(121-05-22) Florent-Redwyne After-Party
Florent-Redwyne After-Party
Summary: What was scheduled as a Betrothal party becomes a wedding reception.
Date: 22/05/121
Related: http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:121-05-22-florent-redwyne-wedding

Walled Garden - Foxearth Manse Starry Street

The white stone walls surrounding this large plot support vigorously growing grape vines. The garden itself is dominated by flowering dogwood trees. When they bloom some are snowy white and some are delicate pink, and of them grow thick with red berries when they fruit. Among them are winding stone paths between flowerbeds thick with lupins and foxgloves and gladiolus and blue beardtongues.
At the heart of the garden is a white stone pool with a fountain in its center. Tiny silvery fish live in the water. There's a matching stone pavilion beside it, open, covered with grape-vines, and offering shade for a luxurious table and chairs.
At the back of the garden is another wall, lower than the perimeter, gateless, and also growing thick with grapes. A thick thorny patch of blackberries grows in a corner alongside them. Beyond that inner wall there are a few buildings — a stable, complete with a paddock, as well as kennels, mews, and a heavy oaken gate allowing access to an alley. There's a small area suitable for martial practice as well.

The scheduled hour for the celebration draws near, and while the hospitality of the Florent house has not been lacking, food and drink are free for the asking, garlands woven of grape leaves and violets are draped about the garden walls, though there has been a distinct lack of Florents. In short order, however, the doors of the house are thrown open to Starry street and through the manse and into the garden comes a large and festive procession. Abram and Valerity- both dressed in the wealth of finery most nobles only wear once- enter the garden merrily, in the company of closest friends and family.

Tyrells and Florents haven't rubbed shoulders easily recently but that hasn't stopped Loryn Tyrell from attending the celebration as a presentative of the rulers of the Reach. And because he gets to ogle his favorite redhead secretly. He arrives alone, dressed in finest silk of gold and green that matches his eyes, his unruly hair kept in check by a copious amount of perfumed oil. There is no sword by his side and he looks cheerful enough, having availed himself of the free drink on offer.

The bride's gown is enough — or a-little, depending on one's point of view — for scandal, even on a bride of such scandalous repute as Valerity nee Redwyne. The slender, pale, dark-haired lady wears a breathtaking masterwork of Dornish design, cream-coloured silk and glistening gold beading in two parts that leaves her midriff utterly bare. Over her shoulders is the wedding cloak, white in body and lined with snow-hued satin, blazon of the red fox's head embroidered with strands of ruddy silk and spun red gold. The wreath of blue flowers is formed from small beads of lapis. The barefoot bride carries a bouquet of tiny blue and delicate white blooms, reflecting those of her husband's house, and seems rather aglow in demeanor. She is gorgeously arrayed on her husband's arm and seeems, for the moment, quite content to remain there.

There is certainly a wide array of guests here that have darkened the doorstep of the Florent estate. Doing both literally and figuratively is one man in black. It's a well-cut, high-collared tunic of black cloth with fine silver trim that Riderch Blackwood wears, its belted form hangs down to his knees. The fabric is lighter than the usual wool he wears at home, having adjusted to the Reach's generally warmer climate. There /is/ a sword hanging from his belt but it hangs carelessly at his side, more as an accessory than as a weapon unless he was asked to surrender it. It looks as though he was clean-shaven a couple of days ago, but the stubble has started to emerge, threatening to catch up the severely shorn hair upon his head.

It would also appear that Blackwood's cheeks are a bit pink. Maybe he's been out in the sun today? It would be worth noting that he brought a gift, as well, in a simple wooden box. A token of politeness if nothing more, as he spies the attendees idly for as long as he possibly has to before attacking the refeshment table. First things first. The bridge and groom. There's a bow of his head in their direction as he idly studies Valerity and Abram both. "Well well well, someone here looks, happy." His lips curl upwards in a tiny smile.

Johanna has arrived.

Tromping behind the happy bride and groom is one man not clad in fox finery, rather his colour of the day would seem sombre in comparison to the happy colour as he boasts of blacks and greens. Odd enough it is that he moves with the family, unless one knows the full history of the bond that Abram Florent and Quillian Oakheart share. Luckily though he is not all gloom, as there is a smile on his face, easily seen even through his beard, and vibrancy of green filtered in the brocade of his surcoat and splendid cowl he has on. Bold strides given, though he is doing his best to not step on the bride's dress-and is succeeding in doing so thus far.

Entering with the wedding party is Mariya. She is firmly on Valerity's side of the group, managing through strength of will to not ruin her friend's big day by continually scowling at a few particular people she is in the company of. Instead, her face is set in something akin to genuine happiness for Valerity mixed with an attempt to ignore the reason for that happiness. The Martell Princess is dressed entirely in black, perhaps a nod to her own upcoming nuptials to a Targaryen or maybe it is because she is still mourning for her goodbrother, killed by the man standing for Abram. The only color in her outfit is a gold and ruby pendant - gifted to her by the Princess Visenya.

Tytos has not been seen at a party in over a decade so he might be a strange sight indeed. He is currently in a rather simple outfit, the black silk and his short silver hair making him easy to over look as a simple member of lower nobility or even hedgeknight to those who are not familiar with his house colors. The gold and red of his house shield is proudly displayed at the shoulder though as he makes his way silently through the crowd with a drink in hand.

Following after the newly weds, Sera is all smiles as she chatters away, swept up by the jovial atmosphere. She is dressed in a flowing bright but pale blue gown that exposes the length of her back while the front only dips past her collarbone, showing off a deep blue stone set in a beautifully simple necklace. As she walks in, however, she spies the newly arrived Loryn and positively beams at him as she moves to wrap an arm around his and pull him into the party. "My Lord Loryn! Welcome to the party; come, drink, be merry. I will not be satisfied until your guards have to carry you home themselves."

Abram laughs quietly as he murmurs something to the joyful lady on his arm, before raising his voice to greet those assembled, "My lords and ladies!" A merry note colors the knight's words as he speaks on, "Our thanks to you all for joining us on.. what turned out to be a more auspicious day that was originally planned. But eat, drink, and above all be merry- even you, Quill. Bride's orders," he asides to the Oakheart in green and black beside him, a ready grin twisting his battered face.

Loryn had been busy gaping at the bride's rather scandalous dress when Sera appears behind him and his cheeks flush a little, before he beams happily at her warm reception. "Lady Sera, how wonderful to see you! Your servants have done wonderful work, it's all very impressive.", he comments on the garden, "And a perfect day for a wedding too. Do you think there'll be dancing?"

Abram whispers to Valerity with “Were you any prettier today, I'd have three duels to fight on our way to the bedchamber.''

There's a polite laugh from Quillian as he looks to his friend. "I plan to ser-and leave with a woman on my arm." he adds as if such a boast needed. But, the Blackrood gives an award winning smile to boot for his friend's happiness. And then he turns his head to regard Mariya briefly and angle a wink at the Dornish princess, before he is looking for familiar faces in the gathering.

Valerity laughs and ducks her head at Abram's murmur, smiling, cheeks uncommonly pink. She leans up to reply, an arch and mischievous dimple on her cheek. Valerity whispers back, "Only three?"

"Hail!" That boisterous wedding cheer is tossed out by Riderch Blackwood as he comments to, well, no-one in particular. "I suppose just getting to it is preferable to the pomp." There's a little bit more of a pointed flush in Riderch's cheeks as he nods his head, setting the box down on the nearest table he can find, and removing the lid. It's a silver chalice, with a fox's head engraved on its side. Not precisely the Florent fox, but the intended meaning is clear. A symbol of both of their Houses, joined.

This done, Abram did say to eat and drink, and that is precisely where he is headed. He makes a point of not being the first one in line, but grabs a hunk of cheese and grabs a pour of Arbor Red.

Caelin lingerered a bit behind the merry party after the ceremony to speak with the septon. The younger Florent knight's long strides catch him up as the party arrives in the manor proper. Caelin's dressed in a fine but understated suit, dark blue, black, and a more muted orange-red putting a less loud, somewhat somber note on the house colors. The Black Fox claps at his newly married cousin's words, although he doesn't seem to be focused on making merry himself. His gaze lingers carefully on the best man and maid of honor, perhaps making sure that tempers don't erupt as he drifts over to the Dornish princess with a stiff bow. "My lady."

The Dornish contingent don't exactly need their arms twisted when it comes to partaking of the refreshments, and when Abram addresses the revelers and commands them eat, drink and be merry, more than one of them hoist their cups in celebratory cheers for the bride and groom and the open bar. Alaeyna is among their numbers, her voice not the loudest of the ones that cry out at the toast, but still possessed of seemingly good cheer, weddings being infectious that way.

Abram grins aside to his bride, quipping with a look of thinly affected gravity, "well, after the first three, folk tend to get more cautious." Quillian's jape and wink aside to Mariya Martell cause a brief moment of held breath, before Caelin slips in and addresses the Dornish princess. At about the time Abram calls to a servant for wine, Riderch's gift has been noticed, and one of the wine stewards pours a healthy measure of Arbor Red into the silver fox goblet, and- after handing the vessel to the Florent, indicates the Blackwood. "Ser Riderch!" Abram calls with a ready smile, raising the silver chalice in salute, before setting the vessel to Valerity's lips, giving her the first drink.

Into this space of celebration comes one more figure. Well, three, if you count the lady's two guards who trail respectfully behind her. The young, dark-haired woman is dressed finely in a dark red gown with the silhouettes of ravens soaring around the skirt and bodice. Not a particularly tall figure, Ainsley Blackwood is obliged to push up onto her toes in an attempt to seek out the particular guest she's seeking out, and then her head turns in the direction of the loudly shouted "Hail!" It is in that direction that she heads, allowing her pair of men to politely clear the way where people cluster.

"There must," Sera tells Loryn with a serious voice, "it isn't a proper wedding unless there is dancing, a fist fight and scandals to last until the next one." She urges him to the feast, snagging two glasses from a passing serving woman. She hands one to Loryn encouragingly before scanning the interior to see who she can spy. Sera takes note of Mariya and Quillian.

The look that Mariya gives Quillian when she is winked at would freeze ice. However, she is not about to ruin Valerity's wedding by killing the best man at her reception. There's always tomorrow. Instead, as Caelin approaches her, she pointedly looks away from the Blackrood and curtsies politely in response. "My lord." Her smile is a bit forced, but she is still attempting. "It was a lovely ceremony, was it not?" There, see, she can make polite conversation with Florents. Her eyes search the crowd for her Dornish contingent as a hand grabs for a glass of wine from a passing servant. She will need some of this to steady herself for the rest of the evening.

There's a muted, if truly mirthful grin on Riderch's part as the new groom. After he gulps down a chunk of cheese and washes it down with a conspicuously large drink of the wine, which he tops off almost immediately before sauntering on over towards the wedding party, passing Sera and Loryn with an idle tilt of his head.

Riderch does acknowledge Abram's greeting, though, which presumably is where he is headed.

And Aenyse Greyjoy enters a handful of steps behind Loryn. There was a bit of a haunted look to her eyes - darker circles beneath them. But she wore no makeup. Or fancy dress, for that matter. She wore a blouse of white was worn beneath that, long-sleeved and looking silken in appearance - that flowed into a ankle-length, white skirt. But such things might be hidden beneath a gown of grey, the top of said gown more a vest that was stitched up the front, bore the faint golden designs of the Kraken on it, the coloring of the material having faded away.

She brought none of her men. The skirts had a overly clean sense about them, as if they were hardly used at all, but they managed to be worn anyway, accented with a bit of silver jewelry around the neck. Of Dornish design.It was with a sweep of her eyes across the party that causes her to purse her lips entirely, her eyes traveling after Sera and Loryn proper, before she too, starts to head towards a wine-bearing servant.

"Fist fight and scandal?", Loryn muses on Sera's suggestion while he takes the wine cup from her and lifts it to his lips for a sip. "I don't know about a fist fight, but scandal… I suppose we could cause one?", he winks at her, then returns Riderch's passing nod with one of his own. He spots the short girlish newcomer and nudges Sera lightly. "Who's that one? Oh and have you met my guest, Lady Aenyse Greyjoy?", he asks, trying to stop the woman from getting away, so he can introduce her and present her like a curiosity.

Quillian - 1 Dornes - 0 The Blackrood offers a brief chuckle, before he is peeling away with a glance to Bride and groom, off to see to his own refreshment, specially as it seems there is good drink to be had. They say there is no party like a Redwyne party because it doesn't know when to stop. Or some other mirthful ryhme that comes with it. Alaeyna is given a look as he nears where the Arbor red has been poured and catches a cup-before he looking to see if there is chicken to go with it, or something heavier than cheese.

Upon nearing the Wine though he does pause to allow the mostly clean Greyjoy a spot ahead of him. Manners after all. Oh and look there's Loryn and Sera. Sera had the benefit of Quill's company earlier, and Loryn had the benefit of bleeing on his floor earlier in the week. All good times.

"Ser Riderch — what a beautiful gift," the bride says to the Riverland knight, looking well-pleased. She takes a sip as Abram offers it, and readily — she is (was) a Redwyne. She can drink her weight, however scant that weight may be, and then some. "How kind of you to come."

Caelin exchanges a glance with Abram from a distance, inclining his head towards Mariya at her words. "For a small and unadorned affair, yes." He smiles slightly, also taking a glass of wine, although he's in no hurry to go through it. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced, have we? Ser Caelin Florent." He makes another slight bow.

After the ceremony, Johanna vanished for a time, and only now does she reappear, making her way into the party shortly after Aenyse. Her dark, curling hair is mostly tamed, and held up by gold combs fashioned to look like oak leaves. She wears a long-sleeved gown in a rich, green shade with gold accents. Though it's a party, already the younger Oakheart frowns as her gaze sweeps those in attendance, lingering near the entrance for no more than a moment before she turns to go in search of a drink.

Tytos grabs an extra glass of wine and makes a point of heading toward the newly arrived woman in the simple dress with the kraken on it, the older man approaches and offers the second glass to her, "M'lady, glad to see the iron isles have sent a representative."

Quillian is given a look, too, by Alaeyna as he passes. And despite it being a vaguely murderous one, the toothy smile she wears never wavers. With a drink of her wine, she turns to one of her countrymen, making some remark that prompts him to laugh.

"Now now, not that kind of scandal, I would much rather do the gossiping than be the center of it," Sera assures Loryn with a grin until Aenyse's arrival snags her attention. Sera takes in the woman's grey attire and her lips pull back into a wide smile, "A kraken is in our midst, please, quench your savage thirst," she offers, snagging another from a passing wine tray before handing it over to Aenyse. "I'm Lady Sera Florent, cousin to the groom, and this is Lord Loryn Tyrell," she introduces. Catching sight of Quillian, she smiles and raises her cup, noting the little interaction between Mariya and Caelin near him.

The Florent and the Tyrell get a more firm nod. "Hello. And he makes his way to Valerity and Abram finally."Well, it is — you know. I'm spending a lot of time lately waiting to accomplish some necessarily things." Riderch tosses out an 'it's no big deal' sort of response to Valerity with a slight wave of his hand as he cradles his own drink in his other hand and raises it in the air in a toast, drinking a moment after. He's gotten a headstart, it seems. "It seemed fitting. Which is the best reason for anything, hmm?" The bride and groom 'blessed' by a faintly smiling Riverlord, he returns to eye the party at large. People-watching. And refreshment-watching.

"Ready to lose yourself in wine, Ser Quillian?" Sera adds at his approach.

Ainsley's progression towards her brother pauses as she catches sight of a woman in a kracken gown. She looks first at the design on the dress, then up to Aenyse's face for a beat, before turning her attention away and proceeding over to where Riderch greets the couple that must be the day's bride and groom. She steps into a space by his side though she doesn't, yet, announce herself in any other manner.

"Glad to see you here, Ser," Abram grins to Riderch as the Blackwood approaches. "Especially as you were present for the discussion that led me here," he adds with a merry chuckle and glance back to Valerity. "Did I ever tell you about that? The night before I called on the Hightower?" Dismissing the query himself after a moment, he whispers to her under his breath, "Quill looks occupied, Laurent is still outside and Viggo is still sober. I think we can risk socializing a bit- where to begin?"

"A small affair can be quite lovely and intimate. And I don't believe anyone might call Lady Valerity unadorned." Mariya gives Caelin a smile as she takes a sip of her wine. "Forgive me, no we have not. Princess Mariya Martell. A pleasure." As Ser Riderch moves to greet the groom and the bride, Mariya also gives a wave for him to join their small party once he has given his well wishes. "Ser Riderch, have you met Ser Caelin? I was about to see if I could find the rest of my group." Her group being the Dornish. "You, of course, may both join. Or I can leave you two to either make each other's acquaintance or catch up."

Aenyse does pause a moment - it was the mention of her name that snaps her attention to the Tyrell at first, before her dark eyes kinda narrow a bit upon the woman he speaks with. There was no smile on her lips to match Sera's own, but the woman does soften the sharper edges on her demeanor somewhat, her head inclining to the other. "Thank you, Lady Florent," she says, her tone perhaps a bit thick, certain syllables perhaps a bit slurred. Not as if drunk, more as if her tongue were a bit too thick for her mouth. Accepting the wine, she takes a sip at first, lips pursing tighter. "I've met Lord Tyrell - his house and mine are undergoing a business arrangement at the moment," says she, her attention stolen a bit by Tytos, her eyes flickering up and down the man first. "So they have. Betrothals are joyous times, and perhaps they should be honored by all," she says, eyes guarded.

When Loryn spots Quillian, his expression darkens for a moment, so he quickly focuses on his companions at hand again. At least to some extent, since his eyes are still following Ainsley whose identity is still unknown to him since Sera did not reply to his question. Everyone seems fascinated by the Greyjoy and he's quite proud that she is -his- guest of sorts. "I suggested she join this merry occasion to see how us southrons party.", he adds for Sera's benefit - and Tytos' when the man joins them.

"It seems to be a — an interesting, interesting…interesting tactic, Ser Abram. And in your case it had a result." Riderch says, after processing the groom's words. He winks, obviously. He seems a little bit rambling here but holding it together. Certainly he hasn't had enough here so far, so it's probably just some shade of awkwardness

He's not /quite/ done with them. He coughs a bit after snarfing his next sip of wine as he resumes wallflowering. Something catches his eye as he stands a bit on the toes of his boots. But, it's quite a crowd already and his cup is getting a little low, so back to the refreshment table for him. Every now and then he peeks outwards, squinting. Now it's in Ainsley's general direction but he hasn't done anything but look there with an obvious, curious intent. This activity is discarded for the time being as he starts refilling his cup again. That's a fine tablecloth laid out, too. He fingers it absently with his free hand.

Caelin inclines his head to the Dornish princess's comment. "That is certainly true." His lips quirk as he glances back to the bride. "An honor to make your acquaintance." He looks over as she waves at Riderch. "We have not, to my knowledge, met, no. It would be a pleasure to meet the rest of your group, my Lady." He nods to the Blackwood as Riderch approaches. If he approaches?

"I plan to lose myself in something, Lady Sera." Quillian states with a faint grin before he is taking up his cup, and taking a sip. "Thank the Seven, it was rather warm in that fucking sept." the knight babbles on before he is looking towards Tytos-and back towards the Kraken woman standing with them. A small look of surprise, now as sigil is noted and a bow of his head. "My apologies-I did not know we had a Lady of the Iron Isles with us." And so his free hand is offered in courtly fashion. "Ser Quillian Oakheart at your service."

Tytos sees that Aneys already has a glass and so looks a little silly holding two for a moment, since someone else seems to have beaten him to the punch he sips his own and continues, "That they should, I am Lord Tytos Ambrose, I have done much traveling and I can say there are no finer sailors then those from your lands, and no finer boats. Are you staying in Oldtown long?"

Valerity's dark, dramatic eyebrows creep up as Abram mentions the meeting that 'brought him' to this day. "No," she drawls to her husband, dryly. "I don't think you ever did. Were the bonds of matrimony shackled upon me by a committee?" She glances at Mariya, giving the Dornish princess a smile, but not suggesting they start there. Greeting and thanking her Dornish guests will likely be a thing the bride undertakes when she and her husband begin circulating independently. Then she blinks, tilting her head curiously. "Did we invite the Ironborn?"

Perhaps Ainsley should not have expected subtlety to work. Not with a brother like hers. Puffing out a small breath and smiling faintly, she closes the gap between herself and Riderch as the Blackwood heir starts on pouring another glass of wine. She waits until he's finished that task, at least, before she reaches a slender-fingered hand out to touch his arm lightly. "Hello, brother."

Next to join the party, fashionably late, is a markedly tall man resplendent in loosely flowing Dornish silks dyed the vibrant orange of a desert sunrise and accented with ornate stitching forming crimson sunbursts— a stylization of the Martell crest, for those who would know. He wears a similarly fine long bladed dagger trimmed in golden fittings easily on his right hip, and carries a mysterious bottle made of thick, dark glass tucked under his left arm.

Prince Alaryn Martell makes his way along the stoney path towards his sister, easily picking Mariya out of the crowd as dark eyes readily and politely— if intently— scan those gathered. "So many Sers." Aryn observes, as if musing to himself whilst arching both brows as he comes up on the tail end of Mariya's introductions; it's initially unclear how much he caught. "Sers." He echoes, inclining his head politely towards one man, then the next. "Ladies."

"Do the Ironborn ever need an invitation?" Abram wonders back at Valerity with an easy shrug. The talk of shackles and committees draws a crooked grin. "No, I'd already resolved to win you, the committee was consulted to determine the best method of stealing you for myself. I recall it being a very lively discussion," he asides.

In fact, the Riverlander did catch Caelin's nod in passing and returns one himself. Another time and place, without so much going on, Riderch might be a very different person. But he's not near Quillian or his new accquaintance, thus this entire place is spared some blustering. What does happen though, is notable. It's that voice. It takes him but a moment, as he's set his cup down under the keg tap, and then his hand jumps, sending cup splashing on the ground, along with another next to it, with an audible, piercing clang. It's noisy, and his boots are suddenly covered in wine. Congratulations, we've had our first party foul.

The second is an entirely inappropriate outburst for such an august gathering. Riderch wheels about right now, his eyes widened in surprise and his mouth hangs open, before he busts into the widest grin he can possibly paint on his face, seeing Ainsley before him. "FEATHERHEAD!!!" It's a louder sound now, that escapes his mouth, as he lunges forward towards her, arms stretched out in a ridiculous hug.

All in all, Aenyse felt like an awkward curiousity more than anything right now. And for every compliment - that seemed to heighten the suspicion on her features just a little more, the corner of her lip turning down into a bit of a frown. All in all, she pauses, her thumb drawn along the edge of the cup that Sera had given her, trying to keep any malice from her eyes as she looks back to Loryn.

She succeeded. Mostly.

"Ser Oakheart," she says, her tone drawn a step or two down, her eyes shifting to Quillian then. "It is a pleasure to meet you, and I hope that this day finds you well," she says, shifting the cup to one hand as she reaches out a hand to touch his own. "I am staying here for some time," says Aenyse to Tytos then, turning her attention his way.

"We have many ladies, Ser Quillian, don't overextend yourself too early," Sera offers the man in a mock serious tone before she looks back to Aenyse, "Lady Florent is my aunt, as fortunate as that is, I am merely Lady Sera; a simple title but a title I hold to well enough." She is about to say something when the loud clang of the cup causes the poor woman to jump a mile high, nearly spilling her own drink as her head whips towards Riderch and 'Featherhead'. What.

As Riderch moves past them and then moves to fondle a tablecloth, Mariya opens her mouth and then shuts it again. "I believe he might have already had a bit too much merriment," she confides to Caelin softly, finally giving a genuine laugh. This is only confirmed at Riderch's loud outburst, causing her to laugh even harder. As Alaryn approaches, she straightens, the laugh turning into a grin. "Aly! I was not sure if you would come." Though, with free wine and a party, it seems likely that he would. "Have you seen Lady Alaeyna? I thought I saw her in the crowd, but I have yet to actually walk about." Standing on her tiptoes, the short Dornishwoman attempts to seek out her other friend. She catches out Valerity's glance and smile, returning it with a small wave of her own. Absently, she adds for Caelin's benefit, "This is my brother, Prince Alaryn,"

"Steal me for yourself," Valerity echoes, glancing at Abram, dimples deep. "That makes you sound — somewhat appealingly piratical. I — " she jumps a little as Riderch shouts and attempts to crush a petite brunette to death. With joy, though, so that's all right. "Oh! My. He looks happy? Who is she?"

A malicious look at him, wha? Loryn is confused now and a little bit worried. No one wants a Greyjoy mad at them. He watches the Featherhead outburst and the hug - which doesn't really enlighten him on the lady's identity but provides him with an excuse to flee. "Lady Sera, once the dancing begins, I hope I will have the honor of your first dance.", he tells the Florent, then bows a little to Aenyse. "Do enjoy our little feast, Mylady." Then he wanders over to Riderch and the 'Featherhead' to greet them both with a bow and a smile. "Lord Riderch, what a pleasure to see you. Mylady?" He looks at Ainsley curiously.

There is a small wince from Ainsley as the cups clang to the ground, and a slight lift of her skirts to spare the hems the same fate as Riderch's poor shoes. But she smiles warmly up at her brother as he shouts and just as happily flings herself into those so-wide arms lunging in for a hug. She laughs as her own arms loop around his neck and she pecks a kiss to his cheek. "Are you glad to see me, then? I was worried I might be intruding, paying you a visit."

"Do you, I wish your cousin had told me, I would have sought his house before ever being tied to A Blackmont." Quillian offers with a faint smile. Given that he is chatting around with Loryn and his companions, it is highly unlikely that he notices Johanna right now. Another sip of his wine before he is oggering a smile enough to Aeynse. Hand touched and head bowed-at least he doesn't scrape lips over knuckles, rather it's all part of the show of nobility before he releases. "I've never met anyone actually from the Iron Isles, not aside from a sword point-so this is a bit of a pleasure." he adds warmly enough, though warmth is not something that exactly exudes from Quillian Oakheart. As she turns to talk to Tyos, Quill is now looking back to where the Dornish have aligned themselves and takes but another sip.


"Another Ser, I'm afraid. Caelin Florent. A pleasure to meet you, Prince Alaryn." Caelin offers the Dornishman a stiff but polite bow, the taller Florent's shoulders tensing at the dropped wine glass, but smoothing quickly. "Well. I suppose it's not a wedding without some shattered glasses."

Alaeyna happens to slink through the crowd and plant herself at Mariya's side around about the time her name is invoked, like the princess has the very power to summon her out of thin air. "Hello, Princess. You look lovely," she greets Mariya, offering the girl a kiss to each cheek. Turning her gaze on the Dornishman standing alongside, she marvels, "Prince Alaryn, I thought that was you. Your naughty sisters didn't think to tell me we'd have the pleasure of your company during our stay in Oldtown. You're a sight for homesick eyes."

Tytos waits for a few extra seconds holding his two glasses and letting the question to the greyjoy hang there as she stares daggers at Loryn after seeing no response for a few heartbeats he asks one more time, "M'lady are you in old town long?" maybe trying to draw her away from whatever has her ire.

Abram winks to Valerity at her first words, before turning his eye toward 'Featherhead'. "Well, if the ravens on red are any clue, she is one Blackwood or another, but I'm not sure which one. Riderch isn't married, so.. A sister or cousin, I think?" he huesses, drawing a second draught of the silver chalice, as eyes go from Blackwoods back to bride. "Would my lady like a dance?" he wonders.

The bride's got a fair point here as Riderch is indeed looking pleased here. At least at first, eyeing the girl with him with a certain warm mirth, which then sort of dissolves into a bit of abashment. As he notices the mess he made. "Ancestors, — pffft! I am sorry." He then looks about, with an even deeper color in his cheeks. "We'll get that cleaned, and you're not intruding anywhere. You came here? How'd —" He waves his left hand, dismissing the question before he finishes it or indeed receives a response. "You can see, I need a little bit of help in this place with these…fine people."

He takes note of Loryn. "Hullo, Lord Tyrell." At his approach. "I'm sure it is." He's still got a goofy sort of smile on his face and he looks between the Tyrell and Ainsley tentatively. "Oh — This is my sister." He pauses. He seems to be waiting on her to see if she will introduce herself.

Valerity's smile shows a hint of warmth and approval at the little Blackwood family reunion. "How nice for him." Then, at the offer of dancing, she places a hand alongside Abram's jaw and kisses him full on the mouth. "Dance me, darling."

"Ser Caelin. You host a lovely party." Alaryn offers cordially and gracefully extends the bottle under his arm with a flourish and offering it over to the Florent knight, "For the lucky couple. Wine seems to be a theme, today." A Dornish red of such vintage has aged long and richly, and tends to make lesser wines appear most watered down; particularly after a couple glasses. If they don't like it? Someone near enough to the wedding party for Aryn's conscience certainly will. An amused glance takes in the nearby excitement as he inquires of his sister, "Enjoying yourself, Mari?" He plucks a glass of wine off a passing tray and smiles to Alaeyna, "Lady Alaeyna. You know how I adore surprises." Before offering a hand to the Dornishwoman, and a kiss to her hand.

Ainsley's hand lifts and flicks the air as Riderch looks briefly abashed at the mess he made. "Oh, really, it's nothing. It's a wedding, there will be far worse spilled before the revelry is done." But her eyes light up and her hands clasp quickly together as her brother confesses he needs a little help in Oldtown. "Oh, do you? That's wonderful, I was hoping I could stay longer than just a brief visit. But we can sort all of that out later." She smoothes her hands quickly over her gown once the hugging stops, and then she offers a dainty curtsey to Loryn Tyrell. "My lord," she greets politely. "Lady Ainsley Blackwood. How do you do?"

Tytos waits for a few extra seconds holding his two glasses and letting the question to the greyjoy hang there as she stares daggers at Loryn. When Aenyse turns his way he smiles "Good then, perhaps we might discuss any traveling you have done sometime, I do assume you have done some traveling at some point? I always enjoy a good adventure story."

Loryn smiles warmly at Riderch and the young lady, bowing deeply, pleased to finally have a name to put to a pretty face "Lady Ainsley, what a pleasure to receive you here in Oldtown. Have you come to spend some time with your brother or are you just here for the wedding? Quite a lovely wedding, wasn't it? And the Florents sure know how to party."

"I've been on a boat for some time, so perhaps I might have a tale or two that might interest you," says Aenyse, a note of wryness in her tone as she speaks to Tytos. But it was the note of nobile gesture from Quillian that seems to steal the majority of her attention away for a moment, softening her expression from whatever malice might have leaked into it before. "I've met a fair few from the Riverlands," she responds to the knight. "At least, there are always some who hail from there on the Islands proper," she adds. "I've always marveled at what it must be like to grow up admist all that green, and bounty." Another moment, and her eyes return to Sera. "Lady Sera, then," she says, inclining her head to the woman. "Thank you for your kindness."

"Oh, I know. I know!" Riderch counters to his sister first and foremost. "I just regret that you're among my victims." With a wrinkle of his nose, he actually lets Loryn's question hang in the air with a pensive arc of his brow. It may be that he is wondering too. And he idly reaches for a refill after picking up the discarded cups. "You can stay with me as long as you like. I'll — oh, father sent me Jorah." He begins. "I'll even make him wear a bloody shirt. He might listen for you. He doesn't for some other people." This is all tossed at Ainsley in rapid-fire, before giving Loryn a flat look with a continuing smile.

"They do spare no expense. Ser Abram looks like a happy man right now. That's the look of a victor, eh?"

"A very lovely wedding," Ainsley agrees, rather than admitting she saw nothing of the actual ceremony, "though I confide that I know nothing of the bride or groom. No, my lord, I've come to see my brother for as long as he's pleased to have my company." For the Florents knowing how to party, she smiles softly. "Certainly, this is one of the most diverse group of guests I've ever witnessed at such a celebration. Let us hope somebody thought to water the wine." Then she blinks over at her brother, delicate brows lifting. "Father sent… He won't wear… well. Well, I see."

Abram returns Valerity's kiss firmly, before breaking back to call with a ready smile, "Music! Strike up a song to dance by!" he voices to the musicians over the din of conversation and casual smalltalk. Taking his bride by the hand the pair of Florents step toward the center of the garden while minstrels and harpers comply with a lively melody. His hand shifts to guide the bride's hand from his arm to his shoulder, as Abram settles her second hand in his, and his second to rest above her hip, on the shockingly (to the non-Dornish present) bare skin of her waist. Without further trepidation or ado, he draws her into the circling steps of a traditional court dance of the Reach.

As Alaeyna appears at her elbow, Mariya almost jumps, eyes focused further into the party. Startled into present company, she rocks back from her tip-toes to her heels quite suddenly. "Lady Alaeyna," she smiles after a moment of recovery, accepting the kisses. "You look lovely as well. It seems as if it is already shaping up to be quite a party. Perhaps even up to our standards." The Dornish standards, that is. "I am. It is good to see a friend happy," she replies to Alaryn as she takes a sip of wine.

"Speaking of stories while at sea," Sera suddenly murmurs as she perks up and looks towards Aenyse and Tytos, "Have either of you heard what has happened at sea? I was at a…well nevermind where I was, when I overhead some folks speak of a Costayne ship being found with everyone on board killed…A truly fascinating story but that was all I could hear. Odd, isn't it?" And slowly her eyes slide over towards Riderch, Loryn and Ainsley.

"And now you know some from the Reach. Though my Kin have an unsteady truce as all do with your homelands, please do not take that as hate or malice. In fact I like your kind a fair shade more than some here." A half grin there. "I must mingle lady," this said to Aenyse after Quillian has another pull from his wine. "But, I do hope to run into you again over the course of the party." Grin genuine, before he is breaking away with cup in hand. Now taking his time to stroll over towards where Prince Alaryn, the Princess and others of Dornish descent have bandied themselves together.

And soon enough Quillian is wading into the viper's pit or lion's den. Whichever is appropriate, as he inclines his head first to Alaryn. "Prince." Always guess prince before anything when dealing with Dornish. "I do not think we've met.." and there his hand is out. It will have to be seen if Quillian sees a snub. "Ser Quillian Oakheart." Though his eyes are looking for someone in particular amongst the Dornish.

Caelin accepts the bottle with a gracious bow. He tucks it under his arm in turn, in such a way that it is both protected and hidden from view, particularly from the bride and any of her kin. No need for any heated debates over the merits of House Redwyne's vineyards and those of Dorne. "I wish I could take credit, but alas, that belongs to my dear cousin, Lady Sera Florent." He nods slightly in her direction. He blinks, also surprised at Alaeyna's sudden appearance as he turns, offering an apologetic bow. "Forgive me, my lady. I did not notice your approach. Ser Caelin Florent." He offers by way of introduction.

"I see, well, I hope you will be a guest at Garden Isle sometime, Mylady.", Loryn invites Ainsley, including Riderch as well. "You all of course. Now if you'd excuse me…" He bows again, curiosity satisfied for now, and returns to where he left Sera earlier, finding her still with Tytos and Aenyse. "What have I missed?", he asks chirpily.

Caelin's shoulders subtly but visibly tense, however, at Quillian's approach.

Tytos finishes off his first drink getting rid of the glass he then turns to the other one. "Well if you have time sometime, M'lady please don't hesitate to look me up, anytime." He raises his glass toward Miss Greyjoy, then begins scanning the crowd to decide where to go next.

"Surely." —This is delivered to Loryn politely enough. "Thank you for the invitation." Nothing's putting a severe dent in that off-kilter smile here as he produces two cups. "This wine isn't watered. Steady yourself!" Now this is to Ainsley. He gives her a querying arch of his brow at 'we'll see' but doesn't further question or elaborate for now. He then leans in to murmur something to Ainsley very, very quietly as he hands her a cup. And then he cackles. It's a little bit of a coarse laugh.

Abram braves the dance floor with his newlywed wife, and said wife follows, the glistening, trailing veil of her Dornish-inspired finery draped over her arm. She's the better dancer, by far, but there are seldom moments that show it — she guides and corrects for him subtly when there's a misstep, so that to all but the most discerning eyes the couple is evenly and gracefully matched. And whatever their individual (or mutual) expertise in dancing, they look happy — really, sort of ridiculously, happy — to be there together.

"At least it's a happy one," Alaeyna says of surprises as the Martell prince as he kisses her hand, favoring him with a smile. The Dornish strongwine Alaryn offers to the Florent knight is tracked with a longing stare and an idle sip of the wine in her cup, and then Alaeyna gives Caelin himself a once-over as he introduces himself. "You're far too pretty not to forgive, Ser Caelin," she assures him, at mention of an apology. "House Fowler extends its well wishes to your kin and his bride. I have a gift, also, but it's a touch scandalous and best kept in its box until night falls and the couple find themselves alone at last." With no further explanation of what it might be, she tells him, "My name is Alaeyna." At the approach of the Oakheart knight, she turns herself in Mariya's direction, offering him her back in pointed disregard.

Sera's statement suddenly grabs Riderch's attention and he suddenly stands a bit at attention and that grin fades, somewhat. He gives her a flat glance. "There was nothing fascinating about it, Lady —" He blinks at the redhead. "Normally I'd say it was Ironborn going a little off the leash. But that did not look like their work."

Far from taking offense at being called Miss Greyjoy, Aenyse simply inclines her head to the man as he raises one of his glasses to her, Aenyse lifting her own glass to him. "Well met," she says then. "And likewise," she says, the softness of her voice not quite reaching her eyes. "It was excellent to meet with you," she says, her eyes settling on Loryn as he returns. But it was to Sera that she speaks first, "I did hear of it, but…" she begins, as Riderch chimes in. Eyes darkening a touch further, she turns her gaze towards the man, drawing her fingertip along the edges of her cup with a little more violence. But after a moment's consideration, she glances back towards Loryn. "You did not miss much," she admits. "But I think I am going to offer my well-wishes to the bride and groom, and take my leave," she says then. "Southron parties are far too…" her eyes narrow a bit. "…vibrant for me, perhaps."

Mariya notices Quillian's approach, straightening as he introduces himself to her brother. She glances warily at Alaryn, but decides the best way to deal with the Blackrood is to ignore him. "She did quite a lovely job." Alaeyna's explanation of her present gets a bit of a raised eyebrow, curious as to what the gift may contain. "Or perhaps it should be opened. I think Lady Valerity would enjoy shocking her guests." She did, after all, invite all of the Dornish to her wedding.

Abram looks up with a ready smile, pulling eyes off his bride to call toward the partygoers, "Is there no other man here with the courage to ask a lady for a dance?" he challenges with a laugh in his voice, as the knight's regard goes back the the laughing lady in his arms.

Ainsley accepts the wine from her brother and listens to his murmured words. She has a soft laugh herself before taking a sip from her goblet. "Well, that was a little crass, wasn't it?" She muses quietly, still sounding more bemused than offended. "He could have at least pretended to be interested in conversing after he found out who I was instead of darting off like that." Her free hand lifts and flicks again, dismissing the complaint. "But now, tell me. Who are your friends among all these people? Who should I meet?"

At Riderch's flat glance, Sera arches her red brows. "Yes it is fascinating, fascination does not always equate to approval, Ser Riderch. It's alright, no one is-…" And then she stops as Aenyse turns to the Riverlander as well. Sera politely steps out of the conversation for the moment as she takes a long sip of her drink, flashing Loryn a look as she cants her head in the water people's direction. When Aenyse makes her move to leave, Sera perks back into the conversation. "But it's quite early! Surely you need at least three more glasses of wine. It would be scandalous to leave sober."

Tytos pauses as he hears Sera's question and frowns, "All hands list but the boat was found? Doubt that would be Ironborn, they would have sank the ship, or took it home. Slavers wouldn't have bothered killing everyone. It sounds more like Plague then anything else. Or someone on board went mad."

Caelin's brows raise at the Dornish noblewoman's words, almost threatening to flush as he inclines his head to Alaeyna. "Thank you for honoring his wedding day with your presence, my Lady. And, for your discretion." His lips quirk. "A pleasure to meet you both. My lady, Princess." He nods also to Mariya, the Black Fox turning neatly on his heel and moving discretely to intercept Quillian, if such a thing can be done. "Ser Quillian. I don't believe we've been formally introduced, but I've heard much of you from my cousin."

"Ah. But I do know who you are." Alaryn sounds less than particularly awed by the reputation of the Blackrood, for one reason or any number of others. For his part, the lesser scion of Nymeros Martell is not known as the Crimson Raptor because he looks splendid in red, but for the bloody and precise swath he cut in some of those same wars. They must have just missed each other— more's the pity. "Alaryn Martell." He fills in after the hanging Prince. "Consider it a sign of the times we drink together." He offers in compromise, lifting his wineglass with an even stare locked on Ser Oakheart. For the moment, the study of the Blackrood dominates his time— little more than a cursory smile is offered to the indicated party-planner, or other smalltalk.

Loryn looks surprised at Aenyse's words and would just nod, but there's Sera talking already and he chuckles. "The lady's quite right, Lady Aenyse. Have a few more drinks and make merry!" He watches the groom lead the bride into a first dance and tilts his head at Sera with a little grin. "Could I entice you away from sober talks of mysterious ships and claim my dance now, Lady Sera?" He bows deeply - a little exaggerated even - and extends a hand to her.

Having acquired a drink, Johanna circles the celebration, sticking largely to the fringes of the gathering until she nears the place that Riderch stands with his sister. She doesn't barge in on the conversation, lingering back at a respectable enough distance to listen without quite intruding.

"Do you?" Quillian quips before he is chuckling, and it slows as the name is heard. A nod given even as his smile remains. "That is a name I know of well, the Crimson Raptor of Dorne. A splendid title, Prince." he adds. "And indeed a pity, it seems the fates or sevens had us miss one another during that action. I am sure though, it would have been a wonderful fight." A high praise in the Blackrood's view. "Indeed. And likely, I doubt we will share such words again. Still it is an honor." and it is meant before he bows his head and turns to look, but once towards the couple dancing. " Soon, we'll be considered relics." a kiss of his teeth. "By gone war of by gone times. Enjoy your drink, Prince Alaryn. If you will excuse me."

Once Alaryn has been properly welcomed, which in Quillian's case means a polite word, before shaking hands he is turning in his direction back over towards Mariya, who is doing her best to ignore his approach, as it seems is Alaeyna. Both get an amused smirk, before he is stepping to the side of the Fowler lady and with that his hand comes out. "Princess Mariya.." Quillian intones. "If you do not mind, I would have the honor of this dance?" The invitation lobbed out, though there's no bold smirk to follow, nothing but a raised brow and indeed offered hand.

Arrick Gargalen arrived quietly alongside Princess Mariya and hasn't let her out of his sight since they walked through the front gate. Behind the ring of a strongwine-filled goblet Ser Arrick's eyes have been sharply investigating every man, woman and ReachCreature that has approached the youngest Martell Princess. He's here to get drunk and be Dornish and oh yeah, watch out for trouble most importantly.

At the sight of the Blackrood cutting through the the garden, Arrick springs forth, to the side of his Princess and he says rather quickly as he overhears the offer of a dance, "Ahh Princess Mariya, will you be…" Arrick sidles up to Ser Quillian and looks over his offered hand finishing as he offers his own, "Giving me that dance you promised when we arrived?"

Caelin steps discretely in the way of Quillian as he moves to Mariya's side. If the Lord of the Manor isn't shoved aside, he'll bow, slightly, offering his hand to the other Reachman, "Ser Quillian." He repeats, all polite smiles, courteous. "If I could steal you a moment. My cousin has told me much and I've been very eager to make your acquaintance."

"Mostly the fighting men. I mean the real fighting men. Ser Abram..Ser Quillian." He seems to be tentative about this. "I don't really know the ladies." Riderch says as the drink is handed over towards Ainsley. The issue with the complaint is indeed shrugged off by him as well. The man is clearly a little bit inebriated and trying to hold together several things at once. He's still got enough of his wits about him to know who's who. And oooh.

"Ahem. Well then." Was /that/ a look towards the Iron Islander over there? He hadn't noticed her, but there was a lot going on. He then turns back to Sera. "I am sorry. You see, I didn't expect someone I knew so well. But that ship — we turned it over to Lord Hightower's fleet for safekeeping and study. The bodies returned to their lands. And the boy went to the Princess." He flashes his teeth in a neat smile. He actually hasn't formally been introduced. "You are Ser Abram's sister, right?" There's still that look towards Aenyse. It's not insulting, but his eyes are widening a bit. Ever so slightly. He glances about the party to scan the crowd.

"Should I live to see the day when such men as you, or I…" a subtle distinction, but perhaps a very intentional one is made in the Martell scion's measured, evenly-toned reply, the more exotic notes touching his Dornish accent more apparent when the words soften. ".. are no longer necessary, I think I should retire a happy man to a mountain home and sip nectar all night in a spring-fed pool." Anyone who's seen Alaryn fight can attest to his fervour and alleged bloodthirst, so this is perhaps saying something indeed. "Though yes, I'm sure there would have been several songs." There's a reserved, dangerously whimsical smile that ghosts across the Dornishman's face as he leaves the Blackrood to his sister, stepping back to listen to the music and scan those gathered or dancing to it anew as he savors the offered wine pensively.

Valerity leans up to whisper to Abram as they dance, trailing intimate fingertips across his chest and around his back as the ladies circle the lords. She glances out at her guests as she does so, though it's hard to mark any particular case within the lively crowd. There's no frank blood on anyone, but so many people are dressed in dark colors. Maybe that's why they set out all the pristine white tablecloths. Stabbing at table two!

Valerity whispers, "How long until they strip us down and carry us off to bed — or is that only country weddings, anymore?"
Abram whispers in return, "Whenever my Lady likes. I promise not to be offended if your friend stays away from me," he adds with a fresh crooked smile.

Make merry. Aenyse briefly wondered how much of a scandal it would be if she /did/ allow herself to get drunk to drink. There wasn't verbal acceptance of the offers to stay - but Aenyse did offer a nod as grim as anything to both Sera and Loryn both. "Thank you both for your kindness," she says.

There was a lot going on, and Aenyse starts moving through the party, lingering nearish Riderch. "Odd that we are idly wondering if the Ironborn would break the Kings Peace or not," she says, "…as opposed to plague being the first thing coming to mind." she states, the chain of Dornish make around her neck perhaps catching the light.

Ainsley is quiet now, sipping her wine and listening, rather than saying anything further. If this is the first she's heard of a ship full of the dead, she offers no comment or question.

"Lady Sera Florent, I am his cousin actually, as well as Ser Caelin's," Sera replies to Riderch as she nods in the direction of Caelin, "I just remember you at the tourney, kind of hard to forget the joust with Ser Fulk." When Loryn asks her for a dance, Sera blinks at him, giving him a 'but..but…' look before as she glances back at her previous conversation. But, duty calls, and so Sera takes another very long drink, finishing her cup with relish before placing it back on a passing tray. She places her hand in Loryn's, accepting the offer as they move to join the bride and groom in dance.

Alaeyna is a statuesque spectator to the tidal wave of activity Ser Quillian prompts with his approach, and though she offers the Martell prince the solidarity of her attentive stare when he addresses the Blackrood, her gaze does not hazard to tread on the man himself. Not until he extends a hand in Mariya's direction, prompting her stare to cut his way like a knife. She stands aside as Arrick dives in to cut him off at the pass, moving to the prince's side to watch whatever is next to unfold over her cup of wine.

Loryn nods to Aenyse, not really caring anymore whether she stays or not, now that he has Sera's hand in his. Smiling quite happily, he leads her towards the dance floor and into a dance. "You look truly wonderful tonight, Mylady.", he assures her with a warm smile.

Despite ignoring Quillian, Mariya can still see his form out of the corner of her eye. So, it is not exactly a surprise when she finds him by Alaeyna. However, his offer of a dance is something surprising. However, before she can respond, Caelin is intercepting Quillian in an attempt to move him away and Arrick is also offering a dance. Her response is, "It seems you have other obligations to attend to," she tells Quillian coldly. "And I am taken for this dance."

Tytos watches as couples begin heading out he pauses and then finishes off his second drink and makes a point to return to where Aenyse is standing, "M'lady, would you care to dance?" He offers a hand and a wry smile, "I think I can remember a few of these steps?"

Sera can't help the smile at Loryn's compliment, dipping her head as she flicks her eyes towards him. "Thank you, my lord. As do you. A rose among daisies." As they dance she is light on her feet. While she isn't the best dancer, Sera is still well practiced and graceful on her feet, her movements aided by the wine she had consumed earlier.

At Alaryn's side, Alaeyna tilts her head toward him, murmuring something sotto voce for his benefit, no doubt prompted by Mariya's rebuff of the Oakheart knight.

"A pity." Quillian replies with a smile all the same towards Mariya. "Allow me then this courtesy then before, all your white knights steal you to the dance floor." And promptly He steps in a bit closer, as one hand moves to just barely shepherd the Princess away. And then, but only to lean and whisper a few words. The conversation would be quick and concise, before he would smooth his hand to her arm, if only to direct it towards Arrick "Enjoy your dance, Ser." He says before turning to Address Caelin

"I don't think, I will let you. Not today, Ser Caelin, but soon enough." This given before he is looking over his shoulder. "Though if you wish to talk, I suspect my sister would be a finer conversation partner than not, and she is a fair dancer." And like that he's turning back to the other two remaining Dornish. "I for myself will search for a dance, even if it is a tete a tete with the Prince himself."

"Well, if you ask a blind man if it's nighttime or not, sometimes he will be right." Aenyse gets a curious inclination of Riderch's head. It's not necessarily on the nasty side, but it is a bit measured. "Fortunately, not enough was stolen in that little murder spree for it to make sense, and I don't recall any particular House that has a plain blood-red sigil. Which is what the survivor recalled. So I am confident that it is not nighttime, Lady…" The Riverlander delivers to Aenyse politely now, with an inclination of his head. Even if he did backhandedly accuse her people of being thieves. It's the little things that get you.

To Sera — "Oh, I was unaware. I have trouble keeping some of the people here straight. It is a pleasure." The older Blackwood has now regained his full sense of tipsy composure. A sidelong glance is darted to his sister indicating something after noting her expression and — Oh HEY! Johanna gets a wave, as he beckons her over. "Lady Johanna Oakheart." He provides Aine brief introduction as he indicates her. It's a bit more relaxed and familiar.

As Arrick's hand is taken, the Dornish knight throws a wink towards Ser Quillian as he gently begins leading the Princess towards the music. After a short walk the knight lets go of the youngest Martell's hand and then leans in and whispers over the crowd and music, "Well, I managed to get you away from that thing." Arrick smiles at Mariya and adds as he leans back, "I guess we must dance now." Arrick uses his head to motion towards the lines of other couples and asks, "Shall we?"

Valerity tilts her head to catch her husband's reply on another turn, choke-snerking a somewhat unladylike laugh, quite off-guard. She raises an eyebrow at him, cheeks pink. She places her hands on his shoulders as the lords lift the ladies in a twirl, making her reply as he sets her lightly down again.
Valerity whispers, "Might we not simply… depart our guests with civil thanks and good wishes? I fear I am not the sort of giggling, blushing lady to make such a ritual… fun for our guests."
Abram whispers, “Come now, what sounds more fun: having this gorgeous gown ripped off your naked body by a crowd of strangers, or having it dragged off by me in our bedchambers?" The question is let stand a moment, before he adds, "You know, when I say it aloud, it sounds like a rather silly choice.”

The Raptor of Dorne leans in towards the whisper and then tilts his head to answer it, a wry smile playing across his lips as he murmurs back to Alaeyna, and watches Arrick escort his sister to the dancefloor. Alaryn quickly rights himself to sip more deeply at the wine, and it helps to stabilize the amused, even expression that greets Quillian's return. "I refuse your hand, so you seek a dance? I suppose one has to admire a man who is turned down for a stag and asks instead for twin dragons." There's a moment's chuckle, and another sip of wine alongside a renewed study of the Blackrood. "Lady Alaeyna can speak for herself, but a piece of advice, Reachman… part of the joy is enthusiastic consent." The grin that accompanies the refusal is similarly polite, but without much warm substance.

"Ser Riderch Blackwood," Johanna replies, lifting her nearly empty glass in the Knight's direction, rather than waving. Her gaze goes to the gaggle of Dornish and her brother, that sight earning yet another frown, but all such displeasing sights are dismissed as she shifts her attention to the Blackwood siblings.

Aenyse pauses a handful of moments, taking a long moment to regard Riderch. The puzzle of words that the man gives her causes her brows to knit together briefly, replacing, perhaps, the tightness of restraint in her face with a tightness of brief confusion. There was a moment where her features just soften back towards the normal, her chin dipping forward - eyes searching out Riderch's if the man keeps his gaze on hers. It didn't matter if he were right to suspect the Ironborn of being thieves.

But there was a small nod of Aenyse's head regardless. "And if night does fall… it may be best not to be caught in places one shouldn't be," she says then, her tone darkening a touch. "Lord…?" she says, her voice trailing off, eyebrows lifting as if she were expecting him to fill in the blanks there. What might save Riderch from answering would be Tytos. The man approaches her, and Aenyse's attention switches towards him. There was a tension in her shoulders and a lingering narrowing of her eyes that said 'fuck off', even if she closes her eyes, draws a breath out for composure, and says instead, "…you do me honor with your request," she says, her voice still caught in that thick tone. "…but I will have to decline for now. There is… a problem with my boot that prevents my dancing, or I would be glad to," she says.

Among the dancers, lords and ladies step apart, take a turn with their neighbor, then return to their partner. It's then that Valerity has an answer from her husband in whatever discussion they've ongoing. And whatever answer that may be, it pleases her well enough that she leans up to kiss him — ardently, passionately, in front of everyone and whatever gods you choose. There's no dancing for the wedded couple, just now. That is to say, at least their feet remain still… and will for a few moments, yet.

Ainsley blinks as her brother shouts again, looking over in the direction he calls. Well, no mystery as to that lady's name, then. She smiles and curtsey's. "Lady Johanna, hello. I am Lady Ainsley Blackwood, Riderch's sister. How do you do?"

Caelin is trying to play discrete interference, but an insistent Oakheart is hard to discourage, apparently. The Black Fox watches tensely, shoulders showing a bit of relief as the altercation, such as it is, doesn't seem to be leading to bloodshed, at least. He nods politely to the Blackrood. "Another time, then, Ser."

"Riderch Blackwood. And one of the worst qualities I inheirited from my mother was to be in precisely the wrong place at the wrong time." The so-named Blackwood tosses a response to Aenyse with an actual bow of his head, flashing his teeth at her response. He actually seems amused. Even if his oh-so-short hair is clearly standing on end, here. He's looking at her the way the Dornish and the Oakhearts are looking at each other. And Tytos probably saves him from a greater, and more grumpy exchange of words.

Jo is beckoned over though as he introduces the two women, and adds after Ainsley's words, "The sister who I had precisely no idea was here until a few moments ago." He takes another stiff drink from his cup and — oh look, it's almost empty again. Frown.

"Indeed." Quillian replies back towards Caelin before he's grinning back towards Alaryn and he grins, apparently whatever amused look the Prince was trying to hide-Quillian doesn't even bother with. "You'd think I was here to murder everyone." he notes before rolling his shoulders. "Alas, you look like you cut a fine gib, Prince. Perhaps another time." And with that a brow raises to Alaeyna as the offer is still there for her. "I promise you Lady, I only believe in mutual stabbing." he jests before grinning back towards the Prince. "Nothing is fun if taken by force." He's not some Lannister Bannerman here.

Tytos smiles and in a perfectly normal and eloquent tone speaks quietly, pitching his voice low and conversationally, "perhaps you can give me the name of your bootmaker, so I can see about having him flogged for denying me the pleasure of your company on the dance floor, and perhaps you will grant me the boon of a dance the next time we find ourselves at one of these gatherings?"

"Nice to meet you too, Lady Ainsley," Johanna replies, though only after polishing off her drink and passing off her glass to a servant. The complaint, it if it can be called that, from Riderch earns an amused sound and look from the Oakheart Lady. "I've found it hardly matters if I tell my brother that I'm going to be anywhere if I do it by letter. He never bothered to read the letter I sent him that told him I was coming, so I was a surprise anyway. I say she just saved herself the time, she knew you'd be happy to see her." She slants a look Ainsley's way. "Right?"

The courtesy of Quillian's words are given and Mariya's eyebrows furrow as she listens to him. She says nothing in reply as he directs her back to Arrick, only giving him a confused look, mixed with plain distrust. However, then she takes the Dornish knight's hand and is led to the dance floor, still mulling over what she just heard. "Yes," she says distractedly, then gives a quick, clearing shake of her head and smiles at him. More firmly, she repeats with a smile, "Yes, it would be horribly rude if we didn't. Let's."

Alaeyna offers a laugh when Alaryn remarks on Quillian's tenacity, and it's so good humored as to briefly mask the baleful disdain with which she otherwise regards the knight, not being quite so talented as her Martell betters in the art of diplomacy. She wears her scorn on her sleeve, and the very idea of dancing with the Blackrood has her devastating what's left of her cup of wine with a single, deep draught. Passing the cup off to a servant, she fixes the Oakheart man in her sights, her feral Dornish glare glittering at the mention of stabbing. "I should like nothing half so much as burying a blade in you, ser. How well do you think you might dance with a knife at your throat?" Her tone is musical, laced with sudden amusement.

Abram kisses Valerity in the center of the garden for a long moment as the nobles in their finery turn and dance- or banter and barb- around them. The first lively song plays through its final strains and the musicians seamlessly bridge into another number to encourage the revelry to continue now that it has begun. The long kiss finally breaks, well on the far side of public propriety, and Abram half turns back toward the house, once again guiding his wife's hand to rest upon his arm as they retire from the dancing floor. Stepping toward the house, and passing Arrick and Mariya in their course, the Florent gentleman dips his head to the pair of Dornishfolk, adding a merry flourish of his free hand to the motion. The bride and groom pass into the manse proper to take a moment of rest from the sun.

"Of course I did," Ainsley agrees with a sudden, vibrant smile that looks remarkably like the one Riderch sports on occasion. She glances over at her brother and nods. "You see, Lady Johanna understands these things. Anyhow, you like surprises. Or you liked this one, so all's well enough."

Caelin realizes that the hope of the storm passing without bloodshed might have been premature, his attention shifting to Alaeyna, dark eyebrows furrowing. "Lady Fowler, I fear your…" There's a slight pause as he reaches for the diplomatic lie "Jest, might be viewed as in poor taste by some. I would try to avoid discord in my home, on my cousin's wedding day."

Quillian lets a river of laughter come springing forth, babbling even at Alaeyna's words. "Oh could could we not have had a feud with your House. You're a delight." he says back towards the Fowler woman. His arm crooks, and there's a wry grin given back to her. "You'd be surprised how oft, I hear such things, Lady-surprisingly. I imagine I could dance quite well with a dagger in my throat." Quillian boasts. "My singing however, is something else entirely." a grin. "Humor me once, Lady Fowler was it? I promise not to get my westerosi stink on you."

"Perhaps." Alaryn echoes, with a bit more genuine placation; it is a joyous occasion, he's told. The Martell Prince lifts his glass once more in toast to the Blackrood's words. As offerings go, it may not be the most magnificent, but the ground dividing the men is hardly littered with contented wildflowers. So it is that despite the apparently genuine appreciation of Quillian's sentiment, the /laughter/ that sounds at Alaeyna's joke is sudden and profound, coming from the lesser Martell's very gut. "I think you've a clear enough answer." Aryn notes, offering his own hand to Alaeyna and polishing off his own wine— perhaps mirroring Caelin's efforts to prevent the wedding reception from gaining a color-based adjective.

There was a tightening of the lines around Aenyse's eyes as Tytos makes his offer like that. A little snort of sorts might be her first response to that - even if she cracks a smile at what was said. "There's no point to flog the bootmaker," she says, the smile short-lived. "But if the opprotunity at another dance like this comes - I will consider it," she says.

Aenyse's attention shifts to Blackwood then, her spirits just a bit less sharp. Not that there was any gentleness in her gaze for him. "Aenyse Greyjoy. It is… pleasant to make your acquantice, Lord Riderch," she says then.

Another handful of moments, and Aenyse turns from both men, to replace her empty goblet of wine with a fresh one.

With a sideways glance and nothing else for Caelin, Alaeyna addresses Quillian directly. "You slew my cousin, ser. I've had decades-long feuds spawn from lesser occasions." And then, defying all reasonable odds, she accepts the arm offered her with a swish of her scandalously cut Dornish silks, indulging the offer for a dance. "Let us take a turn, blackguard, and make each other's measure."

The family resemblance in these two runs strong, right down to the structure of their features. "I bloody missed you you know." Riderch shoots the Blackwood girl a screwed-up little wrinkle of his nose as he slings an arm on her shoulder, in a familiar, if obviously drunk sort of way. He then steadies himself before he rocks too much. "Oops! Sorry!" Another sloppy grin is shot back to Johanna even as he glances back around to see if the wine keg still holds.

And he responds to her now, "Your brother is such an awful awful man with no social graces whatsoever, I can't understand it." He says with such dripping sarcasm that he can barely get it out of his mouth without sputtering laughter. "Sometimes family is all we can take with us. And all that you can hope to rely on when the world turns upside-bloody-down."

Oh, now, the Iron Islander responds and he pointedly avoids making any introductions on the behalf of anyone else to her. But he does. "Lady Aeynse Greyjoy, then. Imagine you're here to see your kin in the Hightower." This is an interesting gathering, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." There's something about the way he says it and the way he looks that doesn't fully belie the fact that it's just not but the man's pushing very hard for civility here. As she turns away, he smirks a little, and his shoulders roll back. And relax.

Tytos bows toward Lady Greyjoy and smiles before moving away looking as if he considered the encounter a victory he heads toward the food table to mingle further.

Arrick gets in his line for dancing and then looks at the Princess as she sets herself to hers and he says over the crowd, "I am not much for this sort…" Arrick prefers the drunken spear dancing with fire and blood but sadly none of that here. As the music turns over and a new bit starts Arrick makes the first move with his line, bumbling and stumbling through a supposedly important piece of courtly life.

"In combat, Lady. And for that I am saddened. He was a good knight." Quillian offers without a hint of mirth. Sincereity? Likely though hard to tell in such a wonderful occasion as a wedding. When she does reach for his arm he accepts, and moves to lead her to the dance floor. Hand to hip, as is proper, and he will lead her to place and in motion. It might be surprising to some, but Quillian Oakheart does know how to dance, and does it with a certain flair. "I hope you won't be disappointed."

Caelin's lips remain set in a thin line, but it is pretty clear that the younger Florent knight is anything but at ease as the Oakheart and Fowler… flirt? Is that even the word? Surely not. "Well," He resumes, resignedly, to the Martell, "I hope the rest of the evening finds you well, Prince Alaryn."

Ainsley shifts her weight so that Riderch's wobbliness doesn't make her trip when he drapes an arm over his shoulders. She finishes off her cup of wine and smiles wryly up at him before saying to Johanna, "What a trial, to have a boisterous, uncouth brother. I just couldn't imagine what that would be like."

"I do," Johanna assures Ainsley with the flash of a grin, though it sours again as she glances at her brother. "Quill, really." Sniff. She looks back to Riderch and Ainsley, irritation fading as it's replaced by amusement. "My brother? Oh, don't I know it! I am constantly having to make apologies for him," she lies. "But he's handy with a weapon so I keep him around."

An arch of the brows betrays some measure of surprise at Alaeyna's turnaround, and Alaryn watches the Dornishwoman move off with the Blackrood like he's expecting her to gut the knight at any moment— which may not be a bad read, even with the infamous warriors on such good behavior for a change. There's a deep breath closer to a relaxing sigh than consternation as Aryn plucks a fresh glass of wine from a passing servant with a nod and murmur of thanks, and drinks deeply of the refreshed vessel. He listens to Caelin with his eyes on the party, for a moment, "Prayers to all your gods, Ser Caelin." He answers with some mirth— they may all need such fortune, at this rate. The smile reaches his eyes when he looks askance to the diplomatic Florent, nodding once.

"What my kin are up to is little business of mine. They have their plans," says Aenyse, pausing a moment. "And I have mine," she adds. That subtlely of the darkness in Riderch's tone was not lost to Aenyse. But neither does she let the time go by without her tone darkening further. There was very little doubt that she felt the same way about him. Except that she might not have as much drive to push for civility.

Fresh goblet in hand, Aenyse might glance a bit at the Dornish table, before setting the half-drunk goblet down - starting to push her way through the crowd towards the entrance that led to this posh little garden, intending to take her leave.

It is the word. It's definitely the word. Alaeyna allows herself to be led out among the dancers, but not in the dance itself, adopting a much more familiar stance in the arms of the Blackrood than is likely seemly at a Westerosi wedding. She dances in the Dornish fashion, a tragic circumstance of her birth, and this results in an intimately close pairing of their bodies as they take their turn upon the floor. "I should like to see you prove the promise of your prowess at the dance heedless of knives planted in throats, but I think I'll take the advice of yonder Florent boy and reserve the burying of blades in flesh for another occasion." Her words are offered a touch more lowly to Quillian than when she addressed him before her Dornish peers and the other sundry wedding guests, now having more of a recreational hostility to them than a literal one.

Caelin will definitely partake in some of that wine now, thin lips turning very slightly in the briefest of smiles to the Martell prince. It's not exactly a smile of mirth, except perhaps of the gallows sort, the Florent remaining quietly, observantly on tenterhooks near the edge of the celebrations.

For one, brief moment, Riderch Blackwood's wary glance just settles on Aenyse, and a little of his mother's blood bubbles to the surface. "We are both terrible boors and simply sops for wine." Speaking of which. He rights himself with a pained look to Ainsley. "Sorry. How long have you been here, anyway?!" Before she can even answer, though, he gestures towards their cups and then the wine kegs, wordlessly offering refill service. It's anyone's guess if he'll dare fill his own again.

"Handy with a weapon?" Johanna gets this look from Riderch that involves a little 'smashy smashy' pantomime with a hand clutching some invisible device. And then Ainsley gets her own glance here he makes a 'stabby stabby' pantomime. "I feel like one day you Ladies won't even bloody need us anymore, the way this world's going. It's a beautiful dream. I want to just sit there on the shore, staring across the water, while our valiant sisters drub the ever-loving shit out of the scum of this world. It's a beautiful dream." He finishes this absurdity, cackling.

For one, brief moment, Riderch Blackwood's wary glance just settles on Aenyse, and a little of his mother's blood bubbles to the surface. But then he is all smiles. Towards her. Not even a Greyjoy, or Harren's Ghost itself can deflate his spirits now. "We are both terrible boors and simply sops for wine." Speaking of which. He rights himself with a pained look to Ainsley. "Sorry. How long have you been here, anyway?!" Before she can even answer, though, he gestures towards their cups and then the wine kegs, wordlessly offering refill service. It's anyone's guess if he'll dare fill his own again.

"Handy with a weapon?" Johanna gets this look from Riderch that involves a little 'smashy smashy' pantomime with a hand clutching some invisible device. And then Ainsley gets her own glance here he makes a 'stabby stabby' pantomime. "I feel like one day you Ladies won't even bloody need us anymore, the way this world's going. It's a beautiful dream. I want to just sit there on the shore, staring across the water, while our valiant sisters drub the ever-loving shit out of the scum of this world. It's a beautiful dream." He finishes this absurdity, cackling.

With a laugh, Mariya joins Arrick at the lines before just shaking her head at his antics and then reaching a hand out so that they may dance closer. As Alaeyna is dancing with Quillian not in the Westerosi line, she assumes that it would be fine if they do not either. However, she is much more conservative in her dancing. "I thought everyone at court suffered through at least some dancing lessons," she grins.

Luckily for Alaeyna, the Oakheart is not put off by the Dornish style of dance. Body gets pressed against, and there is a more assertive hand sliding to the small of the Dornishwoman's back. Believe it or not, the Blackrood knows this tradition, not well, but passable enough that he's not going to mesh her feet, or suddenly become awkward and flushed. "Ah, I didn't know if you would honor me with such." he murmurs with an amused look. "And thank you for that kindness. I promise I'll keep my blades in their sheathes." Quillian responds with a chuckle. "You I imagine you'd be fine to stab." he adds before seeping a close dip, before pulling her back up against him.

Despite her loathing for her dance partner, Alaeyna's body moves effortlessly with his in their dance, one of her hands snaking behind his neck to grip him there, the points of her nails curling into his flesh. It's nothing compared to the kiss of the knives she threatened to inflict upon him, and in her homeland it would be considered affection. "Finer than you shall ever have opportunity to discover, ser," she offers in riposte, the latent menace in her words lessened by the sultry murmur in which they're conveyed.

Arrick chuckles and exclaims, "I did have lessons! I just preferred to hit things with sticks and chase after girls when they were going on!" Arrick moves closer to the Princess and says a little quieter in her ear, "I was smashing sand into girl's hair when I should have been practicing dance I guess." Arrick tilts his head and grins down at the little Princess adding, "And I'd prefer to be the Dornish fox, rather than the dancing knight thank you very much." Arrick's hands stay where everyone's eyes can see 'em. He's a respectable Dornish knight after all!

"Only a few hours," Ainsley assures her brother. "I came to that house you're staying in, but you had already left. Tel told me I might find you here, so I dressed and came to see." She holds her empty wineglass up to her brother which, all things considered, can really only be a request that he refill it for her, please. Her smile grows for the 'smashy, smashy' and the 'stabby, stabby' before she looks back to Lady Johanna. "The truth is, we ladies already quite capable as things stand. It's only you men make the most unbearable fuss if we point it out to you, that we've decided to be the bigger gender and let you have your fights."

"Ser Riderch," Johanna steps closer to the siblings, though it's Ainsley that earns the study as she says it. "I believe I like your sister already," she tells him, grinning as she looks to the Raven Knight. "And she's right, truly, I can hardly stand the sulking and it's something to keep you all busy, so we just let you think you're running everything. We're confident enough to let you live that illusion while we sit back quietly and know the truth."

Loathing can be entirely improved upon, and is a place to work from. Still as nails kiss crescents into his neck, Quillian does offer a bit of a laugh, before air is sucked in through his teeth. "A pity, Lady" he offers back in low tones as hips move, as hips move. Hand slips for a better-ah-positioning-as otherinches up. They part, but for a twist and draw back in, which will likely leave red lines from the skin taken in such a manuever, before the intimate quarters are resumed. "You could have killed me after." teased back. Despite whatever displeasure he is causing his poor beloved sister, it likely will not last, for the dance will end, when the song ends.

After watching the hate-flirting during the hate-dancing going on between the Oakheart and Fowler, and approvingly noting the lack of (at least actual) blades being menaced, Caelin sips on a glass of wine. Not partaking in the dancing, he drifts around the edge of the floor, approaching Arrick and Mariya in time to hear of Dornish Foxes with a smile from the Florent. "A fine animal. Should I assume this is Ser Gargalen?"

It's with a slight wobble as he comes back with a refill of wine, managing to do the dirty work of refilling vessels and passing them out, keeping one for himself. Riderch's face bears a lopsided flash of teeth and a click of his tongue. "Well, credit where credit is due, I think that between us and all our siblings, — you were the one blessed with the best traits." And before this gets too affectionate, his countenance screws-up narrating this to Ainsley, giving her a petulant, teasing sort of expression. "We mere boys can only hope to keep up."Huh. I bet he was happy to see you, with the hash of things Jorah and I are making at the place." This comment is delivered further to his sister ruefully. "I've had the men that do come around there try to be especially alert. As your men should be." Oh, right, like he's in any position to lecture her about personal safety, even though he makes a show of trying.

Not to neglect a conversation partner, he turns to the aforementioned Lady Oakheart and gives her a bemused little laugh. "It's a strange world we live in. I have to give credit where credit is due, though. Is your brother ever going to stop taunting those Dornish Ladies?" He clearly doesn't get it. And he should, after that little exchange with the Greyjoy.

And end it does, not too long after Quillian pulls her close one last time, giving Alaeyna opportunity to threaten, her lips at his ear, "I'm resourceful. I'll find my occasion." Barely a heartbeat after the musicians conclude the final note of the song, the Lady Fowler tears herself from the Blackrood's arms, neither thanking him for the dance nor offering any other parting words before turning on her feet to stalk across the floor and rejoin the Martell prince on the fringe of the crowd.

"I have no doubts you'll look for it. Good hunting." Quillian quips, and like that the dance is over, and carefully he brushes off his surcoat as he moves back towards where the Westerosi have congregated, without much of a thank you, or bow-or anything of the like. And like that he is going for a fresh cup of Arbor red, before shaking himself off, and looking to join the conversation.

As the music for the dance ends, Mariya laughs. "Can foxes not dance? I was sure that I heard a tale somewhere that they did. Maybe it had to be when the moon was full." With a curtsey to Arrick for her thanks for her dance, she moves toward Caelin to include him in their conversation. "I can imagine you would have a fondness for them," she replies politely, leaving Arrick to confirm his own identity to Caelin.

Ainsley turns her bright smile on Johanna and dips her head in a nod. "It's my hope to be in Oldtown for sometime, my lady, and it would be so lovely to have a friend here." There is a small, pleased "ah!" as the wine is handed ver and she takes a small sip from the cup. "Thank you, brother. Tel did seem maybe the slightest touch relieved when he saw me," Ainsley allows, perhaps only in jest. "And my men shall be as careful as their duty requires, I am sure." She has another sip of wine before glancing back at Riderch. "We can redecorate, can't we? If I see one more robin's egg blue piece of furniture, I shall pitch it out the window of that little house."

"The likely answer is no, Ser Riderch," Johanna replies with shrug, aiming at indifference and missing the mark. "Not that they don't deserve the tormenting, and a great deal more." She hasn't a glass to refill, and so it's left to her to find another, which is an easy enough task, claiming a glass of red from a passing servent. She looks back to Ainsley, smiling. "It is nice to have friends, I've only been here a few months myself, but I've managed to make a few in that time."

Arrick moves towards the man who seems to know of him after the Princess and says in introduction, "Just Ser Arrick will do. I leave the Lord Gargalen and Ser Gargalen to my father and brother in Dorne. They hold the titles rather well, much better than I." Arrick grins at that and says as he grabs hold of two glasses of wine from a passing tray, handing one to the Princess and keeping the more full one for himself, "And you are Ser or Lord??" Arrick peers at the Princess expecting her to know as she tends to know everyone and everything.

Caelin's lips quirk, "Can, Princess." He answers Mariya, face shifting back to a pleasant neutral. "But I don't want to be remiss in my duties" He offers Arrick a half bow. "Ser Caelin Florent. For some time yet, hopefully. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ser Arrick, as one fox to another."

"Well, I suppose that's his manner of having fun. I know what it's like — It's, well." He looks around here intently, Riderch does, taking stock of the little Dornish contingent. "I've only been to Dorne once and it is not as though we have a lot of them where we come from." He couches this in as diplomatic a manner as he can. "I've learned lessons here about being civil though, since I came here and am glad I'm not the only one out of this little crowd who has." He scowls a bit after the Greyjoy woman or rather, whever she departed to. "Probably one of the reasons Mother and Father sent me instead of Cousin Rickart or someone." He continues to make small-talk as he eyes her cup that she just acquired herself. "Mm. Sorry. I'm slipping I think." Yeah, he is. His cheeks are flushed, and the man's probably on his last cup before going over a very sudden wine-cliff. He's pointedly nursing this one.

Working back to Ainsley though, his off-kilter smile returns. "Well, the men like you, I'm sure. I'm good for one thing — breaking things. You're better at putting them back together again. And I'll take your advice on furniture." Furniture, ppffft. She doesn't know that he slept outside in the garden last night.% "I'm not going to drone on and on about guards, Aine. But I'd be concerned if one of The Horse's men sees you." His smile is gone now. Completely. This title is delivered in such a way that it's implied she knows exactly who THE HORSE is.

Ainsley lifts her brow and blinks her wide, blue eyes. "What do you suppose would happen if they did, brother? Would they pluck me off the very street and ferry me away to be trampled?" Still, and a bit more gently, she rests her hand on Riderch's arm. "I will be careful, brother. Two men came even here to this celebration, and I've two more back at the house who rode with me from Raventree Hall." Back to Johanna she adds, "Then I hope, as we spend time together, I might be included among those friends, my lady."

Alaeyna has left.

Arrick offers a returned bow and then says as he remembers a passing conversation, "Ahh yes, the black fox! I have heard of you!" Arrick lifts from the bow and takes a sip of his newly-attained wine, saying, "I imagine foxes of the Reach and Dorne have a few things in common, even if we'd likely not admit such."

Though Mariya does, in fact, know Ser Caelin, it is only because she met him earlier in the day. "Ah yes, it is important to keep to ones duties." The woman smiles, at Caelin. Then, gives a bit surprised look at Arrick's reply. "I am sure they do," she replies, grabbing another glass for herself. "Have you been in Oldtown long, Ser Caelin?"

"I assure you, it's not the only way in which he has fun," Johanna assures Riderch with a grin. "But with such esteemed company, how can he possibly be expected to resist?" She slants a dark look in the direction of the Dornish that remain, but further comment on their presence is avoided. For now. Instead her attention shifts back to Ainsley. "I hope the same, my lady." She pauses for a drink, a rather long one that drains more than a quarter of the dark red wine within. "What made you decide to come to Oldtown?"

Caelin nods sharply, unironically to Mariya's comment. "It is." His posture relaxes a bit, however, inclining his head to Arrick. "I imagine and hope so. I haven't been long, Princess." His attention returns to Mariya, "A month, perhaps. Tending to family matters. It's… an interesting experience. I haven't been to the city since I was very young. But a good chance to meet old friends. And hopefully make new ones." He lifts his glass towards the two Dornish. "Speaking of old- I should congratulate you on your engagement to Prince Daevon."

"Oh. Tcch, I can only im…imagine. He seems a traditional sort." Riderch observes in response to Johanna as he says this, his words flowing in to one another a bit as the headiness of the wine continues to work its curious magic. "And that's quite true. I wonder how this all happened?" He gestures at the guests invited. "It has the look of a wild pol..pol…" While grasping for the words, he fails a little bit ad enunciating this last bit and swipes his free hand in the air, just above Ainsley's shoulder. Smiling again, however subtly (and drunkenly), he hides his face in his cup for a few moments.

And then it is withdrawn as he looks frankly at his sister. "I know. You're not a fool and I only wanted to warn you. I don't think they'd be that stupid, but the ones I saw seemed stupid enough to just wait for trouble. And I'd be — you know why I am the way I am." This admission is private enough to not make a terrible amount of sense. "But I'm curious too?" Back to addressing Johanna's question as he clarifies, "Let me say that I'mmmmmmmm." He's trying to think here, "I'm glad. Whatever it was. I should have sent for you months ago but I didn't think it would be allowed." He blinks, slowly and owlishly.

Arrick nods to the Reachman and then at the mention of the betrothal loses a bit of the rosiness he held before. He looks to the Princess and grinds his teeth a moment as he takes another drink. Silence is golden and this Dornish knight is gleaming like Lannister's favorite metal.

"Ah, I have not been here long, either. I came to help my sister settle in to her new home and now…" Mariya smiles and takes a sip of her wine as Caelin brings up her engagement to Daevon. She does not look to see Arrick's reaction, instead she simply raises her glass and takes another sip - as is proper for a toast. "Thank you, ser. That is very kind of you." Curious, she ask, "Old friends? I take it you are friends with Ser Daevon, then?"

"Wanderlust, I suppose," Ainsley answers Johanna. "I wanted to see a bit of the world before, well, I did my duty for my family and was married off advantageously. A little bit of selfishness amid all that familial altruism is all right, isn't it, my lady?" She smiles over at her brother, taking in his slurred speech and his wobbly stance. "You know, though, I find I'm quite fatigued from the journey. This has been a lovely outing, but might you walk me back home, brother?"

Caelin glances at Arrick, his gaze falling back on the Martell as he nods. "Yes. I knew him in his youth, when he was first learning to ride and fight. A quick learner. With a kind and devoted heart. I don't know what rumors you've heard or your own feelings on the match, Princess Mariya, but he would make a good husband."

Arrick chimes in finally, seeming to agree with Caelin on some level, and definitely breaking his attempted silence, "A great husband indeed! To the maiden knight!" Arrick raises his glass to go along with the Princesses' previous toast. He then proceeds to gulp down the entire bit of wine and repeats, "A great husband…"

"I knew Ser Daevon in Dorne," Mariya explains to Caelin. "So, yes, I knew him well even before the match. He is a good man and I could certainly have done for worse when matched to secure a peace between our kingdoms." This is said light heartedly and truthfully. Her eyes finally turn slightly toward Arrick at his toast and his finishing of the glass of wine in one go. Perhaps deciding it best to change topics before Arrick drinks all the wine available, she adds, "May I ask after the family duties? I must say, I found Oldtown quite beautiful when I first arrived."

Johanna merely watches Riderch with a subdued amusement, not making any comments on the slurring and failed attempt at political commentary. "I'm sure it is," she remarks, pausing to take another of those long pulls of wine. "Ah, yes," she replies to Ainsley. "That is part of the reason why I came. Part. I think the other was that my father was hoping to get me out of my books, and apparently didn't think about the fact that the citadel is here." The smile that follows is terribly smug. The request between siblings has her inclining her head to the pair. "It was nice to meet you, Lady Ainsley. Ser Riderch, have a good day."

"Like me. And…Pfft. Need you even ask?" Riderch says, a little — winded-sounding. This should be interesting, but he does stand up straighter as he immediately accepts the request. He sets his cup down with his brows knitting a little at the term 'advantageously.' "Oh, the 'suitor' game." He finally admits, and — well, gee, it's that annoying 'big brother' thing.' That and this man has maybe ruined at least one arranged match for himself in his time. He could be an expert now.

The Elder Brother raises his hand in a broad, flamboyant swipe through the air. Oh, Riderch Blackwood. The filters are gone. Good thing he stopped drinking when he did, there. And he laughs, suddenly. Right now he's not going to beat down anyone. "Not going to shuffle you off to some bloodless Terrick like they tried with me." He declares.

And finally, to their conversation partner (Jo), "See? You're both good people. Come on over and see us sometime. It's an honest invitation too, not like that ponce that was just eyeing her up like Tel drooling over a gods-damned ham leg." He smirks at Johanna, blissfully unaware of how full-on rudely he just described her cousin. And then it dawns on him. "Ummm." Whether or not she catches this is up to interpretation, but he just finishes up, jauntily. "Keep your cheer, Lady Johanna. Someone bloody has to." And with that, he puts out his arm and looks at his sister, with an apologetic look. "Maybe I've had enough. Ready?" And with that, he departs with Ainsley's leave, raising a hand in the air, both greeting and departure to Princess Mariya. It always pays to be cheery.

And with Princess Mariya, her entourage included. He doesn't seem to have a strong stance with the Dornish — one way or another. Whatever the local feelings might be.

Caelin lifts his glass, a brow quirking but going along with Arrick's toast. "To Prince Daevon." He nods, to Mariya. "And your union, Princess Mariya." He pauses, adding, "I hope it succeeds in bringing peace. I am sure you could have wished for more auspicious circumstances, but duty compels us all." Speaking of which he does answer, if somewhat indirectly, "It has its charms. And… not. I was my father's fourth son. Or, third, as it happens. But circumstances have led to my being heir to Brightwater Keep after all. I came to see after a few… minor family problems, but also to look into family holdings, see about our finances, and so on. Boring stuff, really." He comments dryly.

"And you, Lady Johanna. I hope you'll accept my brother's invitation and pay us a visit, soon." She curtseys farewell before taking her brother's arm and nodding. "Ready," she agrees, "let's go home, brother." Before he passes out or throws up on somebody, off they go.

As the subject is changed Arrick stays quiet now, letting the Princess do her talking. Arrick has the look about him that he's had enough of this event. After but a few moments past Ser Caelin's talk of his work as heir, the Dornishman says with all the politeness he can muster while holding up his empty glass, "My sweet Princess, please excuse me, I need to refill my drink and find your brother for a moment." Arrick smiles sweetly at the Princess and he then offers to the other fox present, "It was good to put a face to the other fox about Oldtown, I'm sure this isn't the last time we shall cross." Arrick bows to the man and then gives one last look to the Princess before taking his leave.

The wave of Riderch is noted and the princess returns the wave with one of her own. "Thank you. Yes. It does. Though, there is still more time to toast. Our wedding is still a year off. And I hope it does as well. I do not wish to see more war." As Caelin explains his reason for being in Oldtown, she nods. "Well, I hope it is not boring to you." As Arrick takes his leave she nods, looking for Alaryn briefly in the crowd before smiling. "Yes, of course. I will join you both shortly." Her eyes follow Arrick briefly before they return to the Black Fox. "But, it is not the night to speak of duty. Tonight is supposed to be about happiness and celebration. And I would see a fox dance before it is finished."

Caelin nods to Arrick, watching the other fox depart quietly. "One already, I had thought. A bit greedy." His lips twitch, but then he inclines his head, bowing formally and offering his hand to Mariya. "As you wish, Princess. Shall we?"

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