(121-04-28) Do You Like Boats?
Do You Like Boats?
Summary: Elionys tracks Riderch down after the tournament, and gets an abrupt invitation. Also, there's a bird.
Date: Date of play 04/27/2014
Related: The Tournament, but there isn't a log yet.

Evening. It's been a good while since the brutal clash of arms on the Tourney grounds. A few coins have been spent and a smallish, gregarious Maester from the Citadel had been called upon to tend the Heir of Raventree Hall. There is a long divan which has been moved into the main hall that currently contains the lounging form of one Riderch Blackwood, clad in a loose-fitting black shirt and matching breeches.An elegant red-and-black robe bearing embossed ravens is thrown over it all, a concession to the man's vanity.

The bald maester can be seen shuffling about as Riderch's sworn man, the ubiquitous squire Tel opens the door to admit a visitor who is simultaneously awaited with eagerness and maybe a little unexpected at the same time.

Elionys waited what she deemed, or hoped, was enough time before making her way to the manse in question, smiling brightly up at the large Squire as she's shown in. "Will you tell Ser Riderch that I'm here, if he is available?" She pauses a moment. "Is he terribly hurt? I saw him walking off the field with your help so I thought he must not be too badly hurt. If he is, I can come back." This, of course, is all rattled off rather quickly before Tel has a chance to answer any of it.

"Oh. Princess." The big man is clad in black leathers and a decently-made tunic slung over it. He bows. It's probably unnecessary but he's developed a certain — respect for Elionys' presence.

Tel smiles wryly. "I'm sure if I tell m'lord you're here he'd /make/ time." And with that, he disappears into the Manse, which a chuckle. "One moment, your Grace!" The door creaks open after he ducks in — something is exchanged between two men and the door swings open wider now. "Please! Come in!" Riderch's voice carries loudly in the main hall. Hopefully by the time Elionys makes her way in, he's made it to his feet. The battered-looking lord is stiff, but can still move without too many problems.

The Targaryen Lady is met by a gallant attempt at a gallant smile. It mostly succeeds.

Elionys' looks rather pleased by what Tel says, but says little else, and instead waits where she's left, gaze skimming what she can see of the entryway until the door opens, and through it comes the call. She has her guards, as always, though she abandons them in the entry as she makes her way int the room, smiling brightly at Riderch. "Please, don't get up, you're injured. It's not necessary," she assures him at once

"Thank you." comes Riderch's hasty response. Of course, he gets up anyway. "I'm able enough to be /something/ of a host." The diminutive Maester who was tending to him shoots him an inquisitive look but he's able to read the writing on the wall. That man's chains jingle as he nods. "Your Grace."

There aren't a lot of others around in the house right now but it was well-known that Riderch travelled to the Reach rather light. Tel can be seen scurrying off to attend to something. Riderch himself gestures with a wide (if stiff) sweep of his arm. "Please. Can I get you something?"

Elionys offers no further protests to his getting up, though she does watch carefully to make sure he's not hurting himself too much by doing so. "Oh no, I don't need anything, but thank you." With that she moves further into the room, gaze sweeping around briefly, though it's quick to find Riderch again. "I thought I might come by and see how you were, and see this new home of yours," she informs him, sounding cheerful.

"Mmmm. If you're sure. And you should see the garden!" Riderch gestures lazily as the Maester excuses himself, leaving them more or less undisturbed. The hand trails towards the exist to the manse's garden area. "It's modest, but — you should have seen my previous housing. My cousin and half-brother aren't about although I imagine sooner or later you might run into them."

All of his chatter serves to delay the inevitable, and he sighs, with a certain air of false drama. "Thank you for the concern." He starts awkwardly. "But I was beat soundly about the chest and shoulders by a Northern woman with an ancient and fabled Valyrian Steel sword." He laughs shallowly. And tries to stifle the laugher because — "I was afraid I had a cracked rib or two. But the Maester said I should recover sooner than I'd thought."

"I would like to, but please, do not put yourself out now," Elionys insists as she moves to take a nearby seat. "It's not as though I won't be by here again with plenty of chances to see it." His laughter seems to put her more at ease, so far as his welfare is concerned, smiling up at him again. "You were, though you fought gallantly, especially against a sword, and a woman like that. I am glad to hear that you will recover soon, truly, when I saw you fall, I was worried."

"Mmm — I know something of the Mormonts. They may seem strange — they /are/ strange, but they're of the First Men. As are my family. Some may say that the whole world's gone bloody mad, but if women are winning tournaments, who am I to question the will of the Gods?" Riderch scratches his head bemusedly. "And — thank you. You shouldn't be afraid for me, but thank you." There's a flush of color in his pale cheeks.

"I feel like I should have stayed there with that big Tarly Knight, just trying to put him down, but battle's like that. You make a decision right there, in the moment." After seeing her take a seat, he returns to one himself, on the nearest edge of the divan.

"I couldn't begin to guess at their reason for many things, but I suppose there must be some," Elionys reasons, not dwelling on that thought for long. "It must be so hard to judge that sort of thing when in a fight like that. So much happening all at once, and having to make decisions so quickly, I cannot even imagine it." She settles back, hands resting in her lap as she considers him a moment. "Do you think we should hold the feast here? Do you suppose it's large enough?" she asks, abruptly shifting subjects. "If not, we can find another place for it. Maybe I will ask Jaehaera if we can use the Hightower." At this thought, she grins.

"It's something you learn. Court functions bewilder me that way too, so —" He's clearly attempting to define some common ground here, as it were. "Which means I have a bloody /life/ ahead of me." Riderch notes, ruefully. "Your family has had women who ride dragons. Speaking of Priness Jaehaera — maybe the First Men and the blood of Old Valyria have more in common than you might think? And — " He grits his teeth, sitting up, and offering the woman a smirk. "Princess? Do you mind if I just call you Elionys? It sounds better to my ears. Don't worry though, I'll use the proper phrasing when others are listening. Anyway — you have to look about yourself to see if this place meets your needs. Although I imagine squatting on Old Lord Hightower's domain would be worth a few laughs."

"I hope it is not too bloody," Elionys tells him with a flicker of sincere concern for the Raven Knight, but the furrowed brow and slightly downturned lips relax after a moment. "And if it must be a bit bloody, I hope that it is long as well." The question is met with a smile. "Oh, of course you may! I don't mind that at all. And I will, I'll have a look around later, and if it won't do, we will just have to see about finding something that will. I will have to hire cooks, and musicians, do you think I should have other entertainers too? I don't know of many here yet, but others might."

"Only bloody if you count blood as ennui." Riderch admits. It's clear where the man's interests lie. "Unfortunately, this is the burden of a second son." He twists around on the divan while still trying to maintain an admirably dignified pose and to his credit, he /almost/ succeeds. "One day I'll be holding court in a Hall that is —" He trails off. "Well, it's better to see it than describe it. Raventree feels almost hewn out of the bones of the land. I don't even know how old it actually is." There's a flicker of melancholy there but an off-kilter grin returns, as per normal. "Elionys." He tries out the name. "Thank you." He notes.

"Well, I would imagine it would have to be grandiose. If you like, I can ask the Mallisters who they can round up." As he finishes, there's the sound of bird croaking from the upstairs. It's the call of a raven. A loud, defiant QUOOOOOORK. A rotund orange cat comes bounding down the stairs in a hurry, looking positively spooked.

"I shouldn't wish ennui on you either," Elionys assures him with a smile, shaking her head. "I should very much like to see Raventree, along with many other places. If I am ever given the chance, I will tell you. Do you miss it very much?" she asks, gently.

She rests her elbow on the arm of her chair, fingers tracing along the edge absently. "That would be quite helpful, if you would? I would ask my family, but-…" Whatever she might have said is cut off by the sound, leaning forward in her chair to watch the large orange cat streak down the stairs, unable to help but laugh at the sight.

The cat is clearly on the chunky side and pads across the floor of the main room with a series of 'thumpthumpthumps.' It bounds towards the exit to the garden letting out a ridiculous trilling/yowl sound. Meanwhile the raven upstairs screams again and Riderch just slaps his hand against his forehead, sighing a little. "It's good to have something that reminds you of your own sigil." He comments, his tone a bit puzzling.

"I — I would think you would be welcome to see it. Even while my father still lives." The Riverlander responds hesitantly. "ARSEHOLE!" There comes a sudden shout from upstairs again, and Blackwood just grimaces. "I'll be sure to put him out somewhere if we host anything here." So the raven apparently has learned to speak. Or at least repeat the most entertaining of phrases. "Let me see what I can work out before you put yourself out. If you want to hold it here I guess that makes you /my/ guest."

Elionys tries to stifle a quiet giggle as she watches the cat continue on to the garden, and only then does she look back to Riderch. "I think it depends on the sigil, and who has it. There are some in my family that you wouldn't want having a dragon," she remarks, but it's without any true malice. She seems just about to say more when the shout from upstairs carries down, hand lifting to hide her smile. "Yes, that might be for the best," she says, sounding amused. "Though the bird could be entertainment as well," she points out.

"So I've /heard/." Riderch says, coughing with a bit of painful stiffness, summoning up a peal of laughter. There's that odd, feral grin back on his features in full force. "Depends who gets invited, I suppose." "I saw a dragon's handiwork when I accompanied your cousins on that little trip to nowhere. Supposedly old Ser Fulk was ahead of us the entire time too." He mumbles, slowly climbing to his feet and making his way over towards a bookcase.

Elionys seems entirely unable to restrain her own grin in the face of his, hand dropping back to her lap as it blossoms. "That Ser Fulk is an interesting one, isn't he? I've only seen him in passing, but now I am curious to learn a bit more about him. Up until now, I admit I only saw him as Visenya's creature." When he rises, she sits up a litle straighter, scooting to the edge of her seat as though she's about to jump up and offer him help. She doesn't though, instead watching him carefully.

"Can I tell you a secret? I mean — I don't know how to say this. But I feel I should tell you." Riderch's voice rings out as he processes Elionys' words, even though his vision is preoccupied with the bookshelf. After fumbling about, he pulls out a rolled-up bundle of scrolls. In the interior light if one were paying keen attention, they appear to be — maps?

He slowly turns now, eyeing Elionys with a tilt of his head as he moves back towards his seat slowly but (more or less) surely. "I think most Knights are fools. Including me, I suppose." He adds with a slight snort. "I don't think Ser Fulk is one. And as far as serving the aspiring Dragonrider? I don't know Princess Visenya, have never met her, but I know what it's like to want to swear service to someone."

It's delivered a little belatedly. "Maybe, though, one might question his choice of who he wished to swear to. Like I said, I know very little about her." Better late than never.

Elionys is paying attention, both to him, and to those rolled-up bundles he fetches. "Yes, of course you can tell me a secret," she assures him, pale brows rising with a visible curiosity. The answer that follows makes her laugh again, that bright, amused smile returning in full force. "I don't think you a fool, Ser Riderch, not at all. Different, maybe, from most people that I've met here, but that just makes you more interesting, and not at all a fool. I suppose it could be said that it's a tiny bit unwise to dedicate life to the sort of thing some knights do, but that can be said about any group of people, can't it? There are fools everywhere." She sits forward a little more, on the very edge of her seat as she eyes the maps with interest. "Who is it that you've wished to swear yourself to?"

"A lot of them don't understand war but think they do. And that's kind of you to say. And you can just call me Riderch." It's a first-name basis now, isn't it? The bruises and exertion and whatever else the man has been subjected to in the last couple of days sort of melt here as Elionys gets to see him. In his natural environment.

"And I honestly am not sure of what to make of all these compliments but —"Thank you." He unfurls the maps — it looks like a map of the Reach. And a greater one of Westeros. He sets them on the table nearby and sets a candlestick upon each to keep them open. And for a short while, it seems that he ignores the Targaryen Princess' question. "I am a man who is inheiriting lands and a title." He says, looking between her and the parchment. He finally states. "It's not a simple thing to say."

"Riderch," Elionys replies, sounding comfrotable enough with the first name basis. "And I say them because I mean them, I quite enjoy your company. You need not worry over them, and I would assure you that there was no devious plan behind them, but I suspect that's precisely what someone with a devious plan would say, so I can only say that you may wait and see, but you won't find any, now, or later." She watches curiously as he unfurls the map, waiting until he speaks again before she rises, crossing to that nearby table to look down at the map as well. "If it's too difficult a thing to say, then you need not say it. I can withdraw the question."

Words are processed. Carefully, as Riderch thumbs the maps. 'Crakehall. Crakehall.' He repeats, tracing his finger along the thick parchment. "You know where Crakehall is in relation to Oldtown, right?" Well, that's one way to dodge the question.

This is a momentary thing though and Blackwood throws his head back and lets a long, ringing howl of laughter fill the room. "Honestly, Pr— Elionys." He begins, eventually looking over from the map to study the pale-haired woman carefully but with a trace of a grin still firmly present. "Even if I suspected you I doubt it would make a difference. But you don't strike me was the conniving, dishonorable sort." And he just finally lets it out. "And to answer your question? I'm not a Hedge Knight. Which means unfortunately I have responsibilities which would keep me from being able to do the sort of thing that Ser Fulk did." He clicks his tongue as he squints at the map and conveniently isn't looking at her as he admits this last bit. "But were I Ser Fulk the Subtle, I think I would have found a better Princess to swear to."

Conveniently upstairs, that asshole raven hoots and squawks again. It sounds a bit too much like laughter.

"I do," Elionys answers him, one hand resting against her stomach as she bends forward over the map, reaching out to touch the place on the map where Crackehall is located. "Just there." This time she doesn't laugh as he does, instead it's his laughter that fills the room alone, but she does turn her head and watch him with an amused smile. "I like to think I am not the dishonorable sort, but I don't know that many people actually consider that they are. Don't you think? I'm sure most people believe they are justified in what they do, if only in their own minds." She straightens, hands folding neatly before her as she listens, inclining her head slightly in agreement with at least part of what he says. It's not until the last that the smile returns, small, and again aimed at him. Her lips part to say something, but the words are interrupted by that distant almost-laughter, and this makes her laugh as well. "Were it so, any Princess would be lucky."

The absurd grin on the Riverland Lord's face is directed towards the stairs. "I think we'll have to leave him here for any feasts that may be held." He says as an aside. before explaining.

"I am a loyal bannerman of House Tully, who fought with us to our freedom." Riderch explains. Well, yes. He understands the reality of the situation. "I'm sure I've already told you all of this. And thank you. Crakehall. I guess that's where the Mormonts are dragging us." He observes with a heavy sigh that seems more put-upon for the sake of dramatic effect than actual distress. "I don't suppose you heard about the breach of the Wall. But the North got a favor out of me." Finally though, he addresses the original topic. With another heavy, stiff, painful sigh as he hovers over the table, looking back at the Targaryen Lady even as he jams a fingertip onto the surface of the map. "Gods, I'm terrible at this. You know, I'd like to think most people carry a seed of dishonor — warriors tend to be more honest about this though, at the end of the day, we're sworn killers. But that doesn't have anything to do with you. Or me. /Right now./" And the last is delivered with a grin that manages to be both toothy an abashed.. "Princess — Elionys. If you ever need the service of a Lord of an ancient house carrying the fires of faded glory, or a Knight with occasionally questionable sense, you need not to look to Ser Fulk the Subtle. Although he seems a solid example of the latter."

"Yes, I think we just might have to," Elionys agrees with him, another softer laugh following on the heels of this remark. The laughter fades, as does the amusement she wears as she listens to him, eyes returning to the map, to that point in which he is going to be dragged soon enough. "I think you are right about that, I think every man and woman carries a seed of dishonor, and a seed of good, or honor, I suppose. That we have it doesn't matter, it's which we choose to nourish that does." She draws a deep breath, shoulders rising and then falling at it's exhale. "It does me good to her that, to know that I have friends here I can rely upon. Thank you, Riderch. If there is ever anything I can do for you in turn, please ask, and if I can help, I will."

There's a sound of flying, clanging pots off in the kitchen area, followed by a man's loud curse.

"HEY! There is a guest here! And — Show some /bloody/ respect." Out of nowhere, Riderch barks this in its direction, the absurdity of his doing so apparently not lost on the man as he suddenly stares over at the Princess and wheezes out a laugh.

"The best men just try to make the smallest mess, I think. Before I leave though, I think I would like to go back on a boat." Blue, slightly greenish-blue eyes dart directly towards those signature Targaryen-colored ones and he momentarily goes off on a wild tangent. "I have not been on a boat in months. Not even when Jorah and I went fishing. Would you like to go on a boat?" This randomness, seemingly from nowhere, is followed upon by a simple wave of his arm. "And it's a good thing, isn't it? I believe we understand each other."

Elionys jumps just a little bit at the sudden barked orders from Riderch, not frightened, but a touch startled, though it's quick to pass and is dismissed with an airy laugh. Her eyes tick down to the map a moment, but as he begins to speak again, she looks back up to him, meeting that greenish-blue gaze with her own. "A boat?" she asks, needing a few seconds to catch up with the sudden shift in conversatoin, but once she does, the corners of her lips quirk with amusement. "I do enjoy going on boats, and it has been quite a while since I've been on one. Sure, I'll go on a boat with you." She pauses a moment, glancing back down at the man. "When do you want to go?"

"Sorry. I mean — the noises have me on-edge. You can understand why now of all days I am a bit sensitive to the sound of metal clanging." Riderch admits. He waves it off though, in a 'pay it no heed' gesture. "Besides, like it or not you are subject to my hospitality here." He rises fully from his seat now, still stiff from the fights. "But you will?"

The boat. Ahh, the boat. "Some are sea-sick and wanted to make sure you aren't one of those. It will be a small affair though. No plans to go very far away."

"You don't have to apologize, it seems perfectly reasonable that you would be sensitive to it right now," Elionys is swift to assure him, smiling. "Will I? Yes, I will. I don't feel ill while being on a boat, for which I am very glad. One of my brothers turns absolutely green when he's on water. He probably starts turning green when he stands too close to water now. Thankfully, unlike him, I didn't inherit that from our mother."

Riderch says, "No? Well thank the Gods for /that/ then. "Riderch beams in response to the young lady. "I'll tend ot that as soon as I am able." His finger comes slamming down on the map again, the tip of it causing it to buckle. 'CRAKEHALL'. The word bends. "This shall be beautiful." Smiling broadly, it might be odd to recall that this was a man who was publically beaten with an ancient sword not too long ago. Aside from the occasional bout of stiffness. "So — I was meaning to ask — this feast. What is it in dedication to?""
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"No," Elionys assures him a second time, eyes lowering to the map as his finger thuds against it. She hasn't anything to say about Crakehall, or what he'll be doing there soon enough, and instead moves on to the next subject. "I haven't any idea," she admits, laughing. "I was thinking maybe to honor the winners, or those that participated in the tourney, or simply because I want to hold a feast, to have a gathering that doesn't involve people bringing out their swords and beating on one another."

"Bloody wildlings this far south? I don't believe it. Somebody's not doing their job." Riderch actually fills in the blanks here and answers a question that was not asked and may not even have been wondered. Finally he tears his eyes away from the map and to the Princess. He strolls over to a decanter nearby, sitting on a table and pulling out a flagon. Again his movements are halting and met with slight grimaces. He pulls out another flagon too, filling one with what is obviously wine. "Would you like?" He asks. He asked before, of course, but the booze is out now, so he's offering.

"And in other words, were I to put a sort of narrative on the whole thing — maybe you were bringing a bit of pleasantry to a city that's recently gone mad?" His teeth flash in a way that indicate that maybe madness is in the eye of the proverbial beholder. Or maybe he just likes making people think he is.

Elionys' folded hands break apart so that one hand can lift, reaching up to touch near the tip of the map and draw one finger down the distance from it's most northern point to where Crakenhall rests. "How many people were not doing their job for them to get this far? That is unsettling," she murmurs, looking more serious in those moments than he's likely seen her before. The hand slips away and her gaze lifts, following him as he makes his way to the table and the decanter. "Sure," she answers, turning from the map and table to face him. "Yes, I suppose that is accurate. We need some more joy, the sort that doesn't involve swords."

"I suppose if I were unkind I could always blame my Uncle up on the Wall, first and foremost, but he is an old man and I was always fond of him. He took the black when his wife passed. I think part of him did too." Riderch notes lazily. There's a certain poetic melancholy that tinges the words — if one were to deeply read into it it is almost that actual /concept/ saddens him as much as the reality of it, maybe more. His animated features suddenly lock into a frown but it does not linger overlong. "But — something else is at work there. Beyond Mormont's underhanded scheme to get me to save a ransom is the very real understanding that my family has ties of blood to a number of Northern houses. If they call, someone has to respond. And someone has to be me.

The tinkling of wine in a flagon is heard as the vessels are full, and he slowly makes his way back towards Elionys with two drinks in hand — one is apparently for her which is presented shortly thereafter and a smile returns although it is a touch more rueful than it has been. "I can understand that. The last two years have been nothing but blood, blood, blood. Everywhere I /go/." He gently holds out one of the flagons for her.

"Then let us not be unkind," Elionys' says gently, hands folding before her again. "I would like to know what else is at work here, that they could get so far. It seems to me that it's strange they weren't chased, or met by some other force, as surely there are plenty between here and there." She shakes her head slightly, stepping forward to accept the glass from him. "Thank you. And I should hope not everywhere, but if so, I hope that it's a thing of your past. At least too much of it."

"I cannot pretend to understand /how/ this happened. I know enough about those people to know that they have very limited wants. Food, shelter. They could have taken their fill and possibly gone back where they came from, and that is as strange to me as it is to you."The Riverlander admits this after passing over the wine. "And I wouldn't besmirch my uncle. He was my favorite of my father's brothers, so I guess it makes sense that it would have turned out this way." Riderch's answer is delivered bemusedly as he raises his own vessel. It is something of a toast. "To — not being unkind. And wine, rather than blood. And to my most honored of guests." Wow, Blackwood. He's laying it on a little thick, isn't he?

"Once you learn more of it, will you tell me?" Elionys asks as she looks down at the glass in her hand a moment. "I would like to know if anyone has more information, but it's not as though I can just go barge in and demand that people tell me." She pauses a moment. "Well, I could, but that doesn't get one very far when it comes to earning respect, does it?" When he lifts his glass, she lifts hers as well, grinning as the toasts roll out. "To all of that," she replies, rather than repeat it.

Something in this statement brings out Riderch Blackwood's — well, pensive side. "Force doesn't necessarily mean respect. Something I was taught and I think means what you're saying here. That or 'you can't rule by the sword and rule'." He apparently understands these quotes well enough to put them in the correct context. And then, he drinks.

"HAAA HAAA HAAA HAA!" Out of nowhere, the raven upstairs delivers a mocking laugh. "Jorah's been making him worse, I think." He sighs rather pointedly, and it still looks rather uncomfortable. "I'll tell you all about whatever I find when I return. As long as I still have a head." The sudden crinkling of his expression indicates that he either has no plans of dying or is a madman without fear.

"Yes, I suspect I am trying to say the same thing," Elionys agrees, giving him another smile before she too takes a drink. The laughter that rings out again makes her turn to look up at the stairs, again amused at the inappropriate bird. "Is he? It does sound as though someone has been teaching your bird to say quite a lot." Her brow furrows for just a moment, but the pinch of concern is quick to ease as she nods. "Yes, though I should hope you will return with it still attached. I could order you to," she suggests, smiling again.

"Jorah is — well. It's best you see him for yourself. Maybe." the bird and its horrible tutor are addressed. "And i you order me, I suppose I will have to obey. If you do that, you're not being fair." Riderch's response is surprisingly petulant. And for a second, there's a melancholy pout that comes entirely out of nowhere. And is banished by a wheezing laugh. "Trust me, I wouldn't want to miss the chance to spread tall tales and gossip to a certain Princess anyway."
\It's the petulance that makes Elionys laugh again, a hand lifting to wave off the suggestion that she might start issuing orders. "I wouldn't do that, I would prefer that you come back alive because you want to come back alive, rather than doing so begrudgingly on my order."

It's the petulance that makes Elionys laugh again, a hand lifting to wave off the suggestion that she might start issuing orders. "I wouldn't do that, I would prefer that you come back alive because you want to come back alive, rather than doing so begrudgingly on my order."

"Oh, never worry. That's one worry you don't need to have." Riderch waves this off. Despite being battered and bruised, he is in high spirits. He has an idea of the reality of war by this point. Or would have to, given what his life's been like. But he's not dwelling on it, that's for bloody sure.

"So. A /feast/. How many do you think we could fit into this place? Include the garden, of course."

"Good, then I won't," Elionys replies with a smile, glancing off at the gardens for a moment. "I'm not sure. I can send someone over who can figure all of that out though, which should be easy enough. As long as there is someone here while you're gone, I should have an answer by the time you get back."

Well /that/ got put to bed. "Tel will take care of it. Or one of the Mallister men." Whoever actually /does/ take care of it seems to be a trivial concern to him at this point. Again, Riderch waves his hand. waves his hand, taking a drink of probably more wine than he should, and then — yawning. And flinching a little. "Have to — remember to do that slow, heh heh. Heh."

"Oh good, I will be sure to write Tel and tell him when to expect them," whoever this mysterious person may be. Elionys takes another sip of her wine, considering him above ther rim of the cup. "Yes," she agrees. "You do, you did just get hit several times with an enormous sword. That's bound to leave a mark." Or several. "As much as I would like to stay, I should probably go. I just wished to look in on you, since I was not able to at the tournament grounds."

The grinning Knight of Raventree Hall suddenly shakes his head as he sets his wine flagon down upon the nearest table. Conveniently it anchors that unfurled map into place, where it flaps gently in the breeze coming from the garden outside. "Wishes and likes — they are what they are. I am just happy to see you." Another shallow breath as he lightly grits his teeth to try to keep the laughter to a minimum, glancing back at the visiting Princess.

"Next time I will have to remember that public spectacle is probably not necessary to receive a visitor I actually welcome, no?"

"Oh, who am I trying to fool? Life in this kingdom is founded on — public spectacle."

Elionys sets her cup down beside his, helping to anchor the curling paper unnecessarily. "And I was happy to see you as well." She shakes her head, laughing as she does. "Spectacle is not necessary to get me to visit, truly, an invitation will suffice. Though it does appear to be an important part of life, especially here, so I will forgive you if you feel as though you must put on some." She draws back by a step, inclining her head to him now, just slightly. "It was lovely to see you, as it always is, Riderch. Don't forget to let me know when you want to go out on the boat." With that she gives him a little wave, then turns to move for the door.

"I like being on a boat." Riderch just says, plainly. His voice, and the way the words are delivered — they are a bit of a non-sequitur. "Well then. Invitation, boat. I'll see you again soon. Have a pleasant walk! Prin —-" Ah, to Hells with it. "Elionys." He stands to watch her leave, before flopping back on the divan, like one of those lords of leisure he so often mocks and swirling what's left of his flagon around.

"Quork!" And then all is quiet —there is no sound in the manse but that laughing raven upstairs.

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