a cooling effect.

"I would like that," Carolis says, and he follows after. Tellur is given a sidelong look. "Is that so?" he says with a small quirk of a smile. "How lucky for Lord Loryn, and I'm sure for the ladies." With a nod to Loryn, he adds, "They are certainly beguiling. I'm afraid my luck isn't quite as legendary. Perhaps you'll give me some pointers?" He sighs softly when they step into the cooler enclosure.

"Who doesn't yearn for the company of a likeminded lass, who can field dress a wild boar or slaughter a dire wolf with her bare hands?" answers Tellur earnestly to Loryn. And he steps forward with a welcome sound, and he leans out into the air "Ahh, I'm going to be unable to cope with winter when I return."

"I thought you weren't all that keen on the ladies, considering how that minstrel made you blush the evening we all met here in the Great Hall?", Loryn smiles at Carolis, then shrugs. "I don't know, girls just seem to like me. I'm sure it has to do with our southron charms and perfect grooming habits." Which in his case usually means an overdose of perfumed oils. Loryn points his guests to a table under a colorful awning that provides shade and sends a servant to bring them all cold wine and snacks.

Carolis's brows lift, and he says, "He was looking right at me. I was rather taken aback." He takes a seat, himself rather impeccably groomed minus the proliferation of perfumed oils. "I've been accused of not recognizing when a lady is making her intentions known," he admits. Tellur gets a side-eye, and there's a waver of laughter in his voice when he says, "Yes, I can't in good conscience take a wife who can't do that much. You'll be fine, Tellur. Winter is in your blood."

Tellur gives Loryn a sharp look, suddenly - evidently that topic is one to be…cautious about. At least when it comes to Carolis - Lord Garvin he appears to not guard the reputation of. And then he says "What, I bathed last night. And three times, over winter." He grins, despite himself, and then he says to the young Loryn (a whole _year_ younger than he is!) "You should come North. Northern women are very fine."

"Well, obviously you don't just recognize a lady's intention but a gentleman's either.", Loryn points out to Carolis with a grin, quite ignoring Tellur's look of warning or perhaps just because he is worried. "The minstrel's intentions were quite obvious too." He resumes his old comfortable chair, listening to them extolling the virtues of the North with a sigh. "I told you before, my friend, the North is /way/ too cold for my liking.", he tells Tellur, "The Trident was miserable enough, I do not even want to know how it's further north. Although I agree, you do breed fine woman there. My brother is a lucky bastard." Is there a hint of red on the young Tyrell's cheeks?

Carolis takes a sparing but appreciative sip of the wine once it's served. "Do you think so?" he asks, then shakes his head and says, "I'm afraid I've spent more time with my nose in a book than pursuing courtship." He grins then, and he says, "Lady Angharad is indeed a fine lady." To Tellur, he says, "She's a Locke. We had a good talk on our way back from the tavern after they discovered that poor murdered woman upstairs." Which he failed to tell Tellur about, but whatever; he's fiiiine. "Of course, the lady kept her wits about her. Northern girls don't swoon."

Tellur says "Well, it _is_ rather hard to work out what a woman wants when she hasn't even torn your clothes off in a fit of passion. These Southern ladies seem to be so…restrained. It's only happened to me once." He frowns "How are you usually supposed to do things? I do like Lady Angharad - she is a fine woman. She could certainly - wait. What murdered woman?"

Angharad comes down the stairs.

Loryn is more interested in the lemon cakes that are served with the wine and plucks one from the plate to gobble happily. "If all northern ladies are like her, perhaps you might tempt me to visit after all.", he says rather hopefully. As the conversation takes a decidedly darker turn and the murder is brought up, he falls silent though, letting Carolis explain. The three of them are seated under an awning on the verandah outside, overlooking the gardens while they enjoy cold wine and obviously lemon cakes.

Carolis takes up a lemon cake to nibble lightly. It is a testament to the man's will that he doesn't scoff it down and then the rest of the plate. Dignity! He can't keep the look of pleasure off his face though as he tastes the confection. Tellur gets a sidelong look, and he just shakes his head. "After Lord Garvin's play, Lady Angharad and I visited the Quill and Tankard, along with Ser Malcolm. Apparently it took Lord Garvin and Lord Arion some time to change out of their costumes because they never did join us. I'm not sure what happened to the minstrel. In any case, there was a woman who hadn't come to work for a couple days. They checked her room. She was dead. Ser Malcolm said it was rather gruesome. I never did go look."

"Murdered for money, or to keep an assault a secret?" Tellur wonders. He has not taken a cake himself, though if there is wine served, he reaches out for a glass "Sometimes an evil man will think a woman's life a small price to pay for her virtue. Or anything else, really." He sips, and then he takes a breath, and he says to Loryn "To be honest, my mother wasn't much in her mold - or isn't right now. Think less…forceful, and more foxish."

Speak of the Stranger — or his ilk — and so they shall appear. Lady Angharad arrives at a cheerful clip, wrapped in pretty, cap-sleeve day dress of lavender silk, detailed with clever, pale-pink fabric roses and pale green vine embroidery. Her hair is worn rather hoydenishly unfettered, tumbling over her brow and shoulders in golden waves. "I knew I heard lemon cakes calling my name!" She greets the assembled gentlemen with a warm, brilliant smile, reaching across the table for a cake — but pauses for a moment, catching wind of the conversation, her smile dwindling. "Oh, balls — are we talking about that poor girl at the Quill?"

"The guards should pull their fingers out and find out what happened there.", Loryn grumbles before he notices the Lady Angharad arriving on the scene, looking extremly pretty. The faint rosy blush on his cheeks intensifies and he quickly grabs his goblet of wine to sink back deeper into his chair in silence, hiding behind the goblet.

Carolis rises to his feet as the Lady Angharad approaches. "Yes, it's that ugly business. I failed to mention to Tellur there had been a murder." He at least doesn't outright roll his eyes at the thought this should concern his man at all. To Tellur, he says, "I don't think it was anything like that. You would have to ask Ser Malcolm for details. It's in the hands of the City Watch now, in any case." His quick eyes dart to Loyrn, and he presses his lips thin against a smile. "So how does the day find your ladyship?"

"Then that's as well," says Tellur, having decided that whatever threat there might have been? It will not affect his Lordship. He is left frowning, though, somehwat disquieted by the whole idea - his expression clears as Lady Angharad enters, and Tellur says to her "Come, have some cake. We were, but there's little to speak of. Lord Carolis and I were discussing the beauty of Northern women with his lordship here - who seemed agreeable to the ideal."

Angharad does help herself to a cake — or two. And wine, as well, before sweeping her dress smooth beneath her to sit. "I am so much better for seeing you gentlemen — two stalwart men of the North and my sweet goodbrother. And the rain. I so love the rain." She looks out over the garden, sipping her wine, then blushes and grins at Tellur's assessment. "You have far too silver a tongue, Tellur Snow. I'd suspect your heritage, save that you're so marvelously rugged and capable in every other particular." And the Oldtown Chapter of the All Things North Admiration Society shall now convene.

For some reason Loryn has gone totally silent. He seems pleased to just let the Northerners chat for now, his eyes following things over the rim of his wine cup.

Carolis retakes his seat after the lady has sat, and he arches a brow when Tellur is told he has too silver a tongue. He glances at the bastard as though to confirm it is, in fact, the Tellur Snow with whom he's acquainted. "I too appreciate the rain," he says with a fond glance out at the gardens. "Gods, I'm so glad of it." And the All Things North Admiration Society will now begin its disparaging of the weather. "Lady Angharad, when shall I call on you for our archery practice?"

Tellur says a little dryly, almost amused "My heritage is suspicious, yes, but recognised - I'm even on reasonable terms with my rugged and capable father. A man of many worthy talents, but perhaps not quite as much self control as some." And he glances at Loryn, and then he says to Carolis, a little abruptly "What, I read etiquette books. I _had to_."

"Why, today!" enthuses Angharad to Carolis. Rain and all, apparently! "Tomrrow? I am ready at your pleasure, my lord — I cannot think of any way I'd rather spend my time." She smirks dimples at Tellur, pointing at him with a lemoncake. "Ah, but now you're slipping. Your praises of my beauty should be spontaenously inspired from your true heart and pure brain, not proscribed and insisted upon by some stodgy book." She leans over to gently elbow Loryn in the ribs. "You are uncharacteristically silent, sweetheart. Fox got your tongue?"

Loryn looks briefly as if he's about to jump out of his skin when being elbowed by Harry, but instead he just clams up. "I'm fine.", he just mutters, "Letting you Northrons talk about stuff. I should probably go and work on my play…"

"I didn't say a word," Carolis says to Tellur, and butter wouldn't melt in his mouth with that expression. He sets a lemon cake before Tellur. See? He even bears gifts. "I look forward to it," he tells Angharad with a warm grin. "I have no doubt Tellur speaks nothing but what's in his heart." When Loryn mentions leaving, he says, "Oh, please, Lord Loryn, don't leave us."

"My icy, cold, cavernous, empty heart," Tellur says, lightly, and then he says "Perhaps Sir Loryn feels a little left out of our bonding over being warm and here in this terrible place, where nothing has tried to eat or stab us for weeks now." He tilts his head. It is, perhaps, humour. And now he says to him "It's very interesting to me - that plays, and acting, and so forth, are such a noble pursuit here. Is this the new centre of art?"

Harry blinks, looking legitimately worried about Loryn. She reaches over and takes his hand. "Please stay. I'm sorry I teased you. Has Garvin cast his next play already? Do tell!"

Egh, and now suddenly all attention is on him. Loryn sinks even deeper into his chair. And then Harry takes his hand! The boy might just implode any second now. "I don't think it's a center of art.", he mumbles, "It's just my cousin and his theatre. Without it, I hadn't come here to act. I would hardly go to King's Landing or Casterly Rock to plead for a job on the stage, would I?" A Tyrell has his pride, even when he's a squirmy teenager.

Carolis inclines his head to Loryn and says, "I daresay Lord Garvin's theater is definitely going to make an impression on the reputation Oldtown has for the arts. He's starting to draw quite a bit of talent. The bard Bryce Storm, yourself. I rather enjoyed your performance." he smiles wryly. "I'm a little biased. The music you played that night stays with me." Yes. The music. Not the musician(s). Not at all.

"Lord Loryn, see, the work does interest people - of all kinds," says Tellur with a quirked smile "I don't know, myself - acting is…well, let's say that my temper isn't good, and losing it on stage would be…uhm. Hmm."

Just then, a Tyrell page comes out of the Manse, coming around the table to speak quietly to Angharad. She blinks, then sighs. "Oh, for all the Crone's toothless nob-bobbing…" She stands, cramming the rest of her lemon cake into her mouth somewhat hastily and washing it down with wine. "Gentlemen, I'm sorry. The shipment we've been waiting on for the new house has just arrived from Highgarden, and apparently it's in a shambles. I'm needed over there, post haste." She looks particularly regretful as she reports to Carolis, "It won't take me too long, I hope. Then we can make plans with our bows." She places a quick, fond kiss on Loryn's cheek — because of course she does — in parting, and hurries back inside.

Loryn blushes even more when Angharad kisses his cheek - that woman will be the death of him someday - and seems somewhat relieved when she departs. His eyes follow her as she leaves and it takes a rather long moment for him to wake from whatever private reverie he was indulging in. "What were we talking about?", he wonders, a little confused, "Ah yes, acting. And music. I quite like both. Would either of you know some northern songs I could learn? I like to expand my repertoire."

"Of course, Lady Angharad," Carolis. "I'm at your disposal." He watches her depart, and his gaze drifts briefly to Loryn, then back to Harry. That there on his youthful, friendly face is a rather calculating look. Fleeting, but it's there. "Oh, I'm sure we could find a few in some old books in the Citadel. The tunes are quite simple."

"I know a few Hunters rhythms - and some of the songs we sing to calm down mounts, but really, it's just the speech that does it, you could say anything…" Tellur says, pausing, before he says to Carolis "I fear I'm exhausted, my Lord. May I have your leave?"

"I see.", Loryn looks a little disappointed by the responses, then smiles again. "Well, then perhaps I need to teach -you- some better music to take up north, mhm?", he suggests. As Tellur makes his excuses, he falls silent again to let the northerners talk. He remembers that he had been enjoying some lemon cake just before Angharad appeared and now picks up the remains to finally finish his snack.

"Of course, Tellur," he says. Does he look a touch relieved? Maybe it's the cool draft. "I'll see you back at the manse." He studies Loryn for a moment, then admits, quietly, "I might know a few songs."

"Why don't you sing them for me, Lord Carolis?", Loryn asks eagerly ,watching Tellur depart. "I could fetch my harp if you like. It seems a pleasant enough morning for some music…" The young Tyrell seems to unwind even further now that there's only one guest to deal with.

Carolis glances after the departing Tellur, like he might just call him back. That precise, exacting polite facade falters with that glance. But his man is let go. Hiding behind one's servant isn't dignified. "Sure, if you like," he says when he turns his attention back to Loryn with that polished smile back in place. "I'm afraid I haven't sung for awhile, I'm sure my voice is grating."

"Ah, it's quite alright, we haven' all been born songbirds." Loryn seems to brighten up even further and leaps to his feet, excusing himself to fetch the harp from his room. And probably take a few deep breaths as well. He looks thoroughly composed again when he returns a few minutes later and settles down, harp resting on one leg, while his fingers pluck the strings idly to tease a few notes from the instrument. "So, what would you like to sing, Lord Carolis? I did pick up a few songs at the Trident." That's Northern enough as far as he is concerned.

Carolis remains where he is, and he's finished his goblet of wine in the time it takes Loryn to get back. He sits up when Loyrn returns, dusts a few lemon cake crumbs off his hands. The Trident. That gets a slight tilt of the Northerner's head. Oh, Loryn. "I'm not sure if I know any of the songs from there," he says. Then he gestures with his empty goblet and says, "Why don't you play them for me?"

"You don't? But it's all the North, isn't it?", the young Tyrell asks innocently, "But sure, I can sing one of their songs while you try to think of songs you know.", he winks, "And please, do have a refill." He nods towards the empty goblet the young man is holding and the jug on the table that is still half full. He takes a sip from his own cup to moisten his throat, then begins to play in earnest, some rather depressing lament about a fair maiden who's lost beyond the Narrow Sea forever, condemning the singer eternal starless nights.

Carolis holds out his goblet for the servant to refill. He offers the supposedly invisible fellow a smile. "All right," he says. He settles back, and he listens. There's more than polite attentiveness about him as he does. He tilts his head, taking on the notes, and the words bring a small smile to his lips. No, he has not heard this one before. When the song concludes, he sets his goblet aside, and he claps quietly. "I don't want to risk your brother's wrath, but I think giving up the knighthood to perform was a brilliant idea."

Loryn smirks bitterly at that. "Oh, my brother made it clear in no uncertain terms that he will foist another knight upon me until I have earned my spurs.", he explains with a sigh, "I just hope he'll take a long time about it, so that I can star in Garvin's plays in the meantime and dedicate myself to the arts. Would you like to hear a song from Highgarden, Mylord?", he asks hopefully, apparently happy to have an audience.

Carolis gestures with his goblet as he says, "Of course. Please." After a sip, he says, "Don't worry too much about your brother, Lord Loryn. He'll have his own troubles in time and not worry so much about yours. In the meantime, enjoy the time you have." He settles back, and he listens rather eagerly.

"What do you mean, he'll have his own troubles?", Loryn wonders, a little suspiciously. He does pluck the strings of his harp again, starting a tune, then changing to another one, this one more cheerful, as if sung by a traveller reminiscing of his beautiful home and the many flowers of Highgarden, the most beautiful flower being of course the woman he hopes to return to soon.

"I don't mean terrible troubles," Carolis says. "Just things to occupy his time. A life of his own, a family someday, that sort of thing. My brother is far too busy these days to pay much attention to what I'm doing. That's all I mean." And then he listens. He forgets entirely about his goblet, and even the lemon cakes. When the song concludes, he says with a quiet, warm laugh, "There are so many good songs from Highgarden. Flowers are great to sing about. Not so much the ice and snow."

Loryn is not really convinced that Laurent will get off his back, but he accepts Carolis' words with a little smile and a nod. Here's hoping. "Well, we don't only have songs about flowers.", he says after the song, "Most songs are about love really. Flowers are just…. code for all sorts of things. Hermyn the Hunter was feared all over the Reach for his deadly skill with bow and arrow, hunting smallfolk for sports. Since he worried that he'd lose his reputation for being fearsome and merciless if he admitted to something as weak as love, he wrote songs about white roses. Took people years to figure out he was entertaining a secret crush on a Targaryen girl." He chuckles at that, shaking his head.

"That's one way to keep it a secret," Carolis says. "We have songs about the land." He studies his goblet for a moment, then takes a small drink before he adds, "And winter, and battles. And, of course, love. There's one about a flower called a blue winter rose. They don't grow this far south. It's too hot."

"You do? Please sing it for me, I'd like to learn it.", Loryn replies eagerly, "I would like to learn songs from all Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Some day I'll learn more languages too and travel everywhere…" He drinks some more wine and looks at the northron expectantly.

Carolis considers, perhaps a little longer than is strictly polite. But, well, he did put it off for this long, so he says, "All right." He sets his goblet aside and clears his throat. "I don't sing anymore," he warns, "so it'll sound rusty." The song is about a woman who is the beauty of the North, fairer than the blue winter rose. And as one might expect a love song from the North to go, she is lost in a storm and dies from exposure. The refrain compares her to the blue winter rose flowering in the snow, and in the last verse they grow abundantly where she lays forever. His 'rusty' voice is clear as crystal, and has a rich, pitch perfect timbre. It carries strong enough it could fill a great hall, and there is more emotion in it than he's ever shown while speaking. And yet, when it's over, he just gives Loryn an apologetic shrug.

Loryn listens attentively, interested in the song's tale and clearly pleased by the singer's voice. "Lord Carolis, you do yourself great injustice when you claim to be 'rusty'. Your voice would put the minstrel Bryce to shame and I certainly will not dare to sing in front of you again. You should ask my cousin for a place on stage as well. A duet with Bryce perhaps?", he winks.

"Oh, gods, don't say that," Carolis says, wide-eyed. "Please, you must sing. I love listening to you sing, and Bryce Storm is one of the finest musicians in Westeros." Loryn gets a Look when the duet is mentioned. It's not the warning look Tellur gave him, but more of a 'tsk tsk.' He shakes his head. "No, don't even tell Garvin you've heard me. It can be our little secret." Like the servants standing right there aren't going to talk.

"But why?", Loryn asks curiously, "You have a fine voice. Do you think it will hurt your image of a tough cool Northern Lord if you were found to hide an artistic soul within and the fine voice of a southern minstrel?", he pushes his point further.

Carolis's brow furrows. He's got some damn stern eyebrows, too. No one sterns like a Northerner. "That's not it at all," he says. He takes up his goblet again, studies its contents. "I have sung at too many funerals. It hasn't been a joyful thing for too long."

"I see." It's argument Loryn can actually understand, especially with his father having died only a few weeks ago. "Well…", he says after a pause, "Would you not agree that it is then a good idea to raise your voice in a more positive way again and create joy? And have it heard to honor those that are no longer with us?"

Carolis has to think about that, and another sip of wine helps. He nods then, slowly, and says, "There does come a point where mourning becomes malingering. I don't think they'd want me to be unhappy. But I'd rather listen to you and the minstrel. The passion with which you both perform is infectious." He lowers his voice as he admits, "Besides, your cousin overwhelms me. What if I did get up in front of all those people and froze?"

Loryn can't help laughing softly. "Yes, my dear cousin can be a little overwhelming, but I find his passion and zeal rather endearing." He pauses for a moment, considering things. "If the thought of appearing at the theatre in front of a hundred faces or more is too intimidating, perhaps start smaller.", he suggests, "We could arrange for a… cultural salon of some sorts. Invite a few chosen nobles for an evening of reading poems, singing songs and playing music, accompanied by wine and fine snacks. We could have themed evenings, perhaps. A Northern-themed evening with delicacies and music from the north. I am sure Lady Harry will be happy to set it up. And you can present some songs."

Carolis sits up, and his brow is rather stern about all of this. "I could read poetry," he says. "Mrf. I will do it if Lady Angharad asked, but you must promise me, Loryn, I beg you; if Garvin gets any fancy ideas, don't egg him on. Tell him I have crippling performance anxiety."

"As you wish.", Loryn says rather solemnly and inclines his head to the other young man, "I will also speak to Lary Harry about a northern-themed evening. I understand that not everyone is born for the stage like Garvin or me, but it would be rather criminal to let a lovely young voice go to waste."

Carolis wrinkles his nose. Lovely? But. His reputation. He shakes his head emphatically. "No, I am not born for the stage. I'm born to record the stories and songs of the North and I will write about my brother's reign as Lord of Winterfell. He'll be great — one of the greatest — and they'll be singing songs about Lord Cregan in the North for as long as there are Starks in Winterfell."

"YOU should be singing songs aboout Lord Cregan in the North.", Loryn winks, but then lifts his hands quickly in defense. "Alright, alright, I get it, you're too worried about your grumpy tough Northern image. I won't say no more. Not until we have the evening arranged." He plucks the strings of his harp again as if trying for an musical underscoring of his words.

"I'll sing them in my lifetime," Carolis says. "But they're going to live on longer than that. There will always be Starks in Winterfell." He laughs then, and he takes a playful swat in Loryn's direction, coming nowhere close to actually connecting with him. "I'm not grumpy. We're just more reserved than the Tyrells." The playing does seem to cheer him up, though. "I hate to leave you so soon, but I should head back to Weirwood and make sure Tellur's all right. By the gods, the man could be dying and wouldn't bat an eyelash. If he's actually tired, I should check his pulse." He rises to his feet, and he bows to Loryn. "And we're not going to tell your cousin anything. Right?"

"Of course not, Mylord.", Loryn promises and smiles, "It was a pleasure to have you visit. Do come and drop by again some time soon." He doesn't actually get up to offer a parting bow or something, instead he plucks the strings of his harp again, indulging himself in a sweet melody that will accompany Carolis on the way out.

"Of course," Carolis says. "And you must come visit us at Weirwood sometime." He takes another lemon cake for the road, because those things are addictive, and he heads out, humming under his breath that one ditty Loryn sang from the Trident. Of course, he'll get stuck on one line and it will drive him crazy, but that's music for you.

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