(121-05-10) As High as Honor
As High as Honor
Summary: Alaeyna and Lorenzo try to take Ellia's advice, but falcons don't make fast friends.
Date: 10 May 2014
Related: None
Players:
Ryam..Alaeyna..Lorenzo..Harrold..Seryna..

Oldtown Square
This is a small cobblestone market square, packed with people from all walks of life in Oldtown. Food vendors offer sizzling, toothsome-smelling dishes, and peddlers offering every sort of thing one can possibly buy with coin line the cobbled walkways, with carpets, weapons, wines, scrolls, armor, cloth, tools, cookware, and myriads of cheap trinkets sure to please.

There is a general babble of voices and chatter as the city folk try to negotiate with the sharp street vendors of Oldtown, and the occasional scuffle as the City Watch snatch up pickpockets and cutpurses from the crowd.

There are some worn stone benches here and there, and grassy swards for the smallfolk to gather upon. In the center of the square stand a set of four heavy wooden pillories, where wrongdoers are frequently held fast for public punishment.

It's a mild summer day and the vendors who have set up shop throughout the market square are turning a brisk trade, all manner of folk milling around inspecting wares, doing business or meeting friends and associates. Alaeyna is roaming a row of stalls with her brother, eating sizzling meat from a stick that she's only just purchased. To Ryam, she says, "I'm not positively sure what we're eating, brother, but I like it well enough." Though they catch the odd eye for their obvious Dornish outfiting and the brazen way Alaeyna comports herself in public, merely a hallmark of her nature, they're near enough to the harbor that they aren't the only foreigners hanging around.

Looking around carefully every now and then just in case, Ryam is also eating some meat from a stick now. Nodding a bit as he hears his sister's words about the food, he smiles briefly. "I have tasted far worse at some other times," he replies, before he looks around again. "Has anything else caught your eye today, sister?"

Though she looks around, too, it's with interest at the various wares on offer. She chews ponderously, stopping to look over some jewelry but seeing nothing to prompt her to linger for too long before moving on to the next merchant. "We should find something I can bring home for my boy. Do you remember being six? What ought he like?"

"If I remember being six?" Ryam considers that question for a little while, before he lets out a bit of a sigh. "I don't remember precisely what I liked back then," he admits, before he turns to look at some of the wares now. "I'm not really sure what he would like, I fear."

Alaeyna and Ryam are winding their way through the Oldtown marketplace, eating mystery meat off of skewers while the former inspects some of the wares on offer. She stops before a stall with painted wooden toys for children, running a hand over a carved horse. "He's too old for toys now, isn't he? And his father will already have him his own spear by now." And then, absently, she asks Ryam, "Did you see where Lorenzo got off to? Wasn't he just behind us at the jeweler's?"

Ryam nods a little bit as he hears that. "If he has not outgrown toys yet, he will very soon, at least," he replies, taking another bite of his food again now. "And he would probably have gotten his spear by now, that's true." A brief pause at the question about Lorenzo, and he looks around for a few moments. "He was. I'm not sure where he went off to, though. Probably decided to inspect something at another stall somewhere?"

Just the same, Alaeyna lingers over the little toy horse, long enough to attract the stallkeeper's attention, who offers it to her for a half groat, but she waffles so long that he knocks it down to just a copper penny. "Oh, why not? Let's have it, then." She motions for Ryam to pay the man, in that annoying way that reminds him she is the titled one of the pair of them. The Dornishwoman looks pleased with her purchase, which she leaves on the table as she moves on from it, leaving it for her brother to carry.

Snaking through the marketplace are two figures dressed in Arryn colors, one handsome male, tall and dark, in tabard with sword at his hip, and a petite female with similar golden coloring, caramel hair and hazel eyes. Those might mark her bloodline for Tyrell, but the blue gown trimmed with silver sets her allegiance at Arryn, that of the man beside her. They move together close enough to share in quiet conversation, yet there is no intimate hand on arm or small of the back that would declare them man and wife. "Good-brother.." She addresses him, and perhaps adds clarity. "Is that shop back there the jeweler's, or this one? Raymun told me I could pick out something new, that I should look up to fashion if I am to be socializing with my cousins and other ladies here in Oldtown. You know new styles took months or longer to get to the Eyrie…" There's an edge of pout in Seryna's voice, half-playful, but entitled as well.

Maybe it's loose Dornish morals in action, but Alaeyna's eye and ear both are drawn to the posh Arryn lady who winds her way down the aisle, and she shamelessly interjects in the private conversation the woman shares with her knight to say, "There's a jeweler just there, but I didn't much like his work. There was another further past that had much lovelier pieces." She pulls loose the last morsel of meat left on her skewer with her teeth, tossing the stick aside afterwards while she chews appreciatively.

Intimate. By contrast to the Arryn couple, the hand that Lorenzo slides around Alaeyna's waist as he saunters onto the scene is just that. The handsome Dornishman is dressed in the fashion of his people, in earthy tones that complement his coloring well. Perfumed and oiled, his beard and hair immaculate, the Dornish knight moves with a curiously slow swagger. He too wears a blade at his hip, though it seems almost an afterthought — he looks the part of a lover, more than a fighter. As he brushes past Ryam he spares the man a familiar grin, a quick wink of one eye, before he steps behind his paramour to slide the aforementioned hand 'round and pull her backward against him. His lips spread in a slow grin as he looks over her shoulder at the Arryn couple, but when he leans in to whisper to Lady Fowler, the words reach her ear alone.
Lorenzo whispers: Devoured and cast aside? A cruel fate, but better devoured and cast aside than never devoured at all.

As he moves along at his good-sister's side, Harrold Arryn's attention is mostly on her, but his dark eyes also sweeps their surroundings from time to time. His tabard matches that of the noblewoman at his side, but rather than being trimmed in the traditional silver of his house, their falcon crest is embroidered in charcoal gray. There is a bit of a swagger to the knight's step as he listens to Seryna's question, and he looks about again more thoughtfully. After inclining his head somewhat to the Dornish who are in the square when his glance passes over them, he then answers the woman standing close to him, "I believe it is, or at least it is /a/ jeweler. A city of this size is bound to have more than one. As for how long it tales 'styles' to reach the Eyrie…you would know far better than I, my Lady."

Ryam nods as he takes out a purse to pay for the horse, then lifts it up to carry it with him now. A brief pause as he looks over at the Arryns, offering them both a brief nod now. "And some of the work of that tailor over there seems to be of high quality," he offers, nodding in the direction of said tailor. And his clothing seems to indicate he likes using tailors of high quality, when he has the chance. As Lorenzo makes his appearance, Ryam is unable to offer a chuckle. "Good, I feared she might send me off to search for you, or something like that," he remarks.

With open curiosity Seryna observes the Dornish couple, a hint of pink on her cheeks at the sauntering of the oiled Dornishman, the intimacy with which he slides his hand around his lady's waist. It's Alaeyna's interjection that pulls her attention back though. "Oh. Why didn't you like it? Can you tell me what was better about the other jeweler's pieces? And do you know…" She pauses here, clearly aware they are both Dornish, and taking in the differences in garb, in styles, flowing silks versus structured gowns, sensuality versus contained efforts at what might be modest. "Do you know what might be in fashion, what might catch the eye? I am beginning to fear I will stick out like a sore thumb here, surrounded by such glamour where in the Vale I was surrounded by…crisp air and rocks and goats." A sly glance towards Harrold, and a smile that chases. "And good company on occasion. Oh! A good tailor too, that would be useful. I ought dress in something now and then that isn't only blue. How much do you suppose I can spend?" This too to her good-brother, and a bat of thick lashes on its heels.

Sinking shamelessly against her lover when he entraps her in his arms, Alaeyna spares him a wicked grin, tilting her head to catch the private whisper he presses at her ear. She murmurs something to him in return, her dark eyes sparkling with her characteristic ferocity. "There you are. Did you find some sweet thing to scandalize?" She chastizes him playfully, offering Lorenzo an open-mouthed kiss that would be more fittingly kept behind closed doors than in the market square, but neither of the two seem to have much of a care for such things. "And look at this fantastic twist of fate," she tells the Dornishman, lifting a ringed and braceleted hand to gesture to Seryna and Harrold in turn. "Fowler meets Arryn on the streets of Oldtown." She's dressed in a leather bodice that bears a scandalous amount of cleavage, flowing silk dyed copper underneath. Around her neck is a falcon's claw, the sigil of her house as well as Arryn's, and she repeats their words with an admiring warmth to her Dornish accent. "As High as Honor." Seryna's questions about clothing and jewelry both are met with a pleasant smile, to which Alaeyna counsels her, "The other's work was more laden with jewels, as would suit a pretty thing like you well. But I'm as far from home as you, and I think what would catch my eye would offend a Reachman."
You whisper, "Or worse yet, cast aside unmolested." to Lorenzo.

Lorenzo's chuckle at Alaeyna's whisper is low and heated, a sound suggestive in itself. A soft sound of desire escapes him as he is kissed, and in the light of day in Oldtown square he catches Alaeyna's lips with his teeth to tug at it before they part. His cheek pressed to hers, his dark eyes drift to Harrold and Seryna as the comely couple speak, and he clicks his disapproval. "Such a jewel should not be hidden away," he says, dark eyes taking Seryna in with little mind for propriety. "I think my Beautiful Bird's tailor might suit you, Lady Arryn. I use the same woman." With a lift of his eyebrows directed at Harrold he adds, "She calls on us at our manse. I'm certain something could be arranged."

Talk of the quality of work that jewelers do seems to go over the Vale knight's head as Seryna engages the Dornish in conversation, though he stands aside politely while it goes on. The show of affection between lovers does not seem to faze Harrold as it might his good-sister, but when Lorenzo looks on the woman at his own side in such a manner, his charcoal gray eyes narrow somewhat. "She has not been 'hidden away', my Lord. The Vale of Arryn is not so separate from the realm as people enjoy making it out to be," he retorts, and then gives his good-sister a sharp look for her talk of her surroundings back home. After a moment, he goes on to add, "I believe I would prefer crisp air and goats to sand and snakes, myself. But it /is/ a matter of taste, is it not?"

It's some combination of scandalous and tantalizing surely, for while propriety might demand that she avert her eyes from the display of affection curiosity has that same hazel gaze darting back to observe the Dornish, and the flush on Seryna's cheeks making itself known yet again in watercolor pink over light skin. She shifts from foot to foot under those heavy blue skirts, and smiles brightly again at Alaeyna. "Oh, are you a Fowler then! We are counterparts yes, I am told. Falcons and Falcons. Though I was born a rose of Highgarden, I am as much an Arryn now as any other I am sure. Devoted to the calling of marriage and house as a lady should be." The woman's clothing fascinates her as much as the woman herself, the leather, the cleavage…it's all quite stunning. "Perhaps so. Is this what catches your eye, your own bodice and gown. It might offend a Reachman even as it tempts him." The compliment directed her way from Lorenzo has the blushing coming newfold, and a smile cast his way from behind a fringe of chocolate lashes. "I think I should like to meet him, this tailor." Harrold's narrowed eyes though, and his sharp look, might have her growing somewhat milder. They certainly kill any flirtation in that glance. "If of course, the Lords Arryn approve of such a thing." Demure added as an afterthought.

Ryam nods a little as he listens, he smiles momentarily. Nodding in agreement with Lorenzo's words at the moment now. "Aren't the Lords of Arryn, like most other men, people that enjoy the beauty of what they set their eyes upon?" he asks, words kept quiet after he hears Seryna's words now.

"My lady's bodice would tempty any eye," Lorenzo opines, his hands tracing her figure as the slide down her ribcage to settle at her hips. Still close against Alaeyna, he looses a throaty laugh at Harrold's implied slight — a strangely companionable sound. "If my lord of Arryn prefers the sight of goats," he suggests, "Perhaps he has only to meet the right snake, yet." A look to Alaeyna, her face pressed so close to his that he is forced to crane slightly away so that she might see his lifted brow, and his shoulders gather and fall in a slight shrug. "We shall be friends," he declares then, despite the tension. "Fowler and Arryn, soaring falcons both. And mayhaps in time you will show me your goat, Ser. And I might show you my snake."

With a sly smile for Lorenzo, Alaeyna says, "Of course, we'd have no need for a tailor at all in Oldtown if not for your habit of throwing my nicest silks out the window once you've torn them off me." To Seryna, "The work is as fine as I'd expect to find at home, and if you'd like the introduction made, we'd of course seen it done." But her good humor sours at Harrold's interjection, her sparkling gaze going stony as it pivots over to the knight. She addresses him directly now, a challenging edge to her tone. "I believe my consort intended to comment on the local fashion, and not your family's holdings. How sorry indeed I would be to discover that the charm of House Arryn's scions falls short of that of its scenery."

"The lords of the Vale know how to /respectfully/ enjoy the beauty of what they set their eyes upon, yes. Particularly when it belongs to others. Perhaps introductions will help," Harrold responds to Ryam, focusing on the bastard for a moment before going on, looking at the other Dornish before him, "I am Ser Harrold Arryn, and this is my brother's /wife/, Lady Seryna Arryn. As for this tailor…" His voice trails off here for just a moment here, and he looks between Alaeyna and his good-sister before going on, "…if your Lady's attire is any indication, I sincerely doubt my brother would approve of the man's work." Then Lorenzo's comparison of goats and snakes draws an idle shrug from the knight. "It has nothing to do with sight, my Lord, and everything to do with the fact that a snake is a treacherous, venomous thing. Trust me, I have no desire to see any snake, yours or that of any other man," he replies, then looks to Alaeyna once more to add in reply to her, "It matters little which he was referring to, Lady Fowler. Dornish ways are not our own, if you had not noticed."

"I'm sure it would. It's a very eye catching…bodice." Seryna glances over to Alaeyna yet again and then back away, hoping that look isn't especially revealing. Not terribly intimate perhaps, or not quite, but she does suddenly put her fingertips atop Harrold's arm as if to soothe something away. "The goats, the…complaints, were my doing, and thus if there is tension it is mine to apologize for. I complained when I was sent from Highgarden, which is warm and filled with wealth and beauty, and though the natural scenery of the Vale is breathtaking it took time to get used to. Of course I missed my family as well, as many new brides do. Surely though it was ill-bred of me to let even the slightest comment hinting in that direction leave my lips in a public place, before strangers. I ought be reprimanded for it thoroughly and expect to be so. Later. For now though, I appreciate the declaration. That we shall be friends, we soaring falcons. You are both extremely fascinating! And I have heard, that the King is hoping to see friendships forged, between ourselves and the Dornish. I could…work on Raymun, about the tailor? I'm sure his work can be varied. The dress is so pretty…"

"Of course, Ser Harrold," Ryam replies, before he adds, "And as for the tailor, I'm sure such a skilled tailor would manage most different styles, after all." Another brief pause, and he adds, "As for the different lands, I suspect we all have a tendency to prefer what we are used to, yes?" As for the introductions, he lets his sister and Lorenzo handle those first, since they are the important ones, after all

"I am Ser Lorenzo Yronwood," the Dornish knight says without stepping from behind his lady. "And this fierce creature is Lady Fowler — Alaeyna, by name." A slow spreading grin draws up one corner of his mouth, but his eyebrows lift as he remembers something. "And her brother," he gestures with one hand, "Ser Ryam." Introductions made, he looks from Vale lady to Vale lord, waving off Seryna's claim at guilt. "A man might say many things of you, Lady Seryna, but never that you were ill-bred." A shake of his head sets oiled curls tumbling slightly. "Tongues do what tongues will — loose words among friends are no sin." He nods as she and Ryam chime in on the tailor, and comes to his defense as well. "He has a keen eye, and is a master of his craft. No doubt he can manage any style you might like, Lady."

Alaeyna regards Seryna with awe when the woman attempts to placate the knight with her simpering apologies, the combination of her appeals and the knight's own terse words causing her to set her jaw. If her broiling stare is any indication, she is biting her tongue something fierce, which might lead one to wonder what she isn't saying when she remarks tersely, "I'd be hopeless not to notice the habit of Westerosi men to speak for their women." She refrains from joining in on the inane snake analogies, evidently the quickest of the three of them to not only take offense, but the most likely of them to hold on to it. She leaves it to Lorenzo to make his efforts at smoothing things over, too hot blooded to do the same.

Perhaps the simpering is working, keeping Harrold quiet for a moment. Seryna must have it down to an /art/ the way only Westerosi women can. She murmurs something quiet in his ear, something about the jewelers, and tilts her head awaiting an answer. The one she receives is something of a grumble, and then he makes some appropriate excuses and farewells and walks in that direction. To check on the quality of their product for his good-sister perhaps? Or just to find a reason to slip away for a bit before tempers rise further. It leaves Seryna to flirt a bit more, and charm the other Fowler, without calling forth more narrowed eyes. "Ser Lorenzo Yronwood. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am as he said, Seryna Arryn, wife to Raymun Arryn, and before that I was Seryna Tyrell, sister to Lord Lorent Tyrell of the Reach." A mildly impressive title, the last one, and she's vain enough to make sure no one misses it. "Tongues do what tongues will, as do eyes, no? The Dornish all seem…fierce as a matter of course. And very interesting. I'd love to meet the tailor." She pauses briefly and adds, "Westerosi men are protective of their women, of Maidens and Mothers, as the Seven guide them to be, no?" But its not clear she's very interested in religion, just playing politic.

The return of Alaeyna's good cheer coincides directly with the Arryn knight's departure, having watched with a measured look while the pair of them exchanged the whispers that resulted in his leaving. Seryna's painstaking introduction and care with the titles of her connections, while duly noted by the Dornishwoman, doesn't win much in terms of awe or admiration, admittedly, but neither is it met with the same obvious hostility that colored her words just a heartbeat earlier. "Dornishmen revere their women, just as we revere our men. And when we meet on the field, in the hall or in the bedroom, we do so as equals, and enjoy each other the more for it." Glancing over her shoulder at Lorenzo, she tilts her head up to his for a kiss.

Ryam smiles as he listens, nodding a bit. Pausing momentarily as he hears the introductions, before he looks over as he hears Alaeyna's words. "Different places, different customs, sister. It is their custom to do so, and possibly not knowing how fierce creatures they can be." Offering her a quiet smile, before he nods politely to Seryna now. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Seryna." Another smile is offered to the Tyrell-turned-Arryn.

Lorenzo's approval of that sentiment is passionate, and it shows in the kiss he presses to Alaeyna's lips, brief but fierce. As they part, again a hint of tongue can be seen lingering between them, scandalous in the extreme. A moment to catch his breath, and he tears his eyes away from Lady Fowler to nod to Seryna. "The pleasure is ours, Lady Seryna. I assure you." Sincerity drips from the words like honey as his eyes roam the Arryn beauty. "I think this lady of house Arryn more fierce than she shows, beneath modest dress and proper skirts. Is that not so?"

Seryna nods her head to Alaeyna's words. "How different, our two lands are. Surely much is considered scandalous here that is simply the way of things in Dorne." Once more lightly politic, and the shock by now of the couple's physical affection has worn off, or worn off enough that it no longer commands her gaze without her willing it to do so. "Tell me, my Lords and Ladies…how do you define what it is to be fierce? For a man or for a woman, or for both? I wonder if it is the same, or if that too is different?" She does still appreciate the compliment offered her way, and likely the roaming eyes as well, however it is that she may be expected not to. At least there is no one now to chide her for it.

Tasting her lower lip in the wake of their kiss, or rather tasting the ghost of Lorenzo that still lingers there, Alaeyna shares a mild smile with both he and Ryam, who have each remarked on the ferocity of the Arryn bride. To her consort, she remarks, "I think the same, and should enjoy finding out, but as my dear brother reminds us, local custom dictates it a secret for her husband alone to know. But still, anyone with eyes and ears to see her and hear her speak would know her to be a woman who knows her own mind, and so perhaps she will see fit to treat us to her company again, in the name of bettering relations between Dorne and the Vale. Our houses both honor the same majestic bird, and I've had friendships built on far less."

Nodding a little as he hears what's being said now, Ryam seems to be relaxing a little more, although he may not ever have been quite tense as he's listened for now. "It is more in the equality, I believe." That is said to Seryna's question, a bit thoughtfully. "It is more a case of what a person does than how society expects said person to act, based on if it's a man or a woman." A smile is given as he nods a little at the rest of the conversation now.

"Not so different, surely," Lorenzo protests to Seryna's words, laughing softly. He declines to define ferocity in favor of an invitation, of sorts. "If you fear our sensibilities are so different, Lady Seryna, by all means. Sample the Dornish modes. Call on us, and perhaps we shall call on you in return, after?" His dark eyes flit to Ryam for a rakish grin, then to Seryna, and finally to linger on his lady love. "There may be time enough to honor another majestic bird, I think. If she has the time for us, herself."

"I think…that I should like that very much my Lords and my Lady. I will call on you. Improving relations between Dorne and the Vale only seems wise for the sake of both my people and your own, and we are ever and always looking for opportunities to better the circumstances of House Arryn. I think that seeing positive relationships built with the…fierce person of my fellow Hawk, and those she surrounds herself with, is a grand place to begin. Do send me a note when there is a good time to visit, and I will find the time to come. Perhaps Harrold can be persuaded to join one day as well, I'm sure first impressions need not be final ones." Seryna doesn't speak of her husband, as if he's accidentally been forgotten in all of this. "We're at Moon's Nest Manse, on Lower Hightower street. I very much look forward to it." Her voice is almost honeyed.

Lest it be said it's only the men in her company with a flair for bold advances, Lady Fowler takes it upon herself to approach Seryna, shaking loose Lorenzo's hold in order to approach the other woman, laying a hand upon her forearm. "I will see it done. Nothing helps forge friendships quite like a bit of strongwine and a hot summer evening." Leaning in to kiss each of Seryna's cheeks, she whispers at her ear, "And do convince your good-brother to come along. He's far too handsome not to count among my friends." She smells spicy up close, like some heady oil has been dabbed at her bare throat.

Ryam smiles, nodding a bit again now. "Friendships are good things, especially in times such as this," he offers, words kept rather quietly at the moment. Looking between the others, expression a bit thoughtful now.

Lorenzo turns to nod at Ryam, amusement still dancing in his dark eyes. "A life with only the steadiest of company would be so tedious," he complains, resting against a tall now that Alaeyna has left his hands. He doesn't seem put out at that — his eyes trail her as she goes, watch her with Seryna, and glimmer all the while. Something in Lady Fowler's words set his head at a slight cant, and the tone of his grin changes entirely. "This is a hot summer evening," he says with a look about them at the square, "And we've strongwine enough, at the manse. Mayhaps there is enough light, yet, for a late dinner taken in such good company?" With a pursing of his lips and a lift of his brow he adds, "Or, failing that, mayhaps we might eat in the dark."

There's another deep blush on Seryna's cheeks when Lady Fowler leans in to lay a hand on her forearm, and she drinks deep of that smell of oil and the talk of strongwine. "I…yes. I can see how it…how it would…" She takes another deep breath and it starts to come out shaky, a flash of innocence somewhere in those hazel eyes. A Westerosi woman through and through, married maybe but…well. "I can convince him I think. He is handsome, is he not? Arryn men often are." It is when Lorenzo goes on, grinning deeper, speaking of wine and the night and eating in the dark, that the watercolor flush on her skin goes past seashell and towards berry. "I….oh." She looks from one of them to the next, hoping the color doesn't creep all the way to the neckline of her gown.

Her flush indeed betrays her, and Alaeyna seizes the opportunity to close the sale Lorenzo has pitched, letting her hand slide towards the other woman's, dropping it just shy of twining their fingers together. "Isn't he positively brilliant? Here we all are, weary from a day out of doors and nigh starving besides. Of course we should dine together. I insist." She flashes a knowing smile at Lorenzo over her shoulder, already tearing herself from Seryna to return to his side, decisively setting them off in the manse's direction.

"True," Ryam replies to Lorenzo. "And life is not supposed to be that way, after all." A brief smile as he listens to the talk about strongwine and dinner. "That sounds like an excellent idea," he remarks, nodding a bit to the three of them now.

"Well I um…if you insist…and that is…it's very hot, and I am hungry, and a drink would be…" Seryna continues to stammer a bit, the grace she can offer up in proper Westerosi courts somewhat…more than somewhat…diminished in the face of all of this Dornish ferocity. "So I could come with you I think, for a little while?" Alaeyna's hand has moved from sliding towards her own to return to that of her consort, and she and Lorenzo are moving in the direction of the Dornish Manse, leaving Seryna in the position to determine whether to follow or to linger in the square. She leans somewhat towards the latter so it seems, as a few steps are taken in that direction before she casts a glance over her shoulder towards the shops where Harrold vanished a few moments ago, teeth worrying at her lower lip.

Returning from the jewelers, Harrold's stride is purposeful and perhaps a bit on the tense side as he comes back into the view of his good-sister and the Dornish that he had reluctantly left her in the company of. Glancing at Seryna as she begins to follow the strangers toward their home, his dark eyes narrow once more in her direction, and he doesn't even give the foreigners another look at this point. With his attention focused on his brother's wife, he goes on to ask her once he comes close enough to her to do so without yelling even if his voice is as tense as his movements, "What's this, Lady Seryna? Planning to disgrace my brouther, and our family, going off with men who were so obviously ogling you without any sort of escort? Perhaps you /should/ be locked away, like the Dornish lord accused us of?"

"A drink would be a gift from the Seven," Lorenzo finishes for her, "And a strong drink doubly so. There is fresh fruit — grapes and pomegranates — we will see you taken care of properly, Lady Seryna." He twines his fingers into Alaeyna's once she's near enough again, but lingers a step slow, watching the lady of the Vale, and her goodbrother as he approaches. He blanches slightly at Harrold's tone, his fingers suddenly tight in Alaeyna's hand, and stops in his tracks now. "Ser," he protests, his tone for the first time lacking amusement at all. "You do the lady a grave wrong. Disgrace was the furthest thing from her mind." A deep frown lines his features now. "And if you mean to suggest that Lady Fowler is an unfit escort…" He lets the words trail off, but his timbre says more.

The raised voices draw the curious attention of some of the folk still milling in the market square, and Harrold's heated words halt Alaeyna in her tracks as readily as they do Lorenzo. She concurs, clearly, with what Yronwood says, but she goes further to address the Arryn knight herself. "In fact, I was only just saying to Lady Seryna that I hoped you might join us to dine, Ser. Then you might serve as both her escort and our company, and mayhaps in spite of ourselves we will form second impressions of each other that improve upon the first ones, to the benefit of our great houses. What say you?"

Ryam pauses for a few moments as he hears Harrold's words, shaking his head a little now. He doesn't add to the word of his sister, or Lorenzo, but simply studies the Arryn knight for a few moments, then looking between all four of them.

So close! But Harrold's voice pierces the square and sets Seryna to visibly flinching. As if she's been struck or can anticipate it coming from somewhere. "I di…was…It's very hot though isn't it, and Lady Fowler is the head of her House and you told me to forge connections here in the city!" Petulant apparently comes from her lips as easily as simpering does, at least when she is caught off guard. "She was saying it though, the Lady Fowler, that she truly hoped to get to know you better. You're a far truer representative of House Arryn than I. She even said you were handsome." This is added with a bit more gentleness, as if to compensate for the original tone. "Come with us, and then I will be properly escorted and we can do as the Lord and Lady suggest and forge new friendships. Won't you please?" She makes her features as pleasant, as pleading, as they could possibly be.

"Lady Fowler has no loyalty to house Arryn, so no, she does not make a proper chaperone in this situation. Again, you are not in Dorne, my Lord, so I would appreciate it if you would not deign to try to teach me the finer points of my own peoples' etiquette. Nor do I appreciate your attempt to intervene in the affairs of my family. I have not tried to interfere with /you/ in such a manner, after all, and further have done my best to avoid giving insult despite several you have directed toward myself and my house," Harrold responds to Lorenzo, turning dark, unflinching eyes on the man at the challenge in his tone. His attention then turns to Alaeyna and Seryna, and he responds to the invitation of the former with that same tension from before lingering in his tone, "So one of you managed to find some measure of manners while I was gone. That is somewhat refreshing, at least. I thank you for the invitation…however, it would seem that your lord consort here might be in more of a mood for a fight than for my company, Lady Fowler, if the way he is addressing me and the tone of his voice are any indication." Looking to his good-sister, he then adds, "I'm afraid heard no such suggestions from the lord, my Lady. Only a threat."

"Ser, your own words name you false," Lorenzo says with a bright laugh. "On meeting us, you called us treacherous and venomous ere you knew our business at all." Still, his grin holds. "But if I must bear your friendship in the name of diplomacy, no doubt wiser heads than mine would counsel that I do so." He looks here to Alaeyna, but his eyes hold a suggestion rather than a question. Hers is the quicker temper, and he counsels caution with that glance. "An exchange of insults has led to friendship before, and might do so again." He gestures down the street, the way they were headed, and nods his head. "Accompany us, as the lady suggests, in the name of diplomacy," he says, "Or do not. Truthfully, I tire of vying for your good will, and will be content to depart without it if it means I might depart more readily."

When Alaeyna speaks, prompted by the glance thrown her way by Lorenzo and his deference to her will, her stare seems possessed of none of the white hot heat that burned it up earlier, only a cool indifference left behind. "I have made offer of hospitality to both you and your goodsister, Ser, and while I will brook no argument that certain customs may differ between the Vale and our native Dorne, I expect House Arryn honors the law of the hearth just as well as House Fowler does. If you will not join us in the amiable spirit in which the offer was extended, I will rescind it altogether and we will take our leave of you, rather than linger and suffer further insult."

Seryna by this point is clearly torn. Hazel eyes dart after the Dornish, and her desire to go is writ on her face plain as day, the way a child might look after a cart selling sweets. Eager, curious, its all open on the young woman's gaze. Yet just as plain is her apprehension in the face of displeasing Harrold, clearly one of the customs differing between the Vale and the sandy places to the south. She takes a breath, parts lips as if to plead with her good-brother further, but does not dare to do so aloud and so maintains her silence, waiting to see instead whether the words of the Dornish will convince him to join, or stir his temper to pull them both back towards Hightower Street.

"I'm sure nobody wants any fights, Ser Harrold," Ryam replies, before he adds, "That seems to be just a misunderstanding." Nodding at Alaeyna's words, he goes silent again for now, glancing at the various people present for now.

"I spoke of snakes. It is no fault of mine if you mistake that for talking of yourselves, my Lord. I certainly did not think that anyone was speaking of /me/ when goats were mentioned, after all," Harrold tells Lorenzo, as dark features turn back to the man, "And if you tire of vying for my goodwill, then you must tire very easily, as I've yet to witness a true attempt at this vying you speak of. Only insults because I seek to protect the reputation of my good-sister according to /our/ traditions, not your own." When Alaeyna goes on to rescind the invitation, however, the knight of the Vale bows his head to her and says, "Very well, my Lady, then we will not bother you any further, since it seems you expect me to suffer insult and not speak up for myself or my house in response. I am sure you honor the law of the hearth as well as anyone, but if your hospitality comes at such a price before I can enjoy it, I will respectfully pass." Ryam's words draw the Vale knight's attention his way, considering him for a moment. "Ser, even if you are correct, it is clear that there is no real interest in my friendship, at least, on the part of your countrymen," he tells his fellow knight after a time.

"The only price we ask is civility, Ser," says Alaeyna, a glance at either of the men in her company to bid them hold their tongues for the moment. "But I would bid you consider that my consort speaks in defence of slight he perceives on my behalf, as you do in kind for your goodsister. No one among us would think to suggest her honor doesn't deserve your due protection, but in truth I am at a loss as to the nature of the discord between us. Beyond our word that we intended no slight on her honor and the gesture of our invitation, I am out of sorts to try to mend the unease between us. Mayhaps on another day, with clearer heads, we will have better luck."

Lorenzo shakes his head, listening to Alaeyna's plea in silence, then turning away with a bemused look. "A friendship is based on truth," he says, apparently speaking to Lady Fowler as he starts down the road, offering her his arm. "I might be friends with a man who dislikes me, if he does so honestly." This thought quirks his lips into a grin again, and he shrugs, a weight seemingly lifted from his shoulders. "Though Princess Ellia might counsel us to abide by Westerosi customs, I confess that their manners elude me, my Beautiful Bird." He claps Ryam on the sholder here as well as he draws near the other knight, shaking his head. "Come, and the three of us shall dine, and tell tales of fools and the opportunities they lay aside."

"Of course. You know how important my reputation is to me, and if the invitation would have sullied it I would have been devastated. I thought since it was given by the Lady Fowler…" Seryna's voice trails off here, but the words are all for Harrold, explaining herself as best she can. "Another day maybe, and I will bring one of the guards if you and Raymun think it best and do not care to join?" Clearly her interest in…cross kingdom relations…has not dulled at the exchange of sharp words. "Come, good-brother, and I am sure we can arrange for our own dinner. My husband may be home, and if he is not we will eat on our own. There's wine from the Arbor sent by my brother to welcome us to the Reach…and surely something worth eating." A dip of her head is offered the departing new acquaintances, her smile somewhere between friendly and apologetic, even if the apology is for not joining and little more.

Harrold looks rather flabbergasted at Alaeyna's claims, but he takes a short time, at least, to compose his thoughts before responding. "I /was/ civil, up until I returned to find my brother's wife leaving with complete strangers, without what our people would consider a proper escort, and then was insulted /and/ threatened in turn when I pointed out to her that what she was about to do was improper, whether you see it as a disgrace or not," he answers her, and then listns to Lorenzo insult him yet again. He does not address the Dornish lord, however, but rather looks toward his consort once again to add, "If you seek to mend the unease between us, Lady Fowler, I can assure you that calling me a 'fool' simply because I will not abide being insulted left and right will not help." As Seryna mentions visiting with the Dornish another day, his brow furrows again, but he nods noncommittally. "Yes, something to eat would likely be a good idea now, good-sister. Let us return home and see if Raymun is about," he agrees with her other suggestion easily enough. As she dips her head to their new "acquaintances", however, he is turning on his heel to leave.

A brief pause as he looks about to say something, but Ryam seems to decide against it, before he shrugs a little bit now, "Perhaps some people need to look at things without simply trying to find the negatives," he says, words quiet and not seeming to say it to anybody in particular now. Nodding a bit at both Alaeyna and Lorenzo, he smiles, "Food sounds like a good thing now, yes." Turning to offer another polite nod and a smile to Seryna as well now, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Seryna." A half-smile is offered along with a shrug to Harrold. "Perhaps then, Ser, from what little I know about your customs, you should not leave her without what your people would call a proper escort?" Unable to hold back the words, as he turns to his sister and Lorenzo again.

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